XI
THE CHAINED DOOR
Janet herself sat as one turned to stone. I think it was the first timeshe had realized that even a slight suspicion had definitely beenattached to her name, and, had she been guilty, she could not havelooked more stunned by shame and ignominy.
I remembered that she had said: "Perhaps I did do it"; I remembered thatI knew nothing of her character save that it was a complex one, and--Iwondered.
But it was no time for wondering; it was an occasion for action. Risingto my feet, I announced that as Miss Pembroke's counsel I would at oncetake up the direction of her affairs. I agreed to be responsible for herappearance, and Charlotte's also, whenever necessary, and I directedthat any communication for Miss Pembroke be addressed to me as herlawyer.
My standing in my profession was of sufficient prominence to make allthis possible, and the coroner agreed to my proposals.
George Lawrence looked amazed and not altogether pleased.
"I think, Janet," he said, "you should have left it to me to select yourcounsel."
As usual, Janet's behavior was an insoluble problem. "Why should I?" sheretorted. "I need an able lawyer at once, and as Mr. Landon offered hisservices I was glad to accept his offer."
"What is your urgent need?" said George, looking at her peculiarly. "Youare not accused."
"I may be," she returned calmly. "And, too, I have now importantfinancial interests to be attended to."
I was shocked at the calm way in which she referred to her possibleaccusation, and also at the reference she made to her presumptiveinheritance. Could it be, after all----?
"Yes," said George; "it is wise to have good legal advice immediately,and you have done well to retain Mr. Landon."
This sudden change of base surprised me, but I was growing used tosurprises, and accepted it with the rest.
"Call on me," said George affably, as he held out his hand, "for anyassistance or information I can give you regarding my cousin's affairs."
As it was then nearly two o'clock, I proposed to Laura that she takeMiss Pembroke over to our own apartment for luncheon and rest, and,after a short talk with Mr. Lawrence, I would follow.
In conversation with George Lawrence, I learned that he wasadministrator of his uncle's estate, and as he and his cousin shared theinheritance equally, there would be little difficulty in the settling offinancial affairs.
But as to the murder, there was more to be said.
George was still furious at the implication cast on Janet andcontinually repeated how absurd the whole idea was.
"But," I said, merely for argument's sake, "you know Miss Pembroke didput the chain on the door last night, and Charlotte did take it off thismorning."
"There are other ways of getting in a house," stormed George. "Windowshave been forced before now."
"Let us ourselves examine the windows," I said. "We may find some clue."
"I hate that word 'clue,'" he declared. "I hate all suggestion ofdetective work, and deductions, and inferences."
"But surely a detective is needed in a case like this," I said.
"Not to my notion. Uncle Robert was killed. Janet never killed him. Ofcourse Charlotte didn't either. So somebody _must_ have got in at thewindow."
"Very well then, a detective might find out who it was."
"Oh, detectives never find out anything. I did suggest employing them, Iknow; but I don't think they do any good. Now look at that bunch ofstuff you picked up in my uncle's bedroom; surely that's enough forclues, if clues are wanted. But who could find the man who belongs toall that stuff?"
"I'm afraid, Mr. Lawrence you haven't a deductive mind. I'm no detectivemyself, but my legal training makes it natural for me to connect causeand effect. Apparently your mind doesn't work that way."
"No," said Lawrence, smiling; "I suppose I have what is called theartistic temperament. I am rather careless and inconsequent in my mentalattitude, and I certainly never could reason out anything--let alone agruesome mystery like this. But, for that matter, if you're going tolook at the situation in the light of pure reason, it seems to me it'sthis way: The murderer of my uncle came in from the outside. He couldn'tcome through the door, therefore he came in through a window; and thereyou have the whole thing in a nutshell. Now, find your burglar."
I couldn't help feeling attracted to the young man. Although he spoke ina light tone, he was by no means unmindful of the gravity of thesituation, and his only thought seemed to be to refute the absurdsuspicion which had fallen on his cousin.
"But how could any one get in at a window?" I remonstrated. "The windowswere all fastened."
"Don't ask me how he did it! I don't know. I only say he _did_ do it,because he _must_ have done it! If he left clues behind him, so much thebetter for the detectives. Those handkerchiefs and theater stubs meannothing to me, but if they could put a detective on the right track I'llbe only too glad to pay the gentleman's well-earned fee."
"What about the key?" I said. "Isn't that a clue?"
"Clue to what?" returned Lawrence; "it's probably my uncle's own key,that he had slipped under his pillow for safety."
"That's exactly what I think myself. How can we find out?"
"Well, I don't see how we can find out until Leroy comes home. I knowthe will makes me executor,--but of course, I can't do anything in thatmatter until my uncle's lawyer is present."
"Why not call up Leroy's office and find out when he's coming home?"
"Not a bad idea," agreed Lawrence, and putting the plan into action, welearned that Mr. Leroy was not expected back for two days at least.Whereupon we gave orders to his secretary to communicate with him atonce, tell him of the tragedy, and urge his immediate return. This waspromised, and then our conversation returned to the subject of thelawyer. I discovered at once that Lawrence did not like him, althoughhis denunciation of Leroy was not so severe as Janet's. IndeedLawrence's chief grievance against the lawyer seemed to be Leroy'sdesire to marry Janet.
"He's too old," he exclaimed, when I asked his reasons. "Just becausehe's a handsome, rich widower, all the women are crazy after him. ButJanet isn't,--she detests him."
I knew this to be true from Miss Pembroke's own words, and at the riskof seeming intrusive, I pursued the subject further.
"Mr. Pembroke desired the match, didn't he?"
"Oh yes; Uncle Robert was hand and glove with Leroy. And what that foolcolored woman said, was true; Uncle Robert had threatened to disinheritJanet if she persisted in refusing Leroy. But you know as well as I do,that that doesn't mean a thing in connection with the death of UncleRobert."
"Of course not," I agreed, heartily. "By the way, of course no suspicioncould be attached to Leroy?"
"Heavens, no! how utterly absurd! and yet----" Lawrence hesitated, and astrange look came into his eyes, "oh, pshaw! suspicion can be attachedto anybody and to nobody! to anybody, that is, except Janet. To dream of_her_ in such a connection is impossibility itself."
"Of course it is," I agreed; "and I don't think you need bother aboutthose foolish remarks of Charlotte's, for I don't think Mr. Ross or hispeople heard them. By the way, when was Leroy here last?"
"Why, I don't know. Yes, I know he was here night before last becauseyesterday afternoon, Janet told me of the terrible scene they all hadwith uncle. He was in such a rage that Janet begged Mr. Leroy to goaway."
"What an old Tartar that man was!" I exclaimed, my whole heart going outin sympathy to the poor girl who had borne such injustice andunkindness.
"He was all of that," assented Lawrence, "and in my secret heart I can'tgrieve very deeply because he's gone. But of course----"
"Of course his death must be avenged," I continued for him, "and propermeasures must be taken, and at once."
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Lawrence, with a sigh. "And I will do mypart, whatever it may be. But I confess I have no taste for thisinvestigation business. If you have, Landon, I wish to goodness you'd goahead and examine the whole place to your heart's content
. I'd be gladto have it done, but I can't bear to do it myself, and I'd take itkindly of you if you'd help me out."
At this, since George wouldn't accompany me, I myself thoroughlyexamined all the windows of the apartment. I have, I am sure, what isknown as the "detective instinct." I am of the conviction that it isscarcely possible for a human being to be in a room, even for a shorttime, and go from it without leaving behind him some evidence of hishaving been there. So I made a round of the rooms. I scrutinized everywindow. The only ones I found open were those which Charlotte had saidshe had herself opened that morning. The others were securely fastenedwith an ingenious contrivance which was really burglar-proof. GrantingCharlotte's assertions to be true, which I had no reason to doubt, thenet was surely drawing closely around these two women. But I felt surethere was some other possibility, and I determined to discover it.
There was no back stair or kitchen exit. The dumb-waiter had a strongsnap bolt and closed itself, without any means of opening from the otherside. Then I returned and carefully examined the front door. The Halelock, though easily opened with its own key, was not to be openedotherwise; and, aside from this, a key was of no use if the night-chainwas on. I looked at the heavy brass chain; then I put it in its slot,and opened the door the slight distance that the chain allowed. Theopening was barely large enough to admit my hand. There was nopossibility of a man getting through that tiny crack, nor could he byany chance put his hand through and slide the chain back; for to removethe chain I had to close the door again, as Charlotte had done thismorning.
For the first time I began to feel that I was really facing a terriblesituation.
If only I had kept silent about that chain, and if Janet and Charlottehad also failed to mention it, there would have been ample grounds forsuspecting that an intruder had come in by the front door.
But realizing myself that the windows had all been secured, and that thechain had been on all night, what _possibility_ was left save theimplication of one or both of the only human beings shut inside with thevictim?
Bah! There _must_ be other possibilities, no matter how improbable theymight be. Perhaps an intruder had come in before the door was chained,and had concealed himself until midnight and then had committed thecrime.
But I was forced to admit that he could not have put the chain on thedoor behind him when he went away.
I even tried this, and, of course, when the door was sufficiently ajarto get my hand through, I could not push the end of the chain back toits socket. The door had to be closed to do this.
With a growing terror at my heart, I reviewed other possibilities.Perhaps the intruder had remained in the house all night, and hadslipped away unobserved in the morning.
But he couldn't have gone before Charlotte unchained the door, and sincethen there had been a crowd of people around constantly.
Still this must have been the way, because there was no other way.Possibly he could have remained in the house over night, and part of themorning, and slipped out during the slight commotion caused by theentrance of the jurymen. But this was palpably absurd, for with thejurors and the officials and the reporters all on watch, besides thedoctors and ourselves, it was practically impossible that a strangercould make his escape.
Could he possibly be still concealed in the house? There were many heavyhangings and window curtains where such concealment would be possible,but far from probable. However, I made a thorough search of everycurtained window and alcove, of every cupboard, of every available nookor cranny that might possibly conceal an intruder. The fact that theapartment was a duplicate of our own aided me in my search, and when Ihad finished, I was positive the murderer of Robert Pembroke was nothidden there.
My thoughts seemed baffled at every turn.
There was one other possibility, and, though I evaded it as long as Icould, I was at last driven to the consideration of it.
The fact of the securely locked door and windows precluded any entranceof an intruder, _unless_ he had been admitted by one of the threeinhabitants of the apartment.
At first I imagined Robert Pembroke having risen and opened the door tosome caller, but I immediately dismissed this idea as absurd. For,granting that he had done so, and that the caller had killed him, hecould not have relocked the door afterward. This brought me to thethought I had been evading; could Charlotte or--or Janet have let inanybody who, with or without their knowledge, had killed the old man?
It seemed an untenable theory, and yet I infinitely preferred it to athought of Janet's guilt.
And the worst part of this theory was that in some vague shadowy way itseemed to suggest Leroy.
Lawrence had acted peculiarly when I suggested Leroy's name inconnection with our search. Janet had acted strangely whenever Imentioned Leroy; but for that matter, when did Janet not act strangely?
And though my thoughts took no definite shape, though I formed nosuspicions and formulated no theories, yet I could not entirely quell ablurred mental picture of Janet opening the door to Leroy, andthen--well,--and what then? my imagination flatly refused to go further,and I turned it in another direction.
I couldn't suspect Charlotte. Although she disliked her master, shehadn't sufficient strength of mind to plan or to carry out the deed asit must have been done.
No, it was the work of a bold, unscrupulous nature, and was conceivedand executed by an unfaltering hand and an iron will.
And Janet? Had she not shown a side of her nature which betokenedunmistakably a strength of will and a stolid sort of determination?
Might she not, in the wakeful hours of the night, have concluded thatshe could not stand her uncle's tyranny a day longer, and in a suddenfrenzy been moved to end it all?
I pushed the thought from me, but it recurred again and again.
Her demeanor that morning, I was forced to admit, was what might havebeen expected, had she been guilty. Her swooning fits, alternating withthose sudden effects of extreme haughtiness and bravado, were just whatone might expect from a woman of her conflicting emotions.
That she had a temper similar in kind, if not in degree, to her lateuncle's, I could not doubt; that she was impulsive, and could beirritated even to frenzy, I did not doubt; and yet I loved her, and Idid not believe her guilty.
This was probably cause and effect, but never would I believe the girlresponsible in any way for the crime until she told me so herself. Butcould she have been an accessory thereto, or could she have caused orconnived at it? Could I imagine her so desperate at her hard lot asto--but pshaw! what was the use of imagining? If, as I had oftenthought, I had even a slight detective ability, why not search for otherclues that must exist, and that would, at least, give me a hint as towhich direction I might look for the criminal?
Determined, then, to find something further I went to Mr. Pembroke'sbedroom. There I found Inspector Crawford on his hands and knees, stillsearching for the broken end of the hat-pin.
But, though we both went over every inch of the floor and furniture,nothing could be found that could be looked upon as a clue of any sort.
"Of course," I observed, "the intruder carried the end of the pin awaywith him, after he broke it off."
"What are you talking about?" almost snarled the inspector. "An intruderis a physical impossibility. Even the skeleton man from the museumcouldn't slide through a door that could open only three inches. And,too, men don't wear hat-pins. It is a woman's weapon."