Footner - MRS3 The Velvet Hand

Madame Rosika Storey is called in to pursue a thieving secretary who has murdered her boss a women, in turns out, with a decidedly strange character. The action takes Rosika, and faithful companion Bella Brickley to Paris but as clues mount, Bella returns to New York to investigate American developments.
The Viper was originally published in The Argosy All-Story Weekly, 12 Apr 1924

On a cruise ship to England, Madame Rosika Storey and her faithful companion Bella Brickley encounter a merry pair of guests who spend their days traveling the liners making friends of the gullible and fleecing them for their valuables. It's bad luck for them when they seize on the clever New York detective as their next victim.
The Steerers was originally published in The Argosy All-Story Weekly, 2 Aug 1924

In England, a colourless, odorless, fast-acting gas has been developed by a scientist who wishes to end war but instead gets murdered for the secret. Madame Rosika is soon on the case, leaving the frustrated killer to bemoan: "Aren't there enough murders in America?"
The Pot of Pansies was originally published in The Argosy All-Story Weekly, 30 Apr 1927

When Hyman Brager, wealthy manufacturer of enamelled ware, dies, his widow begins spending willy-nilly it's become a public scandal! And now the legacy hounds are braying, hoping to secure some quick cash from the befuddled widow. Can Madame Rosika Storey prevent a crime before it's committed?
The Legacy Hounds was originally published in The Argosy All-Story Weekly, 18 Sep 1926

It was on the very morning of Mme Storey's sailing for Paris for her annual vacation that Mrs. Daniel Greenfield came to our office. When I heard the name she gave I looked at her with an extraordinary interest. One of our most famous philanthropists, her name is on everybody's lips, but as she has always refused to allow a photograph of herself to be published, scarcely anybody knows what she looks like.

Well, I beheld an exquisite little old lady who looked more like a French marquise than the wife of an American millionaire. Decidedly a personality. She was so fragile she was obliged to support herself with an ebony stick, nevertheless, not an old lady who was asking for the consideration due to age. She met you on your own ground. Her dark eyes were still full of spirit, yes, and of beauty too, though she must have been close upon seventy. Her lovely clothes drew a nice line between the dignity of an older fashion and the modishness of the new. All in black, of course, for her husband was lately dead, but she eschewed the ostentatious widow's veil. She was accompanied by a nurse, or companion, a pleasant-faced woman, who had nothing of the usual dehumanized look of those who wait upon the rich. She was unaffectedly devoted to her mistress, which is something money can't usually buy.

At the moment Mme Storey was as busy as a nailer, trying to clear her desk preparatory to taking a taxicab to the pier, but one doesn't send a Mrs. Daniel Greenfield away. I carried her name in, and my mistress came out to greet her. Apparently they had not met before.

"I read in my newspaper this morning that you were sailing on the Majestic at noon," little Mrs. Greenfield said, with a great lady's disarming air of apology, "and I yielded to a sudden impulse to come to see you. I know I have no business to be troubling you at such a moment. I can only throw myself on your mercy. I assure you it is a matter of the most urgent importanceat least to me. Can you give me a few minutes?"

Her wistfulness, the wistfulness of a child, or of the very old, melted Mme Storey entirely. "An hour if necessary," she said at once.

Mme Storey led the way into her own room, and I went along after them. Mrs. Greenfield's companion remained sitting in my room.

"I assume that you wish to consult me professionally," Mme Storey said. "If that is so, you will not object to my secretary Miss Brickley being present. She will make the necessary notes."

Mrs. Greenfield accepted me with a courteous bow. So different from many of the men who come to consult us! We seated ourselves, I with my notebook. The sight of the great room made my heart heavy, thinking of the empty days ahead. I do not enjoy vacations. All the room's beauties were packed away or shrouded in cottons. Giannino had gone to board at the veterinary's. I would even have been glad to hear Giannino's chatter, the provoking little ape!

When the beautiful old lady applied herself to the telling of her business, one perceived that she was greatly harassed and worn. Her charm of address upon entering had hidden that. One received the impression of a great trouble proudly kept to herself. I remembered having read that she had no children. Poor lonely soul, that was why she had tried to adopt all the unfortunates.

"I must school myself to be very direct and brief," she began. "They say it is hard for the old. It is in relation to the death of my husband that I came to see you. You may have read of iteight months ago?"

Mme Storey inclined her head.

"He had an apoplectic seizure in his office. He died instantly." The delicate wrinkled hands were trembling, but the voice was steady. "It is only fair to tell you at the start that there were no suspicious circumstances. There was ananI must speak of these thingsan autopsy. The cause of his death was certainly a cerebral hemorrhage. Moreover, his affairs, as you may know, were found to be in perfect order, yetyetah! do not smile at me even in kindness! Do not in your own mind dismiss my story yet awhile! I am haunted by the conviction that he did not die a natural death!"

Mme Storey's beautiful face was soft and grave with sympathy. It expressed no surprise. As for me, I was one great Oh! inside. A mystery in the death of Daniel Greenfield! Here was a case indeed!

"I never make up my mind in advance about things," said Mme Storey quietly. "What reason have you"

"Ah, that's the rub!" the old lady interrupted her despairingly. "I have no reason. I have only a feeling!"

"Well, I do not overrate reason," said my mistress. "I should not have used that word."

"I have no evidence," Mrs. Greenfield went on. "I have nothing but a dumb conviction in here"she struck her breast"that my husband was murderedsomehow. A conviction that will not be downed. Oh, I assure you I have struggled against it, argued with myself. It makes no difference. There it remains in my breast. I feel that he was murdered. I have spoken of my feelings to one or two men that I trustedhis best friend, a lawyer, a doctoronly to be listened to with a pitying smile. They tried to soothe me! What a humiliating experience! But men must have evidence! ... Ah, don't you pretend to sympathize and send me away. Hear me outquestion me. You are my last hope. I wish I had come to you before. This thing is killing meno, that is nothing; what is life to me now?Worse, it's driving me out of my senses. I cannot go mad. I must remain cool and sane. If he was murdered, it is for me to live to see that his murderess is brought to justice. Then I could go in peace!"

"I am not a man," said Mme Storey softly. "You will not find me deafening my ears to the inward voices."

"Ah, thank you for that!" cried the old lady in a tone of heartfelt relief. "It is the first crumb of comfort I have had!"

"You said murderess," said Mme Storey. "Your suspicions have, then, a definite object?"