HAND AND PIN
“AND so you are no nearer clearing poor Gordon than you were
twenty-four hours ago?” said Long, thoughtfully.
“Exactly,” answered Dick, glumly. The two friends were sitting in
Long’s room at the New Willard, and Dick had been giving an account
of his efforts to straighten out the tangled threads of the Trevor
mystery. He was tired in body, and discouraged in mind. Even the
fragrant Havana he was smoking gave him no comfort. Then his teeth came
together with a snap, and he threw back his head defiantly. “I refuse
to give up. I’ll find out the truth if it takes me years!”
“Bully for you, old man. I wish I could help you.”
“After all, the evidence against Gordon is simply circumstantial,”
argued Dick.
“Many men have been convicted on that alone; and these against Gordon
are pretty damning,” commented Long. “We have already established a
motive for the crime.”
“Hold on. Clark’s statement of Mrs. Trevor’s marriage to Gordon has
never been substantiated. He simply saw them--”
“Applying for a license. Quite true; but there is one fact you cannot
overlook. Gordon was infatuated with the murdered woman; for that I can
vouch. He knew her intimately in London; and yet, you say they greeted
each other as strangers when they met here three years later.”
“A lot can happen in that time.”
“Very true. But why were they not consistent in their behavior?
Outwardly posing as mere acquaintances, Mrs. Trevor made an appointment
with Gordon at a most unconventional hour when she _knew_ her
husband would be absent. Do you think she would have run the risk of
compromising herself if some vital interest had not been at stake?”
“No.”
“Obviously they quarreled--what about we have yet to find out--and the
murder followed.”
Dick shook his head in dissent. “I cannot reconcile the perpetrator of
so frightful a deed with the Gordon I have known and admired.”
“Mrs. Trevor probably goaded him past human endurance, and he struck
her in a moment of ungovernable rage.”
“Where did he get the weapon?”
“Very likely Mrs. Trevor left her hat-pin in her husband’s office some
time during the day, and forgot about it. Gordon may have picked it up,
and toyed with it, all unconscious of the use he could put it to until
the blind moment came.”
“It may have been no murder at all,” exclaimed Dick. “Perhaps Mrs.
Trevor tripped, and Gordon, forgetful of the pin in his hand, tried to
catch her and accidentally pierced her side in a vital spot.”
“Then how did her dead body get into the safe?”
“Ask me something easy,” groaned Dick. “Perhaps Gordon, fearing his
story of an accident would not be believed, thrust her in there and
fled, thinking he would not then be connected with the affair.”
“How did Gordon get the safe open?”
“Possibly Mrs. Trevor opened the safe before he got there.”
“Did she know the combination?”
“The Attorney General declares that only he and Clark knew it.”
The room telephone rang loudly, and Long hastened to answer it.
“Hello! Yes, at the ’phone. Yes; he’s here--all right.” He hung up the
receiver. “It’s a note for you, Dick, so I told the clerk to send it
right up.”
“Thanks. Secretary Bowers advised me to find out the whereabouts of
Clark on the night of the third,” pursued Dick, tossing his cigar stub
into the ash receiver, “but up to now I’ve been so busy I have not had
a chance.”
“That’s not a bad idea-- Come in,” called Long, as a knock sounded on
his door. A district messenger boy entered.
“Mr. Tillinghast?” he asked. Long motioned to Dick. “Sign here, sir,”
and he extended his book and the letter at the same time.
“How did you know Mr. Tillinghast was here?” asked Long, idly, as Dick
hurriedly scrawled his name in the place designated.
“The lady at his house told me he was dining here with you, sir; and as
the Attorney General said it must be delivered at once, I came right
here. I’ve already been paid, sir, thankee, sir, good night,” and,
taking back his book, the messenger departed.
“I have so many hurry calls that I always tell Mrs. Brisbane where
I am to be found when I dine out,” explained Dick, tearing open his
note. “Hello! the Attorney General wants to see me on ‘most important
business’ to-night, if possible. I wonder what has turned up? Will you
excuse me, Chester, if I hurry along?”
“Sure. It looks as if things might be getting exciting. I wonder if
Trevor hasn’t some clew; some person in mind whom he suspects?”
“He swears he hasn’t.”
“Could it be that Mrs. Trevor overheard his interview with the
Frenchwoman, became alarmed at the prospect of discovery as a card
cheat and committed suicide?”
“That’s what de Morny suggested yesterday. By gracious! I wonder if he
knew she cheated at cards?”
“If he played much with her, he may have discovered it,” answered Long,
dryly. “Who is this Count?”
“One of the attachés of the French Embassy,” explained Dick, struggling
into his overcoat. “He and Mrs. Trevor did play often together, for I
have seen them. Can’t afford to play auction myself, but I drop in for
supper at many of the card parties.”
“There is the same objection to the theory of suicide as to that of
accidental death--how did her body get into the safe?”
“Trevor might have placed her there, if he knew she killed herself, to
conceal the fact and make people think it a murder. Otherwise she could
not have been buried in consecrated ground. They are Roman Catholics,
you know.”
“He told you that he had forgotten the combination, and couldn’t open
the safe.”
“Somebody must be lying,” answered Dick, with conviction. “Coming?” as
Long started for the open door.
“Yes; I am going down to the lobby.” The two men left the room together.
Wilkins was expecting Dick, and showed him at once into the private
office where the Attorney General was sitting.
“Good evening, Tillinghast. It is good of you to come,” said he,
warmly. “I want to see you particularly. Sit down and I will explain.”
Dick took the chair pushed toward him, and waited for the Attorney
General to begin.
“My nerve is not what it was,” said Trevor. “It has been badly shaken
by the tragic event through which I have just passed. Ordinarily I
would not pay any attention to an anonymous letter. But I confess this
one has upset me.”
He opened the secret drawer and took from it a soiled sheet of paper.
“Read this, and tell me what you think of it.”
Dick’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as he perused the badly
written scrawl.
If you prosecute the Fabriani Merger as being in violation of the
Sherman Act, you seal your own Death warrant. You have tasted of our
Power. Take heed to this Warning lest worse should befall you.
Remember--February third!
Dick examined the letter closely. It was written on a soiled sheet
of cheap, ruled paper, and the handwriting was evidently disguised.
Towards the bottom of the page were crude drawings of a black hand, a
coffin, and a hat-pin!
“When did you receive this, Mr. Attorney General?” he asked.
“By the four o’clock post. Wait a moment,” as Dick started to speak.
“The mail was delivered just as I was leaving the Department to go
to the White House, and I hastily gathered up what I thought were my
personal letters, leaving the rest of my correspondence for Clark to
look over. I opened this while driving home.”
“Can I see the envelope?”
“Certainly; but I am afraid you will find no clew there. It is
postmarked ‘Times Square Station, N. Y.,’ and was mailed early this
morning. It is next to impossible to trace anonymous letters through
the post office, for they are usually mailed at an hour when no one is
about.”
Dick tossed the envelope on the table. There was nothing to be learned
from its ordinary exterior. It was addressed in the same disguised
writing as the letter.
“Who is Fabriani?”
“An Italian importer. He and two other Italian merchants have merged
their business, and have crowded out the smaller importers. Fabriani
has resorted to illegal measures to force his rivals out of business.
They have appealed to the courts to protect them against the merger.”
“I see.” Dick balanced the letter in his hand. “Do you think that it is
Fabriani who is trying to intimidate you by making use of a Black Hand
threat?”
“It has that appearance. Come,” glancing keenly at Dick, “what is your
opinion?”
“Why, that this rascal Fabriani has concocted this scheme in his own
head and is using your wife’s tragic death in hopes to check your
actions against his merger. Of course, he may be a member of the Black
Hand. But in the numerous accounts of murders attributed to that
society some token of the Black Hand has always been found by the body
of the victim. Besides, I really do not think they would perpetrate so
wanton a crime on so slight a provocation.”
“That would not stop them,” declared Trevor. “They are a bloodthirsty
crew, and when lust and hate lure them on will commit any crime.”
“But in this instance they had neither of those motives,” said Dick,
obstinately.
Trevor moved restlessly in his chair. “I would give much to believe in
your theory.”
“What makes you doubt its truth?” asked Dick, quickly, and he looked
searchingly at his companion.
Trevor’s face flushed darkly, and he considered a moment before
replying.
“I have had a long talk with my friend, Secretary Bowers,” he said
finally. “He advised me to do all in my power to have the real
murderer apprehended; and to that end thought I should offer a large
reward for his detection. I cannot believe that Mr. Gordon murdered
my wife--cannot, cannot believe there was a--a--” he stumbled in
his speech--“an affair between them. Whatever her faults, my wife,”
proudly, “was faithful to me. Nothing will make me believe otherwise.
I am convinced there is an innocent explanation of their meeting that
night.”
“I am sure there is,” exclaimed Dick, heartily. “And, Mr. Attorney
General, I honor you for the stand you are taking.”
“Thanks, Tillinghast, thanks,” said Trevor, huskily. “I have been
searching vainly for a clew. This letter,” taking it from Dick,
“puzzles me greatly. On thinking the matter over I decided to send for
you and ask your advice. Publicity is hateful to me, and I find it
easier to discuss these details with you, as you already know so much
about my family affairs.”
“I shall be delighted to be of any service, sir.”
“I think I told you in our last interview,” began Trevor, “that my wife
and I were married after a six weeks’ acquaintance. We met through
mutual friends. I know nothing of her past. I loved her devotedly, and
was satisfied when she told me that my affection was returned and that
she was free to become my wife. During our happy married life I never
questioned her, being content to live in the present and let the dead
past bury its dead. But about eight months ago I discovered that my
wife was in deadly fear of one man--” he hesitated.
“Do go on,” urged Dick, bending forward in his eagerness. “Did you find
out who he was?”
“He was an Italian.”
“And his name?”
“Giovanni Savelli.”
Dick sat back in his chair and stared at the Attorney General.
“Giovanni Savelli,” he repeated, thoughtfully; “Giovanni Savelli. Why,
he is said to be one of the heads of the Camorra.”
“Exactly,” replied Trevor, dryly.