The softened electric light suffused a glamour of glowing color over the
rich brocade of the walls of Marcus Gard's library, catching a glint
here and there on iridescent plaques, or a mellow high light on the
luscious patine of an antique bronze. The stillness, so characteristic
of the place, seemed to isolate it from the whole world, save when a
distant bell musically announced the hour.
Brencherly sat facing his employer, respecting his anxious silence,
while they waited the coming of the district attorney, to whose clemency
they must appeal--surely common humanity would counsel protective
measures, secrecy, in the proceeding of the law. The links in the chain
of evidence were now complete, but more than diplomacy would be required
in order to bring about the legal closing of the affair without
precipitating a scandal. Gard's own hasty actions led back to his fear
for Mrs. Marteen, that in turn involved the cause of that suspicion. To
convince the newsmongers that the crime was one of an almost accidental
nature, he felt would be easy. An escaped lunatic had committed the
murder. That revenge lay behind the insane act would be hidden. If
necessary, the authorities of the asylum could be silenced with a golden
gag--but the law?
Neither of the two men, waiting in the silent house, underestimated the
importance of the coming interview.
The night was already far spent, and the expected visitor still delayed.
At length the pale secretary appeared at the door to announce his
coming.
Gard rose from his seat, and extended a welcoming hand to gray-haired,
sharp-featured District Attorney Field.
Brencherly bowed with awkward diffidence.
Gard's manner was ease and cordiality itself, but his heart misgave him.
So much depended upon the outcome of this meeting. He would not let
himself dwell upon its possibilities, but faced the situation with grim
determination.
"Well, Field," he said genially, "let me thank you for coming. You are
tired, I know. I'm greatly indebted to you, but I'm coming straight to
the point. The fact is, we," and he swept an including gesture toward
his companion, "have the whole story of Victor Mahr's death. Brencherly
is a detective in my personal employ." Field bowed and turned again to
his host. "The person of the murderer is in our care," Gard continued.
"But before we make this public--before we draw in the authorities,
there are things to be considered."
He paused a moment. The district attorney's eyes had snapped with
surprise.
"You don't mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that you have the key to
that mystery! Have you turned detective, Mr. Gard? Well, nothing
surprises me any more. What was the motive? You've learned that, too, I
suppose?"
"Insanity," said Gard shortly.
"Revenge," said the detective.
"Suppose," said Gard, "a crime were committed by a totally irresponsible
person, would it be possible, once that fact was thoroughly established,
to keep investigation from that person; to conduct the matter so quietly
that publicity, which would crush the happiness of innocent persons,
might be avoided?"
"It might," said the lawyer, "but there would have to be very good and
sufficient reasons. Let's have the facts, Mr. Gard. An insane person, I
take it, killed Mahr. Who?"
"His wife." Gard had risen and stood towering above the others, his face
set and hard as if carved in flint.
Field instinctively recoiled. "His wife!" he exclaimed. "Why, man alive,
_you_ are the madman. His wife died years ago."
"No," said Gard. "Teddy Mahr's mother died. His wife is living, and is
in that next room."
"What's the meaning of this?" Field demanded.
"A pretty plain meaning," Gard rejoined. "The woman escaped from the
asylum where she was confined. According to her own story, she had kept
track of her husband from the newspapers. Mahr couldn't divorce her, but
he married again, secure in his belief that his first marriage would
never be discovered. Mad as she was, she knew the situation, and she
planned revenge. Dr. Malky, of the Ottawa Asylum, is here. We sent for
him. The woman has been recognized by Mahr's butler as the one he
admitted. There is no possible doubt. And her own confession, while it
is incomplete in some respects, is nevertheless undoubtedly true.
"But, Field, this woman is hopelessly demented. There is nothing that
can be done for her. She must be returned to the institution. I want to
keep the knowledge of her identity from Mahr's son. Why poison the whole
of his young life; why wreck his trust in his father? Convince yourself
in every way, Mr. Field, but the part of mercy is a conspiracy of
silence. Let it be known that an escaped lunatic did the killing--a
certain unknown Mrs. Welles--and let Brencherly give the reporters all
they want. For them it's a good story, anyway--such facts as these, for
instance: he happened by in time to see an attack upon another woman on
a bench opposite Mahr's house, and to hear her boast of her acts. But I
ask as a personal favor that the scandal be avoided. Brencherly, tell
what happened."
The detective looked up. "There was an old story--our office had had
it--that Mahr was a bigamist. In searching for a motive for the crime, I
hit on that. I had all our data on the subject sent up to me. I found
that our informant stated that Mahr had a wife in an asylum somewhere.
That gave me a suspicion. I found from headquarters that there were two
escapes reported, and one was a woman. She had broken out of a private
institution in Ottawa. I got word from there that her bills had been
paid by a lawyer here--Twickenbaur. I already knew that he was Mr.
Mahr's confidential lawyer. But all this I looked up later, after I'd
found the woman. You see, Mr. Gard is employing me on another matter,
and after he returned from Washington, I gave my report to him here.
"Then I went over to Mahr's house. I had a curiosity to go over the
ground. It was quite late at night, and I was standing in the dark,
looking over the location of the windows, when I saw a woman acting
strangely. She was threatening and talking loudly, crying out that she
had a right to kill him. I sneaked up behind just in time to stop her
attack on another woman who was seated on the same bench, and who seemed
too ill to defend herself. Well, sir, I had to give her three hypos
before I could take her along. Then I got her to my rooms, and when she
came around, she told me the story. Of course, sir, you mustn't expect
any coherent narrative, though she is circumstantial enough. Then I
brought over the butler, and he identified her at once. Mr. Gard advised
me not to notify the police until he had seen you. We got the doctor
from the asylum here as quickly as possible. He's with her in there
now."
The attorney sat silent a moment, nodding his head slowly. "I'll see
her, Gard," he said at length. "This is a strange story," he added, as
Brencherly disappeared into the anteroom.
Field's eyes rested on Gard's face with keen questioning, but he said
nothing, for the door opened, admitting the black-clad figure of a
middle-aged woman, escorted by a trained nurse and a heavily built man
of professional aspect.
"This is--" Field asked, as his glance took in every detail of the
woman's appearance.
"Mrs. Welles, as she is known to us," the doctor answered; "but she used
to tell us that that was her maiden name, and she married a man named
Mahr. We didn't pay much attention to what she said, of course, but she
was forever begging old newspapers and pointing out any paragraphs about
Mr. Victor Mahr, saying she was his wife."
Field gazed at the ghastly pallor of the woman's face, the maze of
wrinkles and the twinkling brightness of her shifting eyes, as she stood
staring about her unconcernedly. Her glance happened upon Brencherly.
Her lips began to twitch and her hands to make signals, as if anxious to
attract his attention. She writhed toward him.
"Young man," she whispered audibly, "they've got me--I knew they would.
Even you could not keep me so hidden they couldn't find me." She jerked
an accusing thumb over her shoulder at the corpulent bulk of her
erstwhile jailer. "They've been trying to make me tell how I got out;
but I won't tell. I may want to do it again, you see, and you won't
tell."
"But," said Brencherly soothingly, "you don't want to get out now, you
know. You've no reason to want to get out."
She nodded, as if considering his statement seriously.
"Of course, since I've got Victor out of the way, I don't much care. And
I had awful trouble to steal enough money to get about with. Why, I had
to pick ever so many pockets, and I do hate touching people; you never
can tell what germs they may have." She shook out her rusty black skirt
as if to detach any possible contagion.
"But, why," the incisive voice of the attorney inquired, "did you want
to kill Victor Mahr?"
"Why?" she screamed, her body suddenly stiffening. "Suppose you were his
wife, and he locked you up in places, and made people call you Mrs.
Welles, while he went swelling around everywhere, and making millions!
What'd you do? And besides, it wasn't only _that_, you see. _I_ knew,
being his wife, that he was a devil--oh, yes, he was; you needn't look
as if you didn't believe it. But I soon learned that when I said I was
'Mrs. Victor Mahr' in the places he put me into, they laughed at me, the
way they do at my roommate, who says she's a sideboard and wants to hold
a tea-set."
"Tell these gentlemen how cleverly you traced him," suggested
Brencherly.
"Oh, I knew where he lived and what he was doing well enough." She
bridled with conscious conceit; "I read the papers and I had it all
written down. So when I got out and stole the money, I knew just where
to go. But he's foxy, too. I knew I'd have to _make_ him see me. So I
stole some of the doctor's letterhead paper, and I wrote on it,
'Important news from the Institution'--that's what he likes to call his
boarding house--an institution." She laughed. "It worked!" she went on
as she regained her breath. "I just sent that message, and they let me
go right in. 'Well, what is it--what is it?' Victor said, just like
that." Her tones of mimicry were ghastly. She paused a moment, then
broke out:
"Now you won't believe it, but I hadn't the slightest idea what I was
going to kill him with when I went in there--I really didn't. The doctor
will tell you himself that I'm awfully forgetful. But there, spread out
before him, he had a whole collection of weapons, just as if he should
say, 'Mamie, which'll you have?' I couldn't believe my eyes; so I said
first thing, 'Why, you were expecting me!' He heard my voice, and his
eyes opened wide; and I thought: 'If I don't do it now, he'll raise the
house.' So I grabbed the big pistol and hit him! I'm telling you
gentlemen all this, because I don't want anyone else to get the credit.
There was a woman I met on a bench, and I just was sure she was going to
take all the credit, but I told her that was _my_ business. I hate
people who think they can do everything. There's a woman across my hall
who says she can make stars--" She broke off abruptly as for the first
time she became aware of Gard's presence in the room. "Why, there you
are!" she exclaimed delightedly. "Now, that's good! You can tell these
people what _you_ found."
"But Mr. Mahr was stabbed, Mrs. Welles," Gard interrupted. "You said you
struck him with a pistol."
"Oh, I did _that_ afterward." She took up the thread of her narrative.
"I selected the place very carefully, and pushed the knife way in tight.
I hate the sight of blood, and I sort of thought that'd stop it, and it
did. Then, dear me, I had a scare. There's a picture in that room as
live as life, and I looked up, and saw it looking at me. So I started to
run out, but somebody was coming, so in the little room off the big one
I got behind a curtain. Then this gentleman went through the room where
I was, and into the room where _he_ was. But he shut the door, and I
couldn't see what he thought of it. After a while he came out and said
'good-night' to me, though how he knew I was there I can't guess. So I
waited a very long time, till everything was quiet, and then I went back
and sat with him. It did me good just to sit and look at him; and every
little while I'd lift his coat to see if the little sword was still
there. The room was awful messy, and I tidied it up a bit. Then when
dawn about came, I got up and walked out. I had a sort of idea of
getting back to the institution without saying anything, because I was
afraid they'd punish me."
"Why did you rob Mr. Mahr?" asked Mr. Field.
"Rob nothing!" she retorted.
"But his jewels, his watch," the attorney continued, his eyes riveted on
her face with compelling earnestness. The woman gave an inarticulate
growl. "But," interposed Brencherly, "I found his wallet in your
package." He took from his pocket a worn and battered leather pocketbook
and held it toward her.
"Oh," she answered indifferently, "I just took it for a souvenir. In
fact, I came back for it--last thing."
Brencherly shrugged his shoulders expressively. Gard sat far back in his
chair, his face in shadow.
"How long has it been, Mrs. Welles, since you--accomplished your
purpose?" he asked slowly.
"You know as well as I do," she cried angrily.
"You were there. It was yesterday--no, the day before."
"It was just a week ago we found her," Brencherly said in a low voice.
"I had to look up everything and verify everything."
"You don't think I did it?" she burst out angrily. "Well, I'll prove it.
I tell you I did, and I thought it all out carefully, although the
doctor says I can't think connectedly. I'll show him." She fumbled in
the breast of her dress for a moment, and brought out her cherished
handful of newspaper clippings, which she cast triumphantly upon the
table. "There's all about him from the papers, and a picture of the
house. Why, I'd 'a' been a fool not to find him, and I had to. Oh, yes,
I suppose, as the doctor says, I'm queer; but I wasn't when he first
began sending me away--no, indeed. I wasn't good enough for him, that
was all; and I was far from home, and hadn't a friend, and he had money.
Oh, he was clever--but he's the devil. He used to file his horns off so
people wouldn't see, but I know. So, I'll tell you everything, except
how I got away. There's somebody else I may want to find." She glanced
with infinite cunning at Brencherly, and began her finger signals as if
practicing a dumb alphabet of which he alone knew the key.
"Where did you receive her from, Doctor?" Field asked.
"From Ogdensburg, sir. Before that they told me she was found wandering,
and put under observation in Troy. All I knew was that somebody wanted
her kept in a private institution. She'd always been in one, I fancy."
There was a pause as Field seemed lost in thought. Then he turned to
Gard.
"May I ask you to clear one point?" he asked "You gave evidence that he
was alive when you entered the room. According to her story--"
"I lied," said Gard, his pale face suffused with color. "I had to--I was
most urgently needed in Washington. I would have been detained, perhaps
prevented altogether from leaving. Who knows--I might even have been
accused. I plead guilty of suppressing the facts."
There was silence in the room. The attorney's eyes were turned upon the
self-confessed perjurer. In them was a question. Gard met their gaze
gravely, without flinching. Field nodded slowly.
"You're right; publicity can only harm," he said at last. "We will see
what can be done. I'll take the proper steps. It can be done legally and
verified by the other witnesses. The butler identifies her, you say.
It's a curious case of retribution. I can't help imagining Mahr's
feelings when he recognized her voice. Is your patient at all dangerous
otherwise?" He addressed himself to the nurse.
"No," she answered. "We've never seen it. Irritable, of course, but not
vicious. I can't imagine her doing such a thing. But you never can tell,
sir--not with this sort."
Field again addressed Gard, whose admission seemed to have exhausted
him. "And the son--knows nothing?"
"Nothing," answered Gard. "He worships his father's memory. He is
engaged, also, to--a very dear little friend of mine--the child of an
old colleague. I want to shield them--both."
"I understand." He nodded his head slowly, lost in thought.
The woman, childishly interested in the grotesque inkwells on the table,
stepped forward and raised one curiously. Her bony hands, of almost
transparent thinness, seemed hardly able to sustain the weight of the
cast bronze. It was hard to believe such a birdlike claw capable of
delivering a stunning blow, or forcibly wielding the deadly knife. She
babbled for a moment in a gentle, not unpleasant voice, while they
watched her, fascinated.
"She's that way most of the time," said the nurse softly. "Just like a
ten-year-old girl--plays with dolls, sir, all day long."
Suddenly her expression changed. Over her smiling wrinkles crept the
whiteness of death. Her eyes seemed to start from her head, her lips
drew back, while her fingers tightened convulsively on the metal
inkstand. The nurse, with an exclamation, stepped forward and caught
her.
There was a gleam of such maniacal fury in the woman's face that Mr.
Field shuddered. "Hardly a safe child to trust even with a doll," he
said. "I fancy the recital has excited her. Hadn't you better take her
away and keep her quiet? And don't let anyone unauthorized by Mr. Gard
or myself have access to her. It will not be wise to allow her delusion
that she was the wife of Victor Mahr to become known--you understand?"
Mr. Gard rose stiffly. "I will assume the expense of her care in future.
Let her have every comfort your institution affords, Dr. Malky. I will
see you to-morrow."
"Thank you, sir." The physician bowed. "Good night. Come, Mrs. Welles."
Obediently the withered little woman turned and suffered herself to be
led away.
As the door closed, Field came forward and grasped Gard's hand warmly.
"It is necessary for the general good," he said, his kindly face grown
grave, "that this matter be kept as quiet as possible. Believe me, I
understand, old friend; and, as always, I admire you."
Gard's weary face relaxed its strain. "Thanks," he said hoarsely. "We
can safely trust the press to Brencherly. He," and he smiled wanly,
"deserves great credit for his work. I'm thinking, Field, I need that
young man in my business."
Field nodded. "I was thinking I needed him in mine; but yours is the
prior claim. And now I'm off. Mr. Brencherly, can I set you down
anywhere?"
Confusedly the young man accepted the offer, hesitated and blushed as he
held out his hand. "May I?"
Gard read the good-will in his face, the congratulation in the tone, and
grasped the extended hand with a warm feeling of friendly regard.
"Good-night--and, thank you both," he said.
* * * * *