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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1747-0.txt b/1747-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..44adb49 --- /dev/null +++ b/1747-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7703 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED SEAL *** + +***** This file should be named 1747-0.txt or 1747-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/4/1747/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1747-0.zip b/1747-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c4322a --- /dev/null +++ b/1747-0.zip diff --git a/1747-h.zip b/1747-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f22d66d --- /dev/null +++ b/1747-h.zip diff --git a/1747-h/1747-h.htm b/1747-h/1747-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39fb900 --- /dev/null +++ b/1747-h/1747-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9573 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Red Seal, by Natalie Sumner Lincoln + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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 + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #1747] +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, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE RED SEAL + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Natalie Sumner Lincoln + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> IN THE POLICE + COURT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> THE + GAME OF CONSEQUENCES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. + </a> THE ROOM WITH THE SEVEN DOORS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> BARBARA ENGAGES + COUNSEL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE + VANISHING MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> STRAIGHT + QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> + CHAPTER VII. </a> THE RED SEAL <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> THE INQUEST <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> "B-B-B” <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> AT THE CLUB DE VINGT + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> HALF A + TRUTH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> THE + ECHO OF A LAUGH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> THE + FACE AT THE WINDOW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> PAY + CASH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> WHEN + THE LIGHT FAILED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> THE + CRIMSON OUTLINE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> A + QUESTION OF HOUSE-BREAKING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER + XVIII. </a> THE FATAL PERIOD <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE RED SEAL AGAIN + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> THE + UNKNOWN EQUATION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE + RIDDLE ANSWERED <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. IN THE POLICE COURT + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Was Sylvester addicted to drink?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he quarrelsome?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Was Sylvester married at that date?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvester left Judge Hildebrand to get married,” he explained. “He was a + model clerk; honest, sober, and industrious.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Sit over here a second,” the newcomer said in an undertone, indicating + the long bench under the window. “Has Miss McIntyre been here?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss McIntyre—here?” Clymer stared in amazement at his questioner. + “No, certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “House-breaking,” announced the clerk. “Charge brought by—” He + looked up at the two girls. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Helen McIntyre,” answered one of the twins composedly. “Daughter of + Colonel Charles McIntyre of this city.” + </p> + <p> + “Charge brought by Miss Helen McIntyre,” continued the clerk, “against—” + and his pointed finger indicated the seedy looking man slouching before + them. + </p> + <p> + “Smith,” said the latter, and his husky voice was barely audible. + </p> + <p> + “Smith,” repeated the clerk. “First name—?” + </p> + <p> + “John,” was the answer, given after a slight pause. + </p> + <p> + “John Smith, you are charged by Miss Helen McIntyre with house-breaking. + What say you—guilty or not guilty?” + </p> + <p> + The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shot an uneasy + look about him. + </p> + <p> + “Not guilty,” he responded. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + As the Assistant District Attorney rose to question Helen McIntyre, the + Judge addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “Is the prisoner represented by counsel?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + For reply the burglar shook his head. Rising slowly to his feet, Philip + Rochester advanced to the man's side. + </p> + <p> + “If it please the court,” he began, “I will take the case for the + prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner was standing back among the coats in the closet,” he said. + “My automatic against his ribs brought him out.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you search your prisoner?” asked Rochester, as he took the witness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. + </p> + <p> + “Find any concealed weapons?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “A burglar's kit?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the prisoner make a statement after his arrest?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you search the house?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time the prisoner raised his eyes from contemplation of the + floor. + </p> + <p> + “I demand trial by jury,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “It is your right,” acknowledged the Judge, and turned to consult his + calendar. + </p> + <p> + Stepping forward, the deputy marshal laid his hand on the burglar's + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Rochester shook his head gloomily. “I might have—Jove! why didn't I + ask for bail?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Here's water,” he said, but Stone refused the proffered glass. + </p> + <p> + “No use,” he announced. “The man is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” gasped Clymer, shaken out of his accustomed calm. “Jimmie + Turnbull!” + </p> + <p> + The deputy marshal eyed the startled men. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean—” he stammered, and paused. + </p> + <p> + For answer Dr. Stone straightened the dead man and removed the wig. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE GAME OF CONSEQUENCES + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Summon the coroner,” he directed. “We cannot move the body until he + comes.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + At the word coroner, Rochester raised himself from his bent attitude and + brushed his hand across his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No need for a coroner to diagnose the case,” he objected. “Poor Turnbull + always said he would go off like that.” + </p> + <p> + Stone moved nearer. “Like that?” he questioned, pointing to the still + figure. “Explain yourself, Rochester. Did Turnbull expect to die here in + this manner?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Benjamin Clymer, who had been gazing alternately at the dead man and + vaguely about the room, looked startled at the abrupt question. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no cure for angina pectoris,” declared Rochester. + </p> + <p> + “No permanent cure,” amended Stone, and would have added more, but + Rochester stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How came he here in this fix?” asked Ferguson with more force than + grammatic clarity. + </p> + <p> + “A sudden heart attack—angina pectoris, you know,” replied Rochester + glibly, “with fatal results.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true,” agreed Rochester. “The excitement was too much for him.” + </p> + <p> + “House-breaking” ejaculated the detective. “Dangerous sport for a man + suffering with angina pectoris, aside from anything else. Who preferred + charges?” + </p> + <p> + “The Misses McIntyre,” answered the deputy marshal, to whom the question + was addressed. “Like to interview them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” Rochester was on his feet instantly. “There is no necessity to + bring the twins out here—it's too tragic!” + </p> + <p> + “Tragic?” echoed Ferguson. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—Turnbull was arrested in their house,” Rochester was + commencing to stutter. “He was their friend—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” she gasped. “Babs, tell me!” And she held out her hand + imploringly. + </p> + <p> + Her sister stepped to her side and bent over Turnbull. When she looked up + her lips alone retained their color. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” she implored, giving her sister a slight shake. “Hush! It is + Jimmie Turnbull. Can you not see for yourself, dear?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know Jimmie?” asked her sister. “Don't stare so, dearest.” Her + tone was pleading. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss,” he said awkwardly. “The burglar you caught in your house was + Mr. Turnbull in disguise.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He was,” answered Ferguson, and Stone, as the twins looked dumbly at him, + confirmed the detective's statement with a brief, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The silence that ensued was broken by Barbara rising to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” Helen laid a cautioning hand on her sister's arm as the latter's + voice gained in shrillness, the shrillness of approaching hysteria. + </p> + <p> + “I am all right, Helen.” Barbara waved her away impatiently. “What caused + Jimmie's death?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Will there be an inquest?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you hold an autopsy, Ferguson?” asked Clymer, breaking his long + silence. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, we never do when the cause of death is apparent,” the detective + bowed to Coroner Penfield. “Isn't that so, Coroner?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Turnbull, who masqueraded as a burglar on a wager with Miss McIntyre + died suddenly from angina pectoris,” explained the deputy marshal. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE ROOM WITH THE SEVEN DOORS + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have waited so impatiently for you,” she confessed, making room for him + to sit on the sofa by her side. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I don't.” She laughed frankly. “I am the picture of health.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Then, Margaret, what do you wish to see me about?” Stone asked, after + waiting without result for her to continue speaking. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why weren't you with the girls?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” agreed Stone. “What possessed Jimmie Turnbull to play so mad a + trick?” + </p> + <p> + “His wager with Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + Stone leaned a little nearer. “Have you learned the nature of that wager?” + he asked, lowering his voice. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Mrs. Brewster actually bounced in her seat. “You—you astound + me!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster, who had settled herself more comfortably in her corner of + the sofa on McIntyre's arrival, answered his remark. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Helen?” her father demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “By becoming a burglar.” McIntyre laughed shortly. “Don't talk arrant + nonsense, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Not receiving any reply to his remarks, McIntyre was about to address his + daughter again when she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmie will be justified,” she declared stoutly. “Has the coroner held + the autopsy yet, Dr. Stone?” + </p> + <p> + “Autopsy!” McIntyre spoke with sharp abruptness. “I thought it was clearly + established that Jimmie died from angina pectoris?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you send for Harry Kent?” he questioned. “You know I do not + approve of his attentions to Barbara. Rochester is well enough—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” acknowledged her father. “But here is a medical man who was on the + spot when Jimmie died. What's your opinion, Stone?” + </p> + <p> + Stone, suddenly conscious of the keen attention of his companions, spoke + slowly as was his wont when making a serious statement. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “And what was that remedy?” questioned Mrs. Brewster swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Amyl nitrite.” Stone spoke with decision. “I could detect its presence by + the fruity, pleasant odor which always accompanies the drug's use.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” The exclamation slipped from Mrs. Brewster. “Is the drug + administered in water?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The drug,” he went on to explain, “amyl nitrite comes in pearl capsules + and is crushed in a handkerchief and the fumes inhaled.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster leaned forward suddenly. “Would that cause death?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. BARBARA ENGAGES COUNSEL + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir?” he asked interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + Kent eyed him in surprise. “Mr. Rochester here?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. It am in charge of the office.” + </p> + <p> + “You are!” Kent's surprise increased. “I happen to be Mr. Kent, junior + partner in this firm.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent thrust the note into his pocket and picked up his suit-case. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Rochester states that he has engaged you,” he said. “Your references—?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; he told me to file the papers in the Hitchcock case, and attend + to the morning correspondence.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Has any one called this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Kent was still frowning at the opposite wall when a faint knock sounded, + and at his call Sylvester entered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “These will do admirably,” he announced. “Sit down and I will reply to the + other letters.” + </p> + <p> + At the end of an hour Sylvester closed his stenographic note book and + collected the correspondence, by that time scattered over Kent's desk. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BANK CASHIER DIES IN POLICE COURT + JAMES TURNBULL, MISTAKEN FOR BURGLAR, + SUFFERS FATAL ATTACK OF ANGINA PECTORIS +</pre> + <p> + Kent's whistle stopped abruptly, and clutching the paper in both hands, he + devoured the short account printed under the scare heads: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A lady to see you, Mr. Kent,” he announced. “Shall I show her in?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—her name?” + </p> + <p> + “She gave none.” Sylvester paused on his way back to the door. “It is one + of the Misses McIntyre.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Barbara sat bolt upright. “Where—where's he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara stared at him; she had paled. + </p> + <p> + “When did Philip leave?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night, I presume.” Kent tipped back his chair and pressed a buzzer; + a second later Sylvester appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Did Mr. Rochester tell you where he was going?” he asked the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. Mr. Rochester stated that you had his address. + </p> + <p> + “I?” Kent concealed his growing surprise. “Did he leave any message for + me, other than the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. + </p> + <p> + “At what hour did he leave the office?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thanks,” and the clerk retired. + </p> + <p> + As the door closed Barbara turned to Kent. “Have you heard about Jimmie + Turnbull?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was a bit breathless as she put the question, but Kent, puzzling + over his partner's eccentric conduct, hardly noted her agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I saw the account just now in the morning paper,” he answered. “A + shocking affair. Poor Turnbull! He was a good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “My heart's dearest,” he murmured fondly. “If there is anything—anything + I can do—” + </p> + <p> + Barbara straightened up and winked away the tears. “There is,” she said + tersely. “Investigate Jimmie's death.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent drew back. “What do you mean, Babs?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Barbara nodded her head vigorously. “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he wasn't so very hedged in,” retorted Barbara. “I was there and + saw how closely people approached Jimmie.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you observe any one hand him anything?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” Kent's voice rose in indignant protest. “Absurd!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What brought about the wager?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That is easily proven,” declared Kent. “An autopsy—” + </p> + <p> + “Helen asked the coroner to hold one.” + </p> + <p> + Kent stared—the twins were certainly in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing tangible to go on,” she admitted. “Only a woman's instinct—” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + When Kent reentered his office he found Sylvester hanging up the telephone + receiver. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Mr. Clymer.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure they would be, Mr. Clymer,” exclaimed Kent warmly. “Any one who + knew Jimmie would never doubt his honesty.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent took the paper and examined it closely. + </p> + <p> + “This is perfectly in order,” he said. “A clear statement in Colonel + McIntyre's handwriting and on his stationery.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time Colonel McIntyre addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE VANISHING MAN + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Kent stood in wonderment, peering ahead, his hands empty—the man had + vanished! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No trace of any one,” the latter announced. “Some one put up a joke on + Stuart, I imagine. Find what you wished, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Kent was distinctly annoyed by the question. “Yes,” he replied shortly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” Kent moved over to the chair in the window which he had + occupied before and pointed to another, equally as comfortable. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you?” he asked as Ferguson dropped back and stretched + himself in the soft depths of the big chair. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + His companion did not reply at once; instead he puffed at his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he have an enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to my knowledge.” Kent was watching the detective narrowly; what was + he driving at? “On the contrary Turnbull was extremely popular.” + </p> + <p> + “With Colonel McIntyre?” Ferguson had hoped to surprise Kent with the + question, but his companion's expression did not alter. + </p> + <p> + “N-no, perhaps he was not over-popular with the colonel,” he admitted + slowly. “What prompts the question, Ferguson?” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “From angina pectoris,” finished Kent, as the detective paused. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “To discover the cause of death,” answered Kent quietly. “That is obvious, + Ferguson.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don't know”—Kent's air of candor was unmistakable and + Ferguson showed his disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't Miss McIntyre been to see you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” was Kent's truthful answer; Barbara was the younger twin and her + sister was therefore, “Miss McIntyre.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Ferguson, there is no motive for such a crime as you suggest,” + he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “And we know of no crime having been perpetrated,” rapped out Kent. “Come, + man; don't hunt a mare's nest.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but it isn't a mare's nest!” Ferguson remarked dryly. + </p> + <p> + Kent bent eagerly forward—“You have heard from the coroner—” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” Ferguson jerked forward his chair until his knees touched Kent. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “A handkerchief?” questioned Kent as the detective did not unfold the + white muslin, but held it with care. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Kent wrinkled his nose and sniffed several times. “Smells like + fruit.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Amyl nitrite,” repeated Kent reflectively. “It is given for angina + pectoris.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, in this case it was the remedy and not the disease which + killed Turnbull,” announced Ferguson triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” ejaculated Kent. “I happen to know that the capsules contain + only three minims—I once heard Turnbull say so.” + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Have you detected the criminal?” Kent put the question with unmoved + countenance, but with inward foreboding; the detective's mysterious manner + was puzzling. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, but I will,” Ferguson hesitated. “The first thing was to + establish that a crime had really been committed.” + </p> + <p> + Kent bent down and sniffed again at the handkerchief to which a faint + fruity aroma still clung. + </p> + <p> + “How did you discover that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kent,” the detective spoke impressively, “that wasn't Turnbull's + handkerchief.” + </p> + <p> + “Not his own handkerchief!” exclaimed Kent. “Then, are you sure that + Turnbull used it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. STRAIGHT QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS + </h2> + <p> + Colonel McIntyre, with an angry gesture, threw down the newspaper he had + been reading. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre stared for a full minute at the doorway through which Helen took + her departure. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going,” she announced. + </p> + <p> + “Not going!” McIntyre frowned, then laughed abruptly. “Now, don't tell me + you were engaged to Jimmie Turnbull, also.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are horrid!” Barbara's small foot came down with a vigorous + stamp. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, father, I prefer to stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take her.” Barbara was openly rebellious. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Go to your room!” There was nothing wheedling about McIntyre at that + instant; he was thoroughly incensed. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Can I help?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no.” She threw her evening wrap across the sofa and sat down. “Are + the girls ready?” + </p> + <p> + “They—they are indisposed, and won't be able to go to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Both girls?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, both”—firmly, not, however, meeting her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't I better stay with them?” she asked. “Have you telephoned for Dr. + Stone?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Thank heaven, I don't have to go to that supper party,” Barbara + announced, throwing herself full length on the lounge. + </p> + <p> + “So father gave it up,” commented Helen. “I am glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Gave up nothing,” retorted her sister. “He and Margaret Brewster are + going.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Helen was on her feet. “You let them go out alone together?” + </p> + <p> + “They can't be alone if they are together,” answered Barbara practically. + “Don't be silly, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “B-b-but I said I wouldn't go,” stuttered Barbara, completely taken by + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The arrival of the head waiter at their table interrupted Clymer's reply. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Surely; and won't you have an ice?” Barbara's hospitable instincts were + aroused. “Here, waiter—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What are they?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I did not recognize Mr. Turnbull in court,” she stated finally. “His + death was a frightful shock.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. It was to everybody,” agreed Parker. “How about your sister, Miss + Barbara; did she recognize him?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” faintly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Weren't you present in the police court on Tuesday morning also?” Parker + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Clymer modified the curt monosyllable by adding, “I helped Dr. + Stone carry Turnbull out of the prisoners' cage and into the anteroom.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I cannot,” and observing Parker's blank expression, she added, “why + don't you ask Mr. Rochester?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand that Philip Rochester is out of town?” inquired Mrs. + Brewster. “Why, I had an appointment with him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Take me home, Harris,” she ordered. “And then come back for Mrs. Brewster + and father. I don't feel well—hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, miss,” and touching his cap the chauffeur swung his car up + Fifteenth Street. + </p> + <p> + 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, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dear Helen: + The coroner will call an inquest. Secrete letter “B.” + </pre> + <p> + The note was unsigned but it was in the handwriting of Philip Rochester. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE RED SEAL + </h2> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “The safe? Oh, it's for our joint use, owned by the firm, you know,” + explained Kent, somewhat puzzled by her eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “Do you keep your private papers there, as well as the firm's?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Without answering Helen crossed the room and stood by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Which is Philip's section?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “This,” and Kent touched the side of the safe. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Please put this in Philip's compartment,” she said, and as he hesitated, + she added pleadingly, “Please do it, Harry, and ask no questions.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “The envelope is unaddressed, Helen,” he remarked, extending it toward + her. She waved it back. + </p> + <p> + “It is sealed with red wax,” she stated. “That is all that is necessary + for identification.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Babs told you that I suspected Jimmie did not die from angina pectoris—” + She spoke with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard from Coroner Penfield?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent looked at her in mingled sympathy and doubt.—What did her words + imply—further tragedy? + </p> + <p> + “Jimmie might not have died from angina pectoris,” he said, “and still not + have been poisoned—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Suicide.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel McIntyre is in the next room,” he said, keeping his voice + lowered. + </p> + <p> + “My father!” Helen's eyes were hard and dry. “Does he know that I am + here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Sign here,” the boy said, indicating the line on the receipt slip, and + getting it back, departed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Without comment Kent held out the telegram so that Helen could read it. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you search Turnbull's apartment last night as you spoke of doing?” + asked McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + “I did, and found no trace of your securities, Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre lifted his eyebrows as he smiled sarcastically. “Can I see + Rochester?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He is in Cleveland; I don't know just when he will be back.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time,” retorted Kent + coolly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Clymer, aware that the atmosphere was getting strained, diplomatically + intervened. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre, who had been swinging his walking stick from one hand to the + other in marked impatience, turned to Kent, his manner more conciliatory. + </p> + <p> + “Pleasant quarters you have,” he remarked. “Does Rochester share his room + with you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Safe—no, he has none; that is the firm's safe.” Kent was becoming + restless under so many personal questions. “Good-by, Mr. Clymer.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” exclaimed Sylvester mildly from the doorway. “I knocked and + understood you to say come in. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “In Cleveland. Won't I do?” replied Kent, his appointment forgotten in the + news that Ferguson had just given him. + </p> + <p> + “No, we didn't come for legal advice,” Ferguson smiled; then grew serious. + “What's Mr. Rochester's address?” + </p> + <p> + Kent walked over to his desk and picked up the telegram. “The City Club, + Cleveland,” he stated. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE INQUEST + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have you viewed the body?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doctor,” and the man sat down. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you on Tuesday morning at about five o'clock?” asked Penfield, + first consulting some memoranda on his desk. + </p> + <p> + “On my way home,” explained O'Ryan. “My relief had just come.” + </p> + <p> + “Does your beat take in the McIntyre residence?” + </p> + <p> + “It does, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you observe any one loitering in the vicinity of the residence prior + to five o'clock, Tuesday morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. It was only when the lady called to me that I was attracted to + the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she state what was the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Did the burglar resist arrest?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; he came very peaceably and not a word out of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Had you any idea that the burglar was not what he seemed?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Whom did you see in the McIntyre house?” the coroner asked O'Ryan. + </p> + <p> + “No one sir, except the burglar and Miss McIntyre.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you find any doors or windows unlocked?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I never looked to see.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How did Miss McIntyre appear?” + </p> + <p> + “Appear? Sure, she looked very sweet in her blue wrapper and her hair down + her back,” answered O'Ryan with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “She was not fully dressed then?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were there lights in the house?” questioned Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he talk to you on the way to the station house?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I am Helen McIntyre,” she announced clearly. “Daughter of Colonel Charles + McIntyre.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You heard no sound before entering the library?” + </p> + <p> + “No one walking about the house?” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “At what hour did you wake up?” + </p> + <p> + “About four o'clock, or a little after.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you were awake an hour before you discovered the supposed burglar in + your library?” + </p> + <p> + “Y-yes,” Helen's hesitation was faint. “About that length of time.” + </p> + <p> + “And you heard no unusual sounds in that hour's interval?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you during that hour?” + </p> + <p> + “Lying down,” promptly. “Then, afraid I would drop off to sleep again, I + went downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + Coroner Penfield consulted his notes before asking another question. + </p> + <p> + “Who lives in your house beside you and your twin sister?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who were at home beside yourself on Monday night and early Tuesday + morning?” + </p> + <p> + “My father and Mrs. Brewster; I believe the servants were in also, except + Thomas, who had asked permission to spend the night in Baltimore.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss McIntyre?” Coroner Penfield put the next question in an impressive + manner. “On discovering the burglar why did you not call your father?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss McIntyre,” Penfield spoke slowly. “Were you aware of the real + identity of the burglar?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield raised his eyebrows and shot a look at the deputy coroner before + going on with his examination. + </p> + <p> + “You knew Mr. Turnbull intimately, and yet you did not recognize him?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield looked at her critically for a moment before continuing his + questions. She bore his scrutiny with composure. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; one was open in the little reception room off the front door.” + </p> + <p> + “What floor is the room on?” + </p> + <p> + “The ground floor.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The reporters as well as the spectators bent forward to catch her reply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield considered her answer before addressing her again. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't Mr. Turnbull tell you who he was when you had him arrested?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” Penfield shot the question at her. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield regarded her for a moment in silence. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, Miss McIntyre, I desire your sister to testify,” he + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Miss McIntyre,” the coroner cleared his throat and commenced his + examination. “Where were you on Monday night?” + </p> + <p> + “At a dance given by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Grosvenor.” + </p> + <p> + “At what hour did you return?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it was half past five or a few minutes earlier.” + </p> + <p> + “Who let you in?” + </p> + <p> + “My sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see the burglar?” + </p> + <p> + “He had left,” she answered. “My sister told me of her adventure as we + went upstairs to our rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Did the dogs discover his presence in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently not, or they would have aroused the household,” she said. “I + cannot answer that question, though, because I was not at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are the dogs kept?” + </p> + <p> + “In the garage in the daytime.” + </p> + <p> + “And at night?” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “They roam about our house,” she admitted, “or sleep in the boudoir, which + is between my sister's bedroom and mine. + </p> + <p> + “Were the dogs in the house on Monday night?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not see them on my return from the dance.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not an answer to my question, Miss McIntyre,” the coroner pointed + out. “Were the dogs in the house?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of the fact that it was a wager over the dogs which brought + about the whole situation?” remarked the coroner dryly. + </p> + <p> + Barbara flushed at his tone, then grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “By barking—they are noisy dogs.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were the dogs familiar with his step and voice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Only last Sunday he played with them for an hour, and later in the + afternoon took them for a walk in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You accompanied your sister to the police court,” he said. “Did you see + the burglar there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you realize his identity in the court room?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Back in his corner Kent watched her departure. He was white to the lips. + </p> + <p> + “Heat too much for you?” asked a kindly-faced stranger, and Kent gave a + mumbled “No,” as he strove to pull himself together. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. “B-B-B” + </h2> + <p> + The return of the morgue master to the platform caused Coroner Penfield to + break off his whispered conversation with Dr. Mayo. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel McIntyre just telephoned that his car had a blow-out on the way + here,” explained the morgue master. “He will arrive shortly.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield consulted a list of names. “Call Grimes, the McIntyre butler,” he + said. “We will hear him while waiting for the Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And you heard no disturbing sounds in the night?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Who closes the house at night. Grimes?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, sir. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you leave the window in the reception room open?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Who sits up to let in the young ladies when they go to balls?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Miss Barbara McIntyre a latch-key, also?” asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The coroner asked the next question with such abruptness that the butler + started. + </p> + <p> + “When did you last see Mr. Turnbull at the house?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where were these dogs on Monday night?” + </p> + <p> + “I last saw them in the library,” replied Grimes shortly. + </p> + <p> + “And where did you find them the next morning?” prompted the coroner. + </p> + <p> + “In the cellar,” laconically. + </p> + <p> + “And what were they doing in the cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “Hunting rats.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Some one must have let them down the back stairs,” the butler admitted. + “I don't know who it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Which servant got downstairs ahead of you on Tuesday morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No one, sir; the cook over-slept, and she and the maids came down in a + bunch ten minutes later.” + </p> + <p> + “And who told you of the attempted burglary and the burglar's arrest?” + asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “State your full name, madam,” directed Coroner Penfield, eyeing her + dainty beauty with admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret Perry Brewster,” she answered. “Widow of Louis C. Brewster. Both + I and my late husband were born and lived in Los Angeles, California.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you visiting the Misses McIntyre?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Mrs. Brewster spoke in a chatty impersonal manner. “I have been + with them since the first of the month.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you attend the Grosvenor dance?” asked the coroner. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you awakened by any noises during the night?” inquired Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “No; I heard no noises.” Mrs. Brewster's charming smile was infectious. + </p> + <p> + “When did you first learn of the supposed burglary and the death of James + Turnbull?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he close it later?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Just one more question,” he said hurriedly. “Did you see the dogs on + Monday night?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield snapped shut his notebook. “I am greatly obliged, Mrs. Brewster; + we will not detain you longer.” + </p> + <p> + The morgue master stepped forward and helped the pretty widow down from + the platform. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel McIntyre is here now,” he told the coroner. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then bring him in,” and Penfield, while awaiting the arrival of the + new witness, straightened the papers on his desk. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you aware of the wager between your daughter Barbara and James + Turnbull?” asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “I heard of it Sunday afternoon but paid little attention,” admitted + McIntyre. “My daughter Barbara's vagaries I seldom take seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “Was Mr. Turnbull a frequent visitor at your house?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he engaged to your daughter Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard otherwise,” observed the coroner dryly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you last see Mr. Turnbull?” inquired Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you disturbed by the burglar's entrance on Monday night?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you cannot swear to the window having been re-locked?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield paused a moment. “Did you return immediately to your house from + the Saratoga apartment?” + </p> + <p> + “I did” promptly. “My chauffeur, Harris, wasn't well, and I wanted him to + get home.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield thought a moment before putting the next question. + </p> + <p> + “How did Miss Barbara return from the Grosvenor dance?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you observe many lights burning in your house when you returned?” + asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “No, only those which are usually left lit at night.” + </p> + <p> + “Was your daughter Helen awake?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. Her room was in darkness when I walked past her door on my + way to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield removed his eye-glasses and polished them on his silk + handkerchief. “I have no further questions to ask. Colonel, you are + excused.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre bowed gravely to him and as he left the platform came face to + face with his family physician, Dr. Stone. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you accompany the Misses McIntyre to the police court on Tuesday + morning?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she state why she did not ask her father to go with them?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know James Turnbull?” he asked a second later. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, slightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you recognize him in his burglar's disguise?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not” + </p> + <p> + “Had you any suspicion that the burglar was other than he seemed?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he conscious before he died?” + </p> + <p> + At the question Kent bent eagerly forward. What would be the reply? + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Was Turnbull delirious, doctor?” asked the coroner. + </p> + <p> + 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.'” + </p> + <p> + Penfield did not immediately continue his examination, but when he did so + his manner was stern. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor, what in your opinion caused Mr. Turnbull's death?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How did Mr. Rochester come to make that assertion and where?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is your opinion, doctor?” questioned Penfield. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did the prisoner show any symptoms of illness before his heart attack?” + asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you give it to him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, an attendant gave the glass to Mr. Rochester who handed it to Mr. + Turnbull.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield regarded Grant in silence for a minute. “That is all,” he + announced, and with a polite bow the deputy marshal withdrew. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I note,” he stated, turning again to Detective Ferguson, “that it is a + woman's handkerchief.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” replied Ferguson. “And embroidered in one corner is the initial + 'B.'” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was quick in answering the summons. Kent, more and more worried, + was watching the scene with painful attention. + </p> + <p> + “Did Mr. Turnbull have one of your handkerchiefs?” asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + Her surprise at the question was manifest in her manner. + </p> + <p> + “He might have,” she said. “I have a dreadful habit of dropping my + handkerchiefs around.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you miss one after his visit to your house on Monday night?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is not my handkerchief,” she stated clearly. + </p> + <p> + Penfield replaced the handkerchief on the table with the same care he had + picked it up, and turned again to her. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Miss McIntyre; I won't detain you longer. Logan,” to the + morgue master, “ask Dr. Stone to step here.” + </p> + <p> + Almost immediately Stone reentered the room and hurried to the platform. + </p> + <p> + “Would two or more capsules of amyl nitrite constitute a lethal dose?” + asked Penfield. + </p> + <p> + “They would be very apt to finish a feeble heart,” replied Stone. “Three + capsules, if inhaled deeply would certainly kill a healthy person.” + </p> + <p> + Penfield showed the handkerchief to the physician. “Can a chemist tell, + from the particles clinging to this handkerchief, how many capsules have + been used?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” Penfield nodded. “The point is cleverly taken.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you make a post-mortem examination of Turnbull?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Aconitine?” questioned Penfield, and the reporters, scenting the + sensational, leaned forward eagerly so as not to miss the deputy coroner's + answer. + </p> + <p> + “Aconitine, an active poison,” he explained. “It is the alkaloid of + aconite, and generally fatal in its results.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. AT THE CLUB DE VINGT + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + His remark was overheard by their waiter, and he stopped pouring out + Kent's coffee. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.'' + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Suicide?” Clymer's raised eyebrows indicated his surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” shortly. “Aconitine would have killed just as surely if swallowed + with suicidal intent as if administered with murderous design.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There is homicidal mania,” suggested Clymer. + </p> + <p> + “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.'' + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” demanded Clymer and Kent simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “Philip Rochester.” + </p> + <p> + Clymer was the first to recover from his astonishment. “Oh, get out!” he + exclaimed incredulously. “Why, Rochester was Turnbull's most intimate + friend.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “D—mn you!” Kent sprang for the detective's throat. “Cut out your + abominable insinuations. Miss McIntyre shall not be insulted.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + It was some minutes, however, before the detective had collected + sufficient breath to answer intelligently. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How was it done?” asked Clymer. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Ferguson checked off his points on his fingers. “Remember how + insistent Mr. Rochester was that Turnbull had died from angina pectoris?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” acknowledged Clymer, deeply interested. “Continue, Ferguson.” + </p> + <p> + The detective needed no second bidding. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” commanded Kent. “Has Miss McIntyre substantiated that statement?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Don't imply motives to Miss McIntyre's act until you have verified them, + Ferguson,” he cautioned. “Go on with your theories.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” Clymer broke into the conversation. “Did Rochester tell you, + Ferguson, that he had recognized Turnbull in his burglar disguise?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” Kent checked him with an impatient gesture. “I had a telegram + from Rochester this morning, stating he was in Cleveland.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Kent half rose from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Clymer laid down his half smoked cigar and stared at the detective. + </p> + <p> + “You think then that Rochester has bolted?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It looks that way,” insisted Ferguson. “How about it, Mr. Kent?” The + question was put with a touch of arrogance. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is plausible,” he conceded, “but, after all, only circumstantial + evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You did?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound you!” Kent leaned forward in his wrath and shook his fist at the + detective. “What right had you to do such a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get it open?” asked Kent. + </p> + <p> + “I found it open.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely certain.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, all alone. Sylvester left at five o'clock” + </p> + <p> + “Who knew the combination of the safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Only Rochester and I.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “It would seem that Rochester is still in the city,” remarked Clymer. “Do + you know, Kent, whether he had his office keys with him?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure they are duplicates?” questioned Ferguson, and Kent flushed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a queer cuss,” was the detective's only comment and Clymer broke + into the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Did you find any address or paper in the safe which might prove a clew, + Ferguson?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, not even a scrap of paper,” and the detective's tone was glum. + </p> + <p> + “Did the safe look as if its contents had been tumbled about?” asked Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on—was that compartment also unlocked?” asked Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my property,” asserted Kent instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind opening it?” asked Ferguson. + </p> + <p> + “I would, most certainly; it relates to my personal affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson looked a trifle non-plussed. “Would you mind telling me its + contents, Mr. Kent?” he asked persuasively. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “If you must know, Ferguson,” Kent spoke with deliberation. “They are old + love letters of mine.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Kent,” he said in amusement. “So rumor is right in predicting your + engagement to Barbara McIntyre. Good luck to you!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. HALF A TRUTH + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen Mr. Clymer?” he asked hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “Unbelievable, yes,” he agreed gravely. “But true; the autopsy ended all + doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean it developed doubt,” she corrected, and a sigh accompanied the + words. “Have the police any clew to the guilty man?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, I'm sure,” Kent spoke with caution. + </p> + <p> + “You don't?” Her voice was a little sharp. “Didn't Detective Ferguson give + you any news when talking to you on the porch?” + </p> + <p> + “So you recognized the detective?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “We all bolted together,” she responded, “and are equally guilty—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Guilty of curiosity,” finished the widow. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel de Geofroy's farewell speech was very amusing, did you not think + so?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not stay to hear it,” Kent confessed. “I had to return to the porch + and get my envelope.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither did the envelope,” retorted Kent, and as his companions looked at + him, he added. “It had disappeared off the table.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That's hardly possible,” Kent replied skeptically. “The envelope weighed + at least two ounces; it would have taken quite a gale to budge it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not say that Detective Ferguson brought you the envelope, Mr. + Kent?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what more likely than that he carried it off again?” She smiled + amusedly as Kent's expression altered. “Why not ask the detective?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Kent, I left it lying on the porch table at the club,” declared + Ferguson. “Didn't you take it?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Disappeared?” questioned Ferguson in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The windows were open, and I recollect there was a strong draught,” + remarked Ferguson thoughtfully. “But not sufficient to carry away that + envelope.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” Kent stepped closer. “Did you observe which one of our + companions stood nearest the porch table?” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson eyed him curiously. “Say, are you insinuating that one of those + people took your envelope?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” dryly. “You haven't answered my question as to who stood nearest + the porch table, Ferguson.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, who was the last person to leave the porch?” Kent demanded eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent took a turn about the room. “Did Mr. Clymer go to the Cosmos Club?” + he asked, pausing by the detective. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + By way of answer Kent took off the receiver and after giving a number to + Central, he recognized Clymer's voice over the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” came Clymer's surprised answer. + “I waited for McIntyre to pick up Mrs. Brewster's fan.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he take my letter off the table also?” called Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “As you passed the table, Mr. Clymer, did you see my letter lying on the + table?” persisted Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Babs!” came the agitated whisper. “The envelope's gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” Barbara swung out of bed. + </p> + <p> + “Gone where?” + </p> + <p> + “Father has it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE ECHO OF A LAUGH + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Will you wait any longer, sir?” inquired Grimes, who hovered solicitously + in the background. “I'm afraid, sir, your eggs will be over-done.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “How about Mrs. Brewster?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “We got home a little after one o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre helped himself to poached eggs and bacon. “What did you do last + night?” + </p> + <p> + “Went to bed early,” answered Barbara with brevity. “Helen wasn't feeling + well.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre's handsome face showed concern as he glanced across the table. + “Have you sent for Dr. Stone?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Helen—I—we”—Barbara stumbled in her speech. “We have + taken an aversion to Dr. Stone.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre set down his coffee cup with unwonted force, thereby spilling + some of its contents. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “And a cousin of Margaret Brewster,” put in Barbara mildly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I?” Barbara folded her napkin with neat exactness. “It's—it's + intangible.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him,” she suggested and smiled at the consternation which spread over + the butler's face. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Early this morning, miss; and he so upset Thomas, miss, that he gave + notice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's too bad.” Barbara liked the second man. “Perhaps father will + reconsider and persuade him to stay.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Grimes,” Barbara retracted her footsteps and placed her lips very close + to the old servant's ear. + </p> + <p> + “When I came in on Tuesday morning I found the door to the attic stairway + standing partly open... + </p> + <p> + “Did you now, miss?” The two regarded each other warily. “And what hour + may that have been?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” +</p> + <p> +“Oh, no,” her reply, though somewhat + faint, was emphatic, and he frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” aggressively. “I trust you do not share Barbara's suddenly + developed prejudice against the good doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not require a physician,” she said evasively. “I am well.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Don't use that,” he said, touching the box. “You know I detest make-up.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that!” She turned to see what he was talking about. “That rouge + belongs to Margaret Brewster.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre promptly changed the conversation. “Have you had your breakfast?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I had not forgotten,” curtly. “I propose that she go with us.” + </p> + <p> + A faint “Oh!” escaped Helen, otherwise she made no comment, and McIntyre, + after contemplating her for a minute, looked away. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre's eyes shifted under her gaze. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And I”—Helen faced her father proudly—“I will leave no stone + unturned to defend his memory.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Colonel,” he said civilly. “Mr. Kent is not here. Do you + wish to leave any message?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good morning, Sylvester,” McIntyre's manner was brusque. “When do you + expect Mr. Kent?” + </p> + <p> + “In about twenty minutes, Colonel.” Sylvester glanced at the wall clock. + “Won't you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You have but thirty-six hours remaining. + McIntyre. +</pre> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There was that about Colonel McIntyre which inspired complete obedience to + his wishes, and Sylvester followed his directions without further + question. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret!” McIntyre strode past Sylvester. “What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster's ready laugh hid all sign of embarrassment. “Must you + know?” she asked archly. “That is hardly fair to Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I can't wait any longer,” she pouted. “Please tell Mr. Kent that I am + sorry not to have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, madam.” Sylvester placed McIntyre's card in the center of Kent's + desk and flew to open the door for Mrs. Brewster. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Babs, aren't you glad to see me?” he asked wistfully. + </p> + <p> + For an instant her eyes were lighted by her old sunny smile. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked you often enough,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How about mine?” demanded Kent with warmth. “If you won't consider + yourself, consider me.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Sweetheart,” his voice was very tender, “is there nothing I can do for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she shook her head drearily. “This family must 'dree its + weir.'” + </p> + <p> + Kent studied her in silence; that she was in deadly earnest he recognized, + she was no hysterical fool or given to sentimental twaddle. + </p> + <p> + “You came to me on Wednesday to ask my aid in solving Jimmie Turnbull's + death,” he said. “I have learned certain facts—” + </p> + <p> + Barbara sprang to her feet. “Wait,” she cautioned. “Let me close the door. + Now, go on—” with her customary impetuosity she reseated herself. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Fraud?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” quietly. “I am aware that you impersonated Helen on the witness + stand and vice versa. You took a frightful risk.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why,” she protested. “In my testimony I told nothing but the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Barbara started and her face paled. “Are you insinuating that Helen killed + Jimmie?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she acknowledged reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “Does she know who poisoned Jimmie?” + </p> + <p> + “No—no!” Barbara rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “I swear Helen + does not know. You must believe me, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “She may not know,” Kent spoke slowly. “But are you sure she does not + suspect some one?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what if I do?” asked Helen quietly, and Kent, looking around, found + her standing just inside the door. Her entrance had been noiseless. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Better that than let the guilty escape through your silence,” protested + Kent. “Possibly the theories of the police may coincide with yours. + </p> + <p> + “What are they?” asked Barbara impetuously. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What makes Ferguson think Philip guilty?” demanded Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Philip really disappeared?” asked Helen. “You showed me a telegram—” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently the telegram was a fake,” admitted Kent. “The Cleveland police + report that he is not at the address given in the telegram.” + </p> + <p> + “But who could have an object in sending such a telegram?” asked Barbara + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Helen plucked nervously at the ribbon on her gown. “Did the detective open + the envelope” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Positive; the red seal was unbroken.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us how the envelope came to be stolen from you,” coaxed Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who were with you?” questioned Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Your father, Mrs. Brewster—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” murmured Barbara. “Go on, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Who was the last to leave the porch?” asked Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Ben Clymer.” + </p> + <p> + “And he saw no one take the envelope?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “One of them must have,” insisted Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “The envelope hadn't legs or wings.” + </p> + <p> + “One of them did take it,” agreed Kent. + </p> + <p> + “But which one is the question. Frankly, to find the answer, I must know + the contents of the envelope, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because then I will have some idea who would be enough interested in the + envelope to steal it.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “There, look at the window,” she cried. “I saw a face peering in. Look + quick, Harry, look!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Ring for brandy and water,” he directed as Barbara came to his aid. + “Helen has fainted.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dreadful, indeed,” agreed Kent; the news had been published even sooner + than he had imagined. “What paper is that?” + </p> + <p> + “The noon edition of the Times.” Sylvester handed it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” Kent flung down his hat and spread open the paper. “Who have + been here to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent read the curt message on the card without comment and tore the + paste-board into tiny bits. + </p> + <p> + “Any one else been in this morning?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” Sylvester consulted a written memorandum. “Mr. Black called, + also Colonel Thorne, Senator Harris, and Mrs. Brewster.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brewster!” The newspaper slipped from Kent's fingers in his + astonishment. “What did she want here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent thought a moment then walked toward his door; on its threshold he + paused, struck by a sudden idea. + </p> + <p> + “Did Colonel McIntyre come with Mrs. Brewster?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Kent; he came in while she was here.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” affirmed Kent, as Mrs. Sylvester paused. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Here's what I'm looking for,” she exclaimed triumphantly, a minute later, + and pointed to the paragraph: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + “Well what of it?” asked Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Kent laughed unbelievingly. “Oh, come, you are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent gazed in perplexity at Mrs. Sylvester. “Why did Mrs. Brewster laugh + in the police court?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. PAY CASH + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do hurry, Mr. McDonald; father is waiting for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Miss McIntyre.” He stamped the check and laid it to one side, + “how do you want the money?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + She had been gone a bare five minutes when Kent reached the window and + pushed several checks toward the teller. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Clymer in his office, McDonald?” he asked, placing the bank notes + given him in his wallet. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” Kent looked inquiringly at the bank president, the gravity of his + manner betokened serious tidings. “What is it, Mr. Clymer?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + An exclamation broke from Kent. “Impossible!” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Does he carry accounts at other banks?” inquired Harding. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to my knowledge.” Kent drew out a bank book. “Here is the firm's + balance, Mr. Clymer; we bank here, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Clymer's look of anxiety deepened. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see McDonald as you came in?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he cashed some checks for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your personal checks?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Kent looked questioningly at Clymer. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Only this; that all moneys deposited here in the firm name of Rochester + and Kent have been drawn out.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not possible!” Kent started up. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “This is the first I have heard of these transactions,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “That the signatures are clever forgeries.” His statement was heard with + gravity. Taylor exchanged a meaning look with the New Yorker. + </p> + <p> + “You mean your signature is a forgery,” he suggested. “Rochester had a + peculiar gift of penmanship.” + </p> + <p> + Kent sprang up. “Do you accuse Philip Rochester of signing these checks + and inserting my name to them?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, d—mn it, man!” Kent stared in bewilderment at his three + companions. “Rochester was honorable and straight-forward—” + </p> + <p> + “And addicted to drink,” put in Harding. +</p> + <p> +“But not a forger,” retorted Kent + firmly. Harding's only rejoinder was a skeptical smile as he turned to + address Clymer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where will we find Rochester, Kent?” asked Taylor, before the bank + president could answer the New Yorker. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Taylor broke the prolonged silence. + </p> + <p> + “I met Detective Ferguson on my way here,” he stated. “He told me that the + police were looking for Rochester.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” Harding looked up, startled. “Why didn't you inform me of that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you knew the police were after Rochester—” objected Harding. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What had Rochester to do with Jimmie Turnbull?” questioned Harding, + before Kent could answer Clymer. + </p> + <p> + “They lived together,” he replied shortly. + </p> + <p> + “And one dies and the other disappears,” Harding whistled dolefully. + “Wasn't Mr. Turnbull an official of this bank, Mr. Clymer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, our cashier.” + </p> + <p> + “Were his affairs involved?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” Clymer spoke with emphasis. “A most honorable fellow, + Jimmie Turnbull; his murder was a shocking affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Have the police found any motive for the crime, Kent?” asked Taylor. + </p> + <p> + “I believe not.” + </p> + <p> + Harding, who had been ruminating in silence, leaned forward, his + expression alight with a sudden idea. + </p> + <p> + “Could it be that Turnbull found out that Rochester was passing forged + checks, and Rochester insured his silence by poisoning him?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What's the date on those checks?” demanded Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Harding and Taylor glanced significantly at each other, but neither spoke. + Suddenly Kent pushed back his chair and rose without ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go, Kent.” Clymer took up some papers. “There's a matter—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” they chorused. + </p> + <p> + “To locate Philip Rochester,” and waiting for no answer Kent bolted out of + the office. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. WHEN THE LIGHT FAILED + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Finley had to go out,” the latter explained. + “I told him I would go up to Rochester's apartment with you.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson thoughtfully caressed his clean-shaven jaw for a second, then + came to a rapid decision. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask?” Kent's surprise at the question was evident. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not,” declared Kent emphatically. “What prompts the question?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “At present, yes,” admitted the detective cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “All circumstantial evidence—” + </p> + <p> + “But it will hold in court—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, will it?” questioned Kent. “There's one big flaw in your case, + Ferguson; the poison used to kill Turnbull.” + </p> + <p> + “Aconitine?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The fact that aconitine was used convinces me of that,” answered Kent. + </p> + <p> + Ferguson thought a moment. “If that is the case,” he said, grudgingly, “it + sort of squashes the charge against Philip Rochester.” + </p> + <p> + “It would seem to,” agreed Kent. “But every shred of evidence I find + points to Rochester as the guilty man.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson edged his chair forward. “What have you discovered?” he demanded + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Your partnership funds!” echoed the detective, eyeing Kent sharply. “How + did you come to let him do that?” + </p> + <p> + “I was not aware that he had done so until Mr. Clymer told me of the + transaction this afternoon,” answered Kent. + </p> + <p> + “You did not know”—Ferguson looked at him in dawning comprehension. + “You mean Rochester absconded with the funds?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Tuesday afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson's face fell. “Pshaw! man; that was after Turnbull's death—how + could he detect the forgeries?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” questioned Ferguson. “Go on, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Great heavens!” ejaculated Ferguson. + “Which was the forger—Turnbull or Rochester?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “But he got there.” Ferguson's laugh was contemptuous. “A desperate man + will do anything, Mr. Kent.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I have already done so,” objected Ferguson. “And there wasn't the + faintest clew to his hiding place.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Kent's voice echoed down the hall. “Come here quick, Ferguson!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Paying no attention to the detective's call, Kent showed him a white + envelope which bore the simple address: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PHILIP ROCHESTER, ESQ. + THE SARATOGA +</pre> + <p> + “It's the identical envelope I found in your safe,” declared Ferguson. + </p> + <p> + “And which disappeared last night at the Club de Vingt.” Kent turned over + the envelope. “See, the red seal.” + </p> + <p> + For a minute the men contemplated the seal with the large distinctive + letter “B” in the center. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you recognize the handwriting?” asked Ferguson. + </p> + <p> + “No.” Kent regarded the envelope in bewilderment. “What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do? Call up the Dime Messenger Service and see where the envelope came + from; but first come and see my prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Your prisoner?” in profound astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + The detective halted abruptly. The chair into which he had thrust his + prisoner was vacant. The man had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson's face was red from mortification and his exertions combined. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Kent led the way back to the dining room. “Did you recognize the + man, Ferguson?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” The detective swore softly as he stared about the room. “The lights + went out just as I tackled him.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you better telephone for an operative and station him here?” + suggested Kent. + </p> + <p> + “I did so while you were searching the back rooms,” replied Ferguson. + “There,” as the gong sounded. “That's Nelson, now.” + </p> + <p> + But the person who stood in the outer corridor when they opened the front + door was not Nelson, the operative, but Dr. Stone. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no,” Kent spoke slowly, with a side-glance at the silent detective. + “Rochester has been here—and left.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE CRIMSON OUTLINE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Any luck?” she asked + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Then we can't find the envelope,” she muttered. “Hurry, Babs, and close + the outer door; father may return at any moment.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Take care!” exclaimed Helen sharply. “Do you wish to arouse the + household?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But my joining her won't keep Margaret upstairs,” objected Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “For my seal,” Barbara answered. “The one with the big letter 'B.' Have + you seen it?” + </p> + <p> + “I?—No.” The widow took a chair uninvited near Helen. “You look + tired, Helen dear; why don't you go to bed?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The girl stiffened. “Am I? Babs and I are generally thought to resemble + our mother.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a close observer.” Helen completed her memorandum and laid it + aside. “What became of father?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Helen pushed back her chair and rose with some abruptness. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + There was infinite pathos in her voice and Mrs. Brewster sprang up and + threw her arm about her in ready sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I must stay and straighten the library,” she announced. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll turn them all out”—Barbara sought the electric switch. + </p> + <p> + “But your father—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had gone to your room, Grimes,” she remarked, as the butler + waited respectfully for her to pass him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what then?” asked Barbara quickly as the butler paused and again + glanced up and down the hall. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You did!” Barbara's fresh young voice rose in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But what did you do with the aconitine pills?” demanded Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I left the box on the hall table, miss—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Yours faithfully, + </p> + <p> + BENJAMIN A. CLYMER. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret! What is it?” McIntyre demanded. “Calm yourself, my darling.” + </p> + <p> + The frenzied woman shook off his soothing hand. + </p> + <p> + “See, see!” she cried and pointed with her torch. + </p> + <p> + “She means the Venetian casket,” explained Helen, who had paused before + joining them to switch on the light. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” McIntyre staggered back against Helen. “Grimes!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. A QUESTION OF HOUSE-BREAKING + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you,” her smile showed each pretty dimple. “I wish to speak to + Mr. Kent, of the firm of Rochester and Kent.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster hung up the receiver and turned to the secretary. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe I can wait any longer,” she began, and paused, as + Benjamin Clymer appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Your bank honored this check?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Who presented it?” + </p> + <p> + Clymer pressed the buzzer and his secretary came at once. + </p> + <p> + “Ask Mr. McDonald to step here,” and as the man vanished on his errand, he + addressed Mrs. Brewster. “How is Colonel McIntyre this morning?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster's eyes opened at the question. “Quite well,” she replied, + and prompted by her curiosity added: “What made you think him ill?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Colonel McIntyre sent for Dr. Stone to attend Grimes—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. McDonald was one of my first acquaintances in Washington,” and Mrs. + Brewster smiled as she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “About this check, McDonald,” Clymer handed it to the teller as he spoke. + “Who presented it?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss McIntyre.” + </p> + <p> + “Which Miss McIntyre?” Mrs. Brewster put the question with swift + intentness. + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell one twin from the other,” confessed McDonald. “But, as you + see, the check is made payable to Barbara McIntyre.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I must not take up any more of your time,” she said. “I thank you—both.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brewster.” Clymer spoke impulsively. “I'd like to shake hands with + you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “But that will be taking you from Mr. Clymer,” remonstrated Mrs. Brewster. + “Weren't you on the way to the bank?” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” admitted Kent. “But I can see Mr. Clymer later in the day.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll be less occupied then,” added Clymer. “Go with Mrs. Brewster, + Kent; good morning, madam,” and with a courtly bow Clymer withdrew. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Sylvester.” Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. “Would you mind driving + me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. “Home, Harris,” she directed, + as the chauffeur listened for the order. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “My handkerchief, please,” the widow held out her hand, and after a + moment's hesitation, Kent gave it to her. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” he apologized. “I was struck by the handkerchief's + appearance.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster turned it over. “In what way is the handkerchief unique?” + she asked, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” Mrs. Brewster turned and regarded him steadfastly. She was deadly + white under her rouge. “Mr. Kent, are you crazy?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Grimes?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Come upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, sirs,” he mumbled. “There's chairs for all.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry about us,” remarked McIntyre cheerily. “Just tell us how you + got that nasty knock on the head.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What hour of the morning was it?” asked Ferguson. + </p> + <p> + “About one o'clock, as near as I can tell, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And what were you doing in the library at that hour, Grimes?” demanded + McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + “Trying to find out what your household was up to, sir,” was Grimes' + unexpected answer, and McIntyre started. + </p> + <p> + “Explain your meaning, Grimes,” he commanded sternly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The room with the seven doors!” echoed Ferguson. “Which is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Grimes means the library.” McIntyre's tone was short. “I have no idea, + Grimes, what your allegations mean. Be more explicit.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Turnbull's presence has been explained,” replied McIntyre. “He came + here disguised as a burglar on a wager with my daughter, Miss Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson, who had followed the dialogue between McIntyre and his servant + with deep attention, addressed the excited man. + </p> + <p> + “Why did Mr. Turnbull enter Colonel McIntyre's library on Monday night + disguised as a burglar?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Grimes, by a twist of his head, managed to regard the detective out of the + corner of his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, why did he?” he repeated. “That's what I went to the library last + night to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear any one break into the house when you were prowling around, + Grimes?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The detective turned to Colonel McIntyre. “After finding Grimes did you + search the house?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent wondered if the grimace which twisted the butler's face was meant for + a smile. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre started to speak when Ferguson stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + There was a tense silence. McIntyre, by an obvious effort, refrained from + speech as they waited for Grimes' answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + McIntyre eyed him in wrathful silence, then turned to his companions. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's this Venetian casket like?” asked Ferguson before Kent could + question McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, go on,” urged Kent, catching the man's excitement. “You gave it to + Mrs. Brewster—” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Kent thought rapidly. “Have you told any one of this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent stared in stupefaction at the butler. He was aroused by a cold voice + from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. THE FATAL PERIOD + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Kent crossed the library and, after looking inside the casket, examined + the exterior with care. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent barely heard the warning as he turned to McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I seen that letter 'B' design on your stationery, Colonel?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she wish the 'B' for a seal?” inquired Kent. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she had a seal made like it also.” McIntyre moved closer to the + casket. “Found anything, Ferguson?” + </p> + <p> + The detective withdrew his head from the opening at the end of the casket, + and regarded the furniture vexedly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” demanded McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brewster.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was Mrs. Brewster doing in the library at that hour?” glancing + keenly at McIntyre as he put the question. + </p> + <p> + “She could not sleep and came down for a book,” explained the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + Ferguson, who had walked several times around the library, looking behind + first one and then the other of the seven doors, paused to ask: + </p> + <p> + “What attracted Mrs. Brewster's attention to the casket?” + </p> + <p> + “The blood stain on its side,” McIntyre answered. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “She had an electric torch,” shortly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson glanced from McIntyre to Kent and back again at the Colonel in + non-plussed silence. The explanation was pat. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to talk with Mrs. Brewster,” he remarked dryly. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Brewster has just gone out,” and with a bow + Murray withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Kent, who had drawn forward a chair preparatory to sitting down and + participating in the interview with the widow, changed his mind. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Any one called here?” he asked, as the man, whom he had met the night + before, greeted him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent considered a moment, then sat down by the telephone and gave a number + to Central. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” came the reply, and Kent hung up the receiver. + </p> + <p> + “Had any luncheon?” he asked Nelson as the man loitered around. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet”—Nelson's eyes brightened at the word. It was long past his + usual meal hour. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The man hung back. “Thank you, Mr. Kent, but I don't like to leave here + until my relief comes,” he objected. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now, doctor,” he began, and his manner gained in seriousness, “what, in + your opinion, killed Jimmie Turnbull?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is aconitine difficult to procure?” asked Kent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent started—Bish poison—was he never to get away from the + letter “B”? + </p> + <p> + “Can you procure Bish in this country?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent heaved a sigh of relief as he hitched his chair closer to the + physician. + </p> + <p> + “Did you prescribe a dose of aconitine for Mrs. Brewster recently?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I did, for an attack of rheumatic neuralgia.” Stone eyed him curiously. + “What then, Kent?” + </p> + <p> + “Is this the box the medicine came in?” and Kent placed the cover in + Stone's hand. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + It was Kent's turn to hesitate. “Do you know many instances where + aconitine was used by murderers?” he questioned. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How about suicides?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Kent set the bottom of the box containing the pills in front of the + doctor. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “These are not aconitine pills,” he stated positively. “They are + nitro-glycerine. How did they get in this box?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Stone smiled with what Kent, who was watching him closely, judged to be an + odd mixture of relief and apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Rochester?” he gasped unbelievingly. “Rochester!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been?” demanded Kent, partly recovering from his + astonishment which had deprived him of speech. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “On what charge?” demanded Rochester. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Rochester's smile was exasperating as he turned to Dr. Stone. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A message has just come, Mr. Kent,” he called, “from Mrs. Brewster saying + that she will be in your office at four o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE RED SEAL AGAIN + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I'll explain in good time, Harry,” and it was not until they were leaving + Police Headquarters that his apathy vanished. + </p> + <p> + “When are you to see Mrs. Brewster?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “SYLVESTER.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Kent—McIntyre telephoned there were new developments in the + Turnbull affair. Will be back later. + </p> + <p> + “Yours— + </p> + <p> + “B. A. CLYMER.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She colored hotly, then paled. “My testimony at the inquest,”—she + commenced, but he gave her no opportunity to add more. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “And if I had?” + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “Did I what?” she parried. + </p> + <p> + “Did you recognize and talk with Jimmie Turnbull in your house?” + </p> + <p> + “I talked with him, yes,” she admitted, and her voice dropped almost to a + whisper. + </p> + <p> + “As Jimmie Turnbull or Smith the burglar?” + </p> + <p> + “As Jimmie”—she confessed, after a slight pause. + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you go through the farce of having Jimmie arrested as a + burglar?” Kent demanded. + </p> + <p> + “So that Barbara might win her wager,” promptly. Kent stared at her + incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Helen passed one nervous hand over the other; her palms were hot and dry, + and two hectic spots had appeared in each white cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmie was quite well Monday night,” she protested. “He—he—had + some heart medicine with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Amyl nitrite?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Nitro-glycerine?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I think that was it, I am not quite sure,” she spoke with + uncertainty, and Kent knew that she lied. His heart sank. + </p> + <p> + “Did he swallow any medicine in your presence?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head vigorously. “No, he did not.” + </p> + <p> + Kent lowered his voice. “Did you see him take Mrs. Brewster's aconitine + pills off the hall table?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent studied her in a silence which, to her, seemed never-ending. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Helen blanched. “How should I know,” she muttered evasively. “He—he + didn't come to see me—the admission was barely above a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “But you know what transpired in your house on Monday night?” demanded + Kent eagerly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You have opened it!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Helen drew back, then impulsively extended her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I agree,” she said. “Give me the envelope.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. THE UNKNOWN EQUATION + </h2> + <p> + “No, no,” protested Helen vehemently. “You shall not give the envelope to + Margaret—you must not.” + </p> + <p> + “It is mine,” insisted the widow with equal vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brewster.” Kent withheld the envelope from both women. “Will you + tell me the contents of this envelope?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” curtly. “It is not your affair.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you term it a farce—is that why you laughed in court?” asked + Kent quickly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not.” Her denial was firm. + </p> + <p> + “Then how did you learn of his arrest?” asked Kent swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “I overheard him conversing—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmie was talking with Grimes,” Mrs. Brewster stated slowly. “From what + I overheard, he paid Grimes to let him inside the house.” + </p> + <p> + Kent looked perplexed as he gazed first at the widow and then at Helen, + who had sunk back in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brewster,” he began after a pause. “Who gave Jimmie your aconitine + pills which Grimes left on the hall table?” + </p> + <p> + “The murderer.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Clymer, who had followed Rochester's statement, first with bewilderment + and then with rising wrath, found his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You drunken scoundrel!” he roared. “How dare you!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he wish to tell me?” gasped Clymer, down whose colorless + face perspiration trickled. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, what?” broke in Kent significantly. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + With a backward spring Kent caught his clerk as he sped for the door. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. THE RIDDLE ANSWERED + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + They crowded about Kent, all but Ferguson and his prisoner, who had + subsided in his chair with what the detective concluded was dangerous + quietude. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “So that explains last night,” Ferguson grinned. “You'll not do it again, + Sylvester,” and he shook an admonitory finger at the erstwhile clerk. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But how in the world did Sylvester induce Jimmie to present the forged + letter?” asked Colonel McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + Kent turned to the sullen prisoner. “Answer that question, Sylvester,” he + commanded, and the man roused himself from his dejected attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Anything in it for me if I do?” he asked with a cunning leer. + </p> + <p> + “That's for the courts to decide,” declared Kent. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Cut that out,” admonished Ferguson with a none too gentle dig in the + ribs, and Sylvester continued his statement. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! You let him think that?” gasped McIntyre; then wrath gained + the mastery. “You scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I never wrote such a letter!” shouted McIntyre, deeply incensed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And you gave Jimmie Turnbull a dose of poison—” charged Kent, but + Sylvester, his lips gone dry, raised his manacled hands in protest. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “So Turnbull's death was accidental after all,” exclaimed Ferguson. “Or + was it suicide?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You suspected I had murdered him?” asked McIntyre softly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No,” sullenly. “She did,” and a jerk of his thumb indicated Helen + McIntyre. + </p> + <p> + Helen raised her head and addressed them slowly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” agreed McIntyre. “Go on, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to get it from there,” volunteered Sylvester, “for I overheard + Turnbull's plan, before I left by the reception room window.” + </p> + <p> + “So it was you and not Mr. Rochester whom I saw steal out of the window,” + exclaimed Mrs. Brewster. + </p> + <p> + “It's not the first time I've been mistaken for him,” exclaimed Sylvester + calmly. + </p> + <p> + Kent started and, gazing at Rochester and the clerk, saw there was a + general resemblance in coloring and physique. + </p> + <p> + “Did you present the checks to McDonald at the Metropolis Trust Company + bearing Rochester's and my forged signatures?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + Kent looked up quickly, struck by an idea. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvester, did you steal the envelope containing the securities from me + at the Club de Vingt?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment,” interrupted Kent. “What did you do with the envelope?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Your what?” Barbara sprang up, astounded. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” Barbara got no further, for Helen had risen. She spoke with + quiet dignity. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Margaret!” McIntyre's voice shook with emotion; then controlling himself + he turned to Sylvester. “I presume this check was some more of your + deviltry?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “So it was you, Sylvester, and not Mr. Rochester whom I encountered in his + apartment,” exclaimed Kent. “How did you get in the apartment?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Ferguson eyed him with doubtful respect. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Heavens!” exclaimed Helen, aghast. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Kent turned and faced Sylvester, who had made a few shuffling steps toward + the door. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “I put the envelope back in the open safe when I was here early this + afternoon,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Rochester's powerful hand was clapped across his mouth with such force + that the clerk staggered against Ferguson. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” she said, turning back to look at her father and his bride. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I see.” Kent held up another envelope, the red seal broken at the corner. + “This is yours, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + Helen hesitated perceptibly before taking the envelope and tearing it + open. She handed the securities to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Here is father's forged confession,” she said as she took the remaining + paper from the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “And to think that I aided Sylvester's plot to gain the securities by + engaging him as our clerk,” groaned Rochester. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” McIntyre walked over to Helen. + </p> + <p> + “My dear little girl,” he began and his voice was husky with feeling. “How + can I show my appreciation of your loyalty to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Seal, by Natalie Sumner Lincoln + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED SEAL *** + +***** This file should be named 1747-h.htm or 1747-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/4/1747/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: February 12, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED SEAL *** + +***** This file should be named 1747.txt or 1747.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/4/1747/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 + +R 0 Chester 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. + +"Amy1 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 particu1ar 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 caf 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 Caf 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 +or 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 Caf St. Marks. + +Inside the caf 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 caf ," 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 caf 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 caf +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 caf 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 caf in search of Colonel +McIntyre, who had stayed behind to pay his bill. + +A sudden exodus from the caf 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 c1ear1y. "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 tonsilitis, +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?" + +"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 Ferguson 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 bad 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 Glymer," 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. Turn +bull'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 1ocate 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 T 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 hail," 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 +ere 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 hail, 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 hail 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 H0USE-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 caf 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 caf , 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 him +self 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 Caf 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 Project Gutenberg Etext The Red Seal, by Natalie Sumner Lincoln + diff --git a/old/redsl10.zip b/old/redsl10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b6dfc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/redsl10.zip |