With something like a considerate regard for my emotion, he turned away. "I am obliged to congratulate myself, notwithstanding the gravity of the discovery that has been made," said he. "It is so neat, so very neat, and so conclusive. I declare I am myself astonished at the perfection of the thing. But what a woman that is!" he suddenly cried, in a tone of the greatest admiration. "What an intellect she has! what shrewdness! what skill! I declare it is almost a pity to entrap a woman who has done as well as this—taken a sheet from the very bottom of the pile, trimmed it into another shape, and then, remembering the girl could n't write, put what she had to say into coarse, awkward printing, Hannah-like. Splendid! or would have been, if any other man than myself had had this thing in charge." And, all animated and glowing with his enthusiasm, he eyed the chandelier above him as if it were the embodiment of his own sagacity.
Sunk in despair, I let him go on.
"Could she have done any better?" he now asked. "Watched, circumscribed as she was, could she have done any better? I hardly think so; the fact of Hannah’s having learned to write after she left here was fatal. No, she could not have provided against that contingency."
"Mr. Gryce," I here interposed, unable to endure this any longer; "did you have an interview with Miss Mary Leavenworth this morning?"
"No," said he; "it was not in the line of my present purpose to do so. I doubt, indeed, if she knew I was in her house. A servant maid who has a grievance is a very valuable assistant to a detective. With Molly at my side, I did n't need to pay my respects to the mistress."
