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?”