Bab Bab 22 · That a Methodist clergyman, who has since died, lived at that

. That a Methodist clergyman, who has since died, lived at that

time within a radius of twenty miles of said watering-place.

I next asked myself how I was to establish these facts. Mr.

Clavering’s life was as yet too little known to me to offer me any

assistance; so, leaving it for the present, I took up the thread

of Eleanore’s history, and found that at the time given me she had

been in R----, a fashionable watering-place in this State. Now, if

his was true, and my theory correct, he must have been there also.

To prove this fact, became, consequently, my first business. I

resolved to go to R---- on the morrow.

But before proceeding in an undertaking of such importance, I

considered it expedient to make such inquiries and collect such

facts as the few hours I had left to work in rendered possible. I

went first to the house of Mr. Gryce.

I found him lying upon a hard sofa, in the bare sitting-room I have

before mentioned, suffering from a severe attack of rheumatism.

His hands were done up in bandages, and his feet incased in

multiplied folds of a dingy red shawl which looked as if it had

been through the wars. Greeting me with a short nod that was both

a welcome and an apology, he devoted a few words to an explanation

of his unwonted position; and then, without further preliminaries,

rushed into the subject which was uppermost in both our minds

by inquiring, in a slightly sarcastic way, if I was very much

surprised to find my bird flown when I returned to the Hoffman

House that afternoon.

“I was astonished to find you allowed him to fly at this time,” I

replied. “From the manner in which you requested me to make his

acquaintance, I supposed you considered him an important character

in the tragedy which has just been enacted.”

“And what makes you think I don’t? Oh, the fact that I let him go

off so easily? That’s no proof. I never fiddle with the brakes till

the car starts down-hill. But let that pass for the present; Mr.

Clavering, then, did not explain himself before going?”

“That is a question which I find it exceedingly difficult to

answer. Hampered by circumstances, I cannot at present speak with

the directness which is your due, but what I can say, I will. Know,

then, that in my opinion Mr. Clavering did explain himself in an

interview with me this morning. But it was done in so blind a way,

it will be necessary for me to make a few investigations before

I shall feel sufficiently sure of my ground to take you into my

confidence. He has given me a possible clue----”

“Wait,” said Mr. Gryce; “does he know this? Was it done

intentionally and with sinister motive, or unconsciously and in

plain good faith?”

“In good faith, I should say.”

Mr. Gryce remained silent for a moment. “It is very unfortunate you

cannot explain yourself a little more definitely,” he said at last.

“I am almost afraid to trust you to make investigations, as you

call them, on your own hook. You are not used to the business, and

will lose time, to say nothing of running upon false scents, and

using up your strength on unprofitable details.”

“You should have thought of that when you admitted me into

partnership.”

“And you absolutely insist upon working this mine alone?”

“Mr. Gryce, the matter stands just here. Mr. Clavering, for all I

know, is a gentleman of untarnished reputation. I am not even aware

for what purpose you set me upon his trail. I only know that in

thus following it I have come upon certain facts that seem worthy

of further investigation.”

“Well, well; you know best. But the days are slipping by. Something

must be done, and soon. The public are becoming clamorous.”

“I know it, and for that reason I have come to you for such

assistance as you can give me at this stage of the proceedings. You

are in possession of certain facts relating to this man which it

concerns me to know, or your conduct in reference to him has been

purposeless. Now, frankly, will you make me master of those facts:

in short, tell me all you know of Mr. Clavering, without requiring

an immediate return of confidence on my part?”

“That is asking a great deal of a professional detective.”

“I know it, and under other circumstances I should hesitate long

before preferring such a request; but as things are, I don’t see

how I am to proceed in the matter without some such concession on

your part. At all events----”

“Wait a moment! Is not Mr. Clavering the lover of one of the young

ladies?”

Anxious as I was to preserve the secret of my interest in that

gentleman, I could not prevent the blush from rising to my face at

the suddenness of this question.

“I thought as much,” he went on. “Being neither a relative nor

acknowledged friend, I took it for granted he must occupy some such

position as that in the family.”

“I do not see why you should draw such an inference,” said I,

anxious to determine how much he knew about him. “Mr. Clavering is

a stranger in town; has not even been in this country long; has

indeed had no time to establish himself upon any such footing as

you suggest.”

“This is not the only time Mr. Clavering has been in New York. He

was here a year ago to my certain knowledge.”

“You know that?”

“Yes.”

“How much more do you know? Can it be possible I am groping blindly

about for facts which are already in your possession? I pray you

listen to my entreaties, Mr. Gryce, and acquaint me at once with

what I want to know. You will not regret it. I have no selfish

motive in this matter. If I succeed, the glory shall be yours; it I

fail, the shame of the defeat shall be mine.”

“That is fair,” he muttered. “And how about the reward?”

“My reward will be to free an innocent woman from the imputation of

crime which hangs over her.”

This assurance seemed to satisfy him. His voice and appearance

changed; for a moment he looked quite confidential. “Well, well,”

said he; “and what is it you want to know?”

“I should first like to know how your suspicions came to light on

him at all. What reason had you for thinking a gentleman of his

bearing and position was in any way connected with this affair?”

“That is a question you ought not to be obliged to put,” he

returned.

“How so?”

“Simply because the opportunity of answering it was in your hands

before ever it came into mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember the letter mailed in your presence by Miss Mary

Leavenworth during your drive from her home to that of her friend

in Thirty-seventh Street?”

“On the afternoon of the inquest?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly, but----”

“You never thought to look at its superscription before it was

dropped into the box.”

“I had neither opportunity nor right to do so.”

“Was it not written in your presence?”

“It was.”

“And you never regarded the affair as worth your attention?”

“However I may have regarded it, I did not see how I could prevent

Miss Leavenworth from dropping a letter into a box if she chose to

do so.”

“That is because you are a _gentleman_. Well, it has its

disadvantages,” he muttered broodingly.

“But you,” said I; “how came you to know anything about this

letter? Ah, I see,” remembering that the carriage in which we were

riding at the time had been procured for us by him. “The man on the

box was in your pay, and informed, as you call it.”

Mr. Gryce winked at his muffled toes mysteriously. “That is not the

point,” he said. “Enough that I heard that a letter, which might

reasonably prove to be of some interest to me, had been dropped at

such an hour into the box on the corner of a certain street. That,

coinciding in the opinion of my informant, I telegraphed to the

station connected with that box to take note of the address of a

suspicious-looking letter about to pass through their hands on the

way to the General Post-Office, and following up the telegram in

person, found that a curious epistle addressed in lead pencil and

sealed with a stamp, had just arrived, the address of which I was

allowed to see----”

“And which was?”

“Henry R. Clavering, Hoffman House, New York.”

I drew a deep breath. “And so that is how your attention first came

to be directed to this man?”

“Yes.”

“Strange. But go on--what next?”

“Why, next I followed up the clue by going to the Hoffman House

and instituting inquiries. I learned that Mr. Clavering was a

regular guest of the hotel. That he had come there, direct from the

Liverpool steamer, about three months since, and, registering his

name as Henry R. Clavering, Esq., London, had engaged a first-class

room which he had kept ever since. That, although nothing definite

was known concerning him, he had been seen with various highly

respectable people, both of his own nation and ours, by all of whom

he was treated with respect. And lastly, that while not liberal, he

had given many evidences of being a man of means. So much done, I

entered the office, and waited for him to come in, in the hope of

having an opportunity to observe his manner when the clerk handed

him that strange-looking letter from Mary Leavenworth.”

“And did you succeed?”

“No; an awkward gawk of a fellow stepped between us just at the

critical moment, and shut off my view. But I heard enough that

evening from the clerk and servants, of the agitation he had shown

on receiving it, to convince me I was upon a trail worth following.

I accordingly put on my men, and for two days Mr. Clavering was

subjected to the most rigid watch a man ever walked under. But

nothing was gained by it; his interest in the murder, if interest

at all, was a secret one; and though he walked the streets, studied

the papers, and haunted the vicinity of the house in Fifth Avenue,

he not only refrained from actually approaching it, but made no

attempt to communicate with any of the family. Meanwhile, you

crossed my path, and with your determination incited me to renewed

effort. Convinced from Mr. Clavering’s bearing, and the gossip I

had by this time gathered in regard to him, that no one short of a

gentleman and a friend could succeed in getting at the clue of his

connection with this family, I handed him over to you, and----”

“Found me rather an unmanageable colleague.”

Mr. Gryce smiled very much as if a sour plum had been put in his

mouth, but made no reply; and a momentary pause ensued.

“Did you think to inquire,” I asked at last, “if any one knew where

Mr. Clavering had spent the evening of the murder?”

“Yes; but with no good result. It was agreed he went out during

the evening; also that he was in his bed in the morning when the

servant came in to make his fire; but further than this no one

seemed posted.”

“So that, in fact, you gleaned nothing that would in any way

connect this man with the murder except his marked and agitated

interest in it, and the fact that a niece of the murdered man had

written a letter to him?”

“That is all.”

“Another question; did you hear in what manner and at what time he

procured a newspaper that evening?”

“No; I only learned that he was observed, by more than one, to

hasten out of the dining-room with the _Post_ in his hand, and go

immediately to his room without touching his dinner.”

“Humph! that does not look---”

“If Mr. Clavering had had a guilty knowledge of the crime, he would

either have ordered dinner before opening the paper, or, having

ordered it, he would have eaten it.”

“Then you do not believe, from what you have learned, that Mr.

Clavering is the guilty party?”

Mr. Gryce shifted uneasily, glanced at the papers protruding from

my coat pocket and exclaimed: “I am ready to be convinced by you

that he is.”

That sentence recalled me to the business in hand. Without

appearing to notice his look, I recurred to my questions.

“How came you to know that Mr. Clavering was in this city last

summer? Did you learn that, too, at the Hoffman House?”

“No; I ascertained that in quite another way. In short, I have had

a communication from London in regard to the matter.

“From London?”

“Yes; I’ve a friend there in my own line of business, who sometimes

assists me with a bit of information, when requested.”

“But how? You have not had time to write to London, and receive an

answer since the murder.”

“It is not necessary to write. It is enough for me to telegraph him

the name of a person, for him to understand that I want to know

everything he can gather in a reasonable length of time about that

person.”

“And you sent the name of Mr. Clavering to him?”

“Yes, in cipher.”

“And have received a reply?”

“This morning.”

I looked towards his desk.

“It is not there,” he said; “if you will be kind enough to feel in

my breast pocket you will find a letter----”

It was in my hand before he finished his sentence. “Excuse my

eagerness,” I said. “This kind of business is new to me, you know.”

He smiled indulgently at a very old and faded picture hanging on

the wall before him. “Eagerness is not a fault; only the betrayal

of it. But read out what you have there. Let us hear what my friend

Brown has to tell us of Mr. Henry Ritchie Clavering, of Portland

Place, London.”

I took the paper to the light and read as follows:

“Henry Ritchie Clavering, Gentleman, aged 43. Born in ----,

Hertfordshire, England. His father was Chas. Clavering,

for short time in the army. Mother was Helen Ritchie, of

Dumfriesshire, Scotland; she is still living. Home with H.

R. C., in Portland Place, London. H. R. C. is a bachelor,

6 ft. high, squarely built, weight about 12 stone. Dark

complexion, regular features. Eyes dark brown; nose

straight. Called a handsome man; walks erect and rapidly.

In society is considered a good fellow; rather a favorite,

especially with ladies. Is liberal, not extravagant;

reported to be worth about 5000 pounds per year, and

appearances give color to this statement. Property consists

of a small estate in Hertfordshire, and some funds, amount

not known. Since writing this much, a correspondent sends

the following in regard to his history. In ’46 went from

uncle’s house to Eton. From Eton went to Oxford, graduating

in ’56. Scholarship good. In 1855 his uncle died, and his

father succeeded to the estates. Father died in ’57 by a

fall from his horse or a similar accident. Within a very

short time H. R. C. took his mother to London, to the

residence named, where they have lived to the present time.

“Travelled considerably in 1860; part of the time was with

---- ----, of Munich; also in party of Vandervorts from New

York; went as far east as Cairo. Went to America in 1875

alone, but at end of three months returned on account of

mother’s illness. Nothing is known of his movements while

in America.

“From servants learn that he was always a favorite from a

boy. More recently has become somewhat taciturn. Toward

last of his stay watched the post carefully, especially

foreign ones. Posted scarcely anything but newspapers. Has

written to Munich. Have seen, from waste-paper basket,

torn envelope directed to Amy Belden, no address. American

correspondents mostly in Boston; two in New York. Names

not known, but supposed to be bankers. Brought home

considerable luggage, and fitted up part of house, as for

a lady. This was closed soon afterwards. Left for America

two months since. Has been, I understand, travelling in the

south. Has telegraphed twice to Portland Place. His friends

hear from him but rarely. Letters rec’d recently, posted in

New York. One by last steamer posted in F----, N. Y.

“Business here conducted by ----. In the country, ---- of

---- has charge of the property.

“BROWN.”

The document fell from my hands.

F----, N. Y., was a small town near R----.

“Your friend is a trump,” I declared. “He tells me just what I

wanted most to know.” And, taking out my book, I made memoranda of

the facts which had most forcibly struck me during my perusal of

the communication before me. “With the aid of what he tells me, I

shall ferret out the mystery of Henry Clavering in a week; see if I

do not.”

“And how soon,” inquired Mr. Gryce, “may I expect to be allowed to

take a hand in the game?”

“As soon as I am reasonably assured I am upon the right tack.”

“And what will it take to assure you of that?”

“Not much; a certain point settled, and----”

“Hold on; who knows but what I can do that for you?” And, looking

towards the desk which stood in the corner, Mr. Gryce asked me if I

would be kind enough to open the top drawer and bring him the bits

of partly-burned paper I would find there.

Hastily complying, I brought three or four strips of ragged paper,

and laid them on the table at his side.

“Another result of Fobbs’ researches under the coal on the first

day of the inquest,” Mr. Gryce abruptly explained. “You thought the

key was all he found. Well, it wasn’t. A second turning over of the

coal brought these to light, and very interesting they are, too.”

I immediately bent over the torn and discolored scraps with great

anxiety. They were four in number, and appeared at first glance

to be the mere remnants of a sheet of common writing-paper, torn

lengthwise into strips, and twisted up into lighters; but, upon

closer inspection, they showed traces of writing upon one side,

and, what was more important still, the presence of one or more

drops of spattered blood. This latter discovery was horrible to me,

and so overcame me for the moment that I put the scraps down, and,

turning towards Mr. Gryce, inquired:

“What do you make of them?”

“That is just the question I was going to put to you.”

Swallowing my disgust, I took them up again. “They look like the

remnants of some old letter,” said I.

“They have that appearance,” Mr. Gryce grimly assented.

“A letter which, from the drop of blood observable on the written

side, must have been lying face up on Mr. Leavenworth’s table at

the time of the murder--”

“Just so.”

“And from the uniformity in width of each of these pieces, as well

as their tendency to curl up when left alone, must first have been

torn into even strips, and then severally rolled up, before being

tossed into the grate where they were afterwards found.”

“That is all good,” said Mr. Gryce; “go on.”

“The writing, so far as discernible, is that of a cultivated

gentleman. It is not that of Mr. Leavenworth; for I have studied

his chirography too much lately not to know it at a glance; but it

may be--Hold!” I suddenly exclaimed, “have you any mucilage handy?

I think, if I could paste these strips down upon a piece of paper,

so that they would remain flat, I should be able to tell you what I

think of them much more easily.”

“There is mucilage on the desk,” signified Mr. Gryce.

Procuring it, I proceeded to consult the scraps once more for

evidence to guide me in their arrangement. These were more marked

than I expected; the longer and best preserved strip, with its “Mr.

Hor” at the top, showing itself at first blush to be the left-hand

margin of the letter, while the machine-cut edge of the next in

length presented tokens fully as conclusive of its being the

right-hand margin of the same. Selecting these, then, I pasted them

down on a piece of paper at just the distance they would occupy if

the sheet from which they were torn was of the ordinary commercial

note size. Immediately it became apparent: first, that it would

take two other strips of the same width to fill up the space left

between them; and secondly, that the writing did not terminate at

the foot of the sheet, but was carried on to another page.

Taking up the third strip, I looked at its edge; it was machine-cut

at the top, and showed by the arrangement of its words that it was

the margin strip of a second leaf. Pasting that down by itself,

I scrutinized the fourth, and finding it also machine-cut at the

top but not on the side, endeavored to fit it to the piece already

pasted down, but the words would not match. Moving it along to the

position it would hold if it were the third strip, I fastened it

down; the whole presenting, when completed, the appearance seen on

the opposite page.

“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, “that’s business.” Then, as I held it

up before his eyes: “But don’t show it to me. Study it yourself,

and tell me what you think of it.”

“Well,” said I, “this much is certain: that it is a letter directed

to Mr. Leavenworth from some House, and dated--let’s see; that is

an _h_, isn’t it?” And I pointed to the one letter just discernible

on the line under the word House.

“I should think so; but don’t ask me.”

“It must be an _h_. The year is 1875, and this is not the

termination of either January or February. Dated, then, March 1st,

1876, and signed ----”

Mr. Gryce rolled his eyes in anticipatory ecstasy towards the

ceiling.

“By Henry Clavering,” I announced without hesitation.

Mr. Gryce’s eyes returned to his swathed finger-ends. “Humph! how

do you know that?”

“Wait a moment, and I’ll show you”; and, taking out of my pocket

the card which Mr. Clavering had handed me as an introduction at

our late interview, I laid it underneath the last line of writing

on the second page. One glance was sufficient. Henry Ritchie

Clavering on the card; H----chie--in the same handwriting on the

letter.

“Clavering it is,” said he, “without a doubt.” But I saw he was not

surprised.

“And now,” I continued, “for its general tenor and meaning.” And,

commencing at the beginning, I read aloud the words as they came,

with pauses at the breaks, something as follows: “Mr. Hor--Dear--a

niece whom yo--one too who see--the love and trus--any other man

ca--autiful, so char----s she in face fo---- conversation. ery

rose has its ---- rose is no exception ----ely as she is, char----

tender as she is, s----pable of tramplin---- one who trusted ----

heart ----. ---- him to ---- he owes a ---- honor ----ance.

“If ----t believe ---- her to ---- cruel ---- face, ---- what is

----ble serv---- yours

“H----tchie”

“It reads like a complaint against one of Mr. Leavenworth’s

nieces,” I said, and started at my own words.

“What is it?” cried Mr. Gryce; “what is the matter?”

“Why,” said I, “the fact is I have heard this very letter spoken

of. It _is_ a complaint against one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces,

and was written by Mr. Clavering.” And I told him of Mr. Harwell’s

communication in regard to the matter.

“Ah! then Mr. Harwell has been talking, has he? I thought he had

forsworn gossip.”

“Mr. Harwell and I have seen each other almost daily for the last

two weeks,” I replied. “It would be strange if he had nothing to

tell me.”

“And he says he has read a letter written to Mr. Leavenworth by Mr.

Clavering?”

“Yes; but the particular words of which he has now forgotten.”

“These few here may assist him in recalling the rest.”

“I would rather not admit him to a knowledge of the existence of

this piece of evidence. I don’t believe in letting any one into our

confidence whom we can conscientiously keep out.”

“I see you don’t,” dryly responded Mr. Gryce.

Not appearing to notice the fling conveyed by these words, I took

up the letter once more, and began pointing out such half-formed

words in it as I thought we might venture to complete, as the

Hor--, yo--, see--utiful----, har----, for----, tramplin----,

pable----, serv----.

This done, I next proposed the introduction of such others as

seemed necessary to the sense, as _Leavenworth_ after _Horatio_;

_Sir_ after _Dear_; _have_ with a possible _you_ before _a niece_;

_thorn_ after _its_ in the phrase _rose has its_; _on after

trampling_; _whom_ after _to_; _debt after a_; _you_ after _If_;

_me ask_ after _believe_; _beautiful_ after _cruel_.

Between the columns of words thus furnished I interposed a phrase

or two, here and there, the whole reading upon its completion as

follows:

“---- House.”

March 1st, 1876.

“_Mr. Horatio Leavenworth_;

“_Dear Sir_:

“(You) have a niece whom you    one too who seems    worthy

the love and trust     of any other man ca    so

beautiful, so charming    is she in face form and

conversation.    But every rose has its thorn and (this) rose

is no exception    lovely as she is, charming (as she is,)

tender as she is, she    is    capable of trampling on

one who trusted her heart a

* * * * *

him to whom she owes a debt of honor a    ance

“If you don’t believe me ask her to    her    cruel beautiful

face what is (her) humble servant yours:

“Henry Ritchie Clavering.”

“I think that will do,” said Mr. Gryce. “Its general tenor is

evident, and that is all we want at this time.”

“The whole tone of it is anything but complimentary to the lady

it mentions,” I remarked. “He must have had, or imagined he had,

some desperate grievance, to provoke him to the use of such plain

language in regard to one he can still characterize as tender,

charming, beautiful.”

“Grievances are apt to lie back of mysterious crimes.”

“I think I know what this one was,” I said; “but”--seeing him

look up--“must decline to communicate my suspicion to you for the

present. My theory stands unshaken, and in some degree confirmed;

and that is all I can say.”

“Then this letter does not supply the link you wanted?”

“No: it is a valuable bit of evidence; but it is not the link I am

in search of just now.”

“Yet it must be an important clue, or Eleanore Leavenworth would

not have been to such pains, first to take it in the way she did

from her uncle’s table, and secondly----”

“Wait! what makes you think this is the paper she took, or was

believed to have taken, from Mr. Leavenworth’s table on that fatal

morning?”

“Why, the fact that it was found together with the key, which we

know she dropped into the grate, and that there are drops of blood

on it.”

I shook my head.

“Why do you shake your head?” asked Mr. Gryce.

“Because I am not satisfied with your reason for believing this to

be the paper taken by her from Mr. Leavenworth’s table.”

“And why?”

“Well, first, because Fobbs does not speak of seeing any paper

in her hand, when she bent over the fire; leaving us to conclude

that these pieces were in the scuttle of coal she threw upon it;

which surely you must acknowledge to be a strange place for her to

have put a paper she took such pains to gain possession of; and,

secondly, for the reason that these scraps were twisted as if they

had been used for curl papers, or something of that kind; a fact

hard to explain by your hypothesis.”

The detective’s eye stole in the direction of my necktie, which was

as near as he ever came to a face. “You are a bright one,” said he;

“a very bright one. I quite admire you, Mr. Raymond.”

A little surprised, and not altogether pleased with this unexpected

compliment, I regarded him doubtfully for a moment and then asked:

“What is your opinion upon the matter?”

“Oh, you know I have no opinion. I gave up everything of that kind

when I put the affair into your hands.”

“Still----”

“That the letter of which these scraps are the remnant was on Mr.

Leavenworth’s table at the time of the murder is believed. That

upon the body being removed, a paper was taken from the table by

Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, is also believed. That, when she found

her action had been noticed, and attention called to this paper

and the key, she resorted to subterfuge in order to escape the

vigilance of the watch that had been set over her, and, partially

succeeding in her endeavor, flung the key into the fire from which

these same scraps were afterwards recovered, is also known. The

conclusion I leave to your judgment.”

“Very well, then,” said I, rising; “we will let conclusions go for

the present. My mind must be satisfied in regard to the truth or

falsity of a certain theory of mine, for my judgment to be worth

much on this or any other matter connected with the affair.”

And, only waiting to get the address of his subordinate P., in case

I should need assistance in my investigations, I left Mr. Gryce,

and proceeded immediately to the house of Mr. Veeley.