Madame Storey is a female Sherlock Holmes. Her mind is on one track when it comes to finding a solution to a mystery. 

She is very clever and bases her findings only on facts. 

She sees and finds things that others do not see has happened to the person as a result of her interviews.

Follow her logic and find out how she comes to her solution.

You almost feel like a detective yourself as you follow her through the steps she takes to solve the mystery.

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Summary

I-THE ASHCOMB POOR CASE

My Interview with Madame Storey

The Ashcomb Poor Case

The Hall Boy

Miss Philippa Dean, Guilty ?

Mr. Barron Arrival

Mrs. Poor, the Wife

The Maid Mrs. Batten

Marks of an Airplane

Lieutenant Grantland

Conclusion

II-THE SCRAP OF LACE

The best-dressed woman in New York

The Story of Miss de Guion

Louise was dead!

So much rich land

The butler and others

The Chatelaine

Few Words Reach Us

The princely chauffeur

In the Dining Room

An Exquisite Handkerchief

Instructions to Crider

A Tragedy?

Postscript

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The Hall Boy

Eddie, the hall boy, and I had become at least outwardly friendly. In his heart I think Eddie always despised me as "a jane out of the storehouse," one of his own expressions, but as he had the keenest curiosity about all that went on in our shop, he was obliged to be affable in order to tap such sources of information as I possessed.

He adored Mme. Storey, of course. All youths did as well as older males. As for me, I couldn't help liking the amusing little wretch, he was so new.

Like most boys of his age his ruling passion was for airplanes and aviators. At this time his particular idol was the famous Lieutenant George Grantland who had broken so many records.

Grantland had just started on a three days' point-to-point flight from Camp Tasker, encircling the whole country east of the Mississippi, and Eddie, in order to follow him, was obliged to buy an extra every hour.

Bursting with the subject, and having no one else to talk to, he brought these up to my room. This was his style. Of course I am only guessing at the figures.

"Here's the latest. Landed at New Orleans four thirty this A.M., two hours ahead of time. Gee! If I could only get out to a bulletin-board! Slept four hours and went on. 442 miles in under four hours. Wouldn't that expand your lungs?

"Say, that guy is a king of the air all right. Flies by night as well as day. They have lights to guide him where to land. Hasn't had to come down once for trouble.

"Here's a picture of his plane. It's the Bentley-Critchard type. They're just out. Good for 140 an hour. Six hundred horse. Do you get that? Think of driving six hundred plugs through the clouds. Some team!"

After two days of this, I was almost as well acquainted with the exploits of Lieutenant Grantland as his admirer. Every hour or two, Eddie would have a new picture of the dashing aviator to show me. Even after being snapshotted in the blazing sun and reproduced in a newspaper half-tone, he remained a handsome young fellow.

Eddie was in the thick of this when they brought Philippa Dean up from the Tombs, but as she was indubitably a "class one jane," his attention was momentarily won from his newspapers.

The assistant district attorney did not accompany her. To be obliged to wait outside was, I suppose, too great a trial to his dignity. Miss Dean was under escort of two gigantic plain-clothes men, the slender little thing. I was glad, at any rate, that they had not handcuffed her.

My first impression was a favourable one. Her eyes struck you at once. They were full, limpid, blue, very wide open under fine brows, giving her an expression of proud candour in which there was something really affecting. However, I had learned ere this from Mme. Storey that you cannot read a woman's soul in her eyes, so I reserved judgment.

Her hair was light-brown. She was dressed with that fine simplicity which is the despair of newly arrived women. At present she looked hard and wary, and her lips were compressed into a scarlet line. But that was small wonder in her situation.

Mme. Storey came out when she heard them. What was her first impression of the girl I cannot say, for she never gave anything away in her face at such moments. She invited the two detectives to make themselves comfortable in the outer office, and we three women passed into the big room. She waved the girl to a seat.

"You may relax," she said, smiling, "nobody is going to put you through the third degree here."

But the girl sat down bolt upright, with her hands clenched in her lap. It was painful to see that tightness. Mme. Storey applied herself to the task of charming it away. She said to the ape:

"Giannino, take off your hat to Miss Dean, and tell her that we wish her well."

The little animal stood up on the table, jerked off his cap and gibbered in his own tongue. It was a performance that never failed to win a smile, but this girl's lips looked as if they had forgotten how.

"The assistant district attorney has asked me to examine you," Mme. Storey began in friendly style. "Being a public prosecutor, he's bent on your conviction, having nobody else to accuse. But I may as well tell you that I don't share his feelings. Indeed, he's so cock-sure that it would give me pleasure to prove him wrong."

I knew that my employer was sincere in saying this, but I suppose the poor girl had learned to her cost that the devil himself can be sympathetic. At any rate, the speech had no effect on her.

...

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