Kastle Krags: A Story of Mystery

by Absalom Martin

  CHAPTER XVI

  We searched through the house, grimly and purposefully; but Nealman, thegenial host of Kastle Krags, was neither revealed to our eyes or gaveanswer to our calls. It was no longer possible to doubt but that it washis voice that had uttered that fearful cry for help.

  While the coroner, whose special province is death, led the guests in adetailed search through the grounds, Sheriff Slatterly and I examinedthe missing man's room. And here I was to learn the contents of thosemysterious telegrams that had reached Nealman after the inquest of thepreceding day.

  They were lying on his desk, one of them torn in two as if in a fit ofanger, the other rumpled from a hundred readings. I read aloud to thesheriff:

  BLAIR COMBINE FORCING I. S. AND H. TO BOTTOM. MOVE QUICK IF YOU CAN.

  The second read:

  I. S. AND H. DOWN TO 28. ALL YOUR INDUSTRIALS SMASHED WIDE OPEN. FLETCHER NEALMAN GOES DOWN IN SMASH.

  The sheriff halted in his search and took the messages from my hand."I'm not much up on the stock market," he said. "Do you know what thesemean----"

  "Not exactly. I know that I. S. and H. stock has taken a fearfuldrop--if he had bought heavily on margin his whole fortune might havebeen wiped out. Blair is a prominent speculator on the exchange.Industrials refer, of course, to industrial stocks. Fletcher Nealman wasMr. Nealman's uncle, supposed to be a man of great wealth----"

  "Then you think--Nealman was ruined financially?" He paused, seeminglystudying his hands. "I wonder if it could be true."

  "You mean of course--the same thing that you guessed about Florey.Suicide?"

  "Yes. I'll admit there's plenty against it."

  "If suicide--why did he cry for help?"

  "Many a man cries for help after he's started to do himself in. Thedarkness scares 'em, when it's too late to turn back. That wouldn'tpuzzle me at all. Killdare, do you know the importance of example?"

  "I know that what one man does, another's likely to do."

  "I'm not saying that Nealman killed himself, but listen how much thereis to say for such a theory. You're right--what one man does, another'slikely to do. A curious thing about suicides, Weldon tells me, is thatthey usually come in droves. One man sets an example for another. Sayyou're worrying to death about something, sick perhaps, or financiallyruined, and you hear of some fellow--some chap you know, perhaps, a manyou respect almost as much as you respect yourself--suddenly getting outof all his difficulties all nice and quiet--with one little click to thehead? Isn't it likely you'd begin thinking about the same thing foryourself? Call it mob psychology--I only know it happens in fact.

  "I'm more confident than ever that Florey did himself in, on account ofhis sickness. Here was Nealman, worried to death over money matters,holding a lot of options on a falling market. It's true that we didn'tfind Florey's knife, but who can say but maybe Nealman himself threw itinto the lagoon, and dragged the body afterward, so that no one wouldguess it was suicide. He liked Florey--he didn't want any one to knowhe had done himself in. Maybe he was thinking already about doing thesame thing to himself, and in such a case he'd been glad enough to havesome one hide the evidence of suicide. To-day he gets word of a finalsmash, and he stays all day in his room, brooding about it. To-nightcomes this heat--enough to drive a man crazy. Maybe he just called outto make us think it was murder. Proud men don't usually want the worldto know that they've killed themselves.

  "Then there's one other thing--more important still. What's that book,open, on the table?"

  I glanced at its leathern cover. "The Bible," I told him.

  "The Holy Book. And how often do you find a worldly man like thisNealman getting out the Bible and reading it? Doesn't it show that hewas planning something mighty serious--that he wanted to give his soulevery chance before he took the last step? It's a common thing forsuicides to read the Bible the last thing. And what are these?"

  He showed me a rumpled sheet of paper, procured from the waste-basket,on which had been written a number of unrelated figures.

  "I can't say," I told him. "Probably he was doing some figuring abouthis losses."

  "Looks to me like he was out of his head--was just writin' any oldfigures down. But maybe you're right."

  It was true that the bed had not been slept in. Nealman had lain down onit, however, and disarranged the spread. Many cigarette and cigar stubsfilled the smoking stand, and a half-filled whiskey-and-soda glass stoodon the window sill.

  No other clews were revealed, so we went down to the study. The guestsof Kastle Krags had not gone back to their beds. They sat in a littlewhite-faced group beside the window, talking quietly. Marten beckonedthe sheriff to his side.

  "What have you found out, Slatterly?" he asked.

  He spoke like a man used to having his questions answered. There was anote of impatience in his voice, too, perhaps of distrust. Slatterlystraightened.

  "Nothing definite. Nealman has unquestionably vanished. His bed hasn'tbeen slept in, but is ruffled. Undoubtedly it was his voice we heard. Ithink I'll be able to give you something definite in a little while."

  "I'd like something definite now, if you could possibly give it. That'stwo men that have disappeared in two nights--and we seem to be no neareran explanation than we were at first. This isn't a business that can bedelayed, Mr. Slatterly."

  "If you must know--I think both men committed suicide."

  "You do!"

  "It certainly is the most reasonable theory, in spite of all there isagainst it." Then he told of Nealman's financial disaster, of the Bibleopen on his desk, and all the other points he had to back his theory.

  "And I suppose Florey swallowed his knife, and threw his own body intothe lagoon!" Fargo commented grimly.

  Slatterly turned to him, his eyes hard and bright. "We'll have yourjokes to-morrow," he reproved him sternly. "Of course some one else didthat. I've got a theory--not yet proven--to explain it, but I can't giveit out yet."

  "How do you account for Florey's body not being found in the lagoon?"Marten asked quietly.

  "I can't account for it. We might have missed it--I don't see how wecould, but we might have done so. I'm going to have men dragging thelagoon all day, over and over again--until we find _both_ bodies."

  "You are convinced that Nealman, too, lies dead in the lagoon?"

  "Where else could he be? Did you hear that cry a few hours ago?"

  "Good Heavens! Could I ever forget it? My old friend----"

  "Was it faked? Could any man have faked a cry like that?"

  "Heavens, no! It had the fear and the agony of death right in it. Therecan't be any hope of that, Slatterly."

  The sheriff gazed about the little circle of white faces. No onedissented. That cry was real, and there had been tragic need andextremity behind it: we knew that fact if we knew that we lived.Evidently the sheriff had completely given over the theory that he hadsuggested, half-heartedly, to me--that Nealman might have cried out tohide the fact of his own suicide.

  "No man could have cried out like that to deceive, and then disappear.No, Mr. Marten, the man that gave that cry is dead, in all probabilityin the lagoon, and there seems no doubt but that Nealman was the man."

  "Yet you think he was a suicide."

  "A suicide often cries out for help when it is too late to back out. Butof course--I can't say for sure."

  "You're mistaken in that, Slatterly." Van Hope drew himself togetherwith a perceptible effort. "I've known this man for years--and in theend, you'll see it isn't suicide. He wasn't the type that commitssuicide. He's young, he'd be getting himself together to meet that Blairgang that ruined him and chase 'em into their holes. The suicide theoryis far-fetched, at best."

  "It may be," the sheriff agreed. "I only wish there could be some lightthrown on this affair----"

  "There will be, Slatterly." Marten's voice dropped almost to a monotone."This is too big a deal for one man--or two men either. We've beentalking, and we've decided to send for some one to help you out."
<
br />   "You have, eh?" Slatterly stiffened. "If I need help I can send throughmy own channels--get some state or national detectives----"

  "That's all right. Get 'em if you want to. The more the better. Butyou haven't got any help yet--even the district attorney has failedto come and won't come for at least a day or two more. We've got aprivate detective in mind--one of the biggest in America. His name'sLacone--you've heard of him. It won't be an official matter at all. VanHope is hiring him--a wholly private enterprise. I know you'll all beglad to have his co-operation."

  "If it's a private venture, I have nothing further to say," Slatterlytold him stiffly. "When do you expect him?"

  "He's operating in the Middle West. He can't possibly make it until dayafter to-morrow----"

  "Twenty-four hours, eh?"

  "It's after midnight now. Probably not for forty-eight hours."

  "By that time, I hope to have the matter solved." Then his business tookhim elsewhere, and he strode away.

  There was one thing more I could do. It was an obligation, and yet,because it was in the way of service, it was a happiness too. I climbedthe broad stairs and stopped at last before Edith's door.

  She called softly in answer to my knock. And in a moment she had openedthe door.

  She was fully dressed, waiting ready for any call that might be madeupon her. And the picture that she made, framed in the doorway, wentstraight to my heart.

  Her eyes were still lustrous with tears, and the high girlish color andthe light of happiness was gone from her face. It was wistful, like thatof a grief-stricken child. Her voice was changed too, in spite of allher struggle to make it sound the same. And at first I stood helpless,not knowing what to say or do.

  "I came--just to see if I could be of any aid--in any way."

  "I don't think you can," she answered. "It's so good of you, though, toremember----"

  "There's no one to notify--no telegrams to send----"

  "I don't think so, yet. We're not sure yet. Ned, is there any chance forhim to be alive----"

  "Not any."

  Her hand touched my arm. "You haven't any idea how he died?"

  "No. It's absolutely baffling. But try not to think about it. Everythingwill come out right for you, in the end."

  I hadn't meant to say just that--to recall her to the uncertainty of herown future now that her uncle, financially ruined, had disappeared.

  "I'm not thinking--about what will happen to me." She suddenlystraightened, and her eyes kindled. "About the other--Ned, I'm not goingto try to keep from thinking about it. I'm going to think about it all Ican, until I see it through. Only thought, and keen, true thought, canhelp us now. I've had to do a lot of thinking in my life, overcomingdifficulties. And there's no one really vitally interested but me--I wasthe closest relative, except for his uncle, that Nealman had. I'm goingto find out the mystery of that lagoon! Perhaps, in finding it, I cansolve a lot of other problems too--perhaps the one you just mentioned.Uncle Grover was kind to me, he gave me his protection and shelter--andI'm going to know what killed him!"

  I found myself staring into her blazing, determined eyes. She meant whatshe said. The fire of a zealot was in her face. "Good Heavens, Edith!That isn't work for a woman----"

  "It's work for anybody, with a clear enough brain to see the truth, andcourage to prove it out----"

  In some mysterious way her hands had got into mine. We were standingface to face in the shadowed hall. "But promise me--you won't go intodanger!"

  "I promise--that I'll take every precaution--to preserve myself."