"No; of course I did not. But perhaps if I did drop the key in the room, and Mr. Pembroke found it, knowing it to be a valuable key, he may have put it under his pillow, for safety's sake."
"That again is possible; but improbable that he would have done it two nights, both Tuesday and Wednesday nights! Moreover, Mr. Leroy, you said at first that you were sure you had the key Wednesday morning. And not until you inferred that you were suspected of implication in this affair, did you say that it might have been Tuesday morning you had it. Now, can you not speak positively on that point?"
Leroy hesitated. Though his face rarely showed what was passing in his mind, yet though at this moment no one who saw him could doubt that the man was going through a fearful mental struggle. Indeed, he sat silent for so long, that I began to wonder whether he intended to answer the question or not. Lines formed across his brow and his stern lips fastened themselves in a straight line. He looked first at Janet and then at George, with a piercing gaze. Finally he shook his headwith a sudden quick gesture, as if flinging off a temptation to prevaricate, which was almost too strong to be resisted.
"I can speak positively," he said, and the words seemed to be fairly forced from him. "I had that key last to my knowledge on Wednesday morning, when I made use of it at the Sterling Safety Deposit Company."
It was as if a bomb had burst. We all sat appalled, for at the first thought it seemed as if this admission proclaimed Graham Leroy a guilty man. The picture flashed into my mind. This strong man, capable I felt sure, of the whole range of elemental passions, killing, for some reason unknown to me, his client, who was equally capable of rage and angry passion. I seemed to see him bending over his victim, and inadvertently dropping the tell-tale key from his pocket. But I think it was an effect of the dramatic situation that conjured up this picture in my mind, for it was immediately dispelled as Janet's voice broke on the tense silence.
"I cannot fail to see the trend of your implications, Mr. Buckner," she said, and her tones were haughty, and even supercilious; "I suppose you are daring to insinuate that Mr. Leroy might have been in my uncle's room on Wednesday night, late. But let me remind you that I myself put the chain on the door at eleven o'clock, after which it was impossible for Mr. Leroy to enter."
The old argument: "How could he get in?"
And though this argumentseemedto turn suspiciontoward Janet, it did not in the least do so to my mind.
Of course, I had no answer to the question, but that did not change my conviction that Janet was innocent. Could Leroy be guilty? I didn't know, and I didn't much care, if only suspicion could be turned away from Janet!
It was by an effort that I brought my attention back to the conversation going on.
"Will you tell me, Mr. Leroy, where you were on Wednesday night?" went on the District Attorney, making no recognition of Janet's speech beyond a slight bow in her direction.
"I went to Utica," answered Leroy.
"At what time?"
Again there was a lengthy interval of silence, and then Leroy said, in a low voice, "Rather late in the evening."
"On what train?"
"On a late train."
"The midnight train?"
"Yes;" the answer was fairly blurted out as if in utter exasperation.
Although the rest of his hearers started at the realization of all that this implied, Mr. Buckner proceeded quietly. "Where were you between eleven and twelve o'clock, on Wednesday night?"
"I refuse to say."
"I think I must insist upon an answer, Mr. Leroy. Were you at the station long before train time?"
"No."
"You reached the station then but a short time before the train left?"
"That is right."
"Did you go directly from your home to the station?"
"Perhaps not directly, but I made no stop on the way."
"What did you do then, since you say you did not go directly?"
"I walked about the streets."
"Why did you do this?"
"Partly for the exercise, and partly because I preferred not to reach the station until about time for my train to leave."
"And did your walking about the streets bring you anywhere near this locality?"
"That I refuse to answer."
"But you must answer, Mr. Leroy."
"Not if it incriminates myself."
"Then your refusal to answer is the same as affirmative. I shall assume that you were in this locality between eleven and twelve o'clock on Wednesday night."
"What if he was?" broke in Janet; "no matter how much he was in this locality, he couldn't get into our apartment, and so it has not the slightest bearing on the case!"
"That is so," said George Lawrence; "unless it can be proved that Mr. Leroy was able to enter through a locked and chained door, I think it is none of our business where he may have been at the time the crime was committed."
"You're all working from the wrong end," said Leroy, suddenly. "Of course the murder was committed by some professional burglar, who effected his entrance in some way unknown to us. Forget, for a moment, the question of how he got in, and turn your energies to finding some clever and expert housebreaker who is at large."
"What could be the motive of a professional burglar?" said Mr. Buckner.
"The robbery of the money," I broke in eagerly, delighted that Leroy should have started suspicion of this sort.
"Can you tell us anything regarding a large sum of money which it is assumed Mr. Pembroke had in his possession the night he was killed?" Mr. Buckner asked of Leroy.
"I can tell you that I took him a large sum of money,—ten thousand dollars,—on Tuesday evening.
"He had asked you to do this?"
"He had; giving the reason that he wished to pay it to some man who was coming to get it, and who wanted cash."
"J. S.!" I said, involuntarily.
"That's the murderer!" declared Laura. "I've suspected that J. S. from the very beginning. Why don't you look him up, Mr. Buckner, if you want to find the criminal?"
"All in good time, Mrs. Mulford," the district attorney answered, but I knew that he had seen the letter which the Coroner had shown me, stating that J. S. would not come on Wednesday evening as he had telegraphed. Still, if J. S. had come, and with evil intent, the letter might have been a blind. But again, if J. S. had come for money, and had received it, why should he kill Mr. Pembroke? Truly, there was no logical direction in which to look, save toward Janet, and that way I declined to look.
Mr. Buckner did not seem inclined to ask any more definite questions. I concluded he wished to take time to think the matter over by himself.
"It seems to me this way," he said; "we have a great many clues to work from, and until they're traced to more definite conclusions we are unable to attach suspicion to anyone. We know that Mr.Pembroke was killed at or about midnight. We know the apartment was securely locked and fastened at that time. We must assume, therefore, that whoever did the deed could not get into the house between eleven and twelve,—he must have been in the house, therefore, before the door was chained."
"If by that you mean Miss Pembroke," burst out George Lawrence, angrily, "I'll have you know——"
"I don't necessarily mean Miss Pembroke," said Mr. Buckner, but he said it so gravely, that I knew his suspicions, notwithstanding Leroy and his key, were in Janet's direction. "I am thinking just now of the possibility of an intruder who might have come in much earlier, and secreted himself in the house until midnight."
"Then he must have stayed in the house until morning," said Lawrence.
"He might have done so," agreed Mr. Buckner.
"But it is incredible," said Leroy, "that the burglar would have remained after the deed was done. Why would he not take off the chain and go away as silently as he came?"
"It might be," said Mr. Buckner, thoughtfully, "that he meant to cast suspicion upon the inmates of the house themselves."
So he did hark back to Janet after all! Hemeant us to understand that he thought the crime was committed either by Janet, or by somebody who planned to throw suspicion on Janet. Either theory seemed to me absurd.
I was glad when Mr. Buckner at last took his departure. He was certainly at sea regarding the matter. He suspected Janet, to be sure; but he also had doubts concerning the entire innocence of Graham Leroy. And surely that key was a bit of incriminating evidence, if ever there were such a thing.
And yet, when it came to a question of evidence, what could be more incriminating than that chained door as a proof against Janet? And so Mr. Buckner went away leaving the rest of us to discuss the new turn events had taken.
It must have been the result of Mr. Buckner's implied accusation of Leroy that gave us all a feeling of loyalty and helpfulness toward the man. I don't think anyone present suspected him of crime. But the key matter was inexplicable, and too, Leroy's manner and speech had not been frank or ingenuous. If he really had been in Robert Pembroke's bedroom on Wednesday night, he could not have acted differently under the fire of Mr. Buckner's questions. And though each of us, I felt sure, was considering the possible explanationof the key, yet it was difficult to speak of it without embarrassment.
But Leroy himself introduced the subject.
"Confounded queer about that key," he said, but he said it thoughtfully, more as if talking to himself than to us.
"It is queer," I said, eagerly taking up the subject; "if you had it Wednesday morning, and it was found in Mr. Pembroke's room Thursday morning, there must be an explanation somewhere."
"Yes; there must;" and Graham Leroy's lips closed as if in a sudden determination to say nothing more about that matter.
"Can't you suggest any explanation?" asked George Lawrence.
"No, I can't," and the decision in Leroy's tones forbade any further reference to the key. "But I am here now," he went on, "to read to you, Mr. Lawrence, and to you, Miss Pembroke, the will of your late uncle. Except for a few minor bequests, you two are equal heirs. Mr. Lawrence is executor, and therefore I will conduct the legal formalities with him, and I need not trouble Miss Pembroke with such matters. Of course, it goes without saying that anything I can do in the investigation of this awful tragedy will be done. Of course, you will want legal advice Miss Pembroke,since the authorities seem to consider you under surveillance."
I waited a moment, to give Janet opportunity to speak first concerning me, and she did so. Her beautiful face was pale, but her dark eyes flashed, as she said: "I feel sure I shall need legal counsel, Mr. Leroy, and therefore I have retained Mr. Landon as my lawyer."
Graham Leroy was astounded. I could read that, in the sudden start he gave, and the half-breathed exclamation which he suppressed. But in a moment, he recovered his poise, and spoke with a cold dignity. "I suppose, Janet, you had some good reason for preferring Mr. Landon's services to my own."
"I had," returned Janet, in tones as icy as his own; "also, Mr. Landon and Mrs. Mulford have been exceedingly kind to me, and I am sure whatever emergency may arise, if the case is brought to trial, Mr. Landon will use his best efforts in my behalf."
If Leroy was angry at her preferring me to himself, he lost sight of it for the moment, in the shock given him by Janet's words.
"The case brought to trial!" he exclaimed. "Why, there is no case as yet. What do you mean?"
Janet looked at him steadily. "I may be tried," she said, "for the murder of my Uncle Robert."
"What nonsense!" cried George Lawrence; "they'll never dare do such a thing as that!"
"They'll dare fast enough," said Leroy; "but they shall never do it! They'll try me first!"
A sudden light broke over me. Leroy's hesitation and dubious statements might have this meaning. He might himself suspect Janet of the crime, and he might be determined to be let himself thought guilty in her place. This didn't quite explain the key, but I hadn't thought it out thoroughly yet, and if for quixotic reasons he wanted to make it appear that he was implicated, he had certainly made a good start. Alas, every new development pointed or might be construed to point toward Janet. I longed for a frank talk with Leroy, but I knew that would be impracticable. For if he intended to muddle the case and direct suspicion toward himself in order to turn it away from Janet, he would pursue those same tactics with me. And beside, although he hid it, I well knew that he was chagrined and angry at the fact of my being chosen for Janet's lawyer instead of himself. So I discarded any hope I might have formed of getting the truth out of Leroy, and left that to the official authorities.
At present, Leroy's intention seemed to be to discard all question of crime or criminal, and attend to the business in hand of Mr. Pembroke's will.
I myself saw no necessity for immediate proceedings in this matter, but Leroy insisted upon it, and insisted too, that both Janet and George should go with him at once into the Pembroke apartment, where, he said, there were papers and documents necessary at the moment.
The fact that I was not invited to accompany them, was made so patent that I had no desire to intrude my presence, although as Miss Pembroke's lawyer I could have done so. But I concluded that one reason for Leroy's haste to get at those papers, was his wish to get rid of me. Nor was it entirely to be wondered at that he should want an interview alone with the two cousins. I was a comparative stranger to him, my sister an entire stranger; whereas he had been for years a friend of the Pembroke household. And so the three went away to the apartment across the hall; and I was left alone with Laura.
The door had scarcely closed behind them, before Laura spoke her mind. "That Leroy is the guilty man," she said; "don't say, 'how did he get in?' for I don't know, and I don't care! But he's the one who killed Mr. Pembroke, and he hadhis own motive for doing so, which we know nothing about."
"While all that may be true, Laura," I said, in a conciliatory way, for she was very much excited, "yet you must not make such positive statements, with so little to base them on. Leroy may have a guilty knowledge of the matter, but I don't believe he murdered Mr. Pembroke, and I do believe he's letting himself be suspected to shield Janet."
"Nothing of the sort," declared Laura; "he's a bad man! I don't have to see him twice to know that. And if he isn't guilty, and if he's letting himself be suspected,—then it's to implicate Janet and not to save her!"
"Laura, you're crazy. How could his implication also implicate her?"
"Why, don't you see? if they think Mr. Leroy committed the crime, they'll try to find out how he got in. And then they'll conclude that Janet let him in. Because you know, Otis, there was really no other way anybodycouldget in. And then, you see, they'll conclude that Mr. Leroy and Janet acted together, and are both guilty."
"Laura, you argue just like a woman; you say anything that comes into your head, and then back it up with some other absurd idea! Now, sister,talk to me in this strain all you want to, but let me beg of you never to say these things to anyone else."
Laura looked a little offended, but she was too fond of me ever really to resent anything I said to her, so she smiled, and forgave my aspersions on her reasoning powers.
But I couldn't help remembering that Janet had told me that Leroy was untrustworthy, and not entirely reliable, and now that Laura, with her woman's intuition, had denounced him, I began to wonder myself what sort of a man Leroy really was.
In sheer desperation, I resolved upon an interview with Inspector Crawford. I hadn't a very high opinion of him as a detective, but I had reached the pitch where I must do something.
I telephoned to him, but it was only after some persistence that I could persuade him to give me even a little of his valuable time. Finally he agreed to a fifteen-minute interview at his own home.
It was not far to his house, and as I walked over there I wondered why he seemed so averse to a discussion of the Pembroke case. He had impressed me, when I saw him that morning, as one of those busybodies in the detective line who are always willing to dilate upon their clues and their deductions, their theories and their inferences.
But as soon as I began to talk with Mr. Crawford I learned that he had little interest in the Pembroke case, because he considered its result a foregone conclusion.
Inspector Crawford was not an especially cultured man, nor of a particularly affable nature, but he was possessed, as I soon learned, of a certain stubbornness which manifested itself mainly in adhering firmly to his own decisions.
"I know Miss Pembroke killed her uncle," he said, "because nobody else could by any possibility have done it. I examined the windows myself. Those which were fastened were absolutely immovable from the outside, and those which were unfastened had the same sort of catches, and the black woman declared she had unfastened them from the inside in the morning. The window opening on the fire escape had a double lock, the dumb-waiter was securely bolted on the kitchen side, the night-latch and chain were on the front door, and, therefore, my dear sir, to get into that apartment without breaking something was as impossible as if it had been hermetically sealed."
"Some one might have cut out a pane of glass and replaced it," I suggested.
The inspector looked at me with a glance almost of pity.
"It's my business to make sure of such things," he said. "Of course I thought of that, and examined every window-pane. Had one been put in with fresh putty during the night, I should certainly have detected it. If you examine them, you will find both putty and paint hard and weather-stained."
My respect for Mr. Crawford's detective ability rose rapidly, and I frankly told him so.
He smiled disinterestedly.
"I'm not one of those spectacular detectives," he said, "who pick up a handkerchief in the street, and declare at once that it was dropped by a cross-eyed lady with one front tooth missing, who was on her way to visit her step-daughter now living in Jamaica, Long Island, but who formerly was a governess in a doctor's family in Meriden, Connecticut."
I laughed at this bit of sarcasm, but was too vitally interested in the subject in hand to care for amusing side issues.
"Do you say then, inspector," I continued, "that there was positively no way for any one else to get into that apartment, and that therefore Mr. Pembroke necessarily met his death at the hands of his niece or the colored servant?"
"Or both," added Mr. Crawford.
"You assert that as your unqualified opinion?"
"I assert it as an incontrovertible fact," said Inspector Crawford, in his decided way, "and, though it needs no backing up of evidence, the evidence all points unmistakably to the same fact. There are motive, opportunity, and a weapon at hand. What more is there to say?"
"There is only this to say," I declared, maddened by his air of finality: "that Miss Pembrokedid not do it; that neither she nor the black woman knows who did do it; and that I take it upon myself to prove this when the occasion shall arise to do so."
Again the inspector looked at me with that compassionate expression that irritated me beyond words.
"Mr. Landon," he said, "I have no desire to be personal, but may I ask you, if you were as absolutely disinterested in the Pembroke case as I am, would you not incline to my opinion?"
This silenced me, for I well knew that but for my interest in Janet Pembroke I should inevitably be forced to Mr. Crawford's point of view.
"Ah!" he said. "I thought so. Now let me tell you, Mr. Landon—and I am indeed sorry to tell you—that there is no possible way to get that girl acquitted, and that your best plan is to work simply for the lightest possible penalty. If you can plead self-defence, temporary insanity, or even somnambulism, I advise you to do so."
"I thank you, inspector, for your advice, and regret to say that I cannot follow it. I shall plead 'not guilty,' and I shall prove my case."
The inspector began to look interested, for, though a man may not boast of his own reputation, I may say that Mr. Crawford knew me as a lawyer of long practice and wide experience;and knew, too, that I had been successful in cases where wise and anxious judges had scarcely dared hope for it.
"I hope it may be so," he said. "It does not seem to be possible, but, of course, no man's judgment is infallible. Might I be allowed, however, to ask your line of defence?"
"I don't know exactly, myself," I confessed; "but I think it will implicate George Lawrence."
"But he couldn't get in."
"Inspector, if any one is implicated other than those two women, it must necessarily be some one who 'couldn't get in.'"
"That is true," said the inspector; "but, all the same, a murder can't be committed by a man who can't get in."
"That is no more impossible," I said stanchly, "than a murder committed by either of those two women."
Again the inspector contented himself with a smile.
"I have no reason," I went on, "for suspecting George Lawrence, except that he could be said to have a motive. I admit, as you say, that it does not seem possible for him to have entered the apartment, unless one of the women let him in."
"Let him in!" echoed the inspector. "I hadn'tthought of that! Ah, now I see your idea. If George Lawrence is the man who did the deed and was let in by his cousin, while she might have been accessory, she might not have known of the deed at all."
"That is possible, inspector," I agreed; "but had she let George in, she must have again put the chain on the door after he went out. This is scarcely compatible with the assumption that she knew nothing of what had happened in the meantime."
"No," declared the inspector, in his decided way. "Your suggestion, however, leads to a new line of investigation. But say George Lawrencehadgone to the Pembrokes' apartment last night, andhadcome away again, the elevator boy would have known it, and would have given evidence this morning; that is, unless he had been bribed, which is, of course, possible. But all this will be brought out at the trial."
"Not so fast, inspector," I said, feeling a grim delight in bringing him up with a round turn. "George Lawrence can prove a complete and perfect alibi, attested by responsible witnesses."
Inspector Crawford looked thoroughly disgusted. "Then the whole matter stands where it did at first," he said, "though, of course, we mustremember that, since the women could have let in George Lawrence, they could, of course, have let in any one else, had they been so minded. But all this is in your province, rather than in mine, and if you can find anybody who is likely to have gone in there last night, with or without criminal intent, I think for your own sake you had better make investigation along that line."
"Mr. Crawford," I said, "I would not have mentioned to you even the name of George Lawrence in this connection if I could have done what I wanted to without your assistance. I want to go to George Lawrence's apartment, and make a search of his rooms. I have not a definite reason for doing this, but I feel that it may lead to something. I cannot say I suspect George Lawrence of the crime. I cannot doubt his alibi, nor can I imagine how he could have gotten into the apartment had he wanted to. But I do know that he had, or at least might possibly have had, a motive for desiring his uncle's death, and upon that perhaps irrelevant fact I base what I shall not call a suspicion, but an interest into looking into his affairs. I could not go through his rooms alone, but as an inspector you will be allowed to do so, and I want to go with you and at once."
I may have been mistaken in Mr. Crawford'sinclination toward detective work. Although he had seemed indifferent when he had been so sure of his conclusion, the mere opportunity of searching for clues seemed to stir him to action, and, to my surprise, he was not only willing but anxious to go with me at once.
As I knew Lawrence would spend the entire afternoon in his work of looking over Mr. Pembroke's papers, I felt that the coast was clear for an hour or so, at least. So together we took a Broadway car, and were not long in reaching Washington Square.
The inspector's badge, of course, gained him access at once to George's apartment, and I followed him into the rooms, feeling that if there was anything even remotely approaching a clue, I must and would find it.
Though not luxurious, Lawrence's quarters were exceedingly comfortable. There was a studio, not large, but well lighted and furnished in a way that showed its use as a living-room, and perhaps for small social functions as well. A bedroom and bath completed the suite, and the inspector told me to begin my search.
"Let us examine the place," he said, "independently of each other, and afterward we can compare notes. I confess I have little hope of findingevidence of any sort. Of course I don't for a moment think that, even had Lawrence killed his uncle, he would have broken off that hat-pin and brought it home here to incriminate himself."
"Of course not," I assented; "but, by the way, whereisthe other half of that hat-pin?"
The inspector gave his queer smile. "Assuming a woman to have done the deed," he said, "we must assume her to be clever enough to dispose of a piece of a broken hat-pin."
My heart sank at his words, for I saw how deeply rooted was his belief in Janet's guilt, and I feared a judge and jury might look at it in the same way.
Silently we began our search. I took the studio, and the inspector the bedroom, first; afterward we were to go over each other's ground.
In one way, it seemed a dreadful thing to be poking round among a man's personal belongings; but again, since the cause of justice demanded it, I felt no hesitancy in doing so.
I took little interest in the sketches on the walls or the odd bits of junk and curios on the tables. No man with anything to conceal would leave it in those obvious places.
And yet I was not looking for anything George might have concealed, but rather for some strawwhich might show the direction of the wind of evidence.
For the first time in my life, I felt like the detective in fiction, and I scrutinized carefully the floor and the rug. It seemed to me that all the clues I had ever read of had been discovered on the floor; but the trouble was that this floor offered so many unexpected substances that the result was distracting. But by no stretch of the imagination could I look upon them as clues. I certainly discovered many things upon the floor that told their own story; but the stories were of no importance. Cigarette or cigar ashes were in such quantity as to indicate recent masculine guests. An artificial violet and a bit of fluffy feather trimming showed perhaps an afternoon tea, or a reception which feminine guests had attended. Lead-pencil shavings here and there betokened the untidiness of an artist, and splashes of ink or water-color, though numerous, proved merely that Lawrence had spoken the truth regarding his profession.
Though disheartened by my non-success, I kept on until I had examined every square inch of floor. I found nothing unexplainable to the most ordinary intellect, except a few tiny bits of broken glass on the hearthstone. So infinitesimal were these fragments that I almost missed them, and, though Icould not think them of any importance, I took them up on a bit of white paper and examined them by the light. They were of a pinkish purple color, and I wondered if they could be bits of a druggist's phial which had contained poison. The notion was absurd enough, for Mr. Pembroke had not been poisoned, and, moreover, even granting my hypothesis a true one, those few specks of glass would represent only a small fraction of a broken bottle.
But he might have dropped it, my imagination rambled on, and smashed it, and then swept up all the fragments, as he thought, but overlooked these specks.
At any rate, I put the paper containing the bits in my pocket, and went on with my search. Feeling that I had finished the floor, I examined all the furniture and decorations, paying no attention to Lawrence's desk or personal belongings.
Mr. Crawford came in from the bedroom. "I've done up my room," he said, "and there's nothing there at all, not even a revolver. Now, if you're through here, we will change territory."
"I can't find anything," I returned, and as I spoke the inspector went straight to the writing-desk.
"If there is nothing here," he said, "I give it up."
With a practised hand he ran swiftly through Lawrence's papers.
"H'm!" he said. "Our young friend has been dabbling in stocks. Bought L. & C. Q. on a margin. That's bad, for it dropped 'way down day before yesterday. That ought to help along your 'motive,' Mr. Landon, for as sure as I sit here George Lawrence must have lost many thousands in Wall Street on Wednesday."
"It is corroborative," I said, "but that's all. Granting Lawrence's motive for desiring to inherit his uncle's money at once, there is no real evidence that he helped matters along by putting the old gentleman out of the way."
"Not a bit," agreed Inspector Crawford; "and you mark my word, Mr. Landon, if there was any reason for suspecting young Lawrence, it would have turned up before this."
"I'm not so sure of that," I returned; "and it isn't exactly evidence I'm after, but merely a hint as to how he could have done it."
"Ah!" said the inspector, smiling again. "He couldn't have done it save with the knowledge and assistance of his cousin."
I went home decidedly disheartened. As usual, the Inspector's positiveness and incontrovertible reasoning depressed my spirits, because I felt convinced, although against my will, that he might be right.
But when I entered our apartment, and found Laura and Janet waiting for me, I forgot my troubles in the happiness of seeing Janet in my home.
The girl must have been of an adaptable temperament, for surely our household was totally unlike the one she had been accustomed to, and yet she seemed perfectly at home and at ease with us.
She wore black, but her robes of soft trailing silk, with a sort of transparent net by way of a yoke, did not seem so unsightly as heavy crape-trimmed dresses had always appeared to me.
Indeed the soft dull black was very becoming to Janet, and threw out her creamy white skin in beautiful relief. Her large dark eyes and dusky hair completed the harmony of black and white, and her scarlet lips were the only touch of color in the picture.
The evening was a trifle chill, and Laura hada wood fire blazing in the grate, for even in the short time we had lived in the Hammersleigh, my energetic sister had succeeded in substituting open fires for the ornate but unsatisfactory gas logs.
And so it was a cosy picture of home life that met my eyes, as I entered after my expedition down to Washington Square.
Of course, I couldn't mention my afternoon's experiences just then, for it was almost dinner time and I knew Laura's aversion to unpleasant subjects of conversation at the dinner table.
And so I did my part toward making the meal a cheery and pleasant occasion; and it was less difficult than might have been expected to avoid all reference to the tragedy.
Both women were quite willing to follow my lead, and our talk was of all sorts of pleasant matters, and now and then even verged toward lightness. I realized, as I was sure Laura did too, that Janet was a delightful conversationalist. She was both receptive and responsive. She caught a point easily and was quick at repartee. Moreover, she was gentle and refined, and it is needless to say that my love for her grew apace with my discovery of her merits.
After dinner we returned to the drawing-room, and with her usual tact, Laura contrived a householderrand of some nature that took her away for a time, and left me alone with my client.
I was all unwilling to break the charm of the pleasant atmosphere we had created, but I knew it must be done if I were to free Janet from suspicion.
Determined to learn from her some facts which would help me, I told her at once that I desired a straightforward talk with her.
Immediately her manner changed. She became once more reserved, haughty and rebellious. But I had no choice save to go on.
"I am so sorry," I said, "that you resent my questioning you about these things. For surely, Miss Pembroke, you must understand, and it is my duty to make you understand that your position is serious. Now whether you want to or not, won't you please be honest with me, and confide more fully in me what knowledge you may have bearing on the case?"
"I can't be honest," she replied, with a sigh that seemed to come from her very soul; "I truly can't. Whatever you learn must be without my assistance."
"Why can you not be honest? Are you afraid to be?"
"I cannot answer that question, either. I tellyou, Mr. Landon, that I have no information of any sort to give you."
"Then I must ask you a few definite questions, and you must answer them. Why did you not mention the letter that came to your uncle from Jonathan Scudder?"
"Who told you about that?"
The girl started up as if I had accused her of something serious, and indeed perhaps it was.
"The Inspector found the letter in your room," I replied; "as you were not willing to be frank in these matters, the law took its rights and searched the whole place for any possible light on the subject."
"And you consider that that letter throws light on the subject?"
"Only to the extent of proving that you purposely suppressed that letter; and I ask you why?"
"And I refuse to tell you why."
"Miss Pembroke, don't do that. Truly, you injure your own cause by refusing to tell these things. You have taken me for your lawyer; now if you want me to help you, indeed I may almost say to rescue you, from the danger you are in, you must help me in any way that you can."
My earnestness seemed to have an effect. The girl's face softened and her voice trembled a littleas she said, "Perhaps it would be better for me to tell you all,—but,—no, I can't, I can't!" She hid her face in her hands, and her whole slender form shook with emotion. But she did not cry, as I had feared she would. Instead, she raised her head with a sudden determined gesture. "There was no reason," she said, with an air of indifference which I knew was assumed; "I simply forgot it, that's all."
"You forgot it!" I said, looking her straight in the eyes, so earnestly, that her own eyes fell before mine.
I knew she could not persist in a falsehood long, and sure enough in a moment she said, "Well, at least I didn't exactly forget it, but I thought it was of no consequence."
"You thought it was of no consequence! when only last evening we were discussing J. S. with your cousin, and wondering who he could be. At that time you had read the letter from Jonathan Scudder, saying that he would not come here Wednesday evening as he had telegraphed that he would do. Why did you not tell us of it?"
"Perhaps it wasn't the same J. S.!" Janet smiled at me as she said this, and I felt sure the smile was to distract me from my serious purpose, and win me to a lighter mood. And she nearly succeeded,too, for again I saw gentleness in her smile, and when to Janet Pembroke's beautiful face was added the charm of gentleness, it was irresistible indeed.
But by a mighty effort I refrained from being cajoled, and I said sternly, "You knew it was the same J. S., because the letter referred to the telegram."
"That's so," she said, musingly; "I never thought of that. I fear I'm not very clever at deception."
"I fear you are not," I answered, gravely, "and I thank Heaven for it. Now, if you will just put all these matters into my hands, and tell me what I ask, you will have no further cause for deception, and, I hope, no more trouble."
"What do you ask?" she said, and never before had she looked so lovely. She spoke in a low tone and had she been the most finished coquette she could not have appeared more alluring. I was tempted almost beyond my strength to clasp her in my arms and say, "I ask only for you," but I knew were I to precipitate matters in that way I might antagonize her, and so lose what slight chance I had of helping her.
"I ask," I said, in low even tones, "that you will tell me frankly why you made no mention of the letter from Jonathan Scudder?"
"Because I wished suspicion to rest upon J. S.!" The words were quick and incisive, and fairly cut into the air as she enunciated them clearly and emphatically.
"Do you know Jonathan Scudder?"
"I do not. I never heard the name until I read that letter. But I know J. S. to be an enemy of my uncle, and why may it not be that he came and killed Uncle Robert, even after he sent that letter? Perhaps he sent it for a blind."
"Miss Pembroke, you do not believe J. S. came at all on Wednesday night. You know he did not, and you are making this up simply that suspicion may be turned in his direction. Is not this true?"
"Yes," faintly murmured the girl, "you asked me to be frank, and I have been."
She was making an awful admission, and she was perfectly well aware of it. Fear clutched at my heart. If she herself had killed her uncle, how natural to endeavor to throw suspicion on an unknown man. Again, if Leroy were implicated, or if they had been companions in wrong-doing how equally plausible a ruse!
Her face was white now to the very lips. Her hands trembled, and her eyes darted frightened glances, as if she knew not which way to turn next.
"Miss Pembroke," I said, very gently, "I'm more sorry than I can tell you, that you persist in secrecy. But since you do I will speak for you. You want to throw suspicion on J. S., in order to divert it either from yourself or from someone else whom you wish to shield."
"How do you know that?" cried Janet, looking up with startled eyes.
"It is not difficult to guess," I said, bitterly. "Nor is it difficult to guess the identity of the one you might wish to shield."
"Don't!" breathed Janet, clasping her hands; "don't breathe his name aloud!"
"I will!" I said, thoroughly angered now; "it is Graham Leroy, and you do love him, in spite of your pretended dislike of him!"
I paused suddenly, for a new thought had struck me. If Leroy were the murderer, and if Janet had admitted him to the house, and willingly or unwillingly been cognizant of his deed, then she would act exactly the way she had acted! She would try to shield him, try to avert suspicion from him, but of course she could not have him for her lawyer, and though she still loved him, she could not but scorn him.
The suddenness of these thoughts so overwhelmed me that for a moment I did not lookat her. When I did, I was amazed at the change in her face. From a white pallor it had turned to an angry red, and my heart fell as I realized that she was angry at me for discovering her secret.
"Don't look like that," I pleaded; "only tell me the truth, and I will help you,—I will help you both. At any rate, I know thatyouwere guiltless, even if you have a guilty knowledge of Leroy's deed."
"You needn't assume me guiltless," Janet said, and her low voice destitute of inflection, sounded as if she were forcing herself to recite, parrot-like, a lesson already learned. "I had motive, and Mr. Leroy had none."
"He may have had a dozen motives, for all I know," I said, rather harshly, for I was beginning to realize that if she cared enough for Leroy to proclaim herself guilty, my hopes were small indeed. "He may have wanted that money himself, and come back to get it!" This was a mean speech on my part, and utterly unfounded, but I was so angry at Janet for shielding Leroy's name, that I cared little what I said.
"Oh, Mr. Leroy never wanted money; he's a very rich man."
"Who did want the money then? Did you?" I was fast forgetting my manners, and my determinationto win Janet's confidence by kindliness, but I had not expected to have Leroy thus flung in my face.
"Yes, I wanted money," said Janet, "you learned that from Charlotte's evidence."
"You are the strangest girl!" I said, staring at her, "you won't tell me the simple things I ask, and then you fire a statement like that at me! What do you mean? That you really wanted a large sum of money?"
"Yes; ten thousand dollars." The girl whispered this, and it seemed to my bewildered fancy as if she said it without even her own volition. It seemed forced from her by some subconscious process, and I was both amazed and frightened. But I tried not to show my feelings, for if I would learn the truth of this surprising revelation, I must move carefully.
"Did you want that much?" I said, in a casual way, as if it were a mere nominal sum. "What did you want it for?"
"As if I should tell you that!" and this astounding piece of humanity tossed her head, and smiled almost roguishly at me.
"Never mind what you wanted it for," I said, "but you did want it, didn't you? And you asked your uncle for it, and he refused you."
"He said that if,—if I would,—would—oh, what am I saying!" She broke off with a little gasp, as if she had almost betrayed a secret. But I knew.
"He said he would give it to you, and more too, if you would marry Mr. Leroy, didn't he?"
"Yes," Janet replied, and this time she spoke in a simple, natural voice and looked at me frankly.
"But, as you wanted the money to give to Mr. Leroy, and didn't want to marry him, your uncle's proposition didn't please you?"
Janet looked at me in a bewildered way. "Yes," she stammered, "yes,—that was it."
But I was learning my girl at last. For some reason she was telling a string of falsehoods! My faith in her made me believe that she was doing this for some definite and, to her, justifiable purpose. And yet, though my suggestion about Leroy seemed to me to be in line with her plans, and though she had said yes to it,—yet I knew it was not the truth. My rapidly increasing love for her gave me an insight into her nature, and though I might not be able to persuade her to tell me the truth, yet I could discern when she spoke truly and when falsely.
"I give it up," I said to her, suddenly adopting a lighter tone; "I can do nothing with you tonightin our relations of client and lawyer. Let us drop the whole dreadful subject for the rest of this evening, and let us pretend that we are just good friends, with no troublesome questions between us.
"Yes," agreed Janet, with a smile of delight, "let us do that; but anyway, I don't see why the troublesome questions that come between us as lawyer and client, should interfere with our friendship."
"Nor do I, bless you!" I exclaimed, and with a lightened heart I put aside my burden of doubt and fear for the present. And soon Laura came back, and we all chatted pleasantly, without reference to anything gruesome or dreadful.
Laura had not heard our foregoing conversation, and had not, as I feared I had, additional reasons to wonder at Janet Pembroke.
But, we were both charmed with the girl's vivacity and entertaining powers. She did or said nothing which savored too much of gayety to harmonize with her black gown, and yet her little whimsical speeches and her gentle wistful smiles won our hearts anew, and made both Laura and myself feel bound to her without regard to the cloud that hung above her head.
The funeral of Robert Pembroke was to be held Saturday afternoon. The man had so few friends that elaborate services were not arranged for. Indeed it was to take place from the mortuary chapel, and would doubtless be attended by a very small assembly.
Of course Laura and I would go, out of respect for our friends, although we had never known Mr. Pembroke himself.
I did not see Janet before I went downtown Saturday morning, as Laura was taking great care of the girl, and never allowed her to appear early in the morning.
When I reached my office, I found a letter which was signed James Decker.
It was a bit illiterate, but it revealed to me the fact that its writer had attended the National Theatre on the night of October sixteenth and as he had occupied a seat H 3, he was behind G 3, he wanted very much to know in what way it was to his advantage to announce the fact to me.
I telephoned Mr. Decker at the address he gave, and he agreed to come to see me within the next hour.
He came very soon, and entirely fulfilled the mental picture I had already drawn of him. Flashy clothing, red necktie and hat on the back of his head were his distinguishing characteristics, with voice and manner to correspond.
"What's up, pard?" was his unduly familiar greeting, but though I did not respond in his vernacular, I had no wish to criticise it.
I explained to him that I wanted to know anything he could tell me about the occupants of seats one and three G on the night in question.
"Sure, I can tell ye all about 'em," he declared; "they was pals of mine, Billy Rivers and Bob Pierson. They was eight of us went, and we had aisle seats of four rows, right in front of each other. What about them two chaps? they're all right, Guv'nor, I'll go bail for that!"
"I've no doubt of it, Mr. Decker," I responded, heartily; "and as this is just a little private matter between you and me, I'm going to ask you for their addresses, but I am going to assure you that this will get them into no trouble, unless they deserve it; and that if you so desire, your name need not be mentioned in the matter."
"Great Mackerel! I don't care how much you mention my name, and like's not Bob and Bill won'tcare either. They're straight, mister, good pals and good men."
There was something about the candid gaze of Decker that made me feel confidence in his words. I had a conviction then and there, that whoever murdered Robert Pembroke it was neither Bob nor Bill, the good friends of James Decker. But in a way, it was a disappointment, for it only proved one more clue worthless. Where those two ticket stubs came from, or how they got into Robert Pembroke's bedroom, I didn't then stop to think; although I had hazy ideas of tracing some sort of connection with the elevator boy or janitor and these people. But for the moment, all I could do was to take these men's addresses, and present Mr. Decker with a sufficient honorarium to pay him for the trouble and exertion of coming to see me.
I went home at noon, pondering over those ticket stubs. After all, perhaps I had been terribly taken in. Perhaps this Decker man made up the whole story for the purpose of getting the fee which he knew I was pretty sure to give him. Perhaps his two pals were as imaginary as they were good, and perhaps he was only a clever adventurer who had succeeded in fooling a less clever lawyer! Well at any rate, I had done no harm, and I had themen's addresses. Later on, I would tell the District Attorney the whole story, and if he chose to follow it up he could do so.
From the funeral of Robert Pembroke I went straight to the District Attorney's office.
I had come to the conclusion that I must do something, and that I must do it quickly. I knew Buckner was only waiting till the funeral was over to push his investigations; and I knew too, that unless some new evidence was forthcoming from somewhere, his procedure must inevitably result in the arrest of Janet.
I must find that new evidence, which must at least turn the trend of suspicion in some other direction. I could think only of the handkerchief that I had found in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom. This had never been accounted for in any way, and surely it must mean something.
The other articles I had found had proved of little value so far. The ticket stubs promised little or nothing, for I could not feel that the man Decker or his friends were implicated. The time-table gave me no idea of where to look for any clue. It was useless to refer it to the Lackawanna Railroad. Moreover, East Lynnwood was not on that road, nor was Utica, and these were the only two placesthat had so much as been mentioned in connection with the affair.
The torn telegram, in connection with the letter, seemed to mean nothing; or if it did, it pointed toward Janet's deception in regard to it.
The money was gone, and that, too, in the minds of some people, again suggested Janet's wrong-doing. The key, while it might seem to implicate Leroy, was far from being a definite clue, and if it meant Leroy, it might also mean Janet's complicity.
The hair-pin I left out of consideration, and as a last resort, I determined to run down the owner of that handkerchief.
I rehearsed all these conclusions to the District Attorney, and he smiled a little superciliously. It is strange how the police officials scorn the interesting clues so beloved of the detective mind.
However, Buckner said nothing in opposition to my plan, and at my request handed me the handkerchief. We had little conversation but it was plain to be seen that he was assured of Janet's guilt and saw no other direction in which to look for the criminal.
"Go ahead and investigate that handkerchief business," he said, "but you'll find it leads to nothing. That handkerchief might have been leftthere by any caller during the last week or so; and as we know Mr. Pembroke had frequent callers, that is of course the explanation."
I couldn't believe this, because, though now crumpled from passing through many hands, when I had found the handkerchief it was comparatively fresh, and looked as if it had but just been shaken from its laundered folds. This would seem to indicate that it had not been in the room long, and moreover had it been left there several days before, it would have been found by Charlotte or by Janet, and laid aside to be restored to its owner.
I put it in my pocket, and after a short further conversation with Mr. Buckner, I was convinced afresh of Janet's impending danger, so that I went away spurred to my utmost endeavor to find some new information.
I examined the handkerchief carefully, but saw only what I had already observed; that it was unusually fine and dainty for a man's possession, and that the embroidered letters were of exquisite workmanship and unique design.
I took a taxicab and began a systematic canvass of the best shops in the city that provided wearing apparel for fastidious men.
The results were not encouraging. One after another, the haberdashers informed me that thehandkerchief had not come from their shops. Indeed, they opined that the work had not been done in this country, but that the handkerchief had been bought abroad. However, as I was about to give up my search, one interested shopkeeper told me of a small and very exclusive establishment from which that handkerchief might have been obtained.
With my hopes a trifle buoyed up, I went at once to the address given me, and to my delight the affable cleric recognized the handkerchief.
"Yes," he said, "that is one of ours. We have them hand-embroidered for one of our best customers. He has used that design for many years. Did he recommend you to come here?"
"No," said I, "I'm not ordering handkerchiefs for myself. Moreover, I was not sent here by the owner of this one, nor do I know his name. Are you willing to tell it to me?"
"I see no reason why I shouldn't. That handkerchief belongs to Mr. Gresham,—William Sydney Gresham. It is one of the best bits of work we ever put out, and we are a little proud of it."
"It's beautiful work," I agreed, "and now will you give me Mr. Gresham's address?"
Although not especially keen-witted, the clerk looked a little surprised at this, and hesitated for a moment. But when I told him that the matter wasimportant, he made no further objection, and gave me Mr. Gresham's club address.
Needless to say I went directly there, and by good luck I found Mr. Gresham, pleasantly passing the before dinner hour with some of his friends.
I went to him, introduced myself and asked for a moment's private conversation. He looked surprised, but consented, and with a courteous manner led me to a small room, where we were alone.
"Be seated, Mr. Landon," he said, pleasantly; "what can I do for you?"
He was a handsome man and well set up. He was especially well dressed, in clothes of English cut, and his whole appearance showed attention to details. His face betokened a strong, manly character and his gaze was clear and straightforward.
Without preliminaries, I showed him the handkerchief and said, simply, "Is this your handkerchief, Mr. Gresham?"
"It certainly is," he said, taking the linen square, and glancing at the letters; "did you find it? I thank you very much for restoring my property,—though of no great value."
"Had you missed it?" I said, looking at him closely.
"Bless my soul, no! A man has several handkerchiefs, you know, and I dare say I mightlose two or three without missing them. Excuse me, Mr. Landon, but aren't you attaching undue importance to such a trifle as a lost handkerchief?"
"I don't know yet, Mr. Gresham, whether this particular loss of yours will prove to be a trifling matter or not. Do you know Robert Pembroke?"
"The man who was murdered a few days ago?"
"Yes."
"No, I never knew him; but I read in the papers of the poor fellow's death and thought it most shocking. I trust they will discover the murderer and avenge the crime."
If Mr. Gresham were implicated in the affair, he certainly carried off this conversation with a fine composure. But I resolved to startle his calm if I could.
"Then can you explain, Mr. Gresham," I said, "how this handkerchief of yours happened to be found on the bed of the murdered man the morning after the murder?"
"Great Heavens, no! nor do I believe it was found there!"
"But it was, for I myself found it."
"My handkerchief! In Mr. Pembroke's bedroom! Impossible!"
The man spoke with an angry inflection and arising color, and I watched him narrowly. Either this was the just indignation of an innocent man, or else it was the carefully rehearsed dissimulation of a clever wrong-doer. My instinct and my reason told me he was innocent, but my inclinations so strongly hoped for some hint of his guilt, that I persevered.
"Yes, Mr. Gresham, I found it in that room, and on that bed in less than twelve hours after Mr. Pembroke was killed."
"You did! and you think therefore that I killed him, or at least that I was in his room! Why, man, I have already told you that I never knew Mr. Pembroke, and have certainly never been to his house, nor do I even know where he lives!"
This was all very well if it were true, but how was I to know whether this fine gentleman were lying or not. To be sure his face, voice and manner gave every effect of outraged innocence, but was that not just what a clever criminal would show?
"Where were you late last Wednesday night?" I asked him bluntly.
"By Jove! I don't know! I may have been in a dozen places. I go where I choose, and I don't keep a diary of my doings!"
"But try to think, Mr. Gresham," I said, more gently; "were you here at this club?"
"I may have been and I may not. I may have been motoring, or dining out, or at the theatre, or anywhere. I tell you I don't know where I was."
"It will be to your own interest to remember," I said, speaking sternly, for now I began to suspect the man.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because when a man's handkerchief is found under such circumstances, it is advisable for the man to prove that he was not there too."
"Lest I be suspected of the murder of a man whom I never saw, and never even heard of until after he was dead?"
"We have only your own word for that," I returned, coldly; "but the rather definite clue of your handkerchief found in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom requires investigation, and I am here for that purpose."
"The deuce you are! Well, Mr. Landon, you are barking up the wrong tree! May I refer you to my man of business, and ask you to excuse me from a further discussion of this matter?"
"You may not! I am here, Mr. Gresham, if not exactly in an official capacity, yet with the authority of a lawyer employed on this case. And if I may advise you, merely as man to man, I thinkit will be better for you to question your memory a little more closely, and endeavor to recollect where you were on Wednesday night."
"Oh, suppose I can hark back to it. Let me see; I believe I motored up to Greenwich for the night. No, that was Tuesday night. And Thursday night I went to the theatre. Well, then it must have been Wednesday night that I was at the Hardings' to dinner. Yes, I was. I dined at the home of James S. Harding. And that you can verify from him. Now are you satisfied?"
"What time did you leave Mr. Harding's?"
"I don't know; about eleven or twelve, I suppose."
"And then where did you go?"
"Good Heavens! I can't remember every corner I turned! I think I stopped here at the Club before I went to my diggings; yes I'm sure I did."
"Then there must be Club members, or even stewards by whom you can prove an alibi."
"Prove an alibi! Look here, Mr. Landon, I positively refuse to carry this conversation further. I know nothing of your Mr. Pembroke or of his murderer. I know nothing about that handkerchief, which you say you found there, except the fact that it is mine. Now if your people want to arrest me, let them come and do it; butuntil they do, kindly spare me further questioning, which I do not admit to be within your rights. Allow me to wish you good morning."
Though most anxious to believe this man guilty, it was difficult to do so, and yet I was quite willing to believe that his somewhat grandiloquent attitude was all a bluff. However, I had found the owner of the handkerchief, and I had learned all I could from him. And so, with a conventional leave-taking, I left him and went home.