GRAFTON'S SEARCH
The funeral of Mrs. Darcy had been held, attended, as might be
supposed, by a large throng of the merely curious, as well as by some
of her distant kinsfolk, for she had few near ones. One of the
relatives was summoned to take charge of the store and her other
business affairs, for, a formal charge of murder having been made
against him, James Darcy was not permitted to attend the final
services, nor have anything more to do with the jewelry establishment.
Harry King, now painfully sober, was likewise held in jail, bail being
fixed, because of his uncertain character, at such a high figure that
he could not secure it.
The police had been busy, the prosecutor's detectives also, but, so
far, the arrest of Darcy and King had been the only ones made. Singa
Phut, whose watch was found clasped in the dead woman's hand, had been
closely questioned, but had established a perfect _alibi_.
And the testimony as to this came, not from persons of his own
nationality, but from business men and others, whose words could not be
doubted. So, in the opinion of the authorities, he was not worth
considering further. He admitted having left his watch at the shop to
be repaired, some days before the murder, and had not called at the
store since, except on the morning of the crime, and some time after
its discovery, to get his timepiece, which, of course, he was not then
allowed to take.
Darcy had been formally charged with the crime of murder by the police
captain in whose precinct the happening occurred, and, no bail being
permissible in murder cases, he must, perforce, remain locked up until
his indictment and trial. He was transferred from the witness room of
police headquarters, the day of the funeral, to the less pleasant jail,
and put in a cell, as were the other unfortunates of that institution.
Jay Kenneth, Darcy's lawyer, a young member of the bar, but
enthusiastic and a hard worker, had made a formal entry of a plea of
not guilty for his client, when the latter had been arraigned before
the upper court, and had asked for a speedy trial.
And so, after the first few days of wonder and surmise and of
speculation as to whether Darcy or King might have committed the crime,
or perhaps some desperate burglar, the Darcy case was crowded off the
front page of the newspapers to give way to items of more or less local
interest in Colchester.
Up and down the narrow cell paced James Darcy. His head was bowed, but
at times he raised it to look out through the barred door. All his
eyes encountered, though, was the white-washed wall opposite him--a
bare, white and glaring wall that made his eyes burn--a wall that
seemed to shut out hope itself--as if it were not enough that it had
been at the very bottom of Pandora's box.
Up and down, down and up, now pausing to take his hands from their
strained position clasped behind his back that they might grasp the
cold bars of his cell door--slim white hands that had set many a
gleaming jewel in burnished gold or cold, glittering platinum, that it
might grace the person of some sweet woman. And now those white
fingers grasped cold steel, and a keeper, passing up and down on his
half-hourly rounds, wondered, grimly, if they had been stained with the
blood of Mrs. Darcy.
But though the wall blocked his vision, Darcy saw through and beyond
it. He saw the glittering showcases in the store, with their arrays of
cut glass and silver. He saw the gleaming jewels in the safe.
He saw, too, the stained and keen paper knife which the drunken King
had swaggered in to claim that gray morning. He saw the red spot on
the floor--the spot which, even now, in spite of many scrubbings, was
visible to the men and women who, now that the store was opened for
business again, walked in to select some piece of gold or silver, some
jewel for their own adornment or that of another.
And the gray-haired woman, whose pride it had been to display her
beautiful wares to her friends and others, was all alone in a grave far
up on the hill--a hill which looked down on Colchester--which looked
down on the very store itself.
All of this James Darcy saw, and more.
There was a brisker step along the flagged corridor in front of the
cells of "murderers' row." Half a dozen men, and one woman, against
whom such a charge had been made--Darcy among them--looked up with an
interest they had not shown before. Did it mean a visitor for any of
them? Did it mean their lawyer was coming to bid them cheer up, or to
tell them it looked black for their chances?
The step was that of the keeper of the outer gate--the larger and more
massively barred gate which gave entrance to the anteroom where, on
visiting days, even those charged with the highest degree of crime were
permitted to see their friends, relatives or counsel.
"Some one to see you, Darcy!" called the keeper.
There was the clang of the lock mechanism, and the door swung open.
Darcy's eyes brightened, those of the others in the same tier of cells
with him which, for the moment had lighted up, grew dull again.
"My lawyer?" asked Darcy.
"Yes. And there's a lady with him."
"A lady?"
"Yes. Come on!"
Darcy caught sight of Amy before she saw him, for he approached from
behind a line of other prisoners exercising in the space before their
cells. She was with Kenneth.
"Amy!" exclaimed Darcy, as he was allowed to step out into the
anteroom, closely followed by a keeper, while a detective from the
prosecutor's office stood near. "Amy!" and his eyes flowed.
"Jimmie boy!"
To the eternal credit of the keeper and the detective be it said that,
at this moment, they found something of great interest in the calendar
that hung on the opposite wall, while Kenneth talked earnestly with the
warden. And the prisoners beyond the barred door were too busy with
their exercise to look around.
"Jimmie boy!"
"Amy! You--you don't--"
"Of course I don't! Didn't I tell you so in my letter?"
"Yes, but--"
"Now, that isn't the way to talk, especially when I have come to bring
you good news."
"Good news? You mean your father--"
"Oh, it isn't about dad! I told you he was as firm a believer in you
as I am--that he said he'd 'go the limit,' if you know what that means,
to get you free. Jimmie boy, when dad likes a person he likes him!"
"I hope his daughter does the same."
"Don't you know--_Jimmie_ boy?"
The warden, the detective, the keeper and the lawyer--all now seemed
interested in that prosaic calendar.
Amy had had but little chance to speak to Darcy since, his arrest. In
police headquarters he was kept in seclusion except as to his lawyer,
and events had followed one another so rapidly that there had been no
other opportunity until now, though the girl had sent him a hasty note
in which she said she knew he was innocent and that everything possible
was being done for him.
"And now, Jimmie, for the good news. I have engaged the best detective
in this country for you," and she beckoned to the lawyer to come
forward.
"The best detective?"
"Yes. You need one as well as a lawyer. They're going to work
together--aren't you, Mr. Kenneth?"
"Indeed a detective can help us best at this stage of the game, I
think, Mr. Darcy," was the lawyer's answer. "I can look after the
court proceedings, when it comes time for them, but what we want most
is evidence tending to show that some one else, and not you, committed
this crime."
"As, most assuredly was the case!" and for the first time in days
Darcy's voice had its old ring and vigor in it.
"Of course, Jimmie boy," murmured Amy. "Now let me tell you all about
it. They say I can't stay very long, so I'll have to talk fast, and
you must listen--mostly. Now what do you say to--Colonel Ashley?" and
Amy looked triumphantly at her lover.
"Colonel Ashley?"
"Yes. As the detective who is going to help prove you innocent by
discovering the real--ugh! I hate to say it--_murderer_?"
"Why, Colonel Ashley is one of the greatest detectives in the United
States--at least, he used to be. He must be pretty old now."
"I know he is--but not too old to take hold. Now when he comes--"
"But, Amy, my dear! You can't get _him_! Why, he's not only one of
the highest-priced detectives in the country, but he's retired I've
read, and I doubt if he'd take a case--"
"He's going to take _your_ case, Jimmie boy!" and Amy smiled.
"But how--how--"
"I think we'll have to give Miss Mason credit for a whole lot in this
matter," broke in Kenneth. "She surprised me when she told me. And I
want to say that when the colonel gets going we'll have you out of here
in short order, Mr. Darcy!"
"But I don't understand--"
"That's what I came to tell you about, Jimmie boy! Now just keep quiet
and listen!"
Thereupon Amy went on to relate all that had happened when she sought
out the fisherman at the trout brook--how she had been cared for by him
and Shag after her faint, and how, after some persuasion, the great
detective had agreed to take up the matter of seeking out the real
murderer of Mrs. Darcy.
"He came here under a different name," Amy continued, "for he did not
want to be bothered with work. But Tom--he's the little jockey dad got
a place for as train-boy--met him on the express and learned that the
colonel was the great detective. Then Tom came and told me when he
read of your--of your--"
"Oh, say _arrest_, Amy! I'm getting hardened to it by now."
"Well, then, your--arrest. I hate the word! Tom came and told me and
said we must get Colonel Brentnall at once. That was the name he used,
but, now he has consented to take your case, he's Colonel Ashley again."
"And what am I to do, Amy?"
"Just what he tells you--nothing more or less. Tell him everything
from the beginning to the end. All about your quarrel with Mrs.
Darcy--I read in the papers you had one. Was that so?"
"Yes, and, I am sorry to say, it was partly about you."
"I don't mind, Jimmie boy. I know it couldn't have been very bad."
"It wasn't. She--well, she sneered at you for thinking of marrying
me--a poor man--and--"
"As if money counted, Jimmie boy!" cried the girl fondly.
"I know. But it angered me, I admit. However, nothing more came of
that. And as for her finding fault with me about my electric lathe,
and about the money she owed me--well, that was a sort of periodic
disagreement."
"Tell the colonel all about it."
"I will. And are you sure your father--"
"Dad's with me in this--with me and you! He'd have come to see you
himself to-day, but I said I wanted to see you first. He'll be along
soon. So you see, Jimmie boy, things aren't so bad as they seem,
though I hate it that you should be in this horrible place."
"It is horrible, Amy. But now that I know you--you haven't given me
up--"
"Don't _dare_ say such a thing, Jimmie boy!" and the girl's eyes
sparkled with a new light.
"Well, it won't be so horrible from now on. And is the colonel really
going to take my case?"
"Really and truly! I told him he _had_ to if he wanted to fish in
dad's trout stream," and she laughed--a strange sound in that gloomy
place.
Then they talked about many things. James Darcy had read much of
Colonel Ashley's achievements in detective work, and the very magic of
the name was enough to give a prisoner courage.
Soon it was time to leave, after Kenneth had conferred briefly with his
client. The prisoner went back to his little cell with a happier look
on his face than when he had left it.
As for Colonel Ashley, after he had revived Amy from her faint at the
stream, he had told Shag to take apart the fishing rod.
"For, Shag, I guess I won't be needing it for a week or so," said the
old detective, and there was a mingling of two emotions in his voice.
"Uh, ah!" murmured Shag, as, carefully, he put away the delicate rod
and reel. "It's either fishin' or detectin' wif de colonel, dat's whut
it suah am! Fishin' or detectin'! De colonel ain't one dat kin carry
watermelons on bof shoulders!"
Returning from his fishing trip with the one, lone specimen, Colonel
Ashley, having escorted Amy Mason to her automobile, went back to the
hotel with Shag.
"I might have known how it would be, Shag," he remarked, almost
mournfully. "I might have known I'd run into something when I came
here for rest."
"Dat's right, Colonel. Yo' suah might! But who does yo' s'pect did
dish yeah killin'?"
"It's too early yet to tell, Shag, and you know I don't make any
predictions. I want to get a few more facts."
This the colonel proceeded to do. First having had himself accredited
as working in Darcy's behalf by being introduced by the accused man's
lawyer, the detective paid a visit to the jewelry store. The place was
in charge of Thomas Kettridge, a half uncle to Mrs. Darcy.
The place had been opened for business again after the funeral, and
customers came in, carefully avoiding the place where a dark stain
could be seen in the floor--a stain made all the more conspicuous
because of the light-colored boards about it.
The colonel made a careful examination of the premises, and had
described to him the exact position of the body, being told all that
went on that tragic morning.
It was after this, and following some busy hours spent in various parts
of the city, that the defective sent to one of his trusted men in New
York this telegram:
"Spotty Morgan's vacation is over. Have him spend a few days with you
until I can invite him to my country place."
"I hate to do it, after what he did for me," mused the colonel with a
sigh. "But business is business from now on. I'm officially in the
case, and I wasn't before."
Having sent the somewhat cryptic message, the old detective sat in his
room and took from his pocket a little green book.
"Well, old friend, I guess I'm not going to have much use for you from
now on," he remarked dolefully. He glanced to where his rods and flies
were gathering dust. "Nor you, either," he went on. "Now for a last
glimpse--"
He opened the book and read:
"And now I shall tell you that the fishing with a natural fly is
excellent and affords much pleasure."
"It won't do!" ejaculated the colonel as he closed the book and threw
it aside.
One matter puzzled the colonel as well as the other detectives. There
was no sign of the jewelry store having been entered from the outside,
so that if a stranger had come in he must have done so when the doors
were unlocked or made a false key, or else he had forced a passage so
skilfully as to leave not a sign.
Of course this was possible, and it added to the inference of some that
a burglar, used to such work, had entered the place, and, being
detected at work by Mrs. Darcy, had killed her.
However, there was not so much as a cuff button missing, as far as
could be learned after the contents of the store had been checked up,
though of course an intruder might have been frightened off before he
had taken anything.
Many of Darcy's friends could not help but admit that appearances were
against him. He and his cousin had quarreled, somewhat bitterly, over
money, and about his refusal to give up work on his electric lathe.
There was also King's testimony about words over Amy, though Darcy
contended that this talk was nothing more than his relative had
indulged in before regarding the unsuitableness of the match. Darcy
admitted resenting his cousin's imputation.
All this Colonel Ashley had taken into consideration before he sent the
telegram. And, having done that, and having had a talk with Darcy at
the jail, as well as a consultation with the lawyer, having visited
Harry King and seen Singa Phut, the detective paid another visit to the
jewelry shop.
"And what can I do for you to-day, Colonel?" asked Mr. Kettridge, who,
by this time, had the business running smoothly again. "Have you
gotten any further into the mystery?"
"Not as far as I would like to get. I'm going to browse about here a
bit, if you have no objection."
"Not at all. Make yourself at home."
"I will. First, I'd like to see that statue--the one of the hunter,
with which it is supposed Mrs. Darcy was struck."
"Oh, that is at the prosecutor's office--that and Harry King's
unfortunate paper knife."
"So they are. I had forgotten. Well, I'll look about a bit then.
Don't pay any attention to me. I'll go and come as I please."
And so he went, seemingly rather idly about the jewelry store, looking
and listening.
It was not until the third day of his surveillance, during which
passage of time he had waited anxiously for a message from New York
without getting it, that the colonel felt his patience was about to be
rewarded. The detective was a fisherman in more ways than one.
Trade had been rather brisk in the shop--possibly because of gruesome
curiosity--when, one afternoon, a man entered who seemed to know
several in the place. Yet he did not talk with them, beyond a mere
passing of the time of day, but went about nervously from showcase to
counter and repeated the journey. When Mr. Kettridge asked him at what
he desired to look he replied there was nothing in particular--that he
had in mind a gift, but, as yet, had decided on nothing.
"Look about as you please," was the courteous invitation he received,
and the man availed himself of it.
Of medium build, yet with the appearance of having lived more in the
open than does the average man, his face had, yet, a strange pallor not
in keeping with his robust frame. And his manner was certainly nervous.
"Now what," mused the colonel to himself, "is _he_ fishing for?"
That day there was more than the usual number of people in the
store--many of them undoubtedly curiosity seekers, who came into price
certain articles ostensibly, but who, really, wanted to stare at the
place where the bloodstains had been scrubbed away.
And at this spot the robust man stared longer than did some of the
others, the colonel thought. Did he hope that some spirit of the poor,
murdered woman might still be lingering there, to whisper to him what
he sought to learn?
"Who is that man?" asked Colonel Ashley of Mr. Kettridge, who had often
come to the shop during the holiday seasons to help Mrs. Darcy.
"Oh, that's Mr. Grafton."
"Mr. Grafton? Who is he?"
"Aaron Grafton, one of Colchester's best and wealthiest citizens. He
owns the Emporium."
"That big department store?"
"Yes. He has built it up from a small establishment. I have known him
a number of years, and he knew Mrs. Darcy quite well. He often has
purchased diamonds here, though he is not married, and I don't know
that he is engaged--rather late in life, too, for him to be considering
that."
"Oh, well, you never can tell," and the colonel smiled.
"So that is Aaron Grafton!" he mused. "Well, Mr. Grafton, in spite of
the well known reputation you bear, I think you will stand a little
watching. I must not neglect the smallest clew in a case like this.
Yes, decidedly, I think you will bear watching!"
For at that moment the merchant, after another round of the store,
seeking for something it seemed he could not find, turned and hurried
out, a much-troubled look on his face. Colonel Ashley followed.