“Very well,� said the detective, and was turning away when Lynne spoke again.
“You must pardon me,� he said, “if anything that I have said or done this morning has given you offense. I don’t think I have been quite myself. Will you wait until I am done at the phone, so that I may talk with you a few minutes before starting?�
“Certainly, Mr. Lynne.�
“This is all so horrible, so unreal, so incomprehensible. I want to know all the particulars as you know them, and something tells me that you know more than that officer told. At all events you are an experienced man, and you can—— Hello!â€� He turned to the phone.
“This is Mr. Lynne,� Nick heard him say. “Is that the police station?�
Evidently assured that it was, he went on:
“The officer you sent to me has just been here and gone. I have called you up to let you know that I am starting at once, in my car, for Pleasantglades, but before I start I desire to be assured that nothing whatever will be done there until I arrive. Thank you. Say to Doctor Kuhn, the coroner, that I will be grateful if he will defer all investigation in this matter until I get there. He has already decided to do so? Thank him for me. Say that I will not forget his consideration. Say to your chief that I am bringing Nick Carter, the detective, out there with me, and for that reason, if for no other, I deem it wise.�
“You heard what I said over the phone, Mr. Carter?� Lynne said, turning about and facing the detective. They were in a room which opened off from the library of the mansion.
“Yes,� said Nick, “I heard.�
“You will go out there with me?�
“I am not sure,â€� replied the detective. “I have been thinking about it since I heard you assure them that I would come. I have been up all night, Mr. Lynne, and have driven a good many miles in my car since dark last night—and I am not at all sure that I can be of any benefit to you.â€�
“But—Mr. Carter, if I particularly request it? If I assure you that money is no object to me in this matter, and——â€�
“Neither would it be any object to me, Mr. Lynne,� the detective interrupted him. “If I go there at all, it will be in behalf of justice to the beautiful girl who was your daughter.�
“That is precisely why I wish you to go, sir. I hope that you will consent to do so.�
“I will consent to go with you on one condition, Mr. Lynne,� was the reply.
“What is that?�
“That during the ride out there you will freely andfrankly reply to any and every question I may ask you, without offense, without considering any of them an impertinence, and with an eye single to discovering the truth about this mystery—and I warn you that I may ask questions that will both startle and offend.â€�
“Very well, sir; I accept the condition.� He spoke with a quiet dignity now that entirely changed the man; that made him appear for the first time just as Nick Carter had expected to find him.
“And there is one more, Mr. Lynne; a very small one this time.�
“Yes? What is it?�
“It will be nearly an hour before I will be ready to start. My own car is in front of your door, and my two assistants are waiting for me. I must drive with them to my house. If you care to pick me up with your car, there, in just three-quarters of an hour from now, I will be ready to accompany you.�
“So be it, Mr. Carter. At eight-forty-five, then, I will call for you.�
Nick got into his own car in silence, and said nothing at all until, with Chick and Patsy, he was in his own house, where he led the way at once to his study. Then——
“Lynne has asked me to take the case—or, rather, he has asked me to drive out there with him, and I have consented. I will tell you both, frankly, that I do not know what to make of Mr. J. Cephas Lynne. He puzzles me. He is, all at once, almost as interesting as the crime. I am going out there with him in his car, more for the purpose of studying him atclose range, and to see him on the ground where the crime was committed, than for any other reason.â€�
“You don’t mean to say——â€� Chick began, but the detective interrupted him.
“No, I do not mean to say anything, Chick, only that this case has developed strange possibilities, some of which are almost unthinkable. Now, let’s not discuss generalities. I haven’t yet had an opportunity to get the opinion of either of you, concerning the crime itself, and how it was brought about, and before I start I want both. Chick, I will have the result of your thoughts first.�
“I’ll ask a question before I give it, then.�
“Very well.�
“Have you questioned Lynne as to the manner in which his daughter was supposed to have passed the evening, last night?�
“No; I have not.�
“So you have no idea as to that?�
“None whatever, more than you have, judged by her costume. She was at a function of some sort, somewhere, or, at least, dressed to attend one, whether she went to it or not. Now, Chick, let us hear what you have to say.�
“Well, it isn’t very much—only a general thought on the subject.â€�
“I know.�
“The house out there has been closed for at least two months. Miss Lynne would never have gone there of her own accord, at such an hour. If there had been some article there that she wanted to get, she wouldhave selected another hour for going; therefore she made the journey at the behest of another person.�
Patsy nodded emphatically, and Nick said:
“We both indorse that.�
“The question arises then,� said Chick, “as to who would have influence enough over her to persuade her to do such a thing? What manner of man could have done it? Was it a relative? Or was she persuaded to go there by some person who may have had a hold of some kind over her father, and was she persuaded to go there because she believed she was serving him?�
“No; I don’t think that last,� replied the detective.
“I’d like to speak my little piece right here and now,� said Patsy, rather sharply for him.
“Well?�
“Edythe Lynne was persuaded to visit that house last night by a lie. No matter what she imagined the reason to be, it was a lie, and it was sufficient to her to compel her to do something that she would never have thought of doing had not her feelings been wrought upon almost to the point of hysteria.�
“Good,� said Chick.
“Go on, Patsy,� said Nick Carter.
“Now, what kind of a lie could have been told to her to take her to that house in the company of a man at the dead of night? What man could tell her such a lie, and make her believe it? What man, who could tell her such a lie and make her believe it, would yet be closely enough related to the family to make that house the object of the night call? And why did she hesitate so long in the automobile before she consented to enter the house, after she arrived there?�
“You answer those questions yourself, Patsy,� said the detective.
“I’ll answer it like this: My present belief is that Edythe Lynne went to Pleasantglades with her own father, and that when she got inside the house and found that she had been lured there by a lie, and that it was her father who had lied to her, she killed herself.�
“No, Patsy, no,� said the detective sharply.
“Wait. That after she had done so, her father realized the terrible predicament he was in; the impossibility of explaining it satisfactorily; the talk and the scandal that the whole affair would make, and, in short, that he then prepared the evidence we found to point to a deliberate suicide.�
“Patsy, part of your theory sounds good; the rest of it is not to be thought of,â€� said Nick. “I am now of the opinion, myself, that she went there with her father, and that—— No, I can’t say it yet. But all this, lads, leads us to just one thing, and that is what I asked you to this room to listen to.â€�
Both assistants looked eagerly at their chief, and he continued:
“Is J. Cephas Lynne, as we know him, her father? Was he her father?�
Chick and Patsy looked at each other, then back again at the detective.
“I am going out there in the car with the man to study him,� the detective continued. “I want you both to start out at once, wherever you please, to get forme all the information, that is obtainable regarding both, the father and the daughter. I want you to dig up every scrap of information you can find about both of them. Was he her father? Find that out for me beyond the shadow of a doubt either way, before I return. That is all.�
The detective glanced at his watch, and turned away.
“I’ve got fifteen minutes before he arrives here,� he said, and left them to themselves in the study.
Ten minutes later he came out of a cold plunge, put on a complete change of clothing, shaved, and at the time appointed was ready for the arrival of Lynne’s car.
It came, about five minutes late, and the detective ran down the steps to meet it before it had stopped before the door.
The day was bright, cheerful, and sunny, and the weather was almost warm; under ordinary circumstances a better day could not have been selected for such a journey.
Nothing was said between the two men beyond a greeting, when Nick first entered the car, which was driven by one of the Lynne chauffeurs; but as it was a limousine body, the passengers could talk in comfort and at their ease as it sped along.
“Now, Mr. Lynne, are you ready?� Nick asked presently.
The man looked around at the detective quickly, with a half-startled air; he had evidently been absorbed in his thoughts; and he asked:
“Ready for what?�
“For the questions that I wish to ask.�
“Yes, I think so. What are they, Mr. Carter?�
“There are many of them, and some are what you might call intimate,� warned the detective.
“I agreed to your conditions, Mr. Carter, therefore I am prepared to reply to any and all the questions you care to ask me—provided I can do so.â€�
“Were you out late yourself last night?�
“I was.�
“What time did you arrive at your home?�
“At three this morning.�
“You used one of your cars?�
“Yes. I went——â€�
“Wait. Just reply to my questions.�
“Very well, Mr. Carter.�
“Who was your companion?�
“My—companion?â€�
“Yes. In the car you used last night. Who was your companion? You had one, did you not, Mr. Lynne?�
The man turned and looked closely at the detective for a fleeting instant before he replied; then, with a shrug of his shoulders, as if there were no help for introducing a disagreeable topic, or one that he would have preferred to keep out of the conversation, he said:
“Yes, Mr. Carter, I had a companion with me last night; a lady—the lady who is soon to become my second wife. I have long been a widower, Mr. Carter.â€�
“Thank you. The lady’s name, if you please?�
“Is it necessary to bring her into it, Mr. Carter?�
“Unless it should prove to be necessary, you may beassured that she will not be brought into it, Mr. Lynne. But I must know all the facts connected with last night. Will you tell me the lady’s name, and where she may be found, if that is necessary?�
“Really, Mr. Carter——â€�
“I warned you, sir, that some of my questions would be intimate.�
“Very well. The lady’s name is Mrs. Madge Hurd Babbington. I need not tell you her address, since everybody in society knows that.�
It was true.
Everybody in society, and a great many who were not knew the name of Madge Hurd Babbington; knew about the remarkable beauty and talent of the young woman who had formerly been an actress, but who had married from the stage into the very elite of society; who had speedily divorced her first husband and married a second one, who had died within a year afterward.
Both her husbands were supposed to be rich, but the first one had so cleverly arranged his wealth that in the divorce proceedings the plaintiff had been able to secure but very little; and it was found after the death of her second husband that his supposedly large fortune had dwindled to little or nothing.
Since her widowhood Mrs. Babbington’s name had been linked with several in a supposed approaching marriage, but Nick could not remember that he had read anywhere that Lynne was one of them.
As for the woman herself, nothing had ever been whispered against her in any form that the detective could recall, and he thought to himself that, if Lynne had really been with her all that time and could establish that fact, it would prove an effectual barrier to all the suspicions he felt, yet did not want to feel.
“Where were you?� he asked, after a moment of thought.
“We attended a reception at the home of Madame de Seville.�
“Was Miss Lynne at that reception?�
“She was.�
“Who was her escort, if she had one?�
“I took her there myself.�
“Did you also take her home again?�
“I did.�
“At what time?�
“She complained of not feeling well, and it was, I should say, about midnight, when she sought me out and asked me to send her home. I took her to the car that was waiting, and entered it with her. I drove home with her.�
“Did you enter the house with her?�
“No. She said it was unnecessary. I returned at once to the reception.�
“Did you see her enter the house?�
“No. I have thought about that since this—this terrible thing has happened. I supposed I had seen my daughter enter her home, but, as I recall it now, I only saw her mount the steps in front of it. I did not actually see her enter the house.â€�
“You took your daughter to the reception with you—was Mrs. Babbington with you at that time?â€�
“No. It had been arranged that we were to meet at Madame de Seville’s. It was my intention to take them both in my car when we came away.�
“Then your daughter was aware of the engagement between you and Mrs. Babbington?�
“If you will pardon me for just one word of protest, Mr. Carter, I confess that I do not in the least see what all this private matter has to do with the subject in hand.�
“Did your daughter know about the engagement?� Nick asked again, without a change of his tone.
“She did not,� replied Lynne, with just a little show of heat. “It was my intention to tell her about it last night. The fact that she did not feel well, and that she wished to return home early, spoiled that intention.�
“Miss Lynne was well enough to start for the reception, but not well enough to remain, so I assume that she became ill after she arrived there—or do you suppose that she only pretended to be ill?â€�
“In the light of what has happened since, I can only suppose that she purposely deceived me, since in some manner, as soon as she parted with me, she must have started for Pleasantglades, though why——â€�
“What is there, at Pleasantglades, that could have drawn her there last night?�
“Nothing. Not a thing in the world that I know about.�
“Nothing that you can surmise?�
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.�
“When you returned to the reception after leaving your daughter at the door of your own home, did you remain there?�
“No; truth to tell, I did not.�
“What did you do, and where did you go?�
“Really, Mr. Carter, one would suppose——â€�
“We need suppose nothing at all, Mr. Lynne. You agreed to reply to my questions.�
“But all this is so preposterous.�
“Do you keep all your promises as unwillingly as you are adhering to this one?� Nick asked sharply.
“You are making it rather hard for me, Mr. Carter.�
Nick turned quickly to the man, and said sharply:
“Lynne, do you wish to be charged with the murder of your own daughter? If not, answer my questions.�
“My God, Carter, what do you mean by that?�
“Just what I say. Who is there but yourself who could have induced Edythe Lynne to go to Pleasantglades after midnight last night? Do you know such a man?�
“No, no; I do not.�
“Then reply to my questions. What did you do, and where did you go, when you returned to the reception after leaving your daughter?�
“I sought Mrs. Babbington at once, and told her about Edythe. I suggested that we had had enough of the party, and she agreed with me. She sent for her wraps, and we left there at once.�
“Where did you go?�
“To her home.�
“It was then what time?�
“Approximately one o’clock; perhaps a trifle later. I am not sure.�
“You entered the house with her?�
“I did. There is, on the first floor, a room that she calls her ‘cozy room,’ and we seated ourselves in there.We were talking over our future plans, and time passed more swiftly than I supposed. It was nearly three o’clock before I was aware of it. I left there, then, and went home.�
“In your car? Was that waiting for you?�
“No. I had sent that on to the garage. I told the chauffeur that I would not need him again. Surface transportation and the subway were sufficient.�
“You arrived home, you say, at three o’clock?�
“Approximately that, yes.�
“When I called upon you this morning you were preparing to go to Pleasantglades?�
“I was.�
“What was the business that was taking you there?�
“Nothing of importance. You probably do not know it, but there is a burglar-proof vault beneath the north wing of the house at Pleasantglades. It was built there, when that wing was built, five years ago. The existence of it has been kept a secret. In that vault are some heirlooms and jewels, and other things of value—in fact, there is a fortune there, Mr. Carter, in jewels, securities, and bonds.â€�
“You were going there this morning, then, to visit that vault?�
“Yes.�
“For no other reason?�
“No; to tell you the truth there are some jewels there which I wished to present to my fiancée to-day. It happens to be her birthday. That was the reason for my proposed visit.�
“Your daughter knew of the existence of the vault?�
“Of course.�
“And what it contains?�
“No, only in a general way.�
“Mr. Lynne, who has had charge of the keys to the lock on the iron gate, at Pleasantglades? or where were they kept?�
“I always kept them in my own possession—there are three of them, and you use one after another in opening the lock.â€�
“I know. Where are those keys now?�
“I do not know.�
“You don’t know? Why don’t you know?�
“I thought I knew exactly where they were until after you had gone from my house this morning. But when I went to get them, they were not in the place where I keep them. They had disappeared—and there is only one explanation: my daughter must have taken them.â€�
“Again, where did you keep them?�
“In a small safe in my own sleeping room.�
“A combination safe?�
“Yes.�
“Did Edythe know that combination?�
“Yes.�
“How is that?�
“How is what?�
“How does it happen that she knew the combination of that private safe, in your sleeping room, where doubtless you kept things of an exceedingly private nature?�
“Oh, as to that, there is nothing so very privatein that safe. Edythe knew the combination, because it was only yesterday that I had occasion to send her to the safe for some papers I wanted, and I gave her the combination at that time.�
“Has she never known it before?�
“I don’t think so.�
“What sort of locks are on the doors of that vault you have partly described, at Pleasantglades?�
“There are two combination locks on the outer doors, two more on the inner doors.�
“So it requires the knowledge of four combinations to get into the vault?�
“Yes.�
“Did Edythe know those combinations?�
“She did at one time. Whether she remembered them or not, I could not say.�
“How did it happen that she knew them at all?�
“She wrote them down for me in the little book where I keep them. I remember now, at that time I suggested to her that it would be well if she kept copies of them, in case anything should happen to me, and I think she did so, although the subject has never been mentioned between us since that time.�
“Wouldn’t it have been better to have deposited copies of the combinations with your bankers, or in one of your safe-deposit boxes in the city, to be used in case of accident to yourself?�
“I suppose so. In fact, that has been done; but I did not think of it at the moment. I preferred that Edythe should hold the secret herself.�
“I see,� said Nick. “Well, perhaps it was as well.�
There was another short pause, and then, with a sudden change of the subject, the detective asked:
“You did not look for the keys to the padlock on the gate till after I had left you this morning, Mr. Lynne, did you?�
“No. I did not.�
“Why did you look for them, even then? You must have known that they would not be needed, since the police are already in the house.�
“From force of habit, I suppose; and then, too, it occurred to me to see if they were in their place, since Edythe must have found a means of entering the grounds.�
“I see. I see,� said the detective.
The car was at the moment approaching an out-of-town drug store before which was one of the familiar Bell telephone signs, and Nick bent forward and signaled to the chauffeur to stop.
“I want to ask you to excuse me for a moment, Mr. Lynne,� he said. “I have thought of something concerning which I must telephone back to the city; but it will keep me only a moment after I get the number. I see there is a telephone here.�
He opened the door and left the car before Lynne could more than nod an assent, and in the store hecalled for his own number, and presently got Joseph, his man, on the phone.
“Joseph,� he said, “Chick or Patsy will communicate with you before very long. When either of them do that, I want you to direct for me that one of them be at the house to reply to a telephone call from me at one o’clock.�
“Yes, sir,� came the reply.
“If by any chance either should find it impossible to be there at one, I will call again at two and at three, and so on. You understand?�
“Yes, sir.�
“That’s all.�
When he returned to the car he noticed that Lynne regarded him rather strangely, as if the man had not exactly liked the idea of that telephone message; but Lynne only said:
“It did not take you long, Mr. Carter.�
“No; it concerned merely an instruction I wished to send to one of my assistants. And now we will resume our conversation. You were abroad nearly all of last summer, were you not, Mr. Lynne? I seem to remember seeing such a report in one of the papers.�
“Yes. I was away the entire summer, as a matter of fact.�
“Your daughter did not accompany you?�
“No. She remained at Pleasantglades in the care of a chaperon. She did the entertaining for both of us.�
“It occurs to me, also, that I saw something in thepapers at the time—some time during the summer, relative to your being very ill while you were abroad.â€�
“Yes; that is unfortunately quite true. I was traveling in Switzerland at the time I was taken ill.�
“You were traveling alone at the time, were you?�
“I had my man with me—my valet. He was also seized with the same malady, and he died of it, poor fellow.â€�
“Oh, yes; I remember about that now. You were at a mountain inn, or something of the sort at the time, as I remember the account. What was the malady? What was the trouble?�
“We were poisoned by something that we had eaten, but whether it was at table, or during one of our wandering expeditions, I never did know. But it was awful while it lasted. The regular old-fashioned cramps, you know, and all that. There were some hours when I thought I was to die, also. It was then that I cabled to my daughter. I suppose that is how the news about it got into the papers over here.�
“How long was your valet ill, before he died?�
“Let me see—I was suffering so myself that I scarcely remember much about the duration of time. It was morning—about ten o’clock when we were taken with the cramps, and at precisely the same moment, too, strange to say. I think it must have been about three, that afternoon, when Thomas died. He was a great loss to me.â€�
“You say you were at an inn? Wasn’t there something about being seized with illness while in the mountains, and finding your way to the inn afterward alone?�
“Surely. That was it. We were, as a matter of fact, all alone when we were seized. Some mountaineers found us and gave all the assistance they could, and afterward helped me back to the inn.�
“You did not immediately recover from that attack, did you?�
“No. I was ailing for a long time after that—several weeks, in fact; but the effect of it gradually passed away. I think it was the shock of losing Thomas in that manner that affected me as much as anything.â€�
“He had been with you a long time?�
“Yes. He was, in fact, a distant relative, strange as it may sound to you.�
“A relative, serving as your servant? That is strange.�
“Oh, it was quite generally known among my intimates. Thomas’ name was Lynne, also. He was a cousin so far removed that you could hardly call it a relationship; and, after all, he served more in the capacity of companion than servant.�
“I see. A mutually agreeable relation, eh?�
“Entirely so. I had offered him better things many times, but he preferred the life of ease and luxury and travel that he had with me, even in the capacity of valet, to the undertaking of more arduous things. He was rather a strange character, Mr. Carter.�
“Rather an odd one, I should say. How long a time had you borne that relation to each other?�
“Nearly twelve years. He came to me at the timeof the death of my wife. I had been in communication with him before that, seeking to do something for him, for I dislike to have it said that I have neglected poor relations. I sent for him then, and asked him to be my secretary—and that is really what he was. My secretary, although he performed the other services, also.â€�
“I see. How long have you been at home, Mr. Lynne?�
“Not more than six weeks; just about that. I joined a shooting party over there, which kept me longer than I intended to stay.�
“Your house at Pleasantglades was closed when you returned?�
“Yes. Edythe had returned to the city long before that.�
“So she was at home when you did return, I suppose.�
“No. She had gone on a trip to California with a party of friends in two or three private cars.�
“When did she return from that trip, Mr. Lynne?�
“Only last week.�
“It must have been a great joy to her to find you at home waiting for her when you had been parted so long, especially as you had been so ill while you were away,� said Nick, selecting a cigar from his case and proffering it to his companion, who accepted it mechanically, bit off the end, and also accepted the light which Nick offered him before he replied.
“It was,� he said then.
“You were here to receive her when she came?�
“No, but I arrived very soon after she did.�
“The same day, I suppose, eh? You must have arranged so that you could be together as soon as possible?�
“Oh, we did so arrange by telegraph, but I made a mistake in the schedule of the special that brought her back from her trip with her friends, so I was a little late at the meeting. But it was none the less pleasant, for all that.�
“So you met, really, only a day or two ago? I suppose she found you greatly changed, eh?�
“Not at first. She was too glad to see me for that.�
“Why do you say not at first?�
“Because later, after she had had an opportunity to observe me more closely, she decided that I had changed very much—for the better. Stouter, you know, and ruddier; and healthier. I was never very robust, until since this last trip.â€�
“Until since the poisoning in the mountains of Switzerland, eh?�
“Well, you see, I was so ill and down and out and all that, after that affair, that I did what I have never done before: I forced myself to the enjoyment of outdoor life—and I liked it; and it agreed with me wonderfully.â€�
“Just what day was it that you arrived in New York, Mr. Lynne? There was a mention of it in the paper, but it has escaped me.�
“The day before yesterday.�
“Only that?�
“Only that.�
“But in the morning, I suppose?�
“No. I arrived on the train that gets in at the Pennsylvania Station at nine in the evening.�
“And now, after being parted from Edythe so long a time, this terrible thing has happened to you. It is terrible, Mr. Lynne.�
“Ah, sir, it is more than that; it is unbearable. I am compelling myself to keep up, so please let’s not talk about that.�
“No, indeed, we will not, just at present. This engagement of yours with the lady of your choice must have been a matter of long standing, then. At least, we can find something that is pleasant to talk about in that subject.�
“Yes. Now that you know about it, I am glad to talk about it. We met—the engagement was consummated while I was abroad last summer. I had not seen Mrs. Babbington, either, for a considerable time—for several months.â€�
“It is rather strange that you did not hasten to her, rather than to your home, on the arrival of the train, Mr. Lynne.�
“To tell you the truth I did so, although I remained there but a moment.�
“Ah; you saw her first, then, and afterward went to your home?�
“Yes; but I was not there above fifteen minutes.�
“Tell me, had Edythe complained of feeling ill, do you know, before she started for that reception?�
“I don’t think so. I had not heard of it.�
“By the way, that butler of yours: is he the same man you had there before you went away last spring, Mr. Lynne?�
“No. He is one whom Edythe engaged while I was away. The old butler, Tompkins, who had been in my service for years, and who had grown old, wished to retire. He had quite a competence, so he could afford to do so.�
“I see. And Edythe engaged the new one?�
“Yes. She cabled me that Tompkins was leaving three months ago.�
“And what has become of Tompkins? Old servants are always interesting.�
“He has returned to his home somewhere in England.�
“Have you never heard from him since he left you? I should think that such an old servant would like you to know something about what had become of him.�
“Oh, yes, he has written to me, Mr. Carter.�
Nick Carter sat silent for a long time after that, and Lynne seemed quite content that he should do so.
The detective was thinking over the facts of the case as he was arranging them in sequence in his own mind, and he could see but one conclusion at which to arrive as an explanation of the mystery; if the reader has already guessed at that conclusion, so much the better, for it is not the purpose here to mystify—only to arrive at facts just as the detective arrived at them.
First, then, the known fondness between J. Cephas Lynne and his daughter Edythe.
The papers had had it, and all the world understood it, that ever since the death of the mother of Edythe Lynne the daughter had been the apple of the father’s eye.
He had taken her everywhere, escorted her to many of the places she attended, and she had seemed to prefer his company to that of the young men of her acquaintance.
She had been his thought and care, and, indeed, his whole life, ever since the death of his wife twelve years before. That was the generally accepted idea of both of them.
One never saw in the papers the mention of the presence of one of them at a function, that the other was not there; for one to be absent meant that both were absent.
Upon the occasion of his going abroad that preceding spring, the papers had commented upon the fact that it was the first time the millionaire had been known to part with his daughter for more than a few hours, or at the most a few days at a time.
But some business had arisen which had called the millionaire abroad, and which could not be avoided, and a house party had already been invited to Pleasantglades.
But it was understood, and so stated in the papers, that it was to be a hurried trip, and so, when later it was announced that he had gone to Switzerland for a little outing, there was some wonder expressed in different quarters about it.
It had even been stated at the time that Edythe would sail by the next steamer to join her father abroad, and that then had come a peremptory cable directing her to remain where she was.
But that father and daughter should have been apart for more than seven months—Nick had not known of the time of Lynne’s return until now—was utterly unprecedented.
The idea of the father’s ever marrying again, devoted as he was to his daughter, and to the memory of her mother, would have sounded utterly absurd in the ears of any one of the acquaintances who knew them well.
The whole affair had a strange look to Nick Carter,for, as he had been led to understand the character of Cephas Lynne, the detective believed him to be a man of the very highest kind of sterling qualities.
Not at all such a man as he had found awaiting him in that room in the Riverside Drive mansion that morning; not at all such a man as was now seated beside him in the limousine body of the car, riding toward the body of his dead daughter.
The man whom Nick had cast for the part of Cephas Lynne should not have resorted to theatricals when first told of her death; and most certainly he should not have discussed trivial matters with the detective now, with the relish that this man beside him seemed to take in it.
In short, the whole bearing of Mr. Lynne had been that of one desiring to avoid some subjects, and to be willing to grasp at almost any other one to avoid those that he disliked—or feared—at the moment.
That sudden illness in the mountains was an interesting feature of the whole affair to the detective, for it seemed to him that the man whom he had cast for the part of the gentleman beside him, would have hurried home to his daughter the first moment he was able to travel after it.
But something had changed the father evidently—how greatly was yet to be determined.
And that something that had brought about the change? Was the woman, whom he had met abroad, but whom he had known for a long time at home, the woman to whom he said he was now engaged to be married—could she be entirely responsible for that?
Was this another case of the devoted father who finds a sweetheart and is afraid to tell his daughter of the fact?
Not as Nick Carter believed he understood the character of J. Cephas Lynne.
Suddenly and without warning the detective reopened the subject of Mrs. Babbington. He began it by saying, as if merely for the purpose of bringing an end to the silence between them:
“So you met Mrs. Babbington abroad and discovered only then that you loved her? That is interesting. I am always interested in romances. You have known her, of course, for some years, haven’t you?�
“Yes; since just prior to her first marriage, six years ago.�
“Was it after your illness in Switzerland that you encountered her abroad last summer?�
“Yes; some time after that.�
“When you had quite recovered from your illness as a result of the poisoning?�
“While I was recuperating in Scotland. I joined a party there, little supposing that I would meet with old acquaintances.�
“Ah! and she was of the party. It is really quite a romance.�
“It turned out to be so,� was the reply, and Nick thought that he spoke with some grimness that was not entirely called for by the circumstance.
“I suppose the fact that you were so far away from home, coupled with the other one that you had been so ill, and the general romantic qualities of the airaround you, brought about an understanding quite speedily, did it not?�
“We became engaged almost at once, if that is what you mean,� was the reply. And for some reason, which the detective could not name, the present aspect of the subject seemed to be distasteful to Lynne.
“But,� said the detective meditatively, as if he were trying to remember, “it seems to me that I saw somewhere a notice of Mrs. Babbington’s return to the city, a long time before your own arrival. Were you together long in Scotland?�
“We were at the same house about two weeks. We did not, unfortunately, meet again until I arrived here the day before yesterday.�
“Indeed. It would seem as if you should have made an effort to get together sooner than that, under the circumstances. I suppose you both dreaded the moment when Edythe had to be informed of the prospective relationship.�
Lynne grasped at that straw, as Nick would have called it.
“Yes; that was it,� he said eagerly. “I dreaded to tell Edythe about it; Mrs. Babbington insisted, rightly of course, that she should be told at once. I really think, Mr. Carter, that I found excuses to defer my home-coming, solely on that account.�
“No doubt. No doubt. Really, now, were there no little things that happened here in town when you knew Mrs. Babbington here, that led you to think that she might some day be your wife?�
The man turned a half angry glance upon the detective, and then the ghost of a fleeting smile appeared for an instant on his face.
“What a prober you are, Mr. Carter,� he said, with an effort at kindness, but Nick could see that it was an effort, and that there was something behind it, too.
“My dear, sir,� he said quickly, “I am trying to play the friend, as well as the enforced companion, since you want my professional services. I am endeavoring to discuss subjects that will lead your thoughts into pleasant channels. Now, for instance, when you first met your present fiancée in Scotland, you must have been greatly changed, by reason of your recent illness.�
“Indeed I was very greatly changed in every way.�
“And she saw it at once, of course.�
“Naturally.�
“And was greatly shocked by it, I have no doubt.�
“She admitted as much as that;� again there was that note of grimness in the reply.
“I suppose, quite naturally, it was a more or less delicate topic with you, Mr. Lynne.�
“Yes; it was. Still, I got over it, you know;� and this time there was a short, hard laugh, which the detective thought entirely out of place.
“The very fact of your recent illness, and your near approach to death, no doubt drew her to you as nothing else would have done.�
“I really think that that is the explanation of it all, Carter.�
“And then, too, having been much at your house—for she used to be quite friendly with Edythe, did she not?—there was not so much difference in their ages as to preclude that—she doubtless had some sort of acquaintance with that cousin of yours who was your valet, and who died?â€�
“Naturally.�
“She remembered him, of course?�
“Of course.�
“The relationship between you was so distant that, of course, there was no physical likeness between you, was there?�
“Oh, none at all that anybody ever spoke about.�
“All valets are smooth of face, by necessity of their calling, and you have always worn the mustache and Vandyke beard, haven’t you? Every picture of you that I have seen in the papers has had it so.�
“I haven’t shaved my face or upper lip since I entered college, and that was nearly thirty years ago,� was the quick reply.
Again the detective relapsed into silence—with a purpose.
After a moment he began to speak of the beauty of the day, for it was a perfect one, and he drew his companion’s attention to patches of the snow that had fallen during the night upon the landscape they were passing.
And while he did that he did another thing—in an utterly abstracted manner, as if he had no thought of what he was doing.
He removed his cigar case from his pocket a second time, helped himself to a cigar, and then, as ifwith second thought, passed the case to Lynne while he sought his match safe.
He struck the match and held the flame of it out for the other to light by, and then applied it to his own cigar; and so they smoked on in silence for another distance, until the detective said:
“We should arrive in another ten minutes now. How do you like those cigars, Mr. Lynne?�
“They seem very good, indeed. I—er—I am not much of a smoker, Mr. Carter.â€�
“No? You seem to take kindly to it just now. I suppose that is due to the excellence of the cigars, isn’t it?�
“It must be so.�
There was another silence after that, and a grim smile was playing upon the features of Nick Carter.
It broadened, too, when as they drew nearer to Pleasantglades, and came into the more thickly populated localities, Lynne threw the not half-smoked cigar from the window, and straightened himself suddenly.
“We will be there in a moment now, Mr. Carter,� he said.
“Yes. We will be there in a moment.�
“Need I say to you that you shall be very generously recompensed for whatever you can do to relieve me of the strain and terror of this awful business? I have no doubt that my daughter came here deliberately to kill herself. Why, I do not know; but you must help me to find that out.�
At the house Nick Carter found things unchanged.
Save for the presence of the policemen who were guarding it, and the local coroner who was awaiting the arrival of “the great man� of the neighborhood, there was no change.
They were a respectful, quiet lot, truly sorrowful for what had happened, and genuinely in sympathy with the man whose dearest possession had so ruthlessly been taken from him.
And he passed among them with bowed head, with his hands behind his back, not speaking to a single one of his many old acquaintances of the neighborhood who had been permitted inside the grounds to offer their sympathy.
And this, one man was heard to say, was not at all like Mr. Lynne, although he couldn’t be blamed under the circumstances.
But Lynne looked neither to the right nor the left as he advanced into the house, and, followed closely by the detective, led the way straight to the room where the dead girl waited.
At the door of it, when others would have followed him inside, he turned and spoke to one of the officers at the door in a low tone, and the officer announced:
“Mr. Lynne would like to be alone for a time. Please wait.�
But Nick, who was close behind him, stepped forward and gripped him by the arm.
“I think I had best go inside with you, Mr. Lynne,� he said, in a low tone. “It may be important, you know.�
Lynne nodded, and Nick followed him inside the room and closed the door.
While Nick paused near the door by which they had entered, Lynne crossed quickly to the divan couch, and Nick could see that he looked eagerly everywhere about the room as he did so, and that he half paused near the table where the fan and the gloves and the vanity box were still lying as Nick had left them.
But he kept on his way until he stood beside the couch, looking down upon the dead; and Nick could see that the man was shuddering, shuddering, shuddering, through his frame and shoulders, as if with something more than grief.
“I will go over to the opposite side of the room to one of the windows, until you call me,� said the detective, speaking in a kindly tone; and he did cross the room to the window, which was, however, tightly closed and one could not see out, although some one had had the forethought to have the electric lights connected. There had been no time nor reason to take down the guards at the windows.
But Nick stood there with his back toward Lynne—and he took a small mirror from his pocket, and held it, by folding his arms, so that it reflected enough of the room that was behind him for him to be able to see perfectly well all that might happen there.
And after a moment he saw Lynne turn calmly about as if to speak to him, and then, discovering that his back was turned, he saw the man leave the side of the couch and cross quickly and silently to the table, the top of which he searched with his eyes.
And Nick, even in that small mirror, could see a pained expression come into those eyes when that search was not rewarded; and he saw those eyes dart swift glances from place to place around the room, as if searching for something.
Without stooping or searching with his hands, he sought under the table as well as upon it, and an expression of amazement, and then suddenly one of relief, appeared on his features.
“Mr. Carter!� he called, after a moment, and Nick turned about.
“Yes? What is it?� he asked.
“I am ready for you to do what you please here, now.�
“Very well.�
“There is only one thing that I would like to suggest, in case you wish me to leave the room.�
“I have no wish for you to leave the room. That is for you to decide for yourself. But what is the suggestion?�
“It seems to me that my daughter could not have done this terrible thing without leaving some word for me somewhere. It seems incredible that she should take her own life in the manner she has done it, and leave no message behind her. I want to ask you tosearch diligently for such a message. For a letter or a written line. There must be something, somewhere.�
“Why are you so certain that she took her own life, Mr. Lynne?� Nick asked quietly.
“Why, everything points to that.�
“Do you think so? Have you considered everything, since you speak of everything?�
“Yes, yes, yes, of course I have.�
“But, nevertheless, Mr. Lynne, there is one thing that you have overlooked.�
“That I have overlooked? What is it?�
“This: Whether she took her own life or not, she was not alone in this room when she died.�
“Not—alone—in—this—room—when—she—died!â€�
“No, sir, she was not. There was another person here with her.�
“But, what in the world do you mean? How could you possibly know that?�
“Mr. Lynne, people who die suddenly, as she died, have their eyes wide open when they are found. Edythe’s eyes were closed—are closed, rather, and, therefore, there was some person here to close them.â€�
“Great Heaven, Carter, what do you mean?�
“Just what I say, Mr. Lynne. Edythe was not in this room alone when she died. There was another person here with her, who closed her eyes after death.�
“My God, Carter, is it possible that you can surmise that?�
“I do not surmise it; I know it.�
“Know it? No, no, that is impossible.�
“It is not impossible. It is a fact.�
“But——â€�
“Edythe died from the effects of a dose of prussic acid. People who die from prussic acid die so suddenly there is no time for a thought even. Her eyes would have been wide open now, if some person had not closed them—the murderer!â€�
“The murderer? Ah, no, not that.�
“Yes. I mean that.�
“But—I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. It is impossible! It is preposterous! It is not to be thought of. Search, search, Carter; you will find somewhere a note that she has left behind her to tell of this deed. It must be so.â€�
“Even if I should find such a note or letter, Mr. Lynne, I would not believe it. I would deem it a forgery, made by a clever scoundrel, to deceive others. Edythe Lynne did not kill herself; she was killed!�
“But—who? Who? Who could have done such a thing?â€�
“Ah, who, indeed? That is yet to be determined.�
“What makes you so positive, Carter? Tell me that.� The man was making a great effort to control himself, but all of that effort might easily have been attributable to the excitement and emotion of the moment, under the harrowing circumstances, and Nick Carter was perfectly well aware of that fact.
“There are many things that make me positive, Mr. Lynne.�
“The condition of the eyes alone?�
“No. Not that alone. There are other things.�
“What other things?�
“I will not go into them now, sir. You are too greatly excited by all that has taken place since last night.�
“But tell me. Tell me.�
“I will tell you after a little, Mr. Lynne. I think, just now, we had best call the coroner inside. He has been very patient.�
And, although Lynne tried to protest, Nick stepped past him to the door, opened it, and called to Doctor Kuhn to join them.
“I think,� the detective said, when the doctor entered the room, “that you had best give your first attention to Mr. Lynne; and if I may make a suggestion, it would be that he is ordered into another room to lie down while the chief of your police and you and I make what investigation we can in this room. Don’t you agree with me?�
“I do, certainly,� replied the doctor, taking Lynne’s wrist and feeling his pulse. “You really must rest, if only for a few moments, sir,� he said, in a kindly tone to the millionaire. “You are greatly excited. Your pulse is beating like a triphammer.�
Lynne opened his mouth as if to protest, just as the big figure of the local chief of police loomed in the doorway; and somehow the sight of it seemed to change his mind, for he bowed to the policeman and spoke in a low tone to him, and passed out of the room.
Nick Carter stepped forward quickly and closed the door after him, thus shutting himself in alone with the coroner and the chief.
“Gentlemen,� he said, “I suppose you notice thegreat change in Mr. Lynne, since you last saw him, don’t you?�
“I certainly do,â€� replied the chief, with emphasis on the I. “He was always most cordial to me, and to-day he has scarcely spoken to me at all; but I suppose that is due to this affair. Poor little girl. Why, Mr. Carter, I’ve watched that girl grow up, and she seems almost like one of my own. A sweeter, purer, gentler, more lovable soul never dwelt in a human body. If I could get my hands on the fiend that did that act—I expect I’d have to go to prison myself.â€�
“You are convinced, then, that it was murder, chief?�
“Just as sure as can be. There isn’t the slightest doubt of it in my mind.�
“So am I convinced of it, chief. And we will get at that, presently. By the way, doctor, have you, too, noticed any especial change in Mr. Lynne?�
“Why, yes, but more in his manner than in anything else, although he is certainly much stouter and in much better general health than when I last saw him. Oh, no, I don’t know as there is so much change, after all. He has grown considerably grayer, I think.�
“I wonder—he is feeling badly, you know—if a cigar would do him any good? A cigar is a great thing for me when I am——â€�
“No use, Mr. Carter,� said the chief. “He don’t smoke.�
“Doesn’t smoke? Are you sure?�
“Never smoked in his life. He has often told me that. He said he used to want to smoke because heliked to see others doing it, and they seemed to get so much pleasure out of it, and he often tried it. He has told me that often.�
“And couldn’t he even learn to smoke?�
“No. At least, he said not. He has told it to me often. He couldn’t stay in a room where there was much tobacco smoke, and it used to make him mad because he could not. But there is something about tobacco that he can’t stand. He could never learn to smoke; and I call that hard luck. But come, hadn’t we better get down to business?�
“Yes, I think so. Coroner, have you discovered one of the best proofs that this is a case of murder and not one of suicide?�
“I don’t know that I have. What do you mean?�
“Have you ever seen a case of prussic acid suicide where the eyes were found closed?�
“By Jove! Mr. Carter, you’re right. No, I have not; nor anybody else.�
“Well, what did I tell you?� demanded the chief. “I knew it was murder, just because I know the little girl wouldn’t have killed herself.�