When Morning Dawned
While Storm hesitated, relaxed in that moment of utter abandon to
relief, it came again; a wild shriek mounting from below in a high
feminine voice and dying away in a quivering wail!
The long awaited discovery had come; now he must play his part. One
false move!——But he put that resolutely from his thoughts as he flung
his dressing gown about him and started for the door.
“What is it? What has happened?” He was leaning Over the stair-rail
now, and his voice, although subdued, held just the proper note of
sharp inquiry. Even as he spoke he heard a heavy foot along the hall
above and was conscious of the cook’s head peering down affrightedly.
“Oh, Mr. Storm, sir! Mr. Storm!”
Agnes, the housemaid, sped along the lower hall and collapsed at the
foot of the stairs.
“Well, what is it?” Storm demanded peremptorily, but still in that
subdued tone. “Burglars here in the night? Don’t you know better than
to scream like that? You’ll frighten Mrs. Storm——”
He paused, and the girl’s shocked wail arose once more.
“Mrs. Storm! She’s down here, sir, in the den. Oh, come quick!”
“Down——!”
The word died in Storm’s throat, and still conscious of the cook’s
eyes he turned, dashed open the door of his wife’s empty room, uttered
a loud ejaculation and then plunged down the stairs.
“I thought she was asleep in her room!” he exclaimed. “Where——?”
“In the den, sir!” Agnes scrambled to her feet and stood clinging to
the newel post as Storm passed her and rushed down the hall. “Oh, may
God have mercy——!”
He heard a startled cry from above and lumbering feet hastily
descended the stairs as he burst into the den and then stopped short.
Leila’s body was lying face upward now upon the rug, her waxen
features clamped in the rigidity of marble, a hideous brown clot
enmeshing the soft gold of her hair and smeared across her forehead.
The cry of horror which burst from Storm’s lips was not all
simulation, for anticipated as it was, the sight brought a sickening
qualm to him. He had conquered it the next moment, however, and
crossing to the body knelt and forced himself to touch it, to raise it
until it rested against his knee just as he had done the moment the
blow was struck. It was cold and stiff, the neck rigid, the eyes half
open and unwinking in their stare.
As the trembling servants appeared in the doorway he laid the body
gently back upon the rug and, rising, dashed his hand across his eyes.
He remembered that gesture; he had often seen a favorite tragedian use
it upon the stage.
“She is dead!” Horror, grief unutterable rang in his tones, and the
maids began to sob hysterically.
Without seeming to note their presence Storm staggered past them to
the telephone in the library.
“Greenlea 42 . . . . Dr. Carr, please . . . . Doctor, this is Storm,
Norman Storm. For God’s sake get over here as quickly as you
can! . . . . No, I can’t go into details, but it’s a matter of life
and death! . . . . All right, hurry, man!”
For a moment he sat there hunched over the silent instrument while the
sweat poured in rivulets down his face. So far, so good. His shaking
nerves were aiding him in the rôle he was playing, but he must not let
them get the upper hand.
The early morning sun streamed in at the long French windows which
opened on the veranda, and the twitter and chirp of birds came to him
from the lawn outside, mingling with the muffled wail from the rear.
He must go back. God! If only it were all over!
Agnes had collapsed again in a little heap in the den doorway, but
Ellen, the cook, knelt by the body, crooning pitifully over it as
Storm reentered. She made a grotesque figure clad only in the blanket
which she had thrown over her voluminous nightgown, her iron-gray hair
screwed back in a tight knob and tears streaming down her round,
honest face.
“Oh, sir!” She looked up, her eyes tragic with horror. “Who in the
world did it, sir?”
Storm started. A suspicion of murder already, and from the source
which he had least anticipated! If stupid, unimaginative Ellen had
leaped to such a conclusion could he hope after all that the truth
would not reveal itself to Dr. Carr and the authorities? He moistened
his lips with his tongue and stammered:
“She—she must have fallen—one of those fainting spells. It looks as
though she had struck her head on the fender, there.” He added
quickly, “When I came home late I supposed Mrs. Storm was asleep in
her room and did not disturb her. How did she come to be here?”
“Must have been waiting up for you, sir.” Agnes lifted her head from
her hands. “The mistress didn’t expect you home for dinner, and I
served her on the little table out on the veranda. She was sitting out
there still when Ellen and me went to bed, along about nine. I asked
her should I wait to lock up or see if you wanted a bit of cold
supper, sir, but she said no, that she would attend to it herself. If
only I’d known one of those attacks was coming on I wouldn’t have left
her for a minute! I’ll never forgive myself! But the mistress seemed
all right, as ever she was in her life, and I was that tired——”
Storm eyed her steadily:
“You would have heard Mrs. Storm had she called for help?”
“I don’t know, sir.” The girl twisted her hands. “I’m a pretty heavy
sleeper, and I never heard a thing during the night. I’ll never forget
the turn it gave me when I came down this morning and found the light
still on and her lying there on the floor——”
“God rest her soul!” Ellen ejaculated piously. “Sure we wouldn’t have
heard, away up there on the top floor at the back, unless she’d
screamed fit to wake the dead. I’d had a full day’s ironing, and I was
asleep the minute my head touched the pillow. The first I knew was
when Agnes here let that yell out of her awhile back. The best lady
ever I worked for and the kindest! She must have been took sudden to
fall over like that!”
Storm drew a breath of relief. It was evident that they were telling
the truth and that neither of them was aware of Brewster’s visit on
the previous night, nor had an inkling of its aftermath. He sank into
a chair and buried his face in his hands, the better to think. He must
get rid of them some way; their chatter and lamentations were driving
him mad!
“’Tis God’s will, sir,” Ellen ventured, in a hesitating effort at
consolation, though the tears still coursed unchecked down her cheeks.
“Couldn’t we move her, sir? ’Tis terrible to leave her lying here,
poor lady——”
“Not until the doctor comes.” Storm’s tones were hoarse and muffled.
“Please go away, both of you. I want to be alone. Mind you say not a
word of what has happened to the milkman or anyone else who may come
to the door until the doctor has taken charge. We should have all the
neighbors about our ears.”
“We won’t breathe a word.” Agnes scrambled to her feet. “You’ll ring,
sir, if you want anything? A cup of coffee, now——?”
“Nothing!” Storm waved aside the suggestion with a shudder of disgust.
“I only wish to be alone.”
When the maids had withdrawn and their sobs were cut off by the
closing of the pantry door, Storm’s hands dropped to his knees. They
had accepted his suggestion of the cause of death without question,
but would it be safe for him to volunteer that theory as a foregone
conclusion to the keener mind of the doctor? He knew the strength of
first impressions; were the circumstantial proofs of accidental death
obvious enough to preclude all suspicion of foul play? The evidence
which had seemed so impregnable to him when he first conceived it
crumbled before the wave of torturing doubt that assailed him. He did
not find it as easy as he had planned to put behind him forever his
secret knowledge of the truth. What would his thought processes have
been had he indeed believed his wife to be sleeping safe in her room
and come down to find her lying dead here?
The whirr of a light-running motor outside galvanized Storm into
action, and he sprang up from his chair and hurried down the hall,
flinging the front door wide just as the doctor mounted the veranda
steps. A fine, grizzled stubble adorned the latter’s usually
clean-shaven jaw, and his light ulster was buttoned close up about his
neck as though to conceal deficiencies in his hastily donned attire.
“What is it, old man?” he began genially, and then at sight of the
other’s face he paused abruptly.
“Come.”
Without another word Storm turned and led the way to the den, and the
physician followed in silence. At the door the former, with a gesture,
stepped aside, and Dr. Carr’s glance fell upon the body.
Stifling an exclamation he advanced and made a brief, deft
examination. Then, shaken from his professional calm, he rose.
“There—is nothing I can do,” he announced jerkily. “She has been dead
for several hours—seven or eight, at least. Good God, Storm, what does
this mean?”
The gaze of the physician was filled with blank amazement and horror,
but to the other man it seemed sternly accusing, and he stammered
brokenly:
“I don’t know! She must have been here all night like this, while I
thought her safe in bed and asleep! It is horrible! Horrible!”
He hid his face in his hands to shut out those keen eyes bent upon
him, and Dr. Carr advanced and forced him gently down into a chair.
“Here, man, don’t give way now! Pull yourself together! Do you mean
that you only just discovered——?”
“A minute before I telephoned to you. It was the housemaid who found
Leila like this when she came down to dust around, and her screams
awakened me.” Storm paused. A detailed explanation would look too much
like an attempt at an alibi; he must wait for the other to drag the
facts from him. “Oh, why didn’t I speak, why didn’t I look in her room
when I came home last night! But I was afraid of disturbing her——”
He paused, and Dr. Carr asked quickly:
“You returned late and thought she had retired?”
“Yes. It was after eleven—I took the ten o’clock train from town—and
when I got here the house was all dark and silent, and Leila’s bedroom
and dressing-room doors were closed.” Storm’s hands dropped to the
arms of his chair, and he stared straight ahead of him as he added
deliberately: “I went to bed as quietly as I could so as not to waken
her, for she hadn’t been well; she was threatened with one of these
fainting attacks the night before last. I should never have left her!
But you know how it has been, Doctor; you never could tell when they
were coming on, and she had never done any real harm to herself
before——”
“‘Fainting attacks?’” the doctor repeated sharply. He wheeled and
approached the body once more and Storm watched him with bated breath.
“The right temple bone has been crushed in, as if with some heavy,
blunt instrument!”
“That knob on the corner of the fender——” Storm felt his way
carefully. “It—it’s all covered with blood! She must have fallen——”
The doctor glanced at it and then turned swiftly to him.
“Look here, Storm, have you questioned the servants? What do they know
of this?”
“Nothing. I’ve been too nearly crazed to question them coherently, but
from what I gathered they went to bed early and left her sitting out
on the veranda, and the housemaid said something about Leila having
told her that she would wait up for me, Think of it, Doctor! She must
have come in here——”
“Hold on a minute. Was the body lying just like this, face upturned,
when you saw it first?”
Storm nodded.
“Yes. I rushed to her and started to lift her up, but when I saw
that—that she was dead——”
He bowed his head on his breast as if unable to continue, but he saw
the physician measure with a swift eye the distance from the chair to
the body, and then stoop to examine the fender again. Storm’s knuckles
whitened as he gripped the chair-arms in an agony of suspense. Would
his implied suggestion bear fruit? Had he too palpably ignored the
other’s intimation that a blow had been struck? Would it have been
more natural for him to have presupposed violence, murder, as the
physician obviously had done? It was too late now for him to question
the wisdom of his course; he could brace himself for the next step in
the ghastly farce.
“Has anyone touched the body?” Dr. Carr spoke with professional
brusqueness.
“Yes; when I came back here after telephoning to you both the servants
were in the room, and Ellen was bending over my poor wife—I can’t
speak of it, Doctor; I can’t realize it! I feel as if I should go mad!
Leila——”
“I know, old man, but we’ve got to get at the bottom of this thing.
Try to collect yourself and think back. You said you were awakened by
the housemaid’s screams when she discovered the body. Do you know if
she touched it before you got down here?”
Storm shook his head.
“I never asked.” He kept his eyes lowered carefully to hide a glint of
triumph. When Carr discovered that Agnes had found the body lying face
down, the case he had manufactured would be complete. “I wish
you—you’d talk to them, Doctor. I—I can’t, just now. I’m all in!”
“I will. Don’t think about them.” Dr. Carr glanced at the low light on
the desk which still glowed brazenly in the gloom of the curtained
room. “Who turned on that light instead of drawing aside the
curtains?”
“It must have been on all night. Agnes said that was the first thing
she noticed when she got to the door here; that the light was still
going. Then she saw the body——” he halted again and added in studied
ingenuousness: “I might have observed it when I came home last night,
I suppose, but it is scarcely perceptible from the front hall, and
finding it all dark there except for the lamp on the newel post which
Leila always leaves lighted for me, I went straight upstairs. It never
occurred to me that she would be waiting up for me, and in here,
although she has done so occasionally. I was pretty tired. My God,
Doctor, if I had seen the light and come in here, I might have been
able to save her! There might have been something I could do—!”
“No, Storm, no one could have done anything for her. Death was
instantaneous. You heard nothing after you went upstairs? No sound of
a fall, or disturbance of any kind?”
“Nothing.” Storm started from his chair. “It couldn’t have happened
after I retired! Surely, if Leila had been alive when I entered the
house she would have heard me! The servants sleep like logs, but I
waken at the slightest sound. I would have known——!”
“That’s so. Of course, you would, old man.” Dr. Carr’s tone was
soothingly compassionate. “You’d better go upstairs now and put on
some clothes; you haven’t even slippers on your feet. I’ll have a word
with the servants while you’re gone——”
“But Leila!” Storm forced his shrinking eyes to turn yearningly toward
the still form. “I can’t bear to leave her lying like that! Ellen
wanted to lift her to the couch, but I thought we’d better wait until
you came——”
“Why?” The doctor shot the question at him, and Storm, realizing his
slip, swiftly countered:
“I didn’t know what to think! I tell you, Doctor, when I first came in
and saw her it looked almost like murder! My brain isn’t clear yet
from the shock of it, although when I saw the blood on the fender, of
course, I knew she must have fallen, and then I remembered her
condition—those fainting spells, and all that. There isn’t a soul in
the world who would harm a hair of Leila’s head!” He threw up his
hands with an impotent gesture. “I felt dazed, helpless! I had to
depend on you, and I wanted you to see everything just as it was.”
“You can rely on me, old man!” The doctor patted his arm and led him
to the door. “We must not move her yet, however. Under the
circumstances we’ll have to notify the authorities, merely as a matter
of form, and they may want to investigate for themselves. I’ll call
them up and then come and give you something to steady your nerves.
You’re bearing up splendidly, but we can’t have you going to pieces
until the formalities have been concluded. Is there anyone you would
like me to send for; any member of the family, or friend?”
“Yes!” Storm exclaimed in a sudden flash of inspiration. “Get old
George for me, will you, Doctor? George Holworthy, you know; 0328
Stuyvesant. Tell him to come out here on the first train, that I need
him. Don’t—don’t go into details, but make him understand that it’s
serious, desperate! I’m not a weakling, I won’t break down, but I’d
feel stronger if George were here. We’ve been friends for years.”
“I know; I’ll get him.” Dr. Carr drew out his handkerchief and mopped
his forehead. “Get into some clothes now. I’ll be right with you.”
“I would rather stay here with Leila, alone with her——” Storm murmured
mendaciously. “I won’t touch her, Doctor; let me stay!”
“No.” The physician transferred the key to the outside of the door and
locked it decisively as he spoke. “It wouldn’t do you any good, Storm.
You’ve got to brace up. You have put this affair in my hands now, and
I order you to pull yourself together. Get upstairs and take a cold
shower and then I’ll give you a sedative.”
With a last glance at the closed door, Storm stumbled to the stairs
and mounted, lurching against the banisters as though overcome by
weakness; but in reality his brain was seething with the thought of
the danger yet ahead.
He closed the door of his room softly behind him, and then paused.
What if Carr’s sympathetic, friendly manner had been assumed to cloak
a suspicion of the truth? The physician had seemed to accept his
theory, but he had not committed himself. Suppose he were following,
tiptoeing up the stairs now to peer in at the keyhole——!
The thought was madness, yet Storm turned instinctively. The key of
his door had been mislaid long ago and never replaced, but a heavy
lounging robe hung from a peg on the center panel. Catching a fold of
it he drew it back over the door-knob so that it trailed before the
lock like a curtain, thick and impenetrable. His bathroom had no
entrance leading to the hall, and the only other door—that opening on
Leila’s dressing-room was protected by a cretonne portière.
He realized that he had no need for secrecy, there was nothing to be
done now which all the world might not safely see—and yet an insane
desire came to him to conceal himself from all eyes. He must have a
moment of respite from the rôle he was playing, a moment of peace and
calmness to gird himself anew for what the immediate future might
hold.
Did Carr accept the situation at its face value? The man whom in the
night he had half-scornfully dismissed from his mind as a simple
country practitioner now appeared in a vastly different light. For the
moment he held in his hands Storm’s immunity from suspicion, and the
latter’s disquietude increased.
There was his step upon the stair! What would his face reveal?
With a quick revulsion of feeling, Storm sprang to the door and opened
it.
The smile with which the benign physician greeted him removed all
lingering doubt.
“Not taken your shower? Come, Storm, this won’t do! I’ve ’phoned, and
the coroner’s assistant is on his way over from the county seat.” He
held out a small glass, and the other took it mechanically. “Drink
this and pull yourself together, for there are some trying hours
ahead.”