CHAPTER XIXBRIBERY
JAMES PALMER felt his clean shaven chin with nervous fingers and turned away from contemplating himself in the mirror with a dissatisfied scowl. Kicking aside his tumbled clothes, which lay half on, half off the bed, he hurried into the living room of his apartment in time to catch Dr. Hayden as the latter was leaving on his round of professional visits.
“Give me a bracer, Hayden,” he demanded. “My nerves have gone to pot.”
Hayden scanned him closely and noted with professional interest his bloodshot eyes and shifting, ever moving restless fingers.
“Go back to bed,” he directed. “You are not in shape to be about this morning.”
“Shape or not, I’ve got to be in my office Sunday or no Sunday; Government contracts don’t wait on nerves, time, or day. Those cantonment plans must be shipped to——” Observing Hayden’s obdurate manner, Palmer’s peremptory tone changed to one almost of pleading. “Don’t sendme to bed; I tell you I can’t sleep and I’ll go crazy if I remain inactive. Ihadto work last night; God knows if I can’t sleep at night, I can’t sleep in daylight.”
Hayden considered him a moment, then drawing out his prescription pad he wrote down directions, and tearing off the slip handed it to Palmer who, impatient to be off, stood twirling his hat from one hand to another.
“This mild bracer will give you relief, Palmer, but only temporarily.” Hayden’s serious manner impressed Palmer in spite of his open disinclination to follow his advice. “It is trite but true that no man can burn the candle at both ends; working under pressure day and night creates the necessity for sanitariums.”
Palmer frowned then smiled as he tucked the prescription safely away in his vest pocket.
“The work will lighten up shortly,” he declared. “Come along; oh, d——mn! there’s the ’phone.”
“Don’t wait, I’ll answer it,” and Hayden turned back into the apartment as Palmer hurried down the corridor. Just as he reached the head of the staircase a sound of voices drifted to him, and glancing over his shoulder he saw Mrs. Burnham leave the elevator and walk toward his apartment. Palmer stood for several seconds where he was; then, as Mrs. Burnham was admitted by his Japaneseservant, Siki, he slowly retraced his footsteps to his apartment.
Inside the living room Hayden listened to a long winded statement from one of his patients, and making his replies as brief as politeness permitted he finally hung up the receiver and, swinging about, found Mrs. Burnham seated near at hand.
“I telephoned to your office and the boy told me you were not expected there this morning, so I chanced finding you here,” she explained as they shook hands. “I want your professional advice.”
“Surely, Mrs. Burnham.” Hayden drew a chair forward and sat down by her. “What is it?”
Mrs. Burnham did not reply at once. “Are we likely to be interrupted?” she finally inquired.
“No,” replied Hayden. “Palmer left before you came, and Siki is busy in his pantry.”
Mrs. Burnham’s tense manner relaxed somewhat. “I want to speak to you on confidential matters,” she said. “You will kindly mention my visit to no one.”
“Certainly not.” Hayden bowed. “Proceed, madam.”
It was some minutes before Mrs. Burnham again addressed him; she seemed at first uncertain how to commence.
“I sent for you this summer to come to Chelsea,” she began, “so that you might have Mr. Burnhamunder observation; I told you that at the time.” Hayden bowed again. “You said then that you observed a tendency on his part to brood and to withdraw himself from the society of his friends.”
“True,” responded Hayden gravely. “His chief relaxation, aside from long solitary walks, seemed to be to lock himself in some room and work over chess problems. I advised you to use your influence to induce him to be more with people.”
“I have tried to do so.” Mrs. Burnham was exerting her superb self-control to keep her voice tranquil. “Without, however, satisfactory results; now he even dislikes my society.”
Hayden glanced at her keenly. “A morbid tendency very often makes people turn against those they love the most,” he said gently. “As Burnham’s physical condition improves he will shake off his mental depression. In my opinion, Mrs. Burnham,” he added more lightly, “half the murders and suicides to-day are the result of a torpid liver.”
Mrs. Burnham’s answering smile was wan. “Then you think his, shall we say, distorted views of people and events are the result of physical illness reacting on his mental condition?”
“It is possible,” conceded Hayden; again he eyed her keenly. “You have mentioned no specific case——”
“I am coming to that.” Mrs. Burnham bent forward in her earnestness. “How much reliance can I place on my husband’s active dislike for Captain René La Montagne and the charges he has brought against him?”
Hayden considered the question. “It is difficult to answer,” he admitted, “I do not know the grounds, if any, your husband has for hating—frankly, on the surface it amounts to that—” he added hastily—“for hating the Frenchman.”
Mrs. Burnham colored painfully. “As I understand it, Captain La Montagne was a passive witness of an unfortunate scene in a club in Paris in which my husband did not—did not”—she faltered——“did not cover himself with glory; but I must say, in justice to him, that he was brought up in the tenets of the Quakers and dueling or fighting of any kind is——”
“I know,” broke in Hayden kindly. “It is highly probable that Burnham has become possessed of this notion, this dislike of La Montagne, contradictory alike to common-sense and his own experience, until it has developed into almost a monomania with him.”
Mrs. Burnham drew a long, long breath. “Then do you think he has brooded over a long past incident and centered his resentment on La Montagneuntil it has become an obsession?” she asked.
“Yes; so it seems to me.”
“Then you think he has taken the—the—shall we call it chance——” Mrs. Burnham whitened—“the chance of that unidentified man having been killed in our empty house, to involve Captain La Montagne in the crime so as to punish him for an imaginary grievance,—in his mental condition,—exaggerated out of all proportion to its real significance?”
“It may be,” Hayden hesitated, “but you must recollect that circumstantial evidence also points to Captain La Montagne.”
“I do not place much confidence in circumstantial evidence,” declared Mrs. Burnham. “Captain La Montagne if innocent, should have little difficulty in proving it, but——” Mrs. Burnham cleared her voice of a slight huskiness—“but I am willing to swear in any court that my husband’s attitude toward him is due to mental irresponsibility.”
A spark of admiration kindled Hayden’s eyes as he gazed at the composed woman seated before him; in his creed loyalty ranked high.
“Your claim seems justified by facts,” he said. “I would suggest——”
“What?”
“That you set the machinery in motion to haveMr. Burnham placed under mental observation,” he added reluctantly.
Mrs. Burnham averted her gaze. “Only as a last resource,” she said. “At present I wanted your views to assist me in deciding upon a course of action.” She paused and he waited with silent attention. It was some moments before she spoke again. “My daughter, Evelyn, wishes to announce her engagement to Captain La Montagne to-day.”
“Oh!” Hayden sat back and contemplated her in surprise.
“Quite so.” Mrs. Burnham’s smile was wintry. “Evelyn’s behavior complicates the situation,” she admitted with candor. “I have had quite enough gossip about my private affairs;” her tone grew bitter. “People perhaps do not think I know the things which were said at the time my engagement to Mr. Burnham was announced, but there are always kind friends;” she laughed mirthlessly. “Women do not spare their own sex, doctor; even my daughter’s intimate friend, Marian Van Ness, stated I only married Peter to get rid of him.”
The frantic ringing of the telephone bell interrupted her, and with a hasty apology Hayden crossed the room to the instrument. Mrs. Burnham seized the opportunity to relax in her chair; the interview had taxed her strength. Happening to glance in the direction of the door she saw theJapanese servant pass down the hall, long wall brush and dust pan in hand; another instant and Dr. Hayden was back at her side.
“Evelyn is in a state of mind to do anything,” she stated, as he resumed his seat. “She is quite as possessed in favor of Captain La Montagne as my husband is opposed to him.”
“A pleasant situation for you,” acknowledged Hayden, and his sympathetic manner was a tonic to her frayed nerves. “Do you anticipate an elopement?”
“No, oh, no.” Mrs. Burnham spoke more rapidly than ordinarily. “Evelyn simply desires the immediate public announcement of her engagement under, in my opinion, a mistaken sense of loyalty to Captain La Montagne. I have begged her to tell only her intimate friends and relatives——”
“Ah! then you have agreed to the engagement?” asked Hayden quickly.
“Yes,” reluctantly. “Frankly, doctor, Evelyn’s condition this morning worried me, and I thought the best thing to do was to accede as far as possible to her wishes. It quieted her and she spent the remainder of the night without seeing visions.”
“Visions!” exclaimed the astonished physician.
“Yes,” tartly. “I was awakened by a whistling noise which seemed to come from Evelyn’s room, and on going in I found her sitting up in bed,apparently frightened half out of her senses and declaring that she saw against the opposite wall the unidentified dead man, sitting in the chair as she had found him in the library on Tuesday afternoon.”
“Upon my word!” Hayden stared at Mrs. Burnham; she was certainly serious in her statement. Was the entire Burnham household going mad, or was his hearing defective?
“Evelyn seldom speaks of the scene in the library,” went on Mrs. Burnham. “But finding the body must have made a greater impression upon her than any of us realized. She was very much wrought up to a feverish degree. Mrs. Ward told me this morning, by an interview she had with me about René La Montagne just before going to bed, and I am afraid her mind must have reverted back to the dead man and her mental distress projected her vision of him on the wall,” ended Mrs. Burnham. “Isn’t that what you physicians call it?”
Hayden looked puzzled. “An illusion—counterfeit appearances,” he explained, “is an incorrect impression of the senses. Has Evelyn ever had other illusions?”
“Never to my knowledge.” Mrs. Burnham rose. “I have left her in bed in Mrs. Ward’s care. I wish you would come in sometime during the daydoctor, and see her. In the meantime, I can’t thank you enough——” Mrs. Burnham’s fine eyes filled with tears and she stopped unable to control her voice.
“My dear Mrs. Burnham,” Hayden shook her hand warmly. “Say no more; I am only too delighted to be of service to you; you forget, but I do not, your long years of kindness and hospitality to me.”
Taking her knitting bag from the sofa where she had dropped it, Mrs. Burnham started for the door, and Hayden, snatching up his surgical bag and hat, accompanied her out of the apartment and down in the elevator.
They had been gone fully five minutes before James Palmer rose from his chair in the corner of the balcony and looked through the open window into the empty living room.
“A clever woman, a very clever woman,” he commented aloud. Turning abruptly he stepped through the French window opening into the hall of his apartment and went in search of the Japanese, Siki.
“Go out on the balcony and put new electric bulbs in the bird-cage lanterns,” he directed. “We want to sit out there to-night after dinner.”
Not waiting for a reply he left the apartment andwas just in time to catch a descending elevator. The boy had shut the elevator door when Palmer caught sight of Peter Burnham walking down the corridor, and he had but time to call out: “Sorry to miss you; Hayden’s gone,” when the elevator shot downward.
“I’ll wait for Hayden,” shouted Burnham, and a moment later was explaining his presence and desires to the attentive Japanese.
Siki ushered him into the living room with a grand flourish, then went off to execute his master’s orders with sublime disregard of Burnham’s presence.
The morning papers first engaged Burnham’s attention; the chess table added its fascination, but finally, tiring of both occupations, he wandered over to the window opening upon the balcony, a tinkle of glass having attracted his notice. He stood for some seconds looking out at the Jap sweeping up pieces of a broken electric bulb and watched him screw another in place in one of the silk-lined bird-cage lanterns.
“Siki,” he called. “Come here,” and as the Jap approached the window he drew out a twenty dollar bill.
“See here, Siki,” he began insinuatingly. “You know Captain La Montagne was in this apartmentThursday night just before the attempt was made to shoot me.”
The Jap looked first at the bill and then at Burnham, his expression inscrutable.
“Me understand, honorable sir,” he admitted and pocketed the money.