Janet herself sat as one turned to stone. I think it was the first time
she had realized that even a slight suspicion had definitely been
attached to her name, and, had she been guilty, she could not have
looked more stunned by shame and ignominy.
I remembered that she had said: "Perhaps I did do it"; I remembered that
I knew nothing of her character save that it was a complex one, and--I
wondered.
But it was no time for wondering; it was an occasion for action. Rising
to my feet, I announced that as Miss Pembroke's counsel I would at once
take up the direction of her affairs. I agreed to be responsible for her
appearance, and Charlotte's also, whenever necessary, and I directed
that any communication for Miss Pembroke be addressed to me as her
lawyer.
My standing in my profession was of sufficient prominence to make all
this possible, and the coroner agreed to my proposals.
George Lawrence looked amazed and not altogether pleased.
"I think, Janet," he said, "you should have left it to me to select your
counsel."
As usual, Janet's behavior was an insoluble problem. "Why should I?" she
retorted. "I need an able lawyer at once, and as Mr. Landon offered his
services I was glad to accept his offer."
"What is your urgent need?" said George, looking at her peculiarly. "You
are not accused."
"I may be," she returned calmly. "And, too, I have now important
financial interests to be attended to."
I was shocked at the calm way in which she referred to her possible
accusation, and also at the reference she made to her presumptive
inheritance. Could it be, after all----?
"Yes," said George; "it is wise to have good legal advice immediately,
and you have done well to retain Mr. Landon."
This sudden change of base surprised me, but I was growing used to
surprises, and accepted it with the rest.
"Call on me," said George affably, as he held out his hand, "for any
assistance or information I can give you regarding my cousin's affairs."
As it was then nearly two o'clock, I proposed to Laura that she take
Miss Pembroke over to our own apartment for luncheon and rest, and,
after a short talk with Mr. Lawrence, I would follow.
In conversation with George Lawrence, I learned that he was
administrator of his uncle's estate, and as he and his cousin shared the
inheritance equally, there would be little difficulty in the settling of
financial affairs.
But as to the murder, there was more to be said.
George was still furious at the implication cast on Janet and
continually repeated how absurd the whole idea was.
"But," I said, merely for argument's sake, "you know Miss Pembroke did
put the chain on the door last night, and Charlotte did take it off this
morning."
"There are other ways of getting in a house," stormed George. "Windows
have been forced before now."
"Let us ourselves examine the windows," I said. "We may find some clue."
"I hate that word 'clue,'" he declared. "I hate all suggestion of
detective work, and deductions, and inferences."
"But surely a detective is needed in a case like this," I said.
"Not to my notion. Uncle Robert was killed. Janet never killed him. Of
course Charlotte didn't either. So somebody _must_ have got in at the
window."
"Very well then, a detective might find out who it was."
"Oh, detectives never find out anything. I did suggest employing them, I
know; but I don't think they do any good. Now look at that bunch of
stuff you picked up in my uncle's bedroom; surely that's enough for
clues, if clues are wanted. But who could find the man who belongs to
all that stuff?"
"I'm afraid, Mr. Lawrence you haven't a deductive mind. I'm no detective
myself, but my legal training makes it natural for me to connect cause
and effect. Apparently your mind doesn't work that way."
"No," said Lawrence, smiling; "I suppose I have what is called the
artistic temperament. I am rather careless and inconsequent in my mental
attitude, and I certainly never could reason out anything--let alone a
gruesome mystery like this. But, for that matter, if you're going to
look at the situation in the light of pure reason, it seems to me it's
this way: The murderer of my uncle came in from the outside. He couldn't
come through the door, therefore he came in through a window; and there
you have the whole thing in a nutshell. Now, find your burglar."
I couldn't help feeling attracted to the young man. Although he spoke in
a light tone, he was by no means unmindful of the gravity of the
situation, and his only thought seemed to be to refute the absurd
suspicion which had fallen on his cousin.
"But how could any one get in at a window?" I remonstrated. "The windows
were all fastened."
"Don't ask me how he did it! I don't know. I only say he _did_ do it,
because he _must_ have done it! If he left clues behind him, so much the
better for the detectives. Those handkerchiefs and theater stubs mean
nothing to me, but if they could put a detective on the right track I'll
be only too glad to pay the gentleman's well-earned fee."
"What about the key?" I said. "Isn't that a clue?"
"Clue to what?" returned Lawrence; "it's probably my uncle's own key,
that he had slipped under his pillow for safety."
"That's exactly what I think myself. How can we find out?"
"Well, I don't see how we can find out until Leroy comes home. I know
the will makes me executor,--but of course, I can't do anything in that
matter until my uncle's lawyer is present."
"Why not call up Leroy's office and find out when he's coming home?"
"Not a bad idea," agreed Lawrence, and putting the plan into action, we
learned that Mr. Leroy was not expected back for two days at least.
Whereupon we gave orders to his secretary to communicate with him at
once, tell him of the tragedy, and urge his immediate return. This was
promised, and then our conversation returned to the subject of the
lawyer. I discovered at once that Lawrence did not like him, although
his denunciation of Leroy was not so severe as Janet's. Indeed
Lawrence's chief grievance against the lawyer seemed to be Leroy's
desire to marry Janet.
"He's too old," he exclaimed, when I asked his reasons. "Just because
he's a handsome, rich widower, all the women are crazy after him. But
Janet isn't,--she detests him."
I knew this to be true from Miss Pembroke's own words, and at the risk
of seeming intrusive, I pursued the subject further.
"Mr. Pembroke desired the match, didn't he?"
"Oh yes; Uncle Robert was hand and glove with Leroy. And what that fool
colored woman said, was true; Uncle Robert had threatened to disinherit
Janet if she persisted in refusing Leroy. But you know as well as I do,
that that doesn't mean a thing in connection with the death of Uncle
Robert."
"Of course not," I agreed, heartily. "By the way, of course no suspicion
could be attached to Leroy?"
"Heavens, no! how utterly absurd! and yet----" Lawrence hesitated, and a
strange look came into his eyes, "oh, pshaw! suspicion can be attached
to anybody and to nobody! to anybody, that is, except Janet. To dream of
_her_ in such a connection is impossibility itself."
"Of course it is," I agreed; "and I don't think you need bother about
those foolish remarks of Charlotte's, for I don't think Mr. Ross or his
people heard them. By the way, when was Leroy here last?"
"Why, I don't know. Yes, I know he was here night before last because
yesterday afternoon, Janet told me of the terrible scene they all had
with uncle. He was in such a rage that Janet begged Mr. Leroy to go
away."
"What an old Tartar that man was!" I exclaimed, my whole heart going out
in sympathy to the poor girl who had borne such injustice and
unkindness.
"He was all of that," assented Lawrence, "and in my secret heart I can't
grieve very deeply because he's gone. But of course----"
"Of course his death must be avenged," I continued for him, "and proper
measures must be taken, and at once."
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Lawrence, with a sigh. "And I will do my
part, whatever it may be. But I confess I have no taste for this
investigation business. If you have, Landon, I wish to goodness you'd go
ahead and examine the whole place to your heart's content. I'd be glad
to have it done, but I can't bear to do it myself, and I'd take it
kindly of you if you'd help me out."
At this, since George wouldn't accompany me, I myself thoroughly
examined all the windows of the apartment. I have, I am sure, what is
known as the "detective instinct." I am of the conviction that it is
scarcely possible for a human being to be in a room, even for a short
time, and go from it without leaving behind him some evidence of his
having been there. So I made a round of the rooms. I scrutinized every
window. The only ones I found open were those which Charlotte had said
she had herself opened that morning. The others were securely fastened
with an ingenious contrivance which was really burglar-proof. Granting
Charlotte's assertions to be true, which I had no reason to doubt, the
net was surely drawing closely around these two women. But I felt sure
there was some other possibility, and I determined to discover it.
There was no back stair or kitchen exit. The dumb-waiter had a strong
snap bolt and closed itself, without any means of opening from the other
side. Then I returned and carefully examined the front door. The Hale
lock, though easily opened with its own key, was not to be opened
otherwise; and, aside from this, a key was of no use if the night-chain
was on. I looked at the heavy brass chain; then I put it in its slot,
and opened the door the slight distance that the chain allowed. The
opening was barely large enough to admit my hand. There was no
possibility of a man getting through that tiny crack, nor could he by
any chance put his hand through and slide the chain back; for to remove
the chain I had to close the door again, as Charlotte had done this
morning.
For the first time I began to feel that I was really facing a terrible
situation.
If only I had kept silent about that chain, and if Janet and Charlotte
had also failed to mention it, there would have been ample grounds for
suspecting that an intruder had come in by the front door.
But realizing myself that the windows had all been secured, and that the
chain had been on all night, what _possibility_ was left save the
implication of one or both of the only human beings shut inside with the
victim?
Bah! There _must_ be other possibilities, no matter how improbable they
might be. Perhaps an intruder had come in before the door was chained,
and had concealed himself until midnight and then had committed the
crime.
But I was forced to admit that he could not have put the chain on the
door behind him when he went away.
I even tried this, and, of course, when the door was sufficiently ajar
to get my hand through, I could not push the end of the chain back to
its socket. The door had to be closed to do this.
With a growing terror at my heart, I reviewed other possibilities.
Perhaps the intruder had remained in the house all night, and had
slipped away unobserved in the morning.
But he couldn't have gone before Charlotte unchained the door, and since
then there had been a crowd of people around constantly.
Still this must have been the way, because there was no other way.
Possibly he could have remained in the house over night, and part of the
morning, and slipped out during the slight commotion caused by the
entrance of the jurymen. But this was palpably absurd, for with the
jurors and the officials and the reporters all on watch, besides the
doctors and ourselves, it was practically impossible that a stranger
could make his escape.
Could he possibly be still concealed in the house? There were many heavy
hangings and window curtains where such concealment would be possible,
but far from probable. However, I made a thorough search of every
curtained window and alcove, of every cupboard, of every available nook
or cranny that might possibly conceal an intruder. The fact that the
apartment was a duplicate of our own aided me in my search, and when I
had finished, I was positive the murderer of Robert Pembroke was not
hidden there.
My thoughts seemed baffled at every turn.
There was one other possibility, and, though I evaded it as long as I
could, I was at last driven to the consideration of it.
The fact of the securely locked door and windows precluded any entrance
of an intruder, _unless_ he had been admitted by one of the three
inhabitants of the apartment.
At first I imagined Robert Pembroke having risen and opened the door to
some caller, but I immediately dismissed this idea as absurd. For,
granting that he had done so, and that the caller had killed him, he
could not have relocked the door afterward. This brought me to the
thought I had been evading; could Charlotte or--or Janet have let in
anybody who, with or without their knowledge, had killed the old man?
It seemed an untenable theory, and yet I infinitely preferred it to a
thought of Janet's guilt.
And the worst part of this theory was that in some vague shadowy way it
seemed to suggest Leroy.
Lawrence had acted peculiarly when I suggested Leroy's name in
connection with our search. Janet had acted strangely whenever I
mentioned Leroy; but for that matter, when did Janet not act strangely?
And though my thoughts took no definite shape, though I formed no
suspicions and formulated no theories, yet I could not entirely quell a
blurred mental picture of Janet opening the door to Leroy, and
then--well,--and what then? my imagination flatly refused to go further,
and I turned it in another direction.
I couldn't suspect Charlotte. Although she disliked her master, she
hadn't sufficient strength of mind to plan or to carry out the deed as
it must have been done.
No, it was the work of a bold, unscrupulous nature, and was conceived
and executed by an unfaltering hand and an iron will.
And Janet? Had she not shown a side of her nature which betokened
unmistakably a strength of will and a stolid sort of determination?
Might she not, in the wakeful hours of the night, have concluded that
she could not stand her uncle's tyranny a day longer, and in a sudden
frenzy been moved to end it all?