Kitabı oku: «A Chain of Evidence», sayfa 10

Mr. Crawford came in from the bedroom. "I've done up my room," he said, "and there's nothing there at all, not even a revolver. Now, if you're through here, we will change territory."

"I can't find anything," I returned, and as I spoke the inspector went straight to the writing-desk.

"If there is nothing here," he said, "I give it up."

With a practised hand he ran swiftly through Lawrence's papers.

"H'm!" he said. "Our young friend has been dabbling in stocks. Bought L. & C. Q. on a margin. That's bad, for it dropped 'way down day before yesterday. That ought to help along your 'motive,' Mr. Landon, for as sure as I sit here George Lawrence must have lost many thousands in Wall Street on Wednesday."

"It is corroborative," I said, "but that's all. Granting Lawrence's motive for desiring to inherit his uncle's money at once, there is no real evidence that he helped matters along by putting the old gentleman out of the way."

"Not a bit," agreed Inspector Crawford; "and you mark my word, Mr. Landon, if there was any reason for suspecting young Lawrence, it would have turned up before this."

"I'm not so sure of that," I returned; "and it isn't exactly evidence I'm after, but merely a hint as to how he could have done it."

"Ah!" said the inspector, smiling again. "He couldn't have done it save with the knowledge and assistance of his cousin."

XIX
A TALK WITH JANET

I went home decidedly disheartened. As usual, the Inspector's positiveness and incontrovertible reasoning depressed my spirits, because I felt convinced, although against my will, that he might be right.

But when I entered our apartment, and found Laura and Janet waiting for me, I forgot my troubles in the happiness of seeing Janet in my home.

The girl must have been of an adaptable temperament, for surely our household was totally unlike the one she had been accustomed to, and yet she seemed perfectly at home and at ease with us.

She wore black, but her robes of soft trailing silk, with a sort of transparent net by way of a yoke, did not seem so unsightly as heavy crape-trimmed dresses had always appeared to me.

Indeed the soft dull black was very becoming to Janet, and threw out her creamy white skin in beautiful relief. Her large dark eyes and dusky hair completed the harmony of black and white, and her scarlet lips were the only touch of color in the picture.

The evening was a trifle chill, and Laura had a wood fire blazing in the grate, for even in the short time we had lived in the Hammersleigh, my energetic sister had succeeded in substituting open fires for the ornate but unsatisfactory gas logs.

And so it was a cosy picture of home life that met my eyes, as I entered after my expedition down to Washington Square.

Of course, I couldn't mention my afternoon's experiences just then, for it was almost dinner time and I knew Laura's aversion to unpleasant subjects of conversation at the dinner table.

And so I did my part toward making the meal a cheery and pleasant occasion; and it was less difficult than might have been expected to avoid all reference to the tragedy.

Both women were quite willing to follow my lead, and our talk was of all sorts of pleasant matters, and now and then even verged toward lightness. I realized, as I was sure Laura did too, that Janet was a delightful conversationalist. She was both receptive and responsive. She caught a point easily and was quick at repartee. Moreover, she was gentle and refined, and it is needless to say that my love for her grew apace with my discovery of her merits.

After dinner we returned to the drawing-room, and with her usual tact, Laura contrived a household errand of some nature that took her away for a time, and left me alone with my client.

I was all unwilling to break the charm of the pleasant atmosphere we had created, but I knew it must be done if I were to free Janet from suspicion.

Determined to learn from her some facts which would help me, I told her at once that I desired a straightforward talk with her.

Immediately her manner changed. She became once more reserved, haughty and rebellious. But I had no choice save to go on.

"I am so sorry," I said, "that you resent my questioning you about these things. For surely, Miss Pembroke, you must understand, and it is my duty to make you understand that your position is serious. Now whether you want to or not, won't you please be honest with me, and confide more fully in me what knowledge you may have bearing on the case?"

"I can't be honest," she replied, with a sigh that seemed to come from her very soul; "I truly can't. Whatever you learn must be without my assistance."

"Why can you not be honest? Are you afraid to be?"

"I cannot answer that question, either. I tell you, Mr. Landon, that I have no information of any sort to give you."

"Then I must ask you a few definite questions, and you must answer them. Why did you not mention the letter that came to your uncle from Jonathan Scudder?"

"Who told you about that?"

The girl started up as if I had accused her of something serious, and indeed perhaps it was.

"The Inspector found the letter in your room," I replied; "as you were not willing to be frank in these matters, the law took its rights and searched the whole place for any possible light on the subject."

"And you consider that that letter throws light on the subject?"

"Only to the extent of proving that you purposely suppressed that letter; and I ask you why?"

"And I refuse to tell you why."

"Miss Pembroke, don't do that. Truly, you injure your own cause by refusing to tell these things. You have taken me for your lawyer; now if you want me to help you, indeed I may almost say to rescue you, from the danger you are in, you must help me in any way that you can."

My earnestness seemed to have an effect. The girl's face softened and her voice trembled a little as she said, "Perhaps it would be better for me to tell you all, – but, – no, I can't, I can't!" She hid her face in her hands, and her whole slender form shook with emotion. But she did not cry, as I had feared she would. Instead, she raised her head with a sudden determined gesture. "There was no reason," she said, with an air of indifference which I knew was assumed; "I simply forgot it, that's all."

"You forgot it!" I said, looking her straight in the eyes, so earnestly, that her own eyes fell before mine.

I knew she could not persist in a falsehood long, and sure enough in a moment she said, "Well, at least I didn't exactly forget it, but I thought it was of no consequence."

"You thought it was of no consequence! when only last evening we were discussing J. S. with your cousin, and wondering who he could be. At that time you had read the letter from Jonathan Scudder, saying that he would not come here Wednesday evening as he had telegraphed that he would do. Why did you not tell us of it?"

"Perhaps it wasn't the same J. S.!" Janet smiled at me as she said this, and I felt sure the smile was to distract me from my serious purpose, and win me to a lighter mood. And she nearly succeeded, too, for again I saw gentleness in her smile, and when to Janet Pembroke's beautiful face was added the charm of gentleness, it was irresistible indeed.

But by a mighty effort I refrained from being cajoled, and I said sternly, "You knew it was the same J. S., because the letter referred to the telegram."

"That's so," she said, musingly; "I never thought of that. I fear I'm not very clever at deception."

"I fear you are not," I answered, gravely, "and I thank Heaven for it. Now, if you will just put all these matters into my hands, and tell me what I ask, you will have no further cause for deception, and, I hope, no more trouble."

"What do you ask?" she said, and never before had she looked so lovely. She spoke in a low tone and had she been the most finished coquette she could not have appeared more alluring. I was tempted almost beyond my strength to clasp her in my arms and say, "I ask only for you," but I knew were I to precipitate matters in that way I might antagonize her, and so lose what slight chance I had of helping her.

"I ask," I said, in low even tones, "that you will tell me frankly why you made no mention of the letter from Jonathan Scudder?"

"Because I wished suspicion to rest upon J. S.!" The words were quick and incisive, and fairly cut into the air as she enunciated them clearly and emphatically.

"Do you know Jonathan Scudder?"

"I do not. I never heard the name until I read that letter. But I know J. S. to be an enemy of my uncle, and why may it not be that he came and killed Uncle Robert, even after he sent that letter? Perhaps he sent it for a blind."

"Miss Pembroke, you do not believe J. S. came at all on Wednesday night. You know he did not, and you are making this up simply that suspicion may be turned in his direction. Is not this true?"

"Yes," faintly murmured the girl, "you asked me to be frank, and I have been."

She was making an awful admission, and she was perfectly well aware of it. Fear clutched at my heart. If she herself had killed her uncle, how natural to endeavor to throw suspicion on an unknown man. Again, if Leroy were implicated, or if they had been companions in wrong-doing how equally plausible a ruse!

Her face was white now to the very lips. Her hands trembled, and her eyes darted frightened glances, as if she knew not which way to turn next.

"Miss Pembroke," I said, very gently, "I'm more sorry than I can tell you, that you persist in secrecy. But since you do I will speak for you. You want to throw suspicion on J. S., in order to divert it either from yourself or from someone else whom you wish to shield."

"How do you know that?" cried Janet, looking up with startled eyes.

"It is not difficult to guess," I said, bitterly. "Nor is it difficult to guess the identity of the one you might wish to shield."

"Don't!" breathed Janet, clasping her hands; "don't breathe his name aloud!"

"I will!" I said, thoroughly angered now; "it is Graham Leroy, and you do love him, in spite of your pretended dislike of him!"

I paused suddenly, for a new thought had struck me. If Leroy were the murderer, and if Janet had admitted him to the house, and willingly or unwillingly been cognizant of his deed, then she would act exactly the way she had acted! She would try to shield him, try to avert suspicion from him, but of course she could not have him for her lawyer, and though she still loved him, she could not but scorn him.

The suddenness of these thoughts so overwhelmed me that for a moment I did not look at her. When I did, I was amazed at the change in her face. From a white pallor it had turned to an angry red, and my heart fell as I realized that she was angry at me for discovering her secret.

"Don't look like that," I pleaded; "only tell me the truth, and I will help you, – I will help you both. At any rate, I know that you were guiltless, even if you have a guilty knowledge of Leroy's deed."

"You needn't assume me guiltless," Janet said, and her low voice destitute of inflection, sounded as if she were forcing herself to recite, parrot-like, a lesson already learned. "I had motive, and Mr. Leroy had none."

"He may have had a dozen motives, for all I know," I said, rather harshly, for I was beginning to realize that if she cared enough for Leroy to proclaim herself guilty, my hopes were small indeed. "He may have wanted that money himself, and come back to get it!" This was a mean speech on my part, and utterly unfounded, but I was so angry at Janet for shielding Leroy's name, that I cared little what I said.

"Oh, Mr. Leroy never wanted money; he's a very rich man."

"Who did want the money then? Did you?" I was fast forgetting my manners, and my determination to win Janet's confidence by kindliness, but I had not expected to have Leroy thus flung in my face.

"Yes, I wanted money," said Janet, "you learned that from Charlotte's evidence."

"You are the strangest girl!" I said, staring at her, "you won't tell me the simple things I ask, and then you fire a statement like that at me! What do you mean? That you really wanted a large sum of money?"

"Yes; ten thousand dollars." The girl whispered this, and it seemed to my bewildered fancy as if she said it without even her own volition. It seemed forced from her by some subconscious process, and I was both amazed and frightened. But I tried not to show my feelings, for if I would learn the truth of this surprising revelation, I must move carefully.

"Did you want that much?" I said, in a casual way, as if it were a mere nominal sum. "What did you want it for?"

"As if I should tell you that!" and this astounding piece of humanity tossed her head, and smiled almost roguishly at me.

"Never mind what you wanted it for," I said, "but you did want it, didn't you? And you asked your uncle for it, and he refused you."

"He said that if, – if I would, – would – oh, what am I saying!" She broke off with a little gasp, as if she had almost betrayed a secret. But I knew.

"He said he would give it to you, and more too, if you would marry Mr. Leroy, didn't he?"

"Yes," Janet replied, and this time she spoke in a simple, natural voice and looked at me frankly.

"But, as you wanted the money to give to Mr. Leroy, and didn't want to marry him, your uncle's proposition didn't please you?"

Janet looked at me in a bewildered way. "Yes," she stammered, "yes, – that was it."

But I was learning my girl at last. For some reason she was telling a string of falsehoods! My faith in her made me believe that she was doing this for some definite and, to her, justifiable purpose. And yet, though my suggestion about Leroy seemed to me to be in line with her plans, and though she had said yes to it, – yet I knew it was not the truth. My rapidly increasing love for her gave me an insight into her nature, and though I might not be able to persuade her to tell me the truth, yet I could discern when she spoke truly and when falsely.

"I give it up," I said to her, suddenly adopting a lighter tone; "I can do nothing with you tonight in our relations of client and lawyer. Let us drop the whole dreadful subject for the rest of this evening, and let us pretend that we are just good friends, with no troublesome questions between us.

"Yes," agreed Janet, with a smile of delight, "let us do that; but anyway, I don't see why the troublesome questions that come between us as lawyer and client, should interfere with our friendship."

"Nor do I, bless you!" I exclaimed, and with a lightened heart I put aside my burden of doubt and fear for the present. And soon Laura came back, and we all chatted pleasantly, without reference to anything gruesome or dreadful.

Laura had not heard our foregoing conversation, and had not, as I feared I had, additional reasons to wonder at Janet Pembroke.

But, we were both charmed with the girl's vivacity and entertaining powers. She did or said nothing which savored too much of gayety to harmonize with her black gown, and yet her little whimsical speeches and her gentle wistful smiles won our hearts anew, and made both Laura and myself feel bound to her without regard to the cloud that hung above her head.

XX
THE INITIALED HANDKERCHIEF

The funeral of Robert Pembroke was to be held Saturday afternoon. The man had so few friends that elaborate services were not arranged for. Indeed it was to take place from the mortuary chapel, and would doubtless be attended by a very small assembly.

Of course Laura and I would go, out of respect for our friends, although we had never known Mr. Pembroke himself.

I did not see Janet before I went downtown Saturday morning, as Laura was taking great care of the girl, and never allowed her to appear early in the morning.

When I reached my office, I found a letter which was signed James Decker.

It was a bit illiterate, but it revealed to me the fact that its writer had attended the National Theatre on the night of October sixteenth and as he had occupied a seat H 3, he was behind G 3, he wanted very much to know in what way it was to his advantage to announce the fact to me.

I telephoned Mr. Decker at the address he gave, and he agreed to come to see me within the next hour.

He came very soon, and entirely fulfilled the mental picture I had already drawn of him. Flashy clothing, red necktie and hat on the back of his head were his distinguishing characteristics, with voice and manner to correspond.

"What's up, pard?" was his unduly familiar greeting, but though I did not respond in his vernacular, I had no wish to criticise it.

I explained to him that I wanted to know anything he could tell me about the occupants of seats one and three G on the night in question.

"Sure, I can tell ye all about 'em," he declared; "they was pals of mine, Billy Rivers and Bob Pierson. They was eight of us went, and we had aisle seats of four rows, right in front of each other. What about them two chaps? they're all right, Guv'nor, I'll go bail for that!"

"I've no doubt of it, Mr. Decker," I responded, heartily; "and as this is just a little private matter between you and me, I'm going to ask you for their addresses, but I am going to assure you that this will get them into no trouble, unless they deserve it; and that if you so desire, your name need not be mentioned in the matter."

"Great Mackerel! I don't care how much you mention my name, and like's not Bob and Bill won't care either. They're straight, mister, good pals and good men."

There was something about the candid gaze of Decker that made me feel confidence in his words. I had a conviction then and there, that whoever murdered Robert Pembroke it was neither Bob nor Bill, the good friends of James Decker. But in a way, it was a disappointment, for it only proved one more clue worthless. Where those two ticket stubs came from, or how they got into Robert Pembroke's bedroom, I didn't then stop to think; although I had hazy ideas of tracing some sort of connection with the elevator boy or janitor and these people. But for the moment, all I could do was to take these men's addresses, and present Mr. Decker with a sufficient honorarium to pay him for the trouble and exertion of coming to see me.

I went home at noon, pondering over those ticket stubs. After all, perhaps I had been terribly taken in. Perhaps this Decker man made up the whole story for the purpose of getting the fee which he knew I was pretty sure to give him. Perhaps his two pals were as imaginary as they were good, and perhaps he was only a clever adventurer who had succeeded in fooling a less clever lawyer! Well at any rate, I had done no harm, and I had the men's addresses. Later on, I would tell the District Attorney the whole story, and if he chose to follow it up he could do so.

From the funeral of Robert Pembroke I went straight to the District Attorney's office.

I had come to the conclusion that I must do something, and that I must do it quickly. I knew Buckner was only waiting till the funeral was over to push his investigations; and I knew too, that unless some new evidence was forthcoming from somewhere, his procedure must inevitably result in the arrest of Janet.

I must find that new evidence, which must at least turn the trend of suspicion in some other direction. I could think only of the handkerchief that I had found in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom. This had never been accounted for in any way, and surely it must mean something.

The other articles I had found had proved of little value so far. The ticket stubs promised little or nothing, for I could not feel that the man Decker or his friends were implicated. The time-table gave me no idea of where to look for any clue. It was useless to refer it to the Lackawanna Railroad. Moreover, East Lynnwood was not on that road, nor was Utica, and these were the only two places that had so much as been mentioned in connection with the affair.

The torn telegram, in connection with the letter, seemed to mean nothing; or if it did, it pointed toward Janet's deception in regard to it.

The money was gone, and that, too, in the minds of some people, again suggested Janet's wrong-doing. The key, while it might seem to implicate Leroy, was far from being a definite clue, and if it meant Leroy, it might also mean Janet's complicity.

The hair-pin I left out of consideration, and as a last resort, I determined to run down the owner of that handkerchief.

I rehearsed all these conclusions to the District Attorney, and he smiled a little superciliously. It is strange how the police officials scorn the interesting clues so beloved of the detective mind.

However, Buckner said nothing in opposition to my plan, and at my request handed me the handkerchief. We had little conversation but it was plain to be seen that he was assured of Janet's guilt and saw no other direction in which to look for the criminal.

"Go ahead and investigate that handkerchief business," he said, "but you'll find it leads to nothing. That handkerchief might have been left there by any caller during the last week or so; and as we know Mr. Pembroke had frequent callers, that is of course the explanation."

I couldn't believe this, because, though now crumpled from passing through many hands, when I had found the handkerchief it was comparatively fresh, and looked as if it had but just been shaken from its laundered folds. This would seem to indicate that it had not been in the room long, and moreover had it been left there several days before, it would have been found by Charlotte or by Janet, and laid aside to be restored to its owner.

I put it in my pocket, and after a short further conversation with Mr. Buckner, I was convinced afresh of Janet's impending danger, so that I went away spurred to my utmost endeavor to find some new information.

I examined the handkerchief carefully, but saw only what I had already observed; that it was unusually fine and dainty for a man's possession, and that the embroidered letters were of exquisite workmanship and unique design.

I took a taxicab and began a systematic canvass of the best shops in the city that provided wearing apparel for fastidious men.

The results were not encouraging. One after another, the haberdashers informed me that the handkerchief had not come from their shops. Indeed, they opined that the work had not been done in this country, but that the handkerchief had been bought abroad. However, as I was about to give up my search, one interested shopkeeper told me of a small and very exclusive establishment from which that handkerchief might have been obtained.

With my hopes a trifle buoyed up, I went at once to the address given me, and to my delight the affable cleric recognized the handkerchief.

"Yes," he said, "that is one of ours. We have them hand-embroidered for one of our best customers. He has used that design for many years. Did he recommend you to come here?"

"No," said I, "I'm not ordering handkerchiefs for myself. Moreover, I was not sent here by the owner of this one, nor do I know his name. Are you willing to tell it to me?"

"I see no reason why I shouldn't. That handkerchief belongs to Mr. Gresham, – William Sydney Gresham. It is one of the best bits of work we ever put out, and we are a little proud of it."

"It's beautiful work," I agreed, "and now will you give me Mr. Gresham's address?"

Although not especially keen-witted, the clerk looked a little surprised at this, and hesitated for a moment. But when I told him that the matter was important, he made no further objection, and gave me Mr. Gresham's club address.

Needless to say I went directly there, and by good luck I found Mr. Gresham, pleasantly passing the before dinner hour with some of his friends.

I went to him, introduced myself and asked for a moment's private conversation. He looked surprised, but consented, and with a courteous manner led me to a small room, where we were alone.

"Be seated, Mr. Landon," he said, pleasantly; "what can I do for you?"

He was a handsome man and well set up. He was especially well dressed, in clothes of English cut, and his whole appearance showed attention to details. His face betokened a strong, manly character and his gaze was clear and straightforward.

Without preliminaries, I showed him the handkerchief and said, simply, "Is this your handkerchief, Mr. Gresham?"

"It certainly is," he said, taking the linen square, and glancing at the letters; "did you find it? I thank you very much for restoring my property, – though of no great value."

"Had you missed it?" I said, looking at him closely.

"Bless my soul, no! A man has several handkerchiefs, you know, and I dare say I might lose two or three without missing them. Excuse me, Mr. Landon, but aren't you attaching undue importance to such a trifle as a lost handkerchief?"

"I don't know yet, Mr. Gresham, whether this particular loss of yours will prove to be a trifling matter or not. Do you know Robert Pembroke?"

"The man who was murdered a few days ago?"

"Yes."

"No, I never knew him; but I read in the papers of the poor fellow's death and thought it most shocking. I trust they will discover the murderer and avenge the crime."

If Mr. Gresham were implicated in the affair, he certainly carried off this conversation with a fine composure. But I resolved to startle his calm if I could.

"Then can you explain, Mr. Gresham," I said, "how this handkerchief of yours happened to be found on the bed of the murdered man the morning after the murder?"

"Great Heavens, no! nor do I believe it was found there!"

"But it was, for I myself found it."

"My handkerchief! In Mr. Pembroke's bedroom! Impossible!"

The man spoke with an angry inflection and a rising color, and I watched him narrowly. Either this was the just indignation of an innocent man, or else it was the carefully rehearsed dissimulation of a clever wrong-doer. My instinct and my reason told me he was innocent, but my inclinations so strongly hoped for some hint of his guilt, that I persevered.

"Yes, Mr. Gresham, I found it in that room, and on that bed in less than twelve hours after Mr. Pembroke was killed."

"You did! and you think therefore that I killed him, or at least that I was in his room! Why, man, I have already told you that I never knew Mr. Pembroke, and have certainly never been to his house, nor do I even know where he lives!"

This was all very well if it were true, but how was I to know whether this fine gentleman were lying or not. To be sure his face, voice and manner gave every effect of outraged innocence, but was that not just what a clever criminal would show?

"Where were you late last Wednesday night?" I asked him bluntly.

"By Jove! I don't know! I may have been in a dozen places. I go where I choose, and I don't keep a diary of my doings!"

"But try to think, Mr. Gresham," I said, more gently; "were you here at this club?"

"I may have been and I may not. I may have been motoring, or dining out, or at the theatre, or anywhere. I tell you I don't know where I was."

"It will be to your own interest to remember," I said, speaking sternly, for now I began to suspect the man.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because when a man's handkerchief is found under such circumstances, it is advisable for the man to prove that he was not there too."

"Lest I be suspected of the murder of a man whom I never saw, and never even heard of until after he was dead?"

"We have only your own word for that," I returned, coldly; "but the rather definite clue of your handkerchief found in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom requires investigation, and I am here for that purpose."

"The deuce you are! Well, Mr. Landon, you are barking up the wrong tree! May I refer you to my man of business, and ask you to excuse me from a further discussion of this matter?"

"You may not! I am here, Mr. Gresham, if not exactly in an official capacity, yet with the authority of a lawyer employed on this case. And if I may advise you, merely as man to man, I think it will be better for you to question your memory a little more closely, and endeavor to recollect where you were on Wednesday night."

"Oh, suppose I can hark back to it. Let me see; I believe I motored up to Greenwich for the night. No, that was Tuesday night. And Thursday night I went to the theatre. Well, then it must have been Wednesday night that I was at the Hardings' to dinner. Yes, I was. I dined at the home of James S. Harding. And that you can verify from him. Now are you satisfied?"

"What time did you leave Mr. Harding's?"

"I don't know; about eleven or twelve, I suppose."

"And then where did you go?"

"Good Heavens! I can't remember every corner I turned! I think I stopped here at the Club before I went to my diggings; yes I'm sure I did."

"Then there must be Club members, or even stewards by whom you can prove an alibi."

"Prove an alibi! Look here, Mr. Landon, I positively refuse to carry this conversation further. I know nothing of your Mr. Pembroke or of his murderer. I know nothing about that handkerchief, which you say you found there, except the fact that it is mine. Now if your people want to arrest me, let them come and do it; but until they do, kindly spare me further questioning, which I do not admit to be within your rights. Allow me to wish you good morning."

Though most anxious to believe this man guilty, it was difficult to do so, and yet I was quite willing to believe that his somewhat grandiloquent attitude was all a bluff. However, I had found the owner of the handkerchief, and I had learned all I could from him. And so, with a conventional leave-taking, I left him and went home.