SUSPICION
It was Mrs. Bascom who took the initiative and carried out the
suggestion Dr. New made; that is, to proceed to the house and there
await the men in more comfortable quarters. She was still pale from
the shock of having been the one to discover King’s murder, but her
lips were set in a firm line as she marshaled the women down the
stairs. The very fact that there was something to be done stimulated
her.
The doctor nodded to himself as she took charge. He had rather
expected she would be the one to rise to the emergency. Heroism,
leadership, bravery--these are not necessarily the prerogatives of
greatness: more often they are the results of circumstance, and the
demand for action in a crisis frequently produces unexpected strength
in an otherwise meek and drab figure. So with Mrs. Bascom, necessity
bred courage.
The first rustle of wind whined through the trees, bearing with it
the cool moisture of an approaching storm, as they hurried down the
gravel drive and into the house, a massive bulk against the metallic
sky. One by one Mrs. Bascom switched on all the lights in the lower
rooms as if to dispel her own mental gloom by the friendliness of the
glare. Yet the women, silent and shaken by what they had so recently
witnessed, stood about the living-room apathetically, huddled closer
together for mutual comfort and shuddered as they heard Mrs.
Bascom’s voice calling up the police station in the village.
When she returned from this errand, she sensed their dread and began
to bustle about with an air of briskness, assumed to cloak her own
emotions.
‘Do sit down--every one,’ she urged, pulling up chairs into a
friendly circle about the huge open fireplace. ‘I think a little
blaze would help, don’t you? It’s going to rain any minute now, and a
big house like this gets so damp and chilly these spring nights.’
Suiting her actions to her words, she struck a match and touched
it to the kindlings beneath the birch logs, then dropped into the
nearest chair and spread out her hands toward the blaze. As the
crackling tongues of flame licked the whiteness of the bark, changed
it to golden brown, then charred black, the others followed suit,
pulling up the chairs closer or sitting down upon the low, cushioned
bench that stood before the brass fender.
‘I can’t seem to realize the--the awful tragedy of it all,’ began one
of the women. ‘To think that he was laughing and planning----’
‘Let’s not think of that part,’ interrupted Mrs. Bascom. ‘No one
feels the tragedy more than I, but what I want to consider is,
whether we can be of help now.’
‘There’s no way we can that I see.’
‘Obviously not. Yet let’s think--get behind the obvious.’
The idea impressed them, created a thoughtful silence until Mrs.
Tenney spoke hesitatingly, staring into the fire. Her smooth chin was
propped up in her hands; her face no longer was animated and smiling,
as she drew her penciled brows into a frown of concentration.
‘I wonder--Wouldn’t it help if we each tried to recall exactly what
we saw, or thought we did?’
‘Excellent, my dear. You mean one of us might have noticed some
little action or detail the others had overlooked?’ exclaimed Mrs.
Bascom.
‘Yes, that’s it.--You think it was Basil who acted that part in the
play?’
‘I’m sure of it. I think he denied it only for effect, to confuse
me and prolong the--the game. But I’m just as certain he did not do
it--commit murder, I mean.’
They all nodded in agreement, and Mrs. Bascom deliberately spun out
the discussion to draw their thoughts away from the horror of it all
into more constructive channels. She reiterated that she and all of
them had known Basil for some time, had seen evidence of his sincere
friendliness with King, hence knew he could have no motive for
murder. Moreover, he did not impress her as the type of man either to
plan such an act deliberately or to do it in a sudden burst of anger.
‘Yet who else could have done it?’ asked Mrs. Tenney. ‘_Some one_ was
there in the darkness and he----’
‘Perhaps more than one was there! Still, that’s useless speculation,
as we haven’t been told a thing yet, beyond the fact that King was
killed.--Wait, I’ve an idea--two of ’em, in fact. First, we must be
searched.’
‘Why? What would you expect to find?’
‘I don’t know! I mean, of course, nothing will be found, but we
ought to do it just the same--to prove we’re innocent of concealing
anything, at any rate. I’ll be first. You search me, Mrs. Tenney, and
then I’ll be responsible for the rest of you. Don’t hesitate to be
thorough. You see I’ve more opportunity than you have for concealing
things!’ She smiled without embarrassment at her longer and more
voluminous gown of modest gray silk.
The search was carried out in an orderly fashion, but without result.
‘There, that proves we’re not accessories, at least. Now for my
second inspiration. We still have those pencils and sheets of paper
with the plan of the room. Let’s each write down her impressions,
make a record of them while they’re still fresh in mind.
‘You’ve all kept the papers? Good.’ She procured some magazines from
the table and distributed one to each. ‘Use these for lap pads to
write on. I suggest we answer the questions given here first--the
ones about clues and so on, not thinking of them in connection with
the play, but more in the light of what happened in reality. Then we
can add anything else we recall that might help; what we saw, who sat
next us, and such points.’
‘But we seated ourselves in the dark! I didn’t notice who was beside
me, in the excitement.’
‘I did. When the lights went up, Bob was on my right and----’
‘Write it down, don’t confuse us by telling now,’ suggested Mrs.
Bascom, already busy with her answers.
They were still thinking and writing when the rattle of an automobile
stopped outside the house and Mrs. Bascom arose to admit the local
police force of two, augmented by the village doctor and one other
man. She directed them to the barn where the men guests were waiting.
A gust of wind and driving rain swept into the hall, and Mrs. Bascom
shivered as she pushed against the door to close it. Mechanically
she stepped over to the mirror and paused to tuck up a lock of black
hair which had blown loose from her modestly sleek coiffure. As she
regarded the reflection of her pale face, she closed her eyes for a
moment, whispering to herself, ‘Play up, Ellen Bascom, an’ the Lord
give you strength an’ courage.’ Then she straightened her narrow
shoulders and returned to the other women.
Their accounts completed, Mrs. Bascom collected the papers and began
to read the answers aloud, discussing each with its author and
occasionally jotting down an additional note which their talk served
to bring out. There was little of apparent value in their statements,
however, the most noteworthy fact being the wide divergence of
inference which these eye-witnesses had drawn from the same scene
they had all witnessed.
Just as they concluded the last statement, the men filed into the
room with the two officers bringing up the rear, Ruel walking between
them. At a nod from the shorter one, who seemed to have assumed the
authority, his companion closed the door and stood guard before it.
‘Now then, ladies,’ began the former, taking up a position at one
end of the fireplace, his rather guileless blue eyes seeming to look
everywhere except at them, although he was already trying to fix a
picture of each face in his mind. ‘It kind of looks as if this case
wasn’t so ballin’ up as you might think.’
His voice was pleasantly drawled and conversational in tone. At first
glance, he might have been taken for a healthy, middle-aged farmer,
dressed in seedy working clothes. His face contained little to single
it out from any of a dozen men such as are seen in a village street,
ready leisurely to pass the time of day or swap the latest titbit of
local gossip.
‘It ain’t exactly a pleasure, me comin’ here to do what I have to do,
but murder ain’t pleasant anyways you look at it. What I mean to say
is this: there’s one here as is pretty strongly suspected, you might
put it, only before I do anythin’ about him, I want you all to tell
me what you saw, like the men here have done.
‘I don’t know any of you intimate, ’cept Mrs. Bascom an’ Ruel, but
I’ve seen some of you kitin’ through the village in autos an’ things,
so I’ll just ask some questions, friendly like.’
‘Might I interrupt your concise explanation for a moment, Mr.
Sewell?’ asked Mrs. Bascom with an asperity that plainly indicated
some personal feeling toward him that was not exactly flattering to
his intelligence.
‘Certain sure, Mrs. B. Fire ahead, only I guess I’ll kind of be
“Inspector” Sewell to you all, if you don’t mind.’
‘Hump!--Well, it might save you a good deal of useless trouble if
you’d read these papers before asking your questions, Ezra Sewell.’
‘Papers? What’s in ’em?’ he grinned, ignoring her use of his name.
‘The answers to your questions, probably.’
‘But I ain’t asked ’em yet, ma’am.’ He put on a pair of bone-rimmed
glasses that sat quite incongruously on his stubby nose. ‘Oh, tells
about what you saw an’ all.--I might have known you women-folks
wouldn’t just set here doin’ nothin’. That’s mighty helpful.’
‘We searched each other, too,’ added Mrs. Bascom shortly.
Sewell nodded, shuffling through several of the sheets and looking at
one item in particular on each. He slowly wagged his head at what he
found.
‘You all seem to make the same mistake on one thing sure enough,’ he
ruminated, placidly continuing to scan the accounts or painstakingly
puzzling out some illegible handwriting.
‘He probably means about Basil exchanging rôles with----’
‘Hold on a bit, Doctor. I wasn’t goin’ to tell that just yet. Seein’
as how you’ve started unloadin’ the cart, though, you might as well
finish the job, I guess. You sort of worked it out first, anyway,
near as I can make out.’
Briefly the doctor outlined the cause of King’s death and the
true account of the play, adding meticulously, ‘It’s all very
involved--Mr. Moore playing a joke on King by switching rôles with
Mr. Stacey, then reversing the joke on the latter, so he claims, by
placing the knife on the left instead of on the right. Like most
practical jokes--but that’s irrelevant. He also swears he knows
nothing of the actual murder, declaims his innocence----’
‘And quite naturally too! Any person with an atom of sense could see
he is innocent,’ said Mrs. Bascom hotly, springing to her feet.
‘Far as I can make out, Mrs. B., it don’t seem to be much a case of
seein’ anythin’, because it happened in the dark,’ suggested Sewell
calmly.
She sat down again with an audible sniff, her cheeks red, her eyes
snapping at this clever rebuff. But Ruel threw her a look of thanks.
‘Understand me, ma’am. I’ve known Ruel Moore about as long as you
have, an’ as Ezra Sewell I’d take his word quick as--quicker than
most. But as _Inspector_ Sewell, takin’ words for things is a gray
mare of another color. Evidence is evidence, an’ there’s got to be a
mighty lot of explainin’ to this thing yet.’
‘But, Ez, I told you I didn’t even touch King,’ pleaded Ruel.
‘Heaven knows I had no motive. He’s been so kind to me I’d rather
die for him than kill him. I’ve explained everything to you exactly
as it happened, and I swear it’s the whole truth--everything I
know. Suspect me if you have to now, but for God’s sake let’s do
something--find Miss Hawley before--before anything more happens.’
At his outburst, Mrs. Bascom sat up straight and looked about her at
the women. In her agitation she had not missed Sylvia before.
‘What do you mean, Ruel? Where is she?’
‘God knows, Mrs. B. She’s disappeared!’ groaned Ruel, sweat breaking
out on his forehead.
Thoughtlessly he raised the back of his hand to wipe it away, then
seemed to recall he was not out in the fields so drew out his
handkerchief instead.
‘Yes, and the will King made and left on----What’s that?’ finished
the judge sharply, pointing to Ruel’s hand.
Stupidly Ruel stared at the handkerchief he held. It was stained with
great spots of red.
‘It’s blood, Ruel. Where’d it come from?’
‘I--I don’t know, Ez.’
‘He wiped his hands on it in the play just after the murder! We all
saw him do it,’ interrupted the judge.
‘So? Well, it just seems, Ruel, as if that was one of them last
straws they talk about. I guess I’ll have to ask you to come along
down with me a spell.’ Sewell’s words were delivered in a tone
that made them sound more like some pleasant invitation than an
official arrest. ‘You go along with Pete there, an’ I’ll see you
later.--’Course, it ain’t exactly legal, arrestin’ you without no
warrant this way, but you can sue me for false arrest if you’re a
mind to. I figure it’s best you go peaceable, anyway, an’ we’ll tend
to the rest later.’
The man at the door stepped forward obediently, but he did not touch
Ruel, merely stood by his side until he turned to move away.
‘I’m sorry, Ruel, old man, but don’t worry. It’ll come out all
right,’ sympathized Basil. Ruel did not seem to hear.
‘Ezra Sewell, the Lord forgive me for callin’ you a fool!’ sputtered
Mrs. Bascom. ‘Of all the idiotic, preposterous----’
‘There now, Mrs. B., save all them dictionary words for a more
understandin’ critter than me, who’s just doin’ a duty as plain as
the nose on your face--not speakin’ personal, I mean to say.--Get
along, you two.’ But his suggestion was unnecessary; Ruel and the
officer had gone.
‘Now, then, folks, there’s lots to be tended to yet. First off,
what’ll I do with you all?’ He addressed the question to them as if
seriously awaiting an answer.
‘Of course we’re at your mercy--your command, Inspector,’ suggested
one of the men, not too seriously in view of the latter’s rather
casual methods. ‘We want to do everything we can to help, but what
about to-morrow? I, for one, must get back to business, and, besides,
this house--after to-night----’
‘I was just considerin’ all that, mister. Now seems to me kind of
useless, keepin’ you all here, though, on the other side of the
fence, seems as if I ought to. Well, since you’ve been searched an’
with the women-folks’ statements an’ names, I guess you can go. You
leave me your names too an’ where I can get you if needs be, an’ I
guess that’ll be enough.’
‘I’m sure I can arrange for a few days’ leave. I’ll stay,’ said Judge
Brant quickly. ‘Naturally I want to help, and there’s the question of
the will to investigate.’
‘That’s fine.--An’ you’ll stay too, Doctor, at least till after the
inquest?’
‘Of course if you really need me I’ll manage it somehow,’ answered
the latter, a little reluctantly.
‘Good.--I do, ’cause I’ll need your testimony, professional like.
Now, if you other gentlemen will give me your names an’ addresses an’
telephone numbers, please, I’ll be much obliged.’
One by one they gave the required information while Sewell
laboriously wrote it down in a tattered notebook he drew from
his pocket, using a borrowed pencil which he wet with his tongue
frequently. This done, he made a stiff, awkward bow and walked out of
the room after requesting the doctor, the judge, and Basil Stacey to
accompany him.
‘Well, of all the unprepossessing, comedy “constabules” I ever saw!’
exclaimed Mrs. Tenney in a voice that certainly must have reached
that dignitary’s ears.
‘Fool!--I will say it--fool!’ muttered Mrs. Bascom. ‘Oh, Basil, wait
a minute.’
She detained him at the door, questioning him about the mysterious
will and Sylvia’s disappearance. When he had answered briefly, she
seized him by the arm excitedly.
‘Somethin’ has happened to her. She’d never go off like that of her
own free will.’
‘I’m sure of it, Mrs. B., and I mean to start on a search for her
right away. This--this Sewell dismisses her disappearance by saying
that if she’s abducted, she’d be far away and well hidden by now,
while the murder is more important to investigate first. But I’m
going to tell him I’m off to find her--this minute.’
‘You will--you must,’ whispered Mrs. Bascom to herself as he hurried
down the hall after the other three men.
Rain was pelting down in drenching streams as he ran the few steps
between the house and barn, struggling into a raincoat he snatched up
from the hall. The others had made a dash for it unmindful of the
storm, and were just ascending the stairs when Basil called out.
‘Inspector Sewell, you don’t need me here, do you? I’m going to find
Miss Hawley.’
It was more an assertion than a question, and he started out into the
rain again before Sewell slowly answered, ‘I calculate that’s a good
idea, young man. Go to it.’
Continuing up the stairs, Ezra led the way directly to King’s
workshop and switched on the lights. The room was now empty, for the
village doctor and his helper had removed King’s body to the house
while the inquiry was taking place in the living-room. Yet there was
a feeling of tragedy and confusion about the room still. The curtains
hung drunkenly before the rain-dripping windows, the chairs, which
had not been removed for the ladies’ use in the next room, were
pushed about in uneven rows; King’s dressing-gown, taken off for an
examination of the wound, lay draped over the back of the desk chair.
Everything either directly or indirectly heightened the lingering
horror of the drama which had so recently taken place there.
The wind whined above the streaming rain, lashing the trees and
whistling around the corners of the barn like a banshee.
‘It sounds almost as if some one were calling,’ shuddered the judge.
‘Yep, it’s a funny thing, about winds. Seems like they always follow
your mood; sigh restful when you’re happy, an’ mournful when you’re
sad,’ commented Sewell, motioning the two men to remain by the door.
Then his voice became crisp, dropped its drawl, though his easy-going
manner did not change. ‘Just let me take a look about before you come
in, though there’s not much use, since every one’s mussed about so
already.’
Slowly, almost indifferently, it seemed, he walked once about the
room without stopping, his eyes flitting from one object to another.
This done, he examined each of the windows in turn. The one which
had been used as a door in the play was now closed to shut out the
storm, and he muttered as he gazed out of it, ‘No chance for marks on
that glass or sill after that washin’.’ The other two were locked and
equally uninteresting.
‘Let’s see now. This barn’s built into the side of the orchard hill,
ain’t it, so instead of this bein’ the second-story floor as it
should be, all them windows open right on the ground.’
‘That’s right,’ approved the judge, ‘except that, due to the
irregularity of the slope, two of them are about a foot above the
ground. The opened one is on the ground level, though.’
‘Um, that don’t help any. The other two were locked.--You said only
the desk light was on?’ Sewell lighted it, then walked over to one of
the empty chairs and sat down in it. ‘Switch off the rest so I can
see how it looked.’
When this had been done, he studied the desk in silence.
‘Now one of you go over there an’ turn off the desk light.’
Dr. New did this.
‘Move around a bit.--You’re movin’ now?--Hmm. That’s enough. The
floor’s squeaky an’ it’s black as a bat so I couldn’t see you.’
‘That’s exactly the way it appeared during the play, except for the
opened window.’
‘What do you mean by that, Judge?’
‘It wasn’t raining then, so was a little lighter. We could see
whatever moved in front of it--as when the men entered the window or
when Miss Hawley came in the door between us and it. There was only
light enough to make out silhouettes, not details, of course.’
Sewell advanced toward the desk once more and stared down at the
stained blotter.
‘Pretty positive that ain’t blood, Doctor?’
‘Sure of it. It’s red ink from the bottle you saw in the desk drawer.
King probably spilled it while the room was dark to carry out the
illusion. Besides, the very way the body leaned, the wound and blood
were below the level of the desk.’
‘Like this, eh?’
Sewell sat down in the chair and bent forward, though refraining from
touching the blotter.
‘That, or possibly a little farther forward.’
Sewell held his position without replying, for he had noticed certain
indentations in the otherwise smooth blotter--marks very indistinct
due to the dampening it had received from the ink, yet clear enough
to show some one had written at the desk since the fresh blotter had
been placed there. It looked like a single word.
‘Happen to know if this was a new blotter or when it was last
changed?’
The men shook their heads in the negative.
‘Wonder if any one else could tell me that?’
‘Probably Miss Hawley or one of the men in the play.’
‘Sure. Guess that’s a point I’ll have to find out about.--King didn’t
do no writin’ durin’ the play, did he?’
‘No, unless it was in the dark. Why do you ask?’
‘I was just wonderin’.’
Sewell took up the dressing-gown to examine it closely. He measured
with his eye the rent that the knife had made, estimating it was less
than two inches in length. Something rustled in one of the pockets as
he handled it, and he drew out a small slip of paper. It was slightly
wrinkled and torn on one edge, while on it was a single row of
penciled figures--‘2 4 5 7 8.’ The numbers were unevenly spaced and
irregular as if hastily done, each approximately an inch in height.
He was about to replace this in the pocket as unimportant for the
present, when his eyes fell again upon the marks on the blotter.
Bending forward as if to hold the paper nearer the light to study
it, he compared the figures with the indentations. Obviously they
coincided! This information he kept to himself, though he showed the
figures on the paper to the men.
‘Make anythin’ out of that?’
‘About the right length for an auto license,’ suggested the doctor.
‘It ain’t King’s, ’cause I’ve seen it often. But that’s an idea. What
do you say, Judge?’
‘Might be anything--or nothing,’ responded the latter absently,
shuddering at the sound of the wind. ‘What a night!’
Inspector Sewell nodded, carefully folded the slip and placed it in
his worn notebook.
‘This secretary, Miss Hawley, maybe she’d know that too, leastwise
she would if any one, I guess. Seems like she might know lots of
things, only she ain’t here to tell ’em. Hope maybe Basil finds
somethin’ about her.’
‘That reminds me. What do you make of this will affair?’ questioned
the judge. ‘I don’t like it. I was in King’s confidence and certainly
he mentioned nothing about such a radical change in his will to me.’
‘Don’t make nothin’--yet. The point of law is up to you, an’ the
rest--well, we’ll see later.’
‘But she’s disappeared, whether by force or----’
‘Hold on, there. I ain’t exactly worryin’ about her--now. Got enough
else on my mind. If she’s been took off, she’s hid by now, an’ if
she’s took herself off, she’s either hid or will come back when she’s
a mind to. My assistant, Pete, is startin’ things along that line an’
so is Basil. An’ that’s all we can do for the present.’
His fat thumb emphasized his words by pressing the switch button
and plunging the room into darkness. As they passed into the other,
unfinished part of the loft, Sewell turned on a second light and
paused to look at the small, dust-covered windows. They had no locks,
and one contained streaks in the dust of the sill, but it was useless
to raise the window for further examination, as the storm would only
destroy them.
Just at the right of the door leading into the workshop stood the
typewriter desk and chair which had been moved there for purposes of
the play when Miss Hawley was supposed to frighten away the intruder.
Over this Sewell bent in passing, reached behind the machine and
lifted out a paper which had fallen there. With this in hand, he
turned to the men.
‘If I recollect right, you said she wrote somethin’ on that machine
durin’ the play? Well, now, would it be much--a few words, or what?’
‘Not more than a line, I should say. She rattled it off very swiftly.’
‘I heard the bell ring only once,’ nodded the judge.
‘A few words, then. About this long, maybe?’
Sewell extended the paper which he had just picked up, and the men
read--‘Now is the time--2 4 5 7 8.’
‘Good Lord--that number again! You don’t suppose----?’
‘Queer, ain’t it?--An’ now she’s gone off somewheres,’ muttered
Sewell as he led the way to the stairs in the farther corner of the
room. But to himself he recalled that in the sequence of the play,
she had appeared at the safe just after the pseudo and the real
murder must have been committed! Which way had she entered, then,
from the loft or from the room itself?