Murders in, Volume 2 by Elizabeth Daly

elderly parlormaid in a long black alpaca dress, a long white apron, and a fluted cap. She took his card, left him standing in the front hall, and went upstairs.
    Gamadge laid his hat on a marble-topped console, and looked about him. Walnut folding doors shut him off from the drawing room; the huge mirror above the console sprouted hooks on either side of it, and umbrella stands below; beside the stairs a narrow hallway ended in another glassed door, through which filtered a pale, uncertain light. The Dykinck house was dark, stuffy, and as quiet as the grave. Gamadge leaned against the newel post, and faced the closed doors of the drawing room; thereby enabling whoever it was that peered at him through the crack to get a good look at him.
    The maid came downstairs, and pushed the folding doors wide. The observer had withdrawn. Gamadge, feeling a little eerie, stepped past the maid into the dusk of a long room, with brown shades pulled down over the tall windows, and shrouded furniture standing about like boulders. Another huge mirror confronted him, high enough to reflect the immense bronze chandelier. His feet slid on Holland drugget.
    A female form, tall and apparently much bedraped, stood with its back to the windows. As the maid departed, it said in a high voice: “I am Miss Dykinck.”
    â€œSo good of you to let me come,” replied Gamadge.
    â€œIt is a great pleasure; and Mamma loves company. She is not always up to it.”
    â€œVery kind of her to put herself out.”
    Gamadge began to discern a shadowy face under a large hat with a pink rose on it, a figured silk dress which reached the lady’s ankles, and, finally, an out-stretched hand with a frill about the wrist. He shook the hand, and Miss Dykinck sat down. Gamadge groped for a chair in front of her.
    She had a sharp, pale face, surrounded by tendrils of brown hair; bright brown eyes, flecked with yellow; a high nose, and a mouth which looked as if it had just been tasting something sour. The corners of it drooped, and the upper lip was drawn a little away from the prominent front teeth.
    â€œI must apologize for keeping you in the hall,” she said, “but the maid lets no one in until she is sure of them. And I must apologize for the drawing room; we are not supposed to be in town, of course.”
    â€œVery pleasant and cool in here.”
    â€œMamma is not well enough yet to move to the country. Did you know that I had a peep at you, while you were in the hall?”
    â€œHad you, though? I’m glad I passed muster.”
    â€œAs we have no man on the premises, Mamma is a little nervous.”
    â€œYou are quite right to be careful.”
    â€œBesides,” and Miss Dykinck laughed with abandon, “I have made a vow that no man over thirty shall ever again cross this threshold. Old men are so dreary.”
    â€œI shall have to be going, then, I’m afraid, Miss Dykinck; I’m thirty-four.”
    â€œYou don’t look it, Mr. Gamadge; I shall amend my vow; no man who looks more than thirty shall come into the house, except on business. It’s not always so easy,” said Miss Dykinck, laughing again, “to get up a bridge game in the circumstances; but I don’t care.”
    Gamadge thought that Miss Dykinck’s defense tactics were rather interesting, and quite excusable. “Hard on us,” he said. “We can’t help our ages.”
    â€œOr our preferences—can we?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I notice ages very little; it’s personality that counts with me,” continued Gamadge, keeping up his spirits with some difficulty.
    â€œI’m afraid I am not so philosophical. Mamma must be ready to see you; shall we go up?”
    Gamadge felt that he had passed muster a second time. He preceded Miss Dykinck (by request—didn’t the old books of etiquette insist upon this?) up the stairs to the second floor. They went along a narrow hallway to the