THE WAITER'S STORY
Doctor Remson's police call had been imperative, and Inspector Mason
came in with two men.
"What's this? What's wrong here?" the big burly inspector said, as he
faced the few of us who had remained.
"Come in here, inspector," said the doctor, from the dining-room door.
And from that moment the whole aspect of the house seemed to change.
No longer a gay little bijou residence, it became a court of justice.
One of the men was stationed at the street door and one at the area
door below. Headquarters was notified of details. The coroner was
summoned, and we were all for the moment under detention.
"Where is Miss Van Allen? Where is the lady of the house?" asked
Mason. "Where are the servants? Who is in charge here?"
Was ever a string of questions so impossible of answers!
Doctor Remson told the main facts, but he was reticent. I, too,
hesitated to say much, for the case was strange indeed.
Mrs. Reeves looked gravely concerned, but said nothing.
Ariadne Gale began to babble. That girl didn't know how to be quiet.
"I guess Miss Van Allen is upstairs," she volunteered. "She was in
the dining-room, but she isn't here now, so she must be upstairs.
Shall I go and see?"
"No!" thundered the inspector. "Stay where you are. Search the house,
Breen. I'll cover the street door."
The man he called Breen went upstairs on the jump, and Mason
continued. "Tell the story, one of you. Who is this man? Who killed
him?"
As he talked, the inspector was examining Somers' body, making rapid
notes in a little book, keeping his eye on the door, and darting quick
glances at each of us, as he tried to grasp the situation.
I looked at Bert Garrison, who was perhaps the most favored of Miss
Van Allen's friends, but he shook his head, so I threw myself into the
breach.
"Inspector," I said, "that man's name is Somers. Further than that I
know nothing. He is a stranger to all of us, and he came to this house
to-night for the first time in his life."
"How'd he happen to come? Friend of Miss Van Allen?"
"He met her to-night for the first time. He came here with--" I
paused. It was so hard to know what to do. Steele had gone home, ought
I to implicate him?
"Go on--came here with whom? The truth, now."
"I usually speak the truth" I returned, shortly. "He came with Mr.
Norman Steele."
"Where is Mr. Steele?"
"He has gone. There were a great many people here, and, naturally,
some of them went away when this tragedy was discovered."
"Humph! Then, of course, the guilty party escaped. But we are getting
nowhere. Does nobody know anything of this man, but his name?"
Nobody did; but Ariadne piped up, "He was a delightful man. He told me
he was a great patron of art, and often bought pictures."
Paying little heed to her, the inspector was endeavoring to learn from
the dead man's property something more about him.
"No letters or papers," he said, disappointedly, as he turned out the
pockets. "Not unusual--in evening togs--but not even a card or
anything personal--looks queer--"
"Look in his watch," said Ariadne, bridling with importance.
Giving her a keen glance, the inspector followed her suggestion. In
the back of the case was a picture of a coquettish face, undoubtedly
that of an actress. It was not carefully fastened in, but roughly cut
out and pressed in with ragged edges.
"Temporary," grunted the inspector, "and recently stuck in. Some
chicken he took out to supper. He's a club man, you say?"
"Yes, Mr. Steele said so, and also vouched for his worth and
character." I resented the inspector's attitude. Though I knew nothing
of Somers, and didn't altogether like him, yet, I saw no reason to
think ill of the dead, until circumstances warranted it.
Further search brought a thick roll of money, some loose silver, a
key-ring with seven or eight keys, eyeglasses in a silver case,
handkerchiefs, a gold pencil, a knife, and such trifles as any man
might have in his pockets, but no directly identifying piece of
property.
R. S. was embroidered in tiny white letters on the handkerchiefs, and
a monogram R. S. was on his seal ring.
His jewelry, which was costly, the inspector did not touch. There were
magnificent pearl studs, a watch fob, set with a black opal and pearl
cufflinks. Examination of his hat showed the pierced letters R. S.,
but nothing gave clue to his Christian name.
"Somers," said the inspector, musingly. "What club does he belong to?"
"I don't know," I replied. "Mr. Steele belongs to several, but Mr.
Somers does not belong to any that I do. At least, I've never seen him
at any."
"Call in the servants. Let's find out something about this household."
As no one else moved to do it, I stepped to the door of the butler's
pantry, and summoned the head waiter of the caterer.
"Where are the house servants?" I asked him.
"There aren't any, sir," he replied, looking shudderingly at the
grisly form on the floor.
"No servants? In a house of this type! What do you mean?"
"That's true," said Mrs. Reeves, breaking her silence, at last. "Miss
Van Allen has a very capable woman, who is housekeeper and ladies'
maid in one. But when guests are here, the suppers are served from the
caterer's."
"Then call the housekeeper. And where is Miss Van Allen herself?"
"She's not in the house," said the policeman Breen, returning from his
search.
"Not in the house!" cried Mrs. Reeves. "Where is she?"
"I've been all over--every room--every floor. She isn't in the house.
There's nobody upstairs at all."
"No housekeeper or maid?" demanded Mason. "Then they've got away!
Here, waiter, tell me all you know of this thing."
The Italian Luigi came forward, shaking with terror, and wringing his
fingers nervously.
"I d--don't know anything about it," he began, but Mason interrupted,
"You do! You know all about it! Did you kill this man?"
"No! Dio mio! No! a thousand no's!"
"Then, unless you wish to be suspected of it, tell all you know."
A commotion at the door heralded the coroner's arrival, also a
detective and a couple of plain clothes men. Clearly, here was a
mysterious case.
The coroner at once took matters in his own hands. Inspector Mason
told him all that had been learned so far, and though Coroner Fenn
seemed to think matters had been pretty well bungled, he made no
comment and proceeded with the inquiries.
"Sure there's nobody upstairs?" he asked Breen.
"Positive. I looked in every nook and cranny. I've raked the whole
house, but the basement and kitchen part."
"Go down there, then, and then go back and search upstairs again.
Somebody may be hiding. Who here knows Miss Van Allen the most
intimately?"
"Perhaps I do," said Mrs. Reeves. "Or Miss Gale. We are both her warm
friends."
"I'm also her friend," volunteered Bert Garrison. "And I can
guarantee that if Miss Van Allen has fled from this house it was out
of sheer fright. She never saw this man until to-night. He was a
stranger to us all."
"Where's the housekeeper?" went on Fenn.
"I think she must be somewhere about," said Mrs. Reeves. "Perhaps in
the kitchen. Julie is an all round capable woman. When there are no
guests she prepares Miss Van Allen's meals herself. When company is
present the caterer always is employed."
"And there are no other servants?"
"Not permanent ones," replied Mrs. Reeves. "I believe the laundress
and chore boy come by the day, also cleaning women and such. But I
know that Miss Van Allen has no resident servant besides the maid
Julie."
"This woman must be found," snapped the coroner. "But we must first
of all identify the body. Mason, call up the principal clubs on the
telephone, and locate R. Somers. Also find Mr. Norman Steele. Now,
Luigi, let's have your story."
The trembling waiter stammered incoherently, and said little of
moment.
"Look here," said Fenn, bluntly, "is that your knife sticking in him?
I mean, is it one belonging to Fraschini's service? Don't touch it,
but look at it, you can tell."
Luigi leaned over the dead man. "Yes, it is one of our boning knives,"
he said. "We always bring our own hardware."
"Well, then, if you want to clear yourself and your men of doubt, tell
all you know."
"I know this," and Luigi braced himself to the ordeal. "I was waiting
in the pantry for Miss Van Allen to send me word to serve supper, and
I peeped in the dining-room now and then to see if it was time. I
heard, presently, Miss Van Allen's voice, also a man's voice. I didn't
want to intrude, so waited for a summons. After a moment or two I
heard a little scream, and heard somebody or something fall. I had no
thought of anything wrong, but thought the guests were
unusually--er--riotous."
"Are Miss Van Allen's guests inclined to be riotous?"
"No, sir, oh, no," asseverated the man, while Mrs. Reeves and Ariadne
looked indignant. "And for that reason, I felt a little curious, so I
pushed the door ajar and peeped in."
"What did you see?"
"I saw," Luigi paused so long that I feared he was going to collapse.
But the coroner eyed him sternly, and he went on. "I saw Miss Van
Allen standing, looking down at this--this gentleman on the floor, and
making as if to pull out the knife. I could scarcely believe my eyes,
and I watched her. She didn't pull the knife, but she straightened
up, looked around, glanced down at her gown, which--which was stained
with blood--and then--she ran out into the hall."
"Where did she go?"
"I don't know. I couldn't see, as the door was but on a crack. Then I
thought I ought to go into the dining-room, and I did. I looked at the
gentleman, and I didn't know what to do. So I went into the hall, to
the parlor door, and called for help, for a doctor or somebody. And
then they all came out here. That's all I know."
Luigi's nerve gave way, and he sank into a chair with a sob. Fenn
looked at him, and considerately left him alone for the time.
"Can this be true?" he said, turning to us. "Can you suspect Miss Van
Allen of this crime?"
"No!" cried Bert Garrison and the women, at once. And, "No!" said I.
"I am positive Miss Van Allen did not know Mr. Somers and could not
have killed an utter stranger--on no provocation whatever."
"You do not know what provocation she may have had," suggested Fenn.
"Now, look here, Mr. Coroner," said Mrs. Reeves very decidedly, "I
won't have Miss Van Allen spoken of in any such way. I assume you mean
that this man, though a stranger, might have said or done something to
annoy or offend Miss Van Allen. Well, if he had done so, Victoria Van
Allen never would have killed him! She is the gentlest, most gay and
light-hearted girl, and though she never tolerates any rudeness or
familiarity, the idea of her killing a man is too absurd. You might as
well suspect a dove or a butterfly of crime!"
"That's right, Mr. Coroner," said Garrison. "That waiter's story is
an hallucination of some sort--if it isn't a deliberate falsification.
Miss Van Allen is a dainty, happy creature, and to connect her with
anything like this _is_ absurd!"
"That's to be found out, Mr. Garrison. Why did Miss Van Allen run
away?"
"I don't admit that she did run away--in the sense of flight. If she
were frightened at this thing--if she saw it--she may have run out of
the door in hysterics or in a panic of terror. But she the
perpetrator! Never!"
"Never!" echoed Mrs. Reeves. "The poor child! If she did come out
here--and saw this awful sight--why, I think it would unhinge her
mind!"
"Who is Miss Van Allen?" asked Fenn. "What is her occupation?"
"She hasn't an occupation," said Mrs. Reeves. "She is a young lady of
independent fortune. As to her people or immediate relatives, I know
nothing at all. I've known her a year or so, and as she never referred
to such matters I never inquired. But she's a thorough little
gentlewoman, and I'll defend her against any slander to my utmost
powers."
"And so will I," said Miss Gale. "I'm sure of her fineness of
character, and lovely nature--"
"But these opinions, ladies, don't help our inquiries," interrupted
Fenn. "What can you men tell us? What I want first, is to identify
this body, or, rather to learn more of R. Somers, and to find Miss Van
Allen. I can't hold an inquest until these points are cleared up.
Mason, have you found out anything?"
"No," said the inspector, returning from his long telephone quest. "I
called up four clubs. Norman Steele belongs to three of them, but
this man doesn't seem to belong to any. That is, there are Somerses
and even R. Somerses, but they all have middle names, and, too, their
description doesn't fit this Somers."
"Then Mr. Steele misrepresented him. Did you get Steele, Mason?"
"No, he wasn't at any of the clubs. I found his residence, a bachelor
apartment house, but he isn't there, either."
"Find Steele; find Miss Van Allen; find the maid, what's her
name--Julia?"
"Julie, she was always called," said Mrs. Reeves. "If Miss Van Allen
went away, I've no doubt Julie went with her. She is a most devoted
caretaker of her mistress."
"An oldish woman?"
"No. Perhaps between thirty-five and forty."
"What's she look like?"
"Describe her, Ariadne, you're an artist."
"Julie," said Miss Gale, "is a good sort. She's medium-sized, she has
brown hair and rather hazel eyes. She wears glasses, and she stoops a
little in her walk. She has perfect training and correct manners, and
she is a model servant, but she gives the impression of watching over
Miss Van Allen, whatever else she may be engaged in at the same time."
"Wears black?"
"No; usually gray gowns, or sometimes white. Inconspicuous aprons and
no cap. She's not quite a menial, but yet, not entirely a
housekeeper."
"English?"
"English speaking, if that's what you mean. But I think she's an
American. Don't you, Mrs Reeves?"
"American? Yes, of course."