SUICIDE?
The reception was in full swing and Mrs. Amos Parsons contemplated her
crowded drawing room in a spirit of happy self-congratulation. She had
just welcomed a newly accredited ambassador and introduced a Cabinet
officer to the ambassador's charming wife and she felt that her feet
were at last securely placed upon the ladder of success. The scene was
typical of the national Capital. The World War had rudely interrupted
the "calling" days of the hostesses of Washington, but with the advent
of peace a return had been made to old customs, and "teas" were again
taking their accepted place in the social calendar.
"A penny for your thoughts," said a masculine voice over her shoulder
and glancing around Mrs. Parsons found Charles Craige at her elbow.
"You offer a penny too much," laughed Mrs. Parsons. "They were idle
thoughts--"
"About the idle rich." Craig looked at her with admiration. "Upon my
word, Cecilia, you grow prettier every day."
"Happiness is a great 'beautifier,'" Mrs. Parsons glanced up at him
with a strange, new shyness; then quickly veiled her eyes that he might
not read her thoughts too plainly. Under pretense of arranging the
bouquet, his gift, which she was carrying, Craige pressed her hand. His
marked attention to the fascinating widow had aroused the interest of
their circle of friends, and the prospect of the announcement of their
engagement had formed the topic of conversation on numerous occasions.
There was a lull in the arrival of guests and Mrs. Parsons
imperceptibly edged toward an alcove. Many curious glances were cast
in their direction by both men and women who stood chatting in groups
about the long drawing room. They made a striking tableau--Mrs.
Parsons' delicate beauty enhanced by a perfectly fitting modish
gown, and Charles Craige, standing tall and straight beside her,
his iron-grey hair and ruddy complexion adding distinction to his
appearance.
"The world and his wife are here this afternoon, Cecilia," he said.
"Your tea is an unqualified success. And every one is lingering,"
glancing down the room. "That is a sure sign that they are enjoying
themselves."
"Except Major Wallace." Mrs. Parsons drew his attention to a man
worming his way between the groups of people. "He appears to avoid his
friends--there, he has cut Nina Potter dead."
"What a caddish thing to do!" Craige spoke with warmth as he saw Mrs.
Potter shrink back and her half-extended hand drop to her side. Turning
quickly, she slipped behind two women and disappeared from their sight.
Walking moodily ahead, Leigh Wallace found himself face to face with
his hostess and Charles Craige.
"Not leaving so early, surely?" she exclaimed as he put out his hand.
"Yes, I just dropped in for a minute," Wallace explained, and he made
no effort to conceal the indifference of his tone. "I don't feel very
fit this afternoon, so you must excuse me. Good evening, Craige," and
he turned abruptly and left them.
"Of all uncivil people!" observed Mrs. Parsons, much incensed. "That's
the last invitation he gets to my house."
"He doesn't look well," Craige remarked thoughtfully. "I presume he and
Kitty Baird have had another quarrel."
"Well, he has no right to vent his ill-humor on me or my guests." Mrs.
Parsons was not pacified.
"I hope Kitty decides to marry Ted Rogers and not Leigh Wallace."
Craige looked grave. "It would be a far more suitable match, although
I understand Rodgers is not wealthy."
"Mr. Rodgers was here a moment ago." Mrs. Parsons raised her lorgnette
and glanced about her. "He asked particularly for Kitty. Where in the
world is she? She was to pour tea for me this afternoon."
"Have you not heard--"
"Heard?" Attracted by the alteration in Craige's voice, Mrs. Parsons
looked at him. "Heard what?"
"That Kitty's aunt, Miss Susan Baird, was found dead this morning--"
"Great heavens!" Mrs. Parsons retreated a step in shocked surprise.
"Oh, Mrs. Sutherland, so glad to see you. You know Mr. Craige, of
course." As the newcomer and the lawyer exchanged greetings, Mrs.
Parsons saw Nina Potter and started toward her, but several guests
claimed her attention and when she looked around Nina had vanished.
The room which served Benjamin Potter as a combination workshop and
library was at the other end of the apartment which the elderly
naturalist had leased upon his marriage to Nina Underwood six months
before. The apartment house, one of those erected to meet the demands
for housing wealthy war-workers who thronged the national Capital
during the winter of 1917-1918, had but one apartment to each floor,
and Potter had been gratified by having the best room, from his point
of view, set aside for his exclusive use by his bride.
Mrs. Potter had also seen to it that the furniture was of the finest
mahogany, the filing and specimen cases of the most approved models,
while the leather-seated chairs and lounges added greatly to the
comfort of the occupants of the room. No expense had been spared and
for the first time in his hard-working, studious life, Ben Potter had
found himself surrounded with every comfort which money could purchase.
Potter's marriage to his pretty stenographer had been a severe shock
to several impecunious relatives and a nine days' wonder to his small
world. He had taken the surprised comments and sometimes belated
congratulations of both relatives and friends with the same placid
good nature which characterized all his actions. Nina, with a tact for
which she had not been credited, went out of her way to cultivate his
friends, and if she felt the chilly reception accorded her, never by
word or manner betrayed the fact.
Seated alone in his room and absorbed in his book, Potter was oblivious
of the lengthening shadows and was only recalled to his surroundings by
the opening of the door.
"Well, what is it?" he asked testily. "Oh!" At sight of his wife, his
expression brightened. "I did not expect you home so soon."
"Soon?" Nina laughed softly, as she brushed his unruly gray hair back
from his forehead. "Have you no idea of the time? It is nearly six
o'clock, and you should not be reading with only one light turned on.
Doctor McLean must talk to you."
Potter made a wry face. "I would rather listen to you than any doctor,"
he said and pulled forward a chair close to his own. "Tell me, have you
had a pleasant time at Mrs. Parsons' tea?"
"Does one ever have a pleasant time at a tea?" Nina's gesture was
eloquent. "Where are your matches, dear?"--fumbling, as she spoke, with
her cigarette case.
Potter frowned slightly as he located a match box under the tumbled
papers on his desk and struck a light for her. He had never been able
to master his dislike to women smoking, in spite of his staunch belief
that his pretty wife was always right in everything she did. Reading
his expression like a book, Nina slipped her hand inside his and leaned
against his arm.
"It is very lonely going about without you," she murmured. "I don't
enjoy myself a bit when you remain at home."
Potter turned and kissed the soft cheek so near his own. "My holiday is
over," he answered, and putting out his foot touched a packing case,
its contents partly spread on the floor in an untidy pile. "I cannot
neglect my work."
"You will never be accused of that," with flattering emphasis. "But,
dear, I need--want your society more than these dreadful reptiles,"
and she made a slight grimace as she glanced at the bottles containing
specimens preserved in alcohol which adorned the shelves of a cabinet
near at hand. "I know," lowering her voice, "I'm selfish--"
"I love your selfishness, dear," he replied, and held her closely to
him just as a tap sounded on the door. "Confound it! Come in."
The Japanese servant, who answered his command, bowed profoundly, and
his calm gaze never flickered at sight of the loverlike attitude of
husband and wife.
"You home, Sir?" he asked.
"Yes, of course, I'm home. What of it?" Potter dropped his arm from
about his wife's waist in embarrassment.
"Mr. Rodgers call upon you." The Japanese spoke without haste. "You see
him?"
"Certainly. Bring him here," and at the words Moto vanished.
"Here?" echoed Nina. "Isn't it a bit untidy?"
"What of it? He hasn't come to see us," he grumbled. "Probably thinks
Kitty is here. I don't approve of Kitty playing fast and loose with
those two men."
"What men?" Nina was not looking at her husband, and missed his keen
scrutiny.
"Ted Rodgers and Leigh Wallace," briefly. "If it goes on much longer,
I will speak to Cousin Susan Baird. Hello, what did you do that for?"
as the room was suddenly plunged in darkness. A second later the light
flashed up.
"I pulled the wrong string," Nina explained as she lighted both sides
of the electric lamp.
Potter paused undecidedly, then rose and, going over to the packing
case, tossed excelsior and paper back into it and pushed it behind
a screen. When he turned back, he saw Nina deftly rearranging the
ornaments and papers on his flat top desk. In silence he watched her
graceful movements and the play of the lamplight on her hair which
shone like spun gold under its rays. It would have taken a more
observant man than her husband to have discovered that nature's art had
been supplemented by the rouge pot. No wrinkles marred the soft pink
and white tint of her complexion, and few would have guessed that she
had passed her thirtieth birthday.
Looking up, Nina caught her husband's gaze and flushed faintly.
"I hope Mr. Rodgers won't stay long," she began, and checked herself
hastily as Moto ushered in their caller. "So very glad to see you, Mr.
Rodgers," she exclaimed, extending her hand, which rested in his for a
fraction of a second and was withdrawn.
At the touch of her cold fingers, Rodgers looked intently at her. He
still found it hard to realize that the fashionably gowned woman before
him was Ben Potter's wife. Ben a Benedict! The mere idea had provoked a
smile, and the announcement of the marriage in cold print had produced
a burst of merriment, and the silent hope that Ben had found a motherly
soul to run his house for him. Instead of which, with the perversity of
Fate, Ben Potter had selected a wife at least fifteen years his junior,
who would most certainly enjoy the social life of Washington to the
full.
Potter had formed a strong attachment for the younger man when spending
a winter in San Francisco three years before and Rodgers had been a
frequent visitor since his arrival in Washington. His visits, as Potter
shrewdly noted, were generally timed to find Kitty Baird with her
cousins, and ended in his escorting her home.
"I missed you both at Mrs. Parsons' tea, so dropped in for a chat,"
Rodgers remarked, accepting a cigar from Potter as Nina perched herself
on one end of the lounge. "Why weren't you there?"
"Nina went," answered Potter, throwing himself down in his favorite
chair. "You don't catch me at a tea."
"You were there, Mrs. Potter?" Rodgers spoke in surprise. "I searched
for you--"
"It was a frightful jam." Nina picked up her workbag which she had left
on the lounge earlier in the afternoon and unfolded its contents. "I
did not stay long."
"But you heard the news?"
"News?" Potter glanced up, expectantly. The tone in which the question
was put arrested his attention which had strayed to his wife. "Was
there any special news? Nina, you didn't tell me."
"I heard no news in particular." Nina held a needle and thread nearer
the light. "To what do you refer, Mr. Rodgers?"
"To the death of Miss Susan Baird."
Potter sat bolt upright. His healthy color changed to a sickly white.
"Cousin Susan dead? Impossible!"
"It is a fact. Mr. Craige told me--" Rodgers stooped over and picked up
the needle which had slipped from Nina's clutch. "Take care you don't
prick yourself, Mrs. Potter," he warned, as he placed it in the palm of
her hand and noticed the quick, spasmodic movement of her fingers. "The
news had just gotten about and every one at the tea was talking of Miss
Baird."
"That's turning the tables; usually Cousin Susan talked about
everybody," Potter remarked, breaking a slight pause. "Why hasn't Kitty
telephoned us? I am now her nearest living relative."
"She may have tried to reach us," suggested his wife. "I don't suppose
Moto answered the telephone in my absence; he hates it. Did you hear it
ring, Ben?"
"No," shortly. "I can't say I grieve over your news, Ted. I have always
resented Cousin Susan's treatment of Kitty. Made the girl slave for
her, the venomous old scandal-monger."
"Ben!" Nina's shocked tone caused her husband to pause in his rapid
speech. "Did you hear, Mr. Rodgers, the cause of Cousin Susan's death?"
"Bit her tongue and died from blood-poisoning," growled Potter, before
Rodgers could answer.
"Ben!"
"Well, all right, dear; I'll say no more. But," in self-defense, noting
Rodgers' surprise, "I've had no cause to love Cousin Susan-- I heard
her caustic remarks about my marriage. Never mind that now," with a
quick glance at his wife. "Go ahead, Ted, tell us of what Cousin Susan
died."
"The coroner will have to answer that question, Ben."
"The coroner!" Potter rose to his feet and stared at his guest. "What
d'ye mean? Oh, hurry your speech, man; don't keep us in suspense," as
Rodgers hesitated and eyed Mrs. Potter in some trepidation. Judging
from her sudden loss of color, she was about to faint.
"Your cousin was found dead," he said, and got no further.
"Found dead--where?" demanded Mrs. Potter, breathlessly.
"In her library."
Potter broke the pause. "Go ahead and tell us what you know, Ted." He
reseated himself. "Give us every detail."
Rodgers shook his head. "I know very little on the subject," he said.
"I stopped on the way here and telephoned to 'Rose Hill,' but could get
no response; so I came right here supposing you could tell me further
news. I thought Miss Kitty might be with you."
"We have not seen Kitty since early this morning," answered Nina. "Who
found Cousin Susan?" Rodgers, his ear trained to detect variations in
the human voice, observed a faint huskiness in the usual soft tones.
"I do not know, Mrs. Potter," he said. "Miss Baird was so well-known in
Washington that her death was commented on at the tea, and I only heard
a garbled account of what occurred. Perhaps there might be something in
the evening paper."
"To be sure." Potter jumped at the suggestion, and hurrying toward the
door, pushed an electric bell. A second later and Moto responded. "The
evening paper, quick."
Moto let his gaze travel around the room, then darting forward he
crossed to where the packing case stood partially concealed behind the
screen. Delving into its contents, he returned a moment later with a
crumpled newspaper and extended it to his master.
"You toss it down, so," demonstrating, "when I bring it to you, sir,"
he explained. "You say, 'Moto, don't trouble me, go away,' and I go."
"Well, well, Moto, you interrupted me." Potter's tone was apologetic.
"Much obliged for finding the paper. That is all I wanted." And Moto
slipped away to his pantry in time to hear the buzzer of the front door
bell sounding faintly.
Forgetful of all but the paper in his hand, Potter turned it over and
searched for the item of news.
"Try the first page," suggested Rodgers. Potter switched the sheet
around and gave vent to a startled exclamation as his eyes fell on the
double column heading:
ELDERLY SPINSTER FOUND DEAD
SUICIDE SUSPECTED
"Suicide!" Potter gasped. "Bless my soul! Who would have believed Cousin
Susan would kill herself?"
"She didn't!" The denial rang out clearly from the direction of the
door and wheeling around the three occupants of the room saw Kitty
Baird confronting them. "Aunt Susan did not commit suicide, Ben; you
know she didn't."
Potter stared at her long and earnestly. Twice he opened his mouth
to speak and closed it again, after a look at Ted Rodgers who, upon
Kitty's entrance, had stopped somewhat in the background so that his
face was in shadow.
"I don't know anything," Potter said finally. "I haven't read the
paper--"
"The paper has printed lies!" Kitty's foot came down with an
unmistakable stamp, and her eyes sparkled with wrath. "I tell you Aunt
Susan did not commit suicide."
"Yes, dear." Nina stepped hastily forward and threw her arm
protectingly across Kitty's shoulder. "Come and sit down, and when you
are more composed you can tell us of--of the details." Exerting some
strength, she pulled the unwilling girl to the lounge and gently pushed
her down upon it. "I am so, so sorry, Kitty. Your aunt--" she stumbled
a bit in her speech--"Your aunt's death is a great shock--"
"To me," bitterly. "I know many people disliked her. Poor Aunt Susan--"
Kitty's lips trembled. "You need not try to dissemble your feelings,
Ben. I know you hated Susan."
"Oh, come, Kitty; that's pretty strong language!" Potter flushed
angrily. "You are unstrung--where are your smelling salts, Nina?"
"A glass of wine would be better." Rodgers spoke for the first time,
and Kitty looked up in startled surprise. She had been conscious of a
third person in the room when she first entered, but, absorbed in her
talk with her cousin, had forgotten his presence.
"Where's my flask?" demanded Potter, considerably shaken out of his
habitual calm. "Oh, thank you, my dear," as Nina snatched it out of one
of his desk drawers. "Now, Kitty," unscrewing the stopper and pouring
some cognac into an empty tumbler, which, with a water carafe, stood
on his desk. "Drink this; no, I insist--" as she put up her hand in
protest. "You will need all your strength--drink every drop."
Kitty's eyes sought Rodgers and his quick "Please do" did more to make
her drink the cognac than all Potter's urging. The fiery strength of
the old brandy made her catch her breath, but she did not put the
tumbler down until she had swallowed its contents. As the stimulant
crept through her veins, her head cleared, and the feeling of deadly
faintness which had threatened to overcome her several times on her way
to her cousin's apartment, disappeared.
"I will tell you what I know," she began. "Aunt Susan was found by
the police dead in our library. The coroner claims that she had taken
poison."
"Well?" prompted Potter. "Go on."
"Aunt Susan never swallowed poison--of her own free will." Kitty turned
and gazed at Ted Rodgers. Intently she studied his face, noting his
clear-cut features and shapely head. Standing six feet four, he seemed
to dwarf Ben Potter. Although the latter was nearly his equal in
height, the stoop in his shoulders, which betrayed the hours spent in
poring over books, made Potter appear much shorter. Something of his
quiet, determined character showed in Rodgers' firm mouth and handsome
eyes, eyes which redeemed the severe lines of his face.
He had fallen madly in love with Kitty and had courted her with the
persistency of his faithful nature. Heartsick, craving sympathy, which
had brought her to her cousin only to be rebuffed by his reception of
the news of her aunt's death, Kitty turned instinctively to Rodgers.
"Won't you help me prove that Aunt Susan did not commit suicide?" she
asked.
As he studied the upturned face, the deep blue eyes, made more
brilliant by the tears she had shed that morning, and noted the forlorn
droop of her shoulders, Rodgers' decision was taken.
"I will do anything for you--anything," he promised, his deep voice
vibrating with feeling.
"Then find the murderer of Aunt Susan," she cried.
"How--what?" Potter looked at her aghast. "What makes _you_ think
Cousin Susan was murdered?"
"My intuition," promptly. "Oh, you may jeer, but it was no case of
suicide. Aunt Susan did not court death--she feared it."