“Well, it wouldn’t. Your word, after that speech, isn’t worth the effort it takes to speak it, as you must see for yourself. Why don’t you try to realize that that sort of talk won’t get you anywhere, nor help the girl either. Why don’t you try to understand that to find the real murderer is the only thing to free Miss Remsen, and the only way to do that is to investigate.”
All of a sudden, I saw myself for a silly fool.
“You’re right, March,” I said, earnestly; “and I’m going to try.”
“That’s more like it,” he applauded. “Come on, we’ll work together.”
“I’ve just read a detective story, where a sweet young girl was the criminal, after all,” Maud said, contributing an argument to our conversation.
It was Sunday, the day after the Tracy funeral.
As we sat on the porch, after the midday dinner, Ames came along and joined our group.
“Well, Mr. Moore,” he said, “unless you consider yourself engaged by me on the Tracy case, and you certainly have never given me to understand that, I am ready to call the deal off.”
“Why?” Keeley said, offering him a cigar.
“Principally because the evidence seems so strong against Alma Remsen, and I’ve no wish to see that girl convicted.”
“Why not?”
“First, because she isn’t guilty, and second, because, if she were guilty, I don’t want to be in any way instrumental in bringing it home to her.”
“You’d compound a felony——”
“Oh, rubbish! But, yes, of course, I’d compound a felony rather than raise a finger to help establish her guilt.”
“What makes you think she is guilty?”
“I didn’t say I thought she was guilty, I said the evidence seems to point that way. But evidence doesn’t always point to the truth, by any means.”
“Very true. Have you any other suspect?”
“I’m not looking for suspects. I want to get away from the whole business.”
“Yet only a few days ago, you wanted me to investigate this matter at your direction and at your expense.”
“I know it. But I’ve changed my mind. I want to go away, to go back home. If I’m needed for any purpose, you can always find me. I’m not going to disappear.”
“I don’t think you’ll be wanted by the authorities, Mr. Ames, if that’s what you mean. I have crossed you off my list of suspects and I think Detective March has done the same. However, you will speak to them, of course, before you leave town.”
“Oh, certainly. And, Mr. Moore, I’ve been doing a bit of looking about on my own. I don’t know that it will be of help or even interest to you, but I’ve satisfied myself that nobody at Pleasure Dome was the murderer of Sampson Tracy.”
“You mean no member of the household?”
“Yes, none of the staff of servants, neither of the secretaries, nor myself. That completes the tale of the occupants of the house that night.”
“And how have you come to your conclusions?”
“By questioning, both straightforward and also more adroit. I have talked to the servants, and I have examined their rooms and possessions, and I have no hesitancy in pronouncing them all innocent.”
“Perhaps they know something about it, though.”
“Not the ones who are there now. A few, I believe, have been dismissed. They may know something. I cannot get at them, of course. But those who are there, and they are the principal ones, are innocent, and are eager to find the criminal.”
“They do not, then, suspect Alma Remsen? Surely they would not be anxious to discover her guilty.”
“No, they will hear no word against her. Griscom, especially, flies into a rage at a hint of her implication in the matter.”
“And the two secretaries?”
“Are as innocent as I am. I can scarcely expect you to take my word about myself, but I want to witness for Everett and Dean. They had no reason to kill Tracy, for I don’t agree that their expected legacies were sufficient motive. I had a motive, I suppose, as I sorely needed the money he left me, but I didn’t kill him to get it.”
Ames didn’t smile, he made his statement in a calm, honest way that carried absolute conviction. And there was no evidence against Ames. Had he wanted to kill Tracy, he surely would not have gone to the trouble to fix up all those foolish decorations, nor would he have been apt to think of making that telltale scratch across his own door.
“I think nobody suspects you, Mr. Ames,” Keeley said, and Ames returned:
“No, nobody does. They’re all on the trail of Alma Remsen. By all, I mean of course, the police; there’s nobody else sleuthing, that I know of, except yourself.”
“There is plenty of evidence that seems to point to Miss Remsen,” Kee said, slowly, “the question is, does it really indicate her? Did you ever hear, Mr. Ames, that she was in any way affected, either physically or mentally, by any disorder that would make her—er—irresponsible in her behaviour?”
Ames moved uncomfortably in his chair.
“I’d rather not answer that question,” he said, “but I suppose my disinclination to reply would be construed as affirmative. So, while I decline to discuss it, I will admit that I have heard rumours to that effect.”
“Then if it can be proved that she is mentally affected, surely no punishment can come to her, even in case of conviction.”
“Perhaps not. But if she is mentally afflicted, it seems all the more horrible to add to her sufferings the horrors of a trial.”
My heart warmed toward Harper Ames. At least, he had the instincts of a human being, and not those of a cold-blooded sleuth.
“You feel, as I do, that the bizarre effects of that deathbed implies, or at least suggests, the work of a disordered mind?”
“Either that, or an exceedingly clever mind trying to give the effect of a more or less demented person.”
“Have you, in your talks with the servants or secretaries, learned any rational explanation for those strange conditions?”
“None at all.”
“One more question, please, Mr. Ames,” Kee said, gravely, “and then I have done. Have you, since the death of Sampson Tracy, learned of any incident aside from these strange conditions we have mentioned, that seems to you to implicate Miss Remsen?”
An obstinate look came over Ames’s face, and he shook his head, but it was plain to be seen that he was concealing something.
“You can’t expect us to believe that half-hearted negation,” Kee said, with a nod of understanding. “I know you don’t want to accuse that poor girl of anything more, but try to realize that what you think against her interests may be for them.”
“That’s a new way to put it!” and Ames looked a little bewildered. “But it might be true. You know in the story books the nephew is always overheard having a violent altercation with his uncle, but he is always proved innocent.”
“Who overheard Miss Remsen quarrelling with her uncle?”
“I did. I may as well tell you, for I daresay it is my duty. And it may, as you say, redound to her favour, though I can’t see how. Well, I was passing through the hall on the Tuesday afternoon, the afternoon she said she was there, you know, and the two were in the library. The door was partly open, and with no intent of eavesdropping, I couldn’t help hearing some words as I went by. Alma was talking, and while not loud, her voice was strained, tense, as if with deep feeling or passion. She was saying: ‘Please don’t tell Mrs. Dallas, uncle, please don’t! If you do, I shall do something desperate! I can’t bear it to have you tell her! She hates me, anyhow, and it would make her hate me worse! Uncle, I beg of you....’ I heard no more, as I went right along.”
“You’re sure of what you did hear?”
“Sure of the intent. I may not have the words exact. But Alma was very angry and Tracy very decided. I gathered that. And the speech I heard was absolutely as I have told you in meaning, if not in identical language.”
“Well, let’s come right down to it. You think Tracy proposed to tell his prospective bride that his niece had an affliction that made her uncertain of herself at times?”
“That is what I think. I know that Tracy planned to tell Mrs. Dallas something—and you know she declared that herself—so, hearing Alma say what she did, how can one help putting two and two together?”
“It may be as you say. But what about the theory that Alma is shielding somebody?”
“Who can it be? Only one or both of those strange old people who take care of her. And somehow, I can’t see her running her own head into a noose to save them, even if they are in danger, which, by the way, I haven’t heard that they are.”
“They’re not definitely suspected that I know of, but I’ve thought it might be that they were so upset by Tracy’s determination to expose the secret of Alma’s affliction, that one of them might kill him to prevent such a disclosure.”
“Ingenious as a theory,” Ames said, “but not very probable as I see it.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, would either of those people, capable of murder though they might be, cut up all those monkey-tricks that looked like the work of a diseased mind? Just the way to draw suspicion on their beloved charge.”
“That’s a facer,” Kee agreed, “unless they didn’t think of that, and only arranged the flowers and things with a view toward general bewilderment.”
“Not good enough. No, Alma isn’t shielding anybody, but she is queer, very queer. And the older servants, Griscom and Fenn, are worried sick about her.”
“They don’t believe she did it?”
“They don’t know what to believe. There’s so much against the girl. And there’s a rumour that somebody saw her over there that night.”
“Who saw her?”
“I can’t find out. One maid told me another maid had told her so, but Fenn came along and gave the girl a dressing down, and she won’t open her lips now.”
“Well, Mr. Ames, I’m grateful for the facts you have detailed. Every fact helps, just as every opinion hinders. Isn’t Miss Remsen now the owner and head of the Pleasure Dome estate?”
“In a way, yes. Legally, of course, she is the rightful heir. And as she is not under arrest, she can take possession if she chooses. But she says she won’t go there until this inquest matter is over, and then, I suppose if she should be accused and arrested, the place would be shut up for a time.”
“Hard lines on Mrs. Dallas,” Maud said, “losing her expected fortune and prominent position.”
“Yes, and no.” Ames smiled a little. “Between you and me, Mrs. Merrill, though Mrs. Dallas is terribly shocked at the manner of his death, I can’t feel she is mourning deeply for Mr. Tracy. I think Charlie Everett had pretty well cut out the elderly millionaire.”
“Well, that’s her business,” Lora said, coldly. “I am so sorry for Alma, I’ve no sympathy to spare for Mrs. Dallas. They can’t arrest the girl if she isn’t responsible for her actions, can they?”
“I don’t know. It depends on conditions and circumstances.”
“I hope, Mr. Ames,” I said, speaking more pleasantly than I felt, because I had no wish to antagonize him, “that you won’t feel it necessary to tell any one else what you have told us. Mr. Moore, of course, will tell the police whatever he deems wise, but I mean the matter needn’t become village gossip.”
“No, Mr. Norris,” Ames returned. “I have no wish to have Miss Remsen’s name bandied about. And now that I have told all I know, my own conscience is clear, and if not detained by the authorities, I shall go home. But I daresay they will keep me until after the finish of the inquest on Friday.”
Ames went off and his departure was closely followed by the arrival of that detestable little Posy May.
I cordially disliked the girl, and I felt sure she was bringing fresh tales about Alma.
Nor was I wrong.
The flapper swung herself over the arm of a big chair, and landed Turkish fashion in its depths. Demanded cigarettes and their attendant paraphernalia.
Then, with a solemn, owl-like expression on her pert little face, she said, “I have additional information.”
Keeley prepared to listen, for he had often said he gained more knowledge from outsiders than from the regular force.
“Yes,” Posy went on, “I’ve been inquiring round among the folks who live nearest to Whistling Reeds Island, and I’ve found three who have seen Alma when she was in her tantrums.”
“Look here, Miss May,” I said, hoping to trap her, “how is it that you or your friends you’ve been interviewing can see what goes on on the Island? I’ve been there, and it seems to me it’s so walled in by trees and shrubs that there’s little visible from the lake.”
“That’s true, Mr. Norris,” Posy spoke seriously, “but there is a place at the back of the house, a sort of vista, small, but open. I think somebody removed a tree or two in order to see out. If your boat is in line with that, you can see in quite plainly. That’s where I saw Alma when she was paddywhacking the old nurse, and that’s where my friends have seen exhibitions of the same sort.”
Posy had a quaint way with her, when she was serious, and somehow she gave the impression of sincerity in what she said.
Anyway, she had the attention of her hearers and she went on, excitedly:
“So, I asked the girls, and they couldn’t remember at first, and then the three of them said yes, they had seen Alma through that opening in the trees. And they said—one of them did—that she saw Alma going for the nurse with a croquet mallet. And the man—that’s the nurse’s husband—had to come and pull Alma off of his wife!”
“Now, Posy,” Kee looked at her sternly, “I don’t want these yarns at all if there’s a bit of fairy story about them. Do you know them to be true?”
“I honestly think so, Mr. Moore, because I made Ethel—it was Ethel Wayne who told me this one—cross her heart and hope to never if it wasn’t true. And Ethel is a truthful girl, anyway. Why, once she——”
“Never mind side shows. Now, if you feel certain you have true stories to tell, get on with the others. Who next?”
“Oh, you hurry me so! Well, then I struck Mary Glenn. She is a very serious thinker, and she wouldn’t exaggerate a tiny mite, she wouldn’t. And she said she saw something she never had told anybody, not even her mother. And she wouldn’t tell me at first, till I told her it was official work I was doing and that if she didn’t tell I’d set the force on her. You know everybody is quelled at mention of the law and so she came off her perch, and told me.”
“Told you what? Now, repeat it as she said it, don’t embroider it any.”
“No, sir. Well, she said she saw Alma through that same gap in the hedge, and Alma wasn’t angry or anything like that, but she was throwing things into the lake. And the nurse was trying to stop her, but she couldn’t. Alma threw in her string of beads and then her hat and then her slippers and then a book she had with her, and then something else, Mary couldn’t see what that was. And all the time the nurse was saying, ‘Now, Miss Alma—oh, please be good, Miss Alma,’ and like that. So, if Alma Remsen isn’t off her head, I don’t know who is!”
“You said there were three,” Moore said, quietly, “go on, please.”
“The last is the strangest of all,” Posy said, with a tense calm, quite like Keeley’s own. “Daisy Dodd told me, and she’s a most reliable person. I’d trust Daisy to tell the truth about anything! Well, she was out in her canoe, one afternoon, late, you know, about dusk, and she saw Alma come out through that gap in the trees, and stand on the edge of the lake. It’s awful deep there, and there’s quite a high bank. Well, Alma stood on the bank, and all of a sudden she put up her hands, and splash!—she dove in! Daisy was scared to death, it was so deep and all, but Alma came right up, and swam off a few strokes and then she swam back to shore, and scrambled up the bank, all dripping wet.”
“Had she on a bathing suit?”
“No, that’s just it. She had on her everyday clothes, one of those sports suits she ’most always wears, and she came out of the water, like a drowned rat, and then stood, looking at herself as if surprised she should have done what she did.”
“Was the nurse on the scene that time?”
“Daisy said, she rowed on then, but as she was nearly past, she heard somebody cry out, ‘Oh, Miss Alma, what have you been up to?’”
“Well, Posy, is that all?”
“Yes, Mr. Moore, and you can depend on it all as being true, at least so far as I know. And I know those girls would never make up those yarns, there’d be no sense in that, would there?”
“No, I can’t see that there would,” Keeley said, speaking absent-mindedly as if his thoughts were on the stories he had just heard.
“Posy, you’re a good girl,” Lora said, feeling, I was sure, that somebody ought to give the girl the applause she had earned. “But you’re going to keep those things secret for us, aren’t you?”
“Yes’m, I’m going to do just what you and Mr. Moore tell me. For I’ve made up my mind. I’ve found myself and I’m going to make detective work my vocation. I think I have a decided talent for it, and I am sure——”
“Well, Posy,” Keeley said, suddenly waking up, “if you want to be a detective one of the first things to learn is to keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve just promised Mrs. Moore not to say a word until you say I may.”
“That’s a good girl. Now if that finishes your report, I’ll excuse you for to-day. I have to act upon your information, you know. You feel sure, don’t you, that these episodes happened just as you’ve narrated them?”
“Yes, I do. I know those girls, and what they say they saw, they saw. Daisy said she thought Alma was a little lacking, but the others didn’t say that, they only thought she had a fierce temper that broke out suddenly sometimes.”
“Either of those things may be true, but don’t think about it. Run off now, and play with your sheik. And forget all about this case unless you get some further knowledge that is both true and important. But, remember, not a word of it to any one—not any one at all!”
“See my finger wet, see my finger dry, see my finger cut my throat if I tell a lie,” said the girl, in a singsong tone, and with accompanying dramatic gestures of fearful histrionic fervour.
Then she ran away, and we sat and looked at one another.
“The problem seems to be solved,” I said.
“Seems to be,” Moore returned, and something in his voice gave me a grain of hope. I don’t know what it was, it was not really encouragement, but I knew he had a ray of light from somewhere, and I had to be content with that.
“You believe all Posy said, don’t you, Kee?” Lora asked.
“Yes, I do. Those youngsters aren’t going to make up such things, and I know that gap in the line of trees, I’ve often looked in there but I never had the luck to see any drama enacted.”
“Why do they have that break when they seem so anxious for utter concealment?” Maud inquired.
“Maybe the servants cut it for convenience in taking in parcels, or to look for their sweethearts,” Kee surmised. “Oh perhaps it just happened that a couple of trees died and haven’t yet been replaced. I say, Gray, why don’t you go over to see Alma?”
I nearly fell off my chair at this, and my heart bounded at the idea. Then, I thought what it might mean, and I said, bitterly:
“To spy on her, and come home and tell you what I’ve ferreted out?”
“I feared you’d say something like that,” he returned, gently. “But while you can do that or not, as you choose, I tell you honestly, I had only your own interest at heart When I suggested it.”
“Then I’ll go,” I said, heartily, knowing Kee incapable of insincerity.
“What are you going to give as a reason for calling?” Lora asked, smiling kindly at me.
“The truth,” I said, smiling back, and in a few moments I was off.
I jumped into a rowboat, a canoe was not such a familiar craft to me as to the others, and I rowed away to the island house.
The dour boathouse keeper met me, and after a mere word of greeting I hurried up the path to the house.
Merry herself answered my ring, and at first she looked stern and unapproachable. “Miss Alma is seeing nobody, sir,” she informed me. “She is lying down just now.”
“Won’t you ask her if she couldn’t give me a few minutes? I’m not here on business of any sort, I’m just making a social call, and perhaps I can cheer her up.”
I had unwittingly struck the right note, for Merry smiled a little, though the tears came into her eyes, too, and she gave me a long look as she said, “sit on the porch, please, sir, and I’ll ask Miss Alma.”
I sat down, and there, in that strange, eerie stillness, in that quiet, mysterious atmosphere, I vowed my life to Alma Remsen, I consecrated my heart and soul to my darling, and I determined to save her from this cloud that seemed to hang over her.
To be sure, my ideas of this salvation and indeed of the cloud itself were a trifle vague, but both mind and soul were full of her and her dearness, and at a light step behind me I turned to see her coming toward me across the verandah.
All in white, her golden curls a little tumbled, and her big, beautiful eyes a little heavy with trouble and sadness, she came, her two hands outstretched as if asking my aid.
I rose slowly, as she slowly advanced, and it seemed to me that as she traversed those few feet across the porch and as I awaited her, we asked and answered all the necessary questions, and when at last I held her two dear hands in mine, I drew her nearer into my arms and clasped her to me.
She made no resistance, she did not hold back or repulse me, but lay against my breast like a tired child, finding haven at last.
I held her so, soothing her a bit, and caressing her golden head, but saying no word lest I startle her.
In a moment, she lifted her head, her eyes gazed into mine and all the woe and sorrow came back into them.
“No, dear,” I said, “no, don’t look like that. Look happy——”
“Happy!” she said, with an awful intonation.
“Yes,” I said, “like this!” and I kissed her.
It was just after I had given Alma that first kiss, and had realized that she was not offended by my daring, that Merry came to the house door, crying out, “Come, Miss Alma, come quickly!” and with an agonized look, Alma begged me to go at once, and she herself ran into the house.
Then John Merivale came out and controlling his agitation with an effort, he said, “If you please, sir, Miss Remsen asks that you go home now. She cannot see you again and she will send you some word later on.”
“Tell me what’s the trouble, Merivale,” I urged. “I am a friend of Miss Alma, more than a friend, indeed.”
I looked at him squarely, as man to man, and he gazed back at me, his face drawn with strong emotion of some sort.
“If you want to help her, sir, you’ll just go quietly away. You can do nothing here.”
So, there was nothing to do but to go, and I started off down the garden path.
I looked back at the house as I stepped on the dock, but I saw nobody at any window, nor any sign of anybody about.
It was all mysterious, terribly so, but I had the remembrance of that moment when I had held Alma close in my arms, and she had offered no resistance.
Surely, some day, the clouds would clear away and all would be explained.
Slowly I rowed back to the Moore cottage and pondered as I went.
When I reached Variable Winds, I found the family and Detective March in full conclave.
Spread on a table before them lay a conglomerate collection of small objects, among which I recognized a lot of beads that I had seen Alma wear, a pretty finger ring and several other odd bits of jewellery. Also, some scraps of bright coloured silk, that I felt, intuitively, were bits of the Tracy waistcoats. Also, a Totem Pole, broken into three pieces.
I sat down with the others, and prepared to enter the discussion.
“I want to know all about it,” I said. “All you know. Don’t keep anything back with the idea of sparing my feelings. I have not had a definite talk with Alma, but I have reason to think she cares for me, and I am content to bide my time. But, I propose to do all I can to save her from what I feel sure is a mistaken suspicion of her guilt in the Tracy matter.”
“Very well,” said March, looking at me gravely, “then please understand that the evidence against Miss Remsen is overwhelming. You know most of it, you have heard nearly all the details of the case as they have come to light. Now, try to realize that the cumulation of all these facts is a mountain of proof that will be hard to move.”
“I have heard it stated,” I said, calmly, “that circumstantial evidence, though seemingly convincing, must never be taken as absolute proof.”
Keeley stared at me, as if amazed, but I stood my ground.
“You’ll have to get a human witness before you can declare a certainty.”
“True enough, Mr. Norris,” March agreed. “And we have plenty of human evidence. Mr. Ames’s story of the quarrel between Miss Remsen and her uncle, you have heard. At that time Miss Remsen declared she would do something desperate, if Sampson Tracy persisted in his determination to tell Mrs. Dallas something that Alma wanted kept secret. What could that be, save the fact of her own defective health, or impaired mentality? She said Mrs. Dallas already hated her, and, knowing that, would hate her more. What other construction can possibly be put on those words? Then, we have Jennie’s story of Miss Remsen’s behaviour the night of Mr. Tracy’s death. That girl would never invent a story so wildly improbable as the tale of Miss Remsen jumping from the window into the lake.”
“You’ll have to admit all March says is true, Gray,” Keeley said to me, his fine face drawn with deepest concern. “And also the stories Posy May has told us. They bear the stamp of truth, and they are all human evidence, not merely circumstantial. Now, I will tell you the conclusion that I have been obliged to arrive at. And that is, that Alma Remsen is indeed afflicted. Not with epilepsy but with a far more serious malady. I mean dementia praecox. This is a terrible statement to make, but I am sure it is the only diagnosis that fits the case. As you may or may not know, that condition may be in existence yet remain unknown and unsuspected by those nearest and dearest to the patient.”
“No!” I cried, recoiling from the thought of horrors that this idea conjured up. “That lovely girl——”
“You know nothing about the disease, Gray,” Keeley said, patiently. “I didn’t know much about it myself, until I read it up, which I have just done. It has many forms and phases, but there are some symptoms inseparable from the conditions. For instance, and this is the thing that impressed me from the very first. You remember I said the watch in the water pitcher was the keynote. Well, I had a vague idea, and my recent study has corroborated it, that victims of this dread disease almost invariably throw a watch into a jar or pail of water if they get a chance. That is a common peculiarity, and all the queer work around Tracy’s deathbed points unmistakably to a mind disordered by dementia praecox and nothing else. Epilepsy won’t do. That is a different disease. But the feather duster, the flowers, the waistcoat business, the Totem Pole, and more than all, the fatal nail, all indicate the same thing. Now, this disease has the strange quality of becoming evident at times, and then disappearing so utterly that no one would suspect its presence in the person affected. March and I have concluded that Alma Remsen is a victim of this horrible curse and that her actions are in no way of her own volition during the attacks of the dementia.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said, after a straight glance into Keeley’s sympathetic eyes, “but I suppose I must take your word for it. However, it makes no difference in my love and loyalty to Alma, but I want to get at the truth. Now if it is true, her doctor must know about it. And I can’t think Doctor Rogers would have gone off and left her if there was danger of attacks of such a sort.”
“That’s the way it seemed to me,” Keeley said. “Now, listen, Gray, and we’ll tell you all. We have tried to think Alma is shielding somebody, somebody maybe that is a victim of dementia praecox. We thought of the two Merivales and we considered their daughter, Dora. Any of the three are possible, you see. Then, owing to some things March noticed when making his search at Whistling Reeds, we had a new suspicion. He observed two breakfast trays, in the pantry cupboard, that had the general effect of being in frequent use and the dining table was used for two. He observed a can of cocoa, though he had been told that Miss Remsen had always coffee for her breakfast. He thought the guest room showed signs of being in use when there was no acknowledged company there. Indeed, he brought that lot of stuff on the table from the guest room waste basket. As you see, there are bits of jewellery and a lot of beads and such odds and ends. Those are the things a demented person throws away. Also, there are bits of the waistcoats that have been so much talked about. Well, we came to the conclusion that there was another inmate of that house beside Alma Remsen. Some relative or friend she was shielding, or perhaps the nurse or her daughter. Again, it might be a man, say, an unacknowledged brother or cousin, whose very existence had been kept secret. Anyway, there was a very decided mystery to be unravelled at Whistling Reeds. But then, Posy May’s stories and Jennie’s, too, brought it all back to Alma herself, and while we hated to do it we had to find out. And the surest way was through Doctor Rogers. So I telegraphed him at a dozen or more different places where he might possibly be found, and one of them hit its mark.”
Keeley drew a telegram from his pocket and passed it over to me. It sounded cryptic, for it ran thus:
YES A R VICTIM OF D P RECORDS IN MY SAFE LINCOLN HOLDS KEY.
YES A R VICTIM OF D P RECORDS IN MY SAFE LINCOLN HOLDS KEY.
“And so,” March said, rising, “we are just going over to the office of Doctor Rogers to investigate the matter. You may go or not, as you wish.”
“Don’t go, Gray,” Lora said, gently. “It is not necessary and will only cause you suffering. Keeley will tell you all when he comes back. You stay here with me.”
“Thank you, Lora, dear,” I said, “but I must go. I must know every development as it takes place. I’m a little dazed with this news from the doctor, but I can’t help feeling there’s a mistake somewhere. It can’t be that Alma——”
I stopped suddenly, for I remembered seeing her on the lake that night, and hearing her say afterward that she never went on the lake in the evening. Then, when she had these attacks, she acted without knowledge of what she was doing. If she had, under these conditions, killed her uncle, she was of course in no way responsible, and would not be held so.
Maud and Lora looked sorrowfully after us, and we three went down the path to the drive and got into Keeley’s car.
At Doctor Rogers’s office we found his assistant in charge. He had but a few of the doctor’s cases to look after and these were the simpler ones. Serious matters had been placed in the hands of more skilled practitioners, and some few important ones, we were told, were given over to specialists.
March showed him the telegram and asked what it meant.
“Well,” said Doctor Greenway, a pleasant-faced young man, “I guess I can help you out on that. My orders are to meet the wishes of any one bringing a telegram couched in that language. As you have doubtless deduced,” he smiled at the detective, “it means the key to the safe is hidden——”
“Behind Lincoln’s picture,” cried Kee, before March could speak.
“Yes,” smiled the young man, his eyes following ours to the large engraving of Lincoln on the wall.
He stepped up on a chair, turned the frame from the wall a little, and from an envelope pasted on the back of the picture he extracted a paper.
“This is the combination,” he explained, “which is what he means by key.”
Following the message on the paper, he twirled the dials, and soon opened the safe.
“I will leave you to your investigations,” he said. “This must be an important matter, or Doctor Rogers wouldn’t have sent that information. Those are his case books, I leave them in your charge. When you are finished with them I will return and close the safe again. I shall be in the next room.”
He went out and closed the door, and we looked into the safe, wondering what secret it would divulge.
So well was everything labelled and indexed that we had no trouble at all in finding the pages marked Remsen.
Keeley and March did the research work, I sitting idly by, but alert to learn their findings.
In a moment, I saw the utmost surprise and excitement manifest on their faces. They read from the same page, silently, eagerly, and then Keeley lifted his head, and with a look of pure joy on his face cried out:
“Take heart, Gray, Alma is all right!”
My heart almost stopped beating. I couldn’t speak, but my whole soul seemed to go out in a great prayer of gratitude that swallowed up all other emotion. I did not hasten them or beg for further disclosures; I knew they would come in good time.
At last they gave over reading and turned to look at one another with nods of understanding.
Then Keeley turned to me, and said, concisely:
“Gray, the dementia praecox patient is not Alma, but her sister—her twin sister, Alda. This twin did not die as a child, but lived, afflicted with this terrible disease. The mother of the little girl was so overcome with grief and shame, that she pretended the child had died, and had the little grave made to give credence to the story.”
“Alda?” I said, dully, not quite taking it in. “That isn’t a name——”
“It is the name of Alma’s twin, anyway,” March said, grasping me by the shoulder, none too gently. “Wake up, man, you have something to live for now! Listen to me. Alma’s twin sister is in the house at Whistling Reeds, and has been there all the time. While their mother was alive she kept the girls at Pleasure Dome, Alma openly and Alda secretly. No one knew of the sister’s existence except the three Merivales and Griscom and Mrs. Fenn.
“They were bound to secrecy by Sampson Tracy, and he knew how to command obedience. Of course, Tracy and Alma knew all. Then, when Alma’s mother died, she left Alda as a sacred trust, and Alma has devoted her life to the afflicted twin. You see, Alda is normal and sane the greater part of the time. But she cannot be allowed to know people for there is no telling when the spasms will come on. And when they do there is no treatment necessary save to control and soothe her. The Merivales, with Alma, look after that, and much of the time the two girls are together.”
“Now, you see the truth of March’s deductions that there was another inmate of the Whistling Reeds’ house,” Keeley said. “Where they keep her, I don’t know, but——”
“Let’s go right over there,” March suggested. “It’s only fair to end Miss Alma’s misery and suspense as soon as possible.”
Still dazed and wondering, I watched the others recall Doctor Greenway and give him back the paper he had produced, and then we went away—back to Keeley’s place, and into a boat and over to Whistling Reeds with all possible speed.
The glum boatmaster greeted us surlily, as usual, but March paid no attention and made straight for the house.
His ring was answered by Merry herself, and she looked very perturbed and anxious.
“I’m glad you’ve come, gentlemen,” she said. “We are in great trouble.”
It was then that I took the helm. As Alma’s fiancé, for I so considered myself, it was my right and my duty to take matters in charge.
“Mrs. Merivale,” I said, simply, “we know all about Miss Alda.”
She staggered back a step and then a look of relief passed over her strong, gaunt face.
“Yes, sir,” she said, apparently accustomed to accept the word of her superiors. “Then you can advise us, sir. Miss Alda is took very bad.”
“Do you want a doctor?” asked March, hurriedly.
“No, sir, a doctor can do nothing—nothing at all.”
“What can we do?” Keeley asked, eagerly.
“I don’t know yet—perhaps if you’d just wait down here, till I see how she is now——”
“Merry,” called a man’s voice from upstairs, and she hurried away.
I recognized the tones of John Merivale and I did not offer to go upstairs with the nurse, knowing she would call us, if necessary.
I longed to be with Alma, to comfort and care for her, but I could not intrude uninvited.
But after we had waited perhaps a half hour, Alma came downstairs and out to the porch where we sat.
She was composed, but with a new sadness in her eyes and a new droop to her lovely lips.
“I will tell you all,” she said, quietly, as she sat down, opposite to the three of us. “Since you know of my sister’s existence, there is no more occasion for secrecy.”
“Take it easy, Miss Remsen,” said March, with well-meant kindness, and Keeley rose, and then went and sat beside her.
I had an instant’s flash of jealousy, then realized it was better so. This ordeal had to be gone through with, and were I near her, I should have been unable to resist the impulse to clasp her in my arms in spite of the others’ presence.
Kee seemed to give her courage by his sympathy, and she began her story.
“I am so alone,” she prefaced it, “that I must tell it all in my own way. It is a strange story, but here are the facts. When my sister and I had scarlet fever, she did not die, but she at that time began to show symptoms of dementia praecox. My mother learned this, and knew the inevitable progress and end of the malady. So she declared that her little girl was dead to her and dead to the world, and should remain so, apparently. She therefore, with the knowledge and permission of Uncle Sampson, pretended that the child had died, and ever after kept her hidden from all but the few servants who knew about it. Uncle Sampson was very kind; I learned later that he thought my mother demented also and that’s why he humoured her so. But she was not, Doctor Rogers will tell you that. The years went by, and while my mother made a pretense of sorrowing for her dead child and often visited the little grave, she had great solace in taking care of my twin, Alda, and doing everything to make her life happy and pleasant. At Pleasure Dome, the grounds and house are so enormous it was not difficult to keep up the pretence and all went well until my mother died. As she left Alda to me, with an injunction to guard her as my life, I have tried to do all I could to obey her wishes. And I managed beautifully until Uncle Sampson wanted to marry and bring a wife home. There was only one thing to do, so we did it. I moved over to this secluded spot, and lived here, keeping Alda’s existence still a secret. The trouble came when Uncle Sampson determined to tell Mrs. Dallas about Alda. Uncle thought it dishonourable not to tell her, and I feared if she knew it, the secret would be a secret no longer. Uncle and I quarrelled about this, the last time I ever saw him.”
Emotion almost overcame Alma at this point, but she bravely controlled herself and went on.