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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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