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94 pages

English

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Mr. Gryce was melancholy. He had attained that period in life when the spirits flag and enthusiasm needs a constant spur, and of late there had been a lack of special excitement, and he felt dull and superannuated. He was even contemplating resigning his position on the force and retiring to the little farm he had bought for himself in Westchester; and this in itself did not tend to cheerfulness, for he was one to whom action was a necessity and the exercise of his mental faculties more inspiring than any possible advantage which might accrue to him from their use.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819901808
Langue	English

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BOOK I
A STRANGE CRIME
CHAPTER I.
RED LIGHT.
Mr. Gryce was melancholy. He had attained thatperiod in life when the spirits flag and enthusiasm needs aconstant spur, and of late there had been a lack of specialexcitement, and he felt dull and superannuated. He was evencontemplating resigning his position on the force and retiring tothe little farm he had bought for himself in Westchester; and thisin itself did not tend to cheerfulness, for he was one to whomaction was a necessity and the exercise of his mental facultiesmore inspiring than any possible advantage which might accrue tohim from their use.
But he was not destined to carry out this impulseyet. For just at the height of his secret dissatisfaction therecame a telephone message to Headquarters which roused the old manto something like his former vigor and gave to the close of thisgray fall day an interest he had not expected to feel again in thisor any other kind of day. It was sent from Carter's well-known drugstore, and was to the effect that a lady had just sent a boy infrom the street to say that a strange crime had been committed in –– 's mansion round the corner. The boy did not know the lady, andwas shy about showing the money she had given him, but that he hadmoney was very evident, also, that he was frightened enough for hisstory to be true. If the police wished to communicate with him, hecould be found at Carter's, where he would be detained till anorder for his release should be received.
A strange crime! That word "strange" struckMr. Gryce, and made him forget his years in wondering what itmeant. Meanwhile the men about him exchanged remarks upon the housebrought thus unexpectedly to their notice. As it was one of the fewremaining landmarks of the preceding century, and had been madeconspicuous moreover by the shops, club-houses, and restaurantspressing against it on either side, it had been a marked spot foryears even to those who knew nothing of its history ortraditions.
And now a crime had taken place in it! Mr. Gryce, inwhose ears that word "strange" rang with quiet insistence, had butto catch the eye of the inspector in charge to receive an order toinvestigate the affair. He started at once, and proceeded first tothe drug store. There he found the boy, whom he took along with himto the house indicated in the message. On the way he made him talk,but there was nothing the poor waif could add to the story alreadysent over the telephone. He persisted in saying that a lady (he didnot say woman) had come up to him while he was looking at some toysin a window, and, giving him a piece of money, had drawn him alongthe street as far as the drug store. Here she showed him anothercoin, promising to add it to the one he had already pocketed if hewould run in to the telephone clerk with a message for the police.He wanted the money, and when he grabbed at it she said that all hehad to do was to tell the clerk that a strange crime had beencommitted in the old house on – – Street. This scared him, and hewas sliding off, when she caught him again and shook him until hiswits came back, after which he ran into the store and delivered themessage.
There was candor in the boy's tone, and Mr. Grycewas disposed to believe him; but when he was asked to describe thelady, he showed that his powers of observation were no better thanthose of most of his class. All he could say was that she was astunner, and wore shiny clothes and jewels, and Mr. Gryce,recognizing the lad's limitations at the very moment he foundhimself in view of the house he was making for, ceased to questionhim, and directed all his attention to the building he wasapproaching.
Nothing in the exterior bespoke crime or evendisturbance. A shut door, a clean stoop, heavily curtained windows(some of which were further shielded by closely drawn shades) wereeloquent of inner quiet and domestic respectability, while its calmfront of brick, with brownstone trimmings, offered a pleasingcontrast to the adjoining buildings jutting out on either side,alive with signs and humming with business. "Some mistake,"muttered Gryce to himself, as the perfect calm reigning over thewhole establishment struck him anew. But before he had decided thathe had been made the victim of a hoax, a movement took place in thearea under the stoop, and an officer stepped out, with acountenance expressive of sufficient perplexity for Mr. Gryce tomotion him back with the hurried inquiry: "Anything wrong? Anyblood shed? All seems quiet here."
The officer, recognizing the old detective, touchedhis hat. "Can't get in," said he. "Have rung all the bells. Wouldthink the house empty if I had not seen something like a stir inone of the windows overhead. Shall I try to make my way into therear yard through one of the lower windows of Knapp & Co.'sstore, next door?" "Yes, and take this boy with you. Lock him up insome one of their offices, and then break your way into this houseby some means. It ought to be easy enough from the back yard."
The officer nodded, took the boy by the arm, and ina trice had disappeared with him into the adjoining store. Mr.Gryce remained in the area, where he was presently besieged by acrowd of passers-by, eager to add their curiosity to the troublethey had so quickly scented. The opening of the door from theinside speedily put an end to importunities for which he had as yetno reply, and he was enabled to slip within, where he found himselfin a place of almost absolute quiet. Before him lay a basement hallleading to a kitchen, which, even at that moment, he noticed to bein trimmer condition than is usual where much housework is done,but he saw nothing that bespoke tragedy, or even a break in theordinary routine of life as observed in houses of like size andpretension.
Satisfied that what he sought was not to be foundhere, he followed the officer upstairs. As they emerged upon theparlor floor, the latter dropped the following information: "Mr.Raffner of the firm next door says that the man who lives here isan odd sort of person whom nobody knows; a bookworm, I think theycall him. He has occupied the house six months, yet they have neverseen any one about the premise but himself and a strange oldservant as peculiar and uncommunicative as his master." "I know,"muttered Mr. Gryce. He did know, everybody knew, that this house,once the seat of one of New York's most aristocratic families, wasinhabited at present by a Mr. Adams, noted alike for his more thancommon personal attractions, his wealth, and the uncongenial natureof his temperament, which precluded all association with his kind.It was this knowledge which had given zest to this investigation.To enter the house of such a man was an event in itself: to enterit on an errand of life and death – Well, it is under theinspiration of such opportunities that life is reawakened in oldveins, especially when those veins connect the heart and brain of asagacious, if octogenarian, detective.
The hall in which they now found themselves waswide, old-fashioned, and sparsely furnished in the ancient mannerto be observed in such time-honored structures. Two doors led intothis hall, both of which now stood open. Taking advantage of thisfact, they entered the nearest, which was nearly opposite the topof the staircase they had just ascended, and found themselves in aroom barren as a doctor's outer office. There was nothing hereworth their attention, and they would have left the place asunceremoniously as they had entered it if they had not caughtglimpses of richness which promised an interior of uncommonelegance, behind the half-drawn folds of a portière at the furtherend of the room.
Advancing through the doorway thus indicated, theytook one look about them and stood appalled. Nothing in theirexperience (and they had both experienced much) had prepared themfor the thrilling, the solemn nature of what they were here calledupon to contemplate.
Shall I attempt its description?
A room small and of circular shape, hung withstrange tapestries relieved here and there by priceless curios, andlit, although it was still daylight, by a jet of rose-colored lightconcentrated, not on the rows and rows of books around the lowerportion of the room, or on the one great picture which at anothertime might have drawn the eye and held the attention, but on theupturned face of a man lying on a bearskin rug with a dagger in hisheart and on his breast a cross whose golden lines, sharplyoutlined against his long, dark, swathing garment, gave him theappearance of a saint prepared in some holy place for burial, savethat the dagger spoke of violent death, and his face of an anguishfor which Mr. Gryce, notwithstanding his lifelong experience, foundno name, so little did it answer to a sensation of fear, pain, orsurprise, or any of the emotions usually visible on thecountenances of such as have fallen under the unexpected stroke ofan assassin.
CHAPTER II.
MYSTERIES.
A moment of indecision, of awe even, elapsed beforeMr. Gryce recovered himself. The dim light, the awesome silence,the unexpected surroundings recalling a romantic age, themotionless figure of him who so lately had been the master of thehouse, lying outstretched as for the tomb, with the sacred symbolon his breast offering such violent contradiction to the earthlypassion which had driven the dagger home, were enough to move eventhe tried spirit of this old officer of the law and confuse a mindwhich, in the years of his long connection with the force, had hadmany serious problems to work upon, but never one just likethis.
It was only for a moment, though. Before the manbehind him had given utterance to his own bewilderment andsurprise, Mr. Gryce had passed in and taken his stand by theprostrate figure.
That it was that of a man who had long since ceasedto breathe he could not for a moment doubt; yet his first act wasto make sure of the fact by laying his hand on the pulse andexamining the eyes, whose expression of r