CHAPTER XVILINKS IN THE CHAIN
Anna, the waitress, answered Robert Hale’s persistent ring of the front bell with all the speed her strained ankle would permit. At sight of her, Hale restrained an outburst of temper and with a mumbled, “Thanks,” stamped past her into the central hall of his home.
“Is my brother in the house, Anna?” he inquired, tossing down his overcoat and hat on the first chair he came to.
“Yes, sir, I believe so.” Anna closed the front door as an icy current of air blew her becoming cap at right angles. “His hat and cane are here on the coat stand, and I heard him ask Mr. Latimer to go to his room with him as they left the dining room after luncheon.”
Hale paused on his way to the library. “Who lunched here?”
“Mrs. Hale, Miss Judith, Major Richards, Mr. Latimer, and Mr. John, sir,” Anna explained in detail. “Mrs. Hale complained of a headacheand the Major volunteered to take her for a run in Miss Judith’s electric.”
“Did Miss Judith accompany them?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hale looked at the pretty waitress. It was the first time that he had seen her since her injury to her ankle. Contrary to expectations, he had not returned for luncheon but had remained at the club.
“How are you feeling, Anna?” he asked kindly. “Not overdoing it by being about too soon, are you?”
“No, sir.” Anna flushed with pleasure. Hale seldom addressed her, much less took an interest in her welfare, and she had some ado to conceal her surprise. “I’m feeling fine, sir. Is there anything I can do for you, sir, before I go upstairs?”
“You are going upstairs?” Hale halted. “Then please stop at Mr. John’s room and tell him that I would like to see him alone in the den.”
“Very good, sir,” and Anna sought the back stairs and limped her way to the third floor.
John Hale’s bedroom was almost directly opposite that occupied by his stepson Austin. As Anna came down the hall she was greeted bytobacco smoke which drifted through the open transom over John Hale’s door. In response to her knock he came into the hall.
“If you please, Mr. John, your brother wishes to see you alone in the den,” she said.
“Now?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so. Mr. Hale just said that he would like to see you,” and having delivered her message, Anna executed her bob of a courtesy and went her way.
John Hale walked back into his bedroom with a scowling face, and over to the divan where Frank Latimer lounged, smoking his inevitable cigarette.
“Robert’s sent for me,” he stated. “What do you suppose he is up to?”
Latimer dropped his cigarette in the smoking stand and stood up.
“Mrs. Davis told me, you recollect, that Polly had resigned her position as his secretary,” he reminded him. “Probably your brother has just received a note from her.”
“By Jove!” John Hale’s scowl vanished. “The note may give Polly’s address. Come on, Frank,” and he made for the door, followed in a more leisurely fashion by his companion.
“Didn’t your brother send word that he wishedto see you alone?” he asked. “I thought I heard Anna tell you so.”
“She did, that’s true”—John Hale paused at the head of the staircase. “Wait for me, will you? I won’t be long. And then, if there is no address on Polly’s note, we’ll motor to Markham and see for ourselves if Polly is there or not.”
“But, look here—”
“No ‘buts,’” John Hale slapped him on the back. The prospect of action had brought back his spirits. “You’ve got to see me through this, Frank, for the sake of ‘auld lang syne.’ You’ve kept me out of trouble before, remember that”—and he gripped Latimer’s hand and wrung it.
“It looks as if I had contracted for a big job,” groaned Latimer, expanding his fingers which tingled from John Hale’s pressure. “I’ll gladly turn you over to Polly with my blessings. I’ll wait for you in the library, but don’t be long.”
“All right,” and the two friends parted on the second floor.
John Hale did not go at once to his brother’s den. Instead, he watched Latimer disappear down the circular staircase, then very slowly crossed the hall and looked inside Judith’s boudoir. It was empty. With indecision written plainly on his face, he turned about and soughtthe den. Robert Hale looked up from his desk, where he was writing with feverish speed, as his brother entered.
“Close the door, John,” he directed, and waited in silence until his brother had crossed the room and stood by the fireplace, in which a gas log burned. “Sit down.”
John Hale regarded his brother with no friendly eyes. He had always resented what he termed “Robert’s elder brother act,” and his dictatorial manner generally grated, besides which their natures were too diametrically opposed ever to agree on any subject. John’s height and commanding figure had always been a source of envy to his delicate brother, while the latter’s scientific achievements and financial prosperity had served to widen the breach between them.
“I can stay only a minute,” John announced, lounging against the mantel. “What do you wish to see me about?”
Hale’s thin lips tightened into a straight line. “Sit down first,”—his manner was a bit more courteous—“and I will explain. No, take that chair where you can face me,” and John, against his wishes, dropped into a seat facing not only his brother but the full glare of light from the window.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, as his brother volunteered no remark.
“Can you tell me the present whereabouts of my secretary, Polly Davis?” asked Hale.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because she has sent me her resignation, and I desire to find out where she has gone and why she has skipped.”
“Skipped?” There was instant anger in John’s loud tone. “What d’ye mean, ‘skipped’?”
“Run away, if you like it better.” It was impossible to mistake Hale’s sneering manner. With a curse, John started from his chair.
“You—” he began.
“Quiet, John,” cautioned Hale suavely. “Hear what I have to say before you lose your temper.”
John dropped back in his chair. “Go on,” he shouted, “but don’t try me too far; keep a civil tongue when you speak of Polly—she is pure and sweet and I’ll not have her character defiled.”
“And she met Austin here on Tuesday night,” Hale commented dryly. “You know Austin’s reputation—sit down!” as John again started to his feet. “Either hear me to the end or leavenow,” and Hale threw himself back in his seat. “I will not be interrupted every second.”
With difficulty the younger brother mastered his rage. At all cost he felt that he must get information about Polly, and he could do so only by maintaining self-control. He knew his brother too well to doubt that if Hale awoke to the fact that John desired such information he would withhold it from sheer deviltry.
“I am listening,” he said sullenly. “Only remember, my time is valuable.”
Hale smiled with his lips only. “Let us face the situation,” he remarked. “Polly met Austin here on Tuesday night—”
“How do you know she did?” John demanded hotly.
“I saw her,” calmly.
“You—” John stared at him. “You were ill in bed.”
“I was ill—but not in bed,” corrected Hale. “Anna had forgotten to put a glass of ice water on my bed table and, becoming thirsty, I got up, walked down the hall and helped myself from the pitcher and glasses which always stand there at night.” He paused. “I started to return when I thought I heard a woman crying and I took several steps down the circular staircase—”
“Well?” prompted John, as his brother stopped to take breath. “Continue.”
“You are interested?” A mocking gleam shone for an instant in Hale’s deep-set eyes. “I glanced over the bannister into the central hall and saw Polly Davis come out of the library.”
The silence in the den grew oppressive. Suddenly John Hale raised both hands and tugged at his collar as if for air. Then, just as suddenly, his hands fell to his sides.
“What followed?” he asked, and Hale wondered at the moderation of his tone. He had expected a tongue-lashing at the least, if not a physical encounter—his taut muscles relaxed and he assumed an easier position.
“Polly stood clinging to the portières for an instant, then before I could call to her, she ran to the front door and dashed outside,” Hale continued.
“Did you go downstairs?” questioned John.
“No, I did not feel equal to the exertion,” Hale explained. “I returned to bed.”
“What? Without going to see what Polly was doing here and why she should be crying?” asked John incredulously.
Hale smiled cynically. “I have been brought up on woman’s tears,” he remarked. “Agathahas let loose the floodgates so often that I am schooled to indifference. I supposed Polly had been with Judith in the library, and it was not until I was told of Austin’s death that I ascribed another reason for her presence here after midnight.”
John looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “Don’t try me too far,” he warned. “It wouldn’t take much to kill you,” and he extended his powerful hands, fingers distended as if to grip their prey.
His brother watched him unmoved.
“It is easy to kill a man—witness Austin’s murder,” he commented. “But it is unpleasant to swing for the crime. I am glad Polly has bolted.”
“You jump to conclusions,” retorted John. “Becauseyousaw Polly coming out of the library it does not prove that she killed Austin, nor does it prove that she knew he was here, nor that she talked with him.”
“That is true,” agreed Hale; “but in addition to seeing her leave the library I know that she had borrowed Agatha’s latchkey. I know she expected to see Austin—”
“Prove it,” John shouted. “I demand proof.”
Hale unlocked his desk drawer, took out acrumpled sheet of typewriting, and, still retaining a firm hold on the sheet, extended it so that his brother could read the words. “This is a page copied from my manuscript,” he explained. “Polly spoiled the sheet by reversing the carbon,”—he turned it over and showed the impression on the other side—“but before she did so she indicated where her thoughts were straying by this”—and his finger pointed to the typed lines, repeated several times at the bottom of the sheet:
“Saw Austin 10-t-b-53-76c.”
“What gibberish is that?” asked John scornfully.
“Not gibberish,” calmly, “but the combination of my safe.”
The striking of the clock as the hands registered three sounded like a knell in John Hale’s ears. His brother was the first to speak.
“These links in the chain of evidence considered separately are weak,” he admitted candidly, “but taken together, they are strong.”
“I don’t believe it,” protested John. “It is all circumstantial evidence—”
“To which Polly has lent substance by her disappearance,” retorted Hale: “Had she stayed here and continued as my secretary, attention would not have been attracted to her.”
John did not reply at once and Hale, watching him, noted his changed expression with bated interest.
“To sum up,”—Hale’s voice cut the silence and scraped afresh John’s raw nerves—“Polly was engaged to Austin—can you deny it?” Receiving no reply, he went on, “Polly knew he would be here Tuesday night, witness her presence in the house at midnight; she supplied him with the combination of my safe; she was seen leaving the library at the very time he must have been murdered, and his body was found lying near theopensafe—”
“Hold on, she may have been here and all that,” John broke in with rough vehemence, “but some one else may have killed Austin even in her presence—”
“Then why has she not told the police?” John remained silent, and his brother continued speaking. “I hoped Polly would brave it out here, and to reduce her anxieties—for I know how pushed she is for money—I increased her salary and held my tongue.”
John stared at him long and intently before again addressing him.
“Why have you kept silent and not informed the police of your suspicions?” he asked, curiously.“Charity is not usually one of your virtues.”
“Austin deserved what he got,” Hale answered slowly. “And—I was always fond of a sporting chance. Therefore, John, find Polly and I will aid you to finance a trip to a country where extradition is not enforced.”
John’s face flamed scarlet. Slowly his color ebbed and his hands unclenched, and when he spoke his voice was low and measured.
“Where am I to find Polly?”
Hale took a letter from his desk. “Polly writes that she is called out of town and, not knowing the date of her return, fears that she will be unable to continue as my secretary, and with every good wish, begs to remain faithfully mine.” Hale shrugged his shoulders by way of comment, and added: “The letter is dated this morning, has no street address on it, and was sent to my club. See for yourself,” and he tossed the letter to him.
John read the familiar writing several times, then folding the sheet, tucked it in his pocket and rose.
“Is there anything else you wish to see me about?” he asked.
“No.” Hale turned carelessly back to hisdesk. “Take a fool’s advice and do not procrastinate in your search for Polly.”
John walked in silence to the door. Once there, he looked back and addressed his brother.
“Some day I’ll wring your damn neck!” he exclaimed, and his brother’s mocking laughter was still ringing in his ears as he went down the circular staircase.
The sound of voices at the front door aroused him from his thoughts, and, looking in that direction, he saw Maud, the parlor maid, conversing with a District messenger boy. She was in the act of signing a receipt when an oblong package on which she was trying to write, slipped from her awkward fingers and struck with a resounding thud on the marble floor of the vestibule. There was a tinkle of broken glass as the tissue paper covering burst. The messenger, scenting trouble, snatched the receipt out of her hand and bolted down the steps, while Maud, with a loud exclamation, stooped and picked up the package.
“Look at that, now!” she gasped in tragic tones, as John Hale stopped beside her. “What’ll I do? I’ve broken the crystal of Major Richards’ watch.” And tearing off the remains of the tissue paper, she held the piece of jewelry before him.
John Hale scarcely heard her words, his attention was entirely centered on the open-faced watch. Small bits of crystal still clung to its face, but the dial had not been injured and the hands were intact.
“Where did the watch come from?” he asked, and at the eagerness in his voice Maud looked up.
“It’s Major Richards’!” she explained. “Jennings, the watchmaker on Fourteenth Street, sent word by the boy that he couldn’t get it over last night as promised, so he sent it this afternoon. What will the Major say to me?” and Maud’s distress found vent in a subdued sniff presaging a burst of tears.
“Don’t worry, Maud; I’ll explain to Major Richards that the accident was unavoidable. Let me have the watch,” and as Maud expressed voluble thanks, he sped into the library, the watch dangling from its chain.
“Frank,” he cried. “Hurry, man, I’ve found”—he checked himself at sight of Judith sitting on the lounge talking to Latimer.
Judith turned her head at his abrupt entrance and looked at him, then her eyes wandered from his excited face to the watch which he held at arm’s length as he advanced toward them.
“See!” he exclaimed, and rested the watch onthe tufted side of the lounge, where both Judith and Latimer had a close view of its antique beauty. Judith bent closer and when she straightened up her face was flushed.
“It is Austin’s watch!” she declared. “I can swear to it.”
“You need not swear—it is Austin’s watch,” John Hale’s tone was cold and cutting. “But you can explain how the watch came in the possession of your husband, Major Richards.”
Judith’s bright color faded. “It is in your possession, and not in the possession of my husband,” she retorted. “Had you not better do the explaining?”
“Willingly—the watch has been in my hands just about four minutes.” John lifted the paper tag attached to the chain. “Listen, Judith—‘Major J. C. Richards—repair broken link in chain and return immediately.’ Your husband left the watch and chain with Jennings and he has returned it.” John Hale moderated his rapid speech and spoke with impressiveness. “Austin was murdered and his watch stolen—that watch has turned up ticketed with your husband’s name. Kindly explain it.”
Judith was conscious of the intent watchfulness of her uncle and Frank Latimer as they waitedfor her reply, and with all her will power she strove to steady her voice.
“My husband is out just now,” she stated clearly. “When he returns he will explain everything to our satisfaction.”
“Will he?” John Hale’s high temper had slipped control. “I see it all now. Your father knows your husband killed Austin, and to save family scandal has plotted evidence against Polly Davis, even buying her silence and providing funds to have her disappear.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” demanded Judith, breaking into his torrent of words.
“No, on the contrary, every faculty is on the alert,” retorted John Hale. “By God, to think of Robert’s trying to shield Richards by making an innocent girl appear guilty. It’s an outrage and I’ll expose every rotten one of you—”
“Steady, John!” Latimer stepped in front of him. “Go easy! You shan’t insult Judith in my presence.”
“Don’t you interfere. Judith shall learn the truth about her rascally husband”—he waved the watch in front of the white-faced girl. “Richards took this watch from Austin as he took your Valve bonds from your father’s safe.I’ve got the goods on him, and he’ll swing for Austin’s murder.”
“He will not!” Judith’s voice rose, clear and strong, and silenced even her overwrought uncle. Her eyes glowed with passionate anger as she faced him. “You dare to threaten me, Uncle John?”
“I dare to protect Polly Davis from underhand, blackguardly treatment,” he replied. “It is a frame-up.”
“Is it?” Judith’s smile was dangerous. “Go back to Polly and take her that watch. Tell her there is a link missing in the chain you are trying to forge and I have it, although she may have the Mizpah locket. Go, both of you!”
John Hale started as if stung. Then, without a word he pocketed the watch and, seizing Latimer’s arm, dragged him out of the room.