THE THREE STRINGS
[Illustration: “Hurry, hurry,” she gasped, as a white-robed figure
stepped inside her room.
Page 262]
THE
THREE STRINGS
BY
NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN
AUTHOR OF “THE MOVING FINGER,” “I SPY,” “THE NAMELESS MAN,” “C. O. D.,”
“THE TREVOR CASE,” “THE OFFICIAL CHAPERON,” ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES L. WRENN
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
TO
MRS. THEODORE VERNON BOYNTON
OF WASHINGTON, D. C.
WHOSE LOYAL AFFECTION HAS BEEN MINE SINCE CHILDHOOD,
I SEND THIS PROBLEM, IN FULL ASSURANCE
THAT SHE WILL PULL THE RIGHT “STRING.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
To Alain Campbell White, Esq., of Litchfield, Conn., the Author is
indebted for kindly assistance in working out a chess problem which his
expert knowledge of chess made feasible.
The Author desires also to express her appreciation of the assistance
of Dr. Alexander J. Anderson of Waterbury, Conn., whose help in solving
a “knotty” problem was but one of many acts of kindness.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FIRST MOVE 1
II. COMPLICATIONS 9
III. UNIDENTIFIED 22
IV. A QUESTION OF TIME 39
V. THE “ACE” 53
VI. DEVELOPMENTS 70
VII. THE FIFTH MAN 85
VIII. FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS 100
IX. THE TELEGRAM 113
X. “SEDITIOUS UTTERANCES” 126
XI. CONFLICTING CLUES 143
XII. THE CALL 162
XIII. THE BLOTTED PAGE 177
XIV. BURNHAM PREFERS CHARGES 188
XV. “THE BEST LAID PLANS” 204
XVI. IN THE LIMELIGHT 220
XVII. CAMOUFLAGE 236
XVIII. “THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL” 250
XIX. BRIBERY 264
XX. IDENTIFICATION 276
XXI. UNMASKED 284
XXII. THE MISSING DIAGRAMS 297
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
“Hurry, hurry,” she gasped, as a white-robed figure
stepped inside her room _Frontispiece_
Step by step she advanced nearer the dead man 12
He took out Marian’s package of papers and placed
them in Evelyn’s lap 80
“René,” she blushed hotly, “René loves me” 252
THE THREE STRINGS
CHAPTER I
THE FIRST MOVE
EVELYN PRESTON ran lightly up the steps of her home and inserting
her latch-key in the vestibule door, pushed it open just as the
taxi-driver, following more slowly with many an upward glance at the
blind-closed windows, reached her side.
“Put the suit case down,” she directed. “I’ll have the front door
opened by the time you get the trunk here.”
The cool if somewhat stale air of the closed house which met Evelyn as
she stepped across the threshold of the open door was refreshing after
the glare of the asphalt pavements, for Washington was experiencing one
of the hot waves which come in late September and make that month one
to be avoided in the Capital City.
Evelyn, intent on calling a servant, paused midway in the large hall
as the taxi-driver’s bulky figure blocked the light in the front
doorway. Without waiting for directions he lowered her motor trunk from
his shoulders and stood it against the wall.
“Shall I leave it here, Miss?” he inquired.
Evelyn, busily engaged in searching for change in her purse, nodded
affirmatively, and the man propped himself against the door jamb and
waited for his pay.
“Thank you, Miss,” he exclaimed a moment later, his politeness
stimulated by the generous tip which accompanied Evelyn’s payment of
the taxi fare. “Would you like me to carry your trunk upstairs?”
“No; the butler will take it up, thank you.” Evelyn’s gesture of
dismissal was unmistakable, and the man hitched uncomfortably at his
cap, glanced furtively up the hall and then back at Evelyn who, totally
unconscious of his scrutiny, stood impatiently waiting for him to go.
He opened his mouth, but if he intended to address her again he thought
better of it, and with a mumbled word banged out of the front door.
Evelyn turned at once and sped to the back stairs, but call as she did,
no servant responded and the blind-closed windows made the passageway
dark and unfriendly. With an impatient exclamation Evelyn returned
to the front hall; the servants had evidently not arrived from the
seashore to open the house for her.
She stopped only long enough to push her trunk into the billiard room
just off the hall and pick up her suit case, then she went rapidly
upstairs to her bedroom which, in its summer covered furnishings,
looked very inviting to her tired eyes. Four nights in a sleeper and
three extra hours added to the tedium of her journey from the west by a
hot-box which had delayed her train’s arrival in Washington, had made
her long for home comforts.
Going over to the windows Evelyn drew up the blinds and opening the
sashes thrust back the shutters, then, tossing off her hat and coat as
she moved about her bedroom, she finally jerked open the suit case and
tumbled about its contents until she found the garments she sought. In
doing so she unearthed a letter from her mother, and she smiled as her
eyes caught the words:
“I am sending the servants to the city on the fifteenth, which gives
them a day to open the house and have it aired before you get there.
Now be sure and reach Washington on the sixteenth. Your Father will be
very angry if----”
The remainder of the sentence was on the opposite sheet, but Evelyn
did not trouble to read further; instead her slender fingers made
mince-meat of the letter and as the torn pieces fluttered to the floor
she sighed involuntarily.
Her mother, with her usual inconsistency, had evidently not troubled
to study time-tables in deciding that her daughter could not reach
Washington by the 15th, and in her own mind Evelyn wondered if the
servants would be dispatched from Chelsea in time to reach there before
night. The importance of time figured very little in Mrs. Burnham’s
indolent sheltered life; her contention that prompt people wasted a
great deal of time was frequently borne out by those who waited in
impotent wrath for her to keep her engagements.
Evelyn changed into her dressing gown and then, sometimes colliding
against furniture in the darkened house, made her way through her
mother’s bedroom and boudoir, her step-father’s suite of rooms and into
the library which opened from his bedroom, pulling up window shades and
letting in fresh air and sunshine as she went. Back once more in her
own room she tested the electric lights and was thankful to find the
current turned on; apparently Mrs. Ward, her mother’s housekeeper, had
attended to some of the details of moving back into their city house.
Encouraged by her success with the electricity, Evelyn tried the water
in the bathroom and finding it running, filled the tub and with the
aid of an electric plunger, soon luxuriated in a hot bath. But upon
emerging she did not immediately complete her toilet, the comfortable
lounge exerted too great an appeal to her weary muscles, and taking a
silk quilt from a nearby cedar chest she settled down amid soft pillows
and was soon in dreamless slumber.
Some hours later Evelyn awoke. It took her several minutes to recall
where she was as she sat up rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her windows faced
the west and the afternoon sunshine filled every cranny of the room.
Evelyn consulted her watch--fifteen minutes past two. With a bound she
was on her feet and a second later was dressing in haste, her actions
stimulated by pangs of hunger. She had eaten only a modest breakfast
on the train, counting upon a hearty luncheon at home. She paused long
enough in her dressing to go to the telephone in the library and call
up several friends, only to be told by Central that the telephones she
wanted had been disconnected for the summer.
A trifle discouraged Evelyn returned to her bedroom and resumed
her dressing more slowly. Whom could she get to go out to tea with
her?--Marian Van Ness. Evelyn brightened, but paused on her way to
the library; what use to telephone, Marian was probably at the State
Department and would not leave there until five o’clock. She could
get her to dine with her at the Shoreham, but in the meantime she was
exceedingly hungry and to wait until seven o’clock--
Evelyn picked up her hat and then laid it down again as an idea
occurred to her. Why not forage about the kitchen for eatables? The
idea appealed to her the more she considered it. If the servants did
not arrive she could go for Marian, whose apartment house was around
the corner, and they could dine together; for the present a cup of tea
and a few crackers would stay her appetite.
A few seconds later Evelyn was speeding down the staircase on her
way to the kitchen. A visit to the butler’s pantry brought to light
a package of crackers concealed in a tin box and a canister of her
mother’s favorite Orange-Peko tea. Tucking her treasures under her
arm Evelyn sought the kitchen and there to her delight found on
investigation that she could light the big gas range. It took her but a
moment to fill the water kettle, and humming a song she continued her
researches in the orderly kitchen. An unopened jar of peanut butter and
another of snappy cheese turned up on one of the shelves, and gathering
plates and cooking utensils together she was soon enjoying toasted
cheese and crackers and a delicious cup of tea.
She was about to refill her cup when the silence of the sunny kitchen
was broken by the imperative ringing of the bell. With a joyful
exclamation Evelyn rose to her feet--the servants had come at last. As
she started for the hall door she came face to face with the room-bell
register--the indicator moved slowly downward and stopped at the
printed word: “Library.”
Evelyn stared at the indicator in perplexity. Pshaw! the register was
out of order; it was the front door bell which had rung. Stopping long
enough to turn off the gas burning in the range she hastened upstairs
to the front door, only to find the vestibule empty. She stepped out on
the doorstep and glanced up and down, but except for a motor vanishing
around the corner, the street was deserted.
Considerably perturbed Evelyn reëntered the house, and it was some
seconds before she mounted the staircase to the second floor. Her
lagging footsteps were accelerated by the sudden thought that perhaps
her step-father had returned and gone straight to his room and,
supposing from the opened windows that the servants were downstairs,
had rung for the butler. He always carried his latch-key; but her
mother had mailed her his latch-key!
Evelyn’s hand fell from the portières to her side and she drew back,
then, suppressing her growing nervousness, she parted the portières and
stepped into the library. She had advanced half across the room before
she became aware that a stranger sat half facing her near the great
stone fireplace.
Evelyn retreated precipitously; then, gathering her wits, she demanded
a trifle breathlessly:
“Who are you?”
No reply.
“How did you get here?”
Silence.
“What do you want?”
Her question remained unanswered; and anger conquering her fright,
Evelyn stepped up to the chair and for the first time obtained a full
view of the stranger’s ashen face and wide-staring eyes. Instinctively
she bent nearer and her hand sought his pulseless wrist; its icy chill
struck her with terror. With one horrified look into the dead eyes she
fled from the room.