CHAPTER IICOMPLICATIONS
EVELYN never knew how she reached the front door, but as she dashed out into the vestibule she almost fell into the arms of a tall neatly dressed woman standing on the doorstep. For a breathless second she clung to the newcomer in silence.
“Matilda!” Only in moments of stress did Evelyn ever address her mother’s housekeeper by her first name. “Thank God you are here!”
Mrs. Ward gazed at her in alarm. “What’s wrong, Miss Evelyn?” she asked. “Come inside, Miss,” coaxingly, growing conscious that Evelyn was swaying upon her feet. Supporting the half fainting girl, she led her into the billiard room which opened from the hall to the right of the front door. Once in the room Evelyn collapsed on the nearest chair.
“Oh, don’t go,” she begged as Mrs. Ward stepped toward the hall. “Don’t leave me.”
“Only for a moment, Miss; I left my bag outside the house,” and Mrs. Ward, disentangling herskirt from Evelyn’s clutching fingers, disappeared into the hall to return shortly with a glass of water in one hand and her bag in the other. She dropped the latter on Evelyn’s trunk as she entered the room.
“Take a sip of water, Miss Evelyn,” she said, retaining her hold of the glass as Evelyn’s attempts to take it in her shaking hand proved futile. “Are Jones and the cook here?”
“No.” Evelyn was only equal to monosyllables.
“They haven’t come!” Mrs. Ward looked shocked. “All the servants were to leave Atlantic City this morning on the first train. No wonder you were frightened, Miss Evelyn, all alone in this big house.”
“But I was not alone.” Evelyn pushed aside the empty glass; she felt refreshed by the cold water and the presence of Mrs. Ward restored her to some degree of composure. “There’s a dead man upstairs!”
The glass slipped from Mrs. Ward’s hand and broke on the highly polished floor.
“Are you mad?” Mrs. Ward spoke more roughly than she realized, and Evelyn’s angry flush caused her to modify her tone to its customary civility. “Are you in earnest, Miss Evelyn?” Evelyn nodded vigorously, and Mrs. Ward’s comely face paled. “It’s—It’s not Mr. Burnham?”
“No; I have never seen the man before.”
Mrs. Ward stared blankly at Evelyn, then roused herself. “Hadn’t I better go and investigate?” she asked. “You may be mistaken, Miss; perhaps the man’s only asleep.”
Evelyn shivered. “Men don’t sleep with their eyes open,” she said dully, rising. “I’m coming with you,” and she quickened her pace to keep up with Mrs. Ward as the latter led the way upstairs to the library. Mrs. Ward faltered just inside the room as her eyes fell on the quiet figure near the fireplace; then, repressing all emotion, she strode over to the figure and bent, as Evelyn had done, and placed her hand on the dead man’s wrist. When she turned back to Evelyn, who lingered near the doorway, her face rivaled the young girl’s in whiteness.
“I’d better go for Dr. Hayden.” She mumbled the words so that she was forced to repeat them before Evelyn understood her.
“Try the telephone,” the latter suggested, “that’s quicker.”
Mrs. Ward glanced shrinkingly at the telephone stand which stood almost at the dead man’s elbow and shook her head.
“I’d better go,” she reiterated obstinately.
“Nonsense, use the branch telephone in the pantry.” Evelyn’s customary cool-headedness returned as she saw the housekeeper becoming demoralized.“Hurry, don’t waste any more time,” she added, and obedient to the stronger will, Mrs. Ward hastened from the room.
Evelyn stayed by the doorway in indecision, half inclined to accompany the housekeeper downstairs, but an attraction she could not conquer drew her toward the fireplace, and step by step she advanced nearer the dead man until only a chess table separated them. Sinking into a chair in front of the table she stared at the body for a long moment, then hastily averted her eyes. It was the first time she had seen death and its majesty over-awed even her terror.
A clock chiming the quarter aroused her and she mechanically looked at her wrist watch—a quarter of five. Had only two hours and a half passed since she had entered the library to telephone to Marian Van Ness? The time had seemed interminable, and she waited in ever increasing nervousness for the housekeeper’s return, as the clock ticked off minute after minute with maddening regularity.
Finally a murmur of voices coming nearer roused Evelyn and with a subdued exclamation she moved forward to meet Doctor Lewis Hayden, who a second later appeared in the library, Mrs. Ward at his heels.
Step by step she advanced nearer the dead manStep by step she advanced nearer the dead man....
Step by step she advanced nearer the dead man....
Step by step she advanced nearer the dead man....
“Has Mrs. Ward explained?” she demanded as Hayden clasped her outstretched hand.
“Only that——” Hayden stopped speaking as his eyes fell on the dead man. Striding forward he made a brief inspection before turning to the silent women. “Tell my chauffeur to go at once for Doctor Penfield, Mrs. Ward,” he directed and there was that in his manner which caused the housekeeper to move with even more than her customary rapidity. As she disappeared between the portières, Lewis Hayden turned his attention to Evelyn.
“A dose of aromatic spirits of ammonia will make you feel better,” he said kindly, noting the girl’s strained expression, and as he spoke he opened his emergency kit and poured the medicine in a glass. “Just add a little water to this,” he supplemented, “and then go and lie down. I’ll wait and see Coroner Penfield and we will take charge of affairs for you.”
Evelyn sighed with relief as she took the medicine. “Oh, thank you, doctor,” she exclaimed, “if you will just——” She stopped speaking as the portières were pulled back and Mrs. Ward, looking very much agitated, ushered in a tall man whose travel-stained appearance did not detract from his air of distinction. Evelyn stared at him as if unable to believe her eyes.
“Mr. Maynard!” she exclaimed. “Dear Mr. Maynard! Where did you come from?”
Dan Maynard clasped her eagerly extended hand in both of his.
“Just back from France,” he explained, and at the sound of his voice Hayden’s memory quickened; its charm across the footlights had lured him often to the theater to see the man whose fame as an actor was international. “I wired Mr. Burnham——”
“Beg pardon,” Mrs. Ward insinuated herself into the little group by the door. “Your telegram was forwarded to Chelsea, Mr. Maynard, and Mrs. Burnham told me to prepare a bedroom for you, sir. It would have been ready but for this——,” and the housekeeper’s gesture toward the tragic figure by the fireplace completed her sentence.
Maynard stared but before Evelyn could offer any explanation the front door bell rang loudly and Mrs. Ward hastened to answer it.
“I imagine that is the coroner,” began Hayden, but an exclamation from Evelyn checked him; in her excitement she had not grasped the use of the word “Coroner” before Penfield’s name.
“A coroner! Good gracious, doctor, why send for him?”
“Because a sudden death cannot be examinedwithout his presence,” Hayden explained. “Go and take your medicine, Evelyn.”
Evelyn’s hesitation was brief; she knew Hayden of old and that he did not permit disobedience from his patients.
“Very well, doctor,” she said submissively. “But first, Mr. Maynard, this is our family physician, Dr. Hayden,” and as the two men silently shook hands, she added as she moved toward the door leading into her step-father’s bedroom, “I’ll be back shortly.”
Hayden’s surmise that Penfield had arrived proved correct, and the coroner, listening attentively to Mrs. Ward’s jumbled remarks as he mounted the staircase, went at once into the library and greeted Hayden.
“Apoplexy, Hayden?” he inquired, going toward the fireplace. “Ah, your aid here——” and Hayden joined him.
Maynard stood an interested spectator by the door, uncertain whether he was expected to go or stay, but as neither physician paid the slightest attention to him, he decided to remain. A sudden movement of the coroner’s toward the windows caused him to step forward and pull the inside Holland shades up to the top. A grunt of approval from Penfield greeted the additional light and Maynard decided to tuck back with the aid ofchairs the heavy brocaded curtains which, like the portières, were covered with cretonne to protect them in the summer months, until the large room was filled with the remaining daylight.
The room, wainscoted in Flemish oak with open beams across the high ceiling, was never very bright as its massive furnishings were somber in shade and absorbed the light. It was a very livable room, however, and had the air of being much occupied even with most of its bric-a-bric put away for the summer. The high-backed carved oak chairs and great leather covered lounges all looked comfortable, and the large center table, smoking stands, and card tables gave an added air of hospitality.
Suddenly Coroner Penfield rose from his knees beside the dead man and laid down several instruments on the chess table. He then glanced narrowly up and down the room, his glance resting finally on Dan Maynard, of whose presence he had been until then apparently unaware.
“I must make some inquiries, Hayden,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?”
“Mr. Maynard—I beg your pardon,” Hayden straightened up and faced about. “Didn’t I introduce you?” he added as the actor approached. “Mr. Maynard only arrived here a few minutes before you, Penfield. I’ll call Mrs. Ward, the housekeeper.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” declared Evelyn who, entering unperceived a few minutes before, had overheard the coroner’s request. “I came back to tell you all about everything.”
“Do you feel equal to it?” asked Hayden, pushing forward a chair. “Hadn’t you better wait, Evelyn? You have been under a fearful strain to have your friend die——” He paused in his rapid speech as if at a loss for words and Maynard, with intuitive quickness, detected the physician’s disquietude under his calm professional manner. “—your friend die so suddenly,” Hayden finished.
Evelyn did not heed the concluding remark; but one word had caught her attention.
“Friend! He was no friend of mine,” she declared. “I never saw the man before.”
Penfield bent forward eagerly. “What’s this—a stranger, you say? Are you quite sure, Miss Preston? People’s appearance sometimes alters after death. Please look at him closely.”
Evelyn hesitated and glanced at Hayden who signed to her to approach. Obediently she stepped forward and studied the motionless figure which had been pushed back by Penfield into much the same position it had occupied when Evelyn first discovered it. She judged the man to have been about thirty-six or forty years of age, and noted particularly the brilliant blue of his eyes against thepallor of his skin. He was clean shaven, and his under jaw was thrust forward at an obstinate angle, but whether that was its natural position or the jaw had dropped forward after death Evelyn was incapable of knowing.
“I never saw the man before,” she stated finally.
“Ah! Then how came it that he was admitted to your library?” asked Penfield before Hayden could speak.
“I really don’t know.” Evelyn looked puzzled. “I presume he got in like any other burglar.”
“Burglar!” Penfield started and turning, stared again at the dead man. “Burglars don’t as a rule dress so well; besides, his hands——” He leaned over and held up the man’s limp right hand, turning it over so that all could see the long tapering fingers and well cared for nails.
Maynard studied the hand intently; he had seen its type when traveling among the silent and secretive peoples of the Orient and occasionally met the same type among the deep thinkers and analytical men and women of Europe who rarely forget an injury but are patient with the patience of power conveyed by knowledge and mysticism.
“His finger-prints may give us some clue to his identity,” added Coroner Penfield, laying down the hand. “In the meantime——”
“Why not examine the man’s pockets?” suggested Maynard practically.
Penfield carried out the suggestion with a deftness which won the actor’s admiration, but all he brought to light was a piece of string.
“Every pocket empty,” he announced. “And apparently not even a coat-label—strange!” He cast a penetrating look at Evelyn. “Why did you not notify us sooner, Miss Preston?”
“Sooner?” echoed Evelyn. “I started to go for Dr. Hayden after finding this—this——” Evelyn choked; she was very near to tears and Penfield’s grave manner was beginning to impress her unfavorably. “I met Mrs. Ward, our housekeeper, on the front steps, brought her up here, and then sent her to telephone to Dr. Hayden. That hasn’t been more than an hour ago,” turning for confirmation to Hayden who nodded his agreement. “I only arrived in Washington this morning, Dr. Penfield, and—and—I was all alone in the house. He—he,”—pointing to the dead man—“he might have murdered me if he hadn’t died of apoplexy.”
Hayden, who had followed Evelyn’s statements with ever increasing interest, looked a trifle nonplussed as he glanced at his colleague who was winding the string, taken from the dead man’s pocket, in and out among his fingers.
“You say you arrived at the house this morning,Miss Preston,” began Penfield slowly, “and you did not enter this library until this afternoon.”
“I did, too,” contradicted Evelyn. “I came in here in the morning and opened the blinds; I did the same thing all over this floor so as to air the house, and——” She added as Hayden started to interrupt her, “I came into this room again about half past two——”
“And you sent for us about five o’clock,” commented Penfield dryly. “Your remarks are inconsistent—you previously stated you sent for us at once on finding the body——”
“The body was not here at half past two,” declared Evelyn.
“It wasn’t!” chorused the two physicians, while Maynard looked eagerly at Evelyn and back at them.
“Come, Miss Preston,” began Penfield. “You must be mistaken.”
“I am not,” Evelyn’s foot came down with a stamp. “I used that telephone there, right by the fireplace; do you suppose I could have done so and not become aware that a dead man was sitting by my elbow? I tell you the man wasn’t dead then.”
The silence which followed was broken by Coroner Penfield.
“Miss Preston,” he stated quietly. “That man has been dead at least twelve hours.”
Evelyn stared at him in growing horror. “Dead—twelve hours!” she gasped. “Then who rang the library bell at four o’clock?”
They gazed at each other, but before any one could speak the sound of a heavy fall caused them to wheel about—Mrs. Ward had fainted just inside the portières of the room.