The Project Gutenberg EBook of 7 to 12, by Anna Katharine Green This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: 7 to 12 A Detective Story Author: Anna Katharine Green Release Date: March 19, 2018 [EBook #56787] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 7 TO 12 *** Produced by Ian Crann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) WORKS OF ANNA KATHARINE GREEN I—THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. A Lawyer’s Story. 4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00 II—A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. 4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00 III—HAND AND RING. 4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00 IV—THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. A Story of New York Life. 16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1 00 V—X. Y. Z. A Detective Story. 16mo, paper 25 VI—THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE, and other Poems. 16mo, cloth $1 00 VII—THE MILL MYSTERY. 16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1 00 VIII—RISIFI’S DAUGHTER. A Drama. 16mo, cloth $1 00 IX—7 to 12. A Story. 16mo, paper 25 G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, PUBLISHERS, New York and London. 7 to 12 A DETECTIVE STORY BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN AUTHOR OF “THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “THE MILL MYSTERY,” ETC. NEW YORK AND LONDON G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS The Knickerbocker Press 1887 COPYRIGHT BY G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 1887 Press of G. P. Putnam’s Sons New York CONTENTS 7 TO 12, A DETECTIVE STORY 1 ONE HOUR MORE 79 7 TO 12. A DETECTIVE STORY. “Clarke?” “Yes, sir.” “Another entrance through a second-story window. A detective wanted right off. Better hurry up there,—East Seventy- third Street.” “All right, sir.” Clarke turned to go; but the next moment I heard the Superintendent call him back. “It is Mr. Winchester’s, you know; the banker.” Clarke nodded and started again; but a suppressed exclamation from the Superintendent made him stop for the second time. “I’ve changed my mind,” said the latter, folding up the slip of paper he held in his hand. “You can see what Halley has for you to do; I’ll attend to this.” And giving me a look that was a summons, he whispered in my ear: “This notification was written by Mr. Winchester himself, and at the bottom I see hurriedly added, ‘Keep it quiet; send your discreetest man.’ That means something more than a common burglary.” I nodded, and the affair was put in my hands. As I was going out of the door, a fellow detective came hurriedly in. “Nabbed them,” cried he. “Who?” asked more than one voice. “The fellows who have been climbing into second-story windows, and helping themselves while the family is at dinner.” I stopped. “Where did you catch them?” I asked. “In Twenty-second Street.” “To-night?” “Not two hours ago.” I looked at the Superintendent. He gave a curious lift of his brows, which I answered with a short smile. In another moment I was in the street. My first ring at the bell of No.—East Seventy-third Street brought response in the shape of Mr. Winchester himself. Seeing me, his countenance fell, but in another instant brightened as I observed: “You sent for a detective, sir;” and quietly showed him my badge. “Yes,” he murmured; “but I did not expect”—he paused. I was used to these pauses; I do not suppose I look exactly like the ordinary detective. “Your name?” he asked, ushering me into a small reception-room. “Byrd,” I replied. And taking as a compliment the look of satisfaction which crossed his face as he finished a hasty but keen scrutiny of my countenance and figure, I in turn subjected him to a respectful but earnest glance of interrogation. “There has been a robbery here,” I ventured. He nodded, and a look of care replaced the affable expression which a moment before had so agreeably illumined his somewhat stern features. “Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth,” he whispered, shortly. “Mrs. Winchester’s diamonds.” I started; not so much at the nature and value of the articles stolen, as at the indefinable air with which this announcement was made by the wealthy and potential broker and banker. If his all had been taken his eye could not have darkened with a deeper shadow; if that all had been lost through means which touched his personal pride and feelings, he could not have given a sharper edge to his tones, business-like as he endeavored to make them. “A heavy loss,” I remarked. “Will you give me the details of the affair as far as you know them?” He shook his head and waved his hand with a slight gesture towards the stairs. “I prefer that you learn them from such inquiries as you will make above,” said he. “My wife will tell you what she knows about it, and there is a servant or two who may have something to say. I would speak to no one else,” he added, with a deepening of the furrow in his brow; “at least not at present. Only,”—and here his manner became markedly impressive,—“understand this. Those diamonds must be found in forty-eight hours, no matter who suffers, or what consequences follow a firm and determined pursuit of them. I will stop at nothing to have them back in the time mentioned, and I do not expect you to. If they are here by Thursday night—” and the hand he held out with its fingers curved and grasping actually trembled with his vehemence—“I will give you five hundred dollars Friday afternoon. If they are here without noise, scandal, or—” his voice sank further—“disquietude to my wife, I will increase the sum to a thousand. Isn’t that handsome?” he queried, with an attempt at a lighter tone, which was not altogether successful. “Very,” was my short but deferential reply. And, interested enough by this time, I turned towards the door, when he stopped me. “One moment,” said he. “I have endeavored not to forestall your judgment by any surmises or conclusions of my own. But, after you have investigated the matter and come to some sort of theory in regard to it, I should like to hear what you have to say.” “I will be happy to consult with you,” was my reply; and, seeing that he had no further remarks to offer, I prepared to accompany him up-stairs. The house was a superb one, and not the least handsome portion of it was the staircase. As we went up, the eye rested everywhere on the richest artistic effects of carved wood-work and tapestry hangings. Nor was the glitter of brass lacking, nor the sensuous glow which is cast by the light striking through ruby-colored glass. At the top was a square hall fitted up with divans and heavily bespread with rugs. At one end a half-drawn portière disclosed a suite of apartments furnished with a splendor equal to that which marked the rest of the house, while at the other was a closed door, towards which Mr. Winchester advanced. I was hastily following him, when a young man, coming from above, stepped between us. Mr. Winchester at once turned. “Are you going out?” he asked this person, in a tone that lacked the cordiality of a parent, while it yet suggested the authority of one. The young gentleman, who was of fine height and carriage, paused with a curious, hesitating air. “Are you?” he inquired, ignoring my presence, or possibly not noticing it, I being several feet from him and somewhat in the shadow. “We may show ourselves at the Smiths for a few minutes, by and by,” Mr. Winchester returned. “No; I am not going out,” the young man said, and, turning, he went again up-stairs. Mr. Winchester’s eye followed him. It was only for a moment; but to me, accustomed as I am to note the smallest details in the manner and expression of a person, there was a language in that look which opened a whole field of speculation. “Your son?” I inquired, stepping nearer to him. “My wife’s son,” he replied; and, without giving me an opportunity to put another query, he opened the door before him and ushered me in. A tall, elegant woman of middle age was seated before the mirror, having the final touches given to her rich toilette by a young woman who knelt on the floor at her side. A marked picture, and this not from the accessories of wealth and splendor everywhere observable, but from the character of the two faces, which, while of an utterly dissimilar cast, and possibly belonging to the two extremes of society, were both remarkable for their force and individuality of expression, as well as for the look of trouble and suppressed anxiety, which made them both like the shadows of one deep, dark thought. The younger woman was the first to notice us and rise. Though occupying a humble position and accustomed to defer to those around her, there was extreme grace in her movement and a certain charm in her whole bearing which made it natural for the eye to follow her. I did not long allow myself this pleasure, however, for in another instant Mrs. Winchester had caught sight of our forms in the mirror, and, rising with a certain cold majesty, in keeping with her imposing figure and conspicuous if mature beauty, stepped towards us with a slow step, full of repose and quiet determination. Whatever her feelings might be, they were without the fierceness and acrimony which characterized those of her husband. But were they less keen? At first glance I thought not, but at the second I doubted. Mrs. Winchester was already a riddle to me. “Millicent,”—so her husband addressed her,—“allow me to introduce to you a young man from the police force. If the diamonds are to be recovered before the week is out, he is the man to do it. I pray you offer him every facility for learning the facts. He may wish to speak to the servants and to—” his eye roamed towards the young girl, who, I thought, turned pale under his scrutiny—“to Philippa.” “Philippa knows nothing,” the lady’s indifferent side-look seemed to say, but her lips did not move, nor did she speak till he had left the room and closed the door behind him. Then she turned to me and gave me first a careless look and then a keener and more sustained one. “You have been told how I lost my diamonds,” she remarked at length. “They said at the station that a man had entered by your second-story window while you were at dinner.” “Not at dinner,” she corrected gravely. “I do not leave my jewel-box lying open, while I go down to dinner. I was in the reception-room below—Mr. Winchester had sent word that he wished to see me for an instant—and being on the point of going to an evening party, my diamonds were in their case on the mantel-piece. When I came back the case was there, but no diamonds. They had been carried off in my absence.” I glanced at the mantel-shelf. On it lay the open jewel-case. “What made you think a burglar took them?” I asked, my eyes on the lady I was addressing, but my ears open to the quick, involuntary drawing in of the breath which had escaped the young girl at the last sentence of her mistress. “The window was up—I had left it closed—and there was a sound of scurrying feet on the pavement below. I had just time to see the forms of two men hurrying down the street. You know there have been a series of burglaries of this nature lately.” I bowed, for her imperiousness seemed to demand it. Then I glanced at Philippa. She was standing with her face half averted, trifling with some object on the table, but her apparent unconcern was forced, and her hand trembled so that she hastily dropped the article with which she was toying and turned in such a manner that she hid it as well as her countenance from view. I made a note of this and allowed my attention to return to Mrs. Winchester. “At what time was this?” I inquired. “Seven o’clock.” “Late for a burglary of this kind.” A flush sudden and deep broke out on the lady’s cheek. “It was successful, however,” she observed. Ignoring her anger, which may have arisen from sheer haughtiness and a natural dislike to having any statement she chose to make commented upon, I pursued my inquiries. “And how long, madam, do you think you were down-stairs?” “Some five minutes or so; certainly not ten.” “And the window was closed when you left the room and open when you returned?” “I said so.” I glanced at the windows. They were both closed now and the shades drawn. “May I ask you to show me which window, and also how wide it stood open?” “It was the window over the stoop, and it stood half-way open.” I passed at once to the window. “And the shade?” I asked, turning. “Was—was down.” “You are sure, madam?” “Quite; it was by the noise it made as I opened the door that I noticed the window was open.” “Your first glance, then, was not at the mantel-piece?” “No, sir, but my second was.” Her self-possession was almost cold. This great lady evidently did not enjoy her position of witness, notwithstanding the heavy loss she had sustained, and the fact that the inquisition being made was all in her own interests. I was not to be repelled by her manner, however, for a suspicion had seized me which somewhat accounted for the words and method pursued by Mr. Winchester, and a suspicion once formed, holds imperious sway over the mind of a detective till it is either disproved by facts or confirmed in the same manner into a settled belief. “Madam,” I remarked, “your loss is very great, and demands the most speedy and vigorous effort on the part of the police, that it may not result in a permanent one. Has it struck you”—and I looked firmly at the young girl whom, by my change of position, I had brought again into view—“that it was in any way peculiar that chance thieves working in this dangerous and conspicuous manner should know just the moment to make the hazardous effort which resulted so favorably to themselves? These burglaries which, as you say, have been so plentiful of late, have hitherto all taken place at the hour the family are supposed to be at dinner, while this occurred just when the family would reasonably be supposed to be returning up-stairs. Besides, the gas was burning in this room, was it not?” “Yes.” “And the shades down?” “Yes.” “So that, till the stoop had been climbed and the room entered, the thief had every reason to believe it was occupied, unless he had notification to the contrary from some one better situated than himself?” The lady’s eyes opened, and a slight, sarcastic smile parted her lips; but I was not studying her at this moment, but the young Philippa. Humble as she evidently was, and in a condition of mind that caused her to place a restraint upon herself, she took a step forward as I said this, and her mouth opened, as if she would fling some word into the conversation that would neither bear the stamp of humility nor sustain her previous rôle of indifference. But a moment’s thought was sufficient to quell her passionate impulse, and in another instant she was gliding quietly from the room, when I leaned toward Mrs. Winchester and whispered: “Request the young woman to wait in the hall outside, and suggest that she leave the door open. I do not feel like letting out of my sight just yet any person, no matter how reliable, who has listened to my last remark.” Mrs. Winchester looked surprised, and eyed me with something of the expression she might have betrayed if I had begged her to stop a mouse from escaping the conference we were holding. But she did what I asked her, and that with a cold, commanding air which proved that, however useful she found the deft and graceful Philippa, she had no real liking for her or any interest in her beyond that which sprang from the value of her services. Was this state of things the fault of Mrs. Winchester or of Philippa? I had not time to determine. The docility of the latter was not, perhaps, to be trusted too far, especially if, as I half suspected, there was some tie between her and the thieves who had carried off Mrs. Winchester’s jewels; and while she still lingered where I could see her, I must put the question so evidently demanded by the gravity of the situation. “Mrs. Winchester,” I said, “is there any one in your house whom you think capable of being in league with the robbers?” The question took her by surprise; she started, and the flush reappeared on her cheek. “I do not understand you,” she began; but, speedily recovering her self-possession, she exclaimed, in a low but emphatic tone, “No; how could you think of such a thing? It is the work of professional burglars and of them alone.” I made a slight but unmistakable gesture towards the hall. “Who is that girl?” I asked. “Philippa? My maid,” she answered, without the slightest token of understanding, much less of sharing, the suspicion which I feared I had, perhaps, too strongly suggested by my rather pointed inquiry. “Or, rather,” she corrected, with some slight show of sarcasm, “she is what is commonly called a companion; being sufficiently well educated to read to me if I happen to be in the mood for listening, or even to play on the piano, if music is required in the house.” The chill indifference of this answer stamped Mrs. Winchester as a woman of more elegance than feeling; but as that only made my rather disagreeable task easier, it would be ungracious in me to criticise it. “How long has she been with you?” I pursued. “Oh, a year; perhaps more.” “And you know her well; her antecedents and associates?” “Yes; I know her; all that there is to know. She is not a deep person, nor is she worthy your questions. Let us drop Philippa.” “In one moment,” I returned. “In a case like this I must satisfy myself thoroughly as to the character and past history of all who are in the house. I have seen Philippa, and consequently push my inquiries in her regard first. With whom did she live before she came to you, and where does she spend her time when she is not with you in the house?” Mrs. Winchester grew visibly impatient. “Follies!” she cried; then, hurriedly, as if anxious to be done with my importunities, “Philippa is the daughter of the clergyman who married my husband and myself. I have always known her; she came from her father’s death-bed to my house. As for associates, she has none; and the time she spends out of my rooms is so small that I think it is hardly worth inquiring how or where it is employed. Have you any further inquiries to make?” I had, but I reserved them. “Will you let me speak to Philippa?” I asked. Her gesture was one of the utmost disdain, but it contained an acquiescence of which I was not slow in availing myself. Stepping rapidly into the hall, I approached the slight figure I had managed to keep in view during this conversation. But at my first movement in her direction the young girl started, and before I could address her she had passed through the doorway of the opposite room and disappeared in the darkness beyond. I immediately stepped back to the lady I had left. “Do those rooms communicate with a back staircase?” I inquired. “Yes,” she returned, with uncompromising coldness. I was baffled; that is, as far as Philippa was concerned. Accepting the situation, however, with what grace I could, I bowed my acknowledgments to Mrs. Winchester, and excusing myself for the moment, went hurriedly below. I found her husband awaiting me with ill-concealed anxiety. “Well?” he asked, at my reappearance. “I have come to a conclusion,” said I. He drew me into a remote corner of the room, where, without our conversation being overheard, he could still keep his eye on the staircase, visible through the half-open door. “Let me hear,” said he. I at once spoke my mind. “The thief was no chance one; he not only knew that your house contained diamonds, but he knew where to find them and when. Either a signal was given him when to enter or the diamonds were thrown into his hand out of the window. Does my conviction coincide with yours?” He smiled a grim smile and waived the question. “And who do you think gave the signal or threw the diamonds? Do not be afraid to speak names; the case is too serious for paltering.” “Well,” said I, “I have been in the house but a few minutes and have seen but three persons besides yourself. I had rather not mention any one as the possible accomplice of so daring a crime till I have seen and conversed with every one here. But there is a girl up-stairs—you yourself called my attention to her—about whom I should like to ask a question or two. I allude to Philippa, Mrs. Winchester’s companion.” He turned an eye full of expectancy towards me. “Do you like her? Have you confidence in her? Is she a person to be trusted?” I inquired. His glance grew quite bright, and he bowed with almost a gesture of respect. “You could not have a better witness,” he remarked. The answer was so unexpected, I hastily dropped my eyes. “She will talk, then, if I interrogate her?” said I. It was now his turn to look disconcerted. “Then you have not done so?” he asked. “I have not had the opportunity,” I rejoined. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I see.” And with a look and manner hard to describe, he added, “Mrs. Winchester naturally kept the girl quiet. I might have expected that.” Astonished at this new turn, I ventured to speak the thought suggested by an admission so extraordinary. “And why should Mrs. Winchester wish to suppress any evidence calculated to lead to the discovery of a thief who had so heavily robbed her?” The gleam of satisfaction which for the last few moments had lighted up the countenance of the gentleman before me, faded perceptibly. “I see,” he observed, “that our opinions on this matter are less in accord than I supposed. But,” he continued more heartily, “you have, as you very justly remarked just now, been but a few minutes in the house, and have not had full opportunity to learn the facts. I will wait till you have talked with Philippa. Shall I call her here?” “Do,” I urged; “she is below, I think, though possibly she may still be in the rooms above;” and I explained how she had started away at my approach, hiding herself in apartments to which I felt I had not the right of access. He frowned, and moved hastily toward the door, but paused half-way to ask me another question. “Before I go,” said he, “I should like to inquire what word of Mrs. Winchester led you to the conclusion that the theft was committed by some one in the house?” “Wait,” cried I, “you are going too fast; I do not say the theft was committed by some one in the house. I merely speak of an accomplice.” “Who flung the diamonds out of the window—” “Or merely gave the signal that they were accessible, and for the moment unguarded.” He waved his hand impatiently. “Let us not waste time,” he exclaimed. “I want to know what Mrs. Winchester said—” “She said nothing,” I interrupted, for my haste was as great as his; “that is, nothing beyond the necessary relation of the facts—” “Which were—” “That the jewels were lying open in their case on the bureau; that you called her from below; and that she hastened to respond by her presence; was gone five minutes or so, and, returning, found the window open and the diamonds gone. As she had left the window shut, she naturally sprang to it and looked out, in time to see two men hurrying down the street. Surely these facts you know as well as I.” “I was curious,” he replied. “So those are the facts you received, and it is from them alone you gathered the conclusion you have stated?” “No,” said I, “there was Philippa.” “But she said nothing.” “I know, but she did not need to speak. I heard her heart beat, if I may so express myself, and from its beatings came the conviction I have given you.” Mr. Winchester bestowed upon me an approving smile. “You are all I thought you,” was his comment. “Philippa’s heart did beat, and with most unwonted emotions, too. Philippa saw the person who relieved Mrs. Winchester of her jewels.” “What!” I cried, “and you—” He did not wait to hear the end of my remonstrance. “I say so,” he went on, “because while Mrs. Winchester was here, and before she ascended, I saw Philippa go up. She had just time to reach the head of the stairs, when the person whose step I had already detected crossing the floor above, gained the hall—” “The hall?” I cried. “Yes. Can it be you really allowed yourself to dream for a moment that the thief who stole this small fortune came in by the window?” “Mr. Winchester,” said I, “when I left the police station it was with some doubt, I confess, as to whether this theft had been committed in just the way the man who brought your note said it had been. But after hearing what Mrs. Winchester had to say—” “Mrs. Winchester’s account of this occurrence is not to be depended upon,” he broke in calmly, but determinedly. “Shall I give you a fact or two? The window which my wife declares she found open when she went up-stairs was not raised while she was down here, but after her return, for I heard it. The step which crossed the floor above us while we were talking together here, went out, not by any window, but by the door leading into the hall; so that—” “Mr. Winchester,” I interrupted, “do you realize that if what you say is true, the diamonds are probably still in your house?” “Just where I think they are, Mr. Byrd; just where I think they are.” I began to have a strong notion of his suspicion. “And Philippa,” I suggested. “Saw what I heard.” I made no further effort to detain him. “Let us have her here,” I cried. “If what you surmise is true, the mystery ought to be one of easy solution. So easy,” I could not forbear adding, “that I wonder you felt the need of sending for a detective.” “You forget,” he observed, “that it is not so much the discovery of the thief I am after, as the recovery of the jewels. The former I might have managed without your assistance; but the latter requires an authority backed by the law.” And merely stopping to call my attention to the necessity of keeping a watch on the front door that no one should escape from the house while he was gone, he hastily left me and went up-stairs. He was absent some twenty minutes, during which I heard him pass in and out of his wife’s room. But when he came down he was alone, and his countenance, which before had looked merely anxious and determined, now bore the marks of anger and impatience. “I do not know by what motive she is actuated,” cried he, “but I cannot induce Philippa to speak. She insists she has nothing to say.” “You saw her, then? I was afraid she had escaped by the back-stairs.” “Hardly,” was the dry retort. “I caused the door leading to the rear hall to be locked long ago.” I bowed in admiration of his caution. “No one can pass from the upper to the lower portion of this house without going by this door; how else could I be sure the diamonds had not already been smuggled out of the building?” “And you are positively sure that, as it is, they are still here.” “Positively.” “And that Philippa, although she will not speak, knows who took the jewels, or at least who it was that entered the room above while Mrs. Winchester was down here?” “Yes.” “Then,” I declared, “our coast is clear. To find the diamonds it is only necessary to search the house, and as for the culprit, Philippa will find it difficult to keep silence when once the law has taken its course, and duty as well as honor compels her to speak.” He nodded and stood a moment thinking. “You would search the house?” he repeated at last. “It is a large house and its places of concealment innumerable; I do not think we should recover them by that means—not in the time I have specified. Listen to my plan. Mrs. Winchester and myself expected to go to a certain reception to-night. It is a grand affair, and it is desirable that we should be present. We will go there, but before going I will make it known throughout the house that you are a detective, and say that it is your intention to search the house for the missing jewels as soon as you can get the necessary assistance from your office. This will alarm the guilty, and if I am not very much mistaken, lead to the endeavor of some one person in this house to leave it. If this should prove true, do not hinder the attempt, for that person will have the diamonds in his possession, and if followed, as you will take measures he shall be, their recovery must be a matter of an hour or two; for a man is more easily searched than a house.” “An admirable scheme,” I exclaimed, wondering at an acumen I certainly should not have looked for in the wealthy broker. “I see but one flaw in it. If Mrs. Winchester heard that her house was to be ransacked in her absence, would she consent to go to the reception?” “Mrs. Winchester will be in her carriage when I make the announcement. I shall certainly see to that.” “Very well, then,” said I, “it only remains for me to procure from the police-station the man I want for the pursuit you mention.” “I will call there on my way to the reception with any note you may choose to write.” I scribbled two names on a card. “Either of those men will answer,” said I. “Let him take his station in the area next to this, and when posted there give the call. He will understand. Will the guilty person be likely to lead him a long chase?” “That it is as impossible for me to know as you. I have no conception where the thief will go upon leaving this house. To some place favorable for the concealment of his booty, of course, but where, time and the skill of his pursuer must determine.” “I will just add a line of caution to that pursuer,” said I, and taking the card I scribbled a few directions on its back, after which I gave it to Mr. Winchester. In exchange he handed me two keys. “This one unlocks the door leading to the back-stairs, and this the front door of the basement.” After which explanation he left me, and in another moment I heard him go up-stairs and enter his wife’s room. The programme we had agreed upon was carried out to the letter. In less than a half hour Mr. and Mrs. Winchester came down, he looking pale and stern, she haughty and imperturbably calm. The carriage, which I had heard drive up a moment before, stood at the door and they passed immediately out, but not before I had time to observe that she wore the same dress I had seen her in above, a rich mauve-colored velvet made high in the throat and heavily loaded with what I believe they call a passementerie of pearl beads enriched with lace; a species of garniture which in my eyes obviated the necessity of any further adornment more pretentious than the simple cluster of pearls she wore in her ears. “A noble and a dignified presence,” I thought as she passed, and wondered if the heart under that violet robe beat any faster than her appearance betokened, or whether she was indeed one of that class of women in whom the ills and exigences of life stir but faint chords and produce but slight emotions. The bang of the carriage door was followed by the almost immediate reappearance of Mr. Winchester. “Now,” said he, “to business!” And looking up the stairs, he hailed, with a glance of satisfaction, the descending figure of the young man whom we had before met on the landing above, and whom he had designated to me as his wife’s son. “Ah, Lawrence,” said he, “come down. I sent for you and Miss Irwin—by the by, where is she? Oh, I see, looking over the banisters above—that I might introduce to you Mr. Byrd, a detective from the police force, whose business here, as you may judge, is to recover for us your mother’s diamonds. It is necessary for you to know him, for he, as well as myself, has come to the conclusion that your mother is mistaken in believing that the jewels were stolen by some one entering from without. Indeed, he is sure that not only is the thief a member of this household, but that the diamonds are still on the premises, and can be found by a thorough and systematic search. He is, therefore, going to take advantage of your mother’s absence to put his theory to the test, and as soon as suitable assistance can be procured from the police station, will begin a search that will stop at no receptacles, be balked by no place of concealment, however personal or private. I say this, because I do not wish you or Miss Irwin to feel irritated if he is obliged to enter your rooms, there being, as you know, one or two old servants with us whose feelings might justly be wounded if their persons or belongings were subjected to an examination that was not shared in by every individual in the house. You will, therefore, be ready with your keys, and, by setting an example to the servants, make the efforts of this officer as light as possible. Am I understood, Lawrence?” “Certainly, sir.” The answer was as nonchalant as the question, which was put with an easy and light good-nature, calculated to deceive every ear but that of a detective. Indeed Mr. Lawrence Sutton—I learned his name afterwards—seemed to be awakening from a dream—and the moment his step-father was gone,—for Mr. Winchester did not linger after saying the above,—he turned and went immediately up-stairs just as if I had not been standing there. His conduct was so unexpected, I paused, irresolute. This was the man Mr. Winchester suspected, I felt sure, and here he was going, for aught I knew, straight to the spot where the valuable articles lay concealed whose recovery and delivery into Mr. Winchester’s hands would bring me what I was fain to consider in these days of my poverty, a small fortune. Should I follow him, or should I trust to Mr. Winchester’s judgment and wait for him to re-descend? The conviction that I would only defeat my own ends by surprising him too soon, decided me at last to remain below, and, withdrawing into the reception-room, I waited, with indescribable anxiety, first for the peculiar call which would notify me that my colleague had arrived on the scene, and, secondly, for the returning step of Mr. Sutton. But before either of these sounds assailed my ears there came another which aroused my keenest curiosity. This was a noise of whispering on the floor above, followed by a short, sharp cry of joy in a voice I felt sure belonged to the young gentleman I had seen. Then all was silence, during which came the call without, then a rush above as of hurrying feet, after which I heard no more till—yes, the eagerly expected sound of a descending step awakened all my energies, and glancing through the crack of the door near which I stood, I saw Mr. Sutton coming down with his overcoat on. More satisfied than I could say, not at this evidence of the truth of Mr. Winchester’s suspicions,—for Mr. Sutton had a fine air and a countenance which, if it bore the unmistakable signs of a life of dissipation, had yet an expression that was not without its attraction,—but at the result of an experiment which was almost daring in its nature, I waited to hear the front door open and close. But I had not calculated on Mr. Sutton being a gentleman of great courtesy and many resources, and before I was fully aware of his presence, he was at my side, bowing with extreme urbanity, and holding out a chain from which I saw several keys hanging. “Mr. Winchester has requested me to give you these. By their aid you will be enabled to open every box and drawer that I own. As for the others, you must find your own way of entrance and examination. I have an important engagement out which will keep me, perhaps, an hour. On my return I will lend you all the assistance I can; for I am naturally as anxious as any one that so valuable a treasure as my mother’s diamonds should not be lost to the family.” I bowed and he drew back, taking out a pair of new gloves, which, to my unbounded astonishment, he stopped to fit on with great nicety and precision. Then he moved towards the door, but even there he paused and looked up the stairs before finally putting on his hat and going out. “A consummate actor!” thought I, and sprang to the window, through which I rather incautiously peered. He was descending the steps, still slowly, but with more of an air of determination than he had shown within. In another moment he was on the side-walk, and in an instant later was walking rapidly down the street. Hurrying from the window, I went to the front door and opened it. A man was leaving the area next door, and, before I turned to come in, I had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Sutton’s tall form closely shadowed by the most knowing and discreet assistant we have on the force. “Now for hours of dreary patience,” mused I, sinking into a large easy chair near a table of inviting-looking books. But scarcely had I uttered this thought than I sprang to my feet in fresh excitement. Another step was on the stair, another presence in the room. Turning in the full expectation of seeing Miss Irwin, I encountered the gaze of an old and feeble woman. Surprised, I bowed with respect; upon which she immediately said: “I hear that Mr. Winchester has decided to have a search made through the house for the diamonds that Mrs. Winchester has lost. Is it going to be done to-night?” “It will have to be done to-night if at all,” I returned with pardonable prevarication. “There would be but little satisfaction in undertaking it after any communication had been established between its inmates and the world without.” “Then,” said she, with little or no heed to the latter part of my sentence, “may I ask as a favor that you will make it convenient to go through my room first? I am Mrs. Winchester’s aunt; and I am sure she would not wish me to be kept out of my bed any later than is necessary. My room is small and—” Poor old lady! it was really cruel. I made haste to relieve her mind. “There can be no necessity for searching your room—” I began. But she interrupted me with prompt decision. “You are mistaken,” said she. “If there is a room in this house which ought to be looked into, it is mine. For the very reason that it is the last one a detective would examine, makes it possibly the very one a thief would choose for the purpose of concealment. I prefer you to go through my room, sir.” I was astonished and not a little perplexed. The old lady looked so determined it was evident she was not to be trifled with. But I was not ready to explain to her that the threatened search was but a ruse de guerre, which had already produced its desired result; and yet, if I did not do so, how was I to account for a delay that would inconvenience her so materially? I could see but one way out of the difficulty, and that was to make a superficial examination of her room and her effects, after which I would proclaim myself satisfied with my scrutiny, in the hope that she would be so too. I accordingly answered her that I appreciated her position perfectly, and that if she would consent to it, I would go to her apartment at once. She signified that she would be only too happy; whereupon I immediately led the way up-stairs. She followed me up the two flights, and earnestly pointed out the door of her room. But as I approached it I heard a suspicious sound on the floor below, and looking over the banisters, beheld the lithe and agile figure of Philippa gliding down the stairs to the front door. She was dressed for the street, and had evidently taken advantage of my position to escape from the house. Instantly a throng of doubts and suspicions passed through my mind. I was the victim of a plot, and the old lady was neither so innocent nor so disinterested as she appeared. When she persuaded me to go up-stairs it was with the direct intention of giving Philippa the opportunity to reach the street unhindered. I knew it even before I noticed how her feeble and panting form filled the narrow passage at the head of the stairs, necessitating some slight rudeness on my part to pass her. But rudeness, even to an aged and decrepit lady, was of small account in an exigency like this. Twenty-five thousand dollars were in all probability slipping from my grasp, to say nothing of my reputation as an astute and not readily deceived detective. And yet, was it now and in this way the diamonds were leaving the house, or had they already been carried away, as I formerly believed, by Mr. Sutton? Either might be true, or, as I had time to think before I was half-way down the first flight, neither might be true. His departure, and now hers, might be equally a ruse to withdraw attention from the house and the real concealer of these valuable gems; and, pausing just one instant in my descent, I looked back at the place where I had left the old lady tottering from the push I had been obliged to give her in my anxiety to pass. She was standing there still, but the look with which she followed me was one of ill-concealed satisfaction, and though she drew back at my first glance, I had time to observe that a smile had crept into the corners of her mouth that augured poorly for the success of any design that I might entertain. Meanwhile Philippa’s hand was on the knob of the front door, and she would have been out of the house in another instant if she had not stopped to glance at the hat rack, with the deliberate purpose, as I believe, of hindering me in my pursuit by appropriating my hat if it hung there. But fortunately for me I had carried it with me into the reception-room, so her glance as well as her delay was but momentary. Before I was well at the top of the first flight I heard the front door close, and knew I had to decide in a breath, as it were, whether to follow her and so forsake the building and it might be the very gems I was seeking to recover, or to allow her to go her way unhindered, in face of the equal possibility of her bearing them away to some place of safer concealment. The thought of Mr. Winchester decided me instantly. If I failed in recovering the gems by following Philippa, I would but lose my reward and possibly a little of my prestige as a detective; but if I failed in the same undertaking by not following her, Mr. Winchester would have the right to reproach me with a manifest disregard of his orders. For had he not said, “Watch who it is who endeavors to leave this house after your threat to search it, and follow him, for that person will have the diamonds.” To be sure Mr. Sutton had already gone and was being followed, but if a dozen left after him, especially after resorting to subterfuge to elude pursuit, would it not be my duty to see that they were also followed and that with the same care and circumspection I had thought proper to have employed in his case? There could be no doubt on the matter; so flinging all other consideration to the winds, I gave myself up to the pursuit of this flying sprite, closing the front door after me without a suspicion but that my first glance down the street would show me in what direction she had started. But neither my glances down the street nor up revealed to me Philippa, and agitated by my first fear that I had possibly undertaken more than I could accomplish, I dashed down to the corner, which was that of Madison Avenue, and looking hastily this way and that, saw on the block below the supple and delicate form of a female which I had barely decided was hers, when a car stopped and she stepped aboard and was carried away before I could get breath to cry stop! to the rather obtuse conductor who assisted her. Happily the next car was not many blocks off, and when I boarded it and found the driver a man I knew, I felt that the case was not so hopeless as first appeared. With but little persuasion he consented to urge the horses on a little faster than the schedule called for, so that in a few minutes we had drawn up close enough to the car in front for me to see each figure as it descended. In this way I was enabled to follow Miss Irwin with more satisfaction than if I had got into the same car with her; and as her ride was short, I soon was stepping lightly behind her down Forty-fifth Street. She did not walk two blocks before she stopped, ran up a stoop, rang the bell and was admitted. I hastened quickly after her, looked at the number and paused confounded. Why, this was a house I well knew; one which many people visited,—though not often on the same errand as Miss Irwin, I must believe,—one which I had sometimes visited myself; the home of the well-known minister, Mr. Randall. Nonplussed for the moment, I stood hesitating, when to add to my astonishment a man stepped up to me from behind, and tapping me familiarly on the back, said: “Well, what do you make of it?” It was Hawkins. “What! you here?” I exclaimed. “Certain!” he cried, “and my man, too.” It was inexplicable. Fortunately there was hope of solving the mystery. “I think I will go in,” said I. “I know Mr. Randall quite well. If one or both of them come out before I do, follow. I will not be gone any longer than is necessary.” He nodded and fell back into his hiding-place. I rang the bell and asked for Mr. Randall. “He is busy just now, sir,” explained the neat servant girl who answered my summons. “But if you will step into his study, he will soon be ready to see you.” I needed no second invitation. In a few moments I was ensconced in the cosy back parlor, listening to the low murmur of voices that came from the room in front through the heavy folding-doors that separated the two apartments. Of these voices I could distinguish two; the heavy bass of Mr. Randall, and the lighter, smoother tones of the young man who had brought me his keys in Seventy-third Street. Suddenly both voices ceased, and there was a slight bustle, then a solemn silence, then—could it be the sound of Mr. Randall’s voice again, not in the conversational tone he had previously used, but in the measured accent he was accustomed to use in the pulpit. “The enigma increases,” thought I, and, regardless of appearances, I crept to the folding-doors and glued my ear against the narrow crack that marked their line of division. What I heard only increased my curiosity to the fever point. At all risks, and in despite of all ordinary proprieties, I must see whom the clergyman was addressing; so, exerting all my skill and no little of the caution of a professional detective, I pried the doors the least bit apart and saw,—what I certainly had not come there to see, and yet a very pretty sight for all that—Mr. Sutton and Philippa Irwin kneeling before Mr. Randall, and that gentleman pronouncing over them the marriage benediction. There was another lady and two gentlemen in a group about them, but beyond noting that the lady was Mrs. Randall, and the gentlemen members of the same family, I did not bestow a thought upon them, my whole attention being given to the man and woman, whom I had been following under so sinister a suspicion, only to find myself a witness of the most serious act of their lives. The surprise of the occasion and the touching nature of the whole scene, made me for the instant forget the diamonds and what my very presence in that spot implied. But, when the final words had been said, and the few congratulations offered, the young people faced about and I caught a glimpse of the bride’s countenance, I remembered with a shock the gloomy nature of the shadow which surrounded them; and while I could not help but give my sympathy to a condition of things at once so novel and so interesting, I also felt my determination as a detective return. For Philippa’s face wore not the look of a happy bride, but that of a woman who has just dared everything that some cherished scheme might be fulfilled or some dreadful ill averted. Indeed, there was terror in the eye with which she regarded her husband; a terror so mixed with love and the light of something like hope as she met his glance of triumphant satisfaction, that I felt I must probe the matter of the diamonds to the bottom if only to solve the mystery of her action, and the motives by which she had been governed in this gift of herself at a moment so manifestly unpropitious to happiness and honor. Meanwhile, Mr. Randall was saying some words of courtesy and farewell, and, seeing that in another moment his steps might be turned in my direction, I pushed to the doors at which I was standing, with even a greater caution than that with which I had separated them, and falling back to my old station on the sofa, I awaited with equal interest and impatience his entrance and the sound of the young couple’s departure. Mr. Randall appeared and the front door closed at the same time. Resigning Mr. Sutton and his bride to the care of the man without, I turned my attention to the clergyman. I knew enough of his character and life to be certain he had not married them without knowing something of their history and condition, and that knowledge I meant to have. Some of my readers may not need to be told that I, Horace Byrd, was not always on the detective force; that I had had my bringing up in different circles, and that I was by birth and education what is called a gentleman. I speak of this here to account for the affability with which Mr. Randall greeted me, and his readiness to satisfy what, under ordinary circumstances, might have been considered a most impertinent and inexcusable curiosity. He was my father’s friend, and he listened with respect while I made my excuses, and opened at once upon the subject that occupied my thoughts. “Mr. Randall,” said I, “the errand with which I approach you is of a most singular nature. The couple you have just married—pardon me, my ears are good and my presence here is in connection with that same couple—lie under a suspicion of wrong-doing that may or may not lead to consequences of the most serious nature. What that wrong-doing is I had rather not state, since it is as yet merely a suspicion from which they may be able to clear themselves. But what I will say is, that you will be furthering their welfare and assisting at the unravel...