Читать книгу The Four-Fingered Glove; Or, The Cost of a Lie - Carter Nicholas - Страница 7

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“What are the other questions, Mr. Carter?” asked Danton.

“I merely want you to tell me in as few words as possible the other story you have referred to several times.”

“It is only about Ramon Orizaba.”

“That is why I wish to hear it.”

“I first knew of his existence about five years ago; I think, also, that my mother heard of him for the first time then. He came to her, during my absence, with letters of introduction which are said to have established his relationship to her. I have never correctly understood what that relationship is, more than that he was a distant cousin on her mother’s side of the family. Nevertheless, Mr. Carter, I have long been convinced that there was something—some relationship, some power, some parcel of family history, some deviltry of some kind somewhere, which accounted for the studied insolence he often assumed to me and to others, and more than once, in his cups, he has as much as told me that it was out of my power to drive him out of the family.”

“You are making a strong insinuation against your own family, Danton.”

“I insinuate nothing against my mother; you must not understand me in that way. She is, and always has been, the soul of goodness. She is so good that she would suffer untold tortures to protect others, if she considered it a part of her duty to another to do so. It is some hold like that which this man had upon her, in my opinion.”

“But you do not even conjecture what it was?”

“No.”

“Do you think your sister might know what it was?”

“I am positive that she does know.”

“And her being thus informed would account for her standing between you and Orizaba in your quarrels, would it not?”

“Naturally.”

“So, in reality, she was not protecting Orizaba on such occasions, but merely standing for her mother.”

“Yes. I see that now, but I assure you it never impressed me in that way before.”

“You heard of the man first about five years ago. How long has he been considered a quasi member of your family?”

“Certainly for three years; in reality I have no doubt that my mother has supplied him with funds for a much longer time.”

“You have not mentioned that fact before. Why, in your opinion, should she do that?”

“Heaven only knows! I know that he had no supply of money of his own. He has confessed as much to me. I have known of several occasions when he has obtained money from her. I know them only by implication, of course, but I am as certain of the facts as if I had witnessed the transactions. And I do know positively of one occasion when Mercedes gave him a thousand dollars. She said it was a loan when I upbraided her for it, but I know that he never returned it, and that he never intended to do so.”

“How old a man was Orizaba?”

“He was thirty last Sunday.”

“Now, Danton, pay strict attention to the next few questions.”

“All right. I’m ready.”

“It is impossible that Orizaba should have killed himself, is it not?”

“Absolutely so, under the circumstances, since the handle of Cadillac’s needle was returned to its place.”

“You are equally positive that you did not kill him?”

“Unless I did so in my sleep, and am therefore entirely unconscious of the act. I know that I did not touch him.”

“And you are equally sure that he was dead? You are positive that in your dazed condition you could not have been mistaken?”

“Oh, I am certain of all that.”

“And that the needle that is missing from this cork handle which you have just placed in my hand is now imbedded in the back of his neck?”

“I know that the needle was in the cork at the last moment before I left my room to go to the banquet. I know that the needle is not there now. I know that there is—or was—the mark of a wound such as that needle would have made at the back of his neck. I know that there was a spot—a bead—of blood there, which I wiped away with a handkerchief, and that in wiping the spot I was certain that I could detect, by a pressure of my finger, the presence of the end of the needle under the skin.”

“And yet you also know that the casket in which the needle was kept by you was locked and that the only key that exists within your knowledge which will open it was in your pocket—by the way, were your keys in your trousers or in your waistcoat?”

“In my trousers.”

“And you did not remove them when you threw yourself on the couch to sleep?”

“No.”

“But you admit that you were very full of wine.”

“Just about as full as I could be and walk.”

“So that when you dropped asleep in that condition any person might have gone through your pockets and removed everything you possessed without disturbing you, don’t you think?”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought of that, but it is as true as gospel.”

“But—although you are equally positive that you locked your desk before you left the house to attend the banquet—yet you are certain that when you entered your room after having fallen asleep on the piazza and remained there approximately half an hour, you saw Ramon Orizaba standing at your open desk. Now is there a possibility that you are mixed about that part of the story? Remember, you were not sober at the time.”

“Nevertheless, I do not think I am mistaken about it. Of course it is possible that I am deceived, but I do not think so.”

“Now, supposing you to be correct on that point, have you any idea why Orizaba was searching your desk?”

“Not an idea in the world.”

“Had he, to your knowledge, ever done such a thing as that before?”

“No; never—at least, not that I have suspected.”

“Have you ever had reason to suppose that any person has opened your desk in your absence?”

“N-n-no.”

“You seem to hesitate in your answer.”

“Well, such a thought has never actually occurred to me before, but now that you suggest it, I am reminded that there have been several times when I have been annoyed by little things which I attributed to my own carelessness.”

“Such as——”

“Such as discovering papers or letters in pigeonholes where they did not belong. Such as searching for things that were not in their proper places when I found them. I am extremely methodical about some of my habits, and it is one of my boasts that I could go to my desk at night and place my hand on anything I desired to find there.”

“And yet you have occasionally found things not in their accustomed places, eh?”

“Yes.”

“When was the first experience of that kind?”

“I don’t remember. Two or three years ago, perhaps.”

“Has it happened frequently?”

“No. Several times, I should say; but at long intervals.”

“Do you keep a check-book in your desk?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you as systematic and methodical concerning the stubs in your check-book as you are about the arrangement of your desk?”

“I am afraid not.”

“Now, go back to the time when you left the train at the Fells, on your way home from the banquet. You say you have no recollection that Orizaba was with you during the walk from the station to the house?”

“None whatever.”

“And yet you say that you stopped two or three times and indulged in soliloquies—held animated dialogues with the lamp-posts and the telegraph-poles, eh?”

“Oh, yes; there is no doubt of that.”

“When you reached the piazza and dropped into a chair there, are you sure that you were alone?”

“As sure as I am of anything at all. Everything is more or less hazy, you know.”

“But half an hour later, or thereabouts, when you went to your room, Orizaba was standing at your desk, which was open?”

“Yes.”

“And there was no train that could have arrived from the city in the meantime?”

“Not unless it was a special.”

“Now, with your knowledge of Orizaba and his habits, of the relations he occupied in the household, of the acquaintances he cultivated, can you offer any suggestion concerning the identity of any person who might have killed him? I don’t necessarily mean who did kill him, but who might have done so at any time or place?”

“Nobody but Reginald Meadows Danton—myself. The fact is, Carter, Orizaba was generally well liked. He was quite a favorite at the club. I don’t know that he had an enemy in the world, save myself—and possibly my father. Only, of course, the governor is out of the question. He’s in Europe, anyhow; and, besides, his dislike for Orizaba was only general. He disliked to have strangers around the house at any time. We have always entertained lavishly, but it was always a bore to the governor. Dear old dad hasn’t an ambition in life that hasn’t the dollar sign in front of it. You must not get the idea that because I hated and despised Orizaba that everybody else did the same. On the contrary, he was a general favorite.”

“Very well, Danton,” said the detective, rising from his chair. “If you will wait here while I make some changes in my apparel I will rejoin you presently and we will catch the six-thirty train for the Fells. For the present, I advise you to give the impression that you have not been, at the house before, this morning, and if the body of Orizaba has not already been found we will discover it. After that we must be guided by events. My presence with you, you can explain on the plea that I am a Mr. Felix Parsons, of London, an old friend whom you unexpectedly met at the club.”