AGAINST A STONE WALL
Was this discovery anything to him? What difference could it make whether
Percival Coolidge had died by his own hand, or been treacherously shot
from ambush? How would it benefit Natalie Coolidge to have the truth
revealed? And, if it would benefit her, why should he devote his time and
labour to such an effort? She had cast him off, thrown him aside; her
affairs had no further interest for him. Let her lawyer take care of
them. These were West's first thoughts.
All true, yet this state of mind brought no satisfaction. He was
interested; he could not escape his first impressions of the girl, or
drive from him a desire to serve her, whether she wished it, or not.
She might, indeed, be in equal danger from an assassin. He could not
determine this until he learned the cause of the slaying of Percival.
Then, on the other hand, suppose some one else's suspicions were also
aroused. Who would they naturally look to as guilty of this horrible
crime? There was but one answer--Natalie Coolidge. She was seemingly
the only person to directly benefit by this sudden death. All these
considerations urged him on, overcame his doubt and indecision. Then
he desired to learn the truth himself. His eyes rested on Sexton's
anxious face.
"I've been thinking it over," he admitted quietly, "and I guess it is up
to you and me to find out what this means."
"Yes, sir," hesitatingly. "You--you don't think it was Miss
Natalie, sir?"
"No, I do not, Sexton. I have my own reasons for saying that. Yet
naturally she is the one to be first suspected. Do you know anything?"
"Only that I am sure she was in the garden, sir, when the shot was fired.
I saw her there just after you drove away."
"That is conclusive then, so far as her personal actions are concerned.
But there is an odd angle to this matter, and I might as well explain it
to you first as last. Perhaps you can help figure the oddness out. I was
not engaged to Miss Natalie, Sexton; I was not even a friend. I came to
the house, employed to perform a certain task. She introduced me as her
fiancé merely to explain my presence there, and make the way clear. It
was the impulse of a moment."
"You don't say, sir! What, may I ask, was it you was expected to do?"
"To discover who was masquerading in this city under her name."
"Was there some one, sir?"
"So she told me; we went into that rather thoroughly. She claimed it had
been going on for some months; checks had been cashed at the bank; even
her servants had been approached by some one so closely resembling her as
to deceive them; and she had been reported at various places she never
visited. She was very much exercised over it."
"And she engaged you just to find this other woman?"
"Yes; her lawyer and Percival Coolidge only laughed at her story."
"But you believed it, sir?"
"Well, perhaps not at first altogether. It seemed too strange and
impossible. I thought something must have got on her nerves and caused
her to imagine things. But the first night I remained out there gave me a
shock. I do not know whether I left my door unlocked, or whether a
pass-key was used, but I woke up suddenly to discover a woman in the
room. I only had a glimpse of her, for she slipped out instantly, and
disappeared down the hall; but it was moonlight and I would have sworn
the intruder was Miss Natalie. I asked her the next day."
"And she denied being there?"
"Absolutely, and convinced me it was true. There is no doubt in my mind,
Sexton, but what she really is being impersonated by some one who
resembles her most remarkably. Who this person is I have not the remotest
idea; nor what her real object can be. Just at this moment, I am inclined
to believe it has something to do with the Coolidge estate--a criminal
scheme of some kind, and that Percival Coolidge had connection with it."
"I can hardly believe that, sir."
"No doubt you find it difficult. You told me yourself that had always
been his room, the one I occupied."
"Yes, sir."
"That woman knew it; she came there to consult with him." He stopped
suddenly. "By Gad! Sexton, maybe she came there to kill him. I hadn't
thought of that."
"It is too much for me, sir," the other said soberly. "I don't know why
any one should want to kill him. But there's got to be a reason
somewhere. Where was it the three of you went on Sunday in the runabout,
Captain West?"
"To a house over in the factory district; some charity case that Coolidge
was interested in--the widow of one of his employees, I believe."
"Did you see the people?"
"No, I didn't go in; waited outside in the car; it was no affair of mine.
Why?" he asked in surprise.
"Because, sir, Miss Natalie seemed like a different person when she got
back. Not in looks, or nothing like that I don't mean, but in the way she
talked and acted. Nothing suited her all the rest of the day. You know
how she was to you, sir. Well she was just that snappy with all of us,
even after we brought the body back to the house. And she wouldn't look
at him, sir, not even after he was dressed proper and laid out. She just
went off up stairs, and stayed there; had a bit of toast an' tea, an'
that's all."
"I hardly believe," said West thoughtfully, "you can attribute her state
of mind to anything that occurred on that trip. Indeed she was in high
spirits all the way home."
"I can't help that, sir," Sexton insisted blindly. "It was something that
happened yesterday what set her wrong, an' if I was you, sir, I'd find
out what happened in that house first of all. Could you find the place?"
"Yes, I think so. I'll look it up, although I don't have much faith in
your theory." He glanced at his watch. "I'll go out there now. You come
back here about five, and we will talk over any discoveries I may make."
"And what shall I do, sir?"
Both were standing, West with hand on the knob of the door. The light in
his eyes hardened.
"Nothing occurs to me now, Sexton, unless you can find an excuse to
return to Fairlawn, after something you have forgotten, let us say. If we
can learn what Miss Natalie proposes doing it might furnish a clue."
"Very well, sir, and I am to be here at five o'clock?"
"Yes, at five; I will leave word with the doorman to show you in at
once."
West picked up a taxi-cab for the trip, bidding the chauffeur to drive to
a certain section of the city, and then up and down the various streets
until told to stop. He had no idea that his quest would reveal anything
of importance relative to the death of Coolidge, yet no better
suggestion occurred to him and he felt that he must do something. His
conversation with Sexton had greatly strengthened his conviction that
this was a murder, and he had determined to ferret out the truth if
possible. Yet, thus far there was nothing to build upon, no clue, no
motive, no suspicion as to who had perpetrated the deed. He simply faced
a blank wall, in which no entrance was apparent, yet there must be one,
if he was only fortunate enough to stumble upon it. Deep down in his
heart West was conscious that he possessed a motive in this search far
more worthy than mere curiosity. That motive was Natalie Coolidge. He
smiled at the thought, yet confessed it true. In spite of her curt
dismissal, his memory of the girl centred about those earlier hours of
their acquaintance. Something mysterious had occurred to make her change
so quickly, and he was unwilling to condemn her before learning the real
reason. This murder must have some relation to the Coolidge estate; he
could conceive of no other motive for such a cold-blooded affair; and
hence its solving must prove of vital importance to her and her future.
Now, when the verdict of the coroner's jury had been suicide, and when
only he, and the servant Sexton suspected otherwise, it was of the
utmost importance that they endeavour to unravel the crime. For her
sake he could do no less, thus serving and protecting her to the best of
his ability.
The chauffeur drove slowly up and down obscure streets for half an hour
before West recognized familiar surroundings, and motioned for him to
draw up against the curb. He had discovered the place sought, but from
the street it exhibited no signs of occupancy, nor did any knocking at
the front door bring response from within. He circled the building,
finding an uncurtained window at the rear, which merely revealed an
unfurnished room. Every door was locked, but, as he passed along the
other side to regain the taxi, a man emerged from the next house, and
hailed him.
"Say, what're yer snoopin' round there for? Lookin' for somebody?"
"Yes, the parties who were here Sunday. What's become of them."
"Hobart, you mean?"
"Is that his name? I met him down town, and he told me to come here,"
West explained rapidly. "We had a deal on."
"Oh, yer did, hey," leaning his arms on the fence. "Well, Jim Hobart was
the name he giv' me. That's my house, which is why I happen to know
what his name was. Something queer about that fellar, I reckon, but
'tain't none o' my business. You ain't a detective, or nothin' like
that, are yer?"
"Nothing at all like that," West laughed, although interested. "Why? Did
you think the police might be after him?"
"Not for anything I know about, only he skipped out mighty sudden. Paid
me a month rent, and only stayed there three days. That looks sorter
queer. Then Sunday that fellar what committed suicide out south--I read
about in the papers--came to see him in a car. I got a boy workin' in his
factory; that's how I come to know who the guy was. The next night
Hobart, an' them with him, just naturally skipped out. So I didn't know
but what the police might want him for something."
"I don't know anything about that. I just called on a private matter.
Where did he go to?"
"Hell, man, I didn't even know he was goin'."
"Who did he have with him here--a family?"
"A woman 'bout his age I should say, an' a younger one. I didn't see 'em
only from the window; didn't get no sight o' the girl's face at all, but
could tell the way she walked she was young. They didn't have nothin'
with 'em; that's all my stuff in the house there."
Feeling the uselessness of trying to learn anything more, West thanked
him, and returned to the taxi.
"Back to the Club," he ordered briefly, and settled into his seat to
think.