Mme. Storey listened with a gratified smile, as a teacher to the recitation of her prize pupil. "But what was it?" she asked.
"A handkerchief," announced Crider suddenly; "a lady's handkerchief."
"Excellent!" said Mme. Storey. "Anything more?"
"If I had a good glass—," murmured Crider.
Mme. Storey produced a reading glass, and handed it over.
"A handkerchief with an elaborate lace border," Crider reported after a further examination. "The cancelling stamp has struck an edge of it, and has shadowed out a confused bit of the design in ink."
Mme. Storey was delighted. "Anything else?" she asked.
But Crider could tell her no more.
Mme. Storey picked up the envelope delicately. "A negative thing," she said, "but important to us. Observe, by looking at it edgewise, you can see the bulge is exactly the same on one side as on the other. That tells us there was no letter slipped either in front or behind the handkerchief. The envelope contained nothing but the handkerchief."
"Where is it?" we both asked.
"That is for us to find out."
IV
Crider's job was to search the grounds, and later to go into White Plains to establish, if possible, who posted the envelope containing the handkerchief. Meanwhile Mme. Storey examined various persons in the house.
The first she had in was the butler, Glasgow. He was the most perfect butler I ever expect to behold; a man of fifty-odd, slightly bald, with a clear, pleasant skin. He made quite an elegant figure in his morning coat, and I should have taken him for one of the guests until I heard him speak. A slight tinge of deference in his tones placed him.
Glasgow made an admirable witness.
"At eight o'clock this morning I was polishing silver in my pantry," he said, "when Meeker, a housemaid on the second bedroom floor came to me. She came to me because the housekeeper, Mrs. Evremond, was not down yet. Meeker, who was in somewhat of a state, told me that Miss Mayfield had given instructions that she was to be called at seven o'clock this morning, but that after several attempts she—Meeker—was unable to get any answer from her room. I made light of her fears. 'Miss Mayfield has stopped all night with her friends,' I said. However, I got the duplicate key to that door, and gave it to Meeker, telling her to open the door and look. She presently returned to me, saying she could not get the key into the door.
"I then accompanied her upstairs. I found that the key was in the lock on the inside. A prolonged knocking failed to bring any reply. Somewhat alarmed myself, I then got a pair of thin tweezers, and inserting them in the keyhole, contrived to turn the key a little at a time, until I was able to push it through on the other side. I then opened the door with the duplicate key, and found—well, what you already know, madam."
"Will you please illustrate the position of the body as exactly as you can," said Mme. Storey.
The man got down on the floor, and lay on his left side with one arm doubled beneath him, the other flung over in front. His knees were drawn up; his chin pressed into his breast. He had the instinct of an actor. It was horrible. I turned my head away.
"Thank you," said Mme. Storey. "Were her eyes open or closed?"
"Closed, madam," he replied.
"Did you observe a handkerchief in the girl's hand; on the dressing-table; any place in the room?"
"No, madam."
"You might have overlooked it?"
"I hardly think so, madam. The sight gave me such a shock of horror that every detail of the scene seems to be burned into my brain. That fresh young girl with her shining hair, her pretty, light dress—"
The perfect butler was human like the rest of us. It was no moment for emotion, and Mme. Storey interrupted him: "Please show me again the exact posture of the hand you could see."
He held out his right hand loosely closed, the thumb fitted into the crook of the two first fingers. In imagination I could see a dainty handkerchief clipped there.
Mme. Storey made no comment. "Proceed," said she.
He went on to describe how he had sent the trembling maid to arouse Miss de Guion's maid, and Mrs. Cruger's own maid, that their mistresses might be notified. On his own initiative Glasgow had sent a footman to telephone Dr. Singer.
"After the discovery of the body was any person left alone with it at any time?" asked Mme. Storey.
"Only myself, madam," he answered simply. "While I was waiting for the others to come. After that time I think there were always several persons present."
"You have had several hours now to think things over," said Mme. Storey; "has any peculiar circumstance of any sort suggested itself?"
"There was a noticeable smell when I opened the door," Glasgow said slowly.
"What sort of smell?"
"A sweetish, spirituous sort of smell."
"Chloroform?"
"No, madam, not the same as chloroform."
"A strong smell?"
"No, madam, faint. And after a little while it had disappeared."
"You are sure the window was closed?" asked Mme. Storey.
"Yes, madam. Else the smell would have escaped."
"Did it not strike you as strange that the window should be closed on such a warm night?"
"I did not think of it at the moment, madam, being too much overcome. But it does seem strange."
"There is a screen outside the window," said Mme. Storey. "How does it operate?"
"It slides up and down in a groove, like the sash, madam."
Glasgow then went on to describe the arrival of Miss de Guion and Mrs. Cruger on the scene, and later, the doctor, and his examination of the body. This brought out nothing new or significant. After the doctor had delivered his verdict, Glasgow and a footman had lifted the body to the bed, and all had left the room, Glasgow locking the door and taking both keys with him, pending the arrival of the undertaker.
Mme. Storey went back to the night before. "Glasgow, how had Miss Mayfield expected to get to Scarsdale?"
"Mrs. Cruger had offered her a car, madam, but she declined it. I understood she was to telephone for a taxi when she was ready."
"How is it that none of you realised she had never left the house?"
"I can only say, madam, that each one of us thought one of the others had let her out. Many of the servants would be at dinner at that hour."
"Glasgow, how is the mail delivered here?"
"Rural delivery, madam. By Ford car three times a day; eight-thirty, two-thirty and six-thirty."
"Then there was a delivery last evening after Mrs. Cruger and her guests had started for Ridgefield?"
"Yes, madam, I took it in myself."
"Was there anything for Miss Mayfield?"
"Yes, madam. One letter."
"What can you tell me about it?"
"Only that it was contained in a cheap, common envelope, madam. I sent Albert, the second man, upstairs with it."
"Then Albert was the last person who saw Miss Mayfield alive?"
"He did not see her, madam. I presume she was dressing. She told him to slip the letter under the door, and he did so."
"Is this the envelope, Glasgow?"
"Yes, madam."
"Now, is the maid Meeker outside?"
"Yes, madam, waiting your pleasure." Glasgow opened the door, and gave a sign. "Do you wish me to step outside, madam?"
"Not at all," said Mme. Storey. "At the moment I only wish to find out if Meeker's sense of smell is any better than yours."
The maid entered.
"Meeker, did you smell anything when Mr. Glasgow opened the door of Miss Mayfield's room?"
The housemaid was agitated, but she answered readily: "Yes, madam, vi'lets."
"Ah! Are you sure?"
"Ah, yes, ma'am. Vi'let perfumery. It brought the very flowers before my eyes."
"Thank you, that's all."
Meeker retired.
"One last question, Glasgow," said Mme. Storey. "I can see that you are a man of discretion. It has been
suggested that a crime has been committed, and for the sake of the good name of this house, we must go absolutely to the bottom of the matter. Can you, as the result of your observation, suggest the slightest reason or motive for such a crime?"
"No, madam," replied Glasgow, but he stumbled over the word, and changed colour. Mme. Storey simply waited with her grave glance fixed upon him. He could not support it. His fresh face suddenly became moist all over. "I'm sure there's nothing in it," he burst out. "I don't want to get anybody into trouble. I don't want to sow suspicion."
"You are an honest man, Glasgow," said Mme. Storey with a reassuring smile. "Never mind: you will not sow suspicion with me. It is my business to sift suspicion."
"Well, madam, I thought maybe Mr. Rowcliffe was too sweet on Miss Mayfield," he said, blushing like a girl.
"He's engaged to Miss McPeake."
"I know. But I caught him looking strangely at the other girl when he thought he was unobserved. It was at tea time Sunday, and again yesterday."
"What do you mean by strangely?"
"Well, passionately, as they say," Glasgow blurted out with crimson face.
"And did Miss Mayfield return these glances?"
"Oh, no, madam! By no means! She never looked at him."
"Thank you very much, Glasgow. I shall respect your confidence."
V
Glasgow's final statement, with the tragical possibilities it suggested, was to me like the first ray of light breaking through the murk that enveloped the situation. I was very much excited by it. Mme. Storey gave no sign. For some moments after the butler left the room, she sat staring at a pad before her, making meaningless dots upon it with a pencil. Finally I could stand it no longer.
"Will you question Rowcliffe?" I asked.
I was sorry as soon as I had spoken, for Mme. Storey merely smiled at me in a tantalising way. "What an ugly little room this is!" she said irrelevantly. "Shall we take a look at the splendour outside?"
I wanted to see the house, but I wanted much more to know what was passing through her mind. However, when she is in this impish mood there is nothing to do but wait for things to happen. I followed her out of the room.
In the great hall there was a nervous and highly self-conscious group consisting of the dignified housekeeper, Mrs. Evremond, Glasgow, another manservant, and a couple of maids. Notwithstanding the difference in their stations, the common excitement had drawn them close together. They cast looks of respectful awe upon Mme. Storey as we passed. We crossed the hall and continued on down one of the mighty corridors I have spoken of.
Along each side extended an endless suite of rooms. We passed in and out of them, looking at things. I wondered what they were called. The ordinary names of rooms would give out long before you got through. Later I learned that these were the "state" apartments, and wondered what a good American family did with them. The rooms that were customarily used were in the other wing. Every room had several mountainous crystal chandeliers depending from the ceiling, and every room was filled with gorgeous furnishings and pictures; too much; too much; and not in the best modern taste as even I could see. The present Mrs. Cruger had excellent taste, as I was to learn, but was too indolent to overthrow the gilt and red velvet regime of her predecessor.
"Fancy having to dust all this gimcrackery, Bella," murmured Mme. Storey.
"Yes, but why are we looking at it just now?" I asked.
"Just to stimulate curiosity," she drawled.
The rooms facing towards the south had full-length windows giving on a terrace with a brick parapet, below which you could see the marvellous flower gardens of Cariswoode, now in their glory. In one of these rooms we paused before the famous portrait of the third Mrs. Peter John Cruger, by Campoamor y Nuñez, the Spanish master. A truly regal lady was depicted, but one hardly conspicuous for amiability.
"A prudent master, Bella," remarked Mme. Storey drily. "Observe how one of the lady's hands is partly concealed behind her, while the other is hidden under a flounce. Hands are so difficult to paint!"
Out on the terrace I perceived a handsome young man in a miraculously fitting lounge suit. I supposed this to be Rowcliffe. He came to one of the open windows, to look in, and discovering us, hastily turned on his heel. I began to understand Mme. Storey's reference to stimulating curiosity.
There was a stir at the door of the room, and we beheld a tall, blonde lady advancing towards us. I had not seen her before, but there was no need to be told that this was the chatelaine, for she was followed by a deferential trio, to wit: Mrs. Evremond; an immaculate brow-beaten gentleman whom I guessed to be the secretary; and a second younger gentleman, copy of the other, whose position in the household I never did learn. He may have been the secretary's secretary.
Mrs. Cruger and Mme. Storey had talked before. "Is there any way in which I can assist you?" Mrs. Cruger now asked.
"Not at the moment, thank you," Mme. Storey said pleasantly.
Mrs. Cruger looked at the portrait we had been studying as much as to say: "What has that got to do with the case?"
"I was just mulling things over in my head," murmured Mme. Storey.
Mrs. Cruger bit her lip. She was really an exquisite creature. Her oft-published photographs render her a little insipid, but that is because no photograph could convey the air of delicacy and distinction that enveloped her. She looked as rare and precious as a bit of Venetian glass. This ethereal exterior covered very human failings. She turned her head, saying curtly to her followers:
"You needn't wait."
The three vanished silently. I had an impression that they were still hovering about outside the door. What a life, I thought.
"Have you discovered anything?" Mrs. Cruger asked with an extraordinary anxiety.
Mme. Storey shrugged.
"Tell me!" said the other sharply.
"It's all inchoate," answered Mme. Storey. "I cannot report yet."
Mrs. Cruger stared, and her transparent skin showed a bright flush. Evidently this lady was not accustomed to be denied, however courteously. "Surely I have a right to know what is going on in my own house!" she said.
"Assuredly," rejoined Mme. Storey blandly. "What is your theory of the affair?"
"I have none," said Mrs. Cruger. "The girl died of heart failure. That's all there is to it. This storm of gossip has blown up simply because people insist on making a sensation out of anything that happens to us.
"But Dr. Pulford—" suggested Mme. Storey.
"He was called in without my authority!" said Mrs. Cruger angrily.
"It seemed the obvious first step to take," murmured Mme. Storey deprecatingly.
"He's too bolshevik for my taste!" said Mrs. Cruger.
I saw my mistress's eyes twinkle. "I see that," she said drily. "You can depend upon it, I will take everything into account."
"Whom do you suspect?" demanded Mrs. Cruger. "I insist on knowing!"
This was an unfortunate tone to take with Mme. Storey. "As you have reminded me, this is your house," she said softly. "Nevertheless, I must be allowed to conduct my investigation in my own way."
For a moment the two pairs of eyes contended for mastery. It was Mrs. Cruger's that fell.
"I hope you don't suspect me?" she said with rather a silly sounding laugh.
"Why should I?" asked Mme. Storey mildly. "Have a cigarette?"
"Thanks. One needs one," said Mrs. Cruger. They lit up, amicably enough.
"I liked the girl," Mrs. Cruger went on. "Oh, why did it have to happen here? I wish she had never come to the house! What am I to tell my husband when he returns? He never—" She hastily put the cigarette in her mouth.
"Never what?" asked Mme. Storey offhand.
"Never should have gone to Canada," said Mrs. Cruger quickly.
It was obviously not what she had started to say. Mme. Storey affected to take no notice.
"How about Rowcliffe?" asked Mme. Storey, blowing a cloud of smoke.
"Rowcliffe?" echoed the oth
er. Her face cleared, and she became more at ease.
"He's some sort of relation of yours, isn't he?"
"My first cousin," said Mrs. Cruger. "My mother was a Rowcliffe, you know."
"Yes," said Mme. Storey. "What do you think about this match with Miss McPeake?"
"I think the obvious thing," said Mrs. Cruger. "She's so rich she's bound to arrive anyway. Why shouldn't she arrive through him?"
"Why not, indeed?" agreed Mme. Storey. "He's reputed to be rather wild, isn't he?"
"I don't suppose you want me to repeat gossip," said Mrs. Cruger languidly. "I know nothing of my own knowledge."
"Never mind gossip," went on Mme. Storey. "Give me an impression of his character."
Mrs. Cruger entered into this readily. It seemed strange to me that she was so willing to have suspicion cast on her relative. Odd, too, that she should betray no curiosity as to why he should be suspected.
"All I can say is, Jack Rowcliffe's the sort of young man who purrs in every woman's ear," she said. "Even in mine. It's just a bad habit he's got. I suppose there are women who fall for it."
"Have you noticed any particular woman lately?" asked Mme. Storey.
"Oh, no," said Mrs. Cruger. "There wouldn't be any now. This match means too much to him."
This answer still further confused me. Mme. Storey took it as a matter of course. I could see that, as usual, my mistress was not revealing her real objective in her questions.
"What sort of girl is Miss McPeake?" she asked carelessly.
Mrs. Cruger moved a delicate shoulder. "How can one really know a person of that sort? Her life is strange to me. She does not like us, but she strives to make a good impression. I think she has a bad temper," she added as an afterthought.
"Why do you think so?"
"Oh, I don't know. A certain twitch in her eye."
"Where is she now?"
"In her rooms. Wishes to keep out of all this. I cannot blame her for that."
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