"How clearly you put it!" exclaimed Janet in response to my last
statement. "That is exactly what we have to do. Find some other person
who had a motive, and who must have found an opportunity."
"I will," I vowed, earnestly, "but it will help me so much if you can
only bring yourself to trust me more fully. You know, you must know,
that I have only your good at heart."
I should have stopped right here, but it chanced that just at that
moment Laura was called away on some household affair and left me alone
with Janet. So, acting on an uncontrollable impulse, I said further: "I
think if you knew how fervently I desire to do all I can for you, you
would look upon me more in the light of a friend."
"Are you my friend?" and Janet Pembroke's dark eyes looked into mine
with a wistful gaze and an expression of more gentleness than I had
thought the girl capable of. And yet I felt an intuitive certainty that
if I met that expression with a similar one, she would at once flash
back to her haughty demeanor and inscrutable air.
"I am your friend," I said, but said it with a frank
straightforwardness, which I hoped would appeal to her.
But, alas, I had chosen the wrong manner; or I had made a mistake
somewhere, for the wistfulness died out of her eyes and her lip curled
disdainfully.
"You're not a friend," she stated, calmly; "you are my lawyer, I have
employed you as such; and when your work is finished, I shall pay you
your fees. I trust you will use your best efforts in my behalf, and I
may say I have confidence in your knowledge and your skill in your
profession."
I have heard of people who felt as if they had been douched with cold
water, but I felt as if I had been overwhelmed by an icy avalanche! I
had no idea why the sudden change occurred in her treatment of me, but I
was determined to meet her on her own ground. Moreover, my interest was
rather piqued at her strange behavior, and I was not at all sorry that I
was to carry on the case for this wilful beauty.
"I thank you, Miss Pembroke," I said in my most coldly polite manner,
"for the confidence you express in my ability to handle your case; and I
assure you I shall put forth my best efforts in anything I can or may do
for you. As I told you, it would help us both if you were more frank
with me,--but that is as you choose."
"It isn't as I choose!" the girl burst forth, "I am _forced_,--forced by
circumstances to act as I do! I would willingly tell you all, but I
cannot,--I cannot! Mr. Landon, you _must_ believe me!"
"I do believe you," I exclaimed, softened at once by her pained outcry.
"I confess I cannot understand you, but I will promise to believe you."
"I cannot understand myself," she said, slowly, and again a trace of
that wistfulness showed in her eyes and in her drooping mouth. "I do so
want a friend."
Was the girl a coquette? was she leading me on, purposely, and enjoying
my bewilderment at her sudden transitions of mood?
At any rate she should not fool me twice in the same way. Not again
would I offer her my friendship to have it scornfully rejected.
"I think you do need a friend, Miss Pembroke," I said in a tone, which I
purposely made very kind; "and I can assure you you will find a true one
in my sister, Mrs. Mulford. I know she is already fond of you, and it
rests with yourself whether or not she is your firm and faithful
friend."
As I said this, I rose, for I was just about to go away to my office,
where some urgent business required my immediate attention. I had
intended a very formal leave-taking, but to my surprise, Janet rose too,
and putting out both hands said, "Thank you, Mr. Landon,--very deeply. I
shall be only too glad to be friends with your sister, if she will give
her friendship to a girl so unfortunately placed as myself."
This remark could have called forth various kinds of response. But I
knew it wiser to indulge in none of them, and with a formal, "good
afternoon," I went away.
There was business that required my presence at my office that
afternoon, but I went also to get an opportunity to think by myself
about the case I had undertaken. I seemed to have entered upon a new
phase of existence, and one which was maddeningly contradictory. Above
all else, I was surprised by the fact that I had fallen so suddenly and
irrevocably in love. As I had reached the age of thirty-two without a
serious love affair, I had come to the conclusion that my fate was to
lead a bachelor life. But with Laura to look after me I had not felt
this a deprivation. Now, however, all was changed, and I knew that
unless I first cleared Janet's name from all taint of suspicion, and
then won her for my wife, I should never know another happy hour.
Although I intended to think over the legal aspects and the significant
facts of the case I had undertaken, I found myself instead indulging in
rose-colored dreams of what might happen in the future. It was perhaps
the buoyant hopefulness consequent upon my realization of my love for
Janet, but at any rate I felt not the slightest doubt that I should be
able to free her entirely from any hint of suspicion.
The fact that she was a mystery, that I could not understand her
behavior or sound the depths of her nature, in no way detracted from my
admiration of her. Indeed it rather whetted my interest and made all
other women seem ordinary and tame by comparison. I deliberately assured
myself that I had gone thus far through the world, heart free, for the
very reason that never before had I met a woman who was out of the
ordinary. Then, too, Janet's beauty was of no usual type. Other women
might possess dark eyes and hair, red lips and a perfect complexion, but
surely no one else ever had so expressive a face, where the emotions
played in turn, each more beautiful than the last.
Had I seen only her exhibitions of pride, anger or dismay, I might not
have been so attracted; but having caught that fleeting smile of
wistfulness, and that wonderful gaze of gentleness, I was fully
determined to win her for my own, and to make those expressions the
usual ones on her beloved face.
The question of her possible guilt or complicity in guilt bothered me
not at all. I knew she was innocent, and my only problem now was how to
prove it to an unjust and suspicious world. But it should be done, for I
would devote my best and bravest efforts to the cause, and I felt sure
of ultimate triumph.
If the thought obtruded itself on my mind that circumstances were
against me, that my way would be a difficult one, and that even I myself
were I not blinded by love, must feel some doubts, I resolutely ignored
it, and resolved to succeed in spite of it.
But I knew that the work I had undertaken would require not only the
exercise of my highest legal powers, but also my most dextrous and
ingenious methods of handling.
I therefore looked after only such other matters as required my
immediate attention, and then gave myself up unreservedly to the
Pembroke case. Although technically it could not yet be called a case, I
well knew if no other important evidence was brought out Janet would
certainly be arrested, at least for complicity. Others might not believe
her statement that she did not open the door to any one that night. As
for myself, I did not know whether I believed it or not, and,
furthermore, I did not care. I had determined to accept all Janet said
as true, for a working basis. Let the results be what they might, let
the truth be what it would, I would clear her name before the world, in
defiance, if necessary, of my own beliefs.
I set myself to work, and, with all the ingenuity acquired by my legal
training, endeavored to construct a case. But it was by far the most
difficult task I had ever attempted. The facts were so few and so
evidential that it seemed to be an occasion for two and two making four,
and possessing no ability to make anything else. Clearly I must collect
more evidence, if--and though I didn't say this even to myself, I admit
it haunted my brain--even if it had to be manufactured!
But this was absurd; there was no occasion to manufacture evidence, all
I had to do was to go and get it. There were the several clues that I
had myself discovered, yet to be traced to their source.
And yet, though I couldn't myself understand why, those clues seemed to
promise little. I thought of those engaging detectives in fiction, how
with one or two tiny clues they are enabled to walk straight to the
murderer's front door and ring his bell. Yet here was I, with half a
dozen clues at my disposal, and they seemed to me not at all indicative
of the murderer's whereabouts.
I wouldn't admit it to myself, but of course the truth must be, that
since Mr. Pembroke had been murdered while the only entrance to the
house was securely fastened, those precious clues could not have been
left there by the criminal! If this disheartening thought attempted to
present itself, I promptly thrust it aside, and remembered only that I
had the clues, if they were clues, and certainly they did not point
toward Janet.
What had been called the principal clue, the hat-pin, the woman's
weapon,--I ignored. I was not considering anything that pointed in a
direction I did not choose to look.
That was probably the real reason why I did not go at once for a
professional detective and give him free rein. I knew he would begin on
the hat-pin, and would end--, well,--never mind that.
As a beginning, I made a list of matters to be investigated, setting
them down, in my methodical way, in the order of their discovery.
I had the key, the theatre stubs, the time-table, the torn telegram and
the handkerchief. Surely, a lengthy list. Of course there had also been
a hair-pin,--an ordinary wire hair-pin,--but this, I omitted for reasons
of my own.
Aside from the fact that it headed the list, the key seemed to me the
most important. It was doubtless the key to some one of Mr. Pembroke's
deposit boxes. And if so, it should prove useful. The box it fitted
might contain papers or documents valuable as evidence. Considered as
part of Mr. Pembroke's estate, it should of course be given into Leroy's
charge; but considered as evidence in the Pembroke case, I surely had a
right to use it.
Deciding upon my course of action then, I went straight to the Coroner's
and asked him for the key. He hesitated at first, but when I gave him
the result of my own cogitation on the subject, he said: "You may as
well take it, for at least you can find where it belongs. They won't let
you open the box, as you are not the executor of the estate, so it can
do no harm."
I didn't dispute the point, but I felt a secret conviction that if I
found the box to which the key belonged, I should somehow get sight of
its contents.
As Mr. Ross seemed inclined to talk about the Pembroke matter I went on
to discuss the other clues. He announced his intention of calling in a
professional detective, but was waiting for Leroy's return before doing
so.
"We've clues enough for a whole gang of burglars," he remarked. "I
supposed of course most of these things,"--he was looking over my
list,--"would be recognized by some of the family. But since they were
not, they would seem to mean something definite in the way of evidence.
However, I shall give them all to a detective as soon as possible, and
if he can deduce any intruder from outside, and can explain how he
effected an entrance, he will be cleverer than any detective in a
story-book."
"You have all the clues, I suppose," I said, feeling a distinct sense of
dismay at the thought of his detective.
"Yes," he said, opening a drawer of his desk.
With no definite purpose, I examined them, and noted on my list such
details as the date and seat numbers on the ticket stubs, the date and
wording of the telegram, the initials on the handkerchief and such
matters.
"What is this?" I asked, as I noticed an opened envelope addressed to
Robert Pembroke.
"That is our newest exhibit," said the Coroner; "it was brought me
within the last hour by Inspector Crawford, and it seems to me to
eliminate the torn telegram from our case entirely. Read it."
I took the letter from the envelope, and glancing first at the signature
saw the name Jonathan Scudder. The letter went on to state that the
writer would not be able to call on Mr. Pembroke on Wednesday evening,
as he had telegraphed that he would.
"This, then is the mysterious J. S.," I said, "and, as you say it makes
it unnecessary for us to trace that clue further."
"Yes," returned Mr. Ross, "but of course it was not a real clue any way,
for neither J. S. nor anyone else could enter a chained door."
That everlasting chain! Why do people have chains on their front doors,
any way? There was one on our own door, but we never used it, and I
wished to Heaven that Janet Pembroke had never used hers! They were
supposed to be a safeguard, but in this case this infernal chain was
condemning evidence against the woman I loved! That is, it condemned her
in the eyes of others, but not in my eyes; nothing could ever do that!
But there was no use of declaring my convictions to the Coroner. He was
just as positive that Janet Pembroke was guilty as I was that she was
innocent.
However, all question of J. S. was settled. He was Jonathan Scudder, and
whether or not he was the man whom Mr. Pembroke had sometimes called
John Strong, made no difference to our case. I read the letter again,
but it was of little interest and taking the key, which Mr. Ross gave
me, I went away.
Somehow, I was not so buoyantly hopeful after my interview with the
Coroner as I had been before. The letter from Mr. Scudder did not affect
me, it was of no consequence at all, but the Coroner's unshakable
conviction of Janet's wrong-doing had made me realize that my own belief
was founded not on facts but on my own glorious fancies.
Very well, then, I concluded, I will go to work and get facts that will
coincide with my beliefs. Action was better than theorizing, any way,
and I went at once to the bank which I had been told carried Mr.
Pembroke's account.
But there I was informed that the key I showed was not the property of
that bank or any of its departments. Nor could they tell me to what bank
or company it did belong. I suspected they might have given me at least
a hint of where to look, but as I was unknown to them personally, and
they had no knowledge of how I had come by the key, they naturally were
conservative on the subject.
I could have explained the situation to them, but I knew it would be
useless, as, if I were trying to use the key with fraudulent intent it
was just the sort of a story I should have invented. So I turned away, a
little despondent, but determined to keep on with my search, if I had to
visit every bank in the city.
It was a weary search. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, I took
a taxicab and methodically made the rounds of the prominent banks.
But as I met with no success, I concluded finally that such attempt was
useless. I suspected that perhaps the bank officials suspected me, and
would not give me information. This roused my ire, and as a next step I
went to the office of the firm who made the key. As the makers' name was
stamped on it I had no difficulty in finding them. Of course they were
quite able to tell me for what institution that key had been made, but
they were at first unwilling to do so. It was only after a full
statement of my case and proofs of my own identity that I gained from
them the information that the key had been made for The Sterling Safe
Deposit Co.