No one was likely to recognize him. It was the perfect set-up."
"So you think he came here from California to kill the old man for his money?" snapped Green.
"More or less. Laribee told me his will left most of his millions to his daughter. He also told me that, by the financial arrangements he made before he came here, Sylvia Dawn and Dr. Lenz would have complete control of the money if he was ever certified permanently insane. The son-in-law had as swell a motive as you policemen could ever hope to find. There's all the difference in the world between being married to an obscure movie actress and having a millionairess for a wife."
"But, Mr. Duluth—" once more the director's voice rose in serene comment, "you don't think the son-in-law originally planned to kill Mr. Laribee, do you?"
"No," I said emphatically, although the idea had only that moment come to me. "I don't think he was that ambitious at first. I think his initial idea was to drive the old man nuts. It was less dangerous and almost as profitable. Besides, his chief asset was his ubiquitous voice. Ventriloquism's a cinch for sending your father-in-law out of his mind, but it's not so hot as a lethal weapon."
I was still a little surprised at the fluency of my own thoughts. It was almost as though Lenz by his pointed interruptions were performing a Svengali act on me. Anyhow, just as Svengali controlled the audience for Trilby, the director's surprising patronage had assured me the attention of the police now.
"He started off," I went on, "by getting poor bewildered Miss Powell to steal that stop watch from the surgery. Then he scared Geddes and me with a voice prophesying murder, and, as he expected, one of us, myself as it happened, started to act up, distracted the staff and gave him the opportunity to sneak the stop watch into Laribee's room. Laribee, of course, thought it was the tape-ticker and had a distinct set-back."
"And then, Mr. Duluth?"
"The next little performance he staged was the broker's voice whispering news of a stock-market crash. It was cruelly, horribly clever. As the director would put it, the son-in-law was working on Laribee's heel of Achilles, it looked as though things were going to pan out. Then, I think, he went a little too far. He planted the stop watch on Laribee for a second time and the old man found it started realizing it was all a put-up job."
"Exactly," remarked the director, his faintly amused gaze settling once again on my face. "I think that was false move, Mr. Duluth. But even so, you must remember that the prognosis for Mr. Laribee's permanent recover was always very grave. Why did not the son-in-law patience and wait, instead of altering his plans to murder?"
"Because something else came up," I said. As before words slipped out pat, but I had the feeling that it was Dr. Lenz who had supplied the inspiration. I turned to the day nurse who was leaning forward, her arms folded across her tiger-colored breast.
"This is where Miss Brush steps into the picture. The son-in-law must have found out that Laribee was fond of her. In fact, he had asked her several times marry him. Now a second marriage would have meant collapse of everything. A new wife and step-mother would almost certainly have entailed a new financial arrangement, particularly as relations were rather strained between Laribee and his daughter. There was only one thing to do and that was to remove the menace of Miss Brush. Consequently, our versatile friend worked on Fenwick deliver that spiritualistic warning against her, and he himself slipped poison-pen notes into Laribee's books. He hoping either to turn the old man against her or to have her transferred to the women's wing where she would safely out of the way."
"And he almost succeeded," exclaimed Miss Brush with impulsive indignation. "Why, of all the absurd ... !"
"Laribee's proposals may have seemed absurd to you," broke in. "But the son-in-law would have had to take them darn seriously. Anyway, I think it was his failure to remove you that made him switch his plans to murder."
Captain Green glanced at the clock. So did I. The hands pointed to a quarter of ten,
"Don't worry, Captain," I went on hurriedly. "God knows I'm as eager as you to get this over before ten. I'm coming to Miss Pattison right now. Once the son-in-law decided on murder, he must have put in a lot of heavy thinking. And he figured out a most ingenious plan. He'd learned about Miss Pattison's fixation against Laribee. Therefore, he started a ventriloquist campaign, urging her to kill him, and finally put the knife in her bag. His idea was to get her so bewildered and confused, poor kid, that when he did the actual killing and planted the knife on her, she might easily think she had committed the crime in some forgotten moment of madness. The whole business made her a hell of a good suspect whatever happened, and with any luck, he could slip away from the sanitarium in all the fuss without starting any questions."
"That's pretty logical," grunted Green. "But where does Fogarty fit in?"
"Right here. You see, the son-in-law, in spite of his smartness, didn't get much of a break. Fogarty must have found out something. I don't know what but it's quite possible that with his passion for vaudeville he'd seen the son-in-law somewhere in his professional capacity and later recognized him here in the sanitarium. Obviously he had to be disposed of."
For a moment I caught the expression on Mrs. Fogarty's face and I continued quickly.
"Well, he got rid of Fogarty all right, but we all know what happens to the best laid schemes of mice and men. Having removed one danger, the son-in-law found he'd only contracted two more: myself and Geddes. Out of sheer muddle-headed, post-alcoholic curiosity, I blundered onto the scene. I began to be interested in Miss Pattison and looked like spoiling his scheme for making her the chief suspect. I had to be coped with but, luckily for me, I wasn't important enough to rate murder." I glanced once more at the gaunt, intent figure of Mrs. Fogarty. "I was merely warned over the telephone in a particularly unpleasant way. I suppose he hoped that both Geddes and I would clear out of the sanitarium and stop being damn nuisances."
"What's this about Geddes?" queried Green tersely.
I felt a little guilty. "I'm afraid Geddes and I have been holding something back. I guess that's obstructing justice or something, but we thought it the only thing to do. You see, Geddes was far more of a menace than I."
Quickly I related the facts of the Englishman's unconscious embroilment in the plot and the incidents which had led finally to the brutal attack on him that afternoon and our discovery of the bloodstained handkerchief.
For the first time my audience showed their surprise audibly. A ripple of startled comment ran across the room. I could see the cold, official stare coming back into Green's eyes.
"So you thought it best to hold back an attempted murder from us, did you?" he growled when I had finished. "Strikes me all of you've been holding back a darn sight too much. Those voices, warnings, and all the other crazy things—I heard nothing about them."
"I think you have given yourself your own answer," said Lenz calmly. "You called all those things crazy and that is precisely why you were not told about them. You must remember that this is a mental hospital and, daily we are faced with things which seem just as bizarre as the incidents to which Mr. Duluth has given such an excellent pattern. We on the staff are professional psychiatrists. Mr. Duluth, on the other hand, is an amateur. When these events occurred, he was naturally suspicious whereas we who have been trained to accept the abnormal as the normal, merely explained them away as the symptomatic behaviorisms of individual patients."
Captain Green seemed to capitulate before this imposing array of polysyllabics.
"All right," he said grudgingly. "But who the hell is this son-in-law? And has Mr. Duluth any real evidence?"
"I think I know who the son-in-law is," I said softly. "And I've got evidence all right."
It was rather embarrassing to have to disclose another obstruction of justice, but rather lamely I ran through the pathetic incidents of Laribee's midnight will and our intricate plan which had culminated in the document's removal from the musical place.
"I can see now," I concluded, "how anx
ious the son-in-law would have been to get hold of that will. Of course, it was only a scrap of paper, signed and witnessed by a bunch of nuts. But there was just the chance it might be proved valid. And if it was, Miss Brush would have come in for all the money. The whole elaborate song and dance would have gone for nothing."
"And you know who took the will?" asked the captain briskly.
"Yes. And Clarke's been watching him. He hasn't had a chance to get rid of it."
The captain's gaze moved to the young detective and then switched back to me. "And what's the other evidence?"
Clarke rose. "I traced that handkerchief to the man who took the will, sir," he said quietly.
"You did?" bellowed the captain. "Well, who is he?"
"Just a moment," I put in. "Let's run through what we know about him once again. Apart from being a vaudeville actor and a man of some medical knowledge, he must obviously have come from California where he met and married Sylvia Dawn, nee Laribee. He's presumably quite young and he can't have been here at the sanitarium very long. All those qualifications fit the man who took the will from the musical place. I'm expecting that telegram from Prince Warberg soon. It ought to give some physical details to clinch the matter of identity."
The following silence was taut and expectant. Everyone shifted in his chair; glances met glances and flicked uneasily apart. It had been a long, winding trail, but I could see the goal very close now.
John Clarke had moved across the room and was pausing by Dr. Lenz' assistant psychiatrist. He held out his hand and when he spoke, his tone was incisive.
"You'd better give me that paper, Dr. Moreno."
27
Moreno did not move. His dark face remained studiedly impassive. There was nothing to betray his feelings except the faintest gleam in his eyes.
Everyone else in the room was staring at him now— staring either in astonishment or apprehension. I myself felt slightly nervous. However strong one's convictions, it is not pleasant to accuse a man of murder.
Only Dr. Lenz seemed completely composed. His bearded face was alert as he watched Clarke move a little nearer the young psychiatrist
"I said you might as well hand it over, Dr. Moreno."
Moreno lifted an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to understand what you mean?"
"I think you will find it in your breast pocket," said Clarke softly. "Of course, if you want help, I can ..."
With an elaborate shrug, Moreno felt in his pocket and brought out a sheaf of papers. He glanced through them and finally selected one.
"This does not belong to me," he said, handing it casually to Clarke. "Perhaps it is what you are looking for."
The detective read through the paper and carried it in silence over to Green. Then he produced a large envelope from which he took two handkerchiefs.
"This is the handkerchief used to gag Mr. Geddes," he said quietly. "The other I found among Dr. Moreno's personal belongings. They're obviously the same make."
The captain examined the handkerchiefs carefully and then read the document. "So all the money was to go to Miss Brush," he grunted, "I guess this will's not worth much, but I can see why Laribee's son-in-law'd want to get hold of it." His gaze settled on Moreno. "Have you anything to say?"
The young psychiatrist shook his head. "Nothing that isn't so childishly obvious that it's scarcely worth mentioning."
"Even so," said Green grimly, "I should mention it."
"Very well." Moreno shot me a cold, indifferent look. "Mr. Duluth is my patient and the regulations of this institution state that the patient must always be right. But as Mr. Duluth by his histrionic ability seems to have put himself outside the category of patients, I presume I can tell him frankly what I think of his accusation."
"I'd be delighted," I said.
"In the first place, Mr. Duluth, your evidence seems rather trivial. You yourself have invested this sanitarium with a murderer who can practice everything from voice throwing to the most dexterous sleight-of-hand. Surely it would be simple for so talented an individual to plant the will in my pocket and also to borrow one of my handkerchiefs for his own purposes." He smiled a trifle maliciously. "The very fact that I still have the will in my possession should prove that I am not this versatile conjuror. If I had been, I should doubtless have secreted the document in Dr. Lenz' beard or Captain Green's pocket by this time."
I felt slightly nonplussed.
"And as for the will itself," continued Moreno, "Captain Green admits that it is almost certainly invalid. I cannot believe that your intelligent murderer would have risked so much to retrieve so worthless a document from your quaintly termed musical place. Personally I would never have dreamed of doing such a thing, particularly after you had told me that implausible story about Miss Powell and the will. In fact, if I may criticize your whole scene, I would call it so much theatrical poppycock."
"It's easy to deny you took the will," I retorted angrily.
"But the fact remains that you haven't been here long. You did come from California. You are a medical man, and at one time you were an actor. That seems like quite a lot of coincidences, doesn't it?"
"Quite a lot, Mr. Duluth." To my surprise, Miss Brush had turned toward me with the brightest of her bright smiles. Her voice was soft and sweet "I think you have worked out a splendid theory. I also admit that Dr. Moreno fills the bill very nicely. As you say, he comes from California, he is young, he is an excellent psychiatrist and at one time he was a very promising actor. But, unfortunately, he fails in the final test, Mr. Duluth. He is not Mr. Laribee's son-in-law."
I gazed at her stupidly. Green barked:
"How d'you know that?"
"I'm afraid I have indulged in no brilliant deductions," replied Miss Brush lightly. "I can't even lay any particular claims to feminine intuition. But I do know Dr. Moreno isn't Mr. Laribee's son-in-law for one very adequate reason. You see, he happens to be—my husband."
My self-assurance which, during the past few minutes, had been slipping fast, now collapsed completely. I went very red and felt as conspicuous a fool as I had ever felt in my life.
"Of course," continued the day nurse, switching on once again her disarming smile, "we have only been married two months. I should hate to suspect Dr. Moreno of bigamy, but you never can tell with these Latin races, can you?"
The awkward silence which followed this remark was mercifully short-lived. It was broken by a stifled, male laugh. I looked up to see John Clarke blowing his nose with that intensity which is always adopted to cover inappropriate amusement. Once more his laugh broke out, clear, unmistakable. With an apologetic glance at Captain Green, he rose and hurried out of the room.
My embarrassment turned to a sensation of complete desertion. My one remaining ally had now abandoned me.
"I seem to have amused him," said Miss Brush mildly.
There was another brief pause in which Green turned sharply to Dr. Lenz.
"Is what she says true?" he asked.
The director's eyes were twinkling. "To the best of knowledge. I myself attended the wedding and had great honor of giving the bride away."
"But why—why does she call herself Miss Brush?"
"She does so at my suggestion. It is a purely psychological move. Miss Brush's personality has an excellent therapeutic effect upon the patients. We all feel she would have less curative value if she were known to be a married woman." The director smiled benignly upon the day nurse. "Any man might be forgiven for considering bigamy after knowing Miss Brush. But I do not think that happened in the case of Dr. Moreno. Not only was he graduated with the highest distinction, he also has excellent record from every other point of view."
By now I realized I had met my Waterloo. But once suspicion had arisen in the captain's mind, he could not dismiss it lightly. He had turned back to the will and was reading it through again.
"I guess we may have to count Dr. Moreno out Laribee's son-in-law," he said suddenly. "But this will leaves over a million to Miss Brush
. Strikes me that if he’s her husband, he has a pretty darn good motive for killing Laribee anyway."
"As you seem to be anxious for suspects and motives", broke in Miss Brush with alarming sweetness, "why not consider me, captain? After all, I should have an even stronger motive than my husband."
"This is no time to be funny," snapped Green.
"That's what I should have thought," continued the day nurse imperturbably. "But really, it was you who started it. You must admit that it's ridiculous to take that crazy will seriously. Why, if I murdered every patient who left me money, I'd have a dozen deaths to my credit already. Only last month a distinguished banker bequeathed me the Empire State Building. And sometime in December I was offered a check that would have balanced our national budget." Her voice grew crisp, official. "Don't you see you're wasting your time with that foolish will?"
She rose like a good-humored but very gorgeous tigress and strolled across the room. Before Green had time to do anything, she had plucked the document from his hand and was tearing it into tiny pieces. She tossed them like artificial snow to the carpet.
"That's what I think of the will," she remarked cheerfully. "Material evidence, or no material evidence."
For a moment Green stared at her dumbfounded. Then his neck went very red.
"I've had about enough of this monkeying around," he exclaimed truculently. "This isn't a circus, and if anyone else starts acting up, I'll have them arrested right away." He swung round on the director. "What I want is some straight evidence, Lenz. Do you or do you not think Dr. Moreno's the guilty party?"
"Frankly, I do not." The director shot me an indulgent glance. "I think Mr. Duluth has given us a brilliant précis of the motives behind these crimes. I also believe he is right on practically every point. His only mistake, as I see it, was to suspect Dr. Moreno."
This was the first sympathy I had received since my collapse. I felt grateful, though still extremely crestfallen.
"No," Lenz was continuing, "I cannot think Dr. Moreno guilty. Mr. Duluth, very naturally, stressed the theatrical side of this affair. And I am inclined to stress the medical. It is clear to me that the man we are looking for is not a very sound psychiatrist, and Dr. Moreno is an extremely accomplished one. No expert would have been as ambitious as Mr. Duluth's exposition has shown the murderer to have been. Dr. Moreno knows far too much, for example, ever to have attempted to influence Miss Pattison in that particular manner."
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