TERRY COMES
The moment I caught sight of Terry as he swung off the train I felt
involuntarily that my troubles were near their end. His sharp, eager
face with its firm jaw and quick eye inspired one with the feeling that
he could find the bottom of any mystery. It was with a deep breath of
relief that I held out my hand.
"Hello, old man! How are you?" he exclaimed with a smile of cordiality
as he grasped it. And then recalling the gravity of the situation, he
with some difficulty pulled a sober face. "I'm sorry that we meet again
under such sad circumstances," he added perfunctorily. "I suppose you
think I've meddled enough in your affairs already; and on my word, I
intended to stay out of this. But of course I've been watching it in the
papers; partly because it was interesting and partly because I knew
you. It struck me yesterday afternoon as I was thinking things over that
you weren't making much headway and might like a little help; so I
induced the Post-Dispatch to send down their best man. I hope I shall
get at the truth." He paused a moment and looked at me sharply. "Do you
want me to stay? I will go back if you'd rather have me."
I was instantly ashamed of my distrust of the afternoon. Whatever might
be Terry's failings, I could not doubt, as I looked into his face, that
his Irish heart was in the right place.
"I am not afraid of the truth," I returned steadily. "If you can
discover it, for Heaven's sake do so!"
"That's what I'm paid for," said Terry. "The Post-Dispatch doesn't deal
in fiction any more than it can help."
As we climbed into the carriage he added briskly, "It's a horrible
affair! The details as I have them from the papers are not full enough,
but you can tell them to me as we drive along."
I should have laughed had I been feeling less anxious. His greeting was
so entirely characteristic in the way he shuffled through the necessary
condolences and jumped, with such evident relish, to the gruesome
details.
As I gathered up the reins and backed away from the hitching-post, Terry
broke out with:
"Here, hold on a minute. Where are you going?"
"Back to Four-Pools," I said in some surprise. "I thought you'd want to
unpack your things and get settled."
"Haven't much time to get settled," he laughed. "I have an engagement in
New York the day after to-morrow. How about the cave? Is it too late to
visit it now?"
"Well," I said dubiously, "it's ten miles across the mountains and
pretty heavy roads. It would be dark before we got there."
"As far as that goes, we could visit the cave at night as well as in the
daytime. But I want to examine the neighborhood and interview some of
the people; so I suppose," he added with an impatient sigh, "we'll have
to wait till morning. And now, where's this young Gaylord?"
"He's in the Kennisburg jail."
"And where's that?"
"About three miles from here and six miles from the plantation."
"Ah--suppose we pay him a visit first. There are one or two points
concerning his whereabouts on the night of the robbery and his actions
on the day of the murder that I should like to have him clear up."
I smiled slightly as I turned the horses' heads toward Kennisburg.
Radnor in his present uncommunicative frame of mind was not likely to
afford Terry much satisfaction.
"There isn't any time to waste," he added as we drove along. "Just let
me have your account of everything that happened, beginning with the
first appearance of the ghost."
I briefly sketched the situation at Four-Pools as I had found it on my
arrival, and the events preceding the robbery and the murder. Terry
interrupted me once or twice with questions. He was particularly
interested in the three-cornered situation concerning Radnor, Polly
Mathers, and Jim Mattison, and I was as brief as possible in my replies;
I did not care to make Polly the heroine of a Sunday feature article. He
was also persistent in regard to Jefferson's past. I told him all I
knew, added the story of my own suspicions, and ended by producing the
telegram proving his alibi.
"H'm!" said Terry folding it thoughtfully and putting it in his pocket.
"It had occurred to me too that Jeff might be our man--this puts an end
to the theory that he personally committed the murder. There are some
very peculiar points about this case," he added. "As a matter of fact, I
don't believe that Radnor Gaylord is any more guilty of the crime than I
am--or I shouldn't have come. But it won't do for me to jump at
conclusions until I get more data. I suppose you realize what is the
peculiarly significant point about the murder?"
"You mean Mose's disappearance?"
"Well, no. I didn't have that in mind. That's significant enough to be
sure, but nothing but what you would naturally expect. The crime was
committed, if your data is straight, either by him or in his presence,
and of course he disappears. You could scarcely have expected to find
him sitting there waiting for you, in either case."
"You mean Radnor's behavior on the day of the murder and his refusal to
explain it?" I asked uneasily.
"No," Terry laughed. "That may be significant and it may not--I strongly
suspect that it is not. What I mean, is the peculiar place in which the
crime was committed. No person on earth could have foreseen that Colonel
Gaylord would go alone into that cave. There is an accidental element
about the murder. It must have been committed on the spur of the moment
by someone who had not premeditated it--at least at that time. This is
the point we must keep in mind."
He sat for a few moments staring at the dashboard with a puzzled frown.
"Broadly speaking," he said slowly, "I have found that you can place the
motive of every wilful murder under one of three heads--avarice, fear or
revenge. Suppose we consider the first. Could avarice have been the
motive for Colonel Gaylord's murder? The body had not been robbed, you
tell me?"
"No, we found a gold watch and considerable money in the pockets."
"Then, you see, if the motive were avarice, it could not have been
immediate gain. That throws out the possibility that the murderer was
some unknown thief who merely took advantage of a chance opportunity. If
we are to conceive of avarice as the motive, the crime must have been
committed by some person who would benefit more remotely by the
Colonel's death. Did anyone owe him money that you know of?"
"There is no record of anything of the sort and he was a careful
business man. I do not think he would have loaned money without making
some memorandum of it. He held several mortgages but they, of course,
revert to his heirs."
"I understood that Radnor was the only heir."
"He is, practically. There are a few minor bequests to the servants and
to some old friends."
"Did the servants know that anything was to go to them?"
"No, I don't think they did."
"And this Cat-Eye Mose, did he receive a share?"
"Yes, larger than any of the others."
"It seems that Colonel Gaylord, at least, had confidence in him. And how
about the other son? Did he know that he was to be disinherited?"
"I think that the Colonel made it plain at the time they parted."
Terry shook his head and frowned.
"This disinheriting business is bad. I don't like it and I never shall.
It stirs up more ill-feeling than anything I know of. Jeff seems to have
proved an alibi, however, and we will dismiss him for the present."
"Rad has always sympathized with Jeff," I said.
"Then," continued Terry, "if the servants did not know the contents of
the will, and we have all of the data, Radnor is the only one who could
knowingly have benefited by the Colonel's death. Suppose we take a
glance at motives of fear. Do you know of anyone who had reason to stand
in fear of the Colonel? He wasn't oppressing anybody? No damaging
evidence against any person in his possession? Not levying blackmail
was he?"
"Not that I know of," and I smiled slightly.
"It's not likely," mused Terry, "but you never can tell what is going to
come out when a respectable man is dead.--And now as to revenge. With a
man of Colonel Gaylord's character, there were likely to be a good many
people who owed him a bad turn. He seems to have been a peppery old
gentleman. It's quite on the cards that he had some enemies among his
neighbors?"
"No, so far as I can discover, he was very popular in the neighborhood.
The indignation over his death was something tremendous. When it first
got out that Rad was accused of the crime, there was even talk of
lynching him."
"So?--Servants all appeared to be fond of him?"
"The old family servants were broken-hearted at the news of his death.
They had been, for the most part, born and bred on the place, and in
spite of his occasional harshness they loved the Colonel with the
old-fashioned devotion of the slave toward his master. He was in his way
exceedingly kind to them. When old Uncle Eben died my uncle watched all
night by his bed."
"It's a queer situation," Terry muttered, and relapsed into silence till
we reached the jail.
It was an ivy-covered brick building set back from the street and shaded
by trees.
"Rather more home-like than the Tombs," Terry commented. "Shouldn't mind
taking a rest in it myself."
We found Radnor pacing up and down the small room in which he was
confined, like a caged animal; the anxiety and seclusion were beginning
to tell on his nerves. He faced about quickly as the door opened and at
sight of me his face lightened. He was growing pathetically pleased at
having anyone with whom he could talk.
"Rad," I said with an air of cheerfulness which was not entirely
assumed, "I hope we're nearing the end of our trouble at last. This is
Mr. Patten--Terry Patten of New York, who has come to help me unravel
the mystery."
It was an unfortunate beginning; I had told him before of Terry's
connection with the Patterson-Pratt affair. He had half held out his
hand as I commenced to speak, but he dropped it now with a slight frown.
"I don't think I care to be interviewed," he remarked curtly. "I have
nothing to say for the benefit of the Post-Dispatch."
"You'd better," said Terry, imperturbably. "The Post-Dispatch prints the
truth, you know, and some of the other papers don't. The truth's always
the best in the end. I merely want to find out what information you can
give me in regard to the ghost."
"I will tell you nothing," Radnor growled. "I am not giving statements
to the press."
"Mr. Gaylord," said Terry, with an assumption of gentle patience, "if
you will excuse my referring to what I know must be a painful subject,
would you mind telling me if the suspicion has ever crossed your mind
that your brother Jefferson may have returned secretly, have abstracted
the bonds from the safe, and, two weeks later, quite accidentally, have
met Colonel Gaylord alone in the cave--"
Radnor turned upon him in a sudden fury; I thought for a moment he was
going to strike him and I sprang forward and caught his arm.
"The Gaylords may be a bad lot but they are not liars and they are not
cowards. They do not run away; they stand by the consequences of their
acts."
Terry bowed gravely.
"Just one more question, and I am through. What happened to you that day
in the cave?"
"It's none of your damned business!"
I glanced apprehensively at Terry, uncertain as to how he would take
this; but he did not appear to resent it. He looked Radnor over with an
air of interested approval and his smile slowly broadened.
"I'm glad to see you're game," he remarked.
"I tell you I don't know who killed my father any more than you do,"
Radnor cried. "You needn't come here asking me questions. Go and find
the murderer if you can, and if you can't, hang me and be done with it."
"I don't know that we need take up any more of Mr. Gaylord's time," said
Terry to me. "I've found out about all I wished to know. We'll drop in
again," he added reassuringly to Radnor. "Good afternoon."
As we went out of the door he turned back a moment and added with a
slightly sharp undertone in his voice:
"And the next time I come, Gaylord, you'll shake hands!" Fumbling in his
pocket he drew out my telegram from the police commissioner, and tossed
it onto the cot. "In the meantime there's something for you to think
about. Good by."
"Do you mean," I asked as we climbed back into the carriage, "that
Radnor did believe Jeff guilty?"
"Well, not exactly. I fancy he will be relieved, though, to find that
Jeff was three thousand miles away when the murder was committed."
Only once during the drive home did Terry exhibit any interest in his
surroundings, and that was when we passed through the village of Lambert
Corners. He made me slow down to a walk and explain the purpose of
everyone of the dozen or so buildings along the square. At "Miller's
place" he suddenly decided that he needed some stamps and I waited
outside while he obtained them together with a drink in the private back
room.
"Nothing like getting the lay of the land," he remarked as he climbed
back into the carriage. "That Miller is a picturesque old party. He
thinks it's all tommy-rot that Radnor Gaylord had anything to do with
the crime--Rad's a customer of his, and it's a downright imposition to
lock the boy up where he can't spend money."
For the rest of the drive Terry kept silence and I did not venture to
interrupt it. I had come to have a superstitious feeling that his
silences were portentous. It was not until I stopped to open the gate
into our own home lane, that he suddenly burst out with the question:
"Where do the Mathers people live?"
"A couple of miles farther down the pike--they have no connection
whatever with the business, and don't know a thing about it."
"Ah--perhaps not. Would it be too late to drive over to-night?"
"Yes," said I, "it would."
"Oh, very well," said he, good-humoredly. "There'll be time enough in
the morning."
I let this pass without comment, but on one thing I was resolved; and
that was that Polly Mathers should never fall into Terry's clutches.
"There are a lot of questions I want to ask about your ghost, but I'll
wait till I get my bearings--and my dinner," he added with a laugh.
"There wasn't any dining car on that train, and I breakfasted early and
omitted lunch."
"Here we are," I said, as we came in sight of the house. "The cook is
expecting us."
"So that is the Gaylord house is it? A fine old place! When was it
built?"
"About 1830, I imagine."
"Let me see, Sheridan rode up the Shenandoah Valley and burned
everything in sight. How did this place happen to escape?"
"I don't know just how it did. You see it's a mile back from the main
road and well hidden by trees--I suppose they were in a hurry and it
escaped their attention."
"And that row of shanties down there?"
"Are the haunted negro cabins."
"Ah!" Terry rose in his seat and scanned them eagerly. "We'll have a
look at them as soon as I get something to eat. Really, a farm isn't so
bad," he remarked as he stepped out upon the portico. "And is this
Solomon?" he inquired as the old negro came forward to take his bag.
"Well, Solomon, I've been reading about you in the papers! You and I are
going to have a talk by and by."