Lyon was evidently expected, for he was conducted at once to the rooms which had been closed to him in the afternoon, and there he found Mrs. Broughton awaiting him. He was prepared to be interested in the woman whose story had so curiously touched his own experiences, but when he came into her presence he forgot that he was before the woman whose first husband he had buried, and whose second husband was a man heralded by headlines across a continent. He only saw a frail, slight, beautiful woman, with a wistful sweetness in her eyes, propped against high pillows on a couch. She looked so ill, so like a fluttering candle in the wind, that his concern must have betrayed itself, for she smiled at him with an air of reassurance.
"It was kind of you to come so promptly at a stranger's request," she said gently. "Miss Elliott told me of your visit this afternoon, and I wanted to thank you for respecting my wish to remain unknown to the general public. I wonder how you came to know?"
"It was mostly an accident," Lyon murmured. "I come across a good deal of incidental information, you know."
"You newspaper men are so clever," she said, and Lyon wondered whether his imagination was playing him tricks or whether there really was something like fear lurking in her eyes. Certainly her hands were fluttering with nervousness, and her breath came and went in hurried gasps that meant either extreme weakness or emotion. With an obvious effort that awoke his admiration, she pulled herself together and went on in a stronger voice.
"That was not the reason I had for wishing to see you, however. I wanted to ask you some questions that you, as a newspaper man, could answer better than anyone else; and since you already knew of my presence here, I could speak to you without spreading that insignificant bit of information any further than it has gone already."
"I shall be very happy if I can be of any service," Lyon answered, with more sincerity than usually goes into the polite phrase. He felt, really, that nothing earth could offer would rejoice him more, just then, than to have her ask questions, for nothing would more certainly reveal where her own interests and anxieties lay. But she seemed to find it difficult to begin, for a long pause followed,--a pause which he would not break, and which apparently she could not. At last she said, with an abruptness that made her voice tense,
"I was very much shocked by that tragedy Monday."
Lyon nodded, and kept his eyes lowered to remind her of his presence as little as possible. But, he wondered, why did she say Monday? If her knowledge of it came through the papers, the shock could not have reached her until Tuesday. And how else could she have known, unless--
"You see, I used to know--Mr. Lawrence," she said.
(Had she meant to say Mr. Fullerton, Lyon wondered, and veered from the name? Since Fullerton had been her lawyer, she certainly had known him, also.)
"That is why," she continued, "I am anxious to learn anything that you can tell me,--anything more significant than the reports in the public prints, I mean."
"There isn't much known. That is the difficulty of the situation. If you read the account of the inquest, you saw that Mr. Lawrence was merely held on suspicion, because the police had not been able to find any one else to hold. Of course it does not follow that they will not discover some other clue."
She listened with tense interest. "The law is terrible," she said with an involuntary shudder. "You never know what it is going to do. It is like a wild beast, waiting to spring. It terrifies me to think of Mr. Lawrence being actually in jail, but--they will have to let him go, won't they? He can't really be in any serious danger?"
"The circumstances were sufficient to warrant his arrest. Unless he can clear himself, or unless the real murderer is discovered, his situation is certainly serious."
"I can't bear to think of it!" she cried nervously, pressing an embroidered handkerchief hard against her trembling lips. "Why, Arthur Lawrence always was the very soul of honor. It's horrible to have him involved,--"
"Yes, it is," said Lyon simply.
"Has he a good attorney? If it's a question of getting the very best lawyer in the country to defend him, would it be possible for me--Oh, I have heaps of money, you know, and if it could possibly do anything for an old friend--"
"Did you wish me to make that suggestion to Mr. Lawrence?" Lyon asked.
"I don't know," she said helplessly. "I think I wanted your advice. If Mr. Lawrence is sure to be cleared anyhow,--" she hesitated irresolutely. "Perhaps I would better wait awhile and see how things go," she concluded, as Lyon gave her no help.
"I think the help that Lawrence stands in need of," said Lyon, deliberately, "is not money, but information that will clear up the case."
She started up nervously. "But I couldn't give that. I haven't any information. You didn't think--"
"I was only supposing a case."
"I should like to do something, but I don't know how I can. He has done much for me, without counting the cost to himself. I have reason to be grateful to Mr. Lawrence. Will you remember that, and if anything suggests itself to you that would give me an opportunity to do anything for him, will you let me know?"
"Is It your intention to stay here for some time, then?" Lyon said.
She looked helpless and undecided. "I--don't know. I didn't mean to, but I don't feel very strong. I think I may stay for a week longer. I need rest. I have had some distressing news. It has unnerved me."
"This is a restful place," Lyon said sympathetically. "It was fortunate that Miss Elliott's school was closed this week. You have been as quiet and undisturbed here as though you had been quartered in a rest-cure sanitarium, haven't you?" He had put the rather too personal question with intention, meaning to see how she would take it, but he was not prepared for its effect upon her. She looked at him with startled nervousness and laughed,--and then continued to laugh and laugh as though he had made an irresistible joke. Lyon waited for her to recover her poise, and it was not until her wild laughter changed suddenly to wilder sobs that he realized she was in the grip of nervous hysteria. He hastily rang the bell and then went out into the hall himself to meet the slow-answering maid and send her whirling back to bring Miss Elliott.
"Shall I telephone for Dr. Barry?" he whispered, when Miss Elliott had come and taken the still sobbing woman in her arms.
"Yes, do, for goodness' sake. What in the world started her?" Miss Elliott answered, distractedly. The situation was so alien to her rule-regulated life that she looked bewildered by it.
Lyon neglected the second part of her speech to attend to the first. He found the telephone in the hall, and got Barry.
"Hello, Dr. Barry. This is a message from Miss Elliott. She wants you to come at once to see Mrs. Broughton."
"That you, Lyon?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter with Mrs. Broughton?"
"She's crying and laughing together in a way to make your blood run cold. For heaven's sake, hurry along."
"If you have been upsetting that woman, I won't answer for the consequences," exclaimed Barry, with indignant emphasis.
"Then get over here as quick as you can and take it out of me afterwards," retorted Lyon, hanging up the receiver. He went back to Mrs. Broughton's door. The sobbing had ceased, and after waiting a moment Lyon caught one of the excited servants and sent her in to Miss Elliott with an inquiry and an offer of service. She answered that there was nothing more he could do, so he quietly let himself out of the house.
He had gone several blocks from the school when he became aware of the fact that a man on the opposite side of the street seemed to be keeping an eye on his movements. Was he himself an object of interest to someone connected with the case? He was conscious now that he had seen the man across the street without heeding him when he stepped out from the house, and he recalled the fact that he had fairly stumbled into the arms of a man in that same neighborhood when he came out in the afternoon. Possibly the man perceived himself observed, for he quickened his pace. But at the end of the block he crossed the street and came back on Lyon's side. Lyon looked sharply at him as they passed each other, but the man's face was indistinguishable in the shadow. It was only after he had passed on that Lyon remembered that the light from the street lamp must have fallen full upon his own face. Well, he had no reason to mind being identified.
When Lyon reached his rooms he proceeded to put into effect an ingenious little scheme that had occurred to him. He studied Miss Elliott's catalogue till he found the name of a pupil from a town where he had some personal acquaintance. He then wrote an appealing letter to an influential woman whom he knew there, telling her of his lonely state as a stranger in a strange city, and begging that if she knew a Miss Kitty Tayntor of her own town who was attending Miss Elliott's school in Waynscott, she send him forthwith a letter of introduction.
Conscience and interest in the "case" combined prompted Lyon to call upon Dr. Barry early the next day and inquire how Mrs. Broughton was.
"Just about as ill as she can be," the doctor answered grimly. "I had left special orders that she was not to see anyone. What in thunder did you mean by forcing yourself upon her in that way?"
"I didn't. She sent for me."
"Sent for you? What for?"
"She wanted to ask me something about the Fullerton case."
"Are you serious?"
"Certainly."
"And was that what you had been talking about when she had that attack?"
"Yes, in general. She used to know Lawrence, and what she particularly wanted to know was whether his situation was serious. She did not seem hysterical at all, or even specially nervous, until she went off suddenly at the end into that awful laughter."
"Well, if she should send for you again, you are not to go without letting me know first. Frankly, I consider that her reason is trembling in the balance, and the greatest care will be necessary to pull her through the crisis safely. I have a trained nurse with her now, and she is not to be allowed to see anyone till the danger point is passed."
"I wish you would let me know when I may safely call upon her."
"That won't be for some time yet. What do you want to see her about?"
"She entrusted me with a commission. I want to report upon it."
"She probably won't remember it when she recovers. I don't consider that she was really responsible for what she may have said or done yesterday. She has had some sort of nervous shock that has shaken her entirely out of the normal. It will take a long time before she is herself."
"When did she call you in?" Lyon asked abruptly.
"Tuesday afternoon. Why?"
"Oh, I just wondered how you came to know so much. Good-by."
He went away with a sense of bafflement. That Mrs. Broughton was in some way connected with the tragedy, and that the nervous shock from which she suffered dated from that evening, seemed to have been made so patent that he had all the eagerness of the hunter to run the facts down. And yet to do so under the present circumstances was almost brutal. How could he raise a breath of suspicion against a woman who was trembling on the verge of mental derangement as a consequence of what he had seen or had possibly had a share in? And yet if the truth would serve to clear two innocent people from suspicion, could he justify himself in not speaking? More and more he felt inclined to entertain the idea that the woman he had seen running across the street was Mrs. Broughton. If he could but establish this as a fact and so clear Lawrence's mind of the conviction that it was Miss Wolcott, he felt that Lawrence would probably be able to clear himself of the shadow under which he rested without difficulty. Brutal or not, he must get the facts,--quietly if possible, but he must get them. It would be more brutal to let the innocent suffer than to fix the crime upon the guilty, however sympathetic he might feel toward the latter. He determined to go quietly on and gather what information he could without at present sharing his suspicions with anyone. With this end in view he went to the Wellington, Fullerton's home.
He hunted up the elevator boy in the first place, and soon established a thoroughly satisfactory understanding with him on the basis of some theater tickets.
"Now I want to see how good a memory you have, Johnny. You know that lady who came to see Mr. Fullerton that evening,--"
"Yes, sir, I remember all about her."
"Did you know who she was?"
"No, sir, she kept her veil down all the time. But she was an elegant lady. She had on a dress that swished when she walked, and an elegant muff and coat."
"What were they like?"
"Why, just fur."
"There are lots of kinds of fur. Did you notice particularly?"
"Why, dark fur, I guess," Johnny answered hopefully. "Yes, elegant black fur."
Lyon saw he was improvising and passed on to another point.
"What time did she come?"
John brightened into positiveness. "Half past seven. I know that for sure, because that was when I told her she would be apt to find him, and so I was watching out for her when she came."
"Oh, then she had been here before?"
"Yes, she came twice in the afternoon, but Mr. Fullerton was out. I told her she would find him for sure if she came at half past seven, because he wouldn't be going out in the evening before eight, but she was so anxious that she came again about four o'clock. I knew he wouldn't be here then, and it was just as I said."
"When you told her to come at half past seven, didn't she look at her watch?"
"Yes, she did!"
"What kind of a watch was it?"
"A little watch. I don't remember. But, gee, It was on a dandy chain all right!"
"I don't believe you remember the chain any better than you do the watch."
"Yes, I do. It was a long chain that went around the neck and she wore it outside of her coat, dangling, with a purse at the end. The watch was inside the purse. The chain was gold, with red stones in it here and there, and they sparkled like anything."
Lyon recognized the fidelity of the description. Mrs. Broughton had worn a long chain of enameled gold links, set with rubies magnificent enough to have excited the admiration of even less appreciative observers than an elevator boy. It would be crediting too much to coincidence to suppose that there could be another chain of so unusual a style worn by someone else that day.
"Had that lady ever been here before?" he asked.
Johnny was positive on that score. "No, she was a stranger. The first time she came, early in the afternoon, she didn't know where his room was, and I took her around and rang the bell for her myself. I never seen her before. She had a funny way of talking,--'Misteh Fullehton,'"--and he mimicked the soft evasion of the "r" that had characterized Mrs. Broughton's speech.
"Good for you, Johnny. You are doing well. Now do you know when she went away?"
"She and Mr. Fullerton went out together about eight o'clock."
"Now think carefully about this. Was there any other lady who came to see Mr. Fullerton that afternoon?"
"No."
"Or in the forenoon or in the evening? Any time at all on Monday?"
Johnny looked a little uncertain of his ground.
"They don't always say who they want. They just say 'Second floor,' or 'fifth,' you know. And sometimes they walk up."
"Then if there was anyone else who came to see Mr. Fullerton that day, you wouldn't know about it?"
Johnny dived into his memory.
"There was another lady here that evening, but I don't know who she wanted to see. She didn't say."
"When did she come? What do you know about her?"
"She came just after the lady with the long chain, because I met her in the hall as I came back from ringing Mr. Fullerton's bell. I thought she was going to the Stewarts' apartment because there isn't anyone else at that end of the hall except the Stewarts and Mr. Fullerton. Then when Mr. Fullerton and the lady came out and went down together, this other lady was in the hall again. I held the elevator for her, but she turned her back and I went down."
"Did you take her down later?"
"No, she must have walked down."
"Can you describe her? Did you see her face?"
"Na, she had a veil on."
Lyon inwardly anathematized the feminine expedient of wearing veils.
"Can't you remember anything about her?"
"I didn't see her close," he said apologetically.
"Have you told anybody else about Mr. Fullerton's visitor, Johnny?"
"Mr. Bede was here, asking me all about her the next day."
"Did you tell him the same things you have told me?"
"I didn't tell him about the chain. I didn't think about her looking at her watch until you reminded me."
"Oh, well, that isn't important," said Lyon, carelessly. "Did you mention the other lady to Mr. Bede?"
"No. Was she a-comin' to see Mr. Fullerton, too?"
"Not that I know of. What made you notice her, by the way?"
"She was a stranger. Most people that come here I know."
"You've done very well, Johnny. Now I want to see the janitor. What's his name?"
"Mr. Hunt."
He proceeded to look up Mr. Hunt, and preferred his request that he be allowed to inspect the rooms of the late Mr. Fullerton, but he found that functionary disposed to make the most of the temporary importance which the tragedy had conferred upon him.
"Them rooms is locked up. The public ain't admitted. The police has took the key."
"But you have a duplicate key, you know."
"And what if I have?"
"Why, you could let me in for half an hour."
"What for should I do that? This ain't no public museum, and I ain't no public Information Bureau to answer all the fool questions that people as ain't got nothing else to do can think of asking."
"I dare say that people have been imposing on you," said Lyon, with that serious and sympathetic air which served him so well on occasion. "But that's the penalty which you have to pay for being a man of importance. I like to meet a man of your sort. You're not the kind to let every curiosity seeker in. But this is different. You know I am writing this case up for theNewsand I think I'll have to have your picture for the paper, with a little write-up. No reason why you shouldn't get something out of all this. You let me into those rooms for half an hour, and I'll see that you have a notice that your wife will cut out and frame."
He had his way in the end, of course, and Hunt, grumbling but gratified, took him up by the back stairs, admitted him, and locked him in, with the warning that he would come personally to let him out in half an hour.
Left alone, Lyon looked about him with a great deal of curiosity and interest. Fullerton was a sufficiently important person in himself to give interest to his rooms, apart from the accident that a mystery had settled down upon his death. And these were not the conventional rooms of the average well-regulated and commonplace man. There was a mingling of oriental luxury and slovenliness, of extravagance and threadbare carelessness, that was a curious index to the owner's mind. The first room was evidently a combined study and lounging room, for it contained a revolving book-case filled with law books, a large table with papers and books spread promiscuously upon it, a couch, several luxurious easy chairs, a curious oriental cabinet high upon the wall, a dilapidated rug in which Lyon caught his foot, and a table with all the paraphernalia of a smoker. The feature of the room that especially attracted his attention, however, was the pictures. These were not of the character that one would have expected to find in a lawyer's private study. Instead of the portraits of jurists and law-givers, the walls were adorned with pictures of ballet girls of varying degrees of audacity. Some were so extreme that Lyon was distinctly startled. From the pictures, his eye wandered to the book-case at the head of the couch. No law books here, where he threw himself down to smoke at his ease, but novels, French and English, at least equalling the pictures in audacity. Evidently Fullerton had not had the tastes or tendencies of a Galahad. He could hardly have received his clients in this telltale room. Yet the open law books on the table indicated that he did occasionally do some studying here. Lyon was struck with the title of the first book he saw, and still more so when he found that of the half dozen lying open or with markers in them on the table, all dealt with the same subject,--divorce. The reason seemed clear when he picked up the file of legal papers on the table and found them to be a complete transcript of the Vanderburg divorce case. Evidently, for some reason or other, that matter had been uppermost in his thoughts of late. As he put the papers down, a filmy, crumpled-up handkerchief on the table caught his eye. It called to his mind the handkerchief which Mrs. Broughton had pressed to her lips the evening before to conceal their nervous trembling, and he was not surprised, when he unfolded it, to find the initials "G.B." woven into the delicate embroidery.
"Well, what do you make of it?"
The amused voice from the bedroom door made Lyon start, for he had supposed himself entirely alone. He spun about and faced a quiet little man, who was regarding him with a rather satiric interest.
"Hello!" he said. "I didn't know you were there."
"You were not supposed to," the other man retorted. "You are not supposed to be here yourself, you know. Are you trying your hand at amateur detective work?"
"I'm looking for material for a lively story," said Lyon, with his most ingenuous air. He had at once recognized Bede, a detective connected with the police force. Of course he had known that the police would be working on the case, but the actual presence of this shrewd-eyed, silent detective gave him a feeling akin to panic. Could Bede read his thoughts and tear from him the secret he was most anxious to guard,--Miss Wolcott's connection with the affair? It was absurd to think so, and yet the idea made him absurdly nervous. He thrust the thought down to the bottom of his mind and faced Bede with a blank aspect. "Help me out, can't you? Give me some interesting bits to work up for the public. What have you discovered so far?"
Bede laughed softly. "For the public?" He came over to the table and picked up the handkerchief which Lyon had thrown down. "You were interested in this, I noticed. Have you any idea who G.B. is?"
"I am a stranger in Waynscott," said Lyon casually. "Besides, my circle of acquaintances would hardly coincide with Mr. Fullerton's, I fancy."
"Oh, Fullerton had more than one circle of acquaintances. He was engaged to be married a few years ago to a young lady belonging to one of the most eminently respectable families of Hemlock Avenue. Ah, you knew that, I see, though you are a stranger in Waynscott."
"I think I have heard it mentioned," said Lyon carelessly, though his heart shook to think he had unconsciously betrayed so much. "One hears all sorts of rumors about the man."
"For instance--?" Bede asked politely.
"Oh, nothing that would be news to you. By the way, what theory have you to offer in regard to his coat being on wrong side out?"
"What do you make of it yourself?"
"Nothing. I'm entirely at sea."
Bede smiled a little and dropped his guarded air. "Well, he didn't turn it after he was hit, that's evident. Death was practically instantaneous. And the girl didn't turn it,--"
"The girl?"
"The woman you saw running across the street."
"Oh!"
Bede did not smile at the startled monosyllable. He only took quiet note of it, and went on without a break,
"--because a woman wouldn't touch a man who had been struck dead at her feet in the street. She would simply run away at once."
Lyon nodded attentively.
"And the man wouldn't have had time to do it after the girl ran away, because you were so near that you would have seen him if he had lingered in the neighborhood. He must have disappeared almost immediately."
"Not very gallant of him to run off in an opposite direction and let the girl shift for herself."
"Oh, I don't know. The girl had to get out of the way, and alone, as soon as possible. Besides, the man may not have run off in an opposite direction. He may simply have jumped off into that low, vacant lot until the gathering of a crowd gave him a chance to get away without being conspicuous." He was watching Lyon closely, but that young man's surprise was too genuine to be mistaken. "Therefore, to return to the question of the coat," he continued, "it is pretty clear that he must have turned it himself."
"But why?"
"As a disguise. To escape being recognized by a young woman who had seen him in a black coat a very short time before. It is possible that he trusted too much to the disguise and so came too near, and so provoked the quarrel which ended so fatally. Even a mild-tempered man doesn't like to be spied upon when he is, we may assume, making love on his own account."
"It seems to me you are assuming that Lawrence killed him, and then building up a scene to fit that theory," said Lyon hotly.
"What makes you think I am assuming it was Lawrence?--Because I suggested he was making love on his own account?"
Lyon felt that he had been trapped. "Well, aren't you assuming it to be Lawrence?" he asked bluntly.
But Bede was never blunt.
"At any rate, we must assume that it was a man who struck the blow."
"Why must we?"
"A woman doesn't kill in the open, even where she hates. She has the cat nature. She strikes from ambush, unless attacked. And she doesn't carry a man's cane, even for purposes of defense, much less for purposes of offense."
"There's one point about that cane business that I wonder whether you noticed," said Lyon, thoughtfully. "Lawrence swore that he had it in the State Law Library a few days ago, because he remembered poking a book down from a high shelf with it,--which is as characteristic of Lawrence as it must have been bad for the book. But he couldn't swear that he took it away with him, because he got into a dispute with Fullerton and he doesn't remember what he did. Now, isn't it possible, and even probable, that being excited by that discussion he walked off without his cane, and that Fullerton, seeing he had forgotten it, picked it up and carried it off, meaning to return it, and then forgot about it, and then, either intentionally or absent-mindedly, carried it with him that fatal Monday night on his walk? That would explain how Lawrence's cane got to be there, without involving Lawrence."
Bede had listened with the closest attention. "That is a very ingenious theory," he said thoughtfully. He walked back and forth across the room a couple of times, revolving it in his mind. "It is certainly a plausible explanation. Fullerton's antagonist may have wrested the cane from his own hand and struck him with it, as you very cleverly suggest. But I don't see that it alters the essential elements of the case."
"Not if it removes Lawrence's connection with the cane?"
"The cane is not a vital point. As you have ingeniously demonstrated, it would be possible to explain it away. The essential point is somebody's antagonism to Fullerton. A casual stranger does not walk up and hit him a blow of that nature, either with his own cane or with one snatched from the hand of his victim."
"A man of Fullerton's character would be sure to have enemies," said Lyon, argumentatively.
"But not all of his enemies would be roused to murderous fury to see him in company with a particular young lady."
In spite of himself, Lyon started. "Then you think you have identified the young lady?" he asked.
Bede was watching him closely, with a hint of a lurking smile.
"You don't ask with whom we have identified her? Quite right. Of course I couldn't tell a representative of the press. But I don't mind saying that we have theories as to her identity."
Lyon's heart sank. "Based on what facts?" he asked, doggedly.
"Oh, all that will come out in due time. I'll ruin my professional reputation if I let you lead me on to gossip any more." His serious manner contradicted the hint of irony in his eyes, but Lyon guessed that the eyes came nearer to telling the truth. "By the way, Mr. Lyon, how did you get into these rooms?"
"Oh, I'm in the habit of getting in where I want to go."
"Good for you. But I'll have to instruct Hunt as to his duties. You won't get in so easily the next time."
And Lyon fully admitted the truth of that statement the next time that he did get into those rooms.
Lyon was distinctly nervous when he got away from Bede and had time to reflect on their conversation. Two things were evident,--that Bede knew about Fullerton's former relation with Miss Wolcott and that he suspected Lyon of knowing more of the situation than the miscellaneous public. Was it possible that he was trying to connect Miss Wolcott with the woman who had called upon Fullerton that evening and had gone out with him? Lyon was satisfied in his own mind that the woman was Mrs. Broughton, but Bede was certainly justified in entertaining the other hypothesis, since he knew nothing about Mrs. Broughton. Would he give his hypothesis to the public? That was exactly what Lawrence had been so anxious to prevent that he had refused to clear himself of the charge of murder,--if, as Lyon believed, he was really not implicated. Was his sacrifice to be for nothing? Lyon saw, at any rate, that he himself must be wary in his movements, since it was evident that Bede was thoroughly alive to as much of the situation as he knew.
He had received a note from Howell, Lawrence's lawyer, asking him to call at his office, and he turned in that direction now. His way, however, took him past the jail, and he took the opportunity to carry out the scriptural injunction to visit those in prison. Poor Lawrence must need a little cheering up.
But poor Lawrence greeted him with a gayety that did not suggest the need of sympathy. Indeed, his eyes were dancing with triumph.
"Do you see my flowers, old man?" he cried jubilantly.
A huge bunch of long-stemmed roses, still in the florist's box, was filling the cell with color and fragrance.
"Who sent them?" asked Lyon suspiciously.
"Devil a card or a scrap of writing with them."
"Oh, then it's merely because you have become a celebrity," said Lyon, indifferently. "Silly women are always sending flowers to the principals in any murder case."
"Bad luck to you, you're jealous," cried Lawrence. "If you are going to slander my roses after that fashion, you can go,--go and get me a dictionary of the flower language. I want to find out what American Beauties mean,--when they come without a card."
"I'd like to know myself," said Lyon, taking note of the florist's name on the box.
Lawrence looked at him with mischievous eyes, that still were dancing with happiness. "Oh, but you are slow of imagination, Lyon," he said, softly.
Lyon concluded that he was not needed at that moment as a cheerer of those in prison, so he got away, and hunted up Howell's office in a tall office building down town. He was taken into the lawyer's private office, where he found Howell with his hands behind his back, staring moodily through the window into a dingy court, instead of deep in his books as a lawyer is supposed to be. There was exasperation and protest in every line of his figure. He turned to nod to Lyon without relaxing his gloom.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lyon. Sit down. I asked you to call in connection with this case of Lawrence's."
"Yes."
"Have you any influence with him?"
"I doubt it," said Lyon, with a smile. "I don't think that he allows many men to exert an influence upon him."
"At any rate, you are a friend of his?"
"Most certainly,--so far as I am concerned. I am rather too new a friend to feel that I have much right to claim the title."
Howell regarded him frowningly though with what was evidently intended for good-will.
"I think you will understand me, Mr. Lyon, when I say that a more pig-headed, exasperating, obstinate client never fell to my lot. He doesn't remember. He can't say. What I need in preparing my defense is not a law library so much as a kit of burglar's tools. I have got to break into his mind somehow. He is hiding something. Do you know what it is?"
Lyon reflected that Bede had not asked that question. Bede had known! He must still keep faith with Lawrence, who had trusted him; but was it not possible to help Lawrence against his will through this lawyer? He picked his way carefully.
"I don't really know very much, Mr. Howell. I guess at some things, and I shall be glad to lay my little knowledge before you. But first, tell me, is Lawrence's situation really dangerous?"
"Yes," said Howell tersely. "You see, an alibi is out of the question. He has admitted that he was in the neighborhood. Donohue's testimony shows that he might easily have been on the very spot. Certainly he was not far from it. Yet he offers no explanation as to what he was doing there. That Fullerton could have been struck down--there must have been some sort of an altercation--and Lawrence neither see nor hear anything, is certainly curious. That his cane should have been found on the spot is certainly unfortunate. That he should have publicly slapped Fullerton's face that morning is the devil's own luck. Frankly, Mr. Lyon, unless I can in some way discover the actual facts of that night's proceedings, the prospects for clearing Lawrence are not cheerful. Of course, the facts may not help him,--but if that is the case it is even more important that I should know them. I can't work in the dark. Now, do you know, yourself, what Lawrence was doing that night?"
"No."
"You didn't see him?"
"Not until the crowd had gathered."
Howell looked disappointed. "I hoped that possibly you might be able to give me the facts that he is withholding."
"Isn't it possible that he is withholding nothing,--that there is nothing to withhold?"
"It is possible, but if that is the situation, it is a malicious conspiracy on the part of fate to trap an innocent man. It will be difficult to make a jury believe he is as ignorant as he wants us to think. No, as far as I can see into the situation, our only hope is that there is a woman in the case and that we can work the jury for emotional sympathy." He looked keenly at Lyon.
"You may think it a wild notion," said Lyon, "but I have an idea that possibly there is a woman in the case, though Lawrence doesn't know anything about her. I was in Fullerton's rooms at the Wellington this morning,--"
"How did you get in?"
"Blarneyed the janitor. On the table I found a handkerchief that is the mate of one I have seen in the hand of Mrs. Woods Broughton."
"Well?"
"On the table was a transcript of the divorce proceedings in the case of Grace Vanderburg v. William H. Vanderburg. You know, of course, that Grace Vanderburg is now Mrs. Woods Broughton."
Howell nodded.
"There were a number of books on divorce on the table, as though he had just been looking up the subject,--or discussing it with a client. You know Fullerton was Mrs. Vanderburg's attorney."
"You are leading up to something."
"This. The elevator boy gave me a more particular description of the woman who left the Wellington with Fullerton that evening than Donohue was able to give. I feel sure that woman was Mrs. Broughton."
"Mrs. Broughton is not in Waynscott."
"Yes. She is staying with Miss Elliott on Locust Avenue."
"But the papers have not mentioned it. Are you sure?"
"She is very quiet,--under the care of Dr. Barry, and suffering from a nervous shock which dates from Monday night."
Howell's foot tapped nervously upon the floor. "But this is amazing, if not incredible. How do you come to know it,--or think you know it?"
"I have seen and talked with Mrs. Broughton."
"You!"
"Yes. She sent for me to ask for information about Lawrence. She said she had been distressed by the news of the murder, and as Lawrence was an old friend she was anxious to learn what danger he stood in,--if I could tell her anything more than the reports in the papers. That's about all."
"All!" exclaimed Howell, excitedly. "What more would you want, in the name of wonder? The woman who was in Fullerton's company--"
"That's merely my guess, you remember. But the elevator boy described a chain she wore, and her manner of speaking very accurately."
"When did you see her?"
"Last night."
"You must take me to her immediately. Here you have wasted hours--"
Lyon shook his head. "Dr. Barry has forbidden her seeing anyone. He fears serious nervous disturbance,--mental derangement, in fact. She has evidently had a severe nervous shock."
"Does Dr. Barry know what you have told me?"
"No."
"Does anyone know?"
"No."
"Not even Lawrence?"
"No. I didn't know just what effect it might have upon--his policy of silence. In fact, I didn't know how to proceed farther, until I had consulted you."
Howell smiled grimly. "I am glad you allowed me some share in handling the matter. From the way you have been going on, I didn't know but what you were going to take the case out of my hands entirely. Now, how soon can I see Mrs. Broughton?"
"I don't know, but not immediately. I saw Dr. Barry this morning. He thinks her condition serious. I told him I wanted to see her as soon as possible, but he warned me not to attempt it until he gave me leave." And he described the scene he had gone through the evening before, when Mrs. Broughton went into hysterics.
Howell looked serious. "I see. Of course I can't force myself upon a woman in that condition. And until I know exactly what her testimony is going to be, I don't want to have her appear in the case at all. It is possible, of course, that after I have talked with her my chief care will be to have her out of the way of the prosecution. I can't tellwhatI shall do until I have seen her. If only Bede does not stumble upon this,--"
"I came upon Bede in Fullerton's rooms this morning. I don't think he has thought of identifying the woman with Mrs. Broughton."
"Although you have?"
"Well, I had the advantage of knowing that Mrs. Broughton was in town. I don't think Bede does."
"How did you find it out?"
"By a sort of accident. I was at Miss Elliott's School, making some inquiries about the school, and Miss Elliott let it out." Lyon breathed a little more freely when that dangerous question was passed.
Howell tapped his underlip thoughtfully with his long forefinger.
"You have given me a most important suggestion, Mr. Lyon. Of course it may lead up to nothing. Even if Mrs. Broughton was the woman whom Donohue saw with Fullerton, it doesn't follow that she was still with him when the tragedy occurred. Indeed, it is more than unlikely, because if she knew anything about the affair, a woman of her standing and character would have spoken out at once. She would have nothing to fear."
Lyon said absolutely nothing, but Howell, watching him, caught some unspoken thought and turned upon him with swift amaze.
"You don't mean--"
"No, no, no," said Lyon. "I am sure not."
But Howell looked thoughtful. "He was her attorney in that divorce suit, and you say that the table was covered with books on divorce, and she had been there to consult him, as is evidenced by her handkerchief. If there was anything irregular about that divorce and he knew about it, and threatened to use that knowledge-- It is not impossible to believe that Fullerton might resort to blackmail on occasion. He was very hard up and Mrs. Broughton is a very wealthy woman,--so long as her marriage is not impugned. And if we suppose for a moment that that was the situation, it is not difficult to go a step further and imagine that his death would be a great relief to her,--so great that it might have taken the form of a swift temptation. The blow may have been a sudden, desperate impulse, and it would not have been beyond the strength of a woman, even a slight woman. But the means,--the cane?"
"It has occurred to me as a bare possibility that Fullerton may have been carrying the cane himself, and that his assailant may have wrested it from him. You remember Lawrence's testimony that he had the cane in the library a few days before, and that, owing to an excited discussion with Fullerton, he did not remember whether he took it away with him or whether he left it there. Suppose he left it there, and Fullerton picked it up, it might have happened that he had it with him on that evening."
Howell started to his feet and paced the room in suppressed excitement.
"It may be utterly fantastic and incredible," he said finally, pausing before Lyon and looking at him with abstracted eyes, "but it is the first possible gleam of an outlet that I have seen in any direction. I must follow it up. I must see Mrs. Broughton just as soon as possible. I am walking on a mine until I know what she has to say for herself. It may all amount to nothing. It may be of the most vital importance. Now how can I be sure of knowing the earliest moment that I can risk demanding an interview without danger to her health?"
"I know Dr. Barry."
"But you can't tell Dr. Barry why you want to know. It is important that not the slightest hint of this should reach the other side. Of course Bede may work it out for himself. He is not a fool. Quite the contrary. We have to take our chances on that. But we don't want to help him. And if by chance Mrs. Broughton should have nothing to confess except that she saw Lawrence assault Fullerton, we don't want to help Bede to that bit of testimony. It is quite on the cards that that is what she will have to tell me, too. Have you considered that?"
"I don't think she will," said Lyon slowly.
"Do you happen to have any reason for that assurance? Your theories are interesting, young man. If you have any more of them in reserve, I'd like to hear them."
But Lyon shook his head. "My theory is based on the assumption that Lawrence really knows no more about the affair than he has told you."
"I hope it may prove so," said Howell, somewhat dubiously. "In the meantime, bear in mind that I must have a chance to see Mrs. Broughton quietly at the earliest possible moment. Good Lord, man, the Grand Jury meets in ten days from now. Now, have you any suggestions as to how that interview can be arranged without notice to the public and without any chance of a slip-up?"
"I have just secured a letter of introduction to one of the pupils in Miss Elliott's School,--Miss Kittie Tayntor," said Lyon. "I thought that it might prove useful in keeping in close touch with the situation."
Howell's gray eyes twinkled appreciatively. "It strikes me that you are wasted as a mere newspaper man. You have talents. Go ahead and improve your acquaintance with Miss Kittie. That is safer than to depend upon Dr. Barry, because he might be biassed. He might think it advisable to get Mrs. Broughton away quietly, without letting you know about her movements. Of course a woman of her prominence can't be lost, but on the other hand, if she wanted to get out of reach, she could make it difficult for us to find her. It is much better that we keep watch on her movements without letting her suspect that fact."
"I'll do my best," said Lyon.
"And that is a good deal," said Howell, with a sincerity that made Lyon flush with pleasure.
When Lyon left Howell's office, he went around to the florist whose name he had noted on the box of roses in Lawrence's room. After selecting a boutonnière and admiring the seasonable display of flowers, he asked casually,
"By the way. Maxwell, who sent those roses to Lawrence,--Arthur Lawrence, you know?"
"I'd like to know myself," said the florist, waking up to sudden interest. "I don't have such an order as that every day."
"Why, what was there unusual about it?"
"Well, hundred dollar bills are unusual in my business, and it isn't often that I get a letter with a hundred dollars in it and no name signed to it, with orders to send flowers till the money is used up and more will be coming."
"That does sound uncommon. I'd like to see that letter, if you have it around."
"Oh, yes, I kept it as a curiosity." He opened a drawer in his desk and threw a letter on the counter before Lyon. Lyon's first glance at it showed him plainly enough that the brief note was written in the same large, angular handwriting that had marked the note which he had himself received from Mrs. Woods Broughton. As he picked it up to examine it more closely, an unfortunate accident occurred. A man who had entered the shop shortly after Lyon and who had possibly overheard their conversation, had come up close to Lyon's elbow, and now leaned forward suddenly as though to look at the note over his shoulder. His hasty movement upset a vase of flowers on the counter. The vase was broken, the flowers scattered over the floor, and the water poured over Lyon's cuff and hand, as well as over the note which he had just picked up. The man was profuse in his apologies, and supplemented Lyon's handkerchief by his own to remove the traces of the deluge. Somehow in the momentary confusion the note itself was lost sight of, but Lyon had seen enough to satisfy him that this munificent order for flowers was simply another indication of Mrs. Broughton's interest in Lawrence and his situation.
Lawrence had wondered what the roses might mean in the language of flowers. Lyon could not help wondering whether they spelled "Remorse."