CHAPTER IX
I INSTRUCT MR. MERRITT.
While these things had been happening in the country, my Sunday in townhad been almost equally eventful.
I had not been surprised on receiving Fred's telegram the evening beforeto find that the name it contained was that of the young artist. Had henot already told me that Greywood was supposed to have been the favouredsuitor? And, knowing May Derwent as I did, I had felt sure from the veryfirst that she must have entertained the liveliest feelings of trust andliking--to say the least--for the man whom she permitted to visit her onthat Tuesday evening. That the cur had not known enough to respect theprivilege filled me with mingled feelings of rage and delight. Had henot offended my divinity there would have been no chance for me, and yetthat he had dared to do so made me long to punish him.
But to do this I must first find him. His name did not appear either inthe Social Register or the Directory, but I thought that by visiting thevarious studio buildings dotted over the city I should eventually findthe one in which he lived.
So I got up bright and early the following morning, determined to beginmy search at once. As I sat down to my breakfast with a hopeful heartand an excellent appetite, I little thought what a bomb-shell wascontained in the papers lying so innocently beside my plate.
I had hardly read the terrible news before I was out of the house andon my way to Merritt's. Luckily, I found the detective at home, calmlyeating his breakfast. He showed no signs of surprise at my earlyappearance, and invited me to share his meal with simple courtesy. AsI had hurried off without stopping to eat anything, I thought that Ihad better do so, although I grudged the time spent in such a triflingpursuit, while so much hung in the balance and every minute might beprecious.
"Well, Mr. Merritt," I exclaimed, "what is this fairytale aboutGreywood? I see from the papers that your people do not put much faithin the identification."
"We do, and we don't," he answered, "but it is not proved yet, and,while there is still some doubt about it, I thought it as well for thegentlemen of the press to be kept guessing a little longer."
"But what do _you_ think? Surely, you do not believe the murdered man tobe Greywood?" I urged.
"Doctor, I'm afraid I do."
"You do?" I cried.
"Yes."
"But when I saw you, on Friday, you were equally sure of Miss Derwent'sinnocence."
"Ah! that was Friday! Besides, I have not said that I believe the younglady guilty; I merely say that I believe Maurice Greywood, and not AllanBrown, to be the name of the victim."
"But, then, you must think that she killed him," I insisted.
"Not necessarily. Have you never thought of the possibility that AllanDerwent (for we will assume that he was the man whom you saw in herapartment) might be the murderer?"
"No," I confessed, "that had not occurred to me."
"But it ought to have, for of all the theories we have as yetentertained, this one is by far the most probable. You see," hecontinued, "you allow your judgment to be warped by your unwillingnessto associate the young lady, even indirectly, with a crime."
"Perhaps so," I acknowledged.
"Now, I must tell you that, however innocent Miss Derwent may eventuallyprove to be, since my last talk with you I have become convinced thatthe murder was committed in her parlour, and nowhere else." Mr. Merrittspoke very earnestly, leaning across the table to watch the effect on meof what he was saying.
"Ah," I exclaimed angrily, "then you deceived me----"
"Gently, gently, young man; I don't deceive anybody. I told you that Iwished the young lady well; so I do--that I believed in her innocence;I still do so. I said that the information I had received from youmaterially helped her case, which it most assuredly did. Had youwithheld certain facts it would have been my duty--my painful duty, Iacknowledge--to have arrested Miss Derwent last Saturday."
"But why?" I inquired.
"Because all the evidence pointed towards her, and because my belief inher innocence rested on no more solid foundation than what is calledintuition, and intuition is a quicksand to build upon."
"But what was there to point to her except that a negro boy thought thatthe dead man resembled Greywood?"
"Ah, you acknowledge that her visitor was Mr. Greywood?"
"Yes, I grant you that, but what of it? I am convinced he has not beenmurdered."
"But why?" demanded the detective. "Now, listen to this. The body isidentified by two people as Greywood's. Greywood disappears at aboutthe same time that the crime was committed. We know that the corpse musthave been hidden somewhere in the Rosemere for twenty-four hours. Wherecould it have been more easily secreted than in the Derwents' apartment,into which no outsider or servant entered? And lastly, it would haverequired two people to carry, even for a short distance, a body of itssize and weight; but as the young lady was not alone, but had with herthe man and woman whom you saw, this difficulty is also disposed of.From all this, I conclude that the Derwents' flat was the scene of thetragedy."
"But why should Greywood have been killed?" I asked. "What possiblemotive could there have been?"
"Oh, it is easy enough to imagine motives, although I do not guaranteehaving hit on the right one. But what do you think of this for a guess?Miss Derwent, who knows that her brother may any day be in need of ahiding-place, has given him the key to their back door. Coming to town,she meets Greywood, dines with him, and invites him to spend the eveningwith her (having some reason for supposing that her brother is safelyout of the way). During this visit they have a violent quarrel, and, inthe midst of it, young Derwent, who has come in through the kitchen,suddenly appears. Let us also presume that he is intoxicated. Hediscovers his sister alone with a man, who is unknown to him, and withwhom she is engaged in a bitter dispute. The instinct to protect herrises within him. His eyes fall on a weapon, lying, let us suppose,on the parlour table. He seizes it, and in his drunken rage, staggersacross the room and plunges it into Greywood's heart. What girl could beplaced in a more terrible position? She is naturally forced to shieldher brother. So she hits on a plan for diverting suspicion from him,which would have been successful, if Fate had not intervened in the mostextraordinary way. You remember, that it came out that on Wednesday shewent in and out of the building very frequently. During one of thesemany comings and goings, she manages to extract the key of the vacantapartment, to have it copied, and to return it without its absence beingnoticed. They then wait till the early hours of the morning beforeventuring to move the body, which they carry to the place where it wasfound. Unfortunately for them, they locked the dead man in, and in thisway rendered their detection much more easy. For it limited the numberof suspected persons to three--to the three people, in fact, whocould have had the key in their possession, even for a short time.On returning to their own rooms, they discover that they have lostsomething of great importance. The young man searches for it long andvigorously. He does not find it----"
"How do you know he didn't find it?" I interrupted.
"Because _I_ found it," asserted the detective triumphantly.
"Indeed! And what was it?"
"The handle--or, to be more accurate, the head--of the fatal weapon."
"Really!" I exclaimed; "you found it? Where?"
"It had fallen in between the dead man's trousers and the folds of hisshirt."
"It must be pretty small, then."
"It is. Look at it," and he laid on the table a jewelled dagger-hiltabout an inch and a half long.
"That!" I exclaimed contemptuously; "why, that is nothing but a toy."
"Not a toy," replied Mr. Merritt, "but an ornament. A useful ornament;for it is the head of one of those jewelled hat-pins that have been sofashionable of late. A dagger with the hilt encrusted with preciousstones is quite a common design."
"Did you find the pin itself?" I asked.
"No, I did not," the detective answered regretfully.
"How do you account for the handle being where you found it?"
"I think that in all probability the pin was removed from the bodyimmediately after it had done its work, and in doing so the head waswrenched off. During the excitement which followed no one noticed whereit fell, and its loss was not discovered till the victim had beendisposed of. Young Derwent evidently expected the place to be searched,which accounts for the care with which he tried to remove all traces ofhis presence, and his extreme anxiety to find this, which, he feared, ifdiscovered on the premises, might prove a sure clue. Now, that theoryhangs together pretty well, don't it?" wound up the detective.
Without answering him, I inquired: "And what do you mean to do now?"
"I'm afraid I shall have to arrest Miss Derwent, as we can find no traceof her two companions. By the way, it is as you supposed;--the man yousaw leaving the building was no tradesman, so he is probably the personwe want. I have, therefore, given his description to the police, andhope soon to have some news of him."
"So, Mr. Merritt, you would really arrest a girl on such flimsyevidence, and for a crime you do not believe her to have committed?" Iinquired indignantly.
"As for the evidence, I think it is fairly complete," answered thedetective, "and I would not arrest Miss Derwent if I were not convincedthat she is implicated in this affair, and think that this is the surestway of getting hold of the precious couple. I can't allow a criminal toslip through my fingers for sentimental reasons, and every hour's delayrenders their escape more possible. The girl may be innocent,--I believeshe is; but that one of that trio is guilty I am perfectly sure."
"Are you, really?" I exclaimed. "Well, I am not, and, if you will listento me for a few minutes, I think I can easily prove to you that you arewrong. For since Friday I, too, have thought of a new and interestingpoint in connection with this case." The detective looked indulgently atme.
"You seem to forget," I continued, "and of this fact I am quite certain,that the victim met his death while wholly or partly unconscious."
Merritt gave a slight start, and his face fell.
"The autopsy must have been made by this time. Did not the doctor findtraces of alcohol or a drug?" I demanded.
"Yes," admitted the detective, "alcohol was found in large quantities."
"Now, Greywood had been dining quietly with a lady, and it isinconceivable that he could have been drunk, or that, being in thatcondition, she should not have noticed it, which she could not havedone--otherwise she would certainly not have allowed him to go up-stairswith her."
"That is a good point," said the detective.
"Besides, the corpse bears every indication of prolonged dissipation.Now, no one has hinted that Greywood drank."
"No, but he may have done so, for all that," said Mr. Merritt.
"He could not have done so to the extent of leaving such traces afterdeath without its being widely known," I asserted. "The dead man musthave been an habitual drunkard, remember, and that the young artistcertainly was not. No, if you persist in believing the murdered manto be Greywood, you must also believe that Miss Derwent lured him toher rooms, while he was so intoxicated as to be almost, if not quitehelpless, and there, either killed him herself or allowed her brother tokill him. In the latter case, do you not think a lady's hat-pin rather afeeble weapon for a young desperado to select? And that that descriptioncan be applied to Allan Derwent, everything I have heard of him tends toshow.
"On the other hand, let us consider for a moment the probability of thebody being Allan Brown's. What do we find? When last seen he was alreadynoticeably intoxicated, and what is there more likely than that thedaughter of a saloon-keeper should have no scruples about offering himthe means of becoming still more so? And please notice another thing.You told me yourself that Mrs. Atkins had spent the greater part of herlife among a very fast lot--so that it is perfectly natural to find aman of the deceased's habits among her familiar associates. But whatis more unlikely than that a girl brought up as Miss Derwent has beenshould go so much out of her way as to choose such a man for her friend?And then, again, remember how the two women behaved when confronted withthe corpse.
"Miss Derwent walked calmly in and deliberately lifted her heavy veil,which could easily have hidden from us whatever emotions she may havefelt. Lifts it, I say, before looking at the body. Does that look likeguilt? And what does Mrs. Atkins do? She shows the greatest horror andagitation. Now, mind you, I do not infer from this that she killed theman, but I do say that it proves that the man was no stranger to her.And now I come to the hat-pin. You assume, because you find a certainthing, and I saw a search carried on, that the man was looking for theobject you found. What reason have you for believing this, except thatit fits in very prettily with your theory of the crime? None. You cannottrace the possession of such an ornament to Miss Derwent, can you?" Thedetective shook his head. "Ah! I thought not. And even if you did, whatwould it prove? You say yourself that the design is not an uncommonone."
"No, but it certainly would be considered a very remarkable coincidence,and one that would tell heavily against her," the detective replied.
"Yes, I suppose so; but we needn't cross that bridge till we come to it.As yet, you know nothing as to the ownership of the pin. But I want tocall your attention to another point. If two people have identified thebody as the young artist, so have two others recognised it as that ofAllan Brown, and I assert that the two former are not as worthy ofcredence as the two latter."
"How so," inquired Mr. Merritt.
"In the first place, Jim was much less positive as to the supposedidentity of the deceased than Joe was. You admit that; consequently, Iconsider Joe's word in this case better than Jim's, and Mrs. Atkins iscertainly a more reliable witness than Mrs. Mulroy, an Irish charwoman,with all her national love of a sensational story."
"That is all very fine," said Mr. Merritt, "but Mrs. Atkins emphaticallydenied knowing the deceased."
"In words, yes; but don't you think this is one of the cases whereactions speak louder than words? By the way, I gather from your stillbeing willing to discuss the corpse's identity that you have not beenable to trace this mysterious Brown?"
"You are right. The only thing we have found out is, that the berth onthe Boston train which was bought in his name was never occupied."
"And yet, in the face of all this, you still think of arresting MissDerwent; of blighting a girl's life in such a wanton manner?"
"Doctor, you're right; I may have been hasty. Mrs. Greywood, the youngman's mother, arrives to-morrow, and her testimony will be decisive.Should the body not be that of her son (and you have almost convinced methat it is not), then Miss Derwent's affairs are of no further interestto me, and who she may, or may not, entertain in her apartment it is notmy business to inquire."
After a little more desultory talk, I left him to his morning paper.I was now more than ever determined to do a little work in his linemyself, and felt quite sure that talent of a superior order lay dormantwithin me. Only the great difficulty was to know where to begin. I mustget nearer the scene of the tragedy, I concluded; I must cultivateMcGorry and be able to prowl around the Rosemere undisturbed. What atriumph if I should discover the missing hat, for instance!
All this time I was sauntering idly up-town, and as I did so I fell inwith a stream of people coming from the Roman Catholic Cathedral.Walking among them, I noticed a woman coming rapidly towards me, whosmiled at me encouragingly, even from quite a distance. Her face seemedstrangely familiar, although I was unable to place her. Where had I seenthose flashing black eyes before? Ah! I had it,--Mme. Argot. She wasalone, and as she came nearer I saw she not only recognised me, but thatshe was intending to stop and speak to me. I was considerably surprised,but slowed down also, and we were just opposite to each other when herhusband suddenly stepped to her side. A moment before I could have swornhe was not in sight. It was quite uncanny. His wife started and glancedfearfully at him, then tossing her head defiantly she swept past me witha beaming bow. He took off his hat most respectfully, and his longsallow face remain
ed as expressionless as a mask. But I was sure thathis piercing black eyes looked at me with secret hostility. The wholeincident only occupied a minute, but it left a deep impression upon me,and started me off on an entirely new train of thought. What had thedetective said? The guilty person must have been able to procure, forsome time, however short, the key to the vacant apartment. We only knewof three people who were in a position to have done this. Miss Derwent,the French butler--well, why not the French butler? Those eyes lookedcapable of anything. I was sure that his wife was afraid of him, for Iwas certain that she had meant to stop and speak to me, and had beenprevented from doing so by his sudden appearance. But what could shehave wished to say to me? And why that gleam of hatred in her husband'seye? I felt myself so innocent towards them both. In fact, I had noteven thought of them since the eventful Thursday, and might easily havepassed her by unnoticed if she had not been so eager to attract myattention. Well, it would be queer if I had tumbled on the solution ofthe Rosemere mystery!
As I was now almost opposite my club, I decided to drop in there beforegoing in search of McGorry. There were hardly any people about, and whenI entered the reading-room I found that it contained but one otherperson besides myself. The man was very intent upon his paper, but as Iapproached he raised his head, and I at once recognised Mr. Stuart. Thevery person, of all others, I most wanted to see. Fate was certainly ina kindly mood to-day, and I determined it should not be my fault if Idid not make the most of the opportunity thus unexpectedly affordedme. So when I caught his eye I bowed, and walked boldly up to him. Heanswered my salutation politely, but coldly, and appeared anxious toreturn to his reading; but I was too full of my purpose to be put off byanything. I said: "Mr. Stuart, you have quite forgotten me, which is notat all surprising, as I only met you once before, and that time was notintroduced to you."
He smiled distantly, and looked inquiringly at me through his singleeye-glass.
"It was last Thursday at the Rosemere," I explained.
He appeared startled. I think the idea of my being a detective suggesteditself to him, so I continued, reassuringly:
"My name is Fortescue, and I am a doctor. My office is _vis-a-vis_ toyour building, so, probably on account of my proximity, I was called into see the victim, and have naturally become much interested in thisvery mysterious affair."
"Indeed!" he remarked.
This was not encouraging, but I persisted.
"A very remarkable case, isn't it?" I said, trying to appear at ease.
"A most unpleasant business," he replied curtly.
My obstinacy was now aroused, so I drew a chair up and sat down.
"Mr. Stuart, I hope you won't think me very impertinent if I ask youwhether you have any reason to be dissatisfied with your two servants?"
He now looked thoroughly alarmed.
"No; why do you ask?"
"You probably know that the identity of the dead man has never beenestablished?" I continued.
"On the contrary," interrupted Mr. Stuart, "I am just reading an accountof how it has been ascertained that the body is that of a man calledGreywood."
"Oh," I replied airily, "that is only a bit of yellow journalism. If youread to the end, you will find that they admit that the police place nocredence in their story. I have just been talking to Mr. Merritt aboutit----"
"Merritt, the detective, you mean?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Well, he must be an interesting man. I should like to see him."
"Why, you have seen him," I said; "he was the short, clean-shaven manwho stood beside me, and afterwards followed you out."
"Really!" he exclaimed; "I wish I had known that; I have always takena great interest in the man. He has cleared up some pretty mysteriouscrimes."
"I am sure he would be only too delighted to meet you. He's quite a nicefellow, too, and terribly keen about this murder," I added, bringing theconversation back to the point I wanted discussed.
"Yes?" said Mr. Stuart. "Of course, I am interested in it, too; but Iconfess that to have a thing like that occur in a building where onelives is really most unpleasant. I have been pestered to death byreporters."
"Well, I assure you I am not one," I said, with a laugh; "but, all thesame, I should like to ask you a few questions."
"What are they?" he cautiously inquired.
"Do your butler and his wife get along well together?"
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, in his turn. I told him what hadjust happened. He smiled.
"Oh, that doesn't mean anything. Celestin is insanely jealous of hiswife, whom he regards as the most fascinating of her sex, and has ahabit of watching her, I believe, so as to guard against a possiblelover."
"Do they quarrel much?"
"Not lately, I am glad to say. About a year ago it got so bad that Iwas forced to tell them that if I heard them doing so again, I shoulddismiss them both."
"Dear me, was it as bad as that?"
"Why, yes. One evening, when I came home, I heard shrieks coming fromthe kitchen, and, on investigating, found Celestin busily engaged inchastising his wife!"
"Really?"
"Yes, and the funniest thing is, that she did not seem to mind it much,although she must have been black and blue from the beating he gaveher. It was some trouble about a cousin, I believe; but, as theyare both excellent servants, I thought it best not to inquire tooparticularly into the business."
"And have they been on amicable terms since then?"
"Oh, yes. And, curiously enough, their behaviour to each other ispositively lover-like. Even in the old days, she would flirt and hewould beat her, and then they would bill and coo for a month. At least,so I judged from the little I saw of them."
I was now anxious to be off, but he seemed to have overcome his aversionor distrust, and detained me for some time longer, discussing thetragedy.
When I reached the Rosemere, I found McGorry sitting in his privateoffice, and remarkably glad to see me. I offered him a cigar, and wesat down to a comfortable smoke. At first, we talked of nothing but themurder, but at last I managed to bring the conversation around to gossipabout the different people in the building. This was no easy matter,for the fellow considered it either impolitic or disloyal to discusshis tenants, but, luckily, when I broached the subject of the Argots,he unbosomed himself. He assured me that they were most objectionablepeople, and he couldn't see why Mr. Stuart wanted to employ Dagos, ashe called them. He told me that the woman was always having men hangingaround, and that her husband was very violent and jealous.
"But they have stopped quarrelling, I hear."
"Stopped, is it?" he exclaimed with fine scorn. "I suppose Mr. Stuarttold you that. Little he knows about it. They darsn't make a noise whenhe's about. But Argot's been terrible to her lately. Why, they made sucha row that I had to go in there the other day and tell him if he didn'tshut up I'd complain to Mr. Stuart. He glared at me, but they've beenquieter since then. I guess she's a bad lot, and deserves what she gets,or else she wouldn't stand it."
"I say, McGorry, you have seen nothing of a straw hat, have you?"
"Lord! Hasn't Mr. Merritt been bothering me to death about that hat? No,I haven't found one."
That was all I could get out of him. Not much, but still something.
Returning to my office, I sat for a long time pondering over all I hadseen and heard that morning, and the longer I thought the more likelydid it seem that the corpse was that of some lover of Madame Argot'swhom her husband had killed in an attack of jealous frenzy. I had neverfor a moment considered the possibility of the body being Greywood's,and Merritt thought the objections to its being that of the vanishedBrown equally insurmountable. I was, therefore, forced to believe inthe presence on that fatal Tuesday of yet another man. That he had notentered by the front door was certain; very well, then, he must havecome in by the back one. Of course, that there should have been threepeople answering to the same description in the building at the timewhen the murder occurred seemed an incred
ible conglomeration ofcircumstances, but had not the detective himself suggested such apossibility? The most serious objections to the supposition that Argothad murdered the man were: first, the smallness of the wound, and,secondly, the distance of the place where the body was found fromStuart's apartment. The first difficulty I disposed of easily. Merritthad failed to convince me that a hat-pin had caused the fellow's death,and I thought it much more likely that the ornament found on the corpsewas a simple bauble which had nothing to do with the tragedy. Now, asmall stiletto--or, hold, I had it--a skewer! A skewer was a much morelikely weapon than a hat-pin, anyhow, besides being just the sort of athing a butler would find ready to his hand.
The next objection was more difficult to meet, yet it did not seemimpossible that, having killed the man, Argot should, with his wife'sconnivance, have secreted him in one of the closets which his masternever opened, and then (having procured a duplicate key) have carriedthe body, in the wee small hours of the morning, up the three flights ofstairs, and laid it in the empty apartment.
Thoroughly satisfied with this theory, I went off to lunch.
The House Opposite: A Mystery Page 9