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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Seal, by Natalie Sumner Lincoln
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Red Seal
+
+Author: Natalie Sumner Lincoln
+
+Posting Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #1747]
+Release Date: May, 1999
+Last Updated: March 16, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED SEAL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RED SEAL
+
+by Natalie Sumner Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. IN THE POLICE COURT
+
+The Assistant District Attorney glanced down at the papers in his hand
+and then up at the well-dressed, stockily built man occupying the
+witness stand. His manner was conciliatory.
+
+“According to your testimony, Mr. Clymer, the prisoner, John Sylvester,
+was honest and reliable, and faithfully performed his duties as
+confidential clerk,” he stated. “Just when was Sylvester in your
+employ?”
+
+“Sylvester was never in my employ,” corrected Benjamin Augustus
+Clymer. The president of the Metropolis Trust Company was noted for his
+precision of speech. “During the winter of 1918 I shared an apartment
+with Judge James Hildebrand, who employed Sylvester.”
+
+“Was Sylvester addicted to drink?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Was he quarrelsome?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Was Sylvester married at that date?”
+
+At the question a faint smile touched the corners of Clymer's clean
+shaven mouth and his eyes traveled involuntarily toward the over-dressed
+female whose charge of assault and battery against her husband
+had brought Clymer to the police court as a “character” witness in
+Sylvester's behalf.
+
+“Sylvester left Judge Hildebrand to get married,” he explained. “He was
+a model clerk; honest, sober, and industrious.”
+
+“That is all, Mr. Clymer.” The Assistant District Attorney spoke in
+some haste. “You may retire, sir,” and, as Clymer turned to vacate the
+witness box, he addressed the presiding judge.
+
+Clymer did not catch his remarks as, on stepping down, he was
+button-holed by a man whose entrance had occurred a few minutes before
+through the swing door which gave exit from the space reserved for
+witnesses and lawyers into the body of the court room.
+
+“Sit over here a second,” the newcomer said in an undertone, indicating
+the long bench under the window. “Has Miss McIntyre been here?”
+
+“Miss McIntyre--here?” Clymer stared in amazement at his questioner.
+“No, certainly not.”
+
+“Don't be so positive,” retorted the lawyer heatedly, his color rising
+at the other's incredulous tone. “Helen McIntyre telephoned me to meet
+her, and--by Jove, here she comes,” as a slight stir at the back of the
+court room caused him to glance in that direction.
+
+A gray-haired patrolman, cap in hand, was in the lead of the small
+procession which filed up the aisle, and Clymer gazed in astonishment
+at Helen McIntyre and her twin sister, Barbara. What had brought them at
+that hour to the police court?
+
+The court room was filled with men, both white and black, while a dozen
+or more slatternly negro women were seated here and there. The Assistant
+District Attorney's plea for a postponement of the Sylvester case on the
+ground of the absence of an important witness and the granting of his
+plea was entirely lost on the majority of those in the court room, their
+attention being wholly centered on Helen McIntyre and Barbara, whose
+bearing and clothes spoke of a fashionable and prosperous world to which
+nearly all present were utterly foreign.
+
+Barbara, sensitive to the concentrated regard which their entrance had
+attracted, drew closer to Dr. Amos Stone, their family physician,
+who had accompanied them at her particular request. Except for Mrs.
+Sylvester, she and her sister were the only white women in the room.
+
+Before they could take the seats to which they had been ushered, the
+clerk's stentorian tones sent the girls' names echoing down the court
+room and Barbara, much perturbed, found herself standing with Helen
+before the clerk's desk. There was a moment's wait and the deputy
+marshal, who had motioned to one of the prisoners sitting in the “cage”
+ to step outside, emphasized his order with a muttered imprecation to
+hurry. A slouching figure finally shambled past him and stopped some
+little distance from the group in front of the Judge's bench.
+
+“House-breaking,” announced the clerk. “Charge brought by--” He looked
+up at the two girls.
+
+“Miss Helen McIntyre,” answered one of the twins composedly. “Daughter
+of Colonel Charles McIntyre of this city.”
+
+“Charge brought by Miss Helen McIntyre,” continued the clerk,
+“against--” and his pointed finger indicated the seedy looking man
+slouching before them.
+
+“Smith,” said the latter, and his husky voice was barely audible.
+
+“Smith,” repeated the clerk. “First name--?”
+
+“John,” was the answer, given after a slight pause.
+
+“John Smith, you are charged by Miss Helen McIntyre with house-breaking.
+What say you--guilty or not guilty?”
+
+The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shot an uneasy
+look about him.
+
+“Not guilty,” he responded.
+
+At that instant Helen caught sight of Benjamin Clymer and his companion,
+Philip Rochester, and her pale cheeks flushed faintly at the lawyer's
+approach. He had time but for a hasty handshake before the clerk
+administered the oath to the prisoner and the witnesses in the case.
+
+Rochester walked back and resumed his seat by Clymer. Propping himself
+in the corner made by the bench and the cage, inside of which sat the
+prisoners, he opened his right hand and unfolded a small paper. He read
+the brief penciled message it contained not once but a dozen times.
+Folding the paper into minute dimensions he tucked it carefully inside
+his vest pocket and glanced sideways at Clymer. The banker hardly
+noticed his uneasy movements as he sat regarding Helen McIntyre standing
+in the witness box. Although paler than usual, the girl's manner was
+quiet, but Clymer, a close student of human nature, decided she was
+keeping her composure by will power alone, and his interest grew.
+
+The Judge, from the Bench, was also regarding the handsome witness and
+the burglar with close attention. Colonel Charles McIntyre, a wealthy
+manufacturer, had, upon his retirement from active business, made the
+National Capital his home, and his name had become a household word for
+philanthropy, while his twin daughters were both popular in Washington's
+gay younger set. Several reporters of local papers, attracted by the
+mention of the McIntyre name, as well as by the twins' appearance,
+watched the scene with keen expectancy, eager for early morning “copy.”
+
+As the Assistant District Attorney rose to question Helen McIntyre, the
+Judge addressed him.
+
+“Is the prisoner represented by counsel?” he asked.
+
+For reply the burglar shook his head. Rising slowly to his feet, Philip
+Rochester advanced to the man's side.
+
+“If it please the court,” he began, “I will take the case for the
+prisoner.”
+
+His offer received a quick acceptance from the Bench, but the scowl with
+which the burglar favored him was not pleasant. Hitching at his frayed
+flannel collar, the man partly turned his back on the lawyer and
+listened with a heavy frown to Helen's quick answers to the questions
+put to her.
+
+“While waiting for my sister to return from a dance early this morning,”
+ she stated, “I went downstairs into the library, and as I entered it I
+saw a man slip across the room and into a coat closet. I retained enough
+presence of mind to steal across to the closet and turn the key in
+the door; then I ran to the window and fortunately saw Officer O'Ryan
+standing under the arc light across the street. I called him and he
+arrested the prisoner.”
+
+Her simple statement evoked a nod of approval from the Assistant
+District Attorney, and Rochester frowned as he waived his right
+to cross-examine her. The next witness was Officer O'Ryan, and his
+testimony confirmed Helen's.
+
+“The prisoner was standing back among the coats in the closet,” he said.
+“My automatic against his ribs brought him out.”
+
+“Did you search your prisoner?” asked Rochester, as he took the witness.
+
+“Yes, sir.
+
+“Find any concealed weapons?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“A burglar's kit?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Did the prisoner make a statement after his arrest?”
+
+“No, sir; he came along peaceably enough, hardly a word out of him,”
+ acknowledged O'Ryan regretfully. He enjoyed a reputation on the force
+as a “scrapper,” and a willing prisoner was a disappointment to his
+naturally pugnacious disposition.
+
+“Did you search the house?”
+
+“Sure, and haven't I been telling you I did?” answered O'Ryan; his
+pride in his achievement in arresting a burglar in so fashionable
+a neighborhood as Sheridan Circle was giving place to resentment at
+Rochester's manner of addressing him. At a sign from the lawyer, he left
+the witness stand, and Rochester addressed the Judge.
+
+“I ask the indulgence of the court for more time,” he commenced, “that I
+may consult my client and find if he desires to call witnesses.”
+
+“The court finds,” responded the Judge, “that a clear case of
+house-breaking has been proven against the prisoner by reputable
+witnesses. He will have to stand trial.”
+
+For the first time the prisoner raised his eyes from contemplation of
+the floor.
+
+“I demand trial by jury,” he announced.
+
+“It is your right,” acknowledged the Judge, and turned to consult his
+calendar.
+
+Stepping forward, the deputy marshal laid his hand on the burglar's
+shoulder.
+
+“Go inside,” he directed and held open the cage door, which immediately
+swung back into place, and Rochester, following closely at the
+prisoner's heels, halted abruptly. A fit of coughing shook the burglar
+and he paused by the iron railing, gasping for breath.
+
+“Water,” he pleaded, and a court attendant handed a cup to Rochester,
+standing just outside the cage, and he passed it over the iron railing
+to the burglar. Then turning on his heel the lawyer rejoined Clymer, his
+discontent plainly discernible.
+
+“A clear case against your client,” remarked Clymer, reading his
+thoughts. “Don't take the affair to heart, man; you did your best under
+difficulties.”
+
+Rochester shook his head gloomily. “I might have--Jove! why didn't I ask
+for bail?”
+
+“Bail!” The banker suppressed a chuckle as he eyed the threadbare suit
+and tattered appearance of the burglar, who had resumed his seat in the
+prisoner's cage. “Who would have stood surety for that scarecrow?”
+
+“I would have.” Rochester spoke with some vehemence, but his words were
+partly drowned by the violent fit of coughing which again shook the
+burglar, and before he could finish his sentence, Helen McIntyre stood
+at his elbow. She bowed gravely to Clymer who rose at her approach, and
+laid a persuasive hand on Rochester's sleeve.
+
+“Will you come with us?” she asked. “Barbara and Dr. Stone are ready to
+leave. The doctor wishes to--” As she spoke she looked across at Stone,
+who stood opposite her in the little group. He failed to catch both her
+word and her eye, his gaze, passing over her shoulder, was riveted on
+the burglar.
+
+“Something is wrong,” he announced and pushed past Barbara. “Let me
+inside the cage,” he directed as the deputy marshal kept the gate closed
+at his approach. “Your prisoner appears ill.”
+
+One glance at the burglar proved the truth of the physician's statement
+and the gate was hastily opened. Stone bent over the man, whose
+spasmodic breathing could be heard distinctly through the court room,
+then his gaze shifted to the other occupants of the cage.
+
+“The man must have air,” he declared. “Your aid here.” Looking up his
+eyes met Clymer's, and the latter came swiftly into the cage, followed
+by Rochester, and the deputy marshal slammed the door shut behind them.
+
+“Step out this way,” he said, as Clymer aided the physician in lifting
+the burglar, and he led them into the ante-room whence prisoners were
+taken into the cage.
+
+Stretching his burden on the floor, Stone tore open the man's shirt and
+felt his heart, while Clymer, spying a water cooler, sped across the
+room and returned immediately with a brimming glass.
+
+“Here's water,” he said, but Stone refused the proffered glass.
+
+“No use,” he announced. “The man is dead.”
+
+“Dead!” echoed the deputy marshal. “Well, I'll be--say, doctor,” but
+Stone had darted out of the room, and he turned open-mouthed to Clymer.
+“If it wasn't Doctor Stone I would say he was crazy,” he declared.
+
+“Tut! Feel the man's heart and convince yourself,” suggested Clymer
+tartly, and the deputy marshal, dropping on one knee, did so. Detecting
+no heart-beat, the officer passed his hand over the dead man's unshaven
+chin and across his forehead, brushing back the unkempt hair. Under his
+none too gentle touch the wig slipped back, revealing to his astonished
+gaze a head of short cropped, red hair.
+
+Clymer, who had followed the deputy marshal's movements with interest,
+gave a shout which was echoed by Rochester and Dr. Stone, who returned
+at that moment.
+
+“Good God!” gasped Clymer, shaken out of his accustomed calm. “Jimmie
+Turnbull!”
+
+The deputy marshal eyed the startled men.
+
+“You don't mean--” he stammered, and paused.
+
+For answer Dr. Stone straightened the dead man and removed the wig.
+
+“James Turnbull,” he said gravely, and turning, addressed Rochester, who
+had dropped down on the nearest chair. “Cashier of the Metropolis Trust
+Company, Rochester, and your roommate, masquerading as a burglar.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. THE GAME OF CONSEQUENCES
+
+Rochester did not appear to hear Dr. Stone's words. With eyes half
+starting from their sockets he sat staring at the dead man, completely
+oblivious of the others' presence. After watching him for a moment the
+physician turned briskly to the dazed deputy marshal.
+
+“Summon the coroner,” he directed. “We cannot move the body until he
+comes.”
+
+His curt tone brought the official's wits back with a jump and he made
+for the exit, only to be stopped at the threshold by a sandy-haired man
+just entering the room.
+
+At the word coroner, Rochester raised himself from his bent attitude and
+brushed his hand across his eyes.
+
+“No need for a coroner to diagnose the case,” he objected. “Poor
+Turnbull always said he would go off like that.”
+
+Stone moved nearer. “Like that?” he questioned, pointing to the still
+figure. “Explain yourself, Rochester. Did Turnbull expect to die here in
+this manner?”
+
+“No--no--certainly not.” The lawyer moistened his dry lips. “But when a
+man has angina pectoris he knows the end may come at any moment and
+in any place. Turnbull made no secret of suffering from that disease.”
+ Rochester turned toward Clymer. “You knew it.”
+
+Benjamin Clymer, who had been gazing alternately at the dead man and
+vaguely about the room, looked startled at the abrupt question.
+
+“I knew Turnbull had bad attacks of the heart; we all knew it at
+the bank,” he stated. “But I understood the disease had responded to
+treatment.”
+
+“There is no cure for angina pectoris,” declared Rochester.
+
+“No permanent cure,” amended Stone, and would have added more, but
+Rochester stopped him.
+
+“Now that you know Turnbull died of angina pectoris there is no
+necessity of sending for the coroner,” Rochester spoke in haste, his
+words tumbling over each other. “I will go at once and communicate with
+an undertaker.” But before he could rise from his chair the sandy-haired
+man, who had conducted a whispered conversation with the deputy marshal,
+advanced toward the group.
+
+“Just a moment, gentlemen,” he said, and turned back a lapel of his coat
+and displayed a metal badge. “I am Ferguson of the Central Office. Do
+you know the deceased?”
+
+“He was my intimate friend,” announced Rochester before his companions
+could reply to the detective's question, which was addressed to all.
+“Mr. Clymer, here, can tell you that Jimmie Turnbull, cashier of his
+bank, was well known in financial and social Washington.”
+
+“How came he here in this fix?” asked Ferguson with more force than
+grammatic clarity.
+
+“A sudden heart attack--angina pectoris, you know,” replied Rochester
+glibly, “with fatal results.”
+
+“I wasn't alluding to what killed him,” Ferguson explained. “But why was
+the cashier of the Metropolis Trust Company,” he looked questioningly
+at Clymer whom he knew quite well by sight, “and a social high-light,
+decked out in these clothes and a wig, too?” leaning down, the better to
+examine the clothing on the dead man.
+
+“He had just been held for the Grand Jury on a charge of
+house-breaking,” volunteered the deputy marshal. “I reckon that brought
+on his heart-attack.”
+
+“True, true,” agreed Rochester. “The excitement was too much for him.”
+
+“House-breaking” ejaculated the detective. “Dangerous sport for a man
+suffering with angina pectoris, aside from anything else. Who preferred
+charges?”
+
+“The Misses McIntyre,” answered the deputy marshal, to whom the question
+was addressed. “Like to interview them?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“No, no!” Rochester was on his feet instantly. “There is no necessity to
+bring the twins out here--it's too tragic!”
+
+“Tragic?” echoed Ferguson. “Why?”
+
+“Why--why--Turnbull was arrested in their house,” Rochester was
+commencing to stutter. “He was their friend--”
+
+“Caught burglarizing, heh?” Ferguson's eyes glowed; the case already
+whetted his remarkably keen inquisitorial instinct which had gained him
+place and certain fame in the Washington police force. “Are the Misses
+McIntyre still in the building?”
+
+“They were in the court room just before we brought Turnbull's body
+here,” responded the deputy marshal. “I guess they are still waiting,
+eh, doctor?”
+
+Stone, thus appealed to, nodded. “I agree with Mr. Rochester,” he said,
+and the gravity of his manner impressed Ferguson. “It is better for me
+to break the news of Mr. Turnbull's death to the young ladies before
+bringing them here. Therefore, with your permission, Ferguson”--He got no
+further.
+
+Through the outer entrance of the room came Helen McIntyre and her
+sister Barbara, conducted by the same bowing patrolman who had ushered
+them into the court room an hour before.
+
+“My God! Too late!” stammered Rochester under his breath, and he turned
+in desperation to Benjamin Clymer. The bank president's state of mind at
+the extraordinary masquerade and sudden death of his popular and trusted
+cashier bordered on shocked horror, which had made him a passive
+witness of the rapidly shifting scene. Rochester clutched his arm in his
+agitation. “Get the twins out of here--do something, man! Don't you know
+that Turnbull was in love with--”
+
+His fervid whisper penetrated further than he realized and one of the
+McIntyre twins looked inquiringly in their direction. Clymer, more
+startled than his demeanor indicated, wondered if she had overheard
+Rochester's ejaculations, but whatever action the banker contemplated in
+response to the lawyer's appeal was checked by a scream from the girl
+on his right. With ashen face and trembling finger she pointed to
+Turnbull's body which suddenly confronted her as she walked forward.
+
+“Who is it?” she gasped. “Babs, tell me!” And she held out her hand
+imploringly.
+
+Her sister stepped to her side and bent over Turnbull. When she looked
+up her lips alone retained their color.
+
+“Hush!” she implored, giving her sister a slight shake. “Hush! It is
+Jimmie Turnbull. Can you not see for yourself, dear?”
+
+It seemed doubtful if Helen heard her; with attention wholly centered
+on the dead man she swayed on her feet, and Dr. Stone, thinking she was
+about to fall, placed a supporting arm about her.
+
+“Do you not know Jimmie?” asked her sister. “Don't stare so, dearest.”
+ Her tone was pleading.
+
+“Perhaps the young lady has some difficulty in recognizing Mr. Turnbull
+in his disguise,” suggested Ferguson, who stood somewhat in the
+background but closely observing the scene.
+
+“Disguise!” Helen raised her eyes and Ferguson, hardened as he had
+become to tragic scenes, felt a throb of pity as he caught the pent-up
+agony in her mute appeal.
+
+“Yes, Miss,” he said awkwardly. “The burglar you caught in your house
+was Mr. Turnbull in disguise.”
+
+Barbara McIntyre released her grasp of her sister's arm and collapsed on
+a chair. Stone, still supporting Helen, felt her muscles grow taut and
+an instant later she stepped back from his side and stood by her sister.
+As the two girls faced the circle of men, the likeness between them was
+extraordinary. Each had the same slight graceful figure, equal
+height; and feature for feature, coloring matching coloring, they were
+identical; their gowns, even, were cut on similar lines, only their hats
+varied in shape and color.
+
+“Do I understand, gentlemen,” Helen began, and her voice gained
+steadiness as she proceeded, “that the burglar whom Officer O'Ryan and I
+caught lurking in our house was James Turnbull?”
+
+“He was,” answered Ferguson, and Stone, as the twins looked dumbly at
+him, confirmed the detective's statement with a brief, “Yes.”
+
+The silence that ensued was broken by Barbara rising to her feet.
+
+“Jimmie won his wager,” she announced. Her gaze did not waver before
+the concentrated regard of the men facing her. “He broke into our
+house--but, oh, how can I pay my debt to him now that he is dead!”
+
+“Hush!” Helen laid a cautioning hand on her sister's arm as the latter's
+voice gained in shrillness, the shrillness of approaching hysteria.
+
+“I am all right, Helen.” Barbara waved her away impatiently. “What
+caused Jimmie's death?”
+
+“Angina pectoris,” declared Rochester. “Too much excitement brought on
+a fatal attack.” Barbara nodded dazedly. “I knew he had heart trouble,
+but--” She stepped toward Turnbull and her voice quivered with feeling.
+“Don't leave Jimmie lying there; take him to his room, doctor,” turning
+entreatingly to Stone.
+
+The physician looked at her compassionately. “I will, just as soon as
+the coroner views the body,” he promised. “But come away now, Babs; this
+is no place for you and Helen.” He signed to the deputy marshal to open
+the door as he walked across the room, Barbara keeping step with him,
+and her sister following in their wake. At the door Barbara paused and
+looked back.
+
+“Will there be an inquest?” she asked.
+
+“That's for the coroner to decide,” responded Ferguson. “As long as Mr.
+Turnbull entered your house on a wager and died from an attack of angina
+pectoris the inquest is likely to be a mere formality. Ah, here is the
+coroner now,” as a man paused in the doorway.
+
+Helen McIntyre moved back from the door to make room for Coroner
+Penfield. Having had occasion to attend court that morning, he was
+passing the door when attracted by the group just inside the room.
+Courteously acknowledging Helen's act, Penfield stepped briskly across
+the threshold and stopped abruptly on catching sight of the lonely
+figure on the floor.
+
+“Won't you hold an autopsy, Ferguson?” asked Clymer, breaking his long
+silence.
+
+“No, sir, we never do when the cause of death is apparent,” the
+detective bowed to Coroner Penfield. “Isn't that so, Coroner?”
+
+Penfield nodded. “Unless the condition of the body indicates foul play
+or the relatives specially request it, we do not perform autopsies,” he
+answered. “What has happened here?” and he gazed about with quickened
+interest.
+
+“Mr. Turnbull, who masqueraded as a burglar on a wager with Miss
+McIntyre died suddenly from angina pectoris,” explained the deputy
+marshal.
+
+“Just a case of death from natural causes,” broke in Rochester. “Please
+write out a permit for me to remove Turnbull's body, Dr. Penfield.”
+
+Helen McIntyre took a step forward. Her eyes, twice their accustomed
+size, shone brightly, in contrast to her dead white face. Carefully
+avoiding her sister's glance she addressed the coroner.
+
+“I must insist,” she began and stopped to control her voice. “As Mr.
+Turnbull's fiancee, I--” she faltered again. “I demand that an autopsy
+be held to determine the cause of his death.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. THE ROOM WITH THE SEVEN DOORS
+
+Mrs. Brewster regarded her surroundings with inward satisfaction. It
+would have taken a far more captious critic than the pretty widow to
+find fault with the large, high-ceilinged room in which she sat. The
+handsome carved Venetian furniture, the rich hangings and valuable
+paintings on the walls gave evidence of Colonel McIntyre's artistic
+taste and appreciation of the beautiful. Mrs. Brewster had never failed,
+during her visit to the McIntyre twins, to examine the rare curios in
+the carved cabinets and the tapestries on the walls, but that afternoon,
+with one eye on the clock and the other on her embroidery, she sat
+waiting in growing impatience for the interruption she anticipated.
+
+The hands of the clock had passed the hour of five before the buzz of a
+distant bell brought her to her feet. Hurrying to the window she peeped
+between the curtains in time to see a stylish roadster electric glide
+down the driveway leading from the McIntyre residence and stop at the
+curb. As she turned to go back to her chair Dr. Stone was ushered into
+the library by the footman. Mrs. Brewster welcomed her cousin with frank
+relief.
+
+“I have waited so impatiently for you,” she confessed, making room for
+him to sit on the sofa by her side.
+
+“I was detained, Margaret.” Stone's voice was not over-cordial; three
+imperative telephone calls from her, coming at a moment when he had been
+engaged with a serious case in his office, had provoked him. “Do you
+wish to see me professionally?”
+
+“Indeed, I don't.” She laughed frankly. “I am the picture of health.”
+
+Stone, observing her fine coloring and clear eyes, silently agreed with
+her. The widow made a charming picture in her modish tea-gown, and the
+physician, watching her with an appraising eye, acknowledged the beauty
+which had captivated all Washington. Mrs. Brewster had carried her
+honors tactfully, a fact which had gained her popularity even among
+the dowagers and match-making mothers who take an active part in
+Washington's social season.
+
+“Then, Margaret, what do you wish to see me about?” Stone asked, after
+waiting without result for her to continue speaking.
+
+She laughed softly. “You are the most practical of men,” she said. “It
+would not have been so difficult to find a companion anxious to spend
+the whole afternoon with me for my sake alone.”
+
+“Colonel McIntyre, for instance?” he teased, and laughed amusedly at her
+heightened color. “Have a care, Margaret; McIntyre's flirtations are all
+very well, but he is the type of man to be deadly in earnest when once
+he falls in love.”
+
+“Thanks for your warning,” Mrs. Brewster smiled, then grew serious. “I
+sent for you to ask about Jimmie Turnbull's death this morning. Barbara
+told me you accompanied them to the police court.”
+
+“Yes. Why weren't you with the girls?”
+
+“Because I was told nothing of their trip to the police court until
+they had returned,” she replied. “How horribly tragic the whole affair
+is!” And a shiver she could not suppress crept down her spine.
+
+“It is,” agreed Stone. “What possessed Jimmie Turnbull to play so mad a
+trick?”
+
+“His wager with Barbara.”
+
+Stone leaned a little nearer. “Have you learned the nature of that
+wager?” he asked, lowering his voice.
+
+“No. Babs was in so hysterical a condition when she returned from
+the police court that she gave a very incoherent account of the whole
+affair, and she has kept her room ever since luncheon,” explained Mrs.
+Brewster.
+
+Stone looked puzzled. “I understood that Jimmie was attentive to Helen
+McIntyre and not to Barbara,” he said. “But upon my word, Barbara
+appeared more overcome by Jimmie's death than Helen.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster did not reply at once; instead, she glanced carefully
+around. The room was generally the rallying place of the McIntyres. It
+stretched across almost the entire width of the house; the diamond-paned
+and recessed windows gave it a medieval air in keeping with its antique
+furniture, and the seven doors opening from it led, respectively, to the
+large dining room beyond, a morning room, billiard room, the front and
+back halls, and the Italian loggia which over-looked the stretch of
+ground between the McIntyre residence and its neighbor on the north.
+Apparently, she and Dr. Stone had the room to themselves.
+
+“I cannot answer your question with positiveness,” she stated. “Frankly,
+Jimmie appeared impartial in his attentions to the twins. When he wasn't
+with Barbara he was with Helen, and vice versa.”
+
+Stone gazed at her in some perplexity. “Are you aware that Helen stated
+at the police court this morning that she was Turnbull's fiancee?”
+
+“What!” Mrs. Brewster actually bounced in her seat. “You--you astound
+me!”
+
+“I was a bit surprised myself,” acknowledged the physician. “I thought
+Rochester--however, that is neither here nor there. Helen not only
+announced she was Jimmie's fiancee but as such demanded that a
+post-mortem examination be held to determine the cause of his death.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster's pretty color faded and the glance she turned on her
+cousin was sharp. “Why should Helen suspect foul play?” she demanded.
+“For that is what her request hinted.”
+
+“True.” Stone pulled his beard absentmindedly. “Ah, here is Colonel
+McIntyre,” he exclaimed as the portieres before the hall door parted and
+a tall man strode into the library.
+
+McIntyre was a favorite with the old physician, and he welcomed his
+arrival with warmth. Exchanging a word of greeting with Mrs. Brewster,
+McIntyre drew up a chair and dropped into it.
+
+“I called at your office, doctor,” he said. “Went there at once on
+learning the shocking news about poor Turnbull. Why in the world didn't
+he announce who he was when my daughter had him arrested as a burglar?
+He must have realized that prolonged excitement was bad for his weak
+heart.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster, who had settled herself more comfortably in her corner of
+the sofa on McIntyre's arrival, answered his remark.
+
+“I only knew Jimmie superficially,” she said, “but he had one
+distinguishing trait patent to all, his inordinate fondness for
+practical jokes. Probably the predicament he found himself in was highly
+to his taste--until his heart failed.”
+
+Her voice, slightly raised, carried across the room and reached the ears
+of a tall, slender girl who had stood hesitating on the threshold of
+the dining worn door on beholding the group by the sofa. All hesitation
+vanished, however, as the meaning of Mrs. Brewster's remark dawned on
+her, and she walked over to the sofa.
+
+“You are very unjust, Margaret,” she stated, and at sound of her low
+triante voice McIntyre whirled around and frowned slightly. “Jimmie was
+thinking of the predicament of others, not of himself.”
+
+“What do you mean, Helen?” her father demanded.
+
+“Why, how could Jimmie reveal his identity in court without involving
+us?” she asked. “Good afternoon, doctor,” recollecting her manners,
+and her attention thus diverted, she missed the sudden questioning
+look which Mrs. Brewster and her father exchanged. “No,” she continued,
+“Jimmie sacrificed himself for others.”
+
+“By becoming a burglar.” McIntyre laughed shortly. “Don't talk arrant
+nonsense, Helen.”
+
+The girl flushed at his tone, and Dr. Stone, an interested onlooker,
+marveled at the fleeting flash of disdain which lighted her dark eyes.
+Stone's interest grew. The McIntyre family had always been particularly
+congenial, and the devotion of Colonel McIntyre (left a widower when
+the twins were in short frocks) to his daughters had been commented
+on frequently by their wide circle of friends in Washington and by
+acquaintances made in their travels abroad.
+
+Colonel McIntyre had married when quite a young man. Frugality and
+industry and a brilliant mind had reaped their reward, and, wiser than
+the majority of Americans, he retired early from business and devoted
+himself to a life of leisure and the education of his daughters. Their
+debut the previous autumn had been one of the social events of the
+Washington season, and the instant popularity the girls had attained
+proved a source of pride to Colonel McIntyre. His chief pleasure
+consisted in gratifying their every whim, and Dr. Stone, knowing the
+family as he did, wondered at the faintly discernible air of constraint
+in the girl's manner. Usually frank to a sometimes embarrassing degree,
+she appeared to some disadvantage as she sat gazing moodily at the tips
+of her patent-leather pumps. Dr. Stone's attention shifted to Colonel
+McIntyre and lastly to the pretty widow at his elbow. Had Dame Rumor
+spoken truly in the report, widely circulated, that the colonel had
+fallen a victim to the charms of Margaret Brewster, his daughters'
+guest? If so, it might account for the young girl's manner--however
+devoted McIntyre's daughters might be to Mrs. Brewster as a friend
+and companion, they might resent having so young a woman for their
+step-mother.
+
+Not receiving any reply to his remarks, McIntyre was about to address
+his daughter again when she spoke.
+
+“Jimmie will be justified,” she declared stoutly. “Has the coroner held
+the autopsy yet, Dr. Stone?”
+
+“Autopsy!” McIntyre spoke with sharp abruptness. “I thought it was
+clearly established that Jimmie died from angina pectoris?”
+
+“It is so believed,” responded Stone. His mystification was growing; had
+not Helen informed her father of the scene which had transpired at
+the police court, and of her request to the coroner? “I understand the
+post-mortem examination will be made this afternoon, Helen.”
+
+A heavy paper knife, nicely balanced between McIntyre's well manicured
+fingers, dropped to the floor as a step sounded behind him and the
+butler, Grimes, stopped by his side.
+
+“Mr. Rochester just telephoned that his partner, Mr. Harry Kent, is
+out of town, Miss”--bowing to the silent girl. Grimes always contented
+himself with addressing his “young ladies” by the simple prefix “Miss,”
+ and never added their given names, because, as he expressed it, “them
+twins are alike as two peas, and which is which, I dunno.” Considering
+himself one of the family from his long service with Colonel McIntyre,
+he kept a watchful eye on the twins, but their pranks in childhood had
+often exasperated him into giving notice, which he generally found it
+convenient to forget when the first of a new month came around.
+
+“Mr. Kent will be back to-morrow,” added the butler, as silence followed
+the delivery of his message. “Mr. Rochester wishes to know if he can
+transact any business for you.”
+
+“Please thank him and say no.” The girl's color rose as she caught her
+father's disapproving look. The colonel waited until the butler had
+disappeared before addressing her.
+
+“Why did you send for Harry Kent?” he questioned. “You know I do not
+approve of his attentions to Barbara. Rochester is well enough--”
+
+“Speaking of Rochester”--Mrs. Brewster saw the gathering storm clouds in
+the girl's expressive eyes, and broke hastily into the conversation. “I
+see by the paper, Cousin Amos”--she turned so as to face Dr. Stone--
+“that Mr. Rochester declared positively that Jimmie Turnbull died from
+angina pectoris.”
+
+“What's Philip's opinion worth?” The young girl smiled disdainfully.
+“Philip seems to think that having shared an apartment with Jimmie,
+gives him intimate knowledge of Jimmie's health. Philip is not a medical
+man.”
+
+“No,” acknowledged her father. “But here is a medical man who was on the
+spot when Jimmie died. What's your opinion, Stone?”
+
+Stone, suddenly conscious of the keen attention of his companions, spoke
+slowly as was his wont when making a serious statement.
+
+“Rochester's contention that Jimmie died from angina pectoris would
+seem borne out by what transpired,” he said. “Undoubtedly Jimmie felt an
+attack coming on and used the customary remedy to relieve it--”
+
+“And what was that remedy?” questioned Mrs. Brewster swiftly.
+
+“Amyl nitrite.” Stone spoke with decision. “I could detect its presence
+by the fruity, pleasant odor which always accompanies the drug's use.”
+
+“Ah!” The exclamation slipped from Mrs. Brewster. “Is the drug
+administered in water?”
+
+“No, it is inhaled--take care, you have dropped your handkerchief.”
+ Stone pulled himself up short in his speech, and bent over but the
+young girl was too quick for him, and stooped first to pick up her
+handkerchief.
+
+As she raised her head Stone caught sight of the tiny mole under the
+lobe of her left ear. It was the one mark which distinguished Barbara
+from her twin sister. Colonel McIntyre had addressed his daughter as
+Helen, and she had not undeceived him--Why? The perplexed physician gave
+up the problem.
+
+“The drug,” he went on to explain, “amyl nitrite comes in pearl capsules
+and is crushed in a handkerchief and the fumes inhaled.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster leaned forward suddenly. “Would that cause death?” she
+asked.
+
+Stone shook his head in denial. “Not the customary dose of three
+minims,” he answered, and turning, found that Barbara had stolen from
+the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. BARBARA ENGAGES COUNSEL
+
+Bidding a hasty good morning to the elevator girl, Harry Kent, suit-case
+in hand, entered the cage and was carried up to the fourth floor of the
+Wilkins Building. Several business acquaintances stopped to chat with
+him as he walked down the corridor to his office, and it was fully
+fifteen minutes before he turned the knob of the door bearing the firm
+name--ROCHESTER AND KENT, ATTORNEYS--on its glass panel. As he
+stepped inside the anteroom which separated the two offices occupied
+respectively by him and his senior partner, Philip Rochester, a stranger
+rose from the clerk's desk.
+
+“Yes, sir?” he asked interrogatively.
+
+Kent eyed him in surprise. “Mr. Rochester here?” he inquired.
+
+“No, sir. It am in charge of the office.”
+
+“You are!” Kent's surprise increased. “I happen to be Mr. Kent, junior
+partner in this firm.”
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir.” The dapper clerk bowed and hurrying to his
+desk took up a letter. “Mr. Rochester left this for you, Mr. Kent,
+before his departure last night.”
+
+“His departure!” Kent deposited his suit-case on one of the chairs
+and tore open the envelope. The note was a scrawl, which he had some
+difficulty in deciphering.
+
+“Dear Kent,” it ran. “Am called out of town; will be back Saturday.
+Saunders gave me some of his cheek this afternoon, so I fired him. I
+engaged John Sylvester to fill his place, who comes highly recommended.
+He will report for work to-morrow. Ta-ta--PHIL.”
+
+
+Kent thrust the note into his pocket and picked up his suit-case.
+
+“Mr. Rochester states that he has engaged you,” he said. “Your
+references--?”
+
+“Here, sir.” The clerk handed him a folded paper, and Kent ran his
+eyes down the sheet from the sentence: “To whom it may concern” to the
+signature, Clark Hildebrand. The statement spoke in high terms of John
+Sylvester, confidential clerk.
+
+“I can refer you to my other employers, Mr. Kent,” Sylvester volunteered
+as the young lawyer stood regarding the paper. “If you, desire further
+information there is Mr. Clymer and--”
+
+“No, Judge Hildebrand's recommendation is sufficient.” And at Kent's
+smile the clerk's anxious expression vanished. “Did Mr. Rochester give
+you any outline of the work?”
+
+“Yes, sir; he told me to file the papers in the Hitchcock case, and
+attend to the morning correspondence.”
+
+“Very good. Has any one called this morning?”
+
+“No, sir. These letters were addressed to you personally, and I have
+not opened them,” Sylvester handed a neatly arranged package to Kent.
+“These,” indicating several letters lying open on his desk, “are to the
+firm.”
+
+“Bring them to me in half an hour,” and Kent walked into his private
+office, carefully closing the door behind him. Opening his suit-case he
+took out his brief bag and laid it on the desk in front of him together
+with the package of letters. Instead of opening the letters immediately,
+he tilted back in his chair and regarded the opposite wall in deep
+thought. Philip Rochester could not have selected a worse time to absent
+himself; three important cases were on the calendar for immediate trial
+and much depended on the firm's successful handling of them. Kent swore
+softly under his breath; his last warning to Rochester, that he would
+dissolve their partnership if the older man continued to neglect his
+practice, had been given only a month before and upon Kent's return
+from eight months' service in the Judge Advocate General's Department in
+France. Apparently his warning had fallen on deaf ears and Rochester was
+indulging in another periodic spree, for so Kent concluded, recalling
+the unsteady penmanship of the note handed to him by the new clerk, John
+Sylvester.
+
+Kent was still frowning at the opposite wall when a faint knock sounded,
+and at his call Sylvester entered.
+
+“Here are the letters received this morning, sir, and type-written
+copies of the answers to yesterday's correspondence which Mr. Rochester
+dictated before leaving,” Sylvester explained as he placed the papers on
+Kent's desk. “If you will o.k. them, I will mail them at once.”
+
+Kent went through the letters with care, and the new clerk rose in
+his estimation as he read the excellent dictation of the clearly typed
+answers.
+
+“These will do admirably,” he announced. “Sit down and I will reply to
+the other letters.”
+
+At the end of an hour Sylvester closed his stenographic note book and
+collected the correspondence, by that time scattered over Kent's desk.
+
+“I'll have these notes ready for your signature before lunch,” he said
+as he picked up a newspaper from the floor where it had tumbled during
+Kent's search for some particular letter heads. “I brought in the
+morning paper, sir; thought perhaps you had not seen it.”
+
+“Thanks.” Kent swung his chair nearer the window and opened the
+newspaper. He had purchased a copy when walking through Union Station
+on his arrival, but had left it in the cafeteria where he had snatched a
+cup of coffee and hot rolls before hurrying to his office.
+
+He read a column devoted to international affairs, scanned an account
+of a senatorial wrangle, and was about to turn to the second page,
+whistling cheerily, when his attention was arrested by the headings:
+
+     BANK CASHIER DIES IN POLICE COURT
+    JAMES TURNBULL, MISTAKEN FOR BURGLAR,
+   SUFFERS FATAL ATTACK OF ANGINA PECTORIS
+
+Kent's whistle stopped abruptly, and clutching the paper in both hands,
+he devoured the short account printed under the scare heads:
+
+  “While masquerading as a burglar on a wager,
+   James Turnbull, cashier of the Metropolis Trust
+   Company, was arrested by Officer O'Ryan at an
+   early hour yesterday morning in the residence of
+   Colonel Charles McIntyre.
+
+  “Officer O'Ryan conducted his prisoner to the
+   8th Precinct Police Station, and later he was
+   arraigned in the police court.  The Misses
+   McIntyre appeared in person to prefer the
+   charges against the supposed burglar, who, on
+   being sworn, gave the name of John Smith.
+
+  “Philip Rochester, the well known criminal
+   lawyer, was assigned by the court to defend the
+   prisoner.  Upon the evidence submitted Judge
+   Mackall held the prisoner for trial by the grand
+   jury.
+
+  “It was just after the Judge's announcement
+   that 'John Smith,' then sitting in the prisoners
+   cage, was seized with the attack of angina pectoris
+   which ended so fatally a few minutes later.
+   It was not until after he had expired that those
+   rendering him medical assistance became aware
+   that he was James Turnbull in disguise.
+
+  “James Turnbull was a native of Washington,
+   his father, the late Hon Josiah Turnbull of
+   Connecticut, having made this city his permanent
+   home in the early '90s.  Mr. Turnbull was looked
+   upon as one of the rising young men in banking
+   circles; he was also prominent socially, was a
+   member of the Alibi, Metropolitan, and Country
+   Clubs, and until recently was active in all forms
+   of athletics, when his ill-health precluded active
+   exercise.
+
+  “Officer O'Ryan, who was greatly shocked by
+   the fatal termination to Mr. Turnbull's rash
+   wager, stated to the representatives of the press
+   that Mr. Turnbull gave no hint of his identity
+   while being interrogated at the 8th Precinct
+   Station.  Friends attribute Mr. Turnbull's
+   disinclination to reveal himself to the court, to
+   his enjoyment of a practical joke, not realizing
+   that the resultant excitement of the scene would
+   react on his weak heart.
+
+  “Mr. Turnbull is survived by a great aunt; he had
+   no nearer relatives living.  It is a singular
+   coincidence that the lawyer appointed by the
+   court to defend Turnbull was his intimate friend,
+   Philip Rochester, who made his home with the
+   deceased.”
+
+Kent read the column over and over, then, letting the paper slip to
+the floor, sat back in his chair, too dumb-founded for words. Jimmie
+Turnbull arrested as a burglar in the home of the girl he loved on
+charges preferred by her, and defended in court by his intimate friend,
+both of whom were unaware of his identity! Kent rumpled his fair
+hair until it stood upright. And Jimmie's death had followed almost
+immediately as the result of over-excitement!
+
+Kent's eyes grew moist; he had been very fond of the eccentric, lovable
+bank cashier, whose knack of performing many a kindly act, unsolicited,
+had endeared him to friends and acquaintances alike. Kent had seen much
+of him after his return from France, for Jimmie's attention to Helen
+McIntyre had been only second to Kent's devotion to the latter's sister,
+Barbara. The two men had one bond in common. Colonel McIntyre disliked
+them and discouraged their calling, to the secret fury of both, but love
+had found a way--Kent's eyes kindled at the recollection of Barbara's
+half-shy, wholly tender reception of his ardent pleading.
+
+Turnbull's courtship had met with a set-back where he had least
+expected it--Philip Rochester had fallen deeply in love with Helen and,
+encouraged by her father, had pressed his suit with ardor. Frequent
+quarrels between the two close friends had been the outcome, and Jimmie
+had confided to Kent, before the latter left on the business trip to
+Chicago from which he had returned that morning, that the situation had
+become intolerable and he had notified Rochester that he would no longer
+share his apartment with him, and to look for other quarters as quickly
+as possible.
+
+So buried was Kent in his thoughts that he never heard Sylvester's
+knock, and it was not until the clerk stood at his elbow that he awoke
+from his absorption.
+
+“A lady to see you, Mr. Kent,” he announced. “Shall I show her in?”
+
+“Certainly--her name?”
+
+“She gave none.” Sylvester paused on his way back to the door. “It is
+one of the Misses McIntyre.”
+
+“Good Lord!” Kent was on his feet, straightening his tie and brushing
+his rumpled hair. “Here, wait a minute”--clutching a whisk broom in a
+frantic endeavor to remove some of the signs of travel which still clung
+to him. But he had only opportunity for one dab at his left shoulder
+before Barbara entered the office. All else forgotten, Kent tossed down
+the whisk broom and the next instant he had clasped her hand in both of
+his, his eyes telling more eloquently than his stumbling words, his joy
+at seeing her again.
+
+“This is a business call,” she stated demurely, “on you and Mr.
+Rochester.” Her lovely eyes held a glint of mischief as she mentioned
+Kent's partner, then her expression grew serious. “I want legal advice.”
+
+“I am afraid you will have to put up with me,” Kent moved his chair
+closer to the one she had selected by the desk. “Rochester is out of
+town.”
+
+“What!” Barbara sat bolt upright. “Where--where's he gone?”
+
+“I don't know”--Kent pulled Rochester's letter out of his pocket and
+re-read it. “He did not mention where he was going.”
+
+Barbara stared at him; she had paled.
+
+“When did Philip leave?”
+
+“Last night, I presume.” Kent tipped back his chair and pressed a
+buzzer; a second later Sylvester appeared in the doorway.
+
+“Did Mr. Rochester tell you where he was going?” he asked the clerk.
+
+“No, sir. Mr. Rochester stated that you had his address.
+
+“I?” Kent concealed his growing surprise. “Did he leave any message for
+me, other than the letter?”
+
+“No, sir.
+
+“At what hour did he leave the office?”
+
+“I can't say, sir; he was still here when I went away at five o'clock.
+He gave me a key to the office so that I could get in this morning.”
+ Kent remained silent, and he added, “Is that all, sir?”
+
+“Yes, thanks,” and the clerk retired.
+
+As the door closed Barbara turned to Kent. “Have you heard about Jimmie
+Turnbull?”
+
+Her voice was a bit breathless as she put the question, but Kent,
+puzzling over his partner's eccentric conduct, hardly noted her
+agitation.
+
+“Yes. I saw the account just now in the morning paper,” he answered. “A
+shocking affair. Poor Turnbull! He was a good fellow.”
+
+“He was!” Barbara spoke with unaccustomed vehemence, and looking at her
+Kent saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Impulsively he threw his
+arm about her, holding her close.
+
+“My heart's dearest,” he murmured fondly. “If there is
+anything--anything I can do--”
+
+Barbara straightened up and winked away the tears. “There is,” she said
+tersely. “Investigate Jimmie's death.”
+
+Kent gazed at her in astonishment. “Please explain,” he suggested. “The
+morning paper states very plainly that the cause of death was an attack
+of angina pectoris.”
+
+“Yes, I know, and that is what Philip Rochester contends also.” Barbara
+paused and glanced about the office; they had the room to themselves.
+“B-but Helen believes otherwise.”
+
+Kent drew back. “What do you mean, Babs?” he demanded.
+
+“Just that,” Barbara spoke wearily, and Kent, giving her close
+attention, grew aware of dark shadows under her eyes which told plainly
+of a sleepless night. “I want to engage you as our counsel to help Helen
+find out about Jimmie's death.”
+
+“Find out what?” asked Kent, his bewilderment increasing. “Do you mean
+that Jimmie's death was not the result of a dangerous heart disease, but
+of foul play?”
+
+Barbara nodded her head vigorously. “Yes.”
+
+Kent sat back in his chair and regarded her in silence for a second.
+“How could that be, Babs, in an open police court with dozens of
+spectators all about?” he asked. “The slightest attempt to kill him
+would have been frustrated by the police officials; remember, a prisoner
+especially, is hedged in and guarded.”
+
+“Well, he wasn't so very hedged in,” retorted Barbara. “I was there and
+saw how closely people approached Jimmie.”
+
+“Did you observe any one hand him anything?”
+
+“N-no,” Barbara drawled the word as she strove to visualize the scene
+in the court room; then catching Kent's look of doubt she added with
+unmistakable emphasis. “Helen and I do not believe that Jimmie died from
+natural causes; we think the tragedy should be investigated.” Her soft
+voice deepened. “I must know the truth, Harry, dear; for I feel that
+perhaps I am responsible for Jimmie's death.”
+
+“You!” Kent's voice rose in indignant protest. “Absurd!”
+
+“No, it isn't If it had not been for my wager with Jimmie, he never
+would have entered our house disguised as a burglar.”
+
+“What brought about the wager?”
+
+“Last Sunday Helen was boasting of her two new police dogs which Philip
+Rochester recently gave her, and said how safe she felt. We've had
+several burglaries in our neighborhood,” Barbara explained, “and when
+Jimmie scoffed at the dogs, I bet him that he could not break into the
+house without the dogs arousing the household. I never once thought
+about Jimmie's heart trouble,” she confessed, and her lips quivered. “I
+feel so guilty.”
+
+“You are inconsistent, Babs,” chided Kent gently. “One moment you
+reproach yourself for being the cause of bringing on Jimmie's heart
+attack, and the next you declare you believe he died through foul play.
+You,” looking at her tenderly, while a whimsical smile softened his
+stern mouth, “don't go so far as to claim you murdered him, do you?”
+
+“Of course I didn't!” Barbara spoke with indignant emphasis, and
+her fingers snapped in uncontrollable nervousness. “Jimmie was very
+dear”--she hesitated--“to us. Neither Helen nor I can leave a stone
+unturned until we know without a shadow of a doubt what killed him.”
+
+“That is easily proven,” declared Kent. “An autopsy--”
+
+“Helen asked the coroner to hold one.”
+
+Kent stared--the twins were certainly in earnest.
+
+“My advice to you is to wait until you hear the result of the
+post-mortem from Coroner Penfield,” he said gravely. “Until we know
+definitely what killed Jimmie, speculation is idle.”
+
+Barbara rose at once. “I thought you would be more sympathetic,” she
+remarked, and her voice was a bit unsteady. “I am sorry to have troubled
+you.”
+
+In an instant Kent was by her side. “Barbara,” he entreated. “I promise
+solemnly to aid you in every possible way. My only happiness is in
+serving you,” his voice was very tender. “I slave here day in and day
+out that I may sometime be able to make a home for you. Don't leave me
+in anger.”
+
+“I was not angry, only deeply hurt,” Barbara confessed. “I have so
+longed to see you. I--I needed you! I--” The rest was lost as she bowed
+her head against Kent's broad shoulder, and his impassioned whispers of
+devotion brought solace to her troubled spirit.
+
+“I must go,” declared Barbara ten minutes later. “Father would make a
+fearful scene if he knew I had been here to see you.” She picked up her
+hand-bag, preparatory to leaving. “Then I can tell Helen that you will
+aid us?”
+
+“Yes.” Kent stopped on his way to the door. “I will try and see the
+coroner this afternoon. In the meantime, Babs, can't you tell me what
+makes you suspect that Jimmie might have been killed?”
+
+“I have nothing tangible to go on,” she admitted. “Only a woman's
+instinct--”
+
+Kent did not smile. “Instinct,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Well, does
+your instinct hazard a guess as to the weapon, the opportunity, and the
+motive for such a crime? Jimmie Turnbull hadn't an enemy in the world.”
+
+Barbara looked at him oddly. “Suppose you find the answer to those
+conundrums,” she suggested. “Don't come to the elevator; Margaret
+Brewster may see you with me, and she would tell father of our meeting.”
+
+“Is Mrs. Brewster still with you?” asked Kent, paying no attention to
+her protests as he accompanied her down the corridor. “I understood she
+planned to return to the West last week.”
+
+“She did, but father persuaded her to prolong her visit,” Barbara was
+guilty of a grimace, then hailing the descending elevator she bolted
+into it and waved her good-by to Kent as the cage shot downward.
+
+When Kent reentered his office he found Sylvester hanging up the
+telephone receiver.
+
+“Mr. Clymer has telephoned to ask if you will come to the Metropolis
+Trust Company at once,” he said, and before Kent could frame a reply he
+had darted into the coat closet and brought out his hat and cane, and
+handed them to him.
+
+“Don't wait for me, but go out for your luncheon,” directed Kent,
+observing the hour. “I have my key and can get in when I return if you
+should not be here,” and not waiting to hear Sylvester's thanks, he
+hurried away.
+
+The clock over the bank had just struck noon when Kent reached the fine
+office building which housed the Metropolis Trust Company, and as he
+entered the bank, a messenger stopped him.
+
+“Mr. Clymer is waiting for you in his private office, sir,” he said,
+and led the way past the long rows of mahogany counters and plate glass
+windows to the back of the bank, finally stopping before a door bearing
+the name, in modest lettering--BENJAMIN AUGUSTUS CLYMER. The bank
+president was sensitive on one point; he never permitted initials
+only to be used before his name. The messenger's deferential knock was
+answered by a gruff command to enter. Clymer welcomed Kent with an air
+of relief.
+
+“You know Colonel McIntyre,” he said by way of introduction, and Kent
+became aware that the tall man lounging with his back to him in one
+of the leather covered chairs was Barbara's father. Colonel McIntyre
+returned Kent's bow with a curt nod, and then Clymer pushed forward a
+chair.
+
+“Sit down, Kent,” he began. “You have already handled several
+confidential affairs for the bank in a satisfactory manner, and I have
+sent for you to-day to ask your aid in an urgent matter. Before I go
+further I must ask you to treat what I am about to say as strictly
+confidential.”
+
+“Certainly, Mr. Clymer.”
+
+“Good! Then draw up your chair.” Clymer waited until Kent had complied
+with his request. “You have heard of Jimmie Turnbull's sudden and tragic
+death?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“As you know, he was cashier of this bank.” Clymer spoke with
+deliberation. “Soon after word reached here of his death, the
+vice-president and treasurer of the bank had a careful examination made
+of his books and accounts.” Clymer paused to clear his throat; he was
+troubled with an irritating cough. “Turnbull's accounts were found in
+first class order.”
+
+“I am sure they would be, Mr. Clymer,” exclaimed Kent warmly. “Any one
+who knew Jimmie would never doubt his honesty.”
+
+McIntyre turned in his chair and regarded the speaker with no friendly
+eye, but aside from that, took no part in the conversation. Clymer did
+not at once resume speaking.
+
+“To-day,” he commenced finally, “Colonel McIntyre called at the bank
+and asked the treasurer, Mr. Gilmore, for certain valuable negotiable
+securities which he left in the bank's care a month ago. Mr. Gilmore
+told Colonel McIntyre that these securities had been given to Jimmie
+Turnbull last Saturday on his presentation of a letter from McIntyre
+requesting that they be turned over to the bank's cashier. McIntyre
+expressed his surprise and asked to see the letter”--Clymer paused and
+took a paper from his desk. “Here is the letter.”
+
+Kent took the paper and examined it closely.
+
+“This is perfectly in order,” he said. “A clear statement in Colonel
+McIntyre's handwriting and on his stationery.”
+
+For the first time Colonel McIntyre addressed him.
+
+“The letter is in order,” he acknowledged, “and written on my
+stationery, but it was not written by me. The letter is a clever
+forgery.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. THE VANISHING MAN
+
+It still lacked twenty minutes of nine o'clock that night when Harry
+Kent turned into the Saratoga apartment hotel, and not waiting to take
+one of the elevators, ran up the staircase to the apartment which had
+been occupied jointly by Jimmie Turnbull and Philip Rochester. Kent
+had already selected the right key from among those on the bunch he
+had found in Rochester's desk at the office, and slipping it into the
+key-hole of the outer door, he turned the lock and walked noiselessly
+inside the dark apartment.
+
+The soft click of the outer door as it swung to was hardly noticeable,
+and Kent, pausing only long enough to get his breath from his run up
+the staircase, stepped into the living room and reached for the electric
+light switch. Instead of encountering the cold metal of the switch his
+groping fingers closed over warm flesh.
+
+Startled as he was, Kent retained enough presence of mind to grasp the
+hand tightly; the next second a man hurled himself upon him and he gave
+back. Furniture in the path of the struggling men was overturned as they
+fought in silent desperation. Kent would have given much for light. He
+strained his eyes to see his adversary, but the pitch darkness concealed
+all but the vaguest outline. As Kent got his second wind, confidence in
+his strength returned and he redoubled his efforts; suddenly his hands
+shifted their grip and he swung his adversary backward, pinning him
+against the wall.
+
+A faint, sobbing breath escaped the man, and Kent felt the whole figure
+against which he pressed, quiver and relax; the taut muscles of chest
+and arms grew slack, collapsed.
+
+Kent stood in wonderment, peering ahead, his hands empty--the man had
+vanished!
+
+Drawing a long, long breath Kent felt his way back to the electric
+switch and pressed the button, lighting both the wall brackets and the
+table lamps. With both hands on his throbbing temples he gazed at the
+over-turned chairs; they, as well as his aching throat, testified to his
+encounter having been a reality and not a fantastic dream. His glance
+traveled this way and that about the room and rested longest on the
+opposite side of the room where he had pinned the man to the wall.
+Wall--! Kent leaned against a tall highboy and laughed weakly,
+immoderately. He had pushed the man straight against the door leading
+into Rochester's bedroom, and not, as he had supposed, against the solid
+wall.
+
+The man had been quick-witted enough to grasp the situation; his
+pretended weakness had caused Kent to relax his hold, a turn of the knob
+of the door, which swung inward, and he had made his escape into the
+bedroom, leaving Kent staring into dark, empty space.
+
+Gathering his wits together Kent hurried into the bedroom--it was empty;
+so also was the bathroom opening from it. From there Kent made the
+rounds of the apartment, switching on the light until the place was
+ablaze, but in spite of his minute search of closets and under beds
+and behind furniture he could find no trace of his late adversary. Kent
+stopped long enough in the pantry to refresh himself with a glass of
+water, then he returned to the living room and sat down in an arm chair
+by the window. He wanted time to think.
+
+How had the man vanished so utterly, leaving no trace behind in the
+apartment? The window in Rochester's room was locked on the inside; in
+fact, all the apartment windows were securely fastened, he had found on
+his tour of inspection; the only one not locked was the oval, swinging
+window high up in the side wall of the bathroom; only a child could
+squeeze through it, Kent decided. The window looked into a well formed
+by the wings of the apartment house, and had a sheer drop of fifty feet
+to the ground below.
+
+But for his unfortunate luck in backing the man against the bedroom
+door instead of the wall he would not have escaped, but how had the man
+realized so instantly that he was against a door in the pitch darkness?
+It certainly showed familiarity with his surroundings. Kent sat upright
+as an idea flashed through his brain--was the man Philip Rochester?
+
+Kent scouted the idea but it persisted. Suppose it had been Philip
+Rochester awakened from a drunken slumber by his entrance in the dark;
+if so, nothing more likely than that he had mistaken him, Kent, for a
+burglar and sprung at him. But why had he disappeared without revealing
+his identity to Kent? Surely the same reason worked both ways--the man
+who had wrestled with him was as unaware of Kent's identity as Kent was
+of his--they had fought in the dark and in silence.
+
+Kent laughed aloud. The situation had its amusing side; then, as
+recollection came of the scene in the bank that morning, his mirth
+changed to grim seriousness. At his earnest solicitation and backed by
+Benjamin Clymer's endorsement of his plan, Colonel McIntyre had agreed
+to give him until Saturday night to locate the missing securities; if he
+failed, then the colonel proposed placing the affair in the hands of the
+authorities.
+
+Kent's firm mouth settled into dogged lines at the thought; such a
+procedure meant besmirching Jimmie Turnbull's name; let the public get
+the slightest inkling that the bank cashier was suspected of forgery
+and there would be the devil to pay. Kent was determined to protect the
+honor of his dead friend, and to aid Helen McIntyre in her investigation
+of his sudden death.
+
+Jimmie Turnbull had been the soul of honor; that he had ever stooped
+to forgery was unbelievable. There was some explanation favorable to
+him--there must be. Kent's clenched fist struck the arm of his, chair
+a vigorous blow and he leapt to his feet. Wasting no further time
+on speculation, he commenced a systematic search of the apartment,
+replacing each chair and table as well as the rugs which had been
+over-turned in his recent tussle, after which he tried the drawers of
+Jimmie's desk. They were unlocked. A careful search brought nothing to
+light but receipted bills, some loose change, old dinner cards, theater
+programs, tea invitations, and several packages of cigarettes.
+
+Turning from the desk Kent walked over to the table which he knew was
+Philip Rochester's property; he recalled having once seen Jimmie place
+some papers there by mistake; having done so once, the mistake might
+have occurred again. Taking out his partner's bunch of keys, he soon
+found one that fitted and opened the drawers. He had half completed his
+task, without finding any clew to the missing securities, when he was
+interrupted by the sound of the opening of the front door, and had but
+time to slam the drawers shut and pocket the keys when the night clerk
+of the hotel stepped inside the apartment and, closely followed by a
+sandy-haired man, walked into the living room. He halted abruptly at
+sight of Kent.
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Kent,” he exclaimed, and took in at a glance the
+orderly arrangement of the room. “Pardon my unceremonious entrance, but
+I had no idea you were here, sir; we received a telephone message that a
+burglar had broken in here.”
+
+“You did!” Kent stared at him. Was he right, after all, in his
+conjecture; had the man been Philip Rochester? It would seem so, for who
+else, after taking refuge elsewhere, would have telephoned a warning of
+burglars to the hotel office? “Have you any idea who sent the message,
+Mr. Stuart?”
+
+“I have not; it was an out-side call--” Stuart turned to his companion.
+“Sorry I brought you here on an idiotic chase, Mr. Ferguson.”
+
+“That's all right,” responded the detective good naturedly. “Would you
+like me to look through the apartment just to see if any one really
+is concealed on the premises, Mr. Kent?” he asked, and added quickly,
+seeing Kent hesitate, “I am from the central office; Mr. Stuart can
+vouch for me.”
+
+Kent's hesitation vanished. “I'd be obliged if you would, Ferguson.” As
+he spoke he led the way to Rochester's bedroom. “Come with us, Stuart,”
+ as the clerk loitered behind.
+
+“Guess not, sir; I'm needed down at the desk, we are short-handed
+to-night. Let me know how the hunt turns out,” and he stepped into the
+vestibule. “Good night.”
+
+“Good night,” called Kent, and he accompanied Ferguson as far as the
+bathroom door, then returned to his inspection of Rochester's table. He
+had just completed his task when the detective rejoined him.
+
+“No trace of any one,” the latter announced. “Some one put up a joke on
+Stuart, I imagine. Find what you wished, sir?”
+
+Kent was distinctly annoyed by the question. “Yes,” he replied shortly.
+
+Ferguson ignored his curt tone. “Will you spare me a few minutes of your
+time, Mr. Kent?” he asked persuasively. “I won't detain you long.”
+
+“Certainly.” Kent moved over to the chair in the window which he had
+occupied before and pointed to another, equally as comfortable.
+
+“What can I do for you?” he asked as Ferguson dropped back and stretched
+himself in the soft depths of the big chair.
+
+“Supply some information,” answered the detective promptly. “Just a
+minute,” as Kent started to interrupt. “You don't recall me, but I met
+you while working on the Chase case; you handled that trial in great
+shape,” Ferguson looked admiringly at his companion. “Lots of the praise
+went to your partner, Mr. Rochester, but I know you did the work. Now,
+please let me finish,” holding up a protesting hand. “I know you've
+carried Mr. Rochester in your firm; he's dead wood.” Kent was silent.
+What the detective said was only too true. Rochester, realizing the
+talent and industry which characterized his younger partner, had
+withdrawn more and more from active practice, and had devoted himself to
+the social life of the National Capital.
+
+“This is rather a long-winded way of reaching my point,” finished the
+detective. “But, Mr. Kent, I want your assistance in a puzzling case.”
+
+“Go on, I'm listening.” As he spoke, Kent drew out his cigar case and
+handed it to Ferguson. “The matches are on the smoking stand at your
+elbow. Now, what is it, Ferguson?”
+
+His companion did not reply at once; instead he puffed at his cigar.
+
+“Did you read in the paper about Mr. Turnbull's death?” he asked when
+the cigar was drawing to his satisfaction, and as Kent nodded a silent
+affirmative in answer to his question, he asked another. “Did you know
+him well?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did he have an enemy?”
+
+“Not to my knowledge.” Kent was watching the detective narrowly; what
+was he driving at? “On the contrary Turnbull was extremely popular.”
+
+“With Colonel McIntyre?” Ferguson had hoped to surprise Kent with the
+question, but his companion's expression did not alter.
+
+“N-no, perhaps he was not over-popular with the colonel,” he admitted
+slowly. “What prompts the question, Ferguson?”
+
+The detective hitched his chair nearer. “I'm going to lay all my cards
+on the table,” he announced. “I need advice and you are the man to
+give it to me. Listen, Mr. Kent, this Jimmie Turnbull masquerades as a
+burglar night before last at the McIntyre house, is arrested, a charge
+brought against him for house-breaking by Miss Helen McIntyre, and
+shortly after he dies--”
+
+“From angina pectoris,” finished Kent, as the detective paused.
+
+“So Mr. Rochester contended,” admitted Ferguson. “We'll let that go for
+a minute. Now, when Miss McIntyre saw Turnbull's body, she demanded an
+autopsy. Why?”
+
+“To discover the cause of death,” answered Kent quietly. “That is
+obvious, Ferguson.”
+
+“Sure. And why did she wish to discover it?” He waited a brief instant,
+then answered his own question. “Because Miss McIntyre did not agree
+with Rochester that Turnbull had died from angina pectoris--that is
+obvious, too. Now, what made her think that?”
+
+“I am sure I don't know”--Kent's air of candor was unmistakable and
+Ferguson showed his disappointment.
+
+“Hasn't Miss McIntyre been to see you?”
+
+“No,” was Kent's truthful answer; Barbara was the younger twin and her
+sister was therefore, “Miss McIntyre.”
+
+“You must recollect, Ferguson,” he added, “that had Miss McIntyre called
+to see me about poor Turnbull, I would not have discussed the interview
+with any one, under any conditions.”
+
+“Certainly. I am not asking you to break any confidences; in fact,”
+ Ferguson smiled, “I must ask you to consider our conversation
+confidential. Now, Mr. Kent, does it not strike you as odd that
+apparently the only man in Washington who really disliked Turnbull was
+Colonel McIntyre, and it is his daughter who intimates that Turnbull's
+death was not due to natural causes?”
+
+“Oh, pshaw!” Kent shrugged his shoulders. “You are taking an exaggerated
+view of the affair. Colonel McIntyre is an honorable upright American,
+and Turnbull was the same.”
+
+“People speak highly of both men,” acknowledged the detective. “I saw Mr.
+Clymer, president of Turnbull's bank this afternoon, and he paid a fine
+tribute to his dead cashier.”
+
+Kent drew an inward sigh of relief. Benjamin Clymer had proved true
+blue; he had not permitted Colonel McIntyre's desire for immediate
+publicity and belief in Turnbull's guilt to shake his faith in his
+friend.
+
+“You see, Ferguson, there is no motive for such a crime as you suggest,”
+ he remarked.
+
+“Oh, for the motive,”--Ferguson rubbed his hands nervously together as
+he shot a look at his questioner; the latter's clear-cut features and
+manly bearing inspired confidence. “We know of no motive,” he corrected.
+
+“And we know of no crime having been perpetrated,” rapped out Kent.
+“Come, man; don't hunt a mare's nest.”
+
+“Ah, but it isn't a mare's nest!” Ferguson remarked dryly.
+
+Kent bent eagerly forward--“You have heard from the coroner--”
+
+“Not yet,” Ferguson jerked forward his chair until his knees touched
+Kent.
+
+Had either man looked toward the window near which they were sitting, he
+would have seen a black shadow squatting ape-like on the window ledge.
+As Kent leaned over to relight his cigar, the face at the window
+vanished, to cautiously reappear a second later.
+
+“The case piqued my interest,” continued the detective after a pause.
+“And I made an investigation on my own hook. After the departure of the
+McIntyre twins and Coroner Penfield, I went back to the court room and
+poked around the prisoners' cage. There I found this.” He took out of
+his pocket a small bundle and carefully unwrapped the oil-skin cover.
+
+“A handkerchief?” questioned Kent as the detective did not unfold the
+white muslin, but held it with care.
+
+“Yes. One of the prisoners in the cage told me Turnbull dropped it as
+Dr. Stone and the deputy marshal carried him into the ante-room. Smell
+anything?” holding up the handkerchief.
+
+“Yes.” Kent wrinkled his nose and sniffed several times. “Smells like
+fruit.”
+
+Ferguson nodded. “Good guess; I noticed the odor and went at once to Dr.
+McLane. He told me the handkerchief was saturated with amyl nitrite.”
+
+“Amyl nitrite,” repeated Kent reflectively. “It is given for angina
+pectoris.”
+
+“Yes. Well, in this case it was the remedy and not the disease which
+killed Turnbull,” announced Ferguson triumphantly.
+
+“Nonsense!” ejaculated Kent. “I happen to know that the capsules contain
+only three minims--I once heard Turnbull say so.”
+
+“True, but Turnbull got a lethal dose, all right; and he thought he was
+taking only the regular one. Devilishly ingenious on the part of the
+criminal, wasn't it?
+
+“Yes. Have you detected the criminal?” Kent put the question with
+unmoved countenance, but with inward foreboding; the detective's
+mysterious manner was puzzling.
+
+“Not yet, but I will,” Ferguson hesitated. “The first thing was to
+establish that a crime had really been committed.”
+
+Kent bent down and sniffed again at the handkerchief to which a faint
+fruity aroma still clung.
+
+“How did you discover that?” he asked.
+
+“Dr. McLane and I took the handkerchief to a laboratory and the chemist
+found from the number of particles of capsules in the handkerchief, that
+at least two capsules--or double the usual dose--had been crushed by
+Turnbull and the fumes inhaled by him; with fatal results.”
+
+“Hold on,” cautioned Kent. “In the flurry of the moment, Turnbull may
+have accidentally put two capsules in the handkerchief, meaning only to
+use one.”
+
+“Mr. Kent,” the detective spoke impressively, “that wasn't Turnbull's
+handkerchief.”
+
+“Not his own handkerchief!” exclaimed Kent. “Then, are you sure that
+Turnbull used it?”
+
+“Yes; that fact is established by reputable witnesses; Dr. Stone,
+Mr. Clymer, and the deputy marshal,” Ferguson spoke with increasing
+earnestness. “That is a woman's handkerchief--look at it.”
+
+Ferguson laid the little bundle on the broad arm of Kent's chair and
+with infinite care folded back the edges of the handkerchief, revealing
+as he did so, the small particles of capsules still clinging to the
+linen. But Kent hardly observed the capsules, his entire attention being
+centered on one corner of the handkerchief, which had neatly embroidered
+on it the letter “B.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. STRAIGHT QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS
+
+Colonel McIntyre, with an angry gesture, threw down the newspaper he had
+been reading.
+
+“Do you mean to say, Helen, that you decline to go to the supper
+to-night on account of the death of Jimmie 'Turnbull?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, father.”
+
+McIntyre flushed a dark red; he was not accustomed to scenes with either
+of his daughters, and here was Helen flouting his authority and Barbara
+backing her up.
+
+“It is quite time this pretense is dropped,” he remarked stiffly. “You
+were not engaged to Jimmie--wait,” as she attempted to interrupt him.
+“You told me the night of the burglary that he was nothing to you.'”
+
+“I was mistaken,” Helen's voice shook, she was very near to tears. “When
+I saw Jimmie lying there, dead”--she faltered, and her shoulders drooped
+forlornly--“the world stopped for me.”
+
+“Hysterical nonsense!” McIntyre was careful to avoid Barbara's eyes; her
+indignant snort had been indicative of her feelings. “Keep to your room,
+Helen, until you regain some common sense. It is as well our friends
+should not see you in your present frame of mind.”
+
+Helen regarded her father under lowered lids. “Very well,” she said
+submissively and walked toward the door; on reaching it she paused, and
+spoke over her shoulder. “Don't try me too far, father.”
+
+McIntyre stared for a full minute at the doorway through which Helen
+took her departure.
+
+“Well, what the--” He pulled himself up short in the middle of the
+ejaculation and turned to Barbara. “Go and get dressed,” he directed.
+“We must leave here in twenty minutes.”
+
+“I am not going,” she announced.
+
+“Not going!” McIntyre frowned, then laughed abruptly. “Now, don't tell
+me you were engaged to Jimmie Turnbull, also.”
+
+“I think you are horrid!” Barbara's small foot came down with a vigorous
+stamp.
+
+“Well, perhaps I am,” her father admitted rather wearily. “Don't keep us
+waiting, Babs; the car will be here in less than twenty minutes.”
+
+“But, father, I prefer to stay at home.”
+
+“And I prefer to have you accompany us,” retorted McIntyre. “Come,
+Barbara, we cannot be discourteous to Mrs. Brewster; she is our guest,
+and this supper is for her entertainment.”
+
+“Well, take her.” Barbara was openly rebellious.
+
+“Barbara!” His tone caused her to look at him in wonder; instead of the
+stern rebuke she expected, his voice was almost wheedling. “I cannot
+very well take Mrs. Brewster to a cafe at this hour without causing
+gossip.”
+
+“Oh, fiddle-sticks!” exclaimed Barbara. “I don't have to play chaperon
+for you two. Every one knows she is visiting us; what's there improper
+in your taking her out to supper? Why”--regarding him critically--“she's
+young enough to be your daughter!”
+
+“Go to your room!” There was nothing wheedling about McIntyre at that
+instant; he was thoroughly incensed.
+
+As Barbara sped out happy in having gained her way, she announced, as
+a parting shot, “If you can be nasty to Helen, father, I can be nasty,
+too.”
+
+Colonel McIntyre brought his fist down on a smoking table with such
+force that he scattered its contents over the floor. When he rose from
+picking up the debris, he found Mrs. Brewster at his elbow.
+
+“Can I help?” she asked.
+
+“No, thanks, everything is back in place.” He pulled forward a chair for
+her. “If agreeable to you I will telephone Ben Clymer that we will stop
+for him and take him with us to the Cafe St. Marks; or would you prefer
+some other man?”
+
+“Oh, no.” She threw her evening wrap across the sofa and sat down. “Are
+the girls ready?”
+
+“They--they are indisposed, and won't be able to go to-night.”
+
+“What! Both girls?”
+
+“Yes, both”--firmly, not, however, meeting her eyes.
+
+“Hadn't I better stay with them?” she asked. “Have you telephoned for Dr.
+Stone?”
+
+“There is no necessity for giving up our little spree,” he declared
+cheerily. “The girls don't need a physician. They”--with meaning, “need
+a mother's care.” He picked up her coronation scarf from the floor where
+it had slipped and laid it across her bare shoulders; the action was
+almost a caress. She made a lovely picture as she sat in the high-backed
+carved chair in her chic evening gown, and as her soft dark eyes met his
+ardent look, McIntyre felt the hot blood surge to his temples, and
+with quickened pulse he went to the telephone stand and gave Central a
+number.
+
+Back in her chair Mrs. Brewster sat thoughtfully watching him. She had
+been an unobserved witness of the scene with Barbara, having entered the
+library in time to hear the girl's last remarks. It was not the first
+inkling that she had had of their disapproval of Colonel McIntyre's
+attentions to her, but it had hurt.
+
+The widow had become acquainted with the twins when, traveling in Europe
+just before the outbreak of the World War, and had made the hasty trip
+back to this country in their company. Colonel McIntyre had planned to
+bring the twins, then at school in Paris, home himself, but business had
+kept him in the West and he had cabled to a spinster cousin to chaperon
+them on the trip across the Atlantic Ocean. Nor had he reached New
+York in time to see them disembark, and thus had missed meeting Mrs.
+Brewster, then in her first year of widowhood.
+
+The friendship between the twins and Mrs. Brewster had been kept up
+through much correspondence, and the widow had finally promised to come
+to Washington for their debut, visiting her cousins, Dr. and Mrs. Stone.
+The meeting had but cemented the friendship between them, and at the
+twins' urgent request, seconded with warmth by Colonel McIntyre, she had
+promised to spend the month of April at the McIntyre home.
+
+The visit was nearly over. Mrs. Brewster sighed faintly. There were two
+courses open to her, immediate departure, or to continue to ignore the
+twins' strangely antagonistic behavior--the first course did not suit
+Mrs. Brewster's plans.
+
+Barbara, who had left the library through one of its seven doors, had
+failed to see Mrs. Brewster by the slightest margin; she was intent only
+on being with Helen. The affection between the twins was very close;
+but while their facial resemblance was remarkable, their natures were
+totally dissimilar. Helen, the elder by twenty minutes, was studious,
+shy, and too much given to introspection; Barbara, on the contrary, was
+whimsical and practical by turns, with a great capacity for enjoyment.
+The twins had made their debut jointly on their eighteenth birthday,
+and while both were popular, Barbara had received the greater amount of
+attention.
+
+Barbara tip-toed into the suite of rooms which the girls occupied over
+the library, expecting to find Helen lying on the lounge; instead, she
+found her writing busily at her desk. She tossed down her pen as her
+sister entered, and, taking up a blotter, carefully laid it across the
+page she had been writing.
+
+“Thank heaven, I don't have to go to that supper party,” Barbara
+announced, throwing herself full length on the lounge.
+
+“So father gave it up,” commented Helen. “I am glad.”
+
+“Gave up nothing,” retorted her sister. “He and Margaret Brewster are
+going.”
+
+“What!” Helen was on her feet. “You let them go out alone together?”
+
+“They can't be alone if they are together,” answered Barbara
+practically. “Don't be silly, Helen.”
+
+Helen did not answer at once; she had grown singularly pale. Walking
+over to the window she glanced into the street. “The car hasn't come,”
+ she exclaimed, and consulted her wrist watch. “Hurry, Babs, you have
+just, time to dress and go with them.”
+
+“B-b-but I said I wouldn't go,” stuttered Barbara, completely taken by
+surprise.
+
+“No matter; tell father you have changed your mind.” Helen held out her
+hand. “Come, to please me,” and there was a world of wistful appeal in
+her hazel eyes which Barbara was unable to resist.
+
+It was not until Barbara had completed her hasty toilet and a frantic
+dash downstairs in time to spring into the waiting limousine after
+Margaret Brewster, that she realized she had put on one of Helen's
+evening gowns and not her own.
+
+Benjamin Clymer was standing in the vestibule of the Saratoga, where he
+made his home, when the McIntyre limousine drew up, and he did not keep
+them waiting, as Colonel McIntyre had predicted he would on the drive to
+Clymer's apartment house.
+
+“The clerk gave me your message when I came in, McIntyre,” he explained
+as the car drove off. “I called up your residence and Grimes said you
+were on the way here.”
+
+Barbara, tucked away in her corner of the limousine, listened to Mrs.
+Brewster's animated chatter with utter lack of interest; she wished most
+heartily that she had not been over-persuaded by her sister, and had
+remained at home. That her father had accepted her lame explanation and
+her presence in the party with unaffected pleasure had been plain. Mrs.
+Brewster, after a quiet inquiry regarding her health, had been less
+enthusiastic in her welcome. Barbara was just stifling a yawn when the
+limousine stopped at the entrance to the Cafe St. Marks.
+
+Inside the cafe all was light and gaiety, and Barbara brightened
+perceptibly as the attentive head waiter ushered them to the table
+Colonel McIntyre had reserved earlier in the evening.
+
+“It's a novel idea turning the old church into a cafe,” Barbara remarked
+to Benjamin Clymer. “A sort of casting bread upon the waters of famished
+Washington. I wonder if they ever turn water into wine?”
+
+“No such luck,” groaned Clymer dismally, looking with distaste at the
+sparkling grape juice being poured into the erstwhile champagne goblet
+by his plate. “The cafe is crowded to-night,” and he gazed with interest
+about the room. Colonel McIntyre, who had loitered behind to speak to
+several friends at an adjacent table, took the unoccupied seat by
+Mrs. Brewster and was soon in animated conversation with the widow and
+Clymer; Barbara, her healthy appetite asserting itself, devoted her
+entire attention to the delicious delicacies placed before her. The
+arrival of the after-the-theater crowd awoke her from her abstraction,
+and she accepted Clymer's invitation to dance with alacrity. When they
+returned to the table she discovered that Margaret Brewster and her
+father had also joined the dancers.
+
+Barbara watched them while keeping up a disjointed conversation with
+Clymer, whose absentminded remarks finally drew Barbara's attention, and
+she wondered what had come over the generally entertaining banker. It
+was on the tip of her tongue to ask him the reason for his distrait
+manner when her thoughts were diverted by his next remark.
+
+“Your father and Mrs. Brewster make a fine couple,” he said. “Colonel
+McIntyre is the most distinguished looking man in the cafe and Mrs.
+Brewster is a regular beauty.”
+
+Instead of replying Barbara turned in her seat and scanned her father as
+he and Mrs. Brewster passed them in the dance. Colonel McIntyre did not
+look his age of forty-seven years. His hair, prematurely gray, had a
+most attractive wave to it, and his erect and finely proportioned figure
+showed to advantage in his well-cut dress suit. Barbara's heart swelled
+with pride--her dear and handsome father! Then she transferred
+her regard to Margaret Brewster; she had been such a satisfactory
+friend--why oh, why did she wish to become her step-mother? The twins,
+with the unerring instinct of womanhood, had decided ten days before
+that Weller's warning to his son was timely--Mrs. Brewster was a most
+dangerous widow.
+
+“How is your sister?” inquired Clymer, breaking the silence which had
+lasted nearly five minutes. He was never quite certain which twin he was
+talking to, and generally solved the problem by familiarizing himself
+with their mode of dress. The plan had not always worked as the twins
+had a bewildering habit of exchanging clothes, to the enjoyment of
+Barbara's mischief loving soul, and the mystification of their numerous
+admirers.
+
+“She is rather blue and depressed,” answered Barbara. “We are both
+feeling the reaction from the shock of Jimmie Turnbull's tragic death.
+You must forgive me if I am a bore; I am not good company to-night.”
+
+The arrival of the head waiter at their table interrupted Clymer's
+reply.
+
+“This gentleman desires to speak to you a moment, Miss McIntyre,” he
+said, and indicated a young man in a sack suit standing just back of
+him.
+
+“I'm Parker of the Post,” the reporter introduced himself with a bow
+which included Clymer. “May I sit down?” laying his hand on the back of
+Mrs. Brewster's vacant chair.
+
+“Surely; and won't you have an ice?” Barbara's hospitable instincts were
+aroused. “Here, waiter--”
+
+“No, thanks; I haven't time,” protested Parker, slipping into the chair.
+“I just came from your house, Miss McIntyre; the butler said I might
+find you here, and as it was rather important, I took the liberty of
+introducing myself. We plan to run a story, featuring the dangers of
+masquerading in society, and of course it hinges on the death of Mr.
+Turnbull. I'm sorry”--he apologized as he saw Barbara wince. “I realize
+the topic is one to make you feel badly; but I promise to ask only few
+questions.” His smile was very engaging and Barbara's resentment receded
+somewhat.
+
+“What are they?” she asked.
+
+“Did you recognize Mr. Turnbull in his burglar's make-up when you
+confronted him in the police court?” Parker drew out copy paper and a
+pencil, and waited for her reply. There was a pause.
+
+“I did not recognize Mr. Turnbull in court,” she stated finally. “His
+death was a frightful shock.”
+
+“Sure. It was to everybody,” agreed Parker. “How about your sister, Miss
+Barbara; did she recognize him?”
+
+“No.” faintly.
+
+Parker showed his disappointment; he was not eliciting much information.
+Abruptly he turned to Clymer, whose prominent position in the financial
+world made him a familiar figure to all Washingtonians.
+
+“Weren't you present in the police court on Tuesday morning also?”
+ Parker asked.
+
+“Yes,” Clymer modified the curt monosyllable by adding, “I helped Dr.
+Stone carry Turnbull out of the prisoners' cage and into the anteroom.”
+
+“And did you recognize your cashier?” demanded Parker. At the question
+Barbara set down her goblet of water without care for its perishable
+quality and looked with quick intentness at the banker.
+
+“I recognized Mr. Turnbull when his wig was removed,” answered Clymer,
+raising his head in time to catch Barbara's eyes gazing steadfastly at
+him. With a faint flush she turned her attention to the reporter.
+
+“Mr. Turnbull's make-up must have been superfine,” Parker remarked.
+“Just one more question. Can you tell me if Mr. Philip Rochester
+recognized his room-mate when he was defending him in court?”
+
+“No, I cannot,” and observing Parker's blank expression, she added, “why
+don't you ask Mr. Rochester?”
+
+“Because I can't locate him; he seems to have vanished off the face of
+the globe.” The reporter rose. “You can't tell me where's he's gone, I
+suppose?”
+
+“I haven't the faintest idea,” answered Barbara truthfully. “I was at
+his office this--” she stopped abruptly on finding that Mrs. Brewster
+was standing just behind her. Had the widow by chance overheard her
+remark? If so, her father would probably learn of her visit to the
+office of Rochester and Kent that morning.
+
+“Do I understand that Philip Rochester is out of town?” inquired Mrs.
+Brewster. “Why, I had an appointment with him to-morrow.”
+
+“He's gone and left no address that I can find,” explained Parker.
+“Thank you, Miss McIntyre; good evening,” and the busy reporter hurried
+away.
+
+There was a curious expression in Mrs. Brewster's eyes, but she dropped
+her gaze on her finger bowl too quickly for Clymer to analyze its
+meaning.
+
+“What can have taken Mr. Rochester out of town?” she asked. The question
+was not addressed to any one in particular, but Colonel McIntyre
+answered it, as he did most of the widow's remarks.
+
+“Dry Washington,” he explained. “It isn't the first trip Philip has made
+to Baltimore since the 'dry' law has been in force, eh, Clymer?”
+
+“No, and it won't be his last,” was the banker's response. “What's the
+matter, Miss McIntyre?” as Barbara pushed back her chair.
+
+“I feel a little faint,” she stammered. “The air here is--is stifling.
+If you don't mind, father, I'll take the car and drive home.”
+
+“I'll come with you,” announced Mrs. Brewster, rising hurriedly; and
+as she turned solicitously to aid Barbara she caught Colonel McIntyre's
+admiring glance and his whispered thanks.
+
+Outside the cafe Clymer discovered that the McIntyre limousine was not
+to be found, and, cautioning Barbara and the widow to remain where they
+were, he went back into the cafe in search of Colonel McIntyre, who had
+stayed behind to pay his bill.
+
+A sudden exodus from the cafe as other diners came out to get their cars,
+separated Barbara from Mrs. Brewster just as the former caught sight of
+her father's limousine coming around McPherson Square. Not waiting to
+see what had become of her companion, Barbara started up the sidewalk
+intent on catching their chauffeur's attention. As she stood by the
+curb, a figure brushed by her and a paper was deftly slipped inside her
+hand.
+
+Barbara wheeled about abruptly. She stood alone, except for several
+elaborately dressed women and their companions some yards away who
+were indulging in noisy talk as they hurried along. At that moment the
+McIntyre limousine stopped at the curb and the chauffeur opened the
+door.
+
+“Take me home, Harris,” she ordered. “And then come back for Mrs.
+Brewster and father. I don't feel well--hurry.”
+
+“Very good, miss,” and touching his cap the chauffeur swung his car up
+Fifteenth Street.
+
+The limousine had turned into Massachusetts Avenue before Barbara
+switched on the electric lamp in the car and opened the note so
+mysteriously given to her. She read feverishly the few lines it
+contained,
+
+  Dear Helen:
+  The coroner will call an inquest. Secrete letter “B.”
+
+The note was unsigned but it was in the handwriting of Philip Rochester.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE RED SEAL
+
+The gloomy morning, with leaden skies and intermittent rain, reflected
+Harry Kent's state of mind. He could not fix his attention on the
+business letters which Sylvester placed before him; instead, his
+thoughts reverted to the scene in Rochester's and Turnbull's apartment
+the night before, the elusive visitor he had found there on his arrival,
+his interview with Detective Ferguson, and above all the handkerchief,
+saturated with amyl nitrite, and bearing the small embroidered
+letter “B”--the initial, insignificant in size, but fraught with dire
+possibilities if, as Ferguson hinted, Turnbull had been put to death by
+an over-dose of the drug. “B “--Barbara; Barbara--“B”--his mind rang the
+changes; pshaw! other names than Barbara began with “B.”
+
+“Shall I transcribe your notes, Mr. Kent?” asked Sylvester, and Kent
+awakened from his reverie, discovered that he had scrawled the name
+Barbara and capital “Bs” on the writing pad. He tore off the sheet and
+crumpled it into a small ball. “No, my notes are unimportant.” Kent
+unlocked his desk and took some manuscript from one of the drawers.
+“Make four copies of this brief, then call up the printer and ask how
+soon he will complete the work on hand. Has Mr. Clymer telephoned?”
+
+“Not this morning.” Sylvester rose, papers in hand. “There has been a
+Mr. Parker of the Post who telephones regularly once an hour to ask
+for Mr. Rochester's address and when he is expected at the office.” He
+paused and looked inquiringly at Kent. “What shall I say the next time
+he calls?”
+
+“Switch him on my phone,” briefly. “That is all now, Sylvester. I must
+be in court by noon, so have the brief copied by eleven.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” and Sylvester departed, only to return a second later. “Miss
+McIntyre to see you,” he announced, and stood aside to allow the girl to
+enter.
+
+It was the first time Kent had seen Helen since the tragedy of Tuesday,
+and as he advanced to greet her he noted with concern her air of
+distress and the troubled look in her eyes. Her composed manner was
+obviously only maintained by the exertion of self-control, for the hand
+she offered him was unsteady.
+
+“You are so kind,” she murmured as he placed a chair for her. “Babs told
+me you have promised your aid, and so I have come--” she pressed one
+hand to her side as if she found breathing difficult and Kent, reaching
+for his pitcher of ice water which stood near at hand, filled a tumbler
+and gave it to her.
+
+“Take a little,” he coaxed as she moved as if to refuse the glass. “Why
+didn't you telephone and I would have called on you; in fact, I planned
+to run in and see you this afternoon.
+
+“It is wiser to have our talk here,” she replied. Setting down the empty
+glass she gazed about the office and her face brightened at sight of
+a safe standing in one corner. “Is that yours or Philip's?” she asked,
+pointing to it.
+
+“The safe? Oh, it's for our joint use, owned by the firm, you know,”
+ explained Kent, somewhat puzzled by her eagerness.
+
+“Do you keep your private papers there, as well as the firm's?”
+
+“Oh, yes; Philip has retained one section and I the other.” Kent walked
+over and threw open the massive door which he had unlocked on entering
+the office and left ajar. “Would you like to see the arrangements of the
+compartments?”
+
+Without answering Helen crossed the room and stood by his side.
+
+“Which is Philip's section?” she asked.
+
+“This,” and Kent touched the side of the safe.
+
+Helen turned around and inspected the office; the outer door through
+which she had entered was closed, as were also the private door leading
+directly into the outside corridor, and the one opening into the
+closet. Convinced that they were really alone, she took from her leather
+hand-bag a white envelope and handed it to Kent.
+
+“Please put this in Philip's compartment,” she said, and as he
+hesitated, she added pleadingly, “Please do it, Harry, and ask no
+questions.”
+
+Kent looked at her wonderingly; the girl was obviously laboring under
+intense excitement of some sort, which might at any moment break into
+hysteria. Bottling up his curiosity, he stooped down in front of the
+safe.
+
+“Certainly I will put the envelope away for you,” he agreed cheerily.
+“Wait, though, I must find if Philip left the key of the compartment on
+his bunch.” He took from his pocket the keys he had found so useful
+the night before, and selected one that resembled the key to his own
+compartment, and inserted it in the lock. To his surprise he discovered
+the compartment was already unlocked. Without comment he pulled open the
+inside drawer and started to lay the white envelope on top of the papers
+already there, when he hesitated.
+
+“The envelope is unaddressed, Helen,” he remarked, extending it toward
+her. She waved it back.
+
+“It is sealed with red wax,” she stated. “That is all that is necessary
+for identification.”
+
+Kent turned over the envelope--the flap was held down securely with a
+large red seal which bore the one letter “B.” He dropped the envelope
+inside the drawer, locked the compartment, and closed the door of the
+safe.
+
+“Let us talk,” he suggested and led the way back to their chairs.
+“Helen,” he began, after she was seated. “There is nothing I will not
+do for your sister Barbara,” his manner grew earnest. “I--” he flushed;
+baring his feelings to another, no matter how sympathetic that other
+was, was foreign to his reserved nature. “I love her beyond words to
+express. I tell you this to--to--gain your trust.”
+
+“You already have it, Harry!” Impulsively Helen extended her hand, and
+he held it in a firm clasp for a second. “Babs and I have come at once
+to you in our trouble.”
+
+“Yes, but you have only hinted what that trouble was,” he reminded
+her gently. “I cannot really aid you until you give me your full
+confidence.”
+
+Helen looked away from him and out of the window. The relief, which
+had lighted her face a moment before, had vanished. It was some minutes
+before she answered.
+
+“Babs told you that I suspected Jimmie did not die from angina
+pectoris--” She spoke with an effort.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+She waited a second before continuing her remarks. “I have asked the
+coroner to make an investigation.” She paused again, then added
+with more animation, “He is the one to tell us if a crime has been
+committed.”
+
+“He can tell if death has been accelerated by a weapon, or a drug,”
+ responded Kent; he was weighing his words carefully so that she might
+understand him fully. “But to constitute a crime, it has to be proved
+first, that the act has been committed, and second, that a guilty mind
+or malice prompted it. Can you furnish a clew to establish either of the
+last mentioned facts in connection with Jimmie's death?”
+
+Kent wondered if she had heard him, she was so long in replying, and he
+was about to repeat his question when she addressed him.
+
+“Have you heard from Coroner Penfield?”
+
+“No. I tried several times to get him on the telephone, but without
+success,” replied Kent; his disappointment at not receiving an answer
+to his question showed in his manner. “I went to Penfield's house last
+night, but he had been called away on a case and, although I waited
+until nearly ten o'clock, he had not returned when I left. Have you had
+word from him?”
+
+“Not--not directly.” She had been nervously twisting her handkerchief
+about in her fingers; suddenly she turned and looked full at Kent, her
+eyes burning feverishly. “I would give all I possess, my hope of future
+happiness even, if I could prove that Jimmie died from angina pectoris.”
+
+Kent looked at her in mingled sympathy and doubt.--What did her words
+imply--further tragedy?
+
+“Jimmie might not have died from angina pectoris,” he said, “and still
+not have been poisoned--”
+
+“You mean--”
+
+“Suicide.”
+
+Slowly Helen took in his meaning, but she volunteered no remark, and
+Kent after a pause, added, “While I have not seen Coroner Penfield I
+did hear last night what killed Jimmie.” Helen straightened up, one hand
+pressed to her heart. “It was a lethal dose of amyl nitrite.”
+
+“Amyl nitrite,” she repeated. “Yes, I have heard that it is given
+for heart trouble. How”--she looked at him queerly. “How is it
+administered?”
+
+“By crushing a capsule in a handkerchief and inhaling its fumes”--he
+was watching her closely. “The handkerchief Jimmie was seen to use just
+before he died was found to contain two or more broken capsules.”
+
+Helen sat immovable for over a minute, then she bowed her head and burst
+into dry tearless sobs which wracked her body. Kent laid a tender hand
+on her shoulder, then concluding it was better for her to have her cry
+out, he wandered aimlessly about the office waiting for her to regain
+her composure.
+
+He stopped before one of the windows facing south and stared moodily
+at the Belasco Theater. That playhouse had surely never staged a more
+complicated mystery than the one he had set himself to unravel. What
+consolation could he offer Helen? If he encouraged her belief in his
+theory that Jimmie committed suicide he would have to establish a motive
+for suicide, and that motive might prove to be the theft of Colonel
+McIntyre's valuable securities. Threatened with exposure as a thief and
+forger, Jimmie had committed suicide, so would run the verdict; the
+fact of his suicide was proof of his guilt of the crime Colonel McIntyre
+virtually charged him with, and vice versa.
+
+What had been discovered to point to murder? The finding of a
+handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, which had not belonged to
+the dead man. Proof--bah! it was ridiculous! What more likely than that
+Jimmie, while in the McIntyre house before his arrest as a burglar, had
+picked up one of Barbara's handkerchiefs, stuffed it inside his pocket,
+and when threatened with exposure on being held for the grand jury,
+had, in desperation, crushed the amyl nitrite capsules in Barbara's
+handkerchief and killed himself.
+
+Kent drew a long, long sigh. His faith in Jimmie's honesty was shaken
+at last by the accumulative evidence, and he was convinced that he had
+found the solution to the problem, but how impart it to the weeping
+girl? To prove her lover a thief, forger, and suicide was indeed a task
+he shrank from.
+
+A ring at the telephone caused Kent to move hastily to the instrument;
+when he hung up the receiver Helen was adjusting her veil before a
+mirror over the mantel.
+
+“Colonel McIntyre is in the next room,” he said, keeping his voice
+lowered.
+
+“My father!” Helen's eyes were hard and dry. “Does he know that I am
+here?”
+
+“I don't know; Sylvester simply said he had called to see me and is
+waiting in the outer office.” Observing her indecision, Kent opened the
+door leading directly into the corridor. “You can leave this way without
+encountering Colonel McIntyre.”
+
+Helen hurried through the door and paused in the corridor to whisper
+feverishly in Kent's ear, “Promise me you will remain faithful to
+Barbara whatever develops.”
+
+“I will!” Kent's pledge rang out clearly, and Helen with a lighter heart
+turned to walk away when a telegraph boy appeared around the corner of
+the corridor and thrust a yellow envelope at Kent, who stood half inside
+his office watching Helen.
+
+“Sign here,” the boy said, indicating the line on the receipt slip, and
+getting it back, departed.
+
+Motioning to Helen to wait, Kent tore open the telegram. It was from
+Cleveland and dated the night before. The message ran: Called to
+Cleveland. Address City Club. Rochester.
+
+Without comment Kent held out the telegram so that Helen could read it.
+
+“What!” she exclaimed. “Philip in Cleveland last night. I--I--don't
+understand.” And looking at her Kent was astounded at the flash of
+terror which shone for an instant in her eyes. Before he had time to
+question her she bolted around the corridor.
+
+Kent remained staring ahead for an instant then returned thoughtfully to
+his office, and within a second Sylvester received a telephone message
+to show Colonel McIntyre into Kent's office. Not only Colonel McIntyre
+followed the clerk into the room but Benjamin Clymer. “Any further
+developments, Kent?” inquired the banker. “No, we can't sit down; just
+dropped in to see you a minute.”
+
+“There is nothing new,” Kent had made instant decision; such information
+regarding the death of Turnbull as he had gleaned from Ferguson, and the
+events of the night before should be confided to Clymer alone, and not
+in the presence of Colonel McIntyre.
+
+“Did you search Turnbull's apartment last night as you spoke of doing?”
+ asked McIntyre.
+
+“I did, and found no trace of your securities, Colonel.”
+
+McIntyre lifted his eyebrows as he smiled sarcastically. “Can I see
+Rochester?” he asked.
+
+“He is in Cleveland; I don't know just when he will be back.”
+
+“Indeed? Too bad you haven't the benefit of his advice,” remarked
+McIntyre insolently. “At Clymer's request, Kent, I have allowed you
+until Saturday night to find the securities and either clear Turnbull's
+name or admit his guilt; there remain two days and a half before I take
+the affair in my own hands and make it public.”
+
+“I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time,” retorted
+Kent coolly.
+
+Inwardly his spirits sank; had not every effort on his part brought but
+further proof of Jimmie's guilt? That McIntyre would make no attempt to
+hush up the scandal was obvious.
+
+“Keep me informed of your progress,” McIntyre's manner was domineering
+and Kent felt the blood mount to his temples, but he was determined
+not to lose his temper whatever the provocation; McIntyre was Barbara's
+father.
+
+Clymer, aware that the atmosphere was getting strained, diplomatically
+intervened.
+
+“Dine with me to-night, Kent,” he said. “Perhaps you will then have some
+news that will throw light on the present whereabouts of the securities.
+I found, on making inquiries, that they have not been offered for sale
+in the usual channels. Come, McIntyre, I have a directors' meeting in
+twenty minutes.”
+
+McIntyre, who had been swinging his walking stick from one hand to
+the other in marked impatience, turned to Kent, his manner more
+conciliatory.
+
+“Pleasant quarters you have,” he remarked. “Does Rochester share his
+room with you?”
+
+“No, Colonel, his is across the ante-room where you waited a few minutes
+ago,” explained Kent as he accompanied his visitors to the door. “This
+is my office.”
+
+“Ah, yes, I thought as much on seeing only one desk,” McIntyre's manner
+grew more cordial. “Does Rochester's furniture duplicate yours, safe and
+all?”
+
+“Safe--no, he has none; that is the firm's safe.” Kent was becoming
+restless under so many personal questions. “Good-by, Mr. Clymer.”
+
+“Don't forget to-night at eight,” the banker reminded him before
+stepping into the corridor. “We'll dine at the Club de Vingt. Come
+along, McIntyre.”
+
+Sylvester stopped Kent on his way back to his office and handed him the
+neatly typewritten copies of his brief, and with a word of thanks the
+lawyer went over to his desk and, gathering such papers as he required
+at the court house, he thrust them and the brief into his leather bag,
+but instead of hurrying on his way, he stood still to consider the
+events of the morning.
+
+Helen McIntyre, during their interview, had not responded to his appeal
+for her confidence, nor vouchsafed any reason for her belief that Jimmie
+Turnbull had been the victim of foul play. And Colonel McIntyre had
+given him only until Saturday night to solve the problem! Kent's
+overwrought feelings found vent in an emphatic oath.
+
+“Excuse me,” exclaimed Sylvester mildly from the doorway. “I knocked and
+understood you to say come in.
+
+“Well, what is it?” Kent's nerves were getting a bit raw; a glance at
+his watch showed him he had a slender margin only in which to reach
+the court house in time for his appointment. Not even waiting for the
+clerk's reply he snatched up his brief case and made for the private
+door leading into the corridor. But he was destined not to get away
+without another interruption.
+
+As Sylvester was hastily explaining, “Two gentlemen to see you, Mr.
+Kent,” the clerk was thrust aside and Detective Ferguson entered,
+accompanied by a deputy marshal.
+
+“Sorry to detain you, Mr. Kent,” exclaimed the detective. “I came to
+tell you that Coroner Penfield has just called an inquest for this
+afternoon to inquire into Jimmie Turnbull's death. Where's your partner,
+Mr. Rochester?” looking around inquiringly.
+
+“In Cleveland. Won't I do?” replied Kent, his appointment forgotten in
+the news that Ferguson had just given him.
+
+“No, we didn't come for legal advice,” Ferguson smiled; then grew
+serious. “What's Mr. Rochester's address?”
+
+Kent walked over to his desk and picked up the telegram. “The City Club,
+Cleveland,” he stated.
+
+“Thanks,” Ferguson jotted down the address in his note-book. “Jones,
+here,” placing his hand on his companion, “came to serve Mr. Rochester
+with a subpoena; he's wanted at the Turnbull inquest as a material
+witness.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE INQUEST
+
+Coroner Penfield adjusted his eyeglasses and scanned the spectators
+gathered for the Turnbull inquest. The room was crowded with both men
+and women, the latter predominating, and the coroner decided that, while
+some had come from a personal interest in the dead man, the majority
+had been attracted by morbid curiosity. There was a stir among the
+spectators as an inner door opened and the jury, led by the morgue
+master filed into the room and took their places. Coroner Penfield rose
+and addressed the foreman.
+
+“Have you viewed the body?” he inquired.
+
+“Yes, doctor,” and the man sat down.
+
+Coroner Penfield then concisely stated the reason for the inquest and
+summoned Officer O'Ryan to the witness stand. The policeman stood, cap
+in hand, while being sworn by the morgue master, and then took his place
+on the platform in the chair reserved for the witnesses.
+
+His answer to Coroner Penfield's questions relative to his name,
+residence in Washington, and length of service in the city Police Force
+were given with brevity and a rich Irish brogue.
+
+“Where were you on Tuesday morning at about five o'clock?” asked
+Penfield, first consulting some memoranda on his desk.
+
+“On my way home,” explained O'Ryan. “My relief had just come.”
+
+“Does your beat take in the McIntyre residence?”
+
+“It does, sir.”
+
+“Did you observe any one loitering in the vicinity of the residence
+prior to five o'clock, Tuesday morning?”
+
+“No, sir. It was only when the lady called to me that I was attracted to
+the house.”
+
+“Did she state what was the matter?”
+
+“Yes, sir. She said that she had locked a burglar in a closet, and to
+come and get him, and I did so,” and O'Ryan expanded his chest with an
+air of satisfaction as be glanced about the morgue.
+
+“Did the burglar resist arrest?”
+
+“No, sir; he came very peaceably and not a word out of him.”
+
+“Had you any idea that the burglar was not what he seemed?”
+
+“Devil an idea, begging your pardon”--O'Ryan remembered hastily where he
+was. “The burglar looked the part he was masquerading, and his make-up
+was perfect,” ended O'Ryan with relish. “Never gave me a hint he was a
+gentleman and a bank cashier in disguise.”
+
+Kent, who had arrived at the morgue a few minutes before the policeman
+commenced his testimony, smiled in spite of himself. He was feeling
+exceedingly low spirited, and had come to the inquest with inward
+foreboding as to its result. On what developed there, he was convinced,
+hung Jimmie Turnbull's good name. After his interview with Detective
+Ferguson that morning, he had wired Philip Rochester to return to
+Washington at once. He had requested an immediate reply, and had fully
+expected to find a telegram at his office when he stopped there on his
+way to the morgue, but none had come.
+
+“Whom did you see in the McIntyre house?” the coroner asked O'Ryan.
+
+“No one sir, except the burglar and Miss McIntyre.”
+
+“Did you find any doors or windows unlocked?”
+
+“No, sir; I never looked to see.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because the young lady said that she had been over the house and
+everything was then fastened.” O'Ryan looked anxiously at the coroner.
+Would he make him out derelict in his duty? It would seriously affect
+his standing on the Force. “I took Miss McIntyre's word for the house,
+for I had the burglar safe under arrest.”
+
+“How did Miss McIntyre appear?”
+
+“Appear? Sure, she looked very sweet in her blue wrapper and her hair
+down her back,” answered O'Ryan with emphasis.
+
+“She was not fully dressed then?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Was Miss McIntyre composed in manner or did she appear frightened?”
+ asked Penfield. It was one of the questions which Kent had expected, and
+he waited with intense interest for the policeman's reply.
+
+“She was very pale and--and breathless like.” O'Ryan flapped his arms
+about vaguely in his endeavor to demonstrate his meaning. “She kept
+begging me to hurry and get the burglar out of the house, and after
+telling her that she would have to appear in the Police Court first
+thing that morning, I went off with the prisoner.”
+
+“Were there lights in the house?” questioned Penfield.
+
+“Only dim ones in the halls and two bulbs turned on in the library; it's
+a big room though, and they hardly made any light at all,” explained
+O'Ryan; he was particular as to details. “I used handcuffs on the
+prisoner, thinking maybe he'd give me the slip in the dim light, but
+there was no fight or flight in him.”
+
+“Did he talk to you on the way to the station house?”
+
+“No, sir; and at the station he was just as quiet, only answered the
+questions the desk sergeant put to him, and that was all,” stated 0'
+Ryan.
+
+Penfield laid down his memorandum pad. “All right, O'Ryan; you may
+retire,” and at the words the policeman left the platform and the room.
+He was followed by the police sergeant who had been on desk duty at the
+Eighth Precinct on Tuesday morning. His testimony simply corroborated
+O'Ryan's statement that the prisoner had done and said nothing which
+would indicate that he was other than he seemed--a housebreaker.
+
+Coroner Penfield paused before calling the next witness and drank a
+glass of ice water; the weather had turned unseasonably hot, and the
+room in which inquests were held, was stifling, in spite of the long
+opened windows at either end.
+
+“Call Miss Helen McIntyre,” Penfield said to the morgue master, and the
+latter crossed to the door leading to the room where sat the witnesses.
+There was instant craning of necks to catch a glimpse of the society
+girl about whom, with her twin sister, so much interest centered.
+
+Helen was extremely pale as she advanced up the room, but Kent, watching
+her closely, was relieved to see none of the nervousness which had
+been so marked at their interview that morning. She was dressed with
+fastidious taste, and as she mounted the platform after the morgue
+master had administered the oath, Coroner Penfield rose and, with a
+polite gesture, indicated the chair she was to occupy.
+
+“I am Helen McIntyre,” she announced clearly. “Daughter of Colonel
+Charles McIntyre.”
+
+“Tell us the circumstances attending the arrest of James Turnbull, alias
+John Smith, in your house on Tuesday morning, Miss McIntyre,” directed
+the coroner, seating himself at his table, on which were writing
+materials.
+
+“I was sitting up to let in my sister, who had gone to a dance,” she
+began, “and fearing I would fall asleep I went down into the library,
+intending to sit in one of the window recesses and watch for her
+arrival. As I entered the library I saw a figure steal across the room
+and disappear inside a closet. I was very frightened, but had sense
+enough left to cross softly to the closet and lock the door.” She paused
+in her rapid recital and drew a long breath, then continued more slowly:
+
+“I hurried to the window and across the street I saw a policeman
+standing under a lamp-post. It took but a minute to call him. The
+policeman opened the closet door, put handcuffs on Mr. Turnbull and took
+him away.”
+
+Coroner Penfield, as well as the jurors, followed her statement with
+absorbed attention. At its end he threw down his pencil and spoke
+briefly to the deputy coroner, who had been busily engaged in taking
+notes of the inquest, and then he turned to Helen.
+
+“You heard no sound before entering the library?”
+
+“No one walking about the house?” he persisted.
+
+“No.” She followed the negative with a short explanation. “I lay down on
+my bed soon after dinner, not feeling very well, and slept through the
+early hours of the night.”
+
+“At what hour did you wake up?”
+
+“About four o'clock, or a little after.”
+
+“Then you were awake an hour before you discovered the supposed burglar
+in your library?”
+
+“Y-yes,” Helen's hesitation was faint. “About that length of time.”
+
+“And you heard no unusual sounds in that hour's interval?”
+
+“I heard nothing”--her manner was slightly defiant and Kent's heart
+sank; if he had only thought to warn her not to antagonize the coroner.
+
+“Where were you during that hour?”
+
+“Lying down,” promptly. “Then, afraid I would drop off to sleep again, I
+went downstairs.”
+
+Coroner Penfield consulted his notes before asking another question.
+
+“Who lives in your house beside you and your twin sister?” he asked.
+
+“My father, Colonel McIntyre; our house guest, Mrs. Louis C. Brewster,
+and five servants,” she replied. “Grimes, the butler; Martha, our maid;
+Jane, the chambermaid; Hope, our cook; and Thomas, our second man; the
+chauffeur, Harris, the scullery maid, and the laundress do not stay at
+night.”
+
+“Who were at home beside yourself on Monday night and early Tuesday
+morning?”
+
+“My father and Mrs. Brewster; I believe the servants were in also,
+except Thomas, who had asked permission to spend the night in
+Baltimore.”
+
+“Miss McIntyre?” Coroner Penfield put the next question in an impressive
+manner. “On discovering the burglar why did you not call your father?”
+
+“My first impulse was to do so,” she answered promptly. “But on leaving
+the library I passed the window, saw the policeman, and called him in.”
+ She shot a keen look at the coroner, and added softly, “The policeman
+was qualified to make an arrest; my father would have had to summon one
+had he been there.”
+
+“Quite true,” acknowledged Penfield courteously. “Now, Miss McIntyre,
+why did the prisoner so obligingly walk straight into a closet on your
+arrival in the library?”
+
+“I presume he was looking for a way out of the room and blundered into
+it,” she explained. “There are seven doors opening from our library;
+the prisoner may have heard me approaching, become confused, and walked
+through the wrong door.”
+
+“That is quite plausible--with an ordinary bona-fide burglar,” agreed
+Penfield. “But was not Mr. Turnbull acquainted with the architectural
+arrangements of your house?”
+
+“He was a frequent caller and an intimate friend,” she said, with
+dignity. “As to his power of observation and his bump of locality I
+cannot say. The library was but dimly lighted.”
+
+“Miss McIntyre,” Penfield spoke slowly. “Were you aware of the real
+identity of the burglar?”
+
+“I had no suspicion that he was not what he appeared,” she responded.
+“He said or did nothing after his arrest to give me the slightest
+inkling of his identity.”
+
+Penfield raised his eyebrows and shot a look at the deputy coroner
+before going on with his examination.
+
+“You knew Mr. Turnbull intimately, and yet you did not recognize him?”
+ he asked.
+
+“He wore an admirable disguise.” Helen touched her lips with the tip of
+her tongue; inwardly she longed for the glass of ice water which she saw
+standing on the reporters' table. “Mr. Turnbull's associates will tell
+you that he excelled in amateur theatricals.”
+
+Penfield looked at her critically for a moment before continuing his
+questions. She bore his scrutiny with composure.
+
+“Officer O'Ryan has testified that you informed him you examined the
+windows of your house,” he said, after a brief wait. “Did you find any
+unlocked?”
+
+“Yes; one was open in the little reception room off the front door.”
+
+“What floor is the room on?”
+
+“The ground floor.”
+
+“Would it have been easy for any one to gain admittance through the
+window without attracting attention in the street?” was Penfield's next
+question.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Miss McIntyre,” Penfield rose, “I have only a few more questions to put
+to you. Why did Mr. Turnbull come to your house--a house where he was a
+welcome visitor--in the middle of the night disguised as a burglar?”
+
+The reporters as well as the spectators bent forward to catch her reply.
+
+“Mr. Turnbull had a wager with my sister, Barbara,” she explained.
+“She bet him that he could not break into the house without being
+discovered.”
+
+Penfield considered her answer before addressing her again.
+
+“Why didn't Mr. Turnbull tell you who he was when you had him arrested?”
+ he asked.
+
+Helen shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot answer that question, for I do
+not know his reason. If he had only confided in me”--her voice
+shook--“he might have been alive to-day.”
+
+“How so?” Penfield shot the question at her.
+
+“Because then he would have been spared the additional excitement of his
+trip to the police station and the scene in court, which brought on his
+attack of angina pectoris.”
+
+Penfield regarded her for a moment in silence.
+
+“I have no further questions, Miss McIntyre,” he said, and turned to
+the morgue master. “Ask Miss Barbara McIntyre to come to the platform.”
+ Turning back to his table and the papers thereon he failed to see the
+twins pass each other in the aisle. They were identically attired and
+when Coroner Penfield looked again at the witness chair, he stared in
+surprise at its occupant.
+
+“I beg pardon, Miss McIntyre, I desire your sister to testify,” he
+remarked.
+
+“I am Barbara McIntyre.” A haunting quality in her voice caught Kent's
+attention, and he leaned eagerly forward, his eyes following each
+movement of her nervous fingers, busily twisting her gloves inside and
+out.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed the coroner, recovering from his
+surprise. He had seen the twins at the police court on Tuesday morning
+for a second only, and then his attention had been entirely centered
+on Helen. He had heard, but had not realized until that moment, how
+striking was the resemblance between the sisters.
+
+“Miss McIntyre,” the coroner cleared his throat and commenced his
+examination. “Where were you on Monday night?”
+
+“At a dance given by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Grosvenor.”
+
+“At what hour did you return?”
+
+“I think it was half past five or a few minutes earlier.”
+
+“Who let you in?”
+
+“My sister.”
+
+“Did you see the burglar?”
+
+“He had left,” she answered. “My sister told me of her adventure as we
+went upstairs to our rooms.”
+
+“Miss McIntyre,” Penfield picked up a page of the deputy coroner's
+closely written notes, and ran his eyes down it. “Your sister has
+testified that James Turnbull went to your house disguised as a burglar
+on a wager with you. What were the terms of that wager?”
+
+“I bet him that he could not enter the house after midnight without
+his presence being detected by our new police dogs,” exclaimed Barbara
+slowly. She had stopped twirling her gloves about, and one hand was
+firmly clenched over the arm of her chair.
+
+“Did the dogs discover his presence in the house?”
+
+“Apparently not, or they would have aroused the household,” she said. “I
+cannot answer that question, though, because I was not at home.”
+
+“Where are the dogs kept?”
+
+“In the garage in the daytime.”
+
+“And at night?” he persisted.
+
+“They roam about our house,” she admitted, “or sleep in the boudoir,
+which is between my sister's bedroom and mine.
+
+“Were the dogs in the house on Monday night?”
+
+“I did not see them on my return from the dance.”
+
+“That is not an answer to my question, Miss McIntyre,” the coroner
+pointed out. “Were the dogs in the house?”
+
+There was a distinct pause before she spoke. “I recall hearing our
+butler, Grimes, say that he found the dogs in the cellar. Mr. Turnbull's
+shocking death put all else out of my mind; I never once thought of the
+dogs.”
+
+“In spite of the fact that it was a wager over the dogs which brought
+about the whole situation?” remarked the coroner dryly.
+
+Barbara flushed at his tone, then grew pale.
+
+“I honestly forgot about the dogs,” she repeated. “Father sent them out
+to our country place Tuesday afternoon; they annoyed our--our guest,
+Mrs. Brewster.”
+
+“In what way?”
+
+“By barking--they are noisy dogs.”
+
+“And yet they did not arouse the household when Mr. Turnbull broke into
+the house”--Coroner Penfield regarded her sternly. “How do you account
+for that?”
+
+Barbara's right hand stole to the arm of her chair and clasped it with
+the same convulsive strength that she clung to the other chair arm. When
+she spoke her voice was barely audible.
+
+“I can account for it in two ways,” she began. “If the dogs were
+accidentally locked in the cellar they could not possibly hear Mr.
+Turnbull moving about the house; if they were roaming about and scented
+him, they might not have barked because they would recognize him as a
+friend.”
+
+“Were the dogs familiar with his step and voice?”
+
+“Yes. Only last Sunday he played with them for an hour, and later in the
+afternoon took them for a walk in the country.”
+
+“I see.” Penfield stroked his chin reflectively. “When your sister told
+you of finding the burglar and his arrest, did you not, in the light of
+your wager, suspect that he might be Mr. Turnbull?”
+
+“No.” Barbara's eyes did not falter before his direct gaze. “I supposed
+that Mr. Turnbull meant to try and enter the house in his own proper
+person; it never dawned on me that he would resort to disguise.
+Besides,” as the coroner started to make a remark, “we have had numerous
+robberies in our neighborhood, and the apartment house two blocks from
+us has had a regular epidemic of sneak thieves.”
+
+The coroner waited until Dr. Mayo, who had been writing with feverish
+haste, had picked up a fresh sheet of paper before resuming his
+examination.
+
+“You accompanied your sister to the police court,” he said. “Did you see
+the burglar there?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did you realize his identity in the court room?”
+
+“No. I only awoke to--to the situation when I saw him lying dead with
+his wig removed. The shock was frightful”--she closed her eyes for a
+second, for the room and the rows of faces confronting her were mixed in
+a maddening maze and she raised her hand to her swimming head. When she
+looked up she found Coroner Penfield by her side.
+
+“That is all,” he said kindly. “Please remain in the witness room, I may
+call you again,” and he helped her down the step with careful attention.
+
+Back in his corner Kent watched her departure. He was white to the lips.
+
+“Heat too much for you?” asked a kindly-faced stranger, and Kent gave a
+mumbled “No,” as he strove to pull himself together.
+
+What deviltry was afoot? How dared the twins take such risks--to bear
+false witness was a grave criminal offense. He, alone, among all the
+spectators, had realized that in testifying before the inquest, the
+twins had swapped identities.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. “B-B-B”
+
+The return of the morgue master to the platform caused Coroner Penfield
+to break off his whispered conversation with Dr. Mayo.
+
+“Colonel McIntyre just telephoned that his car had a blow-out on the way
+here,” explained the morgue master. “He will arrive shortly.”
+
+Penfield consulted a list of names. “Call Grimes, the McIntyre butler,”
+ he said. “We will hear him while waiting for the Colonel.”
+
+Grimes, small and thin, with the stolid countenance of the well-trained
+servant, was exceedingly short in his replies to the coroner's
+questions. Yes, he had lived with the McIntyre during their residence
+in Washington, something like five years, he couldn't quite remember the
+exact dates. No, there was never any quarreling, upstairs or down; it
+was a well-ordered household until this.
+
+“Exactly,” remarked the coroner dryly. “What about Monday night? Tell
+us, Grimes, what occurred in that house between midnight Monday and five
+o'clock Tuesday morning.”
+
+“Haven't much to tell,” was the grumpy response. “I went upstairs about
+half-past eleven and got down the next morning at the usual hour, seven
+o'clock.”
+
+“And you heard no disturbing sounds in the night?”
+
+“No; sir. We wouldn't be likely to; the servants' rooms are all at the
+top of the house and the staircase leading to them has a brick wall on
+either side, like stairs leading to an ordinary attic, and there's a
+door at the bottom which shuts off all sound from below.” It was the
+longest sentence the butler had indulged in and he paused for breath.
+
+“Who closes the house at night. Grimes?”
+
+“I do, sir.
+
+“Why did you leave the window in the reception room open?”
+
+“I didn't, sir,” was the prompt denial. “I had just locked it when Mrs.
+Brewster came in, along with Colonel McIntyre and Mr. Clymer, and they
+sat down to talk. When I left the room the window was locked fast, and
+so was every door and window in the place,” he declared aggressively.
+“I'll take my dying oath to it, sir.” Penfield looked at Grimes; that he
+was telling the truth was unmistakable.
+
+“Who sits up to let in the young ladies when they go to balls?” he
+asked.
+
+“Generally no one, sir, because Colonel McIntyre accompanies them or
+calls for them, and he has his latch-key. Lately,” added Grimes as an
+after-thought, “Miss Helen has been using a duplicate latch-key.”
+
+“Has Miss Barbara McIntyre a latch-key, also?” asked Penfield.
+
+“No, sir, I believe not,” the butler looked dubious. “I recall that
+Colonel McIntyre gave Miss Helen her key at the luncheon table, and he
+said, then, to Miss Barbara that he couldn't trust her with one because
+she would be sure to lose it, she is that careless.”
+
+The coroner asked the next question with such abruptness that the butler
+started.
+
+“When did you last see Mr. Turnbull at the house?”
+
+“Sunday afternoon.” Grimes' reply was spoken with more than his
+accustomed quickness of speech. “Mr. Turnbull called twice, after a long
+time in the drawing room, he went away taking the police dogs with him,
+and later called to bring them back.”
+
+“Where were these dogs on Monday night?”
+
+“I last saw them in the library,” replied Grimes shortly.
+
+“And where did you find them the next morning?” prompted the coroner.
+
+“In the cellar,” laconically.
+
+“And what were they doing in the cellar?”
+
+“Hunting rats.”
+
+“And how did the dogs get in the cellar?” inquired the coroner
+patiently. Grimes was not volunteering information, even if he could not
+be accused of holding it back.
+
+“Some one must have let them down the back stairs,” the butler admitted.
+“I don't know who it was.”
+
+“Which servant got downstairs ahead of you on Tuesday morning?”
+
+“No one, sir; the cook over-slept, and she and the maids came down in a
+bunch ten minutes later.”
+
+“And who told you of the attempted burglary and the burglar's arrest?”
+ asked Penfield.
+
+“Miss Barbara. She asked us to hurry breakfast for her and Miss Helen
+'cause they had to go at once to the police court; she didn't give any
+particulars, or nothing,” added Grimes in an injured tone. “'Twarn't
+'til Thomas and I saw the afternoon papers that we knew what had been
+going on in our own house.”
+
+“That is all, Grimes,” announced Penfield, and the butler left the
+platform with the same stolid air he wore when he arrived. He was
+followed in the witness chair by the other McIntyre servants in
+succession. Their testimony added nothing to what he had said but simply
+confirmed his statements.
+
+Kent, who had grown restless during the servants' monotonous testimony,
+forgot the oppressive atmosphere of the room on seeing Mrs. Brewster
+enter under the escort of the morgue master. Spying a vacant seat
+several rows ahead of where he was sitting, Kent, with a muttered
+apology to the people over whom he crawled in his efforts to get out,
+hurried into it just as the vivacious widow had finished taking the oath
+to “tell the truth and nothing but the truth,” and seated herself, with
+much rustling of silk skirts in the witness chair.
+
+“State your full name, madam,” directed Coroner Penfield, eyeing her
+dainty beauty with admiration.
+
+“Margaret Perry Brewster,” she answered. “Widow of Louis C. Brewster.
+Both I and my late husband were born and lived in Los Angeles,
+California.”
+
+“Are you visiting the Misses McIntyre?”
+
+“Yes.” Mrs. Brewster spoke in a chatty impersonal manner. “I have been
+with them since the first of the month.”
+
+“Did you attend the Grosvenor dance?” asked the coroner.
+
+“No; the affair was only given for the debutantes of last fall and did
+not include married people,” she explained. “It was a warm night and
+Colonel McIntyre asked Mr. Benjamin Clymer, who was dining with him, and
+me, to go for a motor ride, leaving Barbara at the Grosvenors' en route.
+We did so, returning to the house about eleven o'clock, and sat talking
+until about midnight in the reception room, then Colonel McIntyre drove
+Mr. Clymer home, and I went to my room.”
+
+“Were you awakened by any noises during the night?” inquired Penfield.
+
+“No; I heard no noises.” Mrs. Brewster's charming smile was infectious.
+
+“When did you first learn of the supposed burglary and the death of
+James Turnbull?”
+
+“The McIntyre twins told me about the tragedy on their return from the
+police court,” answered Mrs. Brewster, and settled herself a little more
+comfortably in the witness chair.
+
+“When you were in the reception room, Mrs. Brewster”--Penfield paused
+and studied his notes a second--“did you observe if the window was open
+or closed?”
+
+“It was not open when we entered,” she responded. “But the air in the
+room was stuffy and at my request Mr. Clymer raised the window.”
+
+“Did he close it later?”
+
+She considered the question. “I really do not recall,” she admitted
+finally. Her eyes strayed toward the door through which she had entered,
+and Penfield answered her unspoken thought.
+
+“Just one more question,” he said hurriedly. “Did you see the dogs on
+Monday night?”
+
+“Yes. I heard them scratching at the door leading to the basement as I
+went upstairs, and so I turned around and went down and opened the door
+and let them run down into the cellar.”
+
+Penfield snapped shut his notebook. “I am greatly obliged, Mrs.
+Brewster; we will not detain you longer.”
+
+The morgue master stepped forward and helped the pretty widow down from
+the platform.
+
+“Colonel McIntyre is here now,” he told the coroner.
+
+“Ah, then bring him in,” and Penfield, while awaiting the arrival of the
+new witness, straightened the papers on his desk.
+
+McIntyre looked straight ahead of him as he walked down the room and
+stood frowning heavily while the oath was being administered, but his
+manner, when the coroner addressed him, had regained all the suavity and
+polish which had first captivated Washington society.
+
+“I have been a resident of Washington for about five years,” he said
+in answer to the coroner's question. “My daughters attended school here
+after their return from Paris, where they were in a convent for four
+years. They made their debut last November at our home in this city.”
+
+“Were you aware of the wager between your daughter Barbara and James
+Turnbull?” asked Penfield.
+
+“I heard of it Sunday afternoon but paid little attention,” admitted
+McIntyre. “My daughter Barbara's vagaries I seldom take seriously.”
+
+“Was Mr. Turnbull a frequent visitor at your house?”
+
+“Oh, yes.”
+
+“Was he engaged to your daughter Helen?”
+
+“No.” McIntyre's denial was prompt and firmly spoken. Penfield and Kent,
+from his new seat nearer the platform, watched the colonel narrowly, but
+learned nothing from his expression.
+
+“I have heard otherwise,” observed the coroner dryly.
+
+“You have been misinformed,” McIntyre's manner was short. “I would
+suggest, Mr. Coroner, that you confine your questions and conjectures to
+matters pertinent to this inquiry.”
+
+Penfield flushed as one of the jurors snickered, but he did not repeat
+his previous question, asking instead, “Was there good feeling between
+you and Mr. Turnbull?”
+
+“I never quarreled with him,” replied McIntyre. “I really saw little of
+him as, whenever he called at the house, he came to see one or the other
+of my daughters, or both.”
+
+“When did you last see Mr. Turnbull?” inquired Penfield.
+
+“He was at the house on Sunday and I had quite a talk with him,”
+ McIntyre leaned back in his chair and regarded the neat crease in his
+trousers with critical eyes. “I last saw Turnbull going out of the
+street door.”
+
+“Were you disturbed by the burglar's entrance on Monday night?”
+
+McIntyre shook his head. “I am a heavy sleeper,” he said. “I regret very
+much that my daughter Helen did not at once awaken me on finding the
+burglar, as she supposed, hiding in the closet. I knew nothing of the
+affair until Grimes informed me of it, and only reached the police court
+in time to bring my daughters home from the distressing scene following
+the identification of the dead burglar as Jimmie Turnbull.”
+
+“Colonel McIntyre,” Penfield turned over several papers until he found
+the one he sought. “Mrs. Brewster has testified that while you and she
+were sitting in the reception room, Mr. Clymer opened the window. Did
+you close it on leaving the room?”
+
+McIntyre reflected before answering. “I cannot remember doing so,”
+ he stated finally. “Clymer was in rather a hurry to leave, and after
+bidding Mrs. Brewster good night, we went straight out to the car and I
+drove him to the Saratoga.”
+
+“Then you cannot swear to the window having been re-locked?”
+
+“I cannot.”
+
+Penfield paused a moment. “Did you return immediately to your house from
+the Saratoga apartment?”
+
+“I did” promptly. “My chauffeur, Harris, wasn't well, and I wanted him
+to get home.”
+
+Penfield thought a moment before putting the next question.
+
+“How did Miss Barbara return from the Grosvenor dance?” he asked.
+
+“She was brought home by friends, Colonel and Mrs. Chase.” McIntyre
+in turning about in his chair knocked down his walking stick from its
+resting place against its side, and the unexpected clatter made several
+women, nervously inclined, jump in their seats. Observing them, McIntyre
+smiled and was still smiling amusedly when Penfield addressed him.
+
+“Did you observe many lights burning in your house when you returned?”
+ asked Penfield.
+
+“No, only those which are usually left lit at night.”
+
+“Was your daughter Helen awake?”
+
+“I do not know. Her room was in darkness when I walked past her door on
+my way to bed.”
+
+Penfield removed his eye-glasses and polished them on his silk
+handkerchief. “I have no further questions to ask. Colonel, you are
+excused.”
+
+McIntyre bowed gravely to him and as he left the platform came face to
+face with his family physician, Dr. Stone.
+
+Penfield, who was an old acquaintance of the physician's, signed to him
+to come on the platform. After the preliminaries had been gone through,
+he shifted his chair around, the better to face Stone.
+
+“Did you accompany the Misses McIntyre to the police court on Tuesday
+morning?” he asked.
+
+“I did,” responded the physician, “at Miss Barbara's request. She said
+her sister was not very well and they disliked going alone to the police
+court.”
+
+“Did she state why she did not ask her father to go with them?”
+
+“Only that he had not fully recovered from an attack of tonsillitis,
+which I knew to be a fact, and they did not want him to over-tax his
+strength.”
+
+There was a moment's pause as the coroner, his attention diverted by
+a whispered word or two from the morgue master, referred to his notes
+before resuming his examination.
+
+“Did you know James Turnbull?” he asked a second later.
+
+“Yes, slightly.”
+
+“Did you recognize him in his burglar's disguise?”
+
+“I did not”
+
+“Had you any suspicion that the burglar was other than he seemed?”
+
+“No.”
+
+Penfield picked up a memorandum handed him by Dr. Mayo and referred
+to it. “I understand, doctor, that you were the first to go to the
+burglar's aid when he became ill,” he said. “Is that true?”
+
+“Yes,” Stone spoke with more animation. “Happening to glance inside the
+cage where the prisoner sat, I saw he was struggling convulsively for
+breath. With Mr. Clymer's assistance I carried him into an ante-room off
+the court, but before I had crossed its threshold Turnbull expired in my
+arms.”
+
+“Was he conscious before he died?”
+
+At the question Kent bent eagerly forward. What would be the reply?
+
+“I am not prepared to answer that with certainty,” replied Dr. Stone
+cautiously. “As I picked him up I heard him stammer faintly: 'B-b-b.'”
+
+Kent started so violently that the man next to him turned and regarded
+him for a moment, then, more interested in what was transpiring on the
+platform, promptly forgot his agitated neighbor.
+
+“Was Turnbull delirious, doctor?” asked the coroner.
+
+Stone shook his head in denial. “No,” he stated. “I take it that he
+started to say 'Barbara,' and his breath failed him; at any rate I only
+caught the stuttered 'B-b-b.'”
+
+Penfield did not immediately continue his examination, but when he did
+so his manner was stern.
+
+“Doctor, what in your opinion caused Mr. Turnbull's death?”
+
+“Judging superficially--I made no thorough examination,” Stone explained
+parenthetically, “I should say that Mr. Rochester was right when he
+stated that Turnbull died from an acute attack of angina pectoris.”
+
+“How did Mr. Rochester come to make that assertion and where?”
+
+“Immediately after Turnbull's death,” replied Stone. “Mr. Rochester,
+who shared his apartment, defended him in court. Mr. Rochester was
+aware that Turnbull suffered from the disease, and Mr. Clymer, who was
+present, also knew it.”
+
+“And what is your opinion, doctor?” questioned Penfield.
+
+Stone hesitated. “There was a distinct odor of amyl nitrite noticeable
+when I went to Turnbull's aid, and I concluded then that he had some
+heart trouble and had inhaled the drug to ward off an attack. It bears
+out Mr. Rochester's theory of death from angina pectoris.”
+
+“I see. Thank you, doctor. Please wait with the other witnesses; we may
+call you again,” and with a sigh the busy physician resigned himself to
+spending another hour in the room reserved for the witnesses.
+
+The next to take the witness stand was Deputy Marshal Grant. His
+testimony was short and concise,--and his description of the scene in
+the police court preceding Turnbull's death was listened to with deep
+attention by every one.
+
+“Did the prisoner show any symptoms of illness before his heart attack?”
+ asked Penfield.
+
+“Not exactly illness,” replied Grant slowly. “I noticed he didn't move
+very quickly; sort of shambled, as if he was weak in his legs. I've
+seen 'drunk and disorderlies' act just that way, and paid no particular
+attention to him. He did ask for a drink of water just after he returned
+to the cage.”
+
+“Did you give it to him?”
+
+“No, an attendant gave the glass to Mr. Rochester who handed it to Mr.
+Turnbull.”
+
+Penfield regarded Grant in silence for a minute. “That is all,” he
+announced, and with a polite bow the deputy marshal withdrew.
+
+Detective Ferguson recognized Kent as he passed up the room to the
+platform and gave him a slight bow and smile, but the smile had
+disappeared when, at the coroner's request, he told of his arrival just
+after the discovery of the burglar's identity.
+
+“I searched the cage where the prisoner had been seated and found this
+handkerchief,” he went on to say. “It had been dropped by Turnbull and
+was saturated with amyl nitrite. I had it examined by a chemist, who
+said that this amyl nitrite was given to patients with heart trouble
+in little pearl capsules to be crushed in handkerchiefs and the fumes
+inhaled.
+
+“The chemist also told me that”--the detective spoke with impressive
+seriousness, “judging from the number of particles of capsules adhering
+to the linen, more than one capsule had been crushed by Turnbull. Here
+is the handkerchief,” and he laid it on the table with great care.
+
+Kent's heart sank; the moment he had dreaded all that long afternoon had
+come. Penfield inspected the handkerchief with interest, and then passed
+it to the jurors, cautioning them to handle it carefully.
+
+“I note,” he stated, turning again to Detective Ferguson, “that it is a
+woman's handkerchief.”
+
+“It is,” replied Ferguson. “And embroidered in one corner is the initial
+'B.'”
+
+Penfield ran his fingers through his gray hair. “You may go, Ferguson,”
+ he said, and beckoned to the morgue master. “Ask Miss Barbara McIntyre
+to return.”
+
+The girl was quick in answering the summons. Kent, more and more
+worried, was watching the scene with painful attention.
+
+“Did Mr. Turnbull have one of your handkerchiefs?” asked Penfield.
+
+Her surprise at the question was manifest in her manner.
+
+“He might have,” she said. “I have a dreadful habit of dropping my
+handkerchiefs around.”
+
+“Did you miss one after his visit to your house on Monday night?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Miss McIntyre,” Penfield took up the handkerchief which the foreman
+replaced on his desk a moment before, and holding it with care extended
+it toward the girl. “Is this your handkerchief?”
+
+She inspected the handkerchief and the initial with curiosity, but with
+nothing more, Kent was convinced, and in his relief was almost guilty of
+disturbing the decorum of the inquest with a shout of joy.
+
+“It is not my handkerchief,” she stated clearly.
+
+Penfield replaced the handkerchief on the table with the same care he
+had picked it up, and turned again to her.
+
+“Thank you, Miss McIntyre; I won't detain you longer. Logan,” to the
+morgue master, “ask Dr. Stone to step here.”
+
+Almost immediately Stone reentered the room and hurried to the platform.
+
+“Would two or more capsules of amyl nitrite constitute a lethal dose?”
+ asked Penfield.
+
+“They would be very apt to finish a feeble heart,” replied Stone. “Three
+capsules, if inhaled deeply would certainly kill a healthy person.”
+
+Penfield showed the handkerchief to the physician. “Can a chemist tell,
+from the particles clinging to this handkerchief, how many capsules have
+been used?”
+
+“I should say he could.” Stone looked grave as he inspected the linen,
+taking careful note of the letter “B” in one corner of the handkerchief.
+“But there is this to be considered--Turnbull may not have crushed those
+capsules all at the same time.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“He may have felt an attack coming on earlier in the evening and used a
+capsule, and in the police court used the same handkerchief in the same
+manner.”
+
+“I see,” Penfield nodded. “The point is cleverly taken.”
+
+Kent silently agreed with the coroner. The next instant Stone was
+excused, and after a slight pause the deputy coroner, Dr. Mayo, left his
+table and his notes and occupied the witness chair, after first being
+sworn. The preliminaries did not consume much time, and Penfield's
+manner was brisk as he addressed his assistant.
+
+“Did you make a post-mortem examination of Turnbull?” he asked.
+
+“I did, sir, in the presence of the morgue master and Dr. McLane.” Dr.
+Mayo displayed an anatomical chart, drawing his pencil down it as he
+talked. “We found from the condition of the heart that the deceased had
+suffered from angina pectoris”--he paused and spoke more slowly--“in
+examining the gastric contents we found the presence of aconitine.”
+
+“Aconitine?” questioned Penfield, and the reporters, scenting the
+sensational, leaned forward eagerly so as not to miss the deputy
+coroner's answer.
+
+“Aconitine, an active poison,” he explained. “It is the alkaloid of
+aconite, and generally fatal in its results.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. AT THE CLUB DE VINGT
+
+The large building of the popular Club de Vingt, or as one Washingtonian
+put it, the “Club De Vin,” which had sprung into existence in the
+National Capital during the war, was ablaze with light and Benjamin
+Clymer, sitting at a small table in one corner of the dining-room,
+wished most heartily that it had been less crowded. Many dinner-parties
+were being given that night, and it was only by dint of perseverance and
+a Treasury note that he had finally induced the head waiter to put in an
+extra table for him and his guest, Harry Kent. Kent had been very late
+and, to add to his short-comings, had been silent, not to say morose,
+during dinner. Clymer heaved a sigh of relief when the table was cleared
+and coffee and cigars placed before them.
+
+Kent roused himself from his abstraction. “We cannot talk here,” he
+said, looking at the gay diners who surrounded them. “And I have several
+important matters to discuss with you, Mr. Clymer.”
+
+His remark was overheard by their waiter, and he stopped pouring out
+Kent's coffee.
+
+“There is a small smoking room to the right of the dining room,” he
+suggested. “I passed there but a moment ago and it was not occupied. If
+you desire, sir, I will serve coffee there.”
+
+“An excellent idea.” Clymer rose quickly and he and Kent followed the
+waiter to the inclosed porch which had been converted into an attractive
+lounging room for the club members. It was much cooler than the
+over-heated dining room, and Kent was grateful for the subdued light
+given out by the artistically shaded lamps with which it was furnished.
+There was silence while the waiter with deft fingers arranged the coffee
+and cigars on a wicker table; then receiving Clymer's generous tip with
+a word of thanks, the man departed.
+
+Kent wheeled his chair around so as to face his companion and still have
+a side view of the dining room, where tables were being rapidly removed
+for the dance which followed dinners on Thursday nights. Clymer selected
+a cigar with care and, leaning back in his chair until the wicker
+creaked under his weight, he waited patiently for Kent to speak. It was
+fully five minutes before Kent addressed him.
+
+“So James Turnbull was poisoned after all,” he commented. “A week ago I
+would have sworn that Jimmie hadn't an enemy in the world.”
+
+“Ah, but he had; and a very bitter vindictive enemy, if the evidence
+given at the coroner's inquest this afternoon is to be believed,”
+ replied Clymer seriously. “The case is remarkably puzzling.”
+
+“It is.” Kent bit savagely at his cigar as a slight vent to his
+feelings. “'Killed by a dose of aconitine by a person or persons
+unknown,' was the jury's verdict, and a nice tangle they have left me to
+ferret out.''
+
+“You?”
+
+“Yes. I'm going to solve this mystery if it is a possible thing.” Kent's
+tone was grim. “And Colonel McIntyre only gave me until Saturday night
+to work in.”
+
+Clymer eyed him in surprise. “McIntyre desires to get back his lost
+securities; judging from his comments after the inquest, he is not
+particularly interested in who killed Turnbull.”
+
+“But I am,” exclaimed Kent. “The more I think of it, the more convinced
+I am that the forged letter, with the subsequent disappearance of
+McIntyre's securities has some connection with Jimmie's untimely death,
+be it murder or suicide.”
+
+“Suicide?” Clymer's raised eyebrows indicated his surprise.
+
+“Yes,” shortly. “Aconitine would have killed just as surely if swallowed
+with suicidal intent as if administered with murderous design.”
+
+A pause followed which neither man seemed anxious to break, then Kent
+turned to the banker, and the latter noticed the haggard lines in his
+face.
+
+“Listen to me, Mr. Clymer,” he began. “My instinct tells me that Jimmie
+Turnbull never forged that letter or stole McIntyre's securities, but I
+admit that everything points to his guilt, even his death.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Because the theft of the securities supplies a motive for his
+suicide--fear of exposure and imprisonment,” argued Kent. “But there is
+no motive, so far as I can see, for Jimmie's murder. Men don't kill each
+other without a motive.”
+
+“There is homicidal mania,” suggested Clymer.
+
+“But not in this case,” retorted Kent. “We are sane men and it is up
+to us to find out if Jimmie died by his own hand or was killed by some
+unknown enemy.''
+
+“Rest easy, Mr. Kent,” said a voice from the doorway and Kent, who had
+turned his back in that direction the better to talk to Clymer, whirled
+around and found Detective Ferguson regarding him just inside the
+threshold. “Mr. Turnbull's enemy is not unknown and will soon be under
+arrest.”
+
+“Who is he?” demanded Clymer and Kent simultaneously.
+
+“Philip Rochester.”
+
+Clymer was the first to recover from his astonishment. “Oh, get out!”
+ he exclaimed incredulously. “Why, Rochester was Turnbull's most intimate
+friend.”
+
+“Until they fell in love with the same girl,” answered Ferguson
+succinctly, taking possession of the only other chair the porch boasted.
+“One quarrel led to another and then Rochester did for him. Oh, it
+dove-tails nicely; motive, jealous anger; opportunity, recognition in
+court of Turnbull disguised as a burglar, at the same time Rochester
+learns that Turnbull has been caught after midnight in the house of his
+sweetheart--”
+
+“D--mn you!” Kent sprang for the detective's throat. “Cut out your
+abominable insinuations. Miss McIntyre shall not be insulted.”
+
+“I'm not insulting her,” gasped Ferguson, half strangled. “Let go,
+Mr. Kent. I'm only telling you what that half crazy partner of yours,
+Rochester, was probably thinking in the police court. Let go, I say.”
+
+Clymer aided the detective in freeing himself. “Sit down, Kent,” he said
+sternly. “Ferguson meant no offense. Go ahead, man, and tell us the rest
+of your theories.”
+
+It was some minutes, however, before the detective had collected
+sufficient breath to answer intelligently.
+
+“I size it up this way,” he began with a resentful glance at Kent who
+had dropped back in his chair again. “Rochester knew his friend had
+heart disease and that his sudden death would be attributed to it--so he
+took a sporting chance and administered a fatal dose of aconitine.”
+
+“How was it done?” asked Clymer.
+
+“Just slipped the poison into the glass of water he handed to Turnbull
+in the court room,” explained Ferguson, and glanced in triumph at Kent.
+“Neat, wasn't it?”
+
+Kent regarded the detective, his mind in a whirl. His theory was
+certainly plausible, but--“Have you other evidence to prove, your
+theory?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.” Ferguson checked off his points on his fingers. “Remember
+how insistent Mr. Rochester was that Turnbull had died from angina
+pectoris?”
+
+“I do,” acknowledged Clymer, deeply interested. “Continue, Ferguson.”
+
+The detective needed no second bidding.
+
+“Another point,” he began. “There never would have been a post-mortem
+examination if Miss Helen McIntyre hadn't asked for it. She knew of
+the ill-feeling between the men and suspected foul play on Rochester's
+part.”
+
+“Wait,” commanded Kent. “Has Miss McIntyre substantiated that
+statement?”
+
+“Not yet,” admitted Ferguson. “I stopped at her house, but the butler
+said the young ladies had retired and could not see any one.” Kent, who
+had called there on the way to keep his dinner engagement with Clymer,
+had been met with the same statement, to his bitter disappointment. He
+most earnestly desired to see the twins and to see them together, to
+make one more effort to induce them to confide in him; for that they had
+some secret trouble he was convinced; he longed to be of aid, but his
+hands were tied through lack of information.
+
+“Don't imply motives to Miss McIntyre's act until you have verified
+them, Ferguson,” he cautioned. “Go on with your theories.”
+
+“One moment,” Clymer broke into the conversation. “Did Rochester tell
+you, Ferguson, that he had recognized Turnbull in his burglar disguise?”
+
+“No, sir; I never had an opportunity to ask him, for he disappeared
+Tuesday night and has not been seen or heard of since,” Ferguson
+rejoined.
+
+“Hold on,” Kent checked him with an impatient gesture. “I had a telegram
+from Rochester this morning, stating he was in Cleveland.”
+
+“I didn't forget about the telegram,” retorted Ferguson. “It was to
+consult you about that, that I hunted you up to-night. That telegram was
+bogus.”
+
+“What!” Kent half rose from his chair.
+
+“Yes. After the inquest I called Cleveland on the long distance, talked
+with the City Club officials and with Police Headquarters; all declared
+that Rochester was not there, and no trace could be found of his having
+ever arrived in the city.”
+
+Clymer laid down his half smoked cigar and stared at the detective.
+
+“You think then that Rochester has bolted?” he asked.
+
+“It looks that way,” insisted Ferguson. “How about it, Mr. Kent?” The
+question was put with a touch of arrogance.
+
+Kent did not reply immediately. Every fact that Ferguson had brought out
+fitted the situation, and Rochester's disappearance added color to the
+detective's charges. Why was he hiding unless from guilty motives, and
+where had he gone? Kent shook a bewildered head.
+
+“It is plausible,” he conceded, “but, after all, only circumstantial
+evidence.”
+
+“Well, circumstantial evidence is good enough for me to work on,”
+ retorted Ferguson. “On discovering that the telegram from Cleveland was
+a hoax, I concluded Rochester might be lurking around Washington and
+so sent a description of him to the different precincts and secured a
+search warrant.”
+
+“You did?”
+
+“Yes. Armed with it I visited Mr. Rochester's apartment, but couldn't
+find a clew to his present whereabouts,” admitted Ferguson. “So then I
+went to your office, Mr. Kent, and ransacked the firm's safe.”
+
+“Confound you!” Kent leaned forward in his wrath and shook his fist at
+the detective. “What right had you to do such a thing?”
+
+“The search warrant covered it,” explained Ferguson. “I could look
+through your safe, Mr. Kent, because Rochester was your senior partner
+and you shared the office together; I was within the law.”
+
+“Perhaps you were,” Kent controlled his anger with an effort. “But I had
+told you I did not know Rochester's whereabouts before I showed you the
+Cleveland telegram, which you claim is bogus.”
+
+“It's bogus, all right,” insisted the detective. “I thought it
+just possible I might find some paper which would give me a clew to
+Rochester's hiding place, so I went through the safe.”
+
+“How did you get it open?” asked Kent.
+
+“I found it open.”
+
+Kent leapt to his feet. “You--found--it open!”--he stammered. “Why,
+man, I locked that safe securely just before I left the office at six
+o'clock.”
+
+“Sure?”
+
+“Absolutely certain.”
+
+“Were you alone?”
+
+“Yes, all alone. Sylvester left at five o'clock”
+
+“Who knew the combination of the safe?”
+
+“Only Rochester and I.”
+
+It was Ferguson's turn to spring up “By--!” he exclaimed. “I thought
+the electric bulbs in the office felt warm, as if they had recently been
+burning--Rochester must have been there just before me.”
+
+“It would seem that Rochester is still in the city,” remarked Clymer.
+“Do you know, Kent, whether he had his office keys with him?”
+
+“I presume so,” Kent slipped his hand inside his pocket and took out a
+bunch of keys. “He left these duplicates in his desk at the office.”
+
+“Sure they are duplicates?” questioned Ferguson, and Kent flushed.
+
+“I know they are,” he retorted. “Rochester had them made over a year ago
+as a matter of convenience, for he was always forgetting his keys, and
+kept these at our office.”
+
+“He's a queer cuss,” was the detective's only comment and Clymer broke
+into the conversation.
+
+“Did you find any address or paper in the safe which might prove a clew,
+Ferguson?” he inquired.
+
+“Nothing, not even a scrap of paper,” and the detective's tone was glum.
+
+“Did the safe look as if its contents had been tumbled about?” asked
+Kent.
+
+“No, everything seemed in order.” Ferguson thrust his hand inside his
+coat pocket. “There was one envelope in the right hand compartment which
+puzzled me--”
+
+“Hold on--was that compartment also unlocked?” asked Kent.
+
+“It was,” not giving Kent time to speak again Ferguson continued his
+remarks. “As this was unaddressed I brought it to you, Mr. Kent, to ask
+if it was your personal property”--he drew out the white envelope which
+Helen McIntyre had brought Kent that morning and turned it over so that
+both men could see the large red seal bearing the letter “B.”
+
+“It is my property,” asserted Kent instantly.
+
+“Would you mind opening it?” asked Ferguson.
+
+“I would, most certainly; it relates to my personal affairs.”
+
+Ferguson looked a trifle non-plussed. “Would you mind telling me its
+contents, Mr. Kent?” he asked persuasively.
+
+Kent regarded the detective squarely. He could not betray Helen, the
+envelope might contain harmless nonsense, but she had placed it in
+his safe-keeping--no, confound it, she had left it in the safe for
+Rochester--and Rochester was apparently a fugitive from justice, while
+circumstantial evidence pointed to his having poisoned Helen's lover,
+Jimmie...
+
+“If you must know, Ferguson,” Kent spoke with deliberation. “They are
+old love letters of mine.”
+
+Clymer glanced down at the envelope which the detective still held, the
+red seal making a distinct blotch of color on the white, glazed surface.
+
+“Ah, Kent,” he said in amusement. “So rumor is right in predicting your
+engagement to Barbara McIntyre. Good luck to you!”
+
+Through the open doorway to the dining room where the dancing had ceased
+for the moment, came a soft laugh and Mrs. Brewster looked in at them.
+McIntyre, standing like her shadow, gazed in curiosity over her shoulder
+at the three men.
+
+“How jolly to find you,” cooed Mrs. Brewster. “And what a charming
+retreat! It's much too nice to be occupied by men, only.” She inclined
+her head in a little gracious bow to Ferguson and stepped inside.
+
+“Have my chair,” suggested Clymer hospitably as the pretty widow raised
+her lorgnette and scanned the Oriental hangings and lamps, and lastly,
+the white envelope which lay on the table, red seal uppermost, where
+Ferguson had placed it on her entrance.
+
+“Are your daughters here, Colonel McIntyre?” asked Kent as he took a
+step toward the table. McIntyre's answer was drowned in an outburst of
+cheering in the dining room and the rush of many feet. On common impulse
+Kent and the others turned toward the doorway and looked inside the
+dining room. Two officers of the French High Commission were being held
+on the shoulders of comrades and were delivering, as best they could
+amidst cheers and applause, their farewell to hospitable Washington.
+
+As his companions brushed by him to join the gay throng in the center of
+the room, Kent turned back to pick up the envelope he had left lying on
+the table. It was gone.
+
+In feverish haste Kent looked under the table, under the chairs, the
+lounge and its cushions, behind the draperies, and even under the rugs
+which covered the floor of the porch, and then rose and stared into the
+dining room. Which one of his companions had taken the envelope?
+
+Outside the porch the beautiful trumpet vine, its sturdy trunk and thick
+branches reaching almost to the roof of the club building, rustled as
+in a high wind, and the branches swayed this way and that as a figure
+climbed swiftly down from the porch until, reaching the fence separating
+the club property from its neighbor's, the man swung across it, no mean
+athletic feet, and taking advantage of each sheltering shadow, darted
+into the alley and from there down silent, deserted Nineteenth Street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. HALF A TRUTH
+
+Dancing was being resumed in the dining room as Kent appeared again
+in the doorway and he made his way as quickly as possible among the
+couples, going into all the rooms on that floor, but nowhere could
+he find Detective Ferguson. On emerging from the drawing room, he
+encountered the steward returning from downstairs.
+
+“Have you seen Mr. Clymer?” he asked hurriedly.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Kent; he just left the club, taking Detective Ferguson
+with him in his motor. Is there anything I can do?” added the steward
+observing Kent's agitation.
+
+“No, no, thanks. Say, where is Colonel McIntyre?” Kent gave up further
+pursuit of the detective, he could find him later at Headquarters. The
+steward looked among the dancers. “I don't see him,” he said, “But
+there is Mrs. Brewster dancing in the front room; the Colonel must be
+somewhere around. If I meet him, Mr. Kent, shall I tell him you are
+looking for him?”
+
+“I will be greatly obliged if you will do so,” replied Kent, and
+straightening his tie, he went in quest of the pretty widow. He had
+found her a merry chatter-box in the past, possibly he could gain
+valuable information from her. He found Mrs. Brewster just completing
+her dance with a fine looking Italian officer whose broad breast bore
+many military decorations.
+
+“Dance the encore with me”--Kent could be very persuasive when he
+wished, and Mrs. Brewster dimpled with pleasure, but there was a faint
+indecision in her manner which he was quick to note. What prompted
+it? He had been on friendly terms with her; in fact, she had openly
+championed his cause, so Barbara had once told him, when Colonel
+McIntyre had made caustic remarks about his frequent calls at the
+McIntyre house.
+
+“Just one turn,” she said, as the foreigner bowed and withdrew. “I am
+feeling a little weary to-night--the strain of the inquest,” she, added
+in explanation.
+
+“Perhaps you would rather sit out the dance,” he suggested. “There is an
+alcove in that window; oh, pshaw!” as a man and a girl took possession
+of the chairs.
+
+“Never mind, we can roost on the stairs,” Mrs. Brewster preceded him to
+the staircase leading to the third floor, and sat down, bracing her back
+very comfortably against the railing, while Kent seated himself at her
+feet on the lower step. “Extraordinary developments at the inquest this
+afternoon,” he began, as she volunteered no remark. “To think of Jimmie
+Turnbull being poisoned!”
+
+“It is unbelievable,” she said, and her vehemence was a surprise to
+Kent; he knew her as all froth and bubble. What had brought the dark
+circles under her eyes and the unwonted seriousness in her manner?
+
+“Unbelievable, yes,” he agreed gravely. “But true; the autopsy ended all
+doubt.”
+
+“You mean it developed doubt,” she corrected, and a sigh accompanied the
+words. “Have the police any clew to the guilty man?”
+
+“I don't know, I'm sure,” Kent spoke with caution.
+
+“You don't?” Her voice was a little sharp. “Didn't Detective Ferguson
+give you any news when talking to you on the porch?”
+
+“So you recognized the detective?”
+
+“I? No; I have never seen him before”--she nodded gayly to an
+acquaintance passing through the hall. “Colonel McIntyre told me his
+name. It was so odd to meet a man here not in evening clothes that I had
+to ask who he was.”
+
+“Ferguson came to bring me some papers about a personal matter,”
+ explained Kent. He turned so as to face her. “Did you see a white
+envelope lying on the table when you walked out on the porch?”
+
+She bowed her head absently, her foot keeping time to the inspiring
+music played by the orchestra stationed on the stair landing just above
+where they sat. “You left it lying on the table.”
+
+“Yes, so I did,” replied Kent. “And I believe I was so ungallant as to
+bolt into the dining room in front of you. Please accept my apologies.”
+ Behind her fan, which she used with languid grace, the widow watched
+him.
+
+“We all bolted together,” she responded, “and are equally guilty--”
+
+“Of what?” questioned a voice from the background, and looking up Kent
+saw Colonel McIntyre standing on the step above Mrs. Brewster. The
+music had ceased and in the lull their conversation had been distinctly
+audible.
+
+“Guilty of curiosity,” finished the widow.
+
+“Colonel de Geofroy's farewell speech was very amusing, did you not
+think so?”
+
+“I did not stay to hear it,” Kent confessed. “I had to return to the
+porch and get my envelope.”
+
+“You were a long time about it,” commented McIntyre, sitting down by
+Mrs. Brewster and possessing himself of her fan. “I waited to tell you
+that Helen and Barbara were worn out after the inquest and so stayed at
+home to-night, but you didn't show up.”
+
+“Neither did the envelope,” retorted Kent, and as his companions looked
+at him, he added. “It had disappeared off the table.”
+
+“Probably blew away,” suggested McIntyre. “I noticed a strong current
+of air from the dining room, and two of the windows inclosing the porch
+were open.
+
+“That's hardly possible,” Kent replied skeptically. “The envelope
+weighed at least two ounces; it would have taken quite a gale to budge
+it.”
+
+McIntyre turned red. “Are you insinuating that one of us walked off with
+your envelope, Kent?” he demanded angrily. Mrs. Brewster stayed him as
+he was about to rise.
+
+“Did you not say that Detective Ferguson brought you the envelope, Mr.
+Kent?” she asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Then what more likely than that he carried it off again?” She smiled
+amusedly as Kent's expression altered. “Why not ask the detective?”
+
+Her suggestion held a grain of truth. Suppose Ferguson had not believed
+his statement that the papers in the envelope were his personal property
+and had taken the envelope away to examine it at his leisure? The
+thought brought Kent to his feet.
+
+“Good night, Mrs. Sherlock Holmes,” he said jestingly, “I'll follow
+your advice”--There was no opportunity to say more, for several men
+had discovered the widow's perch on the stairs and came to claim their
+dances. Over their heads McIntyre watched Kent stride downstairs, then
+stooping over he picked up Mrs. Brewster's fan and sat down to patiently
+await her return.
+
+Kent's pursuit of the detective took longer than he had anticipated, and
+it was after midnight before he finally located him at the office of
+the Chief of Detectives in the District Building. “I've called for the
+envelope you took from my safe early this evening,” he began without
+preface, hardly waiting for the latter's surprised greeting.
+
+“Why, Mr. Kent, I left it lying on the porch table at the club,”
+ declared Ferguson. “Didn't you take it?”
+
+“No.” Kent's worried expression returned. “Like a fool I forgot the
+envelope when that cheering broke out in the dining room and rushed to
+find out what it was about; when I returned to the porch the envelope
+was gone.
+
+“Disappeared?” questioned Ferguson in astonishment.
+
+“Disappeared absolutely; I searched the porch thoroughly and couldn't
+find a trace of it,” Kent explained. “And in spite of McIntyre's
+contention that it might have blown out of the window, I am certain it
+did not.”
+
+“The windows were open, and I recollect there was a strong draught,”
+ remarked Ferguson thoughtfully. “But not sufficient to carry away that
+envelope.”
+
+“Exactly.” Kent stepped closer. “Did you observe which one of our
+companions stood nearest the porch table?”
+
+Ferguson eyed him curiously. “Say, are you insinuating that one of those
+people took your envelope?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+A subdued whistle escaped Ferguson. “What was in that envelope. Mr.
+Kent,” he demanded, “to make it of any value to that bunch?” and as Kent
+did not answer immediately, he added, “Are you sure it had nothing to do
+with Jimmie Turnbull's death and Philip Rochester's disappearance?”
+
+“Quite sure.” Kent's gaze did not waver before his penetrating look. “I
+have already told you that the envelope contained old love letters,
+and I very naturally do not wish them to fall into the hands of Colonel
+McIntyre, the father of the girl I hope to marry.”
+
+Ferguson smiled understandingly. “I see. From what I know of Colonel
+McIntyre there's a very narrow, nagging spirit concealed under his frank
+and engaging manner; I wish you joy of your future father-in-law,” and
+he chuckled.
+
+“Thanks,” dryly. “You haven't answered my question as to who stood
+nearest the porch table, Ferguson.”
+
+The detective looked thoughtful. “We all stood fairly near; perhaps Mrs.
+Brewster was a shade the nearest. Mr. Clymer was offering her a chair
+when that noise came from the dining room. There's one thing I am
+willing to swear to”--his manner grew more earnest--“that envelope was
+still lying on the table when I hustled into the dining room.”
+
+“Well, who was the last person to leave the porch?” Kent demanded
+eagerly.
+
+“I don't know,” was the disappointing answer. “I reached the door at
+the same moment you did and passed right around the dining room to get a
+view of what was going on. I thought I would take a squint at the tables
+and see if there was any wine being used,” he admitted. “But there was
+nothing doing in that line. Then Mr. Clymer offered to bring me down to
+Headquarters, and I left the club with him.”
+
+Kent took a turn about the room. “Did Mr. Clymer go to the Cosmos Club?”
+ he asked, pausing by the detective.
+
+“No, I heard him tell his chauffeur to drive to the Saratoga. Want to
+use the telephone?” observing Kent's glance stray to the instrument.
+
+By way of answer Kent took off the receiver and after giving a number to
+Central, he recognized Clymer's voice over the telephone.
+
+“That you, Mr. Clymer? Yes, well, this is Kent speaking. Can you tell me
+who was the last person to leave the porch when Colonel de Geofroy made
+his farewell speech to-night at the club?”
+
+“I was,” came Clymer's surprised answer. “I waited for McIntyre to pick up Mrs. Brewster's fan.”
+
+“Did he take my letter off the table also?” called Kent.
+
+“Why, no.” Clymer's voice testified to his increased surprise. “Mrs.
+Brewster dropped her fan right in the doorway just as McIntyre and I
+approached; we both stooped to get it and, like fools; bumped our heads
+together in the act. He got the fan, however, and I waited for him to
+walk into the dining room before following Mrs. Brewster.”
+
+“As you passed the table, Mr. Clymer, did you see my letter lying on the
+table?” persisted Kent.
+
+“Upon my word I never looked at the table,” Clymer's hearty tone carried
+conviction. “I walked right along in my hurry to know what the cheering
+was about. I am sorry, Kent; have you mislaid your letter?”
+
+“Yes,” glumly. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Clymer; good night,”
+ and Clymer's echoing, “Good night” sounded faintly as he hung up the
+receiver.
+
+“Drew blank,” he announced, turning to Ferguson. “Confound you,
+Ferguson; you had no right to touch the papers in my safe. If harm comes
+from it, I'll make you suffer,” and not waiting for the detective's
+jumbled apologies and explanations, he hurried from the building. But
+once on the sidewalk he paused for thought. McIntyre must have picked
+up the white envelope, there was no other feasible explanation of its
+disappearance. But what had attracted his attention to the envelope--the
+red seal with the big letter “B” was its only identifying mark. If Helen
+had only told him the contents of the envelope!
+
+Kent struck his clenched fist in his left hand in wrath; something must
+be done, he could not stand there all night. Although it was through no
+fault of his own that he had lost the envelope entrusted to his care, he
+was still responsible to Helen for its disappearance. She must be told
+that it was gone, however unpleasant the task.
+
+Kent walked hastily along Pennsylvania Avenue until he came to a drug
+store still open, and entered the telephone booth. He had recollected
+that the twins had a branch telephone in their sitting room; he would
+have to chance their being awake at that hour.
+
+Barbara McIntyre turned on her pillow and rubbed her sleepy eyes; surely
+she had been mistaken in thinking she heard the telephone bell ringing.
+Even as she lay striving to listen, she dozed off again, to be rudely
+awakened by Helen's voice at her ear.
+
+
+“Babs!” came the agitated whisper. “The envelope's gone.”
+
+“Gone!” Barbara swung out of bed.
+
+“Gone where?”
+
+“Father has it.”
+
+Downstairs in the library Mrs. Brewster paused on her entrance by the
+side of a piece of carved Venetian furniture and laying her coronation
+scarf on it, she examined a white envelope--the red seal was intact.
+
+At the sound of approaching footsteps she raised a trap door in the
+piece of furniture and only her keen ears caught the faint thud of
+the envelope as it dropped inside, then with a happy, tender smile she
+turned to meet Colonel McIntyre.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. THE ECHO OF A LAUGH
+
+Colonel McIntyre tramped the deserted dining room in exasperation.
+Nine o'clock and the twins had not come to breakfast, nor was there any
+evidence that Mrs. Brewster intended taking that meal downstairs.
+
+“Will you wait any longer, sir?” inquired Grimes, who hovered
+solicitously in the background. “I'm afraid, sir, your eggs will be
+over-done.”
+
+“Bring them along,” directed McIntyre, and flung himself into his chair
+at the foot of the table. He had been seated but a few minutes when
+Barbara appeared and dutifully presented her cheek to be kissed, then
+she tripped lightly to Helen's place opposite her father, and pressed
+the electric bell for Grimes.
+
+“Coffee, please,” she said as that worthy appeared, and busied herself
+in arranging the cups and saucers. “Helen is taking her breakfast
+upstairs,” she explained to her father.
+
+“How about Mrs. Brewster?”
+
+“Still asleep.” Barbara poured out her father's coffee with careful
+attention to detail. “I peeked into her room a moment ago and she looked
+so 'comfy' I hadn't the heart to awaken her. You must have been very
+late at the club last night.”
+
+“We got home a little after one o'clock.”
+
+McIntyre helped himself to poached eggs and bacon. “What did you do last
+night?”
+
+“Went to bed early,” answered Barbara with brevity. “Helen wasn't
+feeling well.”
+
+McIntyre's handsome face showed concern as he glanced across the table.
+“Have you sent for Dr. Stone?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Helen--I--we”--Barbara stumbled in her speech. “We have taken an
+aversion to Dr. Stone.”
+
+McIntyre set down his coffee cup with unwonted force, thereby spilling
+some of its contents.
+
+“What!” he exclaimed in complete astonishment, and regarded her fixedly
+for a moment. His tolerant manner, which he frequently assumed toward
+Barbara, grew stern. “Dr. Stone is my personal friend, as well as our
+family physician--”
+
+“And a cousin of Margaret Brewster,” put in Barbara mildly.
+
+“Well, what of it?” trenchantly, aware that he had colored at mention of
+the widow's name. “Nothing,” Barbara's eyes opened innocently. “I only
+recalled the fact of his relationship as you enumerated his virtues.”
+
+Colonel McIntyre transferred his regard from her to the butler. “You
+need not wait, Grimes.” He remained silent until the servant was safely
+in the pantry, and then addressed his daughter. “None of your tricks,
+Barbara,” he cautioned. “If Helen is ill enough to require medical
+attention, Dr. Stone is to be sent for, regardless of your sudden
+dislike to him, for which, by the way, you have given no cause.”
+
+“Haven't I?” Barbara folded her napkin with neat exactness. “It's--it's
+intangible.”
+
+“Pooh!” McIntyre gave a short laugh, as he pushed back his chair. “I'm
+going to see Helen. And Barbara,” stopping on his way to the door,
+“don't be a fool.”
+
+Barbara rubbed the tiny mole under the lobe of her ear, a trick she had
+when absent-minded or in deep thought. “Helen,” she announced, unaware
+that she spoke loud, “shall have a physician, but it won't be--why,
+Grimes,” awakening to the servant's noiseless return. “You can take the
+breakfast dishes. Did Miss Helen eat anything?”
+
+“Not very much, miss.” Grimes shook a troubled head. “But she done
+better than at dinner last night, so she's picking up, and don't you be
+worried over her,” with emphasis, as he sidled nearer. “Tell me, miss,
+is the colonel courtin' Mrs. Brewster?”
+
+“Ask him,” she suggested and smiled at the consternation which spread
+over the butler's face.
+
+“Me, miss!” he exclaimed in horror. “It would be as much as my place
+is worth; the colonel's that quick-tempered. Why, miss, just because I
+tidied up his desk and put his papers to rights he flew into a terrible
+passion.”
+
+“When was that?”
+
+“Early this morning, miss; and he so upset Thomas, miss, that he gave
+notice.”
+
+“Oh, that's too bad.” Barbara liked the second man. “Perhaps father will
+reconsider and persuade him to stay.”
+
+The butler looked unconvinced. “It was about the police dogs,” he
+confided to her. “Thomas told him that Miss Helen wanted them brought
+back, and the colonel swore at him--'twas more than Thomas could stand
+and he ups and goes.” Barbara halted half way to the door. “Did Thomas
+get the dogs?”
+
+“You wait and see, miss.” Grimes was guilty of a most undignified wink.
+“Thomas ain't forgiven himself for not being here Monday night, miss;
+though it wouldn't a done him any good; he wouldn't a heard Mr. Turnbull
+climbing in or his arrest, away upstairs in the servants' quarters.”
+
+“Grimes,” Barbara retracted her footsteps and placed her lips very close
+to the old servant's ear.
+
+“When I came in on Tuesday morning I found the door to the attic
+stairway standing partly open...
+
+“Did you now, miss?” The two regarded each other warily. “And what hour
+may that have been?”
+
+The butler cocked his ear for her answer--he was sometimes a little
+hard of hearing; but he waited in vain, Barbara had disappeared inside
+the library.
+
+Colonel McIntyre had not gone at once to see his daughter Helen, as
+Barbara had supposed from his remark, instead he went down the staircase
+and into the reception room on the ground floor. It was generally used
+as a smoking room and lounge, but when entertaining was done, cloaks
+and wraps were left there. McIntyre looked over the prettily upholstered
+furniture, then strolled to the window and carefully inspected the lock;
+it appeared in perfect order as he tested it. Pushing the catch back as
+far as it would go, he raised the window--the sash moved upward without
+a sound, and he leaned out and looked up and down the path which ran the
+depth of the house to the kitchen door and servants' entrance. There was
+an iron gate separating the path from the sidewalk, always kept locked
+at night, and McIntyre had thought that sufficient protection and had
+not put an iron grille in the window.
+
+McIntyre closed and locked the window, then pulling out the gilt chair
+which stood in front of the desk, he sat down, selected some monogrammed
+paper and penned a few lines in his characteristic though legible
+writing. Picking up some red sealing wax, he lighted the small candle
+in its brass holder which matched the rest of the desk ornaments, but
+before heating the wax he looked for his signet ring, and frowned when
+he recalled leaving it on his dresser. He hesitated a moment, then
+catching sight of a silver seal lying at the back of the desk he picked
+it up and moistened the initial. A few minutes later he blew out the
+candle, returned the wax and seal to a pigeon hole, and carefully placed
+the envelope with its well stamped letter “B” in his coat pocket, and
+tramped upstairs.
+
+Helen heard his heavy tread coming down the hall toward her room, and
+scrambled back to bed. She had but time to arrange her dressing sacque
+when her father walked in.
+
+“Good morning, my dear,” he said and, stooping over, kissed her. As he
+straightened up, the side of his single-breasted coat turned back and
+exposed to Helen's bright eyes the end of a white envelope. “Barbara
+told me you are not well,” he wheeled forward a chair and sat down by
+the bed. “Hadn't I better send for Dr. Stone?”
+
+“Oh, no,” her reply, though somewhat faint, was emphatic, and he frowned.
+
+“Why not?” aggressively. “I trust you do not share Barbara's suddenly
+developed prejudice against the good doctor.”
+
+“I do not require a physician,” she said evasively. “I am well.”
+
+McIntyre regarded her vexedly. He could not decide whether her flushed
+cheeks were from fever or the result of exertion or excitement.
+Excitement over what? He looked about the room; it reflected the taste
+of its dainty owner in its furnishings, but nowhere did he find an
+answer to his unspoken question, until his eye lighted on a box of rouge
+under the electric lamp on her bed stand.
+
+“Don't use that,” he said, touching the box.
+
+“You know I detest make-up.”
+
+“Oh, that!” She turned to see what he was talking about. “That rouge
+belongs to Margaret Brewster.”
+
+McIntyre promptly changed the conversation. “Have you had your
+breakfast?” he asked.
+
+“Yes; Grimes took the tray down some time ago.” Helen watched her
+father fidget with his watch fob for several minutes, then asked with
+characteristic directness. “What do you wish?”
+
+“To see that you have proper medical attention if you are ill,” he
+returned promptly. “How would a week or ten days at Atlantic City suit
+you and Barbara?”
+
+“Not at all.” Helen sat up from her reclining position on the pillows.
+“You forget, father, that we have a house-guest; Margaret Brewster is
+not leaving until May.”
+
+“I had not forgotten,” curtly. “I propose that she go with us.”
+
+A faint “Oh!” escaped Helen, otherwise she made no comment, and
+McIntyre, after contemplating her for a minute, looked away.
+
+“Either go to Atlantic City with us, Helen, or resume your normal,
+everyday life,” he said shortly. “I am tired of heroics; Jimmie Turnbull
+was hardly the man to inspire them.”
+
+“Stop!” Helen's voice rang out imperiously. “I will not permit one word
+said in disparagement of Jimmie, least of all from you, father. Wait,”
+ as he attempted to speak. “I do not know what traits of character I
+may have inherited from you, but I have all mother's loyalty, and--that
+loyalty belongs to Jimmie.”
+
+McIntyre's eyes shifted under her gaze.
+
+“I regret very much this obsession,” he said rising. “I will not attempt
+to reason with you again, Helen, but”--he made no effort to lower his
+voice, “the world--our world will soon know what manner of man James
+Turnbull was, of that I am determined.”
+
+“And I”--Helen faced her father proudly--“I will leave no stone unturned
+to defend his memory.”
+
+Her father wheeled about. “In doing so, see that you do not compromise
+yourself,” he remarked coldly, and before the infuriated girl could
+answer, he slammed the door shut and stalked downstairs.
+
+Some half hour later he opened the door of Rochester and Kent's law
+office and would have walked unceremoniously into Kent's private office
+had not John Sylvester stepped forward from behind his desk in the
+corner.
+
+“Good morning, Colonel,” he said civilly. “Mr. Kent is not here. Do you
+wish to leave any message?”
+
+“Oh, good morning, Sylvester,” McIntyre's manner was brusque. “When do
+you expect Mr. Kent?”
+
+“In about twenty minutes, Colonel.” Sylvester glanced at the wall clock.
+“Won't you sit down?”
+
+McIntyre took the chair and planted it by the window. Never a very
+patient man, he waited for Kent with increasing irritation, and at the
+end of half an hour his temper was uppermost. “Give me something to
+write with,” he demanded of Sylvester. Accepting the clerk's fountain
+pen without thanks, he walked over to the center table and, drawing out
+his leather wallet, took from it a visiting card and, stooping over,
+wrote:
+
+        You have but thirty-six hours remaining.
+                                             McIntyre.
+
+“See that Mr. Kent gets this card,” he directed. “No, don't put it
+there,” irascibly, as the clerk laid the card on top of a pile of
+letters. “Take it into Mr. Kent's office and put it on his desk.”
+
+There was that about Colonel McIntyre which inspired complete obedience
+to his wishes, and Sylvester followed his directions without further
+question.
+
+As the clerk stepped into Kent's office McIntyre saw a woman sitting
+by the empty desk. She turned her head on hearing footsteps and their
+glances met. A faint exclamation broke from her.
+
+“Margaret!” McIntyre strode past Sylvester. “What are you doing here?”
+
+Mrs. Brewster's ready laugh hid all sign of embarrassment. “Must you
+know?” she asked archly. “That is hardly fair to Barbara.”
+
+“So Barbara sent you here with a message!” Mrs. Brewster treated his
+remark as a statement and not a question, and briskly changed the
+subject.
+
+“I can't wait any longer,” she pouted. “Please tell Mr. Kent that I am
+sorry not to have seen him.”
+
+“I will, madam.” Sylvester placed McIntyre's card in the center of
+Kent's desk and flew to open the door for Mrs. Brewster.
+
+As the widow stepped into the corridor she brushed by an over-dressed
+woman, whose cheap finery gave clear indication of her tastes. Hardly
+noticing another's presence she turned and took McIntyre's arm and
+they strolled off together, her soft laugh floating back to where Mrs.
+Sylvester stood talking to her husband.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
+
+Harry Kent rang the doorbell at the McIntyre residence for the fifth
+time, and wondered what had become of the faithful Grimes; the butler
+was usually the soul of promptness, and to keep a caller waiting on the
+doorstep would, in his category, rank as the height of impropriety. As
+Kent again raised his hand toward the bell, the door swung open suddenly
+and Barbara beckoned to him to come inside.
+
+“The bell is out of order,” she explained. “I saw you from the window.
+Hurry, and Grimes won't know that you are here,” and she darted ahead of
+him into the reception room. Kent followed more slowly; he was hurt that
+she had had no other greeting for him.
+
+“Babs, aren't you glad to see me?” he asked wistfully.
+
+For an instant her eyes were lighted by her old sunny smile.
+
+“You know I am,” she whispered softly. As his arms closed around her
+and their lips met in a tender kiss she added fervently, “Oh, Harry, why
+didn't you make me marry you in the happy bygone days?”
+
+“I asked you often enough,” he declared.
+
+“Will you go with me to Rockville at once?” Her face changed and she
+drew back from him. “No,” she said. “It is selfish of me to think of my
+own happiness now.”
+
+“How about mine?” demanded Kent with warmth. “If you won't consider
+yourself, consider me.”
+
+“I do.” She looked out of the window to conceal sudden blinding tears.
+There was a hint of hidden tragedy in her lovely face which went to
+Kent's heart.
+
+“Sweetheart,” his voice was very tender, “is there nothing I can do for
+you?”
+
+“Nothing,” she shook her head drearily. “This family must 'dree its
+weir.'”
+
+Kent studied her in silence; that she was in deadly earnest he
+recognized, she was no hysterical fool or given to sentimental twaddle.
+
+“You came to me on Wednesday to ask my aid in solving Jimmie Turnbull's
+death,” he said. “I have learned certain facts--”
+
+Barbara sprang to her feet. “Wait,” she cautioned. “Let me close the
+door. Now, go on--” with her customary impetuosity she reseated herself.
+
+“Before I do so, I must tell you, Babs, that I recognized the fraud you
+and Helen perpetrated at the coroner's inquest yesterday afternoon.”
+
+“Fraud?”
+
+“Yes,” quietly. “I am aware that you impersonated Helen on the witness
+stand and vice versa. You took a frightful risk.”
+
+“I don't see why,” she protested. “In my testimony I told nothing but
+the truth.”
+
+“I never doubted you told the truth regarding the events of Monday night
+as you saw them, but the coroner's questions were put to you under the
+impression that you were Helen.” Kent scrutinized her keenly. “Would
+Helen have been able to give the same answers that you did without
+perjuring herself?”
+
+Barbara started and her face paled. “Are you insinuating that Helen
+killed Jimmie?” she cried.
+
+“No,” his emphatic denial was prompt. “But I do believe that she knows
+more of what transpired Monday night than she is willing to admit. Is
+that not so, Barbara?”
+
+“Yes,” she acknowledged reluctantly.
+
+“Does she know who poisoned Jimmie?”
+
+“No--no!” Barbara rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “I swear Helen
+does not know. You must believe me, Harry.”
+
+“She may not know,” Kent spoke slowly. “But are you sure she does not
+suspect some one?”
+
+“Well, what if I do?” asked Helen quietly, and Kent, looking around,
+found her standing just inside the door. Her entrance had been
+noiseless.
+
+“You should tell the authorities, Helen.” Kent rose as she passed him
+and selected a seat which brought her face somewhat in shadow. “If you
+do not you may retard justice.”
+
+“But if I speak I may involve the innocent,” she retorted. “I--” her
+eyes shifted from him to Barbara and back again. “I cannot undertake
+that responsibility.”
+
+“Better that than let the guilty escape through your silence,” protested
+Kent. “Possibly the theories of the police may coincide with yours.
+
+“What are they?” asked Barbara impetuously.
+
+Kent considered before replying. If Detective Ferguson had gone so far
+as to secure a search warrant to go through Rochester's apartment and
+office it would not be long before the fact of his being a “suspect”
+ would be common property; there could, therefore, be no harm in his
+repeating Ferguson's conversation to the twins. In fact, as their legal
+representative, they were entitled to know the latest developments from
+him.
+
+“Detective Ferguson believes that the poison was administered by Philip
+Rochester,” he said finally, and watched to see how the announcement
+would affect them. Barbara's eyes opened to their widest extent, and
+back in her corner, into which she had gradually edged her chair, Helen
+emitted a long, long breath as her taut muscles relaxed.
+
+“What makes Ferguson think Philip guilty?” demanded Barbara.
+
+“It is known that he and Jimmie were not on good terms,” replied Kent.
+“Then Rochester's disappearance after Jimmie's death lends color to the
+theory.”
+
+“Has Philip really disappeared?” asked Helen. “You showed me a
+telegram--”
+
+“Apparently the telegram was a fake,” admitted Kent. “The Cleveland
+police report that he is not at the address given in the telegram.”
+
+“But who could have an object in sending such a telegram?” asked Barbara
+slowly.
+
+“Rochester, in the hope of throwing the police off his track, if he
+really killed Jimmie.” Kent looked straight at Helen. “It was while
+searching our office safe for trace of Rochester's present address that
+Ferguson obtained possession of your sealed envelope.”
+
+Helen plucked nervously at the ribbon on her gown. “Did the detective
+open the envelope” she asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Are you sure?”
+
+“Positive; the red seal was unbroken.”
+
+“Tell us how the envelope came to be stolen from you,” coaxed Barbara.
+
+“We were in the little smoking porch off the dining room at the Club
+de Vingt.” Barbara smiled her remembrance of it, and motioned Kent to
+continue. “Ferguson had just put down the envelope on the table and I
+started to pick it up when cheering in the dining room distracted my
+attention and I, with the others, went to see what it was about. When I
+returned to the porch the envelope was no longer on the table.”
+
+“Who were with you?” questioned Helen.
+
+“Your father, Mrs. Brewster--”
+
+“Of course,” murmured Barbara. “Go on, Harry.”
+
+“Detective Ferguson and Ben Clymer,” Barbara made a wry face,
+“and”--went on Kent, not heeding her, “each of these persons deny any
+further knowledge of the envelope, except they declare it was lying on
+the table when we all made a dash for the dining room.
+
+“Who was the last to leave the porch?” asked Helen.
+
+“Ben Clymer.”
+
+“And he saw no one take the envelope?”
+
+“He declares that he had his back to the table, part of the time, but to
+the best of his knowledge no one took the envelope.”
+
+“One of them must have,” insisted Barbara.
+
+“The envelope hadn't legs or wings.”
+
+“One of them did take it,” agreed Kent.
+
+“But which one is the question. Frankly, to find the answer, I must know
+the contents of the envelope, Helen.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because then I will have some idea who would be enough interested in
+the envelope to steal it.”
+
+Helen considered him long and thoughtfully. “I cannot answer your
+question,” she announced finally. She saw his face harden, and hastened
+to explain. “Not through any lack of confidence in you, Harry, b-b-but,”
+ she stumbled in her speech. “I--I do not know what the envelope
+contains.”
+
+Kent stared at her open-mouthed. “Then who requested you to lock the
+envelope in Rochester's safe?” he demanded, and receiving no reply,
+asked suddenly: “Was it Rochester?”
+
+“I am not at liberty to tell you,” she responded; her mouth set in
+obstinate lines and before he could press his request a second time, she
+asked: “Philip Rochester defended Jimmie in court when every one thought
+him a burglar; why then, should Philip have picked him out to attack--he
+is not a homicidal maniac?”
+
+“No, but the police contend that Rochester recognized Jimmie in his
+make-up and decided to kill him; hoping his death would be attributed to
+angina pectoris, and no post-mortem held,” wound up Kent.
+
+“I don't quite understand”--Helen raised her handkerchief to her
+forehead and removed a drop of moisture. “How did Philip kill Jimmie
+there in court before us all?”
+
+“Ferguson believes that he put the dose of aconitine in the glass of
+water which Jimmie asked for,” explained Kent, and would have continued
+his remarks, but a scream from Barbara startled him.
+
+“There, look at the window,” she cried. “I saw a face peering in. Look
+quick, Harry, look!”
+
+Kent needed no second bidding, but although he craned his head far
+outside the open window and gazed both up and down the street and along
+the path to the kitchen door, he failed to see any one. “Was it a man or
+woman?” he asked, turning back to the room.
+
+“I--I couldn't tell; it was just a glimpse.” Barbara stood resting one
+hand on the table, her weight leaning upon it. Not for words would she
+have had Kent know that her knees were shaking under her.
+
+“Did you see the face, Helen?” As he put the question Kent looked around
+at the silent girl in the corner; she had slipped back in her chair and,
+with closed eyes, lay white-lipped and limp. With a leap Kent gained her
+side and his hand sought her pulse.
+
+“Ring for brandy and water,” he directed as Barbara came to his aid.
+“Helen has fainted.”
+
+Twenty minutes later Kent hastened out of the McIntyre house and,
+turning into Connecticut Avenue, boarded a street car headed south.
+After carrying Helen to the twins' sitting room he had assisted Barbara
+in reviving her. He had wondered at the time why Barbara had not
+summoned the servants, then concluded that neither sister wished a
+scene. That Helen was worse than she would admit he appreciated, and
+advised Barbara to send for Dr. Stone. The well-meant suggestion had
+apparently fallen on deaf ears, for no physician had appeared during the
+time he was in the house, nor had Barbara used the telephone, almost at
+her elbow as she sat by her sister's couch, to summon Dr. Stone. Kent
+had only waited long enough to convince himself that Helen was out of
+danger, and then had departed.
+
+It was nearly one o'clock when he finally stepped inside his office, and
+he found his clerk and a dressy female bending eagerly over a newspaper.
+They looked up at his approach and Sylvester came forward.
+
+“This is my wife, sir,” he explained, and Kent bowed courteously to
+Mrs. Sylvester. “We were just reading this account of Mr. Rochester's
+disappearance; it's dreadful, sir, to think that the police believe him
+guilty of Mr. Turnbull's murder.”
+
+“Dreadful, indeed,” agreed Kent; the news had been published even sooner
+than he had imagined. “What paper is that?”
+
+“The noon edition of the Times.” Sylvester handed it to him.
+
+“Thanks,” Kent flung down his hat and spread open the paper. “Who have
+been here to-day?”
+
+“Colonel McIntyre, sir; he left a card for you.” Sylvester hurried into
+Kent's office, to return a moment later with a visiting card. “He left
+this, sir, for you with most particular directions that it be handed to
+you at once on your arrival.”
+
+Kent read the curt message on the card without comment and tore the
+paste-board into tiny bits.
+
+“Any one else been in this morning?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, sir.” Sylvester consulted a written memorandum. “Mr. Black called,
+also Colonel Thorne, Senator Harris, and Mrs. Brewster.”
+
+“Mrs. Brewster!” The newspaper slipped from Kent's fingers in his
+astonishment. “What did she want here?”
+
+“To see you, sir, so she said, but she first asked for Mr. Rochester,”
+ explained Sylvester, stooping over to pick up the inside sheet of
+the Times which had separated from the others. “I told her that Mr.
+Rochester was unavoidably detained in Cleveland; then she said she would
+consult you and I let her wait in your office for the good part of an
+hour.”
+
+Kent thought a moment then walked toward his door; on its threshold he
+paused, struck by a sudden idea.
+
+“Did Colonel McIntyre come with Mrs. Brewster?” he asked.
+
+“No, Mr. Kent; he came in while she was here.”
+
+“And they went off together,” volunteered Mrs. Sylvester, who had been
+a silent listener to their conversation. Kent started; he had forgotten
+the woman. “Excuse me, Mr. Kent,” she continued, and stepped toward
+him. “I presume, likely, that you are very interested in this charge of
+murder against your partner, Mr. Rochester.”
+
+“I am,” affirmed Kent, as Mrs. Sylvester paused.
+
+“I am too, sir,” she confided to him. “Cause you see I was in the court
+room when Mr. Turnbull died and I'm naturally interested.”
+
+“Naturally,” agreed Kent with a commiserating glance at his clerk; the
+latter's wife threatened to be loquacious, and he judged from her looks
+that it was a habit which had grown with the years. As a general rule he
+abhorred talkative women, but--“And what took you to the police court on
+Tuesday morning?”
+
+“Why, me and Mr. Sylvester have our little differences like other
+married couples,” she explained. “And sometimes we ask the Court to
+settle them.” She caught Kent's look of impatience and hurried her
+speech. “The burglar case came on just after ours was remanded, and
+seeing the McIntyre twins, whom I've often read about, I just thought
+I'd stay. Let me have that paper a minute.”
+
+“Certainly,” Kent gave her the newspaper and she ran her finger down
+the columns devoted to the Turnbull case with a slowness that set his
+already excited nerves on edge.
+
+“Here's what I'm looking for,” she exclaimed triumphantly, a minute
+later, and pointed to the paragraph:
+
+  “Mrs.  Margaret Perry Brewster, the fascinating widow, added
+   nothing material to the case in her testimony, and she was
+   quickly excused, after stating that she was told about the
+   tragedy by the McIntyre twins upon their return from the
+   Police Court.”
+
+“Well what of it?” asked Kent.
+
+“Only this, Mr. Kent;” Mrs. Sylvester enjoyed nothing so much as talking
+to a good looking man, especially in the presence of her husband, and
+she could not refrain from a triumphant look at him as she went on with
+her remarks. “There was a female sitting on the bench next to me in
+Court; in fact, she and I were the only women on that side, and I kinder
+noticed her on that account, and then I saw she was all done up in
+veils--I couldn't see her face.
+
+“I caught her peering this way and that during the burglar's hearing;
+I don't reckon she could see well through all the veils. Now, don't get
+impatient, Mr. Kent; I'm getting to my point--that woman sitting next to
+me in the police court was the widow Brewster.”
+
+“What!” Kent laughed unbelievingly. “Oh, come, you are mistaken.”
+
+“I am not, sir.” Mrs. Sylvester spoke with conviction. “Now, why does
+Mrs. Brewster declare at the coroner's inquest that she only heard of
+the Turnbull tragedy from the McIntyre twins on their return home?”
+
+“You must be mistaken,” argued Kent. “Why, you admit yourself that the
+woman was so swathed in veils that you could not see her face.”
+
+“No, but I heard her laugh in court,” Mrs. Sylvester spoke in deep
+earnestness and Kent placed faith in her statement in spite of his
+outward skepticism. “And I heard her laugh in this corridor this morning
+and I placed her as the same woman. I asked Mr. Sylvester who she was,
+and he told me. I'd been reading this account of the Turnbull inquest,
+and I recollected seeing Mrs. Brewster's name, and my husband and I were
+just reading the account over when you came in.”
+
+Kent gazed in perplexity at Mrs. Sylvester. “Why did Mrs. Brewster laugh
+in the police court?” he asked.
+
+“When Dr. Stone exclaimed to the deputy marshal--'Your prisoner appears
+ill!'” declared Mrs. Sylvester; she enjoyed the dramatic, and that
+Kent was hanging on her words she was fully aware, in spite of his
+expressionless face. “Dr. Stone lifted the burglar in his arms and then
+Mrs. Brewster laughed as she laughed in the corridor to-day--a soft
+gurgling laugh.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. PAY CASH
+
+It was the rush hour at the Metropolis Trust Company and the busy
+paying teller counted out silver and gold and treasury notes of
+varying denominations with the mechanical precision and exactness which
+experience gives. Suddenly his hand stopped midway toward the money
+drawer, his attention arrested by the signature on a check. A swift
+glance upward showed him a girl's face at the grille of the window.
+There was an instant's pause, then she addressed him.
+
+“Do hurry, Mr. McDonald; father is waiting for me.”
+
+“Pardon me, Miss McIntyre.” He stamped the check and laid it to one
+side, “how do you want the money?”
+
+“Oh, I forgot.” She glanced at a memorandum on the back of an envelope.
+“Mrs. Brewster wishes ten tens, five twenties, and ten ones. Thank you,
+good afternoon,” and counting over the money she thrust it inside her
+bag and hurried away.
+
+She had been gone a bare five minutes when Kent reached the window and
+pushed several checks toward the teller.
+
+“Is Mr. Clymer in his office, McDonald?” he asked, placing the bank
+notes given him in his wallet.
+
+“I'm not sure.” The teller glanced around at the clock; the hands stood
+at ten minutes of three. “It's pretty near closing time, Kent; still, he
+may be there.”
+
+“I'll go and see,” and with a nod of farewell Kent turned on his heel
+and walked off in the direction of the office of the bank president. On
+reaching there he saw, through the glass partition of the door, Clymer
+seated in earnest conclave with two men.
+
+Happening to glance up Clymer recognized Kent and beckoned to him to
+come inside. “You know Taylor,” he said by way of introduction. “And
+this is Mr. Harding of New York--Mr. Kent,” he turned around in his
+swivel chair to face the three men. “Draw up a chair, Kent; we were just
+going over to see you.
+
+“Yes?” Kent looked inquiringly at the bank president, the gravity of his
+manner betokened serious tidings. “What is it, Mr. Clymer?”
+
+Clymer did not reply at once. “It's this,” he said finally, with blunt
+directness. “Your partner, Philip Rochester, appears to be a bankrupt.
+Harding and Taylor came in here to attach his private bank account to
+cover indebtedness to their business firms.”
+
+An exclamation broke from Kent. “Impossible!” he gasped.
+
+“I would have said the same this morning,” declared Clymer. “But on
+investigation I find that Rochester has over-drawn his account here
+for a large amount and borrowed heavily. The further I look into his
+financial affairs the more involved I find them.”
+
+“But”--Kent was white-lipped. “I know for an absolute fact that
+Rochester was paid some exceedingly large fees last week, totaling over
+fifty thousand dollars.”
+
+“He has never deposited such a sum, or anywhere like that amount in this
+bank either last week or this,” stated Clymer, running his eyes down a
+bank statement which, with several pass books, lay on his desk.
+
+“Does he carry accounts at other banks?” inquired Harding.
+
+“Not that I can discover,” responded Taylor. “I have been to every
+national and private banking house in Washington, but all deny having
+him as a depositor. Did Rochester ever bank out of town, Kent?”
+
+“Not to my knowledge.” Kent drew out a bank book. “Here is the firm's
+balance, Mr. Clymer; we bank here, you know.”
+
+“Yes.” Clymer's look of anxiety deepened.
+
+“Did you see McDonald as you came in?”
+
+“Yes, he cashed some checks for me.”
+
+“Your personal checks?”
+
+“Yes.” Kent looked questioningly at Clymer. “What do you mean?”
+
+“Only this; that all moneys deposited here in the firm name of Rochester
+and Kent have been drawn out.”
+
+“That's not possible!” Kent started up. “Checks on that account must
+bear both Rochester's signature and mine.”
+
+“Checks bearing both signatures have been presented for the total sum
+deposited to your credit,” stated Clymer and he picked up four canceled
+checks. “See for yourself.”
+
+Kent stared at the checks in dumbfounded silence; then carrying them to
+the light he examined them with minute care before bringing them back to
+the bank president.
+
+“This is the first I have heard of these transactions,” he said.
+
+“You mean--”
+
+“That the signatures are clever forgeries.” His statement was heard with
+gravity. Taylor exchanged a meaning look with the New Yorker.
+
+“You mean your signature is a forgery,” he suggested. “Rochester had a
+peculiar gift of penmanship.”
+
+Kent sprang up. “Do you accuse Philip Rochester of signing these checks
+and inserting my name to them?”
+
+“I do,” calmly. “I am not familiar with your signature, Kent, but that
+Rochester wrote the body of those four checks and put his own signature
+at the bottom I will swear to in any court of law. To make them valid he
+had to add your name.”
+
+“But, d--mn it, man!” Kent stared in bewilderment at his three
+companions. “Rochester was honorable and straight-forward--”
+
+“And addicted to drink,” put in Harding.
+
+“But not a forger,” retorted Kent firmly. Harding's only rejoinder was a
+skeptical smile as he turned to address Clymer.
+
+“So Rochester not only has taken his own money, but withdrawn that
+belonging to the firm of Rochester and Kent without the knowledge of his
+junior partner; it looks black, Mr. Clymer,” he remarked. “Especially
+when taken in consideration with his other involved financial
+transactions.”
+
+“Where will we find Rochester, Kent?” asked Taylor, before the bank
+president could answer the New Yorker.
+
+Kent paused in indecision. What reply could he make without further
+involving Rochester in trouble? He had not the faintest idea where
+Rochester was, but to state that he was missing could not but add to the
+belief that he had made away with all the money he could lay his
+hands on. The noon edition of the Times had hinted at Rochester's
+disappearance but had stated they could not get the statement confirmed
+from Police Headquarters; obviously Harding and Taylor had not seen the
+newspaper.
+
+Was it just to the men before him to keep them in the dark? If their
+claims were true, and Kent never doubted that they were, they had
+already lost money through Rochester's extraordinary behavior. Kent
+turned sick at the thought of his own loss--his savings swept away.
+Would Barbara wait for him--was it fair to ask her?
+
+Taylor broke the prolonged silence.
+
+“I met Detective Ferguson on my way here,” he stated. “He told me that
+the police were looking for Rochester.”
+
+“What?” Harding looked up, startled. “Why didn't you inform me of that?”
+
+“Well, I thought we'd better hear from Mr. Clymer the true state of
+Rochester's finances,” responded Taylor. “I never anticipated such facts
+as he has given us.”
+
+“But if you knew the police were after Rochester--” objected Harding.
+
+Clymer broke into the conversation; there was a heavy frown on his
+usually placid countenance. “I judged from Detective Ferguson's
+confidences to us, Kent, at the Club de Vingt that he was wanted by the
+police in connection with the Turnbull tragedy, but the facts brought
+out through Harding's action to attach Rochester's bank account, puts a
+different construction on Rochester's disappearance.”
+
+“What had Rochester to do with Jimmie Turnbull?” questioned Harding,
+before Kent could answer Clymer.
+
+“They lived together,” he replied shortly.
+
+“And one dies and the other disappears,” Harding whistled dolefully.
+“Wasn't Mr. Turnbull an official of this bank, Mr. Clymer?”
+
+“Yes, our cashier.”
+
+“Were his affairs involved?”
+
+“Not in the least,” Clymer spoke with emphasis. “A most honorable
+fellow, Jimmie Turnbull; his murder was a shocking affair.”
+
+“Have the police found any motive for the crime, Kent?” asked Taylor.
+
+“I believe not.”
+
+Harding, who had been ruminating in silence, leaned forward, his
+expression alight with a sudden idea.
+
+“Could it be that Turnbull found out that Rochester was passing forged
+checks, and Rochester insured his silence by poisoning him?” he asked.
+
+Clymer and Kent exchanged glances, as Kent's thoughts reverted to the
+forged letter presented by Turnbull to the bank's treasurer, whereby he
+had been given McIntyre's valuable negotiable securities. Could it
+be that Rochester had written the letter, given it to his room-mate,
+Turnbull, and the latter, thinking it genuine, had secured the McIntyre
+securities and handed them over to Rochester? The idea took Kent's
+breath away; and yet, the more he contemplated it, the more feasible it
+appeared.
+
+“What's the date on those checks?” demanded Kent.
+
+“Tuesday of this week--the day Jimmie Turnbull died.” Clymer turned them
+over. “They are drawn payable to cash, and bear no endorsement, which
+shows Rochester must have presented them himself.”
+
+Harding and Taylor glanced significantly at each other, but neither
+spoke. Suddenly Kent pushed back his chair and rose without ceremony.
+
+“Don't go, Kent.” Clymer took up some papers. “There's a matter--”
+
+“It will keep.” Kent's mouth was set and determined. “I give you my word
+of honor that all Rochester's honest debts will be paid by the firm if
+necessary; I will obligate myself to that extent,” he paused. “As for
+you fellows,” turning to Harding and Taylor who had also risen. “Give me
+twenty-four hours--”
+
+“What for?” they chorused.
+
+“To locate Philip Rochester,” and waiting for no answer Kent bolted out
+of the office.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. WHEN THE LIGHT FAILED
+
+The city lights were springing up block after block along Pennsylvania
+Avenue as Detective Ferguson left that busy thoroughfare and hurried to
+the Saratoga. He stepped inside the lobby of the apartment house a full
+minute before his appointment with its manager, and went at once to look
+him up. Before he could carry out his purpose he was joined by Harry
+Kent.
+
+“Finley had to go out,” the latter explained. “I told him I would go up
+to Rochester's apartment with you.” Ferguson thoughtfully caressed his
+clean-shaven jaw for a second, then came to a rapid decision.
+
+“Lead the way, sir,” he said. “I'll follow.” Kent found him a silent
+companion while in the elevator and when walking down the corridor to
+Rochester's apartment, but once inside the living room, with the outer
+door tightly closed, Ferguson tossed down his hat and his whole demeanor
+changed.
+
+“Sit down, Mr. Kent.” He selected a chair near Rochester's desk for
+himself, as Kent found another. “Let's thrash this thing out; are you
+working with me or against me?”
+
+“Why do you ask?” Kent's surprise at the question was evident.
+
+“Because every time I arrange to examine this apartment or inquire into
+Rochester's whereabouts you show up.” Ferguson's small eyes were trying
+to out-stare Kent, but the latter's clear gaze did not drop before his.
+“Are you aiding Philip Rochester in his efforts to elude arrest?”
+
+“I am not,” declared Kent emphatically. “What prompts the question?”
+
+“The fact that you are Rochester's partner,” Ferguson pointed out; his
+manner was still stiff. “It would be only natural for you to help him
+disappear out of friendship, or”--with a sidelong glance--“from a desire
+to hush up a scandal.”
+
+“On the contrary I want Rochester found and every bit of evidence
+against him sifted out and aired,” retorted Kent. “Two heads are better
+than one, Ferguson; let us work together. Rochester must be located
+within the next twenty-four hours.”
+
+Ferguson debated a moment, but Kent's speech as well as his manner
+indicated his sincerity, and the detective shook off his suspicions.
+“Have you had any further news of your partner?” he asked.
+
+“No; that is”--recalling the scene in the bank early that
+afternoon--“nothing that relates to Rochester's present whereabouts.
+Now, Ferguson, to put your charges against Rochester in concrete form,
+you believe that he was insanely jealous of Jimmie Turnbull, that he
+recognized him in the Police Court in his burglar disguise, slipped a
+dose of aconitine in a glass of water which Turnbull drank, and after
+declaring that his friend had died from angina pectoris, disappeared. Is
+that all the case you have against him?”
+
+“At present, yes,” admitted the detective cautiously.
+
+“All circumstantial evidence--”
+
+“But it will hold in court--”
+
+“Ah, will it?” questioned Kent. “There's one big flaw in your case,
+Ferguson; the poison used to kill Turnbull.”
+
+“Aconitine?”
+
+“Exactly. Your theory is that Rochester slipped the poison in the
+glass of water on recognizing Turnbull in the police court; now, it is
+stretching probability to suppose that Rochester, a strong healthy man,
+was carrying that drug around in his vest pocket.”
+
+Ferguson sat forward in his chair, his eyes glittering. “Do you mean
+to say that you think the murder of Turnbull was premeditated and not
+committed on the spur of the moment?” he asked.
+
+“The fact that aconitine was used convinces me of that,” answered Kent.
+
+Ferguson thought a moment. “If that is the case,” he said, grudgingly,
+“it sort of squashes the charge against Philip Rochester.”
+
+“It would seem to,” agreed Kent. “But every shred of evidence I find
+points to Rochester as the guilty man.”
+
+Ferguson edged his chair forward. “What have you discovered?” he
+demanded eagerly.
+
+“This,” Kent spoke with increased earnestness. “That Philip Rochester is
+apparently a bankrupt, that he has over-drawn his private account at the
+Metropolis Trust Company, and withdrawn our partnership funds from the
+same bank.”
+
+“Your partnership funds!” echoed the detective, eyeing Kent sharply.
+“How did you come to let him do that?”
+
+“I was not aware that he had done so until Mr. Clymer told me of the
+transaction this afternoon,” answered Kent.
+
+“You did not know”--Ferguson looked at him in dawning comprehension.
+“You mean Rochester absconded with the funds?”
+
+“Some one forged my name to checks drawn on the firm's account,” Kent
+continued. “I understood they were made payable to cash and presented by
+Rochester on the day of Turnbull's death.”
+
+Ferguson whistled as a slight vent to his feelings. “So you suspect
+Rochester of being a forger?” Kent made no reply, and he added; after
+a moment's deliberation, “What bearing has this discovery on
+Turnbull's death, aside from Rochester's need of funds to make a clean
+disappearance?”
+
+“If it is true that Rochester was financially embarrassed and forged
+checks on the Metropolis Trust Company, it establishes another motive
+for the killing of Turnbull,” argued Kent. “Turnbull was cashier of that
+bank.”
+
+“I see; he may have discovered the forgeries--but hold on.” Ferguson
+checked his rapid speech. “When were these forged checks presented at
+the bank?”
+
+“Tuesday afternoon.”
+
+Ferguson's face fell. “Pshaw! man; that was after Turnbull's death--how
+could he detect the forgeries?”
+
+Kent did not reply at once; instead, he glanced keenly about the living
+room. The detective had only switched on one of the reading lamps and
+the greater part was in shadow. It was a pleasant and home-like room,
+and Kent was conscious of a keener pang for the loss of Jimmie Turnbull
+and the disappearance of Philip Rochester, as he gazed around. The
+lawyer and the bank cashier had been, until that winter, congenial
+comrades, sharing their business success and their apartment in complete
+accord; and now a shadow as black as that enveloping the unlighted
+apartment hung over their good names, threatening one or the other with
+the charge of forgery and of murder. Kent sighed and turned back to the
+silent detective.
+
+“I can best answer your question by telling you that the day after
+Jimmie Turnbull died Mr. Clymer sent for me,” he began. “I found Colonel
+McIntyre with him and was told that the Colonel had lost valuable
+securities left at the bank. These securities had been given by the
+treasurer of the bank to Jimmie Turnbull when he presented a letter from
+Colonel McIntyre instructing the bank to surrender the securities to
+Jimmie.”
+
+“Well?” questioned Ferguson. “Go on, sir.”
+
+“That letter was a forgery.” Kent sat back and watched the detective's
+rapidly changing expression. “And no trace has been found of the
+Colonel's securities, last known to be in the possession of Turnbull.”
+
+“Great heavens!” ejaculated Ferguson. “Which was the forger--Turnbull or Rochester?”
+
+Kent shook a puzzled head. “That is for us to discover,” he said
+soberly. “Colonel McIntyre contends that Turnbull forged the letter
+and stole the securities, then fearing his guilt would become known,
+committed still another crime--that of suicide, he could have swallowed
+a dose of aconitine while at the police court.”
+
+“Well, I'll be--blessed!” ejaculated Ferguson. “But if he was the forger
+how does that square with Rochester's peculiar behavior? The checks
+bearing your forged signatures were presented, mind you, by Rochester
+after Turnbull's death?”
+
+“It doesn't square,” acknowledged Kent frankly. “There is this to be
+said for Turnbull: he was the soul of honor, his affairs were found to
+be in excellent condition, he was drawing a good salary, his investments
+paying well--he did not need to acquire securities or money by resorting
+to forgery.”
+
+“Whereas Philip Rochester was on the point of bankruptcy,” remarked
+Ferguson. “Do you suppose he forged Colonel McIntyre's letter and
+gave it to Turnbull, and the latter got the securities from the bank
+treasurer and handed them over to Rochester in good faith, supposing his
+room-mate would give the papers to Colonel McIntyre?”
+
+Kent nodded in agreement. “It looks that way to me,” he said gloomily.
+“Philip Rochester stood well in the community, his law practice is
+large and lucrative, and if it had not been for his periods of idleness
+and--and”--hesitating--“passion for good living, he would never have run
+into debt.”
+
+“But he got there.” Ferguson's laugh was contemptuous. “A desperate man
+will do anything, Mr. Kent.”
+
+“I know,” Kent looked dubious. “I would believe him guilty if it were
+not for the use of aconitine--that shows premeditation on the part of
+the murderer.”
+
+“And why shouldn't Rochester plan Turnbull's murder ahead of the scene
+in the police court?” argued Ferguson. “Wasn't he living in deadly fear
+of exposure? If he did not commit the murder, why did he run away? And
+if he is innocent, why doesn't he come forward and prove it?”
+
+“He may not know that he is suspected of the crime,” retorted Kent,
+rising. “It is for us to find Rochester, and I suggest that we search
+this apartment thoroughly.”
+
+“I have already done so,” objected Ferguson. “And there wasn't the
+faintest clew to his hiding place.”
+
+“For all that I am not satisfied.” Kent walked over and switched on
+another light. “When I came here on Wednesday night I had a tussle with
+some man, but he escaped in the dark without my seeing him. I believe he
+was Rochester.”
+
+“You are probably right.” Ferguson crossed the room. “And if he came
+back once, he may return again. Come ahead,” and he plunged into the
+first bedroom. The two men subjected each room to an exhaustive search,
+but their labors were their only reward; except for an accumulation
+of dust, the apartment was undisturbed. They had reached the
+kitchenette-pantry when the gong over their heads sounded loudly, and
+Kent, with a muttered exclamation hastened toward the front door of the
+apartment. Ferguson, intent on studying the “L” of the building as seen
+from the window, was hardly conscious of his departure, and some seconds
+elapsed before he turned toward the door. As he gained it, he saw a dark
+shape dart down the hall. With a bound Ferguson started in pursuit, and
+the next second grappled with the flying man just as the electric lights
+went out and they were plunged in darkness.
+
+Suddenly Kent's voice echoed down the hall. “Come here quick, Ferguson!”
+
+There was a note of urgency about his appeal, and Ferguson straining his
+muscles until the blood pounded in his temples, threw the struggling man
+into a tufted arm-chair which stood by the entrance to the small dining
+room, and drawing out his handcuffs, slipped them on securely. “Stay
+there,” Ferguson admonished his prisoner. “Or there will be worse coming
+to you,” and he thrust the muzzle of his revolver against the man's
+heaving chest to illustrate his meaning; then as Kent called again,
+he sped down the hall and brought up breathless at the front door. The
+light was still burning in the corridor, though not very brightly, and
+he saw Kent hand the grinning messenger boy a shiny quarter. Touching
+his battered cap the boy went whistling away. “Tell the elevator boy
+to report that a fuse has burned out in Mr. Rochester's apartment,”
+ Ferguson called after him, and the lad waved his hand as he dashed into
+the elevator.
+
+Paying no attention to the detective's call, Kent showed him a white
+envelope which bore the simple address:
+
+                   PHILIP ROCHESTER, ESQ.
+                       THE SARATOGA
+
+“It's the identical envelope I found in your safe,” declared Ferguson.
+
+“And which disappeared last night at the Club de Vingt.” Kent turned
+over the envelope. “See, the red seal.”
+
+For a minute the men contemplated the seal with the large distinctive
+letter “B” in the center.
+
+“Open the letter, sir,” Ferguson urged and Kent, his fingers fairly
+trembling, jerked and tore at the linen incased envelope; the flap
+ripped away and he opened the envelope--it was empty.
+
+Instinctively the two men glanced down at the parquetry flooring;
+nothing but a thin coating of dust lay there, and Kent looked up and
+down the corridor; it was deserted.
+
+“Do you recognize the handwriting?” asked Ferguson.
+
+“No.” Kent regarded the envelope in bewilderment. “What shall we do?”
+
+“Do? Call up the Dime Messenger Service and see where the envelope came
+from; but first come and see my prisoner.
+
+“Your prisoner?” in profound astonishment.
+
+“Yes. I caught him chasing up the hall after you,” explained Ferguson
+as they hurriedly retraced their steps. “I put handcuffs on him and then
+went to you. Ah, here's the light!”
+
+“The light, yes; but where's your prisoner?” and Kent, who was a trifle
+in advance of his companion in reaching the dining room, stood aside to
+let Ferguson pass him.
+
+The detective halted abruptly. The chair into which he had thrust his
+prisoner was vacant. The man had disappeared.
+
+With one accord Ferguson and Kent advanced close to the chair, and
+an oath broke from the detective. On the cushion of the chair,
+still bearing the impress of a human body, lay a pair of shining new
+handcuffs.
+
+Dazedly Ferguson stooped over and examined them. They were still
+securely locked. Wheeling around Kent dashed through the door to his
+right and Ferguson, collecting his wits, searched the rest of the
+apartment with minute care. Five minutes later he came face to face with
+Kent in the living room. “Not a trace of any kind,” declared Kent.
+“It's the same as the other night; the man's gone. It's--it's positively
+uncanny.”
+
+Ferguson's face was red from mortification and his exertions combined.
+
+“The fellow must have slipped from the room by that other door and out
+through the living room as we came down the hall,” he said. “Did you
+shut the door of the apartment, Mr. Kent, before coming down here to
+look at the prisoner?”
+
+“Yes.” Kent led the way back to the dining room. “Did you recognize the
+man, Ferguson?”
+
+“No.” The detective swore softly as he stared about the room. “The
+lights went out just as I tackled him.”
+
+“It was beastly luck that the fuse burned out at that second,” groaned
+Kent. “Fortune was with him in that; but how did the man get free of
+the handcuffs?” pointing to them still lying in the chair. “We can't
+attribute that to luck, unless”--staring keenly at Ferguson--“unless
+you did not snap them on the man's wrists, after all.”
+
+“I did; I swear it,” declared Ferguson. “I'm no novice at that business.
+Here, don't touch them, Mr. Kent,” as his companion bent toward the
+chair. “There may be finger marks on the steel; if so”--he drew out
+his handkerchief, and taking care not to handle the burnished metal, he
+folded the handcuffs carefully in it and put them in his coat pocket.
+“There's no use lingering here, Mr. Kent; this apartment is vacant now
+except for us. I must get to Headquarters.”
+
+“Hadn't you better telephone for an operative and station him here?”
+ suggested Kent.
+
+“I did so while you were searching the back rooms,” replied Ferguson.
+“There,” as the gong sounded. “That's Nelson, now.”
+
+But the person who stood in the outer corridor when they opened the
+front door was not Nelson, the operative, but Dr. Stone.
+
+“Can I see Mr. Rochester?” he asked, then catching sight of Kent
+standing just back of the detective, he added, “Hello, Kent; I thought
+I heard some one walking about in here from my apartment next door, and
+concluded Rochester had returned. Can I see him?”
+
+“N-no,” Kent spoke slowly, with a side-glance at the silent detective.
+“Rochester has been here--and left.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. THE CRIMSON OUTLINE
+
+Barbara McIntyre made the round of the library for the fifth time,
+testing each of the seven doors opening into it to see that they were
+closed behind their portieres, then she turned back to her sister, who
+sat cross-logged before a small safe.
+
+“Any luck?” she asked
+
+Instead of replying Helen removed the key from the lock of the steel
+door and regarded it attentively. The safe was of an obsolete pattern
+and in place of the customary combination lock, was opened by means of a
+key, unique in appearance.
+
+“It is certainly the key which father mislaid six months ago,” she
+declared. “Grimes found it just after father had a new key made and gave
+it to me. And yet I can't get the door open.”
+
+“Let me try.” Barbara crouched down by her sister and inserted the key
+again in the lock, but her efforts met with no results, and after five
+minutes' steady manipulation she gave up the attempt. “I am afraid it is
+impossible,” she admitted. “Seems to me I have heard that the lost key
+will not open a safe after a new key has been supplied.”
+
+Helen rose slowly to her feet, stretching her cramped limbs carefully as
+she did so, and sank down in the nearest chair. Her attitude indicated
+dejection.
+
+“Then we can't find the envelope,” she muttered. “Hurry, Babs, and close
+the outer door; father may return at any moment.”
+
+Barbara obeyed the injunction with such alacrity that the door,
+concealing the space in the wall where stood the safe, flew to with a
+bang and the twins jumped nervously.
+
+“Take care!” exclaimed Helen sharply. “Do you wish to arouse the
+household?”
+
+“No danger of that.” But Barbara glanced apprehensively about the
+library in spite of her reassuring statement. “The servants are either
+out or upstairs, and Margaret Brewster is writing letters in our sitting
+room.”
+
+“Hadn't you better go upstairs and join her?” Helen suggested. “Do,
+Babs,” as her sister hesitated. “I cannot feel sure that she will not
+interrupt us.”
+
+“But my joining her won't keep Margaret upstairs,” objected Barbara.
+
+“No, but you can call and warn me if she is on her way down, and that
+will give me time to--to straighten father's papers,” going over to
+a large carved table littered with magazines, letters, and silver
+ornaments. Her sister did not move, and she glanced at her with an
+irritated air, very foreign to her customary manner. “Go, Barbara.”
+
+The curt command brought a stare from Barbara, but it did not accelerate
+her halting footsteps; instead she moved with even greater slowness
+toward the hall door; her active brain tormented with an unspoken and
+unanswered question. Why was Helen so anxious for her departure? She had
+accepted her offer of assistance in her search of the library with such
+marked reluctance that Barbara had marveled at the time, and now...
+
+“Are you quite sure, Helen, that father had the envelope in his pocket
+this morning?” she asked for the third time since the search began.
+
+“He had an envelope--I caught a glimpse of the red seal,” answered
+Helen. “Then, just before dinner he was putting some papers in the safe.
+Oh, if Grimes had only come in a moment sooner to announce dinner, I
+might have had a chance to look in the safe before father closed the
+door.”
+
+Whatever reply Barbara intended making was checked by the rattling
+of the knob of the hall door; it turned slowly, the door opened and,
+pushing aside the portieres drawn across the entrance, Margaret Brewster
+glided in. “So glad to find you,” she cooed. “But why have you closed up
+the room and turned on all the lights?”
+
+“To see better,” retorted Barbara promptly as the widow's eyes roved
+around the large room, taking silent note of the drawn curtains and
+portieres, and the somewhat disarranged furniture. “Come inside,
+Margaret, and help us in our search.”
+
+“For what?” The widow tried to keep her tone natural, but a certain
+shrill alertness crept into it and Barbara, who was watching her
+closely, was quick to detect the change. Helen's color altered at the
+question, and she observed the widow's entrance with veiled hostility.
+
+“For my seal,” Barbara answered. “The one with the big letter 'B.' Have
+you seen it?”
+
+“I?--No.” The widow took a chair uninvited near Helen. “You look tired,
+Helen dear; why don't you go to bed?”
+
+“I could not sleep if I did.” Helen passed a nervous finger across her
+eyes. “But don't let me keep you and Babs up; it won't take me long to
+arrange to-morrow's market order for Grimes.”
+
+Under pretense of searching for pencil and paper Helen contrived to see
+the address of every letter lying on the table, but the envelope she
+sought, with its red seal, was not among them. When she looked up again,
+pencil and paper in hand, she found Mrs. Brewster leaning lazily back
+and regarding her from under half-closed lids. “You are very like your
+father, Helen,” she commented softly.
+
+The girl stiffened. “Am I? Babs and I are generally thought to resemble
+our mother.”
+
+“In appearance, yes; but I mean mannerisms--for instance, the way of
+holding your pencil, your handwriting, even, closely resembles your
+father's.” Mrs. Brewster pointed to the notes Helen was scribbling on
+the paper and to an open letter bearing Colonel McIntyre's signature at
+the bottom of the sheet lying beside the pad to illustrate her meaning.
+“These are almost identical.”
+
+“You are a close observer.” Helen completed her memorandum and laid it
+aside. “What became of father?”
+
+“He went to a stag supper at the Willard,” chimed in Barbara, stopping
+her aimless walk about the library. “He said we were not to wait up for
+him.”
+
+Helen pushed back her chair and rose with some abruptness.
+
+“I am more tired than I realized,” she remarked and involuntarily
+stretched her weary muscles. “Come, Margaret,” laying a persuasive hand
+on the widow's shoulder. “Be a trump and rub my forehead with cologne as
+you used to do abroad when I had a headache. It always put me to sleep
+then; and, oh, how I long for sleep now!”
+
+There was infinite pathos in her voice and Mrs. Brewster sprang up and
+threw her arm about her in ready sympathy.
+
+“You poor darling!” she exclaimed. “Let me put you to bed; Mammy taught
+me the art of soothing frayed nerves. Come with us, Babs,” holding
+out her left hand to Barbara. But the latter, with a dexterous twist,
+slipped away from her touch.
+
+“I must stay and straighten the library,” she announced.
+
+Mrs. Brewster's delicate color had deepened. “It would be as well to
+open some of the doors,” she agreed coldly. “The library looks odd, not
+to say funereal,” she glanced down the spacious room and shivered ever
+so slightly. “Do, Babs, put out some of the lights; they are blinding.”
+
+“Oh, I'll turn them all out”--Barbara sought the electric switch.
+
+“But your father--”
+
+“No need to worry about father; he can find his way about in the dark
+like a cat,” responded Barbara with unabated cheerfulness. “Seems to me,
+Margaret, you and father are getting mighty chummy these days.”
+
+The sudden darkness into which Barbara's impatient fingers, pressing
+against the electric light buttons, plunged the library and its
+occupants, prevented her seeing the curious glance which Mrs. Brewster
+shot at her. Helen, who had listened to their chatter with growing
+impatience, looked back over her shoulder.
+
+“Hurry, Barbara, and come upstairs. Now, Margaret,” and she piloted
+the widow along the hall toward the staircase without giving her an
+opportunity to answer Barbara's last remark. Barbara, pausing only long
+enough to pull back the portieres of the hall door and arrange them as
+they hung customarily, turned to go upstairs just as Grimes came down
+the hall from the dining room carrying a large tray with pitchers of ice
+water and glasses.
+
+“I thought you had gone to your room, Grimes,” she remarked, as the
+butler waited respectfully for her to pass him.
+
+“I've just come in, miss, and found Murray had left the tray in the
+dining room,” explained Grimes hurriedly. “I hope, miss, I'll not
+disturb the ladies by knocking at their doors now with this ice water.”
+
+“Oh, no, Mrs. Brewster and Miss Helen have only just gone upstairs.”
+ Barbara paused in front of the butler and poured out a glass of water.
+“I can't wait, Grimes, I am too thirsty.”
+
+“Certainly, miss, that's all right.” Grimes craned his head around and
+looked up and down the hall, then leaning over he placed the tray on a
+convenient table and stepped close to Barbara.
+
+“I've been reading the newspapers very carefully, miss,” he began,
+taking care to keep his voice lowered. “Especially that part of Mr.
+Turnbull's inquest which tells about the post-mortem.”
+
+“Well, what then?” asked Barbara quickly as the butler paused and again
+glanced up and down the hall.
+
+“Just this, miss,” he spoke almost in a whisper. “The doctors do say
+poor Mr. Turnbull was poisoned by acca--aconitine,” stumbling over the
+word. “It's a curious thing, miss, that I brought some of that very drug
+into this house last Sunday.”
+
+“You did!” Barbara's fresh young voice rose in astonishment.
+
+“Hush, miss!” The butler raised both hands. “Hush!” He glanced
+cautiously around, then continued. “Colonel McIntyre sent me to the
+druggist with a prescription from Dr. Stone for Mrs. Brewster when she
+had romantic neuralgia.”
+
+“Had what?” Barbara looked puzzled, then giggled, but her mirth quickly
+altered to seriousness at sight of the butler's expression. “Mrs.
+Brewster had a touch of rheumatic neuralgia the first of the month; do
+you refer to that?”
+
+“Yes, miss.” Grimes spoke more rapidly, but kept his voice lowered.
+“The druggist told me what the pills were when I exclaimed at their
+size--regular little pellets, no bigger than that,” he demonstrated the
+size with the tip of his little finger, and would have added more but
+the gong over the front door rang out with such suddenness that both he
+and Barbara started violently.
+
+“Just a moment, miss,” and he hurried to the front bell, to return after
+a brief colloquy with a messenger boy, bearing a letter. “It's for Mrs.
+Brewster, miss,” he explained, as Barbara held out her hand.
+
+“I'll give it to her and this also,” Barbara took the envelope and
+a small ice pitcher and glass. “Good night, Grimes. Oh,” she stopped
+midway up the staircase and waited for the butler to overtake her,
+“Grimes, to whom did you give the aconitine on Sunday?”
+
+“I didn't give it to nobody, miss.” The butler was a trifle short of
+breath; his years did not permit him to keep pace with the twins. “I was
+in a great hurry as the druggist kept me waiting, and I had to serve tea
+at once.”
+
+“But what did you do with the aconitine pills?” demanded Barbara.
+
+“I left the box on the hall table, miss--”
+
+“Great heavens!” Barbara stared at the butler, then without a word she
+raced up the staircase and disappeared through the open door of Mrs.
+Brewster's bedroom.
+
+The light from the hall shone through the transom and doorway in
+sufficient volume to clearly indicate the different pieces of furniture,
+and Barbara put the pitcher and glass on the bed stand and laid the
+letter which Grimes had given her on the dressing table, then went
+slowly into her own bedroom. She could hear voices, which she recognized
+as those of her sister and Mrs. Brewster, coming from Helen's bedroom,
+but absorbed in her own thoughts she undressed in the dark and crept
+into bed just as Mrs. Brewster passed down the hallway and entered her
+own room. The widow had taken off her evening gown and slippers and
+donned a becoming wrapper before she discovered the letter lying on the
+dresser. Drawing up a chair she dropped into it, let down her long
+dark hair, and settled back in luxuriant comfort against the tufted
+upholstery before she ran her well-manicured finger under the flap of
+the envelope. A slip of paper fell into her lap as she took out the
+contents of the envelope and she let it rest there while scanning the
+closely typewritten lines on the Metropolis Trust Company stationery.
+
+Dear Mrs. Brewster, she read. Our bank teller, Mr. McDonald, has
+questioned the genuineness of the signature on the inclosed check. An
+important business engagement prevents my calling to-night, but please
+stop at the bank early to-morrow morning.
+
+I feel that you would prefer to have a personal investigation made
+rather than have us place the matter in the hands of the police.
+
+Yours faithfully,
+
+BENJAMIN A. CLYMER.
+
+
+The widow read the note a number of times, then bethinking herself, she
+picked up the canceled check still lying in her lap, and turned it
+over. Long and intently she studied the signature--the peculiarly
+characteristic formation of the letter “B” caught and held her
+attention. As the seconds ticked themselves into minutes she sat
+immovable, her face as white as the hand on which she had bowed her
+head.
+
+Across the hall Helen McIntyre tossed from one side to the other in
+her soft bed; her restless longing to get up was growing stronger and
+stronger. While Mrs. Brewster's deft fingers and the cooling cologne had
+stopped the throbbing in her temples, they had brought only temporary
+relief in their train and not the sleep which Helen craved. She strained
+her ears to discover the time by the ticking of her clock, but either it
+was between the half or quarters of an hour, or it had stopped, for no
+chimes sounded. With a gasp of exasperation, Helen flung back the bed
+clothes and sat up. Switching on the light by the side of her bed she
+hunted for a book, but not finding any, she contemplated for a short
+space of time a pair of rubber-heeled shoes just showing themselves
+under the edge of a chair. With sudden decision she left the bed and
+dressed rapidly. It was not until she had put on her rubber-heeled shoes
+that she paused. Her hesitation, however, was but brief. Stepping to
+the bureau, she pulled out a lower drawer and running her hand inside,
+touched a concealed spring. From the cavity thus exposed she took a
+small automatic pistol, and with a stealthy glance about her, crept from
+the room.
+
+The library had been vacant fully an hour when a mouse, intent on making
+a raid on the candy which Barbara had carelessly left lying loose on
+one of the tables, paused as a faint creaking sound broke the stillness,
+then as the noise increased, the mouse scurried back to its hole. The
+noise resembled the turning of rusty hinges and the soft thud of one
+piece of wood striking another. There was a strained silence, then, from
+out of the darkness appeared a tiny stream of light directed full on a
+white envelope bearing a large red seal.
+
+The next instant the envelope was plucked from the hand holding it, and
+a figure lay crumpled on the floor from the blow of a descending weapon.
+
+It was closely approaching one o'clock in the morning before Mrs.
+Brewster stirred from her comfortable bedroom chair. Taking up her
+electric torch, which she kept always by the side of her bed, she walked
+quickly down the staircase and into the pitch dark library. Directing
+her torch-light so that she steered a safe course among the chairs and
+tables, she approached one of the pieces of carved Venetian furniture
+and reached out her hand to touch a trap-door. As she looked for the
+spring she was horrified to see a thin stream of blood oozing through
+the carving until, reaching the letter “B,” it outlined that initial in
+sinister red.
+
+Scream after scream broke from Mrs. Brewster. She was swaying upon her
+feet by the time Colonel McIntyre and his daughter Helen reached the
+library.
+
+“Margaret! What is it?” McIntyre demanded. “Calm yourself, my darling.”
+
+The frenzied woman shook off his soothing hand.
+
+“See, see!” she cried and pointed with her torch.
+
+“She means the Venetian casket,” explained Helen, who had paused before
+joining them to switch on the light.
+
+Colonel McIntyre gazed in amazement at the piece of furniture; then
+catching sight of the blood-stain, he raised the small trap-door or peep
+hole, in the top of the oblong box which stood breast high, supported on
+a beautifully carved base.
+
+There was a breathless pause; then McIntyre unceremoniously jerked the
+electric torch from Mrs. Brewster's nervous fingers and turned its rays
+of the interior of the casket. Stretched at full length lay the figure
+of a man, and from a wound in his temple flowed a steady stream of
+blood.
+
+“Good God!” McIntyre staggered back against Helen. “Grimes!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. A QUESTION OF HOUSE-BREAKING
+
+The genial president of the Metropolis Trust Company was late.
+Mrs. Brewster, waiting in his well-appointed office, restrained her
+ill-temper only by an exertion of will-power. She detested being kept
+waiting, and that morning she had many errands to attend to before the
+luncheon hour.
+
+“May I use your telephone?” she asked Mr. Clymer's secretary, and the
+young man rose with alacrity from his desk. Mrs. Brewster never knew
+what it was to lack attention, even her own sex were known on occasions
+to give her gowns and, (what captious critics termed her “frivolous
+conduct”) undivided attention.
+
+“Can I look up the number for you?” the secretary asked as Mrs. Brewster
+took up the telephone book and fumbled for the gold chain of her
+lorgnette.
+
+“Oh, thank you,” her smile showed each pretty dimple. “I wish to speak
+to Mr. Kent, of the firm of Rochester and Kent.”
+
+“Harry Kent?” The young secretary dropped the book without looking at
+it, and gave a number to the operator, and then handed the instrument to
+Mrs. Brewster.
+
+“Mr. Kent not in, did you say?” asked the widow. “Who is speaking? Ah,
+Mr. Sylvester--has Mr. Rochester returned?---Both partners away”... she
+paused... “I'll call later--Mrs. Brewster, good morning.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster hung up the receiver and turned to the secretary.
+
+“I don't believe I can wait any longer,” she began, and paused, as
+Benjamin Clymer appeared in the doorway.
+
+“So sorry to be late,” he exclaimed, shaking her hand warmly. “And I am
+sorry, also, to have called you here on such an errand.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster waited until the young secretary had withdrawn out of
+earshot before replying; then taking the chair Clymer placed for her
+near his own, she opened her gold mesh bag and took out a canceled check
+and laid it on the desk in front of the bank president.
+
+“Your bank honored this check?” she asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Who presented it?”
+
+Clymer pressed the buzzer and his secretary came at once.
+
+“Ask Mr. McDonald to step here,” and as the man vanished on his errand,
+he addressed Mrs. Brewster. “How is Colonel McIntyre this morning?”
+
+Mrs. Brewster's eyes opened at the question. “Quite well,” she replied,
+and prompted by her curiosity added: “What made you think him ill?”
+
+“I stopped at Dr. Stone's office on the way down town, and his boy told
+me the doctor had been sent for by Colonel McIntyre,” Clymer explained.
+“I hope neither of the twins is ill.”
+
+“No. Colonel McIntyre sent for Dr. Stone to attend Grimes--”
+
+“The butler! Too bad he is ill; Grimes is an institution in the McIntyre
+household.” Clymer spoke with sincere regret, and Mrs. Brewster eyed
+him approvingly; she liked good-looking men of his stamp. “Come in,
+McDonald,” as the bank teller appeared. “You know Mrs. Brewster?”
+
+“Mr. McDonald was one of my first acquaintances in Washington,” and Mrs.
+Brewster smiled as she held out her hand.
+
+“About this check, McDonald,” Clymer handed it to the teller as he
+spoke. “Who presented it?”
+
+“Miss McIntyre.”
+
+“Which Miss McIntyre?” Mrs. Brewster put the question with swift
+intentness.
+
+“I can't tell one twin from the other,” confessed McDonald. “But, as you
+see, the check is made payable to Barbara McIntyre.”
+
+“The inference being that Barbara McIntyre presented the check for
+payment,” commented Clymer, and McDonald bowed. “It would seem,
+therefore, that Barbara wrote your signature on the check, Mrs.
+Brewster.”
+
+“No.” The widow had whitened under her rouge, but her eyes did not
+falter in their direct gaze. “The signature is genuine. I drew the
+check.”
+
+The two men exchanged glances. The bank president was the first to break
+the short silence. “In that case there is nothing more to be said,” he
+remarked, and picking up the check handed it to Mrs. Brewster. Without
+a glance at it, she folded the paper and placed it inside her gold mesh
+bag.
+
+“I must not take up any more of your time,” she said. “I thank
+you--both.”
+
+“Mrs. Brewster.” Clymer spoke impulsively. “I'd like to shake hands with
+you.”
+
+Coloring warmly, the widow slipped her small hand inside his, and with
+a friendly bow to McDonald, she walked through the bank, keeping up with
+Clymer's long strides as best she could. As they crossed the sidewalk to
+the waiting limousine they ran almost into the arms of Harry Kent, whose
+rapid gait did not suit the congested condition of the “Wall Street”
+ of Washington. “I tried to reach you on the telephone this morning,”
+ exclaimed Mrs. Brewster, after greeting him.
+
+“So my clerk informed me when I saw him a few minutes ago.” Kent helped
+her inside the limousine. “Won't you come to my office now?”
+
+“But that will be taking you from Mr. Clymer,” remonstrated Mrs.
+Brewster. “Weren't you on the way to the bank?”
+
+“I was,” admitted Kent. “But I can see Mr. Clymer later in the day.”
+
+“And I'll be less occupied then,” added Clymer. “Go with Mrs. Brewster,
+Kent; good morning, madam,” and with a courtly bow Clymer withdrew.
+
+Kent's office was only around the corner, and as Mrs. Brewster kept up
+a running fire of impersonal gossip, Kent had no opportunity to satisfy
+his curiosity regarding her reasons for wanting to interview him. As the
+limousine drew up at the curb in front of his office, a man darting down
+the steps of the building, caught sight of Kent and hurried to the car
+window.
+
+“I was just trying to catch you at the bank, Mr. Kent,” he explained,
+and looking around Kent recognized Sylvester. “There's been three
+telephone calls for you in succession from Colonel McIntyre to hurry to
+his home.”
+
+“Thanks, Sylvester.” Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. “Would you mind
+driving me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. “Home, Harris,” she
+directed, as the chauffeur listened for the order.
+
+Neither spoke as the big car started up the street but as they swung
+past old St. John's Church, Mrs. Brewster broke her silence.
+
+“Mr. Kent,” she drew further back in her corner. “I claim a woman's
+privilege--to change my mind. Forget that I ever expressed a wish to
+consult you professionally, and remember, I am always glad to meet you
+as a friend.”
+
+“Certainly, Mrs. Brewster, as you wish.” Kent's tone, expressing polite
+acquiescence, covered mixed feelings. What had caused the widow to
+change her mind so suddenly, and above all, what had she wished to
+consult him about? He faced her more directly. She was charmingly
+gowned, and in spite of his perplexities, he could not but admire her
+air of quiet elegance and the soft dark eyes regarding him in friendly
+good-fellowship. Suddenly realizing that his glance had become a fixed
+stare, he hastily averted his eyes from her face, catching sight, as
+he did so, of the gold mesh bag lying in her lap. The glint of sunlight
+brought into prominence the handsomely engraved letter “B” on its
+surface. An unexpected swerve of the limousine, as the chauffeur turned
+short to avoid a speeding army truck, caused both Kent and Mrs. Brewster
+to sway forward and the gold mesh bag slid to the floor, carrying with
+it the widow's handkerchief and gold vanity box. Kent stooped over and
+picked up the articles as well as the contents of the mesh bag, which
+had opened in its descent and spilled her money and papers over the
+floor of the limousine.
+
+“Oh, thank you,” exclaimed Mrs. Brewster, as he handed her the bag, box,
+and bank notes. “Don't bother to look for that quarter; Harris will find
+it at the garage.”
+
+Kent ignored her remark as he again searched the floor of the car; he
+was glad of the pretext to avoid looking at the widow. He wanted time to
+collect his thoughts for, in Picking up her belongings, her handkerchief
+had caught his attention--he had seen its mate in the possession of
+Detective Ferguson, and clinging to it the broken portions of the
+capsules of amyl nitrite which Jimmie Turnbull had inhaled just before
+his mysterious death.
+
+Into Kent's mind flashed Mrs. Sylvester's statement that Mrs. Brewster
+was in the police court at the time of the tragedy, although in her
+testimony at the inquest she had sworn she had not heard of Jimmie's
+death until the return of Helen and Barbara McIntyre. She had been in
+the police court, and Jimmie had used her handkerchief--a mate to the
+one she was then holding, the letter “B” with its peculiar twist was
+unmistakable--and “B” stood for Brewster as well as for Barbara! Kent
+drew in his breath sharply.
+
+“My handkerchief, please,” the widow held out her hand, and after a
+moment's hesitation, Kent gave it to her.
+
+“Pardon me,” he apologized. “I was struck by the handkerchief's
+appearance.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster turned it over. “In what way is the handkerchief unique?”
+ she asked, laughing.
+
+“Because Jimmie Turnbull crushed amyl nitrite capsules in its mate just
+before he died,” explained Kent quietly. “Detective Ferguson claims that
+Jimmie unintentionally broke more than one capsule in the handkerchief,
+was overcome by the powerful fumes and died.”
+
+“But the inquest proved that Jimmie was killed by a dose of aconitine
+poison,” she reminded him, as she tucked the handkerchief up her sleeve.
+
+Kent did not reply immediately. “A man does not usually carry a woman's
+handkerchief about with him,” he commented slowly. “Odd, is it not, that
+Jimmie should have used a handkerchief of yours in the police court just
+prior to his death, while you were sitting a few feet away?”
+
+“I?” Mrs. Brewster turned and regarded him steadfastly. She was deadly
+white under her rouge. “Mr. Kent, are you crazy?”
+
+“Yes, crazy to know why you kept your presence in the police court on
+Tuesday morning a secret,” replied Kent. In their earnestness neither
+noticed Kent's absent-minded clutch on a small folded paper which he had
+picked up from the floor of the limousine. “Mrs. Brewster, why did you
+laugh when Dr. Stone carried Jimmie Turnbull out of the court room?”
+
+Mrs. Brewster sat still in her corner of the car; so still that Kent,
+observing her closely, feared that she had fainted. She had dropped her
+eyes, and her face, set like marble, gave him no key to her thoughts.
+
+The door of the limousine was jerked open almost before the car came
+to a full stop in front of the McIntyre residence, and Colonel McIntyre
+offered his hand to help Mrs. Brewster out. On the step she turned to
+Kent, who had lifted his hat to McIntyre in silent greeting.
+
+“Your forte lies as a romancer rather than a lawyer, Mr. Kent,” she
+said, and not giving him time for a reply, almost ran inside the house.
+
+“Glad you could get here so soon, Kent,” remarked McIntyre, signing to
+his chauffeur to drive on before he led the way into the house. “Grimes
+has worked himself almost into a fever asking for you.”
+
+“Grimes?”
+
+“Yes. Grimes was attacked in our library early this morning by some
+unknown person, and is in bed with a bad wound on his temple and a
+tendency to hysteria,” McIntyre explained.
+
+“Come upstairs.”
+
+Kent handed his cane and hat to the footman and followed Colonel
+McIntyre, who stalked ahead without another word. As they mounted the
+stairs Kent glanced at the folded paper which he still held, and was
+surprised to see that it was a check. The signature showed him that
+he had unintentionally walked off with Mrs. Brewster's property. His
+decision to hand it to Colonel McIntyre was checked by the Colonel
+disappearing inside a bedroom, with a muttered injunction to “wait
+there,” and Kent stuffed the check inside his vest pocket. It would
+serve as an excuse to interview Mrs. Brewster again before leaving the
+house. He was determined to have an answer to the question he had put to
+her in the limousine. Why had she gone to the police court, and why kept
+her presence there a secret?
+
+When Colonel McIntyre reappeared in the hall he was accompanied by
+Detective Ferguson. “Sorry to keep you standing, Kent,” he said. “I have
+sent for you and Ferguson, first because Grimes insists on seeing you,
+and second, because I am determined that this midnight house-breaking
+shall be thoroughly investigated and put an end to. This way,” and he
+led them into a large airy bedroom on the third floor, to which Grimes
+had been carried unconscious that morning, instead of to his own bedroom
+in the servants' quarters.
+
+Grimes, with his head swathed in bandages, was a woe-begone object. He
+greeted Colonel McIntyre and the detective with a sullen glare, but his
+eyes brightened at sight of Kent, and he moved a feeble hand in welcome.
+
+“Sit down, sirs,” he mumbled. “There's chairs for all.”
+
+“Don't worry about us,” remarked McIntyre cheerily. “Just tell us how
+you got that nasty knock on the head.”
+
+“I dunno, sir; it came like a clap o' thunder,” Grimes tried to lift
+his head, but gave over the attempt as excruciating pain followed the
+effort.
+
+“What hour of the morning was it?” asked Ferguson.
+
+“About one o'clock, as near as I can tell, sir.”
+
+“And what were you doing in the library at that hour, Grimes?” demanded
+McIntyre.
+
+“Trying to find out what your household was up to, sir,” was Grimes'
+unexpected answer, and McIntyre started.
+
+“Explain your meaning, Grimes,” he commanded sternly.
+
+“You can do it better than I can, sir,” retorted Grimes. “You know the
+reason every one's searching the room with the seven doors.”
+
+“The room with the seven doors!” echoed Ferguson. “Which is that?”
+
+“Grimes means the library.” McIntyre's tone was short. “I have no idea,
+Grimes, what your allegations mean. Be more explicit.”
+
+The butler eyed him in no friendly fashion. “Wasn't Mr. Turnbull
+arrested in that very room?” he demanded. “And what was he looking for?”
+
+“Mr. Turnbull's presence has been explained,” replied McIntyre. “He came
+here disguised as a burglar on a wager with my daughter, Miss Barbara.”
+
+“Ah, did he now?” Grimes' rising inflection indicated nervous tension.
+“Did a man with a bad heart come here in the dead of night for nothing
+but that foolishness?” Grimes glared at his three visitors. “You bet he
+didn't.”
+
+Ferguson, who had followed the dialogue between McIntyre and his servant
+with deep attention, addressed the excited man.
+
+“Why did Mr. Turnbull enter Colonel McIntyre's library on Monday night
+disguised as a burglar?” he asked.
+
+Grimes, by a twist of his head, managed to regard the detective out of
+the corner of his eye.
+
+“Aye, why did he?” he repeated. “That's what I went to the library last
+night to find out.”
+
+“Did you discover anything?” The question shot from McIntyre, and both
+Ferguson and Kent watched him as they waited for Grimes' reply. The
+butler took his time.
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+McIntyre threw himself back in his chair and his eyebrows rose in
+interrogation as he touched his forehead significantly and glanced
+at Grimes. That the butler caught his meaning was evident from his
+expression, but he said nothing. The detective was the first to speak.
+
+“Did you hear any one break into the house when you were prowling
+around, Grimes?” he asked.
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+The detective turned to Colonel McIntyre. “After finding Grimes did you
+search the house?” he inquired.
+
+“Yes. The patrolman, O'Ryan, and my new footman, Murray, went with me
+through the entire house, and we found all doors and windows to the
+front and rear of the house securely locked,” responded McIntyre;
+“except the window of the reception room on the ground floor. That was
+closed but unlatched.”
+
+Kent wondered if the grimace which twisted the butler's face was meant
+for a smile.
+
+“That there window was locked when I went to bed,” Grimes stated with
+slow distinctness. “And I was the last person in this house to go to my
+room.”
+
+McIntyre started to speak when Ferguson stopped him.
+
+“Just let me handle this case,” he said persuasively. “You have called
+in the police,” and as McIntyre commenced some uncomplimentary remark,
+he added with sternness. “Don't interfere, sir. Now, Grimes, your
+statements imply one of two things--some member of the household either
+went downstairs after you had retired, and opened the window in the
+reception room to admit the person who afterwards attacked you in
+the library, or”--Ferguson paused significantly, “some member of this
+household knocked you senseless in the library. Which was it?”
+
+There was a tense silence. McIntyre, by an obvious effort, refrained
+from speech as they waited for Grimes' answer.
+
+“I dunno who hit me.” Grimes avoided looking at the three men. “But some
+one did, and that window in the reception room was locked when I went
+upstairs to my bedroom after every one had retired. I'm telling you
+God's truth, sir.”
+
+McIntyre eyed him in wrathful silence, then turned to his companions.
+
+“The blow has knocked Grimes silly,” he commented. “There is certainly
+no motive for any of us to attack Grimes, nor has any trace of a weapon
+been found such as must have been used against Grimes. O'Ryan and I
+looked particularly for it, after removing Grimes from the Venetian
+casket, where my daughter Helen, Mrs. Brewster and I discovered him
+lying unconscious.”
+
+“What's this Venetian casket like?” asked Ferguson before Kent could
+question McIntyre.
+
+“It is a fine sample of carving of the Middle Ages,” replied McIntyre.
+“I purchased the pair when in Venice years ago. They are over six feet
+in length, about three feet wide, and rest on a carved base. There is
+a door at the end through which it was customary in the Middle Ages to
+slide the body, after embalming, for the funeral ceremonies, after which
+the body was removed, placed in another casket and buried. There is a
+square opening or peep hole on the top of the casket through which you
+can look at the body; a cleverly concealed door covers this opening. In
+fact,” added McIntyre, “the door at the end is not at first discernible,
+and is hard to open, unless one has the knack of doing so.”
+
+“Hum! It looks as if whoever put Grimes inside the casket was familiar
+with it,” remarked Ferguson dryly, and McIntyre bit his lip. “Guess I'll
+go and take a look at the casket. I'll come back, Grimes.”
+
+Kent rose with the others and started to follow them to the door, but
+Grimes beckoned him to approach the bed. The butler waited until he
+heard McIntyre's heavy tread and the lighter footfall of the detective
+recede down the hall before speaking.
+
+“I was only going to say, sir,” he whispered as Kent, at a sign from
+him, stooped over the bed, “I got a box of aconitine pills for Mrs.
+Brewster on Sunday--the stuff that poisoned Mr. Turnbull,” he paused to
+explain.
+
+“Yes, go on,” urged Kent, catching the man's excitement. “You gave it to
+Mrs. Brewster--”
+
+“No, sir; I didn't; I left the box on the hall table,” Grimes cleared
+his throat nervously. “I dunno who picked up that box o' poison, Mr.
+Kent; so help me God, I dunno!”
+
+Kent thought rapidly. “Have you told any one of this?” he asked.
+
+Grimes nodded. “Only one person,” he admitted. “I spoke to Miss Barbara
+last night as she was going to bed.” Grimes laid a hot hand on Kent's
+and glanced fearfully around the room. “Bend nearer, sir; I don't want
+none other to hear me. Just before I got that knockout blow in the
+library last night, I heard the swish o' skirts--and Miss Barbara was
+the only living person who knew I knew about the poison.”
+
+Kent stared in stupefaction at the butler. He was aroused by a cold
+voice from the doorway.
+
+“We are waiting for you, Kent,” and Colonel McIntyre stood aside to let
+him pass from the room ahead of him, then without a backward glance at
+the injured butler, he closed and locked the bedroom door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE FATAL PERIOD
+
+As Kent walked into the library he found Colonel McIntyre by his side;
+the latter's even breathing gave no indication of the haste he had made
+down the staircase to catch up with Kent.
+
+Detective Ferguson hardly noted their arrival, his attention being given
+wholly to the examination of the Venetian casket which had played such
+an important part in the drama of the night before. The casket and its
+companion piece stood on either side of the room near a window recess.
+The long straight shape of the high boxes on their graceful base gave
+no indication of the use to which they had been put in ancient days, but
+made attractive as well as unique pieces of furniture.
+
+Kent crossed the library and, after looking inside the casket, examined
+the exterior with care.
+
+“Don't touch that crest,” cautioned Ferguson, observing that Kent's
+glance remained focused on the blood-stained, raised letter “B” and the
+carving back of it. “In fact, don't touch any part of the casket, I'm
+trying to get finger prints.”
+
+Kent barely heard the warning as he turned to McIntyre.
+
+“Haven't I seen that letter 'B' design on your stationery, Colonel?” he
+asked.
+
+“Barbara uses it,” was the reply. “She fancied the antique lettering,
+and copied the 'B' for the engraver; she is handy with her pen, you
+know.”
+
+“Did she wish the 'B' for a seal?” inquired Kent.
+
+“Yes, she had a seal made like it also.” McIntyre moved closer to the
+casket. “Found anything, Ferguson?”
+
+The detective withdrew his head from the opening at the end of the
+casket, and regarded the furniture vexedly.
+
+“Not a thing,” he acknowledged. “Except I am convinced that it required
+dexterity to slip Grimes inside the casket. The butler is small and
+slight, but he must have been unconscious from that tap on the forehead
+and, therefore, a dead weight. Whoever picked him up must have been
+some athlete, and”--running his eyes up and down Colonel McIntyre's
+well-knit, erect frame--“pretty familiar with the workings of this
+casket.”
+
+“Pooh! It's not so difficult a feat,” McIntyre shrugged his shoulders
+disdainfully. “My daughters, as children, used to play hide and seek
+inside the casket with each new governess.”
+
+Ferguson stepped forward briskly. “Mr. Kent, let me see if I can lift
+you inside the casket; make yourself limp--that's it!” as Kent, entering
+into the investigation heart and soul, relaxed his muscles and fell back
+against the detective.
+
+A moment later he was swung upward and pushed head-first inside the
+casket and the door closed. The air, though close, was not unpleasant
+and Kent, his eyes growing gradually accustomed to the dark interior,
+tried to discover the trap door at the top of the box but without
+success. Putting out his hands he felt along the top. The height of the
+casket did not permit him to sit up, so he was obliged to slide his
+body down toward his feet to feel along the sides of the casket. This
+maneuver soon brought his knees in violent contact with the top, and at
+the sound Ferguson opened the door and assisted him out.
+
+“Had enough of it?” he asked, viewing Kent's reddened cheeks with faint
+amusement. “I wonder if Grimes could breathe in there for any lengthy
+period. If so, it would help establish the time which elapsed between
+his being incarcerated and your finding him, Colonel.”
+
+“How so?” demanded McIntyre.
+
+“Well, if he couldn't get air and you hadn't discovered him at once,
+he'd have died,” explained Ferguson. “If you did find him immediately
+the person who knocked him down must have made a lightning escape.”
+
+“Air does get in the casket in some way,” broke in Kent. “It wasn't so
+bad inside. Colonel McIntyre,” Kent stopped a moment to remove a piece
+of red sealing wax clinging to the cuff of his suit. It had not been
+there when he entered the casket. Kent dropped the wax in his vest
+pocket as he again addressed his host. “Who first discovered Grimes in
+the casket?”
+
+“Mrs. Brewster.”
+
+“And what was Mrs. Brewster doing in the library at that hour?” glancing
+keenly at McIntyre as he put the question.
+
+“She could not sleep and came down for a book,” explained the Colonel.
+
+Ferguson, who had walked several times around the library, looking
+behind first one and then the other of the seven doors, paused to ask:
+
+“What attracted Mrs. Brewster's attention to the casket?”
+
+“The blood stain on its side,” McIntyre answered.
+
+“What--that!” Ferguson eyed McIntyre incredulously. “Come, sir, do you
+mean to tell me she noticed that little bit of a stain in a dark room?”
+
+“She had an electric torch,” shortly.
+
+“But why should she turn the torch on this casket?” persisted the
+detective. “She came to the library for a book, and the bookcases are in
+another part of the room.”
+
+“Quite so, but the book she wished was lying on the top of this casket,”
+ replied McIntyre, meeting their level looks with one equally steadfast.
+“I know because I left the book there.”
+
+Ferguson glanced from McIntyre to Kent and back again at the Colonel in
+non-plussed silence. The explanation was pat.
+
+“I'd like to talk with Mrs. Brewster,” he remarked dryly.
+
+“Certainly.” McIntyre pressed an electric button. The summons was
+answered immediately by the new servant, Murray. “Ask Mrs. Brewster
+if she can see Detective Ferguson in the library, Murray,” McIntyre
+directed.
+
+“Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Brewster has just gone out,” and with a bow
+Murray withdrew.
+
+Kent, who had drawn forward a chair preparatory to sitting down and
+participating in the interview with the widow, changed his mind.
+
+“I must leave at once,” he said, after consulting his watch. “Please
+inform Mrs. Brewster, Colonel, that I will be in my office this
+afternoon, and I expect her to make me the visit she postponed this
+morning. Ferguson,” turning back to address the detective, “you'll
+find me at the Saratoga for the next hour. Good morning,” and paying no
+attention to Colonel McIntyre's request to remain, he left the room.
+
+There was no one in the hall and Kent debated a moment whether or not to
+ring for the servant and ask to see Barbara, but, at sight of the hall
+table, Grimes' confidences recurred to him and drove everything else
+out of his mind. Stopping before the table he contemplated its smooth
+surface before moving the few ornaments it held. Satisfied that no
+pillbox stood behind any of them, he pulled open the two drawers and
+tumbled their contents about. His efforts only brought to light some
+half-empty cigarette boxes, matches, a scratch pad or two, and old
+visiting cards.
+
+Kent shut the drawers, picked up his hat, and took his cane from the
+tall china umbrella-stand by the hall table. As he stepped through
+the front doorway he caught sight of the end of his cane, which he was
+carrying tucked under his arm. Fastened to the ferule of the cane was
+the round top of a paste-board pill box.
+
+Kent backed so swiftly into the house again that his figure blocked the
+closing of the front door, which he had started to pull shut after him.
+Letting the door close gently he walked back to the umbrella stand. It
+was a tall heavy affair, and he had some difficulty in tipping it over
+and letting its contents spill on the floor. A soft exclamation escaped
+him as three little pellets rolled past him, and then came the bottom of
+a box.
+
+With hasty fingers Kent picked them up, placed them in the box, and
+fitted on the top, first carefully smoothing over the hole made by his
+cane when thrust into the umbrella stand by the footman. Replacing the
+stand he wrapped the box containing the pills in his handkerchief and
+hurried from the house.
+
+Kent found the operative from Detective Headquarters sitting on duty in
+Rochester's living room when he entered that apartment a quarter of an
+hour later.
+
+“Any one called here?” he asked, as the man, whom he had met the night
+before, greeted him.
+
+“Not a soul, Mr. Kent.” Nelson suppressed a yawn; his relief was late in
+coming, and he had had little sleep the night before. “There's been no
+disturbance of any kind, not even a ring at the telephone.”
+
+Kent considered a moment, then sat down by the telephone and gave a
+number to Central.
+
+“That you, Sylvester?” he called into the mouth-piece. “If Mrs. Brewster
+comes to the office, telephone me at Mr. Rochester's apartment, Franklin
+52. Don't let Mrs. Brewster leave until I have seen her.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” came the reply, and Kent hung up the receiver.
+
+“Had any luncheon?” he asked Nelson as the man loitered around.
+
+“Not yet”--Nelson's eyes brightened at the word. It was long past his
+usual meal hour.
+
+“Run down to the cafe on the first floor and tell the head waiter to give
+you a square meal and charge it to me,” Kent directed. “Order something
+substantial; you must be used up.”
+
+The man hung back. “Thank you, Mr. Kent, but I don't like to leave here
+until my relief comes,” he objected.
+
+“That's all right, I'll stay in the apartment until you return,” and
+Kent settled the question by opening the door leading into the outer
+corridor. “Ferguson will be around shortly, so hurry.”
+
+Kent watched the man scurry toward the elevator shaft, then returned
+to Rochester's apartment and once more took up the telephone. The
+operative's reluctance to leave the apartment unguarded had altered his
+plans somewhat.
+
+“Is this Dr. Stone's office?” he asked a moment later, as a faint
+“hello,” came over the wire. “Oh, doctor, this is Kent. Please come over
+to Rochester's apartment; I would like to consult you in regard to an
+important matter. You'll come now? Thanks.”
+
+The doctor kept Kent waiting less than five minutes. The clock was
+striking one when he appeared, bland and smiling. Hardly waiting for him
+to select a seat Kent flung himself into a chair in front of Rochester's
+desk and laid the pill box on the writing pad.
+
+“Now, doctor,” he began, and his manner gained in seriousness, “what, in
+your opinion, killed Jimmie Turnbull?”
+
+“The post-mortem examination proved that he had swallowed aconitine in
+sufficient quantity to cause death,” Stone replied. “He undoubtedly died
+from the effects of that poison.”
+
+“Is aconitine difficult to procure?” asked Kent.
+
+“It is often prescribed for fevers.” Stone made himself comfortable in a
+near-by chair. “Aconitine is the alkaloid of aconite. I believe that in
+India it is frequently employed, not only for the destruction of wild
+beasts, but for criminal purposes. The India variety is known as the
+Bish poison.”
+
+Kent started--Bish poison--was he never to get away from the letter “B”?
+
+“Can you procure Bish in this country?” he asked.
+
+Stone considered the question. “You might be able to purchase it from
+some Hindoo residing or traveling in the United States,” he said, after
+a pause. “I doubt if you could buy it in a drug store.”
+
+Kent heaved a sigh of relief as he hitched his chair closer to the
+physician.
+
+“Did you prescribe a dose of aconitine for Mrs. Brewster recently?” he
+asked.
+
+“I did, for an attack of rheumatic neuralgia.” Stone eyed him curiously.
+“What then, Kent?”
+
+“Is this the box the medicine came in?” and Kent placed the cover in
+Stone's hand.
+
+Stone turned the paste-board over and studied the defaced label. “I
+cannot answer that question positively,” he said. “The label bears my
+name and that of the druggist, but the directions are missing.”
+
+“But the number's on it,” put in Kent swiftly. “Come, Stone, call up
+the druggist, repeat the number to him, and ask if it calls for your
+aconitine prescription.”
+
+Stone hesitated as if about to speak, then, reaching out his hand, he
+picked up the telephone and held a short conversation with the drug
+clerk of the Thompson Pharmacy.
+
+“That is the box which contained the aconitine pills for Mrs. Brewster,”
+ he said, when he had replaced the telephone. “Now, Kent, I have secured
+the information you wished; kindly tell me your reasons for desiring
+it.”
+
+It was Kent's turn to hesitate. “Do you know many instances where
+aconitine was used by murderers?” he questioned.
+
+“N-no. I believe it was the drug used in the celebrated Lamson poison
+case,” replied the physician slowly. “I cannot recall any others just at
+the moment.”
+
+“How about suicides?”
+
+“It is seldom, if ever, used for suicides.” Stone spoke with more
+assurance. “I have found in my practice, Kent, that suicides can be
+classed as follows: drowning by the young, pistols by the adult,
+and hanging by the aged; women generally prefer asphyxiation, using
+illuminating gas. But this is beside the question, unless”--bending a
+penetrating look at his companion--“unless you believe Jimmie Turnbull
+committed suicide.”
+
+“That idea has occurred to me,” admitted Kent. “But it doesn't square
+with other facts which have developed, nor is it in keeping with the
+character of the man.”
+
+“Men who suffer from a mortal disease sometimes commit desperate acts,
+not at all in accord with their previous conduct,” responded Stone
+gravely. “Come, Kent, you have not answered my question. Why did you
+wish information about this box of aconitine pills prescribed for Mrs.
+Brewster during her attack of neuralgia?”
+
+“You have just stated that aconitine is not usually administered to
+murder a person,” Kent spoke seriously, choosing his words with care.
+“Do you wonder then, that I consider it more than a coincidence that
+Jimmie Turnbull should have died from a dose of that poison, and that
+the drug should have been prescribed for one of the inmates of the house
+he visited shortly before his death?”
+
+The physician sat upright, his face had grown gray. “Mr. Kent,” he
+commenced indignantly, “are you aware what you are insinuating? Are
+you, also, aware that Mrs. Brewster is my cousin, a charming, honorable
+woman, without a stain on her character?”
+
+Kent set the bottom of the box containing the pills in front of the
+doctor.
+
+“I have found out that this box, with its dangerous drug, was left on
+the hall table in the McIntyre house; apparently any one had access
+to its contents, therefore my remarks are not directed against Mrs.
+Brewster any more than against any person in the McIntyre household,
+from the Colonel to the servants. I found these three pills at the
+McIntyre house this morning; how many did your prescription call for?”
+
+Stone picked up the small pills and, as he balanced them in his palm,
+his manner grew more alert. Suddenly he dropped two back in the box and
+touched the third pill with the tip of his tongue; not content with that
+he crushed it in his fingers, sniffed the drug, and again tested it with
+his tongue. His expression was peculiar as he looked up at Kent.
+
+“These are not aconitine pills,” he stated positively. “They are
+nitro-glycerine. How did they get in this box?”
+
+Kent rubbed his chin in bewilderment. The box bearing the aconitine
+label and the pills had all rolled out of the china umbrella stand, and
+he had taken it for granted that the pills belonged in the box.
+
+“I found them loose in the same receptacle,” he explained. “And
+concluded they were what remained of the aconitine pills which Grimes,
+the McIntyre butler, said he left on the hall table Sunday afternoon.”
+
+Stone smiled with what Kent, who was watching him closely, judged to be
+an odd mixture of relief and apprehension.
+
+“You could not have found more dissimilar medicine to go in this pill
+box, although the two kinds of pills are identical in color and
+size,” he said. “Aconitine depresses the heart action while the other
+stimulates it.”
+
+The physician's statement fell on deaf ears. Raising his head after
+contemplating the pills, Kent had looked across the room and his glance
+had fallen on a wing chair, standing just inside the doorway of the
+living room, and thrown partly in shadow by the portieres. The wing
+of the chair appeared to move. Kent rubbed his eyes and looking again,
+caught the same slight movement.
+
+Bounding toward the chair Kent saw that the brown shape which he had
+mistaken for part of the tufted upholstery was the sleek brown hair of a
+man's well-shaped head. He halted abruptly on meeting the gaze of a pair
+of mocking eyes.
+
+“Rochester?” he gasped unbelievingly. “Rochester!”
+
+His partner laughed softly as Stone approached. “I have been an
+interested listener,” he said. “Let me complete the good doctor's
+argument. Nitro-glycerine would have benefitted Jimmie Turnbull and his
+feeble heart; whereas the missing aconitine pills killed him.”
+
+Stone regarded him with severity. “How did you get in this apartment?”
+ he demanded, declining the challenge Rochester had offered in addressing
+his opinion of Turnbull's death directly to him.
+
+Rochester dangled his bunch of keys in the physician's face and smiled
+at his excited partner. “If you two hadn't been so absorbed in your
+conversation you would have heard me walk in,” he remarked.
+
+“Where have you been?” demanded Kent, partly recovering from his
+astonishment which had deprived him of speech.
+
+“I decided to take a vacation at a moment's notice.” Rochester spoke
+with the same slow drawl which was characteristic of him. “You should be
+accustomed to my eccentricities by this time, Harry.”
+
+“We are,” announced Detective Ferguson from the hallway, where he and
+Nelson had been silent witnesses of the scene. “And we'll give you a
+chance to explain them in the police court.”
+
+“On what charge?” demanded Rochester.
+
+“Poisoning your room-mate, Mr. Turnbull,” replied the detective, drawing
+out a pair of handcuffs. “You are mighty clever, Mr. Rochester. I've got
+to hand it to you for your mysterious disappearances in and out of this
+apartment, and for murdering Mr. Turnbull right in the police court in
+the presence of the judge, police officials, and spectators.”
+
+Kent stepped forward at sight of the handcuffs and laid a restraining
+hand on the detective's shoulder. Rochester saw the movement, guessed
+Kent's intention, and smiled.
+
+“We can settle the case here,” he said cheerfully. “No need of troubling
+the police judge. Now, Mr. Detective, how did I kill Jimmie Turnbull
+before all those people without any one becoming aware of the fact?”
+
+“Slipped the poison in the glass of water you handed him,” answered
+Ferguson promptly. “A nervy sleight-of-hand, but you'll swing for it.”
+
+Rochester's smile was exasperating as he turned to Dr. Stone.
+
+“Judging from Stone's remarks about aconitine--which I overheard,” he
+interpolated. “I gather the doctor is tolerably familiar with the action
+of the drug. Does aconitine kill instantly, doctor?”
+
+Stone cleared his throat before speaking. “No; the fatal period averages
+about four hours,” he said, and Rochester's eyes sparkled as he looked
+up at the detective.
+
+“Jimmie died almost immediately after I handed him that drink of water,”
+ he declared. “If you wish to know who administered that aconitine
+poison, you will have to find out who Jimmie was with at the McIntyre
+house in the early hours of Tuesday morning.”
+
+The sharp imperative ring of the telephone bell cut the silence which
+followed. Kent, standing nearest the instrument, picked it up, and
+recognized Sylvester's voice over the wire.
+
+“A message has just come, Mr. Kent,” he called, “from Mrs. Brewster
+saying that she will be in your office at four o'clock.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. THE RED SEAL AGAIN
+
+Harry Kent inserted his key in his office door with more vigor than good
+judgment, and spent some seconds in re-adjusting it in the lock. Once
+inside the office he put up the latch and closed the door. A glance
+around the empty office showed him that Sylvester had obeyed his
+telephone instructions and gone out to luncheon.
+
+Kent noted with satisfaction as he put his hat and cane in the coat
+closet that he had over two hours before Mrs. Brewster's expected
+arrival; ample time in which to consider in quietude the events of the
+past few days, and plan for his interview with the pretty widow. He had
+spent the time between Rochester's sudden reappearance and a hastily
+swallowed lunch at a downtown cafe, in arranging bail for Rochester.
+Ferguson had proved obdurate and had persisted in taking the lawyer to
+Police Headquarters.
+
+Dr. Stone had accompanied the trio, and his testimony, supported by two
+chemists, regarding the time required for aconitine poison to act, had
+gone far to weaken the detective's case against Rochester.
+
+Rochester, to Kent's unbounded astonishment, had appeared indifferent to
+the whole proceedings; and to his partner's urgent inquiries as to where
+he had spent the past four days, and why he had disappeared, he had
+returned one invariable answer.
+
+“I'll explain in good time, Harry,” and it was not until they were
+leaving Police Headquarters that his apathy vanished.
+
+“When are you to see Mrs. Brewster?” he asked.
+
+“She will be at our office at four o'clock. Say, Phil”--but Rochester,
+shaking off his detaining hand, darted across the street and sprang into
+a passing taxi bearing the sign, “For Hire,” and that was the last Kent
+had seen of his elusive partner.
+
+Kent dropped into his chair and glanced askance at the mail piled in
+neat array on his desk; he was not in a frame of mind to handle routine
+office business. Other clients would have to wait until later in
+the day. A memorandum pad, bearing a message in Sylvester's precise
+penmanship attracted his wandering attention and he picked it up.
+
+“Mr. Kent:” he read. “Colonel McIntyre called just after I talked with
+you on the 'phone; he waited in your office for half an hour, then left,
+stating he would come back. Miss Barbara McIntyre called immediately
+afterwards, but would not wait more than five minutes. Mr. Clymer came
+as she was going out and left a note on your desk. I will return soon.
+
+“SYLVESTER.”
+
+
+Kent laid down the pad and picked up a twisted three-cornered note
+bearing his name in pencil. Unfolding it, he scanned the hurriedly
+written lines:
+
+“Dear Kent--McIntyre telephoned there were new developments in the
+Turnbull affair. Will be back later.
+
+“Yours--
+
+“B. A. CLYMER.”
+
+
+Kent judged from the use of his initials that Clymer was stirred out of
+his ordinary calm, nothing else explained his failure to sign his full
+name, and he wondered what confidences McIntyre had made to the bank
+president.
+
+Tossing down the note, Kent lighted his pipe, tilted back in his swivel
+chair, and reviewed the facts which implicated Rochester in Jimmie
+Turnbull's murder. Rochester's quarrels with Jimmie, his persistent
+assertion that his friend had died from angina pectoris, his unexplained
+disappearance on Tuesday night, the fake telegram from Cleveland stating
+he was there, the withdrawal of his bank deposits, the forged checks,
+his mysterious visits to his own apartment, when considered together,
+presented a chain of circumstantial evidence connecting him with the
+crime. But in the light of Dr. Stone's testimony, the poison “could not
+have been administered in the glass of water Rochester had given Jimmie
+in the police court.”
+
+Four hours at least had to elapse before the fatal dose of aconitine
+could take effect--four hours! Kent told them off on his fingers;
+it placed the crime in the McIntyre house. Which one of its inmates
+administered the poison to Jimmie and how had it been done? What motive
+had prompted the cashier's murder?
+
+It was preposterous to think that either of the twins was guilty of the
+crime. Helen's devotion to Jimmie, her insistence upon an autopsy being
+held indicated her innocence. She had stated at the inquest that she had
+not known the burglar's identity; Kent paused as the thought occurred
+to him--the twins had swapped identities on the witness stand, and
+therefore Helen had not been called upon to answer that question! To the
+best of his recollection she had only been asked if she had recognized
+Jimmie in the court room and not at her home. But Helen it was who had
+summoned Officer O'Ryan on discovering the burglar and had him arrested.
+She surely would never have done so had she guessed his identity.
+
+As for Barbara McIntyre--Kent's heart beat faster at thought of the
+girl he loved so well. Circumstantial evidence had seemed for a time
+to involve her in the crime. Grimes' outrageous insinuation that he had
+been assaulted on account of confiding to her that the box of aconitine
+pills had been left on the hall table where any one could get them, was
+the outcome of his battered condition. When physical strength returned,
+the butler would forget his hallucinations. The handkerchief with its
+embroidered letter “B,” used by Jimmie to inhale the fumes from his
+amyl nitrite capsules, was finally traced to its rightful owner--Mrs.
+Brewster.
+
+And Mrs. Brewster was due in his office within a very short time. Kent's
+square jaw became more pronounced; she should not leave until she had
+either confessed her connection with Turnbull's death, or established
+her innocence. Surely it would be easy for Mrs. Brewster to do so,
+but--aconitine had been prescribed for her; she was familiar with the
+poison, she had it at hand, she went to the police court, and kept her
+trip a secret, and she had laughed when Jimmie was carried dying from
+the court room. But what motive could have inspired her to murder
+Jimmie? Was he an old lover--Kent, unable to keep quiet any longer, rose
+and paced up and down the office, stopping a moment to glance out of
+the window. As he passed the safe he saw the door was ajar. Kent paused
+abruptly. Who had opened the safe?
+
+Crossing to the outer office he looked around; no one was there. It
+flashed into Kent's mind that he had seen Rochester's light top coat and
+walking stick in the coat closet as he hung up his hat on his arrival,
+and he again opened the closet door. The coat and stick were still
+there; so Rochester had come to the office immediately after leaving
+him, and carelessly left the safe open! Kent smiled in spite of his
+vexation; the act was typical of his eccentric partner.
+
+Going back to his own office Kent opened the safe and glanced inside.
+The pigeon holes and compartments appeared untouched, except the door
+of one small compartment on Rochester's side. An envelope was wedged in
+such a manner that the small door would not shut and that had prevented
+the closing of the outer safe door.
+
+Kent, preparatory to shutting the safe, drew out the envelope intending
+to place it in another pigeon-hole where there was more room. As he
+turned the envelope over he was thunderstruck to recognize it as the one
+which Helen McIntyre had placed in the safe on Wednesday morning. He had
+last seen the envelope lying on the table in the smoking porch of the
+Club de Vingt, from whence it had mysteriously disappeared, and now it
+was back again in Rochester's safe!
+
+Had it ever been missing from the safe? The question forced itself on
+Kent as he returned to his chair, envelope in hand, and sat down before
+his desk. He had accepted Detective Ferguson's statement that he had
+removed the envelope from the safe, and therefore had never looked in
+the compartment where Helen had put it to verify its disappearance.
+
+Ferguson had removed it, Kent concluded as he examined the envelope with
+more care; it was the identical one, unaddressed, with the same red
+seal holding down the flap. The same red seal, but with a difference--a
+corner was missing.
+
+Kent stared at the seal for a moment in doubt, then his fingers
+sought his vest pocket and fumbled about for a minute. Taking out
+Mrs. Brewster's check, he laid it on the desk alongside the envelope,
+unfolded it, and picked out a piece of red sealing wax which had slid
+inside the check. Kent placed the red wax on the broken section of the
+seal--it fitted exactly, forming a perfect letter “B.”
+
+Kent sat in dumbfounded silence, regarding the red seal and the
+envelope. The piece of wax broken off from the seal had caught on his
+coat sleeve when he had been in the Venetian casket in the library at
+the McIntyre house. It was proof positive that not only he had been in
+the casket, but the sealed envelope also. Helen McIntyre had left the
+envelope in his care. Mrs. Brewster and Colonel McIntyre had both been
+present when the envelope was stolen from him. Which of them had taken
+it? Which one had afterwards secreted it in the Venetian casket? And
+which had brought it back to the safe in his office?
+
+Colonel McIntyre had been in his office within the hour--the question
+was answered, and Kent's eyes brightened, then clouded--Barbara had been
+there as well, and Grimes had stated that before he received a knock-out
+blow in the McIntyre library he heard the swish of skirts!
+
+Kent laid his hand on the envelope. It was time that he found out what
+it contained; but his finger, inserted under the flap, paused as his
+eyes fell on the check bearing Mrs. Brewster's signature. It was the
+check he had picked up from the floor of the McIntyre limousine that
+morning and inadvertently carried away with him.
+
+From her signature his glance wandered to Sylvester's memorandum pad;
+it was uncanny the way his eye picked out the letter “B” as he stared at
+Clymer's note and its signature. Slowly his hand dropped away from the
+envelope and he left it lying forgotten on the desk as he picked up
+piece after piece of blotting paper, glancing intently at each and
+finally, pulling open a drawer of his desk, he hunted in feverish haste
+for a hand-mirror.
+
+Some ten minutes later Kent rose, placed the papers he had been
+examining in the inside pocket of his coat and, using the private
+entrance from his office into the corridor, he hurried away.
+
+When Helen McIntyre entered the office of Rochester and Kent for the
+second time that afternoon she found Sylvester transcribing stenographic
+notes on his typewriter.
+
+“Mr. Kent is expecting you, miss,” he said, holding open the inner
+office door, and with a courteous word of thanks, Helen passed the clerk
+and the door closed behind her. Kent rose at her approach and bowed
+formally.
+
+“Take this chair,” he suggested, and not until she was seated did Helen
+realize he had placed her where the light fell full upon her. “I asked
+you to come here,” he began, as she waited for him to speak, “Because I
+must have your confidence--if I am to aid you. Did you meet, recognize,
+and talk to Jimmie Turnbull in your house sometime between Monday
+midnight and his arrest on Tuesday morning?”
+
+She colored hotly, then paled. “My testimony at the inquest,”--she
+commenced, but he gave her no opportunity to add more.
+
+“Your testimony there does not cover the question,” he explained. “You
+stated then that you had not recognized Jimmie in the court room. Had
+you already penetrated his disguise at your house?”
+
+“And if I had?”
+
+“Did you?” Kent was doggedly persistent, and Helen's fingers closed
+around her handbag with convulsive force. Why had she not sent Barbara
+to see Kent in her place?
+
+“Did I what?” she parried.
+
+“Did you recognize and talk with Jimmie Turnbull in your house?”
+
+“I talked with him, yes,” she admitted, and her voice dropped almost to
+a whisper.
+
+“As Jimmie Turnbull or Smith the burglar?”
+
+“As Jimmie”--she confessed, after a slight pause.
+
+“Then why did you go through the farce of having Jimmie arrested as a
+burglar?” Kent demanded.
+
+“So that Barbara might win her wager,” promptly. Kent stared at her
+incredulously.
+
+“Do you mean that, notwithstanding the risk to which you were subjecting
+him with his weak heart, you kept up the farce simply that Barbara might
+win an idiotic wager?” Kent asked.
+
+Helen passed one nervous hand over the other; her palms were hot and
+dry, and two hectic spots had appeared in each white cheek.
+
+“Jimmie was quite well Monday night,” she protested. “He--he--had some
+heart medicine with him.”
+
+“Amyl nitrite?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Nitro-glycerine?”
+
+“I--I think that was it, I am not quite sure,” she spoke with
+uncertainty, and Kent knew that she lied. His heart sank.
+
+“Did he swallow any medicine in your presence?”
+
+She shook her head vigorously. “No, he did not.”
+
+Kent lowered his voice. “Did you see him take Mrs. Brewster's aconitine
+pills off the hall table?”
+
+Helen shifted her gaze to his face and then back to her ever restless
+hands. “No,” she said. “I did not see him take the pills.”
+
+Kent studied her in a silence which, to her, seemed never-ending.
+
+“I want the true answer to this question,” he announced with meaning
+emphasis. “Why did Jimmie go in disguise to your house on Monday night?”
+
+Helen blanched. “How should I know,” she muttered evasively. “He--he
+didn't come to see me--the admission was barely above a whisper.
+
+“But you know what transpired in your house on Monday night?” demanded
+Kent eagerly.
+
+His question met with no response, and he repeated it, but still the
+girl remained silent. Kent gave her a moment's grace, then drawing out
+the unaddressed envelope from his pocket he held it toward her. A low
+cry broke from her, and her expression changed as she caught sight of
+the broken seal.
+
+“You have opened it!”
+
+“Not yet,” Kent held the envelope just beyond her reach. “I will only
+give it to you with the understanding that you open the envelope now in
+my presence and let me see its contents.”
+
+Helen drew back, then impulsively extended her hand.
+
+“I agree,” she said. “Give me the envelope.”
+
+“Stop!” The word rang out, startling Kent as well as Helen, and Mrs.
+Brewster, whose noiseless entrance a few seconds before had gone
+unobserved, hurried to them. “The envelope is mine.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE UNKNOWN EQUATION
+
+“No, no,” protested Helen vehemently. “You shall not give the envelope to
+Margaret--you must not.”
+
+“It is mine,” insisted the widow with equal vehemence.
+
+“Mrs. Brewster.” Kent withheld the envelope from both women. “Will you
+tell me the contents of this envelope?”
+
+“No,” curtly. “It is not your affair.”
+
+“It is my affair,” retorted Kent with equally shortness of manner. “I
+insist on an answer to my questions in the limousine this morning. How
+came your handkerchief in Jimmie's possession, and why did you go to the
+police court and, yet keep your presence there a secret?”
+
+“Jimmie must have picked up the handkerchief when in the McIntyre
+house,” she answered sullenly. “I presume he forgot to provide himself
+with one in his make-up as burglar. As regards your second question I
+admit I did go to the police court out of curiosity--I wanted to find
+out what was going on. You,” with a resentful glance at Helen, “treated
+me as an outsider, and I was determined to find out for myself how the
+burglar farce would end.”
+
+“Ah, you term it a farce--is that why you laughed in court?” asked Kent
+quickly.
+
+Mrs. Brewster changed color. “I feel badly about that,” she stammered.
+“I meant no disrespect to Jimmie, but I have a nervous inclination to
+laugh--almost hysteria--when excited and overwrought.”
+
+“I see,” answered Kent slowly. He was distinctly puzzled; Mrs.
+Brewster's air of candor disarmed suspicion, but--“You saw and talked
+with Jimmie Turnbull on Monday night?”
+
+“I did not.” Her denial was firm.
+
+“Then how did you learn of his arrest?” asked Kent swiftly.
+
+“I overheard him conversing--”
+
+“With whom?” Kent demanded eagerly as she paused as if to reconsider her
+confidences. Helen, one hand on the desk and the other on the arm of her
+chair, tried to rise, but her strength had deserted her. “With whom?”
+ repeated Kent as the widow remained silent.
+
+“Jimmie was talking with Grimes,” Mrs. Brewster stated slowly. “From
+what I overheard, he paid Grimes to let him inside the house.”
+
+Kent looked perplexed as he gazed first at the widow and then at Helen,
+who had sunk back in her chair.
+
+“Mrs. Brewster,” he began after a pause. “Who gave Jimmie your aconitine
+pills which Grimes left on the hall table?”
+
+“The murderer.”
+
+“Yes, of course.” Kent was watching her closely and he detected the tiny
+beads of perspiration which were gathering on her upper lip. “And who,
+in your opinion, was the murderer?”
+
+Mrs. Brewster's expression changed--she looked hunted, and her eyes
+fell before Kent's; abruptly she turned her back on him, to find Colonel
+McIntyre at her elbow and Barbara just entering the room. Her eyes
+traveled past the girl until they rested on Philip Rochester and
+Detective Ferguson hovering behind him. Her face altered.
+
+“I saw Philip Rochester,” pointing dramatically toward him, “crawl out
+of the reception room window and dart into the street just as O'Ryan
+came in the front door with Helen.”
+
+Detective Ferguson could not restrain a joyful exclamation. “So that was
+it!” he cried. “You were at the McIntyre house, and gave the poison to
+Turnbull there--and not in the court room--four hours before he died.
+You'll swing for that crime, my buck, in spite of your glib tongue and
+slippery ways.”
+
+As he ceased speaking Ferguson's ever ready handcuffs swung suggestively
+from his hand, but Helen's agonized cry checked his approach toward
+Rochester, who stood stolidly waiting for him.
+
+“Father! You cannot permit this monstrous injustice, Philip shall not
+suffer for another. No, Barbara,” as her sister strove to quiet her, “we
+must tell the truth.”
+
+“Suppose I tell it for Colonel McIntyre,” Rochester advanced as the door
+opened and Sylvester ushered in Benjamin Clymer. “You have come in time,
+Clymer,” his voice deepened, the voice of a man accustomed to present a
+case and sway a court. “Wait, Sylvester, sit at that table and take down
+these charges--”
+
+“Charges?” questioned Kent, watching his partner narrowly; he tossed a
+stenographic pad to Sylvester and made a place for him at his desk. “Go
+on, Rochester; charges against whom?”
+
+“Charges against the man who, occupying a position of trust, planned to
+swindle the Metropolis Trust Company through forged notes and checks,”
+ Rochester stated with slow emphasis. “Jimmie Turnbull learned that you,
+Clymer, were to visit Colonel McIntyre on Monday night, and he went
+there in disguise to find out if his suspicions were correct. The
+investigation cost him his life.”
+
+Clymer, who had followed Rochester's statement, first with bewilderment
+and then with rising wrath, found his voice.
+
+“You drunken scoundrel!” he roared. “How dare you!”
+
+“Dare!” Rochester laughed recklessly. “Jimmie kept his wits to the last;
+his mind was clear; he recognized you in the prisoner's pen and he
+tried to call you, but his palsied tongue could not say Ben, but
+stuttered--B--b--b.”
+
+“And what did he wish to tell me?” gasped Clymer, down whose colorless
+face perspiration trickled.
+
+“Aye, what?” broke in Kent significantly.
+
+“Jimmie may not have gotten the information he wished at your house,
+Colonel McIntyre, but his presence there on Monday night showed the
+forger he was in danger, and like the human snake he is, he poisoned
+without warning. Don't move--Sylvester!”
+
+With a backward spring Kent caught his clerk as he sped for the door.
+
+“Don't make any mistake in putting on the handcuffs this time,
+Ferguson,” he shouted. “A forger and a contortionist make a bad customer
+to reckon with.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. THE RIDDLE ANSWERED
+
+There was absolute stillness in the room; then a babble of exclamations
+broke out as Sylvester, his expression of dumb surprise giving place to
+one of fury, struggled to free himself from the detective's firm grip.
+
+“You cannot escape, Sylvester,” declared Kent, observing his efforts.
+“Your carelessness in using your peculiar gift of penmanship in copying
+Barbara McIntyre's signature in this memorandum of her visit here”--Kent
+held up a sheet torn from his pad, “gave me the first clew. These, the
+second,” he showed several pieces of blotting paper freshly used.
+“See, in the mirror here is reflected the impression from your clever
+imitations of the handwritings of Barbara, Colonel McIntyre, and Mrs.
+Brewster.”
+
+They crowded about Kent, all but Ferguson and his prisoner, who had
+subsided in his chair with what the detective concluded was dangerous
+quietude.
+
+“My next step, now that suspicion was directed against Sylvester, was to
+make personal inquiries regarding him,” went on Kent. “Judge Hildebrand,
+who had just returned to Washington, said that he first met Sylvester at
+a circus sideshow where he gave exhibitions as a contortionist. One of
+his special stunts was to slip out of handcuffs and ropes.”
+
+“So that explains last night,” Ferguson grinned. “You'll not do it
+again, Sylvester,” and he shook an admonitory finger at the erstwhile
+clerk.
+
+“Judge Hildebrand became interested in Sylvester, found he was handy
+with his pen and tired of the show business, and gave him an opening by
+engaging him as confidential clerk,” continued Kent. “You will recall,
+Colonel McIntyre, that you sent business papers in your handwriting and
+that of your daughters to Judge Hildebrand's office to be typed by his
+staff. That is how Sylvester became so well acquainted with your writing
+and was able to forge a letter to the bank treasurer directing him to
+turn over your negotiable securities to Jimmie Turnbull.”
+
+“But how in the world did Sylvester induce Jimmie to present the forged
+letter?” asked Colonel McIntyre.
+
+Kent turned to the sullen prisoner. “Answer that question, Sylvester,”
+ he commanded, and the man roused himself from his dejected attitude.
+
+“Anything in it for me if I do?” he asked with a cunning leer.
+
+“That's for the courts to decide,” declared Kent.
+
+The man thought a minute. “I'll take a chance,” he said finally. “But
+that I waited for an opportunity to get my swag out of this safe, I
+wouldn't have been caught--curse you!” and he scowled at Kent.
+
+“Cut that out,” admonished Ferguson with a none too gentle dig in the
+ribs, and Sylvester continued his statement.
+
+“I overheard Colonel McIntyre tell Judge Hildebrand about his securities
+and their present value, and the next day he came to consult the judge
+about engaging a secretary. I fixed up credentials and went to Mr.
+Turnbull; he believed my story that I was the colonel's new secretary
+and got the securities.” Sylvester paused. “If I'd rested content with
+that success I'd been all right,” he added. “But I was in too great a
+hurry and forged Mr. Clymer's signature to a check for five thousand
+dollars and presented it at the Metropolis Trust Company. As luck would
+have it Mr. Turnbull cashed it for me himself.”
+
+“But didn't he suspect you?” exclaimed Clymer. He had gradually
+recovered from the shock of Rochester's charges on his arrival, and was
+listening with keen attention to Sylvester's confession.
+
+“No. I made the check payable to Colonel McIntyre and forged his
+endorsement,” Sylvester spoke with an air of pride, and he smiled
+in malicious enjoyment as, catching his eye, Barbara shrank back and
+sheltered herself behind Kent. “Mr. Turnbull accepted the check;
+later something must have aroused his suspicions, and I found when he
+questioned me that he believed Colonel McIntyre had forged the check.”
+
+“Good heavens! You let him think that?” gasped McIntyre; then wrath
+gained the mastery. “You scoundrel!”
+
+“Oh, I encouraged him to think it,” Sylvester grinned again. “You must
+have handed Mr. Turnbull a raw deal; he was so ready to think evil of
+you.”
+
+“That is a lie!” exclaimed Helen hotly. “When I went downstairs to
+investigate the noise I heard in the library, father, Jimmie told me
+who he was to quiet my fright. He showed me a letter, which he had just
+found on your desk in the library, confessing that you had forged Mr.
+Clymer's name on the check, and begging Jimmie to conceal your crime and
+save Barbara and me from the shame of having you exposed as a forger and
+a thief.”
+
+“I never wrote such a letter!” shouted McIntyre, deeply incensed.
+
+“No, it was a clever plan,” acknowledged Sylvester. “On one of my trips
+to your house, Colonel McIntyre, I secured wax impressions of your front
+door lock. I went to your house Monday night and put the letter among
+your papers just before Turnbull was admitted by your fool of a butler.”
+
+“And you gave Jimmie Turnbull a dose of poison--” charged Kent, but
+Sylvester, his lips gone dry, raised his manacled hands in protest.
+
+“I did not poison him,” he cried. “I waited just to see if Turnbull got
+the letter and to find out what he'd do with the securities, which he
+had refused to turn over to me. After he had read the forged letter Mr.
+Turnbull acted sort of faint and went out in the hall. I could just see
+him put down a box on the hall table and lean against the wall. Then he
+went into the dining room and came back a second later carrying a glass
+of water, and I saw him take up and open a small box and toss some
+white pills into his mouth; then he took a good drink, and, picking up a
+handkerchief lying on the table, he went back into the library.”
+
+There was silence as Sylvester's callous recital of the tragedy ended.
+Helen, her eyes tearless and dark with suffering, sank slowly back in
+her chair and rested her head against Barbara's sympathetic shoulder.
+
+“So Turnbull's death was accidental after all,” exclaimed Ferguson. “Or
+was it suicide?”
+
+“Accident,” answered Kent. “I found some nitro-glycerine pills in the
+umbrella stand by the hall table.” Colonel McIntyre nodded. “Evidently
+Turnbull put down his pill box before getting a glass of water, and in
+his attack of giddiness accidentally opened your box of aconitine pills,
+Mrs. Brewster, instead of his own, and swallowed a fatal dose, thinking
+they were nitroglycerine.”
+
+Mrs. Brewster bowed her head in agreement. “That must have been it,” she
+said. “However, I saw Colonel McIntyre tear off the paper wrapping
+and open my package of pills just before dinner, and when I heard that
+Jimmie had died from aconitine I--I--” she stammered and stopped short.
+
+“You suspected I had murdered him?” asked McIntyre softly.
+
+“Yes,” she looked appealingly at him. “Forgive me, I should never have
+suspected you, but the pills, box and all, were missing the next morning
+from the hall table.”
+
+“Turnbull must have thrown the box into the umbrella stand,” explained
+Kent. “That was where I found it. Did you get the securities,
+Sylvester?” turning to the prisoner.
+
+“No,” sullenly. “She did,” and a jerk of his thumb indicated Helen
+McIntyre.
+
+Helen raised her head and addressed them slowly.
+
+“Jimmie and I expected Barbara to come in at any moment, and he
+started to leave when we saw you coming downstairs,” she turned to Mrs.
+Brewster. “Jimmie declared that if we were found together I might
+be compromised. He couldn't explain his presence without exposing
+father--we both thought you a forger, father,” she interpolated, as
+McIntyre took her hand and pressed it understandingly. “So he insisted
+that I should treat him like an ordinary burglar--we had both forgotten
+Barbara's silly wager in our horror about father. Jimmie didn't dare
+take the securities and father's confession with him for fear he'd be
+searched at the police station, and the scandal would have come out
+then.”
+
+“True,” agreed McIntyre. “Go on, Helen.”
+
+“So Jimmie thrust the securities and father's confession into an
+envelope and sealed it with red wax, using Barbara's seal,” explained
+Helen. “He hadn't time to write an address or message on it, but he told
+me to return the envelope to him later in the day or give it to Philip
+Rochester and ask his aid. I brought it here on Wednesday morning and
+with Harry's permission put the envelope in the safe.”
+
+“I tried to get it from there,” volunteered Sylvester, “for I overheard
+Turnbull's plan, before I left by the reception room window.”
+
+“So it was you and not Mr. Rochester whom I saw steal out of the
+window,” exclaimed Mrs. Brewster.
+
+“It's not the first time I've been mistaken for him,” exclaimed
+Sylvester calmly.
+
+Kent started and, gazing at Rochester and the clerk, saw there was a
+general resemblance in coloring and physique.
+
+“Did you present the checks to McDonald at the Metropolis Trust Company
+bearing Rochester's and my forged signatures?” he asked.
+
+“I did,” acknowledged Sylvester. “Mr. Rochester's wardrobe came in very
+handy for deceiving the casual glance. You know, 'clothes make the man,
+and want of it the fellow.'”
+
+Kent looked up quickly, struck by an idea.
+
+“Sylvester, did you steal the envelope containing the securities from me
+at the Club de Vingt?” he asked.
+
+Sylvester shook his head. “No, but she did,” pointing to Mrs. Brewster.
+“It's no lie,” as McIntyre uttered an indignant denial. “When Ferguson
+left here carrying off the securities from under my nose almost--I had
+spent the whole day trying to learn the safe's combination; I trailed
+him to the Club de Vingt, and heard the head waiter tell him you, Mr.
+Kent, were sitting in the small smoking porch, so I climbed up the
+trumpet vine; oh, it was strong and no climb for one who has done the
+feats I have in the circus. I reached the porch just in time to see Mrs.
+Brewster drop her fan, and when the men bent to pick it up she 'lifted'
+the envelope and concealed it under her scarf.”
+
+“Don't,” Mrs. Brewster laid a detaining hand on McIntyre as he stepped
+forward. “The man is telling the truth. I thought it was the envelope
+you gave me earlier in the evening--it was unaddressed and the red seal
+was the same.”
+
+“Just a moment,” interrupted Kent. “What did you do with the envelope?”
+
+“When I returned home I dropped it inside one of the Venetian caskets,”
+ Mrs. Brewster replied. “No one ever went near them, and I thought
+it would be safe there. You see, I was puzzled to know how it had
+disappeared from the desk in the reception room, where I had left it in
+one of the pigeon holes, intending to take it later to my room.”
+
+“I took the envelope--your envelope--out of the desk,” confessed
+McIntyre. “I would have spoken of it, Margaret, but was hurt that you
+had left our marriage certificate lying around so carelessly.”
+
+“Your what?” Barbara sprang up, astounded.
+
+“Our marriage certificate,” repeated McIntyre firmly. “Margaret and I
+were married last week in Baltimore. We would have told you, Helen,
+but your peculiar conduct and Barbara's, so angered me that I forbade
+Margaret to take you into our confidence.”
+
+“Father!” Barbara got no further, for Helen had risen. She spoke with
+quiet dignity.
+
+“You forget, father, that since Monday night we have thought you a
+forger and, worse, a murderer,” her voice faltered. “In our effort to
+guard you we have become estranged. Margaret”--she held out her hand
+with an affectionate gesture and with a sob her step-mother kissed her.
+
+“How did this envelope get back inside our safe?” asked Kent a moment
+later, picking it up and displaying the red seal, intact save for the
+broken corner.
+
+“I went downstairs about midnight or a little later and into the
+library,” confessed Helen. “What was my surprise and terror to see
+Grimes holding the envelope. To me it meant father's exposure as a
+forger. I had a revolver in my hand and struck before I thought. Then
+I must temporarily have lost my reason. It was only my thought to save
+father that lent me courage and strength to thrust Grimes inside the
+casket where Babs and I used to hide. I then returned to my room,
+and was just coming downstairs again after secreting the envelope, to
+release Grimes and get medical assistance if need be, when Margaret's
+screams aroused the household.”
+
+McIntyre interrupted his daughter with a hasty gesture, and addressed
+his wife. “When Detective Ferguson questioned me as to your reason for
+being in the library, Margaret, I stated you had gone down to get a
+book left lying on the Venetian casket,” he said. “I waited for you
+to volunteer an explanation of your presence there, but you never made
+any.”
+
+“I went down to get our marriage certificate.” Margaret forgot the
+presence of others and spoke only to him, the love-light in her
+eyes pleading against the censure she dreaded, as she made her brief
+confession. “Mr. Clymer sent me a note, inclosing a canceled check,
+stating the bank officials had decided my signature was a forgery. The
+check was drawn to Barbara, and on examining it I noticed the peculiar
+formation of the letter 'B'; it is characteristic of your handwriting
+and Helen's.” She paused, and added:
+
+“I was at a loss what to think. I knew you and Helen wrote alike;
+Helen's extraordinary behavior to me led me to believe that perhaps she
+had been short of funds, and forged my name to a check in desperation.
+Then I remembered seeing you, Charles, open the box containing my
+aconitine pills, the box's disappearance, and Jimmie's death from that
+poison”--she raised her hands in an expressive gesture. “Although my
+reason told me that you might be guilty, my loyalty and love refuted the
+accusation.”
+
+“Margaret!” McIntyre's voice shook with emotion; then controlling
+himself he turned to Sylvester. “I presume this check was some more of
+your deviltry?”
+
+Helen answered for the clerk. Removing a soiled paper from her bag she
+laid it on Kent's desk. “This note was handed to me by Grimes,” she
+explained. “It reads: 'Helen, please cash this check and give money to
+Mrs. Brewster's dressmaker. Father.' I followed the instructions.”
+
+“And gave the money to my sister,” Sylvester chuckled at their surprise.
+“My sister was taught in a French convent, and she is an excellent
+seamstress, when she isn't drunk, as Mrs. McIntyre knows.”
+
+“See here, Sylvester,” Clymer broke his long silence. “You were in the
+police court on a charge of assault and battery brought by your wife
+on Tuesday morning, and you were in the prisoner's cage at the moment
+Turnbull died. How then was it possible for you to be at the McIntyre's
+at midnight on Monday?”
+
+“I was out on bail and appeared in the courtroom just in time for my
+trial,” Sylvester explained. “I did not have to sit in the cage, but
+recognizing Turnbull I went there to be with him.”
+
+Kent placed the forged check bearing Margaret Brewster's signature on
+the desk. “I take it this check is your work, Sylvester,” he said. “You
+reaped the benefit by having the money paid to your sister. Did you
+also have the fake telegram delivered to me stating Mr. Rochester was in
+Cleveland?”
+
+“I faked that,” broke in Rochester, before the clerk could make a
+disclaimer. “I thought it best to disappear for a few days down in
+Virginia, where I could think things over in peace.”
+
+“So it was you, Sylvester, and not Mr. Rochester whom I encountered in
+his apartment,” exclaimed Kent. “How did you get in the apartment?”
+
+“From the fire-escape and along the window ledge to the bathroom
+window.” Sylvester hitched his shoulders. “It was nothing for a man of
+my agility.”
+
+Ferguson eyed him with doubtful respect.
+
+“You have courage,” he admitted grudgingly. “Come, we must get to
+Headquarters,” and he aided Sylvester to his feet, but once standing,
+Sylvester refused to move. Instead he turned to Helen.
+
+“What was that you passed to Mr. Rochester in the police court and he
+later gave to Mr. Turnbull?” he asked. “Oh, don't deny it, I saw you
+palm a note, Mr. Rochester, from the young lady.”
+
+“There is nothing now to conceal,” declared Helen. “After O'Ryan and
+Jimmie left the house for the police station I grew fearful that Jimmie
+might over-tax his strength in carrying out the farce of his arrest. So
+as soon as I could I telephoned to Philip to meet me at the police court
+and to bring some amyl nitrite capsules with him.”
+
+“And the note, Sylvester, which you saw Miss McIntyre give me in court,”
+ concluded Rochester, as Helen paused, “told me to hand the capsules
+to the burglar and to defend him in court. I did both, although badly
+puzzled by the request.” Rochester hesitated. “I carried out your
+wishes, Helen, without question; but when the burglar's identity
+was revealed, I jumped to the conclusion that you had used me as an
+instrument to kill him, for I knew something of the effects of amyl
+nitrite.”
+
+“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Helen, aghast.
+
+Rochester looked at her and bit his lip; he knew of her affection for
+Jimmie and her attachment to his memory, but he could not kill the hope
+that when Time had healed the loss, his devotion might some day win her
+for his own.
+
+“I did you great injustice,” he admitted humbly. “But I was fearfully
+shocked by the scene. I strove to divert suspicion by insisting that
+Jimmie died from angina pectoris, and then you came, Helen, and demanded
+an autopsy.”
+
+“I had to,” Helen broke in. “I could not believe that Jimmie's death was
+due to natural causes,” her voice quivered. “He had been so loyal--so
+faithful--I could not be less true to him, even if, as I feared, my own
+dear father was guilty of the crime.”
+
+Kent turned and faced Sylvester, who had made a few shuffling steps
+toward the door.
+
+“You have done incalculable harm by your criminal acts,” he said
+sternly. “But for your lying and trickery Jimmie Turnbull would be alive
+to-day. I trust the Court will give you the maximum sentence.”
+
+Sylvester eyed him insolently. “I've had a run for my money, and I stood
+to win large sums if things had only gone right,” he announced; then
+addressed Helen directly. “What did you do with the securities?”
+
+“I put the envelope back in the open safe when I was here early this
+afternoon,” she explained.
+
+An oath ripped from Sylvester. “I mistook you for your sister,” he
+snarled. “Had I known it was you, I'd have wrung the securities from
+you.”
+
+Helen stared at his suddenly contorted face. “Ah, you are the man who
+looked in at the window of the reception room yesterday morning when I
+was talking to Mr. Kent,” she cried. “I recognize you now.”
+
+He continued to glare at her. “I also sent you a note by your sister
+outside the Cafe St. Marks to secrete the letter 'B',” his voice rose
+almost into a shout in his ungovernable rage. “I heard Turnbull tell you
+to take the envelope to Rochester, and I banked on your bringing it here
+or to his apartment. D-mn you! You've thwarted me at every turn.”
+
+Rochester's powerful hand was clapped across his mouth with such force
+that the clerk staggered against Ferguson.
+
+“Here you, out you go.” The detective shoved the struggling man toward
+the door leading into the corridor and Clymer sprang to his assistance;
+a second later Rochester closed the door on their receding figures and
+found Helen standing by his elbow.
+
+“I must go,” she said, turning back to look at her father and his bride.
+
+“Wait a minute.” Kent held up an envelope with its fateful red seal.
+“This was delivered empty at Rochester's apartment last night--it is
+addressed to him. Who wrote it?”
+
+“I did,” exclaimed Mrs. McIntyre. “I felt I must consult either you,
+Mr. Kent, or Mr. Rochester, so I sent the note to his apartment, but the
+messenger boy hurried me, and it was not until hours later that I found
+the note lying on the desk in the reception room and realized I had sent
+an empty envelope.”
+
+“I see.” Kent held up another envelope, the red seal broken at the
+corner. “This is yours, Helen.”
+
+Helen hesitated perceptibly before taking the envelope and tearing it
+open. She handed the securities to her father.
+
+“Here is father's forged confession,” she said as she took the remaining
+paper from the envelope.
+
+“It is a marvelous imitation of my handwriting,” declared McIntyre,
+looking at it carefully, then tearing it into tiny bits he flung them
+into the scrap-basket and pocketed the securities.
+
+“And to think that I aided Sylvester's plot to gain the securities by
+engaging him as our clerk,” groaned Rochester.
+
+“It was clever of him to seek employment here,” agreed Kent. “But like
+many crooks he over-reached himself through over-confidence. Must you
+go, Colonel McIntyre?”
+
+“Yes.” McIntyre walked over to Helen.
+
+“My dear little girl,” he began and his voice was husky with feeling.
+“How can I show my appreciation of your loyalty to me?”
+
+“By being kind to Harry and Barbara.” Helen smiled bravely, although
+her lips were trembling and for a moment she could not trust herself to
+speak. “My romance is over; Barbara's is just beginning. And, father,
+will you and Margaret come home with me--I am so lonely;” then turning
+blindly away she fairly ran out of the office.
+
+“Go with her,” said Rochester, a trifle unsteadily. “It has been a
+terrible ordeal; God help her to forget!” His voice failed and he swept
+his hand across his eyes as he held open the door into the corridor and
+followed McIntyre and his wife outside.
+
+Kent turned impulsively to Barbara, and his arms closed around her as
+she raised her eyes to meet his, for she knew that the promise they
+spoke would be loyally fulfilled, and that her haven of love and
+happiness was reached at last.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Seal, by Natalie Sumner Lincoln
+
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