Fitted to a T
“Now, look here, Molly,” and Wise fixed her with his piercing gaze, “you
say Richard Bates married you. I don’t believe it for a minute, but I do
believe somebody married you, or pretended to, to keep your mouth shut
on an important matter. It may have been Bob Moore, or——but I’m going
to find out who it was, and I’m going to find out now. If, as you say,
it was Richard Bates, why did he do it?”
Molly gulped in a scared, desperate fashion and her eyes rolled wildly
about as she replied, “To shield somebody else.”
“Who?” Zizi snapped at her.
“You know well enough,” the girl sullenly answered.
“But you said it was _not_ Mr Bates’ aunt.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t.”
“Then,—it was——”
“Yes, it was.”
“Dorcas Everett, she means,” Zizi said, scornfully. “As well accuse me!
You must know, Molly, you can’t put over any such a bluff as that!”
“All right, you needn’t believe it if you don’t want to. But Miss
Everett and her mother are the ‘women’ you are after.”
“That child couldn’t do such a thing!”
“Oh, _she_ didn’t do anything but obey her mother’s orders blindly. Mrs
Everett and her maid, Kate Holland, committed the murder and Dorcas kept
watch in the hall without knowing why she was doing it. Now, Mr Bates
knows all about it,—and he knows that I know. And I said I’d tell if he
didn’t marry me, so rather than have his girl accused, or his
girl’s——”
“Zizi, why do we listen to this pack of lies?” exclaimed Wise. “This
girl is making up as fast as she can talk,——”
“Indeed I’m not!” cried Molly, seemingly in desperation; “I can prove
all I’m saying! Here’s my wedding ring——”
“Yes, but Mr Bates didn’t give it to you,” said Zizi, scornfully. “I
know who did, though, and if you’ll own up it will be better for you.”
Now Zizi didn’t know at all,—in fact, she wasn’t sure that Molly hadn’t
bought the ring herself, but both Wise and Zizi were at a loss to know
which way to turn next, and they were omitting no possible chance at a
stray bit of information.
“How do you know?” demanded Molly, and again she looked frightened.
“Now, see here, Molly,” Wise tried again, “if you’ll tell us the truth
you’ll be rewarded. But if you don’t, you’ll not only lose your reward
but you’ll find yourself in the biggest pickle you’ve ever been in.”
“I’m not afraid,” was the pert reply. “My husband will look after me.”
“Yes, if he _is_ your husband,” Zizi jeered, and saw again that Molly’s
greatest fear was that the wedding had not been a real one.
Therefore, Zizi argued, there had been a ceremony and why would it have
taken place except to shut Molly’s mouth? And who could have been the
bridegroom except the one interested in suppressing Molly’s secret,
whatever it might be?
“Clear out, Molly,” said Wise, suddenly. “Don’t clear far, for if you
try to leave this house you’ll be arrested. Merely go about your work as
usual, and say nothing to anybody. If you’ll take my advice you’ll run
pretty straight, for I don’t mind telling you you’re in deep waters!”
“It’s a bad lookout, Ziz,” said Wise after Molly had gone; “any way you
take it it comes back to either the Pralls or the Everetts. There’s no
other bunch of women implicated. I’ve been into everything thoroughly
and if we go by that written message of Binney’s,—and how can we ignore
it?—we’ve got to get women, and the women are the——”
“The Everetts,” said Zizi moodily.
“Oh, no, the Pralls!”
“When you say the Pralls, you mean Miss Letitia and Miss Gurney, I
suppose.”
“Rather Miss Gurney and Miss Letitia. If they did it, the Gurney woman
struck the blow at the bidding of the other. If the Everetts did it, the
Holland woman stabbed at the order of her mistress. But I incline to the
Pralls, and that explains Bates’ anxiety to shield his aunt.”
“He’d be equally desirous of shielding his sweetheart’s people, but in
any case, I can’t believe _he_ married Molly, either really or by a fake
ceremony.”
“It isn’t like the chap,—he’s an all-round straight one; but he’s
young, and in a desperate emergency,—well, anyway, things must be
brought to a head. I’m going for Bates now.”
The detective found his quarry and asked him for an interview.
The two men went into a small reception-room on the ground floor and
Wise closed the door.
“There’s no use in my going on, Mr Bates,” he began, “unless you want to
see the thing through to a finish. I must tell you the evidences are
pointing to women,—whom you would be sorry to see accused.”
“I know—I know——” and Richard bowed his head in his hands and
groaned. “It isn’t my aunt, I’m positive of that. I’ve not only
satisfied myself by confidential talks with her, but I’ve proved it by
definite facts and testimony of servants and others. Now, I suppose you
hold that the only other possibility is——”
“Yes, I’m obliged to think that. I know what you mean, and this is no
time to be squeamish. We both mean Mrs Everett and her maid, Kate. If
there were any doubt about the written paper,——”
“There isn’t. It’s my uncle’s writing, undeniably. He was found with the
pencil just falling from his nerveless hand. There’s no escape from all
that. I’ve been over and over it. There’s no chance of the chorus girls
or house girls,—oh, I’ve been over all the possibilities,—and there’s
only Mrs Everett left. Honestly, Wise, I’d rather it had been my aunt!
That may sound dreadful to you, but after all, she’s only my aunt, while
Mrs Everett is Dorcas’ _mother_! And I’d rather bear sorrow and disgrace
myself than to have my little love bear it. Can we drop the whole
thing?”
“Not very well now. Bates, are you in any coil with Molly?”
“Molly? The chambermaid? No. Why?”
“Good! I believe you. She says you married her.”
“What does she say that for? Is she crazy? But it doesn’t bother me;
I’ve troubles of my own. I can’t think anybody will believe her.”
“No; she said it to shield someone else. And of course, a man. So,
that’s our one hope. Who is that man?”
“What matter? We’re looking for a woman.”
“But the man might be a help. Why could Melly make a man marry her,
unless he were desperately afraid of what she could tell?”
“But it may all have no connection with our case.”
“I’ve got a hunch it has. And I’m going to find out. And, first of all,
I want to go over the ground again of scrutinizing the place where Sir
Herbert died.”
“No evidence there. The floors have been scrubbed many times.”
“But the marks remain.”
The marks that had been drawn round the blood spots at the scene of the
crime were still faintly visible, and Wise knelt down to study them. It
seemed utterly useless to Bates, for what could possibly be gained from
scrutinizing the floor where the dead man had lain?
Yet Pennington Wise found something!
The body had fallen at the base of one of the great onyx columns, near
the side wall of the lobby. In fact, the head and shoulders had fallen
against the wall, as if the victim had been driven back by his pursuers
till he could go no farther.
And, after scanning the floor, Wise’s eyes traveled on to the onyx wall
itself, to the heavy surbase of wide, smooth onyx blocks, and on the
pinkish, mottled surface his trained eyes descried a pencil mark.
“Gee!” he cried, explosively, “oh, I say!”
Quickly he ran for the paper the dead man left, stripped from it the
protecting glass panes, and with the utmost care he laid the paper
itself against the onyx block that showed a pencil mark.
His eyes bulged with surprise, his face flushed with excitement, and he
jumped up from the floor, where he had pursued his quest unnoticed save
for a disinterested passer-by.
“Bates!” he cried, as he returned to the little reception-room and found
the young man still there and still in deep dejection, “Oh, Bates!”
“What?” and Richard lifted his head to see the excited detective
brandishing the paper in a wave of triumph.
“What do you think? Listen, man, put your whole mind on this! When Sir
Herbert was stabbed he fell to the floor.”
“Yes.”
“He rolled over toward the wall,—or fell against the wall,—and he had
just sufficient strength left to get a pencil and a scrap of paper out
of his pocket and write that message.”
“Yes,—good heavens, Wise, I know all that!”
“Sure you do. Well, now hark. He didn’t place that paper on the floor to
write on it; he held it up against the wall.”
“Well?”
“Well, and part of the writing,—the first part, fell on the wall and
not on the paper——”
“What!” shouted Bates. “What was it? Does it change the meaning?”
“_Does_ it! Well, rather! The part on the wall is one letter,—the
initial letter of what he wrote——”
“What was it? Tell me, Wise, don’t keep me in suspense!”
“I don’t mean to. It was a T,—a capital T.”
“Well? I don’t see——”
“Why, it makes the message read ‘Two men did this,’ instead of ‘women
did this.’ The words are run together, for he couldn’t lift the
pencil——”
“He always did that,—his writing always shows connected words!”
“So, there’s the message as clear as print! The T on the onyx just fits
to the first mark on the paper,—any one can see that,—and we have the
dying statement, ‘Two men did this.’ With what is undoubtedly the
further instruction, ‘get both’.”
“What a revelation! Who can they be?”
“It ought to be easy to find out. They are, of course, some of the
bakery men. And Sir Herbert’s idea was that doubtless one would be
apprehended, but for us to get both of them.”
“And the women are out of it!”
“Ab—s—lute—ly! But we must go warily. You see, the guilty men have
been glad to hide behind the idea of ‘women’ which came to their rescue
by the merest chance. It’s all so easily understood now. Sir Herbert,
with dying effort and failing eyesight, wrote hurriedly, and efficient,
though he was, his haste made him begin his writing off the paper
instead of on it. His habit of connecting words, or his inability from
weakness to lift his pencil, made the words ‘Two men,’ the capital
missing, seem to be ‘women.’ Think how delighted the two men must have
been at this! I doubt if they realized what did happen,—more likely
they thought Sir Herbert denounced women for some reason of his own.
Now, to catch them we must walk delicately, like Scriptural Agag, and
spring on them unawares.”
“Which way shall we look?”
“Take the Bakery men in turn. Crippen first, I should say.”
“Vail?”
“Vail’s out of it. You see, he was in the elevator with Moore when it
happened.”
“Unless Vail and Moore were the two men, and trumped up the whole
story.”
“I don’t think that. Moore’s no criminal; he had no motive, and the
whole weight of evidence and testimony goes to prove Moore truly
interested in the solution of the mystery. He’s worked harder on it than
you know. I’ve watched him. No, Bob Moore is not the man! And that lets
Vail out.”
“Well, then—but I won’t suggest. You can dictate.”
“First let’s get Zizi and tell her.”
The girl was summoned and when Wise told her what he had found her big,
black eyes danced with delight.
“Who’s the criminal, Zizi?” asked Wise.
“The man who married Molly,” she returned, promptly. “Also the man who
hunted and found the recipe. Molly saw him doing that, and made him
marry her or she’d tell. If he could contrive a mock marriage of course
he did. Or it may have been a real one. That doesn’t matter. It’s his
identity that matters. Two men! That man, then, and another.”
“Vail’s out of it,” Wise informed her, and told why. “Then, there’s
Crippen,——”
“No;” Zizi interrupted, “don’t go further afield. It’s—wait a
minute,—get Bob Moore in here.”
This was accomplished and Zizi did the interrogating.
Care was taken not to divulge the new evidence and when Zizi asked him
to detail his actions at the exact time of the crime, the man
wonderingly recounted his oft-told tale.
“Did Mr Vail seem about as usual when he was talking to you, going up in
the elevator?” Zizi asked, casually.
“Yes, but very chummy and talkative, more so than I ever knew him to be
before.”
“Yes? And did he detain you at this floor,—or did _you_ keep _him_,
talking about the detective story you were reading?”
“Why, I don’t know. Come to think of it,—I should say he detained
me,—for he was so interested,—and, too, I never would have presumed to
talk to him so familiarly if he hadn’t egged me on.”
“Think back, now. Did he really keep you from going back by talking to
you? Could you say he did that purposely?”
“I can say that may have been the case,” Moore averred, thinking hard.
“But he seemed really interested——”
“As he never had been before,” commented Zizi, and adding, “and as he
never has been since?”
“No; he’s never been so chummy with me since. I’ve tried to talk to him
about the Binney murder case, but he almost snubbed me,—at least he
shut me off mighty quick.”
“That’s all, Moore, and not a word to any one of anything that has been
said in this room!”
“Now,” said Zizi, after Moore had disappeared, “Vail’s one; who’s the
other?”
“Why, Zizi, Vail was in the elevator——”
“Penny, I’ve known that ‘Vail was in the elevator’ all through this
whole matter. I’ve been told a thousand times that Vail was in the
elevator! It’s been fairly rubbed into my noddle that Vail was in the
elevator! Why, don’t you see, that’s Vail’s alibi! His being in the
elevator is his safeguard! Oh, Penny-poppy-show, sometimes I despair of
_ever_ making a detective out of you! Well, my dear child, Mr Vail is
one,—as I remarked,—and I found him; now you may find the other, and
then we’ll have the ‘two men’ who ‘did this.’ Get busy.”
“S’pose, since you’re so smart, _you_ find the other one,” said Wise,
with no trace of jealousy in his tone. He was as elated at Zizi’s
cleverness as if it had been his own, and he believed her implicitly.
“I can do it,” she said, calmly. “Send for Molly.”
“Yes, there’s the key to the situation,” Wise agreed.
Richard Bates sat still, wondering if the joyful news that no one he
cared for was implicated could really be true! He awaited Molly’s coming
with impatience, longing to get the whole matter cleared up.
“And so, Molly,” Zizi began, when the girl came into the room and Wise
had closed the door behind her, “and so it was Mr Vail who married you!”
A suppressed shriek answered them, and Molly glared like an angry tiger.
“No!” she screamed, “_no_!”
“Useless talk,” said Zizi, “your fright and your excitement give the lie
to your words! Though your words are oftener lies than not. Now, Molly,
you don’t dare go contrary to Mr Vail’s orders, I know, but don’t you
think you’d better do that than to go to jail?”
“I don’t know——Oh, I don’t know _what_ to do,” and the girl broke down
and wept so piteously that Zizi was sorry for her.
“There, there, Molly,” she said, “I’ll take care of you. You’re only a
tool in the hands of a villain; you stay by me, and I’ll look after you.
Penny, we want Vail.”
They got Vail. At first he brazened it out, and finally, when he was
cornered, he turned state’s evidence to save what he could of his own
skin.
It seemed, Vail was determined to make the deal for the Binney Buns,
and, as a last resort, had waylaid Sir Herbert on his way home from the
Hotel Magnifique after the dinner to the chorus girls.
With Vail on that occasion was a friend of his, one Doctor Weldon, who
was a skillful surgeon, more careful in his surgical operations than in
his mental or moral ones. He was Vail’s tool, by reason of past historic
incidents, and the scheme had been planned by the two conspirators.
Binney was invited to Dr Weldon’s home, not far from The Campanile, and
there, from midnight on, both Vail and Weldon tried to persuade the
Englishman to consent to Vail’s terms.
But Binney was obdurate and finally went home, accompanied by the two
men. When near The Campanile, Vail darted on ahead, and managed adroitly
to get into the elevator with Moore and be on the way up when Binney and
Dr Weldon entered the onyx lobby.
The rest was easy. Binney had the Prall paper-knife with him and the
Doctor knew it. With it, the skilled surgeon stabbed his victim and made
away at once. Sir Herbert, dying, but with mind alert, wrote the fact
that two men were responsible for his death; and whether he tried to
continue with ‘get both’ or ‘get Bob’s evidence’ or ‘get bakery,’ or
what was in his fast clouding brain, they never knew.
But when to the surprise of the criminals, women were suspected, they
felt so freed from suspicion that they took no care about it.
Vail, however, was keen for the recipe, which was, in part, why he had
Binney killed, and he made many attempts to find it in its clever hiding
place. When he did find it, Molly knew of it, and in order to keep the
girl quiet he married her, with, however, a mock ceremony.
Discovering this, Molly was so angry that she told on Vail, and he, in
turn, told on Doctor Weldon.
All of this was disclosed promptly, and justice took its course with the
“Two men.”
It would be pleasant to write further that the historic feud of the
“women” who had been so keenly suspected was settled as satisfactorily.
But not so. The two opposing forces seemed to take on new vim from the
revelation of the truth about the murder, and each positively seemed
angered that the other had not been found guilty.
This may not have been the real truth at the bottom of the hearts of
Miss Prall and Mrs Everett, but certain it is that, though they might
not have desired conviction for one another, they greatly enjoyed
suspicion.
“At any rate,” said Miss Prall, “Adeline did set her cap for Sir
Herbert, and I think that’s a crime in itself.”
And Mrs Everett remarked, “Poor man! but he’s better off than if Letitia
Prall had caught him! Which she tried her best to do!”
The young lovers, relieved of all fears that their people or each
other’s people were implicated in crime, were so emancipated from fear
of any sort, that they dared to plan their marriage without the consent
of their elders.
Said Richard, “We’re going to be married, anyway, Aunt Letitia; you can
understand that! And your own conduct you may shape as you choose.”
Quoth Dorcas: “I’m going to marry Ricky, mother. If you consent all
right,—if you don’t, I’ll elope.”
And the Feudists, though incensed to the point of exasperation, had a
certain secret feeling of satisfaction that the wedding would add fuel
to the flames of their somewhat smoldering fires of wrath.
“Bless ’em,” said Bates, as the honeymoon began, “they ought to be
grateful to us for giving them something new to fight about.”
“They are,” said Dorcas.
THE END
By CAROLYN WELLS
In the Onyx Lobby
The Man Who Fell Through the Earth
The Room with the Tassels
Faulkner’s Folly
The Bride of a Moment
Doris of Dobbs’ Ferry
Such Nonsense! _An Anthology_