“The sheriff will say suicide,” said Hilary confidently. “And you are coroner, Dan.”
Dr. Bouligny looked worried.
“I don’t like this scandal any more than you, Hilary. It won’t hurt me as much, of course — but it’s pretty bad for you, everyone knowing there’s been bad blood between you and Bayard. Oh, I know — I know —” as Hilary started to protest — “I know you didn’t shoot him, but what will people say, do you think? I’ll do everything I can to smooth it over — hush it up. But if it’s suicide, where’s the gun?”
“It’s here,” said Hilary. “It’s here. It’s — why, it must be here!”
We were all looking vaguely about on the floor, the tables, all around the body. I cast my mind back to my first view of the body. There had been no gun close to it, then; I was sure of that.
“But it isn’t suicide,” said Adela. “It’s burglary. It must have been burglary. There’s — wait, let me look in the safe. The diamonds are there, you know, Hilary.”
We followed her into the small study. The safe, an old-fashioned affair, massive and clumsy, was set in the wall but with no attempt at concealing its dials. We watched her hands fumbling, turning, twisting. And when the heavy door swung outward we watched her search.
And the diamonds were gone. Only a stack of empty boxes remained, their yellowed satin linings exposed and gaping as Adela’s swift hands opened them one after the other.
“I knew it,” she said. “I knew it. See, they’re gone. It was burglary. The thief was here, robbing the safe, Bayard heard him and interfered, and the thief shot Bayard and escaped.” She was dignified, deliberate. She reached out a hand and touched a red morocco case. “That,” she said, “held my mother’s sunburst.”
It was strange to watch the faces slowly lose their look of terrified apprehension, become slowly more composed; only Janice’s face remained cold and rigid. Dr. Bouligny’s eyes met Hilary’s, and he nodded slowly.
“There you are,” he said in a relieved way. “It’s happened exactly as Adela says. Everybody’s heard of the Thatcher diamonds. And nobody in the county would believe that Bayard Thatcher shot himself.”
“But, my God,” said Hilary, suddenly bewildered and alarmed again, “the diamonds! It’s the family collection. They’re worth a small fortune. We’ve got to get hold of them.”
“That’s the sheriff’s job,” said Dr. Bouligny, almost blithely, and at the same moment Adela, her eyes cold and blank, looked strangely at Hilary.
“Don’t you think it’s worth the price?” she said, coldly.
Hilary looked at her, at Dr. Bouligny, at his wife. He got out a handkerchief, wiped his pale face and said:
“You’ll fix things up then, Dan?”
“I’ll do what I can with honesty,” said Dr. Bouligny. “No more. And there’s the sheriff, you know.”
“I can fix him,” said Hilary easily.
“And there’ll have to be an inquest, of course.”
After a moment Adela said with difficulty: “An — inquest!”
“Why, yes, of course. A violent death. Murder. There’s got to be an inquest.”
There was another long moment of silence in the little study. The window was closed, and we could not hear a sound from the outside world, and it was as if no one lived or breathed in the small room. And yet that stillness was oddly palpitant, as if unspoken words, unuttered apprehensions, unwelcome thoughts were beating upon our ears. Then Adela stirred, reached out her hand, and closed the gaping door of the safe. It made a heavy, silence-shattering clang.
“An inquest,” she repeated. “And what, Daniel, will you ask us at the inquest?”
He ran his fingers worriedly through his thick dark hair.
“It won’t be easy,” he said unhappily. “There’ll be plenty of people just looking for a chance to get at us. To say there’s something fishy about it.”
Warm though the room was, I saw Adela shiver slightly, and Hilary’s plump face all at once looked drawn and haggard.
“Suppose,” said Adela, “suppose we go back to the library and talk it over … before the sheriff comes.” The last words were separated from the rest of her speech in a way which gave them significance.
I followed them back into the large, cool library; I remember feeling as if I were moving about in a nightmare and would presently come to my senses. Everything in the nightmare was, however, extremely clear and vivid. The windows in the long library were open; the shadows on the green lawn were long now and cool looking. It was with a shock that my eyes went to that huddle under the scarf.
“Now, then, Daniel,” said Adela. “What will you ask us?”
“Don’t put it like that, Adela,” he said worriedly. “You make me feel like a conspirator.”
Adela’s eyebrows slid upward rebukingly. There was a suggestion of outrage in her stiff, desperate dignity.
“My dear Daniel,” she said in a remonstrating way.
“He’ll want to know when Bayard was last seen alive and who saw him,” said Hilary. He rubbed his handkerchief again over his forehead and touched his mouth with it.
“Very well. Janice, you left the house before I did this afternoon, didn’t you?”
Janice nodded; her face was still cold and rigid; there was not a trace of beauty in it then, it was a regular, colorless mask.
“Janice, you see, drove out to the farm this afternoon. Dave and Allen Carick went fishing. They aren’t back yet. I went to the Benevolent Society, and Janice stopped on her way back and brought me home. Emmeline was in the summer kitchen making jelly. Higby was mowing the lawn. There was no one but Bayard here all afternoon. Bayard and — the thief.”
“No. Wait a minute, Adela,” protested Hilary miserably. “You are wrong. I was here. About four o’clock.”
Adela turned slowly and very stiffly.
“You! You were here! You saw Bayard?”
Hilary glanced at his wife, started to speak, but she interrupted him.
“Yes, Hilary was here,” said Evelyn directly. “He came in to see how Bayard was getting on. And I was here, too. I was to stop for Hilary in the roadster. Hilary had gone when I arrived, and I left at once and went to Hilary’s office.”
“Then you —” began Adela in a frozen way.
Dr. Bouligny interrupted.
“Then Bayard was alive then? What time was that?”
“Yes,” said Evelyn, and Hilary said: “About four o’clock.”
“That limits it, then,” said Dr. Bouligny agitatedly. “That limits it. What time did you leave the house, Evelyn?”
“It must have been about twenty minutes after four. I was to meet Hilary at four here. I was a little delayed, and he’d gone. I didn’t stay at all, and when I reached his office it was exactly four-thirty by the post-office clock.”
“And about what time was it when he was found dead?”
“We’d just returned,” said Adela, “Janice and I. Emmeline found him. She met me there on the step of the porch saying —” her voice left her and she finished in an unexpected whisper which was inexpressibly shocking — “saying he — was — shot!”
“Then he was killed sometime after four-twenty. It was after five when you called me — about a quarter after. I take it you telephoned at once? Yes. Where’s Emmeline? See here, how did you happen to discover —”
Emmeline advanced, her black back stiff, her stained fingers working.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes. About finding Bayard.”
“She’s deaf, you know, Daniel,” reminded Adela.
“Oh, God, yes.” Dr. Bouligny rubbed his hands frenziedly over his hair. “About Bayard,” he shouted. “When did you find him?”
“What did you say?” asked Emmeline, watching his heavy mouth.
“I said when did you —”
Adela looked troubled. I suppose it did not seem fitting — the doctor shouting in that hushed room above the dead body. It was indecorous. She sai
d gently:
“Let me ask her, Daniel. She understands me. Emmeline, how did you happen to find him? Tell us about it.”
“I’d been in the summer kitchen all afternoon,” said the woman. “I’d been making grape jelly. I wasn’t sure the last batch was ready to jell, and I brought some in on a silver spoon to see what you thought. I knew you’d be back from the Benevolent Society by that time. I looked in here as I went past, and I saw him and looked. There he was — all shot to pieces. I ran out on the porch. And there you were. See, I dropped the spoon there.”
I suppose all of us looked at the slender silver spoon on the floor near the table, upside down with a little sticky pool of purple under it.
“Did you see anybody during the afternoon? Did anybody enter the house by the back way?”
“Nary a soul all afternoon. Nobody but Higby was near all afternoon.”
“Then the thief didn’t come that way,” said Hilary. “Emmeline’s got eyes like a cat. She never misses anything.”
“What time was it, Emmeline?” asked Adela, and as Emmeline hesitated she repeated, “Time — what time was it?”
“Just after five. I had just looked at the clock and thought that Florrie ought to be getting back to help with dinner. She knew I was busy with jelly,” added Emmeline resentfully.
“Oh, yes,” said Adela to Dr. Bouligny. “I forgot Florrie. But it’s her afternoon out.”
“Can’t you tell exactly what time he died, Dan?” asked Hilary. “I thought you doctors could come pretty close to it in such cases.”
“Not as close as that,” said Dr. Bouligny with honesty. “We can tell within a few hours. But today I only know that he’s not been dead more than a few hours at most, and I can’t limit the time by the condition of the body. The heat, you see, has kept the body at near its normal heat and has prevented —”
“Hush, Daniel!” It was Adela. “Don’t ask such things, Hilary. It’s enough if Daniel says so, without going further into the matter. Daniel knows. Now, what else is apt to be covered at the inquest? You know where we all were. What we were doing. Who found the body. The thief must have shot Bayard with — with his own revolver and fled. It’s all perfectly clear. We all know exactly what happened. There’s only the family here, and Emmeline, who is one of us. We all know why it is —” She stopped abruptly. She was looking at me as if she’d forgotten my existence until that very moment.
Everyone was looking at me.
It was very still. Gradually I became aware of the meaning back of that combined look. It was as if they, all of them, stood definitely opposed to me. It was a look of suspicion, of doubt, of apprehension — it was faintly inimical and tinged with defiance, and all these meanings were veiled in polite, cold stillness. I was the outsider. I was the stranger within the walls. Did I threaten them?
The silence was vastly uncomfortable. I said:
“I was about to say, Miss Thatcher, that since my patient — no longer needs me, I shall return at once to the hospital. Is there anything you want me to do before I leave, Dr. Bouligny?”
“Eh? Oh — no. No. Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Very well, then. I’ll go at once.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Yes, certainly, Miss Keate. Miss Thatcher will mail you your check.”
“No. Wait, please, Miss Keate,” said Adela suddenly. “Won’t you stay on with me a few days? This — has been a great shock to me. I should be so grateful for your help. We have liked you very much, haven’t we, Janice? — Evelyn? It will be a great favor, really, if you find you can stay with me for a few days. There will be so much to see to — such a strain — I am not in the best of health. Daniel —”
“Certainly, Adela. By all means.” Dr. Bouligny answered the half command, half appeal, in her voice very promptly. “Certainly. Miss Thatcher is not at all well, Miss Keate. She will need someone like you for a few days. It would be so much better to have you who already — er — know the circumstances. That is — well, won’t you stay on?”
In the end I consented, of course, though I did so reluctantly. I felt, too, somewhat vague as to my prospective duties. Only one thing was clear to me and that was that they wanted me there. In the house.
And I did not dream how desperately I was to regret that decision.
“Now then, Hilary,” said Dr. Bouligny. “You’d better call the sheriff. It’s been almost an hour since —”
“Sheriff! What’s wrong? What’s that about the sheriff? What —” Allen Carick came rapidly in from the hall. Tall, lean, brown, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his collar open, his bright hair wavy and wet as if he’d been swimming, his dark blue eyes remarkably like Evelyn’s as he looked swiftly around the group. Dave Thatcher followed him closely, and it was Dave who first saw the huddle under the scarf and lunged forward with an incoherent cry and jerked the scarf back before Hilary could stop him.
For a moment he stood there looking; his face became ghastly pale, the hand with which he held the scarf began to tremble. Then he let it fall and dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
He said nothing, but Adela was at his side at once, touching him, talking to him, sending Emmeline for wine, and Hilary was beside him too, telling him over and over that there’d been a robbery, and the burglar had shot Bayard, repeating his words as if to impress them indelibly upon Dave’s consciousness. From the study I could hear the doctor’s heavy voice telephoning and was subconsciously aware he was calling the sheriff. During the little hubbub I happened to be standing quite near Janice, and I remember Allen Carick stood there, too, and he said in a low voice: “Is that true? Is that what happened?” And I saw the helpless way she turned to him and heard her reply: “I don’t know. I don’t know. Allen, what should I do?”
“Don’t worry. Don’t worry,” he said, something in his eyes as he looked down at her which I was to remember later. “Dave was fishing with me, remember.”
Evelyn touched him on the arm. Her competent brown hand rested there as she spoke.
“The sheriff will be along presently, Janice. I think we ought to get Adela to her room. She can’t stand much more of this. Dr. Dan had better call Frank Whiting and have him take care of the body; he’ll conduct the funeral, I suppose. I’ll tell Emmeline to go ahead with dinner. After all, we have to eat.”
“Evelyn,” said Hilary from the group by the table, “Dan wants to know if you talked to Bayard when you stopped this afternoon.”
I think only I saw that firm brown hand tighten slowly on Allen’s arm. Perhaps he felt it.
“No,” said Evelyn steadily. “I didn’t talk to him. He didn’t see me. I just looked into the library, saw Hilary wasn’t with him, and left.”
“Was Bayard alone, Evelyn?” asked Dr. Bouligny.
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand how —” Dr. Bouligny interrupted himself and said, “Where were you all this time, Miss Keate?”
“On the lawn.” I could not resist adding, “In full view of the house.”
“Did you see anyone enter the house?”
“Only Mr. Thatcher and Mrs. Thatcher. No one else. If there was a thief, I didn’t see him, and I could see all the front and east side of the house.”
Dr. Bouligny was looking thoughtfully at me.
“But — why, you must have heard the shot, Miss Keate. All the windows were open, and it was a quiet afternoon.”
“No,” I said slowly, “I heard nothing.” I had not thought of the fact until his question, and it was with some perplexity that I considered it for a moment while they waited. Even Dave dropped his hands to hear the better what I was going to say. “No,” I repeated honestly, “I did not hear the sound of the shot. I can’t understand it. It was quiet this afternoon. I heard the front door bang, and from inside the house I heard the telephone ring. I think Bayard must have answered it, for no one else was in the house — I had left him upstairs in his own room, but —”
“He must have come down,”
interrupted Hilary. “I wonder who talked to him.”
“Oh, I called him,” said Miss Adela. “I stopped on my way to the Benevolent Society and telephoned from the drug store. I’d forgotten to tell Emmeline that there would be two extra for dinner — you and Evelyn, you know, Hilary — I knew Emmeline wouldn’t hear the telephone, but I thought perhaps Miss Keate would reply. But Bayard was down here. He must have been near the telephone.”
“I wonder what he was doing down here,” said Hilary absently and was about to say more, I think, when there was a long peal at the door bell.
“That’s the sheriff,” said Dr. Bouligny. “Well, there’s one thing. You’ve all got alibis.”
“Why, no, not all,” said Evelyn. “I don’t seem to have, and I assure you I didn’t —” She tried to say, “Shoot him,” I suppose, but she looked at the huddle under the scarf and choked.
Allen put his arm around her protectingly, and Hilary cried, “Don’t be a perfect idiot, Evelyn, we all know you didn’t kill him,” and Emmeline appeared at the doorway with the sheriff. Hilary and the doctor and the sheriff all began to talk at once, and Evelyn and Janice were urging Adela toward the door. It was a good time, I thought to myself, to telephone to the hospital for the extra uniforms I would need. I had expected to be on the case only a day or so, and had made my preparations accordingly.
I turned toward the little study at the end of the library. The town boasted automatic telephones, and I had some difficulty in dialing and more difficulty in making the superintendent understand what I wanted. It was very quiet in the little room with the door to the library closed; quiet and tranquil. Impossible to believe that in the next room lay a murdered man, dead on the rug, his eyes closed, his hands — Wait! His eyes closed!
His eyes closed — but the eyes of the dead do not close voluntarily. Someone must close them.
“Hello, hello!” shrilled a voice in my ear.
I gave my message somewhat incoherently and put down the telephone. Full of my discovery, I rose, and in the very act of rising my cap slid off my head and I made another discovery which was almost to push the first from my mind.
Murder by an Aristocrat Page 5