THE DECENCY NOT TO INQUIRE
When Stimson had resumed his seat at the end of the library, Landis
recalled the policeman from the reception-room and set him on guard
over the Japanese bow and arrows and over the servants. He posted the
sergeant by the fire, a position from which he could watch the body of
Harrison and prevent conversation among the guests and members of the
household after the detectives had talked to them. Landis proposed to
question them in turn, sending them into the library one at a time.
With the sergeant at his new post, Landis mounted to the second floor
wing and knocked on Graham’s door. Graham himself opened it to disclose
his wife in the background. Landis looked at her with interest, in time
to catch a fading glimpse of the intimate hilarity common to happy
newlyweds.
“We’d like a few words with Mrs. Graham,” he explained. “Won’t keep her
long.”
“Here she is,” said Graham. “Detective-Lieutenant Landis, Ethel. Want
to question her here?” he asked Landis.
“Down in the drawing-room, if you please. Mr. Bernard is waiting for us
there.”
She was a pretty and prettily rounded little person with soft brown
hair, hazel eyes and more than a hint of character in her smooth young
face.
“I’ll come at once,” she smiled. “Can Ray come, too?”
“Downstairs with us, of course! But I think we’ll demand an interview
alone with you! We won’t bite. And you may be able to concentrate and
remember little points better without--er--distracting influences.”
Mrs. Graham laughed without self-consciousness and blushed a little, as
though ingenuous simplicity peeped through a social sophistication but
lately acquired.
“All right--if you _won’t_ bite,” she smiled. More soberly she
added: “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about this awful tragedy.”
“Then we won’t keep you long!”
They dropped Graham at the library door and went on to the
drawing-room. Bernard rose until their attractive young witness had
settled herself in a chair. While Landis put the questions he sat
watching her absently. Once or twice she smiled at him. Young things
always took to Bernard because they like kindness, strength and
simplicity of character and, above all, reserve.
She told them that she had not locked the door at the end of the wing
and that she had been in her room from about half past six until after
the gong rang. At a quarter past seven her husband had sent for Helen
Stokes to help her dress.
“Just after the gong rang,” Bernard interjected, “you heard a scream,
didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Bernard. We both heard it, Helen Stokes and I. It startled
us.”
She went on to tell them how she had hurried downstairs with Helen and
come up again to summon her husband. He was in the bathroom drying
himself and had dressed quickly and gone down to take charge. She had
waited and gone down with him. She had seen no one in the halls on her
way back and forth.
Landis asked her about the library door. She was sure it had been open
and back against the wall when she and her husband passed through the
library on their way to their rooms. As to the Japanese bow she had
never noticed it, either in the library or anywhere else in the house.
The rest of Mrs. Graham’s account merely verified that of the others.
After dinner in the dining-room she had gone back to her room to wait
for her husband who had joined her there a few minutes ago.
“Let’s go back a bit,” Bernard rumbled. “Didn’t you go for a ride and a
sail with Harrison last Sunday?”
“Yes, I did,” she admitted in surprise.
“Was he nice to you?”
“Yes, very!”
“Not too nice, Mrs. Graham?”
She shook her head.
“Not at all! To tell you the truth I was a little afraid he might be.
But he was just nice and very interesting about all sorts of things.”
“He didn’t tell you anything that might give us a clue to his murderer,
did he?”
“He--he just talked about his early days--” she stammered, “--about
pioneering and mining and newspaper work. What--what could he tell me?”
Bernard smiled.
“An enemy?”
“No. He didn’t say anything about having an enemy!”
“I suppose you have no idea who killed him?”
“Why, no, Mr. Bernard! How should I? It couldn’t have been anyone in
the house, of course.”
“No?” Bernard inquired.
This time she looked frightened.
“You don’t mean you think it _was_ somebody in the house!”
“No,” lied the old detective gallantly, “we don’t. We want to know
what you think, d’you see? Did anyone telephone you here at the house
yesterday or today?”
She shook her head in bewilderment.
“No one.”
“Then do you know of any middle-aged to elderly man who might try to
telephone to you here?”
Ethel Graham laughed mischievously.
“I was on the stage for a while in New York,” she explained. “One way
and another I met rather a lot of middle-aged to elderly men who might
try to telephone me--if they knew my married name.”
“This was no tired business man,” interrupted Landis with a smile. “It
was rather a ragged old fellow, I believe.”
“Ragged? Someone did try to telephone me--?”
From surprise her eyes widened to swift alarm.
“Goodness, it might have been my father!” she cried.
“What is his name and where does he live?”
“His name is Hiram Cuddy and he lives on a farm on Long Island, near
Great Neck. But I don’t think he could have telephoned me! I don’t
think he knows where I am!”
“You live in town, don’t you? Couldn’t he learn it from a servant at
your home?”
“I--I don’t think he knows my address at all!”
Both detectives looked puzzled--and receptive.
Ethel Graham spread her small hands in a gesture individual and rather
endearing.
“You see,” she explained diffidently, “I ran away from home! That was
three years ago and I haven’t heard from either of my parents since.”
Bernard frowned.
“Why not?” he demanded. “Didn’t you write or go to see them?”
She shook her head.
“It sounds awful, I know. But I wasn’t a bit happy at home!”
“They were old-fashioned and you wanted gayety?”
“It _wasn’t_ that! Home was sordid and terribly depressing. No
matter what I did I couldn’t seem to make them really like me! That’s
why I ran away at last!”
Ethel Graham’s eyes clouded and saddened with unhappy memories, a most
convincing endorsement of her words.
“So your maiden name was Cuddy?” asked Landis.
“Yes. I changed it to Craig when I got to New York.”
“Thanks,” said Bernard gruffly. “Now, between the time you went to your
room and the scream you heard, did you see anyone about the house at
all?”
“I never left our rooms, Mr. Bernard! So I saw nobody except Ray and
Helen Stokes.”
“Did you happen to overhear any quarrels between Mr. Harrison and
anyone at all?”
“No, I didn’t. Sometimes he was pretty harsh to his brother at the
table. They didn’t exactly quarrel because Mr. Joel Harrison always
tried to laugh it off.”
Each detective waited for the other to go on with further questions.
Finally Landis rose to his feet.
“That’s all, Mrs. Graham. Thanks a lot. I’ll take you back to your
husband.”
With a smile at Bernard, a smile that held just a touch of wistfulness
as though entreating his good opinion of her, she rose with graceful
ease and preceded Landis into the hall. He followed her to the library
and in the doorway beckoned to Graham.
In the drawing-room, Landis waved Graham to a chair.
“I’ve a couple of questions I forgot to ask you,” he said. “One of
’em is: have you seen that Japanese bow anywhere else about the house
during the past week, or seen anyone near it?”
“No, I haven’t, Mr. Landis. I would have told you.”
Landis nodded.
“I just wanted to make sure. Well, do you know of anyone doing any
shooting on the third floor since last Tuesday--anyone at all?”
“I don’t believe anyone has been shooting up there since Tuesday. You
mean that hole in the target we found?”
“Yes. It was made _since_ Tuesday, not before.”
“Then I don’t know who could have made it!”
“All right. Have you heard any rows between Harrison and anyone at all
since you’ve been here? They may be just as important indirectly as
directly.”
Graham sat in silence for a moment, thinking.
“Last Sunday night,” he told them suddenly, “Mr. Harrison called
me into the library. While we were talking, Anita came in and said
something to him in an undertone. I did not hear what she said but her
father lashed out at her aloud: ‘I like him, all right,’ he shouted,
‘but he’s not for you, see?’”
“Did you gather who he meant?”
“Yes. They were talking about Allen. There wasn’t much reserve on
either side and I was damned uncomfortable. Anita called her father a
brute and he called her a fool and she flung out in a rage.”
“What did Harrison say about Allen?” asked Bernard.
Graham flinched a little.
“Good Lord, I don’t want to go into that, Mr. Bernard!”
“We’re not going to talk about it,” Landis smiled. “But we ought to
know, I think.”
“He acted as if he thought Allen was a--well, a fortune hunter.
Millionaires are apt to get that way,” answered Graham after a moment.
“Anita was defending Allen, of course. Did you gather that she is in
love with him, Graham?”
“I really couldn’t say.” Graham’s voice had an edge.
“Come, come,” said Landis with an unruffled smile, “we’re not
scandal-mongering. It may be important.”
“Well, Anita was--defending him--rather warmly.”
“Let it go at that, then! What did Harrison want to talk to you about?”
“A subject purely personal to me. I’ll tell you if you insist. But I’d
a great deal rather not.”
Bernard uttered a faint snort.
“Another personal matter! Do you realize, Graham, that Harrison was
murdered here tonight? This is no game of twenty questions, man!”
“I know it isn’t,” said Graham in sudden exasperation. “But our talk
had nothing to do with the murder!” His tone changed. “Look here, I
could have told you our talk was about business but I told you the
truth. Now, if you insist on details, damn it, I’ll be strongly tempted
to lie to you!” He laughed with a touch of appeal. “Nobody heard us and
nobody would be any the wiser!”
“All right,” said Landis quickly, “let it go. Come on back to the
library while we talk to the others.”
Leaving the young lawyer, ruffled and a bit nervous, under the watchful
eye of Sergeant Forbes, Landis went to the billiard-room. Russell
and Allen had abandoned their game and were sitting in front of the
fire. He asked for a word with Russell and conducted him back to the
drawing-room.
The young man sat down in a leisurely way and faced his two
inquisitors with a lazy smile while they looked him over. He was a fine
specimen of the Nordic physique, big, broad-shouldered, and muscular,
with a head of light, half-tamed hair. Behind the lazy, deep-set blue
eyes lurked intelligence and good humor, also a capacity for sudden
anger.
He broke the brief silence with a question, his tone conveying a hint
of lazy insolence. “Do I pass?”
“You’re a friend of the family?” inquired Landis.
“A particular friend, gentlemen.”
“Meaning--?”
“--that Isabelle and I are engaged.”
“What is your full name and where do you live?”
The suave courtesy with which Landis spoke, the grim amusement on
Bernard’s face were having their effect. Russell answered with a shade
less assurance.
“Hobart Clark Russell,” he told them and added his address in
Westchester.
Landis repeated his usual questions without success. Russell had not
locked the door at the end of the wing, nor closed the rear door of
the library that evening. He had never noticed the bow in the library,
seldom entered that room. Nor had he seen the Japanese bow away from
its usual place.
He had overheard no quarrels between Harrison and anyone else in the
house, though he said Harrison jumped on his brother at meals, the only
time they saw each other. Finally, he had noticed no one and nothing
suspicious about the house or grounds and had no idea who killed
Harrison.
“Where were you and what were you doing after six o’clock tonight?”
asked Landis.
“At six I was driving home in Anita’s car with Graham as well. We got
back about half past and I went to my room--”
“You came in the house at the end of the wing, I think,” said Landis.
“Did you go straight to your room or come through the billiard-room and
turn back?”
“The latter. Allen and I followed the girls through to the hall before
we went back to our rooms.”
“Was the library door closed at that time?”
“I didn’t notice. Don’t believe it was, though. But I think it was
closed later, after the murder.”
“Go on, please,” Landis requested.
“Well, I stayed in my room, bathing and dressing until the gong rang.
Then I heard a girl scream and I went through to the main building to
see what was up.”
“You came through the billiard-room. Was there anyone there, Mr.
Russell?”
“No. The room was deserted. In the hall beyond I saw that the library
door was closed so I went through the swing door into the front hall
and along that to the front room. I could hear a girl carrying on up
there. It was Susan.”
“Did you hear anyone pass your door--pass along the hall of the
wing--between six-thirty and seven-thirty?”
“No, don’t believe I did.”
“What did you find in the front room when you got there?” Landis
continued.
“Well, let’s see. Miss Mount was there. Susan was in hysterics.
Isabelle lay on the floor in a faint. And--Anita was there, too,
staring down at her father. Then Mrs. Graham and Helen, the other maid,
turned up, and Allen, I guess. The butler was back and we were trying
to revive Isabelle by this time. Finally I carried her up to her room,
came down to tell Graham I’d go and, when he insisted we wait for the
police, I went across the hall for some dinner. Then Allen and I went
to the billiard-room and here I am. That’s all.”
“Isabelle Harrison,” said Bernard suddenly, “will be a wealthy
heiress--now. She’ll be a great catch, eh?”
“Just what did you mean by that?” Russell asked.
“It ought to be clear to you,” grunted Bernard.
Russell’s eyes were dangerous.
“Well, it isn’t!”
“I mean,” said Bernard, “that Harrison’s murder will make you a rich
man! Is that clear enough for you?”
Landis gathered his muscles to leap between. But Russell controlled
himself.
“It’s too damned clear,” he panted.
“And it’s true, eh?” inquired Bernard. “Cut out the play-acting and
let’s have your answer!”
The formidable glare of his old eyes met the furious threat in those of
Russell. Dominated in spite of himself, the younger man slowly leaned
back in his chair.
“Isabelle and I are engaged,” he admitted huskily. “No doubt she
will be well off now. I’ve had the decency not to inquire. If you’re
accusing me of the murder, say so! Otherwise, keep your damned
insinuations to yourself!”
Bernard smiled a little.
“If we do run you in you’d better learn to control your temper, young
man. You can go.”
Russell got lithely to his feet.
“You’ve got gall enough,” he scowled, “for a dozen cheap detectives!”
“Step into the library,” said Landis patiently.
Russell hesitated, swung about and stalked into the other room, where
he dropped into a chair near Mrs. Graham.