And as if it were fairly torn from him, Bingham made the admission, “No!” and then they moved apart.
“I had to hear you say that,” said Eileen, looking at him strangely, “for I may never see you again alone.” And she went slowly away into a room and was lost to his view.
Stanford Bingham pulled himself together, and went straight downstairs, out of the house, and home.
Eileen went to Mrs. Swift. “Dear lady,” she said, “let me be a niece to you now. You will miss Ethel so dreadfully, but mayn’t I fill her place in some ways?”
“Oh, Eileen, you do not know what has happened! Ethel’s death is enough, too much, to bear, but now,—now, Warry is gone!”
“Gone! What do you mean?”
“We had a telegram this morning,—his father did,—and Warry says he has gone to hunt down a clue to the—the man who killed Ethel.”
“Why, Mrs. Swift, are you not glad of that? Don’t you want the man to be found?”
“Yes, but, Eileen, I feel so strangely alarmed over it. Why should Warry go off like that? Why go so late and so secretly? He isn’t a detective. It isn’t his business to hunt a clue! Why didn’t he tell Mr. Ferrall what he had discovered, if anything, and let Mr. Ferrall go or send somebody to Chicago?”
“Yes;” and Eileen looked disturbed; “yes, I should think he would have done that. Where is he?”
“He sent the telegram from New York late last night. Everson got it this morning. He wouldn’t tell me at first, but I insisted on knowing where Warry was, and he had to tell me.”
“Of course; why any secrecy in the matter?”
“Eileen, don’t you, can’t you see? They have begun to suspect Warry of Ethel’s death!”
“Warry! How absurd! Why, he was awfully fond of Ethel.”
“I know, but that horrid detective has been here asking all sorts of questions—”
“This morning?”
“Yes; Mr. Swift just told me. I made him tell. He is all broken up, for he knows that under their smooth talk they suspect Warry, my Warry.”
“Don’t cry, dear; I’m sure you are needlessly alarmed. If Warry says he’s gone to hunt a clue, he has. You know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know anything! Everything has happened so fast and everything is so horrible, I don’t know whatto believe!”
“Well, keep faith in Warry. You know he wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
“Oh, Eileen, I don’t know! I must speak my fears to somebody or I shall die! I can’t tell Mr. Swift, poor man, he is distracted now. Shall I tell you?”
“Yes, dear, tell me. What is it?”
“Only this. Ethel went somewhere the morning of her wedding. Somewhere, secretly, and she had a telephone call just before she went, and I’m afraid,—afraid—”
“You’re afraid she went out to meet Warry?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“But, Mrs. Swift, what harm could that do? I doubt very much if Ethel did such a thing, but even if she did, I can’t see why it disturbs you so.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a sort of intuition or premonition or something. You know Warry was devoted to Ethel. He didn’t want her to marry Mr. Bingham at all.”
“Why did she marry him, anyway?”
“Oh, Eileen, she was desperately in love with him. Desperately!”
“But she has been in love with every man in town.”
“No, she hasn’t. They were in love with her, lots of them, but she never cared for one of them as she did for Mr. Bingham.”
“I wasn’t sure of that.”
“You may be. Ethel was always a flirt. The poor child couldn’t help it. Often she has said to me, laughingly, that she would rather flirt than eat. And every new man she met, she never rested until he had proposed to her. And they usually did. Then she would laugh and refuse them.”
“But she cared for Stanford Bingham?”
“Oh, my dear, she worshipped the ground he walked on! Some people thought she was marrying him for his money, but it wasn’t so. No, indeed, she just adored him.”
“Well, then, she certainly never ran away on her wedding morning to meet Warry or anybody else!”
“No, I suppose not. But what did she go for, that she wouldn’t tell about?”
But the question was unanswerable.
CHAPTER VIII
The Family Lawyer
THE District Attorney and Detective Ferrall set to work in desperate earnest. The community was impatient for the discovery of the criminal, and every impulse of law and order clamoured for developments.
The disappearance of Warren Swift was considered by some a sure proof of his guilt. By others, it was deemed an equally sure indication of innocence.
“Why,” they said, “would he run away if he had committed crime? That would be most incriminating. Only a fool would do that!”
To which the retort very often was, “But Warren Swift is a fool!”
“What we want to get hold of,” said Somers to Ferrall, as they consulted over the case, “is facts, and clues, and evidences.”
“We do,” agreed Ferrall, “but the facts are pretty much before us; the clues are simply nil; and the evidences are not forthcoming.”
“Let’s sum up. Here we have the fairly sure proof that that shot came from the west side of the church, after the bride had turned round. I hold that lets out Mr. Bingham and presupposes Warren Swift, or some party unknown, either outside the church or in it.”
“Good as far as it goes, but it doesn’t let Mr. Bingham out, because he may have employed an accomplice either inside the church or out. And, too, it’s especially bewildering because we’ve no idea how far away the assailant stood.”
“That is most unusual, but it seems as if everything connected with this case is unusual. Who ever before heard of a case with no witnesses to question, and yet there were hundreds of witnesses! No clue to the slayer, and yet he must have stood elbow to elbow with some onlooker. No sound, smoke, or odour to give an idea of the direction the shot came from. By the way, I never knew before that even an automatic could be so literally soundless and smokeless.”
“It’s true, though,” said Ferrall. “I actually went and discussed the matter with the inventor of one of the models. He says a man may stand close to you, and fire the thing from his pocket without your being aware of it in any way.”
“From his pocket?”
“Yes; or concealed in a handkerchief or any such thing.”
“And he aims it—”
“He says the instinctive aiming of the pistol by placing the index finger along the barrel is surer than the eye aim,—that is, that the aiming in this way is practically sure with so short a barrel. You know the whole thing measures only a trifle over four inches. Of course, it would be a different matter with the aiming of a rifle where it is possible to sight from the butt to the muzzle of the barrel. He gave me a demonstration of this instinctive aiming, and the results as shown on the target were surprisingly accurate.”
“And could you hear no sound of the discharge?”
“It was almost unnoticeable in the pistol he used. I kept up a conversation in ordinary tones while he discharged the pistol two or three times, and had I not known that he was trying out the game, I would scarcely have noticed the explosion, though he was only a few feet from where I stood. Again, I watched for any sign of smoke from the pistol. While it was slightly visible, I can understand how to one not looking for such a thing it would not be noticed.”
“You went into the matter pretty thoroughly.”
“Yes; I even did this. I measured the tone value of the shot and as nearly as I could discover, using the pocket, hammerless model, of .25 calibre, the tone is A-sharp minor, which comes pretty near being the note of the first crash of the organ in the exit music.”
“As I see it, then, the sound could not be detected, so closely did it harmonize with the given musical note.”
“Yes; you know I held from the
first, that the organ would drown the sound and that the preoccupation of the people would prevent their noticing the smoke. Also, the heavy odours of flowers and perfumes would go far toward neutralizing what slight smell of powder there might be.”
“And joining to all this, the fact that the bullet entering the brain through a thick roll of hair gave no chance for powder marks, we have every avenue of evidence from the weapon closed.”
“And yet, we have negative proofs, if that is the right term. Granting that no smoke, sound, or odour was noticed, we know that it must have been a pistol of that sort that was used. Granting that, so far as we know, no one near the slayer was in any way cognizant of the deed, it proved that a larger or ordinary pistol could not have been used.”
“Then, to trace the pistol.”
“And that is next to an impossibility.”
“But buyers of pistols must give their names.”
“But they never give their real names. At least, not people of criminal intent. And I have inquired more or less from places where pistols may be bought, but I’ve had no enlightening results.”
“And so we’re as much afloat as ever.”
“So far as the pistol is concerned, yes.”
“But, at least, it gives us a working hypothesis of a man intelligent enough to own a pistol of that sort; the common tramp or rough would not have one. Also, a man cool-headed enough to stand and aim with deadly intent at a most critical moment, and in most thrilling circumstances. Not everybody is so unmoved by the sight of a wedding ceremony that he can be perfectly cool and calm.”
“But he did do it. You can’t get away from that! Whoever shot that girl did it premeditatedly and in cold blood. He came to the wedding prepared for it and he carried out his plan. To be sure, we cannot say that he was resolved to shoot at that identical moment. He may have been obliged to watch his chance. But he mingled with the crowd, got his chance, and used it.”
“You’re bound to have him inside the church?”
“I think so, for one outside ran so much more chance of discovery. Still, the shot may have come through a window. However, we can’t work any further from that end. I think we must turn to the motive next.” And here, Detective Ferrall looked uncomfortable. “In the case of a young girl who has always been a belle and a coquette, it may be that we must look for a discarded suitor.”
“Ah, you’re hedging away from your certainty of the bridegroom’s implication in the matter?”
“Since discovering the shot came from the other side, I can’t feel so sure of his guilt. I think he may have had an accomplice who fired through the window, or from the west side, but criminals of this sort don’t often have accomplices.”
“I agree with you. Now, as to young Swift. What about his sudden departure?”
“Might mean one thing or might mean another. I hate to think of his shooting his cousin; but who is there that we wouldn’t hate to think of as doing the deed?”
“And Swift’s motive?”
“That’s the point. He was her heir. But if he knew that her marriage nullified her will, then he might have killed her to steal the diamond, and if he didn’t know about the will, he might have killed her to get the money.”
“Who drew up the will?”
“Farrish is the Swifts’ lawyer. Guy Farrish, the one in the choir.”
“Let’s go to see him, he may give us information of some sort.”
After some inquiries the two men found that Farrish was at his club and went there to see him. They found him in the smoking room, but he asked them into a smaller room where they might talk privately.
The County Club, an enormous and elaborate structure, was the home of the most exclusive club in the vicinity. There were members from many of the smart New York suburbs, and the clientele was chosen with meticulous care and precision. To belong to the club was in itself a full guarantee of all that a man ought to be.
Guy Farrish was one of the directors, and was on the eve of being made president. His manner toward his two callers was perhaps a trifle patronizing, but it also showed a kindly courtesy. He was in no doubt as to their errand, and gave them immediate, grave attention when Somers said:
“We understand, Mr. Farrish, that you are the lawyer of the Swift family and connections?”
“Yes, Mr. Somers, I have been that for several years, but they are not people who require much of my service.”
“We are, at present, interested only in the matter of the will of the late Mrs. Bingham. I believe you drew up that instrument?”
“Yes, about four years ago. Mrs. Bingham, then Miss Moulton, was ill, and fearing she would die, she called me to make her will.”
“And its purport?”
“Was to leave all her fortune to her cousin, Warren Swift.”
“That will has never been changed?”
“Not by me, or to my knowledge.”
“Was the lady’s fortune a large one?”
“A matter of twenty-five thousand dollars, or a trifle more.”
“And young Swift was her sole and unconditional heir?”
“Yes. The cousins were fond of each other, I believe, and, too, Miss Moulton was an inmate of her uncle’s household, she herself being an orphan.”
“The lady was of age, of course, when this will was made?”
“Of course. She was twenty-six when she—died.”
Guy Farrish was a strong-looking, square-jawed man of about thirty. His manner was calm and his emotions under control, but he faltered over the reference to the death of his late client. As a member of the choir he must have had full view of the tragedy, and it was small wonder it unnerved him to speak of it.
“It is about this will that we want information,” said Detective Ferrall, taking up the questioning; “it is true, is it not, that a woman’s marriage nullifies her will?”
“Yes, that is true,” and Guy Farrish looked straight at the speaker, “but, I hope, gentlemen, that you will not ask my opinions or surmises in this painful matter. As the lawyer of the family, and especially of the victim of the awful crime, I hope I may be excused from grilling or cross-questioning, as I assure you I have no vital knowledge of the matter.”
“We have no intention of putting painful questions,” said Ferrall, “but some points must be cleared up. Did Warren Swift know that his cousin’s marriage nullified her will, and that he would not inherit in case of her marriage, under that will?”
Farrish hesitated before he replied. Then he said, “How could I know that, Mr. Ferrall?”
Instinct told the detective that Farrish did know, and he set to work to get the knowledge out of him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Farrish, but it is imperative that we discover the truth on this point. I think you do know, and I think you know that you ought to tell, whether young Swift knew this.”
Again Farrish hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he said: “If I must tell you, then, yes, he did know it.”
“He asked you regarding the matter?”
“He did.”
“When?”
“The day before the wedding of Miss Moulton.”
“Ah! And, please answer this straightforwardly, is it your opinion that Warren Swift was in love with his cousin?”
“It is my opinion that he was.”
“Then, for I need not conceal from you the fact that suspicion of the crime has been directed toward Warren Swift, then, I say, if he was guilty, he might have committed the deed either from the motive of theft of the great diamond or because of unrequited love, or both.”
Guy Farrish looked aghast at this plain talk, but he only said: “Your words, of course, are true, but the idea they convey is too preposterous! It cannot be!”
“The whole case is preposterous, Mr. Farrish. I am sure you never heard of such another in your whole career.”
“Thank Heaven, I certainly never did!”
“The facts must be faced. If Warren Swift is innocent, investigation cannot harm him. If he h
ad not known that he would not inherit his cousin’s fortune in case of her marriage, unless, of course, she later changed her will, he might have been suspected of killing her in order to get that inheritance. But since you tell us he did know, then his motive must have been theft or jealousy.”
“Have you any reason to think Warry has the diamond?” asked Farrish, looking thoughtful.
“No real reason, no. But the diamond is gone. Warren Swift is, in a way, under suspicion. He has disappeared. True, he sent a telegram explaining his absence, but we are inclined to take that with a grain of salt.”
“You have, then, shifted your suspicion from the bridegroom to the best man. Why?”
“Suspicion is a pretty strong word,” broke in Somers. “We have, for the moment, shifted our investigation. And we have done so for the reason that we have proved that the bride had turned round before she was shot. This, it would seem, must place the murderer on the west side of the church. Swift was on the west side, and Bingham was not.”
“You, in the choir, could see it all, Mr. Farrish,” said Ferrall; “was young Swift in a position to do this deed?”
“In a position, yes, certainly. But so were a hundred other people who were on that side of the church. Why pick him out?”
“Only because he may be said to have had motive. One can’t go round and accuse all the wedding guests who were on that side of the church.”
“Somehow it seems to me quite as logical as to suspect the bride’s cousin.”
“You saw nothing to give you the slightest inkling of where the shot came from?” Somers looked closely at Farrish as he said this, for he had a feeling the man was shielding somebody, and who, if not Warren Swift?
“No,” returned Farrish, slowly; “I saw absolutely nothing like the smoke of a pistol, nor did I see any movement on the part of anybody as if he were shooting. But this is not at all surprising. Everybody was looking at the bride, no one was looking about for possible assassins.”
“Yet you had a clear, uninterrupted view.”
“In a general way, yes; but the masses of ferns, palms, and flowers nearly cut off our vision. The choir rail was wound and wreathed, and tall Ascension lilies were between us and the bridal party.”
The Alan Ford Mystery MEGAPACK® Page 7