Detective and mystery stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
"I know she's timid," broke in the good woman, eagerly. "And she's had
enough to make her so! What with policemen drumming her up at night, and
innocent-looking girls and boys luring her into corners to tell them
what she saw in that grand house where the murder took place, she's
grown that feared of her shadow you can hardly get her out after
sundown. But I think I can get her here; and if you mean her no harm,
why, ma'am----" Her fingers were on the bill, and charmed with the feel
of it, she forgot to finish her sentence.
"Is there any one in the room back there?" I asked, anxious to recall
her to herself.
"No, ma'am, no one at all. I am a poor widder, and not used to such
company as you; but if you will sit down, I will make myself look more
fit and have Mrs. Boppert over here in a minute." And calling to some
one of the name of Susie to look after the shop, she led the way towards
the glass door I have mentioned.
Relieved to find everything working so smoothly and determined to get
the worth of my money out of Mrs. Boppert when I saw her, I followed the
woman into the most crowded room I ever entered. The shop was nothing to
it; there you could move without hitting anything; here you could not.
There were tables against every wall, and chairs where there were no
tables. Opposite me was a window-ledge filled with flowering plants, and
at my right a grate and mantel-piece covered, that is the latter, with
innumerable small articles which had evidently passed a long and forlorn
probation on the shop shelves before being brought in here. While I was
looking at them and marvelling at the small quantity of dust I found,
the woman herself disappeared behind a stack of boxes, for which there
was undoubtedly no room in the shop. Could she have gone for Mrs.
Boppert already, or had she slipped into another room to hide the money
which had come so unexpectedly into her hands?
I was not long left in doubt, for in another moment she returned with a
flower-bedecked cap on her smooth gray head, that transformed her into a
figure at once so complacent and so ridiculous that, had my nerves not
been made of iron, I should certainly have betrayed my amusement. With
it she had also put on her company manner, and what with the smiles she
bestowed upon me and her perfect satisfaction with her own appearance, I
had all I could do to hold my own and keep her to the matter in hand.
Finally she managed to take in my anxiety and her own duty, and saying
that Mrs. Boppert could never refuse a cup of tea, offered to send her
an invitation to supper. As this struck me favorably, I nodded, at which
she cocked her head on one side and insinuatingly whispered:
"And would you pay for the tea, ma'am?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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