Then Henry spoke. "I wish to heaven, Mrs. LaRauche, you'd got in touch
sooner with Livingston and me. We've always prized your friendship
very highly, and if it had not been for--"
"Yes; I know," Mrs. LaRauche broke in, as though anticipating his
closing remark; "but I've been unable to communicate with any one on
the outside for several weeks. A day or so ago, I managed to get the
front window open, and waved to a motorcycle policeman, but apparently
he did not see me." She stopped, and glanced nervously over her
shoulder, and added, with a little shiver: "Oh, you don't know how I've
grown to hate this house!" Then, quickly regaining her self-possession,
she looked at McGinity steadily for a moment, and said: "I haven't the
slightest idea who you are. I only know that you were a very thoughtful
and kind young man last night. Are you the newspaper reporter?"
McGinity nodded, with an embarrassed smile, and was about to reply when
I interjected: "A thousand pardons, Mrs. LaRauche," I said. "Allow me
to present Mr. Robert McGinity, of the New York Daily Recorder, a young
but very capable reporter, in whom we place every confidence. In fact,
we've grown so fond of him, he seems like one of the family." Turning
to Henry for confirmation, I concluded: "I am quite right, am I not,
Henry?"
"Of course, you're right," Henry answered, loudly. "And I don't know
what we're going to do without him when this--er--Martian affair--I was
about to say, Martian inquest--is finished."
I gasped with astonishment at Henry's remarks, while McGinity turned
very red, and said, stammeringly: "Thanks, Mr. Royce." Then he began to
fumble nervously with his inevitable bunch of copy paper and pencil.
Mrs. LaRauche smiled wanly, and addressed herself again to the
reporter. "I'm so glad you've come, Mr. McGinity," she said, "for what
I'm going to tell, I wish to be given as much publicity as possible. I
want the public to know that Henry Royce was imposed upon, and that my
husband, now a fugitive, although I refuse to believe he's a murderer,
was wholly responsible, with the connivance of Orkins, his manservant,
in carrying out this cruel deception, which, I know, is still puzzling
all of you."
"Even at that, it doesn't seem so incredulous," Henry commented. "I
guess I'm one of the die-hard kind."
There was a little pause, then Mrs. LaRauche turned to Chief Meigs.
"Tell me," she said, "how is the search going? Have the police
discovered any clue to my husband's whereabouts?"
"I'm afraid I can't give you any information," Meigs replied; "no clue
at all."
"It isn't that I want him back," she said firmly, "or would ever want
to see him again, after the many cruelties he practiced on me. But he's
been out of his mind--insane--I'm sure, for weeks now, and is really
unaccountable for his acts."
Her voice had grown shaky, and her face went whiter than it had been.
We remained silent, recognizing the futility of questioning her until
she got control of herself. Our chief interest, of course, lay in the
unraveling of the mystery which still baffled us, and when she finally
got to it, she answered all our questions in a cool collected way.
On my suggestion, McGinity began the questioning, giving us a specimen
of his powers of observation. He omitted no detail of importance,
carefully marshaling his facts and presenting them to Mrs. LaRauche as
expertly as a lawyer examining a witness before a jury.
"Your married life has been a very unhappy one, hasn't it, Mrs.
LaRauche?" he began.
"Very unhappy," she replied, sighing. "Insolent, quarrelsome, Rene
LaRauche humiliated me in every possible way. I was simply his
housekeeper--a vassal. He was the mighty, brainy scientist, and he
never allowed me to forget it--not for one instant."
"Apparently he did not confide in you?"
"Orkins had been his manservant for some years prior to our marriage,
and to him he entrusted the secrets of his scientific discoveries
and inventions, rather than to me. This was only one of his many
eccentricities, and I submitted to the indignity with exemplary
patience."
"How do you account for his making Orkins a confidant?"
"He was too self-centered, too egotistical, to invite the confidence
of brainy people. He seemed to like to impress--startle--inferior
minds with his discoveries. Orkins was a highly trained servant, and a
general handy man, but he was not intellectual."
"But you could easily have escaped all this bullying and domineering on
the part of your husband?"
"I often considered divorce," was the reply, "but a latent sense of
duty to my marriage vows prevented me from taking that step."
Here McGinity suddenly switched off that line of inquiry, and turned to
another. "Why have you brought us here today?" he asked.
"To disclose certain facts which prove my husband tricked Henry Royce
shamelessly in these Martian revelations."
"When did you come into possession of these facts?"
"Less than a month ago. Up to that time I had been as keenly
interested in the matter, and as gullible as the rest of you, and the
public at large. When Rene found that I had acquired this knowledge,
and that, motivated by a deep sense of justice and fair play, I meant
to disclose the real meaning of these revelations, he hid my clothes,
and locked me up in that attic room, where you found me."
"How did you manage to get downstairs and phone to the Royce house,
last evening?"
"Orkins, who served my meals, forgot to lock the door after him. He
seemed preoccupied and nervous. It was my first opportunity to seek
outside aid since my imprisonment. I stole out quietly, and crept
downstairs, to the phone in the library, unaware that my husband was
shadowing me."
"And he cut you short, it seems."
"Before I had a chance even to tell my name, he sprang upon me and
choked me off, and then, in his usual cruel manner, bound me to the
chair and bed. He acted like a maniac, I was terribly frightened." She
paused, a little breathlessly, then added: "I am still in some dilemma
as to how my unfinished message was understood."
"You may recall, Mrs. LaRauche, that you spoke to me," I answered.
"Your voice was familiar, yet I couldn't place it at first. Finally,
when I was convinced that it was your voice, the incident put us on the
right track. Mr. McGinity and I already were in possession of several
vital, suspicious facts, and your phone call gave us another important
clue."
Then Henry spoke. "About Orkins. Had you any misgivings, Mrs. LaRauche,
when he entered my service as butler? I took him, you know, on your
husband's recommendation."
"It was not clear at the time," she answered. "Rene invented some
explanation that Orkins wanted to make more money. Now, I know that he
was deliberately planted in your house as a spy, and that he kept my
husband advised on all your secret workings in science. He betrayed
your confidence, as he cold-bloodedly tried to betray Rene, for that
$5,000 reward."
"Do you know anything at all about Orkins' death?" Chief Meigs broke
in, abruptly.
It was a pertinent question to put, but a little cruel. "No," Mrs.
LaRauche replied, almost defiantly. "I do recall hearing a distant,
sharp sound of some sort--it may have been the shot that killed
him--but I associated it with the back-firing of an automobile on the
highway. About an hour later, I heard a noise downstairs."
"That was when I smashed a panel in your front door, probably," the
Chief put in.
"Shortly afterwards," Mrs. LaRauche went on, "my husband entered the
attic room, looking very excited. He threw a sheet over me, and then I
heard him open the back window, and climb through, on to the roof. I
had the uncomfortable feeling that something sinister had occurred, and
that he was bent on escape. But I was bound to the chair and helpless,
and in too much anguish to think clearly."
"Mrs. LaRauche!" McGinity asked suddenly. "We are very anxious to know
how your husband escaped so magically from the roof, like he had flown
to the ground. Have you any theory?"
She smiled faintly, and replied: "Rene invented many peculiar things,
like the robot, now used in all New York subway and railroad stations,
where the traveler's usual questions are answered by a phonographic
voice, by simply pressing a button. He had a great fear of fire, of
being trapped by fire. Some months ago, he installed a safety device,
in case of fire, on our roof."
"What was it like?" I asked, eagerly.
"Simply a heavy wire stretched tautly from the roof to the ground, and
terminating at some distance away from the house, to make the descent
more gradual," she replied. "In case of fire, you step into a sort of
trapeze, which is attached to the wire by a grooved wheel, and your
descent to the ground is something like the 'slide for life,' often
seen at the circus, or in film melodramas. I can see how, in the dark,
it would give the illusion of flying."