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diff --git a/77069-0.txt b/77069-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb431f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/77069-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7000 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77069 *** + + + + + + MURDER IN THE + GILDED CAGE + + + + + MURDER + IN THE + GILDED CAGE + + _By_ SAMUEL SPEWACK + + [Illustration] + + WALTER J. BLACK, INC. + 2 Park Avenue + NEW YORK, N. Y. + + + + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + COPYRIGHT, 1929, BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC. + PRINTED IN U. S. A. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I MRS. BREESE IS DIVORCED 9 + + II MAN OVERBOARD 23 + + III THE ACTOR ACTS 38 + + IV ENTER THE RUSSIAN 45 + + V THE LAST OF THE CIRCLE 53 + + VI MURDER 63 + + VII INQUIRY 70 + + VIII A CLEAR CASE 78 + + IX THIRD-DEGREE 87 + + X THE COUNT CONFESSES 95 + + XI THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ALIBI 102 + + XII THE SUSPECT REFUSES TO TALK 113 + + XIII MR. BREESE IS ANXIOUS 119 + + XIV THE WILL OF MRS. BREESE 128 + + XV WEATHER PREDICTION 137 + + XVI THE FUNERAL AT MIDNIGHT 146 + + XVII STORM 155 + + XVIII ONE OF YOU 167 + + XIX THE MURDER ON THE YACHT 181 + + XX THE LETTER 188 + + XXI THE RAID 196 + + XXII THE MAN IN THE TAXI 210 + + XXIII CALLE L 218 + + XXIV MODUS OPERANDI 226 + + XXV THE CALL 236 + + XXVI THE RUSSIAN EXPLAINS 241 + + + + + _To_ + BELLA + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MRS. BREESE IS DIVORCED + + +I have just returned to New York and examined in the morgue of the New +York Times all the stories written and cabled of the Murder in the +Gilded Cage. It is now six months since the weird death of Mrs. Breese, +and I have decided that it is to the public interest that I present an +unbiased factual account of what actually occurred in her winter home. +For it is high time that someone set at rest the malicious rumors that +still buzz wherever her set gathers. It is certainly due three of the +principal actors in the tragedy that the truth be known. Whatever their +personal failings may be, they have done nothing to deserve the stigma +attached to their names. I do not see eye to eye with Ben Smith on this +matter, who is responsible for the hitherto impenetrable secrecy. Boris +Sergeivitch Perutkin, that most fantastic of investigators, is now +concerned with another and even more devious problem, and does not care. + +Perhaps it would be best to set forth first my connection with the +case. You may remember that Mrs. Breese, before her storied death, +was the center of a divorce case that startled the country. There is +no need here to rake the dead leaves of sensation. It was one of +those cases that linger on to the profit of lawyers over a period of +years and supply the tabloids with juicy drippings. When it was all +over, Mrs. Breese won. Her husband, in disgusted settlement, gave her +the Havana home, the yacht, _Mary Rose_, named for their daughter, a +coöperative Park Avenue apartment, and a competence that came to some +fifty thousand dollars a year. Mrs. Breese’s lawyers fared even better. +I might mention that Mrs. Breese was independently wealthy in addition, +although her legal representatives went to some pains to conceal the +fact. In any case, the scandal drove her out of the enigmatic pages of +the Social Register and made her for the time being one of the best +known women in America. + +You will remember, too, that the name of Guy Thomas was coupled with +hers all during the tortuous trials and appeals. Mr. Breese named him +as co-respondent, although all efforts to prove the accusation were +unsuccessful. Mutual friends of the Breeses divided on this issue. +Gordon Rice, for example, in characteristic hearty fashion, refused +to believe a word of it and severed a relationship of thirty years’ +standing with the husband. Mr. Rice said Guy Thomas was a pleasant +young man and an excellent dancer, which Mr. Breese was not, and he’d +be hanged if he’d stand by and see an innocent woman spattered with +scandal because of an entirely harmless friendship with a personable +young actor. + +When I set forth as a reporter for the News Association to cover the +trial, I flattered myself on a professional lack of opinion in the +matter. I did not know then that I would be thrown bodily into the +maze of Mrs. Breese’s post-divorce life; and her perplexing death. Why +I ever entered the service of Mrs. Breese I do not know. Ben Smith +thinks it was sheer laziness and the inability to refuse. Perhaps it +was because the woman fascinated me as a creature of incredibility. Yet +she was real enough. But let me tell the story from the beginning. You +shall judge for yourself. + +With the aid of a newspaper clipping, I establish April 17, 1928 as +the date of my first meeting with Mrs. Breese. I had come up from +Richmond several weeks before, and finally found a berth with a local +news agency. The case was totally unfamiliar to me when I set out to +interview Mrs. Breese a day before her trial was scheduled to begin. + +It was a glorious afternoon, a rare April day, and even the ornate +lobby of the Park Avenue apartment house permitted an occasional beam +of sun to enter. After preliminary negotiations with the doorman, +the telephone operator, and the elevator guards, I was permitted to +ascend to the fourteenth story, where a butler conducted me from the +reception-hall to the high-ceilinged drawing-room. There were five +enormous windows, and every shade was drawn, so that you had the +impression of sitting in one of those softly-carpeted motion picture +palaces. Later I was to discover that Mrs. Breese flowered only in dim +rooms, with shades and curtains drawn, and her idea of human habitation +was in harmony with that of the designers of the motion picture +temples. She carried this atmosphere wherever she went, as people will. + +She made a dramatic entrance into the room after keeping me waiting +fully fifteen minutes, and I could hear her voice behind the grilled +door, a peculiarly harsh voice that trilled, curiously enough, and +chattered. + +“_SO_ sorry to keep you waiting,” the voice said before I saw her, and +then a tall and full-bosomed figure in jade green swept before me. Even +in the faint light I could see she was a blonde, with somewhat faded +blue eyes. It took no discerning observer to note that the masseur and +the hairdresser had preceded me, and that the ladies’ maid had done her +daily stint. The air filled not unpleasantly with a rare perfume, and +then, with a gracious gesture to me, the lady seated herself, poised +for the ordeal. + +But if I expected a reticent, an embarrassment quite natural under the +circumstances, I was quickly disillusioned. Despite newspaper training, +I was bred in the school that regards one’s private life as unfit for +public discussion. I expected to sympathize with her on the unfortunate +circumstances that compelled me to intrude. But she made that quite +unnecessary, in the harsh trilling voice that I shall never forget. + +“My husband,” she said, “has a Napoleonic complex. He thinks he can +dominate me.” She paused. “He can’t.” I readily believed that, although +I had never met Mr. Breese. I might explain that Mrs. Breese had but +recently discovered psychoanalysts, and the jargon of their trade was +always on the tip of her tongue. + +She then plunged into a detailed résumé of her grievances, which were +many. She spoke with a cold vindictiveness that was repellent, and +yet with a certain relish. I was to discover soon that Mrs. Breese, +instead of shrinking from the publicity of the scandal, gloried in +it. Who can forget the first day of her trial when the decrepit State +Court Building was mobbed by the curious? For that event she had seated +herself beside her chauffeur in the baby-blue limousine. She wore a +bright plaid skirt, a Russian blouse, and about her head she had bound +a bright bandanna handkerchief. “It is the gypsy in me,” she confided +later. But if you were to dismiss her as a silly woman, you must ignore +the occasional gleam of intelligence that shone from the fog of her +chatter. And the occasionally generous impulses that made you think +of her as a fine and noble-minded woman who had somehow let her life +literally fall to pieces. + +Mrs. Breese on the witness stand was meat and drink for the newspapers. +She thought in headlines, and just about the time you had decided +she was exhausted as a subject, she dragged out something else to +feed the flames. Poor Mr. Breese hid from the reporters and smashed +photographers’ cameras, and although he had been guilty of only a +meaningless affair with a Follies beauty of uncertain reputation, lost +the case with a resounding thud. And got himself thrown out of clubs, +and snubbed by righteous individuals who knew the value of discretion. + +Guy Thomas took the stand and absolved Mrs. Breese and himself from all +wrong-doing. He was thirty-two then, dark, with that sleek look of a +man who gives a good deal of attention to his clothes and his barber. +He was singularly handsome, and had once been a model for commercial +photographers. That was when he could not find work as an actor. Which +was frequently. He was not a good actor. He had met Mrs. Breese at one +of those Bohemian parties where social distinctions are wiped out for +the evening, and she had taken what I believed at the time to have been +a casual interest in him. + +He did dance very well. He had a classic regularity of feature, and an +excellent chin, and was one of the weakest men I ever met. I cannot +explain his actions otherwise. As a type you associate him with Fifth +Avenue tailors and Park Avenue restaurants, cheap cigarettes in gold +cases, and an extremely limited knowledge of anything transpiring +beyond his own immediate world. + +Readily enough he admitted that occasionally Mrs. Breese had been +good enough to entertain him in certain restaurants in return for his +services as cavalier and dancing partner. + +“I didn’t have the money to take her to such places,” he explained +with a frank smile and a gleam of white teeth. “We discussed that, and +rather than lose the pleasure of taking her out, I agreed she could pay +the bills.” + +There was a titter and some giggles in the courtroom, at which the +young man flushed. + +“I couldn’t take her to the type of restaurants I am forced to dine in +occasionally,” he added in justification. + +On the whole, his testimony did her no harm. If he did not cut a +swagger figure, it was the opinion of jury and spectators that +entertaining Mrs. Breese was Mr. Breese’s task, and in this the husband +had obviously been negligent. + +The two Breese children, Henry Jr. and the Countess Giering-Trelovitch, +testified for their mother. Henry Jr. was twenty and the Countess +twenty-five. Henry Jr. swallowed visibly as counsel wrenched from +him incidents of bad temper and cruelty of which his father had been +guilty. Mrs. Breese cried, rather effectively, while he was on the +stand. His father covered his eyes with his hand. + +Then the Countess, rather pale, rather bored, and yet curiously +lovely, added the necessary confirmation. She seemed a slim edition of +her mother, without her mother’s enormous energy. + +But undoubtedly the star witness was Gordon Rice, wealthy promoter, +traveler, and one-time soldier of fortune. Rice was fifty, a few years +older than Breese Sr., white-haired, red-faced, and with a downright +heartiness of manner that soon won the jury. His was obviously a +painful duty, and you felt that the quicker it was over with the better +he would like it. He told of the sordid affair of the Follies beauty; +how he had warned the elder Breese that it would wreck his marriage. He +told of certain episodes that the law demands, and nothing could shake +his testimony in the cross-examination. + +Then the trial was over, and the verdict was read with great solemnity. +After which it was appealed, and appealed again. And then the +elder Breese, who refused to take the stand, denied himself to all +interviewers, sulked in his hotel suite and instructed the lawyers to +settle. They did. And the newspapers, even the tabloids, dropped Mrs. +Breese as quickly as they had picked her up. + +I had been keeping in touch with her after the trial, for news agencies +must continue reporting even the most trivial items long after the +newspapers have sent their reporters to greener fields. It was because +of this that I was able to observe how unhappy Mrs. Breese had become +as interest in her problems waned. Where once the color of a new +gown was well-nigh sufficient to warrant a re-make of an edition, +her spiciest pronunciamentos now found the waste-basket. Her lawyers +advised her to go to Europe and rest. But Mrs. Breese did not want +to rest. The dramatic excitement of the trial had only whetted her +appetite for the public eye. + +It was pathetic to watch her. One morning she telephoned me to come +in post-haste. She had been struck with a brilliant idea; she would +finance another of the trans-Atlantic flights. It mattered little to +her that the movie queen who was to pilot the plane had just about two +hours’ flying time to her credit. Mrs. Breese did get a paragraph or +two on the event before its obvious impracticability was discovered, +and she had the satisfaction of viewing her picture and that of the +movie actress adorning a lurid half-page in one of the tabloids. + +During the following few weeks she made the most startling observations +on short skirts, necking, companionate marriage and life beyond the +grave--the four staples of sob-sister interviews. But the editors were +tired of Mrs. Breese. A certain staleness clung to the name. Even the +crowds in the night clubs no longer turned to stare when she descended +upon them for a few moments. So one morning she surrendered. I saw that +surrender. Several days before, her social secretary had resigned. +He--Mrs. Breese always employed male secretaries--said rather brusquely +that his position had become ignominious. He was a rather effeminate +young man, and had served several distinguished families. + +Mrs. Breese, who was not without humor despite her weaknesses, said +she really had no further use for a social secretary since society had +dropped her. But she did need someone, to quote her words, “who can +keep me in touch with public opinion. I’m so interested in what people +are really thinking. I mean, the plain people.” + +It was the most roundabout way of describing a press-agent that I +had heard in some time. I said that there were young ladies who +would undoubtedly suit her. But she shook her head vigorously. No. +She had already made her choice. And that choice, I discovered to my +amazement, was none other than myself. I was not flattered. There was +something distinctly unpalatable in being Mrs. Breese’s amanuensis. I +did not mind glorifying a milk company or a portrait painter or even +an oil promoter, but press-agent to a divorcée was not yet officially +recognized as altogether legitimate. So I declined with thanks. + +But Mrs. Breese persisted. She named a salary which was double that +I had been receiving. She sketched a tempting itinerary on the yacht +_Mary Rose_ and, perhaps, knowing my weakness, she outlined a routine +of labor that even for me would be child’s play. Still I refused. + +But a week later circumstances altered my decision. A new city +editor who had assigned me to travel as far as the subway penetrates +discovered through some mischance that I had used the telephone +instead and consumed the allotted time and some excellent Chianti in +a neighborhood speakeasy. I received two weeks’ salary and a cold +dismissal. I went searching for work on the papers without success and +soon I could see that the manager of the minor hotel at which I was +stopping was beginning to regard me as a problem. + +One morning I did not leave my hotel room for breakfast. I had not the +courage to face the thin-lipped manager. I sat facing the uninviting +court yard, pondering my next move, when the telephone rang suddenly. + +“Where in the world have you been?” the harsh, trilling voice of Mrs. +Breese demanded, without any preliminary explanation. “I had the most +awful time trying to get hold of you. They wouldn’t give me your +address at your office. Are you in hiding?” + +I muttered some lie or other about having been ill. But she obviously +was not interested in that. + +“Don’t you know we’re sailing tomorrow? I’m sending Pierre down for +your luggage.” + +I tried to say something, but she continued relentlessly: “Now, it’s +no use your saying you can’t come. You’ve simply got to! I need you. +Now will you come up here at once? There are a million things I’ve got +to talk to you about. And do have your luggage ready. Pierre has just +started out.” + +This woman who took things for granted hung up without waiting for +further word from me. + +I was in no situation to protest in any case. So I descended at once +to the manager and informed him with an off-hand gesture that I had +consented to accept a fabulous salary as publicity engineer to a +wealthy lady, and consumed on credit a hearty breakfast. I must have +been convincing for I left the hotel with five dollars borrowed from +the manager and rode up to the Park Avenue ménage in one of those new +and immaculate black and white taxis. After weeks of uncertainty the +sense of well-being was rather pleasant. + +And when I appeared before Mrs. Breese she smiled at me and said: “I +knew I could rely on you. I haven’t much time, and neither have you. +I want you to tell the newspapers that we’re sailing tomorrow on the +_Mary Rose_. + +“I’ll give you a list of the guests: Mrs. Henry Breese, Sr. and her +two children, Henry Breese, Jr., and the Countess Giering-Trelovitch. +Please don’t forget the hyphen. Newspapers are so careless. The +children have been upset by all this trial and a rest will do them +good. Then Mr. Rice--Mr. Gordon Rice--has consented to come along. Mr. +Rice, you know, is managing my affairs. You’ve met him, but you don’t +really know him. He’s a friend--a true friend. I don’t know what I +should have done without him. You know he was Henry’s friend when I +first met him. But he didn’t let that stand in the way of telling the +truth. And now that I’ve got my affairs to manage he is taking them off +my hands. Just think of it! A man whose time is so valuable giving up +weeks and weeks just for me! That sort of friendship gives me strength +to go on!” + +She spoke as if the world had done her a great wrong, and Rice was her +only bulwark. “Then I’ve asked Guy Thomas.” She paused for effect and I +looked up at her. + +“I can see by your face you don’t approve. But, my dear boy, I simply +must. If anything can prove that ours is nothing but an ordinary +friendship, this will. I want you to be particularly careful how you +phrase it. Let me see--oh yes, put it this way: ‘Mrs. Henry Breese, +Sr., announced that Mr. Guy Thomas had been invited to accompany her +and her children to Havana. Mrs. Breese said that she refused to take +seriously the gossip which had been proven false in court.’ Is that all +right?” + +I indicated that it wasn’t. I pointed out that the most dignified thing +she could do would be to sail away in her yacht with no one but her two +children as guests, and the less said about anyone else the better. + +“But I’ve already invited Guy!” she wailed. “And I couldn’t leave him +behind now. Anyway, I don’t want to. I like Guy. I’m very fond of Guy. +Let them talk if they want to.” + +It seemed to me then that Mrs. Breese wanted them to talk. If any +explanation is necessary for her, it lies, I think, in the fact that +by temperament if not by ability she belonged to the stage. Whatever +public exhibition her social position afforded her had not satisfied +her through the years. Her trial had given her the attention she +hungered for, and now she would never be content unless she could +remain the center of discussion. + +So, despite my objections, Mr. Thomas was duly announced as one of +the guests and the next morning the newspapers carried non-committal +and carefully-worded stories of the fact. Before we sailed, at +Mrs. Breese’s request, I summoned the photographers. Mrs. Breese +posed alone. Then with her son, Henry Jr., then with the Countess +von Giering-Trelovitch (Mrs. Breese said gaily: “Don’t forget the +hyphen!”). Then another pose with both children. There was one with +Gordon Rice, with my amazing employer looking up at him with an +expression that was meant to convey faith and friendly affection. + +Over-riding my guarded protests, she laughingly put her arm on Guy +Thomas’ shoulder and posed with that vindicated co-respondent. There +followed a picture with the Captain of her yacht, and for comic relief +one with a picturesque sailor, displaying huge tattooed arms. I was the +only one that escaped. + +When the photographers had left, Mrs. Breese went immediately to her +cabin. She was tired. + +We sailed one hour later. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MAN OVERBOARD + + +I find upon refreshing my memory that the tragedy really had its +beginning on the yacht _Mary Rose_, although no one was aware of it at +the time. But the diabolical forces that created it were present and +at work then, and to give you a proper understanding of its elements, +I must proceed chronologically, from the time the _Mary Rose_ made its +graceful exit out of the New York harbor. + +After settling down in my snug cabin, I discovered the need of some +masculine conversation. That session with the photographers and +Mrs. Breese had provided all the feminine chatter I could stand. My +steward proved a forbidding Jap with a perpetual scowl who gave me no +encouragement. I discovered later he understood practically no English. +Somewhere in her wanderings, Mrs. Breese had collected him, as she told +me, for his scowl. So, somewhat disconsolate, I made my way to the +music-room, and there I saw stretched out at his ease upon a silken +couch the young man who had fought so valiantly for Mrs. Breese’s good +name. + +I have already indicated that industry is not my forte, but Guy Thomas +at ease was a picture that made even me squirm. Every line of his +body bespoke self-pampering that would be unseemly in a spoiled child. +His hands hung listlessly. His eyes were somnolent. He was smoking +a cigarette, but even this effort seemed too much for him, for he +dropped it weakly in the tray and shifted slightly for additional +comfort. Finally he felt me looking at him and rose slowly. There was a +challenge in the vacuous eyes now. He had not yet quite ascertained my +status in the ménage. And for that matter I was but vaguely acquainted +with his. + +“Don’t let me disturb you,” I pleaded. “I was just wondering if I could +rustle up a drink.” + +“Ring the bell,” he drawled, indicating a tiny button set near the +couch. I obeyed. He slumped back into his old position on the couch, +and the Japanese steward with whom I had held preliminary negotiations +appeared. + +“Cocktails!” Mr. Thomas commanded, and the scowling servitor nodded and +disappeared. + +Mr. Thomas suppressed a yawn. Somehow the idea occurred to him that it +would be discourteous to sit there in slothful silence. So with obvious +reluctance he sat up, and lit another cigarette. I consulted my pipe. + +“Where are the others?” I asked after a while. + +“Oh, here and there,” he drawled. “Dora--Mrs. Breese--generally rests +before luncheon. The Countess is up on deck, reading. I don’t know +where Henry happens to be. He and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” + +This was the first I had heard of it, and I suppose my expression +indicated as much. + +“Oh yes,” he nodded, as if in answer to my unspoken query. “He’s a +nice boy, but he just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand my +friendship with his mother. Now you’re a man of the world--you’d have +no trouble understanding. But a boy like that has curious ideas.” He +flicked a cigarette. “It’s damn annoying!” His face clouded. “It spoils +things, you know.” + +I said nothing, and he continued as if he had finally found a +confidant: “I wanted everything to be pleasant, damn it. We can have +a jolly fine time on this boat. I’ve been on it before, but naturally +you don’t feel very comfortable if the son of your hostess is always +looking at you as if you don’t belong.” + +The steward appeared with the cocktails, and refreshment further +loosened the tongue of the aggrieved young man. + +“You and I ought to be pals,” he offered graciously. “I mean to say, +we’re in the same position. What I mean is, we’re going along because +Mrs. Breese wants us to, damn it! She likes our company and that’s +all there is to it. But you’ll find out before you’re on here very +long that that young boy is going to make all kinds of remarks. Lounge +lizard! He had the nerve to call me that one time. And he’ll be calling +you that, too.” + +I pointed out in embarrassed self-defense that I had come along in a +professional capacity. But Mr. Thomas merely smiled. + +“Of course, of course,” he gestured in dismissal of the excuse. “But +Mrs. Breese took you along because she liked you. She really doesn’t +want a thing, I assure you. Finest woman I ever met. She doesn’t expect +anything. Why, one night in Paris, I remember I was dog-tired and she +wanted to dance and I said ‘I’m dog-tired,’ and what do you think she +did? She said ‘In that case, we’ll stay home.’ Hang it all, there’s a +woman for you.” + +I cite Mr. Thomas at vacuous length to give you some idea of his +mentality and his attitude. There was no question in my mind that the +problem of marriage between Mrs. Breese and himself had not come up. +Their relationship was still undetermined. + +After the cocktails had been consumed, Gordon Rice joined us. He +seemed more florid than ever in checked grey and plus fours. He had +evidently been up on deck and his face was wind-blown. He greeted the +sight of glasses with an expansive chuckle and I pressed the bell for +reinforcements. + +“Great weather!” Mr. Rice rubbed his cold hands. “I tell you, there’s +nothing like an ocean trip to set you right. I’ve been feeling foggy +for the last three months, and one hour on deck has sure made a +difference.” He sat down heavily. He turned to me. “Well, what are you +writing up? Got any big news?” + +I laughed and said I didn’t expect any more big news. Incidentally, I +had determined (to salve my conscience) that part of my job would be to +suppress such news as Mrs. Breese thought fit for public consumption. +If I could do nothing else, I could at least prevent her from making a +fool of herself. + +“You’ll like Havana in the spring,” Mr. Rice assured me. “It’s past the +season and all that, but it’s delightful. I was there all through the +summer once. ’Ninety-eight. Our little fracas with Spain. Funny, nobody +remembers that war. I guess they’ll be forgetting the last one before +you know it.” + +“And they should,” said the actor. “Hang it all, who wants to remember +the war?” + +Mr. Rice looked at the young man with some distaste. I had noted before +that he did not quite approve of Mrs. Breese’s gigolo. I could sense +now a healthy active man’s dislike of an idler. + +Perhaps the actor felt the antagonism, too, for he protested: “I was in +the war myself.” + +Rice raised his eyebrows half skeptically. + +“Not exactly in the war. Spent almost a year drilling in camp. And a +fine time I had of it! One of those pests of a second-lieutenant, you +know. He and I never got along.” Thomas smirked. “Not after I took his +girl away from him. Then he tried to make life really miserable. Why, +he wouldn’t even let me wear the uniform my tailor made. Insisted I put +on those terrible togs the quartermaster issued.” + +I tried to steer Mr. Thomas away from his woes, but with scant success. + +“I could have killed that wretch!” he muttered with the first sign of +conviction I had heard in his voice since his torture on the witness +stand. “I would have, too, if it weren’t for the armistice.” + +“You’d never have the go to kill anyone,” Rice laughed in his bluff +way. “Too much work.” His antagonism now was quite frank. But Thomas +only smiled feebly, and said: “I don’t know about that. I think a man +can stand just so much and no more, and then he’s just not responsible +for himself, damn it.” + +Rice looked at him as he would at a particularly unpleasant insect. He +took no pains to hide his feelings. + +“Having been an officer myself,” he said, “my sympathy is all for the +lieutenant. Probably thought he could make a soldier of you if he tried +hard enough.” + +The conversation was getting embarrassing for me. Suddenly I heard +Thomas exclaim as if he had been startled. I looked up. In the doorway +stood young Henry Breese. I caught only a fleeting glimpse of the boy’s +face, but there was vindictive hatred in the flash of his eyes. Then he +darted out of my sight. + +“Now what did he want to do that for?” Thomas whined. Rice continued to +look at him. I didn’t know what to say. Fortunately at this moment Mrs. +Breese sailed into the room, and in relief even Thomas rose to his +feet with some alacrity. + +“Someone give me a cocktail!” she demanded gaily, and Rice was the +first to reach the shaker, and with quiet ceremony fill and give her a +glass of what seemed to me a perfect Martini. “Everybody having a good +time? I do want everybody to have a good time.” She never waited for an +answer. “I’ve ordered luncheon for one. This sea-air should give you +all an appetite. I know I feel perfectly marvellous.” I doubt if she +had even been on deck. + +Thomas said he still had some unpacking to do and excused himself. She +smiled sweetly at him, and as he left the room her faded blue eyes +seemed to follow him appraisingly. + +“I think he’s perfectly sweet,” she murmured, and I could hear Rice +grunt in disapproval. Mrs. Breese frowned. + +“Gordon, I don’t know what you see in Guy that you don’t like, but for +my sake you might try to understand him. You know you don’t understand +him or you’d like him.” + +“Nothing to understand,” muttered Rice. There was a moment’s silence. +Rice seemed to feel uncomfortable. He said finally that he, too, had +some unpacking to superintend, clearly a lame excuse, and left us. + +Mrs. Breese sighed. + +“I don’t know what to do. Gordon is a dear, but he just won’t +understand there are men who can do something else beside worry about +business all day long.” She took a Russian cigarette from her vanity +case and I lit it for her. “It makes it so embarrassing!” + +She turned suddenly to me. + +“What would you say if I were to tell you that Guy and I were engaged +to be married?” + +I thought the woman had no further shocks in store for me and I was +stunned. She seemed to enjoy my open-mouthed amazement. + +“I know I do things in my own strange way. But I’ve been thinking +deeply about this, I assure you. And I’ve just about made up my mind. I +want you to wireless all the newspapers and tell them that just as soon +as we reach Havana, Guy Thomas and I will be married. The decree is +final. I’m free to marry if I want to. And Guy has always been free.” + +I breathed deeply. I shared some of Rice’s feelings towards the actor. + +“But are you sure it’s wise?” Then I added hastily, “Of course, I don’t +mean your marriage. I don’t presume to discuss that. But you know an +announcement like that would only confirm your husband’s charges. It +would only confirm the gossip.” + +“I can’t help that!” Mrs. Breese shook her head obstinately. “It’s my +husband’s own fault. I assure you I never looked at Guy as anything but +a nice young man until the trial. But now I’ve discovered I love him, +and nothing the world can say or do will part us.” + +Mrs. Breese was huskily melodramatic, as if the entire universe at that +moment were in conspiracy to deprive her of her true love. “Of course, +you’ll have to word it very discreetly. You can quote me as saying that +through common suffering at the trial, we were thrown together. We +discovered that our friendship had ripened into something deeper, more +significant.” + +I nodded miserably. + +“I want the world to understand that for twenty-six years I have tried +to do my duty as a wife to a man I did not love. I married Henry Breese +because my family insisted on it. I made my sacrifice.” She looked +annoyed at me. “But you’re not taking a note!” + +“I’ll remember every word,” I assured her. She seemed doubtful. + +“It was through no act of mine that I was freed from my dreadful +burden.... I do wish you’d take notes.... Very well ... our union was +wrecked despite all my efforts to preserve it for the sake of our +children. Mr. Breese wanted to make me an outcast. But there is still +some justice in this world, and I was exonerated. I was made free. +And in my struggles I discovered that Guy Thomas and I were meant for +one another. I still have my life to live, now that I have done my +duty to my husband and my children. I intend to capture some happiness +for myself.... I don’t see how you’re going to remember all this.... +_Very_ well.... Of course, ours will be a companionate marriage.... +That is distinctly understood.... There shall be no primitive +possession.... Ours will be a union of faith and understanding....” + +There is no need to continue. You are acquainted with the rest from the +stencils of the newspapers. And then Guy Thomas rejoined us. + +“Guy!” Mrs. Breese exclaimed significantly. “I have just announced our +engagement!” + +I would have sworn that the young man so chosen had no inkling of his +good fortune. Certainly, I could see he was dumbfounded. His mouth +opened and he smirked idiotically. Then he leaned over and kissed her. +I found I could not even murmur congratulations. I felt sure, and do +to this day, that Mrs. Breese wasn’t thinking of marriage or love or +anything else at the moment. She was already glorying in the sensation +that would be caused in New York. Newsprint can take hold of human +beings with the malevolent claws of a narcotic. For she said: “Now I +want you to quote Guy, too. What would you like to say, dear?” + +“Eh?” said Guy conclusively. But Mrs. Breese characteristically did +not even wait for any profundities from him. She said: “I think all +you need from Guy is simply that he, too, believes in the terms of our +union, that we were thrown together by our common suffering. Please +don’t forget that. And----” + +“I’d like to say,” said Guy, suddenly, “that I’m not leaving the stage.” + +This thunderbolt made little impression upon either Mrs. Breese or +myself. + +“Of course not, dear,” she soothed. “He’s not leaving the stage. I +would certainly not let anything interfere with my husband’s career.” + +Thomas nodded sagely. Slowly the full significance of the news began +to envelop him and I could see him swell like a toy balloon. Probably +he had entertained the thought of marrying a very wealthy woman. But +he was not one to take the initiative. His berth as companion was +too comfortable to risk ambition. Now that his fondest day dream was +reality a foolish grin spread over his classical features and stayed +there. + +“I think he’s so handsome!” Mrs. Breese confided to me while Thomas’ +grin widened. + +Whatever else my employer had to say was cut short by the sudden +reappearance of Rice. His face was very red, and his eyes blazed +angrily. He strode up to Mrs. Breese and muttered: “I’d like to see you +alone, if you don’t mind.” + +Mrs. Breese stared coolly at him. “Anything you have to say to me, +Gordon, can be said in front of Guy,” she said. + +“Well then, I’ll say it. What’s this nonsense about a marriage? I’ve +just been talking to Henry. Are you mad?” + +Mrs. Breese drew back proudly. + +“I wish you wouldn’t take that tone. If you want an answer to your +question, I’m not mad.” + +“You’ll have to prove it to me,” Rice snapped. “You realize you’re +fifty-one years old. This--this fellow”--such utter contempt I had +rarely heard---“is young enough to be your son. He’s marrying you for +your money. That’s as plain as day. You go through with this, and +you’ll be the laughing-stock of everybody. You won’t have a friend in +the world.” + +Mr. Thomas flushed, and murmured: “I say, I say!” much in the character +of the aristocratic Englishman he had once portrayed on the road. + +“I’m not talking to you!” Rice shut him off curtly. + +“I will not have Guy insulted!” Mrs. Breese blazed, and then suddenly +she melted. “Oh, Gordon, I don’t understand you. I thought you were +really a friend--a true friend.” + +“That’s what I’m trying to be,” said Rice, and his tones grew softer, +too. He swallowed uncomfortably. “You know I wish you all the happiness +in the world, Dora. I always have. But you don’t want to do this thing. +After all, there are the children----” + +“I’ve already told the Countess,” Mrs. Breese protested. Mrs. Breese +always granted the patent of nobility to her daughter, who had divorced +an improvident Baltic nobleman. “And I’ve told Henry. Of course, Henry +was a little upset. He’s jealous, naturally. But he’ll get over it. +Henry is a dear boy.” + +“I’ve just spoken to him,” said Rice, “and I don’t agree with you. You +know how he felt in college during the trial. He’s had to go through +a lot. You know how sensitive he is. He’s fond of his father, just +as fond as he is of you. But he was loyal to you. Now if you want to +have the newspapers barking again, as I suppose you do, that’s your +look-out. I just want to tell you that I’m against it, and I’ll do +everything in the world to stop you from throwing your life away.” + +Mrs. Breese did not answer but turned to me. “Will you go right into +the radio room and wireless all the newspapers ... and I do wish you +had taken notes.” + +“You send that story and you’ll be accountable to me,” Rice moved to +block my path. + +“No use threatening me,” I protested. “I’m in Mrs. Breese’s employ and +I’ve got to follow orders.” She smiled triumphantly at him. “But I +don’t have to, if I resign. So, Mrs. Breese, if you don’t mind, I’ll +leave the boat in Havana. I quite agree with Mr. Rice. I don’t think I +can be of any further use to you.” + +Mrs. Breese was looking daggers at me. I felt a glow of +self-righteousness. After all, I was not in the Guy Thomas class of +leeches. Then, just as I had started out of the room there came the +sound of excited voices, and to cap them, a shrill wailing scream that +startled us all. I leaped through the door and to the deck. Rice was +close behind me, and even Thomas moved more quickly than ever before. + +An excited sailor was hurling a life belt into the water. I saw the +Countess clutching the rail, her face contorted with excitement and +horror. + +“What’s happened?” I asked the first sailor I could stop. But I needed +no answer. + +As my eyes explored the water, I could discern the slim figure of Henry +Breese engulfed in a white-capped wave. He was floating. As the life +lines were thrown at him, he made no move to catch at them. + +Someone shouted. Someone screamed. + +But the figure in the water remained still. For a moment I thought it +was the figure of a man already dead. Then I realized sickeningly that +he was poising himself with steely resolve for his next and final move. +I had never before seen such a deliberate, calm attempt at suicide. +Slowly the hands rose out of the water. Slowly the torso moved forward, +circling, and then in a flash the figure had dived from view. + +I heard Mrs. Breese sob back of me, and as I turned helplessly, her +face was not pleasant to see. Her daughter swung at her and her eyes +were red with fury. + +Then before I was quite aware of it, someone brushed me out of the way. +Suddenly I realized that the florid and portly Rice was now in the +water and swimming with long even strokes to the spot where I had last +seen the boy. I saw Rice dive. I saw him reappear without his burden. I +saw him dive again. And then quite close to him the figure of the boy +rose to the murky blue surface. + +But the boy again vanished. Then Rice, too, disappeared, but this time +when he emerged one arm held securely a kicking figure. I saw Rice bend +over and deliberately punch the boy until his body was still. Then I +remember the sailors dragging the two upon the deck. Mrs. Breese fell +sobbing upon her son. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE ACTOR ACTS + + +A definite change was apparent in the very feel of that yacht after +the events of the morning. Henry Breese had been helped to the cabin +by Rice and his mother. I waited for them to reappear but when the +scowling Japanese announced lunch, there was no sign of them, nor of +my other fellow-passengers. I deliberately wandered through the decks, +the music-room, even the corridors, hoping that I would meet someone +who could shed light on the boy’s crazy adventure. I even tried to pump +the crew. But each man fell unaccountably silent, and I could see that +orders had been given to stem gossip. + +At lunch only Guy Thomas appeared, and he was morose and sullen. +The steward plied us with the choicest foods, from caviar and hors +d’oeuvres and fresh turtle soup to an over-rich dessert, and he ate +steadily on, without a word. I realized that this lunch was designed +to celebrate his engagement, and I felt very much of a vulture as I +glanced at the empty chairs. + +Finally, because I could not stand the silence any longer, I said to +Thomas: “Perhaps this isn’t the pleasantest subject of the moment, but +have you any idea of what happened this morning?” + +He was just about to light a cigarette, but held his lighter suspended. +His eyes set obstinately. “I’ve got an idea, all right,” he muttered. +Then he peered at me suspiciously, as if debating whether he could +trust me or not. “I’ve got more than an idea!” + +The verdict seemed favorable. + +“Rice put him up to that.” + +“Put him up to what?” I asked puzzled. + +“That suicide rot. They framed it between them!” + +“Do you mean to say that the boy deliberately jumped in and waited for +Rice to drag him out? But why?” + +“Why?” He looked at me pityingly. “To scare Dora, that’s why! But they +can’t fool me. They couldn’t talk her out of it, so they wanted to +scare her out of it.” + +“What proof have you got?” I demanded. + +“Proof? I don’t need any proof.” And then sullenly, “They may be +getting more than they’re bargaining for. I’m not going to stand for +anything like that, hang it all! They won’t get rid of me that way.” He +peered at me suspiciously. “You can go back and tell them that. You’re +on their side.” + +I protested that I was not on any side, but he rose from the table +and left me. Puzzled more than ever, I threw away my cigar and then +descended to my cabin. After a while I dismissed the events of the +morning and pondered upon my own anomalous situation. Having aligned +myself against my employer, I must now swim, walk or work my way back +to New York. My prospects did not seem bright once we landed in Havana. + +There was a knock at the door, and at my invitation Rice entered. He +had changed into a blue business suit, and his made-to-order face +showed no trace of his exciting morning. + +“Thought I’d come in and talk to you,” he began, seating himself on the +edge of the cot. “Mrs. Breese is busy at the moment and she delegated +me to tell you that she wouldn’t need your services after we got to +Havana.” + +I nodded. + +“I’ve got some money here, for salary and your expenses back. I’m +sorry the way things have happened. I don’t suppose it’s particularly +pleasant for you, but it hasn’t been particularly pleasant for us, +either. Now there’s one thing I wanted to ask you----” He paused +deliberately. “Not a word about what’s happened this morning. Will you +swear to that?” + +I looked at Rice and then was seized by an audacious thought. Curiosity +has led me into many difficulties. + +“I’ll do no such thing,” I said flatly. “I’m not bound by any +confidence. When I leave this boat, I’ll be at liberty to say anything +I please.” + +Rice’s blue eyes became agate. “Oh--so?” he considered. + +“Yes,” I said coolly. “I resigned as Mrs. Breese’s press-agent before +her son threw himself overboard, or at least tried to.” I sought to +make my voice mocking. “I wonder if he really tried to.” + +I saw Rice start. + +“What in damnation do you mean by that?” + +“Well,” I hazarded, “I have reason to believe that you and he +have--well, shall I call it an understanding?--Yes, I’ll call it an +understanding.” + +“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rice snapped, but his tone +lacked conviction. I sensed that Guy Thomas’ seemingly wild suspicions +had some basis in fact. I pursued my advantage. + +“Of course,” I said, “if I were taken into your confidence, I wouldn’t +dream of violating it by telling any tales out of school. But since you +choose to distrust me, I am at liberty to act as I see fit.” + +Slowly a grin spread over Rice’s florid features, and his blue eyes +twinkled. He waved a hand, as if in defeat. + +“Well, all right,” he gestured. “I suppose I should have told you in +the first place. But mind you, this is in the strictest confidence. +I’ve got your word of honor you won’t repeat a word?” + +I indicated that he had. + +“After all,” he continued, “you acted square enough about quitting +your job rather than letting poor Dora go ahead with it. It’s only due +you that I tell you the truth. You see, we were right up against it. +Dora’s the finest woman in the world, and I’m proud to know her. But +every now and then she gets obstinate. And just because her kids don’t +like Thomas, and I don’t like him, and you don’t like him, she gets +it into her head that there’s a conspiracy against the poor boy. She +thinks there’s something fine in him that nobody else can see. Well, +I knew what was coming. When she sprang the news, it was no news to +me, and it was no news to Henry. So we decided on that cheap trick. +Oh, I know it was cheap. But that’s the sort of thing that makes an +impression on Dora, if you know what I mean. + +“She should have been an actress. She likes to do the ordinary things +in a big, exciting way. And we figured--well, to be frank, I did, +because Henry didn’t want to scare his mother--fine boy, Henry--we +figured that if she could get the idea that she’s sacrificing her big +love for her children, she’d be more excited about that than marrying +this damn fool she’s toting around. And I was right.” There was a touch +of pride in his voice. + +“She’s down with Henry now, and she can’t do enough for him. +So--there’s the whole story and I’m glad I told you, and I know from my +experience with the newspaper boys that it’s safe in your keeping.” He +rose. “Any questions?” He smiled disarmingly and his eyes which could +be agate were merry and frank. I shook my head. “Glad I told you,” he +said in parting. “You newspaper fellows find out everything if you’re +told or not. Hanged if I see how you do it!” + +I could not tell him that all credit was due Mr. Thomas, and not me. +Then I realized in surprise that the actor was perhaps not quite as +vacuous as I imagined. Or perhaps he was super-sensitive to events that +concerned his own welfare. + +No one appeared at dinner save myself, and I dined in solitary state. +Apparently even Mr. Thomas had deserted me. So, after dinner, I +strolled out on deck. There was but a faint moon, and the sky was +starless, but the night was warm and the southern waters placid. I +breathed deeply, and having caught the first harbinger of the gentle +climate, bitterly regretted the necessity of returning to riveting +machines and dust-laden pavements. + +As I passed the windows of the row of cabins on the starboard deck, +I gathered that dinner was still in progress in Mrs. Breese’s +sitting-room. I could hear her voice, and that of her son. And +occasionally Rice’s hearty voice boomed forth. I moved on. Just as I +reached the last window, I was attracted by a movement within the dark +cabin. Sometimes, the faint stirring of the shadow of a leaf will rivet +your attention. It was so in this case. I could not for the life of me +tell you what made me stop at that moment and peer within the cabin. + +And then I descried a vague figure, and as I strained to see I could +recognize Guy Thomas. He was bent over a suitcase and rummaging +through its contents with feverish haste. + +“Now what in the world,” I thought to myself, “is Guy Thomas doing in +that boy’s cabin?” To all outward appearances, the actor seemed to +be engaged in some amateur burgling. But this I dismissed rightly as +absurd. I moved cautiously and attempted to get a better view. + +But Thomas had risen. Hastily he shut the suitcase, stopped to listen +intently and then darted out of the room. I heard his footsteps in the +corridor. He was headed for the deck. Instinctively I moved into the +shadow of the bridge, and I saw Thomas advance in my direction. Then he +stopped, directly in the glow of light that came from the corridor. + +From his pocket he took a bulky object. I could not see it at first, +and I was afraid to move closer. Then, as he held it in the light, I +started. It was a pearl-handled revolver that he clutched in his hand, +and with expert fingers I saw him click the cartridges from the barrel. +These he hurled into the sea, and it seemed to me he heaved a sigh of +relief. Then he put the revolver in his pocket, looked about once more +to make sure he had not been discovered, and moved into the corridor +again. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ENTER THE RUSSIAN + + +The _Mary Rose_ steamed past Morro Castle into Havana harbor. + +Just before we landed, Mrs. Breese took me aside and mournfully +complained that Mr. Rice and Henry had both decided that the +press-agent must go. + +“What can I do?” she moaned. “Henry will do the most desperate things +if I cross him.” + +I assured her that my resignation was sincere and that she needn’t +trouble herself on my account. And, of course, she swore me to secrecy +on all events transpiring on the yacht. + +After the necessary customs and immigration formalities had been +observed, we were permitted to go ashore. I was the first of the +passengers off, and I felt a curious relief in being on my own again. +I clambered into a decrepit taxi and was whirled to my hotel. Mrs. +Breese, her children and Rice were going to the winter palace her +former husband had built several years ago in the Vedado. I presumed +Guy Thomas would be shipped to some hotel, and then, like myself, cast +off into the cold world. + +To the noisiest and most cosmopolitan of hotels my driver brought me, +and as soon as I was settled, I plunged forth to see the town. Before +I knew it, I found myself on the marble-studded Prado where the lamps +shine as green satin through the trees. I walked leisurely down this +most delightful of promenades, watching the fascinating mixtures of +browns, blacks and olive-whites who shuffled past me. + +I repulsed a dozen miserable Chinese vendors of peanuts, successfully +negotiated two optimistic guides who leered promises of night life, +paused to listen to the army band struggling with “La Bohème,” and then +found myself at the Prado Bar. + +Now, the Prado Bar is the meeting place of the adventurers of the +South, so it is not strange that it was here I was destined to see this +evening the two men who were to be added to my cast of principals in +the tragedy. It may have been a coincidence that Ben Smith was there. +But I am inclined to believe that the Russian deliberately chose the +scene. I refuse to take his assurance that our meeting was entirely +accidental. But I am anticipating my story. + +After my experience of the yacht, I took the Prado Bar to my bosom as +one would a long-lost friend. Do not misunderstand me. The friendship +was not at all alcoholic. There were no thirsty Americans clamoring +for hard liquors. The Prado Bar is too far from the center of town, +just around the corner from the battered Malecon where at night angry +waters swirl over the sea wall and splash the proud boulevard. + +I found the tumult of the waters pleasant music; the bartenders +were polite and capable; the bacardi genuine and cheap. And Pancho, +the proprietor, with his swarthy face framed in the radiance of his +thousand bottles gleaming from the highly polished shelves, hospitably +bade me welcome. There were few in the bar at the moment, but they +looked my own kind--genteel wanderers, known commonly as tropical +tramps. I was about to open conversational negotiations with two +likely-looking prospects when someone called my name, and I whirled +about to find myself face to face with Ben Smith. + +“Of all people!” I welcomed him. + +“The same to you!” And we shook hands warmly. I had not seen Ben Smith +in three years. + +He had been attached to Police Headquarters in Richmond when I covered +that institution for the Star. He was responsible for the solution of +the Stephenson murder--that strange crime where after many months of +inquiry Smith finally discovered that the wealthy bachelor had been +done to death by his own brother, one of Richmond’s wealthiest and +most respectable citizens. You undoubtedly recall the case, for its +ramifications were spread upon the newspapers of the world. Smith +gained considerable recognition as a result of this coup, and when the +Cuban police created an American department for the benefit of our +crooks who wandered down there, Smith was loaned to head the department. + +We had become good friends in Richmond, despite the detective’s +suspicion of everything that tended to make life and his profession +romantic. This tendency of his spoiled many a good story. Nevertheless, +I was very glad to see him now. + +He had not changed much. Smith never did look the usual police +detective so easily ridiculed upon the stage. He was given to +shell-rimmed glasses, an impassive though kindly face, and he always +impressed you at first sight as a humdrum mediocrity. In any crowd he +was just the average man. In Havana, with flannels, panama and a deep +coat of tan, he seemed the typical tourist. + +He wanted to know my immediate purpose in life, and I told him of my +experience with Mrs. Breese. He listened carefully. When I was done, +he said: “That’s very funny, because I was just talking about the +lady this morning with--well, I never will remember his name. He’s a +Russian.” Smith chuckled. “Strange duck! But I kind of like him. He’s +going to meet me here later and I’ll introduce him to you.” + +“Who is he?” I demanded. + +“Well,” drawled Smith, “aside from the fact that I can’t remember his +name, he showed me papers which prove that before the revolution he was +a big gun with the Czarist police. He’ll tell you all about himself +the first five minutes. He’s not exactly modest. How much there is to +him, I don’t know. He came into my office one day and said he had a +mission. It seems he’d been working on some murder in Riga just before +the revolution broke, and he was right on the track of it when the +Bolsheviks threw him out. He seems to have enough money and time, and +he’s still working on the case long distance. For some reason or other, +he’s particularly interested in Mrs. Breese.” + +“But why?” + +Smith shrugged his shoulders. “He won’t tell me. He asked me to see +if I couldn’t place him on our staff. He wasn’t interested in salary. +Just wanted the job. Of course, I couldn’t. I promised I’d talk it over +with the chief. But I knew it was no use. We didn’t know the man and we +haven’t got room for him if we did.” Smith suddenly whispered out of +the corner of his mouth: “Here he is now.” + +I observed a tall and well-made individual striding up to us. A giant +in stature, he was an imposing sight and a remarkable contrast to +Smith. This man would be distinguishable in any crowd, with his barrel +chest, enormous shoulders, his massive face, ornamented by a proud and +well-combed mustache of the Russian school, from which peered small +blue eyes. He was impeccably dressed in flashing white linen, and as +he walked he swung a heavy silver-headed cane as if it were a swagger +stick. + +“Hello, there,” Smith said. “I’ve talked it over with them but they +can’t see it. Sorry!” + +The big man bowed. + +“Thank you. I did not expect otherwise.” His words were clipped, +military. “I deeply appreciate your efforts.” + +Smith introduced us. + +“This is a newspaper friend of mine, Mr. Abbott,” he turned to the +Russian apologetically. “I forget your name. I’m sorry. I was never +much good on Russian names.” + +“Boris Sergeivitch Perutkin, formerly of the Russian Secret Police,” +the big man prompted, and bowed. “So you are a newspaper man. I am +indeed pleased to meet you.” + +Smith looked at his watch. + +“I’ve got a date downtown,” he said. “But I’ll be back in an hour. By +the way,”--he turned to the Russian. “Mr. Abbott here has just come +down from New York with the Breese family. Maybe he can tell you what +you want to know.” + +The Russian’s little blue eyes were trained on me. + +“So! That is very interesting. You must join me in a glass.” + +“And,” Smith continued, “you’ll find that Mr. Abbott can be trusted. +I’ve known him a long time.” + +“I am sure of Mr. Abbott,” the Russian bowed politely, as Smith left +us. Then he turned to the bartender: “_Cordon rouge_--the same as I +had last night.” He turned back to me. “Do you mind champagne? I drink +nothing else.” + +We seated ourselves in a corner far from the other patrons of the bar, +and soon the glasses with yellow magic were before us. The Russian +sipped his drink slowly, with the air of a connoisseur. He did not +at once ask anything of Mrs. Breese, but instead discussed far-flung +topics from American politics to horses. I had an uneasy feeling +that he was testing me. He seemed anxious to know everything that +had happened to me since I was a child in swaddling clothes. Then, +suddenly, his adroit questioning ceased, and he told me about himself. + +“I am that anomaly,” he smiled, “a detective without a country. But +I have a case--a very peculiar case. I have devoted six years to +its solution, and I am still far from it. Mr. Smith says you can be +trusted. I am going to tell you about that case, because you may be of +great help to me. You know Mrs. Breese well?” + +I said I knew her fairly well, but that I was no longer connected with +her household. + +“That does not matter,” he responded. “The difficulty hitherto has +been that I could not legitimately gain access to the most important +circle in my case. I conceive of my case as a series of circles, +criss-crossing each other. In one of these circles my case is as plain +as a photograph. I have not yet reached that circle. Perhaps you can +help me.” + +My face showed I was puzzled. He laughed. “Of course, you do not +understand me. Let me put it this way. Who were your fellow-passengers +on the yacht?” + +I enumerated them: Mrs. Breese, her two children, Gordon Rice and Guy +Thomas. + +“Excellent!” murmured the Russian. “There is only one absent. Six years +ago, Mr. Abbott, Mrs. Breese, her two children, Gordon Rice and Guy +Thomas were in Riga. But Mr. Breese was there, too. He is the only one +absent.” + +“But I don’t see the significance,” I protested. + +“Six years ago, in Riga, a very strange crime occurred which directly +affected Mrs. Breese. A man was murdered. His murderer was never found. +Do you see the significance now?” + +“A murder affecting Mrs. Breese?” I indicated my scepticism. “I never +heard a word of it.” + +“There was never a word printed,” the Russian said. “Providence seemed +to intervene on behalf of the criminal at the very moment that I +thought the case would be solved. The murderer escaped. And yet I know, +as surely as I know anything, one of your fellow-passengers on that +yacht is the murderer.” + +His sharp little eyes, almost hypnotic in their power, blazed angrily. + +“There is no punishment for him--or her--now. My government is no more. +But an innocent man walks with the shadow of suspicion upon him.” I +quote the Russian’s exact words. “This man’s life-happiness has been +taken away from him because of that crime. And if I cannot punish +the murderer, I can at least help an innocent victim to re-establish +himself. I can at least right a great wrong.” + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE LAST OF THE CIRCLE + + +I shall repeat here the story the Russian told me. I made notes of +it later in my hotel room, and the facts are exact. In the summer of +1918, Mary Rose Breese was married to the Count Giering-Trelovitch in +Riga, Russia. She was then eighteen, and extraordinarily beautiful. +Disillusionment had not yet written boredom into her fragile features. +The Count was twenty-five. + +Unlike most unions of this kind, no sordid motives marred their +relationship. The Count was handsome, witty, a brave soldier and +sportsman. His estates were flourishing. He insisted he would accept +no dowry. He had met Mary Rose Breese during a visit to America and +theirs had been a story-book romance. The Russian laid great emphasis +upon this point. “It was enough to make you cry tears of pleasure,” he +exclaimed with Slavic sentimentality. “Just to see them together. In +these days such romances are so rare!” + +The marriage ceremony took place in the Giering-Trelovitch castle. +There was the quality of a bygone age in the preparations for this +festive event. From all parts of Europe friends of the Count poured +into Riga. The Count kept open house, and when he could no longer +accommodate the thousands of guests, local mansions and even cottages +were requisitioned. The Count’s peasants toiled and feasted with their +master. + +Several days before the ceremony, Mr. and Mrs. Breese arrived with the +bride, and Henry, then a youth of fifteen. Mrs. Breese, of course, was +proud to be the prospective mother-in-law of a Count, which somehow +offset the sad fact that possession of a married daughter would +officially end that youth to which she clung so tenaciously. + +The moment she arrived, she took charge of matters in characteristic +fashion. The Count was too happy to interfere. Mr. Breese was not +so pleased at events. He said he’d prefer to have an American for a +son-in-law, but he had been too preoccupied to venture any but the +mildest objections. + +Mr. Breese received a wire from a business associate, Gordon Rice, +several days before the ceremony. An important transaction with some +French industrialists was in progress, and Rice requested Mr. Breese’s +presence in Paris. Realizing he could not desert his daughter at her +wedding, he telegraphed Rice, inviting him to the ceremony, suggesting +they could discuss the matter in Riga. Rice arrived, which accounts for +his presence in the former Russian city. + +At that time, Guy Thomas had known Mrs. Breese only casually. She had +met him several months before. He had come to Paris as gigolo to a +harmless old lady who wanted to see the sights. But the harmless old +lady discarded him in favor of a native guide, and Thomas was left +without funds. He was struck with an inspiration and wired Mrs. Breese +of his desire to be of assistance to her. Mrs. Breese, reflecting that +she would be alone in Paris for several weeks after the ceremony, +promptly hired him as her temporary social secretary--and Guy Thomas +hurried to the feast. + +Upon consulting my notes, I find that the name of the man who was +murdered was the Baron Peter Setovski, whose estates adjoined those +of the Count Giering-Trelovitch. The murder took place two days after +the marriage ceremony. The Baron Peter Setovski was not a guest at the +wedding. He was the one man the Count had not invited. It was brought +out later that the two men had quarrelled shortly before the wedding on +some trivial boundary dispute, and the Count, who was hot-headed and +impulsive, broke off all relations with his neighbor. + +The murder had taken place in the Baron’s bedroom, about midnight, two +days after the lavish wedding ceremony which is still recalled in Riga +for its prodigal splendor. The Baron was found slumped upon the floor +of his bedroom, shot through the heart. None of the numerous servants +had heard the shot. + +The only visitor the Baron had received that night was the Count +Giering-Trelovitch. Examined by the police, the Count said that he had +gone to his neighbor offering reconciliation. The Count could not +explain satisfactorily why he had chosen the hour of midnight for such +a mission except that he always did things impulsively. He said he had +been so profoundly happy that the quarrel with his neighbor disturbed +him, and when everyone had gone to bed he had ridden over to the +Baron’s estate to see him. He said that the breach had been healed, the +Baron had drunk a glass of vodka with him in friendship, and he, the +Count, had returned to his home and his bride. + +Although the police were reluctant to arrest the young nobleman, +they were compelled to warn him not to leave the country. Detectives +insisted upon prowling about the estate, and what had once been the +scene of unrestrained festivity became the laboratory of a crime. + +Of course, the Countess at first refused to believe a word against her +husband, despite the damning circumstantial evidence. Mrs. Breese and +Mr. Breese, however, were for once united in the opinion that it was +distinctly up to the bridegroom to clear himself. It was at this time +that the Russian detective was summoned to help unravel the mystery. + +After a lengthy talk with the Count, my informant was convinced that +the solution of the murder lay elsewhere. He promptly set to work. + +But shortly after he arrived, Mrs. Breese insisted she must go home, +and suggested her daughter go with her. Mary Rose Breese, now the +Countess Giering-Trelovitch, fell in with the plan, for the atmosphere +of suspicion and hostility that followed the murder of the Baron +was hardly in keeping with the glorious honeymoon she had pictured +to herself. But she did not want to leave the Count behind, and +suggested he come with them. Unfortunately, he had not told her he was +practically under house arrest, and when this confession was extorted +from him, she was horrified. + +Then, events beyond the power of Mrs. Breese intervened. The Russian +revolution, long smouldering, now blazed in full force, and reached +even Riga, long after it was an accomplished fact in Petrograd. The +local police were ousted, and the murder of the Baron was swallowed in +the explosion. The Count fled with the Breese ménage to Paris. + +But if the Count was no longer in danger from official prosecution, +suspicion still clung to him. He noted in despair that his bride became +more and more reluctant to meet him. Matters were not helped when his +estates were confiscated and he was left a pittance. Now his position +was difficult indeed. + +One morning Mrs. Breese, in her high-handed fashion, announced that she +was sailing for America in a few days. Her daughter, she said, would +accompany her. The meaning of this was perfectly clear to the Count. +Heart-broken, despondent at his reverses, he stolidly consented to a +divorce. + +“I myself was in Paris then,” the Russian said. “I, too, had to flee, +for although I am not a Czarist in spirit, my connection with the +police damned me in the eyes of the revolutionists. Naturally, I spent +a good deal of time with the Count, for I had grown to like him very, +very much. + +“I remember he asked me to go to the railroad station with him to see +them off, for the divorce was to be gotten quietly and the proprieties +were to be observed. Mrs. Breese was very insistent upon that. I notice +that in her own case she was not so discreet. However, as I say, we +went to say good-bye at the Gare du Nord. Mrs. Breese treated the Count +very coldly. She seemed to be finished with him forever, and her manner +indicated as much. Mr. Breese, too, didn’t make matters particularly +pleasant. + +“But the Countess was affected, despite her pose. I could see that. I +suspected that she had cried many nights when she was alone, and I was +sure, too, that if it had not been for her mother, who dominated her, +she would never have lost faith in my friend. But what will you? Some +people are born to dominate, and others to be dominated. I could see +that the girl was putty in her mother’s hands, and the Count realized +that, too. It was tragic, for their romance had been beautiful. + +“When they left finally, the Count was so melancholy that I was afraid +he would do something foolish. I did my best to cheer him up. Finally +I said, for my reputation was at stake, that despite the extraordinary +difficulties of the case, I would do my best to clear his name. And +then, I assured him, his bride would receive him to her arms again. Of +course, I didn’t tell him that in my opinion Mrs. Breese had cast him +off as a son-in-law not because he was under suspicion, but because he +had become a poor man. + +“Fortunately, the Count had rescued some family jewels, and I had some +small investments in London. We had enough to live on and to travel +in a modest way. The Count acquired the hobby of etchings from his +father, and I encouraged him to visit the museums and to keep his mind +occupied. We wandered around Europe, and had a fairly pleasant time. +Then, because the Count insisted, we went to America. + +“We had both been reading the newspapers assiduously. The one thing +that kept the Count buoyant was the fact that his bride never +remarried. But when he tried to see her, she refused to meet him--at +the insistence, I think, of her mother. Even during the trial, when the +Count thought he could be of at least moral support to his wife, she +consistently avoided him. Once they met, but the Countess did not say a +word, and wouldn’t listen to him. + +“When we read in the newspapers that they were coming here, nothing I +could say would dissuade the Count from coming here, too. And then, +after thinking out the case, I reached the conclusion that perhaps it +was wise. For, by a strange coincidence, these very people, with the +exception of Mr. Breese, were present at the time of the murder of the +Baron Peter Setovski. And I feel that I have never been nearer to a +solution. Tell me----” + +The Russian plied me with questions, some of them so minute and trivial +that I could not attach any importance to them. I must recite all +the events of the trial, all the testimony. I recounted some of the +adventures of the yacht, although I did not feel free to tell of the +escapade of the Breese boy. + +Then he insisted that I come with him at once to his flat to meet his +friend, the Count Giering-Trelovitch. Although the hour was late I +could not refuse, for I felt strangely drawn to this unfortunate young +man whose story he had told me. I discovered that the two Russians +shared a tiny apartment on the Malecon. The Count himself had just +returned from a lonely promenade, he said. The morning newspaper was +under his arm. + +“This gentleman,” the detective presented me, “has come down with Mrs. +Breese and her family on the yacht. He has seen your wife.” + +The Count, who was prepared to be formally polite, now wrung my hand +with embarrassing cordiality. + +“That is the best news I have heard in many years!” he exclaimed, his +rather melancholy blue eyes lighting up. “How is she? Is she well? Is +she happy? What did she say? How does she look?” + +There was an engaging boyish impulsiveness about his manner now that +quite won me. I could see now what the detective meant when he said +that the Count’s wedding was a story-book romance. If the Princes that +walk the earth are paunchy, given to gout and short-temper, this young +man defied nature and upheld art at least pictorially. Blond, finely +featured, slender and graceful of carriage, he had been designed to +blend with the fragile loveliness of Mary Rose Breese. + +“What did she wear? She dressed so exquisitely always.” For the life of +me, I could not tell him. He seemed disappointed, baffled. “But what +did she say? Didn’t she say anything?” + +I explained that I had but little opportunity to talk with her. But I +said she seemed well and, as far as I could tell, happy. + +He sighed, as if relieved. “I have been trying to see her. Boris +Sergeivitch has undoubtedly told you my story. I feel she needs me, but +what can I do? If you could get a message to her----” + +But here I was called upon to explain that my relations with the Breese +family had been severed. He seemed downcast. + +“If I felt,” he said, “that she really didn’t want to see me, I would +disappear and she would never hear a word from me. But it’s her mother +who’s back of this. I know! That woman!” He seemed to sink in a brown +study. “She should be punished.” + +The detective had apparently been paying little attention to his +friend. He had picked up the morning paper--the morning edition of the +Havana Post, and was reading its spare columns with absorbed interest. +Suddenly he whistled, as if in surprise. I turned to him. The Count, +too, looked up. + +“Read this,” the detective commanded, pointing with a stubby forefinger +to a paragraph noting the American visitors to the city. + +It was recorded here that Mr. Henry Breese, Sr., had arrived by +airplane from Miami and was stopping at the Sevilla-Biltmore. I re-read +the paragraph to make sure my eyes had not deceived me. I wondered, +amazed, what motive could prompt the elderly Breese to come to the city +to which his divorced wife had fled. + +“Interesting!” the Russian exclaimed, and then to the Count: “Read +this, my friend.” The young man took the newspaper from him and +examined it. “It is now complete!” + +I looked blank. The Count peered down at him, puzzled. + +“The last of the circle is here!” the detective continued meditatively. +“The absent one has arrived!” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MURDER + + +A week passed, very pleasantly for me, and during this time I paid +but scant attention to the Breese ménage. The Russian seemed to have +disappeared, and Ben Smith was busy with a case that involved the +extradition of an absconded bank teller. Left to my own resources, I +explored the town, sampled the native Morro crabs (as delicious as our +own lobsters), sipped gentle Spanish wines and watched the shimmying +Rumba dancers in the lower music-halls. + +It was inevitable that I meet various members of the permanent American +colony in my wanderings, and I soon discovered that Mrs. Breese had +already made her presence felt. Just what her divorced husband was +doing in the city no one seemed to know. Certainly he was not seen at +the home he had built, and if, as presumed, he had journeyed down for +reconciliation his efforts evidently had been in vain. Mrs. Breese +entertained discreetly, and it was common gossip that Guy Thomas was +with her constantly. If Mrs. Breese had renounced the actor after her +son’s toying with suicide, she had apparently restored him to favor +now. It was the general impression that Mr. Thomas was the lady’s +fiancé. + +Just about this time I first heard the words: “The Gilded Cage”. Who +it was who so dubbed the Breese palace I do not know. Probably it was +some malicious wit. Undoubtedly the name rose from Guy Thomas’ peculiar +status in the household, for those of the colony that I met were busy +laughing at Mr. Thomas as the bird in the gilded cage, and momentarily +expecting formal announcement of the engagement of the wealthy woman to +the idler many years her junior. + +Then, one evening, while I was at dinner, Ben Smith wandered into the +dining-room of my hotel and joined me in black coffee and liqueurs. He +seemed preoccupied, and I knew that he had sought me out for a purpose. +Finally he said: “How well do you know old man Breese?” + +I said I had seen him frequently during the trial, but had not +exchanged a dozen words with him. Outwardly, he struck me as the type +of short-tempered executive who would be a terror to his employees and +so much wax in the modelling hands of Mrs. Breese. I asked Smith the +reason for his inquiry. + +“Well,” he said finally, “very funny thing happened. Last night old +Breese called up and said he wanted to see me at his hotel--the +Sevilla-Biltmore. Had something tremendously important and +confidential. Hinted that it would be worth my while. I couldn’t make +head or tail of it, but I promised I’d be over to see him.” + +“I wonder if anything’s happened,” I speculated. “What reason has he +got to go to the police? And what did he mean by ‘worth your while’?” + +“I don’t know,” Smith confessed. “I couldn’t very well question him +over the phone. I’m repeating to you all he said to me. I don’t even +know how he got hold of my name. He never met me, and, as far as I +know, never even heard of me.” Smith took out his cheap nickel-plated +watch which he seemed to treasure above all earthly possessions. “I’ve +got a date to see him in five minutes. Want to come over?” + +“I’ll be glad to,” I said, “but I may be in the way.” + +“That’s all right,” Smith assured me. “I kind of feel that I may need +a witness, and I certainly need someone who knows the inside of that +Breese family. Leave it to me.” + +It was only a short walk from my unpretentious hotel to the palatial +Sevilla-Biltmore. Smith announced himself, and the elevator swept us +up to the seventh story and the most splendid of suites. Mr. Breese +greeted Smith cordially, but looked askance at me. Although I had seen +him scores of times during the trial, he apparently had not recognized +me, and Smith airily presented me as his assistant. + +Breese hesitated for a moment, then apparently decided to accept my +presence. He asked us to make ourselves comfortable, and submitted a +box of Partagas, a decanter of whiskey, a siphon and a bowl of ice. +He seemed laboring hard to create an atmosphere of friendly good-will +before he plunged into the business at hand. We chatted for a while of +nothing in particular. Finally, lighting a cigar slowly, and glancing +at Smith from under bristling grey eyebrows, he said: “I suppose you +wonder why I called you.” + +“Yes,” Smith acknowledged, “you sounded kind of queer over the phone.” + +“I suppose I must have,” he smiled wrily. “I’ve been under a tremendous +strain, let me tell you!” He gulped his whiskey and soda, and cleared +his throat. “I don’t know exactly how to begin. I suppose the best +thing I can do is to come right down to the heart of the problem. Let +me ask you, Mr. Smith: Isn’t it a fact that it is a duty of the police +to prevent crimes as well as punish the criminals?” + +Smith looked blank. + +“Why, sure,” he said finally. “Whenever we can we do try to prevent +them.” + +“Very well, then. I know of a crime that is being contemplated at this +very moment. What ought I to do?” + +“What kind of a crime?” + +Breese fixed the detective with his rather sharp eyes. + +“You know my position, Mr. Smith. You know my standing. You know I +wouldn’t give false information. You know I’m a man of means.” + +Smith nodded. + +“Suppose I were to tell you that at this minute a murder is being +planned--what could you do?” + +“That’s a hard one,” said Smith, but he was sitting erect and tense. +“Don’t you think you’d better be more explicit?” + +Breese nodded. “I’ll put all my cards on the table, Mr. Smith. I’ve +got to, although there are certain things I’d rather not talk about. +I suppose you know that my wife divorced me recently. I came down +here--well, I thought I was hasty, inconsiderate. I was willing to make +amends, do anything to save my family. Even if I weren’t fond of my +wife, I’m crazy enough about my children to do anything. I came down +here for a reconciliation. When I got here, my wife wouldn’t see me. My +children wouldn’t see me.” + +He paused, swallowing, as if this bitter pill were more than he could +bear. Smith made no comment. + +“I discovered my wife contemplated marrying this actor, Guy Thomas. +Since my wife wouldn’t permit me to talk to her, I did my best to get +word to her. But no use. She can be very headstrong, as anyone who +knows her will tell you. Well, I was just about ready to go back, +licked, when through certain sources I needn’t disclose to you, I +learned that my wife was making a will. Now remember this--for it’s +very important. She is making--probably has made it by now--a will +leaving her entire fortune to Guy Thomas. + +“Shortly after I learned this, I put certain detectives to work in New +York to discover facts about this young man. I felt if I could expose +him to Dora she would see the light. Well, I did get some facts about +the young man, in a cable today. Mr. Thomas has a certain young lady +in New York waiting for him. She got word from him two days ago to be +prepared to sail for Europe.” + +Ben Smith listened attentively as the old man continued: + +“That isn’t all. I went to see Mrs. Breese, and waited in the +reception-room for her. While I waited, I heard Mr. Thomas on the +telephone, talking to New York. I heard him say: ‘For God’s sake, wait, +can’t you. I’m going to make a lot of money soon.’ That’s all I heard +because Mrs. Breese sent out word that she would not receive me and I +had to go. + +“Now, gentlemen, as sure as I’m sitting here I know that Guy Thomas is +preparing to do away with Mrs. Breese!” He had risen in his excitement. +“I know that he influenced her to make out this will. I’m not easily +frightened. I’m sane. I’m a practical man of business. I know it sounds +wild, but----” + +The telephone buzzed softly. Annoyed, impatient, Mr. Breese picked it +up. + +“Yes, who is it?” + +Then---- + +“Good God, man!” I saw him grow deathly white. The telephone fell from +his limp hands. He tottered for a moment, and then steadied himself +against a chair. + +“_Mrs. Breese has--has--just been found dead!_” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +INQUIRY + + +Smith and I literally threw ourselves into a taxi, and raced to the +Gilded Cage. Breese had said he had not the strength to accompany us, +and after looking at his ashen face I could readily believe him. + +Our cab whirled past the grilled windows and stone fronts of the dark +houses. The air was heavy with the perfume of a tropical night. The +streets were practically deserted. Only an occasional hotel flared +brilliantly as we raced by. + +Before I was quite aware of it, our driver had turned into Calle L +and then stopped with a screeching of brakes, in the manner of Latin +chauffeurs. The Gilded Cage was an imposing sight, beautifully white, +with enormous marble pillars, huge mahogany doors, massive grilles to +delight the heart of any lover of cunning ironwork, and a magnificent +garden studded with royal palms that kept the vulgar street far from +the inmates of the palace. + +As I came up the stairs to the terrace, Smith always slightly ahead +of me, I noted an exquisite sculptured fountain piece of six nudes +bending over still black water and glistening white in the moonlight. +The palace was still as death. Only a faint light seemed to filter +through from the reception-hall. The rest of the house seemed steeled +in darkness. + +Smith pressed a tiny button set into a burnished gilt frame. A bell +pealed softly within, and we heard footsteps. The huge door swung open, +and an owlish-looking native policeman stared at us suspiciously, one +hand at his revolver holster. But Smith displayed his credentials, and +we were ushered in without further delay. + +In the reception-room, Smith at once reached for the telephone and +notified the Cuban Secret Police he had taken charge of the case and +that he was now at the scene of the murder. While he talked, I looked +about me, and even in the faint light I was impressed with the curious +fact that every bit of furniture in the reception-room was gilt. I +noted particularly a fine Spanish clock of impressive proportions, with +hands and case gaudily inlaid with gold; a full sweep of gold brocade +curtains upon the French windows; and a great hall mirror likewise +decorated. + +Smith informed me that his superiors had approved his handling of the +case, and that a medical examiner would be despatched forthwith. The +native policeman had arrived just a few moments before we did. Without +further instruction on Smith’s part, he led us through a curtained door +into the drawing-room. + +The room measured about thirty-five feet by forty, and about twenty +feet in height. The floor was of gaily colored tile, the walls and +ceiling panelled in rich mahogany. There were two enormous French +windows leading to the garden, four by ten feet. One door led to the +reception-room. Another door took us to the library. + +I am setting forth these facts from my notes. My first impression +was too jumbled to permit such blunt recording. For a figure lay +outstretched in one corner, and I still have in my memory a confused +picture of diamond buckles and silk stockings, blue velvet and green +emeralds, a shock of blond hair and stiff bejewelled fingers. As we +came nearer, I noted, shivering, that the floor tiles near her were a +bright red. + +This was Mrs. Breese in her last moment of life. She could not have +chosen a more sensational exit. I could not believe that this vital, +domineering woman had been transformed into the still and gory heap +before me. Her eyes as they were that moment still haunt me. There was +such a ghastly look of surprise in those set eyes of hers. Possibly it +was a physical distortion born of her last moment of suffering. + +Smith bent over the prone figure. “Right through the heart,” he said +finally. “Don’t need any of these native medical examiners to tell me +she died immediately.” + +Then he addressed the policeman in Spanish and inquired: “Where are the +members of the family?” + +“They are upstairs. Shall I call them?” + +“No. Not yet. I want to take a look around first.” + +He went to the two French windows and noted that both were locked +securely from the inside. + +Consulting my notes once more, I find that the body was exactly four +feet from the left wall. I jotted down every item of furniture in this +room. There were the following major pieces: a hand-carved table in +the center, with four chairs; eight huge tapestried chairs against the +wall; a bulky secretary; a Spanish marble mantel; an ornate and new +radio in silver and black; a Jo Davidson bust of Mrs. Breese; two large +canvases, one a Romney, the other, I believe, an Italian primitive; and +several water colors and pastels of modernist persuasion. A veritable +jumble of art. + +Although we searched carefully, we found no weapon. There were no signs +of violence in the room or upon the body. The furniture was not upset +and the clothes of the woman were unruffled. Only that horrible look +of surprise in her set eyes, which Smith, too, commented upon. It was +not so much terror that was written there, it seemed to me, as it was +sheer amazement at the tragedy that had overtaken her. I could readily +believe that death was far from the thoughts of this woman. + +“If only,” I said, “there was something to that superstition that the +eyes of the victim photograph the murderer in the last moment of life! +We’d have the secret of this in twenty-four hours!” + +Smith grunted impatiently, as if annoyed at such idle speculation. +He prowled about the room, methodically noting a host of what seemed +to me uninteresting detail. Finally he said: “There’s one thing I’ve +learned--there’s no such thing as waste motion in a case of this kind. +One must overlook nothing.” + +“And what have you found?” I demanded. + +“One thing--and that the man who did this job----” + +“Assuming it is a man,” I intervened. + +“Assuming it is a man,” he repeated. “But whoever did this job left us +a perfect piece of marksmanship. One bullet killed her, and as far as I +can tell, it went straight through the heart. The medical examiner can +check up on that.” (Dr. Miguel de Cassandra later confirmed this fact.) + +“May it not have been a stroke of luck--this perfect marksmanship?” I +suggested. + +Smith shook his head. “No. This job was done in a hurry. It had to be. +The killer couldn’t trust to luck.” He turned to the policeman. “Where +are the servants?” + +For answer the policeman led us through the reception-room down a long +corridor and into the servants’ quarters. In the huge kitchen we found +fully fifteen domestics huddled in whispering groups. There were five +Jamaica blacks, two Japanese, one of them my scowling steward, several +half-caste Cubans, a disdainful English butler who stood in solitary +glory in a corner of his own, and a rotund and rosy-cheeked French chef +who even now was ogling a pretty half-caste maid. At our entrance they +all became silent. + +Smith singled out the English butler for his first witness. His name +was Rodney Brandlock. He was perhaps forty, rather thin, with watery +blue eyes inclined to squint. He had been engaged only a few weeks ago +by Mrs. Breese. + +It developed that it was he who had discovered Mrs. Breese’s body and +had summoned the policeman from his post. + +“Tell us exactly what happened,” Smith commanded. + +“After dinner,” he began, “Mrs. Breese and Mr. Thomas adjourned to the +drawing-room for coffee. The two children went immediately upstairs.” + +“What time was dinner?” Smith interrupted. + +“Dinner tonight was at nine. We had no set hour. In any case, I brought +coffee and liqueurs into the drawing-room. I returned about fifteen +minutes later to remove the cups and glasses. Mrs. Breese and Mr. +Thomas were chatting.” + +“About what?” + +“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I didn’t stop to listen.” There was +reproof in the servant’s eyes. “In any case, I removed the tray and +just as I did so, the telephone rang. I answered it.--It was for Mrs. +Breese from Mr. Rice.” + +“Where was Mr. Rice?” + +“I believe he was dining at the American Ministry. He wished to speak +to Mrs. Breese. I gave the receiver to Mrs. Breese and went on my way +down to the pantry. I happened to look at the clock at that time, and +I noted it was exactly half-past ten. I thought of taking a walk for a +bit of fresh air, and I returned to the drawing-room to ask Mrs. Breese +if there would be anything further she wanted for the night. When I got +in----” + +“Go ahead!” Smith commanded. + +“I--I found the room dark.” The butler’s voice was husky. “I--I +couldn’t understand that, but I put up the lights, and then I saw----” +he swallowed. “So I ran upstairs and----” + +“Yes----” + +“I found Mr. Thomas in the corridor, and I told him. Then I ran out for +a policeman. I guess that’s all.” + +Smith nodded. + +“You sent for a doctor?” + +“--I didn’t. I leaned over and saw that Mrs. Breese was dead, and Mr. +Thomas didn’t say anything. He seemed terribly shocked.” + +“But didn’t it occur to you that you ought to send for a doctor?” + +“Yes, I did think of it, but Mr. Thomas instructed me to fetch a +policeman, and I did. And as I say, there was no question Mrs. Breese +was dead. Then when I got back, the children were down, and it was out +of my hands.” + +“So Mr. Thomas sent you for the policeman?” Smith asked. + +“Yes.” + +“Did he run down to examine the body himself?” + +“No, sir.” + +“What did he say exactly?” + +“He said: ‘Fetch the police!’ Or: ‘Get the police!’ I think he said. +That’s all I know, sir. None of the servants know anything about it. +I’m the only one.” + +“You heard no shot?” + +“No, sir.” + +Smith turned to the motley group. “Did any of you hear a shot here +tonight?” he demanded. They all shook their heads. He turned once more +to the butler. + +“When you returned with the policeman, where did you find Mr. Thomas?” + +“He was still upstairs, sir.” + +“He hadn’t come down?” + +“No, sir. But the children were down.” + +“That’ll be all,” said Smith. “Will you go upstairs now and tell Mr. +Thomas to come down to the drawing-room immediately?” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A CLEAR CASE + + +When we had done examining the servants, these were the undisputed +facts that emerged: Mrs. Breese was last seen alive at about ten +minutes after ten, and discovered dead at half-past ten. No shot was +heard. There were fifteen servants in the house at the time, Mr. +Thomas, the Countess and young Henry Breese. No visitors had called +during the evening. This fact was confirmed by the butler and by the +Japanese footman who answered the bell. There had, in fact, been no +visitors at all during the day. + +We returned to the drawing-room to find Mr. Thomas awaiting us. I +could not at first recognize him. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes +bloodshot. + +“My name’s Smith, I’m with the police here. I just want to ask you a +few questions, Mr. Thomas.” + +Thomas did not seem to hear him. His eyes were fixed upon the +outstretched figure of Mrs. Breese. + +“What do you want to know?” he managed to say finally. His hands were +trembling visibly. + +“Now take it easy,” Smith placated him. “I know this must be a terrible +shock to you, and I don’t want to make it any harder. This is just a +matter of routine.” + +Thomas looked up quickly, with relief, I thought. He breathed easier. + +“I don’t know a thing--not a thing,” he assured us. + +“As I understand it,” began Smith, “you and Mrs. Breese were alone in +this room after dinner. Mrs. Breese received a telephone call from Mr. +Rice. What happened then, Mr. Thomas?” + +“Why--nothing happened. I went upstairs while she was talking to +Rice--I went upstairs to write a letter. Just when I’d gotten through, +the butler ran up to tell me what had happened. It was an awful blow to +me. I can’t realize yet it’s true.” He stared as if fascinated at the +outstretched body. + +“You heard no sound upstairs?” + +“No--nothing.” + +“When the butler ran up to tell you the news, what did you do?” + +“Why--I sent him to fetch a policeman at once!” + +“You didn’t think a doctor was necessary?” + +“No. He said she was--dead.” + +“He may have been excited. Surely you went down to investigate.” + +Thomas squirmed. + +“No--I didn’t. I couldn’t--I couldn’t go in that room alone. My nerves +wouldn’t stand it.” + +Smith made careful notes of his answers. He was about to proceed when +the door bell pealed. The native policeman returned with Gordon Rice. +The promoter stamped into the room and then stopped short at the sight +of the body. His eyes were red with rage as he swung at Thomas. + +“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” he barked. + +“What have I----?” + +“Yes!” Rice shouted. “Don’t stand there pretending innocence! You’re +not that good an actor!” + +“Just a minute,” intervened Smith. “I’m conducting this inquiry.” + +“Then it’s high time you knew the facts,” snapped Rice. He turned to +us. “I always knew this man was a weakling and a rotter, but I didn’t +think he was a murderer.” + +“I say, I say!” the actor stammered in his fright. His face was white. + +“You accuse this man of killing Mrs. Breese?” Smith demanded. + +“Yes, I do!” + +Now the actor looked from one to the other of us like a stricken +animal. He tried to say something, but couldn’t. + +“On what ground?” + +“Here are the facts, if you want them.” + +“I want them very much,” Smith said. + +“Look here----” interrupted the actor. + +“You’ll have every opportunity,” Smith assured him, “to make any answer +you want.” The actor slumped into a chair, keeping his eyes fixed now +upon Rice, watching his every move. + +“I’ve just been to see Mr. Breese,” Rice began. + +“As you may know, I was Mrs. Breese’s business adviser and friend. +I’m frank to say I never liked this man personally. I strenuously +objected when Mrs. Breese said she proposed marrying him. However, +I’m fair enough, I think, not to make any accusation on prejudice. +I’ve got facts! And I want to present them right to his face. I don’t +do anything underhanded.” The actor had risen and drawn nearer. Rice +reached into his pocket and produced a sheaf of telegrams. + +“About a week ago, Mr. Breese came to me. We hadn’t been on very good +terms since the trial, but we buried the hatchet. I told Breese to make +every effort to patch things up. I felt, just as he did, that it would +be a calamity for Mrs. Breese to marry this man. Breese asked me what +to do. Of course, we never suspected anything like this!” He shook his +head. “It’s a wonder to me I can still think straight. I’ve never had +a shock like this before. Well--I advised Breese to wire a certain +detective agency, the Burns people, and get all the facts on this young +man. We thought if we had the facts, Dora--Mrs. Breese--would see +things straight. And since we knew we were playing against time, the +agency was instructed to wire us the minute they got anything. Well, +they got plenty. Look at this!” + +Without further comment, Rice extended the following telegrams. I +reproduce them herewith: + + HENRY BREESE + SEVILLA BILTMORE + HAVANA + + ACTING YOUR INSTRUCTIONS YOUR PARTY (GUY THOMAS) RESIDES THREE FORTY + FIVE WEST FORTY FIFTH STREET STOP FLAT NOW OCCUPIED BY MISS BELINDA + SAUNDERS CHORUS GIRL STOP MISS SAUNDERS DESCRIBES SELF AS PARTYS + FIANCEE STOP AGENT THIRTY SIX ENGAGING MISS SAUNDERS IN CONVERSATION + LEARNED YOUR PARTY WIRED MISS SAUNDERS TO BE PREPARED SAIL FOR GRAND + TOUR EUROPE SOON STOP + + WILLIAMS + + HENRY BREESE + SEVILLA BILTMORE + HAVANA + + YOUR PARTY WAS PHONED BY MISS SAUNDERS AND INFORMED SHE WAS READY + TO DEPART EUROPE STOP YOUR PARTY SAID DELAY HAD ARISEN STOP MISS + SAUNDERS PROVOKED SAID WOULDNT DELAY STOP YOUR PARTY INFORMED HER HE + WOULD HAVE LOTS OF MONEY IF SHED WAIT STOP MISS SAUNDERS THREATENED + SUE BREACH OF PROMISE ON RUMOUR REACHING NEW YORK YOUR PARTY ABOUT + TO MARRY WEALTHY WOMAN STOP WIRING FURTHER + + WILLIAMS + + HENRY BREESE + SEVILLA BILTMORE + HAVANA + + YOUR PARTY SENT WIRE MISS SAUNDERS BE PREPARED LEAVE IMMEDIATELY STOP + WILL MEET HER PARIS STOP + + WILLIAMS + +“That’s not all,” continued Rice. “As Mrs. Breese’s business +adviser--I’ve been handling all her affairs for months--I receive all +cancelled checks from her bank. This morning the National City called +me up. I went down to see them. The cashier showed me a check for ten +thousand dollars made out to this man and signed presumably by Mrs. +Breese. It had come through the mails, with a letter signed by this +man, instructing the bank to deposit this money to his account in +Paris. Mr. Wilkins--the cashier--questioned the signature. It seemed an +obvious forgery to him. I agreed with him. + +“I took the check and the letter and came here. Unfortunately Mrs. +Breese and this young man were out, so I left them in an envelope with +a note for Mrs. Breese, and put the envelope on this table. I had +several engagements and couldn’t get in touch with Mrs. Breese until +after dinner. Then I called her up and asked her if she’d gotten my +note. She hadn’t. She knew nothing about it. Then I asked her if she +had made out a check for ten thousand dollars to Thomas, and she knew +nothing about that! Naturally she was upset and angry. And an hour +later I’m called at the American Ministry and told she’s been murdered. +There are the facts!” + +The actor had been striving vainly to interrupt him. Now he burst +forth: “It’s a lie--I didn’t forge any check. I don’t know anything +about it.” + +“Then where’s the letter I left?” demanded Rice. “I left it right on +this table. You found it and tore it up, didn’t you? Tore up all the +evidence! Then, when Mrs. Breese accused you of it, you lost your head +and killed her. You didn’t think you’d be found out, did you?” + +“But I don’t know anything about a check! I never wrote a check!” The +actor turned to me pleadingly. Rice snorted impatiently. “There’s a +mistake,” the actor wailed weakly. “I never wrote that check. Why +should I?” + +“To get money so you could run off to Europe!” + +“But I didn’t need that money!” + +“So you admit,” Rice was triumphantly inquisitorial, “that you were +running off to Europe with this girl in New York!” + +“And what if I was?” demanded the actor. “There’s nothing wrong in +that. I was sick to death of this place. I didn’t want to marry Mrs. +Breese!” + +“Just a minute,” Smith intervened. “You say, Mr. Thomas, that you were +making plans to go to Europe. Where did you expect to get the money for +your trip?” + +The actor paused, looked at Smith and then, truculently: “Mrs. Breese +was giving it to me.” + +“That’s news to me,” snapped Rice. “And I’m her business adviser. I’d +know if she was going to give you money.” + +“Just why,” Smith demanded, “should Mrs. Breese give you that money? I +think I ought to warn you, Mr. Thomas, that frankness may save you a +lot of trouble at this time.” + +Thomas glared sullenly at Rice. + +“I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said. “I was getting tired of hanging +around here where everybody looked on me as a poor relation. I told +Mrs. Breese I wanted to get out. I said I needed some money, and she +said she’d give it to me.” + +“A very generous woman,” said Smith. + +“Well, I stuck to her during the trial!” Thomas defended himself. +“I had letters she wrote me that would have looked very bad. I +played square with her and she appreciated it. She offered to settle +twenty-five thousand dollars on me when I left here.” + +“When did she decide to do that?” demanded Smith. + +“Tonight--after dinner. She was very nice about it, too. I told her +about Miss Saunders, and she wished me luck! I guess I’ve got nothing +to hide. You can’t do anything to me. I’ve played square.” His voice +rose righteously. + +Rice laughed. “That’s a swell defence,” he said. “You didn’t forget +the check. You were blackmailing her. Well, as a matter of fact, Mr. +Wilkins at the National City Bank can testify to the check. He spotted +it.” He turned on Smith. “I’ve had enough of this nasty business. I +can’t stand here looking at him much longer. I’ll be upstairs with the +children if you should want me.” + +Rice left us, and we could hear his heavy footsteps stamping up the +stairs. + +After a pause, Smith said quietly: “Well, Mr. Thomas, what have you got +to say for yourself?” + +“Nothing!” rasped the actor. “Nothing!” + +“Do you deny that you forged that check?” demanded Smith. + +“I don’t know anything about a check,” Thomas shouted. “I’ve told you, +haven’t I?” + +“Do you expect me to believe, Mr. Thomas, that Mrs. Breese voluntarily +and cheerfully offered to pay you money so you could marry this Miss +Saunders?” + +“I don’t care what you believe.” + +“Very well,” said Smith quietly. “It’s my duty to tell you, Mr. +Thomas, that in all my experience I have never seen a clearer case of +circumstantial evidence. You killed Mrs. Breese.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THIRD DEGREE + + +“But I didn’t kill anyone!” shouted the actor. “Good God, man, what do +you want from me? I’ve had enough!” His voice screeched protest. + +“Sit down,” Smith ordered. + +Reluctantly the actor obeyed, as if in a daze. + +“I’ll tell you the facts as we have them now. If you can offer anything +to offset them, I’ll be very glad to hear what you have to say. But +this is the way the thing would appear in court: + +“You are a member of Mrs. Breese’s household. Your status is peculiar. +The talk is that you’re her fiancé. But you have a sweetheart in New +York who expects to go to Europe with you. You have no money. Mr. Rice +and the National City Bank testify that they have seen a forged check +made out by you. Mr. Rice testifies that he telephoned Mrs. Breese +tonight informing her of the check. Mrs. Breese taxes you with it.” + +“But she didn’t,” protested the actor. “I went upstairs while she was +still telephoning.” + +“Why?” + +“To write a letter to Miss Saunders. Mrs. Breese had agreed to give +me the money and I was sending a letter to Miss Saunders to tell her +everything was all set. Then, when I was about to come down again, the +butler ran up to tell me she had been killed!” + +“You still deny you forged this check Mr. Rice mentioned?” + +“Absolutely!” + +“All right,” said Smith. “Let’s waive that. In any case, fifteen +minutes after Rice phoned here, Mrs. Breese is found dead. You’re +upstairs. The butler tells you that Mrs. Breese has been killed. You +don’t send for a doctor. Why? Because you knew already that Mrs. Breese +was dead. You send him for a policeman.” + +“I didn’t think.” + +“Perhaps not. In any case, Mr. Thomas, you had the opportunity to kill +Mrs. Breese, and if I am to believe Rice, you had the motive. I’m being +very frank with you.” + +“But I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” + +Smith shrugged his shoulders. + +“Have you ever fired a revolver, Mr. Thomas?” he demanded. + +“Have I ever--yes, in the army.” + +“Are you a pretty good shot?” + +“Not especially so, no. But I’ve never fired a revolver since. I never +even had one in my hand.” + +I stared at Thomas, for at that moment I recalled one of the hectic +events of the yacht trip down. + +“Don’t you remember,” I said, “that on the yacht you went into Henry +Breese’s cabin late at night and took a revolver from his luggage?” + +“Oh!” the actor looked daggers at me. I, too, apparently had turned +against him. “That was after he tried to throw himself in the ocean, +and I knew he had a revolver, and I wasn’t taking any chances. So I +took it away from him.” + +“What happened to that revolver?” Smith demanded. + +“I threw it away that night.” + +“Sorry to contradict you,” I said firmly. “You threw the cartridges +away. I distinctly remember seeing you put that revolver in your +pocket.” + +“I threw it away later!” + +Smith surveyed the actor through half-lidded eyes. + +“Any particular reason for the delay?” he inquired. + +The actor shrugged his shoulders. “No. I just didn’t know what to do +about it. It was dashed unpleasant for me. Everybody on the boat saying +that boy wanted to kill himself on account of me. I knew it was a fake. +But I wasn’t sure. It was dashed unpleasant!” He whipped out a lavender +silk handkerchief and delicately patted his brow. “I’ve had nothing but +bad luck since we left New York. I wish to God I’d never gone on this +trip.” + +“Ye-es,” drawled Smith. “You’ve had a lot of bad breaks.” He looked up +at the ceiling. “By the way, you don’t happen to know if Mrs. Breese +left a will?” + +“How should I know?” The actor carefully avoided my glance. “I wasn’t +in Mrs. Breese’s confidence to that extent. I was just a friend.” + +“But you were engaged to her, weren’t you?” Smith asked. + +“Well, in a way. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” + +“Are you in the habit of permitting women to engage themselves to you?” +demanded Smith. + +“Oh----” The actor squirmed. “You don’t understand. Dora was full of +whims. She didn’t mean anything by it. She wasn’t seriously engaged.” + +“I see,” said Smith. “It was just a joke.” + +“Well, dash it all,” cried the actor, “what could I do? I couldn’t very +well tell her I was engaged already. I was her guest. I didn’t want to +offend her.” + +Smith smiled drily. “Yeah, that’d be bad manners. Now, Mr. Thomas, I’m +not up on social etiquette, but here’s something that needs explaining. +On the boat coming down Mrs. Breese announced her engagement to you; +when did she break it?” + +“Why--she never broke it exactly. After all that fuss on the boat, why, +Dora said we’d have to wait. I was glad of it! Then today I told her +about my girl. She wished me luck. And everything was fine!” + +“I’m trying my best to understand,” said Smith. “You and Mrs. Breese +were engaged, but when you told her you had a previous engagement, she +just said: ‘Great!’ Is that it?” + +“Well, Dora wouldn’t stand in the way of my happiness.” + +“So much so,” continued Smith, “that she was going to give you a very +substantial wedding present. A lot of money.” He paused significantly. +“What for?” + +“What for?” the actor repeated. “She knew I didn’t have any money, and +I stuck to her, didn’t I? I went through hell for her in the trial, +didn’t I? Dash it all, she had some gratitude left. You don’t seem to +understand. Dora and I have been friends for years. I’ve spent a lot +of my time in Dora’s interests--taking her out, looking after things, +seeing that she was comfortable. Dash it all, a woman appreciates that.” + +“And she wasn’t sore about this other girl?” demanded Smith. “Not the +least bit jealous?” + +The actor smiled. “Oh, well, you can’t help that.” He swaggered a bit. +“You couldn’t very well expect anything else, could you?” + +“Well, in my own roughneck way,” said Smith, “I’d expect her to blow up +and throw you out of the house.” + +“She couldn’t do that!” said the actor. “She wrote me a lot of letters +she wouldn’t want in the wrong hands. Not that I’d do anything like +that! That’s blackmail. That’s despicable! Dora was too nice--had too +much pride--to make a fuss about things.... You mustn’t believe that +man Rice,” he pleaded. “Dora and I never quarrelled for a minute. We +were real friends. This is a terrible blow to me!” + +“Yes,” said Smith, “I see that.” + +The actor glared at him. “Is that meant for sarcasm?” + +Smith nodded obligingly. + +“Then it’s in very poor taste.” + +“That may be,” said Smith, “but of all the thin alibis I’ve ever heard, +yours takes the prize.” + +“Alibis?” shouted the actor. “I didn’t kill her! I don’t need an alibi.” + +“I’m not saying you killed her,” said Smith. + +“Well, you’re intimating!” the actor bit his lips in his anger. “What +are you asking all those questions for? I’ve told you all I know. I +guess I’ve got some rights. And I’ve got some friends, too.” He was +incoherent in his sudden fury. “You’d better be careful how you treat +me.” + +He moved to the door. + +“I’m going!” he shouted. + +“I’m not stopping you,” said Smith. “But you’d better not go too far.” +He smiled grimly. “I mean that both ways. I don’t want you to leave the +house, Mr. Thomas. I’m not through with you yet--not by a long shot!” + +“I’m leaving for New York right now!” the actor shrieked defiantly. + +“Come here!” growled Smith. + +The actor glared at him hesitantly. Smith advanced on him. “I don’t +like your attitude,” said Smith. “I wasn’t ready to arrest you--yet. +But you’re forcing my hand. Also you’re being very dumb about it.” + +“Am I?” the actor cried. “I’ll have no more of your insults! I won’t +stand it, I tell you!” + +Smith laughed suddenly. I turned in surprise at him. + +“That’s all I wanted to know,” he said, still chuckling. “I wanted to +see if you could get good and mad, Mr. Thomas. You can!” + +The actor was breathing heavily. “Let me go!” he cried. “What are you +doing to me? I don’t know anything about it. I’m going back to New +York.” + +Smith suddenly reached for the actor’s arm and held it securely. Thomas +cried out in pain. + +“You’re not going to New York,” said Smith. “You’re going to stay right +here with me. If you didn’t kill Mrs. Breese, you know who did.” + +“I don’t!” the actor protested. “Let me go, won’t you? Let me go!” + +I was so intent in watching this third-degree that for a moment +I did not hear the sounds of scuffling and angry voices in the +reception-room. Before we were quite aware of it, a young man was +being dragged before us by the butler, now very red-faced, and the +Japanese steward. Both captors were out of breath and talking at once. +Only their prisoner seemed calm and perfectly self-possessed. + +“Caught him--hiding--in the blue room--just now,” the butler panted. + +Then as they propelled their captive toward us, where the full light of +the chandelier enveloped him, I could not but gasp. For the young man +so unceremoniously brought before us was Perutkin’s melancholy protégé, +the Count Giering-Trelovitch. + +Thomas seemed to recognize him, too, for the actor’s expression changed +as if magically. His fear left him and I saw him grin in relief. + +“There’s the man you want!” he cried. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE COUNT CONFESSES + + +The Count bowed and said quietly: “Yes, gentlemen, I guess I am the man +you want.” + +He turned to Smith. + +“You are of the police?” + +“Yes,” said Smith. + +“What is it you wish to know?” asked the Count gently. + +“What does he wish to know?” the actor intervened scornfully. “I’ll +tell you. This man was Mrs. Breese’s son-in-law. He murdered a man in +Riga. He’s hated Mrs. Breese ever since she made the Countess divorce +him. He’s been following her all over the world. She’s complained to me +about him a dozen times.” He paused for breath. “And then you have the +audacity to annoy _me_! Dash it all, I’ve got a good mind to sue you +for damages!” He looked accusingly at the Count. “Come ahead, tell them +you did it and be done with it. I’m going back to New York tonight! I +can’t waste any more time in this dashed hole.” + +The Count smiled sadly. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mr. +Thomas,” he said. “I had no idea I was a source of annoyance to you. +Now, if you will leave me alone with this officer, I think we can +straighten matters out very quickly.” + +“I’m going!” cried Thomas. “I’m going. And this time nobody’s going to +stop me!” + +“You stay upstairs,” said Smith, “until I tell you to go!” + +He turned to the Russian, barking: “Well, where do you come in?” + +“I’m afraid,” the Russian smiled, “I came in at the wrong time. I have +something to tell you, officer.” + +“Yes? What is it?” + +“First, I want you to send for Miss Breese, my former wife.” + +“First tell me how you got here,” countered Smith. + +“I’m afraid I can’t agree,” the Count shook his head. “Will you be good +enough to send for Miss Breese?” + +“Maybe. First, I want to ask you something.” + +“Yes?” The man seemed perfectly at ease, strangely enough. + +“What were you hiding upstairs for?” + +“I’m not ready to tell you that--yet.” + +Smith surveyed him coldly. “You know that Mrs. Breese was murdered +tonight?” He pointed to the body. + +“Yes, I know.” + +“Who told you?” + +“No one. I have eyes.” The Count indicated the body pityingly. + +“Do you know who killed Mrs. Breese?” + +“Yes,” said the Russian. “I do.” + +His voice trembled slightly. + +“What’s that?” cried Smith, startled. + +“I said: ‘Yes, I do know.’” + +“Who was it?” snapped Smith. + +“I shall be glad to tell you,” replied the Russian calmly, “after I’ve +seen the Countess. But certainly not before. Will you be good enough to +send for her? I ask you again.” + +Smith studied this strange phenomenon before he replied. He looked at +me out of the corner of his eye to indicate his bewilderment. + +“Please understand,” the Count continued, “whatever I have to say I +shall say to Miss Breese. To no one else.” + +“All right,” said Smith, gesturing to the butler. “Get Miss Breese down +here.” The butler hurried off. The Count looked about him. He stared at +the body. + +“I don’t want Miss Breese to come into this room. It would not be +advisable,” he said. “And in any case, I wish to talk to her alone. I +want you two gentlemen to wait here, at this door. You will hold it +slightly open, so that you may listen to what I have to say. I don’t +want Miss Breese to know we’re being watched. I want her to feel that +we are quite alone, especially as it may be the last time.” He paused, +and smiled bitterly. Then he waved a white hand apologetically. “You +perhaps do not understand me. _C’est bien._ The only thing to remember +for you gentlemen is: you will stay, please, right here.” + +“You’re much too insistent about that,” said Smith suspiciously. “Wait +a minute! You were caught hiding in this house. How do I know you +aren’t trying to get away--shoving us behind this door?” + +“How can I get away?” demanded the Count quietly. “You will be right +here. You can have a revolver pointed at me, if you wish.” His +gentleness left him and he was sharp and incisive. He was now giving +commands. “Understand--you will either follow my suggestion or I shall +say nothing.” + +Before Smith could reply, we heard footsteps, and the Count opened the +door. He strode out into the reception-room, carefully closing the door +behind him so that we were left barely a crack through which to peep. +Smith just as carefully widened the crack, and we caught a glimpse of +Mary Breese descending the stairs. She was deathly pale, and her eyes +were lost in mourning shadows. + +There was not enough room for the two of us, so Smith monopolized the +sight. I strained to listen to the scene I could not see. But I noticed +that Smith was following the Russian’s suggestions to the letter. His +right hand was at his revolver holster. + +I heard the Count cry: “Mary!” + +A pause. + +Then I heard her move toward him, crying incoherently: “Isn’t it awful! +I need you so!” + +I heard him trying to comfort her gently. She was sobbing +unrestrainedly now. + +“Please, Mary ... please ... you mustn’t.” The Count’s voice broke now. + +I heard her say: “It would never have happened if I hadn’t let you +go--I needed you so! But what could I do?” + +“No,” he said slowly, “it would never have happened.” + +“You mustn’t leave me now!” she cried. “You mustn’t ever leave me!” + +Silence. Then, as if the words were wrung from him: “Why didn’t +you--why didn’t you try to see me as I begged you? You got my letters, +didn’t you?” + +“No, I didn’t get any letters. What letters? I didn’t even know you +were in town! I don’t know that you’re here now! I--oh, I don’t know +anything any more!” + +“Please--don’t cry. Didn’t I tell you I phoned. I wrote. I tried every +way to see you.” + +“No!” Then as if in agonized appeal: “Don’t leave me--please don’t +leave me!” + +It was not difficult to patch together from their incoherent appeals +to each other the story of the strange relationship. Someone in the +household--Mrs. Breese, undoubtedly--had been determined that the +Russian be kept from his former wife. I remembered how he had told me, +the night Perutkin had brought me to him, that he had exhausted every +possible means of communicating with Mary Breese. It was clear to me +now that Mary Breese had not willingly parted from her husband. + +But my reflections were disturbed suddenly. I had paid but desultory +attention to their mutual efforts to comfort each other. Then I heard +the Russian say: + +“Mary, I don’t know how to tell you this--you’ve had enough to +bear--but I must tell you. I must! Listen to me!” + +Silence. + +Smith leaned forward. + +“I came here tonight to see you. I knew that if I could talk to you, +hold you--but I mustn’t talk about that. I got in through the garden +window, in the back. I dodged all the servants until I got in here. +Mary, your mother saw me!” + +Silence again. Then the girl’s dazed voice: “Mother--saw you?” + +“Yes--she--Mary, I must have been crazy. Mary, I don’t know what +happened. I must have been crazy! Mary, I--I killed her!” + +I heard the girl’s piercing scream! + +Then, as Smith leaped forward, the door slammed in our faces. A key +turned. The lock clicked. Smith hammered on the door, hurling himself +at it. + +We heard voices, running feet. + +The next moment a stupefied servant opened the door. Smith and I ran +out. We saw the girl crumpled in a heap on the stairs. She had fainted. +Hurriedly, Smith gave orders to carry her upstairs. + +We ran out upon the terrace. We heard nothing but the soft rustling of +leaves. We hurried down into the street. + +But the Count had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ALIBI + + +It was the next morning that Boris Sergeivitch Perutkin actively +intervened in the Murder in the Gilded Cage, as I called it. Smith sent +for him. I still remember how the giant stamped into Smith’s cubby-hole +of an office, his big face radiating geniality, his little eyes +twinkling with malicious humor. + +“At last!” he greeted Smith. “At last, you have the common sense to +summon me!” + +“I didn’t call you in as a detective,” said Smith, “I’ve sent for you +as a friend of this Count.” + +“So!” the Russian grinned. “I am disappointed.” + +“Where is he?” barked Smith. + +“My good friend,” replied the detective, “I haven’t any idea where he +is.” + +He seated himself in the hard wicker chair Smith kept for guests, lit a +cigar, and puffed lazily. + +“I saw him for perhaps five minutes after he left you last night, and +since then he has been swallowed by the world.” + +Smith went to the window and opened it. A refreshing morning breeze +floated in, bearing upon its wings the cries of the Chinese street +vendors below. + +“Listen, Perutkin,” said Smith. “I’m in no mood for jokes. I’m going to +get at the bottom of this and damn soon, too. I want to know what’s +the idea. I had a perfect case against this actor before your friend +breezed in. He comes through with a confession and he beats it. Why?” + +“Well,” said the Russian, “my friend is not a practical joker. He +wouldn’t perpetrate anything in such bad taste. He must have his +reasons.” + +“It was a cheap trick!” Smith fumed. “Telling us to watch behind the +door. ‘If you don’t trust me, have a revolver in your hand.’ And then +taking the key with him, and locking us in!” + +Smith walked about angrily. + +The Russian laughed. “He followed my orders to the letter.” + +Smith stopped and stared at him. “You mean to say you told him to do +that?” + +“Certainly, my friend,” said Perutkin. “I am his advisor. He asked me +what to do. I told him.” + +“Oh! He asked you what to do!” mocked Smith. “Then you’ll kindly come +across right now and tell me what it’s all about.” + +“Unfortunately,” said the Russian, “I don’t know myself. The Count went +to the house without my knowledge. He telephoned me from the house, +and if you want me to repeat the conversation, I shall be glad to. He +said: ‘Boris Sergeivitch, I want to confess a murder.’ Just like that. +And I said: ‘My friend, are you mad?’ And he said: ‘I want to confess +a murder. The police are downstairs. But I don’t wish to pay the +penalty.’ Well, I am his friend. I cannot ask him on the telephone: +‘What? Where?’ I gave him my advice. He acted accordingly. And that,” +the Russian concluded, “is all I know.” + +“You haven’t seen him since?” Smith asked. + +Perutkin shook his head. + +“Well, you know where you can get him, don’t you?” + +“I might,” conceded the Russian. His little eyes gleamed suddenly. “I +have a bargain to make with you. I have the best possible reasons in +the world for being interested in this case. It fits in so completely +with a case that absorbed me not so long ago, that is still not solved. +Besides, I am aching for work, as I have told you. I shall find my +friend, the Count, for you, and you can do with him what you wish. But +on one condition.” + +“What’s that?” + +“That you give me a free hand in the investigation.” As Smith began to +protest, he added: “Understand, I want no credit. I want no official +status. I seek no kudos. I have a definite purpose in mind. If you +help me, I shall help you.” Then, pleading, “Believe me, you shall +not regret your decision. Then it is agreed!” Before Smith could even +answer! + +“Wait a minute,” Smith interrupted. “Just exactly what do you want?” + +“Access to Mrs. Breese’s house, and all the facts as they are +disclosed. Nothing more.” + +Smith nodded. “That’s all right,” he said. “I don’t see any harm in +that. But you must produce the Count within one week or I shall have +you arrested as accessory to the crime.” + +“Done!” exclaimed the Russian. “Now, Mr. Smith, you may rest easy. I +shall untangle this little problem for you. First, the facts!” + +“Facts!” growled Smith. “I wish I knew what they were!” + +He outlined what he had gathered thus far, beginning with our interview +with the elder Breese where we had first learned of the murder. Boris +Sergeivitch Perutkin listened intently, grunting at each significant +piece of evidence, gesturing impatiently at routine detail. + +“The big things I want to know,” he would interrupt. “Never mind the +measurements of the floor. I am not a scientific detective. I live in +reality. Proceed, please.” + +“Here’s the thing in a nutshell,” concluded Smith. “Until your friend +butted in, I had a reasonably clear case against the actor. He’s a bad +egg. He had a girl back in New York. He needed money. There’s that +forged check. There’s Rice’s testimony. It all fits in. And yet along +comes your friend with a confession and--there we are! Now what do you +make of it?” + +“At present, nothing,” said the Russian. “First, I must see the house. +Will you accompany me?” + +“Oh, I’ve been all over the place,” said Smith. “There’s nothing there.” + +“Perhaps not,” replied the Russian. “But I must insist upon seeing that +room. It is all-important.” + +Smith turned to me. “All right, why don’t you go with him? I’ve got a +report to fill out now. I’ll telephone ahead for them to let you in. I +may meet you there later.” + +“Good,” exclaimed the Russian, smiling at me. “I like an audience when +I work. So will you come, please?” + +Smith stopped us at the door. + +“By the way,” he said to the Russian, “I’ve got the medical examiner’s +report here, if you care to see it. I’ve just had it translated into +English!” + +He handed a sheaf of papers to the Russian, who scanned them hastily +and thrust them into his pocket. + +“I shall examine them later. Probably they contain nothing more than +you’ve already told me.” + +“Not much more,” said Smith, turning back to his work. “And if you see +anything in the house I’ve overlooked, I’ll eat it. If you take my +advice, never mind the house, and get hold of your friend, the Count. +That’s more important.” + +“We shall see,” said the Russian. And to me: “Come, my friend.” + +Down in the street we were fortunate enough to find a brand-new taxi +and with incredible speed we raced through the choked streets of the +business quarter, narrowly dodging other cars and at least four trams. +We stopped at a kiosk for the morning papers. The Gilded Cage was the +story of the day. Although there were but scanty available facts, these +were embellished with considerable gossip, and smeared over the front +pages of both Cuban and English papers. + +Apparently the murder had aroused considerable interest at home, too, +for cables from New York recounted the shock of Mrs. Breese’s friends +at the news. Considerable space was given to a rehash of the divorce +trial. + +When we drew up before the Gilded Cage, we found an assorted crowd +of curiosity seekers lined up in front of us. Several of the native +newspaper men were sipping bacardi and coca-cola in the corner café +across the street. A lone and perspiring photographer was taking +pictures from all angles of the house of mystery. A murder sensation +was well under way. + +Smith had notified the native police on guard of our coming, so we were +admitted without much delay. I led the Russian at his request into the +drawing-room and roughly mapped out for him the position of the body as +I had last seen it. We were alone. + +One of the policemen told us that the family was upstairs, and we +left orders that we were not to be disturbed in our examination. As I +read off my copious notes of the day before, the Russian seemed only +casually interested. When I was done, he said: “It is a fallacy to take +so many notes. One does not see the forest for the trees, as you say in +your country. But thank you!” + +Then he brushed me aside and began examining the furniture: + +“Fine pieces!” he commented. “I have a love for expensive old +furniture. But what is this doing here?” He pointed to the black and +silver radio. “It is out of harmony. I do not like it.” + +I could not very well point out to him that we were not there to +criticize the color scheme of the drawing-room. He walked about, +smoking his big cigar, examining the pictures and then pausing at the +bust of Mrs. Breese. + +“What a woman!” he exclaimed, patting the stone head. “Unhappy woman! +Always restless, always scheming, never satisfied.” He shook his head +mournfully and then: “She had very poor taste! Very poor! In furniture, +in people.” Then he wheeled at me suddenly. “Behold! You think I am +wasting time? I am! I am getting my thoughts together. I see something. +What is more important, I feel something. I shall talk to you--I shall +think aloud, as we say. Behold the problem that confronts me. A woman +is murdered. + +“There were fifteen servants and three members of the household, +the actor and two children. We take the actor first. The evidence +is overwhelming against him. He is a bad character. He has another +woman. He needs money. He has forged a check. He has been found out. +It is perfect! Too perfect! No man would commit murder under such +circumstances, at least if he were sane, and Mr. Thomas is stupid but +sane. + +“Mr. Rice is the one who accuses Mr. Thomas. Now, where was Mr. Rice +last evening? That is important to know.” + +“Why, you don’t for a moment think,” I said, “that Rice did it? He was +Mrs. Breese’s friend. Her adviser.” + +“When a man accuses another of a murder, his hands must be clean. +Spotless. Where was Mr. Rice last night? That is what I ask.” + +“As a matter of fact, I just remember now that Smith checked up on Rice +this morning,” I said. “It was so much a matter of routine that I paid +no particular attention to it. Rice dined at the American Ministry +last night. As I remember it, he got there at nine and never left the +presence of the Minister except for five minutes once to telephone. It +would take anyone an hour to go from this house to the Ministry. So +that leaves Rice out definitely.” + +“Yes,” agreed the Russian, “that leaves Mr. Rice out. And yet Mr. Rice +is very anxious to accuse Mr. Thomas. Why?” + +“Because he doesn’t like him,” I suggested. “Because he sincerely +believes Thomas did it.” + +“Not good enough,” said the Russian. “But let us proceed. For I have +a point to make. The methodical Mr. Smith collects an excellent case +against Mr. Thomas. Until my friend, the Count, suddenly appears and +confesses. + +“Let us consider my friend, the Count. What was he doing in the house? +That is no secret. To you, I can talk. You have sentiment in your soul. +Your Mr. Smith has none. He has been trying to see his former wife, +Mary Breese. He loves her. They have been separated by the calamitous +event in Riga, plus Mrs. Breese’s interference. You can build up an +excellent case against my friend, the Count. In the first place, he has +already been suspected of one murder. Then, he has no love for Mrs. +Breese. He has been cast out. Presumably, he took his revenge. And yet +I know the man. That is not him! + +“But he confesses and escapes. Why? He didn’t tell me, and yet I know. +While he was in this house, waiting to see Mary Breese, he stumbled +upon something which led him to make his confession. Remember--he loves +this girl deeply. He knows that she is suffering--a terrible shock. +Suppose that he learns something that will hurt her even more terribly?” + +“I don’t follow,” I protested. + +“Let me make myself plain. Mary Breese is horrified at the murder of +her mother. Naturally. It is sufficient tragedy for anyone. But if +someone very close and dear to Mary Breese were the murderer the shock +would be double, would it not? It would be an enormous tragedy. She +might not survive it. In any case, the Count would try to shield her +from the knowledge. He is chivalrous enough, foolish enough, if you +will. Now--” the Russian fixed his little eyes on me--“whom is he +trying to shield? Someone very dear to Mary Breese. Her brother?” + +“It hardly seems possible,” I said. + +“Granted that--for the moment. There is her father.” + +“Old Man Breese? Not much!” I scoffed. + +“But why not?” he demanded. + +“For one thing,” I said “because he was in the hotel with us when we +got the news.” + +The Russian smiled and shook his head admiringly. “It would be +diabolically clever--so ingenuous. Don’t you see?” I caught a curious +excitement in his voice. “Behold the psychological alibi! Don’t you see +it?” + +“I’m afraid I don’t,” I shook my head. + +“Ach!” the Russian snorted impatiently. “Behold! Let us say that Mr. +Breese wanted to kill his wife. Now, the unfortunate lady was killed at +about nine-fifteen. What time was your engagement with Mr. Breese?” + +“At ten!” + +“Excellent! He calls Smith up in the morning and makes an engagement +with him for ten o’clock that night. Do you see? He comes here at +nine-fifteen, kills his wife, takes a taxi and gets back to the hotel +at least ten minutes before you arrive. He tells you that he fears +something is going to happen to Mrs. Breese. He plants very obviously +suspicion against the actor. While you are there, he receives a phone +call informing him of his wife’s murder. Psychologically, he impresses +you with his alibi. You do not reason that he may have gone out and +just returned. Because you are there with him when he receives the +news, you believe he is just as innocent and ignorant of the crime as +you are. But it is diabolically clever!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE SUSPECT REFUSES TO TALK + + +The psychological alibi! As the Russian’s theory dawned on me I was +shocked to find that every detail clicked into place. Breese _had_ +summoned us to his hotel exactly three-quarters of an hour after the +murder had been committed. His entire demeanor during the interview now +seemed highly suspicious to me. + +I rose from my chair determinedly and reached for the telephone. + +“I’m going to call up Ben Smith,” I said, “and tell him about this.” + +But the Russian stopped me. + +“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” he said. “You are entirely too +hasty, my friend. I have given you a theory, and you have jumped to a +conclusion.” + +I resented the Russian’s assumption of superiority. I resented his +amusement at my haste. Possibly it was because of this that I sought +to destroy his reasoned conclusions. I remember I said: “Perhaps I am +hasty. After all there’s no motive.” + +The Russian smiled. + +“But what motive would he have?” I protested. + +“Motive? His wife has dragged his name into scandal. Despite her +foolishness she emerged triumphant from the divorce trial. He was +hopelessly beaten. His own children turned against him. He comes down +here, swallowing his pride and begging for a reconciliation. His wife +will not see him. His children will not see him. He admits as much, +doesn’t he? He learns his wife wants to marry this actor. Mr. Breese is +an old man. His pride is gone. His home is gone. His children are gone. + +“Consider his character. He is not used to defeat. He is a man who +has had his own way. He is a hard man, obstinate. And who is to blame +for his position? Put yourself in his place. Can’t you see a steadily +growing malignant hatred of his wife? I assure you, men have committed +murder for much less! + +“And see how it all fits in,” the Russian continued. “Why does Rice +accuse the actor? Because Mr. Breese has talked to him. He has given +Rice the telegrams from the detective agency. He has poisoned Rice’s +mind with suspicion, just as he planned to poison Smith’s mind when +he summoned him for an engagement three-quarters of an hour after the +murder. + +“And see how the confession of my friend, the Count, fits into this! +Suppose he had seen Mr. Breese murder his wife. Wouldn’t it be like my +friend to try and save Mary Breese from the double tragedy? Her mother +dead, her father a murderer? Now put yourself in the Count’s place. +Knowing what he knows, what is he to do? Loving Mary Breese as he +loves her, what is he to do? + +“It would be a problem for any man. My friend, the Count, hides in +one of the rooms upstairs. He telephones me, and asks for advice. I +tell him. He lets himself be discovered. He is dragged before Smith. +He knows the real murderer. At first his impulse was to take the +blame upon himself together with the consequences. But my friend is +no story-book hero. He has no desire to spend the rest of his life +in a Cuban prison. So, following my suggestion, he arranges for you +to overhear his confession, and then he disappears. Mr. Breese is +protected. Mary Breese is saved from a horrible truth. Now, my friend, +is it not probable? Is it not reasonable?” + +“Well,” I hesitated, “it sounds reasonable enough. But there’s one +thing you forget.” + +“And that is?” + +“No one knows Mr. Breese was here. No one saw him here. The servants +testify there were no visitors. How did Mr. Breese get in?” + +“That,” said the Russian, “is not as difficult as it sounds. How did my +friend, the Count, get in? But I’ll concede you have touched, without +knowing it, a very vital problem here, something I hope to solve before +the day is over. At least, if Mr. Breese does what I think he will.” + +He strode over to the garden window, and drew the curtains aside, so +that a bright sun streamed through the room. He looked out upon the +brilliant foliage of the garden. + +“To think,” he mused, “that a house built for beauty and grandeur +should house meanness and murder! But that is the way of human beings. +It was like this several years ago--when the Baron was murdered. +Outwardly all peace and contentment and inwardly a ghastly tragedy.” He +turned from the window. “Do you remember, I said, when I heard that Mr. +Breese had arrived in this city: ‘The circle is complete’? My friend, +I am firmly convinced that the man who killed the Baron is responsible +for the death of Mrs. Breese!” + +“But where? How? I fail to see the connection!” + +“It is there, nevertheless. I don’t know. I feel it. The same people +were there in Riga--Mr. Breese, Mr. Rice, Mr. Thomas, my friend the +Count, the Countess, the boy--they were all there. Isn’t it curious to +you? Isn’t it significant?” + +He paused abruptly. + +“I was right!” He pointed to the street, and I moved to the window to +see. “Mr. Breese is about to pay us a visit. Here, quick, get hold of +the policemen in the reception-room and tell them on no account to open +the door!” + +“But why?” + +“Don’t question. Do as I say.” + +Wonderingly, I obeyed. Before I could return to the drawing-room, a +bell pealed. The policeman made no move. Again the bell, and again. +The Russian strode out into the hall. I followed. + +Five minutes passed, the bell resounded now through the house. Still we +made no move. + +Finally I heard the click of a key in the lock. The door opened. Mr. +Breese looked up at us. + +“That,” said the Russian, his little eyes gleaming, “is how Mr. Breese +came in.” + +“Who is this man?” Breese demanded of me. + +Before I could reply, the Russian continued: “Absurdly simple, isn’t +it? I forgot, Mr. Breese, that you built this house. Naturally you +would have a key!” + +“What in the world are you talking about?” Breese snapped. “Who is this +man?” + +I explained the Russian away as an associate of Smith’s. + +“Surely, you must remember me,” said the Russian. “Don’t you remember +in Riga--I was then with the Russian police. We had an interesting talk +then. We’ll have another interesting talk now. Won’t you step in here, +Mr. Breese?” + +“I don’t know you and I don’t remember you,” Breese barked. “I’ve +come here to see my children. I haven’t come to see you. If you’re a +detective, let me see your credentials.” + +“I haven’t any,” the Russian replied, “but Mr. Smith will vouch for me.” + +“I don’t care who vouches for you. You might have some consideration +for a man in my position. Please get out of my way. I’m going upstairs.” + +“Very well, sir,” the Russian bowed. Without a word, Breese laboriously +began climbing the wide stone steps. + +When he was out of sight, the Russian grinned good-naturedly: “The +suspect refuses to talk!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MR. BREESE IS ANXIOUS + + +When Ben Smith arrived an hour later he found us smoking placidly in +the drawing-room. The Russian was at ease in one of the huge chairs, +his big head bowed to his barrel chest, his sharp little eyes now +half closed. The afternoon sun was blazing hot, and even the heavy +brocaded curtains could not smother its discomfort. There had been a +half-somnolent silence between us for some time now. + +“Working hard?” Smith greeted us grinning, very cool and dapper in his +immaculate linen suit. Smith was obviously amused at the slothful ease +of the Russian at the scene of the crime. + +“Eh?” The Russian lifted his head and blinked. I could see now that +if it were not for Smith’s interruption he would have fallen asleep. +He smiled confidingly. “I was just preparing myself for a little +siesta.” He shook his head vigorously as if to wake himself. “It is so +confoundedly hot in this country,” he sighed. “And, besides, I think my +work is done.” + +“What’s that?” inquired Smith sharply. I looked up, too, for the +Russian had given me no evidence that he had stumbled upon any vital +factor in the tangled case. + +“Certainly,” said the Russian. “My work is done. I have just been +expounding to our friend here my theory of the case. I shall tell it to +you. It concerns Mr. Breese.” + +I sat back once more while the Russian repeated his speculations on +the status and activities of the elder Breese, but Smith was evidently +unimpressed and sought to interrupt the tale several times. He felt and +said that the Russian jumped at conclusions entirely too glibly. + +“I don’t know how you do things in Russia, but we work differently +where I come from,” Smith pointed out. “Your main case against old +man Breese rests on the fact that he _might_ have come here, that he +_might_ have hated his wife sufficiently to kill her, that he _might_ +have planned an alibi by calling me to his hotel after the murder. You +can’t prove any of these three points. + +“On the other hand, I’ve got a definite confession from the Count and +a clear circumstantial case against the actor. It’s all very well in +detective stories to reach way out for your suspect, but take it from +me, in my experience the man who looks guilty generally is. I can +answer every point you make against Breese.” + +“Do so!” challenged the Russian. “You concede that Mr. Breese had the +key to this house and might have entered unseen?” + +“Certainly,” said Smith. “But let’s call up the hotel and find out +if he left his rooms last night. That’s more to the point, isn’t it? +Merely possessing the key means nothing.” + +“He could have left his hotel unseen,” said the Russian. “Or he could +bribe any employee likely to see him.” + +“Then there’s no use even checking up on him?” demanded Smith +sarcastically. + +“None at all,” replied the Russian easily. “You do not deny that Mr. +Breese had a motive?” + +“Certainly I deny it,” retorted Smith. “What did he have to gain by the +murder?” + +“His children!” the Russian answered. + +“Ah!” said Smith. “Do you think a man would deliberately kill his wife +to get custody of his children?” + +“But why not?” demanded the Russian. “It is natural.” + +“It’s ridiculous,” said Smith. “I don’t go with you there at all. And +now take your friend, the Count--why do you assume he confessed to save +anybody? He had plenty of motive to kill Mrs. Breese. He certainly had +the opportunity. Why do you assume the confession isn’t genuine?” + +“But he would not kill,” protested the Russian. “I know his character.” + +“And I give you the same answer on old man Breese,” retorted Smith. +“I’ve watched him pretty carefully. He’s not the type either.” + +“So? You know why you say that? Because he is a wealthy man and +respectable.” + +“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Smith. + +“Everything,” replied the Russian. “You Americans have a religious awe +of wealth and respectability. But don’t you know, my friend, that in +a case such as this, where robbery is not a motive, it is precisely +the wealthy and respectable whom we must study for our suspect? If Mr. +Breese were a day laborer, you would readily admit he killed his wife, +with whom he had frequent disagreements, in a moment of passionate +rage. But you will not concede that basically Mr. Breese is as the day +laborer--just as violent, just as primitive. I suppose you will call +this point of view Russian. Believe me, my friend, it is universal. I +speak from experience.” + +The Russian rose to his full height, and with the pedantic air of a +lecturer continued: + +“I cite you one of the most brutal murders in Petrograd. A ballet +dancer is found in the Neva, her body hacked to pieces. The work of +a thug, an apache, you say? No! I found a worthy lawyer, a model +citizen, an affectionate father, a devoted son, and in two days I had +his confession. This dancer had threatened to tell his wife of their +affair, and in his anger he had killed her.” + +“What’s that got to do with old man Breese?” Smith demanded impatiently. + +“Only this,” replied the Russian. “Mr. Breese’s wealth and +respectability do not preclude him from being a murderer.” + +“All right, you win,” Smith grinned wrily. “Only I’m not paid to be a +debater. I’m paid to get the man who killed Mrs. Breese.” + +“And I’ve gotten him for you,” said the Russian. “He’s upstairs. Why +not call him down and confront him? I tried to question him myself but +without success.” + +“I’d just as soon send for Machado, the president of this country,” +Smith growled. “Think I’m crazy? What would I have to say to the old +man? ‘I understand you _might_ have killed your wife.’ Do you want me +to say that?” + +“No,” said the Russian. “I shall tell you what to ask him. Behold! Mrs. +Breese’s will is to be read today and the funeral held shortly. If Mr. +Breese is, as I am convinced, the man you want, he will be very anxious +to clear out as quickly as possible. Isn’t that natural?” + +Smith nodded. + +“Suppose you call him down and say to him: ‘Mr. Breese, it is not +necessary for you to remain for further investigation. The Count has +confessed, and we have just arrested him. The case is over.’” + +“What then?” demanded Smith. + +“If,” continued the Russian, “Mr. Breese confides to you that he will +stay to take charge of the funeral arrangements and look after the +children--that he is in no hurry to leave--we may assume that he is +not overly anxious to get away from the scene of the crime and the +possible danger of arrest. But, on the other hand--let us say, he is +guilty. Then, knowing the Count is innocent, that inquiry may show his +innocence, Mr. Breese will try to get away from here just as quickly as +he can. Therefore, I say to you: Tell him the Count is arrested. He can +leave immediately. And then see his reaction.” + +“Well,” said Smith, grudgingly, “I don’t see much point to it but I’m +always perfectly willing to try anything. Where is he?” + +But it was unnecessary for the Russian to reply. Mr. Breese himself +opened the door and with an apologetic cough addressed the Russian: +“I’m afraid I was rather rude to you a little while ago. I didn’t mean +to be.” + +“That’s quite all right,” murmured the Russian. “I was telling Mr. +Smith just now that you are much distressed by the tragic events and it +is quite understandable that your nerves are not what they should be.” + +Mr. Breese nodded. “I can’t believe it’s true yet,” he murmured +stonily. Then with an obvious effort at casualness: “You mentioned +something about a key as I came in here. I suppose you questioned the +fact that I possess a key and the house really belongs to my wife. +Well, the fact is that I found this key in my trunk with some others +this morning. I remember my agent gave me several at the time I first +opened this house. And I brought it around in case it was needed.” + +Even to Smith this roundabout explanation must have seemed lame, for I +saw him watching the old man with new interest. + +And then Smith said: “By the way, Mr. Breese, there have been some +developments I think you ought to know.” + +Breese turned to him quickly. His granite eyes lit up. I’m not sure, +but it seemed to me that his right hand, resting upon a malacca stick, +trembled slightly. + +“We’ve made an arrest,” Smith continued smoothly. For a moment Mr. +Breese said nothing. Finally he found his voice. “Who is it?” he +demanded. + +“Well, I can’t even pronounce his name,” Smith confessed. “It’s +this Count Giering-Trelovitch--I think that’s the name. Your former +son-in-law.” + +“Impossible!” exclaimed the old man. “He had nothing to do with it.” He +stammered in his sudden excitement. “Look here--you’ve got the wrong +man. Why, I understood you were proceeding against the actor. At least +so Rice told me. Did he tell you about the forged check? And those +telegrams?” + +“I know,” said Smith, “but the Count has made a confession.” + +The old man stared at Smith in amazement. “A confession?” he repeated +blankly. + +“Yes,” said Smith. “Hasn’t your daughter told you? He made the +confession to her yesterday and disappeared. We got him a little while +ago.” + +The old man shook his head. He said nothing. + +“At first,” continued Smith, “we thought the Count was acting out of +pure chivalry. Trying to protect someone else. But we’ve finally swung +around and we’re taking the confession at face value.” As the old man +remained silent, Smith concluded. “So, Mr. Breese, I don’t think we’ll +need you further. Unless the Count recants, we’ve got clear sailing.” + +“Yes, yes,” murmured the old man, as if he did not hear what Smith +was saying. The Russian’s little eyes gleamed as he watched Breese +nervously moving to go. “Yes, I suppose you won’t need me. As a matter +of fact, I was thinking of taking the six o’clock boat to Key West +tonight. I suppose I’d better get back to the hotel and pack. Yes, I’d +better pack. I haven’t much time.” He fumbled with his watch. + +“But surely you’re not going before the funeral?” the Russian inquired +blandly. + +“I’m afraid I’ll have to,” he coughed nervously. “I wasn’t sure of +staying anyway. I’m afraid I’m not up to it.” Then he caught himself +up: “Besides, there won’t be a funeral here. Take the body to New +York for the family vault. Rice will look after that.” He paused, and +licked his lips. “My son-in-law, you say?” He shook his head. “I can’t +understand it. I don’t know what Mary’ll say. She’s all in. Can’t +talk. I’d better go to the hotel.” + +He moved for the door. But Smith stopped him. + +“There’s just one formality you’ll have to go through with,” the +detective informed him. “Your wife’s will is going to be read this +afternoon at Mr. Brennon’s office. I believe he was her attorney here. +And he especially asked me to have all of you there.” + +Breese fumbled with his stick. + +“Her will? Oh, yes. But I’ve got to get back to New York.” + +“It won’t take long,” Smith assured him. “You can still make that boat +tonight.” + +“Very well--very well,” Breese repeated, his hand at the door. “I’ll do +that.” + +Smith watched the old man stumble nervously out of the room. Then he +turned to the Russian who now smiled triumphantly at him. + +“Damned if there isn’t something in it,” Smith muttered. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE WILL OF MRS. BREESE + + +Mr. Charles Brennon, Havana representative of several important New +York law firms, maintained his offices in the older quarters of the +city. Here the streets were so exceedingly narrow that walking became +an adventure and riding a miracle. Decrepit buildings rose in medieval +gloom from the congested street and the crumbling rock pile that housed +Mr. Brennon was distinguished by being the most decrepit of them all. + +We found it with some difficulty, for both name and number had been +erased by time. But a kindly café proprietor several doors away pointed +out the building after we had refreshed ourselves at his bar with +cocoanut milk properly iced and sweetened, a soft drink delicacy that +was a favorite with Perutkin. + +As we came through the ancient arch of Mr. Brennon’s building, we +were accosted by a whining old man who waved a pad of blue tickets in +our faces. He was one of the numerous lottery peddlers who infest the +gullible city. Smith waved him aside but the Russian called him back +and demanded a sheaf of tickets. + +“I have a feeling,” exclaimed Perutkin, “that a great vein of luck has +seized me. There is light upon this case, and light in my soul.” He +pocketed the blue lottery paper. “I shall be both famous and rich. Then +I shall be truly miserable!” he sighed mournfully. + +Even Smith could not help laughing at the vagaries of the man. The +three of us stepped gingerly into a musty elevator cage and hoped +for the best. Slowly the old man in charge tugged us up the narrow +shaft. On the third floor we were deposited directly in front of Mr. +Brennon’s dim suite of offices. As we entered the ante-room the smell +of antiquity overpowered us. From the rug that had long since lost all +semblance of its rightful color and the mottled melancholy walls to the +white-whiskered office boy at his dust-laden desk, the room seemed to +have been transported out of a bygone age. To judge from the dimly seen +pictures on the wall, the world had stopped with the Spanish-American +war. Mr. Brennon, as I discovered later, was one of those Americans +who had come to Cuba to fight and had been conquered by the dolorous +quality of the country. So there were photographs and woodcuts of the +patriots of independence, scenes of the sinking of the Maine, a wash +drawing of Roosevelt at San Juan and a brown faded memento of Mr. +Brennon’s own company, grouped fiercely around their commander. + +Smith had insisted that we come earlier than the rest because he wanted +the opportunity of an uninterrupted interview with the lawyer. + +While the white-whiskered office boy went forth to announce us to Mr. +Brennon, I reminded the detective that the elder Breese had been the +first to mention the subject of a will when he summoned us to his suite +to warn us against the actor. + +“I haven’t forgotten,” said Smith. + +“What would you think,” intervened the Russian, “if, when we hear the +will read, we discover that Mr. Thomas inherits the entire estate?” + +“I’d say it would look bad for Thomas,” Smith replied. + +“And if Mr. Breese proves a false prophet? If Mr. Thomas receives +nothing?” + +“Then,” said Smith, “we’ll be more at sea than ever.” + +“No,” said the Russian. “You will have convincing proof that Mr. +Breese deliberately lied to implicate the actor, which is what I have +maintained all along.” + +But here the white-whiskered office boy returned with Mr. Brennon. +Although it was almost unbearably hot, the old lawyer affected a +high-wing collar and a rather shiny but undeniably substantial morning +coat. He was well over seventy, with silver mustachios and his faded +blue eyes smiled feebly at us. He met us with a quavering flow of +welcome--he hailed from somewhere in Tennessee--and he seemed to take +it as his own short-sightedness that we had come a half-hour too soon. +Certainly the old man and his establishment were not easily reconciled +with Mrs. Breese, who had been as modern as this morning’s newspaper +put out upon the streets the night before. + +He asked us into his private office, mustier, if possible, than his +ante-room. He moved feebly but with the dignity of an old soldier. +After reassuring himself that we were comfortable, he retired into the +folds of his own armchair and waited for the detective to begin inquiry. + +“I shall be very glad to tell you what I can,” he said, after Smith had +made known his mission. “Of course, you understand I cannot divulge +the contents of the will until the proper time. But I dare say you +won’t press me on that. I expect to read it in half an hour. Now--” he +cleared his throat, and one gnarled hand played with a yellow ivory +pen-holder--“you ask me the circumstances that led Mrs. Breese to make +this will. I can tell you only what I know. + +“Some time ago--to be exact, shortly after that very unfortunate +divorce action--” he shook his head mournfully--“an unhappy lady, Mrs. +Breese. Dreadful tragedy.” He looked off and then seemed to collect +his thoughts. “But, as I was saying, shortly after her divorce trial, +Mrs. Breese consulted Henry O’Brien in New York. Mrs. Breese asked +Mr. O’Brien to write her will. Unfortunately, just as Mr. O’Brien set +to work, Mrs. Breese said she must leave for Havana. So Mr. O’Brien +very kindly suggested that I attend to the will when she got here. I +received a letter from him to that effect. + +“I waited for Mrs. Breese to come here, but she didn’t. So I took it +upon myself to call on her, and she received me, and we had a very +interesting talk. I made out the will. I really had very little to do +with it. I was unfamiliar with Mrs. Breese or her family, and I merely +took down what she dictated and had my clerks sign as witnesses.” He +paused. “I think that’s all I know, gentlemen, and I’m sure I’ll be +delighted if it can be of any help to you.” + +“Then we are to understand,” inquired Smith, “that Mrs. Breese was not +particularly anxious to make out a will? That she only did so because +you suggested it?” + +“I had my instructions from Mr. O’Brien,” the lawyer explained. + +Smith nodded. “That’s a very important point,” he explained. “If Mrs. +Breese made out a will a week ago under someone’s influence--someone +connected with her establishment--we would want to know that. It might +be a very important factor.” + +“As far as I know, gentlemen,” the lawyer said, “Mrs. Breese made her +will under no undue influence. No one was with her when I called first, +or when she signed the document here in my office in the presence of my +clerks.” + +The white-whiskered office boy (I later learned that he had been his +employer’s bugler in the war) announced Gordon Rice’s arrival. Mr. +Brennon instructed that the promoter be shown in at once. + +Rice greeted us briskly. He seemed to regard the forthcoming ceremony +as an event of no particular importance and he fumed at the tardiness +of the others. + +“Main thing I’m interested in,” he confided, “is to find out if Mrs. +Breese made any special request for the funeral. It’s going to be a +sad business, that. And it’s up to me to take care of it. The children +aren’t up to it, and Mr. Breese is just about all in. I want to get him +off to the States as fast as possible.” + +The Russian looked up significantly at Smith, but the detective made no +comment. + +Then the aged office boy ushered the actor in. For the occasion, Mr. +Thomas had donned conservative blue flannels, black shoes, a pale +blue shirt, and a black four-in-hand. He wove his mourning into the +ensemble. His expression was slightly defiant as he looked at us. + +No one spoke after the actor entered. Mr. Brennon began turning over +long sheets of paper, and examining them through his thick glasses. The +Russian mopped his red face, for the room was stifling hot. + +It was fully ten minutes before the elder Breese was announced. He +was accompanied by the Countess and his son. Mr. Breese seemed to +have recovered somewhat from his agitation. Something of his habitual +hardness had returned to his expression and he was quite curt with us. + +The Countess was dressed in black, and because she had been annoyed by +persistent news photographers, her white, haggard face was swathed in +a heavy veil. Her brown eyes seemed unnaturally large and bright. + +Her brother, who followed her in, took his place carefully away from +the rest of us. He, too, showed signs of the emotional shock he had +undergone, and he smoked many cigarettes while we waited for the lawyer +to begin. I noticed that he looked at the actor but once and then with +obvious hatred. + +There was a stiff restrained silence for a moment. + +The old lawyer had spread the will before him. “It is my duty,” he +quavered, “to read you the last will and testament of the late Dora +Huntington Breese.” + +He paused and brought the document closer to his thick glasses. Then +he plunged into the usual formula of Mrs. Breese’s soundness of mind +at the time the will was composed. The first few paragraphs disposed +of several bequests to favorite servants. Five thousand dollars was +given the Association for the Reform of Marriage--of which I had never +heard--and sums in proportion to the Speyer Home for Animals, the +Society for Psychical Research, the Juilliard Foundation and the Girl +Scouts of America. Surely, a strange coupling of movements! + +The lawyer read on tremulously. I took notes of the will, and I found +my pencil making comments upon what I had heard. Thus I wrote: “_To +my daughter, the Countess Giering-Trelovitch, I leave the income +of a trust fund ... three hundred thousand dollars for life ... +on condition that the said trust fund revert to the estate should +she resume relationship in any way, shape, manner or form, with her +divorced husband, the Count Giering-Trelovitch._” + +I saw Smith look at the Russian. I know that in my note-book I wrote: +“Indirect motive for the Count! Mrs. Breese hated him, and the +antagonism was undoubtedly mutual!” + +“_To Guy Thomas, I bequeath the income of seventy-five thousand dollars +in trust as an expression of my gratitude for his loyal friendship and +companionship. Should Mr. Thomas remarry, this trust fund will revert +to the estate._” + +The actor looked up, puzzled, and disappointed, I think. I find in my +note-book: “Breese lied about the will. Score one for the Russian!” +Then, as I looked at my notes of the Thomas portion of the estate my +eye caught the word “remarry.” I wrote: “Investigate. Mr. Thomas is a +bachelor. Did Mrs. Breese propose marrying him when she made out the +will? Evidently.” + +The actor’s exact status after he arrived in Havana had never been +plain to me. Mrs. Breese first announced her engagement to him on board +the yacht. After her son’s attempt at suicide, she had apparently +recanted. Then she had changed her mind once more. And yet, if Thomas’ +own story were true, she accepted without protest his plan to marry a +New York chorus girl, and even proposed financing the venture. + +“_To my first husband, Henry Breese, I leave no reproaches but an +earnest entreaty not to subject another woman to the suffering he has +caused me._” + +I saw the old man wince, and the Countess turn toward him, as if to +comfort him. + +Henry Breese, Jr., received the residuary estate. As executor, Mrs. +Breese named her “_loyal friend, Gordon Rice, and I implore my children +to show him the same obedience and respect that they would give their +own father were he worthy of it_.” + +Another blow at the elder Breese! Seemingly the antagonism, at least, +on Mrs. Breese’s side, was even more deep-rooted than I had suspected. + +Then followed the strangest portion of this strange document: + +“_Three days after my death, when it is established that life cannot +possibly return to my body, I desire that my body be burned and +cremated. The ashes are to be placed in a suitable urn and brought +on board the yacht Mary Rose, no matter where it may be docked, at +my death. At the hour of midnight my ashes are to be scattered into +the sea. There are to be no prayers, no music and no flowers. The +ceremonial is to be carried out exactly as I have instructed. I have +never been free in my stay upon earth, and in the life hereafter I +want nothing more than to ride the seven seas, my soul as free as the +winds._” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WEATHER PREDICTION + + +Smith and I looked at each other incredulously. But later I reasoned +that the melodramatic exit Mrs. Breese had elected was entirely in +keeping. Even in death Mrs. Breese wanted to make news of herself. I +could picture her dictating her lurid wishes to the old lawyer and +relishing his amazement. I am convinced that she regarded the will as +essentially meaningless. She probably thought she would change it a +half-dozen times before she was done playing with the prospect of death. + +Then the lawyer was done. No one spoke. I realized the Countess had +risen, and her brother. They left the room without a word. The elder +Breese whispered something to Rice, who nodded, and then joined his +children. + +“When,” the actor cleared his throat and addressed the lawyer with +grave dignity, “when do you plan to file this will in the Surrogate’s +court?” + +“Immediately,” replied the lawyer. + +“No hurry, is there?” demanded Smith sharply. But the actor did not +deign to reply. He took up his gloves and stick and stalked out of the +room. + +We emerged into the dingy corridor once more. Neither Smith nor +the Russian made any comment upon the ceremony that had just been +concluded. Once out of the building, we clambered aboard a lumbering +street car. A native motorman who smoked loathsomely heavy cigarettes +sent our car clanging through the narrow street. Heavily rouged and +bejewelled matrons sat side by side, with grimy day laborers about us +preempting the shady side. + +Every so often a bullet-headed negro boy would run through the car +crying the virtues of his bags of hot peanuts. Our route took us past +several cemeteries and the motorman would lift his cap to a passing +cortège, flick his cigarette and then clang forward more noisily than +ever. + +“You see,” shouted the Russian in my ear above the clamor of the car, +“other mortals may be dismissed as easily as all this, with the lifting +of the cap, but Mrs. Breese wanted more out of death! What a fool! But +I look forward to her funeral! I shall enjoy it!” He laughed heartily. +“I have always enjoyed funerals. They are such a commentary on the +unimportance of life!” + +Smith looked at him nastily, for the Russian was shocking his staid +sensibilities. + +All unconscious of this, Perutkin continued for all to hear: + +“For my own funeral, I require nothing but a hole in the ground, and +flowers. Many flowers. I wish to smell sweet in death. Not that that +is possible. Quite the contrary. But at least civilized man can give +superficial beauty even to decay. And he should do so. I am all in +favor of civilization. The more the better.” + +The rest of his somewhat disconnected philosophy on funerals was lost +in the business of leaping out of the street car, for the motorman +never waited the convenience of his passengers, and we almost rode past +the ornamental police headquarters. We accompanied Smith to his office. +While we waited patiently, he sat down at his desk and began typing +strenuously. When he was done, he said: + +“I’ve often found it useful, when a case gets to this stage of the +game, to write down the known facts and see how they jibe. Now you two +know this case as well as I do. I want you to look this over and see +what I’ve missed.” + +The Russian and I glanced over his shoulder, and we read: + +“_Thomas_--bad egg--was in the house when Mrs. Breese was +killed--engaged to her, forged check which was discovered--had another +girl--is mentioned in will as next husband--yet Thomas insists Mrs. +Breese didn’t mind his marrying other girl and was paying him for his +‘loyalty’ during divorce trial. Thomas possessed revolver and knew how +to use it. + +“_Breese, Sr._--had access to house. May have been there on night of +murder. Hated his wife and was hated by her. Evidently lied when he +said wife was making will in favor of Thomas. Evidently wanted Thomas +accused of murder. Now anxious to get away. + +“_The Count_--in Mrs. Breese’s bad books, who had been keeping her +daughter away from him, and wanted him to stay away even after her +death. Is suspected of one murder. He has confessed and disappeared. +Was in the house at the time. + +“_Mary Rose Breese_--judging from mother’s will, wanted to return to +her divorced husband. Was in the house at the time. + +“_Henry Breese, Jr._--Violently hated the actor. Violently opposed his +marrying his mother. Once owned revolver. Was in the house at the time. +Inherits bulk of the estate.” + +“You omit Gordon Rice, I see,” exclaimed the Russian. + +“I omitted him purposely,” said Smith. “He’s got a perfectly good +alibi, and no motive.” + +“And yet,” said the Russian meditatively, “Rice knows something.” + +“How do you get that?” inquired Smith. + +“The feeling is intangible,” explained the Russian. “But to one who +is sensitive to human beings--I am very sensitive--that is why I am a +great detective--but to one like myself there is something about Rice +that needs clarifying. I have that curious feeling that he is holding +something back.” He paused. “Are you sure about his alibi?” + +“Sure?” exclaimed Smith. “I’ve got the word of the American Minister +himself that Rice spent the entire evening at his house! They were +together all the time, except for five minutes. I talked to the clerk +who saw and heard him telephone. You wouldn’t want a better alibi than +that?” + +“No,” said the Russian. “Did you, by any chance, ask the clerk what Mr. +Rice said over the telephone?” + +“No, I didn’t,” said Smith. “What difference would it make?” + +“None at all,” replied the Russian. “I was just curious. However, +granted that Rice could not have committed the murder--he was not at +the scene of the crime--but isn’t it strange to you that both Rice and +Breese should hammer at you to arrest the actor? Isn’t it strange that +Rice should bring you the telegram from the detective agency, hired +by Breese, to find out what they could about the actor? What must we +conclude? Especially in view of the case against Breese? Only this: +Rice is anxious to protect Breese.” + +“Well, maybe,” conceded Smith. + +“Undoubtedly!” insisted the Russian. “I shall go one step further. Let +us consider the history of this case: After Mrs. Breese’s divorce, Mr. +Rice scorned her husband, whom he had known for many years, and sided +with the lady. Is that natural? No. Men do not break friendship under +such circumstances. And behold: When Mrs. Breese is dead, the two men +are friends openly once more. What does that suggest to you? Remember, +Breese was anxious for a reconciliation. To me it suggests that the two +men only pretended to quarrel during the divorce trial. Rice sided +with Mrs. Breese so as to be in a position to influence her. That’s why +he so violently opposed her marriage to the actor. Remember, he did not +intend marrying her himself. There was no question of love between this +man and the woman. What then was his motive in coming down here with +her and campaigning so strenuously against the actor? Obviously, he +wanted her to remarry his friend Breese. + +“Now, mark this--Breese calls you to his hotel before the murder +and warns you against the actor. Rice comes to the house, after the +murder, and the first thing he does is to accuse the actor. He produces +telegrams from the detective agency (hired by Breese) and tells you +about the forged check. I hold no brief for the actor, but I don’t +think he forged that check. I think Breese did himself. But observe how +in every development of the case Breese and Rice work together, and yet +apart--what does that suggest?” + +“Do you mean to say that Rice took part in the murder, or knew about it +beforehand?” Smith asked skeptically. + +“No,” said the Russian. “I believe Breese unburdened himself to his +friend after the murder, threw himself upon Rice’s mercy, and Rice has +been doing everything he can to save his friend. And if in the process +the actor gets hurt why, I should think that Rice would be the type to +accept such a miscarriage of justice with the comforting reflection +that Mr. Thomas would get only what he deserved.” + +“For that matter,” replied Smith, “I can build up the same case against +you!” + +“Against me?” exclaimed the Russian. + +“Certainly,” said Smith. “You are protecting your friend, the Count. He +was not only in the house at the time of the murder, but he actually +confessed to it, after consulting you. You have been hammering away on +old man Breese. Why? If I use the same logic you do, I could say--to +protect your friend.” + +The Russian laughed. “You have me there, Mr. Smith,” he admitted +admiringly. “It had never occurred to me. But you’re not serious?” + +“No,” said Smith. “I’m not serious about any theories. And this case +seems to me to consist of nothing else. I’m looking for something +definite, something tangible.” + +The Russian picked up Smith’s summary and studied it once more. + +“There are many definite, tangible things here,” he replied, “but +they are of little value--at present. I notice you have marked down +the Breese children. I admit they should be watched, as a matter of +routine. But I would safely pass them for the moment. Our main target +right now is the father. Concentrate upon him, my friend!” + +“You’re at it again!” said Smith. + +“Besides,” I put in, “old man Breese is leaving for the States on the +six o’clock boat, isn’t he?” + +Smith shook his head. “No, Mr. Breese’s landing card is going to be +questioned when he gets to Key West and he’ll have to return to Havana +to straighten it out. I’ve got that arranged. I’m not taking any +chances of losing anybody in this case.” + +“Good!” approved the Russian heartily. He planted his panama firmly +upon his huge head. “If I recall rightly, the funeral is to take place +three days after the lady’s death--tomorrow at midnight, to be exact.” +Smith nodded. “What is the weather prediction for tomorrow?” + +“The weather prediction?” Smith repeated puzzled. + +“Yes,” said the Russian. “Examine that copy of the Havana Post which +you keep so neatly folded upon the desk. What does it say?” + +Smith glanced obediently at the paper, evidently humoring the Russian. +“Let me see----” he found the weather column. “Storms,” he read. + +“But that is magnificent!” shouted the Russian. He snatched the paper +rudely from the detective. “Let me see. I cannot believe it. Yes, it is +true! Storms!” + +Smith stared at him, open-mouthed. + +The Russian swept his hat from his head in one violent gesture and +flung it upon the desk. + +“To work!” he cried. “To work, my friends.” + +Then he chuckled. “Of course, you do not understand? You do not see +the connection. I am, perhaps, premature. What if there should be no +storms? No, I shall wait.” He regained the panama and once more it was +squeezed down upon his head. “Tomorrow we go to the funeral, invited +or not. And, my friends”--he was already moving to the door--“pray for +storms, my friends, pray for storms!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE FUNERAL AT MIDNIGHT + + +The funeral party assembled upon the ill-lit dock at eleven o’clock +that night. Although the moon was shrouded, there were no signs of +the prophesied storm. The black and green waters of the Bay rippled +gently, and only the mildest of tropical breezes swept past us. Far off +we could see the _Mary Rose_ riding gracefully at anchor, her lights +twinkling invitingly to the desolate dock. Occasionally a tug shrieked +its warning and plowed off to its berth. + +Funerals are never pleasant affairs for me, and this one, with all its +attendant circumstances, brought an involuntary shiver as I waited +impatiently for the yacht’s launches. Faces of the mourners were +hardly distinguishable. Vaguely I knew that the group of four nearby, +whispering softly among themselves, were the Breese family and Gordon +Rice. At some considerable distance the shadow of the actor paced up +and down. + +Neither Smith nor the Russian had arrived yet. I could expect anything +of Perutkin, but I knew that Smith was a model of punctuality and I +wondered what had detained him. His instructions to me that evening +were somewhat enigmatical. I could not help feeling that for the first +time since the case started he was withholding something of import. + +Black figures glided past us--sailors and watchmen and all the dark +crew of the dock, leaving or arriving at their posts. From far off we +heard the melancholy crooning of a native love-song, punctuated by the +harsh monotonous twanging of a guitar. + +I heard Rice say aloud: “What’s the matter with that launch? It’s +late.” These were the first words above a whisper that I had heard from +any of the four since my arrival. + +But Rice fell silent once more. I lit a match and consulted my watch. +Then I looked toward the yacht once more and it seemed to me that the +wind had risen. The waters below us began to swirl. I saw the _Mary +Rose_ rock spasmodically. Rice looked up at the dark sky. He muttered +something under his breath. + +Then we heard a taxi, and I could descry the figure of Smith rushing +toward us. He apologized hurriedly for his tardiness, and was relieved +to find that the launch had not yet started out. + +“Where’s the Russian?” I asked. + +“He’ll be around,” Smith said vaguely. Then he took a police whistle +from his pocket and gave three shrill blasts. An answering siren from +the yacht responded, as if the signal had been prearranged. Then we +heard the faint chugging of the launch, growing steadily louder in our +ears, and we could make out its shadowy outline as it chopped the +angry waters. + +Without a word, the funeral party permitted itself to be helped aboard +the launch by the crew of two. Smith and I were the last ones to leave +the dock. The motor roared anew. I saw Rice looking up at the sky. + +“We’d better hurry,” he said. “This looks like a real storm coming.” + +“Oh, no,” said Smith reassuringly. “Just a bit of rain. I’ve lived +around here for five years and I know a real storm when I see one.” + +I saw one of the sailors at his motor wink sardonically to the other at +this. + +“Well, if there is a storm,” said Rice, “we’re going to turn back. Have +to postpone it.” + +“No,” said Breese. “Don’t want to do that. I’ve got to go home +tomorrow.” + +Rice looked doubtfully at him. But by this time the launch had drawn +up alongside the _Mary Rose_, and we clambered out as best we could. +The group of four proceeded immediately to the music-room, followed, at +some distance, by the actor. Smith and I paced the deck. + +After a moment’s silence, Smith said, looking about carefully to +make sure that he was not overheard: “I’m expecting things to happen +tonight.” + +I felt a curious tingling of excitement. I begged for some inkling of +his plans. But Smith shook his head. + +“Only thing for you to do is to wait and watch. No matter what happens, +don’t worry.” + +I heard footsteps behind us, and I swung around quickly. I gaped at +Perutkin--in the half light--a new Perutkin, resplendent in morning +coat and top-hat and white gloves that almost gleamed silver in the +night. In one hand he held a gold-tipped stick, which he swung with a +swagger. + +“All is ready,” he announced. + +As if the yacht were awaiting his command, I heard the heavy rattle of +chains as the anchor was drawn up. Then the engines throbbed and the +dock receded. + +We heard the deafening peal of thunder that makes a tropical storm so +frightful. Lightning raced across the black sky. The yacht rose upon +the waves, and we felt a sudden drenching rain upon our faces. We beat +a hasty retreat to the cabin corridor for protection. + +I heard the Russian chuckling, and as he came into the corridor, he +pointed to the pouring sky. + +“My partner!” he cried. I could only stare at him, puzzled. A member +of the crew darted past us. We heard him slamming the deck doors and +battering them shut. + +“Time to see the Captain,” Smith said. He was as puzzling to me as was +the Russian. + +“Yes,” chuckled the Russian. “You’ll find him an excellent fellow. I’ve +been dining very well with him. He’ll coöperate, I assure you.” + +Smith nodded and left us. The Russian paced up and down, rubbing his +hands delightedly, looking at me with a playful grin and chuckling in +high good humor. His smile did not leave him when he saw Rice emerge +from the music-room, a frown upon his ordinarily placid face. + +“We’ll have to turn back,” Rice said to me. “It’s a bad enough business +for the family without this storm.” + +“But, surely,” said the Russian, “you will not disobey the strict +injunctions of Mrs. Breese. It was, so to speak, her dying wish. Three +days after her death she specified.” + +“Mrs. Breese,” retorted Rice, “wouldn’t want to make her family and +friends miserable. She didn’t know about this storm.” + +“It would look very bad in the newspapers,” the Russian shook his head +doubtfully. He turned to me, “Don’t you think so?” And before I could +reply, “But why do I ask? We have just been discussing that,” he lied +glibly, “and you yourself made that point.” + +“I can’t help it,” snapped Rice. “We’re turning back.” + +He strode past us. When he had gone, the Russian laughed. + +“And I would be willing to wager that we are not,” he said. + +But whatever the private joke of the Russian (which Smith evidently +shared) I could not quite appreciate its humor. The yacht rolled +unmercifully, and although I am a fairly good sailor, I do not enjoy +being pitched about. Outside, the wind assumed the proportions, it +seemed to me, of a cyclone, although the Russian laughed at the +comparison. + +“Why, this is excellent weather!” he exclaimed cheerfully, sitting down +upon the leather bench beside me, and holding his top-hat carefully +against his breast. “A little blow like this means nothing--nothing at +all.” + +The ship’s lights blinked in my eyes as the fury of the storm +increased. I saw Smith carefully making his way down the stairs toward +us. + +“Well?” said the Russian. + +Smith nodded, with an air of self-satisfaction. + +“Mr. Rice wants to turn back,” said the Russian. + +“I know,” said Smith. “He’s still with the Captain. But it seems there +are reasons why the Captain can’t follow orders. Rice thinks the +skipper’s crazy.” Smith grinned exasperatingly. + +Another peal of thunder rolled in the sky, and through the windows I +was startled by the accompanying flash of lighting. + +“This may be a joke on us, at that,” said Smith, blinking. + +“Nonsense!” retorted the Russian. “Rest easy, my friend. Everything is +working famously.” + +Rice stumbled down the stairs, clutching the banister. When he reached +our landing, I could see his face was purple. + +“Go up there and argue with that madman!” he shouted at Smith. “He +won’t turn back!” + +“I’ve already done that,” Smith shrugged his shoulders. “But I wouldn’t +worry, Mr. Rice. This boat can stand a heavier storm than this.” He +drew out his cheap watch. “It’s ten minutes to twelve. Don’t you think +you’d better summon the family to the deck for the ceremony?” + +Rice didn’t reply, but staggered to the first door, opened it, and then +banged it behind him. + +“Excellent!” exclaimed the Russian. “We need very little now.” + +He stopped short, as the dapper figure of the Captain came down +the stairs toward us. He was in his forties, with the sharp eye of +the adventurer not uncommon in yacht skippers, and with none of +the ponderous dignity that goes with commanders burdened with the +responsibility of larger craft. His blue eyes twinkled merrily as he +greeted Smith. + +“All’s well,” he chuckled. Apparently he was part of the conspiracy, +too. I felt somewhat chagrined that a mere stranger had intervened in a +case in which I felt a proprietary interest. + +“You won’t regret it, Captain,” Smith replied. + +The door opened, and Rice emerged. In his arms he clutched a blue urn. +Here were the ashes of Mrs. Breese. The strange funeral party stumbled +after him--the elder Breese, his daughter, very white and seemingly +dazed, young Breese and the actor. + +The Captain bared his head. Smith tugged at the door to the deck. The +wind howled in our ears. The mourners stumbled forward. Rice clutched +his burden spasmodically. + +A driving rain beat our faces. The night was pitch black now. I heard +the door slam behind us. I heard Perutkin’s voice boom out: + +“He, who has the ashes of Dora Breese, murdered by a fiend, unknown, +will now cast them into the sea, as she desired!” + +I shivered involuntarily. I thought I heard a moan in the wind. Then +there was a splash. The Countess cried out. She was near me. Smith +opened the door hurriedly and as hurriedly the mourners stumbled to +shelter. The strange funeral was over. + +Wringing wet, we chattered, as if in relief. Rice conducted the elder +Breese and the children back to the warmth of the music-room, where an +open fire blazed. The actor, impervious to the chill in Rice’s eyes, +stumbled after them. + +“Now,” said the Russian, “come with me, gentlemen.” He included me in +his gesture of invitation. + +We followed him down the long corridor to the cabins. I fell against +the wall intermittently, for the rocking of the boat grew more violent, +and the wind howled so that the very timbers rattled. + +We paused before the first cabin. The Russian knocked loudly at the +door. A voice bade us enter. The Russian flung the door open. + +A very pale young man greeted us. + +“Now,” said the Russian, “we are complete.” + +The Count Giering-Trelovitch advanced toward us. + +“Into the music-room with you, my friend,” the Russian said harshly to +the man who had confessed. “Join the others! Come!” + +Without a word, the young man followed. I could see by Smith’s +expression that the advent of the Count was as much of a surprise to +him as it was to me. + +“You see,” said Perutkin to the detective, “I have kept my word. I have +produced him for you. It is only fair.” + +Whatever else he said was lost in a convulsive shiver of the boat. The +lights dimmed and flashed crazily. Then suddenly we were plunged in +darkness. I heard a woman’s scream. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +STORM + + +In my memory I have a terribly vivid picture of the first few stifling +moments in that black room. There was a scurrying of feet about me, +confused shouts. Someone prodded me in the back so that I gasped for +breath. Then the voice of Perutkin booming forth: “Quiet, everybody, +quiet!” It was as if a schoolmaster were reproving a group of noisy +children. For the next moment hushed silence reigned. + +There was the barely audible click of metal, and the Russian played +the weak rays of a flash-light upon the wall. But it served only to +illuminate his own stern visage, curiously ominous under the black +top-hat. He seemed an unearthly figure out of a dream. That he was +conscious of the effect he produced I cannot doubt. He had a Russian +sense of personal drama. + +“There is nothing to fear!” he said slowly, but his voice belied his +words. “You are all safe. Something’s wrong with the electric plant, +and it will undoubtedly be repaired in a moment.” + +“There’s been something wrong with this boat ever since we got on,” I +heard the elder Breese’s voice tremble. I could not see his face. He +was one of many shadows among us. “Where’s the Captain?” + +“Yes----” this now with Rice’s voice. “Bring him down here. You with +the flash-light, I told him to turn back. Why didn’t he?” + +“I shall bring the Captain,” the Russian promised. “But again I tell +you, there is nothing to fear.” + +He moved to the door, the light traveling uncannily with him. Then the +door closed, and once more we were plunged in darkness. + +“I’ve never had such an experience in all my life,” I heard the actor +complaining fatuously. “Hang it all, this is a funny way of running a +boat.” + +“Shut up, can’t you?” barked Rice. “Does somebody know where we are?” + +“All I can tell you,” Smith responded placidly, “is that we’re out of +sight of land. But we can’t be far from the coast.” The yacht heaved +and shadows toppled. I heard Rice swear. Smith muttered to me: “This is +a real storm all right. It had me fooled. I thought it’d pass over.” + +The boat creaked and rattled, and the engines throbbed as if in +struggle. + +Then the door opened, and Perutkin appeared with his flash-light. It +was good to be rid of the dark again. + +“I’m sorry,” he announced, “but the Captain can tell me nothing.” He +paused. “Nothing!” + +“What the devil do you mean by that?” demanded the elder Breese. +“Where is he? Bring him down here. I’ll have him fired the minute we +land.” + +“That is your affair, Mr. Breese,” replied the Russian, playing the +light full upon the face of the financier. “I know nothing of that. All +I can tell you is that the Captain cannot come down here. He is not +leaving the bridge.” + +“What’s wrong with the lights?” asked Rice. + +“They are investigating now,” replied the Russian. “They do not know +themselves.” He set his flash-light upon the table, so that it shed its +faint rays upon us all. “Meanwhile we must content ourselves with this. +It will do in an emergency.” + +“It’s outrageous!” cried the actor. “It’s never happened before.” + +“Where are we?” demanded Rice, straining to see out of the window. + +“That I cannot tell you,” responded the Russian. “They were not very +communicative--your officers. The Captain growled at me as if he would +bite me, and the first officer was not very polite either.” He stopped +short, as the Countess rose from the sofa and stared at a shadowy +figure in one corner. It was with some effort that she stifled a scream. + +The Count came forward. For the first time his presence was revealed to +the mourners. + +“Where on earth did you come from?” Rice gasped at the intruder. + +The actor seemed to have gone mad. “Somebody arrest him! Somebody +arrest him!” he shouted. “Here, you detectives--here he is!” + +“Quiet!” roared Perutkin. + +“I must apologize to you, Mary,” the Count began quietly. “And to you, +gentlemen. I did not come here to startle you. The fact is, I came on +board to give myself up.” + +“Then sit down!” commanded Perutkin. “Consider yourself under arrest, +and when we land we shall know what to do with you.” + +The Count nodded, and quietly seated himself in a corner, almost out of +sight of the others in the pale light. The Countess averted her eyes. I +saw her deliberately turn to gaze, expressionless, at Smith, standing +in the opposite corner, although I am sure she did not see him. + +“Well,” said Rice, still staring at the Count, “this is quite a shock +to me. How did you get on the boat?” + +“No one stopped me,” replied the Count. “I’m sorry I have disturbed +you.” + +“What’s this about a confession?” asked Rice. “Do you mean to tell me +that you murdered Mrs. Breese?” + +“Yes,” replied the Count. “I did.” + +“But in the name of Heaven, why?” demanded Rice. “I’d like to know. I’d +like to know why anyone would kill Dora Breese--one of the finest women +that ever lived. I’d like to know how an apparently decent young chap +like you could do a fiendish thing like that.” + +“Is it so unlikely?” demanded the Count. “Didn’t you believe I was +guilty of murder in Riga?” + +“I did not!” snapped Rice. “I told Dora she had you all wrong. But, of +course, she was right. You couldn’t fool her.” He stopped, overwhelmed. +“God, I can’t believe it!” he muttered. “It doesn’t seem real.” + +“If you don’t mind,” said the Count wearily, “I’d rather not discuss +it.” + +But here Perutkin intervened. “Do you know, Mr. Rice, I agree with you. +It doesn’t seem real. I don’t think my friend’s confession is worth +this----” he snapped his fingers. “He’s being a fool, that’s all.” + +“But why?” demanded Rice. “Why does he confess? That’s what gets me!” + +“I shall tell you,” said Perutkin. “He thinks he is being chivalrous. +He thinks he is doing something noble. He does not realize he is merely +obstructing justice.” He swung suddenly on the Countess who was looking +at him intently. “You, Madame, you do not believe him? You were his +wife. You know him.” + +“I don’t know what to believe,” the girl said desperately. + +“And you, young man----” He turned to the younger Breese--“what do you +think?” + +The boy squirmed in the chair, but said nothing. + +“And you?” He advanced slowly upon the elder Breese. “Have you any +opinions on the matter, sir?” + +“I don’t know anything about it!” snapped Breese. “Let me alone.” + +But his son sprang up. “What’s the use of this? Of course he didn’t do +it. You know who did it, and I do, too. It’s that cad over there--yes, +you----” he blazed at Thomas. “You can’t fool me!” + +“Hang it all, stop it!” shrieked the actor. “This is getting on my +nerves. I can’t stand it any more. I really can’t.” + +“You must have proof for such grave charges,” Perutkin intervened +solemnly. “What proof have you?” + +“I don’t need any proof,” shouted the boy. “Look at him. Isn’t that +enough? If it weren’t for him, Mother would be alive today. He ruined +her life. He killed her. And he’s not going to get away with it either!” + +Rice reached for the boy to calm him. Young Breese, on the verge of +tears, tried to draw away. + +“Go ahead! Say anything you want!” challenged the actor. “I was your +mother’s friend. Why don’t you look at her will? She says there what +she thinks of me! I did everything in the world for her. And all the +thanks I get is--this!” He swallowed piteously. “Hang it all, it isn’t +fair!” + +“What in life is fair?” reflected the Russian gravely. “We are none of +us appreciated, Mr. Thomas. But you believe that the Count is guilty?” + +“You’ve got his own word for it, haven’t you?” countered the actor. +“What do you want from me? A man comes to you and says he’s a murderer, +and you don’t want to believe him. Of course! You’d rather believe _I_ +did it. I know you’re all against me. But you’d better be careful--some +of you! There’s such a thing as libel. I’ve got lawyers to protect me!” + +The door opened, and a harassed-looking wireless operator stumbled +forward. His earnest, long face was white with fear and his steel +spectacles quivered on his long, thin nose. + +“Mr. Breese!” he called. + +“Yes? Have you a message for me?” + +“Yes, sir.” But the operator made no move. He shifted uncomfortably +from one foot to the other. + +“Well, where is it?” demanded Breese finally. + +“I haven’t got it, exactly, sir--I----” + +“What the devil do you mean?” growled the financier. + +“Sir, I was about to take it--it was for you--but something went wrong +with the set. I don’t know yet what happened. I worked as fast as I +could. Then I went out to see if the aerial had been damaged. And--it +had. Cut through. And then, when I came back, I found the set smashed +to pieces, as if someone with a hammer had just banged up everything. I +reported to the Captain, sir, and he just sent word for me to report to +you.” + +“Someone deliberately smashed your set?” Breese looked at him +incredulously. “But who would do a thing like that?” + +“I can’t understand it, sir. It’s never happened to me before.” + +The radio man blinked uncomfortably. Tiny beads of perspiration stood +out upon his narrow forehead. + +“No use going into that now,” Rice said. “He’d better get to work and +start repairs. Dangerous business being without radio in this storm.” + +“Yes, sir, it is,” agreed the operator. “I’ll get right to work, sir. +I’ve got some extra equipment. I’ll see what I can do.” + +“That is very strange,” said Perutkin as he left. “First someone +tampers with the lights. And now the wireless is smashed.” + +“Well, anything can happen in a storm,” put in Smith. + +“How can storm get into the wireless room?” Rice snorted impatiently. + +“But who in the world would deliberately smash our wireless?” Smith +persisted. “It doesn’t seem possible.” + +“It doesn’t seem possible,” retorted Rice, “that this man”--pointing +to the Count--“should deliberately walk on board this yacht to give +himself up. Yet there he is. How and why I don’t know--yet! Perhaps +he’s responsible. He’s been skulking around this boat!” + +“I assure you, sir,” the Count replied, “I know nothing of wireless.” + +“It’s damn funny,” muttered Rice. “I’d have this investigated the +moment we get in!” + +“How much longer have we got to go?” asked Breese. “We seem to be +taking hours!” + +“In such a storm,” said the Russian, “we must proceed cautiously.” + +But here the harassed-looking operator returned. He seemed shaken with +puzzled fear. + +“I can’t understand it, sir,” he cried at Breese. “When I got back, +someone had stolen all my spare equipment. I’ve searched high and low +for it.” + +“But this is strange!” exclaimed Perutkin. “Are you sure?” + +“Sure?” muttered the operator. “I’m not sure of anything any more.” + +“Then,” said the Russian, “there is a maniac aboard. I am reminded of +the famous Sebastopol tragedy, where someone with a homicidal humor +played just such tricks upon a small passenger boat. Utterly destroyed +it. It is curious. Very curious.” + +“What are you talking about?” exploded Rice. “What maniac? We know +who’s on board.” + +“But--do we?” countered the Russian. “My friend, the Count, came here +unseen. How do we know who else has come?” + +“Hang it all, find him then!” shrieked the actor, who had been +listening open-mouthed. “If there’s a madman on board he’ll kill us +all!” + +“It is very strange,” persisted the Russian quietly. “But in the +Sebastopol case, twenty-one men, women and children were drowned thus. +He crippled the radio, knocked a tremendous hole in her side, and +completely ruined the engines.” + +“But why?” asked Smith. + +“For the maniacal delight of destruction,” the Russian replied calmly. + +“Here----” barked Rice. “What are you trying to do? Scare everybody? If +there’s anybody on board, the crew’ll handle him fast enough.” + +“If they find him,” said the Russian. “Maniacs are cunning.” + +“But you don’t know there _is_ a maniac!” shouted Rice. He stopped +short. Outside we heard the smash of wood upon wood. Resounding blows. +Then the wash of waves. Suddenly a growl of many voices, and one purple +oath. + +Perutkin hurried out. He was gone but a moment. When he returned he +said gravely: “A curious accident! Our lifeboats have been washed +overboard.” + +“But that’s impossible!” exclaimed Rice. + +“So I would think,” agreed the Russian. “I observed today that both +boats were lashed fast. What are we to conclude?” + +“Conclude nothing!” cried Rice. “Get hold of the Captain. Let him +search this boat from top to bottom. We’ll find out soon enough who’s +been doing this!” + +Even as he spoke I was conscious that the lulling hum of the engines +had died out. There was an empty silence, while the boat still tossed. + +“The engines have stopped!” announced the Russian. “Listen!” + +“We--we must be coming in!” quavered Breese hopefully. + +“We can’t be coming in!” the Russian contradicted, looking out of the +window. “I see no sight of land, no harbor. Nothing but water and +darkness.” + +“Then what’s he stopping for?” demanded Rice. “We’re not moving. Those +engines are dead.” + +“I’ll find out!” volunteered the operator nervously. But Perutkin +halted him. + +“No, you shall wait here. I shall myself investigate. It is high time.” + +Reluctantly the operator watched him go. He shuffled into a chair and +sat down, nervously twisting his stubby fingers. He seemed decidedly +ill at ease as he looked about him. + +A peal of thunder rolled over our heads. I shuddered, as if it were an +ominous warning of disaster. + +The yacht seemed to list and chairs slid. I clutched at the wall. I can +only record my physical actions in that room. My mind, it seemed to me, +was in a daze from the moment I had boarded the yacht. + +Finally the Russian came back. He walked slowly, with head bowed. He +shut the door carefully behind him. + +“Gentlemen,” he announced gravely, “it is my duty to tell you that we +are in great peril!” He paused. “Our engines have stopped. Our wireless +is hopelessly smashed. Our lifeboats have been washed overboard. +The ship lists dangerously, and is leaking. We are in the grip of a +terrific storm--gentlemen,” he sank suddenly to his knees, “gentlemen, +pray for your lives!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +ONE OF YOU + + +Perutkin made the sign of the cross, and lifted his voice in the chant +of the Russian church. The melancholy litany seemed endless. I watched +him in fascinated horror. The rest could not believe their eyes. Breese +stumbled out through the door, calling incoherently for aid. But no +answer came through the darkness. Someone shouted: “Lifebelts!” To +me then the word meant nothing, nor to the rest of us, for we stood +helplessly watching the top-hatted figure upon bended knee in the +prayer we could not understand. + +Then the Russian stopped, and he drew himself up to his full height. +“In my own tongue, and in the prayer of my mother, I have confessed my +sins,” he said. “Now my heart is light. I can meet the Unknown without +fear.” Once more he made the sign of the cross. + +“Stop it!” shrieked the actor. “Can’t you do something--somebody? I +don’t want to die!” His voice died out in a wail. + +“You are white, Mr. Thomas,” said the Russian. “You shiver. You are +afraid.” + +“Where’s the Captain?” Breese demanded. “Bring him here at once!” + +The yacht rolled maliciously and the old man seized a chair to steady +himself. + +“There is only one Captain now,” responded the Russian gravely, “and +Him I cannot bring. But He will come!” + +Rice stepped forward. “Things cannot be as bad as you say. I know this +boat. She’s weathered worse storms than this!” + +“Perhaps,” said the Russian. “But this is her last storm. The sea is +pouring into her. While we stand here, she is sinking. It is only a +matter of minutes.” + +“I won’t believe it until the Captain says so!” snapped Rice. + +“Ask him!” challenged the Russian. “If you can find him in the dark.” +Then he raised his voice. “It is the wrath of God. One of you killed +cunningly and now all of us must die. So it is written, my friends.” + +“You’ve gone mad!” cried Breese. “I’ll get the Captain myself.” + +“I’ll go with you,” his son volunteered. + +“There is no need!” The Russian raised his hand. “Look!” + +He pointed to the window. The red and white glare of rockets flashed +before our eyes. + +“I shall read for you!” said the Russian. “S.O.S. S.O.S. We have no +wireless. We have no lifeboats. We are summoning aid.” + +Breese stood still, staring at the window. He tottered to a chair. + +“Well,” said Smith slowly, “I guess you’re right. I guess we’re in for +it!” + +“Yes,” muttered Rice. “I guess we are.” + +We were startled by a jangling discordant laugh, and then we saw the +Count rise from his shadowed corner. + +“Stop that!” barked Rice. “Be a man! Have some consideration for this +lady!” + +“I can’t help it,” cried the Count. “It is such delicious humor. That +I should come on this yacht and--and----” Once more he gave way to +hysterical laughter. + +“Yes,” chimed in Smith, “it’s a great joke on me, too. I came on board +to get the man that killed Mrs. Breese. It won’t do me much good now if +I get him.” He seated himself in a chair and pulled his hat down over +his eyes. “I only hope it comes fast. It’s the waiting I mind.” + +“Maybe they’ll see our signals,” the wireless operator, who had been +sitting unnoticed, suddenly burst forth. + +“They’d signal back, wouldn’t they?” demanded Smith. + +“And there is no answer!” boomed the Russian. “Our eyes will close +before we see the answer. We can do nothing, I tell you. We are in the +hands of the Almighty.” + +He took from his pocket a thick black book. “When I went to see the +Captain he could give me nothing but this--his Bible. It is not my +Bible, but I shall pray for you all, miserable sinners. I shall pray +for you all.” + +“Then pray to yourself!” cried Breese. “This isn’t a revival meeting. +Do you want to start a panic?” + +“The burden of Tyre!” boomed the Russian. “Howl, ye ships of Tarshish; +for it is laid waste, so that there is no house, no entering it: from +the land of Chittim it is revealed to them.” + +Now Smith turned on the Russian. “Shut up!” he growled. “Get over there +and pray if you want to--nobody else does.” + +“Confess your sins,” the Russian intoned. + +“Now, let’s be sensible,” said Smith. “We’re in a bad way, and we all +know it. It’s not going to help matters if we lose our heads. Everybody +keep quiet and wait.” + +“I don’t want to die,” wailed the actor. + +“No, I guess you don’t,” said Smith drily, as the Russian droned on. +“Too bad about the little girl waiting for you. I guess there’ll be no +trip to Paris.” The actor groaned. “You were a bad actor and a bad egg, +but I guess you’re going to get all that’s coming to any of us. And +after you went to all that trouble--forging that check!” + +“I didn’t forge any check!” protested the actor. + +Smith shrugged his shoulders. “What difference can it possibly make +now?” he demanded. “I don’t care if you did or not. I can’t do +anything about it. This case is out of my hands.” + +“But you’ve got to believe me,” cried the actor. + +“Yes, you can believe that, anyway.” I started, as the younger Breese +rose from his chair. “I--I forged that check, Mr. Smith.” + +“You?” + +His father cried aghast: “What’s come over you, son?” + +“Oh, I’m not sorry about it,” young Breese said bitterly. “But as long +as things are the way they are, I might as well tell you the truth. I +forged that check because I wanted to stop Mother from marrying him. I +thought that would stop her.” + +“You shouldn’t have done that,” his father cried. “I--I can’t believe +it.” + +“Oh!” said the actor. “It’s coming out now, is it? I knew there was a +conspiracy against me!” + +“There’s no conspiracy against you,” retorted the boy contemptuously. +“You killed Mother, and I know it. I know it just as sure as I’m +standing here.” + +“No use of that, son,” Smith calmed him. “We’re all in for it together, +and it won’t do much good now to go into that.” + +“God forgive us, poor miserable sinners!” murmured the Russian. + +“You wrong that man,” the Count came forward. “He did not kill your +mother.” + +“Of course not,” said Smith. “You did. You confessed.” + +“That confession was a lie,” replied the Count calmly. + +“Then why did you make it?” + +“I had my reasons,” he addressed himself to the girl. “I may never have +another chance to talk to you, Mary, and I want you to know that in all +my life I have never done anything that would make you ashamed of me. +Certainly, I could not do so fiendish a thing, so horrible a thing!” + +“Then who did kill Mrs. Breese?” demanded Smith. “Not that I care +particularly,” he amended hastily. “I’m just curious.” + +“One of us here,” replied the Count quietly, “killed Mrs. Breese.” + +“Name him!” challenged Smith. + +“It is not for me to name him,” said the Count. “I leave that to his +conscience. But I shall tell you what I know. I went to Mrs. Breese’s +house that night to see you, Mary. Your mother had given strict orders +that I was not to be admitted. I made my way in unobserved through the +servants’ quarters. Then I stole out into the corridor, in the front of +the house. + +“I saw the front door open and someone come in. That someone opened the +door with a key. He went into the drawing-room. I heard voices. Then I +saw someone run out, racing into the street. I was puzzled. + +“Then Mr. Thomas came down the stairs and went to the drawing-room. He +came out quickly and hurried upstairs. Then a moment later the butler +came and I heard him cry out that Mrs. Breese had been murdered!” + +“The man who preceded Thomas into the drawing-room was the murderer?” +said Smith. + +“Undoubtedly,” replied the Count. + +Smith looked about the waiting circle. His eyes rested upon the +financier. + +“Well, Mr. Breese,” he said, smiling grimly, “aren’t you ready to tell +us yet? After all, what have you got to lose? I can’t do a thing to +you.” + +“I?” Breese stammered. + +“Yes,” said Smith. “You’re the man the Count saw walk into that +drawing-room. You’re the man he’s been protecting with his confession.” + +“You don’t think that I killed my wife?” bellowed Breese. “You’d better +be careful, young man!” + +“What were you doing in your wife’s house the night of the murder?” +Smith demanded. + +“I wasn’t there,” said Breese. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” + +“Then the Count is lying when he says he saw you there?” + +“I told you I wasn’t there,” snapped the old man. + +“You knew your wife was murdered when you talked to me at your hotel,” +Smith persisted. + +“I did not!” + +“Strange the vagaries of the human mind!” the Russian suddenly +intervened. “Here we are facing death and yet, Mr. Breese, you are as +cautious and as canny as if you had something to gain.” + +“Let me alone!” cried Breese. + +“As God is your witness,” persisted the Russian, “do you deny that you +killed Mrs. Breese?” + +“Will you let me alone?” shouted the old man. + +“God forgive you,” murmured the Russian. + +Smith turned to the actor. “How about you, Thomas? The Count says you +discovered the body. Is that true? You never told us that!” + +“It’s true,” the actor’s voice trembled. “I was afraid to tell you.” + +“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Smith wearily. “Nothing I can do about +it.” + +“I don’t want to keep anything back,” cried Thomas. “I’ve gone through +hell. I--I lied to you about other things.” + +“Don’t bother,” advised Smith. “Let it ride.” + +“The--the night she was killed,” the actor disregarded him, “I didn’t +tell you--I couldn’t--but we quarrelled that night. About--about my +wanting to go back. She didn’t want me to marry anyone else.” + +“That’s all right,” said Smith. “I suppose now that you’ve gotten that +off your mind you’ll tell me you short-changed her when she took you +out to restaurants.” + +“No, I didn’t,” cried the actor. “She always paid herself.” + +“Quite,” said Smith. “Now just to make this a really pleasant party, +tell us about the time you played with Mrs. Fiske.” + +“I--I never played with Mrs. Fiske,” protested the actor. “I feel sick. +I feel I’m going to faint.” + +“Not on me,” barked Smith, moving away. “Sit down.” The actor closed +his eyes and sank into a chair. Through the windows a thin jagged line +of lightning came to blind us for an instant, and reveal a terrifyingly +mountainous sea. + +Smith shivered audibly. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said. “I +guess it’s habit. I’d like to know one thing from all you--I’d like to +know who killed Mrs. Breese. Just my curiosity. There’s nothing I can +do about it. But I’d like to wind up this case. It’s the last one I’ll +ever handle.” + +“Why do you assume,” demanded Rice angrily, “that any one of us knows +who did it?” + +“Because,” said Smith, “the man who killed Mrs. Breese is sitting right +in this room now, looking at me, hoping, waiting, praying, he can keep +his secret.” + +“How do you know he is here?” persisted Rice. “Would he come to the +funeral of his victim with us? I think the strain is telling on you, +sir.” + +“I know he’s here,” replied Smith. “I know it!” + +The Russian had risen from his knees. “Mr. Breese!” he cried. “Why +don’t you tell the truth? Your children are with you. Tell them the +truth--if you dare!” + +“I’ve told the truth,” muttered Breese. + +“You were in that house the night of the murder!” thundered the Russian. + +“And supposing I was?” flared Breese. + +“Ah!” said the Russian. “You admit you were there!” + +“I admit nothing,” said Breese. “I’m sick of being badgered. I won’t +stand for it! Do you hear me? Let me alone!” + +The Russian shrugged his shoulders eloquently. He swung on Rice. + +“And you, Mr. Rice?” + +“What about me?” asked Rice. + +“Have you nothing to say?” + +“I’ve been in a lot of tight corners before this,” said Rice, “and I’ve +gotten out of them. I see no occasion to entertain you with excerpts +from my life.” + +“Do you know who killed Mrs. Breese?” insisted the Russian. + +“If I did,” said Rice, “I would take great pleasure in finishing that +gentleman off before this boat got me. Now suppose you go back to your +prayers and leave us alone.” + +“You’re a poor miserable sinner,” cried the Russian. “Sulphur and +brimstone await you in hell! You blasphemer!” + +“Listen,” said Rice, “whatever awaits me, I’ll take as my due. I +don’t need any religion from you. I guess I’ve done plenty in my life +that I’d rather not talk about, but I’ll stand the gaff, thank you. +Just leave me alone. And if we’re passing out, let’s pass out like +gentlemen, not a bunch of wild hysterical hyenas like you.” + +“I agree with you,” said Smith. + +We heard footsteps at the door. Then I saw the Captain walk slowly +toward us. He was dripping wet and his eyes were red-rimmed. + +Breese jumped up from his chair. + +“Well,” he cried, “about time you came! What’s happened?” + +“We’ve had nasty going,” said the Captain. His voice was hoarse. He +spoke hardly above a whisper. + +“Never mind that,” shouted Breese impatiently. “Can you get us out of +it?” + +“I’m sorry, sir,” he reported, “But we’ve stepped into the path of a +cyclone. And I’m afraid we can’t weather this storm much longer in our +present shape!” + +“But you’ve got to do something!” cried Breese. + +“There’s nothing to do, sir,” replied the Captain quietly. “We’re in a +rather bad way!” + +“Do you mean to tell me,” cried Breese, “that you’re standing by with +folded hands and letting us go to our deaths? Man, are you mad?” + +The Captain turned on his heel wearily and left Breese expostulating to +thin air. The Russian had fallen to his knees. + +“God forgive them, miserable sinners,” he shouted above the howling +of the wind. “Forgive the miserable sinner, Thomas, who lied and +cheated from his cradle. He did not know what he was doing. Forgive the +arrogant Breese. Forgive the unbeliever, Rice. Forgive the children. +Forgive us all, as we come to you from the bottom of the sea!” + +Strange cries mingled with the prayer. We ran to the door, trying to +peer into the black darkness. The yacht tossed, and hurled us violently +at each other, and against the walls. + +The Russian prayed on. + +Then I saw our radio man moving toward Perutkin. I had paid no +attention to him heretofore. He seemed oddly out of place among these +people--a colorless, humdrum, frightened little fellow. + +He sank to his knees beside the Russian and he tapped the giant’s +shoulder. + +“What is it, my son?” Perutkin halted his prayer and looked gently at +the mechanic. + +“Will you--pray for me?” he begged. + +“Certainly, my son,” replied the Russian. “I shall pray for you.” + +“I’ve--I’ve got something on my mind,” the operator groaned +inarticulately. “I’ve--I’ve got something to tell you.” + +Even then, when I was concerned with my own fate, I wondered what +the little man could be keeping from the world in his narrow bosom. +Something trivial, I knew, that would appear ludicrous in the light of +the impending tragedy. + +But Breese had come over to us. He looked down upon the two kneeling +figures with contemptuous wrath. + +“Praying!” he shouted. “Why don’t you go to work--get that wireless +going? Damn cowards!” + +“Yes, you two! Great revival meeting you’re putting on,” Rice chimed +in. “It makes me sick to look at you!” + +“Don’t listen to them,” counselled the Russian. “Pray, my son.” + +“Get up!” shouted Breese hysterically. “Stop it, I tell you!” + +“I won’t,” cried the mechanic. “I won’t. I got something to tell. I +got something on my mind. I’m going to tell. You can’t stop me. I’ve +been listening to all of you. I didn’t know--” he gasped for breath. “I +thought--about Mrs. Breese--I----” + +“What about Mrs. Breese?” Smith asked quietly. + +“I--I--don’t look at me like that--I--” He moaned as if in pain. + +Suddenly the flash-light upon the table was hurled to the floor. We +were plunged in darkness. + +“Go on,” cried the Russian. “Quick--what about Mrs. Breese? Who killed +her?” + +“Wait, can’t you?” the mechanic cried. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell +you----” + +A revolver shot boomed in my ear. I heard the man groan. I heard his +body fall to the floor. + +Suddenly, miraculously, the lights flared up in the room and through +the ship! + +The Russian was kneeling over the prone figure. He raised his head, and +his sharp little eyes travelled over the room. + +“He’s dead,” said the Russian slowly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE MURDER ON THE YACHT + + +Before any of us could move, before we could realize what had happened, +the stilled engines of the yacht were throbbing once more, and we were +ploughing ahead. The storm still raged, but now our craft cut the +waters with disdain. + +But no one moved for a moment. We were all staring in grim fascination +at the absurd figure of the humdrum little operator upon the floor. He +seemed so unreal there. + +Breese was the first to cry out to the rest of us the inexplicable fact +that our craft had suddenly taken on life. Then, as I recall the hectic +moments, Rice ran to the window, as if he did not believe his senses. +Others followed him--that is, the elder Breese did, and the actor. +The Countess still stood as if in a dream. The Count maintained his +solitary position in the corner. All our movements, now that I try to +reconstruct them, had the unearthly quality of a dream. + +Then I heard the actor call: “We’re saved! Hang it all, we’re saved!” +He slobbered in his relief. Tears streaked his cheeks. + +The Countess cried out, as if she were waking. Then I realized the +Count was at her side. She was in his arms, and laughing and crying in +turn in her hysteria. + +“Take her to her cabin,” Perutkin ordered. “The rest of you stay here.” + +“But what’s happened?” demanded Breese. He seemed utterly bewildered. + +“Perhaps you’ve already guessed,” countered the Russian strangely. “A +man has been murdered.” + +“Never mind that!” Breese’s contempt for the figure before us chilled +me. “What’s happened with the ship? We’re moving.” + +The Russian did not reply. The Countess was now sobbing as her former +husband led her from the room. + +“You will be good enough to return immediately,” Perutkin called after +his protégé, who nodded. Then to the rest of us: “None of you will +leave this room.” + +“Are we still in danger or not? That’s what I want to know!” Breese +cried, straining to look out of the window. + +“One of us is out of danger,” the Russian said slowly, pointing to the +figure. + +The Captain emerged from the corridor. He stopped short at the sight of +the body of his operator. + +“How did this happen?” he demanded sharply. The Russian shrugged his +shoulders. The Captain’s thin lips set in one hard line. “You’re +responsible for this,” he said sternly. + +“But it was not in my plan!” protested the Russian. “How could I know +such a disaster was possible?” + +“What plan?” demanded Breese, listening open-mouthed, as we all did, to +the puzzling dialogue. + +“You must know, Mr. Breese!” replied the Russian. “Surely you must have +guessed by now.” + +“You’re talking in riddles,” snapped Breese. “What is it?” + +The Captain addressed his employer. “Sir, you have every right to +discharge me,” he began. “At no time during this trip were we in any +danger. This man--” pointing to Perutkin--“asked me to convince you +that the ship was going down. He said I would help trap the murderer of +Mrs. Breese.” + +“Certainly,” added the Russian. “It was a feasible plan. I argued that +the murderer of Mrs. Breese must be on this yacht. I argued that if +we could convince him that he faced death, he might be trapped into +a confession. He would feel he had nothing to lose. Unfortunately--” +the Russian gestured helplessly and it was not necessary for him to +conclude. + +“You mean--you deliberately--staged this--this hoax!” Breese sputtered. + +“Yes,” replied the Captain, “every bit of it. We did damage the +wireless set, but there was nothing else wrong. And it cost one poor +fellow his life.” + +“Because,” explained the Russian, “the murderer was clever enough, Mr. +Breese, to guess our plan. I am amazed that a man like you was fooled.” +Once more his sharp little eyes stared at Breese. Then he continued +smoothly: “It was all in very bad taste, I’ll grant you. I could not +resist the temptation of the storm. It seemed a sign from the heavens.” + +“We’re wasting time,” intervened Smith. “I want to ask you, Captain, +what you know of this poor chap?” + +“His name is Louis Trenholm,” replied the Captain methodically. +“I think he was thirty-one. If I remember rightly I signed him on +myself--he came from Olean, New York. I don’t remember that he had any +living relatives.” + +Smith noted these sparse details in his note-book. + +“How long had he been with you?” asked Smith. + +“Just about a week,” replied the Captain. “Our regular +man--Wilkins--resigned when we got to Havana to go with the Dollar +Line. Wilkins recommended this man and I signed him on. That’s all I +know about him.” + +“Very good, Captain,” approved Perutkin. “You tell us much. For if this +man was signed on after the yacht arrived in Havana he never met Mrs. +Breese to your knowledge, did he?” + +“I don’t follow,” said the Captain, puzzled. + +“Why, it’s simple enough,” said the Russian. “You told us that you +signed him on _after_ Mrs. Breese left the yacht. So that as far as you +know they had never met.” + +“Yes, that’s true,” said the Captain. + +“And yet,” continued the Russian, “this man knew who killed Mrs. +Breese!” + +“I won’t hear any more of it,” the elder Breese suddenly shouted. +“You can’t stand around here and talk of things that mean so much to +my family and me!” He trembled violently. He seemed on the verge of +collapse. “Get this ship into port just as fast as you can. Don’t stand +there!” This at the Captain, who turned on his heel abruptly and left +without a word. + +“But one moment!” interposed the Russian. “I am astounded, Mr. Breese. +I sympathize with your feelings, but you still don’t seem to realize +that a murderer may be standing not more than four feet away from you +at this very moment. Don’t you want that murderer punished?” + +“Certainly! But you’re punishing my family, not the murderer, with all +this--this--tomfoolery!” cried Breese. “I’m going down to my cabin, and +I don’t want to hear anything about it. It’s up to you to arrest the +man who is responsible, and when you’ve done that I’ll be very glad to +hear it.” Leaning on the arm of his son, he made for the door. + +“Let him go,” advised Rice. “The strain has been too much for him. He +doesn’t realize what’s happened.” + +“Exactly,” said the Russian. “I trust he may later. Now to you +gentlemen who remain I must explain that our situation here is rather +unique. Let me put it as clearly as I can. Mr. Smith and I believed +that we could fool all of you into a state where you would fancy +yourselves facing death. We had reason to suppose that the murderer of +Mrs. Breese was on this yacht. + +“We expected the murderer to crack, to confess. But the only man who +broke down was this poor fellow here. Obviously he was not the murderer +of Mrs. Breese. As far as we can learn, he did not even know her. +Therefore, we are led to assume the conclusion that the real murderer +was not convinced by our hoax. + +“And--he was so sufficiently sure of himself that he took this +opportunity of getting rid of the one man who knew something of the +murder. What that something is no one can even guess.” He paused for +breath. Then he smiled quizzically, as he looked about him. “One of +us here, on this yacht, killed this man. Either you, my friend,” to +the Count who had returned just then and was standing in the doorway, +“either you, Mr. Thomas, either you, Mr. Rice, or the three members of +the Breese family who have left us.” + +“Well, I had nothing to do with it,” cried the actor. “Hang it all, +you’re not going to begin all over again with me.” + +“No,” said the Russian. “You see, we are in a much better position than +we were before. In a crime committed in a house, people may go and +come unseen. But we know all those who are on this boat. Our search +narrows down considerably. For example, our first step is to locate +the revolver with which this murder was committed. Have any of you +gentlemen a revolver?” + +“Not me!” cried the actor. “Why should I have a revolver?” + +“I did not address you alone,” said the Russian. “I assume that none +of you gentlemen will produce a revolver for me. It is too much to +expect.” He smiled. “Shall we search them, Mr. Smith?” + +“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” said Smith. He put his hand in +his pocket and produced a pearl-handled weapon. He clicked open the +barrel. “There’s been one shot fired--this is undoubtedly the gun that +was used.” + +“Where did you find it?” demanded the Russian. + +“In my pocket,” said Smith. “It also happens to be my gun.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE LETTER + + +“Yours?” exclaimed Rice, staring at the detective. + +“Yes,” said Smith. “The man who murdered Trenholm took this gun out of +my pocket, fired one shot, and put it back into my pocket immediately +afterwards.” + +“But how clever!” admired the Russian. Smith flushed. + +“I don’t know how clever he is,” he muttered. “It was dark and the boat +was pitching.” + +“But you felt nothing?” demanded the Russian. + +“Nothing at all,” replied Smith. + +“According to your own formula,” the Russian’s eyes twinkled, “you are +the guilty person, Mr. Smith. All the evidence is on your person.” + +“I don’t think this is a joke,” Smith looked at him cuttingly. + +“But it is not without its humor,” insisted the Russian. “Don’t you +think so, Mr. Thomas?” He swung at the actor. + +“Damned funny!” giggled the actor. + +“Beyond me,” commented Rice. “Can’t think--I’m dizzy!” + +Smith finally dismissed the three men. When the door closed upon them, +he blazed at the Russian: “Fine idea you sold me! We’re in deeper than +ever now.” + +“No!” protested the Russian. “We are one step ahead.” + +“Theoretically, yes,” said Smith. “Theoretically we know that someone +in this room with us killed Trenholm because he was going to spill. +Theoretically we can hammer away at everyone until we get the right +man. Actually, we can do nothing of the kind. We can’t hold the Breese +family. I’d lose my job. Breese is a pretty important man. We’ll have +to let them all go until we get evidence. And the only evidence we have +is this revolver. I’ll get our finger-print man to see what he can +find.” + +“I’ll grant you all that,” replied the Russian. “Our problem is not +easy. I shall go further. The man who did this murder wouldn’t be fool +enough to leave finger-prints. I attach no importance to that. It was a +simple matter for him to wipe the revolver clean before he put it back. +It takes but an instant to pass a handkerchief over a revolver.” + +“Then what am I going to do?” demanded Smith. “I’m going to look fine +when I make my report. Right under my nose another murder is pulled +off! Won’t that look marvellous--for me!” + +“Well,” said the Russian, pacing up and down, “there are several things +we can do. Let me see--I was kneeling here, the operator beside me.” +He went about the room indicating the position of each occupant. “Now +the bullet entered this man’s heart. It came from this direction. Who +was sitting here? Well--we have first, Mr. Breese, his son, and his +daughter. Rice was not far away. The Count was in back of them. Any one +of them could have killed this man.” + +“That’s not much help,” said Smith. “The man who did it did +considerable moving in the dark. He must have, to have gotten my gun +and put it back again.” + +“But let us forget the physical aspects of the case,” continued the +Russian. “Let us inquire further into motive. We know that Trenholm +knew who killed Mrs. Breese. Now the question is--how did he know? +Apparently he had never met Mrs. Breese. Apparently he had never been +to her home. Had he perhaps overheard some vital information while he +was on this boat? But his manner was not that. His manner was such that +in some way he was vitally implicated in the murder of Mrs. Breese. +How, I cannot tell you.” + +“But that doesn’t get us anywhere,” Smith snorted. “You can stand here +and theorize from morning to night. The fact is we’ve got no evidence. +The first thing I want to do is to search his effects.” + +“Very well,” said the Russian. “Begin with his clothes.” + +With professional briskness, the two began the ghastly job of dragging +forth the contents of the man’s pockets. A cheap watch with the +picture of an adenoidal girl in its case--a pocket knife, two Yale +keys, a tattered New York automobile license, a clipping of a poem by +Eddie Guest, a wallet. Smith expertly turned it inside out. It was a +cheap wallet, the kind usually accompanied by the yellow printed card: +“My name--height--weight-- In case of accident, notify-- The size of my +collar is--” He had laboriously filled out the card. The Y. M. C. A. +of Olean was to be notified of accident. From the folds of the wallet +Smith dragged forward a letter. He looked at it hastily, and then held +it in his hand. He turned to the Russian. “Look at this!” he invited. + +“Dear Louis,” the handwriting was stiff and angular, obviously written +by an illiterate man. “I been thinking it over, and I think you’re a +darn fool. We can clean up if you let me handle it. Why don’t you come +and see me like you use to. Yours, Charlie.” + +“No return address,” Smith said, examining the envelope. “Mailed in +Havana. We might trace it.” + +“But who is Charlie?” demanded the Russian. “It may or may not be +relevant--this letter. Perhaps our friend had an invention. You +remember the man was a mechanic. Charlie is advising him to capitalize +it in characteristic American fashion.” + +“No,” said Smith, “this letter smells blackmail to me. I’ve handled +enough of those cases to know.” + +“Yes,” conceded the Russian. “I see. Trenholm knew who killed Mrs. +Breese and told Charlie. Charlie said ‘Get money.’ Quite likely. That +is a feasible interpretation. I admit I did not think of it, Mr. Smith. +It’s decidedly worth looking into.” + +They pawed over a few trinkets and odds and ends and then decided that +their task was done. + +“We’ll go down to his berth and look into that,” said Smith. “Can’t +tell what we may stumble on. He may have other letters from Charlie.” + +We rang for the steward, who guided us to the narrow cabin that the +operator shared with the third mate. The latter was sound asleep when +we entered. He rubbed his eyes as Smith explained our purpose. + +“Damn shame,” he said, indicating the battered trunk under the berth +that had been occupied by Trenholm. “Nice quiet chap, he was. How did +it happen?” + +Smith was uncommunicative. He bent down to open the trunk. It was +locked. + +“Give me a knife!” begged the Russian. “I have a knack with these +objects.” Smith gave him a pen-knife and in a few moments the Russian +threw the lid back. The trunk was empty. + +“That’s funny,” muttered the young officer. “He always had his trunk +crammed with stuff--plans, tools, all kinds of junk. I remember kidding +him about it. He had a lot of blue prints.” + +“When did you last see this trunk open?” asked Smith. The young +man stopped to think. “Wait a minute,” he said suddenly. “Just this +evening! I almost forgot. Trenholm came in here as I was turning in. He +was putting something away.” + +“And the trunk was full?” + +“Oh yes.” Then he volunteered: “He was a peculiar chap, you know.” + +“In what way?” demanded Smith. + +“Well, in a general way,” the young officer replied vaguely. “Of +course, I didn’t know much about him. He’s only been with us a week, +and you don’t generally get to know much about a chap in a week. He +kept to himself more or less, if you know what I mean. He wasn’t very +talkative.” + +“Was he working upon any inventions that you know of?” asked the +Russian. + +“I think he was,” said the officer. “Most radio men do. But I don’t +know definitely that he was.” + +“Perhaps you could tell us if he ever talked of any friends in Havana.” + +“No, but he must have had some friends. He signed on here.” + +“One more question,” said the Russian. “To your knowledge, did Trenholm +know any of the passengers on this yacht?” + +The officer shook his head. “I hardly think so. We’ve had no passengers +since he signed on--until tonight.” + +In the corridor, the Russian said: “Behold! The man we want not only +takes your revolver and shoots Trenholm, but after the murder comes +down here and removes the dead man’s effects.” + +“I got that,” said Smith. + +“Now!” said the Russian. “Think back. We have six suspects--Mr. Breese, +his son, his daughter, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Rice and the Count. Put +yourself in the murderer’s place. Having committed his crime, he will +be very anxious to steal down below and get at Trenholm’s effects. +Follow the course of action----” + +“The Countess goes into hysterics,” began Smith. + +“And the Count takes her out,” I added. + +“At my suggestion,” corrected the Russian, “and he returns almost +immediately. Behold! I deliberately order everyone else to remain. I +cleverly foresaw that the murderer would have further work to do, and +would be anxious to leave the room. Now, who made a move to go? Thomas? +No. Rice? No.” + +“That leaves Breese,” said Smith. + +“That leaves Breese,” repeated the Russian. “He, and he alone, insisted +upon leaving the room. Why?” + +No one answered him. I realized that the engines had stopped once more. +Through the windows I could make out the shadowy outlines of the port +and, far-off, twinkling lights. + +“We’re coming in,” I cried in relief. + +“It is a symbol, my friends,” the Russian said, rubbing his hands. “Our +experiment has not been such a failure. We have reached the end of our +journey. At last we know our man. Tomorrow we shall have him!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE RAID + + +My telephone rang persistently. I had just waked out of a sleep of +exhaustion and reached for it with sleep-numbed fingers. + +“Perutkin speaking!” the voice boomed. “Meet me in the lobby of the +Biltmore in twenty minutes!” The words were a command. My wishes were +not consulted. But I agreed readily enough. Most people did when +Perutkin commanded. + +So I dressed hastily and gulped my weak coffee. A cab deposited me at +the Biltmore a few moments before the appointed time. I saw no sign +of the Russian and made myself comfortable with a week-old New York +newspaper and a cigar. + +Several moments later the bulk of the Russian loomed over me. “Put away +that paper,” he whispered. “I shall give you something more appetizing +than an editor’s fancies. Rise from your chair and nonchalantly as you +can follow me to the elevator.” + +“Why? What?” I demanded. + +“Ask nothing. And do not look so surprised. We are going upstairs.” + +As he said this, he preceded me into the elevator cage. + +“Seventh,” he barked at the boy. And then to me: “Well, are you +enjoying yourself? A most interesting city, is it not? Or do you +confine your wanderings to Sloppy Joe’s, like all Americans?” + +I mumbled something. But by this time we had alighted. He strode +forward confidently. Then I realized that we were approaching the suite +of Henry Breese. + +“We’re not going to see the old man?” I demanded. + +“Quiet!” whispered the Russian, as a bell boy whisked past us. “We +are not going to see anyone.” He stopped in front of Breese’s door. +He reached into his pocket and extracted a miniature jimmy. This he +inserted in the lock and the door opened almost instantly. He dragged +me into the room--I could not move--and then closed the door behind him. + +“We are doing a little burglary,” he explained casually. “I needed a +companion in crime and I chose you. Are you not flattered?” + +“But what are you going to do--and why?” I insisted. + +“It’s simple enough,” he said carelessly. “I’m going to search Mr. +Breese’s room very thoroughly. That is all. If you are afraid we shall +be interrupted, let me inform you that Mr. Breese will be occupied for +several hours. I have ascertained that. The chambermaid has already +made the beds and issued the towels. We are quite safe. You see, I +am a good burglar. I know what I’m at. Any detective worthy of the +name who cannot be a better burglar than the regular members of the +profession really has no reason for existence.” + +“But do you think,” I demanded, “that Breese would leave anything in +his room calculated to arouse our suspicions?” + +“Why not?” demanded the Russian, proceeding to the secretary, and +opening a drawer. While he was examining papers he said: “You must +understand this about crimes and criminals: At a certain stage every +criminal is exact, methodical and cunning. Then he becomes desperate +and may do something brilliant--such as the killing of Trenholm with +Smith’s own pistol. Our friend Smith has not yet recovered from his +chagrin at that. In fact, it hurts more now than ever. But as the pace +becomes more furious for the criminal he becomes careless. He must +relax. He must overlook something.” He put back carefully letters, +telegrams. “And we may find something. I do not guarantee it. But I am +hoping.” + +I called out suddenly, for I heard soft footfalls approaching outside. +The Russian paused, listening. Then the door next to ours opened and I +breathed more easily. + +“There is only one thing,” the Russian said. “I have not devised a +means of exit if we are surprised. I do not expect to be surprised. But +if the worst comes to the worst, Mr. Smith can always rescue us from +the law. A trifle! In my own country I have consistently broken all +laws.” + +He was now at the wardrobe closet, expertly fumbling into the pockets +of Mr. Breese’s carefully tailored suits. + +“But the man is rich!” he exclaimed. “Such textiles! Such cloth! I have +always bought the best when I could afford it, and I flatter myself my +taste in clothes is superior to any man’s. Unfortunately, at the moment +I cannot indulge it. I always had my clothes made in England when I was +in my glory,” he sighed. “However--what have we here?” He held up a +piece of brown wrapping paper. I thought it strange that Breese should +carry such an obviously dirty piece of paper on his person. “Look!” +cried the Russian. + +Peering over his shoulder, I saw that these words had been scrawled +upon the paper: + +“Dear Mr. Breese,” I read. “Please come and see me right away as I have +important info. and it will pay you. Don’t fail to come as this is +_important_. I will be waiting for you tonight at 7 in my shop 32 Calle +C and 3rd Street. Charles Spence.” + +“Charles Spence!” exclaimed the Russian. “I wonder if it can be the +Charlie who advised Trenholm on just such paper and in just such +writing to get money!” + +“It must be,” I exclaimed. + +“Smith has that letter,” the Russian continued. “If we could compare, +we could make sure. But obviously it must be the same man. And we +have his address--Calle C and 3rd Street.” He put the paper carefully +back into the pocket he had just rifled. “We shall proceed there +immediately. Come!” + +When the Russian moved, he moved quickly. I found myself panting after +him as he strode down the corridor. We waited for the elevator. Just as +we were about to get in, the elder Breese emerged. + +He frowned on us, and did not even nod. For his part, the Russian +ignored him and stepped into the elevator cage. + +Down in the lobby, he said: “Unless I miss my guess, Mr. Breese +has forgotten that note. He is wearing a suit not unlike the one I +examined. He probably was on his way to see our Charlie and then +discovered he had forgotten the address. We shall wait.” + +We waited in easy chairs screened by pillars so the elder Breese did +not see us when he emerged once more and hurried out. The Russian +beckoned to me and we followed slowly. When we reached the street, +Breese was already in a cab. The Russian permitted him to disappear +around a corner before he summoned a cab for us and directed our driver +to take us to Calle C and 3rd. + +“A highly interesting man, Breese,” the Russian lectured on our +way down. “If my theories are right--and I have no reason to doubt +them--he will probably go down in history as one of the world’s most +interesting criminals. And why not? When a respectable and cultivated +man goes in for crime he makes the efforts of the professionals look +childish in comparison. Most criminals are merely mental deficients. + +“What I admire in him is his attitude toward us. Most criminals would +be bland, friendly. They would be very careful not to antagonize the +police. With what result? The clever detective sees through them. Not +so with Breese. He takes pains to antagonize us. Why? Because, he +reasons, we will assume he has nothing to fear. He is merely standing +on his rights.” + +“But is his attitude so unnatural?” I asked. “After all, he’s an +arrogant man.” + +“He was not arrogant when he warned Smith of his wife’s danger an hour +after she was murdered. He was polite enough when he tried to explain +away his possession of a key to the Gilded Cage. There are moments when +he shows fear. But he is a man of considerable strength of mind. After +all, he reasons he can leave for the States at any moment now. Then he +is safe. The case will be forgotten. He is not in a bad position, Mr. +Breese. In fact, he is in a very good position. I do not boast, but his +sole misfortune is that I happen to be interested in the case. Other +criminals have discovered that before him!” + +He leaned back contentedly and let the sun warm his ruddy face. We were +passing through Havana’s slum section. Colored urchins as naked as +the day they were born rolled in the sand. Black women were grouped +in front of flimsy shacks in the community kitchen, for the primitive +cooking on charcoal fires was done in the open. Every so often a +butcher’s cart full of live chickens, guinea hens and peacocks rolled +by under the guidance of a somnolent coolie. + +About a block from our destination, we dismissed the cab and walked +past a series of open stores and shabby brick homes. We spied a small +sign: “Charles Spence--Bicycles--Repairs.” + +In front of the shop, a taxi waited. I recognized it as the one Breese +had engaged. The Russian stopped a few feet away from the store. + +“We shall wait here,” he said. + +“Well, I’ll wait for you!” The Russian swung around. I started. Smith +was at my elbow. + +“Where did you come from?” the Russian chuckled. “But you are bright +this morning, Mr. Smith!” + +“I was just about going to ask you the same question,” Smith smiled +jovially. He seemed unusually buoyant. There was an air of triumph +about him. + +The Russian explained how we found the note. Smith grinned. + +“You went to a lot of unnecessary trouble,” he said somewhat +patronizingly to the Russian. “It so happens that this morning I got a +letter from Mr. Spence asking me to call.” + +“And then you saw Mr. Breese walk in?” concluded the Russian. + +“No, I called first and after I had gone out I saw Mr. Breese walk in.” +He shook his head reflectively. “Very funny chap, Spence. I had a long +talk with him.” + +“Well, I am listening!” the Russian boomed. “Tell me!” + +“Well,” drawled Smith, “I’ll tell you exactly what happened. I got +a letter saying this: ‘Call at Calle C and 3rd--Charles Spence.’ I +discovered that Mr. Spence was a rather gangly chap, with very sharp +eyes. If I’m not mistaken, it’s T. B. with him, and he came down +originally for the climate. Well, he hemmed and hawed a lot before he +got started, and then hemmed and hawed a lot more when he did. What it +all came down to was this: he wanted to know how much there was in it +for him if he told all he knew about the Breese murder. I had to tell +him there was no reward, but that I’d see to it that he was well paid. +In fact, I said I’d be willing to give a year’s salary myself just to +clear the case. He hemmed and hawed some more.” + +“But didn’t he give you any inkling of what he knew?” interrupted the +Russian. + +“He made it pretty plain,” replied Smith, “that he got his information +from Trenholm.” + +“Who had never met Mrs. Breese,” said the Russian. + +“Yes, I put that up to him,” replied Smith. “But he only smiled a +kind of wet smile and let it go at that. He said he knew and he had +the evidence and it was just a question of whether I would pay. Well, +naturally, I got excited. I tried to pin him down. When he wouldn’t +come across, I threatened to arrest him as a material witness. He got +frightened at that. I guess he had forgotten to figure on that. But +he was pretty obstinate. Well, finally I said I’d give him an hour to +think it over. I left, and just as I got down here I saw Breese’s cab +draw up.” + +“Hmm,” the Russian reflected. “You have handled matters very badly, Mr. +Smith.” + +“How do you get that?” Smith demanded resentfully. + +“It is quite obvious,” replied the Russian. “The man is greedy. He has +a piece of information implicating Breese. He knows that Breese is +obstinate. He is obviously blackmailing him. He thinks that perhaps, +if Breese fails to pay, then the police will give him something +substantial. You should have promised him at least fifty thousand +dollars. It costs nothing to promise.” + +“I don’t have to promise him anything,” countered Smith. “I can lock +him up any time and he’ll come through all right. I’m not worried about +him. This case is over. What with Breese coming down and Charlie Spence +handy where I can get him I expect to have something in a very short +time.” + +“Which leads me to the conclusion,” said the Russian, “that all my +bright hopes have been shattered. I’m going to see Mr. Spence myself.” + +“Not while Breese is in there!” exclaimed Smith. + +“But why not? I want Breese to know that I am here. It will help +matters considerably. Come!” + +I knew the Russian well enough by this time to know that he would be in +Charles Spence’s bicycle store within a moment and I plunged after him. + +Mr. Spence’s window contained one highly polished wire-wheeled bicycle, +a collection of patched tires and an incongruous monkey wrench. The +window had not been washed in many years. It is something of an +eccentricity to have a shop window in Havana. The natives use shutters. + +As we entered the dark store I was surprised to find no one in sight. +The Russian knocked loudly upon a small work-table. Still no one +answered. + +“As I feared,” he muttered. “Mr. Smith should be spanked.” + +“There must be someone here,” I ventured. “Breese’s cab is still +outside.” + +“We shall try the door,” the Russian decided, pointing to the little +door leading obviously to another work shop. He thrust this open. The +elder Breese, who had been sitting at a table, sprang up. + +“Greetings, Mr. Breese,” boomed the Russian. The old man said nothing. +“We should like to see your friend, Charlie Spence.” Still the old man +did not answer. “Surely you will be good enough to tell us where we can +find him, no?” + +“I’m waiting for him myself,” the old man said finally, glaring at the +Russian. + +“Then we shall wait, too,” said the Russian. He seated himself directly +opposite the financier, and leaned over toward him. “That is what I +admire in you Americans--your great democracy. Who would think that so +important a man as you would have so humble a friend as Spence? It is +remarkable!” + +Breese grunted. + +“Did you say something, Mr. Breese?” demanded the Russian. + +“No, I didn’t,” snapped Breese. + +The Russian bowed with mock courtesy. “I don’t expect you to talk +to me. But it’s really no use, Mr. Breese. No use at all. This man +Spence wants your money--and yet what good will it do you? We have the +evidence. Believe me, Mr. Breese, he is merely making a fool of you.” + +“What in the world are you talking about?” sputtered the financier. + +“Surely my meaning is quite plain,” retorted the Russian. “You received +a letter from Mr. Spence this morning. Mr. Spence is--or rather, was--a +friend of our wireless operator who was killed so mysteriously. Mr. +Spence has the same information that caused that poor fellow’s death. +Only Mr. Spence does not intend to suffer the same fate. He intends to +enrich himself and at your expense. Well, Mr. Breese, are you ready to +talk now?” + +“About what?” snapped Breese. “I got a letter the other day from this +man and a very strange telephone call. He said he had some information +on my wife’s death. I came here this morning. I met him. He asked me to +wait. He said he had business a few doors away. I’ve been waiting for +him ever since.” + +“Almost plausible!” said the Russian. + +“Damn it, do you think I’m lying to you?” shouted Breese. + +“I know you are,” replied the Russian coolly. “Be good enough to tell +us where Mr. Spence is. What have you done with him?” + +“What have I done with him? Man, are you mad?” Breese sputtered feebly. +“I’ve got a good mind to report you to your superiors.” + +“Here is my superior now,” the Russian called, as Smith swung the door +open. Smith’s face was grave. The Russian sensed that something had +happened. + +“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Have you found Spence?” + +“No,” said Smith. “But Mr. Spence just drove away post-haste in your +cab, Mr. Breese. And when I called to him he seemed very anxious not to +hear.” + +“I can’t understand it,” muttered Breese. + +“I can,” said the Russian. “Mr. Spence’s plans went slightly wrong. Mr. +Smith threatened him with arrest. And you, Mr. Breese, threatened him +with his life. Caught between the devil and the deep sea, he ran away.” + +“You think that I--I threatened him?” + +“Certainly.” + +“You must be mad! You must be!” + +“There’s an easy way of testing that,” challenged the Russian. “For +example, if it should so happen that you carry a weapon at this moment, +no jury would declare me mad for believing that you threatened your +humble friend. Do you carry a revolver?” + +“I do carry a revolver,” Breese conceded hesitantly, after an +uncomfortable pause. + +“Ah!” exclaimed the Russian. + +“I didn’t know where I was going. I took it along for protection.” + +“May I have that revolver?” Smith asked, extending his hand. +Reluctantly the old man surrendered the weapon. + +“Thank you,” said Smith. “Now, Mr. Breese, I think you should know +that I’ve gotten Spence’s full story,” Smith lied easily. “I was here +before you came--and--there’s no use holding it back from you--he told +me enough to warrant your arrest. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to go +down to Headquarters with me.” + +“Arrest me--for what?” shouted the old man. + +“For the murder of your wife and the murder of Louis Trenholm.” + +The old man looked from Smith to the Russian, and then at me. + +“I suppose you’re all quite sane,” he said finally. “I may be mad +myself. I shouldn’t wonder, with all I’ve been through. But just what +is the reason for my arrest?” He was quite calm now, as if striving +hard to maintain his composure in a bewildering situation. + +“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” the Russian shook his head. “As far as I +know there is not a single piece of evidence against you.” I could not +believe my ears. Smith could only stare. + +“Look here----” bellowed Smith. + +The Russian held up his hand. + +“Not a word, Mr. Smith. I’ve led you astray. This is not our man. +We’ve been fools--utter fools!” Then he muttered, “Bicycles! Wireless +operator! Don’t you see?” He paced up and down excitedly. “It is +incredible that I missed it. Utterly incredible. I am ashamed! I am +senile!” Then suddenly he shouted: “Come--come before it is too late! +Follow me!” + +He bounded out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE MAN IN THE TAXI + + +“Would you mind telling me--” the elder Breese was exasperatingly +polite--“if your police department is composed solely of lunatics?” + +Smith swallowed helplessly. I could sympathize with his exasperation. +The Russian had persistently hammered at him to arrest Breese. When +Smith finally in desperation had taken this step the irrepressible +Perutkin sent his own house of cards toppling, and was off. + +But the detective stuck to his guns. “You needn’t pay any attention to +him,” he said. “He’ll have nothing more to do with this case. I’ll see +to that. I’m in charge and I’ll take full responsibility, Mr. Breese, +for whatever I do.” + +“Very well, then,” said Breese. “Am I to understand that I am under +arrest for murder?” + +“Exactly,” snapped Smith. + +“I suppose I’m permitted to consult a lawyer?” the old man asked coolly. + +“In due time,” replied Smith. “You needn’t answer any questions I put +to you but if you really know nothing of the murder of your wife and of +Trenholm, being frank with me will save a lot of unpleasantness.” + +Breese nodded. “This is not unexpected,” he confessed. “I’ve caught you +people looking strangely at me and it’s gotten on my nerves. Now what +evidence will you present in court?” + +“First,” said Smith, “you had a key which gave you entrance to your +wife’s house.” + +“That’s a long way from murder,” said the old man. + +“You used that key that night.” + +“And if I did?” + +“You knew your wife was dead when we came to your room that night. When +you got the news over the telephone, you acted as if it were news to +you. You did your utmost to implicate Thomas.” + +“Because I sincerely believed him to be at the bottom of it, and I’m +not sure now that I’ve changed my mind.” + +“But a man of your standing,” insisted Smith, “doesn’t usually play +hide and seek with the police the way you did unless he has something +to hide.” + +“I’ve got some imagination,” replied Breese. “My relations with my wife +were not of the best. In the eyes of the law I had plenty of motive +to kill her. But the law doesn’t realize that a man who loves a woman +doesn’t kill her no matter how much she exasperates him. But I knew +that if it were known that I was in the house at the time--that I had, +in fact, stolen into the house--you people would make short work of me. +I had to protect myself.” + +“That sounds reasonable, the way you tell it,” conceded Smith. + +“It’s the truth,” the old man said simply. “Good God, man, do I look +like a murderer? Do I look like a man who would kill the woman who bore +me two children?” + +“But here’s the problem we’re up against,” Smith pointed out. “We’ve +got to proceed on evidence. Slowly but surely the evidence has been +accumulating against you. You admit it yourself. If you didn’t kill +her, who did?” + +“Do you think that if I knew I wouldn’t have told you long ago?” +countered the old man. “Don’t you think I loved my wife? Don’t you +think her death was a blow to me? Don’t you think I’m suffering the +torments of hell right now?” + +There was such evident sincerity in the man’s voice that even Smith, +I could see, was troubled. He said: “I want you to understand, Mr. +Breese, that I’m merely doing my duty.” The old man nodded. “But there +are still actions of yours that I can’t explain away. Why were you so +anxious to leave the country before your wife’s funeral? I had to go to +the trouble of getting you shipped back from Key West.” + +“Oh, you were the one?” the old man smiled grimly. “I suspected as +much. Well, I did want to get away. You remember you told me that the +Count had been arrested on his confession. I know how my daughter +feels about him. Coming at that time, I felt I had all the sorrow I +could bear. I wanted to get away to think things out. I was afraid +of breaking under the strain.” He paused. “As a matter of fact, I +consulted Rice and asked his advice. He advised me to go away. He knew +I had nothing to do with it and he was perfectly willing to look after +my family.” + +“You should have consulted me,” Smith said. “If you’d talked as frankly +as you do now we’d have been much further ahead in this case.” + +“I had no desire to tangle myself up with the police,” the old man +pointed out. + +“Well, then, finally,” said Smith, “just why did you come to see Mr. +Spence?” + +“If a man writes me to come and see him, and then telephones me he has +information on my wife’s death, I’d naturally come. As a matter of +fact, I paid no attention to the letter, because it was so cryptic. It +was only after he phoned me that I decided to look into the matter.” + +“Why didn’t you refer Spence to me?” demanded Smith. + +“I’m in the habit of doing things for myself,” replied Breese. “I +wasn’t afraid to come down. I took a revolver along as a precaution. I +had no real reason to be afraid. And perhaps you’re willing to believe +that I’m just as anxious to clear up my wife’s death as anyone can be. +I feel I’m under a shadow until the case is cleared.” + +From Smith’s bland expression I knew that he was studying the +financier with great interest. I knew that Smith had not yet made up +his mind. + +“You must understand,” Smith continued, “that your visit here, coupled +with other circumstances, is highly suspicious. Let me show you why--I +talked with Spence. He’s a blackmailer. He wants money. Any jury would +assume that he wrote you for only one purpose--to get hush money. And +that you came down to give it to him.” + +“But I never heard of the man before!” cried Breese. + +“But you heard of Trenholm.” + +“No,” said Breese. “I didn’t. First I saw of him was the night of the +funeral, although I was paying him his salary. That Trenholm business +is absolutely beyond me. That whole night is like a nightmare to +me even now. I woke up last night shivering and sweating. I’d been +dreaming all sorts of crazy things, with Trenholm in them. It’s taken +all my will power, I tell you, to keep my hold on things.” + +Smith looked at him. For my part, I was willing to accept the +financier’s story. I had realized before that a chain of circumstantial +evidence may strangle the innocent, and Breese seemed to have a tenable +explanation for every step he took in the case, once you granted him +a lack of motive. On the other hand, I realized (and Smith, I could +see, was of the same mind) that Breese might be wriggling out of +the evidence against him with a disarming frankness foreign to his +character. + +Finally Smith said: “I’m willing to go a long way, Mr. Breese, to give +you the benefit of the doubt--provided you promise me that you won’t +leave the country until I say you can go.” + +Something of the financier’s arrogance returned to him. He flushed +angrily. “And what if I refuse?” + +Smith shrugged his shoulders. “Then I’m afraid I must take the +necessary steps to detain you.” + +He spoke quietly, but there was a challenge in his voice. The old man +stared at him defiantly. + +But the tension was broken by the door swinging open suddenly. A +young native in the livery of a taxi chauffeur stood panting before +us. I recognized him as Breese’s driver. His eyes were wide open with +excitement, and his forehead was wet. + +“Mr. Breese!” he called. “Mr. Breese!” + +“What is it?” growled the financier. + +“Come with me, please. Right away!” the driver pleaded. “There’s a man +in the cab.” + +“What man?” demanded Breese. + +“The man you sent away with me.” + +“I didn’t send any man away with you,” Breese denied angrily. “What are +you talking about?” + +But the chauffeur was now wringing his hands. “Come please!” he +pleaded. “It is terrible.” + +“What’s come over you?” demanded Breese. + +“Come--please--see” urged the chauffeur, wringing his hands more +violently. “It is terrible!” Then he stopped, realizing our utter +bewilderment. He began patiently. “I am sitting outside, waiting for +you, Mr. Breese, when a man runs out from back of the store and he +says: ‘Mr. Breese want you to drive me quick to Calle L.’ So I says: +‘Get in.’ So we drive.” + +“I didn’t send anyone to you,” Breese shook his head. “I haven’t met +anyone here except Spence.” + +“Well, the man was Spence,” Smith intervened. “I saw him jump in the +cab myself. I came in here and told you.” + +He turned to the driver. + +“Go on. What happened?” + +The chauffeur took a deep breath. “I drive to Calle L. When I stop he +says: ‘Go in café and get drink and be back in fifteen minutes.’ I +am thirsty, I say: ‘All right.’ I go into café and have drink. After +fifteen minutes I come back. I get into seat. I start car. Man sitting +there. I drive back. I come here.” He wiped his forehead. “Ten years I +work for Biltmore. Never anything happens to me. Never.” + +“Go on!” urged Smith. + +“I get here,” the chauffeur swallowed. “I get out. I open the door. The +man do not move. I say something. He say nothing. Then I look. It is +terrible! Ten years I work for Biltmore and never anything happen.” + +But Smith was already out of the door. Breese and I followed him +hurriedly. + +Seated in the back of the open cab, his hands folded upon his stomach, +his long elbows grotesquely akimbo, was a sallow-faced individual, +apparently asleep. + +“Good God!” cried Breese. “That’s Spence--the chap I saw.” + +Smith looked at him. “Your chauffeur says he told him you sent him away +in this cab.” + +“But I did nothing of the kind,” cried Breese. “Why, he left by the +back door. He said he’d be gone only a few minutes. I was waiting for +him!” + +Suddenly the body swayed and then toppled headlong to the floor. The +fixed eyes looked directly at us. Then we saw there was a pool of blood +upon the seat of the cab. + +Breese cried out in horror. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +CALLE L + + +A crowd of curiosity seekers had gathered about us. Smith tried to shoo +them away, but the Havanese are persistent. It is not every day that +one is privileged to witness a corpse in a cab. It was with some relief +that we hailed the approach of a native policeman. + +Smith issued crisp commands to this man. He wanted the body taken to +the morgue for the necessary autopsy. It was not to be moved before the +medical examiner appeared. Spence’s shop was to be sealed and guarded. + +The policeman got into the cab and drove it off alone. At this Breese’s +man set up a wail. He would not part with his beloved car. For ten +years he had worked for the Biltmore. His reputation and his cab were +both spotless. + +But the detective silenced him with a glare and not too ceremoniously +hoisted him into another taxi. Smith and I followed. + +“You’re going to take us to the place where you say you left Spence,” +Smith informed the driver, who looked mournfully back for his vanished +cab. “Savvy?” The driver nodded miserably. + +As we approached Calle L, he urged his colleague to slow down. The +houses we passed were vaguely familiar, impressive stone houses +befitting the aristocratic Vedado quarter. Then he called: “Here! +Here!” Our cab stopped. + +We had pulled up directly in front of the Gilded Cage! + +“Here!” exclaimed the chauffeur, “here this man told me to stop. He +looked around for a minute, then he says: ‘Go to café.’ I go to café +on corner. There.” He pointed to the modest bodega not far away. “I go +inside. I come back.” He wrung his hands as he relived the tragedy. “It +is terrible. Ten years I work for Biltmore and never anything happen. +Never!” + +But Smith had gotten out and was studying the Gilded Cage. Breese still +sat in the cab, as if in stupefied wonder. But he was roused by Smith’s +first sharp question. + +“You say, Mr. Breese, that you did _not_ send this man here?” Smith +demanded. + +“I certainly did not,” declared Breese emphatically. + +“Despite what your driver says?” + +“Despite what anybody says.” + +“And yet,” Smith said slowly, “he drives to your house.” + +Smith turned to the driver. “You say you sat in that café for fifteen +minutes. Could you see your cab from there?” + +“Sure--sure,” the driver nodded vigorously. “I watch my cab. I do not +leave it alone. I don’t know this man.” + +“You watched that cab all the time?” + +“Sure--sure. All the time.” + +“Now listen to me carefully,” Smith urged. “Did you see another man +approach your man in the cab?” + +“No. No one came to cab. No one.” + +“There must have been some one,” Smith exclaimed impatiently. “The man +didn’t kill himself.” + +“No one! No one came to cab,” insisted the driver. “I watched. I see. I +wonder why he send me away because he just sit there fifteen minutes.” + +Smith swore softly in his perplexity. “But someone must have shot him,” +he insisted. “He must have come here to keep a date. He must have been +expecting someone. Why did he dismiss you?” + +“No one came here,” the driver repeated. “I watch.” + +“We’ll see if you did,” snapped Smith. “You take us to the chair you +occupied in the café. Come on!” + +The driver dutifully led us to the bodega and to the seat he had +occupied. We got a clear view of both the cab and the street through +the broad windows. Further, not only the driver but the swarthy +jowelled proprietor and some of his habitual patrons were ready to +swear that no one had approached the cab. They had been idly observing +it, they said. They remembered it well. + +And no one had heard a shot of any kind. + +The further we plunged into the circumstances of the third murder +associated with the Gilded Cage, the more uncanny it seemed. I know +that for my part, although it was broad daylight, a bright sun, a +profusion of tropical flowers everywhere about us, I shivered as if I +were listening to a ghost story upon a moonless night in some creaky +old house. + +Smith peered up at the Gilded Cage, as if trying to discover something +in its marble walls. + +“I’ve never had a case before,” Smith turned to Breese, “that tossed +me around the way this one does. I know it all fits together. But I +can’t tell you how.” He paused, observing Breese keenly. “Ordinarily I +wouldn’t be stumped. I’d hold on to you.” + +“To me?” + +“Yes--if I hold on to you I can puzzle it out.” + +“But I was with you all the time.” + +“Yes,” said Smith, “but you may have an accomplice. Your driver, for +example. Let me show you, Mr. Breese, how guilty you look. Spence is a +blackmailer, and you receive a letter from him. Now why does he write +you a letter?” + +“I don’t know,” said Breese. “Over the ’phone he said he had +information on my wife’s death. To my face he said practically nothing, +just told me to wait.” + +“That’s your story,” said Smith, “but who’d believe it? He wrote +me a letter, too. That’s natural enough. If his victim didn’t come +through with money he’d see the police got the information. Now who +was his victim? You were the only one, aside from myself, who came +to his place. Obviously, he must have had something on you. That’s +a reasonable conclusion. Particularly in view of the circumstantial +evidence against you in the other two cases. Then, your driver says he +told him you sent him off in the cab. Where does he go? To your house. +And in front of your house he is killed.” + +“Good God,” exclaimed Breese, “you almost convince me it’s so!” + +“I almost convince myself it’s so,” said Smith. + +“But I assure you----” protested Breese. + +“And yet,” interrupted Smith, “that doesn’t explain how he was murdered +by someone unseen and unheard.” + +“It may have been a silencer,” I suggested. + +“Undoubtedly,” said Smith. “But nobody’s invented an invisible gun or +an invisible man. Unless----” he stopped suddenly and looked up at the +huge shrouded windows of the Gilded Cage. “Unless the executioner,” he +continued grimly, “was waiting in one of those windows with a gun and +silencer.” He shouted suddenly. “That’s it.” + +He pointed to one of the windows. + +“No doubt of it,” he continued excitedly. “A man standing there, at +that window--Spence down here in the cab and----” + +To our amazement the window swung open. Then we saw a huge head. +Perutkin appeared at the window. He was beckoning to Smith, suggesting +by signs that he go into the house. + +“There’s that lunatic again,” muttered Breese. + +“What’s he doing here?” Smith demanded of me. “I’ll have to lock him up +just to get rid of him.” + +But the Russian was gesticulating wildly. + +“He wants us to come in,” I suggested. + +“I want to go in anyway,” said Smith, moving up the long stairs to the +terrace. “He’s probably got another hare-brained scheme.” He dismissed +the Russian from his mind contemptuously. “But that’s the explanation. +No doubt of it. Spence was killed from a window in this house. Now +we’ll find out who’s in that house and this time I let nobody go.” + +“But who can it be?” muttered Breese. “Someone I know? Someone in +the house, someone with us on the yacht? The mere thought of it is +appalling.” + +We had reached the terrace. The door swung open. The Russian greeted us. + +“A thousand pardons, Mr. Smith,” he called. “I left you +unceremoniously. I plead haste. And a thousand pardons to you, Mr. +Breese. I am responsible for any unpleasantness that may have been +caused you. I was led astray. I insisted you were a criminal. And I had +no evidence. I can only beg your pardon.” + +“What is it you want now?” Smith insisted grimly. “You’ve got nothing +more to do with this case. You know that, don’t you?” + +“That is true,” replied the Russian, “in half an hour I shall have +nothing more to do with this case. Yours shall be the glory, Mr. +Smith. The case is over.” He paused. “It is too bad about Spence. A +blackmailer, but still a human being.” + +“How do you know about him?” Smith demanded. + +“I foresaw his end, poor chap,” the Russian sighed. “When I left you so +hurriedly I had hoped to prevent it. But when I came here I knew I was +too late.” + +Smith looked at him, shaking his head in baffled wonder. + +“You see, it was inevitable,” the Russian explained. “Spence was the +last. There shall be no more murders. Now there shall be retribution. +When Mrs. Breese was killed, it was written that Trenholm should go. +And when Trenholm confided in Spence, and Spence very foolishly sought +profit from his highly dangerous information, Spence was doomed.” He +added casually: “But I have our man.” + +“Which one is it this time?” Smith sneered. + +“The right one,” replied the Russian. “You need have no fear. I made +one mistake in this case, I concede it. I overlooked one slight detail. +It entirely escaped me. And that one slight detail sent me off on the +wrong track. I became confused. My work was execrable. I can only +apologize. But I have made up for it. I have corrected my error. And I +have the man you want.” + +“Is this another one of your experiments?” demanded Smith. + +“No,” said the Russian. “I have disappointed you before, Mr. Smith. +I have disappointed myself. Even now I kick myself violently for my +stupidity.” + +“Well,” said Smith practically, “who is it and where is he?” + +“Will you give me half an hour--thirty minutes?” asked the Russian. + +“I knew there was a catch in it,” sighed Smith. + +“I could turn the man over to you at this moment,” the Russian said, +“but it would not be advisable.” + +Smith shook his head. “I’ve wasted enough time with you,” he said. “If +you have anything, come out with it.” + +“Very well,” said the Russian. “You refuse me? Then find the man +yourself. I have no self-interest. I am merely helping you. Is a +half-hour so precious to you that you cannot gamble it against a +certainty? I assume you want the man. I shall get him for you, in +exactly thirty minutes. He is not far from you now.” + +Smith is by nature a trader. He overlooks no bargains. After a moment’s +hesitation, he said finally: “All right! I’ll give you half an hour. If +you don’t produce, better keep out of my way!” + +“Excellent!” exclaimed the Russian. “Come with me!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +MODUS OPERANDI + + +When we entered the drawing-room of the Gilded Cage, we found assembled +there all our fellow-passengers of the yacht. At first sight, they +might have been guests at some informal reception. The Count and +Countess were seated close together, chatting amiably enough as we +approached. I judged from their expressions that despite the tragedy +hovering over them, or because of it, the Count had gone far in his +effort at reconciliation in the last few days. + +Rice and the younger Breese were standing near the window, conversing +in low tones. The actor, as usual, sulked in a corner by himself, +smoking a cigarette with the aid of an extraordinarily long amber +holder. + +Smith had warned Breese outside to mention nothing of the fate that had +overtaken Spence. The old man was obviously restrained in greeting his +children and Rice. To Thomas he paid no attention whatsoever. + +I wondered how the Russian had assembled them all, and for what +purpose. I noticed, too, that although the sun was bright outside, the +curtains were securely drawn, and the chandelier glowing with light. +The room would have been dark without it. + +From the Russian’s first words, it was obvious that they were waiting +for him to proceed with whatever it was he had in mind. He said: “Now +we are complete. Mr. Breese is here. Mr. Smith is here.” He turned to +the detective, took his arm, and led him to the library. I followed +curiously. Standing at the door were the Japanese footman and the +English butler. Seated at the table was a bespectacled young American, +whom the Russian presented as “Mr. Jenkins of the Ministry.” We shook +hands with this stranger, and I wondered what it all meant. + +But the Russian was reserving his explanation for those in the +drawing-room. Standing in the center of the room, he rapped twice with +his knuckles upon the table for silence. + +“Please pay attention!” he called, as if to a group of school children. +“You undoubtedly wonder why I summoned you here in the name of the law. +I shall tell you. You have come to assist in the administration of +justice. I shall ask you all to cooperate with me to the very best of +your ability. There are vital issues at stake.” He cleared his throat. +“What I am about to ask you to do may be distasteful. It may cause some +of you real pain. But I wish you to believe that whatever sacrifice you +make will not be in vain. Listen to me, please---- + +“It is the belief of the police that one and the same person killed the +late Mrs. Breese, killed the unfortunate wireless operator, Trenholm, +and only this afternoon killed the wretched Charles Spence. Some of +you may not know it, but a third, and the last of the murders, was +committed less than an hour ago in front of this house!” + +I heard a buzz of startled conversation. Once more the Russian rapped +upon the table. + +“Listen to me, please. We are not repeating the unfortunate incident +of the yacht. This time we have made more extensive preparations. This +time we do not seek the murderer. We know him. Now here is what I +wish you to do: Listen carefully: In a few moments, in this room, we +are going to reconstruct the murder of Mrs. Breese.” He looked at the +Countess. “I beg a thousand pardons from the members of her family. +I assure them if I could spare them this ordeal, I would. But it is +impossible.” He swung around to the rest. “It is now nine o’clock at +night, a week ago. I have purposely darkened the room, and put on +artificial light, to give verity to our scene. I shall ask all of you +to repeat your movements of that night--but exactly!” + +With the air of an imperious director, he pointed to the Count. + +“You, my friend, at nine o’clock, were where?” + +“Outside in the corridor,” replied the Count. + +“Go there,” the Russian commanded. “And do exactly what you did that +night. Observe what you observed that night and report to us from the +corridor what you see.” + +Without waiting for the Count to leave, the Russian turned to the +Countess and the younger Breese. “You two were upstairs in your rooms. +Will you please go there now and come down when the butler calls you, +as he called you that night?” + +“Look here,” the boy protested, “what’s the sense of it?” + +“I assure you,” said the Russian, “I would not dream of subjecting you +to this ordeal if it were not extremely necessary.” + +The boy shrugged his shoulders and followed his sister out of the room. + +“It is good they are not here to watch everything,” the Russian +commented as they left. “I wish to spare them pain.” He turned to the +father. “You, Mr. Breese, go out into the street, and enter as you did +last night. You have your key?” + +“Yes,” said Breese. “But why the devil should I?” + +“Because you wish to clear your name,” said the Russian. “I beg of you +to do this for your own sake. I have only half an hour. It goes very +quickly. Come!” + +Reluctantly Breese left the room. + +“Now,” said the Russian, “I shall take the part of Mrs. Breese. You, +Mr. Thomas, were in this room with her. You remain here.” + +He looked at the actor quizzically. + +“You should find this work easy. It is your profession.” + +Then he raised his voice to its terrific boom: “All of you, +everywhere. It is nine o’clock. We begin!” + +Then he stared at Rice. “I had quite forgotten you, Mr. Rice. You were +at the American Minister’s at the time. Very well then. We shall call +the library the Ministry. You shall wait there.” + +Rice good-naturedly nodded, and passed into the library. + +“Now,” said the Russian to Thomas. “I am Mrs. Breese. We are talking +together. What is it you say to me?” + +“Hang it all,” cried the actor. “I can’t remember.” + +“Say something--anything,” commanded the Russian sharply. “Tell me +you’re going back to the States to marry another girl. I get quite +angry. I storm at you, don’t I?” + +“Yes,” the actor swallowed. + +“That is better,” commented the Russian, stepping out of his rôle. “You +actually quarrelled with Mrs. Breese.” + +“But--but--” stammered the actor. + +The Russian held up his hand. “Play your part!” he commanded. “You are +an execrable actor. I say to you: ‘You have deceived me. I love you.’ +And you say to me----” + +The actor shifted uncomfortably. + +“What is it you say to me?” + +“Hang it all,” he began. + +“You say nothing. You storm out of the room. You run upstairs. Go!” + +Thomas fled from the room. It was really very funny, but none of us +laughed. The Russian had us in his grip. + +“You see,” said the Russian, “this is what actually happened. Thomas +told us fairy tales.” + +He snorted. + +“As if Mrs. Breese would calmly consent to his jilting her.” + +He turned to the door. + +“Count!” he cried. “You are in the corridor. What do you see?” + +“I see Mr. Breese coming toward the drawing-room.” + +“Good,” approved the Russian. “Where is the Japanese? Here, you----” + +The footman appeared from the library. Evidently the Russian had +already given him minute instructions. He entered and picked up a tray +from the table. + +“Mrs. Breese want nothing more?” + +“No,” replied the Russian. The footman bowed and obediently returned to +the library with his tray. + +“Now I am left alone,” the Russian said to Smith. “I walk about. I am +quite upset by the words of Mr. Thomas. I do not know what to do. My +vanity is hurt. The telephone rings. Mr. Rice!” + +The promoter appeared from the library. He watched the Russian +tolerantly. + +“Mr. Rice,” commanded the Russian briskly, “you are at the ministry. +You are talking over the telephone with Mrs. Breese. Stand where you +are, and I shall stand here. I say ‘Hello.’” + +“Well, it’s sort of hard to repeat the exact words,” Rice complained. +“But I’ll do my best. Something like this: ‘Hello, Dora, how are you?’” + +“Excellent, Mr. Rice. You are our best actor. ‘Hello, Gordon.’” + +“‘Dora, I’ve some bad news for you.’ + +“‘What is it?’ + +“‘Are you alone?’ + +“‘Yes.’ + +“‘I’ve just gotten a check from the bank. It’s made out to Thomas and +your signature is forged to it.’ + +“‘I can’t believe it.’ + +“As a matter of fact,” Rice interrupted, “she said much more than that. +She railed at me considerably for libelling Mr. Thomas. Finally I said: +‘Well, you can see for yourself. I left the check and the letter from +the bank teller on the table in the drawing-room!’ + +“‘Very well. Hold the wire. I’ll see.’ + +“Then I waited,” said Rice. + +“‘I can’t find it,’” the Russian suggested. + +“‘That’s funny. I put the check and a letter on the table, addressed to +you. Thomas must have found it.’ + +“‘I don’t believe a word of it!’” + +“What’s that?” said Rice, looking up startled. + +“I was playing my part,” the Russian smiled. “Then, I presume, Mrs. +Breese hung up suddenly, as startled people will. Good!” He swung +around to us. “Now I am left alone once more. I am further distressed. +I don’t know what to do. Mr. Breese! Where are you?” + +“Right outside the door,” the financier replied. + +“Come in.” + +The Russian suddenly fell to the floor. The door opened. Breese looked +down and started. + +“Come closer,” the Russian called without shifting. “This is how you +found me.” + +“Yes,” said Breese huskily. + +“And then you ran out.” + +“Yes.” + +“Follow out your movements then, Mr. Breese. Go into the street. Just +as you did that night.” + +Breese hurried out of the room. + +“Brandlock,” the Russian called to the butler, who hurried forward +now. He looked slightly askance at the prone figure of Perutkin. +“Come--come--don’t be a fool!” the Russian snapped at him. “You saw +Mrs. Breese in this position. Run upstairs now as you did then and +summon the children.” + +The butler shrugged his shoulders disdainfully but did as he was told. + +The Russian called out into the corridor: “Count, what do you see?” + +“I see Mr. Breese running out into the street. I hear the butler +telling them upstairs that Mrs. Breese was murdered.” + +“Good!” exclaimed the Russian. “Which tells us why our friend, the +Count, made his foolish confession.” He picked himself up from the +floor, just as the Breese children ran in. + +“Come in, all of you!” he cried. “We need go no further with this. +The children run down. They summon a policeman. Someone telephones +Rice at the Ministry. So far, we have traced the movements of each +known individual. Mr. Thomas leaves in a huff. The telephone rings. +Mrs. Breese answers. Mr. Breese comes in and finds his wife dead. The +essential moment that still remains to be explained away is the time +between Rice’s call and the entrance of Mr. Breese. What happened in +that moment? What did Mrs. Breese do? How did she meet her death? Look +around this room and tell me, Mr. Smith.” + +“I don’t know,” said Smith curtly. “And I don’t see that this is +getting us anywhere.” + +“You do not see it?” persisted the Russian. “Miraculous! But then, for +a long time I did not see it myself.” He turned abruptly. “The reason +I am reconstructing this crime is to check back upon the known facts. +For example, we know now that Mr. Thomas had been quarrelling with Mrs. +Breese. We know now that Mr. Breese discovered the body. Now, Mr. Rice?” + +“Yes, sir,” said the promoter. “Anything further I can do?” + +“I want you to refresh your memory and tell us if there’s anything you +have omitted in your telephone conversation with Mrs. Breese.” + +The promoter reflected a moment and then shook his head vigorously. +“No, I guess not. I guess I covered the ground pretty thoroughly.” + +“You have forgotten nothing?” + +“Not a thing,” said Rice emphatically. + +“Very well,” said the Russian quietly, moving to the library. “Come +here, Mr. Jenkins.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE CALL + + +The bespectacled young man approached Perutkin rather timidly. + +“Do you know Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Rice?” + +“Afraid I don’t,” said the promoter. “I just noticed him in the +library.” + +“Mr. Jenkins,” said the Russian, “is employed at the American Ministry.” + +He swung at Rice sharply. + +“Are you sure you have omitted nothing in your conversation?” + +“Positive,” said Rice. “Of course, I may have said something +trivial--unessential----” + +“Every detail is important,” insisted the Russian. “I have done an +amount of inquiry in this case, which is stupendous. Most of the +information I have gathered is valueless. For example, I wanted to know +exactly what it was you said to Mrs. Breese over the telephone that +night, and for that reason I questioned Mr. Jenkins.” + +He turned to the timid young man. “You were at the American Ministry +when Mr. Rice telephoned, were you not?” + +“Yes, sir, I was.” + +“And you overheard the conversation?” + +“I overheard Mr. Rice’s end of it,” the young man corrected precisely. + +“And does it check with his version today?” + +“No, sir.” + +“What’s that?” cried Rice. + +“Please be quiet, Mr. Rice,” admonished Perutkin. “This is a mere +formality. It may have been an oversight on your part. Mr. Jenkins, +tell us what Mr. Rice said to Mrs. Breese.” + +“Well, as I explained to you,” began the young man, “I was in the next +booth, trying to call my mother. We have two booths at the Ministry. I +was waiting for my number. I heard Mr. Rice talking--I couldn’t help +hearing--and I thought the conversation so peculiar that I remembered +it.” + +The young man stammered in his earnestness. + +“I didn’t hear anything about--about a check. I heard Mr. Rice say: +‘Hello, Dora. How are you?’ And then: ‘That lecture on companionate +marriage. It’s starting now. Are you alone?’ And then she said +something. And he said: ‘You’ll find it interesting.’ Then he said: +‘Sixty.’ Just the number--‘sixty’.” + +“So!” said the Russian. “A lecture on companionate marriage. Starting +now. Sixty.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Rice stared at the clerk. + +“I did forget that!” he exclaimed. “I suppose it was so trivial it just +slipped my mind. Mrs. Breese was interested in companionate marriage +and the Minister happened to mention that some silly woman or other +was lecturing on it for the Woman’s Club, which, if I remember, is at +Malecon 60. I must have repeated this information to Mrs. Breese.” + +“So!” said the Russian. “It is always advisable to check up on every +little detail, no matter how trivial. Mrs. Breese asked you where on +the Malecon was the Woman’s Club. And you said ‘Sixty’.” + +“Exactly,” confirmed Rice. + +“When did you say you telephoned Mrs. Breese? At about nine-thirty?” + +“Yes. Around nine-thirty.” + +“Lectures usually start at eight-thirty. It would take her at least +half an hour to get to the Malecon from her home, assuming that she +started right out, which a woman would not be likely to do. Didn’t it +occur to you that the lecture would be over by the time she got there?” + +Rice shook his head. “Frankly, I didn’t think of it. I didn’t give the +matter sufficient attention. I just thought I’d pass the information +on.” + +“So that the strange conversation that Mr. Jenkins overheard was +nothing more than a piece of stray news that you were relaying to Mrs. +Breese for no purpose whatsoever?” + +“If you want to take it that way,” said Rice. “Yes. Honestly, I don’t +see what you’re driving at.” + +I could see from Smith’s expression that the detective agreed with +him. But Perutkin was inexorable. + +“Let us continue,” he said sharply. “I want to ask you a question.” + +“By all means,” Rice invited, smiling tolerantly. + +“Are you a wealthy man, Mr. Rice?” + +“Well,” Rice hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that.” + +The Russian swung at the elder Breese. + +“You, Mr. Breese, know the extent of Mr. Rice’s finances. He has always +been more or less in your employ. Would you call him a wealthy man?” + +“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to Mr. Rice,” Breese replied. “I +don’t see what his wealth has to do with the murder of my wife.” + +“Only this,” said the Russian, “I was always under the impression that +Mr. Rice was independently wealthy. Therefore, I could not understand +his movements. Now I can.” + +He paused, while we all looked at Rice in bewilderment. He flushed +uncomfortably. + +“I don’t see how my finances concern you,” he said with some asperity. + +“Enough!” cried the Russian suddenly. “I shall ask no more questions. +Why should I? I do not seek information. I know. Mr. Rice, will you go +to the radio and turn the dial until you reach the number sixty?” + +The Russian moved to the black and silver radio. He tapped it with his +great knuckles. “A beautiful instrument. I desire, Mr. Rice, that you +tune in on sixty.” + +“What for?” said Rice. + +“We are reconstructing the murder of Mrs. Breese,” replied the Russian. +“This radio is in exactly the condition and position that it was on +that night. I have seen to that. Will you turn the dial to sixty, Mr. +Rice?” + +Rice made no move. + +“I am giving you your opportunity,” the Russian said softly. “I am +being merciful. Turn that dial to sixty.” + +Rice, as if hypnotized, shuffled towards the radio. His entire demeanor +had changed. His shoulders drooped, his face was ashen. Rarely have I +seen such a picture of defeat. + +Now his hand was upon the dial. + +“Sixty,” repeated the Russian. + +The hand moved, slowly. Suddenly a flash of fire came from the radio. +Rice fell to the floor. + +I could not but gasp in horror. Then, shuddering, I saw the Russian +deliberately kick the prone body. The Russian was shaking with laughter. + +“Get up!” he thundered. “Do you think I’d give you up so easily? I put +blanks in, Mr. Rice. _You did not!_” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE RUSSIAN EXPLAINS + + +The Russian beamed upon the dazed and frightened circle about him. + +“I have given you,” he said with his characteristic pedantic air, “a +concrete demonstration of the _modus operandi_ of as ingenious and +carefully planned a crime as it has been my privilege to study. I +realize that to some of you the subject has been extremely painful.” + +He looked at Mary Breese paternally. + +“But even you, Miss Breese, and your family should find consolation in +the thought that the man responsible for the tragedy in your lives has +finally been brought to punishment.” He turned abruptly to Rice. “Will +you care to explain the reasons for your horrible crimes, or shall I do +it?” + +Rice looked down at the floor. Outwardly he had recovered his +composure. His face was a mask. + +“Very well,” said the Russian. “I shall be content with second-hand +information and guesswork, since you will not oblige. Now, Miss Breese +and gentlemen, we must first enter into the motives that prompted the +first of Mr. Rice’s crimes. It is my guess that Mr. Rice deserted you, +Mr. Breese, during the unpleasantness of the divorce trial at his +own suggestion. He suggested to you that if he became Mrs. Breese’s +business adviser, he could keep an eye out for your interests. He might +even be able to patch up your domestic differences. Am I right?” + +“Yes,” said Breese, staring incredulously at Rice while he answered. +“He did suggest just that.” + +“His real reason, of course,” continued the Russian, “was to get his +hands on Mrs. Breese’s extensive properties. Mr. Rice was a promoter by +trade and a soldier of fortune by inclination. We must go deeply into +his character to understand and appreciate his motives. Until the time +he met you in Paris, Mr. Breese, he had led a hand to mouth existence. +Association with you helped him float a few ventures, some of them +successful, some of them failures. His ambition was boundless.” + +“You asked him to Riga. It is my theory, Mr. Rice, that you were +acquainted with the Baron Peter Setovski before you met him in Riga +on the occasion of the marriage of my friend, the Count, to Miss +Breese. I cannot prove it. It is my guess that the Baron knew of some +disreputable incident--one of many--in your past, and threatened to +expose you to Mr. Breese. You took an effective way out, and my friend, +the Count, was implicated. This is only a theory. I cannot prove it. +Perhaps you care to comment, Mr. Rice?” + +But the promoter looked disdainfully at him and said nothing. + +“Very well,” the Russian shrugged his shoulders. “We leave theory +and proceed to facts. For a long time I was led astray in this case +by a series of suspicious circumstances that signified nothing. It +so happens that any human being is capable of murder under certain +circumstances. Otherwise, no murder would remain unsolved. All +murderers would be labelled, or even licensed. But I joke. It is in bad +taste. + +“In this case, we were faced with the problem of a very unusual woman. +She had been separated from her husband, and attached herself to a +worthless young man who has not been even faithful to her. It was only +natural that suspicion should seek out these two. Mr. Smith chose one +suspect. And I the other. + +“I say nothing of my friend, the Count. He managed to confuse us for +but an instant with his confession. He, too, suspected the elder Breese +and sought to protect the father of the girl he loves. + +“Now I am frank to say that until the murder of the wireless operator, +I was completely lost in this case. Inexcusably so. But then my brain +recovered its strength. I ploughed ahead. After all, it was obvious. +Behold! Of all those who knew and might have killed Mrs. Breese, only +one was absent from the house at the time. He was equipped with a +magnificent alibi. He was dining at the American Minister’s. + +“I thought to myself: ‘Suppose I wanted to murder this woman! What +would be my first move?’ Naturally, my first move would be to protect +myself. Mr. Thomas made no such move. Mr. Breese made no such move. +Then I thought to myself: ‘What is the best way of protecting oneself +while committing murder?’ And my logical brain replied: ‘By not being +present at the scene of the crime.’ + +“But you would say that is impossible. No. Then one must seek an +accomplice. I worked on that basis for many days, looking for the +accomplice. Naturally, when Trenholm was killed, I judged immediately +that he was the accomplice. But no one saw Trenholm near the scene of +the crime. I could not understand it. + +“Then I delved into Trenholm’s background. He was a wireless operator. +He was a mechanic. I sought any and every possible means of connecting +him with this house. Methodically by elimination, I finally came to the +radio set. I saw light. + +“Remember, Trenholm never met Mrs. Breese. He was but recently engaged +for the yacht. At this point, I must interrupt myself to say that the +mechanical murder is not unfamiliar to me. It is the refuge of either +cowards or master criminals. In my country, bombs have been placed +in pianos, and even attached to typewriters. But these devices make +fearful noise, and are open to detection. + +“So it remained for our friend, Rice, to single out Mr. Trenholm. What +his arguments were I do not know, and it does not matter. In any +case, this is what Mr. Trenholm did for Mr. Rice.” The Russian pulled +open the case of the radio. “Mr. Trenholm took an ordinary revolver, +equipped with a silencer, quite common these days. He placed it upon +this small stand. He built a lever, a small piece of metal, connecting +with the dial and the trigger of the revolver. Come closer and you +shall see. The revolver is no longer loaded. Observe that when the dial +comes to sixty, the lever has pressed the trigger back and the revolver +explodes. Observe that the weapon is so placed in the aperture for the +loud speaker that its explosion leaves no mark upon the instrument. + +“Simple, is it not? Now, Mr. Rice had, as I have indicated, certain +reasons for ridding himself of Mrs. Breese. He had been her business +adviser, and consequently handled her funds. Unfortunately, Mr. Rice +diverted these funds to his own use, and some of his ventures and +speculations were unsuccessful. + +“At this very time, Mrs. Breese proposed to marry the actor, Thomas. +Naturally, Mr. Rice is opposed to any man entering the establishment. +It will weaken his power. But not only does Mrs. Breese plan a second +marriage, but, with her characteristic dominance, proposes to manage +her own affairs. Mr. Rice is in a dilemma. He cannot tell Mrs. Breese +that he has tied up all her money in his own ventures. Mrs. Breese +becomes obstinate. + +“An ordinary man would have broken down and confessed. But Rice has the +soul of the born adventurer and gambler. Pressed to the wall, he thinks +how convenient it would be if Mrs. Breese were out of the way. He knows +that she has left a will naming him as executor. He wants none of her +money. He has it. All he seeks is to retain his unquestioned control. + +“So he plans. First, he angles for an invitation to dinner at the +American Minister’s. No alibi could be more substantial or impressive. +Then he arranges the radio, and takes care to let everyone except Mrs. +Breese know that it needs repair, and should not be tampered with. +Then he arranges to telephone Mrs. Breese and, ascertaining that she +is alone, tells her to tune in on her favorite hobby, companionate +marriage. He hangs up. He is safe. Mrs. Breese goes to the radio, turns +to sixty as she was instructed and is killed. + +“Mr. Rice rightly figures that the police will not examine the contents +of the radio set. It is an easy matter for him to remove the weapon at +the first opportunity. + +“But all crimes have their complications. Whatever it was that Mr. Rice +told Trenholm when he first ordered his diabolical mechanical murderer, +there seems to be no question that Trenholm guessed or knew that he was +indirectly responsible for the death of Mrs. Breese. + +“Trenholm is timid. Like most mechanics, he has a hard-grained +uprightness in his soul. His conscience troubles him. Although Trenholm +made few acquaintances, he did strike up a friendship with one of his +own kind, the mechanic Spence, who ran a bicycle shop. In a burst of +confidence, Trenholm tells Spence exactly what has occurred. But Spence +has no false ideas of morals. He sees it as a golden opportunity to +milk Rice. + +“Behold! We come to the night of the funeral on the yacht. Hitherto, +Trenholm has been free from all police surveillance. On that night he +is plunged into the melodramatic third-degree to which we subjected +all of you. Rice is shrewd enough to see that it is all a plan, a +trick. But Trenholm is nervous. Rice determines to get rid of Trenholm. +He must, otherwise Trenholm will expose him. So Rice picks Mr. +Smith’s pocket, shoots Trenholm and then puts the revolver back in my +colleague’s pocket. + +“Then Rice feels free. At last his crime is covered. He can leave the +country. All will be well. Incidentally, some of his ventures have now +recovered. He will be able to straighten out the estate. There is not a +breath of suspicion. + +“Out of clear sky comes a telephone call from Spence, and instantly +Rice realizes that Trenholm has been talking. His work is not yet +over. Rice is in a frenzy. Spence wants enormous sums of money. Rice +is adventurer enough to know you cannot ever pay a blackmailer. The +process is continuous. + +“I do not think Mr. Rice enjoyed his crimes. I do not think he is +possessed with any insane relish of homicide. Mr. Rice may be brutal, +but he is not a killer by instinct. I am willing to say that the +prospect of a third murder made Mr. Rice feel very unpleasant. + +“He tried to bluff Spence out, but the young man was too shrewd. He +sent a letter to you, Mr. Breese, so that he could telephone Rice that +unless he got his money he would expose to you what had happened. Rice, +upon receiving this intelligence, instructed him to get into a cab and +come to this house. He told him to dismiss his driver, and that he +would then receive the money. + +“Of course, Rice went to a window with the revolver he had taken from +the radio. He used a silencer, so no one could hear. He fired one +bullet. It struck Mr. Spence and silenced him forever. Then Mr. Rice +was done.” + +He looked at the promoter reflectively. “You had only intended one +perfect crime. But it resolved itself into three. The second, of +Trenholm, was not half bad. The third was atrocious. You should have +realized that suspicion would point to someone in this house. You +should have realized that I was at work. However, it is always the way +with criminals. They are brilliant only in flashes. Eventually they +must lower the quality of their work, and they are caught.” + +“I don’t suppose,” said Rice grimly, “there’s any need of my saying +anything.” + +“Quite the contrary,” replied the Russian. “You may contribute +something vitally interesting. My recital was necessarily bald, and in +spots guesswork. Only the essentials are indisputable. Your confession +would be extremely interesting to Mr. Smith and myself.” + +“Sure,” agreed Smith. “Only there’s no need of making it here. We’ll +take you down to Headquarters if you don’t mind, Mr. Rice.” + +“Very well,” said Rice, extending his hands. Smith produced a pair of +shining handcuffs. + +Then I saw Rice jump suddenly, and with both hands push Smith violently +to the floor. The next moment the promoter had leaped through the +closed window, with a wild smash of glass. + +The Russian jumped after him. Smith picked himself up from the floor. +In one hand he held a revolver. He followed the Russian out of the +window. + +Then we heard two shots in rapid succession. Then two more. + +I ran out into the garden. The street was buzzing with people. I turned +to find the Russian beside me. + +“It does not matter,” he said. “I leave to Mr. Smith the punishment. +I am interested only in the solution. Do I not deserve to be +congratulated? Have I not done an extraordinary piece of detective +work? Am I not the greatest detective in the world?” + +He looked down into the street. + +“Ah! I see Mr. Rice. Mr. Smith has apparently aimed well. Mr. Rice has +not escaped. Well, it is all one to me. Mr. Smith will undoubtedly +write himself an impressive report. He will miss the glory of the +trial. But what of me? What am I to do? What shall occupy this brain +of mine? It is a sad world, my friend, when a detective cannot find +work. I am very sad. And when I am sad, I drink champagne. Nothing but +champagne. Come!” + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Perceived typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77069 *** |