The Old Feud
And Detective Gibbs did retire and did make his call some other time,
but he made it not on Miss Prall, but on Mrs Everett.
He had fancied from her attitude that he could learn much from her if he
could manage to gain her attention and enlist her sympathies.
With this end in view he went to see her later the same day, and found
her not unwilling to talk with him.
“I thought I should die,” she exclaimed, clasping her plump little hands
and rocking back and forth in a becushioned wicker chair, “to see
Letitia Prall wriggle around! Why, Mr Gibbs, it’s clear to be seen she
knows more than she has told or means to tell! Aren’t you going to make
her talk?”
“Why do you think she knows something?” countered the detective.
“Oh, I know her so well. When she purses up her thin lips and then
widens them out to a straight line again, several times in succession,
that’s a sure sign she’s terribly upset. Didn’t you notice her do that?
It’s a peculiar habit, and I know what it means! Letitia Prall was
nearly frantic for fear you’d find out something she doesn’t want you to
know!”
“Now, mother,” interposed Dorcas, who was present, “I don’t think you
ought to say such things about Miss Prall,—this is a serious matter,
and talking to a detective is very different from your every-day spats
and squabbles with Miss Letty.”
“Hold your tongue, Dorcas; and you’d better leave the room. This is no
subject for a young girl to be mixed up in. Go to Kate and let her fit
your new guimpe.”
“I’m just ready to try it on,” and Kate, the maid, appeared in the
doorway, her mouth full of pins, and her hands full of voluminous
breadths of tulle.
“But I’d like to hear what this man has to say,” she went on, dropping
her work on a table as she took a chair for herself. “I know a thing or
two about this murder,” she declared, as she looked curiously at Gibbs,
“and it would be to your advantage, sir, to listen to my tale.”
“Oh, nonsense,” put in Mrs Everett, “you don’t know anything, Kate.
She’s a visionary creature, Mr Gibbs, and greatly given to romancing.”
“Nothing of the sort,” spoke up Kate, briskly, and Gibbs wondered at the
strange apparent relation between mistress and servant.
But as he listened further, he gathered that Kate had been so long the
stay and dependence of the Everett household, that her position was more
that of a housekeeper and general manager than an underling.
It seemed that Mrs Everett depended on the woman for service, yet was
chummy with her as with a companion. Kate sewed for Dorcas and kept her
clothing in order, looked after Mrs Everett’s social engagements and was
useful in so many ways that it was not difficult to see why she was made
much of by her employer.
Then, too, it was clear that she was entirely conversant with the feud,
its progress and present condition. She was deeply interested in the
murder mystery and, though Gibbs rather doubted it, she might have
something of importance to tell him.
So, as Dorcas obeyed her mother and left the room, the detective
listened to the chatter of the two women, and from the volume of
inconsequent talk he gleaned much of interest.
Especially he learned the character of Miss Prall, or, rather, the
traits of her character that interested the Everett household.
Their tales may have been exaggerated, probably were, but he decided
they contained internal evidence of Letitia’s insincerity and
untruthfulness.
He found out to his own conviction that he could not rely implicitly on
the word of Miss Prall, and, this granted, her whole story might fall to
the ground.
The feud was talked over and detailed to him until he was positively
sick of it, but he persevered in the talk, trying to lead it toward the
murder.
But the women were wary of this subject. Whether it was too grewsome for
their taste or whether there was some other reason, Gibbs tried hard to
find out.
“But you told me you had something to communicate,” he insisted, to the
canny-looking Kate.
Her sharp eyes scrutinized him.
“Oh, I don’t know anything definite,” she said, with a somewhat defiant
glance at Mrs Everett. “And if I did, I’m not allowed to tell it.”
“If you know anything at all,—definite or suggestive, you’re to tell
it, whether you’re allowed or not!” Gibbs cried, willing to try
intimidation. “Don’t you know, woman, that you can be jailed if you
withhold information from the police?”
Mrs Everett giggled. “You can’t frighten Kate,” she said; “she has no
fear of anything.”
“Why should I have?” and Kate looked belligerent. “I know all about the
police. I’ll tell anything I see fit to, and nothing more.”
Calmly, she took up the mass of white tulle, and began to sew on it.
“That attitude won’t do, Kate,” said Gibbs, seriously. “Bluff and
bravado won’t get you anywhere.”
“I don’t want to get anywhere; I haven’t set out for anywhere,” and with
a flippant swish of the tulle stuff, Kate rose and started to leave the
room.
“Wait a minute,” ordered Gibbs. “You’ve gone too far to back out now.
You said, or implied, you had something to tell,—now, you tell it!”
“Goodness, Kate, tell it,—if you’ve anything to tell!” Mrs Everett
spoke with a sharp glance at the woman.
“Well, I will, then. But it’s no tale of happenings or that. It’s only
that I know Miss Prall was wishing Mr Binney out of the way. She was
wishing it so hard that I myself heard her say, ‘If I was sure I
wouldn’t get caught, I’d kill him myself!’”
“She said that?”
“Yes, sir, she did. Mrs Everett heard her, too.”
“I did,” admitted Mrs Everett as Gibbs looked at her inquiringly. “But
don’t take it too seriously. Letitia Prall and I are enemies, have been
for years,—but I’m not the one to brand her with the mark of Cain! That
I’m not.”
“Well, I will,” declared Kate. “She’s quite capable of it, she has
expressed her willingness, and she had strong motive. What more do you
want?”
“What was her motive?” asked Gibbs in a casual tone, hoping to draw
further light on these remarkable statements.
“Why,——” Kate hesitated, but Mrs Everett smiled and nodded permission,
and Kate went on; “why, you see Miss Dorcas and young Mr Bates are
friendly-like, and old Binney——”
“Sir Herbert,” prompted Mrs Everett, pointedly.
“Well, Sir Herbert, then, he was in favor of the two marrying.”
“And neither Mrs Everett nor Miss Prall approve the match?” Gibbs put in
quickly.
“Of course they don’t! Well, Miss Prall, she’s one who would try and try
to persuade Sir Herbert to change his mind——”
“And his will,” suggested Gibbs.
“And his will,” agreed Kate, “and then, when she couldn’t persuade
him,—he had the devil’s own stubbornness,——”
“And so has she,” observed Mrs Everett.
“That’s right! Well, when she couldn’t do anything with him, she up and
killed him.”
“Women, he wrote.”
“Of course; Eliza Gurney helped. Probably Eliza did the actual deed.
She’d cut off anybody’s head that Letitia Prall told her to! But those
are the women you’re looking for, and if you want to jail me for telling
you, go ahead!”
“No,” Gibbs told her, “you won’t be jailed for telling that,—if it’s
true. But, if it isn’t,—you want to be careful about slander, you
know.”
Kate looked a little startled, but Mrs Everett laughed.
“Don’t be afraid, Kate; Mr Gibbs can’t punish you for an opinion. You
haven’t stated any facts.”
“Except that she heard Miss Prall’s threat to kill Sir Herbert,” Gibbs
reminded her.
“It wasn’t a threat at all. I heard her say it, and it was merely an
outburst of anger. I doubt if she meant it——”
“Do you doubt her capable of committing such a crime?” the detective
asked, so suddenly that he took his listener by surprise.
But she was not to be caught. “My theory is,” she smiled, “that as
Goethe says, ‘We are all capable of crime, even the best of us.’ I truly
think that most human beings could commit crime, given sufficient motive
and opportunity.”
“All very fine in theory,” said Gibbs, smiling, “but are you willing to
assert that Miss Prall or—or yourself, would be capable of the murder
of Sir Herbert Binney, if you had a perfect opportunity and if you
considered your motive strong enough?”
“Oh, _I_ wouldn’t have done it!” and Mrs Everett looked shocked, indeed,
“but,—well, maybe I do think Letitia Prall would have done it.”
“Aided and abetted by Miss Gurney,” the detective egged her on.
“Yes; Eliza would have been not only a help but a commander,—a tyrant,
even.”
“And Miss Gurney wished the old gentleman out of the way?”
“Oh, yes; as much, perhaps, as Letitia. You see, if he died just now,
his fortune would be young Bates’ and the boy could go on with his
chosen career, without being pestered to make buns! Moreover, Sir
Herbert favored Rickey’s marriage——”
“To your daughter?”
“To anybody,—any nice young woman. My daughter is out of the question
and not to be spoken of in this connection.”
Mrs Everett drew herself up in with an effect of injured dignity and
looked scornfully at Gibbs.
“But you seem to eliminate the young people themselves as factors in the
romance part of it all.”
“They are not factors. My daughter has sufficient confidence in my
judgment to agree to my advice. She knows my attitude toward Miss Prall
and she would not encourage or accept the attentions of her nephew.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Of course I’m sure of it! Dorcas is a sweet, obedient child, and she
would not deceive her loving and beloved mother. Also, she knows the
despicable and unworthy nature of Miss Prall, and she assumes, as I do,
that Richard is of the same stamp.”
“Then you don’t know the young man? You only assume his character? Is
that quite fair?”
“Fair enough for anybody belonging to the Prall family! They cannot
expect fairness! They wouldn’t even appreciate it! Letitia Prall is a
mean, low type of womanhood,—a deceitful, unjust, disloyal,
contemptible snake in the grass!”
“That’s so,” chimed in Kate; “she’s proved all that over and over,—and
more too! She has no notion of common decency toward her neighbors; she
is a two-faced, backbiting, sneaky, tattletale!”
“But this doesn’t prove young Bates——”
“Yes, it does!” the detective’s argument was cut off; “she brought him
up, and she taught him all her own evil principles, and her own way of
thinking and talking——”
“But you scarcely know the man,——”
“That’s doesn’t matter! He’s the nephew of Letitia Prall,—and that’s
enough for me! My daughter shall never speak to him,—never meet
him,—and lest such a chance should occur accidentally, I am planning to
move away.”
“You don’t think your daughter is—is interested in Mr Bates?”
“I know she is not! Dorcas is a wayward-tempered child, but she is loyal
to her mother and her mother’s wishes. She wouldn’t dream of seeing
Richard Bates against my will.”
Now, as it happened at that very moment, the loyal child was apparently
quite oblivious of the wishes of her beloved mother, for she was sitting
by the side of the objurgated Richard on a bench in Central Park.
When told to leave the room by her mother, she had also left the Everett
apartment, and later, the house.
By some discreet telephoning she had summoned the despised young man and
the two had sauntered out of The Campanile, separately, and joined
company soon after.
“It’s a risk,” Dorcas was saying, “and if mother, catches on, she’ll
give me Hail Columbia, but I just had to see you! Do you know what
they’re saying about your uncle’s murder, now?”
“No; and I don’t want to hear from you. Please, dear, let’s leave all
that horror out of our conversation. We get so few moments together and
I need every one of them to tell you how I love you.”
“Then,” the red lips pouted, “when am I to tell you how much I love
you?”
“Oh, Dork! you do say the sweetest things! Tell me, darling, tell me,
first, then I’ll tell you——”
“We may as well both talk at once,” Dorcas laughed. “We can say the same
things,—it’ll really be a duet!”
“All right, say with me,—I love you. Ready, one, two, three, go!”
“I love you!” they said in concert.
“No fun,” decided Dorcas; “I want you to tell me separately.”
So Richard did, to such an extent and with so much detail and
reiteration that the moments flew by, and it was time to go home before
the other side of the shield was painted.
“But, Ricky, dear,” Dorcas said finally, “I must talk a little about
this awful thing. I’ve heard a lot of hints and whispers,—for mother
and Kate shut up as soon as I come into the room,—and I want to know
this: Is your aunt, Miss Prall, suspected of killing Sir Herbert?”
“Good Lord, no! What an awful idea! Where did you dig that up?”
“I’ve heard a lot, I tell you. And some people do think so!”
“But it’s absurd! Impossible! Also, I won’t have such talk going around!
You must tell me, Dork, where you heard it! Tell me all you know.”
“I don’t _know_ anything, Rick, but I think you ought to do something
definite in the way of detective work. Those men don’t get anywhere?”
“Why, what do you mean? What do you know about that, Little Peachbloom?”
“I don’t know anything. And you don’t, either. But unless you find out
something there’ll be trouble. Now, Rick, stop treating me as a baby and
talk about it. Who do you think killed him?”
“Honestly, Dorrie, I think, just as he wrote, some women did it. I don’t
know who they were, and I’m not sure I care to know,—for they were, no
doubt, some—some people with whom we have no concern.”
“That may be,” said the girl, very soberly, “and it may not be. You must
realize, Rick, that those silly little chorus girls might have had
reason to hate the man, but they could scarcely compass that killing.”
Bates looked at her in astonishment.
“What _do_ you mean?” he said, slowly; “that is, what are you hinting?”
“Only that I think the murderers are of a higher type of women than
giddy youngsters,——”
“Murderers can’t be of a very high type——”
“I don’t mean high type of character, but of brains. To my mind, that
deed implies women of cleverness and mental power.”
“Such as,——?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But girls in our house are all older and wiser than a
lot of giddy chorus girls. Why not suspect them?”
“Why suspect anybody? I mean, what do we care? In one sense, I’d like to
see the death of Uncle Herbert avenged, but on the other hand I’d hate
to see women’s names dragged through the police court——”
“But if they were guilty?”
“That’s just the point! Ten chances to one they wouldn’t be. I mean
those dunder-headed detectives are quite capable of getting the wrong
ones and then railroading them through.”
“Perhaps so. But I think you ought to do more than you have done. Why,
Rick,—if,—if you don’t, first thing you know they’ll suspect you!”
“What! Don’t be foolish, dear. I’m not a woman.”
“I know, but some people think that’s a blind,——”
“It can’t be a blind. There’s Uncle Bin’s writing,—and I know him well
enough to be sure that with his dying breath he didn’t write anything
but the truth. No, sir, women are responsible for that murder, and
directly, too. Uncle Bin never flung that accusation at women if they
were merely implicated. Now, don’t you see, dear, that investigation
must result in tragedy for _some_ women,—and, as I say,—probably not
the guilty ones.”
“But it must be fastened on the guilty ones. They must be found——”
Dorcas’ red lower lip quivered, and the big tears gathered in her eyes.
She strove to keep her calmness but she was rapidly losing control over
her emotions.
“Why, Dorrie, darling, what is it? Tell me,—I’ll do whatever you
want,—whatever you say! Do you know something you haven’t told me?
Something you don’t want to tell me? What _is_ the matter, dearest?”
“That’s it; I do know something,—or I fear something, I don’t want to
tell you,—at least not yet,—but——Rick, let’s do something, you and
me,—toward solving the mystery.”
“Oh, no, dear. Please don’t mix your own sweet self into this horrid
moil. I’ll do what you tell me to, but don’t dip into the trouble
yourself,—I beg of you, don’t!”
“Richard,” and Dorcas stood up, her face taking on a determined look,
“come on home with me, and go with me to talk to a woman,—one of the
maids of the house. Don’t interfere,—don’t even interrupt, just stand
by me, and be ready if I call on you for help.”
Bewildered, and not entirely willing, Bates consented and the two went
back to The Campanile.
Unhindered by any message from Dorcas’ mother or Richard’s aunt, they
went up in the elevator and on one of the highest floors, Dorcas sought
out the head chambermaid’s office.
“I want to know about Maggie and Jane,” she said, straightforwardly.
“Maggie is our chambermaid, and Jane is a friend of hers. I have a
reason, that I don’t wish to state at present, but I ask you frankly if
those two girls are honest and reliable?”
The woman addressed hesitated.
“They are, miss, so far as I know. But I think it’s my duty to tell you,
that I’ve heard other whispers of complaint. We’re very particular about
the help in this house, and I can’t keep any girl on, who’s even so much
as suspected. Have you any definite complaint to make, Miss Everett?”
“There, you see,” broke in Bates. “You mustn’t harm those girls’
reputation by a vague suspicion, Dorcas. If you know anything against
them, that’s one thing. But a hint goes so far, and it may be against an
innocent girl.”
“I know it,” Dorcas looked very earnest, “so I ask you, Mrs Malone, not
to mention this. But tell me, where were those two girls the night of
the murder of Sir Herbert Binney?”
“Oh, that!” and Mrs Malone looked greatly relieved. “They were in their
own beds asleep,—both of them. That I can swear to. I thought you meant
they’d been dishonest,—stealing something.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Dorcas, frankly. “I really wanted to know just what
I asked. Will you forget it,—since you’ve answered me as you have?”
“Yes, indeed, miss,” the woman agreed, her decision influenced perhaps
by the bill that was quietly slipped into her not unready hand.
“Well, I must say,” and Bates looked at his companion as they went
slowly along the hall to the elevator, “you did stir up a tempest
without even a teapot! What’s the big idea?”
“Don’t speak like that, Rick,” Dorcas implored. “Try to see things as I
do. Or must I tell you right out that if there’s no chorus girl, no
chambermaid, no elevator girl to fasten suspicion on, it is going to be
fastened on some one else. Can’t you guess who?”
“That I can’t,” and Bates looked blankly at her. “Do you mean some of
Uncle Bin’s English people came over here and did for him?”
“I do not. I mean that there are people who will think,—who are already
thinking there’s reason to direct their inquiries toward—toward your
aunt.”
Bates stared; “Aunt Letitia?” he said, half understandingly; “she didn’t
do it.”
“I don’t think she did!” Dorcas was irritated at his bewilderment. “But
I tell you the detectives think so!”
“Oh, Dork, what awful rot! Dear child, you must keep out of this affair.
It makes you crazy.”
“I’m not crazy! But you’re blind. I tell you, Rick, the detectives _do_
suspect Miss Prall,—I heard them tell mother so,—and you _must_ wake
up and look into things.”
“I should say so!” Bates seemed to get awake all at once. “You heard
this, Dorcas? I’m glad you told me. Go home, dear, and I’ll look up
Gibbs or Corson at once!”