GRAYDON MCKELVIE
It was easy enough for me to procure through Mr. Vaughn an interview
with Ruth and the next afternoon Mr. Trenton and I visited her in the
prison, or rather in that gray reception-room which is as far as
outsiders may come in the Tombs. She was delighted to see her father,
concerning whose silence she had been quite worried, and when he broke
down and told of yesterday's happenings, she wept with him for a few
minutes, then quietly dried her eyes and set herself to comfort him.
What she said I do not know, for I did not like to intrude myself upon
their sorrow, and I withdrew to the other end of the room and looked out
the grated window.
To think that Ruth, my beloved, should have to spend her days in such a
place, barred from association with her friends, and from the blessed
light of day, innocent of any wrong, yet suffering for some wretch's
crime! Ruth and the horrible creatures who infested the jail! The
thought goaded me to desperation. Abruptly I swung back toward her and
spoke hoarsely,
"Ruth, for God's sake if you are shielding Dick, tell us at once, for I
can stand this suspense no longer!"
She had been seated on a chair beside her father, but at my cry she
jumped up and came to me. Verily I must have been mad, I think, for I
caught her to me and kissed her again and again. A moment she clung to
me, then she pushed me away.
"Carlton! No, you must not!" she sobbed. "No, no," as I followed her,
"not until I am cleared of the shadow of murder!"
"You have committed no crime," I replied savagely. "What do I care for
the world's opinion!" And I caught her to me once more.
"Carlton! If you kiss me again I--I shall hate you!" she whispered
fiercely.
Instantly I released her and walked rapidly away to the other end of the
room.
"Carlton, please don't be angry," she said, brokenly, timidly touching
my arm with the tips of her fingers, "but, oh, my dear, if you kill my
self-respect what in all the world have I left to offer you!"
Humbly I carried her hand to my lips. "Forgive me, dear. I don't deserve
to be allowed even the privilege of looking upon you."
She gave me a smile so forgiving that it brought the tears to my eyes,
and seeing how I was moved she turned away to her father.
"Ruth," he said, relieving the tension, "we have come here, Carlton and
I, to ask you a question."
"Yes, Daddy," she replied, softly, sitting down beside him again.
He drew out Dick's letter and handed it to her. When she had read it he
explained the process of reasoning that had led him to believe that Dick
had killed Darwin and had then committed suicide.
"And now, Ruth, if you saw him there in the study and helped him to
escape, if you are shielding him as you did once before, I hope you
realize that he is quite unworthy and that it is too much of a sacrifice
for you to suffer for his crime."
He had spoken with difficulty, showing how much the words cost him, yet
determined to make amends for all the wrong that had been done to Ruth,
both by himself and Dick. When he finished she looked from him to me in
utter bewilderment.
"I am shielding no one, Daddy. And as far as I know Dick was not in the
study when I was there."
There was no mistaking her sincerity. She was telling the truth and the
whole business was a worse tangle than ever before.
"Besides," she added, "I do not think Dick would do such a thing."
"He did once," returned her father, gloomily.
"But, Daddy, dear, he did not know what he was doing and it--it was
Phil's fault for giving him that pistol. I have mothered him for years
and I know. Whatever reason he had for committing suicide, Daddy, rest
assured in the conviction that he did not kill my husband."
A ray of hope lighted Mr. Trenton's face. "You really believe that,
Ruth? You are not saying it just to comfort me?"
She laid a hand upon his arm as she answered quietly, "I don't believe
it, Daddy. I know he did not murder Phil."
After that we could not believe it either, and so we were back once more
exactly where we started from. In other words, we were moving in circles
which ended where they had begun: namely, in the police's assertion that
Ruth was guilty, a beginning which we knew to be false on the face of
it, but which we had no means of proving to anyone's satisfaction.
"The only thing to do is to hire a competent detective," said Mr.
Trenton emphatically, that night at dinner.
This recalled McKelvie to my mind. "I have one in view," I answered,
"but he is away at present."
"Hire another one then," he retorted.
But I preferred to wait, for as I said before I had not much use for
detectives, private or police, and the only reason that McKelvie
appealed to me at all was because he did not seem from Jenkins' account
to have much in common with the usual sleuth. Then Mr. Trenton wanted to
rush out and employ a man on his own initiative, but this also I
negatived, since no detective was far better than a mediocre fellow
without a grain of imagination. I remembered Jones, and shuddered for
Ruth.
I should like to say right here that if the reader thinks that both Mr.
Trenton and I got over our grief at Dick's horrible end very rapidly, he
must remember that human beings cannot be kept at high tension for a
great length of time or the brain would snap. Everyday occurrences and
the dire need of doing something for Ruth pushed to the background more
recent happenings, particularly when Jenkins brought me word late that
same night that Graydon McKelvie would see me at his home.
Mr. Trenton of course desired to accompany me, but I finally dissuaded
him, telling him that it was better that only one of us should apply to
McKelvie, especially as I had been forewarned that he was rather
eccentric. To which Mr. Trenton grudgingly agreed, and I set out to
interview this solver of crimes with a fluttering heart, for upon him I
based all my remaining hopes.
As I sat in the cosy little sitting-room of the old house on Stuyvesant
Square to which I had been conducted by a better combed and more civil
Dinah with the announcement that "Mistuh McKelvie'll be down in a
secun', sah," I conjured a vision of the type of man I expected to see.
I evolved a cross between an oddity and a mental Sampson, a fretful,
thin man, with a head too big for his body, who would speak in a
querulous high-pitched voice.
The man who entered the room at that moment and came toward me with
extended hand was none of these things. He was a slender, well-dressed
young man, well above the medium height, with a pleasant, but rather
rugged cast of countenance, whose main features were a tenacious chin
and a pair of brilliant black eyes. But when he spoke my name I forgot
his appearance. Never had I heard such a melodious voice. It soothed the
ear with its mellow richness and remained in the mind long after it had
ceased, like the echo of some clear-toned bell. And such was its power
that by merely pronouncing my name he had made me believe that he alone
of all the world could possibly solve the problem which was well-nigh
overwhelming me.
Later I came to know him better and I should have liked him even without
the added attraction of his voice, for he was a refined and cultured
man, extremely clever, if eccentric, whose main idiosyncrasies seemed to
be confined to a whole-souled worship of Sherlock Holmes, a decidedly
autocratic manner, and a fondness for speaking satirically, even at the
expense of his friends.
"Jenkins has told me that you have a problem which you wish me to look
into," he said, motioning me to be seated as he settled himself in a
large arm-chair. "Will you give me briefly the details of the case?"
I am afraid my story was far from brief, for I told him everything from
the moment I heard the shot, through the inquest, to Dick's suicide. He
listened attentively to every word without comment and when I was
through he briskly assumed command.
"I have read of the crime in the papers," he said, "but I must study the
coroner's personal notes of the inquest, before I come to a decision."
He rose and walked to his desk as he spoke, where he scratched off a few
lines on a sheet of notepaper, which he enclosed in an envelope.
"What was the reason for young Trenton's removal from New York six
months ago?" he asked abruptly, turning toward me as he sealed the
envelope.
"Is it necessary to the investigation?" I inquired, loth to reveal the
family skeleton.
"I do not ask unnecessary questions," he returned coldly.
Without more ado I related the affair in all its sordid details. When I
finished he held out the envelope which he still retained in his hand.
"Kindly tell Jenkins to take this note to Coroner Graves," he said.
"Meet me here at ten o'clock to-morrow for your answer. Good-night, Mr.
Davies."
Before I could adjust my thoughts to his rapid speech I found myself in
the street looking in some perplexity at the closed door of Graydon
McKelvie's house.
"Well, I'll be hanged!" I exclaimed wrathfully, as I climbed into my
car.
I drove away in no very pleased frame of mind at the reception I had
received, for when I reviewed the conversation I realized that he had
not compromised himself to help me at all. The moment I reached home,
however, I forgot my annoyance at the cavalier way I had been treated.
The sudden transformation of Jenkins' lugubrious countenance into an
ecstatic smile as he hastened to carry out McKelvie's command, for
that's just what it was, made me feel sanguine once more of that
gentleman's aid. I put down his manner, therefore, to eccentricity and
the natural desire to know more of the problem before he promised to
bring his faculties to bear upon it.
I passed the evening in Elysium and I came down to earth with a bang
when promptly at ten o'clock the next morning, in answer to my query,
McKelvie tossed a sheet of paper across the table to me with the remark:
"Find the answers to those questions and you'll have the name of the
person who committed the crime."
I looked at him, sitting smoking unconcernedly, to the paper in my hand,
undecided which to tackle first, when my mind caught the sense of the
words before me. After that I forgot my surroundings until I had
absorbed every line that McKelvie had written. The document was drawn up
in the form of a series of questions, with sufficient space below each
one to insert the proper answer, and it read as follows:
(1) Why was the pistol fired at midnight?
(2) Did the murderer also light the lamp?
(3) How did the murderer enter and leave the study?
(4) What was the motive for the murder?
(5) Why did the doctors disagree, and which was in the right?
(6) Why did Philip Darwin put that ring on his finger and then pull it
off?
(7) Whose is the blood-stained handkerchief?
(8) Where did the second bullet go?
(9) Why is there so much evidence against Mrs. Darwin, and who would
most desire to injure her?
(10) Is Cora Manning the woman in the case and if so, who and what is
she?
(11) What has become of Darwin's securities?
(12) What is Lee Darwin's connection with the affair?
(13) Why did Richard Trenton come to New York and then commit suicide?
(14) What is the relation between Mr. Cunningham and the murdered man?
(15) Which one of those having a sufficient motive for killing Darwin
answers to the following description: clever, unprincipled, and
absolutely cold-blooded?
"Find the answers to those questions!" I repeated when I had devoured
the sheet with my eyes. "It would take me a lifetime! For mercy's sake,
don't fail me now when I have only you to depend on to help me!" I
cried.
With an odd smile he took his pipe from his mouth and tapped the bowl
upon his open palm. Then he looked at me and spoke abruptly, "If I take
this case it will be on one condition."
"A thousand if you wish," I exclaimed impatiently.
"No, only one, that when I give commands they shall be obeyed
implicitly, even though you may not be able to perceive their wisdom at
the time."
I blinked at the unexpectedness of the answer and then held out my hand.
"It shall be as you say, Mr. McKelvie, only don't let them convict
Ruth."
He clasped my hand. "I won't, Mr. Davies, if she is guiltless, and my
first command is this: I want an interview with Mrs. Darwin this
afternoon."