Fleming Stone pondered over this letter. He had felt a certain curiosity concerning this absent cousin, who was heir to half the great fortune, and so would have had a possible motive for a crime that would secure his inheritance to him at once. But there was no possible way of connecting a man in Egypt with a deed committed in the victim’s boudoir. Vague thoughts of Loria’s employing somebody to do the deed for him formed themselves in Stone’s mind, but were soon dismissed as untenable. The man Bates could not be a tool of anybody, and beside, he didn’t kill the lady. The poison did that. The Count couldn’t be a tool of any one. He was too evidently his own master, and whether guilty or not, was entirely on his own initiative. Oh, the whole idea was absurd. The letter itself was sufficient exoneration for Loria. He was absorbed in his research work and though thoughtful enough of Pauline’s wishes, he was apparently not anxious to have his plans over there interrupted. He wrote like a good all round chap, and Fleming Stone could find no peg on which to hang a suspicion in his case.
“A good letter,” he commented, returning it to Pauline; “what’s your cousin like?”
“In looks? A little like me, but bigger and darker. He’s a fine-looking man, and a kind-hearted one. I shall advise him not to come home, for I know how interested he is in his work, and he can do no good here. Can he, Mr. Stone?”
“Frankly, Miss Stuart, I don’t see how he can. I may as well admit to you, the case seems to me a most baffling one. The assault with the black-jack is, of course, accounted for, but we have made no progress in the matter of discovering the poisoner. I feel that the solution of the mystery is closely connected with that paper snake. Can you give me any idea where the thing could have come from? Do you think Miss Carrington bought it herself?”
“I am sure she did not,” returned Pauline, but her voice and intonation were such that Stone turned quickly to look at her. She had gone pale, and her eyes looked frightened. “Oh, no,” she went on, hurriedly, “Aunt Lucy would never buy such a thing. She hated snakes.”
“I know that, but she must have gotten it somewhere. It is easier to think she put it round her throat herself than to think she let some one else do it.”
“Why do you say that?” and now Pauline looked angry. “It is incredible that she should have put that thing round her own neck! What could have induced her to do it?”
“There seems to be no theory to fit the facts,” said Stone, wearily, “so we must try to get some facts that may suggest a theory. You think, Miss Stuart, that you saw Miss Frayne leaving Miss Carrington’s room late that night?”
“I know I saw her with her hand on the door-knob,” returned Pauline steadily, and just then Anita herself burst into the room. “That is a falsehood!” she cried, and her big blue eyes flashed angrily; “how could you see me, when you were yourself in Miss Carrington’s room?”
This was what Stone had wanted, to get these two girls at variance; and he helped along by saying, “Were you, Miss Stuart?”
“Certainly not!” cried Pauline.
“You were!” Anita flung back. “Miss Carrington was talking to you! She said she wished her face was as beautiful as yours! To whom else could she have said that? Surely not to the Count! One doesn’t call a man beautiful. And we all know that Miss Carrington admired your looks and lamented her own lack of beauty.”
“All that applies equally well to yourself,” and Pauline gazed steadily at the blonde beauty of Anita. “Why wasn’t all that speech addressed to your own attractive face, and you repeat it to incriminate me?”
Here was an idea. Stone wondered if it could be that Anita was in the boudoir and to turn suspicion from herself tried to pretend she had heard Pauline in there.
“And she said you were fond of pearls!” went on Pauline. “Your admiration for my aunt’s pearls is an open secret!”
It was. Often had Anita said how much she preferred the soft lustre of pearls to the dazzling sparkle of other gems.
“And she left you ten thousand dollars in her will,” continued Pauline, more as if thinking these things over aloud than as if accusing Anita of crime.
“Wait, Miss Stuart,” cried Stone; “what are you doing? Implying that Miss Frayne had anything to do with the tragedy?”
“I am implying nothing. I am trying to see how far the accusations she makes against me will fit her own case. You remember she said my aunt proposed to leave my share of the fortune to some one else, but Carr’s share must remain untouched. Well, to whom else could she think of giving my share, but to this scheming girl who tried her best to get my portion, but did not succeed?”
Anita struggled to reply, but words would not come. So furious that she could not articulate, she gurgled hysterically, when into the room came Haviland and Hardy. Both looked exceedingly grave, and Gray went at once to Pauline and put his hand kindly on her shoulder. Then he suddenly caught sight of Anita and her evident distress, and leaving Pauline he went over to the other and put his arms gently round her.
“What is it, Anita?” he said. “What has upset you so?”
“Pauline!” was all Anita could say, when she was interrupted by Hardy.
“Let me speak first,” he said, for he saw there was dissension between the two girls. “I have made a discovery. At Mr. Stone’s directions I have been investigating shops where the paper snake might have been bought, and I have learned that one was bought at Vantine’s recently by Miss Stuart.”
“Ah,” said Fleming Stone gravely, “did you buy one, Miss Stuart?”
Pauline hesitated. She was white as chalk, and her lips quivered.
“Of course she did!” screamed Anita, greatly excited; “she did, and she was in there talking to Miss Carrington, just as I said! And she put that thing round her neck to frighten her! And then she gave her the poison, and then she came away and left her to die! All alone by herself! The fiend!”
“There, there, Anita, hush,” and Haviland tried to soothe the frantic exclamation of the girl.
Pauline stood waiting, in silence. At last she said, “When you remove that ranting woman, I will answer your question, Mr. Stone.”
“You’ll answer it now!” cried Anita. “In my presence, and at once.”
“I think you must answer, Miss Stuart,” said Stone, gently.“Did you buy a paper snake?”
“I did,” said Pauline, and added in a low tone, “A long time ago,—this can’t be the same one.”
“The date of the sale is about a week before the death of Miss Carrington,” went on Hardy, merciless in his statements.
“For what purpose did you purchase it?” asked Stone, a little sternly.
Pauline now drew herself up, proudly. “I bought it,” she said, in clear, distinct tones, “because my aunt instructed me to get it for her.”
There was a silence; and then, “Oh, come now, Pauline, you can’t expect us to swallow that!” Gray Haviland said, with a tolerant smile at her. “Try again.”
“That’s the truth,” said Pauline, but her voice trembled, and with a half-stifled exclamation of despair, she ran out of the room.
“Stop, Pauline, where are you going?” cried Haviland as he ran after her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “I’m going to cable Carr to come home! He’s the only one who can help me! You’re so wrapped up in Anita that you can’t tell truth from falsehood. Carr will know what to do,—and I shall send for him.”
“Wait, Miss Stuart,” said Fleming Stone, gravely; “you may cable Mr. Loria, if you choose, but for a few moments I must claim your attention. It is, to my mind, of the greatest importance to learn the details of the purchase of that paper snake, and I must ask you to tell us the circumstances of your aunt’s request for it.”
“There is little to tell,” said Pauline, in a hesitant way. “It was one day when I was going over to New York that Aunt Lucy just said, casually, to get her one of those Japanese paper snakes from Vantine’s, and I did.”
“That’s enough!” cried Anita. “Miss Carringtonneversent for a snake!neverin the world! You’ll be saying next she told you to get her some aconite to poison herself with!”
“Miss Stuart,” and Fleming Stone’s voice, though gentle, had a ring of decision, “if I am to go on with this case, I must insist on your entire confidence, and absolute,——” he hesitated over the word, “truthfulness.”
The two were alone. After the altercation between Pauline and Anita, Stone had requested the others to leave them, and he determined to get at the truth of this marvelous statement about the purchase of the snake.
“I understand, and you are quite right,” murmured Pauline, her manner quiet, her tone even, but in the dark eyes raised to his Fleming Stone saw fear,—definite, unmistakable fear.
“Then explain, for I am sure you can, why you suppressed the fact of your own purchase of that paper snake until forced to admit it.”
“I was afraid.” The beautiful face was of a creamy pallor and the scarlet lips quivered. But this evident agitation on Miss Stuart’s part did not deter Stone from his probing queries.
“Why were you afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that if you knew I bought the snake you would think I was in some way connected with—with the crime——”
“But don’t you see that to attempt to conceal the fact of your purchase makes any such suspicion more imminent?”
“Youdon’tthink I would—would——”
“I don’t want tothinkanything about it, Miss Stuart. I want toknow, and I want you to tell me all about your aunt’s strange request for you to buy a thing she so feared and abhorred.”
“I don’t understand it myself. But Aunt Lucy was full of vagaries and would often ask me to buy strange or outlandish things for her.”
“But not of areptiliannature?”
“No, she had never done such a thing before.”
“Did she give no reason for the request? Make no apology or explanation?”
“No. I was just leaving her, when she called me back, and said, ‘Won’t you stop in at some Japanese shop, and get me a paper snake?’ and I exclaimed in surprise at the request. Then she lost her temper and said she supposed she knew what she wanted and for me to get it without further to-do. So I did.”
“And when you brought it to her?”
“She merely took it and laid it in a desk drawer, without even unwrapping the parcel. I never saw it again till I saw it round her neck.”
“And you do not think she placed it there herself?”
“I am sure she did not. The only reason I can ascribe for her wanting it, is that she might have thought her dread of them a foolish whim and determined to accustom herself to the sight of them by means of the harmless toy. That’s all I know about that snake, Mr. Stone. But the truth, as I have told it to you, is so strange, so almost unbelievable, that I knew it would only serve to attract suspicion to me, so I denied it. You know Miss Frayne is only waiting to pounce on it as complete evidence of my guilt.”
“You and she are not good friends?”
“We have never been really friendly, though always polite on the surface of things. But she is jealous of me, and tried in every possible way to undermine my aunt’s faith and trust in me, and even plotted to have me disinherited and my fortune bequeathed to herself.”
“An ambitious plan!”
“She is ambitious. She intends to marry Mr. Haviland, and she intended to have my half of the Carrington money.”
“You don’t suspect her of the crime!” and Fleming Stone looked up quickly.
“Suspect is too strong a word. But to me there seems room for grave inquiries. I was in the hall at the time she declares I was in my aunt’s room,——”
“Wait a moment, Miss Stuart, isn’t this a sort of deadlock? You say you were in the hall, Miss Frayne says you were in the boudoir. Why should I believe one in preference to the other?”
There was infinite sadness in Pauline’s eyes as she looked at her questioner. “That is so,” she said, slowly; “why should you? I have only my unsupported word. Nor has Anita any witness. But, Mr. Stone, I thought a Detective always looked first of all for the motive. What reason could I have for—for killing my aunt?”
“You put it plainly, Miss Stuart, and I will reply in an equally straightforward vein. The first thing we detectives think of is, who will benefit by the crime? Naturally, money benefit is first thought of. The greatest money benefit comes to you and your cousin in Egypt. The nature of the crime makes it impossible that he could have committed it. There is, however, a possibility of your own connection with it, so we must question you. But there are others who benefit in a pecuniary way by the death of Miss Carrington, so they too must be questioned. You surely see the justice and the necessity of all this investigation?”
“Oh, yes, and it seems to me also justice that you investigate the story of Miss Frayne. She, too, has only her own unsupported word as to that conversation she relates. May she not have made it all up?”
“She has a witness, Miss Stuart, a credible witness. Mr. Haviland has told me that he saw Miss Frayne at the door of the boudoir at about quarter past one.”
“Gray saw her! He didn’t tell me this. Mr. Stone, I hate to speak ill of another woman, but Miss Frayne can really wind Gray Haviland round her finger, and I have no doubt she has persuaded him to give this evidence, whether——”
“Whether it is true or not?”
“Yes, that is what I meant, though I hated to say it.”
“Miss Stuart, it is often hard to tell when a man speaks the truth, but I have no reason to disbelieve Mr. Haviland’s statement. He told quite circumstantially of being up and down all night. He was restless and wandered about in several rooms during the small hours. You know he told of seeing the maid on the stairs. And he gives me the impression of a truthful witness who would not lie outright, even at the behest of a woman in whom he is interested.”
“Then they are going to suspect me?” Pauline’s voice was so full of despair that Fleming Stone caught his breath as he looked at her. Her great eyes were wide with fear, her hands were clenched and her whole body tense with horrified suspense.
“Give me some good reasons why you can not be suspected,” he cried, eagerly leaning forward in his chair. “Give me some proof that you were in the hall at that moment, or that you were in your own room, or——”
“That proves, Mr. Stone, that youdosuspect me! Your assumption that I could have been in my own room shows that you do not believe I was in the hall,—as I was.”
“Then why didn’t Miss Frayne see you there?”
“How do you know she didn’t? Why do you accept her words as truth, yet disbelieve mine?” Pauline had risen now and stood before him. Her tall slimness, her wonderful grace and her beautiful, angry countenance made an alluring picture. “I was not in favor of your taking this case, Mr. Stone, and I am even less so, now, that you refuse to believe what I say! I shall cable at once for my cousin to return. I do not wish Gray Haviland and Anita Frayne to arrange all this to suit themselves. I am mistress here, in Mr. Loria’s absence, and if my authority is doubted I want him here to stand up for me!”
“Just a moment, Miss Stuart. You are not entirely just to me. It is necessary for me to question you, but you must see that your innocence—of which I have no doubt—will be more easily established by a policy of frankness on your part, than by futile anger toward Miss Frayne or Mr. Haviland. The incident of the paper snake, as explained by you, is not necessarily incriminating, and if you will wait a few days before calling your cousin home, I think very likely you will prefer not to do so. I understand that you do not wish him to come home, unless he can be of assistance to you?”
“Yes, that is his desire, to stay over there unless I want him. But, Mr. Stone,” and now the lovely face was almost smiling, “if you mean what you said, thatyoudo not doubt my innocence, then I will not send for Mr. Loria. I am content to let it all rest in your hands.”
The girl’s beauty now was dazzling. Color showed in her cheeks, her eyes shone, and the curve of her exquisite red lips was almost a smile. Stone looked at her in amazement. He had spoken truly, he had not doubted her innocence, but this sudden elation on her part puzzled him. What did it mean? Only, as she meant it to seem, that if he believed in her innocence it could be easily proved? Well, he would accept that diagnosis of her attitude, but he would move warily. This case was unlike any other he had ever engaged in, so he must attack it in a different way. And first of all, he must decide which of these two women was speaking the truth. Yet, how could he decide? If Pauline had been in that room when Anita listened at the door, she would, of course, try to prove that she was elsewhere. But, in such a case, why not say she was in her own room? It wasn’t plausible that she should confess to being in the hall, if she were really in the boudoir. That, then, was in Pauline’s favor. But the conversation detailed by Anita? That must be further analyzed.
These thoughts flew through Stone’s quick-moving brain as he stood looking at his beautiful hostess.
“Puzzling it out, Mr. Stone?” and Pauline’s smile was a full-fledged one now; “perhaps I can help you. If you’ll accept my assistance without doubting my word, I’m sure we can do wonders in a detective way.”
This was not in Pauline’s favor. It was too much like bargaining with him to believe her innocent. Then, too, though all unconscious of it, Stone was influenced by the wonderful charm of the girl. Though her lips were smiling a little, her great dark eyes still held that look of fear, that hunger for protection, that desire for some one on whom to lean.
“And I won’t send for my cousin just yet,” she went on. “It’s too bad to call him home when he’s so busy over there. You know, Mr. Stone, that Mr. Loria is a wonderful man. His achievements in excavation have brought him fame and glory. And you mustn’t think he’s heartless because he doesn’t return at once. You know it was all arranged for us to go over there next month and he had made all sorts of plans for us and for himself. He can’t leave his work at a moment’s notice, unless, as he says, I have need of him.”
“Was he fond of his aunt?” inquired Stone, casually.
“He was her idol. To Aunt Lucy the sun rose and set in Carr. She was perfectly crazy to go on this trip to Egypt, in order to be with him. He was fond of her, yes. More so than I was, because she was always kind and good-natured to him, while she was always unpleasant to me.”
“Why was she?”
“I don’t know. Well, I suppose I may as well tell you, one reason was because she was always envious of any one whom she considered better-looking than she was herself. This may sound strange to you, Mr. Stone, but it was the key-note of my aunt’s existence. She adored beauty in every way,—pictures, clothes, everything,—but she was so sensitive about her own plainness, that a younger or prettier face made her, at times, irritable and even cruel. She would never engage a servant with any pretensions to good looks. Therefore, as she chose to consider Miss Frayne and myself of comely personal appearance, she was unkind to us both.”
“And Mr. Loria? Is he not handsome?”
“Oh, yes, very. But Aunt Lucy liked handsome men. Carr Loria is like a picture. His father was of Italian descent, and Carr has the clear olive skin and dark beauty of that race. Gray Haviland is good-looking, too, but it was only feminine prettiness that stirred up Aunt Lucy’s ire.”
“Why did she ever engage such an angel-face as Miss Frayne?”
Fleming Stone watched closely for a sign of irritation at this speech, and saw it. Pauline’s smile faded, and she said, abruptly:
“Do you think her so beautiful?”
“She has the perfect blonde fairness usually typified by the celestial white-robed creatures on the old canvases.”
“Yes, Anitaisa perfect example of a blonde. Why, she is the daughter of an old school-mate of my aunt’s, and so that’s why Aunt Lucy took her, and then she proved such an efficient secretary and such a patient, meek thing to scold, that she kept her position.”
“Miss Frayne doesn’t seem so extraordinarily meek to me.”
“No, indeed! She’s not meek at all. But she always was to Miss Carrington. That, of course, to keep the position, which was both easy and lucrative. Easy, that is, except for my aunt’s temper. That was vented on poor Anita, morning, noon and night.”
“That, then, might give us a motive for Miss Frayne’s desire to be rid of her cruel mistress and to get the inheritance that she knew would come to her at Miss Carrington’s death.”
Pauline shuddered. “I can’t think of such a thing, Mr. Stone, but, if anybody in this house is to be suspected of the awful thing, it can be no one but Anita. She tried, I know, to supplant me in my aunt’s affection, and to have my inheritance, or part of it, transferred to herself.”
“You know this?”
“Yes. For some time she has been making insinuations and telling my aunt tales about me,—untrue ones,—that would make Aunt Lucy angry at me. I tell you this, Mr. Stone, because I want you to know Anita Frayne as she really is.”
There was the ring of sincerity in the tone, there was a look of truth in the big, dark eyes, and there was a most appealing expression on the lovely face that gazed into his own, but Fleming Stone turned from the speaker with a polite but decided gesture of dismissal, saying, “Please ask Miss Frayne to come here a few moments.”
Awaiting the arrival of Anita Frayne, Stone thought rapidly. Forming his judgments, as always, more by impressions than by words, he found himself believing in Pauline Stuart. She had bought the paper snake, she had lied about it, but many women would have done the same. Knowing that the purchase of the toy meant definite suspicion, wouldn’t any innocent girl have feared and dreaded that exposure? If she had been guilty, she would scarcely have dared deny the facts of buying it, lest it be proved against her, and make matters worse. Again, it was impossible to connect that magnificent woman with crime! If she were connected with it, it could only be as the criminal herself. There was no theory that admitted of her being an accomplice, or a tool. Stay, there was that Loria man. Stone couldn’t rid himself of a vague idea of implicating the distant nephew by means of an accomplice on the spot. But the notion was not logical. If Pauline had killed her aunt under her cousin’s instructions, she was just as much a murderer as if she had done it entirely of her own initiative. And if the two cousins had conspired or worked in collusion, it was Stone’s duty to fasten the deed on Pauline, as the available one of the pair. Stone ran over in his mind the letter from Loria. It gave no hint of greed or cupidity in his nature. He was engrossed in the pursuit of his hobby, archæology, and was only willing to leave his work if that would definitely please his cousin, on whom, he fully appreciated, the responsibilities of the occasion would fall. He fully trusted Gray Haviland to look after all business affairs, so he was not a suspicious or over-careful nature. He asked no immediate money and only desired some, in the course of time, to further his work. Whatever might be the truth, there was no reason to cast a glance of suspicion toward Carrington Loria. His opinion of Pauline’s possible guilt Stone held in abeyance, and Miss Frayne entering, he greeted her with punctilious politeness and a confidential air, tending to put her at ease.
“Miss Frayne,” he began, “the situation is a grave one. I am forced to the conclusion, tentatively at least, that Miss Carrington was deliberately poisoned by some one in her own household. It may have been a servant, but it is difficult to imagine how or why a servant could accomplish the deed. At any rate, I must first consider the members of the family, and in so doing, I must request absolute truth and sincerity from all.”
“I’m sure I’ve no reason to equivocate, Mr. Stone,” and Anita’s voice was almost flippant. “All I’ve told about what I heard at Miss Carrington’s door is absolutely true, and I can repeat it word for word.”
“It seems strange you have it so accurately at your tongue’s end.”
“Not at all. I went to my room and wrote it down as soon as I heard it. I often make such memoranda. They are frequently useful later.”
Fleming Stone mused. This seemed a strange thing to do, at least in view of the later events, but then, if Miss Frayne had been the guilty one, and had made up all this story of overheard conversation, surely she would not have done anything so peculiar as to make that detailed memorandum; or if she did, would not have told of it.
“I have, of course, a copy of that memorandum,” continued Stone; “what I want is for you to tell me again why you think it could not have been entirely a soliloquy on the part of Miss Carrington.”
“For two reasons. First, I have lived with the lady for four years, and never have I known her to talk to herself or soliloquize aloud. Of course, this does not prove that she never did so, but I know it was not her habit. Second, nobody in soliloquy ever would use that definite intonation which is always used in speakingtoa person. You know yourself, Mr. Stone, that a soliloquy is voiced slowly, mumblingly, and usually in disjointed or partially incoherent sentences. The talk I heard was in clear concise speeches unmistakably addressed to somebody present. She could not in a soliloquy use that direct form of address, even if talking to some one in her imagination. She would not keep it up, but would go off in a reverie or drop into impersonal thought. I wish I could make this more clear to you.”
“You do make it clear, Miss Frayne. I know just what you mean. I quite agree that one could easily tell the difference between a spoken soliloquy and remarks addressed to a hearer. But you heard no replies?”
“None at all. But I hold that is not peculiar, for while Miss Carrington’s voice was especially high and carrying, an ordinarily low voice would not be audible through that closed door. You can prove that by simple experiment.”
“I have,” said Fleming Stone. “I have tried it, and as you say, an ordinary voice in a low tone is not audible. But Miss Carrington’s must have been raised unnecessarily, to allow of its being heard.”
Stone watched Anita’s face as she listened to this. But she only replied, with a shrug of indifference, “I can’t say as to that. I heard every word clearly, that’s all I can tell.”
“Suppose she had been talking to a picture of some one, say a photograph of Miss Stuart or of Mr. Loria, or of Count Charlier, would her tone of voice then be explicable?”
“Perhaps. But she would have had to imagine vividly the person there before her. And, again, Miss Carrington had no such photographs in her rooms. All her family photographs are in this library, in frames or cases. She was methodical in such matters. She has series of pictures of Miss Stuart and of Mr. Loria from their childhood to now, but they are all in order in the cases over there.” Anita made a slight motion of her hand toward a mahogany cabinet. “No, Mr. Stone, whomever or whatever Miss Carrington was talking to, it was not a photograph of any of her relatives or friends. As you know, there was none discovered in her room, so what could she have done with it?”
“That’s true, Miss Frayne. But hasn’t the theory of a living person in there also inexplicable points? If somebody was there, it was, of course, some one well known and whose presence in the house was unquestionably correct. But her remarks, as I read them from your notes, imply different auditors. Granting for a moment that Miss Stuart was there, why would Miss Carrington say, ‘Henri, Henri, you are the mark I aim at’?”
“I admit that must have been a soliloquy, or an apostrophe to the man she wanted to marry, though he was not present.”
“You have no thought, then, that Count Charlier was present?”
“Certainly not! The idea is absurd. Miss Stuart was in there with her aunt, and I’m sure it was some remark of Pauline’s, which I, of course, did not hear, that made Miss Carrington speak of the Count as if to him.”
“How, then, do you account for the presence of Count Charlier’s glove?”
“Miss Stuart put it there as a blind.”
“And how did Miss Stuart get it?”
“Easily. The Count had been spending the evening here. He may have left his glove by mistake,—or——”
“Or——?”
“Or Pauline may have abstracted it purposely from his coat-pocket during the evening with a prearranged plan to do all just as she did do.”
“Miss Frayne! you can’t mean to assert your belief that Miss Stuart so far planned the crime as to intend to cast suspicion on Count Charlier by means of that glove!”
“Why not? If Pauline Stuart is responsible for her aunt’s death, I assure you, Mr. Stone, she is quite clever enough to prearrange all details, and to plan so adroitly that suspicion should fall on some one else. Miss Stuart is far more crafty and deep than you can have any idea of! I have known her for four years, and I can tell you she is far from ingenuous!”
“Suppose we leave the question of Miss Stuart out of the discussion, and continue our first line of thought. Had Miss Carrington ever spoken to you of changing her will?”
As was his frequent experience, Fleming Stone’s quick question caught his witness unaware, and she stumbled a little in her speech, as she replied: “N—no. Why should she?”
“Only because her frequent quarrels with Miss Stuart might have made her wish to leave less of her fortune to her niece. And in the conversation you overheard, Miss Carrington touched on this subject.”
“Yes, she did. But except for that reference, spoken to her unknown companion, I have never heard anything of such an intention on her part.”
“You’re fond of pearls, Miss Frayne?”
“Oh, I know what you’re getting at now. That speech Miss Lucy made about fondness for pearls. Of course, I am. Who isn’t? I often told Miss Carrington that I admired her pearls far more than all her diamonds or other glittering stones. But I wouldn’t commit a crime for all the pearls in the world! And, if I had, why didn’t I steal the pearls?”
Anita’s voice rang out triumphantly as she put this question, but Fleming Stone said quietly: “I haven’t accused you of crime, Miss Frayne, but since you ask that, let me remind you, that if the crime were done with intent of robbery, the reason that the robbery was never accomplished is the same that kept the man Bates from stealing. Few people can bring themselves to take valuables from a dead body. However, I cannot think the poisoning was done with any idea of direct robbery, but for the gain that would come by the bequests of the will.”
“Then your search is limited by the list of inheritors?”
“It is, Miss Frayne.”
“Then, Mr. Stone, how can you overlook or undervalue the weight of evidence against Pauline Stuart? Remember, she bought that snake herself. Miss Lucy never told her to buy it,neverin this world! Pauline feared her aunt would disinherit her——”
“How do you know that?” the question was shot at her, and Anita fairly jumped as she heard it.
“Why—why, you know I heard reference made to it that night when——”
“When you overheard that conversation; yes, go on.” Fleming Stone had gained his point, which was to prove that Anitadidknow of the proposed change in the will before that time, and to his own belief he had proved it.
“Yes, I cannot doubt now that Pauline knew her aunt intended to change her will, and so she was so desperate at the idea of losing her fortune, she—I cannot bear to put it in words——”
“She poisoned the lady,” said Fleming Stone, very gravely.
“Yes.” Anita’s voice choked, but she enunciated the word. “Mr. Stone, you must think me dreadful to hold these suspicions, but you asked me to be frank——”
“And I wish you to be so. I am here, Miss Frayne, to discover the poisoner of Miss Carrington. It is my duty to get all possible light on the matter from any one I can. It is the duty of those whom I question to tell all they know, truthfully and straightforwardly. If these truths implicate or seem to implicate a member of the household, none the less must the investigation be carried on and the case be pushed to its inevitable conclusion. The great danger lies in mistaking opinions or imaginations for facts. Now you are telling facts as to the words you overheard, but you are giving only opinions as to whom those words were addressed.”
“That is so,” and Anita’s gaze was a wondering one. “But, Mr. Stone, since thefactof that person in the room is undiscoverable, one can’t help forming an opinion. Haven’t you one?”
“I have.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“I think those words were spoken to some inanimate object, not to a person. Suppose the remark thought to be said to Count Charlier was addressed to his glove, which she was undoubtedly holding at the time.”
“I never thought of that, because I have assumed that Pauline put that glove in her hand after—after it was all over, to implicate the Count. And, any way, that’s only that one remark,—or two. To what inanimate object was she talking when she said ‘To-morrow all these jewels may be yours’?”
“That I cannot answer. That whole conversation is most mysterious.”
“Indeed it is, Mr. Stone, under any other hypothesis than that of the presence of Pauline Stuart in her aunt’s room at the time!”
“May I come in?” and Gray Haviland’s good-natured face appeared, as he knocked and opened the door almost simultaneously.
“Yes,” said Stone, “and I will ask you, Miss Frayne, to leave us. I am getting to work in earnest now, and I want to push things a little.”
Stone watched the effect of this speech on Anita and was not surprised to see her look at him with startled eyes, as she unwillingly went through the door he held open for her.
“What’s doing?” asked Haviland, in his breezy way; and Stone replied, frankly: “Lots. Those two girls are sworn foes, aren’t they?”
“Of late they have seemed to be. The break came a month or more before Miss Carrington died. Two beauties never can remain friends.”
“They are both beautiful women,” agreed Stone. “Which do you think had a hand in the tragedy?”
“Good Lord! Neither of them! What are you talking about? That Count man is responsible for the whole thing, Bates and all.”
“I know you think so, Mr. Haviland, but I can’t agree with you. Now, look here, we’ve got to face things squarely. Take the story Miss Frayne tells, about that mysterious conversation. If it were all a figment of her brain,——”
“What! Man, you’re crazy! Anita Frayne make that all up out of the solid! Never, in a thousand years! If she said that talk was talked, itwastalked, and that’s all there is about that! Why or by whom it was talked, is another matter, and as I understand it, that’s what you’re here to find out. And, between you and me and the arc light, I don’t believe you ever will find out.”
“No?”
“No! And this is no aspersion on your powers. I believe that fool Count was in there, and as he’ll never admit it, and you’ll never believe it, how can it be proved?”
“Never mind that, now. Prepare yourself, Mr. Haviland, for some unwelcome questions. You don’t want to, but I must insist on your answering them. Which do you consider the more truthful and honest of the two young women I’ve just been talking to?”
“Nixie! You can’t get an answer to that question out of me! Why, I’d be a cad to say anything but that they are both impeccably truthful and honest.”
“So you would, in ordinary circumstances. But you must realize, Mr. Haviland, that I’m here for the definite purpose of solving the mystery of a terrible crime, and I can only do it by inquiry and investigation. If you really refuse to help me I must learn what I want to know in other ways.”
“But, hang it, man,” and Haviland, impressed by Stone’s manner, considered the question; “I do think they’re both truthful,—that is, one of them—Oh, I can’t say it! I can’t talk against a woman!”
“You’ll be obliged to tell all you know, sooner or later. If you tell me now, I truly believe it will be better all round.”
“Well, then,—now wait, I’ve got to think this thing out; I believe,—why, blessed if I don’t believe either of them would lie if she was in a tight place! There! you’ve made me say a nice, honorable thing, haven’t you?” and Haviland looked utterly disgusted with Stone and with himself too.
The days went by, leaving the mystery unsolved. Count Charlier was released from custody, there not being sufficient evidence to hold him. Bates was in jail awaiting the action of the Grand Jury, but it was recognized that he was not the murderer of Miss Carrington.
Search for the poisoner had so far been fruitless, and the newspapers were clamoring for the arrest of somebody. But the Police Detectives were at their wits’ end, and even Fleming Stone was baffled.
For hours, Stone sat thinking over the many peculiar features of the case. It was not in embarrassment that he felt himself unable as yet to trace the criminal, it was rather with a sensation of curiosity that he wondered what point he had overlooked. There must be some clue, some definite indication of what way to look, but so far he had not perceived it.
So interested was he in the search that he took no note of the passing of time or the growing impatience of those who watched him.
“It’s this way, Hardy,” he would say to the younger detective, “the mystery centres about that paper snake. When we find out the reason for Miss Carrington’s sending for that thing, we’ve the whole story.”
“You believe, then, that she did send for it?”
“Of course; why not?”
“We’ve only Miss Stuart’s word for that; and it doesn’t seem as if Miss Carrington would——”
“Nonsense! It doesn’t seem, you mean, as if Miss Stuart would—Why, man, what possible sensecouldthere be in Miss Stuart’s buying that snake on her own account? If she set out to poison her aunt,—which she didn’t,—she could have managed it in a dozen ways without lugging in that paper reptile. In fact, it never would have occurred to her to do so.Whywould she do it?”
“In an attempt to frighten the lady to death?”
“Rubbish! The first effect of such a fright would be a fearful outcry on Miss Carrington’s part, and immediate discovery of the plot. Moreover, if Miss Stuart bought that snake for any such purpose, she would have bought it secretly; at some little, obscure shop, not at a well-known emporium. No, sir, the snake is the key to the puzzle, but how? That is the question. You see, the doctors are pretty sure that the thing was put round the lady’s neck before she died. Therefore she was either unconscious at the time, or,—she was willing.”