THE fact that Bede had put a seal on Fullerton's door indicated that
the detective had not yet made the examination of the room which
unquestionably it was his intention to make. That he should have
deferred so important a matter for twenty-four hours could only be
explained on the theory that he had some still more important project
on hand which was occupying his personal attention.
Lyon intended to get into Fullerton's rooms if possible before Bede
did, but the plan which he had hastily formed at the Wellington
required the cover of darkness. He could do nothing along that line
before night, and in the meantime he felt that he could do nothing
more interesting (and possibly important) than to discover what Bede
was engaged upon that was so engrossing as to make him postpone the
investigation of Fullerton's rooms to another day.
Lyon figured it out like this: Bede had received from Hunt (and
undoubtedly had opened and read) a letter from Fullerton addressed to
Miss Wolcott. He already knew (as had appeared at their first
interview) that Fullerton had at one time been engaged to Miss
Wolcott. Therefore the association of her name with his was not a new
idea. Yet he had been "shadowing" her yesterday afternoon. Presumably,
therefore, he had suddenly come to perceive a new importance in her
movements. Was his watchfulness over her the occasion of his present
preoccupation? Lyon would have given much for a clairvoyant vision to
tell him where Bede was at that moment. Being obliged to trust instead
to his reasoning powers, he went to Hemlock Avenue, and walked past
Miss Wolcott's house. The house wore its customary air of seclusion
and there was no lounger in the street. He walked a block farther, and
went into a drug store, where, as he happened to know, there was a
public telephone and a gossiping clerk.
"Has Bede been here to-day?" he asked, carelessly.
"Bede who?"
"Don't you know Bede, the detective?--little gray man with keen eyes
and a voice that he keeps behind his teeth. I expected to find him
here."
"He was here this morning,--or a man like him," said the clerk. "A
detective, you say. Gee!"
"What's up?"
The clerk was looking rather startled. "Well, if I had known he was a
detective! He gave out that he was the credit-man for the new
furniture store around the corner, and asked about several people in
the neighborhood that we have accounts with. Our old man has some
stock in the furniture concern, so I gave him all the information I
could."
"What accounts did he ask about? Do you remember?"
The clerk named half a dozen. Lyon was not surprised to hear Miss
Wolcott's among them. He was both surprised and startled to hear Miss
Elliott's.
"What did you tell him about these two?" he asked thoughtfully.
"I let him see their accounts in the ledger."
"I wish you'd let me see those same accounts."
The clerk demurred and Lyon, who had noticed a college fraternity pin
in the other's scarf, opened his coat. He wore the same pin.
"Oh, all right," said the easy-going clerk, with a laugh. "If I'm
going to be fired for giving anything away to a detective, I'll have
the satisfaction of helping a Nota Bena anyhow. Here are the account
books. Come around here."
He opened a page with Miss Edith Wolcott's name at the top. The latest
entry caught Lyon's eye at once.
"Nov. 25, Sulphonal, 6gr., .45."
The date was the date of Fullerton's murder. Lyon pointed to the
entry.
"Could you tell me what time of the day that sale was made?"
"That's exactly what the other man asked," the clerk exclaimed, in
amaze.
"And you told him--?"
"It was half past nine in the evening. I happened to remember because
I leave at half past nine every evening and the night clerk comes on,
and just as I was going out Miss Wolcott came in and asked if I could
give her something to make her sleep. She said she was too nervous to
sleep, and I noticed she seemed all of a tremble. Her hands were
shaking when she took the packet."
"Did you tell Bede all that?"
"I guess I did."
"Did he ask you any other questions?"
"Not about Miss Wolcott. He looked a long time at Miss Elliott's
account."
"Let me see it, then."
The clerk turned the pages.
"We charge everything that is prescribed for anyone at the school to
Miss Elliott's account, and show on our bill who it was for," said the
clerk. "That's what these names mean." He pointed to the names "Miss
Jones," "Miss Beatly," etc., opposite each item. Lyon was distinctly
startled to catch the name "Miss Tayntor" at frequent intervals.
"Has she been ill?" he asked with quick concern, and then added
lamely, "She's a--sort of cousin of mine."
The clerk grinned.
"Gunther's chocolates."
"Oh!"
Lyon studied the entries assiduously for the next few moments. Among
the latest were a number of charges, "for Mrs. W. B." Had that meant
anything to Bede?
"Did Bede ask about any of them in particular?" he inquired by way of
answering his own query.
"He wanted to know who Mrs. W. B. was."
"What did you tell him?"
"Told him they were Dr. Barry's prescriptions. They were marked that
way. That's all I know."
"Remember anything else he asked about?"
"No. That's about all."
Lyon went into the telephone booth and called up Dr. Barry.
"Hello, Barry. This is Lyon. I want to know how Mrs. W. B. is getting
along."
"Now see here, Lyon, don't you think you are crowding things a little?
There really hasn't been time for any radical change since noon."
"What do you mean?"
"I told you at noon that she was not to be disturbed for several days
yet."
"Told _me?_"
"Well, I told the boy who telephoned for you."
"I have not authorized anyone to telephone for me.
"What? Why, someone telephoned in your name, and you have been such a
nuisance about the case that I thought of course it was you again."
"Did you happen to mention the lady's name, or only her initials?"
asked Lyon.
Barry hesitated so long in answering that Lyon could only draw the
most serious conclusion.
"I can't say," Barry answered, with some constraint.
"It's important I should know, Barry. You know she was very desirous
of keeping her visit here unknown, and if you have been giving it
away, I must at least know the facts, so as to head off trouble if
possible." He threw all his earnestness into his voice and Barry
yielded a reluctant reply, saying,
"It is possible that I did. I thought it was your message."
"Did he ask anything else in particular?"
"No. Excuse me, I'm very busy." And the 'phone shut off.
Lyon walked out and back up Hemlock Avenue. He was breathing quickly
as though he had been running.
"If I were Bede I think I should be rather proud of myself, making two
such hauls as that in one morning. At this rate, Bede will soon know
all that I know myself and a little more," he said to himself. "Is it
possible that he will attach any significance to Miss Wolcott's
purchase of a soporific on the fatal 25th? Good Lord, I wish she had
stayed at home that evening! That visit to the druggist at half-past
nine brings her very close to the scene of the murder. Did she go for
a sleeping powder before or after the murder? Is it possible after
all--" He shook his head impatiently at his own suggestion.
"At any rate, I must let Howell know at once that Bede has discovered
Mrs. Broughton. Something will come from that, and soon. I suspect
we'll have to defy dear Dr. Barry. He deserves the limit of the law."
He was within half a block of Olden's. He determined to go there to
telephone. It was the nearest place and incidentally it would enable
him to get Kittie's latest report on Mrs. Broughton's condition.
As he entered the hall. Olden met him,--if indeed this wild-eyed man,
whose goggles lay crushed on the floor and whose white wig sat askew
upon his own black hair, could be the sedate and decorous Olden. He
fairly hurled himself at Lyon, crushing his arm with an iron grasp.
"The curtain is down,--have you seen? What does it mean? Where is she?
Has she gone away? Can't you speak? What do you know about it? _Where_
has she gone?" His questions piled one upon another unintelligibly.
"What in the world do you mean?" gasped Lyon. "The curtain--" He tore
himself away and rushed upstairs to his window. Kittie's curtain was
down to the very bottom in the left hand window. "Gone!" he exclaimed,
in blank bewilderment.
Olden had followed close.
"She pulled the curtain down just now,--just before you came in. I was
watching,--I have been watching all the time,--I saw her come and pull
it down."
"How did you know about the curtains?" asked Lyon, realizing for the
first time that Olden was betraying knowledge that he was not supposed
to have.
"I heard what you said at the 'phone. I knew what you came here for,
of course,--that's why I let you come,--you were to help me watch
without knowing it,--and now she has gone,--slipped away before our
very eyes,--"
"Who are you?"
"Woods Broughton." He pronounced the name with careless impatience, as
though he had never tried to keep it a secret. "What are you going to
do? We must find her."
"Come downstairs," said Lyon, adjusting himself to the new situation.
"We must telephone to Howell."
Howell was not an imaginative man, and it took some time to make him
grasp the double idea that Mrs. Broughton had disappeared and that
Lyon's landlord had suddenly turned out to be Broughton himself. The
whole thing was irregular, and he felt himself confused and
embarrassed. But he agreed that he must come at once for a
consultation.
"I think we shall get along better if we are quite frank," said Lyon,
while they were waiting for Howell. "Will you explain your object in
disguising yourself, so that we may know just where we stand in
relation to each other?"
"To find out what her secret was," Broughton answered, passionately.
He clenched his hands till the knuckles were white, and his
heavy-featured face, shaped by half a century of business life into
lines of impassive self-control, was wrenched by emotion that was half
pitiful, half ludicrous. "To find out what hold this man Lawrence has
upon her,--to kill him, perhaps,--"
"Lawrence? Good heavens, what nonsense!" cried Lyon. "What made you
connect her with Lawrence in any way?"
"I told you that it was a letter that came from Waynscott that first
upset her. She had been happy before that I swear it. She was happy
and content as my wife. Then his letters came--"
"What made you think they were from him? Did you see any of them?"
"I found one, partly burnt, in the fireplace in her bedroom. I could
make out the signature plainly,--it was Arthur Lawrence."
"You could read nothing else?"
"No, but I, found her unfinished answer in her writing desk."
"What did she say?" asked Lyon, in a calm voice.
Broughton struggled to keep his voice steady. "She said that she was
the most unhappy woman in the world,--God, I had been so happy!--that
he had been right in warning her against marrying me, and that she
must see him. I had no chance to read more, for she was coming, and I
could not let her suspect I had seen anything. But I made my plans
from that moment. I told her that I was called away on a sudden
business trip. As I expected, as soon as I was off, she started for
Waynscott. I followed her, in this disguise. She went at once to
Lawrence's office,--"
"His law office, in the Equity Building?"
"Yes. Then she went to Miss Elliott's. That was on a Monday. Monday
night, you will remember, Lawrence killed Fullerton, and the next day
he was arrested. That stopped their plans, whatever they were. She has
kept her room at Miss Elliott's, and I took this house, which happened
to be vacant, so that I could keep a close watch on her. She has never
gone out. Dr. Barry has been to see her, as you know. I have had
Phillips get a daily report from Barry, under color of wiring to me.
"Then you came along, Mr. Lyon. I had seen and heard enough to know
that you were a friend of Lawrence's, so I took you in, because I
wanted to know everything about him that I could. And I knew that for
some reason you were watching Grace. Phillips had tracked you there
several times, and he followed you into the florist's shop and got
possession of Grace's order for unlimited flowers to be sent to
Lawrence. Her flowers for him! I wonder I have kept my senses. But I
could do nothing but wait until Lawrence was released,--as Grace was
waiting over there for his release! You needn't pretend to be
surprised,--you know yourself the connection between them,--that's why
you have been keeping a watch on her,--I saw that from the room you
selected,--"
"You are quite right as to that, though I think you are quite wrong as
to other things."
"What other things?"
"About Lawrence. He isn't that sort of a man. If anyone had a hold
upon Mrs. Broughton, it would seem to have been Fullerton."
"Fullerton!"
"You have been very frank, Mr. Broughton, and it is only fair that I
should be equally frank. We have been very anxious to have an
interview with Mrs. Broughton as soon as her health would permit,
Howell and I, because we have reason to believe that she may be able
to throw some light upon the Fullerton murder. She may be wanted as a
witness."
"You are mad,--utterly mad," gasped Broughton. "What could she
possibly know about that?"
"She was with Fullerton when he left the Wellington at eight o'clock."
"I don't believe it!"
"I don't think there can be much question about that. She had
obviously been to consult him on some legal matters. But, frankly, we
only know enough to make it very important we should know more. And we
have been very anxious to avoid publicity, if possible, for her own
sake, and possibly for Lawrence's."
Poor Broughton looked dazed. "I don't understand. Fullerton was her
lawyer,--"
"Yes."
"And you think she was with him when Lawrence killed him?"
"We are in hopes that she may be able to explain what did actually
happen. She certainly was with Fullerton earlier in the evening.
Beyond that we don't _know_ anything, and we really haven't even a
coherent theory."
"But it was Lawrence with whom she was corresponding,--it was Lawrence
who had wanted to marry her and who would not go to her wedding,--it
was Lawrence who came to see her as soon as my back was turned!"
Lyon shook his head. "You don't know what lies under all that.
Fullerton may have had some hold on her, and Lawrence may have been
acting as her friend merely. Ah, here is Howell. He will tell us what
to do now."
Howell had had time to adjust his mind to the facts Lyon had
telephoned, and when he came in he seemed more curious regarding the
personality of the famous man before him than anything else. Lyon
explained briefly what he had told Broughton about the situation.
"Well now, Mr. Broughton, you know as much as we do," said Howell.
"You see that it is highly important we should get at Mrs. Broughton's
testimony. Barry has been keeping me off, so this young man evolved a
somewhat fantastic plan of getting inside information as to her
condition. I hope the code has missed fire, somehow, for it would be
exceedingly unfortunate if the prosecution should get hold of her
before we do. It is quite on the cards, Mr. Broughton, that we may
want you to take your wife away,--quite out of reach as a witness. It
depends on what she has to tell us,--and that we must find out as soon
as possible."
"How,--if she is gone?"
"That is the first thing for us to ascertain. Lyon, you must take me
over to Miss Elliott's School at once. We want to find out all we can,
and immediately. If I may make a suggestion, Mr. Broughton, you will
await our return here instead of accompanying us. It may possibly
prove that your disguise should not be disclosed at this juncture."
Broughton did not demur. He was obviously too much overwhelmed by the
uncertainties of the situation to take the initiative in any
direction.
"Don't be long," he said, with a wistfulness that sat strangely on his
heavy features. "If she has really gone, I must know it. I must have
the police search the town for her at once."
Howell and Lyon walked away leaving him standing in the doorway,
looking after them in helpless impotence.
"That complicates things," said Howell.
Lyon nodded.
"If there is any connection between Lawrence and Mrs. Broughton--"
"There isn't, of the sort he thinks."
"If there is any connection, it may supply the motive for the assault
on Fullerton. I'm afraid we aren't going to get much help for our side
from this interview, but I'd rather know the worst than be tied up in
ignorance."
"If Mrs. Broughton will talk!"
"Well, we shall soon see," said Howell, as he rang Miss Elliott's
bell.