A NEW THEORY
Alvin Duane had to report to Avice and to Judge Hoyt the result of his
interview with Lindsay.
The detective had an idea that Avice would be far from pleased at the
possible incrimination of Kane Landon. Duane knew that Miss Trowbridge
was reported engaged to Judge Hoyt, but he had seen and heard her in
conversation with the judge, and to his astute observation she did not
seem desperately in love with him. This, to be sure, was none of his
business, but he greatly desired to find out just where the affections of
his young employer lay. Moreover, he had a slight suspicion that the girl
was a little jealous of the beautiful widow’s attractions, but whether
this jealousy was directed toward Landon or the judge he did not know.
And he chose his own method of discovering.
Avice came to his office by appointment to learn his news. Duane greeted
her, looking admiringly at the slender figure, so pathetic in its dull
black draperies. But there was a vivid color in the girl’s cheeks, and a
sparkle of excitement in her eyes, as she sat down, eager to learn the
latest developments.
“Mr. Duane,” she said, “I see by your very manner that you learned
something from my unknown friend, Mr. Lindsay.”
“I did,” and Duane looked mysterious and important.
“Well, tell me! I am all impatience!”
Pursuing the plan he had formulated to himself, he said, impressively,
“I’ve a new theory.”
“Yes,” said the girl, breathlessly.
“I think Mrs. Black is the criminal,” he declared, bluntly.
Avice almost laughed. “How absurd!” she said. “Why, Mrs. Black was with
me all that afternoon.”
“That’s just it! She stayed and kept you at home on purpose. I don’t mean
she actually committed the murder, but she instigated it.”
“And who was her accomplice?”
“Stryker, the house man, of course.”
Avice began to be a little interested. She had never really liked
Stryker. He seemed to her shifty and deceitful. “But how?” she asked.
“Easy enough. The man simply took a knife from the kitchen, followed his
master to the woods, and waylaid him.”
“How did he know Uncle Rowly was going to the woods?”
“He telephoned him at his office to go to Van Cortlandt Park. You
remember the stenographer said the man who telephoned called Mr.
Trowbridge ‘Uncle’.”
“And Stryker did that?”
“Yes; to be misleading.”
“But Stryker didn’t know Kane Landon had come on from the West.”
“Yes, he did. Landon telephoned the night before. You were all out and
Stryker took the message.”
“How do you know?”
“I have ferreted it all out from the other servants. The facts, I
mean,—not my deductions from them.”
“Have you spoken to them about Stryker?”
“No; I wanted to speak to you about it first.”
“Mr. Duane, I will be frank with you. I don’t want Kane Landon suspected
of this crime. I know he is innocent. I know, too, that some evidence
seems to be against him. But that is only seeming. He is entirely
innocent. Now, if Stryker is innocent, also, I don’t want to direct
suspicion to him. And it doesn’t seem to me you have any real evidence
against him.”
“But, my theory is that he was only a tool in the hands of the principal
criminal.”
“Mrs. Black?”
“Yes.”
“Preposterous! Incredible!”
“Not at all. Mrs. Black was engaged to your uncle, but she did not love
him. She was marrying for a fortune. Then she heard that Landon, whom she
has known for years, was coming East, and she connived with Stryker to
put the old gentleman out of the way.”
“Uncle Rowly was only in the fifties, that is not old.”
“Old compared with Kane Landon. And as I told you, Miss Trowbridge, this
is largely theory. But many facts support it, and it ought to be looked
into.”
“Then the thing to do, is to lay it before Judge Hoyt. He will know what
is the best way to sift the theory to a conclusion.”
But when the three were together in Hoyt’s office, and Duane told the
whole story of his interview with Jim Lindsay, the detective laid aside
his pretence of still suspecting Stryker and enumerated his reasons for
looking in the direction of Landon.
“That must be a true bill about his meeting that adventuress in the
library,” he argued; “it couldn’t have been anybody else but Mrs. Black.”
“Why couldn’t it?” Avice spoke fiercely, and her brown eyes were full of
indignant amazement at the tale Duane had told.
“Lindsay saw her picture in the papers, and anyway, it all fits in. You
see, those two were pals in Denver, and they kept it quiet. That’s enough
to rouse suspicion in itself. The old butler is no sort of a suspect. To
be sure he wanted the money to get his insurance before the time was up,
but he wouldn’t commit murder for that——”
“Why wouldn’t he?” demanded Avice, “as likely as that a man’s own nephew
would do it?”
“He isn’t an own nephew,” said Judge Hoyt, slowly. “I don’t want to
subscribe to your theory, Duane, but I’m startled at this library story.
Of course, Landon had a right to meet anybody he chose and wherever he
chose, but why keep secret his previous acquaintance with the widow?”
“He might have lots of good reasons for that,” and Avice looked
pleadingly at the judge. “Don’t _you_ turn against him, Leslie; you know
him too well to think him capable of crime.”
“Of the two I would rather it had been Stryker,” said the judge, “but we
can’t ignore definite evidence like this. Did Mrs. Black go out that
afternoon, Avice?”
“Yes,” replied the girl, unwillingly. “She went out soon after luncheon
and stayed about an hour.”
“Time to go to the library and back. Duane, you’re drawing a long bow, to
jump at the conclusion that the housekeeper took a handkerchief of
Stryker’s, to be used as a false clue that would incriminate the butler!
It’s almost _too_ much of a prearranged performance.”
“Of course it is!” cried Avice. “Kane is a firebrand and impulsive and
hotheaded, but he’s not a deliberate criminal! If he killed Uncle
Rowly,—which he never did, never!—he did it in the heat of a quarrel, or
under some desperate provocation. I wish you had never come to us, Mr.
Duane! I don’t want Stryker found guilty, but I’d a thousand times rather
he did it than Kane. I dismiss you, Mr. Duane. You may give up the case,
and tell no one of these wrong and misleading circumstances you’ve
discovered.”
“Wait, wait, Avice,” and Judge Hoyt spoke very gently; “we can’t lay
aside evidence in that way. These things must be looked into. They must
be told to the district attorney, and investigated, then if Landon is
innocent, as he doubtless is, he can explain all that now looks dark
against him.”
“Don’t accuse _him_!” flared Avice, “go to Eleanor Black, and ask her
what was in the parcel she took to Kane. She is the wrongdoer, if either
of them is. She telephoned him that night of Uncle’s death, and she
said——”
“What did she say?” asked Hoyt, as Avice stopped short.
Compelled by the insistent glances of the two men, Avice went on: “She
said she’d meet him the next day at the same time and place. That proves
there was nothing wrong about it.”
It didn’t prove this conclusively to her two listeners, and they quizzed
her further until she admitted that she had reason to think that Landon
and Mrs. Black had known each other before Avice had introduced them.
“How do you explain that,” asked Duane, “unless they were concealing
something,—some plan or a secret of some sort?”
“And suppose they were! It needn’t have been anything connected with
Uncle Rowly’s death. If they knew each other in Denver, all the more
likely they had business of some sort that they didn’t care to have
known.”
The girl was arguing against her own suspicions as much as against
theirs. A terrible fear clutched at her heart, and surging emotions
choked her speech. For, as she pictured Kane as a suspected criminal,
came the even more heartrending thought that he was in love with Eleanor
Black! Quickly to Avice’s sensitive intuitions came the conviction that
Landon would not be holding secret conferences and having secrets with
Eleanor unless they were or had been lovers. And yet, he had told Avice
he loved her. But, granting all this she was hearing today, what faith
could she put in his speech or actions?
“I can only repeat what I said, Mr. Duane,” she asserted, with dignity,
“I hereby release you from your engagement on this case, and I will
willingly pay you for the time you have wasted,—worse than wasted! And I
hope never to see you again!” Here Avice was unable longer to control her
tears.
Greatly distressed, Judge Hoyt attempted to soothe her, but met only with
rebuff.
“You’re just as bad,” she sobbed. “You, too, want to prove Kane mixed up
in this, when you know he isn’t—he couldn’t be!——”
“There, Avice, there, dear, dry your eyes and go home now. I will talk
this over with Mr. Duane, and if there is any way of disproving or
discrediting this evidence, rest assured——”
“Oh, can you do that, Leslie?” and the girl looked up hopefully; “isn’t
there a thing called ‘striking out’ anything you don’t want to use
against a person?”
“That’s a broad view of it,” and Judge Hoyt smiled a little, “but you run
along, dear, and after a confab with Mr. Duane, I’ll come up and tell you
all about it.”
The confab wound up by a trip to the office of the district attorney. The
situation was too grave to allow of what Avice called “striking out”! If
Landon and Mrs. Black were implicated in suspicious collusion, the matter
must be sifted to the bottom.
District Attorney Whiting eagerly absorbed the new facts recounted to
him, and fitted them into some he had of his own knowledge.
Landon had sent fifty thousand dollars to the mining company of Denver in
which he was interested. He had not yet realized on his inheritance, for
the estate had not been settled, but he had doubtless borrowed on his
prospective legacy. This proved nothing, except that he had been most
anxious for the large sum of money, and had utilized his acquisition of
it as soon as possible.
“We must get at this thing adroitly,” counseled Judge Hoyt. “Landon is a
peculiar chap, and difficult to bait. If he thinks we suspect him, he’s
quite capable of bolting, I think. Better try to trip up the housekeeper.
She’s a vain woman, amenable to flattery. Perhaps if Mr. Groot went to
her, ostensibly suspecting,—say, Stryker,—he could learn something about
her relations with Landon. And by the way, how are you going to find
Stryker?”
“Through his daughter,” Whiting replied. “That butler is no more the
murderer than I am; and he is hiding, because he’s afraid of that
handkerchief clue.”
“It is certainly an incriminating piece of evidence,” observed Hoyt.
“It is. But not against the butler. That handkerchief is a plant. On the
face of it, it is certainly too plain an indication to be the real thing.
No, sir, the murderer, whoever he was, stole the butler’s handkerchief to
throw suspicion on the butler. And who could do this so easily as the
housekeeper, or some member of the household, who had access to Stryker’s
room? Landon wasn’t at the house, that we know of, before the murder,
therefore, the theory of the housekeeper bringing the handkerchief to him
at their library interview, just fits in and makes it all plausible.”
“It may be,” said Judge Hoyt, looking doubtful; “it may possibly be,
Whiting; but go slowly. Don’t jump at this, to me, rather fantastic
solution. Track it down pretty closely, before you spring it on the
public.”
“All of that, Judge Hoyt! I’ve no idea of spiking my own guns by telling
all this too soon. But there’s work to be done, and first of all we must
find that butler. If he can be made to think we don’t accuse him, he’ll
come round, and we may learn a lot from him. We missed our chances in not
questioning him more closely at first.”
Meantime Avice had gone home, and on the way, her mood had changed from
sorrow to anger. She was angry at herself for having insisted on the
employing of Alvin Duane. She remembered how Kane had opposed it, but she
was so zealous in her hunt for justice that she ignored all objections.
She was angry at Kane for hobnobbing with Eleanor Black, and also for
deceiving her about their previous acquaintance. She was angry at Eleanor
for knowing Kane and pretending that they were strangers. She was angry
at Judge Hoyt for not dismissing Duane and obliterating even from his own
memory all that stuff the detective had discovered. She was furiously
angry at Duane, but that was a helpless, blind sort of rage that reacted
upon herself for engaging him.
And so, her tears had dried and her quivering nerves had tautened
themselves when she reached the house, and she went in, determined to
attack Eleanor Black herself, and learn the truth of her acquaintance
with Kane.
But as soon as she entered, she came upon Landon and Mrs. Black in the
little reception room, in close confab.
“Come in,” said the widow, “come in and talk to us.”
“We won’t have time for much conversation,” said Landon, looking at his
watch, “I want Mrs. Black to go out with me on an errand. May I order the
car?”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Black, smiling. “I want all my guests to feel at
liberty to give any orders they choose.” Her smile included Avice and
gave the girl that uncomfortable feeling that always manifested itself
when the ex-housekeeper asserted herself as mistress of the place.
“Please, Avice, don’t look like that,” said Eleanor, with an injured air.
“I want you to look on this house as home just as long as you choose to
do so. And, indeed, you may continue in charge of it, if that is what you
want.”
“Car’s here,” sang out Landon. “Come on, Eleanor.”
“Eleanor!” thought Avice, as the two went away. She had never heard him
call her that before, and it struck her like a chill. And yet she felt
sure there was a strong friendship, if not something deeper between them,
and she must be prepared for even endearing terms.
But Avice, despite her quick anger, was of a nature born to make
sacrifices. She could do anything to help those she loved, and she had
suddenly realized that she did love Landon. So without thought of reward,
she began to plan how she could help him.
She turned from the window without even wondering where they were going;
only conscious of a vague, dull longing, that she felt now, would never
be gratified.
And then, Harry Pinckney came, for one of his rather frequent calls.
Avice was glad Eleanor was out as she so objected to the sight of a
detective, and the young reporter had added that line of work to his own.
“I know where Stryker is,” were his first words, after they had exchanged
greetings.
“You do! Where?”
“At his daughter’s. Been there all the time. That Mrs. Adler is a
splendid actress, but she was a little too unconcerned about her father’s
disappearance to fool me. I pinned her down, and I’m practically sure
he’s in her house, or she knows where he is. But I’ve told the police and
they’ll rout him out. I’m to have the scoop. I hope they find him soon.”
“And,” Avice held herself together, “who will be the next suspect?”
“Dunno. Old Groot has his eye on Kane Landon, but he’s got no evidence to
speak of. I don’t care two cents for that ‘Cain’ remark. I mean I don’t
for a minute think it implicates Kane Landon.”
“Bless you for that!” Avice said, but not aloud.
“However,” Pinckney went on, “they’ve got something new up their sleeves.
They wouldn’t tell me what,—I’ve just come from headquarters,—but they’re
excited over some recent evidence or clue.”
“Have you any reason to think it refers to Mr. Landon?”
Pinckney looked at her narrowly. “I hate to reply to that,” he said, “for
I know it would hurt you if I said yes.”
“And you’d have to say yes, if you were truthful?”
“I’m afraid I should, Miss Trowbridge. Honest, now, isn’t there a chance
that he is the one?”
“Oh, no, no! But, Mr. Pinckney, tell me something. Supposing, just
supposing for a minute, that it might be Kane,—you know he’s been out
West for five years, and out there they don’t look on killing as we do
here, do they?”
“What have you in mind? A sheriff rounding up a posse of bad men, or a
desperado fighting his captor, or just a friendly shooting over a card
game—have you been reading dime novels?”
“No. It’s just a vague impression. I thought they didn’t call killing
people murder——”
“Yes, they do, if it’s murder in cold blood. Westerners only kill in
avenging justice or in righteous indignation.”
“Really? I’m glad you told me that. Do you know, Mr. Pinckney, I’m not
going to sit quietly down and let Kane be accused of this thing. I don’t
know whether he did it or not, but he’s going to have his chance. I know
him pretty well, and he’s so stubborn that he won’t take pains to appear
innocent even when he is. That sounds queer, I know, but you see, I know
Kane. He is queer. If that boy is innocent, and I believe he is, he would
be so sure of it himself that he’d make no effort to convince others; and
he’d let himself be misjudged, perhaps, even arrested through sheer
carelessness.”
“It is, indeed, a careless nature that will go as far as that!”
“It isn’t only carelessness; it’s a kind of pig-headed stubbornness. He’s
always been like that.”
“And if he should be guilty?”
“Then,—” and Avice hesitated, “then, I think he’d act just exactly the
same.”
“H’m, a difficult nature to understand.”
“Yes, it is. But I’m going to see that he is understood, and,—Mr.
Pinckney, you’re going to help me, aren’t you?”
“To the last ditch!” and Harry Pinckney then and there, silently, but
none the less earnestly, devoted his time, talent and energies to
upholding the opinions of Avice Trowbridge, whatever they might be, and
to helping her convince the world of their truth.