THE LOCKED ROOM
Ursula Pell leaned back in her chair and shrieked with laughter.
"She _will_ have stuffed dates and fancy fixin's, will she?" she cried;
"I just guess she's had enough of those fallals now!"
"It quite spoiled her pretty frock," said Mrs. Bowen, timidly
remonstrant.
"That's nothing, I'll buy her another. Oh, I did that pretty cleverly, I
can tell you! I took a little capsule, a long, thin one, and I filled it
with ink, just as you'd fill a fountain pen. Oh, oh! Iris _was_ so mad!
She never suspected at all; and she bit into that date--oh! oh! wasn't
it funny!"
"I don't think it was," began Mrs. Bowen, but her husband lifted his
eyebrows at her, and she said no more.
Though a clergyman, Alexander Bowen was not above mercenary impulses,
and the mere reference, whether it had been meant or not, to a jeweled
chalice made him unwilling to disapprove of anything such an influential
hostess might do or say.
"Iris owes so much to her aunt," the rector said smilingly, "of course
she takes such little jests in good part."
"She'd better," and Ursula Pell nodded her head; "if she knows which
side her bread is buttered, she'll kiss the hand that strikes her."
"If it doesn't strike too hard," put in Mrs. Bowen, unable to resist
some slight comment.
But again her husband frowned at her to keep silent, and the subject was
dropped.
It was fully a quarter of an hour before Iris returned, her face red
from scrubbing and still showing dark traces of the ink on chin and
cheek. She wore a plain little frock of white dimity, and smiled as she
resumed her seat at the table.
"Now, Aunt Ursula," she said, "if you've any more ink to spill, spill it
on this dress, and not on one of my best ones."
"Fiddlestrings, Iris, I'll give you a new dress--I'll give you two. It
was well worth it, to see you bite into that date! My! you looked so
funny! And you look funny yet! There's ink marks all over your face!"
Mrs. Pell shook with most irritating laughter, and Iris flushed with
annoyance.
"I know it, auntie; but I couldn't get them off."
"Never mind, it'll wear off in a few days. And meantime, you can wrap it
up in a blotter!"
Again the speaker chuckled heartily at her own wit, and the rector
joined her, while Mrs. Bowen with difficulty achieved a smile.
She was sorry for Iris, for this sort of jesting offended the girl more
than it would most people, and the kind-hearted woman knew it. But,
afraid of her husband's disapproval, she said nothing, and smiled, at
his unspoken behest.
Nor was Iris herself entirely forgiving. One could easily see that her
calmly pleasant expression covered a deeper feeling of resentment and
exasperation. She had the appearance of having reached her limit, and
though outwardly serene was indubitably angry.
Her pretty face, ludicrous because of the indelible smears of ink, was
pale and strained, and her deep brown eyes smoldered with repressed
rage. For Iris Clyde was far from meek. Her nature was, first of all, a
just one, and, to a degree, retaliatory, even revengeful.
"Oh, I see your eyes snapping, Iris," exclaimed her aunt, delighted at
the girl's annoyance, "I'll bet you'll get even with me for this!"
"Indeed I will, Aunt Ursula," and Iris' lips set in a straight line of
determination, which, in conjunction with the ink stains, sent Mrs.
Pell off into further peals of hilarity.
"Be careful, Iris," cautioned Mr. Bowen, himself wary, "if you get even
with your aunt, she may leave the diamond pin to me instead of to you."
"Nixie," returned Iris saucily, "you've promised that particular diamond
pin to me, haven't you, Auntie?"
"I certainly have, Iris. However often I change my will, that pin is
always designated as your inheritance."
"Where is it?" asked Mr. Bowen, curiously; "may I not see it?"
"It is in a box in my lawyer's safe, at this moment," replied Mrs. Pell.
"Mr. Chapin has instructions to hand the box over to Iris after my
departure from this life, which I suppose you'd like to expedite, eh,
Iris?"
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to poison you," Iris smiled, "but I
confess I felt almost murderous when I ran up to my room just now and
looked in the mirror!"
"I don't wonder!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen, unable to stifle her feelings
longer.
"Tut! tut!" cried the rector, "what talk for Christian people!"
"Oh, they don't mean it," said Mrs. Pell, "you must take our chaff in
good part, Mr. Bowen."
Dinner over, the Bowens almost immediately departed, and Iris, catching
sight of her disfigured face in a mirror, turned angrily to her aunt.
"I won't stand it!" she exclaimed. "This is the last time I shall let
you serve me in this fashion. I'm going to New York to-morrow, and I
hope I shall never see you again!"
"Now, dearie, don't be too hard on your old auntie. It was only a joke,
you know. I'll get you another frock----"
"It isn't only the frock, Aunt Ursula, it's this horrid state of things
generally. Why, I never dare pick up a thing, or touch a thing--without
the chance of some fool stunt making trouble for me!"
"Now, now, I will try not to do it any more. But, don't talk about going
away. If you do, I'll cut you out of my will entirely."
"I don't care. That would be better than living in a trick house! Look
at my face! It will be days before these stains wear off! You ought to
be ashamed of yourself, Aunt Ursula!"
The old lady looked roguishly penitent, like a naughty child.
"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, you can get them off with whatcha-call-it soap. But
I hope you won't! They make you look like a clown in a circus!"
Mrs. Pell's laughter had that peculiarly irritating quality that belongs
to practical jokers, and Iris' sensitive nature was stung to the core.
"Oh, I hate you," she cried, "you are a fiend in human shape!" and
without another word she ran upstairs to her own room.
Ursula Pell looked a little chagrined, then burst into laughter at the
remembrance of Iris' face as she denounced her, and then her expression
suddenly changed to one of pain, and she walked slowly to her own
sitting room, went in and closed the door behind her.
It was part of the Sunday afternoon routine that Mrs. Pell should go to
this room directly after dinner, and it was understood that she was not
to be disturbed unless callers came.
A little later, Polly was in the dining-room arranging the sideboard,
when she heard Mrs. Pell's voice. It was an agonized scream, not loud,
but as one greatly frightened. The woman ran through the hall and living
room to the closed door of the sitting room. Then she clearly heard her
mistress calling for help.
But the door was locked on the inside, and Polly could not open it.
"Help! Thieves!" came in terrified accents, and then the voice died away
to a troubled groaning; only to rise in a shrill shriek of "Help!
Quickly!" and then again the moans and sighs of one in agony.
Frantically Polly hurried to the kitchen and called her husband.
"One of her damfool jokes," muttered the old man, as he shuffled toward
the door of the locked room. "She's locked herself in, and she wants to
get us all stirred up, thinkin' she's been attacked by thugs, an' in a
minute she'll be laughin' at us."
"I don't think so," said Polly, dubiously, for she well knew her
mistress' ways, "them yells was too natural."
Old Purdy listened, his ear against the door. "I can hear her rustlin'
about a little," he said, "an'--there, that was a faint moan--mebbe
she's been took with a spell or suthin'."
"Let's get the door open, anyway," begged Polly. "If it's a joke, I'll
stand for it, but I'll bet you something's happened."
"What could happen, unless she's had a stroke, an' if that's it, she
wouldn't be a callin' out 'Thieves!' Didn't you say she said that?"
"Yes, as plain as day!"
"Then that proves she's foolin' us! How could there be thieves in there,
an' the door locked?"
"Well, get it open. I'm plumb scared," and Polly's round face was pale
with fright.
"But I can't. Do you want me to break it in? We'd get what for in
earnest if I done that!"
"Run around and look in the windows," suggested Polly, "and I'm going to
call Miss Iris. I jest know something's wrong, this time."
"What is it?" asked Iris, responding to the summons, "what was that
noise I heard?"
"Mrs. Pell screamed out, Miss Iris, and when I went to see what was the
matter, I found the door locked, and we can't get in."
"She screamed?" said Iris. "Perhaps it's just one of her jokes."
"That's what Purdy thinks, but it didn't sound so to me. It sounded like
she was in mortal danger. Here's Purdy now. Well?"
"I can't see in the windows," was his retort, "the shades is all pulled
down, 'count o' the sun. She always has 'em so afternoons. And you well
know, nobody could get in them windows, or out of 'em."
Ursula Pell's sitting room was also her storehouse of many treasures.
Collections of curios and coins left by her husband, additional objects
of value, bought by herself, made the room almost a museum; and, in
addition, her desk contained money and important papers. Wherefore, she
had had the windows secured by a strong steel lattice work, that made
ingress impossible to marauders. Two windows faced south and two west,
and there was but one door, that into the living room.
This being locked, the room was inaccessible, and the drawn shades
prevented even a glimpse of the interior. The windows were open, but the
shades inside the steel gratings were not to be reached.
There was no sound now from the room, and the listeners stood, looking
at one another, uncertain what to do next.
"Of course it's a joke," surmised Purdy, "but even so, it's our duty to
get into that room. If so be's we get laughed at for our pains, it won't
be anything outa the common; and if Mrs. Pell has had a stroke--or
anything has happened to her, we must see about it."
"How will you get in?" asked Iris, looking frightened.
"Bust the door down," said Purdy, succinctly. "I'll have to get Campbell
to help. While I'm gone after him, you try to persuade Mrs. Pell to come
out--if she's just trickin' us."
The old man went off, and Polly began to speak through the closed door.
"Let us in, Mrs. Pell," she urged. "Do, now, or Purdy'll spoil this good
door. Now what's the sense o' that, if you're only a foolin'? Open the
door--please do--"
But no response of any sort was made. The stillness was tragic, yet
there was the possibility, even the likelihood, that the tricky mistress
of the house would only laugh at them when they had forced an entrance.
"Of course it's her foolishness," said Agnes, who had joined the group.
She spoke in a whisper, not wanting to brave a reprimand for
impertinence. "What does she care for having a new door made, if she can
get us all soured up over nothing at all?"
Iris said nothing. Only a faint, almost imperceptible tinge remained of
the ink stains on her face. She had used vigorous measures, and had
succeeded in removing most of the disfigurement.
Campbell returned with Purdy.
"Ah, now, Mis' Pell, come out o' there," he wheedled, "do now! It's a
sin and a shame to bust in this here heavy door. Likewise it ain't no
easy matter nohow. I'm not sure me and Purdy can do it. Please, Missis,
unlock the door and save us all a lot of trouble."
But no sound came in answer.
"Let's all be awful still," suggested Purdy, "for quite a time, an' see
if she don't make some move."
Accordingly each and every one of them scarcely breathed and the silence
was intense.
"I can't hear a sound," said Campbell, at last, his ear against the
keyhole, which was nearly filled by its own key. "I can't hear her
breathing. You sure she's in there?"
"Of course," said Polly. "Didn't I hear her screamin'? I tell you we
_got_ to get in. Joke or no joke, we got to!"
"You're right," and Campbell looked serious. "I got ears like a hawk,
and I bet I'd hear her breathing if she was in there. Come on, Purdy."
The door was thick and heavy, but the lock was a simple one, not a bolt,
and the efforts of the two men splintered the jamb and released the
door.
The sight revealed was overwhelming. The women screamed and the men
stood aghast.
On the floor lay the body of Ursula Pell, and a glance was sufficient to
see that she was dead. Her face was covered with blood and a small pool
of it had formed near her head. Her clothing was torn and disordered,
and the whole room was in a state of chaos. A table was overturned, and
the beautiful lamp that had been on it, lay in shattered bits on the
floor. A heavy-handled poker, belonging to the fire set, was lying near
Mrs. Pell's head, and the contents of her writing-desk were scattered
in mad confusion on chairs and on the floor. A secret cupboard above
the mantel, really a small concealed safe, was flung open, and was
empty. An empty pocket-book lay on one chair, and an empty handbag on
another.
But these details were lost sight of in the attention paid to Mrs. Pell
herself.
"She's dead! she's dead!" wailed Polly. "It wasn't a joke of hers--it
was really robbers. She called out 'Thieves!' and 'Help!' several times.
Oh, if I'd got you men in sooner!"
"But, good land, Polly!" cried Campbell, "what do you mean by thieves?
How _could_ anybody get in here with the door locked? Or, if he was in,
how could he get out?"
"Maybe he's here now!" and Polly gazed wildly about.
"We'll soon see!" and Campbell searched the entire room. It was not
difficult, for there were no alcoves or cupboards, the furniture was
mostly curio cabinets, treasure tables, a few chairs and a couch.
Campbell looked under the couch, and behind the window curtains, but no
intruder was found.
"Mighty curious," said old Purdy, scratching his head; "how in blazes
could she scream murder and thieves, when there wasn't no one in here?
And how could anyone be in here with her, and get out, leavin' that
'ere door locked behind him?"
"She was murdered all right!" declared Campbell, "look at them bruises
on her neck! See, her dress is tore open at the throat! What kind o'
villain could 'a' done that? Gosh, it's fierce!"
Iris came timidly forward to look at the awful sight. Unable to bear it,
she turned and sank on the couch, completely unnerved.
"Get a doctor, shall I?" asked Campbell, who was the most composed of
them all.
"What for?" asked Purdy. "She's dead as a door nail, poor soul! But yes,
I s'pose it's the proper thing. An' we oughta get the crowner, an' not
touch nothin' till he comes."
"The coroner!" Iris' eyes stared at him. "What for?"
"Well, you see, Miss Iris, it's custom'ry when they's a murder----"
"But she couldn't have been murdered! Impossible! Who could have done
it? It's--it's an accident."
"I wish I could think so, Miss Iris," and Purdy's honest old face was
very grave, "but you look around. See, there's been robbery,--look at
that there empty pocket-book an' empty bag! An' the way she's
been--hit! Why, see them marks on her chest! She's fair black an' blue!
And her skirt's tore--"
"Good Lord!" cried Polly, "her pocket's tore out! She always had a big
pocket inside each dress skirt, and this one's been--why it's been cut
out!"
There could be no doubt that the old lady had been fearfully attacked.
Nor could there be any doubt of robbery. The ransacked desk, the open
safe, the cut-out pocket, added to the state of the body itself, left no
room for theories of accident or self-destruction.
"Holler for the doctor," commanded Purdy, instinctively taking the helm.
"You telephone him, Campbell, and then he'll see about the coroner--or
whoever he wants. And I think we'd oughter call up Mr. Bowen, what say,
Miss Iris?"
"Mr. Bowen--why?"
"Oh, I dunno; it seems sorter decent, that's all."
"Very well, do so."
"I--I suppose I ought to telephone to Mr. Bannard----"
"Sure you ought to. But let's get the people up here first, then you can
get long distance to New York afterward."
Once over the first shock of horror, Purdy's sense of responsibility
asserted itself, and he was thoughtful and efficient.
"All of you go outa this room," he directed, "I'll take charge of it
till the police get here. This is a mighty strange case, an' I can't see
any light as to how it could 'a' happened. But it did happen--poor Mis'
Pell is done for, an' I'll stand guard over her body till somebody with
more authority gets here. You, Agnes, be ready to wait on the door, and
Polly, you look after Miss Iris. Campbell, you telephone like I told
you----"
Submissively they all obeyed him. Iris, with an effort, rose from the
couch and went out to the living room. There, she sat in a big chair,
and stared at nothing, until Polly, watching, became alarmed.
"Be ca'm, now, Miss Iris, do be ca'm," she urged, stupidly.
"Hush up, Polly, I am calm. Don't say such foolish things. You know I'm
not the sort to faint or fly into hysterics."
"I know you ain't, Miss Iris, but you're so still and queer like----"
"Who wouldn't be? Polly, explain it. What happened to Aunt Ursula--do
_you_ think?"
"Miss Iris, they ain't no explanation. I'm a quick thinker, I am, and I
tell you, there ain't no way that murderer--for there sure was a
murderer--could 'a' got in that room or got out, with that door
locked."
"Then she killed herself?"
"No, she couldn't possibly 'a' done that. You know yourself, she
couldn't. When she screamed 'Thieves!' the thieves was there. Now, how
did they get away? They ain't no secret way in an' out, that I know.
I've lived in this house too many years to be fooled about its buildin'.
It's a mystery, that's what it is, a mystery."
"Will it ever be solved?" and Iris looked at old Polly as if inquiring
of a sibyl.
"Land, child, how do I know? I ain't no seer. I s'pose some of those
smart detectives can make it out, but it's beyond me!"
"Oh, Polly, they won't have detectives, will they?"
"Sure they will, Miss Iris; they'll have to."
"Now, I'm through with the telephone," said Campbell, reappearing.
"Shall I get New York for you, Miss?"
"No," said Iris, rising, "I'll get the call myself."