THE TRUTH AT LAST
DINNER at Valhalla that night partook of the nature of a wedding feast.
Pauline, now that there was no longer any secret about her past,
blossomed into a happy bride, and except for the cloud of tragedy that
still hung over the household, all was serene and almost jubilant.
Loft was unable to contain his joy, and almost forgot the Curran affair
in his new-found happiness.
But not every one was so sure of Pauline’s innocence as was her
new-made husband and her intimate friends.
In fact, Kinney had sent a message that he must have an interview with
her that evening, and Stone, to whom the matter was referred, sent back
a message for Kinney to come to the house at nine o’clock.
Hetty Dwyer was frantic.
Knowing all she now knew, she was positive Pauline had killed her
brother and even went so far as to hint that it was because the divorce
was not absolute, and that he was an obstacle in the way of Pauline’s
marriage to Loft.
“What have you done, Mr. Stone?” she burst out during the dinner
hour. “What have you accomplished? Have you established Miss Fuller’s
innocence,--or Mr. Loft’s? For my part I could easily believe that
he killed my brother on Miss Fuller’s behalf! So far as I can
see, you have sat around here for four or five days and have done
nothing--nothing at all! You have refused to cooperate with the police,
yet you have done nothing by yourself to solve the mystery. You accept
the story Miss Fuller tells, you look no further, but, influenced by
her feminine charm, you believe her unsupported word. Myself, I know
her of old,--I know--”
“There, there, Miss Dwyer,” Stone said, gently, “don’t fling questions
at me so rapidly. Nobody could answer that rapid-fire list,--I doubt if
you remember them yourself. And, too, I submit that I have made some
progress in this matter. But I don’t think the subject a good one for
dinner-table conversation, and I will ask you to wait until we can all
adjourn to the library. Then I have a few statements to make.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” the Countess exclaimed. “I confess that I’m
growing impatient. It’s delightful to have Pauline and Val married, but
I shall feel more quiet in my mind when this other matter is settled.
As a matter of fact, I want to get away, but I won’t go, until I learn
the results of Mr. Stone’s investigation of this case.”
“We want to go, too,” Anna said; “and Ned won’t stir a step until the
whole thing is settled.”
“I can’t desert the ship,” Knox put in. “Val and Angel and Roly and I
are a sort of committee to look into this horrid affair, and I’m sure
not one of us will leave until we know the truth. I admit we have none
of us done much to help the investigation, but that isn’t because we
haven’t tried.”
“And, too, it isn’t necessary for us to do anything now that Mr. Stone
is on the job,” said Angel, looking at the detective. “But I shall be
glad to get away soon, for the book auction sales are beginning and
I’ve some special orders on hand.”
“You can run back and forth in the cars, whenever you like, Bob,” Loft
said. “Just give your own orders.”
“Thank you, Val, but I ought to be back in town soon.”
“As far as the discovery of the facts regarding the death of Mr. Curran
is concerned, I can tell you that this evening,” Stone said, as Pauline
rose from the table.
She had taken her place as mistress of Valhalla easily and naturally.
Secure in her own knowledge of her innocence, sure that none of her
real friends suspected her, she also felt confidence that Fleming Stone
would prove her case to the local police,--and then, she hoped, she and
Loft could go away for a honeymoon.
But a little later, when the party had gathered in the library,
and when Detective Kinney arrived, Pauline saw from his unfriendly
glances that the local police still deemed her guilty,--or, at least,
implicated in the tragic death of Hugh Curran.
“To begin with,” Stone said, “you remember that there was a discussion
as to the preferable method of killing a man.”
“Oh, don’t rake that up again,” Ned Knox almost groaned. “I’m positive
that none of us who took part in that fool discussion ever carried out
any such a plan.”
“You may be sure of that,--but I’m not,” Stone said, and he looked at
Knox so earnestly, that Roly Mears concluded at once that Ned was the
murderer after all!
“But, leaving that for the moment,” Stone went on, “I will tell you
first, what I discovered from an examination of Mr. Curran’s body.
Although the doctors made a careful autopsy, they didn’t chance to
discover what I found,--by looking for it. That is a small puncture
in the jaw of the dead man, through which, there can be no doubt, the
poison was introduced into his system.”
“The hypodermic needle!” cried Roly Mears, quickly.
“I haven’t said so,” Stone returned, “but I do say that ‘the needle’
figured prominently among the clues I have worked from.”
“What needle?” Angel asked, interestedly.
“Oh, an old needle--” Stone began, “that--”
“Oh,” Roly exclaimed, “an old rusty needle! Blood poisoning!”
“Suppose you let Mr. Stone do the talking,” Kinney growled out; “we are
more interested in his recital, Mr. Mears, than in your comments.”
Before Roly could resent this speech, Stone resumed.
“Without further delay,” he said, “I will tell you what I at first
assumed. If I wrongly suspected an innocent man, wait, at least, until
you hear the whole story.”
“Miss Fuller,--I beg your pardon,--Mrs. Loft, will you answer a few
questions?”
“Certainly,” said Pauline, a little agitated, but reassured by Loft’s
clasp of her hand.
“Then you are willing to state that you visited Mr. Curran,--whom you
knew as Mr. Dwyer, in his room that night?”
“I did.”
“As late as two o’clock, or after?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“To ask him to stop persecuting me, and to obtain from him my picture
which he had in his watch-case.”
“And his attitude?”
Pauline hesitated, then said, bravely, “He was, he stated, still fond
of me, and asked me to remarry him. When I refused, he became sarcastic
and even brutally rude. I knew from something he had said, that he had
some letters of mine with him,--I knew that he probably had hidden
them in a drawer beneath his handkerchiefs,--for--I knew his ways. I
found the letters, and I took them, also I took his watch, which then
lay on the table between us, and I ran away to my own room.”
“Leaving Mr. Curran alive and well?”
“Perfectly so. He was laughing at my discomfiture as I closed the door
behind me. He chose to treat the whole matter lightly,--though to me it
was even then a tragedy.”
“Yes; now, think carefully, Mrs. Loft. Did you chance to see on the
table, or anywhere, a toothpick sealed in a printed paper?”
“Yes, there was one there,--a Country Club one. I paid no attention to
it, but I do remember that it was there. Why?”
“I will tell you in a moment. Remember it well,--it may prove to be
an alibi. However, you have an alibi aside from that. The doctors
are agreed that Mr. Curran died not earlier than four o’clock in the
morning. Therefore, he was alive at least an hour and a half after your
departure from his room. Mr. Meredith fixed that time at two-thirty,
and you say that yourself. Now, if Mr. Curran was killed by the poison
at four o’clock, who could have done it? Also, how did the murderer
make his exit?”
“May I call your attention to the fact, Mr. Stone,” said Kinney,
ponderously, “that those are the questions that have confronted us from
the beginning.”
“Yes, but I have learned the answers to them, Mr. Kinney.”
“Indeed,--and how did the murderer get in?”
“Mr. Curran let him in.”
“And how did he leave the room?”
“Mr. Curran let him out.”
“You are pleased to be mysterious.”
“Not at all. The murderer did not do his killing while he was in the
room.”
“Then Mr. Curran killed himself?”
“No, I do not put it that way. But I will tell you my discovery.
The puncture in Mr. Curran’s jaw, which I discovered, is inside the
mouth, and against a molar tooth. Can you wonder, that I deduced a
poisoned toothpick? At any rate I did conclude that the instrument
of death, for I could find no other. I pictured Mr. Curran, after
Miss Fuller’s departure, sitting down to think matters over, perhaps
eating a few of the nuts of which he was fond, and then, naturally,
using the toothpick,--which, let us say, had been previously dipped in
hydrocyanic acid.”
“Could such a case be possible?” asked Kinney.
“Yes,” Stone replied, “I have consulted with expert chemists who assure
me it is entirely possible.”
“You’re making it sound like my work,” Angel said, with a rueful glance
at Stone. “But I plead not guilty.”
“And wisely,” Stone returned. “Indeed, the first thing I did after
these discoveries was to examine the quill toothpick which I found in
the waste-basket. It was absolutely free from any trace of poison.”
“Then who did it?” Bob asked, his handsome face eagerly inquisitive.
“That’s what I wondered,” Stone said; “for I was so sure I had struck
the right trail. Of course, I knew that Mr. Baldwin had given Curran
that Club toothpick, and it seemed a clever deduction. But that clue
failed. So then I began to hunt a motive. And the motive I found.”
“The motive!” cried Miss Dwyer; “then you can tell who killed my
brother. Tell us quickly, Mr. Stone.”
“As quickly as possible. But the truth is so strange, the evidence
so slight, the clues so hazy that though I am convinced myself, I
cannot convince you unless you listen attentively and follow closely
my arguments. I am sure, now, that the man who killed Mr. Curran was
actuated by some circumstance connected with Mr. Curran’s collection of
books.”
“That interests me,” Angel said; “I’ve rather suspected that all along.”
“Yes,” Stone proceeded. “Now, the night of his death, Mr. Curran was
deeply interested in some items in certain catalogues.”
“He was,” Angel nodded. “He discussed them with me.”
“One catalogue in particular, Mr. Curran possessed, was not found in
his room, afterward.”
“How do you know?” Kinney asked.
“Because it was the catalogue that contained ‘The Needle.’”
“‘The Needle!’” Knox cried; “was that a book, then?”
“Yes; any great collector would know at once, that it means a very old
and rare book, called ‘Gammer Gurton’s Needle’--a volume dated 1575.”
“My brother had that book in his library,” said Miss Dwyer, proudly. “I
remember it well.”
“So does Mr. Baldwin, no doubt,” Stone said; “in fact, Mr. Baldwin
bought it for him.”
“I did,” said Angel, “and I had a high old time to find a copy.”
“Yes; now, in this catalogue I speak of there was not a copy of this
book for sale, but there was a single page of it. As some of you may
not know, book collectors pay good prices for even one leaf of a very
rare book.”
Fibsy sat on the edge of his chair, enthralled by the conversation.
Well he knew, after his afternoon’s experience, how collectors bid up
on the single leaf of a rare book!
“Well,” Stone proceeded, “as is generally known, there are unscrupulous
book dealers as well as dealers in other wares. Now, a favorite scheme
of theirs is to utilize in various ways these single leaves.”
“Aside from selling them as fragments?” Loft inquired.
“Oh, yes. They are really ingenious about it. Take this ‘Gammer
Gurton’s Needle,’ for instance. It was published in London by Thomas
Colwell, in 1575. Now, you can easily see, that the title page of such
a book would be its chief requisite. The title page missing, the volume
would be worth little in comparison with a perfect copy. So, the clever
book dealer, substitutes another title page, and so produces what is
apparently a complete copy.”
“Where does he get the other title page?” asked Baldwin, his
supercilious air denoting his superior knowledge of these matters.
“That’s the ingenious part of it. He photographs the real one.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Bob said, “but I doubt if it can be done
successfully. I know about these things, you see.”
“It might not be done in a manner to deceive you, Mr. Baldwin, or any
one who is a real connoisseur,--but it could easily fool the average
reader,--even the average collector.”
“My brother’s copy is perfect,” Miss Dwyer informed them. “I have heard
him say so,--and it has been pronounced upon by experts.”
“Doubtless,” agreed Stone. “Yet, here is what happened. Mr. Curran
had a catalogue of an auction sale, that listed a page of this old
book. Whereupon, he went to his own copy and on examination found that
several pages of his book had been extracted and photographed pages had
been put in their places. This must have been done, Miss Dwyer, since
the expert you spoke of examined the book.
“However, it had been done, and naturally, Mr. Curran was greatly
astounded and that was the matter of ‘The Needle’ he was discussing
with Mr. Baldwin.”
“Yes,” and Bob nodded his head, gravely. “I hoped to keep the matter
quiet, until I could discover who did it. But since you know of it, I
will ask you to consider it confidential. I secured one of the missing
pages at a sale this afternoon,--and I hope to get the others. I told
Mr. Curran I hoped to do this, and he was greatly pleased.”
“Yes,” Stone said; “now, you can all see, why I suspect that some one
implicated in this theft is the man who put Mr. Curran out of the way.
And, returning for a moment, to the matter of the toothpick, may I
inquire if any one noticed a toothpick on the floor the morning the
body was found.”
“Yes, there was one,” Knox said, thinking back. “Don’t you remember,
Angel, you found it on the floor--”
“And threw it in the waste-basket,” supplemented Roly.
“Threw another one in!” cried Stone, triumphantly. “Mr. Baldwin is
the clever criminal, he is the ingenious book thief,--it was he who
provided the poisoned toothpick, and after it had done its work,
he adroitly substituted a clean one for the other and placed it in
Curran’s waste-basket.”
“Pretty work, Mr. Stone,” Baldwin said, “but not very convincing. I can
see how you can perhaps think that is all so, but I defy you to prove
it.”
“Proof isn’t necessary, for you are going to confess,” Stone said,
coolly. “However, I will say, that here is the paper that contained the
toothpick in question. A mere glance will show you all that it has been
unsealed and sealed up again. This, of course, after the poisoned quill
was put into it.
“Also, I have the book of Mr. Curran’s that shows not only the
photographed page in the middle of the book, but also photographed
title page and the three back pages. You see, Mr. Baldwin borrowed
this book from Mr. Curran a few months ago. He photographed the pages,
and put them in the Curran copy, using the real ones to complete a
deficient copy that he had been able to buy for a small price. This
now perfect copy, he sold for twenty thousand dollars. The sale is on
record.”
“The jig is up!” Angel Baldwin said, but his face paled. Clearly his
jaunty air was hard to retain. “How did you catch on, Mr. Stone?”
“Curran revealed it himself. He knew of your dishonesty. He said, you
all remember, ‘Mr. S.’, and asked if that meant anything to anybody. It
showed Mr. Baldwin that Curran knew all, and meant to follow it up.”
“What had Mr. S. to do with the book?” Knox inquired.
“The title page of that old volume reads, ‘Gammer Gurton’s Needle, a
right, pithy comedy, by Mr. S.’ So, Curran’s quick wit chose that way
of revealing his knowledge of the theft of the pages.”
“That’s right,” Bob said, “it’s all true. The man was ingenious, and
so was I. You see, he knew not only of the ‘Needle’ pages, but some
few other similar bits of work I’ve put over. It doesn’t hurt the
collectors. If they don’t know it,--and they rarely do, the books
are just as good for them. And Curran brought it on himself. He
threatened to expose me, wouldn’t listen to my plea to hush it up if
I made good to him. So,--when he wanted a toothpick,--I conjured up
that scheme,--and it worked. Then I thought if I substituted a clean
toothpick that next morning, it would all blow over. Of course, I
should have confessed if Pauly had not been cleared. But after she was
free from suspicion I thought I could brazen it out. But F. Stone is
too many for me. Well, life’s a gamble, and I’ve lost.”
And then, though Stone was alertly watching for that very thing, Bob
popped something into his mouth and swallowed it.
“I feared it,” Stone said, springing to his side. “I watched him--but
he fooled me. Perhaps it’s just as well.”
Perhaps it was. No one wanted to see poor old Angel stand trial
whatever the outcome might have been. And there was hope for nothing
but the extreme penalty.
“Who’d ever think it of Bob?” Knox exclaimed, as, the women having been
put out of the room, the men clustered round the still figure.
“Yet, in a way, it was like him,” Loft said, musingly. “He always
wanted something for nothing,--to get money without doing work. And he
thought himself so secure in this nefarious business of his, that to
find Curran ready to expose him was more than he could stand. And his
quick, clever brain seized on that toothpick idea at once. Of course,
he had the poison stuff in his photographic outfit.”
“You get out of here, Valentine,” Knox said; “we’ll look after all the
necessary details. You go and pick up Pauline and I’ll call your car,
and you two fly down to New York and begin your honeymoon. Skittle,
now!”
Loft hesitated a moment, but the thought of Pauline decided him. “I
will, Ned, you’re a brick,” and Loft went off at once.
“Come, Pauly,” he said, as he returned to her in the drawing room,
“we’re going to hook jack! Get your wraps.”
“I believe I promised to obey,” said Pauline, smiling through tears.
“Will you look after the house, Countess?”
“Yes, of course,” and getting the drift of things, the Countess and
Anna hurried off with Pauline to throw some things in a suit-case for
her.
And in less than a half hour the bride and groom started on their
wedding journey, the rest of the household went to their rooms and
Detective Kinney took charge of all that was left of the gay, careless,
and irresponsible Angel Bob Baldwin, while he mused on the cleverness
of the great detective who had deduced the truth from the “feathers
left around.”
THE END
=TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES=
Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced
quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and
otherwise left unbalanced.
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.