Mrs. Balfame sat with Mrs. Battle, Mrs. Gifning, Mrs. Frew, her
sister-in-law, Mrs. Cummack, and several of her other friends in her
quiet bed-chamber. It was an hour after the death of David Balfame and
she had, for the seventh time, told the story of packing her husband's
suit case, carrying it down stairs, returning to her room to undress,
hearing the commotion down by the gate. Yes, she had heard a report, but
Elsinore Avenue--automobiles--exploding tires--naturally, it had meant
nothing to her at the moment. No, he did not cry out--or if he did--her
window was closed; it was the side window she left open at night.
She had accepted a bottle of smelling salts from Mrs. Battle, but sat
quite erect, looking stunned and frozen. Her voice was expressionless,
wearily reiterating a few facts to gratify the curiosity of these
well-meaning friends, as wearily listening to Lottie Gifning's
reiteration of her own story: As the night was warmer than usual she and
her husband and the two friends that had motored in with them had sat on
the porch for awhile; they had heard "Dave" come singing down Dawbarn
Street; two or three minutes later the shot. Of course the men ran over
at once, but for at least ten minutes she was too frightened to move.
One of the men ran for the coroner; if "poor Dave" wasn't dead they
wanted to take him at once where he would be comfortable.
Mrs. Balfame's demeanour was all these solicitous friends could have
wished; although they enjoyed tears and emotional scenes as much as any
women, they were gratified to be reassured that their Mrs. Balfame was
not as other women; they still regretted her breakdown at the Club,
although resentfully conscious of loving her the more. And if they
wanted tears, here was Polly Cummack shedding them in abundance for the
brother she now reproached herself for having utterly despised.
Below there was a subdued hum of voices, within and without. The police
had come tearing up in an automobile and ordered the amateur detectives
out of the grounds; their angry voices had been heard demanding how the
qualified fools expected the original footsteps to be detected after
such a piece of idiocy.
Mrs. Balfame had shaken her head sadly. "They'll find nothing," she
said. "If only I had known, I could have called down to them to keep out
of the yard."
"Now, who do you suppose that is?" Mrs. Battle, who was short and stout
and corseted to her knees, toddled over to the window and leaned out as
two automobiles raced each other down the avenue. They stopped at the
gate, and in a moment Mrs. Battle announced: "The New York newspaper
men!"
"Already?" Mrs. Balfame glanced at the clock and stifled a yawn. "Why,
it's hardly an hour--"
"Oh, a year or so from now they'll be coming over in bi-planes. Well, if
our poor old boobs of police don't unearth the murderer, they will. They
are the prize sleuths. They'll find a scent, or spin one out of their
brains as a spider spins his web out of his little tummy--"
Mrs. Cummack interrupted: "Sam is sure it is Old Dutch. He's gone with
the constable to Dobton."
Dobton, the county seat, and the centre of the political activities of
East Brabant, intimately connected with the various "towns" by trolley
and telephone, embraced the domicile of Mr. Konrad Kraus, amiably known
as "Old Dutch." His home was in the rear of his flourishing saloon,
which was the headquarters of the county Republicans. David Balfame had
patronised--rumour said financed--the saloon of an American sired by
Erin.
Another automobile dashed up. "Sam, I think; yes, it is," cried Mrs.
Battle.
A few moments later Mr. Cummack appeared upon the threshold.
"Nothin' doin'," he said gruffly. "Old Dutch's got a perfect alibi. Been
behind the bar since six o'clock. It's up to us now to find out if he
hired a gunman; and we're on the trail of others too. Poor Dave had his
enemies all right."
He paused and looked tentatively at his weary but heroic sister-in-law.
His own face was haggard, and the walrus moustache he had brought out of
the North-west was covered not only with dust but with little moist
islands made by furtive tears. With that exquisite sympathy and
comprehension that men have for the failings of other men, which far
surpasseth that of woman, he had loved his imperfect friend, but he had
a profound admiration for his sister-in-law, whom he neither loved nor
pretended to understand. He knew her surfaces, however, as well as any
one, and would have been deeply disappointed if she had carried herself
in this trying hour contrary to her usual high standard of conduct. Enid
Balfame, indeed, was almost a legend in Elsinore, and into this legend
she could retire as into a fortress, practically impregnable.
"Say, Enid," he said hesitatingly. "These reporters--the New York
chaps--the local men wouldn't dare ask--want an interview. What do you
say?"
Mrs. Balfame merely turned her haughty head and regarded him with icy
disdain. "Are they crazy? Or you?"
"Well, not the way they look at it. You see, it's up to them to fill a
column or two every morning, and there's nothing touches a new crime
with a mystery. So far, they haven't got much out of this but the bare
fact that poor Dave was shot down at his own gate, presumably by some
one hid in the grove. An interview with the bereaved widow would make
what they call a corking story."
"Tell them to go away at once." She leaned back against her chair and
closed her eyes. Mrs. Gifning flew to hold the salts to her nose.
"Better see them," persisted Mr. Cummack. "They'll haunt the house till
you do. They're crazy about this case--hasn't been a decent murder for
months, nothin' much doin' in any line, and everybody sick of the war.
The Germans take a trench in the morning papers and lose it in the
evening--"
"Sam Cummack! How dare you joke at a time like this?" His wife ran
forward and attempted to push him out of the room, and the other ladies
had risen and faced him with manifest indignation.
Suddenly Mrs. Cummack put her arms about him and patted the top of his
head. He had burst into tears and was rubbing his eyes on his sleeve.
"Poor old Dave!" he sobbed. "I'm all in. But I'll find that low-down cur
who killed him, cut him off in his prime, if it takes the last cent I've
got."
Mrs. Balfame rose and crossed to his side. She put her hand on his
shoulder. "I never should have suspected that you had such depth of
feeling, Sam," she said softly, "I am sure that the cowardly murderer
will be caught and that yours will be the glory. Send those
inconsiderate reporters away."
Mr. Cummack shook his head. "As well talk of calling off the police.
They'll be round here day and night till the man is in Dobton
jail--longer, for they know the public will want an interview with the
widow. Better see them, Enid."
"I shall not." Mrs. Balfame put her hand to her head and reeled. "Oh, I
am so tired! So tired! What a day. Oh, how I wish Anna were here."
Three of the women caught her and led her to her chair. "Anna!" she
reiterated. "I must have something to make me sleep--"
"I'll call her up!" volunteered Mrs. Gifning. "I do hope she is at
home--"
"She was to go out to the Houston farm," interrupted Mrs. Cummack. "She
stopped at our house on the way out--Sammy has bronchitis--"; and Mrs.
Gifning, who was as nervous as the widow should have been, ran down to
the telephone, elated at being the one chosen to horrify poor Dr. Anna
while engaged in the everlasting battle for life.
"I'll stay with Enid till Anna comes," volunteered Mrs. Cummack. "I
guess she'd better be quiet. One of you might make coffee for those that
are going to sit up--"
"Frieda's doin' that," said Mr. Cummack. "They're all in the
dining-room--"
Mrs. Balfame had left the shelter of Mrs. Cummack's arm and was sitting
very straight. "Frieda? This is her night out--"
"She was in bed with a toothache, but I routed her out. Well, I'll put
the men off till to-morrow, but better make up your mind to see them
then."
He left the room and when Mrs. Balfame was alone with her sister-in-law,
whom she had never admitted to the sacred inner circle, but who was a
kind forgiving soul, she smiled affectionately. "Don't be afraid that I
shall break down," she said. "But those women had got on my nerves. It
is too kind of you to have dismissed them, and to stay with me yourself
till Anna comes. It has all been so terrible--and coming so soon after
what happened at the Club. Thank heaven I did not permit myself to speak
severely to him, and even when he telephoned for his suit case I was not
cross--I never would hold a man who had been drinking to strict
account--"
"Don't you worry your head. He was my brother, but I guess I know what a
trial he must have been. And if he hadn't been my brother I guess I'd
say we wouldn't have blamed you much if you had given him a dose of lead
yourself--"
Mrs. Balfame raised her amazed eyes. But in a moment the weary ghost of
a smile flitted over her firm mouth, and she asked almost lightly: "Do
you then believe in removing offensive husbands?"
"Well--of course I'd never have that much courage myself if Sam wasn't
any better than he should be--he's pretty decent as men go--but I know a
few husbands right here in Elsinore--well, if their wives gave them
prussic acid or hot lead they wouldn't lose _my_ friendship, and I guess
any jury would let them off."
"I guess you're right." Mrs. Balfame was beginning to undress. "I think
I'll get into bed--But it requires a lot of nerve. And the risk is
pretty great, you know. Anna once told me of an untraceable and
tasteless poison she had--"
"Oh, Lord!" Mrs. Cummack may have been too hopelessly without style and
ambition to be one of the arc lights of the Elsinore smart set, but she
possessed a sense of humour, and for the moment forgot the abrupt taking
off of her brother. "Don't let that get round. The poison wouldn't be
safe for an hour--nor a few husbands. I think I'll warn Anna anyhow--I'm
not sure I can keep it."
The door opened softly and Mrs. Gifning's fluffy blonde head appeared.
"I couldn't get Anna herself," she whispered. "The baby hasn't come. But
Mr. Houston said he'd tell her as soon as it was over, and let her go.
He was terribly shocked, and sent you his love."
"Thanks, dear," murmured Mrs. Balfame. "I'll try and sleep awhile, and
Polly has promised to sit with me till Anna comes. Good-night."