CHAPTER XXCASTING OF NETS
Dickwas awakened out of a sound sleep the next morning by a loud banging on his door.
“Come in,” he shouted, sleepily; then, realizing that the disturber of his peace could not crawl through the keyhole, he scrambled out of bed, unlocked the door and jerked it open.
“I ax yo’ pardon, Marse Dick,” said Uncle Andy, bowing and scraping on the threshold, “but dis hyer note done come fo’ yo’, an’ de bearer am waitin’ fo’ an answer, sah.” As he spoke he handed Dick a sealed envelope and a small package.
“Wait a minute, Uncle, and I’ll see what it’s about,” and Dick, going inside his room, plumped himself down on the edge of his bed and tore open the note. Not recognizing the bold, clear writing, he turned at once to readthe signature on the last page. It was from Beatrice Trevor. With quickened interest, he read the few lines.
Dear Mr. Tillinghast:My father tells me that you are doing your best to clear up the terrible mystery which surrounds our house. I am in great trouble. I must see you.I am going to dine alone with Mrs. Macallister to-night. Will you come there at eight o’clock? I have told Wilkins to wait for your answer.Sincerely yours,Beatrice Trevor.P. S. Wilkins tells me the accompanying package belongs to you.
Dear Mr. Tillinghast:
My father tells me that you are doing your best to clear up the terrible mystery which surrounds our house. I am in great trouble. I must see you.
I am going to dine alone with Mrs. Macallister to-night. Will you come there at eight o’clock? I have told Wilkins to wait for your answer.
Sincerely yours,Beatrice Trevor.
P. S. Wilkins tells me the accompanying package belongs to you.
“Thank the Lord!” ejaculated Dick, aloud. “Your note’s a direct answer to my unspoken wish. You want to see me, Miss Beatrice, but I bet not half so badly as I want to see you. But what does your postscript mean?”
Taking up the small package he looked doubtfully at it. “Best way to find out is to open it,” he muttered, tearing off the string and wrapping paper. It proved to be a small pasteboard box, and on lifting the cover he saw his broken cuff link lying inside on some cotton.It was unmistakable. The round gold button with his interwoven initials “R. T.” stared him in the face.
With a startled cry, he sprang up and pulled out his white waistcoat from the half-opened bureau drawer. Quickly his fingers fumbled in the little pocket—yes, there it was, just where he had put it four nights before. In growing excitement, he jerked out his fingers and disclosed not his broken cuff button, but a round coin attached to a broken, golden link!
With open mouth, and eyes fairly popping from his head, Dick contemplated the two links, while his bewildered mind gradually pieced together the scene in the hall. It was not surprising he had made such a mistake, the two were identical in size; and in the semi-darkness of the large hall and his hurry he had never glanced at the recovered cuff button, but had taken it for granted it was the piece of jewelry he had dropped.
As busy as he was, he had not troubled to get his broken set mended. He had used a second pair the next morning; and this was, thereforethe first time he had thought of the broken set since thrusting the button into his waistcoat pocket.
Taking up the coin, he examined it closely. It was apparently very old; the edges were worn thin and the hieroglyphics on the two sides were so defaced he could make nothing of them. It was attached by a swivel to the heavy red-gold link. The link itself was worn at the rough ends, but still it must have been a powerful wrench which had caused it to break off. To Dick it looked like a link torn from a watch chain; and an unusual one at that, for the outer side was delicately etched in some intricate design. Pshaw! What was the use of puzzling his brains, Wilkins could tell him all about it; and with the thought Dick walked over to the closed door, and, opening it, looked into the corridor. But Uncle Andy, tired of waiting, had gone about his work. There was nothing for it but to go to the back stairs and “fetch a yell” for the old darky, as the ancient house boasted of no bell except the one to the front door.
Mrs. Brisbane answered Dick’s stentorian shout from the kitchen, where she had gone to superintend the cooking of the Maryland beaten biscuits for the morning meal.
“What is it, Dick?” she called.
“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Brisbane. Will you please ask Uncle Andy to show the messenger up to my room. Thanks, ever so much.” And Dick retreated hastily, conscious of his pajamas as a female boarder thrust her head out of the door to find out what the noise was about.
He was busy writing at his desk when Wilkins’ discreet tap sounded on his door, and at his bidding the butler entered and closed the door behind him.
“Good morning, Wilkins; sorry to keep you waiting, but I was delayed.”
“Morning, sir. That’s all right, sir. Miss Beatrice wanted me to be sure and see you received her note, and told me to come over here before you left for your office. I was to be particular and get an answer.”
“I am writing it now. I’m much obliged toyou for returning my cuff link. By the way, where did you find it?”
“I didn’t find it, sir. The second man took up the large rug near the fireplace to shake it in the yard yesterday morning and saw the bit of jewelry lying under one corner. He brought it to me, and as I knew you had broken your cuff button, sir, I was pretty sure it was yours.”
“Quite right, Wilkins, and here’s a small token of my thanks,” handing the butler some change. And as the man thanked him profusely, Dick held up the coin, and asked: “Who does this belong to?”
Wilkins stared at it in astonishment. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Oh, come, Wilkins, I picked it up in the hall under the armor the other night, thinking it was my cuff link. Surely, you know who owns it?”
Wilkins turned it over curiously in his hand; then shook his head. “I have never seen it before, sir,” he said, positively.
Dick sat for a few moments thoughtfullynibbling his pen. He recollected that the Attorney General’s watch chain was a plain gold affair, very different from the link in his hand.
“Did Mrs. Trevor, or perhaps Miss Beatrice, have a chain like it?” he asked. “Women wear such peculiar gewgaws nowadays.”
But Wilkins stuck to his guns. “No, sir, they didn’t. It’s an uncommon thing, and I’m sure I’d ’a’ remembered it if I had ever seen either of them wear such a thing,” he stubbornly declared. “Some guest must have dropped it, though I dunno how it stayed so long unnoticed.”
Dick looked at Wilkins queerly. A sudden thought had entered his active brain ... by Heaven!... Suppose....
“Has the front hall been swept since the murder of Mrs. Trevor?” he asked.
Wilkins looked bewildered. “We don’t sweep it, sir,” he answered. “It is a hard wood floor, sir. The different rugs in the hall are shaken and gone over by a vacuum cleaner every day. We oiled the entire floor, sir, the morning after the supper for Madame Bernhardt.If the gold link had been therethen, sir, we would have found it.”
“The morning after? Why, that was the third—Mrs. Trevor was murdered that same night?”
“Yes, sir,” stolidly.
“Does Mr. Clark, the secretary, own such a chain?”
“No, sir; he always wears a fob.”
“At what hour did Mr. Clark leave the house the day Mrs. Trevor was killed?”
“Why, I suppose about the usual time, sir, five o’clock.” Wilkins hesitated. “I really don’t know the exact time because I didn’t see him go, sir.”
“Well, ask the other servants if they know, and then send me word. But don’t rouse comment by too many questions, Wilkins. I’ll make it worth your while if you get that information on the quiet.”
Wilkins hesitated a perceptible moment. “It wouldn’t be much use asking them, sir. Mr. Clark can run in and out of the house at any time,” he volunteered, finally. “He has afront door key. Mrs. Trevor said she couldn’t have the front bell rung so often, and asked the Attorney General to give him an extra key.”
Dick looked thoughtfully at Wilkins, but the butler’s expressionless face told him nothing.
“Was Mr. Clark with the Attorney General yesterday?”
“No, sir; I don’t think he has been to the house since Friday afternoon. I heard Mr. Trevor tell Miss Beatrice he had been called away on business.” He paused, and looked suggestively at the clock. Dick signed his note and hastily sealed the envelope. And he was on the point of handing it to the butler when Secretary Bowers’ advice about the missing memorandum book occurred to him.
“Can you tell me, Wilkins, how Mrs. Trevor and Miss Beatrice spent the afternoon of the third?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Trevor was at home receiving callers, for Wednesday is Cabinet Day, you know, sir. Mrs. Trevor never served refreshments except at private teas, so I spent theafternoon in the hall with the footman helping her guests with their coats and wraps. Miss Beatrice went out directly after luncheon and didn’t return until about five o’clock, sir.”
“Did she join her stepmother?”
“Not at once, sir; she first went into the private office and took off her wraps. After that she went into the drawing-room.”
“Was anyone else in the office at that time?”
“No, sir.”
“How long did she stay there?”
“About fifteen minutes, sir. Mrs. Trevor sent me to ask her to come into the drawing-room as Mrs. Macallister wished to see her.”
“What was Miss Beatrice doing when you entered the office?”
“Sitting at her father’s desk, sir, and writing.”
“Had—had she a memorandum book in her hand?” asked Dick hesitatingly. So much depended on the answer.
“I didn’t see any such book, sir,” answered Wilkins, surprised. “After I gave her Mrs.Trevor’s message, Miss Beatrice picked up her hat and fur coat and went immediately out of the room.”
“What did she do with the papers on which she was writing?”
“She stuffed them inside the pocket of her fur coat, sir.”
“Could you see what she had been writing?”
“No, sir; I couldn’t.”
“Well, I won’t detain you any longer, Wilkins. Here’s the note for Miss Beatrice. By the way, were Mrs. Trevor and Mr. Clark good friends?”
“Not always, sir.” Then, seeing Dick’s surprise, Wilkins hastened to add: “Mrs. Trevor had a very quick temper. Many’s the time I’ve nearly given notice on account of her hasty way of finding fault. She and Mr. Clark were very thick, that is,” stumbling in his speech, “good friends like. Mr. Clark had eyes for nobody but Miss Beatrice, and he and Mrs. Trevor often had words over her. They had several nasty quarrels last month, sir. Is—is that all, sir?”
“Yes. I’m very much obliged to you, Wilkins,” replied Dick, heartily. “Good day.”
“Good day, sir,” answered Wilkins. He stopped for a moment on the other side of the door to scratch his head in perplexity. “He’s a rum cove, wonder what he’s up to.”
Dick wondered very much himself. It was a case of the blind leading the blind. If Clark was guilty, and certainly suspicion pointed his way, why should Beatrice hide the hat-pin? Above all, who had dropped the broken gold link in the Trevors’ front hall? More and more puzzled by the facts which he had elicited from the communicative Wilkins, he dressed with what speed he could, and, not waiting for breakfast, ran across to the corner drug store and rang up a taxi-cab. While waiting he telephoned to Peggy and then to Mrs. Curtis. Both of them told him they had never owned a chain of any description with such a coin attached to it.
The taxi-cab was not long in coming, and he was whirled away to the Treasury Department as rapidly as the speed laws of the District allowed.On his arrival there he went direct to the Secret Service Division, and on mentioning his name and errand he was at once taken to Chief Connor.
“I won’t take up a moment of your time, Chief,” explained Dick, as the two men sat down.
“Count de Smirnoff told me of your share in the capture of the three Italians on Saturday,” said the famous Secret Service man. “What can I do for you?”
“Did the Count tell you the identity of the fourth man?”
“Yes. Apparently Clark realized the game was up, for on inquiry at the Buckingham we learned that he hasn’t been to his room since Saturday afternoon. I have sent a description of him to every Secret Service man in the country, and have also had the trans-Atlantic steamship lines watched. We shall catch him, never fear, but I am afraid he will get off afterwards. Conspiracy is a mighty hard thing to prove.”
“I am convinced you can hold Clark for anothercrime,” said Dick slowly. Chief Connor looked at him in surprise.
“As for instance?” he asked.
“Mrs. Trevor’s murder.”
“Indeed!” The Chief sat back and pulled his mustache thoughtfully. “And your grounds for such a charge?”
“Clark is the one person beside the Attorney General who can open the safe. Mrs. Trevor’s body, you may remember, was found locked inside it. The burglar, Nelson, declares on oath that she was there when he opened the safe. According to the butler, who has lived with the Trevors for over twenty years, Clark and Mrs. Trevor quarreled often. He had a key to the Trevors’ front door, so that he could enter without anyone in the house being the wiser. And,” added Dick, “he knew where every member of the household would be on that night. Then the Camorra had evidently decreed her death; Clark was said to be their direct agent in the affair.”
“And his motive for killing Mrs. Trevor?”
“Count de Smirnoff informed me Clark wasan old lover of hers in Naples. I know that he has been paying great attention to Miss Trevor. Possibly he did not take the precaution of being off with the old love before being on with the new.”
Chief Connor followed Dick’s arguments closely.
“Circumstantial evidence does point toward him,” he admitted. “There is no doubt that Clark is a pretty thorough-going rascal. Have you tried to find out where he was on the night of the third?”
“Not yet. I came to find out if Clark had been arrested, to tell you of my suspicions, and to ask your advice in the matter.”
“My men are busy now tracing Clark’s career. If they discover any facts which point to the murder I will send for you. In the meantime, haven’t you a mutual friend who would know something of Clark’s life here?”
Dick’s face brightened. “Of course, there’s Charlie Archibald; he knows Clark pretty well. Charlie works in the Department of Justice. I’ll go right over there.” He rose as he spoke.
“Let me know the result,” said Chief Connor.
“All right, sir. Many thanks for your suggestion. Good-by.” And he hastened out of the building.
“The chase is getting warm,” thought Dick, as the taxi turned and started up Fifteenth Street. “If only—only Peggy meant what she said. Well, here’s for another try,” and he opened the door just as the car drew up in front of the Department of Justice.
Dick hastily threaded his way through the busy rooms searching for his friend.
“Hello, Charlie, you’re a sight for sair een,” he hailed. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Oh, boning for an exam,” said Archibald, his tired face lighting up with a smile. “You look as if the world were treating you pretty well, Dick?”
“Nothing to boast of. Say, Charlie,” drawing him to one side and speaking in a low tone, “can you tell me anything about Alfred Clark?”
“Tell you anything about him?” echoed Archibald, surprised. “Well, no, not much; he’s a quiet sort of chap, keeps himself pretty much to himself, not a good mixer with the boys. I’ve seen more of him than the others because he’s lending me a hand in my studies for the District Bar examination.”
“Perhaps you can tell me where he was on the night of the third?”
“The third,” repeated Archibald. “What the deuce was I doing that night? Wait a moment.” He took out a memorandum book and turned the leaves rapidly. “22nd January—1st of February—ah, here we are—‘study with Clark.’ Of course, I remember now. That night I went over to his rooms at the Buckingham, to go over some papers with him. He has often told me to go up to his room and wait if he wasn’t there; and so I sat waiting and waiting until after midnight, but he never showed up. Then I cleared out.”
“Did he ever tell you what detained him?”
“Nope, just said he forgot the engagement.”
“Do you know where Clark generally spends his time when not working?”
“He used to be with the Trevors all the time. He is quite a lady killer, you know.” Dick shivered involuntarily, while his unconscious friend went on. “He is society mad, but lately he’s not been like himself. It may be money troubles; he plays the races and has been a heavy loser. I know because I made him a small loan, and lately the money lenders have been pressing him for payments.” He looked curiously at Dick. “Why do you want to know all this? You and Clark never hit it off very well.”
“I’ll explain some other time. Many thanks, old man. By-by,” and Dick turned and ran down the corridor after the Attorney General, who had just entered the building.
“How are you, Tillinghast?” said he, cordially, as Dick brought up breathless before him. “Want to see me?”
“Only to ask you one question.” As he spoke, he took the gold coin out of his pocket. “Have you ever seen this before, sir?”
The Attorney General examined the coin with interest, then handed it back to Dick.
“Never laid eyes on it before,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
But Dick never waited to reply; he was off down the corridor as fast as his legs could take him.
“District Building,” he called to the chauffeur as he jumped inside and slammed the door.
Detective Hardy was reflecting on his week’s work with great satisfaction when Dick burst hurriedly into his office.
“Time’s up, Hardy,” he said, coolly. “Come, divulge your news.”
Hardy smiled indulgently. He could afford to tease Dick a little.
“News in regard to what, sir?”
“Who killed Mrs. Trevor?”
“That’s rather a large order,” smiled the detective.
“Well, I’ll amend the question. Who do youthinkkilled Mrs. Trevor?”
Hardy’s eyes flashed with anger. He hated to be made fun of, especially by a young “Mr.-Know-It-All,”and he instantly determined to take the wind out of his sails.
“It isn’t a case of ‘think,’ Mr. Tillinghast; I have absolute proof.”
“Against whom?”
“Miss Beatrice Trevor.”
“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Dick, roughly. But his heart sank as he thought of the hat-pin and Beatrice’s endeavor to secrete it. Should he confide in Hardy? His conscience pricked him. Undoubtedly the detective should be told. But he had given his word to Peggy to shield her friend; let the consequences be what they might, he would keep it.
“Nothing of the sort,” retorted Hardy. “We know they had a bitter quarrel; she threatened to strike her stepmother.”
“Pooh! If we believe everything an angry woman says—” Dick shrugged his shoulders expressively. “Their bark is worse than their bite, Hardy.”
“Maybe so, but not in this instance.”
“Next?” questioned Dick, with a tantalizing smile.
“Her maid—” began Hardy, then checked himself. “Look here, sir; this is absolutely private, it must not get into the papers until I say so.”
“Sure; I’ll keep absolutely mum.”
“I’ve made myself solid with Suzanne, Miss Trevor’s maid. Nothing like using a little tact in that direction, sir,” chuckled Hardy. “Anyway, she told me that a handsome, strong (mind you,strong) hat-pin that was given to Miss Beatrice by Miss Macallister is missing. Wait a moment,” as Dick opened his lips to speak. “Suzanne says Miss Beatrice wore it that afternoon, and when she came in went into the private office and took off her hat there, later, carrying it up to her room, but she didn’t have the hat-pin with her, because Suzanne asked her where it was when she put her coat and hat away. Miss Beatrice made no reply, and shortly after went downstairs to dinner. Suzanne never saw the hat-pin again. She remembers it distinctly because of the curious design of the gold about the cat’s-eye in the top.”
“See here, Hardy, that’s not much to go on. You haven’t found the weapon remember, and therefore cannot prove it belonged to Miss Beatrice. Secondly, Mrs. Trevor was found locked in the safe, not on the floor.”
“Quite true, sir. But you must recollect that Mrs. Trevor was a small, slender woman. I don’t believe she weighed over one hundred and twenty-five pounds.”
“I know; but a relaxed body is a mighty heavy, unwieldy thing to lift.”
“Miss Trevor is tall and strong,” said Hardy, dryly. “She is a fine tennis player, a good fencer, and is also a magnificent cross-country rider. It wouldn’t be much exertion for her to get Mrs. Trevor into the safe, which was a short distance away.”
Dick shook his head. “I can’t agree with you, Hardy.”
The detective leaned toward Dick and raised his hand impressively.
“Listen to me, sir. Her initialed handkerchief with blood stains upon it was found in the safe near the body.”
Dick stared with unbelieving eyes at the triumphant detective.
“You are crazy,” he said, tersely. “In the first place, Doctor Davis said no blood was visible on Mrs. Trevor’s outer garments. Then all the witnesses, including yourself, testified at the inquest that nothing had been found either in the safe or in the room.”
“I have just seen Doctor Davis,” explained Hardy, patiently. “He said that undoubtedly some blood must have spurted out on the murderer’s hand when the foul blow was struck. Secondly, we didn’t find the handkerchief. It was brought to me by a person who said his conscience would no longer permit him to keep the matter secret. He had held back the information to protect Miss Trevor; but now, convinced of her guilt, he could no longer shield her.”
“And may I ask the name of this—this shrimp?” asked Dick, boiling with rage.
“Certainly. Alfred Clark, the secretary!”