“Then it was a sudden impulse.”
“No, Lee! Dad was not a creature of impulse. He was stable!”
Lee handed her the letter. A spasm of pain crossed the girl’s face at sight of the decorative characters.-There was neither salutation nor signature. She read: “I have reached the summit of my life-indeed I appear to have passed it. I have done my best work. There is nothing before me but a slow decline in power. I wish to be remembered by my best, and so I choose to write the End while I can do it firmly. Men live too long.
“What are the thoughts of a man who pauses on the brink of the unknowable? I have often wondered. Now I know. He thinks of his childhood; the first tree climbed; the first little creek that was swum from bank to bank. Those were the biggest successes of life. Later he remembers the words that remained unspoken; the wine untasted; the kisses that were not given. They are the sweetest. He hears the first sleepy notes of awakening birds, and sees a lake gleaming in the dawn. And always the stars, his unchanging companions, who mocked him when he was set up, and comforted him when he was cast down.
“This is the last thought: Man is not worthy of his beautiful earth. The worst that has been said about man’s life is true; it is cruel, ugly and evil-but who would give up the privilege of sitting in on so magnificent a show? I have seen it, and I leave the theatre without regret.”
Cynthia’s tears were falling fast before she came to the end. Some moments passed before she could speak. “Was this all?” she whispered. “Nothing . . not one word for me?”
“That is all,” said Lee. “He would not leave me without a word!” she cried. “Lee, I will not believe that he killed himself! There are people who wished him dead.”
“It must be faced,” said Lee. “There is the gun, the powder marks. The letter sounds like Gavin.”
“It sounds like him,” she agreed; “but it has a made-up sound. It is like something he might have written in a play.”
“Cynthia, my dear, you are only tormenting yourself!”
“Why shouldn’t I be tormented?” she burst out. “He would not leave me without a word… . Listen, Lee, we came close to each other for a moment last night as I was leaving. There was nothing much said. We understood each other without speaking. You cannot mistake such a moment. After that he could not have left me without a word. I do not believe he killed himself. I will never believe it…. Look at this letter! Notice how in the first line he has changed “apex” to “summit”; down below he wrote “most men” and then crossed out “most,” and changed “abyss” to “unknowable.” Would a man be thinking about literary effect when he was about to die?”
“Habit, perhaps,” said Lee. “He wrote the letter. How else can it be explained?”
“It sounds like something out of a play,” insisted Cynthia. “Let us read the new play and see if there is not a clue there.”
“He burned it,” said Lee.
“Burned it? Why should he?”
“Well, he implies in the letter that he was dissatisfied with it.”
“Implies! Implies! Words can imply so many things! He doesn’t say that he was dissatisfied with it. He told me he thought it was good.”
“Sometimes there is a reaction. Every writer knows what that is like.”
Cynthia was not listening. “Lee, suppose that this letter is something that Dad wrote for his play. He was always making changes and inserting new pages either in type or longhand. The murderer found it. He would then be obliged to destroy the rest of the play, wouldn’t he, in order to conceal the fact that this had been taken from it?”
“That is too far-fetched!” objected Lee.
“What do you mean, far-fetched?”
“It is incredible that the murderer-if there was a murderer, should have stumbled on something that came so pat to his needs.”
“Perhaps he read the play first and this letter suggested the plan of the murder.”
“Gavin would allow no one to read the play.”
“There were plenty of people whO were crazy to get a line on it. Hillman may have betrayed Dad while lie was out. Hillman …” She pulled up suddenly, and her eyes widened.
“What is it?” asked Lee.
“Hillman has something on his mind.”
“Naturally, after …”
“O, this began many days ago.”
“Where does Hillman live?” asked Lee.
“I don’t know. It’s in Gavin’s address book.” Captain Kelleran came out of the studio with his men tailing after him. He bowed to Cynthia with grave sympathy and drew Lee aside. “There is nothing in this case for the police,” he said. “With an ordinary magnifying glass we could identify Mr. Dordress’ fingerprints on the gun without the necessity of taking photographs. The medical examiner will hand you the necessary permit for burial, and we will trouble you no more. Please convey my sympathy to the young lady.”
“Thank you. She will appreciate it, Captain.” Lee shepherded them out through the door.
When they were left alone Cynthia came and wound her arms around Lee’s neck. “Thank God, I have you!” she said. “Bless your heart!” he murmured. “Have I convinced you that Gavin did not kill himself?” she asked, looking deep into his eyes. “No, my dear,” he said gravely. “So far this is only a surmise on your part. We must have evidence.”
“Then look for it! Look for it!” she said, urging him with her hands. “Before anything is moved or changed, before any one else comes. You can lay bare the truth. Lee, if anybody can.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
THE bell rang. “This will be the reporters,” said Lee.
“Don’t let them in!” exclaimed Cynthia in horror.
Lee stopped Hillman on his way to the door. “Wait a minute.” He said to Cynthia: “We can’t keep them out, my dear. I’ll take care of them. You go into the guest-room. You should stay here for the present, because you can’t protect yourself from intruders in your own place. I’ll send for Fanny Parran to be with you.”
“I don’t want anybody.”
“Fanny is a woman in a thousand. She’ll act as if nothing was the matter.”
“I wane to be with Dad,” said Cynthia piteously.
Lee thought of the black stain under Gavin’s head. “You shall be,” he promised. “When I get these people out of the house.”
Lee took the precaution of locking the studio door and pocketing the key. A swarm of reporters and photographers was then admitted. More were arriving constantly. Lee told them a plain story of what had happened, and let them copy Gavin’s letter. He answered every question that he considered a proper one, but nipped in the bud every attempt to make a sensational mystery of the case. That section of the press which thrives on sensation was disappointed. One or two of the men from the more unscrupulous sheets edged to the door of the studio and tried it. Lee said: “That’s all now, boys. I’ve got a lot to do. I’ll receive you again at eleven o’clock to give you anything that may break in for the later editions.”
They left.
Fanny arrived, saddened and wondering. Lee said to her: “I rely on you. Keep your ears open and your mouth shut. I want you to stay with Cynthia for the present. Keep her occupied if you can. There must be family letters to write and so on. She is under the delusion that her father was murdered, and we must appear to humour it.”
Fanny’s eyes widened. “You don’t think that …”
“Please God there’s nothing in it!” said Lee. “One can face the fact that Gavin left us because he wished to go, but if he was taken … I … Read that!” he said, handing her the letter. “What does it suggest to a woman’s intuition?”
Fanny read the letter, and considered. “It sounds,” she said slowly, “-what shall I say? Just a little highfalutin for a man so simple and natural as Mr. Dordress.”
Lee looked at her in surprise. “That’s what Cynthia said. I hope you’re both wrong. Go to her.”
Lee locked himself in the studio for an
hour. When he came out his mild face was stern and grey. Meeting Hillman drifting around the foyer like a lost soul, he said: “You may telephone for the undertaker now. Let him arrange the body suitably on a couch in there, and see that the floor is washed, so that Miss Cynthia may see her father before he is taken away.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lee went on to the two girls in the guest-room. When Cynthia saw his face she cried out: “What have you discovered?”
He hesitated. “Tell me everything that is in your mind,” she pleaded. “Treat me like a man. It is the kindest thing you can do. What I cannot bear is to be kept in the dark.”
“I agree,” said Lee. “What I have discovered raises a doubt in my mind that Gavin killed himself.”
“I knew he wouldn’t leave me without a word,” murmured Cynthia.
“What did you find?” asked Fanny.
Lee still had Gavin’s letter in his hand. He said: “The yellow pad from which this sheet was presumably torn was not lying on Gavin’s desk when we were in the room last night. The inference is that he got it out later. If you run your finger lightly along the top of this paper you can feel microscopic pieces of glue clinging to it. When I placed this sheet on top of the pad and examined the edges under a strong glass, I saw that these specks of glue do not fit with the glue that remains on the pad. In other words, this is not the last sheet that was torn off that pad. As a matter of fact, the pad was twice as thick as it is at present when this sheet was torn off it.”
The eyes of both girls widened when they took in the significance of this. “Also,” Lee went on, “Gavin’s fountain pen was on his desk. I find that he uses the sort of fluid that writes blue and darkens with time. When I made tests with the ink I saw at once that this letter was not written last night. It is several days old, possibly more than a week.”
“What did I tell you?” said Cynthia.
“Wait! It is possible that Gavin may have written this several days ago and have been keeping it.”
Cynthia shook her head. “He could not have had any such idea when he was talking to me last night.”
“A forgery?” suggested Fanny.
“We may dismiss that possibility,” said Lee. “Gavin certainly wrote this letter.”
“For some other purpose,” said Cynthia obstinately.
“You may be right, but until we have further evidence, we must still reckon on the possibility of suicide… . There is something else.”
“Yes?” asked Cynthia anxiously.
“Six little marks on Gavin’s forehead, as if he had struck against something, not hard. I don’t know yet what they signify. The police were so sure it is suicide they paid no attention. I have made a sketch of the marks.”
“Anything else?” asked Cynthia.
“I found Gavin’s address book, but the little book bound in green Morocco which he entered ideas for plots, scenes and characters is missing.”
“It was always in Gavin’s desk,” said Cynthia.
“What happened last night after Fanny and I went home?” asked Lee.
Cynthia described what had taken place word by word, as closely as she could remember. She cried out passionately: “It is easy to see who …”
Lee held up his hand. “Wait! My first rule is: Never be satisfied with the obvious explanation. We must always have the unknown quantity in mind. If there is a murderer it may be somebody we never heard of.”
“If, if, if,” murmured Cynthia. “You will drive me crazy with your ifs!”
Lee smiled at her. “Bless your heart! … We don’t know all the circumstances of Gavin’s life.”
“If you are implying that there is anything discreditable …”
“I’m not,” said Lee; “but if there is, what difference would it make to those who loved him?”
Tears gathered in Cynthia’s eyes. “I noticed that there was a certain coldness between you and Siebert last night,” Lee hazarded.
Cynthia told him briefly what had happened.
There was a knock on the door. It was Hillman to say that Mr. Kinnaird was asking for Mr. Mappin. Kinnaird was Gavin’s attorney, a young man. Lee went out to meet him. The two gripped hands. “Is there anything I can do?” asked Kinnaird.
“Answer a question,” said Lee. “You have his will?”
“Yes.”
“Is it proper for you to tell me the provisions?”
“Surely. You and I are named as executors. It’s a brief will. He leaves everything to his daughter except for two bequests. Fifty thousand dollars to the Authors’ League Fund, and five thousand to his servant, Robert Hillman.”
“So,” said Lee.
“You don’t suspect that …”
“I suspect nothing,” said Lee, “but I must look into everything.”
The two men discussed the various measures that must be taken in respect to Gavin’s death. When the lawyer had gone, Lee addressed Hillman in his mild way. “Hillman, tell me about Mr. Dordress’ movements yesterday.”
The gaunt manservant was an abject figure. His hair was disordered, and the neat black bow had crept around to the side of his collar without his being aware of it. A natural grief for his master was hardly sufficient to account for the frantic look in his eyes. Lee observed that he had continually to pause and swallow his saliva. “Mr. Dordress was working very hard on his play, sir. He was in the studio from breakfast until lunch, and again after lunch. He went out for a little while in the afternoon, but he was home by three and at work again. He worked until it was time to dress for dinner.”
“Did he say where he was going when he went out?”
“To the bank, sir.”
“Any place else?”
“He didn’t say, sir.”
“Any visitors yesterday?”
“There are always callers, sir, but I had strict orders to say he was out. He saw only one man. Mr. Alan Talbert.”
“Who’s he?”
“A young gentleman; a playwright, I believe. He addressed Mr. Dordress as ‘The Master.’”
“How long did he stay?”
“A few minutes only. The others who called were …”
“Never mind if they didn’t see him … Now as to last night; as I understand it, Mr and Mrs. Townley left together; shortly afterwards Miss Garrett left; then Miss Cynthia.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“What did you do then?”
“The hired servants had already gone, sir. I just looked around to see that everything was all right, and I went home, too. Ten to eleven it was when I left.”
“How long was that after Miss Cynthia had gone?”
“Twenty minutes to half an hour, sir.”
“Did you see Mr. Dordress before you left?”
“Yes, sir. Went into the studio to ask if there was anything he wanted.”
“What was he doing?”
“Sitting in his big chair, sir, reading.”
“Did he appear to be composed?”
“O, yes, sir. Spoke to me quiet and friendly. Said there was nothing he wanted.”
“Did you notice what he was reading?”
“No, sir. A little book with a green cover.”
“He must have put it back on the shelf. It’s not anywhere around now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you were the last person to see him alive,” said Lee quietly.
Hillman’s face broke up. He was squeezing his hands together to control their trembling. “Don’t say that, sir!” he stammered. “O, don’t say that!”
“Why not?” said Lee, affecting to be surprised.
“That’s what they always say of a person when he is suspected of .. of … Mr. Dordress was a good master. I have worked for him nine years . . how could I …?”
“You are not suspected of anything,” said Lee mildly. “Have you any reason to believe that Mr. Dordress did not kill himself?”
“No . . yes . . how should I know?” stammered Hillman. “There was bad tal
k here last night. You know about it.”
“I know about it,” said Lee dryly. “But everything points to suicide. I suspect nobody. I am investigating merely to clear up any possible doubt. Keep your mouth shut, Hillman. We must be careful not to start anything that might sully Mr. Dordress’ name.”
“O, yes, sir! Did you know, sir, that Miss Garrett was overheard to threaten Mr. Dordress’ life?”
“Who overheard her?” asked Lee.
“One of the waiters from Millerand’s, sir. It was when she first came. Miss Garrett was the first to arrive.”
“I hope the man will keep his mouth shut,” said Lee.
“He said he would, sir.”
Lee studied the butler. “Look at me, Hillman.” The servant tried hard to keep his eyes fixed on Lee’s, but they would not obey him. “What are you afraid of?” asked Lee.
Hillman began to tremble. “I … I’m not afraid, sir. Only distressed. My master .. to go like this …”
Lee cut him short. “Did you know you were down in his will for five thousand dollars?”
Hillman made his face look glad and surprised, but it was not convincing. “O, Mr. Mappin! No, sir. I didn’t know! Five thousand dollars! I can scarcely believe it!”
“It’s true,” said Lee, watching him.
“When will I get the money, Mr. Mappin?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. In a week or two, I suppose. Have you a special need of it?”
“Yes, sir. I’m buying a little restaurant, sir.”
“If Mr. Dordress had not died where would you have got the money?”
“I suppose I would have gone to the loan sharks, sir.”
Taking a new line, Lee asked: “What about the boy who was on the elevator last night?”
Hillman was relieved. “Joe Dietz, sir.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“No, sir. Not to say a friend. I never took to the boy.”
“Why?”
“He’s too nosey. Always making up some excuse to get into the apartment. He pesters the guests for autographs and sells them.”
“Get him here if you can without arousing his suspicions. I don’t want to start anybody thinking there is a mystery about Mr. Dordress’ death.”
ALM02 The Death of a Celebrity Page 5