Читать книгу Who Killed the Husband? - Footner Hulbert - Страница 5

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During the following three days, the sensation caused by the murder of Jules Gartrey rose to monstrous proportions. Extra editions of the newspapers were issued every half hour; nothing else could be talked about. Great crowds stood dumbly in the street gazing up at the windows of the Gartrey apartment and midtown Fifth Avenue was choked in front of the Stieff Building where Al Yohe lived. They even stood all day long packed front and rear at Police Headquarters, on the chance that Yohe might be brought in. Disgraceful scenes attended the funeral of Mr. Gartrey. To avoid the crowds, he was carried to his country place in Westchester and buried from there. Word of it got around, and thousands besieged the place. Finding the gates locked, they swarmed over the fence and trampled down all the shrubbery and flowers.

Mrs. Gartrey remained in close seclusion, but was not, however, averse to being interviewed. She had a case to put before the world, and she presented it with skill, though nobody believed a word of her story. She had frequently met Mr. Yohe in society, she said, but he was not in any sense a close friend. It was the first time he had come to her house except when there was a party. She had sent for him to discuss the plans for a ball that was to be held at the Waldorf-Astoria in December in aid of Polish Relief. St. Bartholomew’s Guild, of which she was secretary, was getting up the affair. At a meeting of the Guild it had been decided to ask Mr. Yohe to manage the ball because he was such a good organizer. In sending for him to talk the matter over, she was merely acting for the Guild. He was out of the apartment a good five minutes before Mr. Gartrey came home. “My husband,” said Mrs. Gartrey, “like all successful men, had bitter enemies. There were people who believed that they had lost money through him.” She could not, however, furnish the police with names.

Mrs. Gartrey promptly discharged the butler, Robert Hawkins, whose story did not agree with hers. Hawkins could have made a small fortune by selling stories of the Gartrey household to the newspapers, but he proved to be a man of very unusual decency; he moved into a modest furnished room and declined to add a word to his first statement. When the pestering of the reporters became unbearable, he quietly left town without advertising his new address.

The maid, Eliza Young, loyally supported her mistress’ story. She, of course, could let herself go more than the grand and dignified Mrs. Gartrey. Eliza was always available for an interview, and proved to be a passionate partisan of Alastair Yohe’s. This reacted against him. A plain woman, no longer young, Eliza’s lot in life had been singularly unexciting and, as was natural, all this notoriety began to go to her head. She talked too much. It was obvious to those who read her statements with attention that she was better acquainted with Yohe than would have been possible if he had made only one visit to the Gartrey home.

On the third day, Alan Barry Deane, a rich young man about town who lived on the second floor of the house where the Gartreys had an apartment, came forward to say that shortly before four o’clock on Monday (the afternoon of the murder), Alastair Yohe had called on him with the object of persuading him to serve on the floor committee of the Polish Relief Ball. He had consented to serve on the committee. They had talked together for a few minutes and had then gone out to discover the cause of the excitement that was filling the house. Deane said he did not know what became of Yohe after that, but insisted that up until then Yohe had appeared quite his usual self. This story, which was calculated to destroy that of the butler, was not, however, generally believed. The public felt that Deane had delayed too long before telling it, and that he was merely trying to recommend himself to the beautiful Agnes Gartrey.

Various new pieces of evidence were brought out. Upon the news of Gartrey’s death, the securities of all the companies he was interested in had broken sharply. There was a heavy short interest which had taken the opportunity to cover at an enormous profit. The police had not been able to trace this interest to its source. It came out, moreover, that Gartrey’s life had been threatened mysteriously and that about a month before, he had asked for police protection. About the same time he had taken out a permit and purchased a gun. Apparently he believed the threatened danger had passed, for at the time of his murder the gun was lying in a drawer of his bureau. The police at the same time were endeavoring to trace ownership of the gun found on the scene from which one shot had been fired. When they established that this gun had been sold to Alastair Yohe during the previous year, it was admitted that the case against Yohe was complete.

Meanwhile, that much-wanted young man succeeded in keeping out of the hands of the police. Though he had thousands of “friends,” though he was the most be-photographed young man in the country, and his smiling, handsome face must have been familiar to every reader of newspapers from the Atlantic to the Pacific, he was not found. Trainmen, bus conductors, airplane stewardesses, ticket agents everywhere were looking for him. There were innumerable clues which came to nothing. Arrests were made by the local police of Philadelphia, Hanover, New Hampshire, Milledgeville, Georgia, and as far away as Fargo, North Dakota, and New York detectives sent out to bring him in, only to find themselves fooled. A bitter note crept into the communiques issued from Headquarters. It was obvious that somebody must be concealing the wanted man. Each day the police promised results within twenty-four hours.

It turned out that Yohe had proceeded directly from the scene of the murder to his own small bachelor apartment in the Stieff Building near the Plaza. The elevator man testified that he had looked “very upset.” After a few minutes he had gone out again with a different suit on and was swallowed up by the unknown. He kept no personal servant. A maid employed by the management of the building said significantly that Mr. Yohe seldom slept at home. The public loved it. Upon searching his rooms the police had found nothing that pertained to the case. He was a discreet young man; he left no scrap of writing from any of the many women with whom his name had been connected. There were thousands of photographs of the great, the near-great and the would-be-great, some of which had a great potential value. They were so unflattering that the subjects might have been willing to pay anything to keep them out of print. But it was never charged that Yohe had taken money for such a purpose. A few of the photographs found their way into the newspapers, affording the town a series of laughs. The Commissioner of Police then cracked down on the press and impounded the lot.

These three days were full of little irritations for Lee Mappin. He was not allowed to forget the vulgar affair for long and his work suffered. Even the discreet, the correct Jermyn permitted himself to suggest that his master ought to take a hand in the case. At the office little Fanny Parran, usually so sensible, displayed a prejudice on behalf of the handsome young murderer as passionate and unreasonable as that of Eliza Young in the press. When the police finally identified the murder gun as Yohe’s, Lee fetched a sigh of relief. Now, please God, they’ll leave me alone! he thought.

When he got to the office there was no sign of grief or disappointment in Fanny’s pretty face, no change of any sort. When she brought in the mail she said with a beguiling air—Lee had never seen her looking sweeter:

“Pop, why don’t you talk to Inspector Loasby about the Gartrey case?”

“What is there to talk about?” said Lee, keeping a careful hold on his rising temper. “I am not a bloodhound. It is no part of my job to track down fugitives from justice.”

“Of course not, Pop. That’s not what I had in mind. Everybody in the world believes that Al Yohe is guilty. In the interests of justice you ought to examine the evidence that the police have against him and point out the flaws in it.”

“My dear girl, have you the face to pretend you still believe that man to be innocent?”

“I’m not your dear girl when you talk to me like a stuffy schoolmaster,” said Fanny with spirit. “And I am not pretending.”

“After the police have established that Gartrey was shot with Yohe’s gun!”

“How can you be so wrongheaded?” cried Fanny. “That is the best proof of Al’s innocence that has come out! Can you conceive of a man so stupid as to leave his gun at the scene of the killing? That gun was planted there!”

“Maybe so,” cried Lee waving his hands. “It’s no business of mine. I’m sick of hearing the fellow’s name! If he’s innocent why does he choose to live like a hunted creature? Let him come back like a man and face the music, and if he needs help I’ll help him!”

“Now, Pop,” said Fanny soothingly, “honestly, after taking everything into consideration, would you come back if you were in his place?”

Lee disdained to answer.

“If he came back there would be a hundred thousand yelling people around Police Headquarters. And what would the authorities do? Rush him to trial in order to quiet the mob; obtain a snap verdict—no jury would dare go against the mob—and rush him to execution. Would that be justice?”

“I cannot fight for a man in hiding,” said Lee.

Fanny gave him a level look. “Well, I’m disappointed in you,” she said, marching out.

Lee was left to nurse an unreasonable feeling of soreness and frustration. Fanny was not to be drawn into any further discussion and he was forced to argue it out with himself. Very unsatisfactory. He was satisfied that his attitude was the correct one, but how could you convince a woman when she wouldn’t listen?

He spent a part of the afternoon in dictating to Judy. She was of an entirely different character from Fanny, more serene and placid, not so liable to fly off the handle, in a word more feminine, Lee told himself. Judy was of the tall and statuesque type with big brown eyes and hair like a raven’s wing. Lee’s eyes dwelt with pleasure on her graceful, bent head.

“You are very beautiful,” he said.

“Thanks, Pop,” she said calmly. She had heard it so often before. And went on all in the same breath: “Pop, why are you so prejudiced against poor Al Yohe?”

It was like a dash of cold water on Lee. “You too!” he said in the same tone that Caesar must have used to Brutus.

“Well, you are not usually so influenced by the newspapers,” Judy went on. “How often have you told us that we should think for ourselves.”

“Fanny’s been getting at you!” said Lee.

“Of course we’ve talked the case over,” said Judy; “how could we avoid it? But I don’t take all my ideas from Fanny. I have a mind of my own, I hope.”

“Will you please tell me what sources of information you possess besides the newspapers?” asked Lee.

His sarcasm never touched her. “None,” she said in her calm and gentle manner. “I read the newspapers and form my own conclusions.”

“And what are they, may I ask?”

“Why can’t you talk about it reasonably, Pop? Why do you get sore whenever Al’s name is mentioned? According to your own rule, that proves your case is weak.”

It did not make Lee feel any less sore to have his own words turned against him.

Judy went on in her calm way: “It all sounds too cut and dried, Pop. Something important is omitted. They say that Mr. Gartrey came home unexpectedly and surprised them. They also say that the shot was not fired in the heat of passion but that Al was laying for him. They can’t have it both ways, Pop. If he came home before he was expected, how could Al have been laying for him at the door?”

Lee looked at her in surprise. “That’s rather neatly argued,” he said.

Judy blushed with pleasure. “You think I’m beautiful but dumb,” she said.

“That’s not so,” insisted Lee, “or I couldn’t afford to keep you here.”

Judy made haste to follow up her advantage. “That woman is certainly lying, Pop!”

“Why, she’s Al’s only friend!” In spite of himself Lee was falling into the habit of referring thus familiarly to the celebrity.

“If she’s really his friend she’s a fool,” said Judy. “She’s not going the right way about it to clear him. I often have to lie myself and I can tell when another woman is lying.”

“What is your idea of what really happened, my dear?” asked Lee quite mildly.

Judy spread out her hands. “Ah, I haven’t any,” she said. “That’s where we must depend on you, Pop. If you delved into the case you would find out the truth about it.”

Lee said judicially: “In the apartment at the time of the shooting were Mrs. Gartrey and Al Yohe; Hawkins, the butler; Eliza Young, the lady’s maid, and four other maids. There is a second manservant but he was out on an errand. How could it have been any of these excepting Yohe? How could I even start an investigation without having an opportunity to hear Yohe’s own story?”

“That’s so,” said Judy rising. “It hadn’t occurred to me.” She went out thoughtfully. A moment later he saw her in deep confabulation with Fanny.

A man from the World-Telegram came in to see him. He was followed by a Daily News reporter and a whole group of others, including redheaded Tom Cottar from the Herald Tribune. Tom had been sweet on Fanny Parran for a long time. Lee noted that her greeting today was somewhat cool. Tom was a prime favorite with Lee, and the others, knowing it, let Tom do the talking.

“Mr. Mappin, we want an opinion from you on the Gartrey case.”

“Now, Tom,” warned Lee, “you know that I have made it a rule not to discuss a crime before it comes to trial.”

“You don’t need to express an opinion as to Al Yohe’s guilt,” said Tom. “That’s established. Just discuss the case generally. Tell us what it suggests to you from a social point of view, or any such tripe.”

“Tripe?” said Lee, running up his eyebrows.

“You know what I mean,” said Tom, grinning. “This case has reached such proportions that the public is demanding an expression of views from their favorite criminologist.”

“Poppycock!” said Lee. “The truth is, the public is ravenous for news about the case; you haven’t any for them today and so you come to me for a filler.”

“Well, you have never let us down yet,” said Tom cajolingly.

“I’m going to now. I have nothing to say.”

“Now, Mr. Mappin ...”

“By Gad! if I’m pestered any further about this damned case I’ll leave town!” cried Lee.

“Pestered?” asked the Daily News man, scenting a story. “By whom?”

“By all of you! Not another word!”

When they saw that he meant it, they filed out. Lee detained Tom. “I want to speak to you about a personal matter.”

Tom looked at him inquiringly.

“Who tipped you off to come to me today?” asked Lee.

Tom shrugged innocently—too innocently. “The assignment came to me in the usual way.”

“Tom, there appears to be a kind of conspiracy afoot with the object of forcing me into this case. You and I must make a stand against it.”

Tom, after glancing uneasily over his shoulder, mutely put out a hand.

Lee grasped it. “What’s behind it, Tom?”

“I’m with you, Pop,” mumbled Tom, “but I can’t say anything when she’s just outside the door.”

Lee glanced at his watch. “I’ll be leaving here in half an hour. Meet me in the Vanderbilt bar at five-ten.”

“Okay, Pop.”

Sitting at a little table in the Vanderbilt bar with Scotch and soda before them, Lee and Tom compared notes. Said Tom:

“This guy is as guilty as hell, Lee. That was nothing in my life until Fanny felt that she had received a call to save him. Since then I have had no peace. She is threatening to ship me because I can’t change the policy of the Herald Tribune toward the case. Damn him anyhow! By God! how I would like to flatten his Grecian nose with my fist! All handsome men are so-and-sos!” Tom had no pretensions to good looks, though there was a pleasing masculinity about his strongly marked features.

“I sympathize with you,” said Lee. “What started Fanny off at this tangent?”

“Don’t ask me. She is mysterious.”

“Is it possible she could have seen Al Yohe since the murder?”

“No.”

“Before this happened, had you any reason to suppose that Fanny had fallen in love with him?”

“She’s not in love with him,” said Tom coolly. “I would know how to deal with that. This is worse, Pop. God help a man when his girl embarks on a moral crusade! He is helpless!”

“Well, we’ve got to stand out against this foolishness until it blows over,” said Lee firmly. “To give in to it would only be to make ourselves ridiculous!”

They shook hands on it again.