Читать книгу The Tapestry Room Murder - Carolyn Wells - Страница 6

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THE arrival of the coroner called the detective away from the lounge and he was closeted for a time, with Coroner Hale and Dr. Opdyke in the Tapestry Room.

The silent constable sat in the hall, where he was glowered at by Wood, and by any of the servants who chanced to pass.

Few did, however, for Abbie Perkins had rounded up the staff and given them orders to remain in the kitchen department unless by her express directions.

Wood, the butler, of course, was not under Abbie’s law, and he drifted about like a lost sheep.

Relieved of the presence of the terrifying detective, the groups of the lounge began to chatter a little.

“Bumptious old bounder,” remarked Dare. “I suppose the police people have to put on that God-almighty attitude to hold up their end. But if he’d just ask his necessary questions in a decent, straightforward way, he’d get better results.”

“I can’t see that he was rude or unmannerly,” said Harrison, in his low, timid voice. “It’s his business to get at the truth of the matter.”

“Well, the truth of the matter doesn’t concern any of us. We didn’t stab old Gaylord. We ought to be deferred to as guests who are shocked and grieved at the disaster. Instead of which he seems positively suspicious of us.”

“Oh, no, Rollin,” cried Bobbie Abbott. “You can’t think he suspects any of us being implicated in the—the affair! Oh, I wish Roger was here! I wish I hadn’t come! I wish——”

She broke down and sobbed so alarmingly that Mrs. Opdyke left her post by the side of Marita and went over to the new demand on her ministrations.

Abbie Perkins stalked into the room. She paused just inside the threshold, and stood, hands on hips, surveying the group.

“I been a-lissenin’ at the doctors,” she said, unblushingly, “and I heard the coroner one say as he’d have the inquest tomorrow and everybody must stay over for it. ’Course most o’ you folks planned to stay two-three days anyhow. Mis’ Opdyke, what about you? And Polly? I want for to set out the bedrooms.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be allowed to go home, Abbie. Only next door, you know.”

“Yes’m, I know. But that coroner one, he said everybody.”

“He’ll let us know soon, I think,” and Emily Opdyke turned back to the now hysterical Bobbie.

“Brace up, Bobs,” said Ted Bingham, coming toward her and speaking gently. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s a ghastly thing to happen, but it’s up to all of us to put up a brave front and carry on as best we can. Once the inquest is over, you can go home. Somebody will come to fetch you, eh?”

“Yes, Ted, somebody will come for me. Roger expects to be away a week, but I’ll send for Jimmy or Dad.”

Bingham passed on and came to anchor next to Diana.

He sat down beside her without a word. By no word or look did she acknowledge his presence, but glancing at her sidewise he saw or imagined he saw a slight look of relief on her face.

Pale as a waxen image, silent as a marble statue, Diana sat looking off into space, her sky-blue eyes vacant and devoid of all expression. A sudden tremor shook her whole frame, and Bingham dared to put out his hand and clasp hers. She gave him an answering pressure, so slight he could scarce notice it, but unmistakable.

“Do you want to leave the room—with me?” he whispered. “Go outside for a stroll?”

“I daren’t,” she murmured back. “That terrible man will return and he’ll want to bully me.”

“Nobody shall bully you, Diana, not while I’m here.”

“You can’t do anything to help, Ted. Or, yes, you do help, just by your presence. Stand by, won’t you?”

“You bet!” he responded emphatically, and then the men came in from the Tapestry Room.

Coroner Hale addressed the waiting crowd.

“Mr. Homer has been murdered,” he said, quietly. “He has been stabbed in the back with a jeweled dagger, one of his own belongings, I am told. The blade reached his heart and death was practically instantaneous. The probability is that the victim made no sound and almost no movement after that attack. Did anyone near him hear any sound from him?”

There was no response to this, and the coroner proceeded.

Hale was a tall, spare man, with sharp features and darting black eyes. He was evidently informed as to the known facts of the tragedy, and he looked piercingly at Diana and also at Marita as he talked.

Getting no reply to his question, he went on in curt, incisive sentences.

“Mr. Homer was sitting at the time, sitting on a small sofa. The lights went off, as they do every night, and in the few moments of darkness someone procured the dagger from the small table where, I am told, it is accustomed to lie and, in the darkness or semi-darkness, drove the blade into the victim. I must now make some pointed inquiries. Who was in the room with Mr. Homer when the electric lights went out?”

The silence that followed this question was for a full minute unbroken.

Hale looked from one to another, noting the expressions on the various faces. Sergeant Cram also scrutinized the faces of the party. Diana still preserved her icy calm, and Marita’s face was hidden in her hands.

“I may as well state,” Coroner Hale said, not unkindly, “that it will in no way help anyone to try to hide or evade the truth. It is, of course, known who was in that room, but for your own sake, I ask you to speak out and tell any facts bearing on the case.”

“I was in the room,” Diana said, then, “I was standing near the sofa on which Mr. Homer was sitting. But I know no facts bearing on the case.”

She spoke with perfect calm and a quiet dignity that commanded the respect of all present.

“I was in the room, too!” Marita exclaimed. Her voice was jerky, her manner excited, indeed, she gave the effect of speaking because Diana had spoken, “I was near the sofa, too, at Mr. Homer’s other side.”

“And can you tell me anything more?” asked Hale.

“No; what is there to tell? We three were there, the lights went out. When the lights came on again, we saw Gaylord——”

“Were you standing, Miss Moore?”

“N—no. I was—sitting on the arm of the sofa.”

“Talking to Mr. Homer?”

“I—I don’t know. I mean I don’t know whether I was talking or not, when the lights went off.”

“You were not,” Diana said; “Mr. Homer was talking to me.”

“Oh, he was,” put in Hale. “What was he talking about?”

“He was asking me if I would rather dance or go for a stroll in the garden.”

“And you replied?”

“I hadn’t replied at all. Just then the darkness came. We are accustomed to it, we often don’t notice it, but tonight, for some reason, it made us all silent.”

“In the silence, then, you could of course hear if another person entered the room. Did you hear any such sound—any sound?”

Diana hesitated. Her calm face gave no hint of what was passing in her mind save that her lips quivered a little.

At last she replied, with a murmured “No” so low-voiced that it could scarcely be heard at all.

Hale turned quickly to Marita.

“Did you, Miss Moore?” he said.

“I?—Me?—Why, no—no, indeed, I heard nothing.”

“Yet in a silence, a two minute or more silence, a man was stabbed, killed, and you two, only a few inches from him, heard no sound?”

Marita, who was lying on a couch, nestled in a dozen pillows, sprang to an upright attitude.

“I didn’t say I heard no sound,” she exclaimed. “There were lots of sounds, I heard a clock ticking, I heard low laughter and chatter from the lounge, I heard Mr. Harrison walk across the hall, I heard the parrot squawk in the dining-room, I heard—well, there were many confused sounds.”

“But did you hear any sound that you would judge made by Mr. Homer?”

“No,” and Marita turned white and shivered.

“Did you, Miss Kittredge?”

“No,” said Diana, as pale as Marita, but keeping her poise.

“Did either of you,” Hale was very grave now, “did either of you hear any sound that might have been made by some intruder, by someone who came into the room for the purpose of crime?”

“I didn’t,” answered Marita, for Hale looked toward her. “But by that I mean I didn’t knowingly hear any such sound. There may have been such, however, for as I said, there were various vague and unidentifiable sounds.”

Hale looked at her in slight surprise. From a decidedly hysterical attitude she had roused herself to coherent talking and to definite description.

“You heard no such indications, Miss Kittredge?”

“I did not. But I heard nothing. That is, I do not remember hearing the clock tick or the parrot cry out.”

“What were you thinking about? Having no intimation of the impending tragedy, what was occupying your thoughts at the dark time?”

A look of desperate fear came into the blue eyes.

It was evident that now Diana had all she could do to keep her poise, to retain her calm.

But she struggled bravely with herself, and at last stammered out:

“I cannot tell you what I was thinking about, for I do not remember. Merely the trivial thoughts of the day.”

“How far were you from Mr. Homer at that time?”

“How far? Why, I don’t know. Perhaps a yard or so.”

“Oh, no, Diana,” Marita broke in, “you were not more than a foot from the couch Gaylord sat on. And you were coming toward it, you were about to sit down beside him.”

“No, Marita, no, I was not. I meant to leave the room.”

“Why?” asked Hale.

“For no especial reason,” Diana returned, naughtily now. “I merely thought I would go into the lounge.”

“And then dark came. You expected the dark?”

“Oh, yes. It always occurred about ten o’clock. But I never know the exact time.”

“You did tonight,” Marita said, “because I had just told you it was five past ten. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I believe you had,” Diana said, wearily. “I can’t see that it matters.”

“Mr. Bingham,” Hale turned to Ted, “will you tell me exactly, as to the attitudes of the two ladies in the room with Mr. Homer. You were in the deep alcoved doorway that leads from that room to this.”

“Attitudes?” said Bingham. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, attitudes. Miss Moore, I am told, was sitting on the arm of the sofa. Was she at Mr. Homer’s right or left side?”

“Why—let me see—the left, I think.”

“Yes, I was on his left,” Marita cried out. “Why not ask me?”

“Were you touching him?”

“When the dark came I had my hand on his shoulder, but as the light went out I took my hand away, and——”

“And jumped up from where you were sitting.”

“Yes—I believe I did.”

“And—I’m speaking to you, Mr. Bingham,—Miss Kittredge was on the right of Mr. Homer?”

“Yes, she was,” Ted asserted. “About four or five feet away.”

“But you had your back to them all, how do you know?”

This was from Sergeant Cram, and Ted thought to himself with what pleasure he could wring the detective’s neck.

“I know, because I saw Miss Kittredge when the lights came on again.”

“And at that time, Miss Moore had fallen to the floor?”

“Yes,” said Ted, curtly.

“It is not my duty,” Hale went on, in his harsh, rasping tones, “to investigate the possibilities of this case, as to the identity of the murderer. That belongs in the jurisdiction of my colleague, Mr. Cram. It is for me to determine the method of the death, and that has been done. I shall have an inquest tomorrow afternoon, and it is necessary that you all remain here until after that time. Dr. and Mrs. Opdyke and their daughter will be permitted to go to their home, next door. The rest of you must remain until excused. The situation is a bit difficult, in that there seems to be no real head of the house. In his position of confidential secretary Mr. Harrison is, in a way, in authority. Who, Mr. Harrison, is Mr. Homer’s heir or his next of kin?”

“His next of kin, I think, is a second cousin, who lives in New York City. But as to his heir, I happen to know that Mr. Homer made a new will within the past week, and while I do not know its contents, I do know it is the only will he ever made, for he told me so.”

“That is of interest, and must be looked into. Who is Mr. Homer’s lawyer?”

“Mr. Crawford. Edgar Crawford of New York City. But he didn’t draw up the will.”

“And who is the cousin in the city? What is his name?”

“Moffatt. His first name is either Alfred or Albert, I’m not sure which.”

“Can you find out? Mr. Moffatt should be notified at once of his cousin’s death.”

“Yes, I can get his address from Mr. Homer’s address book.”

“Get it now, then. I think it only right to tell him the news tonight.”

“It is nearly midnight.”

“Yes. Get me the address, please.”

Harrison obeyed, and quickly finding the address and telephone number, Hale passed the book over to Sergeant Cram and asked him to call up Mr. Moffatt.

“Call in the butler and housekeeper,” Hale then directed, and Wood and Abbie Perkins appeared.

Hale addressed the butler first.

“Did you see any stranger or idler about the place today?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Wood replied. “No one at all who didn’t belong here.”

“Have you noticed any unusual behavior on the part of Mr. Homer the last few days?”

“No, sir. Except that he was a bit excited like, getting up this party. He looked forward to it, I can tell you.”

“Why?”

“Well, it was his birthday party; that is, Sunday would be his birthday and there was to be extra doin’s. And besides——”

“Well, man, go on.”

“Besides, he always liked company and he looked forward to a good time.”

“That is not what you started to say. Why did you change your mind?”

“I didn’t change my mind, sir. I know nothing more of the matter than I’ve told you.”

“Neither he doesn’t,” broke in Abbie Perkins. “Wood is as honest as the day is long, and if he knew anything else he’d tell it.”

“What do you know? Anything else?”

“No, that I don’t. Only I can’t help seein’ what’s right under my nose, can I?”

“Well, what was right under your nose?”

“Oh, only that Mr. Homer hoped and prayed that when this party was over and done with, a certain lady would be his fiancée, that’s all.”

Mrs. Perkins bridled and smiled a little, evidently so full of her exclusive knowledge of her master’s affairs that she felt a great superiority.

“Yes, and who was the certain lady?”

But in the meantime, Abbie Perkins had received such a black look from Ted Bingham, that she collapsed like a burst balloon.

He added a most negative shake of his head and was altogether so forbidding of aspect that she dared not go on.

“I—I don’t know, sir,” she said, quickly calling out her reserves of diplomacy, “I don’t know who the lady was, but Mr. Homer had just sort of intimated, you see, that there was somebody.”

“I think you do know the lady’s name.”

“No, sir, cross my heart, I don’t! But what does it matter now? And the poor man dead and all!”

Just then Cram returned, saying he had talked with Mr. Moffatt.

“What did he say?” asked Hale.

“He was in bed, asleep, and it took me a few minutes to get him awake enough to understand what I was talking about. Then he seemed shocked of course, and asked what we wanted of him. I told him he ought to come up here, and he said he would come tomorrow, then added, that if necessary, he would come tonight. He began to get onto the true inwardness of the matter at last.”

“You told him it was murder?”

“Of course, and while he was properly astounded he really showed little deep feeling. He said, again, ‘Want I should come up there tonight?’ But I said tomorrow would do, for he couldn’t get here under an hour or more, and I take it we’re about through for tonight.”

“Yes, I think so. Better call an undertaker and have the body taken upstairs tonight. If Moffatt is the heir, I’d like to have him here as soon as possible, but no use delaying things for his arrival. And your work, Cram, can be in no way assisted by keeping the dead man down here.”

“No, there’s no doubt about the method and the cause of death. I’ll take charge of the dagger, it’s a valuable piece of property, I’m told.”

“Yes,” Dr. Opdyke told them, “it is a rare and valuable curio. It is a gold and jeweled weapon that was said to be used in the play of Othello, when given by Booth and Barrett. A fine piece of workmanship, aside from its associations.”

“Where was it kept?”

“I don’t know, where was it, Abbie?”

“Always on the small table in the Tapestry Room. The table behind where Mr. Homer was sitting when—when——”

Her feelings overcame her, and she ran from the room.

“Let her go,” said Hale, “we can’t do anything more tonight. Ladies and gentlemen,” he nodded at the crowd, “you are all dismissed for the night. Of course you are not under arrest or even detained, but you must stay in this house or grounds until you are given permission to leave. A dastardly crime has been committed, and the perpetrator must be brought to justice. Anyone who can do so must testify to any facts they know of. To withhold such testimony makes you an accessory and as liable to punishment as the principal.”

The coroner left the room and could be heard in the Tapestry Room, talking in low tones with the undertaker who had recently come in.

“Come out for a breath of air,” Ted Bingham begged of Diana.

But she only looked at him with cold eyes and said she must go to her room at once.

Harrison cast longing eyes at Marita, but dared not cross the room to speak to her. Timid always, he was more embarrassed than ever now with the cloud of tragedy and crime hanging over the house, with the police giving furtive glances now and again toward the beautiful and defiant looking girl he adored.

He tried hard, did Harrison, to go to her side, but his weak will and weaker muscles refused to act for him.

Rollin Dare was not so timid. He went up to Marita, where she still reclined among her pillows and said, cheerily:

“Come on, Rita, come for a sprint through the gardens. It will make you feel a whole lot better.”

But after a moment of hesitation, Marita said no, she wanted to go to her room.

“But,” she added, with her own gay smile, “I’ll go with you tomorrow morning. I’ll be better then.”

“All right,” Dare returned, “good-night, then. Come along, Bobbie I’ve got to get some fresh air, and I hate to walk alone.”

Bobbie Abbott consented, and catching up a light wrap, went with him out to the garden.

Dare was not surprised, though it scared Bobbie, to find the whole place patrolled by policemen.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered to her, as he pleasantly greeted the guards. “Good-night, officer, we’re just walking around a bit.”

But at last they managed to find an arbor out of earshot of the patrolmen, and Bobbie burst forth:

“Oh, Rollin, tell me, do! Was it Marita?”

“No, of course not! Hush, don’t say such things! Keep quiet, Bobbie.”

“Then it must have been Diana! It had to be one of them! You know it had to!”

“We don’t know anything of the sort. And if we do, we mustn’t breathe it.”

“Why not? The truth has got to come out. Oh, Rollin, which one did it?”

“Listen here, Bobbie. I tell you you mustn’t talk like that. Don’t you see what a dreadful thing you’re doing to accuse either of those girls?”

“But it had to be one of them. They were in there alone with Gaylord.”

“No matter if they were, you must not mention their names as possible suspects. If you do, you may get into deep trouble yourself.”

“Why? How? What do you mean?”

But Dare refused to tell what he meant and forbade her to continue the subject.