The Yellow Pillow
“What’s this pillow doing here?” the sheriff asked, as he picked up the
yellow satin cushion. “This looks to me like a parlor ornament.”
“I thought it was strange, too,” returned Landon. “But I can’t see any
clue in it, can you?”
“Anything unusual may prove a clue,” said Potter, sententiously. “You
never saw this pillow before, Mr Landon.”
“No; but I’m not familiar with the house at all. Maybe it’s a discarded
one, handed down to the servants’ use.”
“Doesn’t look so; it’s fresh and new, and very handsome.”
“Lay it aside and come on,” growled Bill Dunn, who was alertly looking
about the kitchen. “You can ask the family about that later. Let’s go
down cellar.”
To the cellar they went, Landon following. He had a notion that he might
help the family’s interests by keeping at the heels of these detectives.
But the most careful search revealed nothing of importance to their
quest.
Until Potter said, suddenly, “What’s this? A well?”
“It sure is,” and Bill Dunn peered over an old well curb and looked down.
“A well in a cellar! How queer!” exclaimed Landon. “I never heard of such
a thing.”
“Uncommon, but I’ve known of ’em,” said Bill “Looks promising, eh?”
Potter considered. “It may mean something,” he said, thoughtfully. “We’ll
have to sound it, somehow.”
“Sound it, nothin’!” said the executive Bill; “I’ll go down.”
“How?” Potter asked him. “There’s no bucket. It’s probably a dried up
well.”
“Prob’ly,” and Bill nodded. He already had one foot over the broken old
well curb.
“Wait, for heaven’s sake!” cried Landon. “Don’t jump down! You must have
a light.”
“Got one,” and Bill drew a small flashlight from his pocket.
With the agility of a monkey he clambered down the side of the old well.
The stones were large and not smoothly fitted, so that he had little
trouble in gaining and keeping his foothold.
The others watched him as he descended and at last reached the bottom.
“Nothing at all,” he called up. “I’m coming back.”
“Just an old dried up well,” he reported, as he reached them again. “Must
’a’ dried up long ago. No water in it for years, most likely. But there’s
nothin’ else down there, neither. No body, nor no clues of any sort.
Whatever became of that girl, she ain’t down that well.”
All parts of the cellar were subjected to the same thorough search.
Landon was amazed at the quickness and efficiency shown by these men whom
he had thought rather stupid at first.
Cupboards were poked into to their furthest corners; bins were raked;
boxes opened, and Bill even climbed up to scan a swinging shelf that hung
above his head.
“How about secret passages?” Potter asked, when they had exhausted all
obvious hiding places.
“I been thinkin’ about that,” Bill returned, musingly; “but, so far, I
can’t see where there could be any. This isn’t the sort of house that has
’em, either. It’s straightforward architecture,—that’s what it
is,—straightforward.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Landon, interested in this strange man
who looked so ignorant, yet was in some ways so well informed.
“Well, you see, there’s no unexpected juts or jambs. Everything’s
four-square, mostly. You can see where the rooms above are,—you can see
where the closets and stairs fit in and all that. There’s no concealed
territory like,—no real chance for a secret passage,—at least not so
far’s I see.”
“That’s right,” agreed Potter. “Bill’s the man when it comes to
architecture and building plans. Well,—let’s get along upstairs, then.”
Going through the kitchen again, Potter picked up the yellow pillow and
took it along with him. Quite evidently it belonged to a sofa in the
large, square front hall. The upholstery fabric was the same, and there
was a corresponding pillow already at one end of the sofa.
“Queer thing,” Potter said; “how’d that fine cushion get on the kitchen
floor?”
“It is queer,” Landon assented, “but I can’t see any meaning in it, can
you?”
“Not yet,” returned Potter. “Now, Doctor Varian,” and he turned to the
physician who sat with bowed head beside his brother’s body, “I dessay
the undertakers’ll be coming along soon. You see them and make plans for
the funeral; while Bill and I go on over this house. Then, we’ll have to
see the rest of the people who were around at the time of the—the
tragedy.”
“Not Mrs Frederick Varian,” said Herbert, “you can’t see her. I forbid
that, as her physician.”
“Well, we’ll see your wife first, and then, we’ll have to see the folks
that went back to the village. And there’s the servants to be
questioned.”
But the careful and exhaustive search of the two inquiry agents failed to
disclose any sign of the missing Betty Varian or any clue to her
whereabouts. They went over the whole house, even into the bedroom of the
newly-made widow,—whose deep artificial sleep made this possible.
This was the last room they visited, and as they tiptoed out, Bill said,
“Never saw such a case! No clue anywhere; not even mysterious
circumstances. Everything just as natural and commonplace as it can be.”
“There’s the yellow pillow,——” suggested Potter.
“I know,—but that may have some simple explanation,—housemaid took it out
to clean it,—or something.”
“Then, Bill, there’s got to be a secret passage; there’s just got to.”
“Well, there ain’t. Tomorrow, I’ll sound the walls and all that sort of
thing, but I’ve measured and estimated, and I vow there ain’t no space
unaccounted for in this whole house. But there’s a lot of questionin’ yet
to be done. I’ll say there is!”
By this time some of the servants had heard of the affair and had
returned.
Potter and Bill Dunn went to the kitchen to see them, and found Kelly the
butler and Hannah the cook in a scared, nervous state.
“Do tell us, sir, all about it,” Kelly begged, his hard face drawn with
sympathy. “The master——”
“It’s true, Kelly, your master is dead. He was killed, and we are
investigating. What can you tell us? Do you know of anybody who had it in
for Mr Varian?”
“Oh, no, sir! I’m sure he hadn’t an enemy in the world.”
“Oh, no, you can’t be sure of that, my man. But tell me of the
circumstances. When you all went away, this afternoon, there was no sign
of disturbance,—of anything unusual?”
“Oh, no, sir. Everything was pleasant and proper. I had packed the
luncheon for the picnic, Hannah here made the sandwiches, and I filled
the coffee Thermos, and all such things. The baskets were all ready, and
the family expected to start on the picnic almost as soon as we went off.
I offered to stay behind and help Mrs Varian, but she was so kind as to
say I needn’t do that. So we all went.”
“All at once?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You went down the path that leads from the front door?”
“There’s no other way. It branches around to the kitchen entrance, up
here, but there’s no other way off the premises.”
“Not even for a burglar or robber?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe even a monkey could scramble up the cliff, and
I know a man couldn’t. You see it overhangs, and it’s impossible.”
“But coming from the other direction,—the village?”
“From that way, everybody has to pass through the lodge gate. The lodge,
you know,—that’s the garage, as well. There’s a gate here——”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, through that gate is the only way to get to this house.”
“But all the picnic party were waiting, in full view of that gate, and in
full view of the house. Yet somebody——”
“You needn’t say somebody got in,—for nobody could do that.”
“I don’t say it. But I’m looking out for some such person. If not, we
must conclude——”
“What, sir?”
“That Miss Varian shot her father, and then,—in some yet undiscovered
place, killed herself, or still alive,—is in hiding.”
“Miss Betty kill her father!” exclaimed Hannah, the cook, speaking to the
sheriff for the first time. “No, she never did that!”
“Yet there was ill feeling between them,” Potter returned, quickly.
“That there was not! A more loving father and child I never met up with!
Bless her pretty face! To dare accuse darlin’ Miss Betty of such a thing!
I say, now, Mister Man, you better be careful how you say such lies
around here! You know you’ve nothin’ to go on, but your own black
thoughts! You know you don’t know who killed the master, and you’re too
dumb to find out, and so you pick on that poor dear angel child, who
ain’t here to speak up for herself!”
“Where is she, then? Where’s Miss Betty?”
“Where is she? Belike in some hidin’ place, scared into fits because of
seein’ her father shot! Or maybe, stunned and unconscious herself,—the
deed bein’ done by the same villyun what did for the master! Oh, sakes!
it’s bad enough without your makin’ it worse callin’ my darlin’ girl a
murderer! Where’s Mrs Varian? What does she say?”
“She’s asleep. The doctor had to quiet her, she was in raving hysterics.”
“Ay, she would be. Poor lady. She’ll be no help in this awful thing. And,
sir, another thing: The waitress and the chambermaid, they’re sisters,
Agnes and Lena, they say they’re not coming back here. Nothing would
induce them to step foot in this house again, they say. They bid me send
’em their things and——”
“Nonsense, they’ll have to come back.” This from Bill. “Tell me where
they are. I’ll bring them back.”
“No, they won’t come. They’re going down to Boston tonight.”
“They mustn’t be allowed to do that!”
“They’ve gone by now,” and Hannah looked unconcerned. “But never you
mind, they know nothin’ of this matter. They’re two young scared girls,
and they’d be no good to you nor anyone else. They know nothin’ to tell,
and they’d have worse hysterics than Mrs Varian if you tried to bring ’em
back to this house.”
“You won’t desert Mrs Varian, will you, Hannah?” asked Potter.
“Well, I’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’,” and the cook shrugged her
shoulders. “I couldn’t be expected to stay in such a moil.”
“No; of course you couldn’t!” exclaimed Potter, angrily. “You don’t care
that poor Mrs Varian is in deep trouble and sorrow! You don’t care that
there’ll be nobody to cook for her and her brother’s family! You’ve no
sense of common humanity,—no sympathy for grief, no heart in your stupid
old body!”
“I might stay on for a time, sir,—if—if they made it worth my while.”
“Oh, greed might keep you here! Kelly, what about you? Are you going to
desert this stricken household?”
“I’ll—I’ll stay for a time, sir,” the butler said, quite evidently ill at
ease. “Now, you mustn’t blame us, Mr Potter for——”
“I do blame you! I know how you feel about a house where there’s a
mystery, but also, you ought to be glad to do whatever you can to help.
And nothing could help poor Mrs Varian so much as to have some of her
servants faithful to her. Also, I’m pretty sure I may promise you extra
pay,—as I know that will hold you, when nothing else will.”
“And now,” Bill Dunn put in, “you’d better fix up a meal for those who
want it. They had no picnic supper, you see, and there are the guests to
be considered as well as your Mrs Varian.”
“Speakin’ one word for them and two for yourself, I’m thinkin’,” Hannah
sniffed, as she began to tie on her apron. “Well, Mr Potter, you’ll be
welcome to a good meal, I’m sure.”
“One moment, Hannah,” said Bill, “when you left here today, was there a
sofa pillow out here in the kitchen?”
“A sofy pillow? There was not. Why should such a thing be?”
“A yellow satin one,—embroidered.”
“Off the hall sofy? No, sir, it never was in my kitchen at all.”
“What do you know about it?” Dunn turned to the butler. “When did you
last see the sofa pillows on the hall sofa?”
Kelly stared.
“I saw them this morning, sir,—yes, and I saw them this afternoon,—when I
set the picnic baskets out. I didn’t——”
“How did you happen to notice the pillows, Kelly?” Bill watched him
closely.
“Why, I didn’t exactly notice them,—but,—well, if they hadn’t been in
place I should have noticed it.”
“That’s right,” Dunn gave a satisfied nod. The pillow episode seemed
important to him, though he could get no meaning to it as yet. “Now
Kelly, tell me the truth. When you’ve been around, in the dining room, or
the living rooms, haven’t you heard conversations between Miss Varian and
her father that showed some friction between the two?”
“Oh, now, sir, Miss Betty’s a saucy piece——”
“I don’t mean gay chaff,—I mean real, downright quarreling. Did you ever
hear any of that? Tell me the truth, Kelly, you’ll serve no good purpose
by trying to shield either of them.”
“Well, then, yes, sir, I did,—and often. But not to say exactly
quarreling,—more like argufying——”
“Why do you say that, Kelly? They do quarrel,—all the time they
quarrel,—and you know it.”
This astonishing speech was from the lips of Minna Varian, who suddenly
appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She was smiling a little, she looked tired and wan, but she was in no way
excited or hysterical. She wore a trailing blue wrapper, and her hair was
falling from its combs and hairpins.
“Mrs Varian!” exclaimed Potter, springing to her side. “Why are you
here?”
“I heard voices and I wondered who was down here. Where are my people?
Who are you two strange men?”
“There, there,” said Hannah, advancing and putting an arm round her
mistress, “let me take you back to your room. Come now.”
“Just a minute,” and Potter looked keenly at the lady. “Say that again,
Mrs Varian. Your daughter quarrels with her father often?”
“All the time,” Minna Varian laughed. “I have to make peace between them
morning, noon and night. Oh, why do they do it? Fred is so dear and sweet
to me,—then he will scold Betty for the least trifle! And Betty never
differs from me in her opinions, but she is antagonistic to her father,
always. Can you explain it?”
Mrs Varian’s large gray eyes stared at Potter, and then turned to Bill
Dunn. It was clear to be seen that she was still partly under the
influence of the opiate effects, and that her memory of the recent
tragedy was utterly obliterated.
“Take her to her room,” Potter said quickly, to Hannah. “If she comes to
down here there’ll be a fearful scene. How did she get away?”
“There was nobody in my room,” Minna said, overhearing. “Who should be
there? I’m not ill. I woke up from a nap, and I heard talking,—my room is
right above this, so I came down. Where’s Miss Betty, Hannah? Kelly, what
are you doing?”
“I’m about to get supper, madam,” Kelly’s glance rested kindly on the
pathetic figure.
Minna Varian looked small and frail, and her white face and vacant,
staring eyes seemed to add to the mystery of the whole affair.
“Come, now, Mrs Varian, come along of Hannah.”
“Minna, where are you?” Janet’s frightened voice broke in upon them.
“Merciful powers, however did she get down here? Help me get her back,
Hannah. No, wait, I’ll call Doctor Varian.”
But Herbert Varian was already entering the kitchen, and between them,
Minna was safely convoyed back to her room.
“Well, we’re getting at the truth,” said Potter, with an air of
satisfaction as he glanced at Dunn. “Lord knows I’m sorry for that poor
woman, but they say children and fools speak the truth, and so, though
she isn’t herself, mentally, she told the truth about Miss Varian and her
father being enemies.”
“Oh, she didn’t,” Hannah moaned, wiping her eyes on her apron. “I tell
you it wasn’t as bad as Mrs Varian makes out.”
“Yes, it was,” said Kelly, slowly. “You’ve no way of knowing, Hannah,
you’re always in the kitchen. But I’m about the house all the time, and I
hear lots of talk. And it’s just as Mrs Varian said: Miss Betty and her
father never agree. They scrap at the least hint of a chance; and though
sometimes they’re terribly affectionate and loving, yet at other times,
they quarrel like everything.”
“That’s enough, Kelly; now keep quiet about this. Even if Miss Varian and
her father were not always friendly, it may not mean anything serious and
it may make trouble for the young lady if such reports get out.”
“You expect to find Miss Betty, then?”
“Find her? Of course. You say yourself there’s only one way out of these
premises. We know she didn’t go out that way, so, she must be here. There
must be places we haven’t yet discovered, where she is hiding,—or—or has
been concealed.”
“It’s a fearful situation!” broke out Dunn. “That girl may be gagged and
bound—in some secret closet——”
“You say there are none, Bill.”
“I do say I don’t see how there can be any, but, good lord, Potter, the
girl must be somewhere,—dead or alive!”
An attractive supper, largely consisting of the delicacies intended for
the picnic, and supplemented by some hot viands, was soon in readiness.
Hannah was deputed to sit beside Mrs Varian, now sleeping again, and the
others, including the detectives, gathered round the table.
“I’d like the sum of your findings, so far,” Doctor Varian said, raising
weary eyes to Potter’s face.
“Pretty slim, Doctor,” the sheriff responded. “But, I want to say, right
now, that I’ve got to do my duty as I see it. Much as I’d like to spare
the feelings of you people and all that, I’ve got to forge ahead and
discover anything I may.”
“Of course you have, Mr Potter. Don’t think I’d put a straw in the way of
truth or justice. But, granting that you may speak with all plainness,
where do you come out?”
“Only to the inevitable conclusion that Miss Varian killed her father and
then killed herself, and her body will yet be found.”
“Now, Potter,” Dunn said, slowly, “don’t go too fast. That is one theory,
to be sure, but it’s only a theory. You’ve nothing to back it up,—there’s
no evidence——”
“There’s negative evidence, Bill. Nobody else could get up here to do
that shooting, or, if he did, he couldn’t get away again. Say, for a
minute, that some intruder might have been concealed in the house, say he
shot Mr Varian, how’d he get out of here without being seen, and how did
he do for the girl?”
“That’s all so,” Bill said, doggedly, “but it ain’t enough to prove,—or,
even to indicate that Miss Varian did the shooting. Where’d she get a
pistol?”
“Pshaw, that’s a foolish question! If she had nerve and ingenuity enough
to shoot, she had enough to provide the gun.”
“Betty never did such things,” said Janet Varian with spirit. “That girl
did sometimes have words with her father,—that’s a mere nothing,—my own
daughter does that,—but Betty Varian is a loving, affectionate daughter,
and she no more killed her father than I did!”
“Small use in asserting things you can’t prove,” said Potter, devoting
himself to his supper. “Next thing for me to do’s to see those other
people,—the ones that were here this afternoon.”
“All right,” said Doctor Varian, “but what do you hope to learn from
them? They don’t know as much as we do. I was first on the spot, young
Landon, who’s gone home, was here with me, and those others stayed down
on the path waiting for us. See them, by all means, but I doubt their
helpfulness. Now, aside from that, and granting you get no new evidence,
what’s to be done?”
“I think,” Potter said thoughtfully, “you’d better offer a reward for any
news of Miss Varian. It’s not likely to bring results,—but it ought to be
done, I think.”