EZRA TURNS THIEF
Ezra Sewell stood stock still, too helpless with surprise to move.
Ellen Bascom, a prisoner--Ruel Moore, his rightful prisoner, gone!
The obvious conclusion was that Ruel had made this exchange and
escaped, yet Ezra was reluctant to accept the obvious. It was not
like Ruel to have done such a thing, nor was it consistent with Mrs.
Bascom’s character to have submitted to the exchange. She might have
been overpowered, but again that was scarcely plausible from either’s
standpoint.
As he stood there holding to the bars in his astonishment and trying
to muddle out some explanation, the comedy of it suddenly struck
Ezra. A chuckle escaped his lips, became a prelude to a convulsing
sputter of laughter. Ellen Bascom in jail! Ellen Bascom, helpless,
gagged so that she was even robbed of the power of speech, sitting
there bolt upright in a cell, powerless to move, her eyes snapping at
his! And even in her captivity, she was so calm, so haughty in her
pose, so ridiculously out of place.
His mirth passed as quickly as it had come. His duty and a desire to
learn from her own lips what had happened were the chief causes for
this, but back of them may have been a guilty feeling at the baneful
stare from her eyes, just visible above the gag. Obtaining the key
from the office, after a hasty glance both inside and outside the
jail to make certain Ruel was nowhere in sight, Ezra unlocked the
cell door and hurried to Mrs. Bascom’s side, his face now grave and
serious.
First he untied the gag, which proved to be Ruel’s handkerchief, or
rather, one that Ezra had lent his prisoner. But Sewell noted it
was quite loosely tied, might easily have been slipped off by the
manipulation of her jaws, if she had really tried to free herself.
The moment it came undone, Mrs. Bascom spoke, her words and tone
sharp with sarcasm.
‘Have you quite finished your laughter at a poor, helpless woman?
Please don’t consider relieving my discomfort for an instant until
you have entirely exhausted the humor of your side-splitting joke.’
‘Now, now, Ellen B., I apologize right off to you. It wasn’t a
gentleman’s way to be actin’, I know, but if you’d only been me an’
could see how you----’
‘Thank you, I don’t need to _see_. I can _feel_ how helpless and
uncomfortable I am.--A woman in distress must seem very comical to
you, of course.’ By this time, Ezra had unbound the rope from her
wrists and was stooping to loosen those which shackled her ankles,
but she quickly drew her feet back beneath the edge of the bed. ‘I
prefer to do the rest myself, Ezra Sewell.’
Ezra straightened and turned his face away to conceal the involuntary
grin that broke over it. Of course he should never have presumed to
touch her ankles!
She sprang to her feet and took a step toward the door, but Ezra
stepped in front of her to block the way, and she faltered back as if
from contact with him.
‘Hold on a bit there, Ellen B. Seems like as if there might be a
little explainin’ before you go.’
‘Oh!’ The exclamation, though brief, expressed withering scorn. ‘I’d
thought that to a keen mind such as yours, the situation would be
quite obvious. I beg your pardon for presumin’ on your intelligence!’
‘No presumin’ I’m sure, Ellen B.--I suppose it was Ruel as did this?’
‘Not at all! Of course I did it myself--just to amuse you. It was
such a good joke, so easy to tie myself all up, lock myself in, and
hang up the key, outside!’
‘But why did he do it?’ asked Sewell, quite oblivious to her ridicule.
‘Because I asked him to, naturally. He was so nice about it, too.’
‘Come, Ellen B., this ain’t no time for jokin’.’
‘No? I guess I must be dense. I’d thought you--er----’ She paused as
their eyes met for an instant. There was an unspoken command in his
that suddenly made her flush and stammer. This only increased her
ire, yet somehow it checked the remainder of the retort that came to
her lips.
‘A prisoner has escaped,’ continued Sewell pointedly, ‘an’ it’s my
business to find out how an’ why, ma’am.’
The very mildness of his tone warned her that he was in earnest, and
she began to speak rapidly to cover up her confusion.
‘I came here as soon as you left me, found the key, and entered this
cell. Ruel appeared glad to see some one really interested in his
welfare and innocence. I sat down on the cot, he stood before me,
and we were talking when----’
‘About what, ma’am?’
‘Nothing special--Sylvia, and the mystery in general.’
‘You was deliverin’ a message from her to him, maybe?’
‘No. She sent none, though I asked her----’ Mrs. Bascom stopped in
confusion, and glanced sharply at Sewell as she interrupted her
thought. ‘Suddenly he made a break for the door that I had left ajar,
and closed me in. It seemed to be a spring lock or something. Then he
returned, let himself in again, and bound and gagged me as you saw.
He’d gotten the rope from outside somewhere. After he’d locked the
door again, he hung up the key and went away.’
‘Without explainin’?’
She shook her head in the negative.
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Thirty or forty minutes, I should say. We talked only a very short
time before this happened.’
‘Hm. There wasn’t nothin’ you said as might have given him reason to
do this?’
She bridled instantly, recovering some of her former asperity. ‘Are
you accusing me of urging him to do this, Ezra Sewell, of asking him
to tie me up?’
‘I’m askin’, not accusin’, Ellen B.’
‘Then I’ll answer you that I’m not a medium with powers of seeing
into other people’s minds, even though I can read yours. I’m sure
I never stopped to analyze my words or what he thought in his mind
about them.’
‘I can believe you there, Ellen B.,’ nodded Sewell enigmatically,
but if her words were intended as an evasion, he either overlooked
or deliberately let them pass unchallenged. A slight relaxing of
her tenseness did not escape his keen eyes, however, as he abruptly
changed the subject. ‘Hope he didn’t tie you up too tight? Them ropes
didn’t hurt, did they?’
His solicitude was disarming and, in spite of herself, Mrs. Bascom
thawed perceptibly. Ezra asked her a few other inconsequential
questions, then pushed open the door and followed her out into the
office, concealing his own emotions at this latest development.
‘Can I drive you somewheres, Ellen B.?’ he asked as they came to the
outer door.
‘No, thank you. I’m going to my house for a little, then back to
Mr. King’s. I don’t know just how long it will take me, and I need
the exercise, anyway, so I’ll walk.--I--I hope you won’t hold this
against Ruel. I think he was sort of distracted and impatient over
his confinement. I’m sure he meant no wrong--to any one.’
‘Oh, that end of it’s all right. But when a prisoner escapes, it’s
kind of serious business, you see.’
‘Not if it’s a secret--if no one knows about it, Ezra.’ Her eyes met
his squarely, and this time he perceived their message at once.
‘Perhaps not,’ he nodded slowly. ‘Anyways, as long as no one knows
except us two, we won’t do anythin’ serious about it--yet. Of course,
his escapin’ is bad, a felony in itself. But if he was proved
innocent of murder, I guess the judge would pardon that, Ellen B.’
Mrs. Bascom smiled quite genuinely in her relief, then turned and
hurried down the street. Inspector Sewell stood in the doorway
watching her until she had disappeared around a curve in the road.
‘Smart woman--slick as a whistle,’ he muttered to himself as he
reëntered the office and, walking over to the desk, sat down to think.
Now that he was alone, he arrived at a definite conclusion almost
instantly. It was not because Ezra Sewell was mentally slow that he
had not reasoned this out before. There were two very distinct causes
for his delinquency; one, that he had been too interested in Mrs.
Bascom and her retorts to consider seriously the reason for Ruel’s
act, the second, that he could not help but admire her spirit and the
ease with which she evaded questions she did not care to answer, yet
never told a positive falsehood. Nor had he tried to force answers
from her by reiterating such questions. He knew by experience the
futility of such a course, appreciated the value of a more indirect
method of securing the truth.
With her departure, however, everything seemed perfectly clear and
obvious with scarcely a thought.
‘Pretty clever, but just a little too much so to fool me,’ he said
aloud, unconsciously addressing his words toward the cell where Ruel
had formerly shared his oral musings. ‘Guess it happened about this
way. Ellen B. didn’t think I paid enough attention to her bright
idea about goin’ to Boston to look up King’s past, so darned if she
didn’t persuade Ruel to go for her--just like that! Not that it’ll do
any harm, as far as I can see. Guess it’ll be better for him than
stayin’ cooped up here as long as folks still think he’s a prisoner.
‘Well, now, let’s see. She has him lock her in an’ tie her up just
to make it look natural an’ fool me. But there’s where she laid it
on a bit thick, seems to me. It wasn’t necessary at all, at all. An’
naturally he tied her up gentle, too, so all that talk was--well,
actin’--all except her bein’ mad at me for laughin’ an’ her bein’
willin’ to keep it all a secret.’
Ezra slapped his knee and chuckled again at the picture his memory
recalled. Then his eyes fell upon a folded slip of paper, tucked
beneath the ink bottle. It proved to be a note, without address or
signature. But neither was necessary as he read the hurried scrawl in
Ruel’s handwriting:
I promised not to break away from _you_, but not any one else.
Don’t worry, I won’t disgrace you, and will keep out of sight.
Will call on you the moment I return.
‘Yep, when he returns--from Boston. So that’s that, all neat an’
tidy.--But that Ellen critter. ’Tain’t good for her to think she’s
foolin’ me completely. ’Tain’t good for any woman, least of all her.
Guess I’d better just drop by her house an’ kind of let her know by a
hint like.’
He carefully locked the outer door of the jail so that no one could
enter and discover Ruel’s absence, and the very resistance of the
lock attested to the fact that this precaution had not been taken for
months or years. Then he set off down the road at a comfortable amble.
It was not far to Mrs. Bascom’s house, spick and span in its recent
coat of white paint, set off by trellised crimson rambler vines
and shaded by a tall elm that dwarfed as well as protected it. The
pathway to the front door cut through velvety grass and lanes of
flowers, here and there speckled with early blossoms, but mostly
green with promise of later blooms.
The shades were all pulled down to the window sills to keep out the
hot sun, but the door stood wide open. Ezra stepped inside, pulling
off his somewhat battered felt hat and twirling it on his fingers,
as he glanced at the closed doors on the lower floor, then up the
stairs into their cool darkness. Not a sound came from anywhere in
the house. He put a foot on the stairs to ascend, then drew back.
‘Nope. She might be dressin’ or somethin’,’ he muttered, then raised
his voice in a lusty shout. ‘Ellen B., oh, Ellen B.’
Immediately there was a crash like the hasty closing of a box or
trunk, followed by a scurry of footsteps. Ezra listened as they
descended from the attic and brought Mrs. Bascom to the head of the
stairs. She was flushed, excited, and startled.
‘My land, you scared me!’ she explained needlessly. ‘I--I was just
seein’ to something up there and----’ She stopped abruptly to recover
her breath. ‘Well, what do you want now, Ezra Sewell?’
‘Me? Nothin’,’ he drawled, but he wondered why she seemed to look
almost guilty. Could it be that Ruel was hiding here, waiting for a
chance to slip away? It would be easy to find out. ‘I just happened
along to ask you if you was ready to go back. Thought I’d drive you
up.’
The flush slowly seeped from her face, though she still eyed him with
suspicion as she descended the stairs.
‘Yes, I’m ready now, and I’d be glad for a lift after all.’
‘Then I’ll go get the car, shall I?’
‘Don’t bother. I’ll go with you.’
Was it only imagination or was she now quite anxious to get him away
from her house? He waited while she locked the door, then slipped the
key under the mat quite casually. That rather settled his suspicions
that Ruel was in the house. Such being the case, why was she so
perturbed?
Before he could answer his own query, Mrs. Bascom briskly led the way
to the street and turned in the direction of the jail.
The ride back to King’s house was made in silence as far as
conversation was concerned--a silence enforced by the clatter of the
ancient automobile. But when they arrived in a little swirl of dust,
Ezra shut off the engine and faced his passenger quizzically before
she could get out.
‘I’ve been thinkin’, Ellen B. About that idea of yours of trailin’
Mr. King. Guess there might be somethin’ to it after all.’
‘I’m sure there is, but you needn’t bother about it. I’ll tend to it
in my own way as I said I would.’
‘Then it won’t be necessary for me to make the trip, eh? ’Course
you’ll tell me what you find out?’
‘Certainly.’
‘An’ you’ll keep it a secret, about what happened this
afternoon--Ruel an’ all?’
‘I’ve already said I would,’ she answered as she descended to the
road. ‘I’m not likely to boast about it. I should think that would be
obvious--even to you!’
‘That’s fine, an’ I hope he learns somethin’ too.’
Mrs. Bascom turned so suddenly she had to steady herself against the
automobile.
‘He? What do you mean?’ she questioned with an unsuccessful attempt
to sound innocently bewildered.
The self-starter chugged loudly, caught, and the engine roared with
staccato explosions. Just before he threw in the clutch, however,
Ezra smiled down at her and called above the noise, ‘Tell him I’ll
always have a room an’ bed waitin’ for him--when he gets back!’ Then,
with a leap, the car sprang forward with Ezra grinning to himself at
the consternation on her face.
‘Maybe that’ll give her somethin’ to think about, eh, my friend?’ he
asked a jay that eyed him saucily from a tree by the side of the road.
As he drove toward the village, the automobile went slower and
slower, accommodating its pace to his thoughts. Some of the events of
the day had cleared of themselves, but others were still puzzling. He
could not forget that look of startled guilt on Mrs. Bascom’s face as
she confronted him from the top of the stairs. For that matter she
had been acting queerly ever since King’s death. What could be the
reason? Did she know more than she had told? Obviously she did. But
was that knowledge guilty or----
There seemed no logical alternative, yet he refused to accept the
inevitable conclusion. It was utterly impossible to suspect Ellen
Bascom of guilt. On the other hand, it was equally impossible
to believe Sylvia or Ruel was guilty, yet facts, circumstantial
evidence, everything seemed against them.
His musing was interrupted by his arrival at the jail, but was
automatically resumed as he prepared to cook himself a hasty supper.
Again the mood was shaken off while he ate whole-heartedly, only to
return, once this ceremony had been performed and the dishes neatly
washed and put in their respective places.
‘A trunk. Now what would she be doin’ with a trunk?’
He jammed tobacco into his pipe so emphatically that it would not
draw. This necessitated cleaning it out again, refilling it, then
neatly brushing up the tobacco he had spilled in the process and
hoarding it back into the can. Darkness had fallen, but he made no
move to light the lamp on the table. He tilted back his chair and
rocked on it as he smoked and muttered aloud.
‘Say it was puttin’ somethin’ away, now.--Don’t seem logical. She
didn’t have anythin’ with her an’ she’d already been away at King’s
a couple of days. Trust Ellen B. to have done her tidyin’ before
that.--Well, then, say she was takin’ somethin’ out.--But she didn’t
bring anythin’ down as I could see.
‘Then she was lookin’ at somethin’ that was already put away there.
That’s the truth. Perhaps it was somethin’ she’d put there just
recent----’
His chair came to the floor with a thump and he remained immovable
for a full minute.
‘She was concealin’ somethin’ in her bosom that day, an’ she was
kind of guilty about it. Now to-day she was guilty-lookin’ again at
bein’ found in her own attic.--Ezra Sewell, if you ain’t on the right
track, you ain’t no weather prophet!’
With this rather mixed remark, he again relapsed into silence. It was
broken only once by another disjointed bit of philosophy. ‘Women are
peculiar, but usually they have reasons for things an’ the doin’ of
’em.’
It was quite dark when Ezra got to his feet, fumbled about in the
familiar room until he found a flashlight, tested it, then went out,
locking the door again behind him. Apparently bent on an aimless
walk, he followed the street down to the edge of the village, then
cut off into a field that ended in a pine grove. Into this he
disappeared.
Fifteen minutes later he had circled around and was approaching Mrs.
Bascom’s house from the rear, taking care to keep in the shadows
as much as possible. Gaining the doorway, the elm tree effectually
darkened the house so that no one would have seen him there--had any
one been about so late at night! His groping fingers found the key
under the mat, and with it he unlocked the door. Once inside, Ezra
turned the key in the lock and breathed easier.
‘Nice way for an officer of the law to be sneakin’ around, but all’s
fair in love an’ detectivin’,’ he mused, directing his flashlight
on the stairs up which he mounted on tiptoe with unconsciously
exaggerated caution.
He did not pause at the second floor, but continued up the short,
boxed-in flight to the attic. Here he flashed the rays of the light
about the room before advancing. It was a single large room,
covering the whole area of the house, its ceiling formed by the
gabled roof, high in the middle and sloping sharply down to meet the
floor at the sides. Pushed into these narrow spaces were two neat
rows of trunks, boxes, and bundles, the latter carefully labeled.
‘It was a trunk lid she slammed, that’s certain.’
He advanced to the first trunk and lifted its lid. A whiff of moth
balls assailed his nostrils, and the light revealed the smooth
surface of some blankets. The next one seemed full of newspaper
bundles, carefully tied with string. Their odor was of lavender. But
when he opened a third, the hand that held the light trembled for a
moment. There on top of a paper wrapped bundle lay a wisp of white
cloth, partially concealing a knife or dagger, its point stained an
ominous brown!
Ezra Sewell goggled at it for a moment in astonished silence, holding
his breath. Then, with a low whistle, he bent his light down, moving
it closer until it almost touched the knife. The cloth had a sort of
bow in one end. It was obviously part of a woman’s dress--but not
Ellen Bascom’s. The thought, as it flitted through his head, seemed
to bring a peculiar relief.--No, it was more like a younger woman’s
fancy, such as Sylvia----
His fingers slipped off the battery button and he was plunged
into darkness, but he scarcely noticed that as his mind whirled
incredulously. Then he switched on the light again, wrapped the cloth
carefully about the knife and placed it gently in his breast-pocket.
This done, he closed the lid and stole down the stairs. Unlocking
the door, he opened it a crack, listened, then slipped out. A moment
later he had replaced the key under the mat and was sauntering down
the street as if nothing more startling than an evening’s stroll had
been occupying his mind.
Once inside the jail, however, his lassitude changed to briskness.
The door shut and locked, the shades drawn tight, he lighted the lamp
and set it upon the desk. Then he withdrew the knife from his pocket,
unwrapped the cloth and studied them both carefully.
The knife seemed almost familiar.--Yes, it was the paper-cutter from
Mr. King’s desk--the one Sylvia had reported missing. The stains
were undoubtedly clots of blood--King’s blood. But there were no
finger-marks anywhere on it.--Then the murderer had worn gloves,
presumably. It all corroborated his theory of a carefully planned,
premeditated murder.
Disconnected ideas and conjectures chased through his brain.
How and where had Mrs. Bascom found it? It must have been the morning
she discovered Sylvia in the grain chute. Of course it was what she
had concealed in her dress. Then obviously she had found it just
before or after Sylvia’s rescue.--The bit of cloth, stained and cut,
was it a clue or had it been used merely as a convenient wrapper for
the weapon?--Both. It was dirty from the dust of the chute and must
have been torn from Sylvia’s dress after she was taken out.--That was
it, the knife had been in the chute with Sylvia! And that explained
why Mrs. Bascom had concealed it--because she feared it would
implicate Sylvia.
Sylvia’s peculiar actions, her insistence upon probating the will,
her strangely cold, withdrawn manner. Was she implicated, then? Did
she know about this knife, or----No! She need not have pointed out
its loss. Besides, her face, her tense, frightened look, her subtly
pleading eyes as her lips calmly insisted upon the terms of the
will that seemed the one touch of avarice and greed--surely these
were not the actions of a murderer. She was doing it all for some
purpose--acting a part. But what purpose?
Basil, who had mailed two packages suspiciously like those stolen
from the dead man’s desk--or were they stolen? Sylvia had said so,
yet she might be in league with him, might be shielding him--Again,
no. It was not consistent with her character. Her character?
Certainly that too was inconsistent----
Abruptly Ezra Sewell stood on his feet, bundled the knife into the
cloth, and put it away in the safe. Then he began to pace the floor,
even going into the corridor to stand before the empty cell, staring
at it as if to hear some answer to his silent queries from Ruel.
It was midnight when he again reseated himself at the desk and calmly
began to speak aloud, addressing his absent prisoner.
‘It don’t change things a mite after all, Ruel. It helps, in a way,
but still we don’t seem to get hold of much of anythin’ certain. Now
here’s what we know.
‘Man--or woman--he was one of the guests that night an’ knew all
about the plans beforehand. While it was dark, he sneaked out one
window an’ into the other, killed King, then hid the knife an’
covered his tracks in the confusion. My guess would be reasonable he
dropped it down that chute an’ didn’t get a chance to get it again.
‘That seems clear logical, but it don’t decide who the man was or
why he did it, eh, son?--Well, that’s what I’m after, only darned if
I see how I’m goin’ to get there. It ain’t no use accusin’ any one,
but I’ve got to do somethin’ mighty quick. There’s too much hidin’
an’ queer business to suit me. Guess, Ez, you’ll have to do some
mighty direct questionin’ one of these days.--Anyway, I hope you find
somethin’, boy, even if it does look like a wild-goose chase.’
This speech relieved Ezra’s mind somewhat, for within fifteen minutes
he was comfortably in bed and snoring wheezily.