V
SEVERAL CLUES
I had often told Laura that if I ever did fall in love it would be atfirst sight, and now it had come. Not only Janet Pembroke's beauty andthe pathetic appeal of her sorrowful face attracted me, but I wasfascinated by the mystery of the girl.
The astounding news that had just been told her was so much worse thanthe mere fact of her uncle's death, that I fully expected her to showher emotion in desperate hysterics. But instead, it seemed to rouse inher a spirit of courage and self-reliance, and though it was quiteevident that she was making a great effort, yet she ably succeeded incontrolling herself perfectly.
There was no use blinking the fact; I had fallen in love with JanetPembroke. And as the truth of the fearful tragedy penetrated her dazedbrain, and she seemed so sadly in need of comfort and help my impulsewas to go to her, and tell her of my sympathy and regard.
As this was out of the question, I was glad to see Laura sit by thegirl's side and soothe her with kindly caresses. But, to my surprise,Janet did not faint, nor did she seem in any danger of physicalcollapse. On the contrary, Doctor Post's remark seemed to arouse her toaction. She sat up very straight, and, though the rest of her face wasperfectly white, a red spot glowed in either cheek.
"The coroner?" she said, in a strained, unnatural voice. "What would hedo?"
"It is necessary, my child, that he be summoned," said Doctor Masterson,"since your uncle did not die a natural death."
"But what will he do?" persisted Janet.
"He will ask questions of all who know anything about the matter, andtry to discover the one who did the awful deed."
"Of course, Janet," observed George Lawrence, "we must call the coroner.It is always done, I believe, in such a case as this."
"Very well," said Janet; "but it is all so dreadful--I can't realize it.Who killed Uncle Robert? Was it a burglar? Did he steal anything?"
She seemed to be talking quite at random. George answered her kindly,and his manner was gentle and affectionate.
"We don't know, Janet dear," he said. "That is what the coroner willinquire into."
I was thankful that my own business did not imperatively demand mypresence at my office that day, and I concluded to stay where I was, atany rate, until the coroner arrived.
I would doubtless be called as a witness, and, too, I trusted I could beof help to Janet.
The girl puzzled while she fascinated me. She seemed so helpless andalone, and yet she showed a strange courage--almost bravado.
George Lawrence, too, was reserved and self-contained, and I imaginedthey both inherited something of their dead uncle's strength ofcharacter.
Doctor Masterson had telephoned for the coroner, who said he would comesoon and bring an inspector.
Then Laura persuaded Miss Pembroke to go with her across to our ownapartment, and rest there for a time. This plan commended itself toDoctor Masterson, and he told Janet not to return until he sent for her.
Doctor Post said he would return to his office, but would come up to theapartment again when called for.
He contrived to have a short talk with me before leaving.
"There's more to this than appears on the surface," he declared, withthe air of imparting information of value. "This is a most cold-bloodedmurder, carefully planned and cleverly carried out. The criminal is noordinary sneak thief or burglar."
"That may be," I returned, "but if so, it is the coroner's place todiscover and punish the murderer. Surely we can do nothing."
"We ought to," urged Doctor Post; "we ought to examine the whole placecarefully for clues."
"I confess, Doctor Post," I returned, "that I should be glad to do so.My inclinations, like yours, are toward going to work at once. But weare not in authority, and Doctor Masterson is. It is only courteous tohim and to Miss Pembroke to acquiesce in their wishes."
So, reluctantly, Doctor Post went away, and I observed that DoctorMasterson seemed relieved at his departure.
"It's a bad business," said the doctor to young Lawrence. "I can'tunderstand it."
"It's horrible!" exclaimed George Lawrence, covering his face with hishands. "Why, I was here yesterday afternoon, and Uncle Robert wasparticularly well, and particularly----"
He paused, and with a grim smile Doctor Masterson completed thesentence: "Particularly cantankerous?"
"Yes, sir, he was," said Lawrence candidly. "I think I never saw him ina worse rage, and all about nothing. He stormed at Janet until the poorgirl cried, and then he scolded her for that. But I suppose his goutwas pretty bad, and that always made him ugly."
"Where do you live now, George?" inquired Doctor Masterson.
"I've bachelor rooms down in Washington Square. Not as comfortable insome ways as I was here, but good enough on the whole. I must make ahome for Janet somewhere now. It's all dreadful, to be sure, but,really, she'll be happier without Uncle Robert, in every way."
"She inherits property?" I asked, and, because of Lawrence'sconfidential manner, my casual question did not seem impertinent.
"She and I are the only heirs," he said straightforwardly. "UncleRobert's will is no secret. It was made long ago, and as we are his onlyrelatives he left us equal inheritors. I don't care about that part ofit, but I'm glad Janet is to have some money of her own. Uncle Robertwas mighty close with her. I made money enough for my own needs, butJanet couldn't do that, and she had to scrimp outrageously. She's soproud, she won't accept a cent from me, and between uncle's miserlinessand his temper she has led an awful life."
"Then I can't feel real regret that Mr. Pembroke is gone," I said,"except that the manner of his taking off is so horrible. Do yousuppose that it is the work of burglars?"
"Must have been," said Lawrence. "I haven't looked around at all--I hateall that sort of thing--but I suppose the coroner will clear up allmystery."
"Now, on the contrary," said I, "I have a liking for detective work,and, if there is any occasion for it, I'll be glad to do anything I canfor you."
George Lawrence seemed not to hear me.
"Uncle Robert hadn't an enemy in the world, that I know of," he saidmusingly; "so it must have been a burglar or marauder of some sort."
"Very unusual method for a burglar," said I, thinking of the hat-pin."Would you mind if I looked about a little bit? I'd like to find theother end of that pin."
"What pin?" asked Lawrence.
"The pin that killed your uncle. The doctors say it was a hat-pin,broken off close to the flesh."
"A hat-pin? How awful!"
The young man gave a shudder, as if sensitive to gruesome pictures.
"Yes," I went on; "and if we could find the head end that broke off, itmight be a clue to the murderer."
"Oh, yes, I see. Well, certainly, go and look about all you choose. Butexcuse me from that sort of thing. I'll get the best detectives, ifnecessary, but I can't do anything in that way myself."
I readily understood this attitude in one so closely related to thevictim of the dreadful deed, and at his permission I determined tosearch the whole apartment thoroughly. We had been alone during thisconversation, as Doctor Masterson had returned to his late patient'sroom, and the servant, Charlotte, had not reappeared.
I went directly to Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, but when there, I hesitatedfor a moment before addressing Doctor Masterson.
And then he spoke first; "I freely confess," he said, "that I owe toDoctor Post the discovery of the truth. I was positive it was not anatural death, but my old eyes failed to detect that tiny speck thatgave us the solution. However, that does not give Doctor Post the rightto pry into the affairs of the Pembroke household. It is now a case forthe Coroner, and no one else has a right to interfere."
"I appreciate your attitude, Doctor Masterson," I returned, "but Mr.Lawrence, who is, of course, in authority, has given me permission tosearch this room, and in fact the whole apartment, for possible cluesthat may help to solve the mystery."
"Humph," grunted the old Doctor, peering at me through
his glasses; "ifGeorge says so, of course you may do what you like, but I warn youyou'd better let the matter alone."
"Have you any suspicions?" I asked suddenly.
"Suspicions? Goodness, no! How could I have any suspicions? You must becrazy!" And without another word the old man hurriedly left the room.
After this exhibition of anger on his part, I felt myself in anunpleasant position. Perhaps I had been over-zealous in my desire to beof service to Miss Pembroke. Perhaps there were clues or evidencesbetter left undiscovered. But, pshaw! such ideas were absurd. RobertPembroke had been murdered. It was the duty of any American citizen todo anything in his power toward the discovery of the criminal.
Convinced of this, I set to work at once to make a thorough search ofthe room for anything that might seem indicative.
I merely glanced at the quiet figure lying on the bed, for such evidenceas that might show must be determined by the coroner's physicians. I wasonly seeking stray clues that might otherwise be overlooked, and thatmight prove to be of value.
Seating myself in front of the open desk, I noted the carefully filedand labeled documents that filled its pigeon-holes.
I could not bring myself to look into these; for though Lawrence hadgiven me unlimited permission, I felt that this personal sort ofinvestigation should be made only by a member of the family.
But in plain view lay a rubber band and a pencilled memorandum whichappeared to have been hastily thrown down. The paper slip seemed to showa receipt for ten thousand dollars brought to Robert Pembroke in paymentfor some stock sold by his brokers. This might all be an unimportantbusiness detail, but in view of the otherwise tidy condition of thedesk, it seemed to me to indicate that the intruder had stolen the moneyor security noted on the slip, leaving the paper and rubber band behindhim.
I might be over-fanciful, but there was certainly no harm in preservingthis possible evidence, and I put the slip of paper and the rubber bandin my pocket-book.
I saw nothing further of interest about the desk, and I turned myattention to the waste basket. On top of a few other torn papers lay thetwo stubs of theater tickets, which I had myself thrown there, before Iknew that there was a crime in question.
I transferred the two bits of paper to my pocket-book and proceeded toinvestigate further the torn papers in the basket. They seemed to me tohave no bearing whatever upon the case, being mostly circulars,receipted small bills, or ordinary business notes.
However, toward the bottom, I found a torn telegram, which piecedtogether read, "Expect me on Wednesday evening."
It was addressed to Robert Pembroke, and it was signed J. S.
Of course I put this away with my other findings, for though it might beof no importance whatever, yet the contrary might be equally true.
Rising from the desk, I saw a folded paper on the floor near by andpicked it up. This proved to be a time-table of local trains on theLackawanna Railroad. It was not probable that the burglar had left thisas a clue to his travels,--it was more likely that it had belonged toMr. Pembroke or his niece,--but I put it in my pocket, with the generalidea of collecting any evidence possible.
Further minute search of the floor revealed nothing whatever but anordinary hair-pin. With two women in the household, this was not anastonishing find, but I kept it, among my other acquisitions.
At last, feeling convinced that there was nothing more to be learnedfrom the room, I was about to leave it, when I paused by the bedside.Near the foot of the bed, and outside the counterpane, I noticed ahandkerchief. I picked it up and its large size proved it to belong to aman. Though slightly crumpled, it was quite fresh, and in the cornerthree small letters, W. S. G. were embroidered in fine white stitches.These initials were not Robert Pembroke's, and there were of course manyplausible explanations of the presence of the handkerchief. But since itdidn't seem to represent the property of any member of the household, Ifelt myself justified in folding it carefully and putting it in mypocket.
As I left the room I cast a final glance around it, feeling certain thata more skilled detective would have discovered many things that I hadoverlooked, and probably would have scorned to look upon as clues thecollection of articles I had pocketed.
But knowing nothing of the personality or habits of Robert Pembroke, itwas difficult indeed to judge intelligently the contents and conditionof his bedroom.