Seek the Women
Late that night,—in fact it was about midnight, when the onyx lobby was
practically deserted save for an occasional late home-comer,—the two
detectives arrived for a confab with Bob Moore.
This greatly pleased the night porter for he hoped to be looked upon as
a sort of assistant detective, and felt sure he could be of valuable
help.
“You know, Moore,” Gibbs began, “there are people who are looking
askance at you, with a sort of half-formed suspicion that you know more
about this thing than you have told. But I don’t think that,—at least,
I think you are willing to tell all you know, if you haven’t already
done so. How about it?”
“Why, it’s this way, Mr Gibbs. I am ready to tell all I know, and I
think I have done so, but you can’t expect me to tell what I suspect or
surmise or imagine. Can you, now? It might lose my place for me. Also, I
might injure an innocent person.”
“I think,” spoke up Corson, “you ought to tell us anything you suspect;
it need go no further and if your suspicions are mistaken ones, they
can’t harm the innocent.”
“Well, then, I’ve got my eye on two of the chambermaids. They are great
chums, and one is on the seventh and eighth floors, the other on the
ninth and tenth. But floors don’t matter; they chum around with each
other. Well, these two are the most canny old hens you ever knew.
They’re no chickens, and they have an eye out for the main chance all
the time. I mean they toady to the people who are rich or generous and
they scamp their work in places where they’re not ‘remembered.’ Also
they’re specially attentive to the work of gentlemen who live alone.
Why, Sir Herbert’s rooms were kept as neat as a bandbox. And Mr Goodwin
and Mr Vail,—they’re both up on the tenth,—their rooms are immaculate.
And yet, there’s the Prall place neglected, ’cause Miss Prall don’t
believe much in fees, and as for the Everetts, why, _she_ says she can’t
get anything tended to!”
“Doesn’t she ‘remember’ the housemaid, either?”
“Some; but in her case, it’s more her sharp tongue and her fussy ways.
Miss Prall, now, she’s on the outs with Mrs Everett,—I know that,—but
she’s decent-spoken to the maids. Only, she’s stingy. Well, what I’m
getting at is, those two chambermaids are regular devils, if you ask me,
and though Sir Herbert Binney was generous enough when he liked the work
people, he didn’t like his chambermaid, and he was as ugly as Cain to
her. Used to call her down for the least thing and laid her out cold if
she sauced him back.”
“Then you think the ‘women’ might have referred to these two maids?”
“That’s just it. I only think it may have done so. I’ve no evidence
except that they are more the type of women it seems possible to
suspect. These little girls,—it don’t seem’s if they could manage the
deed. But Jane and Maggie could have worked it if they’d wanted to.
They’re big, husky women and they’ve dogged, sullen tempers. And, of
course, what made me think most about it, was your finding that
paper-knife of Miss Prall’s. Now, if Miss Prall had killed
Binney,—which is ridiculous on the face of it!—she’d been too cute to
leave the knife around, but those ignorant chambermaids——”
“I don’t agree,” Corson interrupted. “The woman,—which one is the
Prall’s chambermaid?”
“Maggie.”
“Well, Maggie then,—she couldn’t have taken the knife from Miss Prall’s
table without its being missed, and Miss Letitia is not the one to lose
her property without a word! No, sir, that paper-knife points straight
to Letitia Prall. Moreover, she had motive; she wanted the old gentleman
out of the way for two reasons. First, so Pet Nephew could inherit the
old man’s money, and, second, because the uncle was in favor of the
marriage of young Bates with Miss Everett, the daughter of Miss Prall’s
deadly enemy!”
“Where’d you get all that dope, Corson?” Gibbs said in astonishment.
“Partly by quizzing round and partly by putting two and two together.
Anyway, it’s all true, the motives, I mean. Now, confidentially, just
among us three here, could she have done it? I mean, was it physically
possible?”
“Anything is possible for Miss Prall,” said Moore, quite seriously. “She
is a Tartar, that lady is. And whatever she sets out to do, she
does,—irrespective of whether it can be done or not!”
“I mean this. Could she have come downstairs from the eighth floor
without being seen——”
“Of course she must have been seen,” broke in Moore. “Whether she came
down in the elevator or walked down the stairs she must have been seen.
She could have come down the servants’ stairs, but that would have been
even more conspicuous.”
“At two in the morning?”
“No; there’d probably be no servants around then.”
“So she could have done that, and waited, say, outside,——”
“Oh, nonsense! Waited out in the street at that hour?” Gibbs demurred;
“that’s too much to swallow!”
“But she may have known just about the hour Sir Binney expected to
return. Anyway, suppose she did do that, and then, having succeeded, she
slipped back to the servants’ entrance and hid the knife where it was
found and then scuttled back upstairs the way she came.”
“But the paper said, ‘women,’” mused Moore.
“That companion person was with her,” declared Corson, triumphantly.
“Those two are great in team-work. Miss Gurney doubtless acted as scout
and kept a lookout and Miss Prall did the deed.”
“Oh, Mr Corson, I can’t think it!” exclaimed Moore.
“Because you know Miss Prall only as a tenant of this house. You know
nothing of what she may be capable of when her spirit is fired. And as
far as I’m concerned, it’s far easier to believe that she did it, than
that it was the work of some foolish little girls scarcely out of their
teens! Miss Prall is not only a strong-minded woman, and a
strong-muscled woman, but she has a strong personality with practically
illimitable powers of loving and hating. For her the sun rises and sets
in young Bates, and in the other direction she is all wrapped up in her
hatred of Mrs Everett.
“What’s Mrs Everett got to do with the murder?” growled Moore.
“Nothing, that I know of, but she works in this way. Her daughter is in
love with Richard Bates, and neither of the women will stand for the
marriage of the two young people. Why, I think Mrs Everett and Miss
Prall would see their young charges dead rather than married to one
another. Now, Sir Herbert Binney favored the match. Therefore Miss Prall
wanted him out of the way. Again, he favored young Bates going into the
Bun business instead of sticking to his inventions. Therefore, again,
Miss Prall wanted Binney out of the way. So, what would a woman of her
caliber and her determination do, but put him out of the way?”
“Plausible enough,” and Gibbs thought deeply.
“And so, I’m asking Moore,” Corson went on, “how he thinks Miss Prall
could have compassed her awful plan and he’s solved any uncertainty by
suggesting the servants’ staircase at an hour so late that it was almost
certain to be unused.”
“I don’t say I believe she did do it,” Moore began, “but I have to say
she could have done it that way. She must have known just about the time
he’d come home——”
“That’s not difficult to assume,” Corson defended his theory, “he
probably told her that. And she could have waited around some time,—it
was a mild night.”
“But how could she be sure she’d have the chance in the lobby?” asked
Gibbs, his incredulity fast dwindling.
“Oh, she wasn’t sure. She took a chance. I mean, she may have waylaid
him outside, don’t you see, and kept him there talking until she saw
Moore go up in the elevator with somebody. This place is so brightly
lighted that any one outside could see that. Or they could have been
inside, standing in the shadow of the big pillars for a long
time,—unnoticed.”
“Have you any clews?” asked Bob Moore of the detectives.
“Dropped handkerchiefs and such like?” asked Gibbs, mockingly. “No; and
if there were footprints, they’re washed away now. But those things are
only for story-books,—such as you’re eternally reading, Moore.”
“I do read a lot of ’em, and it’s astonishing, but most always a
criminal leaves some trace.”
“In the stories,—yes. In real life, they’re not so obliging. But let’s
look at the spot. We might get an idea,—if nothing more tangible.”
The three went along the lobby till they reached the place where Sir
Herbert had breathed his last. Marks had been drawn to indicate the
blood spots that were so quickly washed off, and these still showed
clearly. The body had been found crumpled on the floor, in the angle
made by the great square base of an onyx pillar and the wall.
They saw, of course, no traces of any personality, but as they looked
each began to reconstruct the scene mentally.
“I think they were concealed here for some time,” Corson said. “If they
stood here talking, the pillar would partly shield them from view of
others entering. Nor could they be easily seen by Moore, in the back of
the lobby.”
“Maybe,” Moore agreed hesitantly, “but if Miss Prall and Sir Herbert had
come in together I bet I’d seen ’em.”
“Not if you were up in the elevator,” said Corson.
“No; of course not. That might have been the case.”
“And then, when you took Mr Vail up, was no doubt the moment she chose
to stab him and immediately pulled out the knife and ran away.”
“We know,” said Moore, positively, “that whoever did it, did it while I
took Mr Vail up, and that the murderer then pulled out the knife and ran
away. But that’s not saying it was Miss Prall. And I’ve got to have some
sort of evidence before I’ll believe it was. Her desire to be rid of Sir
Herbert isn’t enough, to my mind, to indicate that she killed him. Can
you tie it onto her any more definitely?”
“Her ownership of the knife, and her making no effort to find it, though
missing, are evidence enough for me,” said Corson doggedly. “And, how’d
those little chorus chickens get it, if they’re the ones?”
“I don’t think they’re the ones,” Moore declared; “but I do think it was
those two chambermaids. They could get the knife from the Prall
apartment easy enough, and maybe Miss Prall did question Maggie about
the missing knife and maybe Maggie gave a plausible explanation for its
disappearance.”
“Maybe and maybe and maybe not!” observed Gibbs, cryptically. “This sort
of talk gets us no-where——”
“Yes it does,” Corson interrupted. “It’s shown us how Miss Prall could
have done it. And when you remember that Sir Herbert declared with his
dying heartbeats that women did it, and when we have no other women with
half as much motive,—those little girls’ jealousies are puerile by
comparison,—I think we are bound to conclude we’re on the right track.”
“If so, let’s forge ahead,” and Gibbs nodded energetically. “What’s the
next move?”
“Don’t move too fast,” advised his colleague. “And, too, we want to
interview those chambermaids. Though I think Miss Prall is at the back
of the thing, she may have been aided by those women. They might have
been paid——”
“Now, look here,” put in Moore. “I know Miss Prall better than you two
do. And I know if she undertook a thing of this desperate nature, she
never called in any outside help. She’d be afraid to trust those women.
And that companion of hers is all the help she’d want. No, sir, if the
women Sir Binney recognized were Miss Prall and Miss Gurney, that’s all
there was of them. Likewise, if it was those two chambermaids, that’s
all there was of _them_. But they never combined forces; no, sir, they
didn’t!”
“I believe that.” Gibbs nodded his head. “Now, let’s take a look at this
paper again.”
The paper left by the dying man had been carefully placed between two
small panes of glass, in order to keep it intact and undefaced.
As Gibbs studied the passe-partout, he said, thoughtfully, “We must make
up our minds what he meant in this second line. It’s unintelligible, but
what _could_ he have meant? ‘Get bo——’”
“I think it means get both,” said Corson, positively; “but it mayn’t be
that at all. As it was the very last effort of his spent muscles, it is
far from likely that he wrote just what he meant to write. He might have
intended that second letter for a or o or g or, in fact, almost any
letter! He lost control of his fingers and the pencil fell away from
them.”
“All right; I grant you all that,” Gibbs agreed. “But we’ve got to start
somewhere. Now we know women killed him; he states that. Next, if this
word is both, we know there were two women and two only.”
“Marvelous, Holmes, marvelous!” guyed Corson. “And Miss Prall and Miss
Gurney count up just two! Correct, so far.”
“Don’t be funny. The chambermaids in question number two also. And there
were most likely only two, for women don’t go round murdering in squads.
But the point is, he says, get both,—if the word is both. That would
seem to imply that one is more probable as a suspect than the other, but
he adjures us to get the other one also.”
“There’s something to that, Mr Gibbs,” and Bob Moore looked at the
detective admiringly. “Now, if it was a case of Miss Prall and Miss
Gurney, they’re so much together, that such a message would be
practically unnecessary. So it may point to the chambermaids. You see,
Maggie is on his floor, but he may have meant that Jane, too, was
implicated.”
“Oh, rubbish!” cried Corson. “A dying man isn’t going to use his last
gasp to tell the police to get a certain chambermaid! That word isn’t
‘both’ at all. It’s something far more significant. I think it’s a name.
I think it’s a name that begins with Ba or Bo. Now, I’m as well aware as
you two men are, that my own name begins with Bo and my girl’s last name
with Ba. But I’m not afraid, for I didn’t do it. I was upstairs at the
time, and anyway I’d no grudge against the old fellow. Nor did Julie do
it. And he never would have called her Baxter, if she had! So, I say
that I think it represents some name, and all possible names ought to be
investigated.”
“The trouble is it might represent so many names,” Gibbs said. “I think
myself that he might have meant to make a capital letter and only
achieved a small one, but never mind that. Ba could be Babe
Russell,—but I can’t seem to think he’d take that method of accusation.
If it had been a man who killed him he would be more likely to feel
revengeful.”
“Good heavens, Gibbs!” and Corson’s eyes opened wide; “I guess if you’d
just been fatally stabbed by your lady friends, and had enough spunk to
tell that women killed you, you wouldn’t hesitate at bringing a name
into the limelight! I’ve had a hunch it was that Baby Doll all
along,—but it looked like an impossibility.”
“So you see,” offered Bob Moore, “you can’t deduce much from that second
line. And we may be ’way off. It might have been meant for, ‘Get busy’
or ‘Get Bob Moore to find the criminal,’ or lots of things.”
“This is no time for fooling, Moore,” said Corson, gravely, “but you’re
right that it’s wasting time to puzzle over that phase of the message.
We’re lucky in having the clear direction as to the sex of the
criminal,——”
“Unless it’s all faked,” suggested Gibbs. “How about the murderer being
a clever man, who had this paper all ready, and brought it with him and
laid it beside his victim?”
“Not a chance,” said Moore. “I’ve checked up that handwriting and it’s
his. Mr Bates says so, and I’ve compared it to his writing,—lots of it.
That’s Sir Binney’s fist, all right.”
Feeling they had learned all they could from Moore, and also feeling
decidedly tired and sleepy, the two detectives went home and to bed.
Not at once to sleep, however, for each had lots of thinking to do and
each felt that there were more ways to look than had yet appeared.
But, also, each thought the Prall suspicion justified, and each planned
to keep a wary eye in that direction.
Next morning, after waiting till such an hour as he thought late enough,
Gibbs went to see Miss Prall.
He found a visitor already there, and he was presented to Mrs Everett.
To his surprise, Miss Prall made the introduction as casually as if it
had been a meeting of social acquaintances, and Gibbs felt a little
awkward at being expected to join in a general conversation.
But he was alertly interested in meeting Mrs Everett, and especially in
circumstances where he might hear or see some manifestations of the feud
he had heard of.
“My friend, Mrs Everett, is about to move away, so you’re lucky to
chance upon her here,” Miss Letitia said, in honey-sweet tones.
“As to your luck, I express no opinion,” said the other lady, “but as to
moving away, I’ve not the slightest intention of such a thing.”
Mrs Everett was inclined to be fair, afraid of being fat and unwilling
to admit being forty. She was pretty in a soft, faded way, and her
voice, though low and pleasant, had a sharp tang to it, which, one felt
sure, could increase at will.
“You said you would!” Miss Prall declared, “but I long ago learned to
put no faith in your assertions.”
“You’re saying I lie?” asked Mrs Everett, and her voice was still
placid.
“If the shoe fits, put it on,” Letitia laughed. “Only, you can’t blame
me for saying that of you, when you know it’s the truth.”
“Dear friend,” murmured Mrs Everett, “how can you think I’d go off and
leave you while you’re in such trouble? I feel I must stand by.”
“That’s quite like you! Don’t lose a chance to gloat over any sorrow or
grief I may have!”
“Do you call it sorrow and grief? I didn’t know you thought so much of
the departed nobleman—he was a nobleman, wasn’t he? Tut, tut, Letitia!
and at your time of life! Well, I suppose it’s habit that makes you set
your cap for any man you chance to meet.”
“You always were the greatest for judging others by yourself, Adeline.
You were the celebrated cap-setter of your day. Ever since you worried
poor, dear Mr Everett into his untimely grave, you’ve pursued the
honorable business of cap-setting, alas! to no avail.”
“Don’t you dare call my husband dear! I’ll let you know, Letitia Prall,
he was not in the habit of calling you dear!”
“Tee hee,” tittered Eliza Gurney. “Don’t be jealous of Letty, Mrs
Everett. She’s had more beaux than you ever saw, with all your yellow
curls and red—a little too red cheeks!”
“Hush, Eliza,” admonished Miss Prall, “our caller will think we’re
quarrelsome neighbors. As a matter of fact, Mr Gibbs, we’re——”
“Dearest enemies?” he suggested, smiling, for he saw he was expected to
recognize the situation.
“Yes,” assented Letitia with a nod at Mrs Everett that seemed to convey
all sorts of inimical intent, undiluted by friendliness.
Gibbs realized that these two women took such pleasure in their
bickerings and faultfindings that they really enjoyed their antagonism.
And Miss Eliza Gurney was equally interested in the exchange of
sarcastic repartee.
They kept on with their sparring until Gibbs began to feel not only
uncomfortable but impatient.
“I called, Miss Prall,” he began, but Mrs Everett interrupted:
“Oh, I know what for,” she cried, clasping her fat hands, and giving an
unpleasant little giggle, “to talk about the murder! Yes, yes, and
please don’t mind me. I want to hear the details; have you found out who
did it? Who was it? Was it those sweet little dancing girlies? I can’t
think it!”
“Keep quiet, Adeline,” said Miss Prall; “how you do run on! I should
think you’d have the tact to take your leave,—but you never had even
ordinary good manners. I can scarcely invite you to depart, but I do
feel privileged to say you may go if you feel you must.”
“Oh, I don’t feel I must at all! On the contrary, I want to stay and
hear the news. For I’m sure this gentleman has some news. I can see it
sticking out all over him! Go ahead, sir, tell your story. I feel I’m
entitled to be in the audience.”
She settled herself in her chair and looked as if nothing less than a
really severe earthquake would move her. Her big round eyes danced from
Letitia’s face to the detective’s. Her smile broadened as she enjoyed
the discomfiture of her enforced hostess. And she positively reveled in
the awkward and embarrassed silence that fell on all in the room.
Then Eliza Gurney said, “Adeline Everett, if you take my advice, you’ll
go away before you’re put out!”
“I’ve never taken your advice yet, Eliza, and I don’t propose to begin
now. Also, you’d better not put me out, for if you do, I shall think
that what Mr Gibbs is about to reveal is something you don’t want
known,—something incriminating to some of your own people!”
Apparently she had heard something, Gibbs thought quickly, and he was
more than ever anxious to get her away. But, not knowing how to manage
such an unusual type of womankind, he said instead that he thought he
should retire and make his call some other time.