Clues
It was after luncheon, in the library, that Pennington Wise began his
real business of the investigation of the Varian mysteries.
First of all, he desired to look over the papers in Mr Varian’s desk, and
with the assistance of Granniss, he was soon in possession of the
principal facts to be learned that way.
Moreover, he discovered some things not yet taken into consideration by
the local detectives, and he read with interest a number of letters that
were carefully filed, apparently for preservation.
Rapidly he scanned them and tossed them aside, retaining a few for
further consideration.
“I think, Mrs Varian,” he said, at last, “that a most important fact in
the case is the strange bequest of the Varian pearls to your husband’s
niece instead of to his daughter. Can you explain this?”
“I cannot,” said Minna, “it seems to me absolutely unexplainable. For
generations those pearls have descended from parent to child,—sometimes a
mother owned them, sometimes a father, but they were always given to the
oldest daughter, or, if there were no daughter, then to a son. Only in
case of a childless inheritor did they go to a niece or nephew. Why my
husband should so definitely bequeath them to his niece,—I cannot
imagine. I’ve thought over that for hours, but I can’t understand it I
will say frankly, that Betty and her father frequently had differences of
opinion, but nothing more than many families have. They were really
devoted to one another, but both were of decided, even obstinate nature,
and when they disagreed they were apt to argue the matter out, and as a
result of it, they did sometimes lose their temper and really quarreled.
But it always blew over quickly and they were good friends again. I never
paid any attention to their little squabbles, for I knew them both too
well to think they were really at enmity. But this matter of the pearls
looks as if my husband had a positive dislike for the child, and as a
mark of spite or punishment left the pearls away from her. It makes
little difference, if—if——”
“Don’t think about that, Mrs Varian,” said Wise, kindly; “I’m considering
this strange clause of Mr Varian’s will from the viewpoint of the whole
mystery. It may prove a clue, you see. I want to say, right now, that the
whole affair is the greatest and most baffling puzzle I have ever known
of. The disappearance of your daughter and the death of your husband
offer no solution that seems to me possible,—let alone probable. I can
set up no theory that does not include a secret passage of some sort. And
though I am emphatically informed there is none, yet, as you may imagine,
I must investigate that for myself.”
“I’ve found the house plans,” said a low, thin little voice, and the
strange girl, Zizi, appeared in the room. That slender little wisp of
humanity had an uncanny way of being present and absent, suddenly, and
without explanation. She was there, and then she wasn’t there,—but her
goings and comings were so noiseless and unobtrusive that they were never
noticed.
Pennington Wise held out his hand without a word. Zizi gave over a bulky
roll of papers and subsided.
Unrolling the time-yellowed sheets, they saw that they really were the
old contractor’s plans of the house.
With a sigh of satisfaction Wise commenced to study them,—Granniss
looking over his shoulder.
Minna sat quietly, her nervousness lost in her eager anticipation of the
new detective’s successful quest.
The two men studied the plans carefully.
“I wish North could see these,” Rodney said; “he’s of an architectural
bent, Mr Wise, and he measured the house all over, trying to find an
unexplained bit of space. According to these plans, North is right, and
there isn’t any.”
“I’m of an architectural bent myself,” Wise smiled, “and I agree, there’s
no foot of room left unaccounted for on these papers. Of course a secret
passage could have been built in, in contradiction of the plans, but I
can’t think there is any such, after your own search. It might be
out-of-doors?”
“But we would have seen anyone going in or out of the house,” Minna
explained. “We were all watching.”
“The back doors?”
“There’s only one,” Rodney told him. “And that was locked on the inside.
Locked and bolted. No, whatever happened, nobody came in through the
kitchen.”
“Do you assume an intruder, then, Mr Wise?” Minna asked.
“I am obliged to, Mrs Varian. To begin with the only fact we can
positively affirm, Mr Varian was shot,—and not by his own hand. This we
assume because of the absence of the weapon. Now, either Miss Betty shot
him or someone else did. I can’t think the daughter did it, for it’s
against the probabilities in every way,—though, of course, it’s a
possibility. But the difficulties in the way of explaining what the girl
did with herself afterward, seem to me greater than the objections to
assuming an intruder from outside. I mean from outside the family,—not
from outside the house. The explanation of his entrance and exit is no
more of a puzzle than the explanation of Miss Varian’s exit. And I think
we must dismiss the idea that the girl concealed herself in this
house,—whether alive or—a suicide.”
“The girl didn’t do it,” came Zizi’s low murmur. She was sitting on an
ottoman, near Minna, and now and then she caressed the hand of her
hostess. “There’s a big mind at the back of all this. And you’re
overlooking the death of the maid last night Why, Penny, it’s all of a
piece.”
“Yes”; and Wise roused himself from a brown study. “It is all of a piece,
and it hinges on that bequest of the Varian pearls.”
“Hinges on that?” said Zizi.
“I mean that’s a key to the situation. When we learn _why_ Mr Varian made
that strange arrangement, we’ll be on our way to a solution of the
mystery. But the first thing is to find Miss Varian.”
“Oh, Mr Wise,” Minna cried out, “you think she is alive——”
“I very much hope so, and though I don’t want to give you false
encouragement, I can’t help feeling that she may be,”
“Yes, she is,” came Zizi’s quiet assurance, and Minna impulsively kissed
her.
“What a comfort you are!” she exclaimed; “elf, pixie,—I don’t know what
to call you,—but you bring me courage and hope.”
Zizi’s great dark eyes gave appreciation, but she only said, “You’re up
against it, Penny.”
“I am, indeed,” Wise said, very gravely; “and my first work must be a
deep investigation of all Mr Varian’s affairs. You were entirely in his
confidence, Mrs Varian?”
“Oh, yes; we had no secrets from one another. He told me all his
financial ventures or business worries. There were none of those of late,
but years ago, there were some. Yes, I may say I know everything that
ever happened to my husband.”
“Then who has been blackmailing him of late, and what for?”
“Blackmail!” Minna looked blank. “Never such a thing as that has happened
to my husband!” She spoke proudly and positively.
“You know of no one who had a hold over Mr Varian,—or thought he had,—and
who wrote him threatening letters?”
“Most assuredly not! And I know that nothing of the sort ever did occur,
for he would most certainly have told me. We were more confidential than
most married people, and we never had secrets from one another.”
“Well, perhaps I am over-imaginative.”
“What made you think it?” asked Minna, curiously; “if you have found any
letters you can’t explain, show them to me,—I can doubtless tell you
about them.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Wise handed her a letter.
It bore neither date nor address, but it read,
“Unless you accede to my demands, I shall expose you, and the woman you
robbed will claim redress or return of her property.”
This brief message was signed “Step.” and Minna read it with a look of
utter perplexity.
“I don’t know what it means,” she said, handing it back, “but I’m sure
it’s of no importance. Mr Varian never robbed a woman in his life! The
very idea is too absurd to consider. You are at liberty to hunt it down,
Mr Wise, but you will never find it has a meaning that will reflect on my
husband’s stainless honor! You may refer to any of his friends, his
relatives or his business associates. All will tell you that Frederick
Varian and dishonesty are contradictory terms!”
“That may all be true, Mrs Varian, and doubtless is true, but you know
blackmailers are not so scrupulous, and they sometimes find a peg to hang
their demands on even in the case of the most upright. This note is
undated, but the envelope shows it was mailed less than six months ago.
Therefore the matter may be still unsettled, and may have a bearing on
the whole case. Could there have been any family reason that would
influence him to leave the pearls away from his daughter?”
“Oh, no! His brother and sister-in-law were quite as much surprised as I
was to learn of that. But, Mr Wise, what do you think about this matter
of the kidnappers asking for ransom? Do you think it is all a fraud?”
“I’m going to look into that as soon as I can. At first glance, it seems
fraudulent, but the wonder is that you haven’t had similar letters from
other fakers. However, I am going to work backward. I want, first of all
to look about a bit, for evidences or clues regarding last night’s
tragedy. I am sure the whole string of horrors is a connected one, and to
find out who killed poor Martha, will in my opinion be a stepping-stone
to the solution of the other mysteries.”
“There’s a clue for you, then,” Zizi said, not moving from her seat, but
pointing to a spot on the rug near the safe.
Wise’s eyes followed her finger’s direction and saw a slight mark, as of
a dusty footprint.
In a moment, he was on his knees near it, and scrutinized it carefully.
“I’ve heard of footprint clues,” said Granniss, interested, “but that is
so vague and imperfect, I don’t think you can deduce who made it,—can
you?”
“Not from the print,——” Wise said,—thoughtfully, and then added nothing
to his unsatisfactory statement.
He then took a paper-cutter from the desk, and scraped onto a bit of
smooth paper what dust he could get from the footprint, and carefully
folded it up and put it in his pocketbook.
“What shoes were you wearing when you visited the safe last night, Mrs
Varian?” he asked.
“Bedroom slippers,” she replied.
“Had you walked anywhere except to traverse the halls and stairs, from
your bedroom down here?”
“No, nowhere else.”
“And you took that package of money up to your room with you?”
“Yes.”
“Had you not done so, it would have been stolen,” Wise said, calmly. “A
thief visited this safe after you were here,—he thought the money was
here. He was surprised by the maid, Martha, coming down to spy on
him,—and in order to get rid of her,—and save himself, he strangled her.”
All present stared at him, and Rodney Granniss flushed a deep red.
“To a disinterested observer, Mr Wise,” he said, “it might easily appear
that I was that thief. I knew the money had been put in the safe. I did
not know Mrs Varian had removed it. I——”
“Look here,” interrupted Zizi, “you talk too much! If you’re going to be
suspected, for the love of cheese, let somebody else do it! Don’t meet
trouble half way, and sing out, ‘Pleased to meetcha!’ Be careful, Mr
Granniss.”
“Hush up, Zizi,” Wise counseled her. “Children should be seen and not
heard.”
“All right, Penny, I’ll be good. Now, here’s a present for you.”
She gave him the yellow beads given her by the cook.
“Divulge,” he said, briefly, as he stared at the tiny objects in his
palm.
But Minna Varian had caught sight of them and had recognized them. “Oh!”
she cried, “Betty! _Betty!_ Those are the beads she had on that day!
Where did you get them? Where did they come from?”
And then, before they could answer her, her over-wrought nerves gave way,
her calm broke through the constraint she had put upon it, and she became
hysterical.
Granniss went at once for Mrs Fletcher, and the nurse took her patiently
away.
“She’ll be all right with Fletcher,” Rodney said, returning after he had
assisted Minna to her room; “it won’t be a very bad attack, nurse thinks.
Really, I’ve been surprised that Mrs Varian has kept up as well as she
has. Now, Mr Wise, tell me what you suspect regarding Mr Varian? And
also, tell me if you suspect me—in any way. I plead not guilty,—and I
want to add that Miss Varian and I are sweethearts. We couldn’t call it
an engagement for her father wouldn’t hear of such a thing. But we hoped
to persuade him in time,—and truly, I thought he would finally consent.
I’m telling you this, so you can see what a deep interest I have in the
recovery of Betty,—for I am not willing to believe she is dead. In fact,
I believe she has been kidnapped, and though I’m not sure those letters
Mrs Varian has received are in good faith,—yet I believe she is being
held for ransom.”
“By whom?” asked Wise.
“By the kidnapper——”
“Who also is the——”
“Blackmailer!” said Zizi, in an awestruck voice. “Oh, Penny Wise, how you
do jump at a solution! You just clear all intervening obstacles, and land
on the truth!”
“I’m far from having landed,” said Wise, ruefully; “that’s all
theory,—with very little fact to back it up.”
“Well, these beads are facts,” Zizi said. “They’re two more, Penny, from
the same string that you already have a few from. You see, Mr Granniss,”
she said, turning to Rod, “Mr Wise discovered a few of these beads in the
kitchen this morning, and a little later, I found that the cook had
picked up two in the kitchen the day after Miss Betty’s disappearance.
The string of them that she wore was not a long one, but still there were
at least a dozen or so more than we have found. Where are they?” She had
turned again to Wise as she put this question.
“I know the beads well,” Granniss said, “but how did they get in the
kitchen?”
“It may be a simple matter,” Wise responded. “Perhaps the string broke
when she was out there getting the lemonade. I understand all the
servants were away.”
“But, Penny,” Zizi reminded him, “in that case the other beads would be
about, somewhere. She would have picked them up and put them in a box or
something.”
“Yes, she would,” Rodney agreed, “for Betty loved that necklace. She
loved anything yellow. You’ve heard about the yellow pillow?”
“No,” said Wise. “Do try, Mr Granniss, to tell me everything. I was
called to this case altogether too late. Much could have been done had I
been here sooner. But, now tell me every little thing you can think of.”
So Granniss told them of the finding of the yellow satin sofa-pillow in
the middle of the kitchen floor. He obtained the pillow from the hall and
showed it to them.
Zizi scrutinized it with her eager black eyes, and carefully extracted
from its embroidered design a small fine hairpin.
“An invisible,” she said, holding it up to the light. “Betty’s,—I
daresay?”
“Yes,” and Granniss looked at it. “She wore dinky little ones like that
in her front hair. All girls do, I guess.”
“It may mean something or nothing,” Wise said, musingly. “If Miss Varian
was in the habit of lying on the hall sofa, the hairpin may have been
caught in the cushion some time ago.”
“I don’t know,” Granniss said; “I never was here while—when Betty was
here.”
“Well, aside from the hairpin, what about the yellow pillow, on the
kitchen floor, Penny?” Zizi asked, looking up into the detective’s face
as at an oracle.
“It’s a clue, all right,” Wise said; “oh, if I’d only been here that very
day! A most astounding case, and every possible evidence wiped out!”
“Oh, no, not that,” Zizi spoke cheerfully. “And now, as you say, you must
get busy in the matter of poor Martha. What about the green streak?”
“Yes,” the detective spoke to Rodney. “There was a dull green smear
across the palm of that girl’s left hand. I see no freshly painted
furniture in this room.”
“No, there wouldn’t be,” Zizi ruminated. “And it wasn’t paint,—you know
it wasn’t.”
“It looked like paint, and what else would remain there so indelibly?”
“What could it be anyway?” queried Granniss. “What do you suggest?”
“I can’t think, myself,” and Wise looked nonplussed. “I smelled it, but
there was no odor of paint. Nobody around the house uses water colors, I
suppose?”
“No,” said Granniss.
“It was such a smear as might have been made by a paint brush filled with
a dull green watercolor pigment,—but I don’t say it was that.”
“It was more like a vegetable stain,” Zizi suggested. “A mark like that
could have been made, by grasping a dish or saucepan that had held
spinach.”
“Oh, come now, Zizi, that’s a little far-fetched.”
“Not if we find cold spinach in the refrigerator,” Zizi persisted.
“Martha might have been getting something to eat.”
“In that case the green smear doesn’t count for much,” Wise said. “But we
have accumulated some clues. We have the yellow beads, the yellow pillow,
the green streak, and last, but by no means least, the dust I scraped
from the floor in this room.”
“Explain the significance of that, won’t you?” asked Granniss. “Or are
you one of those secretive detectives?”
“Not at all. That dust is, to my mind, from the shoe of the man who tried
to rob this safe last night, thinking that money was in it. Now, I admit,
Mr Granniss, that you knew, or thought you did, that the money was there;
you knew the combination; you are quite strong enough to have strangled a
woman who surprised you at your job; yet I know you didn’t have anything
to do with the attempted robbery, because——”
“Because you love Betty!” Zizi said, softly, her eyes shining with
sympathy and understanding. “Right you are, Wise, go on.”
“Also, because,” Wise went on, “because, I’m sure that is the footprint
of the would-be burglar, and while the footprint as a print is too
indistinct to be a clue to the man who made it, yet the dust that forms
the print is indicative. It is a fine dust made up of particles of
cement. I mean such dust as would adhere to a shoe that had traversed a
cement floor, and, more likely an imperfect cement floor.”
“That means the cellar!” Rodney cried; “I’ve been down there a lot of
late, poking around for that everlasting secret passage, and there’s a
lot of loose cement.”
Wise gave him a quick glance, but his enthusiasm was so genuine, that the
detective dismissed a sudden qualm of suspicion.
“Slip down and get me a sample, will you?” he said, and Granniss went at
once.
“Big case, Zizi,” Wise said, as the two were left alone.
But he spoke heavily, almost despairingly, and with no show of his usual
exultant interest in a big case.
“Yes, but,” the black eyes turned hopefully to his own, “there are
tangible clues. And those of Betty’s can wait. Do you chase those that
have to do with Martha first.”
“I certainly shall. Martha was killed by the burglar. Did he kidnap
Betty?”
“And kill Mr Varian?” Zizi added, and then Granniss returned.
He brought a little cellar floor dust in a paper, and, as Wise had
expected, that and the particles he had scraped from the library rug,
were indubitably the same.
“Well, then,” Wise remarked, “the burglar came up from the cellar.”
“Where he had been hiding, goodness knows how long!” Rodney exclaimed.
“For we locked the house securely before we went upstairs.”
“I think it’s time I took a look at the cellar,” said Wise, and all three
started down.