LINKS IN THE CHAIN
ANNA, the waitress, answered Robert Hale’s persistent ring of the front
bell with all the speed her strained ankle would permit. At sight
of her, Hale restrained an outburst of temper and with a mumbled,
“Thanks,” stamped past her into the central hall of his home.
“Is my brother in the house, Anna?” he inquired, tossing down his
overcoat and hat on the first chair he came to.
“Yes, sir, I believe so.” Anna closed the front door as an icy current
of air blew her becoming cap at right angles. “His hat and cane are
here on the coat stand, and I heard him ask Mr. Latimer to go to his
room with him as they left the dining room after luncheon.”
Hale paused on his way to the library. “Who lunched here?”
“Mrs. Hale, Miss Judith, Major Richards, Mr. Latimer, and Mr. John,
sir,” Anna explained in detail. “Mrs. Hale complained of a headache
and the Major volunteered to take her for a run in Miss Judith’s
electric.”
“Did Miss Judith accompany them?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hale looked at the pretty waitress. It was the first time that he had
seen her since her injury to her ankle. Contrary to expectations, he
had not returned for luncheon but had remained at the club.
“How are you feeling, Anna?” he asked kindly. “Not overdoing it by
being about too soon, are you?”
“No, sir.” Anna flushed with pleasure. Hale seldom addressed her, much
less took an interest in her welfare, and she had some ado to conceal
her surprise. “I’m feeling fine, sir. Is there anything I can do for
you, sir, before I go upstairs?”
“You are going upstairs?” Hale halted. “Then please stop at Mr. John’s
room and tell him that I would like to see him alone in the den.”
“Very good, sir,” and Anna sought the back stairs and limped her way to
the third floor.
John Hale’s bedroom was almost directly opposite that occupied by his
stepson Austin. As Anna came down the hall she was greeted by tobacco
smoke which drifted through the open transom over John Hale’s door. In
response to her knock he came into the hall.
“If you please, Mr. John, your brother wishes to see you alone in the
den,” she said.
“Now?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so. Mr. Hale just said that he would like to see
you,” and having delivered her message, Anna executed her bob of a
courtesy and went her way.
John Hale walked back into his bedroom with a scowling face, and over
to the divan where Frank Latimer lounged, smoking his inevitable
cigarette.
“Robert’s sent for me,” he stated. “What do you suppose he is up to?”
Latimer dropped his cigarette in the smoking stand and stood up.
“Mrs. Davis told me, you recollect, that Polly had resigned her
position as his secretary,” he reminded him. “Probably your brother has
just received a note from her.”
“By Jove!” John Hale’s scowl vanished. “The note may give Polly’s
address. Come on, Frank,” and he made for the door, followed in a more
leisurely fashion by his companion.
“Didn’t your brother send word that he wished to see you alone?” he
asked. “I thought I heard Anna tell you so.”
“She did, that’s true”--John Hale paused at the head of the staircase.
“Wait for me, will you? I won’t be long. And then, if there is no
address on Polly’s note, we’ll motor to Markham and see for ourselves
if Polly is there or not.”
“But, look here--”
“No ‘buts,’” John Hale slapped him on the back. The prospect of action
had brought back his spirits. “You’ve got to see me through this,
Frank, for the sake of ‘auld lang syne.’ You’ve kept me out of trouble
before, remember that”--and he gripped Latimer’s hand and wrung it.
“It looks as if I had contracted for a big job,” groaned Latimer,
expanding his fingers which tingled from John Hale’s pressure. “I’ll
gladly turn you over to Polly with my blessings. I’ll wait for you in
the library, but don’t be long.”
“All right,” and the two friends parted on the second floor.
John Hale did not go at once to his brother’s den. Instead, he watched
Latimer disappear down the circular staircase, then very slowly crossed
the hall and looked inside Judith’s boudoir. It was empty. With
indecision written plainly on his face, he turned about and sought the
den. Robert Hale looked up from his desk, where he was writing with
feverish speed, as his brother entered.
“Close the door, John,” he directed, and waited in silence until his
brother had crossed the room and stood by the fireplace, in which a gas
log burned. “Sit down.”
John Hale regarded his brother with no friendly eyes. He had always
resented what he termed “Robert’s elder brother act,” and his
dictatorial manner generally grated, besides which their natures were
too diametrically opposed ever to agree on any subject. John’s height
and commanding figure had always been a source of envy to his delicate
brother, while the latter’s scientific achievements and financial
prosperity had served to widen the breach between them.
“I can stay only a minute,” John announced, lounging against the
mantel. “What do you wish to see me about?”
Hale’s thin lips tightened into a straight line. “Sit down first,”--his
manner was a bit more courteous--“and I will explain. No, take that
chair where you can face me,” and John, against his wishes, dropped
into a seat facing not only his brother but the full glare of light
from the window.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, as his brother volunteered no remark.
“Can you tell me the present whereabouts of my secretary, Polly Davis?”
asked Hale.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because she has sent me her resignation, and I desire to find out
where she has gone and why she has skipped.”
“Skipped?” There was instant anger in John’s loud tone. “What d’ye
mean, ‘skipped’?”
“Run away, if you like it better.” It was impossible to mistake Hale’s
sneering manner. With a curse, John started from his chair.
“You--” he began.
“Quiet, John,” cautioned Hale suavely. “Hear what I have to say before
you lose your temper.”
John dropped back in his chair. “Go on,” he shouted, “but don’t try me
too far; keep a civil tongue when you speak of Polly--she is pure and
sweet and I’ll not have her character defiled.”
“And she met Austin here on Tuesday night,” Hale commented dryly. “You
know Austin’s reputation--sit down!” as John again started to his feet.
“Either hear me to the end or leave now,” and Hale threw himself back
in his seat. “I will not be interrupted every second.”
With difficulty the younger brother mastered his rage. At all cost he
felt that he must get information about Polly, and he could do so only
by maintaining self-control. He knew his brother too well to doubt that
if Hale awoke to the fact that John desired such information he would
withhold it from sheer deviltry.
“I am listening,” he said sullenly. “Only remember, my time is
valuable.”
Hale smiled with his lips only. “Let us face the situation,” he
remarked. “Polly met Austin here on Tuesday night--”
“How do you know she did?” John demanded hotly.
“I saw her,” calmly.
“You--” John stared at him. “You were ill in bed.”
“I was ill--but not in bed,” corrected Hale. “Anna had forgotten to put
a glass of ice water on my bed table and, becoming thirsty, I got up,
walked down the hall and helped myself from the pitcher and glasses
which always stand there at night.” He paused. “I started to return
when I thought I heard a woman crying and I took several steps down the
circular staircase--”
“Well?” prompted John, as his brother stopped to take breath.
“Continue.”
“You are interested?” A mocking gleam shone for an instant in Hale’s
deep-set eyes. “I glanced over the bannister into the central hall and
saw Polly Davis come out of the library.”
The silence in the den grew oppressive. Suddenly John Hale raised both
hands and tugged at his collar as if for air. Then, just as suddenly,
his hands fell to his sides.
“What followed?” he asked, and Hale wondered at the moderation of his
tone. He had expected a tongue-lashing at the least, if not a physical
encounter--his taut muscles relaxed and he assumed an easier position.
“Polly stood clinging to the portières for an instant, then before I
could call to her, she ran to the front door and dashed outside,” Hale
continued.
“Did you go downstairs?” questioned John.
“No, I did not feel equal to the exertion,” Hale explained. “I returned
to bed.”
“What? Without going to see what Polly was doing here and why she
should be crying?” asked John incredulously.
Hale smiled cynically. “I have been brought up on woman’s tears,” he
remarked. “Agatha has let loose the floodgates so often that I am
schooled to indifference. I supposed Polly had been with Judith in
the library, and it was not until I was told of Austin’s death that I
ascribed another reason for her presence here after midnight.”
John looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “Don’t try me too far,” he
warned. “It wouldn’t take much to kill you,” and he extended his
powerful hands, fingers distended as if to grip their prey.
His brother watched him unmoved.
“It is easy to kill a man--witness Austin’s murder,” he commented. “But
it is unpleasant to swing for the crime. I am glad Polly has bolted.”
“You jump to conclusions,” retorted John. “Because _you_ saw Polly
coming out of the library it does not prove that she killed Austin, nor
does it prove that she knew he was here, nor that she talked with him.”
“That is true,” agreed Hale; “but in addition to seeing her leave the
library I know that she had borrowed Agatha’s latchkey. I know she
expected to see Austin--”
“Prove it,” John shouted. “I demand proof.”
Hale unlocked his desk drawer, took out a crumpled sheet of
typewriting, and, still retaining a firm hold on the sheet, extended it
so that his brother could read the words. “This is a page copied from
my manuscript,” he explained. “Polly spoiled the sheet by reversing
the carbon,”--he turned it over and showed the impression on the other
side--“but before she did so she indicated where her thoughts were
straying by this”--and his finger pointed to the typed lines, repeated
several times at the bottom of the sheet:
“Saw Austin 10-t-b-53-76c.”
“What gibberish is that?” asked John scornfully.
“Not gibberish,” calmly, “but the combination of my safe.”
The striking of the clock as the hands registered three sounded like a
knell in John Hale’s ears. His brother was the first to speak.
“These links in the chain of evidence considered separately are weak,”
he admitted candidly, “but taken together, they are strong.”
“I don’t believe it,” protested John. “It is all circumstantial
evidence--”
“To which Polly has lent substance by her disappearance,” retorted
Hale: “Had she stayed here and continued as my secretary, attention
would not have been attracted to her.”
John did not reply at once and Hale, watching him, noted his changed
expression with bated interest.
“To sum up,”--Hale’s voice cut the silence and scraped afresh John’s
raw nerves--“Polly was engaged to Austin--can you deny it?” Receiving
no reply, he went on, “Polly knew he would be here Tuesday night,
witness her presence in the house at midnight; she supplied him with
the combination of my safe; she was seen leaving the library at the
very time he must have been murdered, and his body was found lying near
the _open_ safe--”
“Hold on, she may have been here and all that,” John broke in with
rough vehemence, “but some one else may have killed Austin even in her
presence--”
“Then why has she not told the police?” John remained silent, and his
brother continued speaking. “I hoped Polly would brave it out here,
and to reduce her anxieties--for I know how pushed she is for money--I
increased her salary and held my tongue.”
John stared at him long and intently before again addressing him.
“Why have you kept silent and not informed the police of your
suspicions?” he asked, curiously. “Charity is not usually one of your
virtues.”
“Austin deserved what he got,” Hale answered slowly. “And--I was always
fond of a sporting chance. Therefore, John, find Polly and I will aid
you to finance a trip to a country where extradition is not enforced.”
John’s face flamed scarlet. Slowly his color ebbed and his hands
unclenched, and when he spoke his voice was low and measured.
“Where am I to find Polly?”
Hale took a letter from his desk. “Polly writes that she is called out
of town and, not knowing the date of her return, fears that she will be
unable to continue as my secretary, and with every good wish, begs to
remain faithfully mine.” Hale shrugged his shoulders by way of comment,
and added: “The letter is dated this morning, has no street address
on it, and was sent to my club. See for yourself,” and he tossed the
letter to him.
John read the familiar writing several times, then folding the sheet,
tucked it in his pocket and rose.
“Is there anything else you wish to see me about?” he asked.
“No.” Hale turned carelessly back to his desk. “Take a fool’s advice
and do not procrastinate in your search for Polly.”
John walked in silence to the door. Once there, he looked back and
addressed his brother.
“Some day I’ll wring your damn neck!” he exclaimed, and his brother’s
mocking laughter was still ringing in his ears as he went down the
circular staircase.
The sound of voices at the front door aroused him from his thoughts,
and, looking in that direction, he saw Maud, the parlor maid,
conversing with a District messenger boy. She was in the act of signing
a receipt when an oblong package on which she was trying to write,
slipped from her awkward fingers and struck with a resounding thud on
the marble floor of the vestibule. There was a tinkle of broken glass
as the tissue paper covering burst. The messenger, scenting trouble,
snatched the receipt out of her hand and bolted down the steps, while
Maud, with a loud exclamation, stooped and picked up the package.
“Look at that, now!” she gasped in tragic tones, as John Hale stopped
beside her. “What’ll I do? I’ve broken the crystal of Major Richards’
watch.” And tearing off the remains of the tissue paper, she held the
piece of jewelry before him.
John Hale scarcely heard her words, his attention was entirely centered
on the open-faced watch. Small bits of crystal still clung to its face,
but the dial had not been injured and the hands were intact.
“Where did the watch come from?” he asked, and at the eagerness in his
voice Maud looked up.
“It’s Major Richards’!” she explained. “Jennings, the watchmaker on
Fourteenth Street, sent word by the boy that he couldn’t get it over
last night as promised, so he sent it this afternoon. What will the
Major say to me?” and Maud’s distress found vent in a subdued sniff
presaging a burst of tears.
“Don’t worry, Maud; I’ll explain to Major Richards that the accident
was unavoidable. Let me have the watch,” and as Maud expressed voluble
thanks, he sped into the library, the watch dangling from its chain.
“Frank,” he cried. “Hurry, man, I’ve found”--he checked himself at
sight of Judith sitting on the lounge talking to Latimer.
Judith turned her head at his abrupt entrance and looked at him, then
her eyes wandered from his excited face to the watch which he held at
arm’s length as he advanced toward them.
“See!” he exclaimed, and rested the watch on the tufted side of the
lounge, where both Judith and Latimer had a close view of its antique
beauty. Judith bent closer and when she straightened up her face was
flushed.
“It is Austin’s watch!” she declared. “I can swear to it.”
“You need not swear--it is Austin’s watch,” John Hale’s tone was cold
and cutting. “But you can explain how the watch came in the possession
of your husband, Major Richards.”
Judith’s bright color faded. “It is in your possession, and not in the
possession of my husband,” she retorted. “Had you not better do the
explaining?”
“Willingly--the watch has been in my hands just about four
minutes.” John lifted the paper tag attached to the chain. “Listen,
Judith--‘Major J. C. Richards--repair broken link in chain and return
immediately.’ Your husband left the watch and chain with Jennings and
he has returned it.” John Hale moderated his rapid speech and spoke
with impressiveness. “Austin was murdered and his watch stolen--that
watch has turned up ticketed with your husband’s name. Kindly explain
it.”
Judith was conscious of the intent watchfulness of her uncle and Frank
Latimer as they waited for her reply, and with all her will power she
strove to steady her voice.
“My husband is out just now,” she stated clearly. “When he returns he
will explain everything to our satisfaction.”
“Will he?” John Hale’s high temper had slipped control. “I see it all
now. Your father knows your husband killed Austin, and to save family
scandal has plotted evidence against Polly Davis, even buying her
silence and providing funds to have her disappear.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” demanded Judith, breaking into
his torrent of words.
“No, on the contrary, every faculty is on the alert,” retorted John
Hale. “By God, to think of Robert’s trying to shield Richards by making
an innocent girl appear guilty. It’s an outrage and I’ll expose every
rotten one of you--”
“Steady, John!” Latimer stepped in front of him. “Go easy! You shan’t
insult Judith in my presence.”
“Don’t you interfere. Judith shall learn the truth about her rascally
husband”--he waved the watch in front of the white-faced girl.
“Richards took this watch from Austin as he took your Valve bonds from
your father’s safe. I’ve got the goods on him, and he’ll swing for
Austin’s murder.”
“He will not!” Judith’s voice rose, clear and strong, and silenced even
her overwrought uncle. Her eyes glowed with passionate anger as she
faced him. “You dare to threaten me, Uncle John?”
“I dare to protect Polly Davis from underhand, blackguardly treatment,”
he replied. “It is a frame-up.”
“Is it?” Judith’s smile was dangerous. “Go back to Polly and take her
that watch. Tell her there is a link missing in the chain you are
trying to forge and I have it, although she may have the Mizpah locket.
Go, both of you!”
John Hale started as if stung. Then, without a word he pocketed the
watch and, seizing Latimer’s arm, dragged him out of the room.