The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(278)

                “It is the elder one they have summoned; the one who has been staying at Long Branch.”

                “How can they expect him then so soon?”

                “Because he is in the city. It seems the old gentleman is going to return on the New York, and as she is due here today, Franklin Van Burnam has come to New York to meet him.”

                “Humph!” thought I, “lively times are in prospect,” and for the first time I remembered my dinner and the orders which had not been given about some curtains which were to have been hung that day, and all the other reasons I had for being at home.



                             I must have shown my feelings, much as I pride myself upon my impassibility upon all occasions, for he immediately held out his arm, with an offer to pilot me through the crowd to my own house; and I was about to accept it when the door-bell rang so sharply that we involuntarily stopped.

                “A fresh witness or a telegram for the Coroner,” whispered the reporter in my ear.

                I tried to look indifferent, and doubtless made out pretty well, for he added, after a sly look in my face:

                “You do not care to stay any longer?”

                I made no reply, but I think he was impressed by my dignity. Could he not see that it would be the height of ill-manners for me to rush out in the face of any one coming in?

                An officer opened the door, and when we saw who stood there, I am sure that the reporter, as well as myself, was grateful that we listened to the dictates of politeness. It was young Mr. Van Burnam—Franklin; I mean the older and more respectable of the two sons.

                He was flushed and agitated, and looked as if he would like to annihilate the crowd pushing him about on his own stoop. He gave an angry glance backward as he stepped in, and then I saw that a carriage covered with baggage stood on the other side of the street, and gathered that he had not returned to his father’s house alone.

                “What has happened? What does all this mean?” were the words he hurled at us as the door closed behind him and he found himself face to face with a half dozen strangers, among whom the reporter and myself stood conspicuous.

                Mr. Gryce, coming suddenly from somewhere, was the one to answer him.

                “A painful occurrence, sir. A young girl has been found here, dead, crushed under one of your parlor cabinets.”

                “A young girl!” he repeated. (Oh, how glad I was that I had been brought up never to transgress the principles of politeness.) “Here! in this shut-up house? What young girl? You mean old woman, do you not? the house-cleaner or someone—”



                             “No, Mr. Van Burnam, we mean what we say, though possibly I should call her a young lady. She is dressed quite fashionably.”

                “The ——” Really I cannot repeat in this public manner the word which Mr. Van Burnam used. I excused him at the time, but I will not perpetuate his forgetfulness in these pages.

                “She is still lying as we found her,” Mr. Gryce now proceeded in his quiet, almost fatherly way. “Will you not take a look at her? Perhaps you can tell us who she is?”

                “I?” Mr. Van Burnam seemed quite shocked. “How should I know her! Some thief probably, killed while meddling with other people’s property.”

                “Perhaps,” quoth Mr. Gryce, laconically; at which I felt so angry, as tending to mislead my handsome young neighbor, that I irresistibly did what I had fully made up my mind not to do, that is, stepped into view and took a part in this conversation.