CHAPTER VTHE SIGNET RING
Excitementran high among the spectators as they crowded into the rooms a few minutes before one o’clock. The burglar’s story had impressed them by its sincerity. But, if he was innocent, who could be the criminal?
“Nelson knew how to play on people’s emotions and made up a plausible tale; but as the coroner says, he has given no proof to back his statement that Mrs. Trevor was killed before he entered the house,” said Philip White, in answer to one of Peggy’s questions. She and her grandmother were occupying their old seats in the library, and Dick Tillinghast and White had just joined them. Philip White, who stood at the head of the district bar, was not one to form opinions hastily. Therefore, he was usually listened to. He was a warmfriend of the Attorney General’s, and had been a frequent visitor at his house.
“No, Miss Peggy,” he went on, “the fellow’s just a clever criminal.”
“I rather believe in him,” said Peggy, stoutly. “He didn’t have to tell what he knew.”
“That’s just it—it was a neat play to the galleries. He would have been summoned before the jury anyway, and his story dragged from him piece by piece. He hoped it would tell in his favor if he volunteered and gave a dramatic account of what occurred that night.”
“Where did he get his information about the papers being in the safe?” queried Mrs. Macallister, who had been an interested listener.
“Probably there is some leak in the Department of Justice.”
The low hum of voices ceased as the coroner’s clerk rose and called the Attorney General to the stand.
Many a sympathetic eye followed his tall,erect figure, as he passed quietly through the room. Edmund Trevor had won distinction early in life by his unremitting labor and ability. A New Yorker born and bred, he had given up a large law practice to accept the President’s tender of the portfolio of Attorney General. His devotion to his beautiful wife, some twenty years his junior, had been often commented upon by their friends. While not, strictly speaking, a handsome man, his dark hair, silvering at the temples, his fine eyes and firm mouth gave him an air of distinction. He was very popular with both men and women, as his courtly manner and kind heart gained him a warm place in their regard. To-day sorrow and fatigue were visible on his face. He looked careworn and troubled.
After he had answered the usual questions as to his age, full name, and length of residence in Washington, the coroner turned directly to him.
“How old was Mrs. Trevor, and where was she born?” he asked.
“Thirty years old. She was born in Paris, France.”
“Where did you first meet her?”
“In London at a ball given by the American Ambassador three years ago.”
“When and where were you married?”
“We were married on the eleventh of June of the same year, at St. George’s, Hanover Square.”
The coroner’s manner was very sympathetic, as he said:
“Now, Mr. Attorney General, will you kindly tell the jury of your movements on Wednesday night, last.”
“Certainly. I did not dine at home, as I had to attend the annual banquet given by the Yale alumni, at which I was to be one of the speakers. Just before leaving the house, I joined my wife and daughter in the dining-room. Mrs. Trevor told me that, as she had a bad nervous headache, she had decided not to go to the Bachelors’ Cotillion, but instead she was going to retire early. My daughter Beatrice had, therefore, arranged to go to theball with her friend, Miss Macallister, who was to call for her at ten o’clock.
“My motor was announced, and as I kissed my wife, she asked me not to disturb her on my return, as she wanted to get a good night’s sleep. That was the last time I saw heralive—” His voice quivered with emotion, but in a few seconds he resumed: “On my return, about midnight, I went directly upstairs. Seeing no light in my wife’s room, which is separated from mine by a large dressing room, I retired.”
“Did you hear no noises during the night; no cries; no person moving about?”
“No. I am always a heavy sleeper, besides which I had had a very fatiguing day; a Cabinet meeting in the morning; and I had also been detained at the Department by pressure of business until six o’clock that evening.”
“Were your doors and windows securely fastened?”
“Wilkins attends to that. I did not put up the night-latch on the front door because Iknew Beatrice had to come in with her latch key.”
“How did you find the house lighted on your return?”
“Why, as is usual at that time of night when we are not entertaining. All the rooms were in darkness; the only lights being in the front and upper halls—they were turned down low.”
“In regard to Wilkins—”
“I would trust him as I would myself,” interrupted the Attorney General. “He has lived first with my father and then with me for over twenty years.”
“And your other servants?”
“I have every confidence in them. The cook, second man, and chambermaids have been in my employ for at least five years.”
“And Mrs. Trevor’s personal maid?”
“Came with her from England three years ago.”
“Were you not surprised when Mrs. Trevor did not breakfast with you the next morning?”
“No. My wife was not an early riser. She always had a French breakfast served in herroom. Unless she called to me to enter, as I went downstairs, I often did not see her until luncheon.”
“Was Mrs. Trevor left-handed?”
The Attorney General looked at the coroner in surprise.
“She was, sir,” he answered.
“Have you formed any theory as to who perpetrated this foul murder?”
“I think the burglar, Nelson, guilty.”
“Was Mrs. Trevor on good terms with everyone of your household?”
The witness’ face changed, ever so slightly.
“To the best of my knowledge, she was,” was the quiet reply.
“Then that is all. Stay just a moment,” as the Attorney General rose. “Will you kindly describe what took place on the discovery of Mrs. Trevor’s body?”
In a concise manner the Attorney General gave the details of that trying scene. He was then excused.
His place was taken by Wilkins, who in a few words confirmed the Attorney General’sstatement that he had served the Trevor family, as butler, for nearly twenty-one years.
“Did you securely close the house for the night on Wednesday, Wilkins?”
“Yes, sir; I did, sir. I bolted every door and window, sir.”
“Are you positive, Wilkins?”
“Absolutely positive, sir.”
“Did anyone call at the house after dinner that night to see either of the ladies?”
“No, sir, no one; except Miss Macallister came in her carriage to take Miss Beatrice to the ball.”
“At what time did they finish dinner?”
“About twenty minutes past eight, sir. The hall clock was striking the half hour as I carried the coffee into the library. Mrs. Trevor was there, and she told me that Miss Beatrice had gone upstairs to dress, so I left her cup on the table, sir.”
“At what time did you go to bed?”
“I went up a few minutes after ten o’clock, sir. All the other servants had gone upstairs before me.”
“Was that their usual hour for retiring?”
“No, sir. You see, sir, Mrs. Trevor gave a very large supper party for Madame Bernhardt on Tuesday night. The guests didn’t leave until nearly four o’clock Wednesday morning. We were all dead tired from the extra work and no sleep, so Mrs. Trevor told me in the library that night, sir, that I was to tell the others to go to bed as soon as their work was done, and that I needn’t wait up, nor her maid either, as she would undress herself.”
“Was that the last time you saw Mrs. Trevor alive?”
“Yes, sir; the last time I saw her.”
There was a peculiar inflection in Wilkins’ usually quiet monotone that caught the coroner’s attention.
“What do you mean, Wilkins?”
“I didn’tseeher again, sir.”
“Well, I’ll change my question. Did you hear her afterwards?”
“Yes, sir,” reluctantly.
“When?”
“Why, sir, the door bell rang about a quarterto ten. It was a messenger boy with a telegram for the Attorney General. I signed for it, and walked over towards the library intending to hand it to Mrs. Trevor. The door was partly open, sir, and I heard the ladies—”
“Ladies! What ladies?”
“Mrs. Trevor and Miss Beatrice, sir. I recognized their voices.”
“Could you hear what they were saying?”
“Perfectly, sir; but indeed I didn’t listen intentionally, sir. The carpet deadened my footsteps; besides, they were too excited to hear me.”
“Were they quarreling?”
“I—I—”
“Remember, Wilkins, you are on oath to tell the truth, thewholetruth.”
“Yes, sir.” The unhappy man glanced appealingly at the jury, but found no help there. They were all waiting expectantly for what was to follow. “I only caught a few words, sir. Miss Beatrice said: ‘And your price?’ ‘You know it,’ answered Mrs. Trevor. Shesaid it in a voice that seemed to infuriate Miss Beatrice, who cried out: ‘You devil, get out of my way, or I may forget myself and strike you.’”
Everyone in the over-crowded rooms felt the shock of the testimony.
“What happened next?”
“Just then the front door bell rang loudly. Putting the telegram on the hall table, I went to answer it, and found Mrs. Macallister’s footman waiting in the vestibule. I started to tell Miss Beatrice, but at that moment she walked out of the library, with her cloak over her arm. When I helped her on with it she was trembling from head to foot.”
“What became of Mrs. Trevor?”
“I don’t know, sir. After the carriage drove off, I went first into the private office to fasten the windows, and from there into the other rooms. I think Mrs. Trevor must have gone upstairs when I was in the parlor. I went to bed very soon after.”
“Were you disturbed in the night?”
“No, sir. The servants’ quarters are allon the fourth floor. The house is well built and the walls are very thick. We couldn’t hear any sound up there, except the bells in the corridor, and they did not ring at all.”
“How did you find everything when you came down the next morning?”
“Every window was locked on the ground floor, and the night-latch was up on the front door, sir. The window on the stairway by which the burglar entered is covered by heavy curtains; and as it was closed, I never noticed it was unfastened until after the detective’s arrival.”
“Did you enter the private office?”
“Yes, sir; nothing had been disturbed.”
“No sign of a struggle?”
“No, sir. Every chair and rug was in its place.”
“That’s all; you can go now,” said the coroner, after a moment’s silence. Wilkins heaved a sigh of relief, as he hastened out of the room.
Interest was at fever heat among the spectators. For once Mrs. Macallister was tooshocked by the trend of suspicion to voice her feelings to Peggy.
Apparently the least concerned person in the room was Beatrice Trevor, who had entered in answer to the clerk’s summons. Lack of sleep and anxiety had left their mark on the girl’s finely cut features, but there was no trace of fear in her large, candid eyes, which were turned inquiringly on the coroner.
Peggy’s heart was hot within her. How dare these people insinuate that Beatrice, her dear, dear friend, was guilty of murder. The idea was too preposterous!
Even the coroner was struck by the young girl’s poise and dignity, and his manner was very gentle as he said:
“Miss Trevor, I have just a few questions to ask you. At what hour did you return from the ball?”
“We left the New Willard at a quarter to three, and reached here about fifteen minutes later.”
“Did you encounter anyone as you entered?”
“No.”
“Was the house dark?”
“Yes; except for the light in the hall.”
“Did you go directly to your room?”
“Yes. I put up the night-latch, turned out the light, and went to my room at once.”
“When did you last see your stepmother?”
“In the library, before the carriage came for me.”
“Miss Trevor”—the coroner fumbled with his watch chain—“what did you and Mrs. Trevor quarrel about that night?”
The question struck home. Beatrice reeled in her seat.
“What did you say?” she stammered.
The coroner repeated his question. With a visible effort, Beatrice regained her self-control.
“That is a matter between my stepmother and myself. I decline to discuss it with anyone.”
“But you must, Miss Trevor.”
“I will not. Our quarrel had nothing whatever to do with Mrs. Trevor’s death.”
“I am the best judge of that,” retorted Coroner Wilson, but Beatrice remained obstinately silent.
“Come, Miss Trevor, can you not see that you are injuring yourself by this refusal. People will jump to but one conclusion. For your own sake, I beg you to tell us what your quarrel was about.”
“I decline to answer.”
The coroner shrugged his shoulders. He had warned her; he could do no more.
“Very well, Miss Trevor. You may retire.”
With pale, set lips and flashing eyes, Beatrice swept from the room.
For a few minutes the coroner looked over his papers, then he beckoned to his clerk. The next instant, Lieutenant-Commander Donald Gordon had been called to the stand. There was a gasp of amazement from the fashionable spectators. How came Donald Gordon to be mixed up in this affair?
But none was more surprised than Donald Gordon himself. He had been subpœnaed asa witness that morning, to his great disgust, as he had orders to accompany the President to New York on the afternoon train. He reported the subpœna to his superiors, and another aide had been detailed to attend the President in his place.
Gordon had an enviable record as an officer in the United States navy. He had served bravely under Admiral Dewey at Manila, and had on several occasions received special commendation from Congress. Good-looking, in a big, fine way, he was immensely popular in the service, and also with his many civilian friends.
“Mr. Gordon,” said the coroner, after he had been duly sworn, “I wish to ask if this is your property.” As he spoke, he held up a heavy gold signet ring.
Absolute incredulity was plainly written on Gordon’s face, as he leaned over and took the ring.
“Yes,” he said, turning it over, “yes. It is my class ring. My initials and the date of my graduation from the Naval Academy areengraved on the inside.” Then his voice deepened. “How came you to have this ring in your possession?”
“It was found”—the coroner paused impressively—“it was found tightly clasped in Mrs. Trevor’s right hand.”
In stupefied silence, Gordon gazed at the coroner, while the meaning of his words slowly took form in his brain. Then he leaped to his feet.
“You lie—damn you—you lie!” he cried, fiercely.