"My sister, being a woman, is naturally guided and influenced by her intuitions," I said; "I, not only as a man but as a lawyer, undertaking a serious case, am obliged to depend upon the facts which I observe for myself, and the facts which I gather from the statements of my client."
"But you don't believe the facts I state," said Janet and now her tone acquired a petulance, as of a pouting child.
I was annoyed at this, and began to think that I had to deal with a dozen different natures in one, and could never know which would appear uppermost. I returned to my inquisition.
"Why do you think Charlotte could not have done this thing?" I asked, although I had asked this before.
"Because she had no motive," said Janet briefly.
This was surprising in its implication, but I went doggedly on:
"Who, then, had a motive?"
"I can think of no one except George Lawrence and myself." The troubled air with which Janet said this seemed in no way to implicate either her cousin or herself, but rather suggested to me that she had been pondering the subject, and striving to think of some one else who might have had a motive.
"And you didn't do it," I said, partly by way of amends for my own doubtful attitude, "and George Lawrence couldn't get in the apartment, unless——"
"Unless what?" asked Janet, looking steadily at me.
"Unless you or Charlotte let him in."
I was uncertain how Janet would take this speech. I even feared she might fly into a rage at my suggestion, but, to my surprise, she answered me very quietly, and with a look of perplexity: "No, I didn't do that, and I'm sure Charlotte didn't either. She had no motive."
Again that insistence on motive.
"Then the facts," I said bluntly, "narrow themselves down to these. You say that you know of only yourself and Mr. Lawrence to whom motive might be attributed. Evidence shows only yourself and Charlotte to have had opportunity. Believing, as I thoroughly do, that no one of the three committed the murder, it shall be my task to discover some other individual to whom a motive can be ascribed, and who can be proved to have had opportunity."
At this speech Janet's face lighted up with a brightness that was like a glory. A look of relief, hope, and gladness came into her eyes, and so beautifuldid she appear that again I said to myself that this was indeed her real nature; that she had been nearly tortured to death by her dreadful uncle, and that when the mystery was solved and the dreadful tragedy a thing of the past this was the way she would appear always. More than ever I determined to find out the truth, and bring to justice the evil-doer. Alas! how little I thought what would be the sad result of my search for truth!
"How clearly you put it!" exclaimed Janet in response to my last statement. "That is exactly what we have to do. Find some other person who had a motive, and who must have found an opportunity."
"I will," I vowed, earnestly, "but it will help me so much if you can only bring yourself to trust me more fully. You know, you must know, that I have only your good at heart."
I should have stopped right here, but it chanced that just at that moment Laura was called away on some household affair and left me alone with Janet. So, acting on an uncontrollable impulse, I said further: "I think if you knew how fervently I desire to do all I can for you, you would look upon me more in the light of a friend."
"Are you my friend?" and Janet Pembroke's dark eyes looked into mine with a wistful gaze and an expression of more gentleness than I had thought the girl capable of. And yet I felt an intuitive certainty that if I met that expression with a similar one, she would at once flash back to her haughty demeanor and inscrutable air.
"I am your friend," I said, but said it with a frank straightforwardness, which I hoped would appeal to her.
But, alas, I had chosen the wrong manner; or I had made a mistake somewhere, for the wistfulness died out of her eyes and her lip curled disdainfully.
"You're not a friend," she stated, calmly; "you are my lawyer, I have employed you as such; and when your work is finished, I shall pay you your fees. I trust you will use your best efforts in my behalf, and I may say I have confidence in your knowledge and your skill in your profession."
I have heard of people who felt as if they had been douched with cold water, but I felt as if I had been overwhelmed by an icy avalanche! I had no idea why the sudden change occurred in her treatment of me, but I was determined to meet her on her own ground. Moreover, my interest was rather piqued at her strange behavior, and I was not at all sorry that I was to carry on the case for this wilful beauty.
"I thank you, Miss Pembroke," I said in my most coldly polite manner, "for the confidence you express in my ability to handle your case; and I assure you I shall put forth my best efforts in anything I can or may do for you. As I told you, itwould help us both if you were more frank with me,—but that is as you choose."
"It isn't as I choose!" the girl burst forth, "I amforced,—forced by circumstances to act as I do! I would willingly tell you all, but I cannot,—I cannot! Mr. Landon, youmustbelieve me!"
"I do believe you," I exclaimed, softened at once by her pained outcry. "I confess I cannot understand you, but I will promise to believe you."
"I cannot understand myself," she said, slowly, and again a trace of that wistfulness showed in her eyes and in her drooping mouth. "I do so want a friend."
Was the girl a coquette? was she leading me on, purposely, and enjoying my bewilderment at her sudden transitions of mood?
At any rate she should not fool me twice in the same way. Not again would I offer her my friendship to have it scornfully rejected.
"I think you do need a friend, Miss Pembroke," I said in a tone, which I purposely made very kind; "and I can assure you you will find a true one in my sister, Mrs. Mulford. I know she is already fond of you, and it rests with yourself whether or not she is your firm and faithful friend."
As I said this, I rose, for I was just about to go away to my office, where some urgent businessrequired my immediate attention. I had intended a very formal leave-taking, but to my surprise, Janet rose too, and putting out both hands said, "Thank you, Mr. Landon,—very deeply. I shall be only too glad to be friends with your sister, if she will give her friendship to a girl so unfortunately placed as myself."
This remark could have called forth various kinds of response. But I knew it wiser to indulge in none of them, and with a formal, "good afternoon," I went away.
There was business that required my presence at my office that afternoon, but I went also to get an opportunity to think by myself about the case I had undertaken. I seemed to have entered upon a new phase of existence, and one which was maddeningly contradictory. Above all else, I was surprised by the fact that I had fallen so suddenly and irrevocably in love. As I had reached the age of thirty-two without a serious love affair, I had come to the conclusion that my fate was to lead a bachelor life. But with Laura to look after me I had not felt this a deprivation. Now, however, all was changed, and I knew that unless I first cleared Janet's name from all taint of suspicion, and then won her for my wife, I should never know another happy hour.
Although I intended to think over the legalaspects and the significant facts of the case I had undertaken, I found myself instead indulging in rose-colored dreams of what might happen in the future. It was perhaps the buoyant hopefulness consequent upon my realization of my love for Janet, but at any rate I felt not the slightest doubt that I should be able to free her entirely from any hint of suspicion.
The fact that she was a mystery, that I could not understand her behavior or sound the depths of her nature, in no way detracted from my admiration of her. Indeed it rather whetted my interest and made all other women seem ordinary and tame by comparison. I deliberately assured myself that I had gone thus far through the world, heart free, for the very reason that never before had I met a woman who was out of the ordinary. Then, too, Janet's beauty was of no usual type. Other women might possess dark eyes and hair, red lips and a perfect complexion, but surely no one else ever had so expressive a face, where the emotions played in turn, each more beautiful than the last.
Had I seen only her exhibitions of pride, anger or dismay, I might not have been so attracted; but having caught that fleeting smile of wistfulness, and that wonderful gaze of gentleness, I was fully determined to win her for my own, and to makethose expressions the usual ones on her beloved face.
The question of her possible guilt or complicity in guilt bothered me not at all. I knew she was innocent, and my only problem now was how to prove it to an unjust and suspicious world. But it should be done, for I would devote my best and bravest efforts to the cause, and I felt sure of ultimate triumph.
If the thought obtruded itself on my mind that circumstances were against me, that my way would be a difficult one, and that even I myself were I not blinded by love, must feel some doubts, I resolutely ignored it, and resolved to succeed in spite of it.
But I knew that the work I had undertaken would require not only the exercise of my highest legal powers, but also my most dextrous and ingenious methods of handling.
I therefore looked after only such other matters as required my immediate attention, and then gave myself up unreservedly to the Pembroke case. Although technically it could not yet be called a case, I well knew if no other important evidence was brought out Janet would certainly be arrested, at least for complicity. Others might not believe her statement that she did not open the door to any one that night. As for myself, I did not knowwhether I believed it or not, and, furthermore, I did not care. I had determined to accept all Janet said as true, for a working basis. Let the results be what they might, let the truth be what it would, I would clear her name before the world, in defiance, if necessary, of my own beliefs.
I set myself to work, and, with all the ingenuity acquired by my legal training, endeavored to construct a case. But it was by far the most difficult task I had ever attempted. The facts were so few and so evidential that it seemed to be an occasion for two and two making four, and possessing no ability to make anything else. Clearly I must collect more evidence, if—and though I didn't say this even to myself, I admit it haunted my brain—even if it had to be manufactured!
But this was absurd; there was no occasion to manufacture evidence, all I had to do was to go and get it. There were the several clues that I had myself discovered, yet to be traced to their source.
And yet, though I couldn't myself understand why, those clues seemed to promise little. I thought of those engaging detectives in fiction, how with one or two tiny clues they are enabled to walk straight to the murderer's front door and ring his bell. Yet here was I, with half a dozen clues at mydisposal, and they seemed to me not at all indicative of the murderer's whereabouts.
I wouldn't admit it to myself, but of course the truth must be, that since Mr. Pembroke had been murdered while the only entrance to the house was securely fastened, those precious clues could not have been left there by the criminal! If this disheartening thought attempted to present itself, I promptly thrust it aside, and remembered only that I had the clues, if they were clues, and certainly they did not point toward Janet.
What had been called the principal clue, the hat-pin, the woman's weapon,—I ignored. I was not considering anything that pointed in a direction I did not choose to look.
That was probably the real reason why I did not go at once for a professional detective and give him free rein. I knew he would begin on the hat-pin, and would end—, well,—never mind that.
As a beginning, I made a list of matters to be investigated, setting them down, in my methodical way, in the order of their discovery.
I had the key, the theatre stubs, the time-table, the torn telegram and the handkerchief. Surely, a lengthy list. Of course there had also been a hair-pin,—an ordinary wire hair-pin,—but this, I omitted for reasons of my own.
Aside from the fact that it headed the list, the key seemed to me the most important. It was doubtless the key to some one of Mr. Pembroke's deposit boxes. And if so, it should prove useful. The box it fitted might contain papers or documents valuable as evidence. Considered as part of Mr. Pembroke's estate, it should of course be given into Leroy's charge; but considered as evidence in the Pembroke case, I surely had a right to use it.
Deciding upon my course of action then, I went straight to the Coroner's and asked him for the key. He hesitated at first, but when I gave him the result of my own cogitation on the subject, he said: "You may as well take it, for at least you can find where it belongs. They won't let you open the box, as you are not the executor of the estate, so it can do no harm."
I didn't dispute the point, but I felt a secret conviction that if I found the box to which the key belonged, I should somehow get sight of its contents.
As Mr. Ross seemed inclined to talk about the Pembroke matter I went on to discuss the other clues. He announced his intention of calling in a professional detective, but was waiting for Leroy's return before doing so.
"We've clues enough for a whole gang of burglars," he remarked. "I supposed of course most of these things,"—he was looking over my list,—"would be recognized by some of the family. But since they were not, they would seem to mean something definite in the way of evidence. However, I shall give them all to a detective as soon as possible, and if he can deduce any intruder from outside, and can explain how he effected an entrance, he will be cleverer than any detective in a story-book."
"You have all the clues, I suppose," I said, feeling a distinct sense of dismay at the thought of his detective.
"Yes," he said, opening a drawer of his desk.
With no definite purpose, I examined them, and noted on my list such details as the date and seat numbers on the ticket stubs, the date and wording of the telegram, the initials on the handkerchief and such matters.
"What is this?" I asked, as I noticed an opened envelope addressed to Robert Pembroke.
"That is our newest exhibit," said the Coroner; "it was brought me within the last hour by Inspector Crawford, and it seems to me to eliminate the torn telegram from our case entirely. Read it."
I took the letter from the envelope, and glancing first at the signature saw the name Jonathan Scudder. The letter went on to state that the writer would not be able to call on Mr. Pembroke on Wednesday evening, as he had telegraphed that he would.
"This, then is the mysterious J. S.," I said, "and, as you say it makes it unnecessary for us to trace that clue further."
"Yes," returned Mr. Ross, "but of course it was not a real clue any way, for neither J. S. nor anyone else could enter a chained door."
That everlasting chain! Why do people have chains on their front doors, any way? There was one on our own door, but we never used it, and I wished to Heaven that Janet Pembroke had never used hers! They were supposed to be a safeguard, but in this case this infernal chain was condemning evidence against the woman I loved! That is, it condemned her in the eyes of others, but not in my eyes; nothing could ever do that!
But there was no use of declaring my convictions to the Coroner. He was just as positive that Janet Pembroke was guilty as I was that she was innocent.
However, all question of J. S. was settled. He was Jonathan Scudder, and whether or not he wasthe man whom Mr. Pembroke had sometimes called John Strong, made no difference to our case. I read the letter again, but it was of little interest and taking the key, which Mr. Ross gave me, I went away.
Somehow, I was not so buoyantly hopeful after my interview with the Coroner as I had been before. The letter from Mr. Scudder did not affect me, it was of no consequence at all, but the Coroner's unshakable conviction of Janet's wrong-doing had made me realize that my own belief was founded not on facts but on my own glorious fancies.
Very well, then, I concluded, I will go to work and get facts that will coincide with my beliefs. Action was better than theorizing, any way, and I went at once to the bank which I had been told carried Mr. Pembroke's account.
But there I was informed that the key I showed was not the property of that bank or any of its departments. Nor could they tell me to what bank or company it did belong. I suspected they might have given me at least a hint of where to look, but as I was unknown to them personally, and they had no knowledge of how I had come by the key, they naturally were conservative on the subject.
I could have explained the situation to them, but I knew it would be useless, as, if I were tryingto use the key with fraudulent intent it was just the sort of a story I should have invented. So I turned away, a little despondent, but determined to keep on with my search, if I had to visit every bank in the city.
It was a weary search. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, I took a taxicab and methodically made the rounds of the prominent banks.
But as I met with no success, I concluded finally that such attempt was useless. I suspected that perhaps the bank officials suspected me, and would not give me information. This roused my ire, and as a next step I went to the office of the firm who made the key. As the makers' name was stamped on it I had no difficulty in finding them. Of course they were quite able to tell me for what institution that key had been made, but they were at first unwilling to do so. It was only after a full statement of my case and proofs of my own identity that I gained from them the information that the key had been made for The Sterling Safe Deposit Co.
The Sterling Safe Deposit Company! Well, at last I had some definite information! At last I had something to work upon! I went at once to the deposit company, and asked for an interview with the manager. I had difficulty in persuading him to grant my request, but after realizing the gravity of the situation and the significance of the clue, he told me that that key belonged to a safe deposit box rented by a Mrs. Altonstall, who lived on West Fifty-eighth Street.
I looked at my watch. It was almost five o'clock, but I concluded to go at once to call on the lady.
As I went up there in a taxicab, my brain was in a whirl. The key of a safe deposit box, not Mr. Pembroke's own, but belonging to a woman! found in his room, after a crime which it was assumed was committed by a woman!
Who was Mrs. Altonstall? And why should she murder Robert Pembroke? This question opened such a wide field for speculation that it was unanswerable. Had the deed really been done by a woman? And was I, even now, about to verify this?
I felt an uncertainty about proceeding. Ought I not to place the whole matter in the hands of the Coroner? Was I not taking too much upon myself to investigate alone this new evidence?
But, I reasoned, delay might be dangerous. If the Coroner were to postpone until next day an interview with this woman, might she not have already effected her escape? Was it not wiser that I should go there at once, and lose no time in securing any possible information?
At any rate, I went, resolved to take the consequences of my deed, whatever they might be.
The address given me proved to be a large and handsome apartment house. At the office I inquired for Mrs. Altonstall and being informed that she was at home, I sent up my card, for I judged that the most open and straightforward measures were the best.
A moment later I was informed that Mrs. Altonstall would see me, and entering the elevator I went at once to her apartment.
The general effects of grandeur throughout the house and the elegance of Mrs. Altonstall's own room, made me wonder afresh if I could by any possibility be on the track of a criminal. Surely, the criminal classes did not live in a style implyingsuch respectability and aristocracy as these surroundings seemed to indicate. But of course I realized that a woman who could commit murder was not necessarily found among the criminal classes, and indeed, being an exceptional individual, might be looked for in any setting.
But when my hostess entered, and I saw a sweet-faced, middle-aged lady, of gentle manner and gracious mien, walk toward me, I felt the blood rush to my face, and I stood consumed with dismay and confusion.
"Mrs. Altonstall?" I said, conquering my embarrassment.
"Yes," she said, in one of the sweetest voices I ever heard. "This is Mr. Landon? you wanted to see me?"
Surely with such a queen of women as this, frankness and truth were the only lines to follow.
"Yes, Mrs. Altonstall," I said; "I am a lawyer, and I am at present investigating a serious case. In connection with it, there has been found a key, which I have been informed belongs to you. Will you kindly say if this is so?"
As I spoke, I handed her the key. I need not say that at the first glimpse of that serene, gracious face, all thought of her implication in our affairinstantly vanished. Presumably, too, the key was not hers, there had been a mistake, somehow.
As she took the key, she looked at me with a bewildered surprise. "Why, yes, Mr. Landon," she said, "this is my key. May I ask where you obtained it?"
I hesitated, for it seemed a terrible thing to tell this queenly lady where her key had been found. And yet the situation was so inexplicable, that I must solve it if possible.
"I will tell you in a moment, Mrs. Altonstall," I said, slowly, "but first I must ask you if you know Mr. Robert Pembroke?"
"Robert Pembroke?" she repeated; "no, I never heard the name. Who is he?"
The unruffled calm and the straightforward gaze that met my own eyes, so frankly, was so convincing of her absolute veracity, that just for an instant the thought flashed through my mind that it might be merely the perfection of acting.
But the next instant I knew better, for no human being could so simulate utter ignorance of a subject, if she had guilty knowledge of it. Moreover, since she knew nothing of Robert Pembroke, I instantly concluded not to tell her of the tragedy, but to inquire further concerning the key.
"Since you do not know him, Mrs. Altonstall, let us not discuss him. Will you tell me how you lost possession of this key, since it is yours?"
"I gave it to my lawyer, Mr. Leroy," she replied. "It was necessary that he should get some of my papers from the Safe Deposit Company, and it has been arranged that he shall have access to my box on presentation of my key. I am a widow, Mr. Landon, and as I have various financial interests, it is necessary for me frequently to employ the services of a lawyer. Mr. Leroy attends to all such affairs for me."
"Do you mean Mr. Graham Leroy?" I asked, very gravely, for the introduction of his name stirred up all sorts of conjectures.
"Yes," she replied, "he is an able lawyer, as well as a kind friend."
"I'm acquainted with Mr. Leroy," I responded, "and I quite agree with your estimate of him. When did you give him the key, Mrs. Altonstall?"
"About four or five days ago; last Saturday, to be exact. There was no immediate haste about my papers, he was to attend to the matter at his convenience. May I ask where the key was found?"
I disliked extremely to rehearse the details ofthe case, and I knew it was in no way necessary. Of course the key belonged to this lady; aside from her own word, the bank had told me so. But her question must be answered.
"It was found in the apartment of Mr. Robert Pembroke," I said; but immediately added, as she looked slightly startled, "I think, however, it is a matter of easy explanation. Graham Leroy is also Mr. Pembroke's lawyer, and he must have dropped the key there while calling on Mr. Pembroke."
"Unpardonable carelessness," she said, and I saw that the sweet placid face could assume an expression of indignation upon occasion.
"That, madam, you must say to Mr. Leroy. I am sorry to have troubled you in the matter, and I thank you for your courtesy to me."
"But you will leave my key with me?" she said, as I was about to take leave.
"I think I cannot do that, Mrs. Altonstall," I said, "as it was entrusted to me by official authority. But I promise to return it to Mr. Leroy, which, I trust will be satisfactory to you."
The lady agreed to this, though a little unwillingly, and I went away, newly perplexed at this most recent development.
So then, Graham Leroy had been in possessionof this key. So then, he must have left it in Robert Pembroke's bedroom. He would not have done this purposely, of course, therefore he must have dropped it there without knowing it. It was found on Robert Pembroke's bed. Not under the pillow,—the suggestion that it had been under the pillow was mere supposition. It might have been dropped on the bed from the pocket of one leaning over the sleeping man.
But Graham Leroy! the thought was preposterous!
And then again, the old, ever insoluble question,—how could he get in?
But really it was scarcely more impossible to conclude how he got in, than to imagine Graham Leroy getting in at all, except in correct and ordinary fashion.
My brain worked quickly. To be sure, he might have dropped the key in that room when calling there, as he did, on Tuesday night.
But I had asked Charlotte when Mr. Pembroke's bedroom had last been swept, and she had told me that she had swept it Wednesday morning, and had then emptied the waste basket. This had seemed to me to prove that all the clues I had found, had been brought into the room after that sweeping.But again, the key being found in the bed it had nothing to do with the sweeping of the room. However, Charlotte could not have made up the bed without seeing the key, so the only possible deduction was that Mrs. Altonstall's key had been left in Robert Pembroke's room after noon of Wednesday, the day he was murdered!
It was all too much for me! I had undertaken to trace the clues that I had myself found, but if they were to lead me to such extraordinary discoveries as this, I felt I must appeal to more practical detective talent.
But Leroy or not, at any rate it turned the tide of suspicion away from Janet. This was joy enough, of itself, to compensate for any horrible revelation that might come in the future concerning Leroy or anyone else.
Somewhere in the back of my brain two dreadful words that the Coroner had used were hammering for admittance. These wereconnivanceandcomplicity; if Leroy entered the apartment on Wednesday night at any hour he was let in by either Janet or Charlotte.
At that moment I realized the truth of the line, "that way madness lies."
I pushed the thought from my mind with all my will power, and hastening my steps, for I hadwalked from Fifty-eighth Street, I went rapidly homeward.
I reached home about six o'clock, and found that George Lawrence was there, and that Laura had invited him to stay to dinner. I was pleased at this, for I hoped that by the casual conversation at table I could learn something of Mr. Pembroke's past life and acquaintances.
I concluded to say nothing about my discoveries of the afternoon, but to advise them of my decision to continue my search for a real criminal; a housebreaker or burglar, who could have committed the crime for the money, which he stole, and who must have contrived some way to get in through a window.
During dinner, although Laura endeavored to keep away from the all-engrossing subject, which she disapproved of as table conversation, I gave a slight outline of the effort I intended to make.
George Lawrence seemed greatly pleased with my ideas. He agreed that there must be some one, somewhere, besides himself and Janet who could be shown to have a motive, and he offered to assist me in looking over his uncle's private papers for some letter or other evidence which might indicate this.
"Simply to make a statement of the case, butfor no other reason," said George, "I will agree with you that the facts, as known, seem to implicate Janet. But as she is utterly incapable of such a thing, and as the idea of Charlotte being involved in the matter is absurd, the criminal must be somebody else, and we must find him or her. I say 'him or her' because the inspector declares that the hat-pin indicates a woman's deed, and, as we are utterly at sea regarding the individuality of the criminal, we are, I think, justified in assuming either sex. It is, of course, not beyond the bounds of possibility that Uncle Robert had a feminine enemy."
"Once we can establish a motive," I said, "we shall have something to work upon in our hunt for evidence."
"And yet motive isn't everything," said Lawrence, with a grim smile; "for if Janet had a motive, as you say, an equal one must be attributed to me, as I am an equal inheritor of Uncle Robert's fortune."
I looked wonderingly at the young man. "The motive attributed to Miss Pembroke," I said "would probably not be her desire for inheritance, so much as the desperate difficulties attending her life with her uncle."
This seemed to surprise Lawrence, but he onlysaid carelessly: "It doesn't matter what motive they assign to Janet, for she didn't have any motive, and she didn't do the deed. But, for the moment, I'm speaking not of facts or even possibilities, but of contingencies which might arise. It might be claimed that I had a motive, from the mere fact that I am one of my uncle's heirs."
"But you couldn't get in, George," said Janet quickly. "Your latch-key was of no use when the chain was on."
"That's true enough, Janet, and we all know it; but, as I say, we're speaking of a hypothetical case. And you know, if we're going to hunt for some other person with a motive, we're bound to admit that he got into the apartment somehow. Therefore, to eliminate the possibility of being myself a suspect, I'll merely state, as a matter of fact, that my alibi is perfect. I can prove, should it be necessary, that I was far away from Sixty-second Street at the time of Uncle Robert's death, and can account for my time all through the night."
I liked Lawrence's way of putting these things, and began to think his clear-headed views on the matter would be of assistance to me, even though he had no taste or talent for detective work.
"Just what is an alibi?" asked Janet, with a perplexed air.
"It means," I answered, "proof by witnesses of a person's whereabouts at a given time."
"Oh!" said Janet. "And where were you last night, George?"
Lawrence smiled as he answered: "I'm not in the witness box now, Janet, but I don't mind telling you that I dined and spent the evening at the Warings'."
"Oh, did you?" cried Janet. "And you took Milly to a matinée in the afternoon. I know, because she told me about it before. You're getting awfully fond of her, aren't you, George?"
"Yes, I like Miss Waring extremely," said Lawrence, and though he spoke as if he meant it, a certain sadness came into his eyes, and I suspected that Miss Waring did not reciprocate his regard.
But though the young man seemed suddenlydistrait, and did not attempt to continue our previous conversation, Janet, on the contrary had brightened up wonderfully. Being in a mood for making inferences, I deduced that George Lawrence was more interested in Miss Waring than Janet desired him to be, and that she was pleased rather than otherwise at George's lack of enthusiasm about the lady. Thereupon the sudden fear that Janet was in love with her cousin assailed me. This aroused whatwas of course an unreasonable jealousy on my part, for I had not the slightest actual foundation on which to rest the hopes I was rapidly building. I eagerly watched the two cousins after that, to discover if there was anything more than cousinly affection on either side.
Whatever the cause, Janet's spirits were undeniably lightened.
"I wish I could help," she said. "Here is our problem: to find somebody who wanted to kill Uncle Robert, and who was able to get into the apartment and do so."
"That's the case in a nutshell," declared George; "but I confess I don't know which way to start."
Although I had made up my mind not to refer to the letter from Jonathan Scudder, which Crawford had shown me, yet I thought I would introduce the subject of J. S. and see if Janet would volunteer any information regarding the letter.
So, since both cousins had declared their willingness to consider the problem, I said: "As you say you don't know which way to start, Mr. Lawrence, suppose we take up the clue of the torn telegram. Do you think that J. S. who sent that message might have kept his appointment, and come last night, although no one knew it?"
"How could he get in?" asked Lawrence.
"That remains to be explained; but just grantingfor a moment that he did get in, why not turn our attention to discovering who he is and what his errand was?"
"All right," agreed Lawrence, "but how shall we set about it? We know nothing of the man, not even his real name."
"What do you think, Miss Pembroke?" I asked, turning to Janet; "do you think it would be possible for us to learn the real name of J. S.?"
The girl looked at me with troubled eyes, but the expression of her mouth denoted determination. Even before she spoke, I knew that she was not going to tell of the letter she had read that morning. The letter was addressed to her uncle, but it had been opened. The reasonable explanation of this was that it had come in that morning's mail, as indeed its postmark proved, and that Janet had opened and read it; this latter supposition being probable, because the letter had been found in her room. To be sure after the death of her uncle, she was next in charge of the household affairs, but it would have been more commendable of her to have given her uncle's unopened mail to his lawyer or to some one in charge of his estate.
When she spoke, as I had fully expected, she made no reference to the letter.
"As I have told you," she said slowly, "my uncle often used to speak of J. S., and when we asked him who it was, he said John Strong."
"But we know he didn't mean it," said Lawrence; "and also, Mr. Landon, although I do not know his real name, I'm positive that J. S. is the man who was my uncle's business partner many years ago. In fact my uncle has said to me that this partner thought that half of Uncle Robert's fortune should be given to him, or bequeathed to him by will. My uncle said he had no intention of doing this, but I gathered from his remarks on the subject, that his partner was continually making fresh efforts to obtain some of my uncle's money."
"Then, in view of all this," I said, "is there not at least reason to look up this J. S. who sent the telegram, and see if he might not be the man whom your uncle called John Strong?"
I looked directly at Janet as I said this, and though she returned my gaze at first, her eyes fell before my questioning glance, and her voice trembled ever so little as she said; "yes, let us do that."
"It is a very good idea," broke in sister Laura, who was quick of decision and who rarely hesitated to express her opinions. "This John Strong may have been delayed, and reached the apartment verylate at night. Then there may have been a stormy interview, and, unable to get what he wanted from Mr. Pembroke, John Strong may have killed the old gentleman, taken the money that is missing from the desk and gone away."
"Sister dear," I said, "your theory is fairly plausible. If you don't mind I'll ask you to elucidate it a little further. Just how did John Strong get into Mr. Pembroke's apartment?"
"Why," returned Laura, "Mr. Pembroke was expecting him, and as it was late, and the others were in bed, he got up and let the man in himself."
"Yes; I understand," I went on; "and now, then, after this wicked Mr. Strong had committed his dreadful deed, who let him out, and put the chain on the door?"
There was a dead silence. I had chosen my words most unfortunately. I had spoken rather quizzically, only with the intention of showing Laura how absurd her idea was; but my final question, instead of merely confuting her theory, had also suggested a dreadful possibility! For if anybody had put the chain on after the departure of the mythical Mr. Strong, it must necessarily have been one of the two living occupants of the apartment!
Janet turned white to her very lips, and as a consequence, even more dreadful thoughts flashedinto my mind. She had read a letter that day from the man who had sent the telegram. There was practically no doubt of that. When I had asked her concerning this man just now, though she had not denied, yet she had not admitted the knowledge which she must have possessed. And now when the faintest hint was breathed of a possible complicity of some one in the apartment with this mysterious J. S., Janet was so agitated as to turn pale and almost quiver with apprehension!
I was strongly tempted to tell of the letter the Inspector had shown me, but I could not bring myself to do so, for far deeper than my interest in the case was my interest in this girl; and if that letter must be brought forward against her, it would have to be done by some one else and not by me. My evidence about the chain on the door had already wrought irremediable damage, and hereafter my efforts should be devoted to showing evidence that should prove Janet Pembroke innocent, and not of a sort which should make her seem to be guilty!
"How would you advise trying to find this man?" asked George Lawrence, after a somewhat awkward pause; "the address on the telegram was East Lynnwood, but it would be difficult, evenwith a directory or census report to find a name of which we know only the initials."
"Yes," agreed Laura, "there are doubtless men in East Lynnwood whose initials are J. S. Indeed, I should say those are perhaps the most common initials of all. You see, so many men's names begin with J."
"And it may not be a man at all," suggested Lawrence. "Women's names often begin with J,—like Janet for instance."
"But my initials are not J. S.," returned his cousin, "and besides, I didn't telegraph to uncle Robert."
Again the girl surprised me, for she spoke in a light tone, as if almost amused at the idea.
"But it might have been a woman," she went on, "which would explain the hat-pin."
I was thoroughly perplexed at Miss Pembroke's words. She knew the J. S. of the telegram was the Jonathan Scudder of the letter. She knew therefore that J. S. was not a woman. Why was she so disingenuous? Was she shielding J. S., and did she know far more about the tragedy than I had supposed? At any rate, I could see she was determined not to tell of the letter she had read, and I was determined that if I should ask her concerning it,it would be when alone with her, for I would not subject her to possible humiliation before others.
"We certainly can do nothing in the matter without knowing more of J. S. than we do now," I said, with an air of dropping the subject; "and I doubt, even if we should find him, that it would help us to discover the mystery."
"I don't believe it will ever be discovered," said Laura. "It looks to me like one of those mysteries that are never solved. For whoever it was that was clever enough to get into that house, when there wasn't any way to get in, would also be clever enough to evade detection."
George and Janet both looked at Laura as if startled by her remark. The fact that they were startled startled me. If they had known the clever individual whom Laura merely imagined, they couldn't have acted differently. But all this muddle of impressions on my mind really led to nothing. "If I'm going to do any detecting," I said to myself severely, "it's time I set about it, and not depend on guessing what people may mean by the expressions on their faces—especially faces capable of such ambiguous expressions as the two before me."
Determined, therefore, to lead the conversation into channels that would at least put me in the wayof learning some facts about the previous life of the Pembrokes and of George Lawrence, I spoke generally of ways and means of living in New York. I learned that Janet had the tastes and inclinations of a society girl, but that, owing to her uncle's restrictions, she had been able only slightly to gratify these inclinations. She was fond of concerts and theatres, of going shopping and calling, and yet had never been allowed the money or the freedom to pursue these pleasures. My heart sank as I realized how everything the girl said would tell against her should she ever be called to the witness box.
Young Lawrence, it seemed, had similar social tastes, but even when he lived with the Pembrokes had been more free to go and come than his cousin. And, of course, since he had lived alone he was entirely his own master. He was a member of various clubs, and seemed to be fond of card-playing and billiards, in moderation. I also learned, though, I think, through an inadvertence, that he dabbled a little in Wall Street. It seemed surprising that a young artist could support himself in comfortable bachelor quarters and still have money left with which to speculate. This would not be in his favor, had there been a shadow of suspicion against him; but there could be no suchsuspicion, for even with his latch-key he could not get in at the door. He could hardly be taken for a professional housebreaker; and, besides, he was prepared to prove an alibi. I had little faith in this mythical personage we had built up with a motive and an opportunity, and as I reasoned round and round in a circle I was always confronted by the terrifying fact that a disinterested judge would suspect Janet and that, were I disinterested, I should suspect her myself. And so the reasoning went on in my excited brain, till I felt that I must go for a long walk in the cool night air as the only means of regaining my own clearness of vision.
Soon after dinner, then, I announced my intention of going out.
Lawrence said that he would spend some hours looking over his late uncle's papers, and Laura declared that she would tuck Miss Pembroke in bed early for a good night's rest.
I started out by myself, and, swinging into Broadway, I turned and walked rapidly downtown. This was my custom when I had serious matters to think of. The crowded brightness of the street always seemed to stimulate my brain, while it quieted my nerves. I hadn't gone a dozen blocks before I had come to two or three different conclusions,right or wrong though they may have been.
The first of these was a conviction that Janet felt more than a cousinly interest in George Lawrence. But this I also concluded might be caused by one of two things; it might be either a romantic attachment or Janet might suspect her cousin to be guilty of her uncle's death. If the first were true, Janet might have been in league with George and might have opened the door for him the night before. I was facing the thing squarely now, and laying aside any of my own prejudices or beliefs, while I considered mere possibilities.
If, on the other hand, Janet suspected George, without real knowledge, this fact of course left Janet herself free of all suspicion. While I couldn't believe that the two had connived at their uncle's death, still less could I believe that Janet had done the deed herself. Therefore, I must face all the possibilities, and even endeavor to imagine more than I had yet thought of.
But the more I considered imaginary conditions, the more they seemed to me ridiculous and untenable. George was not in the apartment; Janet was. George was not at the mercy of his uncle's brutal temper; Janet was. George did not want moneyand freedom to pursue his chosen ways of life; Janet did.
Much as I liked George, I would gladly have cast the weight of suspicion on him instead of on Janet, had I but been able to do so.
I had never before felt so utterly at the end of my resources. There was no one to suspect, other than those already mentioned, and no place to look for new evidence. Either the talent I had always thought I possessed for detective work was non-existent, or else there was not enough for me to work upon.
But I had traced two clues. The telegram, though it had not implicated J. S. had pointed, indirectly, in Janet's direction. The key, though still mysterious, at least gave a hint of Leroy, and perhaps, in complicity, Janet.
I made these statements frankly to myself, because since I was going to fight her battle, I wanted to know at the outset what I had to fight against.
Having started on my investigation, I was eager to continue the quest I felt, if damaging evidence must be found, I would rather find it myself, than be told of it by some conceited, unsympathetic detective.
But there was little I could do by way of investigationin the evening. However, as I passed through the theatre district, I bethought me of the ticket stubs. Though well aware it was but a wild goose chase, I turned my steps toward the National Theatre. As the program was fairly well along, there was not a crowd at the box office, and I had no difficulty in engaging the blithe young man at the window in conversation. I had not the ticket stubs with me, but I had a memorandum of their dates, and though it sounded absurd even to myself, I made inquiry concerning them.
"House sold out, I suppose?" I said, carelessly, to the face at the window.
"Just about. Want a poor seat?"
"No; I'll wait till some other night. Is it sold out every night?"
"Just about."
"Was it sold out the night of October sixteenth?"
"Sure! that was in one of our big weeks! Great program on then. Why?"
"I don't suppose you could tell me who bought seats one and three in row G, that night?"
"I should say not! do you s'pose I'm a human chart? What's the game?"
"Detective work," I said, casually, thinkinghe would be less impressed if I did not seem too much interested. "I suppose you can't think of any way that I could find out who bought those seats for that night?"
"Well, no, I can't; unless you might advertise."
"Advertise! how?"
"Why put in a personal, asking for the fellows that had those seats."
"But they wouldn't reply; they don't want to be caught."
"Sure, that's so! well, I'll tell you. Put your personal in and ask the fellows who sat behind those seats to communicate with you. Then you can find out something about your party, may be."
"Young man," I said, heartily, "that's a really brilliant idea! I shall act upon it, and I'm much obliged to you."
I offered him a material proof of my gratitude for his suggestion, which he accepted with pleasure, and I went straight away to a newspaper office. This scheme might amount to nothing at all, but on the other hand, it certainly could do no harm.
I inserted a personal notice in the paper, asking that the holders of the seats near one and three G on the night of October sixteenth should communicate with me. I mentioned the numbers ofthe seats not only behind the mysterious numbers, but in front of them as well, and also at the side. I had little hope that this venture would bring any worth-while result, but there was a chance that it might, and action of any sort was better than doing nothing.
After leaving the newspaper office, I continued my walk, hoping, by deep thought to arrive at some conclusion, or at least to think of some new direction in which to look. But the farther I walked, and the more I thought, the more desperate the situation became. Clear thought and logical inference led only in one direction; and that was toward Janet Pembroke. To lead suspicion away from her, could only be done by dwelling on the thought of my love for her. In spite of her mysterious ways, perhaps because of them, my love for her was fast developing into a mad infatuation, beyond logic and beyond reason. But it was a power, and a power, I vowed, that should yet conquer logic and reason,—aye, even evidence and proof of any wrong-doing on the part of my goddess!
Notwithstanding appearances, notwithstanding Janet's own inexplicable words and deeds, I believed her entirely innocent, and I would prove it to the world.
Yet I knew that I based my belief in her innocence on that one fleeting moment, when she had looked at me with tenderness in her brown eyes, and with truth stamped indelibly upon her beautiful face.
Was that too brief a moment, too uncertain a bond to be depended upon?
When I reached home Lawrence had left, Miss Pembroke had retired, and Laura was in the library, waiting for me.
"It doesn't seem possible," she said, as I flung off my coat and threw myself into an easy chair, "that so much could have happened in one day. Only think, Otis, when we arose this morning we didn't know Miss Pembroke to speak to, and now she is asleep in our guest room!"
"Where is Charlotte?" I said.
"She wanted to go to spend the night with some friends, so I let her go. We are responsible, you know, for her appearance if called for, and I know the girl well enough to know she'll never get very far away from her beloved Miss Janet."
"Have you questioned Charlotte at all?"
"Yes; and what do you think Otis? She believes that Miss Pembroke killed her uncle!"
"Did she say so?"
"Not in so many words; indeed, she scarcely owned up to it. But you know colored people are as transparent as children, and by talking in a roundabout way I discovered that she suspectsJanet, only because she can't see any other solution of the mystery. She doesn't seem to blame her at all, and even seems to think Janet justified in putting the old man out of the way."
"Of course she has no intelligence in the matter," I said; "but don't you see, Laura, that if she suspects Janet, but really knows nothing about it, that proves Charlotte herself absolutely innocent even of complicity?"
"So it does, Otis. How clever you are to see that!"
"Clever!" I said, somewhat bitterly. "I'm not clever at all. I may be a lawyer, but I'm no detective."
"Why don't you employ a detective, then?"
"It isn't my place to do so. But I feel sure that a professional detective, from the clues we have, could find the murderer at once."
"Well, it wouldn't be Janet Pembroke," said Laura, with conviction. "I've been alone with that girl most of the evening, and she's no more guilty than I am. But, Otis, she does know more than she has told. She either knows something or suspects something that she is keeping secret."
"I have thought that, too. And, as her counsel, she ought to be perfectly frank with me."
"But isn't there a law or something," askedLaura, "that people are not obliged to say anything that may incriminate themselves?"
"But you don't think her a criminal," I said quickly.
"No," said Laura, with some hesitation; "but she is so queer in some ways, I can't make her out. Mr. Lawrence stayed here chatting some time after you left, and once or twice I thought Janet suspected him; and then, again, she said something that showed me positively that she didn't."
"There it is again, Laura: if JanetsuspectsGeorge, she can't be guilty herself."
"That's so," said Laura, her face brightening. "But then," she added, "they both may know something about it."
Ah, this was my own fear! "Laura," I said suddenly, "do you think those two cousins are in love with each other?"
"Not a bit of it," said Laura decidedly. "Mr. Lawrence is very much interested in Miss Millicent Waring, though I don't know that he is really in love with her. But I think he is rather piqued by her indifference. He seems to have a loyal fondness for Janet, but nothing more than would be expected from a good first-class cousin."
"And she?" I asked, trying hard not to appear self-conscious.
"Oh, she cares for George in the same way. He's her only relative now, you know. But she told me herself she had never cared especially for any man. She's peculiar, you know, Otis; but I do think she shows a great deal of interest in you."
"Do you really?" I exclaimed, looking up to find my sister smiling at me in a mischievous fashion.
"Oh, you dear old goose!" she cried. "Do you suppose I can't see that you're already over head and ears in love with Janet Pembroke, and have been ever since the first day we came into the Hammersleigh?"
"By Jove! that's so," I cried. "Laura, you know more about my affairs than I do. I thought my affection for that girl dated from this morning, but I see now you are right. I have loved her from the first moment I saw her."
"And you can win her, if you go about it right," said my sister, with her little air of worldly wisdom that always amused me.
"I hope so," I said fervently. "As soon as this dreadful affair is finished up, and Janet has decided upon her temporary home, I think we too want to get away from this place."
"Yes," said Laura, with a sigh; "I hate to move, but I'd hate worse to stay here."
In response to the urgent summons Leroy came back to New York the next morning.
From his office he telephoned to Janet immediately upon his return, saying that he would come up to see her in the afternoon, and asking that George Lawrence should also be present.
As Janet was now staying with us, the interview was held in our apartment. Although Mr. Pembroke's body had been removed to a mortuary establishment, Janet could not bear the thought of going back to her own rooms, and moreover, the girl was very glad to remain under the cheering influences of Laura's kindness and friendliness. And so, as Laura insisted upon it, Janet directed Mr. Leroy to come up that afternoon.
This being arranged, Laura also telephoned me at my office, and I went home in ample time to receive our caller.
As Miss Pembroke's lawyer I had, of course, a right to be present, and as George Lawrence was there too, it seemed more like an official interview than a social call.
Leroy came in, looking exceedingly handsome and attractive. Indeed, I had forgotten what an unusually good-looking man he was. He had that combination of dark eyes and hair slightly silvered at the temples, which is so effective in middle age.
Though not at all effusive in his manner, he seemed deeply moved, and greeted Janet with an air of gentle sympathy. His manner, however, did not meet a response in kind. Janet's air was cold and haughty and she merely gave him her finger tips, as if the very touch of his hand were distasteful to her.
George Lawrence was a little more cordial in his reception of the lawyer, but it was plain to be seen that neither of the cousins felt very friendly toward him.
Mr. Leroy acknowledged courteously his introduction to Laura and myself, and then he requested to be told the details of the tragedy.
He listened attentively while we told him all about it, now and then asking a question, but expressing no opinions. His face grew very grave, indeed to me it seemed almost sinister, and a little mysterious.
We had not yet finished relating the case, when our door-bell rang and Mr. Buckner was announced.
Buckner was the District Attorney, and after receiving the Coroner's report he had come to make some further inquiries.
I had never seen the man before, as I rarelyhad to do with a criminal case, but I liked his attitude and manner at once. He was exceedingly straightforward and business-like. He asked questions and conducted his inquiries as if it were merely a continuation of the inquest.
He had of course learned from the coroner all that he knew about the case, and now he seemed to hope and expect that he would get new evidence from Leroy.
However, Graham Leroy was not a satisfactory person to get evidence from. He answered the District Attorney's questions, directly and concisely, but he gave little or no information of any importance.
Leroy had not seemed especially interested in hearing of the clues which I had collected from Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, but after a time I concluded to try the effect of showing him the key which I had in my pocket.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, with a start, "where did you get that?"
The result of my sudden move was all I could have desired. Leroy's calm was shaken at last; his interest was aroused, and the strange expression that showed on his saturnine face proved that he was greatly agitated at the sight of that key.It seemed to me that fear possessed him, or that at any rate he was startled by some unpleasant thought.
The District Attorney, who had been apprised by the Coroner of my tracing of the key, turned to Leroy with a hint of accusation in his manner.
"You recognize that key, Mr. Leroy?" he said.
"I do," returned Leroy, and though he spoke in quiet tones, he had difficulty in concealing his agitation.
"Is it yours?"
"It is not mine, but it was in my possession."
"Whose is it?"
"It belongs to Mrs. Altonstall, a client of mine. She gave it to me, to get some papers for her from a safety deposit box."
"And you lost it?"
"I did."
"When did you have it last, to your knowledge?"
"I had it on Wednesday. I went to Utica, Wednesday night, and next morning I missed the key. I concluded that I must have left it at my office, but when I returned there I could not find it, and I felt considerable alarm, for one does not like to lose the key of a client's box."
"No," said Mr. Buckner, grimly; "it is not a good thing to do. And where do you think you lost it?"
"I've no idea; but as it was in my pocket, and I must have pulled it out unintentionally, and dropped it unknowingly, it may have happened in the train or on the street or anywhere. Where was it found?"
"This is the key of which we told you; the key that was found in Mr. Pembroke's bed yesterday morning."
"What! Impossible!" cried Leroy and his face turned white and his dark eyes fairly glared. "How could Robert Pembroke have come into possession of that key?"
"We don't assume, Mr. Leroy, that Mr. Pembroke ever had this key in his possession. As it was found in the bed, not under the pillow, but beside the body of the dead man, we think it seems to indicate at least a possibility that it was dropped there by the murderer as he leaned over his victim."
This came so near to being a direct accusation, that I fully expected Leroy to exclaim with anger. But instead, though his face grew even whiter than before, he said very quietly: "Am I to understand that as an implication that I may be guilty of this crime?"
Though uttered in low even tones, the words expressed horror at the thought.
"You are to understand," replied Mr. Buckner, "that we ask you for a frank and honest explanation of how your key, or rather your client's key, happened to be where it was found."
"I cannot explain it," said Leroy, and now he had entirely controlled his agitation, and his face was like an impassive marble mask.
"You cannot or you will not?"
"I cannot. I have not the remotest idea where I lost that key, but by no possibility could I have lost it in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, because I was not there."
"When were you last in Mr. Pembroke's room?"
"I was there Tuesday evening, and I may possibly have dropped the key there then."
"But you said you remembered having it Wednesday morning."
"I might be mistaken about that; perhaps it was Tuesday morning that I positively remember having it."
Clearly Leroy was floundering. His words were hesitating, and though it was evident that his brain was working quickly, I felt sure he was trying to conceal his thoughts, and not express them.
"Supposing then that you may have dropped this key in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom when you were calling on him Tuesday evening, you would not be likely to have dropped it in the bed, would you?"
"Certainly not. I saw Mr. Pembroke in his room only a few moments, after having already made a longer call in the drawing-room."
The involuntary glance which Leroy shot at Janet and the color which flamed suddenly in the girl's face, left me in no doubt as to the purport of the call he had made in the drawing-room on Tuesday evening. I knew as well as if I had been told, that he had been asking Janet to marry him; I knew that his interview with Mr. Pembroke afterward had probably related to the same subject; and though I was glad that his suit had not been successful, yet I felt jealous of the whole episode. However, I had no time then to indulge in thoughts of romance, for the District Attorney was mercilessly pinning Leroy down to an exact account of himself.
"Had the bed been turned down for the night, when you were in Mr. Pembroke's room on Tuesday evening?"
"I didn't notice especially, but I have an indistinct impression that the covers had been turned back."
"In that case it would have been possible for you to drop the key in the bed without knowing it, but very far from probable. Did you lean over the bed for any purpose?"