Kitabı oku: «The Curved Blades», sayfa 7
XIII
BATES, THE BURGLAR
Brought before the magistrate, Bates told a coherent though amazing story.
It seems he was Estelle’s lover, and had long ago persuaded her to let him know when Miss Carrington had a quantity of jewelry in the house, that he might essay a robbery. The plan was simple. Estelle had promised to slip downstairs at three o’clock and raise a window for his entrance, and later, but before any one else was about, she was to slip down and lock it again. In the meantime, they assumed, the burglary would be quietly accomplished, their supposition being that Miss Carrington would be asleep in her bedroom, and the boudoir easy of access.
“You entered by the window, then, at what time?” asked Stone, who was doing most of the questioning.
“At quarter of four in the morning,” replied Bates, and all noted that this was shortly before the hour when Mrs. Frothingham saw through her field-glass a man leaving by the same window.
“You went directly up the stairs?”
“Yes; Estelle had often told me the lay of the rooms, and I went straight to the lady’s boodore.”
“You carried with you a ‘black-jack.’ Did you have murder in your heart?”
“That I did not! I took that, thinkin’ if the lady woke up and screamed, I’d just give her a tap that would put her to sleep without hurtin’ her at all, at all. I’m no murderer, Sir, and I’m confessin’ my attempt at burglary, and – and assault, so I won’t be accused of a greater crime.”
“That’s right, Bates, it’ll be better for you to be perfectly truthful. Now, what did you see when you entered the room?”
“I had stepped inside and shut the door before I saw anything, and then, I turned to see the lady’s face, but in the mirror. I was behind her, and in the glass I saw her smilin’ face, and of course, I thought she was alive, and that she saw me. I knew she’d scream in a minute, and the sight of all the jewels gleamin’ on her neck drove me fair crazy with greed, I suppose, and I up with my sandbag, and hit her head, not meanin’ to hit hard enough to kill her, but only to knock her unconscious-like.”
“And then?”
“The blow smashed the big comb she was wearin’ but she didn’t move nor fall over. She was leanin’ back in her big chair, and she jest sat there, and kept on smilin’. My knees shook like the ague, for I thought it was magic, or that my eyes was deceivin’ me. There was no sound anywhere, and I stood starin’ at that smilin’ face and she starin’ back at me! I nearly screamed out myself! But I bucked up, and thinkin’ that she was struck unconscious so quick, her face didn’t change, I made to take off some of the jewels I was after. I touched her neck and it was cold! The lady was dead! Had been dead some time, I was sure, ’cause she was so cold and stiff. I trembled all over, but my only thought then was to get out. Not for a million dollars would I touch them sparklers! There ain’t often a burglar who is ghoul enough to rob a corpse! Leastways, I’m not. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t! I’m a tough and a bad egg generally, but I wouldn’t steal from no corpse! Not I!”
“So you left the house at once?”
“That I did, as fast as my tremblin’ legs could get me downstairs. I was clean daft. I couldn’t make it out and I didn’t try. I thought it was the Devil’s own work, somehow, but how, I didn’t know. My mind was full, makin’ my escape. I ran like the old boy was after me, and reachin’ home, I hid under me bedclothes and groaned all night. Full a week went by, and I begun to breathe easy, thinkin’ I’d never be suspected of a hand in it, when up comes this gentleman, and says I done it. Well, I’ve told the truth now, and I’m relieved to get it off my chest.”
Bates heaved a deep sigh, as of a man eased of a great burden. His whole story bore the stamp of truth, and his manner of telling was straightforward and earnest. Nor was there reason for doubt. Though a startling tale, it entirely explained many of the strange conditions that had seemed so bewildering. It would never have occurred to Bates nor to any one to make up such a yarn, and what else could have deterred him from the contemplated robbery but the superstition that makes even the most hardened criminals refuse to steal from a dead person? Therefore, the narrative was accepted as probably true, and Bates was taken to the Tombs to await further proceedings against him.
“You’re a wonder!” said Gray Haviland, as, that same afternoon, he discussed the matter with Fleming Stone. “Would you mind telling me how you went straight to the criminal and walked him off to jail?”
“That was practically a bit of luck,” and Stone smiled. “It was the black-jack that gave me the clue. If the fellow hadn’t dropped that in his fright, we might never have traced him. Though we would perhaps have found him eventually, through the maid, Estelle. She is not good at keeping things secret. However, he did drop the weapon, and it led straight to him.”
“But how?”
“Well, the thing smelled strongly of creosote. Now, it was made from a bit of old cloth that looked like a piece of some discarded garment, – a man’s coat, say. If the odor had been camphor or moth balls, I should have assumed a garment laid away in storage, but creosote is not used for that purpose. So I deduced a house recently remodeled by use of a certain kind of shingles. I know that the odor of those shingles clings to everything in the house for months. It is almost ineradicable. So I looked about for a house lately reshingled.”
“Why not a new house?” asked Hardy, who was present.
“A point well taken,” said Stone, nodding approval, “but in a new house the odor often is dispelled before the people move in. In a remodeled house, the furnishings stay there during the work and so are deeply impregnated with that unmistakable smell of creosote. At any rate, I worked on that, and when I found that a newly shingled old house was a boarding-house of the type Bates would be likely to live in, I went there to see, and found him.”
“Yes, but how did you know there was such a person as Bates? Where did you get his name?”
“From your cook,” returned Stone, simply. “I concluded there was no doubt that Estelle had let the man in and relocked the window afterward. So I deduced a friend of the girl’s so dear to her that she would do this for him. I asked the cook, Mrs. Haskins, as to Estelle’s admirers and learned that there were two, Bates and Higgins. Mrs. Haskins couldn’t say which one Estelle more favored, so I decided to try both. Bates – the cook told me – lived in a boarding-house near here, and Higgins over in New York. So when I asked Estelle a few leading questions I pretended to greater knowledge than I really had. I spoke of a name beginning with either B, H, or S. She fell into the trap and said quickly that she knew no one initialed S. Then I said, ‘but beginning with – ’ and waited; she said no name, but involuntarily her lips form a silent ‘B,’ and I knew she had Bates in mind. The rest was easy. Bates, the boarding-house and the shingles formed a combination too indicative to be merely coincidence. And so we found him. And I, for one, believe his story. I know the strong superstition that imbues those people concerning a corpse, and the unexpected discovery that he had attacked one was enough to make that man beside himself. Indeed, it’s a wonder that he didn’t himself make an outcry in his terror and fright.”
“I have heard of your prowess in these matters,” said Haviland, “but I didn’t look for such quick work as this. Why, you hadn’t even interviewed Estelle when you came to your conclusions about Bates.”
“No, but remember, I have seen a full account of all the evidence, not only at the inquest, but all that has been gathered by the police and by Mr. Hardy here. Last night I read all this carefully, and it was enlightening on these points that led up to to-day’s work. But, now, I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Haviland, that a much more difficult and complicated problem faces us, to discover who gave to Miss Carrington the poison that killed her.”
“Have you any suspicions?” and Gray looked the Detective straight in the eyes.
“I have not, as yet,” and Fleming Stone returned the steady gaze. “Have you?”
Gray Haviland hesitated. Then he said: “I would rather not answer that question, Mr. Stone. If I should have suspicions, and they should be unjust or ill-founded, is it not better to leave them unmentioned, even to you? You are here to discover the criminal. I can not think my suspicions, if I have any, could help you, but they might easily hinder you by wrong suggestion.”
“Very well, Mr. Haviland, just as you please. But I assume you will tell me frankly anything you may know or learn in the way of direct evidence bearing on the matter?”
“That, certainly.” But though Haviland’s words were a definite promise, his tone and manner seemed hesitant, and a trifle vague.
“Am I to have the privilege of working with you, Mr. Stone?” inquired Hardy, his heart beating tumultuously lest he receive a negative answer.
“If you care to. And if you are willing to work in my way. I am somewhat impatient of interference or questioning. But, if you want to assist in investigating, under my absolute orders, I shall be glad to have you do so.”
Nothing was further from Hardy’s mind than to interfere or to show any undue curiosity concerning the work or methods of the great Detective. He was more than content to watch silently, to run errands, and to make himself useful in any way desired by his superior. He said this, and Stone nodded indulgently.
“I shall begin with this matter of the arrest of Count Charlier,” said Stone, as he looked over his note-book. “Either that man is the guilty party or he is not. If not, he must be released. If so, it must be proven. What do you know of his history, Mr. Haviland?”
“Very little, Mr. Stone. In the first place, I doubt his right to the title he assumes.”
“You do? And why?”
Haviland looked a little embarrassed. “I’m not sure I know why. But he doesn’t act like a real Count.”
“Yes? And how do real Counts act, I mean in ways that differ from this man’s habits?”
“You’re having fun with me, Mr. Stone,” and Gray blushed like a school-boy. “But I mean it. It’s this way. I’m not a Count, but if I wanted to pretend I was, I’d act just as Count Charlier does. There!”
“Good! That’s definite, at least. Now make it a little more so by describing some of these actions.”
“Well,” and Haviland’s brow wrinkled, “well, to begin with, his manners are too slick and polished.”
“A traditional trait of Frenchmen.”
“Yes, if real. But his seem artificially, purposely, – oh, fakely polished! Have you seen him, Mr. Stone?”
“No, not yet.”
“When you do, you’ll see what I mean. He has shifty eyes, and he rubs his hands together, and if he’s standing, he half bows with every sentence he utters, and he smirks instead of smiling, and his whole attitude is a fifty-fifty of apology and bumptiousness.”
“Bravo! You’ve given a graphic picture of him at all events. I’ll reserve further consideration of his personality until I have seen him.”
“You believe implicitly all that story of Bates, do you, Mr. Stone?” and Haviland looked dubiously at the Detective.
“Yes, I do, at present. If anything turns up to disprove any part of it I may have to revise my ideas. But just now, it seems to me that Bates told the simple truth. To be sure, he only told it because he feared an accusation of murder, and he knew that to confess to the lesser crime would go far to help him deny the greater.”
“You may be right. But might there not be collusion between Friend Count and Bates?”
“Collusion?”
“Just that,” and Gray shook his head doggedly. “I’ve a vague idea that Frenchy is mixed up in this thing somehow. Now, he couldn’t possibly have administered the poison, himself, personally, nor could he have struck the blow personally, but couldn’t he have hired the man Bates to do it for him?”
“On the face of things, Mr. Haviland, does that look plausible? Is the Count, as you describe him, a man who would engage a burglar of the Bates type to commit a brutal crime? Again, if Bates were merely the Count’s tool, would he not, when caught, pass the blame on to his employer?”
“He sure would! You are right, Mr. Stone, those two never hooked up together! It’s out of the question. But as Estelle and Bates are in cahoots, why didn’t she give Miss Carrington the poison, herself?”
“Well, she did fix the bromide, hoping to make her mistress sleep soundly. But the lady never took it. Now, if the maid had given or expected to give the poison, why the bromide at all?”
“But, look here,” broke in Hardy, “mightn’t it be that Estelle did do the poisoning and arranged the bromide as a blind, to put us off the track, exactly as it has done?”
“There’s small use speculating about that poison,” said Stone thoughtfully, “we must go at that systematically. We must find out where it was bought and by whom. People can’t go round buying deadly poison without a record being made of the sale. We must inquire of druggists, until we find out these facts.”
“There’s no druggist about here who would sell aconitine,” said Hardy, “it doubtless was bought in New York.”
“That, of course, adds to the difficulty of tracing the sale, but it must be done. Mr. Hardy, I will ask you to do all you can to find out about that.”
“You want to look up a French apothecary,” advised Haviland. “That Count is at the bottom of this, as sure as shootin’, and he’s full clever enough to hide his tracks mighty closely. Why, that man is a fortune-hunter and an adventurer, and he wanted that ten thousand dollars, and he poisoned Miss Lucy to get it! That’s what he did! And he was on deck that night, after the jewels, that’s where he was! It was he in that room talking, it was he who left his glove there, – of course, he didn’t know it, – and now you’ve got him under lock and key, I hope you’ll keep him there, and not let this Bates discovery get him the slip. If the two were not working together, then, surely they are incriminated separately, and you want to look into the case of little old Mr. Count!”
“You may be right, Mr. Haviland,” and Fleming Stone smiled at him, “but I think you are assuming a lot because of your prejudice against the Frenchman. Was he very attentive to Miss Carrington? Had he proposed marriage to her?”
“That we don’t know. Of course, we had all been afraid he would – ”
“Why afraid?”
“Oh, we didn’t want my cousin to marry an adventurer. Of course, he only wanted her fortune, and as her business manager, I had a right to interfere, or at least, to look after her interests enough to prevent that.”
“But was she not a capable woman, who could be supposed to know her own mind?”
“Ordinarily, yes. But, there’s no use mincing matters. Miss Carrington greatly desired to marry. However, she paid no attention to men whom she did not consider interesting. There were several such, and she sent them packing. The Count, though, she took to at once, partly because of his title and partly because, – well, he has a way with him. He flattered her, and she took the bait like a hungry fish!”
XIV
WHO GAVE THE POISON?
Though Fleming Stone’s acumen and quick perception had led to a swift apprehension of Bates, his next steps were not taken so rapidly. He spent much time in the boudoir of Miss Carrington, as if striving to make the walls tell what their traditional ears had heard.
The upset breakfast tray had been removed, but nothing else disturbed. Estelle had owned up, after Bates’ arrest, that she did drop the tray, in her fright at the sight of the dead lady, and that she afterward denied it lest she be suspected of wrong-doing.
The plate that had contained sandwiches was still on the bedside table, but the glass of milk, with bromide in, had been carried away.
Stone looked at the empty plate, and wondered. Had the poison been placed in the sandwiches? By Estelle? By anybody else? Who had had opportunity? Estelle had brought the sandwiches and milk to the bedroom, according to her usual custom, when she prepared the bed for the night. A tiny serviette had been over the sandwiches, and was still there beside the plate. Stone looked at it. A mere wisp of fine linen, with a monogrammed corner. The few wrinkles in it showed clearly to Stone’s sharp eyes the dainty touch of fingers that had held the caviare sandwich. It undoubtedly denoted that Miss Carrington had eaten the sandwich. Had any one merely removed it, the napkin would have been uncreased. He had been told that she rarely ate this night luncheon, though it was always placed for her. Why had she partaken of it on that particular night? Had some one advised her to? Or urged it? Had the Count really visited her in the boudoir, and having previously arranged the poisoned sandwich, made sure that it would perform its deadly mission? Could he have entered the room unknown to the rest of the household?
Stone went to the window. Yes, that matter was easy enough. A balcony outside the long French window was connected with the lower verandah by a spiral staircase. Any one could run up the steps and be admitted to the boudoir in perfect secrecy. Stone wondered for a moment why Bates hadn’t entered that way, and quickly realized that for a marauder to appear at the window would have frightened Miss Carrington and caused an outcry. The entrance of the Count, however, whether expected or not, would be easily effected.
If the Count were really guilty, the circumstances were all explicable. Suppose Miss Carrington had made the appointment. Would she not, in her vanity, have donned the beautiful boudoir gown and the jewels to appear attractive in his eyes? And, supposing she had playfully caught his glove as he removed it, and had half-unconsciously continued to hold it. Then the conversation alleged to have been overheard by Miss Frayne would have been addressed to him, and the remarks would be, at least, intelligible.
The snake? Ah, yes, the snake. As to that there was no hint, no clue of any sort. But then, the thing was so inexplicable, that the explanation must be easy. A clue so strange, so bizarre, must lead somewhere. That could be left to the future. Now, he must decide on his first steps.
The decision took him to call on Doctor Stanton, and the physician welcomed him warmly.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Stone,” he said; “sit down, sir, sit down. I’ve been wanting a talk with you ever since I heard of your arrival. So you’ve ferreted out the burglar already! Great work, great work indeed! And now for the real murderer. You see, sir, I’m up to the minute in my information regarding this case.”
“Glad to know it,” returned Stone. “Now, Doctor Stanton, I hope you can help me. I don’t mind admitting the thing has its baffling aspects. The burglar was easily traced, and easily disposed of. The real work, as you say, is just beginning. Will you, sir, tell me all you know of the poison that killed Miss Carrington?”
“Surely, Mr. Stone. The autopsy showed a fatal dose of aconitine. Aconite, as you of course know, is the herb, wolfsbane, of the Hellebore tribe, all the species of which are poisonous. Aconitine is an intensely poisonous alkaloid obtained from aconite. Taken in a moderate quantity, it acts as a powerful sedative, but the dose absorbed by Miss Carrington was undoubtedly fatal within half or three-quarters of an hour.”
“And she died at what time?”
“About two o’clock.”
“Proving she took the poison at about quarter or half after one.”
“Yes; thereabouts. It is not possible to fix these hours precisely, but the poison was administered positively between one and two.”
“Administered? You do not think then, that she took it herself?”
“Most certainly not! Miss Carrington has been in my care, professionally, for many years. I knew her very well, and I know nobody more opposed to medicine in any form or drugs of any sort. It was a most difficult task to persuade her to take even the simplest remedy, and then she had to be assured over and over again that it was harmless. No, Mr. Stone, nothing could have made her take that dose of her own accord, nor could any one have persuaded her to take it, consciously. It was, without doubt, given to her secretly, by the clever ruse of the murderer. Of course it could not have been an accident. The marvelous part is, to my mind, how any one secured the poison. It is not an easy matter to buy aconitine.”
“Then that ought to make it easier to trace. If the public could easily procure it at will, there would be greater difficulty in running down the purchaser.”
“That is so; and yet, I think your search will be a hard one. How shall you go about it?”
“By canvassing the drug shops of the city, and of the small towns as well.”
“It may be you can trace the sale. But if it was bought under promise of secrecy, and if that secrecy were well paid for – ?”
“True, there is the difficulty. But what’s a detective for if not to find out secrets?”
“Quite right. May your quest succeed.”
“And now, a little more about the action of this poison. What are the immediate effects of a fatal dose?”
“In a few moments there occurs a tingling numbness of lip and tongue and pharynx. The numbness increases and affects all the muscles and death ensues inside of an hour. This paralyzing effect renders it impossible for the victim to cry out, and there are no convulsions. The body remains calm and undisturbed, and the eyes open. A dilatation of the pupil takes place, but the expression on the face remains as in life. This is why Miss Carrington continued to look happy and smiling – ”
“And proves that when she took the poison she was happy and smiling, and therefore in no way terrorized or frightened into it.”
“Exactly so. And that indicates that she didn’t know she was taking it, – ”
“Or, that it was administered by some one she knew and loved and had all confidence in.”
“It would seem so,” and Doctor Stanton’s fine old face showed a sad apprehension.
“How was it taken, – in what medium?”
“That we can’t tell to a certainty. There were traces of the sandwiches discovered at the autopsy, but, though the poison could have been given her, concealed in a sandwich filling, it is improbable.”
“Why?”
“Because the white granules or powder, which are soluble in water, would be more easily discerned in solid food.”
“But, on the other hand, it could be unostentatiously placed in a sandwich, with little fear of detection; but to prevail on her to swallow a solution, – it is bitter, is it not?”
“Yes, slightly so. I admit, I cannot imagine any one inducing Miss Carrington to swallow such a draught. Therefore, it may well be, it was placed in a sandwich. The filling, they tell me, was caviare, which would disguise the bitterness.”
“And does not all this, if true, point to some one exceedingly familiar with all the details of Miss Carrington’s affairs? Some one who knew of her nightly sandwich? And, also, does it not imply the presence of some one who could and did insure her consumption of that sandwich?”
“It would indeed seem so, Mr. Stone; but when it comes to discussing such a question as that, I must ask to be allowed to retire from the field. It is my duty to tell all I know, from my medical experience, but further than that I am not obliged to express any opinions or voice any suspicions.”
“You know, however, that Count Charlier is held pending investigation?”
“Yes, I know it. I have no opinion to express.”
Fleming Stone rather admired this gentleman of the old school, whose courtesy was evident, but equally so his determination to say only what justice demanded of his profession.
And then, like a flash, the reason came to him. Doctor Stanton suspected, or at least feared to suspect some member of the Carrington household.
Of course, this was not a new idea to Fleming Stone. He had mentally gone over the possibility of every one in the family and all of the servants at Garden Steps, but so far he had held his mind open for impressions rather than to formulate theories himself.
“Then, to sum up, doctor,” he said, as he rose to go, “you assure me that you consider it out of the question that Miss Carrington took the aconitine herself, say, as a headache cure, or something, intending only a small curative dose?”
“Absolutely impossible, sir,” exclaimed the old gentleman, almost angrily; “to begin with, Miss Carrington never had headaches, and if she had she would have borne any amount of suffering from them before she would have touched a drug or a medicinal remedy of any sort. And, aside from all that, how could she get aconitine? It is not to be bought for the asking at any druggist’s! No, sir, my conscience makes me insist on that point, Miss Carrington never took that poison knowingly, – either by accident or design. It was given to her, without her knowledge, by a very, very clever villain.”
“Again, then, could it have been given her innocently, by mistake? I mean, if some one, her maid, or any friend, had wanted to give her a sedative, and meant only a light dose, but by error in quantity – ”
“No, sir! Not a chance! The amount given was too great to be an error. And every one in that house knows better than ever to have attempted to give medicine in any form or degree or for any purpose to Miss Lucy Carrington.”
“It was crime, then,” said Fleming Stone, “black crime. And as such, it must be discovered and punished.”
“Yes,” agreed Doctor Stanton, but he spoke with deep sadness and as one who feared where or toward whom such discoveries might lead.
From the doctor’s house Stone went to see the Count.
That elegant gentleman was highly irate at being detained against his will in such plain quarters as The Tombs furnished, but he was not as belligerent or vindictive as Stone expected to find him.
Hasty work on the part of the detectives from the District Attorney’s office had resulted in his imprisonment, but the later development of Bates’ share in the matter made it extremely probable that the Count might soon be released from custody.
Pleasantly enough the two men conversed, and Count Charlier gave the impression of one glad of help from an outside source.
“It is such absurdity,” he declared, “to think I would in any way wish harm to the lady. Why, I admired her above all, and it was my hope that she would do me the honor to accept my hand.”
“Honestly, Count Charlier?” and Stone looked at him with a man-to-man glance that caused the Count to hesitate in his protestations.
“Well, I was considering the matter in my own mind. You know, Mr. Stone, it is a great responsibility, this seeking a wife. And Miss Carrington was not – not in her first youth. Of a fact, her years outnumbered my own. So, I asked myself was it wise, was it altogether just to the lady to – ”
“Never mind all that, Count,” said Stone, a little impatiently, “just give me a few details of that evening, so far as your actions were concerned. You were at the house till midnight?”
“Yes, Mr. Illsley and I left together. We had spent the evening there at cards and music.”
“You had had any private conversation with Miss Carrington during the evening?”
“Yes, we walked alone in the conservatory for a time, – ”
“You proposed marriage?”
“Not exactly that, – but I may have hinted at such an event.”
“And the lady seemed agreeable?”
“Entirely so. If I may say it, she met my advances half-way, and I could not misunderstand her feeling toward my unworthy self.”
“She spoke to you of money matters? Of her will?”
“Yes, to my surprise, she told me she had bequeathed to me ten thousand dollars.”
“Was not this a strange bequest to a casual acquaintance?”
“Oh, we were more than casual acquaintances. I have known Miss Carrington for two or three months.”
“Which? two or three?”
“Perhaps nearer two,” and the Count showed a slight embarrassment.
“Do your friends often leave you large sums of money on such short acquaintance?”
“It has never happened before,” and now the Count’s dignity was touched and he spoke shortly and coolly.
“Then, of course, it struck you as peculiar,” and Stone’s smile assumed an acquiescence.
But the Count returned: “Not at all. Miss Carrington was an unusual woman, and I never expected her behavior to be entirely conventional. When she told me of this I was simply and honestly grateful, as I should have been to any one who showed me such a kindness.”
“You were glad to get the money, then?”
“Yes, indeed!” the Count exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, then realizing his slip, he hastily added: “that is, I was glad of the knowledge that it would come to me some day. Surely I did not want the lady to die, that I might receive it, but I was pleased to know she thought enough of me to make the direction.”
“What did she mean by saying ‘To-morrow all will be different’?”
“That I do not know. Could she have meant – ”
“She did say it, then? You admit she said it to you?”
Breathlessly, Fleming Stone waited the answer. Miss Carrington had said this to the person who was with her behind her closed door at one o’clock! Could the Count be going to incriminate himself?
“Not to me only. She said it to all who were present. It was while we were playing bridge.”
“She said it again to the man who killed her!”
“Of that I know nothing,” said Count Charlier, politely.
“Bother!” said Fleming Stone, inaudibly.
