unusual, and Hutchins started off for the Fifth Avenue house.
He was admitted and ushered into a sort of family living-room, where, to his surprise he found Mrs. Selden as well as her son-in-law.
“I asked to have you brought here, Mr. Hutchins,” the lady said, looking at him with a condescending interest, as if he were some necessary but unattractive piece of furniture. “I desire a few words with you myself.”
She paused, perhaps expecting some burst of delighted surprise at this honor, but Hutchins merely made a slight bow of acquiescence.
“What have you done toward the finding of my daughter’s murderer?” she asked, and her commanding air seemed to imply that she expected a full and satisfactory report of the police proceedings.
Mrs. Selden sat bolt upright, in a high-backed chair. Her gown was most fashionably made, though of the deepest mourning that could be devised. The hem of heavy crape reached nearly to her waist line, and the crape bodice had such a high neck and such long sleeves, that none of her throat and only her finger-tips could be seen. Her white hair showed large ornamental hairpins of black dull jet, and her handkerchief was as deeply black bordered as it is possible for a handkerchief to be.
Very aristocratic and very imposing was her appearance and manner, but Hutchins was by no means overcome with awe at her grandeur.
“We have done all that we found to do, Madam,” the detective returned, speaking respectfully, but by no means humbly. “Rest assured, the work is going on—but so far, the evidence is slender and the clues are few.”
“I am quite sure it is your fault if that is so,” Mrs.
