Читать книгу The Four-Fingered Glove; Or, The Cost of a Lie - Carter Nicholas - Страница 4

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“You seem to be very much in earnest in what you say, Mr. Danton,” said the detective.

“I am very much in earnest, sir.”

“Well, in the first place, suppose you tell me who is dead. Since you say that a murder has been committed and it is not unlikely that you did it, it is well to know something of the corpus dilecti. Who was murdered?”

“Ramon Orizaba; my mother’s guest.”

“Your cousin, is he—or rather, was he not?”

“A kinsman of my mother’s so far removed that the ties of blood are very thin; still, he has passed as our cousin. You know of him. He has been our guest, at intervals of two or three months at a time, for half a dozen seasons.”

“Oh, yes; I know of him. Now where was he killed?”

“In my own room at the Fells.”

“In your room? Where were you?”

“I was there.”

“There in the room when he was killed?”

“Just that.”

“Then you did it—by accident, perhaps—and that is the reason why you do not——”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“Well, what, then?”

“I was there when he was killed; at least I suppose I was, but I was either unconscious, or asleep, for I did not see it done, and I did not know that he was dead until I awoke, at three o’clock this morning, and found him.”

“Had you quarreled?”

“We always quarreled. There never was a time when we did not quarrel.”

“How was he killed? What killed him?”

Danton left his chair and crossed to the window again, but after a moment he returned and stood facing the detective.

“I was waiting for that question,” he said slowly, “and wondering when it would come, for I had not yet determined how I would reply to it. The fact is, Mr. Carter, I believe that even the coroner and the physicians will find it difficult to determine at first how Orizaba was killed; but nevertheless, although I have not examined the body, save to look at one spot where I expected to find something, I can tell you what killed him.”

“Then tell me.”

“He was killed with a glass needle, three inches in length, and of the size of a common darning needle. Orizaba’s hair grew very low on the back of his neck, and the weapon I have described was jabbed into the vertebra at that point.”

“So that death was almost instantaneous, I suppose?”

“It must have been.”

“Now, how do you know that he was killed as you describe?”

“Because I looked at that spot to find out.”

“Why did you look there?”

“Because I expected to find what I did find.”

“Why?”

“Because I had meditated killing him in just that way.”

“Good God, Mr. Danton——”

“It’s true.”

“In that case, I do not see what I can do to assist you. A man who will meditate such an infamous thing and then have the effrontery to come here and confess it to me in cold blood expecting me to sympathize with his troubles, must be beyond the pale of human sympathy.”

“Wait, Mr. Carter. I quite agree with you—in the abstract; but this is different.”

“I cannot determine the nice points of reasoning of that kind, sir.”

“Just listen to me, won’t you? I have been careful to tell you all the worst phases of this case first.”

“There certainly could not be others much worse, unless you are about to confess that you had progressed so far in your meditations that you had actually provided yourself with a needle such as you have described.”

“I had such a needle in my possession,” replied Danton, smiling pathetically; “and moreover, it has disappeared from its accustomed place, so I have no means of knowing that it is not the one now actually imbedded in the neck of my cousin.”

“Danton,” said the detective, “since you have been in this room with me, you have succeeded in giving me several very different impressions concerning you. My first glance at you when I came into the room was that you had been on a spree and that you had done something which had the effect of sobering you suddenly, so that you came to me to get you out of your trouble. The second impression was that you were in real trouble, but that it concerned another more than yourself. My third was that you were sincere in your statement that you did not know whether you had committed a crime or not, and was willing to take the consequences if you had done so, and my present one is that you are telling me a story in a slipshod fashion which I do not like, and which is not calculated to win my appreciation or my assistance. Now, sir, if you care to prolong this conversation there is only one course for you to pursue, and that is to tell me your story, commencing at the beginning and continuing on to the end—and that you do it in some sort of connected style, so that I can follow you.”

“Well, sir,” replied Danton, slowly and seriously, “I’ll try. The fact is, I am almost crazy. I scarcely know what I am saying at all. I have tried so hard to pull myself together since I started out to find you, and I have endeavored so strenuously to keep calm since I have been here that I begin to fear that I shall fail in both.”

“Tell me your story,” said Nick shortly.

“Will you permit me to make two beginnings? They seem necessary.”

“Tell me your story.”

“Well, in the first place, I attended a banquet at the club last night, and while there I drank of everything in sight, from cocktails through the still wines and champagnes to the cordials and cognac. In short, I became very drunk.”

“I can believe that. It was not your first experience.”

“No. Orizaba was with me at the club. We started for home together in the same cab.”

“You did not drive out to the Fells in a cab, did you?”

“Oh, no. We caught a train from the station. I suppose it was the twelve-thirty, since that is the last train out.”

“Well?”

“I remember entering the cab with Orizaba, and I remember leaving the cab with him at the station; but I do not remember riding in the cars with him.”

“That is not surprising. But go on.”

“I know that when the conductor awakened me and told me we were at the Fells, I left the train alone. Orizaba was not with me then, for I remember distinctly that I left the train alone and walked from the station to the Fells alone.”

“How far is it?”

“About half a mile.”

“Were you still under the influence of the wine you had drank?”

“Undeniably. In plain English, I was very drunk. So full, in fact, that I remember that I stopped and held several serious arguments with myself during that walk of half a mile.”

“You are sure you talked only to yourself?”

“Why, yes; at least, that is my impression. I am quite sure that Orizaba was not with me then.”

“Yet you are positive that you caught the same train?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, go on with your story.”

“It was very warm last night, if you remember. I recall that when I arrived at the Fells the combination of wine and half a mile walk had heated me considerably, and I seated myself in one of the piazza chairs to cool off. Now I cannot tell you whether I sat there one minute or half an hour, for I don’t know; I only know that it could not have been more than half an hour, because the train I rode out on is due at the Fells at one-fifteen, my walk from the station to the house must have consumed a quarter of an hour, which would bring the time up to two o’clock, and my watch is stopped at two-thirty.”

“What has the stopping of your watch got to do with it?”

“Only this: That I cannot start it. Something inside it is broken, and I argue that I must have broken it while winding the watch.”

“Well?”

“Drunk or sober, I have always been in the habit of winding my watch the last thing before removing my waistcoat, and never at any other time.”

“So you think that you stopped your watch by breaking it while winding it the last thing before going to bed?”

“Yes; only I didn’t go to bed. In fact, I didn’t make any preparation to do so, more than to remove my coat and vest. But I am getting ahead of my story.”

“Tell it in your own way.”

“We will say, then, that I went up-stairs at half-past two, after sitting on the piazza for about half an hour.”

“Very good.”

“When I entered my room, Orizaba was there before me.”

“Ah! So he did come on the same train with you, and doubtless walked from the station with you also.”

“That I do not know. The point is that he seemed greatly surprised to see me—he appeared, when I entered the room, as if I was the last person he expected to see.”

“You were evidently sober enough to take cognizance of that fact.”

“There are reasons why, as you will understand. Orizaba was standing at my desk when I entered the room. He had turned on the lights, and he had opened my desk, although I supposed the only key that would open it was in my pocket. He was looking at something—some of my private letters, I suppose, when I entered the room, and he dropped them on the desk with an exclamation of rage, and flew at me like a tiger-cat.”

“Did you fight?”

“I don’t know. T don’t think so. I was not angry; only astonished. I know that we rolled to the floor together and that presently we both rose to our feet. Then, I remember that I ordered him from the room, and that he apologized—or tried to do so. But I remember, also, that I refused to listen to any apologies from him. I was angry, and I told him that I wanted nothing more to do with him. In fact, I told him many things that I had long had in mind to tell him some day, and ended by ordering him from my room again.”

“Did he go then?”

“No. He refused to go. He dropped himself into a big chair near one of the windows and said he would stay where he was until he got ready to leave.”

“And what did you do then?”

“I told him if it wasn’t for the noise it would make I would either throw him out, or shoot the top of his head off, but as it was, and because I didn’t want to disturb Mercedes—you know her rooms are quite near to mine—he could stay where he was if he wanted to, but I warned him that as soon as I sobered up I would go to my mother and father, both, and tell them everything I knew about him, and also that I would see to it that he was kicked out of the house for good.”

“And then——”

“He only grinned, and said something about it being a more difficult job than I supposed to get him out of that family—that he would remain until he chose to go of his own free will, and——”

“Well? And——”

“Well, to be plain, I told him to go to hades. Then I threw myself on the couch. Every light in the room was going, but I must have fallen asleep at once.”

“And the time must have been as late as half-past two o’clock then, you think.”

“Yes; or even a little later.”

“What happened next?”

“I woke up.”

“Woke up to find him dead? Is that what you wish to tell me?”

“Yes; just that, but let me explain the particulars.”

“Go ahead.”