Room Number 3, and Other Detective Stories

opened all the others; wh

voice. “To be sure, we sometimes use it as a sleeping-room when we are hard pushed. Jake, the cle

uty to see every room in this house, whe

them to look inside. “You see it no more answers the young lady’s description than the others do. And I haven’t another to show you. You hav

ooking young man of stalwart build and unusually earnest manner, stepped softly inside. He was a gentleman farmer li

he describes. She was very particular about the paper; said that it was of a muddy pink colour and had big scrolls o

me authority. “It’s cold here, and there are several new questions I should like to put to the young lady. Mr. Quimby,”— this to the landl

the quiet reply. Then, as they both turned, “my repu

holy walls he was leaving. But no such contradiction came. Instead, he appeared to read confirmation there of the landlord’s plain and unembittered statement. The dull blue paper with its old-fashioned and uninteresting stripes seemed to have disfi

efore rounding the corner — but no, I doubt if he would have learned anything even then. The closing of a door by a careful hand — the slipping up behind him of an eager and noiseless step — what is there in these

an it had still more to do with it, his sympathies being entirely with the old, and not at all with the new, as witness the old-style glazing still retained in its ancient doorway. This, while it appealed to a certain class of summer boarders, did not so much meet the wants of the casual traveller, so that while the house might from some reason or other be overfilled one night, it was just as likely to be almost empty the next, save for the faithful few who loved the woods and the ancient ways of the easy-mannered host and his attentive, soft-stepping help. The building itself was of wooden construction, hi

t it was otherwise with those in the rear and on the north end. They were never cheerful, and especially toward night were frequently so dark that artificial light was resorted to as early as three o’clock in the afternoon. It was so to-day in the remote parlour which these three now entered. A lamp had been lit, though the daylight still struggled feebly in, and it

r but vigorous, with a face whose details you missed in the fire of her eye and the wonderful red of her young, fresh but determined mouth, she stood, on guard as it were, before a shrouded form on a couch at the far end of the room. An imper

thus given to their intrusion, ste

roner from Chester, and Mr. Hammersmith, wish to ask you a few more

ed till they met th

’s face, the colour left her cheeks, almost her lips, and drawing back the hand which she had continued to hold outst

e like this. I’m sure the young lady can expla

ance of the woman caught, as he believed, in a net of dreadful tragedy, roused himself at this direct question, a

that she never moved again. If her daughter was with her at the time, then that daughter fled without attempting to raise her. The condition and position of the wound on the dead woman’s forehead, together with such corroborative facts as have sinc

and, for all I can say, she may have done so — it was not till after she had been in this house. She arrived in my company, and was given a room. I sa

the house with Miss Demarest?” inquired

came in alone. All will tell you that she arrived here without escort of any kind; declined supper, but wanted a room, and when I hesitated to give it to her, said by way of explanation of her lack of a companion that she had had trouble in Chester and had left town very hurriedly for her home. That her mother was coming to meet her and would probably arrive here very

He has something to hide, or he would not take to lying about little things like that. I never asked him to allow me to leave my n

ner. “We looked in the register ou

aded till she looked as startling and individual in her p

ne as her eyes grew fixed upon the faces before he

th approached

gently, “You shall have every consideration. Only tell the truth, the exact truth w

. She was following the movements of the landlord, who had slipped out t

” he suggested, with a bl

the book and approa

ed out, as her eye fell on the page he had o

y name or writ

name and that of your mother, but

“Yet I wrote my name in the book!

urned the book

ur only boo

only

natural indignation of a candid mind face to face with arrant knavery. But when he forced himself to consider the complacent Quimby he did no

privilege of relating the whole occurrence as I remember it,” she continued with

ng better,” retu

ary tremor, quickly suppressed, betrayed the agitation which this allusion cost her. “My mother lived in Danton (the next town to the left). Anybody there will tell you what a good woman she was. I had wished her to live in Chester (that is, at first; later, I— I was glad she didn’t), but she had been born in Danton, and could not accustom herself to strange surroundings. Once a week I went home, and once a week, usually on a Wednesday, she would come and meet me on the highroad, for a little visit. Once we met here, but this is a circumstance no one seems to remember. I was very fond of my mother and she of me. Had I loved no one else, I should have been happy still, and not been obliged to face st

way. When

eeting. There was no other so simple — or such was my thought at the time. I did not dream that sorrows awaited me in this quiet tavern, a

of uneasy silence. “Let us hear what happ

am at once, which I calculated on her doing, as she lived next door to the telegraph office in Danton, she would be very near this place on my arrival here. So I began to look for her as soon as I entered the woods. But I did not see her. I came as far as the tavern door, and still I did not see her. But farther on, just where the road turns to cross the railroad-track, I spied her

waver from hers by so much as a hair’s breadth, her accusation would have stood and her cause been won. But not a flicker disturbed the steady patience o

ffice? Surely Mr. Quim

ome in by that door and crossed to the bar, which was also the desk in this curious old hostelry. He could see them standing there in the light of possibly a solitary lamp, the rest of the room in shadow unless a game of checkers were on, which evidently was not so on this night. Had she turned her head to

r end of the office. But I paid no attention to him. I was bargai

e not a fashionable young l

same room or even adjoining ones that nothing could keep us from a night of useless and depres

felt an increase of courage and scarcely winced as his colder-b

when making these arran

efore th

our mo

nd me. She was a shy woman. I usually

” the coroner co

een crying ——” The ber

n’t you

lifted it as she stood there. I know that it was lifted as we went upstairs. I rem

do you mean,

ew train of thought in the girl’s mind. For a minute she looke

Here her thought wav

ory. It contradicts that of the landlord in almost ever

e hastened

declared that I wished to be told if my mother should come and ask for me. My mother was at my side all the time we stood there talking, and I did not

ice from a murky corner no one h

elf. Mr. Hammersmith, at sight of her open, not unpleasing face, understood for the first time the decided attitude of the coroner. If this woman corroborated her husband’s account, the poor youn

he cried. “She showed us the rooms and carried

o another room after showing her to her own. I don’t doubt in the least that she has worked herself up to the point of absolutely believing this. But the facts are these: She came alone and went to her

len

isfied with the good-night which had passed between my poor mother and myself, and presently I opened my door and ran down the hall and around the corner on a chance of finding her room. I don’t remember very well how that hall looked. I passed several doors seemingly shut for the night, and should have turned back, confused, if at that moment I had not spied the landlady’s figure, your figure, madam, coming out of one room on your way to another. You were carrying a pitcher, and I made haste and ran after you and reached the door just before you turned to shut it. Can you den

terpolated the coroner. “We do not find any

inally sank into a chair. “You do not find

hink

s such a room. I could

et this s

time that the battle is for life, she let an expression

er was found lying ready dressed and quite dead in the wood. That may be true, for I saw men bringing her in. But if so, what warrant have we that she was not lured there, slaughtered, and made to seem the victim of accident by this unscrupulous

she so well remembered. “When I show you that,” she cried, wi

lf?” asked Mr. Quimby. “Or will it b

company her,” s

came in heart

iet her,” he whispered i

turned on h

ed. “She’s as far from insane as I

d back into the coroner’s wake. Mr. Hammersmith gave his a

mbling girl. “We will go fi

n the hall. Quickly they followed. “It was around a corner,” she muttered broodingly

but meeting Mr. Hammersmith’s warning loo

rsisted, as door after door was thrown back and as quickly shut again at a shake

the landlord, leading the way into the

creased interest in both the coroner an

the coroner as they stepped through

hall recogni

s starting forward. “I should like you to repeat just ho

startled, a

bare; a bed wa

the

dlord, “though I don’t see that it

ndly urged

es and my mother standing between them an

one to describe,” whispered Ha

vance with studied patience. As Miss Demarest joined

cupied to-day, so you can o

followed speedily after. Suddenly both paused. She had lo

she declared. “I shall have to open all

before. Hope sank to disappointment as each door was passed. The vigour of her step was gone, and as she paused heartsic

ain. The smallness of the room, its bareness, its one window, the absence of all furniture save the solitary

m? I feel that I no longer know.” Then, as the landlady officiously stepped up, she clung with increased frenzy to Mr. Hammersmith, crying, with positiv

her. “Your story is real and I will prove it so.

rained lips settle into a slightly sarcastic curl as the do