CHAPTER III
THE EVIDENCE OF THE CHECKBOOK
Winston Bannard's apartments in New York were comfortable though notluxurious. The Caxton Annex catered to young bachelors who were notmillionaires but who liked to live pleasantly, and Bannard had beencontentedly ensconced there ever since he had left his aunt's home.
He had always been glad he had made the move, for the city life was farmore to his liking than the village ways of Berrien, and if his lawpractice could not be called enormous, it was growing and he haddeveloped some real ability.
Of late he had fallen in with a crowd of men much richer than himself,and association with them had led to extravagance in the matter of cardsfor high stakes, motors of high cost, and high living generally.
The high cost of living is undeniable, and Bannard not infrequentlyfound himself in financial difficulties of more or less depth andimportance.
As he entered his rooms Sunday evening about seven, he found a telegramand a telephone notice from the hotel office. The latter merelyinformed him that Berrien, Connecticut, had called him at four o'clock.The telegram read:
"For Heaven's sake come up here at once. Aunt Ursula is dead."
It was signed Iris, and Bannard read it, standing by the window to catchthe gleams of fading daylight. Then he sank into a chair, and read itover again, though he now knew it by rote.
He was not at all stunned. His alert mind traveled quickly from onethought to another, and for ten minutes his tense, strained position,his set jaw and his occasionally winking eyes betokened successivecogitations on matters of vital importance.
Then he jumped up, looked at his watch, consulted a time-table, and, notwaiting for an elevator, ran down the stairs through that atmosphere ofSunday afternoon quiet, which is perhaps nowhere more noticeable than ina city hotel.
A taxicab, a barely caught train, and before nine o'clock WinstonBannard was at the Berrien railroad station.
Campbell was there to meet him, and as they drove to the house Bannardsat beside the chauffeur that he might learn details of the tragedy.
"But I don't understand, Campbell," Bannard said, "how could she bemurdered, alone in her room, with the door locked? Did she--didn'tshe--kill herself?"
But the chauffeur was close-mouthed. "I don't know, Mr. Bannard," hereturned, "it's all mighty queer, and the detective told me not togossip or chatter about it at all."
"But, my stars! man, it isn't gossip to tell _me_ all there is to tell."
"But there's nothing to tell. The bare facts you know--I've told youthose; as to the rest, the police or Miss Iris must tell you."
"You're right," agreed Bannard. "I'm glad you are not inclined to guessor surmise. There must be some explanation, of course. How about thewindows?"
"Well, you know those windows, Mr. Bannard. They're as securely barredas the ones in the bank, and more so. Ever since Mrs. Pell took thatroom for her treasure room, about eight or ten years ago, they've beenprotected by steel lattice work and that's untouched. That settles thewindows, and there's only the one door, and that Purdy and I broke open.Now, that's all I know about it."
Bannard relapsed into silence, and Campbell didn't speak again untilthey reached the house.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" was the first greeting to the young manas he entered the hall at Pellbrook. It was spoken by Mrs. Bowen, whohad been with Iris ever since she was summoned by telephone, thatafternoon. "It's all so dreadful,--the doctors are examining the bodynow--and the coroner is here--and two detectives--and Iris is soqueer----" the poor little lady quite broke down, in her relief athaving some one to share her responsibility.
"Isn't Mr. Bowen here?" Bannard said, as he followed her into theliving-room.
"No, he had to attend service, he'll come after church. Here is Iris."
The girl did not rise at Bannard's approach, but sat, looking up at him,her face full of inquiry.
"Where have you been?" she demanded; "why didn't you come sooner? Itelegraphed at four o'clock--I telephoned first, but they said--theysaid you were out."
"I was; I only came in at seven, and then I found your messages, and Icaught the first train possible."
"It doesn't matter," said Iris, wearily. "There's nothing you cando--nothing anybody can do. Oh, Win, it's horrible!"
"Of course it is, Iris. But I'm so in the dark. Tell me all about it."
"Oh, I can't. I can't seem to talk about it. Mrs. Bowen will tell you."
The little lady told all she knew, and then, one of the detectivesappeared to question Bannard. He explained his presence and told who hewas and then asked to go into his aunt's sitting room.
"Not just now," said the man, whose name was Hughes, "the doctors arebusy in there, with the coroner."
"Why so late," asked Bannard; "what have they been doing all theafternoon?"
"Doctor Littell came at once," explained Mrs. Bowen, "he's her owndoctor, you know. But that coroner, Doctor Timken, never got here tillthis evening. Why, here's Mr. Chapin!"
Charles Chapin, who was Mrs. Pell's lawyer, entered, and also Mr. Bowen,so there was quite a group in waiting when the doctors came out of theclosed room.
"It's the strangest case imaginable," said Coroner Timken, his facewhite and terrified. "There's not the least possibility of suicide--andyet there's no explanation for a murder."
"Why do you say that?" asked Chapin, who had heard little of thedetails.
"The body is terribly injured. There are livid bruises on her chest,shoulders and upper arms. There are marks on her wrists, as if she hadbeen bound by ropes, and similar marks on her ankles."
"Incredible!" cried Mr. Chapin. "Bound?"
"The marks can mean nothing else. They are as if cords had been tightlydrawn, and on one ankle the stocking is slightly stained with blood."
"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen.
"Yes, and the flesh beneath the stain is abraded round the ankle, andthe skin broken. The other ankle shows slight marks of the cord, but itdid not cut into the flesh on that side. Her wrists, too, show red marksand indentations, as of cords. It is inexplicable."
"But the bruises?" pursued Mr. Chapin, "and the awful wound on herface?"
"There is no doubt that she was attacked for the purpose of robbery.Moreover, the thief was looking for something in particular. It is clearthat he stole money or valuables, but the state of the desk and safeprove a desperate hunt for some paper or article of special value. Alsothe pocket, cut and torn from the skirt, proves a determination tosecure the treasure. As we reconstruct the crime, the intruderintimidated Mrs. Pell by threats and by physical violence; tied herwhile search was made through her room; and then, in a rage ofdisappointment, flung the old lady to the floor, where she hit her headon a sharp-pointed brass knob of the fender. This penetrated her templeand caused her death. These things are facts; also the state of theroom, the overturned table and chairs, the broken lamp, the ransackeddesk and safe--all these are facts; but what theory can account for thedisappearance of the murderer from the locked room?"
There was no answer until Detective Hughes said, "I've always been toldthat the more mysterious and insoluble a crime seems to be, the easierit is to solve it."
"You have, eh?" returned the coroner; "then get busy on this one. It'sbeyond me. Why, that woman's wrist is sprained, if not broken, she hassome internal injuries and she was suffering from shock and fright. Theattack was diabolical! It may be that the murder was unpremeditated, butthe mauling and bruising of the old lady was the work of a strong manand a hardened wretch."
"Why didn't she scream sooner?" asked Hughes, who was listeningintently. He had been detailed on other duties while his confreresinvestigated the scene of the crime.
"Gagged, probably," answered Timken. "There are slight marks at thecorners of her mouth which indicate a gag was used, for a time at least.How long was it," he said abruptly, turning to Iris, "that your aunt wasin that room alone? I mean alone, so far as you knew?"
"I don't know; I was up in m
y own room all the time after dinner, and--Idon't know what time it was when they called me--I seem to have lost alltrack of time----"
"Don't bother the girl," said Mrs. Bowen. "Polly, you tell about thetime."
The servants were in and out of the room, now clustered at the doorway,now hurrying off on errands and back again.
"It musta been about ha' past three when I heard her scream," saidPolly, "or maybe a bit earlier, but not much. I was in the dining room,settin' the sideboard to rights after dinner, and I heard her holler."
"And you went to the door at once?"
"Yes; just 's quick 's I could. But the door was locked----"
"Was that usual?"
"Yes, sir, she often locks it when she takes a nap Sunday afternoons.And then I went and called Purdy, and we couldn't get in."
"Yes, I know about the barred windows and so on. Did you hear anyfurther sounds from Mrs. Pell?"
"Some; sorta movin' around an' faint moanin's. But the truth is--wethought she was a foolin' us."
"Fooling you?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Pell, she was great for jokin'. Many's the time she'shollered, 'Help! Polly!' and when I'd get there, she'd laugh fit to killat me. She was that way, sir. She was always foolin' us."
"Is this true?" asked Timken, turning to the others.
They all corroborated Polly's statements. Even Chapin, the lawyer, toldof jests and tricks his wealthy client had played on him, and WinstonBannard declared he had suffered so much from his aunt's whims that hehad been forced to move away.
"And you, Miss Clyde, did she so tease you?"
"Indeed she did," said Iris. "I think I was her favorite victim.Scarcely a day passed that she did not annoy and distress me by somepractical joke. You know about the ink, this noon----" she turned toMrs. Bowen.
"Yes," said that lady, but she looked grave and thoughtful.
"But surely," pursued the coroner, "one could tell the differencebetween the screams of a victim in mortal agony, and those of a jest!"
"No, sir," and Polly shook her head. "Mrs. Pell was that clever, she'dmake you think she'd been hurt awful, when she was just trickin' you.But, any ways, sir, me an' Purdy we did all we could, and we couldn'tget in. Then Campbell, he come, and helped to break down the door----"
"And you're sure the murderer couldn't have slipped through as youopened the door?"
"Not a chance!" spoke up Campbell. "We smashed it open, the lock justsplintered out of the jamb, as you can see for yourself, and we were allgathered in a clump on this side. No, sir, the room was quiet asdeath--and empty, save for Mrs. Pell, herself."
"And she was dead, then?"
"Yes, sir," asseverated Purdy, solemnly. "I ain't no doctor, but I madesure she was dead. She'd died within a minute or so, she was most aswarm as in life, and the blood was still a flowin' from her head whereshe was struck."
"Did you move anything in the room?"
"No, sir, only so much as was necessary to get around. The table thatwas upset had a 'lectric lamp on it, which had a long danglin' greencord, 'cause it was put in after the reg'lar wirin' was done. I coiledup that 'ere cord, and picked up the pieces of broken glass, so's wecould step around. But I left the bag and pocket-book and all, justwhere they was flung. And the litter from the desk, all over the floor,I didn't touch that, neither--nor I didn't touch the body."
Purdy's voice faltered and his old eyes filled with tears.
"You did well," commended the coroner, nodding his head kindly at him,"just one more question. Was Mrs. Pell in her usual good spiritsyesterday? Did she do anything or say anything that seemed out of theordinary?"
"No," and Purdy shook his head. "I don't think so, do you, Polly?"
"Not that I noticed," said his wife. "She cut up an awful trick on MissIris, but that wasn't to say unusual."
"What was it?" and the coroner listened to an account of the date withink in it. The story was told by Mrs. Bowen, as Iris refused to talk atall.
"A pretty mean trick," was the coroner's opinion. "Didn't you resent it,Miss Clyde?"
"She did not," spoke up the rector, in a decided way. "Miss Clyde is ayoung woman of too much sense and also of too much affection for herdear aunt, to resent a good-humored jest----"
"Good-humored jest!" exclaimed Hughes. "Going some! a jest likethat--spoilin' a young girl's pretty Sunday frock----"
"Never mind, Hughes," reproved Timken, "we're not judging Mrs. Pell'sconduct now. This is an investigation, a preliminary inquiry, rather,but not a judgment seat. Miss Clyde, I must ask that you answer me afew questions. You left your aunt's presence directly after your guestshad departed?"
"Within a few moments of their leaving."
"She was then in her usual health and good spirits?"
"So far as I know."
"Any conversation passed between you?'
"Only a little."
"Amicable?'
"What do you mean by that?"
"Friendly--affectionate--not quarrelsome."
"It was not exactly affectionate, as I told her I was displeased at herspoiling my gown."
"Ah. And what did she say?"
"That she would buy me another."
"Did that content you?"
"I wasn't discontented. I was annoyed at her unkind trick, and I toldher so. That is all."
"Of course that is all," again interrupted Mr. Bowen. "I can answer forthe cordial relationship between aunt and niece and I can vouch for thefact that these merry jests didn't really stir up dissension betweenthese two estimable people. Why, only to-day, Mrs. Pell was dilating onthe wonderful legacies she meant to bestow on Miss Clyde. She alsoreferred to a jeweled chalice for my church, but I am sure theseremarks were in no way prompted by any thought of immediate death. Onthe contrary, she was in gayer spirits than I have ever seen her."
"I think she was over-excited," said Mrs. Bowen, thoughtfully. "Don'tyou, Iris? She was giggling in an almost hysterical manner, it seemed tome."
"I didn't notice," said Iris, wearily. "Aunt Ursula was a creature ofmoods. She was grave or gay without apparent reason. I put up with hersilly jokes usually, but to-day's performance seemed unnecessary andunkind. However, it doesn't matter now."
"No," declared Winston Bannard, "and it does no good to rake over theold lady's queer ways. We all know about her habit of playing tricks,and I, for one, don't wonder that Polly thought she screamed out totrick somebody. Nor does it matter. If Polly hadn't thought that, shecouldn't have done any more than she did do to get into that room assoon as possible. Could she, now?"
"No," agreed the coroner. "Nor does it really affect our problem of howthe murder was committed."
"Let me have a look into that room," said Bannard, suddenly.
"You a detective?" asked Timken.
"Not a bit of it, but I want to see its condition."
"Come on in," said the other. "They've put Mrs. Pell's body on thecouch, but, except for that, nothing's been touched."
Hughes went in with Bannard and the coroner, and the three men werejoined by Lawyer Chapin.
Silently they took in the details. The still figure on the couch, withface solemnly covered, seemed to make conversation undesirable.
Hughes alertly moved about peering at things but touching almostnothing. Bannard and Mr. Chapin stood motionless gazing at the evidencesof crime.
"Got a cigarette?" whispered Hughes to Bannard and mechanically theyoung man took out his case and offered it. The detective took one andthen continued his minute examination of the room and its appointments.
At last he sat down in front of the desk and began to look through suchpapers as remained in place. There were many pigeonholes andcompartments, which held small memorandum books and old letters andstationery.
Hughes opened and closed several books, and then suddenly turned toBannard with this question.
"You haven't been up here to-day, have you, Mr. Bannard? I mean, beforeyou came up this evening."
"N-no, certainly not," was the ans
wer, and the man looked decidedlyannoyed. "What are you getting at, Mr. Hughes?"
"Oh, nothing. Where have you been all day, Mr. Bannard?"
"In New York city.'
"Not been out of it?"
"I went out this morning for a bicycle ride, my favorite form ofexercise. Am I being quizzed?"
"You are. You state that you were not up here, in this room, thisafternoon, about three o'clock?"
"I certainly do affirm that! Why?"
"Because I observe here on the desk a half-smoked cigarette of the samekind you just gave me.
"And you think that is incriminating evidence! A little far-fetched, Mr.Hughes."
"Also, on this chair is a New York paper of to-day's date, and not theone that is usually taken in this house."
"Indeed!" but Winston Bannard had turned pale.
"And," continued Hughes, holding up a check-book, "this last stub inMrs. Pell's check-book shows that she made out to _you to-day_, a checkfor five thousand dollars!"
"What!" cried Mr. Chapin.
"Yes, sir, a check stub, in Mrs. Pell's own writing, dated _to-day_!Where is that check, Mr. Winston Bannard, and when did you get it? Andwhy did you kill your aunt afterward? What were you searching this roomfor? Come, sir, speak up!"
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