“Yes, sufficiently to begin, unless you have some particular pointer to give me.”
“No, there are no pointers in the case.”
“Humph! Did Eugenie have any relatives living?”
“Yes; a mother.”
“She left some property, did she not?”
“Yes, her mother inherits. I have not learned very much regarding her connections.”
“What becomes of the house? Did she own it?”
“Yes. It is at present locked and deserted.”
“Ah-and you have the key!”
“Certainly.”
“Will you give it to me.”
“Yes. I have it with me. Here it is.”
“Good. While I am at work upon the ease, inspector, will you see that the house remains undisturbed?”
“I will.”
“Did the newspapers recount everything concerning the murder correctly?”
“Oh, yes. There was so little to say regarding the surroundings, that I am sure they covered the ground.”
“You looked for trap-doors, sliding panels, movable casings, and all such things, I suppose?”
“Certainly. We looked very thoroughly.”
“And found nothing!”
“Nothing.”
“Still, it will do no harm for me to have a try.”
“Certainly not.”
“I have found such things in houses where I least expected them before now. It may be that I will find something of the kind there.”
“It may be.”
“But you do not think so?”
“No, frankly, I do not.”
“And yet, how else could the murderer have entered and left the house?”
“My dear Nick, I have asked myself that question at least ten thousand times.”
“And found no answer?”
“None.”
“Well, I’m inclined to the belief that I will find something of the kind there.”
“I hope you will.”
“The case stands this way. A girl was murdered. To have been murdered it seems probable that a stranger gained access to her room.”
“Yes.”
“And yet the condition in which the house was found was such that it is apparently impossible that any one did enter or leave the house after Delia Dent left her mistress that night.”
“Precisely.”
“Therefore it must have been by some means or method of which you are ignorant.”
“Of course.
“How then, if not by a secret door, sliding panel, or some like contrivance?”
“That is the question. How, then?”
“Well, that is then the first thing that I am going to look for.”
“And the next?”
“Will depend upon my success with the first. Is that all, inspector?”
“Nearly. You will find the house exactly as I found it when I first went there to investigate; and now, goodnight, Nick,” continued the inspector, rising, and taking a large envelope from his pocket.
“This,” he said, “contains the entire case from first to last, and you may read it over at your own convenience. Nothing is omitted, and yet very little is said that is worth reading.”
“It is that Eugenie La Verde was choked to death, and that the murderer escaped and left not the slightest clew as to his identity or his haunts.”
“Exactly. And now you must find him.”
“I will try.”
“If anybody can succeed, you can and will.”
“Thanks; I will try.”
“Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
The door closed, and the great director of detectives was gone.
Chapter III.
The First Clew
On the following morning Nick went at once to Eugenie La Verde’s house in Forty-seventh street, disguised as a plumber.
The room which she had formerly occupied was nearly in the same condition in which it had been found on the morning after the murder, and a careful search offered no immediate suggestion to the detective.
From the sleeping room, he passed to the parlor floor, where he inspected all of the window-catches and appliances, casings, and panels.
Again without result.
Presently, he approached the stairs which led from the parlor floor to that below.
The door of communication was at the foot of the stairs, and was both locked and chained on the inner, or parlorfloor side.
There was nothing faulty about either the lock, chain, or door. They were evidently perfect, and he turned his attention to the stairs.
Stair-ways are convenient arrangements through which to construct a secret passage-way, and Nick never neglected them.
Suddenly he made a discovery. The third step from the bottom was not secure in its place.
For more than two hours he continued the search, but without further result.
It was nearly dark when Nick was reminded of the fact that he was hungry, and he quietly left the house in search of a convenient restaurant.
Two blocks away he found a beer saloon, which advertised meals at all hours.
Having entered and ordered what he wanted, he was presently engaged in eating it, when two swarthy, ill-conditioned fellows entered the saloon and seated themselves at the second table from him.
The very first words uttered by the men caused him to listen attentively:
“Captain, Inspector Byrnes made a call last night.”
“Where?” asked the one addressed as captain.”
“Upon that devil of a detective. I don’t care to mention his name here.”
“Ah; the one whom Sindahr calls the little giant? Exactly.
“Well, what of it?”
“It may be that he has set him upon us.”
“Bah! No. There are no reasons for that. The inspector does not even know that we exist.”
“He knows most things.”
“Yes, but nothing of us. Still it may be well to-did you watch for the ‘the little giant.’?”
“Yes.”
“Has he gone out?”
“One never can tell, but I think not. I left there an hour ago, and Tony has taken my place. I could swear that he had not left the house when I came away.”
Nick smiled.