MRS2 Madame Storey

by Hulbert Footner

  "Tell me," Mme. Storey said to Rowcliffe, "have you put this handkerchief to your face at any time?"

  "Yes," he said bitterly. "It didn't do me any harm."

  "According to the report of my agent," Mme. Storey went on, "the envelope originated here at Cariswoode."

  She paused. The women's stony eyes shifted to her face.

  "It was collected at the bottom of the slide in the White Plains post office among a number of letters mailed by you three ladies yesterday afternoon. Miss de Guion, you told me, you remember, that you went in together—"

  Every word she uttered tightened the screws of suspense. The pauses were most dreadful.

  "Mrs. Cruger, did anybody give you letters to post?"

  "No," whispered Mrs. Cruger.

  "Miss de Guion?"

  "No."

  "Miss McPeake?"

  "No."

  "Then each of you posted your own letters. Mrs. Cruger, have you ever seen this handkerchief before?"

  Mrs. Cruger, white to the lips, slowly shook her head.

  "Miss de Guion, you?"

  "No," said the old lady calmly.

  "Miss McPeake?"

  "No!" This negative had a defiant ring.

  "Mrs. Cruger, may I ring for Glasgow?"

  "As you will," murmured that lady.

  When the benignant butler entered, Mme. Storey said: "Glasgow, will you please have Mrs. Cruger's own maid, Miss McPeake's maid, and Miss de Guion's maid sent into us one at a time."

  No one presumed to object to this high-handed order. Glasgow retired. During the wait no one moved nor spoke. It was shattering to the nerves. Miss McPeake had quieted down. Her quick, small eyes travelled from one to another of us, sparkling with hatred, jealousy, suspicion. Her emotions were as violent and ephemeral as a fire in straw. Clearly a nature with ugly and dangerous potentialities.

  The first to be shown in was a fresh-faced girl with a pleasant expression. She wore a neat working dress and plain apron.

  "My maid, Agnes," Mrs. Cruger said in a dead voice.

  Mme. Storey held up the handkerchief. "Agnes, have you ever seen this handkerchief before?"

  After a brief examination the girl answered: "Not that I know of, madam." Her glance was as open as the morning.

  "Thank you," said Mme. Storey, and Agnes retired with a wondering air.

  The next was an extremely respectable middle-aged woman, who clearly set a high value on herself. Miss de Guion introduced her with a wave of the hand as "Catharine."

  Mme. Storey put the same question to her.

  She was more careful before committing herself. "No, madam," she said after a close examination. She retired with a perfectly self-possessed air.

  The third was a French maid who might have stepped direct from the stage of a musical comedy; coquettish cap, carmined lips, short skirt and lace-edged apron. Upon being asked the usual question, she looked confused, bit her lip, answered "No," at a venture, and glanced at her mistress.

  "Speak the truth, Cécile," said Vera McPeake with a sneer.

  The girl then said, in excellent English, with a pert air: "I think it is one of a set belonging to Miss McPeake. There are six of them."

  "Thank you," said Mme. Storey, and Cécile retired with visible reluctance.

  Vera McPeake, shuffling the bracelets on her arm, said at once, defiantly: "It is, or was, one of mine."

  "Why did you not say so at once?" asked Mme. Storey mildly.

  With a flirt of her head she answered: "Oh, I didn't want to get anybody into trouble."

  We stared at what appeared to be her unparalleled impudence.

  "It's nothing to me," she went on. "I gave that handkerchief to Mrs. Cruger yesterday morning. She had admired it."

  This statement threw the little circle into a fresh consternation. Rowcliffe had come out of his apathy. Vera enjoyed her moment of triumph. Mrs. Cruger got to her feet, struggling for speech. A bright red spot began to burn in either of her thin cheeks.

  "How—how dare you?" she stammered.

  "Didn't I give it to you—didn't I—didn't I?" the girl stridently demanded.

  "You did," said Mrs. Cruger. "But do you dare suggest that I—"

  "Pooh! And why not you as well as any of us? Who are you to hold yourself so high? I'm sick of your airs!"

  "Be quiet!" said Mrs. Cruger haughtily.

  "I shan't! I shan't!" cried the girl, beside herself. "What do I care for any of you now? You all hate me. You only pretended to be decent to me because I was rich. You laughed at me behind my back—"

  "What possible reason had I for wishing the girl harm?" demanded Mrs. Cruger.

  "How do we know what reasons you had? Perhaps you had a fancy for Jack yourself!"

  "Preposterous!" cried Mrs. Cruger and Rowcliffe simultaneously.

  "Oh, I don't know," sneered Vera. "There are funny things going on in this house. I thank God I come of common, simple, honest people!"

  Mrs. Cruger came down off her high horse. Her face flushed all over; she was just the angry woman like Vera, though in a better style. "I had no reason for harming the girl," she cried. "But you had! You hated her. Any fool could see through this attempt to throw dust in our eyes. You have convicted yourself out of your own mouth."

  "Certainly I hated her," retorted Vera. "I'm not grieving over her death. But, as it happens, I had no hand in it. That is the handkerchief I gave you."

  "You have no proof it is the same one!"

  "Then produce the one I gave you."

  Mrs. Cruger's manner became faltering.

  "Can you produce it?" murmured Mme. Storey.

  "It was stolen from me," she said with a helpless gesture.

  "Old stuff!" cried Vera with a fleering laugh.

  The sound stimulated Mrs. Cruger's anger afresh. "Still she has not proved that is the handkerchief she gave me," she insisted. "She has a number of them."

  "I can prove it all right," cried Vera. "I had six. The other five are still in my possession. Send for them!"

  "How do I know you only had six? You may have had seven or eight or a whole trunkful!"

  "I can prove that, too. They were sold to me by Benitos Brothers. They are unique. Their history is known. It can be easily proved that there are no more than six anywhere."

  "Then you gave it to me simply for the purpose of stealing it back again!" cried Mrs. Cruger.

  "You know that's not so! When I left the room you had it in your hand. 'Thank you so much,' you said, as I went out of the door. I have not been anywhere near your room since. That can be proved by your maid and mine. When your maid leaves your suite empty, she locks the door after her, doesn't she?"

  "Yes," said Mrs. Cruger with a disagreeable smile. "How did you happen to know that?"

  "Oh, it's the usual custom," said Vera with a shrug.

  Mrs. Cruger's head went down. Her finer nature was at a disadvantage with the termagant, and it was impossible not to feel sorry for her. At the same time there was a suggestion of terror in her attitude that needed to be explained. From the first she had been too anxious to have it all hushed up.

  "How about your maid, Bessie?" Miss de Guion asked her with a compassionate air.

  "I trust her," Mrs. Cruger said piteously. "You all saw her just now. Such a simple girl. How is it possible she could look like that if she knew anything?"

  "Where did you put the handkerchief?" asked Mme. Storey.

  "In a drawer of my dressing-table."

  "Locked?"

  "No."

  "When did you discover the loss of it?"

  "When we were ready to start last evening and it occurred to me I would like to carry it. It was gone then."

  "Had you looked at it during the day?"

  "No."

  "Have you any reason to suspect anybody?"

  "Oh, no, no, no!" Mrs. Cruger, all but wringing her hands, dropped into her chair.

  "Well, without suspecting anybody, let us go over the possibilities," suggested Mm
e. Storey soothingly. "Who may have been in your room?"

  "The housemaids, of course, but only when Agnes is there. Agnes is responsible for my things."

  "Well, what persons were in your room when you were there yourself?"

  Mrs. Cruger did not answer. Her head slowly went down again.

  In the silence that followed, it was inevitable that our thoughts should turn to the remaining one of the trio, and our eyes followed our thoughts. Miss de Guion was sitting easily in her chair, with her eyes fixed solicitously on Mrs. Cruger's distressed face. She became aware of our glances with a start.

  "Good heavens!" she cried. "You're all looking at me!"

  Nobody spoke. Her eyes travelled from face to face, aghast. "You think that I—" she stammered.

  "Oh, surely it cannot be necessary for me to defend myself against the suspicion of having harmed my own dear girl!" The old lady's bosom began to heave. "The nearest thing to a daughter I ever possessed! Why, she lies there now in the pretty dress I designed for her myself with so much care! Oh, this is too much! After all I've been through today! Is not her loss enough for me to bear without—without—"

  She seemed to be at the point of breaking down altogether.

  This struck me as a little bit overdone, for, as a matter of fact, Miss de Guion had had herself well in hand since morning. But there! everybody was overwrought and hysterical. The long-drawn-out scene had demoralised us.

  "Perhaps you don't believe in my affection for her," Miss de Guion went on. "You think I'm hard and unfeeling. Oh, I know what people say about me—just because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve! Well, leaving all affection aside, I depended on her. You must believe that! I am getting to the age when I want to take things easily. And I should trust everything to her. It is impossible for me to replace her. Is it likely that I—that I—"

  "Nobody is accusing you," put in Mme. Storey gently.

  "Your silences, your eyes accuse me!"

  "Let us put aside all thought of accusations," said Mme. Storey soothingly. "The true facts must speak for themselves in the end. You were present when Miss McPeake presented the handkerchief to Mrs. Cruger?"

  "Yes," said Miss de Guion with her handkerchief to her eyes.

  "You remained on in Mrs. Cruger's room after Miss McPeake had gone?"

  "Yes."

  "You saw Mrs. Cruger put it away in the drawer?"

  "Yes, yes, yes! What does that prove?"

  "Nothing. Did anybody else know the handkerchief was in that drawer?"

  Mrs. Cruger intervened here. "Agnes knew. She had heard us talking about it, though she had had no opportunity to look at it. She saw me put it away."

  "Leaving Agnes out of it for the moment," said Mme. Storey, "what were you and Mrs. Cruger doing after Miss McPeake left?"

  "Sitting there, smoking, talking," said Miss de Guion.

  "This was in Mrs. Cruger's dressing-room?"

  "Yes."

  "How is that placed in respect to the other rooms of her suite?"

  "The bedroom is on one side of it, the boudoir on the other."

  "Was Mrs. Cruger in the room with you all the time?" asked Mme. Storey softly.

  "I suppose so," said Miss de Guion. "I can't remember."

  "Mrs. Cruger?"

  "I can't remember," the blonde lady stammered wretchedly.

  "Oh, assume that she and Agnes both passed to and fro between the rooms," put in Miss de Guion impatiently. "Does that prove that I took the handkerchief?"

  "Certainly not—if we can show that any one else could have taken it," said Mme. Storey.

  Miss de Guion sat forward in her chair. "I'll tell you who could have taken it!" she cried with a furious glance at the sneering Vera. "The only one who had any interest in harming my poor girl! That woman!" She pointed with a dramatic forefinger.

  Vera laughed in her face.

  "But how?" asked Mme. Storey.

  "Through her maid, Cécile. You all saw the girl, a shifty, lying jade! She's always running after Agnes. Bessie has spoken to me about it. A most unfortunate influence on the girl. We no sooner come downstairs than Cécile goes running to Agnes in Bessie's rooms. What more likely than that she was there while we were lunching yesterday?"

  "That won't hold water!" said Vera contemptuously. "I didn't know where the handkerchief had been put, and certainly Cécile didn't know."

  "Agnes may have told her innocently," suggested Miss de Guion.

  "We'll ask her," said Mme. Storey.

  Glasgow, who had previously been sent up to Miss McPeake's room to obtain the remaining handkerchiefs of the set, now brought them in. He was dispatched for Agnes.

  The five neatly folded squares of lace were laid on the little stand at Mme. Storey's elbow. She still had the first handkerchief in her hand.

  "With your permission," she said to Vera, "I will keep them all for the present. To guard against any possibility of mistake I will mark the one returned to me by Mr. Rowcliffe. I want you all to watch me do it." She borrowed my pencil from me. "See, two pencil dots in the corner."

  Everybody regarded the dainty fabric with awe and horror.

  The pleasant-faced girl entered the room, somewhat scared by the second summons.

  "Agnes," said Mme. Storey, "I want you to think back and tell me what happened yesterday. When Mrs. Cruger went downstairs to lunch you remained in her room?"

  "Yes, madam."

  "Did anybody come there?"

  "Only Miss McPeake's maid, Cécile," she answered readily.

  Miss de Guion glanced triumphantly at Vera.

  "Had she come before?"

  "Oh, yes, madam. She was always coming in. I couldn't very well refuse her, being Miss McPeake's maid. I told Mrs. Cruger about it."

  "Was anything said yesterday about a handkerchief that Miss McPeake had given to Mrs. Cruger?"

  "Yes, madam. I mentioned it."

  "What did Cécile say?"

  "She said: 'Let's have a look at it.'"

  "And did you show it to her?"

  "Oh, no, madam. It had been put away."

  "Did you tell her where it had been put?"

  "No, madam. But I may have looked towards the place, unthinking."

  "And did you leave the room afterwards?"

  "I was in and out, putting away the things. I didn't think I had to watch her, being as she was Miss McPeake's own maid."

  "All right," said Mme. Storey. "That's all, thank you."

  The instant the door closed behind Agnes, Miss de Guion cried out: "Now you see which way the wind lies!"

  Vera laughed. "Nothing in it," she retorted. "That girl is too simple by half! Besides, if I was up to any games I would not take my maid into my confidence!"

  They wrangled unpleasantly back and forth.

  Mme. Storey rose. "This is getting us nowhere," she said. "The truth is bound to appear tomorrow. I will ask you all to meet me at ten o'clock in the office that Mrs. Cruger has placed at my disposal."

  To me this seemed like a reckless move. I could not but feel that the hours of the night would give the real culprit time to destroy true evidence and concoct false. But Mme. Storey knew exactly what she was about, of course.

  XI

  Crider was waiting in the office.

  "I assume that you have carried out your instructions?" said Mme. Storey.

  "Yes, madam. I have three men posted about the house. Should anybody attempt to leave it during the night, he will be detained, while you are communicated with."

  "Good! I want you to watch what I am going to do next, so that you can be called upon to testify regarding it. Lock the door, Bella."

  I obeyed.

  Mme. Storey sat down at the desk. "I have here the marked handkerchief handed me by Rowcliffe," she said. "Observe that I add two additional dots in the corner, making four in all. This handkerchief remains in my possession."

  "Be careful!" I said involuntarily.

  "In itself it is harmless," she said.

&nbs
p; I looked at her, uncomprehending.

  "I mean to use four of the remaining handkerchiefs," she went on. "Watch now. I put the two dots in the corner of each one. Next I would like to have them soiled a little bit—not too much."

  We looked around the room for some means of accomplishing this. There was a fire-place.

  "Scrape a little soot or grime out of the chimney with a bit of pasteboard, and dust each handkerchief lightly," said Mme. Storey. "Make them look exactly alike."

  Crider and I did this together. Afterwards Mme. Storey folded and crumpled the handkerchiefs until they exactly resembled the one recovered from Rowcliffe. She put the original handkerchief away in the little velvet bag she carried, and dropped the other four in the drawer of her desk.

  Crider was then dismissed. His final instructions were to report to Mme. Storey at nine next morning. It was about eleven o'clock. Glasgow was still hovering in the hall awaiting our pleasure, and Mme. Storey sent me to him to inquire about Rowcliffe. That gentleman, I learned, had not gone upstairs, but was smoking a cigar on the terrace. Glasgow went after him.

  Rowcliffe entered the office with the same crushed and stricken air; nevertheless it was clear that confession had in a measure eased his soul; for his eyes no longer had the same tortured look I had marked in the morning.

  Mme. Storey drew one of the handkerchiefs from the back of the drawer. "I merely want to return this to you," she said. "After all, you have the best claim to it, and I realise that it will be safe with you. I shall have to borrow it back again tomorrow."

  He was so glad to get it, it did not occur to him to question her motives. He took it in his eager hands, and thrust it back in his inner pocket. Stammering his thanks, he bade us good-night.

  Mme. Storey's next move was to call up young Crider in New York for the purpose of instructing him how to handle the next day's business at the office. Absorbing as our present task was, there were other things that had to be kept going.

  While she was waiting for the connexion she handed me another handkerchief from the drawer, saying: "Hide this in your dress and carry it to Mrs. Cruger's room. Glasgow will direct you. Simply say to Mrs. Cruger that I feel it will be safest in her possession during the night, and ask her to keep it for me until morning. If either of the other ladies should be with her, do not show it, of course, but ask Mrs. Cruger to step down here."