CHECKMATE!
McCarty left the Parsons house a few minutes later, his mind a chaos
of conflicting impressions. With the sonorous, dignified tones still
ringing upon his ear and the deeply concerned gaze yet seemingly
bent upon him Benjamin Parsons appeared the epitome of rectitude and
righteousness, but had he been as certain of Porter’s innocence as he
claimed, and was he as ignorant of where he had gone?
He crossed the street to Orbit’s house and glanced again into the
court between that and Goddard’s. Max was still there, but he had
lain down as though exhausted and his ribs, glistening with the rain,
showed pitifully gaunt. Why didn’t they take the poor fellow in?
McCarty stopped and spoke coaxingly to him. The dog slowly rolled his
lack-luster eyes upon him but made no other response.
For a long minute McCarty stood thoughtfully regarding the dog. When,
at last, he continued on his way there was a curiously absent look upon
his face.
Ching Lee admitted him and took him to the library where he had first
been received. A small fire of some strange, peat-like fuel was burning
on the hearth, sending out iridescent flames and a faint pervasive odor
as of sandalwood, and before it Orbit was seated, with a stout, florid
man in tweeds.
“Good-morning, McCarty. I rather thought that you or the inspector
would look in on me this morning.” Orbit turned to his guest. “Sir
Philip, this is Deputy McCarty, the official who is working with
Inspector Druet on the investigation into this hideous mystery.”
Sir Philip Devereux nodded to the ex-roundsman cordially.
“Shocking affair, this! Shocking!” he commented. “Here for a little
private chat with Mr. Orbit, what? I’ll leave you—”
“No, don’t go, Sir Philip!” Orbit demurred smilingly. “You know all the
circumstances and McCarty and I haven’t anything private to discuss. I
hope he’s brought me some news!—You heard about what happened to me the
other night?”
“I did that,” McCarty nodded. “What do you think ’twas done for, if
nothing was taken?”
“Haven’t the remotest idea.—Sit down here by the fire, man, you’re
soaked through!” Orbit added hospitably. “I’ll have Ching Lee bring you
a touch of something from my private stock—?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Orbit; I’ve a twinge of the gout now and then,
though you mightn’t think it,” McCarty explained speciously. “I just
dropped by to see if you’d thought of anything to add to what you told
the inspector about the chloroforming?”
“Nothing. The whole thing happened so quickly and the impressions left
on my mind were so vague, that I am afraid I can be of little use
to you. One thing seems certain; the fellow didn’t intend me to die
from the effect of it, since he stopped to open the windows and throw
away the cloth he had used to anæsthetize me!” Orbit shrugged. “The
incident is absolutely inexplicable except on the supposition that his
only intention was to terrorize me, and that is really too absurd to
consider.”
“It was an outrage!” declared Sir Philip suddenly. “Damme, it passes
belief! The chap must be a fiend—or mad! What object could he have in
doing Hughes in? I say, there was a valet for you!—Then the girl, too!
That poison gas theory seems to be rot to me, too utterly impossible
with you there in the room, but the girl is dead, isn’t she? There you
are!”
He leaned back in his chair and puffed thoughtfully at his cigar. His
host turned to McCarty with a faint hint of amusement in his eyes but
it was quickly overshadowed by sadness again.
“The girl is dead, poor creature, and I cannot help feeling that the
blame in some way rests at my door, for I invited her in. However her
death was brought about the child escaped, though; we have that to
be thankful for! We are none of us safe here on the Mall while the
murderer is free to come and go in our houses at will, killing with
impunity whenever the horrible impulse comes to him! I was reluctant to
offer my hospitality to Sir Philip under these harrowing circumstances
but he expressed himself as willing to abide by the consequences.”
“Ripping experience!” the baronet nodded again. “Sorry I’m sailing
to-morrow! Like nothing better than to stop and see it through!—Old
chap over the way was robbed the same night, I hear; any clues left
there, McCarty?”
There was no hint of sarcasm in his tone but McCarty flushed darkly,
then he darted a quick glance at the questioner and a slow smile
dawned. The Britisher was trying to get his goat!
“Yes, sir, the same as here,” he replied. “Mr. Orbit, you’ve that
chloroform bottle? The inspector says ’twas found on a stand beside
your bed.”
“Ching Lee has it, I believe; would you like to see it?” He rang the
bell without waiting for a reply. “The cloth used was a towel from
my own bathroom; it’s evident that the fellow was familiar with the
house and knew his way about; but how he got in that side door leading
from the card-room, if Ching Lee really bolted it as usual the night
before—? Oh, Ching Lee?”
The butler had appeared silently in the doorway and now Orbit addressed
him in a rapid patter of Chinese. Ching Lee, as impassive and wooden of
countenance now as before the tragedy, bowed and departed, and McCarty
turned once more to Orbit.
“What time was it, as near as you can figure, that you were doped?”
“I should say, around two o’clock in the morning, perhaps a trifle
before. Sir Philip and I sat up till after midnight playing chess, and
when I retired I tried for more than an hour to sleep before I took a
bromide. Things grew hazy after that and I don’t know how long I dozed
before I was conscious of some one in the room.”
“You got no whiff of anything else before the chloroform hit you?”
McCarty asked. “No smell of a pipe or cigar if the guy was a smoker,
maybe?”
“I smoke so constantly myself that I would scarcely have noticed it
even if there had been time and I were fully awake.” Orbit raised his
brows. “You smoke yourself, McCarty; could you have detected it?”
“Sure,” McCarty stated the fact modestly. “I’ve not the nose Denny has,
but ’tis easy to tell the smell of a cigar from a pipe, even if it’s
only hanging about the clothes of a person; a rich, full-flavored cigar
with a body to it leaves a scent that a man will travel with, whether
he gets it himself or not.”
“‘Denny?’” Orbit repeated. “Oh, you mean your associate, Riordan? Yes,
I remember he detected the odor of that small blaze here a week ago,
when the monkey upset the cigar lighter in my room. Odd faculty, that,
eh, Sir Philip?”
“Jolly, I fancy. I only wish I had it!” Sir Philip chuckled. “My man
makes away with my cigars at a shockin’ rate but I never can catch him
at it. I say, no one’s disturbed our board, have they?”
“Indeed, no,” Orbit replied. “I gave strict orders and we can finish
the set to-night.—Sir Philip held the amateur chess championship for
Great Britain for five years.”
He added this to McCarty and then turned as Ching Lee appeared again
and spoke to him once more in his native tongue. The butler advanced
and placed in McCarty’s hands the bottle he had seen in Orbit’s room
two nights before.
“Has it been uncorked, do you know, since ’twas found beside you?”
McCarty regarded the contents critically, removed the cork himself for
a cautious whiff. Hurriedly replacing it, he handed the bottle back to
Ching Lee and rose.
“I don’t think so,” Orbit whipped out his handkerchief and pressed
it to his nose. “I am susceptible to _that_ odor, at any rate, since
Wednesday night!—Sorry not to be of any greater help to you. I shall
depend on you and the inspector to keep me informed of any developments
that may arise.”
As McCarty trudged through the driving rain toward the east gate once
more, he shook his head. Come night, it would be a week since Hughes
had been done to death, and the end was not yet clear!
He made his way to the lunchroom on Third Avenue which he and Dennis
had previously visited and in deference to the day ordered fried
oysters. They were long in coming and he rested his elbows wearily on
the table. Was he getting too old for the game, after all? In days gone
by, when he was in harness, he’d have got to the truth long since. It
had been a dog’s life in more ways than one, yet he regretted more than
ever that he had left it and grown rusty....
All at once he straightened in his chair and sat staring at the cynical
warning to “watch your hat and coat” on the wall before him as if
the legend were wholly unfamiliar to him. The belated appearance of
the waitress with the oysters roused him from his stupor and he rose
hurriedly.
“Don’t want ’em!” he muttered thickly. “Gimme the check; I got to beat
it!”
Spilling a dime onto the table he took the slip of pasteboard, paid
for his untouched food at the cashier’s desk and went out as one in a
dream. Once around the corner he seemed galvanized into life and set
off briskly enough for the subway.
Twenty minutes later he presented himself at headquarters and after
being closeted with the chief of the detective bureau for some little
time he departed, armed with certain credentials for the main office of
the telephone company.
There he spent a long and seemingly unproductive hour going over the
calls from the Gotham exchange, which included the New Queen’s Mall,
for the previous Tuesday.
Over Goddard’s private wire had gone numerous messages before Trafford
had called Blaisdell’s studio; and in the late afternoon, when Horace’s
continued absence had caused alarm, there were fully a score of numbers
registered before Goddard himself had summoned McCarty.
Orbit’s telephone, too, had been busy, with the caterer, decorator,
florist and a musical agency, in connection with the function of the
afternoon. Three messages to the coal dealer and innumerable others
followed, presumably sent by guests until the evening was far advanced.
Only four calls had been sent from the Bellamy house and they appeared
to have been made by the lady herself, for they were to modiste,
hairdresser, perfumer and a prominent department store.
Parsons’ telephone had been connected with a foreign consulate, several
charitable societies and a banking house, while the Sloane household
had communicated with Doctor Allonby, a drug store, an agency for male
nurses, the office number of a noted financier, and several residence
numbers of equally well-known persons.
McCarty copied one or two numbers from each list and sallied forth to
verify them, but, although the afternoon was long, twilight had not yet
come when he returned to his rooms and entered cautiously.
They had not been intruded upon on this occasion, but he remained only
long enough to secure the page torn from the encyclopædia and then
slipped out again through the teeming rain to the fire house which
domiciled engine company 023.
Dennis was matching nickels with Mike in the dormitory and reaping a
rich harvest, but he hastily promised the loser his revenge later and
slid down the pole to join McCarty.
“I’ve looked for you all afternoon!” he declared reproachfully, adding:
“You’ve news! I can see it in the eye of you and I might have known
something would start whilst I was out of it!”
“There’s nothing new,” McCarty responded quietly. “I’ve a queer notion
in my head, but it’s too sickening to spring even after all we know
has happened, till I get hold of something to back it up. Parsons
’phoned for me this morning—the old gentleman himself—and told me the
truth about what was missing since Wednesday night, which was no news.
He said it was clever, the way you’d disconnected the inside alarm
arrangement—”
“Me!” Dennis’ leathery countenance blanched. “’Tis what I get for
letting you lead me into breaking the law! Now I’ll get thrown out of
the department and pinched, and Molly will change the baby’s name—!”
“Oh, Parsons did not know ’twas you, Denny, he just said it had been
cleverly done,” McCarty hastened to explain. “I sprung it on him about
Porter and Radley and asked him what would he do if a fellow escaped
that he thought was innocent and came to him and he spoke up quick that
he’d turn him over to the authorities anyway; ’twould be his higher
duty to our social fabric, whatever that is.”
“It would, would it!” Dennis ejaculated in fine scorn. “The social
fabric could go to blazes for all of me, but I’d stick to a pal,
innocent or no! Howsomever, I’ve not the grand, cold-blooded principles
of him!—You know the poor devil’s been caught, crazier than a loon?”
McCarty nodded.
“Porter knows it, too; he’s beaten it for fear he’ll be sent up for
hiding him.” He finished his account of the morning’s interview and
then drew the torn page from his pocket. “There’s more to this thing
about the Calabar bean that I didn’t read you, Denny, so I brought it
around and maybe ’twill give us an idea.—Listen: ‘Calabar Bean. Ordeal
Nut. The seed of Physostigma ven-en-osum, a twining, half shrubby
plant, native of Africa.’”
“What of it?” Dennis was frankly bored. “How is that going to help?”
“Wait a bit.—‘The kernel is hard and white, and yields its virtue to
alcohol and less perfectly to water.—’”
“I’ll bet it does, or they’d never have got it down Hughes, if what
we’ve heard of his habits is straight!” interrupted Dennis, his
interest once more aroused. “There you’ve got it, Mac! Find the last
one he took a drink with and you’ll have the guy that croaked him!”
“That’s not all,” McCarty began again. “‘The beans are reddish, gray,
or’—um—‘Kidney-shaped, and about the size’—never mind that!—‘Care
should be taken to avoid spontaneous—’”
“Did you trail around here in all the rain to give me a botany lesson?”
Dennis demanded indignantly. “’Tis not from any book you’ll be learning
the truth! I was that upset last night, what with the revolver shot and
all, that I never thought to ask you, but what did the old guy you know
uptown say about that bu’sted blue balloon? Could he make out from the
way it was rotting before our eyes the kind of gas there was in it?”
McCarty hesitated and then said slowly:
“Denny, you’ll mind the other night after we had examined it I put it
in a cracker box while we went for a bite to eat and when we came home
you saw me hunting around for something?”
“You were trying to whistle, too!” Dennis nodded. “That always means
you think you’re putting something over! What was it?”
“I was hunting for that cracker box. I knew the minute we came back
into the room somebody’d been there, for there was the stale smell of
a heavy cigar on the air, not as if he’d been smoking right then, but
the scent of it was strong on him as he passed through the place; when
I found the box missing I knew what he’d come for.”
“Think of that now! Do you know what it means, Mac? The murderer knew
you and not the medical examiner’s assistant had taken it from the
conservatory! I wonder if he followed us from then on? The sight of us
parading through the streets with all them balloons would have told him
we were on, if he wasn’t blind!” Dennis grinned. “Leave the medical
examiner find out what kind of gas was it; we know how ’twas give to
her, though not what busted the balloon right in her face nor how the
gas got in it! The notion come to me that ’twas not meant to kill
Lucette, anyway.”
“Not kill her!” exclaimed McCarty. “The first whiff of it must have
knocked her cold!”
“But what if it was intended for the baby and not for her?” Dennis
lowered his voice. “What if the murderer has a craze for killing
children? I’ve heard tell of such things and so have you! Suppose
Hughes was poisoned by mistake in the first place for Ching Lee, so
that little Fu Moy wouldn’t be protected. Then Horace was taken away
and maybe killed and the Bellamy baby was next on the list—!”
“Denny, you’re running wild!” McCarty interrupted in his turn. “The
murderer’s brain has got a twist to it, but he’s not as crazy as all
that. Baby-killers are just stupid, low brutes without the shrewdness
or knowledge to plan such crimes as we’re up against now. We’re
fighting a mind, not a fist with a knife or a club in it!”
“So you’ve been saying!” Dennis retorted disgustedly. “That comes of
those books you’ve been reading! Whilst you’ve been figuring out his
ancestors and the blood that’s in him to decide is he in the ‘Born’ or
‘Habit’ class, like that Diagnostic book of yours has it, he’s been
having an Old Home Week in the Mall, kidnapping and killing right and
left! ’Twill be a week to-night—!”
McCarty beat a hasty retreat and took his solitary way to the
restaurant, where he ate a hearty dinner to make up for the deferred
lunch. Then he returned to the Mall, to prowl about like an unquiet if
somewhat too material ghost. The rain had stopped at last and although
the sky was still partially overcast the glimmer of a few stars gave
promise of a clear dawn. Lights were brilliant in the Sloane, Parsons
and Orbit residences, but low in Goddard’s and Mrs. Bellamy’s, where
the lady had been in a hysterical state since the murder of her baby’s
nurse.
Yost had been relieved from his post at the mortuary to take the place
of the night watchman, and McCarty walked up and down with him for more
than an hour, discussing the strange chain of tragedies. All at once,
as they passed the court next to the Goddard house, he heard a low,
coaxing masculine voice and came upon Trafford bending over something
which lay in the shadows.
“Come on, old fellow!” the tutor was saying. “Come along in the house
like a good boy! Horace isn’t here, Max, it’s no good waiting—!”
“’Tis a strange acting dog and no mistake, Trafford,” McCarty remarked.
The tutor looked up.
“He’s grieving himself to death,” he said. “He hasn’t touched a morsel
of food since Tuesday, though we’ve tempted him with everything, and he
is so weak he can scarcely stand, but he waits about out here all the
time for Horace to come home. I’ve got to get him in now if I have to
carry him!”
At this juncture, however, Max rose languidly to his feet and began
sniffing at McCarty’s boots, whining softly.
“’Tis like he was trying to talk!” the latter exclaimed.
“I wish he could, if he knows anything!” Trafford replied sadly. “If
Horace isn’t found soon his mother will lose her mind! McCarty, can’t
you people do anything? Even to know the—the worst would be better than
this horrible uncertainty and suspense!”
“The lad’s disappearance is not the half of what we’re up against,
Trafford,” McCarty reminded him. “We’re doing everything mortal to find
him and soon, maybe to-morrow, we’re going to take a big chance.”
He watched while the tutor led the dog into the house and then shaking
his head he proceeded to Orbit’s and rang the bell. It was little Fu
Moy, resplendent in his embroidered serving jacket, who opened the door
and without announcing him, beckoned and preceded him to the library,
where the last interview had taken place.
The room was in deep shadow save for the glow from the hearth and
a single broad beam from a bridge lamp which played down upon a
chessboard laid out on a small table. At opposite sides of it two
silent, intent figures sat as immovably as graven images. If they were
aware of McCarty’s appearance they made no sign.
Were they hypnotized, or something? The two of them couldn’t be asleep,
sitting bolt upright like that! McCarty waited a good five minutes and
then advanced slowly into the room but still they appeared oblivious.
Orbit was sitting forward, his eyes glued on the board, his hands
clasped and elbows resting on the arms of the chair but the
florid-faced Englishman appeared to be gazing off into space with the
intent yet absent look of one absorbed in profound concentration.
Then slowly Orbit’s right hand disengaged itself from the other and he
moved a figure upon the board, his hand almost mechanically seeking its
former position.
A little smile twitched at the corners of Sir Philip’s mouth and with a
swift intake of his breath he moved, sweeping from the board the figure
of shining white with which Orbit had just played. The latter instantly
lifted his head and raised his eyes to the high, beamed ceiling. With
the slight gesture the first sound broke the stillness, as a muffled,
barely audible exclamation came from Sir Philip’s throat.
Orbit made one more move and then glanced in amused commiseration at
his friend.
“Checkmate, Sir Philip! I shall give you your revenge in London next
season!”
“I say! That was damned clever! Led me right into ambush, what? I wish
some of the masters could have seen it!—Oh, there you are, McCarty!
Are you a chess player, by any chance?”
“No, sir.” McCarty advanced a step farther. “Mr. Orbit, Fu Moy showed
me straight in and I waited so as not to disturb you.”
“That’s all right!” Orbit nodded pleasantly. “Our game is over.—You
have news for me?”
“Of a sort. You recall saying on Wednesday that you thanked heaven the
Bellamy baby was old enough to talk?”
“Yes!” Orbit responded eagerly. “I have tried several times to see Mrs.
Bellamy and little Maude, but the mother is still almost overcome by
the narrow escape of her child and will not permit her out of her sight
for a moment, while she herself is too prostrated to see any one.”
“The little one talked to me the other day,” McCarty vouchsafed.
“She did? Why didn’t you tell me?” Orbit pushed back his chair and
rose. “Did she see any one, hear anything? Tell me, for God’s sake!
This may be most important!”
His fine eyes had lighted and the latent excitement seemed to have
communicated itself to his guest for Sir Philip also rose.
“No, sir. She knew no more than you or I, but she kept asking for her
balloon. It seems Lucette had bought it for her off a wop by the gate
just before you invited them in; ’twas a blue one, the baby said, and
she was persistent about it, but I recall seeing no toy balloon in that
conservatory.—Did you?”
“No.” Orbit shook his head. “I really don’t know, though; I didn’t
notice particularly. Surely it couldn’t have had anything to do with
the case, though!—What is it, Fu Moy?”
The little coffee boy spoke rapidly in Chinese and after a moment Orbit
turned with a gesture which included Sir Philip and McCarty.
“I am wanted on the telephone. You will excuse me?”
When he had left the room the Englishman glanced again at the
chessboard with the self-centered absorption of the enthusiast.
“Too bad you didn’t understand that play! Dash it all! Very clever! On
the twenty-first move, his Knight captured my pawn. Check. I moved the
King to the Queen’s square. By Jove, he moved the Queen to Bishop’s
sixth. Check. I captured his Queen with my Knight and then Orbit moved
his Bishop to King’s seventh. Checkmate! Devilish trick, I should say.
Really, McCarty, he had served me with what is known in chess parlance
as ‘The Immortal Partie!’”
“‘Checkmate,’” repeated McCarty slowly. “That means calling the turn,
then, blocking every play; not winning anything yourself but keeping
the other fellow from moving! ’Tis a poor sort of victory, to my mind,
but better than getting wiped off the board, and the secret of it
is—looking ahead!”