THE STEWARD
I was taken by surprise when Mason knocked on the door to tell us that
he had prepared some luncheon for us. We had talked for two hours and
had virtually arrived--nowhere! The thing was beginning to get on my
nerves and I said as much to McKelvie as we seated ourselves at the
table.
"Yes," he returned. "It's getting on mine, too. I feel like--well, a
person tied to a tree, who can go so far and no farther. But I'm going
to break away."
"You mean you are going to try to locate the criminal since we can find
no clues to help Ruth?" I asked.
"No, not directly, at present. I'm going to try to locate substantial
evidence against him, for your clever criminal is not so easily caught.
The trouble lies right here. Though I know the murderer is clever I have
no idea as to his identity, because I do not absolutely know the true
motive for the crime. Or, rather, I should say, no proof, for
unfortunately there are any number of persons who might have been in the
house at that time and who had sufficient motive for killing Darwin."
"Can't some of them produce alibis?"
"Alibis! I spent all day yesterday chasing alibis. Let's go over them.
First, there's Mr. Trenton----"
"Heavens! You don't suspect him?" I gasped.
"Why not? Don't you suppose he realized as you did that he was primarily
to blame for Mrs. Darwin's marriage? And didn't he, while living in
this house, have an opportunity to witness and resent the treatment
accorded to his daughter? And more than resent his own humiliation at
the hands of Philip Darwin, a humiliation of which even young Darwin was
cognizant, if he spoke the truth at the inquest?"
"You're right. I hadn't connected him with the affair at all. I suppose
because he was away," I replied.
He smiled. "I think we can safely knock him off our list, for though he
had motive he had not the opportunity. I motored to Tarrytown yesterday
and had an interview with Mrs. Bailey. On the night of the seventh, Mr.
Trenton was ill, too ill to leave his bed, and precisely at midnight
she, herself, and her doctor were in attendance upon him."
"I'm glad of that," I said, drawing a long breath. "It's bad enough as
it is without dragging Mr. Trenton into it, too."
"Though I made certain of his alibi because I am leaving no stones
unturned in this case, still I never for one moment believed him guilty.
It would be a monstrous father, indeed, who would let his daughter
remain in jail if a word from him could clear her, particularly if he
loved her and had bitterly repented of his former treatment of her."
"That's one off the list. Who else could have done it?" I prompted, as
he remained absorbed in thought.
"Cunningham is clever, and though he may have had opportunity, he lacks
motive. I saw the telephone girl in the apartment house where he has a
suite of rooms. She says that he left town about the first of October
and did not return until about ten o'clock the morning of the eighth.
Of course he might have got in the night before, in which case he spent
the night in the street or with a friend, for he is not registered at
any of the hotels, although he could have registered under an assumed
name, both of which presumptions are absurd, since he could have easily
returned home and none the wiser. The girl said he looked as he usually
did when he returned from out of town, but she had no idea where he
went. It seems he has many out-of-town clients whom he visits
occasionally, and it would certainly take quite a while to locate them
and get the desired information, with the chances ten to one that he
went somewhere else altogether, and had nothing to do with the murder
after all. The only thing I have against him is that he is clever, and
for that matter so I should judge was Richard Trenton."
"You think Dick might have done it?"
"I'm overlooking no one. I saw Jones and got from him all the data
concerning Trenton's actions on that night. Also I telegraphed to the
Chicago police to try to locate anyone who may have known him there and
we should be hearing from that end in a day or two. There is one fact
that stands out clearly, and can't be explained away. He left the hotel
before eleven and did not return until one. Also there is no trace of
where he went during that time since, though he taxied to the hotel, he
was clever enough to take the Subway or the surface car to his
destination. Then we have the letter he wrote his father, which
certainly points to his intention to see Philip Darwin. Whether he did
or not, we don't know, but it's quite probable that he did come here,
and that the two men had a conference of some sort. Again I'm inclined
to believe that he is innocent for the same reason that exonerated the
father in my eyes. Yet there is his suicide to account for, and the
still stranger fact that he left no word of any kind to explain his
act."
He paused, then continued with a shake of the head, "There's not much
use bothering with him at present, for he's beyond helping us in our
predicament. There are others who may prove more useful."
"What about Lee?" I inquired, remembering the stick-pin and where it had
been found.
"Lee Darwin is the most likely suspect that I have," he returned, then
quietly busied himself with his dessert, for Mason had entered and was
hovering around. "By the way," he added, as we left the dining-room, "I
have an appointment with the steward of the Yale Club on this very
matter. I went there yesterday but Carpe was away and I left word that I
would call at one-thirty to see him. Supposing you drive me over."
"After this visit I'll be able to decide whether our young friend had
the chance to commit murder," he continued when we were in the car
headed for the Yale Club. "He had plenty of motive."
"Chance, too, McKelvie. Didn't you say yourself that he was there that
night when you first showed me his stick-pin?"
"I said he was there and I still say it, but that means nothing at all.
We have got to prove that he was there at the psychological moment."
I nodded. "But, even if he had been, I can't see where you find a
motive. He quarreled with his uncle, I know, but there was nothing in
that to cause him to shoot Darwin."
"Wasn't there?" answered McKelvie. "Surely you don't believe that he
really quarreled with his uncle about Mrs. Darwin? It's absurd on the
face of it, that he should suddenly object to treatment that he had
accepted with utter indifference for five months or so. No, no, I have
another theory altogether about that quarrel."
Our arrival at the Club put an end to our discussion. Carpe, the
steward, whom I had interviewed the night I first sought McKelvie, came
forward as we entered. He was a big, dependable fellow, this steward,
and had been in the employ of the Club for years. Moreover, he could be
trusted to give correct information about the doings of the various
members of the Club, all of whom he knew well.
"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly. "If you will come into the office
I shall be glad to accommodate you."
We followed him into a small room at the side of the hall and he invited
us to be seated, as he dropped heavily into a chair at his desk, but
McKelvie remained standing, and as he put his questions he paced back
and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.
"I desire to ask you some questions about Mr. Lee Darwin, Mr. Carpe," he
began. "You have heard nothing from him since he left?"
"No, sir, not a word," replied Carpe, slowly.
"Go back to October seventh, Mr. Carpe. Lee Darwin engaged rooms for
that night, did he not?" continued McKelvie.
"Yes. He called me personally about noon and said he wanted a suite of
rooms for an indefinite time. He came in some time during the afternoon
but went out again at five o'clock."
"You are sure of the time?"
"Yes. There was to be a banquet of some kind to which he had been
invited. It was just striking five as he came into my office here and
told me he could not attend, asking me to make his excuses for him. He
said he would not be back until late. It made an impression on me at the
time because he was not in evening clothes and I had always known Mr.
Lee Darwin for a very fastidious young man."
"Do you know what time he got back?" McKelvie inquired after a pause.
"He didn't come back that night," answered Carpe.
McKelvie and I exchanged glances. "You could swear to that?" asked
McKelvie eagerly.
"I could. I sleep on the first floor at the back of the house. About
five o'clock in the morning I heard someone knocking on my window and I
got up to see who wanted me at such an hour. We don't keep open house at
this Club. In the dim light I saw that the man was Mr. Lee Darwin, so I
motioned him to the back and opened the door for him myself. It was
quite a shock to me to see him, I can tell you. He was pale and
wild-eyed and his clothes were rumpled and dusty. He stumbled in and I
helped him to his room. He told me to keep quiet about him and naturally
I promised. I thought he had been out on a spree of some kind. He acted
as if he might have been drinking," explained Carpe ponderously.
"What did he do after you promised silence?" McKelvie took a turn around
the room as he put the question.
"He went to bed, and at luncheon time I awakened him. He dressed
hurriedly and rushed out without eating and did not return until three.
There was a telegram waiting for him. He read it and then tore it up and
his hands were trembling as he did so. Then he remarked that he was
leaving for the South on business and asked me to leave his rooms
undisturbed. He left in ten minutes and that is the last I have seen of
him," replied Carpe.
"When he came back the morning of the eighth, were you really positive
that he had been drinking, or did he give you another impression as
well?" continued McKelvie.
"Well, to be candid, at the time he seemed to me to be scared, as if he
had seen something that had terrified him plumb out of his wits. It was
afterwards in thinking it over that I decided that he had been out on a
lark," responded Carpe, after a moment's consideration.
"I should like to examine his rooms," said McKelvie abruptly.
"Certainly." Carpe rose and led the way up the stairs, along a hall and
into a suite consisting of a dressing-room, bedroom, and bath.
The rooms were nicely furnished but were not unusual in any way and gave
no indication of having been recently used. Everything was in immaculate
order.
"Any of his belongings still around?" queried McKelvie.
"Yes, he left some things in the chiffonier."
McKelvie strode to the article of furniture in question and examined its
contents with great care, as if hunting for some definite object. Then
with a shrug he announced that he was through. I thought he had been
disappointed in his search, but one look into his sparkling eyes told me
a different tale. He had been successful, but what had he expected to
find?
"Thank you, Mr. Carpe. I'm much obliged to you. Keep my visit a secret,
particularly as your information may not be of value to me and might, if
gossiped about, merely create an unpleasant situation for the young
man," said McKelvie as we returned to the lower floor.
"Just as you say. Good afternoon, Mr. McKelvie," and the door closed
behind us.
As we descended the steps I said curiously, "What did you find,
McKelvie?"
For answer he pulled from his pocket a small yellow satin sachet bag
with the initials L. D. embroidered on it in blue. He placed it in my
hand and with the remark, "Take a good whiff. It's a heavenly scent."
I held the dainty bag to my nostrils and inhaled deeply. It was
wonderfully, delicately fragrant. I had a distinct recollection of
having been recently made conscious that there was in this world such a
subtle, elusive perfume, but for the moment I could not place it. Like a
melody that haunts by its familiarity even when its name eludes the
mind, did this perfume waft across my senses the knowledge that I had
breathed in its fragrance before and on two distinct occasions. Then
memory awoke and I saw myself drawing back from a blood-stained
handkerchief which had been suddenly thrust beneath my nose at
Headquarters, and recalled wondering where I had come across that
perfume before. Ah, I had it. It was Dick who first introduced me to
it. He also had a tiny sachet of yellow satin embroidered in blue and
when I noticed it with some astonishment among his things he laughed in
an embarrassed way and said a girl he knew had made it for him. When I
asked him what it was he named it for me with a shame-faced look.
The subtle perfume that now assailed my nostrils and delighted my senses
was none other than the fragrance that scented Dick's belongings, that
clung to the Persian silk cover in the secret room, and that had left
its trace on that square of cambric that Philip Darwin had been holding,
the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot! And Rose Jacqueminot meant a woman
and the only woman I could think of was--Cora Manning.
"What do you make of this, McKelvie?" I asked, returning the sachet.
He shrugged. "May be important and may not. I was more interested in
hearing that he had been out all night."
"Which means of course that he had the opportunity," I interpreted.
"Yes, he had the opportunity, but he may not have used it. His stick-pin
is no proof that he was there at midnight. There are all sorts of
possibilities in a case like this one. However, he did have ample
motive, for besides the quarrel there is the will. I examined specimens
of Philip Darwin's handwriting. He does not make his capitals with a
flourish. He makes his R's straight. So he was disinheriting his nephew
and not his wife. Also the criminal knew that fact, or why his attempt
to destroy the scraps by burning, which would account, you see, for his
still being in the study when Mrs. Darwin entered."
"Somehow I can't believe Lee did it--unless it was on impulse," I said,
recalling the young man's noble countenance. "Besides, McKelvie, surely
he isn't so depraved as to implicate Ruth!"
"'Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth?'" he quoted. "He has
the Darwin blood in his veins."
"So has Dick for that matter," I thought to myself.
"I don't mean to imply by that that he necessarily committed the
murder," continued McKelvie. "I merely state that he had plenty of
motive and chance. But so did several others, as we know. And even if he
is the murderer we have no proof of that fact; nor does there seem to be
at present any chance of questioning him. I have a man on his trail, but
so far Wilkins has met with no success. He's evidently disguised, since
no one recognizes his photograph, which, added to his use of Rose
Jacqueminot sachet, looks very bad indeed."
"Why?" I put in.
"Ask me that again later and I may be able to give you a more definite
answer," he retorted. "To return to the subject. It may take months to
find Lee and we haven't months to waste on this case."
"What do you propose to do then?" I asked despairingly.
"I'm going to let you drive me over to Forty-second Street to see Claude
Orton," he responded, entering my car.