COMPLICATIONS
EVELYN never knew how she reached the front door, but as she dashed
out into the vestibule she almost fell into the arms of a tall neatly
dressed woman standing on the doorstep. For a breathless second she
clung to the newcomer in silence.
“Matilda!” Only in moments of stress did Evelyn ever address her
mother’s housekeeper by her first name. “Thank God you are here!”
Mrs. Ward gazed at her in alarm. “What’s wrong, Miss Evelyn?” she
asked. “Come inside, Miss,” coaxingly, growing conscious that Evelyn
was swaying upon her feet. Supporting the half fainting girl, she led
her into the billiard room which opened from the hall to the right of
the front door. Once in the room Evelyn collapsed on the nearest chair.
“Oh, don’t go,” she begged as Mrs. Ward stepped toward the hall. “Don’t
leave me.”
“Only for a moment, Miss; I left my bag outside the house,” and Mrs.
Ward, disentangling her skirt from Evelyn’s clutching fingers,
disappeared into the hall to return shortly with a glass of water in
one hand and her bag in the other. She dropped the latter on Evelyn’s
trunk as she entered the room.
“Take a sip of water, Miss Evelyn,” she said, retaining her hold of
the glass as Evelyn’s attempts to take it in her shaking hand proved
futile. “Are Jones and the cook here?”
“No.” Evelyn was only equal to monosyllables.
“They haven’t come!” Mrs. Ward looked shocked. “All the servants were
to leave Atlantic City this morning on the first train. No wonder you
were frightened, Miss Evelyn, all alone in this big house.”
“But I was not alone.” Evelyn pushed aside the empty glass; she felt
refreshed by the cold water and the presence of Mrs. Ward restored her
to some degree of composure. “There’s a dead man upstairs!”
The glass slipped from Mrs. Ward’s hand and broke on the highly
polished floor.
“Are you mad?” Mrs. Ward spoke more roughly than she realized, and
Evelyn’s angry flush caused her to modify her tone to its customary
civility. “Are you in earnest, Miss Evelyn?” Evelyn nodded vigorously,
and Mrs. Ward’s comely face paled. “It’s--It’s not Mr. Burnham?”
“No; I have never seen the man before.”
Mrs. Ward stared blankly at Evelyn, then roused herself. “Hadn’t I
better go and investigate?” she asked. “You may be mistaken, Miss;
perhaps the man’s only asleep.”
Evelyn shivered. “Men don’t sleep with their eyes open,” she said
dully, rising. “I’m coming with you,” and she quickened her pace to
keep up with Mrs. Ward as the latter led the way upstairs to the
library. Mrs. Ward faltered just inside the room as her eyes fell on
the quiet figure near the fireplace; then, repressing all emotion, she
strode over to the figure and bent, as Evelyn had done, and placed
her hand on the dead man’s wrist. When she turned back to Evelyn,
who lingered near the doorway, her face rivaled the young girl’s in
whiteness.
“I’d better go for Dr. Hayden.” She mumbled the words so that she was
forced to repeat them before Evelyn understood her.
“Try the telephone,” the latter suggested, “that’s quicker.”
Mrs. Ward glanced shrinkingly at the telephone stand which stood almost
at the dead man’s elbow and shook her head.
“I’d better go,” she reiterated obstinately.
“Nonsense, use the branch telephone in the pantry.” Evelyn’s customary
cool-headedness returned as she saw the housekeeper becoming
demoralized. “Hurry, don’t waste any more time,” she added, and
obedient to the stronger will, Mrs. Ward hastened from the room.
Evelyn stayed by the doorway in indecision, half inclined to accompany
the housekeeper downstairs, but an attraction she could not conquer
drew her toward the fireplace, and step by step she advanced nearer the
dead man until only a chess table separated them. Sinking into a chair
in front of the table she stared at the body for a long moment, then
hastily averted her eyes. It was the first time she had seen death and
its majesty over-awed even her terror.
A clock chiming the quarter aroused her and she mechanically looked
at her wrist watch--a quarter of five. Had only two hours and a half
passed since she had entered the library to telephone to Marian
Van Ness? The time had seemed interminable, and she waited in ever
increasing nervousness for the housekeeper’s return, as the clock
ticked off minute after minute with maddening regularity.
Finally a murmur of voices coming nearer roused Evelyn and with a
subdued exclamation she moved forward to meet Doctor Lewis Hayden, who
a second later appeared in the library, Mrs. Ward at his heels.
[Illustration: Step by step she advanced nearer the dead man....]
“Has Mrs. Ward explained?” she demanded as Hayden clasped her
outstretched hand.
“Only that----” Hayden stopped speaking as his eyes fell on the dead
man. Striding forward he made a brief inspection before turning to the
silent women. “Tell my chauffeur to go at once for Doctor Penfield,
Mrs. Ward,” he directed and there was that in his manner which caused
the housekeeper to move with even more than her customary rapidity.
As she disappeared between the portières, Lewis Hayden turned his
attention to Evelyn.
“A dose of aromatic spirits of ammonia will make you feel better,” he
said kindly, noting the girl’s strained expression, and as he spoke he
opened his emergency kit and poured the medicine in a glass. “Just add
a little water to this,” he supplemented, “and then go and lie down.
I’ll wait and see Coroner Penfield and we will take charge of affairs
for you.”
Evelyn sighed with relief as she took the medicine. “Oh, thank you,
doctor,” she exclaimed, “if you will just----” She stopped speaking
as the portières were pulled back and Mrs. Ward, looking very much
agitated, ushered in a tall man whose travel-stained appearance did not
detract from his air of distinction. Evelyn stared at him as if unable
to believe her eyes.
“Mr. Maynard!” she exclaimed. “Dear Mr. Maynard! Where did you come
from?”
Dan Maynard clasped her eagerly extended hand in both of his.
“Just back from France,” he explained, and at the sound of his voice
Hayden’s memory quickened; its charm across the footlights had lured
him often to the theater to see the man whose fame as an actor was
international. “I wired Mr. Burnham----”
“Beg pardon,” Mrs. Ward insinuated herself into the little group by
the door. “Your telegram was forwarded to Chelsea, Mr. Maynard, and
Mrs. Burnham told me to prepare a bedroom for you, sir. It would have
been ready but for this----,” and the housekeeper’s gesture toward the
tragic figure by the fireplace completed her sentence.
Maynard stared but before Evelyn could offer any explanation the front
door bell rang loudly and Mrs. Ward hastened to answer it.
“I imagine that is the coroner,” began Hayden, but an exclamation from
Evelyn checked him; in her excitement she had not grasped the use of
the word “Coroner” before Penfield’s name.
“A coroner! Good gracious, doctor, why send for him?”
“Because a sudden death cannot be examined without his presence,”
Hayden explained. “Go and take your medicine, Evelyn.”
Evelyn’s hesitation was brief; she knew Hayden of old and that he did
not permit disobedience from his patients.
“Very well, doctor,” she said submissively. “But first, Mr. Maynard,
this is our family physician, Dr. Hayden,” and as the two men silently
shook hands, she added as she moved toward the door leading into her
step-father’s bedroom, “I’ll be back shortly.”
Hayden’s surmise that Penfield had arrived proved correct, and the
coroner, listening attentively to Mrs. Ward’s jumbled remarks as he
mounted the staircase, went at once into the library and greeted Hayden.
“Apoplexy, Hayden?” he inquired, going toward the fireplace. “Ah, your
aid here----” and Hayden joined him.
Maynard stood an interested spectator by the door, uncertain whether he
was expected to go or stay, but as neither physician paid the slightest
attention to him, he decided to remain. A sudden movement of the
coroner’s toward the windows caused him to step forward and pull the
inside Holland shades up to the top. A grunt of approval from Penfield
greeted the additional light and Maynard decided to tuck back with the
aid of chairs the heavy brocaded curtains which, like the portières,
were covered with cretonne to protect them in the summer months, until
the large room was filled with the remaining daylight.
The room, wainscoted in Flemish oak with open beams across the high
ceiling, was never very bright as its massive furnishings were
somber in shade and absorbed the light. It was a very livable room,
however, and had the air of being much occupied even with most of its
bric-a-bric put away for the summer. The high-backed carved oak chairs
and great leather covered lounges all looked comfortable, and the large
center table, smoking stands, and card tables gave an added air of
hospitality.
Suddenly Coroner Penfield rose from his knees beside the dead man and
laid down several instruments on the chess table. He then glanced
narrowly up and down the room, his glance resting finally on Dan
Maynard, of whose presence he had been until then apparently unaware.
“I must make some inquiries, Hayden,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?”
“Mr. Maynard--I beg your pardon,” Hayden straightened up and faced
about. “Didn’t I introduce you?” he added as the actor approached. “Mr.
Maynard only arrived here a few minutes before you, Penfield. I’ll call
Mrs. Ward, the housekeeper.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” declared Evelyn who, entering unperceived
a few minutes before, had overheard the coroner’s request. “I came back
to tell you all about everything.”
“Do you feel equal to it?” asked Hayden, pushing forward a chair.
“Hadn’t you better wait, Evelyn? You have been under a fearful strain
to have your friend die----” He paused in his rapid speech as if at
a loss for words and Maynard, with intuitive quickness, detected the
physician’s disquietude under his calm professional manner. “--your
friend die so suddenly,” Hayden finished.
Evelyn did not heed the concluding remark; but one word had caught her
attention.
“Friend! He was no friend of mine,” she declared. “I never saw the man
before.”
Penfield bent forward eagerly. “What’s this--a stranger, you say? Are
you quite sure, Miss Preston? People’s appearance sometimes alters
after death. Please look at him closely.”
Evelyn hesitated and glanced at Hayden who signed to her to approach.
Obediently she stepped forward and studied the motionless figure which
had been pushed back by Penfield into much the same position it had
occupied when Evelyn first discovered it. She judged the man to have
been about thirty-six or forty years of age, and noted particularly
the brilliant blue of his eyes against the pallor of his skin. He was
clean shaven, and his under jaw was thrust forward at an obstinate
angle, but whether that was its natural position or the jaw had dropped
forward after death Evelyn was incapable of knowing.
“I never saw the man before,” she stated finally.
“Ah! Then how came it that he was admitted to your library?” asked
Penfield before Hayden could speak.
“I really don’t know.” Evelyn looked puzzled. “I presume he got in like
any other burglar.”
“Burglar!” Penfield started and turning, stared again at the dead man.
“Burglars don’t as a rule dress so well; besides, his hands----” He
leaned over and held up the man’s limp right hand, turning it over so
that all could see the long tapering fingers and well cared for nails.
Maynard studied the hand intently; he had seen its type when traveling
among the silent and secretive peoples of the Orient and occasionally
met the same type among the deep thinkers and analytical men and women
of Europe who rarely forget an injury but are patient with the patience
of power conveyed by knowledge and mysticism.
“His finger-prints may give us some clue to his identity,” added
Coroner Penfield, laying down the hand. “In the meantime----”
“Why not examine the man’s pockets?” suggested Maynard practically.
Penfield carried out the suggestion with a deftness which won the
actor’s admiration, but all he brought to light was a piece of string.
“Every pocket empty,” he announced. “And apparently not even a
coat-label--strange!” He cast a penetrating look at Evelyn. “Why did
you not notify us sooner, Miss Preston?”
“Sooner?” echoed Evelyn. “I started to go for Dr. Hayden after
finding this--this----” Evelyn choked; she was very near to tears and
Penfield’s grave manner was beginning to impress her unfavorably.
“I met Mrs. Ward, our housekeeper, on the front steps, brought her
up here, and then sent her to telephone to Dr. Hayden. That hasn’t
been more than an hour ago,” turning for confirmation to Hayden who
nodded his agreement. “I only arrived in Washington this morning, Dr.
Penfield, and--and--I was all alone in the house. He--he,”--pointing to
the dead man--“he might have murdered me if he hadn’t died of apoplexy.”
Hayden, who had followed Evelyn’s statements with ever increasing
interest, looked a trifle nonplussed as he glanced at his colleague who
was winding the string, taken from the dead man’s pocket, in and out
among his fingers.
“You say you arrived at the house this morning, Miss Preston,” began
Penfield slowly, “and you did not enter this library until this
afternoon.”
“I did, too,” contradicted Evelyn. “I came in here in the morning and
opened the blinds; I did the same thing all over this floor so as to
air the house, and----” She added as Hayden started to interrupt her,
“I came into this room again about half past two----”
“And you sent for us about five o’clock,” commented Penfield dryly.
“Your remarks are inconsistent--you previously stated you sent for us
at once on finding the body----”
“The body was not here at half past two,” declared Evelyn.
“It wasn’t!” chorused the two physicians, while Maynard looked eagerly
at Evelyn and back at them.
“Come, Miss Preston,” began Penfield. “You must be mistaken.”
“I am not,” Evelyn’s foot came down with a stamp. “I used that
telephone there, right by the fireplace; do you suppose I could have
done so and not become aware that a dead man was sitting by my elbow? I
tell you the man wasn’t dead then.”
The silence which followed was broken by Coroner Penfield.
“Miss Preston,” he stated quietly. “That man has been dead at least
twelve hours.”
Evelyn stared at him in growing horror. “Dead--twelve hours!” she
gasped. “Then who rang the library bell at four o’clock?”
They gazed at each other, but before any one could speak the sound of
a heavy fall caused them to wheel about--Mrs. Ward had fainted just
inside the portières of the room.