“Had the bell for closing rung before that time?”
“It rang while I was standing there.”
“What did you go upstairs for?”
“To get my coat and hat. I am quite familiar with the place, as you may suppose, and when I work here during the hot months I always hang my things in a closet at the rear end of the corridor on the second floor.”
Lynch looked back over the notes he’d made and said:
“It was quite some time between that and when you went out.”
“Yes, I know,” said Billy. “That was because of some Spanish and early California saddles and horse furniture in a room on the second floor; the door to it was quite near to where I’d put my coat. I’m interested in such things just now and went in to look at them. I don’t know how long I stayed. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. It might have been less. The museum main door was locked when I got there, and Slade, the watchman, let me out.”
“As you came down the stairs and through the lower corridor, did you notice anything unusual?”
“No. Everything was as it had been, as far as I could see. Except that the doors opening from the corridor into the galleries and exhibition rooms were closed. That is, I understand, a thing they do every night after hours.”
“You didn’t see anyone as you came down and went out except Slade?”
“No one.”
“Do you know Mr. Haviz?”
“Yes.”
“When you were speaking to Custis in the outer office, did you notice if Haviz was in this inner office?”
“No.” Billy reflected a moment. “I think the door to this office was closed.”
“That will do for the present, Mr. Gregory,” said the inspector. “And thank you.”
“I say,” said Billy to Duddington, as they stood at one side, “that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a thing like that done. Did you notice how they worked on me? Almost everything I said or did had a sinister meaning or look.”
“A curious kind of thing, this police business,” said Duddington, stroking his round chin. “Sort of gives a person the creeps. That man Lynch doesn’t seem a bad kind of a fellow, but at the same time he’s out for blood. He’ll entangle and throw anyone he can get anything on at all.”
But Lynch was speaking to Mona again, and they gave him their attention.
“When Mr. Gregory followed Mr. Custis into the outer office,” said the inspector, “did you notice if he had anything in his hand?”
The girl was very white; her eyes looked strangely dark and seemed set in deep hollows. She shook her head.
“I did not see anything.”
“There was not a dagger—this one—“ indicating the weapon on the desk—“upon a table, or a chair, or a cabinet?”
“I did not see one.”
“While Mr. Gregory was quarreling with Mr. Custis, was Mr. Haviz in this office?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He was alone here; the door was closed; Mr. Custis had gone out of the office, leaving him here?”
“Yes, sir”
“Do you know why he did this?”
“No, sir.”
“After Mr. Gregory left the office, did Mr. Custis go into the private office?”
“No. Just then Slade came in. He is a watchman. It seems Mr. Custis was much dissatisfied with his work and had so expressed himself. Slade was very angry. And Mr. Custis discharged him.”
“What did Slade say?”
“I don’t know.” The girl spoke in a low voice; she seemed in a state of terror. “But he spoke very loudly, and he hammered with his hand upon a table. When he went out Mr. Custis stood in the center of the room. I looked up, and he was laughing. He made no sound, but I could tell he was laughing because he had his hand over his mouth. It was a way he had.”
“Did he come into this office, then?”
“No, sir. He stood looking at the door of it for a moment; then he turned and went out into the corridor. That is the last time I saw him.”
“What about Haviz? What did he do?”
“He waited about five minutes, and then came out to where I sat. He asked about Mr. Custis. And when I said he’d gone out again, Mr. Haviz left.”
“Didn’t he say anything?”
“He said something under his breath, but I couldn’t make out what it was.”
The inspector then said he was through with Mona for the time being and suggested very kindly that if there was a rest room in the museum Alma had better take her there and have her lie down.
“She’ll probably be called upon again,” said Lynch; “and as she does not look at all well it’ll be advisable to have her recover a little of her strength.”
Alma and Billy were leading Mona down the corridor to a little alcove off at one side when Sergeant Brace appeared, and walking at his side was MacQuarrie, the picture dealer, pale and quite agitated.
“Good-evening, Gregory,” said MacQuarrie. “This is a frightful thing, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” said Billy. “What’s the idea of your being brought in?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion,” said MacQuarrie. “I had gone home after finishing my correspondence at my galleries, and the police telephoned me.”
Sergeant Brace took the picture dealer back to the office, where he shook hands with Duddington.
“Is it really true he’s dead?” he said. “It seems impossible. Why, only this afternoon I——”
But the sergeant had given his name to the inspector, and he was now called.
“Mr. MacQuarrie!”
“Here” he said. He went to the desk where Lynch sat. “I can’t imagine what you want of me,” he said, his white chin quivering. “But anything I can do, I’ll do gladly.”
“I have been told, Mr. MacQuarrie, that you were here in the museum this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“About what time?”
“Perhaps about four-ten. Maybe a trifle earlier.”
“Were you here on business?”
“Yes, with Mr. Custis. I called him up on the telephone and he made an appointment.”
“Do you mind telling the nature of your business?”
“Well—ah—it was a rather delicate matter.” MacQuarrie fidgeted with his fat white hands and looked at the inspector doubtfully. “Sometimes men in my line must be careful,” he said. “And in order to prevent things they must resort to other things which might, in an ordinary sense, be called breaches of confidence. Today a gentleman called at my gallery and made an exceedingly large bid upon some rare articles which are to be put up for sale in a few days. I was given to understand that these items—of rare glass, sir—were intended as a gift to this museum. The gentleman was Mr. Sheerness, the banker.”
“Is that what you came to see Mr. Custis about?”
“Just a moment, sir.” MacQuarrie gestured hastily. “There is something else which I should tell you first. Mr. Sheerness is a generous patron of the John Gregory Museum. He has presented it with a good many valuable things. The other day Mr. Custis, whom I met in the street, happened to say Mr. Sheerness had made a gift to the museum a few days before which he found to be not genuine. And he said he meant to refuse it.” MacQuarrie cleared his throat; his heavy chin trembled. “As soon as I got word of the intended gift of the pieces of glass I got in touch with Custis. I felt it would be inexpedient to mention the matter of the counterfeit until the later gift was bought and presented.”
“I understand,” said Inspector Lynch, smiling.
“Mr. Sheerness is somewhat touchy in regard to certain things,” said MacQuarrie. “He is exceedingly generous, but dislikes having his knowledge of art matters called into question. And I did not want the museum to lose the gift of the Spanish glass.”
“And also you did not desire to lose a sale to a moneyed man who bids high for what he wants,” suggested Lynch good-humouredly.
MacQuarrie smiled weakly; he stroked one fat hand with the other and lo
oked at the inspector.
“Business is business, as the saying goes. Of course, we people who are concerned in the commercial aspects of art desire to keep interest stimulated.”
“When you were with Mr. Custis you discussed only this matter of Sheerness’s gift to the museum?”
“Why, as far as I can remember, yes. I tried to reason with him. I showed him it would be very much to the museum’s disadvantage if he did anything to make Mr. Sheerness angry at that time.”
“How did he take your suggestion?”
“Mr. Custis has always been a difficult man to deal with,” said MacQuarrie. “He was more set in his ways, as I might call it, than any other person I’ve ever known. He refused even to consider what I said to him. He meant, as he said, to show Mr. Sheerness how little he knew. When I remonstrated, he laughed at me; and he said he would not miss the opportunity this gave him for anything I could name. You see, sir,” and MacQuarrie lowered his voice, “Mr. Custis, for all Mr. Sheerness’s generosity, did not care for him.”
“From what I’ve gathered,” said the inspector dryly, “Mr. Custis was not over fond of anybody.”
“Why, yes, you might say that. He was a peculiar man. And hard to deal with.”
“How long were you engaged with him—in this conversation, I mean?”
“No more than fifteen or twenty minutes. It was about four-thirty or somewhere about that time when I left him.”
“Did you see anyone you knew as you came out of this office?”
MacQuarrie considered.
“Let me see: there was the girl in the office. Miss Rogers, of course, and, oh, yes, there were a number of people,” brightening up. “Mr. Chalmers,” indicating Duddington, “was outside there, also Mr. Haviz, the other museum trustee, and Miss Rogers’ sister, a very excellent young painter, examples of whose work I have on sale in my galleries. And young Mr. Gregory.”
“No one else?”
“No. I recall it perfectly. I stopped to speak with them for a moment and then hurried back to my business.”
While MacQuarrie was speaking, Sergeant Brace came in again and whispered something to Moore; the precinct detective went at once to Lynch.
“Andresona, the man who was sent to get Haviz, has just telephoned in. He’s got trace of him. Haviz seems to be wandering around. He’ll stop in places, clubs, little restaurants, and spots like those, but he’ll only stay long enough to get a drink and then be off again.”
“Tell them to let me hear at once if anything turns up.”
“Sure,” said Moore.
Sergeant Brace, noting that the inspector had finished with MacQuarrie, now came forward.
“Sheerness is outside. He asks to see you as soon as possible. He’s left Senator Daly’s dinner party without saying anything to anyone and must get back.”
“Let’s have him” said Lynch. “Will you take a seat outside somewhere, Mr. MacQuarrie?” to the art dealer. “I’m asking everyone to wait a little in case I find it necessary to speak to them again.”
“To be sure,” said MacQuarrie, with a gesture. “Of course! Anything to assist the cause of justice, sir.”
He went out; and a few moments later Sheerness came in. He was in evening dress; his brows were drawn darkly and his eyes were hard. His big gray head was carried well up; under the strong overhead light Duddington saw an animal-like set to his face; the way the heavy head was fastened to the neck gave the young trustee of the museum a sudden flash of illumination.
“A pig!” said Duddington to himself. “For all the fine trappings and the high air, a hog! The ruthless wild boar of the forest.”
“You are Inspector Lynch?” demanded Sheerness, his cold eyes upon the officer.
Lynch nodded.
“Mr. Sheerness?” he said, and set the name down upon a sheet of paper.
“I understand Custis has been murdered,” said Sheerness. “But what has that to do with me? Why am I called here in the matter?”
“It is necessary to work out all the information we can,” said the inspector quietly. “Your name was given us among a number of others who had been with Custis a short time before his death. We’d like to check upon what you have to say.” The intolerant eyes of Sheerness went from one policeman to another; but their looks were as grim and intolerant as his own. “Will you sit down?” said Lynch.
“Thank you, no.” Sheerness stood before the inspector, his hands clenched, an ugly look about his mouth.
“The wild pig in a thicket!” was Duddington’s thought. “The dogs all around him!”
“You came to see Custis this afternoon?” said Lynch, fingering the sheets of paper.
“I did. He’d sent for me.”
“Would you mind saying why he asked you to come here?”
“It was about a gift I’d made the museum,” he said. “He desired me to call upon him to discuss it. He said the matter was quite important and could not wait. It chanced that I was in the city because of the affair at Senator Daly’s, and I came.”
“Was there anyone present during your conversation with Custis?”
“Yes, his fellow trustees, Haviz and Chalmers.”
“When you had finished with the matter you came to talk about you left the office, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“What time was this?”
“Somewhere before five o’clock. I recall looking at my watch. I’d asked Edwards, who was at the door, to call me a cab, and there was a delay in getting one.”
“Were Mr. Chalmers and Mr. Haviz still with Custis when you left?”
“Yes.”
“I think that will be all, Mr. Sheerness. But as I have a few more people to question I’d like you to remain until I get them in.”
The ugly look in the banker’s eyes deepened.
“Frankly, Inspector, I think it both stupid and insolent to have called me here; and this request adds to it.”
“This is our method,” said Lynch coldly, “and we are asking all who are called to submit to it.”
Sheerness was about to reply when the door of the outer office opened and Sergeant Brace entered with Marsh at his side.
IX
MARSH spoke to Duddington; he nodded to Sheerness, smiling and seeming to be very desirous of pleasing. And then he looked at the policemen.
“Which of you is Mr. Lynch, please?” he said. Moore indicated the inspector, and Marsh turned toward him. “Inspector, my name is Marsh, and I’m very sorry to have been any trouble to you. One of your men has just told me you’ve sent for me, and as I’ve not been at home for some hours, of course I did not see him.”
Inspector Lynch put the name “Marsh” at the top of a fresh sheet of paper.
“How does it happen you are here,” he said to Marsh, “if my messenger did not meet you?”
Marsh’s light-colored eyes went from Lynch to Moore and back again. He looked at Duddington and then at Sheerness, who had paused and was listening.
“It was an odd sort of chance,” he said. “I happened to be passing here, and seeing the lights in the museum, I stopped. Then I saw the policemen at the door. I asked what the matter was, but they refused to say. But when I mentioned my name they remembered I was wanted and asked me to step in and speak to you.”
“You were in the museum this afternoon, Mr. Marsh, I think?”
“Oh, yes.” Marsh gestured. “I come here often. I am well-known as a visitor. Also in the capacity of an adviser in some things, Mr. Custis has used my knowledge of art matters in various ways.”
“Do you mind saying just what brought you to the museum this afternoon?”
“Not at all. You see, Inspector, I go about from one place to another where the things I am interested in are exhibited or dealt in. That is the way I secure my contacts. People in charge of galleries, shops, or museums are acquainted with me; and I come to know those who frequent their places; from these acquaintanceships I get my living. We will take this as a sample day. In the morn
ing I visited a print dealer’s with an amateur who is buying early American color prints—crude things, but not very plentiful, and therefore high priced. After that I examined some landscapes to be sold at auction and reputed to be originals of certain French masters who worked during the Second Empire and who refused to give their time and talents to producing the battle pieces then so in vogue. Later I went to Mr. MacQuarrie’s place to view some items in his catalogue to be sold in a few days. I sat in an auction room from two o’clock until four buying books with English bindings for a collector. Then I stopped here at the John Gregory on my way home.”
“What time was that?”
“Shortly after four. It was a dull day here, evidently; the visitors were not many, and there was no one I knew, until I saw Mr. MacQuarrie come in, and later Messrs. Chalmers and Haviz. By and by Mr. Sheerness,” with a nod toward that gentleman, “also came in.”
“You were here some time after that, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“Did you again see any one of those whom you have mentioned?”
“Oh, yes. I saw Mr. MacQuarrie come out of the office in a great hurry. Sometime later, perhaps fifteen minutes, Mr. Sheerness appeared once more.”
Inspector Lynch glanced at one of the sheets upon the desk.
“Did you note anything in Mr. Sheerness’s manner as he left the office?”
The pale eyes of Marsh shifted to Sheerness, who stood near the office door; then he looked at Lynch once more.
“He seemed angry,” said Marsh. “I could see plainly something had disturbed him. He banged the office door after him.”
“Custis had been impudent” said Sheerness, coming forward. “I told you of that a few moments ago, Mr. Lynch. It is possible I did wear an angry expression; also I may have slammed the door.”
Inspector Lynch nodded in acknowledgment of this; but when he spoke it was to Marsh.
“Where were you during this time?”
“In the corridor, I was looking at some Greek armor near the door of the main gallery. A little distance from me Mr. William Gregory, the artist, sat at a little table, sketching.”
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