CHAPTER VIII ALMA’S STATEMENTS
“That is a possible explanation,” Hart conceded. “But who would do such athing? Who would hide those ridiculous properties in that strange place,and why?”
“No, it is not a plant,” Alma Remsen said, speaking slowly and seeming tochoose her words carefully. “I left the waistcoats in the boathousemyself, when I carried them home day before yesterday.”
“Why did you take them home?” Hart spoke gravely but not unkindly.
“My uncle gave them to me.”
“Gave them to you! What for?”
“I am making a patchwork quilt, and he told me these two waistcoats wereworn and I could have them to cut up for patches. As they were of finequality silk, I was glad to get them.”
I looked at the girl in admiration. She was quite composed, even smilinga little, and she favoured Hart with a glance of confidence, as if surehe would believe her.
“And the Totem Pole?”
“Uncle gave me that, too. He possessed several, and he often gave melittle presents like that.”
She was quite at ease now, and her eyelids were as steady as the rest ofher face and demeanour.
“You were here Tuesday afternoon, then?”
“Yes, between three and four.”
“You saw your uncle?”
“Yes, of course.”
Something about her manner was disconcerting. At least, it bothered thealready harassed Coroner.
I was watching Alma Remsen closely, and it seemed to me she purposelytried to put the Coroner in wrong. There was no overt act or word, buther little glance of surprise or her glimmer of a smile made him seemblundering and inept, and I decided she had such intentions.
This did not lower her in my estimation; indeed, I was fast reaching apoint where nothing could disparage her to me. It was not alone herbeauty, though she looked fair and sweet to-day, but I was bowled over byher air of courage and determination.
That she had something to conceal, I was positive.
I knew she had been at Pleasure Dome the night of her uncle’s death, Iknew she denied it. Fatuously I told myself she had her own good reasonsfor telling a falsehood, and I preferred to believe she was shieldinganother rather than herself.
Hart was proceeding.
“Were you alone with him?”
Alma’s pretty brows contracted in her effort to recollect.
“Most of the time,” she said, with the air of humouring anover-inquisitive child. “Mr. Everett was in and out of the room, and Mr.Dean, too, I think.”
“Where were you?”
“In my uncle’s sitting room in his own suite.”
“And then he gave you the silk waistcoats?”
“Yes.”
“Which are, you say, worn?”
“Y-yes.” There was a slight hesitation this time.
“But Griscom has stated they were nearly new. Why should he give them toyou?”
Alma’s brows rose in distinct annoyance.
“The question of wear in such a garment is not a matter of fact, it is amatter of opinion. It may be that my uncle considered them more worn thanGriscom did, or it may be that, since I admired them, my uncle waswilling to part with them, even if they were nearly new. The factremains, he gave them to me, for the purpose I have told you, and Icannot see what bearing it has on the matter of his death. He also gaveme the Totem Pole, and I carried the things home, and inadvertently leftthem in the boathouse.”
Well, if that girl was a liar, she certainly was the cleverest one I hadever seen, and I didn’t for a minute believe she was lying.
I glanced at Keeley Moore, but nobody could read his inscrutable face.
I turned my attention to the jury.
Their interested countenances left no doubt of their sympathy with thewitness and their readiness to accept her statements.
And apparently Hart himself believed in her. The explanation of thewaistcoats was plausible enough. Doubtless, those rich men did give uptheir clothing before it was worn threadbare, especially if a prettyniece asked for it. And the Totem Pole, too. It was known that SampsonTracy had been devoted to his niece, although they no longer lived in thesame house, and for him to make her presents was far from unbelievable.
And, of course, I believed her.
Even if she had come to Pleasure Dome in the dead of night, that hadnothing to do with the waistcoats, which, doubtless, were given to herexactly when and why she had stated.
Yet the girl seemed a mystery.
Coroner Hart contemplated her with a perplexed stare, which she in no wayresented.
“Can I tell you anything more?” she asked, helpfully.
Then he glared at her.
“Not now, Miss Remsen,” he said, with a new note in his voice. It soundedalmost menacing and Merry seemed to spring to attention. “I shall adjournthe inquest, as it was intended merely for identification purposes, and Imust look into the case further before I can carry on properly. I willcall at your house to-day, and investigate a few things.”
“Indeed, you’ll do nothing of the sort!”, Mrs. Merivale exclaimed, hereyes fairly snapping. They were dark, deep-set eyes, and her gray hair,in wisps round her thin gaunt face, shook with the intensity of heranger. “I’ll not have my lamb pestered by such nonsense! Ask her what youlike now, and have done with it. But don’t come snooping about her home,for you won’t be let in!”
Alma quietly turned to the irate woman, and gave her a tender smile.
Then she said to Hart, quietly:
“Mrs. Merivale means no disrespect. She is ignorant of the workings ofthe law, and is quick to resent what she thinks an intrusion on myprivacy. Keep still, Merry. The law must take its course.”
More, I felt certain, in response to a caressing touch on her shoulderthan by Alma’s words, the woman subsided, muttering to herself, butsaying nothing audible.
“It must, Miss Remsen,” Hart agreed. “I shall therefore call on youto-day, as well as on several other of the witnesses, and I adjourn thisinquest for a week.”
Now it was Katherine Dallas’s turn to look apprehensive.
“I shall not be here,” she volunteered. “I am going away for a trip——”
“Not just at present, Mrs. Dallas,” the Coroner said, sternly. I wassurprised to note how much more master of himself he was when talking tothis woman than when he addressed Alma. Yet, surely, the haughty anddignified widow was more awe-inspiring than the gentle girl.
Somehow, everybody seemed disturbed.
Harper Ames looked positively disgruntled. Both secretaries sat, witheyes cast down, as if dismayed at the way things were going. Clearly,there was disappointment that the matter could not be finished up thenand there, one way or another.
I came to the conclusion that the Coroner was largely at fault.Apparently he knew little about conducting an inquest, and though he madeno basic errors, he was distinctly floundering and decidedly out of hisdepth.
“There is much yet to be learned,” he announced, and we all, I am sure,silently agreed with him. “There are strange happenings to be explained,stories to be investigated, clues to be traced, evidence to be sifted,and until these things are done the jury cannot come to a decision. Asthey have seen and identified the deceased man, and have heard the detailof the finding of the body, the funeral may be held and the estate may beadministered. But no witness may leave town, and all present must attendthe resumed inquest one week from to-day.”
Again I looked at the principals. As I could take no part in theconversation, I contented myself with trying to read faces.
Nor was it difficult to do so.
Alma was trembling. Not only did her eyelids quiver, but she shook allover, though quite evidently trying to control herself. Merivale stood ather side; we had all risen now, and the girl leaned heavily upon the armof the faithful nurse.
Katherine Dallas looked daggers at everybody. Whatever her reason,whateve
r her mental attitude, she appeared angry at the whole world andinclined to show it.
Ames maintained his usual aspect, which was that of grumpiness.
That is the only word that really describes that man. He was not activelyangry, not exactly morose, but just grumpy, and it seemed to be hisnormal state.
He looked loweringly at the Coroner, at Mrs. Dallas and at Alma. But noneof them called forth a varying expression to his grumpy face.
The audience began to disperse, and Ames came directly to Keeley Moore.
“Are you going to take this case?” he asked, in a threatening rather thanan urgent manner.
Moore looked at him. Knowing Kee as I did, I could read his thoughtspretty well, and I realized that he was torn between his great desire toinvestigate this intriguing problem and his disinclination to do it atAmes’s behest.
Yet he couldn’t ignore Harper Ames and take up the case on his own.
“Yes,” he said, deciding quickly, “yes, Mr. Ames, I am most desirous ofdoing so.”
“Then, go ahead, in your own way,” and for almost the first time, I sawHarper Ames look pleased. “Conduct it as you like, and report to me atyour convenience.”
“I understand, then,” Moore said, looking at him closely, “I am to have_carte blanche_ in my manner of procedure, and I am to pursue myinvestigations no matter in what direction they may lead me?”
I saw a quick spasm of fear flash into Ames’s eyes, but it vanished asquickly, and he said, suavely:
“Yes, Mr. Moore. Stop at nothing to get at the truth.”
He’s the villain, I told myself. He is so sure of his diabolicalcleverness, that he thinks he has left no clue and has completely coveredhis tracks! God help him, when Keeley Moore gets on his trail!
We went into Mr. Tracy’s office, a pleasant room off the library.
There were three fine desks, Tracy’s own, and those of the secretaries.
Moore had told me to come along, and as Ames made no objection, I did so.The three of us, behind closed doors, ran over the salient details.
“I can offer no sort of explanation of the absurd decorations on thebed,” Ames said, “that is your province.”
He spoke in a quick, jerky way, as if anxious to delegate the wholematter to Moore and be rid of it once for all.
“Once get the main issues of the affair, and those things will explainthemselves,” Keeley said, nonchalantly. “Whom do you suspect, Mr. Ames?”
Harper Ames gave a start, and looked up as if he had not heard aright.
“Suspect? I? Oh, nobody. I can’t conceive of a human being brutal enoughto commit this crime as it was committed. But somebody did, and so, Ihope you can bring about his arrest and conviction. Spare no expense——”
“This is not going to be an expensive case, Mr. Ames,” Moore told him.“It must be solved by clever work, not by buying up evidence. I admitthat sounds rather boastful on my part, but I confess that I am taking upthe matter principally because of its unusual features and its bizarreelements. I mean to do my best, and while I shall rely on having yourhelp when and where it may be available, yet I think the most of my workwill be done by myself alone.”
Again Harper Ames showed that strange gleam of fear in his eyes, but nowI thought he feared for some one other than himself. Was he shieldingsome one? I knew evidence was often misleading because of the desire ofsome one to protect some one else. But so far, there was not enoughevidence even to predicate this.
“Very well,” Ames continued. “Work on your own lines. Be as expeditiousas possible, but omit no effort. By the terms of Mr. Tracy’s will, Ishall be in a position to compensate you for your time, and your billwill be paid whether you succeed or not.”
“And you have no hint to offer? No advice as to which way to look?”
“I have not. I will only say, it seems to me quite possible that thekilling of Mr. Tracy and the strange business of the flowers and orangesmay not be the work of the same hand.”
“That has occurred to me, too,” Kee said. “Now, I don’t want to seeminsistent, but do tell me your opinion as to the servants.”
“I’m not sure.” Ames seemed thoughtful. “I can’t suspect any wrong ofGriscom; he’s a faithful old soul, yet he does want his money. Littlehome on a farm and all that. If he is mixed up in this thing, look outfor Bray. She is infatuated with Griscom——”
“And he with her?”
“That I don’t know. And it may be only my imagination. The cook is toostupid to do anything really wrong. She has no thought save for herkitchen and household. The other servants I don’t know very well. Findout for yourself.”
“I shall,” and Kee smiled. “Don’t think I expect you to hire a dog andthen do your own barking. As to the secretaries?”
Though he said this with a most casual air, I knew Moore was listeningintently for the reply.
“As to that I can say nothing at all,” Ames returned, gravely. “Iwouldn’t say a word that might inculpate an innocent man. Nor do I saythat I think them other than innocent. But you must look it all up, youmust weigh and sift and decide for yourself.”
“Yes,” and Kee nodded his head, “that’s what detectives are for.”
“Then go to it. Of course, you are free of this house. Any other placeyou wish to go, you must get permission for yourself. Try to be asexpeditious as possible.”
I had warmed to Ames. He seemed more of our own sort than I had thoughthim. But as he rose, thus tacitly dismissing us, his grumpiness returned,and he made a pettish gesture of annoyance at the whole situation.
“Rotten thing to happen!” he exclaimed. “Just now, too, when there wereso many crises pending.”
“I think I ought to know of those crises, Mr. Ames,” Moore said,decidedly.
“Oh, nothing that you don’t already know,” Ames pulled himself up. But Iwas sure that this time he was not strictly truthful. “Only Mr. Tracy’sapproaching marriage and——”
“Yes, and?”
“Nothing, save some financial matters that are in the lawyers’ hands.”
Ames was suave again, and I realized that his little burst of anger hadbeen impulsive and was now regretted.
So we left him, and Moore said, as he bowed us out, that we would take alook round Mr. Tracy’s apartments upstairs.
“Not just now,” Ames said. “They are about to take the body away.”
“That won’t matter. We won’t incommode them,” and grasping my arm, Moorefairly hustled me along with him toward the staircase.
We went up to the wing containing the luxurious suite of the dead man.
Looking at it more critically than before, I was delighted with itsbeautiful furnishings and appointments. We paused in the sitting room,for the undertaker’s men were in the bedroom.
Moore began to scrutinize the room. He did not get down on his hands andknees, and show the accepted detective demeanour of “a hound on thescent.” But he went about the room with his quick eyes darting here andthere for possible indication of an intruder.
The usual appurtenances of the master’s occupancy he left apparentlyunnoticed, but he examined the door sill and the window sills.
The windows, there were two large ones, gave on the lake, or rather, onthat dark pool-like stretch of water called the Sunless Sea.
“Come and look out here, Norris,” he said. “Can you imagine any onejumping or diving into that bottomless pit?”
“Yes,” I returned, “I can easily imagine it. But he would have to be amaster diver and a master swimmer. Also, a fearless man and a desperateone.”
“Well put, old chap. Clearly and succinctly, I’ll say. He would, indeed,have to be all those things. And he was about five feet eight inchestall, and not a heavy weight, and he wore white flannels and tennis shoesand carried in his hand something painted red.”
“Marvellous, Holmes, marvellous!” I managed to ejaculate, though I wasnearly struck dumb at his speech. “Now, I won’t be your Watson, unlessyou tell me how you p
icked up, or made up, all that.”
“Of course, I’ll tell you. You well know I’m not the sort of mutt thatlikes to be mysterious. And, too, I want your corroboration. First, yousee the print on the white painted window sill of what can only be therubber sole of a tennis shoe. You see there’s by no means a fullfoot-print, but there is enough to show the nubbly sole.”
He was right. I could discern clearly, though faintly, a few of theimprints undeniably made by a sole of a tennis shoe.
“Not enough to tell whether the wearer of the shoe had his foot turned intoward the room or outward,” I offered.
“No,” he returned, eying me sharply, “but the law of probabilities makesme believe it is turned outward. It is hard to think of the murdererpoising himself on the sill and diving into that black water, but farharder to visualize him coming in by such an entrance!”
“Go on,” I said, a bit crossly, for I didn’t at all like it.
“Our friend, the murderer, was about five feet eight, because I am fivefeet ten and a half, and here at the sides of the window frame, we seetwo sets of fingerprints, faint again, but there, and they are at aheight of two and a half inches below where mine would strike if I tookhold to pull myself up to the window sill.”
“You can’t get anything from those prints,” I told him. “They’re toofaint. A mere hint only.”
“I only need a mere hint. And anyway, I’m only proving the exit of ourcriminal by this window, and so down into the lake.”
“And his clothes!” I jeered. “A straw hat, did you say?”
“I did not. I said white flannels, because here’s a shred of such caughtin a splinter of the upright of the window frame.”
“I refuse to believe in ‘shreds of cloth clenched in the victim’s hand.’”
“Not a shred, really, just a thread, a strand, but it’s to the zealous,confirmation strong! And, note that he carried something painted red inhis right hand. See the mark, just above his right hand-print, that isindubitably made by a piece of painted wood.”
“The devil it is! I say, Moore, you’re going dotty over this thing. Atany rate, don’t give it all to Hart or March, for they’ll make ducks anddrakes of it in short order.”
“No, I shall give it to nobody. I shall use it all myself. I only show itto you, because I want you to witness it. This evidence may be removed,and I want you to swear it was here.”
“I can’t swear those are fingerprints,” I complained. “They’re too faint.You can’t swear to that yourself.”
“I’ll get the fingerprint man up here, or get his outfit. It’s a wonderwhat they can do with the merest smudges. And, I say, Norry, what’s thetrouble? Don’t you want me to find clues? Don’t you want me to unearththe villain? You didn’t murder Tracy, did you?”
“No, but do go slowly, Kee. You’re so impulsive, so headstrong. Now, thatred streak, a mere blur, may have been here for days—even weeks.”
“Not in this house. Do you see any other smudges or smears on thisimmaculate white paint? Enamel paint, of the finest sort. Everyfingerprint is wiped off within twenty-four hours, I’m sure. That’s why Iwant to be sure of these.”
The men were gone now, so we stepped into the bedroom.
Save that the master was absent, the room was much as we had already seenit. The flowers, now withered, still lay on the pillows, and the crackersand orange were on the floor where Doctor Rogers had flung them.
The feather duster seemed not to interest Kee, but he scrutinized thewindow sill with care.
“No signs here, you see. And, too, there’s a balcony. It would be easierto dive from the sitting-room window. So that’s what our friend did. See,here’s the lady’s scarf. Now learn, my boy, to distinguish betweenimportant and non-important clues. Without doubt, the sentimental Sampsonkept that scarf by him as a reminder and souvenir of his bride to be.Most likely, he went to bed, carrying it with him. Perhaps wrapped itabout him, or held it to his cheek.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“Not silly at all. I see you know nothing of fetish worship, remnants ofwhich survive among us moderns in the form of just such souvenirs. So, Ideduce the murderer had no hand in providing the scarf. But the flowershad to be brought from their vases, the crackers and fruit from thetable, the duster from its proper abiding place, all these things wereachieved by our tennis-soled friend.”
“And the nail?” I snapped at him.
“Yes,” he said, “and the nail.”
The Deep Lake Mystery Page 8