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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75642 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                               FEATHERS
+                              LEFT AROUND
+
+
+
+
+                           _CAROLYN WELLS’_
+
+
+     _Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone, the great
+ American Detective, displays his remarkable ingenuity for unravelling
+                              mysteries_
+
+
+    FEATHERS LEFT AROUND
+    THE MYSTERY GIRL
+    THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
+    RASPBERRY JAM
+    THE DIAMOND PIN
+    VICKY VAN
+    THE MARK OF CAIN
+    THE CURVED BLADES
+    THE WHITE ALLEY
+    ANYBODY BUT ANNE
+    THE MAXWELL MYSTERY
+    A CHAIN OF EVIDENCE
+    THE CLUE
+    THE GOLD BAG
+
+
+    PTOMAINE STREET
+        A Rollicking Parody on a Famous Book.
+
+
+
+
+                               FEATHERS
+                              LEFT AROUND
+
+
+                                  BY
+                             CAROLYN WELLS
+           _Author of “Vicky Van,” “The Mystery Girl,” etc._
+
+
+
+
+                        PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
+                       J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
+                                 1923
+
+
+
+
+           COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY STREET AND SMITH CORPORATION
+             COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
+
+
+                  PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
+                    AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
+                        PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+                           TO MY DEAR FRIEND
+                             ADALA WILSON
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                                 PAGE
+
+ I. LITTLE ANNA                                            9
+
+ II. A CELEBRATED GUEST                                   28
+
+ III. THE TRAGEDY                                         46
+
+ IV. THE MEREDITH STORY                                   65
+
+ V. ROLY TAKES THE LEAD                                   84
+
+ VI. WHAT TESSIE SAW                                     103
+
+ VII. THE SISTER ARRIVES                                 121
+
+ VIII. LITTLE ANNA’S WILES                               140
+
+ IX. PAULINE’S GRIEF                                     160
+
+ X. CURRAN’S WATCH                                       179
+
+ XI. PAULINE’S FLIGHT                                    198
+
+ XII. WITH MARY MALDEN                                   217
+
+ XIII. HOW LOFT TOOK IT                                  236
+
+ XIV. FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS                             255
+
+ XV. THE NEEDLE AGAIN                                    274
+
+ XVI. CURRAN’S CRUELTY                                   293
+
+ XVII. ON TO MAPLEDALE                                   312
+
+ XVIII. THE TRUTH AT LAST                                331
+
+
+
+
+                         FEATHERS LEFT AROUND
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+
+                              LITTLE ANNA
+
+
+KNOX flung his book across the veranda.
+
+“Another of those old Sealed Room plots,” he complained, as his host,
+Valentine Loft looked up, mildly inquiring.
+
+“Man dead in an inaccessible room,” Knox went on, “doors and windows
+all locked, no weapon to be found; murder or suicide?--and how was it
+done--if any?”
+
+“The sort I like best,” and Loft looked interested. “I eat up Detective
+Stories, and I like better the How Was It Done? or the Who Did It? kind
+better than the Why?”
+
+“You’re dead wrong. The real interest of a murder story lies in the
+motive. That’s the thing.”
+
+“Nope. It’s the cleverness of the detail work. The art of the criminal.
+Now, if I were going to commit a murder....”
+
+“Heavens and earth, Val! What are you talking about? Drop it, any way,
+and listen to little Anna. I’ve thought up a name for this place.”
+
+“Number two thousand and six!” Loft groaned. “I pray Heaven may
+sometime send me a guest who does not requite my hospitality by
+offering me a ‘name for my place’!”
+
+The vivacious little blonde who had just come up on the terrace,
+accompanied by a big, good-natured looking man, sat on the arm of
+Loft’s chair, as she insisted on her suggestion.
+
+“You’ll like this, Val, though. It’s different from the Stonywolds and
+Ferndales that the herd invents. It’s Valhalla! There, how’s that?”
+
+“Rotten!”
+
+“Not a bit of it,--is it, Ned?” and Anna Knox appealed to her husband,
+whose talk with Loft she had interrupted.
+
+“Pretty good,” he responded; “I believe Valhalla means the place of
+departed spirits,--so, in a way, it’s appropriate!”
+
+“If you people stay much longer, mine will be entirely departed. But
+while I’ve a dram left,--I can take a hint.” Loft leaned over to touch
+a bell button.
+
+“Oh, Val, listen!” Anna went on. “It’s the name,--don’t you see?
+Valentine,--Val,--Hall,--Valhalla!”
+
+“I heard you the first time,” and Loft looked at her smilingly; “but,
+though I recognized the Val connection,--I didn’t get the Hall part
+till you explained it. Almost like a charade.”
+
+“You are the most aggravating thing!” and Mrs. Knox favored him with
+her best pout.
+
+Little Anna was one of the few perfect blondes Nature ever turned out.
+She needed no vanity-case, her face was like a Greuze pastel. Her
+shining hair, carelessly tucked up, nestled over her ears in loose,
+involuntary rings, not at all a rolled-up mass.
+
+Dainty of flesh and blood, she was always perfectly togged, and today,
+in her white knitted silk sport suit, she seemed a morsel that any man
+might greedily devour.
+
+Ned Knox looked at her adoringly, yet a trifle uneasily as she lounged
+nearer to Valentine Loft.
+
+“Come here, Anna,” he said, authoritatively, “come here and sit by me.”
+
+“Yes, dear, as soon as I make Val consent to my suggestion.”
+
+She lightly ran her fingers through the thick dark hair of Loft’s
+restless head.
+
+“Get out, Anna!” he growled; “get out! I’ll murder you!”
+
+“Come over here, Anna,” said Angel Bob Baldwin, the man who had arrived
+with her.
+
+Baldwin was a giant person of the Viking type, and by reason of his
+calm serenity and frequently upturned blue eyes was called Angel.
+
+“But I’ve had you all the afternoon,” Anna smiled; “I can have Ned all
+my life,--and I can only catch Val in an unoccupied moment, now and
+then, when Pauline doesn’t see me.”
+
+“Just for that, you’ve got to go,” and with a calm push, Loft gently
+dislodged her from her perch, whereupon, nothing dismayed, she went
+round and sat on the other arm of his chair.
+
+But Anna’s caprices were always smiled upon, and Loft offered her a
+cigarette.
+
+The veranda gave West, and the disappearing sun touched the flowers,
+the trees and Anna’s golden hair with a final blaze of glory. None of
+the three men could keep his eyes off her exquisite face, and though
+seemingly unconscious of this, she saw it, exultantly, and her vain
+little soul fairly lapped it up.
+
+The “place” of Valentine Loft was a small estate in Westchester County,
+more noticeable for its quiet taste and comfortable appointments than
+for grandeur. He had guests much of the time, and always a group of
+people over the week-ends.
+
+Yet, though up to now, a bachelor’s domain, Petticoat Rule was
+imminent, for in a few months Loft would marry Pauline Fuller, and into
+her capable hands would pass the household reins of government.
+
+But no gracious chatelaine could improve on the kindly courtesy or
+thoughtful hospitality of Valentine Loft.
+
+A good-looking chap of thirty-two, he was a man of varied interests
+and vocations. A lawyer first, but more or less of a dabbler in Real
+Estate, an architect of no small skill and a general financier. But his
+natural quickness of intellect and his achieved efficiency enabled him
+to have many irons in the fire, and keep them all hot. In his offices
+he was a General, commanding, inspiring, conquering. In his home, he
+was a delightful, debonair host, a man of the world, the flesh and the
+devil.
+
+One of his most endearing traits was a broad, sweet tolerance that
+forgave idiosyncrasies and even defects in others, making allowance
+for their unfortunate lack of mental or psychical equipment. Yet there
+were a few things he could not condone or forgive. On these points he
+was so positive as to seem stubborn.
+
+One of these was his attitude toward divorce. With the assuredness of
+the inexperienced, he held that once married was always married. So
+far did he carry this notion of his, that he rarely made friends of
+divorced people, and preferred not to meet them.
+
+Some had jestingly told him that after his own marriage he might change
+his mind, but his cold reception of these pleasantries forbade their
+repetition.
+
+His love for Pauline Fuller was the love of his life,--in it he had
+already put his whole soul, and Loft’s was not a fickle nature.
+
+Another fad of his was the value of inaction. He deplored waste motion,
+and held that far more was lost by effort than by restraint. A favorite
+maxim was: “Do nothing and all things will be done.” This he had picked
+up in a book somewhere, and frequently quoted it. Though such a code
+might be dangerous to a less executive brain, to Loft it was wise
+counsel.
+
+And seemingly, his plan worked. He seemed, indeed, to do nothing and
+yet, in his domain all things were done. His household mechanism was of
+the most smooth-running variety, and no incoming bride could hope to
+improve on it,--the most she might hope would be to keep it up to its
+present standards.
+
+With his calm foresight, Loft felt sure that Pauline would do this, or
+if she didn’t, she could be taught to.
+
+And now Pauline was under his roof, spending a blissful fortnight, made
+possible by the chaperonage of little Anna Knox.
+
+Though a few months younger than Pauline, Anna was a matron of
+three years’ standing, and so, thoroughly equipped for the office
+of chaperon. To be sure, Mrs. Ned Knox had her own notions of these
+duties, but her presence gave the conventional sanction to Pauline’s
+visit.
+
+Pauline, tall, dark, beautiful, came out from the house, pausing a
+moment in the doorway to lift her straight, heavy black eyebrows at
+Anna’s position.
+
+“You!” she exclaimed, “you grasping cormorant! You have all the men
+in the world, and yet you must needs reach out after my one little ewe
+lamb! You go and read your prayer-book where it says, ‘Keep my hands
+from picking and stealing’!”
+
+“I wasn’t hurting your lammie,” and Anna rose slowly from Loft’s chair
+arm, and went over to sit beside her husband. “Was I, Val?”
+
+“I didn’t know you were there,” Loft returned, looking surprisedly at
+her, as he rose to arrange a seat for Pauline, and Anna made a face at
+him.
+
+Tea was brought then, with other cups even more cheering, and as the
+shadows lengthened across the lawn and dusk began to fall, conversation
+lagged and there were frequent silences.
+
+“I’m asked down to Wyngate for the week-end,” Baldwin said.
+
+“You can’t go, Angel,” Loft told him quickly. “I’ve more guests coming,
+and you must help bore them to death.”
+
+“But they asked me, and they said they were going to have a lot of
+interesting people there.”
+
+“Contradiction of terms. Interesting people don’t come in lots. The
+other sort do.”
+
+“Why, Val, how you do make on!” cried Anna. “Haven’t we a group of
+interesting people right here now?”
+
+“No; Pauline is the only interesting one, and I wouldn’t except her
+only she’s my fiancée, and it seems as if I ought to.”
+
+“What a bear you are,” and Pauline glanced at him amusedly. She was
+taller and more slender than most girls, and possessed of a lithe grace
+that made one want to watch her every motion. Her coloring was very
+black and very white, save where a slight touch of rouge showed on
+either cheek. Her dark eyes were almost sad in repose, but brightened
+to shining light when she became animated. Her smile was fleeting and
+adorable, and the look she gave Loft was enough to turn any man’s head.
+
+“I’m awfully alone,” complained Angel Bob. “Here’s Pauline making eyes
+at Val, while he wriggles with delight. Here’s my little flirt Anna,
+gone back to her husband, and I’ve nobody to play with.”
+
+“Well you can’t run off for the week-end,” Val repeated. “I’ll import
+one or two pretty girls for you to flirt with, and I’ll allow Pauline
+and Anna to give you a daily dozen of their witching smiles and
+glances.”
+
+“Oh, Lord, don’t overdo it!” and Baldwin flung up his hands.
+
+“Pauline,” Anna said, “what do you think these men were talking about
+when Bob and I came suddenly upon them a few moments ago? Just as we
+reached them, Val was saying, ‘Now, when I commit my murder--’”
+
+“Hold hard, there, Anna,” Loft said; “I didn’t put it quite like that.
+You see I’ve not yet fully decided to do one. As a matter of fact, I
+was saying, if I were going to commit a murder--”
+
+“Well, what’s the difference? They’re both in the future tense.”
+
+“Finish your sentence, Val,” observed Pauline. “It sounds interesting.”
+
+“You see, Ned and I were discussing Detective Stories. We’re both fond
+of them.”
+
+“I thought nobody read them,” interrupted Bob, “except English Premiers
+and American Presidents. I assumed they were rather highbrow stuff.”
+
+“Anything Bob says is funny,” said Anna, and as he smirked
+complacently, she went on, “because he’s so funny looking.”
+
+Whereupon Baldwin really did look funny.
+
+“Go on, Val,” commanded Pauline.
+
+“Well, I’m always interested in the plans of the murderer. If I were
+one, I’d lay my plans and go about my work in such a careful and clever
+way, that the crime could never be brought home to me. It could never
+be discovered who did it.”
+
+“Then there wouldn’t be any Detective Story,” declared Mrs. Knox.
+“Moreover, Val, you couldn’t do that,--it would be impossible.”
+
+“On the contrary it would be dead easy,” contended Baldwin. “Why, I
+couldn’t kill anybody because I’m too soft-hearted, but if I did, I’d
+easily arrange it so it would be an insoluble mystery.”
+
+“It isn’t as easy as all that,” Loft said, slowly; “it’s possible, but
+difficult. You see, you have to guard against so many contingencies.
+And detectives are sharp chaps.”
+
+“In fiction,” said Bob.
+
+“In real life, too. Even if they don’t do the Sherlock act, they very
+often bring home the bacon. Anyway, that would have to be reckoned
+with.”
+
+“What method is most approved this year?” Pauline asked, composedly.
+
+“Strangling,” said Bob, promptly. “Strangling is neat, clean and cool.
+Needs no weapon, leaves no mark. Try our strangulation method, you
+will never use any other!”
+
+“That’s all very well for you, with muscles like pile-drivers and hands
+like clam-rakes!” Knox looked at his own small and neatly cared-for
+hands.
+
+He was a trifle undersized, but agile and athletic. In inverse
+proportion to his size his egotism was supreme, and he was opinionated
+and a bit cocky. His imagination was unlimited, and to its fullest
+scope he invented short stories which sold to the best magazines at the
+best prices.
+
+“And yet, Bob,” he went on, “I’d think your poetic soul would balk at
+strangling. It’s not really artistic, you know.”
+
+“What is?” asked Anna.
+
+“Shooting. That’s a gentleman’s method. Shoot your
+man,--quick,--ping!--all over.”
+
+“But the weapon?” said Loft, “how to conceal it?”
+
+“There’s where your cleverness gets in its fine work. I could do it. I
+could either cause the weapon to disappear,--or, with it, fasten the
+crime on another--oh, no, that way wouldn’t do,--they’d see through
+that,--well, then suppose--”
+
+Knox’s voice drifted to incoherent mutterings. He was thinking up and
+rejecting one plan after another so rapidly that language could not
+keep pace with his inventive mind.
+
+“He’s off,” said Loft, smiling. “He’s in the throes of composition. But
+he’s wrong, and so are you, Bob. Stabbing is the only thing. Then, you
+see,--”
+
+“Oh, yes, I know,” Bob growled. “Pick up the paper-cutter from the
+library table,--Florentine dagger sort of thing,--jab it in and leave
+it in the wound. Handkerchief wrapped round hand,--no fingerprints on
+aforesaid dagger. Butler down at seven A.M. Gives alarm--I always said,
+Val, you had no imagination. That’s the most hackneyed plot of all.”
+
+“Needn’t use paper cutter if you don’t want to,” said Loft,
+imperturbably. “Take dagger along, if you like. Or use jack-knife,--or
+carver,--or long clipping-shears.”
+
+“That’s new,” conceded Bob. “Clipping-shears are not hackneyed. Would
+you use ’em open or shut?”
+
+“An open and shut case,” said Knox, coming out of his reverie, but no
+one noticed him.
+
+“You’ve omitted the best way of all,” said Pauline, her slow smile and
+whimsical glance robbing her speech of horror. “That’s poison.”
+
+“Too hard to procure,” Knox said, thoughtfully. “Dramatic, in a
+way,--but not facile of achievement.”
+
+“Oh, stop this talk,” and Anna shuddered. “You give me the willies!”
+
+“Now, Anna, be reasonable,” Bob admonished her. “To our class of
+mentality,--and you said, yourself we were all interesting people,--no
+subject is taboo. Beside, you must be interested in these themes. It’s
+being done. Detective Fiction is no longer read solely by statesmen and
+College Professors. The movement has invaded the stage. Only sleuth
+plays are bought nowadays by our best managers.”
+
+“Don’t talk more than you want to, Angel,” Pauline said, kindly. “I’ll
+relieve you for a while. Why, yes, Ned, one can get poison easily
+enough.”
+
+“But how? Its sale is prohibited--”
+
+“But no prohibition ever really prohibited anything. It only makes it
+more difficult to come by--”
+
+“And therefore, more attractive,” suggested Loft. “I’m not surprised,
+though, Pauline, at your choice of method, for poison is preeminently
+a woman’s way. You girls couldn’t manage a shooting or a stabbing,
+nor, unless you’ve gone in strong for athletics, could you pull off a
+successful strangle,--but poison, now, ah, there you have it.”
+
+“There you don’t have it,” cut in Bob. “Notwithstanding Pauline’s
+jaunty assurance, I’ll bet no one of us interesting people here would
+know how to go about getting enough poison to kill a baby!”
+
+“Oh, you have to know the chemist, I suppose, or have a club chum
+who knows him,” Loft said; “of course, if I wanted poison I’d get
+it,--beyond all manner of doubt. But it implies premeditation and
+preparation and a certain intimacy with one’s victim, and then there’s
+always the vial to be disposed of.”
+
+“It might be a powder,” said Pauline.
+
+“You could eat the paper, if necessary,” added Bob. “The vial of course
+you couldn’t.”
+
+“More and better authors than ever are writing detective stories,
+aren’t they?” Knox said. “I believe I’ll try one.”
+
+“Short or long?”
+
+“Have to be short,--Never write books. I say, that Curran chap is doing
+some corkers.”
+
+“Hugh Curran? Indeed he is! I’ve just read his ‘Brick Walls’ and
+‘Mystery of the Monastery,’ and they’re all a first rate Detective
+story ought to be.” Bob spoke enthusiastically. “By Jove, I’d like to
+know that fellow.”
+
+“If you’ll be a good boy and stay here this week-end, I’ll invite him
+over,” said Loft, smiling.
+
+“Do you know him?” cried Anna. “Oh, do ask him! I never met a real
+author! Husbands don’t count,” and she flung a merry smile at Ned.
+“What’s he like, Valentine?”
+
+“I’ve only met him once,--at the Sports Club. But he seemed all there,
+and he’s a friend of the Gedneys and the Bowles’ so he must be righto.
+By the way, Angel, he’s a book collector of great wealth, so you can
+put a few over on him. Rich book collectors never know anything.”
+
+“Don’t they?” and Baldwin smiled.
+
+Though not a regular book dealer, Angel Bob was a connoisseur, and
+negotiated personal orders for exceedingly rare and very expensive
+works. He had bought and sold more than one Folio Shakespeare and
+Gutenberg Fragment to his own advantage as well as that of his
+satisfied clients.
+
+Imaginative, visionary, vague in many ways, Baldwin was of accurate
+and sure knowledge where Rares and Antiques were concerned. He loved
+the old books; the print, the paper, the bindings, all were of intense
+interest to him. He had bought several choice specimens for Loft, at
+attractive prices, and he had even sold a few things to Hugh Curran
+himself.
+
+Not under his own name. As a matter of business policy, Angel Bob
+thought it no harm to use the fictitious firm name of Baldwin and Co.
+
+But this was an open secret, and his friends often chaffed the Angel on
+his Trade. At which he good-naturedly smiled and continued his still
+hunt for special finds which he could buy for a song and sell for a
+chorus.
+
+“Tell us about him,--what’s he like?” begged Anna.
+
+“I didn’t notice him much,--it was a fortnight ago, before I’d read any
+of his books. It was at luncheon, and all I remember is that he salted
+every dish before he even tasted it.”
+
+“Poor compliment to the cook,” said Pauline; “he might at least taste
+first, and give her the benefit of the doubt.”
+
+“No,” Knox objected, “you don’t see it right, Pauly. I’m sure he
+requires more salt than the average man, so he puts it in first. That,
+to my mind, is more polite than to taste, and then add salt. That
+seems a reproof. The first is merely a precaution, knowing his own
+idiosyncrasy.”
+
+“Oh, Ned! You and your psycho-analysis!”
+
+“That isn’t psych anything. It’s imagination. Well, when we get Curran
+here we can ask him all about the best and cheapest modes of murder.
+By the way, I’ve heard that Curran isn’t his real name. What is,
+Valentine?”
+
+“I don’t know. I think I was told, too, but I’ve forgotten. Everybody
+calls him Curran or Hugh.”
+
+“He hasn’t been writing but a few years,--strange his pseudonym sticks
+to him so.”
+
+“He was a movie actor for a couple of years previous, I believe. He
+used the name of Hugh Curran there, too.”
+
+“I suppose few movie actors use their real names. What does he look
+like?”
+
+“Oh, tall, dark, holler-eyed, cadaverous, lantern-jawed,--”
+
+“I know what Val means!” giggled Anna, “he means he’s tired of the
+subject!”
+
+“Not quite that,” Loft denied, “but I don’t remember how he looked,--so
+I made him up. You’ll see him in a few days,--can’t you wait?”
+
+“I can,” Pauline said, quietly, “but I don’t see, dear, why you want a
+moving picture actor here.”
+
+“Oh, he isn’t that any more. He’s now a prominent novelist and a
+popular author. Quite different, I assure you!”
+
+“I’ll ask him to teach Neddie to write stories,” Anna declared, and
+returned her husband’s scowl by a friendly kiss.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                          A CELEBRATED GUEST
+
+
+VALENTINE LOFT was of most courteous even genial demeanor, but he also
+had an air of dictatorship about him that somehow made any request of
+his seem a command. And this with no loss of courtesy or geniality,
+but rather with a potency that made his hearer eager to accede to his
+wishes.
+
+The charm of Loft’s personality was a variable factor. When he chose to
+exercise it, few could withstand its lure, but when he elected to be
+aloof or indifferent, he was so unresponsive as to be almost repellent.
+
+It was with his most cordial smile that he said, “If you’ll come for
+the week-end, Mr. Curran, we’ll do all we can to entertain you, and I
+know you’ll entertain us.”
+
+“That’s fair enough,” and Hugh Curran smiled back at him. “But how do
+you know what will entertain me?”
+
+“Don’t. But we’ve all sorts and conditions of amusements over home,
+and I’m guessing you’ll be able to pick something to fit. Come, anyway.”
+
+Curran was not much given to accepting invitations to strange houses,
+for his ventures had not always proved satisfactory, but impelled by
+Valentine’s insistence he considered the question, gazing meanwhile at
+his would-be host.
+
+Hugh Curran was not at all the lean and lanky individual that Loft had
+jestingly pictured him. On the contrary, he was a bit thickset, though
+active and even athletic. His face was round and rosy, somewhat of the
+type of an English country squire, and his gray eyes had a humorous
+twinkle, though they were roving rather than straightforward.
+
+His hair was sandy and not very abundant. If he had been a movie actor
+he was certainly no film hero; his was probably a character part.
+
+“Many people there?” he asked, casually.
+
+“Ten or a dozen. One’s a Countess,--Russian.”
+
+“That doesn’t intrigue me. Go on. Anyone I know?”
+
+“Stella Lawrence? Psychic, ash-blonde--”
+
+“Pah! Go on.”
+
+“Mr. and Mrs. Jack Meredith--”
+
+“Don’t know ’em.”
+
+“Mrs. Ned Knox,--gay little married flirt, pretty as a poet’s
+dream,--Miss Pauline Fuller, my fiancée,--and that’s all the women.”
+
+“Men?”
+
+“Oh, come now,--aren’t you a bit of a fuss?”
+
+“No. Men?”
+
+“Well, Ned Knox,--chum of mine; Bob Baldwin, ditto.”
+
+“Baldwin, the book dealer?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I’ll come. I’m a collector, and he knows more about old books than any
+one I ever met.”
+
+“You know him, then?”
+
+“In a booky way. I’d like to talk books with him. I’ll come.”
+
+For once, Valentine Loft had a strange feeling of being favored by
+the visit of a guest. Usually it was the other way; but though the
+experience was novel it was not unpleasant. Indeed, he went so far
+as to say, “Thank you, I’m glad to have you. Come over in time for
+tea,--I’ll send for your duffle.”
+
+The interview had taken place at the Club house, and as the two men
+separated, a man sitting nearby turned to Loft with a quizzical look.
+
+“Surprised at you, old top!” he said, smiling. “Didn’t know
+tuft-hunting was among your sports.”
+
+“If I choose,” and Loft nodded indifferently. “But I asked him because
+the girls over at the house are crazy to meet him. And, too, he seems
+an interesting chap.”
+
+“Not that; but I know your whims, and Hugh Curran is a divorced man.”
+
+“He is! I didn’t know that! What’s his real name, by the way?”
+
+“Don’t remember,--Dyer or Dwyer, or something like that. He’s always
+called Hugh Curran. Like O. Henry, you know. Few know _his_ real
+name.”
+
+“I don’t care anything about his name, but I wish I’d known he was a
+divorced man. I’ve a prejudice--”
+
+“I know you have, but it’s a silly one. In this day and generation you
+have to accept divorce as you do the universe. You needn’t go in for it
+yourself, but you ought to respect the rights of those who do.”
+
+Jim Martin looked at Loft seriously. The men were good friends, and
+Martin was one of the few who ever presumed to reprove the autocrat.
+
+“Perhaps I’m morbid on the subject, but I can’t bring myself to treat
+it lightly.”
+
+“Don’t treat it at all. Leave it lay. And especially in Curran’s case.
+Why worry? He’s an author and a celebrity--”
+
+“Hardly that.”
+
+“Well, his detective stories are mighty popular, and that means
+celebrity nowadays. Anyway, he’s important enough to have his personal
+affairs let alone.”
+
+“All right, I don’t propose to discuss the thing with him. I’m sorry I
+asked him to my house, but it’s done now, and can’t be helped. At any
+rate he’s presentable.”
+
+Loft went home, rather disgusted with himself for not having further
+investigated Curran’s affairs before giving him an invitation. But
+since it couldn’t be helped, he dismissed it from his mind.
+
+“Is he coming?” cried Anna from the veranda, as Loft appeared.
+
+“Yes, tonight,--he’ll stay till Monday. Don’t bowl him over completely,
+Anna.”
+
+“Why not?” and the seraph face looked innocently inquiring. “What’s he
+look like, Val?”
+
+“Elderly, stooping, rather rheumatic and with long white whiskers.”
+
+“Nonsense! You told a different story yesterday.”
+
+“And neither is true,” Ned Knox said. “Wait till you see him, Anna.
+He’s not nearly so good-looking as your own legitimate husband.”
+
+“Nobody is,” and Little Anna beamed on the man who adored her so. “But
+I suppose he’s a man of genius.”
+
+“They’re terrors,” observed Angel, from a swing in the corner of the
+porch, where he sat idly looking over one of Curran’s books. “I’ve read
+Lombroso, and a man of genius is the most awful brute on the face of
+the earth.”
+
+“Heavenly!” cried Anna, “I love brutes! But why are men of genius ’em?”
+
+“Because their brains hover between achievement and insanity. Don’t you
+know, ‘Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions
+thought from sense divide.’ Pope.”
+
+“You’re in no danger of dementia, then,” and Anna smiled kindly on him.
+“But all insane people aren’t brutes. Some are quite gentle.”
+
+“What delightful subjects you choose for discussion,” and Pauline
+came toward them. She usually was the last one to arrive as the group
+gathered for tea. Anna spitefully said it was to create a sensation
+by her appearance, but Pauline had replied that she always did that
+anyway. Whereupon Anna had sulked.
+
+Pauline did, however, always command attention. Without effort, she
+seemed to dominate the rest, and though Anna was more beautiful from
+an artist’s standpoint, yet a poet would find greater inspiration in
+Pauline’s dark eyes and sensitive face than in Anna’s pink and white
+Bisque beauty.
+
+The two girls were not friends, although convention kept them kindly
+courteous. They had little in common, and were rarely alone together.
+
+Yet both looked forward to the coming of the stranger. Anna, because he
+would be a new man to flirt with and an important one, Pauline because
+of a curiosity to see what he was like.
+
+The house guests already arrived, flocked to the terrace where tea
+would be served.
+
+A notable arrival was the Countess Galaski.
+
+Unpretentious of appearance, the titled Russian was a general
+favorite. Sharp-tongued and sharp-witted, she yet had a superabundant
+sense of humor, and beneath all a kind heart. She jollied the men,
+admonished the women, took always the best of everything for herself,
+and was always happy.
+
+“How are you?” she cried, looking about inclusively, as she stepped
+through the doorway. “I am here! Angel, the best chair! Valentine, a
+foot cushion! Pauline, you have gone off in your looks! Fie, fie! Anna,
+I will not speak to you,--you are too beautiful. Come here, and kiss
+me.”
+
+“Who, me?” inquired Knox, rushing to her.
+
+“Yes, bad man, you!” she held up her rouged cheek for a somewhat
+crestfallen caress from Knox, who had expected rebuff. But the Countess
+never did the expected.
+
+Then Stella Lawrence trailed in. Stella was the sort who always trails
+in preference to any other means of locomotion. Though her skirts
+did not quite touch the ground, there were ends of chiffon, floating
+draperies and a long filmy scarf that trailed along the floor behind
+her.
+
+Green-eyed, ash-blonde, pale, thin, willowy, she paused back of the
+chair of the rather robust and florid countess, well knowing the value
+of the contrast.
+
+“Get away!” Countess Galaski screamed. “Get away, you and your
+Burne-Jonesiness! I can’t stand the comparison!”
+
+“Indeed you can, Countess,” Anna declared, cattily. “It makes you look
+awful wholesome and real.”
+
+“In for a high old time, ain’t we?” whispered Roly Mears to Pauline.
+
+This delightful young man was very young and very incorrigible.
+
+He said what he chose, and though, having never met a countess before,
+he was not a bit scared of her, it was dawning on him that they might
+yet become cronies.
+
+“You behave yourself, Roly,” Pauline returned. “There’s mischief in the
+air. Anna’s on her high horse--”
+
+“And Stella’s full of the devil, and if Friend Countess puts up a
+chattering, there’ll be fireworks.”
+
+“Hush, here are the Merediths.”
+
+The Merediths were scarcely worth hushing for, being the colorless pair
+that seem to infest house-parties unavoidably.
+
+Comfortably middle-aged, inconspicuous of dress, pleasantly chatty of
+manner, the two melted into the group and were lost to notice.
+
+And then Hugh Curran came.
+
+Though nearly everyone present would have scorned to admit any awe of
+the celebrity, yet a slight hush fell as the author greeted his host.
+
+The Countess stared openly. Anna donned her coyest smile, and Stella
+Lawrence fell quickly into what she deemed her most fetching pose.
+
+Roly Mears stopped short in the middle of a funny story and even
+Pauline, who was presiding at the table, allowed the cup she was
+filling to run over.
+
+Graceful and at ease, Hugh Curran moved about until he was made
+acquainted with all, and then looking around a bit deliberately, chose
+a seat by the Countess.
+
+Roly Mears, cup in hand, joined them.
+
+“I say, Mr. Curran,” he began, “I’ve read your books,--I think they are
+fine--”
+
+“Roly, you baby,” the Countess cried; “that isn’t the way to talk to a
+real author. That’s only for the little upstarts who like to hear about
+their ‘published works.’ Mr. Curran is above and beyond that sort of
+thing.”
+
+“Thank you, Countess,” said the author, gratefully; “if you can
+manage it, I’d like you to travel round with me and make that speech
+everywhere, just before I arrive.”
+
+“I ought to be chagrined,” Roly admitted, “but I’m not. I’m
+fascinated,--with both of you. What are you going to talk about, Mr.
+Curran? Politics?”
+
+“No, indeed,” and Hugh Curran smiled. “I’m not going to talk at all.
+I’m going to listen.”
+
+“To me,” said Ned Knox, joining them. “You needn’t talk about your own
+books, Mr. Curran, but do settle a vexed question we were discussing
+the other day. Is motive or method a more important factor in a
+detective story?”
+
+Curran looked a bit bored, but answered with evident patience.
+
+“I think that is entirely a matter of opinion with both author and
+reader. Some are more interested in one, some in the other.”
+
+“After all there are only three motives,” Meredith said, sententiously,
+“greed, revenge and love.”
+
+He had quite evidently heard or read this statement, and pronounced it
+as a great truth.
+
+“Haven’t you omitted an important one?” asked Curran, quietly. “Isn’t
+fear sometimes an impelling motive?”
+
+“Fear? Of what?”
+
+“Fear of harm from the victim, fear of revelation of a secret,--”
+Curran let his gaze wander round the room. Clearly, he was not
+interested in this talk.
+
+He looked at his beautiful hostess. Pauline sat still at the tea table,
+her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes, with a far away look gazing out
+of the window, across the lawn. She, too, was uninterested.
+
+Angel Bob, pacing up and down the terrace, was listening.
+
+“I’ve no use for detective stories,” the Countess said, bluntly; “I
+detest them. A good old fashioned love story for me. But, if I do
+read a murder yarn, what I like best is the finding of those funny
+little clues. Cigarette stubs, with the criminal’s monogram; a broken
+cuff-link, an initialled handkerchief,--ah, those are the things that
+you can’t get along without,--eh, Mr. Curran?”
+
+“They are certainly useful,” he smiled. “But of late years we try to do
+without the broken cuff-link or the dropped handkerchief.”
+
+“Is that what you call circumstantial evidence?” Stella Lawrence
+trailed over to the novelist. “Just what is circumstantial evidence,
+Mr. Curran?”
+
+She put the question as one of magnificent import. Stella was like
+that. She cared nothing at all for detective fiction, but if she asked
+a question concerning it, she fully expected detailed information.
+
+She got it.
+
+“It’s this way, Miss Lawrence,” Curran said, his tone a bit
+patronizing. “I’ll illustrate it by an anecdote. An old darkey was
+arrested for stealing chickens, and he was convicted on circumstantial
+evidence. ‘What’s circumstantial evidence?’ a neighbor asked him.
+‘Well,’ he said, ’ez near ez I kin splain it f’um de way it’s been
+splained to me, circumstantial evidence is de feathers dat you leaves
+lyin’ roun’ after you has done wid de chicken.’ That, Miss Lawrence, is
+practically what circumstantial evidence is. Or, rather, the clues that
+detectives set so much by, are merely feathers left around.”
+
+“Oh, how graphic!” and Stella clasped her hands delightedly; “and how
+wonderfully well you do dialect. Are you a Southerner, Mr. Curran?”
+
+“No,” he returned, “I’m from Indiana.”
+
+“Of course,” exclaimed Roly Mears, “where else could a real author come
+from?”
+
+But Curran made no reply. Again his glance roved toward Pauline, who,
+though not yet chatelaine in name, assumed the position of hostess.
+
+She raised her eyes and met his and quickly looked down again. Pauline
+had not the heedless effrontery of Anna, nor yet the calm poise of
+Countess Galaski.
+
+Mrs. Meredith, the busybody! sitting next to Pauline, whispered,
+roguishly. “Don’t be so embarrassed, my dear, because a stranger shows
+his admiration. You are looking unusually lovely today.”
+
+Whereupon Pauline blushed almost vividly, and the perspicacious Hugh
+Curran smiled.
+
+“Will you take me on at croquet, Stella?” asked Mears, “you can trail
+round at that in those swishy draperies very effectively. And you
+couldn’t golf or bowl or tennis in them.”
+
+“Yes, Roly,--get two more--”
+
+“No; I want you all to myself.”
+
+“Is that the way one does here?” asked Curran, quickly. “Then, Miss
+Fuller, will you walk with me,--and may I have you all to myself?”
+
+“You may not!” and Valentine Loft spoke decidedly. “But, perhaps Mr.
+Curran, you do not know that Miss Fuller is my fiancée. I allow no man
+to have her ‘all to himself.’”
+
+“And quite right,” Curran bowed. “Pardon me if I was indiscreet. Mrs.
+Knox, will you walk with me--round the gardens?”
+
+“All to yourself?” and Anna tilted her head and smiled up from under
+her long lashes.
+
+“Yes,--if your husband will allow--”
+
+“He doesn’t allow me anything,--except a quarterly. I’m a twentieth
+century wife, and I do my own sweet will. Come along, Mr. Curran.
+Good-by, Ned.” She tossed her husband a kiss, and turned toward the
+steps.
+
+Angel Bob Baldwin followed her.
+
+“I’m with you two,” he announced, cheerfully. “I’m the three that makes
+the crowd.”
+
+“Come on, Mr. Baldwin,” said Curran, so heartily that Anna bit her lip
+in annoyance. Had she then, made no impression on the lion’s heart?
+
+Her annoyance increased as they proceeded along the garden paths, for
+save for an occasional and almost perfunctory speech to her, the two
+men talked continuously of rare books and their authors.
+
+“You’re still collecting Incunabula?” Baldwin asked, and Curran
+replied in enthusiastic affirmative.
+
+Then the talk touched upon Elzevirs and Bodinis, on Kelmscott Press and
+Doves Bindery, until Anna rebelled.
+
+“You must either stop that Choctaw,” she decreed, “or take me back to
+the house! I won’t be brought out here in this rose-scented dusk by two
+good-looking men, and have the talk entirely over my head! You ought to
+be ashamed! It isn’t done!”
+
+There was a pathetic note in her voice, a hint of tears, and each man
+felt guilty. Immediately they dropped the subject of books; Curran
+forbore to mention the work that he was about to discuss, and Angel
+deferred the account of a rare bargain he had lately acquired, till
+some more convenient time.
+
+“Tell us all about yourself, Mr. Curran,” Anna said, by the way of a
+starter. “Are you engaged to be married?”
+
+“No, indeed, why should I be?”
+
+“Foolish question, Number 1008! Why should you not be? You are
+depriving some nice girl of a perfectly good husband.”
+
+“Oh, I’m not perfectly good,--I’m indifferent bad. And, too, I’ve been
+married once.”
+
+“You have! Oh,” Anna’s voice became very tender, “forgive me. Has she
+been dead long?”
+
+“She isn’t dead at all. Did you never hear of Reno?”
+
+“I have--indirectly. So that’s the way it is.”
+
+“I say, Curran,” and Angel Bob looked at him earnestly, “does Loft know
+this?”
+
+“I don’t know, I’m sure. Probably he does,--it’s no secret. Why?”
+
+“Only that he has had a special, almost an abnormal hatred of divorce
+and of divorced people. As a friend, let me ask of you not to say
+anything on the subject to him.”
+
+“I shan’t purposely,--certainly. But what a queer notion. One might as
+well have a prejudice against blue-eyed men,--or against maple trees.
+Statistics prove--”
+
+“Oh, we know all that,” said Anna, impatiently, “and it isn’t a
+question of divorce at all. It’s a question of humoring Val’s whims.
+And I don’t mind telling you that your stay here will be a whole lot
+pleasanter if you don’t touch on that subject.”
+
+“I surely agree. Any other subject taboo?”
+
+“Not by him,” Anna assured him. “But if you care to consider poor
+little me, I’ll beg of you not to talk collecting _all_ the time.
+Something tells me that when you all get started, say after dinner,
+tonight, you’ll begin by looking over Val’s collections,--he hoards
+lots of things beside books and you’ll talk antiques and curios and
+bindings and such things--and I do hate ’em so!”
+
+“Never mind, Little Anna, if they begin on that, I’ll take you off
+somewhere in the moonlight and flirt with you.”
+
+Angel looked into her eyes with a glance that was not all make-believe.
+
+“I appreciate that, Bob, for I know the old things interest you, too.”
+
+“Only the books, Anna. I don’t care a rap for Val’s Egyptian stuff--or
+Mexican. I do care for books though.”
+
+“And you hate to see them maltreated, eh, Mr. Baldwin?” Curran looked
+at him quizzically. “You’d hate to see a rare old volume torn or
+injured, wouldn’t you?”
+
+“It would be sacrilege,” Angel said, emphatically.
+
+“Imagine tearing out a leaf!” and Curran almost shuddered.
+
+“Why, who would do such a thing as that?” cried Baldwin.
+
+“The subject is taboo, remember,” and then Curran addressed himself to
+Anna.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+
+                              THE TRAGEDY
+
+
+DINNER at Valhalla that night was a brilliant affair.
+
+Anna’s name for the place had caught on, and Loft began to like it as
+he heard it used by his guests.
+
+Anna, as chaperon, graced the head of the table, and Curran sat at
+her right hand. This left Pauline for Loft’s guest of honor, and as
+she took her place beside him, he thought she had never looked more
+beautiful. Her great dark eyes seemed brighter than usual and her
+cheeks showed a flush that was quite obviously not rouge. She wore
+black, her only ornament a long slender neck-chain of small bright
+diamonds. She was in vivacious, almost perverse mood, quite unusual for
+the calm, gracious Pauline.
+
+Anna, tonight, was demure and coy. She set herself the task of
+subjugating Hugh Curran, and so far as she could see she was putting it
+over.
+
+Yet the man was tricky, she could see that, and more than likely, she
+thought, his devotion was insincere.
+
+Though commonplace looking, Curran had an air of easy superiority that
+made him almost distinguished. But his round red face and sparse sandy
+hair precluded all pretension to good looks.
+
+Countess Galaski was gorgeous. Robed in white satin, glittering
+with jewels and autocratic of manner, she appropriated the best of
+everything, was rude to everybody, and yet somehow charmed all by her
+gay naïveté.
+
+Stella wore especially long and diaphanous draperies, of pale green and
+silver, and looked more than ever like the Blessed Damosel.
+
+On the whole Loft had a right to feel proud of his guests, for aside
+from their appearance they were a group of mentally alert and even
+original talkers.
+
+But when the Countess began to expatiate on her marvelous collection of
+miniatures, Anna gayly called a halt.
+
+“Countess, darling,” she said, “we beg of you to don’t. Mr. Curran is a
+book collector and he’s crazy to talk Black Letters, or whatever they
+are, with Angel Bob, who is an Old Book Fiend too. Val, of course,
+collects everything, from books to old bandboxes, and I believe Mrs.
+Meredith collects postcards. But they’ve all promised not to talk
+Collect at the table. So, be goody-girl, Countess dear, and drop your
+miniatures.”
+
+“Oh, very well,” and the Countess smiled at Little Anna, “the loss is
+yours not mine. But I have to talk. I’ll tell you about--”
+
+“Wait a minute,” the incorrigible Roly dared to interrupt her, “since
+we have Mr. Curran here, and Lord knows when I’ll ever get a chance at
+him again, let’s talk Detective Stories. We all love ’em.”
+
+“Not all of us,” Anna dissented; “but you may talk on that subject for
+fifteen minutes, Roly. After that, I shall choose the theme.”
+
+“To go back to a discussion we had the other day,” Angel Bob began,
+“what do you think the best and finest method of murder, Mr. Curran?”
+
+Mrs. Meredith gave a little gasp at this, and her husband looked
+shocked.
+
+But Curran took it as a matter of course.
+
+“Each method has its advantages,” he began. “And too, much depends on
+the criminal. If he has any surgical training, stabbing is indicated,
+if he has a good aim, shooting is better. An athlete would, of course,
+strangle.”
+
+“And a woman would give poison,” said Pauline, slowly.
+
+“Yes,” and Hugh Curran looked at her, “yes, a woman probably would.”
+
+“If this conversation keeps up,” Mrs. Meredith spoke hysterically, “I
+shall have to leave the table.”
+
+“Don’t be a fool, Madame!” exclaimed the Countess. “If you would read
+De Quincey’s essay on Murder As A Fine Art, you would learn that the
+greatest minds are willing to discuss such matters. One does not have
+to be a spook to discuss Spiritualism!”
+
+“Spiritualism is a decent subject,” Mr. Meredith said; “whereas, murder
+is, or should be, outside the pale of our thoughts.”
+
+“Well, you have to be dead before you can be a spirit,” the Countess
+returned, “and if one is unfortunate enough to be murdered, there’s no
+reason why those still alive shouldn’t talk about it.”
+
+“I’m for strangling,” Baldwin said; “then there’s no weapon,--no
+‘feathers left around,’ you see. Also, granting one _wants_ to
+kill a man, what a pleasure it must be to feel one’s fingers on his
+throat,--tightening, closing in--tighter,--a gasp--”
+
+Angel Bob, in mischievous mood, portrayed his speech in dumb show, with
+such realism that Mrs. Meredith shrieked and rose from the table.
+
+“Sit down” commanded the Countess, in ringing tones, and Mrs. Meredith
+sat down.
+
+“I’d shoot,” and Ned Knox, picking up the theme, acted the part of an
+intruder, taking aim at an unsuspicious victim. He chose Loft for his
+purpose, and aimed a fork carefully at his right temple.
+
+“But I can see you,” Loft objected.
+
+“Turn your head away, then,” Knox counselled.
+
+“Shooting has disadvantages,” Curran said, musingly. “There’s the
+noise.”
+
+“Silencer,” returned Knox.
+
+“Not always practicable. Then, there’s the weapon.”
+
+“Easy enough to dispose of,” Knox laughed, “except in fiction, where it
+is needed as a clue,--if it has initials on it, or is one of a pair.”
+
+“Righto!” and Curran laughed appreciatively. “I’m glad to learn how you
+readers are on to our hackneyed tricks. Stabbing is a good way--”
+
+“Yes,” Loft agreed; “with the library paper-cutter. Used to be an old
+Italian dagger, and the victim many times said it ought not to be left
+around, as it was a suggestion and a temptation to any murderous-minded
+bystander.”
+
+“Oh, Lord, you know all the tricks of the trade!” Curran sighed in mock
+despair. “I confess it’s hard to get a novelty for a story nowadays.”
+
+“But it’s easy to murder,” said Bob.
+
+“It isn’t,” contended Loft; “it’s possible, but it’s a delicate and
+difficult affair to put over artistically. I’m not talking of yeggs and
+gunmen.”
+
+“Except for them, it’s impossible.” Ned Knox averred. “I don’t propose
+to try it for that reason. I know I’d fail.”
+
+“Of course you would,” and Anna giggled. “If you could put it over,
+you’d have tried it on me long ago. I’ve given you sufficient
+provocation, I know. Anyway, time’s up,--No more murder talk. Now,
+we’ll discuss Mr. Curran. How do you all like him?”
+
+“Top hole!” cried Roly Mears. “But I want to know more about him. What
+does he eat for breakfast? What--”
+
+“Wait till morning and you’ll find that out,” Loft interrupted. “I want
+to know his real name. No secret, is it, Mr. Curran?”
+
+“Not a bit. I had another name, but I lost it, somehow. It’s my
+besetting sin,--to lose things. I lost my wife, then I lost my
+ambition. I found that again, though. But mostly I lose material
+things. I can’t keep a pencil or a rubber or a sheet of paper, no
+matter how many I buy. I’m just naturally untidy. My room always looks
+like Broadway the day after Election night. My brushes just won’t stay
+on my dresser; my clothes crawl out of their wardrobes and drawers. I
+can’t help it,--are you like that, Miss Fuller?”
+
+Apparently he addressed Pauline because she was looking at him
+intently, seemingly interested in his tale of his personal derelictions.
+
+“N--no,” she replied, looking startled at being thus spoken to. “I
+don’t think so,--I--I never thought about it.”
+
+“Goodness, Pauline,” said Anna, staring at her, “don’t take it so
+seriously. I can vouch for your tidiness. I never knew a girl who kept
+her top bureau drawer in order as well as you do.”
+
+“That is a sure test,” declared the Countess. “I’ll bet Miss Lawrence’s
+is a kaleidoscope of laces and ribbons, gloves and handkerchiefs.”
+
+“It is!” said Stella, good-naturedly. “And I want it so--With my
+temperament, I couldn’t be methodical or systematic or anything like
+that. Fate rules me--”
+
+“And you leave it to Fate to clear up your bureau drawers,” said Roly,
+laughing. “Good idea, so do I.”
+
+“I don’t,” said Mrs. Meredith primly, but no one seemed to care deeply.
+
+The Merediths were out of place, but had been asked because of some
+social obligation of Loft’s. They were shocked several times during
+dinner, but perhaps Mrs. Meredith’s sensibilities were most greatly
+jarred, when, leaving the dining room, she chanced to overhear Hugh
+Curran ask the butler for a toothpick.
+
+The capable Binns didn’t allow himself to be jarred, but he was
+bothered, for the request caught him unprepared. However, he quickly
+bethought himself of the tiny Japanese wooden toothpicks that the cook
+used to pin rolled morsels and he soon supplied the distinguished guest.
+
+Angel Bob noticed the incident and was more amused at Mrs. Meredith’s
+disdain than at Curran’s unconventionality.
+
+The party broke up into smaller groups.
+
+Anna seized upon Curran, who went, nothing loath, with her to see the
+moonlight from the upper terrace.
+
+Loft and Pauline went for a stroll in the rose garden; Roly Mears set
+himself to tease Stella and to please the Countess, succeeding well
+with both.
+
+As it neared bedtime, all gathered for good-nights in the library.
+
+“Tomorrow,” said Curran, as he looked at the filled shelves, “I want to
+spend the morning in here. You have wonderful treasures, Mr. Loft, and
+I anticipate joyous hours with them.”
+
+“I am clairvoyant, Mr. Curran,” Stella said, looking at him dreamily,
+“and I can read your soul.”
+
+“Good Heavens, don’t, Miss Lawrence! It’s not fit reading for a young
+girl!”
+
+“But I’m not like other girls,” Stella was determined to have her
+innings, “I’m apart,--alone.”
+
+“Yes?” said Curran, not thinking of anything better to say.
+
+“Yes. And in your soul I read a longing for all that is beautiful and
+good--”
+
+“I like them beautiful,--I’m not so insistent on the good,” and Curran
+smiled. This line of talk always bored him.
+
+“Things, I mean, not people. Oh, I can read you, Mr. Curran.”
+
+“And I can read you, Miss Lawrence. I’m clairvoyant, myself.”
+
+“Oh, are you?” cried the Countess. “Read us all, won’t you? I don’t
+care for Stella’s foolishness,--you shut up, Stella.”
+
+“Want a table?” asked Loft, “or any paraphernalia?”
+
+“Oh, I’m not a parlor Magician,” Curran protested. “I don’t know
+anything about legerdemain or hocus-pocus. But I have a natural gift of
+reading minds.”
+
+“Don’t do it!” exclaimed Roly Mears. “If these people know what I’m
+thinking they’d never speak to me again!”
+
+“You’re joking,” said Curran, “but there are some really quaking in
+their shoes, lest I tell something they don’t want told.”
+
+“I know!” said the Countess, “it’s Mrs. Meredith! I always suspected
+she led a double life! Well, much as I want to know the truth about
+it, I beg of you, Mr. Curran, don’t tell it all out in public.”
+
+Mrs. Meredith blushed angrily, but said nothing. She had learned it was
+better not to irritate Countess Galaski.
+
+“Go on,” urged Anna. “Tell us something to prove your powers. I hate
+people who say they can do things and then do nothing at all!”
+
+“Yes,” said the Countess, “go on! Tell anything you like about me.”
+
+“Very well,” said Curran, “you’re thinking that you wish you had worn
+your old slippers after all, for the new ones are a bit tight and they
+do pinch.”
+
+“You’re perfectly right!” and the Countess joined in the general
+merriment. “But that isn’t clairvoyance. I’ve had my face screwed up
+with pain all the evening!”
+
+“Well, how’s this, then? In the mind of one of you is a most
+disquieting thought, which I may suggest by _Black Pansy_.”
+
+“That’s me!” said Ned Knox, as Curran waited for some response. “I’ve a
+lot of stock in that mine, and unless she picks up soon, I’ll probably
+start ‘Over the hills to the poorhouse!’”
+
+“How did you know it, though?” and Anna looked at Curran, incredulously.
+
+“Clairvoyance,” replied Curran, not caring to say that he had seen a
+newspaper thrown down, with a marked notice about the mine.
+
+“Also,” he went on, “as I look around, I feel vibrations from others of
+you.”
+
+He glanced from one face to another, all breathlessly watching him.
+
+“If I should say,” he spoke very slowly, “if I should say
+_Rosalie_--would I reflect the word in anybody’s mind?”
+
+A dead silence followed.
+
+Removing their regard from Curran, one looked at another, but no one
+spoke.
+
+Nor did any one look especially self-conscious. Loft looked inquiring,
+Angel looked bewildered. The women looked merely interested, except
+Pauline, who seemed bored. She moved restlessly, and stared hard at
+Curran.
+
+“Right,” Curran said; “it’s better not to recognize the reference.” He
+nodded his head as in satisfaction.
+
+“Suppose I say, ‘_Mr. S._’” he went on. “Is he in any one’s
+thoughts?”
+
+Again the silence fell.
+
+Anna, frankly curious, glanced quickly from one to another. From
+the faces, as she read them, the reference might mean something to
+Valentine Loft or to Bob Baldwin. On the other hand, they might look
+disturbed, as they both did, merely from interest in the proceedings.
+
+“Oh, well,” Curran resumed, “I see, the people who recognize my
+allusions prefer not to say so. I don’t blame them. Now, Mrs. Knox,
+shall I tell what’s in your mind? Shall I mention the name of--”
+
+“No!” screamed Anna, “no! If you do, I’ll kill you!”
+
+But she told her husband afterward that she only said this to make a
+sensation.
+
+“Then,” said Curran, “I’ll read Miss Lawrence’s mind. Last night Miss
+Lawrence dreamed--”
+
+“Stop!” Stella cried, her eyes staring; “if you dare divulge that
+dream--”
+
+Curran smiled. He had made a stab in the dark, feeling sure that the
+psychic Stella, would always be dreaming and interpreting her dreams
+according to Freud.
+
+“Guess we’ve had enough of this sort of thing,” and Loft rose. “Don’t
+trouble yourself, Mr. Curran, to read my mind, I can read it for
+myself.”
+
+“Nothing startling in it just now,” Curran said; “but there will
+be soon. I’m slightly prophetic as well as clairvoyant, and I
+prognosticate a lot of surprising, even tragic thoughts for your mind
+soon.”
+
+“All right, I’ll go to bed and sleep while the sleeping’s good, then,”
+and Loft inaugurated good-nights, and the party dispersed.
+
+By next morning Loft had forgotten the irritation he felt at Curran’s
+strange speech, and after his breakfast he went to the library to await
+the coming of his guest to talk books.
+
+The women breakfasted in their rooms, the men dropping into the
+breakfast room whenever they pleased.
+
+Loft was down first, but was soon joined by Angel and Ned Knox, both of
+whom wanted to hear Curran discourse on the subject of rare books.
+
+“Keep your ears open, Bob, and find out what he wants,” advised Loft.
+“You ought to be able to make a sale or two.”
+
+“Hope so,” Bob assented. “He wants only Incunabula, though, and that’s
+not so easy come by just now.”
+
+But the hours passed, and no sign of Hugh Curran.
+
+At last, Loft, looking at the clock, said, “I’m annoyed. I have to go
+over to the Club before luncheon, and the time is growing short. I’ve a
+notion to send for Curran. I don’t believe he’s still asleep.”
+
+The butler was despatched to learn as to this, and was directed to be
+discreet.
+
+Discretion itself, Binns returned to say that he could hear no sound
+from Mr. Curran’s room and that though he had softly tried the door, it
+was locked.
+
+They waited another half hour, and then Loft said, nervously, “You
+don’t suppose anything has happened, do you? Maybe the man is ill.”
+
+“Nonsense,” said Knox, “Men don’t get ill overnight. He looked a
+healthy chap.”
+
+“All the same, I’m going up myself,” and Loft went out to the hall.
+
+He soon returned, saying, “There must be something the matter. I
+knocked and even pounded on his door, but got no response. I even
+listened at the keyhole, and I couldn’t hear any breathing. Do you
+suppose he left in the night?”
+
+“Through the window?” asked Angel.
+
+“Well, it’s queer. If we can’t get anything from him, I’m going to
+break in.”
+
+“Oh, don’t do that!” cried Knox. “Send Binns up outside--to the
+windows, you know.”
+
+“Can’t,--it’s so high.”
+
+“Ladder?”
+
+“Yes,--but--oh, I suppose it’s all right.”
+
+But after another hour, Loft declared he was going to get into that
+room.
+
+“I’m responsible for him,” he said; “he’s my guest, and if he’s merely
+sound asleep, he can’t do more than curse me for my intrusion.”
+
+No response being made to continued knockings, and no sound heard by
+any of them listening, Loft ordered Binns to get a ladder and climb up
+to the window.
+
+The butler did so, and returned to say that he could see Mr. Curran,
+fully dressed, sitting in an arm chair. The window was fastened.
+“Should he break in?”
+
+“Yes, by the door,” said Loft, suddenly determined. “That man must have
+had a stroke or something, if he’s still dressed. In his evening togs,
+Binns?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“To work, then. You and I, together.”
+
+Loft and the butler put their shoulders to the bedroom door, and after
+one or two efforts burst through.
+
+Hugh Curran sat in an arm chair, slightly relaxed in posture and as
+they immediately discovered, stone dead. The body was cold, proving he
+had died some hours previous.
+
+The four men looked at him and at each other.
+
+“Method?” asked Ned Knox, grimly.
+
+Loft looked about him.
+
+“I don’t see any weapon,” he said, shuddering, “but we can’t think
+about that now. There’s too much to do. Binns, call up Doctor Gilvray.”
+
+“What earthly good can a doctor do?” asked Angel, his blue eyes staring
+at the dead man.
+
+“We have to have him,” returned Loft, positively.
+
+“Yes,” agreed Knox, “he can tell whether it’s natural death, accident,
+suicide or murder.”
+
+Angel looked at him curiously as he glibly rolled off these
+possibilities.
+
+“Then,” Loft went on, “we must call the police--”
+
+“Not unless the doctor says so,” put in Angel. “If he says it’s a
+stroke--”
+
+“That’s so, we’ll wait for his report. Now, the worst is, telling the
+women. Ned, you tell Anna and let her tell the others. No, she’s too
+emotional. Here’s a better plan. Angel, you ask the maids to get the
+Countess to give you an interview. Then you tell her about it, and let
+her tell Stella and the Merediths. I’ll tell Pauline, myself.”
+
+“Are the girls up?”
+
+“They’d better get up. The housekeeper can tell them to do so, but let
+them hear of the--this--from one of us.”
+
+“I suppose there’ll be fainting and hysterics,” said Bob,
+apprehensively, as he started on his unhappy errand.
+
+“Maybe,--from Stella. Not the others,” said Knox. “I won’t let Anna
+make a scene,--not outside our rooms, anyway.”
+
+The two men went away, and Binns having gone to telephone, Valentine
+Loft was left alone with his dead guest.
+
+He looked about the room. It was clear that Curran had not begun to get
+ready for bed. He had not even removed tie or collar.
+
+Yet the room was in disorder. Near the dead man’s chair were two books
+on the floor, several newspapers, a few scattered cigar ashes, some
+bits of torn paper, two lead pencils,--
+
+Loft’s mental cataloguing of these articles was interrupted by the
+arrival of the doctor.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                          THE MEREDITH STORY
+
+
+“WHO is this man?” asked Doctor Gilvray, sharply, as he strode across
+the room to look for himself on the dead man’s features.
+
+“Hugh Curran,” Loft answered, briefly. “A fairly well-known author of
+fiction--”
+
+“Yes, yes, I know Curran,--sleuth stories,--good ones, too. H’m,--been
+dead several hours,--six or eight, surely. Bad symptoms--”
+
+“What do you mean by symptoms?” Loft showed an eager curiosity.
+
+“Look at his face--cyanotic. Eyes wide open,--signs of bloody froth on
+his lips,--teeth tight clenched,--this man--” the doctor stopped to
+sniff at Curran’s mouth,--“yes, this man died of poison,--Hydrocyanic
+acid. Suicide?”
+
+“Good Lord, I don’t know!” Valentine Loft stared. “I scarcely know him
+at all,--but, no,--I’m sure he wouldn’t commit suicide,--he had all
+sorts of things to live for!”
+
+“Well--well,--let’s look further. Ah, yes, yes,--it’s Prussic acid,
+for sure. There’s a distinct odor of it on his lips. So, he either took
+the stuff voluntarily,--or, it was administered by someone else.”
+
+“But--” Loft looked puzzled. “But the room was locked.”
+
+“That would argue suicide,--but then, I see no container, do you? The
+poison must have acted instantaneously, and he would have had no more
+than time to fling away the paper or bottle,--scarcely that. He would
+more likely have dropped it where he sat. Has any one interfered with
+the room in any way?”
+
+“No one. I’ve been here alone ever since we discovered this. And I’ve
+touched nothing,--nothing at all.”
+
+“There’ll have to be an autopsy,--and, of course, you realize, Mr.
+Loft, it’s a case for the police. I shall have to notify them at once.”
+
+“Oh, what a horrible situation. I’ve a house party here,--and,
+aside from that, I don’t want my home invaded by a lot of snooping
+detectives--and all for a perfect stranger.”
+
+“How’d he happen to be here?”
+
+“The people felt interested in him,--as a sort of celebrity,--and I
+asked him for a week-end visit. See here,--if anybody did for him, how
+did the intruder get in? We had to break in this morning.”
+
+“One of those seemingly insoluble mysteries of entrance, that always
+proves to be a simple matter after all. Any of the servants have a pass
+key?”
+
+“No; and, anyway, the key was in the lock.”
+
+“Well, that’s outside my jurisdiction. I’ll have Detective Kinney put
+on this,--he’s a sharp one. Now, get your household together,--say, in
+the library, and I’ll have to question them pretty closely.”
+
+“Awful nuisance,--but I know it must be done. I wish I’d never seen
+Hugh Curran!”
+
+“Where is his home? Where are his people?”
+
+“I don’t know. He hails from Indiana, but I think he lives in New York
+just now. The Club people will know all about him. Now, Doctor, Miss
+Fuller, my promised wife, is staying here. I want to tell her of this
+matter myself. And,--I wish you could excuse her from the general
+inquiry--”
+
+“Can’t be done. Must have everybody present, servants and all. I
+daresay some can be quickly dismissed, but I must get all the testimony
+possible. It’s a strange case, I think,--though it may turn out a
+simple matter after all. Go ahead, Mr. Loft, and tell the lady about
+it, and I’ll call Police Headquarters and get busy at once. Is there a
+telephone in the hall? Yes? Well, I’ll lock this room door against my
+return. Oh, the lock is fairly burst off! Never mind,--I can keep my
+eye on it. I don’t want anyone meddling in there.”
+
+“Here’s Baldwin,” Loft said, as they met Bob in the hall. “Mount guard
+in Curran’s room, Angel, while the doctor is telephoning.”
+
+“Don’t like the job, but I’ll do it,” Baldwin said, a rueful look on
+his usually smiling face. “Hurry up all you can, Doctor.”
+
+Loft went away to seek Pauline. He found her in the pretty sitting room
+that belonged to her suite, and though she had not yet been told of the
+tragedy, she knew from various unexplained stirrings about the house
+that something had happened.
+
+“What is it, Val?” she asked, “what has happened?”
+
+Gently he told her the bare facts as he knew them. He had feared she
+would be greatly shocked, possibly hysterical, but he was not prepared
+for the utter prostration that overtook her.
+
+She gasped, choked for breath and almost fainted.
+
+“No, don’t call anybody,” she asked, as he started for the door. “I’ll
+be all right in a minute. Why--who--who did it?”
+
+“Pauline, darling, we don’t know that anybody did. It may be the man
+took his own life. Doctor Gilvray isn’t certain. And maybe it’s a
+stroke of some sort. Gilvray thought he detected the odor of bitter
+almonds, but I couldn’t notice it. And the room was locked, and there’s
+no bottle or paper to be found,--so I’m inclined to think it may have
+been a stroke.”
+
+“Do you?” Pauline gazed into his eyes. “Do you, really, Val?”
+
+“Yes, dear, I do. But why are you so concerned? To be sure the
+occurrence itself is awful,--coming as it does during this visit of
+yours, that was to be such a gay, happy party. But aside from that,
+you’ve no personal interest in Curran, have you?”
+
+“Oh, no, no. Of course not. How could I have? I saw him for the first
+time yesterday,--_yesterday_.”
+
+“That is so, dear, isn’t it? You never saw Hugh Curran before?”
+
+“I never laid eyes on Hugh Curran until yesterday,” she averred,
+almost solemnly, and with a straightforward gaze at Loft. “And I hope I
+need never lay eyes on him again.”
+
+“No, sweetheart, no, of course not. We will have--him taken away just
+as soon as possible. But,--I’m sorry,--you’ll have to come downstairs
+now, and answer a few questions the Examiner will ask you.”
+
+“Oh, no, Valentine! I can’t,--I _can’t_! Don’t make me do that!
+Please, please, dear, if you love me,--don’t make me do that!”
+
+“I’m not making you, Pauline,--I tried to get you off. But it is
+imperative,--it is the law--”
+
+“I don’t care if it is the law,--I can’t I--can’t--” she broke into
+deep, silent sobbing.
+
+“My precious girl, I’d save you this ordeal if it were in any way
+possible to do so. But it isn’t. The detective will come up here if you
+don’t go down. And think, Pauline, it isn’t any more than the rest will
+do. Anna, Stella, the Countess, the Merediths,--all of us have to do
+the same. You will be asked only a few perfunctory questions,--it will
+be over in a few minutes. Whereas,” he looked stern, “whereas dear, if
+you refuse, it will look strange,--even--suspicious--”
+
+“Oh, of course I’ll go, Val. I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I only
+felt scared and horrified at first. Shall we go now?”
+
+Suddenly Pauline had regained her poise, and was her own calm self
+again. She turned to Loft, her sweet face submissive, even willing to
+obey his request.
+
+“Yes, come now. The others are gathered, I daresay. Don’t talk much,
+Pauline. Just answer what they ask, carefully and concisely.”
+
+“Why, Val, what do you mean? Is there any--any danger--”
+
+“No, of course not. But it’s never wise to dilate on the subject you’re
+asked about. However, tell all you know, of course.”
+
+“I’ll glance at you, and if I’m doing all right you nod. If not shake
+your head.”
+
+“Very well. Oh, I’m so sorry, Pauline, that you must do this.”
+
+“Never mind, it’s all right. Come along.”
+
+Together they went downstairs.
+
+Their interview had been longer than Loft realized, and the household
+had assembled in the library.
+
+The whole atmosphere of the house seemed changed.
+
+Pauline had shuddered as they passed an officer in the hall, and
+another was to be seen patrolling the front terrace.
+
+In the library Doctor Gilvray and Detective Kinney were ready to begin
+their inquiries.
+
+“We needn’t be over formal,” the Doctor said. “First, Mr. Loft, you
+will tell all you know of Hugh Curran and how he came to be your guest.”
+
+Valentine Loft stated clearly and concisely the little he knew of the
+author, and explained that he had invited him merely because his guests
+were interested and also because Mr. Curran had expressed a desire to
+talk with Mr. Baldwin on the subject of old and rare books.
+
+“He wanted to see your collection too, Val,” Angel put in, as if
+disclaiming the entire responsibility.
+
+“Yes,--he said he meant to spend this morning in the library,” Loft
+returned, looking about him in rather an awed way.
+
+“Then that doesn’t point to a suicide,” said the Detective, quickly.
+
+“No, and it wasn’t a suicide,” Doctor Gilvray declared. “The man was
+murdered.”
+
+At this Anna gave a gasp of horror, and clutched at her husband’s arm.
+
+“And you were all discussing murder,--and how it could be done!” she
+cried, in an hysterical whisper that ended in a faint shriek.
+
+“What’s that?” asked Kinney, “all discussing methods of murder? When?”
+
+“Last night,” said Loft, calmly. “Mr. Curran was a Detective Story
+writer and we all talked of such matters to him.”
+
+“Yes, we did,” Stella Lawrence said; “and each chose a different means.
+And last night I dreamed--”
+
+“Now, Stella,” Anna interrupted, “you will not tell your dream, I
+forbid it!”
+
+“We don’t care especially for dreams,” the Doctor said, “we want facts.
+Will you each in turn please tell me, if you heard or saw anything
+suspicious or unusual,--after you had said good-night and gone to your
+rooms? You, Mr. Loft?”
+
+“Not a thing,” said Loft, promptly. “I closed my bedroom door, and
+heard nothing at all till morning.”
+
+Ned Knox and Angel Bob Baldwin said the same thing, and declared they
+had heard nothing whatever.
+
+But Mr. Meredith was more informative.
+
+“I did,” he asserted; “I heard footsteps in the hall several times
+after I had retired.”
+
+“You were wakeful?” asked Kinney.
+
+“I’m a poor sleeper always. Mrs. Meredith slept soundly, and was not
+disturbed, but I heard a stealthy tread passing my door, and thinking
+it might be some one desiring me I opened my door and looked out.”
+
+“Whom did you see?”
+
+“I don’t know who it was, but I saw someone just disappearing into Mr.
+Curran’s room, and the door closed at once.”
+
+“You are sure it wasn’t Mr. Curran himself?”
+
+“I think not, because I heard voices talking. Of course I could make
+out no words, of course I didn’t try to do so, but it was either Mr.
+Curran or a visitor of his who went in at that door.”
+
+“The hall was dark?”
+
+“Dimly lighted by a low light at the farther end. It was fairly dark at
+our end.”
+
+“And this man that you saw--”
+
+“Pardon me, sir,” Mr. Meredith’s voice was apologetic, “I didn’t say it
+was a man.”
+
+“Was it not?”
+
+“I don’t think so.”
+
+“Ah; could it have been a chambermaid, with fresh towels?”
+
+“It might have been.”
+
+“You know it was a woman?”
+
+“It was a person wearing a long, dark shawl or cape, as if to conceal
+the figure. As I say, it was dark, and I could not see her clearly,
+but,--yes, if I am asked, I must say it was quite evidently a woman.”
+
+“You did not recognize her identity?”
+
+“I did not. As soon as I saw the matter in no way concerned me, I
+closed my door and went back to bed.”
+
+“You heard nothing further?”
+
+“Perhaps half an hour later I heard Mr. Curran’s door open again.”
+
+“And the lady came out?”
+
+“I don’t know. I didn’t open my own door that time. It was none of my
+affair.”
+
+“At what time was this, Mr. Meredith?”
+
+“This last time was shortly after half-past two.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“The clock in the upper hall strikes the half hours. In my wakefulness
+I had heard it strike half-past one, and two o’clock, and this time
+it struck half-past two. It was a few moments later that I heard Mr.
+Curran’s door open and shut for the second time.”
+
+“And you didn’t look out into the hall?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Did you hear anything?”
+
+“I heard light footsteps,--so light as to be scarcely audible.”
+
+“Passing your door?”
+
+“Yes; going along the hall.”
+
+“Then you heard any other door open or shut?”
+
+“I did not,--though I listened for it.”
+
+“And you have no idea who the woman was?”
+
+“Not the slightest.”
+
+“Was she tall or short?”
+
+“Neither, especially. I saw only the dim figure, apparently a woman,
+with a long shawl or robe that concealed the outlines of her figure.”
+
+“Did she wear anything on her head?”
+
+“I couldn’t notice anything. The light was too faint to discern that.”
+
+“It must have been a housekeeper or maid taking some forgotten
+necessaries to his room,” said Loft, decidedly. “There is no other
+explanation.”
+
+“You can’t make a suspect out of that woman, anyway,” put in Roly
+Mears. “For, you see, whoever it was, Mr. Curran locked his door after
+her departure.”
+
+“If Mr. Curran was murdered, he couldn’t have locked his door after the
+murderer,” said Detective Kinney, curtly.
+
+“Nor could the murderer have locked it after himself,” said Bob.
+“That’s a hard nut, Mr. Kinney. How are you going to crack it?”
+
+“I’m not taking the case by that handle,” Kinney said, with a dogged
+expression. “I start first with an investigation of the whereabouts and
+doings of everyone in the house; next, I look for a motive--”
+
+“That’s a sorry quest,” Loft said; “no one in this house could have
+possibly had a motive for murdering Hugh Curran. There’s an absolute
+fact to start with.”
+
+“Nothing of the sort,” snapped the Countess. “You don’t know,
+Valentine, that some of your servants hadn’t a previous acquaintance
+with that man,--and, maybe, had some old grudge to pay off,--something
+serious enough to call forth such revenge as murder. I had small use
+for Mr. Curran myself.”
+
+“Tut, tut; Countess,” began Roly Mears, but she interrupted him:
+
+“Don’t you tut tut me! I merely say such a thing is possible, and
+Valentine has no right to say it isn’t.”
+
+“As a matter of fact,” Loft returned, “I wasn’t thinking of the
+servants. It is possible in their case, I suppose. But I meant that all
+of us, never having met Hugh Curran before, surely had no motive for
+murdering him.”
+
+“I’ve met him before,” said Angel, “but only in the relation of client
+and book dealer,--and our transactions were always most amicable and
+satisfactory.”
+
+“Don’t be silly!” and Loft began to lose patience. “I meant and I
+repeat it, Mr. Kinney, neither I, myself, nor any of my guests have
+had sufficient social acquaintance with Mr. Curran to have felt enmity
+toward him or to have any motive for killing him. I trust you will
+find out who did it,--if it is a murder; I trust you will prove it
+a suicide if it is one; but in any case, I hope you will be able to
+remove the body shortly, and to finish up this inquiry as soon as may
+be, and leave us to ourselves.”
+
+“I should be glad to do all that, Mr. Loft,” the detective said looking
+serious, “but these things are not so easily disposed of. It is my duty
+to investigate thoroughly, and my duty must be done. These inquiries
+are necessary as a preliminary measure, and then I shall proceed to the
+real work of investigation. Mrs. Knox, I learn that the rooms occupied
+by you and your husband are near Mr. Curran’s room also,--did you see
+or hear this woman Mr. Meredith tells of?”
+
+“No, I didn’t,” replied Anna, haughtily, “and he didn’t either. Mr.
+Meredith dreamed that or imagined it. Who in the world would be
+trailing into Mr. Curran’s room at that hour? Maids don’t take towels
+to guests after midnight,--had Mr. Curran wanted any service, the
+butler would have looked after him. None of the ladies of our house
+party visited Mr. Curran in his room and so I say Mr. Meredith dreamed
+or imagined that whole yarn!”
+
+“That’s right, Anna,” and the Countess nodded her head, emphatically.
+“If any one did go there, it must have been Mrs. Meredith--”
+
+“Madam!” interrupted Mrs. Meredith’s husband.
+
+“Why not?” asked the Countess, coolly. “She might have heard the poor
+man having a stroke or an illness, and thought she could be of help.
+Mrs. Meredith is, of course, of an age when such a kind act would not
+be unfitting.”
+
+“I can assure you, Mrs. Meredith did nothing of the sort. I resent your
+implication that she might have done so!”
+
+“But, Mr. Meredith,” Anna’s tone was velvety though her eyes glittered,
+“you laid us all open to that same implication. You declared that some
+one of us went into Mr. Curran’s room.”
+
+“I am not considering the manners or morals of this party,” Doctor
+Gilvray said, severely. “As County Medical Examiner, it is my place
+to learn all I can regarding this affair. I wish you all to speak as
+frankly as Mr. Meredith has done--”
+
+“Whether it’s true or not?” said Anna, flippantly.
+
+“I want only the truth. Mrs. Knox, from your brief acquaintance with
+Mr. Curran, would you say he was a man on the verge of committing
+suicide?”
+
+“Most certainly not,” said Anna, promptly. “He had too many irons in
+the fire. He was too deeply in love with life. His new book will be
+published next week. His recent book, made into a Moving Picture, will
+be released shortly, and he looked forward with eagerness to seeing it
+on the films. No, sir, last night, that man had no more intention of
+committing suicide than I have this minute!”
+
+“You liked him, Mrs. Knox?”
+
+“Very much,” said Anna, heartily. “He was entertaining, witty,
+courteous,--and, a trifle flirtatious.”
+
+“Ah, a fine line of virtues. You learned a great deal of him in one
+evening.”
+
+“Yes, I did. We went for a long walk, and he told me a lot about
+himself.”
+
+“He did! Then perhaps you can tell us of his life,--his home.”
+
+“He had no home,--I mean no house. He lived at hotels or clubs, rather
+a roamer, I gathered,--going from one city to another as the whim took
+him.”
+
+“He was married?”
+
+“He had been. He was divorced.”
+
+“Recently?”
+
+“About six years ago, I think he said.”
+
+“Do you know whom he married?”
+
+“He did not mention her name to me. I suppose it could be easily
+learned.”
+
+“I daresay. Did he mention the cause of his divorce?”
+
+“He did not. We merely touched on the subject. I had no curiosity
+concerning the lady. He was simply an amusing companion for an evening.
+That’s all I know of Mr. Hugh Curran.”
+
+“And you know nothing more of him, Mr. Knox?”
+
+“Nothing whatever, and I wish I knew less! I did not like him at all. I
+thought him egoistical and unduly familiar.”
+
+“Oh, come, now, Ned,” Angel put in; “don’t show off your asinine
+jealousy just now. Curran was all right,--an all-round good sort.
+We all know why you don’t cotton to him, but don’t lug it into your
+testimony.”
+
+“I have no testimony to give,” Knox said, sullenly. “I know nothing at
+all of the matter, and I want to know nothing. I hope, with Mr. Loft,
+you will arrange to remove the remains as soon as you can do so.”
+
+“That will be attended to as quickly as possible,” Doctor Gilvray
+assured him, and the sapient Examiner smiled to himself at this
+exhibition of marital jealousy.
+
+But indeed, Anna not infrequently gave her faithful and devoted husband
+a bad quarter of an hour because of her various coquetries.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V.
+
+                          ROLY TAKES THE LEAD
+
+
+IT was a wearisome grilling, and it got them nowhere.
+
+Detective Kinney was logical and consequent in his questionings and
+Doctor Gilvray was keen and shrewd in his comments and deductions, but
+when it was over nobody seemed to know anything save that Hugh Curran
+was dead.
+
+Some held the opinion that he had committed suicide, others that he was
+murdered, but most of the listeners to the scanty evidence were utterly
+at sea as to any satisfactory conclusion.
+
+“It is the old problem, after all,” said Roly Mears, his round, jolly
+face unusually grave. “An inexplicable death in an unenterable room.
+What’s the answer?”
+
+“Ned,” Loft said, suddenly, “you said these Sealed Room detective
+stories bored you to death because they were so easy of solution.”
+
+“No, Val, I didn’t quite say that. I said they bored me because I’d
+read so many, and the solution was rarely a satisfying one. However,
+here’s a real problem of that sort right under our noses. It’ll be
+queer if we can’t, some of us, dope it out.”
+
+“I say so, too,” cried Roly. “Let’s do the detective work
+ourselves,--under Mr. Kinney’s supervision, of course.”
+
+He added the last phrase because of a somewhat indignant expression on
+the detective’s face.
+
+“I’ll tell you what,” said Angel, “let’s organize a detective squad
+of our own,--us four, you know,--Val, Ned, Roly and myself, and work
+independently of Mr. Kinney, but reporting to him any findings or
+conclusions that we consider worth while.”
+
+Kinney looked rather patronizing, but nodded his head indulgently.
+“I’ll be glad of any help,” he said, sincerely, but didn’t add his
+secret thought, which was that precious little help was likely to reach
+him from the quartette of amateur detectives.
+
+“And remember this,” said the Countess, in her acid way, “you
+men were all discussing the ease and grace of certain methods of
+assassination,--suppose one of you should turn out to be the criminal.”
+
+“Such jesting is very ill-timed, Countess,” Anna flared out, “you ought
+to be ashamed of yourself.”
+
+“Perhaps she isn’t jesting,” said Pauline, slowly.
+
+“Then she ought to be even more ashamed of herself!” Anna declared.
+“Anyway, I’m going to help in this detective business,--I’ve the
+instinct, or whatever you call it, myself. I can deduce,--and all that.”
+
+“So can I,” said Stella. “And I have psychic powers--”
+
+“We don’t want those,” said Knox. “Deliver me from spook messages about
+a mystery. They only make matters worse.”
+
+“I want nothing to do with it,” Pauline said, decidedly. “And I wish
+you men wouldn’t take it up. You’ll only get notoriety and horrid
+publicity without accomplishing anything. What can you do, more than
+professional detectives can?”
+
+“Oh, lots,” Roly Mears assured her. “Why, it’s a chance of a lifetime.
+You see, while we’re all sorry for the poor chap, yet it isn’t the
+grief we would feel for a more personal friend,--and, so, we’re free to
+follow up clues and evidences, no matter where they lead. Now, here’s
+my platform. The death of Hugh Curran was not a natural death, nor
+an accidental one, either. The doctor vouches for that. The man was
+either killed by another or he killed himself. To my mind, the suicide
+theory is out of the question, for the simple reason that no container
+of the poison can be found.”
+
+“Has been found,” corrected Angel. “Perhaps it will yet be discovered.”
+
+“We haven’t searched Curran’s room yet,” said Roly. “I mean searched it
+carefully,--for clues, you know.”
+
+“Then let’s do it now,” proposed Knox. “If Doctor Gilvray wants to
+question us more, later, we’ll all be here. I’ve no intention of
+leaving.”
+
+“I’d like very much to go,” said Mr. Meredith, mildly. “These
+unfortunate circumstances are trying to my wife’s nerves, and, I admit,
+also to my own. If nobody objects, we’d like to leave on the afternoon
+train.”
+
+“I want you all to do exactly as you please, in that matter,” Loft
+said, courteously. “Unless the authorities wish to hold anybody, let
+each one feel free to carry out his or her own wishes. Pauline, dear,
+do you want to go?”
+
+Pauline’s face was a study. She looked pitifully at Loft, and seeing
+his own evident anxiety regarding her decision, she said, after a
+moment’s pause; “I’ll stay, please. I know, Valentine, you’ll have lots
+of bothers and responsibilities, and perhaps I can share them,--or help
+you in some way.”
+
+“You’ll help me just by your presence,” he assured her, and his smile
+of relief told her how glad he was at her decision to stay.
+
+“I shall stay,” declared the Countess. “It all interests me
+exceedingly, and I want to see how the case works out.”
+
+“I want to go,” Anna said, “and I want to go quick. Ned, can’t we get
+off this afternoon, when the Merediths go?”
+
+“I think not,” said Knox, with so positive an air that Anna began to
+pout. She well knew that when her husband’s face assumed that look of
+absolute finality, all her pleas and prayers were of no avail.
+
+Almost always she wound her easy-going husband round her finger, but
+when he was determined on any subject, it was not in her power to move
+him.
+
+“Moreover, Anna,” the Countess said, “I doubt if any of these men would
+be allowed to leave the place until the mystery is cleared up. You seem
+to forget that if Mr. Curran was murdered, it must have been by someone
+in the house--”
+
+“Nonsense, Countess!” Loft exclaimed, “if you talk like that, I’ll send
+you away.”
+
+“Perhaps the Countess herself is the criminal,” said Anna, spitefully.
+“For all we know, she has known Mr. Curran before. And the veiled woman
+that Mr. Meredith saw has yet to be identified.”
+
+“I didn’t say veiled,” Mr. Meredith put in, mildly.
+
+“Well, shawled, scarfed,--whatever she was,” Anna cried. “Anyway, she
+must be named, before we can go much further.”
+
+“We!” said her husband. “Are you too helping in the detective work?”
+
+“If you are, Ned. I will take it on myself to hunt out that woman, if
+you like.”
+
+“Oh, Anna,” said Pauline, greatly distressed, “don’t mix up in these
+awful matters. It’s bad enough to have the men do it, but let us women
+keep out of it!”
+
+“I shan’t keep out of it,” said Stella, decidedly. “I shall stay, of
+course, and I know I can help some. You’ll all be glad of my assistance
+before you’re through.”
+
+“Perhaps you can dream who that woman was,” Anna suggested.
+
+“Perhaps I can,” and Stella looked or tried to look mystical. “I can
+sometimes summon dreams that are revelations.”
+
+“Never mind that part of it,” said Mears, impatiently. “It seems you’re
+all going to stay except the Merediths. But you women must keep out of
+the actual investigations. If I take the lead in this thing--”
+
+“Who asked you to?” cried Angel.
+
+“Since I am taking the lead in this thing,” Mears went on, “I propose
+that we first go and take a look at the room. I’m sure that we must
+find among Curran’s belongings some hint or clue to the whole matter.”
+
+“It’s a little unusual to have a band of amateur detectives working
+with the officers of the law,” said Doctor Gilvray, slowly, “but in
+this very strange case, I’m not sure but it’s a good thing. You men are
+shrewd and keen,--you may discover some important evidence. I hope,
+Kinney, you will raise no objections.”
+
+“Not a bit, sir. I’m quite ready to accept any help they can give
+me. But I must reserve the right to pass on their findings, whether
+material evidence or deductions.”
+
+“All right, old top,” Mears said, “we agree to that. It’s much better
+to work in harmony than to be pitted against you.”
+
+The body of Hugh Curran had been removed to the establishment of the
+local undertaker, and an autopsy had been held.
+
+The final report of this was brought to Doctor Gilvray, and he read it
+to himself before announcing its contents.
+
+“It’s a bit strange,” he said at last. “The death of Mr. Curran was
+positively due to hydrocyanic acid,--which, as you doubtless know,
+is Prussic acid,--a deadly poison. This was administered through the
+mouth, as the odor was distinct and unmistakable. But no traces are
+found in the stomach.”
+
+“Yet the poison must have been swallowed to produce death?” said Knox
+interrogatively.
+
+“Probably,--yet not quite necessarily. However, I can’t conceive of a
+circumstance which would imply the poison in his mouth and not in his
+stomach, unless he ejected it at once. And there is no evidence of
+that.”
+
+“Look here, doctor,” Mears said; “reconstruct the case. I hold suicide
+impossible, because that poison must have been a powder, in a paper,
+or, a liquid, in a vial. Isn’t that true?”
+
+“Yes,” said Gilvray, briefly.
+
+“Then as we find no paper and no vial, it must have been administered
+by someone else. It must have been done purposely. Therefore it was
+murder. There is no alternative. As to how the murderer left the room
+locked behind him,--that is the problem we must solve. And no matter
+how difficult, it will be easier than to prove a suicide with no
+container to be found.”
+
+“Sounds plausible, Roly,” Angel said, his blue eyes staring into
+vacancy, as they always did when his imagination was working. “But
+you’ve neglected one theory. Suppose Curran did take the poison
+himself, and suppose there was someone in his room later, who removed
+the bottle or the paper.”
+
+“Why would he?” said Mears, thinking hard.
+
+“I don’t know, I’m sure. Only, if a murderer could get out, leaving the
+door locked behind him, so could a man who was not the murderer.”
+
+“That’s surely true, Angel, but I can’t see any reason for it.”
+
+“We can’t see any reason for the murder,--or the suicide, or whatever
+it is,” Loft said; “But, to my mind, we can investigate just the same
+before we know which it is,--and so perhaps discover which it is.
+Though, first of all, I think we must find out about Curran’s people.”
+
+“You don’t have to do that, Val; the police are taking charge of it
+all.” It was Pauline who spoke, and her voice was infinitely gentle, as
+if glad to relieve Loft of any responsibilities.
+
+“Yes,” Kinney told them, “we are making wide inquiries. We’ve sent a
+man down to New York to look through Curran’s rooms at the hotel where
+he lived.”
+
+“What about the Country Club up here?” Knox asked. “Is he a member, or
+who put him up?”
+
+“No, he wasn’t a member,” Kinney said; “and he had letters from John
+Bingham and Augustus Hedden,--each putting him up for two weeks. It’s
+all right that way, but Mr. Bingham and Mr. Hedden are both in Europe,
+and we can’t get in touch with them immediately. However, we’ve no
+reason to think of Mr. Curran other than as a first class and right
+minded gentleman. I’ve sent another officer to his publishers in
+New York. We’ll soon learn all about Mr. Curran’s circumstances and
+relatives. And of course that knowledge may give us a line on the
+criminal. But, so far, we’ve not the ghost of a suspicion of the motive
+behind the crime.”
+
+“That’s what makes it interesting,” insisted Mears. “And there are
+queer things about it. For instance, where’s Curran’s watch?”
+
+“Did he have one?” asked Doctor Gilvray. “There was none on his watch
+fob when I looked him over.”
+
+“He had one on last night,” Stella informed them. “I saw him take it
+out and look at it twice during the evening.”
+
+“So did I,” said Bob. “It was a very thin gold one, on a fob. He had it
+in his trousers pocket.”
+
+“Yes, I noticed it,” the Countess offered. “I saw him open it, too.
+There was a picture in the case,--a woman.”
+
+“Could you see it?” asked Angel.
+
+“Not to recognize it,” the Countess replied. “I only caught a glimpse
+of a woman’s face.”
+
+“And that watch is gone?” cried Kinney. “Then that’s a clue in itself!
+The woman took it!”
+
+“What woman?”
+
+“The one Mr. Meredith saw going into Curran’s room.”
+
+“And she killed him?” asked Stella, her eyes large and bright with
+interest.
+
+“Now, look here,” said Mears, “you’re going too fast. That watch may be
+in his room. He may have taken it from his pocket--”
+
+“Then he left the fob in its place,” said the doctor. “For I took his
+valuables myself, and gave them over to Kinney. There was a fob, and
+three pearl studs and a collar button,--real gold,--and cuff-links.”
+
+“Anything else in his pockets?” asked Loft.
+
+“Only a couple of handkerchiefs and a bunch of keys,--a very small
+bunch. Oh, yes, a short lead pencil, and a card or two,--of no
+evidential importance.”
+
+“Evidential importance is a serious thing,” said Mears, didactically.
+“You can’t always recognize it at first. Come on, I’m impatient to
+examine that room. Now, Kinney you may come, and we four men,--that’s
+all. You women cannot!”
+
+This last was emphatic, because Anna and the Countess had risen quickly
+from their chairs with every indication of joining the party.
+
+Anna pouted and the Countess stormed, but to no avail. They were not
+allowed to have their way, and the five men went off together.
+
+The room had not been disturbed in any way. Save for the absence of the
+still, stark body they had seen in the easy chair, everything was the
+same as they had seen it at the time of the forced entrance.
+
+“Don’t touch things, boys,” begged Mears. “Let’s work together and
+systematically. First, we know Curran had not begun to prepare for bed.
+He had apparently sat down in his chair for a time. He had not smoked,
+though.”
+
+“Why, Roly, see the cigar ashes on the floor!” and Loft pointed down.
+
+“Those he scattered before dinner,” said Mears, imperturbably. “You
+see, the ash trays on the table at his side are clean and empty. I know
+the chambermaid cleans those when she turns down the bed, I can tell
+from my own room. And there are no burnt matches, no stubs of cigars or
+cigarettes. So, I know those few ashes on the floor were strewn there
+in the afternoon. Curran was an untidy sort, and I daresay the maid
+wasn’t overparticular,--or, she failed to notice the ashes. Anyway, I
+am sure he didn’t smoke after he came to his room last night. What did
+he smoke?”
+
+This was all self-evident, for had he smoked there must have been a
+stub or a match in evidence.
+
+Kinney looked at Mears with growing respect, and awaited his next words.
+
+“Now, there’s that little basket of nuts.” Roly stared hard at a
+small filigree silver basket on the table. It was half full of salted
+almonds. “Where did that come from?”
+
+“That was on the dinner table,” Loft said, promptly. “I suppose after
+dinner, it was on the sideboard,--Binns would put it there,--and
+perhaps Curran was fond of nuts and brought it upstairs with him.”
+
+“Wrong,” said Angel, looking a little amused. “I brought it up to him.
+As we all started upstairs, I asked Curran if he wanted anything. And
+he said, ‘I’m ravenous for some of those salted nuts we had at dinner.’
+So I went to the dining room, corralled the basket and brought it up
+here to him.”
+
+“Then you were in this room with him?” said Kinney.
+
+“Yes, stayed fifteen or twenty minutes. He got started on old books,
+and he would have talked on forever, but I was sleepy, so I told him
+I’d discuss the things in the morning.”
+
+“Describe the whole interview,” said Kinney, briefly.
+
+“All right,” said Angel. “I brought up the nuts, tapped at the door,
+and Curran said, ‘Come in.’ So I came in, and Curran closed the door
+after me.”
+
+“Why did he do that?”
+
+“I thought it queer myself at first, but he wanted to ask me to get him
+a special book, and the details were rather a private matter.”
+
+“Of course,” Mears said. “Go on, Angel, did he like the nuts?”
+
+“Yes, he thanked me, and began eating them. But rather
+absent-mindedly,--as to the nuts, I mean,--for he was deeply interested
+in the book he wanted me to get for him.”
+
+“What was the book?” asked Kinney.
+
+“It is a rare old book,--a Caxton, dated 1485. It is called ‘A Book of
+the Noble History of King Arthur.’ Here is the catalogue, you may see
+the item.”
+
+Baldwin picked up a bookdealer’s catalogue from the table, and opened
+it at a turned down and well-thumbed page. The item was as he had
+stated it.
+
+“Woodcuts!” exclaimed Loft, his eyes glistening at the description. “I
+say, Angel, get it for me, will you?”
+
+“If you like,” said Baldwin, “and if you want to pay for it. It’s worth
+a mint of money.”
+
+“Well, I’ll have to think it over. Go on with your story.”
+
+“That’s about all,” said Baldwin. “We talked over the book, Mr. Curran
+was most desirous to have it, and I promised to do the best I could
+about the price. Then, though he asked me to stay and have a smoke, I
+didn’t care about it, and I left him and went to my room.”
+
+“Did he seem in any way excited or nervous?” Kinney inquired.
+
+“Not a bit nervous. A little excited about the book. Collectors are
+always excited over an important purchase.”
+
+“And you left him sitting in that chair?”
+
+“I left him sitting almost exactly as he was found this morning. When
+I went out the door, I said ‘don’t rise,’ and he didn’t. I closed the
+door behind me. He must have risen later, to lock it, but, apparently
+he returned to the same seat,--even the same posture. I have no doubt
+he pored over the book catalogue again.”
+
+“At what time was all this, Mr. Baldwin?” the detective asked.
+
+“Let me see; we came upstairs shortly after midnight. About
+twelve-fifteen, wasn’t it, Val?”
+
+“About that.”
+
+“And I daresay I was in here with Curran half an hour, or less. I left
+him, I judge at about twenty minutes or quarter before one.”
+
+“Was he then wearing his watch?”
+
+“I’ve no idea. If so, he didn’t look at it while I was with him.”
+
+“He sure was an untidy person,” said Mears, glancing about the floor.
+
+It was strewed with Curran’s belongings as well as with worthless
+trash. Parts of one or two newspapers had evidently been flung aside
+after reading, and were in various parts of the room. Near the desk,
+Curran had evidently sharpened a lead pencil, dropping the chips on the
+rug. Near the dresser, whose top drawer was open, two handkerchiefs,
+clean ones, lay on the floor, and two more on the dresser top, while
+those in the drawer were tossed in a rumpled heap.
+
+“He went for a handkerchief, and tossed over the whole lot to find the
+one he wanted,” said Kinney.
+
+“Or to find something he had hidden under the heap,” Mears suggested.
+
+The detective stared at him.
+
+“You’re uncanny,” he said; “you’re doubtless right! Why would he go for
+a clean handkerchief with two in his pockets?”
+
+“Why, Roly, you’re the real thing in sleuths!” Knox exclaimed. “Go to
+it, boy! We’ll get at the truth yet!”
+
+“Will you help, Ned?”
+
+“Of course, all I can. What next, Roly?”
+
+“Well, here are all these torn papers on the floor near the chair
+he sat in. I doubt if they mean much, even if we could piece them
+together, for he wouldn’t throw around anything of a private nature.
+However, I’ll piece ’em out, and see. Hello, among them is a toothpick
+paper,--a printed one. Oh, it’s one of the Country Club ones. Probably
+had it in his pocket.”
+
+“No, he didn’t, smarty!” and Angel smiled at Roly’s earnest face. “I
+gave it to him. The man had a predilection for toothpicks,--asked
+Binns for one after dinner. Poor Binns nearly threw a fit, but he
+dug up a wooden one. So, knowing Curran’s weakness, I offered him a
+first-class sealed-paper Club quill, and he was as pleased as could be.
+Here’s the toothpick itself, on the table.”
+
+Angel picked it up, gingerly, looked at it as if it might be evidence,
+and said, “Sherlock Holmes would construct a whole man from this.”
+
+“We don’t want to construct a man from that,” Mears scoffed. “We want
+the criminal. Throw that away, Angel, it means nothing.”
+
+Baldwin went over to the waste basket and even as the toothpick dropped
+from his fingers said, “There’s a lot of things in the basket,--better
+give ’em the once over, Roly.”
+
+“They’ll keep. Mostly book catalogues and wrappings off of things. I
+glanced at ’em. Well, we’re not getting much of anywhere, are we? Guess
+I’ll piece out these torn papers, and see what comes of it.”
+
+“I see Jackson coming,” announced Kinney, from the window, “he’ll have
+news from the Club people. Let’s go down and see him.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                            WHAT TESSIE SAW
+
+
+AS the others started for the door, Ned Knox touched Mears on the arm
+and detained him.
+
+“Look here, Roly,” he said, “we can’t handle this thing with gloves on,
+you know.”
+
+“Meaning?”
+
+“That we must look where evidence points,--even if it’s to one of
+ourselves.”
+
+“You or me?”
+
+“No, I don’t mean that,--but,--oh, well, there’s no use mincing
+matters. Wasn’t Angel the last one known to have seen Curran alive?”
+
+“There’s the visiting lady--”
+
+“I don’t believe there was one. Old Meredith dreamed that,--or made it
+up.”
+
+“Why for?”
+
+“To create a sensation--”
+
+“Not his rôle. He’s no Thrill Builder. I’m banking on that woman.”
+
+“Well, anyway, take Angel into consideration. I passed the room while
+he was in here and I can tell you he and Curran were quarrelling.”
+
+“Seriously?”
+
+“Very seriously. And it was something about a needle.”
+
+“A needle?”
+
+“Yes,--it may sound absurd, but they were discussing a needle. And may
+it not be that Angel introduced the poison by means of a hypodermic
+needle?”
+
+“I’d laugh at your suggestion, Knox, only it does seem as if that might
+have been the method used. The doctors could easily have overlooked the
+tiny scar it would make. And, do you see, a murderer using that means,
+would, if clever enough, touch the poison to the dead man’s lips,
+which would explain the odor of acid in his mouth, yet no trace in his
+stomach.”
+
+Mears looked at Ned Knox, thoughtfully.
+
+“You’ve built up a case against Angel. Why?”
+
+“Only because there’s evidence that way,--and no other.” Knox returned.
+
+“But what motive could Angel possibly have? Curran was a profitable
+client,--I know myself, Bob has made a lot of money off of the books
+he has sold him. Why kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?”
+
+“Never mind motive, until you get your man.”
+
+“No, Ned, never mind the man until you find the motive. However, we’ll
+look into Master Bob’s case, and see what we can discover.”
+
+“There ought to be clues in this room,--more, I mean than we’ve found.”
+
+“There certainly are enough ‘feathers left around,’” and Roly smiled at
+the littered floor.
+
+“Come on,” called Kinney impatiently from the hall. “I’m waiting to
+lock the door.”
+
+They accompanied the detective downstairs, where Jackson waited with
+his report.
+
+“I found out quite a lot about Mr. Curran,” Jackson began, “yet none
+of it seems to amount to much. He was born in Indiana, but lived most
+of his later life in California. For the past two years he has been a
+writer, but for about six years before that, he was a Movie actor.”
+
+“Not an Adonis!” observed Mears.
+
+“No; he played character parts. They say he was fine as an old man.
+Well, he gave up the Pictures for a literary life, and made an
+immediate hit with his detective stories. He has only been writing them
+two years, but he has done three or four that have come well up towards
+the Best Sellers line.”
+
+“What was his real name?” Kinney asked.
+
+“The Movie People didn’t seem to know,--Dyer or Dwyer, they said. But I
+went to his New York publishers, and they told me it was Hugh Dwyer.”
+
+“Why did he adopt another?”
+
+“The publisher said, that as he was not sure his first book would be
+a success, he chose a _nom de plume_. Then, when the book proved
+popular, he retained the name of Curran.”
+
+“Plausible enough,--no harm in all that.”
+
+“No; then I went to one or two clubs he belonged to, and all gave him a
+clean record, yet no one knew much about him definitely.”
+
+“What do you mean, definitely?”
+
+“I mean as to his ancestry, or relatives. I can’t find that he has any
+kin whatever. Still, I’ve only just learned the name of Dwyer, so I may
+trace by that. I’ve been working on the Curran name.”
+
+“You’ll have to wire the California people--”
+
+“I can’t find any California people. The M. P. Company he was with,
+failed and disbanded over a year ago, and it’s next to impossible to
+learn any facts from Movie people anyway. They are the most elusive,
+evasive folks in the world. Oh, I’ll track down Hugh Dwyer, but it’ll
+take some work to do it.”
+
+“Was he a married man?”
+
+“Divorced. I found that out, but nobody knows when or why or from whom.”
+
+“The records would show all that.”
+
+“Yes, but what records? You can’t comb the whole United States.”
+
+“Well, stick to it, Jackson. Had he no chums in New York? No intimate
+friends at the Clubs? No women friends? And he had no servants? No man?
+Surely he wasn’t absolutely alone!”
+
+“He seems to have been, Mr. Kinney. He lived at the Grampian Annex and
+while they give him A-1 rating, they know nothing of his private life.
+The manager told me Mr. Curran often had ladies to dine or lunch with
+him, and sometimes small parties, but everything was always decorous
+and correct. In fact, he was just a decent man about town, who kept
+his own counsel and made a confidant of nobody. At least, that’s all
+I’ve got so far. He was fond of the ladies, but I heard no breath of
+scandal or unpleasant rumor anywhere.”
+
+“Exemplary chap,” said Mears. “But the hardest sort to tackle. However,
+it’s interesting to crack a tough nut like that. I’ll bet I can find
+out a lot about him,--and without leaving this house.”
+
+“Go ahead, Roly,” Loft said; “I want to find his folks, he must have
+some. I feel a certain responsibility, since he died in my house. And I
+want somebody to shift that responsibility onto.”
+
+“I don’t blame you!” said Angel. “It’s a horrid situation. If no one
+turns up, shall you bury him, Val?”
+
+“Have to, I suppose. Or let the Funeral Company take charge of the
+whole affair.”
+
+“Don’t worry, Mr. Loft,” said Kinney. “The Law will dictate about the
+obsequies and all that.”
+
+“All right,” Loft said, and he sighed wearily. “And I’d be obliged if
+the Law would clear up the matter, and find the criminal,--if any,--and
+free me and my friends from this exceedingly unpleasant pall of
+suspicion that overhangs the house!”
+
+“Suspicion!” cried Knox. “Nonsense, Val, who is suspected?”
+
+“We all are,” Loft returned, “The police have got hold of that fool
+conversation we had about methods of murder, and the ease with which it
+could be committed, and they think some one of us is responsible for
+the taking off of Hugh Curran.”
+
+“What rubbish!” Angel spoke lightly, but Mears and Ned Knox watched him
+closely.
+
+“It may be rubbish,” said Kinney, stolidly, “but if there’s only one
+way to look, we have to look that way. And who can see any way to look
+for a murderer outside this house?”
+
+“But, man, the room door was locked,” Mears exclaimed, still watching
+Bob. “How could one of us manage that?”
+
+“The windows were fastened,” Kinney retorted. “How could an outsider
+manage that?”
+
+“The windows were open a little, at top and bottom,” Bob said, slowly.
+
+“Yes, sir, but only six-inch apertures, and patent catches held them
+immovable. I’ve investigated all that, and nobody could possibly have
+entered from outside.”
+
+“There’s a balcony beneath the windows,” said Loft, meditatively. “It
+runs all along that side of the house.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” Kinney agreed, “and anybody could have walked along
+there. Anybody could even have shot through the six inch opening,--but
+no intruder could poison a man that way.”
+
+“Righto,” said Mears, “I saw all that. And the bathroom window is small
+and high and practically inaccessible.”
+
+“Positively inaccessible,” corrected Kinney. “It’s twenty feet from the
+ground, and no window near enough to climb across from. And if anyone
+had used a ladder, marks would show on the white paint outside. It is
+entirely unmarred.”
+
+“That window’s too small to crawl through, anyway,” Loft said. “And,
+another thing, the night watchman patrols this place thoroughly. No
+one could go up a ladder, and remain even a few minutes, and return
+by the ladder without being discovered by lynx-eyed old Gideon. No,
+cut out all thought of an outside entrance. But that doesn’t preclude
+an outsider,--I mean someone not of our own household. An intruder
+could, I daresay, have entered the house during the day, and concealed
+himself until the time was ripe.”
+
+“Yes, that must have been the way of it,” Knox argued. “We don’t know
+how he got in and out of Curran’s room, but he did,--so there must have
+been some way. I think the absence of Curran’s watch proves a robber.”
+
+“Why did the robber leave all the other jewelry, then?” asked Bob, but
+Knox had no ready reply.
+
+“I’m going to talk with some of your servants, Mr. Loft,” Kinney
+informed him. “I think I’ll get better results that way, than by having
+them up here.”
+
+“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Angel Bob. “I want to get a line on the
+servants’ yarns.”
+
+“Nobody else, then,” decreed Kinney, as Knox rose, too. “I don’t want a
+posse.”
+
+Bob and the detective went to the pleasant sitting room that was
+provided for the servants’ use, and summoned the principal ones to
+conference. They called them singly, and after the non-committal
+testimony of the butler, the second man, the cook, and one or two
+maids, they felt disheartened and hopeless of gaining any information.
+
+But a giddy, flippant little parlor maid gave them a hint of one stone
+left unturned.
+
+“I do know sumpthing,” she said, with a toss of her marvellous curly
+head; “but I’m not sure I ought to tell it.”
+
+“You not only ought to, but you must tell it!” Kinney said, sternly;
+“out with it, now!”
+
+But this made the little minx turn stubborn, and utterly unafraid
+of the Arm of the Law, she made a face at the detective and pouted
+mutinously.
+
+Angel laughed outright at this picture of dignity and impudence, for
+Kinney’s dignity was so offended as to make him look like a collapsing
+balloon, and the girl’s pretty face was roguish and stubborn, both at
+once.
+
+He came to the rescue with his inimitable tact and irresistible charm.
+
+“Now, Rose,--your name is Rose, isn’t it?”
+
+“No, sir, it’s Violet.”
+
+“Prettier yet. Now, then, Violet, you’re to tell all you know,--or
+you’ll be an exceedingly sorry little Violet. Take it from me, my
+dear,--if you hold back this information another minute, you’ll be--put
+in the lockup!”
+
+Bob breathed the last three words in a menacing whisper, with a sudden
+change from a smiling face to a lowering, threatening countenance, and
+so effective was his manner that Violet jumped in sudden terror.
+
+“Yes,” Bob rubbed it in, “in the lockup,--the jail! No place for pretty
+little girls,--all stone walls, and bread and water, and--rats.”
+
+A shriek from the frightened Violet told of her surrender, and with a
+return of his suavity, Bob said: “Out with it now,--my dear. Tell the
+story you’re holding back. Does it implicate somebody else?”
+
+“Yes,--that’s it, sir. She’ll kill me!”
+
+“Oh, no, she won’t. Hurry up, Violet, the lockup yawns for you!”
+
+“Well,” she looked fearfully at both men, but started in on the tale:
+
+“It was Tessie. She--she went out last evening--”
+
+“Was it her evening out?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir. But we’re ordered to be in by eleven o’clock at
+the latest,--ten, unless we’ve arranged about it beforehand.
+Well,--Tessie,--she--”
+
+“Get on,” said Kinney, impatiently, “Tessie overstaid her time. How
+late was she?”
+
+“Oh,--she--it was after one o’clock!”
+
+“My, my, that _is_ shocking!” Bob exclaimed. “It’s as much as her
+place is worth!”
+
+“Indeed it is,” Violet agreed.
+
+“Get on,” growled Kinney. “What did she see?”
+
+“She was so late, she crept in under the side gate,--a slim girl can
+just do it,--and then she watched when Gideon was out of the way,
+to run into the cellar door,--the one Gideon uses, and she knew she
+could get in. So, while she was waiting for the old man to get around
+to the other side of the house, she was looking about, and up on the
+balcony,--outside the room Mr. Curran had, she saw two people. They
+were Mr. Curran and a lady.”
+
+“Who was the lady?” Kinney shot out.
+
+“Mrs. Knox,” Violet said, frightened into an immediate reply by
+Kinney’s scowl.
+
+Angel gave a short, low whistle.
+
+“Violet,” he said, “if you ever tell that to another soul, I’ll kill
+you,--do you hear? Yes, I _can_ do it. I didn’t kill Mr. Curran,
+but I could kill a person if I wanted to, and so sure as you breathe
+that to any one, I’ll kill _you_! See?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” murmured Violet, trembling. “I won’t tell, if you won’t
+tell on me!”
+
+“That your friend was out late? No, I won’t tell that.”
+
+“Think a minute, Mr. Baldwin,” and Kinney looked at him patronizingly,
+“this isn’t this girl’s secret. It was Tessie who saw the lady, Tessie
+who told Violet of it,--and who has probably told all the rest of the
+servants by this time.”
+
+“Yes, I think she has,” said Violet, casually.
+
+Angel swore softly to himself. He was decidedly interested in the
+pretty, vixenish Anna, and of all people, he hated to have her name
+brought into this horrible affair.
+
+“Of course,” he said, after a pause, “Mrs. Knox had no hand in the
+tragedy, she knows nothing of the crime,--if there was a crime,--so,
+Kinney, can’t we suppress this bit of gossip? I can square the
+servants, if you’ll promise not to use the story at all.”
+
+“Can’t do that, Mr. Baldwin. But, if, as you say, Mrs. Knox is not
+implicated in the case, it can do her no great harm to have it known
+that she strolled on the balcony in the moonlight at one o’clock.
+That’s not a very late hour.”
+
+“N-no,--but that isn’t the point. I happen to know that the Knoxes
+went to their rooms shortly after twelve. If Mrs. Knox left her room
+again,--oh, pshaw,--let’s forget it.”
+
+“I see; if she left her room again,--it was without the knowledge of
+her husband,--they had separate rooms?”
+
+“Yes,” said Bob, sullenly.
+
+“Adjoining?”
+
+“Bath between.”
+
+“Oh, ho! So, the lady could leave,--her room gives onto the balcony?”
+
+“I won’t tell you any more. You’re building up a scandal out of what
+you said yourself was merely an innocent moonlight stroll. I refuse to
+help you drag a lovely lady into this unpleasant affair.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t need your help. Run along, Violet, you’ve done your duty.
+Always tell all you know, when the Law demands it. Run away, now.”
+
+Violet went away, and her attitude was rather that of an important
+witness, than of one who had testified against her will.
+
+Without another word to the furious Angel, Kinney went in search of
+Tessie. With a few decisive commands, in the name of the Law, he
+reduced her to a state of abject obedience.
+
+She told the story, much as Violet had related it, but she went into a
+mass of elaborate detail,--so elaborate, that Kinney suspected a vivid
+imagination, in good working order.
+
+“Yes, sir,” Tessie said, rolling her eyes, as if enjoying her
+part, “yes, sir, it was Mrs. Knox,--I know her well. She had on a
+bee-yooutiful gown,--dressing-gown,--what they call negglegy, you know.”
+
+“You could discern that?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I could see the lace ruffles, and the teeny-weeny rosebuds on
+it. All ribbony, and chiffony and floaty about.”
+
+Tessie’s expressive hands waved in illustration of floating draperies,
+and so realistic was she, that Kinney felt she must have seen what she
+described.
+
+“They walked up and down the balcony?”
+
+“No,--that is they did for a minute, then they sat on the balcony rail
+and looked at the moon. They sat mighty close together, too.”
+
+Again the rolling eyes betokened a deep interest and appreciation.
+Clearly, Tessie was romantic by nature.
+
+“And then?”
+
+“Then, Gideon got out of the way, and I skittled into the house,
+through his area door, and hustled up to my own room. So that’s all I
+know about those two.”
+
+Bob Baldwin went back to the library, where the men of the house were
+assembled.
+
+All except Knox, who wasn’t there, and his absence gave Bob an
+opportunity to speak of what was in his mind.
+
+“I say, fellows,” he began, “it’s up to all of us to speak out frankly.
+I admit that when we all boasted how easy it would be to kill a man,
+and then when one is killed right here among us,--I admit, it looks
+queer for us all, and it ought to be understood that if there’s
+anything--anything at all against any of us, it is to be spoken of and
+thrashed out.”
+
+“Right, Angel,” Mears said, “and as a starter, I’ll tell that you have
+been hinted at.”
+
+“By whom?” and Bob’s question was serious.
+
+“Well, since we’re all to speak out in meetin’,--by Ned Knox.”
+
+Angel sighed and looked grave.
+
+“As he is the one I want to speak about, perhaps our stories will
+dovetail.”
+
+And then, to his friends and cronies, Valentine Loft and Roly Mears,
+Bob told the story of Tessie’s observations, as retailed by Violet.
+
+“I knew Anna was making a dead set for him,” Loft said, moodily.
+“What a flirt she is! She didn’t care two cents for Curran, really,
+he was just a new man for her wiles to work on. She is a vain little
+featherhead--”
+
+“Hold, there, Loft,--I’m fond of Anna,” Bob said with utter frankness.
+“Don’t treat her rough.”
+
+“All right, Angel. But, seriously, if the maid’s story is true, and why
+should we doubt it, then Anna did sneak out to the balcony,--probably
+after Ned was snoring,--and had her clandestine flirtation with Curran.
+Now, if Ned awoke, trailed her, and discovered them,--it would--he
+would kill Curran quicker’n a wink.”
+
+Kinney had entered, and heard this last statement.
+
+The detective told the men such further details as he had learned from
+Tessie, which, of course, was the information that Anna was _en
+negligée_, and that the two miscreants sat close together on the
+balcony rail.
+
+“Not hard to believe of Anna,” Mears declared, “nor of Curran, either.
+And no harm done, except in view of later developments. But suppose Ned
+did do the irate husband act, how did he get that deadly poison, how
+did he get in and out of Curran’s room, and why did he take Curran’s
+watch?”
+
+“I know!” cried Roly. “It was Anna’s picture in the back of the watch!”
+
+“Nonsense! Anna met Curran for the first time, last evening.”
+
+“Anna’s cute enough to pretend anything.” This from Loft. “That woman’s
+a--forgive me, Angel,--but she is as sly and cunning as they come. I
+can’t puzzle out the ways and means,--but there’s that difficulty with
+any theory or assumption. Also, I won’t even think wrong of Ned Knox,
+until he has a chance to speak for himself, but I do say this must be
+looked into.”
+
+“I think the worst against Knox,” Roly put in, “is the way he tried to
+implicate Angel to me. He hinted at Bob’s being the murderer,--because,
+forsooth, he heard Bob and Curran quarreling over something in Curran’s
+room.”
+
+“That was at half-past twelve,” said Bob, “and after one, Tessie saw
+Curran, evidently very much alive.”
+
+“But it was a good tack for Knox to take, to divert suspicion from
+himself,” Roly said, thoughtfully.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+
+                          THE SISTER ARRIVES
+
+
+“BUT you see, Pauline, darling, Ned Knox is impulsive, belligerent and
+pig-headed. If he found Anna out on the balcony flirting with Curran,
+he would kill him just as soon as he could manage it!”
+
+“But how could he manage it?”
+
+“Somebody managed it. You remember, when we talked about murder, Knox
+said shooting was his choice. But, he had no gun, so he had to resort
+to poison.”
+
+“Where could he get it?”
+
+“Well, there’s one way,” Loft said, slowly. “Angel has an elaborate
+photographic outfit in my den. He has poisons there that he uses in his
+work--”
+
+“Why has Bob an outfit of that sort?”
+
+“He’s an amateur photographer. He doesn’t say much about it, because
+everybody is after him to take a photograph. And, too, he has to
+photograph title pages or something, in connection with his book
+business. In the New York Public Library, they have a whole room for
+the purpose of photographing pages of rare books for people who want
+them. Bob does this in a limited way. You know, Pauline, he is an
+artist in this rare book business. He’s no amateur.”
+
+“All right. Then, say Ned did get poison from Bob’s laboratory or
+whatever you call it, how’d he get it to Mr. Curran?”
+
+“He could get to him easily enough. I suppose Curran would let him in,
+if he came to his room later. But, the thing is, how did he get out and
+leave the door locked behind him?”
+
+Pauline looked deeply thoughtful. Her beautiful eyebrows came closer
+together as she concentrated on the problem. Her long, slim hands,
+clasped in her lap, seemed to tremble with the intensity of her mental
+effort.
+
+At last, she gave a shrug, as if to throw aside a consideration, and
+said, “But, Val, that problem confronts every theory. Why don’t you
+leave that until you get other data, pointing toward the murderer,--or
+the motive?”
+
+“You’re right, Pauline, and I’m glad to see it so clearly. Now looking
+at it that way, Ned had motive,--you know his insane jealousy of
+Anna,--also, he had opportunity,--for after two o’clock, nobody was
+awake or listening--”
+
+“Except Mr. Meredith.”
+
+“Oh, old Pop Meredith doesn’t count. Neither does Stella. They’re both
+deluded by their subconscious dreams and vagaries.”
+
+“Yes, I think that, too. Well, Val, go on. Did Ned take Mr. Curran’s
+watch?”
+
+“Surely. It had Anna’s picture in it.”
+
+“Then you think Anna knew Mr. Curran before yesterday?”
+
+“Of course she did. Anna is a flirt, but no woman would progress so
+fast as to arrange a clandestine meeting with an utter stranger, the
+first time she saw him!”
+
+“Yes,--that’s so. And so late,--and in her boudoir gown--it was
+that,--I know the rosebudded affair Tessie described.”
+
+“Well, there you are. Lord knows I hate to suspect Ned Knox,--but
+evidence is against him. And, too, he tried to implicate Angel,--to my
+mind, that’s against him, too.”
+
+“Yes, I suppose it is. But, Val, dear, must you--prosecute, or whatever
+you call it? Can’t you hush it all up?”
+
+“Don’t see how we can, Pauly. But I will try to get it all over as soon
+as possible. If Ned is guilty,--I feel sure he’ll have the decency to
+clear out pretty quick.”
+
+“If Ned is a--a murderer,--you can’t expect him to have--decency.”
+
+“Of course you can. His sudden wild impulse, and the consequent act of
+crime, don’t change his traits or habits. If Ned Knox proposes leaving
+here,--he wouldn’t be allowed to go,--but it would prove to my mind his
+guilt--”
+
+“Oh, Valentine, he never did it! He couldn’t have done it!” and Pauline
+clasped her hands and shook her head in utter negation of the idea.
+
+“What are you two talking about?” and the Countess sailed majestically
+toward the pair who sat in the swing on the veranda.
+
+“About Mr. Curran’s death,” said Pauline, calmly. “What do you think,
+Countess?”
+
+“I think Ned Knox killed him. Don’t ask me how or when or which or
+what! I don’t know! I only know that Ned was insanely jealous of Anna
+and he killed the man who--flirted with her.”
+
+“Too easy,” Loft said. “Give a dog a bad name and hang him. But if it’s
+a human dog, we must prove his claim to the bad name.”
+
+“Don’t be too fussy, Val,” the Countess said, shortly, “Ned Knox killed
+him, and now all you have to do is to check up the ways and means.”
+
+“Just like a woman!” said Loft. “Oh, yes, I say so and so is a
+murderer. Now somebody will please prove it.”
+
+“But what do you think, Val?” Pauline asked, her eyes on Loft’s face.
+“Don’t you think Ned did it?”
+
+“No, Pauly,--frankly, no, I don’t!”
+
+“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!” cried the Countess, “what does it matter who we
+think did it? The thing must be proved--proved!”
+
+“All very well, Countess,” Loft began, but he was interrupted by Binns,
+who announced, “Miss Dwyer is here, sir.”
+
+“What?” “Who?” and “Good Lord!” his hearers exclaimed, simultaneously,
+and immediately followed the butler into the house.
+
+In a reception room they found a lady, tall, gaunt and aggressive.
+
+At least, those were the qualifications that sprang first to Loft’s
+notice.
+
+The Countess observed that the visitor was distinctly Middle West as
+to voice and manner, and Pauline noted with shocked realization the
+tightfitting black taffeta, “travelling dress” the lady wore.
+
+“I am Hetty Dwyer,” the strange guest announced, rising as the others
+entered. “I am the sister of Hugh Dwyer,--known, perhaps to you as Hugh
+Curran.”
+
+“How do you do, Miss Dwyer,” Loft said, at once, and most courteously,
+“it is good of you to come.”
+
+“Not at all,” she spoke somewhat acidly, “I read of the death of my
+brother in the paper, and I hurried here at once.”
+
+“It is four days since Hugh Curran died,” Loft said, slowly, “and, Miss
+Dwyer, he is now--”
+
+“Buried?” she exclaimed, apprehensively.
+
+“No; his body is in the receiving vault,--at the undertaker’s place,”
+he assured her. “You may see him again,--if you wish.”
+
+“Of course I wish,” she cried. “My only brother. My loved Hugh.
+Certainly I wish to see him again, before he is laid away forever.”
+
+“Very well, you may,” Loft assured her. “And now, Miss Dwyer, since you
+are here, I’ve no doubt you can tell us something that may throw light
+on the strange mystery of his death.”
+
+“That I’m sure I can’t do,” she said, with asperity.
+
+Miss Dwyer was a tall, angular person, with prominent cheek bones,
+elbows and even knees, which indicated themselves inside her scant
+skirts. She was perhaps forty, and old looking for her age.
+
+She had none of the graces or amenities of urban life, rather she
+showed the awkward, ignorant demeanor of a country-bred woman.
+
+But she was shrewd and keen, and absolutely unabashed.
+
+“That’s why I am here,” she went on, earnestly. “I want to know who
+killed my brother. Any idea of suicide is utterly ridiculous--”
+
+“But, Miss Dwyer,” said Kinney, who was present, “your denunciation of
+a theory as utterly ridiculous, doesn’t make it so.”
+
+“It does in this case,” she declared, calmly, “for I know my brother’s
+circumstances and conditions,--and I know he was looking forward to a
+new happiness,--to a new phase of his life, that meant, to him, nothing
+less than bliss.”
+
+“And what was that?” Kinney asked.
+
+“He was about to be married,” she said, with all the awe and wonder in
+her voice that accompanies a spinster’s dream of wedlock.
+
+“Indeed,” Kinney said. “He had been married before, had he not?” Miss
+Dwyer’s face changed. It looked scornful, even infuriated.
+
+“Yes!” she said, “he had! To an utterly worthless woman! A silly,
+selfish, peevish chit, who led him a dance, until--”
+
+“Until he got rid of her?”
+
+“Yes, well rid of her! That woman was a millstone round his neck! The
+happiest day of his life was when their bonds were severed.”
+
+“You knew her, then?” Kinney asked.
+
+“I never saw her, thank heaven! But I know how unworthy of him she was!
+You see, the whole affair,--I mean his meeting her, their engagement,
+their marriage and their divorce, all occurred within a year, within
+eight months,--to be exact, and I was abroad for a two-year trip at the
+time. But as soon as I returned, and saw my brother again, I realized
+how fortunate he was to be released from her.”
+
+“Her name?” asked Kinney.
+
+“I don’t really know,” Miss Dwyer said. “He called her Rose or
+Rosalie,--but I don’t think that was her real name. Yet it may have
+been. Her surname, I never heard. When I returned, the affair was all
+over, a thing of the past, and I never talked to my brother about it.”
+
+“It all has no bearing on the present problem,” Kinney said slowly,
+“unless that wife could have been implicated in his murder,--if it is a
+murder.”
+
+“Oh, no, I’m sure she couldn’t have been. As I understood matters, she
+was even more glad to get freed from him than he from her. They were
+totally uncongenial, and each wanted separation.”
+
+“Doubtless the marriage and divorce are all on record,” Kinney observed.
+
+“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Miss Dwyer said. “But I’m sure that woman
+had nothing to do with it. My brother was an adorer of women, and had
+dozens of affairs since his divorce. But, lately, he devoted his whole
+life and soul to one girl,--a Miss Fitzgerald, of Chicago. And he
+expected to marry her soon.”
+
+“Can we get in touch with the lady?” Kinney asked.
+
+“I don’t see why not,” Miss Dwyer returned. “Yet, she can’t help you.
+I know she loved my brother,--she would have no hand in his taking
+off. And if she hasn’t come forward in the matter, it’s merely because
+she knows she can be of no help, and she would naturally hate the
+publicity.”
+
+“That’s all true enough,” Loft said, thoughtfully; “yet, it seems we
+ought to see or hear from Miss Fitzgerald.”
+
+“I should think so!” Kinney declared.
+
+Miss Dwyer wore a hat with one stiff, black quill feather. When she
+spoke emphatically, as she almost always did, this feather nodded
+sharply and seemed to punctuate her speech.
+
+It did so now, as she said,
+
+“It is absurd to think that an interview with Miss Fitzgerald would
+be of any help in this affair. On the contrary, Miss Fitzgerald knows
+nothing about the awful details, and I beg of you leave the poor girl
+in peace. Her grief is hard enough to bear without having the agonies
+and distresses of a murder trial on her shoulders as well. Now, I know,
+that my brother’s death is the work of some of you people here. You
+society people,--frothy, artificial, fashionable puppets, who dance
+as Fate pulls the strings! And, if you have a grudge or a fancied
+grudge against any one, you snuff out his life with no conscience or
+compunction.”
+
+“Miss Dwyer,” Loft spoke seriously, “I can’t allow that statement to
+stand. We are ‘society people,’ as you use that term, but I assure
+you we are not given to murdering our fellow-men, or to accepting the
+fact of murder, without being shocked by it, and striving to bring the
+criminal to justice. I am surprised that you should think otherwise.”
+
+“I do think otherwise, and your declaration does not move me. I still
+believe that my brother came to his end by foul play of some one whom
+he trusted and deemed his friend. I am here to prove or disprove my
+theory. Mr. Loft, shall I remain here, under your roof, or go to some
+inn or other stopping place?”
+
+“I invite you to stay here, Miss Dwyer, as long as it pleases you to do
+so. We are working on the mystery ourselves, and you may work with us
+or pursue your independent search, as you choose.”
+
+Valentine Loft was a perfect host, and his courteous manner and bland
+speech seemed to affect Miss Dwyer pleasantly.
+
+“Thank you,” she said; “I shall be glad to remain here a few days. As
+you can readily understand, I am so shocked and upset by my brother’s
+death I can scarcely pull myself together. And to be here, on the very
+scene of his death, is--is unnerving,--to say the least.”
+
+Valentine Loft, beneath his urbane exterior was a very sharp and keen
+reasoner. And as he watched his newest guest, he doubted her sincerity
+of grief regarding her brother’s death. She was shocked,--upset,--even
+stunned,--but of actual grief or sorrow he saw small trace.
+
+His conclusions were verified, when, a moment later, Miss Dwyer began
+to inquire about her brother’s effects.
+
+“As I am his only heir,” she said, “of course I am in full possession
+of all he left,--in property or assets. I know little about such
+matters, but I do know that Hugh’s book royalties and Motion Picture
+royalties must amount to a considerable sum,--and all of those are
+naturally mine.”
+
+“Naturally,” agreed Kinney. “There will, I’m sure, be no trouble about
+all that. Now, we want to get at the motive for the murder and the
+identity of the murderer. Can you give us any suggestions, Miss Dwyer.”
+
+“Only what I have already said. I’m sure Hugh’s death was due to some
+acquaintance of his who,--well, I can’t help thinking it was because
+of some woman. My brother was capable of sudden and deep passions for
+a woman, and even though he was engaged to Miss Fitzgerald, that would
+not prevent his violent flirtation with another woman, and through that
+he might have been punished by some irate husband or fiancé.”
+
+The contrast between the prim, prudish old maid, and her sophisticated
+talk of her brother’s amours amused the Countess, who laughed outright.
+
+“You’re a true woman,” she said, “and though unmarried, I daresay
+you’ve had your own little affairs,--here and there.”
+
+“You mistake me, madam,” Miss Dwyer sat bolt upright. “I am above and
+beyond all small coquetries or intrigues. I loved my brother,--but I
+have never loved any other man. Moreover, I do not enjoy the society of
+men. While, here, I will, if you please, confine my associations mostly
+to the women, and from them, or through them, I hope to unravel this
+mystery.”
+
+And so there was another sleuth added to the corps at Valhalla, and
+indeed, one, who by virtue of her earnest and patient work, went far
+toward the final solution of the mysterious death of Hugh Curran.
+
+The Countess frankly disliked the new comer. This was not surprising,
+for Countess Galaski liked few people, and rarely was amiable to a
+woman.
+
+So she and Miss Dwyer tacitly agreed to be enemies, and each
+religiously opposed the other’s opinions or contradicted the other’s
+statements.
+
+“They’re really funny,” Pauline said to Val. “If the Countess should
+say two and two make four, Miss Dwyer would bring any number of
+authorities to prove it doesn’t.”
+
+“Yes, they’re funny,” Loft agreed, “but I can’t like that Miss Dwyer.
+One reason being, she hates me so. I believe she thinks I killed her
+brother.”
+
+“Oh, Val, how could she think that?”
+
+“She can think anything,--and the police can, too. Kinney has been
+looking at me askance of late. And, Good Lord, Pauline, which way is
+there to look? Here it’s five days since Hugh Curran died under my
+roof, and I’m no nearer a theory of his death than we were at first.”
+
+“No; but suppose, dear, that it never should be discovered, would it
+matter much?”
+
+“Indeed it would, Pauline. There would always be a cloud over this
+place,--over this house,--this home, which I hope will be your home. I
+can’t ask you to accept a home with a cloud over it.”
+
+“I don’t mind that, dear. I’d rather the whole affair would blow over
+as quickly as possible,--I hate to hear about it,--to think about
+it--oh, Val, let’s go away somewhere until it is all over.”
+
+“I wish we might, dearest, but such a thing is out of the question. No,
+we must face the music,--I must, anyway. But, dear heart, sometimes I
+think you’d better go away for a time. It is painful for you,--”
+
+“Don’t you want me here, Val? With you?”
+
+“Oh, I do, Sweetheart! I’m thinking only of you. Pauline, suppose there
+should be some important disclosure soon,--some awful fact about one of
+our guests--”
+
+“Anna?”
+
+“Yes; how did you guess? But there is evidence,--of a sort,--against
+Anna--”
+
+“Valentine, put it out of your mind,--at once! Anna is absolutely
+blameless--”
+
+“Of the murder,--of course. But she has been--she was--indiscreet--”
+
+“What did she do?”
+
+On a sudden impulse, Loft told Pauline his opinion of the story Tessie
+had given them.
+
+She listened attentively, and then said: “I can believe all that,--that
+Anna went out on the balcony and met him,--but not that she--”
+
+“But Pauline, dear, you don’t understand. The theory is that Ned
+surprised them out there together, and in his jealous rage, he killed
+Curran.”
+
+“That could be,” Pauline nodded her head thoughtfully. “But I don’t
+believe it happened. Anyway, don’t bank on it,--don’t follow it up,
+will you, Val?”
+
+“It isn’t my doing. Roly is working from that angle. He has checked up
+Anna’s wardrobe, and has even found the negligée in question,--with
+floating draperies and tiny pink rosebuds.”
+
+“Pshaw, every woman has a negligée answering that description,--I have,
+myself.”
+
+“Is that so, Pauline? Is it a usual model? That does seem to nullify
+Roly’s clue.”
+
+“Of course it does. And it’s a silly theory, anyway. Where’s Mr.
+Curran’s watch? Why would Ned Knox take that?”
+
+“That’s just the point. Roly thinks Anna’s picture was in it.”
+
+“Anna’s picture! Ridiculous!”
+
+“Why ridiculous? That is, assuming Anna knew him before.”
+
+“Nonsense! It was never Anna’s picture.”
+
+“I don’t see how you can be so sure.”
+
+“Why,--I saw him flash the watch open that night, after dinner.”
+
+“Did he? What for? It was not a hunting case. He didn’t have to open it
+to see the time.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Tell me, Pauline, what do you mean? How did you see the picture?”
+
+“Oh, I didn’t exactly see it, Val, but I did see him flash the case
+open and steal a look at the picture. I couldn’t see whose likeness it
+was, but I’m sure it was not Anna’s.”
+
+“Then dear, if you saw it as distinctly as that, you must have been
+able to distinguish the features. Was it any one you knew?”
+
+“No, oh, no. It was--it was the face of a stranger,--a young-looking
+girl, with a lot of curly hair. A pretty face, but one in no way
+distinguished.”
+
+“You noted it closely.”
+
+“Not intentionally. It meant nothing to me. But when it was exposed to
+my view, though only for a few seconds, I really saw it plainly, and I
+remember it.”
+
+“You’d know the face if you saw it again?”
+
+“Yes, I’m sure I should. But why so interested, Val?”
+
+“Only that it’s one of the ‘feathers left around.’ I want to know what
+it means.”
+
+“But the watch wasn’t left around.”
+
+“I mean the evidence,--the clue of the missing watch, is what we have
+taken to calling a feather,--that is a clue.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I see. If you could find out who that woman’s face was, you
+think it would help you in your discoveries?”
+
+“I do think so. Although it may have been the picture of Miss
+Fitzgerald,--Curran’s fiancée.”
+
+“Yes, that might be,” Pauline agreed, but her tone was perfunctory, and
+her gaze faraway,--she seemed to be utterly preoccupied. “If he was
+so interested in that girl,” she went on, “why was Ned so irate about
+Anna? He couldn’t have thought Mr. Curran’s admiration of Anna at all
+serious.”
+
+“Ned is a lunatic, when it comes to Anna. I’ve seen him flare up and go
+almost crazy if she so much as smiled on a man he disliked. Poor Anna.”
+
+“Don’t waste your sympathy on Anna,” said Pauline.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                          LITTLE ANNA’S WILES
+
+
+“IT’S all very well,” said Roly Mears, “for you people to stick by one
+another, and to shield one another. But the truth of this thing has
+got to come out. I’m friendly enough with all you men, I’m chivalrous
+enough toward the women, but all the same, I’m going to dig into this
+matter, and I’m going to find out who killed Hugh Curran. But I’ll say
+at the start I don’t believe the murderer was you, Valentine, or Angel.
+More, I don’t think it was Ned Knox.”
+
+“Who do you think it was?” Loft asked, a trifle disinterestedly. He
+didn’t think much of Roly’s powers as a detective and was a little
+bored with his talk.
+
+“I think it was somebody we none of us know. I think he was concealed
+in the house somewhere, and late that night he went to Curran’s room,
+and Curran let him in.”
+
+“Yes,--go on.”
+
+“Then, for reasons of his own he killed Curran,--poisoned him,--and
+made a clever getaway.”
+
+“Leaving the door locked behind him?”
+
+“Yes, Val, leaving the door locked behind him. We know the door was
+locked,--we know the murderer must have left it locked behind him,--a
+dead man couldn’t get up and lock it. So accept those facts, and then
+assume any explanation you please of the locking of that door. I think
+it could be done with some sort of an implement,--something like a
+skeleton key, that could turn the door key in its own lock.”
+
+“Have you ever heard of such a thing, Roly?”
+
+“No; I’m imagining it. But far more wonderful and complicated devices
+are made, and I hold that such an implement is not by any means
+impossible.”
+
+“If that could be done,” said Loft, thoughtfully, “it eliminates one
+phase of the mystery. If that could be done,--anybody might have done
+it.”
+
+“Only some one versed in the tricks and tools of burglary,” corrected
+Mears. “Modern burglars have very up-to-date contrivances.”
+
+“It wasn’t burglary.”
+
+“No, but it may have been a burglarious entrance and exit. And the
+motive was, of course, something connected with Curran’s past or
+private life, of which we know nothing. That’s why, Val, I’m so keen
+to find out the truth. It isn’t so much to avenge the poor chap’s
+death, as to clear all of us from suspicion. The police are sure that
+one of our crowd did it. Ned, for choice. But they hold that after
+that fool conversation you chaps put up, they must find the murderer
+among you three. You may as well know how positive they are about this.
+They don’t say much to you, but they do to me. And that Kinney is
+the most persistent person. He has a dogged stick-to-it-iveness that
+nothing seems to dismay. He’s going to interview Anna today and ask her
+straight out about that balcony business.”
+
+“I wish him joy,” Loft said, smiling. “He’ll not get much out of Little
+Anna!”
+
+But in this Loft was mistaken. At that very moment Detective Kinney was
+interviewing Anna Knox, and was getting a whole lot of information.
+
+She had received him in her own boudoir, and with an eye to the setting
+of the stage, she was arrayed in a most fetching tea gown and was
+ensconced among a pile of soft pillows in the corner of a great divan.
+
+She had chosen her rôle of confidential innocence, and her first words
+disarmed Kinney and roused all his sympathy.
+
+“I’m so glad to see you,” she cooed, raising sad, pathetic eyes to his
+stern accusing countenance. “I’m sure you can help me,--and I’ve no one
+else to look to for assistance.”
+
+The blue eyes were so trustful, the rose pink cheeks so soft, and the
+red mouth so appealing that Kinney did what many better and wiser men
+had done before him, fell for Little Anna utterly.
+
+From that moment he was her abject slave, he could no more have accused
+her,--even suspected her, than he could have his own mother.
+
+This was in no way his fault,--Nature had given him a susceptible
+heart, especially toward a trusting woman, and when Anna’s exquisite
+beauty added its charm and her clever brain prompted the way, the man
+was entirely defenseless and simply surrendered.
+
+But Kinney didn’t know this. It was part of Anna’s spell that she made
+her victims think they were still masters of themselves when they were
+abjectly under her thumb.
+
+“Yes,” she went on, her voice hopeless, her eyes despairing. “I am
+in a peculiar position. I can’t ask my husband to help me, for he
+is--oh, well,” she dimpled into a fleeting smile, “he is a monster of
+jealousy,--and you are man of the world enough to know what that means,
+Mr. Kinney!”
+
+This subtle compliment further subjugated her hearer, and he bridled
+a little as he said, sympathetically, “Yes, yes, indeed, Mrs. Knox, I
+know.”
+
+“Now, to get right at the matter, Mr. Kinney, you ask me questions and
+I’ll answer them.”
+
+Anna cuddled among her cushions, looking like a pretty child about to
+play an amusing game. And indeed, that was not far from her mental
+attitude.
+
+Kinney pulled himself together. He must be stern, that he knew. He was
+dimly subconscious of the situation, and had an uneasy feeling that
+he was not quite in command of himself. This nerved him to strenuous
+effort, and he said, severely:
+
+“Then, Mrs. Knox, is the story the maid, Tessie, tells a true one? Were
+you with Mr. Curran on his balcony after one o’clock that night,--the
+night he died?”
+
+“It isn’t his balcony,” and Anna pouted prettily. “It’s just as much
+my balcony,--both our rooms are on it.”
+
+“Yes,--I know. And you were out on your balcony--”
+
+“Yes, I was,” in a burst of frankness, “I was. The moonlight was so
+divine, and I could not sleep, so I slipped on a boudoir gown and
+stepped out to look at the lovely scene.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“And then, Mr. Curran chanced to step out of his window, too,--and, as
+was most natural, we spoke of the beauty of the night.”
+
+“Of course,” said Kinney, and gazing at Anna’s face, he imagined Hugh
+Curran noting other beauty beside that of the night.
+
+“And you sat by him on the balcony rail?”
+
+“Why, yes, Mr. Kinney,--I did for a moment. Now, I’ll own up to you,
+that Mr. Curran was a fascinating man,--and that I--” she peeped at him
+from beneath her long lashes, “that I am--at least, I’m called a bit
+of a flirt--oh, well, I confess--but there was no crime in that,--was
+there?” The blue eyes appealed; “no real wrong in a tiny flirtation?
+That isn’t what you detectives want to discover, is it?”
+
+“No, no, indeed, ma’am. No, certainly not!”
+
+“Then you don’t need to say anything about it, do you? You don’t need
+to blazon abroad my little teeny-weeny indiscretion?”
+
+“No, no,--that isn’t necessary--”
+
+“Oh, you good Mr. Kinney! Oh, you dear man! And you promise not to say
+anything about it, don’t you?”
+
+“But--but it is already known. Tessie--”
+
+“But if you and I deny it, Tessie’s story won’t be believed. If you’ll
+say that I denied being out there, and that you believe my denial,
+no one can consider the maid’s story at all. It will be entirely
+discredited.”
+
+“I don’t see how I can do that--” Kinney looked at her perplexedly.
+“You see--”
+
+“I don’t see anything!” Anna playfully put both hands over her eyes,
+“and you don’t either,”--she transferred the soft fingers to Kinney’s
+eyes, “and so, let’s forget it all.”
+
+The touch of her roseleaf hands set the man’s pulses beating, and as
+the fingertips left his eyes, and he saw Anna’s roguish, smiling face,
+not far from his own, he would have promised her anything she asked.
+
+“I don’t know as it’s important evidence--” he began, heavily.
+
+“It isn’t evidence at all!” she cried, gaily. “I mean no evidence for
+or against your old murder case. Now, you know it isn’t, Mr. Kinney,
+and you know you’re going to ignore it all, and you’re going to
+leave poor little me out of the question, and then I’ll be happy and
+contented. And I’ll owe my happiness to you,--you dear man!”
+
+She seized his hand in both her own, and dropped a fluttering kiss on
+the big red paw.
+
+This sealed Kinney’s doom, and in a sort of trance, he murmured:
+
+“What shall I tell them?”
+
+“Tell them,” Anna directed, “that you interviewed me, and that I
+convinced you that I was not out on the balcony at all that night. That
+Tessie either made up the story or that she was mistaken. That the
+whole matter is of no importance anyway, and that you have other and
+more indicative knowledge to work on.”
+
+“Yes. And what is that knowledge?”
+
+“He’s eating out of my hand,” thought Anna, jubilantly.
+
+“It’s just this,” she replied, gravely. “While we sat on the balcony
+rail,--you see, I accept you as a sharer of my secrets,--there came a
+knock at Mr. Curran’s door. Only a light, almost timid tap, but in the
+silence of the night we heard it distinctly. Of course, he had to go
+and answer it, so he returned to his room, and I hastened to mine.”
+
+“But you lingered,” the detective instinct was still at work, “you
+tarried long enough to peep and see who it was?”
+
+“Oh, you wonderful man! How did you guess that?”
+
+“Who was it?”
+
+“I couldn’t see,--but I’m sure it was a woman.”
+
+“Ah, the shawled woman of Mr. Meredith’s story.”
+
+“Yes, exactly. I couldn’t corroborate him, for I didn’t want any one to
+know I was there. But since you know, and since you’re going to keep it
+secret,--I trust you, Mr. Kinney--I feel sure you can trace that woman.”
+
+“Then I’ll work on that clue, using only Mr. Meredith’s statement and
+not telling that it is backed up by yours.”
+
+“Yes, that’s just what I mean. You see, as I heard that tap, and saw
+Mr. Curran open the door to somebody,--that lets me out regarding--oh,
+I mean--you can’t think me the murderess.”
+
+A glance at the baby face was enough to make any such supposition
+ridiculous, but Kinney was still rational enough to realize that if
+Anna’s story of the tap at the door was a true tale, then she could
+have had no hand in the murder herself. And as the time coincided
+with the time Mr. Meredith had mentioned, he felt he had no reason to
+disbelieve what Anna Knox told him.
+
+Kinney went downstairs a gladder and a wiser man. He had eliminated one
+possible suspect, which was one step in the right direction.
+
+He found Loft and Angel in the library, discussing old books with Miss
+Dwyer.
+
+It seemed, Valentine had offered to buy some of Hugh Curran’s books
+from his sister, whose property they now were.
+
+And this had roused Miss Dwyer’s easily inflammable suspicions.
+
+“That’s the key to this whole mystery,” she was exclaiming, as Kinney
+entered. “There’s the motive! You two, Mr. Loft and Mr. Baldwin envied
+my brother some of his rarities. I’ve heard how wicked and greedy all
+collectors are! How they resort to any means to acquire a volume they
+have set their hearts on. I’ve been told how they will lie, cheat,
+steal, yes, even murder to get a choice specimen. My brother had a
+wonderful collection,--I know something of these matters myself. I
+know his Black Letter books are among the finest known. I know he had
+certain volumes that all the collectors in the country were trying
+to get away from him. I know that only a connoisseur in these things
+would know the value of his possessions, and would go to any lengths
+to get them. Mr. Kinney,” she turned to the detective, “there is your
+motive,--my brother was killed because he owned a valuable library.
+Now, you find his murderer!”
+
+Attracted by the loud voice of Miss Dwyer, Stella, who was passing,
+came in.
+
+“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said. “And, too,--though I know Val,
+you don’t take any interest in dreams,--yet I want to tell you of the
+vision I had last night.”
+
+“Nonsense,” Loft began, “but Kinney stopped him.”
+
+“Let her tell it, Mr. Loft,” he counselled. “Though only a dream it may
+be of benefit,--there may be a hint in it.”
+
+“It was so vivid a dream,” Stella said, “that I call it a vision. I
+saw a large library,--a room full of books,--it may have been a book
+shop, but the shelves were filled with old worn volumes. There were
+four men present, but all wore cowls,--such as monks wear. I could see
+none of their faces. But one seemed to be the owner of the books, and
+the others were visitors. There was much handling and discussion of the
+volumes. There also seemed to be quarrelling or ill feeling among the
+men. Of only two books could I discern the titles.”
+
+“What were they?” asked Kinney, as Stella paused.
+
+“One was ‘_Rosalie_,’--and one was ‘_Mr. S._’”
+
+“Oh, pshaw,--” Valentine Loft laughed, “those are the two words Mr.
+Curran spoke that night he was pretending to be clairvoyant. They meant
+nothing, but they stuck in your subconsciousness, Stella, and wove
+themselves into your dream.”
+
+“I don’t remember Mr. Curran’s saying them,” Stella protested.
+
+“But he did,” Loft returned. “And nobody showed any understanding of
+what he meant. He used them at random. I’m afraid, Stella, your dream
+can’t help us much.”
+
+“But I think it does,” Miss Dwyer, exclaimed; “of course you men will
+deny it, but that dream goes to prove, to my mind, that my brother’s
+murder is the result of his possession of books that another collector
+coveted. I have no doubt Miss Lawrence knows or suspects this, and that
+is why such a dream came to her. As to the titles of the books, if Mr.
+Loft’s explanation of that is the true one, it makes no difference.
+Miss Lawrence may have heard my brother use those two words or phrases,
+and have entirely forgotten it. Then they returned to her in her dream.”
+
+“I doubt if Mr. Curran actually made up those words,” Kinney said;
+“I think they meant something to him,--even if no one else present
+understood them.”
+
+“Rosalie, I think,--was the name of his wife,” Miss Dwyer said. “At
+least he sometimes called her that,--or Rose, or Rosy,--yet it is my
+impression they were all nicknames, and not her real name.”
+
+Angel Bob Baldwin had listened to this conversation mostly in silence.
+Now he took the floor.
+
+“Miss Dwyer,” he said, “you have doubtless heard, as you say, of the
+greed and covetousness of book collectors. And, while it is true to a
+degree, it is by no means true that they make a practice of killing
+other collectors in their zeal. I am, in a way, a book dealer,--though
+I have no shop or storeroom. I am more of a commission agent. Yet,
+I am familiar with the ways of the collectors, especially the most
+important ones. And I know that no one of them would kill a man or
+would even resort to dishonest methods to gain a book he desired.
+There are some, I daresay, who would do so, but not the important, the
+celebrated collectors. Your brother was one of these, Mr. Loft is one.
+And I can speak for Mr. Loft when I say that never has he descended to
+the slightest bit of underhanded dealing to attain a desired volume.
+Nor did your brother. These two men, as well as all of my clients, are
+most observant of the rights of fellow collectors. They give me their
+bids for an auction sale, or a private sale, and I execute their
+commissions with the same care and honesty that a broker or banker
+would use in financial transactions. I am telling you this, because I
+see you are under a misapprehension as to the methods and manners of
+first-class collectors.”
+
+“All very fine, Mr. Baldwin,” the lady returned, “except that I don’t
+believe it. I have come here to discover who killed my brother. If it
+turns out to be one of you men who threatened him--”
+
+“Threatened him!” cried Angel. “What _do_ you mean?”
+
+“Well, I’m told you discussed murder,--and what was the best method,
+and all that.”
+
+“We did,” Loft said, “but it was no threat,--it was regarding no
+intended victim! Miss Dwyer, you must be crazy!”
+
+“No, sir, I am not crazy, but I am a determined woman. I shall never
+rest until I discover the criminal. If the local police cannot
+accomplish this, I shall engage a private detective--”
+
+“Do so, if you wish, Miss Dwyer.” Loft was courteous, as always. “I,
+too, should be glad to have the mystery solved.”
+
+“I’ll help you, Miss Dwyer,” Stella offered. “I’m not sure that a
+woman’s intuition can’t accomplish more than a man’s skill. At any
+rate, I’m glad you do not scoff at my dreams,--for I have too often
+proved their truth and value to slight their importance.”
+
+The two women left the room and Kinney turned to Loft.
+
+“I want to take up that matter of the woman Mr. Meredith told of,” he
+began. “It hasn’t been sufficiently considered, I say. Now, Mr. Loft,
+what women slept on that floor that night?”
+
+“Why on that floor?” objected Loft. “Granting a veiled woman went into
+Curran’s room, late at night, she could have come down from the floor
+above.”
+
+“Or up from the floor below,” added Angel. “I hate to seem to asperse
+the character of a dead man, but Curran was evidently a woman lover
+of sorts. He was, I can’t help thinking,--quite capable of a vulgar
+intrigue with a housemaid,--and Valhalla employs some very pretty ones.”
+
+“It is an unpleasant supposition,” Loft said, gravely, “but I’d rather
+think that, than to imagine any of our own people doing such a thing.”
+
+“Who were on that floor?” persisted Kinney.
+
+“Mrs. Meredith, Mrs. Knox, Miss Fuller, Miss Lawrence, the Countess,
+and Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper,” Loft said shortly. “No one of
+those is possible. My housekeeper is a staid, middle-aged person, and
+the other ladies are out of the question. If there was a visitor, such
+as Mr. Meredith described, it must have been--”
+
+“Tessie, perhaps,” Angel suggested.
+
+“Yes, Tessie, if anybody,” Loft agreed. “She is a naughty little
+piece,--Mrs. Jennings has often threatened to discharge her. But she’s
+a capable chambermaid, and such are not easy to get.”
+
+“Well, if Tessie did go there that night, she surely didn’t kill
+Curran,” Angel said, reflectively. “How could she have done it?”
+
+“Like most theories, it presupposes previous acquaintance with Curran,”
+Kinney said; “whoever killed that man, knew him before. Nobody could
+have done it on first acquaintance.”
+
+“Unless it was Ned Knox,” Loft said; “I’m loath to suspect Ned, but you
+know, Angel, how impulsive he is,--and how jealous of Anna.”
+
+Kinney looked disturbed. He hated to have Knox accused,--he hated any
+reflection on Anna.
+
+“Mr. Knox was the one who advocated shooting,” he reminded them.
+
+“That’s nothing,” Loft said, “he had no pistol up here,--and, too, it
+was less suspicious to choose the method he had not advocated.”
+
+Valentine Loft looked moody and worried. He did not want to accuse
+Knox, but he had his own reasons for doing so. The man was beset by
+doubts and fears. He felt the fearful responsibility of this misfortune
+that had come to him,--and he had a secret cause for anxiety that was
+driving him to distraction. If Knox should be proved the guilty person,
+Loft, while not exactly glad, would be greatly relieved.
+
+Miss Dwyer, too, was a nuisance. As Loft was a lawyer, she appealed to
+him continually in regard to minor legal questions. She declared she
+would not let him touch her brother’s belongings or have anything to do
+with the settlement of his estate, but she still pestered him with her
+foolish questions and arguments. Miss Dwyer was by no means sure of the
+guilt she attributed to Valentine Loft, but she did suspect him, and
+indomitably she pursued her inquiries.
+
+No will of Hugh Curran had been heard of, so Miss Dwyer was doubtless
+the sole heir.
+
+Repeatedly Loft advised her to put the whole matter in the hands of a
+capable attorney,--but the spinster hesitated, her real reason being
+that if Loft should be freed from her suspicion, he was the lawyer she
+wished to retain.
+
+So she stayed at Valhalla, bothering every one, annoying every one, but
+serenely unconscious of it.
+
+The passing days brought no new theories or discoveries on the part of
+the police. Their knowledge of the circumstances seemed to be complete
+as far as they could make it. No questioning of household or servant
+brought any new revelations.
+
+Tessie, when grilled, seemed to be entirely innocent of any
+acquaintanceship with Hugh Curran. The idea of her tapping on his door
+that night was the merest surmise. The girl was frank and seemingly
+truthful.
+
+Moreover, Violet vouched for her presence in the bedroom they shared,
+soon after half-past one that night.
+
+“She has an alibi,” Angel said, as they discussed it after Tessie had
+been dismissed. “An unshakable alibi,--if Violet tells the truth.”
+
+“If,” said Kinney.
+
+“I think she does,” Loft declared. “They are good girls, and Mrs.
+Jennings says they are truthful. It’s too bad to suspect them with
+positively no reason for it.”
+
+“That’s so,” Kinney agreed; “we must look elsewhere.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+                            PAULINE’S GRIEF
+
+
+KINNEY, away from the lure of Anna’s presence, wondered how he had been
+so subjugated by her. The man was soft-hearted but hard-headed, and,
+thinking it all over, he began to wonder whether she hadn’t purposely
+bamboozled him.
+
+He began to think that it would be quite possible for her story to
+be all true up to the tap on Curran’s door. Or rather to the next
+statement, which was that Anna was sure the visitor was a woman.
+
+Suppose it had not been a woman at all,--suppose it had been the irate
+husband, Ned Knox. And suppose Anna, banking on Mr. Meredith’s story
+had added her assurance that the caller was a woman.
+
+The more Kinney pondered over this idea, the more plausible it appeared
+to him. He decided not to discuss it with anybody, but to ferret it out
+himself.
+
+For, he had come to the conclusion that the men at Valhalla changed
+their mental attitudes from day to day. Loft, himself, now suspected
+Knox and the next day he would disclaim all such possibility.
+
+Kinney concluded finally that he would learn more from the women than
+from the men.
+
+So he set forth on his day’s work by asking an interview with the
+Countess Galaski.
+
+This self-important personage granted the request, and received him in
+a small reception room where they could be alone.
+
+“I’m glad you have come to me at last, Mr. Kinney,” she said, her black
+eyes snapping and her over-red lips set in a straight line.
+
+“You know something, madam?” he inquired, surprised.
+
+“I may know something and I may not,” she returned, “but at least, I
+can give you a hint which way to look.”
+
+“I hope you will do so, Countess.”
+
+“Well,--find Mr. Curran’s watch.”
+
+“That is one of my chiefest endeavors. If you can give me a hint as to
+its whereabouts, I shall indeed be grateful.”
+
+“I can’t do that, Mr. Kinney, but--has it never occurred to you to
+search the rooms of the household,--guests, servants and all?”
+
+“Why, no,--I confess I’ve not thought of doing that.”
+
+“It might produce results.”
+
+“I can’t think so, Countess. Supposing for a moment, any one under this
+roof had taken the watch, such a one would, of course, have disposed of
+it before this. It’s over a week now, since Mr. Curran’s death, and no
+one, I mean no one of criminal intent, would keep any damaging evidence
+still in possession.”
+
+“Nevertheless, it could do no harm to look.”
+
+“Then advise me a little further. Look where? There’s no use in
+searching all the rooms, if you have some knowledge,--some inkling of
+where it may be.”
+
+The Countess pondered.
+
+“No;” she said, finally. “I can’t advise you. There may be no result
+whatever, and in that case, I am not willing to mention any name.”
+
+“At least, you have given me a new idea, and I thank you, Countess. Do
+help me further, and tell me when the rooms,--certain rooms are most
+likely to be vacated. I don’t want to advertise this search, as that
+would lead to greater precautions.”
+
+“You’ll have to watch for yourself. It should not be difficult. Say, if
+several go for a motor drive this afternoon, you could go into their
+rooms then. Or, there is always opportunity while we are at dinner or
+luncheon.”
+
+Kinney looked at her admiringly.
+
+“It may seem to you, Countess, that you are instructing me in matters I
+should have known myself. But, I admit, a search of the rooms here for
+the missing watch, never came into my mind,--and, frankly, I don’t hope
+for much from it.”
+
+“Maybe not,” the Countess smiled, “but it can do no harm. Of course,
+you will ignore and forget any thing you may learn not bearing on your
+case.”
+
+“Of course,” returned Kinney, sincerely. “I may include your room?”
+
+“Oh, yes, if you like; though the fact of my proposing this search
+would seem to imply my own innocence. However, were I guilty myself,
+I’d be clever enough to cook up this scheme,--so go ahead. Search my
+room with the rest.”
+
+Kinney was not quite ready to follow this advice without telling
+Valentine Loft of his intentions, so he went at once in quest of the
+master of the house.
+
+“Why, of course,” Loft said; “go ahead, Kinney. I hate to have it done,
+but if you think it necessary, proceed.”
+
+“I’ve wondered why you don’t do something of the sort,” said Baldwin,
+who was with Loft in the smoking room. “And another thing, Mr. Kinney,
+why don’t you check up alibis?”
+
+“I’ve tried to, Mr. Baldwin, but at two o’clock in the morning an alibi
+is a hard thing to prove. Everybody simply says, ‘In bed, asleep,’ and
+who’s to prove otherwise?”
+
+“That’s true,” Angel returned. “Mr. Loft and I can vouch for each
+other, as I’m rooming in his suite, but most of the others are alone.”
+
+“That’s just it, sir,” said Kinney. “Even Mr. Knox was in his own
+bedroom with the door closed. So his wife can’t swear to his alibi.”
+
+“Nor he to hers,” observed Loft. “Mr. Baldwin and I can swear to each
+other’s presence from one o’clock on, and the Merediths shared a room.
+Except for us four, every one roomed alone,--that’s so.”
+
+“That’s why I feel I must search the rooms,” Kinney stated. “There may
+be some evidence against somebody, some unexpected clue--”
+
+“Yes, there may be,” Angel said; “and here’s another thing. I want
+to look around Curran’s room a bit more. His sister has taken away
+his personal belongings, but I think there might be some clues in the
+waste basket or on the tables or floor. Roly Mears fancies himself as a
+detective, but the boy doesn’t get anywhere. So, if you’ve the key, Mr.
+Kinney, let’s run up there a few minutes.”
+
+“Very well, sir, I’m willing. Come along.”
+
+The two went up the great staircase, and as they turned into the
+corridor that led to the room Hugh Curran had occupied, they almost
+fell over pretty Tessie, the maid, who was stooping, her ear at the
+keyhole of a door.
+
+“Here, you!” cried Kinney roughly, putting out his hand to snatch her
+away. “What do you mean?”
+
+But to his surprise, instead of looking frightened, Tessie drew herself
+upright, and finger on lip, motioned Kinney to listen himself at the
+keyhole.
+
+Surprised into acquiescence the detective did so, and, listening
+intently, he heard a woman’s agonized sobs.
+
+More, he heard broken snatches of sentences, cried out in agony, as if
+irrepressible wailings of a broken heart.
+
+“If I could only forget!” were the words that came to him, scarcely
+breathed, almost inaudible, yet he was just able to catch them.
+
+“I will forget!” she went on, after another short period of intense
+grief. “I must--I will forget!”
+
+And then--in a clear, ringing triumphant voice, “I have forgotten,
+yes,--I have forgotten!”
+
+Though not loud this was so unmistakably a desperate resolve, a
+determined achievement, that Kinney could almost see the conquering
+smile that must have accompanied it.
+
+And yet, the next instant, the speaker broke down again, and sobbed as
+if her heart would break.
+
+Feeling ashamed of himself, Kinney stood up, and taking Tessie’s arm,
+drew her along with them, and the three entered Hugh Curran’s room, as
+Kinney unlocked the door.
+
+“Now,” he said, closing the door, pushing Tessie into a chair, and
+standing over her with a lowering face.
+
+“Now, what do you mean by eavesdropping like that?”
+
+“It was this way, sir,” and Tessie was no whit embarrassed. “That’s
+Miss Fuller’s room, and I went up to make it up, sir. At the door, I
+thought I heard her crying, and I thought I’d better not intrude. I
+stooped to listen, to make sure she really was crying, and then you
+came along.”
+
+“That’s all right,” Angel said, nodding at Kinney. “Tessie is a
+chambermaid on this floor and it was her duty to report for work. If
+she heard Miss Fuller crying, she did right about hesitating to enter,
+and though I can’t condone listening at keyholes, it seemed the natural
+thing to do. Is anyone else in the room?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said Kinney, slowly. “Either there is, or Miss Fuller
+was talking to herself. She was certainly in deep distress.”
+
+“Some one ought to go to her!” exclaimed Bob. “Some of the women.”
+
+“I don’t think so,” Kinney demurred. “She seemed in trouble of her own.
+She was saying, ‘If I could only forget! I must forget!’ That sounds
+like a personal, a private sorrow. I think it better not to intrude. A
+little later, Tessie may go in,--and perhaps she can be of assistance
+in some way.”
+
+“Miss Fuller has been like that before, sir,” Tessie volunteered.
+“Twice, I’ve found her crying when I went to help her dress for dinner.”
+
+“What was her explanation?” asked Kinney.
+
+“The first time,--she said some dust had flown in her eyes from the
+window. But I think she knew I didn’t believe that. The second time,
+she said nothing,--just bathed her eyes and let me dress her without a
+word.”
+
+“Then she won’t resent your presence now. Run along, Tessie; if you
+can get in, do all you can for her. If not, come back here and tell us
+about it.”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Kinney,” and the astute maid went away.
+
+“That girl knows a lot,” said Baldwin. “She’s either a good faithful
+servant, or she’s a wily, canny fraud. I don’t know which.”
+
+“She’s both,” said Kinney, sapiently. “She’s a good servant,--Mr. Loft
+says so,--but she’s mighty cute. Little goes on that she doesn’t see.”
+
+“Yes, she saw Mrs. Knox on the balcony,” Angel reminded him.
+
+“I don’t believe she did,” and Kinney remembered his promise to Anna.
+“I think she made that yarn up.”
+
+“Good for you,” cried Baldwin. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’d hate
+to believe any wrong of Mrs. Knox. But get busy, Kinney, and help me
+look round this place. Hello, where’s the book catalogue gone?”
+
+“Which one? Here are two.”
+
+“Yes, they’re little ones. But there was a big one, it was here that
+morning,--when we found Mr. Curran.”
+
+“Do you want it? I suppose it can be found. Probably Mr. Loft took
+it,--or maybe Miss Dwyer. She wants to sell the books of her brother,
+you know.”
+
+“It doesn’t matter. I can get another like it. Now let’s hunt the waste
+basket. There are always clues in a waste basket. Or, I’ll look in it,
+while you search the bureau drawers. I can’t help feeling there are
+clues to be found in his room.”
+
+Bob bent over the basket and Kinney obediently searched the drawers of
+dresser and chiffonier.
+
+“Nothing doing,” the detective said, at last, turning to the other.
+“You found anything?”
+
+He smiled at the heap of litter Bob had turned out on the floor.
+
+“No,” was the perplexed reply.
+
+“Looking for anything in particular? You seem disappointed.”
+
+“I am disappointed, but I’m not after anything in particular. Except I
+hoped to find some letter or note that might tell us something. Come
+on, I’ve searched all I want to. I don’t think so much of waste basket
+clues after all. I can find no ‘feathers left around’ at all.”
+
+They went away, and a slight pause at the door of Pauline Fuller’s room
+brought no sound to the ears of the detective.
+
+“All quiet in here now,” he said, rather soberly, as they went
+downstairs.
+
+And at the luncheon table, Bob, to his surprise, found Pauline in
+an unusually gay mood. She was talkative and animated, and her good
+spirits infected the others, until the atmosphere became more cheery
+and bright than it had been since the occurrence of the tragedy.
+
+Luncheon over, Bob took possession of Little Anna and carried her off
+for a stroll in the gardens.
+
+“I just want to tell you, dear,” Angel said, “that I, for one, do not
+believe that yarn of Tessie’s about you.”
+
+“You blessed Angel!” and Anna gave him her loveliest smile. “I’m glad I
+have at least one friend at court.”
+
+“And so,” Bob went on, “that lets Ned out as a suspect. For though you
+did make a few eyes at Curran during the evening, that wasn’t enough to
+rouse jealous old Ned to the killing pitch.”
+
+“Of course it wasn’t,” and Anna beamed satisfaction. “Now, Angel, who
+did do it?”
+
+“Anna,--look here. Ned is out of it,--I’m vouched for by Valentine
+himself, so I’m out of it. Now, there’s only one left of the trio who
+discussed ways and means--”
+
+“Val himself!” said Anna, softly. “But why, Angel, for Heaven’s sake,
+_why_?”
+
+“I don’t know,--but,--oh, Anna, I can’t say it,--but do you think, can
+you imagine that Pauline knew Curran before?”
+
+Anna looked both serious and frightened.
+
+“I wouldn’t think so, Angel, only,--when Mr. Curran did that mind
+reading stunt,--Pauline did look self-conscious.”
+
+“At what?”
+
+“I think it was at ‘Mr. S.’ You know, Hugh Curran flung out ‘Mr. S.’,
+and ‘Rosalie,’ and--now, Angel, don’t kill me! but I felt sure that
+Pauline turned white and gripped at her chair arms when he said, ‘Mr.
+S.’ and--yes, I will tell you,--I thought you did, Bob, when he said
+‘Rosalie’! Did you?”
+
+“Did I? I did not! I never knew anybody named Rosalie in my life.
+I never heard the name except in some general way. But, Anna, that
+‘Rosalie’ has been explained. It seems it was his wife’s name, or
+nickname. His sister said so.”
+
+“Yes,--I know. But he didn’t say it that night because it was his
+wife’s name. Nobody here ever heard of his wife. He used it to tease
+somebody and I thought it might be you.”
+
+“Well it wasn’t. Maybe Val knows some Rosalie person,--or maybe your
+Ned does,--I don’t.”
+
+“Ned doesn’t either, I asked him. Well, it’s no matter anyway. But I’m
+positive Pauline was upset at the mention of ‘Mr. S.’ and that’s why I
+thought maybe she had known Mr. Curran before. Or maybe she knew some
+‘Mr. S.’ who also knew Mr. Curran.”
+
+“Maybe,” said Bob. “Anyway, Pauline was in high spirits at lunch time.”
+
+“Put on,” and Anna wagged her head sagaciously. “I know Pauline,--and
+the worse she feels, the gayer she acts,--I mean, if she doesn’t want
+people to know.”
+
+Baldwin thought of Kinney’s account of Pauline’s grief that morning,
+and he wondered.
+
+“You’re sure, Anna?” he inquired.
+
+“Positive. And, too, I know Pauline had been crying. She had on an
+extra touch of rouge, but she couldn’t entirely correct her reddened
+eyelids. Whatever was the matter, she cried over it. Then she made a
+very careful toilette, dressed her hair and fixed up her face with
+greatest care,--but she couldn’t fool me. She had had one good big cry
+this morning, that I know.”
+
+“Oh, well, I suppose you women all have your ups and downs.”
+
+“Of course, and it’s enough to make Pauly cry to have all this horror
+here, so shortly before her wedding day.”
+
+“Is the day set?”
+
+“Not quite, but it will be inside a couple of months. That is, it would
+have been. I don’t know whether this horrid business will postpone it
+or not. But, Angel, nobody seems to get anywhere. Why is nothing being
+done?”
+
+“It’s a hard nut to crack, Anna. And the wheels of justice move
+slowly--”
+
+“They don’t move at all! I’m trying to get Ned to take me away.”
+
+“He can’t, Anna, until he is freed from suspicion.”
+
+“Ned! Suspicion! Ridiculous!”
+
+“Ridiculous, I grant, but that Dwyer woman holds that all of us, Ned,
+Val, and myself are under suspicion, because of that fool talk we had--”
+
+“But you’ve just said Val can prove your alibi.”
+
+“I know,--but I can’t prove his. You see, the house was crowded that
+night, and I went into Val’s suite. I slept in his bed,--he would have
+it so,--and he slept on the couch in his sitting room. So,--the way the
+rooms are,--he could go out into the hall if he wished, and I wouldn’t
+know it,--unless I heard him--”
+
+“The door was closed between you two?”
+
+“Yes; and the room he slept in opens out to the hall, but the bedroom
+where I was, doesn’t. So that, if he stepped carefully, he could easily
+go out and return without my knowing it; whereas, I couldn’t get out
+to the hall, without going through the room where he slept. And he’s a
+very light sleeper,--so there’s my alibi. Besides, I didn’t go out, or
+try to go out at all.”
+
+“Of course you didn’t. Why would you kill Curran?”
+
+“It isn’t the why, Anna, it’s the who? Why would Val kill him? And yet,
+if it really was one of us three, and if you take Ned out, and if Val
+proved my alibi, there’s no one left but Val.”
+
+“Rubbish, it never was Val!”
+
+“No, I don’t think it was either.”
+
+Yet it was not long before Angel Bob had an opportunity to revise his
+opinion.
+
+On their return to the house, Roly Mears beckoned to Bob, excitedly.
+
+“Come on, old chap,” he said, in a low tone; “come on, quick.”
+
+Leaving Anna with the others, Bob followed Roly, who took him to the
+library, where Kinney was waiting.
+
+“Mr. Kinney has found something, Angel,” Roly said. “I don’t want to
+tell Val, or anybody, until you hear about it. Tell him, Mr. Kinney.”
+
+“While you were all at luncheon,” Kinney began, his face expressing an
+unwillingness to divulge the secret he had, “I made some search among
+the bedrooms. I hated to do it, but it had to be done. I looked in the
+ladies’ rooms first, so as to be sure to get that done while they were
+absent, and in the rooms of the Countess, Miss Lawrence and Miss Dwyer,
+I found nothing of any informative importance. But,--when I went into
+Miss Fuller’s room,--I did.”
+
+“What did you find?” asked Baldwin. He tried to make his voice casual
+but it shook a little in spite of himself. Was the beautiful Pauline to
+be dragged into this miserable business?
+
+“I can’t think it was anything incriminating,” he added.
+
+“It seems to me it is, sir,” and Kinney looked as sorrowful as Angel
+himself.
+
+As he spoke, he handed over to Bob a watch.
+
+It was gold, very thin, and it had no chain or fob attached.
+
+He took it mechanically. Before he examined it at all, he knew it must
+be Hugh Curran’s watch, and the conviction jarred him terribly.
+
+“It is Mr. Curran’s?” he asked, staring at the timepiece.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Baldwin. Hidden in a small desk which was locked.”
+
+“And which you pried open?”
+
+“And which I opened with a skeleton key. I had to. It was necessary in
+the interest of justice.”
+
+“Damn you and your justice! How dare you break into a lady’s locked
+desk?”
+
+“Softly, now, Mr. Baldwin. That is the duty of a detective. And
+the fact of its being there, locked up, proves it a secret of Miss
+Fuller’s.”
+
+“Secret nothing! If this watch was in Miss Fuller’s room, it had a
+right there. Mr. Curran must have given it to her.”
+
+“Very good, sir. That may be. And, now, Mr. Baldwin, if you’ll just
+look at the picture in the watch case--”
+
+Unwilling, yet urged on by the impatient glances of both Kinney and
+Roly Mears, Angel Bob clicked open the back of Hugh Curran’s watch.
+
+And found himself looking on the beautiful face of Pauline Fuller.
+
+Stunned, aghast, he quickly snapped it shut, and stared at Mears.
+
+“What does it mean?” he whispered. His bravado was gone, his face took
+on a frightened pallor. Angel was emotional, his quick mind saw into
+the past, turned, saw into the future, and both looked so black, he
+groaned aloud.
+
+“Val!” he cried, in anguish, “Valentine! Oh, Pauline!”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+
+                            CURRAN’S WATCH
+
+
+IT was a moment before Baldwin could pull himself together.
+
+“I can’t seem to sense it,” he said, musingly. “That watch,--hidden in
+Miss Fuller’s room! Oh,--I see,--it’s a plant!”
+
+“A plant?” inquired Roly.
+
+“Yes,--somebody has done it to drag Pauline into this mess,--or, the
+criminal is trying to divert suspicion from himself--”
+
+“Herself!” Mears exclaimed; “if your suggestion is true, that’s a
+woman’s trick! And, it may be mere mischief--do you suppose Anna--”
+
+“Oh, hush, Roly,” Bob exclaimed. “Why harp on Anna?”
+
+“But there’s more to this than meets the eye. You see, Angel, if Ned
+killed Curran because he flirted with Anna, then Anna is going to use
+every means to turn suspicion from Ned.”
+
+“It looks like that to me,” Detective Kinney agreed. “To my way of
+thinking, Mr. Knox is the only one who seems to have a motive--”
+
+“_Seems_ to have,--perhaps,” Roly said; “but anybody else may
+have a motive of which we know nothing. Ned Knox is impulsive,
+impetuous,--but I can’t believe he’d murder,--just because of a
+flirtation--”
+
+“We don’t know, Mr. Mears,” Kinney reminded him, “just how serious
+that flirtation was. Men _have_ killed other men, when they found
+them--”
+
+“Never mind,--don’t speculate,” Roly said; “now, Angel, what is the
+thing to do,--regarding the watch, I mean?”
+
+“Take it straight to Val,” Baldwin replied, promptly. “It’s the only
+thing to do. We can’t speak of it to Pauline,--I don’t for a minute
+believe she knows a thing about it--”
+
+“Now, now, Mr. Baldwin, I think she does,” Kinney spoke gravely. “It’s
+all very well to hold a lady above suspicion,--but I can’t see how the
+murderer could get that watch into Miss Fuller’s locked desk--”
+
+“Don’t speculate, let’s find out. I say, show the watch to Mr. Loft,
+tell him the whole story, and do as he says. Give him the first chance
+to clear Miss Fuller--for, she must be cleared.”
+
+“I’d rather put it up to the lady herself,” the detective demurred.
+
+“Well, you can’t.” Angel Bob was dominating. “If she knows nothing
+of it, we must find out who does,--and if Miss Fuller is in any way
+implicated, it will come out soon enough. Mr. Loft is the right one to
+go to, for he will want to shield Miss Fuller from any unpleasantness
+possible.”
+
+Kinney looked a little surprised at the methods that seemed to obtain
+among gentlemen, but he was willing to take the matter to Valentine
+Loft, and said so.
+
+“Come on, then,” and with the amazed look still on his face, Baldwin
+led the way.
+
+They found Loft and beckoned to him, and the four men went into the
+library and shut the door.
+
+“What is it?” Loft asked; “anything new?”
+
+His lean, strong face looked careworn, his expression was not
+hopeful. As a matter of fact, he was pretty well bowled over by the
+misfortune that had fallen on his house. He dreaded any solution of the
+mystery,--for he could conceive of none that would not implicate some
+of his friends or guests, and he wanted, most of all, to be rid of the
+whole business.
+
+But a glance at the faces of those about him now, showed him that there
+was something of importance to be divulged.
+
+“Out with it,” he said; “you have found something, I see.”
+
+“Yes,” said Kinney, “we have found Hugh Curran’s watch.”
+
+“Whose picture is in it?” Loft asked, quickly. “Anna’s?”
+
+He bit his lip, annoyed at his own impulsive question. He wouldn’t have
+minded Bob and Roly, but he was truly sorry to have made the suggestion
+before Kinney.
+
+However, the detective showed no interest in Anna’s name, but he
+watched Loft closely as he handed the watch to him.
+
+Snapping open the back case, Valentine Loft saw the picture of Pauline.
+
+It was not a recent one,--clearly it had been taken a few years since,
+but it was unmistakable.
+
+The beautiful smiling face was happy and even roguish. A different
+Pauline from the dignified, gracious woman they knew,--a girl Pauline,
+almost childish in her innocent smile.
+
+Loft gazed as if hypnotized.
+
+Had it been less tragic it would have been almost comical to note the
+mild wonder in his face as he turned it to his two friends, ignoring
+the detective entirely.
+
+“Where do you suppose Curran ever got Pauly’s picture?” he said; “such
+a good one, too,--when she was a little girl,--almost.”
+
+“It doesn’t mean anything to you, then, Mr. Loft?” Kinney asked,
+staring hard at him.
+
+“Mean anything? It means that somehow Mr. Curran became possessed of
+Miss Fuller’s picture,--and as it was so beautiful, he kept it.”
+
+“She didn’t give it to him?”
+
+“She never saw him until she met him here. She told me so herself.”
+
+The calm finality of Loft’s tone left no room for doubt of his utter
+belief in his fiancée’s word.
+
+“Well, Mr. Loft, I’m sorry to tell you that I found the watch, hidden
+in a locked desk in Miss Fuller’s room.”
+
+“Who put it there?” Loft’s tone was quiet, but the men who knew him
+could see a gleam come into his eye.
+
+“We don’t know,” Kinney spoke almost gently, “but in my opinion, Miss
+Fuller put it there herself.”
+
+“Mr. Kinney,” Loft spoke very sternly, “if you mean she did so with
+some unexplained but innocent intent, very well. If, however, you are
+implying or suggesting a shade of doubt or suspicion of Miss Fuller--in
+any way,--you will answer to me for it! How dare you,” he went on, as
+Kinney’s face told plainly that he had his suspicions, “how dare you
+even speak the name of that lady in connection with wrong-doing of any
+sort? I--I could kill you where you sit!”
+
+“Now, Val,” Angel interrupted, “don’t sling around any more remarks
+about killing! We’re too careless in the way we use that word. You’re
+not going to kill Mr. Kinney,--and you must listen, if he has any
+theories to offer. Good Heavens, man, his words,--whatever they might
+be,--couldn’t hurt Pauline!”
+
+“No; but they hurt me! They infuriate me! I won’t have it! Retract, Mr.
+Kinney, or leave my house this instant!”
+
+“I haven’t said anything yet,” Kinney reminded him; “and, too, Mr.
+Loft, as an agent of the Law, I can’t be ordered out of a house, even
+by its owner.”
+
+“Law or no law, I’ll put you out myself, if you mention the lady’s name
+again,--in any connection whatever!”
+
+“Why, Val,” cried Mears, “I’ve never seen you excited before! Don’t
+take it like that!”
+
+“There’s only one way to take it,--to quash it!” Loft stormed on; “I
+repeat, if you found that watch in Miss Fuller’s room,--it was put
+there by some evil-minded individual, either to make trouble for Miss
+Fuller, or to save his own skin! The murderer of Hugh Curran put it
+there, I have no doubt,--and as to why or how he did it,--I don’t know
+and don’t care! I will say, however, Mr. Kinney, that you have done
+nothing since your arrival,--that you have discovered nothing. That you
+are making trouble instead of curing it, and that unless you agree to
+drop this particular phase of the matter I shall take steps to have you
+removed--in the name of the Law!”
+
+“Fine talk, sir,” said Kinney, who grew calmer as Loft grew more
+excited. “Fine talk, but it gets you nowhere. Why not face facts, Mr.
+Loft? Why not accept the fact that I found the watch,--as I said,--and
+let me confront Miss Fuller with the fact, and receive her doubtless
+satisfactory explanation of its presence in her locked desk.”
+
+Valentine Loft looked at the speaker with a glance of utter disdain.
+
+“You shall never have an interview of any sort with Miss Fuller,” he
+said, more quietly than he had yet spoken. “If the watch must be shown
+to her, or discussed with her,--I will do it,--no one else may.”
+
+“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on being present at that interview, Mr.
+Loft,” and the detective shook his head doggedly.
+
+“You shall not! You sneaking, spying--”
+
+“Now, Valentine,” Angel Bob seemed almost alarmed, “let up on all
+that. I know how you feel about Pauline, but can’t you see, man, that
+all your bluster and anger doesn’t help her cause any? In fact, it
+strengthens any possible suspicion against--”
+
+“Don’t dare say it, Bob!” Loft’s eyes were blazing, and he turned
+on Baldwin in fierce anger. “I am blustering,--I know it. I never
+blustered before in my life,--I never had occasion to! But this!”
+
+Loft stopped suddenly, and again looked at the picture in the watch
+which he still held in his hand.
+
+As he gazed, his face softened, his features relaxed into a half smile,
+and he said, at last:
+
+“This must have been taken when Pauly was a school girl. She can’t be
+more than eighteen, here. I daresay she gave it to some school chum,
+and Curran got possession of it merely as a fancy picture. For he never
+knew Pauly. I’ll go to her,--she’ll tell me all about it,--but you must
+let me go alone, Mr. Kinney. I’ll agree, on my honor, to tell you all
+she says, but I really don’t want an audience to our conversation.”
+
+Loft had calmed down to his usual composure, and his voice was tranquil
+again. Having hit on what seemed to him an adequate solution of the
+picture in Curran’s watch, he was ready to treat Kinney in his former
+friendly manner.
+
+The two men were not at all congenial,--the detective’s blunt business
+manners were distasteful to Loft’s suave culture, but if Pauline’s name
+could be stricken from the detective’s slate, Loft would let him run
+his own gait in peace.
+
+“Will you go and inquire about the matter at once, Mr. Loft?” Kinney
+asked.
+
+“I will do it during the afternoon, Mr. Kinney. Not just at the moment,
+for I chance to know that Miss Fuller has gone to her room for a nap. I
+am not willing to disturb her,--it is her habit to rest after luncheon.
+But I will arrange to see her this afternoon sometime, and I will take
+up the subject with her. Meantime, I will keep the watch.”
+
+“No, Mr. Loft, I will keep the watch. It is a piece of material
+evidence,--at least, as things stand now.”
+
+“A feather left around,” said Roly, smiling. “Let him keep it, Val,--he
+has the right to.”
+
+“It doesn’t matter,” and Loft handed the watch back to the detective,
+with a faint shrug of his shoulders, as if, after all, the incident was
+of small account.
+
+“You’d do well to adopt a maxim of mine, Kinney,” he said. “It is, ‘Do
+nothing and all will be done.’ Ever hear it before?”
+
+“No, and I never want to again. I’d get nowhere at all, if I worked on
+that line, Mr. Loft.”
+
+“That’s where you make your mistake. There are many times when a
+masterly inactivity brings about the best results. This is one of
+them. Do nothing in that watch matter,--it will all be done. I’ll meet
+you here, say, at five o’clock,--it’s three, now,--and I’ll prove my
+statement.”
+
+And with this Kinney was forced to be content.
+
+Unable to find better company he attached himself to Miss Dwyer.
+
+She was always ready to talk to him, but he rarely gained any
+information from her.
+
+This time, however, she had something on her mind.
+
+“I have a theory, Mr. Kinney,” she said, her pale blue eyes blinking
+with earnestness, “and it’s this. You see, my brother was killed by
+somebody in this house. None of the servants did it,--that’s too
+ridiculous! So, it was some of the household themselves,--or guests,
+I mean. Well, not one of them knew my brother, or had any personal
+motive to kill him. But, he was a great and successful book collector.
+So, I am sure the motive was possession of his rare volumes. To you
+this may seem an inadequate motive,--but I assure you it is not. I
+know, Mr. Baldwin says that the big collectors don’t kill to get the
+treasures,--but he may be mistaken in this instance, and, too, Mr. Loft
+isn’t a very big collector.”
+
+“Oh, so it’s Mr. Loft you are favoring with your suspicions, is it?
+But, Mr. Baldwin is also interested in books.”
+
+“Not in the same way. You don’t know about such matters, I
+daresay,--but the collector’s mania is really a dangerous thing. Mr.
+Baldwin wants books to buy and then to sell to another customer. He
+doesn’t have that craving to possess that besets the collector. It is
+a desperate covetousness, an insane envy that leads to any lengths to
+get the desired book. I know, for I know how it affected my brother.
+He never committed crime, but I know,--ah, I know that he resorted to
+means not--not strictly honorable.”
+
+“All very interesting, Miss Dwyer, but we have no evidence. You see
+both Mr. Loft and Mr. Baldwin were in their rooms all night, after one
+o’clock or so.”
+
+“You’ve only their word for that.”
+
+Kinney looked at her, startled. It was true,--if Loft and Baldwin had
+been disposed, they could have acted in collusion, and could have
+accomplished the deed more easily than any one else. If there were any
+way to get in and out of that locked door, Loft would know about his
+own house.
+
+Kinney had sneaking suspicions of a secret passage somewhere, but his
+closest scrutiny had been unable to find any trace of such.
+
+He put Miss Hetty’s suggestion away in his brain to think about later,
+and said:
+
+“What does Mr. Curran’s fiancée look like?”
+
+“Just a pretty young thing.”
+
+“Does she look at all like Miss Fuller?”
+
+“Not the least mite,--almost her opposite. Why?”
+
+“Nothing. Why didn’t he carry her picture in his watch?”
+
+“I don’t know. Maybe he did. I’m told his watch was stolen from him,
+wasn’t it?”
+
+“It was missing when the body was found,” Kinney evaded, “but he might
+have put it away himself.”
+
+As the pair talked, a few others had come out on the terrace, and the
+Countess, passing, heard the word “watch.”
+
+“Found it?” she said, quickly, seating herself by Kinney. “I told you
+to look for that watch.”
+
+“Why,”--and Kinney looked at her curiously.
+
+“Because it might easily prove indicative. And I know you’ve found it,
+Mr. Kinney! Your countenance is not always under control, and I’m sure
+you’ve found it! Where was it?”
+
+Kinney was taken aback, but he was quick-witted at times, and he
+replied, easily:
+
+“No such luck, Countess Galaski. It may turn up,--but I searched
+several places without success.”
+
+Miss Hetty Dwyer, never at ease in the presence of the caustic Countess
+had walked away, and glancing around to be sure no one else was
+listening, the Countess went on:
+
+“You would do well, Mr. Kinney, to take me into your confidence. I
+could be of real help to you.”
+
+Kinney was a little weary of offers of help from women, but he never
+dared neglect a possible bit of assistance.
+
+“I’ve nothing particular to confide, ma’am, but if you’ve any helpful
+information it’s your duty to give it out.”
+
+“Not information,--merely advice. And here it is,--if you want it
+bluntly. Beware of that little Mrs. Knox. I know how she is pulling
+wool over your eyes--”
+
+“What?”
+
+Kinney was so surprised that he quite forgot his manners.
+
+“Yes,--that’s just what she does to everybody.”
+
+“Ah,” Kinney thought to himself, “feminine jealousy.”
+
+“I don’t care how much she flirts or with whom,” the lady went on, “but
+I want you to be on your guard when she comes to giving you information
+about--about that night.”
+
+“Oh, I know all she can tell me,” Kinney shrugged his shoulders.
+“Know all about that balcony episode, and while it may be a straw
+to show which way the wind blows,--I don’t think it is. Nor can I
+see her husband in such a rage that he would poison the man who was
+flirting with her. In a frenzy of jealous passion a man might shoot or
+stab,--but he couldn’t poison.”
+
+“Rubbish!” the Countess snapped. “I don’t say that he did,--but it’s
+foolish to say that he couldn’t. Whoever gave that poison to Mr.
+Curran did it in some diabolically clever manner. Yet it was done.
+Now, one could do it as well as another.”
+
+“How about some one interested in books?” Kinney asked, remembering
+Miss Dwyer’s talk.
+
+“I think it’s as plausible a motive as jealousy,” the Countess replied.
+“But why bother with motive,--find your criminal and then you’ll know
+the motive.”
+
+Kinney smiled. “I’d be glad to find either criminal or motive. It’s the
+most ungetatable case I ever handled. I can suspect everybody yet I can
+suspect nobody. Every one is apparently frank and outspoken, yet also
+everybody is unwilling to talk about the case.”
+
+“Of course nobody wants to talk about the awful affair if it can be
+helped. But I’m sure we all want to tell you anything you may wish to
+ask.”
+
+“Very well, then, Countess Galaski, do you suspect any one,--any one at
+all?”
+
+After a pause, the Countess said, slowly: “Yes, I think I do.”
+
+“Will you tell me who it is?”
+
+“It is ‘Rosalie’.”
+
+“But--‘Rosalie,’ that is the name of Mr. Curran’s divorced wife. She
+isn’t here.”
+
+“I don’t mean Rosalie in person,--I mean the one who was in Mr.
+Curran’s mind, when he spoke the name of Rosalie that night.”
+
+“But,--I’ve heard it rumored that Mr. Baldwin was disturbed when Mr.
+Curran mentioned that name.”
+
+“The rumors are wrong then. It was not Mr. Baldwin who was
+self-conscious at the name of Rosalie.”
+
+“No? Who was, then?”
+
+“That I shall not tell. I may be all wrong,--I wouldn’t for the world
+attract attention to the wrong person. But, take my word for it,
+Mr. Curran had no thought of Bob Baldwin, when he said, ‘Rosalie.’
+I thought Mr. Baldwin looked a little annoyed at the name of ‘Mr.
+S.’ But I’m not sure. I may be mistaken as to that. But to return to
+my well-meant warning, don’t believe all Mrs. Knox tells you. She
+is a spiteful little cat, and while she is not exactly in love with
+Valentine Loft, she takes delight in trying to stir up trouble between
+him and Miss Fuller.”
+
+“She hasn’t succeeded as yet,” said Kinney, remembering Loft’s valiant
+defence of his fiancée.
+
+“No,--but she will if she can. She’s a little devil,--loves mischief
+for the sheer fun of it!”
+
+“Pleasant character!”
+
+“Oh, she’s so pretty and charming and innocent of appearance she is
+beloved of all.”
+
+Kinney went off by himself and found he had plenty to meditate upon
+until five o’clock, when he was due to meet Loft in the library.
+
+He went there, and found the master of Valhalla waiting for him. No one
+else was present, and Loft carefully shut the door.
+
+“Mr. Kinney,” he began, “I am in very grave trouble. As I promised you,
+I tried to obtain an interview with Miss Fuller. But Miss Fuller has
+gone away.”
+
+“Run away!” Kinney almost shouted.
+
+“Gone away,” I said. “Pray, be quiet. I am myself at my wits’ end, but
+I realize it is necessary to consider very carefully our next step.”
+
+“Our next step is to find Miss Fuller.”
+
+“I’m glad you agree with me. It certainly is. Now, Mr. Kinney, will you
+undertake to find her? Or would you prefer that I should get another--a
+private detective to do that? Also, I want no publicity. I want it
+given out that Miss Fuller has gone home for a rest,--or, gone away on
+a visit. I do not want it known that her departure was made hastily and
+secretly.”
+
+“I can’t keep it so dark, Mr. Loft. We can’t find her without
+publicity. Look at the thing yourself. We find the watch in her
+possession, locked in her desk. We take the watch,--she discovers it is
+gone and she seeks safety in flight. What’s the answer?”
+
+Valentine Loft showed none of the indignation and anger he had
+displayed in the morning.
+
+“I don’t know the answer,” he returned, quietly; “but I do know Miss
+Fuller. She may be the victim of distressing circumstances, but there
+is no stigma of wrong possible in connection with her name. Now, she
+must be found. How shall we set about it?”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+                           PAULINE’S FLIGHT
+
+
+LOFT had sent for Angel, feeling that he wanted a friend to confer with.
+
+“Pauly’s gone away,” he said briefly, as Baldwin entered the library.
+
+Angel gave him a quick glance, but said, merely,
+
+“Where to?”
+
+“I don’t know,” Loft returned. “In fact, Angel, she went without my
+knowing it. I tried to find her just now, but she has gone off in the
+little car.”
+
+“Who took her?”
+
+“Bates, and Tessie went with her. The housekeeper told me all this but
+she knew nothing more. Bates ought to be back by this time, if Pauline
+went to the Railway Station, and the housekeeper thinks she did.”
+
+“Well, we can’t wait for any Bates,” Kinney broke in, impatiently. “I
+know, Mr. Loft, how you hate publicity and all that, but Miss Fuller
+has been doing queer things----”
+
+“What do you mean by queer things?” Loft spoke quietly, but there was
+a steely gleam in his eye that Angel knew meant battle. “Miss Fuller
+has done nothing that you know of. You have no proof that she took Mr.
+Curran’s watch, or that she ever saw the thing. There is a deep-minded
+criminal behind all this business, and it is not a woman. Some daring
+and ingenious villain entered my house, killed Hugh Curran and tried to
+fasten the blame on Miss Fuller. That’s the way I see it.”
+
+“And that’s the way I should see it, if I were the young lady’s
+intended, as you are,” Kinney returned, dryly. “But being a
+detective,--not a great one, but at least, a clear-headed one, I say
+that when a ‘feather left around’ is hidden in her own bedroom, and
+when it is taken from its hiding place, she misses it and immediately
+disappears herself;--then my clear-sightedness leads me to think she
+ought to be looked up.”
+
+“No one wants to ‘look her up’ more than I do,” Loft said, earnestly.
+“And, as a bit of disinterested advice, Kinney,--”
+
+“Excuse me, Mr. Loft, you’re not capable of giving disinterested advice
+just now. And, excuse me again, I don’t want it. My duty is to find
+Miss Fuller. My intention is to do it in my own way.”
+
+“But, I say, Kinney,” Angel put in, “if Mr. Loft wants to find the
+lady, I’m sure his method of search will be more successful than any
+you can attempt.”
+
+“Sure you may be, sir, but that makes no difference to me. I know my
+duty, and I’m going to do it. Now, it’s true, the hunt for Miss Fuller
+may mean publicity, may mean police procedure, but I’ll promise you
+this, I’ll keep it as quiet as I can. If you want to help,--where do
+you think she’d go, Mr. Loft?”
+
+“Here’s the car,” Angel cried, looking from the window. “Bates can
+surely tell us something.”
+
+Bates and Tessie were called in, and Loft asked the chauffeur what Miss
+Fuller had said.
+
+“She sent Tessie to me,” Bates replied, “and said she’d like the little
+car to go to the station for the four-forty-five. So I was at the
+door, and she and Tessie got in the car, and we went to the station.
+There she bid me get her a ticket to New York and a chair. I did that,
+and then when the train came in she got on it. That’s all I know, Mr.
+Loft.”
+
+“Well, Tessie,” the detective spoke this time, “what can you tell us
+about Miss Fuller’s journey?”
+
+“Nothing, sir,” and though not impertinent, Tessie looked mutinous.
+
+“Detail all she said to you, as she prepared to go,” Kinney ordered,
+sternly.
+
+“Why, she only said, ‘I’m going to New York, Tessie. Pack me an
+overnight bag.’ And I did.”
+
+“What did you put in it?”
+
+“Only her night things and toilet articles.”
+
+“No dresses? No jewels?”
+
+“No, sir, just enough for a night’s stay,--without dressing for dinner.”
+
+“H’m,--looks bad. Now, didn’t Miss Fuller say a word,--while you were
+helping her dress,--about her plans?”
+
+“Not a word, sir.”
+
+“Do you mean she said nothing at all,--or nothing about her plans?”
+
+Tessie considered. “I don’t remember her saying anything at all. If she
+did it was only to direct me what gown she wanted to wear,--or what
+shoes.”
+
+“What did she wear?”
+
+“A black Canton crêpe, with cape to match,--and a black hat with a
+small veil.”
+
+“Inconspicuous costume,--naturally. She took a lot of money with her?”
+
+“I don’t know. She always carries a small handbag which she packs
+herself.”
+
+“All her money and jewels in that, of course. Well, Mr. Loft, I doubt
+if you’ll see Miss Fuller again very soon.”
+
+“Is that your opinion, Mr. Kinney? Be good enough not to express it to
+me again. Tessie, you may go. Wait a moment, tell me,--did Miss Fuller
+say nothing at all that gave you any indication of why she went, or how
+long she meant to stay?”
+
+“No, sir, not a word.” Tessie’s eyes filled with tears and she resorted
+to her handkerchief.
+
+“And,” Loft’s voice shook a little, “did she give you any--any message
+for me? You may speak right out before these gentlemen.”
+
+“Yes, she did!” and now Tessie sobbed openly, “she said to tell you
+‘Good-by,’ that’s all, sir, just ‘Good-by.’”
+
+“Very well, Tessie, you may go.”
+
+Valentine Loft had perfect control now of his voice, and he nodded a
+dismissal to Bates, who stood at attention.
+
+But Angel could read the despair in his eyes, the distress in his
+tense-drawn lips, and he knew that his friend’s soul was tasting the
+torments of hell.
+
+Yet Loft turned a calm face to Kinney, and said, “What is your plan?
+What would be your idea of efficient search?”
+
+“I’ll tell you, sir. We know the lady took the four-forty-five to New
+York. We’ve only to wire the police authorities along the route to hold
+her if she leaves the train before she reaches the city. She won’t,
+though. In all probability, she’ll make straight for the metropolis,
+knowing she can lose herself there easier than in a small town. She’s a
+deep one,--that one!”
+
+“Omit your comments on the lady, if you please, Mr. Kinney.” Loft’s
+tone was icy but his eyes blazed fire.
+
+Angel looked at him with some apprehension, for he feared a real
+explosion if Kinney irritated him much further.
+
+“All right, sir. Nothing personal meant. Well, say we head her off
+in New York, and then just have her followed,--that’s better than an
+immediate arrest.”
+
+“Yes, much better,” said Loft, in such a dry way, that Angel turned
+quickly to look at him. And the slight smile on Loft’s face puzzled him.
+
+“You see, Mr. Loft,” Kinney went on, “I’m interested in Miss Fuller
+for more reasons than one. I may as well tell you that I heard her
+sobbing and weeping in her room,--and crying out, ‘I must forget! How
+_can_ I forget?’ and after a time, as if by sheer will power, ‘I
+have forgotten!’ Now, I can construct a pretty little theory, that in
+a girlish flirtation, Miss Fuller once gave her picture to Mr. Curran,
+and----”
+
+“Go, Mr. Kinney,” Loft rose and pointed to the door; “go, and take
+your pretty little theories with you! I may see you later,--though I’d
+rather not, unless absolutely necessary,--but in any case, I can’t
+stand any more just now. Go.”
+
+The upraised voice, the steady, pointing finger, rather awed Kinney,
+for there was no touch of melodrama about Loft. He merely had reached
+the end of his rope, and said so.
+
+As the door closed behind the detective, Angel asked:
+
+“Why did you smile, Val?”
+
+“At that fool detective. You know, Pauly never went to New York. If
+she took a ticket for New York it’s a dead certainty that she left the
+train after a few stops, and went the other way,--to Boston or Albany.
+I know Pauline so well, that I can read her mental workings. If she
+wants to disappear,--and it must be, Angel, that she does,--then she
+would do it more cleverly than any one in the world.”
+
+“You’re right,--of course. But what does it all mean, Val?”
+
+“I don’t know,--but it is serious, very serious. I shan’t let Kinney
+know I think it so, but it is. Any advice, Angel?”
+
+“Not yet,--maybe I can dope some out. But all my sympathy, old chap,
+and all my help,--at least, all my efforts. What can I do?”
+
+“I don’t know. I never in my life felt so helpless. What’s all that
+about Pauly’s crying in her room,--and wanting to ‘forget’?”
+
+“Do you suppose,--you know, Val, if I’m to help we must be entirely
+frank,--do you suppose she did know Curran before?”
+
+“I know she didn’t,--for she told me so.” Loft spoke simply. “I shall
+always believe her word against all the witnesses or evidence in the
+whole world. If she had known Curran before, she would have told me so.”
+
+“Of course,” said Angel, but his acquiescence was based upon his desire
+to agree with his friend rather than on his faith in feminine candor.
+
+“What about that Rosalie and Mr. S. business,” Loft went on, wrinkling
+his eyebrows. “I’ve never spoken of it before, but it seemed to me
+Pauly winced at one of those names.”
+
+“Which one--?”
+
+“I don’t remember. Mr. S., I suppose,--there’s nothing to alarm a woman
+in another woman’s name.”
+
+“Was she alarmed?”
+
+“Not quite, but I’m so sensitive to any change of expression on
+her face, that I thought I observed a little tremor of surprise or
+annoyance. It probably meant nothing,--”
+
+“But it would presuppose a knowledge of Curran in some way,” Angel
+added, meditatively. “Suppose she did know him before, Val; suppose she
+didn’t tell you of it,--would it make any difference in your feeling
+toward her?”
+
+“In my feeling toward Pauline! I should say _not_! Why, if she
+told me all the lies in the catalogue,--or wherever lies grow,--it
+would make no difference in my feelings toward her! She couldn’t do
+it,--Pauline is incapable of a real lie,--but if she did,--I’d love her
+exactly the same,--more, if it were possible,--which it isn’t. You see,
+Angel, you don’t know from experience what love is. The kind of love I
+mean. The love that is only possible between--”
+
+“Yes, I know,--two souls that beat as one.”
+
+“No, two souls that know how to beat as one. My boy, all hearts can
+love,--but only hearts that have accompanying brains can get the most
+and best out of love.”
+
+“Well, as long as you have faith in her--”
+
+“Which will be as long as I breathe. Nothing could ever rock my faith
+in Pauly. She knows this,--and that is why her disappearance alarms me.
+That is why I know it is very serious. She knows I would forgive her
+anything--”
+
+“Even murder?”
+
+“It’s hard to forgive you that speech, Angel,--but, yes, even murder.
+It would be a poor love that wouldn’t forgive crime. That would be
+easier to forgive than some other things.”
+
+“Such as?”
+
+“Deception,--untruthfulness--”
+
+“Lying--”
+
+“Yes,--real lying,--with intent to deceive me. But I would forgive
+Pauline that,--anything,--_anything_--”
+
+“Then she will come back.”
+
+“No,--she will not come back. She told Tessie to tell me good-by. But I
+shall find her.”
+
+“She might have told Tessie to say that; if she was merely off on a
+short errand.”
+
+“No; she has told me twice,--that if ever she disappeared suddenly, and
+sent me the mere message, ‘Good-by,’ that I never should see her again.
+I only laughed at the speech,--but I see now that she meant it.”
+
+“Then she had a secret, Val.”
+
+“It may be.” Loft looked straight into Angel’s eyes. “Now to find her,”
+he said, after a moment’s pause.
+
+“Where do you think she can be?”
+
+“I know where she is.”
+
+“And you can find her?”
+
+“No; but I know this. She started on the New York train. She got off at
+some way station. She crossed the tracks and took a train on the other
+side, in the other direction, and after travelling some time she will
+get out at some inconspicuous town or village,--where she knows some
+friend who will hide her successfully for as long as she wishes to be
+hidden.”
+
+“Good Heavens, then how can you find her?”
+
+“The hardest situation to solve,--I know that. But she can never be
+traced through her bankers or her home people or her lawyers. I am sure
+of that.”
+
+“I didn’t know Pauline was so extraordinarily clever.”
+
+“It isn’t so much cleverness as common sense. A more ingenious brain
+might plan to hide in a big city,--it is conceded the best place. But
+it isn’t. Granting a discreet and loving friend, in a secluded country
+home, Pauly’s plan is the best. And she has plenty of such friends. But
+I shall find her.”
+
+“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
+
+“But I want to find her. I want Pauline.”
+
+“Where is her aunt, now?”
+
+“In the New York house. But she is ill and nervous, and in the care
+of nurses. She’ll see no papers,--even if they carry the story,--and
+unless I hear from the house, I shall send no message.”
+
+“Has Pauline no other relatives?”
+
+“Only some distant cousins. She is her own mistress, and she comes and
+goes as she pleases. If Kinney would keep his mouth shut, her absence
+from here would never be known.”
+
+But Kinney didn’t keep his mouth shut. On the contrary, he opened it
+very often, indeed. Already he had quizzed the guests and the servants
+over the entire house. Already he had telephoned orders to follow
+Pauline if she could be discovered anywhere _en route_ to New York.
+
+Already he had made up his mind that Pauline Fuller had killed Hugh
+Curran,--but this decision he had the grace to keep to himself and used
+his busy mouth merely for asking questions.
+
+Miss Hetty Dwyer was greatly excited.
+
+“Now, perhaps you will do something,” she cried. “I’ve had my
+suspicions of that sly Pauline all the way along. Her, with her long,
+dark eyes and her thin red lips! I’ve my opinion of her! And her
+picture in my brother’s watch all the time! The hussy! I’ll bet she
+knew him since he was engaged to Miss Fitzgerald! Made trouble between
+’em, like as not! You’ll catch her, won’t you, Mr. Kinney?”
+
+“I hope so,” he returned. “But I thought you suspected a criminal Book
+Collector, Miss Dwyer?”
+
+“Oh, Lord, I don’t suspect Miss Fuller of killing Hugh! No,--she’s a
+sly devil, but not bad enough for that. I can’t conceive of a woman
+murderer! But she has some reason for running away that’s connected
+with the crime, I’ll bet on that!”
+
+“Don’t you remember,” Anna said, reminiscently, “almost as soon as
+Mr. Curran got here, he asked Pauline to walk in the garden with
+him--alone?”
+
+“What a strange thing to do!” cried Miss Hetty.
+
+“Not at all,” the Countess defended. “He was a guest, and Pauline was a
+charming hostess,--it wasn’t a bit strange.”
+
+“Well, I’ll tell you what was strange,” said Stella. “Mr. Curran asked
+Pauline straight out whether she kept her room tidy or not.”
+
+“What?” cried Miss Hetty.
+
+“He did,” Stella persisted, but the Countess said:
+
+“Hush that, Stella. It was the merest chance question, because he was
+laughing about his own untidy ways. And Lord knows he left his own
+bedroom in a mess. Papers and ashes and things strewed all over.”
+
+“I think the queerest thing,” Anna said, “was that when he appeared,
+Pauline stared straight at him, and--she was at the coffee urn,--the
+cup she was filling overflowed all over the tray. You needn’t tell me
+she had never seen him before.”
+
+“But she hadn’t,” the Countess averred, “she told me so herself.”
+
+“I’ll tell you what,” and Stella’s eyes beamed with excitement, “likely
+as not she corresponded with him without ever having seen him! You know
+how girls will write to actors and authors whom they’ve never seen.”
+
+“Yes,” cried Anna, “and she sent him her picture,--years ago,--and she
+didn’t want Val to know about it--”
+
+Kinney’s eyes shone. He was getting what he called to himself ‘great
+dope.’ And if all these things were so,--well,--more might be so--
+
+Angel Bob Baldwin favored the detective with an interview later.
+
+“Don’t think for a minute, Mr. Kinney,” he said, “that I want to put
+any brake on the wheels of justice. But I do want you to beware how you
+manage that matter of Miss Fuller’s disappearance. You know as well as
+I do that she never killed that man. Now, you’re here to discover a
+murderer; not to pry into the secrets of a lady’s private life. If you
+must interview Miss Fuller, go ahead and do it,--if you can find her.
+But as to raising a hue and cry over her absence, you’ve no right to do
+it.”
+
+“Leave it to me, Mr. Baldwin,” said Kinney, airily. “I’ve learned a bit
+from the chatter of the women here, and I’ll run this thing in my own
+way, if you please.”
+
+“Do; but for your own sake let it be a common-sense way. You don’t want
+to be a laughing stock among your own colleagues, do you?”
+
+This shaft went home, for more than once Kinney’s mistakes had been a
+source of mirth to some.
+
+“Well, I’ll give you one bit of advice, and you can take it or leave
+it.” Bob’s tone was light, but he gave the detective a meaning look.
+“When you want to ‘search for the woman,’ don’t go after an innocent
+and lovely lady, but find the divorced wife of Hugh Curran. Do you know
+anything about her?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Of course you don’t. And she may have had nothing to do with the whole
+affair, but if I were a detective, the very first person I should want
+to interview would be the one-time Mrs. Hugh Curran.”
+
+“Mrs. Hugh Dwyer, you mean.”
+
+“Yes, of course, it would be before he took the later name. Now Mr.
+Kinney, take that tip for what it’s worth,--but I can’t help thinking
+that she could give you, at least, some information.”
+
+“It’s a good idea, Mr. Baldwin,” the detective said, slowly. “I’d have
+to send a man out to Reno, I suppose--”
+
+“Well that isn’t at the ends of the earth.”
+
+“No; he could make it in five days, and wire his report. A week would
+cover it.”
+
+“Don’t do it because I say so. It’s merely a suggestion. You
+see, Mr. Kinney, I’m a friend of Mr. Loft’s and I want to do
+something,--anything to help him in this horrible situation.”
+
+“Yes, sir. Mr. Loft has good, staunch friends. Now, you and Mr. Knox
+are both racking your brains to help him,--so is Mr. Mears, for that
+matter,--but Mr. Mears is more interested in doing detective work
+himself than in doing something to help Mr. Loft. You see what I mean,
+sir?”
+
+“I do, Kinney, and perhaps the efforts of Mr. Knox and myself will
+amount to more than young Mears’ sleuthing. By the way, what is Mr.
+Knox doing?”
+
+“His idea is to get more clues. As if there were any, after all these
+days. But he putters around in Mr. Curran’s bedroom,--I mean the room
+he occupied in this house that night.”
+
+“Does he find anything?”
+
+“No, sir. He pores over the book catalogues Mr. Curran had, and he
+mauls over the waste-basket occasionally. But he’s promised not to
+remove or disturb anything. You never can tell when you want to check
+up a feather, you know.”
+
+“A feather?”
+
+“Yes; ‘feathers left around’ has come to be a by-word with us,--meaning
+tiny clues.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I remember. Well, Kinney, if Knox finds any important
+feathers let me know. My deductions are often better than my
+discoveries.”
+
+“All right, Mr. Baldwin. And, I’ll think it over, and like as not I’ll
+try out that Reno plan.”
+
+“Do,” said Angel, little dreaming what that tryout would produce!
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+
+                           WITH MARY MALDEN
+
+
+BY noon next day no word had been heard of Pauline. Loft called up her
+New York home, and inquired, guardedly, as to conditions there. He
+learned that Pauline’s aunt was not well, and was unusually nervous.
+But as no definite cause was assigned for the lady’s nervousness and as
+no undue curiosity was shown regarding Miss Fuller’s movements, Loft
+concluded the quiet household had heard of no cause for alarm.
+
+Without hope of much information he called up various mutual friends
+and also her lawyer, but he could get no hint or trace of what had
+become of his lost love.
+
+Valentine Loft had ample opportunity to pursue his vaunted policy of
+“Do nothing and all will be done,” but somehow, in this crisis the
+maxim seemed to him to lose its force.
+
+He remained away from the dining-room, lunching from a tray in the
+library, and to him came Stella Lawrence.
+
+“May I come in, Val, dear?” she said, trailing her scarves through the
+half-open door.
+
+“I suppose so,” he said, wearily; “but don’t chatter about Pauline,--I
+can’t stand it.”
+
+“No, I won’t. What are you going to do about her--about finding her, I
+mean?”
+
+“I’m just going to find her, that’s all. I shall never give up the
+search and I must succeed, sooner or later.”
+
+“Val,--why do you care for her so? If any one I loved ran away from me,
+I shouldn’t try to get them back.”
+
+“Stella, didn’t you hear me ask you not to talk of Pauline?”
+
+“No, I won’t. Isn’t Miss Dwyer queer, Val?”
+
+“Yes,--she doesn’t interest me. I’m very sorry for her, but she is a
+good deal of a nuisance about.”
+
+“And she gossips so. What do you suppose she said about Pauly?”
+
+“I don’t care to hear.”
+
+“Well, she said that Mr. Curran must have corresponded with Pauline
+without knowing her personally,--and she sent him her picture and all
+that.”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Don’t you care, Val? Don’t you care that Pauline knew that man before,
+and told you she didn’t? Why, it proves Pauly a naughty fibber--or
+should one say fibberess?”
+
+Stella trailed across to Loft’s chair, and sat on the arm of it.
+
+“You’d better forget her, Val. I know Pauline,--truly, she isn’t worthy
+of you. Why,--listen,--I happen to know that she was in Mr. Curran’s
+room that night,--and that she came out of it at half-past two in the
+morning.”
+
+Loft reached forward and pushed a bell button.
+
+“Go back to your seat, Stella,” he said, “some one is coming.”
+
+“I don’t care,” and Stella remained on the chair arm.
+
+Loft rose, and in a moment Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper, appeared.
+
+“Mrs. Jennings,” Loft said, “Miss Lawrence is leaving on the four
+o’clock train. Send Tessie to help her with her packing and instruct
+Bates to have the little car ready.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” and Mrs. Jennings went away.
+
+“Val! How dare you? Are you driving me away? Me,--Stella?”
+
+But Valentine Loft apparently neither saw nor heard her. He sat at a
+desk and began to write some letters.
+
+One more glance at his stony profile and Stella Lawrence knew she had
+no choice as to her next step.
+
+She went dejectedly from the room, her anger and indignation lost in a
+deeper feeling of shamed regret.
+
+Meeting Anna in the hall she told her she had had a telegram and had to
+run away at once,--to another house party.
+
+“And I’m glad to get away from this chamber of horrors,” she added.
+“Are you staying on?”
+
+“I don’t know.” Anna looked perplexed. “Now Ned says we’ll go and then
+he stays on. We can go if we like--I mean the authorities won’t keep us
+now.”
+
+“Then I should think you’d go,” Stella said, lightly, as she trailed
+off to her room to do her packing.
+
+Valentine Loft sat alone until he heard the car depart with Stella in
+it. Then he sent a message to the Countess asking an interview.
+
+She came to him.
+
+“We can be alone here,” she said, gently. “You poor boy, I wish I could
+help you.”
+
+“Perhaps you can, Countess,” he returned. “If so, it will be by utter
+frankness. Did you see Pauline at all the night Mr. Curran died? I mean
+after we had all said good-night.”
+
+Countess Galaski looked straight at him.
+
+“You want me to tell you?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“Well, then, Val, it’s hard to say positively, but I did see a woman in
+the hall that night,--who looked like Pauline. That’s all I’m prepared
+to state.”
+
+“Please state all you know. It will help me more, Countess, to know the
+truth than to have my feelings spared.”
+
+“Then, Valentine, I can only say that while I am ready to state it
+was Pauline,--I would not be willing to swear to it. You see the
+difference--? Were it a casual question, I should reply, ‘Yes, it was
+Pauline.’ But if it is a weighty question, one on which other issues
+hang, I will not say positively.”
+
+“What made you think it was she?”
+
+“The hall was dimly lighted, and I saw a vague figure of Pauline’s
+height and general effect. She wore a dark gown and a cape that hung in
+soft folds. It was such a cape as Pauline possesses, yet that is not
+proof positive. Tessie could have worn that.”
+
+“Tessie is much of Pauline’s figure.”
+
+“Yes,--but, Val, you asked for the truth,--it wasn’t Tessie. It
+was a woman of the world. She carried herself as such. She walked
+stealthily,--but steadily,--and she went in at the door of Pauline’s
+room.”
+
+“Having come from Hugh Curran’s room?”
+
+“That I can’t say. She came from that direction,--and I heard a door
+close--that seemed to be his--oh, Valentine, don’t make me tell these
+things! What do they mean?”
+
+“That’s what I must find out, Countess. They mean strange things, I’ve
+no doubt,--but they do _not_ mean that Pauline is in any way
+implicated in the murder of Hugh Curran.”
+
+“Oh, of course not--”
+
+“Don’t say, ‘oh, of course not’!” Loft’s nerves were beginning to give
+way.
+
+“What shall I say?” The Countess looked bewildered.
+
+“Say you know she couldn’t have been. For you do know it,--no one can
+help knowing it. Now I want all the information I can get about these
+circumstances, so I can unearth their explanation. Help me, Countess.”
+
+Beneath her dictatorial manner, Countess Galaski carried a most kind
+heart. She looked at Loft compassionately, and her sympathy went out to
+him. But her judgment told her that candor was best.
+
+“Then I will tell you, Valentine, what I had expected to tell no one.
+Pauline,--for it was Pauline,--carried in her hand something that
+glittered. Something that might have been that watch. Only for an
+instant, when a straggling glint of light struck it, did I see it, and
+then, clasping the thing in her hand, she went into her own room.”
+
+Loft, his face stern and set, listened intently.
+
+“Thank you, Countess,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “for telling
+me. My only desire in life is to find Pauline and tell her I love her.
+The watch, the picture in it,--even the distressing circumstances
+of Hugh Curran’s death, are to me of no consequence compared to the
+finding of Pauline.”
+
+“And you deem her innocent?”
+
+“Countess, I sent Stella away from the house for an aspersion on
+Pauline’s innocence. I do not resent your speech,--only because I know
+you deem her innocent yourself.”
+
+“I do,” she returned, and if she hadn’t before, the implicit confidence
+Loft felt swayed her own opinion.
+
+“There are some things to be explained,” Loft admitted, “but they can
+be explained only by Pauline herself. And, so, until I can ask her, I
+put them aside. I do not speculate on their meaning.”
+
+“But, Val, you must remember, there are outsiders who do not feel as
+you do about it all. Who are ready to put the worst construction on
+Pauline’s flight--”
+
+“Of course, Countess, dear. Those are the people I have to circumvent,
+whose plans I have to frustrate, whose guns I must spike. And I
+shall do it,--why, I can do anything to save Pauline’s name from the
+slightest stain,--to find again my darling--my love.”
+
+He almost seemed to forget the Countess’ presence, as his firm, strong
+mouth, set in determination and a glow of lovelight came into his fine
+eyes.
+
+“You’re centuries behind your time, Val,” she said, “you belong in the
+age of chivalry. You’d tourney to the death for the woman you love.”
+
+“Any real man would,” he returned, “though perhaps,” he looked a little
+whimsical, “he wouldn’t say so much about it.”
+
+“I’m an old woman, Val, dear,--you may confide your feelings to me as
+much as you like.”
+
+“Oh, I’m not ashamed of my desperate love for Pauly,--but declarations
+of it naturally bore others. However, Countess, you’re so delightfully
+understanding, that I let myself go. But, now as to this tale of yours?
+You know a lot about--things in general,--can you trump up any reason
+why Pauly should visit Hugh Curran in his room,--or why she should come
+away with his watch?”
+
+“None, unless,--” she hesitated, “unless she had given him the picture
+long ago, in foolish flirtation,--and wanted to get it back,--and did
+so.”
+
+“Not good enough,”--she told me she had never seen him before. I
+believe her. My theory is more toward her doing it all for somebody
+else.
+
+“Suppose somebody who had Pauline’s picture--long ago,--gave it to
+Curran,--and she thought if I learned of it,--say it was Angel,--or
+some equally dear friend, I’d be angry at him--or maybe it was a
+woman--”
+
+“Valentine, you’re drivelling. You can’t even voice the theory you’re
+trying to pick out of the air. Now, stop surmising and mulling over
+reasons or motives and stick to facts. Where do you think Pauline is?”
+
+“I think she is staying with some dear and true friend, who lives
+somewhere off the beaten paths, and that friend, sworn to secrecy, will
+keep Pauly in hiding as long as she wishes to be kept. It’s an easy
+guess,--where else could she be?”
+
+“I daresay you’re right. How long will she stay there?”
+
+“Until I can get to her,--or get a message to her to come to me.”
+
+“Would she come?”
+
+“If she could get the message. You see, she thinks,--bless her
+heart,--that I’m upset over the miserable business,--and she must think
+that the finding of the watch in her desk has been an unpardonable sin.
+Silly darling! As if she could do an unpardonable thing--to me.”
+
+“Then the question of Pauline’s whereabouts is at a deadlock.” The
+Countess spoke seriously. “Do you realize what that means?”
+
+“Lots of unpleasantness,--I’m sure. But it does not mean that she will
+be found--by the authorities, until she gets good and ready. It’ll be
+all I can do to find her.”
+
+He sighed.
+
+“How are you going to set about it?”
+
+“Haven’t the slightest idea,--yet. But an inspiration will come to me
+before long. You see, she’s not in the vicinity of New York City at
+all. She’s up in northern New York or in New England.”
+
+“Quite an area to search.”
+
+“Yes,” he said, laconically.
+
+
+And Valentine Loft was right.
+
+In a tiny, elm-shaded New England village, Pauline Fuller was at that
+moment sitting in a wicker chair on the back veranda of a pleasant
+country home. And she looked sadly in need of the comfort and
+consolation of the knowledge of her lover’s faith in her.
+
+“And so you see, Mary,” she was saying, “I never want to see Val
+again. I couldn’t hope for his forgiveness,--in his eyes it is
+crime,--nothing less. No power could make him understand my motive,--or
+see it all as I do. Oh, do you suppose they’ll send out detectives
+after me,--and all that?”
+
+“Don’t think about it, Pauline. At least, not now. We’ll have to think
+pretty soon,--a lot,--but today, do rest and try to calm your nerves.”
+
+“I’m not nervous,” Pauline declared, “I’m only wretchedly miserable.
+Oh, why did I ever do it? I can’t live--Mary, I can’t _live_
+without Val!”
+
+“Well, dear, if you get yourself all worked up, you’ll have hysterics
+and make a lot of trouble for me. Now, get your cape, we’re going for
+a long ride in the country. And during the ride, you’re not to mention
+these things. Then we’ll come home, have a nice cosy little dinner, and
+after that we’ll sit down and thrash out the whole thing. You haven’t
+told me all yet, you know.”
+
+Mary Malden, an old school friend of Pauline’s mother, was a spinster,
+and was of the type known as salt of the earth. She had been the first
+one Pauline thought of in her mad flight, and she had done just exactly
+what Loft had surmised. She had passed three stations on the road to
+New York City, had left the train, turned around and retraced her
+path, going on up, in the region of the Berkshire hills, and had found
+a welcome in Mary Malden’s heart and home.
+
+The house was a small one, though comfortable, but the heart was one of
+the largest and kindest God ever made.
+
+At first, Miss Malden would listen to no explanation, no word of
+trouble,--she only took Pauline in as a mother would take a long lost
+child.
+
+And now, nearly twenty-four hours of coddling had restored Pauline’s
+poise physically,--but her mind and soul were more perturbed than ever,
+and she longed for the time when Mary would listen and advise.
+
+During the drive in Miss Malden’s unpretentious little car, Pauline
+tried to respond to her kind friend’s efforts at conversation, but it
+was so difficult that her hostess left her to her own thoughts,--and
+they were not pleasant ones.
+
+“Why did I ever do it?” she asked herself over and over,--yet could
+find no answer.
+
+“Lassitude is rather becoming to you, Pauline,” Mary said, at last, in
+a vain hope to rouse a fleeting interest in her appearance.
+
+“Lassitude isn’t the word,” Pauline tried to smile. “I’m anything but
+inert. I’ve energy enough--to--to sink a ship.”
+
+“Use it then to pull yourself together. Look here, honey, if you have a
+nervous collapse, or go into a decline,--or have some sort of foolish
+psycho-neurasthenia,--or whatever the latest fad is,--I’ll pack you off
+to a sanitarium. I can’t have invalids about. People in trouble are my
+hobby, but people who are ill give me the creeps.”
+
+“Not a bad idea, Mary,” Pauline said, “the sanitarium, I mean. Couldn’t
+you commit me to some nice one where they keep patients in utter
+seclusion? Tell them I’m a little bit irresponsible, you know,--a
+trifle unbalanced,--and make them promise to keep it all confidential.
+It could be done, I’m sure.”
+
+“And it will be done, if you don’t brace up and behave yourself!
+Moreover, I shan’t stop at a sanitarium, I’ll put you in an out-and-out
+lunatic asylum--in a straight-jacket!”
+
+“I rather wish you would. Say, in solitary confinement,--then the
+police couldn’t get at me!”
+
+“The police! Good heavens, girl, is it as bad as that?”
+
+“Yes,” Pauline said, slowly, “as bad as that.”
+
+And when at last they turned homeward, when at last dinner was over and
+Pauline had told Mary all, all her pitiful story, Miss Malden agreed it
+was as bad as that.
+
+
+At Valhalla, matters seemed to be at a standstill.
+
+Detective Kinney had taken on a new and somewhat blustering manner. He
+dictated to everybody, except to Valentine Loft,--somehow, he couldn’t
+quite compass that.
+
+Angel Bob resented dictation.
+
+“Make him stop, Val,” he said, after a few days of it; “I won’t be told
+what to do and what not to do by a whipper-snapper of a detective that
+can’t detect a single thing!”
+
+“There doesn’t seem to be anything to detect,” Loft said, with an
+abstracted air. “Except what has become of Pauly, and I’m going to
+detect that myself.”
+
+“So you’ve said, repeatedly. But she’s been gone five days now, and
+you’ve made no headway. Can’t you get busy?”
+
+“I’ve laid my plans,--they’re being carried out. They may work,
+Angel,--and, Lord help me, they may not. If not,--the case is hopeless.”
+
+“Unless Pauline returns of her own accord.”
+
+“She never will. Now, Angel, don’t you stay here any longer
+than you wish. The police have practically released us all from
+surveillance,--that is, all except myself--”
+
+“You! Since when have you been under suspicion?”
+
+“Oh, Friend Kinney has trumped up a theory that Pauline stole the watch
+because it was evidence of a disgraceful past, and that I killed Curran
+because,--oh, I don’t know why,--to wipe out the same past, I suppose.”
+
+“What rot.”
+
+“What theory isn’t? Can you suggest, Angel, can you _invent_ a
+sound theory of Hugh Curran’s death? Can you imagine a motive that
+would fit the case or a method that would fit the facts? The police
+have really shelved the thing,--though they don’t say so. Miss Dwyer
+wants to go home and I don’t blame her. The Knoxes want to go,--at
+least, Anna does. I’m not sure about Ned,--he’s so moody.”
+
+“I say, Val,” Angel looked thoughtful, “you never suspected Ned,--did
+you?”
+
+“No, I never did. Nor you, nor Roly, nor myself! Perhaps I’m the most
+likely suspect of the four, though.”
+
+“Guess we’ll have to come back to old Meredith.”
+
+“As likely as anybody, I suppose. But, you didn’t invent a theory.”
+
+“Tell me how a real live murderer got in and out of a locked room and
+I’ll do the rest of the theory,” Angel retorted, and the subject was
+dropped.
+
+A little later, Kinney appeared, bristling with excitement and swelling
+with importance.
+
+“I’ve had a report,--” he began, and paused; “I’d rather make it to you
+alone, Mr. Loft.”
+
+“Oh, go ahead,” Loft returned, with little show of interest. “Mr.
+Baldwin is my friend, he may hear whatever you have to tell me.”
+
+“The report is from Reno,” Kinney said, a little sullenly. “Shall I go
+ahead?”
+
+“From Reno?” Loft cried, startled out of his usual calm by this
+unexpected disclosure.
+
+“Yes, sir,” Kinney said, satisfied now with the sensation he was
+creating. “A telegram from the man I sent out there to investigate the
+circumstances of Mr. Hugh Dwyer’s divorce--some years ago.”
+
+“Mr. Dwyer’s divorce,--has it any bearing on the case?” Loft said.
+
+“I’ll read it to you,--no, you read it yourself.”
+
+He handed over the yellow paper, and Angel noted that it was a long
+telegram, perhaps a night letter.
+
+Either Valentine Loft read very slowly, or he read the screed several
+times, for it seemed to both Kinney and Bob that he would never raise
+his eyes from the typewritten lines.
+
+Watching closely, they saw his eyes return again and again to the top
+and travel slowly across the lines to the bottom, only to repeat the
+performance.
+
+“What is it, Val?” Baldwin asked at last, unable to stand it longer.
+
+Loft raised his eyes then and stared at Bob, unseeing.
+
+“Tell me, old chap,” Angel persisted, longing to snatch the paper
+himself.
+
+Then the two men saw such an expression of agony in the dark eyes as
+neither had ever before seen in mortal man.
+
+An effort to speak proved futile; Valentine Loft was speechless.
+
+With a sudden nervous jerk he tore the paper across and across, again
+and again, until it was the tiniest scraps.
+
+“That doesn’t matter,” Kinney said, comfortably, “we can get duplicates
+from the office. It’s a report copied from the Reno records of Hugh
+Dwyer’s divorce from his wife, nearly six years ago. His wife, whom he
+had married about eight months previous, was Miss Pauline Fuller, of
+New York City. The same lady we are now trying to locate. I hope we
+shall be able to find her,--for more reasons than one.”
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                           HOW LOFT TOOK IT
+
+
+“I HOPE to Heaven you _will_ be able to find her,” said Loft,
+agreeing to the detective’s wish, but staring at him still, with that
+blank, unseeing gaze. “But just now, Mr. Kinney, I’ll ask you to leave
+me to myself for a time. You must realize that your news is a great
+surprise to me,--and I may have to--readjust my plans somewhat.”
+
+“Plan any way you like, Mr. Loft,” Kinney said, almost cheerily, “we
+have enough data now to go ahead with.”
+
+“Hold on,” Angel cried out, “are you sure of this tale you tell, Mr.
+Kinney? Don’t let him ‘go ahead,’ Val, until we check up on this thing.”
+
+“No necessity for that, Mr. Baldwin. The agent we sent to Reno is
+a capable and experienced man. He would not send that definite
+information unless he was certain it was true. And, you must admit the
+circumstances all go to prove it. Here’s the divorced wife of Hugh
+Curran--”
+
+“Mr. Kinney, will you leave this room before I put you out?” Loft’s
+face was menacing, his tone was desperate.
+
+“Why, yes, Mr. Loft, I’ll go. But I’m counting on finding you here
+when I want you. Your heroics are well done,--but, I’m not so sure you
+didn’t know all this before, and--”
+
+Loft suddenly jumped from his chair, his eyes blazing, and Kinney,
+really frightened at his approach, fled from the room.
+
+“Angel, what does it mean?” and Valentine Loft looked despairingly at
+his friend.
+
+“I don’t know, Val, but it must be true. As Kinney says, such detailed
+and authentic information must be a statement of facts.”
+
+Loft looked up quickly, sensing a certain lack of sympathy in Baldwin’s
+voice.
+
+“That will do, Angel,” he said, coldly, “and forgive me if I ask you to
+leave me alone for a bit. I’ve a lot to think out.”
+
+Without a word, Baldwin rose, and Loft added:
+
+“I suppose Kinney will spread the news broadcast. That can’t be helped.
+Do all you can for me, Angel.”
+
+“Sure,” said Bob, and went on out.
+
+Then Valentine Loft faced the situation.
+
+At first, his mind refused to work at all. His brain was stunned,
+dazed, from the knowledge that had come to him.
+
+His abhorrence of divorce was so strong,--so deep-seated in his nature,
+that the mere idea of connecting it with Pauline was almost impossible.
+Pauline,--his Pauly,--a divorced woman! And from Hugh Curran! It was
+incredible,--it was almost laughable! There was some mistake, of
+course. Another Pauline Fuller,--yes, that must be it. He would prove
+it,--he vowed he would prove it. That satisfied, smirking detective
+should eat his own words!
+
+Loft paced up and down the room, his strides increasing in length as
+his mind worked itself up into a fury against the man who had dared
+pretend that married Pauline Fuller was his Pauly!
+
+But rushing thoughts surged through his brain. Curiously, one of the
+first was the expression on Hugh Curran’s face as he said to Pauline on
+that dreadful evening, “Are you, too, untidy about your bureau drawers,
+Miss Fuller?” or some such thing as that. Who but a man who had been
+a woman’s husband would think of saying such a thing? Her husband!
+Pauline’s husband!
+
+Loft tore up and down the library, his brain seething, his hands
+clenched and his face crimson with rushing blood.
+
+It could not be! His adored, his darling, never could have been the
+wife of any man! She was pledged to him,--all her sweet, girlish beauty
+was his own,--Curran!--divorced!
+
+He dropped into a chair, exhausted. Slowly his face paled to a chalky
+white as his brain began to realize--to straighten things out, and to
+face the appalling truth.
+
+It must be faced. He must understand that his Pauline had been the wife
+of Hugh Curran,--that she had been divorced,--and--that she had kept
+these facts from him.
+
+He knew better than to doubt the truth of it all. He knew there was not
+the slightest hope of a mistake,--not the tiniest loophole of escape
+from the facts. He knew that he had to meet the situation, grapple it,
+wrestle with it,--and throw it,--or, be thrown!
+
+He faced it. And as his thoughts ran riot, a dozen hints or memories
+came to help prove the case.
+
+That “Rosalie” business. Miss Hetty had said that Curran called his
+wife Rosalie or Rosy,--though that was not her name. A nickname or pet
+name, then, for Pauline,--perhaps because of the rosy cheeks she had
+had then.
+
+Then! Nowadays, her cheeks were always pale,--so that she indulged in a
+touch of rouge, sometimes.
+
+And that evening, Curran had said: “_Rosalie_,--does that mean
+anything to any one here?”
+
+And Pauline had moved restlessly,--he had seen it. And when Curran came
+in that day,--Pauline had let the cup she was filling overflow on the
+table.
+
+Still,--Pauline had told him,--her clear eyes looking into his own,
+that she never had seen Hugh Curran before.
+
+Ah,--his quick wits understood that. She never had. The man she had
+known was Hugh Dwyer. Curran was a new name to her.
+
+Thinking deeply, Loft decided that Pauline did not know who Curran was
+until he arrived at the house.
+
+Few knew the novelist’s real name, and Loft remembered how he had
+jestingly described Curran’s appearance in any way but the real one.
+Then, too, if Pauly didn’t know that Dwyer had changed his name and
+had become an author, of course, she had no reason to suspect that the
+invited celebrity would turn out to be her--
+
+Every time Loft’s train of thought led him back to the awful
+truth,--and every time he was crushed and broken anew.
+
+It was bad enough that Pauline had been married,--it was worse, in his
+eyes, that she had been divorced,--but--she had deceived him about it.
+
+And, so,--when Curran came that day, she recognized him,--and forgot
+what she was pouring--and--oh, yes, he asked her to walk in the
+garden--alone with him. Oh, yes,--so he did.
+
+And he had said “Rosalie,”--playing with her, as a cat with a mouse.
+
+And he had flashed his watch open, that she might see the picture. And
+she did. Oh, yes.
+
+And then--she had gone to his room,--that night--after two
+o’clock--well,--she had a right to--or, didn’t she?
+
+His brain raced on. She had gone to his room,--to ask for the
+picture,--and he--probably refused,--and then--she--his brain
+was working automatically now, quite independent of his mind or
+heart,--and then she killed him--why, of course Pauly killed him, she
+was the one who had advocated poison from the start.
+
+And then she took the watch and went back to her room and hid the
+watch, and that meddling detective had hunted it out!
+
+Confound him, why couldn’t he leave Pauly alone?
+
+Quite calm now, Loft went across the room to where a large
+silver-framed photograph of Pauline stood on a table.
+
+He picked it up and gazed at it with a loving reverence.
+
+“My darling,” he said softly, “my blessed little girl, you are mine,
+and I love you--more than ever. Why did you run away from me? Didn’t
+you know, dear heart, there is nothing I wouldn’t forgive you? Nothing!
+Don’t you know what that means? It means you can deceive me, you can
+commit crime, you can do anything,--and you are still my own, my Best
+Beloved.
+
+“That’s what love means, dear. It isn’t love if it dies or even wanes
+because of--because of anything at all. Now, Sweetheart, my first task
+is to find you,--my next,--to--to take care of you and protect you.
+
+“Where are you, Pauline? How can I get word to you? I remember how
+you looked,--how solemn, yes, sad, the day you told me that when you
+sent me just the message, ‘Good-by,’ it would mean good-by forever.
+But it doesn’t, Beloved, no, it does not! I know now what was in your
+mind,--this horrid old Curran business. But,--oh, my Love, didn’t you
+know I would forgive even that? Why didn’t you tell me all about it? It
+was my own fault, though. I denounced divorce so strongly, you thought
+your own pitiful little story would affect my love for you. Bless your
+baby heart! Six years ago you were a mere school girl. You were dragged
+into a marriage--well, I won’t try to imagine it. When I get you back
+again, you shall tell me all about it while I hold you close and safe
+in my arms.”
+
+Loft laid his cheek against the picture for a moment and then set it
+back in place.
+
+“Now,” he said to himself, sitting down at the desk, “let’s tabulate
+our procedures.”
+
+“First, I must find Pauline before those fool detectives do. Next, I
+must get the crowd here in the house all on Pauline’s side,--or they,
+especially the women, will do a lot of harm. Next, I must get up some
+theory of Curran’s death,--manufacture evidence if need be, to turn
+suspicion away from Pauline,--for it’s bound to hit her sooner or
+later. Miss Dwyer will be hard to manage, I daresay. Old Angel will
+stand by me,--though he seemed pretty well shaken by Kinney’s story--”
+
+And then Loft’s mind came back with a shock to realities.
+
+It was all very well for him, while alone, to forgive Pauline, to
+rhapsodize over her portrait and to smooth her way by reason of
+his unalterable love,--but none of these things would help much in
+regard to the fearful publicity and scandal that must follow on the
+announcement of Kinney’s report.
+
+Well, this certainly was no occasion for his motto of “Do nothing and
+all will be done!” That principle would not work in this case. He must
+plunge in and do it all himself.
+
+Just what he was to do, he wasn’t quite sure. But he had to trust to
+his own wisdom and judgment to meet each phase of the situation as it
+presented itself, and, mentally girding his loins for battle, Loft
+drew himself up proudly, and went out of the library to join the others.
+
+He found them grouped on the terrace.
+
+He was almost amused at the various attitudes with which they greeted
+him.
+
+Anna ran to him and impulsively threw her arms around his neck, crying,
+“I’m always your friend, Val, through thick and thin!”
+
+Even through his preoccupied thoughts there came to Loft a sudden
+thought of how prone Anna was to take advantage of a situation which
+would give her legitimate excuse to fling her arms around a man’s neck.
+
+He gently disengaged the lovely arms, saying simply, “Thank you, Anna,
+I felt sure I could bank on you,--on you all,” he added, looking around
+at them.
+
+Baldwin nodded, Knox gave an acquiescent smile, while Roly Mears
+exclaimed, fervently, “You bet!”
+
+The Countess said, very gravely, “I am your friend, Valentine,--and
+Pauline’s.”
+
+But Miss Hetty Dwyer was plainly antagonistic.
+
+“You can hardly expect such protestations from me, Mr. Loft,” she said,
+icily. “I am amazed to learn that Miss Fuller is my brother’s divorced
+wife,--though I should not be. I should have suspected at once that his
+reference to Rosalie was directed at her--”
+
+“Why should it have been, Miss Dwyer?” Loft asked, quietly. “Why should
+your brother want to tease or annoy the woman who had been his wife?”
+
+“Because she was playing a part! Because she was passing herself off as
+a girl, when she was a married woman,--a divorced woman! No discomfort
+he could cause her, could deeply hurt such a callous, a perverted
+nature--”
+
+Valentine Loft interrupted her.
+
+“Miss Dwyer,” he said, “I want to make a statement. Miss Pauline Fuller
+is my fiancée, my deeply beloved bride-to-be. Nothing she has done,
+nothing she ever may or can do can shake my faith in her or in the
+slightest degree lessen my love for her. Now, then: no one under my
+roof may make the least unpleasant allusion to her, or say the merest
+word of reproach or unkindness. This understood, you are all welcome to
+the hospitality of my home as long as you choose to stay here. I shall
+be glad of your company, but I will not tolerate a word, a hint or a
+look that is unfriendly to Pauline Fuller. Am I clear?”
+
+“You are, Val, and I heartily stand by you,” declared Knox, and Baldwin
+murmured, “Me, too.”
+
+“But, Valentine,” Roly Mears exclaimed, “we’ve got to look into these
+matters. We can’t just sit down and do nothing. And, who knows where
+the investigation may lead?”
+
+Loft smiled a little.
+
+“Roly,” he said, “I’m not thinking of you. You go ahead with your
+‘investigation,’ perhaps you’ll be of real help. Countess, where do you
+stand?”
+
+“At your side, Val. Count on me for love and sympathy with Pauline, and
+you must forgive me if I go so far as to say, that I shall love her
+just the same through good report and evil report.”
+
+“Thank you, Countess, I take that exactly as I know you mean it. Now,
+we are all in accord,--except, perhaps, Miss Dwyer.”
+
+“Indeed you may except me,--I have no feelings in accord with those who
+would protect the murderess of my brother. I have no sympathy for a
+woman who could deceive the man who loved and trusted her, who could
+pretend she was an unmarried woman, when--”
+
+“I don’t think you need go over that again, Miss Dwyer,” Loft spoke
+evenly; “will it not do if you merely say you do not care to stay with
+us, and make your adieux?”
+
+“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort, Mr. Loft,” the
+spinster retorted. “I am here, and here I stay until the mystery of
+my brother’s death is solved. Of course, if you ask me to leave your
+house, I shall do so, but I shall stay in the vicinity.”
+
+“You are welcome to stay in my house, Miss Dwyer, as long as it suits
+your convenience, on the sole condition that you speak no word of
+unpleasant import concerning Miss Fuller. You may think what you
+choose, but I must insist that under my roof no hint of disparagement
+of her shall be voiced. I have your promise?”
+
+“Yes. When I feel that I can no longer hold my tongue, I shall go away.”
+
+“Very well, then,” and Valentine Loft turned from the lady, as one who
+has no further interest.
+
+There was a somewhat embarrassing silence after that. Every one of his
+guests was anxious to talk to Loft alone, but none seemed to care about
+joining in a general conversation.
+
+Moreover, no one knew exactly what to say.
+
+But Loft gave no opportunity for desultory chatter.
+
+“You fellows come with me, will you?” he said, and led the way back to
+the library.
+
+Baldwin, Knox and Roly Mears followed him, leaving the women to pursue
+their own vocations.
+
+“Now, here’s the situation,” Loft said, in his most business-like
+manner, “Pauline is the divorced wife of Hugh Curran,--or Hugh Dwyer,
+as he was then. She has run away because she thinks I would be so
+shocked at the knowledge of this that I would care less for her. As a
+matter of fact the knowledge in no way affects my attitude toward her,
+and, naturally I want her to know that as soon as possible. But, with
+all my desire to do so, I cannot find her at once. I hope to do so,
+but I know it will be a difficult task. Now, meanwhile, the police,
+with their widespread detective facilities, may succeed in finding her
+before I can do so. They follow up a disappearance by means of their
+scattered agents, and I am alone in my search?”
+
+“Let me help you, Val,” said Mears, eagerly. “I can trace her--”
+
+“All right, Roly, go ahead. But your success is, to say the least,
+problematical; and I’m alarmed for another reason. To put it plainly,
+boys, it is almost inevitable that Pauline should be suspected of
+killing Hugh Curran. Kinney is sure of it, and if he can find her she
+will be arrested at once. This you can all see is an imminent danger.
+It must be averted. So, I propose to give myself up for the murder of
+Curran.”
+
+“You!” Baldwin stared at him.
+
+“Yes. I say now to you all that I killed Hugh Curran that night.”
+
+“The only trouble is,” Knox put in, “nobody will believe you.”
+
+“That’s just it. And that’s where I count on you fellows to help me
+out. If I go to the police and give myself up, they will say, ‘No, you
+are merely doing that to shield Miss Fuller.’ So, I want one of you to
+go to Kinney and tell him convincingly,--convincingly, mind you,--that
+you suspect me. You can say my motive was to keep Miss Fuller’s secret
+from becoming public property. Or say I killed him in a fit of jealous
+rage,--we’ll make up the best and most plausible story we can,--but it
+must be a good one. Who’ll do this? You, Angel?”
+
+“No, Val, I can’t. Don’t ask me to. I’m no good at that wool-pulling
+stunt,--I wish I could,--but, oh, hang it all, old man,--I just can’t!”
+
+Angel’s blue eyes showed deep distress, and his face was drawn with
+anxiety and apprehension. He averted his gaze from Loft, and said,
+“It’s a fool plan,--you can’t put it over.”
+
+Roly looked amazed.
+
+“If you do put it over,” he said, “they’ll take you at your word,--and
+hang you!”
+
+“I doubt it,” Loft returned, “but I’ll take that chance. Will you do it
+for me, Ned?”
+
+“Not without thinking it over first. And, I say, Val, suppose you’re
+arrested, and Pauline hears of it,--which, of course, she would, she’ll
+come flying back to confess herself,--if she did it.”
+
+“She never did it,” Loft said, stubbornly. “Get that in your heads, all
+of you. But she’s going to be suspected--accused of it,--and I’ve got
+to save her! I can’t think of any other way,--so, I _did_ do it.”
+
+“How’d you work it?” Baldwin asked. “How’d you lock the door after you?”
+
+“I had a sort of skeleton key, that turns the door key from the other
+side.”
+
+“Can’t be done.”
+
+“I did it,” and Loft’s calm serenity made it almost seem as if he were
+stating a fact instead of playing a rôle. “I’d ask you to do this thing
+for me, Roly, but--well, I know you’d muff it. Angel or Ned could pull
+it off,--but you couldn’t. You can help, though, corroborate, you know.”
+
+“Oh, I can’t bring myself to try it on, Val,” Knox looked sorry.
+“Really, old man, it wouldn’t carry through.”
+
+“That’s my business,” and Loft set his lips stubbornly. “Well, if you
+won’t, then I shall have to go and give myself up,--but I know it would
+be twice as convincing if _you’d_ carry the message to Garcia. I
+can vow I did it,--and--well, perhaps I can make it realistic enough to
+fool those purblind police. So you all refuse?”
+
+“I do,” Baldwin said, decidedly. “And I’m against it. You’ll get
+nowhere,--and, have you thought of this? When the police hear your
+confession, and know,--as they will,--that you’re inventing it to save
+Pauline,--they’ll realize your fear of her guilt and they’ll be surer
+than ever of it.”
+
+Loft looked at him contemplatively.
+
+“You don’t think Pauly did it, Bob?”
+
+“I do not. But the police will be sure of it if you go in for that fool
+quixotic scheme you propose.”
+
+“I don’t know about that. I’ll mull it over some more and see. Roly,
+sometimes you have brilliant ideas,--what do you suggest?”
+
+“I’ll tell you what I suggest,” and Roly looked very earnest. “I know
+you all think I’m awful young and don’t know anything about real
+detecting. And I guess you’re right, I don’t. Not in a big thing like
+this. But, I’m positively sure that there’s a greater mystery here
+than we know about yet. And I know those dunder-headed police will
+never find it out. So I propose, Val, that you get Fleming Stone, the
+detective.”
+
+“Never heard of him.”
+
+“Well, he’s well known among people who have had reason to employ him.”
+
+“One of those story-book detectives?” Angel asked, with a smile.
+
+“Well, he’s deductive and all that,--but he’s got a lot of good sound
+common sense, too. Anyway, he’ll find Pauline, and he’ll find out the
+truth.”
+
+“Do you want the truth found out, Val?” and Angel looked at Loft
+closely.
+
+“Yes, I do,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “Pauline never killed
+that man,--but if she did,--there was good reason,--and she’ll be
+exonerated. Mind you, I say she didn’t,--but I also say I’m ready to
+face the truth,--and if she did,--she is still my Pauline.”
+
+“Good for you,” cried Roly, “you’re the real thing, Val. Will you send
+for Stone,--or shall I?”
+
+“You can do it, Roly, if you will. But let me see him first when he
+arrives.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+
+                        FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS
+
+
+AS the car rolled smoothly up the long drive through the tree-shaded
+lawns of Valhalla, Fleming Stone and his able assistant, young McGuire,
+gazed in silent admiration at the beautiful well-kept place.
+
+“When I have made my world-wide reputation, F. Stone,” the boy said,
+“and have solved my last case, I shall retire on my income and live in
+just such a place as this.”
+
+“Last week you planned a castle on the Palisades,--and the month
+before, you thought you’d like a California villa.”
+
+“All off,--this is the sort of thing for an American gentleman,--which
+I shall be by then.”
+
+Stone forbore to smile at the freckled-faced, red-haired lad in the
+rôle of a country gentleman, but he gave him a sympathizing look and
+said, “I hope you’ll realize some one of your air castles, Fibsy.”
+
+“Yessir. What do you know about this present disturbance, F. Stone?” he
+asked, as they came in sight of the house.
+
+“Only the main facts. But it’s the always interesting question of the
+victim in a locked room----”
+
+“And a beautiful lady. When I’m in this business for myself, F. S., I
+shall take only cases that include the beautiful lady.”
+
+“But in this case, the lady has disappeared.”
+
+“That’s the beauty of it. I shall have the pleasure of finding her.
+Won’t that be nice?”
+
+“Very nice, Terence, and I hope you may do so. To me this whole case is
+a bit serious.”
+
+“Then it is to me, too, F. Stone,” and the freckled face at once became
+grave.
+
+Terence McGuire was Irish, and therefore possessed of quick wits and
+a warm heart. Both these attributes were dedicated to the service of
+Fleming Stone, and as the years went by, Stone depended more and more
+on his young assistant, who was rapidly becoming a colleague.
+
+When taking a case, Stone acquainted himself, if possible, with the
+principal facts and conditions, but kept an open mind as to deductions
+therefrom, until he could see and hear details on the scene itself.
+
+The pair were received in the library by Valentine Loft alone.
+
+“The case is a peculiar one, Mr. Stone,” he opened the subject; “and
+I’m not sure you will want to conduct it as I wish. If not, just say
+so. I am employing you,--your reports are due to me only. While in no
+conflict with the police, at the same time I do not propose to take
+them into my confidence unless I choose to do so.”
+
+“May I anticipate your intentions, Mr. Loft, by asking if yours is not
+the attitude of one who wishes my services in so far as they result in
+accordance with your desires,--and,--no further?”
+
+Loft was a little taken aback at this perspicacity, but he said,
+frankly, “that is not far from the truth, Mr. Stone. But I hope,--I am
+trusting that there will be no conflict between your discoveries and my
+inclinations.”
+
+“Put it more plainly,” Stone said, briefly.
+
+“Very well. My fiancée, Miss Pauline Fuller, has disappeared. This fact
+has caused the police to suspect her of the murder of Mr. Curran. You
+know the circumstances of his death?”
+
+“Yes, in the main. Go on.”
+
+“Miss Fuller has been proved to be the divorced wife of Mr. Curran,
+and, the police assume, she killed him in order to protect her secret,
+or because of some unknown reason connected with their married life.
+I’m speaking very plainly, for I want to insist that there shall be no
+secrets between you and me. Now, here’s my position. If Miss Fuller is
+innocent, I want it proved. If she is guilty, I want the fact concealed
+and her innocence falsely proved. Do you see?”
+
+“I see.”
+
+“This proposal could not be made to a guardian of the law, a dispenser
+of justice,--but a detective is not necessarily that. It is not only
+to find out the truth that I ask you, it is to prove to the public the
+innocence of Miss Fuller, whether she be innocent or not.”
+
+“Is she innocent?”
+
+“I believe she is,--but, of course, I should believe that, unless she
+herself should tell me the contrary. But do your very best to prove her
+innocent, and if you cannot do so, then do your very best to cover her
+guilt from the public eyes.”
+
+“I suppose you know you are asking me to compound a felony.”
+
+“You are entirely at liberty to refuse to take the case at all.”
+
+“But I shall take it, Mr. Loft, and I am taking it because I want to
+discover the truth for myself. I certainly cannot promise to conceal
+the fact, if I find Miss Fuller guilty, but I will agree to tell you
+first,--and you may take what steps you choose.”
+
+“And you?”
+
+“I shall be guided entirely by circumstances. I bind myself by no
+promises,--but I think I shall not disappoint you. There may be other
+directions in which I look than toward Miss Fuller. The case seems to
+me to present a number of angles.”
+
+“Is there any one you suspect, Mr. Loft?”
+
+The question came from Fibsy, who sat, looking earnestly at the master
+of the house.
+
+Loft looked at the lad a little surprised, for he had thought him a
+mere clerical assistant of the detective, or, perhaps, errand boy.
+
+But the clear gaze of the blue eyes held his attention, and Loft
+replied, thoughtfully, “No, I can’t say that I have. You see, no one I
+know could have any motive,--that I can think of. So, I think--I hope,
+the murderer was some one I never heard of. Of course, Curran was a
+stranger to us all--except Miss Fuller.”
+
+The pain that showed in Loft’s eyes was so poignant that Fibsy turned
+away his head. The boy was sympathetic to a degree, and he vowed to
+himself that he would work hard on the case and do all he could in
+Loft’s interests, whatever the result.
+
+“Well, Mr. Loft,” Stone finally summed up, after some few general
+questions, “I will begin my investigations at once. I’ve no wish to
+work incognito or to keep my presence here a secret, as I sometimes
+have occasion to do. I’d like to mingle with your household, chat with
+the guests, interview the servants, discuss matters with the local
+police,--if they are willing,--and generally inform myself on the
+situation, making what deductions I may as I go along.”
+
+Stone looked so capable, so efficient, that Loft felt encouraged.
+
+“Very well, Mr. Stone,” he agreed. “I’ll have you and Mr. McGuire shown
+to your rooms, and as soon as you like, we will call a conclave of the
+people.”
+
+“Are all here who were here at the time of Mr. Curran’s death?”
+
+“No; three have left. But I think you may feel sure they were in no
+way connected with the crime.”
+
+“If it was a crime,” Stone added, “may it not have been an accident?”
+
+Loft’s face brightened. “We’ve never thought of that,” he cried. “We’ve
+discussed suicide and murder, but accident never occurred to us.”
+
+“Can it,” said Fibsy, seriously. “It couldn’t have been accident.
+Where’d the poison come from for accidental use?”
+
+Loft’s face fell. Already he had come to look on the boy’s opinions
+with thoughtful attention. It mattered not to him that McGuire was a
+young, half-grown chap, or that his words were not chosen from the most
+elegant English. There was something in Fibsy’s face and manner that
+appealed to Valentine Loft’s sense of reality, and he readily listened
+when the boy talked. And so, his quick turndown of the accident theory
+made Loft see at once that it really was untenable.
+
+Stone and Fibsy were given adjoining rooms, and as they had rather a
+long confab as soon as they were alone, it was luncheon time before
+they saw Loft again.
+
+Then introductions were general and the party adjourned to the
+dining-room.
+
+By experience in connection with Stone’s cases, Fibsy had learned the
+principles of etiquette, at least, sufficiently to make a presentable
+appearance at a well-ordered table.
+
+He was about to take the chair Loft designated for him, when the
+Countess exclaimed: “You funny boy! Come right over here by me. Roly,
+you take that other seat.”
+
+A glance at Stone, who nodded, and then Fibsy obediently went over and
+seated himself beside the Countess.
+
+He was quite alive to the fact that, for the first time in his life
+he was seated next a titled person, and he greatly enjoyed it, though
+outwardly careless of the honor.
+
+“Why are you called Fibsy?” the Countess inquired bluntly.
+
+“Because I tell fibs, madam,” he returned, wondering if he ought to
+say, “Your Grace,” and concluding to ask Stone about it later.
+
+“Indeed! And why do you tell fibs?”
+
+“Because of necessity, madam; I only tell them when it is best and
+wisest to do so.”
+
+“You seem to be a remarkable child!”
+
+“Yes, madam,--I am.”
+
+“And conceited!”
+
+“No, if you please. The remarkable thing about me is that I have gained
+the friendship of Mr. Fleming Stone,--and that I am able to make myself
+useful to him.”
+
+“You are fond of him?”
+
+“Oh, gee! yes! I beg your pardon, madam, but added to my untruthfulness
+I am possessed of a sad addiction to slang phrases.”
+
+“You are simply delicious!” the Countess exclaimed; “I’ve never met any
+one more refreshing!”
+
+“Pleased to meet you,” said Fibsy, and rolled his blue eyes at her so
+comically that she shook with laughter.
+
+Always quick to discern those who could be of help to him, especially
+among the women, Fibsy had picked out the Countess and Anna Knox as
+being the most promising.
+
+Miss Dwyer he shrank from at once. Greatly alive to personalities,
+Fibsy had no use for the spinster, he concluded.
+
+Nor did she seem to have any for him. She glared at him as at an
+intruder, and though she didn’t say outright that he had no right to be
+at the family table, she hinted as much, and Loft was obliged to resent
+it.
+
+“I reserve the privilege of ordering my household appointments,” he
+said, with a frowning glance at her, and she subsided, though not
+without a scornful look at Fibsy.
+
+After luncheon they gathered on the veranda, and Fleming Stone began at
+once to ask questions.
+
+His manner was grave, his speech cultured and refined, and his hearers
+were all impressed with the kindness of his demeanor and the gentle
+quality of his character.
+
+Yet as his shrewd eyes roved from one face to another, Fleming Stone
+gathered a good deal more than met the ear.
+
+His inquiries brought out not only the facts as they were known, but
+the interpretations the various minds put upon them.
+
+Miss Dwyer was loquacious; and as she was, in a way, most concerned
+with the dead man, Loft let her talk all she chose.
+
+And it was in her account of the discussion of ways and means of murder
+that Stone showed his first decided interest.
+
+He asked over just which methods were selected by the different men,
+and then Miss Dwyer said, spitefully, “and it was Miss Fuller herself
+who chose poison as the medium!”
+
+“That seems to be a point in her favor,” Stone said, thoughtfully. “I
+should say if any one of the people who discussed the matter should
+turn out to be the murderer, he or she would use a means other than the
+one of which they, personally, expressed approval.”
+
+“Exactly,” agreed Loft, delighted at any hint in favor of Pauline.
+
+“After methods, let’s consider motives,” Stone went on, suavely, but
+with a carefully veiled scrutiny of the faces before him.
+
+Fibsy, too, under cover of a disinterested nonchalance was taking his
+cue from Stone, and watching the countenances of all present.
+
+“I can’t imagine any motive on the part of any one present,” Loft
+declared, “unless it be myself. You might say, that if I knew or
+suspected Curran’s previous relationship to--to Miss Fuller, I might
+have killed him in a fit of angry passion.”
+
+“However, we know you didn’t,” Ned Knox said, “so why waste time on
+that?”
+
+“I’m not so sure he didn’t,” Miss Dwyer said, with asperity. “To me
+it seems quite possible that Mr. Loft did know about it and perhaps
+surprised the pair together in Mr. Curran’s room, and so he killed him.”
+
+“There seems to have been little or no opportunity for that,” Stone
+said. “As I see it, whoever killed Mr. Curran did so in a most clever
+and ingenious way. To administer prussic acid, and leave no trace of
+the method or manner of its administering, is to my mind the work of a
+diabolically clever brain.”
+
+“Yes, I agree to that,” said Angel, thoughtfully.
+
+“But,” Stone went on, “I have a belief that the smarter the criminal
+the easier he is to catch.”
+
+“That’s a strange theory,” Knox said, surprised.
+
+“But true. Your stupid dolt, who kills on an impulse, is often harder
+to apprehend than the smart Aleck who takes pains to hide his clues.”
+
+“And leave no feathers around,” put in Loft.
+
+And as Stone looked inquiringly, he related the story of the negro and
+the stolen chickens.
+
+Fibsy laughed outright.
+
+“That’s a good one,” he said. “Feathers left around! And F. Stone
+can take those feathers and construct the whole bird,--just like the
+Natural History guys do.”
+
+“Next,” Stone went on, “what about alibis? Don’t think I’m accusing any
+member of the household,--but I must check up your whereabouts that
+night.”
+
+He listened to their stories, and summed up thus:
+
+“Then, Mr. and Mrs. Knox were in separate rooms, with a bathroom and
+two closed doors between. Mr. and Mrs. Meredith were in one room. Miss
+Lawrence, Miss Fuller and Countess Galaski, each in a room by herself.
+Mr. Loft and Mr. Baldwin, in two adjoining rooms, only one of which,
+Mr. Loft’s, opened on the hall. And Mr. Mears in a room alone. Now,
+as you must see, with the possible exception of Mr. Baldwin and the
+Merediths, no one has a real alibi. Any one could have gone into the
+hall, into Mr. Curran’s room, and back again, without necessarily
+arousing any one else.”
+
+“Did any one see or hear any such occurrence?”
+
+“I did,” said the Countess, “and I propose to tell of it, for it will
+come out, and I can give the unvarnished truth. Others might exaggerate
+or garble it. I saw Miss Fuller come out of Mr. Curran’s room that
+night sometime after two o’clock. She carried with her something that
+shone and glittered,--and which, I have no doubt, was Mr. Curran’s
+watch,--with her picture in it. I am telling this because it seems
+to be in Miss Fuller’s favor. She never killed that man! If she had
+done so, she would, as Mr. Stone says, have used any means other than
+poison. But she didn’t do it, because it is not in Pauline Fuller’s
+nature to commit crime. And, too, why should she kill him? She was
+divorced from him,--what had she to fear from him?”
+
+“Countess,” Bob Baldwin said, “you think you are doing a wise thing
+to talk like that of Pauline,--but I advise you to stop. We, who know
+and love her, feel how impossible it is that she could have committed
+crime,--but others,--strangers,--may not judge her so leniently or so
+truly.”
+
+“That’s so, Countess,” Loft said. He had been dumfounded by the
+Countess’ speech, and he wished, uneasily, that she would stop talking
+like that.
+
+“Now, don’t be alarmed about Mr. Stone and me making any mistakes in
+judging the lady in question,” Fibsy said, suddenly.
+
+His eyes were shining, and his shock of red hair was rumpled where he
+had unconsciously pulled at it, in his deep absorption in the recital
+of the Countess.
+
+“In fact,” Fibsy went on, “I may say, that I noted in Madam Countess’
+story a pretty strong indication that Miss Fuller certainly did
+_not_ kill Mr. Curran.”
+
+“Bless you, boy!” the Countess exclaimed. “I wonder if you mean that.”
+
+“Yes, I do,” Fibsy declared, “though I may be mistaken. We’re not
+infallible,--F. Stone and me.”
+
+“May I inquire, Mr. Stone,” said Miss Dwyer, acidly, “if that boy is
+head of your firm, or if you are?”
+
+“It isn’t a firm,” Stone returned, a quiet smile on his face. “McGuire
+is my valued assistant, that is all. His quick wits and young eyes
+sometimes discern things that I myself should not have noticed.”
+
+“Oh, come now,” and Fibsy looked bashful, “that ain’t quite right. Only
+I pick up now and then some feathers left around, that Mr. Stone hasn’t
+time to stoop for.”
+
+“You’re a darling!” the Countess cried, enthusiastically, “and I shall
+leave you something in my will.”
+
+“No time like the present,” murmured Fibsy, with a saucy glance that
+delighted the old lady.
+
+“At any rate, I shall address myself only to you, Mr. Stone,” Miss
+Dwyer went on. “Have you any idea, as yet, who killed my brother? Do
+you expect to find out? How soon do you expect to do so? Have you made
+any real progress during this inquiry you have just been holding? Do
+you really think that because these men talked over detective methods
+or murder methods with my brother, who was a writer of such stories,
+that there is the slightest reason to suspect one of them? Are you
+really trying to solve the mystery of my brother’s death,--or, are you
+only trying to exonerate from suspicion Miss Pauline Fuller--as she
+calls herself?”
+
+With difficulty Valentine Loft restrained his angry retort to this
+harangue, but Stone had already taken the lead.
+
+“Miss Dwyer,” he said, pleasantly, but with an undertone of sternness,
+“I find it difficult to remember all your queries. But I will say that
+I am searching for the truth and the truth only. I do not think that
+because a man talks over methods of murder he is necessarily himself
+a criminal. I have made real progress in my quest during this present
+session, and while I have not yet a definite idea of the name of your
+brother’s murderer, yet I have made steps toward that, by eliminating
+one or two possible suspects. May I ask you in future to ask me
+questions in smaller quantities at a time?”
+
+“You’re a queer detective,” Miss Dwyer vouchsafed.
+
+“You are,” Little Anna agreed. She had begun to feel less awe of Stone
+and her innate desire to receive attention made it impossible to keep
+silent longer. “I thought detectives asked a line of questions just as
+fast as they could talk.”
+
+“We do, sometimes,” Stone smiled at her. Few could help smiling at
+Little Anna. “But a rightminded detective questions different people
+differently. When I tackle the servants of this establishment, I shall
+doubtless ask them a line of questions. But among us,--as equally
+intelligent people, I prefer to get at what I want by desultory chat.
+Besides, it’s pleasanter.”
+
+“What were those things Mr. Curran said, when he pretended to be mind
+reading?” Fibsy asked. “I heard you mention them at luncheon, but
+didn’t get them all.”
+
+“I’ll tell you,” said the Countess, beaming kindly on her new favorite.
+“He told me that he could read in my mind that my shoes were too tight.
+He was absolutely correct, but as my face was all screwed up with pain,
+it didn’t show very desperate clairvoyant powers.”
+
+“What else?” asked Fibsy, and Stone listened, too.
+
+“Why, he spoke of _Rosalie_ and asked if it meant anything to
+anybody. Of course, we know now, it meant a lot to Pauline,--poor
+child. Then, Mr. Curran spoke of a _Mr. S._, who, of course, was
+also some man of whom Pauline knew, and whom doubtless, she preferred
+not to remember. As I see it now, he was merely baiting Pauline all the
+while.”
+
+“Yes?” said Stone. “Do you know who this _Mr. S._ could have been,
+Miss Dwyer?”
+
+“I do not. I haven’t the slightest idea. I suppose it was some man his
+wife had--”
+
+Stone interrupted her, and went on, placidly: “And, I am told, Mr.
+Curran collected old and rare books?”
+
+“Yes,” Loft replied, for Miss Dwyer was silently sulking. “Mr. Baldwin
+here can tell you the details of that matter. He is a connoisseur.”
+
+“Ah, yes; I collect some myself.” Stone smiled at Angel. “Perhaps we
+can do a browse in the Loft library, Mr. Baldwin.”
+
+“At your service,” said Bob, but he seemed disinterested, as he
+oftenest was, when amateurs wanted to consult with him.
+
+And then in his courteous way, Stone implied the confab was over for
+the moment, and he went away to interview the servants.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XV
+
+                           THE NEEDLE AGAIN
+
+
+FLEMING STONE stood on the veranda waiting for the car which was to
+take him to see Doctor Gilvray. Fibsy stood beside him, quiet of manner
+but with his quick-darting eyes taking in everything about him.
+
+Roly Mears approached the detective a little diffidently.
+
+“Mr. Stone,” he said, “would you mind if I went with you to the
+doctor’s?”
+
+“Not at all, Mr. Mears, come along.”
+
+Greatly pleased at Stone’s affability, and hoping to learn some of his
+conclusions, Roly went along.
+
+“I don’t want to be intrusive,” he said, on the way, “but have you come
+to any decisions, Mr. Stone?”
+
+“A difficult question to answer,” Stone said, smiling. “I’ve come to
+several decisions, but to no conclusion.”
+
+“I don’t know the difference,” Roly said, honestly, his face rather
+blank.
+
+“Well, then, I’ve decided that I must first find out what killed Mr.
+Curran. That’s a decision, and I hope it will lead to a conclusion on
+that subject.”
+
+“But, we know it was prussic acid.”
+
+“Yes, but I mean how administered, in what form and by what method!”
+
+And then they were at the doctor’s, who received them in his private
+office. He looked dubiously at Fibsy, but learning that he belonged
+with Stone, he seemed satisfied.
+
+“Now, Doctor Gilvray,” Stone said, as they discussed the case, “how
+many ways are there of administering that particular poison?”
+
+“It may be swallowed or it may be inserted into the flesh,” the doctor
+returned. “In this case we have to assume swallowing, because a
+distinct odor was noticed on the dead man’s lips. The absence of any
+trace of poison in the stomach, merely proves that there was only a
+minute quantity taken.”
+
+“A minute quantity is enough to produce death?”
+
+“Oh, yes,--the merest speck.”
+
+“Instantaneously?”
+
+“Practically so; an interval of a very few minutes might elapse before
+the victim ceased to breathe.”
+
+“Can you explain the fact that there were traces in the mouth but not
+in the stomach,--even granting a minute portion of the acid?”
+
+“No, Mr. Stone,--not to my own entire satisfaction. I can only say it
+was the poison that caused Mr. Curran’s death.”
+
+“What is its exact action?”
+
+“It is an active paralyzant and exerts a lethal influence over every
+part of the body. The nervous system, heart, respiratory organs,
+brain, and all vital parts are killed at once. The victim dies, with a
+gasp. For an instant the face is convulsed, the eyes wide open, teeth
+clenched,--all these symptoms were present in Mr. Curran’s case.”
+
+“How are you so certain there was no poison in the stomach?”
+
+“Because at an autopsy, in such cases, there is a fleeting but
+unmistakable odor of bitter almonds when the body is opened. There was
+none,--of that I am positive.”
+
+“Haven’t you omitted the suggestion that the poison might have been
+taken by inhalation--of fumes?”
+
+“It may be so taken, but as there was no evidence of any such
+possibility, I elided it.”
+
+“Yet there was no evidence of the presence of the poison in powder or
+in liquid form.”
+
+“True.” Doctor Gilvray looked so puzzled and distressed that Stone
+ceased to question him. The old physician was clearly at his wits’ end
+to account for the circumstances of the case.
+
+“You know,” Roly Mears said, “that night as Ned Knox passed the door
+of Mr. Curran’s room, when Angel was in there with him, Ned heard them
+saying something about a needle. I’ve thought it might have been a
+hypodermic needle,--maybe Curran had suicidal intent and maybe Bob was
+trying to dissuade him.”
+
+Stone looked up quickly.
+
+“More likely,” he said, “if they really were talking of a hypodermic
+needle, or, of poisoning at all, more likely they were still discussing
+Curran’s detective stories. We have no suspicions of Mr. Baldwin,
+have we? And, too, if he planned to kill Mr. Curran by means of a
+hypodermic, he would scarcely be chatting it over with him. Do you
+remember what Mr. Knox overheard, exactly?”
+
+“No,” Roly said, “but it was about the needle. The needle was the point
+at issue, of that Knox is certain. I’ve talked to him a lot about it.
+He gathered that Curran had the needle himself.”
+
+“And that Mr. Baldwin wanted it?”
+
+“I don’t know about that. You see, Ned thought nothing of it, except
+that a needle was a queer thing to be discussing so earnestly.”
+
+“Were the men angry?”
+
+“Not at all, Knox says. But Curran was talking loudly, and Angel was
+not.”
+
+“Well, I can’t see how Mr. Curran could have been killed by a
+hypodermic needle at that early hour, since he was seen alive later, by
+Mrs. Knox, by the maid, Tessie, and,--as we are told,--by Miss Fuller.
+By that time, Mr. Baldwin was tucked away in Mr. Loft’s bedroom.”
+
+“Much as I hate to say so, I can’t see any real suspect but Miss
+Fuller,” Doctor Gilvray said, and his sad face told how he grieved at
+the thought.
+
+“It looks that way, but I will not believe it,” Mears declared.
+
+“If it looks that way, we must look that way,” Stone said, gravely.
+
+“And p’raps,” Fibsy said, “if _we_ look that way, maybe we can
+stop _its_ looking that way.”
+
+“Perhaps,” Stone agreed. “And, now, Doctor Gilvray, it will be
+necessary that I shall see the body of Mr. Curran. Can you arrange that
+for me?”
+
+“Yes,--Mr. Stone,--” the doctor hesitated, “if you are sure it is
+necessary.”
+
+“I am sure,” Stone said. “Otherwise, I can never arrive at the truth of
+this thing. No disparagement whatever, Doctor, to your report of the
+autopsy,--that is clear and correct. But I must examine that body.”
+
+“Very well,” the doctor replied, and promised to make the desired
+arrangements.
+
+Returning to Valhalla, Fleming Stone asked for an interview with Loft,
+in which he inquired very definitely concerning the knowledge and the
+discoveries Loft might have made of Miss Fuller’s present abiding place.
+
+“I have no knowledge whatever,” Loft said, dismally. “I am utterly at a
+loss to imagine where she is, but, knowing her as I do, I am sure she
+is safely hidden from detectives or from myself.”
+
+“It’s not easy to hide so completely,” Stone said.
+
+“No; but it’s possible,” Loft returned. “You must know, yourself,
+Mr. Stone, that a man mightn’t do it, but a woman can retire to some
+inconspicuous spot, and remain there undiscovered for a long time.”
+
+“That’s true,” Stone said; “but how does Miss Fuller get money,--how
+get in touch with her aunt, if necessary,--in a word, how does she
+communicate with the outside world?”
+
+“She doesn’t,” Loft replied, gloomily. “You see, Miss Fuller has a
+wide circle of devoted friends. I could name half a dozen who would
+willingly, gladly give her sanctuary, no matter what she may have
+done. These friends would be wise enough and clever enough to keep
+her presence safely hidden from any prying detectives or inquisitors.
+It would not be so difficult. Imagine a large country house, with
+lots of guests coming and going,--or, better, imagine a small country
+home, on the outskirts, say, of some tiny village, or farther out in
+the country. Granted a determined hostess, Miss Fuller could be an
+unsuspected guest, indefinitely. At any rate, Mr. Stone, I am positive
+that is where Miss Fuller is,--at some such place.”
+
+“You’ve tried to communicate with her?”
+
+“I have sent letters to her in care of five such homes as I’ve just
+mentioned, but they were all returned with the statement that she was
+not there. But that doesn’t shake my belief. Either the people were
+untruthful, out of loyalty to her, or she is at some other place.”
+
+Fibsy looked deeply thoughtful.
+
+“Do you think she may be in some farmhouse, or some small house in the
+country, Mr. Loft?” he asked earnestly.
+
+“It may well be,” Loft replied. “That’s where I picture her. But I
+shall write no more letters, she will not let them be answered.”
+
+“And you can get no information from Miss Fuller’s home in New York?”
+Stone asked.
+
+“No. You see, Miss Fuller is very much alone in the world. Her aunt
+who lives with her in her city home, is a nervous invalid, and pays
+no attention to her niece’s comings or goings. I have learned that
+she thinks Miss Fuller is still here, and I have not undeceived her.
+I have found out, too, that Miss Fuller’s lawyer does not know where
+she is,--that is, he says he doesn’t,--and her bankers profess the
+same ignorance. Now, it’s quite possible that these people do know,
+but deny the knowledge, holding it as a business secret. At any rate,
+I cannot find out. You see, Miss Fuller can get money from her friends
+without trouble.”
+
+“As you put it, the whole affair is plausible enough from the very fact
+that it is so casual,” Stone said, after a moment’s thought. “True,
+a man,--especially a business man,--would find it difficult to drop
+out of existence, but a woman,--and a desperate woman, can do many
+seemingly impossible things.”
+
+“Say, Mr. Loft,” Fibsy put in, “you think maybe Miss Fuller is at a
+farmhouse,--where?”
+
+“Probably up in Connecticut,--or Massachusetts. She has many friends
+in all parts of the Berkshire regions. Also in New Jersey. And in the
+Southern States,--but I think she is not very far away.”
+
+“You’re basing your assumptions on your intimate knowledge of Miss
+Fuller’s mind?” Stone asked.
+
+“Exactly that,” Loft replied. “I know her indomitable will, I know that
+she has disappeared without a word; she proposes to stay hidden, but I
+also know, Mr. Stone, that she never killed that man!”
+
+“I wish your conviction were positive proof,” Stone said, gravely.
+
+“I wish so, too,” Loft agreed. “But I can’t expect those who do not
+know Miss Fuller as I do, to realize the depths of her nature. I
+appreciate, Mr. Stone, as you cannot, the motives that led to her
+deception of myself. It was, primarily my own fault. I had no right
+to be so arbitrary in my denunciation of divorce. It was, I see now,
+merely a whim of mine, and had I not given way to it, Pauline might
+have confessed all to me. I am thus frank with you, because I want you
+to understand the situation perfectly.”
+
+“I think I do, Mr. Loft,” Stone spoke sympathetically.
+
+“I know I do,” Fibsy said, eagerly,--“and what’s more, Mr. Loft, I have
+a notion I can find Miss Fuller for you.”
+
+“Good boy!” Loft said, in a kindly way, but in a tone which showed
+clearly he had small hope of Fibsy’s making good his promise.
+
+But the boy wagged his head sagaciously, and Stone could see that some
+ingenious scheme had sprouted in his fertile brain.
+
+“What’s the big idea, Fibs?” he asked, when the two were later alone in
+Stone’s room.
+
+“I haven’t quite doped it out yet, Mr. Stone,” and Fibsy’s blue eyes
+looked deep with anxiety. “But I have a glimmering of a notion--aw,
+shucks,--wait till I give it another think, then I’ll tell you.”
+
+“All right, McGuire. Now, how about giving Mr. Curran’s room a sweeping
+glance?”
+
+“Let’s,” and the boy jumped up readily.
+
+So to the locked room the two went, and Stone producing the key Loft
+had given him, they went in and locked the door behind them.
+
+“Very few feathers left around,” Stone said, somewhat chagrined at the
+slight effect of personal occupancy the room presented.
+
+“Mr. Loft said nothing has been touched,” Fibsy reminded him. “Surely
+you can find something indicative, F. S.”
+
+“Let’s hope so.”
+
+Stone scanned in turn each article of furniture, the walls, the floor,
+the window sills and door frames.
+
+“Not much,” he concluded. “How about the waste-basket,--turn it out,
+Fibs.”
+
+On an outspread newspaper, Fibsy emptied the basket.
+
+Attentively the detective scanned the motley array of rubbish.
+
+“Most wastebaskets speak louder than this one,” he said, grimly. “Can
+you hear anything, Fibs?”
+
+“Nope,” and the boy looked hopelessly at some torn papers, some bits of
+string, some lead pencil shavings, an empty cigarette box, an empty box
+that had evidently held digestive tablets, a wooden toothpick, a quill
+toothpick, a torn toothpick paper, a few burnt matches, and an old
+envelope or two.
+
+Nearly all these things were duplicated on the floor of the room,
+proving a most careless occupant, and also proving, that as Loft had
+said, nothing had been disturbed.
+
+“That medicine box might have held the poison,” Fibsy said,
+half-heartedly, “but it doesn’t look that way to me.”
+
+“No;” and Stone smelled of the pasteboard carton. “I doubt it.”
+
+But he picked out two or three of the articles from the waste-basket
+rubbish and put them in his note-book for future study.
+
+“You see, the windows are fastened securely, with six-inch openings for
+ventilation,” Fibsy remarked, and Stone said, “Yes,” disinterestedly.
+
+“And, I say, F. Stone, this door, if locked, never could be opened from
+the outside,--you can see that.”
+
+“Yes, I see that.”
+
+“Then how in the name of Emile Gaboriau did the murderer get in and
+out?”
+
+“Be more meticulous, Terence. You mean how did he get out? He could get
+in easily enough.”
+
+“Curran let him in?”
+
+“Surely.”
+
+“And then he accomplished his fell purpose?”
+
+“He did.”
+
+“And then, how did he get out?”
+
+“Curran let him out.”
+
+“While he was dead?”
+
+“No,--alive.”
+
+“But, the doctor said his death was instantaneous.”
+
+“Yes,--oh, hush up, Fibsy! This is a wonderful case! But I can’t be
+certain about it until I have seen the body of Hugh Curran.”
+
+“Say, F. Stone, it wasn’t the Pauline lady,--was it?”
+
+“It may have been,--so far we’ve found no one else with a motive.”
+
+“Oh,--I can’t believe it--that lovely lady!”
+
+“McGuire, you’ll never make a detective unless you are willing to seek
+the woman. If you start out on the premise of a man miscreant always,
+you’ll get nowhere,--you’ll get sadly left.”
+
+“Well,--I’m starting out this trip with the premise that Miss Fuller is
+as innocent as they make ’em, and therefore I’m going to produce her
+and let her state her innocence for herself. She can put up the goods.”
+
+“Just how are you going to find her, Fibs?”
+
+And then, in a few words, McGuire detailed his plan.
+
+“Good enough in theory,” was Stone’s comment, “but extremely dubious in
+practice. However, go ahead,--if Loft agrees.”
+
+And then Stone was called downstairs to meet Detective Kinney who
+greatly desired to see him.
+
+Fibsy went along, his head full of his own scheme of things.
+
+So engrossed was he in his plans, that he paid little attention to the
+conversation between Stone and the local detective.
+
+When at last he listened in, as he would have called it, Kinney was
+saying:
+
+“Yes, sir, we have followed up many clues, which though promising at
+first, led nowhere. But--”
+
+“I’ll finish for you,” said Fibsy, saucily, “but you feel sure now, you
+are working in the right direction and will soon be in full possession
+of the facts. You are not at present ready to announce your decision,
+but expect soon to make public some interesting disclosures.”
+
+Kinney was furious, as this was just about what he had meant to say. He
+gave Fibsy a withering glance, which that young hopeful received with a
+knowing wink.
+
+“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Kinney,” he said, “you’re pretty sure, aren’t
+you, that Miss Fuller is concerned in this matter--this crime, I mean.”
+
+“I am sure of that!” Kinney exclaimed, “and if I could get hold of
+her--”
+
+“I’m going to find her,” McGuire said, calmly, “and then she and I
+will prove to you that she is utterly and entirely innocent.”
+
+“Ah, and who is the guilty person, may I ask?”
+
+“You may ask and you may answer. I’m sure I don’t know.”
+
+“Behave yourself, Terence,” Stone admonished him, and seeing no chance
+of more fun at the expense of Detective Kinney, Fibsy wandered away.
+
+He went in search of Tessie, with whom he had already made friends.
+
+“Tell me something, sweetie,” he said, with a cherubic smile, “tell
+your little Fibsy something, will you?”
+
+“Go along with you,--you, and your foolishness,” and Tessie
+involuntarily smiled back at the impudent chap.
+
+“No, seriously, now. Tell me what sort of clothes and things Miss
+Fuller took when she went away that day.”
+
+“Why, she took no clothes at all,--no dresses or hats. I mean she took
+what we call an overnight bag,--only her night things, and brushes and
+such.”
+
+“Yes,--but I mean did she take her best night things,--as if she was
+going to a swell party?”
+
+“Why--let me see. No, as I remember, she took rather her plainer
+things,--no boudoir cap and only a simple kimono,--no fancy negglegy.”
+
+“Yes,” and the red head nodded with satisfaction. “Say, like she was
+going to see some friend who wasn’t one of the tip-top upper crust?”
+
+“Well, yes, you might put it so.”
+
+“And, say, Tessie,--oh, now do try! Can’t you think of something she
+said that would give the leastest, tiniest hint of where she was going?”
+
+“No, I can’t,” but urged by the earnestness of her interlocutor, Tessie
+thought hard.
+
+Finally she said, “There’s just one thing; in the car, on the way to
+the station, I caught sight of a New York Central time table in Miss
+Fuller’s bag--the Harlem Division--”
+
+“Oh, you duck! you daisy!” and Fibsy grabbed the girl in his arms, and
+made her dance a two-step while he whistled a lively tune.
+
+“Behave yourself, you young rascal,” Tessie cried, as she shook him
+off. “I’ll not stand for such goings on!”
+
+“You needn’t,” he cried, “I’m going off--way off!”
+
+He ran away and presented himself at the door of the library, where
+Loft still sat at his desk.
+
+“Mr. Loft,” he said, respectfully, “may I have a talk with you?”
+
+“Come in,” Loft said, his attention arrested by something in Fibsy’s
+tone.
+
+“I think I may be able to locate Miss Fuller, sir,” he said, a little
+embarrassed as he felt Loft’s grave gaze fixed on his face.
+
+“Just how?” and Loft spoke kindly.
+
+“I’d rather not tell you,” Fibsy replied. “I know that sounds queer,
+sir, but Mr. Stone, he knows, and he can tell you if he chooses. But it
+would sound to you like a wild goose chase,--and yet,--Mr. Loft,--wild
+geese have been caught.”
+
+Fibsy did not smile, and his look was so beseeching Loft listened with
+interest.
+
+“Yes, McGuire, they have. Well, what can I do in the matter?”
+
+“Just this, sir. Will you give me some message, which, if Miss Fuller
+hears it, she’ll know that you want her to come back. I mean some sort
+of blind message,--that only she will understand,--but that she can
+make no mistake about.”
+
+“H’m,--I see. Well, tell her--tell her--there’s a Valentine waiting for
+Pauline. How’s that?”
+
+“Fine! Splendid. Now, is there any other word,--any phrase that is sort
+of a by-word--sort of a secret between you two?”
+
+“Why, yes, we had many of them. Tell her, for instance: ‘The Portuguese
+are the people!’ She’d understand _that_ was a message from me.”
+
+“Very well, sir,” Fibsy jotted the lines down in his note-book with
+painstaking care. “Now, will you give me five hundred dollars to spend
+on this thing? It’s a lot of money, but I feel sure it will give you
+back your lady.”
+
+“You are a most extraordinary youth!” Loft said, “but I’ll chance it.
+Here is your money. Where are you going?”
+
+“To Springfield, Mass.,” said Fibsy.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                           CURRAN’S CRUELTY
+
+
+PAULINE FULLER was both listless and restless. The quiet, secluded
+home of Mary Malden was sanctuary indeed, and Pauline ran little or no
+chance of being discovered there.
+
+But now that she had had time to think matters over, she was not quite
+sure she had been wise in coming. She had told kind-hearted Mary her
+whole story, and Mary had sympathized and had coddled her and petted
+her, all of which was balm to Pauline’s tortured heart.
+
+Now three or four days had passed and the monotony of the place, though
+restful and soothing, had begun to get on her nerves.
+
+She wondered what Val was doing. What he was thinking of her. How
+matters were progressing at Valhalla.
+
+“Do you know,” she said to Mary, “sometimes I feel as if I must rush
+right back there,--I’m so anxious about Val.”
+
+“Better stay where you are,” said the practical Mary. “From what you’ve
+told me of his ideas about divorce, I should think you’d never dare see
+him again.”
+
+“Perhaps he’d forgive it all,” said Pauline, hopefully.
+
+“Perhaps he wouldn’t,” returned Mary. “No, my child, you did the most
+scandalous thing I ever heard of,--to pass yourself off as a girl, when
+you were a married and divorced woman. I wouldn’t have believed it of
+you, Polly.”
+
+“I know it was dreadful, but oh, Mary,--I was so young, and I was urged
+into that marriage against my will. Almost nobody knew anything about
+it. I was out in California two years, you see, and the whole courtship,
+engagement, marriage and divorce all occurred within the first year.
+So, when I did come back to New York, I tried to forget it,--I told no
+one, not even Auntie,--she would have been so upset. And, you see, the
+courts gave me back my maiden name,--so I just put that whole year out
+of my mind,--and strove to forget it. And I did forget it, practically.
+I know it was wrong to deceive Val, but--he is so dear,--and he is
+so terribly opposed to divorce. I meant to tell him before we were
+married, though,--” she broke off, and bowing her head in her hands,
+she wept silently.
+
+“There, there, dearie,” said the kindly Mary, “never mind
+now, we’ll think out what’s best to do. But don’t go back to
+Valhalla,--you’d--you’d be arrested for--for--you know--”
+
+“For the murder of Hugh Curran? But I didn’t kill him, Mary.”
+
+“Thank Heaven for that! Do you know, Polly, this is the first time
+you’ve said that definitely. Can I believe you, dear?”
+
+“Oh, yes, indeed you can. No, Mary, I was in his room that night, I did
+take the watch, but I didn’t poison him.”
+
+“Tell me about it.”
+
+“I can’t, dear,--the mere thought of it all upsets me so. Just think,
+I hadn’t thought of that man for nearly six years,--I mean, thought
+of him coherently. If ever a suggestion of him came in my mind I
+resolutely put it away from me. You know, I had no idea that Hugh
+Curran was Hugh Dwyer.”
+
+“You hadn’t?”
+
+“Oh, no, indeed. I had never heard from or of Hugh Dwyer since I left
+him at the time of the divorce--”
+
+“Was he very dreadful to you, dear?”
+
+“Awful! Horrible! Don’t ask me about that! The divorce was granted at
+once,--an absolute decree and all that. Mary, _don’t_!”
+
+“No, I’ll never mention it again. Go on, about this later time.”
+
+“Well, I heard them talking about this author of detective stories,--I
+never read them myself,--and I heard them say that Hugh Curran had
+been a Moving Picture actor. But it all meant nothing to me. I never
+connected that name with the name of Hugh Dwyer,--why should I?”
+
+“Of course not, dearie. And then, Val invited him to the house?”
+
+“Yes,--and it happened that when somebody asked Val what the man looked
+like, just out of foolishness, Val described him as quite different
+from the truth.”
+
+“Why did he do that?”
+
+“No reason but as a bit of fooling. Anyway, that made me think of
+the coming guest as a total stranger, of course, and, Mary, when
+he came,--and I saw him,--I almost fainted. Truly I did. I was
+pouring coffee, and let the cup overflow while I struggled to keep my
+composure. I think I only did keep up because I knew Hugh’s eye was on
+me, and he would be rejoiced to see me collapse.”
+
+“What a fiend he was!”
+
+“Oh, yes, all of that. He had a diabolical way of tormenting any one,
+under cover of utmost friendliness. So, first of all, he asked me to
+walk in the garden with him,--alone. I shouldn’t have gone, but anyway,
+Val forbade it, and Hugh subsided. Then later, he took a fiendish
+delight in flinging out allusions that only I could understand. Why, he
+even asked me straight out if I kept my bureau drawers in order,--that
+had been a source of disagreement between us when we lived together. He
+was a most untidy sort of person,--I mean about keeping things in their
+places. And then,--when I wouldn’t seem to notice anything he said of
+that sort, he asked if the name ‘Rosalie’ meant anything to anybody
+present! He thought I’d betray myself then, but I didn’t. Rosalie or
+Rosy is what he always called me because of my pink cheeks--which I
+always had then.”
+
+“And which you’ve never had since, you poor darling. Pauline, how you
+have suffered! Surely you’ve atoned for anything you have ever done.”
+
+“Oh, I hope so,--but Mary, I haven’t done anything wrong--except to
+keep from Val the knowledge of my former marriage,--and I did that more
+for his sake than for my own. Truly I did.”
+
+“It was wrong, Pauline,--very wrong. But, go on, tell me the rest of
+your story.”
+
+“Then, he flashed his watch open once or twice, in such a way that I
+couldn’t help seeing that my picture was in it. He used to have it
+there,--I don’t know whether he carried it all these years or not.
+And,--Mary, the worst of all, was the look of admiration he gave me
+every chance he could get to do so, unobserved. I could have stood
+better his hate, his fury, his revenge, even, than those glances of
+admiration and apparent affection. As we said good-night, he managed to
+whisper to me, ‘Come to my room at two o’clock.’ Mary, I didn’t dare
+disobey,--and, too, I felt I had to see him alone,--and learn what
+his intentions were. If he meant to expose me, I wanted it done all
+at once,--not by that slow torture. If I could persuade him to keep
+my secret, I meant to do so. Anyway my relations to Val, my hope of
+happiness with him, all depended on that man’s attitude in the matter.
+So,--I went to his room--at two o’clock.”
+
+“I don’t blame you, dear. You had to do it.”
+
+“Yes, I had to. And Mary, the whole trouble was that he had become
+infatuated with me all over again! He was engaged to another girl, but
+he told me he didn’t love her,--and he did love me,--and he begged me
+to come back to him,--said I had grown more beautiful, more dear and
+sweet, and he wanted me. He said, if he couldn’t have me,--no one else
+should. He said he would tell Val the whole story, and as he well knew
+Val’s feelings about divorce, he knew--and I knew,--that would break
+off our engagement.
+
+“He upbraided me fearfully for deceiving Val,--called me terrible
+names, and then he would change to a wheedling love-making on his own
+account. Finally, he threatened that unless I would promise to break
+with Val and remarry him, he would not only tell the whole story of
+our marriage, but would compromise me by saying I had come to his room
+that night without invitation. Oh, he was a devil incarnate. And all
+the time, suave and urbane as if he were proposing some casual plan.
+Then he would suddenly break into protestations of passion and love for
+me,--all of which I knew by heart, and they brought back the old days
+that I have tried so hard to forget. Mary,--I was ready to kill either
+him or myself,--and I didn’t care much which.”
+
+“You didn’t do either?”
+
+“I see you can’t believe me,--and I don’t wonder,--now that you know
+what happened. No, I didn’t kill him,--though I confess there was
+murder in my heart. And if I had had a weapon, I could have easily
+brought myself to do it--oh, no, I don’t think I could, either. I’ve
+crime enough on my shoulders, without adding murder to it.”
+
+“No, Polly, if you didn’t kill him, you’ve no crime to regret. Your
+deception of Val is wrong,--very wrong,--but not a crime. But Val knows
+the truth of that, now,--and Pauline, don’t you suppose Val thinks you
+killed Curran?”
+
+“Maybe he does,--but, Mary, how could I kill him? What with?”
+
+“Why, with the poison,--your choice of a method, as you’ve told me
+yourself.”
+
+“But I didn’t,” Pauline reiterated. “I became frightened at his wild
+protestations of love and passion, and I simply ran out of the room.
+I felt sure that for all his threats he wouldn’t follow me, and so, I
+grabbed his watch as I fled, with a half-conscious idea of destroying
+that picture. But when I reached my room, I was trembling so, and
+so faint from nervous reaction, I hid the watch and fell on the bed
+where I lay for hours just as I was. It was daybreak before I got up
+and undressed and really went to bed. Then, Mary,--then imagine next
+morning, learning that Hugh Dwyer was dead!”
+
+“You were glad?”
+
+“Glad faintly expresses it! I was freed from a dreadful danger, saved
+from an awful fate. I was so glad I could have sung for very joy. I
+daresay it was a sort of nervous hysteria, but it was all I could do to
+preserve a decent calm. I tried not to lie to Val. He asked me straight
+out if I had ever seen Hugh Curran before he came to the house. And I
+said ‘No,’ for surely I had never met Hugh Curran before. Hugh Dwyer
+was my persecutor. And, now, as you say, Mary, Val knows my story, and
+others know it. I heard enough to know they were going to send a man
+to Reno to learn the details of Dwyer’s marriage and divorce, and the
+name of his wife. I knew, too, that that Detective Kinney had found the
+watch in my room,--with my picture in it--oh, Mary, I couldn’t face
+Val! Now, I almost wish I had,--maybe he would have stood by me,--maybe
+I could have convinced him that I didn’t kill Curran.”
+
+“Who do you suppose did, Pauline?”
+
+“I can’t imagine,--nor can I see how it was done. I’ve thought over
+it so much. How could any one have poisoned that man after I left his
+room?”
+
+“How long after?”
+
+“A couple of hours, I should judge. The doctors calculated that he
+died between four and five o’clock in the morning. I should think it
+a suicide, but that I know he was too eager to live to--to punish
+me,--or,--to marry me again. Nor can I think of any one who had any
+motive to kill him. I feel sure now, it must have been some intruder
+from outside,--maybe through the window,--though they say that was
+impossible. Oh, dear, I wish you’d believe, Mary, that I didn’t kill
+him.”
+
+“I do believe it, Pauline,--at least, I’m trying to believe it. But if
+you had done it, I’d think you were justified,--”
+
+“No, not justified. You may say you could understand my doing it,--as
+I confess I had the will to do it--oh, Mary, does that make me a
+murderess? Am I all bad?”
+
+“No, no, dearie, there, there, don’t cry so.... You’re just a normal,
+true woman,--you love Val, and all these feelings toward that brute
+who ruined your life are only natural. How did you come to marry him,
+Pauline?”
+
+“Oh, I was very young,--only seventeen, but younger even than that in
+my innocence and ignorance. He was a handsome, beguiling chap, and one
+night he made desperate love to me, and urged me to elope with him. I
+thought it all very romantic, and I thought I loved him,--and I went.
+
+“We were married at once, by some clergyman friend of his, and all of
+the honeymoon he was angelic. But soon after, he began to be careless
+and worthless, and from that on, as I soon found I didn’t really love
+him, he became cruel, brutal and unbearable. I went to stay with a
+friend, a nice elderly lady, and she advised me to get a divorce at
+once. She helped me put it through, and inside of eight months I had
+been wooed, wedded and divorced. Oh, but I was glad to be free again.
+Then when I returned to New York, a year later, I kept it a secret,
+to save myself the gossip that it would have caused. And when I met
+Val,--and when we came to love each other,--I should have told him all,
+but for his strange, almost insane hatred of divorce. I meant to tell
+him, even then, but I’ve put it off because I couldn’t bear to hurt
+him. And, I’ve worried myself sick over the question of whether to tell
+him at all or not. One day I would decide to make a clean breast of it
+all, and then he’d say something about divorce, and I’d find myself
+utterly unable to open the subject. But I never should have married him
+without telling.”
+
+“Well, Pauline, I’m your friend, whatever happens. I’m ready to believe
+you didn’t kill that man, but I couldn’t blame anybody who thinks you
+did. And, I may as well say that I think if you had killed him, you’d
+deny it just as you have done.”
+
+Pauline smiled. She felt such a relief at having unburdened her, whole
+heart to her friend, that she was able to see the absurdity of Mary’s
+attitude.
+
+Yet was it so absurd? Could friendship go further than to pledge
+continued friendship even in the face of such uncertainty as was surely
+in Mary’s mind?
+
+Pauline appreciated this, and flung her arms round Mary while she
+thanked her for her goodness and love.
+
+“And now,” Mary said, with her usual good sense, “put it all out of
+your mind for the moment. Go and lie in the hammock and read a foolish
+novel or go out and pick flowers or get out some sewing,--no, don’t do
+anything conducive to thought. Go and listen in on the radio.”
+
+“I hate those radio things,” Pauline said, laughing. “To me, they’re
+the monotonous lingo of a metal mind.”
+
+“Oh, come, now, some of it is real interesting,--and instructive, too.
+Go and try it, anyway.”
+
+Pauline drifted about, lounged in the hammock, picked some flowers, and
+honestly endeavored to put her troubles away from her for a time.
+
+“I’m going to the village, in the Ford,” Mary said, later. “Want to go?”
+
+“No,” said Pauline, promptly, “somebody might see me.”
+
+“Fiddlesticks! You can’t live all your life shut up on this farm. Well,
+all right, but you’ve got to go with me tomorrow, or soon.”
+
+“Very well, we’ll see,” and Pauline waved a good-by after the departing
+car, and returned to her listless idleness.
+
+At last, in sheer desperation, she turned to the radio outfit, and took
+up the receivers.
+
+As she had anticipated, she was bored by a soprano solo by a
+high-strung young girl, and an accordion obbligato by a clever young
+man.
+
+She was about to disconnect, when she heard the announcement of a
+lecture on “European Countries Little Known.” The day’s subject turned
+out to be Portugal. Slightly interested, she listened to the lecturer’s
+trite and ready-made phrases. And then, he said, in especially clear
+accents, “The Portuguese are the people!”
+
+Pauline smiled to herself, for that was a phrase she and Val had often
+used, and to them it meant an appreciation of certain “Sonnets from the
+Portuguese,” with which Elizabeth Barrett Browning charmed all lovers.
+
+The lecture proceeded, and three times the speaker repeated the short
+phrase, “The Portuguese are the people.”
+
+Pauline pondered long, after the lecture was over.
+
+Could it be a sort of an omen,--a hint from Fate that Valentine was
+thinking of her,--perhaps still loving her?
+
+And then, realizing the absurdity of her own thoughts, she put it
+from her mind. She had no leanings toward the occult, or even toward
+telepathy or thought transference. And, too, as she said to herself, it
+wasn’t Val who was doing the lecturing.
+
+But the result of the episode was that Pauline spent many hours at
+the radio apparatus the next few days. She let herself be bored by
+the lectures on science, by the children’s stories, by the far from
+first-class music, and by the rehash of current events. She listened
+even to the talk on home-making and culinary doings, hoping against
+hope that something would again remind her of Valentine.
+
+At last she was rewarded. On the second day of her radio interest,
+there was a talk by one of New York’s most celebrated detectives. Among
+other things he spoke of the work of the Bureau of Missing Persons.
+And, she could scarcely believe her ears, but she certainly heard him
+say, “For example, if an advertisement were worded, ‘Pearline, come
+back and all will be forgiven,’ it might not succeed in its purpose.
+But if it said, ‘Pearline, come back, I love you,’ then maybe she would
+come.”
+
+The lecture, though of serious intent, was in a popular style, and
+Pauline gasped.
+
+For Pearline was a foolish nickname that Val used in his gayest
+moments. It had seemed to him a great joke to call the dignified and
+beautiful Pauline by the silly name.
+
+And as she continued to listen, the lecturer referred again to the
+supposed advertisement and repeated the whole idea.
+
+Pauline waited till the lecture was over and then went away to her own
+room to think it out.
+
+She knew little of the way in which radio stuff was “broadcasted,”
+but she felt almost certain that that bit in an otherwise impersonal
+lecture couldn’t be mere chance.
+
+If Val had wanted to send her a message, what could he have said more
+perfect, more poignant, than “Come back,--I love you.”
+
+How it was done, she didn’t know,--but her heart claimed the message,
+even though her mind refused to believe it was from Valentine Loft.
+
+Though tempted to tell Mary about it, she couldn’t bring herself to
+do so, but she continued to haunt the radio at every number of its
+programmes.
+
+“Well, for any one who scorned that thing, you’ve certainly become
+addicted to it,” Mary said, as Pauline refused to leave the instrument
+to go for a short drive.
+
+“I’ve learned to like it,” Pauline said, and waved Mary to silence.
+
+Yet only once again did she get anything from it that might have been
+meant for her.
+
+It was twilight, their early supper was over, for Pauline had insisted
+that Mary retain her simple ways of living, and though her hostess
+called to her from the veranda, Pauline replied that she would come out
+as soon as she had heard the evening concert.
+
+And after two or three uninteresting numbers, a fairly good baritone
+voice sang a ballad with a simple air, the refrain of which was:
+“There’s a Valentine a waiting for Pauline.”
+
+No mistake this time! Pauline’s eyes filled with tears and her
+heart beat fast as she listened to words, homely, but loving and
+sincere,--each stanza closing with the refrain, “There’s a Valentine a
+waiting for Pauline.”
+
+Not Pearline this time,--but Pauline, her own name, and Valentine, her
+waiting lover.
+
+Now, she knew it was intentional, now she knew it was meant for her,
+and she believed the references to Portuguese and to Pearline were also
+meant for her.
+
+How it had been done she didn’t know,--but, she assumed Valentine had
+somehow managed to get in on the radio programmes.
+
+What should she do? She couldn’t doubt that it was his method of trying
+to find her. She couldn’t doubt that it was his wish that she should
+return to him, and that he still wanted and loved her.
+
+She went out to the porch and told Mary Malden all about it.
+
+“H’m,” said that astute individual. “Tricky, if you ask me. And I don’t
+believe your Val did it at all,--I believe it’s the work of those
+smarty detectives,--they’re trying to find you, and they are tricking
+you with that stuff. For, Valentine Loft couldn’t get those things into
+a radio programme himself,--they won’t touch anything personal. But
+the police could do it, of course.”
+
+Pauline was crestfallen. Suppose it should be the police, pretending
+to send a message from Val, so that she would by chance hear it, and
+divulge her hiding place!
+
+The more she thought it over, the more it seemed that Mary must be
+right, and she would better not follow it up at all.
+
+But after she went to bed that night, she lay long awake thinking. And
+the more she thought the more she felt she must speak to Val, let the
+result be what it might.
+
+Hastily donning kimono and slippers, she went noiselessly downstairs to
+the telephone. She called up Long Distance, and finally succeeded in
+getting connection with Valhalla. The servant who answered her, went
+immediately to call Loft.
+
+“Is that you, Val?” she said, timidly.
+
+“Yes, Pauline, darling. I am coming to you. Where are you?”
+
+Now that she had succeeded, she was panic-stricken, but his dear voice
+reassured her, and she whispered Mary Malden’s name before the receiver
+fell from her trembling fingers.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVII
+
+                            ON TO MAPLEDALE
+
+
+IT was shortly before midnight that Valentine Loft received that
+telephone message. The rest of the household had retired, and Loft was
+himself preparing for bed.
+
+“Mary Malden,” he said to himself, as he hung up the receiver. “I
+might have guessed it! Just the place for her, too. Now, let’s see--”
+He looked at his watch. “Just about twelve. I suppose I ought to tell
+Stone I’m going,--but I hate to waken him. Poor chap, he’s been working
+hard today. Fibsy,--that’s the ticket! He won’t mind.”
+
+Going noiselessly through the halls, Loft tapped lightly at Fibsy’s
+door. There was no response, but he could hear the boy’s breathing.
+
+“Sleeps like a log,--or a boy,” he smiled to himself. Then he opened
+the door and went in.
+
+“McGuire,” he whispered, touching the lad on the shoulder.
+
+“What’s up?” and Fibsy was awake and alert in an instant. “Oh, Mr.
+Loft, have you got her? Have you?”
+
+“Why, yes,” and Loft was mystified at the question. “What do you know
+about it?”
+
+“Why, I did it! I worked the radio people,--not the managers,--they
+didn’t know about it,--”
+
+“Why, you blessed little chap! Have you really put over something like
+that! Well, tell me about it some other time,--just now I want to leave
+a message with you for Mr. Stone. I’m going up to New England--”
+
+“Oh, how are you going? When you coming back?” Fibsy sat upright in
+bed, his eyes shining, his tousled red hair shining, and his very face
+shining at the exciting news.
+
+“I’m going in my car,--and I hope to be back tomorrow afternoon or
+evening.”
+
+“Lemme go with you? Oh, please, Mr. Loft, lemme go! I can be a help to
+you somehow, and I wanta go! Please lemme! I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”
+
+“Why, yes, if you brought this about, you have earned it. Come on then,
+can you dress quickly?”
+
+“Exceedin’ the limit!” and Fibsy was already out of bed and pulling on
+his stockings. “You goin’ to drive yourself?”
+
+“Yes; meet me at the garage in about five minutes. And say, McGuire,
+you write a note and stick it under Mr. Stone’s door, will you? Tell
+him whatever you like.”
+
+“’Tis the same as done, sir,” and Fibsy began to flourish a hairbrush.
+
+And in less than fifteen minutes the two were tearing through the night
+in the general direction of the Berkshire hills.
+
+“We needn’t break any speed laws,” Loft said, smiling at his own haste.
+“I want to get there by daybreak, but not sooner. We can’t call on
+ladies before sunup, can we?”
+
+“Where is she?” Fibsy asked, breathlessly.
+
+“At Mapledale, a tiny village in a Berkshire valley. How did you work
+it, boy? That is, if you did work it?”
+
+“I dunno whether it was my doin’s or not.” In his intense excitement
+Fibsy was lapsing into his careless diction, of which Stone daily
+endeavored to cure him.
+
+“You see, Mr. Loft, I got around the lecturers and singers in three
+big broadcasting stations, chancin’ that we’d hit Miss Fuller somehow.
+Course the management wouldn’t allow it, for the simple reason that if
+they let us do it, they couldn’t refuse anybody who wanted to send a
+personal message. Could they?”
+
+“I suppose not,--go on.”
+
+“So I got hold of the performers,--private like,--and--well, I used up
+all your five hundred dollars. But I guess it paid.”
+
+“I guess it did,--if that’s what brought this trip about.”
+
+“Don’t you know?”
+
+“No, I don’t; Miss Fuller merely spoke to me,--and told me where she is
+staying.”
+
+“H’m,--maybe I wasn’t so smart as I thought I was. Well, that’s what I
+came along to see. That, and some few other matters. I told Mr. Stone
+in the note not to tell anybody where we’d gone.”
+
+“How can he, when he doesn’t know himself?”
+
+“I mean, I told him we were on track of Miss Fuller, but to keep it
+dark.”
+
+“I see. What sort of wireless messages did you send, McGuire?”
+
+“Well, I worked one into a Kids’ Bedtime Story, one into a Domestic
+Lecture,--on housekeeping and the use of Pearline,--”
+
+“You rascal, how did you know that I have sometimes jokingly called
+Miss Fuller, Pearline?”
+
+“Oh, me little chum, Her Royal Highness the Countess, told me that.
+Well, then I got a chap I know to write a song about the ‘Valentine a
+waitin’ for Pauline,’ and oh, I did up some several more such stunts.
+It was one chance in five million that any of ’em would reach her
+ears,--oh, Mr. Loft, I hope they did! I hope this whole trip is on
+account o’ me! I put ’em on the Springfield Broadcasting Station,
+and on Schenectady and on Newark. Howsomever, if she’d a called
+anyway,--why I’m just as glad for you.”
+
+Loft smiled at the workings of the young mind that wanted the glory and
+honor if they were due him,--but if not, he was still ready to rejoice
+with those that did rejoice.
+
+“You’re sure she’s where you’re goin’, ain’t you, Mr. Loft?”
+
+“I am sure, McGuire. I knew her voice, and I heard what she said. Yes,
+we’ll find her, all right.”
+
+They sped on in silence, now and then broken by a few words, but each
+busy with his own thoughts.
+
+Loft put determinedly from his mind all question of Pauline’s conduct,
+past, present or future; he thought only of the fact that he was to see
+her, and soon.
+
+At last the electric lights began to pale as the first gleams of dawn
+shone in the East. They were skimming through beautiful country, the
+Berkshire hills rose about them, the valleys became visible more and
+more plainly, and when the sun was fairly above the horizon, the
+travellers were nearing the village of Mapledale.
+
+“It’s on the outskirts, I think, or even farther out in the country--”
+
+But farmers were up betimes, and directions were easily procured,
+so that Loft’s swift roadster came to a halt at Miss Malden’s side
+veranda, just as that lady herself opened her sitting-room door.
+
+“My land!” she exclaimed, “what in the world do you want?” “Pauline,”
+answered Loft, briefly but very truthfully.
+
+“Why, she ain’t up yet. You’re Valentine Loft, I suppose?”
+
+“Yes, and very much at your service. This is my young friend, Terence
+McGuire. Can you take us in and give us breakfast,--it is Miss Malden,
+isn’t it?”
+
+“Yes,” said Mary Malden, melting before the magnetism of Loft’s voice
+and manner. “Come right along in. Joe, he’ll put your car away for you.
+A fine car, I should say.”
+
+“A fast car,” Loft said, smiling. “Brought us up from Westchester
+County since midnight.”
+
+“You don’t say! Well, that beats mine. Come on in. My, but Pauline will
+be surprised!”
+
+“Will you call her,--waken her, if necessary. I don’t feel as if I
+could wait--”
+
+He broke off, smiling, and Mary Malden, after giving him a long look,
+said, “You’re all right,--yes, I’ll call her. You two can come along
+into this downstairs bedroom and wash up.”
+
+She showed them into the small, clean chamber, and went up to Pauline.
+
+Good Mary Malden felt a slight misgiving as to how her guest would
+stand the shock of such sudden happiness, and she went softly into the
+room where Pauline lay. It was on the other side of the house and the
+car’s arrival had not wakened her.
+
+But at Mary’s gentle touch she sat up quickly. “What is it, Mary?
+Something especial, I know, or you wouldn’t wake me? Is it the
+telephone?”
+
+“No, Pauline, dear,--it’s--”
+
+“I know! It’s Val, himself! Oh, Mary!” and Pauline tossed aside the
+coverlets and sprang to the floor. “How did he get here? Oh, Mary!”
+
+Mary Malden tried to help Pauline dress, but her fingers were slow and
+awkward compared to Pauline’s flying gestures.
+
+In less time than ever before, Pauline made a toilette that lacked no
+grace or charm because of its hasty completion.
+
+Then she ran downstairs, and in a moment she was in the arms of
+Valentine Loft.
+
+“Pauly! Pauly!” was all he could find to say, and Pauline said even
+less.
+
+Miss Malden discreetly retired to the kitchen, to order extra
+breakfast, but Fibsy, unabashed in the presence of this unembarrassed
+demonstration, stood looking at the pair.
+
+Nor did they mind at all.
+
+“Well, Terence,” Loft said, after a moment, “this is Miss Fuller.
+Pauline, Mr. McGuire.”
+
+“Aw, I’m just Fibsy,” the boy said, abashed now that attention was
+drawn to himself. “But, I say, Mr. Loft, I’m glad you’ve got her!”
+
+“So am I,” and Loft kissed Pauline again. “Now tell us, Pauly,” he
+said, “did you get any radio message?--young McGuire, here, will burst
+if he doesn’t find that out soon.”
+
+“Yes, I did,--and, Val,--that’s why I telephoned.”
+
+“Oh, bless the Lord!” cried Fibsy, piously. “It worked, it worked!
+Shades of Vidocq and Lecoq, am I the little wizard,--or ain’t I?”
+
+“You certainly are, Fibs,” and Loft was as astonished and as grateful
+as even the boy could wish.
+
+Mary Malden came in to hear about it, and as they sat down to her
+excellent breakfast they went over Fibsy’s clever and successful plan
+in all its details.
+
+“But,” and Loft looked at Pauline reproachfully, “you ought to have
+called me without that.”
+
+After breakfast the pair were left alone, and then, for the first time
+a sudden constraint fell on them.
+
+Pauline, all at once became aware of the wrong and injustice that she
+had done this man, and almost began to doubt his forgiveness.
+
+“Don’t, dear heart,” he said, reading her thoughts, “don’t feel that
+way about it. I understand,--see, I understand perfectly why you had
+to--yes, you just _had_ to, keep your poor little secret from
+me. I was a brute to denounce divorce so emphatically as I did, but
+since I did, of course you couldn’t tell me your own history. Now,
+forget it, darling, once and for all. It’s past history; your life
+with Curran--Dwyer, is a sealed book,--more, a destroyed book. We need
+never mention it again,--though should the subject come up, it is not
+taboo,--we are not afraid of it! It is just a negligible matter, that’s
+all. Now, Pauline,--did you kill Curran?”
+
+“No, Valentine,” and Pauline’s gaze met his own, truthfully and
+fearlessly.
+
+“I knew it, dear, of course, but I had to have your word. Then will you
+go back home with me and face the music?”
+
+“Of course I will.”
+
+“But it isn’t pleasant music. Many people think you did kill him,--and
+the reason I want you to go there, is to prove your innocence.”
+
+“Can we?”
+
+“I’m hoping Stone can do it. He’s exceedingly clever,--and I think he
+has a few cards up his sleeve he hasn’t played yet.”
+
+“Who do you think did it, Val?”
+
+“I haven’t the least idea. I can’t see any way it could have been done,
+nor any way anybody could have done it.”
+
+“Then we must just tell the truth, and do the best we can. I suppose
+everybody knows about--about me?”
+
+“Yes, dear, everybody does. But there will be no unpleasantness that I
+can shield you from. Pauline,--dear, will you do this? Will you marry
+me before we go back?”
+
+Pauline hesitated only an instant, then, looking deep into Loft’s eyes,
+she put her hands in his and whispered, “Yes, I will.”
+
+“Hooray!” Loft cried, in such a gay, boyish tone that Miss Malden came
+running in.
+
+“What are you two grinning at?” she asked.
+
+“We’re going to be married in a few minutes,” Loft replied, kissing her
+in the exuberance of his happiness.
+
+“My good land!” exclaimed the spinster, equally flustered by the news
+and the salute. “Where? Here?”
+
+“Of course,” Pauline said, radiant with smiles. “Help us out, won’t
+you, Mary? Can you get a minister?”
+
+“I can,” and Fibsy’s red head poked itself in at the door. “I saw
+a dominie’s sign on a church as we came through the village. Dr.
+Messiter, is he the one you want, Miss Malden?”
+
+“My gracious, I don’t know! Yes, I suppose so. He’s my own pastor. Yes,
+of course; can you drive a car, boy?”
+
+“Yep, of course. Shall I take yours, Mr. Loft?”
+
+“No! you young rascal, you’d break every bone in its body. Take Miss
+Malden’s Ford-Royce!”
+
+“And do I stop at the caterer’s?” Fibsy suggested, his eyes dancing.
+
+“Yes,--here, take Matilda along with you, she’ll know what to get.”
+
+“Oh, come now, Miss Malden,” Loft put in, “this isn’t a wedding, you
+know,--just a marriage. We want to get back home by noon.”
+
+“What’s your hurry?”
+
+“The matter is serious, Miss Malden. I want to marry Pauline, of
+course, but I want to marry her thus quickly, so I can protect her from
+all sorts of troubles she is up against. Get your minister, get some
+ice cream,--if that’s what Terence wants,--he deserves it,--but don’t
+delay us for any fol-de-rols. Am I right, Pauline?”
+
+“Yes, Val. It is a serious matter to us all. Shall I go and dress?”
+
+“Yes, dear, run along.”
+
+Loft’s voice was infinitely gentle, and Pauline’s eyes filled with
+tears as she went to dress for her second wedding ceremony.
+
+Mary came to help her and it was in silence that they chose one of the
+few simple frocks Pauline had obtained during her stay with her friend.
+There was a white Canton crêpe which they agreed upon, and in less than
+half an hour, the bride was ready, and almost at the same moment Fibsy
+arrived with the clergyman, and a consignment from the confectioner’s.
+
+And then in the presence only of Mary Malden and Terence McGuire the
+pair were united and the benediction pronounced on their bowed heads.
+
+The feast was done justice to by Fibsy and the minister, but the other
+members of the wedding party could not partake.
+
+Pauline was nervous, but Loft was strong and firm enough for both of
+them.
+
+“I can conquer anything now,” he said exultantly, “since I have you for
+my very own,” and cutting short the loving farewells between his wife
+and her dear friend, he tucked her into the car beside him, leaving the
+small rear seat for Fibsy.
+
+Off they went, the cook Matilda appearing from the kitchen to throw
+some rice after them, and Miss Malden and the clergyman sat down to
+talk it over.
+
+Meanwhile Loft’s car flew back over the road to Valhalla. They did not
+go so fast but that they could enjoy the delightful ride and the still
+greater delight of each other’s company. And Fibsy, like a veritable
+God of the Machine, sat up behind and blessed his lucky star that he
+had done something that would please F. Stone.
+
+As they drove up to the house at last, Fibsy, jumping out of the car,
+was caught by Stone, who carried him off for a quick confab.
+
+“Never mind, McGuire,” Stone said, as the boy began a tale of the
+radio, “it was fine,--but now you’re to fly to New York like a
+bandersnatch. There’s a car waiting to take you,--go first to Hugh
+Curran’s rooms at the hotel, here’s the address, on this paper, and get
+from his shelves the book noted here. Then hurry around to the auction
+rooms,--see, the address, and bid up on this item marked in this
+catalogue.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” and Fibsy choked back his disappointment at not telling of
+his triumph, while he listened carefully to Stone’s directions.
+
+“Don’t bid yourself, but get some attendant there to bid for you. If
+you can’t get the item for two hundred dollars, give it up, but go as
+high as that. Here’s the money. Keep yourself out of sight, but notice
+who is bidding against you, and if it’s some agent, find out, adroitly,
+who is his principal. Got it all?”
+
+“Yes, sir,--Good-by. Back here?”
+
+“Yes, as soon as possible. Keep the Loft car and come back in it.
+The chauffeur is at your orders. Don’t muff anything, McGuire, much
+depends on you.”
+
+Fibsy touched his cap, and ran. He knew when Stone called him McGuire,
+it was because he was putting real responsibilities on him, and he was
+more than willing to do his best.
+
+Once in the car, and the chauffeur speeding toward the city, Fibsy had
+opportunity to look over the memoranda Stone had given him, and which
+was clear though concise. The matter mastered, he gave himself up to
+the happy reflections on his good work with the radio; and on the
+loveliness of the lady for whom he had done it, even before he had seen
+her at all. He greatly admired Loft, and now, more than ever, since he
+had seen him rush a wedding through in less than an hour!
+
+“Going some!” Fibsy decided, and then he curled up for a nap _en
+route_.
+
+In New York he did all Stone had instructed him. He went to the hotel,
+got the desired book,--a queer looking old thing he thought it, too,
+though in a most new, shiny and elaborate case, and then he went to the
+auction rooms.
+
+Fibsy had never seen a book auction before, but he was quick to
+apprehend conditions, and soon found an agent to bid for him. The item
+he was after would not be put up for half an hour or so, and Fibsy,
+remembering Stone’s caution to keep out of sight, found a seat behind
+some long window draperies.
+
+However, he saw no one he knew, except Bob Baldwin, who he supposed
+went to all book auctions.
+
+“Funny business, dealing in old ragged books,” he thought, but as he
+watched the proceedings he soon learned that wiser heads than his set
+great value on the antique volumes.
+
+At last the item he was interested in went up at sale.
+
+To his surprise it was only one page of a book! What in the world could
+any one want of one page! But the bidding was brisk, and soon the
+hundred-dollar mark was passed.
+
+Fibsy’s agent kept on, and as the bids became higher, more bidders
+dropped out. At last the agent kept on against one other only, and
+finally as two hundred was overbid, Fibsy’s agent ceased, and the page
+went to the other bidder.
+
+“Who’s it gone to?” Fibsy asked of his man, as he returned the money
+Fibsy had advanced.
+
+“To Mr. Baldwin,--he’s a swell dealer,--doesn’t even call himself a
+dealer,--a commission buyer. He would have gone on forever, I guess.
+Probably had an unlimited bid for somebody.”
+
+“Prob’ly,” agreed Fibsy, for Stone had told him not to chatter.
+
+Into the car and home to the Loft place the boy went next, taking care
+not to be seen by Baldwin, who left the auction room just ahead of him.
+
+On the way home, Fibsy mused over the strange vagaries of this game of
+book collecting, and determined to study up the matter. He didn’t like
+to be so utterly ignorant of anything that might mean so much.
+
+He went at once to Stone with his report and received that gentleman’s
+unstinted praises for the work in New York, and also for the ingenious
+radio stunt he had pulled off.
+
+Fibsy blushed with pleasure at receiving the highest compliments
+Fleming Stone had ever yet paid him.
+
+“Aw, shucks,” he said, greatly embarrassed, “it wasn’t anything of
+a trick. I just happened to pull it off. Now, F. Stone, where do we
+stand?”
+
+Stone looked grave.
+
+“The case is about finished,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry at the
+results, but we must take what comes.”
+
+“You know who killed Mr. Curran?”
+
+“Yes, Fibs.”
+
+“You know how and why?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“When do I get it?”
+
+“After dinner tonight, in the library, I shall have to tell all.”
+
+“I’ll be there,” said Terence McGuire.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                           THE TRUTH AT LAST
+
+
+DINNER at Valhalla that night partook of the nature of a wedding feast.
+
+Pauline, now that there was no longer any secret about her past,
+blossomed into a happy bride, and except for the cloud of tragedy that
+still hung over the household, all was serene and almost jubilant.
+
+Loft was unable to contain his joy, and almost forgot the Curran affair
+in his new-found happiness.
+
+But not every one was so sure of Pauline’s innocence as was her
+new-made husband and her intimate friends.
+
+In fact, Kinney had sent a message that he must have an interview with
+her that evening, and Stone, to whom the matter was referred, sent back
+a message for Kinney to come to the house at nine o’clock.
+
+Hetty Dwyer was frantic.
+
+Knowing all she now knew, she was positive Pauline had killed her
+brother and even went so far as to hint that it was because the divorce
+was not absolute, and that he was an obstacle in the way of Pauline’s
+marriage to Loft.
+
+“What have you done, Mr. Stone?” she burst out during the dinner
+hour. “What have you accomplished? Have you established Miss Fuller’s
+innocence,--or Mr. Loft’s? For my part I could easily believe that
+he killed my brother on Miss Fuller’s behalf! So far as I can
+see, you have sat around here for four or five days and have done
+nothing--nothing at all! You have refused to cooperate with the police,
+yet you have done nothing by yourself to solve the mystery. You accept
+the story Miss Fuller tells, you look no further, but, influenced by
+her feminine charm, you believe her unsupported word. Myself, I know
+her of old,--I know--”
+
+“There, there, Miss Dwyer,” Stone said, gently, “don’t fling questions
+at me so rapidly. Nobody could answer that rapid-fire list,--I doubt if
+you remember them yourself. And, too, I submit that I have made some
+progress in this matter. But I don’t think the subject a good one for
+dinner-table conversation, and I will ask you to wait until we can all
+adjourn to the library. Then I have a few statements to make.”
+
+“I’m glad to hear that,” the Countess exclaimed. “I confess that I’m
+growing impatient. It’s delightful to have Pauline and Val married, but
+I shall feel more quiet in my mind when this other matter is settled.
+As a matter of fact, I want to get away, but I won’t go, until I learn
+the results of Mr. Stone’s investigation of this case.”
+
+“We want to go, too,” Anna said; “and Ned won’t stir a step until the
+whole thing is settled.”
+
+“I can’t desert the ship,” Knox put in. “Val and Angel and Roly and I
+are a sort of committee to look into this horrid affair, and I’m sure
+not one of us will leave until we know the truth. I admit we have none
+of us done much to help the investigation, but that isn’t because we
+haven’t tried.”
+
+“And, too, it isn’t necessary for us to do anything now that Mr. Stone
+is on the job,” said Angel, looking at the detective. “But I shall be
+glad to get away soon, for the book auction sales are beginning and
+I’ve some special orders on hand.”
+
+“You can run back and forth in the cars, whenever you like, Bob,” Loft
+said. “Just give your own orders.”
+
+“Thank you, Val, but I ought to be back in town soon.”
+
+“As far as the discovery of the facts regarding the death of Mr. Curran
+is concerned, I can tell you that this evening,” Stone said, as Pauline
+rose from the table.
+
+She had taken her place as mistress of Valhalla easily and naturally.
+Secure in her own knowledge of her innocence, sure that none of her
+real friends suspected her, she also felt confidence that Fleming Stone
+would prove her case to the local police,--and then, she hoped, she and
+Loft could go away for a honeymoon.
+
+But a little later, when the party had gathered in the library,
+and when Detective Kinney arrived, Pauline saw from his unfriendly
+glances that the local police still deemed her guilty,--or, at least,
+implicated in the tragic death of Hugh Curran.
+
+“To begin with,” Stone said, “you remember that there was a discussion
+as to the preferable method of killing a man.”
+
+“Oh, don’t rake that up again,” Ned Knox almost groaned. “I’m positive
+that none of us who took part in that fool discussion ever carried out
+any such a plan.”
+
+“You may be sure of that,--but I’m not,” Stone said, and he looked at
+Knox so earnestly, that Roly Mears concluded at once that Ned was the
+murderer after all!
+
+“But, leaving that for the moment,” Stone went on, “I will tell you
+first, what I discovered from an examination of Mr. Curran’s body.
+Although the doctors made a careful autopsy, they didn’t chance to
+discover what I found,--by looking for it. That is a small puncture
+in the jaw of the dead man, through which, there can be no doubt, the
+poison was introduced into his system.”
+
+“The hypodermic needle!” cried Roly Mears, quickly.
+
+“I haven’t said so,” Stone returned, “but I do say that ‘the needle’
+figured prominently among the clues I have worked from.”
+
+“What needle?” Angel asked, interestedly.
+
+“Oh, an old needle--” Stone began, “that--”
+
+“Oh,” Roly exclaimed, “an old rusty needle! Blood poisoning!”
+
+“Suppose you let Mr. Stone do the talking,” Kinney growled out; “we are
+more interested in his recital, Mr. Mears, than in your comments.”
+
+Before Roly could resent this speech, Stone resumed.
+
+“Without further delay,” he said, “I will tell you what I at first
+assumed. If I wrongly suspected an innocent man, wait, at least, until
+you hear the whole story.”
+
+“Miss Fuller,--I beg your pardon,--Mrs. Loft, will you answer a few
+questions?”
+
+“Certainly,” said Pauline, a little agitated, but reassured by Loft’s
+clasp of her hand.
+
+“Then you are willing to state that you visited Mr. Curran,--whom you
+knew as Mr. Dwyer, in his room that night?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“As late as two o’clock, or after?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“For what purpose?”
+
+“To ask him to stop persecuting me, and to obtain from him my picture
+which he had in his watch-case.”
+
+“And his attitude?”
+
+Pauline hesitated, then said, bravely, “He was, he stated, still fond
+of me, and asked me to remarry him. When I refused, he became sarcastic
+and even brutally rude. I knew from something he had said, that he had
+some letters of mine with him,--I knew that he probably had hidden
+them in a drawer beneath his handkerchiefs,--for--I knew his ways. I
+found the letters, and I took them, also I took his watch, which then
+lay on the table between us, and I ran away to my own room.”
+
+“Leaving Mr. Curran alive and well?”
+
+“Perfectly so. He was laughing at my discomfiture as I closed the door
+behind me. He chose to treat the whole matter lightly,--though to me it
+was even then a tragedy.”
+
+“Yes; now, think carefully, Mrs. Loft. Did you chance to see on the
+table, or anywhere, a toothpick sealed in a printed paper?”
+
+“Yes, there was one there,--a Country Club one. I paid no attention to
+it, but I do remember that it was there. Why?”
+
+“I will tell you in a moment. Remember it well,--it may prove to be
+an alibi. However, you have an alibi aside from that. The doctors
+are agreed that Mr. Curran died not earlier than four o’clock in the
+morning. Therefore, he was alive at least an hour and a half after your
+departure from his room. Mr. Meredith fixed that time at two-thirty,
+and you say that yourself. Now, if Mr. Curran was killed by the poison
+at four o’clock, who could have done it? Also, how did the murderer
+make his exit?”
+
+“May I call your attention to the fact, Mr. Stone,” said Kinney,
+ponderously, “that those are the questions that have confronted us from
+the beginning.”
+
+“Yes, but I have learned the answers to them, Mr. Kinney.”
+
+“Indeed,--and how did the murderer get in?”
+
+“Mr. Curran let him in.”
+
+“And how did he leave the room?”
+
+“Mr. Curran let him out.”
+
+“You are pleased to be mysterious.”
+
+“Not at all. The murderer did not do his killing while he was in the
+room.”
+
+“Then Mr. Curran killed himself?”
+
+“No, I do not put it that way. But I will tell you my discovery.
+The puncture in Mr. Curran’s jaw, which I discovered, is inside the
+mouth, and against a molar tooth. Can you wonder, that I deduced a
+poisoned toothpick? At any rate I did conclude that the instrument
+of death, for I could find no other. I pictured Mr. Curran, after
+Miss Fuller’s departure, sitting down to think matters over, perhaps
+eating a few of the nuts of which he was fond, and then, naturally,
+using the toothpick,--which, let us say, had been previously dipped in
+hydrocyanic acid.”
+
+“Could such a case be possible?” asked Kinney.
+
+“Yes,” Stone replied, “I have consulted with expert chemists who assure
+me it is entirely possible.”
+
+“You’re making it sound like my work,” Angel said, with a rueful glance
+at Stone. “But I plead not guilty.”
+
+“And wisely,” Stone returned. “Indeed, the first thing I did after
+these discoveries was to examine the quill toothpick which I found in
+the waste-basket. It was absolutely free from any trace of poison.”
+
+“Then who did it?” Bob asked, his handsome face eagerly inquisitive.
+
+“That’s what I wondered,” Stone said; “for I was so sure I had struck
+the right trail. Of course, I knew that Mr. Baldwin had given Curran
+that Club toothpick, and it seemed a clever deduction. But that clue
+failed. So then I began to hunt a motive. And the motive I found.”
+
+“The motive!” cried Miss Dwyer; “then you can tell who killed my
+brother. Tell us quickly, Mr. Stone.”
+
+“As quickly as possible. But the truth is so strange, the evidence
+so slight, the clues so hazy that though I am convinced myself, I
+cannot convince you unless you listen attentively and follow closely
+my arguments. I am sure, now, that the man who killed Mr. Curran was
+actuated by some circumstance connected with Mr. Curran’s collection of
+books.”
+
+“That interests me,” Angel said; “I’ve rather suspected that all along.”
+
+“Yes,” Stone proceeded. “Now, the night of his death, Mr. Curran was
+deeply interested in some items in certain catalogues.”
+
+“He was,” Angel nodded. “He discussed them with me.”
+
+“One catalogue in particular, Mr. Curran possessed, was not found in
+his room, afterward.”
+
+“How do you know?” Kinney asked.
+
+“Because it was the catalogue that contained ‘The Needle.’”
+
+“‘The Needle!’” Knox cried; “was that a book, then?”
+
+“Yes; any great collector would know at once, that it means a very old
+and rare book, called ‘Gammer Gurton’s Needle’--a volume dated 1575.”
+
+“My brother had that book in his library,” said Miss Dwyer, proudly. “I
+remember it well.”
+
+“So does Mr. Baldwin, no doubt,” Stone said; “in fact, Mr. Baldwin
+bought it for him.”
+
+“I did,” said Angel, “and I had a high old time to find a copy.”
+
+“Yes; now, in this catalogue I speak of there was not a copy of this
+book for sale, but there was a single page of it. As some of you may
+not know, book collectors pay good prices for even one leaf of a very
+rare book.”
+
+Fibsy sat on the edge of his chair, enthralled by the conversation.
+Well he knew, after his afternoon’s experience, how collectors bid up
+on the single leaf of a rare book!
+
+“Well,” Stone proceeded, “as is generally known, there are unscrupulous
+book dealers as well as dealers in other wares. Now, a favorite scheme
+of theirs is to utilize in various ways these single leaves.”
+
+“Aside from selling them as fragments?” Loft inquired.
+
+“Oh, yes. They are really ingenious about it. Take this ‘Gammer
+Gurton’s Needle,’ for instance. It was published in London by Thomas
+Colwell, in 1575. Now, you can easily see, that the title page of such
+a book would be its chief requisite. The title page missing, the volume
+would be worth little in comparison with a perfect copy. So, the clever
+book dealer, substitutes another title page, and so produces what is
+apparently a complete copy.”
+
+“Where does he get the other title page?” asked Baldwin, his
+supercilious air denoting his superior knowledge of these matters.
+
+“That’s the ingenious part of it. He photographs the real one.”
+
+“I’ve heard of it,” Bob said, “but I doubt if it can be done
+successfully. I know about these things, you see.”
+
+“It might not be done in a manner to deceive you, Mr. Baldwin, or any
+one who is a real connoisseur,--but it could easily fool the average
+reader,--even the average collector.”
+
+“My brother’s copy is perfect,” Miss Dwyer informed them. “I have heard
+him say so,--and it has been pronounced upon by experts.”
+
+“Doubtless,” agreed Stone. “Yet, here is what happened. Mr. Curran
+had a catalogue of an auction sale, that listed a page of this old
+book. Whereupon, he went to his own copy and on examination found that
+several pages of his book had been extracted and photographed pages had
+been put in their places. This must have been done, Miss Dwyer, since
+the expert you spoke of examined the book.
+
+“However, it had been done, and naturally, Mr. Curran was greatly
+astounded and that was the matter of ‘The Needle’ he was discussing
+with Mr. Baldwin.”
+
+“Yes,” and Bob nodded his head, gravely. “I hoped to keep the matter
+quiet, until I could discover who did it. But since you know of it, I
+will ask you to consider it confidential. I secured one of the missing
+pages at a sale this afternoon,--and I hope to get the others. I told
+Mr. Curran I hoped to do this, and he was greatly pleased.”
+
+“Yes,” Stone said; “now, you can all see, why I suspect that some one
+implicated in this theft is the man who put Mr. Curran out of the way.
+And, returning for a moment, to the matter of the toothpick, may I
+inquire if any one noticed a toothpick on the floor the morning the
+body was found.”
+
+“Yes, there was one,” Knox said, thinking back. “Don’t you remember,
+Angel, you found it on the floor--”
+
+“And threw it in the waste-basket,” supplemented Roly.
+
+“Threw another one in!” cried Stone, triumphantly. “Mr. Baldwin is
+the clever criminal, he is the ingenious book thief,--it was he who
+provided the poisoned toothpick, and after it had done its work,
+he adroitly substituted a clean one for the other and placed it in
+Curran’s waste-basket.”
+
+“Pretty work, Mr. Stone,” Baldwin said, “but not very convincing. I can
+see how you can perhaps think that is all so, but I defy you to prove
+it.”
+
+“Proof isn’t necessary, for you are going to confess,” Stone said,
+coolly. “However, I will say, that here is the paper that contained the
+toothpick in question. A mere glance will show you all that it has been
+unsealed and sealed up again. This, of course, after the poisoned quill
+was put into it.
+
+“Also, I have the book of Mr. Curran’s that shows not only the
+photographed page in the middle of the book, but also photographed
+title page and the three back pages. You see, Mr. Baldwin borrowed
+this book from Mr. Curran a few months ago. He photographed the pages,
+and put them in the Curran copy, using the real ones to complete a
+deficient copy that he had been able to buy for a small price. This
+now perfect copy, he sold for twenty thousand dollars. The sale is on
+record.”
+
+“The jig is up!” Angel Baldwin said, but his face paled. Clearly his
+jaunty air was hard to retain. “How did you catch on, Mr. Stone?”
+
+“Curran revealed it himself. He knew of your dishonesty. He said, you
+all remember, ‘Mr. S.’, and asked if that meant anything to anybody. It
+showed Mr. Baldwin that Curran knew all, and meant to follow it up.”
+
+“What had Mr. S. to do with the book?” Knox inquired.
+
+“The title page of that old volume reads, ‘Gammer Gurton’s Needle, a
+right, pithy comedy, by Mr. S.’ So, Curran’s quick wit chose that way
+of revealing his knowledge of the theft of the pages.”
+
+“That’s right,” Bob said, “it’s all true. The man was ingenious, and
+so was I. You see, he knew not only of the ‘Needle’ pages, but some
+few other similar bits of work I’ve put over. It doesn’t hurt the
+collectors. If they don’t know it,--and they rarely do, the books
+are just as good for them. And Curran brought it on himself. He
+threatened to expose me, wouldn’t listen to my plea to hush it up if
+I made good to him. So,--when he wanted a toothpick,--I conjured up
+that scheme,--and it worked. Then I thought if I substituted a clean
+toothpick that next morning, it would all blow over. Of course, I
+should have confessed if Pauly had not been cleared. But after she was
+free from suspicion I thought I could brazen it out. But F. Stone is
+too many for me. Well, life’s a gamble, and I’ve lost.”
+
+And then, though Stone was alertly watching for that very thing, Bob
+popped something into his mouth and swallowed it.
+
+“I feared it,” Stone said, springing to his side. “I watched him--but
+he fooled me. Perhaps it’s just as well.”
+
+Perhaps it was. No one wanted to see poor old Angel stand trial
+whatever the outcome might have been. And there was hope for nothing
+but the extreme penalty.
+
+“Who’d ever think it of Bob?” Knox exclaimed, as, the women having been
+put out of the room, the men clustered round the still figure.
+
+“Yet, in a way, it was like him,” Loft said, musingly. “He always
+wanted something for nothing,--to get money without doing work. And he
+thought himself so secure in this nefarious business of his, that to
+find Curran ready to expose him was more than he could stand. And his
+quick, clever brain seized on that toothpick idea at once. Of course,
+he had the poison stuff in his photographic outfit.”
+
+“You get out of here, Valentine,” Knox said; “we’ll look after all the
+necessary details. You go and pick up Pauline and I’ll call your car,
+and you two fly down to New York and begin your honeymoon. Skittle,
+now!”
+
+Loft hesitated a moment, but the thought of Pauline decided him. “I
+will, Ned, you’re a brick,” and Loft went off at once.
+
+“Come, Pauly,” he said, as he returned to her in the drawing room,
+“we’re going to hook jack! Get your wraps.”
+
+“I believe I promised to obey,” said Pauline, smiling through tears.
+“Will you look after the house, Countess?”
+
+“Yes, of course,” and getting the drift of things, the Countess and
+Anna hurried off with Pauline to throw some things in a suit-case for
+her.
+
+And in less than a half hour the bride and groom started on their
+wedding journey, the rest of the household went to their rooms and
+Detective Kinney took charge of all that was left of the gay, careless,
+and irresponsible Angel Bob Baldwin, while he mused on the cleverness
+of the great detective who had deduced the truth from the “feathers
+left around.”
+
+
+                                THE END
+
+
+
+
+                         =TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES=
+
+Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced
+quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and
+otherwise left unbalanced.
+
+Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
+predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
+were not changed.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75642 ***