TWO STRANDS OF BLACK HAIR
"But is it true that she is really dead?" The blind secretary's
emotional voice rose in an almost hysterical appeal and his fingers
hovered tremblingly over the body. "What is it that has killed
her? A-ah! This scarf which is drawn about her throat! Unloose it,
Messieurs, I beg of you! It may be that life still lingers; that there
is yet time!"
"'Tis useless, sir," McCarty interrupted him. "She's already cold, and
the body must not be disturbed until the police come."
At the mention of the authorities who were sometimes his allies, more
frequently his adversaries but always his competitors, Wade Terhune
bestirred himself to action and took swift command of affairs. Fixing
his erstwhile host with the cold eye of an inquisitor he asked in a
curt, peremptory tone.
"Who is Evelyn Jarvis?"
"She is my niece Joan's intimate friend," Norwood responded
mechanically as he moistened his dry lips. The jaunty air of
self-possession had fallen from him and he appeared all at once
shrunken and aged. "Oliver Jarvis' wife and our near neighbor. God! How
can we tell him!"
"You positively identify the body, then, Mr. Norwood?" Terhune went on
steadily.
"It cannot be! I feel as if I must have gone mad!" The other passed a
shaking hand across his brow. "I can scarcely believe the evidence
of my own eyes and yet--her eyes, her hair, that emerald upon her
finger--oh! It is Evelyn! Poor child! Poor child!"
"You say they are neighbors of yours?" Terhune began and turned swiftly
at a movement behind him. "Where are you going, McCarty?"
"To telephone Police Headquarters." The ex-Rounds-man responded with a
firmness which matched the criminalist's dominant tones. "There's been
murder done and the body's here, Mr. Terhune. It's up to them first of
all."
Terhune bit his lip and a slight color flushed his lean face, but he
capitulated with an ironic smile.
"Assuredly, my dear McCarty. Summon them by all means! I merely wished
to make a preliminary investigation before their well-meant efforts
obliterated any possible clues." As the other disappeared in the
corridor, he turned once more to Calvin Norwood. "Where do the Olivers
live?"
"On the next street south directly on a line with this house; their
back-yard and ours are separated only by a fence in which we have had
a door cut through, for the girls--Evelyn and my Joan--have been like
sisters. Why should anyone have taken her life, and how--how did she
get here?"
Terhune did not reply immediately. He had bent over the table in his
turn and was examining the body with deft, sure touches. Dennis Riordan
stepped aside deferentially, and Victor Marchal had retreated to the
cold hearth once more and stood with his elbow upon the mantel and his
face averted.
"We must send for Oliver, of course." Norwood's dazed, trembling voice
rambled on. "I can't tell the boy, I can't! It will kill him! He
worshiped her----"
"Dead at least four or five hours." Terhune audibly made note of the
result of his conclusions as he glanced at his wrist watch. "A quarter
of ten; the murder was committed, then, approximately between five and
six. There was a violent struggle; her hands are bruised and one sleeve
of her gown is torn as you can see, but that is merely superficial. The
knot in which the scarf is tied is the significant point. When did you
last see Mrs. Jarvis alive?"
"The day before yesterday, on Wednesday evening. They gave an informal
farewell dinner; she and Oliver are sailing for France next week--were
to have sailed, I mean----" He paused and with an obvious effort pulled
himself together, adding: "Mr. Terhune, I appreciate your interest in
this terrible affair from a purely professional standpoint but really I
cannot discuss it further until Oliver has been summoned."
"He's coming." McCarty's voice announced from the doorway as he
re-entered. "After I talked to Inspector Druet, I looked up the Jarvis'
number in the 'phone book and called their house. Some man, the butler,
I've no doubt, told me nobody was at home but Mr. Jarvis might be at
his club, the Gotham. I got to him there."
"What did you tell him?" quavered Norwood.
The secretary, too, had come forward once more.
"Just that you must see him here immediately, sir. 'Twas no concern
of mine, but the Inspector will be asking for him, anyway. And, Mr.
Norwood, sir, I think if you'd just say a word to the servants--the
butler heard me at the telephone talking to Headquarters and I'm afraid
we'll have them about our ears----"
"I--I must speak to them, of course!" Norwood turned to the door. "This
is horrible! What am I to say to Oliver!"
He hurried from the room and Victor Marchal started to follow, then
paused and stooping, fumbled for the Mexican blanket.
"You will permit, Messieurs?" he asked quietly. "Until the police
officials arrive, at least, it is but respect to the dead."
Reverentially he spread the blanket over the pitiful, still form upon
the table, then turning with outstretched, groping hands he made his
way from the room.
Terhune had taken himself to the farther end of the museum where the
four long French windows, set so closely as to give the effect of a
wall of glass, looked out upon the back-yard and McCarty and Dennis
stood gazing round-eyed at each other.
"I knew it!" the latter ejaculated at last in a lowered tone. "From the
first minute I set foot in this room I knew there was something wrong
with it more than the heathenish collection would account for. No more
could I keep my eyes off that table----"
"Whatever put it into your head to ask that question of Mr. Norwood
about the hair, Denny?" McCarty demanded.
"Well, I saw a skeleton in a real museum once, and it was not what you
might call corpulent," Dennis averred. "Likewise, it was as bald as the
palm of your hand. Now, that blanket looked too bulky to be covering
just a rack of bones and when I walked around the head of the table
I saw a long, black lock of hair hanging down nearly to the floor. I
didn't know what to think, Mac, except that there was something going
on here beyond a healthy mortal mind to figure out. What do you make of
it?"
McCarty walked to the end of the table and glanced down. From beneath
the gaudy blanket there rippled a single strand of silky ebony hair.
"Well, McCarty, what is your opinion?" Terhune had approached and
unconsciously echoed Dennis' inquiry. "Have you formed one yet?"
There was about him an air of conscious superiority which betokened a
discovery and the other eyed him warily.
"I have not, Mr. Terhune," he responded. "I've nothing yet to go
upon. This is the first time in my experience that a murder has been
committed and the body brought and laid out where it would be the most
handy to come to the notice of Mr. Norwood, as if the murderer was
mocking him and daring him to find out the truth. Of all places in the
world you'd expect to come on a fresh-killed corpse, it would not be in
a museum of old crime relics!"
"Mr. Norwood is merely an eccentric amateur." Terhune shrugged.
"The remarkable phase of the affair is that it should have occurred
to-night, of all occasions, when I was present; and you, too, McCarty,
for your work on the force in the old days and in association with me
last year on the Rowntree case is not forgotten. If someone, knowing
that we were to gather here to-night, had actually planned this ghastly
surprise for us it could not have been more successfully consummated."
"It could not," McCarty agreed. "However, 'twas not to give us
something to do that the poor lady was murdered! What do you think of
it yourself, sir?"
The subdued but insistent peal of the front door-bell checked Terhune's
reply and all three listened anxiously.
"What is it?" they heard a deep and pleasantly modulated masculine
voice inquire. "What has happened, Uncle Cal? I came as quickly as a
taxi would bring me."
Their elderly host's quavering tones responded in an indistinguishable
murmur and there came a sharp exclamation from the other.
"Evelyn! An accident? What do you mean? Where is she?"
Calvin Norwood's voice rose in a broken cry.
"Oliver, oh, my boy! I can't tell you! She's there--there in my museum!
May God help us all!"
Hasty steps strode down the corridor and a tall, young man appeared
in the doorway. He was in his early thirties, well-built and of a
clean-cut Anglo-Saxon type but his smoothly shaven face was very white
and his blue eyes swept widely about the room ignoring or unconscious
in his alarmed state of the presence of the three strangers.
"Where is my wife?" he repeated hoarsely. "She is not here! What has
happened to her?"
Wade Terhune stepped forward.
"Mr. Jarvis, we have terrible news for you. Your wife has been killed."
He spoke slowly and quietly and for a moment the younger man eyed
him as though the purport of the words had not penetrated his
consciousness. Then he staggered back.
"Killed!" It was a mere husky whisper. "Evelyn--killed!"
His eyes roved dazedly once more about the room and back to Terhune's
face and leaping forward he seized him by the arm.
"You can't mean what you are saying!" he cried. "Speak, man! My
wife----!"
"It is true, Mr. Jarvis. She is dead."
"But how? Where?" The other's voice broke in sheer agony of
half-incredulous grief. "Take me to her!"
"You don't understand, Mr. Jarvis. Your wife's body was discovered
here a few moments before you were summoned. You must try to command
yourself, for I have something yet more shocking to tell you."
Terhune's own voice was gravely sympathetic but his sharp eyes followed
every expression of the stricken face before him. "Mrs. Jarvis' body
was brought here and placed where it was found in this room. She had
been killed, I told you; I should have said 'murdered'!"
"Murdered! You are mad! Who would murder Evelyn? Where is this body
which you have found?"
No one answered him but unconsciously all eyes turned to the swathed
form upon the table and he followed their gaze. With a gasp he sprung
forward and tore off the enshrouding blanket and a cry rang through the
room so poignant with horror and heart-breaking despair that the others
instinctively averted their faces.
"My boy!" Calvin Norwood had entered and swiftly approached him. "Try
to be brave and control yourself for her sake! We must find the vile
wretch who----"
His voice ended in a choking gurgle for the grief-crazed young husband
had turned and seized him by the throat.
"You've done this!" he roared. "You've killed her!"
Terhune moved swiftly, but McCarty and Dennis were before him and with
a dexterous lunge forced Jarvis to relinquish his frenzied grasp.
"There now!" McCarty admonished soothingly. "'Tis a terrible business,
Mr. Jarvis, but Mr. Norwood is not responsible. He knows no more of it
than we do. We all came in here with him and found the body just as you
see it now. We've no notion how it came here nor who killed her!"
A shudder shook the tense form which they held and it relaxed suddenly.
"Uncle Cal, I didn't mean--I didn't know what I was doing!" The young
man murmured brokenly and turning once more to the table he fell upon
his knees with his arms thrown out across the body of his wife and
burst into harsh racking sobs.
At that moment the door-bell rang a second time and Inspector Druet's
curt, incisive tones reached their ears in quick questioning. The
butler's frightened stammer replied to him and then firm steps sounded
in the corridor and the police official entered the room followed by
two sturdy figures who took up their positions on either side of the
doorway.
The Inspector nodded to Terhune and McCarty and his keen, alert eyes
took in the situation at a glance.
"Mr. Norwood?" He turned to the bowed, elderly figure. "I'm from
Headquarters. I'd like to have you tell me what you know of this crime,
but first who is that?"
He pointed to the grief-stricken man by the table and Norwood responded:
"Her husband. Mr. McCarty sent for him as soon as he had telephoned
to you. Inspector, this is a frightful affair! The young woman was an
intimate friend of my household and a near neighbor, but I have not
seen her for two days. I don't know how she was murdered nor the body
conveyed here. I only know that we came in a half-hour ago and found
her as you see, only the blanket had been drawn up, completely covering
her. We were in here for some minutes before we discovered the body----"
The Inspector stopped him with a gesture, for Oliver Jarvis had dragged
himself to his feet and lurched toward them.
"The police?" he asked thickly. "Find me the man who killed my wife and
you can have all I possess! Find him for me and let me deal with him!
Evelyn! Evelyn!"
He swayed and collapsed utterly, slumping forward as McCarty caught him
in his strong arms.
"He'll do no good here for awhile," the latter remarked. "He's fainted,
I think. Shall we get him to another room, Inspector, till he comes to
and quiets down a bit? He's near crazed, and no wonder!"
"Yes, Mac. Take him away, but come back yourself--no, Martin and Yost
can take him."
The two figures by the door advanced at the Inspector's nod, and
Norwood roused himself.
"The library would be best; the front room on your left as you entered
the house. Victor Marchal, my secretary, is there and will attend to
him."
As the unconscious form was borne away by the two stalwart detectives,
the Inspector examined the body swiftly and then returned once more to
his interrogation.
"When did you enter this room last, Mr. Norwood?"
"This afternoon; I think it was about three o'clock." The older man had
regained a trifle of his composure with the removal of the bereaved
husband, but his eyes flutteringly avoided the figure upon the table.
"Everything was in perfect order then."
"The operating table was bare?"
"No, it is always covered with the Madero blanket beneath which I had
placed the skeleton of the Duchess of Piatra!" Norwood paused with a
start of returning memory which anticipated the Inspector's next query.
"Where is that skeleton now?"
"I--I don't know! The murderer must have hidden it somewhere or
removed it altogether when he put the body there in its place. I
hadn't remembered it until this moment." Norwood glanced about him
as if expecting the gruesome object to meet his eye, but it was
not in evidence and the room contained no closed receptacle large
enough to conceal it. "You've heard of my collection of crime relics,
Inspector,----"
The other interrupted him with a trace of impatience.
"Of course. But this afternoon, did you raise the blanket and look
beneath it?"
"No. It is sometimes undisturbed for weeks together. I only took it
from the table to-night to show my guests--Mr. Terhune, Mr. McCarty,
and Mr. Riordan--the skeleton. This afternoon I entered for just a
moment to obtain some notes for my secretary to transcribe, and went
out immediately thereafter, to visit my friend, Professor Parlowe, the
eminent toxicologist. I found him in the midst of a highly interesting
experiment in his laboratory and returned home barely in time to change
for dinner."
"You were alone when you came in here for the notes this afternoon?"
"No. Victor--Captain Marchal--my secretary, was with me."
"He left the room with you?" persisted the official.
"Yes, but he returned later and replaced the notes." Norwood was
evidently disturbed afresh at the trend of the questioning. "He has
free access to the museum at all times, Inspector; most of his work for
me is in the care and tabulating of my collection, you know. He carries
one key and I the other."
"You keep your museum locked, then?"
"Of course. It is only on comparatively rare occasions that I throw it
open to visitors." Norwood spoke with dignity. "My collection is not on
display for the morbidly curious."
"The door was locked when you brought your guests here this evening?"
The Inspector was not to be swerved from his point and Dennis stirred
and glanced meaningly at McCarty.
"Why, no, I--I don't believe that it was." Norwood's eyes traveled
from one to another of them in troubled bewilderment. "I was so
deeply engrossed in talking of the various objects of interest which
I intended to show my friends that I scarcely noted. Did you observe
whether I used my key or not?"
He appealed to Terhune, but while the latter was considering his reply
Dennis broke in irrepressibly.
"You did not, sir. You switched on the light and just turned the handle
of the door."
"Dear me! This is most unusual." Norwood was plainly taken aback. "I
must ask Victor if he forgot to lock the door."
"I will ask him myself, later," the Inspector announced drily. "Who
else was in the house this afternoon during your absence?"
"Only the cook and housemaid, and they were below stairs. My niece is
out of town on a visit and her personal maid is with her," explained
Norwood. "We have reduced our household staff considerably as a matter
of war economy and we keep no other servants except the butler. I gave
him an afternoon off to-day to go to see his brother, who is ill in the
hospital."
"H'm! I should like to have a little talk, then, with your secretary."
Inspector Druet turned to the door. "He may have seen----"
"He can see nothing." Norwood interrupted. "He is a young French
officer, recently blinded in battle, whom I brought back with me from
France three months ago. He knows no more of this terrible event than
I, and I beg that you will be as considerate with him as possible.
His nerves were completely shattered by the ordeal through which
he has passed and he is only beginning to regain his grip on life.
Evelyn--Mrs. Jarvis--had taken a very kindly interest in him and the
shock of her death, her murder, has utterly depressed and unnerved him.
He was on the verge of absolute prostration when I left him in the
library."
"I will let him off as lightly as I can, Mr. Norwood," the Inspector
promised with a note of deepened respect in his tones. "However, if the
murder was not committed here someone in this house must know how the
woman's body was conveyed to this room----"
"If you will pardon my intrusion, Inspector," Terhune's tones were
ironically apologetic. "I may be able to save you some valuable time.
Mrs. Jarvis was not killed on the premises, nor was her body carried
through the house. Someone, presumably her murderer, brought it in
through that window there, the second from the left as you face it.
I do not as a rule express an opinion on mere theory but I am led to
believe that the murder occurred in her own home."
"Is that so, Mr. Terhune?" The Inspector paused deferentially. "On what
do you base that opinion?"
"I have already ascertained from Mr. Norwood that the Jarvis residence
is directly on a line with this, facing the next street south and the
two back-yards are separated only by a wall through which a door has
been cut." Terhune's tenuous fingers sought the pocket of his vest.
"Just before your arrival I examined the four windows in the rear of
the room carefully. All were closed as you see them now, but the second
from the left was unbolted and I opened it experimentally. Caught in a
loose sliver of wood on the inner side of the frame, a little over four
feet from the floor, where the two perpendicular sides of the window
open like double doors I found--this."
He stretched out his hand and Dennis and McCarty glanced once more
significantly at each other. From between the thumb and forefinger
dangled a long, curling strand of glossy, jet-black hair.