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Gryce as the young man who had promised his mother never to go out in the rain without his overshoes; and acting on this hint, she resolved to impart a gently domestic air to the scene, in the hope that her companion, instead of feeling that he was doing something reckless or unusual, would merely be led to dwell on the advantage of always having a companion to make one's tea in the train.
"If I were going to visit the Sappho," he asked, "would I approach the gangway from the stern or from the bow?" "I don't know," said Gryce. "Do you mean," said Brett, "that you don't know which is the correct thing to do, or that you think I can't steer?" "I mean," said Gryce, "that I know it's one or the other, but I don't know which." "In that case," said Brett, "we will approach from the rear.
Perhaps it is simply a deeply rooted antipathy on my part, or the rage one feels at finding he has placed his finger on the wrong man. Again it may be " "What, Sweetwater?" "A well-founded distrust. Mr. Gryce, I'm going to ask you a question." "Ask away. Ask fifty if you want to." "No; the one may involve fifty, but it is big enough in itself to hold our attention for a while.
Now and then, in a spasmodic burst of virtue when the house had been too uproarious over night Gus Trenor forced his genial bulk into a tight frock-coat and routed his daughters from their slumbers; but habitually, as Lily explained to Mr. Gryce, this parental duty was forgotten till the church bells were ringing across the park, and the omnibus had driven away empty. Lily had hinted to Mr.
Mary's peril was the one thing capable of influencing me, and she did not appear to be in peril. On the contrary, every one, by common consent, seemed to ignore all appearance of guilt on her part. If Mr. Gryce, whom I soon learned to fear, had given one sign of suspicion, or Mr.
"Gentlemen," he at once announced, "I am Detective Gryce of the New York police, and I am here but I see that one of you at least knows why I am here." One? Both of them! This was evident in a moment. No denial, no subterfuge was possible.
Leavenworth; for I have studied his chirography toe 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.
I was awakened from this pleasing vision by a heavy knock at the door. Hastily rising, I asked who was there. The answer came in the shape of an envelope thrust under the door. Raising it, I found it to be a note. It was from Mr. Gryce, and ran thus: "Come at once; Hannah Chester is found." "Hannah found?" "So we have reason to think." "When? where? by whom?" "Sit down, and I will tell you."
"And that is all you can tell us, either of her letter or her mysterious death?" "All, sir." Mr. Gryce straightened himself up. "Mrs. Belden," said he, "you know Mr. Clavering's handwriting when you see it?" "I do." "And Miss Leavenworth's?" "Yes, sir." "Now, which of the two was upon the envelope of the letter you gave Hannah?" "I couldn't say.
Clavering's call upon Miss Leavenworth that night, and the lack of proof which existed as to his having left the house when supposed to do so. "That is worth remembering," said Mr. Gryce at the conclusion. "Valueless as direct evidence, it might prove of great value as corroborative." Then, in a graver tone, he went on to say: "Mr.
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