Julie Baxter
Richard Bates and the two detectives stood waiting for the already
summoned elevator to take them downstairs.
“You see,” Gibbs was saying, “in nearly every investigation there’s
somebody who won’t tell where he was at the time of the crime.”
“I will tell that,” exploded Bates, “only I won’t tell where I was
through the evening, and, you know yourself, that has nothing to do with
the case.”
“I know, and, nine times out of ten, it doesn’t matter what the people
were doing who refuse to tell. But it might make a difference, and it’s
always a bother to be worrying about it.”
“Why worry?”
“Because it may pay. According to Corson’s hunch, two of those chorus
chicks don’t want to tell where they were at the time of the crime——”
“Oh, well, they wouldn’t——”
“I know; but it’s an uncertainty. Now, take your aunt. She falsified
about hearing your front door close just now. I’ve a full belief that
was merely because of a piffling vanity about her deafness,—a thing
nobody wants to admit,—but, I wish she hadn’t, for it proves that she
is not above prevarication.”
“I don’t think she would fib in any serious matter,” vouchsafed Richard.
“You don’t think so because you don’t want to think so. That can’t cut
any ice with me, you know.”
The elevator stopped and the three went down.
In a business-like way, Gibbs rounded up all the girl employees
available and put them through a rigid investigation.
They were a voluble lot, and it was easier to get information than to
prevent it.
Daisy Lee was among the most vindictive. Although a frail, pale little
thing, she was full of indignation at the late Sir Herbert’s ways, and
expressed herself without reserve.
“He was an old nuisance!” she averred; “he was free with his presents
and he was a gentleman,—I’ll say that for him,—but he thought he could
pat any girl on her shoulder or even snatch a kiss, without making her
mad. He made me so mad I wanted to kill him,—and I told him so, lots of
times. I didn’t, and there’s no way I could have done it, so I am not
afraid to say that I would have stabbed him myself if I’d had a good
chance!”
“You don’t mean that, Miss Lee,” said Gibbs, coolly, “and you’re only
saying it to make a sensation.”
“Why, what a story!” and Daisy turned on him. “Well, that is, I don’t
suppose I really would have done the actual killing, but I’d have the
will to.”
“Quite a different matter,” said the detective, “and your will would
have fizzled out at the critical moment.”
“Of course it would,” put in Julie Baxter, the telephone girl. “Daisy’s
an awful bluffer. None of us girls would kill anybody. But one and all
we are glad to be rid of Sir Herbert, though I can’t help being sorry
he’s killed.”
“You mean you’d have been glad to be rid of him in some more peaceable
fashion?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. He was insufferable——”
“In what way?”
“Not only, as Daisy says, because he had free manners, but he was silly,
beside. Always saying, ‘Well, little one, how do you like my new
necktie?’ or some foolishness like that.”
Richard Bates looked uncomfortable. “Need I stay?” he inquired. “You
must realize I dislike to hear this talk about my uncle.”
“Stay, please,” returned Corson, briefly; “and, young ladies, don’t give
us any more of your opinions of Sir Herbert, but tell, if you know, of
any circumstance bearing on his death.”
Apparently none knew of any such, and the girls looked at each other in
silence.
“And now, tell me where you were at two A. M., each of you, and then you
may be excused.”
Every one declared that she had been home and in bed at that hour,
except Julie Baxter. She, with a fine show of independence, refused to
disclose her whereabouts at that time.
“There it is again,” said Corson in despair. “Now, Miss Baxter, I don’t
think that your reticence necessarily incriminates you at all, but it
leaves room for doubt. Take my word for it, it would be wiser and far
better for you to tell frankly where you were, even if it calls for
criticism from your mates.”
“But I won’t tell,” and Julie looked very stubborn.
“You’d rather be arrested and held on suspicion?”
“You can’t arrest me without a speck of evidence! Nor you can’t scare me
by such threats.”
“It isn’t an idle threat, and you can be held for further inquiry, if I
say so.”
“You won’t say so, and anyway I won’t say where I was last night. But I
will say I was up to no harm, and had no hand in the death of Sir
Herbert Binney.”
“I don’t, as yet, think you did; but let me remark that if you _were_
implicated in the matter you would act and speak just as you do now. You
would, of course, asseverate your innocence——”
“Of course I should. So, now, Mr Smarty-Cat, what are you going to do
about it?”
Julie’s eyes snapped with anger that seemed almost vicious, and she
tossed her head independently, while the other girls showed little or no
sympathy. She was not a favorite with her fellow-workers; they called
her stuck-up, and she not only refused to take them into her confidence
as to her amusements and entertainments, but she often whetted their
curiosity by mysterious hints of grand doings of which she never told
them definitely.
She lived in herself during her hours on duty, and even in the rest room
she was never chummy or chatty like the rest.
Wherefore, there were surprised glances and nodding heads in her
direction, and Daisy Lee sniffed openly.
“Huh,” she said, “Julie Baxter, you’re too smart. You were more friendly
with Sir Binney than any of us. He gave you twice the candy he did any
one else, and I know you’ve been out to dinner with him!”
“I have not!” declared Julie, but a flush on her cheeks and a quiver of
her eyelids left room for doubt as to her truthfulness.
“Also,” and Corson flung this at her, “also, on the paper was written
‘get B-a-’ and _also_, we’ve been told that the dying man tried to
articulate a name beginning with J!”
“Now, Miss Baxter, do you still deny all implication in the affair?”
Gibbs leaned forward and stared into her eyes.
“I do!” she cried, but her voice was hysterical and her manner agitated.
Vainly she strove to keep her self-control, but, unable to do so and
broke into a fit of uncontrollable weeping.
“Oh, I say, Corson,” said tender-hearted Bates, “you oughtn’t to bully
her! That’s nothing short of third degree!”
“Well, I’ll put it through, if I can get the truth that way. Now, Miss
Baxter, if you’ll tell us, in your own self-defense where you were that
night, you may go. If not, I think we’ll have to ask you to go away with
us to——”
“Don’t take me away!” moaned Julie, “and don’t ask me about last night!
I didn’t kill him—truly, I didn’t!”
“But you know something about it,—you must be detained as a material
witness——”
“Wait till I talk to somebody—ask somebody’s advice——”
“She means Bob Moore,” Daisy informed them; “they’re engaged, and
Julie’ll say just what Bob tells her to.”
“Oho! You’re engaged to Moore, eh?” and Gibbs gazed at her with fresh
interest.
And then, stepping from the door of the elevator, came Dorcas Everett,
and Richard Bates lost all desire to hear further evidence from the
questioned girls.
With a brief but determined apology, he left the alcove, where they had
been talking, and hurried to Dorcas’ side.
“Have you heard?” he said, as he fell into step and walked with her
toward the door.
“Yes; I can’t talk here,—I can’t breathe! Can we go for a walk?”
“Of course, why not?”
“I thought you were busy with those—people.”
“Perhaps they think so, too, but I don’t care! Come on; hasten your
steps just a little and don’t look back.”
Apparently carelessly, but really with a feeling of stealth, the pair
made their way to the street, Bates feeling guiltily conscious of the
detectives’ disapproval, and Dorcas afraid of her action being reported
to her mother.
“I’ve been waiting so to see you,” she exclaimed, as soon as they were
at a safe distance from The Campanile. “Do tell me all about it! My
mother has gone to call on your aunt,—and I thought I’d come down and
see if I could run across you. Mother’ll be there some time, I’ve no
doubt, and I took a chance.”
“Bless you! But, tell me, how did your mother hear? What do you know? I
mean, what’s the general report?”
“Nothing definite, but all sorts of rumors,—which mother tried to keep
from me. But she and Kate were talking, and I found out that the
chambermaid told them that woman had killed Sir Herbert. Mother told me
he had died suddenly, but she didn’t know I overheard about the murder.”
“Yes; it’s true. He was murdered and he left a dying statement that
women did it. It’s a horrible affair, and I wish you needn’t know the
details. Can’t you go away or something till it is all past history?”
“Oh, I don’t want to. I’m no child to be put to bed like that! But
Mother has been urging me to go away,—and yesterday she said she’s
going to move anyway. If she should send me to Auntie Fayre’s—but she
won’t——”
“If she should, what?” cried Richard, eagerly; “Do you mean that in that
case, we might meet now and then?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant,—but, we couldn’t if this matter is public
property, and I suppose it is, or will be?”
“Yes, of course; but it can’t last long. You see, dear, there’s bound to
be an awful disclosure of some sort. Women don’t kill a man without some
big reason,—at least big to them.”
“But who did it? What women?”
“We don’t know. The probabilities are that it was some girls he had
flirted with. Oh, Dork, don’t ask questions; it’s a disgraceful affair,
I fear. I don’t know,—if a man had done it, I should think it merely
the result of Uncle’s wild temper. He was awful when in a rage. But the
feminine element makes only unpleasant theories possible. And yet, Uncle
was a gentleman and a decent one. I believe it was the work of some
women who had a fancied grievance and who were jealous or revengeful for
some foolish reason. But, of course, there’s no telling what evidence
will turn up. And I must be prepared for embarrassing disclosures.”
“You’re the heir, aren’t you, Rick?”
“So far as I know. Uncle made me that, but he may have changed his mind.
His lawyers have his will, and I’ve made no inquiries as yet. You see,
Dork, there’s so much to see to. Why, I’ve got to take care of Aunt
Letty and Eliza,—I mean, shield them from publicity and reporters and
all that. I’ve no business to sneak off here with you, but I couldn’t
help it!”
“But tell me this; what women are suspected? What ones are possible
suspects?”
“Some chorus girls and the house girls, so far.”
“House girls? You mean the elevator girls——”
“Yes, and telephone operators and perhaps chambermaids,—oh, Dorrie,
Uncle Bin was the sort of a man who is jolly with any woman. I’m willing
to bet there was never a really wrong idea in his head, but he was so
carelessly gay and chummy with them all, that a vicious or wicked woman
could play the devil with him!”
“Poor Sir Herbert,—I rather liked him.”
“He liked you,—he said so. And he was in favor of our marriage, which
is more than we can say for any of our nearer relatives.”
“Yes, indeed! Mother gets more and more wrathy about Miss Letty every
day of her life,—and I expect this matter will just about finish her!”
“I suppose so. Now, we must get back, for my reasons and your own good.
When can I see you again?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It all depends on the outcome of the present meeting
of the two. If your aunt seems to want sympathy or help I daresay Mother
would feel kindly toward her in this trouble. But if Miss Letty is
uppish and reserved,—as I fear she will be,—then Mother will go for
her! I’m only imagining all this; I’ve no idea what will really happen.”
Poor little Dorcas, it was well for her present peace of mind that she
hadn’t!
The two walked slowly back to The Campanile, almost forgetting the
tragedy that had come so close to them, in the content of being
together.
Corson met them at the door.
“Been looking for you,” he said to Bates. “And, Miss Everett, your
mother is inquiring where you are. She left word for you to go to her
the moment you appeared.”
“Yes,” Dorcas returned, and then, shyly, “Please don’t say I was with Mr
Bates, will you?”
Corson looked at her, with interest. Pretty Dorcas, her shy, brown eyes
falling at the idea of asking for secrecy, but her judgment, already
trained in diplomacy, telling her it was necessary.
“I won’t,” and Corson smiled at her, “if, you’ll answer a question or
two. Where were you last night at two o’clock?”
“In bed and asleep,” said the girl simply.
“Thank goodness you don’t refuse to tell! And at what time did you
retire?”
“About eleven.”
“And where had you spent the evening?”
“Oh, I say, Corson,” and Bates interrupted, “that’s in the class with
your grilling of me. You know Miss Everett isn’t implicated, you know
you’re asking her that because you’ve got the habit. Run along, Dorcas,
you don’t have to be quizzed any more.”
Dorcas turned quickly, and just managed to catch an up-bound elevator as
its door was about to close.
“Now, you let her alone, Corson,” said Bates, sharply. “I don’t mind
telling you she’s the girl I intend to marry, but we’re not really
engaged. That is, it isn’t announced. And I ask you, as man to man, to
say nothing of it, to say nothing to her, and to keep her out of it all
you can. Lord knows, you’ve no reason to think of her in connection with
the horrible affair!”
“No; except as she’s interested in you, and you’re the heir.”
“Forget it. Who told you I was the heir?”
“Everybody knows it,—it’s in all the papers.”
“I haven’t looked at a paper! Lord, I don’t think I can!”
“Better not; they’re not pretty reading.”
“What do you mean? Any aspersions against my uncle’s character?”
“No, not that. But when the word women occurs in connection with the
murder of a rich and influential man, there’s bound to be surmise,—at
least.”
“Oh, I suppose so. Well, do you want me down here? I’d like to go up to
see my aunt.”
“Wait a minute. Have you ever thought, Mr Bates, that the feud between
your aunt and Mrs Everett is a mighty queer affair?”
“I’ve often thought that, but,—pardon me,—don’t get outside your own
proper boundaries!”
“Oh, I’m not. Now, a queer thing, like that feud, has to be taken into
consideration.”
“Not in connection with the murder of my Uncle Binney.”
“Maybe not in direct connection, but as a side light. You know the feud
has a decided bearing on your affair with Miss Everett.”
“I object to your use of the word ‘affair.’ My friendship with Miss
Everett is in spite of, even in defiance of, the feud between her mother
and my aunt. I make no secret of it to you, but as I advise you, the
matter is confidential. I’m treating you as a fellow-man, Corson, and I
don’t want you to abuse my confidence in your fellowship, or
your—manliness.”
Corson fidgeted a little and returned, “I’ve got to do my duty, Mr
Bates, and part of my duty seems to me to be to tell you that I’m not
allowed to observe confidences if they affect my orders.”
“They don’t! How can your investigations of this murder case be affected
by my friendship for Miss Everett?”
“They can,—in a way. You see, I know a lot about this feud business. I
know how inimical, how full of vicious hatred those two women are, and
have been for years. And I know how your recent special interest in Miss
Everett has roused the renewed anger of not only your aunt, but her
mother——”
“Phew! You do know it all, don’t you?”
“I do. Therefore, I felt I must inform you of the extent of my
knowledge, so you and I can understand each other. Now, drop the subject
for the moment, for I’ve other matters to speak of. Where do you suppose
the weapon is?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea! How could I have?”
“Do you know what the weapon was?”
“Only what the doctor said, a very sharp knife of some sort.”
“Yes; now did you know that the doctor has also said that the stroke
delivered by that same sharp knife was so well planted, so skillfully
driven home, that it implies the work of some one with a knowledge of
anatomy?”
“A doctor?”
“Not necessarily,—unless a woman doctor. But, what other idea suggests
itself?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t ask me riddles.”
“A nurse, then. Can’t you see the reasonableness of suspecting a trained
nurse, after Dr Pagett’s opinions?”
“All right; where’s your trained nurse in Sir Herbert’s bright galaxy of
beauty?”
“That’s a point to be looked up. But, I may tell you that Julie Baxter
studied nursing before she took up telephone work.”
“H’m. Might be coincidence.”
“Of course it _might_. But we have to investigate coincidences. You
don’t know of any nurse or ex-nurse in your uncle’s circle of friends?”
“Friends seems to me an inappropriate word.”
“Look here, Mr Bates, you let my choice of words alone, and answer my
questions.”
“All right, I will. I don’t know of any nurse at all and I shouldn’t
tell you if I did!”
“Not a very wise remark on your part, Mr Bates,” and Corson looked at
him meaningly.
“I don’t care whether it’s wise or not. You make me disgusted with
detective work! Why do you go around sneaking up on any woman you can
hear of? Why don’t you go about it from the other side? Find a motive
for the murder and then find the criminal who had the motive! Don’t
suspect this one because she studied nursing and that one because the
old gentleman kissed her! It isn’t a unique case, my uncle’s fancy for
chorus girls,—but it by no means indicates the result of murder! Get
the weapon, then find its owner. Get a clue,—a real, material clue, and
then trace the criminal. Get some evidence,—actual, spoken or
circumstantial,—and deduce your facts from it. For heaven’s sake, do
some real detective work, and not just dance around questioning any
kiddy-girl you happen to see!”
“Your words are not without reason,” and Corson gave Bates a peculiar
smile. “Indeed, I had some idea of doing just what you suggest. But one
of the first things to do in the hunt for evidence is to find out where
your uncle was last night between twelve and two. You see, the people at
the Magnifique say he sent the girls home by themselves and then soon
after went off himself in the neighborhood of midnight. Next he’s heard
of at two A. M. dying on the floor of the onyx lobby! Where was he in
the meantime?”
“That’s truly a most important question to be answered,” said Richard,
very seriously. “On that depends far more than on the frightened
admissions or denials of a lot of excited young women.”
“I quite agree with you,” said the detective.