Jamail Center for Legal Research
Tarlton Law Library

     THE morning papers contained a more detailed account of the murder 
than those of the evening before; but, to my great relief, in none of them 
was Eleanore's name mentioned in the connection I most dreaded. 
     The final paragraph in the Times ran thus: 
     "The detectives are upon the track of the missing girl, Hannah." 
And in the Herald I read the following notice: 

     "A Liberal Reward will be given by the relatives of Horatio Leav-
enworth, Esq., deceased, for any news of the whereabouts of one
Hannah Chester, disappeared from the house — Fifth Avenue since 
the evening of March 4. Said girl was of Irish extraction; in age about 
twenty-five, and may be known by the following characteristics. Form
tall and slender; hair dark brown with a tinge of red; complexion 
fresh; features delicate and well made; hands small, but with the 
fingers much pricked by the use of the needle; feet large, and of a 
coarser type than the hands. She had on when last seen a checked 
gingham dress, brown and white, and was supposed to have
wrapped herself in a red and green blanket shawl, very old. Beside the
the above distinctive marks, she had upon her right hand wrist the
scar of a large burn; also a pit or two of smallpox upon the left temple."

     This paragraph turned my thoughts in a new direction. Oddly enough, 
I had expended very little thought upon this girl; and yet how apparent 
it was that she was the one person upon whose testimony, if given, the 
whole case in reality hinged, I could not agree with those who 
considered her as personally implicated in the murder. An accomplice, 
conscious of what was before her, would have hid in her pockets 
whatever money she possessed. But the roll of bills found in Hannah's 
trunk proved her to have left too hurriedly for this precaution. 
On the other hand, if this girl had come unexpectedly upon the assassin 
at his work, how could she have been hustled from the house without 
creating a disturbance loud enough to have been heard by the ladies, 
one of whom had her door open? An innocent girl's first impulse upon 
such an occasion would have been to scream; and yet no scream was 
heard; she simply disappeared. What were we to think then? That the 
person seen by her was one both known and trusted? I would not consider
such a possibility; so laying down the paper, I endeavored to put away 
all further consideration of the affair till I had acquired more facts 
upon which to base the theory. But who can control his thoughts when 
over-excited upon any one theme? All the morning I found myself 
turning the case over in my mind, arriving ever at one of two conclu-
sions. Hannah Chester must be found, or Eleanore Leavenworth must 
explain when and by what means the key of the library door came into 
her possession. 
     At two o'clock I started from my office to attend the inquest; but, 
being delayed on the way, missed arriving at the house until after the 
delivery of the verdict. This was a disappointment to me, especially as 

by these means I lost the opportunity of seeing Eleanore Leavenworth, 
she having retired to her room immediately upon the dismissal of the 
jury. But Mr. Harwell was visible, and from him I heard what the 
verdict had been. 
     "Death by means of a pistol shot from the hand of some person 
unknown." 
     The result of the inquest was a great relief to me. I had feared 
worse. Nor could I help seeing that, for all his studied self-command, 
the pale-faced secretary shared in my satisfaction. 
     What was less of a relief to me was the fact, soon communicated, 
that Mr. Gryce and his subordinates had left the premises immediately 
upon the delivery of the verdict. Mr. Gryce was not the man to forsake 
an affair like this while anything of importance connected with it 
remained unexplained. Could it be he meditated any decisive action? 
Somewhat alarmed, I was about to hurry from the house for the purpose 
of learning what his intentions were, when a sudden movement in the 
front lower window of the house on the opposite side of the way 
arrested my attention, and, looking closer, I detected the face of Mr. 
Fobbs peering out from behind the curtain. The sight assured me I was 
not wrong in my estimate of Mr. Gryce; and, struck with pity for the 
desolate girl left to meet the exigencies of a fate to which this watch 
upon her movements was but the evident precursor, I stepped back and 
sent her a note, in which, as Mr. Veeley's representative, I proffered 
my services in case of any sudden emergency, saying I was always to be 
found in my rooms between the hours of six and eight. This done, I 
proceeded to the house in Thirty-seventh Street where I had left Miss 
Mary Leavenworth the day before. 

     Ushered into the long and narrow drawing-room which of late years 
has been so fashionable in our uptown houses, I found myself almost 
immediately in the presence of Miss Leavenworth. 
     "Oh," she cried, with an eloquent gesture of welcome, "I had begun 
to think I was forsaken!" and advancing impulsively, she held out her 
hand. "What is the news from home?" 
     "A verdict of murder, Miss Leavenworth." 
     Her eyes did not lose their question. 
     "Perpetrated by party or parties unknown." 
     A look of relief broke softly across her features. 
     "And they are all gone?" she exclaimed. 
     "I found no one in the house who did not belong there." 
     "Oh! then we can breathe easily again." 
     I glanced hastily up and down the room. 
     "There is no one here," said she. 
     And still I hesitated. At length, in an awkward way enough, I turned 
towards her and said: 
     "I do not wish either to offend or alarm you, but I must say that I
consider it your duty to return to your own home to-night." 
     "Why?" she stammered. "Is there any particular reason for my 
doing so? Have you not perceived the impossibility of my remaining in 
the same house with Eleanore?" 
     "Miss Leavenworth, I cannot recognize any so-called impossibility 
of this nature. Eleanore is your cousin; has been brought up to regard 
you as a sister; it is not worthy of you to desert her at the time of 
her necessity. You will see this as I do, if you will allow yourself a 
moment's dispassionate thought." 
     "Dispassionate thought is hardly possible under the circumstances," 

she returned, with a smile of bitter irony. 
     But before I could reply to this, she softened, and asked if I was 
very anxious to have her return; and when I replied, "More than I can 
say," she trembled and looked for a moment as if she were half inclined 
to yield; but suddenly broke into tears, crying it was impossible, and 
that I was cruel to ask it. 
     I drew back, baffled and sore. "Pardon me," said I, "I have indeed 
transgressed the bounds allotted to me. I will not do so again; you 
have doubtless many friends; let some of them advise you." 
     She turned upon me all fire. "The friends you speak of are 
flatterers. You alone have the courage to command me to do what is 
right." 
     "Excuse me, I do not command; I only entreat." 
     She made no reply, but began pacing the room, her eyes fixed, her 
hands working convulsively. "You little know what you ask," said she. 
"I feel as though the very atmosphere of that house would destroy me; 
but—why cannot Eleanore come here?" she impulsively inquired. "I 
know Mrs. Gilbert will be quite willing, and I could keep my room, and 
we need not meet." 
     "You forget that there is another call at home, besides the one I 
have already mentioned. To-morrow afternoon your uncle is to be buried." 
     "O yes; poor, poor uncle!" 
     "You are the head of the household," I now ventured, "and the 
proper one to attend to the final offices towards one who has done so 
much for you." 
     There was something strange in the look which she gave me. "It is 
true," she assented. Then, with a 

grand turn of her body, and a quick air of determination: "I am desirous 
of being worthy of your good opinion. I will go back to my cousin, Mr. 
Raymond." 
     I felt my spirits rise a little; I took her by the hand. "May 
that cousin have no need of the comfort which I am now sure you will be 
ready to give her." 
     Her hand dropped from mine. "I mean to do my duty," was her cold 
response. 
     As I descended the stoop, I met a certain thin and fashionably 
dressed young man, who gave me a very sharp look as he passed. As he 
wore his clothes a little too conspicuously for the perfect gentleman, 
and as I had some remembrance of having seen him at the inquest, I set 
him down for a man in Mr. Gryce's employ, and hasted on towards the 
avenue; when what was my surprise to find on the corner another 
person, who, while pretending to be on the look out for a car, cast 
upon me, as I approached, a furtive glance of intense inquiry. As this
latter was, without question, a gentleman, I felt some annoyance, and, 
walking quietly up to him, asked if he found my countenance familiar, 
that he scrutinized it so closely. 
     "I find it a very agreeable one," was his unexpected reply, as he 
turned from me and walked down the avenue. 
     Nettled, and in no small degree mortified, at the disadvantage in 
which his courtesy had placed me, I stood watching him as he 
disappeared, asking myself who and what he was. For he was not only a 
gentleman, but a marked one; possessing features of unusual symmetry as 
well as a form of peculiar elegance. Not so very young — he might well 
be forty — there were yet evident on his face the impress of youth's 
strongest emotions, not a curve of his chin nor a glance of his eye 

betraying in any way the slightest leaning towards ennui, though 
face and figure were of that type which seems most to invite and 
cherish it. 
     "He can have no connection with the police force," thought I; "nor 
is it by any means certain that he knows me, or is interested in my 
affairs; but I shall not soon forget him, for all that." 
     The summons from Eleanore Leavenworth came about eight o'clock in 
the evening. It was brought by Thomas, and read as follows: 
     "Come, Oh, come! I —" there breaking off in a tremble, as if the 
pen had fallen from a nerveless hand. 
     It did not take me long to find my way to her home.