Mindful of John Patrick’s warning to me about the necessity for discretion, I obtained Tom’s permission to use one of the family cars, for I knew my own little English model was apt to attract attention wherever it went and to court remembrance. Besides, it was generally out of order, and I used that undeniable fact as the excuse for my request. I set out at once for Belton and, as soon as I was in the town, I circled the movie theater for five blocks in either direction, firmly implanting in my mind such landmarks as I noticed and stopping at secluded corners to make my notes when it became necessary. The theater stood on the corner of the main street, several blocks from where one would turn off to go to Bayside. The intersecting road passing alongside the building was a narrow country lane, which I knew extended for five miles or so, bordered by residences for approximately a quarter of that distance, and small farms from there out its length. The two exceptions to this rule were the two buildings across the street from the theater, a drugstore and the garage where Miss Small had done her courting.
Next to the theater and on the same side of the street, but separated from it by the narrow alley-way upon which the theater exit gave, and further protected by a high but dilapidated board fence, was an old building, formerly a blacksmith shop but now used, I judged, for storage purposes. This alley, being the object of my next research, I drove in a few feet, stopped my car, and made as if to light a cigarette. I soon saw that my feigned activity was an unnecessary precaution, since I was entirely safe from prying eyes. The corner of the Crystal Palace jutted out to form the emergency door; once past it in the alley between the theater and the board fence, I was safe. This then might well be the start of the hidden trail, whose existence John Patrick had so accurately prophesied. The alley came to a dead end about fifty feet beyond, being in truth no more than a rough courtyard behind the theater. The fence was broken down and afforded easy going, so I stepped through it and stood in what once must have been the pasture of some farm. In front of me, some paces off, was the blank wall of a large barn, nor could I have been seen from the street I had just left, by reason of the intervening blacksmith shop.
So far, so good; after a little searching and stumbling around, I was able to trace a fairly clear route, which, by the aid of hedges, old disused buildings and the like, afforded excellent opportunity for passage to one who wished to keep his whereabouts unknown. I walked on for probably a quarter of a mile, not counting my detours and false leads, when I came out upon a garden plot directly in back of a large house, which looked to be more modern and expensive than its neighbors. From this point one could gain access, without being seen, to the country highway which led from Belton to the small town where the inquest had been held.
I sighed with disappointment—I had found my route of march, but Edwin’s objective was more mysterious than ever. He might get in a car at this very point where I was, he might intend to visit any of the farmhouses further out the road, or he might stop at any of the places accessible from the route I had just traversed. On my return trip I made note of such places as seemed good possibilities, and then I backed my car out and crossed the street to the druggist’s.
There is no place in a small town where it is possible to garner as much information as the drugstore. Its proprietor not only dispenses drugs, advising the family what to take for such minor ailments as do not seem to merit the attention of the doctor, but likewise dispenses sodas to the young and old, thus making his shop a rendezvous for the life of the town. He knows them all, from the newest baby, whom he provides with teething rings, to the oldest grandparent, whose troubles he has heard with sympathetic ears for many years. Add to this, that he is making enough money to put him in the important citizen class, so he is a figure in both the social and political life of the town—well, there is very little going on that ever escapes his notice.
I walked in and leaned on the counter, ordering myself a drink. As I expected at this hour in the morning, the proprietor himself was serving at the soda fountain; later on when school should be out, he would be assisted by several young boys.
“Nice town, this,” I commented heartily. “You’ve been here quite a long time, haven’t you?”
“Since the war,” he replied, wiping off the marble counter with a wad of cheesecloth. “I was in Panama for two years then.”
“Friendly sort of place, isn’t it?” I inquired.
“Oh, yes,” he answered, “I know most of the people around here very well.”
“I’ve been driving about a bit, waiting for a friend to show up at the Inn,” I explained mendaciously. “Tell me, who owns the garage across the street?”
Thus by easy stages I led him to talk about every one of the places I had marked down on my list as a likely spot for Edwin’s visits, always supposing him to be using the route I had traced. When I left the affable druggist after giving him my opinion on the window decoration he was working up for an advertising contest, feeling that I had all the information possible to gather, I wrote down the facts he had given me and I realized the impossibility of combing through the list until we knew the nature of the business which led Edwin on his devious path. Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief, all had their homes within easy reach of the road I had followed, but not a single shady character to give color to my suspicions.
I gave it up. All I could do now was to attempt to get on the track of the second car, which I more than half suspected must exist somewhere. But my luck was no better than it was in finding any trace of the girl. No one in Belton seemed to know anything of any further help to me; or, if they did, I could not get it out of them.
This seemed to be as far as I could go without the help of another consultation with my chief. I turned my car back to Bayside and hastened home to make my report. Great was my disappointment to find John Patrick out and no message left for me. He returned shortly before dinner, however, and I had time to tell him about the alley-way back of the theater and the places I had gone from it. His delight in my success in this respect made me feel better, when I had to confess it was the sum total of my positive results.
“Never mind, son, I think we have something else to work on.”
He drew a small package out of his pocket and, unwrapping it, disclosed a lace handkerchief such as a woman might use in the evening.
“What on earth?” I inquired. I could see that it was brand-new, just as it had left the store.
John Patrick chuckled. “This is bait for the clue of the vanity case. You see, this noon, while you were gone, Edwin came in in a towering rage. It seems that he and his brother occupy a suite similar to this one and immediately above.”
I nodded my comprehension. The house was arranged with a series of suites on the two top floors; the largest had been occupied by the late owner, and the one we now occupied had been used by Tom. When Bayside changed masters, Tom had installed himself in the master’s suite, giving us this one. The other rooms on the floor were guest chambers with bath, but lacking the dressing-room. Edwin and Charles had continued to live in their joint quarters on the floor above, and I was not surprised to learn that there had been a dissension to this arrangement. It had not been exactly ideal, even when Cyrus ruled with iron hand.
“The quarrel arose because Edwin claimed that his brother had been prying into his things. Then Charles came out with the cool remark that Edwin’s real pique was caused by Charles’ discovery of the existence of his brother’s inamorata. Edwin blew up completely, and from the conversation following, I am more sure than ever that the girl is the key to the mystery—or at least plays a major part in the drama.”
“She might furnish a motive,” I suggested slowly. “Perhaps he wishes to marry her and she is coyly hanging back, insisting on more money. At least, Edwin could not have brought a bride to live here as long as his uncle was alive and, until he died, there wasn’t much of any place he could go. How are we going to find out where she lives?”
“Oh, a lady in the picture presents several fascinating
possibilities. As to finding out where she lives, we are going to let Edwin show us—hence the handkerchief. Our first experiment will be to plant this obviously feminine appurtenance in his car, and see if he is good at returning lost articles.”
“You think he will take it to her?” I queried. “What shall we do, follow him?”
“Would you take it back?” parried John Patrick, replying to the first part of my question. “If he is keeping steady company with her, as we used to call it, he’ll be glad of an excuse to see her again. But as for our following him, no, it would be too dangerous. Of course, we can check his mileage to see how far he goes—we’ll do it anyway, just as an extra precaution—but I think I know where he’ll take the car.”
“Where?” I asked, too bewildered to think clearly. “To the Crystal Palace, of course.”
“You think he goes through all this hocus-pocus to see a girl?”
“Just a girl, may be a pretty big factor in the mystery, Bob. At least, we can’t afford to neglect her. Now since we expect him to go to the theater anyhow on the fifteenth of December, just as he has been doing for the past six months; if my hunch is a proper one, we don’t have to wait until the fifteenth, and we get two opportunities to find out where he goes, instead of one. You see, Charles is nobody’s fool and he knows something about this girl, although I don’t think he knows who she is; but just that one little mention of her drove Edwin nearly crazy, especially the insinuation she lived near here. If it is true and she lives in or near Belton, then he uses the Crystal Palace as a means of getting to see her—well, what chance he was with her the afternoon his uncle was killed? Then, since she didn’t come forward and say so, who is she and why the reticence?”
“I see,” I exclaimed. “If he switched to another car at Belton, it was her car he used. Do you suppose my man at the restaurant is in this business?”
“It is certainly a possibility. Now for our plans. You slip out, the first chance you get, and plant the handkerchief in his car. No, don’t put it in your pocket as it is; crumple it up a bit, and for heaven’s sake remove the price tag. Then, once the handkerchief is in place, keep an eye on Edwin. When he has a chance to find it, wait until he leaves the house in his car; then go like mad in that toy of yours over to Belton and park it at the end of the passage-way on the country road and take care it cannot be seen. Wait there long enough to give the girl a chance to come down and meet Edwin with a car; I don’t really believe she does, for that would presuppose a method of forewarning her when he was coming, and I don’t think they are in communication at all. But wait long enough to eliminate the possibility and then get back as fast as you can to, say, a half-way point on the mysterious passage-way and await developments. What I hope will happen is, that you will see Edwin on his return from his rendezvous; but if you don’t, provided you have taken your station in good season, then we have proved that he terminates his journey short of this point, and we have something to go on when he makes his scheduled trip, as it were, on the fifteenth, for we are going to trail him in good earnest.”
I was so much excited by the prospect of my new mission that it was not until nearly bedtime I thought to ask John Patrick what the results of his conference with Tom had been. What he told me surprised me not a little, for Tom had insisted on my chief going into Baltimore to convert into cash at once a large parcel of securities, claiming that he felt the need of having ready money at hand. The amount to be converted, however, was large enough to cause delay and considerable worry to my chief, inasmuch as he could not understand the nature of this move.
“Was Tom with you when you got the handkerchief?” I asked.
“No. He left me to go see the D. A.”
“The District Attorney?” I asked, sitting up suddenly. “Has Tom a theory he wants to put before the Prosecutor?”
“I don’t know—he wasn’t very communicative. He said he was going to ask them for his gun, but I noticed that he didn’t have it with him when he joined me. At least, one can’t hide a forty-five very easily.”
Well, it didn’t matter what had taken Tom to the D. A.’s office, I thought. I suspected we were close to the solution of the mystery and, although the exact details were still rather hazy in my mind, I didn’t doubt my own ability to throw a blinding light on the nefarious trail of crime.
Later on, I succeeded in secreting the handkerchief in Edwin’s car without much trouble. In fact, such caution as I exercised was quite superfluous, since the whole household from dinner on was absorbed in the quarrel between Charles and Edwin. It flared forth again, this time with no mention of the girl, and waxed so furious that Tom finally terminated it by allotting Edwin a room to himself on our floor. The latter wasted no time in taking advantage of the offer and, as I went to bed, the sounds of moving furniture made an obbligato to my thoughts.
FOURTEEN
It could not have been much later than eleven o’clock when I turned out my bedroom light and crossed the floor to open my window before going to bed for the night. I noticed that a wind had risen until a veritable gale rushed against the house, shaking the windows and howling among the trees.
The sounds from above had ceased, but by the noise of scraping furniture proceeding from Edwin’s new quarters on our floor, I judged that Edwin was busy settling himself in his room. Tom’s footsteps sounded along the hall, as he took himself to bed, and just before I fell asleep I heard James’ characteristic shuffle going down the stairs. Edwin had completed his moving and had dismissed the butler for the night.
How long I slept I do not know, but apparently I had drifted from the first stages of deep slumber into a more restless sleep, when I became dimly aware that something was wrong. I lay in bed a few moments, waiting for more complete wakefulness, conscious of something, I knew not what, urging me to rouse myself. The gale outside had died down somewhat, but occasionally the window-frames rattled as if some lonesome ghost of the night-wind sought entrance. The room was inky black, so dark that my eyes, accustomed as they were to the absence of light, could make no more than vague ominous forms out of the familiar furniture. Then out of the sound of the wind came a single stealthy footfall.
I could not locate the direction from which it came, but it signaled that another besides myself was awake in this strange household. Oppressed by the shadow of mystery which Cyrus’ death had cast over Bayside and stirred by the grim warnings John Patrick had let fall, I rose cautiously, donned my bathrobe and slippers, and reached the door leading into the study. As I opened it, it gave out a mournful creak that acted on my overwrought nerves like the crack of a pistol. A silent figure blocked my path, but before I could do more than spring backward an arm caught me and my chief’s voice whispered in my ear, “You’ve done it now, lad, I’m afraid. Keep absolutely quiet for a second.”
A deathly stillness settled down on the old house. Then it trembled, shaken by a gust of wind—the gale was rising again. Simultaneously with the howl of the wind, a faint creaking noise came again to my ears; I thought it came from the floor above, from the bedroom immediately above John Patrick’s. Then a crash of glass, the report of a pistol, and pandemonium broke loose. My chief and I ran together for the stairs, intending to go up to Charles’ room. Just as we passed Edwin’s new quarters, the door to which stood ajar, I heard a loud voice behind me say, “This way, somebody, this way!”
“Go on, Bob!” panted Mr. Vaile. “They have the fellow outside; I’ll go up to Charles’ room and see what damage was done.”
I retraced my steps past my own doorway and past the entrance to the Master’s suite, until I came to the rear stairway. There I found Edwin, slightly out of breath, peering down.
“Got a flashlight?” he asked. “We’ll break our necks in the dark.”
For an answer, I reached up and pressed the wall button, flooding the flight of stairs and the hallway with light.
“I’ll be damned,” said Edwin, peering down. “I heard everybody running around in the dark and thought t
he lights were off at the switch; never occurred to me to try them.”
“Come on, let’s go down,” I suggested.
“No use,” came a disgusted voice from below. “Lord, you fellows are slow.”
We looked down to see Tom coming up, a flashlight in hand. “Well, he got away. I saw him streaking off into the woods, but I don’t know yet what happened, do you?”
We all three looked at one another. “I think there must have been some one in Charles’ room,” I volunteered. “The first sounds I heard of the disturbance came from there.”
“They would,” said Edwin in disgust; while Tom spoke briefly: “Let’s go up and see what the damage was.” We went on up the rear staircase and found Charles and John Patrick sitting in the dressing-room as calmly as if nothing had ever happened.
“What is all this about?” Tom demanded.
Charles turned to him and said in an icy voice, “I was awakened by a door slamming some place. Then, as I thought I heard a noise out here, I got out of bed to investigate, but the beggar was too sharp for me. He must have heard me get up, for he dropped the drawer of the desk and beat it out through the window. I leaned out and fired, but it was so infernally dark I couldn’t see anything. The only thing I had to orient myself by was the crash of the window.”
“Quaint family custom we seem to have, firing at intruders and missing them,” put in Edwin acidly. “It must be my turn next. Keep out of my way, all of you, the family luck might run out and I might actually hit my man. Did you see this bird, too, Tom?”
But when Edwin put it in this fashion, Tom was loath to commit himself. “Darned if I know what to say. The shot woke me up, I think, and I heard some one, or something, outside. I ran downstairs and called to you all, but you were too slow. There was a patch of something dark moving around, but I wouldn’t swear it wasn’t just a shadow cast by the clouds. It’s the darkest night I believe I ever saw.”
Murder at Bayside Page 15