The Circular Staircase

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XX

  DOCTOR WALKER'S WARNING

  Warner was on his knees in a moment, fumbling at the old man's collarto loosen it, but Halsey caught his hand.

  "Let him alone?" he said. "You can't help him; he is dead."

  We stood there, each avoiding the other's eyes; we spoke low andreverently in the presence of death, and we tacitly avoided any mentionof the suspicion that was in every mind. When Mr. Jamieson hadfinished his cursory examination, he got up and dusted the knees of histrousers.

  "There is no sign of injury," he said, and I know I, for one, drew along breath of relief. "From what Warner says and from his hiding inthe closet, I should say he was scared to death. Fright and a weakheart, together."

  "But what could have done it?" Gertrude asked. "He was all right thisevening at dinner. Warner, what did he say when you found him on theporch?"

  Warner looked shaken: his honest, boyish face was colorless.

  "Just what I told you, Miss Innes. He'd been reading the paperdown-stairs; I had put up the car, and, feeling sleepy, I came down tothe lodge to go to bed. As I went up-stairs, Thomas put down the paperand, taking his pipe, went out on the porch. Then I heard anexclamation from him."

  "What did he say?" demanded Jamieson.

  "I couldn't hear, but his voice was strange; it sounded startled. Iwaited for him to call out again, but he did not, so I wentdown-stairs. He was sitting on the porch step, looking straight ahead,as if he saw something among the trees across the road. And he keptmumbling about having seen a ghost. He looked queer, and I tried toget him inside, but he wouldn't move. Then I thought I'd better go upto the house."

  "Didn't he say anything else you could understand?" I asked.

  "He said something about the grave giving up its dead."

  Mr. Jamieson was going through the old man's pockets, and Gertrude wascomposing his arms, folding them across his white shirt-bosom, alwaysso spotless.

  Mr. Jamieson looked up at me.

  "What was that you said to me, Miss Innes, about the murder at thehouse being a beginning and not an end? By jove, I believe you wereright!"

  In the course of his investigations the detective had come to the innerpocket of the dead butler's black coat. Here he found some things thatinterested him. One was a small flat key, with a red cord tied to it,and the other was a bit of white paper, on which was written somethingin Thomas' cramped hand. Mr. Jamieson read it: then he gave it to me.It was an address in fresh ink--

  LUCIEN WALLACE, 14 Elm Street, Richfield.

  As the card went around, I think both the detective and I watched forany possible effect it might have, but, beyond perplexity, there seemedto be none.

  "Richfield!" Gertrude exclaimed. "Why, Elm Street is the main street;don't you remember, Halsey?"

  "Lucien Wallace!" Halsey said. "That is the child Stewart spoke of atthe inquest."

  Warner, with his mechanic's instinct, had reached for the key. What hesaid was not a surprise.

  "Yale lock," he said. "Probably a key to the east entry."

  There was no reason why Thomas, an old and trusted servant, should nothave had a key to that particular door, although the servants' entrywas in the west wing. But I had not known of this key, and it openedup a new field of conjecture. Just now, however, there were manythings to be attended to, and, leaving Warner with the body, we allwent back to the house. Mr. Jamieson walked with me, while Halsey andGertrude followed.

  "I suppose I shall have to notify the Armstrongs," I said. "They willknow if Thomas had any people and how to reach them. Of course, Iexpect to defray the expenses of the funeral, but his relatives must befound. What do you think frightened him, Mr. Jamieson?"

  "It is hard to say," he replied slowly, "but I think we may be certainit was fright, and that he was hiding from something. I am sorry inmore than one way: I have always believed that Thomas knew something,or suspected something, that he would not tell. Do you know how muchmoney there was in that worn-out wallet of his? Nearly a hundreddollars! Almost two months' wages--and yet those darkies seldom have apenny. Well--what Thomas knew will be buried with him."

  Halsey suggested that the grounds be searched, but Mr. Jamieson vetoedthe suggestion.

  "You would find nothing," he said. "A person clever enough to get intoSunnyside and tear a hole in the wall, while I watched down-stairs, isnot to be found by going around the shrubbery with a lantern."

  With the death of Thomas, I felt that a climax had come in affairs atSunnyside. The night that followed was quiet enough. Halsey watched atthe foot of the staircase, and a complicated system of bolts on theother doors seemed to be effectual.

  Once in the night I wakened and thought I heard the tapping again. Butall was quiet, and I had reached the stage where I refused to bedisturbed for minor occurrences.

  The Armstrongs were notified of Thomas' death, and I had my firstinterview with Doctor Walker as a result. He came up early the nextmorning, just as we finished breakfast, in a professional looking carwith a black hood. I found him striding up and down the living-room,and, in spite of my preconceived dislike, I had to admit that the manwas presentable. A big fellow he was, tall and dark, as Gertrude hadsaid, smooth-shaven and erect, with prominent features and a squarejaw. He was painfully spruce in his appearance, and his manner wasalmost obtrusively polite.

  "I must make a double excuse for this early visit, Miss Innes," he saidas he sat down. The chair was lower than he expected, and his dignityrequired collecting before he went on. "My professional duties areurgent and long neglected, and"--a fall to the every-daymanner--"something must be done about that body."

  "Yes," I said, sitting on the edge of my chair. "I merely wished theaddress of Thomas' people. You might have telephoned, if you werebusy."

  He smiled.

  "I wished to see you about something else," he said. "As for Thomas,it is Mrs. Armstrong's wish that you would allow her to attend to theexpense. About his relatives, I have already notified his brother, inthe village. It was heart disease, I think. Thomas always had a badheart."

  "Heart disease and fright," I said, still on the edge of my chair. Butthe doctor had no intention of leaving.

  "I understand you have a ghost up here, and that you have the housefilled with detectives to exorcise it," he said.

  For some reason I felt I was being "pumped," as Halsey says. "You havebeen misinformed," I replied.

  "What, no ghost, no detectives!" he said, still with his smile. "What adisappointment to the village!"

  I resented his attempt at playfulness. It had been anything but a joketo us.

  "Doctor Walker," I said tartly, "I fail to see any humor in thesituation. Since I came here, one man has been shot, and another onehas died from shock. There have been intruders in the house, andstrange noises. If that is funny, there is something wrong with mysense of humor."

  "You miss the point," he said, still good-naturedly. "The thing thatis funny, to me, is that you insist on remaining here, under thecircumstances. I should think nothing would keep you."

  "You are mistaken. Everything that occurs only confirms my resolutionto stay until the mystery is cleared."

  "I have a message for you, Miss Innes," he said, rising at last. "Mrs.Armstrong asked me to thank you for your kindness to Louise, whosewhim, occurring at the time it did, put her to great inconvenience.Also--and this is a delicate matter--she asked me to appeal to yournatural sympathy for her, at this time, and to ask you if you will notreconsider your decision about the house. Sunnyside is her home; sheloves it dearly, and just now she wishes to retire here for quiet andpeace."

  "She must have had a change of heart," I said, ungraciously enough."Louise told me her mother despised the place. Besides, this is noplace for quiet and peace just now. Anyhow, doctor, while I don't careto force an issue, I shall certainly remain here, for a time at least."

  "For how long?" he asked.

  "My lease is for
six months. I shall stay until some explanation isfound for certain things. My own family is implicated now, and I shalldo everything to clear the mystery of Arnold Armstrong's murder."

  The doctor stood looking down, slapping his gloves thoughtfully againstthe palm of a well-looked-after hand.

  "You say there have been intruders in the house?" he asked. "You aresure of that, Miss Innes?"

  "Certain."

  "In what part?"

  "In the east wing."

  "Can you tell me when these intrusions occurred, and what the purposeseemed to be? Was it robbery?"

  "No," I said decidedly. "As to time, once on Friday night a week ago,again the following night, when Arnold Armstrong was murdered, andagain last Friday night."

  The doctor looked serious. He seemed to be debating some question inhis mind, and to reach a decision.

  "Miss Innes," he said, "I am in a peculiar position; I understand yourattitude, of course; but--do you think you are wise? Ever since youhave come here there have been hostile demonstrations against you andyour family. I'm not a croaker, but--take a warning. Leave beforeanything occurs that will cause you a lifelong regret."

  "I am willing to take the responsibility," I said coldly.

  I think he gave me up then as a poor proposition. He asked to be shownwhere Arnold Armstrong's body had been found, and I took him there. Hescrutinized the whole place carefully, examining the stairs and thelock. When he had taken a formal farewell I was confident of onething. Doctor Walker would do anything he could to get me away fromSunnyside.