CHAPTER IX CLUES
“And what was the nail driven home with?” I pursued, looking about.
“That’s a queer thing, too,” he returned. “Some heavy mallet or hammermust have been used. True, it could have been driven by some other hardor heavy object, but I see nothing indicative about. No bronze book-endsor iron doorstop.”
We scanned the room, but saw no implement that would act as a hammer.
“I think I may say,” Keeley went on, “that never have I seen a case withso many bizarre points. To be sure they may be all faked in an attempt tobewilder and mislead the investigators, but even so, such a number ofclues, whether real or spurious, ought to lead somewhere.”
“They will,” I assured him. “Where are you going to begin?”
“I don’t know where I shall begin, but I shall end up with the watch inthe water pitcher. That, you will find, will be the bright star in thisgalaxy of clues.”
“Just as a favour, Kee, do tell me why you stress that so. Why is thatsilly act more illuminating than the other queernesses?”
“No, Gray, I won’t tell you that now. Not that I want to be mysterious,but that may be my trump card, and I don’t want to expose it prematurely.You’d know yourself if you’d ever studied medical works.”
“Medical works! I can’t see any therapeutic value in the incident. Is itvoodoo, or a medicine-man stunt?”
Griscom came into the room just then, and Moore asked him again as to thewatch.
But we gained no new knowledge. The watch had been lying on a small jeweltray on the dresser. The water pitcher had been on a near-by table. Itseemed, like all the rest of the inexplicable circumstances, a mere bitof wanton mischief.
“Why do you look so worried, Griscom?” Kee said, eying the man closely.
“I am worried, sir. About them weskits.”
“Oh, pshaw, they’re of small consequence compared to the graver questionswe have to face.”
“Yes, sir, but it’s queer. Now, I know those two weskits were in theirright place Wednesday morning. And Miss Alma said the master gave ’em toher of a Tuesday afternoon.”
“Oh, she just mistook the day,” I said, hastily, anxious to keep her nameout of the discussion.
But Moore was interested at once.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Perfectly sure,” the man replied. “Miss Alma was here Tuesday afternoonand the master may have given her the weskits then, but she didn’t carrythem home, for they were here Wednesday morning.”
“One of you must be mistaken as to the day,” I repeated. “And it doesn’tmatter, anyway.”
“Oh, keep still, Gray,” Kee said, impatiently. “What about the TotemPole, Griscom? Was that here Wednesday morning?”
“I don’t know for certain——” He looked perplexed.
“Of course you don’t,” I broke in, irrepressibly. “You can’t rememberexactly incidents that made no real impression on you at the time. Nobodycan. And don’t try to be positive about these things when you’ve reallyonly a vague recollection.”
“No, sir,” Griscom said, speaking deferentially enough, but I caught aslight gleam of obstinacy in his eye.
“Are you talking about those waistcoats?” asked Everett, coming into theroom.
“Yes,” Kee said, “why?”
“Only that I’m puzzled. Miss Remsen says her uncle gave them to her onTuesday, but I know that he wore the dark blue moire one on Wednesday.”
“At dinner time?” Moore asked.
“Yes, we don’t dress in summer, unless there are ladies here. He had iton at dinner I’m positive.”
“Then it’s all part of the planted evidence,” I informed them. “Whoeverstaged all the foolish scene on the bed, also grabbed up two waistcoatsand the Totem Pole, made a bundle of them and deposited it in MissRemsen’s boathouse.”
“Then why did she say she wanted them for patchwork——”
“She didn’t at first,” I urged, not realizing where my argument led. “Butshe was so put about and bewildered by that fool coroner that shescarcely knew what she was saying——”
“I think you scarcely know what you’re saying, Gray,” and Moore looked atme in kindly admonition. “You’d better hush up, if you don’t mind. I’mnot sure Miss Remsen needs an advocate, but if she does, your incoherentbabblings won’t do her any good.”
Though he smiled, his tone was serious, and I began to see I was making afool of myself.
I turned on my heel and left the room, not trusting myself to hush up tothe degree desired. In the sitting room, I saw Billy Dean, lookingdisconsolate.
I was surprised, for he had seemed cheerful enough up to now.
On a sudden impulse, and with a glance that he could not mistake forother than confidential, I said:
“So you saw the canoe Wednesday night?”
“Yes,” he said, answering my eyes rather than my words. Then realizinghis slip, he said, quickly, “No, not a canoe, I heard a motor boat aboutmidnight.”
“Yes, and a canoe later,” I persisted. “Look out, Dean, I’m notinvestigating, I’m only anxious to help—the innocent,” I finished, alittle lamely.
“I don’t get you,” the young man said, stubbornly, and again the redflamed in his cheeks.
“Oh, yes, you do, and please understand we’re at one in this matter. Iwant you to promise not to say anything about it to any one. You see,your unfortunate trick of blushing like a schoolgirl gives you away, andmakes you seem to admit far more than you know. Now, before DetectiveMarch or Keeley Moore gets after you, just you tell me what you know andlet me advise you. I’m as loyal to Miss Remsen as you can possibly be,even if you are in love with her and I’m not.”
I made this not entirely veracious statement to set the poor chap’s mindat rest, for I could see dawning jealousy in his frank and opencountenance.
He responded to my sincerity of manner and tone, and speaking almost in awhisper, said:
“I didn’t see her, my room is in the other wing, but I heard Alma’spaddling. I’d know her stroke among a thousand. Nobody paddles as shedoes.”
“Oh, you couldn’t recognize a mere paddle stroke!”
“Yes, I could. It’s unique, I tell you. She has a peculiar rhythm, and ifyou know it, it’s unmistakable.”
“At what time was this?”
“About half past one; a few minutes later, just after the clock in thehall had chimed the half hour.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
He glared at me. “That’s a nice question, when you’ve fairly dragged itout of me! But I’m banking on your statement that you’re loyal to Almaand I’m hoping that you can somehow ward off inquiries from Mr. Moore orkeep the police away from her house.”
“You don’t think she had anything to do with——”
“Of course, I know Alma Remsen had nothing to do with her uncle’s death,if that’s what you’re trying to say, but I do believe she was here latethat night, and if that fact is discovered, it means trouble all round.”
He had suddenly acquired a dignity quite at variance with his formerboyish embarrassment, and spoke earnestly and steadily.
“Why would she come here at such an hour?”
“She—she comes at any time—she has her own key——” He was flounderingagain.
“Yes, I know, but at half past one at night! What could be theexplanation?”
“I can’t tell you——I daren’t tell you,” he moaned like a child. “But oh,Mr. Norris, do stand by! Do use any tact or cleverness you may possess tokeep the hounds off her track! She will be persecuted, unless we can saveher!” He began to look wild-eyed, and I began to fear that Miss Remsenhad even a worse and more imbecile helper in him than in me.
But the whole affair was growing in interest, and I was glad to have asympathizer in my belief in Alma Remsen’s innocence, whatever sort hemight be.
For I had caught a few words from
the next room and I felt certain thatEverett and Keeley Moore were talking over the strange story of Alma andthe waistcoats.
Feeling I could do no more with Dean just then, I went back to thebedroom.
“Sifting clues?” I asked, trying to speak casually.
Kee looked at me, and smiled a little.
“Absent clues rather than present ones,” he said. “You see, thewaistcoats and the Totem Pole disappeared, but so did the plate—the fruitplate.”
“Is that important?” I asked.
“Why, yes, in a way. Everything that is here or that isn’t here isimportant.”
“A bit cryptic, but I grasp your meaning,” I told him. “Then the hammerthat belongs to the nail is important?”
“Very much so,” Kee answered, gravely. “Do you know where it is?”
“I don’t, but it seems to me you haven’t looked for it very hard. If themurderer is one of this household, presumably he used a hammer belonginghere.”
“Then it loses its importance. The hammer is only of interest if it wasbrought in from outside.”
“Have you made any headway at all, Kee?”
“Not much, I confess. Mr. Everett here inclines to Ames——”
“And Ames inclines to Everett,” was the somewhat surprising observationof the secretary himself.
“Yes,” he went on, as I looked at him in amazement, “but I think, I hope,Ames only suspects me because it’s the conventional thing to do. Instories, you know, nine tenths of the crimes are committed by theconfidential secretary.”
“Not so many,” I said, judicially: “Four tenths, at most. Then, threetenths by the butler, three tenths by the inheriting nephew, and twotenths by——”
“Hold up, Gray,” Keeley cried, “you’ve used up your quota of tenthsalready. But Ames is a really fine suspect.”
“Except that he can’t dive and I can,” Everett helped along. “And there’sno way out of this locked apartment except through a window. And all thewindows are on the Sunless Sea.”
“Could you dive into that and come up smiling?” asked Kee.
“I could,” Everett said, “but I’d rather not. I know the rocks and allthat, but it’s a tricky stunt. Ames could never do it.”
“Unless he’s been hoaxing you all as to his prowess in the water,” Mooresuggested.
“Yes, that might be,” Everett assented, thoughtfully.
Then Moore and I started for home. As we left the house, he proposed wego in a boat, of which there seemed to be plenty and to spare at thedock.
In preference to a canoe, Keeley selected a trim round-bottomed rowboat,and we started off.
He did the rowing, by choice, and he bent to his oars in silence. I toofelt disinclined to talk, and we shot along the water, propelled by hislong steady strokes.
I looked about me. The whole scene was a setting for peace andhappiness—not for crime. Yet here was black crime, stalking through thelandscape, aiming for Pleasure Dome, and clutching in its wicked hand themaster of the noble estate.
I looked back at the wonderful view. The great house, built on a gentlysloping hill, shone white in the summer sunlight. The densely growingtrees, judiciously thinned out or cut into vistas, made a perfectbackground, and the foreground lake, shimmering now as the sun caught itswavelets, veiled its dangers and treachery beneath a guise of smilinglight.
We went on and on and I suddenly realized that we had passed the Moorebungalow.
“Keeley,” I said, thinking he had forgotten to land, “where are yougoing?”
“To the Island,” he replied, and his face wore an inscrutable look, “Comealong, Gray, but for Heaven’s sake don’t say anything foolish. Better notopen your mouth at all. Better yet, stay in the boat——”
“No,” I cried, “I’m going with you. Don’t be silly, Kee, I sha’n’t make afool of myself.”
“Well, try not to, anyway,” he said, grimly, and then we made a landingat Alma Remsen’s home.
It was a tidy little dock and trim boathouse that received us, and Irealized the aptness of the name “Whistling Reeds.”
For the tall reeds that lined some stretches of its shore were even nowwhistling faintly in the summer breeze. A stronger wind would indeed makethem voiceful.
Back of the reeds were trees, and I had a passing thought that never hadI seen so many trees on one island. So dense that they seemed like animpenetrable growth, the path cut through them to the house was not atonce discernible.
“This way,” Kee said, and struck into a sort of lane between the sentinelpoplars and hemlocks.
But a short walk brought us out into a great clearing where was acharming cottage and most pleasant grounds and gardens.
There were terraces, flower beds, tennis court, bowling green and a fieldshowing a huge target, set up for archery practice.
It fascinated me, and I no longer wondered that Miss Remsen loved herisland home. The house itself, though called a cottage, was a good-sizedaffair, of two and a half stories, with verandahs and balconies, and ahospitable atmosphere seemed to pervade the porches, furnished withwicker chairs and chintz cushions.
Yet the place was so still, so uninhabited looking that I shudderedinvoluntarily. I became conscious of a sinister effect, an undercurrentof something eerie and strange.
I glanced off at the trees and shrubbery. It was easily seen that theIsland, of two or three acres, I thought, was bright and cheerful onlyimmediately around the house. Surrounding the clearing for that, thetrees closed in, and the result was like an enormous, lofty wall ofimpenetrable black woods.
I quickly came back to the house, and as we went up the steps, AlmaRemsen came out on the porch.
I shall never forget how she looked then.
For the first time I saw her close by without a hat. Her hair, of goldenbrown, but bright gold in the sunlight, was in soft short ringlets like ababy’s curls. I know a lot, having sisters, about marcel and permanent,about water waves and finger curls, but this hair, I recognized, had thatunusual attribute, longed for by all women: it was naturally curly.
The tendrils clustered at the nape of her neck and broke into soft, thickcurls at the top of her head. I had never seen such fascinating hair, anddimly wondered what it was like before she had it cut short.
She wore a sort of sports suit of white silk with bands of green.
She glanced down at this apologetically.
“I ought to be in black,” she said, “or, at least, all white. But I am,when I go over to the mainland. Here at home, it doesn’t seem to matter.Does it?”
She looked up at me appealingly, though with no trace of coyness.
“Of course not,” I assured her. “Our affection is not made or marred bythe colour of a garment.”
This sounded a bit stilted, even to me, but Kee had told me not to make afool of myself and I was trying hard to obey.
“Sit down,” she said, hospitably, but though calm, she was far from beingat ease.
“We’re only going to stay a minute,” Kee said. “We must get home toluncheon. It’s late now, and my wife will be furious. Miss Remsen, Ithink I’ll speak right out and not beat about the bush.”
She turned rather white, but sat listening, her hands clasped in her lapand her little white-shod foot tapping nervously on the porch floor.
“I want to ask you,” Keeley Moore spoke in a tone of such kindness that Icould see Alma pluck up heart a bit, “about the waistcoats. Though it maybe a trifling matter, yet great issues may hang on it. When you said youruncle gave them to you, were you strictly truthful?”
She sat silent, looking from one to the other of us. When she glanced atme I was startled at the message in her eyes. If ever a call of SOS wassignalled, it was then. Without a word or a gesture her gaze implored myhelp.
But with all the willingness in the world, what could I do? Keeley hadwarned me against making a fool of myself, and though I would gladly havedefied him to serve her, I could see no way to do so, fool or no fool.All I could
do, was to give her back gaze for gaze and try to put in myeyes all the sympathy and help that were surging up in my heart.
I think she understood, and yet I could see a shadow of disappointmentthat I could, as she saw, do nothing definite.
Moore was waiting for his answer, but she was deliberate of manner andspeech.
“By what right are you questioning me, Mr. Moore?” she said.
“Principally by right of my interest in you and your welfare and my greatdesire to be of service to you.” Kee’s sincerity was beyond all doubt.
“That is the truth?”
“Yes, Miss Remsen, that is the truth.”
“Then, I will tell you, that you can be of service to me only byrefraining from questioning me and ceasing to interest yourself in mywelfare.”
The asperity of the words was contradicted by the supplicating glance andthe troubled face of the girl before us. Her eyelids quivered with thatagonized trembling I had learned to know, and she fairly bit her lips inan effort to preserve her poise.
“I’m sorry not to take you at your word, and leave you at once, but Imust warn you that the police will doubtless come to see you, and I’msure you are in need of advice.”
“Police!” she breathed, scarcely audibly.
“Yes; Not Hart, but more likely Detective March. He is not an unkind man,but he will do his duty, and it will be an ordeal for you. Now, won’t youlet me help you, as a friend, or, if not, won’t you call a lawyer, ofgood standing and repute?”
“A lawyer!” she breathed, exactly as she had spoken of the police.Clearly, the poor child was at her wits’ end. The reason for her distressI did not see, for surely nobody could dream of her being mixed up in acrime. The obvious explanation was that she was shielding somebody, andthis was my theory.
I came to a swift conclusion that she had gone to Pleasure Dome thatnight, that she had seen or heard the murderer at his fell deed, and thatit had so unnerved her that she could not control herself when thinkingof it.
This seemed to point to Billy Dean, that is, if she cared for him as hedid for her.
Kee was forging ahead.
“Yes. Please try to realize, Miss Remsen, that the visit from the policedetective is inevitable. He will doubtless come this afternoon. You willhave to see him; one can’t evade the law. Now, let me help you to be alittle prepared for him, and not let him throw you into spasms ofterrified silence, or, worse, impetuous and incriminating statements.”
Still looking at him steadily, Alma Remsen seemed to change. Her facegrew calm, even haughty; her lips set in a straight line that betokeneddetermination and courage; and her eyes fairly gleamed with a beautifulbravery that transformed her into a veritable goddess of war.
She seemed to have taken up her sword and her shield, and I think it wasat that moment that I realized that I loved her and adored her assomething far above earthly mortals.
I couldn’t help her, at least, not at the moment, but I could worship herand did so, with the innermost fibres of my being.
Then this new Alma spoke.
“Mr. Moore,” she said, “and Mr. Norris, I thank you for this visit. Ithank you for the kindness that prompted it, and for your offers ofassistance. But there is nothing you can do, either of you. I am alone inthe world; alone, I must fight my battles and conquer my foes. Alone Imust defend my actions and accept my misfortunes. I live alone, I shallalways be alone, and alone I must decide upon my course in this presentcrisis. Please believe I am grateful and please believe I am sorry not toaccept your kindly offered assistance. But I cannot tell you anything, Icannot—I cannot—Merry!”
Her final despairing call brought the old nurse on the run.
“Yes, lamb, yes, my darling,—there, there——”
Mrs. Merivale clasped the trembling girl to her bosom and glared at us asat vile interlopers.
“Please to go away, gentlemen,” she said, in a repressed tone thatindicated wrath behind it. “Please leave my young lady for the present.She will see you, if she wishes, at some other time. But now, she isnervous and all wrought up with the horror of her uncle’s death. If youare men, let her alone!”
The last plea was brought out with a dramatic touch worthy of a tragedyqueen, and I know I felt like a worm of the dust and I devoutly hopedthat Keeley felt even more so.
He gave one last bit of unsolicited advice.
“You’d better be with Miss Remsen when the police come, Mrs. Merivale,”he said, and no one could have put any construction on his words otherthan the kindest and most disinterested counsel.
Then we went away, and Keeley rowed us home without a word.