XVIII
THE ROOMS IN WASHINGTON SQUARE
In sheer desperation, I resolved upon an interview with InspectorCrawford. I hadn't a very high opinion of him as a detective, but I hadreached the pitch where I must do something.
I telephoned to him, but it was only after some persistence that I couldpersuade him to give me even a little of his valuable time. Finally heagreed to a fifteen-minute interview at his own home.
It was not far to his house, and as I walked over there I wondered whyhe seemed so averse to a discussion of the Pembroke case. He hadimpressed me, when I saw him that morning, as one of those busybodies inthe detective line who are always willing to dilate upon their clues andtheir deductions, their theories and their inferences.
But as soon as I began to talk with Mr. Crawford I learned that he hadlittle interest in the Pembroke case, because he considered its result aforegone conclusion.
Inspector Crawford was not an especially cultured man, nor of aparticularly affable nature, but he was possessed, as I soon learned, ofa certain stubbornness which manifested itself mainly in adhering firmlyto his own decisions.
"I know Miss Pembroke killed her uncle," he said, "because nobody elsecould by any possibility have done it. I examined the windows myself.Those which were fastened were absolutely immovable from the outside,and those which were unfastened had the same sort of catches, and theblack woman declared she had unfastened them from the inside in themorning. The window opening on the fire escape had a double lock, thedumb-waiter was securely bolted on the kitchen side, the night-latch andchain were on the front door, and, therefore, my dear sir, to get intothat apartment without breaking something was as impossible as if it hadbeen hermetically sealed."
"Some one might have cut out a pane of glass and replaced it," Isuggested.
The inspector looked at me with a glance almost of pity.
"It's my business to make sure of such things," he said. "Of course Ithought of that, and examined every window-pane. Had one been put inwith fresh putty during the night, I should certainly have detected it.If you examine them, you will find both putty and paint hard andweather-stained."
My respect for Mr. Crawford's detective ability rose rapidly, and Ifrankly told him so.
He smiled disinterestedly.
"I'm not one of those spectacular detectives," he said, "who pick up ahandkerchief in the street, and declare at once that it was dropped by across-eyed lady with one front tooth missing, who was on her way tovisit her step-daughter now living in Jamaica, Long Island, but whoformerly was a governess in a doctor's family in Meriden, Connecticut."
I laughed at this bit of sarcasm, but was too vitally interested in thesubject in hand to care for amusing side issues.
"Do you say then, inspector," I continued, "that there was positively noway for any one else to get into that apartment, and that therefore Mr.Pembroke necessarily met his death at the hands of his niece or thecolored servant?"
"Or both," added Mr. Crawford.
"You assert that as your unqualified opinion?"
"I assert it as an incontrovertible fact," said Inspector Crawford, inhis decided way, "and, though it needs no backing up of evidence, theevidence all points unmistakably to the same fact. There are motive,opportunity, and a weapon at hand. What more is there to say?"
"There is only this to say," I declared, maddened by his air offinality: "that Miss Pembroke did not do it; that neither she nor theblack woman knows who did do it; and that I take it upon myself to provethis when the occasion shall arise to do so."
Again the inspector looked at me with that compassionate expression thatirritated me beyond words.
"Mr. Landon," he said, "I have no desire to be personal, but may I askyou, if you were as absolutely disinterested in the Pembroke case as Iam, would you not incline to my opinion?"
This silenced me, for I well knew that but for my interest in JanetPembroke I should inevitably be forced to Mr. Crawford's point of view.
"Ah!" he said. "I thought so. Now let me tell you, Mr. Landon--and I amindeed sorry to tell you--that there is no possible way to get that girlacquitted, and that your best plan is to work simply for the lightestpossible penalty. If you can plead self-defence, temporary insanity, oreven somnambulism, I advise you to do so."
"I thank you, inspector, for your advice, and regret to say that Icannot follow it. I shall plead 'not guilty,' and I shall prove mycase."
The inspector began to look interested, for, though a man may not boastof his own reputation, I may say that Mr. Crawford knew me as a lawyerof long practice and wide experience; and knew, too, that I had beensuccessful in cases where wise and anxious judges had scarcely daredhope for it.
"I hope it may be so," he said. "It does not seem to be possible, but,of course, no man's judgment is infallible. Might I be allowed, however,to ask your line of defence?"
"I don't know exactly, myself," I confessed; "but I think it willimplicate George Lawrence."
"But he couldn't get in."
"Inspector, if any one is implicated other than those two women, it mustnecessarily be some one who 'couldn't get in.'"
"That is true," said the inspector; "but, all the same, a murder can'tbe committed by a man who can't get in."
"That is no more impossible," I said stanchly, "than a murder committedby either of those two women."
Again the inspector contented himself with a smile.
"I have no reason," I went on, "for suspecting George Lawrence, exceptthat he could be said to have a motive. I admit, as you say, that itdoes not seem possible for him to have entered the apartment, unless oneof the women let him in."
"Let him in!" echoed the inspector. "I hadn't thought of that! Ah, nowI see your idea. If George Lawrence is the man who did the deed and waslet in by his cousin, while she might have been accessory, she might nothave known of the deed at all."
"That is possible, inspector," I agreed; "but had she let George in, shemust have again put the chain on the door after he went out. This isscarcely compatible with the assumption that she knew nothing of whathad happened in the meantime."
"No," declared the inspector, in his decided way. "Your suggestion,however, leads to a new line of investigation. But say George Lawrence_had_ gone to the Pembrokes' apartment last night, and _had_ come awayagain, the elevator boy would have known it, and would have givenevidence this morning; that is, unless he had been bribed, which is, ofcourse, possible. But all this will be brought out at the trial."
"Not so fast, inspector," I said, feeling a grim delight in bringing himup with a round turn. "George Lawrence can prove a complete and perfectalibi, attested by responsible witnesses."
Inspector Crawford looked thoroughly disgusted. "Then the whole matterstands where it did at first," he said, "though, of course, we mustremember that, since the women could have let in George Lawrence, theycould, of course, have let in any one else, had they been so minded. Butall this is in your province, rather than in mine, and if you can findanybody who is likely to have gone in there last night, with or withoutcriminal intent, I think for your own sake you had better makeinvestigation along that line."
"Mr. Crawford," I said, "I would not have mentioned to you even the nameof George Lawrence in this connection if I could have done what I wantedto without your assistance. I want to go to George Lawrence's apartment,and make a search of his rooms. I have not a definite reason for doingthis, but I feel that it may lead to something. I cannot say I suspectGeorge Lawrence of the crime. I cannot doubt his alibi, nor can Iimagine how he could have gotten into the apartment had he wanted to.But I do know that he had, or at least might possibly have had, a motivefor desiring his uncle's death, and upon that perhaps irrelevant fact Ibase what I shall not call a suspicion, but an interest into lookinginto his affairs. I could not go through his rooms alone, but as aninspector you will be allowed to do so, and I want to go with you and atonce."
I may have been mistaken in Mr. Crawford's inclination toward detect
ivework. Although he had seemed indifferent when he had been so sure of hisconclusion, the mere opportunity of searching for clues seemed to stirhim to action, and, to my surprise, he was not only willing but anxiousto go with me at once.
As I knew Lawrence would spend the entire afternoon in his work oflooking over Mr. Pembroke's papers, I felt that the coast was clear foran hour or so, at least. So together we took a Broadway car, and werenot long in reaching Washington Square.
The inspector's badge, of course, gained him access at once to George'sapartment, and I followed him into the rooms, feeling that if there wasanything even remotely approaching a clue, I must and would find it.
Though not luxurious, Lawrence's quarters were exceedingly comfortable.There was a studio, not large, but well lighted and furnished in a waythat showed its use as a living-room, and perhaps for small socialfunctions as well. A bedroom and bath completed the suite, and theinspector told me to begin my search.
"Let us examine the place," he said, "independently of each other, andafterward we can compare notes. I confess I have little hope of findingevidence of any sort. Of course I don't for a moment think that, evenhad Lawrence killed his uncle, he would have broken off that hat-pin andbrought it home here to incriminate himself."
"Of course not," I assented; "but, by the way, where _is_ the other halfof that hat-pin?"
The inspector gave his queer smile. "Assuming a woman to have done thedeed," he said, "we must assume her to be clever enough to dispose of apiece of a broken hat-pin."
My heart sank at his words, for I saw how deeply rooted was his beliefin Janet's guilt, and I feared a judge and jury might look at it in thesame way.
Silently we began our search. I took the studio, and the inspector thebedroom, first; afterward we were to go over each other's ground.
In one way, it seemed a dreadful thing to be poking round among a man'spersonal belongings; but again, since the cause of justice demanded it,I felt no hesitancy in doing so.
I took little interest in the sketches on the walls or the odd bits ofjunk and curios on the tables. No man with anything to conceal wouldleave it in those obvious places.
And yet I was not looking for anything George might have concealed, butrather for some straw which might show the direction of the wind ofevidence.
For the first time in my life, I felt like the detective in fiction, andI scrutinized carefully the floor and the rug. It seemed to me that allthe clues I had ever read of had been discovered on the floor; but thetrouble was that this floor offered so many unexpected substances thatthe result was distracting. But by no stretch of the imagination could Ilook upon them as clues. I certainly discovered many things upon thefloor that told their own story; but the stories were of no importance.Cigarette or cigar ashes were in such quantity as to indicate recentmasculine guests. An artificial violet and a bit of fluffy feathertrimming showed perhaps an afternoon tea, or a reception which feminineguests had attended. Lead-pencil shavings here and there betokened theuntidiness of an artist, and splashes of ink or water-color, thoughnumerous, proved merely that Lawrence had spoken the truth regarding hisprofession.
Though disheartened by my non-success, I kept on until I had examinedevery square inch of floor. I found nothing unexplainable to the mostordinary intellect, except a few tiny bits of broken glass on thehearthstone. So infinitesimal were these fragments that I almost missedthem, and, though I could not think them of any importance, I took themup on a bit of white paper and examined them by the light. They were ofa pinkish purple color, and I wondered if they could be bits of adruggist's phial which had contained poison. The notion was absurdenough, for Mr. Pembroke had not been poisoned, and, moreover, evengranting my hypothesis a true one, those few specks of glass wouldrepresent only a small fraction of a broken bottle.
But he might have dropped it, my imagination rambled on, and smashed it,and then swept up all the fragments, as he thought, but overlooked thesespecks.
At any rate, I put the paper containing the bits in my pocket, and wenton with my search. Feeling that I had finished the floor, I examined allthe furniture and decorations, paying no attention to Lawrence's desk orpersonal belongings.
Mr. Crawford came in from the bedroom. "I've done up my room," he said,"and there's nothing there at all, not even a revolver. Now, if you'rethrough here, we will change territory."
"I can't find anything," I returned, and as I spoke the inspector wentstraight to the writing-desk.
"If there is nothing here," he said, "I give it up."
With a practised hand he ran swiftly through Lawrence's papers.
"H'm!" he said. "Our young friend has been dabbling in stocks. BoughtL. & C. Q. on a margin. That's bad, for it dropped 'way down day beforeyesterday. That ought to help along your 'motive,' Mr. Landon, for assure as I sit here George Lawrence must have lost many thousands in WallStreet on Wednesday."
"It is corroborative," I said, "but that's all. Granting Lawrence'smotive for desiring to inherit his uncle's money at once, there is noreal evidence that he helped matters along by putting the old gentlemanout of the way."
"Not a bit," agreed Inspector Crawford; "and you mark my word, Mr.Landon, if there was any reason for suspecting young Lawrence, it wouldhave turned up before this."
"I'm not so sure of that," I returned; "and it isn't exactly evidenceI'm after, but merely a hint as to how he could have done it."
"Ah!" said the inspector, smiling again. "He couldn't have done it savewith the knowledge and assistance of his cousin."