CHAPTER VI Clews
I didn't reach my office until afternoon, and there I found Norah, in abrown study.
She looked up with a smile as I came in.
"I'm neglecting my work," she said, with a glance at a pile of papers,"but that affair across the hall has taken hold of me and I can't put itout of my mind."
"Nor can I. I feel as if I were deeply involved in it,--if not indeed, anaccessory! But there are new developments. Mr. Manning is missing."
"Mr. Manning? What has he got to do with it?"
"With the crime? Nothing. He didn't come up here until Miss Raynor came,you know. But----"
"Are they engaged?"
"Not that I know of. I think not."
"Well, they will be, then. And don't worry about Mr. Manning's absence.He'll not stay long away from Miss Raynor. Who is he, anyway? I mean whatdoes he do?"
"He's a civil engineer and he lives in Gramercy Park. That's the extentof my knowledge of him. I've seen him down in the bank once or twicesince I've been here, and I like his looks. I hope, for Miss Raynor'ssake, he'll turn up soon. She expected him to call on her last eveningand he didn't go there at all."
"I shouldn't think he would! Why, it was a fearful night. I was going tothe movies, but I couldn't think of going out in that wild gale! Butnever mind Mr. Manning now, let's talk about the Gately affair. I want togo over there and look around the office. Do you suppose they'd let me?"
"Why, I expect so. Is anybody there now?"
"Yes, a police detective,--that man, Hudson. You know they call him FoxyJim Hudson, and I suppose he's finding out a lot of stuff that isn't so!"
"You haven't a very high opinion of our arms of the law."
"Oh, they're all right,--but most detectives can't see what's right undertheir noses!"
"Not omniscient Sherlocks, are they? And you think you could do a lot ofsmarty-cat deduction?"
Norah didn't resent my teasing, but her gray eyes were very earnest asshe said, "I wish I could try. A woman was in that room yesterdayafternoon; someone besides Miss Raynor and the old lady Driggs."
"How do you know?"
"Take me over there and I'll show you. They'll let me in, with you toback me."
We went across and the officer made no objections to our entrance. Infact, he seemed rather glad of someone to talk to.
"We're sorta up against it," he confessed. "Our suspicions are allrunning in one direction, and we don't like it."
"You have a suspect, then?" I asked.
"Hardly that, but we begin to think we know which way to look."
"Any clews around, to verify your suspicions?"
"Lots of 'em. But take a squint yourself, Mr. Brice. You'reshrewd-witted, and--my old eyes ain't what they used to was."
I took this mock humility for what it was worth,--nothing at all,--and Ihumored the foxy one by a properly flattering disclaimer.
But I availed myself of his permission and tacitly assuming that itincluded Norah, we began a new scrutiny of the odds and ends on Mr.Gately's desk, as well as other details about the rooms.
Norah opened the drawer that Mr. Talcott had locked,--the key was now init.
"Where's the checkbook?" she asked, casually.
Hudson looked grave. "Mr. Pond's got that," he said; "Mr. Pond's Mr.Gately's lawyer, and he took all his accounts and such. But thatcheck-book's a clew. You see the last stub in it shows a check drawn to awoman----"
"I said it was a woman!" exclaimed Norah.
"Well, maybe,--maybe. Anyhow the check was drawn _after_ the ones madeout to Smith and the Driggs woman. So, the payee of that last check wasin here later than the other two."
"Who was she?" was Norah's not unnatural inquiry.
But Hudson merely looked at her, with a slight smile that she shouldexpect an answer to that question.
"Oh, all right," she retorted; "I see her hatpin is still here."
"If that there hatpin is a clew, you're welcome to it. We don't think itis. Mr. Gately had frequent lady callers, as any man's got a right tohave, but because they leaves their hatpins here, that don't make 'emmurderers. No, I argue that if a woman shot Mr. Gately she would be cuteenough _not_ to leave her hatpin by way of a visitin' card."
This raised Hudson's mentality in my opinion, and I could see it alsoscored with Norah.
"That's true," she generously agreed. "In books, as soon as I come to thedropped handkerchief or broken cuff-link, I know that _isn't_ theproperty of the criminal. But, all the same, people do leave clews,--why,Sherlock Holmes says a person can't enter and leave a room without hispresence there being discoverable."
"Poppycock," said Hudson, briefly, and resumed his cogitation.
He was sitting at ease in Mr. Gately's desk-chair, but I could see theman was thinking deeply, and as he had material for thought that hewasn't willing to share with us, I returned to my own searching.
"Here's something the lady left!" I exclaimed, as on a silver ash-tray Isaw a cigarette stub, whose partly burned gold monogram betokened it hadserved a woman's use.
"Hey, let that alone!" warned Hudson. "And don't be too previous;sometimes men have gilt-lettered cigs, don't they?"
Without reply, I scrutinized the monogram. But only a bit remainedunburnt, and I couldn't make out the letters.
Norah was digging in the waste basket, and, the scamp! when Hudson's headwas turned, she surreptitiously fished out something which she hid in herhand, and later transferred to her pocket.
"Nothing doing!" scoffed Hudson, as he turned and saw her occupation, "webeen all through that, and anything incriminating has been weeded out.They wasn't much,--some envelopes and letters, but nothing of anyaccount. Oh, well, straws show which way the wind blows, and we've gotsome several straws!"
"Is this one?" and Norah pointed to the carriage check, which still layon the desk.
Carriage Check/The Electric Carriage Call Co.]
"Nope. Me and the Chief, we decided that didn't mean nothing at all. It'sold, you can see, from its grimy look, so it wasn't left here yesterday.Those things are always clean and fresh when they're given out, andthat's sorta soiled with age, you see."
"Well!" I exclaimed, "_why_ would a carriage check be soiled with age?They're used the same day they're given out. Why is it here, anyway?"
Hudson looked interested. "That's so, Mr. Brice," he admitted. "I take itthat there check was given to Mr. Gately at some hotel, say. Well, hedidn't use it for some reason or other, and brought it home in hispocket. But as you say, why is it here? _Why_ did he keep it? And, whatdid he do with it to give it that thumbed, used look?"
We all examined the check. A bit of white cardboard, about two by fourinches in size, and pierced with seven circular holes in irregular order.Across the top was printed "Don't fold this card," and at one end was thenumber 743 in large red letters. Also, the right-hand upper corner wassliced off.
"Why," I exclaimed, "here's a narrow strip of paper pasted across theend, and--look,--it's almost transparent! I can read through it--'HotelSt. Charles!' That's where it came from!"
"Hold your horses!" and Hudson smiled condescendingly, "that's where it_didn't_ come from! It came from any hotel _except_ the St. Charles. Youmay not know it, but often a hotel will use electric call-checks of otherhotels, with a slip of paper pasted over the name. That's an item for youto remember. No, Mr. Brice, I can't attach any importance to that check,but I'm free to confess I don't see why it's there. Unless Mr. Gatelyfound it in his pocket after it had been there unnoticed for some time.And yet, it is very much thumbed, isn't it? That's queer. Maybe he usedit for a bookmark, or something like that."
"Maybe the lady left it here," suggested Norah. "The same time she lefther hatpin."
"Now, maybe she did," and Foxy Jim Hudson smiled benignly at her. "Anyways, you've made the thing seem curious, and I guess I'll keep it for awhile."
He put the card away in his pocketbook, and Norah and I
grinned at eachother in satisfaction that we had given him a clew to ponder over.
"You know, Mr. Brice," Hudson remarked, after another period of silentthought, "you missed it, when you didn't fly in here quicker and catchthe murderer redhanded."
"If I'd known that the first door, Jenny's door, was the only one I couldopen, of course I should have gone there first. But I'd never been inhere at all,--I've only been in the building a week or so, and I _did_lose valuable time running from one door to another. But I still thinkit's queer that I didn't see anything of the man Jenny describes."
"One reason is, there wasn't any such man," and Hudson seemed to enjoy myblank look.
"What became of the murderer, then?"
"Went down in the car with Mr. Gately. Private elevator. Shot him on theway down----"
"But man, I heard the shot,--and this room was full of smoke."
"Shot him twice, then. Say the first time, Mr. Gately wasn't killed andcould get into the elevator. Then murderer jumps in, too, and finishesthe job on the way down. It's a long trip to the ground floor, you know.Then, murderer leaves elevator, slams door shut, and walks off."
I ruminated on this. It seemed absurd on the face of it, and yet----
"Why, then, did Jenny say she saw a man?" demanded Norah.
"Maybe she thought she did,--you know people think they see what theythink they ought to see. Jenny heard a shot, and running in, she_expected_ to see a man with a pistol,--therefore, she thought she _did_see him. Or, again, the girl is quite capable of making up a yarn out ofthe solid. For the dramatic effect, you know, and to put her silly littleself in the limelight."
This was not unbelievable. Jenny was most unreliable as a witness. Shestumbled and contradicted herself as to the man's hat and had givenconflicting testimony about his overcoat.
"Well, as I say, Mr. Brice, the chance was yours to be on the spot butyou missed it. Of course, you are not to blame,--but it's a pity. Now,s'pose you tell me again, as near as you can rec'lect, about that othershadow,--the one that wasn't Mr. Gately."
I tried hard to add to my previously related details, but found itimpossible to do so.
"Well, could it have been a woman?"
"At first I should have said no, Mr. Hudson. But on thinking it over, Isuppose I may say it _could_ have been but I do not think it was."
"You know nowadays the women folks wear their hair plastered so close totheir heads that their heads wouldn't shadow up any bigger'n a man's."
"That's so," cried Norah. "A woman's head is smaller than a man's, buther hair makes it appear larger in a shadow. Unless, as Mr. Hudson says,she wore it wrapped round her head,--and didn't have much, anyway."
"You go outside, Mr. Brice," directed Hudson, "and look at the shadows ofme and Miss MacCormack, and then come back and tell us what you cannotice."
I did this, and the two heads were shadowed forth on the same door that Ihad watched the day before. But the brighter daylight made the shadowseven more vague than yesterday, and I returned without much information.
"I could tell which was which, of course," I reported, "but it's truethat if I hadn't known you people at all, I could have mistaken Norah'shead for a man, and I might have believed, Hudson, that you were a woman.It's surprising how little individuality was shown in the shadows."
"Well, of course they were clearer yesterday, as the hall was darker,"mused Hudson. "After all, Mr. Brice, your testimony can't amount to muchunless we can get the actual murderer behind that glass, and somepeculiar shape or characteristic makes you recognize the head beyond alldoubt."
"I think I could do that," I returned; "for though I can't describe anypeculiarity, I'm sure I'd recognize the _same_ head."
"You are?" and Hudson looked at me keenly. "Well, perhaps we'll try youout on that."
They had a definite suspect, then. And they proposed to experiment withmy memory. Well, I was ready, whenever they were.
Norah and I went into the third room, Hudson making no objection. Atanother time we would have been deeply interested in the pictures and thefurnishings but now we had eyes and thoughts only for one thing.
We looked behind the war map and saw the elevator door, but could notopen it.
"The car's down," spoke up Hudson, who was watching us sharply. "I dunnowill it ever be used again. Though I suppose these rooms will be let tosomebody else, some time. Mr. Gately's things here will be sent to hishouse, I expect, but his estate is a big one and will take a deal ofsettling."
"Who's his executor?"
"Mr. Pond, his lawyer. But his financial affairs are all right. Nothingcrooked about Amos Gately--financially. You can bank on that!"
"How, then?" I asked, for the tone implied a mental reservation.
"I'm not saying. But they do say every man has a secret side to his life,and why should Mr. Gately be a lone exception?"
"A woman?" asked Norah, always harking back to her basic suspicion.
Foxy Jim Hudson favored her with that blank stare which not infrequentlywas his answer to an unwelcome question, and which, perhaps, had a sharein earning him his sobriquet.
Then he laughed, and said, "You've been reading detective stories, miss.And you remember how they always say 'Churches lay femmy!' Well, go aheadand church, if you like. But be prepared for a sad and sorrowful result."
The man was obviously deeply moved, and his big, homely face worked withemotion.
But as he would tell us nothing further, and as Norah and I had finishedour rather unproductive search of the rooms, we went back to my office.
Here Norah showed me what she had taken from the waste basket.
"I'll give it back to him, if you say so," she offered; "but he could donothing with it, and maybe I can."
It was only a tiny scrap of pinkish paper, thin and greatly crumpled. Itook it.
"Be careful," warned Norah; "I don't suppose it could show finger prints,but anyway, it's a sort of a kind of a clew."
"But what is it?" I asked, blankly, as I held the crumpled paper gingerlyin thumb and forefinger.
"It's a powder-paper," vouchsafed Norah, briefly.
"A what?"
"A powder-paper. Women carry them,--they come in little books. That's oneof the leaves. They're to rub on your face, and the powder comes off onyour nose or cheeks."
"Is that so? I never saw any before."
"Lots of girls use them." Norah's clear, wholesome complexion refuted anyidea of her needing such, and she spoke a bit scornfully.
"Proving once more the presence of what Friend Hudson calls a femmy," Ismiled.
"Yes; but these things have great individuality, Mr. Brice. This is ofexceedingly fine quality, it has a distinct, definite fragrance, and isundoubtedly an imported article,--from France, likely."
"Can they get such things over now?"
"Oh, pshaw, it may have been imported before the war. This quality wouldkeep its odor forever! Anyway, don't you believe we could trace the womanwho used it and left it there? It must have happened yesterday, for thebasket is, of course, emptied every day in that office."
"Good girl, Norah!" and I nodded approval. "You are truly a She Sherlock!A bit intimate, isn't it, for a woman to powder her nose in a man'soffice?"
"Not at all, Mr. Old Fogey! Why, you can see the girls doing thateverywhere, nowadays. In the street-cars, in the theater,--anywhere."
"All right. How do you propose to proceed?"
"I think I'll go to the smartest Fifth Avenue perfume shops and try toget a line on the maker of this paper."
My door opened then, and the Chief of Police stood in the doorway.
"Will you come over, across the hall, Mr. Brice?" he said.
"May I come?" piped up Norah, and without waiting for the answer, which,by the way, never came, she followed us.
"We have learned a great deal," began the Chief, as I waited,inquiringly. "And, now think carefully, Mr. Brice, I want you to tell meif the head you saw shadowed on the door, could by any possibility havebeen a wo
man's head?"
"I think it could have been, Chief; we've been talking that over, and I'mprepared to say that it could have been,--but I don't think it was."
"And the shoulders? Though broad, like a man's, might not a woman'sfigure, say, wrapped in furs, give a similar effect?"
An icy chill went through me, but I answered, "It might; the outlineswere very indistinct."
"We are carefully investigating the movements of Miss Raynor," he wenton, steadily, "and we find she told a deliberate untruth about where shespent yesterday afternoon. She said she was at the house of a friend onPark Avenue. We learned the name of the young lady and she says MissRaynor was not there at all yesterday. Also, we find that Miss Raynor wasin this office _after_ the calls of the old people we know about, and not_before_ them, as Miss Raynor herself testified."
"But----" I began.
"Wait a moment, please. This is positively proved by the fact that acheck drawn to Miss Raynor by Mr. Gately follows immediately _after_ thetwo checks drawn to Mr. Smith and Mrs. Driggs."
"Proving?" I gasped.
"That Miss Raynor is the last one known to be in this room before theshooting occurred."
"Oh," cried Norah, "for shame! To suspect that lovely girl! Why, shewouldn't harm a fly!"
"Do you know her?"
"No, sir; but----"
"It is an oft proven fact that the mildest, gentlest woman, ifsufficiently provoked to it, or if given a sudden opportunity, will in amoment of passion do what no one would dream she could do! Miss Raynorwas very angry with her uncle,--Jenny admitted that, after much delay.Mr. Gately had a revolver, usually in his desk drawer, but _not_ therenow. And,"--an impressive pause preceded the next argument, "Mr. AmoryManning is not to be found."
"What do you deduce from that?" I asked, amazedly.
"That he has purposely disappeared, lest he be brought as a witnessagainst Miss Raynor. He could best help her cause, by being out of townand impossible to locate. So, he went off, and she pretended she did notknow it. Of course, she did,--they connived at it----"
"Stop!" I cried, "you are romancing. You are assuming conditions that areuntrue!"
"I wish it were so," and the Chief exhibited a very human aspect for themoment; "but I have no choice in the matter. I am driven by an inexorablearmy of facts that cannot be beaten back. What else can you think of thatwould account for Mr. Manning's sudden disappearance? Attacked? Nonsense!Not in the storm of last evening. Abducted? Why? He is an inoffensivecitizen, not a millionaire or man of influence. You said you saw him lastnight, Mr. Brice. Where, exactly, was that?"
I told of my trip down in the Third Avenue car, and of my getting off atTwenty-second Street, meaning to speak to Mr. Manning. Then I told of hissudden, almost mysterious disappearance.
"Not mysterious at all," said the Chief. "He gave you the slip purposely.He went away at once, and has hidden himself carefully. But we will findhim. It's not easy for a man to hide from the police in this day andgeneration!"
"But, Miss Raynor!" I said, still incredulous. "Why? What motive?"
"Because her uncle wouldn't let her marry Amory Manning. When she saidshe went to her friend, Miss Clark's house, she really went to the homeof a Mrs. Russell, the sister of Manning. She was to meet Manning there.I have all this straight from Mrs. Russell."
"And you think it was Miss Raynor's shadow I saw on the door!"
"You said it might have been a woman."
"Very well, then look for another woman! It was never Miss Raynor!"
"Your indignation, Mr. Brice, is both natural and admirable, but it isbased on your disinclination to think ill of Miss Raynor. The police arenot allowed the luxury of such sentiments."
"But--but--how did she--how did Miss Raynor get out of the room?"
"We do not entirely credit Jenny's story of the man with a revolverrunning downstairs. And we do think that the person who did the shootingmay have gone down in the private elevator with the victim. It would beeasy to gain the street unnoticed, and it presupposes someone acquaintedwith the working of the automatic elevator."
"But Miss Raynor said she had never seen it," I cried, triumphantly. "Shesaid she had only heard her uncle speak of it!"
"I know she _said_ so," returned the Chief.