Characteristic as it was of Colonel Ashley not to show surprise, he
could hardly restrain an indication of it when he reached The Haven, and
found Miss Mary Carwell and Viola there. They were not expected until
the next day, but while her niece was temporarily absent Miss Carwell
explained the matter.
“She couldn't stand it another minute. She insisted that I should pack
and come with her. Something seemed to drive her home.”
“I hope,” said the Colonel gently, “that she didn't imagine that I
wasn't doing all possible, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, no, it wasn't anything like that. She just wanted to be at home.
And I think, too,” and Miss Carwell lowered her voice, after a glance at
the door, “that she wanted to see him.”
“You mean--?”
“Mr. Bartlett! There's no use disguising the fact that his family and
ours aren't on friendly terms. I think he did a grave injustice to my
brother in a business way, and I'll never forgive him for it. I don't
want to see Viola marry him--that is I didn't. I hardly believe, now,
after he has been arrested, that she will. But there is no doubt she
cares for him, and would do anything to prove that this charge was
groundless.”
“Well, yes, I suppose that's natural,” assented the detective. “I'd be
glad, myself, to believe that Harry Bartlett had nothing to do with the
death of Mr. Carwell.”
“But you believe he did have, don't you?”
“I haven't yet made up my mind,” was the cautious answer. “The golf
course mystery, I don't mind admitting, is one of the most puzzling I've
ever run across. It won't do to make up one's mind at once.”
“But my brother either committed suicide, or else he was deliberately
poisoned!” insisted Miss Carwell. “And those of us who knew him feel
sure he would never take his own life. He must have been killed, and if
Harry Bartlett didn't do it who did?”
“I don't know,” frankly replied the colonel. “That's what I'm going to
try to find out. So Miss Viola feels much sympathy for him, does she?”
“Yes. And she wants to go to see him at the jail. Of course I know they
don't exactly call it a jail, but that's what I call it!”
Miss Carwell was nothing if not determined in her language.
“Would you let her go if you were I--go to see him?” she asked.
“I don't see how you are going to prevent it,” replied the colonel.
“Miss Viola is of legal age, and she seems to have a will of her own.
But I hardly believe that she will see Mr. Bartlett.”
“Oh, but she said she was going to. That's one reason she made me come
home ahead of time, I believe. She says she's going to see him, and what
she says she'll do she generally does.”
“However I don't believe she'll see him,” went on the detective. “The
prosecutor has given orders since yesterday that no one except Mr.
Bartlett's legal adviser must communicate with him; so I don't believe
Miss Viola will be admitted.”
This proved to be correct. Viola was very insistent, but to no avail.
The warden at the jail would not admit her to the witness rooms, where
Harry Bartlett paced up and down, wondering, wondering, and wondering.
And much of his wonder had to do with the girl who tried so hard to see
him.
She had sent word by his lawyer that she believed in his innocence and
that she would do all she could for him, but he wanted more than that.
He wanted to see her--to feast his hungry eyes on her--to hold her hand,
to--Oh, well, what was the use? he wearily asked himself. Would the
horrible tangle ever be straightened out? He shook his head and resumed
his pacing of the rooms--for there were two at his disposal. He was
weary to death of the dismal view to be had through the barred windows.
“Did you see him?” asked her aunt, when Viola, much dispirited, returned
home.
“No, and I suppose you're glad of it!”
“I am. There's no use saying I'm not.”
“Aunt Mary, I think it's perfectly horrid of you to think, even for a
moment, that Harry had anything to do with this terrible thing. He'd
never dream of it, not if he had quarreled with my father a dozen times.
And I don't see what they quarreled about, either. I'm sure I was with
Harry a good deal of the time before the game, and I didn't hear him and
my father have any words.”
“Perhaps, as it was about you, they took care you shouldn't hear.”
“Who says it was about me?”
“Can't you easily guess that it was, and that's why Harry doesn't want
to tell?” asked Miss Mary.
“I don't believe anything of the sort!” declared Viola.
“Well,” sighed Miss Carwell, “I don't know what to believe. If your
poor, dear father wasn't a suicide, some one must have killed him, and
it may well have been--”
“Don't dare say it was Harry!” cried Viola excitedly. “Oh, this is
terrible! I'm going to see Colonel Ashley and ask him if he can't end
this horrible suspense.”
“I wish that as eagerly as you do,” said Miss Mary. “You'll find the
colonel in the library. He's poring over some papers, and Shag, that
funny colored man, is getting some fish lines ready; so it's easy enough
to guess where the colonel is going. If you want to speak to him
you'd better hurry. But there's another matter I want to call to your
attention. What about our business affairs? Have we money enough to go
on living here and keeping up our big winter house? We must think of
that, Viola.”
“Yes, we must think of that,” agreed the girl. “That's one of the
reasons why I wanted to come back. Father's affairs must be gone into
carefully. He left no will, and the lawyer says it will take quite a
while to find out just how things stand. If only Harry were here to
help. He's such a good business man.”
“There are others,” sniffed Miss Mary. “Why don't you ask the
colonel--or Captain Poland?”
“Captain Poland!” exclaimed Viola, startled.
“Yes. He helped us out in the matter of the bank when more
collateral was asked for, and he'll be glad to go over the affairs
with us, I'm sure.”
“I don't want him to!” snapped Viola. “Mr. Blossom is the proper one
to do that. He is the chief clerk, and since he was going to form a
partnership with father he will, most likely, know all the details.
We'll have him up here and ask him how matters stand.”
“Perhaps that will be wise,” agreed Miss Carwell. “But I can't forget
how careless LeGrand Blossom was in the matter of the loan your father
had from the bank. If he's that careless, his word won't be worth much,
I'm afraid.”
“Oh, any one is likely to make a mistake,” said Viola. “I'll telephone
to Mr. Blossom and ask him to come here and have a talk with us. It will
give me something to think about. Besides--”
She did not finish, but went to the instrument and was soon talking to
the chief clerk in the office Mr. Carwell maintained while at his summer
home.
“He'll be up within an hour,” Viola reported. “Now I'm going to have a
talk with the colonel,” and she hastened to the library.
The old detective was smoking a cigar, which he hastened to lay aside
when Viola made her entrance, but she raised a restraining hand.
“Smoke as much as you like,” she said. “I am used to it.”
“Thank you,” and he pulled forward a chair for her.
“Oh, haven't you found out anything yet?” she burst out. “Can't you say
anything definite?”
Colonel Ashley shook his head in negation.
“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I'm just as sorry about it as you are.
But I have seldom had a case in which there were so many clews that lead
into blind allies. I was just trying to arrange a plan of procedure that
I thought might lead to something.”
“Can you?” she asked eagerly.
“I haven't finished yet. What I need most is a book on poisons-a
comprehensive chemistry would do, but I haven't been able to find one
around here,” and he glanced at the books lining the library walls.
“Your father didn't go in for that sort of thing.”
“No. But can't you send to New York for one?”
“I suppose I could--yes. I wonder if they might have one in the local
library?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” and Viola leaned over to pick a thread from the
carpet. “I don't draw books from there. When it was first opened I took
out a card, but when I saw how unclean some of the volumes were I never
afterward patronized the place.”
“Then you wouldn't know whether they had a book on poisons, or poison
plants or not?”
“I wouldn't in the least,” she answered, as she arose. “As I said, I
don't believe I have been in the place more than twice, and that was two
years ago.”
“Then I'll have to inquire myself,” said the colonel, and he remained
standing while Viola left the room. And for some little time he stood
looking at the door as it closed after her. And on Colonel Ashley's face
there was a peculiar look.
LeGrand Blossom came to The Haven bearing a bundle of books and papers,
and with rather a wry face--for he had no heart for business of this
nature. Miss Mary Carwell sat down at the table with him and Viola.
“We want to know just where we stand financially,” said Viola. “What is
the condition of my father's affairs, Mr. Blossom?”
The confidential clerk hesitated a moment before answering. Then he said
slowly:
“Well, the affairs are anything but good. There is a great deal of money
gone, and some of the securities left are pledged for loans.”
“You mean my father spent a lot of money just before he died?” asked
Viola.
“He either spent it or--Well, yes, he must have spent it, for it is
gone. The car cost ten thousand, and he spent as much, if not more, on
the yacht.”
“But they can be sold. I don't want either of them. I'm afraid in the
big car,” said Viola, “and the yacht isn't seaworthy, I've heard. I
wouldn't take a trip in her.”
“I don't know anything about that,” said LeGrand Blossom. “But even
if the car and yacht were sold at a forced sale they would not bring
anything like what they cost. I have gone carefully over your father's
affairs, as you requested me, and I tell you frankly they are in bad
shape.”
“What can be done?” asked Miss Carwell.
“I don't know,” LeGrand Blossom frankly admitted. “You may call in an
expert, if you like, to go over the books; but I don't believe he would
come to any other conclusion than I have. As a matter of fact, I had a
somewhat selfish motive in looking into your father's affairs of late.
You know I was thinking of going into partnership with him, and--and--”
He did not finish.
Viola nodded.
“Perhaps I might say that he was good enough to offer me the chance,”
the young man went on. “And, as I was to invest what was, to me, a
large sum, I wanted to see how matters were. So I examined the books
carefully, as your father pressed me to do. At that time his affairs
were in good shape. But of late he had lost a lot of money.”
“Will it make any difference to us?” and Viola included her aunt in her
gesture.
“Well, you, Miss Carwell,” and Blossom nodded to the older lady, “have
your own money in trust funds. Mr. Carwell could not touch them. But he
did use part of the fortune left you by your mother,” he added to Viola.
“I don't mind that,” was her steady answer. “If my father needed my
money he was welcome to it. That is past and gone. What now remains to
me?”
“Very little,” answered LeGrand Blossom. “I may be able to pull the
business through and save something, but there is a lot of money
lost--spent or gone somewhere. I haven't yet found out. Your father
speculated too much, and unwisely. I told him, but he would pay no heed
to me.”
“Do you think he knew, before his death, that his affairs were in such
bad shape?” asked the dead man's sister.
“He must have, for I saw him going over the books several times.”
“Do you think this knowledge impelled him to--to end his life?” faltered
Viola.
LeGrand Blossom considered a moment before answering. Then he slowly
said:
“It was either that, or--or, well, some one killed him. There are no two
ways about it.”
“I believe some one killed him!” burst out Viola. “But I think the
authorities have made a horrible mistake in detaining Mr. Bartlett,” she
added. “Don't you, Mr. Blossom?”
“I--er--I don't know what to think. Your father had some enemies, it is
true. Every business man has. And a person with a temper easily aroused,
such as--”
LeGrand Blossom stopped suddenly.
“You were about to name some one?” asked Viola.
“Well, I was about to give, merely as an instance, Jean Forette the
chauffeur. Not that I think the Frenchman had a thing to do with the
matter. But he has a violent temper at times, and again he is as meek as
any one I ever knew. But say a person did give way to violent passion,
such as I have seen him do at times when something went wrong with the
big, new car, might not such a person, for a fancied wrong, take means
of ending the life of a person who had angered him?”
“I never liked Jean Forette,” put in Miss Carwell, “and I was glad when
I heard Horace was to let him go.”
“Do you think--do you believe he had anything to do with my father's
death?” asked Viola quickly.
“Not the least in the world,” answered the head clerk hastily. “I just
used him as an illustration.”
“But he quarreled with my father,” the girl went on. “They had words, I
know.”
“Yes, they did, and I heard some of them,” admitted LeGrand Blossom.
“But that passed over, and they were friendly enough the day of the
golf game. So there could not have been murder in the heart of that
Frenchman. No, I don't mean even to hint at him: but I believe some one,
angry at, and with a grudge against, your father, ended his life.”
“I believe that, too!” declared Viola firmly. “And while I feel, as you
do, about Jean, still it is a clew that must not be overlooked. I'll
tell Colonel Ashley.”
“I fancy he knows it already,” said LeGrand Blossom. “There isn't much
that escapes that fisherman.”