Kitabı oku: «A Chain of Evidence», sayfa 9
"I might be mistaken about that; perhaps it was Tuesday morning that I positively remember having it."
Clearly Leroy was floundering. His words were hesitating, and though it was evident that his brain was working quickly, I felt sure he was trying to conceal his thoughts, and not express them.
"Supposing then that you may have dropped this key in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom when you were calling on him Tuesday evening, you would not be likely to have dropped it in the bed, would you?"
"Certainly not. I saw Mr. Pembroke in his room only a few moments, after having already made a longer call in the drawing-room."
The involuntary glance which Leroy shot at Janet and the color which flamed suddenly in the girl's face, left me in no doubt as to the purport of the call he had made in the drawing-room on Tuesday evening. I knew as well as if I had been told, that he had been asking Janet to marry him; I knew that his interview with Mr. Pembroke afterward had probably related to the same subject; and though I was glad that his suit had not been successful, yet I felt jealous of the whole episode. However, I had no time then to indulge in thoughts of romance, for the District Attorney was mercilessly pinning Leroy down to an exact account of himself.
"Had the bed been turned down for the night, when you were in Mr. Pembroke's room on Tuesday evening?"
"I didn't notice especially, but I have an indistinct impression that the covers had been turned back."
"In that case it would have been possible for you to drop the key in the bed without knowing it, but very far from probable. Did you lean over the bed for any purpose?"
"No; of course I did not. But perhaps if I did drop the key in the room, and Mr. Pembroke found it, knowing it to be a valuable key, he may have put it under his pillow, for safety's sake."
"That again is possible; but improbable that he would have done it two nights, both Tuesday and Wednesday nights! Moreover, Mr. Leroy, you said at first that you were sure you had the key Wednesday morning. And not until you inferred that you were suspected of implication in this affair, did you say that it might have been Tuesday morning you had it. Now, can you not speak positively on that point?"
Leroy hesitated. Though his face rarely showed what was passing in his mind, yet though at this moment no one who saw him could doubt that the man was going through a fearful mental struggle. Indeed, he sat silent for so long, that I began to wonder whether he intended to answer the question or not. Lines formed across his brow and his stern lips fastened themselves in a straight line. He looked first at Janet and then at George, with a piercing gaze. Finally he shook his head with a sudden quick gesture, as if flinging off a temptation to prevaricate, which was almost too strong to be resisted.
"I can speak positively," he said, and the words seemed to be fairly forced from him. "I had that key last to my knowledge on Wednesday morning, when I made use of it at the Sterling Safety Deposit Company."
XVII
CAN LEROY BE GUILTY?
It was as if a bomb had burst. We all sat appalled, for at the first thought it seemed as if this admission proclaimed Graham Leroy a guilty man. The picture flashed into my mind. This strong man, capable I felt sure, of the whole range of elemental passions, killing, for some reason unknown to me, his client, who was equally capable of rage and angry passion. I seemed to see him bending over his victim, and inadvertently dropping the tell-tale key from his pocket. But I think it was an effect of the dramatic situation that conjured up this picture in my mind, for it was immediately dispelled as Janet's voice broke on the tense silence.
"I cannot fail to see the trend of your implications, Mr. Buckner," she said, and her tones were haughty, and even supercilious; "I suppose you are daring to insinuate that Mr. Leroy might have been in my uncle's room on Wednesday night, late. But let me remind you that I myself put the chain on the door at eleven o'clock, after which it was impossible for Mr. Leroy to enter."
The old argument: "How could he get in?"
And though this argument seemed to turn suspicion toward Janet, it did not in the least do so to my mind.
Of course, I had no answer to the question, but that did not change my conviction that Janet was innocent. Could Leroy be guilty? I didn't know, and I didn't much care, if only suspicion could be turned away from Janet!
It was by an effort that I brought my attention back to the conversation going on.
"Will you tell me, Mr. Leroy, where you were on Wednesday night?" went on the District Attorney, making no recognition of Janet's speech beyond a slight bow in her direction.
"I went to Utica," answered Leroy.
"At what time?"
Again there was a lengthy interval of silence, and then Leroy said, in a low voice, "Rather late in the evening."
"On what train?"
"On a late train."
"The midnight train?"
"Yes;" the answer was fairly blurted out as if in utter exasperation.
Although the rest of his hearers started at the realization of all that this implied, Mr. Buckner proceeded quietly. "Where were you between eleven and twelve o'clock, on Wednesday night?"
"I refuse to say."
"I think I must insist upon an answer, Mr. Leroy. Were you at the station long before train time?"
"No."
"You reached the station then but a short time before the train left?"
"That is right."
"Did you go directly from your home to the station?"
"Perhaps not directly, but I made no stop on the way."
"What did you do then, since you say you did not go directly?"
"I walked about the streets."
"Why did you do this?"
"Partly for the exercise, and partly because I preferred not to reach the station until about time for my train to leave."
"And did your walking about the streets bring you anywhere near this locality?"
"That I refuse to answer."
"But you must answer, Mr. Leroy."
"Not if it incriminates myself."
"Then your refusal to answer is the same as affirmative. I shall assume that you were in this locality between eleven and twelve o'clock on Wednesday night."
"What if he was?" broke in Janet; "no matter how much he was in this locality, he couldn't get into our apartment, and so it has not the slightest bearing on the case!"
"That is so," said George Lawrence; "unless it can be proved that Mr. Leroy was able to enter through a locked and chained door, I think it is none of our business where he may have been at the time the crime was committed."
"You're all working from the wrong end," said Leroy, suddenly. "Of course the murder was committed by some professional burglar, who effected his entrance in some way unknown to us. Forget, for a moment, the question of how he got in, and turn your energies to finding some clever and expert housebreaker who is at large."
"What could be the motive of a professional burglar?" said Mr. Buckner.
"The robbery of the money," I broke in eagerly, delighted that Leroy should have started suspicion of this sort.
"Can you tell us anything regarding a large sum of money which it is assumed Mr. Pembroke had in his possession the night he was killed?" Mr. Buckner asked of Leroy.
"I can tell you that I took him a large sum of money, – ten thousand dollars, – on Tuesday evening.
"He had asked you to do this?"
"He had; giving the reason that he wished to pay it to some man who was coming to get it, and who wanted cash."
"J. S.!" I said, involuntarily.
"That's the murderer!" declared Laura. "I've suspected that J. S. from the very beginning. Why don't you look him up, Mr. Buckner, if you want to find the criminal?"
"All in good time, Mrs. Mulford," the district attorney answered, but I knew that he had seen the letter which the Coroner had shown me, stating that J. S. would not come on Wednesday evening as he had telegraphed. Still, if J. S. had come, and with evil intent, the letter might have been a blind. But again, if J. S. had come for money, and had received it, why should he kill Mr. Pembroke? Truly, there was no logical direction in which to look, save toward Janet, and that way I declined to look.
Mr. Buckner did not seem inclined to ask any more definite questions. I concluded he wished to take time to think the matter over by himself.
"It seems to me this way," he said; "we have a great many clues to work from, and until they're traced to more definite conclusions we are unable to attach suspicion to anyone. We know that Mr. Pembroke was killed at or about midnight. We know the apartment was securely locked and fastened at that time. We must assume, therefore, that whoever did the deed could not get into the house between eleven and twelve, – he must have been in the house, therefore, before the door was chained."
"If by that you mean Miss Pembroke," burst out George Lawrence, angrily, "I'll have you know – "
"I don't necessarily mean Miss Pembroke," said Mr. Buckner, but he said it so gravely, that I knew his suspicions, notwithstanding Leroy and his key, were in Janet's direction. "I am thinking just now of the possibility of an intruder who might have come in much earlier, and secreted himself in the house until midnight."
"Then he must have stayed in the house until morning," said Lawrence.
"He might have done so," agreed Mr. Buckner.
"But it is incredible," said Leroy, "that the burglar would have remained after the deed was done. Why would he not take off the chain and go away as silently as he came?"
"It might be," said Mr. Buckner, thoughtfully, "that he meant to cast suspicion upon the inmates of the house themselves."
So he did hark back to Janet after all! He meant us to understand that he thought the crime was committed either by Janet, or by somebody who planned to throw suspicion on Janet. Either theory seemed to me absurd.
I was glad when Mr. Buckner at last took his departure. He was certainly at sea regarding the matter. He suspected Janet, to be sure; but he also had doubts concerning the entire innocence of Graham Leroy. And surely that key was a bit of incriminating evidence, if ever there were such a thing.
And yet, when it came to a question of evidence, what could be more incriminating than that chained door as a proof against Janet? And so Mr. Buckner went away leaving the rest of us to discuss the new turn events had taken.
It must have been the result of Mr. Buckner's implied accusation of Leroy that gave us all a feeling of loyalty and helpfulness toward the man. I don't think anyone present suspected him of crime. But the key matter was inexplicable, and too, Leroy's manner and speech had not been frank or ingenuous. If he really had been in Robert Pembroke's bedroom on Wednesday night, he could not have acted differently under the fire of Mr. Buckner's questions. And though each of us, I felt sure, was considering the possible explanation of the key, yet it was difficult to speak of it without embarrassment.
But Leroy himself introduced the subject.
"Confounded queer about that key," he said, but he said it thoughtfully, more as if talking to himself than to us.
"It is queer," I said, eagerly taking up the subject; "if you had it Wednesday morning, and it was found in Mr. Pembroke's room Thursday morning, there must be an explanation somewhere."
"Yes; there must;" and Graham Leroy's lips closed as if in a sudden determination to say nothing more about that matter.
"Can't you suggest any explanation?" asked George Lawrence.
"No, I can't," and the decision in Leroy's tones forbade any further reference to the key. "But I am here now," he went on, "to read to you, Mr. Lawrence, and to you, Miss Pembroke, the will of your late uncle. Except for a few minor bequests, you two are equal heirs. Mr. Lawrence is executor, and therefore I will conduct the legal formalities with him, and I need not trouble Miss Pembroke with such matters. Of course, it goes without saying that anything I can do in the investigation of this awful tragedy will be done. Of course, you will want legal advice Miss Pembroke, since the authorities seem to consider you under surveillance."
I waited a moment, to give Janet opportunity to speak first concerning me, and she did so. Her beautiful face was pale, but her dark eyes flashed, as she said: "I feel sure I shall need legal counsel, Mr. Leroy, and therefore I have retained Mr. Landon as my lawyer."
Graham Leroy was astounded. I could read that, in the sudden start he gave, and the half-breathed exclamation which he suppressed. But in a moment, he recovered his poise, and spoke with a cold dignity. "I suppose, Janet, you had some good reason for preferring Mr. Landon's services to my own."
"I had," returned Janet, in tones as icy as his own; "also, Mr. Landon and Mrs. Mulford have been exceedingly kind to me, and I am sure whatever emergency may arise, if the case is brought to trial, Mr. Landon will use his best efforts in my behalf."
If Leroy was angry at her preferring me to himself, he lost sight of it for the moment, in the shock given him by Janet's words.
"The case brought to trial!" he exclaimed. "Why, there is no case as yet. What do you mean?"
Janet looked at him steadily. "I may be tried," she said, "for the murder of my Uncle Robert."
"What nonsense!" cried George Lawrence; "they'll never dare do such a thing as that!"
"They'll dare fast enough," said Leroy; "but they shall never do it! They'll try me first!"
A sudden light broke over me. Leroy's hesitation and dubious statements might have this meaning. He might himself suspect Janet of the crime, and he might be determined to be let himself thought guilty in her place. This didn't quite explain the key, but I hadn't thought it out thoroughly yet, and if for quixotic reasons he wanted to make it appear that he was implicated, he had certainly made a good start. Alas, every new development pointed or might be construed to point toward Janet. I longed for a frank talk with Leroy, but I knew that would be impracticable. For if he intended to muddle the case and direct suspicion toward himself in order to turn it away from Janet, he would pursue those same tactics with me. And beside, although he hid it, I well knew that he was chagrined and angry at the fact of my being chosen for Janet's lawyer instead of himself. So I discarded any hope I might have formed of getting the truth out of Leroy, and left that to the official authorities.
At present, Leroy's intention seemed to be to discard all question of crime or criminal, and attend to the business in hand of Mr. Pembroke's will.
I myself saw no necessity for immediate proceedings in this matter, but Leroy insisted upon it, and insisted too, that both Janet and George should go with him at once into the Pembroke apartment, where, he said, there were papers and documents necessary at the moment.
The fact that I was not invited to accompany them, was made so patent that I had no desire to intrude my presence, although as Miss Pembroke's lawyer I could have done so. But I concluded that one reason for Leroy's haste to get at those papers, was his wish to get rid of me. Nor was it entirely to be wondered at that he should want an interview alone with the two cousins. I was a comparative stranger to him, my sister an entire stranger; whereas he had been for years a friend of the Pembroke household. And so the three went away to the apartment across the hall; and I was left alone with Laura.
The door had scarcely closed behind them, before Laura spoke her mind. "That Leroy is the guilty man," she said; "don't say, 'how did he get in?' for I don't know, and I don't care! But he's the one who killed Mr. Pembroke, and he had his own motive for doing so, which we know nothing about."
"While all that may be true, Laura," I said, in a conciliatory way, for she was very much excited, "yet you must not make such positive statements, with so little to base them on. Leroy may have a guilty knowledge of the matter, but I don't believe he murdered Mr. Pembroke, and I do believe he's letting himself be suspected to shield Janet."
"Nothing of the sort," declared Laura; "he's a bad man! I don't have to see him twice to know that. And if he isn't guilty, and if he's letting himself be suspected, – then it's to implicate Janet and not to save her!"
"Laura, you're crazy. How could his implication also implicate her?"
"Why, don't you see? if they think Mr. Leroy committed the crime, they'll try to find out how he got in. And then they'll conclude that Janet let him in. Because you know, Otis, there was really no other way anybody could get in. And then, you see, they'll conclude that Mr. Leroy and Janet acted together, and are both guilty."
"Laura, you argue just like a woman; you say anything that comes into your head, and then back it up with some other absurd idea! Now, sister, talk to me in this strain all you want to, but let me beg of you never to say these things to anyone else."
Laura looked a little offended, but she was too fond of me ever really to resent anything I said to her, so she smiled, and forgave my aspersions on her reasoning powers.
But I couldn't help remembering that Janet had told me that Leroy was untrustworthy, and not entirely reliable, and now that Laura, with her woman's intuition, had denounced him, I began to wonder myself what sort of a man Leroy really was.
XVIII
THE ROOMS IN WASHINGTON SQUARE
In sheer desperation, I resolved upon an interview with Inspector Crawford. I hadn't a very high opinion of him as a detective, but I had reached the pitch where I must do something.
I telephoned to him, but it was only after some persistence that I could persuade him to give me even a little of his valuable time. Finally he agreed to a fifteen-minute interview at his own home.
It was not far to his house, and as I walked over there I wondered why he seemed so averse to a discussion of the Pembroke case. He had impressed me, when I saw him that morning, as one of those busybodies in the detective line who are always willing to dilate upon their clues and their deductions, their theories and their inferences.
But as soon as I began to talk with Mr. Crawford I learned that he had little interest in the Pembroke case, because he considered its result a foregone conclusion.
Inspector Crawford was not an especially cultured man, nor of a particularly affable nature, but he was possessed, as I soon learned, of a certain stubbornness which manifested itself mainly in adhering firmly to his own decisions.
"I know Miss Pembroke killed her uncle," he said, "because nobody else could by any possibility have done it. I examined the windows myself. Those which were fastened were absolutely immovable from the outside, and those which were unfastened had the same sort of catches, and the black woman declared she had unfastened them from the inside in the morning. The window opening on the fire escape had a double lock, the dumb-waiter was securely bolted on the kitchen side, the night-latch and chain were on the front door, and, therefore, my dear sir, to get into that apartment without breaking something was as impossible as if it had been hermetically sealed."
"Some one might have cut out a pane of glass and replaced it," I suggested.
The inspector looked at me with a glance almost of pity.
"It's my business to make sure of such things," he said. "Of course I thought of that, and examined every window-pane. Had one been put in with fresh putty during the night, I should certainly have detected it. If you examine them, you will find both putty and paint hard and weather-stained."
My respect for Mr. Crawford's detective ability rose rapidly, and I frankly told him so.
He smiled disinterestedly.
"I'm not one of those spectacular detectives," he said, "who pick up a handkerchief in the street, and declare at once that it was dropped by a cross-eyed lady with one front tooth missing, who was on her way to visit her step-daughter now living in Jamaica, Long Island, but who formerly was a governess in a doctor's family in Meriden, Connecticut."
I laughed at this bit of sarcasm, but was too vitally interested in the subject in hand to care for amusing side issues.
"Do you say then, inspector," I continued, "that there was positively no way for any one else to get into that apartment, and that therefore Mr. Pembroke necessarily met his death at the hands of his niece or the colored servant?"
"Or both," added Mr. Crawford.
"You assert that as your unqualified opinion?"
"I assert it as an incontrovertible fact," said Inspector Crawford, in his decided way, "and, though it needs no backing up of evidence, the evidence all points unmistakably to the same fact. There are motive, opportunity, and a weapon at hand. What more is there to say?"
"There is only this to say," I declared, maddened by his air of finality: "that Miss Pembroke did not do it; that neither she nor the black woman knows who did do it; and that I take it upon myself to prove this when the occasion shall arise to do so."
Again the inspector looked at me with that compassionate expression that irritated me beyond words.
"Mr. Landon," he said, "I have no desire to be personal, but may I ask you, if you were as absolutely disinterested in the Pembroke case as I am, would you not incline to my opinion?"
This silenced me, for I well knew that but for my interest in Janet Pembroke I should inevitably be forced to Mr. Crawford's point of view.
"Ah!" he said. "I thought so. Now let me tell you, Mr. Landon – and I am indeed sorry to tell you – that there is no possible way to get that girl acquitted, and that your best plan is to work simply for the lightest possible penalty. If you can plead self-defence, temporary insanity, or even somnambulism, I advise you to do so."
"I thank you, inspector, for your advice, and regret to say that I cannot follow it. I shall plead 'not guilty,' and I shall prove my case."
The inspector began to look interested, for, though a man may not boast of his own reputation, I may say that Mr. Crawford knew me as a lawyer of long practice and wide experience; and knew, too, that I had been successful in cases where wise and anxious judges had scarcely dared hope for it.
"I hope it may be so," he said. "It does not seem to be possible, but, of course, no man's judgment is infallible. Might I be allowed, however, to ask your line of defence?"
"I don't know exactly, myself," I confessed; "but I think it will implicate George Lawrence."
"But he couldn't get in."
"Inspector, if any one is implicated other than those two women, it must necessarily be some one who 'couldn't get in.'"
"That is true," said the inspector; "but, all the same, a murder can't be committed by a man who can't get in."
"That is no more impossible," I said stanchly, "than a murder committed by either of those two women."
Again the inspector contented himself with a smile.
"I have no reason," I went on, "for suspecting George Lawrence, except that he could be said to have a motive. I admit, as you say, that it does not seem possible for him to have entered the apartment, unless one of the women let him in."
"Let him in!" echoed the inspector. "I hadn't thought of that! Ah, now I see your idea. If George Lawrence is the man who did the deed and was let in by his cousin, while she might have been accessory, she might not have known of the deed at all."
"That is possible, inspector," I agreed; "but had she let George in, she must have again put the chain on the door after he went out. This is scarcely compatible with the assumption that she knew nothing of what had happened in the meantime."
"No," declared the inspector, in his decided way. "Your suggestion, however, leads to a new line of investigation. But say George Lawrence had gone to the Pembrokes' apartment last night, and had come away again, the elevator boy would have known it, and would have given evidence this morning; that is, unless he had been bribed, which is, of course, possible. But all this will be brought out at the trial."
"Not so fast, inspector," I said, feeling a grim delight in bringing him up with a round turn. "George Lawrence can prove a complete and perfect alibi, attested by responsible witnesses."
Inspector Crawford looked thoroughly disgusted. "Then the whole matter stands where it did at first," he said, "though, of course, we must remember that, since the women could have let in George Lawrence, they could, of course, have let in any one else, had they been so minded. But all this is in your province, rather than in mine, and if you can find anybody who is likely to have gone in there last night, with or without criminal intent, I think for your own sake you had better make investigation along that line."
"Mr. Crawford," I said, "I would not have mentioned to you even the name of George Lawrence in this connection if I could have done what I wanted to without your assistance. I want to go to George Lawrence's apartment, and make a search of his rooms. I have not a definite reason for doing this, but I feel that it may lead to something. I cannot say I suspect George Lawrence of the crime. I cannot doubt his alibi, nor can I imagine how he could have gotten into the apartment had he wanted to. But I do know that he had, or at least might possibly have had, a motive for desiring his uncle's death, and upon that perhaps irrelevant fact I base what I shall not call a suspicion, but an interest into looking into his affairs. I could not go through his rooms alone, but as an inspector you will be allowed to do so, and I want to go with you and at once."
I may have been mistaken in Mr. Crawford's inclination toward detective work. Although he had seemed indifferent when he had been so sure of his conclusion, the mere opportunity of searching for clues seemed to stir him to action, and, to my surprise, he was not only willing but anxious to go with me at once.
As I knew Lawrence would spend the entire afternoon in his work of looking over Mr. Pembroke's papers, I felt that the coast was clear for an hour or so, at least. So together we took a Broadway car, and were not long in reaching Washington Square.
The inspector's badge, of course, gained him access at once to George's apartment, and I followed him into the rooms, feeling that if there was anything even remotely approaching a clue, I must and would find it.
Though not luxurious, Lawrence's quarters were exceedingly comfortable. There was a studio, not large, but well lighted and furnished in a way that showed its use as a living-room, and perhaps for small social functions as well. A bedroom and bath completed the suite, and the inspector told me to begin my search.
"Let us examine the place," he said, "independently of each other, and afterward we can compare notes. I confess I have little hope of finding evidence of any sort. Of course I don't for a moment think that, even had Lawrence killed his uncle, he would have broken off that hat-pin and brought it home here to incriminate himself."
"Of course not," I assented; "but, by the way, where is the other half of that hat-pin?"
The inspector gave his queer smile. "Assuming a woman to have done the deed," he said, "we must assume her to be clever enough to dispose of a piece of a broken hat-pin."
My heart sank at his words, for I saw how deeply rooted was his belief in Janet's guilt, and I feared a judge and jury might look at it in the same way.
Silently we began our search. I took the studio, and the inspector the bedroom, first; afterward we were to go over each other's ground.
In one way, it seemed a dreadful thing to be poking round among a man's personal belongings; but again, since the cause of justice demanded it, I felt no hesitancy in doing so.
I took little interest in the sketches on the walls or the odd bits of junk and curios on the tables. No man with anything to conceal would leave it in those obvious places.
And yet I was not looking for anything George might have concealed, but rather for some straw which might show the direction of the wind of evidence.
For the first time in my life, I felt like the detective in fiction, and I scrutinized carefully the floor and the rug. It seemed to me that all the clues I had ever read of had been discovered on the floor; but the trouble was that this floor offered so many unexpected substances that the result was distracting. But by no stretch of the imagination could I look upon them as clues. I certainly discovered many things upon the floor that told their own story; but the stories were of no importance. Cigarette or cigar ashes were in such quantity as to indicate recent masculine guests. An artificial violet and a bit of fluffy feather trimming showed perhaps an afternoon tea, or a reception which feminine guests had attended. Lead-pencil shavings here and there betokened the untidiness of an artist, and splashes of ink or water-color, though numerous, proved merely that Lawrence had spoken the truth regarding his profession.
Though disheartened by my non-success, I kept on until I had examined every square inch of floor. I found nothing unexplainable to the most ordinary intellect, except a few tiny bits of broken glass on the hearthstone. So infinitesimal were these fragments that I almost missed them, and, though I could not think them of any importance, I took them up on a bit of white paper and examined them by the light. They were of a pinkish purple color, and I wondered if they could be bits of a druggist's phial which had contained poison. The notion was absurd enough, for Mr. Pembroke had not been poisoned, and, moreover, even granting my hypothesis a true one, those few specks of glass would represent only a small fraction of a broken bottle.
But he might have dropped it, my imagination rambled on, and smashed it, and then swept up all the fragments, as he thought, but overlooked these specks.
At any rate, I put the paper containing the bits in my pocket, and went on with my search. Feeling that I had finished the floor, I examined all the furniture and decorations, paying no attention to Lawrence's desk or personal belongings.
