EDGED TOOLS
ROBERT HALE crossed the central hall and entered the library with
characteristic haste. On finding only a solitary light burning, he
stopped and switched on the other lamps until the library was flooded
with light.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, catching sight of Major Richards standing in
front of the fireplace. “Glad you are ready for dinner. It never fails,
Joe, if I am hungry, Mrs. Hale is always late. She never has a well
regulated appetite.”
Richards laughed. “Your wife told me not to change into a dinner coat,”
he explained, glancing apologetically at his sack suit. “She said we
were so late in getting back from Walter Reed Hospital that there was
not time.”
“Beastly bore changing for dinner.” Hale wandered aimlessly about the
library. “Agatha insists upon it, so”--a shrug completed the sentence.
“See that you imbue Judith with the idea that you are master, and you
will enjoy future peace of mind.”
“I cannot conceive of Judith’s ever requiring a master,” retorted
Richards, a trifle heatedly, and Hale laughed.
“You are young and you haven’t been married long,” he remarked
indulgently. “Where’s Judith?”
“She hasn’t come down yet.” Richards removed his foot from the brass
fire iron and stood with his back to the mantel. “I plan to take Judith
to Palm Beach on Thursday.”
“You do, eh?” and Hale looked taken aback.
“Yes,” steadily. “Judith is not strong.”
Hale did not reply. Instead, he scrutinized his son-in-law from his
well shod foot to the top of his short cropped hair. There was an air
of distinction, of courage, in Richards’ carriage and in his firm chin
and clear eyes, eyes which did not waver before Hale’s piercing glance.
“That is not a bad plan of yours,” Hale remarked finally. “Perhaps
Agatha and I will follow you in a week or two. The fact is”--he
selected a chair near Richards--“Austin’s death and the mystery
surrounding it are getting on every one’s nerves. It is demoralizing
the household. The police--bah! they are incompetents. They never see
the obvious.”
“And what is the obvious, Mr. Hale?”
Hale hesitated and cast a doubtful look at his son-in-law.
“The curious behavior of a certain female--”
Richards bent forward and stared at him, waiting for the sentence to be
completed.
“What female do you allude to?” he demanded impatiently, breaking the
pause.
The portières were pulled aside, and Anna, the waitress, appeared,
silver salver in hand.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Hale, but here is a telegram for Miss Davis,” and she
extended it to him. “The messenger refused to take it to her house
address.”
“Very well, I will see that it is forwarded.” Hale put on his glasses,
inspected the Western Union envelope and its address, then laid the
telegram on the table. “Has Mr. John returned, Anna?”
“No, sir,” and Anna limped away to the pantry by way of the dining room
as Mrs. Hale stepped between the portières in front of the doorway
leading to the central hall.
“Now, don’t say I am late, Robert,” she began. “I have lost no time,
and I do believe I am down before Judith,” with a quick glance about
the library. “What did you do with yourself this afternoon?”
“Took a walk,” laconically. Hale drummed his fingers on the chair, and
Richards wondered for the second time what made him so restless. He had
always an alertness of manner, but to Richards it now appeared almost
furtive. Hale pointed to the clock. “Why do we have to wait for Judith
and John?” he demanded. “Suppose we go in to dinner.”
Richards left his place by the mantel. “I’ll go for Judith,” he
volunteered. “I would have done so before, Mrs. Hale; I but stopped in
here on our return, thinking she would come in every minute.”
As he crossed the library, a door slammed in the distance and heavy
footsteps approached just as Richards reached the portières. They were
dragged aside and he came face to face with John Hale whose labored
breathing indicated haste or excitement, or both combined.
“So you are here!” John Hale exclaimed in high satisfaction, and called
over his shoulder, “Come in, Ferguson. No, you don’t,” as Richards, who
had stepped back courteously to permit him to advance into the library,
started for the hall. “You’ll stay here and face the music,” and he
thrust out his hand to push him back.
“Take your hands off my shoulder,” commanded Richards, his anger rising
both at his words and action. “What do you wish with me?”
“I wish you to explain in the presence of witnesses”--John Hale
cast a triumphant look at his brother and sister-in-law before
continuing--“how you obtained this watch,” and, drawing it out of his
pocket, he swung it before Richards.
Richards looked first at the watch and then at his questioner.
“It would be just as well if you first explained how it came into your
possession,” he remarked quietly, and John Hale crimsoned.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” he exclaimed. “I have the law behind
me.”
“If the law is represented in the person of Detective Ferguson, it is
loitering directly back of you,” broke in his brother who, with Mrs.
Hale, had drawn closer to the two angry men. “Come in, Ferguson, don’t
stand on the outskirts. My brother is not really so formidable as he
appears.”
Ferguson, who had purposely remained in the background, an interested
spectator of the scene, flushed at Hale’s mocking tone and entered the
library with some precipitancy. Hale watched him in open amusement,
then he turned to his brother.
“Continue your remarks, John,” he directed. “We are waiting.”
“I am addressing Major Richards and not you,” retorted his brother.
“Well, sir, what about the watch?”
“I am waiting for an answer to my question, Mr. Hale,” responded
Richards.
“How I got the watch doesn’t concern you.” John Hale spoke with more
deliberation. “How you obtained possession of Austin’s watch does
concern--the police.”
“Austin’s watch!” gasped Mrs. Hale. “Good heavens!” She leaned nearer
and inspected it, taking care not to touch the watch. “Where did it
come from?”
“That is what I am asking Major Richards. Perhaps he will be more
courteous and answer your question, as it is addressed by a woman”--and
John Hale looked scornfully at Richards.
“The gibe is unnecessary,” retorted the latter. “As the watch is in
your possession and not in mine, it is up to you to explain how you got
it.”
Hale laughed outright. “He has you there, John,” he chuckled. “Have
you an answer ready?”
Ignoring his brother, John Hale addressed himself exclusively to
Richards.
“Austin’s watch was sent to this house by Jennings, the watchmaker,
with whom you left it to have the chain repaired. See, it bears your
name,” and he displayed the label still attached to the watch. Richards
read the words on it with interest.
“Well, what have you to say?” demanded John Hale, as he made no remark.
“That the watch bears my name does not prove that I left the watch with
this man, Jennings,” Richards stated, and John Hale turned triumphantly
to the detective.
“There, didn’t I tell you he would take that attitude?” he cried. “It
won’t do, Richards. Ferguson and I have just seen Jennings and he
described you accurately in giving an account of the man who left the
watch with him on Wednesday--mind you, later in the same morning on
which Austin was found murdered. How did you get possession of Austin’s
watch?”
Richards looked steadily at the excited man before him, at the
others--noting instantly the serious expression of Mrs. Hale’s
countenance, her husband’s intent interest, and Ferguson’s keen
attention. Then, slowly, he glanced around the library--Judith was not
present. He drew a long breath.
“I decline to answer your question, Mr. Hale,” he said.
Ferguson stepped forward. “It would be best, Major, if you did,” he
suggested. “That is a bit of friendly advice.”
“Thanks,” dryly. “Had you not better warn me that anything I say will
be used against me?”
Hale chuckled, then grew serious. “Come, John, what does this scene
mean?” he demanded of his brother. “What are you trying to prove?”
“That Major Richards has a guilty knowledge of, or is guilty of,
Austin’s murder,” he replied, and at his words a cry broke from Mrs.
Hale and she collapsed in the nearest chair.
Richards looked at John Hale in silence for a brief second.
“So that is it,” he exclaimed. “I congratulate you on your acumen. Now,
perhaps you will tell me why I murdered a man whom I had never seen?”
“Oh, don’t say that, don’t,” wailed Mrs. Hale. “I found your name in
Austin’s membership book of his Senior secret society at Yale.”
Richards regarded her in surprise. “Certainly my name is in the book;
but I graduated at Yale before Austin’s freshman year.”
John Hale smothered an oath. “Whether you knew Austin or not is
immaterial. When a man is caught in the act of burglarizing a safe
he doesn’t need an introduction to the man who detects him--he kills
him--as you murdered Austin.”
Richards shrugged his shoulder. “You will have it that way,” he
spoke with studied indifference, as he again stole a look about the
room--where was Judith? “Has it ever occurred to you that Austin might
have been rifling Mr. Hale’s safe and was killed in the act--”
“By whom?” gasped Mrs. Hale; her face was ashen in color.
“I leave that conundrum to the police,” replied Richards. “It was but a
suggestion.”
“Which carries no weight,” retorted John Hale. “This watch isn’t the
only thing we have on you, Richards.” He turned to his brother. “What
was stolen from your safe on Tuesday night?”
Mrs. Hale’s sudden start was lost on her husband. Hale looked at
Richards queerly, thought a minute, then answered with brevity.
“Ten bonds of the Troy Valve Company belonging to Judith.”
“And those bonds, Richards, you sold to cover your losses in
speculation,” declared John Hale.
Richards contemplated the two brothers in thunderstruck silence.
“You say that Judith had Valve bonds in your safe which were stolen on
Tuesday night, Mr. Hale?” he demanded of the elder brother.
“Yes.”
“So it was your wife’s bonds which you first stole and then sold”--John
Hale was enjoying himself. He had caught the hunted look in Richards’
eyes. Turning, he winked at Ferguson, and when he again faced Richards,
the latter had himself well in hand.
“You have stated twice now that I sold Valve bonds,” Richards began.
“It is up to you to prove it.”
“And I can”--wheeling around, John Hale seized the desk telephone and
repeated a number. A second more and he called into the instrument:
“John Hale speaking, Frank. Come over to the house as quickly as you
can. Polly--what about Polly?--I don’t catch that--tell me when you
get here,” and he banged up the receiver, then turned to the others in
the library. “It won’t take Latimer five minutes to reach here.”
“And why is his presence required?” questioned Richards. “It strikes me
that this scene has been prolonged unnecessarily.”
“Possibly, from your viewpoint.” John Hale’s smile was not pleasant.
“Don’t get nervous at this stage of the game.”
Richards’ eyes blazed and he made a quick step in his direction--to
find the way blocked by Detective Ferguson.
“None o’ that,” he exclaimed hastily. “Remember, Mrs. Hale is present.”
Richards pulled himself together and his right arm dropped to his side.
“I quite understand that Mr. John Hale is aware that he has the
protection of a woman’s presence,” he remarked. Again Robert Hale
chuckled faintly, while his brother, coloring hotly, had difficulty
in curbing his unruly tongue. The latter turned abruptly to his
sister-in-law.
“Agatha, suppose you leave us,” he suggested.
“I will not,” and Mrs. Hale, whose eyes were twice their usual size,
squared herself in her seat. “I gather, John, I am needed here to keep
you in order.”
“Quite right, my dear,” and her husband patted her approvingly on the
back, before turning to his brother. “Now, John, if you have any more
remarks to address to Major Richards, omit all personalities or”--his
voice deepened--“I shall have to request you to leave the room.”
Ferguson caught the look that John Hale shot at his brother and stepped
gamely into the breach. He had divined earlier in the investigation
that it took little to arouse the smoldering animosity between the
brothers.
“Major Richards,” he commenced, “you told Coroner Penfield that you
spent Tuesday evening at the Metropolitan Club. At what hour did you
leave the club for home?”
Richards considered the question. “It was just midnight,” he stated. “I
am positive as to the time for the clocks were chiming when I left the
building, and I waited and counted the strokes--twelve of them.”
The detective consulted a page in his notebook. “You also told the
coroner that you reached here about twenty minutes past one on
Wednesday morning. Where did you stop between here and the club?”
“Nowhere.”
Ferguson eyed him intently. “The club is about fifteen minutes walk
from here, at the outside,” he declared. “Do you contend that it took
you over an hour to reach this house?”
“Yes,” quietly. “Your circles and avenues are confusing and I lost my
way.”
John Hale laughed aloud. “A great alibi,” he sneered. “Austin was
murdered between Tuesday midnight and one A. M. Wednesday--thus you had
ample time to reach here, kill him, leave the house and return a few
minutes after one o’clock.”
“You think so?” Richards shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “Well,
prove it.”
“I will.” John Hale waved his walking stick which he had brought with
him into the library in his haste to encounter Richards. “And here’s
one link in the chain now,” as Frank Latimer was ushered in by Anna,
the waitress, whose curious glance at the excited group escaped notice.
“Frank, did Major Richards sell ten bonds of the Troy Valve Company in
your office on Friday afternoon?”
“He did.” The little stockbroker stared at each in turn, and the
gravity of their expression was reflected in his manner.
“Did Judith call there that same afternoon?” Richards’ violent start
was seen by all, and John Hale’s eyes gleamed viciously as he
continued his questions. “Did she tell you that she owned ten bonds of
the Troy Valve Company, numbering from 37982 to 37991?”
“Yes.”
“And did those numbers correspond with the numbers on the bonds sold
you by Major Richards?”
“They did.”
John Hale turned to his brother. “You have a memorandum of Judith’s
bonds which were stolen from your safe on Tuesday night,” he stated.
“Repeat the numbers.”
There was a slight hesitation in Hale’s manner before he complied with
his brother’s abrupt request. Opening his leather wallet, he found a
memorandum and ran his eye down it.
“The numbers are the same,” he said, and replaced his wallet.
“Well, Richards, have you anything to say?” demanded John Hale, and
edged nearer him.
“Nothing--to you,” and John Hale flushed at his cutting tone.
“Perhaps you’ll have something to say to me, Major,” broke in Detective
Ferguson. “Will you tell us how you got those bonds?”
Richards eyed the little group; his gaze rested longest on Robert
Hale, then he turned to Ferguson, as the detective repeated his
question.
“No,” he responded. “I will not tell you.”
Mrs. Hale leaned forward and placed a trembling hand on his arm.
“Did Judith give you the bonds?” she asked timidly.
“No, Mrs. Hale, she did not,” and Richards, catching her pitying
look, felt a sudden tightening of his heartstrings. It was the first
expression of sympathy vouchsafed him. Where--where was Judith?
Ferguson broke the brief pause.
“Major Richards,” he began, and Mrs. Hale clutched her chair in her
excitement. Her head felt heavy, her breathing stifled--Dr. McLane had
warned her about a weak heart. “You have heard Mr. Latimer, a reputable
witness, testify that you sold bonds belonging to your wife, and Mr.
Hale, your father-in-law, has stated that those bonds were stolen from
his safe on Tuesday night. You declare that you left the Metropolitan
Club on Tuesday at midnight, and that you lost your way and spent an
hour walking about the streets before reaching this house at twenty
minutes past one o’clock on Wednesday morning. Can you substantiate
that statement with witnesses?”
“I cannot.” Richards’ gaze was unwavering and his voice firm, but his
face was white and strained. “I met no one while walking home. That was
the chief reason for my delay, because I had no opportunity to ask the
right direction to take. I have no sense of locality.”
“Humph, very pretty!” commented John Hale, and Detective Ferguson
scowled at him.
“I’m handling this case, Mr. Hale.” He spoke harshly, and John Hale
showed instant resentment by returning the scowl as the detective again
addressed Richards. “You left the watch belonging to the murdered man,
Austin Hale, with Jennings to repair. That is conclusive evidence that
the watch had been in your possession.”
“So you claim”--and Richards smiled politely. “Don’t let me interrupt
your little romance, Ferguson. Go on.”
Ferguson swallowed his wrath. “I am stating facts, Major, facts which
have been proved. Once more I’ll give you a chance to state your
version of how Austin’s watch came into your possession, and the Valve
bonds as well.”
“Thanks.” Richards’ brows were knit in a deep frown. “Do I understand
that I am your prisoner?”
Ferguson drew out a legal document. “I have this warrant for your
arrest,” he admitted.
“Then I will reserve what I have to say until I see a lawyer.”
“But, Major--”
“No, Ferguson,” firmly. “A prisoner’s right to consult a lawyer is
a constitutional right.”
“Prisoner!” Mrs. Hale started from her chair. “Robert--”
Robert Hale stepped forward. “Sit down, Agatha.” He pushed her gently
back in her chair before turning to Ferguson. “Who swore out that
warrant?”
“Your brother, Mr. John Hale.”
“So”--Hale faced his brother. “Have you forgotten our conversation
early this afternoon?”
“I have not.” John Hale shouldered Latimer to one side as he stepped
nearer the center of the room. “You tried to fasten Austin’s murder
on an innocent girl to shield your daughter’s husband.”
“An innocent girl!” Hale’s mocking smile brought his brother’s rage
to fever heat. “So innocent that when she quarreled with her lover at
their midnight meeting she killed him with her shears--shears which I
had bought for her the week before.” Swiftly he turned to Ferguson.
“Release Major Richards and arrest the real criminal, Polly Davis.”
An oath broke from John Hale, and in blind fury he twirled his walking
stick. His brother, by a dexterous twist only, avoided the thrust.
As the steel point of the sword cane came to rest directly under the
powerful light from a standing reading lamp, a scream escaped Mrs. Hale.
“Look, look!” she cried. “It’s covered with blood.”