The answer, however, did not come from her.
There was all at once a commotion in the corridor, a woman’s voice, high and thin and excited, heavy footsteps of men. Everyone looked as the core of sounds reached the door and it was the second girl, Ethel Stone, with a policeman at each side. She was excited and there were two bright pink streaks in her cheeks.
“This girl says she knows,” began a policeman but the girl broke in.
Ethel Stone: living obscurely an obscure life. Now for one startling, meteorlike moment she emerged into drama. Her very body was shaken and trembling with it and she gave Dorcas a glazed look which did not perceive.
“The knife,” she said gaspingly, “wasn’t there. And when I went to put out the butter balls there it was again! And there’s a wet towel in the powder room.”
Bench, in the background, came to life.
“Don’t believe her,” he cried. “Don’t believe a word she says. She doesn’t know a thing.”
CHAPTER 16
THE GIRL’S EYES, STILL glazed with excitement, found and fastened upon Wait. She twisted her thin fingers in her apron and cried: “The steak knife. The pantry. I’m telling you the truth.” And told her queer little story and played her small but intensely important role.
Unfortunately the grisly little story had the stamp of truth; she couldn’t possibly have made it up. Bench, called upon to do so, confirmed it, albeit reluctantly and with a look of cold hatred at the girl.
Bench had got out the silver for dinner as it was his duty to do. They were having steak and among other things he had got out a steak knife and fork; the knife was small and, always, extremely sharp.
“I sharpened it,” he said with a smothered gulp. “And put it down on the serving shelf in the butler’s pantry.”
He had then returned to the kitchen.
“What time was that?” asked Wait.
“I’m not sure. About six, I think.”
“Go on.”
While he was in the kitchen Ethel had come into the pantry and proceeded on into the dining room to lay the cloth for dinner and to arrange the flowers.
“Roses. Pink ones, they was. And the knife was gone. Everything else was there but the knife was gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, Mr Wait. I looked for it. I thought Mr Bench had forgotten it. Everything else we would need was there on the tray but not the steak knife. I looked in the silver drawers for it and didn’t find it so I decided that Mr Bench was sharpening it in the kitchen.”
“Did you ask Bench about the knife?”
“No sir. I finished the table and went back to the kitchen and started making butter balls. I forgot about the knife. I was busy in the kitchen for—oh, quite a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know exactly. Twenty minutes, I expect. But when I finished the butter balls and put them in a dish with ice and took them to the pantry serving shelf there—there was the knife again. Beside the fork. Bright and shining with its edge freshly sharpened——”
“Get the knife,” said Wait. There was a slight stir as the policeman went away. Wait looked at Ethel again.
“Did you touch the knife?”
“Oh no, sir. I just now remembered it and went to look to be sure the knife was still there and the policeman asked me what I was looking for and I pointed at the knife and told him and he——”
“‘Did you touch the knife?” Wait asked Bench.
“Not after I got it out and sharpened it, sir. I didn’t know it was gone—I don’t think it was gone. Ethel’s trying to make out that somebody took the knife and killed Mr Pett with it and then brought it back again.”
Ethel blinked once and said, somehow clinchingly, “And there’s a wet towel in the powder room.”
It was the second time she had talked of a wet towel. Wait said: “What about it? What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean it’s all wet. Soaked in water and wrung out. It’s not just damp and spotty and crumpled as if somebody had dried their hands on it. There’s several towels in the room; I put out fresh ones in the evening and in the morning. Unless we’re having company, when I’m supposed to change them during dinner. Well, I looked in the powder room just now and there’s a wet towel there and I think it had blood on it and the blood was washed out. Cold water,” said Ethel with those feverish streaks of color burning in her cheeks, “takes out bloodstains.”
Someone else that night, thought Dorcas, had talked of the powder room. Someone—Sophie, of course. She had asked her, Dorcas, if she’d been in the powder room that night. Sophie, then, had seen the wet towel, too, had grasped its implications.
A steak knife and a small linen towel. Dorcas knew the steak knife; short, extremely sharp, with a shining, razorlike edge, sturdy and strong as a dagger. A wound such as that one made in Marcus’ throat had to be made by something extremely sturdy and strong, something terribly sharp. And even then there would have to be a certain amount of force behind it.
Who would know of the steak knife? The answer, of course, was: someone in the house. Someone who had seen the knife before. Someone who knew where to find it. Yet—yet couldn’t someone who had entered the house—as the murderer of Marcus Pett must have done, cried something desperate and frightened in her heart—couldn’t some stranger, wanting a knife, have thought of the pantry? Yes, certainly; and he could have watched his chance to enter and there found, obligingly laid out for him by a coincidence that was, really, no coincidence, the very weapon. Short, strong, sharp.
The policeman returned with the knife, holding it gingerly with a scrap of tissue paper. The knife caught a wicked, swift gleam of light.
Wait took it lightly in his fingers and looked at it. Everyone in the room looked, too, as if the thing might speak to them. It was to Dorcas poignantly familiar. How many times had Marcus sat at their table and idly watched the use of that knife! Had he never had a premonition, had he never felt the smallest, faintest chill when that thin blade turned and cut and glittered?
“There’s no blood on it,” said Wait. “Unless there’s some around the handle or in the initial. Might be. Take it to the laboratory, McGill, and get a report as soon as you can.”
Everyone watched as the policeman’s big hand took the knife. He went out of the room and Wait followed him.
No one knew quite what to do. They waited in unearthly stiffness and stillness until finally Wait returned.
“Bench.”
“Yes—yes sir.”
Wait looked at Dorcas and said to Bench: “You say that when Pett arrived tonight you opened the door for him?”
“Yes sir.”
“What did he say?”
“He came into the house and gave me his hat and coat and stick and——”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he—he said he came to see Madam and I started toward the stairs to announce him when he said not to announce him; that he’d go right up.”
“Was this customary?”
“Well, yes and no. Madam often receives her friends in her own drawing room on the second floor——”
“I mean, was it customary not to announce him?”
“No sir. But Mr Pett being almost a member of the family, I thought nothing of it and did as I was told.”
“And that was?”
“I put his coat and hat and stick in the closet beside the door and asked if he wished a scotch and soda. He looked very tired and it was his favorite drink. He was in the drawing room at that point, warming his hands over the fire. He said no. Said it sharply and looked annoyed and I went back to the dining room.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t know exactly. A little after six, I would say.”
“Before or after you had put out the silver for dinner?”
Bench went green around the mouth.
“After.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went to the kitchen and w
ent on about my work.”
“Was the steak knife on the shelf where you had placed it at the time you went through the butler’s pantry?”
“I—I don’t know. I don’t know, Mr Wait. I didn’t notice and that’s the truth.”
“So the last you saw of Pett, he was standing in the drawing room beside the fire, warming his hands?”
“Yes sir. That’s right. Until Miss Dorcas screamed.”
“Get Mrs Whipple down here——”
A policeman started toward the door before Wait had finished.
Dorcas cried: “Oh no, please. My mother is ill.”
“I’ll go up there. I must question her, Mrs Locke. I’ll do so in the presence of her doctor, and you, too, if you insist. Look here, Bench; did Mr Pett arrive before or after Mr Locke had gone?”
“After,” cried Bench earnestly. “After. I can swear to that. Mr Locke was out of the house and gone fully a quarter of an hour before Mr Pett arrived. And Mr Devany had gone at least two hours——”
“Devany! Was he here this afternoon?”
“Only for a moment, sir. He asked for Miss Whipple—that is, Mrs Locke—and when I told him she was out he said he’d only called to see how she was; that it was nothing important. He went away then.”
“Are you sure he went away?”
“Mr Devany?” said Bench in surprise. “Oh yes, sir. His car was waiting and he was driving himself. I saw him get into it and go slowly up the street. It was the woman in the checked coat who didn’t——” Light broke in Bench’s pale face and he cried eagerly: “She didn’t leave, sir! At least no one saw her leave! She said she’d wait for Miss Dorcas and then she didn’t and——”
“What woman?” snapped Wait and listened to the vague and inconclusive story of the woman in the checked coat. The blond woman in the green hat and scarf who had not waited.
“And you don’t know who it was?”
“No.”
“And no one saw her leave?”
“She just vanished, sir,” said Bench eagerly.
“She’s not in the house now, Mr Wait,” said the sergeant. “There’s nobody at all in the house but the members of the household. We’ve searched every inch. Shall I put a man on it?”
“Yes, at once. You’re got her description…Now then, Mrs Locke, Pett managed your business affairs, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Up to now. His trusteeship ended automatically with my marriage.”
“Yes, I know. Had he already turned over your property to you?”
“Yes. That is, he had brought all his reports; they are here now. We haven’t had time to do anything about his reports yet and we asked him to take care of things until we—until I return from my wedding trip.”
“I’d better take those reports. Had you ever had any reason to suppose that Pett was not altogether honest?”
“None. My mother and I would have trusted him with anything we possessed.”
“You can’t take those reports,” said Jevan from the doorway. “You have no right to.”
Wait whirled around. “Didn’t I tell you to keep him out?”
“I couldn’t help it, Mr Wait,” said a policeman breathlessly. “He wouldn’t stay and short of knocking him out——”
“It wouldn’t have hurt him,” said Wait morosely. “Look here, Locke, if you and your wife are innocent you can’t object to inquiry and you ought to be willing to do everything in your power to help.”
“I am,” said Jevan unexpectedly. “And I will.” He came into the room. He didn’t look at Dorcas; she wouldn’t have thought that he recognized her presence at all except for the fact that somehow he managed to stand between her and Wait.
“There are one or two things outside your inquiry that might affect it,” he said. “I’ll tell you what they are. This house has been entered twice, at night. We don’t know who entered it or why. Last night somebody telephoned here in the middle of the night; whoever it was telephoned from Marcus Pett’s house and Marcus said he didn’t. There was what I believe to be an attempt to steal some or all of the reports of Marcus’ trusteeship; we are going to have the reports examined by a certified accountant. But we’ll do it; not you. You can’t object to that. To the best of my knowledge Marcus was absolutely honest but I know he was short of money himself and—why I don’t know—tried to borrow some a few months ago. Ask me any questions you want to. But leave my wife out of this.”
“I can’t leave her out of it,” said Jacob Wait after a moment, speaking rather softly. “She’s in it and you’re in it, Locke. Up to your neck.”
There was a stir at the door, interrupting them. Someone said: “Here she is,” and Sophie, still in green satin, came slowly into the room, the policeman behind her. She didn’t wait for the detective to question her but began to speak immediately.
“Oh, it’s you that wants to know about the powder room,” she said to Wait. “Yes, I was in the room. And I was in it after the murder while your policemen were all over the house. Why not?”
“Did you wash bloodstains from a towel and hang it over a rod to dry?”
“No,” she said instantly. “Certainly not.”
Sophie was lying; Dorcas knew it as certainly as she had ever known anything in her life. She remembered Sophie’s pink hands, looking as if they had just been scrubbed in soap and water.
Dorcas could not tell whether Wait accepted it or not. He gave Sophie a brief, thoughtful look and went back to Jevan, as if there had been no interruption.
“Ill listen to anything you’ve got to say. What are your reasons for claiming the house has been entered at night?”
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” said Jevan and did it fully then and there except that he did not mention Ronald’s death or his own and Dorcas’ actions on the night of Ronald’s murder.
Wait stopped him occasionally to question.
“Pett said he would continue to manage your wife’s affairs?”
“For the time being, yes.”
“Would you say he leaped at the chance to postpone an inquiry into his reports?”
Jevan hedged. “Not that exactly. He did offer to take the reports away with him.”
Once the detective swerved unexpectedly to the woman in the checked coat.
“Do you know who this woman was?”
“I didn’t see her.”
“Is there anyone connected with either Pett or Drew who would answer the description your man gave us?”
“I couldn’t answer that either. Do you mean …” Jevan stopped.
Wait said: “If you were going to ask if there’s a connection between Drew’s murder and Pett’s, I would say it is fairly obvious. I don’t know yet who killed Drew and I don’t know yet who killed Pett. But there is certainly a link.” He was looking thoughtfully at Dorcas. He addressed her directly:
“About this business of the telephone call and your experience in the hall that night: did you actually see anyone?”
“No.”
“You only heard a sound?”
“Yes. As if the door to the laundry chute had closed.”
“I see,” said Wait.
It was after that that the detective questioned Cary.
He permitted Dorcas to be present. Dorcas and a man with a notebook who stood in the shadow of the gilded french screen beside the door. Cary lay in the middle of the great bed, with the bedlight shaded from her face, and looked at them.
There were bottles on the bed table and a glass or two and a carafe of water. Cary’s little face, surrounded by its soft halo of light hair, was white and still against the smooth pillow. She wore a delicate, lacy bed jacket and her little, slender hands with faint blue veins in them clutched at the edge of the white silk cover which otherwise was without a wrinkle, as if she had not moved since it was adjusted. She said gently, “Won’t you sit down, Mr Wait?”
He did so, in one of Pennyforth Whipple’s great, solid armchairs. Dorcas hoped he would see at once how small and gentl
e she was; how fragile and sweet. How utterly impossible it would be for Cary Whipple to hurt anything in the world.
She could discover, however, nothing of this comprehension in Wait’s face.
“You knew of the murder then?” he said.
Cary answered instantly. All her replies, indeed, were very prompt, almost taking the words from Wait’s mouth.
“Yes. My maid told me. I insisted on knowing what had happened.”
“Did you know of the circumstances of the murder?”
“My daughter found him. In the hall leading to the study. A knife …” said Cary on a quick breath and stopped.
“When did you first know of the murder?”
“It must have been about seven. A little after seven, for I had just finished dressing and was about to go down when Mamie came. I made her tell me the truth. She sent for my doctor.”
“You did not see Pett when he came?”
“Oh no. No. I was here—in my room; I’ve been here since shortly after five. I—I was resting and then about six I began to dress. I didn’t hear anything; I suppose the water was running in my bathroom. Mamie said my daughter screamed——”
“Did you expect Pett to dinner?”
Dorcas tried to take her mother’s hand but the little fingers would not relinquish their clutch on the bedcover.
“No, I did not expect him to dinner. I did—expect him, however. He had telephoned to me, you see; I took the call at my telephone here. It was about five o’clock. He—he just said that he was coming. That he wanted to see me.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s all.”
“What was it he wanted to talk to you about?”
“But I—I don’t know. He didn’t say. I have no idea what it was.”
“What would you say,” said Wait slowly, “if someone suggested that Pett had embezzled money? Your money?”
“You mean Dorcas’ money,” said Cary. “I would say that he had not. But if he had, he would have told me. He would have known that we would help him to replace it. He would have confessed it to me; I’m sure he would have confessed. Did he”—she turned her little head quickly toward Dorcas—“did he take money, Dorcas? Do they know he did that?”
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