"Couldn't we leave her to follow us by train?"
"Impossible, my dear! I must have her to take down your statement on the way to Cariswoode."
"My statement!" exclaimed Miss de Guion aghast. "Taken down—"
"Why, of course," said Mme. Storey. "We must be businesslike. Here, you have dwelt too long on this horror. I shall give you a drink before we start."
II
The extra seats in the Cruger limousine were on swivels, so that I was able to turn around and face Mme. Storey and Miss de Guion while they talked. I had a brief-case on my knees, and my note-book on top of it. The car had such wonderful springs I was able to take dictation without too much difficulty.
Mme. Storey was now wearing a trim tweed suit and a sport hat without any trimming. The severity of the costume made her look girlish. It suggested hard work ahead.
"Tell me as detailed a story as you are able," she said to Miss de Guion. "We have plenty of time, and it will save going back over the ground later."
Miss de Guion had got a better grip on herself by now. "I went up to Cariswoode, the Cruger country place near White Plains, on Sunday morning," she began. "I took my secretary, Louise Mayfield, with me, because there was a lot of work to be done in connection with the Elizabethan fête that Mrs. Cruger is giving for charity next month. The letters to those we wanted on the different committees had to be mailed from Cariswoode, because they were supposed to be written by Mrs. Cruger herself."
"What sort of girl was Miss Mayfield?" asked Mme. Storey.
A spasm of pain passed over Miss de Guion's face. "A very handsome girl, if that is what you mean," she said in a low voice. "You will see her."
"No, I mean her nature, disposition," explained my mistress.
Miss de Guion passed a hand over her face. "It's hard for me to describe her to you," she said wearily. "She's been so close to me these last months. She was very capable. She's the only girl I ever had who could come out of herself when it was required, and exert charm, fascination; and when the occasion had passed, immediately become the self-contained secretary again. Oh, she was invaluable to me! Invaluable!"
There was something very affecting in the spectacle of the old lady's dry-eyed despair. She was a hard old lady, and it is much more terrible, of course, to see a hard person cut up than a soft one.
Mme. Storey maintained a businesslike attitude, as the kindest thing under the circumstances. "How long has she been with you?" she asked.
"Eighteen months."
"How did she come to you?"
"She brought me a letter of introduction from a school friend now living in Pittsburgh. My friend described her to me as an orphan of good family obliged to earn her own living. That in itself, so like my own situation, would have warmed my heart to her. And she had other recommendations. She wrote a very characteristic and aristocratic hand. Very like my own, in fact. Almost impossible to find nowadays. Just what I wanted for filling in invitations and addressing envelopes. I engaged her at once for that purpose."
"And gradually discovered her other qualifications?"
"Yes. I found that I could entrust anything to her tact. A natural tact that scarcely required instruction. Oh, I leaned on her so!"
"Well, when you arrived at Cariswoode on Sunday," prompted Mme. Storey.
"There was only a small party. Vera McPeake—"
"The daughter of the lead trust?" put in Mme. Storey dryly.
"Yes; heiress to a hundred millions more or less," said Miss de Guion without perceiving any irony. "Not a bad sort of girl. She will do in time. Willing to learn."
"Who else?" asked Mme. Storey.
"Only Jack Rowcliffe."
"Ah, he and Miss McPeake are engaged, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"Are they in love with each other?"
Miss de Guion looked at her questioner in surprise. "My dear! How should I know? That's their affair. It's a wonderful chance for both of them. She has the prospect of the hundred millions and he has the social position. Each is young and personable, so that it is not a case of either having to swallow a pill."
I suspected that Miss de Guion must have promoted this match. It was right in her line.
Miss de Guion's face began to break up again, and she dabbed her tearless eyes with her handkerchief. "But what has this got to do with my poor—my poor Louise?" she faltered.
"I must consider every circumstance," said Mme. Storey gently. "What can you tell me about Miss Mayfield's friends, associates, lovers?"
"Very little. She had made her own friends, of course, but not very intimate ones, I fancy. My friends and my work consumed most of her time. As regards men, she had a level head, and no little humour. I never heard of, nor suspected, the least entanglement in that direction."
"Well, what did you do upon your arrival at Cariswoode?"
"We lunched."
"Was Miss Mayfield present?"
"No. She was not a guest, you see, though Bessie Cruger was most kind to her. She lunched somewhere; in her room, I suppose; and immediately went to work on the letters. It was a disagreeable day, and none of us left the house. A few people, intimate friends, came in for tea. Louise came down for tea at Bessie's, Mrs. Cruger's, especial request."
"And dinner?" asked Mme. Storey.
"No. Dinner was a formal affair; sixteen covers. Shall I name the guests?"
"No need now."
"After dinner a number of people came in for music. Music on Sunday nights is a regular institution at Cariswoode when the Crugers are there. I have spent a lot of thought on making those occasions unique of their kind. Ischl played, and Doria, the new Spanish soprano, sang. Louise came down for the music; she was very musical. Afterward we danced."
"Miss Mayfield too?"
"No. She retired early, as she had a busy day before her. Monday, that is yesterday morning, we lay late. I had my breakfast in bed. Afterwards I went to Bessie's boudoir en négligé, and we smoked and gossiped for an hour or so. Vera McPeake was there too. During this time Louise was working in the boudoir adjoining my bedroom. Afterwards I wrote a few letters, dressed for lunch, and after lunch Bessie, Miss McPeake and I were driven into White Plains to do a little shopping."
"Where was Rowcliffe?" put in Mme. Storey.
"He went off to the Kenwood Club to play golf."
"Go on."
"We returned to Cariswoode for tea. Immediately afterwards we went to dress, for we were dining at the Heber Bassetts' in Ridgefield before going on to the Van Brocklin dance, also in Ridgefield. We started shortly after six, as dinner was for seven, and we had twenty miles to drive. Louise came downstairs to see us off. She was to dine with some friends in Scarsdale near by, the Hyatts. She did not have to start so early, and she was not dressed yet. She came out on the terrace as we drove away, and that is the last—that is the last—" The old lady was overcome by emotion again.
Mme. Storey patted her hand. "Hurry on. Hurry on," she said.
Miss de Guion pulled herself together. "The dinner? It was just a dinner. There was nobody of any account there. Bessie is much too lax in such matters. The late Mrs. Cruger was always consulted in respect to the people she was asked to meet at dinner, but Bessie will not trouble herself. I would have attended to it, but I was busy in New York. Consequently we were bored. We went on to the dance at the ridiculous hour of nine-thirty. One has to humour the Van Brocklins. Long established people, but hopelessly outdistanced now. Fancy asking people to dance at nine o'clock! Bessie would have dropped them long ago, but Pete Cruger insists on keeping up the connection, simply because old Mr. Van Brocklin was an associate of his father's—"
"By the way, where is Mr. Cruger now?" put in Mme. Storey.
"Fishing, in Canada. He has been telegraphed for."
"Go on."
"There is nothing to say about the dance, either. It was as dull as we expected. A Viennese orchestra, because the Van Brocklins presume to frown upon jazz. Old-fashioned waltzes, fancy! One
expected to hear the strains of a schottische or a polka next. We left at the earliest possible moment, about one. It was three when we got home."
"I thought you said it was only twenty miles?"
"We had an accident. We ran out of gasolene on the road. Bessie was most annoyed."
"This car and this chauffeur?" asked Mme. Storey.
"Yes. We had to sit there an hour while he walked back to some place where he could get gas. It was very tiresome."
"Go on."
Miss de Guion's agitation rose afresh.
"It seemed to me," she said, "that I had no more than fallen asleep when I was violently awakened by my maid. The girl was utterly distraught, her hair flying in every direction; she was holding a bed quilt around her. She stuttered out something, I can't tell you what. But the purport was clear. Something had happened to Louise. Louise was dead!" Miss de Guion put a hand over her eyes.
"I sent the girl away to cover herself," she presently went on. "I stopped only for a dressing-gown and slippers, and found my way to the floor above, where I knew Louise was lodged somewhere. I was guided to her room by the sight of a little group of servants at the door—peering in. They parted as I came up. I looked in and I saw—I saw my poor Louise lying on the floor in front of her dressing-table. The chair was close beside her, as if she had slipped from it. She was wearing her prettiest evening dress of yellow malines. I had given it to her. It had not been worn before—
"I could not—I could not bring myself to touch her, but they told me she was already cold and stiff. It was only too evident that she had fallen as she was dressing the night before, and had lain there all those hours!"
"The room?" asked Mme. Storey softly.
"It was in perfect order. No sign of any disturbance. Louise's dress was not disordered; her hair was perfectly arranged. The clothes she had taken off were put away. On the bed lay her evening cloak, side by side with her night gear, ready for her return."
"Doors? Windows?" asked Mme. Storey.
"There was but the door from the hall, and a cupboard door. The door from the hall was locked, they told me, and the key on the inside. The butler had forced it. There was but one large window. It was closed."
"Does that not seem odd in warm weather? Was it locked?"
"I cannot tell you that."
"Go on."
"The doctor had been telephoned for; Dr. Singer. He came. I retired while he made his examination. I—I could not bear it. He reported that it was a case of heart failure. It seemed the obvious explanation, for I remembered having heard Louise laughingly refer to her weak heart."
"What happened then?" asked Mme. Storey.
"Dr. Singer returned to White Plains. He said he would issue the necessary certificate. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Cruger sent her personal secretary in to the—the undertaker to make the arrangements."
"You notified Miss Mayfield's relatives?"
"She had no near relatives. I expected to take the last sad duties upon myself."
"Go on."
"When Mrs. Cruger's secretary—his name is Jamison, got to the mortuary rooms, Singer's car was waiting there. Dr. Singer had brought the certificate. While they were inside the establishment, the two chauffeurs got into talk about the affair, and Dr. Singer's chauffeur told Bracker, our chauffeur—"
"This man again?" asked Mme. Storey with a nod towards the front seat.
"Yes—told Bracker that his master had told him the girl looked as if she might have been asphyxiated, but that it would cost him his practice to bring up anything like that in connection with the Crugers. There is the miserable story that has thrown us into such confusion!" Miss de Guion cried passionately. "Mere backstairs gossip, I dare say. But what were we to do! It is damnable!"
"Let us hope it is only gossip," said Mme. Storey gravely. "At least we will get a dependable verdict from Pulford. He's a good doctor, though not a fashionable one."
"This Bracker is a well-meaning fellow," Miss de Guion went on. "He told Jamison at once, who told Mrs. Cruger when he got back, and Bessie instantly sent for me. I found her in a terrible state. Bessie Cruger is my dearest friend, but I am not blind to her faults. She would almost rather die than exert herself in any direction. She was determined not to take any notice of the matter. I think it is just idle gossip myself, but I pointed out to her that, the story having once been set in circulation, we could not let it go on rolling up credence and support like a wet snowball. It must be investigated, I said. She would not hear of calling in the police, but I had the happy inspiration of suggesting your name. Bessie welcomed that, and instantly dispatched me to New York to fetch you."
III
Cariswoode is, or was, one of the most famous country-houses in America, and I was full of curiosity concerning it. To reach the house one had to pass through an extensive ornamental park in the English style. The park was a bit too well cared for to my taste. There was something immoral in keeping so much rich land trimmed, prettified, and out of use. The house, when it burst into view, took my breath away by its mere size. With central block and wings it must have had a frontage of close on three hundred feet. I suppose in the three stories there were two hundred windows in view, all brightly polished. All very well for an institution, a hotel, a club, but preposterous for a dwelling. As a matter of fact, it has since become the most fashionable club in Westchester county.
It was magnificent, but it was not beautiful. Built of red brick in the Tudor style, as that was conceived thirty or forty years ago, the errors of taste were now only too apparent. It already looked old-fashioned. But it was imposing.
My curiosity respecting the interior was not to be gratified at the moment; for when we arrived it was already time for me to go back to White Plains to meet Crider. I therefore remained in the car. My instructions were simply to bring Crider to the house, explaining the situation to him as well as I was able, on the way, in order to save time later.
Crider turned up, of course. He is absolutely dependable. Of all the men who work for us regularly or on occasion, I set the most store by Sidney Crider; he is so quiet and sure of himself. One of the best things about him is that he can listen intelligently. You don't have to wear yourself out in tedious repetition and explanation. He received my strange tale quite as a matter of course.
When we got back, and at last got into the big house, my eyes flew about. It was certainly a coup d'oeil as the French say, or, as we would put it, an eye-opener. From the great central hall which rose to the roof with stairways and galleries, a vast corridor led off at either hand, so long you could scarcely see to the end, and with room after room opening off each side. These corridors were lined with paintings in elaborate gilt frames; with statuary, consoles and settees. The decoration was all of the "red" period; i.e., elaborate carved mahogany, thick red carpets, crimson walls and hangings. The richness of it all was simply overpowering, but I could not conceive of anybody being at home in such a museum. Frankly, it intimidated me. I felt like an insect.
Mme. Storey had established herself in a small room immediately to the right of the entrance. One entered it by a door concealed in the panelling. It was evidently an office, perhaps the butler's office; very plain and businesslike amidst all the magnificence.
She was seated in her plain suit at a flat-topped desk with exactly the air of a commanding officer in headquarters. It was soon evident that the vast, unwieldy household now received its chief impetus from her. The suffocating opulence had no terrors for Mme. Storey. In the presence of my mistress the great Mrs. Peter John Cruger herself, as I was presently to see, modified her imperious air. Such is the power of personality.
Mme. Storey banished everybody from the room while she talked to Crider and me. When we are working with her in the field she always makes a point of telling us the exact situation before we start in.
"While Miss de Guion was away fetching me," she began, "Mrs. Cruger sent again for Dr. Singer. The man swore that he had made no statement of any sort a
bout the case to his chauffeur. However, that has no significance now, for Dr. Pulford states positively that the girl was asphyxiated. She appears to have come to her death as the result of inhaling a poisonous gas, all trace of which has disappeared. When I got here the body had been lifted to the bed, and so many people have been in and out of the room, that any evidence there may have been has pretty well been destroyed. However, it seems certain under the circumstances that the girl was alone when she died.
"The window of the room is twenty-five feet from the ground. There is no evidence of any ladder having been planted outside. There is a heavy gutter pipe strongly supported, that runs down alongside the window. It is possible someone may have climbed up by it, but it could only have been a daring and nimble climber, and one inspired by a strong motive. No motive of any sort has as yet appeared.
"As a matter of precaution I have collected all the objects on the girl's dressing-table, and I have them here; brush, comb, mirror, powder-box, bottle of toilet water, etc.
"She was supposed to be getting ready to dine with some friends of hers named Hyatt who live in Scarsdale near her. As it was odd that the Hyatts did not telephone when she failed to appear, I had them called up, and learned, through a discreet inquiry, that Miss Mayfield had not been expected there last night. It was evidently a ruse. Where she was going is another point that requires to be cleared up.
"I have one important clew. In a waste paper basket in the girl's room I found this envelope. An envelope of cheap, soft paper you see, without any distinguishing marks. Such envelopes are sold by the million. It is addressed to Miss Mayfield in a disguised hand, and was posted in White Plains yesterday. Fortunately for us, the girl slit the end neatly, and dropped it in the basket without crushing it. Now observe!" Mme. Storey dropped the envelope lightly on the desk, and removed her hands from it. "What does that envelope tell you?"
I was dumb. Crider, better trained than I, peered at it closely this way and that without touching it, and said slowly:
"The envelope has been subjected to pressure in the cancelling machine, and the soft paper has therefore taken and held the impress of its contents. It contained something a little thicker than the ordinary sheet of paper, but folded smaller than the envelope itself. It has made a little square bulge in the centre of the envelope. It was of softer texture than writing paper."
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