CHAPTER XIV
Hester's Statement
Pollard and Lane, sitting talking in the Club Lounge, were joined byDean Monroe.
"It's a queer thing," Monroe said, "that nobody gets any forrader inthe Gleason matter. What are police for? What are detectives for? Andmost of all, what are we chaps for, if we can't solve a mystery rightin our own set?"
"I don't know that it matters, being in our own set," Pollard began,but Monroe interrupted:
"Yes, it does. We know all the principals----"
"Hold on," Lane said; "what do you mean, principals? There's theprincipal character, the victim, himself, but further than that weknow no 'principal.'"
"We don't! Well, I should say we know most of the suspects."
"Suspects don't amount to much," Pollard observed, "unless you canhang more evidence on them than has been attached to anybody so far."
"Evidence!" Monroe exclaimed; "what further evidence do you want thanthat letter of Phil Barry's?"
"Oho," said Lane; "you're out for Barry, are you? But, Pol, herethreatened to kill Gleason. That's far more incriminating evidence tomy mind than Barry's letter. For the letter may have been forged, butPollard said his words himself."
"Oh, I know, but Manning was home in his rooms all the time, andnobody knows where Phil was. Why don't they find out?"
"Why don't they find out anything?" Lane smiled. "Because they don'tgo to work with any intelligence."
"You could solve the mystery, I suppose?" Monroe flung at him.
"I'd be afraid to try," and Lane looked serious.
"Meaning?" Pollard asked.
"That investigation of a determined sort might lead to awfulconclusions."
"Don't say it!" Pollard cried. "I can't help knowing what you mean,but don't breathe it, Lane. You know how a word--a hint--may startsuspicion. And there's not a word of truth in it!"
"Who? Miss Lindsay?" Monroe asked, bluntly.
"Hush up, Dean," Pollard growled.
"I won't. And it's silly to evade an issue. If there's nothing in it,drag it out into the light and prove there isn't."
"No," Lane said, thoughtfully, "it isn't wise to drag out anythingconcerning the Lindsays--any of them. Not even Mrs Lindsay. They're anemotional lot, and if they get excited, they say all sorts of things.If they must be questioned, it would better be by somebody with theirinterests at heart, and the thing should be done quietly and with fewlisteners."
"Well, you go and do it, Lane," Monroe suggested. "I feel sure unlessyou do, the police will get ahead of you, and they'll put Miss Lindsaythrough the third degree----"
"Oh, nonsense. The police are hot on Barry's trail. That chap'll bearrested very soon, I believe. Why, that letter is damning. How do youexplain it, except at its face value?"
"But what is its face value?" asked Pollard. "The letter doesn'tthreaten violent measures at all----"
"It implies something of the sort. And Barry has no alibi."
"Of course not," Pollard said; "an innocent man doesn't have. I mean,an innocent man is very likely not to know where he was at any giventime. It's your criminal who has his alibi at his tongue's end."
"I'm going over to the Lindsay house now," Lane said, rising. "Want togo along, Pol?"
"No, not this time. If you're going to quiz Miss Lindsay I'd rathernot be there. And you said yourself you'd rather be alone."
"Right. But I'm going to ask Mrs Lindsay a few questions, too. Afterall, she and Miss Phyllis are the only heirs."
"Meaning one of them is doubtless the criminal!" Dean Monroe spokescornfully.
"Oh, I don't say that," Lane returned, "but there's lots to seeabout."
Others than Lane were of this mind, for when the lawyer reached theLindsay home, he found Belknap and Prescott both there, and theLindsay ladies, as a result of their visitors' questions, both in ahighly excited state.
"I'm glad to see you, Mr Lane," Millicent cried, as Lane entered; "dohelp Phyllis and me. These men are saying awful things to us!"
"To me," Phyllis corrected. "They've nothing against you, Millicent."
Phyllis looked exhausted. Apparently, she had had all she could standof the detectives' grilling, and she was at the end of herself-control.
"You must excuse me a few minutes," she exclaimed, starting up, andwithout another word she left the room.
"You were rather blunt, Prescott," Belknap said. "You must rememberMiss Lindsay is a delicate, sheltered young lady, and unaccustomed tohear such rough speech as you gave her."
"No matter," said Prescott, doggedly. "If she killed Gleason, suchtalk is none too bad for her. And if she didn't, it can't hurt her."
"What!" cried Lane. "Miss Lindsay kill Mr Gleason! Man, you must becrazy!"
"Oh, no, not that," Prescott said, quietly. "But when a young ladygoes to a man's rooms half an hour before he is killed, when she atthat interview learns for the first time that she is heiress to halfhis fortune, when she is overheard in altercation with the man a veryshort time before he is shot, when no other person is seen there atthe time or anywhere near it, when the young lady doesn't care muchfor the man, when he wants to marry her--and she knows if she refusesshe'll lose the inheritance--well, isn't that about enough?"
"First," asked Lane, "are your statements all proved facts?"
"Facts don't have to be proved," Prescott flared back. "But mystatements are facts, as you mostly know, yourself. We have MissHayes' word for it that Miss Lindsay was at Mr Gleason's about six."
"She says she wasn't," Millicent broke in, angrily.
"Now, look here, Mrs Lindsay," said Belknap, "the very day of thecrime you accused Miss Lindsay. Why do you now try to defend her?"
"Oh, she never did it," wailed Millicent. "Never! Never! When I saidshe did, I was out of my head. Just at first, you know, I was sostunned I scarcely knew what I was saying."
"Well, you know now. Was Miss Lindsay here at home at six o'clock thatnight?"
"I don't know----"
"You do know. Answer."
"Well, then, she wasn't--but that doesn't prove she was down inWashington Square!"
"Leave us to do the proving. You answer questions."
"Now, don't frighten the lady," Lane advised, frowning at thedetective's manner. "She will answer your questions--or I will."
"All right, then, you answer. What does Miss Lindsay want twentythousand dollars for--and in a hurry, too?"
"Does she want that sum?"
"She does; and she's bound to get it. Wants her inheritance right off.What for, I say?"
"And I say, I don't know," Lane replied. "But there are lots of thingsthe modern young woman wants money for----"
"Yes, but if they're right and proper things, why won't she tell whatthey are? No matter if they're extravagances or foolish luxuries, whynot say so? But if the destination of that twenty thousand can't betold--it's clear there's something wrong about it."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning nothing but that. Something wrong--something shady--somethingthat must be covered up. Therefore, she had to have the money at once.Therefore, she went to Robert Gleason for it. Therefore, he told herhe would give it to her on one condition--marriage."
"Hold on, Prescott, do you know this?" Lane demanded.
Prescott jerked a finger toward Millicent Lindsay.
"She knows it," he said. "She knows that for weeks Miss Lindsay hadkept Gleason dangling--waiting for her answer. Then, when the younglady discovers she can get the money by the man's death--and as shereally abhors him and doesn't want to marry him--and as theopportunity offers----"
"What opportunity?"
"The fact that she's there alone with him in his rooms, his pistolconveniently at hand, and nobody about----"
"Oh, you're romancing! That girl! She couldn't do it!"
"You know she could, Mr Lane," Belknap interposed. "You say thatbecause you don't want to think it. But the only thing that wouldpositively disprove it would be for Miss Lindsay to tell where she wasat the
time. This she refuses to do."
"Yes, and Manning Pollard refused to tell where he was------"
"But we found out where he was, without his telling us. To prove wherea man was by outside witnesses, many of them, is proof, when his ownstatement is far from proof. Now if we could check up Miss Lindsay aswe did Mr Pollard, that would settle her question. But we can't."
"Where was she?" Lane asked of Millicent.
"I don't know, I'm sure. She came home just in time to dress for thedinner-party. But I don't know what time it was."
"That's the trouble," Prescott said, despairingly. "Nobody ever knowswhat time anything happened. The only thing we are sure of is thatGleason was still alive and telephoning at quarter to seven, and evenat that, that nurse may have been mistaken."
"Not she," said Lane. "She's most accurate."
"Then, we're fairly sure of Miss Hayes' evidence, for the simplereason that we've no cause for doubt in her case. She says she leftthe Gleason place, by the back entrance, at six o'clock. And, she saysMiss Lindsay was with Gleason at that time. Now, the puzzle fits intoplace. Miss Lindsay remained for a time, trying to persuade Gleason togive her this large sum of money, and when he refused--that is, unlessshe would marry him, she became desperate, and the tragedy resulted."
"Straight story," said Lane, "but little to back it save yourimagination. What's to prevent Miss Lindsay going away and somebodyelse coming and committing the deed? Plenty of time between six andquarter of seven."
"Not likely. The people of the house were coming in then, and anarriving man would have been noticed. Oh, I don't say it would havebeen impossible--but we've no shadow of evidence for it. And, if so,where did Miss Lindsay go from there at six o'clock, that she didn'tget home until seven or thereabouts?"
"You don't know that it was as late as seven----"
"No! I tell you I can't fix the time of anything. Nobody seems to havehad a timepiece going that night--which is suspicious in itself!"
"What about Philip Barry?" Lane asked this quietly. "I thought youwere sure of his guilt."
"It all fits in," said Prescott, slowly. "Mr Barry and Miss Lindsayare in love with each other----"
"Now how do you know that?" and Lane looked at the detective sharply.
"I gathered it from lots of sources. Barry's letter to Gleason forone."
"But that only proves that Mr Barry admired Miss Lindsay. Not that hisregard was returned."
"Oh, well, that doesn't matter. Say they were friends, then. Say theywere in cahoots. Say the money was wanted by Mr Barry, and togetherthey planned to get it from Gleason--in one way or another."
Lane laughed shortly, and again remarked on the detective's fertileimagination, but in truth he was decidedly uncomfortable. He had beenafraid some one would evolve a theory that included Phyllis and Barryboth, and this was the thought that had haunted Lane's mind. It wasincredible, but it was at least possible, that Barry's threateningletter and Phyllis' desire for a large sum of money and the liking ofthe girl for the artist and her detestation of Robert Gleason, alltended toward a theory that included the two, and that had much to besaid for it.
And then a strange thing happened. One of the maids employed in theLindsay household came into the room.
"What is it, Hester?" asked Millicent, in surprise.
"Oh, please, madam--please, Mrs Lindsay, I think I know something Iought to tell."
"You do!" Prescott pounced on her. "Well, tell it, then."
"Why--you see--I heard you talking about where Miss Phyllis was--onthe night of--of, you know--at six o'clock. And I can tell you whereshe was."
Belknap looked at the girl without much interest. She was as emotionalas the people she worked for. Her fingers twisted nervously, and shepicked at her apron, and swayed from side to side as she talked.
Probably, Belknap thought, she's devoted to Miss Lindsay, and ismaking up a yarn to save her.
But Hester went on, speaking softly, but steadily enough.
"Yes, sir. And this is what I know. At six o'clock, Miss Phyllis wasin a taxicab with a man driving up Fifth Avenue. She was nearForty-second Street."
Prescott laughed outright.
"You've a kind heart, and doubtless you love Miss Lindsay, but yourstory is a little crude. Wants verisimilitude,--if you know what thatmeans. You may go, Hester."
"No; wait a minute," directed Belknap. "Were you out that afternoon,Hester?"
"No, sir."
"Then how do you know this?"
"I heard Mr Pollard say so."
"Wait! This grows interesting. To whom did he say it?"
"To Miss Phyllis herself, sir."
"Oh, he did! And when?"
"I'm thinking it was yesterday or day before. Anyhow, he was here atalking to Miss Phyllis, and I heard him tell her he saw her then andthere and he asked her who was the man with her."
"And who was it?"
"Miss Phyllis wouldn't tell him, sir."
"And so, Hester, you listen at doors, do you?"
"No, sir, that I don't. I came into the library to mend the fire andto turn on the lights as is my duty at twilight. And Miss Phyllis wastalking with Mr Pollard, and they said what I've told you."
"And just why are you repeating it to us?"
"Because--to-day I _was_ listening at the door. I love MissPhyllis and when I saw her rush out of the room here, and run up toher own room and throw herself on the bed and cry as if her heartwould break, I didn't know what to do! And she wouldn't let me doanything for her, but said she wanted to be alone. So I left her and Icame down, and when I heard you gentleman talking against my younglady, I thought maybe if I told that, it might help."
Hester's honest blue eyes, tear-filled and sad, left no doubt of hersincerity and her loyalty to her beloved young mistress.
"I think you have helped, Hester," said Belknap, not unkindly. "Nowwill you go and tell Miss Lindsay that we wish to see her. That shemust come at once."
Hester went, and it was several moments before she returned.
The group waited in silence.
Millicent wept softly, and though Lane spoke to her once or twice shepaid no attention. The volatile little woman was deeply sorry now thatshe had accused Phyllis in the first place. As she said, and she didnot really mean it--or at least, she was so stunned and bewilderedthat she scarcely knew what she did mean. But when she became calmer,she knew she didn't suspect Phyllis--and yet, so susceptible is humannature to suggestion that when the detectives put the matter as theydid, she began to think they might be right.
While they were waiting for Phyllis' reappearance, Barry came.
He was surprised at the presence of the Assistant District Attorneyand the detective, but as he noted their reception of himself he waseven more surprised. For they did not regard him as hostilely asusual, and he immediately concluded they were on another track.
But conversation was a bit constrained, and finally Barry blurted out:
"What's the idea? Why are you all sitting here as if looking forsomething or somebody?"
"We are," and Belknap looked grave. "We are waiting for Miss Lindsayto reappear."
"What about her?" Barry asked, suddenly alert.
"We want her to answer a few questions." Belknap kept a wary eye on theartist, for he was becoming more and more convinced that the secret ofthe murder was in the keeping of the two. His theory strengthened inhis mind every moment and he wished Phyllis would come. Yet, somethingmight be gained from Barry in the meantime.
"Were you in a taxicab with Miss Lindsay on the day of Mr Gleason'sdeath?" Belknap sprang suddenly.
"What do you mean?" cried Barry, angrily. "Of course I wasn't."
"Who was, then?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I don't know that anybody was."
"Well, some man was. At about six o'clock. At Fifth Avenue andForty-second Street. Where were you at that hour?"
"Why, I was almost right there myself. I walked down from the Clubwith Pollard about that time, and I le
ft him at Forty-fourth and hewent on down."
"Very good," Belknap nodded.
Barry's air had been honest, his thinking back evidently real and hisstatement quite in accordance with the known facts. Pollard had saidBarry walked down with him, and had left him at Forty-fourth. Now,from that time, Pollard's every movement had been checked up, but notso Barry's. Nobody seemed to have seen him from that moment until hearrived at the Lindsay dinner party.
To ask him as to this was sure to anger him, yet Belknap tried it.
"No!" Barry stormed, in answer to his query, "I haven't an alibi. Imean I've nobody who can swear to one. As a matter of fact, I wentdirectly home after leaving Pollard. I went into my hotel, a small oneon West Forty-fourth Street, and I went to my rooms."
"Meeting nobody?"
"Of course, I passed the doorman and the desk people. I don't rememberwhether I spoke to them or not. I usually nod if they're looking myway. But I can't remember what happens every single night! I'm nottrying to establish an alibi, because I didn't kill Mr Gleason. ButI'm ready to help you find out who did. I've not done much so far,because I thought the matter was in capable hands. But those capablehands have accomplished just nothing--nothing at all! Now, I'm goingto put my finger in this pie--and I'm going to discover something!"
"Wait, Mr Barry," Belknap said, "what about that letter signed by you,yet which you say you didn't write. Suppose you explain that first."
"Just what I intend to do! I haven't quite proved it, but I have foundout a possible solution of that matter. If I can prove I didn't writeit, and can show who did and how and why, it'll help some--won't it?"
"You bet it will!" cried Prescott. "That's the kind of talk. But haveyou some real information, or merely a supposition that doesn't meananything definite?"
"We'll see," and Barry shook his head. "I'm not telling it all now.But I came to see Miss Lindsay. Where is she?"
"She'll be here in a minute," Millicent said, eyeing Barry closely.
But in a minute, instead of Phyllis, Hester returned.
Excitedly, she exclaimed, "Miss Phyllis is gone. Nobody saw her go andnobody knows where she is!"
"Gone!" said Millicent contemptuously; "how absurd! If you mean shehas run away! Phyllis wouldn't do that."
"Well, madam, she's not in the apartment. Her moleskin coat is gonefrom her wardrobe, and her little taupe hat. She has certainly goneout, ma'am."
And gone Phyllis surely had. It was foolish to look for her in therooms, for her hat and coat were missing, of course she had gone outinto the street; whether for some ordinary errand, or to disappear whocould tell?
"I'll find her," said Prescott, and clapping on his hat he hurriedaway.