CHAPTER IV.
THE INDEX FINGER POINTS.
John Davidson, the marshal, was officially supposed to be endowed withinsight into the origin of fires. In fact, he drew a comfortable salaryfor pursuing no other occupation than this. A swift horse and a buggyenabled him to be among the first to arrive and a uniform of dark bluecloth, such as old sailors cling to, but with brass buttons for insigniain place of the little woven anchor that serves to remind the old saltof his element, entitled him to salutes from fire captains as well asfrom the rank and file. His written reports were read by insuranceunderwriters, and his wise shake of the head went a great way with thosewho knew little about fires and less about John Davidson.
For "old John Davidson," as he was generally known, had one failingwhich sadly impaired his official usefulness. He was an innate andinveterate optimist. The mild-blue eyes which beamed from behind hisspectacles--old eyes, too, that no longer saw things as vividly as theyused to--were meant to train fatherly glances on winsome children ordart gleams of approval at heroic hosemen whose sacrifices were rewardedby medal or purse. Indeed, he was very popular in both these functions,for old John Davidson had himself served his country and was comradeJohn of Sherman post, No. 5. But these kindly orbs were not those of thehawk, the lynx or the ferret, like Inspector McCausland's, of whosesmall gray pair, eyelets rather than eyes, rumor said that the off onecontained a microscopic lens and its nigh fellow never went to sleep.
"John Davidson will never set the world on fire himself," InspectorMcCausland had said when the veteran's nomination was first reported.Yet "old John" went his way cheerfully poohpoohing suspicion and reallydiffusing a globe of good feeling by his presence such as no fox in thepolice ranks could pretend to radiate.
However, the wisdom of the serpent is called for at times, as well asthe meekness of the dove. When Marshal Davidson, against all proof andpersuasion, gave out his intention to report the Arnold fire asaccidental, originating in some unknown manner, or by spontaneouscombustion, owing to the extreme heat of the day (the thermometer havingregistered 97), it was felt by his best friends that he allowed hisoptimism to blind him too far. He had made the same report in the Lowstreet fire, the authors of which, an organized gang of blackmailers,trapped on another charge by McCausland, had just confessed their crime.Such laxity could only embolden the firebugs and encourage an epidemicof burnings. Something must be done, the police department thought, andwhen they selected Inspector McCausland to work up the case there was ageneral faith that something would be done.
By Sunday noon the inspector had gathered an array of data, sufficientto give a start to his active faculty of divination. Critics said thathis one failing was a slight impatience in feeling his way to aconclusion, or, as his brother detectives expressed it, a tendency to"get away before the pistol shot."
"Going to hang some one, Dick?" asked Smith, whose specialty wascounterfeiters.
"Well, we are sowing the hemp," answered McCausland, always ready with ajovial answer.
The first person upon whom suspicion rested was the Swedish housemaid,Bertha Lund. But it did not linger long, or with more than a moth-likepressure, on that robust and straightforward individual. Her story,thrice repeated in response to questions by the marshal, Chief Federhen,Inspector McCausland and the district attorney, had not varied a hair,although each time new details were added, as the questions of thedifferent examiners opened new aspects of the affair.
"Prime proof of her honesty," said McCausland. "The rote story shrinksand varies, but never expands."
So the only fruit yielded by the ordeal which Bertha underwent was athorough description of the house and household, pieced together fromher replies, and McCausland had soon left her far behind in his searchfor a tenable theory.
The cook, Ellen Greeley, had not yet made her appearance. Berthaprofessed to have seen her dressing herself in her chamber and gave aclear description of her clothing, for the benefit of McCausland'snote-book--green plaid skirt, brown waist, straw hat with red, purpleand yellow pompons. Ellen was dressing "uncommonly rich" of late, theysaid. Bertha had talked with her upstairs and had heard the back doorslam about the time when Ellen might be supposed to be departing. It hadbeen the cook's holiday afternoon, and she was going to run over to hersister's, as she generally did, and return for supper, leaving Bertha tokeep house.
But her sister had not seen her and she had not returned. A slow, heavygirl, rather apt to take the color of her mood from those around her,she seemed a creature who might be influenced to wrongdoing, but hardlythe one to instigate it. So far as could be learned, the plain truth wasromantic enough for Ellen Greeley, and she was not accustomed toembellish it with flowers of her own imagination. Nevertheless, afterexhausting this subject, McCausland checked her name with the mentalnote "an accomplice, if anything," and the woman's prolonged absence,together with those "uncommonly rich" dresses she wore of late, the morehe dwelt on them, prompted him the more to erase the modifying clauseand let his mental comment stand "an accomplice."
But of whom? Ellen's sister and Bertha had both mentioned one DennisMungovan, the cook's sweetheart, who, until three weeks ago, had beencoachman at the Arnold's. Some repartee, or insolence, when reprimandedfor smoking (he was described as a tonguey lout) had provoked hisdischarge and he had been heard to threaten vengeance behind theprofessor's back, though at the time his words were muttered they wereignored as a braggart's empty vaporing. Twice he had called to see Ellenat the house, but he had not shown his face since the week before theprofessor died; and even at his favorite haunt, a certain Charles streetstable, all trace of him had been lost. As he was a resident of thiscountry for less than a year he may have crossed the water again to hishome, but if this were so Bertha felt sure Ellen would have manifestedher lonesomeness. "She had a great heart to the man," said the Swedishhousemaid.
"Well, what have you collected against him?" said the district attorney,to whom McCausland had just been exhibiting these results of hisinvestigation. They were alone, save for a bloodhound, in theinspector's office at police headquarters.
"Opportunity, motive and circumstances. I don't rule out the other twoas accessories, you understand." The "other two" were Mungovan and EllenGreeley, who with Robert had been arranged in a triangle by thedetective.
"That remains to be fitted into the developments, I presume?"
"First, as to circumstances. The young man turns up about 11 o'clock ata fire which started at 3:30, which destroyed his own home, and whichwas advertised all over the country within a radius of thirty milesbefore sunset."
"In itself not a very damaging circumstance. It might be explained. Youhave questioned him on his movements?"
"In two interviews," replied the inspector, puffing his cigar leisurelyand watching the smoke curl as though it were the most fascinating studyin the world just then.
"Account not satisfactory?"
"He has none to give." (Puff.)
"What does he mean by that?"
"Memory a blank between 3:30 and 7:30." (Puff.)
"Up to some mischief, then."
"A curiously opportune lapse," said the inspector, his eye twinklinghumorously. "So much for circumstances after the fact. And now foropportunity."
"Of course the evidence for opportunity will depend upon the inmates ofthe house. You are convinced of Bertha's candor?"
"On my reputation as an adept in mendacity. You have not found meovercredulous, as a rule?"
"Quite the contrary."
"Bertha was upstairs, Floyd in the study, Ellen, the cook, had just goneout. After awhile the barking of the St. Bernard in the study arousedthe girl. Something was wrong. She ran down, opened the study door andfell back before a live crater of smoke and flame. Accident, we agree,is out of the question. The front door was locked. There was no approachto the study (up one flight, remember) from the street, unless youraised a ladder to the window, and half the neighborhood would have seenthis. At least I'm sure the bake-shop girl, Send
a Wesner, would haveseen it. The previous actions of Floyd were those of a criminalmeditating crime; his subsequent course until 7:30 he refuses toexplain."
"But the motive, McCausland?" said the district attorney gravely.McCausland contracted his beady eyelets till they shone like two pinpunctures in a lighted jack-o'-lantern. But a knock at the door delayedhis answer. The bloodhound promptly arose, grasped the knob in hisforepaws, and turning it skillfully, admitted a mulatto attendant infatigue uniform, the bloodhound's master patting him approvingly for theperformance.
"Officer Costa to see the inspector," said the attendant.
"Send him in," answered McCausland. "One of my fetch-and-carrydogs--willing enough, but no hawk."
"I've looked the matter up," said Officer Costa, saluting, and glancingfrom McCausland to the district attorney.
"With what result?"
"Dennis Mungovan and Ellen Greeley were privately married on June 18,before Justice of the Peace Gustavus Schwab, at 126 Harlow street," saidCosta, as if proud of his morsel of information and its precision ofdetail.
"Is this our Mungovan?" asked the district attorney, evincing keeninterest.
"What was his description, Costa?" said McCausland.
"Native of Ireland, aged 29; a coachman by occupation. The bride a cook,born in New Brunswick."
"Very well done. Will you look over the steerage list of the Europeansteamers for a fortnight back and ahead? We want that couple, ifpossible."
"I will," answered Costa, in a manner which showed that the complimentwas not wasted. Once more McCausland rose and looked out before shuttingthe door. Evidently this was another of his mannerisms, and perhaps notthe least useful, since one never knows what interlopers may be harkingabout.
"We have connected numbers two and three of the triangle," he resumed assoon as he was fairly seated, "the interests of Mr. and Mrs. Mungovanbeing presumably identical."
"I cannot; seriously I cannot credit the charge against Floyd," said thedistrict attorney, "in face of the tender relations known to havesubsisted between the young man and his uncle."
"Tender"--McCausland's fat face creased all over into dimples ofmerriment. "Do young men elope with their grandmothers?"
"Not often," answered the district attorney.
"Neither do they dote madly on their crotchety uncles in the slippersand dressing-gowns of 78."
"Even at 78 I should expect consideration from a nephew whom I had takenin as an orphan and raised to wealth and position."
"Wealth and position! Perhaps that's the rub."
"Just what do you mean?"
"I mean that all was not smooth in the Arnold household; that nephew anduncle were cut too near together from the same block of granite tomatch; that they wrangled constantly and that one of their wrangles ledto this very crisis of the will."
"A will?" echoed the district attorney.
"A will" (puff), smiled McCausland, relapsing into silence.
"Prof. Arnold left a will?" repeated the district attorney, slowly, butMcCausland only nodded mysteriously and puffed.
"And--and disinherited the nephew?"
"Exactly--cut him down to $20,000."
"Where is this will?"
"This will was burned. It was the cause of the burning." McCausland hadlowered his voice, if anything, but the district attorney stood up inhorror.
"More wealth changed hands by the destruction of that document,"continued the inspector, "than was converted into smoke and ashes by thefire."
"You mean that young Floyd planned to burn up the will which left him apauper, so that he might obtain his interest as heir-at-law?"
"That's the motive you were asking for when Costa interrupted us. It wasclumsily done, wasn't it? But not so clumsily, when you look at itfurther. The professor kept his valuables in an iron lock-box which hecalled a safe. To blow it open was dangerous, unless"--McCausland pausedto drive his meaning home--"unless the sound of the explosion could besmothered in the general confusion of a fire."
"You attribute the explosions to----"
"Placed the charge himself in a wooden box under the safe. Told Bertha aplausible story to provide against discovery."
"Six human lives to pay for a few paltry dollars."
"Five million dollars! The professor must have left nearly ten and Floydwould have shared them equally with the other nephew. Hardly a paltryfigure, $5,000,000! I've seen murder committed for a 10-cent piece."
"But that was manslaughter in the heat of a quarrel."
"To be sure; and by expert Sicilian carvers, with magnifying-glass eyesand tempers formed between Etna and Vesuvius. But $5,000,000 is afortune, Bigelow."
The district attorney paced up and down, meditating. At last he turnedand brought his fist down on the table so hard that the bloodhoundbayed.
"This is murder as well as arson. I want that understood."
"I understood it," smiled the inspector.
"Who saw this will?"
"There's no secret there. Its contents are common property, I shouldsay. It was Mrs. Arnold, the sister-in-law, who dropped me the firsthint; and Floyd himself has owned that his uncle made a will three weeksago, cutting him down to $20,000."
"How did the professor come to postpone his will-making so long?"
"Satisfied, I suppose, with the laws of intestate descent."
"The other heir gets it all?"
"Harry Arnold? No. I believe some goes to charity, the servants and soon. A $10,000,000 cake will cut up into several neat slices, you know."But the thoughts of the district attorney seemed to move habitually on ahigher plane.
"Floyd was a sister's son. Perhaps that is why the professor preferredhim to his cousin," he said.
"A life-long preference which does not appear in his testament,however."
"But why did he cast him off at the eleventh hour?"
"The boy didn't know enough to groom and currycomb the old gentlemanproperly. Only 21, you know, and self-willed. That's in the Arnoldblood. Besides, he's a socialist or anarchist, I'm told, and keepscompany with a photographic retoucher as poor as Job. Something of thesort. Who knows? A straw will turn a man's mind at fourscore."
"And how about Mungovan and the Greeley woman?"
"Accomplices," said McCausland, but added more cautiously, "from presentappearances, at least."
There was a knock on the door and the bloodhound again performed theduties of sentinel, receiving his master's praise with such marks ofdignified gratification as became his enormous size.
"Miss Wesner," announced the mulatto.
"Presently," answered the inspector. "Well, action or inaction?" hesaid, presenting an alternative of two fingers to the district attorney.
"I must go over this evidence in detail. Will you send the Swedish girlto my office again to-morrow?"
"I think I can lay my hands on her."
At that very moment, in another part of the city Robert Floyd waswalking down to the electric car between a squad of policemen, followedby a motley crowd that profaned the Sabbath with its clamor. Once aboardthe swift vehicle, he was safe from pursuit, but his liberty wasshort-lived. For, as a result of Noah Bigelow's second interview withBertha and his review of McCausland's reasoning, a warrant was made outand he was arrested Monday noon on the charge of arson and homicide.
The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery Page 4