It was perhaps half an hour later when I again opened my front door, to
start for my downtown office. Laura accompanied me into the hall, as she
often does and chattered a few parting inanities as we stood by the
elevator. The car was rising, and as we are only on the third floor I
had a half-formed intention of walking down the stairs, when the door of
the other apartment flew open and Miss Pembroke ran out to meet the
elevator. She was greatly excited, but not with anger, for her face was
white and her eyes looked big and frightened.
Surely the word _tumultuous_ applied to the girl now. But, it was plain
to be seen that whatever caused her excitement it was something of
importance. She had received a shock of some kind, and though she had
herself well in hand, yet she was fairly trembling with almost
uncontrollable emotion. She paid not the slightest attention to Laura or
me, but clutched at the coat of an elderly gentleman who stepped out of
the elevator.
"Oh, Doctor Masterson," she cried, "come in quickly, and see what is the
matter with Uncle Robert! He looks so strange, and I'm afraid he's----"
She seemed suddenly to realize our presence, or perhaps she noticed the
staring face of the elevator boy, for she left unfinished whatever she
had been about to say, and, still clutching the doctor's coat, urged him
toward her own door.
I did not presume to speak to Miss Pembroke, but I could not resist an
impulse that made me say to the doctor: "If I can be of any assistance,
pray call upon me."
There was no time for response--I was not even sure that the doctor
heard me--but I turned back with Laura into our own apartment.
"Something has happened," I said to her, "and I think I'll wait a bit."
"Do," said my sister. "It may be that we can be of assistance to that
poor girl; for if her uncle has a serious attack of any kind she will
certainly want help."
I looked at Laura with admiring affection, for I saw at once that she
had realized that Miss Pembroke was in serious trouble of some sort, and
her true womanly heart went out to the girl, forgetting entirely her
previous dislike and suspicion.
Almost immediately our door-bell rang, and, feeling sure that it was a
summons in response to my offer, I opened the door myself.
Sure enough, there stood the elderly doctor, looking very much
perturbed.
"You kindly offered your assistance, sir," he said, "or I should not
intrude. I want immediate help. Mr. Pembroke is dead, Miss Pembroke has
fainted, and their servant is so nearly in hysterics that she is of no
use whatever."
Laura is always splendid in an emergency, so of course she rose to the
occasion at once.
"Let me go to Miss Pembroke," she said, in her quiet, capable way. "I'm
Mrs. Mulford, and this is my brother, Otis Landon. We are new-comers
here, and do not know Miss Pembroke personally, but we are only too glad
to do anything we can for her."
"Thank you," said the old gentleman, looking at Laura with an air of
approval. "I'm Doctor Masterson, the Pembroke's family physician. I'm
greatly surprised at this sudden death. I'm surprised, too, that Janet
should faint away, for I have never known her to do such a thing
before."
By this time we had all three crossed the hall, and were inside the
Pembrokes' door, which opened into a short cross hall. On the right was
the drawing-room, and here we found Miss Pembroke, who had not yet
regained consciousness. She lay on a couch, and as the doctor bent over
her she gave a convulsive shudder, but did not open her eyes.
"She'll be all right in a moment," said Doctor Masterson. "Janet is a
plucky girl, and sound as a nut. I'll leave her in your care, Mrs.
Mulford."
Laura was already hovering over the girl, and, with her intuitive
womanliness, was doing exactly the right things.
The colored woman was crouched in a heap on the floor, and was rocking
herself back and forth, with occasional wails.
"Stop that noise, Charlotte," commanded the doctor. "Don't make us any
more trouble than we already have."
The command was not heeded, but without further comment he turned away
from her, and as he beckoned to me I followed him from the room.
"I was at my wits' end," he exclaimed, "with those two women on my
hands, and this dead man to look after!" As he spoke, we crossed the
short hall and entered what was apparently the old gentleman's bedroom.
I gazed with interest at the face of Robert Pembroke, and, save for what
Doctor Masterson had told me, I should have thought I was looking at the
face of a sleeping man. My first feeling was one of admiration, for the
features were of classic mould, and the white hair, thick and rather
long, waved back from a noble brow.
"What a handsome man!" I exclaimed involuntarily.
"Did you know him?" asked Doctor Masterson, looking at me keenly.
"No," I replied; "I've never seen him before. I've lived in this house
but two weeks."
"Robert Pembroke was a handsome man," agreed the doctor, "but, with the
best intentions, and with all the respect due the dead, there is little
else good to be said of him. But his sudden death puzzles me greatly. I
have been his physician for many years, and I should have said that he
had not the least apoplectic tendency. Yet apoplexy must have caused his
death--at least, so far as I can judge without a more thorough
examination."
As he spoke Doctor Masterson was examining the body, and his look of
bewilderment increased.
"He looks as if he were asleep," I said.
"That's just it," said the doctor. "There is no indication of a
convulsive struggle or a spasm of any kind. His limbs are quietly
composed, even relaxed, as if he had died in his sleep; which is not
quite indicative of a stroke of apoplexy."
"Heart disease?" I suggested.
"He had no valvular trouble of the heart," said the doctor, who was
continuing his examination. "He had gout, indigestion, rheumatism, and
many ailments incidental to old age, but nothing organic, and I had
supposed he would live many years longer to torment that poor girl in
there."
"He was irascible, I know," I responded, feeling that I ought to say
something.
"Irascible faintly expresses it," declared the Doctor, in a low voice;
"he was cruel, domineering, tyrannical and of a brutal temper."
"And he vented it on innocent Miss Pembroke?"
"Yes; he did, though Janet is no patient Griselda. She can hold her own!
I've known her to----"
Doctor Masterson ceased talking as he went on with his investigation.
A dozen questions rose to my lips, but I refrained from uttering them.
Miss Pembroke's affairs were none of my business; and, too, the doctor
was not definitely addressing me, but seemed rather to be talking to
himself.
"Here's a key," he said, holding toward me a small bright key; "just
take it for the moment, Mr. Landon, as it is doubtless an important
one."
"Where was it?" I asked.
"On the bed, by Mr. Pembroke's side. It had probably been under his
pillow. It looks like the key of a safety box of some sort."
I put the key in my pocket, with a pleased thought that it would give me
an opportunity to speak with Miss Pembroke. Meantime I noticed that
Doctor Masterson's attitude was becoming more and more that of a greatly
perplexed man.
"I don't understand it," he muttered. "A man can't die without a cause.
And every known cause shows its own symptom. But I find no symptoms.
What can this man have died of?"
"No foul play, I hope," I observed.
"No, no; nothing of that sort! Mr. Pembroke died peacefully in his
sleep. But how?"
Suddenly he straightened himself up with an air of resolve.
"Is there a doctor living in this house?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered; "there is one on the first floor. Shall I fetch him?"
"Do," said the old man. "Tell him that Doctor Masterson wishes to call
him in consultation on a serious matter." I hastened on my errand,
though not so rapidly as not to pause a moment to glance in at Miss
Pembroke, who had recovered consciousness, and was lying quietly back on
the sofa pillows, while Laura bathed her forehead with cologne. I well
knew the soothing capabilities of Laura's finger-tips; and I also was
not surprised to notice that the black girl had ceased her convulsive
shuddering, and, though still sitting on the floor, was gazing at Laura
as if fascinated.
All this I took in in a brief glance, and then ran hurriedly down the
stairs in search of Doctor Post.
"Is this Doctor Post?" I asked as I entered his office.
"Yes," he replied, laying down the gloves and hat he held. Apparently,
he was just about to go out, and I had fortunately arrived in time.
"Will you go up-stairs with me?" I went on. "Mr. Pembroke, on the third
floor, is dead; and his physician, Doctor Masterson, is at a loss to
discover the cause of his death. He sent me to ask you to join him in
consultation."
"Doctor Masterson!" exclaimed Doctor Post, and I saw at once that the
younger man was flattered at being called in consultation by the older
and celebrated practitioner. "He wants me?" he asked, as if scarcely
able to believe it.
"Yes; it is a peculiar case, and he asks your help. Will you go with me
at once?"
"Certainly," and in another moment Doctor Post and I were in the
elevator.
"Old Mr. Pembroke dead?" asked the boy as we entered.
"Yes," I answered briefly.
"Gee, is he? Well, _I_ can't give him any weeps! He was sumpin fierce!
He just put it all over that young loidy. Sometimes she'd come down in
this elevator all to the teary, so's I 'most hadta order a consignment
of weep-catchers for myself. She's a looker all right, and she sets off
the house great, but she leads the dismal swamp life, an' that's right!"
I had neither time nor inclination then to reprove the boy for thus
crudely expressing his opinion, for we had reached the third floor, and
Doctor Post and I went at once to Robert Pembroke's bedroom.
I introduced the new-comer to his older colleague, and then turned aside
while they consulted on the problem that faced them.
I was surprised that a physician of Doctor Masterson's age and
experience should find it necessary to call the younger man to his aid,
but as I knew little of medical men and their ways, I had no definite
opinion on the subject. I felt a slight embarrassment as to my own
presence in the room, but I also felt a hesitancy about returning to the
drawing-room until the doctors should have reached a decision. I
endeavored not to hear the low words they were speaking, but I couldn't
help gathering that there was an element of mystery in Robert Pembroke's
death. In order not to appear curious, I walked about the room, and idly
noted its furnishings. Though not over-ornate, the appointments were
comfortable and even luxurious. A great easy-chair stood by the window,
which opened on an inner court, and which was in fact directly opposite
the window of my own bedroom in our duplicate apartment. Near by stood a
desk, open, and with its contents tidily arranged. The position of
ink-stand, pen-racks and stationery proved the old gentleman to have
been of methodical habits and orderly tastes. My lawyer's brain
immediately darted to the conclusion that Robert Pembroke's sudden death
had found him with his affairs all in order, and that his heirs, whoever
they might be, would doubtless have no trouble in adjusting his estate.
The dressing bureau and chiffonier presented just such an appearance as
one would expect to see in the room of an elderly gentleman. While there
were no fancy knick-knacks, there was a multitude of ebony-backed
brushes and other toilet appurtenances. Moreover there were several bits
of really good bric-a-brac, two or three bronzes, a carved silver box
and some antique curios, that were evidently valuable.
Mr. Pembroke may have been quick-tempered and cruel-natured, but he rose
in my opinion as I noticed the good taste displayed in the furnishing of
the room. However, this might be due to Miss Pembroke's housekeeping,
and it somehow pleased me to fancy that it was.
Two scraps of paper or cardboard lay on the floor near the foot of the
bed. Obeying my instinct for tidiness, and really without thinking of
what I was doing, I picked them up and threw them into the waste basket.
As I did so, I noticed they were stubs of theater tickets. I felt a
momentary surprise at this, for I had been told that Mr. Pembroke never
went out of the house. However, it was quite within the possibilities
that the stubs represented Miss Pembroke's attendance at the theatre, or
might even have been dropped there by some caller. These matters took no
definite shape in my mind, but were mere drifting thoughts, when I heard
Doctor Masterson say:
"Excuse me, Mr. Landon, but may I ask you to leave Doctor Post and me by
ourselves for a few moments? This affair is assuming a very serious
side, and it is necessary that a professional secrecy be observed, at
least for the moment."
"Certainly," I replied, greatly awed by the apprehension clearly evident
on the Doctor's kindly old face. "I have no wish but to be of service
in any way I may, and I'm completely at your orders."
"Thank you, Mr. Landon," returned Doctor Masterson, courteously, "I will
tell you that we have to deal with a very grave situation, but I will
ask you to say nothing to the people in the other room concerning it."