Penny Wise
When Richard set out to do a thing, he did it, and without consulting
anybody he went at once for Pennington Wise, the detective, and by good
luck, succeeding in obtaining the services of that astute investigator.
Bates told him the whole story, and Wise saw at once that though the
young man was fearful of his aunt’s implication in the matter, he was
even more alarmed at the idea of his sweetheart’s mother being brought
into it.
“I look at it this way,” Bates said; “Mrs Everett and Miss Prall are so
bitterly at enmity, that either of them would be willing to further a
suspicion of the other. I know neither was really guilty——”
“Wait a minute,” put in Wise, “how do you know that?”
“Oh, I know they couldn’t be! They’re—they’re ladies——”
“That doesn’t deny the possibility,—what else?”
“Why,—they,—oh, they’re women,—women couldn’t do a thing like that!”
“But, ‘women’ did do it,—according to your story.”
“Of course; but it must have been a lower class of women,—not ladies,
like my aunt and Mrs Everett.”
“Is that ‘feud’ of which you’ve told me, a distinctly ladylike
performance?”
“No; it isn’t. It’s a——”
“I gather, from your report of it, it’s a regular old-fashioned
hair-pulling sort of feminine spitefulness.”
“That’s just what it is; and it is in bad taste and all that sort of
thing. But murder! That’s different!”
“Of course it’s different, and must be treated differently. If your
aunt’s name is so much as hinted at in connection with crime, you must
clear it,—if possible. Here we have a murder,—a mysterious murder. The
police have been notified, that puts it into the public’s hands. You
can’t afford to hold back anything now. Nor can you afford to conceal or
gloss over anything. That would be to invite suspicion. Absolute
frankness on your part and on the part of your aunt is imperative.”
“You’ll get it from me, but Solomon himself couldn’t understand my aunt
if she chose to be secretive.”
“Why should she be secretive?”
“Oh, it’s such a mix-up, Mr Wise. You’ll see when you meet the two
women. Either of them would do or say anything,—anything at all, if it
would annoy or disturb the other.”
“I think I understand, but I think I can discriminate between the truth
and the pretense.”
“You’ll be pretty smart if you can,” Richard sighed. “But get busy as
soon as possible. Can you get over to-day?”
“Yes; and I must bring my assistant,—a young lady.”
“You’re to use Sir Herbert Binney’s rooms. Where shall I put the girl?”
“Is there a matron or housekeeper? Yes? Then the girl will attend to all
that herself. Don’t bother.”
“All right, I won’t. Now, see here, Mr Wise, I want you to get at the
truth, of course, but—if it leads——”
“Stop right there, Mr Bates. If I take this case, it’s to get the truth,
no matter where it leads. You’ve mentioned the two women most important
in your life,—oh, yes, I see the importance of Mrs Everett. You are,
you must be, interested in her daughter, for you showed it in your face
when you spoke her name. Now, so far, I’ve nothing to connect those two
women with the case, except that they are women, and the written paper
accuses women. I believe that paper implicitly. I’ve had wide experience
and no word of his murderer left by a dying victim is ever anything but
the truth. I must see the paper as soon as I can; it may be informative.
But, remember, the processes of justice are inexorable,—where the truth
leads, I must follow, absolutely irrespective of personal prejudice.”
“If you’re sure it _is_ the truth——”
“Right. I must be sure, beyond all doubt. And I will be before I make
any important decisions. You are sole heir?”
“Yes, except for some minor bequests.”
“Suspicion hasn’t attacked you?”
Bates started at the question, but Pennington Wise seemed to think it a
casual one, so Richard replied, frankly, “No, it hasn’t,—and I rather
expected it.”
“Yes, it would not be strange. While, as I say, I believe, so far as I
know now, that women killed him, yet others may feel the written message
is faked.”
“Oh, it’s positively Sir Herbert’s writing; it doesn’t need an expert to
see that.”
“Were it not for the message, I should be inclined to look into his
business relations.”
“I think that’s the reason he wrote the note. My uncle was a quick
thinker, and I can see how, knowing he must die, he did all he could to
assist justice. I’ve no doubt he realized that attention would be turned
toward men, and he wrote the truth, as far as he had strength to do so,
in order to facilitate the work of his avengers. Without doubt he was
intending to write the names of his murderers when his muscles or his
brain power gave out.”
“That’s the way I see it, but I can’t be sure till I see the paper.
There are many motives for murder, but they can all be classed as
affairs of the heart, the mind or the purse. The first class takes in
all love interests; the second, business deals, and the third, robbery.
The last, I understand, we may eliminate; the second seems to be knocked
out by that message, and we come back to some affair of the heart, which
may not be love, but jealousy, revenge or a sudden, impulsive quarrel.
To look for the women is not an easy task, but it is a help to be
started in the right direction.”
And so, Penny Wise established himself in the comfortable rooms lately
occupied by the victim of the crime he was to investigate, and Zizi, his
capable and picturesque assistant, found her quarters in the domain of
the housekeeper.
Mrs Macey was a shrewd, capable woman, or she would not have been
housekeeper at The Campanile. She looked in cold disdain at the glowing
little face of the girl who unceremoniously invaded her room, and stared
with increasing interest as the visitor talked.
“You see,” Zizi said, nodding her correctly hatted little head, “I’ve
just simply got to be taken in somewhere in the house, and it might as
well be here. I’m too young to have an apartment by myself, and I’ll
promise you won’t regret any ‘small kindnesses’ you may show me. In
fact, Mr Pennington Wise, my sponsor in baptism, is the greatest
rememberer of small kindnesses you ever saw!”
“My goodness!” remarked Mrs Macey, dazzled by the girl’s beauty and
animation, and bewildered by her insistent manner.
“Yep,” sauced Zizi, with her irresistible smile, “it’s your goodness
that’ll turn the trick. I’ll confide to you that I’m here on business,
most important secret business, and if your goodness pans out well and
you put me up properly, you’ll be what is known as handsomely rewarded.
So, which is my room?”
The girl whirled through a doorway and spied a neat little bedroom.
“This’ll do,” she said, and setting down her small handbag proceeded to
push things around on the dresser and fling her gloves and veil into a
drawer, then with what was indubitably a farewell smile, she gently
pushed Mrs Macey out, and closed the door after her, pausing only to
say, “You’ve good horse sense,—use it.”
“So far, so good,” commented Zizi, to her pretty reflection in the
mirror. “That woman’s a joy. Easily managed, but full of initiative.
Just the sort I like.”
She flew around, adjusting the appointments to suit her taste; she
telephoned downstairs for her further luggage to be sent up, and soon
she was as fully established in the room as if she had been there weeks.
“And now,” she spoke finally to the pretty girl in her mirror, “I shall
sally forth, as they call it, and see what’s what in The Campanile.”
Her progress through the house was so inconspicuous and casual that no
one noticed her especially. It was Zizi’s forte to go around unnoticed,
when she chose. Though she could, on the other hand, make a decided
stir, merely by her appearance.
A slender wisp of a girl, black of hair and eyes, demure without
self-consciousness, and gentle-mannered, she glided here and there as
she listed and none said her nay. She quickly learned the location of
rooms and people, the ways of the house and certain of its tenants, and,
without effort, made friends with elevator girls and other employees.
She arrived at last at the Binney rooms, now occupied by Wise.
He was not in then and she found a chambermaid dusting about.
“I belong here,” Zizi said, quietly. “I am Mr Wise’s assistant; and, as
he has doubtless already told you, you are not to chatter about him or
myself. We are here on important business matters and if you carry tales
you will get into serious trouble. Do you see?”
“Yes, miss,” said the woman, impressed by Zizi’s air of wisdom and
authority. “Mr Wise told me the same.”
“Very well, then; go on with your work.”
Zizi began forthwith to study the rooms. She found little of interest,
for Sir Herbert had lived in them but a few months and had not cared to
add any personal comforts or luxuries to those provided by the
management. Therefore, the appointments were the conventional ones of
furnished apartments, and were quickly passed over by the girl, who was
looking for stray bits of evidence.
She didn’t go through the papers and letters still on the writing table,
for she felt sure they had been examined over and over by the police
detectives and probably by Wise himself.
She was musing when the detective came in.
“Caught on to anything, Zizi?” he asked.
“Nope; that is, only one small hint of a possible question to be
asked,—later. Where are you?”
“Progressing with the opening chapter. That’s about all. But it’s a
corker of a case. I’ve seen the paper left by the dying man, and I’d
stake my reputation that it’s the real thing. I mean that it is the
dying statement of a murdered man, and was written in a desperate effort
to help along the discovery of his murderers. If he’d only been able to
go on with it and tell the names!”
“Then there wouldn’t have been any case, and we wouldn’t be here. Go on,
Wiseacre.”
“Well, the two women at feud,—I told you of them,—are great! Miss
Prall, spinster, and aggressively unmarried, loathes and despises Mrs
Everett, a fascinating widow.”
“Fascinating to whom.”
“Dunno. Except to herself. But she’s the dressy sort and is a blonde
cat, while the Prall person is—well, I understand they call her the
Grenadier.”
“Who calls her that?”
“Dunno. It’s in the air.”
“How about these two women being the women meant on the paper message?”
“No. I thought of that, but I can’t see yet how they could have joined
forces, even though they both wanted the old chap out of the way. Nor
can I connect them with the case separately,—as yet. But it seems to me
that one faction or the other must be at fault, for there are no other
women on the horizon.”
“Chorus girls? Elevator girls?”
“I can’t see it. To be sure, I’ve only dipped into things so far, but
the crime is so skillfully planned and carried out——”
“It might have been impulsive and unpremeditated——”
“At the time it happened, yes. I mean, it may not have been planned for
that moment, but it was planned beforehand and the criminal sprang to
take his chance when it offered.”
“Her chance.”
“I use the common pronoun. When I say his or him, I merely mean the hand
that struck the blow.”
“Have you seen the paper,—the message?”
“I have it with me.”
Wise produced the glass-protected paper and together they studied the
writing.
“It’s positively Binney’s,” Wise declared. “I’ve compared lots of his
writing with it, and it’s surely his. Again, it was surely written at
the moment of his death, for Moore found him dying, and the pencil just
dropping from his fingers.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt all that,” Zizi said, impatiently, “but what does it
mean? I’ve gone past the fact that women did it; I thoroughly believe
that,—in fact, I think it means that women used the knife, but it may
not, it may be merely that they were the primary causes. However, he
knew, he was _sure_ of the criminals who were to be punished. Now, if
that _bo_ means ‘get both’ there were only two. If it means something
else there may be more than two women implicated.”
“Oh, Lord, Ziz, don’t gather in more than two suspects. Women don’t form
a club for murder.”
“Women don’t murder, as a rule, anyway. You know yourself, the small
proportion of feminine murderers.”
“That ought to make it easier.”
“Not at all. These weren’t professionals, who might be listed; they were
women, two, most likely, who had a personal matter to settle with the
Englishman, and—settled it.”
“I grant you all that, except the personal matter. I can’t help thinking
the bun business is a factor, and though women did the murder, it may be
they were interested in the sale of the buns.”
“Reasons?”
“Because Sir Herbert Binney was a man who jollied round with little
chorus youngsters and such, and they couldn’t and wouldn’t kill anybody.
Don’t look for the impossible, or so improbable as to amount to the same
thing.”
“I agree.”
“Nothing has turned up to hint at Sir Herbert’s connection, even
acquaintance, with any older women or indeed any woman of a different
stamp, of his own station in life, or in society at all. No woman who
could be mentioned by name has ever had to do with Sir Herbert since he
came to New York,—that we know of.”
“There might be somebody though.”
“Of course, there might. If there is, we’ll find her. But we can’t hunt
a needle in a haystack. If she materializes, we’ll spot her.”
“Then, excluding the squabs, the only women tagged onto the case are the
two Feudists.”
“You’ve said it.”
“And they didn’t act in collusion?”
“Never!”
“Then it comes down to a decision between Miss Prall and her companion
or Mrs Everett and her maid.”
“Not necessarily her maid.”
“Crickets! Not her daughter!”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just started, Ziz. Help me, don’t jump around
so.”
“Well, bless his heart, he shouldn’t be tormented. He should just be
guided, counselored and befriended by his faithful helper. Now, to start
straight, what’s the motive in each of these two cases?”
“Merely to get rid of the man who was for furthering the marriage of the
two young people. Miss Prall knew that if Sir Herbert were dead, his
fortune would be young Bates’ without any conditions and the boy could
go on with his inventing in peace. Then, she felt, he’d get so engrossed
he’d forget about the Everett girl, and as the Everett mother plans to
move away all would be well.”
“If the Everetts are leaving, why should Miss Prall go to the trouble of
eliminating the Bun man?”
“Point well taken, Zizi; but, you see, as long as the Bun man was around
he nagged at nephew to go into Buns and give up his more congenial
occupation.”
“Pretty slim reason for a real live murder, I think.”
“So do I. But it’s the best we can get in that direction. Now, coming to
the Everett suspects, the widow may have more reason for wishing Sir
Herbert dead than we yet know of.”
“All we know of is so he can’t push along the romance of the
youngsters.”
“Exactly. And here’s the conclusion of the whole matter. I conclude that
those two women are the ones to be looked up, not, of course, acting
together, but one or the other of them. If we can get anything on
either, let’s do so.”
“And the business men?”
“I want to look those up, too. There’s one Crippen, who considered
buying out Sir Herbert’s business. Also, he was an old beau of the two
enemy women. There may be a complication worth studying there.”
“What is this bun business? I mean, does he merely sell the good
will,—of what?”
“Oh, no; he sells his recipe. It’s a secret process,—the making of
Binney’s Buns,—and the recipe is the thing. No one has ever been able
to imitate them successfully. All attempts are dismal failures. But with
the formula any one can make them. It’s Sir Herbert’s great source of
anxiety lest the recipe, or formula, whatever they call it, should be
discovered.”
“Or stolen!”
“Stolen?”
“Yes, don’t you see, he had the recipe and he was murdered for it.”
“Oh, don’t go off wild-goose chasing! It might be,—or it might be he
was murdered for his watch and chain, which they didn’t take after
all,—but we have to have some shred of evidence to go upon.”
“Sure we do. And, therefore, I ask you, where _is_ this recipe?”
“Why, I don’t know,—truly I don’t.”
Wise smiled at her as at a foolish child, but the saucy little brown
face looked very sober as she said, seriously: “and you call yourself a
detective! Why, Penny-piece of Wisdom, that recipe is the bone of
contention. At least, if it isn’t found, it is.”
“And did the women murder him for that?”
“Like as not.”
“Zizi, you’re a smart little girl, but sometimes you don’t see straight.
Now, drop the recipe, or consider it by yourself some other time. Your
stunt is to interest friend Bates.”
“The nephew?”
“Yes. Don’t flirt with him,—that isn’t the _rôle_, but talk kindly to
him, and thereby find out all you can about the Everett bunch. If you
admire his sweetheart——”
“Haven’t seen her yet.”
“Well, you will. And then be real nice and girly-chummy with her, and so
get both the lovers on your side. Then we can find out things otherwise
out of our reach.”
“Meaning the oldsters won’t give up.”
“Of course not, if they’re guilty. I’ll take hold of the Crippen
end,—and then, if your hunch about the recipe has anything to it, it
will come out,—and you sidle up to the lovers. We want to get quick
action, for the murderer may get scared and run away.”
“Shall I insinuate anything about the older women to——”
“Mercy, no! You see, Bates is scared to death now, for fear it was his
aunt, and even more scared for fear it was Dorcas’ mother! And those
very real fears let Bates himself out,—if anybody ever had a thought of
him.”
“Oh, nobody could.”
“No; well, there’s your work cut out for you. Also——”
“Also I’ll keep at the servants. I’ve got the housekeeper just where I
want her, but there’s a head chambermaid who’ll bear watching and I’m
rather interested in the night porter.”
“Yes, he’s a knowing one. Flirt with him——”
“Oh, no, he’s not that sort. And, too, he’s engaged to a Tartar named
Julie, who would scratch out my not altogether unattractive eyes.”
“Vanity Box! Well, your eyes do set off what would otherwise be a
commonplace face.”
Zizi made a face at him that was far from commonplace, and the talk went
on.
They were indefatigable workers, these two, and what they planned
carefully they carried out with equal care.
And even while she talked, Zizi was looking about the room for a
possible hiding-place for the recipe, which, so far as she knew, existed
only in her imagination,—and, she had a dim idea that she had found a
direction in which to look.