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diff --git a/26396-h/26396-h.htm b/26396-h/26396-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f207081 --- /dev/null +++ b/26396-h/26396-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8113 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of "No Clue!", by James Hay, Jr. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .tbrk { margin-top: 1.5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + + .mono {font-family: monospace;} + + /* index */ + + div.index ul { list-style: none; } + div.index ul li span.mono {font-family: monospace;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of No Clue, by James Hay + +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: No Clue + A Mystery Story + +Author: James Hay + +Release Date: August 23, 2008 [EBook #26396] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO CLUE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>"NO CLUE!"</h1> + +<h2><i>A Mystery Story</i></h2> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>JAMES HAY, <span class="smcap">Jr.</span></h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF "THE WINNING CLUE,"<br />"THE MELWOOD MYSTERY"</h4> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/logo.jpg" width='100' height='92' alt="Publisher's logo" /></div> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h4>NEW YORK<br /> +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br />1920</h4> + +<hr /> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1920<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Inc.</span></h4> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h3>TO<br />WILLIAM ("BUCK") HAY</h3> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="index"> +<ul> +<li><span class="mono">CHAPTER</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#I">I.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Grey Envelope</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#II">II.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Woman on the Lawn</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#III">III.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Unexpected Witness</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#IV">IV.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Hastings Is Retained</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#V">V.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Interview with Mrs. Brace</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#VI">VI.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Action by the Sheriff</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#VII">VII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Hostility of Mr. Sloane</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#VIII">VIII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Man Who Ran Away</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#IX">IX.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Breaking Down of Webster</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#X">X.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Whispered Conference</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XI">XI.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Motives Revealed</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XII">XII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Hendricks Reports</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XIII">XIII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Brace Begins</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XIV">XIV.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Mr. Crown Forms an Alliance</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XV">XV.</a></span> <span class="smcap">In Arthur Sloane's Room</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XVI">XVI.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Bribe</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XVII">XVII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">"The Whole Truth"</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XVIII">XVIII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Man Who Rode Away</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XIX">XIX.</a></span> <span class="smcap">"Pursuit!"</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XX">XX.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Denial of the Charge</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XXI">XXI.</a></span> <span class="smcap">"Ample Evidence"</span></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h1>"NO CLUE!"</h1> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h3>THE GREY ENVELOPE</h3> + + +<p>Catherine Brace walked slowly from the mantel-piece to the open window +and back again. Within the last hour she had done that many times, +always to halt before the mantel and gaze at the oblong, grey envelope +that leaned against the clock. Evidently, she regarded it as a powerful +agency. An observer would have perceived that she saw tremendous things +come out of it—and that she considered them with mingled satisfaction +and defiance.</p> + +<p>Her attitude, however, betrayed no hint of hesitation. Rather, the +fixity of her gaze and the intensity of her mental concentration threw +into high relief the hardness of her personality. She was singularly +devoid of that quality which is generally called feminine softness.</p> + +<p>And she was a forceful woman. She had power. It was in her lean, +high-shouldered, ungraceful figure. It was in her thin, mobile lips<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> and +her high-bridged nose with its thin, clean-cut nostrils. She impressed +herself upon her environment. Standing there at the mantel, her hands +clasped behind her, she was so caught up by the possibilities of the +future that she succeeded in imparting to the grey envelope an almost +animate quality.</p> + +<p>She became aware once more of voices in the next room: a man's light +baritone in protest, followed by the taunt of her daughter's laugh. +Although she left the mantel with lithe, swift step, it was with unusual +deliberation that she opened the communicating door.</p> + +<p>Her voice was free of excitement when, ignoring her daughter's caller, +she said:</p> + +<p>"Mildred, just a moment, please."</p> + +<p>Mildred came in and closed the door. Her mother, now near the window +across the room, looked first at her and then at the grey envelope.</p> + +<p>"I thought," Mrs. Brace said, "you'd forgotten you were going to mail +it."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you mail it yourself?" The tone of that was cool insolence.</p> + +<p>Mother and daughter were strikingly alike—hair piled high in a wide +wave above the forehead; black eyes too restless, but of that gleaming +brilliance which heralds a refusal to grow old. So far, however, the +daughter's features had not assumed an aspect of sharpness, like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +mother's. One would have appraised the older woman +vindictive—malevolent, possibly.</p> + +<p>But in the younger face the mouth greatly softened, almost concealed, +this effect of calculating hardness. Mildred Brace's lips had a softness +of line, a vividness of colouring that indicated emotional depths +utterly foreign to her mother.</p> + +<p>They bore themselves now as if they commented on a decision already +reached, a momentous step to which they had given immense consideration.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mail it," Mrs. Brace answered her daughter's query, "because I +knew, if you mailed it, you'd do as you'd said you wanted to do."</p> + +<p>There was frank emphasis on the "said."</p> + +<p>"Your feet don't always follow your intelligence, you know."</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking about the thing," Mildred retorted, looking over her +mother's shoulder into the summer night. "What's the use?"</p> + +<p>"What's the use!" Mrs. Brace echoed, incredulous.</p> + +<p>"Just that."</p> + +<p>"We've been all over it! You know what it means to you—to both of us."</p> + +<p>They spoke in low tones, careful that the man in the living room should +not hear.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><p>"My dear mother," Mildred said, with a return of her cool insolence, +"you display a confidence hardly warranted by your—and +our—man-experience."</p> + +<p>She yawned slightly.</p> + +<p>There was a harsher note in her mother's reply.</p> + +<p>"He can't refuse. He can't!"</p> + +<p>Mildred stared at the grey envelope a full three minutes. Mrs. Brace, +wordless, showing no uneasiness as to the outcome, waited for her to +speak.</p> + +<p>"It's no use, mother," she said at last. "We can't manage it—him—this +thing. It's too late."</p> + +<p>The flat finality, the dreariness, of that announcement angered the +older woman. Calmness fell from her. She came away from the window +slowly, her hands clasped tightly at her back, the upper part of her +body bending forward a little, her thin nostrils expanding and +contracting to the force of her hurried breathing like leaves shaken in +the wind. The curl of her thin lips added a curious ferocity to the +words that passed them. She spoke, only when her face was within a few +inches of Mildred's.</p> + +<p>"No use!" she said contemptuously, her lowered voice explosive with +passion. "Why? And why too late? Have you no self-respect, no will, no +firmness? Are you all jelly and——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p><p>She got hold of herself with remarkable effectiveness, throwing off the +signs of her wrath as suddenly as they had appeared. She retreated a +step and laughed, without mirth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," she said, "it's your party, not mine, after all. But, in +future, my dear, don't waste your time and mine in school-girl heroics."</p> + +<p>She completed her retreat and stood again at the window. Her +self-restraint was, in a way, fiercer than her rage—and it affected her +daughter.</p> + +<p>"You see," she concluded, "why I didn't mail it. I knew you wouldn't do +the very thing you'd outlined."</p> + +<p>Mildred looked at the envelope again. The pause that followed was broken +by the man in the other room.</p> + +<p>"Mildred," he called.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace laughed silently. Mildred, seeing that ridicule, recoiled.</p> + +<p>"What are you laughing at?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>Her mother pointed to the communicating door.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of <i>that</i>," she said, "for life—and," she looked toward +the grey envelope, "the other thing."</p> + +<p>"I don't see——" Mildred began, and checked herself, gazing again at +the envelope.</p> + +<p>Her mother turned swiftly and stood looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> into the night. The man +called again and was not answered. The two women were motionless. There +was no sound in the room, save the ticking of the clock on the mantel. +Two minutes passed—three.</p> + +<p>Mildred went toward the mantel, put out her hand, withdrew it. She +became conscious of the excessive heat and touched her forehead with her +handkerchief. She glanced at her mother's motionless figure, started to +speak, closed her parted lips. Indecision shook her. She put out her +hand again, picked up the envelope and stood tapping it against her left +palm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace, without moving, spoke at last:</p> + +<p>"It's a few minutes of twelve. If you catch the midnight collection, +he'll get it, out there, by five o'clock tomorrow afternoon."</p> + +<p>There was another pause.</p> + +<p>Mildred went slowly to the door leading into the living room, and once +more she was on the point of speaking.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace was drumming her fingers on the window ledge. The action +announced plainly that she had finished with the situation. Mildred put +her hand on the knob, pulled the door half-open, closed it again.</p> + +<p>"I've changed my mind," she said, dreariness still in her voice. "He +can't refuse."</p> + +<p>Her mother made no comment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p><p>Mildred went into the living room.</p> + +<p>"Gene," she said, with that indifference of tone which a woman employs +toward a man she despises, "I'm going down to mail this."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll swear!" he quarrelled sullenly. "Been in there all this time +writing to him!"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Look at it!" she taunted viciously, and waved the envelope before +his eyes. "Sloanehurst!"</p> + +<p>Taking up his hat, he went with her to the elevator.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>THE WOMAN ON THE LAWN</h3> + +<p>Mr. Jefferson Hastings, unsuspecting that he was about to be confronted +with the most brutal crime in all his experience, regretted having come +to "Sloanehurst." He disapproved of himself unreservedly. Clad in an +ample, antique night-shirt, he stood at a window of the guest-room +assigned to him and gazed over the steel rims of his spectacles into the +hot, rainy night. His real vision, however, made no attempt to pierce +the outer darkness. His eyes were turned inward, upon himself, in +derision of his behaviour during the past three hours.</p> + +<p>A kindly, reticent gentleman, who looked much older than his fifty-three +years, he made it his habit to listen rather than talk. His wide fame as +a criminologist and consulting detective had implanted no egotism in +him. He abhorred the spotlight.</p> + +<p>But tonight Judge Wilton, by skilful use of query, suggestion and +reminder, had tempted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> him into talking "shop." He had been lured into +the rôle of monologuist for the benefit of his host, Arthur Sloane. He +had talked brilliantly, at length, in detail, holding his three hearers +in spellbound and fascinated interest while he discoursed on crimes +which he had probed and criminals whom he had known.</p> + +<p>Not that he <i>thought</i> he had talked brilliantly! By no means! He was +convinced that nine-tenths of the interest manifested in his remarks had +been dictated by politeness. Old Hastings was just that sort of person; +he discounted himself. He was in earnest, therefore, in his present +self-denunciation. He sighed, remembering the volume of his discourse, +the awful length of time in which he had monopolized the conversation.</p> + +<p>But his modesty was not his only admirable characteristic. He had, also, +a dependable sense of humour. It came to his relief now—he thought of +his host, a chuckle throttling the beginnings of a second sigh deep down +in his throat.</p> + +<p>This was not the first time that Arthur Broughton Sloane had provoked a +chuckle, although, for him, life was a house of terror, a torture +chamber constructed with fiendish ingenuity. Mr. Sloane suffered from +"nerves." He was spending his declining years in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>arduous but +surprisingly successful task of being wretched, irritable and +ill-at-ease.</p> + +<p>The variety of his agonies was equalled only by the alacrity with which +he tested every cure or remedy of which he happened to hear. He agreed +enthusiastically with his expensive physicians that he was neurasthenic, +psychasthenic and neurotic.</p> + +<p>His eyes were weak; his voice was weak; his spirit was weak. He shivered +all day with terror at the idea of not sleeping at night. Every evening +he quivered with horror at the thought of not waking up next morning. +And yet, despite these absorbing, although not entirely delightful, +preoccupations, Mr. Sloane was not without an object in life.</p> + +<p>In fact, he had two objects in life: the happiness of his daughter, +Lucille, and the study of crime and criminals. The latter interest had +brought Hastings to the Sloane country home in Virginia. Judge Wilton, +an old friend of the wrecked and wealthy Mr. Sloane, had met the +detective on the street in Washington and urged:</p> + +<p>"Go down to Sloanehurst and spend Saturday night. I'll be there when you +arrive. Sloane's got his mind set on seeing you; and you won't regret +it. His library on criminology will be a revelation, even to you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>And Hastings, largely because he shrank from seeming ungracious, had +accepted Mr. Sloane's subsequent invitation.</p> + +<p>Climbing now into the old-fashioned four-poster bed, he thought again of +his conversation-spree and longed for self-justification. He sat up, +sheetless, reflecting:</p> + +<p>"As a week-ender, I'm a fine old chatter-box!—But young Webster got me! +What did he say?—'The cleverer the criminal, the easier to run him +down. The thug, acting on the spur of the moment, with a blow in the +dark and a getaway through the night, leaves no trace behind him. Your +"smart criminal" always overreaches himself.'—A pretty theory, but +wild. Anyway, it made me forget myself; I talked my old fool head off."</p> + +<p>He felt himself blush.</p> + +<p>"Wish I'd let Wilton do the disproving; he was anxious enough."</p> + +<p>A mental picture of Sloane consoled him once more.</p> + +<p>"Silk socks and gingham gumption!" he thought. "But he's honest in his +talk about being interested in crime. The man loves crime!—Good thing +he's got plenty of money."</p> + +<p>He fell asleep, in a kind of ruminative growl:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p><p>"Made a fool of myself—babbling about what <i>I</i> remembered—what <i>I</i> +thought! I'll go back to Washington—in the morning."</p> + +<p>Judge Wilton's unsteady voice, supplemented by a rattling of the +doorknob, roused him. He had thrust one foot out of bed when Wilton came +into the room.</p> + +<p>"Quick! Come on, man!" the judge instructed, and hurried into the hall.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" Hastings demanded, reaching for his spectacles.</p> + +<p>Wilton, on his way down the stairs, flung back:</p> + +<p>"A woman hurt—outside."</p> + +<p>From the hall below came Mr. Sloane's high-pitched, complaining tones:</p> + +<p>"Unfathomable angels! What do you say?—Who?"</p> + +<p>Drawing on shoes and trousers, the detective overtook his host on the +front verandah and followed him down the steps and around the northeast +corner of the house. He noticed that Sloane carried in one hand an +electric torch and in the other a bottle of smelling salts. It was no +longer raining.</p> + +<p>Rounding the corner, they saw, scarcely fifteen yards from the +bay-window of the ballroom, the upturned face of a woman who lay +prostrate on the lawn. Lights had been turned on in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> house, making a +glow which cut through the starless night.</p> + +<p>The woman did not move. Judge Wilton was in the act of kneeling beside +her.</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" Hastings called out. "Don't disturb her—if she's dead."</p> + +<p>"She is dead!" said Wilton.</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" The detective, trying to find signs of life, put his hand +over her heart.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Wilton answered the question. "Do you, Sloane?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I don't!"</p> + +<p>Hastings said afterwards that Sloane's reply expressed astonished +resentment that he should be suspected of knowing anybody vulgar enough +to be murdered on his lawn.</p> + +<p>The detective drew back his hand. His fingers were dark with blood.</p> + +<p>At that moment Berne Webster, Lucille Sloane's fiancé, came from the +rear of the house, announcing breathlessly:</p> + +<p>"No 'phone connection—this time of night, judge.—It's past +midnight.—I sent chauffeur—Lally—for the sheriff."</p> + +<p>Hastings stood up, his first, cursory examination concluded.</p> + +<p>"No doubt about it," he said. "She's dead.—Bring a blanket, somebody!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sloane's nerves had the best of him by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> this time. He trembled like +a man with a chill, rattling the bottle of smelling salts against the +metal end of his electric torch. He had on slippers and a light dressing +gown over his pajamas.</p> + +<p>Wilton was fully dressed, young Webster collarless but wearing a black, +light-weight lounging jacket. Hastings was struck with the different +degrees of their dress, or undress.</p> + +<p>"Who found her?" he asked, looking at Webster.</p> + +<p>"Judge Wilton—and I," said Webster, so short of breath that his chest +heaved.</p> + +<p>"How long ago?"</p> + +<p>Wilton answered that:</p> + +<p>"A few minutes, hardly five minutes. I ran in to call you and Sloane."</p> + +<p>"And Mr.—you, Mr. Webster?"</p> + +<p>"The judge told me to—to get the sheriff—by telephone."</p> + +<p>Hastings knelt again over the woman's body.</p> + +<p>"Here, Mr. Sloane," he ordered, "hold that torch closer, will you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sloane found compliance impossible. He could not steady his hand +sufficiently.</p> + +<p>"Hold that torch, judge," Hastings prompted.</p> + +<p>"It's knocked me out—completely," Sloane said, surrendering the torch +to Wilton.</p> + +<p>Webster, the pallor still on his face, a look of horror in his eyes, +stood on the side of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> body opposite the detective. At brief +intervals he raised first one foot, then the other, clear of the ground +and set it down again. He was unconscious of making any movement at all.</p> + +<p>Hastings, thoroughly absorbed in the work before him, went about it +swiftly, with now and then brief, murmured comment on what he did and +saw. Although his ample night-shirt, stuffed into his equally baggy +trousers, contributed nothing but comicality to his appearance, the +others submitted without question to his domination. There was about him +suddenly an atmosphere of power that impressed even the little group of +awe-struck servants who stood a few feet away.</p> + +<p>"Stabbed," he said, after he had run his hands over the woman's figure; +"died instantly—must have. Got her heart.—Young—not over twenty-five, +would you say?—Not dead long.—Anybody call a doctor?"</p> + +<p>"I told Lally to stop by Dr. Garnet's house and send him—at once," +Webster said, his voice low, and broken. "He's the coroner, too."</p> + +<p>Hastings continued his examination. The brief pause that ensued was +broken by a woman's voice:</p> + +<p>"Pauline! Pauline!"</p> + +<p>The call came from one of the upstairs <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>windows. Hearing it, a woman in +the servant group hurried into the house.</p> + +<p>Webster groaned: "My God!"</p> + +<p>"Frantic fiends! It gets worse and worse!" Sloane objected shrilly. "My +nerves! And Lucille's annoyed—shocked!"</p> + +<p>He held the smelling bottle to his nose, breathing deeply.</p> + +<p>"Here! Take this!" Hastings directed, and put up his hand abruptly.</p> + +<p>Sloane had so gone to pieces that the movement frightened him. He +stepped back in such obvious terror that a hoarse guffaw of involuntary +ridicule escaped one of the servants. The detective, finding that his +kneeling posture made it difficult to put his handkerchief back into his +trousers pocket, had thrust it toward Sloane. That gentleman having so +suddenly removed himself out of reach, Hastings stuck the handkerchief +into Judge Wilton's coat-pocket.</p> + +<p>Arthur Sloane, the detective said later, never forgave him that +unexpected wave of the handkerchief—and the servant's ridiculing laugh.</p> + +<p>Hastings looked up to Wilton.</p> + +<p>"Did you find any weapon?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't look—didn't take time."</p> + +<p>"Neither did I," young Webster added.</p> + +<p>Hastings, disregarding the wet grass, was on his hands and knees, +searching. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>accomplished a complete circuit of the body, his +round-shouldered, stooping figure making grotesque, elephantine shadows +under the light of the torch as he moved about slowly, not trusting his +eyes, but feeling with his hands every inch of the smallest, half-lit +spaces.</p> + +<p>Nobody else took part in the search. Having accepted his leadership from +the outset, they seemed to take it for granted that he needed no help. +Mentally benumbed by the horror of the tragedy, they stood there in the +quiet, summer night, barren of ideas. They were like children, waiting +to be instructed.</p> + +<p>Hastings stood erect, pulling and hauling at his trousers.</p> + +<p>"Can't find a knife or anything," he said. "Glad I can't. Hope he took +it with him."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Sloane, through chattering teeth.</p> + +<p>"May help us to find him—may be a clue in the end."</p> + +<p>He was silent a moment, squinting under the rims of his spectacles, +looking down at the figure of the dead woman. He had already covered the +face with the hat she had worn, a black straw sailor; but neither he nor +the others found it easy to forget the peculiar and forbidding +expression the features wore, even in death. It was partly fear, partly +defiance—as if her last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> conscious thought had been a flitting look +into the future, an exulting recognition of the certain consequences of +the blow that had struck her down.</p> + +<p>Put into words, it might have been: "You've murdered me, but you'll pay +for it—terribly!"</p> + +<p>A servant handed Hastings the blanket he had ordered. He looked toward +the sky.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it will rain any more," he said. "And it's best to leave +things as they are until the coroner arrives.—He'll be here soon?"</p> + +<p>"Should get here in half an hour or so," Judge Wilton informed him.</p> + +<p>The detective arranged the blanket so that it covered the prone form +completely, leaving the hat over the face as he had first placed it. +With the exception of the hat, he had disturbed no part of the apparel. +Even the folds of the raincoat, which fell away from the body and showed +the rain-soaked black skirt, he left as he had found them. The white +shirtwaist, also partly exposed now, was dry.</p> + +<p>"Anybody move her hat before I came out?" he asked; "you, judge; or you, +Mr. Webster?"</p> + +<p>They had not touched it, they said; it was on the grass, beside her +head, when they discovered the body, and they had left it there.</p> + +<p>Again he was silent, brows drawn together as he stood over the murdered +woman. Finally,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> he raised his head swiftly and, taking each in turn, +searched sharply the countenances of the three men before him.</p> + +<p>"Does—didn't anybody here know this woman?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Berne Webster left his place at the opposite side of the body and came +close to Hastings.</p> + +<p>"I know who she is," he said, his voice lower even than before, as if he +wished to keep that information from the servants.</p> + +<p>Hastings' keen scrutiny had in it no intimation of surprise. Waiting for +Webster to continue, he was addressed by the shivering Mr. Sloane:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hast—Mr. Hastings, take charge of—of things. Will you? You know +about these things."</p> + +<p>The detective accepted the suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we get at what we know about it—what we all know. Let's go +inside." He turned to the servants: "Stay here until you're called. See +that nothing is disturbed, nothing touched."</p> + +<p>He led the way into the house. Sloane, near collapse, clung to one of +Judge Wilton's broad shoulders. It was young Webster who, as the little +procession passed the hatrack in the front hall, caught up a raincoat +and threw it over the half-clad Hastings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>THE UNEXPECTED WITNESS</h3> + +<p>In the library Hastings turned first to Judge Wilton for a description +of the discovery of the body. The judge was in better condition than the +others for connected narrative, Arthur Sloane had sunk into a morris +chair, where he sighed audibly and plied himself by fits and starts with +the aroma from the bottle of smelling salts. Young Webster, still +breathing as if he had been through exhausting physical endeavour, stood +near the table in the centre of the room, mechanically shifting his +weight from foot to foot.</p> + +<p>Wilton, seated half-across the room from Hastings, drew, absently, on a +dead cigar-stump. A certain rasping note in his voice was his only +remaining symptom of shock. He had the stern calmness of expression that +is often seen in the broad, irregularly-featured face in early middle +age.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you in very few words," he said, addressing the detective +directly. "We all left this room, you'll remember, at eleven o'clock.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> I +found my bedroom uncomfortable, too warm. Besides, it had stopped +raining. When I noticed that, I decided to go out and smoke my +good-night cigar. This is what's left of it."</p> + +<p>He put a finger to the unlighted stump still between his lips.</p> + +<p>"What time did you go out?" asked Hastings.</p> + +<p>"Probably, a quarter of an hour after I'd gone upstairs—fifteen or +twenty minutes past eleven, I should guess."</p> + +<p>"How did you go out—by what door?"</p> + +<p>"The front door. I left it unlocked, but not open. At first I paced up +and down, on the south side of the house, under the trees. It was +reasonably light there then—that is to say, the clouds had thinned a +little, and, after my eyes had got accustomed to it, I had no trouble in +avoiding the trees and shrubbery.</p> + +<p>"Then a cloud heavier than the others came up, I suppose. Anyway, it was +much darker. There wasn't a light in the house, except in my room and +Berne Webster's. Yours was out, I remember. I passed by the front of the +house then, and went around to the north side. It was darker there, I +thought, than it had been under the trees on the south side."</p> + +<p>"How long had you been out then, altogether?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty or forty minutes." He looked at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> watch. "It's a quarter past +twelve now. Let me see. I found the body a few minutes after I changed +over to the north side. I guess I found it about five minutes before +midnight—certainly not more than twenty minutes ago."</p> + +<p>Hastings betrayed his impatience only by squinting under his spectacles +and down the line of his nose, eying Wilton closely.</p> + +<p>"All right, judge! Let's have it."</p> + +<p>"I was going along slowly, very slowly, not doing much more than feeling +my way with my feet on the close-shaven grass. It was the darkest night +I ever saw. Literally, I couldn't have seen my hand in front of me.</p> + +<p>"I had decided to turn about and go indoors when I was conscious of some +movement, or slight sound, directly in front of me, and downward, at my +feet. I got that impression."</p> + +<p>"What movement? You mean the sound of a fall?"</p> + +<p>"No; not that exactly."</p> + +<p>"A footstep?"</p> + +<p>"No. I hadn't any definite idea what sort of noise it was. I did think +that, perhaps, it was a dog or a cat. Just then my foot came in contact +with something soft. I stooped down instinctively, immediately.</p> + +<p>"At that moment, that very second, a light flashed on in Arthur's +bedroom. That's between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> this room and the big ballroom—on this floor, +of course. That light threw a long, illuminating shaft into the murky +darkness, the end of it coming just far enough to touch me and—what I +found—the woman's body. I saw it by that light before I had time to +touch it with my hand."</p> + +<p>The judge stopped and drew heavily on his dead cigar.</p> + +<p>"All right. See anything else?" Hastings urged.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I saw Berne Webster. He had made the noise which attracted my +attention."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"He must have. He was stooping down, too, on the other side of the body, +facing me, when the light went on——"</p> + +<p>Sloane, twisting nervously in his chair, cut into Wilton's narrative.</p> + +<p>"I can put this much straight," he said in shrill complaint: "I turned +on the light you're talking about. I hadn't been able to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Let's have this, one at a time, if you don't mind, Mr. Sloane," the +detective suggested, watching Webster.</p> + +<p>The young man, staring with fascinated intensity at Judge Wilton, seemed +to experience some new horror as he listened.</p> + +<p>"He was on the other side of it," the judge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> continued, "and practically +in the same position that I was. We faced each other across the body. I +think that describes the discovery, as you call it. We immediately +examined the woman, looking for the wound, and found it. When we saw she +was dead, we came in to wake you—and try to get a doctor. I told Berne +to do that."</p> + +<p>During the last few sentences Hastings had been walking slowly from his +chair to the library door and back, his hands gouged deep into his +trouser-pockets, folds of his night-shirt protruding from and falling +over the waistband of the trousers, the raincoat hanging baggily from +his shoulders. Ludicrous as the costume was, however, the old man so +dominated them still that none of them, not even Wilton, questioned his +authority.</p> + +<p>And yet, the thing he was doing should have appealed to them as +noteworthy. A man of less power could not have accomplished it. Coming +from a sound sleep to the scene of a murder, he had literally picked up +these men who had discovered it and who must be closely touched by it, +had overcome their agitation, had herded them into the house and, with +amazing promptness, had set about the task of getting from them the +stories of what they knew and what they had done.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>Appreciating his opportunity, he had determined to bring to light at +once everything they knew. He devoted sudden attention now to Webster, +whom he knew by reputation—a lawyer thirty years of age, brilliant in +the criminal courts, and at present striving for a foothold in the more +remunerative ranks of civil practice. He had never been introduced to +him, however, before meeting him at Sloanehurst.</p> + +<p>"Who touched that body first—Mr. Webster?" he demanded, his slow +promenade uninterrupted as he kept his eyes on the lawyer's.</p> + +<p>"Judge—I don't know, I believe," Webster replied uncertainly. "Who did, +judge?"</p> + +<p>"I want your recollection," Hastings insisted, kindly in spite of the +unmistakable command of his tone. "That's why I asked you."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"For one thing, it might go far toward showing who was really first on +the scene."</p> + +<p>"I see; but I really don't remember. I'm not sure that either of us +touched the body—just then. I think we both drew back, instinctively, +when the light flashed on. Afterwards, of course, we both touched +her—looking for signs of life."</p> + +<p>The detective came to a standstill in front of Webster.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>"Who reached the body first? Can you say?"</p> + +<p>"No. I don't think either was first. We got there together."</p> + +<p>"Simultaneously?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But I'm overlooking something. How did you happen to be there?"</p> + +<p>"That's simple enough," Webster said, his brows drawn together, his eyes +toward the floor, evidently making great effort to omit no detail of +what had occurred. "I went to my room when we broke up here, at eleven. +I read for a while. I got tired of that—it was close and hot. Besides, +I never go to bed before one in the morning—that is, practically never. +And I wasn't sleepy.</p> + +<p>"I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to twelve. Like the judge, I +noticed that it had stopped raining. I thought I'd have a better night's +sleep if I got out and cooled off thoroughly. My room, the one I have +this time, is close to the back stairway. I went down that, and out the +door on the north side."</p> + +<p>"Were you smoking?" Hastings put the query sharply, as if to test the +narrator's nerves.</p> + +<p>Webster's frown deepened.</p> + +<p>"No. But I had cigarettes and matches with me. I intended to smoke—and +walk about."</p> + +<p>"But what happened?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>"It was so much darker than I had thought that I groped along with my +feet, much as Judge Wilton did. I was making my way toward the front +verandah. I went on, sliding my feet on the wet grass."</p> + +<p>"Any reason for doing that, do you remember? Are there any obstructions +there, anything but smooth, open lawn?"</p> + +<p>"No. It was merely an instinctive act—in pitch dark, you know."</p> + +<p>Webster, his eyes still toward the floor, waited for another question. +Not getting it, he resumed:</p> + +<p>"My foot struck something soft. I thought it was a wet cloak, something +of that sort, left out in the rain. I hadn't heard a thing. And I had no +premonition of anything wrong. I bent over, with nothing more than sheer +idle curiosity, to put my hand on whatever the thing was. And just then +the light went on in Mr. Sloane's bedroom. The judge and I were looking +at each other across somebody lying on the ground, face upward."</p> + +<p>"Either of you cry out?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Say anything?"</p> + +<p>"Not much."</p> + +<p>"Well, what?"</p> + +<p>"I remember the judge said, 'Is she dead?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> I said, 'How is she hurt?' +We didn't say much while we were looking for the wound."</p> + +<p>"Did you tell Judge Wilton you knew her?"</p> + +<p>"No. There wasn't time for any explanation—specially."</p> + +<p>"But you do know her?"</p> + +<p>"I told you that, sir, outside—just now."</p> + +<p>"All right. Who is she?" Hastings put that query carelessly, in a way +which might have meant that he had heard the most important part of the +young lawyer's story. That impression was heightened by his beginning +again to pace the floor.</p> + +<p>"Her name's Mildred Brace," replied Webster, moistening his lips with +his tongue. "She was my stenographer for eight months."</p> + +<p>The detective drew up sharply.</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"Until two weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"She resign?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. No—I discharged her."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Incompetence."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand that exactly. You mean you employed her eight months +although she was incompetent?"</p> + +<p>"That's pretty bald," Webster objected. "Her incompetence came, rather, +from temperament. She was, toward the last, too nervous,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> excitable. She +was more trouble than she was worth."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's different," Hastings said, with a significance that was +clear. "People might have thought," he elaborated, "if you had fired her +for other reasons, this tragedy tonight would have put you in an +unenviable position—to say the least."</p> + +<p>He had given words to the vague feeling which had depressed them all, +ever since the discovery of the murder; that here was something vastly +greater than the accidental finding of a person killed by an outsider, +that the crime touched Sloanehurst personally. The foreboding had been +patent—almost, it seemed, a tangible thing—but, until this moment, +each had steered clear of it, in speech.</p> + +<p>Webster's response was bitter.</p> + +<p>"They'll want to say it anyway, I guess." To that he added, in frank +resentment: "And I might as well enter a denial here: I had nothing to +do with the—this whole lamentable affair!"</p> + +<p>The silence in which he and Hastings regarded each other was broken by +Arthur Sloane's querulous words:</p> + +<p>"Why—why, in the name of all the inscrutable saints, this thing should +have happened at Sloanehurst, is more than I can say! Jumping angels! +Now, let me tell you what I——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>He stopped, hearing light footfalls coming down the hall. There was the +swish of silk, a little outcry half-repressed, and Lucille Sloane stood +in the doorway. One hand was at her breast, the other against the +door-frame, to steady her tall, slightly swaying figure. Her hair, a +pyramid on her head, as if the black, heavy masses of it had been done +by hurrying fingers, gave to her unusual beauty now an added suggestion +of dignity.</p> + +<p>Profoundly moved as she was, there was nothing of the distracted or the +inadequate about her. Hastings, who had admired her earlier in the +evening, saw that her poise was far from overthrown. It seemed to him +that she even had considered how to wear with extraordinary effect the +brilliant, vari-coloured kimono draped about her. The only criticism of +her possible was that, perhaps, she seemed a trifle too imperious—but, +for his part, he liked that.</p> + +<p>"A thoroughbred!" he catalogued her, mentally.</p> + +<p>"You will excuse me, father," she said from the doorway, "but I couldn't +help hearing." She thrust forward her chin. "Oh, I had to hear!—And +there's something I have to tell."</p> + +<p>Her glance went at last from Sloane to Hastings as she advanced slowly +into the room.</p> + +<p>The detective pushed forward a chair for her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>"That's fine, Miss Sloane," he assured her. "I'm sure you're going to +help us."</p> + +<p>"It isn't much," she qualified, "but I think it's important."</p> + +<p>Still she looked at neither Berne Webster nor Judge Wilton. And only a +man trained as Hastings was to keenness of observation would have seen +the slight but incessant tremour of her fingers and the constant, +convulsive play of the muscles under the light covering of her black +silk slippers.</p> + +<p>Sloane, alone, had remained seated. She was looking up to Hastings, who +stood several feet in front of Webster and the judge.</p> + +<p>"I had gone to sleep," she said, her voice low, but musical and clear. +"I waked up when I heard father moving about—his room is directly under +mine; and, now that Aunt Lucy is away, I'm always more or less anxious +about him. And I knew he had got quiet earlier, gone to sleep. It wasn't +like him to be awake again so soon.</p> + +<p>"I sprang out of bed, really very quickly. I listened for a few seconds, +but there was no further sound in father's room. The night was unusually +quiet. There wasn't a sound—at first. Then I heard something. It was +like somebody running, running very fast, outside, on the grass."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><p>She paused. Hastings was struck by her air of alertness, or of prepared +waiting, of readiness for questions.</p> + +<p>"Which way did the footsteps go?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"From the house—down the slope, toward the little gate that opens on +the road."</p> + +<p>"Then what?"</p> + +<p>"I wondered idly what it meant, but it made no serious impression on me. +I listened again for sounds in father's room. There was none. Struck +again by the heavy silence—it was almost oppressive, coming after the +rain—I went to the window. I stood there, I don't know how long. I +think I was day-dreaming, lazily running things over in my mind. I don't +think it was very long.</p> + +<p>"And then father turned on the light in his room." She made a quick +gesture with her left hand, wonderfully expressive of shock. "I shall +never forget that! The long, narrow panel of light reached out into the +dark like an ugly, yellow arm—reached out just far enough to touch and +lay hold of the picture there on the grass; a woman lying on the +drenched ground, her face up, and bending over her Judge Wilton and +Berne—Mr. Webster.</p> + +<p>"I knew she'd been hurt dreadfully; her feet were drawn up, her knees +high; and I could see the looks of horror on the men's faces."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>She paused, giving all her strength to the effort to retain her +self-control before the assailing memory of what she had seen.</p> + +<p>"That was all, Miss Sloane?" the detective prompted, in a kindly tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite," she said. "But I'd heard Berne's—what he was saying to +you—and the judge's description of what they'd seen; and I thought you +would like to know of the footsteps I'd heard—because they were the +murderer's; they must have been. I knew it was important, most +important."</p> + +<p>"You were entirely right," he agreed warmly. "Thank you, very much."</p> + +<p>He went the length of the room and halted by one of the bookcases, a +weird, lumpy old figure among the shadows in the corner. He was scraping +his cheek with his thumb, and looking at the ceiling, over the rims of +his spectacles.</p> + +<p>Arthur Sloane sighed his impatience.</p> + +<p>"Those knees drawn up," Hastings said at last; "I was just thinking. +They weren't drawn up when I saw the body. Were they?"</p> + +<p>"We'd straightened the limbs," Webster answered. "Thought I'd mentioned +that."</p> + +<p>"No.—Then, there might have been a struggle? You think the woman had +put up a fight—for her life?—and was overpowered?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>"Well," deliberated Webster, "perhaps; even probably."</p> + +<p>"Strange," commented the detective, equally deliberate. "I hadn't +thought so. I would have said she'd been struck down unawares—without +the slightest warning."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>HASTINGS IS RETAINED</h3> + +<p>Arrival of the officials, Sheriff Crown and the coroner, Dr. Garnet, +brought the conference to an abrupt close. Hastings, seeing the look in +the girl's eyes, left the library in advance of the other men. Lucille +followed him immediately.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hastings!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Sloane?"</p> + +<p>He turned and faced her.</p> + +<p>"I must talk to you, alone. Won't you come in here?"</p> + +<p>She preceded him into the parlour across the hall. When he put his hand +on the electric switch, she objected, saying she preferred to be without +the lights. He obeyed her. The glow from the hall was strong enough to +show him the play of her features—which was what he wanted.</p> + +<p>They sat facing each other, directly under the chandelier in the middle +of the spacious room. He thought she had chosen that place to avoid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> all +danger of being overheard in any direction. He saw, too, that she was +hesitant, half-regretting having brought him there. He read her doubts, +saw how pain and anxiety mingled in her wide-open grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," he said with a smile that was reassuring; "I don't look +like a particularly helpful old party, do I?"</p> + +<p>He liked her more and more. In presence of mind, he reflected, she +surpassed the men of the household. In spite of the agitation that still +kept her hands trembling and gave her that odd look of fighting +desperately to hold herself together, she had formed a plan which she +was on the point of disclosing to him.</p> + +<p>Her courage impressed him tremendously. And, divining what her request +would be, he made up his mind to help her.</p> + +<p>"It's not that," she said, her lips twisting to the pretence of a smile. +"I know your reputation—how brilliant you are. I was thinking you might +not understand what I wanted to say."</p> + +<p>"Try me," he encouraged. "I'm not that old!"</p> + +<p>It occurred to him that she referred to Berne Webster and herself, +fearing, perhaps, his lack of sympathy for a love affair.</p> + +<p>"It's this," she began a rush of words, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>putting away all reluctance: "I +think I realize more keenly than father how disagreeable this awful +thing is going to be—the publicity, the newspapers, the questions, the +photographs. I know, too, that Mr. Webster's in an unpleasant situation. +I heard what he said to you in the library, every word of it.—But I +don't have to think about him so much as about my father. He's a very +sick man, Mr. Hastings. The shock of this, the resultant shocks lasting +through days and weeks, may be fatal for him.</p> + +<p>"Besides," she explained, attaining greater composure, "he is so +nervous, so impatient of discomfort and irritating things, that he may +bring upon himself the enmity of the authorities, the investigators. He +may easily provoke them so that they would do anything to annoy him.</p> + +<p>"I see you don't understand!" she lamented suddenly, turning her head +away a little.</p> + +<p>He could see how her lips trembled, as if she held them together only by +immense resolution.</p> + +<p>"I think I do," he contradicted kindly. "You want my help; isn't that +it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She looked at him again, with a quick turn of her head, her eyes +less wide-open while she searched his face. "I want to employ you. Can't +I—what do they call it?—retain you?"</p> + +<p>"To do what, exactly?"</p> + +<p>"Oh-h-h!" The exclamation had the hint of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> a sob in it; she was close to +the end of her strength. "I'm a little uncertain about that. Can't you +help me there? I want the real criminal found soon, immediately, as soon +as possible. I want you to work on that. And, in the meantime, I want +you to protect us—father—do things so that we shan't be overrun by +reporters and detectives, all the dreadful results of the discovery of a +murder at our very front door."</p> + +<p>He was thoughtful, looking into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"The fee is of no matter, the amount of it," she added impulsively.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't thinking of that—although, of course, I don't despise fees. +You see, the authorities, the sheriff, might not want my assistance, as +you call it. Generally, they don't. They look upon it as interference +and meddling."</p> + +<p>"Still, you can work independently—retained by Mr. Arthur Sloane—can't +you?"</p> + +<p>He studied her further. For her age—hardly more than twenty-two—she +was strikingly mature of face, and self-reliant. She had, he concluded, +unusual strength of purpose; she was capable of large emotionalism, but +mere feeling would never cloud her mind.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered her; "I can do that. I will."</p> + +<p>"Ah," she breathed, some of the tenseness going out of her, "you are +very good!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>"And you will help me, of course."</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"You can do so now," he pressed this point. "Why is it that all of +you—I noticed it in the men in the library, and when we were outside, +on the lawn—why is it that all of you think this crime is going to hit +you, one of you, so hard? You seem to acknowledge in advance the guilt +of one of you."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you mistaken about that?"</p> + +<p>"No. It struck me forcibly. Didn't you feel it? Don't you, now?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no!"</p> + +<p>He was certain that she was not frank with him.</p> + +<p>"You mean," she added quickly, eyes narrowed, "I suspect—actually +suspect some one in this house?"</p> + +<p>In his turn, he was non-committal, retorting:</p> + +<p>"Don't you?"</p> + +<p>She resented his insistence.</p> + +<p>"There is only one idea possible, I think," she declared, rising: "the +footsteps that I heard fled from the house, not into it. The murderer is +not here."</p> + +<p>He stood up, holding her gaze.</p> + +<p>"I'm your representative now, Miss Sloane," he said, his manner fatherly +in its solicitude. "My duty is to save you, and yours, in every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> way I +can—without breaking the law. You realize what my job is—do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Hastings."</p> + +<p>"And the advisability, the necessity, of utter frankness between us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She said that with obvious impatience.</p> + +<p>"So," he persisted, "you understand my motive in asking you now: is +there nothing more you can tell me—of what you heard and saw, when you +were at your window?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—absolutely," she said, again obviously annoyed.</p> + +<p>He was close to a refusal to have anything to do with the case. He was +sure that she did not deal openly with him. He tried again:</p> + +<p>"Nothing more, Miss Sloane? Think, please. Nothing to make you, us, more +suspicious of Mr. Webster?"</p> + +<p>"Suspect Berne!"</p> + +<p>This time she was frank, he saw at once. The idea of the young lawyer's +guilt struck her as out of the question. Her confidence in that was +genuine, unalloyed. It was so emphatic that it surprised him. Why, then, +this anxiety which had driven her to him for help? What caused the fear +which, at the beginning of their interview, had been so apparent?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>He thought with great rapidity, turning the thing over in his mind as +he stood confronting her. If she did not suspect Webster, whom did she +suspect? Her father?</p> + +<p>That was it!—her father!</p> + +<p>The discovery astounded Hastings—and appealed to his sympathy, +tremendously.</p> + +<p>"My poor child!" he said, on the warm impulse of his compassion.</p> + +<p>She chose to disregard the tone he had used. She took a step toward the +door, and paused, to see that he followed her.</p> + +<p>He went nearer to her, to conclude what he had wanted to say:</p> + +<p>"I shall rely on this agreement between us: I can come to you on any +point that occurs to me? You will give me anything, and all the things, +that may come to your knowledge as the investigation proceeds? Is it a +bargain, Miss Sloane?"</p> + +<p>"A bargain, Mr. Hastings," she assented. "I appreciate, as well as you +do, the need of fair dealing between us. Anything else would be +foolish."</p> + +<p>"Fine! That's great, Miss Sloane!" He was still sorry for her. "Now, let +me be sure, once for all: you're concealing nothing from me, no little +thing even, on the theory that it would be of no use to me and, +therefore, not worth <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>discussing? You told us all you knew—in the +library?"</p> + +<p>She moved toward the door to the hall again.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Hastings—and I'm at your service altogether."</p> + +<p>He would have sworn that she was not telling the truth. This time, +however, he had no thought of declining connection with the case. His +compassion for her had grown.</p> + +<p>Besides, her fear of her father's implication in the affair—was there +foundation for it, more foundation than the hasty thought of a daughter +still labouring under the effects of a great shock? He thought of +Sloane, effeminate, shrill of voice, a trembling wreck, long ago a +self-confessed ineffective in the battle of life—he, a murderer; he, +capable of forceful action of any kind? It seemed impossible.</p> + +<p>But the old man kept that idea to himself, and instructed Lucille.</p> + +<p>"Then," he said, "you must leave things to me. Tell your father so. +Tomorrow, for instance—rather this morning, for it's already a new +day—reporters will come out here, and detectives, and the sheriff. All +of them will want to question you, your father, all the members of the +household. Refer them to me, if you care to.</p> + +<p>"If you discuss theories and possibilities, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> will only make trouble. +To the sheriff, and anybody representing him, state the facts, the bare +facts—that's all. May I count on you for that?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. That's why I've em—why I want your help: to avoid all the +unpleasantness possible."</p> + +<p>When she left him to go to her father's room, Hastings joined the group +on the front verandah. Sheriff Crown and Dr. Garnet had already viewed +the body.</p> + +<p>"I'll hold the inquest at ten tomorrow morning, rather this morning," +the coroner said. "That's hurrying things a little, but I'll have a jury +here by then. They have to see the body before it's taken to +Washington."</p> + +<p>"Besides," observed the sheriff, "nearly all the necessary witnesses are +here in this house party."</p> + +<p>Aware of the Hastings fame, he drew the old man to one side.</p> + +<p>"I'm going into Washington," he announced, "to see this Mrs. Brace, the +girl's mother. Webster says she has a flat, up on Fourteenth street +there. Good idea, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Excellent," assured Hastings, and put in a suggestion: "You've heard of +the fleeting footsteps Miss Sloane reported?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I thought Mrs. Brace might tell me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> who that could have been—some +fellow jealous of the girl, I'll bet."</p> + +<p>The sheriff, who was a tall, lanky man with a high, hooked nose and a +pointed chin that looked like a large knuckle, had a habit of thrusting +forward his upper lip to emphasize his words. He thrust it forward now, +making his bristly, close-cropped red moustache stand out from his face +like the quills of a porcupine.</p> + +<p>"I'd thought of that—all that," he continued. "Looks like a simple case +to me—very."</p> + +<p>"It may be," said Hastings, sure now that Crown would not suggest their +working together.</p> + +<p>"Also," the sheriff told him, "I'll take this."</p> + +<p>He held out the crude weapon with which, apparently, the murder had been +committed. It was a dagger consisting of a sharpened nail file, about +three inches long, driven into a roughly rounded piece of wood. This +wooden handle was a little more than four inches in length and two +inches thick. Hastings, giving it careful examination, commented:</p> + +<p>"He shaped that handle with a pocket-knife. Then, he drove the butt-end +of the nail file into it. Next, he sharpened the end of the file—put a +razor edge on it.—Where did you get this, Mr. Crown?"</p> + +<p>"A servant, one of the coloured women, picked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> it up as I came in. You +were still in the library."</p> + +<p>"Where was it?"</p> + +<p>"About fifteen or twenty feet from the body. She stumbled on it, in the +grass. Ugly thing, sure!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Hastings said, preoccupied, and added: "Let me have it again."</p> + +<p>He took off his spectacles and, screwing into his right eye a jeweller's +glass, studied it for several minutes. If he made an important +discovery, he did not communicate it to Crown.</p> + +<p>"It made an ugly hole," was all he said.</p> + +<p>"You see the blood on it?" Crown prompted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; lucky the rain stopped when it did."</p> + +<p>"When did it stop—out here?" Crown inquired.</p> + +<p>"About eleven; a few minutes after I'd gone up to bed."</p> + +<p>"So she was killed between eleven and midnight?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt about that. Her hat had fallen from her head and was bottom up +beside her. The inside of the crown and all the lower brim was dry as a +bone, while the outside, even where it did not touch the wet grass, was +wet. That showed there wasn't any rain after she was struck down."</p> + +<p>The sheriff was impressed by the other's keenness of observation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>"That's so," he said. "I hadn't noticed it."</p> + +<p>He sought the detective's opinion.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hastings, you've just heard the stories of everybody here. Do me a +favour, will you? Is it worth while for me to go into Washington? Tell +me: do you think anybody here at Sloanehurst is responsible for this +murder?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crown," the old man answered, "there's no proof that anybody here +killed that woman."</p> + +<p>"Just what I thought," Mr. Crown applauded himself. "Glad you agree with +me. It'll turn out a simple case. Wish it wouldn't. Nominating primary's +coming on in less than a month. I'd get a lot more votes if I ran down a +mysterious fellow, solved a tough problem."</p> + +<p>He strode down the porch steps and out to his car—for the ten-mile run +into Washington. Hastings was strongly tempted to accompany him, even +without being invited; it would mean much to be present when the mother +first heard of her daughter's death.</p> + +<p>But he had other and, he thought, more important work to do. Moving so +quietly that his footsteps made no sound, he gained the staircase in the +hall and made his way to the second floor. If anybody had seen him and +inquired what he intended to do, he would have explained that he was on +his way to get his own coat in place of the one which young Webster<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +had, with striking thoughtfulness, thrown over him.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, his real purpose was to search Webster's room.</p> + +<p>But experience had long since imbued him with contempt for the obvious. +Secure from interruption, since his fellow-guests were still in the +library, he did not content himself with his hawk-like scrutiny of the +one room; he explored the back stairway which had been Webster's exit to +the lawn, Judge Wilton's room, and his own.</p> + +<p>In the last stage of the search he encountered his greatest surprise. +Looking under his own bed by the light of a pocket torch, he found that +one of the six slats had been removed from its place and laid cross-ways +upon the other five. The reason for this was apparent; it had been +shortened by between four and five inches.</p> + +<p>"Cut off with a pocket-knife," the old man mused; "crude work, like the +shaping of the handle of that dagger—downstairs; same wood, too. And in +my room, from my bed——</p> + +<p>"I wonder——"</p> + +<p>With a low whistle, expressive of incredulity, he put that new theory +from him and went down to the library.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>THE INTERVIEW WITH MRS. BRACE</h3> + +<p>Gratified, and yet puzzled, by the results of his search of the upstairs +rooms, Hastings was fully awake to the necessity of his interviewing +Mrs. Brace as soon as possible. Lally, the chauffeur, drove him back to +Washington early that Sunday morning. It was characteristic of the old +man that, as they went down the driveway, he looked back at Sloanehurst +and felt keenly the sufferings of the people under its roof.</p> + +<p>He was particularly drawn to Lucille Sloane, with whom he had had a +second brief conference. While waiting for his coffee—nobody in the +house had felt like breakfast—he had taken a chair at the southeast end +of the front porch and, pulling a piece of soft wood and a knife from +his Gargantuan coat-pockets, had fallen to whittling and +thinking.—Whittling, he often said, enabled him to think clearly; it +was to him what tobacco was to other men.</p> + +<p>Thus absorbed, he suddenly heard Lucille's voice, low and tense:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>"We'll have to leave it as it was be——"</p> + +<p>Berne Webster interrupted her, a grain of bitterness in his words:</p> + +<p>"Rather an unusual request, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to tell you this after the talk in the library," she +continued, "but there——"</p> + +<p>They had approached Hastings from the south side of the house and, +hidden from him by the verandah railing, were upon him before he could +make his presence known. Now, however, he did so, warning them by +standing up with a clamorous scraping of his feet on the floor. +Instinctively, he had recoiled from overhearing their discussion of what +was, he thought, a love-affair topic.</p> + +<p>Lucille hurried to him, not that she had additional information to give +him, but to renew her courage. Having called upon him for aid, she had +in the usual feminine way decided to make her reliance upon him +complete. And, under the influence of his reassuring kindliness, her +hesitance and misgivings disappeared.</p> + +<p>He had judged her feelings correctly during their conference in the +parlour. At dinner, she had seen in him merely a pleasant, quiet-spoken +old man, a typical "hick" farmer, who wore baggy, absurdly large +clothing—"for the sake of his circulation," he said—and whose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>appearance in no way corresponded to his reputation as a learned +psychologist and investigator of crime. Now, however, she responded +warmly to his charm, felt the sincerity of his sympathy.</p> + +<p>Seeing that she looked up to him, he enjoyed encouraging her, was bound +more firmly to her interests.</p> + +<p>"I think your fears are unfounded," he told her.</p> + +<p>But he did not reveal his knowledge that she suspected her father of +some connection with the murder. In fact, he could not decide what her +suspicion was exactly, whether it was that he had been guilty of the +crime or that he had guilty knowledge of it.</p> + +<p>A little anxious, she had asked him to promise that he would be back by +ten o'clock, for the inquest. He thought he could do that, although he +had persuaded the coroner that his evidence would not be necessary—the +judge and Webster had found the body; their stories would establish the +essential facts.</p> + +<p>"Why do you want me here then?" he asked, not comprehending her +uneasiness.</p> + +<p>"For one thing," she said, "I want you to talk to father—before the +inquest. I wish you could now, but he isn't up."</p> + +<p>It was eight o'clock when Miss Davis, telephone operator in the cheap +apartment house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> on Fourteenth street known as The Walman, took the old +man's card and read the inscription, over the wire:</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Jefferson Hastings.'"</p> + +<p>After a brief pause, she told him:</p> + +<p>"She wants to know if you are a detective."</p> + +<p>"Tell her I am."</p> + +<p>"You may go up," the girl reported. "It's Number Forty-three, fourth +floor—no elevator."</p> + +<p>After ascending the three flights of stairs, he sat down on the top +step, to get his breath. Mr. Hastings was stout, not to say +sebaceous—and he proposed to begin the interview unhandicapped.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace answered his ring. There was nobody else in the apartment. +The moment he looked into her restless, remarkably brilliant black eyes, +he catalogued her as cold and repellent.</p> + +<p>"One of the swift-eyed kind," he thought; "heart as hard as her head. No +blood in her—but smart. Smart!"</p> + +<p>He relied, without question, on his ability to "size up" people at first +glance. It was a gift with him, like the intuition of women; and to it, +he thought, he owed his best work as a detective.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace, without speaking, without acknowledging his quiet "Mrs. +Brace, I believe?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> led him into the living room after waiting for him +to close the entrance door. This room was unusually large, out of +proportion to the rest of the apartment which included, in addition to +the narrow entry, a bedroom, kitchen and bath—all, so far as his +observation went, sparsely and cheaply furnished.</p> + +<p>They sat down, and still she did not speak, but studied his face. He got +the impression that she considered all men her enemies and sought some +intimation of what his hostility would be like.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to trouble you at such a time," he began. "I shall be as +brief as possible."</p> + +<p>Her black eyebrows moved upward, in curious interrogation. They were +almost mephistophelian, and unpleasantly noticeable, drawn thus nearer +to the wide wave of her white hair.</p> + +<p>"You wanted to see me—about my daughter?"</p> + +<p>Her voice was harsh, metallic, free of emotion. There was nothing about +her indicative of grief. She did not look as if she had been weeping. He +could learn nothing from her manner; it was extremely matter-of-fact, +and chilly. Only, in her eyes he saw suspicion—perhaps, he reflected, +suspicion was always in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Her composure amazed him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>"Yes," he replied gently; "if I don't distress you——"</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>She suddenly lowered her eyebrows, drew them together until they were a +straight line at the bottom of her forehead.</p> + +<p>Her cold self-possession made it easy, in fact necessary, for him to +deal with facts directly. Apparently, she resented his intimated +condolence. He could fling any statement, however sensational, against +the wall of her indifference. She was, he decided, as free of feeling as +she was inscrutable. She would be surprised by emotion into nothing. It +was his brain against hers.</p> + +<p>"I want to say first," he continued, "that my only concern, outside of +my natural and very real sympathy with such a loss as yours must be, is +to find the man who killed her."</p> + +<p>She moved slowly to and fro on the armless, low-backed rocker, watching +him intently.</p> + +<p>"Will you help me?"</p> + +<p>"If I can."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said, smiling encouragement from force of habit, not +because he expected to arouse any spirit of cooperation in her. "I may +ask you a few questions then?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>Her thin nostrils dilated once, quickly, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> somehow their motion +suggested the beginning of a ridiculing smile. He went seriously to +work.</p> + +<p>"Have you any idea, Mrs. Brace, as to who killed your daughter—or could +have wanted to kill her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>She got up, without the least change of expression, without a word, and, +as she crossed the room, paused at the little table against the farther +wall to arrange more symmetrically a pile of finger-worn periodicals. +She went through the communicating door into the bedroom, and, from +where he sat, he could see her go through another door—into the +bathroom, he guessed. In a moment, he heard a glass clink against a +faucet. She had gone for a drink of water, to moisten her throat, like +an orator preparing to deliver an address.</p> + +<p>She came back, unhurried, imperturbable, and sat down again in the +armless rocker before she answered his question. So far as her manner +might indicate, there had been no interruption of the conversation.</p> + +<p>He swept her with wondering eyes. She was not playing a part, not +concealing sorrow. The straight, hard lines of her lean figure were a +complement to her gleaming, unrevealing eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> There was hardness about +her, and in her, everywhere.</p> + +<p>A slow, warm breeze brought through the curtainless window a +disagreeable odour, sour and fetid. The apartment was at the back of the +building; the odour came from a littered courtyard, a conglomeration of +wet ashes, neglected garbage, little filthy pools, warmed into activity +by the sun, high enough now to touch them. He could see the picture +without looking—and that odour struck him as excruciatingly appropriate +to this woman's soul.</p> + +<p>"Berne Webster killed my daughter," she said evenly, hands moveless in +her lap. "There are several reasons for my saying so. Mildred was his +stenographer for eight months, and he fell in love with her—that was +the way he described his feeling, and intention, toward her. The usual +thing happened; he discharged her two weeks ago.</p> + +<p>"He wants to marry money. You know about that, I take it—Miss Sloane, +daughter of A. B. Sloane, Sloanehurst, where she was murdered. They're +engaged. At least, that is—was Mildred's information, although the +engagement hasn't been announced, formally. Fact is, he has to marry the +Sloane girl."</p> + +<p>Her thin, mobile lips curled upward at the ends and looked a little +thicker, giving an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>exaggerated impression of wetness. Hastings thought +of some small, feline animal, creeping, anticipating prey—a sort of +calculating ferocity.</p> + +<p>She talked like a person bent on making every statement perfectly clear +and understandable. There was no intimation that she was so +communicative because she thought she was obliged to talk. On the +contrary, she welcomed the chance to give him the story.</p> + +<p>"Have you told all this to that sheriff, Mr. Crown?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but he seemed to attach no importance to it."</p> + +<p>She coloured her words with feeling at last—it was contempt—putting +the sheriff beyond the pale of further consideration.</p> + +<p>"You were saying Mr. Webster had to marry Miss Sloane. What do you mean +by that, Mrs. Brace?"</p> + +<p>"Money reasons. He had to have money. His bank balance is never more +than a thousand dollars. He's got to produce sixty-five thousand dollars +by the seventh of next September. This is the sixteenth of July. Where +is he to get all that? He's got to marry it."</p> + +<p>Hastings put more intensity into his scrutiny of her smooth, untroubled +face. It showed no sudden access of hatred, no unreasoning venom,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +except that the general cast of her features spoke generally of +vindictiveness. She was, unmistakably, sure of what she said.</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?" he asked, hiding his surprise.</p> + +<p>"Mildred knew it—naturally, from working in his office."</p> + +<p>"Let me be exact, Mrs. Brace. Your charge is just what?"</p> + +<p>He felt the need of keen thought. He reached for his knife and piece of +wood. Entirely unconsciously, he began to whittle, letting little +shavings fall on the bare floor. She made no sign of seeing his new +occupation.</p> + +<p>"It's plain enough, Mr.—I don't recall your name."</p> + +<p>"Hastings—Jefferson Hastings."</p> + +<p>"It's plain and direct, Mr. Hastings. He threw her over, threw Mildred +over. She refused to be dealt with in that way. He wouldn't listen to +her side, her arguments, her protests, her pleas. She pursued him; and +last night he killed her. I understand—Mr. Crown told me—he was found +bending over the body—it seemed to me, caught in the very commission of +the crime."</p> + +<p>A fleeting contortion, like mirthless ridicule, touched her lips as she +saw him, with head lowered, cut more savagely into the piece of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> wood. +She noticed, and enjoyed, his dismay.</p> + +<p>"That isn't quite accurate," he said, without lifting his head. "He and +another man, Judge Wilton, stumbled—came upon your daughter's body at +the same moment."</p> + +<p>"Was that it?" she retorted, unbelieving.</p> + +<p>When he looked up, she was regarding him thoughtfully, the black brows +elevated, interrogative. The old man felt the stirrings of physical +nausea within him. But he waited for her to elaborate her story.</p> + +<p>"Do you care to ask anything more?" she inquired, impersonal as ashes.</p> + +<p>"If I may."</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly."</p> + +<p>He paused in his whittling, brought forth a huge handkerchief, passed it +across his forehead, was aware for a moment that he was working hard +against the woman's unnatural calmness, and feeling the heat intensely. +She was untouched by it. He whittled again, asking her:</p> + +<p>"You a native of Washington?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"About nine months. We came from Chicago."</p> + +<p>"Any friends here—have you any friends here?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"Neither here nor elsewhere." She made that bleak declaration simply, +as if he had suggested her possession of green diamonds. Her tone made +friendship a myth.</p> + +<p>He felt again utterly free of the restraints and little hesitancies +usual in situations of this nature.</p> + +<p>"And your means, resources. Any, Mrs. Brace?"</p> + +<p>"None—except my daughter's."</p> + +<p>He was unaccountably restless. Putting the knife into his pocket, he +stood up, went to the window. His guess had been correct. The courtyard +below was as he had pictured it. He stood there at least a full minute.</p> + +<p>Turning suddenly in the hope of catching some new expression on her +face, he found her gazing steadily, as if in revery, at the opposite +wall.</p> + +<p>"One thing more, Mrs. Brace: did you know your daughter intended to go +to Sloanehurst last night?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Were you uneasy when she failed to come in—last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but what could I do?"</p> + +<p>"Had she written to Mr. Webster recently?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I think so."</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she went out to mail a letter night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> before last. I recall that +she said it was important, had to be in the box for the midnight +collection, to reach its destination yesterday afternoon—late. I'm sure +it was to Webster."</p> + +<p>"Did you see the address on it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't try to."</p> + +<p>He stepped from the window, to throw the full glare of the morning sky +on her face, which was upturned, toward him.</p> + +<p>"Was it in a grey envelope?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; an oblong, grey envelope," she said, the impassive, unwrinkled +face unmoved to either curiosity or reticence.</p> + +<p>With surprising swiftness he took a triangular piece of paper from his +breast pocket and held it before her.</p> + +<p>"Might that be the flap of that grey envelope?"</p> + +<p>She inspected it, while he kept hold of it.</p> + +<p>"Very possibly."</p> + +<p>Without leaving her chair, she turned and put back the lid of a rickety +little desk in the corner immediately behind her. There, she showed him, +was a bundle of grey envelopes, the corresponding paper beside it. He +compared the envelope flaps with the one he had brought. They were +identical.</p> + +<p>Here was support of her assertion that Berne Webster had been pursued by +her daughter as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> late as yesterday afternoon—and, therefore, might have +been provoked into desperate action. He had found that scrap of grey +paper at Sloanehurst, in Webster's room.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>ACTION BY THE SHERIFF</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Brace did not ask Hastings where he had got the fragment of grey +envelope. She made no comment whatever.</p> + +<p>He reversed the flap in his hand and showed her the inner side on which +were, at first sight, meaningless lines and little smears. He explained +that the letter must have been put into the envelope when the ink was +still undried on the part of it that came in contact with the flap, and, +the paper being of that rough-finish, spongy kind frequently affected by +women, the flap had absorbed the undried ink pressed against it.</p> + +<p>"Have you a hand-mirror?" he asked, breaking a long pause.</p> + +<p>She brought one from the bedroom. Holding it before the envelope flap, +he showed her the marks thus made legible. They were, on the first line: +"—edly de—," with the first loop or curve of an "n" or an "m" +following the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> "de"; and on the second line the one word "Pursuit!" the +whole reproduction being this:</p> + +<p class="center">edly de<br />Pursuit!</p> + +<p>"Does that writing mean anything to you, Mrs. Brace?" Hastings asked, +keeping it in front of her.</p> + +<p>She moved her left hand, a quiet gesture indicating her lack of further +interest in the piece of paper.</p> + +<p>"Nothing special," she said, "except that the top line seems to bear out +what I've told you. It might be: 'repeatedly demanded'—I mean Mildred +may have written that she had repeatedly demanded justice of him, +something of that sort."</p> + +<p>"Is it your daughter's writing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And the word 'Pursuit,' with an exclamation point after it? That +suggest anything to you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no." She showed her first curiosity: "Where did you get that piece +of envelope?"</p> + +<p>"Not from Berne Webster," he said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," she agreed, and did not press him for the information.</p> + +<p>"You said," he went to another point, "that the sheriff attached no +importance to your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>belief in Webster's guilt. Can you tell me why?"</p> + +<p>Her contempt was frank enough now, and visible, her lips thickening and +assuming the abnormally humid appearance he had noticed before.</p> + +<p>"He thinks the footsteps which Miss Sloane says she heard are the +deciding evidence. He accuses a young man named Russell, Eugene Russell, +who's been attentive to Mildred."</p> + +<p>Hastings was relieved.</p> + +<p>"Crown's seen him, seen Russell?" he asked, not troubling to conceal his +eagerness.</p> + +<p>On that, he saw the beginnings of wrath in her eyes. The black eyebrows +went upward, the thin nostrils expanded, the lips set to a line no +thicker than the edge of a knife.</p> + +<p>"You, too, will——"</p> + +<p>She broke off, checked by the ringing of the wall telephone in the +entrance hall. She answered the call, moving without haste. It was for +Mr. Hastings, she said, going back to her seat.</p> + +<p>He regretted the interruption; it would give her time to regain the +self-control she had been on the point of losing.</p> + +<p>Sheriff Crown was at the other end of the wire. He was back at +Sloanehurst, he explained, and Miss Sloane had asked him to give the +detective certain information:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>He had asked the Washington police to hold Eugene Russell, or to +persuade him to attend the inquest at Sloanehurst. Crown, going in to +Washington, had stopped at the car barns of the electric road which +passed Sloanehurst, and had found a conductor who had made the +ten-thirty run last night. This conductor, Barton, had slept at the +barns, waiting for the early-morning resumption of car service to take +him to his home across the city.</p> + +<p>Barton remembered having seen a man leave his car at Ridgecrest, the +next stop before Sloanehurst, at twenty-five minutes past ten last +night. He answered Russell's description, had seemed greatly agitated, +and was unfamiliar with the stops on the line, having questioned Barton +as to the distance between Ridgecrest and Sloanehurst. That was all the +conductor had to tell.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brace's description of Russell, a real estate salesman who had +been attentive to her daughter," continued Crown, "tallied with Barton's +description of the man who had been on his car. I got his address from +her. But say! She don't fall for the idea that Russell's guilty! She +gave me to understand, in that snaky, frozen way of hers, that I was a +fool for thinking so.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, I'm going to put him over the jumps!" The sheriff was highly +elated. "What was he out here for last night if he wasn't jealous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> of +the girl? Wasn't he following her? And, when he came up with her on the +Sloanehurst lawn, didn't he kill her? It looks plain to me; simple. I +told you it was a simple case!"</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him?" Hastings was looking at his watch as he spoke—it +was nine o'clock.</p> + +<p>"No; I went to his boarding house, waked up the place at three o'clock +this morning. He wasn't there."</p> + +<p>Hastings asked for the number of the house. It was on Eleventh street, +Crown informed him, and gave the number.</p> + +<p>"I searched his room," the sheriff added, his voice self-congratulatory.</p> + +<p>"Find anything?"</p> + +<p>"I should say! The nail file was missing from his dressing case."</p> + +<p>"What else?"</p> + +<p>"A pair of wet shoes—muddy and wet."</p> + +<p>"Then, he'd returned to his room, after the murder, and gone out again?"</p> + +<p>"That's it—right."</p> + +<p>"Anybody in the house hear him come in, or go out?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul.—And I don't know where he is now."</p> + +<p>Hastings, leaving the telephone, found Mrs. Brace carefully brushing +into a newspaper the litter made by his whittling. Her performance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> of +that trivial task, the calm thoroughness with which she went about it, +or the littleness of it, when compared with her complete indifference to +the tragedy which should have overwhelmed her—something, he could not +tell exactly what, made her more repugnant to him than ever.</p> + +<p>He spoke impulsively:</p> + +<p>"Did you want—didn't you feel some impulse, some desire, to go out +there when you heard of this murder?"</p> + +<p>She paused in her brushing, looking up to him without lifting herself +from hands and knees.</p> + +<p>"Why should I have wanted to do any such thing?" she replied. "Mildred's +not out there. What's out there is—nothing."</p> + +<p>"Do you know about the arrangements for the removal of the body?"</p> + +<p>"The sheriff told me," she replied, cold, impersonal. "It will be +brought to an undertaking establishment as soon as the coroner's jury +has viewed it."</p> + +<p>"Yes—at ten o'clock this morning."</p> + +<p>She made no comment on that. He had brought up the disagreeable +topic—one which would have been heart-breaking to any other mother he +had ever known—in the hope of arousing some real feeling in her. And he +had failed. Her self-control was impregnable. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> about her an +atmosphere that was, in a sense, terrifying, something out of all +nature.</p> + +<p>She brushed up the remaining chips and shavings while he got his hat. He +was deliberating: was there nothing more she could tell him? What could +he hope to get from her except that which she wanted to tell? He was +sure that she had spoken, in reply to each of his questions, according +to a prearranged plan, a well designed scheme to bring into high relief +anything that might incriminate Berne Webster.</p> + +<p>And he was by no means in a mood to persuade himself of Webster's guilt. +He knew the value of first impressions; and he did not propose to let +her clog his thoughts with far-fetched deductions against the young +lawyer.</p> + +<p>She got to her feet with cat-like agility, and, to his astonishment, +burst into violent speech:</p> + +<p>"You're standing there trying to think up things to help Berne Webster! +Like the sheriff! Now, I'll tell you what I told him: Webster's guilty. +I know it! He killed my daughter. He's a liar and a coward—a traitor! +He killed her!"</p> + +<p>There was no doubt of her emotion now. She stood in a strange attitude, +leaning a little toward him in the upper part of her body, as if all her +strength were consciously directed into her shoulders and neck. She +seemed larger in her arms and shoulders; they, with her head and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> face, +were, he thought, the most vivid part of her—an effect which she +produced deliberately, to impress him.</p> + +<p>Her whole body was not tremulous, but, rather, vibrant, a taut mechanism +played on by the rage that possessed her. Her eyebrows, high on her +forehead, reminded him of things that crawled. Her eyes, brilliant like +clear ice with sunshine on it, were darting, furtive, always in motion.</p> + +<p>She did not look him squarely in the eye, but her eyes selected and +bored into every part of his face; her glance played on his countenance. +He could easily have imagined that it burned him physically in many +places.</p> + +<p>"All this talk about Gene Russell's being guilty is stuff, bosh!" she +continued. "Gene wouldn't hurt anybody. He couldn't! Wait until you see +him!" Her lips curled momentarily to their thickened, wet sneer. +"There's nothing to him—nothing! Mildred hated him; he bored her to +death. Even I laughed at him. And this sheriff talks about the boy's +having killed her!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, she partially controlled her fury. He saw her eyes contract to +the gleam of a new idea. She was silent a moment, while her vibrant, +tense body swayed in front of him almost imperceptibly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>When she spoke again, it was in her flat, constrained tone. He was +impressed anew with her capacity for making her feeling subordinate to +her intelligence.</p> + +<p>"She's a dangerous woman," he thought again.</p> + +<p>"You're working for Webster?"</p> + +<p>Her inquiry came after so slight a pause, and it was put to him in a +manner so different from the unrestraint of her denunciation of Webster, +that he felt as he would have done if he had been dealing with two +women.</p> + +<p>"I've told you already," he said, "my only interest is in finding the +real murderer. In that sense, I'm working for Webster—if he's +innocent."</p> + +<p>"But he didn't hire you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Seeing that he told the truth, she indulged herself in rage again. It +was just that, Hastings thought; she took an actual, keen pleasure in +giving vent to the anger that was in her. Relieved of the necessity of +censoring her words and thoughts closely, she could say what she wanted +to say.</p> + +<p>"He's guilty, and I'll prove it!" she defied the detective's disbelief. +"I'll help to prove it. Guilty? I tell you he is—guilty as hell!"</p> + +<p>He made an abrupt departure, her shrill hatred ringing in his ears when +he reached the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> street. He found it hard, too, to get her out of his +eyes, even now—she had impressed herself so shockingly upon him. The +picture of her floated in front of him, above the shimmering pavement, +as if he still confronted her in all her unloveliness, the smooth, white +face like a travesty on youth, the swift, darting eyes, the hard, +straight lines of the lean figure, the cold deliberation of manner and +movement.</p> + +<p>"She's incapable of grief!" he thought. "Terrible! She's terrible!"</p> + +<p>Lally drove him to his apartment on Fifteenth street, where the largest +of three rooms served him as a combination library and office. There he +kept his records, in a huge, old-fashioned safe; and there, also, he +held his conferences, from time to time, with police chiefs and +detectives from all parts of the country when they sought his help in +their pursuit of criminals.</p> + +<p>The walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. A large table in +the centre of the room was stacked high with newspapers and magazines. +Dusty papers and books were piled, too, on several chairs set against +the bookcases, and on the floor in one corner was a pyramid of +documents.</p> + +<p>"This place is like me," he explained to visitors; "it's loosely +dressed."</p> + +<p>He sat down at the table and wrote <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>instructions for one of his two +assistants, his best man, Hendricks. Russell's room must be searched and +Russell interviewed—work for which Hastings felt that he himself could +not spare the time. He gave Hendricks a second task: investigation of +the financial standing of two people: Berne Webster and Mrs. Catherine +Brace.</p> + +<p>He noted, with his customary kindness, in his memorandum to Hendricks:</p> + +<p>"Sunday's a bad day for this sort of work, but do the best you can. +Report tomorrow morning."</p> + +<p>That arranged, he set out for Sloanehurst, to keep his promise to +Lucille—he would be there for the inquest.</p> + +<p>On the way he reviewed matters:</p> + +<p>"Somehow, I got the idea that the Brace woman <i>knew</i> Russell hadn't +killed her daughter. Funny, that is. How could she have known that? How +can she know it now?</p> + +<p>"She's got the pivotal fact in this case. I felt it. I'm willing to bet +she persuaded her daughter to pursue Webster. And things have gone +'bust'—didn't come out as she thought they would. What was she after, +money? That's exactly it! Exactly! Her daughter could hold up Webster, +and Webster could hold up the Sloanes after his marriage."</p> + +<p>He whistled softly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>"If she can prove that Webster should have married her daughter, that +he's in need of anything like sixty-five thousand dollars—where does he +get off? He gets off safely if the Brace woman ever sees fit to +tell—what? I couldn't guess if my whittling hand depended on it." He +grimaced his repugnance.</p> + +<p>"What a woman! A mania for wickedness—evil from head to foot, +thoroughly. <i>She</i> wouldn't stick at murder—if she thought it safe. +She'd do anything, say anything. Every word she uttered this morning had +been rehearsed in her mind—with gestures, even. When I beat her, I beat +this puzzle; that's sure."</p> + +<p>That he had to do with a puzzle, he had no manner of doubt. The very +circumstances surrounding the discovery of the girl's body—Arthur +Sloane flashing on the light in his room at a time when his being awake +was so unusual that it frightened his daughter; Judge Wilton stumbling +over the dead woman; young Webster doing the same thing in the same +instant; the light reaching out to them at the moment when they bent +down to touch the thing which their feet had encountered—all that +shouted mystery to his experienced mind.</p> + +<p>He thought of Webster's pronouncement: "The thug, acting on the spur of +the moment, with a blow in the dark and a getaway through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> the +night——" Here was reproduction of that in real life. Would people say +that Webster had given himself away in advance? They might.</p> + +<p>And the weapon, what about that? It could have been manufactured in ten +minutes. Crown had said over the wire that Russell's nail file was +missing. What if Webster's, too, were missing? He would see—although he +expected to uncover no such thing.</p> + +<p>He came, then, to Lucille's astounding idea, that her father must be +"protected," because he was nervous and, being nervous, might incur the +enmity of the authorities. He could not take that seriously. And yet the +most fruitful imagination in the world could fabricate no motive for +Arthur Sloane's killing a young woman he had never seen.</p> + +<p>Only Webster and Russell could be saddled with motives: Webster's, +desperation, the savage determination to rid himself of the woman's +pursuit; Russell's, unreasoning jealousy.</p> + +<p>So far as facts went, the crime lay between those two—and he could not +shake off the impression that Mrs. Brace, shrilly asserting Russell's +innocence, had known that she spoke the absolute truth.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>THE HOSTILITY OF MR. SLOANE</h3> + +<p>Delayed by a punctured tire, Hastings reached Sloanehurst when the +inquest was well under way. He went into the house by a side door and +found Lucille Sloane waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"Won't you go to father at once?" she urged him.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" He saw that her anxiety had grown during his +absence.</p> + +<p>"He's in one of his awfully nervous states. I hope you'll be very +patient with him—make allowances. He doesn't seem to grasp the +importance of your connection with the case; wants to ask questions. +Won't you let me take you to him, now?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, if I can be of any help. What do you want me to say to him?"</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, he was glad of the opportunity for the interview. +He had long since discovered the futility of inquests in the uncovering +of important evidence, and he had not intended to sit through this one. +He wanted particularly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> to talk to Berne Webster, but Sloane also had to +be questioned.</p> + +<p>"I thought you might explain," she continued hurriedly, preceding him +down the hall toward her father's room, "that you will do exactly what I +asked you to do—see that the mysterious part of this terrible affair, +if there is any mystery in it—see that it's cleared up promptly. Please +tell him you'll act for us in dealing with newspaper reporters; that +you'll help us, not annoy us, not annoy him."</p> + +<p>She had stopped at Sloane's door.</p> + +<p>"And you?" Hastings delayed her knock. "If they want you to testify, if +Dr. Garnet calls for you, I think you'd better testify very frankly, +tell them about the footsteps you heard."</p> + +<p>"I've already done that." She seemed embarrassed. "Father asked me to +'phone Mr. Southard, Mr. Jeremy Southard, his lawyer, about it. I know I +told you I wanted your advice about everything. I would have waited to +ask you. But you were late. I had to take Mr. Southard's advice."</p> + +<p>"That's perfectly all right," he reassured her. "Mr. Southard advised +you wisely.—Now, I'm going to ask your help. The guest-rooms +upstairs—have the servants straightened them up this morning?"</p> + +<p>They had not, she told him. Excitement had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> quite destroyed their +efficiency for the time being; they were at the parlour windows, +listening, or waiting to be examined by the coroner.</p> + +<p>"That's what I hoped," he said. "Won't you see that those rooms are left +exactly as they are until I can have a look at them?" She nodded assent. +"And say nothing about my speaking of it—absolutely nothing to anybody? +It's vitally important."</p> + +<p>The door was opened by Sloane's man, Jarvis, who had in queer +combination, Hastings thought, the salient aspects of an undertaker and +an experienced pick-pocket. He was dismal of countenance and alert in +movement, an efficient ghost, admirably appropriate to the twilit gloom +of the room with its heavily shaded windows.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sloane was in bed, in the darkest corner.</p> + +<p>"Father," Lucille addressed him from the door-sill, "I've asked Mr. +Hastings to talk to you about things. He's just back from Washington."</p> + +<p>"Shuddering saints!" said Mr. Sloane, not lifting his head from the +pillows.</p> + +<p>Lucille departed. The ghostly Jarvis closed the door without so much as +a click of the latch. Hastings advanced slowly toward the bed, his eyes +not yet accustomed to the darkness.</p> + +<p>"Shuddering, shivering, shaking saints!" Mr. Sloane exclaimed again, the +words coming in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> slow, shrill tenor from his lips, as if with great +exertion he reached up with something and pushed each one out of his +mouth. "Sit down, Mr. Hastings, if I can control my nerves, and stand +it. What is it?"</p> + +<p>His hostility to the caller was obvious. The evident and grateful +interest with which the night before he had heard the detective's +stories of crimes and criminals had changed now to annoyance at the very +sight of him. As a raconteur, Mr. Hastings was quite the thing; as +protector of the Sloane family's privacy and seclusion, he was a +nuisance. Such was the impression Mr. Hastings received.</p> + +<p>At a loss to understand his host's frame of mind, he took a chair near +the bed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sloane stirred jerkily under his thin summer coverings.</p> + +<p>"A little light, Jarvis," he said peevishly. "Now, Mr. Hastings, what +can I do for—tell you?"</p> + +<p>Jarvis put back a curtain.</p> + +<p>"Quivering and crucified martyrs!" the prostrate man burst forth. "I +said a little, Jarvis! You drown my optic nerves in ink and, without a +moment's warning, flood them with the glaring brilliancy of the noonday +sun!" Jarvis half-drew the curtain. "Ah, that's better. Never more than +an inch at a time, Jarvis. How many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> times have I told you that? Never +give me a shock like that again; never more than an inch of light at a +time. Frantic fiends! From cimmerian, abysmal darkness to Sahara-desert +glare!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Jarvis, as if on the point of digging a grave—for +himself. "Beg pardon, sir."</p> + +<p>He effaced himself, in shadows, somewhere behind Hastings, who seized +the opportunity to speak.</p> + +<p>"Miss Sloane suggested that you wanted certain information. In fact, she +asked me to see you."</p> + +<p>"My daughter? Oh, yes!" The prone body became semi-upright, leaned on an +elbow. "Yes! What I want to know is, why—why, in the name of all the +jumping angels, everybody seems to think there's a lot of mystery +connected with this brutal, vulgar, dastardly crime! It passes my +comprehension, utterly!—Jarvis, stop clicking your finger-nails +together!" This with a note of exaggerated pleading. "You know I'm a +nervous wreck, a total loss physically, and yet you stand there in the +corner and indulge yourself wickedly, wickedly, in that infernal habit +of yours of clicking your finger-nails! Mute and mutilated Christian +martyrs!"</p> + +<p>He fell back among the pillows, breathing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> heavily, the perfect picture +of exhaustion. Jarvis came near on soundless feet and applied a wet +cloth to his master's temples.</p> + +<p>The old man regarded them both with unconcealed amazement.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Hastings, really, I can't be annoyed!" +the wreck, somewhat revived, announced feebly. "All I said to my +daughter, Miss Sloane, is what I say to you now: I see no reason why we +should employ you, or indeed why you should be connected with this +affair. You were my guest, here, at Sloanehurst. Unfortunately, some +ruffian of whom we never heard, whose existence we never +suspected—Jarvis, take off this counterpane; you're boiling me, +parboiling me; my nerves are seething, simmering, stewing! Athletic +devils! Have you no discrimination, Jarvis?—as I was saying, Mr. +Hastings, somebody stabbed somebody else to death on my lawn, +unfortunately marring your visit. But that's all. I can't see that we +need you—thank you, nevertheless."</p> + +<p>The dismissal was unequivocal. Hastings got to his feet, his indignation +all the greater through realization that he had been sent for merely to +be flouted. And yet, this man's daughter had come to him literally with +tears in her eyes, had begged him to help her, had said that money was +the smallest of considerations. Moreover,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> he had accepted her +employment, had made the definite agreement and promise. Apparently, +Sloane was in no condition to act independently, and his daughter had +known it, had hoped that he, Hastings, might soothe his silly mind, do +away with his objections to assistance which she knew he needed.</p> + +<p>There was, also, the fact that Lucille believed her father unaccountably +interested, if not implicated, in the crime. He could not get away from +that impression. He was sure he had interpreted correctly the girl's +anxiety the night before. She was working to save her father—from +something. And she believed Berne Webster innocent.</p> + +<p>These were some of the considerations which, flashing through his mind, +prevented his giving way to righteous wrath. He most certainly would not +allow Arthur Sloane to eliminate him from the situation. He sat down +again.</p> + +<p>The nervous wreck made himself more understandable.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, Jarvis," he said, shrinking to one side like a man in sudden +pain, "the gentleman can't see how to reach that large door. A little +more light, half an inch-not a fraction more!"</p> + +<p>"Don't bother," Hastings told Jarvis. "I'm not going quite yet."</p> + +<p>"Leaping crime!" moaned Mr. Sloane, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>digging deeper into the pillows, +"Frantic imps!"</p> + +<p>"I hope I won't distress you too much," the detective apologized grimly, +"if I ask you a few questions. Fact is, I must. I'm investigating the +circumstances surrounding what may turn out to be a baffling crime, and, +irrespective of your personal wishes, Mr. Sloane, I can't let go of it. +This is a serious business——"</p> + +<p>The sick man sat up in bed with surprising abruptness.</p> + +<p>"Serious business! Serious saints!—Jarvis, the eau de cologne!—You +think I don't know it? They make a slaughter-house of my lawn. They make +a morgue of my house. They hold a coroner's inquest in my parlour. +They're in there now—live people like ravens, and one dead one. They +cheat the undertaker to plague me. They wreck me all over again. They +give me a new exhaustion of the nerves. They frighten my daughter to +death.—Jarvis, the smelling salts. Shattered saints, Jarvis! Hurry! +Thanks.—They rig up lies which, Tom Wilton, my old and trusted friend, +tells me, will incriminate Berne Webster. They sit around a corpse in my +house and chatter by the hour. You come in here and make Jarvis nearly +blind me.</p> + +<p>"And, then, then, by the holy, agile angels! you think you have to +persuade me it's a serious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> business! Never fear! I know it!—Jarvis, +the bromide, quick! Before I know it, they'll drive me to +opiates.—Serious business! Shrivelled and shrinking saints!"</p> + +<p>Arms clasped around his legs, knees pressed against his chin, Mr. Sloane +trembled and shook until Jarvis, more agile than the angels of whom his +employer had spoken, gave him the dose of bromides.</p> + +<p>Still, Mr. Hastings did not retire.</p> + +<p>"I was going to say," he resumed, in a tone devoid of compassion, "I +couldn't drop this thing now. I may be able to find the murderer; and +you may be able to help me."</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it Russell? He's among the ravens now, in my parlour. Wilton told +me the sheriff was certain Russell was the man. Murdered martyrs! +Sacrificed saints! Can't you let a guilty man hang when he comes forward +and puts the rope around his own worthless neck?"</p> + +<p>"If Russell's guilty," Hastings said, glad of the information that the +accused man was then at Sloanehurst, "I hope we can develop the +necessary evidence against him. But——"</p> + +<p>"The necessary——"</p> + +<p>"Let me finish, Mr. Sloane, if you please!" The old man was determined +to disregard the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> other's signs of suffering. He did not believe that +they were anything but assumed, the exaggerated camouflage which he +usually employed as an excuse for idleness. "But, if Russell isn't +guilty, there are facts which may help me to find the murderer. And you +may have valuable information concerning them."</p> + +<p>"Sobbing, sorrowing saints!" lamented Mr. Sloane, but his trembling +ceased; he was closely attentive. "A cigarette, Jarvis, a cigarette! +Nerves will be served.—I suppose the easiest way is to submit. Go on."</p> + +<p>"I shall ask you only two or three questions," Hastings said.</p> + +<p>The jackknife-like figure in the bed shuddered its repugnance.</p> + +<p>"I've been told, Mr. Sloane, that Mr. Webster has been in great need of +money, as much as sixty-five thousand dollars. In fact, according to my +information, he needs it now."</p> + +<p>"Well, did he kill the woman, expecting to find it in her stocking?"</p> + +<p>"The significance of his being hard-pressed, for so large an amount," +the old man went on, ignoring the sarcasm, "is in the further charge +that Miss Brace was trying to make him marry her, that he should have +married her, that he killed her in order to be free to marry your +daughter—for money."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p><p>"My daughter! For money!" shrilled Sloane, neck elongated, head thrust +forward, eyes bulging. "Leaping and whistling cherubim!" For all his +outward agitation, he seemed to Hastings in thorough command of his +logical faculties; it was more than possible, the detective thought, +that the expletives were time-killers, until he could decide what to +say. "It's ridiculous, absurd! Why, sir, you reason as loosely as you +dress! Are you trying to prostrate me further with impossible theories? +Webster marry my daughter for money, for sixty-five thousand dollars? He +knows I'd let him have any amount he wanted. I'd give him the money if +it meant his peace of mind and Lucille's happiness.—Dumb and dancing +devils! Jarvis, a little whiskey! I'm worn out, worn out!"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever tell Mr. Webster of the extent of your generous feeling +toward him, Mr. Sloane—in dollars and cents?"</p> + +<p>"No; it wasn't necessary. He knows how fond of him I am."</p> + +<p>"And you would let him have sixty-five thousand dollars—if he had to +have it?"</p> + +<p>"I would, sir!—today, this morning."</p> + +<p>"Now, one other thing, Mr. Sloane, and I'm through. It's barely possible +that there was some connection between this murder and a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>letter which +came to Sloanehurst yesterday afternoon, a letter in an oblong grey +envelope. Did——"</p> + +<p>The nervous man went to pieces again, beat with his open palms on the +bed covering.</p> + +<p>"Starved and stoned evangels, Jarvis! Quit balling your feet! You stand +there and see me harassed to the point of extinction by a lot of crazy +queries, and you indulge yourself in that infernal weakness of yours of +balling your feet! Leaping angels! You know how acute my hearing is; you +know the noise of your sock against the sole of your shoe when you ball +your feet is the most exquisite torture to me! A little whiskey, Jarvis! +Quick!" He spoke now in a weak, almost inaudible voice to Hastings: "No; +I got no such letter. I saw no such letter." He sank slowly back to a +prone posture.</p> + +<p>"I was going to remind you," the detective continued, "that I brought +the five o'clock mail in. Getting off the car, I met the rural carrier; +he asked me to bring in the mail, saving him the few steps to your box. +All there was consisted of a newspaper and one letter. I recall the +shape and colour of the envelope—oblong, grey. I did not, of course, +look at the address. I handed the mail to you when you met me on the +porch."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sloane, raising himself on one elbow to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> take the restoring drink +from Jarvis, looked across the glass at his cross-examiner.</p> + +<p>"I put the mail in the basket on the hall table," he said in high-keyed +endeavour to express withering contempt. "If it had been for me, Jarvis +would have brought it to me later. I seldom carry my reading glasses +about the house with me."</p> + +<p>Hastings, subjecting the pallid Jarvis to severe scrutiny, asked him:</p> + +<p>"Was that grey letter addressed to—whom?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see it," replied Jarvis, scarcely polite.</p> + +<p>"And yet, it's your business to inspect and deliver the household's +mail?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"What became of it, then—the grey envelope?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I can't say, sir, unless some one got it before I reached the +mail basket."</p> + +<p>Hastings stood up. Interrogation of both master and man had given him +nothing save the inescapable conviction that both of them resented his +questioning and would do nothing to help him. The reason for this +opposition he could not grasp, but it was a fact, challenging his +analysis. Arthur Sloane rejected his proffered help in the pursuit of +the man who had brought murder to the doors of Sloanehurst.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> Why? Was +this his method of hiding facts in his possession?</p> + +<p>Hastings questioned him again:</p> + +<p>"Your waking up at that unusual hour last night—was it because of a +noise outside?"</p> + +<p>The neurasthenic, once more recumbent, succeeded in voicing faint denial +of having heard any noises, outside or inside. Nor had he been aware of +the murder until called by Judge Wilton. He had turned on his light to +find the smelling-salts which, for the first time in six years, Jarvis +had failed to leave on his bed-table,—terrible and ill-trained apes! +Couldn't he be left in peace?</p> + +<p>The hall door opened, admitting Judge Wilton. The newcomer, with a word +of greeting to Hastings, sat down on the bedside and put a hand on +Sloane's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Hastings turned to leave the room.</p> + +<p>"Any news?" the judge asked him.</p> + +<p>"I've just been asking Mr. Sloane that," Hastings said, in a tone that +made Wilton look swiftly at his friend's face.</p> + +<p>"I told Arthur this morning," he said, "how lucky he was that you'd +promised Lucille to go into this thing."</p> + +<p>"Apparently," Hastings retorted drily, "he's unconvinced of the extent +of his good fortune."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Sloane, quivering from head to foot, mourned softly: "Unfathomable +fate!"</p> + +<p>Wilton, his rugged features softening to frank amusement, stared a +moment in silence at Sloane's thin face, at the deeply lined forehead +topped by stringy grey hair.</p> + +<p>"See here, Arthur," he protested, nodding Hastings an invitation to +remain; "you know as much about crime as Hastings and I. If you've +thought about this murder at all, you must see what it is. If Russell +isn't guilty—if he's not the man, that crime was committed shrewdly, +with forethought. And it was a devilish thing—devilish!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what of it?" Sloane protested shrilly, not opening his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Take my advice. Quit antagonizing Mr. Hastings. Be thankful that he's +here, that he's promised to run down the guilty man."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sloane turned his face to the wall.</p> + +<p>"A little whiskey, Jarvis," he said softly. "I'm exhausted, Tom. Leave +me alone."</p> + +<p>Wilton waved his hand, indicative of the futility of further argument.</p> + +<p>"Judge," announced Hastings, at the door, "I'll ask you a question I put +to Mr. Sloane. Did you receive, or see, a letter in an oblong, grey +envelope in yesterday afternoon's mail?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>"No. I never get any mail while I'm here for a week-end."</p> + +<p>Wilton followed the detective into the hall.</p> + +<p>"I hope you're not going to give up the case, Hastings. You won't pay +any attention to Arthur's unreasonable attitude, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Hastings said, still indignant. "I made my bargain with +his daughter. I'll see her."</p> + +<p>"If you can't manage any other way, I—or she—will get any information +you want from Arthur."</p> + +<p>"I hope to keep on. It's a big thing, I think." The old man was again +intent on solving the problem. "Tell me, judge; do you think Berne +Webster's guilty?" Seeing the judge's hesitance, he supplemented: "I +mean, did you notice anything last night, in his conduct, that would +indicate guilt—or fear?"</p> + +<p>Later, when other developments gave this scene immense importance, +Hastings, in reviewing it, remembered the curious little flicker of the +judge's eyelids preceding his reply.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely not," he declared, with emphasis. "Are you working on +that"—he hesitated hardly perceptibly—"idea?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN WHO RAN AWAY</h3> + +<p>Ancestors of the old family from whom Arthur Sloane had purchased this +colonial mansion eight years ago still looked out of their gilded frames +on the parlour walls, their high-bred calm undisturbed, their +aristocratic eyes unwidened, by the chatter and clatter of the strangers +within their gates. Hastings noticed that even the mob and mouthing of a +coroner's inquest failed to destroy the ancient atmosphere and charm of +the great room. He smiled. The pictured grandeur of a bygone age, the +brocaded mahogany chairs, the tall French mirrors—all these made an +incongruous setting for the harsh machinery of crime-inquiry.</p> + +<p>The detective had completed his second and more detailed search of the +guest-rooms in time to hear the words and study the face of the last +witness on Dr. Garnet's list. That was Eugene Russell.</p> + +<p>"One of life's persimmons—long before frost!" Hastings thought, making +swift <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>appraisal. "A boneless spine—chin like a sheep—brave as a +lamb."</p> + +<p>Russell could not conceal his agitation. In fact, he referred to it. +Fear, he explained in a low, husky voice to the coroner and the jury, +was not a part of his emotions. His only feeling was sorrow, varied now +and then by the embarrassment he felt as a result of the purely personal +and very intimate facts which he had to reveal.</p> + +<p>His one desire was to be frank, he declared, his pale blue eyes roving +from place to place, his nervous fingers incessantly playing with his +thin, uncertain lips. This mania for truthfulness, he asserted, was +natural, in that it offered him the one sure path to freedom and the +establishment of his innocence of all connection with the murder of the +woman he had loved.</p> + +<p>He was, he testified, thirty-one years old, a clerk in a real-estate +dealer's office and a native of Washington. Mildred Brace had been +employed for a few weeks by the same firm for which he worked, and it +was there that he had met her. Although she had refused to marry him on +the ground that his salary was inadequate for the needs of two people, +she had encouraged his attentions. Sometimes, they had quarrelled.</p> + +<p>"Speak up, Mr. Russell!" Dr. Garnet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>directed. "And take your time. Let +the jury hear every word you utter."</p> + +<p>After that, the witness abandoned his attempt to exclude the family +portraits from his confidence, but his voice shook.</p> + +<p>"Conductor Barton is right," he said, responding to the coroner's +interrogation. "I did come out on his car, the car that gets to the +Sloanehurst stop at ten-thirty, and I did leave the car at the +Ridgecrest stop, a quarter of a mile from here. I was following +Mil—Miss Brace. I saw her leave her apartment house, the Walman. I +followed her to the transfer station at the bridge, and I saw her take +the car there. I followed on the next car. I knew where she was going, +knew she was going to Sloanehurst."</p> + +<p>"How did you know that, Mr. Russell?"</p> + +<p>"I mean I was certain of it. She'd told me Mr. Berne Webster, the lawyer +she'd been working for, was out here spending the week-end; and I knew +she was coming out to meet him."</p> + +<p>"Why did she do that?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Russell displayed pathetic embarrassment and confusion before he +answered that. He plucked at his lower lip with spasmodic fingers. His +eyes were downcast. He attempted a self-deprecatory smile which ended in +an unpleasant grimace.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>"She wouldn't say. But it was because she was in love with him."</p> + +<p>"And you were jealous of Mr. Webster?"</p> + +<p>"We-ell—yes, sir; that's about it, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Did Miss Brace tell you she was coming to Sloanehurst?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I suspected it."</p> + +<p>"And watched her movements?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"And followed her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why did you think she was in love with Mr. Webster, Mr. Russell? And +please give us a direct answer. You can understand the importance of +what you're about to say."</p> + +<p>"I do. I thought so because she had told me that he was in love with +her, and because of her grief and anger when he dismissed her from his +office. And she did everything to make me think so, except declaring it +outright. She did that because she knew I hated to think she was in love +with him."</p> + +<p>"All right, Mr. Russell. Now, tell us what happened during +your—ah—shadowing Miss Brace the night she was killed."</p> + +<p>"I got off the car at Ridgecrest and walked toward Sloanehurst. It was +raining then, pretty hard. I thought she had made an appointment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> to +meet Mr. Webster somewhere in the grounds here. It was a quarter to +eleven when I got to the little side-gate that opens on the lawn out +there on the north side of the house."</p> + +<p>"How did you know that?"</p> + +<p>"I looked at my watch then. It's got a luminous dial."</p> + +<p>"You were then at the gate near where she was found, dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And she was at the gate."</p> + +<p>"Oh! So you saw her?"</p> + +<p>"I saw her. When I lifted the latch of the gate, she came toward me. +There was a heavy drizzle then. I thought she had been leaning on the +fence a few feet away. She whispered, sharp and quick, 'Who's that?' I +knew who she was, right off. I said, 'Gene.'</p> + +<p>"She caught hold of my arm and shook it. She told me, still whispering, +if I didn't get away from there, if I didn't go back to town, she'd +raise an alarm, accuse me of trying to kill her—or she'd kill me. She +pressed something against my cheek. It felt like a knife, although I +couldn't see, for the darkness."</p> + +<p>The witness paused and licked his dry lips. He was breathing fast, and +his restless eyes had a hunted look. The people in the room leaned +farther toward him, some believing, some doubting him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>Hastings thought: "He's scared stiff, but telling the truth—so far."</p> + +<p>"All right; what next?" asked Dr. Garnet, involuntarily lowering his +voice to Russell's tone.</p> + +<p>"I accused her of having an appointment to meet Webster there. I got +mad. I hate to have to tell all this, gentlemen; but I want to tell the +truth. I told her she was a fool to run after a man who'd thrown her +over.</p> + +<p>"'It's none of your look-out what I do!' she told me. 'You get away from +here, now—this minute! You'll be sorry if you don't!' There was +something about her that frightened me, mad as I was. I'd never seen her +like that before."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Garnet urged him.</p> + +<p>"I thought she would kill me, or somebody else would, and she knew it. I +got the idea that she was like a crazy woman, out of her head about +Webster, ready to do anything desperate, anything wild. I can't explain +it any better than that."</p> + +<p>"And did you leave her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"At once?"</p> + +<p>"Practically. A sort of panic got hold of me. I can't explain it, +really."</p> + +<p>Russell, seeking an illuminative phrase, gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> vent to a long-drawn, +anxious sigh. He appeared to feel no shame for his flight. His fear was +that he would not be believed.</p> + +<p>"Just as she told me a second time to leave her, I thought I heard +somebody coming toward us, a slushy, dull sound, like heavy footsteps on +the wet grass. Mildred's manner, her voice, had already scared me.</p> + +<p>"When I heard those footsteps, I turned and ran. My heart was in my +mouth. I ran out to the road and back toward Washington. I ran as fast +as I could. Twice I fell on my hands and knees. I can't tell you exactly +how it was, why it was. I just knew something terrible would happen if I +stayed there. I never had a feeling like that before. I was more afraid +of her than I was of the man coming toward us."</p> + +<p>Members of the jury pushed back their chairs, were audible with subdued +exclamations and long breaths, relieved of the nervous tension to which +Russell's story of the encounter at the gate had lifted them. They were, +however, prejudiced against him, a fact which he grasped.</p> + +<p>One of them asked him:</p> + +<p>"Can you tell us why you followed her out here?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" Russell echoed, like a man seeking time for deliberation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>"Yes. What did you think you'd do after you'd overtaken her?"</p> + +<p>"Persuade her to go back home with me. I wanted to save her from doing +anything foolish—anything like that, you know."</p> + +<p>"But, from what you've told us here this morning, it seems you never had +much influence on her behaviour. Isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is.—But," Russell added eagerly, "I can prove I had no +idea of hurting her, if that's what you're hinting at. I can prove I +never struck her. At twenty minutes past eleven last night I was four +miles from here. Mr. Otis, a Washington commission merchant, picked me +up in his automobile, six miles outside of Washington and took me into +town. I couldn't have made that four miles on foot, no matter how I ran, +in approximately fifteen or twenty minutes.</p> + +<p>"It's been proved that she was struck down after eleven anyway.—You +said the condition of the body showed that, doctor.—You see, I would +have had to make the four miles in less than twenty minutes—an +impossibility. You see?"</p> + +<p>His eagerness to win their confidence put a disagreeable note, almost a +whimper, into his voice. It grated on Dr. Garnet.</p> + +<p>It affected Hastings more definitely.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>"Now," he decided, "he's lying—about something. But what?" He noted a +change in Russell's face, a suggestion of craftiness, the merest shadow +of slyness over his general attitude of anxiety. And yet, this part of +his story seemed straight enough.</p> + +<p>Dr. Garnet's next question brought out the fact that it would be +corroborated.</p> + +<p>"This Mr. Otis, Mr. Russell; where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Right there, by the window," the witness answered, with a smug smile +which gave him a still more unprepossessing look.</p> + +<p>Jury and spectators turned toward the man at the window. They saw a +clean-shaven, alert-looking person of middle age, who nodded slightly in +Russell's direction as if endorsing his testimony. There seemed no +possible grounds for doubting whatever Otis might say. Hastings at once +accepted him as genuine, an opinion which, it was obvious, was shared by +the rest of the assemblage.</p> + +<p>Russell sensed the change of sentiment toward himself. Until now, it had +been a certainty that he would be held for the murder. But his producing +an outsider, incontestably a trustworthy man, to establish the truth of +his statement that he had been four miles away from the scene of the +crime a quarter of an hour after it had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> been committed—that was +something in his favour which could not be gainsaid.</p> + +<p>Granting even that he had had an automobile at his disposal—a +supposition for which there was no foundation—his alibi would still +have been good, in view of the rain and the fact that one of the four +miles in question was "dirt road."</p> + +<p>With the realization of this, the jury swung back to the animus it had +felt against Webster, the incredulity with which it had received his +statement that there had been between him and the dead woman no closer +relationship than that of employer and employe.</p> + +<p>Webster, seated near the wall furthest from the jury, felt the inquiry +of many eyes upon him, but he was unmoved, kept his gaze on Russell.</p> + +<p>Dr. Garnet, announcing that he would ask Mr. Otis to testify a little +later, handed Russell the weapon with which Mildred Brace had been +murdered.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen that dagger before?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Russell said he had not. Reminded that Sheriff Crown had testified to +searching the witness's room and had discovered that a nail file was +missing from his dressing case, a file which, judging by other articles +in the case, must have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> been the same size as the one used in making the +amateur dagger, Russell declared that his file had been lost for three +years. He had left it in a hotel room on the only trip he had ever taken +to New York.</p> + +<p>He gave way to Mr. Otis, who described himself as a commission merchant +of Washington. Returning from a tour to Lynchburg, Virginia, he said, he +had been hailed last night by a man in the road and had agreed to take +him into town, a ride of six miles. Reaching Washington shortly before +midnight, he had dropped his passenger at Eleventh and F streets.</p> + +<p>"Who was this passenger?" inquired Garnet.</p> + +<p>"He told me," said Otis, "his name was Eugene Russell. I gave him my +name. That explains how he was able to find me this morning. When he +told me how he was situated, I agreed to come over here and give you +gentlemen the facts."</p> + +<p>"Notice anything peculiar about Mr. Russell last night?"</p> + +<p>"No; I think not."</p> + +<p>"Was he agitated, disturbed?"</p> + +<p>"He was out of breath. And he commented on that himself, said he'd been +walking fast. Oh, yes! He was bareheaded; and he explained that—said +the rain had ruined a cheap straw hat he had been wearing; the glue had +run out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> of the straw and down his neck, he had thrown the hat away."</p> + +<p>"And the time? When did you pick him up?"</p> + +<p>"It was twenty minutes past eleven o'clock. When I stopped, I glanced at +my machine clock; I carry a clock just above my speedometer."</p> + +<p>Mr. Otis was positive in his statements. He realized, he said, that his +words might relieve one man of suspicion and bring it upon another. +Unless he had been absolutely certain of his facts, he would not have +stated them. He was sure, beyond the possibility of doubt, that he had +made no mistake when he looked at his automobile clock; it was running +when he stopped and when he reached Washington; yes, it was an accurate +timepiece.</p> + +<p>Russell's alibi was established. His defence appealed to the jurymen as +unassailable. When, after a conference of less than half an hour, they +brought in a verdict that Mildred Brace had been murdered by a thrust of +the "nail-file dagger" in the hands of a person unknown, nobody in the +room was surprised.</p> + +<p>And nobody was blind to the fact that the freeing of Eugene Russell +seriously questioned the innocence of Berne Webster.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h3>THE BREAKING DOWN OF WEBSTER</h3> + +<p>Hastings, sprawling comfortably in a low chair by the south window in +the music room, stopped his whittling when Berne Webster came in with +Judge Wilton. "Meddlesome Mike!" thought the detective. "I sent for +Webster."</p> + +<p>"Berne asked me to come with him," the judge explained his presence at +once. "We've talked things over; he thought I might help him bring out +every detail—jog his memory, if necessary."</p> + +<p>Hastings did not protest the arrangement. He saw, almost immediately, +that Webster had come with no intention of giving him hearty +cooperation. The motive for this lack of frankness he could not +determine. It was enough that he felt the younger man's veiled +antagonism and appreciated the fact that Wilton accompanied him in the +rôle of protector.</p> + +<p>"If I'm to get anything worth while out of this talk," he decided, "I've +got to mix up my delivery, shuffle the cards, spring first one thing and +then another at him—bewilder him."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p><p>He proceeded with that definite design: at an opportune time, he would +guide the narrative, take it out of Webster's hands, and find out what +he wanted to know, not merely what the young lawyer wanted to tell. He +recognized the necessity of breaking down the shell of self-control that +overlaid the suspected man's uneasiness.</p> + +<p>That it was only a shell, he felt sure. Webster, leaning an elbow +lightly on the piano, looked down at him out of anxious eyes, and +continually passed his right hand over his smooth, dark-brown hair from +forehead to crown, a mechanical gesture of his when perplexed.</p> + +<p>His smile, too, was forced, hardly more than a slight, fixed twist of +the lips, as if he strove to advertise his ability to laugh at danger. +His customary dash, a pleasing levity of manner, was gone, giving place +to a suggestion of strain, so that he seemed always on the alert against +himself, determined to edit in advance his answer to every question.</p> + +<p>Wilton had chosen a chair which placed him directly opposite Hastings +and at the same time enabled him to watch Webster. He was smoking a +cigar, and, through the haze that floated up just then from his lips, he +gave the detective a long, searching look, to which Hastings paid no +attention.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>Webster talked nearly twenty minutes, explaining his eagerness to be +"thoroughly frank as to every detail," reviewing the evidence brought +out by the inquest, and criticising the action of the jury, but +producing nothing new. Occasionally he left the piano and paced the +floor, smoking interminably, lighting the fresh cigarette from the stub +of the old, obviously strung to the limit of his nervous strength. +Hastings detected a little twitching of the muscles at the corners of +his mouth, and the too frequent winking of his eyes.</p> + +<p>Judge Wilton had told him, Webster continued, of Mrs. Brace's charge +that he wanted to marry Miss Sloane because of financial pressure; there +was not a word of truth in it; he had already arranged for a loan to +make that payment when it fell due. He was, however, aware of his +unenviable position, and he wanted to give the detective every +assistance possible, in that way assuring his own prompt relief from +embarrassment.</p> + +<p>By this time, Hastings had mapped out his line of questioning, his +assault on Webster's reticence.</p> + +<p>"That's the right idea!" he said, getting to his feet. "Let's go to +work."</p> + +<p>They saw the change in him. Instead of the genial, drawling, slow-moving +old fellow who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> had seemed thankful for anything he might chance to +hear, they were confronted now by an aroused, quick-thinking man whose +words came from him with a sharp, clipped-off effect, and whose +questions scouted the whole field of their possible and probable +information. He stood leaning his elbows on the other end of the piano, +facing Webster across the polished length of its broad top. His +dominance of the night before, in the library, had returned.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Webster," he began, innocent of threat, "as things stack up at +present, only two people had the semblance of a motive for killing +Mildred Brace—either Eugene Russell killed her out of jealousy of you; +or you killed her to silence her demands. Do you see that?"</p> + +<p>He had put back his head a little and was peering at Webster under his +spectacle-rims, down the line of his nose. He saw how the other fought +down the impulse to deny, hesitating before answering, with a laugh on a +high note, like derision:</p> + +<p>"I suppose that's what a lot of people will say."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Now, I've just had a talk with this Russell—caught him +after the inquest. I believe there's something rotten about that alibi +of his; but I couldn't shake him; and the Otis testimony's sound. So +we'll have to quit <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>counting on Russell's proving his own guilt. We've +got that little job on our hands, and the best way to handle it is to +prove your innocence. See that?"</p> + +<p>The bow with which Webster acknowledged this statement was a curious +mingling of grace and mockery. The detective ignored it.</p> + +<p>"And," he continued, "there's only one way for you to come whole out of +this muddle—frankness. I'm working for you; you know that. Tell me +everything you know, and we've got a chance to win. The innocent man who +tries to twist black into white is an innocent fool." He looked swiftly +to Wilton, who was leaning far back in his chair, head lolling slowly +from side to side, the picture of indifference. "Isn't that so, judge?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," Wilton agreed, pausing to remove his cigar from his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it's so," Webster said curtly. "I've just told you so. +That's why I've decided—the judge and I have talked it over—to give +you something in confidence."</p> + +<p>"One moment!" Hastings warned him. "Maybe, I won't take it in +confidence—if it's something incriminating you."</p> + +<p>"Yes; you've phrased that unfortunately, Berne," the judge put in, +tilting his head on the chair-back to meet the detective's look.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>Webster was nonplussed. Apparently, his surprise came from the judge's +remark rather than from the detective's refusal to assume the rôle of +confidant. Hastings inferred that Wilton, agreeing beforehand to the +proposal being advanced, had changed his mind after entering the room.</p> + +<p>"Hastings is right," the judge concluded; "even if he's on your side, +you can't expect him to be tied up blind that way by a suspected +man—and you're just that, Berne."</p> + +<p>Seeing Webster's uncertainty, Hastings took another course.</p> + +<p>"I think I know what you're talking about, Mr. Webster," he said, +matter-of-fact. "Your nail-file's missing from your dressing +case—disappeared since yesterday morning."</p> + +<p>"You know that!" Berne flashed, suddenly angry. "And you're holding it +over me!"</p> + +<p>Open hostility was in every feature of his face; his lips twitched to +the sharp intake of his breath.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you look at it another way?" the old man countered quickly. +"If I'd told the coroner about it—if I'd told him also that the size of +that nail-file, judging from the rest of the dressing case, matched that +of the one used for the blade of the dagger, matched it as well as +Russell's—what then?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>"He's right, Berne," Wilton cautioned again. "He's taken the friendly +course."</p> + +<p>"I understand that, judge," Berne said; and, without answering Hastings, +turned squarely to Wilton: "But it's a thin clue. He admits Russell lost +a nail-file, too."</p> + +<p>"Several years ago," Hastings goaded, so that Webster pivoted on his +heel to face him; "you lost yours when?—last night?—this morning?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know! I noticed its absence this morning."</p> + +<p>"There you are!—But," Hastings qualified, to avoid the quarrel, "the +nail-file isn't much of a clue if unsupported." He approached +cordiality. "And I appreciate your intending to tell me. That was what +you intended to give me in confidence, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Webster answered, half-sullen.</p> + +<p>Hastings changed the subject again.</p> + +<p>"Did you know Mildred Brace intended to clear out, leave Washington, +today?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no!" Webster shot that out in genuine surprise.</p> + +<p>"I got it from Russell," Hastings informed, and went at once to another +topic.</p> + +<p>"And that brings us to the letter. Judge Wilton tell you about that?"</p> + +<p>Webster was lighting a cigarette, with difficulty holding the fire of +the old one to the end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> of the new. The operation seemed to entail hard +labour for him.</p> + +<p>"In the grey envelope?" he responded, drawing on the cigarette. "Yes. I +didn't get it."</p> + +<p>He took off his coat. The heat oppressed him. At frequent intervals he +passed his handkerchief around the inside of his collar, which was +wilting. Now, more than ever, he gave the impression of exaggerated +watchfulness, as if he attempted prevision of the detective's questions.</p> + +<p>"Nobody got it, so far as I can learn," Hastings said, a note of +sternness breaking through the surface of his tone. "It vanished into +thin air. That's the most mysterious thing about this mysterious +murder."</p> + +<p>He, in his turn, began pacing the floor, a short distance to and fro in +front of Judge Wilton's chair, his hands behind him, flopping the baggy +tail of his coat from side to side.</p> + +<p>"You doubtless see the gravity of the facts: that letter was mailed to +Sloanehurst. Russell has just told me so. She waved it in his face, to +taunt him about you, before she dropped it into the mail-box. He +swears"—Hastings stopped, at the far end of his pacing, and looked hard +at Webster—"it was addressed to you."</p> + +<p>Webster, again with his queer, high-pitched laugh, like derision, threw +back his head and took two long strides toward the centre of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> room. +There he stood a moment, hands in his pockets, while he stared at the +toe of his right shoe, which he was carefully adjusting to a crack in +the flooring.</p> + +<p>Judge Wilton made his chair crackle as he moved to look at Webster. It +was the weight of the detective's gaze, however, that drew the lawyer's +attention; when he looked up, his eyes were half-closed, as if the light +had suddenly become painful to them.</p> + +<p>"That would be Russell's game, wouldn't it?" he retorted, at last.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brace told me the same thing," Hastings said quietly, flashing a +look at Wilton and back to the other.</p> + +<p>"Damn her!" Webster broke forth with such vehemence that Wilton stared +at him in amazement. "Damn her! And that's the first time I ever said +that of a woman. It's as I suspected, as I expected. She's begun some +sort of a crooked game!"</p> + +<p>He trembled like a man with a chill. Hastings gave him no time to +recover himself.</p> + +<p>"You know Mrs. Brace, then? Know her well?" he pressed.</p> + +<p>"Well enough!" Webster retorted with hot repugnance. "Well enough, +although I never had but one conversation with her—if you may call that +bedlam wildness a conversation. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> came to my office the second day +after I'd dismissed her daughter. She made a scene. She charged me with +ruining her daughter's life, threatened suit for breach of promise. She +said she'd 'get even' with me if it took her the rest of her life. I +don't as a rule pay much attention to violent women, Mr. Hastings; but +there was something about her that affected me strongly, she's +implacable, and like stone, not like a woman. You saw her—understand +what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly," agreed Hastings.</p> + +<p>There flashed across his mind a picture of that incomprehensible woman's +face, the black line of her eyebrows lifted half-way to her hair, the +abnormal wetness of her lips thickened by a sneer. "If she's been after +this man for two weeks," he thought, "I can understand his trembles!"</p> + +<p>But he hurried the inquiry.</p> + +<p>"So you think she lied about that letter?"</p> + +<p>"Of course!" Webster laughed on a high note. "Next, I suppose, she'll +produce the letter."</p> + +<p>"She can't very well do that."</p> + +<p>Something in his voice alarmed the suspected man.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Hastings smiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>"What do you mean?" Webster asked again, his voice lowered, and came a +step nearer to the detective.</p> + +<p>Hastings took a piece of paper from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Here's the flap of the grey envelope," he said, as if that was all the +information he meant to impart.</p> + +<p>Webster urged him, with eyes and voice:</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"And on the back of it is some of Mildred Brace's handwriting."</p> + +<p>The old man examined the piece of paper with every show of absorption. +He could hear Webster's hurried breathing, and the gulp when he +swallowed the lump in his throat.</p> + +<p>The scene had got hold of Wilton also. Leaning forward in his chair, his +lips half-parted, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand +mechanically fubbing out his cigar, so that a little stream of fire +trickled to the floor, he gazed unwinking at the envelope flap.</p> + +<p>Webster went a step nearer to Hastings, and stood, passing his hand +across the top of his head and staring again out of his half-closed +eyes, as if the light had hurt them.</p> + +<p>"And," the old man said, regarding Webster keenly but keeping any hint +of accusation out of his voice, "I found it last night in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>fireplace, behind the screen, in your room upstairs."</p> + +<p>He paused, looking toward the door, his attention caught by a noise in +the hall.</p> + +<p>Webster laughed, on the high, derisive note. He was noticeably pale.</p> + +<p>"Come, man!" Judge Wilton said, harsh and imperious. "Can't you see the +boy's suffering? What's written on it?"</p> + +<p>"What difference does it make—the writing?" Webster objected, with a +movement of his shoulders that looked like a great effort to pull +himself together. "If there's any at all, it's faked. Faked! That's what +it is. People don't write on the inside of envelope flaps."</p> + +<p>His face did not express the assurance he tried to put into his voice. +He went back to the piano and leaned on it, his posture such that it +might have indicated a nonchalant ease or, equally well, might have +betrayed his desperate need of support.</p> + +<p>"This letter incident can't be waved away," Hastings, without handing +over the scrap of envelope, proceeded in even, measured tones—using his +sentences as if they were hammers with which he assailed the young +lawyer's remnants of self-control. "You're not trifling with a jury, Mr. +Webster. I believe I know as much about the value of facts, this kind of +facts, as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> do. Consider what you're up against. You——"</p> + +<p>Webster put up a hand in protest, the fingers so unsteady that they +dropped the cigarette which he had been on the point of lighting.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment!" the old man commanded him. "This Mildred Brace claimed +she had suffered injury at your hands. You fired her out of your office. +She and her mother afterwards pursued you. She came out here in the +middle of the night, where she knew you were. She was murdered, and by a +weapon whose blade may have been fashioned from an article you +possessed, an article which is now missing, missing since you came to +Sloanehurst this time. You were found bending over the dead body.</p> + +<p>"Her mother and her closest friend, her would-be fiancé, say she wrote +to you Friday night, addressing her letter to Sloanehurst. The flap of +an envelope, identified by her mother and friend, and bearing the +impression in ink of her handwriting, is found in the fireplace of your +room here. The man who followed her out here, who might have been +suspected of the murder, has proved an alibi.</p> + +<p>"Now, I ask you, as a lawyer and a sensible man, who's going to believe +that she came out here without having notified you of her coming? Who, +as facts stand now, is going to believe anything but that you, desperate +with the fear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> that she would make revelations which would prevent your +marriage to Miss Sloane and keep you from access to an immense amount of +money which you needed—who's going to believe you didn't kill her, +didn't strike her down, there in the night, according to a premeditated +plan, with a dagger which, for better protection of yourself, you had +manufactured in a way which you hoped would make it beyond +identification? Who's——"</p> + +<p>Wilton intervened again.</p> + +<p>"What's your object, Hastings?" he demanded, springing from his chair. +"You're treating Berne as if he'd killed the woman and you could prove +it!"</p> + +<p>Webster was swaying on his feet, falling a little away from the piano +and reeling against it again, his elbows sliding back and forth on its +top. He was extremely pale; even his lips, still stiff and twisted to +what he thought was a belittling smile, were white. He looked at the +detective as a man might gaze at an advancing terror which he could +neither resist nor flee. His going to pieces was so complete, so +absolute, that it astonished Hastings.</p> + +<p>"And you, both of you," the old man retorted to Wilton's protest; +"you're treating me as if I were a meddlesome outsider intent on +'framing up' a case, instead of the representative of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> the Sloane +family—at least, of Miss Lucille Sloane! Why's that?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me what's on that paper," Webster said hoarsely, as if he had not +heard the colloquy of the other two.</p> + +<p>He held up a trembling hand, but without taking a step. He still swayed, +like a man dangled on strings, against the piano.</p> + +<p>"Yes; tell him!" urged Wilton.</p> + +<p>Hastings handed Webster the envelope flap. Instead of looking at it, +Webster let it drop on the piano.</p> + +<p>"One of the words," Hastings said, "is 'pursuit.' The other two are +uncompleted."</p> + +<p>"And it's her handwriting, the daughter's?" Wilton said.</p> + +<p>"Beyond a doubt."</p> + +<p>Webster kept his unwinking eyes on the detective, apparently unable to +break the spell that held him. For a long moment, he had said nothing. +When he did speak, it was with manifest difficulty. His words came in a +screaming whisper:</p> + +<p>"Then, I'm in desperate shape!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, man!" Judge Wilton protested, his voice raised, and, going to +his side, struck him sharply between the shoulders. "Get yourself +together, Berne! Brace up!"</p> + +<p>The effect on the collapsing man was, in a way,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> magical. He stood erect +in response to the blow, his elbows no longer seeking support on the +piano. He got his eyes away from Hastings and looked at the judge as a +man coming out of a sound sleep might have done. For a few seconds, he +had one hand over his mouth, as if, by actual manipulation, he would +gain control of the muscles of his lips.</p> + +<p>"I feel better," he said at last, dropping the hand from before his face +and squaring his shoulders. "I don't know what hit me. If I'd—you +know," he hesitated, frowning, "if I'd killed the woman, I couldn't have +acted the coward more thoroughly."</p> + +<p>Hastings went through with what he wanted to say:</p> + +<p>"About that letter, Mr. Webster: have you any idea, can you advance any +theory, as to how that piece of the envelope got into your room?"</p> + +<p>Webster was passing his hand across his hair now, and breathing in a +deep, gusty fashion.</p> + +<p>"Not the faintest," he replied, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"That's all, then, gentlemen!" Hastings said, so abruptly that both of +them started. "We don't seem to have gone very far ahead with this +business. We won't, until you—particularly you, Webster—tell me what +you know. It's your own affair——"</p> + +<p>"My dear sir——" Judge Wilton began.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>"Let me finish!" Hastings spoke indignantly. "I'm no fool; I know when +I'm trifled with. Understand me: I don't say you got that letter, Mr. +Webster; I don't say you ever saw it; I don't know the truth of it—yet. +I do say you've deliberately refused to respond to my requests for +cooperation. I do say you'd prefer to have me out of this case +altogether. I know it, although I'm not clear as to your motives—or +yours, judge. You were anxious enough, you said when we talked at +Sloane's door, for me to go on with it. If you're still of that opinion, +I advise you to advise your friend here to be more outspoken with me. +I'll give you this straight: if I can't be corn, I won't be shucks. But +I intend to be corn. I'm going to conduct this investigation as I see +fit. I won't be turned aside; I won't play second to your lead!"</p> + +<p>He was fine in his intensity. Astounded by his vehemence, the two men he +addressed were silent, meeting his keen and steady scrutiny.</p> + +<p>He smiled, and, as he did so, they were aware, with an emotion like +shock, that his whole face mirrored forth a genuine and warm +self-satisfaction. The thing was as plain as if he had spoken it aloud: +he had gotten out of the interview what he wanted. Their recognition of +this fact increased their blankness.</p> + +<p>"You know my position now," he added, no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> longer denunciatory. "If you +change your minds, that will be great! I want all the help I can get. +And, take it from me, young man, you can't afford to throw away any you +can get."</p> + +<p>"Threats?"</p> + +<p>Webster had shot out the one word with cool insolence before the judge +could begin a conciliatory remark. The change in the lawyer's manner was +so unpleasant, the insult so palpably deliberate, that Hastings could +not mistake the purpose back of it. Webster regarded him out of burning +eyes.</p> + +<p>"No; not threats," Hastings answered him in a voice that was cold as +ice. "I think you understand what I mean. I know too little, and I +suspect too much, to drop my search for the murderer of that woman."</p> + +<p>Judge Wilton tried to placate him:</p> + +<p>"I don't see what your complaint is, Hastings. We——"</p> + +<p>A smothered, half-articulate cry from Webster interrupted him. Hastings, +first to spring forward, caught the falling man by his arm, breaking the +force of the fall. He had clutched the edge of the piano as his legs +gave under him. That, and the quickness of the detective, made the fall +more like a gentle sliding to the floor.</p> + +<p>Save for the one, gurgling outcry, no word<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> came from him. He was +unconscious, his colourless lips again twisted to that poor semblance of +smiling defiance which Hastings had noticed at the beginning of the +interview.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h3>THE WHISPERED CONFERENCE</h3> + +<p>Dr. Garnet, reaching Sloanehurst half an hour later, found Webster in +complete collapse. He declared that for at least several days the sick +man must be kept quiet. He could not be moved to his apartment in +Washington, nor could he be subjected to questioning about anything.</p> + +<p>"That is," he explained, "for three or four days—possibly longer. He's +critically ill. But for my knowledge of the terrific shock he's +sustained as a result of the murder, I'd be inclined to say he'd broken +down after a long, steady nervous strain.</p> + +<p>"I'll have a nurse out to look after him. Miss Sloane has volunteered, +but she has troubles of her own."</p> + +<p>Judge Wilton took the news to Hastings, who was on the front porch, +whittling, waiting to see Lucille before returning to Washington.</p> + +<p>"I think Garnet's right," Wilton added. "I thought, even before last +night, Berne acted as if he'd been worn out. And you handled him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> rather +roughly. That sort of questioning, tantalizing, keeping a man on +tenterhooks, knocks the metal out of a high-strung temperament like his. +I don't mind telling you it had me pretty well worked up."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry it knocked him out," Hastings said. "All I wanted was the +facts. He wasn't frank with me."</p> + +<p>"I came out here to talk about that," Wilton retorted, brusquely. +"You're all wrong there, Hastings! The boy's broken all to pieces. He +sees clearly, too clearly, the weight of suspicion against him. You've +mistaken his panic for hostility toward yourself."</p> + +<p>The old man was unconvinced, and showed it.</p> + +<p>"Suspicion doesn't usually knock a man into a cocked hat—unless there's +something to base it on," he contended.</p> + +<p>"All right; I give up," Wilton said, with a short laugh. "All I know is, +he came to me before we saw you in the music room, and told me he wanted +me to be there, to see that he omitted not even a detail of what he +knew."</p> + +<p>Hastings, looking up from the intricate pattern he was carving, +challenged the judge:</p> + +<p>"Has it occurred to you that, if he's not guilty, he might suspect +somebody else in this house, might be trying to shield that person?"</p> + +<p>In the inconsiderable pause that followed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Wilton's lips, parting for +an incredulous smile, showed the top of his tongue against his teeth, as +if set for pronunciation of the letter "S." Hastings, in a mental flash, +saw him on the point of exclaiming: "Sloane!" But, if that was in his +mind, he put it down, elaborating the smile to a laughing protest:</p> + +<p>"That's going far afield, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Hastings smiled in return: "Maybe so, but it's a possibility—and +possibilities have to be dealt with."</p> + +<p>"Which reminds me," the judge said, now all amiability; "don't forget +I'm always at your service in this affair. I see now that you might have +preferred to question Webster alone, in the music room; but my +confidence in his innocence blinded me to the fact that you could regard +him as actually guilty. I expected nothing but a friendly conference, +not a fierce cross-examination."</p> + +<p>"It didn't matter at all," Hastings matched Wilton's cordial tone; "and +I appreciate your offer, judge. Suppose you tell me anything that occurs +to you, anything that will throw light on this case any time; and I'll +act as go-between for you with the authorities—if necessary."</p> + +<p>"You mean——?"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to do the talking for this family and its friends. I can work +better if I can handle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> things myself. The half of my job is to save the +Sloanes from as many wild rumours as I can."</p> + +<p>Wilton nodded approval.</p> + +<p>"How about Arthur? You want me to take any questions to him for you?"</p> + +<p>"No; thanks.—But," Hastings added, "you might make him see the +necessity of telling me what he saw last night. If he doesn't come out +with it, he'll make it all the harder on Webster."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he saw anything."</p> + +<p>"Didn't he? Why'd he refuse to testify before the coroner, then?"</p> + +<p>Sheriff Crown's car came whirling up the driveway; and Hastings spoke +hurriedly:</p> + +<p>"You know he's not as sick as he makes out. He's got to tell me what he +knows, judge! He's holding back something. That's why he wants to make +me so mad I'll quit the case. Who's he shielding? That's what people +will want to know."</p> + +<p>Wilton pondered that.</p> + +<p>"I'll see what I can do," he finally agreed. "According to you, it may +appear—people may suspect—that Webster's guilty or shielding somebody +else; and Arthur's guilty or shielding Webster!"</p> + +<p>When Mr. Crown reached the porch, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> were discussing Webster's +condition, and Hastings, with the aid of the judge's penknife, was +tightening a screw in his big barlowesque blade. They were careful to +say nothing that might arouse the sheriff's suspicion of their +compact—an agreement whereby a private detective, and not the law's +representative, was to have the benefit of all the judge's information +bearing on the murder.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crown, however, was dissatisfied.</p> + +<p>"I'm tied up!" he complained, nursing with forefinger and thumb his +knuckle-like chin. "The only place I can get information is at the wrong +end—Russell!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with me?" the detective asked amiably. "I'll be glad +to help—if you think I can."</p> + +<p>"What good's that to me?" He wore his best politician's smile, but there +was resentment in his voice. "Your job is keeping things quiet—for +Sloanehurst. Mr. Sloane's ill, too ill to see me without endangering his +life, so his funeral-faced valet tells me. Miss Lucille says, politely +enough, she's told all she knows, told it on the stand, and I'm to go to +you if I want anything more from her. The judge here knows nothing about +the inside relationships of the family and Webster, or of Webster and +the Brace girl. And Webster's down and out, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>thoroughly and +conveniently! If all that don't catch your uncle Robert where the hair's +short, I'll quit!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want to know?" Hastings countered. "You've had access to +everything, far as I can see."</p> + +<p>Reply to that was delayed by the appearance of Jarvis, summoning the +judge to Arthur Sloane's room.</p> + +<p>"I want to get at Webster," Crown told Hastings. "And here's why: if +Russell didn't kill her, Webster did."</p> + +<p>"Why, you've weakened!" the old man guyed head bent over his whittling. +"You had Russell's goose cooked this morning—roasted to a rich, dark +brown!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and if I could break down his alibi, I'd still have him cooked!"</p> + +<p>"You accept the alibi, then?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, I accept it."</p> + +<p>"I don't."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you?" objected Crown. "He didn't have an aeroplane in his hip +pocket, did he? That's the only way he could have covered those four +miles in fifteen minutes.—Or does his alibi have to fall in order to +save Miss Sloane's fiancé?"</p> + +<p>He slapped his thigh and thrust out his bristly moustache. "You're paid +to fasten the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> thing on Russell," he said, clearly pugnacious. "I don't +expect you to help me work against Webster! I'm not that simple!"</p> + +<p>The old man, with a gesture no more arresting than to point at the +sheriff with the piece of wood in his left hand, made the official jaw +drop almost to the official chest.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crown," he said, "get this, once and for all: a man ain't +necessarily a crook because he's once worked for the government. I'm as +anxious to find the guilty man now, every time, as when I was in the +Department of Justice. And I intend to. From now on, you'll give me +credit for that!—Won't you, Mr. Sheriff?"</p> + +<p>Crown apologized. "I'm worried; that's what. I'm up a gum stump and +can't get down."</p> + +<p>"All right, but don't try to make a ladder out of me! Why don't you look +into that alibi?"</p> + +<p>Crown was irritated again. "What do you stick to that for?"</p> + +<p>"Because," Hastings declared, "I'm ready to swear-and-cross-my-heart he +lied when he said he ran that four miles. I'm ready to swear he was here +when the murder was done. When a man's got as good an alibi as he said +he had, his adam's-apple don't play 'Yankee Doodle' on his windpipe."</p> + +<p>"Is that so!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>"It is—and here's another thing: when's Mrs. Brace going to break +loose?"</p> + +<p>"Now, you're talking!" agreed Crown, with momentary enthusiasm. "She +told me this morning she'd help me show up Webster—she wouldn't have it +that Russell killed the girl. Foxy business! Mixed up in it herself, she +runs to the rescue of the man she——"</p> + +<p>The sheriff paused, unable to bring that reasoning to its logical +conclusion.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, dejected; "I can't believe she put him up to murdering +her daughter."</p> + +<p>"That woman," Hastings said, "is capable of anything—anything! We're +going to find she's terrible, I tell you, Crown. She's mixed up in the +murder somehow—and, if you don't find out how, I will!"</p> + +<p>"How can we get her?" Crown argued. "She was in her flat when the +killing was done. We've searched these grounds, and found nothing to +incriminate anybody. All we've got is a strong suspicion against two +men. She's out and away."</p> + +<p>"Not if we watch her. She's promised to make trouble—she'll be lucky if +she makes none for herself. Let's keep after her."</p> + +<p>"I'm on! But," the sheriff reminded, again half-hearted, "that won't get +us anything soon. She won't leave her flat before the funeral."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"That won't keep her quiet very long," Hastings contended. "She told me +the funeral would be at nine o'clock tomorrow morning—from an +undertaker's.—Anyway, I've instructed one of my assistants to keep +track of her. I'm not counting on her grief absorbing her, even for +today."</p> + +<p>But he saw that Crown was not greatly impressed with the possibility of +finding the murderer through Mrs. Brace. The sheriff was engrossed in +mental precautions against being misled by "the Sloanehurst detective."</p> + +<p>He was still in that mood when Miss Sloane sent for Hastings.</p> + +<p>The detective found her in the music room. She had taken the chair which +Judge Wilton had occupied an hour before, and was leaning one elbow on +an arm of it, her chin resting in the cup of her hand. Her dress—a +filmy lavender so light that it shaded almost to pink, and magically +made to bring out the grace of her figure—drew his attention to the +slight sag of her shoulders, suggestive of great weariness.</p> + +<p>But he was captivated anew by her grave loveliness, and by her +fortitude. She betrayed her agitation only in the fine tremour in her +hands and a certain slowness in her words.</p> + +<p>On the porch, talking to Judge Wilton, he had wondered, in a moment of +irritation, why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> he continued on the case against so much apparent +opposition in the very household which he sought to help. He knew now +that neither his sense of duty nor his fee was the deciding influence. +He stayed because this girl needed him, because he had seen in her eyes +last night the haggard look of an unspeakable suspicion.</p> + +<p>"You wanted to see me—is there anything special?" she asked him, +immediately alert.</p> + +<p>"Yes; there is, Miss Sloane," he said, careful to put into his voice all +the sympathy he felt for her.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" She was looking at him with steady eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's this, and I want you to bear in mind that I wouldn't bring it up +but for my desire to put an end to your uncertainty: I'm afraid you +haven't told me everything you know, everything you saw last night +in——"</p> + +<p>When she would have spoken, he put up a warning hand.</p> + +<p>"Let me explain, please. Don't commit yourself until you see what I +mean. Judge Wilton and Mr. Webster seem to think I'm not needed here. It +may be a natural attitude—for them. They're both lawyers, and to +lawyers a mere detective doesn't amount to much."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sure it isn't that," she flashed out, apologizing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, I don't mind, personally," he said, with a smile for which she +felt grateful. "As I say, it's natural for them to think that way, +perhaps. Your father, however, is not a lawyer; and, when I went into +his room at your request, he took pains to offend me, insult me, several +times." That brought a faint flush to her face. "So, that leaves only +you to give me facts which I must have—if they exist."</p> + +<p>He became more urgent.</p> + +<p>"And you employed me, Miss Sloane; you appealed to me when you were at a +loss where to turn. I'm only fair to myself as well as to you when I +tell you that your distress, far more than financial considerations, +persuaded me to undertake this work without first consulting your +father."</p> + +<p>She leaned toward him, bending from the waist, her eyes slightly +widened, so that their effect was to give her a startled air.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean you'll give it up!" she said, plainly entreating. "You +won't give it up!"</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure you don't want me to give it up? Judge Wilton has +asked me twice, out of politeness, not to give it up. Are you merely +being polite?"</p> + +<p>She smiled, looking tired, and shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Hastings, if you were to desert<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> us now, I should be +desperate—altogether. Desperate! Just that."</p> + +<p>"I can't desert you," he said gently. "As I told Mr. Webster, I know too +little and I suspect too much to do that."</p> + +<p>Before she spoke again, she looked at him intently, drawing in her under +lip a little against her teeth.</p> + +<p>"What, Mr. Hastings?" she asked, then. "What do you suspect?"</p> + +<p>"Let me answer that with a question," he suggested. "Last night, your +one idea was that I could protect you and your father, everybody in the +house here, by acting as your spokesman. I think you wanted to set me up +as a buffer between all of you on the one side and the authorities and +the reporters on the other. You wanted things kept down, nothing to get +out beyond that which was unavoidable. Wasn't that it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it was," she admitted, not seeing where his question led.</p> + +<p>"You were afraid, then, that something incriminating might be divulged, +weren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she denied instantly.</p> + +<p>"I mean something which might seem incriminating. You trusted the person +whom it would seem to incriminate; and you wanted time for the murderer +to be found without, in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>meantime, having the adverse circumstance +made public. Isn't that it, Miss Sloane?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—practically."</p> + +<p>"Let's be clear on that. Your fear was that too much questioning of you +or the other person might result in a slip-up—might make you or him +mention the apparently damaging incident, with disastrous effect. Wasn't +that it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that was it."</p> + +<p>"Now, what was that apparently incriminating incident?"</p> + +<p>She started. He had brought her so directly to the confession that she +saw now the impossibility of withholding what he sought.</p> + +<p>"It may be," he tried to lighten her responsibility, "the very thing +that Webster and the judge have concealed—for I'm sure they're keeping +something back. Perhaps, if I knew it, things would be easier. People +closely affected by a crime are the last to judge such things +accurately."</p> + +<p>She gave a long breath of relief, looking at him with perplexity +nevertheless.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I know. That was why I came to you—last night—in the beginning."</p> + +<p>"And it was about them, Webster and Wilton," he drew the conclusion for +her, still encouraging her with his smile, regarding her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> over the rims +of his spectacles with a fatherly kindness.</p> + +<p>She turned from him and looked out of the window. It was the middle of a +hot, still day, no breeze stirring, and wonderfully quiet. For the +moment, there was no sound, in the house or outside.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, her voice a revelation of the extent to which her +doubts had oppressed her. "It was like that, out there—quiet, still! If +you could only understand!"</p> + +<p>"My dear child," he said, "rely on me. The sheriff is bound to assert +himself, to keep in the front of things; he's that kind of a man. He'll +make an arrest any time, or announce that he will. Don't you see the +danger?" He leaned forward and took her hand, a move to which she seemed +oblivious. "Don't you see I must have facts to go on—if I'm to help +you?"</p> + +<p>At that, she disengaged her hand, and sat very straight, her face again +a little turned from him. A twitch, like a shudder cut short, moved her +whole body, so that the heel of her slipper rapped smartly on the floor.</p> + +<p>"I wish," she whispered dully, "I wish I knew what to do!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he urged, as if he spoke to a child.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>She showed him her face, very white, with sudden shadows under the +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I must, I think; I must tell you," she said, not much louder than the +previous whisper. "You were right. I didn't tell the whole story of what +I saw. Believe me, I didn't think it mattered. I thought, really, things +would right themselves and explanations be unnecessary. But you +knew—didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I knew." He realized her ordeal, helping her through it. "What +were they doing?"</p> + +<p>She held her chin high.</p> + +<p>"It was all true, what I told you in the library, my being waked up by +father's moving about, my going to the window, my seeing Berne and the +judge facing each other across—her—there at the end of the awful +yellow arm of light. But that wasn't all. The moment the light flashed +on, the judge threw back his head a little, like a man about to cry out, +shout for help. I am sure that was it.</p> + +<p>"But Berne was too quick for that. Berne put out his hand; his arm shot +across her; and his hand closed the judge's mouth. The judge made no +noise whatever, but he shook his head from side to side two or three +times—I'm not certain how many—while Berne leant over the body and +whispered to him. It seemed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> me I could almost hear the words, but I +didn't.</p> + +<p>"Then Berne took his hand from the judge's mouth. I think, before that, +the judge made a sign, tried to nod his head up and down, to show he +would do as Berne said. Then, when they saw she was dead, they both +hurried around the corner to the front of the house, and I heard them +come in; I heard the judge call to father and run up to your room."</p> + +<p>She was alarmed then by the amazement and disapproval in his face.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said, and this time she took his hand. "You see! You see! You +don't understand! You think Berne killed her!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said, wondering. "I must think." For the moment, +indignation swept him. "Wilton! A judge, a judge!—keeping quiet on a +thing like that! I must think."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h3>MOTIVES REVEALED</h3> + +<p>She let go his hand and, still leaning toward him, waited for him to +speak. A confusion of misgivings assailed her—she regretted having +confided in him. If his anger embraced Berne as well as Judge Wilton, +she had done nothing but harm!</p> + +<p>Seeing her dismay, he tried again to reassure her.</p> + +<p>"But no matter!" he minimized his own sense of shock. "I'm sure I'll +understand if you'll tell me more—your explanation."</p> + +<p>Obviously, the only inference he could draw from her story as she had +told it was that Webster had killed the woman and, found bending over +her body, had sprung forward to silence the man who had discovered him. +Nevertheless, it was equally evident that she was sincere in attributing +to Webster a different motive for preventing the judge's outcry. +Consideration of that persuaded Hastings that she could give him facts +which would change the whole aspect of the crime.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>Her hesitance now made him uneasy; he recognized the necessity of +increasing her reliance upon him. If she told him only a part of what +she knew, he would be scarcely in a better position than before.</p> + +<p>"Naturally," he added, "you can throw light on the whole incident—light +by which I must be guided, to a great degree."</p> + +<p>"If Berne were not ill," she responded to that, "I wouldn't tell.—It's +because he's lying up there, his lips closed, unable to keep a look-out +for developments, at the mercy of what the sheriff may do or +say!—That's why I feel so dreadfully the need of help, Mr. Hastings!"</p> + +<p>She slid back in her chair, moving farther from him, as if his kindly +gaze disconcerted her.</p> + +<p>"If he hadn't suffered this collapse, I should have left the matter to +him, I think. But now—now I can't!" She straightened again, her chin +up, the signal with her of final decision. "He acted on his impulsive +desire to prevent my being shocked by that discovery—that horror out +there on the lawn. Things had happened to convince him that such a +thing, shouted through the night, would be a terrific blow to me. I'm +sure that that was the only idea he had when he put his hand over Judge +Wilton's mouth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>"I can believe that," he said. "Tell me why you believe it."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she protested, hands clenched on her knees; "if it affected only +him and me!"</p> + +<p>Her suspicion of her father recurred to him. It was, he thought, back of +the terror he saw in her eyes now.</p> + +<p>"But it does affect only him and me, after all!" she continued fiercely, +as much to strengthen herself in what she wanted to believe as to force +him to that belief. "Let me tell you the whole affair, from beginning to +end."</p> + +<p>She proceeded in a low tone, the words slower, as if she laboured for +precision and clarity.</p> + +<p>"I must go back to Friday—the night before last—it seems months ago! I +had heard that Berne had become involved in some sort of relationship +with his stenographer—that she had been dismissed from his office and +refused to accept the dismissal as final. I mean, of course, I heard she +was in love with him, and he'd been in love with her—or should have +been.</p> + +<p>"It was told me by a friend of mine in Washington, Lucy Carnly. It seems +another stenographer overheard the conversation between Berne and +Miss—Miss Brace. It got out that way. It was very circumstantial; I +couldn't help believing it, some of it; Lucy wouldn't have brought me +idle gossip—I thought."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>She drew in her under lip, to hide its momentary tremour, and shook her +head from side to side once.</p> + +<p>"All that, Mr. Hastings, came up, as a matter of course, when Berne +reached here evening before last for the week-end. I'd just heard it +that day. He denied it, said there had been nothing remotely resembling +a love affair.—He was indignant, and very hurt!—He said she'd +misconstrued some of his kindnesses to her. He couldn't explain how she +had misconstrued them. At any rate, the result was that I broke our +engagement. I——"</p> + +<p>"Friday night!" Hastings exclaimed involuntarily.</p> + +<p>He grasped on the instant how grossly Webster, by withholding all this, +had deceived him, left him in the dark.</p> + +<p>"Yes; and I told father about it," she hurried her words here, the +effect of her manner being the impression that she hoped this fact would +not bulk too large in the detective's thoughts. "The three of us had a +talk about it Friday night. Father's wonderfully fond of Berne and tried +to persuade me I was foolishly ruining my life. I refused to change my +mind. When I went upstairs, they stayed a long time in the library, +talking.</p> + +<p>"I think they decided the best thing for Berne<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> was to stay on here, +through yesterday and today, in the hope that he and father might change +my mind. Father tried to, yesterday morning. He was awfully upset. +That's one reason he's so worn out and sick today.—I love my father so, +Mr. Hastings!" She held her lips tight-shut a moment, a sob struggling +in her throat. "But my distress, my own hurt pride——"</p> + +<p>"What did your father say about Mildred Brace?" Hastings asked, when she +did not finish that sentence.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, again with widened eyes, a startled air, putting both +her hands to her throat.</p> + +<p>"There!" she said, voice falling to a whisper.</p> + +<p>Then, turning her face half from him, she whispered so low that he heard +her with difficulty: "I wish I were dead!"</p> + +<p>Her words frightened him, they had so clearly the ring of truth, as if +she would in sober fact have preferred death to the thought which was +breaking her heart—suspicion of her father.</p> + +<p>"That was why Berne stopped the judge's outcry," she said at last, +turning her white face to him; "he had the sudden wild idea that I'm +afraid you have—that father might have killed her. And Berne did not +want that awful fact<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> screamed through the night at me. Oh, can't you +see—can't you see that, Mr. Hastings?"</p> + +<p>"It's entirely possible; Mr. Webster may have thought that.—But let's +keep the story straight. What had your father said about Mildred +Brace—to arouse any such suspicion?"</p> + +<p>"He was angry, terribly indignant. You know I made no secret to you of +his high temper. His rages are fierce.—Once, when he was that way, I +saw him kill a dog. If it had—but I think all men who're unstrung +nervously, as he is, have high tempers. He felt so indignant because she +had come between Berne and myself. He blamed neither Berne nor me. He +seemed to concentrate all his anger upon her.</p> + +<p>"He said—you see, Mr. Hastings, I tell you everything!—he threatened +to go to her and—— He had, of course, no definite idea what he would +do. Finally, he did say he would buy her off, pay her to leave this part +of the country. After that, he said, he knew I would 'see things +clearly,' and Berne and I would be reconciled."</p> + +<p>Hastings remembered Russell's assertion that Mildred had her ticket to +Chicago.</p> + +<p>"Did he buy her off?" he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; he was merely wishing that he could, I think."</p> + +<p>"But he made no attempt to get in touch with her yesterday? You're +sure?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>"Quite," she said. "But don't you see. Mr. Hastings? Father was so +intense in his hatred of her that Berne thought of him the moment he +found that body—out there. He thought father must have encountered her +on the lawn in some way, or she must have come after him, and he, in a +fit of rage, struck her down."</p> + +<p>"Has Webster told you this?"</p> + +<p>"No—but it's true; it is!"</p> + +<p>"But, if your supposition is to hold good, how did your father happen to +be in possession of that dagger, which evidently was made with malice +aforethought, as the lawyers say?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," she said, her lips quivering, hands gripping spasmodically at +her knees. "He didn't do it! He didn't do it! Berne's idea was a +mistake!"</p> + +<p>"Who, then?" he pressed her, realizing now that she was so unstrung she +would give him her thoughts unguarded.</p> + +<p>"Why, that man Russell," she said, her voice so low and the words so +slow that he thought her at the limit of her endurance. "But I've said +all this to show you why Berne put his hand over the judge's mouth. I +want to make it very clear that he feared father—think of it, Mr. +Hastings!—had killed her! At first, I thought——"</p> + +<p>She bowed her face in both her hands and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> wept unrestrainedly, without +sobs, the tears streaming between her fingers and down her wrists.</p> + +<p>The old man put one hand on her hair, and with the other brought forth +his handkerchief, being bothered by the sudden mistiness of his +spectacles.</p> + +<p>"A brave girl," he said, his own voice insecure. "What a woman! I know +what you mean. At first, you feared your father might have been +concerned in the murder. I saw it in your eyes last night. You had the +same thought that young Webster had—rather, that you say he had."</p> + +<p>Her weeping ceased as suddenly as it had begun. She looked at him +through tears.</p> + +<p>"And I've only injured Berne in your eyes; I think, irreparably! This +morning I thought you heard me when I asked him not to let it be known +that our engagement was broken? Don't you remember? You were on the +porch as we came around the corner."</p> + +<p>For the first time since its utterance, he recalled her statement then, +"We'll have to leave it as it was," and Webster's significant rejoinder. +He despised his own stupidity. Had he magnified Webster's desire to keep +that promise into guilty knowledge of the crime itself? And had not the +mistake driven him into false and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>valueless interpretations of his +entire interview with Webster?</p> + +<p>"He promised," Lucille pursued, "for the same reason I had in asking +it—to prevent discovery of the fact that father might have had a motive +for wishing her dead! It was a mistake, I see now, a terrible mistake!"</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me why you didn't have the same thoughts about Berne?" He +was sorry he had to make that inquiry. If he could, he would have spared +her further distress. "Why wouldn't he have had the same motive, hatred +of Mildred Brace, a thousand times stronger?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said. "I simply never thought of it—not once."</p> + +<p>Fine psychologist that he was, Hastings knew why that view had not +occurred to her. Her love for Webster was an idealizing sentiment, +putting him beyond even the possibility of wrong-doing. Her love for her +father, unusual in its devotion as it was, recognized his weaknesses +nevertheless.</p> + +<p>And, while seeking to protect the two, she had told a story which, so +far as bald facts went, incriminated the lover far more than the father. +She had attributed to Sloane, in her uneasiness, the motive which would +have been most natural to the discarded Webster. Even now, she could not +suspect Berne; her only fear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> was that others, not understanding him as +she did, might suspect him! Although she had broken with him, she still +loved him. More than that: his illness and consequent helplessness +increased her devotion for him, brought to the surface the maternal +phase of it.</p> + +<p>"If she had to choose between the two," Hastings thought, "she'd save +Webster—every time!"</p> + +<p>"I know—I tell you, Mr. Hastings, I <i>know</i> neither Berne nor father is +at all responsible for this crime. I tell you," she repeated, rising to +her feet, as if by mere physical height she hoped to impress her +knowledge upon him, "I <i>know</i> they're innocent.—Don't <i>you</i> know it?"</p> + +<p>She stood looking down at him, her whole body tense, arms held close +against her sides, the knuckles of her fingers white as ivory. Her eyes +now were dry, and brilliant.</p> + +<p>He evaded the flat statement to which she pressed him.</p> + +<p>"But your knowledge, Miss Sloane, and what we must prove," he said, also +standing, "are two different things just now. The authorities will +demand proofs."</p> + +<p>"I know. That's why I've told you these things." Somehow, her manner +reproached him. "You said you had to have them in order to handle +this—this situation properly. Now that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> you know them, I'm sure you'll +feel safe in devoting all your time to proving Russell's guilt." She +moved her head forward, to study him more closely. "You know he's +guilty, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm certain Mrs. Brace figured in her daughter's murder," he said. "She +was concerned in it somehow. If that's true, and if your father +approached neither her nor her daughter yesterday, it does seem highly +possible that Russell's guilty."</p> + +<p>He turned from her and stood at the window, his back to her a few long +moments. When he faced her again, he looked old.</p> + +<p>"But the facts—if we could only break down Russell's alibi!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she whispered, in new alarm. "I'd forgotten that!"</p> + +<p>All the tenseness went out of her limbs. She sank into her chair, and +sat there, looking up to him, her eyes frankly confessing a panic fear.</p> + +<p>"I think I'm sorry I told you," she said, desperately. "I can't make you +understand!" Another consideration forced itself upon her. "You won't +have to tell anybody—anybody at all—about this, will you—now?"</p> + +<p>He was prepared for that.</p> + +<p>"I'll have to ask Judge Wilton why he acted on Mr. Webster's advice—and +what that advice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> was, what they whispered to each other when you saw +them."</p> + +<p>"Why, that's perfectly fair," she assented, relieved. "That will stop +all the secrecy between them and me. It's the very thing I want. If +that's assured, everything else will work itself out."</p> + +<p>Her faith surprised him. He had not realized how unqualified it was.</p> + +<p>"Did you ask the judge about it?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes; just before I came in here—after Berne's collapse. I felt so +helpless! But he tried to persuade me my imagination had deceived me; he +said they had had no such scene. You know how gruff and hard Judge +Wilton can be at times. I shouldn't choose him for a confidant."</p> + +<p>"No; I reckon not. But we'll ask him now—if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>Willis, the butler, answered the bell, and gave information: Judge +Wilton had left Sloanehurst half an hour ago and had gone to the +Randalls'. He had asked for Miss Sloane, but, learning that she was +engaged, had left his regrets, saying he would come in tomorrow, after +the adjournment of court.</p> + +<p>"He's on the bench tomorrow at the county-seat," Lucille explained the +message. "He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>always divides his time between us and the Randalls when +he comes down from Fairfax for his court terms. He told me this morning +he'd come back to us later in the week."</p> + +<p>"On second thought," Hastings said, "that's better. I'll talk to him +alone tomorrow—about this thing, this inexplicable thing: a judge +taking it upon himself to deceive the sheriff even! But," he softened +the sternness of his tone, "he must have a reason, a better one than I +can think of now." He smiled. "And I'll report to you, when he's told +me."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad it's tomorrow," she said wearily. "I—I'm tired out."</p> + +<p>On his way back to Washington, the old man reflected: "Now, she'll +persuade Sloane to do the sensible thing—talk." Then, to bolster that +hope, he added a stern truth: "He's got to. He can't gag himself with a +pretended illness forever!"</p> + +<p>At the same time the girl he had left in the music room wept again, +saying over and over to herself, in a despair of doubt: "Not that! Not +that! I couldn't tell him that. I told him enough. I know I did. He +wouldn't have understood!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h3>HENDRICKS REPORTS</h3> + +<p>In his book-lined, "loosely furnished" apartment Sunday afternoon +Hastings whittled prodigiously, staring frequently at the flap of the +grey envelope with the intensity of a crystal-gazer. Once or twice he +pronounced aloud possible meanings of the symbols imprinted on the scrap +of paper.</p> + +<p>"'—edly de—,'" he worried. "That might stand for 'repeatedly demanded' +or 'repeatedly denied' or 'undoubtedly denoted' or a hundred—— But +that 'Pursuit!' is the core of the trouble. They put the pursuit on him, +sure as you're knee-high to a hope of heaven!"</p> + +<p>The belief grew in him that out of those pieces of words would come +solution of his problem. The idea was born of his remarkable instinct. +Its positiveness partook of superstition—almost. He could not shake it +off. Once he chuckled, appreciating the apparent absurdity of trying to +guess the criminal meaning, the criminal intent, back of that writing. +But he kept to his conjecturing.</p> + +<p>He had many interruptions. Newspaper <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>reporters, instantly impressed by +the dramatic possibilities, the inherent sensationalism, of the murder, +flocked to him. Referred to him by the people at Sloanehurst, they asked +for not only his narration of what had occurred but also for his opinion +as to the probability of running down the guilty man.</p> + +<p>He would make no predictions, he told them, confining himself to a +simple statement of facts. When one young sleuth suggested that both +Sloane and Webster feared arrest on the charge of murder and had relied +on his reputation to prevent prompt action against them by the sheriff, +the old man laughed. He knew the futility of trying to prevent +publication of intimations of that sort.</p> + +<p>But he took advantage of the opportunity to put a different +interpretation on his employment by the Sloanes.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me," he contributed, "it's more logical to say that their +calling in a detective goes a long way to show their innocence of all +connection with the crime. They wouldn't pay out real money to have +themselves hunted, if they were guilty, would they?"</p> + +<p>Afterwards, he was glad he had emphasized this point. In the light of +subsequent events, it looked like actual foresight of Mrs. Brace's +tactics.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>Soon after five Hendricks came in, to report. He was a young man, +stockily built, with eyes that were always on the verge of laughter and +lips that sloped inward as if biting down on the threatened mirth. The +shape of his lips was symbolical of his habit of discourse; he was of +few words.</p> + +<p>"Webster," he said, standing across the table from his employer and +shooting out his words like a memorized speech, "been overplaying his +hand financially. That's the rumour; nothing tangible yet. Gone into +real estate and building projects; associated with a crowd that has the +name of operating on a shoestring. Nobody'd be surprised if they all +blew up."</p> + +<p>"As a real-estate man, I take it," Hastings commented, slowly shaving +off thin slivers of chips from his piece of pine, "he's a brilliant +young lawyer. That's it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," Hendricks agreed, the slope of his lips accentuated.</p> + +<p>"Keep after that, tomorrow.—What about Mrs. Brace?"</p> + +<p>"Destitute, practically; in debt; threatened with eviction; no +resources."</p> + +<p>"So money, lack of it, is bothering her as well as Webster!—How much is +she in debt?"</p> + +<p>"Enough to be denied all credit by the stores;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> between five and seven +hundred, I should say. That's about the top mark for that class of +trade."</p> + +<p>"All right, Hendricks; thanks," the old man commended warmly. "That's +great work, for Sunday.—Now, Russell's room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; I went over it."</p> + +<p>"Find any steel on the floor?"</p> + +<p>Hendricks took from his pocket a little paper parcel about the size of a +man's thumb.</p> + +<p>"Not sure, sir. Here's what I got."</p> + +<p>He unfolded the paper and put it down on the table, displaying a small +mass of what looked like dust and lint.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful what a magnet will pick up, ain't it?" mused his employer: "I +got the same sort of stuff at Sloanehurst this morning.—I'll go over +this, look for the steel particles, right away."</p> + +<p>"Anything else, sir—special?"</p> + +<p>The assistant was already half-way to the door. He knew that a floor an +inch deep in chips from his employer's whittling indicated laborious +mental gropings by the old man. It was no time for superfluous words.</p> + +<p>"After dinner," Hastings instructed, "relieve Gore—at the Walman. +Thanks."</p> + +<p>As Hendricks went out, there was another telephone call, this time from +Crown, to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> amends for coolness he had shown Hastings at +Sloanehurst.</p> + +<p>"I was wrong, and you were right," he conceded, handsomely; "I mean +about that Brace woman. Better keep your man on her trail."</p> + +<p>"What's up?" Hastings asked amicably.</p> + +<p>"That's what I want to know! I've seen her again. I couldn't get +anything more from her except threats. She's going on the warpath. She +told me: 'Tomorrow I'll look into things for myself. I'll not sit here +idle and leave everything to a sheriff who wants campaign contributions +and a detective who's paid to hush things up!' You can see her saying +that, can't you? Wow!"</p> + +<p>"That all?"</p> + +<p>"That's all, right now. But I've got a suspicion she knows more than we +think. When she makes up her mind to talk, she'll say something!—Mr. +Hastings," Crown added, as if he imparted a tremendous fact, "that +woman's smart! I tell you, she's got brains, a head full of 'em!"</p> + +<p>"So I judged," the detective agreed, drily. "By the way, have you seen +Russell again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There's another thing. I don't see where you get that stuff about +his weak alibi. It's copper-riveted!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p><p>"He says so, you mean."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and the way he says it. But I followed your advice. I've +advertised, through the police here and up and down the Atlantic coast, +for any automobile party or parties who went along that Sloanehurst road +last night between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" Hastings congratulated. "But get me straight on that: I don't +say any of them saw him; I say there's a chance that he was seen."</p> + +<p>The old man went back, not to examination of Hendricks' parcel, but to +further consideration of the possible contents of the letter that had +been in the grey envelope. Russell, he reflected, had been present when +Mildred Brace mailed it, and, what was more important, when Mildred +started out of the apartment with it.</p> + +<p>He made sudden decision: he would question Russell again. Carefully +placing Hendricks' package of dust and lint in a drawer of the table, he +set out for the Eleventh street boarding house.</p> + +<p>It was, however, not Russell who figured most prominently in the +accounts of the murder published by the Monday morning newspapers. The +reporters, resenting the reticence they had encountered at Sloanehurst, +and making much of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> Mrs. Brace's threats, put in the forefront of their +stories an appealing picture of a bereaved mother's one-sided fight for +justice against the baffling combination of the Sloanehurst +secretiveness and indifference and the mysterious circumstances of the +daughter's death. Not one of them questioned the validity of Russell's +alibi.</p> + +<p>"With the innocence of the dead girl's fiancé established," said one +account, "Sheriff Crown last night made no secret of his chagrin that +Berne Webster had collapsed at the very moment when the sheriff was on +the point of putting him through a rigid cross-examination. The young +lawyer's retirement from the scene, coupled with the Sloane family's +retaining the celebrated detective, Jefferson Hastings, as a buffer +against any questioning of the Sloanehurst people, has given Society, +here and in Virginia, a topic for discussion of more than ordinary +interest."</p> + +<p>Another paragraph that caught Hastings' attention, as he read between +mouthfuls of his breakfast, was this:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brace, discussing the tragedy with a reporter last night, showed a +surprising knowledge of all its incidents. Although she had not left her +apartment in the Walman all day, she had been questioned by both Sheriff +Crown and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> Mr. Hastings, not to mention the unusually large number of +newspaper writers who besieged her for interviews.</p> + +<p>"And it seemed that, in addition to answering the queries put to her by +the investigators, she had accomplished a vast amount of keen inquiry on +her own account. When talking to her, it is impossible for one to escape +the impression that this extraordinarily intelligent woman believes she +can prove the guilt of the man who struck down her daughter."</p> + +<p>"Just what I was afraid of," thought the detective. "Nearly every paper +siding with her!"</p> + +<p>His face brightened.</p> + +<p>"All the better," he consoled himself. "More chance of her overreaching +herself—as long as she don't know what I suspect. I'll get the meaning +of that grey letter yet!"</p> + +<p>But he was worried. Berne Webster's collapse, he knew, was too +convenient for Webster—it looked like pretence. Ninety-nine out of +every hundred newspaper readers would consider his illness a fake, the +obvious trick to escape the work of explaining what seemed to be +inexplicable circumstances.</p> + +<p>To Hastings the situation was particularly annoying because he had +brought it about; his own questioning had turned out to be the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> straw +that broke the suspected man's endurance.</p> + +<p>"Always blundering!" he upbraided himself. "Trying to be so all-shot +smart, I overplayed my hand."</p> + +<p>He got Dr. Garnet on the wire.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," he said, in a tone that implored, "I'm obliged to see Webster +today."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Mr. Hastings," came the instant refusal; "but it can't be done."</p> + +<p>"For one question," qualified Hastings; "less than a minute's talk—one +word, 'yes' or 'no'? It's almost a matter of life and death."</p> + +<p>"If that man's excited about anything," Garnet retorted, "it will be +entirely a matter of death. Frankly, I couldn't see my way clear to +letting you question him if his escaping arrest depended on it. I called +in Dr. Welles last night; and I'm giving you his opinion as well as my +own."</p> + +<p>"When can I see him, then?"</p> + +<p>"I can't answer that. It may be a week; it may be a month. All I can +tell you today is that you can't question him now."</p> + +<p>With that information, Hastings decided to interview Judge Wilton.</p> + +<p>"He's the next best," he thought. "That whispering across the woman's +body—it's got to be explained, and explained right!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>As a matter of fact, he had refrained from this inquiry the day before, +so that his mind might not be clouded by anger. His deception by the +judge had greatly provoked him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BRACE BEGINS</h3> + +<p>Court had recessed for lunch when Hastings, going down a second-story +corridor of the Alexandria county courthouse, entered Judge Wilton's +anteroom. His hand was raised to knock on the door of the inner office +when he heard the murmur of voices on the other side. He took off his +hat and sat down, welcoming the breeze that swept through the room, a +refreshing contrast to the forenoon's heat and smother downstairs.</p> + +<p>He reached for his knife and piece of pine, checked the motion and +glanced swiftly toward the closed door. A high note of a woman's voice +touched his memory, for a moment confusing him. But it was for a moment +only. While the sound was still in his ears, he remembered where he had +heard it before—from Mrs. Brace when, toward the close of his interview +with her, she had shrilly denounced Berne Webster.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace, her daughter's funeral barely three hours old, had started +to make her threats good.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>While he was considering that, the door of the private office swung +inward, Judge Wilton's hand on the knob. It opened on the middle of a +sentence spoken by Mrs. Brace:</p> + +<p>"—tell you, you're a fool if you think you can put me off with that!"</p> + +<p>Her gleaming eyes were so furtive and so quick that they traversed the +whole of Wilton's countenance many times, a fiery probe of each separate +feature. The inflections of her voice invested her words with ugliness; +but she did not shriek.</p> + +<p>"You bully everybody else, but not me! They don't call you 'Hard Tom +Wilton' for nothing, do they? I know you! I know you, I tell you! I was +down there in the courtroom when you sentenced that man! You had cruelty +in your mind, cruelty on your face. Ugh! And you're cruel to me—and +taking an ungodly pleasure in it! Well, let me tell you, I won't be +broken by it. I want fair dealing, and I'll have it!"</p> + +<p>At that moment, facing full toward Hastings, she caught sight of him. +But his presence seemed a matter of no importance to her; it did not +break the stream of her fierce invective. She did not even pause.</p> + +<p>He saw at once that her anger of yesterday was as nothing to the +storming rage which shook her now. Every line of her face revealed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +malignity. The eyebrows were drawn higher on her forehead, nearer to the +wave of white hair that showed under her black hat. The nostrils dilated +and contracted with indescribable rapidity. The lips, thickened and +rolling back at intervals from her teeth, revealed more distinctly that +animal, exaggerated wetness which had so repelled him.</p> + +<p>"You were out there on that lawn!" she pursued, her glance flashing back +to the judge. "You were out there when she was killed! If you try to +tell me you——"</p> + +<p>"Stop it! Stop it!" Wilton commanded, and, as he did so, turned his head +to an angle that put Hastings within his field of vision.</p> + +<p>The judge, with one hand on the doorknob, had been pressing with the +other against the woman's shoulders, trying to thrust her out of the +room—a move which she resisted by a hanging-back posture that threw her +weight on his arm. He put more strength now into his effort and +succeeded in forcing her clear of the threshold. His eyes were blazing +under the shadow of his heavy, overhanging brows; but there was about +him no suggestion of a loss of self-control.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you!" he told Hastings, speaking over Mrs. Brace's +head, and smiling a deprecatory recognition of the hopelessness of +contending with an infuriated woman.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>She addressed them both.</p> + +<p>"Smile all you please, now!" she threatened. "But the accounts aren't +balanced yet! Wait for what I choose to tell—what I intend to do!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she got herself in hand. It was as unexpected and thorough a +transformation as the one Hastings had seen twenty-four hours before +during her declaration of Webster's guilt. She had the same appearance +now as then, the same tautness of body, the same flat, constrained tone.</p> + +<p>She turned to Wilton:</p> + +<p>"I ask you again, will you help me as I asked you? Are you going to deny +me fair play?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her in amazement, scowling.</p> + +<p>"What fair play?" he exclaimed, and, without waiting for her reply, said +to Hastings: "She insists that I know young Webster killed her daughter, +that I can produce the evidence to prove it. Can you disabuse her mind?"</p> + +<p>She surprised them by going, slowly and with apparent composure, toward +the corridor door. There she paused, looking at first one and then the +other with an evil smile so openly contemptuous that it affected them +strongly. There was something in it that made it flagrantly insulting. +Hastings turned away from her. Judge Wilton gave her look for look, but +his already flushed face coloured more darkly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p><p>"Very well, Judge Wilton!" she gave him insolent good-bye, in which +there was also unmistakable threat. "You'll do the right thing sooner or +later—and as I tell you. You're—get this straight—you're not through +with me yet!"</p> + +<p>She laughed, one low note, and, impossible as it seemed, proclaimed with +the harsh sound an absolute confidence in what she said.</p> + +<p>"Nor you, Mr. Hastings!" she continued, taking her time with her words, +and waiting until the detective faced her again, before she concluded: +"You'll sing a different tune when you find I've got this affair in my +hands—tight!"</p> + +<p>Still smiling her contempt, as if she enjoyed a feeling of superiority, +she left the room. When her footsteps died down the corridor, the two +men drew long breaths of relief.</p> + +<p>Wilton broke the ensuing silence.</p> + +<p>"Is she sane?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Hastings said, "so far as sanity can be said to exist in a mind +consecrated to evil."</p> + +<p>The judge was surprised by the solemnity of the other's manner. "Why do +you say that?" he asked. "Do you know that much about her?"</p> + +<p>"Who wouldn't?" Hastings retorted. "It's written all over her."</p> + +<p>Wilton led the way into his private office and closed the door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>"I'm glad it happened at just this time," he said, "when everybody's +out of the building." He struck the desk with his fist. "By God!" he +ground out through gritted teeth. "How I hate these wild, unbridled +women!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Hastings, taking the chair Wilton rolled forward for him. +"She worries me. Wonder if she's going to Sloanehurst."</p> + +<p>"That would be the logical sequel to this visit," Wilton said. "But +pardon my show of temper. You came to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and, like her, for information. But," the detective said, smiling, +"not for rough-house purposes."</p> + +<p>The judge had not entirely regained his equanimity; his face still wore +a heightened colour; his whole bearing was that of a man mentally +reviewing the results of an unpleasant incident. Instead of replying +promptly to Hastings, he sat looking out of the window, obviously +troubled.</p> + +<p>"Her game is blackmail," he declared at last.</p> + +<p>"On whom?" the detective queried.</p> + +<p>"Arthur Sloane, of course. She calculates that he'll play to have her +cease annoying his daughter's fiancé. And she'll impress Arthur, if +Jarvis ever lets her get to him. Somehow, she strangely compels +credence."</p> + +<p>"Not for me," Hastings objected, and did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> point out that Wilton's +words might be taken as an admission of Webster's guilt.</p> + +<p>The judge himself might have seen that.</p> + +<p>"I mean," he qualified, "she seems too smart a woman to put herself in a +position where ridicule will be sure to overtake her. And yet, that's +what she's doing—isn't she?"</p> + +<p>The detective was whittling, dropping the chips into the waste-basket. +He spoke with a deliberateness unusual even in him, framing each +sentence in his mind before giving it utterance.</p> + +<p>"I reckon, judge, you and I have had some four or five talks—that is, +not counting Saturday evening and yesterday at Sloanehurst. That's about +the extent of our acquaintance. That right?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," Wilton said, surprised by the change of topic.</p> + +<p>"I mention it," Hastings explained, "to show how I've felt toward +you—you interested me. Excuse me if I speak plainly—you'll see why +later on—but you struck me as worth studying, deep. And I thought you +must have sized me up, catalogued me one way or the other. You're like +me: waste no time with men who bore you. I felt certain, if you'd been +asked, you'd have checked me off as reliable. Would you?"</p> + +<p>"Unquestionably."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>"And, if I was reliable then, I'm reliable now. That's a fair +assumption, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly." The judge laughed shortly, a little embarrassed.</p> + +<p>"That brings me to my point. You'll believe me when I tell you my only +interest in this murder is to find the murderer, and, while I'm doing +it, to save the Sloanes as much as possible from annoyance. You'll +believe me, also, when I say I've got to have all the facts if I'm to +work surely and fast. You recognize the force of that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Hastings." Wilton spoke impatiently this time.</p> + +<p>"Fine!" The old man shot him a genial glance over the steel-rimmed +spectacles. "That's the introduction. Here's the real thing: I've an +idea you could tell me more about what happened on the lawn Saturday +night."</p> + +<p>After his involuntary, immediate start of surprise, Wilton tilted his +head, slowly blowing the cigar smoke from his pursed lips. He had a fine +air of reflection, careful thought.</p> + +<p>"I can elaborate what I've already told you," he said, finally, "if +that's what you mean—go into greater detail."</p> + +<p>He watched closely the edge of the detective's face unhidden by his +bending over the wood he was cutting.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p><p>"I don't think elaboration could do much good," Hastings objected. "I +referred to new stuff—some fact or facts you might have omitted, +unconsciously."</p> + +<p>"Unconsciously?" Wilton echoed the word, as a man does when his mind is +overtaxed.</p> + +<p>Hastings took it up.</p> + +<p>"Or consciously, even," he said quickly, meeting the other's eyes.</p> + +<p>The judge moved sharply, bracing himself against the back of the chair.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Skilled in the law yourself, thoroughly familiar, with the rules of +evidence, it's more than possible that you might have reviewed matters +and decided that there were things which, if they were known, would do +harm instead of good—obscure the truth, perhaps; or hinder the hunt for +the guilty man instead of helping it on. That's clear enough, isn't it? +You might have thought that?"</p> + +<p>The look of sullen resentment in the judge's face was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>"Oh, say what you mean!" he retorted warmly. "What you're insinuating is +that I've lied!"</p> + +<p>"It don't have to be called that."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, that I, a judge, sworn to uphold the law and punish crime, +have elected to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> thwart the law and to cheat its officials of the facts +they should have. Is that what you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I'll be honest with you," Hastings admitted, unmoved by the other's +grand manner. "I've wondered about that—whether you thought a judge had +a right to do a thing of that sort."</p> + +<p>Wilton's hand, clenched on the edge of the desk, shook perceptibly.</p> + +<p>"Did you think that, judge?" the detective persisted.</p> + +<p>The judge hesitated.</p> + +<p>"It's a point I've never gone into," he said finally, with intentional +sarcasm.</p> + +<p>Hastings snapped his knife-blade shut and thrust the piece of wood into +his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Let's get away from this beating about the bush," he suggested, voice +on a sterner note. "I don't want to irritate you unnecessarily, judge. I +came here for information—stuff I'm more than anxious to get. And I go +back to that now: won't you tell me anything more about the discovery of +the woman's body by the two of you—you and Webster?"</p> + +<p>"No; I won't! I've covered the whole thing—several times."</p> + +<p>"Is there anything that you haven't told—anything you've decided to +suppress?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p><p>Wilton got up from his chair and struck the desk with his fist.</p> + +<p>"See here, Hastings! You're getting beside yourself. Representing Miss +Sloane doesn't warrant your insulting her friends. Suppose we consider +this interview at an end. Some other time, perhaps——"</p> + +<p>Hastings also had risen.</p> + +<p>"Just a minute, judge!" he interrupted, all at once assuming the +authoritative air that had so amazed Wilton the night of the murder. +"You're suppressing something—and I know it!"</p> + +<p>"That's a lie!" Wilton retorted, the flush deepening to crimson on his +face.</p> + +<p>"It ain't a lie," Hastings contradicted, holding his self-control. "And +you watch yourself! Don't you call me a liar again—not as long as you +live! You can't afford the insult."</p> + +<p>"Then, don't provoke it. Don't——"</p> + +<p>"What did Webster whisper to you, across that corpse?" Hastings +demanded, going nearer to Wilton.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" Wilton's tone was one of consternation; the words might +have been spoken by a man stumbling on an unsuspected horror in a dark +room.</p> + +<p>They stared at each other for several <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>dragging seconds. The detective +waved a hand toward the judge's chair.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," he said, resuming his own seat.</p> + +<p>There followed another pause, longer than the first. The judge's +breathing was laboured, audible. He lowered his eyes and passed his hand +across their thick lids. When he looked up again, Hastings commanded him +with unwavering, expectant gaze.</p> + +<p>"I've made a mistake," Wilton began huskily, and stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" Hastings said, unbending. "How?"</p> + +<p>"I see it now. It was a matter of no importance, in itself. I've +exaggerated it, by my silence, into disproportionate significance." His +tone changed to curiosity. "Who told you about—the whispering?"</p> + +<p>The detective was implacable, emphasizing his dominance.</p> + +<p>"First, what was it?" When Wilton still hesitated, he repeated: "What +did Webster say when he put his hand over your mouth—to prevent your +outcry?"</p> + +<p>The judge threw up his head, as if in sudden resolve to be frank. He +spoke more readily, with a clumsy semblance of amiability.</p> + +<p>"He said, 'Don't do that! You'll frighten Lucille!' I tried to nod my +head, agreeing. But he misunderstood the movement, I think.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> He thought +I meant to shout anyway; he tightened his grip. 'Keep quiet! Will you +keep quiet?' he repeated two or three times. When I made my meaning +clear, he took his hand away. He explained later what had occurred to +him the moment Arthur's light flashed on. He said it came to him before +he clearly realized who I was. It——</p> + +<p>"I swear, Hastings, I hate to tell you this. It suggests unjust +suspicions. Of what value are the wild ideas of a nervous man, all to +pieces anyway, when he stumbles on a dead woman in the middle of the +night?"</p> + +<p>"They were valuable enough," Hastings flicked him, "for you to cover +them up—for some reason. What were they?"</p> + +<p>Wilton was puzzled by the detective's tone, its abstruse insinuation. +But he answered the question.</p> + +<p>"He said his first idea, the one that made him think of Lucille, was +that Arthur might have had something to do with the murder."</p> + +<p>"Why? Why did he think Sloane had killed Mildred Brace?"</p> + +<p>"Because she had been the cause of Lucille's breaking her engagement +with Berne—and Arthur knew that. Arthur had been in a rage——"</p> + +<p>"All right!" Hastings checked him suddenly, and, getting to his feet, +fell to pacing the room,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> his eyes, always on Wilton. "I'm acquainted +with that part of it."</p> + +<p>He paid no attention to Wilton's evident surprise at that statement. He +had a surprise of his own to deal with: the unexpected similarity of the +judge's story with Lucille Sloane's theorizing as to what Webster had +whispered across the body in the moment of its discovery. The two +statements were identical—a coincidence that defied credulity.</p> + +<p>He caught himself doubting Lucille. Had she been theorizing, after all? +Or had she relayed to him words that Wilton had put into her mouth? +Then, remembering her grief, her desperate appeals to him for aid, he +dismissed the suspicion.</p> + +<p>"I'd stake my life on her honesty," he decided. "Her intuition gave her +the correct solution—if Wilton's not lying now!"</p> + +<p>He put the obvious question: "Judge, am I the first one to hear +this—from you?" and received the obvious answer: "You are. I didn't +volunteer it to you, did I?"</p> + +<p>"All right. Now, did you believe Webster? Wait a minute! Did you believe +his fear wasn't for himself when he gagged you that way?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I did," replied Wilton, in a tone that lacked sincerity.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe it now?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>"If I didn't, do you think I'd have tried for a moment to conceal what +he said to me?"</p> + +<p>"Why did you conceal it?"</p> + +<p>"Because Arthur Sloane was my friend, and his daughter's happiness would +have been ruined if I'd thrown further suspicion on him. Besides, what I +did conceal could have been of no value to any detective or sheriff on +earth. It meant nothing, so long as I knew the boy's sincerity—and his +innocence as well as Arthur's."</p> + +<p>"But," Hastings persisted, "why all this concern for Webster, after his +engagement had been broken?"</p> + +<p>"How's that?" Wilton countered. "Oh, I see! The break wasn't permanent. +Arthur and I had decided on that. We knew they'd get together again."</p> + +<p>Hastings halted in front of the judge's chair.</p> + +<p>"Have you kept back anything else?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," Wilton said, with a return of his former sullenness. "And," +he forced himself to the avowal, "I'm sorry I kept that back. It's +nothing."</p> + +<p>Hastings' manner changed on the instant. He was once more cordial.</p> + +<p>"All right, judge!" he said heartily, consulting his ponderous watch. +"This is all between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> us. I take it, you wouldn't want it known by the +sheriff, even now?" Wilton shook his head in quick negation. "All right! +He needn't—if things go well. And the person I got it from won't spread +it around.—That satisfactory?"</p> + +<p>The judge's smile, in spite of his best effort, was devoid of +friendliness. The dark flush that persisted in his countenance told how +hardly he kept down his anger.</p> + +<p>Hastings put on his hat and ambled toward the door.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he proclaimed an afterthought, "I've got to ask one more +favour, judge. If Mrs. Brace troubles you again, will you let me know +about it, at the earliest possible moment?"</p> + +<p>He went out, chuckling.</p> + +<p>But the judge was as mystified as he was resentful. He had detected in +Hastings' manner, he thought, the same self-satisfaction, the same quiet +elation, which he and Berne had observed at the close of the music-room +interview. Going to the window, he addressed the summer sky:</p> + +<p>"Who the devil does the old fool suspect—Arthur or Berne?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h3>MR. CROWN FORMS AN ALLIANCE</h3> + +<p>"If you've as much as five hundred dollars at your disposal—pin-money +savings, perhaps—anything you can check on without the knowledge of +others, you can do it," Hastings urged, ending a long argument.</p> + +<p>"I! Take it to her myself?" Lucille still protested, although she could +not refute his reasonings.</p> + +<p>"It's the only way that would be effective—and it wouldn't be so +difficult. I had counted on your courage—your unusual courage."</p> + +<p>"But what will it accomplish? If I could only see that, clearly!"</p> + +<p>She was beginning to yield to his insistence.</p> + +<p>They were in the rose garden, in the shade of a little arbor from whose +roof the great red flowers drooped almost to the girl's hair. He was +acutely aware of the pathetic contrast between her white, ravaged face +and the surrounding scene, the fragrance, the roses of every colour +swaying to the slow breeze of late afternoon, the long, cool shadows. He +found it hard to force<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> her to the plan, and would have abandoned it but +for the possibilities it presented to his mind.</p> + +<p>"I've already touched on that," he applied himself to her doubts. "I +want you to trust me there, to accept my solemn assurance that, if Mrs. +Brace accepts this money from you on our terms, it will hasten my +capture of the murderer. I'll say more than that: you are my only +possible help in the matter. Won't you believe me?"</p> + +<p>She sat quite still, a long time, looking steadily at him with unseeing +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to go to that dreadful woman's apartment, be alone with +her, make a secret bargain," she enumerated the various parts of her +task, wonder and repugnance mingling in her voice. "That horrible woman! +You say, yourself, Mr. Hastings, she's horrible."</p> + +<p>"Still," he repeated, "you can do it."</p> + +<p>A little while ago she had cried out, both hands clenched on the arm of +the rustic bench, her eyes opening wide in the startled look he had come +to know: "If I could do something, <i>anything</i>, for Berne! Dr. Welles +said only an hour ago he had no more than an even chance for his life. +Half the time he can't speak! And I'm responsible. I am! I know it. I +try to think I'm not. But I am!"</p> + +<p>He recurred to that.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>"Dr. Welles said the ending of Mr. Webster's suspense would be the best +medicine for him. And I think Webster would see that nobody but you +could do this—in the very nature of things. The absolute secrecy +required, the fact that you buy her silence, pay her to cease her +accusations against Berne—don't you see? He'd want you to do it."</p> + +<p>That finished her resistance. She made him repeat all his directions, +precautions for secrecy.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could tell you how important it is," he said. "And keep this +in mind always: I rely on your paying her the money without even a +suspicion of it getting abroad. If accidents happen and you're seen +entering the Walman, what more natural than that you want to ask this +woman the meaning of her vague threats against—against +Sloanehurst?—But of money, your real object, not a word! Nobody's to +have a hint of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I see the necessity of that." But she was distressed. "Suppose +she refuses?"</p> + +<p>Her altered frame of mind, an eagerness now to succeed with the plan she +had at first refused, brought him again his thought of yesterday: "If +she were put to it—if she could save only one and had to choose between +father and fiancé, her choice would be for the fiancé."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>He answered her question. "She won't refuse," he declared, with a +confidence she could not doubt. "If I thought she would, I'd almost be +willing to say we'd never find the man who killed her daughter."</p> + +<p>"When I think of Russell's alibi——"</p> + +<p>"Have we mentioned Russell?" he protested, laughing away her fears. +"Anyway, his old alibi's no good—if that's what's troubling you. Wait +and see!"</p> + +<p>He was in high good humour.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>In that same hour the woman for whom he had planned this trap was busy +with a scheme of her own. Her object was to form an alliance with +Sheriff Crown. That gentleman, to use his expressive phrase, had been +"putting her over the jumps" for the past forty minutes, bringing to the +work of cross-questioning her all the intelligence, craftiness and logic +at his command. The net result of his fusillade of interrogatories, +however, was exceedingly meagre.</p> + +<p>As he sat, caressing his chin and thrusting forward his bristly +moustache, Mrs. Brace perceived in his eyes a confession of failure. +Although he was far from suspecting it, he presented to her keen +scrutiny an amusing figure. She observed that his shoulders drooped, and +that, as he slowly produced a handkerchief and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> mopped his forehead, his +movements were eloquent of gloom.</p> + +<p>In fact, Mr. Crown felt himself at a loss. He had come to the end of his +resourcefulness in the art of probing for facts. He was about to take +his departure, with the secret realization that he had learned nothing +new—unless an increased admiration of Mrs. Brace's sharpness of wit +might be catalogued as knowledge.</p> + +<p>She put his thought into language.</p> + +<p>"You see, Mr. Crown, you're wasting your time shouting at me, bullying +me, accusing me of protecting the murderer of my own daughter."</p> + +<p>There was a new note in her voice, a hint, ever so slight, of a +willingness to be friendly. He was not insensible to it. Hearing it, he +put himself on guard, wondering what it portended.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say that," he contradicted, far from graciousness. "I said you +knew a whole lot more about the murder than you'd tell—tell me anyway."</p> + +<p>"But why should I want to conceal anything that might bring the man to +justice?"</p> + +<p>"Blessed if I know!" he conceded, not without signs of irritation.</p> + +<p>So far as he could see, not a feature of her face changed. The lifted +eyebrows were still high upon her forehead, interrogative and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> mocking; +the restless, gleaming eyes still drilled into various parts of his +person and attire; the thin lips continued their moving pictures of +contempt. And yet, he saw, too, that she presented to him now another +countenance.</p> + +<p>The change was no more than a shadow; and the shadow was so light that +he could not be sure of its meaning. He thought it was friendliness, but +that opinion was dulled by recurrence of his admiration of her +"smartness." He feared some imposition.</p> + +<p>"You've adopted Mr. Hastings' absurd theory," she said, as if she +wondered. "You've subscribed to it without question."</p> + +<p>"What theory?"</p> + +<p>"That I know who the guilty man is."</p> + +<p>"Well?" He was still on guard.</p> + +<p>"It surprises me—that's all—a man of your intellect, your +originality."</p> + +<p>She sighed, marvelling at this addition to life's conundrums.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked, bluntly.</p> + +<p>"I should never have thought you'd put yourself in that position before +the public. I mean, letting him lead you around by the +nose—figuratively."</p> + +<p>Mr. Crown started forward in his chair, eyes popped. He was indignant +and surprised.</p> + +<p>"Is that what they're saying?" he demanded.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>"Naturally," she said, and with the one word laid it down as an +impossibility that "they" could have said anything else. "That's what +the reporters tell me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be—dog-goned!" The knuckle-like chin dropped. "They're +saying that, are they?"</p> + +<p>Disturbed as he was, he noticed that she regarded him with apparently +genuine interest—that, perhaps, she added to her interest a regret that +he had displayed no originality in the investigation, a man of his +intellect!</p> + +<p>"They couldn't understand why you were playing Hastings' game," she +proceeded, "playing it to his smallest instructions."</p> + +<p>"Hastings' game! What the thunder are they talking about? What do they +mean, his game?"</p> + +<p>"His desire to keep suspicion away from the Sloanes and Mr. Webster. +That's what they hired him for—isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I guess it is—by gravy!" Mr. Crown's long-drawn sigh was distinctly +tremulous.</p> + +<p>"That old man pockets his fee when he throws Gene Russell into jail. +Why, then, isn't it his game to convince you of Gene's guilt? Why isn't +it his game to persuade you of my secret knowledge of Gene's guilt? +Why——"</p> + +<p>"So, that's——"</p> + +<p>"Let me say what I started," she in turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> interrupted him. "As one of +the reporters pointed out, why isn't it his game to try to make a fool +of you?"</p> + +<p>The smile with which she recommended that rumour to his attention +incensed him further. It patronized him. It said, as openly as if she +had spoken the words: "I'm really very sorry for you."</p> + +<p>He dropped his hands to his widespread knees, slid forward to the edge +of his chair, thrust his face closer to hers, peered into her hard face +for her meaning.</p> + +<p>"Making a fool of me, is he?" he said in the brutal key of unrepressed +rage.</p> + +<p>A quick motion of her lifted brows, a curve of her lower +lip—indubitably, a new significance of expression—stopped his +outburst.</p> + +<p>"By George!" he said, taken aback. "By George!" he repeated, this time +in a coarse exultation. He thrust himself still closer to her, certain +now of her meaning.</p> + +<p>"What do you know?" He lowered his voice and asked again: "Mrs. Brace, +what do you know?"</p> + +<p>She moved back, farther from him. She was not to be rushed +into—anything. She made him appreciate the difficulty of "getting next" +to her. He no longer felt fear of her imposing on him—she had just +exposed, for his benefit, how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> Hastings had played on his credulity! He +felt grateful to her for that. His only anxiety now was that she might +change her mind, might refuse him the assistance which that new and +subtle expression had promised a moment ago.</p> + +<p>"If I thought you'd use——" she began, broke off, and looked past his +shoulder at the opposite wall, the pupils of her eyes sharp points of +light, lips drawn to a line almost invisible.</p> + +<p>Her evident prudence fired his eagerness.</p> + +<p>"If I'd do what?" he asked. "If you thought I'd—what?"</p> + +<p>"Let me think," she requested.</p> + +<p>He changed his posture, with a great show of watching the sunset sky, +and stole little glances at her smooth, untroubled face. He believed now +that she could put him on the trail of the murderer. He confessed to +himself, unreservedly, that Hastings had tricked him, held him up to +ridicule—to the ridicule of a nation, for this crime held the interest +of the entire country. But here was his chance for revenge! With this +"smart" woman's help, he would outwit Hastings!</p> + +<p>"If you'd use my ideas confidentially," she said at last, eying him as +if she speculated on his honesty; "if I were sure that——"</p> + +<p>"Why can't you be sure of it?" he broke in. "My job is to catch the man +who killed your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> daughter. I've got two jobs. The other is to show up +old Hastings! Why wouldn't I do as you ask—exactly as you ask?"</p> + +<p>She tantalized him.</p> + +<p>"And remember that what I say is ideas only, not knowledge?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! Certainly, Mrs. Brace."</p> + +<p>"And, even when you arrest the right man, say nothing of what you owe me +for my suggestions? You're the kind of man to want to do that sort of +thing—give me credit for helping you."</p> + +<p>Even that pleased him.</p> + +<p>"If you specify silence, I give you my word on it," he said, with a +fragment of the pompous manner he had brought into the apartment more +than an hour ago.</p> + +<p>"You'll take my ideas, my theory, work on it and never bring me into +it—in any way? If you make that promise, I'll tell you what I think, +what I'm certain is the answer to this puzzle."</p> + +<p>"Win or lose, right or wrong idea, you have my oath on it."</p> + +<p>"Very well!" She said that with the air of one embarking on a tremendous +venture and scorning all its possibilities of harm. "I shall trust you +fully.—First, let me sketch all the known facts, everything connected +with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> tragedy, and everything I know concerning the conduct of the +affected individuals since."</p> + +<p>He was leaning far toward her once more, a child-like impatience stamped +on his face. As she proceeded, his admiration grew.</p> + +<p>For this, there was ample ground. The newspaper paragraph Hastings had +read that morning commenting on her mastery of all the details of the +crime had scarcely done her justice. Before she concluded, Crown had +heard from her lips little incidents that had gone over his head. She +put new and accurate meaning into facts time and time again, speaking +with the particularity and vividness of an eye-witness.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, having reconstructed the crime and described the +subsequent behaviour of the tragedy's principal actors; "now who's +guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," echoed Crown, with a click in his throat. "Who's guilty? +What's your theory?"</p> + +<p>She was silent, eyes downcast, her hands smoothing the black, much-worn +skirt over her lean knees. Recital of the gruesome story, the death of +her only child, had left her unmoved, had not quickened her breathing.</p> + +<p>"In telling you that," she resumed, her restless eyes striking his at +rapid intervals, "I think I'll put you in a position to get the right +man—if you'll act."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, I'll act!" he declared, largely. "Don't bother your head about +that!"</p> + +<p>"Of course, it's only a theory——"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know! And I'll keep it to myself."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Arthur Sloane is prostrated, can't be interviewed. He can't +be interviewed, for the simple reason that he's afraid he'll tell what +he knows. Why is he afraid of that? Because he knows too much, for his +own comfort, and too much for his daughter's comfort. How does he know +it? Because he saw enough night before last to leave him sure of the +murderer's identity.</p> + +<p>"He was the man who turned on the light, showing Webster and Judge +Wilton bending over Mildred's body. It occurred at a time when usually +he is in his first sound sleep—from bromides. Something must have +happened to awake him, an outcry, something. And yet, he says he didn't +see them—Wilton and Webster."</p> + +<p>"By gravy!" exclaimed the sheriff, awe-struck.</p> + +<p>"Either," she continued, "Arthur Sloane saw the murder done, or he +looked out in time to see who the murderer was. The facts substantiate +that. They are corroborated by his subsequent behaviour. Immediately +after the murder he was in a condition that couldn't be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> explained by +the mere fact that he's a sufferer from chronic nervousness. When +Hastings asked him to take a handkerchief, he would have fallen to the +ground but for the judge's help. He couldn't hold an electric torch. +And, ever since, he's been in bed, afraid to talk. Why, he even refused +to talk to Hastings, the man he's retained for the family's protection!"</p> + +<p>"He did, did he! How do you know that, Mrs. Brace?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it enough that I know it—or advance it as a theory?"</p> + +<p>"Did—I thought, possibly, Jarvis, the valet, told you."</p> + +<p>She ignored that.</p> + +<p>"Now, as to the daughter of the house. There was only one possible +reason for Lucille Sloane's hiring Hastings: she was afraid somebody in +the house, Webster, of course, would be arrested. Being in love with +him, she never would have suspected him unless there had been concrete, +undeniable evidence of his guilt. Do you grasp that reasoning?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, I do!" Mr. Crown condemned himself. "What I'm wondering is why I +didn't see it long ago."</p> + +<p>"She, too, you recall, was looking out of a window—on that side of the +house—scarcely fifteen yards from where the crime was done.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> It's not +hard to believe that she saw what her father saw: the murder or the +murderer.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crown, if you can make her or her father talk, you'll get the truth +of this thing, the truth and the murderer.</p> + +<p>"And look at Judge Wilton's part. You asked me why I went to his office +this morning. I went because I'm sure he knows the truth. Didn't he stay +right at Webster's side when old Hastings interviewed Webster yesterday? +Why? To keep Webster from letting out, in his panic, a secret which both +of them knew."</p> + +<p>The sheriff's admiration by this time was boundless. He felt driven to +give it expression.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brace, you're a loo-loo! A loo-loo, by gravy! Sure, that was his +reason. He couldn't have had any other!"</p> + +<p>"As for Webster himself," she carried on her exposition, without +emotion, without the slightest recognition of her pupil's praise, "he +proves the correctness of everything we've said, so far. That secret +which the judge feared he would reveal, that secret which old Hastings +was blundering after—that secret, Mr. Crown, was such a danger to him +that, to escape the questioning of even stupid old Hastings, he could do +nothing but crumple up on the floor and feign illness, prostration. Why, +don't you see, he was afraid to talk!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>"Everything you say hits the mark!" agreed Crown, smiling happily. +"Centre-shots! Centre-shots! You've been right from the very beginning. +You tried to tell me all this yesterday morning, and, fool that I +was—fool that Hastings was!" He switched to a summary of what she had +put into his mind: "It's right! Webster killed her, and Sloane and his +daughter saw him at it. Even Wilton knows it—and he a judge! It seems +impossible. By gravy! he ought to be impeached."</p> + +<p>A new idea struck him. Mrs. Brace, imperturbable, exhibiting no elation, +was watching him closely. She saw his sudden change of countenance. He +had thought: "She didn't reason this out. Russell saw the murder—the +coward—and he's told her. He ran away from——"</p> + +<p>Another suspicion attacked him: "But that was Jarvis' night off. Has she +seen Jarvis?"</p> + +<p>Impelled to put this fresh bewilderment into words, he was stayed by the +restless, brilliant eyes with which she seemed to penetrate his +lumbering mind. He was afraid of losing her cooperation. She was too +valuable an ally to affront. He kept quiet.</p> + +<p>She brought him back to her purpose.</p> + +<p>"Then, you agree with me? You think Webster's guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Think!" He almost shouted his contempt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> of the inadequate word. "Think! +I know! Guilty? The man's black with guilt."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of it," she said, curiously skilful in surrendering to him all +credit for that vital discovery. "What are you going to do—now that you +know?"</p> + +<p>"Make him talk, turn him inside out! Playing sick, is he! I'm going back +to Sloanehurst this evening. I'm going to start something. You can take +this from me: Webster'll loosen that tongue of his before another sun +rises!"</p> + +<p>But that was not her design.</p> + +<p>"You can't do it," she objected, her voice heavy with disappointment. +"Dr. Garnet, your own coroner, says questioning will kill him. Dr. +Garnet's as thoroughly fooled as Hastings, and," she prodded him with +suddenly sharp tone, "you."</p> + +<p>"That's right." He was crestfallen, plucking at his chin. "That's hard +to get around. But I've got to get around it! I've got to show results, +Mrs. Brace. People, some of the papers even, are already hinting that +I'm too easy on a rich man and his friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, evenly. "And you told—I understood you'd act, on our +theory."</p> + +<p>"I've got to! I've got to act!"</p> + +<p>His confusion was manifest. He did not know what to do, and he was +silent, hoping for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> suggestion from her. She let him wait. The pause +added to his embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"What would—that is," he forced himself to the appeal, "I was +wondering—anything occur to you? See any way out of it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I know nothing about such procedure," she replied to that, +slowly, as if she groped for a new idea. "But, if you got the proof from +somewhere else, enough to warrant the arrest of Webster——" Her smile +deprecated her probable ineptness. "If Arthur Sloane——"</p> + +<p>He fairly fell upon the idea.</p> + +<p>"Right!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Sloane's no dying man, +is he? And he knows the whole story. Right you are, Mrs. Brace! He can +shake and tremble and whine all he pleases, but tonight he's my meat—my +meat, right! Talk? You bet he'll talk!"</p> + +<p>She considered, looking at the opposite wall. He was convinced that she +examined the project, viewing it from the standpoint of his interest, +seeking possible dangers of failure. Nevertheless, he hurried her +decision.</p> + +<p>"It's the thing to do, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I should think so," she said at last. "You, with your mental +forcefulness, your ability as a questioner—why, I don't see how you can +fail to get at what he knows. Beside, you have the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> element of surprise +on your side. That will go far toward sweeping him off his feet."</p> + +<p>He was again conscious of his debt of gratitude to this woman, and tried +to voice it.</p> + +<p>"This is the first time," he declared, big with confidence, "I've felt +that I had the right end of this case."</p> + +<p>When she had closed the door on him, she went back to the living room +and set back in its customary place the chair he had occupied. Her own +was where it always belonged. From there she went into the bathroom and, +as Hastings had seen her do before, drew a glass of water which she +drank slowly.</p> + +<p>Then, examining her hard, smooth face in the bedroom mirror, she said +aloud:</p> + +<p>"Pretty soon, now, somebody will talk business—with me."</p> + +<p>There was no elation in her voice. But her lips were, for a moment, +thick and wet, changing her countenance into a picture of inordinate +greed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h3>IN ARTHUR SLOANE'S ROOM</h3> + +<p>Hastings went back to Sloanehurst that evening for another and more +forceful attempt to argue Arthur Sloane into frankness. Like Mrs. Brace, +he could not get away from the definite conclusion that Lucille's father +was silent from fear of telling what he knew. Moreover, he realized +that, without a closer connection with Sloane, his own handling of the +case was seriously impeded.</p> + +<p>Lucille was on the front porch, evidently waiting for him, although he +had not notified her in advance of his visit. She went hurriedly down +the steps and met him on the walk. When he began an apology for having +to annoy her so frequently, she cut short his excuses.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I'm glad you're here—so glad! We need your help. The sheriff's +here."</p> + +<p>She put her hand on his coat sleeve; he could feel the tremour of it as +she pulled, unconsciously, on the cloth. She turned toward the verandah +steps.</p> + +<p>"What's he doing?" he asked, detaining her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>"He's in father's room," she said in feverish haste, "asking him all +sorts of questions, saying ridiculous things. Really, I'm afraid—for +father's health! Can't you go in now?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't Judge Wilton manage him? Isn't the judge here?"</p> + +<p>"No. He came over at dinner time; but he went back to the Randalls'. +Father didn't feel up to talking to him."</p> + +<p>Crown, she explained, had literally forced his way into the bedroom, +disregarding her protests and paying no attention to the pretence of +physical resistance displayed by Jarvis.</p> + +<p>"The man seems insane!" she said. "I want you to make him leave father's +room—please!"</p> + +<p>She halted near the library door, leaving the matter in Hastings' hands. +Since entering the house he had heard Crown's voice, raised to the key +of altercation; and now, when he stepped into Sloane's room, the rush of +words continued.</p> + +<p>The sheriff, unaware of the newcomer, stood near the bed, emphasizing +his speech with restless arms and violent motions of his head, as if to +galvanize into response the still and prostrate form before him. On the +opposite side of the bed stood the sepulchral Jarvis, flashing malign +looks at Crown, but chiefly busy, with unshaking hands, preparing a +beverage of some sort for the sick man.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>Sloane lay on his back, eyes closed, face under the full glare of the +reading light. His expression indicated both boredom and physical +suffering.</p> + +<p>"—have to make an arrest!" Crown was saying. "You're making me take +that action—ain't you? I come in here, considerate as I know how to be, +and I ask you for a few facts. Do you give 'em to me? Not by a long +shot! You lie there in that bed, and talk about leaping angels, and say +I bore you! Well, Mr. Sloane, that won't get you a thing! You're where I +said you were: it's either Webster that will be arrested—or yourself! +Now, I'm giving you another chance. I'm asking you what you saw; and you +can tell me—or take the consequences!"</p> + +<p>Hastings thought: "He's up that gum stump of his again, and don't know +how to quit talking."</p> + +<p>Sloane made no answer.</p> + +<p>"Well," thundered Crown. "I'm asking you!"</p> + +<p>"Moaning martyrs!" Sloane protested in a thin, querulous tone. "Jarvis, +the bromide."</p> + +<p>"All right!" the sheriff delivered his ultimatum. "I'll stick to what I +said. Webster may be too sick to talk, but not too sick to have a +warrant served on him. He'll be arrested because you won't tell me——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p><p>Hastings spoke then.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen!" he greeted pleasantly. "Mr. Sloane, good evening. Mr. +Sheriff—am I interrupting a private conference?"</p> + +<p>"Fiery fiends!" wailed Sloane. "Another!"</p> + +<p>Hastings gave his attention to Crown. He was certain that the man, +balked by Sloane's refusal to "talk," would welcome an excuse for +leaving the room.</p> + +<p>"Let me see you a moment, will you?" He put a hand on the sheriff's +shoulder, persuading: "It's important, right now."</p> + +<p>"But I want to know what Mr. Sloane's going to say," Crown blustered. +"If he'll tell——"</p> + +<p>Hastings stopped him with a whisper: "That's exactly what he'll +do—soon!"</p> + +<p>He led the sheriff into the hall. They went into the parlour.</p> + +<p>"Now," Hastings began, in genial tone; "did you get anything from him?"</p> + +<p>"Not a dad-blamed thing!" Crown was still blustery. "But he'll talk +before I'm through! You can put your little bets down on that!"</p> + +<p>"All right. You've had your chance at him. Better let me see him."</p> + +<p>Crown looked his distrust. He was thinking of Mrs. Brace's warning that +this man had made a fool of him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>"I'm not trying to put anything over on you," the detective assured +him. "Fact is, I'm out here for the newspaper men. They've had nothing +from him; they've asked me to get his story. I'll give it to you before +I see them. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Crown still hesitated.</p> + +<p>"If, after you've heard it," Hastings added, "you want to question him +further, you can do it, of course. But this way we take two shots at +it."</p> + +<p>To that, the other finally agreed.</p> + +<p>Hastings found Sloane smoking a cigarette, his eyes still closed. Jarvis +was behind a screen near the door, now and then clinking glass against +glass as he worked.</p> + +<p>The old man took a chair near the bed and waited for Sloane to speak. He +waited a long time. Finally, the invalid looked at him from under +lowered lids, slyly, like a child peeping. Hastings returned the look +with a pleasant smile, his shrewd eyes sparkling over the rims of his +spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Sloane said at last, in a whiney tone. "What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"First," Hastings apologized, "I want to say how sorry I am I didn't +make myself clearly understood night before last when I told Miss Sloane +I'd act as mouthpiece for this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>household. I didn't mean I could invent +a statement for each of you, or for any of you. What I did mean amounts +to this: if you, for instance, would tell me what you know—all you +know—about this murder, I could relay it to the reporters—and to the +sheriff, who's been annoying you so this evening. As——"</p> + +<p>"Flat-headed fiends!" Sloane cut in, writhing under the light coverlet. +"Another harangue!"</p> + +<p>Hastings kept his temper.</p> + +<p>"No harangue about it. But it's to come to this, Mr. Sloane: you're +handicapping me, and the reporters and the sheriff don't trust you."</p> + +<p>"Why? Why don't they trust me?" shrilled Sloane, writhing again.</p> + +<p>"Ill tell you in a very few words: because you refused to testify at the +inquest yesterday, giving illness as an excuse. That's one reason. +The——"</p> + +<p>"Howling helions! Wasn't I ill? Didn't I have enough to make me +ill?—Jarvis, a little whiskey!"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Garnet hasn't told them so—the reporters. He won't tell them so. +In fact," Hastings said, with less show of cordiality, "from all he said +to me, I gather he doesn't think you an ill man—that is, dangerously +ill."</p> + +<p>"And because of that, they say what, these reporters, this sheriff? +What?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>"They're in ugly mood, Mr. Sloane. They're saying you're trying to +protect—somebody—by keeping still about a thing which you should be +the first to haul into daylight. That's it—in a nutshell."</p> + +<p>Sloane had stopped trembling. He sat up in the bed and stared at the +detective out of steady, hard eyes. He waved away the whiskey Jarvis +held toward him.</p> + +<p>"And you want what, Mr. Hastings?" he inquired, a curiously effective +sarcasm in his voice.</p> + +<p>"A statement covering every second from the time you waked up Saturday +night until you saw the body."</p> + +<p>"A statement!—Reporters!" He was snarling on that. "What's got into +you, anyway? What are you trying to do—make people suspect me of the +murder-make 'em suspect Berne?"</p> + +<p>He threw away the cigarette and shook his fist at Hastings. He gulped +twice before he could speak again; he seemed on the point of choking.</p> + +<p>"In an ugly mood, are they? Well, they can stay in an ugly mood. You, +too! And that hydrophobiac sheriff! Quivering and crucified saints! I've +had enough of all of you—all of you, understand! Get out of here! Get +out!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>Although his voice was shrill, there was no sound of weakness in it. +The trembling that attacked him was the result of anger, not of +nervousness.</p> + +<p>Hastings rose, astounded by the outbreak.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you don't realize the seriousness of——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, get out of here!" Sloane interrupted again. "You've imposed on my +daughter with your talk of being helpful, and all that rot, but you +can't hoodwink me. What the devil do you mean by letting that sheriff +come in here and subject me to all this annoyance and shock? You'd save +us from unpleasantness!"</p> + +<p>He spoke more slowly now, as if he cudgelled his brain for the most +biting sarcasm, the most unbearable insolence.</p> + +<p>"Don't realize the seriousness!—Flat-headed fiends!—Are you any nearer +the truth now than you were at the start?—Try to understand this, Mr. +Hastings: you're discharged, fired! From now on, I'm in charge of what +goes on in this house. If there's any trouble to be avoided, I'll attend +to it. Get that!—and get out!"</p> + +<p>Hastings, opening his mouth for angry retort, checked himself. He stood +a moment silent, shaken by the effort it cost him to maintain his +self-control.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" Sloane's nasal, twangy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>exclamation was clearly intended to +provoke him further.</p> + +<p>But, without a word, he turned and left the room. Passing the screen +near the door, he heard Jarvis snicker, a discreet echo of Sloane's +goading ridicule.</p> + +<p>On his way back to the parlour, the old man made up his mind to discount +Sloane's behaviour.</p> + +<p>"I've got to take a chance," he counselled himself, "but I know I'm +right in doing it. A big responsibility—but I'm right!"</p> + +<p>Then he submitted this report:</p> + +<p>"He says nothing new, Crown. Far as I can make out, nothing unusual +waked him up that night—except chronic nervousness; he turned on that +light to find some medicine; he knew nothing of the murder until Judge +Wilton called him."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" growled Crown. "And you fall for that!"</p> + +<p>Hastings eyed him sternly. "It's the statement I'm going to give to the +reporters."</p> + +<p>The sheriff was silent, irresolute. Hastings congratulated himself on +his earlier deduction: that Crown, unable to frighten Sloane into +communicativeness, was thankful for an excuse to withdraw.</p> + +<p>Hendricks had reported the two-hour <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>conference between Crown and Mrs. +Brace late that afternoon. Hastings decided now: "The man's in cahoots +with her. His ally! And he won't act until he's had another session with +her.—And she won't advise an arrest for a day or two anyway. Her game +is to make him play on Sloane's nerves for a while. She advises threats, +not arrests—which suits me, to a T!"</p> + +<p>He fought down a chuckle, thinking of that alliance.</p> + +<p>Crown corroborated his reasoning.</p> + +<p>"All right, Hastings," he said doggedly. "I'm not going back to his +room. I gave him his chance. He can take the consequences."</p> + +<p>"What consequences?"</p> + +<p>"I'd hardly describe 'em to his personal representative, would I? But +you can take this from me: they'll come soon enough—and rough enough!"</p> + +<p>Hastings made no reference to having been dismissed by Sloane. He was +glad when Crown changed the subject.</p> + +<p>"Hastings, you saw the reporters this afternoon—I've been +wondering—they asked me—did they ask you whether you suspected the +valet—Jarvis?"</p> + +<p>"Of what?"</p> + +<p>"Killing her."</p> + +<p>"No; they didn't ask me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>"Funny," said Crown, ill at ease. "They asked me."</p> + +<p>"So you said," Hastings reminded, looking hard at him.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Crown blurted it out. "Do you suspect him? Are you working on +that line—at all?"</p> + +<p>Hastings paused. He had no desire to mislead him. And yet, there was no +reason for confiding in him—and delay was at present the Hastings plan.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Crown," he said, finally; "I'll work on any line that +can lead to the guilty man.—What do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Who? Me?" Crown's tone indicated the absurdity of suspecting Jarvis. +"Not a thing."</p> + +<p>But it gave Hastings food for thought. Was Mrs. Brace in communication +with Jarvis? And did Crown know that? Was it possible that Crown wanted +to find out whether Hastings was having Jarvis shadowed? How much of a +fool was the woman making of the sheriff, anyway?</p> + +<p>Another thing puzzled him: why did Mrs. Brace suspect Arthur Sloane of +withholding the true story of what he had seen the night of the murder? +Hastings' suspicion, amounting to certainty, came from his knowledge +that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> man's own daughter thought him deeply involved in the crime. +But Mrs. Brace—was she clever enough to make that deduction from the +known facts? Or did she have more direct information from Sloanehurst +than he had thought possible?</p> + +<p>He decided not to leave the sheriff entirely subject to her schemes and +suggestions. He would give Mr. Crown something along another line—a +brake, as it were, on impulsive action.</p> + +<p>"You talk about arresting Webster right away—or Sloane," he began, +suddenly confiding. "You wouldn't want to make a mistake—would you?"</p> + +<p>Crown rose to that. "Why? What do you know—specially?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not so much, maybe. But it's worth thinking about. I'll give you +the facts—confidentially, of course.—Hub Hill's about a hundred yards +from this house, on the road to Washington. When automobiles sink into +it hub-deep, they come out with a lot of mud on their wheels—black, +loamy mud. Ain't any other mud like that Hub Hill mud anywhere near +here. It's just special and peculiar to Hub Hill. That so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Crown, absorbed.</p> + +<p>"All right. How, then, did Eugene Russell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> keep black, Hub Hill mud on +his shoes that night if he went the four miles on foot to where Otis +picked him up?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Crown, chin fallen.</p> + +<p>"By the time he'd run four miles, his shoes would have been covered with +the red mud of that mile of 'dirt road' or the thin, grey mud of the +three miles of pike—wouldn't they? They'd have thrown off that Hub Hill +mud pretty quick, wouldn't they?"</p> + +<p>"Thunder!" marvelled Crown. "That's right! And those shoes were in his +room; I saw 'em." He gurgled, far back in his throat. "Say! How did he +get from Hub Hill to where Otis picked him up?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I say," declared Hastings, very bland. "How?"</p> + +<p>To Lucille, after Crown's departure, the detective declared his +intention to "stand by" her, to stay on the case. He repeated his +statement of yesterday: he suspected too much, and knew too little, to +give it up.</p> + +<p>He told her of the responsibility he had assumed in giving the sheriff +the fictitious Sloane statement. "That is, it's not fictitious, in +itself; it's what your father has been saying. But I told Crown, and I'm +going to tell the newspaper men, that he says it's all he knows, really. +And I hate to do it—because, honestly, Miss Sloane,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> I don't think it +is all. I'm afraid he's deceiving us."</p> + +<p>She did not contradict that; it was her own opinion.</p> + +<p>"However," the old man made excuse, "I had to do it—in view of things +as they are. And he's got to stick to it, now that I've made it +'official,' so to speak. Do you think he will?"</p> + +<p>She did not see why not. She would explain to him the importance, the +necessity, of that course.</p> + +<p>"He's so mistaken in what he's doing!" she said. "I don't understand +him—really. You know how devoted to me he is. He called me into his +room again an hour or two ago and tried to comfort me. He said he had +reason to know everything would come out as it should. But he looked +so—so uncertain!—Oh, Mr. Hastings, who did kill that woman?"</p> + +<p>"I think I'll be able to prove who did it—let's see," he spoke with a +light cheerfulness, and at the same time with sincerity; "I'll be able +to prove it in less than a week after Mrs. Brace takes that money from +you."</p> + +<p>She said nothing to that, and he leaned forward sharply, peering at her +face, illegible to him in the darkness of the verandah.</p> + +<p>"So much depends on that, on you," he added. "You won't fail +me—tomorrow?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p><p>"I'll do my best," she said, earnestly, struggling against depression.</p> + +<p>"She must take that money," he declared with great emphasis. "She must!"</p> + +<p>"And you think she will?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Sloane, I know she will," he said, a fatherly encouragement in his +voice. "I'm seldom mistaken in people; and I know I've judged this woman +correctly. Money's her weakness. Love of it has destroyed her already. +Offering this bribe to anybody else situated as she is would be +ridiculous—but she—she'll take it."</p> + +<p>Lucille sat a long time on the verandah after Hastings had gone. She was +far more depressed than he had suspected; she had to endure so much, she +thought—the suspense, which grew heavier as time went by; the +notoriety; Berne Webster still in danger of his life; her father's +inexplicable pose of indifference toward everything; the suspicions of +the newspapers and the public of both her father and Berne; and the +waiting, waiting, waiting—for what?</p> + +<p>A little moan escaped her.</p> + +<p>What if Mrs. Brace did take the marked money? What would that show? That +she was acting with criminal intent, Hastings had said. But he had +another and more definite object<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> in urging her to this undertaking; he +expected from it a vital development which he had not explained—she was +sure. She worried with that idea.</p> + +<p>Her confidence in Hastings had been without qualification. But what was +he doing? Anything? Judge Wilton was forever saying, "Trust Hastings; +he's the man for this case." And that was his reputation; people +declared that, if anybody could get to the bottom of all this mystery, +he could. Yet, two whole days had passed since the murder, and he had +just said another week might be required to work out his plan of +detection—whatever that plan was.</p> + +<p>Another week of this! She put her hot palms to her hotter temples, +striving for clarity of thought. But she was dazed by her terror—her +isolated terror, for some of her thoughts were such that she could share +them with nobody—not even Hastings.</p> + +<p>"If the sheriff makes no arrest within the next few days, I'll be out of +the woods," he had told her. "Delay is what I want."</p> + +<p>There, again, was discouragement, for here was the sheriff threatening +to serve a warrant on Berne within the next twenty-four hours! She had +heard Crown make the threat, and to her it had seemed absolutely final: +unless her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> father revealed something which Crown wanted, whether her +father knew it or not, Berne was to be subjected to this humiliation, +this added blow to his chance for recovery!</p> + +<p>She sprang up, throwing her hands wide and staring blindly at the stars.</p> + +<p>The woman whom she was to bribe cast a deep shadow on her imagination. +Sharing the feeling of many others, she had reached the reluctant +conclusion that Mrs. Brace in some way knew more than anybody else about +the murder and its motives. It was, she told herself, a horrid feeling, +and without reason. But she could not shake it off. To her, Mrs. Brace +was a figure of sinister power, an agent of ugliness, waiting to do +evil—waiting for what?</p> + +<p>By a great effort, she steadied her jangled nerves. Hastings was +counting on her. And work—even work in the dark—was preferable to this +idleness, this everlasting summing-up of frightful possibilities without +a ray of hope. She would do her best to make that woman take the money!</p> + +<p>Tomorrow she would be of real service to Berne Webster—she would atone, +in some small measure, for the sorrow she had brought upon him, +discarding him because of empty gossip!—Would he continue to love +her?—Perhaps, if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> she had not discarded him, Mildred Brace would not +have been murdered.</p> + +<p>A groan escaped her. She fled into the house, away from her thoughts.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE BRIBE</h3> + +<p>It was nine o'clock the following evening when Lucille Sloane, sure that +she had entered the Walman unobserved, rang the bell of Mrs. Brace's +apartment. Her body felt remarkably light and facile, as if she moved in +a tenuous, half-real atmosphere. There were moments when she had the +sensation of floating. Her brain worked with extraordinary rapidity. She +was conscious of an unusually resourceful intelligence, and performed a +series of mental gymnastics, framing in advance the sentences she would +use in the interview confronting her.</p> + +<p>The constant thought at the back of her brain was that she would +succeed; she would speak and act in such a way that Mrs. Brace would +take the money. She was buoyed by a fierce determination to be repaid +for all the suspense, all the agony of heart, that had weighed her down +throughout this long, leaden-footed day—the past twenty-four hours +unproductive of a single enlightening incident.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Brace opened the door and, with a scarcely perceptible nod of the +head, motioned her into the living room. Neither of them spoke until +they had seated themselves on the chairs by the window. Even then, the +silence was prolonged, until Lucille realized that her tongue was dry +and uncomfortably large for her mouth. An access of trembling shook her. +She tried to smile and knew that her lips were twisting in a ghastly +grin.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace moved slowly to and fro on the armless rocker, her swift, +appraising eyes taking in her visitor's distress. The smooth face wore +its customary, inexpressive calm. Lucille, striving desperately to +arrive at some opinion of what the woman thought, saw that she might as +well try to find emotion in a statue.</p> + +<p>"I—I," the girl finally attained a quick, flurried utterance, "want to +thank you for—for having this—this talk with me."</p> + +<p>"What do you want to talk about, Miss Sloane?"</p> + +<p>The low, metallic voice was neither friendly nor hostile. It expressed, +more than anything else, a sardonic, bullying self-sufficiency.</p> + +<p>It both angered and encouraged Lucille. She perceived the futility of +polite, introductory phrases here; she could go straight to her purpose, +be brutally frank. She gave Mrs. Brace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> a brilliant, disarming smile, a +proclamation of fellowship. Her confidence was restored.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure we can talk sensibly together, Mrs. Brace," she explained, +dissembling her indignation. "We can get down to business, at once."</p> + +<p>"What business?" inquired the older woman, with some of the manner +Hastings had seen, an air of lying in wait.</p> + +<p>"I said, on the 'phone, it was something of advantage to you—didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; you said that."</p> + +<p>"And, of course, I want something from you."</p> + +<p>"Naturally."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what it is." Lucille spoke now with cool precision, as +yet untouched by the horror she had expected to feel. "It's a matter of +money."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace's tongue came out to the edge of the thin line of her lips. +Her nostrils quivered, once, to the sharply indrawn breath. Her eyes +were more furtive.</p> + +<p>"Money?" she echoed. "For what?"</p> + +<p>"There's no good of my making long explanations, Mrs. Brace," Lucille +said. "I've read the newspapers, every line of them, about—our trouble. +And I saw the references to your finances, your lack of money."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" Mrs. Brace's right hand lay on her lap; the thumb of it began to +move against the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> forefinger rapidly, the motion a woman makes in +feeling the texture of cloth—or the trick of a bank clerk separating +paper money.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I read, also, what you said about the tragedy. Today I noticed +that the only note of newness in the articles in the papers came from +you—from your saying that 'in a few days, three or four at the +outside'—that was your language, I'm quite sure—you'd produce evidence +on which an arrest would be made. I've intelligence enough to see that +the public's interest in you is so great, the sympathy for you is so +great, that your threats—I mean, predictions, or opinions—colour +everything that's written by the reporters. You see?"</p> + +<p>"Do I see what?"</p> + +<p>Despite her excellent pose of waiting with nothing more than a polite +interest, Lucille saw in her a pronounced alteration. That was not so +much in her face as in her body. Her limbs had a look of rigidity.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see what I mean?" Lucille insisted. "I see that you can make +endless trouble for us—for all of us at Sloanehurst. You can make +people believe Mr. Webster guilty, and that father and I are shielding +him. People listen to what you say. They seem to be on your side."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>"I wondered if you wouldn't stop your interviews—your accusations?"</p> + +<p>The younger woman's eagerness, evident now in the variety of her +gestures and the rapid procession of pallour and flush across her +cheeks, persuaded Mrs. Brace that Lucille was acting on an impulse of +her own, not as an agent to carry out another's well designed scheme. +The older woman, at that idea, felt safe. She asked:</p> + +<p>"And you want—what?"</p> + +<p>"I've come here to ask you to tell me all you know, or to be quiet +altogether."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't understand—fully," returned Mrs. Brace, with an +exaggerated bewilderment. "Tell all I know?"</p> + +<p>"That is, if you do know anything you haven't told!" Lucille urged her. +"Oh, don't you see? I'm saying to you that I want to put an end to this +dreadful suspense!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace laughed disagreeably; her face was harder, less human. "You +mean I'm amusing myself, exerting myself needlessly, as a matter of +spite? Do you mean to tell me that?"</p> + +<p>"No! No!" Lucille denied, impatient with herself for lack of clearness. +"I mean I'm sure you're attacking an innocent man. And I'm willing, I'm +anxious—oh, I hope so much, Mrs. Brace—to make an agreement with +you—a financial arrangement——" She paused the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>fractional part of a +second on that; and, seeing that the other did not resent the term, she +added: "to pay you to stop it. Isn't that clear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that's clear."</p> + +<p>"Understand me, please. What I ask is that you say nothing more to the +reporters, the sheriff or the Washington police, that will have the +effect of hounding them on against Mr. Webster. I want to eliminate from +the situation all the influence you've exerted to make Mr. Crown believe +Mr. Webster's guilty and my father's protecting him."</p> + +<p>"Let me think," Mrs. Brace said, coolly.</p> + +<p>Lucille exulted inwardly, "She'll do it! She'll do it!" The hard eyes +dissected her eager face. The girl drew back in her chair, thinking now: +"She suspects who sent me!"</p> + +<p>At last, the older woman spoke:</p> + +<p>"The detective, Hastings, would never have allowed you to come here, +Miss Sloane.—Excuse my frankness," she interjected, with a smile she +meant to be friendly; "but you're frank with me; we're not mincing +matters; and I have to be careful.—He'd have warned you that your +errand's practical confession of your knowledge of something +incriminating Berne Webster. If you didn't suspect the man even more +strongly than I do, you'd never have been driven to—this."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>She leaned the rocker back and crossed her knees, the movement throwing +into high relief the hard lankness of her figure. She gazed at the wall, +over Lucille's head, as she dealt with the possibilities that presented +themselves to her analysis. Her manner was that of a certain gloating +enjoyment, a thinly covered, semi-orderly greediness.</p> + +<p>"She's not even thinking of her daughter," Lucille thought, and went +pale a moment. "She's as bad as Mr. Hastings said—worse!"</p> + +<p>"Then, too," Mrs. Brace continued, "your father discharged him last +night."</p> + +<p>Lucille remembered the detective's misgivings about Jarvis; how else had +this woman found that out?</p> + +<p>"And you've taken matters into your own hands.—Did your father send you +here—to me?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no!"</p> + +<p>The other smiled slyly, the tip of her tongue again visible, her +eyebrows high in interrogation. "Of course," she said; "you wouldn't +tell me if he had. He would have warned you against that admission."</p> + +<p>"It's Mr. Webster about whom I am most concerned," Lucille reminded, +sharpness in her vibrant young voice. "My father's being annoyed is +merely incidental."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, of course! Of course," Mrs. Brace grinned, with broad sarcasm.</p> + +<p>Lucille started. The meaning of that could not be misunderstood; she +charged that the money was offered at Arthur Sloane's instigation and +that the concern for Berne Webster was merely pretence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace saw her anger, and placated it:</p> + +<p>"Don't mind me, Miss Sloane. A woman who's had to endure what I +have—well, she doesn't always think clearly."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," Lucille assented; but she was aware of a sudden longing +to be done with the degrading work. "Now that we understand each other, +Mrs. Brace, what do you say?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace thought again.</p> + +<p>"How much?" she asked at last, her lips thickening. "How much, Miss +Sloane, do you think my silence is worth?"</p> + +<p>Lucille took a roll of bills from her handbag. The woman's chair slid +forward, answering to the forward—leaning weight of her new posture. +She was lightly rubbing her palms together, as, with head a little +bowed, she stared at the money in the younger woman's hand.</p> + +<p>"I have here five hundred dollars," Lucille began.</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace said that roughly; and, in violent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> anger, drew back, the +legs of her chair grating on the floor.</p> + +<p>For a moment Lucille gazed at her, uncomprehending.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said, uncertainly. "You mean—it isn't enough?"</p> + +<p>"Enough!" Mrs. Brace's rage and disappointment grew, her lowered brows a +straight line close down to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"But I could get more!" Lucille exclaimed, struggling with disgust. +"This," she added, with ready invention, "can serve as a part payment, a +promise of——"</p> + +<p>"Ah-h!" the older woman exclaimed. "That's different. I misunderstood."</p> + +<p>She put down the signals of her wrath, succeeding in that readjustment +so promptly that Lucille stared at her in undisguised amazement.</p> + +<p>"You must pardon me, Miss Sloane. I thought you were making me the +victim of your ridicule, some heartless joke."</p> + +<p>"Then, we can come to an agreement? That is, if this money is the +first——"</p> + +<p>She broke the sentence. Mrs. Brace had put up her hand, and now held her +head to one side, listening.</p> + +<p>There was a step clearly audible outside, in the main hall. The next +moment the doorbell rang. They sat motionless. When the bell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> rang +again, Mrs. Brace informed her with a look that she would not answer it.</p> + +<p>But the ringing continued, became a prolonged jangle. It got on +Lucille's already strained nerves.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you slip into the bedroom," Mrs. Brace whispered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Lucille whispered back.</p> + +<p>She was weighed down by black premonition; she hoped Mrs. Brace would +not open the door.</p> + +<p>The bell rang again.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to!" Mrs. Brace said at last. "I won't let anybody in. I +have to answer it!"</p> + +<p>"You'll send them away—whoever it is—at once?"</p> + +<p>"At once. I don't want you seen here, any more than you want to be +seen!"</p> + +<p>Lucille started toward the bedroom. At the first step she took, Mrs. +Brace put a hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"That money!" she demanded, in a low whisper. "I'll take it."</p> + +<p>"And do what I asked—stop attacking us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes!"</p> + +<p>Lucille gave her the money.</p> + +<p>There were no lights in the bedroom. Lucille, for fear of stumbling or +making a noise, stood to one side of the door-frame, close to the wall.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace's footsteps stopped. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> the click of the opening +door. Then, there came to Lucille the high-pitched, querulous voice +which she had been afraid she would hear.</p> + +<p>It was her father's.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<h3>"THE WHOLE TRUTH"</h3> + +<p>"Mrs. Brace, good evening.—May I come in?"</p> + +<p>Then followed the sound of footsteps, and the closing of the door.</p> + +<p>"I shan't detain you long, Mrs. Brace." They were still in the hall. +"May I come in?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly." The tardy assent was the perfection of indifference.</p> + +<p>They entered the living room. Lucille, without using her eyes, knew that +her father was standing just within the doorway, glancing around with +his slight squint, working his lips nervously, his head thrust forward.</p> + +<p>"Ah-h!" his shrill drawl, although he kept it low, carried back to +Lucille. "All alone—may I ask?" He went toward the chairs by the +window. "That is, I hope to have—well—rather a confidential little +talk with you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace resumed her place on the armless rocker after she had moved a +chair forward for him. Lucille heard it grate on the floor. Certain that +he had taken it, she looked into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> room. Her intuition was correct; +Mrs. Brace had placed it so that his back was turned to both the bedroom +door and the door into the entry. This made her escape possible.</p> + +<p>The relief she got from the thought was of a violent nature. It came to +her like a blow, almost forcing a gasp from her constricted throat. If +she could tiptoe without sound a distance of eighteen feet, a matter of +six or seven steps, she could leave the apartment without his knowledge.</p> + +<p>To that she was doubly urged. In the first place, Hastings' warning +drummed upon her brain; he had specified the importance of keeping even +her father in ignorance of her errand.</p> + +<p>Upon that came another reason for flight, her fear of hearing what her +father would say. A wave of nausea weakened her. She bowed down, there +in the dark, under the burden of her suspicion: he had come to do, for +quite a different reason, what she had done! She kept away from definite +analysis of his motive. Fear for Berne, or fear for himself, it was +equally horrible to her consideration.</p> + +<p>"I admire your spirit, Mrs. Brace," he was saying, in ingratiating tone; +"and your shrewdness. I've followed all you said, in the papers. And I'm +in hopes that we may——"</p> + +<p>He stopped, and Lucille, judging from the thin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> edges of sounds that she +caught, had a mental picture of his peering over his shoulder. He +resumed:</p> + +<p>"I must apologize, I'm sure. But you'll realize my concern for +secrecy—after I've explained. May I—ah-h-h—do you mind if I look +about, for possible hearers?"</p> + +<p>"It's unnecessary," came the calm, metallic assurance. "I've no +objection to your searching my apartment, if you insist." She laughed, a +mirthless deprecation of his timidity, and coolly put herself at his +disposal in another sentence: "I've sense enough to form an idea of what +you'll propose; and I'd scarcely want others to hear it—would I?"</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h!" he drawled, expressing a grudging disposition to accept her +assurance. "Certainly not.—Well, that's very reasonable—and obliging, +I'm sure."</p> + +<p>Again by the thin fringes of sound, Lucille got information of his +settling into his chair.</p> + +<p>"Why," he began; "why, in the name of all the unfathomable, inscrutable +angels——"</p> + +<p>"First, Mr. Sloane," Mrs. Brace interrupted him—and Lucille heard the +rattle of a newspaper; "as a preface to our—shall we say +conference?—our conference, then, let me read you this summary of my +position.—That is, if you care to understand my position thoroughly."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>She was far from her habitual quietness, rattling the newspaper +incessantly. The noise, Lucille realized, would hang as a curtain +between her father's ears and the possible sounds of her progress from +the bedroom door to the entry.</p> + +<p>Stealing a glance into the living room, she saw his back and, over his +stooped shoulders, Mrs. Brace's calm face. In that instant, the +newspaper shook more violently—enough, she thought, to signal +cooperation.</p> + +<p>She sickened again at sight of that woman about to dispense bought +favours to her father. The impulse to step forth and proclaim her +presence rose strongly within her; but she was turned from it by fear +that her interruption might produce disastrous results. After all, she +was not certain of his intention.</p> + +<p>She knew, however, that at any moment he might insist on satisfying +himself, by a tour of inspection, that he was safe from being overheard. +She hesitated no longer. She would try to get away.</p> + +<p>"Look at this, Mr. Sloane, if you please," Mrs. Brace was saying; +"notice how the items are made to stand out, each in a paragraph of +large type."</p> + +<p>She held the paper so that Sloane bent forward, and, against his will, +was held to joint<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> perusal while she read aloud. The curtain of +protecting noise thus was thickened.</p> + +<p>"'That Mrs. Brace has knowledge of the following facts,'" the harsh, +colourless voice was reading.</p> + +<p>Lucille began her escape. She moved with an agony of precaution, taking +steps only a few inches long, her arms held out from her sides to avoid +unnecessary rustling of her clothing. She went on the balls of her feet, +keeping the heels of her shoes always free of the floor, each step a +slow torture.</p> + +<p>Her breathing stopped—a hysterical contraction of her chest prevented +breathing. Her face burned like fire. Her head felt crowded, as if the +blood tried to ooze through the confining scalp. There was a great +roaring in her ears. The pulse in her temples was like the blows of +sledges.</p> + +<p>Once, midway of the distance, as she stood lightly balanced, with arms +outstretched, something went wrong with her equilibrium. She started +forward as she had often done when a child, with the sensation of +falling on her face. Her skirt billowed out in front of her. If she had +had any breath in her, she would have cried out.</p> + +<p>But the automatisms of her body worked better than her overtaxed brain. +Her right foot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> went out easily and softly—she marvelled at that +independent motion of her leg—and, taking up the falling weight of her +body, restored her balance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace's voice had not faltered, although she must have seen the +misstep. Arthur Sloane's bowed shoulders had not stirred. Mrs. Brace +continued the printed enumeration of her stores of knowledge.</p> + +<p>Lucille took another step. She was safe!—almost. There remained but a +yard of her painful progress. One more step, she comforted herself, +would put her on the threshold of the entry door, and from there to the +corridor door, shielded by the entry wall from possible observation by +her father, would be an easy business.</p> + +<p>She completed that last step. On the threshold, she had to turn her body +through an arc of ninety degrees, unless she backed out of the door. +This she was afraid to do; her heel might meet an obstruction; a raised +plank of the flooring, even, would mean an alarming noise.</p> + +<p>She began to turn. The reading continued. The whole journey from door to +door, in spite of the anguished care of every step, had consumed +scarcely a minute. She was turning, the balancing arms outstretched. +Deep down in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> chest there was the beginning of a sensation, muscles +relaxing, the promise of a long breath of relief.</p> + +<p>Her left hand—or, perhaps, her elbow; in the blinding, benumbing flash +of consternation, she did not know which—touched the pile of magazines +on the table that was set against the door-frame. The magazines did not +fall to the floor, but the fluttering of the loose cover of the one on +top made a noise.</p> + +<p>She fled, taking with her the flashing memory of the first stirring of +her father's figure and the crackle of the paper in Mrs. Brace's hand. +In two light steps she was at the corridor door. Her hands found the +latch and turned it. She ran down the stairs with rapid, skimming steps, +the door clicking softly shut as she made the turn on the next landing.</p> + +<p>Her exit had been wonderfully quiet. She knew this, in spite of the fact +that her straining senses had exaggerated the flutter of the magazine +cover and the click of the door into a terrifying volume of sound. It +was entirely possible that Mrs. Brace had been able to persuade her +father that he had heard nothing more than some outside noise. She was +certain that he had not seen her.</p> + +<p>She crossed the dim, narrow lobby of the Walman so quickly, and so +quietly, that the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> at the telephone board did not look in her +direction.</p> + +<p>Once in the street, she was seized by desire to confide to Hastings the +story of her experience. She decided to act on the impulse.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>He was at first more concerned with her physical condition than with +what she had to tell. He saw how near she was to the breaking point.</p> + +<p>"My dear child!" he said, in the tone of fatherly solicitude which she +had learned to like. "Comfort before conference! Here, this chair by the +window—so—and this wreck of a fan, can you use it? Fine! Now, cool +your flushed face in this thin, very thin stream of a breeze—feel it? A +glass of water?—just for the tinkling of ice? That's better, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>The only light in the room was the reading lamp, under a dark-green +shade, and from this little island of illumination there ran out a +chaotic sea of shadows, huge waves of them, mounting the height of the +book-shelves and breaking irregularly on the ceiling.</p> + +<p>In the dimness, as he walked back and forth hunting for the fan or +bringing her the water, he looked weirdly large—like, she thought +dully, a fairy giant curiously draped. But the serenity of his +expression touched her. She was glad she had come.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>While she told her story, he stood in front of her, encouraging her +with a smile or a nod now and then, or ambled with soft step among the +shadows, always keeping his eyes upon her. For the moment, her tired +spirit was freshened by his lavish praise of the manner in which she had +accomplished her undertaking. Following that, his ready sympathy made it +easier for her to discuss her fear that her father had planned to bribe +Mrs. Brace.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, the effort taxed her severely. At the end of it, she +leaned back and closed her eyes, only to open them with a start of +fright at the resultant dizziness. The sensation of bodily lightness had +left her. Her limbs felt sheathed in metal. An acute, throbbing pain +racked her head. She was too weary to combat the depression which was +like a cold, freezing hand at her heart.</p> + +<p>"You don't say anything!" she complained weakly.</p> + +<p>He stood near her chair, gazing thoughtfully before him.</p> + +<p>"I'm trying to understand it," he said; "why your father did that. +You're right, of course. He went there to pay her to keep quiet. But +why?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her closely.</p> + +<p>"Could it be possible," he put the inquiry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> at last, "that he knew her +before the murder?"</p> + +<p>"I've asked him," she said. "No; he never had heard of her—neither he +nor Judge Wilton. I even persuaded him to question Jarvis about that. It +was the same; Jarvis never had—until last Sunday morning."</p> + +<p>"You think of everything!" he congratulated her.</p> + +<p>"No! Oh, no!"</p> + +<p>Some quick and overmastering emotion broke down the last of her +endurance. Whether it was a new and finer appreciation of his +persistent, untiring search for the guilty man, or the realization of +how sincerely he liked her, giving her credit for a frankness she had +not exercised—whatever the pivotal consideration was, she felt that she +could no longer deceive him.</p> + +<p>She closed her lips tightly, to keep back the rising sobs, and regarded +him with questioning, fearful eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked gently, reading her appealing look.</p> + +<p>"I've a confession to make," she said miserably.</p> + +<p>He refused to treat it as a tragedy.</p> + +<p>"But it can't be very bad!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "When we're +overwrought, imagination's like a lantern swinging in the wind, changing +the size of everything every second."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>"But it is bad!" she insisted. "I haven't been fair. I couldn't bring +myself to tell you this. I tried to think you'd get along without it!"</p> + +<p>"And now?"</p> + +<p>She answered him with an outward calmness which was, in reality, +emotional dullness. She had suffered so much that to feel vividly was +beyond her strength.</p> + +<p>"You have the right to know it," she said, looking at him out of +brilliant, unwinking eyes. "It's about father. He was out there—on the +lawn—before he turned on the light in his room. I heard him come in, a +minute before Berne went down the back stairs and out to the lawn. And I +heard him go to his window and stand there, looking out, at least five +long minutes before he flashed on his light."</p> + +<p>He waited, thinking she might have more to tell. Construing his silence +as reproof, she said, without changing either her expression or her +voice:</p> + +<p>"I know—it's awful. I should have told you. Perhaps, I've done great +harm."</p> + +<p>"You've been very brave," he consoled her, with infinite tenderness. +"But it happens that I'd already satisfied myself on that point. I knew +he'd been out there."</p> + +<p>She was dumb, incapable of reacting to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> words. Even the fact that he +was smiling, with genuine amusement, did not affect her.</p> + +<p>"Here comes the grotesque element, the comical, that's involved in so +many tragedies," he explained. "Your father's weakness for 'cure' of +nervousness, and his shrinking from the ridicule he's suffered because +of it—there's the explanation of why he was out there that night."</p> + +<p>She could not see significance in that, but neither could she summon +energy to say so. She wondered vaguely why he thought it funny.</p> + +<p>"That night—rather, the early morning hours following—while the rest +of you were in the library, I looked through his room, and I found a +pair of straw sandals in the closet—such as a man could slip on and off +without having to bend down to adjust them. And they were wet, inside +and out.</p> + +<p>"Sunday morning, when Judge Wilton and I were at his bedside, I saw on +the table a 'quack' pamphlet on the 'dew' treatment for nervousness, the +benefit of the 'wet, cooling grass' upon the feet at night. You know the +kind of thing. So——"</p> + +<p>"Oh-h-h!" she breathed, tremulous and weak. "So that's why he was out +there! Why didn't I think? Oh, how I've suspected him of——"</p> + +<p>"But remember," he warned; "that's why he went out. We still don't know +what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>—what happened after he got out there—or why he's refused to +say that he ever was out there. When we think of this, and other things, +and, too, his call tonight on Mrs. Brace, for bribery—leaving what we +thought was a sickbed—"</p> + +<p>"But he's been up all day!" she corrected.</p> + +<p>"And yet," he said, and stopped, reflecting.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she implored; "tell me, Mr. Hastings, do you suspect my +father—or not—of the——?"</p> + +<p>He answered her unfinished question with a solemn, painstaking care:</p> + +<p>"Miss Sloane, you're not one who would want to be misled. You can bear +the truth. I'd be foolish to say that he's not under suspicion. He is. +Any one of the men there that night may have committed the murder. +Webster, your father, Wilton—only there, suspicion seems totally +gratuitous—Eugene Russell, Jarvis—I've heard things about him—any one +of them may have struck that blow—may have."</p> + +<p>"And father," she said, in a grieved bewilderment, "has paid Mrs. Brace +to stop saying she suspects Berne," she shuddered, facing the +alternative, "or himself!"</p> + +<p>"You see," he framed the conclusion for her, "how hard he makes it for +us to keep him out of trouble—if that gets out. He's put his hand on +the live wire of circumstantial evidence, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> wire that too often +thrashes about, striking the wrong man."</p> + +<p>"And Berne?" she cried out. "I think I could stand anything if only I +knew——"</p> + +<p>But this time the mutinous sobs came crowding past her lips. She could +not finish the inquiry she had begun.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN WHO RODE AWAY</h3> + +<p>It was early in the afternoon of Wednesday when Mr. Hastings, responding +to the prolonged ringing of his telephone, took the receiver off the +hook and found himself in communication with the sheriff of Alexandria +county. This was not the vacillating, veering sheriff who had spent +nearly four days accepting the hints of a detective or sitting, +chameleon-minded, at the feet of a designing woman. Here was an +impressive and self-appreciative gentleman, one who delighted in his own +deductive powers and relished their results.</p> + +<p>He said so. His confidence fairly rattled the wire. His words +annihilated space grandly and leaped into the old man's receptive ear +with sizzling and electric effect. Mr. Crown, triumphant, was glad to +inform others that he was making a hit with himself.</p> + +<p>"Hello! That you, Hastings? Well, old fellow, I don't like to annoy you +with an up-to-date rendition of 'I told you so!'—but it's come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> out, to +the last syllable, exactly as I said it would—from the very first!"</p> + +<p>Ensued a pause, for dramatic effect. The detective did not break it.</p> + +<p>"Waiting, are you? Well, here she goes; Russell's alibi's been knocked +into a thousand pieces! It's blown up! It's gone glimmering!—What do +you think of that?"</p> + +<p>Hastings refrained from replying that he had regarded such an event as +highly probable. Instead, he inquired:</p> + +<p>"And that simplifies things?"</p> + +<p>"Does it!" exploded Mr. Crown. "I'm getting to you a few minutes ahead +of the afternoon papers. You'll see it all there." An apologetic laugh +came over the wire. "You'll excuse me, I know; I had to do this thing up +right, put on the finishing touches before you even guessed what was +going on. I've wound up the whole business. The Washington police nabbed +Russell an hour ago, on my orders.</p> + +<p>"'Simplifies things?' I should say so! I guess you can call 'em +'simplified' when a murder's been committed and the murderer's waiting +to step into my little ring-tum-fi-diddle-dee of a country jail! 'No +clue to this mystery,' the papers have been saying! What's the use of a +clue when you <i>know</i> a guy's guilty? That's what I've been whistling all +along!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>"But the alibi?" Hastings prompted. "You say it's blown up?"</p> + +<p>"Blown! Gone! Result of my sending out those circulars asking if any +automobile parties passed along the Sloanehurst road the murder night. +Remember?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." The old man recalled having made that suggestion, but did not say +so.</p> + +<p>"This morning the chief of police of York—York, Pennsylvania—wired me. +I got him by long-distance right away. He gave me the story, details +absolutely right and straight, all verified—and everything. A York man, +named Stevens, saw a newspaper account, for the first time this morning, +of the murder. He and four other fellows were in a car that went up Hub +Hill that night a little after eleven—a few minutes after.—Hear that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Go on."</p> + +<p>"Stevens was on the back seat. They went up the hill on low—terrible +piece of road, he calls it—they were no more than crawling. He says he +was the only sober man in the crowd—been out on a jollification tour of +ten days. He saw a man slide on to the running board on his side of the +car as they were creeping up the hill. The rest of the party was +singing, having a high old time.</p> + +<p>"Stevens said he never said a word, just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> watched the guy on the running +board, and planned to crack him on the head with an empty beer bottle +when they got on the straight road and were hitting up a good clip—just +playing, you understand.</p> + +<p>"After he'd watched the guy a while and was trying to fish up a beer +bottle from the bottom of the car, the chauffeur slowed down and +hollered back to him on the back seat that he wanted to stop and look at +his radiator—it was about to blow up, too hot. He'd been burning the +dust on that stretch of good road.</p> + +<p>"When he slowed down, the guy on the running board slipped off. Stevens +says he rolled down a bank."</p> + +<p>The jubilant Mr. Crown stopped, for breath.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, far as it goes," Hastings said; "but does he identify +that man as Russell?"</p> + +<p>"To the last hair on his head!" replied the sheriff. "Stevens' +description of the fellow is Russell all over—all over! Just to show +you how good it is, take this: Stevens describe the clothes Russell +wore, and says what Otis said: he'd lost his hat."</p> + +<p>"Stevens got a good look at him?"</p> + +<p>"Says the headlights were full on him as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> he stood on one side of the +road, there on Hub Hill, waiting to slide on the running board.—And +this Stevens is a shrewd guy, the York chief says. I guess his story +plugs Russell's lies, shoots that alibi so full of holes it makes a +sifter look like a piece of sheet-iron!</p> + +<p>"That car went up Hub Hill at seven minutes past eleven—that means +Russell had plenty of time to kill the girl after the rain stopped and +to get out on the road and slip on to that running board. And the car +slowed up, where he rolled off the running board, at eighteen minutes +past eleven.</p> + +<p>"Time's right, location's right, identification's right!—Pretty sweet, +ain't it, old fellow? Congratulate me, don't you? Congratulate me, even +if it does step on all those mysterious theories of yours—that right?"</p> + +<p>Hastings bestowed the desired felicitations upon the exuberant conqueror +of crime.</p> + +<p>Turning from the telephone, he gazed a long time at the piece of grey +envelope on the table before him. He had clung to his belief that, in +those fragments of words, was to be found a clue to the solution of the +mystery. He picked up his knife and fell to whittling.</p> + +<p>Outside in the street a newsboy set up an abrupt, blaring din, shouting +sensational headlines:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">"SLOANEHURST MYSTERY SOLVED!—RUSSELL THE MURDERER!—ALIBI A FAKE!"</p> + +<p>The old man considered grimly, the various effects of this development +in the case—Lucille Sloane's unbounded relief mingled with censure of +him for having added to her fears, and especially for having subjected +her to the ordeal of last night's experience with Mrs. Brace—the +adverse criticism from both press and public because of his refusal to +join in the first attacks upon Russell, Arthur Sloane's complacency at +never having treated him with common courtesy.</p> + +<p>His thoughts went to Mrs. Brace and her blackmail schemes, as he had +interpreted or suspected them.</p> + +<p>"If I'd had a little more time," he reflected, "I might have put my hand +on——"</p> + +<p>His eyes rested on the envelope flap. His mind flashed to another and +new idea. His muscles stiffened; he put his hands on the arms of his +chair and slowly lifted himself up, the knife dropping from his fingers +and clattering on the floor. He stood erect and held both hands aloft, a +gesture of wide and growing wonder.</p> + +<p>"Cripes!" he said aloud.</p> + +<p>He picked up the grey paper with a hand that trembled. His pendent +cheeks puffed out like those of a man blowing a horn. He stared at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> the +paper again, before restoring it to its envelope, which he put back into +one of his pockets.</p> + +<p>"Cripes!" he said again. "It's a place! Pursuit! That's where the——"</p> + +<p>He became a whirlwind of action, covered the floor with springy step. +Taking a book of colossal size from a shelf, he whirled the pages, +running his finger down a column while he murmured, +"Pursuit—P-u-r—P-u—P-u——"</p> + +<p>But there was no such name in the postal directory. He went back to +older directories. He began to worry. Was there no such postoffice as +Pursuit? He went to other books, whirling the pages, running down column +after column. And at last he got the information he sought.</p> + +<p>Consulting a railroad folder, he found a train schedule that caused him +to look at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five minutes," he figured. "I'm going!"</p> + +<p>He telephoned for a cab.</p> + +<p>Then, seating himself at the table, he tore a sheet from a scratch-pad +and wrote:</p> + +<p>"Don't lose sight of Mrs. Brace. Disregard Russell's arrest.</p> + +<p>"Hendricks: the Sloanehurst people are members of the Arlington Golf +Club. Get a look at golf bags there. Did one, or two, contain piece or +pieces of a bed-slat?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p><p>"Gore: check up on Mrs. B.'s use of money.</p> + +<p>"I'll be back Sunday."</p> + +<p>He sealed the envelope into which he put that, and, addressing it to +Hendricks, left it lying on the table.</p> + +<p>At the station he bought the afternoon newspapers and turned to Eugene +Russell's statement, made to the reporters immediately after his arrest. +It ran:</p> + +<p>"I repeat that I'm innocent of the murder. Of course, I made a mistake +in omitting all mention of my having ridden the first four miles from +Sloanehurst. But, being innocent and knowing the weight of the +circumstantial evidence against me, I could not resist the temptation to +make my alibi good. I neither committed that murder nor witnessed it. +The story I told at the inquest of what happened to me and what I did at +Sloanehurst stands. It is the truth."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<h3>"PURSUIT!"</h3> + +<p>Returning from his trip Sunday morning, the detective, after a brief +conference with Hendricks, had gone immediately to Mrs. Brace's +apartment. She sat now, still and watchful, on the armless rocker by the +window, waiting for him to disclose the object of his visit. Except the +lifted, faintly interrogating eyebrows, there was nothing in her face +indicative of what she thought.</p> + +<p>He caught himself comparing her to a statue, forever seated on the +low-backed, uncomfortable chair, awaiting without emotion or alteration +of feature the outcome of her evil scheming. Her hardness gave him the +impression of something hammered on, beaten into an ugly pattern.</p> + +<p>Having that imperturbability to overcome, he struck his first blow with +surprising directness.</p> + +<p>"I'm just back from Pursuit," he said.</p> + +<p>That was the first speech by either of them since the monosyllabic +greeting at the door. He saw that she had prepared herself for such an +announcement; but the way she took it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>reminded him of a door shaken by +the impact of a terrific blow. A little shiver, for all her force of +repression, moved her from head to foot.</p> + +<p>"You are?" she responded, her voice controlled, the hard face untouched +by the shock to which her body had responded.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I got back half an hour ago, and, except for one of my assistants, +you're the first person I've seen." When that drew no comment from her, +he added: "I want you to remember that—later on."</p> + +<p>He began to whittle.</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked with genuine curiosity, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Because it may be well for you to know that I'm dealing with you alone, +and fairly.—I got all the facts concerning you."</p> + +<p>"Concerning me?" Her tone intimated doubt.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mrs. Brace!" he exclaimed, disapproving her apparent intention. +"You're surely not going to pretend ignorance—or innocence!"</p> + +<p>She crossed her knees, and, putting her left forearm across her body, +rested her right elbow in that hand. She began to rock very gently, her +posture causing her to lean forward and giving her a look of continual +but polite questioning.</p> + +<p>"If you want to talk to me," she said, her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> voice free of all feeling, +"you'll have to tell me what it's about."</p> + +<p>"All right; I will," he returned. "You'll remember, I take it, my asking +you to tell me the meaning of the marks on the flap of the grey +envelope. I'll admit I was slow, criminally slow, in coming to the +conclusion that 'Pursuit!' referred to a place rather than an act. But I +got it finally—and I found Pursuit—not much left of it now; it's not +even a postoffice.</p> + +<p>"But it's discoverable," he continued on a sterner note, and began to +shave long, slender chips from his block of wood. "I'll give you the +high lights: young Dalton was killed—his murderer made a run for +it—but you, a young widow then, in whose presence the thing was done, +smoothed matters out. You swore it was a matter of self-defence. The +result was that, after a few half-hearted attempts to locate the +fugitive, the pursuit was given up."</p> + +<p>"Very well. But why bring that story here—now? What's its +significance?"</p> + +<p>He stared at her in amazement. Her thin, sensitive lips were drawn back +at the corners, enough to make her mouth look a trifle wider—and enough +to suggest dimly that their motion was the start of a vindictive +grimace. Otherwise, she was unmoved, unresponsive to the open threat of +what he had said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p><p>"Let me finish," he retorted. "An unfortunate feature, for you, was +that you seemed to have made money out of the tragedy. In straitened +circumstances previously, you began to spend freely—comparatively +speaking—a few days after the murderer's disappearance. In fact, +bribery was hinted; you had to leave the village. See any significance +in that?" he concluded, with irony.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you explain it," she said, still cool.</p> + +<p>"The significance is in the strengthening of the theory I've had +throughout the whole week that's passed since your daughter was killed +at Sloanehurst."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>She stopped rocking; her eyes played a fiery tattoo on every feature of +his face.</p> + +<p>"Your daughter's death was the unexpected result of your attempts to +blackmail young Dalton's murderer. You, being afraid of him, and not +confessing that timidity to Mildred, persuaded her to approach him—in +person."</p> + +<p>"I! Afraid of him!" she objected, aroused at last.</p> + +<p>Her brows were lowered, a heavy line above her furtive, swift eyes; her +nostrils fluttered nervously.</p> + +<p>"Granting your absurd theory," she continued, "why should I have feared +him? What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> had he done—except strike to save his own life?"</p> + +<p>"You forget, Mrs. Brace," he corrected. "That body showed twenty-nine +wounds, twenty-eight of them unnecessary—if the first was inflicted in +mere self-defence. It was horrible mutilation."</p> + +<p>"So!" she ridiculed, with obvious effort. "You picture him as a +butcher."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. And you, having seen to what lengths his murderous fury +could take him, were afraid to face him—even after your long, long +search had located him again. Let's be sensible, Mrs. Brace. Let's give +the facts of this business a hearing.</p> + +<p>"You had come to Washington and located him at last. But, after +receiving several demands from you, he'd stopped reading your +letters—sent them back unopened. Consequently, in order for you to make +an appointment with him, he had to be communicated with in a handwriting +he didn't know. Hence, your daughter had to write the letter making that +appointment a week ago last night. Then, however——"</p> + +<p>"What makes you think——"</p> + +<p>"Then, however," he concluded, overbearing her with his voice, "you +hadn't the courage to face him—out there, in the dark, alone. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +persuaded Mildred to go—in your place. And he killed her."</p> + +<p>"Ha!" The mocking exclamation sounded as though it had been pounded out +of her by a blow upon her back. "What makes you say that? Where do you +get that? Who put that into your head?"</p> + +<p>She volleyed those questions at him with indescribable rapidity, her +lips drawn back from her teeth, her brows straining far up toward the +line of her hair. The profound disgust with which he viewed her did not +affect her. She darted to and fro in her mind, running about in the +waste and tumult of her momentary confusion, seeking the best thing to +say, the best policy to adopt, for her own ends.</p> + +<p>He had had time to determine that much when her gift of self-possession +reasserted itself. She forced her lips back to their thin line, and +steadied herself. He could see the vibrant tautness of her whole body, +exemplified in the rigidity with which she held her crossed knees, one +crushed upon the other.</p> + +<p>"I know, I think, what misled you," she answered her own question. +"You've talked to Gene Russell, of course. He may have heard—I think he +did hear—Mildred and me discussing the mailing of a letter that Friday +night."</p> + +<p>"He did," Hastings said, firmly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>"But he couldn't have heard anything to warrant your theory, Mr. +Hastings. I merely made fun of her wavering after she'd once said she'd +confront Berne Webster again with her appeal for fair play."</p> + +<p>He inspected her with an emotion that was a mingling of incredulity and +repugnant wonder.</p> + +<p>"It's no use, Mrs. Brace," he told her. "Russell didn't see the name of +the man to whom the letter was addressed. I saw him last Sunday +afternoon. He told me he took the name for granted, because Mildred had +taunted him, saying it went to Webster. As a matter of fact, he wanted +to see if Webster was at Sloanehurst and fastened his eyes for a +fleeting glimpse on that word—and on that alone. Besides, there are +facts to prove that the letter did not go to Webster.—Do you see how +your fancied security falls away?"</p> + +<p>"Let me think," she said, her tone flat and impersonal.</p> + +<p>She was silent, her restless eyes gazing at the wall over his head. He +watched her, and glanced only at intervals at the wood he was aimlessly +shaving.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, after a while, looking at him with a speculative, +deliberating air, "you've deduced and pieced this together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> You've a +woman's intuition—comprehension of motives, feelings."</p> + +<p>She was silent again.</p> + +<p>"Pieced what together?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"It's plain enough, isn't it? You began with your suspicion that my need +of money was heavier in my mind than grief at Mildred's death. On that, +you built up—well, all you've just said."</p> + +<p>"It was more than a suspicion," he corrected. "It was knowledge—that +everything you did, after her death, was intended to help along your +scheme to—we'll say, to get money."</p> + +<p>"Still," she persisted shrewdly, "you felt the necessity of proving I'd +blackmail—if that's the word you want to use."</p> + +<p>"How?" he put in quickly. "Prove it, how?"</p> + +<p>"That's why you sent that girl here with the five hundred. I see it now; +although, at the time, I didn't." She laughed, a short, bitter note. +"Perhaps, the money, or my need of it, kept me from thinking straight."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," she made the admission calmly, "as soon as I took the hush +money, your theory seemed sound—the whole of it: my motives and +identity of the murderer."</p> + +<p>She was thinking with a concentration so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>intense that the signs of it +resembled physical exertion. Moisture beaded the upper part of her +forehead. He could see the muscles of her face respond to the locking of +her jaws.</p> + +<p>"But there's nothing against me," she began again, and, moved by his +expression, qualified: "nothing that I can be held for, in the courts."</p> + +<p>"You've decided that, have you?"</p> + +<p>"You'll admit it," she said. "There's nothing—there can be nothing—to +disprove my statement that Dalton's death was provoked. I hold the key +to that—I alone. That being true, I couldn't be prosecuted in Pursuit +as 'accessory after the fact.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed. "That's true."</p> + +<p>"And here," she concluded, without a hint of triumph, even without a +special show of interest, "I can't be proceeded against for blackmail. +That money, from both of them, was a gift. I hadn't asked for it, much +less demanded it. I," she said with an assured arrogance, "hadn't got +that far.—So, you see, Mr. Hastings, I'm far from frightened."</p> + +<p>He found nothing to say to that shameless but unassailable declaration. +Also, he was aware that she entertained, and sought solution of, a +problem, the question of how best to satisfy her implacable +determination to make the man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> pay. That purpose occupied all her mind, +now that her money greed was frustrated.</p> + +<p>It was on this that he had calculated. It explained his going to her +before confronting the murderer. He had felt certain that her perverted +desire to "get even" would force her into the strange position of +helping him.</p> + +<p>He broke the silence with a careful attempt to guide her thoughts:</p> + +<p>"But don't fool yourself, Mrs. Brace. You've got out of this all you'll +ever get, financially—every cent. And you're in an unpleasant +situation—an outcast, perhaps. People don't stand for your line of +stuff, your behaviour."</p> + +<p>She did not resent that. Making a desperate mental search for the best +way to serve her hard self-interest, he thought, she was impervious to +insult.</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, to his immense relief. "I've been considering the +only remaining point."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"The sure way to make him suffer as horribly as possible."</p> + +<p>He pretended absorption in his carving.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't he have provided me with money when I asked it?" she +demanded, at last.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p><p>The new quality of her speech brought his head up with a jerk. Instead +of colourless harshness, it had a warm fury. It was not that she spoke +loudly or on a high key; but it had an unbridled, self-indulgent sound. +He got the impression that she put off all censorship from either her +feeling or her expression.</p> + +<p>"That wasn't much to ask—as long as he continued his life of ease, of +luxury, of safety—as long as I left out of consideration the debt he +couldn't pay, the debt that was impossible of payment."</p> + +<p>Alien as the thing seemed in connection with her, he grasped it. She +thought that she had once loved the man.</p> + +<p>"The matter of personal feeling?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. When he left Pursuit, he destroyed the better part of me—what you +would call the good part."</p> + +<p>She said that without sentimentalism, without making it a plea for +sympathy; she had better sense, he saw, than to imagine that she could +arouse sympathy on that ground.</p> + +<p>"And," she continued, with intense malignity, "what was so monstrous in +my asking him for money? I asked him for no payment of what he really +owes me. That's a debt he can't pay! My beauty, destroyed, withered and +covered over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> with the hard mask of the features you see now; my +capacity for happiness, dead, swallowed up in my long, long devotion to +my purpose to find him again—those things, man as you are, you realize +are beyond the scope of payment or repayment!"</p> + +<p>Without rising to a standing position, she leaned so far forward that +her weight was all on her feet, and, although her figure retained the +posture of one seated on a chair, she was in fact independent of support +from it, and held herself crouching in front of him, taut, a tremor in +her limbs because of the strain.</p> + +<p>Her hands were held out toward him, the tips of her stiffened, +half-closed fingers less than a foot from his face. Her brows were drawn +so high that the skin of her forehead twitched, as if pulled upward by +another's hand. It was with difficulty that he compelled himself to +witness the climax of her rage. Only his need of what she knew kept him +still.</p> + +<p>"Money!" she said, her lean arms in continual motion before him. "You're +right, there. I wanted money. I made up my mind I'd have it. It was such +a purpose of mine, so strongly grown into my whole being, that even +Mildred's death couldn't lessen or dislodge it. And there was more than +the want of money in my never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> letting loose of my intention to find +him. He couldn't strip me bare and get away! You've understood me pretty +well. You know it was written, on the books, that he and I should come +together again—no matter how far he went, or how cleverly!</p> + +<p>"And I see now!" she gave him her decision, and, as she did so, rose to +an upright position, her hands at her sides going half-shut and open, +half-shut and open, as if she made mental pictures of the closing in of +her long pursuit. "I'll say what you want me to say. Confront him; put +me face to face with him, and I'll say the letter went to him. Oh, never +fear! I'll say the appropriate thing, and the convincing +thing—appropriately convincing!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes glittered, countering his searching glance, as she stood over +him, her body flung a little forward from the waist, her arms busy with +their quick, angular gesticulation.</p> + +<p>"When?" he asked. "When will you do that?"</p> + +<p>"Now," she answered instantly. "Now!—Now!—Oh, don't look surprised. +I've thought of this possibility. My God!" she said with a bitterness +that startled him. "I've thought of every possibility, every possible +crook and quirk of this business."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p><p>She was struck by his slowness in responding to her offer.</p> + +<p>"But you," she asked; "are you sure—have you the proof?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he said drily. "You needn't be uneasy about that.—Now, if I +may do a little telephoning, we'll start."</p> + +<p>He went a step from her and turned back.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he stipulated, "that little matter of the five +hundred—you needn't refer to it. I mean it will have to be left out. +It's not necessary."</p> + +<p>"No; it isn't," she agreed, with perfect indifference. "And it's spent."</p> + +<p>When he had telephoned to Sloanehurst and the sheriff's office, he found +her with her hat on, ready to accompany him.</p> + +<p>As they stepped out of the Walman, she saw the automobile waiting for +them. She stopped, a new rage darting from her eyes. He thought she +would go back. After a brief hesitation, however, she gave a short, ugly +laugh.</p> + +<p>"You were as sure as that, were you!" she belittled herself. "Had the +car wait—to take me there!"</p> + +<p>"By no means," he denied. "I hoped you'd go—that's all."</p> + +<p>"That's better," she said, determined to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>assert her individuality of +action. "You're not forcing me into this, you know. I'm doing it, after +thinking it out to the last detail—for my own satisfaction."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<h3>DENIAL OF THE CHARGE</h3> + +<p>Hastings, fully appreciating the value of surprise, had instructed Mrs. +Brace to communicate none of the new developments to anybody until he +asked for them. Reaching Sloanehurst, he went alone to the library, +leaving her in the parlour to battle as best she might with the +sheriff's anxious curiosity.</p> + +<p>Arthur Sloane and Judge Wilton gave him cool welcome, parading for his +benefit an obvious and insolent boredom. Although uninvited to sit down, +he caught up a chair and swung it lightly into such position that, when +he seated himself, he faced them across the table. He was smiling, +enough to indicate a general satisfaction with the world.</p> + +<p>There was in his bearing, however, that which carried them back to their +midnight session with him immediately following the discovery of Mildred +Brace's body. The smile did not lessen his look of unquestionable power; +his words were sharp, clipped-off.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>"I take it," he said briskly, untouched by their demeanour of +indifference, "you gentlemen will be interested in the fact that I've +cleared up this mystery."</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h!" drawled Sloane. "Again?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by 'again'?" he asked, good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"Crown, the sheriff, accomplished it four days ago, I'm credibly +informed."</p> + +<p>"He made a mistake."</p> + +<p>"Ah?" Sloane ridiculed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. 'Ah!'" Hastings took him up curtly, and, with a quick turn of his +head, addressed himself to Wilton: "Judge, I've been to Pursuit."</p> + +<p>When he said that, his head was thrown back so that he squinted at +Wilton down the line of his nose, under the rims of his spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Pursuit!"</p> + +<p>Wilton's echo of the word was explosive. He had been leaning back in his +chair, eying the detective from under lowered lids, and drawing deep, +prolonged puffs from his cigar. But, with the response to Hastings' +announcement, he sat up and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the +rim of the table. It was an awkward attitude, compelling him to extend +his neck and turn his face upward in order to meet the other's glance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>"Yes," Hastings said, after a measurable pause. "Interested in that?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," Wilton replied, plainly alarmed, and fubbed out his cigar +with forefinger and thumb, oblivious to the fact that he dropped a +little shower of fire on the table cover.</p> + +<p>"I'll trouble you to observe, Mr. Sloane," Hastings put in, "that, being +excited, the judge's first impulse is to extinguish his cigar: it's a +habit of his.—Now, judge, in Pursuit I heard a lot about you—a lot."</p> + +<p>"All right—what?"</p> + +<p>He made the inquiry reluctantly, as if under compulsion of the +detective's glance.</p> + +<p>"The Dalton case—and your part in it."</p> + +<p>"You know about that, do you?"</p> + +<p>"All about it," Hastings said, in a way that made doubt impossible; +Sloane, even, bewildered as he was, got the impression of his ruthless +certainty.</p> + +<p>Wilton did not contest it.</p> + +<p>"I struck in self-defence," he excused himself wearily, like a man +taking up a task against his will. "It would be ridiculous to call that +murder. No jury would have convicted me—none would now, if given the +truth."</p> + +<p>"But the body showed twenty-nine wounds," Hastings pressed him, "the +marks of twenty-nine separate thrusts of that knife."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p><p>"Yes; that's true.—Yes, I'll tell you about that, you and Arthur—if +you'd care to hear?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm here for," Hastings said, settling in his chair. He was +thinking: "He didn't expect this. He's unprepared!"</p> + +<p>Sloane, who had been on the point of resenting this unbelievable attack +on his friend, was struck dumb by Wilton's calm acknowledgment of the +charge. From long habit, he took the cap off the smelling-salts with +which he had been toying when Hastings came in, but his shaking hand +could not lift the bottle to his nose. Wilton guilty of a murder, years +ago! He drew a long, shuddering breath and huddled in his chair.</p> + +<p>Wilton rose clumsily and walked heavily to the door opening into the +hall. He put his hand on the knob but did not turn it. He repeated the +performance at the door opening into Sloane's room. In all this he was +unconscionably slow, moving in the manner of a blind man, feeling his +way about and fumbling both knobs.</p> + +<p>When he came back to the table, his shoulders were hunched to the front +and downward, crowding his chest. His face looked larger, each separate +feature of it throbbing coarsely to the pumping of his heart. Pink +threads stood out on the white of his eyeballs. When the back of his +neck pressed against his collar, the effect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> was to give the lower half +of the back of his head an odd appearance of inflation or puffiness.</p> + +<p>Hastings had never seen a man struggle so to contain himself.</p> + +<p>"Suffering angels!" Sloane sympathized shrilly. "What's the matter, +Tom?"</p> + +<p>"All right—it's all right," he assured, his voice still low, but so +resonant and harsh that it sounded like the thrumming of a viol string.</p> + +<p>He seated himself, moving his chair several times, adjusting it to a +proper angle to the table. In the end, he sat close to the table rim, +hunched heavily on his elbows, and looked straight at Hastings.</p> + +<p>"But, since you've been to Pursuit, what do you imply, or say?" he +asked, the words scraping, as though his throat had been roughened with +a file.</p> + +<p>"That you killed Mildred Brace," Hastings answered, also leaning +forward, to give the accusation weight.</p> + +<p>"I! I killed her!" Wilton's teeth went together with a sharp click; the +table sagged under his weight. "I deny it. I deny it!" He ripped out an +oath. "This man's crazy, Arthur! He's dragged up a mistake, a tragedy, +of my youth, and now has the effrontery to use it as a reason for +suspecting me of murder!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>"Exactly!" chimed Sloane, in tremulous relief. "Shivering saints! Why +haven't you said so long ago, Tom?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't give him credit for the wild insanity he's showing," said +Wilton thickly.</p> + +<p>Whatever had been his first impulse, however near he had been to trying +to explain away all blame in the Dalton murder, it was clear to Hastings +now that he intended to rely on flat denial of his connection with the +death of Mildred Brace. He had, perhaps, decided that explanation was +too difficult.</p> + +<p>Seeing his indecision, Hastings turned on Sloane.</p> + +<p>"You've been exceedingly offensive to me on several occasions, Mr. +Sloane. And I've had enough of it. Now, I've got the facts to show that +you're as foolish in the selection of your friends as in making enemies. +I'm about to charge this man Wilton with murder. He killed Mildred +Brace, and I can prove it. If you want to hear the facts back of this +mystery; if you want the stuff that will enable you to decide whether +you'll stand by him or against him, you can have it!"</p> + +<p>Before Sloane could recover from his surprise at the old man's hot +resentment, Wilton said, with an air of careless contempt:</p> + +<p>"Oh, we've got to deal with what he says,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> Arthur. I'd rather answer it +here than with an audience."</p> + +<p>"The reading public, for instance?" Hastings retorted, and added: "It +may interest you, Mr. Sloane, to know that you gave me my first +suspicion of him. When you stepped back from the handkerchief I held out +to you—remember, as I was kneeling over the body, and the servant +laughed at you?—I jammed it into Wilton's right-hand coat-pocket.</p> + +<p>"Later, when I got it back from him, I saw clinging to it a few cigar +ashes and two small particles of wet tobacco. He had had in that pocket +a cigar stump wet from his saliva.</p> + +<p>"When he began then his story of finding the body, he said, 'I'd been +smoking my good-night cigar; this is what's left of it.' As he said +that, he pointed to the unlit—remember that, unlit—cigar stump between +his teeth. He made it a point to emphasize the fact that so little time +had elapsed between his finding the body and his giving the alarm that +he hadn't smoked up the cigar, and also he hadn't taken time to put his +hand to his mouth, take out the cigar and throw it away.</p> + +<p>"It was one of the over-fine little touches that a guilty man tries to +pile on his scheme for appearing innocent. But what are the facts?</p> + +<p>"Just now, as soon as he got excited, he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>mechanically fubbed out his +cigar. It's a habit of his—whenever he's in a close corner. He did it +during the interview I had with him and Webster in the music room last +Sunday morning—when, in fact, something dangerous to him came up. He +did it again when I was talking to him in his office, following a visit +from Mrs. Brace.</p> + +<p>"There you have the beginning of my suspicion. Why had he gone out of +his way to put a cigar stump into his pocket that night, and to explain +that he had had it in his mouth all the time? When he came into my room, +to wake me up, he had no cigar in his mouth. But, when you and I rounded +the corner of the porch and first saw him kneeling over the body, he had +one hand in his right-hand coat-pocket. And, when we stood beside him, +he had put a half-smoked, unlit cigar into his mouth.</p> + +<p>"You see my point, clearly? Instead of having had the cigar in his mouth +and having kept it there while he found the body and reported the +discovery to us, the truth is this: he had fubbed out the cigar when he +met Mildred Brace on the lawn, and it had occurred to his calculating +mind that it would be well, when he chose to give the alarm, to use the +cigar stunt as evidence that he hadn't been engaged in quarrelling with +and murdering a woman.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p><p>"He was right in his opinion that the average man doesn't go on calmly +smoking while engaged in such activities. He was wrong in letting us +discover where he'd carried the stump until he needed it.</p> + +<p>"He had put it into that pocket, but, after committing the murder, he +wasn't quite as calm as he'd expected to be—something had gone wrong; +Webster had appeared on the scene—and the cigar wasn't restored to his +mouth until you and I first reached the body.</p> + +<p>"Here's my handkerchief, showing the ashes and the pieces of cigar +tobacco on it, just as it was when he handed it back to me."</p> + +<p>He took from one of his pockets a tissue-paper parcel, and, unwrapping +it, handed it to Sloane.</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h-that's what it shows," Sloane admitted, bending over the +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Wilton welcomed that with a laugh which he meant to be lightly +contemptuous.</p> + +<p>"See here, Arthur!" he objected. "I'm perfectly willing to listen to any +sane statement this man may make, but——"</p> + +<p>"You said you wanted to hear this!" Hasting stopped him. "I'm fair about +it. I've told you why I began to watch you. I've got more."</p> + +<p>"You need it," Sloane complained. "If it's all that thin——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p><p>"Don't shout too soon," Hastings interrupted again. "Mr. Sloane, this +man's been working against me from the start. Think a moment, and you'll +realize it. While he was telling your daughter and a whole lot of other +people that I was the only man to handle the case, he was slipping you +the quiet instruction to avoid me, not to confide in me, not to tell me +a single thing. Isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>"We-ell, he did say the best way for me to avoid all possibility of +being involved in the thing was not to talk to anybody."</p> + +<p>"I knew it!" Hastings declared, giving his contempt full play. "And he +persuaded you that you might have seen—<i>might</i>, mind you—and he gave +you the suggestion skilfully, more by indirection than by flat +statement—that you might have seen Berne Webster out there on the lawn +that night, when you were uncertain, when you feared it yourself—a +little. Isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>Sloane looked at him with widening eyes, his lips trembling.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mr. Sloane! Let's play fair, didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"We-ell, yes."</p> + +<p>"And," Hastings continued, thumping the table with a heavy hand to drive +home the points of his statement, "he persuaded you to offer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> that money +to Mrs. Brace—last Tuesday night.—Didn't he?—And that matches his +slippery cunning in pretending he was saving Webster by hiding the fact +that Webster's hand had gagged him when they found the body. He figured +his willingness to help somebody else would keep suspicion away from +him. I——"</p> + +<p>"Rot! All rot!" Wilton broke in. "Where do you think you are, Arthur, on +the witness stand? He'll have you saying white's black in a minute."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sloane," the detective said, getting to his feet, "he induced you +to pay money to Mrs. Brace—while it's the colour of blackmail, it won't +be a matter for prosecution; you gave it to her, in a sense, +unsolicited—but he induced you to do that because he knew she was out +for blackmail. He hoped that, if you bought her off, she wouldn't pursue +him farther."</p> + +<p>"Farther!" echoed Sloane. "What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, man! Don't you see? Money was back of all that tragedy. He +murdered the girl because she had come here to renew her mother's +attempts at blackmail on him! Not content with duping you, with handling +you as if you'd been a baby, he put you up to buying off the woman who +was after him—and he did it by fooling you into thinking that you were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>saving the name, if not the very life, of your daughter's fiancé! +He——"</p> + +<p>"Lies! Wild lie!" thundered Wilton, pushing back from the table. "I'm +through with——"</p> + +<p>"No! No!" shrilled Sloane. "Wait! Prove that, Hastings! Prove it—if you +can! Shuddering saints! Have I——?"</p> + +<p>He looked once at Wilton's contorted face, and recoiled, the movement +confessing at last his lack of faith in the man.</p> + +<p>"I will," Hastings answered him, and moved toward the door; "I'll prove +it—by the girl's mother."</p> + +<p>He threw open the door, and, sure now of holding Sloane's attention, +went in search of Mrs. Brace and the sheriff.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<h3>"AMPLE EVIDENCE"</h3> + +<p>The two men in the library waited a long time for his return. Wilton, +elbows on the table, stared straight in front of him, giving no sign of +knowledge of the other's presence. Sloane fidgeted with the +smelling-salts, emitting now and then long-drawn, tremulous sighs that +were his own special vocabulary of dissatisfaction. He spoke once.</p> + +<p>"Mute and cringing martyrs!" he said, in suspicious remonstrance. "If +he'd say something we could deny! So far, Tom, you're mixed up in——"</p> + +<p>"Why can't you wait until he's through?" Wilton objected roughly.</p> + +<p>They heard people coming down the hall. Lucille, following Mrs. Brace +into the room, went to her father. They could see, from her look of +grieved wonder, that Hastings had told her of the charge against Wilton. +The sheriff's expression confirmed the supposition. His mouth hung open, +so that the unsteady fingers with which he plucked at his knuckle like +chin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> appeared also to support his fallen jaw. He made a weak-kneed +progress from the door to a chair near the screened fireplace.</p> + +<p>For a full half-minute Hastings was silent, as if to let the doubts and +suspense of each member of the group emphasize his dominance of the +situation. He reviewed swiftly some of the little things he had used to +build up in his own mind the certainty of Wilton's guilt: the man's +agitation in the music room at the discovery, not that a part of the +grey envelope had been found, but that it contained some of the words of +the letter—his obvious alarm when found quarrelling with Mrs. Brace in +his office—his hardly controlled impulses: once, outside Sloane's +bedroom, to accuse Berne Webster without proof, and, on the Sloanehurst +porch last Sunday, to suggest that Sloane was guilty.</p> + +<p>The detective observed now that he absolutely ignored Mrs. Brace, not +even looking in her direction. He perceived also how she reacted to that +assumed indifference. The tightening of her lips, the flutter of her +mobile nostrils, left him no longer any doubt that she was in the mood +to give him the cooperation she had so bitterly promised.</p> + +<p>"To be dragged down by such a woman!" he thought.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brace," he said, "I've charged Judge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> Wilton with the murder of +your daughter. I say now he killed her, with premeditation, having +planned it after receiving a letter from her."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" she responded, a certain tenseness in her voice.</p> + +<p>She had gone to a chair by the window; and, like the sheriff, she faced +the trio at the table: Wilton, Sloane, and Lucille, who stood behind her +father, a hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Hastings slowly paced the floor as he talked, his hands clasped behind +him and now and then moving the tail of his coat up and down. He glanced +at Mrs. Brace over the rims of his spectacles, his eyes shrewd and keen. +He showed an unmistakable self-satisfaction, like the elation Wilton had +detected in his bearing on two former occasions.</p> + +<p>"Now," he asked her, "what can you tell us about that letter?"</p> + +<p>Wilton, his chest pressed so hard against the edge of the table that his +breathing moved his body, turned his swollen face upon her at last, his +eyes flaming under the thatch of his down-drawn brows.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brace, her high-shouldered, lean frame silhouetted against the +window, began, in a colourless, unemotioned tone:</p> + +<p>"As you know, Mr. Hastings, I thought this man Wilton owed me money, +more than money.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> I'd looked for him for twenty-six years. Less than a +year ago I located him here in Virginia, and I came to Washington. He +refused my requests. Then, he stopped reading my letters—sent them back +unopened at first; later, he destroyed them unread, I suppose."</p> + +<p>She cleared her throat lightly, and spoke more rapidly. The intensity of +her hate, in spite of her power of suppression, held them in a +disagreeable fascination.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid of him, afraid to confront him alone. I'd seen him kill a +man. But I was in desperate need. I thought, if my daughter could talk +to him, he would be brought to do the right thing. I suppose," she said +with a wintry smile, "you'd call it an attempt to blackmail—if he had +let it go far enough.</p> + +<p>"She wrote him a letter, on grey paper, and sent it, in an oblong, grey +envelope, to him here at Sloanehurst last Friday night. He got it +Saturday afternoon. If he hadn't received it, he'd never have been out +on the lawn—with a dagger he'd made for the occasion—at eleven or +eleven-fifteen, which was the time Mildred said in her letter she'd see +him there. She had added that, if he did not keep the appointment, she'd +expose him—his crime in Pursuit."</p> + +<p>"I see," Hastings said, on the end of her cold, metallic utterance, and +took from his pocket the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> flap of grey envelope. "Is this the flap of +that envelope; or, better still, are these fragments of words and the +word 'Pursuit' in your daughter's handwriting?"</p> + +<p>"I've examined them already," she said. "They are my daughter's +writing."</p> + +<p>Her lips were suddenly thick, taking on that appearance of abnormal +wetness which had so revolted him before.</p> + +<p>"And I say what you've just said!" she supplemented, her eyebrows high +upon her forehead. "Tom Wilton killed my daughter. And, when I went to +his office—I was sure then that he'd be afraid to harm me so soon after +Mildred's death—I accused him of the murder. He took it with a laugh. +He said I could look at it as a warning that——"</p> + +<p>"Wait!"</p> + +<p>The interruption came from Wilton.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to make a statement about this thing!" he ground out, his +voice coarse and rasping.</p> + +<p>Hastings hung upon him with relentless gaze.</p> + +<p>"What have you got to say?"</p> + +<p>"Much!" returned Wilton. "I'm not going to let myself be ruined on this +charge because of a mistake of my youth—mistake, I say! I'm about to +tell you the story of such suffering, such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> misfortune, as no man has +ever had to endure. It explains that tragedy in Pursuit; it explains my +life; it explains everything. I didn't murder that boy Dalton. I struck +in self-defence. But the twenty-nine wounds on his body——"</p> + +<p>He paused, preoccupied; he was thinking less of his hearers than of +himself. It was at that point, Hastings thought afterwards, that he +began to lose himself in the ugly enjoyment of describing his cruelty. +It was as if the horrors to which he gave voice subjected him to a +specious and irresistible charm, equipped him with a spurious courage, a +sincere indifference to common opinion.</p> + +<p>"There is," he said, "a shadow on my soul. My greatest enemy is hidden +in my own mind.</p> + +<p>"But I've fought it, fought it all my life. You may say the makeshifts +I've adopted, the strategy of my resistance, my tactics to outwit this +thing, do me little credit. I shall leave it to you to decide. Results +speak for themselves. I have broken no law; there is against me nothing +that would bring upon me the penalty of man's laws."</p> + +<p>He wedged himself more closely against the edge of the table, and struck +his left palm with his clenched right hand.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, Hastings, to have fought this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> thing, in whatever way, has +been a task that called for every ounce of strength I had. I've lived in +hell and walked with devils, against my will. Not a day, not a night, +have I been free of this curse, or my fear of it. There have been times +when, every night for months, my slumbers were broken or impossible! The +devilish thing reached down into the depths of sleep and with its foul +and muddy grasp poisoned even those clear, white pools—clear and white +for other men! But no matter——</p> + +<p>"You've heard of obsessions—of men seized every six months with an +irresistible desire to drink—of kleptomaniacs who, having all they need +or wish, must steal or go mad—of others driven by inexplicable impulse, +mania, to set fire to buildings, for the thrill they get out of seeing +the flames burst forth. Well, from my earliest childhood until that +moment when Roy Dalton attacked me, I had fought an impulse even more +terrible than those. God, what a tyranny! It drove me, drove me, that +obsession, at times amounting to mental compulsion, to strike, to stab, +to make the blood flow!"</p> + +<p>He rose, getting to his feet slowly, so that his burly bulk gained in +size, like the slow upheaval of a hillside. Swollen as his face had +been, it expanded now a trifle more. His nostrils <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>coarsened more +perceptibly. The puffiness that had been in the back of his neck +extended entirely around his throat. He hung forward over the table, +giving all his attention to Hastings, who was unmoved, incredulous.</p> + +<p>"The Brace woman will tell you I had to kill him," he proceeded more +swiftly, displaying a questionable ardour, like a man foreseeing defeat. +"The mistake I made was in running away—a bitter mistake! But those +unnecessary wounds, twenty-eight that need not have been made! The +obsession to see the blood flow drove me to acts which a jury, I +thought, would not understand. And, if you don't see the force of my +explanation, Hastings, if you don't understand, I shall be in little +better plight—after all these years!"</p> + +<p>He put, there, a sorrowful appeal into his voice; but a sly +contradiction of it showed faintly in his face, a hint that he took a +crafty pleasure in dragging into the light the depravity he had kept in +darkness for a lifetime.</p> + +<p>"I got away. I drifted to Virginia, working hard, studying much. I +became a lawyer. But always I had that affliction to combat; all my +life, man!—always! There were periods months long when devils came up +from the ugly corners of my soul to torture and tempt me.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p><p>"It wasn't the ordinary temptation, not a weak, pale idea of 'I'd like +to kill and see the blood!'—but an uproar, an imperial voice, an +endless command: 'Kill! Draw blood! Kill!'—What it did to me——</p> + +<p>"But to this day I've beaten it! I've been a good citizen. I've observed +the law. I've refused to let that involuntary lust for blood ruin me or +cast me out.</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you how. I decided that, if I had a hand in awarding just +punishments, my affliction would be abated enough for me to live in some +measure of security. There you have the explanation of my being on the +bench. I cheated the obsession to murder by helping to imprison or +execute those who did murder!</p> + +<p>"That's why I can tell you of my innocence of the Brace murder. Do you +think I'd tell it unless I knew there could be not even an excuse for +suspecting me? On the other hand, if I had kept silent as to the true +motive that drove my hand to those unnecessary mutilations of young +Dalton—the only time, remember, that my weakness ever got the better, +or the worse, of me!—if I had kept silent on that, you would have had +ground for suspecting me of a barbarous murder then, and, arguing from +that, of the Brace murder now.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>"Do I make myself clear?—Do you want me to go into further detail?"</p> + +<p>He sank slowly back to his chair, spent by the strain of supreme effort. +His breathing was laboured, stertorous.</p> + +<p>"That, Crown," Hastings denounced, "is a confession! Knowing he's +caught, he's got the insolence to whine for mercy because of his +'sufferings'! Think of it! The thing of which he boasts is the thing for +which he deserves death—since death is supposed to be the supreme +punishment. He tells us, in self-congratulatory terms, that he curbed +his inhuman longings, satisfied his lust for blood, by going on the +bench and helping to 'punish those who did murder!'</p> + +<p>"Too cowardly to strike a blow, he skulked behind the protection of his +position. He made of the judicial robe an assassin's disguise. On the +bench, he was free to sate his thirst for others' sufferings—adding to +a sentence five undeserved years here, ten there; slipping into his +instructions to juries a phrase that would mean the death penalty!</p> + +<p>"He revelled in judicial murders. He gloated over the helpless people +who, looking to him for justice, were merely the victims of his +abhorrent cruelty. He loved the look of sick surprise in their starting +eyes. He got a filthy joy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> out of seeing a man turn pale. He rubbed his +hands in glee when a woman swooned. He——"</p> + +<p>"I can't stand that—can't stand it!" Sloane protested, hands over his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"What more do you want, to prove his guilt, his abominable guilt?" +Hastings swept on. "You have the motive, hatred of this woman here and +her daughter—you have the proof of the letter sent to him making the +compulsory appointment—you have his own crazy explanation of his +homicidal impulse, from which, by the way, he never sought relief, a +queer 'impulse' since it gave him time, hours, to plan the crime and +manufacture the weapon with which he killed!"</p> + +<p>"I said at the start," Wilton put in hoarsely, "this man Hastings was +only theorizing. If he had anything to connect me with——"</p> + +<p>"I have!" Hastings told him, and came to a standstill in front of the +sheriff, bending over him, as if to drive each statement into Crown's +reluctant mind.</p> + +<p>"He got that letter a little after five in the afternoon. He left me +here, in this room, with Sloane and Webster, and was gone three-quarters +of an hour. That was just before dinner. He had the second floor, on +that side of the house, entirely to himself. He took a nail-file from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +Webster's dressing case, and in Webster's room put a sharper point on it +by filing it roughly with the file-blade of his own pen knife.</p> + +<p>"That's doubly proved: first, my magnet, with which I went over the +floor in Webster's room, picked up small particles of steel. Here they +are."</p> + +<p>He produced a small packet and, without unwrapping it, handed it to +Crown.</p> + +<p>"Again: you'll find that the file-blade of his knife retained particles +of the steel in the little furrows of its corrugated surface. I know, +because last Sunday, as your car came up the driveway, I borrowed his +knife, on the pretext of tightening a screw in the blade of mine. And I +examined it."</p> + +<p>He put up a silencing hand as Wilton forced a jeering laugh.</p> + +<p>"But there's more to prove his manufacture and ownership of the weapon +that killed the woman. He made the handle from the end of a slat on the +bed in the room which I occupied that night. The inference is obvious: +he didn't care to risk going outside the house to hunt for the wood he +needed; he wouldn't take it from an easily visible place; and, having +stolen something from one room, he paid his attention to mine. All this +is the supercaution of the so-called 'smart criminal.' It matches the +risk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> he took in returning to the body to hunt for the weapon. That was +why he was there when Webster found the body.</p> + +<p>"The handle of the dagger matches the wood of the slat I've just +mentioned. You won't find that particular slat upstairs now. It was +taken out of the house the next day, broken into sections and packed in +his bag of golf-sticks. But there is proof in this room of the fact that +he and he only made the dagger.</p> + +<p>"You'll find in the edge of the large blade of his penknife a nick, +triangular in shape, which left an unmistakable groove in the wood every +time he cut into it. That little groove shows, to the naked eye, on the +end of the shortened slat and on the handle of the dagger. If you doubt +it——"</p> + +<p>"Thunder!" Crown interrupted, in an awed tone. "You're right!"</p> + +<p>He had taken the dagger from his pocket and given it minute scrutiny. He +handed it now to Sloane.</p> + +<p>Wilton, watching the scene with flaming eyes, sat motionless, his chin +thrust down hard upon his collar, his face shining as if it had been +polished with a cloth.</p> + +<p>Sloane gave the dagger back to Crown before he spoke, in a wheezy, +shrill key: "They're there, the marks, the grooves!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p><p>He did not look at Wilton.</p> + +<p>Hastings straightened to his full stature, and looked toward Wilton.</p> + +<p>"Now, Judge Wilton," he challenged, "you said you preferred to answer +the accusation here and now. Do you, still?"</p> + +<p>Wilton, slowly raising the heavy lids of his eyes, like a man coming out +of a trance, presented to him and to the others a face which, in spite +of its flushed and swollen aspect, looked singularly bleak.</p> + +<p>"It's not an accusation," he said in his roughened, grating voice. "It's +a network of suppositions, of theories, of impossibilities—a crazy +structure, all built on the rotten foundation of a previous misfortune."</p> + +<p>"Arrest him, Crown!" Hastings commanded sharply.</p> + +<p>Wilton tried to laugh, but his heavy lips merely worked in a crazy +barrenness of sound. With a vague, clumsy idea of covering up his +confusion, he started to light a cigar.</p> + +<p>He stopped, hands in mid-air, when Crown, shambling to his feet, said:</p> + +<p>"Judge, I've got to act. He's proved his case."</p> + +<p>"Proved it!" Wilton made weak protest.</p> + +<p>"If he hasn't, let's see your penknife."</p> + +<p>Wilton put his hand into his trousers pocket,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> began the motion that +would have drawn out the knife, checked it, and withdrew his hand empty. +He managed a mirthless, dreary laugh, a rattling sound that fell, dead +of any feeling, from his grimacing lips.</p> + +<p>"No, by God!" he refused. "I'll give it to neither of you. I don't have +to!"</p> + +<p>In that moment, he fell to pieces. With his thick shoulders dropping +forward, he became an inert mass bundled against the table edge. The +blood went out of his face, so that his cheeks hollowed, and shadows +formed under his eyes. He was like the victim of a quick consumption.</p> + +<p>Crown's eyes were on Hastings.</p> + +<p>"That's enough," the old man said shortly.</p> + +<p>"Too much," agreed Crown. "Judge, there's no bail—on a murder charge."</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad," Mrs. Brace commented, a terrible satisfaction in her +voice. "He pays me—at last."</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>In the music room Dr. Garnet had just given Lucille and Hastings a +favourable report on Berne Webster's condition.</p> + +<p>"I should so like to tell him," she said, her glance entreating; "if +you'll let me! Wouldn't he get well much faster if he knew it—knew the +suspense was all over—that neither he nor father's suspected any more?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p><p>"I think," the doctor gave his opinion with exaggerated deliberation, +"it might—in fact, it really will be his best medicine."</p> + +<p>She thanked him, stars swimming in her eyes.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of No Clue, by James Hay + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO CLUE *** + +***** This file should be named 26396-h.htm or 26396-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/3/9/26396/ + +Produced by D Alexander, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +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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