“Mona was overwhelmed! It was her dream come true! But, now,” said Duddington, “came mention of the price she’d have to pay: the theft of the Hals masterpiece. She was frightened. She trembled and rose to her feet. She meant to leave. Can’t you see her? She could not do it! No matter what the reward, she could not. And he was cold and indifferent. It was an opportunity, he said. He had merely mentioned it to her; and of course, if she preferred not to take advantage of it, it was quite all right. She might even have had the door open,” said Duddington, “but she returned. She agreed. And tonight you saw the result. That it was Mona who stole the picture, you know.”
There was a long pause; and then:
“All right, Duddy; I give up,” said Billy. “I can’t stand against that. Yes, I know it, and what I saw happened a good deal as you’ve reasoned it out.”
“Mona’s condition tonight is due to a revival of the drug habit,” said Duddington. “As the time for doing the thing approached she found she lacked strength and courage; she knew she’d never be able to carry it through without the stimulating heroin, or some drug of that sort.”
“I thought of Sheerness in the matter,” said Billy. “Indeed, he came into my mind almost at once. But I was not convinced; the thing seemed almost beyond humanity. And I couldn’t question Mona and make sure, because of her condition.”
“Sheerness tempted her. In her desire to help Alma, Mona agreed to do what she’s done.” Duddington gestured. “We don’t have to consider that part of it any more, Bill; it’s all settled and done with; we know. But there’s something else.” He looked at Billy with a centered attention. “The murder,” he said.
“I’m thinking of it,” said Billy, in a low, frightened voice. “It has not been out of my mind since I heard of it first.” He suddenly clutched Duddington’s arm. “She didn’t do it,” he said in a strained voice. “She couldn’t have.”
“Listen,” said the fat young man, quietly. “A picture has been stolen here tonight. And a man has been murdered. Both things happened within the same hour. What are the chances, do you think, of their having been done by different persons?”
“Mona didn’t do it!” said Billy Gregory steadfastly. “She couldn’t.”
“While Lynch was questioning you, the first time, they showed you the dagger the murder was done with. The sight of the blood upon it and its general ghastliness appalled you. You grew suddenly faint. You had to sit down in a chair. Lynch and his people took that as a sign of your own guilt. I think it counted, in their minds, more heavily than any other single thing. But, as I now look back upon the scene, I know Mona was the cause of the horror that then took possession of you; you were not thinking of yourself but of her. You’d seen her with the weapon in her hand; she was under the influence of a powerful drug——”
“She didn’t do it,” repeated Billy. “I tell you she couldn’t.”
“Bill, old boy, I think the same as you. Don’t forget that. I believe she is innocent. But we mustn’t refuse to look facts in the face. Everything is against her.” He put his powerful grip upon the young artist’s shoulder. “If the police ever find out what you saw from the staircase they’ll have an enormous case against her. She’ll—she’ll stand in the shadow of the chair.”
Just then Sergeant Brace appeared in the door opening upon the corridor.
“Mr. Chalmers,” he said, “the inspector has been asking for you. He’s in the office.”
“Very well,” said Duddington. And then he said to Billy in a low voice: “Buck up! Don’t forget, old chap, we’ve gone a good distance already. And we’ll go farther.”
And then he went out of the room and down the corridor toward the office.
XIX
INSPECTOR LYNCH was at the desk in the inner office; near him sat a short man, dark, with glittering black eyes and an upstanding shock of hair.
“Sit down, Mr. Chalmers,” said the inspector. “This is Andresona, a headquarters man. It was he who was sent out to locate Haviz.”
Duddington shook hands with the headquarters man and took a chair.
“You’ve got back to Haviz again, have you?” he said to Lynch.
“We take them up one at a time,” said the inspector. He was smoking a cigar, leaning back and seeming in quite a good humor. “As a matter of fact, as I suggested to you awhile ago, my mind is pretty well made up; but at the same time there seem to be some interesting bypaths, and it is good police to patrol them and see what’s been going on. There is always the possibility of a hook-up, you see, with the principal idea. I’ve got excellent results more than once that way.” He looked at the Italian. “Go on, Andresona; let’s hear what you have to tell.”
The headquarters man smiled; he shook his head at Duddington.
“The inspector tells me Mr. Haviz is a friend of yours,” he said. “My God, he gave me a hunt! Never have I gone after a man who was in so many places in so short a time. When I caught up with him he was drunk; but no wonder. With the hot night and the whisky he took, it is a wonder he was not dead.”
“He’s been excited,” said Duddington. “This afternoon he was at my place; he drank brandy then.”
“First thing, when the inspector put me on the job,” said Andresona, “I called up his apartment house. The landlady, she answered; she said maybe he would be at his studio. If not there to try the Skillet Club; he was a member of that and sometimes took his meals there. I called the Skillet Club, and the steward told me. Mr. Haviz had been there but had taken three drinks and left. I asked about friends, got two or three names, and got in touch with one after another. The first was a painter. I told him Haviz was an old crony, and at once he became confiding. Haviz was not there, but he had been, and had been very despondent. He’d suddenly left. Maybe at the moment he was at the bottom of the Hudson. That, or some place like it, seemed where he was heading for when he’d gone out.
“The second man had not seen him, but had just talked with him on the telephone. Not five minutes before,” said Andresona with a laugh. “That’s the kind of breaks you get in this business. Haviz had asked the party if he had any liquor in the place, and when he found out there was none he’d immediately hung up. After calling another friend with the same kind of luck I got a cab and went to the Skillet Club. The steward is Italian, and to get him right I gave Florence—he’s from there—a very nice place on the map. Then he told me a lot. Since I’d called up, Haviz had been there again. He’d had more drinks. He’d sat and cursed over his liquor and swore to have someone’s blood. After that he left to call on Mr. Sheerness.”
“No!” said Duddington.
“Yes,” said Andresona. “The steward heard him say so. So did some of the waiters. He called a cab, and left in it, talking to himself. So I got a cab, too. Sheerness lives on Park Avenue, and I went there and rang the bell. The man who came to the door was in livery; he was English and very smooth-spoken. Yes, Mr. Haviz had been there. A half hour before—maybe not so long. He had asked to see Mr. Sheerness. No, he had no appointment, he’d said, but he desired to see him. He was told Mr. Sheerness was dressing, that he had an engagement and was already late; that he could see no one. But that made no difference; to see him was Haviz’s desire, and he would remain until he had done so. He talked loudly, and finally Sheerness heard him and sent down to know what was wrong. And when he got Haviz’s name he saw him right away.
“The man I talked to,” said Andresona, “was a dignified man; something had been said to him that made him feel angry. If this had not been so he wouldn’t have told me so much. But that he was angry, and I was of the police, got him started. He said plenty.”
“What did he tell you?” asked Lynch.
“He said Sheerness took Haviz into a big room just off the hall: a room where he saw what few people came on business. And they talked for five minutes. The door was partly open, and the man was in the hall, which was his place; and when Haviz talked loud the man could hear what he said. It was about a pictur
e,” said Andresona, and he looked first at Lynch and then at Duddington. “About a picture Sheerness wanted. Also it was about a man Haviz had made up his mind to kill.”
“What time was this?” asked Lynch. “Was there any way of checking up on that?”
Andresona smiled, showing his excellent teeth.
“Yes, there was a way, Inspector; a very good way. The man at Sheerness’s mentioned it when I asked him about the time. Mr. Sheerness was going to dinner at Senator Daly’s, was due there at six-forty-five, and had no more time than was needed. It would take fifteen minutes to get there. If Sheerness gave Haviz five minutes, and the man said it must have been just about that, the time is placed at about six-fifteen.”
While the headquarters man was speaking, Lynch was looking at his notes. And now he shook his head and said to Duddington:
“The watchman, Slade, found the body at six-thirty. And Haviz couldn’t have made the distance from Sheerness’s place to the museum in less time than fifteen minutes.”
“I ask, again,” said Duddington, “how could he have gotten into the museum? Even if he had made it in less.”
Lynch disregarded this; his eyes were narrowed; he drummed with his finger tips upon the edge of the desk as he said:
“I have no great confidence in Slade. As I think I’ve said to you before, Mr. Chalmers, he is not clear of this thing himself, by any means. And now that we have this matter in hand we’ll check up on it a little. Andresona, call in Sergeant Brace.”
The sergeant, big, honest, and capable-looking, came in at once.
“Sergeant,” said the inspector, “when the call came into the station tonight telling about the finding of the body, was the time noted?”
“Oh, yes,” said Brace. “That’s a fast rule with us. Inspector. Corey was at the desk and took the call; and before I started out I copied what he’d put down about it.” The sergeant took out a notebook and studied one of the pages for a moment. “Call made by Slade. Time was,” and he looked up at his superior in quick surprise, “seven-five.”
The face of Lynch was filled with interest. He arose.
“Andresona,” he said, “call Corey and verify that.”
The headquarters man went into the outer office and sat down at the telephone.
“I’m pretty careful about such things,” said Brace. “And Corey is, too.”
“Five minutes past seven!” said Lynch. “That would add another thirty-five minutes to the time elapsed after the last person left the museum. One hour and thirty-five minutes between the time Miss Rogers passed out at the front door and the time the police were notified that Custis had been killed.”
Andresona re-entered.
“Seven-o-five is O. K.,” he said. “Corey read it to me out of his book.”
Inspector Lynch nodded; he had a grim look upon his face as he went up and down the floor.
“Between six-fifteen, the time Haviz probably left Sheerness’s house in Park Avenue, and seven-five, is fifty minutes. A man who meant business could do a good deal in that time.”
“I’ve seen a bank cleaned out in less than half of it,” said Andresona. “And that man and woman they sent through at Ossining a few weeks ago for murdering her husband only lost the decision by eight minutes.”
“Fifty minutes,” said Lynch. “A good bit cut in the evening’s doings,” He paused and looked at Duddington. “Have you ever noticed that Slade and Haviz were friendly?”
“No,” said Duddington. “They bid each other the time of day in passing, I know that; but it’s all I do know.”
“Brace,” said the inspector, “tell that watchman, Edwards, to come in.”
Edwards appeared a few moments later, anxious, mild-mannered as before.
“Edwards,” said the inspector, “are you acquainted with Mr. Haviz, the trustee, here?”
“Oh, yes, sir. To be sure. I know him quite well.”
“But only as an official of the institution, I suppose?”
“Why, yes. It would be rather that way, of course. Though Mr. Haviz is very agreeable, I will say that.”
“You have not spoken to him often, I’d say—other than the usual greetings?”
“Not what might be called conversation, Inspector. No.”
“Slade knows him, too, of course?”
Duddington smiled at this. Lynch had approached in his usual manner; by a slightly devious route he had arrived at the matter he had in view, so as to cause no foreboding in the mind of the person being questioned.
“Yes,” said Edwards, nodding readily. “Yes, Slade knows Mr. Haviz.”
“Rather better than you do, I’d say,” said Lynch confidently.
Edwards agreed. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.
“Oh, yes; a good deal better. They’ve been on what might really be called friendly terms for a long time.”
“On friendly terms? What do you mean by that?” Edwards gestured and hesitated. At last he said:
“I suppose it is not a private matter; we all knew of it, here; and there’s no harm in telling you about it. Sometime during last winter, Slade and Mr. Custis had a falling out: they never did get along very well together, as I suppose you’ve gathered, sir. Mr. Custis was going to discharge Slade, but Mr. Haviz interfered. He interceded and got him another chance.”
“I see,” said Lynch. “And then what?”
“Naturally, Slade was grateful. He felt he’d been well treated by Mr. Haviz and put himself in the way to do something in return. They’d often talk; I know Slade went several times to Mr. Haviz’s studio to help with something that had to be done. Yes, sir; you might say they were on friendly terms.”
Inspector Lynch asked a number of other questions, but they developed nothing new, and Edwards was told that was all. When he’d gone out of the office Duddington said:
“This seems to be working very smoothly; and I use it as an occasion for calling your attention to the way facts sometimes fall together, Inspector, They are not always to be trusted. There would be the making of something of a case against Haviz if it were not for the policeman keeping the quarantine watch on the front steps, and who would have seen him if he’d gone in or out.”
“I haven’t forgotten the man on the steps,” said Lynch coldly. “Get Slade in,” he said to Brace. And after the sergeant had gone the inspector continued: “No man can be in the police business as long as I’ve been and not have realized the possibilities of what I, some little time ago, called the ‘hook-up.’ In a case of this sort, widely separated things have a way of running suddenly together. All along I’ve had my mind on young Gregory; but that does not prevent my turning to Haviz if something new develops; at any minute, as I’ve said before, I may come upon a thing that’ll tie them together. If I can show that Haviz came back to the museum after leaving Sheerness and was admitted by Slade, I’ll be pretty well convinced that he and Gregory acted together in whatever took place here tonight. What you say about the policeman on the front steps would be quite correct if we could be sure he did what he believes he did. This man said he never left the steps after closing time and practically never took his eyes from the door. I’ve never been satisfied with that, and meant to take it up with him, if Moore failed to find the painting hidden somewhere in the building. I’ll have him in after I get through with Slade.”
Brace brought Slade in; then the inspector and sergeant spent a few minutes in the outer office conversing in low tones; when they had finished the sergeant disappeared, and Lynch came in and spoke to the watchman.
“Slade,” he said, “in the information you gave the police when first questioned you said you found the body of Custis lying on the floor near the stairway at six-thirty o’clock.”
“Yes,” said Slade. “I said that. And it is a fact.”
“Would you mind telling me once more how you came to make the discovery?”
“Miss Rogers had gone out. Custis was the only other person in the place. I sat by the front door wait
ing for him to leave. I was reading. Some time passed. The first thing a watchman does here at night after everyone’s gone, as I’ve told you, is to go over the place on both floors and make sure everything is all right. This is usually about five-thirty or five-forty. It seemed to me I had been sitting there quite some time, and I looked at my watch. It was six-twenty-eight. That was pretty late, much later than I’d thought. So I made up my mind I’d better start around the building, taking a chance on Custis not wanting to get out while I was gone and starting an argument about it. I went along the corridor, meaning to go upstairs first, as I usually did. Then I saw the body and turned in the alarm.”
“Did you do that immediately?”
“Yes.”
“Think carefully. Didn’t you do something else first? Didn’t you hunt around to see if there was anyone hiding in any of the rooms—the murderer?”
“No.”
“You didn’t go to the front door to make sure it was locked?...You didn’t make an examination of the body to make sure the man was dead?”
The Museum Murder Page 14