PAULINE’S GRIEF
KINNEY, away from the lure of Anna’s presence, wondered how he had been
so subjugated by her. The man was soft-hearted but hard-headed, and,
thinking it all over, he began to wonder whether she hadn’t purposely
bamboozled him.
He began to think that it would be quite possible for her story to
be all true up to the tap on Curran’s door. Or rather to the next
statement, which was that Anna was sure the visitor was a woman.
Suppose it had not been a woman at all,--suppose it had been the irate
husband, Ned Knox. And suppose Anna, banking on Mr. Meredith’s story
had added her assurance that the caller was a woman.
The more Kinney pondered over this idea, the more plausible it appeared
to him. He decided not to discuss it with anybody, but to ferret it out
himself.
For, he had come to the conclusion that the men at Valhalla changed
their mental attitudes from day to day. Loft, himself, now suspected
Knox and the next day he would disclaim all such possibility.
Kinney concluded finally that he would learn more from the women than
from the men.
So he set forth on his day’s work by asking an interview with the
Countess Galaski.
This self-important personage granted the request, and received him in
a small reception room where they could be alone.
“I’m glad you have come to me at last, Mr. Kinney,” she said, her black
eyes snapping and her over-red lips set in a straight line.
“You know something, madam?” he inquired, surprised.
“I may know something and I may not,” she returned, “but at least, I
can give you a hint which way to look.”
“I hope you will do so, Countess.”
“Well,--find Mr. Curran’s watch.”
“That is one of my chiefest endeavors. If you can give me a hint as to
its whereabouts, I shall indeed be grateful.”
“I can’t do that, Mr. Kinney, but--has it never occurred to you to
search the rooms of the household,--guests, servants and all?”
“Why, no,--I confess I’ve not thought of doing that.”
“It might produce results.”
“I can’t think so, Countess. Supposing for a moment, any one under this
roof had taken the watch, such a one would, of course, have disposed of
it before this. It’s over a week now, since Mr. Curran’s death, and no
one, I mean no one of criminal intent, would keep any damaging evidence
still in possession.”
“Nevertheless, it could do no harm to look.”
“Then advise me a little further. Look where? There’s no use in
searching all the rooms, if you have some knowledge,--some inkling of
where it may be.”
The Countess pondered.
“No;” she said, finally. “I can’t advise you. There may be no result
whatever, and in that case, I am not willing to mention any name.”
“At least, you have given me a new idea, and I thank you, Countess. Do
help me further, and tell me when the rooms,--certain rooms are most
likely to be vacated. I don’t want to advertise this search, as that
would lead to greater precautions.”
“You’ll have to watch for yourself. It should not be difficult. Say, if
several go for a motor drive this afternoon, you could go into their
rooms then. Or, there is always opportunity while we are at dinner or
luncheon.”
Kinney looked at her admiringly.
“It may seem to you, Countess, that you are instructing me in matters I
should have known myself. But, I admit, a search of the rooms here for
the missing watch, never came into my mind,--and, frankly, I don’t hope
for much from it.”
“Maybe not,” the Countess smiled, “but it can do no harm. Of course,
you will ignore and forget any thing you may learn not bearing on your
case.”
“Of course,” returned Kinney, sincerely. “I may include your room?”
“Oh, yes, if you like; though the fact of my proposing this search
would seem to imply my own innocence. However, were I guilty myself,
I’d be clever enough to cook up this scheme,--so go ahead. Search my
room with the rest.”
Kinney was not quite ready to follow this advice without telling
Valentine Loft of his intentions, so he went at once in quest of the
master of the house.
“Why, of course,” Loft said; “go ahead, Kinney. I hate to have it done,
but if you think it necessary, proceed.”
“I’ve wondered why you don’t do something of the sort,” said Baldwin,
who was with Loft in the smoking room. “And another thing, Mr. Kinney,
why don’t you check up alibis?”
“I’ve tried to, Mr. Baldwin, but at two o’clock in the morning an alibi
is a hard thing to prove. Everybody simply says, ‘In bed, asleep,’ and
who’s to prove otherwise?”
“That’s true,” Angel returned. “Mr. Loft and I can vouch for each
other, as I’m rooming in his suite, but most of the others are alone.”
“That’s just it, sir,” said Kinney. “Even Mr. Knox was in his own
bedroom with the door closed. So his wife can’t swear to his alibi.”
“Nor he to hers,” observed Loft. “Mr. Baldwin and I can swear to each
other’s presence from one o’clock on, and the Merediths shared a room.
Except for us four, every one roomed alone,--that’s so.”
“That’s why I feel I must search the rooms,” Kinney stated. “There may
be some evidence against somebody, some unexpected clue--”
“Yes, there may be,” Angel said; “and here’s another thing. I want
to look around Curran’s room a bit more. His sister has taken away
his personal belongings, but I think there might be some clues in the
waste basket or on the tables or floor. Roly Mears fancies himself as a
detective, but the boy doesn’t get anywhere. So, if you’ve the key, Mr.
Kinney, let’s run up there a few minutes.”
“Very well, sir, I’m willing. Come along.”
The two went up the great staircase, and as they turned into the
corridor that led to the room Hugh Curran had occupied, they almost
fell over pretty Tessie, the maid, who was stooping, her ear at the
keyhole of a door.
“Here, you!” cried Kinney roughly, putting out his hand to snatch her
away. “What do you mean?”
But to his surprise, instead of looking frightened, Tessie drew herself
upright, and finger on lip, motioned Kinney to listen himself at the
keyhole.
Surprised into acquiescence the detective did so, and, listening
intently, he heard a woman’s agonized sobs.
More, he heard broken snatches of sentences, cried out in agony, as if
irrepressible wailings of a broken heart.
“If I could only forget!” were the words that came to him, scarcely
breathed, almost inaudible, yet he was just able to catch them.
“I will forget!” she went on, after another short period of intense
grief. “I must--I will forget!”
And then--in a clear, ringing triumphant voice, “I have forgotten,
yes,--I have forgotten!”
Though not loud this was so unmistakably a desperate resolve, a
determined achievement, that Kinney could almost see the conquering
smile that must have accompanied it.
And yet, the next instant, the speaker broke down again, and sobbed as
if her heart would break.
Feeling ashamed of himself, Kinney stood up, and taking Tessie’s arm,
drew her along with them, and the three entered Hugh Curran’s room, as
Kinney unlocked the door.
“Now,” he said, closing the door, pushing Tessie into a chair, and
standing over her with a lowering face.
“Now, what do you mean by eavesdropping like that?”
“It was this way, sir,” and Tessie was no whit embarrassed. “That’s
Miss Fuller’s room, and I went up to make it up, sir. At the door, I
thought I heard her crying, and I thought I’d better not intrude. I
stooped to listen, to make sure she really was crying, and then you
came along.”
“That’s all right,” Angel said, nodding at Kinney. “Tessie is a
chambermaid on this floor and it was her duty to report for work. If
she heard Miss Fuller crying, she did right about hesitating to enter,
and though I can’t condone listening at keyholes, it seemed the natural
thing to do. Is anyone else in the room?”
“I don’t know,” said Kinney, slowly. “Either there is, or Miss Fuller
was talking to herself. She was certainly in deep distress.”
“Some one ought to go to her!” exclaimed Bob. “Some of the women.”
“I don’t think so,” Kinney demurred. “She seemed in trouble of her own.
She was saying, ‘If I could only forget! I must forget!’ That sounds
like a personal, a private sorrow. I think it better not to intrude. A
little later, Tessie may go in,--and perhaps she can be of assistance
in some way.”
“Miss Fuller has been like that before, sir,” Tessie volunteered.
“Twice, I’ve found her crying when I went to help her dress for dinner.”
“What was her explanation?” asked Kinney.
“The first time,--she said some dust had flown in her eyes from the
window. But I think she knew I didn’t believe that. The second time,
she said nothing,--just bathed her eyes and let me dress her without a
word.”
“Then she won’t resent your presence now. Run along, Tessie; if you
can get in, do all you can for her. If not, come back here and tell us
about it.”
“Yes, Mr. Kinney,” and the astute maid went away.
“That girl knows a lot,” said Baldwin. “She’s either a good faithful
servant, or she’s a wily, canny fraud. I don’t know which.”
“She’s both,” said Kinney, sapiently. “She’s a good servant,--Mr. Loft
says so,--but she’s mighty cute. Little goes on that she doesn’t see.”
“Yes, she saw Mrs. Knox on the balcony,” Angel reminded him.
“I don’t believe she did,” and Kinney remembered his promise to Anna.
“I think she made that yarn up.”
“Good for you,” cried Baldwin. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’d hate
to believe any wrong of Mrs. Knox. But get busy, Kinney, and help me
look round this place. Hello, where’s the book catalogue gone?”
“Which one? Here are two.”
“Yes, they’re little ones. But there was a big one, it was here that
morning,--when we found Mr. Curran.”
“Do you want it? I suppose it can be found. Probably Mr. Loft took
it,--or maybe Miss Dwyer. She wants to sell the books of her brother,
you know.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can get another like it. Now let’s hunt the waste
basket. There are always clues in a waste basket. Or, I’ll look in it,
while you search the bureau drawers. I can’t help feeling there are
clues to be found in his room.”
Bob bent over the basket and Kinney obediently searched the drawers of
dresser and chiffonier.
“Nothing doing,” the detective said, at last, turning to the other.
“You found anything?”
He smiled at the heap of litter Bob had turned out on the floor.
“No,” was the perplexed reply.
“Looking for anything in particular? You seem disappointed.”
“I am disappointed, but I’m not after anything in particular. Except I
hoped to find some letter or note that might tell us something. Come
on, I’ve searched all I want to. I don’t think so much of waste basket
clues after all. I can find no ‘feathers left around’ at all.”
They went away, and a slight pause at the door of Pauline Fuller’s room
brought no sound to the ears of the detective.
“All quiet in here now,” he said, rather soberly, as they went
downstairs.
And at the luncheon table, Bob, to his surprise, found Pauline in
an unusually gay mood. She was talkative and animated, and her good
spirits infected the others, until the atmosphere became more cheery
and bright than it had been since the occurrence of the tragedy.
Luncheon over, Bob took possession of Little Anna and carried her off
for a stroll in the gardens.
“I just want to tell you, dear,” Angel said, “that I, for one, do not
believe that yarn of Tessie’s about you.”
“You blessed Angel!” and Anna gave him her loveliest smile. “I’m glad I
have at least one friend at court.”
“And so,” Bob went on, “that lets Ned out as a suspect. For though you
did make a few eyes at Curran during the evening, that wasn’t enough to
rouse jealous old Ned to the killing pitch.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” and Anna beamed satisfaction. “Now, Angel, who
did do it?”
“Anna,--look here. Ned is out of it,--I’m vouched for by Valentine
himself, so I’m out of it. Now, there’s only one left of the trio who
discussed ways and means--”
“Val himself!” said Anna, softly. “But why, Angel, for Heaven’s sake,
_why_?”
“I don’t know,--but,--oh, Anna, I can’t say it,--but do you think, can
you imagine that Pauline knew Curran before?”
Anna looked both serious and frightened.
“I wouldn’t think so, Angel, only,--when Mr. Curran did that mind
reading stunt,--Pauline did look self-conscious.”
“At what?”
“I think it was at ‘Mr. S.’ You know, Hugh Curran flung out ‘Mr. S.’,
and ‘Rosalie,’ and--now, Angel, don’t kill me! but I felt sure that
Pauline turned white and gripped at her chair arms when he said, ‘Mr.
S.’ and--yes, I will tell you,--I thought you did, Bob, when he said
‘Rosalie’! Did you?”
“Did I? I did not! I never knew anybody named Rosalie in my life.
I never heard the name except in some general way. But, Anna, that
‘Rosalie’ has been explained. It seems it was his wife’s name, or
nickname. His sister said so.”
“Yes,--I know. But he didn’t say it that night because it was his
wife’s name. Nobody here ever heard of his wife. He used it to tease
somebody and I thought it might be you.”
“Well it wasn’t. Maybe Val knows some Rosalie person,--or maybe your
Ned does,--I don’t.”
“Ned doesn’t either, I asked him. Well, it’s no matter anyway. But I’m
positive Pauline was upset at the mention of ‘Mr. S.’ and that’s why I
thought maybe she had known Mr. Curran before. Or maybe she knew some
‘Mr. S.’ who also knew Mr. Curran.”
“Maybe,” said Bob. “Anyway, Pauline was in high spirits at lunch time.”
“Put on,” and Anna wagged her head sagaciously. “I know Pauline,--and
the worse she feels, the gayer she acts,--I mean, if she doesn’t want
people to know.”
Baldwin thought of Kinney’s account of Pauline’s grief that morning,
and he wondered.
“You’re sure, Anna?” he inquired.
“Positive. And, too, I know Pauline had been crying. She had on an
extra touch of rouge, but she couldn’t entirely correct her reddened
eyelids. Whatever was the matter, she cried over it. Then she made a
very careful toilette, dressed her hair and fixed up her face with
greatest care,--but she couldn’t fool me. She had had one good big cry
this morning, that I know.”
“Oh, well, I suppose you women all have your ups and downs.”
“Of course, and it’s enough to make Pauly cry to have all this horror
here, so shortly before her wedding day.”
“Is the day set?”
“Not quite, but it will be inside a couple of months. That is, it would
have been. I don’t know whether this horrid business will postpone it
or not. But, Angel, nobody seems to get anywhere. Why is nothing being
done?”
“It’s a hard nut to crack, Anna. And the wheels of justice move
slowly--”
“They don’t move at all! I’m trying to get Ned to take me away.”
“He can’t, Anna, until he is freed from suspicion.”
“Ned! Suspicion! Ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous, I grant, but that Dwyer woman holds that all of us, Ned,
Val, and myself are under suspicion, because of that fool talk we had--”
“But you’ve just said Val can prove your alibi.”
“I know,--but I can’t prove his. You see, the house was crowded that
night, and I went into Val’s suite. I slept in his bed,--he would have
it so,--and he slept on the couch in his sitting room. So,--the way the
rooms are,--he could go out into the hall if he wished, and I wouldn’t
know it,--unless I heard him--”
“The door was closed between you two?”
“Yes; and the room he slept in opens out to the hall, but the bedroom
where I was, doesn’t. So that, if he stepped carefully, he could easily
go out and return without my knowing it; whereas, I couldn’t get out
to the hall, without going through the room where he slept. And he’s a
very light sleeper,--so there’s my alibi. Besides, I didn’t go out, or
try to go out at all.”
“Of course you didn’t. Why would you kill Curran?”
“It isn’t the why, Anna, it’s the who? Why would Val kill him? And yet,
if it really was one of us three, and if you take Ned out, and if Val
proved my alibi, there’s no one left but Val.”
“Rubbish, it never was Val!”
“No, I don’t think it was either.”
Yet it was not long before Angel Bob had an opportunity to revise his
opinion.
On their return to the house, Roly Mears beckoned to Bob, excitedly.
“Come on, old chap,” he said, in a low tone; “come on, quick.”
Leaving Anna with the others, Bob followed Roly, who took him to the
library, where Kinney was waiting.
“Mr. Kinney has found something, Angel,” Roly said. “I don’t want to
tell Val, or anybody, until you hear about it. Tell him, Mr. Kinney.”
“While you were all at luncheon,” Kinney began, his face expressing an
unwillingness to divulge the secret he had, “I made some search among
the bedrooms. I hated to do it, but it had to be done. I looked in the
ladies’ rooms first, so as to be sure to get that done while they were
absent, and in the rooms of the Countess, Miss Lawrence and Miss Dwyer,
I found nothing of any informative importance. But,--when I went into
Miss Fuller’s room,--I did.”
“What did you find?” asked Baldwin. He tried to make his voice casual
but it shook a little in spite of himself. Was the beautiful Pauline to
be dragged into this miserable business?
“I can’t think it was anything incriminating,” he added.
“It seems to me it is, sir,” and Kinney looked as sorrowful as Angel
himself.
As he spoke, he handed over to Bob a watch.
It was gold, very thin, and it had no chain or fob attached.
He took it mechanically. Before he examined it at all, he knew it must
be Hugh Curran’s watch, and the conviction jarred him terribly.
“It is Mr. Curran’s?” he asked, staring at the timepiece.
“Yes, Mr. Baldwin. Hidden in a small desk which was locked.”
“And which you pried open?”
“And which I opened with a skeleton key. I had to. It was necessary in
the interest of justice.”
“Damn you and your justice! How dare you break into a lady’s locked
desk?”
“Softly, now, Mr. Baldwin. That is the duty of a detective. And
the fact of its being there, locked up, proves it a secret of Miss
Fuller’s.”
“Secret nothing! If this watch was in Miss Fuller’s room, it had a
right there. Mr. Curran must have given it to her.”
“Very good, sir. That may be. And, now, Mr. Baldwin, if you’ll just
look at the picture in the watch case--”
Unwilling, yet urged on by the impatient glances of both Kinney and
Roly Mears, Angel Bob clicked open the back of Hugh Curran’s watch.
And found himself looking on the beautiful face of Pauline Fuller.
Stunned, aghast, he quickly snapped it shut, and stared at Mears.
“What does it mean?” he whispered. His bravado was gone, his face took
on a frightened pallor. Angel was emotional, his quick mind saw into
the past, turned, saw into the future, and both looked so black, he
groaned aloud.
“Val!” he cried, in anguish, “Valentine! Oh, Pauline!”