 CHAPTERS 7 AND 8 OF THE CURVED BLADES BY CAROLINE WELLS 7. THE INQUEST Next morning the inquest was proceeding. The great living room at Garden Steps was crowded with listeners drawn hither by sympathy, interest or curiosity, and each class found ample to satisfy its motive. The mere fact of being within that exclusive home within these heretofore inaccessible doors was enough to thrill and delight many and observation and scrutiny were as well repaid as was the listening to the astounding revelations that were poured into their ears. Coroner Skollfield's jury was composed of intelligent men who were eagerly receptive to the appalling facts narrated to them and the curiously bizarre bits of evidence that became known as the witnesses were questioned. Dr. Stanton told of his being called to the house and his discoveries and conclusions. He admitted that he assumed death was caused by the blow on the head, but claimed that it was a pardonable error in view of the fact that such a blow had been given. He affirmed, and Dr. Moore corroborated it, that the autopsy showed that death was caused by a conitin poison administered either by the deceased or another at an hour not earlier than one o'clock and probably soon thereafter. The terrible blow that had fractured the skull had been given after life had been for some time extinct. Dr. Stanton asserted emphatically his late patient's detestation of drugs or medicines of any sort, adducing thereby the extreme improbability of the poison having been self-administered. Moreover, the temperament and disposition of the late Miss Carrington entirely evinced a love of life and desire to prolong it by means of any device or assistance the doctor might give. Pauline was called next and a little flutter of excitement in the audience greeted her appearance. Exceedingly dignified but of a sweet gracious mien she had once received the silent approval of the crowd. Her black gown, its collar of sheer white organry slightly open at the throat while suited her pale, beautiful face and her dark hair and eyes. Today her eyes seemed fathomless. At times gazing intently at the corner until they almost disconcerted him, and then hidden by veiling lids whose long lashes fell suddenly as if to conceal further disclosures. On the whole Pauline was not a satisfactory witness. She told in most straightforward way of leaving the breakfast table to go to her aunt's room and of finding there the dead body. She told clearly all the circumstances of the upset tray, the spilled powder and the eccentric garb of Miss Carrington herself. But questions as to her opinion of these facts brought little response. You left Miss Carrington at half past twelve, asked Coroner Schofield. Not so late, I think, returned Pauline. Probably at a quarter or twenty minutes past twelve, I am not sure. How was she then dressed? In the gown she had worn during the evening and her jewels. When I left my aunt she was wearing her pearls and the other jewelry she had worn with her evening dress. Some brooches and rings and bracelets. But not so much as she had on when you discovered her the next morning. Not nearly so much. How do you account for this? I don't account for it. To me it is exceedingly mysterious. And the paper snake round her neck. I have no idea by whom such a thing could have been brought to my aunt. But I am positive she never put it on herself, nor can I think she would allow it to come nearer if she were alive, or conscious, or had power to scream for help. Anyone knowing my aunt's fear and horror of anything reptilian will agree to this. It seems evident, said the Coroner thoughtfully, that some intruder entered Miss Carrington's room at or near one o'clock, that this intruder in some manner induced Miss Carrington to swallow the poison whether conscious of her act or not. But the intruder subsequently and for some reason placed the snake round the neck of the victim and later still brutally gave her a stunning blow with the blackjack which was found and thereby fractured her skull. Granting these assumptions can you, Miss Stewart, give us any information that would lead to discovery of the hand that wrought this havoc? Not any, and Pauline raised her great eyes a moment to Skollfield's face and slowly dropped them again. Then can you not express an opinion or suggest a theory that might account for such strange happenings, at least in part? No, said Pauline slowly. I have no idea, nor can I imagine why my aunt should be so elaborately arrayed and seated in an easy chair in front of her mirror. It is contrary to all her customs or habits. Could she have been killed first and could the jewels and adornments have been added afterward? asked the coroner of the doctors. No, replied Dr. Moore. The whole condition of the body and clothing makes such a theory practically impossible. Quite impossible, added Dr. Stanton, and, too, what would be the sense of such a proceeding? We are establishing the facts of the proceedings, not the sense of them. We turn the coroner a little testily, for he was at his wit's end even to make a beginning in this strange case. At least, he went on. We have the facts and the approximate time of the crime. Have you, Miss Stewart, any suspicion of who the murderer can be? The question was shot out suddenly. If its intent was to startle the witness, it certainly succeeded. Pauline Stewart turned even whiter than she had been, and she caught her breath quickly and audibly as she flashed a frightened glance at Gray Haviland. It was by no means an accusing glance, though many who saw it, eager for a direction in which to cast their suspicions took it for such. But Pauline controlled herself immediately. Certainly not, she said coldly. That is, I can have no suspicion of the murderer's identity. It was, of course, a midnight intruder of the criminal class. I have no individual acquaintances who use or possess the weapon that was employed in this crime. The blackjack is an auxiliary only. The poison may have been administered by one not versed in the ways of professional criminals. You admit that, I suppose? It is no doubt true, said Pauline, nicely. That poison may be given by a person not belonging to the criminal classes. I fail to see, however, how that fact affects the matter in hand. It may well affect it. Since Miss Carrington was killed by a deadly poison, we must conclude that the blackjack assault was made with the intention of concealing the poisoning and making it appear that the blow caused the death. There seems to me no other way to account for the conditions that confront us. A silence followed this. Its truth was patent to everybody. Clearly the poisoner had delivered the blow for no one else would attack a victim already dead, and a plausible reason would be the hope that the poisoning would pass unnoticed in view of the other apparent cause of death. And it points to the work of an amateur, went on Schofield. A professional criminal would know that the autopsy would disclose the earlier crime. Pauline lost her nerve. I don't know anything about it. She cried and sank back into her seat, her face buried in her hands. Coroner Schofield was a man of tat. It is entirely natural, Miss Stewart, he said, that this thought should overcome you. But we must realize the fact that the theory of a professional burglar is practically untenable because nothing was stolen. A burglar's motive could be only robbery and this did not take place. Nor can we think that a burglar was frightened away before he could appropriate the jewels. For after giving the poison and before the blow was given sufficient time elapsed for a successful getaway to be made. Nor would the burglar have been at pains to cover up his poisoning work for having achieved his end. He would have secured his booty and made escape. So it is evident that the motive not being robbery is as yet unknown and may be obscure and complicated. What could it have been? asked Pauline, her composure regained her voice low and even. Schofield looked at her. It is said, Miss Stewart, that the only motives for murder, our love, revenge or gain. Can you imagine anyone of these directed toward your aunt? Pauline replied tranquilly. Evidently she had fully recovered her poise. I can think of no one who could have killed my aunt for love. It is improbable that she has ever done anyone such wrong as to call for such a deed in revenge. As to gain, if you mean pecuniary gain, all the legates mentioned in her will may be said to have that motive. Pauline's manner and tones were so impersonal, so scathingly ironic as to amount to a disclaimer for all the legates. Her way of suggesting it made it seem so far removed from possibility that it was far more emphatic than any denial could have been. But Coroner Schofield was as unmoved as his witness. Quite so, he said coolly, and therefore inquiries must be made. Did you, Miss Stewart, after leaving your aunt so soon after midnight, see or hear anything unusual or suspicious? What do you mean by unusual or suspicious? I mean, did you see or hear anything, anything at all, that you could not explain to yourself as being in any way connected with the tragedy we are investigating? Before answering, Pauline looked in turn at all the members of the household. Haviland slowly turned his head as if to look at something across the room and as slowly brought it back to its previous position. I did not, said Pauline, looking straight at the Coroner. That is all, said Schofield briefly, and the next witness was called. This was the maid Estelle. Her eyes were red with weeping, but she was not hysterical now or incoherent. She answered tersely questions as to Miss Carrington's habits and as to her words and actions during the maid's last interview with her. She left her at about quarter of one, the witness deposed. I had given her her oriental néglige of which she is fond. I offered to take down her hair and put away her jewels, but she declined those services and bade me leave her. She was worrying when you left her only the jewels she had worn during the evening. Only those, sir. When I changed her evening gown for the boudoir robe, she bade me replace such jewels as I had already taken off her. She kept on her rings, bracelets, and her long rope of pearls while I changed her costume. And then she dismissed you for the night. Yes, sir. Where was she then, sitting before the mirror? No, sir. She stood in the middle of the floor. Was she in a naïveable mood? She was not. Because I offered to assist her further, she ordered me from the room in anger. Ah, in anger! Was Miss Carrington often angry with you? Indeed, yes, as she was with everybody. Confine your answers to your own experience. You prepared a night luncheon for your mistress. Yes, sir. And now Estelle's voice trembled and her eyes rolled apprehensively. What was it? Too small sandwiches and a glass of milk? What sort of sandwiches? Gaviard, sir. Ah, yes. And why did you put a large dose of bromide in the glass of milk? Did it kill her? And Estelle screamed out her query. Pauline and Anita looked at one another. It was the same question Estelle had asked of them. An overdose of bromide may be fatal, parried the coroner, not answering the question directly. Why did you do it? I didn't do it, and the French girl shrugged her shoulders. Why should I poison my mistress? She was quick-tempered, but I was used to that. Don't be stupid, said the coroner. The bromide did not poison Miss Carrington, for in the first place she didn't take it. The glass of milk was found next morning untouched, though the sandwiches were gone. Therefore the bromide in the milk was found. Why did you put it in? I didn't do it, reiterated the maid. Look higher up for that. What do you mean? I mentioned no names, but somebody must have done it if bromide was found in that milk. But you tried to get the glass away next morning without being seen. Who says I did? Never mind that. You were seen. Why? Well, sir, if I thought anybody was going to get into trouble because of it, I was only too glad to help, if I could, by removing it before it was noticed. Estelle spoke slowly as if weighing her words, and her furtive glances at Pauline were only one significance. It was palpably apparent that she suspected Miss Stewart of the deed and out of kindness had tried to remove the incriminating evidence. Pauline stared at her with a glass that went through her or over her or around her, but gave not the slightest attention to the speaker. Did you put bromide in your aunt's glass of milk, Miss Stewart? asked the coroner, and Pauline said calmly, certainly not. Mr. Scofield sighed. It was a difficult matter to get at the truth when the witnesses were clever women in whose veracity he had not complete confidence. He gave up Estelle for the moment and called Gray Haveland. The young man's appearance gave every promise of frankness and sincerity. He detailed the circumstances precisely as Pauline had told them. He denied having heard or seen anything suspicious during the night. He referred to the coroner's list of motives for crime and added that he agreed with Miss Stewart that the present case could scarcely be ascribed to love or revenge. If the murder was committed for gain, it was of course a formal necessity to question all the beneficiaries of Miss Carrington's will, but he was sure that all such inheritors were quite willing to be questioned. For his part he believed that the criminal was some enemy of Miss Carrington, unknown to her immediate household, and he suggested that such a one be searched for. You've got that glove, he reminded, that was found clasped in the hand of the murdered woman. Why not trace that, or endeavor to learn in some way the reason for the many peculiar circumstances, or discover at least a way to look for further evidence rather than to vaguely suspect those who lived under Miss Carrington's roof? I am not asking your assistance in conducting this inquiry, Mr. Haviland, and the coroner spoke shortly, but pursuing my own plan of obtaining evidence in my own way, will you kindly answer questions without comment on them? Oh, all right, fire away. Only remember that we relatives and friends are just as much interested in clearing up this mystery as you are, and we want to help, if we can be allowed to do so intelligently. Asked again if he saw or heard anything unusual in the night, Haviland replied. You said, suspicious the other time. I did see something unusual. I saw Estelle go stealthily downstairs at 3 a.m. That's unusual, but I don't go so far as to call it suspicious. 8. Anita's Story Instead of showing surprise at this statement, the coroner broke the breathless silence that followed it by saying, will you please explain what you mean by stealthily? Just what I say, returned Haviland bluntly. She went slowly, now and then pausing to listen, twice drawing back around a coroner and peeping out and then coming forth again. She wore no shoes and carried no light. She went down the big staircase in the manner I have described, and after about ten minutes returned in the same fashion. That's what I mean by stealthily. What was your errand? asked Scofield of Estelle. Nothing, I didn't go. She replied coolly. She tells an untruth, said Gray calmly. She did go, just as I have described. But it was doubtless on an innocent errand. I had no idea she was implicated in Miss Garrington's death. I am sure it is of casual explanation. Or I was sure until Estelle denied it. How is it you chance to see her? I was wakeful and I was sprawling around to find something to read. I went out in the hall and got a magazine from the table and had returned to my room and was just closing the door when I saw a white figure glide across the hall. She passed through a moonlit space or I could not have seen her. She was wrapped in a light or white kimono thing and I should never have thought of it again if it were not for what has happened. You knew it to be this, Estelle? Yes, her red hair was hanging in a braid. Tissant red! snapped Estelle, but Mr. Scofield silenced her with a frown. Well, Auburn then, said Haveland easily, you may as well own up, Estelle. What did you go down for? I didn't go, repeated the maid obstinately, and no cross questioning could prevail on her to admit otherwise. All right, and Haveland shrugged his shoulders. I suppose it doesn't matter as the crime was committed about one o'clock. It's up to you, Mr. Coroner, to find some person who acted suspiciously nearer that time. And, by the way, as man of business of this estate, unless some worthwhile evidence is forthcoming pretty soon, I'm going to round up a detective or two who will get somewhere. Give us a little more time, Mr. Haveland, said Scofield swobbly. This inquest has only begun. Well, get it over with, and then, if the truth hasn't come to light, I'll take a hand. Miss Frane was called next, and Anita, with the look of importance on her pretty face, came forward. Her evidence at first was merely a repetition of that already heard, and she corroborated Pauline's recital of the scene as the two girls' bad Miss Carrington good night. And then, prompted the Coroner. Then I went to my room, but I didn't retire. I sat thinking over what Miss Carrington had said to me. And, as I thought about it, I concluded that this time I was really dismissed from her secretarieship. And that made me feel very sorry, for it is a good position, and I've no wish to lose it. So, after a time, I began to think I would go to Miss Carrington's room, and if she were still up, I would beg her forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? For any fancied grievance she might have against me. I have always tried to please her, but she was, er, difficult, and it was not easy to do the right thing at all times. Did you go to her room? I went to the door. At what time? Soon after one o'clock, not more than five or ten minutes after. There was a rustle of excitement. The poison was said to be administered at about one. Did this fair doll like girl know the secret of the tragedy? Proceed, Miss Frane. Tell the story of anything you saw at that time. I saw nothing, but I heard a great deal. What was it? The door of Miss Carrington's room was closed, and I was about to tap at it when I heard talking inside. I paused, and I listened, in order to discover if her maid was still with her or someone else. If it had been a stale, I should have tapped for admittance, but it was not. Who was it? I cannot say. The voice I heard distinctly was that of Miss Carrington herself. Her voice was high-pitched and of what is called a carrying sort. The things she said were so strange I lingered listening, for I was so surprised I couldn't help it. First, I heard her say quite plainly, your face is the most beautiful I have ever seen. I wish mine were as beautiful. I assumed then she must be talking to Miss Stewart, for sure she would not say that to her maid. Then she said, but to-morrow I shall be forever freed from this homely face of mine. Miss Frane, this is very singular. Are you sure you heard correctly? I am sure, but there is more. She next said, to-morrow you will be glad. Glad. It was almost a scream that, and she went on, to-morrow all these jewels will be yours if you ah, but will you? And then her voice trailed off faintly, and I could hear no more. You heard nothing more at all? Yes, I waited. Oh, I admit I was eavesdropping, but it was so strange I couldn't help it. There was silence. It may well be someone else was replying to her, but I could not make out any other person's words. Her low voice would not be audible like a high-pitched one. But after a moment Miss Carrington resumed. She said, I shall change my will, not Carrish have, that must stand. But the other half shall never go to a niece who has no affection for me. Again I heard nothing for their responses were inaudible. Then Miss Carrington said in amusing tone, I have already willed you ten thousand dollars of those United States bonds, but... And then, after quite a long pause, Miss Carrington cried out, not loudly, but tensely, Henri, Henri, you are the mark I aim at. That frightened me so I ran swiftly back to my room and locked the door. You assumed Henri to be Count Chalier. I had no other construction to put upon the words. You thought the gentleman was in Miss Carrington's room. I couldn't think that. And yet it sounded as if she were speaking to him, not of him. This is a very strange story, Miss Frayne. Have you mentioned these things you overheard to anyone before this? No, I have thought them over and concluded it was best to tell the story first to you. And quite right, it is then your opinion that there was another person in Miss Carrington's room to whom she was speaking. It seemed so to me, but you did not hear this other person's voice. Anita paused a moment and then said, not distinctly, did you hear it at all? I cannot say. When I did not hear Miss Carrington's voice clearly, there were sounds that might have been another person or her own voice speaking more inaudibly. Might it not be that she was merely talking to herself, soliloquizing? It could not have been that. She spoke definitely and decidedly to someone when she said, your face is beautiful, and when she said, I have willed you ten thousand dollars, indeed everything she said was as if spoken to some here, not as one who talks to herself. After you regained your room, did you leave it again? No, I did not. Hmm. Now are you positive, Miss Frayne, that all these speeches were said just as you have repeated them? It is a great strain on the memory to repeat accurately a conversation as long as the one you have just rehearsed. The speeches I heard are burned into my brain. I could not forget them if I would. I may have aired in some minor or unimportant words, but the most of what I heard is precisely as I have repeated it. Indeed, so thoroughly was I amazed at it all, I wrote it down as soon as I reached my room. I had then no thought of what was going to happen, but Miss Carrington had made peculiar remarks during the evening about something happening to her, and in connection with that the words I heard seemed so remarkable, not to say uncanny, that I made a note of them. This is not an unusual habit with me. I often make notes of conversations as it has been useful in my service as a secretary. As how? If a caller in a social or business way had conversation with Miss Carrington and I was present, I often made a record in case she asked me later just what had been said. I see. And how do you interpret the words all ye you are the mark I aim at? I can only think that Miss Carrington was in favour of considering a marriage between herself and the Count. You made use of the word uncanny. Do you imagine that Miss Carrington had any foreboding of her approaching doom? When I heard her say, tomorrow I will be forever freed from this homely face of mine, and tomorrow all these jewels will be yours, I couldn't help thinking, after the discovery of her death that she must have anticipated it. Did her voice sound like the despairing one of a person could die? On the contrary, it sounded full of life and animation. Did she seem angry with the person to whom she was speaking? At times, yes, and again, no. Her voice showed varying emotions as she talked on. Her speech was not continuous then. Not at all. It was broken and in snatches. But remember I could not hear all of what she said and the other person or persons not at all. Did you not catch a word from the other voice? I cannot say. Much in a low tone that I could not hear clearly might have been Miss Carrington's voice or another's. The door was closed and as soon as I realized there was someone there, not a still, I had no thought of knocking and I soon went away. I ought to have gone away sooner and would have done so, but I was so amazed and puzzled I stayed on involuntarily. This frame is very extraordinary. Can you suggest from what you heard who might have been in the room with Miss Carrington? I cannot, nor do I wish to. I have told you what I heard. It is for you to make deductions or discoveries. I wish to say a word, Mr. Coroner, and Pauline Stewart with her dark eyes blazing rows to her feet. I am sorry to say this, but I must ask you to hesitate before you put too much faith in what you have listened to. I am sure Miss Frane could not have heard all that nonsense. It is impossible on the face of it that my aunt should have received anyone in her room after her maid left her. It is incredible that she should have made all those ridiculous and meaningless remarks, and it is despicable for any woman to imply or hint that Miss Carrington was receiving a gentleman caller. I am surprised that you even listened to what must be the ravings of your aunt. Pauline looked at Anita like an avenging goddess, but the darts of scorn from her dark eyes were met and returned in kind from the big blue ones of the secretary. I resent your tone and your words, said Anita deliberately, but since you choose to adopt that attitude I will go on to say what I had intended not to reveal that I saw you coming from your aunt's room after the conversation I have told of took place. Wait a minute, said the coroner. You said that immediately after hearing the alleged conversation you went at once to your room and did not leave it again. Nor did I. But a few minutes later unable to restrain my curiosity I opened my door and looked out. My position then commanded a full view of the hall and I saw Miss Stewart go from her aunt's room to her own. Pauline looked at the speaker. Coldly her glance swept back I denied that I was in my aunt's room after leaving it at midnight in company with Miss Frane, but she forces me to tell that I saw her going away from it at exactly quarter past one. How do you fix the time so accurately? I was sitting in the upper hall. It is really a sitting room at the bay windowed end looking at the moon. I too had been disturbed at my aunt's attitude and her threats to send me away today and I had gone to the hall window seat and I had sat there for half an hour or more. Could anyone going through the hall see you? Probably not, as the draperies are heavy and I was in the deep window seat. I was thinking I would go to my room and then I saw Miss Frane come from my aunt's room and go to her own. Are you sure she came from the room? She was closing the door her hand was on the knob. She did not see me I am sure for I drew back in the window and watched her. And just then I heard the hall clock chime the quarter after one. You didn't see Miss Frane when she went to Miss Garrington's room? No. I suppose I was then looking out of the deep window. Nor did you hear her. No. The rugs are thick and a light footfall makes no sound. What did you next do? I went straight to my own room. The slight hesitation told against Pauline. All through her testimony all through her arraignment of Anita for it amounted to that she had been cool, calm and imperturbable. But now a momentary hesitation of speech added perhaps to the circumstantial story of Anita Frane caused a wave of doubt. Not enough to cause suspicion but a questioning attitude to form in the minds of many of the audience. To whom if not Miss Stewart could Miss Garrington's remarks about beauty have been addressed. It was well known that Miss Lucie adored beauty and all her life lamented her own lack of it. This was no secret woe of the poor ladies. To anyone who would listen she would complain of her hard lot and having all the gifts of the gods except good looks. To whom else would she say tomorrow all these jewels will be yours? If you ah, but will you? And yet after all it did not make sense. Was it not far more likely to be a figment of Miss Frane's clever mind for what purpose who might say? At any rate their stories were contradictory and moreover were garbled. The jury men sighed. The case had been mysterious enough before now it was becoming inexplicable. End of chapters 7 and 8 Chapters 9 and 10 of the Curved Blades by Caroline Muelles This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 9 Further testimony Count Henri Chalier was being questioned and he was distinctly ill at ease. His French savoir-faire was not proof against definite inquiries as to his intentions regarding the late Miss Carrington and indefinite illusions concerning his movements on the night of her death. He had related straightforwardly enough his visit at Garden Steps that evening and his departure at or about midnight. He denied his engagement of marriage but admitted that he had paid Miss Carrington such attentions as might lead her to suspect an attachment. You did not return to this house after leaving on Tuesday night? Most assuredly not. You were not in Miss Carrington's boudoir at one o'clock or thereabouts? Count Chalier's black eye snapped. But by a successful effort he controlled his indignation and said simply, I was not. But she was heard to address you. Impossible, I was not there. She distinctly declared that you were the mark she aimed at. What construction do you put upon those words? It is not for me to boast of my attraction for a lady. Count Chalier simpered a little and Gray Haveland looked at him with a frown of undisguised scorn. Haveland had never liked the Count indeed, he even doubted his right to the title and especially had he feared a marriage between him and Miss Lucy. And granting that his feeling was partly due to a consideration of his own interests, Haveland also distrusted the Frenchman and doubted Miss Lucy's happiness as his wife. Did Miss Carrington leave you a bequest of $10,000 in United States bonds? Went on the corner. I—I don't know. And the Count stammered in an embarrassed way. You do know? shouted Haveland. I'm red and you know perfectly well that such a bequest was left to you. Why did you deny the knowledge? asked Scofield sternly. I'm—I'm not sure. You are sure? stormed Gray. Now where were you when Miss Carrington spoke those words to you? If not in her boudoir then on the balcony outside the window perhaps. Absurd! said the corner. Not at all, said Gray. That window opens on a balcony enclosed by glass. It is easily reached from outside by a small staircase, mostly used in summer but always available. How could Miss Carrington speak to the Count concerning the bonds and concerning her infatuation for himself, which is no secret unless he were there before her? And how could he be in the room in her boudoir unknown to the servants? Moreover, Mr. Coroner, I believe the glove found in Miss Carrington's hand to be the property of Count Charlier. But no!" cried the witness excitedly. I have repeatedly disclaimed that glove. It is not mine. I know not whose it is. I know nothing of this sad affair, whatever. If the money is left to me as I have been told, it is a—a surprise to me. Surprise nothing! murmured Avalond, but he said no more to the Count. If my story might be told now, ventured Mrs. Frothingham. After a moment's hesitation Coroner Scofield decided to let her tell it as having a possible bearing on Count Charlier's testimony. The rather stunning-looking widow was fashionably dressed and she flooded with an air of importance as she took the stand. She related again the story she had told of the supposed burglar whom she saw leaving the living-room by way of a window at four o'clock on Wednesday morning. How can you be so sure it was a burglar? asked Scofield. Oh, he looked like one. All huddled up. You know, and his face buried between a high coat-collar in a drawn-down cap. And he walked slyly, sort of glided among the shrubs and trees as if avoiding notice. No man on legitimate business would skulk like that. Might it not have been Count Charlier? asked the Coroner bluntly. Certainly not! And Mrs. Frothingham gave a little shriek. The Count is a slim and elegant figure. This was a stocky burly man. The Count was a slim and elegant figure. This was a stocky burly man. A marauder I know. It may be, said the Coroner wearily. It may be that a burglar was concealed in the house or let in by a servant, and that he attacked Miss Carrington as she was seated at her dressing-table. It seems impossible that he should have administered poison to her, however, and the conjoined circumstances may indicate collusion between... Between whom? asked Inspector Brunt. I don't know, confessed Scofield. Every way I tried to think it out I ran up against an impassable barrier. That's what I say, began Haveland. It is a most involved case. I shall cable Carrington-Loria for authority to employ an expert detective. Why cable him? asked Pauline. I am equally in authority now. Carr and myself each receive half the residuary estate of Aunt Lucy and, of course, I am as anxious to find the murderer as Carr can possibly be. Well, somebody will have to authorize it who is willing to pay for it. As a man of business in this home I am willing to attend to all such matters but I must have authority. You seem to me a little premature, Mr. Haveland, commented the Inspector. Perhaps when the inquest is concluded it may not be necessary to call on any other detective than our own Mr. Hardy. Perhaps not, agreed Haveland. But unless all you people wake up you're not going to get anywhere. I admit the getting is difficult but that's just the reason a wise sleuth should be called in before the trails grow cold. And then the coroner returned to his task of questioning Mrs. Frovingham. The widow was not definitely helpful. Her statements were often contradictory in minor details and when she corrected them they seemed to lose in weight. She stuck to the main points however that by the help of a strong field glass she had discerned in the bright moonlight a man leave by way of the French window at four o'clock and had seen him make his ways stealthily out by the great entrance gates of the place. Cross questioning on this brought no variations and the jury men wagged their heads in belief of her story. But her accounts of her own doings on Tuesday evening were vague and indefinite. I was in my own home all the evening she said at one time and again I went out for a short walk at eleven o'clock. This last in reputation of Haskins the Carrington Butler who deposed to having seen the lady walk across the lawns of garden steps. Where did you walk? Oh, just around my place and for a moment I strolled over here because the steps looked so beautiful in the moonlight. You were alone? I was. I have no house guests at present at the count and as my brother who lives with me is on a western trip I was alone and I walked about to kill time until Count Chalier should return after his bridge-game over here. Did you walk near the house while on the garden steps estate? Haskins go-field sending a possible espionage of her titled visitor. Oh, no! And the witness bristled with indignation. Why should I? I was not really an acquaintance of Miss Carrington merely a neighbor. Big pardon, ma'am, but I saw you on the conservatory veranda, said Haskins in a deprecatory way. That is not true, Mr. Corner, said the lady glancing scornfully at the Butler. I beg you will not accept a servant's statement in preference to mine. You are sure of this, Haskins? said the inspector gravely. Yes, sir. Sure, sir. And the man looked doggedly certain, though a little scared. And you deny it, went on Schofield to Mrs. Frothingham. I most certainly do. How absurd for me to be over here, and how more than absurd for me to deny it if I were. This seemed sensible. Why should she deny it? And might the Butler be mistaken? Or deliberately falsifying? If there was collusion or criminal assistance by any of the servants, surely the word of all of them must be mistrusted unless proven. And, too, what could have brought Mrs. Frothingham to the veranda of a home where she was not an accepted guest? Or could she have been spying on the count? For it had solely entered the coroner's not very alert mind that perhaps the volatile widow had her own plans for the Count's future and Miss Carrington did not figure in them. The manner of the witness bore out this theory. She was self-conscious and at times confused. She frequently looked at the Count and then quickly averted her gaze. She blushed and stammered when speaking his name or referring to him. In a word, she acted as a woman might act in regard to a man of whom she was jealous. And the situation bore it out. If Mrs. Frothingham had matrimonial designs on her distinguished guest would she not naturally resent his visits to a rich neighbor? Mrs. Frothingham was not rich and she may well have been afraid of Carrington's charm of gold which could cause many a man to overlook anything else that might be lacking. Coroner's Scofield was getting more and more tangled in the mazes of this extraordinary case. He was practically at his wit's end. At last he blurted out it is impossible it seems to get a coherent or even plausible story from a woman. Is there any man present who knows any of the details of the happenings of Tuesday evening and night? There was a moment's silence at this rather petulant speech and then Stephen Ilseley rose and speaking very gravely said it seems to be my unpleasant duty to tell what little I know of these matters. The relieved Coroner heard this was satisfaction accepting his good fortune he prepared to listen to Ilseley's testimony. I was spending the evening here the witness began and during my visit I was in the various rooms. At a late hour perhaps something after eleven I was crossing the hall and I saw Mrs. Frothingham on the stairway. On the stairway exclaimed the Coroner in amazement. Yes, returned Ilseley his grave eyes resting on the face of the widow who stared at him as if stricken dumb. Yes, I saw her distinctly. She was evidently coming downstairs one hand rested on the banister and she was looking upward at the ceiling. Did she see you? I think not if so she made no sign but she was not looking my way and I went on into the reception room where I was going in search of a scarf Miss Stewart had left there. When I recrossed the hall the lady had disappeared. Did not this seem to you a strange circumstance? I have no right to any opinion on the subject it was not my affair what guests were at the house I was visiting or what they might be doing but Mrs. Frothingham a search she was not an acquaintance of Miss Carrington. I did not know that then and even so it gave me no right to speculate concerning the lady's presence there nor should I refer to it now except that in view of the subsequent tragedy it is due to every principle of right injustice that all truths be known as to that evening. Mrs. Frothingham will of course recall the episode and can doubtless explain it. I should like to hear the explanation said Pauline with flashing eyes as Mistress here now I am interested to know why a stranger should wonder about this house at will. Mrs. Frothingham sat silent her face showed not so much consternation or dismay as a cold calculating expression as if debating just what explanation she should offer. At last she spoke I may as well own up she said and laughed nervously. I was on the veranda as the vigilant butler noticed. I did step inside the hall as I had so often heard of the rare tapestries and paintings and in my ennui I thought it no harm to take a peep. The great door was ajar and I was a little chilled by my walk across the lawns. I said to myself if I meet anyone I will merely beg a few moments grace and then run away. Yes I did take a step or two up the stair to look at the picture on the landing. It was all innocent enough perhaps not in the best of taste but I was lonely and the light and warmth lured me. In a moment I had slipped out and run away home laughing over my escapade like a foolish child. Her light laugh rippled out as she concluded her story. She looked ingenuous and truthful but the coroner distressed feminine fairytales and this was a little too fanciful to be true. Moreover Mrs. Frothingham was looking at him sharply from the corner of her eye. Clearly she was watching him to see how he took it. He didn't take it very well. The acknowledged presence of an outsider in the house for a not very plausible reason was illuminating in his estimation. She had been on the stairway. Had she been to Miss Carrington's room? True she said she went only to the landing. The woman had no regard for the truth. Had she and Count Chalier planned between them to... Bah! Why did this woman want to kill her neighbor? Even if she were jealous of the Count's attention would she go so far as crime? No, of course not. He must question her further. And yet what good would that do if she would not tell the truth? Well, she was in the house at half past eleven that much was certain that Miss Leigh's story and her own had also the butler's testimony all coincided as to that. And then Detective Hardy who had just returned from a short errand made a startling statement. He declared that the glove which had been found clasped tightly in the dead fingers of the late Miss Carrington did belong to Count Henri Chalier. Mr. Hardy had been searching the Count's wardrobe and though he did not find the mate to that particular glove he found many others unused but all the same size and made by the same firm as the one now in the coroner's possession. Thus, coroner to Count Chalier reluctantly admitted that it was his glove. I denied it, he thus excused himself, because I have no idea how it came into Miss Carrington's possession and I did not wish to implicate her in an affair with my unworthy self. Hmm! thought Gray Haveland fixing his attention on the Count and on his frothing ham. A precious pair of adventurers. I expect Schofield is right, we won't need an expert detective. There was more of the inquest but its continuance brought out no developments not already here transcribed. There was much cross questioning and probing, there was much rather futile effort to make all the strange details fit any one theory, there was a variance of opinion and there was more or less dissension. But as a final result the coroner's jury brought in a verdict that Miss Lucy Carrington met her death by poison administered by a person or persons unknown, who thereafter, probably for the purpose of diverting attention from the poison, struck her a blow on the head. The jury in their deliberation felt that Count Henri Chalier was implicated, but not having sufficient evidence to make a charge suggested to the detective force that he be kept under surveillance. 10. Bizarre Clues It was Saturday. The funeral of Miss Carrington had been held the day before and the imposing obsequies had been entirely in keeping with her love of elaborate display in life. The casket was of the richest, the flowers piled mountain high, the music the most expensive available, for the young people in charge had felt it incumbent on them to arrange everything as Miss Lucy would have desired it. It was a pathetic commentary on the character of the dead woman that while Ile who mourned her felt the shock and horror of her death they were not deeply bowed with sorrow. Pauline as nearest relative would naturally grieve most, but for the moment her affections were lost sight of in the paralyzing effects of the sudden tragedy. Anita Frayne had practically gone to pieces. She was nervous and jumped twitchingly if anyone spoke to her. Grey Haviland was reticent, an unusual thing for him, and devoted most of his time to matters of business connected with the estate. Estelle the maid had succumbed to a nervous breakdown and had been taken to a nearby sanatorium where she indulged in frequent and violent hysterics. The household was in a continual excitement. Lawyers and detectives were coming and going, neighbors were calling, and reporters simply infested the place. Pauline and Anita though outwardly polite were not on good terms and rarely talked together. But this morning the two girls and Haviland were called to a confab by Hardy the detective. They've arrested the count, Hardy began, and Anita screamed an interruption. Arrested Count Chalier, put him in jail? Yes, returned the detective. I found the other one of that pair of gloves, the maid to the one in the lady's hands. Where do you suppose? Where? Rolled up in a pair of socks in the Count's chiffonier drawer. Of course to hide it, as it is not at all easy to destroy a thing like that while visiting. I know it, said Pauline earnestly. It is hard. I've often noticed that when I've wanted to burn a letter or anything. You can't do it unknown to the servants or somebody. Rubbish, said Anita. It would have been easy for the Count to dispose of a glove if he had wanted to. But he didn't. He never committed that crime. If a glove was found as you say somebody else put it there to incriminate an innocent man. It's too absurd to fasten the thing on Count Chalier. Do you suppose he went to the Boudoir and gave Miss Carrington poison and then shook hands good evening and left his glove in her grasp? Nonsense. The glove in her dead hand was put there by the criminal to implicate the Count and the glove in the rolled up socks for the same purpose and by the same person. By Jove, Miss Frayne, you may be right, cried Hardy. Somehow I can't see the Count's hand in this thing and yet... and yet he did it, put in havaland. Have they really jailed him? I'm glad. I'm sorry," said Pauline and her face was white. Did he... did he... confess? The girl's voice trembled and she could scarcely pronounce the words. Not he, said Hardy. He seemed dazed and declared his innocence but he was not convincing. He takes it very hard and talks wildly and at random. But you know what Frenchmen are, likely to go off their heads at any time. But look at it, reasoned Anita. Why would the Count kill Miss Carrington? Why he thought of marrying her? Not much he didn't and Hardy smiled a little. I size it up this way. Matters had gone so far that he had to propose to the lady or clear out. He didn't want to clear out for then she would take back the little $10,000 already marked for him in her will. Moreover, he couldn't realize that tidy little sum which she very much wants so long as she lived. To be sure he would have had far more had he married her but that was not in his nibs plans. So he resorted to desperate measures. He's a thorough villain, that man. Outwardly most correct and honorable but really an adventurer as is also his friend the dashing young widow. Mr. Hardy and Pauline spoke calmly now. Do you know these things to be true of Count Chalier or are you assuming them? Well, Miss Stewart, I know human nature pretty well, especially male human nature and if I'm mistaken in this chap I'll be surprised. But also I've set a foot in investigation and will soon learn his record antecedents and all that. At present no one knows much about him and what Mrs. Frothingham knows she won't tell. It was very strange for Aunt Lucy to give him that money. Began Pauline musingly. Not at all, broken grey. I know all about that. Miss Carrington had a certain bunch of bonds that amounted to just $50,000. In one of her sudden bursts of generosity and she often had such she decided to give those bonds to five people. I mean to devise them in her will not to give them now. Well, four were Miss Stewart and Maria, Miss Frothingham and myself and then she hesitated for some time but finally announced that the fifth portion should be named for the count. I was there when the lawyer fixed it up and Miss Carrington turned to me and said laughingly, I may change that before it comes due. Oh, she was always messing with her will. I'm glad there's a tidy bit in it for me as it is. Her demise might have taken place when I was, for the moment, cut out. I'm, asked Hardy. There sure was. Only last month she got firing mad with me and crossed me off without a shilling. Then she got over her mad and restored me to favor. You and Miss Frane have other bequest than those particular bonds you mentioned, asked the detective. Yes, we chaff ten thou beside which was all right of the old lady Ayanita. None too much considering what I have stood from her capricious temper and eccentric ways, returned the girl. Your own temper is none too even, said Pauline quietly. I'd rather you wouldn't speak ill of my aunt, if you please. What might have been a passage at arms was averted by the appearance of a footman with a cable-gram. It's from Carr, exclaimed Pauline as she tore it open and read. Awful news just received. Shall I come home or will you come here? Let Avalon attend all business, love and sympathy, Carrington Loria. He's in Kyrie. He's in Kyrie, commented Avalon, looking at the paper. That's lucky. If he had been off up the Nile on one of his excavating tours we might have had communication for weeks. Well, he practically retains me as business manager, at least for the present. And Lord knows there's a lot to be done. I don't understand, Gray, why you look upon Carr as more in authority than I am, said Pauline almost petulently. I am an equal heir and too I am here and Carr is on the other side of the world. That's so, Pauline. I don't know why myself. I suppose because he is the man of the family. That doesn't make any difference. I think from now on, Gray, it will be proper for you to consider me the head of the house as far as business matters are concerned. You can pay Carr his half of the residuary in whatever form he wants it. I shall keep the place, at least for the present. Won't Mr. Loria come back to America? Asked Hardy. I scarcely think so, replied Pauline. There's really no use of his doing so unless he chooses. And I'm pretty sure he won't choose as he's so wrapped up in his work over there that he'd hate to leave unless necessary. But won't he feel a necessity to help investigate the murder? urged Hardy. I don't know. And Pauline looked thoughtful. You see what he says. When he asks if he shall come home he means do I want him to? If I don't request it I'm fairly sure he won't come. Of course, when he learns all the details he will be as anxious as we that the murderer should be found. But if I know Carr, he will far rather pay for the most expensive detective service than come over himself. And, too, what could he do more than we can? We shall, of course, use every effort and every means to solve the mysteries of the case and he could advise us no better than to get ready in our council. That's all true, said Haveland, and I think Lauria means that when he puts me in charge of it all. But after a week or so we'll get a letter from him and he'll tell us what he intends to do. I shall cable him, said Pauline thoughtfully, not to come over unless he wants to. Then he can do as he likes. But he needn't come for my benefit. The property must be divided and all that but we can settle any uncertainties by mail or cable. And I think I shall go on the trip as we had planned it. You do, said Gray in amazement, go to Egypt. Yes, I don't see why not. I'd like the trip and it would take my mind off these horrors. Our passage is booked for a February sailing. If necessary I will postpone it a few weeks but I see no reason why I shouldn't go. Do you? No, said Haveland slowly. Hardy seemed about to speak and then thought better of it and said nothing. Of course I shall not go, began Anita and Pauline interrupted her with. You go, I should say not. Why should you? Why shouldn't I if I choose? returned Anita and her pink cheeks burned rosy. I am my own mistress. I have my own money. I am as free to go as you are. Of course you are, said Pauline coldly. Only please advise me on what steamer you are sailing. That you may take another. And Anita laughed shortly. But I may prefer to go on the one you do. Aren't you rather suddenly anxious to leave this country? Pauline faced her. Anita frayed, she said. If you suspect me of crime I would rather you said so definitely than to fling out these continual innuendos, do you? I couldn't say that, Pauline. But there are. There certainly are some things to be explained regarding your interview with your aunt on Tuesday night. You know I heard you in her room. Your speech, Anita, is that of a guilty conscience. As you well know, I saw you come from her room at the hour you accused me of being there. Let up girls, said Haveland. You only make trouble by that sort of talk. But when an innocent man is arrested, Pauline ought to tell what she knows. I have told and it seems to implicate you. The impending scene was averted by Haveland who insisted on knowing what word should be sent to Loria. May as well get it off, he says, it takes long enough to get word back and forth to him anyway. What shall I say for you, Pauline? Tell him to come over or not just as he prefers but that I shall be quite content if he does not care to come and that I shall go to Egypt as soon as I can arrange to do so. Put it into shape yourself. You are much cabling than I do. Haveland went away to the library and already followed. Look here, Mr. Haveland, said the latter. What do these ladies mean by accusing each other of all sorts of things? Did either of them have any hand in this murder? Not in a thousand years, declared Grey emphatically. The girls never loved each other but lately, even before the death of Miss Lucy, they have been at daggers drawn. I don't know why, I'm sure. But what do you make of this story of Miss Frains about hearing Miss Stewart in your aunt's room? She didn't hear her. I mean she didn't hear Miss Stewart. What she heard was Miss Carrington talking to herself. The old lady was erratic in lots of ways. Why do you all say the old lady? She wasn't really old. About fifty. But she tried so hard to appear young that it made her seem older. Love with the Count, of course. Yes, as she was in love with any man she could attach. No, that's not quite true. Miss Lucy cared only for interesting men. But if she could corral one of those she used every effort to snare him. Is the illustrious Count interesting? She found him so. And yes, he always entertained us. She made that bequest to attract his attention and lure him on. And then... Oh, then he couldn't withstand the temptation and he shuffled her off to make sure of the money now. You think he killed her then? Who else? Those girls never used a blackjack. But the poison. Had it been poison alone there might be a question. But that stunning blow has to be remembered. And neither Miss Stewart nor Miss Frane can be thought up for a moment in connection with that piece of brutality. But the snake, the queer costume. The costume wasn't so queer for a boudoir garb. The snake is inexplicable unless the man has a disordered mind and used insane methods to cover his tracks. Then there's the glove. You can't get around that. That glove might have been put in her hand by anybody. That's so. By a professional burglar, say. I really believe. Oh, let up on that professional burglar business. No burglar is going off without his loot when he has uninterrupted time enough to kill a person twice with poison and then to hide that with a fractured skull. How do you explain even in theory those two murderous attacks? Good lord man, I don't know. It's all the most inexplicable muddle. I don't see how any of the things could happen but they did happen. You're the detective, not I. Are you going to discover anything? I may as well own up, Mr. Avalint. I am beyond my depth. There is a belief among detectives that the more bizarre and amazing the clues are, the easier the deduction they're from. But I don't believe that. This case is bizarre enough in all conscience, yet what can one deduce from that paper snake in that squeezed up glove? It was all up in a little wad, you know. Not at all as if it were carelessly drawn from a man's hand or pulled off in a struggle. There was no struggle. The features were composed even almost smiling. I know it. That proves it was no burglar. Well, I'm up a tree. I wish you felt inclined to call in Flemingstone. He's the only man on this continent who could unravel it all. I want to get him, but Miss Stewart won't hear of it. I'd have to have either her authority or Lauria's. But Mr. Lauria gave you full swing in that cable. Yes, for ordinary business matters, but this is different. I'd have to have assurance that he'd pay the bills before I engage Stone. I've heard he's some expensive. I've heard that, too, but by Jove I'd like to work with him. Or under him. I say I wish you could bring it about. I might cable Lauria on my own and not mention it to Miss Stewart until I get permission. Do, for as you say the two ladies cannot possibly be involved and I for one don't believe that nincompoop count ever pulled off such a complicated affair all by himself. What about the widow he's visiting? Ah, there you have it. Those two are in it, but there's more mystery yet. I'd like to have it straightened out, said Haviland thoughtfully. In a way I feel responsible to Lauria since he has put me in charge, and if he wants me to get Stone I'll be glad to do so. As you say it can't affect the girls. That stuff Anita made up was only to bother Pauline. You see, Pauline came back at her with a counter-accusation. They're both unstrung and upset and they scarcely know what they're saying. Then there's that French maid. Oh, Estelle. She's a negligible quantity. She's hysterical from sheer nervousness and she lies so fast she can hardly keep up with herself. Well, think it over and if you see your way clear to call in Stone I'll be mighty glad. If the Frenchman is the guilty party Stone will nail him and prove it beyond all doubt and if not we surely don't want an innocent man to swing. That we don't, agreed Haviland. End of chapters 9 and 10 Chapters 11 and 12 of the Curved Blades by Carolyn Wells. This LibreBox recording is in the public domain. 11. Fleming Stone Yes, I have often heard the idea expressed that the more bizarre the clues appear the easier the solution of the mystery and this is frequently true. Fleming Stone looked from one to another of the interested group of listeners. They sat in the library, Pauline, Anita, Gray Haviland and the young detective Hardy. Haviland had carried out his plan of cabling Carrington Loria for authority to employ Mr. Stone and had received a reply to use his own judgment in all such matters and charge the expense to Loria's account. Pauline had been opposed to the idea of calling Fleming Stone to the case but as she seemed unable to put forth any valid objections Haviland had insisted until she gave her consent. So arrangements had been quickly made and the great detective had reached Garten's steps on Wednesday afternoon just a week after the discovery of the murder. Previously unequated with Stone the whole household was interested in his personality and this preliminary conversation was by way of introduction. A man of nearly 50 Fleming Stone was tall and well proportioned with a carriage and bearing that gave an impression of strength. His clear cut face and firm jaw gave the same character indications as are seen in portraits of Lincoln but his features were far more harmonious than those of our rugged faced president. Stone's hair, thick and dark was slightly great at the temples and his deep set eyes were now lustrous and again shadowed like the water of a dark pool. His lean jaw and forceful mouth made his face and repose somewhat stern but this effect was often banished by his delightful smile which softened his whole countenance and gave him a distinct air of friendliness. His manner was full of charm and even Pauline became fascinated as she watched him and listened to his talk. Fully at ease and skillfully directing the conversation while he seemed merely sharing it Stone was studying and classifying the new elements with which he had to deal. Not yet had he inquired as to the details of the case in hand he was discussing detective work in general much to the gratification of Tom Hardy who listened as a pupil at the feet of Gamaliel. Yes, went on Stone settling back sociably in his easy chair while the others unconsciously fell into more informal postures. Yes, bizarre effects do often point the way to a successful quest. Why once a man was found dead with his feet in a tub of cold water? It was discovered that his feet had been immersed after death had taken place. Obviously the tub of water had been used as a blind to fog up the case but the very character of the clue led it once to a man who was known as a cold water fiend and a fiend indeed he was he was the murderer. You see, he was clever but not clever enough. He had wit enough to think of the queer circumstance of the tub of water but not enough to realize that the clue would lead directly to his own undoing. Everybody looked thoughtful but it was Hardy who spoke. Yes, Mr. Stone, he said, but that clue was put there on purpose. Do you think these strange effects connected with Miss Carrington's murder were deliberately arranged? That I can't tell now, Mr. Hardy. In fact, I have not heard a connected and circumstantial account of the discoveries as yet. Suppose we go over the case leisurely and let me get a complete account by means of a general conversation. I will ask questions or you may volunteer information as seems most enlightening. Tell me first of the character and characteristics of Miss Carrington. Was she timid or fearful of burglars? Not at all, said Haviland. She was careful to have the house locked up at night by the servants but she had no burglar alarms or anything of that sort. If A. Marauder had appeared would she have been likely to scream out in a fright? No, I don't think so, volunteered Anita. She would more likely demand to know what he wanted and order him out. It's a burglar, went on stone. I can't imagine an ordinary citizen of any calling owning or using such a weapon. Have you examined the thing? asked Haviland. No, I should like to see it. Tom Hardy at once produced it having brought it with him from police headquarters for the purpose. Hmm! said Fleming Stone as he fingered the not very alarming looking affair. In fact it was merely a long narrow bag made of dark cloth and filled with shot. The bag was tied tightly at one end with a bit of twine to prevent the escape of the contents. Home made affair, Stone went on. Made probably by a professional burglar but an amateur murderer. See, it is merely a bit of heavy cloth out from an old coat sleeve or trouser leg sewed up in a bungling manner to make a bag. It is stitched with coarse black thread and the stitches are drawn hard and firm, evidently pulled by a strong hand. Then filled with shot it is tied with a bit of old fish-line which also is pulled and knotted by muscular fingers and Stone paused abruptly. And prompted Anita breathlessly her eyes fixed on the speaker. Nothing much and Stone smiled. Only I should say the burglar lived in a house recently remodeled. Hardy knotted in satisfaction. This was the sort of deduction he was looking for. Next he hoped for the color of the man's hair and the sort of cigar he smoked but he was doomed to disappointment. We seem to have drifted from the subject of Miss Carrington, Stone said. The evening before her death was she in her usual spirits. Evidently no premonition of her fate. On the contrary, said Gray, she remarked during the evening that something would happen to her that night which would surprise us all. She said distinctly that tomorrow everything would be different. What did you understand her to mean by that? We couldn't understand it at all. It was most mysterious. Nor do we yet know what she meant. For surely she had no thought of dying. She spent the evening playing cards and listening to music and conversation with the family and guests quite as usual. In amiable mood asked Stone. No, replied Pauline taking up the talk. On the contrary she was exceedingly irritable and ill-tempered. You saw her after she went to her room for the night and Stone turned his whole attention to Pauline. Yes, Miss Frayn and I always went to her room with her to say good night and to receive possible orders or suggestions for the next day's occupations. And you say she was unameable. That is a mild word and Pauline smiled a little. She wasn't a high temper and she told us both that we were to leave this house the next day. You both left her in that mood. Yes, we were obliged to do so. She dismissed us peremptorily and ordered us from the room. And you saw her next, Miss Stewart when? Asked Fleming Stone gently. Pauline hesitated for a perceptible instant then she said with a slight air of bravado, next morning. I have been told the main facts went on Stone, but I want to learn certain details. Please tell me, Miss Stewart, exactly how she then appeared. Oh, I can't! And Pauline flung her face into her hands with a short, sharp cry. I should think you couldn't! exclaimed Anita and her voice was distinctly accusing. This seemed to rouse Pauline and she looked up haughtily at the speaker. I don't wonder you think so! She cried. But since you ask, Mr. Stone, I will do the best I can. My aunt was seated at her dressing table but not in her usual chair or indeed as if she were in any way attending to her toilette but in an easy chair more as if she were sitting there in contemplation. Was she given to such indications of vanity? Asked Stone in a gentle way. Not at all. My aunt was not a beautiful woman with such indications about her personal appearance. I have never known her to look at herself in a mirror more than was necessary for her dressing. Her maid will tell you this. Go on, please, Miss Stewart. When I saw my aunt she was sitting placidly even smilingly and I did not, for a moment, imagine she was not alive. Then I noticed her large tortoise shell comb was broken to bits and I noticed, too, her rigid staring face. The next few moments were a confused memory to me but I know I touched her hand and felt it cold then I called to Mr. Haviland and he came. Tell me of your aunt's garb. I understand it was most unusual. Only in the accessories the gown she had on was a negligee of oriental make and fabric, elaborate, but one of which she was fond and which she had worn several times. Round her shoulders was a scarf one of those heavy Syrian ones of net-patterned with silver. Then she had on quantities of jewelry. Not only her pearls and a few pins which she had worn during the evening but she had added many brooches and bracelets and rings of great value. She was wearing, let us say, a hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry. Far more than that her pearls alone are worth that amount. Her diamond sunburst is valued at fifty thousand dollars and her emerald brooch is equally valuable. My aunt believed in gems as an investment and though she usually kept them in a safe deposit vault she had recently taken them from there and had them all in the house. A strange proceeding. Very. I have never known such a thing to occur before unless for some a special social occasion. And the paper snake of which I have been told. That is the strangest part of all. My aunt was not only afraid of live snakes but of the perfect horror of any picture or artificial representation of them. She could never in her right mind have placed that paper snake about her own neck nor would she have allowed anyone else to do it without screaming out in horror. Yet the doctors declare it must have been placed round her neck before death. Therefore it is to me entirely unexplainable. Is not that a bizarre clue that should make the case an easy one? Asked Anita with an inquiring glance at Stone. It may be so. He replied with a thoughtful look at her. Where could such a snake have come from? It was brought by the burglar of course, said Pauline quickly. I don't mean that but where could it be bought? Oh, at Vantines or any Japanese shop, said Pauline or at some of the department stores. Could you by inquiry find out if Miss Garrington purchased it herself at any of those places? I could inquire but I am sure Mr. Stone that Lucy never bought such a thing. It would simplify matter somewhat if you would kindly find out and Stone nodded at her as if to stamp this suggestion a definite request. The conversation went on and no one noticed that so deftly did Fleming Stone guide it that only facts were brought out. No sooner did anyone begin to formulate an opinion or theory and turn the subject or change the drift of the discussion. He gathered from facial expressions and manners much that he wanted to know. He learned the attitudes of the various members of the household toward each other and he came to the conclusion that as Gray Haveland had engaged him and as he stood as business head of the estate by authority of Carrington, Loria to Haveland should his reports be made. Tell me more of Mr. Loria Stone said at last after many matters had been discussed he and I are children of Miss Carrington's two sisters said Pauline. Our parents all died when we were young children and Aunt Lucy brought us both up. Carr, as we call him, lived with us except for his college terms until four years ago. Then he had an opportunity to go to Egypt and engage in excavation and ancient research work. He is absorbed in it and has been home only twice in the four years. It was planned that my aunt and I should go to Egypt next month on a trip and both he and we looked forward eagerly to it. Miss Frane was to accompany us and Mr. Haveland too. Is it your intention to abandon the trip? Speaking for myself Mr. Stone, no. And Pauline looked determined. I cannot answer for the others but it seems to me that such a visit to my cousin would be not only right and proper for me but the only way for me to find relief and distraction from these dreadful scenes. You won't go, I assume, said Stone gently until the murderer of your aunt is apprehended with certainty. I cannot say and suddenly Pauline flushed rosely and looked distinctly embarrassed. Rather not declared Anita with an unpleasant glance and a Fleming Stone made haste to introduce a new phase of the subject. 12. Estelle's Story At the invitation of Haveland the Fleming Stone was a house guest at Garden Steps. Pauline had raised objections to this but with Carloria's authority back of him Gray had insisted and Pauline unwillingly consented. Stone himself recognized the fact that Pauline disliked him or at any rate disliked having him on the case but he ignored it and showed to her the same gracious manner and pleasant attitude that he showed to all. Anita on the other hand seemed charmed with Stone. She lost no opportunity to talk with him and she used every endeavor to attract his attention to herself. In fact, she tried to flirt with him and much to the surprise of the others Stone seemed ready to meet her advances and respond to them. The morning after his arrival breakfast over, Stone announced his intention of making a thorough examination of Miss Carrington's rooms and asked that he be permitted to go alone for the purpose. If Mr. Hardy comes send him up. He ordered as Haviland unlocked the door to give him admittance. Stone passed through the Boudoir to the bedroom and from that to the elaborate dressing room and bath. Quickly he noted the obvious details. Everything had been left practically untouched and his rapid trained gaze took in the bed, turned down but not slept in. The toilet accessories laid ready in the bathroom and the fresh unused towels that proved the unfortunate victim had not prepared to retire but had for some reason opened her jewels at that unusual hour. Back to the Boudoir Stone went and made their more careful scrutiny. Carefully he examined the white dust of powder on the floor. At Hardy's orders this had not been swept away and Stone stood with folded arms looking at it. He saw the place where the powder had been smeared about. He had been told of this but he saw other places where faint footprints were to his keen eye discernible. Not sufficiently clear to judge much of their characteristics but enough to show that a stocking foot had imprinted them. Well what do you make of the tracks? As Hardy coming in upon his meditations. Their tail is a short one but clear. Returned Stone smiling a greeting to the younger detective. As you see they go out of the room only they don't come in. Proving that the intruder came in at the door accomplished his dreadful purpose and then stepped around here in front of his victim. Here where the powder is spilt and then went straight out of the room. Why did he do this? He heard something to frighten him off. He saw something that frightened him. I doubt if he heard anything but he dropped his blackjack and fled. Did you bring the photographs of the scene? Yes here they are. Hardy handed over sheaf of the gruesome pictures of them eagerly. Yet their gruesomeness lay largely in the idea that the subject of them was not a living person for in appearance they were by no means unpleasant to look at. The face of Miss Carrington was serene and smiling. Her wide open eyes, those tearing, were filled with a life-like wonder not at all an expression of fright or terror. You see, volunteered Hardy, she was sitting there admiring herself and happily smiling when the villain came back over the head. But she was already dead when she was hit on the head. So the doctors think, but I believe they're mistaken. Why, there's no theory that would account for hitting a dead person. And yet that is what happened. No, Hardy, the doctors are not mistaken about the hour of death and about the poison in her system and all that. But the most obvious and most important clue for the moment is that blackjack. What is it found? Right here, Mr. Stone, under the edge of this couch, hidden on purpose, of course. No, I think not. Dropped by the burglar, rather, when he was startled by something unexpected. You see, he doubtless stood here where the powder is dusted about and to drop the thing quickly it would fall or be flung just there where it was found. Yes, but what scared him if he didn't hear anything? What made him so terribly that he fled without taking the jewels he had come for? Something that made him make quick, straight tracks for the door and downstairs and out by the way he had entered. Good Lord! Say, Mr. Stone, you think it was that make-believe count, don't you? Why make-believe? Oh, somehow I feel sure he's a fake. He's not the real thing, or I'm greatly mistaken. Let me see that glove found in her hand. Have you it with you? Hardy had brought some of the exhibits held by the police and taking the glove from his bag he handed it to Fleming Stone. Stone looked at the glove hastily but raising it to his nose smelled of it very carefully. No, he said returning it. No, the count is not the man who wielded the blackjack. I'm fairly surgeon of that. Well, I'm blessed if I can see how you know by smelling. By the way, Mr. Stone, I suppose you heard all about the conversation that Miss Frane related is taking place in this room after one o'clock that night? Yes, I've read the full account of it. What do you think about it? Oh, I think it was the count talking to Miss Carrington before he killed her. He has a very low voice and speaks almost inaudibly always. Then you see he is down in her will for ten thousand dollars of those bonds and he's very fond of pearls. What's that? Who said he was fond of pearls? Oh, maybe you didn't hear about that. Why, Miss Frane remembered afterward that another sentence she heard Miss Carrington say was I know how very fond you are of pearls. She forgot that speech in her evidence but found it afterward in the written account she had of what she overheard at the door. And his countship is fond of pearls. He talked a lot about those the lady wore that last evening. He says himself pearls are a hard thing to do. I don't understand he says himself pearls are a hobby with him. So you really think the count was in this room that night? Surely I do. It's no insult to the lady's memory to say so. She had a right to receive him in her boudoir if she chose to do so. It's no secret that she was trying to annex him and he was not entirely unwilling. You see, the way I dope it out she had him up here to show off her stunning jewels and so tempt him on to a declaration that she couldn't seem to work him up to otherwise. You know, she said, tomorrow these may all be yours if you will only, or some words to that effect. What could all that mean except as I've indicated? And she said, you are the game I'm after. Those weren't the words I know but it meant that. However, I can't think the count struck that awful blow that fractured her skull. One he may be, even a murderous one, but that blackjack business to my mind points to a lower type of brain, a more thick-skinned criminal. Stone spoke musingly looking about the room as he talked. Could it be, he went on, that she was talking to herself or say, to a picture, a photograph of somebody. I don't see any photographs about. Both men looked around but there were no portraits to be seen. Funny, said Hardy, most women have photographs of their family or relatives all over the place, not even one of Miss Dewart or of her nephew Loria. No, nor any of absent friends or schoolmates. Stone looked over all the silver paraphernalia of the dressing table and other tables for even a small framed photograph that might have escaped notice on the walls hung only gilt-framed watercolors or photographs of famous bits of art or architecture in darkwood frames. Many of these were of old world masterpieces, Italian cathedrals or Egyptian temples. Others were a well-known Madonna, a Venus of Milo and one of which Hardy exclaimed, she's a sure enough beach, who's she? That's Cleopatra starting on her Nile trip, said Stone, smiling at Hardy's evident admiration. Tis, eh? Then Loria brought it to her. He's daffy over anything Egyptian and he's mighty generous. The house is full of the stuff he brings or sends over and it's his money, Mr. Stone, that pays your damages. Miss Dewart now, she's none too free-handed, they say. But Fleming Stone paid little heed to this gossip. He was studying the photographs of the dead lady as being a far more addressed than pictures on the Boudoir walls. Where's that made? He said suddenly. The one who brought the breakfast tray. She's in the sanatorium, returned Hardy. We told you that, Mr. Stone? Yes, yes, I know. But where? Can I see her now, at once? Yes, I suppose so. It's right near here. A small private affair, only a few patients. They needn't really have centre, but she carried on so Miss Dewart wouldn't have her about any longer. Come, let us go there. As he spoke Fleming Stone left the room and without waiting for the hurrying Hardy ran downstairs and was in the hall getting into his great coat when the other joined him. So great was Hardy's faith in his superior and so anxious was he to watch his methods that he donned his own overcoat without a word and the two set forth. It was only a short walk and on the way Stone looked about in every direction asking innumerable questions about the neighbouring houses and their occupants. After passing several large and handsome estates they came to a district of less elaborate homes and after that to a section of decidedly poorer residences. At one of these Stone steered hard but not till they were well pasted did he enquire who lived there. Don't know, replied Hardy. It's a sort of boarding-house, I think, for the lower classes. Is it? said Stone and they went on. At the same time they found Estelle. She was not hysterical now but was in a sort of apathetic mood and listless of manner. Stone spoke to her with polite address and a manner distinctly reassuring. It will be much better for you, Estelle. He said pleasantly, if you will speak the truth. Better for you and better for you know whom. His significant tone roused her. I don't know what you mean, she exclaimed. Oh yes, you do. Somebody whose name begins with H or B or S. I don't know anyone beginning with S and Estelle frowned defiantly. But someone with Stone leaned forward and in the tense pause that followed Estelle's lips have formed a silent B. Yes, went on Stone as if he had not paused. If you will tell the whole truth it will be better for Bates in the long run. Estelle began to tremble. What do you know? She cried out and showed signs of hysteria. I know a great deal. Said Stone gravely and unless assisted by what you know my knowledge will bring trouble to your friend. What do you want me to tell you? And Estelle now on her guard spoke slowly and clearly but her fingers were nervously twining themselves in and out of her crumpled handkerchief. Only your own individual part in the proceedings. The rest we will learn from Bates himself. How do you know it was Bates? We have learned much since you left Garden Steps and now Stone spoke a little more sternly. Hardy looked at him in wonder. Who was this Bates clearly implicated in the murder and known to Estelle? You see, Mr. Havel and Saw you go down to open a window for him to come in Stone went on as casually as if he were retailing innocent gossip. Did you go down again and close it? I haven't said I opened it yet and Estelle flashed an irate glance at her questioner. No, but you will do so when you realize how necessary it is. I tell you truly when I say that only your honesty now can save your friend Bates from the electric chair Estelle shuddered and began to cry violently. It only makes matters worse, said Stone patiently. Listen to me. This is your only chance to save Bates' life. If I go to the police with what I know they will convict him of the murder beyond all doubt. If you tell me what I ask I think, I hope between us we can prove that he did not do it. But didn't he? And Estelle looked up with hope dawning in her eyes. I think not. It's time to waste. Tell me what I ask or you will lose your chance to do so. You opened the living-room window for Bates to come in at about three o'clock. Yes, admitted the girl and went down and closed and fastened it at five o'clock, came in the lowest tones, not knowing that Miss Carrington was dead. Oh, no! For Bates went there only to steal the jewels. Yes. And so when you took the breakfast tray and found the lady, as you did find her, you were frightened out of your wits and dropped the tray. Yes. And so to shield Bates, who you thought had killed her, you lied right and left even trying to incriminate Miss Stewart. Yes, sir. Have you seen Bates since? No, sir. And until now you have thought he killed your mistress. I didn't know. Another thing, Estelle, you put bromide in the glass of milk in order that Miss Carrington might sleep soundly and not hear Bates come in. She didn't drink that milk. But you fixed it, thinking she would. Yes. That's all. Come on, Hardy. And somewhat unceremoniously Stone took leave and made for the nearest telephone station. After that matters whizzed. Stone had called the police headquarters and asked that an officer be sent with a warrant for the arrest of Bates. How do you know where he is? Asked Hardy nearly bursting with curiosity. I'm not sure, but at least I know where to start looking for him. Stone replied as the two went back the way they had come. Stone stopped at the boarding-house he had noticed on the way to the sanatorium and rang the bell. Sure enough, Bates lived there and Bates was at home. At Stone's first questions he broke and confessed to the assault with the blackjack. But I didn't kill her. He cried. She was already dead. Oh my God! Can I ever forget those terrible staring eyes? The Saints forgive me. I was half crazy. There she was, dead and yet smiling and happy looking. Oh sir! What does it all mean? End of chapters 11 and 12.