GROPING
‘You get along home, Pete. An’ don’t forget to look in on Ruel’s pigs
an’ see that everythin’ is all right on his place. Scat, now. I’m too
busy to talk.’
Inspector Sewell pushed up his bone-rimmed glasses to their rightful
position on his stubby nose. They had been pulled down from his eyes
so that he might look over their rims as he addressed his assistant,
but the very act of pushing them back into place added a note of
finality to his words. Peter shambled away without even the formality
of a ‘Good-night.’
Ezra Sewell sat in an odd-looking room, known officially as the
office to the jail. To study its details was, in a measure, to
understand the man himself, for the room held many hints both
tangible and intangible as to the character of its master.
Coming upon the jail from the outside, it appeared to be a
single-storied, unpretentious brick house, unless it were viewed
from the back where curtained windows gave place to barred ones.
A single door in the exact middle of the façade opened into the
office, large, square, and sunny. This was neither cluttered nor
formal in appearance, though it contained a variety of objects, each
scrupulously clean and neat, obviously upholding the maxim of ‘a
place for everything, and everything in its place.’
Hooked rugs in gay colors attracted the eye to the polished floor; a
row of pots in the windows added a touch of scarlet geraniums against
the white curtains, while a red checkered cloth and rose-painted lamp
adorned the table in the center of the room. A Governor Winthrop
desk filled one corner, attesting to a shrewd piece of ‘trading’ on
Sewell’s part; a safe in the opposite one was decked with a tidy and
a shining silver loving-cup bearing the inscription ‘To Ezra Sewell
in token of ten years’ service to the community--From his fellow
townsmen and women.’ Finally, an armchair, in which no one but its
owner ever dared to sit, a homemade bookcase, and four cushion-seated
chairs completed the main furnishings of the room.
Facing the outer door was another, now open, which gave a glimpse
of a narrow corridor with its three barred cells, while similar
doors on the right and left walls opened into a small bedroom and
bath and a kitchen, respectively. The remaining space on the walls
was incongruously decorated with a lithograph of ‘Rock of Ages,’ a
shotgun, a framed certificate, a pair of handcuffs of antiquated
design, a glass case of worsted flowers, and an ormolu clock.
At the desk, Ezra now sat in his shirt-sleeves, biting his pencil and
staring at a blank sheet of paper before him. His toes were hooked
back around the front legs of his chair, and his blue shirt bulged
out from under gaudy pink suspenders as he leaned forward intently.
For some time he sat motionless, while the light of the early
evening waned. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, he started to write,
then threw down his pencil and went to the table, lighted the lamp
ceremoniously, and, pushing aside the electric drop light on the
desk, set it down at his elbow and resumed his task.
He wrote a heading, followed it with a few brief lines, then read
them over aloud.
List of Things to be Investigated
1. Where the weapon is hidden.
2. The motive for the murder. (Note: check up on King’s early
life somehow.)
3. The meaning of the figures 24578.
4. Who the thief was and what he got.
‘But he might have been any one,’ a voice from outside the room
interrupted the reading. ‘How can you expect to find a man who just
walked in the window and out again?’
‘I think it was some one not so far off, Ruel,’ answered Sewell, as
if the interruption was not unexpected. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me none
if it had somethin’ to do with the murder too, in a way.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Little things. Not a sign of a clue, yet he was scared away sudden;
no attempt at real robbery except in that one drawer of the desk
where only papers were; the fact it happened just when it did, sort
of.’
To a visitor, this exchange of questions and information between a
prisoner and his jailer would have seemed strange, to say the least.
As a matter of fact, this was not the first time such a conversation
had been held. Sewell’s wits seemed to be sharpened by talking things
over with some one like Ruel and meeting his objections, for he was
loquacious both by nature and environment. To Ruel it had been a
God-send, for by this means he was able, in spite of his forced
confinement, to learn details of progress in the investigation.
‘Finally,’ continued Sewell. ‘Number five is--“What’s Ellen B.
concealin’?”’
‘But surely you don’t think she’s guilty?’
‘Guilty of what? Murder?--No. Hidin’ some sort of information or
somethin’ like that--yes.’
‘Why don’t you ask her point-blank then?’
‘Who, Ellen B.? I guess you don’t know her--or wimmen, for that
matter, son,’ answered Sewell lugubriously. ‘Give ’em nothin’ to talk
about, an’ you can’t stop ’em; let ’em decide to keep a secret, an’
the Lord help you!’
‘I take it you don’t think much of----’
‘Hold on. I ain’t said nothin’ against her an’ the whole tribe of
’em,’ bridled Sewell. ‘An’ I ain’t given up findin’ what she knows.
There’s ways of gettin’ around saints an’ devils--an’ she ain’t
exactly either.’
Ruel wisely made no comment on this bit of philosophy, so Sewell got
to his feet, walked over to the safe and squatted before it. Slowly
he twisted the combination, squinting at it and working his jaws. The
first time it failed to work, but the second attempt opened the door.
He took out a cardboard candy box, carried it to the desk and spread
out its contents--a bit of cement, the slip of penciled figures from
King’s dressing-gown pocket, the typewritten sheet from Sylvia’s
machine, and the sheaf of papers containing the guests’ summaries of
what they had seen.
These he eyed thoughtfully, touching one after another with the tip
of his finger, then drew a fresh sheet of paper toward him and made
a row of nine, carefully spaced circles, tracing them around a small
button. In these he put numbers from 2 to 0, then laboriously spread
his fingers over certain of these, studying his hand speculatively.
‘It’s possible--with hers,’ he muttered. ‘I just been tryin’, Ruel,
to see if it would come natural like to punch those typewriter
figures without thinkin’ about it much. Seems like it would, with
Sylvia’s hands.’
‘Of course it was only a coincidence if she says so,’ agreed Ruel
eagerly. ‘I tried that scheme myself on the wall here.’
‘Defacin’ township property, was you?’ chuckled Sewell. ‘You’ll have
to settle up for that.’
‘But, Ez, you know she had nothing to do with it. You said yourself
she was innocent.’
‘So I did, before she was found.’
The bars of the cell rattled furiously and Ruel’s voice raised to an
angry pitch.
‘Ezra Sewell, you listen to me. Sylvia could no more have----’
‘I’ve heard all that before, son. No more could she be the one to
grab for his money on that will business--but she’s doin’ it. Explain
me that first, before you tell me what she couldn’t do.’
‘But you haven’t given her a chance to explain. There must be some
reason. She says King told her he was going to make that will.’
‘That’s just the trouble. He didn’t!’
‘How do you know? You mean to call her a--a liar?’
‘Seems so. Seein’ as how King told me that very day he intended
leavin’ quite a sum of his money to the village an’ such, it looks
queer. Besides, a blind man could see she was makin’ that up. She
ain’t a good liar.’
The bars rattled again impotently, but Ruel could think of no
adequate retort to this statement except a loud groan. It was Sewell
who spoke again.
‘Now as you’ll let me finish what I had a mind to say, I will. I
ain’t said I don’t think she’s innocent, an’ I ain’t said but what
I think she’s hidin’ somethin’. What that is an’ why, I aim to find
out, that’s all, an’ I hope it ain’t nothin’ against her.--Seems to
me if only these here women weren’t so blame full of hidin’ things,
we’d get along faster.’
He abruptly swept the papers and clues into the box, thrust it into
the safe, and strode into the corridor to stand just outside Ruel’s
electrically lighted cell, rocking back and forth on his heels as he
spoke.
‘Son, I may be gettin’ old an’ all that, but I ain’t a fool. Of
all them as looks queerest--the most suspected ones--you an’ her
are the ones I’m most certain are innocent. First off, I know you
two. Second, it’s just ’cause you can’t explain things only by
coincidences an’ such, that I know what you say is true. I mean to
say, it’s easier to make up a real good lyin’ excuse for somethin’
than just a coincidence that may sound queer. If you two had denied
things right out, it would be different, but you ain’t tried to, see?
Leastwise, you ain’t on the most important things. As to you, son, it
seems like you’re the only one I can talk to open an’ trust. Don’t
spoil it, Ruel.
‘I know it’s hard on you, keepin’ you locked up here. You don’t have
to say nothin’ about how you feel toward Sylvia either. It’s writ all
over you. But you’re doin’ more good right here, not confusin’ things
up by messin’ in with help, than if you were free. That plain an’
hittin’ the nail on the head?
‘Now, then. You’re blamin’ me for not gettin’ anywhere. Oh, yes, you
are, an’ maybe you ain’t the only one neither. But that ain’t the
fact.--It won’t do no good steppin’ on everybody’s toes, accusin’
before you have proof. An’ it does do a whole lot just lettin’ every
one go unsuspected like. Look at that robbery business. It wouldn’t
have happened, I’ll bet, if whoever done it thought he was suspected,
see? But it proved there’s still some one about who--well, who ain’t
to be trusted, puttin’ it mild.
‘Take each one by turn. The doctor an’ the judge. Old friends of
King’s an’ not to be suspected, except they were handy at the
murder an’ might have been the burglar, of course. Ellen B. an’
Sylvia--both actin’ queer, hidin’ things an’ playin’ some sort of
fancy game. Basil Stacey--well, he’s got some things to explain yet.
An’ you--tied up with circumstantial evidence. You’re the goat now,
all right, an’ it’s handy havin’ one, even if you know he just butted
into things innocent.
‘Why, it’s just so simple, it’s all complicated. I got it all figured
out how King was killed, certain sure. One of his guests knew all
about the play, an’ planned accordin’. In the dark, he slipped out
the window back of the guests an’ came in the one near the desk. They
were all oiled an’ the curtains made it easy not to let in any light.
‘He hid in the dark till after you was supposed to have killed King,
then did it himself, slippin’ back as he had come. He probably locked
one window after him, an’ the other while the folks were messin’
around lookin’ for clues.
‘His motive? That’s what we’ve got to find out, not how he did it
in every detail. An’ that means findin’ who King really was, where
he----’
‘Let me out of here, Ez, and I’ll trace back his life,’ pleaded Ruel.
‘How? Visit every city in the country an’ Europe lookin’ for a man
who probably deliberately hid his history? Don’t be foolish, son. You
just sit tight, an’ one of these days we’ll have you out of here in a
jiffy. Meanwhile, I ain’t accusin’ any one, but I’m watchin’ ’em all,
an’ if they think I’m a fool--so much the better.’
Ruel nodded, convinced for the time by Sewell’s arguments. The
latter, having delivered himself of this oration, turned on his heel
to walk away, but changed his mind.
‘I wonder, Ruel, can I trust you to help me?’
‘Just try me, Ez. It’s what’s driving me crazy, doing nothing.’
‘Well, ’tain’t exactly doin’ much.--If I let you out of that cell,
hide you somewheres for a while, you won’t try to get away?’
‘I swear I won’t, Ez.’
‘All right.’ He unlocked the door and motioned Ruel to follow him
into the bedroom. ‘Now you set there in the dark right still an’ just
listen--listen hard, see? I’m about due for some callers an’ two
pairs of ears is better than one, just in case--There they come now.’
Sewell hurried from the room, leaving the door ajar, and dodged
into the corridor where he waited until the outer door opened, then
slammed the cell gate shut, switched off the light, and reëntered the
office.
‘Howdy, Doctor, howdy, Judge. Just closin’ up for the night. Glad to
welcome you here, unofficial. Set down an’ make yourselves to home.’
Ezra closed and locked the door to the cells before taking a chair
himself.
‘How is the prisoner? Told you anything yet?’ asked Judge Brant as he
eased himself into Sewell’s armchair and crossed his plump hands over
the hilly folds of his vest.
Before he replied, Sewell carefully filled and lighted his pipe,
seeming intent upon his task, but covertly studying the two men.
Both physically and mentally they were direct opposites in type.
Judge Brant was the more prepossessing in bulk and appearance, Dr.
New the more insignificant in physique, but keener of expression and
quicker to make a decision or express an opinion concisely. They were
both well dressed, obviously men of means and authority in their
respective professions.
The doctor sat erect and alert, smoking a cigar leisurely, and
scarcely seeming to move as he did so. The judge puffed on his with
avidity, and had an annoyingly nervous habit of opening his eyes wide
as if in amazement every few minutes, when there was nothing to cause
such an expression.
‘No, he’s gettin’ restless, but he ain’t confessed yet,’ Sewell
answered the latter’s question.
‘A little psychology, eh? Cage the out-of-doors man for a while and
he’ll soon weaken. That your theory?’ continued the judge approvingly.
‘I’m not so sure he’s guilty,’ interposed the doctor. ‘I’m
remorseful, in a way, since it was I who first accused him. He seemed
so genuinely confused and bewildered that after it was all over his
face rather haunted me.’
‘Sure, I’d have said he was innocent myself,’ answered Sewell, ‘but
look at the evidence against him.’
‘He hasn’t refuted that?’
‘Not satisfactory, Judge.’
For a time they discussed this chain of circumstantial evidence,
Sewell giving Ruel’s reasons for the facts but maintaining a
skeptical tone, the judge frankly doubting, and Dr. New weighing
their remarks mostly in silence. From this they drifted into an
argument over various phases of the mystery, the inspector allowing
the two men to choose their topics at will, listening, for the
most part, and putting in a remark or question only when directly
addressed or when the talk began to lag. He gained nothing in new
theories or knowledge, the two men being frankly puzzled and without
definite suspicions except for Ruel.
At length Sewell took a more active part in the conversation,
introducing the matter of the burglary so skillfully that it did not
seem to be his doing at all.
‘It’s puzzling,’ Judge Brant responded to his lead. ‘It seems to
me, after due thought, that the burglar must have been after some
definite thing and knew exactly where to look for it. Miss Hawley
mentioned papers were kept in that desk, as I recall it. That makes
it all the more certain it was some one who knew King and his ways
intimately.’
‘I don’t agree with you there,’ said Dr. New, leaning forward
intently. ‘Your logic seems to me at fault. A desk is a natural place
in which to keep papers, while a locked drawer invites investigation.
It is one of the first places in which a thief would look. Besides,
he stumbled into a chair and knocked it over, thus awakening us.
Certainly that would argue for an outsider who was not familiar with
the room.’
‘Both seem pretty possible to me, gentlemen. But seems like the
biggest part is, there’s no marks where he could have come in an’
gone out, none in the flower-bed outside the window, none in the
room. As to the chair, it’s easy to hit one in the dark, an’ after
the confusion in the house any one may have moved it out of its
rightful place.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Inspector, yet, if he was a clever man,
could he not have foreseen all this?’
‘Maybe, Doctor. But presumin’ it was an insider, who would you say it
was?’
‘I’ve thought of that, but I don’t like the obvious conclusion.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, it was neither the Judge nor myself. We each heard the sound,
jumped out of bed, and opened our doors almost simultaneously as we
struggled into bathrobes. As to Basil, his room was down the hall,
and he joined us before we reached the bottom of the stairs. That
lets him out. Miss Hawley couldn’t have done it and gotten back up
the stairs again with her bad ankle. That leaves only----’
‘Ellen Bascom!’ cried Sewell incredulously. ‘Why, I’d never thought
of her--for that.’ True the idea had never occurred to him, but now
that it had been suggested, it opened up several possibilities quite
against his will. ‘You say she was in her room an’ questioned you
when you came up again?’
‘Yes, she was standing in her doorway. She didn’t seem to be a bit
frightened, either,’ remarked Judge Brant thoughtfully.
‘She wouldn’t be,’ muttered Sewell. ‘How was she dressed?’
‘Scantily. Looked like a bed quilt around her shoulders, eh, Judge?’
‘Something like that, something bulky clutched around her shoulders.’
Ezra laughed aloud at this picture, but there was relief as well as
humor in his tone.
‘That settles it. I sort of hated to believe Ellen B. would do such
a thing. Now I know it. She wouldn’t be kitin’ around the house in
a nighty, not Ellen B.!’ He chuckled again, then stopped abruptly.
‘That kind of spoils the rest, too, though.’
‘What do you mean--what rest?’
‘Judge, you’re sure about somebody bein’ in your room?’
‘Of course. My wallet was on the floor, open, some of the papers half
out, others scattered to one side.’
‘That all?’
‘It was enough.’
‘But look here. Maybe it fell to the floor an’ they just spilled out.’
‘Not with my coat carefully spread over the back of the chair. It’s
a habit I always have--hanging it that way.’
‘Sure you did it as usual that night?’
‘Of course. Ask Dr. New. He came in and saw it for himself.’
Thus appealed to, the latter looked thoughtful for a moment before
replying.
‘Sorry, Judge, I’m afraid I can’t agree with you. Now that you
mention it, I’ve quite a vivid recollection that it was hanging by
one arm. I wouldn’t take an oath on it, but I’m reasonably sure.’
The judge’s fat cheeks flushed. ‘I--I think you’re mistaken, Doctor.
I’m very particular about my personal habits and I always hang my
coat up at night. I’d gone leisurely to bed and there’s no reason why
I should not have done as usual.’
‘It’s no killing matter, after all,’ said the doctor, raising his
eyebrows slightly at his companion’s confusion. ‘At that, habits----’
‘But it is kind of important,’ broke in Sewell hastily. ‘I can see
you’re a neat man, Judge, an’ I noticed that particular. But if you
forget this once, it means we’re suspectin’ some one innocent, see?’
‘Oh, I see, of course,’ muttered the judge somewhat apologetically.
‘I only objected to criticism about my personal habits, because I’m
sure that----’
‘Look here, was this chair near the door, between it an’ the bed?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Then maybe you knocked off the coat when you hurried past it, eh?’
‘That’s exactly what happened!’ agreed the doctor, nodding to Sewell
in appreciation of his adroit explanation.
‘Maybe,’ said Judge Brant, still rather doubtfully obstinate.
‘Then you see we’ve been tryin’ to make out one of the women did it
when neither one had a hand in any such thing.’
‘One of them? You mean to include Mrs. Bascom?’
‘That’s what I was thinkin’, Doctor, back there a ways when I said I
hadn’t figured her for thievin’ downstairs, but for somethin’ else. I
knew she didn’t, though, when you spoke of her nighty!’
He grinned again and the other two joined in with him.
He had accomplished his purpose; whether rightly or wrongly, for he
was not so certain as he strove to appear, he had diverted suspicion
from both the women. Incidentally, he had gained an interesting,
though irrelevant, view of the two men’s characters. Dr. New was
evidently a keen observer and a diplomat, whereas Judge Brant was
rather methodical and resentful of any personal criticism no matter
how trivial.
Soon after this, the clock struck ten, and the men arose to depart.
‘Don’t hurry, gentlemen, it’s only nine-thirty. That clock strikes
kind of contrary on the half-hours instead of right. It always has.’
‘Why don’t you have it fixed, then?’
‘Always aim to, but never seem to get there. Besides, I’m used to
it,’ apologized Sewell, noting their exchange of amused glances.
They delayed a few moments, but soon left. Once they were gone, the
inspector called to Ruel and led him back to his cell in silence.
When it was locked once more, he faced the young man through the
bars, waiting for him to make some comment on what he had overheard.
‘I don’t see why you wanted me to listen to _that_,’ said Ruel
disgustedly.
‘No? Then I take it you wasn’t so interested?’
‘Only that it was all another proof of the utter foolishness of
suspecting Sylvia for anything.’
‘Maybe. Personally, I calculate talkin’ is always interestin’ an’
informin’. Me, now, I learned a lot. Ellen B. ain’t involved like
I kind of thought she might be, an’ that’s somethin’. Then the
doctor is kind of softenin’ toward you while the judge ain’t. That’s
somethin’ more. As to the burglar, I kind of got a hunch who it was,
if not what he was after. Seems as if all that’s worth pretty much to
me.’
Ruel stared at him queerly.
‘You mean--Basil?’
‘Ain’t many others I could mean, sir. Think it over, same as I will,’
answered Ezra, shuffling away down the corridor.
‘But he was King’s friend, Ez. Why should he----’
There was no use addressing the vacant air; Ezra had gone without
answering.
Slowly Ruel prepared for bed, twisting and turning the inspector’s
remarks in his mind, trying to interpret Basil’s actions in the light
of this new suspicion. He had liked Basil in a general way, had
envied him for an assurance and easy manner so contrasting to his
own diffidence. They had been casual friends, meeting often at King’s
house, yet they had never been drawn together closely by any mutual
interests, and Ruel had recently begun to resent Basil’s attentions
to Sylvia, although never with any real foundation.
Like a flame, fed by a spark of suspicion, this resentment grew, even
though it had no fuel to feed upon--a fact that only increased its
intensity. As he climbed into the narrow cot bed, one thing became
more and more sure in his mind. Ezra Sewell’s methods were certainly
individual, his lazy geniality just a useful blind. Back of it all
was a keen brain, and Ruel felt suddenly reassured. He trusted
himself and Sylvia implicitly in this man’s hands.