Читать книгу The Skeleton at the Feast - Carolyn Wells - Страница 5

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MANNING CARLETON, as was well known by his doctor and the members of his household, had what is commonly described as heart trouble. While the medical man didn’t give it a more definite or specific name, he did say positively that any sudden undue exertion or any strong emotional shock would mean troublesome and perhaps disastrous consequences.

And the unexpected sight of that terrifying, grinning thing in the box was enough to startle anyone with strong nerves and a normal heart.

What, then, might it mean to a man whose nerves were jumpy and whose heart was likely to go back on him at sufficient provocation?

Most of those present sensed this, and several of them moved as with one accord.

Pauline, the wife, stepped quickly to the side of her husband, as he stood facing the gruesome sight, and she insinuated herself between the living man and the dead man so adroitly that the white and shaking Manning Carleton could not see the dread gift that had been sent him.

Claude Carleton too hastened to the side of his father and put an arm round the trembling shoulders.

Not at all a cowardly character, Carleton Senior was seldom frightened, but this fearsome sight, where he had expected to see gold-topped bottles of fine champagne, gave him a shock that left him spineless and breathless.

Claude eased him into a big chair, and Pauline ran to get some of the remedy the doctor had left to be used in case of attack.

But while they ministered to the sick man the others were unable to keep their eyes from the long box and its grisly contents.

Though apparently the skeleton of a full-grown man, it was fitted into a box much smaller than would have been needed for a dead man still clothed in his mortal flesh.

The bare skeleton was in a box merely lined with white paper, without padding or covering.

To the women it was a horrifying sight, and they turned their backs or peeped between their fingers.

But the men were frankly curious and drew nearer to examine the bones.

Professor Scott especially was interested, and he went so far as to touch the arm and hand and even tried to turn the head.

Donald Randall was more absorbed in studying the card that lay on the ghastly looking chest.

“‘Long years ago you murdered me!’” he read aloud. “Rotten sort of joke, I call this business! I like a detective story, but not such practical presentations of murder as this!”

“Oh, it doesn’t mean anything,” said Zélie, laughing rather loudly. “Just a New Year’s Eve joke. Some of his cronies wanted to rag him.”

“Pretty poor taste for a joke,” said Jack Mortlake, looking scornful. “I wonder if anybody did murder this very defunct person.”

“If so it was a long time since,” put in Scott. “That’s an old bag o’ bones, I can tell you. Out of a doctor’s laboratory, presumably. You see it’s articulated.”

“Gracious! what does that mean?” asked Mrs. Mortlake, looking puzzled.

“It means the joints are fastened with wires,” her husband told her quickly, as if anxious to display his erudition.

“Oh, really?” cried Donald. “Then we can lift him out, and he won’t fall to pieces.”

Miss Carleton had sat, a silent observer until now, but when Donald actually lifted the skeleton from the box she gave a scream and sank back in her chair with closed eyes.

Donald, however, gave her no regard, and grinned, like a child with a new toy.

He found that the skeleton did not drop apart, and being in a rollicking humor he disposed the dangling bones in an easy chair, and catching a velvet scarf from the piano he draped it about the bony shoulders. A lamp shade he commandeered to do duty for a hat, and then, sticking a lighted cigarette through a space left by a missing tooth, he surveyed the result of his handiwork.

“Stop your clowning,” Claude said in low, angry tones, but Donald answered seriously.

“Not at all,” he replied. “That’s the only way to manage the affair. See, your father is smiling in spite of himself! This horseplay will chirk him up and make a farce out of what might have been a tragedy.”

“That’s so,” agreed Pauline, who, now that her husband had revived, was interested in the others. “Good for you, Don. If we can just get Manning back to normal, he’ll get over the attack quickly.”

“I’m over it now,” Carleton declared, looking quite like himself. “Now, who cut up that asinine attempt at a joke? Let me see that card!”

He took it and read: “‘Long years ago you murdered me’—h’m, guess this was meant for somebody else. I’m not a killer. ‘As I am now, you soon shall be.’ Well, old chap, we’ll all be like you, some day, but I don’t know about the soon. I can’t think this is a joke on me by anyone. I’m sure nobody I know would cut up a fool trick like this. I think it was meant for some other victim. Let me see the address tag.”

Fenn brought the boards that had borne the address, and while it was clearly sent to Manning Carleton he declared he didn’t recognize the lettering.

“Take that fol-de-rol off him and put him back in his box,” Carleton ordered, and assisted by the servants, Randall obeyed.

But a hush had fallen on the party. Nobody seemed inclined to resume the jollity of the supper hour or the merriment of the New Year’s occasion.

Out in the street could be heard the horns and rattles of the noisy throngs that made up the usual holiday parade.

“Well, I must get along,” Claude said. “You’re all right, aren’t you, Dad? I won’t leave you if you’re not. But I have my tickets and all—”

“Yes, I know, I know,” returned the older man. “Go on, I’m all right, of course.”

“I’ve sent for Dr. Landon,” Pauline said. “I’ll feel better to have his advice.”

“Now, what did you do that for?” cried her husband testily. “I don’t want a doctor! I’m all right.”

“Maybe you are and maybe you’re not,” said his sister. “I advised Polly to call in Landon, and I’m glad she did.”

And then all was bustle and confusion, for Dr. Landon arrived and Claude departed at the same time.

Young Carleton’s farewells were for the most part conventional and perfunctory, but he kissed affectionately his old aunt, his father, and his father’s wife. Then he gave a warm handshake and hearty thanks to Kenneth Carlisle, blew a kiss from his finger tips to Zélie, and with a few more nods and smiles he was gone.

The doctor, coming in upon the strange scene, waited till Claude had gone before he blandly inquired concerning the presence of the skeleton.

“Have you never heard of the skeleton at the feast?” asked Donald, grinning.

“I thought they were kept in the cupboard,” returned the doctor, seeing the subject was to be treated lightly.

“Never mind that,” said Pauline, “I want you to give my husband the once-over and make sure his heart is all right.”

“ ‘Oh, ’is ’art was true to Poll,

’Is ’art was true to Poll,

An’ no matter what you do,

If yer ’art be true,

An’ ’is ’art was true—to Poll!’ ”

This stanza was gayly sung by Don Randall.

Having returned the skeleton to its box, he ordered the butler to stand the box up against the wall, as being less in the way.

Kenneth Carlisle was fascinated with the thing.

Though he had passed by them in medical museums, a really, truly skeleton had never before come his way. He stood in front of it, observing the bones closely.

“The chap was murdered, all right,” he said at last, still studying the exhibit.

“How do you know?” asked Dr. Landon, who, having done all he could for his patient, turned to the young detective.

“I’m not certain sure” admitted Carlisle, “but look at that rib. Isn’t it just over where his heart would have been, and isn’t it chipped—quite a bit gouged out? Well, how about a dagger or a bullet having made that break?”

“Maybe,” said Landon rather indifferently. “But it’s impossible to tell at this late date. That man has been dead a good many years, I’d say.”

“How many?” asked Carleton, suddenly alert.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a detective,” the doctor said carelessly. “Of course, a skeleton isn’t the novelty to me that it probably is to the rest of you.”

“‘Rattle his bones,’” chanted Randall, “‘over the stones; He’s only a pauper whom nobody owns.’”

“But why say you murdered him, Mr. Carleton?” asked Zélie, who was sitting next her host and leaning over to look up in his face. “You never killed anybody, did you?”

The girl was beautiful, always especially so when exhilarated by excitement or enthusiasm.

Her black hair was short and curled, except where it was drawn into a soft loose knot at the back of her neck.

Her black eyes were restless and scintillant, and her lovely lips, though artificially reddened, were mischievously luring.

Yet there was an earnest note in her voice, and Carlisle turned quickly to hear Carleton’s reply.

“No, Zélie, no—I never murdered anybody,” returned Carleton slowly. “Whoever sent that thing had a distorted idea of making a joke, a holiday joke. You know New Year’s Eve is supposed to license all sorts of hoodlum performances. Pretty poor taste, I think, but, after all, there’s no real harm in it. The sender probably bought the bones from some down-and-out medico, glad to sell his equipment. It isn’t a first-class skeleton, is it, Landon?”

“No,” returned the doctor, “yet it has a certain monetary value. It was put together a long time ago. Articulation is better done nowadays.”

“What shall you do with it?” asked Nan Mortlake, looking at the uncanny thing with a shudder.

“That’s what I want to know,” echoed Miss Violet. “If it stays in this house I shan’t sleep a wink all night!”

“Oh, nonsense, Violet,” cried Polly, laughing, “he can’t hurt you. You see he’s so very, very dead!”

“That doesn’t matter,” persisted the old lady. “I won’t sleep in the house with that thing in it!”

“What will you do?” asked Pauline amusedly.

Violet’s fine old face showed determination.

“I’ll go somewhere!” she declared: “I’ll—I’ll go into the other house. Mrs. Mortlake will take me in for the night—I know she will.”

“Why, certainly,” Nan Mortlake said, but the most casual listener could have noted she did not favor the idea.

There are some women who hate to have a chance guest for overnight. It upsets their housekeeping routine, or interferes with some of their plans. Others, born hospitable, welcome any stray visitor and deem it no trouble at all to look after one.

And Miss Violet had the intuition to read Mrs. Mortlake aright, but so positive was she in her determination not to spend the night beneath the same roof as the skeleton, she merely nodded her thanks and seemed to consider the question settled.

Not so Pauline.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she exclaimed to her sister-in-law; “you are too silly. Why, we all have skeletons—you have yourself! Why object to another merely because his bones haven’t as much flesh on them as ours have?”

“Doesn’t he frighten you, Polly?” Violet asked in an awed whisper.

“Frighten me! I should say not! Why, I’m growing really fond of him.”

She stepped to the long box, and taking the jointed arm in her hands, endeavored to place it round her neck.

“Stop, Polly!” cried her husband. “That’s going too far. Violet is silly to be afraid of the thing, but you’re worse to play with it like that! I say, Landon, can’t you take it home with you? It’s right in line with your belongings, and you’re welcome to it. You can use it in your business, or you can sell it or give it away. Do relieve me of the gentleman’s unwanted presence.

But the doctor smilingly declined to burden himself with any more anatomical specimens and laughed at Miss Violet’s foolishness.

“I’d like to have it,” said Professor Scott, gazing at the yellowed bones. “If you really don’t want it, Manning, I’ll be glad to accept it—as a gift. I can’t afford to pay for it.”

“No charge,” Carleton said, looking greatly relieved. “You’re more than welcome to his lordship.”

“But you must take it to-night,” stipulated Violet. “I will not remain in the house with that thing!”

“Oh, now, I can’t take it to-night,” Scott protested. “I’ll get proper cartmen and send for it the first thing to-morrow morning.”

“That won’t do,” and Miss Carleton looked her displeasure. “Unless I go to spend the night in the other house.”

Mrs. Mortlake did not rise to this bait, and, paying no attention to it, she made some animated remark to Donald Randall which he had perforce to answer.

The doctor, too, made no helpful suggestion regarding the disposal of the unwelcome guest, and, greatly amused at the situation, Kenneth Carlisle threw himself into the breach.

“Tell you what, folks,” he said, in his good-natured way, “Brother Bones really seems to be The Unwanted. Now, if it will meet with unanimous approval, I will take the unwelcome guest home with me and keep him there until it is convenient for Professor Scott to send for him. In that way the professor can arrange for a proper reception, get a room and bath ready for him, and all that.”

“Fine!” exclaimed Randall. “You have cut the Gordian knot! But how will you manage it?”

“I think I can,” said Kenneth, “because it is New Year’s Eve. Otherwise there might be lions in the path. But on this one night of the year, the police are lenient, jovial citizens do pretty much as they like, and eccentric performances go unnoticed.”

“Of course they do,” put in Zélie. “You can get away with it.”

“Thank heaven!” ejaculated Miss Violet. “Thank you, Mr. Carlisle. I am deeply indebted to you. If you will assure me that you will do as you have suggested and will promise to remove the dreadful thing shortly, I will now ask to be excused and will retire. I am exhausted by this unfortunate episode, and I frankly admit I am in need of rest and quietude.”

“Good-night, Miss Violet,” said Dr. Landon, taking her hand. “I think you are wise to go to rest, but I can assure you and your friends you are in no way suffering from nervousness or exhaustion.”

“Good for you, Doctor!” Pauline exclaimed. “I’m glad of that assurance from you. Otherwise we would all be called up at intervals through the night to administer spirits of ammonia or aspirin or something to the victim of shattered nerves.

Polly’s tone was good-natured and her manner gay, but it was plain to be seen she meant what she said, and Carlisle, who was studying the crowd with interest, concluded the old lady was a bit of a hypochondriac.

Miss Violet said her good-nights, evidently trying to enact the rôle of one suffering from shock but only succeeding in looking like a baffled and chagrined lady of indomitable courage and great strength.

“How are you going to manage the thing?” Dr. Landon asked of Carlisle.

“There are two ways,” was the calm reply. “One is to dress him up in a full costume—woman’s dress, for choice—and then load him into a taxi with me as if he—or she—had celebrated the New Year a bit too well. The other way is to leave him in his box and boldly take it home and into the house on the chance that nobody will prove too inquisitive. Which do you advise?”

At that everybody expressed an opinion in favor of one or other of the stated plans, and also proposed other methods.

At last, however, Carlisle, who had, in fact, paid no attention to any advice but the doctor’s, decided to take the box with its contents along with him. He telephoned to his faithful valet to be on the job and await his coming.

“And I’ll be getting on,” Carlisle said, “for it’s after half-past one, and the crowds in the street are beginning to thin out. The more noise and racket there is, the better for my purpose.”

“We’ll go now, too,” said Mrs. Mortlake, rising and beginning to say her good-nights.

“You’d better stay overnight, Professor Scott,” said Pauline hospitably. “You live so far uptown, it’s a long ride, and you can fit right into Claude’s room.”

The old man gratefully accepted the invitation, and, at a nod from Pauline, Emily Austen left the room to see about household arrangements.

Though ostensibly Pauline’s social secretary, Emily was willing to assist in some of the lighter details of the domestic routine. She often arranged flowers or looked after the appointments of a guest room.

Calling a chambermaid, she went to Claude’s room and was dismayed to find them in a state of turmoil.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “I thought he was all packed and ready to start. He must have done a lot of packing at the last minute. Hester, you can’t do it all. Get Louis to help you, and don’t bother much with the papers and such things. Just stuff them into the desk drawers and make the rooms decent for Professor Scott.”

Louis was the valet, and a most efficient sort. With Hester to assist, the rooms were soon arranged, and Emily went back downstairs to find the long box, in the hall, closed and ready to move, and the party in the drawing room sitting around in rather quiet mood.

“Waiting for the taxi,” Peter Gregg told her, as he made room for her by his side on the sofa.

“I don’t see how you’re ever going to manage it,” Zélie said, for the dozenth time.

“It will manage itself,” Carlisle said with his kindly smile. “I don’t apprehend any trouble at all, but if any arises I’ll tackle it when it comes. Why cross your bridges before the construction company has finished with them?”

“I wish Claude were here to see you start off,” Polly said, laughing. “He would be amused!”

“He’s well on his way to Hollywood,” Kenneth said, looking a trifle envious. “It has its points—has Hollywood.”

“Whatever possessed Claude to go in for that sort of thing?” asked Professor Scott. “The last thing I’d ever dream of his taking up.”

“Look out,” Polly warned him. “Mr. Carlisle is an ex-Hollywooder.”

“Oh, no offence meant, and I don’t think Mr. Carlisle will hunt round for any. But for Claude, brought up in the lap of luxury, to go off like that—”

“Suppose the lap of luxury objected to holding him any longer,” said Pauline, with a shade of bitterness in her tone.

“Oho, is that it?” cried Mrs. Mortlake. “Well, I wondered!”

“Don’t fly off at a tangent, madam,” Manning Carleton said in his most sarcastic way. “Sometimes young birds fly the coop, disdaining the luxury provided for them.”

“He went off happily enough,” Nan Mortlake pursued, as if determined to get at the root of the matter.

But nobody enlightened her further, and Manning Carleton deliberately changed the subject.

“So you’re a private investigator, Mr. Carlisle?” he said, with deference in his tone rather than criticism.

“Yes, Mr. Carleton, though in my acquaintance with your son we harped back to my screen activities.”

“Activities is doubtless a well chosen word, I take it?”

“Well, yes, there was little tame or monotonous in the life as I knew it.”

“And what do you think of my son’s prospects of success?”

“They seem to me very good. Claude is a lovable chap, light hearted and merry minded. That sort takes well out there. Moreover, he is clever and ingenious; those, too, are assets. Altogether, if he cultivates patience and perseverance, he will come out on top.”

“I suppose you know you have mentioned the two qualities in which my boy is absolutely lacking?”

“Oh, not as bad as that. He can cultivate them a bit, but he certainly has something to start with. Well, I hear my taxi rumbling outside. Now, if your able-bodied butler and his helpful footman will give me a lift, I’ll be on my way. I feel sure that to start out openly from a place like this is to disarm undue curiosity at the fountainhead. Goodnight, Mr. Carleton.”

“Good-night, Carlisle. Come to see us soon and tell us how you got on with this proposition.”

As Kenneth had assumed, the very fact of his leaving the big house so openly, making no secret of his strange burden, went far to disarm all suspicion on the part of the taxi driver or of any passing policeman or curious wayfarer.

With the help of Fenn and Martin the box was hoisted into the cab, Carlisle tucked himself in, and they set off.

Carter, his own devoted slave, met him at his home, and though it was a large apartment house, the doings of the detective were never questioned, and the oddly shaped box was taken up in the service elevator without comment or criticism.

Down in the Fifth Avenue house Manning Carleton and his wife said good-night to the two guests from the other house, and they went down the steps of the Carlisle mansion and up the steps of their own home.

The professor and Don Randall said good-night and went to their rooms. The two secretaries effaced themselves. Pauline and Zélie, yawning, went off to bed, and, like one who treads alone the banquet hall deserted, Manning Carlisle kept solitary vigil for a time.