'I am quite sure there is such a person,' interrupted Miss Montressor. 'I could not distinctly recall everything that Mr. Foster told me, in the hurry and confusion of last night; but since then I have remembered a good deal. He mentioned to me, but not by name, one friend in particular, in whose charge he had confided not only his business interests in New York during his absence, but also his household treasures. Poor fellow, he quite amused me--though I am conscious now that I did not respond very warmly or graciously--by his simple talk about his wife and child. He would try to describe the baby to me, and he did describe the mother as well as showing me her picture. He was a good soul. But I quite remember now that he told me he had this trusty friend.'
'A piece of information which makes your suggestion all the more admirable and your aid all the more valuable. We now have some definite basis of action. When we discover this friend of Foster's, or Griswold's, we shall not only have found the man who will be our best guide as to what we ought to do, but we shall have found the man who will be sure to hit upon the motive of the crime. And now lose no time. Set about your task at once; the sooner it is over, the better for you and for what I have to do. I do not say to you, do it well and do it delicately--that I feel is unnecessary. We have not had half sufficient time to realise how horrid this thing is which has happened; and so much the better, since it has so strangely fallen out that we have come to this side of the world to act in such a tragedy.'
Miss Montressor rose and was about to leave the room, when she said:
'Suppose by any possibility I should be wrong, and that this lady is not the original of the miniature, consequently that Mr. Griswold, her husband, is not the murdered man--what will you do in that case?'
'In that case,' said Bryan Duval, 'I shall simply have to communicate with the authorities the fact that Mr. Foster is not the murdered man's real name; this on his own authority, and of course it will be immediately transmitted to London. Go now. You will find me here on your return; I shall not leave the house.'
Miss Montressor left him, and, going to her own room, made rapid preparation for the arduous task she had been set. She hurriedly turned over such articles of her wardrobe as had yet been unpacked, searching for those most suitable to the part she was to play. While doing this, her thoughts reverted to the last unprofessional masquerade in which she had indulged, and, by a natural transition, to Mr. Dolby. She had thought very little about him during her voyage out, but as it approached its termination she had occasionally speculated upon whether that gentleman would present himself at the wharf, or whether he would wait and pay her a more dignified visit at her hotel. She had actually spared him a few moments' recollection in all the triumph of her first brilliantly successful appearance on the previous evening. 'Was Mr. Dolby in the house?' she had wondered. 'Was his hand among the number of those which had flung prodigal floral tributes at her feet? Or--was he sulky still?' She had, however, completely forgotten him from the announcement of the supper, and in all the hurry, agitation, and confusion of the ensuing hours of the night, her mind had never once glanced towards him. But now--she selected a plain gray skirt, originally intended to fulfil the once humble office of petticoat, but which was rather an unduly smart morning walking dress for the part she was assuming--she remembered the day on which she had gone to the house in Queen-street, and inquired ineffectually for her angry lover. Even now it was only a passing remembrance; her feelings were unaffectedly and deeply engaged in the matter in hand. Miss Montressor's wardrobe contained nothing suitable to be worn as an out-door dress of the sort which she required; but she remedied the deficiency by putting on a thick dark shawl, which she found among the parcel of wraps, and removing the too conspicuous feather from her hat, over which she pinned a veil.
As she unfolded the shawl the sharp end of a pin caught her finger. 'How tiresome of Justine,' she muttered, 'to leave pins stuck in shawls! I have so often spoken to her about it;' and she turned over the folds of the garment to find the obnoxious object. It was a long gold pin with a carved head, rather intended for a gentleman's necktie than as a shawl fastener; the stone was a very fine specimen of intaglio work, and Miss Montressor looked at it without any recognition of whence it came. It was not hers; and as it was a very uncommon article, it was not the sort of thing to be picked up on the floor or anywhere, as people pick up ordinary pins. 'I wonder whose it is, and how I came by it?' she thought, as she mechanically used it to fasten the shawl.
She then went quickly clown the stairs, and passed out of the door, comparatively unnoticed. It was early in the day, and the customary groups of loungers had not yet assembled. On leaving the hotel, Miss Montressor turned to the right, and making inquiry of the first person whom she met as to the distance which divided her from that portion of Fifth-avenue in which Mrs. Griswold's house was situate, learned that she would be overtaken in about a minute by a street car, which would deposit her close by. She had barely thanked her informant when the car came up, and the man to whom she had spoken signalled to the conductor; the next moment Miss Montressor was making her first experience of the marvellously-convenient and well-arranged street locomotion of New York. As she seated herself, a sudden recollection flashed across her that the pin which she had been so surprised to find in her shawl had belonged to Mr. Foster. With the suddenness of the vision, the little circumstance which had placed it in her possession returned to her memory--again she felt the slight chill of the evening air; she saw Mr. Foster's face, and felt his careful hands drawing the warm folds around her; remembering that he held them together with one hand, as he removed the pin from his own necktie with the other. How came she to have forgotten this pin--to have omitted returning it to him? It was a strange oversight. How curious and mysterious, should it be now destined to be an important coincidence! 'His wife will remember it,' she thought. 'If we are right in our terrible belief, my bringing it to her, my requesting her to identify it, will enable me to prove my sad story to the poor lady.' What was it Mr. Foster had told her about this pin? She must try to recollect all he had said very exactly; she must not add a word or subtract a word if possible. He had said that it was a sleeve button that had belonged to his wife; that on his arrival in London he had found it among his things, where it had no doubt been put by accident, and that he had had it made into a pin--yes, that was exactly what he had said. She took out her pocket-book, and in the few minutes occupied by the transit she wrote down, with all the accuracy attainable by her memory, the words in which Mr. Foster had told her these facts.
She had hardly concluded the memorandum when she was set down, and in a few minutes found herself at the door of Mrs. Griswold's house. A good-humoured coloured servant answered the summons of the bell, and, on her inquiry for Mrs. Jenkins, ushered her into a small waiting-room on the right of the hall. Several newspapers lay upon the table; she turned them over hurriedly, and found in each great prominence given to the appalling murder in Liverpool of an American gentleman. She had no time to read the details, which were afforded in every variety of type, and embellished with every device to attract curiosity and direct attention, for she was joined by her sister within a few moments. 'Civil people these,' she thought, in the way that people will think of trifles amid the most serious occupations of the mind; 'civil people these, to give a message to a servant with such celerity.'
'You see I have come to visit you, Bess, after all'