A Lapis Cuff Link
From that morning on I took an active interest in the case—I mean, in
solving the problem. Indeed, Mr. O’Leary has had the kindness to say,
since, that I helped—well, I need not repeat his words. However, it is
true that I did everything in my power, which was little enough, to
solve the mystery that confronted us. While I am not at all
inquisitive, nevertheless I do have an inquiring mind, due doubtless
to the fact that I have lived in a hospital for a number of years and
hospitals are hotbeds of gossip. Not malicious gossip, you understand,
for nurses are one class of women in the world who can keep the faith
which the ethics of the profession as well as individual integrity
demand.
But anything that happens in our small world is of interest; the
patient in the charity ward who almost swallowed a thermometer and had
to be up-ended and shaken, the precipitate arrival of a new baby in a
roadster out in front of the hospital, or the alcoholic whose language
shocked—or diverted as the case might be—a whole wing.
Besides the fact that the murders had occurred in the south wing, for
which I feel a responsibility—the wing, I mean, not the murders!—there
were other and as serious considerations. Chief among these was the
affair of the hypodermic syringe and Maida’s inexplicable behaviour
the night of the seventh, and the presence of Jim Gainsay as testified
by that gold cigarette case.
A hospital ought to be sanctuary and it seemed to me an offense
against all the laws of humanity that this hideous thing should have
happened within our walls of mercy. I deliberately tried to put myself
in the frame of mind to be suspicious about anything and
everything—and I trust it is no reflection on my character to say that
I succeeded without much effort.
I found plenty to be suspicious about, and without going out of the
way to do so. The only trouble was that, though I pride myself on
being a keen and clear-minded woman and have more than the usual
amount of determination, I could not arrive at any conclusion.
I worried all day about Maida, however, and when Lance O’Leary turned
up about four o’clock, with a polite request for an interview, I did
not know whether to be glad or sorry.
We went into the general waiting room to talk. It was a chilly place,
with slippery leather-covered furniture and on the wall a none too
cheerful picture of the burning of Joan of Arc. The weather had
settled into a steady, dripping rain by that time, the clouds were
still heavy, and the very concrete steps of the main entrance, just
below the windows, oozed moisture. It was an added distress that not
once during those strange days did we see the sun. Everything we
touched was damp and cold and sweaty.
O’Leary was as meticulously groomed as he had been the day before, but
there was about him a sort of quiet but intense concentration that
seemed to detach him from ordinary affairs of the world. I have seen
the same thing in the face of an artist I used to know—and in the face
of a dear and saintly old nun under whom I trained.
There was nothing, however, of the poseur about him. He was ordinarily
rather silent, was occasionally oddly boyish and young, was simple and
direct—it was his unconscious absorption that marked him. And those
extraordinarily clear gray eyes.
He asked a few commonplace questions as to how I felt, and were things
going well, and was the policeman of any use. Then, he reached
absently into his pocket and drew out the stubby red pencil.
“Miss Day was your assistant in the wing the night of the seventh?”
“Yes. We have second watch together this two weeks.”
“How long has she been here at St. Ann’s?”
“Three years.”
“She is a good nurse, I judge? Cool and restrained?”
“One of the best.”
“She is a friend of yours?”
“I admire her very much,” I said warmly. “She is a girl of high moral
character, thoroughly honourable and reliable.”
“M’h’m——” He began to roll the inevitable little pencil.
“I suppose a nurse becomes fairly well acquainted with the other
nurses, as well as the doctors, who frequent the hospital?”
“Yes,” I said doubtfully, not seeing just where his questions were
tending.
“Miss Day looks to be a girl of strong likes and dislikes.”
Well, that was perfectly true so I contented myself with a nod.
“She was a good friend of Miss Letheny’s and—of the doctor’s?”
“Not—particularly,” I said slowly. “We were all on friendly terms.
Corole had us over there often.”
“Did Miss Day work much with Dr. Letheny?”
“About as I did. She is a good surgical nurse.”
“You mean she is efficient in assisting with operations?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose that requires—nerve? Courage? A cool hand?”
“Yes.” I was beginning to feel uneasy.
He paused for a moment, his gray eyes on the heavy clouds beyond the
window.
“Tell me again, Miss Keate, just what you did when you first found
that Mr. Jackson was dead.”
“I left Room 18 and went to get a candle. When I returned Miss Day was
in the doorway of Eighteen. There was a flash of lightning, and I saw
her and she spoke to me.”
“What did she say?”
“Just something about the storm. She had been closing windows in the
wing.”
“Did she know that Jackson was dead?”
“Why, no! Not until I lit the candle and she saw him.”
“She was surprised, of course?”
“Yes.”
“Then, as I understand it, she went through the dark corridor to the
general office to telephone to Dr. Letheny. Was she willing to go? Or
was she—reluctant?”
“I—she——”
He caught my hesitation.
“She did not wish to telephone to him?”
“The corridor was so dark you could hardly see your hand before you,”
I remarked crisply. “And it was storming.”
“Of course, of course,” said O’Leary pacifically.
“Miss Letheny told Miss Day that the doctor was out,” he went on
quietly. “Then she, Miss Day, had the presence of mind to call Dr.
Balman. I suppose she knew his telephone number? Or was there some
kind of light in the office?”
“She asked Information for the number.”
“Then Dr. Balman came out here at once?”
“Yes. He was here in just a few moments. He lives at the first
apartment house off Lake Street and it is only a short drive.”
“In the meantime you waked Dr. Hajek?”
“Yes. He sleeps in that little room that opens into the general
office. He usually answers ’phone calls at night and—keeps an eye on
things. Unless he is asleep,” I added waspishly, thinking of how
soundly he had slept when we needed him most.
“Why did not Miss Day call Dr. Hajek, when she called Dr. Balman?”
“She did try to but could not wake him. But Dr. Balman was Dr.
Letheny’s assistant and should be called in a matter of such
importance.”
“Then you called Dr. Hajek yourself. I suppose you told him what had
happened.”
“No. I was so excited that I just told him to go at once to Room 18. I
even pushed him toward the door.” I smiled a little. “I took him by
the coat and——”
“Took him by the coat? Then he was fully dressed!” O’Leary’s gaze
pierced mine.
“Yes.” I paused as a certain recollection thrust itself upon me. “He
must have been outside! In the rain!”
“Why do you say that?”
“His coat was damp.”
O’Leary studied the pencil for a long time.
“Then what happened?” he asked finally in an inflectionless voice.
“Why—then—then I got hold of some lights and went back to Eighteen.
They were all there, Maida and Dr. Hajek and Dr. Balman. They were
just staring at the patient and doing nothing. Dr. Balman told me that
he had died of an overdose of morphine. Of course, I knew that not a
grain of morphine had been ordered. So that meant that it was done
purposely. It was while we were standing there that——” I stopped. No
need to tell that!
But he glanced at me quickly.
“Go on, Miss Keate.”
“It was nothing.”
“Then you should not object to telling of it.”
“Well,” I began reluctantly, “it was only that, as we were standing
there, all at once there was a tiny bit of red that came from the
hypodermic wound. You know the little pin prick where the needle has
been inserted. It was——” I coughed to hide the tremble in my voice.
“It was—very unusual.”
I could see that Lance O’Leary, for all his professional frigidity,
was somewhat shaken, for his hands gripped the pencil tightly and he
drew a deliberate breath.
“That old superstition means nothing,” he said. “But it must have
been—grisly. And there were only you and Miss Day and Dr. Hajek and
Dr. Balman in the room?”
My throat being dry I made an assenting gesture.
“And—Dr. Letheny in the closet,” added O’Leary softly.
At that I must have gone quite pale, for Lance O’Leary, eyeing me with
that oddly lucid gaze, spoke abruptly, as if to distract my thoughts.
“I believe you are a woman of some discretion.”
“I ought to be! At my age.”
“The fact inclines one to talk with you,” he said drily. “Look here,
Miss Keate, this is not going to be an easy job. In the first place it
is obvious that the guilty person is very likely someone who is
familiar with St. Ann’s.” I made some protestant motion and he went
on: “Surely that has occurred to you?”
“Yes,” I replied in a small voice.
“Why?”
“Because it must have been someone who knew that the radium was being
used and in what room.”
“And one who was familiar enough with the hospital routine to know the
best time to enter the wing unobserved,” said O’Leary.
“That eliminates Jim Gainsay,” I remarked without thinking.
He regarded me keenly.
“We will come to him later,” he said. “As to the radium—yes, I think
we can assume that the radium theft was at least one of the motives.
Its disappearance indicates that, though it might be merely a blind.
But the radium is very valuable, a small fortune to many men. As a
matter of routine we have taken steps to insure the immediate
reporting of anyone trying to dispose of a quantity of radium. I do
not expect to hear from this, however, for the person who has the
radium will naturally wait until this affair has blown over before
attempting to sell the stuff. Yes, the radium theft may account for
the death of Jackson but not for Dr. Letheny. At least not unless——”
“Unless he caught the thief?” I interrupted eagerly.
“If that were true, how account for his stealthy return to St. Ann’s
and the fact that he did not call for help?” He paused but I said
nothing and he continued: “Then there is the obvious conjecture that
the person who administered the morphine must have been either so
skilled that he could do so without awaking Jackson, or someone to
whom the patient was accustomed. Dr. Letheny had charge of the case——”
“Dr. Hajek helped him some,” I blurted. “And Dr. Balman was in to see
him once or twice. And there were the nurses——”
“Then it appears to lie between Dr. Hajek and Dr. Balman and you and
Miss Day,” said O’Leary all too coolly. I gasped and he went on: “And
the unknown element which is always to be considered. We can’t tell
which died first—Dr. Letheny or his patient. We do not even know for
certain whether Dr. Letheny met his death inside the walls of the
hospital or not, but I have reason to believe that it was in Room 18.
Otherwise it would have been difficult and purposeless, so far as I
can see, to convey his body into the room and into that closet. Almost
impossible for a woman,” he added as if in afterthought, and his eyes
on that aggravating pencil. “I am inclined to think that the sound you
heard and believed to be a window dropping to the sill was actually
the blow that meant death for Dr. Letheny.”
“Oh——!”
“Yes.” His eyes were meeting mine, searching my face so intently that
I felt as if my very thoughts were visible to them. “Now, Miss Keate,
please tell me something of this Corole Letheny. I understand that she
and her cousin were not on the best of terms.”
“That is true,” I acknowledged hesitantly.
“Don’t be afraid of incriminating anyone,” said O’Leary impatiently.
“Clues are funny things. When they seem to point one way they are very
apt, on close investigation, to point another way entirely. So please
don’t hesitate to answer my questions.”
This reassured me somewhat; not that I have ever cared for Corole
Letheny, but one does pause to consider one’s speech in such a serious
matter.
“Corole and Dr. Letheny never did get along well together. But I don’t
think she can be involved in this.” Thinking of the oddly mud-stained
slippers, I paused again. That incident could have had nothing to do
with the murders, of course, but still it was singular.
“What is it, Miss Keate?”
Before I knew it I had told him of the muddied bronze kid pumps.
“Indicating that Miss Letheny had some errand that took her hurriedly
into the storm and that within a few moments following the discovery
of Dr. Letheny’s death. Suppose you ask this maid, Huldah, about it.
She will be more willing to talk to you. Oh, yes”—he smiled a
little—“we must investigate every incident, every straw, no matter how
small and insignificant it appears. And moreover,” he drew something
from his pocket, “I am interested in Miss Letheny because of this.” He
placed the small, square object on the table before us. I stared. It
was Corole Letheny’s revolver. She had bragged about the thing often
enough so I had no difficulty recognizing it. Someone had made her a
gift of it, and it was very unsuitably decorated with some sort of
silver trumpery and had her initials engraved upon it.
“We found this on the floor of the closet in which Dr. Letheny was
found,” said O’Leary quietly.
For a long moment I sat there in silence, my eyes fascinated by the
dully gleaming thing. What could it tell?
“But—neither of the men was shot!” I said at length.
“No,” agreed O’Leary, still quietly. “No. There is only the fact to go
on that Corole Letheny’s revolver was found in the room where two men
met their death in one night. That is all. It only indicates her
probable presence at some time in the room. And a revolver usually
means that whoever carried it had reason to believe he was in
danger—or expected trouble of some kind.”
“But—Dr. Letheny might have brought it himself. He might have
suspected that someone was planning to steal the radium.”
Lance O’Leary smiled slowly.
“You are loyal, Miss Keate. It may interest you to know that on going
through Dr. Letheny’s deed box, I found that he was the beneficiary of
a reasonably large income and that on his death it goes to Corole. I
find, too—you see we detectives make our living by questions and
answers,” he interpolated, as I suppose I looked as I felt, very much
puzzled at the knowledge he appeared to have secured—“I find, too,
that Dr. Letheny kept his household down to the most moderate of
expenses and gave Miss Letheny only a barely sufficient allowance.”
“It is true that she has complained a great deal about money,” I
admitted thoughtfully. “She is rather beautiful, you know, and loves
to dress well.”
He nodded.
“You have seen her then?” I asked.
“Yesterday. I talked to her. Yes, I suppose she does love clothes and
finery. It is on account of her—dark blood.”
“Her what?” I sat bolt upright.
“Good Lord, Miss Keate! Didn’t you know that?”
“Know that Corole Letheny is a——?”
“I think it comes to her by way of Haiti,” he interrupted. “And a very
beautiful mother.”
“But—her light hair and eyes! You must be mistaken!”
“Her eyes are yellow, Miss Keate. A good deal like a tiger’s. In fact
she is a rather tigerish lady, on the whole. I suspected it when I
first saw her brown hands, and was convinced when I found a reference
to her in Dr. Letheny’s papers; once he mentions her rather bitterly
as ‘my mulatto cousin,’ and another time refers to her birthplace and
his aunt, Jolbar, who, it seems, traced her lineage directly, if
unobtrusively, to a cannibalistic royal line. Don’t be so shocked,
Miss Keate. A little mixture of blood doesn’t hurt her. It only
increases my difficulty.”
“Increases your difficulty?” I murmured, feeling rather dazed.
“By increasing the complexities of a personality that I must classify
and index. You see,” he went on, as I still did not wholly understand
him, “Corole is a factor to be considered along with the rest of the
possibilities. And this fact warns me that she likely has a streak of
savagery back of those yellow eyes; that the beat of tom-toms would
stir her, for instance. She is apt to be rather indolent, too, and to
seek what she desires in unconventional ways. Such as by the use of
revolvers.”
“Why, yes,” I murmured idiotically. “Murder _is_ unconventional.”
“So you see, the counts against Corole are interesting, to say the
least. Then, there are the others at that ill-fated dinner party. We
shall have to consider the possible culpability of every single one of
them—even of you, Miss Keate.” He added this with a half smile but I
did not relish his joke—if joke it was. I was inclined to think it was
not.
“Corole Letheny,” he checked her off on his fingers. “Because her
revolver was found in the closet of Room 18, because she knew of the
radium being in use and of the hospital routine and of the door being
left unlocked and because she benefits by Dr. Letheny’s death.”
“But I’m sure she did not know what had happened to the radium,” I
said, going hastily on to tell him of her questions concerning it.
“She shows considerable interest, however,” commented O’Leary. “And at
an inappropriate time, too. Yes, we must consider Corole.”
“But she—oh, she could not have done that!” I cried, revolted.
“We can’t be sure of anything, Miss Keate, until it is proved,”
remarked O’Leary drily. “Then, there is Dr. Hajek; he was like the
others, familiar with the circumstances, he had access to the
morphine, being a doctor, and his coat was damp when, after some
delay, you finally succeeded in rousing him, which, of course, leads
one to believe that he was absent from his room and had recently been
out in the rain.”
“But,” I objected, “Dr. Hajek was the only one of us who did not admit
to wanting money—if we are to consider the radium as the motive.”
“That does not prove anything. Indeed, it was more natural to admit a
desire that everybody experiences at one time or another. Then, there
was Dr. Balman. He, too, was familiar with the circumstances. Of
course there remains the important questions of how Dr. Letheny comes
into the puzzle, and whether Dr. Balman could have had time to drive
to his apartment in order to be there when the telephone rang to call
him back to the hospital.”
“Why, yes,” I said thoughtfully. “He could have done so. You see, just
as the storm broke and I was at the south door, closing it, I saw the
lights of a car on the lower road. That _could_ have been Dr. Balman.
But the idea is absurd. Dr. Balman is too mild, too kind—too—— Oh! It
is impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible,” commented Lance O’Leary gravely. “But those
lights may have belonged to another car. One driven by Jim Gainsay.”
I may have imagined it, but it seemed to me, in view of my guilty
knowledge of that cigarette case, that he eyed me rather closely as he
spoke. However, if so he gained nothing by it, for I was honestly
surprised.
“Jim Gainsay!” I cried.
“Yes,” he answered, going on to explain. “The sedan owned by Dr.
Letheny was seen standing in front of the Western Union office at
about two o’clock that night. This information was brought to my ears
and upon investigation I found that Gainsay took the Doctor’s
car—Huldah, in fact, saw him leave—and drove into the city, starting
shortly before the storm began. He sent a message, of which I shall
have a copy before the day is over. We also know that Gainsay frankly
said he intended to get hold of fifty thousand dollars—wasn’t it
that?” I nodded dumbly and he went on. “And he intended to go to New
York this morning but is still here, work or no work. Also, as with
the others, he knew something of the circumstances, and while his
being able to obtain and administer morphine is a point to consider,
still I understand that engineers almost have to have a practical
working knowledge of medicine. But even if we could safely exonerate
him from causing Jackson’s death there is still the death of Dr.
Letheny, for which somebody is responsible. And this Gainsay is a
strong young fellow who looks as if he would stick at little.”
“But he looks honest, too,” I protested.
“They all look honest. Everyone of you.”
“It seems terrible to consider people one knows in such a sordid
connection. Why not all the other people in and around the hospital?”
He looked at me as if he were amused.
“But, Miss Keate, is it possible that you do not know that we
immediately accounted for every soul in St. Ann’s? And that every
nurse and every patient has a perfect alibi, save you and Miss Day,
Dr. Balman and Dr. Hajek? In a hospital run with such efficient
routine as this one, it is a simple matter. The only person besides
those I have mentioned, for whom we can’t be absolutely certain, is
Higgins, and that because he sleeps in the basement next to the
furnace room and no one saw or heard of him during that night, since
no one else sleeps in the basement. Of course, we shall have to
include him in our list of suspects, but so far there is nothing but
opportunity with which to suspect him.”
“Then Maida and I are the only nurses who cannot prove just where we
were between twelve-thirty and two o’clock that night?” I asked
uneasily.
“We know _where_ you were,” said Lance O’Leary very soberly. “You were
both in the south wing.” He paused to look at his watch, a thin,
platinum affair that reposed in a pocket of his impeccable vest, and I
felt a quite warranted chill creep up my back.
“So you see our paths of search are limited,” he said easily,
replacing the watch, and returning to that abominable red pencil.
“Yes,” I agreed weakly. “Limited.” Altogether too limited!
“Of course, there is always what I spoke of as the unknown element.
There might have been an outside intruder, but so far nothing has come
to light that would indicate that possibility. The use of the radium
seems to have been absolutely unknown to all but the hospital staff
and the guests at Miss Letheny’s dinner party. Now then, Miss Keate,
there are three things that particularly interest me to-day. One of
them is the identity of the man with whom you collided at the corner
of the porch. Did you receive any sort of impression that would serve
to identify him?”
Nervously I tried to think of something besides the cigarette case.
“He—I think he wore a raincoat. I seem to remember the slippery
feeling of rubber. And I think he must have been wearing a
dinner-jacket, for I seem to recall feeling his starched shirt front.”
“Then it might have been one of the four men at Corole Letheny’s
dinner?”
“It might have been, of course,” I spoke rather irritably, as I
foresaw the next questions.
“Was it Dr. Letheny?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t be sure.”
He was surveying me so closely that I found my eyes going toward the
floor in spite of myself.
“Was it Dr. Balman?”
“It might have been. Though it seemed he was a little taller than Dr.
Balman.” I was studying the roses on the old-fashioned Brussels.
“Was it Dr. Hajek?” he went on mercilessly.
“I—I tell you, I can’t be sure who it was. It might have been
anybody.”
He leaned back in his chair and I could feel his smile.
“I’m beginning to understand your—er—temperament,” he said easily. “I
suppose it was this Jim Gainsay. Now you may as well tell me what you
were doing with his cigarette case in your laundry bag.”
I blinked.
“How did you know it was there?”
“A policeman found it while searching your room.”
“Searching my room!”
“Yes. We have had all the personal belongings of those in whom we
are—interested—searched. We were at first surprised to find you were
addicted to smoking——and more surprised when we traced its ownership.
Now, please, tell me just how you came upon it.”
In as few words as possible I complied.
“Will you hold Jim Gainsay?” I asked finally, as he turned and twisted
the stubby red pencil thoughtfully in his hands.
“We shall watch him,” he amended. “So far he has stayed of his own
free will, a thing that is in itself strange. Of course, if he should
attempt to leave I should be forced to restrain him.”
The dinner bell rang just then and he looked at his watch, again
frowning as he noted the time.
“Another thing, Miss Keate. That smell of ether interests me.
Especially since to our knowledge ether was not used at all. Are you
sure?”
“Yes.” I spoke decidedly. “I am sure now, because of the slicker I
wore yesterday afternoon.”
“The slicker?” he inquired. “Yesterday afternoon?” And listened
intently while I explained the whole thing.
“And you had no means of identifying it?” he asked, presently.
“No. Everybody wears a yellow slicker. You know how popular they have
been the last year or two.”
He nodded.
“I wear one myself,” he said. “Well, thanks a lot, Miss Keate. You are
a present help in time of trouble.” He smiled at me with that
engagingly warm and youthful look.
I started toward the hall, paused and turned around.
“Didn’t you say there were three things you were particularly
interested in right now?” I said. “What is the third one?”
“Oh, yes.” He studied me for a moment as if to see how far the
discretion with which he had complimented me might be trusted. Then he
drew something from his pocket—something so small that it was hidden
in his hand until he held it toward me.
And when I looked, I cried out and shrank back, my heart leaping to my
throat. There on his outstretched palm lay a small cuff link; it was a
neat square of lapis lazuli, set in engraved white gold.
“I see that you recognize it?”
Speechlessly, I made a motion of assent.
“You need not tell me that it is Miss Day’s. I already know that. One
or two of the nurses recognized it as I left it casually on the table
in the general office. Oh, I watched it carefully—I suppose they
thought she had lost it. They did not know where it was found.”
“Where it was found——” I repeated, huskily, my voice losing itself
somewhere in my throat.
“It was found—in Dr. Letheny’s pocket.” He spoke very deliberately,
his clear, gray eyes searching mine. Then he turned. “Good-night, Miss
Keate,” he said courteously and was gone.
As for me, I stood there quite still, staring at the gathering
darkness outside the window, and at the slow rivulets of moisture
trickling down the glass. Finally I aroused myself, straightened my
cap, and moved toward the door. I was late for dinner, of course, and
remember that someone was complaining about the steak being burned. It
might have been ashes so far as I was concerned. Once I stole a look
at Maida, across from me and down the table a few places. She was very
white and tired-looking and it seemed to me that she avoided my eyes.
I felt rather sick as I noted that, though it was a chilly day, she
was wearing a uniform with short sleeves that had no need of cuff
links.