MARGOT
For a moment they stared and then Calvin Norwood gasped:
"But it seems incredible! That window is ten feet or more from the
ground and there is only an open space beneath this end of the
extension, for the kitchen although built out also does not reach the
length of the museum. There is no way in which a person could climb up
here, to say nothing of one burdened with the weight of a dead body."
"If you will glance out of the window you will see how easily that
difficulty was overcome," interrupted Terhune.
"A short ladder has been placed against the house, its upper end
resting upon the ledge of the window."
"The ladder!" Norwood exclaimed. "I never thought of that! It is used
for pruning the vines which run over the yard fence and is usually
lying around somewhere at hand, but it did not occur to me that anyone
would ever employ it as a means of gaining ingress here!"
A rapid but fairly comprehensive search of the museum disclosed no
further clues nor traces of the assailant's presence and Inspector
Druet went to the telephone to summon the Chief Medical Examiner and
notify the Homicide Bureau.
McCarty, with Dennis in tow, trailed him wistfully into the hall.
"I'll be taking myself off now, Inspector," he remarked. "You've the
case in hand, to say nothing of an expert like Mr. Terhune right on the
job to help you and Mr. Norwood himself."
"Between you and me, Mac," the Inspector interrupted confidentially,
"old Norwood is a plain nut. He has been the pest of the department for
the last twenty years, dabbling and interfering in every case that has
come up, offering advice and getting under foot generally. You know how
we've always been bothered with amateur Sherlock Holmeses, but he is
the worst crank of the lot and the fact that he has never yet gotten
the slightest result in an investigation doesn't discourage him a
little bit. As for Mr. Terhune, he is a great man in his line, but he
is not officially on this case, you know, he only stumbled on it, just
as you did, and Riordan. Why don't you stay and see the preliminary
examination through at least? It looks to me as if it were going to be
one of the biggest things we've tackled in years and I'd like to have
you on the job in an unofficial capacity."
"I wouldn't ask anything better!" McCarty beamed. "I telephoned to
you over the head of the Lieutenant of the precinct because I thought
likely the District Attorney would put you on the case anyway, sir, and
you would want to be in on the ground floor. It's the devil and all how
I came to fall into this, now that I'm off the force, but I'd hate to
quit it cold; I've never seen the beat of it in all my experience."
The Inspector concluded his telephonic communications and then, locking
the museum door with the owner's key which he had procured from him,
led the way to the library, whither the host and Wade Terhune had
preceded them. They found Victor Marchal in his accustomed attitude
before the fireplace, his sightless eyes fixed as if introspectively
upon the empty hearth. He was pale but composed and there was no trace
of the prostration of which Norwood had spoken.
The latter was seated on the couch with his arm about the bowed
shoulders of Oliver Jarvis, and Terhune stood before them.
"I can't understand it!" The young husband's tone was monotonous and
dulled with despair. "It's like a hideous, insane nightmare! I feel
that every moment Evelyn may come and wake me from it and then I see
her poor face with that frightful knotted thing about her throat----"
He broke off, shuddering, and Norwood patted him in fatherly fashion.
"We must try not to think of that now," he admonished. "We have stern
work ahead of us, Oliver----"
"Do you think I'm forgetting?" Jarvis sprang to his feet. "Do you
think I mean to waste my time in weak repining now, Uncle Cal, when
my poor darling has been done to death and the creature who could do
so monstrous a thing still breathes God's air? All that I want, all
that is left to me, is to find him and make him suffer! Mr. Terhune,
they say that you are the greatest criminal investigator in the world
to-day; that you have never lost a case----"
"I do not claim to be infallible, Mr. Jarvis," interrupted the
detective, modestly.
"Nevertheless, your work is celebrated; you have an international
reputation and surely you can find the murderer of my poor wife! Use
every effort, Mr. Terhune. Spare no expense! I am accounted rich as men
compute such things in these days and I would cheerfully, eagerly, give
everything I possess to avenge her! That is all that matters to me
now; I have nothing else to live for and I shall not rest until it is
accomplished!"
"You mean that you wish to engage me to investigate the case for you,
Mr. Jarvis?" Terhune's eyes glinted with enthusiasm.
"I do. I place myself unreservedly in your hands." The younger man
turned to the official. "Please don't misunderstand, Inspector. I have
no lack of confidence in your ability or that of the authorities, but I
want to leave no possible stone unturned to find the assassin."
"We are always glad to work with Mr. Terhune." Inspector Druet bowed
slightly. "In fact, we have ourselves called upon him on more than one
occasion to give us the aid of his specialized knowledge. Have you an
idea of any possible motive for the crime, Mr. Jarvis?"
"None! It seems like the act of a madman! Evelyn had no enemies, no
secrets; her life was like an open book and everyone who came in
contact with her loved her." He broke off with a groan. "No one could
have had a sane motive for taking her life!"
"How long have you been married?"
"Five years. My wife was an orphan of French descent, resident in New
Orleans with her guardian. I met her the winter before our marriage,
when I went down for the Mardi Gras." Jarvis was evidently bracing
himself to meet the ordeal of questioning and the Inspector's tone was
considerately gentle.
"What was Mrs. Jarvis's maiden name?"
"Evelyn Beaudet. She was an only child and has no living relatives."
"This guardian of whom you speak; who is he?"
"Pierre Chartrand; he died about two years ago. He was a banker and
life-long friend of her father; an eccentric old gentleman but he
worshiped Evelyn and made her his sole heiress."
"You brought Mrs. Jarvis to New York immediately after your marriage?"
"Yes. Then we went to Europe but returned when the war broke out."
He hesitated and added: "My wife had never been north until we were
married and as we have not since visited New Orleans, her old friends
have dropped completely away. Her life entered practically a new phase
with our marriage and I know how and where every hour of it has been
spent. Her friends and associates are mine and it is inconceivable that
among them there could be one who desired her death, much less a friend
who could have encompassed it in such wise! I tell you this hideous
thing has come like a bolt from a clear sky!"
"When did you last see your wife alive, Mr. Jarvis?"
"At luncheon to-day--God! Could it have been only to-day? It seems
years!--We were both busied with preparations for our departure, for
we had planned to sail for France next week to engage in relief and
reconstruction work and there were many final details to be arranged."
"You lunched at home? Who was present beside Mrs. Jarvis and yourself?"
"No one. Our household consists only of the servants."
"How many are there?"
"Four, besides the chauffeur; the butler, cook, housemaid, and my
wife's personal maid. All the others have been discharged pending our
departure."
"What do you know of them, Mr. Jarvis? Would you consider them
trustworthy?" pursued the Inspector.
"Oh, absolutely. The butler, old Henry, was employed by my parents
before I was born, and the cook, also, was in my mother's service; the
housemaid is her niece and Margot, my wife's maid, is particularly
devoted to her. She was a Belgian refugee whom we brought back from
Europe with us at the outbreak of the war. They are all unquestionably
loyal, Inspector; I could take my oath on that."
"You left the house after luncheon, Mr. Jarvis?"
"Yes, immediately. I had an appointment at my attorney's office and
a later one at the French consulate. I was delayed there until after
seven o'clock."
"You did not dine at home?"
"No, I went directly to the club. Evelyn--" he paused and a startled
expression swept his drawn face. "Why, Evelyn was to have dined alone
at the house of old Mrs. Lyle Fremont. I wonder----?"
"We will look into that presently." Inspector Druet waived the implied
suggestion. "What were your wife's plans for the afternoon?"
"She intended to shop and pay a farewell call or two; nothing of any
vital importance, however; Mrs. Fremont, with whom she was to have
dined, is an invalid and practically a recluse, but she and my mother
were girls together and my wife was one of the few people she would
still receive; she adored her. Inspector, when--how long do you think
my wife----?"
He could not continue, but Inspector Druet nodded comprehendingly.
"We must wait for the arrival of the Chief Medical Examiner before we
can positively determine that, Mr. Jarvis," he responded. "However, I
think we may safely conclude that death took place in the afternoon,
some little time before the dinner-hour. When you took leave of your
wife to-day did her manner seem quite as usual? You observed no
depression nor apprehension?"
"On the contrary," replied Jarvis in a surprised tone. "She was never
frivolous nor lightminded and she had entered with very serious intent
into our plans for aid in France, but to-day there was a gentle gayety
about her, a sense of joyous anticipation in our projected journey and
the work which lay before us----"
His voice ended in a dry, convulsive sob and once more he buried his
face in his hands.
"I will ask you only one more question, Mr. Jarvis." Inspector Druet's
voice lowered. "What was your wife's costume at lunch? The same as when
you viewed the body just now in the museum?"
A violent shudder swept again over the bowed figure.
"I don't know--I saw only her face, as I shall see it before me until
I die!" he exclaimed brokenly. "When I left her this afternoon she
was dressed for her shopping expedition in a green tailored suit; I
remember that distinctly, for she spoke of discarding it before we
sailed next week."
Dennis, who, with McCarty, had remained in the background, thrust out a
bony elbow and nudged his friend significantly. The body lying in the
museum had been clad in a plain gown of dark plum-colored silk with a
low rolling collar and cuffs of soft white and the scarf so cruelly
knotted about the slender throat was of navy blue.
McCarty shrugged impatiently at the unnecessary reminder and his eyes
eagerly followed the Inspector, who had turned to the young Frenchman.
"Captain Marchal, you accompanied Mr. Norwood to the museum this
afternoon, did you not?"
"Yes, Monsieur." The secretary advanced with one guiding hand resting
lightly upon the mantel. "There were some notes which Monsieur Norwood
desired transcribed----"
"You left the museum with Mr. Norwood?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Did you or he lock the door behind you?"
"Monsieur Norwood did, but I unlocked it later with the key which
he had presented to me, when I went to replace the notes after
transcribing them."
"Do you know what time that was, Captain Marchal?"
"Just after four. The clock upon the mantel here struck the hour as I
was gathering together the notes to return them."
"The museum was empty then? Did you detect anything which would suggest
the presence of an intruder?" Inspector Druet spoke carefully and the
young man smiled a faint acknowledgment.
"Nothing, Monsieur. Since I do not see, my other senses are gradually
becoming--how shall I say?--acute, and I am sure that I should have
known of a living presence, but yet----"
He paused, and after a moment the Inspector suggested:
"'Yet'--what, Captain Marchal?"
"I--I did not know--nothing warned me, when we re-entered the museum an
hour ago, of the presence of the dead." His voice had sunk to a mere
whisper and he added hurriedly. "In spite of that I believe there was
no one there this afternoon when I entered."
"Did you relock the door on leaving?"
"Yes, Monsieur; of that I can assure you. See! here is my key, which
never leaves me." He produced a small, flat key of the Yale patent and
held it out. "I returned here to the library and typed until Monsieur
Norwood came home."
"What time was that?"
"I do not know to the moment, but it was after six."
"So that you were practically alone in the house from the time of his
departure until the dinner-hour?"
"Except for the cook and the housemaid, Monsieur, and they were below.
The butler was out, but just before Monsieur Norwood returned I heard
him moving about in the dining-room, arranging the table for dinner.
Until then no slightest sound in the house had reached my ears." The
young man spoke with deep earnestness. "The bell of the front door,
even that of the telephone, was silent all the afternoon."
"Captain Marchal, when was the last time you--er, encountered Mrs.
Jarvis alive?"
"Late on Tuesday afternoon. Madame Jarvis had called to see Monsieur
Norwood, but he was engaged."
"You entered into conversation with her?"
The young man hesitated.
"Madame very graciously invited me to dine at her home the following
evening, with Monsieur Norwood."
"You declined?" The question was terse.
"I am still awkward and gauche, Monsieur, in groping my way about in
strange surroundings." He replied with simple dignity. "I have not
gained what you call self-confidence. Monsieur and Madame Jarvis have
been most kind, but I should have felt de trop."
The arrival of the Chief Medical Examiner interrupted the proceedings
and Inspector Druet accompanied him to the museum, where Martin and
Yost mounted guard behind the locked door.
With the departure of the official the tense atmosphere relaxed
somewhat and a stir of movement swept the little group.
Norwood had started forward to follow the Inspector, but the latter
closed the door behind him with a hint which brooked no opposition.
Jarvis, too, sprang to his feet.
"I must go to her!" he cried brokenly. "I cannot endure the thought
that strange, alien hands should desecrate her now! Uncle Cal, we must
see about getting her home!"
"Not yet, Mr. Jarvis," Terhune interposed smoothly. "The formalities
must be complied with, you know, and the matter is out of our hands."
"Oliver, our personal feelings must not interfere with the course of
justice," supplemented Norwood. "After all, our one aim now is to get
at the truth."
Captain Marchal had made his way to a window seat and dropped wearily
upon it with his face in shadow.
Dennis glanced toward him and asked in a cautious undertone:
"Do you think he told the truth, Mac; about no one coming here this
afternoon?"
"And why not?" McCarty demanded. "If Mrs. Jarvis' body was brought up
the ladder and in through that museum window, and the murderer left
the same way even with that rattling, clattering skeleton in his arms,
Captain Marchal would not have heard a sound of it in here and there
would have been no need for the murderer to come into this part of the
house at all."
"Then why was the museum door unlocked?" retorted Dennis
argumentatively. "If this young feller can be believed he didn't leave
it so at four o'clock this afternoon, then somebody must have opened it
between then and the time we went in there to-night. The lad wasn't any
too anxious to go with us, either, if you remember."
"It's a good thing you're not the jury sitting on him," averred McCarty
in disgust. "You'd be handing in the verdict before court opened! Wait
till we find out what's gone on in that house beyond the back fence!"
Terhune meanwhile was plying his client with questions in his turn,
but he had succeeded in eliciting no detail from the private life of
the Jarvises which would throw the slightest glimmer of light upon the
tragedy when the muffled trend of heavy footsteps in steady, measured
unison echoed down the hall, the front door closed resoundingly and
Inspector Druet reappeared.
"Now we'll get down to business," he remarked briskly. "I want to make
an examination of your house next, Mr. Jarvis, and your presence is
necessary. If you will lead the way through the rear yards----?"
He paused and Oliver Jarvis who had risen at his entrance demanded
hoarsely:
"What of my wife? Your Chief Medical Examiner--he's taken the place of
the Coroner, hasn't he? Did he discover when----?"
"Mrs. Jarvis' death occurred approximately six hours ago." The
inspector glanced at the clock on the mantel which indicated the
quarter hour past eleven. "That would make it between five and six
o'clock, sir."
"While I cooled my heels at the French consulate!" groaned Jarvis
bitterly. "I--I may take her home now? That is all there is left which
I can do for her."
The Inspector shook his head.
"The body has been removed," he announced as gently as he could. "There
must be an autopsy, but in this case, when the cause of death is so
patent it will amount to only a few simple tests as a matter of record.
The body will be conveyed to your home to-morrow morning. But now, Mr.
Jarvis, we are losing valuable time."
"I am ready." The younger man remarked quietly as with an unconscious
movement he squared his shoulders.
Calvin Norwood was at his side and the secretary had started up from
his seat by the window, but Inspector Druet's voice halted him.
"You need not come, Captain Marchal, nor will it be necessary for you,
Mr. Norwood----"
"Nevertheless, I propose to accompany my friend," declared Norwood.
"His wife's body was discovered in my house and I have every right
to know how it got here. I intend to investigate this terrible
matter thoroughly for myself, Inspector, with no hindrance from the
authorities!"
Inspector Druet shrugged and turned to the others.
"You'll come, of course, Mr. Terhune, and you, Mac. Riordan, too, if
he likes. I'll leave Martin and Yost here." He glanced significantly
at the blind secretary's impassive face. "Mr. Norwood, how was it
customary for those using that door cut in the fence to gain entrance
to your house? Surely not through the museum window?"
"By no means." The host, still indignant, responded frigidly. "The back
stairway leads to a private hall unconnected with the kitchen quarters
which ends in a door opening directly into the yard."
He led the way down the stairs and through the narrow passageway to the
door at the farther end. As he flung it open the keen autumnal night
wind smote them and a few dry leaves swirled in and eddied at their
feet, but the square of blackness which met their gaze was relieved
only by patches of subdued light from the rows of curtained windows at
the rear of the houses on the next street.
While they hesitated Norwood stepped back and pressed a switch in the
wall and instantly the yard was revealed in a flood of blinding light
in which the stark outlines of a stunted tree or two stood out in bold
relief against the vine-clad walls. A brick walk divided the patch of
sward in the center and at its end a small white door broke the expanse
of the rear wall and creaked as it swung idly upon its hinges.
"Is that door usually left unfastened?" asked Terhune suddenly.
"N--no," stammered Norwood.
"Who has the keys to fit it?"
"Only my niece and--and Mrs. Jarvis."
They had started down the path a few paces when Terhune paused and
glanced back at the slender ladder silhouetted against the house. The
open space between the floor of the museum extension and the ground
formed a sort of porch in the shadow of which the windows of the rear
basement could be seen.
"That is the kitchen, isn't it?" Inspector Druet asked. "Your cook must
have been there between five and six preparing dinner, Mr. Norwood. It
is odd that she did not see the murderer place the ladder at the window
directly above and climb up with his burden; it could not have been
quite dark at that hour."
"The cook is elderly and has very weak eyes," responded Norwood. "She
pulls down the shades and lights up at the first approach of dusk."
"I'll question her to-morrow." The Inspector turned toward the little
door in the fence, and as the rest followed Dennis caught McCarty's arm
in a mighty grip.
"Holy saints!" he gasped. "There's something there!"
"Where!" McCarty demanded.
"In the yard beyond!" Dennis was staring straight ahead of him and
his tone was sepulchral. "When the door swung open just now I saw it;
something white and flitting!"
Terhune sprang to the passageway they had just left and turned the
switch, plunging the yard in darkness once more.
"Now come on!" Inspector Druet led the way, but Oliver Jarvis dashed
forward and reached the little door in advance of the others.
"Ah, Madame, it is you?" They heard a little cry in a clear feminine
voice. "I have been so alarmed----"
They crowded through the doorway and beheld Jarvis confronted by a girl
whose frilled apron and cap gleamed whitely in the darkness.
Inspector Druet whipped out an electric torch and flashed it full
into her face and she drew back with a faint scream which died in her
throat. Her trembling hands shaded her eyes and as the light flared
about she beheld the drawn, grief-distorted face of her employer and
the little knot of grim, determined men behind him.
"What is it!" she whispered, swaying. "Madame--she!"
"What are you doing here, Margot?" demanded Jarvis.
"Madame!" Her voice rose in a shriek, unheeding. "It has come!"
Lurching forward, her body crumpled and she fell prone at their feet.