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THE MEREDITH MYSTERY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: “Give me that key!”]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MEREDITH MYSTERY
by
NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN
Author of “The Cat’s Paw,” “The Unseen Ear,” “The Red Seal,”
“I Spy,” “The Moving Finger,” etc.
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with D. Appleton & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1923
By D. Appleton and Company
Copyright, 1922, 1923, by Street and Smith
Printed in the United States of America
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
MARIE LOUGHBOROUGH CHAMBERLAIN
A kind tender heart, and a true loving friend
Are God’s best gifts—from beginning to end.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I THE TEMPTATION
II THE SCENTED HANDKERCHIEF
III A QUESTION OF COLOR
IV RUFFLES
V THE INQUEST
VI TESTIMONY
VII SUSPICION
VIII THE PLEDGE
IX TWO PIECES OF STRING
X THE SOLITARY INITIAL
XI THE HAND ON THE COUNTERPANE
XII MURDER
XIII PRELIMINARY SKIRMISHING
XIV THE DUPLICATE KEY
XV AT THE FORK OF THE ROAD
XVI A CRY IN THE NIGHT
XVII UNDER LOCK AND KEY
XVIII THE POLICE WARRANT
XIX OUT OF THE MAZE
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MEREDITH MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
THE TEMPTATION
Anne Meredith looked at her mother, appalled. “Marry David Curtis!” she
exclaimed. “Marry a man I have seen not more than a dozen times. Are you
mad?”
“No, but your uncle is,” bitterly. “God knows what has prompted this
sudden philanthropy,” hesitating for a word. “This sudden desire to, as
he expresses it, ‘square accounts’ with the past by insisting that you
marry David Curtis or be disinherited.”
“Disinherited—?”
“Just so”—her mother’s gesture was expressive. “Having brought you up as
his heiress, he now demands that you carry out his wishes.”
“And if I refuse—?”
“We are to leave the house at once.”
Anne stared at her mother. “It is too melodramatic for belief,” she
said, and laughed a trifle unsteadily. “This is the twentieth
century—women are not bought and paid for. I,” with a proud lift of her
head, “I can work.”
“And starve—” Mrs. Meredith shrugged her shapely shoulders.
Anne colored hotly at her mother’s tone. “There is always work to be
found—honest work,” she contended stubbornly.
“For trained workers,” Mrs. Meredith supplemented.
“I can study stenography—typewriting,” Anne persisted.
“And what are we to live on in the meantime?” with biting irony. “The
savings from your allowance?”
Again the carmine dyed Anne’s pale cheeks. “My allowance,” she echoed.
“It has kept me in clothes and a little spending money. But you, mother,
you had father’s life insurance—”
“My investments have not turned out well,” Mrs. Meredith looked away
from her daughter. “Frankly, Anne, I haven’t a penny to my name.”
Anne regarded her blankly. “But your bank account at Riggs’—”
“Is overdrawn!” Walking swiftly over to her desk she took a letter from
one of the pigeonholes. “Here is the notification—see for yourself.” She
tossed the paper into Anne’s lap. “If you refuse to accede to your
uncle’s wishes, we leave this house _beggars_.”
Beggars! The word beat its meaning into Anne Meredith’s brain with cruel
intensity. Brought up in luxury, with every wish gratified, could it be
that want stared her in the face? Her gaze wandered about the cozy
boudoir, and she took in its dainty furnishings, bespeaking wealth and
good taste, with clearer vision than ever before. With a swift, half
unconscious movement she covered her eyes with her fingers and found the
lids wet with tears.
Rising abruptly she walked over to the window and, parting the curtain,
looked outside across the well-kept lawn. The giant elms on the place
gained an added beauty in the moonlight. From where she stood she
glimpsed the Cathedral, resembling, in the mellow glow from hidden arc
lights, a fairy palace perched high upon a nearby hill, and far in the
distance the twinkling lights of Washington, the City Beautiful. It was
a view of which she had never tired since coming to her ancestral home
when a tiny child.
The historic mansion, set in its ten acres, from which it derived its
name, had been built by a Virginia gentleman over one hundred years
before. He had occupied it with lavish hospitality until his death,
after which his widow, a gracious stately dame with the manner and
elegance of the _veille cour_, had led Washington society for many
years. The wits, beaux, and beauties of the early nineteenth century,
the chief executives, as they came and went, the diplomats and American
statesmen, together with every foreigner of distinction who visited the
capital city had been welcomed there, and as one Washingtonian whispered
to another:
“A passport viséd by St. Peter would not be more eagerly sought by some
of us than admission to these dear old doors.”
The prestige which clung to beautiful Ten Acres was one of the reasons
which had induced John Meredith to purchase his brother’s share in it
and, as his fortune grew with the years, to renovate the colonial
mansion and make it one of the show places within the District of
Columbia. With the exception of a wing added to increase its size, he
had left the quaint rooms and corridors untouched in their old-time
simplicity.
From her chair by her desk Mrs. Marshall Meredith watched her daughter
in silent speculation. A woman of the world, entirely worldly, she had
seen to it that Anne, her only child, had been provided with the best of
education in a convent in Canada. Upon Anne’s graduation a year before,
she had prevailed upon her brother-in-law, John Meredith, to give her a
trip abroad before she made her debut.
John Meredith’s pride in his pretty niece had intensified with her
success in society, and once again Ten Acres had become the center of
social life. Diplomats, high government officials, and residential
society sought eagerly for invitations to the banker’s lavish
entertainments, and Mrs. Meredith’s pet ambition—a titled
son-in-law—seemed nearer attainment.
Like a bolt from the blue had come Meredith’s extraordinary interest in
David Curtis, a patient at Walter Reed General Hospital, his invitation
for a week-end visit to Ten Acres, and now his ultimatum that his niece
marry David Curtis within a week or leave his house forever.
Mrs. Meredith’s outlook on life was shaken to its foundations. Her
frayed nerves snapped under the continued silence and she rose as Anne
turned back from the window and advanced to the center of the room. She
looked very girlish in her pretty dressing gown which she had donned
just before her mother sent for her to come to their boudoir, and her
chestnut hair, her greatest glory, was still dressed as she had worn it
that evening at dinner. Her mother switched on another electric light
and under its direct rays Anne’s unnatural pallor was intensified.
“It is cruel of Uncle John to force such a marriage,” she declared.
“You will agree to it?” The question shot from Mrs. Meredith. Anne shook
her head. “But think of the alternative—”
“There may be _but_ the one alternative.” Anne had some difficulty in
speaking and her voice was little more than a whisper. “Suppose—suppose
there was an unsurmountable obstacle—”
“An obstacle—of what kind?”
“A—a previous marriage—”
“Good God!” Mrs. Meredith stepped back and clutched a chair for support.
“You don’t mean—Anne—!”
“That I might be already married?” Anne’s soft voice added flame to her
mother’s fury. Stepping forward she gazed sternly at her daughter.
“No; it is not possible,” she declared. “I know every incident in your
life. The good Sisters kept a strict watch, and you have never been away
from my chaperonage since you left the convent. You cannot avoid your
uncle’s wishes with such a palpable lie.” In her relief she laughed.
“Anne, you frightened me, silly child.”
“And what are your feelings compared to mine?” Anne raised miserable,
agonized eyes and gazed straight at her mother. “Uncle John demands that
I marry David Curtis, and you, mother, are playing into his hands for
this most unnatural marriage—”
“Unnatural—?”
“Yes. You both wish me to marry a stranger—a blind man.”
“Say, rather, a hero blinded in the late War.”
“Cloak it in any language,” Anne’s gesture of despair was eloquent. “Oh,
mother, I cannot marry him.”
“Cease this folly, Anne, and pull yourself together,” Mrs. Meredith’s
voice was low and earnest. “I have been to your uncle this evening, and
he has agreed that this marriage with David Curtis is to be a marriage
of convenience only; and yet, ungrateful girl that you are, you forget
all that I have dared for your sake.”
Anne recoiled. “For me?” she said bitterly. “Oh, no. You love luxury,
wealth, power, and by sacrificing me you can attain your desires. You
wish to force me to marry this blind man—to make a mockery of the
marriage vows by assuring me that the ceremony is all that is required
of me. Do you think God smiles on such vows?”
Her mother stepped to her side and seized the girl’s hand. It was
marvelous how her long, slender fingers could compress the tender flesh.
Anne uttered a cry of pain, then threw back her head and met her
mother’s furious glance with an amount of resolution which amazed her.
“I am more than six years old,” she said quietly. “And I am subservient
to your will only because you are my mother and I am not yet of age. If
I must do this abominable thing, let it be done immediately.”
Mrs. Meredith dropped her hand. The passion died out of her face and the
smooth, handsome mask covered it as before.
“I am glad that you have recovered your senses,” she said in a calmer
voice. “Your uncle has retired for the night, not feeling well, but Sam
Hollister is waiting in the library to learn your decision.”
Anne shrank back. “Sam knows—” she gasped.
“Certainly; he has been your uncle’s confidential lawyer for many
years,” replied Mrs. Meredith. “Sam was present this evening when your
uncle disclosed his wishes to me regarding your marriage.”
“And why was I not present also?” demanded Anne, stepping forward as her
mother walked toward the hall door.
“Because John has a horror of hysterics,” she stated. “He has often told
you that he never married because he dreads a tyranny of tears,” and
going outside she shut the door with a firm hand.
Anne stared at the closed door for a full minute, then walked unsteadily
over to the couch and threw herself face downward among the sofa
pillows. Not until then did her clenched hands relax.
“Uncle John, how could you? How could you?” she gasped and her voice
choked on a sob.
The grandfather clock in the big entrance hall to Ten Acres was chiming
eleven when Mrs. Meredith pulled aside the portières in front of the
library door and crossed its threshold. At her almost noiseless entrance
a man standing with his back to the huge stone fireplace, which
stretched across one end of the large room, glanced up and made a hasty
step forward. With characteristic directness Mrs. Meredith answered his
inquisitive look.
“Anne has consented to marry David Curtis,” she announced and stopped
abruptly, her hasty speech checked by Sam Hollister’s upraised hand.
“Doctor Curtis is here,” he said, and indicated a lounging chair upon
their right.
Mrs. Meredith faced David Curtis as he rose and bowed. In the brief
silence she scanned him from head to foot. What she saw was a tall,
well-set-up man, broad-shouldered and with an unmistakable air of
breeding. Ill health had set its mark on his face, which was pale and
furrowed beyond his years, but the features were fine, the forehead
broad, and the sightless eyes a deep blue under their long lashes.
The lawyer broke the pause. “Doctor Curtis has just informed me that he
cannot accede to Mr. Meredith’s wishes regarding a marriage with your
daughter,” he said. “He will tell you his reasons.”
Mrs. Meredith’s face paled with anger. Hollister, watching her, felt a
glow of reluctant admiration as he saw her instantly regain her
self-control.
“Your reasons, Doctor Curtis?” she asked suavely. “Pray keep your seat.
I will sit on the sofa by Mr. Hollister.”
David Curtis, with the instinct of location given to the blind, turned
so as to face the sofa.
“Your daughter, madam,” he began, “is a young and charming girl, with
life before her. I”—he hesitated, choosing his words carefully—“I have
to start life afresh, handicapped with blindness. Before the War I had
gained some reputation as a surgeon, now I can no longer practice my
profession. Until I learn some occupation open to the blind, I cannot
support myself, much less a wife.”
“But my brother-in-law proposes settling twenty-five thousand dollars a
year each upon you and Anne after your marriage,” she interposed
swiftly. “It is—” she hesitated and glanced at Hollister. “Have you told
him?”
Hollister bowed gravely. “It is to be a marriage in name only,” he
stated. “You can live abroad if you wish, Curtis. Meredith only
stipulates that this place, Ten Acres, is to be occupied after his death
for two or three months every year by you both, and never sold.”
“And Mr. Meredith’s reasons for wishing this marriage to take place?”
demanded Curtis. “What are they?”
Hollister shook his head. “I do not know them,” he admitted. “John told
me to tell both Anne and you that he would state his reasons immediately
_after_ the marriage ceremony. I have known John Meredith,” the lawyer
added, “for nearly fifteen years, and I know that he always keeps his
word.”
Curtis’ sensitive fingers played a noiseless tattoo on the chair arm.
“It is too great an injustice to Miss Meredith,” he objected.
“But the alternative is far more unjust,” broke in Mrs. Meredith. “My
brother-in-law has announced that if this marriage does not take place,
he will disinherit Anne. She has never been taught any useful
profession; she is delicate in health—her lungs,” her voice quivered
with feeling. “If this marriage does not take place Anne will be a
homeless pauper. Upon you, doctor, rests the decision.”
She was clever, this woman. She instinctively seized Curtis where he was
vulnerable; she appealed to his kindly heart and the human interest
which was part of his profession.
The seconds ticked themselves into minutes before Curtis spoke.
“Very well, I will go through with the ceremony,” he said, and Mrs.
Meredith had difficulty in restraining an exclamation. Hollister read
rightly the relief in her eyes and smiled. He had no love for the
handsome widow. She rose at once.
“You will not regret your decision, Doctor Curtis,” she said, and turned
to Hollister. “Will you tell John?”
“If he is awake, yes; if not, the news will keep until to-morrow.”
Hollister concealed a yawn. “Good night, Mrs. Meredith,” as she walked
toward the entrance. Curtis’ mumbled “good night” was almost lost in her
clear echo of their words as she disappeared through the portières.
“Coming upstairs, Curtis?” asked Hollister, pausing on his way out of
the library. “Can I help you to your room?”
“Thanks, no. I’ve learned to find my way about fairly well,” answered
Curtis. “I’ll stay down and smoke for a bit longer.”
“All right, see you in the morning,” and Hollister departed, after first
pausing to pick up several magazines.
In spite of his statement that he was fairly familiar with his
surroundings, it took Curtis some moments to locate the smoking stand
and a box of matches. While lighting his cigar he was conscious of the
sound of voices in the hall, which grew louder in volume and then died
away. He had resumed his old seat and his cigar was drawing nicely when
a hand was laid on his shoulder.
“Sorry to startle you,” remarked the newcomer. “I am Gerald Armstrong.”
“Yes, I recognize your voice,” Curtis started to rise, but his
companion, one of the week-end house guests at Ten Acres, pressed him
back in his chair.
“I only stopped for a word.” Armstrong hesitated as if in doubt. “I’ve
just learned of—that you and Anne Meredith are to be married.”
“Yes,” answered Curtis as the pause lengthened. “Yes?”
“You are going through with the ceremony?”
Curtis turned his head and looked up with sightless eyes in Armstrong’s
face.
“Certainly. May I ask what affair it is of yours?”
“None,” hastily. “But you don’t know Anne—”
“I do.”
“Oh, yes, you know that she is the only daughter of Mrs. Marshall
Meredith and the niece and reputed heiress of John Meredith, millionaire
banker,” Armstrong’s usually pleasant voice was harsh and discordant.
“As to the girl herself—you are marrying Anne, sight unseen.”
With a bound Curtis was on his feet and Armstrong winced under the grip
of his fingers about his throat.
“Stand still!” The command was issued between clenched teeth. “I won’t
hurt you, you fool!” Shifting his grip Curtis ran his sensitive fingers
over Armstrong’s face and brow. He released him with such suddenness
that Armstrong, who had stood passive more from surprise than any other
motive, staggered back. “Go to bed!”
Armstrong hesitated; then without further word, whirled around and sped
from the library.
Curtis did not resume his seat. Instead he paced up and down the
library, dexterously avoiding the furniture, for over an hour. At last,
utterly exhausted, he dropped into a chair near the doorway. His brain
felt on fire as he reviewed the events of the evening. He had promised
to marry a girl unknown to him three days before. He would marry her
“sight unseen.” God! To be blind! Fate had reserved a sorry jest for
him. What could be the motive behind John Meredith’s sudden friendliness
for him, his invitation to spend a week at Ten Acres, and now his demand
that he and Anne Meredith go through a “marriage of convenience”?
And he had weakly consented to the plan! Curtis rubbed a feverish hand
across his aching forehead. Forever cut off from practicing his beloved
profession, with poverty staring him in the face, handicapped by
blindness, it was a sore temptation to be offered twenty-five thousand
dollars a year to go through a mere ceremony. But he had steadfastly
refused until Mrs. Meredith had pointed out to him that Anne would
thereby lose a fortune.
Anne—his face softened at the thought of her. Could it be that she had
sung her way into his heart? The evening of his arrival he had spent
listening enthralled to her glorious voice. Her infectious laugh, the
few times that she had addressed him, lingered in his memory.
With a sigh he arose, picked up his cane and felt his way out into the
hall. He had cultivated a retentive memory and his always acute hearing
had aided him in making his way about. He had grown both sure-footed and
more sure of himself as his general health improved. At John Meredith’s
suggestion he had spent a good part of a day familiarizing himself with
the architectural arrangements of the old mansion until he felt that he
could find his way about without great difficulty.
Curtis was halfway up the circular staircase to the first bedroom floor
when he heard the faint closing of a door, then came the sound of
dragging footsteps. As Curtis approached the head of the staircase the
footsteps, with longer intervals between, dragged themselves closer to
him. He had reached the top step when a soft thud broke the stillness.
Curtis paused in uncertainty. He remembered that the wide hall ran the
depth of the house, with bedrooms and corridors opening from it. From
which side had proceeded the noise?
Slowly, cautiously, he turned to his right and moved with some speed
down the hall. The next second his outflung hands saved him from falling
face downward as he tripped over an inert body.
Considerably shaken, Curtis pulled himself up on his knees and bent over
the man on the floor. His hand sought the latter’s wrist. He could feel
no pulse. Bending closer he pressed his ear against the man’s chest—no
heartbeat!
Curtis’ hand crept upward to the man’s throat and then was withdrawn
with lightning speed. He touched his sticky fingers with the tip of his
tongue, then sniffed at them—blood. An instant later he had located the
jagged wound by sense of touch. Taking out his handkerchief he wiped his
hands, then bending down ran his fingers over the man’s face, feature by
feature, over his mustache and carefully trimmed beard, over the scarred
ear. The man before him was his host, the owner of Ten Acres, John
Meredith.
With every sense alert Curtis rose slowly, his head bent in a listening
attitude. The silence remained unbroken. Apparently he and John
Meredith, lying dead at his feet, were alone in the hall.