Tarlton Law Library
Jamail Center for Legal Research

     THAT the guilty person for whom Eleanore Leavenworth stood 
ready to sacrifice herself was one for whom she had formerly cherished
affection, I could no longer doubt; love, or the strong sense of duty
growing out of love, being alone sufficient to account for such
determined action. Obnoxious as it was to all my prejudices, one name
alone, that of the commonplace secretary, with his sudden heats and
changeful manners, his odd ways and studied self-possession, would
recur to my mind whenever I asked myself who this person could be.
     Not that, without the light which had been thrown upon the affair by
Eleanore's strange behavior, I should have selected this man as one in
any way open to suspicion; the peculiarity of his manner at the inquest
not being marked enough to counteract the improbability of one in his
relations to the deceased finding sufficient motive for a crime so
manifestly without favorable results to himself. But if love had

entered as 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, was another; and in placing him upon the list of those
parties open to suspicion I felt I was only doing what was warranted by
a proper consideration of probabilities.
     But, between casual suspicion and actual proof, what a gulf! To
believe James Harwell capable of guilt, and to find evidence enough to
accuse him of it, were two very different things. I felt myself
instinctively shrink from the task, before I had fully made up my mind
to attempt it; some relenting thought of his unhappy position, if
innocent, forcing itself upon me, and making my very distrust of him
seem personally ungenerous if not absolutely unjust. If I had liked the
man better, I should not have been so ready to look upon him with
doubt.
     But Eleanore must be saved at all hazards. Once delivered up to the
blight of suspicion, who could tell what the result might be? the arrest
of her person perhaps,—a thing which, once accomplished, would
cast a shadow over her young life that it would take more than time to
dispel. The accusation of an impecunious secretary would be less
horrible than this. I determined to make an early call upon Mr. Gryce.
     Meanwhile the contrasted pictures of Eleanore standing with her hand
upon the breast of the dead, her face upraised and mirroring a glory, I
could not recall without emotion; and Mary, fleeing a short half-hour
later indignantly from her presence, haunted me and kept me awake long
after midnight. It was like a double vision of light and darkness that,
while contrasting, neither assimilated nor harmonized. I could not flee

from it. Do what I would, the two pictures followed me, filling my soul
with alternate hope and distrust, till I knew not whether to place my
hand with Eleanore on the breast of the dead, and swear implicit faith
in her truth and purity, or to turn my face like Mary, and fly from
what I 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
flurried by disappointment nor discouraged by premature failure. My
business was to save Eleanore Leavenworth; and to do that, it was
necessary for me to preserve, not only my equanimity, but my
self-possession. The worst fear I anticipated was that matters would
reach a crisis before I could acquire the right, or obtain the
opportunity, to interfere. However, the fact of Mr. Leavenworth's
funeral being announced for that day gave me some comfort in that
direction; my knowledge of Mr. Gryce being sufficient, as I thought,
to warrant me in believing he would wait till after that ceremony
before proceeding to extreme measures.
     I do not know that I had any vary definite ideas of what a
detective's home should be; but when I stood before the neat
three-story brick house to which I had been directed, I could not but
acknowledge there was something in the aspect of its half-open
shutters, over closely drawn curtains of spotless purity, highly
suggestive of the character of its inmate.
     A pale-looking youth, with vivid locks of red hair hanging straight
down over either ear, answered my rather nervous ring. To my inquiry as
to whether Mr. Gryce was in, he gave a kind of snort which might have
meant no, 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 and
apparel, and pointed to a door at the head of the stairs. Not waiting
for further directions, I hastened up, knocked at the door he had
designated, and went in. The broad back of Mr. Gryce, stooping above
a desk that might have come over in the Mayflower, confronted me.
     "Well!" he exclaimed; "this is an honor." And rising, he
opened with a squeak and shut with a bang the door of an enormous
stove that occupied the centre of the room. "Rather chilly day, eh?"
     "Yes," I returned, eyeing him closely to see if he was in a
communicative mood. "But I have had but little time to consider the
state of the weather. My anxiety in regard to this murder—"
     "To be sure," he interrupted, fixing his eyes upon the poker,
though not with any hostile intention, I am sure." A puzzling piece of
business enough. But perhaps it is an open book to you. I see you have
something to 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
been strengthened into an absolute belief. The object of your
suspicious is an innocent woman."
     If I had expected him to betray any surprise at this, I was destined
to be disappointed." That is a very pleasing belief," he observed.
"I honor you 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 here to-day to ask you in the name of justice and common 

humanity to suspend action in that direction till we can convince
ourselves there is no truer 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 many noble traits to be thoughtlessly dealt with in so momentous a
crisis. If you 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 my chair. "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 on paper."
     Taking no heed of the interruption, I went on.
     "Mr. Gryce, I have had fuller opportunities than yourself for
studying this woman. I have seen her in a position which no guilty
person could occupy, and I am assured, beyond all doubt, that not only
her hands, but her heart, are pure from this crime. She may have some
knowledge of its secrets; that I do not presume to deny. The key seen
in her possession would refute me if I did. But what if she has? You
can never wish to see so lovely a being brought to shame for
withholding information which she evidently considers it her duty to
keep back, when by a little patient finesse we may succeed in our
purposes without it."
     "But," interposed the detective, "say this is so; how are we to
arrive at the knowledge we want 

without following out the only clue which has yet been given us?"
     "You will never reach it by following out any clue given you by
Eleanore Leavenworth."
     His eyebrows lifted expressively, but he said nothing.
     "Miss Eleanore Leavenworth has been used by some one acquainted
with her firmness, generosity, and perhaps love. Let us discover who
possesses sufficient power over her to control her to this extent, and
we find the man 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,
almost flippantly.
     "I mention no names," I returned. "All 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 a
suitable coadjutor were provided, you would disdain his assistance and
slight 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 of yourself!" 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 rather
difficult 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
would be welcome. I am not an egotist. I am open to suggestions: as,
for instance, now, if you could conveniently inform me of all you have
yourself seen and heard in regard to this matter, I should be most
happy to listen."
     Relieved to find him so amenable, I asked myself what I really had
to tell; not so much that he would consider vital. However, it would
not do to hesitate now.
     "Mr. Gryce," said I, "I have but few facts to add to those already
known to you. Indeed, I am more moved by convictions than facts. That
Eleanore Leavenworth never committed this crime, I am assured. That,
on the other hand, the real perpetrator is known to her, I am equally
certain; and that for some reason she considers it a sacred duty to
shield the assassin, even at the risk of her own safety, follows as a
matter of course from the facts. Now, with such data, it cannot be a
very difficult task for you or me to work out satisfactorily, to our
own minds at least, who this person can be. A little more knowledge of
the family—"
     "You know nothing of its secret history, then?"
     "Nothing."
     "Do not even know whether either of these girls is engaged to be
married?"
     "I do not," I returned, wincing at this direct expression of my own
thoughts.

     He remained a moment silent. "Mr. Raymond," he cried at last,
"have you any idea of the disadvantages under which a detective labors?
For instance, now, you imagine I can insinuate myself into all sorts of
society, perhaps; but you are mistaken. Strange as it may appear, I
have never by any possibility of means succeeded with one class of
persons at all. I cannot pass myself off for a gentleman. Tailors and
barbers are no good; I am always found out."
     He looked so dejected I could scarcely forbear smiling,
notwithstanding my secret care and anxiety.
     "I have even employed a French valet, who understood dancing and
whiskers; but it was all of no avail. The first gentleman I approached
stared at me,—real gentleman, I mean, none of your American
dandies,—and I had no stare to return; I had forgotten that
emergency in my confabs with Pierre Catnille Marie Make-face."
     Amused, but a little discomposed by this sudden turn in the
conversation, I looked at Mr. Gryce inquiringly.
     "Now you, I dare say, have no trouble? Was born one, perhaps. Can
even ask 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
the mistress of it, let her be as elegant as she will, so long as I
have a writ of arrest in my hand, or some such professional matter upon
my mind; but when it comes to visiting in kid gloves, raising a glass
of champagne in response to a toast — and such like, I am absolutely
good for nothing." And he plunged his two hands into his hair, and
looked dolefully at the head of the cane I carried in my hand. "But
it is much the same with the whole of us. 

When we are in want of a gentleman to work for us, we have to go 
outside of our profession."
     I began to see what he was driving at; but held my peace, vaguely
conscious I was likely to prove a necessity to him, after all.
     "Mr. Raymond," he now said, almost abruptly; "do you know a
gentleman by the 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 his
acquaintance?"
     I followed Mr. Gryce's example, and stared at the chimney-piece. "I
cannot answer till I understand matters a little better," I returned at
length.
     "There is not much to understand. Mr. Henry Clavering, a gentleman
and a man of the world, resides at the Hoffman House. He is a stranger
in town, without being strange; drives, walks, smokes, but never
visits; looks at the ladies, but is never seen to bow to one. In
short, a person whom it is desirable to know; but whom, being a proud
man, with something of the old-world prejudice against Yankee freedom
and forwardness, I could no more approach in the way of acquaintance
than I could the Emperor of Austria."
     "And you wish—"
     "He would make a very agreeable companion for a rising young law-
yer of good family and undoubted respectability. I have no doubt, if you
undertook to cultivate him, you would find him well worth the trouble."
     "But—"
     "Might even desire to take him into familiar relations; to confide
in him, and—"
     "Mr. Gryce," I hastily interrupted; "I can never consent to plot

for any man'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
connection with this case, then?"
     Mr. Gryce smoothed his coat-sleeve thoughtfully. "I don't know as
it will be necessary for you to betray him. You wouldn't object to
being introduced 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 across
something that might serve as a clue in your efforts to save Eleanore
Leavenworth?"
     The no I uttered this time was less assured; the part of a spy was
the very last one I desired to play in the coming drama.
     "Well, then," he went on, ignoring the doubtful tone in which my
assent had been given, "I advise you to immediately take up your
quarters at the Hoffman House."
     "I doubt if that would do," I said. "If I am not mistaken, I
have already seen this gentleman, and spoken to him."
     "Where?"
     "Describe him first."
     "Well, he is tall, finely formed, of very upright carriage, with a
handsome dark face, brown hair streaked with gray, a piercing eye, and
a smooth address. A very imposing personage, I assure you."
     "I have reason to think I have seen him," I 

returned; and in a few words told him when and where.
     "Humph!" said he at the conclusion; "he is evidently as much
interested in 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; and
everything 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 in other and better lights. Drop into the Hoffman House
reading-room. Talk with the best men you meet while there; but not too
much, or too indiscriminately. Mr. Clavering is fastidious, and will
not feel honored by 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'll make them."
     "Supposing we are under a mistake, and the man I met on the corner
of Thirty-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 its thinking-cap," he
pursued jovially.
     "Mr. Gryce," I now said, anxious to show that all this talk about
an unknown party had not served to put my own plans from my mind,
"there is one person of whom we have not spoken."
     "No?" he exclaimed softly, wheeling around until his broad back
confronted me. "And who may that be?"
     "Why, who but Mr.—" I could get no further. 

What right had I to mention any man's name in this connection, without 
possessing sufficient evidence against him to make such mention justi-
fiable ?"I beg your pardon," said I; "but I think I will hold to my first
impulse, and speak no 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 a
disadvantage, lifted my hat from the table and prepared to take my
leave; but, suddenly thinking of Hannah, turned and asked if there was
any news of her.
     He seemed to debate with himself, hesitating so long that I began to
doubt if this man intended to confide in me, after all, when suddenly
he brought his two hands down before him and exclaimed vehemently:
     "The evil one himself is in this business! If the earth had opened
and swallowed up this girl, she couldn't have more effectually
disappeared."
     I experienced a sinking of the heart. Eleanore had said: "Hannah
can do nothing for me." Could it be that the girl was indeed gone, and
forever?
     "I have innumerable agents at work, to say nothing of the general
public; and yet not so much as a whisper has come to me in regard to
her whereabouts or situation. 

I am only afraid we shall find her floating in the 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 a nod and an exclamation. "She must be found for all that," said
he, "and shall, 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 the contents of the will are made known, come to me."
     The will! I had forgotten the will.