Crimson Snow by Jeanne Dams Page A

once more.
    â€œI see, sir.” She was beginning to.
    â€œYes, well, it’s this nasty business of the schoolteacher. I think you said she was your brother’s teacher?”
    â€œYes, sir, my brother Erik. He is very much upset. She was a good teacher and he loved her.”
    â€œHmph. Well, the police seem to have some doubts about how good she was in some ways—but never mind that. The police have made a lot of blunders in this matter. As usual. And their chief mistake is that they are looking at Mr. Barrett. They’ve implied that since he was the last person to see her alive, he might just have been the first person to see her dead, as well.”
    Hilda looked at Mr. Barrett, her face full of pity. “Yes, sir. I thought they might think that. Myself, I do not believe it. You are a good man, sir. Not the sort who could—do those things.”
    The old man spoke. “I’m glad you think so, Hilda, because I’d like you to look into the matter for me.”
    â€œBut, sir, I—”
    Mr. Barrett held up his hand. “You see, Daniel Malloy is a good friend of mine. I’ve been his lawyer for many years, and I know the family well. He told me all about what you did in that unfortunate business a couple of years ago, how you, virtually unaided, solved the crimes of which he had been wrongly accused.” He waited while Hilda took that in, and then continued. “The police brought Pinkerton’s men in for this business, from the time they first found the body, but they seem to be doing nothing but making a lot of fuss and learning nothing new. I—my wife is suffering a good deal over this. Would you be willing to—to do whatever it is you do, to winnow out the facts of the matter?”
    Again Hilda looked from one man to the other. “I do not know, sir. The other times, I knew the people, or some of them. I was able to talk to my family, other servants…” She moved her hands in distress. “I know none of the people connected to Miss Jacobs. I do not know if I could help. And there is my work here. Mr. Williams is ill, and I am needed.”
    â€œWe can hire another housemaid, Hilda,” said the colonel. “I had thought of one of your sisters, perhaps. We have no plans to entertain again for some time, so there shouldn’t be all that much to do.”
    Hilda kept a straight face. Men never had the slightest idea how much routine work was needed to keep a large house clean and running smoothly.
    Mr. Barrett spoke. “I’m not expecting miracles, child. I only know that I have no faith in the South Bend police, who may be corrupt and are certainly incompetent. And from what I’ve seen of the Pinkertons so far, they’re not much better. You are apparently able to talk to people, get them to tell you things, and you have a good head on your shoulders. Will you do what you can, as a favor to me?”
    Hilda turned to the colonel. “If I do this, may I stay on here and do what work I am able to? I have no other place to live, sir.”
    â€œOf course, of course. My wife would have my hide if I let you go permanently.”
    The colonel had obviously not tuned in to the servants’ gossip about Hilda and Patrick. That was good. She wanted to tell Mrs. George herself, and in her own good time. She took a deep breath. “Then—then yes, I will do it. For perhaps a week. If I cannot learn anything in a week, I will know that I can be of no help. Will you tell Mrs. Sullivan, sir? She will not be pleased. ”
    â€œI’ll leave that to Mrs. Studebaker,” he said hastily. “Er—starting tomorrow, then?”
    â€œOn Monday, sir. Tomorrow I will bring one of my sisters here and show her what is to be done. Thank you, sir. Good night, sir. Good night, Mr. Barrett.”
    And she escaped to the kitchen.

The interest in this remarkable crime
and the horror of it have not