THE DUPLICATE KEY
David Curtis balanced the Yale key in his hand in deep thought.
“And this key was the only object in Meredith’s safe deposit box?” he
asked.
“It was.” Hollister lighted a cigar and puffed vigorously. “Damned odd,
isn’t it? Why did Meredith preserve the key so carefully?”
“It might have been left there accidentally.”
“True.” The lawyer pointed to the inventory sheet lying on the window
ledge. “That notation reads: ‘Contents of safe deposit box belongs to.’”
He folded the paper and replaced it in his wallet. “What do you make of
it? There were no ‘contents-’”
“Except this key,” ended Curtis. “But a key has to belong to a—lock.” He
smiled. “It is obviously up to you, Hollister, to locate the lock.”
“You think—” Hollister glanced at him keenly as he paused.
“That behind the lock this key fits we may find the missing contents of
the safe deposit,” Curtis explained. “I say may, remember, not _will_;
and at that it is only a shot in the dark.”
Hollister looked dissatisfied. “How am I to go about it?” he grumbled.
“Inspector Mitchell and I have been carefully through every desk and
drawer in Meredith’s bedroom and the library. We have found nothing,
documents or otherwise, except what is ordinarily in the possession of a
very wealthy man. Meredith, judging superficially, left his financial
affairs in good shape.”
Curtis did not answer at once. “This key, you say, is marked
‘duplicate’,” he began finally. “Do you recall seeing its original on
Meredith’s bunch of keys?”
“I don’t remember it,” admitted Hollister. “But then there were a number
of Yale keys on his ring.”
“Did you find a lock for every key that _was_ there?”
“A good point!” exclaimed Hollister, his face clearing. “But I don’t
believe that I can answer your question offhand. Mitchell has the keys.
Let’s see if he is still on the premises.”
Laying down his cigar Hollister hastened across the room and over to the
house telephone. It took him a second or two to get an answer to his
ring. “Hello—hello!” he called. “Who is this? Fernando?” finally
distinguishing the latter’s broken English. “Where is Inspector
Mitchell? At the lodge? Hurry over and ask him to return here, Fernando.
Tell him that Mr. Hollister wishes to see him. Hold on, Fernando!” as
the Filipino started to hang up his earpiece. “Bring Inspector Mitchell
to Mr. John Meredith’s bedroom.”
Replacing his receiver on the house telephone hook, Hollister found
Curtis had crossed the room and was waiting for him at the door. As the
two men stepped into the corridor and started for Meredith’s bedroom,
Gretchen flitted down the corridor leading to the servants’ quarters,
paused for a second to cast an uneasy glance at the backs of the two men
and then, doubling on her tracks, slipped unheard along the corridor in
the direction of Lucille Hull’s bedroom. She missed, by a fraction of a
second, encountering Inspector Mitchell and Fernando as they came up the
circular staircase. The Filipino had acted so promptly on Hollister’s
order that he had caught the Inspector just as he was stepping into a
police car driven by Detective Sergeant Brown, which had been parked
under the trees near the entrance to Ten Acres.
Inspector Mitchell listened with close attention to Hollister’s account
of finding the inventory sheet with its notation regarding a safe
deposit box and the discovery of the “duplicate” key.
“Is that the only box Meredith had at the bank?” he asked.
“No,” replied Hollister. “He had another, which we opened to-day in the
presence of the proper authorities. It contained the securities,
jewelry, and other valuables listed in Meredith’s memorandum of special
bequests. We checked it off this morning and all were accounted for.”
“Then you think this notation refers to the box holding only the
duplicate key?” asked Mitchell.
“That is my idea, yes,” answered Hollister.
“Did you think to ask the bank officials when Meredith rented the, shall
we say, second box?” broke in Curtis.
Hollister nodded his head vigorously. “Yes. The box containing the
securities he has had for going on ten years, while this smaller box he
rented only four weeks ago to-day.” Hollister looked squarely at
Mitchell. “The box rents for twenty-five dollars a year. Now, why should
Meredith pay that amount and place only a duplicate key in it?”
“He may have intended to place other valuables there,” suggested the
Inspector, shaking several bunches of keys out of a chamois bag which he
removed from an inside pocket. He spread the keys on the table before
them, and then, taking them up one by one, he matched each key with the
one bearing the linen tag with its single word, “duplicate,” written
plainly upon it. The Inspector was thorough in his examination and
Curtis had time to become impatient before he spoke.
“This Yale key is unlike any we have here.” Mitchell spoke with more
gravity; he had not at first taken Hollister’s comments on the
importance of the duplicate key very seriously. “And these keys are all
that we found in this bedroom, in the library and in the pockets of
Meredith’s suits of clothes.”
“Did you look in the pocket of Meredith’s pajamas?” questioned Curtis.
“Wasn’t a thing in it, except a handkerchief,” replied Mitchell. “If
you’ll let me keep this key, Mr. Hollister, I’ll have Sergeant Brown and
an assistant search for its mate.”
“And the lock which it fits,” put in Curtis swiftly, as the Inspector,
taking Hollister’s permission for granted, slipped the keys back in the
chamois bag, keeping, however, the key under discussion in his right
hand.
“We will institute a thorough search, don’t fear,” responded Mitchell,
none too well pleased with Curtis’ tone. He brushed by the blind surgeon
and was the first to step into the hall, the others just behind him.
“Where is that wretched parrot of Mr. Meredith’s? It isn’t in his old
bedroom.”
His question was overheard by Fernando, who had loitered near the head
of the circular staircase, one eye on the closed door behind which the
three men were conferring and the other on the front hall beneath.
“Mees Anne has Ruffles,” he volunteered, coming toward them. “The bird,
she cry so much, an’ Mees Anne say ‘Fernando, bring Ruffles to my
room.’”
“Oh!” Mitchell scratched his head in some doubt. “Well, see that the
bird isn’t taken out of the house, Fernando. Say, didn’t you look after
Mr. Meredith?”
“I took care of his clothes and his room, yes, sir,” explained the
Filipino. “Always I run errands for him, and I wait at the table under
Herman, yes, sir.”
“Do you recognize this key?” As he spoke Inspector Mitchell thrust it
almost under Fernando’s nose. “Do you know what it unlocks?”
Fernando turned the key over and over, his expression inscrutable as he
fingered the linen tag. “I no see it before,” he stated, handing it
back.
“Have you seen one like it?” asked Curtis, breaking his silence.
“Perhaps,” was Fernando’s noncommittal reply.
“Mr. Meredith kept always the keys under his pillow at night;
sometimes,” looking first at one man and then the other, “Mr. Meredith
forget in the morning and send me for them.”
“Do you identify this positively as like one Mr. Meredith had?”
persisted Mitchell.
“Honorable sir,” Fernando dropped back a step to let Mitchell pass, and
bowed low to the Inspector, “it look like most any key on Mr.
Meredith’s—what you call it—bunch? You see for yourself; you got keys.”
Mitchell took his last words for a statement, but to Curtis’ keen ears
they sounded like an interrogation.
“So you don’t know what this key unlocks?” The Inspector held it out for
a second before pocketing it. “All right, Fernando, trot along.” He
turned to Hollister. “Good-by, sir; I’ll be over later in the
afternoon.”
“Wait,” Curtis laid a detaining hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “About that
scalpel—” He hesitated. “Have you learned anything?”
“Not yet, but I am dead certain that it was used to kill Meredith—”
Hollister started forward. “You have found the weapon?” he exclaimed,
running down the steps after Mitchell. “How—where—”
“Come along and I’ll show it to you,” called Mitchell over his shoulder,
and not waiting for the others to catch up with him, went toward the
front door. Curtis hesitated a second, then, tucking his cane under one
arm and grasping the banisters, he hastened to keep up with his more
active companions.
As their heads disappeared out of sight down the staircase, Fernando
drew a long breath. With a prolonged glance up and down the silent
corridor, he walked to Mrs. Marshall Meredith’s boudoir door and knocked
softly upon it. At his second tap he heard Mrs. Meredith’s curt, “Come
in,” and stepped inside, closing the door at his back with care not to
let it slam.
“You sent for me, madam?” he asked.
“Yes.” Mrs. Meredith pushed her chair back from her desk and regarded
Fernando through her gold lorgnettes. “I have already told Herman and
the other servants that by the terms of Mr. Meredith’s will my daughter
inherits Ten Acres,” she stated, having seen in her swift glance about
the boudoir that the communicating door between it and Anne’s bedroom
was tightly closed. “Miss Anne is still a minor and I am her legal
guardian. Thus, you understand, Fernando, that retaining your present
situation in this house depends upon your fidelity _to me_.”
“Yes, madam.”
“So far I have found you satisfactory. I fail to see why you hesitate
_now_.”
Fernando, standing respectfully before her, shifted from one foot to the
other, and his yellow face reddened under her angry gaze.
“Do you understand?” demanded the irate woman, a second time.
“Yes, madam. You wish me to find a certain key in Mr. Meredith’s
bedroom.”
Fernando drew a step nearer. “The detective man has one like it.” Mrs.
Meredith paled under her rouge. “And you did not get it from him?”
“But have patience, please, madam.” Fernando was taking pains with his
English and spoke with care. “It may be difficult, madam.”
“I suppose that means you need a bribe.” Mrs. Meredith unclasped her
handbag and handed the servant a gold piece. “Have you anything to
report?”
“No, madam,” humbly, then as an afterthought, “Herman tell me that Mr.
Armstrong try to see Mees Anne _alone_.”
Their gaze clashed. Mrs. Meredith was the first to speak.
“Thank you, Fernando. You may go.”
But Fernando did not stir. “Please, madam, will Mees Anne marry the
blind doctor?”
Mrs. Meredith looked at him in marked displeasure. “My daughter’s
affairs are not a topic for discussion,” she stated, frigidly. “That is
all, Fernando.”
As the hall door clicked shut on the servant’s retreating figure, Mrs.
Meredith turned back to her desk with a heavy frown. Could it be
possible that her willing tool was growing restive?
Fernando reached the first floor in time to open the front door as the
bell sounded. A stranger stood on the threshold.
“May I see Mr. Samuel Hollister?” he asked. “I was told at his office
that he was here.”
Looking past the stranger Fernando descried Hollister coming up the
graveled walk accompanied by Doctor Curtis.
“Here he is,” he exclaimed. “Behind you, sir. How better you go join
him?”
With a somewhat surprised glance at the Filipino, the stranger wheeled
around and going down the veranda steps reached Hollister and Curtis as
they paused under the pergola.
“Mr. Hollister?” he asked, raising his hat. “My name is Elliott—Frank
Elliott, of Chicago. Your clerk sent me out here as I have only a brief
time in Washington.” His slight hesitation was but momentary. “I
understand that you were John Meredith’s lawyer and are now an executor
of his estate under the terms of his will.”
“Your information is correct,” replied Hollister, as the other stopped.
“Let me introduce Doctor David Curtis, Mr. Elliott.”
Elliott looked with some curiosity at the blind surgeon as they shook
hands.
“I must see you, Mr. Hollister, on a matter touching Meredith’s estate,”
he said. “It is of vital importance—”
“Pardon me,” broke in Curtis. “I had better withdraw.”
“No,” objected Hollister, before Elliott could speak. “Doctor Curtis is
engaged to marry Miss Anne Meredith, the chief beneficiary under her
uncle’s will; therefore—”
“I can speak before him,” finished Elliott. He stroked his clean-shaven
chin and cleared his throat nervously. Evidently he found difficulty in
broaching the reason of his presence at Ten Acres, or so Curtis
concluded from his rapid breathing.
“I am one of a group of men,” began Elliott, his hand dropping from his
chin to his watch fob, which he stroked with restless fingers. “We are,
frankly, fighting prohibition and have pooled our interests.”
“By interests you mean money?” asked Curtis quietly, and Elliott eyed
him more keenly; he had before centered his attention on the lawyer, and
had addressed his remarks exclusively to him.
“Yes, money,” he admitted. “This money we placed in John Meredith’s
hands to bank for us.”
“When?” demanded Curtis.
“To be exact it was just four weeks ago to-day.” replied Elliott. “I
came on here and personally saw Meredith place the money in his safe
deposit box.” Hollister stared at Elliott, his excitement rising. Curtis
let his cane swing from one hand to the other as he drew a step closer
to the stranger.
“Do you recall the number of the safe deposit box and the bank?” he
asked.
“The last, yes—it was the Metropolis Bank. But Meredith did not tell me
the number of the box,” responded Elliott. “I do know, however, that he
rented it that morning expressly to hold our funds.” Twice Hollister
opened his mouth to speak, then glanced in doubt at his blind companion.
Elliott, also, was staring at Curtis and it would have taken a more
astute person than the little lawyer to read his expression.
“Mr. Elliott,” Curtis lowered his voice to a confidential pitch, “have
you any objection to telling us the amount of money you placed in John
Meredith’s care?”
“I have no objection at all,” declared Elliott, modifying somewhat his
hearty voice. “It was one hundred thousand dollars in cash.”