The Leavenworth Case

  XIV. MR. GRYCE AT HOME

  “Nay, but hear me.” Measure for Measure.

  THAT the guilty person for whom Eleanore Leavenworth stood ready tosacrifice herself was one for whom she had formerly cherished affection,I could no longer doubt; love, or the strong sense of duty growing outof love, being alone sufficient to account for such determined action.Obnoxious as it was to all my prejudices, one name alone, that of thecommonplace secretary, with his sudden heats and changeful manners, hisodd ways and studied self-possession, would recur to my mind whenever Iasked myself who this person could be.

  Not that, without the light which had been thrown upon the affair byEleanore’s strange behavior, I should have selected this man as one inany way open to suspicion; the peculiarity of his manner at the inquestnot being marked enough to counteract the improbability of one in hisrelations to the deceased finding sufficient motive for a crime somanifestly without favorable results to himself. But if love had enteredas a factor into the affair, what might not be expected? James Harwell,simple amanuensis to a retired tea-merchant, was one man; James Harwell,swayed by passion for a woman beautiful as Eleanore Leavenworth, wasanother; and in placing him upon the list of those parties open tosuspicion I felt I was only doing what was warranted by a properconsideration of probabilities.

  But, between casual suspicion and actual proof, what a gulf! To believeJames Harwell capable of guilt, and to find evidence enough to accusehim of it, were two very different things. I felt myself instinctivelyshrink from the task, before I had fully made up my mind to attempt it;some relenting thought of his unhappy position, if innocent, forcingitself upon me, and making my very distrust of him seem personallyungenerous if not absolutely unjust. If I had liked the man better, Ishould not have been so ready to look upon him with doubt.

  But Eleanore must be saved at all hazards. Once delivered up to theblight of suspicion, who could tell what the result might be; the arrestof her person perhaps,--a thing which, once accomplished, would cast ashadow over her young life that it would take more than time to dispel.The accusation of an impecunious secretary would be less horrible thanthis. I determined to make an early call upon Mr. Gryce.

  Meanwhile the contrasted pictures of Eleanore standing with her handupon the breast of the dead, her face upraised and mirroring a glory,I could not recall without emotion; and Mary, fleeing a short half-hourlater indignantly from her presence, haunted me and kept me awake longafter midnight. It was like a double vision of light and darkness that,while contrasting, neither assimilated nor harmonized. I could not fleefrom it. Do what I would, the two pictures followed me, filling my soulwith alternate hope and distrust, till I knew not whether to place myhand with Eleanore on the breast of the dead, and swear implicit faithin her truth and purity, or to turn my face like Mary, and fly from whatI could neither comprehend nor reconcile.

  Expectant of difficulty, I started next morning upon my search for Mr.Gryce, with strong determination not to allow myself to become flurriedby disappointment nor discouraged by premature failure. My business wasto save Eleanore Leavenworth; and to do that, it was necessary for me topreserve, not only my equanimity, but my self-possession. The worstfear I anticipated was that matters would reach a crisis before I couldacquire the right, or obtain the opportunity, to interfere. However, thefact of Mr. Leavenworth’s funeral being announced for that day gaveme some comfort in that direction; my knowledge of Mr. Gryce beingsufficient, as I thought, to warrant me in believing he would wait tillafter that ceremony before proceeding to extreme measures.

  I do not know that I had any very definite ideas of what a detective’shome should be; but when I stood before the neat three-story brick houseto which I had been directed, I could not but acknowledge there wassomething in the aspect of its half-open shutters, over closely drawncurtains of spotless purity, highly suggestive of the character of itsinmate.

  A pale-looking youth, with vivid locks of red hair hanging straight downover either ear, answered my rather nervous ring. To my inquiry as towhether Mr. Gryce was in, he gave a kind of snort which might have meantno, but which I took to mean yes.

  “My name is Raymond, and I wish to see him.”

  He gave me one glance that took in every detail of my person andapparel, and pointed to a door at the head of the stairs. Not waitingfor further directions, I hastened up, knocked at the door he haddesignated, and went in. The broad back of Mr. Gryce, stooping above adesk that might have come over in the _Mayflower,_ confronted me.

  “Well!” he exclaimed; “this is an honor.” And rising, he opened with asqueak and shut with a bang the door of an enormous stove that occupiedthe centre of the room. “Rather chilly day, eh?”

  “Yes,” I returned, eyeing him closely to see if he was in acommunicative mood. “But I have had but little time to consider thestate of the weather. My anxiety in regard to this murder----”

  “To be sure,” he interrupted, fixing his eyes upon the poker, thoughnot with any hostile intention, I am sure. “A puzzling piece of businessenough. But perhaps it is an open book to you. I see you have somethingto communicate.”

  “I have, though I doubt if it is of the nature you expect. Mr. Gryce,since I saw you last, my convictions upon a certain point have beenstrengthened into an absolute belief. The object of your suspicions isan innocent woman.”

  If I had expected him to betray any surprise at this, I was destined tobe disappointed. “That is a very pleasing belief,” he observed. “I honoryou for entertaining it, Mr. Raymond.”

  I suppressed a movement of anger. “So thoroughly is it mine,” I went on,in the determination to arouse him in some way, “that I have come hereto-day to ask you in the name of justice and common humanity to suspendaction in that direction till we can convince ourselves there is notruer scent to go upon.”

  But there was no more show of curiosity than before. “Indeed!” he cried;“that is a singular request to come from a man like you.”

  I was not to be discomposed, “Mr. Gryce,” I went on, “a woman’s name,once tarnished, remains so forever. Eleanore Leavenworth has too manynoble traits to be thoughtlessly dealt with in so momentous a crisis. Ifyou will give me your attention, I promise you shall not regret it.”

  He smiled, and allowed his eyes to roam from the poker to the arm of mychair. “Very well,” he remarked; “I hear you; say on.”

  I drew my notes from my pocketbook, and laid them on the table.

  “What! memoranda?” he exclaimed. “Unsafe, very; never put your plans onpaper.”

  Taking no heed of the interruption, I went on.

  “Mr. Gryce, I have had fuller opportunities than yourself for studyingthis woman. I have seen her in a position which no guilty person couldoccupy, and I am assured, beyond all doubt, that not only her hands, buther heart, are pure from this crime. She may have some knowledge of itssecrets; that I do not presume to deny. The key seen in her possessionwould refute me if I did. But what if she has? You can never wish to seeso lovely a being brought to shame for withholding information which sheevidently considers it her duty to keep back, when by a little patientfinesse we may succeed in our purposes without it.”

  “But,” interposed the detective, “say this is so; how are we to arriveat the knowledge we want without following out the only clue which hasyet been given us?”

  “You will never reach it by following out any clue given you by EleanoreLeavenworth.”

  His eyebrows lifted expressively, but he said nothing.

  “Miss Eleanore Leavenworth has been used by some one acquainted with herfirmness, generosity, and perhaps love. Let us discover who possessessufficient power over her to control her to this extent, and we find theman we seek.”

  “Humph!” came from Mr. Gryce’s compressed lips, and no more.

  Determined that he should speak, I waited.

  “You have, then, some one in your mind”; he remarked at last, almostflippantly.

  “I mention no names,” I returned. “Al
l I want is further time.”

  “You are, then, intending to make a personal business of this matter?”

  “I am.”

  He gave a long, low whistle. “May I ask,” he inquired at length,“whether you expect to work entirely by yourself; or whether, if asuitable coadjutor were provided, you would disdain his assistance andslight his advice?”

  “I desire nothing more than to have you for my colleague.”

  The smile upon his face deepened ironically. “You must feel very sure ofyourself!” said he.

  “I am very sure of Miss Leavenworth.”

  The reply seemed to please him. “Let us hear what you propose doing.”

  I did not immediately answer. The truth was, I had formed no plans.

  “It seems to me,” he continued, “that you have undertaken a ratherdifficult task for an amateur. Better leave it to me, Mr. Raymond;better leave it to me.”

  “I am sure,” I returned, “that nothing would please me better----”

  “Not,” he interrupted, “but that a word from you now and then wouldbe welcome. I am not an egotist. I am open to suggestions: as, forinstance, now, if you could conveniently inform me of all you haveyourself seen and heard in regard to this matter, I should be most happyto listen.”

  Relieved to find him so amenable, I asked myself what I really had totell; not so much that he would consider vital. However, it would not doto hesitate now.

  “Mr. Gryce,” said I, “I have but few facts to add to those already knownto you. Indeed, I am more moved by convictions than facts. That EleanoreLeavenworth never committed this crime, I am assured. That, on the otherhand, the real perpetrator is known to her, I am equally certain;and that for some reason she considers it a sacred duty to shield theassassin, even at the risk of her own safety, follows as a matterof course from the facts. Now, with such data, it cannot be a verydifficult task for you or me to work out satisfactorily, to our ownminds at least, who this person can be. A little more knowledge of thefamily--”

  “You know nothing of its secret history, then?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Do not even know whether either of these girls is engaged to bemarried?”

  “I do not,” I returned, wincing at this direct expression of my ownthoughts.

  He remained a moment silent. “Mr. Raymond,” he cried at last, “haveyou any idea of the disadvantages under which a detective labors? Forinstance, now, you imagine I can insinuate myself into all sorts ofsociety, perhaps; but you are mistaken. Strange as it may appear, I havenever by any possibility of means succeeded with one class of persons atall. I cannot pass myself off for a gentleman. Tailors and barbers areno good; I am always found out.”

  He looked so dejected I could scarcely forbear smiling, notwithstandingmy secret care and anxiety.

  “I have even employed a French valet, who understood dancing andwhiskers; but it was all of no avail. The first gentleman I approachedstared at me,--real gentleman, I mean, none of your Americandandies,--and I had no stare to return; I had forgotten that emergencyin my confabs with Pierre Catnille Marie Make-face.”

  Amused, but a little discomposed by this sudden turn in theconversation, I looked at Mr. Gryce inquiringly.

  “Now you, I dare say, have no trouble? Was born one, perhaps. Can evenask a lady to dance without blushing, eh?”

  “Well,--” I commenced.

  “Just so,” he replied; “now, I can’t. I can enter a house, bow to themistress of it, let her be as elegant as she will, so long as I havea writ of arrest in my hand, or some such professional matter upon mymind; but when it comes to visiting in kid gloves, raising a glass ofchampagne in response to a toast--and such like, I am absolutely goodfor nothing.” And he plunged his two hands into his hair, and lookeddolefully at the head of the cane I carried in my hand. “But it is muchthe same with the whole of us. When we are in want of a gentleman towork for us, we have to go outside of our profession.”

  I began to see what he was driving at; but held my peace, vaguelyconscious I was likely to prove a necessity to him, after all.

  “Mr. Raymond,” he now said, almost abruptly; “do you know a gentleman bythe name of Clavering residing at present at the Hoffman House?”

  “Not that I am aware of.”

  “He is very polished in his manners; would you mind making hisacquaintance?”

  I followed Mr. Gryce’s example, and stared at the chimney-piece. “Icannot answer till I understand matters a little better,” I returned atlength.

  “There is not much to understand. Mr. Henry Clavering, a gentleman anda man of the world, resides at the Hoffman House. He is a stranger intown, without being strange; drives, walks, smokes, but never visits;looks at the ladies, but is never seen to bow to one. In short, aperson whom it is desirable to know; but whom, being a proud man,with something of the old-world prejudice against Yankee freedom andforwardness, I could no more approach in the way of acquaintance than Icould the Emperor of Austria.”

  “And you wish----”

  “He would make a very agreeable companion for a rising young lawyerof good family and undoubted respectability. I have no doubt, if youundertook to cultivate him, you would find him well worth the trouble.”

  “But----”

  “Might even desire to take him into familiar relations; to confide inhim, and----”

  “Mr. Gryce,” I hastily interrupted; “I can never consent to plot for anyman’s friendship for the sake of betraying him to the police.”

  “It is essential to your plans to make the acquaintance of Mr.Clavering,” he dryly replied.

  “Oh!” I returned, a light breaking in upon me; “he has some connectionwith this case, then?”

  Mr. Gryce smoothed his coat-sleeve thoughtfully. “I don’t know as itwill be necessary for you to betray him. You wouldn’t object to beingintroduced to him?”

  “No.”

  “Nor, if you found him pleasant, to converse with him?”

  “No.”

  “Not even if, in the course of conversation, you should come acrosssomething that might serve as a clue in your efforts to save EleanoreLeavenworth?”

  The no I uttered this time was less assured; the part of a spy was thevery last one I desired to play in the coming drama.

  “Well, then,” he went on, ignoring the doubtful tone in which my assenthad been given, “I advise you to immediately take up your quarters atthe Hoffman House.”

  “I doubt if that would do,” I said. “If I am not mistaken, I havealready seen this gentleman, and spoken to him.”

  “Where?”

  “Describe him first.”

  “Well, he is tall, finely formed, of very upright carriage, with ahandsome dark face, brown hair streaked with gray, a piercing eye, and asmooth address. A very imposing personage, I assure you.”

  “I have reason to think I have seen him,” I returned; and in a few wordstold him when and where.

  “Humph!” said he at the conclusion; “he is evidently as much interestedin you as we are in him.

  “How ‘s that? I think I see,” he added, after a moment’s thought.“Pity you spoke to him; may have created an unfavorable impression; andeverything depends upon your meeting without any distrust.”

  He rose and paced the floor.

  “Well, we must move slowly, that is all. Give him a chance to see you inother and better lights. Drop into the Hoffman House reading-room.Talk with the best men you meet while there; but not too much, or tooindiscriminately. Mr. Clavering is fastidious, and will not feel honoredby the attentions of one who is hail-fellow-well-met with everybody.Show yourself for what you are, and leave all advances to him; he ‘llmake them.”

  “Supposing we are under a mistake, and the man I met on the corner ofThirty-seventh Street was not Mr. Clavering?”

  “I should be greatly surprised, that’s all.”

  Not knowing what further objection to make, I remained silent.

  “And this head of mine would have to put on i
ts thinking-cap,” hepursued jovially.

  “Mr. Gryce,” I now said, anxious to show that all this talk about anunknown party had not served to put my own plans from my mind, “there isone person of whom we have not spoken.”

  “No?” he exclaimed softly, wheeling around until his broad backconfronted me. “And who may that be?”

  “Why, who but Mr.--” I could get no further. What right had I tomention any man’s name in this connection, without possessing sufficientevidence against him to make such mention justifiable? “I beg yourpardon,” said I; “but I think I will hold to my first impulse, and speakno names.”

  “Harwell?” he ejaculated easily.

  The quick blush rising to my face gave an involuntary assent.

  “I see no reason why we shouldn’t speak of him,” he went on; “that is,if there is anything to be gained by it.”

  “His testimony at the inquest was honest, you think?”

  “It has not been disproved.”

  “He is a peculiar man.”

  “And so am I.”

  I felt myself slightly nonplussed; and, conscious of appearing at adisadvantage, lifted my hat from the table and prepared to take myleave; but, suddenly thinking of Hannah, turned and asked if there wasany news of her.

  He seemed to debate with himself, hesitating so long that I began todoubt if this man intended to confide in me, after all, when suddenly hebrought his two hands down before him and exclaimed vehemently:

  “The evil one himself is in this business! If the earth had opened andswallowed up this girl, she couldn’t have more effectually disappeared.”

  I experienced a sinking of the heart. Eleanore had said: “Hannah can donothing for me.” Could it be that the girl was indeed gone, and forever?

  “I have innumerable agents at work, to say nothing of the generalpublic; and yet not so much as a whisper has come to me in regard to herwhereabouts or situation. I am only afraid we shall find her floating inthe river some fine morning, without a confession in her pocket.”

  “Everything hangs upon that girl’s testimony,” I remarked.

  He gave a short grunt. “What does Miss Leavenworth say about it?”

  “That the girl cannot help her.”

  I thought he looked a trifle surprised at this, but he covered it with anod and an exclamation. “She must be found for all that,” said he, “andshall, if I have to send out Q.”

  “Q?”

  “An agent of mine who is a living interrogation point; so we call him_Q,_ which is short for query.” Then, as I turned again to go: “When thecontents of the will are made known, come to me.”

  The will! I had forgotten the will.