In an office building, away downtown, a little old lady stood in the
lobby studying the great bulletin board of room numbers.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked the elevator starter, seeing her
perplexity.
“I want Sykes and Barton, Scenic Sign Painters,” she said,
positively enough; “but there are so many S’s, I can’t seem to
find them!”
“All right, ma’am; here they are. Sixth floor, Room 614.”
“Thank you,” the old lady said, and entered the elevator he
indicated.
She seemed preoccupied, and made no move to leave the car, until the
elevator man spoke to her twice.
“This is the floor you want, lady,” he said. “Room 614. That way,
just round that first corner.”
Miss Ames started off in the way he pointed, and stood for a moment in
front of the door numbered 614.
Then, with a determined shake of her thin shoulders, she opened the door
and walked in.
“I want to see Mr. Hanlon,” she said to the girl at the first desk.
“By appointment?”
“No; but say it is Miss Ames--he’ll see me.”
“Why, Miss Ames, how do you do?” and the man who had so interested
the beholders of his feat in Newark came forward to greet her. “Come
right into my office,” and he led her to an inner room. “Now,
what’s it all about?”
The cheery reception set his visitor at ease, and she drew a long breath
of relief as she settled herself in the chair he offered.
“Oh, Mr. Hanlon, I’m so frightened--or, at least, I was. It’s all
so noisy and confusing down here! Why, I haven’t been downtown in New
York for twenty years!”
“That so? Then I must take you up on our roof and show you a few of
the skyscrapers--”
“No, no, I’ve not time for anything like that. Oh, Mr.
Hanlon--you--have you read in the papers of our--our trouble?”
“Yes,” and the young man spoke gravely, “I have, Miss Ames. Just a
week ago to-day, wasn’t it?”
“Yes; and they’re no nearer a solution of the mystery than ever.
And, oh, Mr. Hanlon, they’re still suspecting Eunice--Mrs. Embury--and
I must save her! She didn’t do it--truly she didn’t, and--I think I
did.”
“What!”
“Yes, I truly think so. But I wasn’t myself, you know--I
was--hypnotized--”
“Hypnotized! By whom?”
“I don’t know--by some awful person who wanted Sanford dead, I
suppose.”
“But that’s ridiculous, Miss Ames--”
“No, it isn’t. I’m a very easy subject--”
“Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“Not very successfully. But no real hypnotizer ever tried it. I’m
sure, though, I’d be a perfect subject--I’m so--so psychic, you
know--”
“Bosh and nonsense! You know, Miss Ames, what I think of that sort of
thing! You know how I played on people’s gullibility when I used to do
that fake ‘thought-transference’--”
“I know, Mr. Hanlon,” and Miss Ames was very earnest, “but,
and this is why I’m here--you told me that in all the foolery
and hocus-pocus there was, you believed, two per cent of genuine
telepathy--two per cent of genuine communication with spirits of the
dead.”
“But I said that merely in a general way, Miss Ames. I didn’t mean
to say it was a proven proposition--”
“That isn’t the point--you told me there were a few--a very few
real, sincere mediums--now I’m here to get the address of the best one
you know of. I want to go to him--or her--and have a séance, and I want
to get into communication with Sanford--with Mr. Embury’s spirit,
and learn from him who killed him. It’s the only way we can ever find
out.”
Miss Ames’ gray eyes took on a strange look; she seemed half
hypnotized at the moment, as she looked at Hanlon. He moved
uncomfortably under her gaze.
“Well,” he said, at length, “I can give you the address of the
best--the only real medium I know. That I will do with pleasure, but
I cannot guarantee his bringing about a materialization of--of Mr.
Embury.”
“Never mind about materialization, if he can get in touch and get
a message for me. You see--I haven’t said much about this--but Mr.
Embury’s spirit appeared to me as--as he died.”
“What?”
“Yes; just at the moment his soul passed from earth, his astral body
passed by me and paused at my bedside for a farewell.”
“You amaze me! You are indeed psychic. Tell me about it.”
“No; I won’t tell you the story--I’ll tell the medium. But I know
I saw him--why, he was discernible to all my five senses--”
“To your senses! Then it was no spirit!”
“Oh, yes, it was. Sanford’s body still lay on his own bed, but
his passing spirit materialized sufficiently for me to see it--to hear
it--to feel it.”
“Miss Ames, you mustn’t go to a medium! You are too imaginative--too
easily swayed--don’t go, dear lady, it can do no good.”
Young Hanlon looked, as he felt, very solicitous for the aged spinster,
and he cast an anxious glance at her disturbed face.
“I must,” she insisted; “it is the only way. I had great trouble
to find you, Mr. Hanlon. I had to communicate with Mr. Mortimer, in
Newark--and at last we traced you here. Are you all through with your
fake tricks?”
“Yes,” Hanlon laughed. “I wore them out. I’ve gone into a
legitimate business.”
“Sign painting?”
“Yes, as you see.”
“But such big signs!” and the old lady’s eyes wandered to
photographs and sketches of enormous scenic signs, such as are painted
on high buildings or built on housetops.
“That’s the specialty of this firm. I’m only learning, but it
strongly appeals to me. It’s really more of an art than a trade. Now,
as to this man you want to see, Miss Ames, I’ll give you his address,
but I beg of you to think it over before you visit him. Consult with
some one--not Mrs. Embury--some man, of good judgment and clear mind.
Who is advising you?”
“Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Elliott--you saw them both the day you were at
our house--they advise my niece and myself in all matters. Shall I ask
them?”
Miss Abby was pathetic in her simple inquiry, and Hanlon spoke gently as
he replied.
“Yes, if you are determined to try the experiment. But I do not advise
you to see Mr. Marigny, the medium I spoke of. Here is the address, but
you talk it over with those two men you mentioned. I know they are both
practical, logical business men, and their advice on the subject will be
all right. I thank you, Miss Ames, for honoring me with a call. I hope
if you do go to see Marigny, it will prove a satisfactory séance, but I
also hope you will decide not to go. You are, as I said, too emotional,
too easily swayed by the supernatural to go very deeply into those
mysteries. Shall I take you to the elevator?”
“If you please, Mr. Hanlon,” and still in that half oblivious mood,
Miss Ames allowed herself to be led through the halls.
Hanlon went down with her, for he feared to leave her to her own
devices. He was relieved to find she had a taxicab in waiting, and as he
put her into it, he cautioned the driver to take his fare straight home.
“But I want to go to Marigny’s now,” objected Miss Ames, as she
heard what Hanlon said.
“Oh, you can’t. You must make an appointment with him--by mail or by
telephone. And, too, you promised me you’d put it up to Mr. Hendricks
or Mr. Elliott first.”
“So I did,” and the old head nodded submissively, as the taxi drove
away.
When Ferdinand admitted Aunt Abby to the Embury home, she heard voices
in the living-room that were unmistakably raised in anger.
“You know perfectly well, Fifi,” Eunice was saying, “that your
little bridge games are quite big enough to be called a violation of the
law--you know that such stakes as you people play for--”
“It isn’t the size of the stake that makes gambling!” Fifi
Desternay cried, shrilly; “I’ve had the advice of a lawyer, and
he says that as long as it’s my own home and the players are invited
guests, there’s no possibility of being--”
“Raided!” said Eunice, scathingly. “Might as well call things by
their real name!”
“Hush up! Some of the servants might hear you! How unkind you are to
me, Eunice. You used to love your little Fifi!”
“Well, she doesn’t now!” said Miss Ames, tartly, as she came in.
“You see, Mrs. Desternay, you have been instrumental in bringing our
dear Eunice under a dreadful, and absolutely unfounded suspicion--”
“Dreadful, but far from unfounded!” declared Mrs. Desternay, her
little hands uplifted, and her pretty face showing a scornful smile.
“You and I, Aunt Abby, know what our dear Eunice’s temper is--”
“Don’t you ‘Aunt Abby’ me, you good-for-nothing little piece! I
am surprised Eunice allows you in this house!”
“Now, now--if Eunice doesn’t want me, I’ll get out--and jolly well
glad to do so! How about it, Eunice? I came here to help, but if I’m
not wanted--out goes little Fifi!”
She rose, shaking her fur stole into place about her dainty person, and,
whipping out a tiny mirror from her vanity case, she applied a rouge
stick to her already scarlet lips.
“No--no--” and Eunice wailed despairingly. “Don’t go, Fifi,
I--oh, I don’t know how I feel toward you! You see--I will speak
plainly--you see, it was my acquaintance with you that caused the
trouble--mostly--between me and San.”
“Thought it was money matters--his stinginess, you know.”
“He wasn’t stingy! He wouldn’t give me an allowance, but he was
generous in every other way. And that’s why--”
“Why you came to my ‘gambling house’ to try to pick up a little
ready cash! I know. But now looky here, Eunice, you’ve got to
decide--either you’re with me or agin me! I won’t have any blow
hot, blow cold! You’re friends with Fifi Desternay--or--she’s your
enemy!”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say! You like me, you’ve always liked me. Now, stand by
me, and I’ll stand by you.”
“How?”
“You think I can’t! Well, madame, you’re greatly mistaken! That
big blundering fool of a detective person has been to see me--”
“Shane?”
“The same. And--he grilled me pretty thoroughly as to our going to see
‘Hamlet’ and whether we talked the poison scene over--and so forth
and so on. In a word, Eunice Embury, I hold your life in my hands!”
Fifi held out her pretty little hands, dramatically. She still stood,
her white fur scarf hanging from one shoulder, her small turban of red
breast feathers cocked at a jaunty angle above her straight brows, and
one tiny slippered foot tapping decidedly on the floor.
“Yes, ma’am, in my two hands,--me--Fifi! If I tell all we said about
that poisoning of the old ‘Hamlet’ gentleman, through his ear--you
know what we said, Eunice Embury--you know how we discussed the
impossibility of such a murder ever being discovered--you know if I
should give Shane a full account of that talk of ours--the life of
Madame Embury wouldn’t be worth that!”
A snap of a dainty thumb and finger gave a sharp click that went
straight through Eunice’s brain, and made her gasp out a frightened
“Oh!”
“Yes, ma’am, oh! all you like to--you can’t deny it! Shane came
to see me three times. I almost told him all the last time, for you
steadily refused to see me--until to-day. And now, to-day, I put it to
you, Eunice Embury, do you want me for friend--or foe?”
Fifi’s blue eyes glittered, her red lips closed in a tight line,
and her little pointed face was as the face of a wicked sprite. Eunice
stood, surveying her. Tall, stately, beautiful, she towered above her
guest, and looked down on her with a fine disdain.
Eunice’s eyes were stormy, not glittering--desperate rather than
defiant--she seemed almost like a fierce, powerful tiger appraising a
small but very wily ferret.
“Is this a bargain?” she cried scathingly. “Are you offering to
buy my friendship? I know you, Fifi Desternay! You are--a snake in the
grass!”
Fifi clenched her little fists, drew her lips between her teeth, and
fairly hissed, “Serpent, yourself! Murderess! I know all--and I shall
tell all! You’ll regret the day you scorned the friendship--the help
of Fifi Desternay!”
“I don’t want your help, at the price of friendship with you! I know
you for what you are! My husband told me--others have told me! I did go
to your house for the sake of winning money--yes, and I am ashamed of
it! And I am ready to face any accusation, brave any suspicion, rather
than be shielded from it, or helped out of it by you!”
“Fine words! but they mean nothing! You know you’re justly accused!
You know you’re rightly suspected! But you are clever--you also
know that no jury, in this enlightened age, will ever convict a woman!
Especially a beautiful woman! You know you are safe from even the
lightest sentence--and that though you are guilty--yes, guilty of the
murder of your husband, you will get off scot free, because”--Fifi
paused to give her last shot telling effect--“because your counsel,
Alvord Hendricks, is in love with you! He will manage it, and what he
can’t accomplish, Mason Elliott can! With those two influential
men, both in love with you, you can’t be convicted--and probably you
won’t even be arrested!”
“Go!” said Eunice, and she folded her arms as she gazed at her angry
antagonist. “Go! I scorn to refute or even answer your words.”
“Because they’re true! Because there is no answer!” Fifi fairly
screamed. “You think you’re a power! Because you’re tall and
statuesque and stunning! You know if those men can’t keep you out of
the court-room at least you are safe in the hands of any judge or jury,
because they are men! You know if you smile at them--pathetically--if
you cast those wonderful eyes of yours at them, they’ll grovel at your
feet! I know you, Eunice Embury! You’re banking on your femininity to
save you from your just fate.”
“You judge me by yourself, Fifi. You are a power among men, most women
are, but I do not bank on that--”
“Not alone! You bank on the fact that either Hendricks or Elliott
would go through hell for you, and count it an easy journey. You rest
easy in the knowledge that those two men can do just about anything they
set their minds to--”
“Will you go?”
“Yes, I will go. And when Mr. Shane comes to see me again, I will tell
him the truth--all the truth about the’ Hamlet’ play--and--it will
be enough!”
“Tell him!” Eunice’s eyes blazed now. “Tell him the truth--and
add to it whatever lies your clever brain can invent! Do your worst Fifi
Desternay; I am not afraid of you!”
“I am going, Eunice.” Fifi moved slowly toward the door. “I shall
tell the truth, but I shall add no lies--that will not be necessary!”
She disappeared, and Eunice stood, panting with excitement and
indignation.
Aunt Abby came toward her. The old lady had been a witness of the whole
scene--had, indeed, tried several times to utter a word of pacification,
but neither of the women had so much as noticed her.
“Go away, Auntie, please,” said Eunice. “I can’t talk to you.
I’m expecting Mason at any time now, and I want to get calmed down a
little.”
Miss Ames went to her room, and Eunice sat down on the davenport.
She sat upright, tensely quiet, and thought over all Fifi had said--all
she had threatened.
“It would have been far better,” Eunice told herself, “for
my cause if I had held her friendship. And I could have done it,
easily--but--Fifi’s friendship would be worse than her enmity!”
When Mason Elliott came, Detective Driscoll was with him.
The net of the detectives was closing in around Eunice, and though both
Elliott and Hendricks--as Fifi had truly surmised--were doing all in
their power, the dénouement was not far off--Eunice was in imminent
danger of arrest at any moment.
“We’ve been talking about the will--Sanford’s will,” Elliott
said, in a dreary tone, after the callers were seated, “and, Eunice,
Mr. Driscoll chooses to think that the fact that San left practically
everything to you, without any restraint in the way of trustees, or
restriction of any sort, is another count against you.”
Eunice smiled bravely. “But that isn’t news,” she said; “we all
knew that my husband made me his sole--or rather principal--beneficiary.
I know the consensus of opinion is that I murdered my husband that I
might have his money--and full control of it. This is no new element.”
“No;” said Driscoll, moved by the sight of the now patient, gentle
face; “no; but we’ve added a few more facts--and look here, Mrs.
Embury, it’s this way. I’ve doped it out that there are five
persons who could possibly have committed this--this crime. I’ll speak
plainly, for you have continually permitted me--even urged me to do so.
Well, let us say Sanford Embury could have been killed by anyone of a
certain five. And they size up like this: Mr. Elliott, here, and Mr.
Alvord Hendricks may be said to have had motive but no opportunity.”
“Motive?” said Eunice, in a tone of deepest possible scorn.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Elliott, now, is an admirer of yours--don’t
look offended, please; I’m speaking very seriously. It is among the
possibilities that he wanted your husband out of his way.”
Mason Elliott listened to this without any expression of annoyance.
Indeed, he had heard this argument of Driscoll’s before, and it
affected him not at all.
“But, Mrs. Embury, Mr. Elliott had no opportunity. We have learned
beyond all doubt that he was at his club or at his home all that night.
Next, Mr. Hendricks had a motive. The rival candidates were both eager
for election, and we must call that a motive for Mr. Hendricks to
be willing to remove his opponent. But again, Mr. Hendricks had no
opportunity. He was in Boston from the afternoon of the day before
Mr. Embury’s death until noon of the next day. That lets him out
positively. Therefore, there are two with motives but no opportunity.
Next, we must admit there were two who had opportunity, but no motive.
I refer to Ferdinand, your butler, and Miss Ames, your aunt. These two
could have managed to commit the deed, had they chosen, but we can find
no motive to attribute to either of them. It has been suggested that
Miss Ames might have had such a desire to rid you, Mrs. Embury, of a
tyrannical husband, that she was guilty. But it is so highly improbable
as to be almost unbelievable.
“Therefore, as I sum it up, the two who had motive without
opportunity, and the two who had opportunity without motive, must all
be disregarded, because of the one who had motive and opportunity both.
Yourself, Mrs. Embury.”
The arraignment was complete. Driscoll’s quiet, even tones carried a
sort of calm conviction.
“And so, Eunice,” Mason Elliott spoke up, “I’m going to try one
more chance. I’ve persuaded Mr. Driscoll to wait a day or two before
progressing any further, and let me get Fleming Stone on this case.”
“Very well,” said Eunice, listlessly. “Who is he?”
“A celebrated detective. Mr. Driscoll makes no objection--which goes
to prove what a good detective he is himself. His partner, Mr. Shane, is
not so willing, but has grudgingly consented. In fact, they couldn’t
help themselves, for they are not quite sure that they have enough
evidence to arrest you. Shane thinks that Stone will find out more, and
so strengthen the case against you but Driscoll, bless him! thinks maybe
Stone can find another suspect.”
“I didn’t exactly say I thought that, Mr. Elliott,” said Driscoll.
“I said I hoped it.”
“We all hope it,” returned Elliott.
“Hope while you may,” and Driscoll sighed. “Fleming Stone has
never failed to find the criminal yet. And if his findings verify mine,
I shall be glad to put the responsibility on his shoulders.”