A LETTER.
As Robert Brierly entered the house, the detective, now taking the lead
as a matter of course, turned toward Mrs. Fry.
"I see that you are anxious to get back home," he said to her. "And it
is as well that you go back in advance of us, for people are beginning
to move about. Wait for us at the side door." And then, as the woman
hastened away, he turned toward the doctor. "You need not feel uneasy
because of your guest, Doc.," he said, with his rare and fine smile.
"There are times when the physical man is in subjection to the spiritual
man, or the will power within him, if you like that better. Brierly has
already endured a severe mental strain, I grant, but he's not at the end
of his endurance yet. In fact, if he's the journalist, and I begin to
think so, he knows how to sustain mental strain long and steadily. You
don't fancy he could be persuaded to wait for meat and drink now, do
you?"
"My soul, man!" exclaimed Doctor Barnes, "how you do read a man's
thoughts! No! Brierly wouldn't stop for anything now. Nor you, either,
for that matter, What do you make of this?"
"I can tell you better in an hour from now, I hope. Here's Brierly. Now
then, gentlemen, try and look as if this was merely a morning walk. We
don't want to excite the curiosity of the neighbours."
There seemed little need of this caution, for they saw no one as they
crossed to the quiet street in which Mrs. Fry lived. But Ferrars, who
had fallen behind the others, had an observant eye upon all within
range, as if, as the doctor afterward declared, he held the very town
itself under suspicion.
Mrs. Fry awaited them at the side door, and unlocked the one leading to
the front hall and stairway at once.
"I hope one of you has got a pistol," she said, nervously, as they
approached the stairs.
"There's no one up there, Mrs. Fry," replied Ferrars. "Never fear." But
Mrs. Fry was not so positive. She closed the sitting-room door, all but
the merest crack, and stood ready to clap it entirely shut at the first
sound of attack and defence from the room above.
Meantime Robert Brierly, who had led the way upstairs, placed a firm
hand upon the key, turned it and softly opened the door. Then, for a
moment, all three stood still at the threshold, gazing within.
It was Francis Ferrars who spoke the first word, with his hand upon
Robert Brierly's shoulder, and his voice little more than a whisper.
"Go inside, Brierly, quickly and quietly." He gave the shoulder under
his hand a quick, light, forward pressure, and instinctively, as it
seemed, Brierly stepped across the threshold with the other two close at
his heels, and, the moment they were inside the room, Ferrars turned and
silently withdrew the key from the outer side, closed the door
cautiously, and relocked it from within.
"We will do well to dispense with Mrs. Fry, at least for the present,"
he said, coolly. "It's plain enough there has been mischief here. Mr.
Brierly, you saw this room last night, for a moment."
Robert Brierly, who had dropped weakly upon a chair, stopped him with a
movement of the hand.
"Mr. Ferrars," he said, "I realise the importance of a right beginning
here, and if you will undertake this case--I am not a rich man, you
understand--all I have is at your disposal. I could hardly bear to have
my brother's rooms searched by strange hands in my absence, but will it
not be wise that you should take the lead, and begin as you deem best?"
"Yes," replied the detective, "but your assistance will be helpful."
"Mrs. Fry is coming upstairs," broke in the doctor, who had been
standing near the door.
Ferrars sprang across the room, turned the key, and put his head out
through the smallest possible opening in the door.
"There's no one here, Mrs. Fry; and nothing missing, that we have
observed. It was, no doubt, a boyish trick."
He smiled amiably at the somewhat surprised woman.
"When Mr. Brierly has had time to look about a bit he will of course
report to you." And he closed the door in the good woman's astonished
face. "Better make no confidants until we know what we have to confide,"
he said, turning back to survey the room afresh. "Now let us have more
light here."
The room in which they were was dimly lighted, for the outer blinds of
its three windows had been closed, and all the light afforded them came
from the one nearest the front corner, where half the shutter was
swinging loosely at the will of the morning breeze. This light, however,
enabled them to see that the room was in some confusion, or rather,
that it was not in the same neat order in which they had seen it on the
previous day.
The writing desk, which later Mrs. Fry declared to have been closed, was
now open, and a portion of the contents of its usually neatly arranged
pigeon-holes was scattered upon the leaf.
"This," said Brierly, as they approached it, "was closed when I saw it
last night."
"I remember," Ferrars nodded, and sat down in the revolving chair before
the desk, and, without touching anything, ran his eye carefully over the
scattered papers, examined the pigeon-holes, the locks, and even the
fine coating of dust.
Upon a round table near the front window were some scattered books,
mostly of reference, a pile of unruled manuscript tablets, and a little
heap of written sheets. There was a set of bookshelves above the
writing-desk, and a wire rack near it was filled with newspapers and
magazines.
When Ferrars had carefully noted the appearance of the desk and its
contents, he swung slowly around in the swivel chair and gazed all about
him without rising. He had noted the books above him with a thoughtful
gaze, and he now fixed that same speculative glance upon those upon the
table. Then he got up.
"Oblige me by not so much as touching this desk yet," he said, and
crossed to the table. "Your brother was a magazinist, Mr. Brierly?" he
queried.
"Yes," replied Brierly.
Ferrars turned toward the inner room which the others had not yet
approached.
"Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, and then, in an altered tone, "Here is Mrs.
Fry's missing lamp."
His two companions came to the door of the room, where Ferrars was now
looking down at the pillows of the bed.
"Brierly," asked Ferrars, as they paused in the doorway, "what had your
brother with him in the way of valuables, to your knowledge?"
The young man, who had been looking sharply about the room like one who
seeks something which should be there, started slightly.
"Why, he had a somewhat odd and valuable watch, which was given him by
our father upon our setting out for Europe. It was like this," and he
produced a very beautiful specimen of the watchmaker's art, and held it
out for inspection. "He also had a ring set with a fine opal, that was
once our mother's, and a locket with her monogram. There were also some
odd trifles that he had picked up abroad, saying that they would become
his future wife, no doubt."
"And you think these were still in his possession?"
"I do. In writing of Miss Grant not long ago he mentioned as a proof of
her refinement and womanly delicacy that she would accept no gifts from
him other than books or flowers."
"I think," said Ferrars, gravely, "that we had better have Mrs. Fry in
here now, and I want you to do the talking, Brierly. Doctor, if you
would ask her to come up, I'll post Mr. Brierly, meantime."
The doctor turned the key in the lock and then hesitated. "I dare say I
will not be needed here longer?"
"You!" Ferrars turned upon him quickly. "Is there anything urgent
outside?"
"Not especially so--only----"
"Only you fancy yourself _de trop_? If you can spare us the time, we
want you right here, doctor. Eh, Mr. Brierly?"
"By all means."
"Then of course I am at your disposal," and the doctor went out in
search of Mrs. Fry.
"I wish there were more men with his combined delicacy and good sense,"
grumbled Ferrars, and then he began to explain to Brierly what was
wanted from Mrs. Fry.
When that good woman entered, Ferrars was seated by the furthest
window, and Robert Brierly met her at the door.
"Mrs. Fry," he began, "will you kindly look about you, without, of
course, disturbing or changing things, and tell us if you see anything
that has changed? If you miss anything, or if anything in your opinion,
has been tampered with? Look through both rooms carefully, and then give
us your opinion."
Mrs. Fry, who had been expecting just such a summons and who fully
realised the gravity of the occasion, stood still in her place near the
door and looked slowly about her; then she began to walk about the room.
Once or twice Brierly, prompted by a glance from the detective, had to
warn her against putting a finger upon some object, but she went about
with firmly closed lips until she had reached the little sleeping room.
Then--
"Well, I declare!" she broke out. "If they haven't even been at the
bed!"
Brierly started forward, but Ferrars held up a warning finger.
"And there's that lamp!" she went on, "with the chimney all smoked!
Somebody's been carrying it around burning full tilt."
By this time Ferrars was so close beside Brierly that he could breathe a
low word in his ear, from time to time, unnoted by the woman as she went
peering about.
"You are sure the bed has been disturbed?" Brierly asked.
"Certain of it!"
"And can you guess why?"
"Well, he always kept his pistol under the bolster."
The men started and looked at each other. "What an oversight," murmured
the doctor.
"Do you mean," went on the enquiry, "that it was there yesterday morning
when you made the bed?"
"I can't say, sir. The fact is, I was awfully afraid of the thing, and
when I told him I was, he put it clear under the bolster with his own
hand, and said it should stay there, instead of on top, as it used to be
at first."
"You don't mean that he left it there during the day?"
"Yes, sir! This one. You see he had two. The one he used to practise
with--the one they found--was different. This one was bigger and
different somehow, and not like any pistol I ever saw. He told me 'twas
a foreign weapon."
"She is right," said Brierly. "My brother brought a pair of duelling
pistols from Paris. They were elaborately finished. He gave me one of
them." He looked anxiously toward the crushed and displaced pillows.
"Shall we not look," he asked, "and find out if anything is there? Will
you look, Mr. Ferrars? Or did you?"
Ferrars moved forward. "No, I did not look," he said. "But the weapon is
not there; I could almost swear to it. Come--see, all of you."
With a quick light hand he removed the pillows, turned back the sheets
and lifted the bolster. There was nothing beneath it, save the
impression where the weapon had laid upon the mattress.
The detective turned toward Mrs. Fry. "You are sure it was here
usually?" he questioned.
"I have lifted that bolster carefully every day, and have always seen
it," she declared. "When I wanted to turn the mattress he always took
away the pistol himself."
Ferrars turned away from the bed, and Brierly resumed his role of
questioner.
"What else do you miss or find disturbed, Mrs. Fry?"
She went back to the outer room after a last slow glance about the
chamber.
"There is the lamp, of course," she began. "That was taken from the
shelf to give them light. Then the writing-desk has been opened, as you
see, and the things on that table have been disturbed, the books shoved
about, and the papers moved. I think," going slowly toward the article,
"that even the waste basket and the paper holder have been rummaged."
"And do you miss anything here?"
Mrs. Fry shook her head. "I don't s'pose you've searched the
writing-desk yet?" she ventured.
"Not yet. And is that all you observe, Mrs. Fry? The bed, the lamp, the
desk, table, rack, and basket?"
She went back to the table and pointed out with extended forefinger a
couple of burned matches, one upon a corner of the table, one upon the
floor almost beneath it.
"They lit that lamp there!" she said. "And they brought their own
matches. I never use those 'parlour matches,' as they call 'em!" She
bent her head to look closer at the polished surface of the table, and
then walked to the open window, where the shutter still swung in the
breeze. "It has been awful dusty since yesterday, seems to me, for this
time of year. That boy's left his finger prints on this window, as
well's on the table there."
"Don't touch them!" It was Ferrars who spoke and so sharply that the
woman turned suddenly, but not soon enough to note the swift gesture
which directed his exclamation.
"Of course we may rely upon you to keep the fact that my brother's rooms
have been entered in this manner from every one, for the present. It
may be very important that we do not let it be known beyond the four of
us. You have not seen or spoken with any one as yet, I think you said?"
"I haven't, and I won't. I'd do more than that for the sake of your
brother, Mr. Brierly, and you've only to tell me what I can do."
"I intend to examine my brother's papers now, Mrs. Fry, before I leave
the house, and if we should need you again we will let you know." And
Mrs. Fry withdrew, puzzled and wondering much, but with her lips tightly
set over the secret she must and would help to preserve.
"She'll keep silent, never fear," said the doctor as the door closed
behind her. "And now, Brierly, I must remind you that you will need all
your strength, and that I don't like your colour this morning. If you
must investigate at once, get it over, for you, even more than Ferrars
or I, need your morning coffee and steak."
"That is true," agreed Ferrars. "Brierly, let me ask two questions, and
then oblige me by leaving certain marks, which I will point out to you,
just as you find them."
"Your questions." Brierly had already seated himself before his
brother's desk.
"I have an idea that this old oak writing-desk was not selected by our
friend, Mrs. Fry. Am I right?"
"It is my brother's desk; bought for its compact and portable
qualities."
"Good! Now, where did your brother usually keep these keepsakes and bits
of foreign jewellery?"
"In one of these drawers. He kept them in a lacquered Japanese box."
"Look for them. And, before you begin, oblige me by not touching that
letter file above the desk, nor the desk top just below it."
The letter file held only a few bits of paper, apparently notes and
memoranda; and upon the flat top of the desk was a bronze ink well, a
pen tray, a thin layer of dust and nothing more, except a tiny scrap of
paper hardly as big as a thumb nail, which lay directly beneath the
letter file. Brierly cast a wandering glance over the desk top and file
and set about his task.
There was quite a litter of papers, letters mostly, together with some
loose sheets that contained figures, dates, or something begun and cast
aside. Below some of the pigeon holes, letters lay as if hastily pulled
out, and from one of these little receptacles three or four envelopes
protruded, half out, half in--one, a square white envelope, projecting
beyond the others. These Brierly pulled forth, and turning them over in
his hand, scrutinised their superscriptions. Then slowly he took the
square white wrapper from among the others, and drew out the letter it
contained. As he began to scan the page of closely lined writing he
started, frowned, flushed hotly, and then with a look of fierce anger he
thrust the sheet back into its envelope, and turned toward the
detective.
"Take that!" he said with a curl of the lip. "Unless I am greatly at
fault, it's a document in the case."
Ferrars took the letter from him, and asked, as he thrust it into the
pocket of his loose coat without so much as glancing at it, "Do you mind
my running over the papers in this rack, Brierly? and looking into the
waste basket?"
"Do it, by all means," was the reply as Brierly pulled open the topmost
drawer; and then for some time there was silence, save for the rustle of
paper or the rasping of a hinge or turning knob.
When Brierly had finished his silent search of the two drawers, he
approached the detective with a small lacquered box in his hand.
"The watch and the foreign jewels are gone," he said, holding out the
open box. "And what do you think of this? Here are my mother's
keepsakes, wrapped in tissue paper, and labelled in my brother's hand,
'Mementos. From my mother.' The thief has spared these."
The detective, who was now seated beside the table, holding a folded
newspaper in his hand, took the box, looked at the tiny packet within,
nodded and passed it silently to the doctor.
"And now," went on Robert Brierly, and there was a new ring of
resolution and menace in his voice. "I turn the rooms and all they
contain over to you, Mr. Ferrars, and I await your opinion, when you
have read that letter in your pocket."
Ferrars drew forth the envelope and looked at it for the first time. It
was only a fragment, for a large corner of its face was missing, the
corner, in fact, which should have borne the postage stamp and the
postmaster's seal.
Without a word he held this side towards the two men, extending it first
to one, and then to the other.
"You see!" he said, and then to Brierly. "Was it your brother's habit to
tear his letters open in such a reckless manner?"
"No. He was almost dainty in all his ways."
"Is there another letter in that desk torn as this is?"
Without a word Brierly took the letter and went back to the desk,
catching the letters from their pigeon holes by the handful.
"I understand," he said, when he came back to them. "No, there is not a
torn envelope there."
"Then," said the detective, "I think I may venture to give an opinion
even before I look at this letter."