Kitabı oku: «A Chain of Evidence», sayfa 8

This seemed to surprise Lawrence, but he only said carelessly: "It doesn't matter what motive they assign to Janet, for she didn't have any motive, and she didn't do the deed. But, for the moment, I'm speaking not of facts or even possibilities, but of contingencies which might arise. It might be claimed that I had a motive, from the mere fact that I am one of my uncle's heirs."

"But you couldn't get in, George," said Janet quickly. "Your latch-key was of no use when the chain was on."

"That's true enough, Janet, and we all know it; but, as I say, we're speaking of a hypothetical case. And you know, if we're going to hunt for some other person with a motive, we're bound to admit that he got into the apartment somehow. Therefore, to eliminate the possibility of being myself a suspect, I'll merely state, as a matter of fact, that my alibi is perfect. I can prove, should it be necessary, that I was far away from Sixty-second Street at the time of Uncle Robert's death, and can account for my time all through the night."

I liked Lawrence's way of putting these things, and began to think his clear-headed views on the matter would be of assistance to me, even though he had no taste or talent for detective work.

"Just what is an alibi?" asked Janet, with a perplexed air.

"It means," I answered, "proof by witnesses of a person's whereabouts at a given time."

"Oh!" said Janet. "And where were you last night, George?"

Lawrence smiled as he answered: "I'm not in the witness box now, Janet, but I don't mind telling you that I dined and spent the evening at the Warings'."

"Oh, did you?" cried Janet. "And you took Milly to a matinée in the afternoon. I know, because she told me about it before. You're getting awfully fond of her, aren't you, George?"

"Yes, I like Miss Waring extremely," said Lawrence, and though he spoke as if he meant it, a certain sadness came into his eyes, and I suspected that Miss Waring did not reciprocate his regard.

But though the young man seemed suddenly distrait, and did not attempt to continue our previous conversation, Janet, on the contrary had brightened up wonderfully. Being in a mood for making inferences, I deduced that George Lawrence was more interested in Miss Waring than Janet desired him to be, and that she was pleased rather than otherwise at George's lack of enthusiasm about the lady. Thereupon the sudden fear that Janet was in love with her cousin assailed me. This aroused what was of course an unreasonable jealousy on my part, for I had not the slightest actual foundation on which to rest the hopes I was rapidly building. I eagerly watched the two cousins after that, to discover if there was anything more than cousinly affection on either side.

XV
WHO IS J. S.?

Whatever the cause, Janet's spirits were undeniably lightened.

"I wish I could help," she said. "Here is our problem: to find somebody who wanted to kill Uncle Robert, and who was able to get into the apartment and do so."

"That's the case in a nutshell," declared George; "but I confess I don't know which way to start."

Although I had made up my mind not to refer to the letter from Jonathan Scudder, which Crawford had shown me, yet I thought I would introduce the subject of J. S. and see if Janet would volunteer any information regarding the letter.

So, since both cousins had declared their willingness to consider the problem, I said: "As you say you don't know which way to start, Mr. Lawrence, suppose we take up the clue of the torn telegram. Do you think that J. S. who sent that message might have kept his appointment, and come last night, although no one knew it?"

"How could he get in?" asked Lawrence.

"That remains to be explained; but just granting for a moment that he did get in, why not turn our attention to discovering who he is and what his errand was?"

"All right," agreed Lawrence, "but how shall we set about it? We know nothing of the man, not even his real name."

"What do you think, Miss Pembroke?" I asked, turning to Janet; "do you think it would be possible for us to learn the real name of J. S.?"

The girl looked at me with troubled eyes, but the expression of her mouth denoted determination. Even before she spoke, I knew that she was not going to tell of the letter she had read that morning. The letter was addressed to her uncle, but it had been opened. The reasonable explanation of this was that it had come in that morning's mail, as indeed its postmark proved, and that Janet had opened and read it; this latter supposition being probable, because the letter had been found in her room. To be sure after the death of her uncle, she was next in charge of the household affairs, but it would have been more commendable of her to have given her uncle's unopened mail to his lawyer or to some one in charge of his estate.

When she spoke, as I had fully expected, she made no reference to the letter.

"As I have told you," she said slowly, "my uncle often used to speak of J. S., and when we asked him who it was, he said John Strong."

"But we know he didn't mean it," said Lawrence; "and also, Mr. Landon, although I do not know his real name, I'm positive that J. S. is the man who was my uncle's business partner many years ago. In fact my uncle has said to me that this partner thought that half of Uncle Robert's fortune should be given to him, or bequeathed to him by will. My uncle said he had no intention of doing this, but I gathered from his remarks on the subject, that his partner was continually making fresh efforts to obtain some of my uncle's money."

"Then, in view of all this," I said, "is there not at least reason to look up this J. S. who sent the telegram, and see if he might not be the man whom your uncle called John Strong?"

I looked directly at Janet as I said this, and though she returned my gaze at first, her eyes fell before my questioning glance, and her voice trembled ever so little as she said; "yes, let us do that."

"It is a very good idea," broke in sister Laura, who was quick of decision and who rarely hesitated to express her opinions. "This John Strong may have been delayed, and reached the apartment very late at night. Then there may have been a stormy interview, and, unable to get what he wanted from Mr. Pembroke, John Strong may have killed the old gentleman, taken the money that is missing from the desk and gone away."

"Sister dear," I said, "your theory is fairly plausible. If you don't mind I'll ask you to elucidate it a little further. Just how did John Strong get into Mr. Pembroke's apartment?"

"Why," returned Laura, "Mr. Pembroke was expecting him, and as it was late, and the others were in bed, he got up and let the man in himself."

"Yes; I understand," I went on; "and now, then, after this wicked Mr. Strong had committed his dreadful deed, who let him out, and put the chain on the door?"

There was a dead silence. I had chosen my words most unfortunately. I had spoken rather quizzically, only with the intention of showing Laura how absurd her idea was; but my final question, instead of merely confuting her theory, had also suggested a dreadful possibility! For if anybody had put the chain on after the departure of the mythical Mr. Strong, it must necessarily have been one of the two living occupants of the apartment!

Janet turned white to her very lips, and as a consequence, even more dreadful thoughts flashed into my mind. She had read a letter that day from the man who had sent the telegram. There was practically no doubt of that. When I had asked her concerning this man just now, though she had not denied, yet she had not admitted the knowledge which she must have possessed. And now when the faintest hint was breathed of a possible complicity of some one in the apartment with this mysterious J. S., Janet was so agitated as to turn pale and almost quiver with apprehension!

I was strongly tempted to tell of the letter the Inspector had shown me, but I could not bring myself to do so, for far deeper than my interest in the case was my interest in this girl; and if that letter must be brought forward against her, it would have to be done by some one else and not by me. My evidence about the chain on the door had already wrought irremediable damage, and hereafter my efforts should be devoted to showing evidence that should prove Janet Pembroke innocent, and not of a sort which should make her seem to be guilty!

"How would you advise trying to find this man?" asked George Lawrence, after a somewhat awkward pause; "the address on the telegram was East Lynnwood, but it would be difficult, even with a directory or census report to find a name of which we know only the initials."

"Yes," agreed Laura, "there are doubtless men in East Lynnwood whose initials are J. S. Indeed, I should say those are perhaps the most common initials of all. You see, so many men's names begin with J."

"And it may not be a man at all," suggested Lawrence. "Women's names often begin with J, – like Janet for instance."

"But my initials are not J. S.," returned his cousin, "and besides, I didn't telegraph to uncle Robert."

Again the girl surprised me, for she spoke in a light tone, as if almost amused at the idea.

"But it might have been a woman," she went on, "which would explain the hat-pin."

I was thoroughly perplexed at Miss Pembroke's words. She knew the J. S. of the telegram was the Jonathan Scudder of the letter. She knew therefore that J. S. was not a woman. Why was she so disingenuous? Was she shielding J. S., and did she know far more about the tragedy than I had supposed? At any rate, I could see she was determined not to tell of the letter she had read, and I was determined that if I should ask her concerning it, it would be when alone with her, for I would not subject her to possible humiliation before others.

"We certainly can do nothing in the matter without knowing more of J. S. than we do now," I said, with an air of dropping the subject; "and I doubt, even if we should find him, that it would help us to discover the mystery."

"I don't believe it will ever be discovered," said Laura. "It looks to me like one of those mysteries that are never solved. For whoever it was that was clever enough to get into that house, when there wasn't any way to get in, would also be clever enough to evade detection."

George and Janet both looked at Laura as if startled by her remark. The fact that they were startled startled me. If they had known the clever individual whom Laura merely imagined, they couldn't have acted differently. But all this muddle of impressions on my mind really led to nothing. "If I'm going to do any detecting," I said to myself severely, "it's time I set about it, and not depend on guessing what people may mean by the expressions on their faces – especially faces capable of such ambiguous expressions as the two before me."

Determined, therefore, to lead the conversation into channels that would at least put me in the way of learning some facts about the previous life of the Pembrokes and of George Lawrence, I spoke generally of ways and means of living in New York. I learned that Janet had the tastes and inclinations of a society girl, but that, owing to her uncle's restrictions, she had been able only slightly to gratify these inclinations. She was fond of concerts and theatres, of going shopping and calling, and yet had never been allowed the money or the freedom to pursue these pleasures. My heart sank as I realized how everything the girl said would tell against her should she ever be called to the witness box.

Young Lawrence, it seemed, had similar social tastes, but even when he lived with the Pembrokes had been more free to go and come than his cousin. And, of course, since he had lived alone he was entirely his own master. He was a member of various clubs, and seemed to be fond of card-playing and billiards, in moderation. I also learned, though, I think, through an inadvertence, that he dabbled a little in Wall Street. It seemed surprising that a young artist could support himself in comfortable bachelor quarters and still have money left with which to speculate. This would not be in his favor, had there been a shadow of suspicion against him; but there could be no such suspicion, for even with his latch-key he could not get in at the door. He could hardly be taken for a professional housebreaker; and, besides, he was prepared to prove an alibi. I had little faith in this mythical personage we had built up with a motive and an opportunity, and as I reasoned round and round in a circle I was always confronted by the terrifying fact that a disinterested judge would suspect Janet and that, were I disinterested, I should suspect her myself. And so the reasoning went on in my excited brain, till I felt that I must go for a long walk in the cool night air as the only means of regaining my own clearness of vision.

Soon after dinner, then, I announced my intention of going out.

Lawrence said that he would spend some hours looking over his late uncle's papers, and Laura declared that she would tuck Miss Pembroke in bed early for a good night's rest.

I started out by myself, and, swinging into Broadway, I turned and walked rapidly downtown. This was my custom when I had serious matters to think of. The crowded brightness of the street always seemed to stimulate my brain, while it quieted my nerves. I hadn't gone a dozen blocks before I had come to two or three different conclusions, right or wrong though they may have been.

The first of these was a conviction that Janet felt more than a cousinly interest in George Lawrence. But this I also concluded might be caused by one of two things; it might be either a romantic attachment or Janet might suspect her cousin to be guilty of her uncle's death. If the first were true, Janet might have been in league with George and might have opened the door for him the night before. I was facing the thing squarely now, and laying aside any of my own prejudices or beliefs, while I considered mere possibilities.

If, on the other hand, Janet suspected George, without real knowledge, this fact of course left Janet herself free of all suspicion. While I couldn't believe that the two had connived at their uncle's death, still less could I believe that Janet had done the deed herself. Therefore, I must face all the possibilities, and even endeavor to imagine more than I had yet thought of.

But the more I considered imaginary conditions, the more they seemed to me ridiculous and untenable. George was not in the apartment; Janet was. George was not at the mercy of his uncle's brutal temper; Janet was. George did not want money and freedom to pursue his chosen ways of life; Janet did.

Much as I liked George, I would gladly have cast the weight of suspicion on him instead of on Janet, had I but been able to do so.

I had never before felt so utterly at the end of my resources. There was no one to suspect, other than those already mentioned, and no place to look for new evidence. Either the talent I had always thought I possessed for detective work was non-existent, or else there was not enough for me to work upon.

But I had traced two clues. The telegram, though it had not implicated J. S. had pointed, indirectly, in Janet's direction. The key, though still mysterious, at least gave a hint of Leroy, and perhaps, in complicity, Janet.

I made these statements frankly to myself, because since I was going to fight her battle, I wanted to know at the outset what I had to fight against.

Having started on my investigation, I was eager to continue the quest I felt, if damaging evidence must be found, I would rather find it myself, than be told of it by some conceited, unsympathetic detective.

But there was little I could do by way of investigation in the evening. However, as I passed through the theatre district, I bethought me of the ticket stubs. Though well aware it was but a wild goose chase, I turned my steps toward the National Theatre. As the program was fairly well along, there was not a crowd at the box office, and I had no difficulty in engaging the blithe young man at the window in conversation. I had not the ticket stubs with me, but I had a memorandum of their dates, and though it sounded absurd even to myself, I made inquiry concerning them.

"House sold out, I suppose?" I said, carelessly, to the face at the window.

"Just about. Want a poor seat?"

"No; I'll wait till some other night. Is it sold out every night?"

"Just about."

"Was it sold out the night of October sixteenth?"

"Sure! that was in one of our big weeks! Great program on then. Why?"

"I don't suppose you could tell me who bought seats one and three in row G, that night?"

"I should say not! do you s'pose I'm a human chart? What's the game?"

"Detective work," I said, casually, thinking he would be less impressed if I did not seem too much interested. "I suppose you can't think of any way that I could find out who bought those seats for that night?"

"Well, no, I can't; unless you might advertise."

"Advertise! how?"

"Why put in a personal, asking for the fellows that had those seats."

"But they wouldn't reply; they don't want to be caught."

"Sure, that's so! well, I'll tell you. Put your personal in and ask the fellows who sat behind those seats to communicate with you. Then you can find out something about your party, may be."

"Young man," I said, heartily, "that's a really brilliant idea! I shall act upon it, and I'm much obliged to you."

I offered him a material proof of my gratitude for his suggestion, which he accepted with pleasure, and I went straight away to a newspaper office. This scheme might amount to nothing at all, but on the other hand, it certainly could do no harm.

I inserted a personal notice in the paper, asking that the holders of the seats near one and three G on the night of October sixteenth should communicate with me. I mentioned the numbers of the seats not only behind the mysterious numbers, but in front of them as well, and also at the side. I had little hope that this venture would bring any worth-while result, but there was a chance that it might, and action of any sort was better than doing nothing.

After leaving the newspaper office, I continued my walk, hoping, by deep thought to arrive at some conclusion, or at least to think of some new direction in which to look. But the farther I walked, and the more I thought, the more desperate the situation became. Clear thought and logical inference led only in one direction; and that was toward Janet Pembroke. To lead suspicion away from her, could only be done by dwelling on the thought of my love for her. In spite of her mysterious ways, perhaps because of them, my love for her was fast developing into a mad infatuation, beyond logic and beyond reason. But it was a power, and a power, I vowed, that should yet conquer logic and reason, – aye, even evidence and proof of any wrong-doing on the part of my goddess!

Notwithstanding appearances, notwithstanding Janet's own inexplicable words and deeds, I believed her entirely innocent, and I would prove it to the world.

Yet I knew that I based my belief in her innocence on that one fleeting moment, when she had looked at me with tenderness in her brown eyes, and with truth stamped indelibly upon her beautiful face.

Was that too brief a moment, too uncertain a bond to be depended upon?

XVI
LEROY ARRIVES ON THE SCENE

When I reached home Lawrence had left, Miss Pembroke had retired, and Laura was in the library, waiting for me.

"It doesn't seem possible," she said, as I flung off my coat and threw myself into an easy chair, "that so much could have happened in one day. Only think, Otis, when we arose this morning we didn't know Miss Pembroke to speak to, and now she is asleep in our guest room!"

"Where is Charlotte?" I said.

"She wanted to go to spend the night with some friends, so I let her go. We are responsible, you know, for her appearance if called for, and I know the girl well enough to know she'll never get very far away from her beloved Miss Janet."

"Have you questioned Charlotte at all?"

"Yes; and what do you think Otis? She believes that Miss Pembroke killed her uncle!"

"Did she say so?"

"Not in so many words; indeed, she scarcely owned up to it. But you know colored people are as transparent as children, and by talking in a roundabout way I discovered that she suspects Janet, only because she can't see any other solution of the mystery. She doesn't seem to blame her at all, and even seems to think Janet justified in putting the old man out of the way."

"Of course she has no intelligence in the matter," I said; "but don't you see, Laura, that if she suspects Janet, but really knows nothing about it, that proves Charlotte herself absolutely innocent even of complicity?"

"So it does, Otis. How clever you are to see that!"

"Clever!" I said, somewhat bitterly. "I'm not clever at all. I may be a lawyer, but I'm no detective."

"Why don't you employ a detective, then?"

"It isn't my place to do so. But I feel sure that a professional detective, from the clues we have, could find the murderer at once."

"Well, it wouldn't be Janet Pembroke," said Laura, with conviction. "I've been alone with that girl most of the evening, and she's no more guilty than I am. But, Otis, she does know more than she has told. She either knows something or suspects something that she is keeping secret."

"I have thought that, too. And, as her counsel, she ought to be perfectly frank with me."

"But isn't there a law or something," asked Laura, "that people are not obliged to say anything that may incriminate themselves?"

"But you don't think her a criminal," I said quickly.

"No," said Laura, with some hesitation; "but she is so queer in some ways, I can't make her out. Mr. Lawrence stayed here chatting some time after you left, and once or twice I thought Janet suspected him; and then, again, she said something that showed me positively that she didn't."

"There it is again, Laura: if Janet suspects George, she can't be guilty herself."

"That's so," said Laura, her face brightening. "But then," she added, "they both may know something about it."

Ah, this was my own fear! "Laura," I said suddenly, "do you think those two cousins are in love with each other?"

"Not a bit of it," said Laura decidedly. "Mr. Lawrence is very much interested in Miss Millicent Waring, though I don't know that he is really in love with her. But I think he is rather piqued by her indifference. He seems to have a loyal fondness for Janet, but nothing more than would be expected from a good first-class cousin."

"And she?" I asked, trying hard not to appear self-conscious.

"Oh, she cares for George in the same way. He's her only relative now, you know. But she told me herself she had never cared especially for any man. She's peculiar, you know, Otis; but I do think she shows a great deal of interest in you."

"Do you really?" I exclaimed, looking up to find my sister smiling at me in a mischievous fashion.

"Oh, you dear old goose!" she cried. "Do you suppose I can't see that you're already over head and ears in love with Janet Pembroke, and have been ever since the first day we came into the Hammersleigh?"

"By Jove! that's so," I cried. "Laura, you know more about my affairs than I do. I thought my affection for that girl dated from this morning, but I see now you are right. I have loved her from the first moment I saw her."

"And you can win her, if you go about it right," said my sister, with her little air of worldly wisdom that always amused me.

"I hope so," I said fervently. "As soon as this dreadful affair is finished up, and Janet has decided upon her temporary home, I think we too want to get away from this place."

"Yes," said Laura, with a sigh; "I hate to move, but I'd hate worse to stay here."

In response to the urgent summons Leroy came back to New York the next morning.

From his office he telephoned to Janet immediately upon his return, saying that he would come up to see her in the afternoon, and asking that George Lawrence should also be present.

As Janet was now staying with us, the interview was held in our apartment. Although Mr. Pembroke's body had been removed to a mortuary establishment, Janet could not bear the thought of going back to her own rooms, and moreover, the girl was very glad to remain under the cheering influences of Laura's kindness and friendliness. And so, as Laura insisted upon it, Janet directed Mr. Leroy to come up that afternoon.

This being arranged, Laura also telephoned me at my office, and I went home in ample time to receive our caller.

As Miss Pembroke's lawyer I had, of course, a right to be present, and as George Lawrence was there too, it seemed more like an official interview than a social call.

Leroy came in, looking exceedingly handsome and attractive. Indeed, I had forgotten what an unusually good-looking man he was. He had that combination of dark eyes and hair slightly silvered at the temples, which is so effective in middle age.

Though not at all effusive in his manner, he seemed deeply moved, and greeted Janet with an air of gentle sympathy. His manner, however, did not meet a response in kind. Janet's air was cold and haughty and she merely gave him her finger tips, as if the very touch of his hand were distasteful to her.

George Lawrence was a little more cordial in his reception of the lawyer, but it was plain to be seen that neither of the cousins felt very friendly toward him.

Mr. Leroy acknowledged courteously his introduction to Laura and myself, and then he requested to be told the details of the tragedy.

He listened attentively while we told him all about it, now and then asking a question, but expressing no opinions. His face grew very grave, indeed to me it seemed almost sinister, and a little mysterious.

We had not yet finished relating the case, when our door-bell rang and Mr. Buckner was announced.

Buckner was the District Attorney, and after receiving the Coroner's report he had come to make some further inquiries.

I had never seen the man before, as I rarely had to do with a criminal case, but I liked his attitude and manner at once. He was exceedingly straightforward and business-like. He asked questions and conducted his inquiries as if it were merely a continuation of the inquest.

He had of course learned from the coroner all that he knew about the case, and now he seemed to hope and expect that he would get new evidence from Leroy.

However, Graham Leroy was not a satisfactory person to get evidence from. He answered the District Attorney's questions, directly and concisely, but he gave little or no information of any importance.

Leroy had not seemed especially interested in hearing of the clues which I had collected from Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, but after a time I concluded to try the effect of showing him the key which I had in my pocket.

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, with a start, "where did you get that?"

The result of my sudden move was all I could have desired. Leroy's calm was shaken at last; his interest was aroused, and the strange expression that showed on his saturnine face proved that he was greatly agitated at the sight of that key. It seemed to me that fear possessed him, or that at any rate he was startled by some unpleasant thought.

The District Attorney, who had been apprised by the Coroner of my tracing of the key, turned to Leroy with a hint of accusation in his manner.

"You recognize that key, Mr. Leroy?" he said.

"I do," returned Leroy, and though he spoke in quiet tones, he had difficulty in concealing his agitation.

"Is it yours?"

"It is not mine, but it was in my possession."

"Whose is it?"

"It belongs to Mrs. Altonstall, a client of mine. She gave it to me, to get some papers for her from a safety deposit box."

"And you lost it?"

"I did."

"When did you have it last, to your knowledge?"

"I had it on Wednesday. I went to Utica, Wednesday night, and next morning I missed the key. I concluded that I must have left it at my office, but when I returned there I could not find it, and I felt considerable alarm, for one does not like to lose the key of a client's box."

"No," said Mr. Buckner, grimly; "it is not a good thing to do. And where do you think you lost it?"

"I've no idea; but as it was in my pocket, and I must have pulled it out unintentionally, and dropped it unknowingly, it may have happened in the train or on the street or anywhere. Where was it found?"

"This is the key of which we told you; the key that was found in Mr. Pembroke's bed yesterday morning."

"What! Impossible!" cried Leroy and his face turned white and his dark eyes fairly glared. "How could Robert Pembroke have come into possession of that key?"

"We don't assume, Mr. Leroy, that Mr. Pembroke ever had this key in his possession. As it was found in the bed, not under the pillow, but beside the body of the dead man, we think it seems to indicate at least a possibility that it was dropped there by the murderer as he leaned over his victim."

This came so near to being a direct accusation, that I fully expected Leroy to exclaim with anger. But instead, though his face grew even whiter than before, he said very quietly: "Am I to understand that as an implication that I may be guilty of this crime?"

Though uttered in low even tones, the words expressed horror at the thought.

"You are to understand," replied Mr. Buckner, "that we ask you for a frank and honest explanation of how your key, or rather your client's key, happened to be where it was found."

"I cannot explain it," said Leroy, and now he had entirely controlled his agitation, and his face was like an impassive marble mask.

"You cannot or you will not?"

"I cannot. I have not the remotest idea where I lost that key, but by no possibility could I have lost it in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, because I was not there."

"When were you last in Mr. Pembroke's room?"

"I was there Tuesday evening, and I may possibly have dropped the key there then."

"But you said you remembered having it Wednesday morning."