GRAMERCY PARK
Even McKelvie was taken aback by this statement, more so than I was, I
could see, because he was firmly convinced that the criminal waited for
Ruth in a darkened room. I stole a glance at Orton to see whether he was
triumphing over us, but he was sitting in the same dejected attitude and
did not act at all as though he had made a remarkable declaration. Yet
if he spoke the truth, he sent our theories tumbling about our ears like
a house of cards from which one of the foundation units had been
suddenly removed. If the study was lighted at that time, then Ruth must
have seen the criminal, yet she had said she was shielding no one and I
believed her. What paradox was this, then? Even McKelvie was puzzled.
"I wish I were sure you are speaking the truth," he muttered, looking at
Orton in a reflective way.
"It is the truth. Why should I make it up? I applied my eye to the
key-hole to make doubly sure, even when I saw the light shining beneath
the doorsill," said Orton, and there was no mistaking his sincerity and
genuine surprise that McKelvie should doubt him.
"You did not chance to see anyone when you applied your eye to the
key-hole?" went on McKelvie, putting aside his conjectures.
"No, I saw no one."
"You are acquainted with the details of Mr. Darwin's business, are you
not?" McKelvie remarked, abruptly changing the subject.
"Yes, I'm conversant with a good deal of it," responded Orton.
"Is it true that he removed his securities from Cunningham's office and
used them to speculate with?" continued McKelvie.
"I suppose so since the lawyer says it. I myself never even knew he had
those securities. I attended strictly to his business in connection with
the bank, answering letters, arranging committee meetings, taking notes
of any agreements the directors came to, and so on. He speculated with
his own private funds, and advised his brokers himself, so I know
nothing beyond the fact that his transactions were large," answered
Orton.
"You didn't hear any rumors that he was speculating in M. and R. stock,
for instance?"
"Well, yes, he told me himself that he was going to take a chance on
it," replied Orton after a slight hesitation.
"He didn't happen to mention that he was ruined, did he, on the
afternoon of the seventh?" insisted McKelvie.
"Ruined!" Orton's eyes fairly popped with amazement. "No, I had no idea
it was as bad as that."
"What do you mean?" asked McKelvie quickly.
"I was watching that stock go down, and when he came into the office
that afternoon I asked him casually if he had invested. He said, 'Yes,
heavily,' in a dull kind of voice, but I thought nothing more about it,
because he was always pessimistic whenever he speculated and I also knew
he was too cautious to put up more than he could afford. I can't
believe he could have invested his whole fortune," and Orton shook his
head with a shrewd glance at us.
"Rumors are apt to exaggerate," responded McKelvie lightly. "By the way,
how much was his whole fortune?"
"I don't really know, but I believe he got quite a bit when he married
Mrs. Darwin. At least I gathered as much from something she said to him
one day when he had been particularly mean to her," explained Orton.
"Do you recall the exact words?" asked McKelvie, ignoring my frown.
"Not the exact words, but the sense of them," answered Orton with a
smile. "She wanted to know if he hadn't humiliated her enough when he
forced her to sign over to him her fortune, thus leaving her dependent
upon him, and he replied with a sneer, 'That's all I married you for, my
dear.'"
At that moment I rejoiced in the murder, and should have thought no ill
of her if Ruth herself had done it. It was not murder but the
justifiable removal of a venomous snake. I was beginning to regret I had
not done it myself six months before when it first occurred to me as the
only solution to our trouble.
"I think that is all then. Say nothing about our having been here, and
I'll do the same with regard to your affairs. By the way, at the trial
you may use the alibi you gave the police. You might find it awkward
explaining why you lied to them." McKelvie rose as he spoke, and walked
toward the door.
"You're not joking? I can give the same evidence I gave before?" gasped
Orton incredulously.
"Yes, only take care not to trip yourself up under cross-examination,
though I doubt if there is much danger from Mr. Vaughn. Why on earth did
you pick that old fossil to defend her?" he continued, as we re-entered
my car. "The prosecution will put it all over him from the start."
"I went to him because he was the only one I could think of at the
moment, but he will not defend her himself, McKelvie. He will employ
other counsel. Though I can't see that it matters much what kind of
counsel we have or if we have any at all, for the prosecution has the
facts while we have--mere theories," I returned gloomily.
"You're right. We have only theories and for a moment mine got a mortal
blow when Orton said the study was lighted, for as near as I can figure
that must have been just before Mrs. Darwin went in. Lord, if Grenville
knew that fact he'd laugh in your face when you testify, as I presume
you will, that the study was in darkness. Yes, and how much store would
the jury set by Mrs. Darwin's account then?"
"Is that the reason you told Orton to repeat his evidence?" I asked.
"Naturally. I'm not giving my opponents any more points in their favor.
The game is unequal enough as it is," he replied, drawing his brows
together in an effort to reconcile the various facts in the case.
"But, Orton may give us away," I said presently. "He may become
frightened when he has to testify under oath."
"He's looking out for A No. 1 and he's an adept liar, to boot. Besides,
he'd say nothing to make me reveal what I know about him," retorted
McKelvie, coming out of his abstraction.
"What do you know about him?" I asked curiously.
"Only that he's mixed up in some boot-legging scheme. Not much of a
hold, you think? Perhaps not, where a fearless man was concerned, but
Claude Orton is the greatest coward I have met in many a day. The very
word police is enough to scare him out of his wits, but he isn't worth a
moment's thought. I wanted to frighten him badly enough to get at the
truth and it netted us nothing in the end," he added, shifting
impatiently in his seat.
I laughed sardonically. "You forget. It netted us a lighted room," I
remarked.
McKelvie turned toward me with a look of deep concern in his eyes. "Tell
me," he said, "do you believe it was cleverness or sheer bravado that
made the criminal light the study with the door unlocked? Give me your
opinion."
"How should I know?" I retorted glumly. "It's my opinion he was liable
to do anything."
"He could hardly be cognizant of the fact that Orton was prowling
around, and he could easily turn off the lights when he heard footsteps
crossing the hall. That's doubtless just what he did, which would imply
that he was somewhere near the door. What a pity Orton caught no glimpse
of him! He would hardly leave Mrs. Darwin's entrance to chance. He'd
want to know when she was coming, for he couldn't be certain of the time
she would choose to enter, no, not if he were twice as clever." McKelvie
was thinking aloud, his brows knit once more, but I did not hesitate to
interrupt him. There was no Jenkins present to preserve the flow of his
thoughts undisturbed.
"You seem to believe, or rather I should say, you seem absolutely
convinced that the criminal knew that Ruth would come to the study. The
same conviction, with all its attendant horror, flashed over me a while
ago when you were questioning Orton. But, upon my honor, now I review
the thing calmly, I can't figure on what you base your conclusion. Ruth
had no more idea of going into that study than I had, until I suggested
it to her on the spur of the moment. That's the truth. How are you going
to get around it?" I said emphatically.
He pulled a briar pipe from his pocket and lighted it before he
answered. "That's easy. The criminal was in the room when Orton came in
at eleven-thirty. Probably he was hiding in the safe in the secret
room----"
"I thought you deduced that the criminal knew nothing of the secret
entrance until he forced the knowledge from Darwin just before he killed
him," I pointed out.
"I said he did not enter that way, not that he had no knowledge of it.
Orton said that Darwin and his visitor were quarreling. Darwin knew his
secretary and divined that he'd be hanging around the door listening. So
he called him in and got rid of him, in the meantime hiding his visitor
in the safe, from which point of vantage he heard the conversation
between Orton and Darwin. Am I correct so far?" he inquired.
"Sounds plausible enough," I replied.
"Knowing human nature (I make this deduction because throughout he has
most certainly traded on his knowledge of human beings in general, and
the police in particular), he put himself in your place. What would he
do if he were in love with Mrs. Darwin and had learned of the existence
of the letter. Why, naturally urge Mrs. Darwin to try to secure the
incriminating evidence. So you see he was pretty sure she would come,
but he did not know when. He couldn't possibly know when, could he?" he
asked appealingly.
"No, I don't at this moment see how he could, unless he was a magician,
which isn't likely. I think myself we are on the wrong tack altogether.
We are trying to complicate a simple affair. The criminal, no doubt,
came in at midnight and shot Darwin without knowing that Ruth was there.
Then he went off again through the secret entrance, and Ruth was
implicated by pure chance, for, after all, there is only one pistol,
there was only one shot heard, and only one bullet found," was my
contribution.
"All I can say to that, Mr. Davies, is that in that case the murderer
must have been a magician after all, for surely you are not implying
that Mrs. Darwin lied when she said the study was dark?" he remarked
with a smile, blowing wreaths of smoke along Broadway, for we were
driving slowly toward town.
I groaned. I had forgotten the problem of the shot in the dark.
Assuredly it was a poser, for the feat was well-nigh impossible, unless
we explained it by assuming a previous shot, which would have been all
to the good if McKelvie could only have found the lost bullet.
"You have reverted to the theory that the crime was one of impulse,"
continued McKelvie. "Disabuse your mind of any such idea. That murder
was premeditated. It was done in cold-blood, and planned down to the
smallest detail, days before it occurred. And so very carefully was it
planned that the criminal was able to work Mrs. Darwin into the scheme,
without in the least disturbing his previous calculations. That is why
we are stumped for the present, because I have not yet been able to put
my finger on the weak spot in the link. There is bound to be a weak
spot, there always is no matter how clever the criminal, but it may take
longer than the time at our disposal before the trial. I shall have to
pick up a new trail, since Orton had nothing of value to give us,"
McKelvie ended, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Speed her up a
little, Mr. Davies."
"What new trail?" I asked, obeying mechanically.
"The woman in the case," he said impressively.
"The woman in the case? You mean--Cora Manning?" I inquired.
"Yes. You know the old French saying, 'Cherchez la femme.' I have done
my best to keep my promise to Mrs. Darwin to let Miss Manning out of it,
but now it is a matter of necessity. I firmly believe she was in
Darwin's study that night, somewhere between eleven-thirty and
midnight," he answered.
"But, heavens, man, how did she get in?" I cried.
"She lodges, or did, at Gramercy Park. Drive me over there. She should
be back by now and if she should prove to be the woman in the case,
we'll make her talk. It ought not to take more than an hour at most, and
if I am wrong, why we shall be no worse off than we are now."
I gave my car more gas and continued down Broadway, intending to cut
across Twenty-first Street to Gramercy Park, remarking as I did so,
"You haven't told me how she effected an entrance into that closed
room."
"She must have entered by the secret entrance," he replied. "Eliminate
the impossible, you know."
"That's all very fine, but it plays ducks and drakes with your previous
reasoning, for how did she obtain a knowledge of those three
all-important facts about the entrance that you said even the criminal
could not divine?" I inquired.
"When we meet the fair Cora you can ask her to explain the facts for
you, Mr. Davies. I confess that I cannot," he said a little wearily. "It
isn't good to jump at conclusions and I make it a rule not to say
anything which cannot be proved to have foundation in fact. Now I do not
know how she got there, but I do believe she was present in the study.
Until we make that a fact also, we will not discuss it."
Annoyed at his tone I remained silent, but my eyes betrayed me as I
turned in his direction for a moment and he read curiosity in their
depths. He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "I'm an old crank. You
shouldn't mind my talk," he said. "I guess you have as good a right as
anyone to all the knowledge that can be gleaned in this business. I owe
my information to friend Jones. The blood-stained handkerchief is Cora
Manning's, I'm pretty sure, though the police are positive it belongs to
Mrs. Darwin. Perhaps you recall that I gave you an involuntary but
generous whiff of it that day. Did you recognize the perfume?"
"Not at the time. I have since placed it as Rose Jacqueminot," I
replied.
"That's right. It was very faint, but unmistakable. Now, I smelled the
other handkerchief also. It was scented with violet. You see, I have
made quite a study of perfumes and the different scents are as distinct
from each other as different brands of cigars or cigarettes. A refined
woman who has any taste at all chooses the perfume best suited to her
personality, and sticks to it. She doesn't use one kind one week, a
different kind the next. We will go over Cora Manning's room. If we find
even the faintest trace of Rose Jacqueminot we will know without a doubt
that the handkerchief is hers."
By this time we had reached Gramercy Park, and running up the steps of
what was once a fashionable residence, we rang the bell. After an
appreciable interval we heard a shuffle of feet in the hall, and a thin,
emaciated-looking chap opened the door.
"Is Miss Manning in?" inquired McKelvie.
"I don't know," said the man, dubiously. "If you'll take a seat in the
parlor I'll call Mrs. Harmon."
We did as he requested and entered a gloomy room in which all the shades
had been lowered, and as McKelvie moved restlessly around I seated
myself upon a very uncomfortable horsehair sofa.
"No wonder yonder fellow is pale and thin," I thought, then I rose
hastily, more in astonishment than true courtesy, if the truth must be
told, for coming through the narrow doorway was the very largest woman I
had ever seen outside of a freak show, and when I say large, I don't
mean that she was tall. She was hardly more than middle height, but so
ample of girth that I expected to see her stick midway between the
door-posts, and pictured McKelvie and myself frantically endeavoring to
extricate her by hauling mightily upon her short, fat arms. But she was
evidently accustomed to this particular doorway, for with a sidewise
shift she entered composedly enough.
"I'm Mrs. Harmon," she said affably. "What can I do for you?"
"I wish to see Miss Manning," returned McKelvie.
"Miss Manning has been away since the seventh of October," she replied
quietly.
A shade of disappointment crossed McKelvie's face. "You know where she
has gone?"
"No, sir. I don't. I thought she had gone to see some relatives,
perhaps."
"Please be seated, Mrs. Harmon. I should like to ask a few questions."
She looked at him in evident astonishment, and he hastened to add, "I'm
investigating the Darwin murder and any information you can give me will
be appreciated."
"Land sakes, you don't mean to tell me, young man, that you think she
did it?" she said indignantly.
"Oh, no, but her name was on the will and I wanted to trace the
connection, that is all," he replied suavely.
"There was a young man here not so very many days ago who talked like
that. I told him all I knew and he went and printed it in the paper. If
that's the kind you are I shan't say one word," she retorted, her fat
face flushing at the trick played upon her.
"We are not reporters, if that is what you mean," returned McKelvie
soothingly.
Under the spell of his voice she heaved an enormous sigh of relief and
lowered herself into a very wide arm-chair.
"You said that on the night of the seventh of October, Miss Manning
went away from here?" McKelvie began.
"Yes, she left somewhere around eleven o'clock."
"On foot or in a taxi?"
"She went on foot and I watched her cross Gramercy Park and go toward
the Subway," said Mrs. Harmon.
"Didn't you think it peculiar that she should leave suddenly at that
time of night without leaving her address behind?" he continued.
The woman rocked back and forth several times before she answered.
"Well, no. You see I didn't tell that other young man so, because he
didn't ask me, and besides I didn't like his looks. But I guess you're
all right. You have an honest face. I know pretty well why she wanted to
go away. I would have gone, too, in her place, poor girl.
"It all comes of taking up with these idle rich young men who have more
money than brains, say I," she went on with a self-righteous toss of her
head. I smiled. I couldn't imagine any young man, rich or poor, taking a
fancy to Mrs. Harmon. I wondered what kind of man Mr. Harmon had been,
but then she may have been slimmer when he first met and married her. "I
told Miss Manning she was doing a foolish thing, but she wouldn't listen
and engaged herself to a young chap named Lee Darwin," the good lady
continued. "I hadn't anything against the young man, he seemed a nice
boy, but after a while another man took to coming around. He was older
and wore a beard and eyeglasses. I didn't like him and told her there
would be trouble, but she thought she knew best, and so there was
trouble." Mrs. Harmon closed her lips on the words complacently.
"The morning of the seventh, Lee Darwin came here looking like a madman,
and they had some kind of a quarrel in this very room. I don't know what
it was about, but I heard him telling her that he was through with the
likes of her, and then he bounced out again. Well, she acted kind of
dazed for a while and then she made an appointment on the phone. When
she came back from her lessons he just mooned around, and at ten-thirty
that night she packed her bag and said she was going on a long journey,
and if anyone inquired where she was, to say I didn't know. But she
wouldn't tell me where she was going, and I figured she had decided to
hide away till she got over her hurt."
"Yes, I guess you're right," said McKelvie. "And now one more request. I
should like to see her room."
Mrs. Harmon eyed him suspiciously, but he gave her his best smile, which
would have melted a harder heart than hers, and hoisting herself to her
feet she led the way up the stairs to Cora Manning's room.
It was a small room but nicely furnished and very dainty, as befitted
the bedroom of a refined young woman, but McKelvie hardly looked at it.
He opened a handkerchief box on the dresser and when Mrs. Harmon had her
back turned he slipped something into his pocket.
"Thank you, Mrs. Harmon, you have been most kind," he said, as we left
the room.
"Not at all. I guess you can find your way out. It's kind of hard for
me, climbing stairs so much. Give the door a bang and it'll lock
itself," she returned, and we followed directions while she watched our
departure from the head of the stairs.
"Well?" I said, as we descended the steps.
"It's hers. Look!" He removed from his pocket the article he had taken
from Cora Manning's room and held it out on his palm. It was a tiny
yellow satin sachet bag embroidered in blue!
"This is getting ridiculous," I said, as we took our places in the car.
"How many more of these blooming things are we likely to run across
anyway? That's the third one I've seen."
"Third? I have knowledge of only two, this one and Lee's, and it's not
difficult to conjecture where he got his," McKelvie said, with raised
brows, as he repocketed the bag.
I told him of my discovery that Dick possessed one of these sachets
also, adding, "It's identical with this one. Do you suppose she gave it
to him?"
"Richard Trenton," he mused, glancing at his watch. "We'll just have
time before dinner. Take me up to Riverside Drive, if you will be so
kind. I want another look at that secret room."
I turned my car, and drove as swiftly as I dared along Broadway, asking
him, "Do you think that Cora Manning is in hiding because of that
quarrel?"
He did not answer until we were skimming along the Drive. "No," he said
quietly then, "I don't think so."
"Do you believe she killed Darwin?" I persisted.
"No, I don't. It was not a woman's job, but I do believe she can prove
for us when he died," he answered. "And through her I hope to locate the
criminal."
"If she is the woman in the case, she must be shielding the man or she
would have come forward long ago to free Ruth," I pointed out.
"Or he may be holding her a prisoner because she knows too much for his
peace of mind and body," he retorted. "That puts a different complexion
on it."
"In that case he will murder her, too, before we can reach her," I said
in a horrified voice.
"A man kills the woman he loves for only one reason, which does not
exist in this case," he replied.
"Good heavens!" I said. "The criminal in love with Cora Manning! Then
you mean that Lee killed his uncle?"
McKelvie shrugged. "That I can't presume to say. Perhaps it's
Lee--perhaps it's another. Remember this. If Richard Trenton knew her,
ten to one he was in love with her, too. I have seen her picture."
Which statement, since I was a man, only increased my eagerness to see
the fair Cora.