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diff --git a/77069-h/77069-h.htm b/77069-h/77069-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..366ba0b --- /dev/null +++ b/77069-h/77069-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8848 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Murder in the gilded cage | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td {padding-left: 0.5em;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: -0.35em; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em; + font-size: 250%; + line-height:0.85em; + text-indent: 0em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap{ + text-indent: 0em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: none; + margin: 0; + font-size: 100%; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { + margin-left: 7.5%; + margin-right: 7.5%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} + +div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} +div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} + +.xxlarge {font-size: 175%;} +.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} +.large {font-size: 125%;} + +.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; + padding: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77069 ***</div> +<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>MURDER IN THE<br> +GILDED CAGE</h1> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="title page"></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="titlepage"> +<p><span class="xxlarge">MURDER<br> + IN THE<br> + GILDED CAGE</span></p> + + <p><span class="xlarge"><i>By</i> SAMUEL SPEWACK</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepagelogo.jpg" alt="publisher's logo"></div> + +<p><span class="large">WALTER J. BLACK, INC.<br> + 2 Park Avenue</span><br> + NEW YORK, N. Y.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br> + <span class="smcap">Copyright, 1929, by Simon and Schuster, Inc.</span><br> + PRINTED IN U. S. A.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS.</h2> +</div> + + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">I</td><td><span class="smcap">Mrs. Breese Is Divorced</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">II</td><td> <span class="smcap">Man Overboard</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23"> 23</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">III</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Actor Acts</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_38"> 38</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">IV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Enter the Russian</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_45"> 45</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">V</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Last of the Circle</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53"> 53</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VI</td><td> <span class="smcap">Murder</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_63"> 63</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Inquiry</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_70"> 70</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Clear Case</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78"> 78</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">IX</td><td> <span class="smcap">Third-Degree</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_87"> 87</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">X</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Count Confesses</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95"> 95</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Psychological Alibi</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_102"> 102</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XII</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Suspect Refuses to Talk</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113"> 113</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Mr. Breese Is Anxious</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_119"> 119</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIV</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Will of Mrs. Breese</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_128"> 128</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Weather Prediction</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_137"> 137</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Funeral at Midnight</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_146"> 146</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Storm</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155"> 155</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">One of You</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167"> 167</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIX</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Murder on the Yacht</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_181"> 181</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XX</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Letter</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_188"> 188</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Raid</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_196"> 196</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXII</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Man in the Taxi</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_210"> 210</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Calle L</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_218"> 218</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Modus Operandi</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_226"> 226</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXV</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Call</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_236"> 236</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Russian Explains</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_241"> 241</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"><span class="large"><i>To</i><br> +BELLA</span></p> + + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br> +<small>MRS. BREESE IS DIVORCED</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>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, <i>Mary Rose</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“<i>SO</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>quite unnecessary, in the harsh trilling voice that I +shall never forget.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breese on the witness stand was meat and +drink for the newspapers. She thought in headlines, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>limited knowledge of anything transpiring +beyond his own immediate world.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was a titter and some giggles in the courtroom, +at which the young man flushed.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t take her to the type of restaurants +I am forced to dine in occasionally,” he added in +justification.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then the Countess, rather pale, rather bored, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>and yet curiously lovely, added the necessary confirmation. +She seemed a slim edition of her mother, +without her mother’s enormous energy.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>had become ignominious. He was a rather effeminate +young man, and had served several distinguished +families.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Breese persisted. She named a salary +which was double that I had been receiving. She +sketched a tempting itinerary on the yacht <i>Mary +Rose</i> and, perhaps, knowing my weakness, she outlined +a routine of labor that even for me would be +child’s play. Still I refused.</p> + +<p>But a week later circumstances altered my decision. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I muttered some lie or other about having been +ill. But she obviously was not interested in that.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know we’re sailing tomorrow? I’m +sending Pierre down for your luggage.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>This woman who took things for granted hung +up without waiting for further word from me.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Mary Rose</i>.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>It seemed to me then that Mrs. Breese wanted +them to talk. If any explanation is necessary for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When the photographers had left, Mrs. Breese +went immediately to her cabin. She was tired.</p> + +<p>We sailed one hour later.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br> +<small>MAN OVERBOARD</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">I  FIND upon refreshing my memory that the tragedy +really had its beginning on the yacht <i>Mary +Rose</i>, 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 <i>Mary Rose</i> made its graceful +exit out of the New York harbor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I have already indicated that industry is not my +forte, but Guy Thomas at ease was a picture that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Don’t let me disturb you,” I pleaded. “I was +just wondering if I could rustle up a drink.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Cocktails!” Mr. Thomas commanded, and the +scowling servitor nodded and disappeared.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Where are the others?” I asked after a while.</p> + +<p>“Oh, here and there,” he drawled. “Dora—Mrs. +Breese—generally rests before luncheon. The +Countess is up on deck, reading. I don’t know +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>where Henry happens to be. He and I aren’t exactly +on speaking terms.”</p> + +<p>This was the first I had heard of it, and I suppose +my expression indicated as much.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>The steward appeared with the cocktails, and refreshment +further loosened the tongue of the aggrieved +young man.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>I pointed out in embarrassed self-defense that I +had come along in a professional capacity. But Mr. +Thomas merely smiled.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And they should,” said the actor. “Hang it +all, who wants to remember the war?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the actor felt the antagonism, too, for +he protested: “I was in the war myself.”</p> + +<p>Rice raised his eyebrows half skeptically.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>I tried to steer Mr. Thomas away from his woes, +but with scant success.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Rice looked at him as he would at a particularly +unpleasant insect. He took no pains to hide his +feelings.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>Breese sailed into the room, and in relief even +Thomas rose to his feet with some alacrity.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I think he’s perfectly sweet,” she murmured, and +I could hear Rice grunt in disapproval. Mrs. +Breese frowned.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breese sighed.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what to do. Gordon is a dear, but +he just won’t understand there are men who can do +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>She turned suddenly to me.</p> + +<p>“What would you say if I were to tell you that +Guy and I were engaged to be married?”</p> + +<p>I thought the woman had no further shocks in +store for me and I was stunned. She seemed to +enjoy my open-mouthed amazement.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I breathed deeply. I shared some of Rice’s feelings +towards the actor.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>I nodded miserably.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll remember every word,” I assured her. She +seemed doubtful.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>to remember all this.... <i>Very</i> 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....”</p> + +<p>There is no need to continue. You are acquainted +with the rest from the stencils of the newspapers. +And then Guy Thomas rejoined us.</p> + +<p>“Guy!” Mrs. Breese exclaimed significantly. “I +have just announced our engagement!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>“I’d like to say,” said Guy, suddenly, “that I’m +not leaving the stage.”</p> + +<p>This thunderbolt made little impression upon +either Mrs. Breese or myself.</p> + +<p>“Of course not, dear,” she soothed. “He’s not +leaving the stage. I would certainly not let anything +interfere with my husband’s career.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I think he’s so handsome!” Mrs. Breese confided +to me while Thomas’ grin widened.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breese stared coolly at him. “Anything you +have to say to me, Gordon, can be said in front of +Guy,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well then, I’ll say it. What’s this nonsense +about a marriage? I’ve just been talking to Henry. +Are you mad?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breese drew back proudly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“I wish you wouldn’t take that tone. If you want +an answer to your question, I’m not mad.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Thomas flushed, and murmured: “I say, I +say!” much in the character of the aristocratic Englishman +he had once portrayed on the road.</p> + +<p>“I’m not talking to you!” Rice shut him off curtly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>jealous, naturally. But he’ll get over it. Henry +is a dear boy.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“You send that story and you’ll be accountable to +me,” Rice moved to block my path.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s happened?” I asked the first sailor I +could stop. But I needed no answer.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Someone shouted. Someone screamed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then before I was quite aware of it, someone +brushed me out of the way. Suddenly I realized +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br> +<small>THE ACTOR ACTS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Finally, because I could not stand the silence any +longer, I said to Thomas: “Perhaps this isn’t the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>pleasantest subject of the moment, but have you any +idea of what happened this morning?”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>The verdict seemed favorable.</p> + +<p>“Rice put him up to that.”</p> + +<p>“Put him up to what?” I asked puzzled.</p> + +<p>“That suicide rot. They framed it between +them!”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that the boy deliberately +jumped in and waited for Rice to drag him out? +But why?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What proof have you got?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I looked at Rice and then was seized by an audacious +thought. Curiosity has led me into many difficulties.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>Rice’s blue eyes became agate. “Oh—so?” he +considered.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I saw Rice start.</p> + +<p>“What in damnation do you mean by that?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Slowly a grin spread over Rice’s florid features, +and his blue eyes twinkled. He waved a hand, as if +in defeat.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I indicated that he had.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And then I descried a vague figure, and as I +strained to see I could recognize Guy Thomas. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>was bent over a suitcase and rummaging through +its contents with feverish haste.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br> +<small>ENTER THE RUSSIAN</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE <i>Mary Rose</i> steamed past Morro Castle +into Havana harbor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What can I do?” she moaned. “Henry will do +the most desperate things if I cross him.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>To the noisiest and most cosmopolitan of hotels +my driver brought me, and as soon as I was settled, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>night angry waters swirl over the sea wall and splash +the proud boulevard.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Of all people!” I welcomed him.</p> + +<p>“The same to you!” And we shook hands +warmly. I had not seen Ben Smith in three years.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>the benefit of our crooks who wandered down there, +Smith was loaned to head the department.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hello, there,” Smith said. “I’ve talked it over +with them but they can’t see it. Sorry!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>The big man bowed.</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I did not expect otherwise.” His +words were clipped, military. “I deeply appreciate +your efforts.”</p> + +<p>Smith introduced us.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Smith looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian’s little blue eyes were trained on me.</p> + +<p>“So! That is very interesting. You must join +me in a glass.”</p> + +<p>“And,” Smith continued, “you’ll find that Mr. Abbott +can be trusted. I’ve known him a long time.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure of Mr. Abbott,” the Russian bowed +politely, as Smith left us. Then he turned to the +bartender: “<i>Cordon rouge</i>—the same as I had last +night.” He turned back to me. “Do you mind +champagne? I drink nothing else.”</p> + +<p>We seated ourselves in a corner far from the other +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I said I knew her fairly well, but that I was no +longer connected with her household.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>I enumerated them: Mrs. Breese, her two children, +Gordon Rice and Guy Thomas.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t see the significance,” I protested.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“A murder affecting Mrs. Breese?” I indicated +my scepticism. “I never heard a word of it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>His sharp little eyes, almost hypnotic in their +power, blazed angrily.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br> +<small>THE LAST OF THE CIRCLE</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>After a lengthy talk with the Count, my informant +was convinced that the solution of the murder lay +elsewhere. He promptly set to work.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I myself was in Paris then,” the Russian said. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>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——”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“This gentleman,” the detective presented me, +“has come down with Mrs. Breese and her family +on the yacht. He has seen your wife.”</p> + +<p>The Count, who was prepared to be formally +polite, now wrung my hand with embarrassing cordiality.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>There was an engaging boyish impulsiveness about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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——”</p> + +<p>But here I was called upon to explain that my +relations with the Breese family had been severed. +He seemed downcast.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The detective had apparently been paying little attention +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Read this,” the detective commanded, pointing +with a stubby forefinger to a paragraph noting the +American visitors to the city.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>I looked blank. The Count peered down at him, +puzzled.</p> + +<p>“The last of the circle is here!” the detective +continued meditatively. “The absent one has arrived!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br> +<small>MURDER</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>the general impression that Mr. Thomas was the +lady’s fiancé.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>I couldn’t make head or tail of it, but I promised +I’d be over to see him.”</p> + +<p>“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’?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be glad to,” I said, “but I may be in the +way.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Breese hesitated for a moment, then apparently +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Smith acknowledged, “you sounded kind +of queer over the phone.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Smith looked blank.</p> + +<p>“Why, sure,” he said finally. “Whenever we can +we do try to prevent them.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then. I know of a crime that is being +contemplated at this very moment. What ought +I to do?”</p> + +<p>“What kind of a crime?”</p> + +<p>Breese fixed the detective with his rather sharp +eyes.</p> + +<p>“You know my position, Mr. Smith. You know +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>my standing. You know I wouldn’t give false information. +You know I’m a man of means.”</p> + +<p>Smith nodded.</p> + +<p>“Suppose I were to tell you that at this minute +a murder is being planned—what could you do?”</p> + +<p>“That’s a hard one,” said Smith, but he was sitting +erect and tense. “Don’t you think you’d better +be more explicit?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>He paused, swallowing, as if this bitter pill were +more than he could bear. Smith made no comment.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>has made it by now—a will leaving her +entire fortune to Guy Thomas.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Ben Smith listened attentively as the old man +continued:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p>The telephone buzzed softly. Annoyed, impatient, +Mr. Breese picked it up.</p> + +<p>“Yes, who is it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>Then——</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Mrs. Breese has—has—just been found dead!</i>”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br> +<small>INQUIRY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>The rest of the house seemed steeled in darkness.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The room measured about thirty-five feet by +forty, and about twenty feet in height. The floor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Then he addressed the policeman in Spanish and +inquired: “Where are the members of the family?”</p> + +<p>“They are upstairs. Shall I call them?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>“No. Not yet. I want to take a look around +first.”</p> + +<p>He went to the two French windows and noted +that both were locked securely from the inside.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“And what have you found?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“One thing—and that the man who did this +job——”</p> + +<p>“Assuming it is a man,” I intervened.</p> + +<p>“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.)</p> + +<p>“May it not have been a stroke of luck—this +perfect marksmanship?” I suggested.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It developed that it was he who had discovered +Mrs. Breese’s body and had summoned the policeman +from his post.</p> + +<p>“Tell us exactly what happened,” Smith commanded.</p> + +<p>“After dinner,” he began, “Mrs. Breese and Mr. +Thomas adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee. +The two children went immediately upstairs.”</p> + +<p>“What time was dinner?” Smith interrupted.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“About what?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>“Where was Mr. Rice?”</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead!” Smith commanded.</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p>“Yes——”</p> + +<p>“I found Mr. Thomas in the corridor, and I told +him. Then I ran out for a policeman. I guess +that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Smith nodded.</p> + +<p>“You sent for a doctor?”</p> + +<p>“—I didn’t. I leaned over and saw that Mrs. +Breese was dead, and Mr. Thomas didn’t say anything. +He seemed terribly shocked.”</p> + +<p>“But didn’t it occur to you that you ought to +send for a doctor?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>dead. Then when I got back, the children were +down, and it was out of my hands.”</p> + +<p>“So Mr. Thomas sent you for the policeman?” +Smith asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Did he run down to examine the body himself?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What did he say exactly?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You heard no shot?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“When you returned with the policeman, where +did you find Mr. Thomas?”</p> + +<p>“He was still upstairs, sir.”</p> + +<p>“He hadn’t come down?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. But the children were down.”</p> + +<p>“That’ll be all,” said Smith. “Will you go upstairs +now and tell Mr. Thomas to come down to +the drawing-room immediately?”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br> +<small>A CLEAR CASE</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“My name’s Smith, I’m with the police here. I +just want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Thomas.”</p> + +<p>Thomas did not seem to hear him. His eyes were +fixed upon the outstretched figure of Mrs. Breese.</p> + +<p>“What do you want to know?” he managed to say +finally. His hands were trembling visibly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>Thomas looked up quickly, with relief, I thought. +He breathed easier.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know a thing—not a thing,” he assured +us.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You heard no sound upstairs?”</p> + +<p>“No—nothing.”</p> + +<p>“When the butler ran up to tell you the news, +what did you do?”</p> + +<p>“Why—I sent him to fetch a policeman at once!”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t think a doctor was necessary?”</p> + +<p>“No. He said she was—dead.”</p> + +<p>“He may have been excited. Surely you went +down to investigate.”</p> + +<p>Thomas squirmed.</p> + +<p>“No—I didn’t. I couldn’t—I couldn’t go in that +room alone. My nerves wouldn’t stand it.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>short at the sight of the body. His eyes were red +with rage as he swung at Thomas.</p> + +<p>“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” +he barked.</p> + +<p>“What have I——?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” Rice shouted. “Don’t stand there pretending +innocence! You’re not that good an actor!”</p> + +<p>“Just a minute,” intervened Smith. “I’m conducting +this inquiry.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I say, I say!” the actor stammered in his fright. +His face was white.</p> + +<p>“You accuse this man of killing Mrs. Breese?” +Smith demanded.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do!”</p> + +<p>Now the actor looked from one to the other of us +like a stricken animal. He tried to say something, +but couldn’t.</p> + +<p>“On what ground?”</p> + +<p>“Here are the facts, if you want them.”</p> + +<p>“I want them very much,” Smith said.</p> + +<p>“Look here——” interrupted the actor.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>“I’ve just been to see Mr. Breese,” Rice began.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Without further comment, Rice extended the following +telegrams. I reproduce them herewith:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>HENRY BREESE<br> + SEVILLA BILTMORE<br> + HAVANA</p> + +<p>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</p> + +<p class="right">WILLIAMS</p> + +<p>HENRY BREESE<br> + SEVILLA BILTMORE<br> + HAVANA</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>YORK YOUR PARTY ABOUT TO MARRY +WEALTHY WOMAN STOP WIRING FURTHER</p> + +<p class="right">WILLIAMS</p> + +<p>HENRY BREESE<br> + SEVILLA BILTMORE<br> + HAVANA</p> + +<p>YOUR PARTY SENT WIRE MISS SAUNDERS +BE PREPARED LEAVE IMMEDIATELY +STOP WILL MEET HER PARIS +STOP</p> + +<p class="right">WILLIAMS</p> +</div> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“To get money so you could run off to Europe!”</p> + +<p>“But I didn’t need that money!”</p> + +<p>“So you admit,” Rice was triumphantly inquisitorial, +“that you were running off to Europe with +this girl in New York!”</p> + +<p>“And what if I was?” demanded the actor. +“There’s nothing wrong in that. I was sick to death +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>of this place. I didn’t want to marry Mrs. Breese!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>The actor paused, looked at Smith and then, +truculently: “Mrs. Breese was giving it to me.”</p> + +<p>“That’s news to me,” snapped Rice. “And I’m +her business adviser. I’d know if she was going to +give you money.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Thomas glared sullenly at Rice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“A very generous woman,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“When did she decide to do that?” demanded +Smith.</p> + +<p>“Tonight—after dinner. She was very nice +about it, too. I told her about Miss Saunders, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Rice left us, and we could hear his heavy footsteps +stamping up the stairs.</p> + +<p>After a pause, Smith said quietly: “Well, Mr. +Thomas, what have you got to say for yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing!” rasped the actor. “Nothing!”</p> + +<p>“Do you deny that you forged that check?” demanded +Smith.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about a check,” Thomas +shouted. “I’ve told you, haven’t I?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care what you believe.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br> +<small>THIRD DEGREE</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“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.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” Smith ordered.</p> + +<p>Reluctantly the actor obeyed, as if in a daze.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But she didn’t,” protested the actor. “I went +upstairs while she was still telephoning.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“To write a letter to Miss Saunders. Mrs. +Breese had agreed to give me the money and I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“You still deny you forged this check Mr. Rice +mentioned?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t think.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!”</p> + +<p>Smith shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever fired a revolver, Mr. Thomas?” +he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Have I ever—yes, in the army.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a pretty good shot?”</p> + +<p>“Not especially so, no. But I’ve never fired a +revolver since. I never even had one in my hand.”</p> + +<p>I stared at Thomas, for at that moment I recalled +one of the hectic events of the yacht trip +down.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What happened to that revolver?” Smith demanded.</p> + +<p>“I threw it away that night.”</p> + +<p>“Sorry to contradict you,” I said firmly. “You +threw the cartridges away. I distinctly remember +seeing you put that revolver in your pocket.”</p> + +<p>“I threw it away later!”</p> + +<p>Smith surveyed the actor through half-lidded +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Any particular reason for the delay?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Ye-es,” drawled Smith. “You’ve had a lot of +bad breaks.” He looked up at the ceiling. “By +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>the way, you don’t happen to know if Mrs. Breese +left a will?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But you were engaged to her, weren’t you?” +Smith asked.</p> + +<p>“Well, in a way. I didn’t have anything to do +with it.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in the habit of permitting women to +engage themselves to you?” demanded Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Smith. “It was just a joke.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Dora wouldn’t stand in the way of my +happiness.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And she wasn’t sore about this other girl?” +demanded Smith. “Not the least bit jealous?”</p> + +<p>The actor smiled. “Oh, well, you can’t help +that.” He swaggered a bit. “You couldn’t very +well expect anything else, could you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, in my own roughneck way,” said Smith, +“I’d expect her to blow up and throw you out of +the house.”</p> + +<p>“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! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Smith, “I see that.”</p> + +<p>The actor glared at him. “Is that meant for +sarcasm?”</p> + +<p>Smith nodded obligingly.</p> + +<p>“Then it’s in very poor taste.”</p> + +<p>“That may be,” said Smith, “but of all the thin +alibis I’ve ever heard, yours takes the prize.”</p> + +<p>“Alibis?” shouted the actor. “I didn’t kill her! +I don’t need an alibi.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not saying you killed her,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He moved to the door.</p> + +<p>“I’m going!” he shouted.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>“I’m leaving for New York right now!” the +actor shrieked defiantly.</p> + +<p>“Come here!” growled Smith.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Am I?” the actor cried. “I’ll have no more +of your insults! I won’t stand it, I tell you!”</p> + +<p>Smith laughed suddenly. I turned in surprise at +him.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Smith suddenly reached for the actor’s arm and +held it securely. Thomas cried out in pain.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t!” the actor protested. “Let me go, +won’t you? Let me go!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Caught him—hiding—in the blue room—just +now,” the butler panted.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There’s the man you want!” he cried.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br> +<small>THE COUNT CONFESSES</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE Count bowed and said quietly: “Yes, gentlemen, +I guess I am the man you want.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Smith.</p> + +<p>“You are of the police?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“What is it you wish to know?” asked the Count +gently.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>me</i>! 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.”</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>if you will leave me alone with this officer, I think +we can straighten matters out very quickly.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going!” cried Thomas. “I’m going. And +this time nobody’s going to stop me!”</p> + +<p>“You stay upstairs,” said Smith, “until I tell you +to go!”</p> + +<p>He turned to the Russian, barking: “Well, where +do you come in?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid,” the Russian smiled, “I came in at +the wrong time. I have something to tell you, officer.”</p> + +<p>“Yes? What is it?”</p> + +<p>“First, I want you to send for Miss Breese, my +former wife.”</p> + +<p>“First tell me how you got here,” countered +Smith.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I can’t agree,” the Count shook his +head. “Will you be good enough to send for Miss +Breese?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe. First, I want to ask you something.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” The man seemed perfectly at ease, +strangely enough.</p> + +<p>“What were you hiding upstairs for?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not ready to tell you that—yet.”</p> + +<p>Smith surveyed him coldly. “You know that Mrs. +Breese was murdered tonight?” He pointed to the +body.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>“No one. I have eyes.” The Count indicated +the body pityingly.</p> + +<p>“Do you know who killed Mrs. Breese?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Russian. “I do.”</p> + +<p>His voice trembled slightly.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” cried Smith, startled.</p> + +<p>“I said: ‘Yes, I do know.’”</p> + +<p>“Who was it?” snapped Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Smith studied this strange phenomenon before he +replied. He looked at me out of the corner of his +eye to indicate his bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Please understand,” the Count continued, “whatever +I have to say I shall say to Miss Breese. To +no one else.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>He paused, and smiled bitterly. Then he waved a +white hand apologetically. “You perhaps do not +understand me. <i>C’est bien.</i> The only thing to remember +for you gentlemen is: you will stay, please, +right here.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>I heard the Count cry: “Mary!”</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>Then I heard her move toward him, crying incoherently: +“Isn’t it awful! I need you so!”</p> + +<p>I heard him trying to comfort her gently. She +was sobbing unrestrainedly now.</p> + +<p>“Please, Mary ... please ... you mustn’t.” +The Count’s voice broke now.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said slowly, “it would never have happened.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t leave me now!” she cried. “You +mustn’t ever leave me!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Please—don’t cry. Didn’t I tell you I phoned. +I wrote. I tried every way to see you.”</p> + +<p>“No!” Then as if in agonized appeal: “Don’t +leave me—please don’t leave me!”</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>Smith leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Silence again. Then the girl’s dazed voice: +“Mother—saw you?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>I heard the girl’s piercing scream!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>We heard voices, running feet.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>We ran out upon the terrace. We heard nothing +but the soft rustling of leaves. We hurried down +into the street.</p> + +<p>But the Count had disappeared.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br> +<small>THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ALIBI</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>“At last!” he greeted Smith. “At last, you have +the common sense to summon me!”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t call you in as a detective,” said Smith, +“I’ve sent for you as a friend of this Count.”</p> + +<p>“So!” the Russian grinned. “I am disappointed.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” barked Smith.</p> + +<p>“My good friend,” replied the detective, “I +haven’t any idea where he is.”</p> + +<p>He seated himself in the hard wicker chair Smith +kept for guests, lit a cigar, and puffed lazily.</p> + +<p>“I saw him for perhaps five minutes after he left +you last night, and since then he has been swallowed +by the world.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Listen, Perutkin,” said Smith. “I’m in no mood +for jokes. I’m going to get at the bottom of this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Smith walked about angrily.</p> + +<p>The Russian laughed. “He followed my orders +to the letter.”</p> + +<p>Smith stopped and stared at him. “You mean +to say you told him to do that?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, my friend,” said Perutkin. “I am +his advisor. He asked me what to do. I told him.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t seen him since?” Smith asked.</p> + +<p>Perutkin shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Well, you know where you can get him, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute,” Smith interrupted. “Just exactly +what do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Access to Mrs. Breese’s house, and all the facts +as they are disclosed. Nothing more.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Done!” exclaimed the Russian. “Now, Mr. +Smith, you may rest easy. I shall untangle this +little problem for you. First, the facts!”</p> + +<p>“Facts!” growled Smith. “I wish I knew what +they were!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“At present, nothing,” said the Russian. “First, +I must see the house. Will you accompany me?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>“Oh, I’ve been all over the place,” said Smith. +“There’s nothing there.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” replied the Russian. “But I must +insist upon seeing that room. It is all-important.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” exclaimed the Russian, smiling at me. +“I like an audience when I work. So will you come, +please?”</p> + +<p>Smith stopped us at the door.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He handed a sheaf of papers to the Russian, who +scanned them hastily and thrust them into his +pocket.</p> + +<p>“I shall examine them later. Probably they contain +nothing more than you’ve already told me.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We shall see,” said the Russian. And to me: +“Come, my friend.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>Then he brushed me aside and began examining +the furniture:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Rice is the one who accuses Mr. Thomas. +Now, where was Mr. Rice last evening? That is +important to know.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you don’t for a moment think,” I said, +“that Rice did it? He was Mrs. Breese’s friend. +Her adviser.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” agreed the Russian, “that leaves Mr. Rice +out. And yet Mr. Rice is very anxious to accuse +Mr. Thomas. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because he doesn’t like him,” I suggested. “Because +he sincerely believes Thomas did it.”</p> + +<p>“Not good enough,” said the Russian. “But let +us proceed. For I have a point to make. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>methodical Mr. Smith collects an excellent case +against Mr. Thomas. Until my friend, the Count, +suddenly appears and confesses.</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t follow,” I protested.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“It hardly seems possible,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Granted that—for the moment. There is her +father.”</p> + +<p>“Old Man Breese? Not much!” I scoffed.</p> + +<p>“But why not?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“For one thing,” I said “because he was in the +hotel with us when we got the news.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t,” I shook my head.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“At ten!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br> +<small>THE SUSPECT REFUSES TO TALK</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE psychological alibi! As the Russian’s theory +dawned on me I was shocked to find that +every detail clicked into place. Breese <i>had</i> 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.</p> + +<p>I rose from my chair determinedly and reached +for the telephone.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to call up Ben Smith,” I said, “and +tell him about this.”</p> + +<p>But the Russian stopped me.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian smiled.</p> + +<p>“But what motive would he have?” I protested.</p> + +<p>“Motive? His wife has dragged his name into +scandal. Despite her foolishness she emerged triumphant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>what he knows, what is he to do? Loving Mary +Breese as he loves her, what is he to do?</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I hesitated, “it sounds reasonable enough. +But there’s one thing you forget.”</p> + +<p>“And that is?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He strode over to the garden window, and drew +the curtains aside, so that a bright sun streamed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>through the room. He looked out upon the brilliant +foliage of the garden.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“But where? How? I fail to see the connection!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He paused abruptly.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t question. Do as I say.”</p> + +<p>Wonderingly, I obeyed. Before I could return to +the drawing-room, a bell pealed. The policeman +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>made no move. Again the bell, and again. The +Russian strode out into the hall. I followed.</p> + +<p>Five minutes passed, the bell resounded now +through the house. Still we made no move.</p> + +<p>Finally I heard the click of a key in the lock. The +door opened. Mr. Breese looked up at us.</p> + +<p>“That,” said the Russian, his little eyes gleaming, +“is how Mr. Breese came in.”</p> + +<p>“Who is this man?” Breese demanded of me.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“What in the world are you talking about?” +Breese snapped. “Who is this man?”</p> + +<p>I explained the Russian away as an associate of +Smith’s.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t any,” the Russian replied, “but Mr. +Smith will vouch for me.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care who vouches for you. You might +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>have some consideration for a man in my position. +Please get out of my way. I’m going upstairs.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir,” the Russian bowed. Without a +word, Breese laboriously began climbing the wide +stone steps.</p> + +<p>When he was out of sight, the Russian grinned +good-naturedly: “The suspect refuses to talk!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br> +<small>MR. BREESE IS ANXIOUS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” inquired Smith sharply. I looked +up, too, for the Russian had given me no evidence +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>that he had stumbled upon any vital factor in the +tangled case.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>might</i> have come +here, that he <i>might</i> have hated his wife sufficiently +to kill her, that he <i>might</i> have planned an alibi by +calling me to his hotel after the murder. You can’t +prove any of these three points.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do so!” challenged the Russian. “You concede +that Mr. Breese had the key to this house and might +have entered unseen?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“He could have left his hotel unseen,” said the +Russian. “Or he could bribe any employee likely +to see him.”</p> + +<p>“Then there’s no use even checking up on him?” +demanded Smith sarcastically.</p> + +<p>“None at all,” replied the Russian easily. “You +do not deny that Mr. Breese had a motive?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I deny it,” retorted Smith. “What +did he have to gain by the murder?”</p> + +<p>“His children!” the Russian answered.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Smith. “Do you think a man would +deliberately kill his wife to get custody of his children?”</p> + +<p>“But why not?” demanded the Russian. “It is +natural.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“But he would not kill,” protested the Russian. +“I know his character.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>“So? You know why you say that? Because he +is a wealthy man and respectable.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian rose to his full height, and with the +pedantic air of a lecturer continued:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that got to do with old man Breese?” +Smith demanded impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Only this,” replied the Russian. “Mr. Breese’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>wealth and respectability do not preclude him from +being a murderer.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>might</i> have killed your wife.’ Do +you want me to say that?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Smith nodded.</p> + +<p>“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.’”</p> + +<p>“What then?” demanded Smith.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Smith, grudgingly, “I don’t see much +point to it but I’m always perfectly willing to try +anything. Where is he?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>at the time I first opened this house. And I brought +it around in case it was needed.”</p> + +<p>Even to Smith this roundabout explanation must +have seemed lame, for I saw him watching the old +man with new interest.</p> + +<p>And then Smith said: “By the way, Mr. Breese, +there have been some developments I think you +ought to know.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Smith, “but the Count has made +a confession.”</p> + +<p>The old man stared at Smith in amazement. “A +confession?” he repeated blankly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>“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.”</p> + +<p>The old man shook his head. He said nothing.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“But surely you’re not going before the funeral?” +the Russian inquired blandly.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>understand it. I don’t know what Mary’ll say. +She’s all in. Can’t talk. I’d better go to the hotel.”</p> + +<p>He moved for the door. But Smith stopped him.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Breese fumbled with his stick.</p> + +<p>“Her will? Oh, yes. But I’ve got to get back +to New York.”</p> + +<p>“It won’t take long,” Smith assured him. “You +can still make that boat tonight.”</p> + +<p>“Very well—very well,” Breese repeated, his +hand at the door. “I’ll do that.”</p> + +<p>Smith watched the old man stumble nervously +out of the room. Then he turned to the Russian +who now smiled triumphantly at him.</p> + +<p>“Damned if there isn’t something in it,” Smith +muttered.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br> +<small>THE WILL OF MRS. BREESE</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I have a feeling,” exclaimed Perutkin, “that a +great vein of luck has seized me. There is light +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Smith had insisted that we come earlier than the +rest because he wanted the opportunity of an uninterrupted +interview with the lawyer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t forgotten,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“What would you think,” intervened the Russian, +“if, when we hear the will read, we discover that +Mr. Thomas inherits the entire estate?”</p> + +<p>“I’d say it would look bad for Thomas,” Smith +replied.</p> + +<p>“And if Mr. Breese proves a false prophet? If +Mr. Thomas receives nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Smith, “we’ll be more at sea than +ever.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>with Mrs. Breese, who had been as modern as +this morning’s newspaper put out upon the streets +the night before.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>here. I received a letter from him to that effect.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I had my instructions from Mr. O’Brien,” the +lawyer explained.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Rice greeted us briskly. He seemed to regard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>the forthcoming ceremony as an event of no particular +importance and he fumed at the tardiness of the +others.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian looked up significantly at Smith, but +the detective made no comment.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The Countess was dressed in black, and because +she had been annoyed by persistent news photographers, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>her white, haggard face was swathed in a +heavy veil. Her brown eyes seemed unnaturally +large and bright.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was a stiff restrained silence for a moment.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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: “<i>To my +daughter, the Countess Giering-Trelovitch, I leave +the income of a trust fund ... three hundred +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>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>”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>marry a New York chorus girl, and even proposed +financing the venture.</p> + +<p>“<i>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>”</p> + +<p>I saw the old man wince, and the Countess turn +toward him, as if to comfort him.</p> + +<p>Henry Breese, Jr., received the residuary estate. +As executor, Mrs. Breese named her “<i>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</i>.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then followed the strangest portion of this +strange document:</p> + +<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br> +<small>WEATHER PREDICTION</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Immediately,” replied the lawyer.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>We emerged into the dingy corridor once more. +Neither Smith nor the Russian made any comment +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Smith looked at him nastily, for the Russian was +shocking his staid sensibilities.</p> + +<p>All unconscious of this, Perutkin continued for +all to hear:</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>do so. I am all in favor of civilization. The more +the better.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian and I glanced over his shoulder, and +we read:</p> + +<p>“<i>Thomas</i>—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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Breese, Sr.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>“<i>The Count</i>—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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Mary Rose Breese</i>—judging from mother’s will, +wanted to return to her divorced husband. Was in +the house at the time.</p> + +<p>“<i>Henry Breese, Jr.</i>—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.”</p> + +<p>“You omit Gordon Rice, I see,” exclaimed the +Russian.</p> + +<p>“I omitted him purposely,” said Smith. “He’s +got a perfectly good alibi, and no motive.”</p> + +<p>“And yet,” said the Russian meditatively, “Rice +knows something.”</p> + +<p>“How do you get that?” inquired Smith.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>clerk who saw and heard him telephone. You +wouldn’t want a better alibi than that?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Russian. “Did you, by any chance, +ask the clerk what Mr. Rice said over the telephone?”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t,” said Smith. “What difference +would it make?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe,” conceded Smith.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that Rice took part in the +murder, or knew about it beforehand?” Smith asked +skeptically.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>of justice with the comforting reflection that Mr. +Thomas would get only what he deserved.”</p> + +<p>“For that matter,” replied Smith, “I can build up +the same case against you!”</p> + +<p>“Against me?” exclaimed the Russian.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian laughed. “You have me there, Mr. +Smith,” he admitted admiringly. “It had never occurred +to me. But you’re not serious?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The Russian picked up Smith’s summary and +studied it once more.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“You’re at it again!” said Smith.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>“Besides,” I put in, “old man Breese is leaving +for the States on the six o’clock boat, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“The weather prediction?” Smith repeated +puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Russian. “Examine that copy of +the Havana Post which you keep so neatly folded +upon the desk. What does it say?”</p> + +<p>Smith glanced obediently at the paper, evidently +humoring the Russian. “Let me see——” he found +the weather column. “Storms,” he read.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Smith stared at him, open-mouthed.</p> + +<p>The Russian swept his hat from his head in one +violent gesture and flung it upon the desk.</p> + +<p>“To work!” he cried. “To work, my friends.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br> +<small>THE FUNERAL AT MIDNIGHT</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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 <i>Mary Rose</i> riding gracefully at anchor, her lights +twinkling invitingly to the desolate dock. Occasionally +a tug shrieked its warning and plowed off to +its berth.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>could not help feeling that for the first time since +the case started he was withholding something of +import.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Mary Rose</i> rock spasmodically. Rice +looked up at the dark sky. He muttered something +under his breath.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the Russian?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>make out its shadowy outline as it chopped the angry +waters.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“We’d better hurry,” he said. “This looks like +a real storm coming.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I saw one of the sailors at his motor wink sardonically +to the other at this.</p> + +<p>“Well, if there is a storm,” said Rice, “we’re +going to turn back. Have to postpone it.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Breese. “Don’t want to do that. I’ve +got to go home tomorrow.”</p> + +<p>Rice looked doubtfully at him. But by this time +the launch had drawn up alongside the <i>Mary Rose</i>, +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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>I felt a curious tingling of excitement. I begged +for some inkling of his plans. But Smith shook his +head.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>“Only thing for you to do is to wait and watch. +No matter what happens, don’t worry.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“All is ready,” he announced.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I heard the Russian chuckling, and as he came +into the corridor, he pointed to the pouring sky.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Time to see the Captain,” Smith said. He was +as puzzling to me as was the Russian.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have to turn back,” Rice said to me. “It’s +a bad enough business for the family without this +storm.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Breese,” retorted Rice, “wouldn’t want to +make her family and friends miserable. She didn’t +know about this storm.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it,” snapped Rice. “We’re turning +back.”</p> + +<p>He strode past us. When he had gone, the Russian +laughed.</p> + +<p>“And I would be willing to wager that we are +not,” he said.</p> + +<p>But whatever the private joke of the Russian +(which Smith evidently shared) I could not quite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said the Russian.</p> + +<p>Smith nodded, with an air of self-satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Rice wants to turn back,” said the Russian.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Another peal of thunder rolled in the sky, and +through the windows I was startled by the accompanying +flash of lighting.</p> + +<p>“This may be a joke on us, at that,” said Smith, +blinking.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!” retorted the Russian. “Rest easy, +my friend. Everything is working famously.”</p> + +<p>Rice stumbled down the stairs, clutching the banister. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>When he reached our landing, I could see +his face was purple.</p> + +<p>“Go up there and argue with that madman!” he +shouted at Smith. “He won’t turn back!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Rice didn’t reply, but staggered to the first door, +opened it, and then banged it behind him.</p> + +<p>“Excellent!” exclaimed the Russian. “We need +very little now.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You won’t regret it, Captain,” Smith replied.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>white and seemingly dazed, young Breese and the +actor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“He, who has the ashes of Dora Breese, murdered +by a fiend, unknown, will now cast them into +the sea, as she desired!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the Russian, “come with me, gentlemen.” +He included me in his gesture of invitation.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>We paused before the first cabin. The Russian +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>knocked loudly at the door. A voice bade us enter. +The Russian flung the door open.</p> + +<p>A very pale young man greeted us.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the Russian, “we are complete.”</p> + +<p>The Count Giering-Trelovitch advanced toward +us.</p> + +<p>“Into the music-room with you, my friend,” the +Russian said harshly to the man who had confessed. +“Join the others! Come!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Perutkin to the detective, “I +have kept my word. I have produced him for you. +It is only fair.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br> +<small>STORM</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>one of many shadows among us. “Where’s the +Captain?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I shall bring the Captain,” the Russian promised. +“But again I tell you, there is nothing to fear.”</p> + +<p>He moved to the door, the light traveling uncannily +with him. Then the door closed, and once more +we were plunged in darkness.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, can’t you?” barked Rice. “Does somebody +know where we are?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The boat creaked and rattled, and the engines +throbbed as if in struggle.</p> + +<p>Then the door opened, and Perutkin appeared +with his flash-light. It was good to be rid of the +dark again.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” he announced, “but the Captain can +tell me nothing.” He paused. “Nothing!”</p> + +<p>“What the devil do you mean by that?” demanded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>the elder Breese. “Where is he? Bring him down +here. I’ll have him fired the minute we land.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s wrong with the lights?” asked Rice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It’s outrageous!” cried the actor. “It’s never +happened before.”</p> + +<p>“Where are we?” demanded Rice, straining to +see out of the window.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>The Count came forward. For the first time his +presence was revealed to the mourners.</p> + +<p>“Where on earth did you come from?” Rice +gasped at the intruder.</p> + +<p>The actor seemed to have gone mad. “Somebody +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>arrest him! Somebody arrest him!” he shouted. +“Here, you detectives—here he is!”</p> + +<p>“Quiet!” roared Perutkin.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then sit down!” commanded Perutkin. “Consider +yourself under arrest, and when we land we +shall know what to do with you.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Rice, still staring at the Count, “this +is quite a shock to me. How did you get on the +boat?”</p> + +<p>“No one stopped me,” replied the Count. “I’m +sorry I have disturbed you.”</p> + +<p>“What’s this about a confession?” asked Rice. +“Do you mean to tell me that you murdered Mrs. +Breese?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the Count. “I did.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>apparently decent young chap like you could do a +fiendish thing like that.”</p> + +<p>“Is it so unlikely?” demanded the Count. “Didn’t +you believe I was guilty of murder in Riga?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t mind,” said the Count wearily, “I’d +rather not discuss it.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“But why?” demanded Rice. “Why does he confess? +That’s what gets me!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what to believe,” the girl said desperately.</p> + +<p>“And you, young man——” He turned to the +younger Breese—“what do you think?”</p> + +<p>The boy squirmed in the chair, but said nothing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>“And you?” He advanced slowly upon the elder +Breese. “Have you any opinions on the matter, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about it!” snapped Breese. +“Let me alone.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You must have proof for such grave charges,” +Perutkin intervened solemnly. “What proof have +you?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Rice reached for the boy to calm him. Young +Breese, on the verge of tears, tried to draw away.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“What in life is fair?” reflected the Russian +gravely. “We are none of us appreciated, Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>Thomas. But you believe that the Count is guilty?”</p> + +<p>“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>I</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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Breese!” he called.</p> + +<p>“Yes? Have you a message for me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” But the operator made no move. He +shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.</p> + +<p>“Well, where is it?” demanded Breese finally.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t got it, exactly, sir—I——”</p> + +<p>“What the devil do you mean?” growled the +financier.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>“Someone deliberately smashed your set?” Breese +looked at him incredulously. “But who would do +a thing like that?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t understand it, sir. It’s never happened +to me before.”</p> + +<p>The radio man blinked uncomfortably. Tiny +beads of perspiration stood out upon his narrow +forehead.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That is very strange,” said Perutkin as he left. +“First someone tampers with the lights. And now +the wireless is smashed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, anything can happen in a storm,” put in +Smith.</p> + +<p>“How can storm get into the wireless room?” +Rice snorted impatiently.</p> + +<p>“But who in the world would deliberately smash +our wireless?” Smith persisted. “It doesn’t seem +possible.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>“I assure you, sir,” the Count replied, “I know +nothing of wireless.”</p> + +<p>“It’s damn funny,” muttered Rice. “I’d have this +investigated the moment we get in!”</p> + +<p>“How much longer have we got to go?” asked +Breese. “We seem to be taking hours!”</p> + +<p>“In such a storm,” said the Russian, “we must +proceed cautiously.”</p> + +<p>But here the harassed-looking operator returned. +He seemed shaken with puzzled fear.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But this is strange!” exclaimed Perutkin. “Are +you sure?”</p> + +<p>“Sure?” muttered the operator. “I’m not sure of +anything any more.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What are you talking about?” exploded Rice. +“What maniac? We know who’s on board.”</p> + +<p>“But—do we?” countered the Russian. “My +friend, the Count, came here unseen. How do we +know who else has come?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But why?” asked Smith.</p> + +<p>“For the maniacal delight of destruction,” the +Russian replied calmly.</p> + +<p>“Here——” barked Rice. “What are you trying +to do? Scare everybody? If there’s anybody on +board, the crew’ll handle him fast enough.”</p> + +<p>“If they find him,” said the Russian. “Maniacs +are cunning.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t know there <i>is</i> 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.</p> + +<p>Perutkin hurried out. He was gone but a moment. +When he returned he said gravely: “A curious +accident! Our lifeboats have been washed overboard.”</p> + +<p>“But that’s impossible!” exclaimed Rice.</p> + +<p>“So I would think,” agreed the Russian. “I observed +today that both boats were lashed fast. What +are we to conclude?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“The engines have stopped!” announced the Russian. +“Listen!”</p> + +<p>“We—we must be coming in!” quavered Breese +hopefully.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then what’s he stopping for?” demanded Rice. +“We’re not moving. Those engines are dead.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll find out!” volunteered the operator nervously. +But Perutkin halted him.</p> + +<p>“No, you shall wait here. I shall myself investigate. +It is high time.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A peal of thunder rolled over our heads. I shuddered, +as if it were an ominous warning of disaster.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Finally the Russian came back. He walked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>slowly, with head bowed. He shut the door carefully +behind him.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br> +<small>ONE OF YOU</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Stop it!” shrieked the actor. “Can’t you do +something—somebody? I don’t want to die!” His +voice died out in a wail.</p> + +<p>“You are white, Mr. Thomas,” said the Russian. +“You shiver. You are afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s the Captain?” Breese demanded. +“Bring him here at once!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>The yacht rolled maliciously and the old man +seized a chair to steady himself.</p> + +<p>“There is only one Captain now,” responded the +Russian gravely, “and Him I cannot bring. But +He will come!”</p> + +<p>Rice stepped forward. “Things cannot be as bad +as you say. I know this boat. She’s weathered +worse storms than this!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t believe it until the Captain says so!” +snapped Rice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve gone mad!” cried Breese. “I’ll get the +Captain myself.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go with you,” his son volunteered.</p> + +<p>“There is no need!” The Russian raised his hand. +“Look!”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the window. The red and white +glare of rockets flashed before our eyes.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>Breese stood still, staring at the window. He +tottered to a chair.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Smith slowly, “I guess you’re right. +I guess we’re in for it!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” muttered Rice. “I guess we are.”</p> + +<p>We were startled by a jangling discordant laugh, +and then we saw the Count rise from his shadowed +corner.</p> + +<p>“Stop that!” barked Rice. “Be a man! Have +some consideration for this lady!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe they’ll see our signals,” the wireless operator, +who had been sitting unnoticed, suddenly +burst forth.</p> + +<p>“They’d signal back, wouldn’t they?” demanded +Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He took from his pocket a thick black book. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then pray to yourself!” cried Breese. “This +isn’t a revival meeting. Do you want to start a +panic?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Now Smith turned on the Russian. “Shut up!” +he growled. “Get over there and pray if you want +to—nobody else does.”</p> + +<p>“Confess your sins,” the Russian intoned.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to die,” wailed the actor.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t forge any check!” protested the actor.</p> + +<p>Smith shrugged his shoulders. “What difference +can it possibly make now?” he demanded. “I don’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>care if you did or not. I can’t do anything about it. +This case is out of my hands.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ve got to believe me,” cried the actor.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can believe that, anyway.” I started, +as the younger Breese rose from his chair. “I—I +forged that check, Mr. Smith.”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>His father cried aghast: “What’s come over you, +son?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have done that,” his father cried. +“I—I can’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the actor. “It’s coming out now, is +it? I knew there was a conspiracy against me!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“God forgive us, poor miserable sinners!” murmured +the Russian.</p> + +<p>“You wrong that man,” the Count came forward. +“He did not kill your mother.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>“Of course not,” said Smith. “You did. You +confessed.”</p> + +<p>“That confession was a lie,” replied the Count +calmly.</p> + +<p>“Then why did you make it?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Then who did kill Mrs. Breese?” demanded +Smith. “Not that I care particularly,” he amended +hastily. “I’m just curious.”</p> + +<p>“One of us here,” replied the Count quietly, +“killed Mrs. Breese.”</p> + +<p>“Name him!” challenged Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>“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!”</p> + +<p>“The man who preceded Thomas into the drawing-room +was the murderer?” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly,” replied the Count.</p> + +<p>Smith looked about the waiting circle. His eyes +rested upon the financier.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I?” Breese stammered.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t think that I killed my wife?” bellowed +Breese. “You’d better be careful, young man!”</p> + +<p>“What were you doing in your wife’s house the +night of the murder?” Smith demanded.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t there,” said Breese. “I don’t know +what you’re talking about.”</p> + +<p>“Then the Count is lying when he says he saw +you there?”</p> + +<p>“I told you I wasn’t there,” snapped the old man.</p> + +<p>“You knew your wife was murdered when you +talked to me at your hotel,” Smith persisted.</p> + +<p>“I did not!”</p> + +<p>“Strange the vagaries of the human mind!” the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Let me alone!” cried Breese.</p> + +<p>“As God is your witness,” persisted the Russian, +“do you deny that you killed Mrs. Breese?”</p> + +<p>“Will you let me alone?” shouted the old man.</p> + +<p>“God forgive you,” murmured the Russian.</p> + +<p>Smith turned to the actor. “How about you, +Thomas? The Count says you discovered the body. +Is that true? You never told us that!”</p> + +<p>“It’s true,” the actor’s voice trembled. “I was +afraid to tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Smith wearily. +“Nothing I can do about it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to keep anything back,” cried +Thomas. “I’ve gone through hell. I—I lied to you +about other things.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t bother,” advised Smith. “Let it ride.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t,” cried the actor. “She always +paid herself.”</p> + +<p>“Quite,” said Smith. “Now just to make this a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>really pleasant party, tell us about the time you +played with Mrs. Fiske.”</p> + +<p>“I—I never played with Mrs. Fiske,” protested +the actor. “I feel sick. I feel I’m going to faint.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you assume,” demanded Rice angrily, +“that any one of us knows who did it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I know he’s here,” replied Smith. “I know it!”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve told the truth,” muttered Breese.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>“You were in that house the night of the murder!” +thundered the Russian.</p> + +<p>“And supposing I was?” flared Breese.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the Russian. “You admit you were +there!”</p> + +<p>“I admit nothing,” said Breese. “I’m sick of +being badgered. I won’t stand for it! Do you hear +me? Let me alone!”</p> + +<p>The Russian shrugged his shoulders eloquently. +He swung on Rice.</p> + +<p>“And you, Mr. Rice?”</p> + +<p>“What about me?” asked Rice.</p> + +<p>“Have you nothing to say?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know who killed Mrs. Breese?” insisted +the Russian.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a poor miserable sinner,” cried the Russian. +“Sulphur and brimstone await you in hell! +You blasphemer!”</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“I agree with you,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Breese jumped up from his chair.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he cried, “about time you came! What’s +happened?”</p> + +<p>“We’ve had nasty going,” said the Captain. +His voice was hoarse. He spoke hardly above a +whisper.</p> + +<p>“Never mind that,” shouted Breese impatiently. +“Can you get us out of it?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“But you’ve got to do something!” cried Breese.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing to do, sir,” replied the Captain +quietly. “We’re in a rather bad way!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>The Captain turned on his heel wearily and left +Breese expostulating to thin air. The Russian had +fallen to his knees.</p> + +<p>“God forgive them, miserable sinners,” he shouted +above the howling of the wind. “Forgive the miserable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The Russian prayed on.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He sank to his knees beside the Russian and he +tapped the giant’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“What is it, my son?” Perutkin halted his prayer +and looked gently at the mechanic.</p> + +<p>“Will you—pray for me?” he begged.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, my son,” replied the Russian. “I shall +pray for you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve—I’ve got something on my mind,” the operator +groaned inarticulately. “I’ve—I’ve got +something to tell you.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But Breese had come over to us. He looked down +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>upon the two kneeling figures with contemptuous +wrath.</p> + +<p>“Praying!” he shouted. “Why don’t you go to +work—get that wireless going? Damn cowards!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you two! Great revival meeting you’re putting +on,” Rice chimed in. “It makes me sick to look +at you!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t listen to them,” counselled the Russian. +“Pray, my son.”</p> + +<p>“Get up!” shouted Breese hysterically. “Stop it, +I tell you!”</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p>“What about Mrs. Breese?” Smith asked quietly.</p> + +<p>“I—I—don’t look at me like that—I—” He +moaned as if in pain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the flash-light upon the table was hurled +to the floor. We were plunged in darkness.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” cried the Russian. “Quick—what about +Mrs. Breese? Who killed her?”</p> + +<p>“Wait, can’t you?” the mechanic cried. “I’ll tell +you! I’ll tell you——”</p> + +<p>A revolver shot boomed in my ear. I heard the +man groan. I heard his body fall to the floor.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, miraculously, the lights flared up in the +room and through the ship!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>The Russian was kneeling over the prone figure. +He raised his head, and his sharp little eyes travelled +over the room.</p> + +<p>“He’s dead,” said the Russian slowly.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br> +<small>THE MURDER ON THE YACHT</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then I heard the actor call: “We’re saved! Hang +it all, we’re saved!” He slobbered in his relief. +Tears streaked his cheeks.</p> + +<p>The Countess cried out, as if she were waking. +Then I realized the Count was at her side. She was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>in his arms, and laughing and crying in turn in her +hysteria.</p> + +<p>“Take her to her cabin,” Perutkin ordered. “The +rest of you stay here.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s happened?” demanded Breese. He +seemed utterly bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you’ve already guessed,” countered the +Russian strangely. “A man has been murdered.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind that!” Breese’s contempt for the +figure before us chilled me. “What’s happened with +the ship? We’re moving.”</p> + +<p>The Russian did not reply. The Countess was +now sobbing as her former husband led her from +the room.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Are we still in danger or not? That’s what I +want to know!” Breese cried, straining to look out +of the window.</p> + +<p>“One of us is out of danger,” the Russian said +slowly, pointing to the figure.</p> + +<p>The Captain emerged from the corridor. He +stopped short at the sight of the body of his operator.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“But it was not in my plan!” protested the Russian. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>“How could I know such a disaster was possible?”</p> + +<p>“What plan?” demanded Breese, listening open-mouthed, +as we all did, to the puzzling dialogue.</p> + +<p>“You must know, Mr. Breese!” replied the Russian. +“Surely you must have guessed by now.”</p> + +<p>“You’re talking in riddles,” snapped Breese. +“What is it?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You mean—you deliberately—staged this—this +hoax!” Breese sputtered.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“We’re wasting time,” intervened Smith. “I want +to ask you, Captain, what you know of this poor +chap?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Smith noted these sparse details in his note-book.</p> + +<p>“How long had he been with you?” asked Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t follow,” said the Captain, puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s simple enough,” said the Russian. +“You told us that you signed him on <i>after</i> Mrs. +Breese left the yacht. So that as far as you know +they had never met.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s true,” said the Captain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>“And yet,” continued the Russian, “this man knew +who killed Mrs. Breese!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Let him go,” advised Rice. “The strain has been +too much for him. He doesn’t realize what’s happened.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>our first step is to locate the revolver with +which this murder was committed. Have any of you +gentlemen a revolver?”</p> + +<p>“Not me!” cried the actor. “Why should I have +a revolver?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you find it?” demanded the Russian.</p> + +<p>“In my pocket,” said Smith. “It also happens to +be my gun.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br> +<small>THE LETTER</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“YOURS?” exclaimed Rice, staring at the detective.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But how clever!” admired the Russian. Smith +flushed.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how clever he is,” he muttered. +“It was dark and the boat was pitching.”</p> + +<p>“But you felt nothing?” demanded the Russian.</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all,” replied Smith.</p> + +<p>“According to your own formula,” the Russian’s +eyes twinkled, “you are the guilty person, Mr. +Smith. All the evidence is on your person.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think this is a joke,” Smith looked at +him cuttingly.</p> + +<p>“But it is not without its humor,” insisted the +Russian. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Thomas?” He +swung at the actor.</p> + +<p>“Damned funny!” giggled the actor.</p> + +<p>“Beyond me,” commented Rice. “Can’t think—I’m +dizzy!”</p> + +<p>Smith finally dismissed the three men. When the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>door closed upon them, he blazed at the Russian: +“Fine idea you sold me! We’re in deeper than ever +now.”</p> + +<p>“No!” protested the Russian. “We are one step +ahead.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said the Russian. “Begin with his +clothes.”</p> + +<p>With professional briskness, the two began the +ghastly job of dragging forth the contents of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No return address,” Smith said, examining the +envelope. “Mailed in Havana. We might trace +it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Smith, “this letter smells blackmail to +me. I’ve handled enough of those cases to know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” conceded the Russian. “I see. Trenholm +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>They pawed over a few trinkets and odds and +ends and then decided that their task was done.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Smith was uncommunicative. He bent down to +open the trunk. It was locked.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“When did you last see this trunk open?” asked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“And the trunk was full?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes.” Then he volunteered: “He was a peculiar +chap, you know.”</p> + +<p>“In what way?” demanded Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Was he working upon any inventions that you +know of?” asked the Russian.</p> + +<p>“I think he was,” said the officer. “Most radio +men do. But I don’t know definitely that he was.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you could tell us if he ever talked of +any friends in Havana.”</p> + +<p>“No, but he must have had some friends. He +signed on here.”</p> + +<p>“One more question,” said the Russian. “To +your knowledge, did Trenholm know any of the passengers +on this yacht?”</p> + +<p>The officer shook his head. “I hardly think so. +We’ve had no passengers since he signed on—until +tonight.”</p> + +<p>In the corridor, the Russian said: “Behold! The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“I got that,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“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——”</p> + +<p>“The Countess goes into hysterics,” began Smith.</p> + +<p>“And the Count takes her out,” I added.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That leaves Breese,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“That leaves Breese,” repeated the Russian. +“He, and he alone, insisted upon leaving the room. +Why?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“We’re coming in,” I cried in relief.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>“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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br> +<small>THE RAID</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">MY TELEPHONE rang persistently. I had +just waked out of a sleep of exhaustion and +reached for it with sleep-numbed fingers.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Why? What?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Ask nothing. And do not look so surprised. +We are going upstairs.”</p> + +<p>As he said this, he preceded me into the elevator +cage.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“We’re not going to see the old man?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“We are doing a little burglary,” he explained +casually. “I needed a companion in crime and I +chose you. Are you not flattered?”</p> + +<p>“But what are you going to do—and why?” I +insisted.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“But do you think,” I demanded, “that Breese +would leave anything in his room calculated to arouse +our suspicions?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>from the law. A trifle! In my own country I have +consistently broken all laws.”</p> + +<p>He was now at the wardrobe closet, expertly +fumbling into the pockets of Mr. Breese’s carefully +tailored suits.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Peering over his shoulder, I saw that these words +had been scrawled upon the paper:</p> + +<p>“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 <i>important</i>. +I will be waiting for you tonight at 7 in my shop 32 +Calle C and 3rd Street. Charles Spence.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“It must be,” I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Smith has that letter,” the Russian continued. +“If we could compare, we could make sure. But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He frowned on us, and did not even nod. For his +part, the Russian ignored him and stepped into the +elevator cage.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But is his attitude so unnatural?” I asked. “After +all, he’s an arrogant man.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“We shall wait here,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll wait for you!” The Russian swung +around. I started. Smith was at my elbow.</p> + +<p>“Where did you come from?” the Russian +chuckled. “But you are bright this morning, Mr. +Smith!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>The Russian explained how we found the note. +Smith grinned.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>“And then you saw Mr. Breese walk in?” concluded +the Russian.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am listening!” the Russian boomed. +“Tell me!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But didn’t he give you any inkling of what he +knew?” interrupted the Russian.</p> + +<p>“He made it pretty plain,” replied Smith, “that +he got his information from Trenholm.”</p> + +<p>“Who had never met Mrs. Breese,” said the Russian.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I put that up to him,” replied Smith. “But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Hmm,” the Russian reflected. “You have handled +matters very badly, Mr. Smith.”</p> + +<p>“How do you get that?” Smith demanded resentfully.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Which leads me to the conclusion,” said the Russian, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>“that all my bright hopes have been shattered. +I’m going to see Mr. Spence myself.”</p> + +<p>“Not while Breese is in there!” exclaimed Smith.</p> + +<p>“But why not? I want Breese to know that I am +here. It will help matters considerably. Come!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“As I feared,” he muttered. “Mr. Smith should +be spanked.”</p> + +<p>“There must be someone here,” I ventured. +“Breese’s cab is still outside.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>“I’m waiting for him myself,” the old man said +finally, glaring at the Russian.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Breese grunted.</p> + +<p>“Did you say something, Mr. Breese?” demanded +the Russian.</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t,” snapped Breese.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“What in the world are you talking about?” sputtered +the financier.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“About what?” snapped Breese. “I got a letter +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Almost plausible!” said the Russian.</p> + +<p>“Damn it, do you think I’m lying to you?” +shouted Breese.</p> + +<p>“I know you are,” replied the Russian coolly. “Be +good enough to tell us where Mr. Spence is. What +have you done with him?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Have you +found Spence?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t understand it,” muttered Breese.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You think that I—I threatened him?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“You must be mad! You must be!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I do carry a revolver,” Breese conceded hesitantly, +after an uncomfortable pause.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed the Russian.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know where I was going. I took it +along for protection.”</p> + +<p>“May I have that revolver?” Smith asked, extending +his hand. Reluctantly the old man surrendered +the weapon.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Arrest me—for what?” shouted the old man.</p> + +<p>“For the murder of your wife and the murder of +Louis Trenholm.”</p> + +<p>The old man looked from Smith to the Russian, +and then at me.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>my arrest?” He was quite calm now, as if striving +hard to maintain his composure in a bewildering +situation.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Look here——” bellowed Smith.</p> + +<p>The Russian held up his hand.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He bounded out of the room.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br> +<small>THE MAN IN THE TAXI</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“WOULD you mind telling me—” the elder +Breese was exasperatingly polite—“if your +police department is composed solely of lunatics?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then,” said Breese. “Am I to understand +that I am under arrest for murder?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” snapped Smith.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I’m permitted to consult a lawyer?” +the old man asked coolly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“First,” said Smith, “you had a key which gave +you entrance to your wife’s house.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a long way from murder,” said the old +man.</p> + +<p>“You used that key that night.”</p> + +<p>“And if I did?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Because I sincerely believed him to be at the bottom +of it, and I’m not sure now that I’ve changed +my mind.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>“That sounds reasonable, the way you tell it,” +conceded Smith.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I had no desire to tangle myself up with the +police,” the old man pointed out.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, finally,” said Smith, “just why did +you come to see Mr. Spence?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you refer Spence to me?” demanded +Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>From Smith’s bland expression I knew that he was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>studying the financier with great interest. I knew +that Smith had not yet made up his mind.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But I never heard of the man before!” cried +Breese.</p> + +<p>“But you heard of Trenholm.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>Something of the financier’s arrogance returned to +him. He flushed angrily. “And what if I refuse?”</p> + +<p>Smith shrugged his shoulders. “Then I’m afraid +I must take the necessary steps to detain you.”</p> + +<p>He spoke quietly, but there was a challenge in +his voice. The old man stared at him defiantly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Breese!” he called. “Mr. Breese!”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” growled the financier.</p> + +<p>“Come with me, please. Right away!” the driver +pleaded. “There’s a man in the cab.”</p> + +<p>“What man?” demanded Breese.</p> + +<p>“The man you sent away with me.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t send any man away with you,” Breese +denied angrily. “What are you talking about?”</p> + +<p>But the chauffeur was now wringing his hands. +“Come please!” he pleaded. “It is terrible.”</p> + +<p>“What’s come over you?” demanded Breese.</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t send anyone to you,” Breese shook his +head. “I haven’t met anyone here except Spence.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the man was Spence,” Smith intervened. “I +saw him jump in the cab myself. I came in here and +told you.”</p> + +<p>He turned to the driver.</p> + +<p>“Go on. What happened?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Go on!” urged Smith.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>But Smith was already out of the door. Breese +and I followed him hurriedly.</p> + +<p>Seated in the back of the open cab, his hands folded +upon his stomach, his long elbows grotesquely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>akimbo, was a sallow-faced individual, apparently +asleep.</p> + +<p>“Good God!” cried Breese. “That’s Spence—the +chap I saw.”</p> + +<p>Smith looked at him. “Your chauffeur says he told +him you sent him away in this cab.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Breese cried out in horror.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br> +<small>CALLE L</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But the detective silenced him with a glare and +not too ceremoniously hoisted him into another taxi. +Smith and I followed.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>As we approached Calle L, he urged his colleague +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>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.</p> + +<p>We had pulled up directly in front of the Gilded +Cage!</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You say, Mr. Breese, that you did <i>not</i> send this +man here?” Smith demanded.</p> + +<p>“I certainly did not,” declared Breese emphatically.</p> + +<p>“Despite what your driver says?”</p> + +<p>“Despite what anybody says.”</p> + +<p>“And yet,” Smith said slowly, “he drives to your +house.”</p> + +<p>Smith turned to the driver. “You say you sat in +that café for fifteen minutes. Could you see your +cab from there?”</p> + +<p>“Sure—sure,” the driver nodded vigorously. “I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>watch my cab. I do not leave it alone. I don’t know +this man.”</p> + +<p>“You watched that cab all the time?”</p> + +<p>“Sure—sure. All the time.”</p> + +<p>“Now listen to me carefully,” Smith urged. “Did +you see another man approach your man in the cab?”</p> + +<p>“No. No one came to cab. No one.”</p> + +<p>“There must have been some one,” Smith exclaimed +impatiently. “The man didn’t kill himself.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“No one came here,” the driver repeated. “I +watch.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll see if you did,” snapped Smith. “You take +us to the chair you occupied in the café. Come on!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And no one had heard a shot of any kind.</p> + +<p>The further we plunged into the circumstances of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>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.</p> + +<p>Smith peered up at the Gilded Cage, as if trying +to discover something in its marble walls.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“To me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—if I hold on to you I can puzzle it out.”</p> + +<p>“But I was with you all the time.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Good God,” exclaimed Breese, “you almost convince +me it’s so!”</p> + +<p>“I almost convince myself it’s so,” said Smith.</p> + +<p>“But I assure you——” protested Breese.</p> + +<p>“And yet,” interrupted Smith, “that doesn’t explain +how he was murdered by someone unseen and +unheard.”</p> + +<p>“It may have been a silencer,” I suggested.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He pointed to one of the windows.</p> + +<p>“No doubt of it,” he continued excitedly. “A man +standing there, at that window—Spence down here +in the cab and——”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There’s that lunatic again,” muttered Breese.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>“What’s he doing here?” Smith demanded of me. +“I’ll have to lock him up just to get rid of him.”</p> + +<p>But the Russian was gesticulating wildly.</p> + +<p>“He wants us to come in,” I suggested.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>We had reached the terrace. The door swung +open. The Russian greeted us.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>“How do you know about him?” Smith demanded.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Smith looked at him, shaking his head in baffled +wonder.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Which one is it this time?” Smith sneered.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is this another one of your experiments?” demanded +Smith.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Russian. “I have disappointed you +before, Mr. Smith. I have disappointed myself. Even +now I kick myself violently for my stupidity.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Smith practically, “who is it and +where is he?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>“Will you give me half an hour—thirty minutes?” +asked the Russian.</p> + +<p>“I knew there was a catch in it,” sighed Smith.</p> + +<p>“I could turn the man over to you at this moment,” +the Russian said, “but it would not be advisable.”</p> + +<p>Smith shook his head. “I’ve wasted enough time +with you,” he said. “If you have anything, come out +with it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“Excellent!” exclaimed the Russian. “Come with +me!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br> +<small>MODUS OPERANDI</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>light. The room would have been dark without it.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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——</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>I heard a buzz of startled conversation. Once +more the Russian rapped upon the table.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>With the air of an imperious director, he pointed +to the Count.</p> + +<p>“You, my friend, at nine o’clock, were where?”</p> + +<p>“Outside in the corridor,” replied the Count.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Without waiting for the Count to leave, the Russian +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” the boy protested, “what’s the +sense of it?”</p> + +<p>“I assure you,” said the Russian, “I would not +dream of subjecting you to this ordeal if it were not +extremely necessary.”</p> + +<p>The boy shrugged his shoulders and followed +his sister out of the room.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Breese. “But why the devil +should I?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Reluctantly Breese left the room.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the Russian, “I shall take the part +of Mrs. Breese. You, Mr. Thomas, were in this +room with her. You remain here.”</p> + +<p>He looked at the actor quizzically.</p> + +<p>“You should find this work easy. It is your +profession.”</p> + +<p>Then he raised his voice to its terrific boom: “All +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>of you, everywhere. It is nine o’clock. We begin!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Rice good-naturedly nodded, and passed into the +library.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the Russian to Thomas. “I am +Mrs. Breese. We are talking together. What is +it you say to me?”</p> + +<p>“Hang it all,” cried the actor. “I can’t remember.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the actor swallowed.</p> + +<p>“That is better,” commented the Russian, stepping +out of his rôle. “You actually quarrelled with +Mrs. Breese.”</p> + +<p>“But—but—” stammered the actor.</p> + +<p>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——”</p> + +<p>The actor shifted uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>“What is it you say to me?”</p> + +<p>“Hang it all,” he began.</p> + +<p>“You say nothing. You storm out of the room. +You run upstairs. Go!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>Thomas fled from the room. It was really very +funny, but none of us laughed. The Russian had +us in his grip.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said the Russian, “this is what actually +happened. Thomas told us fairy tales.”</p> + +<p>He snorted.</p> + +<p>“As if Mrs. Breese would calmly consent to his +jilting her.”</p> + +<p>He turned to the door.</p> + +<p>“Count!” he cried. “You are in the corridor. +What do you see?”</p> + +<p>“I see Mr. Breese coming toward the drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” approved the Russian. “Where is the +Japanese? Here, you——”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Breese want nothing more?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the Russian. The footman bowed +and obediently returned to the library with his tray.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>The promoter appeared from the library. He +watched the Russian tolerantly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Rice,” commanded the Russian briskly, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>“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.’”</p> + +<p>“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?’”</p> + +<p>“Excellent, Mr. Rice. You are our best actor. +‘Hello, Gordon.’”</p> + +<p>“‘Dora, I’ve some bad news for you.’</p> + +<p>“‘What is it?’</p> + +<p>“‘Are you alone?’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes.’</p> + +<p>“‘I’ve just gotten a check from the bank. It’s +made out to Thomas and your signature is forged +to it.’</p> + +<p>“‘I can’t believe it.’</p> + +<p>“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!’</p> + +<p>“‘Very well. Hold the wire. I’ll see.’</p> + +<p>“Then I waited,” said Rice.</p> + +<p>“‘I can’t find it,’” the Russian suggested.</p> + +<p>“‘That’s funny. I put the check and a letter on +the table, addressed to you. Thomas must have +found it.’</p> + +<p>“‘I don’t believe a word of it!’”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” said Rice, looking up startled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Right outside the door,” the financier replied.</p> + +<p>“Come in.”</p> + +<p>The Russian suddenly fell to the floor. The door +opened. Breese looked down and started.</p> + +<p>“Come closer,” the Russian called without shifting. +“This is how you found me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Breese huskily.</p> + +<p>“And then you ran out.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Follow out your movements then, Mr. Breese. +Go into the street. Just as you did that night.”</p> + +<p>Breese hurried out of the room.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The butler shrugged his shoulders disdainfully +but did as he was told.</p> + +<p>The Russian called out into the corridor: “Count, +what do you see?”</p> + +<p>“I see Mr. Breese running out into the street. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>hear the butler telling them upstairs that Mrs. +Breese was murdered.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Smith curtly. “And I don’t +see that this is getting us anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>“Yes, sir,” said the promoter. “Anything further +I can do?”</p> + +<p>“I want you to refresh your memory and tell us +if there’s anything you have omitted in your telephone +conversation with Mrs. Breese.”</p> + +<p>The promoter reflected a moment and then shook +his head vigorously. “No, I guess not. I guess I +covered the ground pretty thoroughly.”</p> + +<p>“You have forgotten nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Not a thing,” said Rice emphatically.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said the Russian quietly, moving to +the library. “Come here, Mr. Jenkins.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br> +<small>THE CALL</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE bespectacled young man approached +Perutkin rather timidly.</p> + +<p>“Do you know Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Rice?”</p> + +<p>“Afraid I don’t,” said the promoter. “I just +noticed him in the library.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jenkins,” said the Russian, “is employed at +the American Ministry.”</p> + +<p>He swung at Rice sharply.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure you have omitted nothing in your +conversation?”</p> + +<p>“Positive,” said Rice. “Of course, I may have +said something trivial—unessential——”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He turned to the timid young man. “You were +at the American Ministry when Mr. Rice telephoned, +were you not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I was.”</p> + +<p>“And you overheard the conversation?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>“I overheard Mr. Rice’s end of it,” the young +man corrected precisely.</p> + +<p>“And does it check with his version today?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” cried Rice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The young man stammered in his earnestness.</p> + +<p>“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’.”</p> + +<p>“So!” said the Russian. “A lecture on companionate +marriage. Starting now. Sixty.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Rice stared at the clerk.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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’.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” confirmed Rice.</p> + +<p>“When did you say you telephoned Mrs. Breese? +At about nine-thirty?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Around nine-thirty.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“If you want to take it that way,” said Rice. +“Yes. Honestly, I don’t see what you’re driving +at.”</p> + +<p>I could see from Smith’s expression that the detective +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>agreed with him. But Perutkin was inexorable.</p> + +<p>“Let us continue,” he said sharply. “I want to +ask you a question.”</p> + +<p>“By all means,” Rice invited, smiling tolerantly.</p> + +<p>“Are you a wealthy man, Mr. Rice?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” Rice hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that.”</p> + +<p>The Russian swung at the elder Breese.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He paused, while we all looked at Rice in bewilderment. +He flushed uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how my finances concern you,” he +said with some asperity.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>The Russian moved to the black and silver radio. +He tapped it with his great knuckles. “A beautiful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>instrument. I desire, Mr. Rice, that you tune in on +sixty.”</p> + +<p>“What for?” said Rice.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Rice made no move.</p> + +<p>“I am giving you your opportunity,” the Russian +said softly. “I am being merciful. Turn that dial +to sixty.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now his hand was upon the dial.</p> + +<p>“Sixty,” repeated the Russian.</p> + +<p>The hand moved, slowly. Suddenly a flash of fire +came from the radio. Rice fell to the floor.</p> + +<p>I could not but gasp in horror. Then, shuddering, +I saw the Russian deliberately kick the prone +body. The Russian was shaking with laughter.</p> + +<p>“Get up!” he thundered. “Do you think I’d give +you up so easily? I put blanks in, Mr. Rice. <i>You +did not!</i>”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI<br> +<small>THE RUSSIAN EXPLAINS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE Russian beamed upon the dazed and +frightened circle about him.</p> + +<p>“I have given you,” he said with his characteristic +pedantic air, “a concrete demonstration of the +<i>modus operandi</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>He looked at Mary Breese paternally.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Rice looked down at the floor. Outwardly he +had recovered his composure. His face was a mask.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Breese, staring incredulously at Rice +while he answered. “He did suggest just that.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>But the promoter looked disdainfully at him and +said nothing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I thought to myself: ‘Suppose I wanted to murder +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>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.’</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“So it remained for our friend, Rice, to single out +Mr. Trenholm. What his arguments were I do not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Trenholm is timid. Like most mechanics, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>“I don’t suppose,” said Rice grimly, “there’s any +need of my saying anything.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Rice, extending his hands. +Smith produced a pair of shining handcuffs.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then we heard two shots in rapid succession. +Then two more.</p> + +<p>I ran out into the garden. The street was buzzing +with people. I turned to find the Russian beside +me.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>work? Am I not the greatest detective in the +world?”</p> + +<p>He looked down into the street.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> + +<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> +</div></div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77069 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |