Britz recovered gradually from his astonishment. Advancing to the couch
he examined the lifeless form of the woman, noting that the shot which
killed her had entered the mouth and probably penetrated to the base of
the skull. A small pearl-handled revolver gleamed ominously from the
floor, about seven or eight feet from the lounge. Britz picked it up,
examined it, then deposited it on a convenient table.
As the detective moved about the apartment, his activity seemed to
arouse the others from the half-stupefied state into which they had
lapsed. Beard, who had remained standing as if petrified by the tragic
turn of events, suddenly regained his faculties and gazed apprehensively
at the officers.
With studied deliberation Britz disregarded his presence in the room and
continued to busy himself with an examination of the contents of a small
writing table that stood in an angle of the wall.
Evidently drawing courage from Britz's preoccupation and from the
bewildered inactivity of the other officers, Beard bent forward until
his hand touched the floor, and, after groping for an instant beneath
the head of the couch, again drew himself to an erect posture.
"I'll take that paper!" Britz's voice broke the silence.
A tremor shook Beard's frame, while the blood drained from his face.
Then, a rebellious impulse against the detective's calm assertion of
authority possessing him, he made a bold effort to destroy the paper he
had picked off the floor.
But Britz was prepared to anticipate the move. Leaping forward he seized
the other's wrists in an iron grip that caused Beard to groan with pain.
"Greig, take the letter out of this man's hand!" called the detective.
It was not necessary, however, to employ further violence, for the
secretary announced his willingness to relinquish the note. Evidently it
had been written in a hurry, under stress of excitement, and was as
follows:
"_My Dear Julia_:
"Don't permit your anger to tempt you into any rash act. There is
no reconciliation. My wife's return is but a sham, designed to
avoid a great deal of unpleasantness. Mr. Whitmore's death has not
changed matters. Follow Mr. Beard's instructions and I shall carry
out faithfully my promise to you.
"Yours in haste, GEORGE."
Britz stowed the letter in his pocket, then summoned Muldoon.
"Now tell what happened," he said.
It required some effort on the part of the policeman to gather his
thoughts. The quick succession of events had woven a fog before his
brain, leaving him with but a misty perception of what had occurred.
"I--I don't know exactly where to begin," he stammered.
"Did you follow her to the house?" Britz gave him an opening.
"Yes," he replied. "I got a taxicab and trailed her machine. She got out
in front of the door and went upstairs. About ten minutes later this
gentleman came and must have gone to her apartment. I waited downstairs.
Presently the elevator boy rushed into the street yelling 'Murder!
Police!' I asked him what happened and he said he heard a shot and a
sound like a body falling to the floor. He took me upstairs and I rapped
on the door. This man here opened it and let me in. He said the woman
had killed herself. As I knew you were coming here, I made sure that she
was dead and remained to see that nothing was disturbed."
"This man was in the room when the shot was fired?" asked Britz, as if
to make Beard realize the significance of it.
"Yes," responded the policeman.
"Mr. Beard, have you anything to add to the officer's story?" curtly
inquired the detective.
Beard faced his inquisitor, trying to meet his steady gaze with equal
steadiness. But the consciousness that he was in a serious predicament,
that he might be compelled to meet a serious charge, made him waver. He
was struggling furiously to maintain his composure, but his inward
excitement reacted on his outer frame, rendering him speechless. When,
finally, he found his voice, he turned an appealing glance on the
detective.
"She did commit suicide," he declared as if protesting his innocence
before a hostile judge. "I delivered the letter which you have in your
pocket. She read it, then crumpled it in her hand and threw it on the
floor.
"'Mr. Beard,' she said, 'I've betrayed George to the police. I have
denounced him as the murderer. They have my statement. They'll send
George to the electric chair. I told them all I knew.'
"I informed her that her statement to the police was not competent
evidence and that unless she repeated her testimony in court, it could
not be used against Collins.
"'They'll never make me repeat it!' she exclaimed. Opening a drawer of
the writing table she produced a pistol and before I was able to
interfere, the weapon exploded and she was dead. My account of the
suicide is absolutely true," he declared impressively,--"I swear it is
true."
His face now was as solemn as the tone in which he had uttered the last
sentence. Beard recognized that he was facing a grave moment in his
life, that it was within the power of the man to whom he had spoken,
irretrievably to mar his future, to stain him with an accusation which,
even though disproved before a jury, he could never hope to live down
entirely.
The harrowing fear and uncertainty written in the secretary's face,
produced no quiver of compassion in the detective. Britz was measuring
the man with cool, calculating eyes, that shone in their sockets like
balls of chilled steel. Long ago he had learned to turn an indifferent
ear to protestations of innocence. Such pleas drop with equal fervor
from the lips of the innocent and the guilty. And the shrewdest judge of
human nature is incapable of judging between them.
"I am innocent--before God I swear it!" cries the guilty wretch in a
voice calculated to wring tears from the Accusing Spirit itself.
"I am innocent--before God I swear it!" protests the wrongfully accused
person despairingly.
The experienced detective, or prosecutor, or judge, places as much faith
in the protestation of the one as in the other. He reserves judgment
until sufficient evidence shall have been developed to establish which
of the accused is telling the truth. For, he knows that while the guilty
man's lie may sound entirely plausible, it will collapse like a
perforated gas-bag in the end. Likewise, truth coming from the innocent
man's lips may be utterly lacking in plausibility. Yet, it will
establish itself by reason of its own indestructible qualities.
Regardless of the statement so solemnly delivered by the secretary,
Britz believed that the woman had committed suicide. Not because Beard
said she had, but because of the convincing nature of the attendant
circumstances. It was obvious that between the woman's death and the
murder of Herbert Whitmore was an intimate connection, a chain whose
links were undoubtedly forged by those involved in the Whitmore crime.
Beard's conduct proclaimed him antagonistic to the police investigation
of his employer's death. To place him behind bars would mean the end of
his immediate activities. Apparently he was bent on destroying evidence.
Nor was it beyond the range of probability that he was the assassin and
was busy erecting safeguards for himself.
Yet Britz was reluctant to order his arrest, for he believed implicitly
in the theory of giving a guilty man sufficient rope wherewith to hang
himself. The activities of a man in jail are necessarily circumscribed.
Moreover, his vigilance is never relaxed. Permitted to roam at will,
however, he is invariably his own most relentless enemy, working
unconsciously to encompass his own destruction.
For some minutes Britz debated with himself as to the most profitable
course to pursue with regard to the secretary. Finally an idea flashed
across his mind, and he resolved to carry it into effect.
"Muldoon," he said to the policeman, "notify the coroner and hold Mr.
Beard as a material witness until he arrives. After that, you will carry
out the instructions of the coroner."
Motioning to Greig to follow, Britz left the apartment. Ignoring the
questions fired at them by the curious tenants, they made their way to
the street, where they found that the crowd about the entrance had
greatly increased since their arrival.
"What's happened?" a score of voices shouted.
The detectives waved the questioners aside and hastened to the subway
entrance. In the lighted shelter of the booth they paused, silently
regarding each other, each waiting for the other to speak.
"Now that our most valuable witness is dead--what next?" finally asked
Greig.
"The immediate necessity is to ascertain where Whitmore was during the
six weeks of his absence from business," was Britz's unhesitating reply.
"We ought not to have much difficulty sweating the information out of
Beard," observed Greig.
"He's not the kind that collapses under third degree methods," opined
Britz. "But we'll discover Whitmore's movements--and without much
difficulty."
"How?" Greig eyed his superior in mingled admiration and incredulity.
From the inside pocket of his coat Britz produced a photograph.
"I found this in Whitmore's house," he said. "It is a photograph of
Whitmore, a recent one. You will observe that the mustache he wears is a
heavy one. It is much thicker than the one we saw as we examined his
body to-day. Between the time he had this photograph taken and his
return to his business, he must have had the mustache shaved off. It is
more than probable that he was clean-shaven during his absence, or up to
about two weeks ago. Then, in order not to emphasize his altered
appearance when he came back, he permitted the mustache to grow again."
"But what does all this mean?" inquired Greig.
"It means that Whitmore was not away on a business trip," answered
Britz. "The statement of Beard to visitors at the office was a blind.
Business men don't shave off their mustaches when starting on a business
trip. No, Whitmore was away on a matter intimately associated with his
murder. And, by means of the photograph we shall discover where he was
and what he did. We've put in a hard day's work, Greig," added Britz,
replacing the photograph in his pocket, "and a good night's rest will do
us good. I shall be at my desk promptly at eight to-morrow morning and
then we'll proceed with the investigation."