XV
WHO IS J. S.?
Whatever the cause, Janet's spirits were undeniably lightened.
"I wish I could help," she said. "Here is our problem: to find somebodywho wanted to kill Uncle Robert, and who was able to get into theapartment and do so."
"That's the case in a nutshell," declared George; "but I confess I don'tknow which way to start."
Although I had made up my mind not to refer to the letter from JonathanScudder, which Crawford had shown me, yet I thought I would introducethe subject of J. S. and see if Janet would volunteer any informationregarding the letter.
So, since both cousins had declared their willingness to consider theproblem, I said: "As you say you don't know which way to start, Mr.Lawrence, suppose we take up the clue of the torn telegram. Do you thinkthat J. S. who sent that message might have kept his appointment, andcome last night, although no one knew it?"
"How could he get in?" asked Lawrence.
"That remains to be explained; but just granting for a moment that hedid get in, why not turn our attention to discovering who he is and whathis errand was?"
"All right," agreed Lawrence, "but how shall we set about it? We knownothing of the man, not even his real name."
"What do you think, Miss Pembroke?" I asked, turning to Janet; "do youthink it would be possible for us to learn the real name of J. S.?"
The girl looked at me with troubled eyes, but the expression of hermouth denoted determination. Even before she spoke, I knew that she wasnot going to tell of the letter she had read that morning. The letterwas addressed to her uncle, but it had been opened. The reasonableexplanation of this was that it had come in that morning's mail, asindeed its postmark proved, and that Janet had opened and read it; thislatter supposition being probable, because the letter had been found inher room. To be sure after the death of her uncle, she was next incharge of the household affairs, but it would have been more commendableof her to have given her uncle's unopened mail to his lawyer or to someone in charge of his estate.
When she spoke, as I had fully expected, she made no reference to theletter.
"As I have told you," she said slowly, "my uncle often used to speak ofJ. S., and when we asked him who it was, he said John Strong."
"But we know he didn't mean it," said Lawrence; "and also, Mr. Landon,although I do not know his real name, I'm positive that J. S. is the manwho was my uncle's business partner many years ago. In fact my uncle hassaid to me that this partner thought that half of Uncle Robert's fortuneshould be given to him, or bequeathed to him by will. My uncle said hehad no intention of doing this, but I gathered from his remarks on thesubject, that his partner was continually making fresh efforts to obtainsome of my uncle's money."
"Then, in view of all this," I said, "is there not at least reason tolook up this J. S. who sent the telegram, and see if he might not be theman whom your uncle called John Strong?"
I looked directly at Janet as I said this, and though she returned mygaze at first, her eyes fell before my questioning glance, and her voicetrembled ever so little as she said; "yes, let us do that."
"It is a very good idea," broke in sister Laura, who was quick ofdecision and who rarely hesitated to express her opinions. "This JohnStrong may have been delayed, and reached the apartment very late atnight. Then there may have been a stormy interview, and, unable to getwhat he wanted from Mr. Pembroke, John Strong may have killed the oldgentleman, taken the money that is missing from the desk and gone away."
"Sister dear," I said, "your theory is fairly plausible. If you don'tmind I'll ask you to elucidate it a little further. Just how did JohnStrong get into Mr. Pembroke's apartment?"
"Why," returned Laura, "Mr. Pembroke was expecting him, and as it waslate, and the others were in bed, he got up and let the man in himself."
"Yes; I understand," I went on; "and now, then, after this wicked Mr.Strong had committed his dreadful deed, who let him out, and put thechain on the door?"
There was a dead silence. I had chosen my words most unfortunately. Ihad spoken rather quizzically, only with the intention of showing Laurahow absurd her idea was; but my final question, instead of merelyconfuting her theory, had also suggested a dreadful possibility! For ifanybody had put the chain on after the departure of the mythical Mr.Strong, it must necessarily have been one of the two living occupants ofthe apartment!
Janet turned white to her very lips, and as a consequence, even moredreadful thoughts flashed into my mind. She had read a letter that dayfrom the man who had sent the telegram. There was practically no doubtof that. When I had asked her concerning this man just now, though shehad not denied, yet she had not admitted the knowledge which she musthave possessed. And now when the faintest hint was breathed of apossible complicity of some one in the apartment with this mysteriousJ. S., Janet was so agitated as to turn pale and almost quiver withapprehension!
I was strongly tempted to tell of the letter the Inspector had shown me,but I could not bring myself to do so, for far deeper than my interestin the case was my interest in this girl; and if that letter must bebrought forward against her, it would have to be done by some one elseand not by me. My evidence about the chain on the door had alreadywrought irremediable damage, and hereafter my efforts should be devotedto showing evidence that should prove Janet Pembroke innocent, and notof a sort which should make her seem to be guilty!
"How would you advise trying to find this man?" asked George Lawrence,after a somewhat awkward pause; "the address on the telegram was EastLynnwood, but it would be difficult, even with a directory or censusreport to find a name of which we know only the initials."
"Yes," agreed Laura, "there are doubtless men in East Lynnwood whoseinitials are J. S. Indeed, I should say those are perhaps the mostcommon initials of all. You see, so many men's names begin with J."
"And it may not be a man at all," suggested Lawrence. "Women's namesoften begin with J,--like Janet for instance."
"But my initials are not J. S.," returned his cousin, "and besides, Ididn't telegraph to uncle Robert."
Again the girl surprised me, for she spoke in a light tone, as if almostamused at the idea.
"But it might have been a woman," she went on, "which would explain thehat-pin."
I was thoroughly perplexed at Miss Pembroke's words. She knew the J. S.of the telegram was the Jonathan Scudder of the letter. She knewtherefore that J. S. was not a woman. Why was she so disingenuous? Wasshe shielding J. S., and did she know far more about the tragedy than Ihad supposed? At any rate, I could see she was determined not to tell ofthe letter she had read, and I was determined that if I should ask herconcerning it, it would be when alone with her, for I would not subjecther to possible humiliation before others.
"We certainly can do nothing in the matter without knowing more of J. S.than we do now," I said, with an air of dropping the subject; "and Idoubt, even if we should find him, that it would help us to discover themystery."
"I don't believe it will ever be discovered," said Laura. "It looks tome like one of those mysteries that are never solved. For whoever it wasthat was clever enough to get into that house, when there wasn't any wayto get in, would also be clever enough to evade detection."
George and Janet both looked at Laura as if startled by her remark. Thefact that they were startled startled me. If they had known the cleverindividual whom Laura merely imagined, they couldn't have acteddifferently. But all this muddle of impressions on my mind really led tonothing. "If I'm going to do any detecting," I said to myself severely,"it's time I set about it, and not depend on guessing what people maymean by the expressions on their faces--especially faces capable of suchambiguous expressions as the two before me."
Determined, therefore, to lead the conversation into channels that wouldat least put me in the way of learning some facts about the previouslife of the Pembrokes and of George Lawrence, I spoke generally of waysand means of living in New York. I learned that Janet had the tastes andinclinations of a society girl,
but that, owing to her uncle'srestrictions, she had been able only slightly to gratify theseinclinations. She was fond of concerts and theatres, of going shoppingand calling, and yet had never been allowed the money or the freedom topursue these pleasures. My heart sank as I realized how everything thegirl said would tell against her should she ever be called to thewitness box.
Young Lawrence, it seemed, had similar social tastes, but even when helived with the Pembrokes had been more free to go and come than hiscousin. And, of course, since he had lived alone he was entirely his ownmaster. He was a member of various clubs, and seemed to be fond ofcard-playing and billiards, in moderation. I also learned, though, Ithink, through an inadvertence, that he dabbled a little in Wall Street.It seemed surprising that a young artist could support himself incomfortable bachelor quarters and still have money left with which tospeculate. This would not be in his favor, had there been a shadow ofsuspicion against him; but there could be no such suspicion, for evenwith his latch-key he could not get in at the door. He could hardly betaken for a professional housebreaker; and, besides, he was prepared toprove an alibi. I had little faith in this mythical personage we hadbuilt up with a motive and an opportunity, and as I reasoned round andround in a circle I was always confronted by the terrifying fact that adisinterested judge would suspect Janet and that, were I disinterested,I should suspect her myself. And so the reasoning went on in my excitedbrain, till I felt that I must go for a long walk in the cool night airas the only means of regaining my own clearness of vision.
Soon after dinner, then, I announced my intention of going out.
Lawrence said that he would spend some hours looking over his lateuncle's papers, and Laura declared that she would tuck Miss Pembroke inbed early for a good night's rest.
I started out by myself, and, swinging into Broadway, I turned andwalked rapidly downtown. This was my custom when I had serious mattersto think of. The crowded brightness of the street always seemed tostimulate my brain, while it quieted my nerves. I hadn't gone a dozenblocks before I had come to two or three different conclusions, rightor wrong though they may have been.
The first of these was a conviction that Janet felt more than a cousinlyinterest in George Lawrence. But this I also concluded might be causedby one of two things; it might be either a romantic attachment or Janetmight suspect her cousin to be guilty of her uncle's death. If the firstwere true, Janet might have been in league with George and might haveopened the door for him the night before. I was facing the thingsquarely now, and laying aside any of my own prejudices or beliefs,while I considered mere possibilities.
If, on the other hand, Janet suspected George, without real knowledge,this fact of course left Janet herself free of all suspicion. While Icouldn't believe that the two had connived at their uncle's death, stillless could I believe that Janet had done the deed herself. Therefore, Imust face all the possibilities, and even endeavor to imagine more thanI had yet thought of.
But the more I considered imaginary conditions, the more they seemed tome ridiculous and untenable. George was not in the apartment; Janet was.George was not at the mercy of his uncle's brutal temper; Janet was.George did not want money and freedom to pursue his chosen ways oflife; Janet did.
Much as I liked George, I would gladly have cast the weight of suspicionon him instead of on Janet, had I but been able to do so.
I had never before felt so utterly at the end of my resources. There wasno one to suspect, other than those already mentioned, and no place tolook for new evidence. Either the talent I had always thought Ipossessed for detective work was non-existent, or else there was notenough for me to work upon.
But I had traced two clues. The telegram, though it had not implicatedJ. S. had pointed, indirectly, in Janet's direction. The key, thoughstill mysterious, at least gave a hint of Leroy, and perhaps, incomplicity, Janet.
I made these statements frankly to myself, because since I was going tofight her battle, I wanted to know at the outset what I had to fightagainst.
Having started on my investigation, I was eager to continue the quest Ifelt, if damaging evidence must be found, I would rather find it myself,than be told of it by some conceited, unsympathetic detective.
But there was little I could do by way of investigation in the evening.However, as I passed through the theatre district, I bethought me of theticket stubs. Though well aware it was but a wild goose chase, I turnedmy steps toward the National Theatre. As the program was fairly wellalong, there was not a crowd at the box office, and I had no difficultyin engaging the blithe young man at the window in conversation. I hadnot the ticket stubs with me, but I had a memorandum of their dates, andthough it sounded absurd even to myself, I made inquiry concerning them.
"House sold out, I suppose?" I said, carelessly, to the face at thewindow.
"Just about. Want a poor seat?"
"No; I'll wait till some other night. Is it sold out every night?"
"Just about."
"Was it sold out the night of October sixteenth?"
"Sure! that was in one of our big weeks! Great program on then. Why?"
"I don't suppose you could tell me who bought seats one and three in rowG, that night?"
"I should say not! do you s'pose I'm a human chart? What's the game?"
"Detective work," I said, casually, thinking he would be less impressedif I did not seem too much interested. "I suppose you can't think of anyway that I could find out who bought those seats for that night?"
"Well, no, I can't; unless you might advertise."
"Advertise! how?"
"Why put in a personal, asking for the fellows that had those seats."
"But they wouldn't reply; they don't want to be caught."
"Sure, that's so! well, I'll tell you. Put your personal in and ask thefellows who sat behind those seats to communicate with you. Then you canfind out something about your party, may be."
"Young man," I said, heartily, "that's a really brilliant idea! I shallact upon it, and I'm much obliged to you."
I offered him a material proof of my gratitude for his suggestion, whichhe accepted with pleasure, and I went straight away to a newspaperoffice. This scheme might amount to nothing at all, but on the otherhand, it certainly could do no harm.
I inserted a personal notice in the paper, asking that the holders ofthe seats near one and three G on the night of October sixteenth shouldcommunicate with me. I mentioned the numbers of the seats not onlybehind the mysterious numbers, but in front of them as well, and also atthe side. I had little hope that this venture would bring anyworth-while result, but there was a chance that it might, and action ofany sort was better than doing nothing.
After leaving the newspaper office, I continued my walk, hoping, by deepthought to arrive at some conclusion, or at least to think of some newdirection in which to look. But the farther I walked, and the more Ithought, the more desperate the situation became. Clear thought andlogical inference led only in one direction; and that was toward JanetPembroke. To lead suspicion away from her, could only be done bydwelling on the thought of my love for her. In spite of her mysteriousways, perhaps because of them, my love for her was fast developing intoa mad infatuation, beyond logic and beyond reason. But it was a power,and a power, I vowed, that should yet conquer logic and reason,--aye,even evidence and proof of any wrong-doing on the part of my goddess!
Notwithstanding appearances, notwithstanding Janet's own inexplicablewords and deeds, I believed her entirely innocent, and I would prove itto the world.
Yet I knew that I based my belief in her innocence on that one fleetingmoment, when she had looked at me with tenderness in her brown eyes, andwith truth stamped indelibly upon her beautiful face.
Was that too brief a moment, too uncertain a bond to be depended upon?