The implication was awful, monstrous, and yet—there it was. Since, as Janet said, she put the chain on, and since it had been found still on by Charlotte in the morning, certainly no one could have entered the apartment during the night by that door. And as the apartment was the duplicate of our own, I knew there was no other door. There was no rear entrance, and the dumb-waiter closed with a snap lock on the kitchen side.
The inspector stated that the windows had evidently been securely fastened through the night. Those in the sleeping-rooms, which were partly opened for ventilation, were secured by a burglar-proof device, which fastened them at any desired point, leaving ample room for air, but far too small a space for a human being to pass through. Thus the possibility of an intruder was eliminated, and, granting that, who had killed Mr. Pembroke?
Logically speaking, it must have been some one already in the apartment, and the other occupants numbered but two. It didn't seem that it could have been Charlotte; and my mind refused evena hint of a thought of Janet in that connection; and yet—who?
As I sat stunned, I vaguely saw that some one had raised Miss Pembroke, and that Laura had once more taken her in charge.
I looked at the hard, impassive face of the coroner, and, like a flash, I realized that he believed Janet guilty, and that was why he had questioned her along the line he did.
He meant to prove first motive and then exclusive opportunity! I, as a lawyer, followed the workings of his mind, and understood at last his rigorous catechism of the poor girl.
Janet guilty! Why, it was simply a contradiction of terms. That girl was no more capable of—— Then I remembered her manner that had so puzzled me. But that she could explain, of course. As to exclusive opportunity, that was mere foolishness. I remembered the chained door, but of course there must have been other ways of ingress to a professional burglar. I hastily thought over the windows of our own apartment. There were three large front ones on Sixty-second Street, and the others were all on air-shafts or a fire-escape.
Ah, that was it—the fire-escape!
Then I remembered the inspector's statement. Had there been a possible way to get in that house that night, surely he would have found it. That would not require very clever detective work.
Suddenly a thought struck me, which turned my heart to ice. It was I who had first testified that the chain was on the door when Charlotte opened it that morning! If I had not mentioned it, perhaps no one would have thought of it, and it would have been assumed that the criminal forced his way in at the front door.
That would have left a loophole for doubt. Now they said there was none. Oh, how could I have been so stupid as to tell of that chain? I who desired only to serve and assist the woman I loved—I had done the one thing, said the one word, that gave those men reason to say she had "exclusive opportunity"!
That, then, was why Doctor Masterson had looked so perturbed at my testimony. That was why he was worried and nervous at Charlotte's mention of the chain. That was why he looked relieved when Laura completed her account without referring to that awful bit of evidence.
And why didn't Laura refer to it? Perhaps she thought it would be a point which couldn't beexplained, which was as inexplicable to her as to me, but which no more proved Miss Pembroke guilty than it proved the angels in heaven to be criminals.
Janet had regained consciousness, but still lay on the couch, with closed eyes, and the inexorable coroner called George Lawrence.
The young man seemed to be controlling himself by a mighty effort.
"I see your implication," he said to the coroner, "and I want you to retract it. My cousin, Miss Pembroke, is incapable of such a thing as you hint, and the mere fact of a chained front door does not preclude other modes of housebreaking. I am by no means sure the windows were all securely fastened last night. Indeed, I am forced to believe they were not, since somebody came in and killed my uncle, and it was not my cousin Janet."
"There has been no accusation," said the coroner coldly. "Will you now give us your testimony?"
"I can tell you nothing to throw any light on the mystery," said George Lawrence, who was, apparently, holding himself well in hand. "I called here yesterday afternoon between five and six. My uncle was very cross and grumpy, and gave meno pleasant word while I was here. He was not at that time definitely angry, but merely testy and irritable. I talked for a time with Janet, and went away about six.
"Where did you go then?"
"I went back to my own apartment in Washington Square."
"And then?"
"I dressed, and went to dine with some friends in Sixtieth street. Of course this can be verified."
Lawrence spoke with an air of superciliousness, almost contempt, at this detailed questioning, but the Coroner looked at him impassively.
"We are not doubting your word," he said; "you spent the evening at the house where you dined?"
"Yes; I left there at eleven o'clock, and then I went directly home. I reached my apartment at eleven twenty-five."
"How do you know the time so exactly?"
"I happen to be sure of the hour, because the hall boy told me the time by the office clock. He then took me up in the elevator, and I went at once to my rooms. I slept all night, and had not yet left my bedroom when my cousin telephoned for me this morning. That is my story, and, as I said,it throws no light on the case. But light shall be thrown on the case, if I have to move heaven and earth to have it thrown. This mystery shall be solved and my cousin freed from the slightest taint of this absurd suspicion!"
I had liked George Lawrence from the first, and this outburst of loyalty to his cousin quite won my heart. It was no more than he ought to have felt, but his spontaneous enthusiasm charmed me. I determined to add my efforts to his own, and it would go hard if between us we did not bring the evil-doer to justice.
I admired the appearance of the young man. Of an athletic type, though perhaps not specially trained, he was well set up, and had that assured air that belongs to so many young New York men.
He especially exhibited self-possession and self-control, and though perhaps he gave more the effect of physical force than of mental strength, yet to my mind he showed bravery and courage both in manner and speech.
Though in no way conspicuous, his clothes were correct, and hung well on his rather graceful figure. Although I had heard he was an artist, he showed no trace of Bohemianism in his make-up. He was rather, it seemed to me, of the type that frequents our best clubs or restaurants.
But what I liked best about the man was his very evident affection and loyalty toward his cousin. As the coroner had said, there had been no definite accusation, and yet it was plain to be seen that as the evidence seemed to point toward either the guilt or the complicity of Janet Pembroke, the jurymen were being influenced by it.
The coroner asked George more questions.
"You carry a latch-key to this apartment?" he asked.
"Yes. I lived here until a few months ago, and I've still kept the key. I go in and out as I like. The chain is never put on in the daytime."
"Is it always on at night?"
"Yes. When I lived here I was usually the last one in at night, and I put on the chain. Since I left, my cousin has told me that she always puts it on when she retires at night."
"You did not get on well with your uncle?"
"I did not. It was because of his bad temper that I went away to live by myself. I hoped, too, that if I were not here to anger him, which I often did, he might be more gentle to Janet."
"Did it turn out that way?"
"I fear not, to any considerable extent. I think he could not control his temper, even if he tried, and it was his custom to vent his wrath on whomever happened to be nearest."
"You also knew of the conditions of your uncle's will?"
"Yes. It was no secret. He had always told us we two were his sole heirs, but, though he seemed willing to leave us his money, he was not generous with it while alive."
"What is your business, Mr. Lawrence?"
"I am an artist—or, at least, an illustrator. I make pictures for books and magazines."
"You find it lucrative?"
"Sufficiently so. My tastes are not extravagant, and I earn enough by my work to gratify my simple ambitions. I trust I shall make a worthy use of my inheritance, but I had hoped not to come into it for many years yet."
This last remark jarred on me. I didn't want to think the young man hypocritical, and yet that attitude as to his inheritance seemed to me not quite ingenuous.
"Did Robert Pembroke have any enemy that you know of?"
"Not that I know of definitely, and none that I would suspect of crime. But I know very little of my uncle's business affairs or his acquaintances. He was not at all communicative, and I was not curious about such matters."
"He had callers occasionally?"
"Yes."
"Of what sort?"
"Business men, his lawyer, various agents who transacted business for him, and sometimes strangers who came to ask contributions for charitable purposes, or perhaps to interest him in financial schemes."
"He always saw these visitors?"
"Yes; Mr. Pembroke was always ready to see any one who called. I suppose, as he never went out, it provided diversion and entertainment for him."
"He always treated them politely?"
"Perhaps not that, but he was decent to them. However, he frequently used them as targets for his ill temper."
"They resented this?"
"That depended on their errand. If they were asking favors, they were naturally more patient than if they were there to transact my uncle's business."
"Your uncle also vented his ill-temper on his servants, I understand?"
"He certainly did. No servant ever staid very long in his employ."
"Can you think of any servant who has lived with him who might be implicated in this crime?"
George Lawrence paused, and seemed to be thinking over the line of servants who had come and gone. At last he shook his head; "Not definitely," he said. "I don't remember them individually. But there were several who were so badly treated by my uncle that it would not be surprising if they had held revengeful thoughts toward him. However, I could not go so far as to accuse any one of them."
"And you can't throw any light on these various articles collected from Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, and which we hope will prove to be clues to the discovery of the criminal."
Although the Coroner's words were straightforward enough, the glance he cast on the various articles I had laid before him, proved that he had little serious hope of assistance from them.
George Lawrence was even more plainly of an opinion that they were valueless. He glanced at them with an air of utter indifference, saying: "I really know nothing of them, I assure you."
"You have no idea who is the J. S. who signed his initials to this telegram?"
To my surprise, and I doubt not, also to the surprise of all present, George Lawrence turned to his cousin and smiled. It was a flashing smile, as if caused by a humorous thought, and it seemed soout of key with the proceedings, that it jarred on my sense of the fitness of things.
But I was even more surprised when Miss Pembroke flashed back an answering smile, showing entire comprehension of her cousin's meaning.
"You know something of the matter," affirmed the coroner, looking a little annoyed at the attitude of his witness.
"I am not sure that I do," said Lawrence, "but I will tell you what is in my mind. For many years my uncle lived in fear of a personage whom he called J. S. Though rarely in humorous mood, my uncle would sometimes make jesting references to this J. S., as if he were in fear of him. When we asked him what name the initials stood for, he told us John Strong, but told us in such a way that he gave us clearly to understand that was not the real name of J. S. And so we came to look upon John Strong as a sort of mythical personage, and as the only one of whom my uncle was afraid. He has sometimes said to us, 'J. S. will catch me yet, if I'm not careful,' or, 'J. S. must never know of this.' It is our opinion, though uncorroborated by any known facts, that this man was once a partner of my uncle in business."
"A long time ago?"
"Yes; many years ago. These matters shouldbe explained to you by my uncle's lawyer, but since he is not here, I will tell you what I know of this thing, though it is not much. As nearly as I could piece it together from the few hints my uncle let fall, I gathered that he and this J. S. bought a cotton plantation together, many years ago. At first the investment was unsuccessful. Then my uncle bought out John Strong's share, and after that the property became exceedingly valuable. I am perfectly sure my uncle dealt justly by his partner so far as the legality of the transaction was concerned. But John Strong seemed to think that my uncle was under a sort of moral obligation to give him a portion of the later profits. Now this is all I know about it, and I am not sure that these details are quite accurate. But I do know that the partner's name was not really John Strong, and that my uncle used that name because the man had a strong hold over him in some way."
"But you think the partner's initials were J. S.?"
"I think so, yes; but I am not sure."
"You have never seen the man?"
"Not to my knowledge. My uncle often had callers who were strangers to my cousin and myself."
"This matter seems to me to be important," said the Coroner, looking again at the telegram which was signed J. S.; "This message is dated yesterday and advised Mr. Pembroke to 'expect J. S. tonight,' that is, last evening. It certainly must be looked into."
"It certainly should," agreed George Lawrence. "When you have as evidence a telegram from a man known to be an enemy, it seems as if it ought to be investigated."
"But, on the other hand," went on the Coroner, looking very serious, "we know that this J. S. did not come last evening, in accordance with his announcement. We have Miss Pembroke's evidence, in addition to that of the servant, that there was no caller here last evening. Then after Miss Pembroke put the night-chain on the door and retired, there was no possibility of the entrance of an intruder. Therefore, we are bound to conclude that J. S. did not keep his engagement with Mr. Pembroke,—if indeed this is a genuine message from him."
At this remark of the Coroner's I looked aghast. He had practically cast a doubt on the genuineness of the telegram, and this implied that it was manufactured evidence, and so pointed to deeperand more complicated villainy than the crime itself. Moreover Mr. Ross's face expressed incredulity at the whole story of the mythical John Strong.
I was indignant at this, for the very frankness with which Lawrence told the story, the unmistakable approval and agreement of Janet in all that he said, and the slightly amused air of both of them all seemed to me to prove that the John Strong episode, whether important or not, whether for or against the cause I had espoused, was at least a true story, and honestly set forth.
But there was no doubt that the Coroner, the Inspector, and the Jurymen, took views entirely opposite to my own.
"I have heard your story, Mr. Lawrence," Mr. Ross said, calmly, "and the jurors have heard it It is recommended to their thoughtful consideration. The telegram signed J. S., may or may not be from this person whom you call John Strong, but whose name you say is something different. However as this person did not call last evening before Miss Pembroke put the chain on the front door, and as he could not have entered this apartment afterward, I cannot feel that we should attach great importance to this message. The evidence given goes to prove that the crime must have been committed after eleven o'clock last night, and, in theopinion of the doctors, by or before midnight. This narrows the time down to a very definite hour, and we see that the deed must have taken place shortly after Miss Pembroke had retired for the night."
George Lawrence was then excused from the witness stand, the inquest was closed, and the jurors dismissed to consider their verdict.
I am usually cool-headed and clear-sighted, but as I realized the significance of the trend of the coroner's investigation my brain began to whirl. While I couldn't for a moment imagine Janet guilty of crime, or assistance or connivance thereat, there was much about the girl that I could not understand. Her sudden fainting spells and her spasms of convulsive weeping contrasted strangely with her calm, cold demeanor as she talked about her uncle. She had shown no grief at his death, but, remembering his cruelty to her I could not wonder at this. Surely, if ever a woman had cause to be glad at a relative's death, she had; and yet—what was I thinking of? Of course Janet, as I had already begun to hope I might some day call her—was incapable of anything but the gentlest and most filial thoughts of her dead uncle. Then my legal mind awoke again, and I said to myself: "I know absolutely nothing of this girl, or of her real nature. I am in love with her, I admit, but I have never spoken with her before today; she is a veritable stranger to me, and I cannot know the secrets of her heart."
Then the thought again occurred to me that,whatever might be the truth of the matter, I had been the one who first called attention to the chain on the door, which was, of course, the unassailable point against Janet. Since, therefore, I was directly responsible for this bit of evidence, which might or might not have been brought out otherwise, I felt that I owed all assistance in my power to the girl I had so unwittingly placed in an awkward predicament.
Foreseeing what the verdict of the coroner's jury must inevitably be, I formed my resolve at once. I sat down beside Janet and talked to her in a low tone.
"Miss Pembroke," I said, "the unfortunate circumstances of the case will undoubtedly lead to a trial before a legal jury. This may—though I trust it won't—cause you some annoyance, and in a merely nominal and formal way you may be held in detention for a few days. I wish, therefore, to ask if you have a family lawyer to whom you would naturally intrust the whole matter?"
"No," said Janet, and again I was repelled by her cold and unresponsive manner; "I know of no lawyer whom I would wish to consult; nor do I see any necessity for such consultation."
"Would you not wish to employ Mr. Leroy in this matter?"
I made this remark entirely from a sense of duty, for it seemed to me that the lawyer of the late Mr. Pembroke was the proper one to look after the affairs of his niece. And I had a secret sense of virtue rewarded, when I saw on Janet's face a look of utter repugnance to my suggestion.
"Indeed, no," she said, "in no circumstances could I think of consulting Mr. Leroy, or allowing him to advise me."
"Why not?" I asked, so impulsively, that I did not realize how blunt my words sounded. Indeed, I was so delighted at Janet's positive repudiation of the idea that I scarce knew what I was saying.
"Pardon me if I refuse to discuss my reasons with a stranger," was the answer, given in a haughty tone and with a distinct implication that I had overstepped the bounds of convention.
"You need not tell me why," I said earnestly, "but, Miss Pembroke, let me impress upon you the advisability of your seeing some one who has legal knowledge, and who can be of assistance to you in your present position."
Janet Pembroke looked at me with an expression on her face which I could not understand. We were sitting a little apart from the rest; Laura had risen and crossed the room to talk with George Lawrence,and as Miss Pembroke and I conversed in low tones, we were overheard by no one.
"I have my cousin to help me," she said, after a moment's pause; "and I will help him. We are both saddened by Uncle Robert's death, for though unkind to us, he was our relative, and as a family, we Pembrokes are of loyal instinct. And so Mr. Lawrence and myself are sufficient to each other, I think. There will be no question of financial settlements, as I know my uncle's will is definite. And as it is in the possession of Mr. Leroy, of course he will look after that matter. But George will be executor of the estate, that I know, and he and Mr. Leroy will attend entirely to carrying out my uncle's will, without necessity of my personal attention to the matter."
I was at a loss to know just how to intimate to the girl the serious position in which I felt sure she was about to be placed. Apparently she had not a clear appreciation of the Coroner's suspicions, which were only too evident to me. I was not sure that I ought to enlighten her, and yet it seemed to me that it would be better for her to be warned. I know that she would have to have a lawyer's assistance, whether she wanted it or not; and moreover, I wanted to be that lawyer. And, asidefrom this, I had the ever recurring remembrance that I was personally responsible for the evidence of the night-chain, and that it was that particular bit of evidence that had turned suspicion toward Janet.
But before offering my own services, I determined to make one more effort to persuade her to retain Leroy, for I knew that such a course would seem to anyone else the most rational and natural.
"At risk of offending you," I said; "I must urge you, Miss Pembroke, to follow my advice in regard to a lawyer. Will you not, at least, discuss the matter with Mr. Leroy as soon as he returns to the city?"
As I had feared, this made Miss Pembroke exceedingly angry. She did not raise her voice, in fact, she spoke in even a lower tone, but with a tense inflection that proved the depth of her feeling. Also, her face turned white, her red lips pressed closely together, and her dark eyes flashed as she replied: "Will you never understand, Mr. Landon, that I absolutely refuse to have any dealings with Graham Leroy? Entirely aside from my personal attitude toward the man, I know him to be unworthy of confidence or trust."
"Graham Leroy untrustworthy!" I exclaimed; "I am sure, Miss Pembroke, your personal prejudicemakes you unjust to a well-known and even celebrated lawyer."
I regretted the words the moment I had spoken them. They were forced from me by an impulse of justice and generosity toward my rival, but even as I uttered them, I feared the effect they would have on the turbulent mind of the beautiful girl who was facing me.
And then again I was treated to one of the surprises that were ever in store for him who undertook to understand Janet Pembroke. Instead of resenting my speech, and flinging back some angry or haughty reply, she said, very gently:
"Ah, I see you do not know him,—at least, not as I do. I have known Mr. Leroy so long, and so well, that I know much about him that other people do not know. He was exceedingly intimate with my Uncle Robert. He is a man of brilliant mind, of remarkable talent; but he is crafty and even unscrupulous in his legal manœuvers. It may be that this was partly because of his deference to my uncle's wishes. Though Uncle Robert was himself honorable, so far as exact legality was concerned, yet I have cause to know that he allowed Mr. Leroy to carry on transactions for him that were,——but why should I say this to you? I did not mean to! you have fairly dragged it out of me!"
Again her eyes were blazing with anger, and by a curious association of ideas, I suddenly remember, that I had once said to sister Laura that I would like to see this girl in a towering rage. Well, I was justified in my supposition! Her strange, almost weird beauty was enhanced by her intense emotion.
I spoke to her quietly. "You have done no harm in speaking to me thus; Graham Leroy is an acquaintance of mine, and a brother lawyer, but I have no personal friendship with him. I only suggested your consulting him, because it seemed to me right that you should do so."
"I thank you, Mr. Landon, for the interest you have shown in my affairs, and I am sure you will excuse me if I beg of you not to trouble yourself further about me."
Her sudden change of manner, from a gentle confidence to extreme hauteur warned me that she was about to conclude the interview, and that if I wished to carry my point, I must make a bold plunge. So, with an intonation scarcely less frigid than her own, I said:
"But—excuse me, Miss Pembroke, I feel it my duty to tell you that in all probability there will be a necessity for you to have the counsel of an experienced lawyer; and, since you have no one elseat hand, I want to offer you my services. Do not think me presumptuous, but believe that I will do my best to serve you, and—that you will need such service."
The girl looked at me as if unable to comprehend my full meaning.
"Do I understand," she said slowly, "that because the apartment was locked and chained so that no one could enter, it may be supposed thatIkilled Uncle Robert?"
"You must admit," I replied, "that to a jury of disinterested outsiders it might seem to be a possibility."
"I!" she said, with a proud gesture and a look of hauteur even more scornful than she had previously shown; then with a sudden and complete change of demeanor she cried out brokenly: "Ah, well, perhaps I did!" and buried her face in her hands.
I was dumfounded. Her rapid alternations between an aggressive self-assurance and a nervous collapse left me more than ever uncertain as to the true nature of the woman.
But so deeply was I interested that this very uncertainty only whetted my desire to take up the case that I felt sure was more than probably impending.
"Never mind about that," I said calmly, "but please agree, Miss Pembroke, to consider me as your counsel from this moment."
This was, of course, precipitate, but I was impelled to it by the emergency of the moment. And, too, the conviction was every moment sinking deeper in my heart that this was the one woman in the world I could ever love. So alone was she, and so pathetic in her loneliness, so mysterious was her conduct and so fascinating her personality, that I resolved to devote all the legal talent I possessed to her aid.
"I will," she said, and she gave me a glance earnest but so inscrutable that I could make no guess as to its meaning.
If I was surprised at her quick acceptance of my offer, I made no sign of it. I had gained my point, and, satisfied, I said no more. Nor had I been mistaken in my premonitions.
The coroner's jury brought in a verdict that Robert Pembroke was murdered by some person or persons unknown, between the hours of eleven and one on Wednesday night. They suggested the detaining of Miss Pembroke and Charlotte, the maid, in custody of counsel who would be responsible for their appearance when called for.
As this was exactly the verdict I had expected,it was no surprise to me; but it acted like a thunder-bolt on the others.
George Lawrence was white with rage, and rather lost his head as he inveighed angrily against those who could be capable of such an absurdity as any connection between crime and Miss Janet Pembroke.
"Detain Janet!" he cried; "what nonsense!"
"It is not nonsense, Mr. Lawrence," said the coroner, "but we may call it merely a form, which is advisable in our opinion, until we can further investigate the case."
"Indeed we will investigate!" Lawrence declared; "and our investigation will prove that it was an intruder from outside who killed my uncle. A robber, a burglar, a professional criminal of some sort! You have enough evidence of this. Clues, you call them. Well, there they are; let them lead you to the discovery of the man who brought them here."
"But, Mr. Lawrence," objected the coroner, "it has been proved that a burglar, such as you speak of, could not get into this apartment last night. How do you suppose he entered?"
"How did he get in? I don't know! that is your business to find out. There you have your precious clues—enough of them to implicate anyburglar. If necessary, get detectives—the best possible. Use any means, stop at no expense; but discover the man who committed this crime! And in the meantime, retract your absurd and idiotic suggestion of detaining Miss Pembroke."
Though not astonished that George Lawrence should so resent the suspicion of his cousin, I was surprised that he should express himself so vehemently and with such an exhibition of passion.
And then I remembered that both he and Miss Pembroke were of strongly emotional nature, and that since Robert Pembroke had been given to frequent exhibitions of anger and ill temper, it was probably an hereditary trait.
After the Coroner's words Lawrence said no more, but his firmly set mouth and glaring eyes, betokened the intensity of his thoughts.
The colored girl, Charlotte, was also moved to loud and protesting lamentations. She became hysterical and wailed and moaned in true negro fashion.
"Oh, lawsy me!" she exclaimed! "why didn' I leave befoh dis yer strodegy happened! Oh, Miss Janet, honey, did yo' really kill Marse Robert? An' did you steal dat money? Oh, I nebber thought my Miss Janet would do dat!"
"Silence!" roared George Lawrence, but the excited woman paid no attention to him.
"She did, she did!" Charlotte went on; "Marse Robert, he told Miss Janet he'd cut her out of his will, ef she didn' marry that Leroy man! So, ob co'se, Miss Janet she jes' nachelly had to kill him!"
Although Charlotte's remarks were definite and dreadful, they were so incoherent and so interrupted by her wails and moans, that they made little impression on the people present. Moreover, George Lawrence had grasped the colored woman by the arm, and was shaking her into a submissive silence, threatening dire punishment, unless she ceased her random talk. I had gathered the trend of Charlotte's story; George and Janet had also understood it, but fortunately the Coroner and jurymen had been talking together, and had not listened to the servant's hysterical talk.
Janet herself sat as one turned to stone. I think it was the first time she had realized that even a slight suspicion had definitely been attached to her name, and, had she been guilty, she could not have looked more stunned by shame and ignominy.
I remembered that she had said: "Perhaps I did do it"; I remembered that I knew nothing of her character save that it was a complex one, and—I wondered.
But it was no time for wondering; it was an occasion for action. Rising to my feet, I announced that as Miss Pembroke's counsel I would at once take up the direction of her affairs. I agreed to be responsible for her appearance, and Charlotte's also, whenever necessary, and I directed that any communication for Miss Pembroke be addressed to me as her lawyer.
My standing in my profession was of sufficient prominence to make all this possible, and the coroner agreed to my proposals.
George Lawrence looked amazed and not altogether pleased.
"I think, Janet," he said, "you should have left it to me to select your counsel."
As usual, Janet's behavior was an insoluble problem. "Why should I?" she retorted. "I need an able lawyer at once, and as Mr. Landon offered his services I was glad to accept his offer."
"What is your urgent need?" said George, looking at her peculiarly. "You are not accused."
"I may be," she returned calmly. "And, too, I have now important financial interests to be attended to."
I was shocked at the calm way in which she referred to her possible accusation, and also at the reference she made to her presumptive inheritance. Could it be, after all——?
"Yes," said George; "it is wise to have good legal advice immediately, and you have done well to retain Mr. Landon."
This sudden change of base surprised me, but I was growing used to surprises, and accepted it with the rest.
"Call on me," said George affably, as he held out his hand, "for any assistance or information I can give you regarding my cousin's affairs."
As it was then nearly two o'clock, I proposed to Laura that she take Miss Pembroke over to ourown apartment for luncheon and rest, and, after a short talk with Mr. Lawrence, I would follow.
In conversation with George Lawrence, I learned that he was administrator of his uncle's estate, and as he and his cousin shared the inheritance equally, there would be little difficulty in the settling of financial affairs.
But as to the murder, there was more to be said.
George was still furious at the implication cast on Janet and continually repeated how absurd the whole idea was.
"But," I said, merely for argument's sake, "you know Miss Pembroke did put the chain on the door last night, and Charlotte did take it off this morning."
"There are other ways of getting in a house," stormed George. "Windows have been forced before now."
"Let us ourselves examine the windows," I said. "We may find some clue."
"I hate that word 'clue,'" he declared. "I hate all suggestion of detective work, and deductions, and inferences."
"But surely a detective is needed in a case like this," I said.
"Not to my notion. Uncle Robert was killed. Janet never killed him. Of course Charlotte didn'teither. So somebodymusthave got in at the window."
"Very well then, a detective might find out who it was."
"Oh, detectives never find out anything. I did suggest employing them, I know; but I don't think they do any good. Now look at that bunch of stuff you picked up in my uncle's bedroom; surely that's enough for clues, if clues are wanted. But who could find the man who belongs to all that stuff?"
"I'm afraid, Mr. Lawrence you haven't a deductive mind. I'm no detective myself, but my legal training makes it natural for me to connect cause and effect. Apparently your mind doesn't work that way."
"No," said Lawrence, smiling; "I suppose I have what is called the artistic temperament. I am rather careless and inconsequent in my mental attitude, and I certainly never could reason out anything—let alone a gruesome mystery like this. But, for that matter, if you're going to look at the situation in the light of pure reason, it seems to me it's this way: The murderer of my uncle came in from the outside. He couldn't come through the door, therefore he came in through a window; and there you have the whole thing in a nutshell. Now, find your burglar."
I couldn't help feeling attracted to the young man. Although he spoke in a light tone, he was by no means unmindful of the gravity of the situation, and his only thought seemed to be to refute the absurd suspicion which had fallen on his cousin.
"But how could any one get in at a window?" I remonstrated. "The windows were all fastened."
"Don't ask me how he did it! I don't know. I only say hediddo it, because hemusthave done it! If he left clues behind him, so much the better for the detectives. Those handkerchiefs and theater stubs mean nothing to me, but if they could put a detective on the right track I'll be only too glad to pay the gentleman's well-earned fee."
"What about the key?" I said. "Isn't that a clue?"
"Clue to what?" returned Lawrence; "it's probably my uncle's own key, that he had slipped under his pillow for safety."
"That's exactly what I think myself. How can we find out?"
"Well, I don't see how we can find out until Leroy comes home. I know the will makes me executor,—but of course, I can't do anything in that matter until my uncle's lawyer is present."
"Why not call up Leroy's office and find out when he's coming home?"
"Not a bad idea," agreed Lawrence, and putting the plan into action, we learned that Mr. Leroy was not expected back for two days at least. Whereupon we gave orders to his secretary to communicate with him at once, tell him of the tragedy, and urge his immediate return. This was promised, and then our conversation returned to the subject of the lawyer. I discovered at once that Lawrence did not like him, although his denunciation of Leroy was not so severe as Janet's. Indeed Lawrence's chief grievance against the lawyer seemed to be Leroy's desire to marry Janet.
"He's too old," he exclaimed, when I asked his reasons. "Just because he's a handsome, rich widower, all the women are crazy after him. But Janet isn't,—she detests him."
I knew this to be true from Miss Pembroke's own words, and at the risk of seeming intrusive, I pursued the subject further.
"Mr. Pembroke desired the match, didn't he?"
"Oh yes; Uncle Robert was hand and glove with Leroy. And what that fool colored woman said, was true; Uncle Robert had threatened to disinherit Janet if she persisted in refusing Leroy. But you know as well as I do, that that doesn't mean a thing in connection with the death of Uncle Robert."
"Of course not," I agreed, heartily. "By the way, of course no suspicion could be attached to Leroy?"
"Heavens, no! how utterly absurd! and yet——" Lawrence hesitated, and a strange look came into his eyes, "oh, pshaw! suspicion can be attached to anybody and to nobody! to anybody, that is, except Janet. To dream ofherin such a connection is impossibility itself."
"Of course it is," I agreed; "and I don't think you need bother about those foolish remarks of Charlotte's, for I don't think Mr. Ross or his people heard them. By the way, when was Leroy here last?"
"Why, I don't know. Yes, I know he was here night before last because yesterday afternoon, Janet told me of the terrible scene they all had with uncle. He was in such a rage that Janet begged Mr. Leroy to go away."
"What an old Tartar that man was!" I exclaimed, my whole heart going out in sympathy to the poor girl who had borne such injustice and unkindness.
"He was all of that," assented Lawrence, "and in my secret heart I can't grieve very deeply because he's gone. But of course——"
"Of course his death must be avenged," I continued for him, "and proper measures must be taken, and at once."
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Lawrence, with a sigh. "And I will do my part, whatever it may be. But I confess I have no taste for this investigation business. If you have, Landon, I wish to goodness you'd go ahead and examine the whole place to your heart's content. I'd be glad to have it done, but I can't bear to do it myself, and I'd take it kindly of you if you'd help me out."
At this, since George wouldn't accompany me, I myself thoroughly examined all the windows of the apartment. I have, I am sure, what is known as the "detective instinct." I am of the conviction that it is scarcely possible for a human being to be in a room, even for a short time, and go from it without leaving behind him some evidence of his having been there. So I made a round of the rooms. I scrutinized every window. The only ones I found open were those which Charlotte had said she had herself opened that morning. The others were securely fastened with an ingenious contrivance which was really burglar-proof. Granting Charlotte's assertions to be true, which I had no reason to doubt, the net was surely drawingclosely around these two women. But I felt sure there was some other possibility, and I determined to discover it.
There was no back stair or kitchen exit. The dumb-waiter had a strong snap bolt and closed itself, without any means of opening from the other side. Then I returned and carefully examined the front door. The Hale lock, though easily opened with its own key, was not to be opened otherwise; and, aside from this, a key was of no use if the night-chain was on. I looked at the heavy brass chain; then I put it in its slot, and opened the door the slight distance that the chain allowed. The opening was barely large enough to admit my hand. There was no possibility of a man getting through that tiny crack, nor could he by any chance put his hand through and slide the chain back; for to remove the chain I had to close the door again, as Charlotte had done this morning.
For the first time I began to feel that I was really facing a terrible situation.
If only I had kept silent about that chain, and if Janet and Charlotte had also failed to mention it, there would have been ample grounds for suspecting that an intruder had come in by the front door.
But realizing myself that the windows had all been secured, and that the chain had been on allnight, whatpossibilitywas left save the implication of one or both of the only human beings shut inside with the victim?
Bah! Theremustbe other possibilities, no matter how improbable they might be. Perhaps an intruder had come in before the door was chained, and had concealed himself until midnight and then had committed the crime.
But I was forced to admit that he could not have put the chain on the door behind him when he went away.
I even tried this, and, of course, when the door was sufficiently ajar to get my hand through, I could not push the end of the chain back to its socket. The door had to be closed to do this.
With a growing terror at my heart, I reviewed other possibilities. Perhaps the intruder had remained in the house all night, and had slipped away unobserved in the morning.
But he couldn't have gone before Charlotte unchained the door, and since then there had been a crowd of people around constantly.
Still this must have been the way, because there was no other way. Possibly he could have remained in the house over night, and part of the morning, and slipped out during the slight commotion caused by the entrance of the jurymen. Butthis was palpably absurd, for with the jurors and the officials and the reporters all on watch, besides the doctors and ourselves, it was practically impossible that a stranger could make his escape.
Could he possibly be still concealed in the house? There were many heavy hangings and window curtains where such concealment would be possible, but far from probable. However, I made a thorough search of every curtained window and alcove, of every cupboard, of every available nook or cranny that might possibly conceal an intruder. The fact that the apartment was a duplicate of our own aided me in my search, and when I had finished, I was positive the murderer of Robert Pembroke was not hidden there.
My thoughts seemed baffled at every turn.
There was one other possibility, and, though I evaded it as long as I could, I was at last driven to the consideration of it.
The fact of the securely locked door and windows precluded any entrance of an intruder,unlesshe had been admitted by one of the three inhabitants of the apartment.
At first I imagined Robert Pembroke having risen and opened the door to some caller, but I immediately dismissed this idea as absurd. For, granting that he had done so, and that the callerhad killed him, he could not have relocked the door afterward. This brought me to the thought I had been evading; could Charlotte or—or Janet have let in anybody who, with or without their knowledge, had killed the old man?
It seemed an untenable theory, and yet I infinitely preferred it to a thought of Janet's guilt.
And the worst part of this theory was that in some vague shadowy way it seemed to suggest Leroy.
Lawrence had acted peculiarly when I suggested Leroy's name in connection with our search. Janet had acted strangely whenever I mentioned Leroy; but for that matter, when did Janet not act strangely?
And though my thoughts took no definite shape, though I formed no suspicions and formulated no theories, yet I could not entirely quell a blurred mental picture of Janet opening the door to Leroy, and then—well,—and what then? my imagination flatly refused to go further, and I turned it in another direction.
I couldn't suspect Charlotte. Although she disliked her master, she hadn't sufficient strength of mind to plan or to carry out the deed as it must have been done.
No, it was the work of a bold, unscrupulousnature, and was conceived and executed by an unfaltering hand and an iron will.
And Janet? Had she not shown a side of her nature which betokened unmistakably a strength of will and a stolid sort of determination?
Might she not, in the wakeful hours of the night, have concluded that she could not stand her uncle's tyranny a day longer, and in a sudden frenzy been moved to end it all?
I pushed the thought from me, but it recurred again and again.
Her demeanor that morning, I was forced to admit, was what might have been expected, had she been guilty. Her swooning fits, alternating with those sudden effects of extreme haughtiness and bravado, were just what one might expect from a woman of her conflicting emotions.
That she had a temper similar in kind, if not in degree, to her late uncle's, I could not doubt; that she was impulsive, and could be irritated even to frenzy, I did not doubt; and yet I loved her, and I did not believe her guilty.
This was probably cause and effect, but never would I believe the girl responsible in any way for the crime until she told me so herself. But could she have been an accessory thereto, or could she have caused or connived at it? Could I imagine herso desperate at her hard lot as to—but pshaw! what was the use of imagining? If, as I had often thought, I had even a slight detective ability, why not search for other clues that must exist, and that would, at least, give me a hint as to which direction I might look for the criminal?
Determined, then, to find something further I went to Mr. Pembroke's bedroom. There I found Inspector Crawford on his hands and knees, still searching for the broken end of the hat-pin.
But, though we both went over every inch of the floor and furniture, nothing could be found that could be looked upon as a clue of any sort.
"Of course," I observed, "the intruder carried the end of the pin away with him, after he broke it off."
"What are you talking about?" almost snarled the inspector. "An intruder is a physical impossibility. Even the skeleton man from the museum couldn't slide through a door that could open only three inches. And, too, men don't wear hat-pins. It is a woman's weapon."
Ah, so the blow had fallen! He definitely suspected Janet, and, besides the point of evidence, opportunity, he condemned her in his own mind because a hat-pin pointed to a woman's work. He didn't tell me this in so many words—he didn't have to. I read from his face, and from his air of finality, that he was convinced of Janet's guilt, either with or without Charlotte's assistance.
And I must admit, that in all my thought and theory, in all my imagination and visioning, in all my conclusions and deductions, I had entirely lost sight of the weapon, and of the fact that the Inspector stated so tersely, that it was a woman's weapon. Itwasa woman's weapon, and it suddenly seemed to me that all my carefully built air-castles went crashing down beneath the blow!
"Well," I said, "Inspector, if you can't find the other half of the pin, it seems to me to prove that an intruder not only came in, but went away again, carrying that tell-tale pin-head with him,—or with her, if you prefer it. I suppose there are other women in the world, beside the lady you are so unjustly suspecting, and I suppose, too, if an intrudersucceeded in getting in here, it might equally well have been a woman as a man."
Inspector Crawford growled an inaudible reply, but I gathered that he did not agree with me in any respect.
"And then again, Inspector," I went on, determined to talk to him while I had the chance, "if there was no intruder, where, in your opinion, do all those clues point to? Mr. Lawrence thinks them of little value, but as a detective, I'm sure you rate them more highly. Granting the hat-pin indicates a woman's work, what about the man's handkerchief?"
"No clues mean anything until they are run down," said Mr. Crawford, looking at me gravely; "I'm not sure that the handkerchief and ticket stubs and time-table, and all those things, weren't the property of Mr. Pembroke; but the only way to be sure is to trace them to their owner, and this is the next step that ought to be taken. This is not a simple case, Mr. Landon; it grows more complex every minute. And please remember I have not said I suspect Miss Pembroke, either of guilt or of complicity. She may be entirely innocent. But you must admit that there is sufficient circumstantial evidence to warrant our keeping her in view."
"There isn't any evidence at all, circumstantialor otherwise, against her!" I declared, hotly; "you merely mean that she was in this apartment and so had opportunity to kill her uncle if she wanted to. But, I repeat, you haven't a shred or a vestige of evidence,—real evidence,—against her."
"Well, we may have, after some further investigation. As you know, the whole matter rests now for a few days; at any rate, until after the funeral of Mr. Pembroke, and until after the return of Mr. Leroy."
"Do you know Graham Leroy?" I asked, suddenly.
It must have been my tone that betrayed my desire to turn suspicion in any new direction, for the Inspector's grey eyes gleamed at me shrewdly. "Don't let any foolishness of that kind run away with your wits," he said; "Graham Leroy is too prominent a man to go around killing people."
"That may be so; but prominence doesn't always preclude wrong doing," I said, rather sententiously.
"Well, don't waste time on Leroy. Follow up your clues and see where they lead you. Greater mysteries than this have been solved by means of even more trivial things than a handkerchief and a few bits of paper. To my mind, the absence of the other half of that hat-pin is the most remarkableclue we have yet stumbled upon. Why should the murderer break it off and carry it away with her?"
"The doctors have explained that because it was broken off, it almost disappeared from sight; and had it done so, the crime might never have been suspected. Surely this is reason enough for the criminal to take the broken pin away."
The Inspector nodded his head. "Sure," he agreed. "With the spectacular hat-pins the women wear nowadays it might have proved an easy thing to trace. However, it is necessary that I search all the rooms of this apartment for it."
This speech sent a shock through my whole being. I had searched the apartment, but it had been merely with the idea of noting the window fastenings, and looking for a possible villain hidden among the draperies. I had not thought of a search of personal belongings, or of prying into the boxes or bureau-drawers. And that odious Inspector doubtless meant that he would search Janet's room,—and for that hat-pin! Suppose he found it! But I would not allow myself such disloyalty even in imagination.
Changing the subject, I said, "do you think that key they found is Mr. Pembroke's?"
"I don't think anything about it, it isn't a matter of opinion. That key belonged either to the deceased or to somebody else. It's up to us to find out which, and not to wonder or think or imagine who it might, could, would or should have belonged to!"
Clearly, the Inspector was growing testy. I fancied he was not making as rapid progress as he had hoped, and I knew, too, he was greatly chagrined at not finding the pin. As he would probably immediately set about searching the whole place, and as I had no wish to accompany him on his prying into Janet's personal effects, I concluded to go home.
Sad at heart, I turned away from my unsuccessful search for clues, and, bidding good-by to George Lawrence and to the officials who were still in charge of the place, I crossed to my own apartment.
The contrast between the gruesome scenes I had just left and the cheery, pleasant picture that met my eyes as I entered thrilled me with a new and delightful sensation.
To see Janet Pembroke sitting in my own library, in one of my own easy chairs, gave me a cozy, homelike impression quite different from that of Laura's always busy presence around the house.
Miss Pembroke smiled as I entered, and held out her hand to me.
"Mrs. Mulford has been so good to me," she said. "She is treating me more like a sister than a guest, and I am not used to such kind care."
Although I was fascinated by Janet's smile and tone, I was again surprised at her sudden change of demeanor. She seemed bright and almost happy. What was the secret of a nature that could thus apparently throw off the effects of a recent dreadful experience and assume the air of a gentle society girl without a care in the world?
But I met her on her own grounds, and, shaking hands cordially, I expressed my pleasure at seeing her under my roof-tree.
She suddenly became more serious, and said thoughtfully:
"I don't see what I can do, or where I can live. I can't go back to those rooms across the hall"—she gave a slight shudder—"and I can't live with Cousin George now, and I can't live alone. Perhaps Milly Waring would take me in for a time."
"Miss Pembroke," I said, "I am, as you know, your counsel, and as such I must have a very serious talk with you."
"But not now," broke in Laura; "Miss Pembroke is not going to be bothered by any moreserious talk until after she has eaten something. Luncheon is all ready, and we were only waiting for you to come, to have it served."
I was quite willing to defer the conversation, and, moreover, was quite ready myself for rest and refreshment.
Notwithstanding the surcharged atmosphere, the meal was a pleasant one. Laura's unfailing tact prevented any awkwardness, and as we all three seemed determined not to refer to the events of the morning, the conversation was light and agreeable, though desultory.
"I wish I had asked Mr. Lawrence to come over to luncheon, too," said Laura. "Poor man, he must be nearly starved."
"Oh, George will look out for himself," said Janet. "But I hope he will come back here this afternoon, as I must talk to him about my future home."
"Miss Pembroke," I said, feeling that the subject could be evaded no longer, "I hope you can make yourself contented to stay here with my sister and myself for a time, at least. Of course it is merely nominal, but you must understand that you are detained, and that I, as your lawyer, am responsible for your appearance."
"Do you mean," asked Janet in her calm way, "that I'm under arrest?"
"Not that exactly," I explained. "Indeed, it is not in any sense arrest; you are merely held in detention, in my custody. I do not apprehend that your appearance in court will be necessary, but it is my duty to be able to produce you if called for."
Seeing that the serious consideration of Janet's affairs could be put off no longer, Laura proposed that we adjourn to the library and have our talk there.
"And I want to say, first of all," she began, "that I invite you, Miss Pembroke, to stay here for a time as my guest, without any question of nominal detention or any of that foolishness. Otis may be your counsel, and may look after your business affairs, but I am your hostess, and I'm going to take care of you and entertain you. If you are in any one's custody you are in mine, and I promise to 'produce you when you are called for.'"
If ever I saw gratitude on any human face, it appeared on Janet Pembroke's then. She grasped Laura by both hands, and the tears came to her eyes as she thanked my sister for her whole-souled kindness to an entire stranger.
"Surely," I thought to myself, "this is the real woman, after all; this grateful, sunny, warm-hearted nature is the real one. I do not understand the coldness and hardness that sometimes comes into her face, but I shall yet learn what it means. I havetwo problems before me; one to discover who killed Robert Pembroke, and the other to find the solution of that delightful mystery, Janet Pembroke herself."
I could see that Laura, too, had fallen completely under the spell of Janet's charm, and, though she also was mystified at the girl's sudden changes of manner, she thoroughly believed in her, and offered her friendship without reserve. As for myself, I was becoming more infatuated every moment. Indeed, so sudden and complete had been my capitulation that had I been convinced beyond all doubt of Janet's guilt, I should still have loved her.
But as I was by no means convinced of it, my duty lay along the line of thorough investigation.
It having been settled, therefore, that Janet should remain with us for a time, I proceeded at once to ask her a few important questions, that I might at least outline my plan of defence, even before the real need of a defence had arisen.
"Of course you know, Miss Pembroke," said I, "that, as your lawyer, I shall do everything I can for you in this matter; but I want you to feel also that I take a personal interest in the case, and I hope you will trust me implicitly and give me your unlimited confidence."
"You mean," said Janet, who had again assumedher inscrutable expression, "that I must tell you the truth?"
I felt a little repulsed by her haughty way of speaking, and, too, I slightly dreaded the revelations she might be about to make; but I answered gravely: "Yes, as my client you must tell me the absolute truth. You must state the facts as you know them."
"Then I have simply nothing to tell you," said Janet and her face had the cold immobility of a marble statue.
"Perhaps I had better not stay with you during this conversation," said Laura, looking disturbed.
"Oh, do stay!" cried Janet, clasping her hands, as if in dismay. "I have nothing to say to Mr. Landon that you may not hear. Indeed, I have nothing to say at all."
"But you must confide in me, Miss Pembroke," I insisted. "I can do nothing for you if you do not."
"You can do nothing for me if I do," she said, and her words struck a chill to my heart. Laura, too, gave a little shiver and seemed instinctively to draw slightly away from Janet.
"I mean," Miss Pembroke went on hastily, "that I have nothing to tell you other than I have already told. Ididput the chain on and put outthe lights last night at eleven o'clock. Ididfasten all of the windows—all of them. Charlottedidunfasten some of the windows between seven and eight this morning; shedidunchain and open the door at about eight o'clock. Those are all the facts I know of. I did not kill Uncle Robert, and, of course, Charlotte did not."
"How do you know Charlotte did not?" I asked.
"Only because the idea is absurd. Charlotte has been with us but a short time, and expected to leave soon, any way. My uncle had been cross to her, but not sufficiently so to make her desire to kill him. He never treated her like he treated me!"
The tone, even more than the words, betrayed a deep resentment of her uncle's treatment of her, and as I found I must put my questions very definitely to get any information whatever, I made myself say: "Did you, then, ever desire to kill him?"
Janet Pembroke looked straight at me, and as she spoke a growing look of horror came into her eyes.
"I have promised to be truthful," she said, "so I must tell you that there have been moments when I have felt the impulse to kill Uncle Robert; but it was merely a passing impulse, the result of my ownalmost uncontrollable temper. The thought always passed as quickly as it came, but since you ask, I must admit that several times it did come."
Laura threw her arms around Janet with a hearty caress, which I knew was meant as an atonement for the shadow of doubt she had recently felt.
"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "And it is your supersensitive honesty that makes you confess to that momentary impulse! Any one so instinctively truthful is incapable of more than a fleeting thought of such a wrong."
I think that at that moment I would have given half my fortune to feel as Laura did; but what Janet had said did not seem to me so utterly conclusive of her innocence. Indeed, I could not evade an impression that sudden and violent anger was often responsible for crime, and in case of a fit of anger intense enough to amount practically to insanity, might it not mean the involuntary and perhaps unremembered commission of a fatal deed? This, however, I immediately felt to be absurd. For, though a crime might be committed on the impulse of a sudden insanity of anger, it could not be done unconsciously. Therefore, if Janet Pembroke was guilty of her uncle's death, directly or indirectly, she was telling a deliberate falsehood; and if she was not guilty, then the case was amystery that seemed insoluble. But insoluble it should not remain. I was determined to pluck the heart out of this mystery if it were in power of mortal man to do so. I would spare no effort, no trouble, no expense. And yet, like a flash, I foresaw that one of two things must inevitably happen: should I be able to prove Janet innocent, she should be triumphantly acquitted before the world; but if, on the contrary, there was proof to convince even me of her guilt, she must still be acquittedbefore the world! I was not so inexperienced in my profession as not to know just what this meant to myself and to my career, but I accepted the situation, and was willing, if need be, to take the consequences.
These thoughts had crowded upon me so thick and fast that I was unconscious of the long pause in the conversation, until I was recalled to myself by an instinctive knowledge that Janet was gazing at me. Meeting her eyes suddenly, I encountered a look that seemed to imply the very depths of sorrow, despair, and remorse.
"You don't believe in me," she said, "and your sister does. Why do you doubt my word?"
I had rapidly come to the conclusion that the only possible attitude to adopt toward the strange nature with which I had to deal was that of direct plainness.