Читать книгу The Beautiful Derelict - Carolyn Wells - Страница 6

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As was to be expected, the news Demarest announced after reading the letter that came to him sent Vera Van Zandt into fresh hysterics.

As she began to rant, Demarest rose, and beckoning Stone to follow him, left the room.

A houseman appeared, and ushered them to a small reception-room.

“Can I give you anything?” he asked.

“Only some information,” Stone returned, smiling a little. “Is Mrs Van Zandt always so emotional?”

“Not always, sir, but always when under sudden stress of trouble or excitement. She is a tempestuous lady—”

“She is, indeed,” Demarest said. “Now, I want you to leave Mr Stone and myself in here, uninterrupted, for a time. If either Mr Wayne wants to see us, we will go to him, but nobody else must intrude.”

“Yes, sir,” and the man departed, closing the door after him.

“Complicated case, eh?” Demarest said, with a puzzled frown. “Ought to be one after your own heart.”

“Looks like it,” and Stone frowned too. “Nothing much to take hold of yet, though. Now, Mr Demarest, you desired my services, if I remember rightly, and the Wayne brothers, jointly and severally, have asked me to stay here and take charge of the matter. I mean stay in Sand Hill. I shall go to a hotel, though I’d rather stay in this house.”

“Haven’t they asked you to do that?”

“Yes, but perfunctorily. And the Hotel might be a better plan. Or, I might go there and, if they want me here, I could come later. It seems to me a complicated, and uncertain matter. I feel that it will not be solved easily or quickly. You, of course, cannot remain here to work on it?”

“No; my work is too varied and widespread to stay here on this case. That’s why I have asked you to do it. But I want to be kept informed of progress or of difficulties in which I can be of assistance. Use your own judgment as to staying at a hotel in Sand Hill, or staying here. Count on me for anything you want in my department, or for any aid I can give. Now, shall I tell you about the death of Van Zandt?”

“Yes, do.”

“This letter is from the laboratory where the organs of the dead man were sent for further examination. Mr Stone, I can’t help feeling that it was at your request that was done.”

“Yes, it was. I saw that the stomach of Mr Van Zandt showed an escharotic condition, which did not denote stomach ulcers but something much more significant. It showed a caustic substance, which I took to be metallic sodium. I spoke of this to the doctor who conducted the autopsy, and suggested that he look further than he had so far done. He said he had been hurried, which was doubtless true, but that there might be some foreign matter there. As his letter says, there was, and it was metallic sodium. The result of this, taken into the stomach, is an almost immediate collapse, and an ensuing death in a few hours. The appearance of the tortured stomach is so like that resulting from real ulcers that a most careful doctor can scarcely suspect poison, unless definitely looking for it.”

“And so, the two men were murdered?” Demarest’s shock was unfeigned.

“Yes, as I see it. In that case, which was murdered first?”

“After about twenty-four hours, I fear that can never be answered.”

“But we must endeavor to do so.”

“Of course; and that’s why I want you to carry on. It will mean time, hard work, research, and all the other helps you have to put on the job.”

“That I guarantee. Have you a suspicion of anybody, Mr Demarest?”

“No, I can’t say that I have. In fact, I can’t seem to see any motive.”

“Nor can I. But just because the whole affair is so very much mixed up, I have a feeling that something will break loose and show us in what direction to look.”

“Let us hope so. Now, suppose we talk things over with our host, or with his brother.”

Stone pushed a bell button and there appeared the man who had brought them to the room.

A long, lank, lean New Englander, who said his name was Hezekiah, and added that Mr Dan and Mr Pat would like to see them, when their conference was over.

“We’re ready now,” Demarest told him. “Shall we go with you?”

“No, sir, the gentlemen will come to you here.”

He went away, and in a moment the brothers Wayne came in, closed the door and sat down.

“Now, may we know about Mr Van Zandt’s murder?” It was Dan who spoke, in a somewhat querulous voice, as if annoyed.

But Stone thought it was only an unconscious result of the nerve-racking incidents that followed one another so swiftly.

“We can’t help being curious,” Pat said, as if in apology; “but naturally we want to know about our guest as well as our boy. If they were both murdered, do we conclude the crimes were committed by the same person?”

“That’s yet to be seen,” Demarest told him; and Stone added:

“If by the same criminal, Mr Wayne, can you form any opinion as to who he might be?”

“No; and to my mind it makes the mystery all the deeper. For, so far as I know, Barry and Van had few friends in common and no enemies.”

“A murderer does not have to be an enemy,” Dan Wayne said, with a somber face.

“That’s cryptic, Dan,” his brother told him; “what does it mean?”

“I have my own theory of the scene,” Dan said; “suppose a criminal was on board the yacht, and was there to kill Van Zandt. Suppose he did kill him, Mr Demarest says he was killed, and suppose Barry saw the crime so that the murderer had to kill Barry to be sure of his own safety. He was not necessarily Barry’s enemy, but he killed him, you see.”

“Imagination, Dan,” said Pat, looking kindly at his brother, “pure imagination.”

“Aren’t all reconstructions that?” Dan asked.

“Yes, but they have a little more truth to be based upon. Am I right, Mr Stone?”

“In general, oh, yes. But you’ve no idea how many bits of evidence depend on distorted facts or mistaken reports.”

“Just how shall you begin to verify or sort out your facts and evidence, Mr Stone?” Dan inquired, with deep interest.

“There are so few facts and so little evidence as yet, that it is difficult to decide what to do. But my usual course is to collect and tabulate all available facts; then to get together all the evidence and collate and connote that, and hope that some light will shine through the chaos.”

“We should be glad if you two would make your home with us, while you are working on the case,” Dan said, cordially.

“It will not be possible for me to remain here at all,” Demarest assured him. “I must go back to my post this evening; Mr Stone, of course, can speak for himself. But first of all we must turn the case over to the local police of Nantucket. We are not sure the crime was committed in this county, yet we do not know to the contrary, and we do know this was the home of the yacht’s owner and the visiting place of his guest. Once in the hands of the local police, this point may be made clear. Mr Stone, being a free lance, can make what arrangements he likes. I should be glad to remain with the case, but my orders are clear on the point and cannot be disregarded.”

“There has been, then, no inquest on the body of Mr Van Zandt?” Dan asked.

“No,” Demarest told him; “that will be at the discretion of the local force.”

“It is really an unprecedented case,” observed Stone. “Perhaps unparalleled.”

“It is certainly unique in my experience,” Demarest agreed. “Procedure would be clear if we knew where the crimes were committed. If on the high seas my department would, of course, retain control to the end. If within the waters of any state that state’s Prosecuting Attorney must take up the matter. As we have, so far, no knowledge of the exact locality of the yacht at the time of the two deaths, we must make the most rigorous investigation to learn all we can about it. It remains to be seen, if it can be seen, whether the case belongs to the local police or the Federal authorities, and neither can evade the responsibility of the search for the truth. Either force, too, would, I am sure, welcome the assistance and advice of Mr Fleming Stone, an investigator of nation-wide reputation. I think I may say that he will be an impartial worker, and any facts he may learn will be announced to us all.”

“I agree generally, with all Mr Demarest has said,” Stone told them. “The very fact that the case is so peculiar and unusual makes us resort to unusual methods. We have no known criminal nor any logical suspect. We know almost nothing of the time, place or circumstances of the double crime. We know of no motive, we have seen no weapons. Until we can learn the answers to these questions, we cannot decide whose case it is. It is my opinion, therefore, that we continue the work of investigation, by all who may possibly be in a position of responsibility, and hope by coöperation, if in amity, to arrive at the truth.”

“That sounds like good logic, Mr Stone,” said Pat Wayne, nodding his head in agreement. “And if it suits your convenience, I hope you will decide to stay here at Lang Syne with us. Barry’s mother never liked the old Inn name, and christened the place Auld Lang Syne, because she had many happy memories of it in earlier days. There are any number of rooms, from which you may select as many as you wish.”

“Yes, Mr Stone,” Dan said, cordially, “we’ll be glad to have you here, and I’m sure we can make you comfortable. We can transport you any place you’ll want to go; we have many varieties of boats, motors, airplanes and a sidebar buggy.”

“I shall be very glad to accept your hospitality, for a time at least, until I begin to see through the darkness of this opening scene. I’m sure I can conduct my investigation better from here than from the hotels in town. And I hope and trust I can solve the mysteries that have so suddenly come into your life. I’m sure you will be glad to welcome Mr Demarest, whenever he wants to come here for conference.”

“We shall always welcome Mr Demarest, whatever his reason for coming,” Pat said, cordially; “and will the Nantucket police be traipsing in and out, too?”

“I daresay they will, Mr Wayne,” and Demarest looked sympathetic. “But nothing is too bothersome if we achieve our end, and find the villain who killed your nephew.”

“That’s right!” and Pat looked belligerent. “Call on me, Mr Stone, for any least thing I can do to help.”

The men from the Nantucket police, who had been telephoned for, came then.

Demarest looked with interest at the tall and bulky Inspector Cox and the dapper Sergeant Bascom.

“You’ll be having a hard nut to crack, Inspector,” Demarest said.

“I’m thinkin’ so,” and the shock of gray hair that crowned Cox’s head seemed to stand on end in his excitement. “But to catch any vilyun that done for our Barry Wayne . . . well, he won’t get away from me, if I have half a chance.”

“That’s good talk. And our husky young Sergeant here will be right at your left wing, I take it. Go to it, Inspector. Find out where the Hotspur was when some one boarded her with malice aforethought and carried out that malice to the limit.”

Inspector Cox sighed deeply.

“Easy to say, sir, but not so easy to do, when a feller has no ‘Information’ to call, so to speak. I’ve often thought that people, on the telephone, you know, don’t make use of Information as often as they might. She knows a heap, that girl does, yet lots of people never think of calling her up. Well, in this case, not having any Information to call, what can I do? Just depend on intuition, I guess. I got plenty of that, anyhow.”

“Is it always right?” asked Demarest, smiling.

“Most gen’ally,” returned Cox, placidly. “Whuffore, I propose to begin at the beginning, and trace the track of that yacht, mile by mile, until I know her route to the dot.”

“A good plan,” said Stone, heartily. “I think we shall get along together, Cox. Don’t let your intuitions run away with you, that’s all.”

“No; my Sergeant here is a check on me. Many a time he says, ‘Don’t foller your intuitions too far.’ And sometimes he checks me off just in time.”

“We’re coming in,” said a determined voice, as the door opened, and Vera Van Zandt and Jane Holt appeared. It was Vera who spoke, and she went right on. “I can’t see any reason why we’re barred from all the talk about this affair when Jane and I are the principal sufferers.”

“That’s just the reason, Vera,” said Pat, kindly; “we want to spare you both all the harrowing details possible.”

“Dad went over to the Club,” Jane said, as she crossed the room and sat beside Dan, whom she had long looked on as a second father. “Vera and I felt lonely, so we came along here.”

“I was fed up with Mrs Mingle’s condolences,” Vera stated, “she nearly drove me mad with her conventional sympathy.”

“I thought Ming was very nice,” Jane said, with a sad little smile. “She loved Barry so, and I liked to hear her tell about him as a boy.”

“You would be apt to know, Miss Holt,” Stone said. “Did young Wayne expect to go anywhere before he went to Newport?”

“No, Mr Stone, I’m sure he didn’t. He wanted to get to the Mannings’ as soon as possible. We wondered which of us would get there first.”

“He was sailing over?”

“He said he would sail at first, but if the wind veered, or failed, he’d turn on the motor.”

“Which he evidently did.”

“Yes, the wind slackened about ten minutes after they left the Clubhouse. We found that out, while we were at the Mannings’, wondering where they were.”

“Oh, we telephoned everybody,” exclaimed Vera, “I was crazy with fear that something had happened to Elkins, and I called up several of his friends.”

“And no one knew anything about him?”

“Oh, yes; Johnny May saw the Hotspur about ten o’clock, scudding south.”

“Why would they go south?”

“Ah, Mr Stone, that’s just what I asked myself. Why, why would Barry go south, when he was crazy to get to Newport?”

“Where was the yacht then?”

“I’m not perfectly sure, but I think they were off Martha’s Vineyard.”

“Well, there’s a starter for you, Inspector,” Stone said, looking at Cox and his Sergeant.

“And we’ll follow it up,” said the Inspector as he rose to go. “I’ll come back here, Mr Wayne, this evening, or to-morrow morning, jest as you say.”

He looked at Dan, but as he said nothing, Pat answered:

“My brother is wearied and heartbroken, Mr Cox. Let me answer to-night, and to-morrow morning he’ll be better able to take hold. If you prefer to come back here to-night, by all means do so; but if you don’t mind, we’d rather it would be to-morrow.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr Pat. I’ve enough to do this evening getting into harness.”

“Harness?”

“Well, I just mean, to look up some statistics and such; to quiz a few chaps round the docks; to look into Mr Barry’s movements of late—oh, there’s lots of preliminary scouting to do.”

“Very well,” Pat said, “go ahead and do it.”

With a preoccupied air the Inspector nodded a general gesture of farewell and, with his colleague, went away.

“Good man,” said Demarest, with an appreciative smile. “Now, I’ll be getting along. Can you send me over to New London, Mr Wayne?”

“Any way you want to go,” Pat said; “Plane, sail or motor.”

“Motor, then, please. My time is of account. I’ll keep in touch with you, Stone, and Cox will report to me, also.”

Pat Wayne went away with the U. S. Attorney, telling him as they went to the boathouse that he was sorry to have him leave.

“I’m not entirely out of it,” Demarest said; “You may see me pop back at any time, if occasion calls for it.”

“So much the better;” Pat said. “I fear, Mr Demarest, this matter will not be quickly cleared up.”

“I think that, too; but you’ve got a big man in Fleming Stone, and if anybody can succeed he can.”

“Yes, I feel that. But there’s so little to work on.”

“I have good men, who will also be looking into it. I shall have to keep the yacht for a time, but rest assured you will get it as soon as possible. These things take time, you know.”

“Oh, we’re in no hurry to have the yacht back. I doubt if any of our guests would want to sail on it. Of course, we want it when the time comes for us to have it.”

“It will be returned to the estate, after it ceases to belong in our custody.”

“That’s all right. Now, you want to go over to New London in a motor-launch. Here you are. Little Bambino will take you over. A baby craft but a goer. Avast there, Fred!”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“This is our boatyard man, Fred. He’ll take good care of you. Put Mr Demarest in snug harbor, Fred, at New London.”

Fred, a big, brawny, good-natured chap, saluted, and soon the U. S. Attorney was off in a shuffle of spray.

Pat went slowly back to the house and met Steve Holt just returning from the Club.

“Too bad, Holt,” Pat said, “that you and Jane should be here in these troublous times. Do you feel like staying on, or would you rather be out of it?”

“Rather be out of it, much! But it can’t be did. They told me at the Club I’ll have to stay. The police will insist on my company and Jane’s too, for a time or so.”

“Oh, Lord, I suppose so. I expect that’s the routine. Then, Vera will have to stay, too.”

“Yes, she and her hysterics. I suppose she thinks they are captivating. They get on Jane’s nerves. I wish I could take Jane away. It’s no atmosphere for a young girl.”

“It won’t hurt Jane. She’s the sensible sort.”

“It isn’t particularly pleasant to be mixed up with murders and police and detectives.”

“No, it isn’t. But it can’t be helped, Steve, so stand up to it.”

“Is that Stone golliwog staying in the house?”

“Yes, he is,” and Pat laughed in spite of his annoyance.

“Well, of course I want to find the man who killed Barry and Elkins, but why does the detecatif need the help of all us laymen?”

“Give it up. Maybe he likes to see you around. Maybe he’ll be smart enough to get you off and have you sent home, if you ask him prettily. But, I say, Steve, aren’t you rather pretty awful to act like this? Give a thought to poor old Dan. Remember how he idolized that boy. Suppose your Jane was murdered in cold blood—women have been murdered—would you like to have your friends grousing about the necessity for detectives in the house?”

“Oh, of course it’s necessary and all that, but as I didn’t have anything to do with the crime I think I ought to be allowed to leave.”

“Convince the police that you didn’t, and probably they’ll be glad to get rid of you.”

“What do you mean, ‘convince the police’?”

“I don’t mean anything. Forget it. Come on into the house.”

As they went in, Holt tried to slip through the hall and go to his own rooms. But Dan called to him.

“Come in, a minute, Steve. We want you.”

“Who wants me?” and reluctantly Holt drew nearer the group.

“I do, for a moment,” said Stone. “Just a question or two. When did you see Barry Wayne last?”

“Why should I be asked that? What does it matter? I didn’t kill the lad. Why should I? He and my girl were betrothed; would I kill the man she loved?”

“Go on, Mr Holt,” Stone looked at him without admiration. “Ask any more of those questions you wish. They are rhetorical, I take it. And when you have finished with them, please answer my question.”

“What’s your question? I didn’t hear any question!”

“Except your own, I suppose. I asked you when you saw Barry Wayne alive last.”

“Why, at breakfast, yesterday morning, just as all the rest did. What about it? Are you holding an inquest?”

“No, just asking a civil question, to which I’d like a civil reply.”

“You won’t get it from me, then; I had no hand in his murder, so I have no reason to be quizzed concerning it.”

“Very well, you shan’t be. I thought you might have some theory or opinion, you seem like a man who would. No matter, I’ll not trouble you further. I think we won’t take up the subject just now, though I must talk to you all, later on.”

“I hope you will, Mr Stone,” Dan said. “While it is agony to think what must have happened to Barry, yet I want to get at the truth as soon as we can. And, too, there’s Van Zandt’s murder to be looked into. Will you tell me, now that Vera is not here, what, exactly, caused his death?”

“It is a simple, though not well-known principle. Metallic Sodium. Unless he took it of his own accord, Mr Van Zandt was given a dose of that mineral and died from its effects.”

“What are its effects?”

“I hate to tell you, Mr Wayne, but as the ladies are not here I will say that it is one of the most fiendish deaths that can be brought about by a diabolical intent. The after symptoms, exposed by an autopsy, greatly resemble those left by stomach ulcers and are naturally ascribed to that disease. But the action of this poison and the death of the victim are so terrible in their agony that it is indescribable. The effect of the sodium is like an absolute explosion and collapse is almost immediate, though death may not follow for some hours. In Mr Van Zandt’s case, we cannot tell these times exactly, but there is no doubt that was the agency that brought about his death. As to Barry,” he looked sorrowfully at Dan, but felt it was better to speak of the boy then, “he was hit or he fell, we do not yet know which, and the severity of the blow caused his immediate death. It is my hope and my belief that we can discover the perpetrator of these terrible deeds, but so far I see no real clue.”

“I’m sure you’ll find one,” said Pat. “Barry was my boy as well as his dad’s, and the least we can do is to use every effort to bring punishment to his murderer.”

“Yes,” Dan agreed, “stop at nothing, spare no pains or expense, but track down that fiend who took my boy from me.”