Kitabı oku: «The Deep Lake Mystery», sayfa 11
CHAPTER XV
JENNIE
Keeley Moore had a knack of putting his troubles away on a high shelf, while he relaxed, as he called it. And with him, this meant relaxation of mind as well as body, and he stretched himself in his porch chair, and demanded light chatter, with no hint or mention of the Pleasure Dome tragedy.
Lora, as usual, met him more than half way, and began a recital of the blunders made by her new parlour maid that morning.
“Nice looking little baggage,” said Kee, who had always an eye for a pretty face. “Where’d you pick her up?”
“I can’t tell you that,” said Lora, “it’s a secret.”
“A secret? Where you got a servant! Then, I can guess; you sneaked her away from some unsuspecting friend, and offered higher wages.”
“Nothing of the sort! Jennie came to me and asked me to take her.”
“Where has she been living?”
“Oh, nowhere in particular. How do you like that screen across that corner? It was in the dining room, you know, but it wasn’t really necessary there – ”
“Hush, woman!” thundered Kee, in mock rage. “Don’t trifle with me. Tell me where that parlour maid sprang from, or tremble for your life!”
“But I can’t,” and Lora broke into giggles. “You see, you’ve forbidden me to tell you – ”
“Forbidden you to tell me!” Kee sat up, his keen intuition telling him there was something back of this chaffing.
“Yes. To tell you would involve the mention of a forbidden name – ”
“Lora! You’ve taken on a servant from Pleasure Dome!”
“Yes. I couldn’t resist. She’s a jewel, and she had already left there.”
“She was free to come?”
“Oh, yes. Griscom has dismissed several of the maids, saying there’s not enough work for a large force.”
“The household is as it was except for Mr. Tracy.”
“Yes, of course, but there’s no entertaining, and I believe Mr. Ames and young Dean are leaving soon after the funeral.”
“Who’ll be head of the house, then? Everett, I suppose.”
“Kee, you forbade all reference to Pleasure Dome and now you’re – ”
“Go away, we’re not talking of the murder now. A fellow can gossip about his neighbours, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes; all right, then. Well, Jennie told me all this, and she says that when Miss Alma comes to live in the big house, she will go back there, if Alma will take her. But she won’t stay there now, because Mrs. Fenn is too bossy.”
“Mrs. Fenn?”
“Yes, the housekeeper. She and Griscom rule the roost, and the other servants are all squirming.”
“Perhaps we can worm some information out of the perspicacious Jennie.”
“Keeley Moore! You wouldn’t descend to quizzing servants, would you?”
“Wouldn’t I just! I’d quiz a scullery maid, if I could get a glimmer of light on our dark problem. Pull Jennie in and let me take a shot at her.”
Obediently, Lora touched a bell and Jennie appeared.
She was a trim, tidy young person, in a neat uniform, and her attitude was perfect.
She stood at attention and awaited orders.
Kee looked at her, and then said, slowly, “You have been living at Mr. Tracy’s?”
“Yes, sir.” The reply was calm, respectful and quite unperturbed.
“Why did you leave there?”
“The butler and housekeeper decided to reduce the staff, and I asked that I might be one of those to leave.”
Kee studied her more closely. Clearly, she was superior to the general run of servants.
“Why did you wish to leave?”
She hesitated a moment, then said, in a straightforward manner:
“Because I prefer to work in a house where there is a master or mistress and not a house run by the upper servants.”
“That’s plausible. Is that the only reason you wanted to make a change?”
A longer pause this time. Then, again, that sudden decision to speak.
“No, sir. I wanted to get away from a house where such a terrible thing had happened.”
“That’s a natural feeling, I’m sure. You were there, then, at the time of Mr. Tracy’s death?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Were you questioned by the Coroner about it?”
“No, sir. I suppose he thought I didn’t know anything about it.”
“And do you?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
Keeley stared at her. I went limp and faint all over and the two women nearly fell off their chairs.
But Kee was careful not to show his intense interest.
“Well, Jennie,” he said, in as casual a tone as he could command, “what do you know?”
“Do I have to tell you, sir?”
She looked at him serenely, not at all frightened, and with no diminution of her respectful attitude.
“Why, – er – yes, Jennie, I think you do.”
“I mean, legally, you know. Am I bound to answer your questions? Are you a policeman?”
“Why, yes, in a way,” Kee began, and then he said, quickly, “no, Jennie, I’m not a policeman, but if you don’t tell me, you’ll have to tell the police. Now, wouldn’t you rather tell me, nice and quietly, than to be interviewed by the police, who would scare you out of your wits?”
“Oh, sir, they couldn’t scare me,” the girl returned, with a look of self-reliance that seemed to exhibit neither fear of God nor regard of man. I had never seen on the face of one so young such apparent certainty of an ability to hold her own.
Clearly, Jennie was a find, and would doubtless prove a strong card, for, of course, Kee would get her story out of her.
But he soon found that he could not do it himself. Unless convinced that she was forced to it by the law, Jennie had no intention of divulging her information.
Recognizing this, Kee gave it up and sent her about her business.
“She probably knows nothing,” was his comment. “If she did, Griscom or Hart would have caught on. I suppose she thought she saw something and her imagination exaggerated it.”
“But she doesn’t seem to me imaginative, Kee,” Lora declared. “Not like Posy, you know, out to kick up a sensation. This girl is queer, very queer, but to me she rings true.”
“We’ll hear her story before we decide,” Kee told her. “March will be over to-night, and he’ll have the law on her! Don’t let her go out this evening.”
Lora agreed and then we went out to dinner. Serious conversation at table was strictly taboo, so we had only light chat and banter throughout the meal.
But afterward, snugly settled in the lounge, Keeley said:
“Well, of course, we have to face facts. There’s no use denying, Gray, that matters begin to look pretty thick for Alma. As you know I have to push on; I can’t stop because the girl my friend cares for is under suspicion. So, it comes down to this. If you choose, you may go back to New York till it’s all over, one way or another. You can’t be of any help to me here, and I can’t see how you can be of any use to Alma. This sounds a bit brutal, but I think you understand. If you don’t, I’ll try to explain.”
“You’d better explain, then,” I growled, “for I’m damned if I do understand.”
“Well, it’s only that, as I said, you can’t help any, and if things go against the girl, it would be better for you to be out of it all.”
I suppose something in the look of misery that came into my eyes went to Lora’s heart, for she said:
“Nonsense, Kee, Gray can’t go away. He couldn’t bring himself to do that. Of course, he’ll stay right here with us, and if he doesn’t help, at least he won’t hinder. You go ahead with your investigations and Gray and I will stand at thy right hand and keep the bridge with thee.”
“All right, Lora,” I managed to say, and Kee understandingly refrained from any further words on the subject.
But I grasped his meaning, and I knew that I was to stay only if I put no obstacles in his way and concealed no information that I might in any way achieve.
March came along as per schedule, and he and Keeley plunged at once into the discussion. Keeley Moore was not one of those private investigators who kept secret his own findings or ideas. He was almost always ready to tell freely what he thought or suspected, and he expected equal frankness from his fellow workers.
So, first of all he informed March of the story Posy May had detailed.
March, too, was inclined to take it with a grain of salt.
“I know that kid,” he said. “She’s full of the old Nick, and I’m not sure her word is reliable. But that yarn sounds plausible, and if she did see what she describes, it’s likely somebody else at some time or other has seen the same sort of thing. If so, I’ll try to find it out, and if we get one or two corroborations, we can begin to think it may be so.”
“But, even then,” I suggested, “it may only mean a high temper and not a – a – ”
“A diseased mind,” March supplied. “I don’t know about that. If it were a case of high temper there would be more or less exhibition of it right along. A girl who flies into wild passions at times is going to have slight shows of temper in between or else there’s something radically wrong there. And as I know Miss Remsen, I only know her as a lovely, gentle-natured girl, without this fierce temper at all. If, then, she has spells of it, those spells mean organic trouble of some sort. We could ask her nurse, but we’d learn nothing from her, I’m sure. We could quiz the Pleasure Dome servants, for the older ones, at least, lived there when Alma was there. But again, they would shield her from any suspicion. Or they probably would. We can try it on.”
“What about her doctor?” said Lora. “He’d know.”
“Yes; and that’s a good idea. But her doctor, I think, is Doctor Rogers, and he went to California the day after Mr. Tracy died. He seems to be beyond reach, for he went by the Canadian Pacific, and stopped along the way at various places.”
“Banff and Lake Louise, I suppose,” suggested Maud.
“Yes, but also at some less known places, ranches or such, and his office says he will get no mail until he reaches San Francisco.”
“Fine way for a doctor to leave his arrangements,” exclaimed Keeley.
“Oh, well, he put his practice in good hands, and he’s gone off for a real vacation. But all he could tell us is whether Alma Remsen is in any way or in any degree mentally affected. And I’m quite sure we can somehow find that out without him. If I grill that old butler and that sphinx of a housekeeper over there, I’m sure I can gather from what they say or don’t say about how matters stand.”
“If she is epileptic,” Maud said, “would it explain a criminal act on her part?”
“It might,” March returned, “but I don’t think she is that.”
“I don’t, either,” Kee agreed, and I blessed them both silently for that ray of hope.
Then Keeley told of the new parlour maid and her strange attitudes, and March demanded her immediate presence.
“A servant from that house is just what we want,” he said. “We are in luck.”
Jennie answered Lora’s summons, and appeared, looking as composed and serene as before.
Clearly she had no intention of quailing before the majesty of the law.
“You may sit down, Jennie,” Lora said, kindly, and the girl took a chair with just the right shade of deference and obedience.
“You were employed at Pleasure Dome?” March began, a trifle disconcerted at this self-possessed young creature.
“Yes, sir.”
“For how long?”
“I was there six months.”
“Then you were there when Mr. Tracy died?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you were not there when Miss Remsen lived there?”
“No, sir.”
“No. Now, Jennie, you told Mrs. Moore you knew something about the night of Mr. Tracy’s death.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it, do you think, of importance?”
“Yes, sir.”
Not only the monotony of the girl’s monosyllabic replies, but the enigmatic smile that played about her lips and was remindful of the Mona Lisa, began to grate on the nerves of all of us.
But March swallowed, took a long breath, and plunged into the matter.
“Then, Jennie, since you deem it of importance, tell it to us, and we will see what we think about it.”
“Must I tell it, sir?”
“Indeed you must,” and March glared at her threateningly.
But it was unnecessary. Jennie seemed to think it a case of needs must when the law drives, and she began to speak in real sentences.
“You see,” she said, “my room is across the house from Mr. Tracy’s room. I mean across the part of Deep Lake that he called the Sunless Sea.”
“Across?”
“Yes, sir. You can look out of my window and see down into Mr. Tracy’s room. Of course, my room is on the third floor and his on the second, but you can see in.”
“Yes, and did you see in?”
“Oh, yes, I often looked in there late at night.”
“What for?”
“Nothing in particular, only it was bright and gay and there were always flowers about, and sometimes company and music, and so I liked to look at it.”
“Well, go on.”
“Yes, sir. And never did I see anything strange or peculiar, except this one night, sir. You see, it was his sitting room as I could look into, and it was so fixed, with curtains and all that, that I couldn’t really see much after all. I just sort of had a glimpse like, and then nothing.”
“I see. Well, get along to the night of the strange thing you saw. What was it?”
“I saw Miss Alma dive out of the window into the lake.”
There was a moment’s dead silence and then March found his voice somehow, and carried on.
“You’re – you’re sure it was Miss Remsen?”
“Oh, yes, sir, of course. I know her well.”
“How was she dressed?”
“She had on a white dress, a sports suit, and white shoes and stockings. She most always wears white in the summer time. She came to the window, and I saw her step up on the sill, and then she looked down at the lake for a moment.”
“As if afraid?”
“Oh, no, sir. As if just judging the distance, or something like that, Then, she put her hands together over her head, and dived right off. She went down like a lovely bird, into the water and in a few seconds up again, and straight out to where her boat was, near by.”
“What sort of boat?”
“The little canoe she always uses, sir. I know it well.”
“And then?”
“Then, sir, she settled herself in the boat, all dripping wet as she was, but she didn’t seem to mind, and she paddled away just as she always paddled, with that clear, sharp stroke that everybody admires so much.”
“Where did she go?”
“Toward her own home, on the Island. Of course, when she turned the bend I couldn’t see her.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went to bed, sir.”
“Put out your light?”
“I didn’t have any light. It was moonlight and I was just looking out at the lake when this thing happened.”
“Jennie, this is a very strange tale.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say it is true – all of it?”
“Every word, sir.”
The girl’s eyes were of a dull gray, but they had a penetrating gaze that was a bit irritating.
But both eyes and voice carried conviction.
None of Jennie’s listeners was the kind to be hoodwinked, and moreover we all rather fancied ourselves as being able to discern between true and false witnessing.
And as we found later, when we compared notes, each of us was thoroughly impressed with the indubitable truthfulness of this strange girl with her strange story.
“And you’ve not told this before?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I wasn’t asked.”
“Who asked you now?”
“Mrs. Moore, sir, and then Mr. Moore, and then yourself.”
“Yes, I see. Well, Jennie, can you keep this story secret for a time?”
“If nobody asks me about it.”
“But look here, girl, you are in the command of the law, and I order you not to tell this. You’re bound to obey me, or you will be put in prison. See, in prison!”
“I shouldn’t like that, sir.”
But even this avowal brought no change of countenance or gleam of fear to the gray eyes.
“You bet you wouldn’t. But that’s what you’ll get if you tell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you keep still about it?”
“If nobody asks me, sir.”
March looked utterly disgusted, but Lora took the matter in hand.
“Leave it to me, Mr. March,” she said. “I think I can answer for Jennie’s obedience to your order so long as she stays with me.”
“I like you,” said Jennie, gazing at her.
“Of course you do,” said Lora, heartily, “and I like you. We’re going to be great friends. Now, Mr. March, any more questions before I put our star witness to bed?”
“A few only. Jennie, did you see Miss Remsen come to the house, or only go away?”
“Only go away.”
“Do you suppose she came to the house in her boat?”
“She must have done so, she always comes that way. But she could not have gone in by the window.”
“No. How did she get in, then?”
“By the door, I suppose. Miss Remsen had a key.”
“Then, why did she leave by the window?”
“That’s what I don’t know,” the gray eyes clouded. “That’s what I can’t make out.”
“It is a hard problem. What time was it when you saw her go away?”
“I’ve no idea. We all go to bed at ten, if it isn’t our night out. So I went to my room about ten, but I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hadn’t you been asleep at all, when you saw the girl and the boat?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m quite sure I had. But my watch wasn’t going, and so I don’t know what time it was.”
“Don’t you have a timepiece to get up by?”
“Mrs. Fenn raps on our doors, sir, then we get up.”
“I see. Well, you say it was moonlight. Do you know where the moon was, in the sky?”
“Oh, yes, it was just disappearing behind Mr. Tracy’s wing.”
“Then we can track the time down by that,” said March, with a nod of satisfaction. “Given the date and the position of the moon, that’s easy.”
“Jennie,” said Keeley, thoughtfully, “did Miss Remsen have anything in her hands when she dived from the window?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that. You see, her canoe was just below, right down from the window. She leaned out first, and dropped a bundle of something into the boat. Then, she stepped on the sill, and I could see she did have something in one hand. A sort of stick, I think.”
“The Totem Pole,” said March, decidedly.
“That’s all, Jennie, you may go now.”
Lora left the room with the girl, but soon returned, Not a word had been spoken by us in her absence.
“Well,” she said, as she came back, and March responded, “not well at all. About as bad as it can be.”
“You believe that balderdash, then?” I asked, angrily, and Keeley said, “Yes, Gray, and so do you. I think, March, we must revert to the mentally deficient theory.”
“I think so, too,” March said, shaking his head. “I wish Doctor Rogers was at home.”
CHAPTER XVI
WHISTLING REEDS
March called in at Variable Winds on his way to the Tracy funeral. We were all ready to go, for though none of us wanted to, it was a matter of convention and the whole village would have commented unkindly had we stayed away.
I, especially, dreaded it, for I dislike funerals, and I hated the thought of the entire community sitting up there, casting glances at Alma and making whispered remarks about her.
But I had to go, so I made the best of it, and, garbed in appropriate black, I sat with the others awaiting the time to start.
March came in, looking harassed and worn.
“It’s all too dreadful,” he said, sinking into a chair. “Everything seems to point to Alma Remsen, yet I am not convinced of her guilt.”
I started to speak, but thought better of it. Since March held that opinion nothing I could say would help any. I’d better keep still.
“I’m going to the funeral,” March went on, “because it’s wiser to show myself there. But I shall slip out, during the service, and go over to the island house. How about going with me, Mr. Norris?”
“What for?” I asked, a little suspicious of his motives.
“Partly to help along by corroborating anything I may learn or discover and partly that you may tell Mr. Moore all about it later, and save me that much work. I’ve none too much time for what I have to do.”
“Go ahead, Gray,” Keeley said. “I can’t leave the funeral, of course, but your absence will not be noticed. As neighbours, we must show proper respect, but our guests may be excused.”
“Very well, then, I’ll go,” I told March. For I felt I’d rather know exactly what he found out and so know what steps to take myself.
I was formulating in my mind a course of procedure that I hoped might free Alma from these monstrous and false suspicions.
“I’ll go,” I repeated, “but not because I foresee any new evidence against Miss Remsen. It’s too absurd to suspect her.”
“It’s too absurd not to,” March said. “The evidence is piling up. The fingerprints and footsteps and the maid’s story of seeing her that night all seem to prove she was there at the fatal hour. The strange decorations on the deathbed look like the work of a diseased mind. Posy May’s story seems to prove that Miss Remsen is afflicted with some sort of spells that transform her into a demoniac. Then, add the details of the waistcoats and Totem Pole, the fact that she is an expert swimmer and the strong motive of the approaching loss of her uncle’s fortune – ”
“You’re going too fast, Mr. March,” I interrupted him. “Posy May’s story should not be taken without some outside corroboration. She is an irresponsible child, and not fit to be a real witness. The maid, Jennie, I think, comes in the same category. I, for one, am unwilling to admit Miss Remsen the victim of any sort of malady or disease until we have a doctor’s opinion on that subject. It seems to me this is only fair to the young lady.”
“Norris is right about that,” Keeley agreed with me. “Keep these developments quiet for another twenty-four hours, March. No good can come from exploiting them.”
“No, and I don’t mean to. But no harm can come of going over to the Remsen house, even if it does no good.”
“All right as to that. Go ahead. Go with him, Gray, and keep your eyes and ears open. The two Merivales will probably be at the funeral, but there’ll doubtless be some one in charge of the place.”
It was time to start then, and we walked sedately out to the car, our funeral manner already upon us.
The two Moores and Maud went up toward the front seats, while March and I took seats in the back of the room.
The services were held at Pleasure Dome, in the great ballroom that was beneath the rooms of Sampson Tracy’s suite.
I looked out the window at the deep, dark lake. Sunless Sea was an apt name for it, as the trees grew thickly right down to the very edge of the water, and the great house also shaded it. A sombre-looking scene, yet of a certain still peacefulness that had its own appeal.
Here and there a rock lifted its jagged form up out of the water, but I realized that if a diver or swimmer were familiar with the place, he could easily avoid danger.
My heart was sick at the black clouds that seemed to be closing in round the girl I loved, and I resolved anew to devote my whole heart and soul to the task of setting her free.
I had no doubt of her innocence, no doubt but that these seemingly true counts against her were really capable of some other explanation, but even if she were guilty, even if she had killed her uncle, whether in her right mind or not, she was still the one girl in the world for me. I would comfort and help her in her adversity as I would in more joyful hours, should such ever come to us.
Then I saw her come in – saw Alma enter, her arm through that of the faithful Merry, while John Merivale stalked behind them like a bodyguard.
What a pair those Merivales were! Invincible seemed to be the only word that described them. Strong, brave, keen-witted, they looked forceful and capable enough to ward off all trouble from the girl they loved. But whether they could do so or not was the question.
Alma, white-faced but composed, walked with a steady step, and took the seat the usher offered, in the front row, her faithful henchmen on either side.
Mrs. Dallas was also in the front row, and the secretaries and Harper Ames.
In the next row sat the entire staff of the Pleasure Dome servants. Then came the neighbours and villagers. The room was quickly filled and many were turned away or relegated to other rooms in the house.
The air was heavy with the scent of hothouse flowers, for the well-meaning donors were not content to send the lovely garden flowers blooming on their own estates.
Exquisite music sounded from behind a screen of tall palms, and as the services began, March looked at me, and we silently rose and went out.
“Horrible affairs, funerals,” I said, wiping my brow with my handkerchief.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the detective responded, “I rather like them. I like that exotic effect of the flowers and music and the solemn-faced audience, and the still peaceful figure in the casket. Yes, it impresses me rather pleasantly.”
“Then you’re a ghoul,” I told him, irritably, which was unjust on the face of it.
The good-natured chap only smiled, for he realized, I think, that my nerves were on edge.
“I don’t know you very well, Mr. Norris,” he said, after a pause, “but I’m going to venture on a bit of advice. I know, of course, your regard for Miss Remsen, and I’m going to warn you that you may hinder rather than help her cause, unless you learn to control your feelings. Don’t lose your temper when you see us detectives prying into matters that seem to you sacred. These things must be done. Your objections have no weight, and it is far wiser not to raise them. Maybe I am offending you, but my intentions are good, and you can take it or leave it.”
The man’s honest countenance and kindly smile affected me more pleasantly than his words, and after a moment I said, heartily:
“I take it, Mr. March. I realize I am a blundering ass, and I’m grateful for a pull-up. But, to be frank, I never was in love before, and to find suddenly that I care for a woman with all my heart and soul, and then find her under a terrible suspicion – well, I daresay you’ll admit it is a hard position.”
“I do. Indeed, I do. And you mustn’t give up hope yet. I always keep an open mind just as long as possible. It may be some other claimant for the honour of being the criminal will turn up. I surely hope so. But in the meantime we must just dig into things and do all we can to get more light.”
“You’re going to search the house on the Island?”
“I certainly am, if I can get in any way. Maybe there’s no one there.”
“Then you’d break in, I suppose.”
“Maybe, maybe. I’d do anything to learn a few things I want to know.”
We had reached the Pleasure Dome boathouse now, and from an attendant there March commandeered a small boat, which he said he would row himself.
“I like a bit of exercise,” he told me, “and rowing is my preference.”
So we went on, past Variable Winds, on down to the Island of Whistling Reeds.
A quiet, rather grim-faced man helped us to make our landing and we went up to the house.
Before we reached it, March paused to give it a moment’s study.
We looked at its pleasant porches and its windows with light, fluttering curtains. From one window, on the second floor, a face looked out at us, a girl’s face, with dark, bobbed hair.
The head was quickly withdrawn, and we went up the steps and March rang the bell.
In a moment the door was opened by the girl whose face we had seen at the window. She now wore a bit of a frilled cap with a black velvet bow.
This she had obviously donned at the sound of the doorbell.
“We have come,” March said to her, in his pleasant way, “to look over the house.”
“It isn’t for sale,” she said, not frightened at all, but seeming a little amused.
“I know. I don’t want to buy or rent it. Are you the parlour maid?”
“I’m Miss Remsen’s personal maid – lady’s maid,” she returned, bridling a bit, as if to be a parlour maid was beneath her rank.
“Oh, I see. I thought Miss Remsen had her nurse – ”
“Yes. Mrs. Merivale is my mother. We both look after Miss Alma.”
“I’m sure she’s well taken care of. Now – ”
“Dora, sir,” she said, divining his question with quick intuition.
“Well, Dora, I suppose you are devoted to Miss Remsen?”
“Oh, that I am, sir. I’d die for her!”
“Well, we don’t want you to do that, but something far easier. We just want you to answer a few questions. Is anybody in the house beside yourself?”
“Nobody, sir.”
“All gone to the funeral?”
“Yes, sir. All but Michael, down at the dock, and me.”
“Very well. Now, do you remember the night Mr. Tracy died?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was Miss Remsen that night?”
“Here at home, sir.”
“What did she do through the evening?”
“She read in a book, sir, then she played the piano a bit and then she went to bed.”
This was reeled off glibly, a little too glibly, I thought. It sounded parrot-like, as if a lesson, learned by rote. Evidently March thought so too, for he said, looking at her closely:
“How do you know this?”
“How do I know?” she looked a little blank. “Oh, yes, I know, because I saw her now and again as I passed through the hall.”
“I see. Now, what book was she reading? Do you know?”
“No, sir, I don’t know that.”
“But you saw her reading?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what kind of book was it? A big book?”
“No – no, sir, I think not. I think it was a smallish book – ”
“With a paper cover?”
“Yes, sir, with a paper cover.”
“Stop it, March,” I cried, involuntarily. “You sha’n’t put words into her mouth!”
“Keep still, Norris,” he said, sternly, “and remember what I told you.”
I supposed he meant that I could serve Alma best by learning everything possible about her, but I resented this sort of procedure.
The girl was frightened, too. She drew her breath quickly, as if fearing she had been indiscreet, but March restored her equanimity by his next words.
“That’s all right, Dora,” he said, “it doesn’t matter what book she had or what music she played. Then she went to bed? She didn’t go out anywhere?”
“Oh, no, sir, it was near ten, then. Miss Remsen never goes out evenings unless to a party and then somebody fetches her or Mother goes with her.”
“Well, you’ve told a straight story, and that’s all we want to know. Now, I’m going to give the house the once over.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“A glance about. You see, Dora, I’m connected with the police and – ”
“The police, sir!” she cried, and sank into a chair.
But suddenly she sprang to her feet again, and said, in a low, tense tone, “Will you please go away, sir? Go away, and come when my father or mother shall be here?”
“No, Dora, we can’t do that. You ought to know that the police cannot be told what to do. But rest assured, we mean no harm to your young mistress, and we are hoping to find some clues or evidence that will free her from suspicion.”
Dora looked thoroughly perplexed. She glanced from the window, as if of a mind to call Michael, but he was not in sight.
“And I may as well tell you,” March continued, his iron hand still in a velvet glove, “that you’d better let us have our way, without raising any objection. For you can’t stop us, and you’d only create unpleasantness for yourself.”
