THE CASE AGAINST BANNARD
"It's just this way," said Lucille Darrel, positively, "this house is
mine, and I want it to myself. Ursula Pell is dead and buried and she
can't play any more tricks on anybody. I admit that was a hard joke on
you, Iris, to get a dime and pin, when for years you've been expecting a
diamond pin! I can't help laughing every time I think of it! But all the
same, that's your business, not mine. And, of course, you and Mr.
Bannard will get your jewels yet, somehow. That woman left some
explanation or directions how to find her hoard of gems. You needn't
tell me she didn't."
"That's just it, Miss Darrel," and Iris looked deeply perplexed, "I've
never known Aunt Ursula to play one of her foolish tricks but what she
'made it up' as she called it, to her victim. Why, her diary is full of
planned jokes and played jokes, but always it records the amends she
made. I think yet, that somewhere in that diary we'll find the record of
where her jewels are."
"I don't," declared Bannard. "I've read the thing through twice; and it
does seem to have vague hints, but nothing of real importance."
"I've read it too, at least some of it," and Miss Darrel looked
thoughtful, "and I think the reference to the crypt is of importance.
Also, I think her idea of having a jeweled chalice made is in keeping
with the idea of a crypt as a hiding-place. What more like Ursula Pell
than to manage to hide her gems in the crypt of a church and then desire
to leave a chalice to that church."
"There's no crypt in the Episcopal church here," objected Iris.
"I didn't say here. The church, I take it, is in some other place. She
had no notion of giving a chalice to Mr. Bowen, she just teased him
about that, but she meant it for some church in Chicago, where she used
to live, or up in that little Maine town where she was brought up and
where her father was a minister."
"This may all be so," Bannard admitted, "but it's pure supposition on
your part."
"Have you any better supposition? Any other theory? Any clear direction
in which to look?"
"No;" and the young man frowned; "I haven't. I think that dime and pin
business unspeakably small and mean! I put up with those tricks as long
as I could stand them, but to have them pursue me after Mrs. Pell is
dead is a little too much! It's none of it _her_ family's fortune,
anyway. My uncle, Mr. Pell, owned the jewels and left them to her. She
did quite right in dividing them between her own niece and myself, but
far from right in so secreting them that they can't be found. And they
never will be found! Of that I'm certain. The will itself said they
would _doubtless_ be discovered! What a way to put it!"
"That's all so, Win," Iris spoke wearily, "but we must _try_ to find
them. Couldn't that crypt be in this house, not in any church?"
Bannard looked at the girl curiously. "Do you think so?" he said,
briefly.
"You mean a concealed place, I suppose," put in Miss Darrel. "Well,
remember this house is mine, now, and I don't want any digging into its
foundations promiscuously. If you can prove to me by some good
architect's investigation that there is such a place or any chance of
such a place, you may open it up. But I won't have the foundations
undermined and the cellars dug into, hunting for a crypt that isn't
there!"
"Of course we can't prove it's here until we find it, or find some
indications of it," Iris agreed. "But you've invited us both to stay
here for a week or two----"
"I know I did, but I wish I hadn't, if you're going to tear down my
house----"
"Now, now, Miss Darrel," Bannard couldn't help laughing at her angry
face, "we're not going to pull the house down about your ears! And if
you don't want Iris and me to visit you, as you asked us to, just say so
and we'll mighty soon make ourselves scarce! We'll go to the village inn
to-day, if you like."
"No, no; don't be so hasty. Take a week, Iris, to get your things
together, and you stay that long, too, Mr. Bannard; but, of course, it
isn't strange that I should want my house to myself after a time."
"Not at all, Miss Lucille," Iris smiled pleasantly, "you are quite
justified. I will stay a few days, and then I shall go to New York and
live with a girl friend of mine, who will be very glad to have me."
"And I will remain but a day or two here," said Bannard, "and though I
may be back and forth a few times, I'll stay mostly in my New York
rooms. I admit I rather want to look around here, for it seems to me
that, as heirs to a large fortune of jewels, it's up to Iris and myself
to look first in the most likely hiding-places for them; and where more
probable than the testator's own house? Also, Miss Darrel, there will
yet be much investigation here, in an endeavor to find the murderer;
you will have to submit to that."
"Of course, I shall put no obstacles in the way of the law. That
detective Hughes is a most determined man. He said yesterday, just
before the funeral, that to-day he should begin his real
investigations."
And the detective made good his promise. He arrived at Pellbrook and
announced his determination to make a thorough search of the place,
house and grounds.
"That crypt business," he declared, for he had read the diary, "means a
whole lot. It's no church vault, my way of thinking, it's a crypt in
this here house and the jewels are there. Mark that. Also, the concealed
crypt is part of or connected with the secret passage that leads into
that room, where the windows are barred, and that's how the murderer got
in--or, at least, how he got out."
"But--but there isn't any such crypt," and Iris looked at him
imploringly. "If there were, don't you suppose I'd know it?"
"You might, and then, again, you mightn't," returned Hughes; then he
added, "and then again, mebbe you do."
A painful silence followed, for the detective's tone and glance, even
more than his words, hinted an implication.
"And I wish you'd tell me," he went on, to Iris, "just what that funny
business about the ten cent piece means. Did your aunt tell you she was
going to leave you a real diamond?"
"Yes; for years Mrs. Pell has repeatedly told me that in her will she
had directed that I was to receive a small box from her lawyer, which
contained a diamond pin. That is, I thought she said a diamond pin; but
of course I know now that she really said, 'a dime and pin.' That is not
at all surprising, for it was the delight of her life to tease people in
some such way."
"But she knew you _thought_ she meant a diamond pin?"
"Of course, she did."
"She never put it in writing?"
"No; then she would have had to spell it, and spoil the joke. I don't
resent that little trick, it was part of her nature to do those things."
"Did she never refer to its value?"
"Not definitely. She sometimes spoke of the valuable pin that would some
day be mine, or the important legacy I should receive, or the great
treasure she had bequeathed to me, but I never remember of hearing her
say it was a costly gem or a valuable stone. She was always particular
to tell the literal truth, while intentionally misleading her hearer.
You see I am so familiar with her jests that I know all these details.
It seems to me, now, that I ought to have realized from the way she said
'dime an' pin' that she was tricking me. But few people pronounce
_diamond_ with punctilious care; nearly everybody says 'di'mond'."
"Not in New England," observed Lucille Darrel, positively.
"Perhaps not," agreed Iris. "But anyway, it never occurred to me that
she meant anything else than a diamond pin, and one of her finest
diamonds at that. However, as I said, it isn't that joke of hers that
troubles me, so much as the thought that she left her entire collection
of jewels to Mr. Bannard and myself and gave us no instructions where to
find them. It isn't like her to do that. Either she has left directions,
which we must find, or she fully intended to do so, and her sudden death
prevented it. That's what I'm afraid of. She was of rather a
procrastinating nature, and also, greatly given to changing her mind.
Now, she distinctly states in her diary that the jewels are all in the
crypt, and I am firmly convinced that she intended to, or did, tell
where that crypt is. If we can't find any letter or other revelation, we
must look for the crypt itself, but I confess I think that would be
hunting a needle in a haystack; for Aunt Ursula had a varied life, and
before she settled down here she lived in a dozen different cities in
many parts of the world."
"You're right, Miss Clyde," and Hughes nodded, "she prob'ly left some
paper telling where that crypt is situated. Me, I believe it's in this
house, but all the same, we've got to look mighty sharp. I don't want to
miss it, I can tell you. Sorry, Miss Darrel, but we'll have to go
through your cellar with a keen search."
"That's all right," Miss Darrel acquiesced. "I'm more than willing to
allow a police hunt, but I don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry pulling
my house to pieces."
"Lucky my name's Winston," said Bannard, good-naturedly. "Do you mind if
I go with the strong arm of the law?"
"No," said his hostess, "and don't misunderstand me, young man. I've
nothing against you, personally, but I don't admit your rights, as I do
those of the police."
"I know; I understand," and Bannard followed the detective down the
cellar stairs.
All this occurred the day after Ursula Pell's funeral. In the four days
that had elapsed since her inexplicable death, no progress had been
made toward solving the mystery. The coroner's inquest had brought out
no important evidence, there were no clues that promised help, and
though the police were determined and energetic, they had so little to
work on that it was discouraging.
But Hughes was a man of bull-dog grit and perseverance. He argued that a
mysterious murder had been committed and the mystery had to be solved
and the murderer punished. That was all there was about it. So, to work.
And his work began, in accordance with the dictates of his judgment, in
the cellar of Ursula Pell's house.
And it ended there, for that day. No amount of scrutiny, of sounding
walls or measuring dimensions brought forth the slightest suspicion,
hope, or even possibility of a secret vault or crypt within the four
walls. Hughes had two assistants, skilled builders both. Bannard added
his efforts, but no stone or board was there that hadn't its own honest
use and place.
Coal bins, ash pits, wood boxes, cupboards and portable receptacles were
investigated with meticulous care, and the result was absolutely nothing
to bear out the theory of a crypt of any sort or size, concealed or
otherwise.
"And that settles that notion," summed up Hughes, as he made his report
to the two interested women. "Of course, you must see, there's two ways
to approach this case--one being from the question of how the murderer
got in and out of that room, and the other being who the murderer was.
Of course, if we find out either of those things, we're a heap forrader
toward finding out the other. See?"
"I see," said Miss Darrel, "but I should think you'd find it easier to
work on your first question. For here's the room, the door, the lock,
and all those things. But as to the murderer, he's gone!"
"Clearly put, ma'am! And quite true. But the room and lock--in plain
sight though they are--don't seem to be of any help. Whereas, the
murderer, though he's gone, may not be able to stay gone."
"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Bannard.
"Two things, sir. One is, that they do say a murderer always returns to
the scene of his crime."
"Rubbish! I've heard that before! It doesn't mean a thing, any more than
the old saw that 'murder will out' is true."
"All right, sir, that's one; then, again, there's a chance that said
murderer may not be able to stay away because we may catch him."
"That's the talk!" said Bannard. "Now you've said something worth while.
Get your man, and then find out from him how he accomplished the
impossible. Or, rather, the seemingly impossible. For, since somebody
did enter that room, there was a way to enter it."
"It isn't the entering, you know, Mr. Bannard. Everybody was out of the
living room at the time, and the intruder could have walked right in the
side door of that room, and through into Mrs. Pell's sitting room. The
question is, how did he get out, after ransacking the room and killing
the lady, and yet leave the door locked after him."
"All right, that's your problem then. But, as I said, if he _did_ do it,
or _since_ he did do it, somebody ought to be able to find out how."
"I'll subscribe to that, somebody _ought_ to be able to, but who is the
somebody?"
"Don't ask me, I'm no detective."
"No, sir. Now, Mr. Bannard, what about this? Do you think that
Florentine pocket-book, that was found emptied, as if by the robber, is
the one that your aunt left you in her will?"
"I think it is, Mr. Hughes. But I am by no means certain. Indeed, I
suppose it, only because it looks as if it had held something of value
which the intruder cared enough for to carry off with him."
"You think it looks that way?"
"I don't," interposed Iris. "I think there was nothing in it, and that's
why it was flung down. If it had had contents the thief would have taken
pocket-book and all."
"Not necessarily," said Bannard. "But it's all supposition. If that's
the pocket-book my aunt willed to me, it's worthless now. If there is
another Florentine pocket-book, I hope I can find it. You see, Miss
Darrel, we'll have to make a search of my aunt's belongings. Why all the
jewels may be hidden in among her clothing."
"No," and Iris shook her head decidedly. "Aunt Ursula never would have
done that."
"Oh, I don't think so, either, but we _must_ hunt up things. She may
have had a dozen Florentine pocket-books, for all I know."
"But the will said, in the desk," Iris reminded him. "And there's no
other in the desk, and that one has been there for a long time. I've
often seen it there."
"You have?" said Hughes, a little surprised. "What was in it?"
"I never noticed. I never thought anything about it, any more than I
thought of any other book or paper in Mrs. Pell's desk. She didn't keep
money in it, that I know. But she did keep money in that little handbag,
quite large sums, at times."
"Well," Hughes said, at last, by way of a general summing up, "I've
searched the cellar, and I've long since searched the room where the
lady died, and now I must ask permission to search the room above that
one."
"Of course," agreed Miss Darrel. "That's your room, Iris."
"Yes; the detective is quite at liberty to go up there at once, so far
as I am concerned."
The others remained below while Hughes and Iris went upstairs.
But after a few minutes they returned, and Hughes declared that all
thought of any secret passage from Iris' room down to her aunt's sitting
room was absolutely out of the question.
"This house is built about as complicatedly as a packing-box!" he
laughed. "There's no cubby or corner unaccounted for. There are no
thickened walls or unexplained bulges, or measurements that don't gee.
No, sir-ee! However that wretch got out of that locked room, it was not
by means of a secret exit. I'll stake my reputation on that! Now, having
for the moment dismissed the question of means or method from my mind, I
want to ask a few questions of one concerning whom, I frankly admit, I
am in doubt. Mr. Bannard, you've no objection, of course, to replying?"
"Of course not," returned Bannard, but he suddenly paled.
Iris, too, turned white, and caught her breath quickly. "Don't you
answer, Win," she cried; "don't you say a word without counsel!"
"Why, Iris, nonsense! Mr. Hughes isn't--isn't accusing me----"
"I'll put the questions, and you can do as you like about answering."
Hughes spoke a little more gruffly than he had been doing, and looked
sternly at his man.
"Were you up in this locality on Sunday afternoon, Mr. Bannard?"
"I was not. I've told you so before."
"That doesn't make it true. How do you explain the fact that Mrs. Pell
made out to you a check dated last Sunday?"
"I've already discussed that," Bannard spoke slowly and even
hesitatingly, but he looked Hughes in the eye, and his glance didn't
falter. "My aunt drew that check and sent it to me by mail----"
"We've proved she sent no letter to you on Sunday----"
"Oh, no, you haven't. You've only proved that Campbell didn't mail a
letter from her to me."
Hughes paused, then went on slowly.
"All right, when did you get that letter?"
"How do you know I got it at all?"
"Because you've deposited the check in your bank in New York."
"And how did I deposit it?"
"By mail, from here, day before yesterday."
"Certainly I did. Well?"
But Bannard's jauntiness was forced. His voice shook and his fingers
were nervously twisting.
Hughes continued sternly. "I ask you again, Mr. Bannard, how did you
receive that check? How did it come into your possession?"
"Easily enough. I wrote to my hotel to forward my mail, and they did so.
There were two or three checks, the one in question among them, and I
endorsed them and sent them to the bank by mail. I frequently make my
deposits that way."
"But, Mr. Bannard, I have been to your hotel; I have interviewed the
clerk who attended to forwarding your mail, and he told me there was no
letter from Berrien."
"He overlooked it. You can't expect him to be sure about such a minor
detail."
"He was sure. If Mrs. Pell did mail you that check in a letter on
Sunday, it would have reached New York on Monday. By that time the
papers had published accounts of the mysterious tragedy up here, and any
letter from this town would attract attention, especially one addressed
to the nephew of the victim of the crime."
"That's what happened, however," and Bannard succeeded in forcing a
smile. "If you don't believe it, the burden of proof rests with you."
"No, sir, we _don't_ believe it. We believe that you were up here on
Sunday, that you received that check from the lady's own hand, that the
half-burned cigarette was left in that room by you, and the New York
paper also. In addition to this, we believe that you abstracted the
paper of value from the Florentine pocket-book, and that you were the
means of Mrs. Pell's death, whether by actual murder, or by attacking
her in a fit of anger and cruelly maltreating her, finally flinging her
to the floor, with murderous intent! You were seen hanging around the
nearby woods about noon, and concealed yourself somewhere in the house
while the family were at dinner. These things are enough to warrant us
in charging you with this crime, and you are under arrest."
A shrill whistle brought two men in from outside, and Winston Bannard
was marched to jail.