The Museum Murder

by MacIntyre, John T. ;

  “How did you get on that subject?” asked the inspector.

  “Why, it was about Slade. That’s the other watchman, sir. You see, Slade is Mr. Custis’s nephew. Mr. Custis got him the place here. And seeing that Slade was his nephew—his sister’s son, I think—and as he’d brought him here to work, you’d think he’d be agreeable to him. That’s what I was saying to the wife, sir, just as the policeman you sent knocked at my door.”

  A quick look passed between Lynch and Moore while the man was speaking.

  “Custis wasn’t always agreeable to him, then?” said Lynch.

  “Well, sir, to say the plain truth, Mr. Custis wasn’t really ever agreeable with anybody. But he was especially picky with Slade. He found fault with him a good bit when there was no need for it. I’ve often said that, though, of course, it was no business of mine.”

  “Do I understand that tonight you were telling your wife how disagreeable Custis was with Slade?”

  “Yes, sir. We just got a-talking, you see. When Slade came into the museum before five o’clock we spoke a few words at the front door, as we often do, and Mr. Custis saw us there. He didn’t say anything to me, but he was nasty with Slade.”

  “What about?”

  “About delay in ringing the bell warning the visitors to go. He didn’t speak very loud; Mr. Custis never did that when he had anything to say to Slade—never that I heard, anyway. He was what you might call bitter, sir. He spoke of how impatient Slade always was. And headlong. Slade’s the kind of a young man who wants to get a thing over quickly.

  “‘You’re all fire and spirit,’ says Mr. Custis to him. ‘But never when it’s in the way of work. I’ve been noticing you. Everything goes slack when you’re on duty. I might as well get in a loafer from the streets.’”

  “Was that all?”

  “That was all I heard. But after I’d got ready to go I spoke to Slade again at the front door. He said he’d had more words with Mr. Custis and had been told another man would be in his place at the end of the week.”

  “He didn’t say anything more?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well, Mr. Edwards, That will be all for the present. But would you mind taking a seat in one of the rooms for a while. I may want you again. Thank you.”

  When the watchman had left the office Lynch picked up the card which Sergeant Brace had brought in. He read the penciled lines once more, and then said to Duddington:

  “Moore thought he remembered this man Slade, and we called headquarters for information. It seems he was convicted some four years ago and served a year in the county prison for shooting and dangerously wounding a man he had quarreled with.”

  “I hadn’t known that,” said Duddington, disturbed. “Haviz didn’t, either, I’m sure. I recall Custis saying, when the young man came here, that he was his nephew and that he’d like to have him in the position of watchman. And of course, we consented. Have you questioned him as yet?”

  “Only briefly,” said the inspector. He nodded to Moore. “Bring him in.”

  Moore went to the door and beckoned to Slade, who still stood in the outer office. The watchman came in; he looked at Moore in a hostile manner.

  “What’s wanted?” he asked.

  “The inspector’ll tell you that.”

  Lynch took up a sheet of paper with Slade’s name written at the head of it; after a glance over what was set down he said to the man:

  “After you rang the bell tonight for all visitors to leave, what did you do?”

  “I went back to the front door. My job was to stand there until everyone was out. At five o’clock I locked the door. Anyone who went out after that had to hunt me up. The door can be opened only by a key, and I had that.”

  “Was there anyone in the building after five o’clock besides Custis and yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell me who they were, in what order they went out, and at what time, as nearly as you can?”

  “The first person who went out after five o’clock was Mr. Marsh, I didn’t know he was in the place, and said something about it. He apologized, and said he hadn’t heard the bell ring. I am not sure, but I think that was about five-ten or five-fifteen.”

  “Where had he been that he couldn’t hear the bell?”

  “You can hear it from any place in the building,” said Slade.

  “Who was the next to leave?”

  “Young Mr. Gregory. He left about ten minutes after Marsh. The next to go was Miss Rogers, who works in the office. That must have been about five-thirty; she usually leaves at that time.”

  “She was the last?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you last see Mr. Custis alive?” asked the inspector.

  “Shortly after I rang the bell. I stepped into the office to speak to him. He was sitting at this desk. Mr. Haviz was with him.”

  Lynch turned to Moore.

  “See if they have any word of this man Haviz,” he said. Moore went out into the corridor, and the inspector continued, to Slade: “What did you desire to speak to Custis about?”

  “Oh, some general matters.”

  “Had he sent for you?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “Between the time the bell rings and five o’clock the man on the night shift always shuts the doors opening into the exhibition rooms and draws the curtains. I did that; then I relieved Edwards at the front door.”

  “When did you find the body?”

  “It must have been about six-thirty. I start on my first round of the building about six as a rule, but nights Custis is in the office I’d put it off; because I might be on the second floor when he’d get ready to leave, and then he’d have another chance to complain. On my rounds of the building I always begin with the second floor; when I got to the stairway tonight I saw the body, lying just where it is now; the knife was on the third step from the bottom, just as though someone had laid it down.”

  There was a stir in the outer office; and Duddington saw Sergeant Brace bringing in Mona and Alma Rogers. And young Billy Gregory followed behind them.

  VII

  MONA ROGERS had turned deathly white; she put her hands over her face; her whole body was trembling.

  “Mona!” said her sister, “Mona, please!” She took the hands from the pale face and held them in her own, “Don’t think of it, dear. Put it out of your mind.”

  Sergeant Brace, who was a big, kindly man, brought a glass of cold water. Alma made Mona swallow a little of it, and it seemed to give her new strength at once.

  “She saw the body on the floor near the stairs,” said Billy to Duddington, “and she’s frightened. I don’t think she’s very well, anyhow.”

  Lynch had seats placed for the two girls in the outer office. Alma and Billy helped Mona to one of them, and Alma sat with her arm across the back of her sister’s chair.

  “I don’t want to make too heavy a demand on you,” said the inspector to Mona. “For it’s plain to be seen you shouldn’t be here at all. But police matters are rather merciless; you see, we’ve come to know they must be searched into at once if any good is to be done.”

  Alma whispered to Mona, and the girl made a murmured reply.

  “I think she’ll be able to do anything you require of her,” said Alma. “But, please, whatever it is, be as careful as possible.”

  “You may be quite sure of that.” Lynch turned to Moore, who had just entered.

  “No news of Haviz,” said the precinct detective. “We’ve sent Andresona to look him up. Sheerness has ‘phoned that he’ll be here as soon as possible. He’s attending a dinner at Senator Daly’s. Has the sergeant told you who these new people are?” looking at the two girls and Billy Gregory.

  “Yes.” The inspector asked the young man into the inner office. “I had to send for you in this matter, Mr. Gregory, because you were present in the Museum at or about the time of its occurrence. I’m sorry to inconvenien
ce you, but it is quite necessary.”

  “If there is anything I can tell,” said Billy, “I’ll be glad to tell it.”

  “You were here this afternoon doing some sort of work, I believe?”

  “Yes; making some sketches of bits of armor.”

  “On this floor?”

  “Yes, in the corridor just outside the door of the main gallery. The pieces I was working on are hung there.”

  “You left the museum a little after the usual time, I’m told.”

  “Yes; I stayed until I’d finished what I had to do. I sketched the things from various points of view, and it took a little time.”

  “What was the last time you saw Mr. Custis alive?”

  “Let me think.” Billy considered, frowning. “Oh, yes; I saw him come along the corridor from the direction of the front door. When he saw me he stopped and asked me if I knew how close it was to closing time. I said I hadn’t thought of it. He said the museum had rules and he expected me to live up to them, the same as anyone else. He couldn’t show any partiality. I tried to kid with him a little: I said: ‘What’s a few rules among friends?’ But you could never get a laugh out of Custis. He was pretty sour with everyone; and he was especially so with me.”

  “What reason had he for that?”

  Billy smiled.

  “Oh, it was about the money, I guess.”

  “What money?”

  “My grandfather’s.”

  Duddington, as he watched, was aware of a sudden tremor in his chest; he had a feeling he should signal Billy: he should warn him to be careful.

  “Your grandfather was the founder of this institution, was he not?” said the inspector smoothly. Billy nodded. “As I understand it, he left a large sum to it.”

  “So they tell me,” said Billy.

  “How much did he leave you?”

  “Not a cent.”

  “Have you any voice, any authority, in the institution’s affairs?” Billy shook his head. “But Custis has?”

  “Yes.”

  “In other words all your grandfather’s fortune was left practically in the hands of Custis?”

  Billy nodded.

  “There are two other trustees. Mr. Chalmers, here, is one. But they have little voice in the museum’s affairs.”

  “You say Custis was especially sour with you, and you think it was about the money. Did he ever mention it to you, or you to him?”

  “Not directly; but it often showed, through other things.”

  “When you were speaking to him the last time, you say it was in the corridor, just outside the door of the main gallery?”

  “Well, our talk started there. But he went into the office,” the young man indicated the outer room. “And I followed him to finish what I had to say.”

  “I see.” Lynch paused a moment, tapping the end of a pencil upon a desk. Duddington could see the picture that was in his mind: Billy, stung by some saying from the wasp tongue of Custis, following the man angrily to make a reply. To the police mind it was a situation that might lead to a great deal. But when the inspector spoke again it was to take up something else. “You selected the spot outside the main gallery door to work in because the armor you were sketching was hanging there?”

  “Yes.”

  Lynch looked at Moore, who produced some sheets of paper which had been crumpled but afterward carefully straightened out.

  “One of our men found these in a scrap basket. Are they your drawings?”

  “Yes,” said Billy, after a glance at the sheets.

  “These show you’d taken the things you were interested in down from the wall.”

  “Yes,” said Billy. “I wanted to get them from various points of view.”

  The inspector considered for a moment, his eyes on the floor.

  “Bring the office girl in,” he said to Moore. Mona Rogers came into the private office at the precinct detective’s request, Alma anxiously at her side. “Miss Rogers,” said the inspector, “you are acquainted with Mr. Gregory, here, I think.”

  “Yes,” said the girl in a low voice. “I have known him for a long time.”

  “Do you know if he and Mr. Custis were friends?”

  “Oh, no,” said the girl. “Not friends. They knew each other, of course, but I wouldn’t say they were friends.”

  “They never quarreled, though; they were friendly enough to avoid that?”

  “No,” said the girl. “No, I never heard them quarrel.”

  “This evening, before the closing hour, Mr. Custis came into the office, and Mr. Gregory followed him in. You were at your desk then, were you not?”

  “I was.” The girl lifted her head; she seemed alarmed; her hands grasped her sister’s tightly. “But that wasn’t what I’d call a quarrel. They—they only had a few words.”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mona, frightened, bewildered. “I—I can’t remember.”

  “Now, you look here,” said Moore, shaking his forefinger in her face, “don’t come that kind of stuff. We’ve heard that before.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Billy Gregory. He pushed Moore aside and faced Lynch. “If you want to know anything about what I said, or thought, or did, then or at any other time, ask me.”

  “Very well,” said the inspector, unruffled. “You tell it. What actually took place between you and Mr. Custis when you followed him into the office?”

  “Well, it was something that had been simmering for a long time,” said the young man, “and suddenly it boiled over. When my grandfather died he was very old, and old men, if handled in the right way, are easily influenced. Custis talked him into founding this museum, and he did it, not because of any good it would do the city, but because of the power it would put in his hands.”

  “I take it you didn’t like the idea of the museum?” said Lynch.

  “Nobody likes a confidence game! While Custis talked with me in the corridor, he hinted that I wanted the money for myself, and that made me angry. That’s why I followed him into the office.”

  “You resented his saying you wanted the money for yourself? What did you say?”

  “Why, I told him——” Billy stopped, and stood staring at Lynch. “Oh, it was some fool thing or other; I don’t remember.”

  Lynch picked up some sheets of paper holding the discarded sketches.

  “Among these sketches you made there is one of a helmet, another of a breastplate, and still another of a dagger. As I’ve said, these drawings show all had been taken down from the wall. Which of them did you sketch first?”

  “The casque,” said Billy, “then the breastplate.” “The dagger came last?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was on the verge of closing time when Custis stopped to speak to you. You must have been working on the drawing of the dagger at that time.” Billy hesitated. Duddington saw Lynch make a sign to Moore. “Would you know that weapon if it was shown to you?”

  “I think so,” said the young man.

  “Is this it?” As the inspector spoke, Moore held up a curved dagger clotted with blood.

  “My God!” said Billy as he looked at it. His mouth was suddenly drawn down at one side, his eyes opened wide. He sat down in a chair and covered his face with his hands.

  VIII

  THERE was a dead silence for a moment; then Alma Rogers went to Billy and bent over him. “Billy!” she said. “What is it?”

  He took his hands away from his face; he seemed very much shaken, but smiled at her reassuringly.

  “It’s all right, Alma,” he said. “This thing has hit me harder than I thought; and that knife”—he looked at it as it lay upon the desk where Moore had placed it—“is a kind of shocking thing to see.”

  Duddington approached and spoke to him; then the young man drank a glass of water which Alma got for him, and stood up.

  “All right?” said Lynch. The man’s face was hard, his eyes were now like flint, and he tapped the end of the pencil upon his pa
lm as though to hide a kind of fierce impatience. He was like a hound running in full cry. “Take your time. I don’t want to hurry you.”

  “I’m all right, now,” said Billy. He approached the desk and stood leaning against it, assuming a carelessness which the watching Duddington saw he was far from feeling. “If there is anything more, I’m ready to hear it.”

  “After your conversation with Custis,” said Lynch, “what did you do?”

  Billy reflected.

  “When I left the office I noticed the last of the visitors were leaving; the place was quite silent. The sheets upon which I had been sketching were upon a little table; I sat down and was about to finish, and then I saw the dagger I’d been drawing was not there.”

  There was a silence for a moment; then Lynch said:

  “Had you left it on the table when you went in to speak to Custis?”

  “I thought I had. But when I considered the matter I realized what I had really done. While talking with Custis in the corridor I’d picked the dagger up——”

  “What for?” said Moore, his cunning eyes like two beads. “What did you do that for?”

  “Oh, it was just a gesture. I picked it up to illustrate what justice should be done upon people who were always scheming and hoodwinking, and when I followed him into the office I still had it in my hand.”

  “Oh, was that it?” Moore nodded his head and winked at Lynch. “You followed him to continue the argument and had the thing in your hand.”

  Billy smiled; he’d recovered from the sudden shock and seemed easier in his mind; he was amused at the man’s satisfaction with himself. “While I talked with Custis in the outer office I must have put it down. I don’t remember doing it, and I don’t remember where.”

  “You left the dagger in the office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your work wasn’t finished; you couldn’t go on without it, could you?”

  “No. For a moment I thought I’d go in and get it; then I realized the museum would be closed in a few moments and I wouldn’t have time to do anything more. I was disgusted and discouraged with the whole situation; so I crumpled up the drawings I’d made, threw them into the waste basket, and went upstairs.”