IV
DOCTOR POST'S DISCOVERY
A few moments after this, Mr. George Lawrence arrived. He let himself inat the front door with a latch-key, and walked into the room with theair of one familiar with the place.
"Well, Janet, what's up?" he began, and then, seeing strangers, pausedexpectantly.
"Mrs. Mulford," said Janet, "this is my cousin, Mr. Lawrence. Mr.Landon, Mr. Lawrence."
The new-comer bowed politely and with the graceful courtesy of awell-bred city man, then turned again to his cousin.
"I sent for you, George," began Janet, "because--because----"
But here her self-possession failed her, and she could go no further.She cast an appealing glance at me, as if to ask me to speak for her,then threw herself on the couch in an uncontrollable fit of weeping.
Laura sat beside the sobbing girl, while Mr. Lawrence turned to me foran explanation.
Judging at first sight that with a man of his type a straightforwardstatement would be the best, I told him in as few words as possible whathad happened.
"Uncle Robert dead!" he exclaimed. "Why, what does it mean? He had noheart trouble that we knew of. Was it apoplexy?"
"I think so," I replied. "Two doctors are in there now, holding aconsultation."
"Two doctors?" exclaimed Mr. Lawrence. "Who are they?"
"Doctor Masterson, who was, I believe, your late uncle's physician, andDoctor Post, who lives in this house."
"Which came first?" asked Mr. Lawrence.
By this time Miss Pembroke, who seemed to be subject to sudden changesof demeanor, took it upon herself to answer his question. She hadstopped crying, and again showed that icy calmness which I could not yetunderstand.
"I sent for Doctor Masterson," she said. "I thought uncle was only ill,but when the doctor came he said he was dead; and then he wanted anotherdoctor, so Mr. Landon very kindly went for Doctor Post."
"Why did he want Doctor Post, if Uncle Robert was already dead?"demanded Lawrence.
"To help him to discover what caused uncle's death."
"Then we must await the result of their consultation," he replied. Heseemed about to say something else, but checked himself. I couldreadily understand why he should hesitate to say in the presence ofstrangers many things that he might have said to his cousin had theybeen alone.
I felt attracted to this young man. Although he had a careless,good-natured air, there seemed to be an underlying vein of kindlyfeeling and courteous solicitude. Like Miss Pembroke, he seemed to becontrolling his emotion and forcing himself to meet the situationcalmly.
George Lawrence was large-framed and heavily-built, while Janet Pembrokewas a lithe and willowy slip of a girl; but their features showed adegree of family likeness, and the dark eyes and dark, curling hair weredecidedly similar. They seemed congenial, and thoroughly good comrades.Miss Pembroke appeared glad that her cousin had arrived, and he seemeddesirous of doing whatever he could to help her. I was struck by theutter absence of any expressions of grief on the part of either, andthen I remembered what I had heard about the cruel temper of theiruncle. Could it be possible, I thought, that these two were really gladrather than otherwise? Then I remembered Miss Pembroke's piteousweeping, and as I looked at Mr. Lawrence and noted his white face andclenched hands I concluded that they were both controlling their realfeelings, and exhibiting only what they considered a proper attitudebefore strangers.
Then I began to think that since Miss Pembroke's cousin was with her,perhaps Laura and I ought to go away and leave them to themselves. Imade a remark to this effect, but, to my surprise, both Miss Pembrokeand her cousin insisted that we should stay, at least until the doctorshad finished their consultation.
So we stayed, and Laura, with her usual tact, managed to keep up adesultory conversation on various unimportant subjects.
Occasionally the talk became more or less personal, and I learned thatGeorge Lawrence had previously lived with his uncle and cousin in thissame apartment. It also transpired--though this, I think, was toldunintentionally--that the reason why he went away to live by himself wasbecause he could no longer stand the unpleasantness caused by the fiercefits of anger into which old Mr. Pembroke would fly upon the slightestprovocation.
"It does seem a pity," he said, "that such a really fine man should beso utterly unable to control his temper. I could stand an ordinaryamount of grumbling and fault-finding, but Uncle Robert in his rages wasalmost insane. He grew worse as he grew older. Janet and I lived withhim for many years, and each year he grew more unbearable. I suppose,poor old chap, it was his gout that made him so crusty and cross, but itkept me in hot water so much of the time that I couldn't stand it. Janetstood it better than I did, but she's a born angel anyhow."
Mr. Lawrence looked admiringly at his cousin, who acknowledged hiscompliment with a faint smile.
"I didn't stand it very well," she said; "but I'm sorry now that Iwasn't more patient. Poor old uncle, he didn't have a very happy life."
"Well, you can't blame yourself for that. You did everything in yourpower to make it pleasant for him, and if he wouldn't accept yourefforts, you certainly have nothing for which to reproach yourself."
"Yes, I have," she declared; "we had an awful quarrel last night, andwhen Uncle left me he was very angry. I hate to think of our lastinterview."
"The usual subject, I suppose," said young Lawrence, lookingsympathetically at his cousin; "have you sent for Leroy?"
This question confirmed my fears. Mr. Lawrence had certainly implied byassociation of ideas, that Miss Pembroke's quarrel with her uncle thenight before had had to do with Graham Leroy in some way. This mightrefer only to financial matters. But my jealous apprehension made mesuspect a more personal side to the story.
She answered that she had sent a message to Leroy, and then again,without a moment's warning, Miss Pembroke burst into one of thoseconvulsive fits of sobbing. I was glad Laura was still there, for sheseemed able to soothe the girl as I'm sure no one else could have done.
His cousin's grief seemed to affect George Lawrence deeply, but again heendeavored to suppress any exhibition of emotion. His white face grewwhiter, and he clinched his hands until the knuckles stood out likeknots, but he spoke no word of sympathy or comfort.
I felt myself slightly at a loss in the presence of his repressedfeeling, and as I did not think myself sufficiently acquainted with himto offer any word of sympathy, I said nothing.
It was into this somewhat difficult situation that the two doctors came.They looked exceedingly grave; indeed, their faces bore an expression ofawe that seemed even beyond what the case demanded.
"Ah, George," said Doctor Masterson, grasping the hand of the young man,"I'm glad you're here. Did Janet send for you?"
"Yes, doctor; she telephoned, and I came at once. I'm indeed surprisedand shocked at Uncle Robert's sudden death. Had you ever thought such athing likely to happen?"
"No," said Doctor Masterson, and his voice had a peculiar ring, as of aman proving his own opinion.
Apparently Janet Pembroke was accustomed to the inflections of the olddoctor's voice, for she looked suddenly up at him, as if he had saidsomething more. Her crying spell was over, for the time at least, andher white face had again assumed its haughty and inscrutable expression.
"Was it heart disease?" she inquired, looking straight at DoctorMasterson.
"No," he replied; "it was not. Nor was it apoplexy, nor disease of anysort. Mr. Robert Pembroke did not die a natural death; he was killedwhile he slept."
I suppose to a man of Doctor Masterson's brusk, curt manner it wasnatural to announce this fact so baldly; but it seemed to me nothingshort of brutality to fling the statement in the face of that quivering,shrinking girl.
"Killed!" she said, clasping her hands tightly. "Murdered!"
"Yes," said the doctor; "murdered in a peculiar fashion, and by a meansof devilish ingenuity. Indeed, I must confess that had it not been forDoctor Post's conviction that the death was not natural,
and hisdetermination to discover the cause, it might never have been foundout."
"Was he shot?" asked Janet, and it seemed to me she spoke like one in atrance.
"Shot? No!" said Doctor Masterson. "He was stabbed, or rather _pierced_,with a long, thin pin--a hat-pin, you know. Stabbed in the back of hisneck, at the base of the brain, as he lay asleep. He never knew it. Thepin broke off in the wound, and death was immediate, caused by cerebralhemorrhage. Doctor Post and I have made a most thorough examination, andwe are convinced that these are the facts. Mr. Pembroke was lying on hisside, in a most natural position, and was, in all probability, sleepingsoundly. This gave the murderer an excellent opportunity to aim thedeadly pin with careful precision, and to pierce the brain with a swiftstab. The result of this was precisely the same as a sudden and fatalapoplectic stroke. Though there may have been a tremor or slight quiverof certain muscles, there was no convulsion or contortion, and Mr.Pembroke's face still retains the placid look of sleep. Death must havetaken place, we conclude, at or near midnight."
We who heard this sat as if paralyzed. It was so unexpected, sofearfully sudden, so appalling, that there seemed to be no words fit toexpress our feelings.
Then George Lawrence spoke. "Who did it?" he said, and his white faceand compressed lips showed the struggle he was making for self-control.
"I don't know," and Doctor Masterson spoke mechanically, as if thinkingof something else.
"No, of course, we don't know," broke in Doctor Post, who seemed a bitinclined to emphasize his own importance. And perhaps this was butnatural, as the older doctor had plainly stated that but for DoctorPost's insistent investigation they might never have discovered thecrime.
"But we must immediately set to work to find out who did this dreadfuldeed," Doctor Post went on; and though I felt repelled at the avidity heshowed, I knew he was right. Though the others seemed partially stunnedby the suddenly disclosed fact, I foresaw the dreadful experiences thatmust follow in its train.
Miss Pembroke, though still sitting by Laura's side, had broken awayfrom her encircling arm. The girl sat upright, her great eyes fixed onDoctor Masterson's face. She showed no visible emotion, but seemed to bestriving to realize the situation.
"Murdered!" she breathed in a low whisper; "Uncle Robert murdered!"
Then, without another word, her eyes traveled slowly round the room,resting on each person in turn. Her glance was calm, yet questioning. Italmost seemed as if she suspected some one of us to be guilty of thecrime. Or was it that she was seeking help and sympathy for herself? Ifso she could stop with me. She need look no further. I knew that in thenear future she would want help, and that of a legal nature. She hadherself said, or at least implied, that she would not look for such helpfrom Graham Leroy. If this were true, and not merely a bit of feminineperversity, I vowed to myself that mine should be the helping handoutstretched to her in her hour of need.
"There is much to be done," Doctor Post continued, and his mind was sooccupied with the greater facts of the situation, that he almost ignoredMiss Pembroke. He addressed himself to Doctor Masterson, but it waseasily seen that this was a mere form, and he himself quite evidentlyintended to be the real director of affairs. "We must find out who wasthe intruder, doubtless a professional burglar, who committed this awfuldeed. We must search the room for clues, and that, too, at once, beforetime and circumstance may obliterate them."
Although I didn't show it, I couldn't help a slight feeling of amusementat this speech. It was so palpably evident that Doctor Post possessedwhat he himself would doubtless call the Detective Instinct; and,moreover, it was clearly indicated that his knowledge of the propermethods of procedure were gained from the best detective fiction! Notthat he was wrong in his suggestion, but it was not the time, nor was ithis place to investigate the hypothetical "clues."
Doctor Masterson appreciated this point, and with a slightlydisapproving shake of his wise, old head, he observed: "I think thosethings are not in our province, Doctor Post. We have performed our duty.We have learned the method and means of Robert Pembroke's death; we havemade our report, and our duties are ended. The case has passed out ofour hands, and such details as clues and evidence, are in the domain ofthe coroner and inspector."
Doctor Post looked a little chagrined. But he quickly covered it, andeffusively agreed with the older doctor.
"Quite so, quite so," he said; "I was merely suggesting, in what isperhaps an over-zealous desire to be of assistance. What you say, DoctorMasterson, is entirely true. And now," he added, again bristling with anassumption of importance, "and now, we must send for the coroner."