THE MIDNIGHT MURDER.
"Come!" said Clippers, when he got second wind, "maybe you can get the
other one to release you."
"He won't do that. The bargain's been sealed."
"You're not going to retire?"
"Well, hardly."
"That's good, anyhow. If the other fellows, Hargraves or Irwin, get at
fault you won't refuse to join in the hunt for the murderer of poor
Marrow?"
"I will be free at the end of a year under certain
contingencies--perhaps a good deal sooner."
"Well, I wish it was to-morrow," cried Clippers. "I want you to take
this case; but we'll have to see the others and let Tom or Pappy reap
new fame."
Half an hour later the two detectives named Hargraves and Irwin knew
all there was to know at the time of the death of Jason Marrow.
It was not much, for the slayer had done his work with great secrecy
and had left no clews behind.
The matter was destined to become a mystery to the department, a deep
puzzle to the best men on the force for months.
Old Broadbrim went back to his room after the find in the house near
the mouth of the alley.
"Confound it all! why did I bind myself for a year to play Cerberus for
Custer Kipp?" he mused. "Here's the very sort of case I've been looking
for, but my hands are tied, and I can't get out of the matter unless I
go to his house and absolutely back out of the bargain. In that case I
would lose the twenty-five thousand dollars and---- No, I'll stick!"
For long into the night there was a light in the detective's room, and
he might have been found at the table at work.
It was near midnight when a footstep came to the door and stopped there.
Old Broadbrim heard the noise and waited for the rap.
When it sounded he crossed the room and opened the door.
A young man with a very white face and a figure that trembled a little
stepped forward.
"You're the gentleman, I guess? You're Josiah Broadbrim?"
"I am."
"You are wanted at once at Custer Kipp's home on Fifth Avenue. Miss
Nora sent me and I didn't go in to look at him."
"To look at whom?" asked the detective.
"Why, at Mr. Kipp. He was found dead in the library an hour ago."
The detective started violently and looked at the man in his chair.
"Is it murder?" he asked.
"I can't say. Miss Nora didn't tell me, but from the aspects of the
case I think it's serious."
"I'll come."
The young man arose and hastened from the room.
"Not so soon, I hope?" said the detective to himself. "Can it be that
my espionage ends almost before the bargain is cold? Dead in the
library? It's marvelous."
Old Broadbrim soon appeared at the Kipp door and was admitted.
He found the parlor well filled with strange people, for the most part
neighbors in the upper circles of city life, but here and there was a
representative of the lower classes who had edged their way into the
mansion.
The moment the detective crossed the threshold he was approached by a
young girl, with clear blue eyes and a good carriage, who instantly
addressed him.
"You are Josiah Broadbrim?" she said questioningly. "Yes, you are the
detective whom I sent for?"
Old Broadbrim nodded.
"Then, come with me. He is in the library and I have locked the door."
The detective was conducted from the parlor and the nabob's ward opened
the door of the library.
In another instant she had closed it and they stood in the large
chamber, elegantly furnished, and containing rows of books
magnificently bound, for Custer Kipp had spared no pains with his
tastes.
"There he is," said the girl with lowered voice, as she pointed toward
a figure in the armchair. "No one has touched him, for I forbade it,
and you are the first person to see him dead beside myself and the
person who did the deed."
The detective stepped forward, and the hand of Nora Doon turned the gas
a little higher.
Custer Kipp was leaning back in the chair with his white face turned
toward the ceiling.
The arms hung downward as if they had slipped over the sides of the
seat, and the face showed traces of the death agony.
"I heard but little," said Nora, while the detective looked at the
dead. "I go upstairs early when I am not at the opera or elsewhere. I
remained at home to-night for I had letters to write, and he came home
from a ride about seven.
"I heard him in the library bustling about for an hour while I read
in my room, and then everywhere silence seemed to come down over the
house. When I arose to retire I thought I would look downstairs, as is
my wont, and see if all was snug. As I came down the stairs I peeped
over the transom of the library, as one can do from the head of the
flight, and to my horror I saw him in the position you see him now.
"There was something so unnatural in the pose, something suggestive of
sickness if not death--for I must own that the thought of sudden death
interposed itself--that I bounded to the foot of the stair and opened
the door, which was not locked.
"In another moment I knew all. I saw that he was dead, and, what is
more, I saw that he had been killed. You will notice the dark marks
which linger still at the throat, as if he had been strangled like the
thugs serve their victims. Isn't it terrible? To have him taken away in
this manner, and to-morrow was to be his birthday."
She ceased and glanced at the man in the chair, while a shadow of fear
and inward dread seemed to take possession of her soul.
"I don't know just where Foster is," she went on. "He went away nearly
a week ago, and I never heard papa say where he is. However, he will
see the news in the papers, and will be here in a short time. I told
Simpson, the servant, as soon as I recovered, for I lost all control of
myself under the terrible discovery, and there's no telling how long I
lay in a swoon on the carpet here. As soon as I could I sent him after
you."
"But," smiled Old Broadbrim, "how did you know where to find me?"
"I found your card in the desk. I remember seeing you in the house
to-day, though I knew nothing of the nature of your mission. He has
been in fear of something for some time. I have noticed this, and think
it has not escaped Foster's eye. But we'll know about this when he
returns."
"My card was all you found, miss?"
"Yes; but I'll admit that I did not look thoroughly. The front door was
unlocked when I went thither after the discovery in this room, but----
What is it, Simpson?"
The servant had entered the room and stood near the door with his eyes
riveted upon the young girl.
When she spoke his name he came forward and extended his hand.
"I picked this up in the hall just now. It's a curious bit of paper,
part of a letter."
Nora took the find and glanced at it, then handed it to the Quaker
man-hunter.
Old Broadbrim looked at it, going over to the desk where the droplight
swung.
"Tell the people in the parlor that they can go now, Simpson," said
Nora. "The police will be here in a little while. The detective is
already here."
Old Broadbrim looked up at Nora as Simpson left the room, and his look
drew her toward him.
"Is it anything?" she asked.
The detective still held the bit of paper in his hand.
"It may not be of any use," said he, slightly elevating the paper.
"Some one of the people out there may have dropped it."
The gaze of the young girl fell upon the paper, and Old Broadbrim
continued:
"Did Mr. Kipp ever have any correspondents in Australia?" he asked.
Nora shook her head, but the next instant she lost some color.
"Stay!" she cried. "I remember now that he received a letter some
months ago, which seemed to trouble him a great deal. That letter was
from Australia."
"Do you remember from what particular part, Miss Nora?"
"I do not."
"Could we find it among his effects, think you?"
"I am sure we cannot. Of that I say I am very positive. He destroyed
it."
"That is bad."
"Is that message from that part of the world?"
And the hand of Nora Doon pointed at the paper in the detective's hand.
"It is merely the fragment of a letter. It is little better than an
address. It is---- But you shall see it for yourself."
Old Broadbrim extended the paper, and the girl took it eagerly, but
with some show of fear.
He watched her as she leaned forward and looked at the writing in the
light of the dropjet.
Suddenly the young lady uttered a cry, and then turned upon the
man-hunter with a frightened face absolutely colorless.
"It's from the same part of the world; I remember now!" she exclaimed.
"The postmark on that letter was Perth. The whole thing comes back to
me. The postman brought the letter to the house, and I carried it to
his desk to await his coming home. It the same name--Perth. Where is
it?"
"You mean in what part of Australia, miss?"
"Yes, yes."
"It is in West Australia, and beyond it lie the barren and death lands
of the great island. But what is the name?"
"Merle Macray," spoke Nora, in a whisper. "What a strange name it
is, and don't you see that the handwriting is that of one of my sex?
And the line above the address--just look at it in the light of this
murderous deed. 'Don't let him see sixty-four!' That means that the
command to kill Custer Kipp comes from that far part of the globe. It
makes it all the more terrible."
Old Broadbrim took the paper and put it away.
"Not a word about this, please," he said to the girl.
"I am your secret keeper," she answered. "This matter is in your
hands. When Foster comes home you can tell him about the torn letter
if you wish, but I will not without your authority. The slayer of my
benefactor must be found."
"He shall be."
"Even if the trail leads across the sea?"
"Yes, even if it leads around the world and into the heart of the wild
Australian bush."
In after days Old Broadbrim, the tracker, was to recall his words with
many a thrill.