CURRAN’S WATCH
IT was a moment before Baldwin could pull himself together.
“I can’t seem to sense it,” he said, musingly. “That watch,--hidden in
Miss Fuller’s room! Oh,--I see,--it’s a plant!”
“A plant?” inquired Roly.
“Yes,--somebody has done it to drag Pauline into this mess,--or, the
criminal is trying to divert suspicion from himself--”
“Herself!” Mears exclaimed; “if your suggestion is true, that’s a
woman’s trick! And, it may be mere mischief--do you suppose Anna--”
“Oh, hush, Roly,” Bob exclaimed. “Why harp on Anna?”
“But there’s more to this than meets the eye. You see, Angel, if Ned
killed Curran because he flirted with Anna, then Anna is going to use
every means to turn suspicion from Ned.”
“It looks like that to me,” Detective Kinney agreed. “To my way of
thinking, Mr. Knox is the only one who seems to have a motive--”
“_Seems_ to have,--perhaps,” Roly said; “but anybody else may
have a motive of which we know nothing. Ned Knox is impulsive,
impetuous,--but I can’t believe he’d murder,--just because of a
flirtation--”
“We don’t know, Mr. Mears,” Kinney reminded him, “just how serious
that flirtation was. Men _have_ killed other men, when they found
them--”
“Never mind,--don’t speculate,” Roly said; “now, Angel, what is the
thing to do,--regarding the watch, I mean?”
“Take it straight to Val,” Baldwin replied, promptly. “It’s the only
thing to do. We can’t speak of it to Pauline,--I don’t for a minute
believe she knows a thing about it--”
“Now, now, Mr. Baldwin, I think she does,” Kinney spoke gravely. “It’s
all very well to hold a lady above suspicion,--but I can’t see how the
murderer could get that watch into Miss Fuller’s locked desk--”
“Don’t speculate, let’s find out. I say, show the watch to Mr. Loft,
tell him the whole story, and do as he says. Give him the first chance
to clear Miss Fuller--for, she must be cleared.”
“I’d rather put it up to the lady herself,” the detective demurred.
“Well, you can’t.” Angel Bob was dominating. “If she knows nothing
of it, we must find out who does,--and if Miss Fuller is in any way
implicated, it will come out soon enough. Mr. Loft is the right one to
go to, for he will want to shield Miss Fuller from any unpleasantness
possible.”
Kinney looked a little surprised at the methods that seemed to obtain
among gentlemen, but he was willing to take the matter to Valentine
Loft, and said so.
“Come on, then,” and with the amazed look still on his face, Baldwin
led the way.
They found Loft and beckoned to him, and the four men went into the
library and shut the door.
“What is it?” Loft asked; “anything new?”
His lean, strong face looked careworn, his expression was not
hopeful. As a matter of fact, he was pretty well bowled over by the
misfortune that had fallen on his house. He dreaded any solution of the
mystery,--for he could conceive of none that would not implicate some
of his friends or guests, and he wanted, most of all, to be rid of the
whole business.
But a glance at the faces of those about him now, showed him that there
was something of importance to be divulged.
“Out with it,” he said; “you have found something, I see.”
“Yes,” said Kinney, “we have found Hugh Curran’s watch.”
“Whose picture is in it?” Loft asked, quickly. “Anna’s?”
He bit his lip, annoyed at his own impulsive question. He wouldn’t have
minded Bob and Roly, but he was truly sorry to have made the suggestion
before Kinney.
However, the detective showed no interest in Anna’s name, but he
watched Loft closely as he handed the watch to him.
Snapping open the back case, Valentine Loft saw the picture of Pauline.
It was not a recent one,--clearly it had been taken a few years since,
but it was unmistakable.
The beautiful smiling face was happy and even roguish. A different
Pauline from the dignified, gracious woman they knew,--a girl Pauline,
almost childish in her innocent smile.
Loft gazed as if hypnotized.
Had it been less tragic it would have been almost comical to note the
mild wonder in his face as he turned it to his two friends, ignoring
the detective entirely.
“Where do you suppose Curran ever got Pauly’s picture?” he said; “such
a good one, too,--when she was a little girl,--almost.”
“It doesn’t mean anything to you, then, Mr. Loft?” Kinney asked,
staring hard at him.
“Mean anything? It means that somehow Mr. Curran became possessed of
Miss Fuller’s picture,--and as it was so beautiful, he kept it.”
“She didn’t give it to him?”
“She never saw him until she met him here. She told me so herself.”
The calm finality of Loft’s tone left no room for doubt of his utter
belief in his fiancée’s word.
“Well, Mr. Loft, I’m sorry to tell you that I found the watch, hidden
in a locked desk in Miss Fuller’s room.”
“Who put it there?” Loft’s tone was quiet, but the men who knew him
could see a gleam come into his eye.
“We don’t know,” Kinney spoke almost gently, “but in my opinion, Miss
Fuller put it there herself.”
“Mr. Kinney,” Loft spoke very sternly, “if you mean she did so with
some unexplained but innocent intent, very well. If, however, you are
implying or suggesting a shade of doubt or suspicion of Miss Fuller--in
any way,--you will answer to me for it! How dare you,” he went on, as
Kinney’s face told plainly that he had his suspicions, “how dare you
even speak the name of that lady in connection with wrong-doing of any
sort? I--I could kill you where you sit!”
“Now, Val,” Angel interrupted, “don’t sling around any more remarks
about killing! We’re too careless in the way we use that word. You’re
not going to kill Mr. Kinney,--and you must listen, if he has any
theories to offer. Good Heavens, man, his words,--whatever they might
be,--couldn’t hurt Pauline!”
“No; but they hurt me! They infuriate me! I won’t have it! Retract, Mr.
Kinney, or leave my house this instant!”
“I haven’t said anything yet,” Kinney reminded him; “and, too, Mr.
Loft, as an agent of the Law, I can’t be ordered out of a house, even
by its owner.”
“Law or no law, I’ll put you out myself, if you mention the lady’s name
again,--in any connection whatever!”
“Why, Val,” cried Mears, “I’ve never seen you excited before! Don’t
take it like that!”
“There’s only one way to take it,--to quash it!” Loft stormed on; “I
repeat, if you found that watch in Miss Fuller’s room,--it was put
there by some evil-minded individual, either to make trouble for Miss
Fuller, or to save his own skin! The murderer of Hugh Curran put it
there, I have no doubt,--and as to why or how he did it,--I don’t know
and don’t care! I will say, however, Mr. Kinney, that you have done
nothing since your arrival,--that you have discovered nothing. That you
are making trouble instead of curing it, and that unless you agree to
drop this particular phase of the matter I shall take steps to have you
removed--in the name of the Law!”
“Fine talk, sir,” said Kinney, who grew calmer as Loft grew more
excited. “Fine talk, but it gets you nowhere. Why not face facts, Mr.
Loft? Why not accept the fact that I found the watch,--as I said,--and
let me confront Miss Fuller with the fact, and receive her doubtless
satisfactory explanation of its presence in her locked desk.”
Valentine Loft looked at the speaker with a glance of utter disdain.
“You shall never have an interview of any sort with Miss Fuller,” he
said, more quietly than he had yet spoken. “If the watch must be shown
to her, or discussed with her,--I will do it,--no one else may.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on being present at that interview, Mr.
Loft,” and the detective shook his head doggedly.
“You shall not! You sneaking, spying--”
“Now, Valentine,” Angel Bob seemed almost alarmed, “let up on all
that. I know how you feel about Pauline, but can’t you see, man, that
all your bluster and anger doesn’t help her cause any? In fact, it
strengthens any possible suspicion against--”
“Don’t dare say it, Bob!” Loft’s eyes were blazing, and he turned
on Baldwin in fierce anger. “I am blustering,--I know it. I never
blustered before in my life,--I never had occasion to! But this!”
Loft stopped suddenly, and again looked at the picture in the watch
which he still held in his hand.
As he gazed, his face softened, his features relaxed into a half smile,
and he said, at last:
“This must have been taken when Pauly was a school girl. She can’t be
more than eighteen, here. I daresay she gave it to some school chum,
and Curran got possession of it merely as a fancy picture. For he never
knew Pauly. I’ll go to her,--she’ll tell me all about it,--but you must
let me go alone, Mr. Kinney. I’ll agree, on my honor, to tell you all
she says, but I really don’t want an audience to our conversation.”
Loft had calmed down to his usual composure, and his voice was tranquil
again. Having hit on what seemed to him an adequate solution of the
picture in Curran’s watch, he was ready to treat Kinney in his former
friendly manner.
The two men were not at all congenial,--the detective’s blunt business
manners were distasteful to Loft’s suave culture, but if Pauline’s name
could be stricken from the detective’s slate, Loft would let him run
his own gait in peace.
“Will you go and inquire about the matter at once, Mr. Loft?” Kinney
asked.
“I will do it during the afternoon, Mr. Kinney. Not just at the moment,
for I chance to know that Miss Fuller has gone to her room for a nap. I
am not willing to disturb her,--it is her habit to rest after luncheon.
But I will arrange to see her this afternoon sometime, and I will take
up the subject with her. Meantime, I will keep the watch.”
“No, Mr. Loft, I will keep the watch. It is a piece of material
evidence,--at least, as things stand now.”
“A feather left around,” said Roly, smiling. “Let him keep it, Val,--he
has the right to.”
“It doesn’t matter,” and Loft handed the watch back to the detective,
with a faint shrug of his shoulders, as if, after all, the incident was
of small account.
“You’d do well to adopt a maxim of mine, Kinney,” he said. “It is, ‘Do
nothing and all will be done.’ Ever hear it before?”
“No, and I never want to again. I’d get nowhere at all, if I worked on
that line, Mr. Loft.”
“That’s where you make your mistake. There are many times when a
masterly inactivity brings about the best results. This is one of
them. Do nothing in that watch matter,--it will all be done. I’ll meet
you here, say, at five o’clock,--it’s three, now,--and I’ll prove my
statement.”
And with this Kinney was forced to be content.
Unable to find better company he attached himself to Miss Dwyer.
She was always ready to talk to him, but he rarely gained any
information from her.
This time, however, she had something on her mind.
“I have a theory, Mr. Kinney,” she said, her pale blue eyes blinking
with earnestness, “and it’s this. You see, my brother was killed by
somebody in this house. None of the servants did it,--that’s too
ridiculous! So, it was some of the household themselves,--or guests,
I mean. Well, not one of them knew my brother, or had any personal
motive to kill him. But, he was a great and successful book collector.
So, I am sure the motive was possession of his rare volumes. To you
this may seem an inadequate motive,--but I assure you it is not. I
know, Mr. Baldwin says that the big collectors don’t kill to get the
treasures,--but he may be mistaken in this instance, and, too, Mr. Loft
isn’t a very big collector.”
“Oh, so it’s Mr. Loft you are favoring with your suspicions, is it?
But, Mr. Baldwin is also interested in books.”
“Not in the same way. You don’t know about such matters, I
daresay,--but the collector’s mania is really a dangerous thing. Mr.
Baldwin wants books to buy and then to sell to another customer. He
doesn’t have that craving to possess that besets the collector. It is
a desperate covetousness, an insane envy that leads to any lengths to
get the desired book. I know, for I know how it affected my brother.
He never committed crime, but I know,--ah, I know that he resorted to
means not--not strictly honorable.”
“All very interesting, Miss Dwyer, but we have no evidence. You see
both Mr. Loft and Mr. Baldwin were in their rooms all night, after one
o’clock or so.”
“You’ve only their word for that.”
Kinney looked at her, startled. It was true,--if Loft and Baldwin had
been disposed, they could have acted in collusion, and could have
accomplished the deed more easily than any one else. If there were any
way to get in and out of that locked door, Loft would know about his
own house.
Kinney had sneaking suspicions of a secret passage somewhere, but his
closest scrutiny had been unable to find any trace of such.
He put Miss Hetty’s suggestion away in his brain to think about later,
and said:
“What does Mr. Curran’s fiancée look like?”
“Just a pretty young thing.”
“Does she look at all like Miss Fuller?”
“Not the least mite,--almost her opposite. Why?”
“Nothing. Why didn’t he carry her picture in his watch?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he did. I’m told his watch was stolen from him,
wasn’t it?”
“It was missing when the body was found,” Kinney evaded, “but he might
have put it away himself.”
As the pair talked, a few others had come out on the terrace, and the
Countess, passing, heard the word “watch.”
“Found it?” she said, quickly, seating herself by Kinney. “I told you
to look for that watch.”
“Why,”--and Kinney looked at her curiously.
“Because it might easily prove indicative. And I know you’ve found it,
Mr. Kinney! Your countenance is not always under control, and I’m sure
you’ve found it! Where was it?”
Kinney was taken aback, but he was quick-witted at times, and he
replied, easily:
“No such luck, Countess Galaski. It may turn up,--but I searched
several places without success.”
Miss Hetty Dwyer, never at ease in the presence of the caustic Countess
had walked away, and glancing around to be sure no one else was
listening, the Countess went on:
“You would do well, Mr. Kinney, to take me into your confidence. I
could be of real help to you.”
Kinney was a little weary of offers of help from women, but he never
dared neglect a possible bit of assistance.
“I’ve nothing particular to confide, ma’am, but if you’ve any helpful
information it’s your duty to give it out.”
“Not information,--merely advice. And here it is,--if you want it
bluntly. Beware of that little Mrs. Knox. I know how she is pulling
wool over your eyes--”
“What?”
Kinney was so surprised that he quite forgot his manners.
“Yes,--that’s just what she does to everybody.”
“Ah,” Kinney thought to himself, “feminine jealousy.”
“I don’t care how much she flirts or with whom,” the lady went on, “but
I want you to be on your guard when she comes to giving you information
about--about that night.”
“Oh, I know all she can tell me,” Kinney shrugged his shoulders.
“Know all about that balcony episode, and while it may be a straw
to show which way the wind blows,--I don’t think it is. Nor can I
see her husband in such a rage that he would poison the man who was
flirting with her. In a frenzy of jealous passion a man might shoot or
stab,--but he couldn’t poison.”
“Rubbish!” the Countess snapped. “I don’t say that he did,--but it’s
foolish to say that he couldn’t. Whoever gave that poison to Mr.
Curran did it in some diabolically clever manner. Yet it was done.
Now, one could do it as well as another.”
“How about some one interested in books?” Kinney asked, remembering
Miss Dwyer’s talk.
“I think it’s as plausible a motive as jealousy,” the Countess replied.
“But why bother with motive,--find your criminal and then you’ll know
the motive.”
Kinney smiled. “I’d be glad to find either criminal or motive. It’s the
most ungetatable case I ever handled. I can suspect everybody yet I can
suspect nobody. Every one is apparently frank and outspoken, yet also
everybody is unwilling to talk about the case.”
“Of course nobody wants to talk about the awful affair if it can be
helped. But I’m sure we all want to tell you anything you may wish to
ask.”
“Very well, then, Countess Galaski, do you suspect any one,--any one at
all?”
After a pause, the Countess said, slowly: “Yes, I think I do.”
“Will you tell me who it is?”
“It is ‘Rosalie’.”
“But--‘Rosalie,’ that is the name of Mr. Curran’s divorced wife. She
isn’t here.”
“I don’t mean Rosalie in person,--I mean the one who was in Mr.
Curran’s mind, when he spoke the name of Rosalie that night.”
“But,--I’ve heard it rumored that Mr. Baldwin was disturbed when Mr.
Curran mentioned that name.”
“The rumors are wrong then. It was not Mr. Baldwin who was
self-conscious at the name of Rosalie.”
“No? Who was, then?”
“That I shall not tell. I may be all wrong,--I wouldn’t for the world
attract attention to the wrong person. But, take my word for it,
Mr. Curran had no thought of Bob Baldwin, when he said, ‘Rosalie.’
I thought Mr. Baldwin looked a little annoyed at the name of ‘Mr.
S.’ But I’m not sure. I may be mistaken as to that. But to return to
my well-meant warning, don’t believe all Mrs. Knox tells you. She
is a spiteful little cat, and while she is not exactly in love with
Valentine Loft, she takes delight in trying to stir up trouble between
him and Miss Fuller.”
“She hasn’t succeeded as yet,” said Kinney, remembering Loft’s valiant
defence of his fiancée.
“No,--but she will if she can. She’s a little devil,--loves mischief
for the sheer fun of it!”
“Pleasant character!”
“Oh, she’s so pretty and charming and innocent of appearance she is
beloved of all.”
Kinney went off by himself and found he had plenty to meditate upon
until five o’clock, when he was due to meet Loft in the library.
He went there, and found the master of Valhalla waiting for him. No one
else was present, and Loft carefully shut the door.
“Mr. Kinney,” he began, “I am in very grave trouble. As I promised you,
I tried to obtain an interview with Miss Fuller. But Miss Fuller has
gone away.”
“Run away!” Kinney almost shouted.
“Gone away,” I said. “Pray, be quiet. I am myself at my wits’ end, but
I realize it is necessary to consider very carefully our next step.”
“Our next step is to find Miss Fuller.”
“I’m glad you agree with me. It certainly is. Now, Mr. Kinney, will you
undertake to find her? Or would you prefer that I should get another--a
private detective to do that? Also, I want no publicity. I want it
given out that Miss Fuller has gone home for a rest,--or, gone away on
a visit. I do not want it known that her departure was made hastily and
secretly.”
“I can’t keep it so dark, Mr. Loft. We can’t find her without
publicity. Look at the thing yourself. We find the watch in her
possession, locked in her desk. We take the watch,--she discovers it is
gone and she seeks safety in flight. What’s the answer?”
Valentine Loft showed none of the indignation and anger he had
displayed in the morning.
“I don’t know the answer,” he returned, quietly; “but I do know Miss
Fuller. She may be the victim of distressing circumstances, but there
is no stigma of wrong possible in connection with her name. Now, she
must be found. How shall we set about it?”