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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75500-0.txt b/75500-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d94f607 --- /dev/null +++ b/75500-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7775 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75500 *** + + +Murder by the Clock + +by Rufus King + +Published by Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc., 1929. +Copyright, 1928, 1929 by The Consolidated Magazine +Corporation (The Red Book Magazine). + + + +CONTENTS + + I. 8:37 p. m.—Spring 3100 + II. 9:24 p. m.—Hall Marks of Murder + III. 9:45 p. m.—Guards Are Stationed at the Doors + IV. 10:02 p. m.—Pale Flares the Darkness + V. 10:17 p. m.—Living or Dead? + VI. 10:32 p. m.—Pictures in Dust + VII. 11:01 p. m.—Banked Fires + VIII. 11:28 p. m.—Mrs. Endicott Screams + IX. 11:55 p. m.—Queer Deeps + X. 12:06 a. m.—The Stillness of a Grave + XI. 12:15 a. m.—To Watch by Night + XII. 12:30 a. m.—Madame Velasquez Stirs up Muck + XIII. 2:01 a. m.—Glittering Eyes + XIV. 2:01 a. m.—An Empty Sheath + XV. 2:13 a. m.—The Thin Steel Blade + XVI. 2:13 a. m.—Time _versus_ Death + XVII. 2:40 a. m.—The Angle of Death’s Path + XVIII. 3:00 a. m.—Thin Haze of Dread + XIX. 3:15 a. m.—The Properties of Horror + XX. 3:24 a. m.—On Private Heights + XXI. 3:51 a. m.—A Woman’s Slipper + XXII. 4:14 a. m.—Tap—Tap—Tap + XXIII. 4:29 a. m.—A Turn of the Screw + XXIV. 4:41 a. m.—As the Colours of Dawn + XXV. 5:01 a. m.—Lunatic Vistas + XXXVI. 5:25 a. m.—There Was a Sailor + XXVII. 5:46 a. m.—Mrs. Endicott Cannot Be Found + XXVIII. 6:00 a. m.—Mist Drifting Through Mist + XXIX. 6:30 a. m.—As Is Mirage + XXX. 7:11 a. m.—The Criminal and Weapon of the Crime + XXXI. 8:37 p. m.—Five Years Later + + + +CHAPTER I + +8:37 p. m.—Spring 3100 + +Mrs. Endicott thought for a moment of simply dialling the operator and +saying, “I want a policeman.” + +It was what the printed notices in the telephone directory urged one +to do in case of an emergency. But it wasn’t an emergency exactly, +nor—still exactly—was it a policeman she wanted. She wanted a +detective, or an inspector, or something; a man to whom she could +explain her worry about Herbert, and who could do something about it +if he agreed with her that Herbert was in danger. + +Mrs. Endicott had never had any personal contact with the police. +Whenever she thought about it at all she thought of the force as an +efficient piece of machinery, the active parts of which one observed +daily from one’s motor as healthy and generally good-looking young men +who controlled traffic. She knew that there was a patrolman whose beat +carried him past their door. Upon thinking suddenly about it she +realized that she had only seen this man twice or three times at most +during the past year. She knew that Herbert always left a ten-dollar +gold piece to be given him by one of the maids at Christmas, and a +check for twenty dollars as a subscription to some enterprise vaguely +designated as the “fund.” + +She wondered momentarily whether the police characters she had seen in +various plays, while at the theatre with Herbert, were true to life. +Most of the characters had been brutal, in spite of a pleasant +tender-heartedness reluctantly betrayed toward the final curtain, and +just at present she wanted quiet, competent understanding—not +brutality. + +It occurred to her that a private investigator might be better, but +she was uncertain as to the extent of their official powers. She +decided to rely on the police, because the police could do something +if they agreed with her that something ought to be done. + +Mrs. Endicott looked up the telephone number of police headquarters +and dialled Spring 3100. She grew nervous while waiting. + +“This is Mrs. Herbert Endicott speaking,” she said, when an undeniably +masculine voice answered. It was an impersonal, efficient voice with +no overtones about it. “Will you please connect me with your detective +department? . . . I beg your pardon? Oh.” She gave the number of her +house on East Sixty-third Street between Fifth and Madison avenues. + +“This is Mrs. Herbert Endicott speaking,” she began again, upon a +second voice’s saying, “Hello,” “and I am worried about Mr. Endicott. +I wonder whether you could send someone up to talk it over with +me. . . . No, he hasn’t disappeared. I know exactly where he has gone, +but I have reason to believe that something might happen to him. . . . +Yes, it’s the Mr. Endicott who has been in the papers recently in +connection with Wall Street. . . . Around in a few minutes? But I +thought police headquarters were down on Centre Street. . . . They +transferred the call to the precinct station? Really. . . . Oh, thank +you.” + +Mrs. Endicott replaced the receiver on its hook. She felt distinctly +impressed at the efficiency with which her request had been so +instantly transferred to the place where it could be handled +competently and with dispatch. + +The living room where she had been telephoning was on the second floor +of the house. She left it and went to her dressing room, which was +toward the rear of a corridor on the same floor. She gave her +appearance a preoccupied inspection before a pier glass. The soft and +uneven lines of the jade chiffon of her dress would offer a +satisfactory mask, she felt, for the nervous tenseness of her body. +She renewed the red on her upper lip where she had been biting it. She +returned to the living room, lighted a cigarette, and picked up a +novel which she did not read. + +She smoked three cigarettes. + +Her sense of aloneness became stifling. The conceit grew upon her +nervous condition that she had changed places with the furniture. She +had become inanimate and the furniture endowed with attributes of +life, as if her being were under the influence of some dispassionate +regard by something that had no eyes with which to see. It was +nonsense—nonsense. She never should have listened—at least not +attentively—to that wretched old woman. She could very well just have +given the appearance . . . one had to be polite . . . + +Mrs. Endicott moved restlessly to one of the draped windows and stared +down on the silent street. About her stretched the city of New York, +and yet her environment could not have been quieter in some cabin in +the woods. Not as quiet. Her memory swerved to that hellish week with +Herbert in the forests outside of Copenhagen . . . what on earth _was_ +the name of that little watering place . . . Trollhättan? . . . No, +that was in Sweden. Names never mattered. She looked up for a while at +a slender slice of night sky horizoned by cornices across the street. +It was heavy with stars that held her as if they were so many magic +mediums arranged in heaven for the express purpose of granting her +earthbound wishes. Wishes? She shrugged. She released the drapes, and +they settled into place. + +A maid opened the living-room door and came in. + +“A lieutenant from the precinct station, madam.” + +“All right, Jane. Ask him to come up here. Did he give his name?” + +“Lieutenant Valcour, madam, I think he said.” + +“Try and be more careful in the future about getting names.” + +“Yes, madam.” + +Mrs. Endicott lighted another cigarette. Her sense of having done the +proper thing began to desert her in a rush. The police had a habit of +finding things out—unexpected things, irrelevant to any matter on +hand. She was sure of it, and wondered on what she based the +knowledge: books, hearsay. She would have to be careful, but after +all, a person with intelligence—— He was standing in the doorway. + +“My maid,” she said, “wasn’t sure of your name. Is it Valcour?” She +noticed with a sense of relief that he was not in uniform and that he +had left his hat and overcoat downstairs. Mrs. Endicott had an +aversion to discussing things which fringed on possible intimacies +with people who were hatted and coated. He was a mild elderly man with +features that were homely but not undistinguished, well dressed in +tweed, and not smoking a cigar. He affected her with a quieting sense +of reassurance. + +“Valcour is correct, Mrs. Endicott. I happened to be leaving for home +when your call was put in, so I stopped in personally instead of +sending a detective as you suggested.” + +The faint trace of cultured precision in his speech made her suspect +foreign origin. She was sensitive to voices, and while not exactly +collecting them, they almost amounted with her to a hobby. They were +an essential part in the attraction she felt toward certain people, +and it would have been within the bounds of possibility for her to +have fallen in love with a voice. + +“You are of French origin, Lieutenant?” + +“French-Canadian, Mrs. Endicott. I became naturalized twenty years +ago.” + +She offered her hand. They sat down. Now that he was here she felt +that the necessity for hurry had vanished; his air of official +protection had erased it. She wondered how it would be best to begin: +just where to plunge into the foggy mass that composed her worry. + +Lieutenant Valcour accepted a cigarette and lighted it. He was +agreeably impressed with Mrs. Endicott and with the room. Both were +unusual, and the competent foundation in culture he had acquired at +McGill University in his youth enabled him to place them at a proper +evaluation. The furniture was low set in design and severely simple, +the general effect one of spaciousness and repose oddly marred by a +muted undernote of harshness. It was not bizarre. He suspected it, +correctly, of being modernistic. Mrs. Endicott herself had the +startlingly clear perfection of features one occasionally finds in +blondes. He decided that her age centred on twenty-five. Beneath her +authentic beauty—her face seemed planed in pale tones of pink +ice—there would be a definite substrata of metal. He noted that the +six cigarette butts crushed in the vermilion lacquered tray on a small +table beside her chair had not been smoked beyond a few puffs each. A +clock standing on the broad-shelved mantel of the fireplace struck +nine. + +“My husband,” Mrs. Endicott said abruptly, “has been gone now exactly +two hours.” + +Lieutenant Valcour smiled amiably and settled himself a little less +formally in his chair. His manner presented itself to her as a freshly +sponged slate upon which she could trace any markings that she might +choose. + +“He left here at seven o’clock this evening,” Mrs. Endicott said, “to +go to the apartment of a woman with whom he thinks he is in love. Her +name is Marge Myles, and her apartment is on the Drive.” + +Lieutenant Valcour’s smile seemed to offer both consolation and an +apology. + +“I’m afraid there isn’t very much we can do for you,” he said. “It’s +always private inquiry agents who handle work of that—well, of that +rather delicate character.” + +“No—I haven’t made myself plain.” Mrs. Endicott’s indeterminate +thoughts began to crystallize. “I’m not looking for evidence to secure +a divorce. This woman is nothing of any permanence, but I’m afraid of +her—of what she might do to Herbert.” Then she added, as if the simple +statement in itself would insure his comprehension, “You see, I’ve +seen her.” + +“With him?” + +“Yes. They were lunching at the St. Regis. Herbert always was a fool +about those things. She’s foreign-looking—the Latin type.” Mrs. +Endicott felt the need for being meticulously explicit. “Her eyes are +like the black holes you see in portraits of Spanish women. They’re +the entire face; everything else blurs into a nonessential whiteness. +This woman’s eyes are like that—like weapons. I know she’s the sort +who would kill if she got stirred up over something—got jealous or +something. People do get jealous enough to kill,” she ended. + +“Frequently.” Lieutenant Valcour stored away in his memory the broken +nail on the little finger of Mrs. Endicott’s left hand. The uniform +perfection of detail in the rest of her appearance made it stand out +jarringly. “This is all most unfortunate,” he said sympathetically, +“but I still doubt whether there is anything we could do. If there +were only something definite—say a threat, for example—we’d be very +glad to investigate it and to offer Mr. Endicott suitable protection.” + +Mrs. Endicott stood up. The abruptness of the movement spread the +folds of chiffon that streamed from a bow on her left shoulder, and +Lieutenant Valcour’s deceptively indifferent eyes lingered on bruise +marks that showed blue smears upon white skin before the chiffon fell +back into place. + +“Would you come with me to my husband’s room?” Mrs. Endicott said. + +“Certainly.” + +“There’s something there I’d like to show you—to ask you what you +think about it.” + +Lieutenant Valcour followed Mrs. Endicott along the corridor that led +past her dressing room. A door beyond this opened into her bedroom, +and directly across the corridor from it was the door to Endicott’s +room. The blank end of the corridor served as a wall for the bathroom, +which connected the two bedrooms and turned them into a suite which +ran the width of the rear of the house. + +Lieutenant Valcour sensed a difference in the furnishings of +Endicott’s bedroom that set it at sharp variance with the other parts +of the house that he had seen. It was done in heavy mahoganies that +were antiquated rather than antique, and methodically centred in each +panel of its gray-toned walls was a print of some painting by Maxfield +Parrish. After a comprehensive glance around he felt as if he had +already met Endicott. He had at least evolved a fairly accurate +portrait of the man’s sensibilities, if not of his physique. He +thought that Endicott would be difficult: a clearly divided +neighbouring of the physical and the ideal, assuredly conscious of the +fitness of things—which would be responsible for his acquiescence in +the tone of the rest of the house—but dominated by an inner +stubbornness which faced ridicule in the maintaining of his private +room at the level he had accepted as a standard years before. + +“That is his desk.” + +Mrs. Endicott indicated a flat-topped desk which was placed before one +of the rear windows. A lemon-jacketed book with crumpled pages was +lying on it as if it had been slammed there. Near the book was a scrap +of paper. Lieutenant Valcour leaned down and stared at the paper +without picking it up. On it was printed in pencil: + +[Illustration: Scrawled capital letters reading “BY THURSDAY OR—”.] + +He looked at Mrs. Endicott. She was evidently waiting for him to +speak. + +“To-day is Thursday,” he said. “Might it not be simply a memorandum?” + +“My husband doesn’t print his memorandums, nor is it likely he would +use a piece of paper torn from a paper bag.” She added, to clinch her +belief, “I can’t imagine Herbert ever having a paper bag.” + +“Perhaps he bought something at some haberdasher’s.” + +“The paper is too cheap. It’s more like the sort they use at grocers’ +or small stationers’.” + +“So it is.” + +“And there’s a crudeness about the printing. It’s almost an +intentional crudeness.” Mrs. Endicott stared fixedly at Lieutenant +Valcour. “It’s the sort of printing you’d expect to find in a threat,” +she said. + +“I have learned to find almost any sort of writing or material used +for purposes of conveying a threat,” Lieutenant Valcour said. “People +who threaten are invariably unbalanced emotionally, if not actually +mentally, and there is never any telling just what they will do. There +was a case that recently came to my attention where a woman received a +threat which had been engraved on excellent paper and enclosed in the +conventional inner envelope one uses for formal announcements or +invitations.” + +“Really.” + +“I’m not, by that, questioning your judgment in the matter of this +note, Mrs. Endicott. It might quite well be a threat, as you think.” + +“There is nothing else apparent that it could be.” + +“When did you find it, Mrs. Endicott?” + +“After my husband had left.” + +“Lying just about where it is now?” + +“Exactly where it is now.” + +“I see. You didn’t touch it then—just read it. I wonder why your +husband left it there.” + +She looked at him almost impatiently. “I don’t imagine he did leave it +there—that is, purposely. It probably fell out from between the leaves +when he slammed the book down.” + +“Has it occurred to you that we might call up this Marge Myles—but +that’s foolish. Of course you’d have thought of that.” + +He observed her obliquely as she answered. + +“He’d never forgive me.” Her gesture was faintly expressive of +helplessness. “I’m not supposed to know anything about it.” + +“Of course. This menace, Mrs. Endicott, this danger that you are +fearing, where do you think it lies?” + +She became consciously vague. “The streets—indoors—out——” + +“And you’re basing it entirely upon this note?” + +“Primarily. It’s something concrete, at any rate. I think that he +ought to have protection, and yet, if I did do anything about it, he’d +put it down as spying.” + +“Well, if this note is a threat there is rarely only one, you know. I +wonder whether we might find any others. I haven’t the remotest +justification for looking, but I’m willing to do so if you wish me +to.” + +Mrs. Endicott grew curiously detached. “His papers are in the upper +right-hand drawer,” she said. + +Lieutenant Valcour opened the drawer. Its contents were in a state of +considerable confusion. It was not the sort of confusion which is the +result of a cumulative addition of separate notes, letters, and sheets +of paper, but a kind that exists when a normally orderly collection of +papers has been milled around in suddenly. + +“There’s quite a mass of stuff here,” he said. “It might be simpler to +eliminate other possible places before tackling it. I must repeat +again that I’ll be exceeding any legal rights by doing so, but if you +earnestly believe your husband is in danger I’d like to go through the +pockets of his clothing.” + +“Pockets?” + +“It’s a much more usual place to find important things than you would +imagine.” + +“His clothes are in that cupboard.” + +Mrs. Endicott indicated a door. Lieutenant Valcour went over and +opened it. An electric light was automatically turned on in the +ceiling. The large hulk of a man crumpled into one corner of the +cupboard gave him a severe shock. The man was dead. He closed the door +and faced Mrs. Endicott. He nodded toward the desk, on which a +telephone was standing. + +“I’m going to use that telephone for a few minutes,” he said. “There’s +a message I want to put through. Also, please ring for your maid.” + +Mrs. Endicott’s eyes widened a little. “There’s something in the +cupboard,” she said. + +“Ring for your maid, please.” + +She went past him and toward the cupboard door. He shrugged. The value +of her reaction would offset the brutality of not stopping her. She +opened the door and looked in. Her grip tightened on the knob. + +“Then he didn’t go out at seven,” she said. + +“No, Mrs. Endicott. He didn’t go out at all.” + + + +CHAPTER II + +9:24 p. m.—Hall Marks of Murder + +Lieutenant Valcour felt that the utter stillness of the room would +overwhelm him. He—Mrs. Endicott—everything seemed to be taking its cue +from death. He reached past Mrs. Endicott and touched the body’s +cheek. It was quite cold. + +“Where is your room, Mrs. Endicott?” + +He carefully pried her fingers from the knob of the cupboard door and +then closed it. + +“But you can’t leave him in that cupboard.” + +Her voice held the toneless qualities of arrested emotion, as if the +functioning of her nerve centres had stopped. + +“We must leave him in there, Mrs. Endicott, until someone from the +medical examiner’s office has seen him. If you’ll tell me the name of +your family physician before you lie down——” + +“Lie down—I? Lie down?” + +“Yes, and rest. I’ll call the doctor up on the possible chance that +we’re mistaken, only I’m quite certain, Mrs. Endicott, that we +aren’t.” + +She stumbled verbally in her rush. “Worth—Dr. Sanford Worth—Calumet +876—it’s 876 something—I know it perfectly well. I—it’s in my +book—come with me.” + +She seemed mechanically vitalized, and her movements were those of a +nervous, jerky toy. She flung open a door adjacent to the cupboard. It +led into a bathroom, the fittings of which were of coral-coloured +porcelain. A door in the opposite wall led into her bedroom. She went +immediately to a leather reference book beside a telephone near her +bed. + +“It’s Calumet 8769,” she said. + +Her finger slipped in the dialling. Lieutenant Valcour gently took the +instrument from her hands and put through the call. + +“The office of Dr. Worth?” he said, when a woman’s voice answered him. +“This is the home of Mr. Herbert Endicott. I am Lieutenant Valcour of +the police department. Mr. Endicott is dead. I would appreciate it if +Dr. Worth would come here at once and consult with the medical +examiner, and also attend to Mrs. Endicott. Thank you.” He replaced +the receiver. + +“I haven’t the slightest intention of collapsing, Lieutenant.” + +“We will need Dr. Worth anyway, Mrs. Endicott.” + +Lieutenant Valcour dialled the Central Office and, in a suddenly most +efficient voice, gave the requisite information. He then called his +own precinct station and told the sergeant at the desk to send over a +detail of five men in uniform. + +“The chief of the Homicide Bureau, the medical examiner, and some of +my own men will be here presently,” he said to Mrs. Endicott. + +“And my husband has to stay in that cupboard until they come?” + +“Unless Dr. Worth arrives first and disagrees with me that Mr. +Endicott is dead.” + +“It’s inhuman.” + +“Very, but there’s a set routine for these cases that we have to +observe. Is this the button you ring for your maid?” + +He pressed a push button set in the wall at the head of the bed. + +“Yes, but I don’t want her.” + +“You may, and there’s no harm in her being with you. I’m going to +leave you in here for a little while, until the people we’ve +telephoned for come.” + +“You insist on my staying in this room?” + +“Heavens, no. Do anything you like, Mrs. Endicott, or that you feel +will help you. As long,” he added gently, “as you don’t leave the +house.” + +“Oh.” + +“You see we’ll have to talk such a lot of things over, just as soon as +the usual formalities are finished.” + +“It’s rather terrible, isn’t it?” + +“Pretty terrible, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“So”—she mentally groped for a satisfactory word—“so conclusive.” + +It seemed a peculiar choice. Lieutenant Valcour sensed that it wasn’t +just Endicott’s life alone which was concluded by death, but something +else as well—such as an argument, perhaps, or a secret and bitter +struggle. The precise significance was elusive, and he gave it up, or +rather checked it within his memory in that compartment which already +contained six barely smoked cigarette butts, a broken finger nail, +bruise marks, and a note which, in view of the body, might safely be +presumed to have been a threat. + +A maid knocked on the door and came in. She stared speculatively for a +curious second at Lieutenant Valcour. + +“Madam rang?” + +“No, Roberts. Lieutenant Valcour rang. Lieutenant Valcour is of the +police.” + +Any sudden announcing of the police is always shocking. It is a +prelude to so many unpleasant possibilities even in the lives of the +most blameless. They are in a class with telegrams. Lieutenant Valcour +noted that Roberts accepted his identity with nothing further than an +almost imperceptible catching of breath. Mrs. Endicott’s attitude +puzzled him. It wasn’t resentment, certainly, or any stretching at +rudeness; such emotions seemed so utterly inconsequential at this +moment when she must have been wrenched by a very severe shock. It +reminded him of the aimless play of lightning clowning before the +purposeful fury of a storm. + +“Mrs. Endicott will explain things to you,” he said. “Stay with her, +please.” + +There lingered, as he went into the bathroom, a picture of the two +women, separated by the distance of the room, standing quite still and +staring at each other: Mrs. Endicott, young, exquisitely lovely +looking—the other, older, quite implacable. The connection was absurd, +but the effect remained of two antagonists in a strange encounter who +are standing in their separate corners of a ring. He closed the +bathroom door and slipped the catch. He turned on all the lights. + +There was a single window. He parted muslin curtains and looked at a +glazed lemon-coloured shade, especially along its hemmed bottom. There +were some smudges at its centre that interested him. He believed that +they had been made by a dirty thumb. He raised the shade and the lower +sash of the window. + +The night was clear and cold and windless. A shallow stone balcony ran +the width of the rear of the house. It was for ornamentation rather +than use, as to get onto it one had to straddle the window sill. +Lieutenant Valcour did so, and stood looking down upon the dimly +defined outlines of what, in spring, would bloom into a formal garden. +He satisfied himself that there seemed no access to the balcony from +the ground unless one used a ladder or were endowed with those special +and fortunately rare qualities which transform an otherwise normal +person into a human fly. + +The house was five windows wide; the two on the right of the bathroom +belonged to Mrs. Endicott’s room, and the two on its left to her +husband’s. He flashed on his electric torch and examined all five +sills. None showed a trace of recent passage, and there was no very +good reason, he realized, why any of them should. They were clean, +windswept, and smooth. + +How pleasant it would be, he reflected, to come across the perfect +imprint of a shoe, or a rubber, or—what was it that was so popular at +the moment?—of course: the footprint of a gorilla. The case would then +be what was technically known as an open-and-shut one. He’d simply +take the train for California and arrest Lon Chaney, and—— But enough. + +And the floor itself on the balcony was smugly lacking in clues. He +relinquished the keen sharp air, the star-heavy night, and returned to +the bathroom by way of its window, which he closed, and again drew +down its lemon-coloured shade. + +A cake of soap in a container set in the wall above a basin attracted +his attention. It was so incredibly dirty. Someone with exceptionally +dirty hands had used it and either hadn’t bothered to rinse it off or +else hadn’t had the time to. The dirt had dried on it. + +He couldn’t vision such a condition of uncleanliness in connection +with the hands of either Mr. or Mrs. Endicott, unless there had been +some obscure reason. He preferred to think for the moment that the +hands had belonged, and presumably still did, to the murderer. That, +of course, eliminated the gorilla. What a pity it was, he reflected, +that he was so constantly obsessed with infernal absurdities. Even +though he tried to keep them under triple lock and key when working +with his associates on the force, they had a distressing habit at +times of cropping out into the open where they could be seen. Nor were +they of a humour especially in vogue among his contemporaries; there +rarely was an and-the-drummer-said-to-Mabel or an-Irishman-and-a-Jew +among them. Rarely? He shuddered. Never. As a result there were +occasions when he rested under the cloud of being considered mildly +lunatic. It was bad business. He had told himself so firmly again and +again. Success and humour formed bedfellows as agreeable as an +absent-minded dog would be _en négligé_ in the boudoir of a surprised +cat. + +With a beautiful access of gravity he lifted the lid of an enamelled +wicker hamper and peered in at the soiled linen it contained. There +were many towels. Towels were, he reflected, one of the few genuine +hall marks of the rich. The Endicotts, hence, must be very, very rich, +as it was obvious that they shed—or was it shedded?—towels as +profusely as the petals fall from a white flowering tree. + +There was a badly soiled and crumpled towel on the very top of the +pile. He picked it up and looked at it. It was very dirty and still +faintly damp. He folded it, set it on the floor beneath the basin, and +placed the cake of soap upon it. They were, he smiled faintly, +Exhibits B and C. The distinction of being classified as Exhibit A was +already reserved by the threatening note on the desk. As for the +smudges on the lemon-coloured shade, they would have to be definitely +determined as finger prints before they could have their niche in the +alphabet. The prosecuting attorney would be pleased. He was a man +whose flair for alphabeted exhibits amounted to a passion. Lieutenant +Valcour hoped that he could find a crushed rose. The prosecuting +attorney was at his best with crushed roses. For example, take that +knifing case in the Ghetto. Three petals were all the prosecuting +attorney had had there, but they had bloomed, via the jury, into +tears. Into tears, Lieutenant Valcour amended, and tripe. + +A pair of silver-backed brushes showed no finger marks upon their +shining surfaces, nor were there any on the silver rim that backed a +comb. One could infer, Lieutenant Valcour decided, and did, that +someone later than Mr. Endicott had used them, as Mr. Endicott would +never have wiped them off to remove his prints, and had he not done so +there certainly would have been some signs of usage. What a careful +murderer it was, he thought, to polish the evidence so very clean. And +what a grip the subject of finger prints maintained upon the criminal +mind, and upon the lay mind as well. It seemed to embrace their Alpha +and Omega in the scientific detection of crime. Lieutenant Valcour +offered to bet himself his last nickel that the murderer had +overlooked entirely the possibility of what might be found left within +the bristles of the brushes and between the teeth of the comb. He took +a clean hand towel from the rack and wrapped the brushes and the comb +up in it. He set the bundle on the floor beside the cake of soap and +the dirty towel. The alphabet, he reflected, had now been depleted +down to F. + +The bathroom could tell him nothing more. He reconstructed its segment +of the drama before leaving it: the murderer had entered, gone at once +to the window and pulled down its shade. There had been a washing of +hands and a brushing and combing of hair. The murderer had wiped the +silver clear of finger prints and had left. The whys and wherefors +must come later. The shell would remain unchanged until the moment +came to pour it full of motive and give it reason and life. + +He went into Endicott’s room and opened the cupboard door. The beam +from his electric torch, added to the ceiling light, brought out +sharply the waxy pallor of the face’s skin. Its good-looking, homely +ruggedness was marred by a slight cast of petulance, as inappropriate +as a pink bow on a lion. Cruelty showed, too, a little—and something +inscrutable that baffled analysis. Endicott weighed, Lieutenant +Valcour decided, close upon two hundred pounds and no fat, either; a +strong, powerfully muscled man, and about thirty-five years old. He +played the light upon Endicott’s right hand and exposed the wrist a +little by drawing up the sleeve. The wrist and hand were normally +clean, as he had expected. + +He gently inserted his fingers into such of Endicott’s pockets as he +could reach without disturbing the body. From the rumpled state of +their linings and their complete emptiness it was apparent that they +had been hastily turned inside out and replaced. + +Lieutenant Valcour began to sniff at a motive. Not robbery, exactly, +in the ordinary sense, as an expensive platinum wrist watch and a set +of black pearl shirt studs were untouched, but robbery in the +extraordinary sense—one that had been indulged in for a certain +definite purpose. He strongly began to suspect that there would be the +ubiquitous “fatal papers.” It might also develop that Endicott was the +secretive owner of some fabulous jewel of a sort usually referred to +as a Heart of Buddha, or perhaps some important slice of the Russian +crown jewels—the number of which now almost equalled, he reflected, +the thousands upon thousands of ancestors who came over to our shores +on the _Mayflower_. + +The top button was missing from Endicott’s overcoat. It would have +been torn away when the murderer had lifted his victim from the floor +in order to drag him into the cupboard. Otherwise there wasn’t +anything that hinted at a struggle. There wasn’t any blood, or any +wound, or sign of contusion visible on the head, and no trace of blood +around such parts of the cupboard that Lieutenant Valcour could see. + +He suddenly wondered where Endicott’s hat was. It wasn’t on Endicott’s +head, nor in the cupboard, nor in the bedroom, which struck him as +strange. He was a strong believer in the paraphrase that where the +coat is, there the hat lies, too. One could look for it more carefully +later. Just at present, of greater importance was Exhibit A. + +Lieutenant Valcour went to the desk, picked up the note and studied +it. The pencil used had been a thick leaded one, almost a crayon. And +there, right before his nose in a shallow tray that held an assortment +of office things, was a pencil with a very thick lead that was almost +a crayon. He copied the note with it on the back of an envelope he +took from his pocket. He compared the result with the printing on the +note. They were alike. + +One begins, he informed himself gently, to wonder. + + + +CHAPTER III + +9:45 p. m.—Guards Are Stationed at the Doors + +There are knocks, Lieutenant Valcour believed, and knocks. He ranged +them from gentle careless rappings, through sly sinister taps, to +imperative demands and, finally, thumps. He classified the ones at the +moment being bestowed upon the hall door as official whacks. He was +right. He put the scrap of paper and the crayon pencil in his pocket +and turned to greet five men from the station house who flooded into +the room on the heels of his “Come in.” + +They were intelligent-looking young men, well built, alert, and their +uniforms were immaculate—five competent blue jays outlined sharply +against gray walls. Lieutenant Valcour knew each one of them both by +reputation and by name. + +He nodded to the starchiest and youngest looking of them. “Cassidy,” +he said, “stay in here. O’Brian, stay by the front door, and keep +Hansen with you to carry messages. There’s a servants’ entrance at the +front, McGinnis. It’s yours. And you, Stump, watch the door from the +back of the house into the garden. If anyone wants to leave the house +send him to me first. You can let anyone in, with the exception of +reporters, and find out their business. Now in regard to the reporters +just be your natural genial selves and say that apart from the plain +statement that Mr. Herbert Endicott, the owner of this house, is dead +and that—” Lieutenant Valcour choked slightly—“foul play is suspected, +you can tell them nothing. The police, as usual, are actively on +the job, have the case well in hand, and there is every reason to +believe that in view of our customary efficiency the guilty parties +will soon be brilliantly apprehended etcetera and so forth Amen. +Excuse-it-please.” + +“Cuckoo,” confided O’Brian to Hansen as, with Stump and McGinnis, they +filed out. + +“Cuckoo as a fox,” agreed Hansen, who had worked under Lieutenant +Valcour on a case before. + +“Yeh?” + +“Yeah.” + +Lieutenant Valcour and young Cassidy were alone. + +“Tell me, Cassidy, how are the servants taking all this, if you bumped +into any of them?” + +“Sure, I only saw the girl at the front door, Lieutenant. She’s a +sorry piece, and was shivering worse than one of them new and indecent +dances.” + +“Did she say anything?” + +“She did not, beyond telling us to follow her upstairs. She took us to +that door across the hallway first, and some lady said you was in +here.” + +“How did that lady’s voice sound to you, Cassidy?” + +“Smooth, sir.” + +“Not nervous?” + +“Devil a bit.” + +“What are you looking for, Cassidy?” + +“The corpse, sir.” + +“It’s in that cupboard.” + +“Is it now?” said Cassidy, casually removing himself as far from the +cupboard door as he could. “It ain’t one of them Western hammer +murders, is it?” + +“I don’t know what kind of a homicide it is, Cassidy. There are no +marks on him that I can see.” + +“Will it be poison, then?” + +“Maybe.” + +“Well, let’s hope it’s one or the other. I hate them mystery cases +where the deceased got his go-by from a Chinese blow gun, or some +imported snake from Timbuctu, or parts adjacent.” + +“When did you ever work on such a case, Cassidy?” + +“Sure, Lieutenant, you can read about them every week in the +magazines. There’s one that’s in its fourth part now where some louse +of foreign extraction kills a dumb cluck of a Wall Street magnet with +a package of paper matches, the tips of which was so fixed that they +exploded when struck, instead of acting decent like, and shot dabs of +poison into the skin of his fingers. Can you imagine it? Just say the +word and I’ll bring it around to the station house and you can read it +for yourself.” + +“Thanks, Cassidy.” + +“It’ll be no trouble at all, Lieutenant.” + +An important knock on the door disclosed a stranger. Lieutenant +Valcour addressed him, correctly, as Dr. Worth. + +Dr. Sanforth Worth did not merely imagine that he cut a distinguished +figure; he was sure of it. A certain grayness clung impressively about +the temples of an intellectual brow, and he was probably one of the +few physicians left in New York who had both the audacity and ability +to wear a Vandyke. He was dressed in evening clothes and had not +bothered to remove his overcoat or to give up his hat. + +“Dr. Worth? I am Lieutenant Valcour, of the police. Mr. Endicott is in +here.” + +Dr. Worth bowed gravely, and with a sparklingly manicured hand stroked +his Vandyke once. “I have been afraid of something like this for quite +a while, Lieutenant,” he said. His voice, in company with everything +else about him, sounded expensive. + +Lieutenant Valcour raised his eyebrows. “It begins to seem, Doctor, as +if everybody except Mr. Endicott himself anticipated his murder.” + +“Murder?” + +It was Dr. Worth’s eyebrows’ turn. They raised. They fell. They +became, in conjunction with pursed lips, judicious. He removed his +overcoat and placed it, with his hat, upon a chair. + +“I believe you will find, Lieutenant, that it is just his heart. His—— +Dear God in heaven, man, what have you left him slumped down like this +for?” + +“You mustn’t touch him, Doctor, unless you think he isn’t dead.” + +Dr. Worth stiffened perceptibly. “Fancy that,” he said. “Well, one +would infer that he is dead, all right. Just the same, Lieutenant, is +there any legal objection to opening his coat and shirt bosom? I dare +say I could slit them, if you preferred. You see, it might be +advisable to test for any trace of heart action with the stethoscope.” + +“I had no intention of offending you, Doctor. Go right ahead and do +anything you think is absolutely essential to establish life or +death.” + +Dr. Worth melted conservatively. “You see, sir, I know his heart. He +had a nervous breakdown two years ago which left its action impaired.” +He loosened Endicott’s overcoat and the black pearl studs set in a +semi-soft shirt bosom. He listened for a moment, and then removed the +stethoscope. “No trace,” he said. “He’s dead. Shall I button up the +shirt front and the coat again?” + +“It isn’t necessary, Doctor.” + +The hall door opened abruptly. The homicide chief and the medical +examiner came in, followed by a squad of detectives. Lieutenant +Valcour was well acquainted with both officials. He introduced them to +Dr. Worth and placed at their disposal such information as he had +gained while waiting for them to arrive. + +The department’s experts automatically began to function at once. A +photographer was already arranging his apparatus to make pictures of +the body from as many angles as its position in the cupboard would +permit. A finger-print man went about his duties along the lines laid +down by established routine. The medical examiner and Dr. Worth +gravitated naturally together and plunged into a discussion of +Endicott’s medical history. + +The homicide chief, a well-built, alert-looking man of fifty, by the +name of Andrews, drew Lieutenant Valcour a little to one side. + +“What do you really make of it, Valcour?” he said. + +“Oh, it’s undoubtedly murder, Chief, but I doubt whether there’ll even +be an indictment unless we get a lucky break, establish a definite +motive, and get a confession.” + +“I feel that way about it, too. Any signs of an entry having been +forced?” + +“I haven’t looked. I’ve been in here all the time, and my men just +came.” + +“Well, Stevens and Larraby are making the rounds now. They’ll let us +know. If the autopsy doesn’t show poison or some wound it’ll be a +nuisance. If it’s a straight heart attack, as Dr. Worth claims, we +might just as well drop it. Can you imagine getting up before a jury +that’s been shown a picture by the defense of a big husky like +Endicott and saying, ‘This man was scared to his death?’ Suppose a +woman was the defendant. They’d laugh the case out of court.” + +“Maybe it won’t be as bad as all that, Chief. While you’re busy in +here I’ll wander around and try to scare up something. Would you mind +sending for me when the medical examiner reaches some decision as to +the manner of death?” + +“Sure thing, Valcour. I’ll see to it, too, that those brushes and comb +are looked into.” + +“I’ll probably be in Mrs. Endicott’s room. That’s the door just across +the corridor.” + +Andrews was aware of Lieutenant Valcour’s reputation in the department +for the painless extraction of useful information from people. “Go to +it,” he said. “And squeeze every drop that you can.” + + + +CHAPTER IV + +10:02 p. m.—Pale Flares the Darkness + +Lieutenant Valcour wondered concerning Mrs. Endicott as he walked +slowly across the corridor and knocked on the door of her room. A +curious, curious woman, with youth and beauty that almost passed +belief. He knew her instinctively as one of life’s misfits: complex to +a note far beyond the common tune; essentially an individualist; +essentially unhappy from an inevitable loneliness which is the lot of +all who are banished within the narrow confines of their own +complexity; a type he had seldom met, but of whose existence he was +well aware. + +Roberts opened the door. The woman’s face was butchered and her eyes +had the quality of glass. + +“Ask Mrs. Endicott, please, whether she feels strong enough to see me +for a moment.” + +Mrs. Endicott’s voice was definitely metallic. As it reached him in +the corridor, disembodied from any visual association with herself, it +seemed to hold a muted echo of brass bells. + +“Certainly, come in. I wish, Lieutenant, you would give up the +tiresome fiction that I am going to collapse. I’ll ring, Roberts, when +I want you.” + +“Yes, madam.” + +As Roberts passed him on her way to the door Lieutenant Valcour felt +an imperative awareness of an attempt at revelations—an attempt to +impart to him some special knowledge. Her eyes, as she glanced at him, +lost their cobwebs and grew sharply informative. It was entirely an +unconscious reaction on his part that forced from his lips the word +“Later.” The cobwebs reappeared. She left the room. + +Lieutenant Valcour drew a chair close to the _chaise longue_ upon +which Mrs. Endicott was nervously lying. Flung across her knees was a +robe of China silk, a black river bearing on its surface huge flowers +done in silver and slashed at its fringes with the jade chiffon of her +dress. He launched his campaign by first swinging, wordily, well wide +of its ultimate objective. His tone, from a deliberate casual +friendliness, was an anodyne to possible reservations, or fears. + +“It is the tragedy of a detective’s life,” he said pleasantly, “that +the sudden slender contact he has with a case affords such a useless +background for human behaviour. You can see what I mean, Mrs. +Endicott. Were I you, or some intimate friend either of yourself or of +your husband, I would already be in possession of the countless little +threads that have woven the pattern of Mr. Endicott’s life for the +past five or ten years. You’ll forgive me for outraging oratory? It’s +a nasty habit I’ve contracted in later years whenever dealing with the +abstract. I’m not making a speech, really. What I’m trying to express +is that in that background, that pattern of Mr. Endicott’s life, one +thread or series of interrelated threads would stand out pretty +plainly as the reason why someone should wish to kill him.” + +“I,” said Mrs. Endicott, “have several times wished to kill him.” + +Lieutenant Valcour nodded. “There is nothing left for me but the trite +things to say about marriage. And trite things, after all, are the +true things, don’t you think?” + +“If they’re just discovered. I mean by that, that to the person just +discovering their deadly aptness they’re true. Rather terribly so +sometimes.” + +“But the aptness wears off with usage?” + +Mrs. Endicott’s slender hand and arm were models of quietness in +motion as she reached for a cigarette. “Everything wears off with +usage,” she said. “Love quicker than anything else.” + +“But it doesn’t wear off completely, love doesn’t, ever.” + +Mrs. Endicott looked at him sharply. “Why are you a detective?” she +said. + +“The accident of birth—of environment. Only geniuses, you know, ever +quite escape those two fatalities. My parents emigrated from France to +Canada, where my father held a certain reputation in my present +profession. My parents died. There was enough money to secure an +education at McGill—one had contacts here in the States . . .” +Lieutenant Valcour smiled infectiously. “I reversed Cæsar in that I +came, was seen, was conquered.” + +Mrs. Endicott was amused. “How utterly conceited.” + +“Isn’t it?” + +The smile vanished from her face with the peculiar suddenness of some +conjuring trick. She veered abruptly. “What are they doing in my +husband’s room now?” she said. + +“Dr. Worth and the medical examiner are determining the cause of +death.” Lieutenant Valcour transferred his attention to a Sargent +water colour above the mantel. “Dr. Worth has already expressed the +opinion that it was heart failure,” he said. + +Mrs. Endicott offered no immediate comment. She withdrew, for a +moment, into some private chamber, and her voice was rather +expressionless when she spoke. “But that isn’t murder.” + +“It could be—if the disease itself were used as a weapon.” + +“I don’t believe that I understand.” + +“Why, if some person who knew that Mr. Endicott was subject to heart +attacks were deliberately to shock or scare him suddenly, or even give +him a not especially forceful blow over the heart, and he were to die +as a result of any one of those things, that would be murder. It would +have to be proved pretty conclusively, of course, that it had been +done deliberately.” + +Mrs. Endicott joined him in his continued inspection of the Sargent. +“It would indicate a rather circumscribed field for suspects, too, +don’t you think?” + +“Yes. One would confine one’s suspicions to those who were intimate +enough with him to know of his physical condition. But apart from all +that phase, there are those things we technically speak of as +‘attendant circumstances.’ They point to murder.” + +Their glances brushed for a second in passing and then parted. + +“Such as?” + +Lieutenant Valcour explained, with certain reservations. “The note you +showed me—the position of Mr. Endicott in the cupboard—the fact that +he is completely dressed for out of doors, but there is no trace of +his hat—oh, several little things that speak quite plainly.” He +focussed her directly. “Where did Mr. Endicott usually keep his hats?” + +“I’ve never noticed particularly. There’s a cupboard downstairs in the +entrance hall, and of course the one——” + +“Yes, I’ve looked for it up here. I wonder whether you’d care to tell +me what happened—what you did, I mean, and what you remember of Mr. +Endicott’s movements from the time, say, of his reaching home this +afternoon.” + +Mrs. Endicott’s face sought refuge in the very pith of candour. “Why, +nothing much—nothing unusual.” + +Lieutenant Valcour laughed pleasantly. “That is where I fail in my +background,” he said. “The things done were usual to both of you and +therefore of no importance. To me, however, they would prove +interesting because of their unfamiliarity. Did you talk at all?” + +“Elaborately.” + +“I beg your pardon?” + +“I said elaborately. Herbert makes a point of talking elaborately +whenever he’s lying.” + +“I see—he was lying, then, about Marge Myles.” + +“And unoriginally. But Herbert never was original, much, in his +emotions. He told me he was going to an impromptu reunion of some men +in his class at the Yale Club. These reunions have occurred with +astonishing regularity once a week for the past month, in spite of +their impromptu character. I detest having my intelligence insulted,” +she ended, not unfiercely, “more than anything else in the world.” + +“You will forgive me for becoming personal, but I doubt whether Mr. +Endicott understood you very well.” + +“He didn’t understand me at all.” + +“And you, him?” + +Mrs. Endicott momentarily disarranged the perfect arch of her +eyebrows. “I could see through him perfectly,” she said. “A child +could see through him. But understand him? I don’t think anyone could +understand Herbert. He made a fetish of reticence. He was,” she +concluded, “half animal.” + +“And the other half rather cloudily complex?” + +“A fog.” + +“And when he came home this afternoon at five?” + +“Five-thirty—nearer six, even.” + +“Toward six, he joined you in the living room and gave you the weekly +excuse.” + +“I didn’t say the living room. It was the top floor—you may have +noticed that this house has a peaked roof—in what would correspond in +the country to an attic——” She stopped sharply, and her defensive +veneer cracked for an instant, long enough to show that she was +definitely startled. “I——” + +“You feel that you shouldn’t have told me that. Perhaps you shouldn’t. +If the fact of your having met Mr. Endicott in the attic has nothing +to do with the case at all, it will cause us to snoop around among +your personal affairs unnecessarily.” + +“He didn’t ‘meet’ me there, as you say. He—I don’t know why he came up +there. I never will know why.” + +“You didn’t ask him?” + +Mrs. Endicott forced Lieutenant Valcour’s full attention by the almost +startling intentness of her eyes. “There has never been a direct +question put or answered between Herbert and me during the whole +period of our married or unmarried life,” she said. “My hold on him +was the static perfection of my features and a running, superficial +smartness in attitude and mind that passed for intellect. His hold on +me was that I loved him.” + +“Even when you wished to kill him?” + +“I suppose even then. Mind you, I never wished him _dead_—there’s a +difference.” + +“Oh, quite.” Lieutenant Valcour smiled engagingly. “You often felt +like killing him, but you wanted it to stop right there.” + +“You know, I wish you’d come to tea sometime——” Mrs. Endicott’s eyes +contracted sharply. Her voice became a definite apology, not to +Lieutenant Valcour, but as though its message were being sent along +obscure and private channels to some port where it would find her +husband. “There are moments,” she said, “when you make me forget.” + +“Forgetting isn’t a sin. That’s natural. It’s not loving—being +mentally hurtful—that’s a sin. There isn’t any word exactly for what I +mean. Did you both stay in the attic and go through the trunk +together, or whatever it was you were going through?” + +Mrs. Endicott smiled as if at some secret knowledge. “I wasn’t going +through a trunk,” she said. + +“No? I just mentioned it, as nine times out of ten that’s what people +do in attics.” + +“And the tenth customary thing,” said Mrs. Endicott, reaching for a +cigarette, “is suicide.” + + + +CHAPTER V + +10:17 p. m.—Living or Dead? + +Lieutenant Valcour’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had a habit of +dividing suicides into two classes—those who talked about killing +themselves, and those who did so. He knew that the two rarely +overlapped. He felt a shocking conviction that in Mrs. Endicott’s case +she might well have been the exception which proved the rule. “I +suppose an attic is the conventional place for suicide,” he said. “Or +at least to think about it.” + +Mrs. Endicott’s laugh was without humour. “One doesn’t need an attic +in order to think about it.” + +“That’s true. And so you went downstairs with him, then?” + +“He followed me in here. That is,” she corrected herself with +noticeable carelessness, “we went into the living room and he +wondered, while he kissed me, whether I’d mind very much being alone +for dinner. I doubt whether you’ve ever experienced, Lieutenant, the +rather perfect torture of a, well, an abstract kiss. Men don’t.” + +“We’re too self-centred, I’m afraid, or conceited or something, or +else our sensibilities aren’t refined enough to be hurt by it.” + +“But you could understand—if you could vision the background?” + +“Everybody knows what love is, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“That’s just it—it’s the comparison of what is with what has been. +It’s an indescribably vulgar subject—kissing—but it’s either very +wonderful or very painful. People who claim it can be a combination +talk nonsense. We can eliminate, of course——” + +“Of course—‘petting’ they call it, or did. You never know from one +minute to the next just what a thing is being called. And then he went +to his room to dress?” + +“Yes.” + +“Alone?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Has he a valet?” + +“Herbert? Heavens, no.” + +“And you dressed?” + +“Yes.” + +“Roberts helped you?” + +“Of course.” + +“Then when Mr. Endicott said good-bye?” + +“He called it through the closed door.” + +Lieutenant Valcour almost visibly showed his surprise. “He did say +good-bye?” + +“Herbert insists upon saying good-bye. He rapped on the door and +called in. If it would interest you to know his exact words,” she said +bitterly, “they were in the falsetto voice he uses when he thinks he’s +being especially funny and were, ‘Don’t be angry with Herbie-werbie, +sweetheart. Goodie-byskie.’” + +“They’re almost a motive in themselves,” said Lieutenant Valcour, +smiling. “Which door did he rap on, Mrs. Endicott?” + +“The hall door.” + +“I see. And you heard him going down the stairs?” + +“One can’t hear footsteps with the door closed.” + +“And that was at——?” + +“The clock over there on my mantel was striking seven.” + +“And after that there is nothing further you can tell me about Mr. +Endicott?” + +“Nothing.” + +“You dined. You went to his room. You found the note. You began to +worry, and then you called us up.” + +“That is it.” + +“Was it in this room here or up in the attic, Mrs. Endicott, that you +told him you were going to kill him?” + +“Here, after he—— That wasn’t exactly fair, was it?” + +“Heavens no, but awfully smart.” Lieutenant Valcour’s smile was the +essence of pleasantness. “I do wish you’d continue with the ‘after +he.’ After he did what? Or was it something he said?” + +“Did.” + +“Yes?” + +“I told you,” she blazed, “that he was half animal. You can hardly +expect me to become more explicit.” + +Lieutenant Valcour was genuinely upset. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. +Endicott,” he said. “About this afternoon, were you in the house?” + +“Partly. I had tea at the Ritz, early, about four-thirty—with,” she +added defiantly, “a man.” + +“Ah.” + +“Exactly so. That will permit you to reverse another tradition and go +_cherchez l’homme_.” + +Lieutenant Valcour found instant good humour. “So you decided to fight +fire with fire,” he said. + +“If you care to call it that.” + +“Just who is Marge Myles, and what?” Lieutenant Valcour said suddenly. + +“There are several terms one might apply to her. They all mean the +same thing. I believe that recently, however,” Mrs. Endicott said very +distinctly, “she has lost her amateur standing.” + +“Recently?” + +“The past year or so.” + +“Mr. Endicott had known her as long as that?” + +“Until the past month or two my husband had not known her at all. He’d +heard of her, of course, and so had I.” + +“Then she is a woman who once had position?” + +“She was the wife of one of Herbert’s friends, a man who died two +years ago and left her penniless. They say, incidentally, that she +killed him.” + +“Killed him?” + +“It was just gossip, of course. They had a camp near some obscure lake +up in Maine. The canoe they were in one evening upset. Harry Myles +couldn’t swim.” + +“And Marge Myles?” + +“Marge Myles was famous for her swimming.” + +“Then the inference is that she, well, neglected to save her husband?” + +“That—and that she deliberately upset the canoe. I repeat it’s all +gossip. People dropped him, you see, after he married her. That’s a +commentary for you.” + +“You mean they still accepted him while he was—that is, before the +ceremony.” + +“Yes, while he was living with her. It’s thoroughly natural, of +course. People didn’t have to recognize her then; they could ignore +her. But you can’t ignore a man’s wife; you either have to recognize +her or not. The nots had it. If she had been a genuinely nice person, +or an amusing one, I doubt whether the fact of their having lived +together really would have mattered. But she wasn’t.” + +“What was she before her marriage?” + +“A member of that much-maligned group known as the chorus.” + +“And recently she had got in touch with your husband?” + +“She looked up all of Harry’s old friends. Don’t you see? As a widow +she again had a standing—a shade higher, but similar to the one she +held before Harry married her. I don’t know how many others she +landed, but she certainly landed Herbert.” + +“And you were afraid she would do something to him?” + +“Well, she killed Harry.” + +“Then you personally believe the gossip?” + +Mrs. Endicott did not bother to give a direct reply. She shrugged, and +twisted a little on the _chaise longue_. + +“And do you associate her in any way, Mrs. Endicott, with what has +happened here to-night?” + +She continued to evade further direct responsibility for an opinion. +“Who else?” she said. + +“But the actual mechanics of it, Mrs. Endicott—how could she have got +into the house?” + +“It could be done. Herbert himself might have let her in.” + +“That’s going a little far, isn’t it?” + +“Yes. It was rotten of me to suggest it. I never really thought it, +Lieutenant. I just said it.” + +“And after all, Mrs. Endicott, why should she want to kill your +husband? You weren’t trying to keep him from her.” + +“He might have been trying to keep himself from her.” + +“He might. It’s stretching it a little, though, to think she’d +deliberately kill him for that.” + +“She wouldn’t do it deliberately.” + +“I don’t know. When a woman starts out to kill she invariably chooses +some weapon, or a poison. Every case has proved it again and again. +But we’re only speculating, aren’t we? Who was it who took you to +tea?” + +“I haven’t any intention of telling you.” + +“Because it might involve him?” + +“He couldn’t possibly be involved. If I thought he were I’d tell you +in a minute.” + +Someone knocked on the door. + +“Just the same, Mrs. Endicott, I wish you would tell me who he was.” + +“No.” + +Lieutenant Valcour was able not only to recognize finality, he could +accept it. He considered Mrs. Endicott’s very definite refusal to +answer his question as of small consequence; there were so many more +ways than one for frying an eel. He stood up and crossed to the door. +He opened it and stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind +him. Even in the dimmish light young Cassidy’s normally ruddy face was +the colour of chalk. + +“What’s happened, Cassidy?” + +“Honest to God, Lieutenant, I’m scared stiff. They’re getting things +ready in there to bring that corpse back to life.” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +10:32 p. m.—Pictures in Dust + +Lieutenant Valcour stared for a puzzled instant at the white face. + +“What do you mean, Cassidy?” he said. + +“Honest to God, Lieutenant, I mean just what I say.” + +“But that’s impossible.” + +Cassidy went even further. “It’s sacrilege,” he said. + +“Nonsense,” Lieutenant Valcour said sharply. “You have simply +misunderstood Dr. Worth. It is possible that Mr. Endicott was not dead +at all but in some state of catalepsy. No one, Cassidy, can bring back +the dead.” + +“I’m glad to hear you say so, sir.” + +“Then let us go in.” + +“Must I go back in there, too?” + +“You must. Forget the fact that you’re a superstitious Irishman, +Cassidy, and remember that you’re a cop. Cops, as you’ve been told +more times than one, should be noble, firm, and perpetually cool, +calm, and collected.” + +“Sure now, you’re kidding.” + +“Tut, tut.” + +“Well, and I’ll try, Lieutenant—but cripes!” + +“But nothing,” advised Lieutenant Valcour as he opened the door to +Endicott’s room. + +The effect was shockingly garish. All shades had been removed from +their lamps, and the various details of the furnishing stood out in +the painful white light brightly clear. + +Andrews was alone. He stood near the bed upon which Endicott had been +placed, looking in rather shocked bewilderment at the body. Lieutenant +Valcour joined him. A blanket had been drawn up to Endicott’s chin, +and the face which remained exposed looked very waxlike—very +still—very much like a dead man’s indeed. + +“This is the damnedest thing, Valcour.” + +“What is, Chief?” + +“They say there’s a chance that this man isn’t dead. Worth is going to +operate.” + +“Operate? But Dr. Worth himself admitted that the heart had stopped +beating after testing with a stethoscope. What sort of an operation?” + +“Worth’s going to inject adrenaline into the cardiac muscles.” + +“I wonder just how much value there is in that stuff.” + +“Well, unless Endicott’s been poisoned, the medical examiner and Worth +both seem to think there’s a chance. They feel there’s no harm in +trying, anyway. It sounds silly to me, but they reminded me of that +recent case in Queens—you probably read about it—where a man had been +pronounced dead for six hours and was revived. Of course, they said he +wasn’t really dead, just as they now think that Endicott may not be +really dead. No one can bring back the dead.” + +Lieutenant Valcour threw a bland look to Cassidy, who was standing in +as convenient a position to the hall door as he could possibly get. + +“They say,” Andrews went on, “that adrenaline’s been used off and on +for years. Worth says they try it quite often when a baby is born +‘dead.’ Sometimes it starts the heart pumping and the baby lives.” + +Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “It will make things pretty simple for us +if it works with Endicott,” he said. “He can make a statement and +prefer charges himself. Where is everybody?” + +“The medical examiner and Worth are downstairs telephoning and making +arrangements for the operation. My men have finished and have gone +back to headquarters. There wasn’t any sign of forcing an entry, so it +looks like an inside job, if there was any job. I tell you, Valcour, +if it wasn’t for your suggestion that robbery was a motive, or for +that note that might have been a threat, I’d drop the whole thing. +It’s a different matter if the adrenaline doesn’t work and an autopsy +proves poison or something. Find out much from Mrs. Endicott?” + +“Enough to be interested in learning more. Want the details?” + +“Later, if I have to get to work on the case. You want to keep on +handling it?” + +“Yes.” + +“Go ahead. Call for any outside stuff you want us to check up on for +you. I’ll send you a report on the brushes and comb as soon as they +finish with them downtown.” + +“You going, Chief?” + +“No use in my sticking around, Valcour. We haven’t a case yet, really, +that calls for any Central Office work. Hell, according to those two +six-syllable specialists downstairs, we haven’t even got a corpse. +Robbery there may have been, and it’s your precinct—so go to it. I’ll +find out from the medical examiner when he gets back how the operation +turned out, and if there’s going to be an autopsy. If poisoning is +proved and you haven’t pinned it on anyone by then, I’ll get on the +job again. I suppose you’ll see that the people in the house are given +the once-over?” + +“Certainly, Chief.” + +“I’ll run along then. Good luck, Valcour.” + +“Thank you, Chief.” + +Andrews left the room and closed the door. + +“I bet he’s got a date,” said Cassidy. + +“He’d stay here if he had twenty dates, if he thought it was +necessary,” said Lieutenant Valcour. + +“Well, I wish I had a date.” + +“You’ll have a whole vacation if you don’t brace up. I’m going to take +a look in that cupboard, now that Endicott’s no longer in it.” + +Even a cupboard seemed preferable to Cassidy to being in the room. +“Can’t I help you, sir?” he said with almost fervent politeness. + +“No, Cassidy, you can’t. You can stay just where you are.” + +“Oh, very well, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour picked up a straight-backed chair and took it into +the cupboard with him. He held a sincere respect for the Central +Office men, but at the same time felt that their work was too +methodically routine to permit their darting along interesting +tangents or wasting their time in strolls along bypaths that might +lead to fertile fields. There was no criticism in his mind at all. He +admired the system that had been established, and the expert +functioning of its units and departments. He knew very well that its +average of successes was greater than its average of failures. But it +was deficient in that elusive, time-taking, and sometimes expensive +thing known as the “personal equation.” It remained, at its best, a +machine. + +A certain amount of carelessness, too, ran in the general plan. In +many cases some things were slurred over, some missed entirely. This +again was not surprising when one considered that the personnel was +recruited largely from the more intelligent men in the ranks. +Intelligent, yes, but hardly specialists, nor could one in all +fairness expect them to be. + +When working on a case they functioned along two distinctly separate +but parallel lines. One department of specialists handled the +technical and chemical investigation of material things and clues +found on the scene of the crime—just as the brushes and comb were +shortly to be examined by the proper men down at Central Office. A +second department dealt with the human aspect—examining witnesses, +looking up all friends or connections of the victim; a large, +competent organization that would stretch feelers, no matter how many +were necessary, to every contact point of the victim’s life within the +city, and from whose findings some possible motive could be +established and some possible suspect or group of suspects be evolved. + +The two branches would then compare notes, and if a satisfactory +amount of evidence had been obtained by the technical department to +establish a case against one or several of the suspects, arrests would +be made or the suspects brought in for questioning. According to the +temperament and station of the suspects, one of the various forms that +go to make up the properly dreaded third degree would be employed and +a confession obtained. The work of the Central Office would then be +finished, and the case up to the prosecutor. + +Lieutenant Valcour was glad that in the present instance the homicide +chief had felt it useless to set in motion the machinery of the second +branch until more definite developments should occur. The case +interested him. Mrs. Endicott interested him—her astonishing beauty, +her mind, her contradictions—Roberts—Marge Myles—three women who +offered an assurance of satisfying an almost blatant curiosity he +possessed for discovering the source springs of human behaviour. This +talk about reviving Endicott and Endicott himself making a +statement—well, perhaps. But until it was accomplished he preferred to +think of Endicott as a corpse, the case a definite homicide, and of +possible suspects right in the house. + +Lieutenant Valcour concentrated his attention upon the cupboard. There +were shelves along the back of it, the lowest one being at the height +of a man’s head. Numerous suits of clothes were hanging from beneath +this lowest shelf. He stood on the chair and played his flashlight +along the top of it. There was nothing there but an accumulation of +dust. He felt a distinct and highly satisfactory thrill when he noted +that streaks showed where the dust had very recently been rubbed away, +as if somebody had deliberately wiped both his hands in it. It linked +with the dirty cake of soap. Andrews had said nothing about the +streaks. It was pretty obvious that the Central Office men had +overlooked them—had casually observed that the shelves were empty and +had let the matter go at that. + +Lieutenant Valcour began to feel quite pleasant and informed himself +gravely that a deduction was in order. For a happy moment he +considered the possibility of that curious and sinister Oriental +influence that crops up so perennially in the very finest of murder +cases—of Cassidy’s murder cases: that elusive figure swathed in gray, +whitely turbanned above coffee-coloured skin, who has a penchant +toward religious fanaticism the esoteric rites of which involve dust. +This breath-shocking villain would ultimately be trapped by the bright +detective through the wretch’s occult passion for this dust. Had one, +Lieutenant Valcour wanted to know, such an enigma to deal with here? +No, he informed himself sternly, one knew damned well one had not. But +in the place of such a handy and beautiful deduction—what? + +He stared at the dust and began to see pictures in it: a crouching +person tormented by hate or fear, or both, who knows that Endicott is +going to open the cupboard door. What, in the name of the lighter +humorists, to do? The person dreads recognition. Is there no disguise? +No, curse it—but yes—the dust! The person’s hands are smeared, and by +means of the hands, the face . . . + +“Ain’t there _nothing_ I can do for you, Lieutenant?” + +Lieutenant Valcour sighed and got down from the chair. + +“Yes, Cassidy,” he said. “You can take this chair and put it over by +the hall door. Then you can sit down.” + +“Very well, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy bitterly. “But when you’re in +that cupboard there ain’t nobody in the room with me but that live +corpse.” + +“Then sit where you can’t see it.” + +“Cripes, Lieutenant, I don’t _have_ to see it. I get the chills just +thinking about it.” + +“You’ll get the gate, Cassidy, if you don’t snap out of it.” + +“All right, sir, but if you come out and find me keeled over, don’t +blame me.” + +“I wouldn’t dream of it, Cassidy.” + +Lieutenant Valcour reëntered the cupboard. He examined the corner in +which Endicott had been slumped. The suits on the hangers had fallen +back a little into shape. He carefully went through their various +pockets. They were empty, and from the rumpled condition of their +linings he knew that they had been hastily gone through before. +Perhaps the Central Office men had done so, but he doubted it. They +would concern themselves pretty exclusively with the effects taken +from the clothes Endicott had been wearing at the time of the attack. + +It interested him to note that the suits against which Endicott’s body +had been slumped showed evidence of having been searched with the +rest. It confirmed his theory that that was what the attacker had been +doing when caught in the cupboard by Endicott’s sudden appearance in +the bedroom, and it also strengthened his theory of the ingenious use +of dust from the shelf top as a disguise. + +Shoes lined a low shelf along the bottom of one side, and hat boxes +occupied a corresponding shelf on the other. Lieutenant Valcour +dismissed the possibility that the particular hat he was searching +for—the one that Endicott was wearing or intended to get at the moment +of the attack—would be in a box. Perhaps it was in the cupboard Mrs. +Endicott spoke about downstairs in the entrance hall. The point kept +nagging at him irritatingly, and he considered it important enough to +go down and find out. + +Cassidy barely restrained himself from clutching Lieutenant Valcour’s +arm by the hall door. + +“Honest to God, you ain’t going to leave me in here alone, +Lieutenant?” + +“Honest to God, Cassidy, I am.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went out. Cassidy took one bleak look at his +charge, the living corpse, carefully crossed the fingers of both his +hands, and sat down. + +“I just knew,” he muttered truculently, “that this case was going to +be one of them printed damn things.” + + + +CHAPTER VII + +11:01 p. m.—Banked Fires + +The corridor was deserted. + +Lieutenant Valcour walked along it to the top of the stair well and +looked down into the entrance hall. He could see the broad athletic +back of Officer O’Brian on guard at the door. O’Brian’s snub nose was +pressed against the plate glass, and his eyes, one presumed, were +staring out through the door’s bronze grille upon the street. + +As Lieutenant Valcour went down he wondered at the complete stillness +of the house. There was no sound of any nature at all. There was a +waiting quality about the stillness: a definite waiting for something +that would shatter the hush into bedlam. + +“What are you pressing your nose against the glass for, O’Brian?” he +said. + +The young policeman turned and grinned at him broadly. + +“Sure, it’s them boys from the papers, sir,” he said. “They’re all +stirred up over what the medical examiner has just told them.” + +Lieutenant Valcour groaned faintly. “When was this, O’Brian?” + +“Not two whisks of a lamb’s tail ago, sir—out there in the vestibule.” + +“Did the medical examiner go out into the vestibule?” + +“He did that, Lieutenant, and the last mother’s son of them has just +beaten it off down the street like a jumping jack rabbit. They were +crazy after photographs, but he drew the line at that now.” + +“Really?” Lieutenant Valcour was politely astounded. + +“Sure and he did—with the exception of a flash or two he let them take +of himself.” + +“And were you the little birdie, O’Brian?” + +“Was I the which, Lieutenant?” + +“Did you say ‘peet-tweet’ over his left shoulder as the flashlights +went off?” + +“Ah, sure now, sir, and I did have the door open a wee bit. I was just +explaining to the boys that they couldn’t come in without your +permission nohow, and it was then that the medical examiner came along +and, hearing the talking, went outside to pacify them.” + +“A modern martyr throwing himself to the lions. Except for the tea +party, O’Brian, has anything happened down here?” + +“Not a thing, sir.” + +“Any of the servants been drifting around?” + +“Only one old dame in black, and seven foot tall if she’s one inch. +She came halfway down the stairs, took one dirty look at me, and then +stalked back up as stiff as a poker. Her bonnet was on her head.” + +“You don’t know who she was, I suppose?” + +“That and I don’t, sir. She looked like she might be a housekeeper.” + +“She probably was. By the way, O’Brian, just what was it the medical +examiner told the boys?” + +“Lieutenant, I could make neither the head nor the tail out of it. I’d +been telling them myself that the boss upstairs was dead and that foul +play was suspected, and they were hot after the medical examiner for a +further word, and I’m damned if he didn’t give it to them.” + +“What was the word, O’Brian?” + +“Indeed and it sounded like crinoline, sir—the stuff the missus do be +talking about in old dresses.” + +“Was that all he said?” + +“It was enough, sir. ‘Crinoline,’ said he, and looked very wise at +that. Then he added, ‘For the present, boys, no more,’ and off they +scampered like the devil in person was after them.” + +“All right, O’Brian. Just stick where you are.” + +Lieutenant Valcour wandered around the entrance hall but encountered, +beyond his own and the medical examiner’s, no hat. He knew that Dr. +Worth’s was still upstairs where the doctor had left it in Endicott’s +bedroom. He found the cupboard Mrs. Endicott had referred to. There +was no hat. The subject was becoming a fixed idea. It was growing +increasingly believable that the attacker had taken the hat and worn +it out of the house. But why should the attacker leave the house? And +what was the matter with the attacker’s own hat? Time, if not Endicott +himself, would have to tell. + +From a reception room opening off the entrance hall he caught the +murmur of Dr. Worth’s and the medical examiner’s voices in +consultation. He passed the door indifferently and went upstairs. + +. . . an old dame in black, seven foot tall if she was an inch. Her +bonnet was on her head. + +. . . and her bonnet, Lieutenant Valcour repeated softly to himself, +was on her head. + +He continued on up a second flight of stairs to the third floor. A +door toward the end of the hall was open, and light flooded out +through the doorway. He walked to it and looked in. + +A tall, thin woman sat on a chair before a grate in which some coals +burned bleakly. She was unbelievably gaunt—her silhouette a pencil, +rigidly supporting an austere face beneath a smooth inverted cup of +steel gray hair. Black taffeta sheathed her, tightly pressing against +flat narrow planes, and smoothly surfacing two pipelike arms that +ended in the tapering, sensitive hands of an emotional ascetic. + +Lieutenant Valcour rapped on the door jamb. + +The woman did not start. Her head alone turned and faced him, and her +eyes were a contradiction of nature—black planets glowing coldly in a +sky of white. + +“Pardon me, I am Lieutenant Valcour of the police. Are you, by any +chance, the housekeeper?” + +Her voice was of New England—low almost to huskiness, a trifle harsh, +and completely stripped of all nuances. + +“Yes, Lieutenant. I am Mrs. Siddons.” + +“May I come in? Thank you—please don’t get up. I’ll only stay a minute +or two, if you don’t mind.” + +He took a chair and placed it before the fireplace beside her own. He +sat down and did nothing beyond observing obliquely for a moment the +curiously artificial placidity of Mrs. Siddons’s clasped hands. + +“There is no use in questioning me, Lieutenant, because I have nothing +to say.” + +Her tone was the chill clear winds that sweep the rigorous mountains +of Vermont. + +Lieutenant Valcour warmed his hands before the lazy coals and smiled +amiably. “And I,” he said, “have absolutely nothing to ask.” + +“That is a lie.” + +There was nothing abusive in the remark. It was simply a statement of +fact, coldly, dispassionately pronounced by the remarkable pencil +dressed in black who spired beside him. Lieutenant Valcour was shocked +into a nervous laugh. He discarded his mask of indifference and stared +at Mrs. Siddons openly and with complete interest. Not planets, her +eyes—rather were they banked fires beneath whose ash hot coals +smouldered deeply. + +“I shouldn’t wonder,” he said, “but that your forbears came from +Salem.” + +A look of interest stirred sleepily in the coals. + +“Why so, sir?” + +“Because there’s a look of witch-burning in your eyes.” + +Mrs. Siddons gestured a slow negation. + +“I would never abrogate the rights of God.” + +“But you would approve, Mrs. Siddons.” + +“I would _rejoice_, sir, in the crushing out of any evil or”—her tone +became implacably stern—“of any evil thing.” + +“Or even of a human being?” + +Her look did not waver. + +“Yes, Lieutenant—or even of a human being.” She went on steadily and +unemotionally. Her words were fragments of stone chipped from some +elemental quarry of granitelike conviction and harsh purpose. “That is +why you find me dry-eyed, sir, in spite of the tragedy which has been +visited upon this house.” + +Lieutenant Valcour felt that there was a catch in it somewhere. If she +held Endicott’s condition in the light of a tragedy then she scarcely +regarded his death as an act of vengeance on the part of her +unquestionably inflexible god. + +“Tragedy?” he repeated softly. + +“A tragedy, sir, for blinded eyes.” + +He hoped that she wasn’t going to be allegorical. He endeavoured to +interpret. “It is hard on Mrs. Endicott,” he said. + +For a moment he thought she was going to melt. “That poor young +thing,” she said, and her voice fringed on unaccustomed softnesses. +“That sweet young child of beauty—what a bitter ending for the journey +of her tormented heart.” + +He stepped delicately out upon the fragile ice. “But she’s really +better off, don’t you think?” + +“She will never know to the full the fortune of her release.” Mrs. +Siddons’s incredibly thin body was suddenly shaken with passion as she +added, “From that hateful—that filthy beast.” + +“Oh, come, Mrs. Siddons—no man is quite as bad as all that.” + +Her eyes blazed with the heat of a strange malevolence. “You didn’t +know him, Lieutenant, as we did.” + +“‘We,’ Mrs. Siddons?” + +“Myself, sir, and the servants under my charge.” + +“You found him disagreeable—overbearing?” + +Mrs. Siddons stared fixedly at the coals, as if finding in their +vibrant reds some adequate illustration of her angered thoughts. “I +found him such a man, Lieutenant, that I am glad to know that he is +dead.” + +“But you see, Mrs. Siddons, he isn’t dead.” + +He thought for a minute that she was going to faint and instinctively +leaned forward to support her. She stood up unsteadily but refused the +offer of his hands. + +“If you will pardon me, sir, I believe I will lie down. There has +naturally been a certain strain—a——” + +She bowed and found her way to a door that led into an inner room. +Lieutenant Valcour listened for a moment at its panels after she had +closed it. + +He could not determine whether the muffled sound he heard was of +peculiar laughter or a sob. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +11:28 p. m.—Mrs. Endicott Screams + +The tangents and the bypaths were beginning to increase. Lieutenant +Valcour tabulated them as he went thoughtfully down the stairs and +along the corridor toward Endicott’s room: Mrs. Endicott herself, and +the Spartan Mrs. Siddons—both had been partially explored; Roberts, +with her astonishing glance that had hinted so definitely at +revelations. Then what of Marge Myles? And what of the unknown man +with whom Mrs. Endicott, that afternoon, had taken tea? He opened the +door to Endicott’s room and went in. + +Preparations for the operation were practically complete. Dr. Worth +and the medical examiner were beside the bed, and hovering near them +were two trained nurses in uniform—middle-aged, competent women, +starched and abstract looking, moving a bit aloofly in their private +world which was so concisely separated from the sphere of laymen. + +Cassidy, who seemed bleaker than ever, still stiffly occupied the +chair near the doorway. He continued to inspect with an almost +feverish interest an unsullied expanse of white ceiling above his +head. + +Lieutenant Valcour seated himself on the corner of a long mahogany +chest that was placed before the window farthest from the bed and +gravely watched Dr. Worth. He began to feel a little sickish and hoped +that he wasn’t going to make an ass of himself and faint. He had +witnessed any number of accidents and stabbings, but had never been +present at an operation, and it worked on his nerves. Even if Endicott +weren’t dead, he certainly looked it. Suspended animation and +catalepsy were all right as figures of speech, but the human +illustration was rather ghastly. Lieutenant Valcour felt justified in +believing that he knew his corpses. He wondered why Dr. Worth was +delaying—hesitating—no, bending over now, and in his hand, ready to +give the injection of adrenaline into the cardiac muscles, was . . . + +The response was immediate. + +With the aid of the stethoscope Dr. Worth heard Endicott’s heart +throbbing again, growing steadily stronger. Quite noticeably beneath +the bright white lights a faint flush started to run through +Endicott’s skin. Lieutenant Valcour saw it, and he moistened with his +tongue the dry pressed surface of his lips. + +Dr. Worth straightened up and handed the stethoscope to the medical +examiner. “Endicott lives,” he said. + +No one had noticed Mrs. Endicott standing in the doorway. No one had +even noticed that the door was open. It was her terrific scream, her +dropping to the floor, that shocked everyone into instant awareness of +her presence. Dr. Worth nodded to one of the nurses. With her aid he +lifted Mrs. Endicott and carried her from the room. Everyone else +remained quite literally spellbound, still chained within the +influence of that extraordinary scream. It didn’t seem more than a +second or two before Dr. Worth returned. He went directly to +Lieutenant Valcour. + +“I have given Mrs. Endicott a narcotic that will keep her quiet for +the night,” he said. “It was outrageous—her being here. That guard at +the door should have seen to it that it was kept closed.” + +“Most outrageous, Dr. Worth. I believe all of us were hypnotized by +watching you.” + +“And I don’t care what the law is, she can’t be questioned or +disturbed in any way at all until I say so.” + +“But that _is_ the law, Doctor. You are quite within your rights to +dictate concerning your patient.” + +“I don’t want to dictate. I’m just as willing as anybody to have the +criminal side of this mess cleared up, if there is a criminal side.” + +“Endicott would hardly have crawled into a cupboard to have a stroke, +would he, Doctor?” + +“No.” Dr. Worth’s intelligent eyes stared speculatively at Lieutenant +Valcour for a minute. “Not unless he’d hidden in there to overhear +something, and did overhear something that gave him a stroke,” he +said. + +The cesspool, Lieutenant Valcour decided, was beginning to show +strange depths within its depth. The medical examiner came over and +joined them. He complimented Dr. Worth briefly on the success of his +operation, assured Lieutenant Valcour that the homicide chief would be +given a full report of Endicott’s recovery, and presumed that from now +on the case would be left in Lieutenant Valcour’s hands. Lieutenant +Valcour would deal with whatever charges of robbery or assault might +develop from it. He said good-bye and left the room, with the fullest +intention of going right straight home to bed; and so he promptly did, +as soon as he had made the promised report to Andrews. + +Dr. Worth pointedly raised his eyebrows. “Then there will be charges, +Lieutenant?” + +“That will depend largely upon Endicott, Doctor. As he is now revived +he will tell us himself who attacked him, or the nature of the +circumstance that gave him the shock.” + +“I trust so.” + +“There isn’t any doubt, is there?” + +Dr. Worth grew expansive. “Certainly there is a doubt,” he said. +“While it is true that Endicott has been revived, it is impossible to +state definitely that he will recover consciousness. And even granting +that he should recover consciousness, there is also a chance that he +might prefer not to make any statement at all. What would you do then, +Lieutenant?” + +“Fold my tents, Doctor, and fade away.” + +Dr. Worth looked down a long straight nose for a minute at tips +of low patent-leather shoes. “And if Endicott does not recover +consciousness,” he said softly, “what will you do then?” + +“You’ll be surprised at the number of things I will do then.” + +Dr. Worth’s eyes, surfeited with patent leather, snapped up sharply. +“I must impress on you that Mrs. Endicott is not to be disturbed,” he +said. + +“She won’t be, Doctor.” + +“Nurse Vickers, who helped me into her room with her, is going to stay +with Mrs. Endicott all night. Two day nurses will come in the morning: +one for her, if necessary, and surely one for Endicott. I need +scarcely impress upon you the seriousness of _his_ condition.” Dr. +Worth made a gesture of irritated bewilderment. “I wish I knew him +more intimately—who his friends are, I mean.” + +“He never talked with you about them?” + +“Never. He seems an unusually reticent man, with an almost abnormally +developed feeling for privacy concerning his intimate affairs.” Dr. +Worth’s manner grew definitely severe. Mentally, he wagged a finger +under Lieutenant Valcour’s nose. “He mustn’t have any further shock. +There must be nothing, absolutely nothing that will shock him when, +and if, he regains consciousness.” He directed his attention +momentarily to the nurse. “Get those shades back on the lamps, please, +Miss Murrow, and turn out the ceiling lights. And now, Lieutenant, to +continue about Endicott. As she is under the influence of the narcotic +I gave her, it is out of the question that his wife be here. I wish +she could be. I want the first person he sees to be someone he +knows—loves. His mind, you see, will pick up functioning at the +precise second where it left off—at least, such is my conclusion.” + +“And that was one of shock.” + +“Yes, Lieutenant, evidently one of shock or of great fear. We cannot +overestimate the importance of getting him past it safely. Personally, +I shall sleep here in the house to-night, and Nurse Murrow will call +me if Endicott shows any signs of coming to. That may not be before +morning. I hope so, in a way, as the effect of the narcotic will have +worn off by then, and Mrs. Endicott can be in here with him.” + +“One of the servants might know of some friend,” Lieutenant Valcour +suggested. “I take it you would like a friend to sit here with him +during the night?” + +Dr. Worth was emphatic. “It is almost a necessity that there should +be. The mental and nervous viewpoints, you see, predominate in the +case.” + +“There is just one thing that I would like to arrange, too, Doctor.” + +“Yes?” + +“I want to keep a couple of men posted all night in the bathroom. They +can sit on chairs just inside the doorway there, where they can watch +the bed, but where Endicott can’t see them. He need never know they +are there.” + +“What on earth would be the need for that?” + +“Why, it’s quite simple, Doctor. When Endicott comes to he will be in +a position to tell us who gave him the shock—a shock sufficient almost +to kill him—one which would have killed him if we hadn’t found him +to-night—and if,” he added thoughtfully, “Mrs. Endicott hadn’t had her +suspicions.” + +“But why the men in the bathroom?” + +“Because I don’t want to take any chances of there being a repetition +before Endicott makes his statement.” + +Dr. Worth pursed his lips and looked very wise indeed. “I see,” he +said. “I see. You are afraid that the same person might get at him +again and, well, silence him before he could talk.” + +“Something like that, Doctor.” Lieutenant Valcour became courteously +formal. “As the physician in charge of this case, sir, have you any +objection to my stationing the two men in the bathroom?” + +“Providing Endicott isn’t able to see them and won’t be disturbed by +them in any way at all.” + +“Then that’s settled. You’ll have a nurse in here all the time, I +suppose?” + +“Naturally.” + +“Then I’m going to ask her to keep this hall door locked on the +inside. She can open it if anyone knocks, and my men will keep their +eyes on whoever comes in.” + +“The precautions seem extraordinary, Lieutenant.” + +“And so does the case. I’ll go downstairs now and try to find out +something from the servants about his friends. I’ll tell them, if you +like, about your staying here, in case there is anything that has to +be got ready.” + +“Thank you, Lieutenant.” + +“Not at all, Doctor.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went outside. He found the maid Jane in the +hallway, seated on a chair near the stairs, trembling. A tray with an +empty glass was on the floor beside her. She saw him, picked up the +tray, and stood up. + +“I’m that upset, sir,” she said, “_that_ upset.” + +“Something has startled you?” + +“Startled! Glory be, sir—what with this bringing back of the dead and +the missus gone into a comma—if it wasn’t for them three cops at the +downstairs doors I’d be out of this house this minute, and so would +the rest of us, too.” + +“How many of the ‘rest of you’ are there?” + +“Sure and including the housekeeper there’s eight of us, sir.” + +The Endicotts, Lieutenant Valcour was now quite certain, must be +multimillionaires. + +“All women?” + +“Except for the houseman and chauffeur.” + +“And do they sleep in the house?” + +“The chauffeur does not, sir. He has an apartment for himself and his +wife and his three-year-old child, named Katie, over the garage in +East Sixty-sixth Street, sir.” + +“Have all of you been in service here a long time?” + +“Indeed and we haven’t, sir—except for Roberts and the housekeeper. +I’ve been here a month myself, and the rest of us not more than two or +three.” + +“And Roberts has been Mrs. Endicott’s maid for the past several years, +say?” + +“And sure and ever since she landed here from England, sir.” + +“Roberts is an Englishwoman?” + +“Hold your whisht, sir, and I’ll tell you that she’s of the +aristocracy, no less.” + +Lieutenant Valcour considered this gravely. It was not improbable. +Many English families were utterly wrecked financially by the war, and +the children had scattered whither they could, like sparrows, in +search of bread. “You’re sure of this?” he said. + +“And indeed it is common knowledge, sir. The housekeeper herself, it +was, who told me.” + +Lieutenant Valcour switched suddenly. “I wonder whether you could tell +me who Mr. Endicott’s intimate friends were,” he said. + +“Well, sir, there’s quite a few people have called on the madam off +and on, and a few on Mr. Endicott, too. I couldn’t say, though, as to +just how intimate.” + +“But didn’t he ever discuss his friends?” + +“Not before me, sir. I’m one of the downstairs girls. Perhaps Roberts +would know. She’s often in the room with the madam and Mr. Endicott +even when the pair of them is quarrelling that hard that—— Glory be +to——” + +“Tut, tut,” said Lieutenant Valcour gently. “Married couples are +always quarrelling together. There’s nothing unusual in that.” + +“Indeed and there ain’t.” + +“I wonder whether you’d ask Roberts to come out here and see me.” + +“I will, sir.” + +“Oh—and will you also tell whoever has to know about it that Dr. Worth +plans to stay here all night? And then let him know, please, where he +is to sleep.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Jane went to the door of Mrs. Endicott’s room and knocked. Nurse +Vickers opened it and stepped halfway out, blocking the entrance. +Their voices were too low for Lieutenant Valcour to hear, but he saw +the nurse retreat into the room, caught an affirmative nod from Jane, +and presently Roberts came out and toward him. + +“You wished to see me, Lieutenant?” + +There was still that curious shielding in her eyes—a hinting at +definite information kept closely guarded behind twin gates. + +“I want you to tell me,” he said quietly, “why you compelled me a +while ago in Mrs. Endicott’s room to say ‘Later.’” + +“I don’t believe I quite understand.” + +“And I believe that you do.” + +Roberts became coolly detached. “One is justified in having one’s +beliefs.” + +“Just why do you hate Mrs. Endicott so?” + +She flinched as if he had struck her physically. + +“Is that why you sent for me?” she said. + +Lieutenant Valcour himself indulged in a veiling of eyes. “I wish,” he +said, “that you would sit down.” + + + +CHAPTER IX + +11:55 p. m.—Queer Deeps + +Roberts went indifferently to the chair that Jane had been using and +sat down. Lieutenant Valcour drew another up beside her. He began with +the usual distant skirmishing before launching the main body of his +attack. + +“I will explain why I wanted to see you,” he said. “It’s concerning +Mr. Endicott—concerning his condition.” He noted the sudden reflex +from tension on the part of her hands as he summed up concisely the +statement made to him by Dr. Worth. “I understand,” he concluded, +“that Mrs. Endicott is under the influence of a narcotic and will not +be available before to-morrow morning at the earliest. Dr. Worth +naturally wants to prevent all risk, and so we’ve turned to you.” + +He felt her staring through him, as if by some fourth-dimensional +process his being had been erased from her vision. + +“Mr. Endicott has very few friends,” she said. + +“You are taking the word at its literal meaning.” + +“Oh, quite. His acquaintances are numerous and transient.” She +focussed him into an entity again. “They are mostly women. I don’t +suppose one of them would do?” + +Lieutenant Valcour smiled slightly. “Not if their status is so +uncertain—their emotional status, I mean.” + +“Exactly.” The masked effect of her attitude remained unchanged as she +asked with almost perfunctory detachment, “Would a man do?” + +“Why not?” + +“Because there is one man of whom Mr. Endicott speaks quite frequently +as being his ‘best’ friend.” + +“Here in town?” + +“In a bachelor apartment on East Fifty-second Street.” + +“You have his exact address?” + +“It is in the memorandum book beside the telephone in Mrs. Endicott’s +room.” + +Lieutenant Valcour grew markedly casual. “A mutual friend, then?” + +“One couldn’t say.” + +“He is your only suggestion?” + +“He is the only man to whom I have heard Mr. Endicott refer in terms +of friendship and of intimacy.” + +“Then there really isn’t any choice.” + +Roberts’ smile signified nothing. “No choice.” + +“Have you ever seen this man?” + +“His name is Mr. Thomas Hollander. I have never seen him.” + +“Has anyone in the household ever seen him, to your knowledge?” + +“I dare say. I don’t know. One could inquire.” + +Lieutenant Valcour recognized the rising inflection at each period +mark, a habit so much in vogue among certain types of English people +when they wish to be mildly disagreeable. He felt a Gallic insistence +to retaliate even at the expense of chivalry. At the worst, he +thought, he would only be living up to the popular conception of the +men in his profession. And there _was_ some link of peculiar intimacy +between this woman and Endicott. . . . + +“If we cannot get hold of Mr. Hollander,” he said, “would you consider +it advisable for the post to be taken by yourself?” + +He repented instantly at the sight of her deadly whiteness. It seemed +impossible that blood could drain so swiftly from the skin. His own +face blazed like fire from the slap of her hand across his cheek. He +noticed, as he sat very still, the strange terror that hid beneath her +bitter, staring eyes: it wasn’t any terror of the law, the cheek of +which she had symbolically in his person just so vigorously slapped; +it wasn’t any terror of what he or the machine he represented could do +to her—what anyone or anything could do to her. . . . It was baffling; +baffling as the undiscoverable source of any intense emotional +reaction is baffling—something that drew its sustenance from roots +imbedded not in the immediate present but in the past. . . . + +“You will permit me to offer my apologies?” he said. + +She returned vividly to the moment, and her colour swept back in a +succession of bright waves. + +“I am not usually so unmannerly,” she said. + +“Nor usually subjected to insult. The fault was mine.” + +Her laugh was quite harsh. “On the contrary, Lieutenant, I am +accustomed to insult.” + +“Then why do you stay with Mrs. Endicott?” he said softly. + +“Because there are some people, Lieutenant, who can only find their +happiness in hell.” + +“Martyrs.” + +“Not martyrs, precisely.” + +“Just what, then, precisely?” + +“It’s a sharing, if you wish—sort of a sharing of torture.” + +Vague—vague. Lieutenant Valcour felt quite convinced that he would +shortly begin to gibber, if the mysteries of hearts, of minds that he +had dipped into during the past few hours, did not soon coalesce +within the mould of reason. He began to envy his sterner compatriots +on the force who confined their processes to the comfortable fields of +hard, cold facts—the “did you at five-forty-five this afternoon place +the silver teaspoon on the pantry shelf, or did you not?” sort of +facts. He conceded that their wholesome, plein-air tactics were quite +right, and that his own, in spite of their usually successful results, +were hopelessly wrong. They at least were never called liars, or +slapped in the face, or found themselves helplessly swirling in a sea +of metaphysics with a splendid chance of being thoroughly drowned. He +forced himself to concentrate. What was it that slash of pale lips had +been saying? A sharing of something . . . Of course, of torture. + +“You mean,” he said, “a sharing that is now going on?” + +“Perhaps—but especially in the past. Do you believe, Lieutenant, that +the dead remain in emotional touch with the living?” + +“And that, my poor fish,” he told himself severely, “is what your +interminable probing into people’s souls has got you into.” + +“I have never thought about it. But I should like to believe that it +is true. I should like to believe in anything that offers +corroborative proof of immortality.” + +“You are convinced of the finality of death?” + +“It is a dread, not a conviction.” + +Roberts nodded her head swiftly. “And with me—with me—if I could only +_know_.” + +“So that you would be quite certain that your sacrifice is not being +made in vain.” Lieutenant Valcour spoke very softly. He was +approaching, he felt, no matter how grandiloquently, that goal toward +which he had been aiming: the answer to the amazing look she had given +him in Mrs. Endicott’s room. + +The mood broke. She stood up abruptly. + +“You wished that address book?” she said. + +It was of no great matter. Moods, at least, did not die. They were +always there—somewhere—waiting to be recaptured. + +“If you will be so kind,” he said. + +She went to the door of Mrs. Endicott’s room, opened it, was swallowed +up. Lieutenant Valcour waited outside. The case was becoming mired in +evasions. That was the trouble with cases whose milieu rose beyond a +certain social and mental level. They invariably grew kaleidoscopic +with overtones. Crime in the lower strata was noteworthy for its +crudenesses rather than its subtleties: an intrigue among animals, +with the general patentness of some jackal filching its prey. But +breeding and intellect generally presupposed masks: the inbred +defensiveness of manner and social combativeness with the world which +offered barriers most difficult to pierce. Roberts opened the door and +handed him the small leather reference book Mrs. Endicott had used +when verifying the telephone number of Dr. Worth. + +“Thomas Hollander,” she said. “The names are listed alphabetically.” + +The door closed even in that short second which preceded his thanks. +It was a gesture of retreat from hinted intimacies. It wasn’t so much +the door of the room she had closed as it was the door guarding her +secrets. He felt that she wanted to show him she had already repented +of having gone so far—not that she _had_ gone any distance, really, +but there were beacons, faint pin points of light toward which he +would chart a course over the surface of her troubled seas. + +He took the reference book and sat down. He began with A and started +to go systematically through it. At H he fixed in his memory the +street and telephone number of Hollander’s house. He continued without +interest to turn the pages. + +At the end of the M’s he came, to his marked bewilderment, upon the +address and telephone number of Marge Myles. + + + +CHAPTER X + +12:06 a. m.—The Stillness of a Grave + +Lieutenant Valcour went to the head of the stairs. + +“O’Brian!” he called down. + +O’Brian looked up at him from below. + +“Yes, Lieutenant?” + +“Send Hansen up here, please.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +A painting on the wall held Lieutenant Valcour’s attention while he +waited. A Gauguin, he thought, and, going closer, confirmed it. His +eye drifted over the entire corridor. Everywhere were the details of +great wealth, and the young owner of it all not a happy child of kind +fortune, but a detested, a passionately hated, and a passionately +loved man. There flashed again before him in brief review Mrs. +Endicott, a storehouse of mountain storms in summer; Mrs. Siddons, +spiritual ash; Roberts, the shortest step this side of some fervour +bred in the swamps of lunacy; Hollander—Marge Myles—who knew? And +would one ever know? Suppose, as Dr. Worth had more than hinted, +Endicott should refuse to speak—if that strange reticence harped upon +so insistently both by his wife and his physician should resist . . . + +“Lieutenant, sir, Officer Hansen reporting.” + +Lieutenant Valcour dragged his eyes from the Gauguin unwillingly. + +“All right, Hansen,” he said. “Come with me.” + +They went down the corridor and stopped before the door to Endicott’s +room. + +“Do you know what’s gone on here to-night, Hansen?” + +“From what I’ve heard, sir, the man who was thought dead is now +alive.” + +“That is correct.” + +Lieutenant Valcour opened the door and beckoned to Cassidy. Cassidy +came out and joined them. + +“When you two men go back into that room,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “I +want you to get a couple of chairs and sit down just inside the +bathroom doorway. Put the chairs where you can watch the bed and this +hall door. If you talk, use a low voice that won’t disturb either the +patient or the nurse, and from the moment when she indicates that he’s +returning to consciousness, say nothing at all and sit still. The +shock of knowing that you were there might disturb his heart again. Is +that clear?” + +They assured him, in unison, that it was. + +“This hall door,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, “is going to be kept +locked on the inside by the nurse. Every time she opens it, watch +carefully. Keep your eye on anyone who comes into the room, especially +if they offer some excuse for wanting to be there—and when I say +‘anyone,’ I mean just that. For instance: the nurse might want some +coffee and ring for a servant. Watch that servant every second, until +she goes and the door is locked again. While on the subject of coffee, +you will drink none that may be offered you while you’re on watch.” + +“I never drink coffee, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy. “Now if it was a cup +of tea——” + +“If you get thirsty,” said Lieutenant Valcour severely, “take some +water from the tap. And eat nothing at all. I don’t want to have to +come back here and find you both groggy with knock-out drops and with +heaven-knows-what happened to Endicott. Mind you, I’m not suggesting +that anything like this will happen—but it might. Clear?” + +Again, in unison, they assured him it was all most clear. + +“Keep in mind,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, “that primarily you are in +a sick-room over which Dr. Worth has absolute charge. You are not to +interfere with anything he may do, or with any arrangements he may +make during the night. You are only to step in if you see that +Endicott’s life is threatened through the action of some person who +may approach him. Try to prevent this by physically overpowering the +attacker if you can, but if there is no time for that do not hesitate +to shoot.” + +“Even if it’s a woman, Lieutenant?” said Hansen quietly. + +Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “There are no such things,” he said +evenly, “as sex or chivalry in murder.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I am painting, incidentally, the darkest prospect of the picture. In +all probability nothing will happen at all. You’ll spend a sleepless +and tiresome night, get cricks in your necks, and damn the day you +ever joined the force. Now, then, there is one thing more, and that +concerns a man by the name of Thomas Hollander. Dr. Worth believes it +advisable that an intimate friend of Endicott be near him and be the +first person whom Endicott sees when he recovers consciousness. Mr. +Hollander is that friend. I am going to try to get in touch with him +shortly, explain matters to him, and get him to come up here. Mr. +Hollander is naturally the exception to my previous instructions. Let +him alone. Don’t interfere with him, but—” Lieutenant Valcour’s pause +was significantly impressive “—watch him. Watch him, my good young +men, as two harmonious cats might watch a promenading and near-sighted +mouse. Shall I repeat?” + +“I get you, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy. And Hansen, he was assured, had +“got” him, too. + +“Then we will go in, and you will establish yourselves for the night +at once.” + +He opened the door, and they went inside. Dr. Worth’s arrangements +were complete, and he was ready to turn in. Nurse Murrow had received +her instructions and was to call Dr. Worth should Endicott show any +symptoms of returning consciousness. + +Dr. Worth joined Lieutenant Valcour at the door. + +“There is nothing further we can do for the present, Lieutenant, +except wait,” he said. + +“All right, Doctor. I’ve told my men how things stand.” He nodded +toward Cassidy and Hansen, who, on tiptoe, were vanishing into the +bathroom with two chairs. “I’ve told them you’re in charge here, and +that there’s not to be an unnecessary sound or move out of them.” + +Dr. Worth continued to remain politely incredulous. “Well, I dare say +you know what you are doing, but it still seems an extraordinary +precaution to me.” + +“And it probably is. I spoke to one of the maids about your staying +here, Doctor.” + +“Yes—thank you. They’ve told me where my room is. It’s the one +directly above this one.” + +“I’ve also lined up one of Endicott’s friends. I’m getting in touch +with him directly, and when he comes I’ll have him sent up to you. You +can tell him just what you want him to do, and then see that he gets +in here all right, if you will, please.” + +“By all means. Who is he, Lieutenant?” + +“A Mr. Thomas Hollander—lives on East Fifty-second Street.” + +“Never heard of him; but there’s no reason why I should have.” He sped +a parting look toward Endicott, faintly breathing on the bed. “The +most reticent man, Lieutenant, whom I have ever met.” + +They went outside and closed the door. + +Nurse Murrow went over and locked it. She felt, to put it mildly, not +a little atwitter. Her life had not conformed to the popular version +of a trained nurse’s. There had been no romantic patients in it whose +pallid, interesting brows she had smoothly divorced from fever by a +gentle pass or two with magnetic fingers. No grateful millionaire had +offered her his heart and name; nor had any motherly eyed old dowager +died and willed her a fortune. No. There had been, on the other hand, +a good many years of sloppy, disillusioning, grilling work, long hours +spent in pampering peevish patients, patients who were ugly with that +special ugliness which is inherent in the sick, snappish doctors, and +a perfect desert of romance. + +The present case loomed as a heaven-sent oasis. Who knew what might +not develop out of it? It awakened all the atrophied hunger of her +starved sentimentalism. And even if nothing _did_ result from +it—nothing practical, like marriage, or a good bonus—it would at least +leave her something to think about during those endless, tiresome, +tiring hours of the future. . . . + +She crossed to the bed and looked down at Endicott. She felt his pulse +and made a notation on her night chart. She lingered near the bathroom +doorway. + +“The strangest case,” she whispered, “that I’ve ever been on.” + +Cassidy looked up at her bleakly. + +Hansen said, “Yes, ma’am.” + +“I dare say,” she whispered on, “that it’s quite in the ordinary run +of things for you gentlemen.” + +“Yes, ma’am.” + +“There’s an atmosphere—a something sinister——” + +“Yes, ma’am.” + +Nurse Murrow’s broad shoulders jerked impatiently. There was a +talk-chilling quality in being so determinedly ma’am’d. She gave it +up, and settled herself starchily in an armchair. She adjusted a lamp +so that it shaded more efficiently her eyes. + +A floor board creaked upstairs—once. + +That would be Dr. Worth, she decided, going to bed. What a man! What a +shining light in his profession! A little bigoted, perhaps, in some +things, but so distinguished—admirable—a bachelor, too—— But what +nonsense! + +A complete stillness settled gently on the house. The stillness of a +grave. + +Yes, she thought, just exactly that—the stillness of a grave. . . . + + + +CHAPTER XI + +12:15 a. m.—To Watch by Night + +Lieutenant Valcour refreshed his memory from the leather reference +book and then dialled the number. + +“Mr. Thomas Hollander?” he said, when a man’s voice answered him. It +was a smooth, soft voice, and he suspected that further words beyond +the initial “hello” would reveal a Southern accent. + +“Who is calling, please?” went on the voice, making the expected +latitudinal revelation. + +“I have a message from the home of Mr. Herbert Endicott for Mr. Thomas +Hollander. Will you ask him to come to the ’phone, please?” + +“One moment.” + +“Certainly.” + +Lieutenant Valcour drew stars on a scratch pad while he waited. He +wondered idly what secret powers or hidden vices they would disclose +if examined by a trained graphologist. He made quite a good star and +drew exciting rays out from its points. That would undoubtedly show, +he told himself, that he was a nosey, mean-spirited, and cold-hearted +sleuth hound. What an infernal time it took to get Hollander to the +telephone! Had the line gone dead? Ah . . . + +“Yes?” It was a deeper voice, this time, and held no promise, or +threat, of Southern softnesses. + +“Mr. Thomas Hollander?” + +“Yes.” + +“This is the home of Mr. Herbert Endicott, Mr. Hollander.” + +“Yes?” + +“And I am Lieutenant Valcour talking—of the police.” + +The deadness of the wire became a pause of the first magnitude. Then: + +“Well, Lieutenant, what’s it all about?” + +“It is about Mr. Endicott, Mr. Hollander.” + +“Yes?” + +“Yes.” + +Another pause. + +“He’s dead?” + +“Dead? Why no, Hollander. Were you expecting him to be?” + +“What do you mean by ‘expecting him to be’? Certainly I wasn’t. Please +come down to facts, Lieutenant.” + +“I was about to. Mr. Endicott has suffered a heart attack brought on +by some sudden shock. His condition is serious, and Dr. Worth, who is +attending him, insists that some friend be at hand when Mr. Endicott +recovers consciousness.” + +“You mean”—the voice was speaking very carefully now—“in addition to +Mrs. Endicott?” + +“No, unfortunately Mrs. Endicott cannot be present.” + +Again a pause, and then: + +“Why not, Lieutenant? She isn’t—that is——” + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hollander?” + +“Damn it, is she arrested?” + +“Certainly not. What for?” + +“Well, what in hell are you cops in the house for if”—the voice ended +less belligerently—“there hasn’t been some crime?” + +Lieutenant Valcour remained splendidly detached. + +“We shan’t be certain that there either has or hasn’t been a crime, as +you infer, until Mr. Endicott recovers consciousness and lets us +know.” + +“He’s unconscious?” + +“Yes.” + +“Is his condition serious, Lieutenant?” + +“Most serious, Mr. Hollander.” + +“And Mrs. Endicott—why is it she can’t be with Herb?” + +“Dr. Worth has given her a narcotic. She’s sleeping. Her nerves are +unstrung.” + +This evidently took a minute to digest. + +“From what, Lieutenant?” + +“From her husband’s condition.” + +“Did Mrs. Endicott suggest that you call me up, Lieutenant?” + +“No. Roberts, her maid, said you were a friend—a mutual friend. +Roberts tells me that your name is the only one she has ever heard +spoken by Mr. Endicott in terms that would imply intimacy.” + +“That’s right.” + +“You and Mr. Endicott are intimate friends, are you not?” + +“Pretty thick, Lieutenant. What is it you want me to do?” + +“To sit with Mr. Endicott until he recovers consciousness. Dr. Worth +is afraid that his heart will go back on him again if there isn’t +someone he knows with him when he comes to. If you’ll be kind enough +to come up, Dr. Worth will explain the whole peculiar affair to you +much better than I can.” + +“Why, of course. Yes. When?” + +“As soon as convenient.” + +“In about an hour? There are some things——” + +“That will do perfectly. Thank you very much, Mr. Hollander. +Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye.” + +Lieutenant Valcour hung up the receiver of the hall telephone he was +using and walked to where he had left his coat and hat. He put them on +and buttonholed O’Brian by the front door. + +“O’Brian,” he said, “there’s a man coming here shortly by the name of +Thomas Hollander. Have him identify himself by a visiting card, or a +letter, or his driver’s licence, or initials on something or other. +Give him a pat, too, in passing to make certain that he hasn’t got a +gun. If it offends him, say that it is just a matter of routine. As a +matter of fact, in his case, it probably is. Then show him up to the +room that Dr. Worth is occupying for the night.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“From Dr. Worth’s room he will be taken down to Mr. Endicott’s room +and will stay there until morning.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I want you to tip the men off on guard down here that I want it known +I am going home until to-morrow. Tell Mr. Hollander that if he asks to +see me. I am leaving the house now and may be gone for a couple of +hours, more or less. Then I’m coming back. I’ll rap on this door here, +and you let me in.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“There’s probably a lounge or something in that room there just off +this hall. I’ll spend the night on it.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“What is the name of the gentleman who is coming?” + +“Thomas Hollander, Lieutenant.” + +“Good.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went outside. The normal orderliness of life +returned comfortingly with the first deep breaths of cold night air. +He walked the short half block to Fifth Avenue and hailed a taxi. He +got in. He gave the driver, through the half-opened window in front, +the Riverside Drive address of Marge Myles. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +12:30 a. m.—Madame Velasquez Stirs up Muck + +The taxi ran north along Fifth Avenue for a few blocks and then bore +left into the leafless, frosty stretches of Central Park. It was +deserted of pedestrians. Occasional yellow lights showed the vacant +surface of benches and empty walks. + +The average worthlessness of any person’s reactions when suddenly +confronted by the police, Lieutenant Valcour reflected, was a curious +phenomenon. It was his belief that only rarely were such reactions the +result of the moment at hand. They were instead a subconscious +scurrying backward to some earlier time when something had been done +by that person, or known by that person, which might then have brought +him into the grip of the law. No one—he included himself in the +arraignment—led a blameless life. No, not even the saints, for they +had their periods of expiation, which in themselves presupposed +blemishes that required the act of expiation for their erasure. And so +it was with people when, even in the rôle of the most innocent of +bystanders, they were confronted by the police. Inevitably there +lurked a certain fear, an instinctive thrusting out of defenses as a +guard against the chance discovery of that early blemish. . . . + +Take Hollander, for instance. Every word of his telephone conversation +had been a negative defense, and yet one could not link it necessarily +with the attack on Endicott. No, not necessarily. It was perfectly +obvious that Hollander had _expected_ something to happen to Endicott, +and equally obvious that he was worried about the fact that Mrs. +Endicott might be involved in it, but one couldn’t say that he had +been involved in it himself. . . . + +The taxi stopped. Lieutenant Valcour got out, paid the driver, and +dismissed him. + +Riverside Drive seemed about ten degrees colder than the midtown +section of the city had been. Or was it fifteen or twenty degrees? A +northerly wind blew iced blasts from the Hudson River and at him +across the treetops of the terraced park. Marge Myles, Lieutenant +Valcour decided as he took in the façade of the building that housed +her apartment, did herself rather well. + +A sleepy and irritable Negro casually asked him “Wha’ floor—’n’ who, +suh?” as he entered the overheated lobby. The boy was smartly snapped +into full consciousness by the view offered him of Lieutenant +Valcour’s gold badge. + +The proper floor proved to be the fourteenth. + +As the hour was hovering about one in the morning, Lieutenant Valcour +was considerably surprised at the promptness with which the door swung +open in response to his ring, and considerably more surprised by the +querulous voice that emerged from beneath a wig, dimly seen in the +poor light of a foyer, and said, “Well, I must say you took your own +time in coming. Put your coat and hat on that table there, and then +come into the parlour.” + +Lieutenant Valcour complied. He followed a dimmish mass of jet bugles +into the more accurate light of a room heavily cluttered with +gold-leafed furniture and brocades. + +“I’m Madame Velasquez—Marge’s ma. I ain’t Spanish myself, but if there +ever was a Spaniard, my late husband Alvarez was.” + +The wig on Madame Velasquez’s head offered no anachronism to the +bugles of her low-cut dress. Its reddish russet strands were +pompadoured and puffed and showed at unexpected places little sprays +of determined curls. The face beneath it bore an odd resemblance to an +enamelled nut to which nature, in a moment of freakish humour, had +added features. + +“Now I want you to tell me at once, Mr. Endicott, what you have done +with my little Marge.” + +Lieutenant Valcour with curious eyes tried to probe a closed door at +the other end of the room. + +“I expected to find her here, Madame Velasquez,” he said quietly. +“Isn’t she?” + +“She ain’t. And what is furthermore, Mr. Herbert Endicott, you know +she ain’t.” Her voice had grown shrill, but without much volume. It +was rather the ineffective piping of some winded bird. + +“What makes you say that, Madame Velasquez?” + +The bunched strands of artificial jewellery that were recklessly +clasped about Madame Velasquez’s thin neck quivered defiantly. + +“And you never met her here at seven,” she said. “I suppose you’ll say +you _wasn’t_ to meet her here at seven. Well, I got this note to prove +it. There, now.” + +She handed Lieutenant Valcour a sheet of notepaper that reeked of some +high-powered scent. + + Make yourself at home, Ma [read the note]. Herb Endicott was to meet + me here at seven. He didn’t come although he was to take me to the + Colonial for dinner. I am going to the Colonial now and see if he is + there. Maybe I did not understand him right, Ma. I will be home soon + anyways. + + Marge. + +“And it is now,” said Madame Velasquez, “after 1 a. m.” + +“She knew you were going to pay her this visit, Madame Velasquez?” + +“I telegraphed her this afternoon. I’m here for a week. Where is she?” + +“I don’t know where she is, Madame Velasquez.” + +“Mr. Endicott, one more lie like that and I’ll call the police.” + +“That’s all right, Madame Velasquez. You see, I am the police.” + +The bugles, the jewels, the curls became still with shocking +abruptness, as a brake that without warning binds tightly. + +“You belong to the police?” + +“Yes, Madame Velasquez—Lieutenant Valcour.” + +He showed his badge. + +“Then you ain’t Mr. Endicott?” + +“No, Madame Velasquez.” + +“Then he—she—they’ve gone and done it, Lieutenant—they have run away.” +Madame Velasquez began to simper. + +“I’m sorry, Madame Velasquez, but they haven’t run away. Mr. Endicott, +you see, was attacked this evening. If he doesn’t live, whoever did it +will be charged with murder.” + +There was a complete absence of expression in Madame Velasquez’s tone. +“And you think Marge done it,” she said. + +“Not necessarily so at all. Your daughter may very well have met +somebody else at the Colonial—some other party of friends—and have +joined it when Mr. Endicott failed to show up. The Colonial is closed +by now, but perhaps she went on to some night club. I shouldn’t +worry.” + +“Why should she go on to some night club when she knew her ma was +waiting for her here?” + +Madame Velasquez’s thin hands, the fingers of which were loaded with +cheap rings, played nervously with any substance they chanced to +touch. + +“Something’s happened to her, Lieutenant,” she went on. “I always told +her as how it would. Marge—I told her a hundred times if I ever told +her once—there’s a limit to the number of suckers you can play at one +and the same time.” + +“You think that some man who was jealous perhaps attacked Endicott +first and then got after her?” + +“Man? Men, Lieutenant, men. That brat kept the opposite of a harem, if +you know what I mean.” + +“She isn’t your daughter, really, is she, Madame Velasquez?” + +“She was Alvarez’s only child by his first wife—some Spanish female +hussy from Seville. What made you guess?” + +“The way you talked about her. But do keep right on, Madame Velasquez. +What a remarkable pendant—it’s a rarity to see so perfect a ruby—may +I?” + +Madame Velasquez simpered audibly while Lieutenant Valcour leaned +forward and stared earnestly at the bit of paste. + +“My late husband, Lieutenant, used to say that nothing was too good +for pretty Miramar. That’s my name, Lieutenant—Miramar.” + +“Few people are so happily named, Madame Velasquez. Tell me—let me +rely upon your woman’s intuition—just what did Marge expect from +Endicott?” + +Madame Velasquez leaned forward confidentially. An atmosphere as of +frenzied heliotropes clung thickly about her. + +“Every last damn nickel she could get,” she said. + +Lieutenant Valcour assumed his most winning smile. “Scarcely an +_affaire du cœur_, Madame Velasquez.” If he had had a moustache, he +would have twirled it. “I suppose her early marriage embittered her, +rather hardened her against men?” + +“Well, if it did I ain’t noticed it none.” + +“Perhaps Endicott came under the heading of business rather than +pleasure?” + +“Well, yes, and then no.” + +“A happy combination?” + +“Just a combination. Not so damn happy.” + +“A little bickering now and then?” + +“A lot.” + +“Indeed? Marge was on the stage, wasn’t she?” + +“If you can call it the stage nowadays, Lieutenant.” + +“In the chorus, wasn’t she?” + +“Yes.” + +“And Harry Myles saw her and carried her off.” + +Madame Velasquez’s laugh was an art; unfortunately not a lost one. +“The millionaire marriage,” she gasped. “My dear”—her hand found a +resting place on one of Lieutenant Valcour’s knees—“he didn’t have a +cent.” + +“She felt disappointed, I suppose?” + +“Disappointed!” Madame Velasquez fairly screamed the word at him, like +an angry parrot. Her manner changed and became darkly mysterious. “I +know my little know,” she said. “You can believe me, Lieutenant, +little Miramar’s not the boob some parties I could mention, but won’t, +think she is.” Her voice grew harsh with the gritty quality of a file. +“I’ll learn her to leave me in the ditch like this.” + +“Then you think Marge purposely isn’t here to greet you?” + +It was a sweet little bunch of filth, taken all in all, thought +Lieutenant Valcour. It was perfectly plain: Madame Velasquez either +held definite knowledge that Marge had killed Harry Myles, or else had +convinced Marge that she knew. And then Madame Velasquez had simply +bled Marge of all the money she could get. + +“Is Marge frightened easily, Madame Velasquez?” + +“About some things.” + +The reddish, dusty-looking curls nodded vigorously. Lieutenant Valcour +looked at his watch. It was one-thirty. He stood up. + +“Thank you for receiving me, Madame Velasquez. If I leave you a +telephone number would you care to call me up when Marge comes in? Or +will you be in bed?” + +“Leave your number, Lieutenant.” The seamy enamelled face became more +nutlike than ever. “I got a thing or two to talk over with that female +Brigham Young.” She raised a be-ringed hand and held it unescapably +close to Lieutenant Valcour’s lips. + +He brushed them gently against a hardened coat of whiting, smiled his +pleasantest, and left, assisted doorward by what might at one time +have been called a sigh. + +He paused for a moment in the small foyer, after putting on his hat +and coat, and pencilled the Endicotts’ telephone number on one of his +cards. He started back to give it to Madame Velasquez. + +She wasn’t in the room where he had left her, and the room’s other +door stood ajar. He crossed to it softly and looked in. Madame +Velasquez—yes, he convinced himself, it _was_ Madame Velasquez—was +sitting before a dresser. Her wig was off, and her heavily enamelled +face peered into a mirror beneath thin knots of corn-gray hair. As the +lonely, weak old voice rose and fell, Lieutenant Valcour caught a word +or two of what Madame Velasquez was saying: + +“He didn’t know—if I went and told her once, I told her a thousand +times—he didn’t _know_.” There followed a short, dreadful noise that +passed as laughter. “But _I_ know—Miramar knows, darling—you little +lousy . . .” + +Lieutenant Valcour retreated softly. He left the card lying on a +table. He went outside and closed the door. He rang for the elevator +and shut his eyes while waiting for it to come up. There were times +when they grew a little weary from looking too intimately upon life. + +Down in the lobby he used the house telephone and called up the +Endicotts’. + +“Lieutenant Valcour talking,” he said. + +“O’Brian, sir.” + +“Everything quiet?” + +“Indeed and it is, sir.” + +“Mr. Hollander get there yet?” + +“He’s just this minute after arriving, sir. He’s upstairs with Dr. +Worth now.” + +“Did he identify himself all right?” + +“He did that, Lieutenant, with cards and a driver’s licence.” + +“Good. I’ll be along in about an hour now. Good-bye.” + +He was helped by the bitter wind as he walked east to Broadway. He +found a taxi and gave the driver Hollander’s address on East +Fifty-second Street. He settled back and closed his eyes. He went to +sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +2:01 a. m.—Glittering Eyes + +Nurse Murrow didn’t slumber, exactly; it was much too slender a lapse +from consciousness for that. But it was not until the second gentle +rapping that she stood up. + +Someone was rapping on the hall door. + +She glanced at her wrist watch as she crossed the room, and was glad +to note that it was just after two o’clock. Three or four hours, now, +and it would be dawn. She’d get some coffee, then, and her work for +the night would be almost over. + +As she turned the key in the lock she noticed with a sharp thrill of +interest that the two policemen, very quiet, very alert, but still +sitting on their chairs in the bathroom doorway, had each drawn a gun +from its holster and was holding it by his side. She opened the door. + +Dr. Worth, his dignity considerably muffled in camel’s hair, stood in +the corridor with a stranger. + +“Miss Murrow,” he said, “this is Mr. Thomas Hollander, the friend who +is going to sit up with Mr. Endicott. He understands everything about +the situation, and I have advised him just what to do.” + +“Yes, Doctor.” + +Dr. Worth failed futilely in suppressing a yawn. “Are there any +reports?” + +“No, Doctor.” + +“Then I’ll return to my room. Call me at the slightest indication.” + +“Yes, Doctor.” + +Hollander came inside. Miss Murrow closed the door and locked it +again. She stood watching Hollander as he went an uncertain step or +two toward the bed, with that natural hesitation with which one +approaches the very ill. He was a personable young man in his +thirties. He was more than personable, she decided. Not handsome, +exactly—heavens, no—she corrected herself rapidly. The features +weren’t moulded in the tiresome regularity of handsomeness. Engaging? +Perhaps. A body perfectly proportioned, with the broad shoulders and +slim hips of a fighter—of, yes, a prize fighter—an amateur sportsman. + +Hollander had finished with staring down at Endicott. His walk, as he +came over to where she was standing, caused Miss Murrow to change her +opinion as to his vocation. She put him down as a sailor, a yachtsman. +There was a buoyancy, a certain fluidity, in his movements, as if his +feet were accustomed to maintaining him with poise across the surfaces +of moving things. His eyes, except for one flashing glance, did not +meet her own directly. + +“Is it all right to smoke?” he said. + +Miss Murrow smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Hollander. Mr. +Endicott’s lungs require as clear air as possible. I’ve even opened +that window a little to keep the atmosphere in the room quite fresh.” +She nodded toward the window above the large mahogany chest. The sash +was up about six or seven inches from the bottom. + +“Oh.” Hollander continued to stand before her, giving her still that +peculiar effect of movement. There was nothing perceptible about it. +His body was like a stolid field, motionless, beneath drifting shadows +of the clouds. “Will Dr. Worth be here when Herb comes to?” + +Nurse Murrow felt a professional stiffening. “I will inform Dr. Worth +at the first sign of returning consciousness.” + +“How?” + +“I beg your pardon?” + +“How’ll you inform him?” + +“By going up to his room, of course.” + +“Oh.” Hollander’s gaze wavered about at the line of her chin. “Then +I’ll just baby Herb along until you get back down here with the +doctor.” + +“The doctor and I will undoubtedly be back before Mr. Endicott +actually does come to.” + +“Uh-huh. Good kid, Herb.” + +She threw out a tentative feeler. + +“You and he are great friends, Mr. Hollander?” + +“Buddies. War buddies.” + +Miss Murrow’s thoughts fled back along old trails. “How splendid! So +few war friendships have really lasted, Mr. Hollander. I know it’s +been so in my case, and with so many, many others.” A faint flush +crept over her palish cheeks and made her look rather young again. +“There was a girl with me in hospital at Chaumont, and we just knew we +were going to be friends for life, but she lives out in Akron, Ohio.” + +“Uh-huh.” + +“We wrote quite regularly for a while after we got back from France—we +both sailed from Brest on the _Amerika_—but then it sort of dwindled. +Postal cards—picture postal cards at Christmas. Last year we didn’t +even send any. I wonder what she’d be like if I saw her again. Have +you ever wondered about people whom you’ve once been very fond of, +that way—about whether they change in time, I mean?” + +“Everything changes.” + +“Doesn’t it, though? Just like the seasons. Oh, I do think you can +draw so many happy comparisons between life and nature. They’re +interlinked, if you get what I mean. That’s why the weather is so +affecting. I just can’t _help_ feeling gloomy on a gloomy day, and +when it’s bright and cheerful and all sunshiny outside, why then I’m +that way, too.” + +“Cripes!” muttered Hollander softly. + +“What did you say, Mr. Hollander?” + +“I said that was nice.” + +“Now I suppose with you and Mr. Endicott you see each other quite +regularly.” + +“Now and then.” + +“I suppose whenever your business permits?” + +His look flicked her like a whip. + +“Where’ll I sit?” he said. + +Nurse Murrow vanished within her professional sphere. + +“Near the patient, please.” + +She wondered whether he had meant to snub her. It wasn’t a snub +exactly. Yes, it was, too. Well, what of it? He was attractive enough +to get away with it, and it probably was nothing but brusqueness, +after all. Many strong men were brusque—purposely so to hide a tender +interior. There was a man, and a millionaire at that . . . Hollander +was back again beside her. She wondered whether it was so—whether +people who didn’t look into your eyes were people whom it was unsafe +to trust. + +“Just what do you know about all this?” he said softly. + +“About all what, Mr. Hollander?” + +“About the police being in the house.” + +“Isn’t it just too thrilling?” + +“Uh-huh. Whom do they suspect?” + +Miss Murrow began to feel friendly again. He _was_ so good-looking. +She wished she had a whole lot of exciting and important information +to give him that would keep him standing there listening, so that she +could just stare at him and try to put her finger on the source of +that amazing effect of fluidity. + +“They haven’t said whom they suspect, really.” She lowered her voice +to an appropriate pitch. “But I know they think it’s somebody who is +in the house.” + +Hollander’s voice was a whisper. “You wouldn’t say it was Mrs. +Endicott whom they suspect, would you?” + +Miss Murrow appeared a trifle shocked. “Oh, it would be too dreadful +to think a wife would harm a husband. But it does happen.” Her mind +tabulated the news offered daily by the papers. “Why, it happens +almost every day. Oh, you don’t _think_——” + +“Certainly I don’t think she did it,” Hollander said fiercely. “It’s +what the police think that I’m trying to get at. What makes you so +sure they’re going to hang it onto somebody who’s in the house?” + +Miss Murrow nodded toward the bathroom door. “From the way they’re +guarding Mr. Endicott from being attacked again. From being attacked,” +she added, “before he can make a statement.” + +“Then they’re still just guessing?” + +“Just guessing.” + +It seemed to satisfy Hollander, and he managed to convey the +impression that the conversation, so far as he was concerned, had come +to an end. Miss Murrow went over to her chair in a corner of the room +and sat down. He was deep, she decided. Yes, a deep creature, with +deep impulses. . . . + +Cassidy and Hansen tilted back their chairs a bit and, with loosened +collars, settled for the last tiring watches of the night. They had +nodded briefly to Hollander, and he had nodded just as briefly in +return. He looked to them like a good scout. Like one of the boys. +Regular. Cassidy tried to remember what that last line of hooey was +that the lieutenant had shot at them about Hollander. Something about +cats. About two cats, that was it, watching a promenading and +near-sighted mouse. Nuts. + +Hollander took an armchair and pushed it close to the head of the bed. +It was an upholstered armchair, heavy, and with a tall solid back. He +placed it so that its back was to the bathroom door. The back also +obliquely obscured him from a full view on the part of Nurse Murrow. +He vanished into its overstuffed depths and settled down. His eyes +travelled slowly along the spread until they came to rest with a +curious fixity on the smooth, masklike face of his friend Endicott. + +Then the pupils of Hollander’s eyes contracted until they glittered +like the heads of two bright pins. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +2:01 a. m.—An Empty Sheath + +It was just after two o’clock when Lieutenant Valcour stepped to the +pavement and paid his fare to the driver. The cab snorted away and +left silence hanging heavy on the street. The bachelor apartment house +where Hollander lived had an English basement entrance. He found +Hollander’s name among a row of five others and pressed the proper +button. After he had pressed it four times, a voice answered him +through the earpiece of the announcer. + +“Who and what is it?” said the voice. + +It was the Southern voice. + +“This is Lieutenant Valcour of the police department talking.” + +“Oh. Mr. Hollander has already left, Lieutenant.” + +“Thank you, I know that. I want to come upstairs.” + +“Fourth floor, Lieutenant—automatic lift.” + +“Thank you.” + +The release mechanism on the door was already clicking. Lieutenant +Valcour entered a smart little lobby and then an electric lift. He +pressed the button for the fourth floor. + +“Sorry to bother you like this,” he said, as he stepped out into a +private foyer, and stared curiously at the young man facing him. + +“No trouble at all, Lieutenant.” + +“That’s very kind of you, Mr.——” + +“Smith, Lieutenant—Jerry Smith.” + +“Since when?” asked Lieutenant Valcour gently, as he started to follow +Mr. Smith into an adjoining room. + +“Why, what do you mean, Lieutenant?” + +The man stopped, and his soft dark eyes stared earnestly at Lieutenant +Valcour from a ruddy, slightly dissipated-looking young face. + +Lieutenant Valcour removed his hat and placed it on a settee. “Nothing +much, Mr. Smith,” he said. “Certainly nothing beyond the fact that I +saw you one morning last month in the line-up down at headquarters. In +connection with some night-club business, I believe. The charge fell +through, I also believe, because the woman involved preferred the loss +of her emerald necklace to the loss of prestige she certainly would +have suffered during the publicity of a trial had she pressed the +case. That’s all I mean, Mr. Smith.” + +“I don’t suppose, sir, I could convince you of my innocence?” + +“No, I don’t suppose you could.” + +“It was my misfortune that the case never did come to trial, +Lieutenant. I could have cleared myself then.” + +“Nonsense. You could have brought counter charges—sued for damage for +false arrest.” + +Mr. Smith looked inexpressibly shocked. “We of the South, sir, do not +bring charges against a lady.” + +“Well, the ethical distinction between swiping a woman’s necklace and +bringing charges against her is a shade too delicate for my Northern +nerves to grasp.” Lieutenant Valcour crossed casually to a chair +placed before a secretary and sat down. “Sit down, Mr. Smith,” he +said, “and tell me something about your friend Thomas.” + +“The straightest, squarest gentleman who ever lived, sir. Why . . .” +Mr. Smith plunged into a panegyric that would have brought a blush +even to the toughened cheek of a Caligula. + +Lieutenant Valcour permitted him to plunge. While the flood poured +into his ears, his eyes were inconspicuously busied with such papers +as were on view in the secretary. + + Tom, darling [he read on the folded half of a sheet of notepaper]: + Let’s tea on Thursday at the Ritz. 4:30, as Herbert . . . + +Lieutenant Valcour did not consider it essential to reach out and turn +the page. His fingers absently busied themselves with the leather +sheath for, presumably, a metal paper cutter or, perhaps, a stiletto. + +“Yes, he is an honourable and an upright gentleman, sir, and if you +think there is anything wrong with him in the Endicott business”—Mr. +Smith temporarily moved north of the Mason and Dixon Line—“you’re all +wet.” + +Mr. Smith was through. + +“For how long has he known Endicott, Mr. Smith?” + +“As I’ve been telling you, Lieutenant, ever since that night he saved +Endicott’s life.” + +Lieutenant Valcour became almost embarrassing in the sudden focussing +of his attention. “Would it bother you very much, Mr. Smith, to tell +me of that occurrence again?” + +“Why, it’s just as I’ve been _saying_, Lieutenant, in the war—the +war.” + +“Oh, of course. Endicott and Hollander were in the same outfit, and +Hollander saved Endicott’s life.” + +“You can prove it, sir, if you wish. Just call up the Bronx armoury +and ask for the adjutant—in the morning, of course, as he wouldn’t be +there now. He’ll make it official.” + +“Oh, I believe it all right, Mr. Smith. It’s a very reasonable +explanation of why Endicott should be so intimate with one of your +friends.” + +“I swear you have me wrong, Lieutenant. I had no more to do with that +gilt-knuckles job than—” Mr. Smith sought desperately for a convincing +simile—“than a babe unborn.” + +“It isn’t any of my business anyway, Mr. Smith, even if you had,” said +Lieutenant Valcour soothingly. He tapped the leather sheath he was +holding against his fingers. “I suppose Hollander was even quite +prominent at the wedding, when Endicott was married?” + +“Prominent? He was the best man.” + +“Really. Well, well. Mrs. Endicott is indeed a very beautiful woman, +and from all that she has told me, a much misunderstood one.” + +Mr. Smith poised himself delicately upon the fence and remained +watchful. + +“It must have been rather a problem for Hollander,” Lieutenant Valcour +went on reflectively, “when she told him this afternoon during their +tea at the Ritz that she was faced with one of two things.” + +“What do you mean, Lieutenant?” + +“Didn’t he tell you?” + +“Tell me what, Lieutenant?” + +“That Mrs. Endicott told him she couldn’t stand it any longer: that +she either was going to kill her husband or else commit suicide.” + +Mr. Smith smothered a sharp intaking of breath. + +“Oh, you know how women talk, Lieutenant. It’s just talk.” + +“Then he wasn’t impressed, really?” + +“Why, of course not. No more so than you or I would have been.” + +“He got back here from the Ritz at six?” + +“About.” + +“And stayed here until I ’phoned him?” + +Mr. Smith looked a little baffled. “Well, not exactly, Lieutenant.” + +“Just how exactly, Mr. Smith?” + +“Why, you see, he left for dinner right after he came in.” + +“Just after six?” + +“Near six-thirty.” + +“And what time did he get back from dinner?” + +“I wasn’t here, Lieutenant. I had a date and didn’t get back here +myself until around midnight.” + +Lieutenant Valcour became very, very casual. + +“Did Hollander plan to marry Mrs. Endicott after she’d got the +divorce?” he said. + +“Golly, no. There wasn’t going to be any divorce. It was platonic—and +damned if I don’t believe it.” + +“It’s quite possible.” + +“I have never seen her—but to hear Tom rave!” + +“She is very beautiful.” + +“Lieutenant,” Mr. Smith’s exceedingly attractive dark eyes stared +solemnly into Lieutenant Valcour’s veiled ones, “he thinks she’s a +saint. I mean it.” + +“Dark and strange,” muttered Lieutenant Valcour. “Dark and strange.” + +“What’s dark and strange, Lieutenant?” + +“The rather terrible things that sometimes happen, Mr. Smith, under +the patronage of love.” + +“I’ll be damned if you talk like a cop,” said Mr. Smith, suddenly very +suspicious. + +“Then I’m afraid you are damned, Mr. Smith. What,” Lieutenant Valcour +asked suddenly, “was kept in this?” + +Mr. Smith, momentarily distracted from his suspicions by the abrupt +switch, stared at the leather sheath Lieutenant Valcour was holding +out at him. + +“Some sort of a sticker that Tom picked up on the other side,” he +said. “Damascus steel, he calls it. Uses it for a paper knife.” + +“I wonder why it isn’t in its sheath,” said Lieutenant Valcour mildly. + +“Search me.” + +Lieutenant Valcour poked around among the papers. + +“It isn’t here in this secretary, either.” + +“Well, I don’t know where it is, Lieutenant. It was there this +afternoon.” + +“I don’t know where it is either, Mr. Smith, but I’m going to find +out.” + +“Go ahead.” + +“Where was it you saw it this afternoon? On this secretary?” + +“Yes.” + +Lieutenant Valcour’s search of the secretary was swift and thorough. +The pigeonholes, the drawers yielded no stiletto of Damascus steel. +Hidden in one of the drawers was a copy of the _Oxford Book of English +Verse_. That interested him momentarily. He gave it sufficient +attention to note that the most used portion included the Sonnets of +Shakespeare. But there was no time now—no time. + +“I’m going through the rooms here,” he said, “and look for that +stiletto.” + +“You’ll be exceeding your authority if you do, Lieutenant.” + +“Have you any objections?” Lieutenant Valcour asked quietly. + +Mr. Smith grew almost fervent in his protestations that he had none. +Why should he? He had nothing to conceal, nor had Hollander. Of +course, there were a bottle or two of gin and a quart of Scotch, but +he didn’t imagine the lieutenant would be interested in anything along +that line. No, the lieutenant assured him, he wouldn’t be. Liquor was +not in his province. Then it would be all right to go ahead and +search? Lieutenant Valcour wanted to know. Oh, quite. + +In spite of his verbal acquiescence Mr. Smith followed Lieutenant +Valcour through the two other rooms of the apartment with a gradually +growing air of truculence. He stood near and a little behind him when, +after the search yielded nothing, Lieutenant Valcour went to a +telephone and dialled the Endicotts’ number. + +Lieutenant Valcour did not get the connection, because Mr. Smith drew +a pliable leather-bound slug of lead from his pocket and struck +Lieutenant Valcour with it on the head. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +2:13 a. m.—The Thin Steel Blade + +Miss Murrow began to feel fidgety. + +Even after the many, many years she had spent in nursing she had never +accustomed herself to spending a night quite comfortably in a chair. +She had always had her attacks of the fidgets, and would probably +continue to have them until she arrived at the port of destination for +all good nurses and married one of her patients or a doctor. Of the +two she really preferred a patient. + +She trained a speculative eye on her present one over there on the +bed. Not really speculative, as—she told herself firmly—he was already +married. Although heaven knew that that never mattered. Take the case +of that red-headed Gilford girl who had snapped old man Tomlinson +right up from under his wife’s nose—probably, at that, because of his +wife’s nose, which had been an unusually large one. Miss Murrow +giggled. That was almost witty enough to tell to Mr. Hollander. + +He must have _felt_ that she was thinking about him. What a curious +expression that was in his eyes. He had just turned them toward her, +and they seemed to glitter. Yes, that was the word exactly—“glitter.” + +It was a fancy of Miss Murrow’s to be meticulous in the matter of +words. “Really,” she thought, “I don’t see why I couldn’t be an +author.” She felt sure she had ever so much more knowledge of life +than one encountered in the average run of books. Tripe. Yes, “tripe” +was indeed the word. Of course, her books wouldn’t be average. Now +that little story of Delia Hackenpoole and the interne with those +shifty eyes . . . + +Eyes . . . + +Yes, Mr. Hollander’s eyes _were_ glittering—even in that second flash +she had just caught of them. But possibly he, too, had the fidgets. +He’d been sitting terribly quiet for the past ten minutes or so. Not a +budge out of him. A body would forget he was there, almost. + +Of course he was handsome. Especially in that soft, vague light from +the distant lamp which picked his pale features out obscurely. And +they _were_ pale, at that. Genuinely pale. She did hope he wasn’t +going to be ill or have a nervous breakdown and ruin this perfectly +marvellous case of the dear doctor’s. . . . + +Mrs. Sanford Worth. What a pleasant name it would be. _Distingué_. How +apt the French were! (She knew ten phrases.) + +Was that right hand of Mr. Hollander’s actually moving, or was it an +illusion of light and shade? It seemed to be slipping slowly from the +arm of the chair and would eventually end up in his lap. It was +moving—it wasn’t—quite creepy, really. Damn the fidgets! She shifted +her centre of balance and felt temporarily relieved. Overstuffed +chairs were really wretched for prolonged periods of sitting, when you +came right down to it, whereas a good old-fashioned horsehair sofa, +such as Aunt Helen had had at Sciota. . . . + +Why, the hand was gone! + +Positively gone—like a conjuring trick. + +It wasn’t on the arm of the chair, so it must be in Mr. Hollander’s +lap. Then it _had_ been moving after all, and she hadn’t been just +imagining it. Why, it was almost _sneaky_. . . . + +His profile was toward her. Not a snub nose, exactly, nor _retroussé_. +You couldn’t apply that term to anything about a man, and whatever +else he might be, Mr. Hollander certainly was a man. + +How interesting his life at sea must have been. (She had definitely +ticketed him as a sailor.) Lives at sea were always interesting. All +the best books were in accord with that. You never read of a Main +Street on the ocean. What with the girls in every port and the fights +and the smell of crisp salt air . . . What a wretched little twirp +that boy had been down at the beach last summer, with his absurd +remarks about the salt smell being a lot of decayed lobster pots and +dead fish. Of course the air at sea was salt. Sea and salt were +synonymous. + +Mr. Hollander _did_ have the fidgets. + +She couldn’t see exactly, because of the masking arm of the chair, but +he certainly was fiddling with something. She’d think he was twirling +his thumbs, if he looked like the sort of man who twirled thumbs, but +he didn’t, so it wasn’t that. + +She looked at her wrist watch and saw that the hands were approaching +the half hour. She’d have to examine her patient and note his pulse on +the chart. What a pity that the only time you really felt comfortable +in an overstuffed chair was at the moment when you had to get up. + +She stood up, smoothed starched surfaces, and sailed, a smart white +pinnace, toward the bed. She smiled engagingly at Mr. Hollander and +then started to take Endicott’s pulse. She gave a slight start and +concentrated her full attention upon Endicott. + +“I think there’s a change.” + +Hollander looked up at her alertly. “Change?” + +“I think he shows signs of coming to.” + +Miss Murrow wondered a moment at the tight little lines which suddenly +appeared on Hollander’s face, hardening and aging it rather +shockingly, and altering the features into a cast whose hidden +significance she could not define exactly. Strain, perhaps, better +than anything else, served as an explanation: an emotional strain. + +“How can you tell?” he said. + +Miss Murrow smiled a bit superiorly. “It becomes instinct, mostly.” + +“Will it be soon?” + +“Very soon now. Be careful, please, not to disturb him or make any +sudden noise or movement until I come back. I want Dr. Worth to be on +hand before the patient actually does regain consciousness.” + +“You going up to get him now?” + +“Yes.” She went over to the bathroom door and spoke to Cassidy. “You +gentlemen will be careful, won’t you, about being seen? I’d stay well +back within the doorway, as sometimes a patient is a little, well, +wild when he comes to like this, and if he started jerking around at +all he might see you.” She smiled engagingly. “What with the uniforms +and everything——” + +Miss Murrow left implications of the possible fatal consequences +hanging in air and returned to Endicott. She examined him critically +for another moment, checked his pulse again, and then started for the +door. She stopped just before she reached it, and said to Hollander: +“I suppose you had better lock the door after me. Lieutenant Valcour +placed great stress on the fact that it should be kept locked +constantly.” + +“I’ll lock it,” said Hollander. + +“It does seem kind of foolish, doesn’t it?” + +Hollander smiled grimly. “Most foolish.” + +He stood up and joined her at the door. She went outside. He closed +the door and locked it. He stared almost blankly for an instant at the +two policemen. They had drawn their chairs back a little within the +bathroom doorway. Hansen was impassively studying the ceiling above +his head. Cassidy, leaning forward a little, was looking with solemn +eyes at the outline of Endicott’s still figure beneath the bedclothes. + +Hollander stretched cramped muscles and then went back to his armchair +beside the bed. He sat down and was all but completely obscured from +the two guards by its high back. With imperceptible movements he drew +a thin steel blade from beneath the cuff of his left coat sleeve and +held it in such a fashion that it was masked in the palm of his right +hand, the hilt extending up a little beneath the shirt cuff. He leaned +forward and stared down upon Endicott’s quiet face. Not quiet, +exactly, for the lids were twitching—opening—and Endicott’s eyes, +bright and unseeing from fever, stared up. . . . + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +2:13 a. m.—Time _versus_ Death + +O’Brian stirred a bit restlessly in his chair by the hall door and +yawned; then he looked at his watch. It was almost a quarter past two. +He began to enumerate the various things he would give for a good cup +of strong black coffee, and his shirt headed the list. Or, if not +coffee, some excitement to keep him awake. + +The telephone jangled. + +He stood up abruptly and went to the instrument. It would be, he +imagined, Lieutenant Valcour calling again to find out if everything +was all right. Well, everything was. + +O’Brian lifted the receiver and said, “Hello!” + +No one answered him, and there wasn’t any sound from the other end of +the line, unless you could call a sort of thumping noise and a faint +tinkle that might have been breaking glass a sound. + +“Hello!” O’Brian said again. + +The line wasn’t dead, because there wasn’t that peculiar burring one +hears when the connection is broken. The receiver of the ’phone at the +other end was certainly off the hook. O’Brian singled out one of the +patron saints of Ireland and wanted to know, most emphatically, just +what sort of fun and foustie was being made of him. + +“Hello!” He tried it again. + +There was a click. The burring sound started. The line was dead. +Whoever had been calling from the other end had hung up. + +O’Brian very thoughtfully did likewise. + +Then he began to wonder what he ought to do. It didn’t take him very +long to decide, especially as the thumping noise and tinkle of +breaking glass grew louder in retrospect the more he thought about +them. He didn’t have to go as far as Denmark; something was certainly +rotten right here in New York. + +He dialled the operator, identified himself as a member of the police +force, and stated that he wanted the call he had just received +instantly traced. + +“Oneminuteplease,” requested a voice with a macadamized smile. + +The minute stretched into two—ten—but eventually he was informed that +the call had come from the apartment of a Mr. Thomas Hollander, whose +’phone number and address were thereupon given. + +O’Brian jotted them down. He then dialled the telephone number of +Hollander who was, as he very well knew, right upstairs. Several +persistent diallings failed to awaken any response. + +The complexion of the work afoot grew dirtier. O’Brian felt certain +that it was connected with the terrain activities of Lieutenant +Valcour. If it had just been some occupant of Hollander’s apartment +who had wanted to call Hollander up about something, there would have +been an answer. + +And there wouldn’t have been that thumping noise, and the tinkle of +breaking glass. + +It seemed a matter that required investigation at once. O’Brian +telephoned his precinct station and reported the occurrence and his +beliefs about it to the sergeant in charge. He was assured that a +raiding squad would be dispatched within a matter of minutes to the +address he had given. + +One was. + +They found Lieutenant Valcour helplessly bound, very dazed, very weak, +lying on the floor beneath a table when the men crashed the door to +Hollander’s apartment and broke in. Cold water—a glass of whiskey from +a convenient decanter—and intelligence and strength began to return. +Lieutenant Valcour pushed away the hands that were supporting him and, +going to the telephone, called the Endicotts’. + +“O’Brian?” + +“Yes, Lieutenant—you all right, sir?” + +“Yes, yes—pay attention to every word I say and follow my instructions +to a letter. Endicott’s life depends upon it.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Go upstairs to Dr. Worth and wake him. Tell him I believe that +Hollander is armed with a knife and that he is probably just waiting +for a chance to use it when he won’t be observed by the nurse or +Cassidy and Hansen. Hollander is Endicott’s enemy, not friend. Tell +Dr. Worth to go down and knock on Endicott’s door. Tell him to go +right inside when it opens. Now get this.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Tell him to ask the nurse how the patient is—to act natural about it. +Tell him to start to go out and then, as a second thought, tell him to +beckon to Hollander as if he wanted to tell Hollander something. +Hollander will get up and go to him. Tell him to whisper to Hollander +that there’s something he wants to tell him privately, if Hollander +will step outside for a minute into the corridor. You be in the +corridor. When Hollander comes out, jump him. Put the cuffs on him and +keep him quiet until I get there. I’ll be right on up. O. K.?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour rang off. He turned to the sergeant in charge of +the detail. + +“Leave one man here, Sergeant,” he said. “The rest of you men can go +back to the station after you’ve dropped me at the Endicotts’.” + +“Anything you want the man who’s left here to do, Lieutenant?” + +“Not unless a dark-haired youngster comes back, which he won’t. But if +he should, just have him kept for me, please, on ice.” + +Down on the street, Lieutenant Valcour jumped in beside the driver of +the department car and said, “Step on it, Clancy. It’s only eleven +blocks up and three west.” + +The car shot forward, swept to the right at the corner, and lunged up +Lexington Avenue. There was little traffic, and what little there was +was so scattered that nothing impeded its way. + +“Something going to break on that Endicott business, Lieutenant?” + +“Either going to, or has.” + +“A homicide, ain’t it?” + +“Possibly—by now.” + + +Nurse Murrow smoothed the last wrinkles from her uniform while waiting +for Dr. Worth to open the door. It paid to look one’s best. Always, at +any time at all. One never could tell. + +“Oh, Doctor. I’m sorry to get you up again so soon, but Mr. Endicott +shows symptoms of coming to.” + +Dr. Worth, who was no longer the eager-eyed practitioner he once had +been, did his best to shake off the puffy chains of sleep. + +“I’ll come right down, Miss Murrow.” + +“I’ll wait, Doctor.” + +“Just want to dash some cold water on my face.” + +“No hurry, Doctor.” + +He vanished into the room again. Ah, dreamed Miss Murrow, _what_ a +man! And he’d never been snappy with her, either. So many were snappy. +Someone was coming up the stairs—quickly—two at a time—a policeman—— + +“Where’s the doctor, miss?” said O’Brian, a little winded. + +“He’s coming right out, Officer.” + +“I gotta see him at once.” + +O’Brian brushed her aside and opened the door. Dr. Worth met him, +astonished and glistening, on the threshold. + +“Say, lissen, Doctor, the lieutenant just called up, and he +said . . .” + +O’Brian thereupon repeated all that the lieutenant had said. + +“But, my dear man, this is the most extraordinary thing I have ever +heard in my life!” Dr. Worth’s slightly damp eyebrows indulged in a +series of gyrations. + +“Sure there ain’t no time for astonishments, Doctor,” said O’Brian. +“Let’s go—easy and quietlike, now. We’re not to put this bird +wise. . . .” + +With O’Brian leading, they started down the stairs. + + +“Hello, Herb,” Hollander said softly. + +Endicott’s voice was so weak that it scarcely carried to Hollander’s +ears. “Who is it?” he said. “What . . .” the voice dribbled off. + +“It’s your friend, Herb.” + +Sullen, petulant lines clung suddenly to Endicott’s mouth, making the +thickish lips look almost viciously weak. He made a curious noise that +might have been intended for a laugh. + +“Have no friend.” The voice was the ghost of dead whispers. + +“What happened to you, Herb?” + +“Happened?” Endicott’s eyes made a strong effort to get through the +fogs shrouding them. “Something did happen—I want the police—I’ll +teach that rotten—that——” + +There wasn’t any sound for a while. + +“You’ll teach whom, Herb?” + +Endicott was staring very fixedly up at Hollander now. And Hollander’s +right hand, the fingers of which were unnaturally rigid, was gently +moving to that spot on the spread which would lie above Endicott’s +heart. + +“Who is it you’re going to teach, Herb?” Hollander said again. + +The mists were clearing, and Endicott could see things almost plainly. +He fixed Hollander’s face into definite focus. “God damn you,” he +said, “for a——” + +“Now, now, Herb, that isn’t nice, and you don’t know what you’re +saying.” + +Hollander’s right hand had found the spot. It hung above it, +motionless, very rigid, and the fingers very stiff. + +“I’m going to call a policeman and——” + +Endicott’s voice was so weak as to be almost inaudible. His lips +seemed as motionless as the rest of his body, which was completely +inert. + +“No, you’re not, Herb,” whispered Hollander. “And you’re not going to +tell, either.” + +Endicott got tired of looking up at Hollander. His eyes travelled +fretfully along Hollander’s right arm. + +“Neither you nor all the devils in hell,” he whispered faintly, “can +stop me from telling.” + +And then he saw the knife. + +“Can’t I, Herb?” + +It was the slenderest knife Endicott had ever seen. He wondered where +on earth Hollander had got it. No hilt—or perhaps the hilt was cupped +in Hollander’s hand. A stiletto, that’s what it was, and its point was +pressing through the white spread at a point that lay just above his +heart. Why, if the pressure kept on, it would go right into his +heart. . . . + +_Crack_ . . . + +_Crack_ . . . _crack crack_ . . . _crack_ . . . _crack_ . . . + +A bullet from Cassidy’s gun shattered Hollander’s right wrist. +Hansen’s shot caught him in the right shoulder. Two bullets out of the +fusillade that followed lodged, one in his right hip, and the other +one farther down in the leg. Both officers, in spite of Nurse Murrow’s +orders, had moved into the room and were crouched on the floor where +they would still be concealed from Endicott’s line of vision, but +where they could better and more closely observe what had been the +faintly suspicious movements on the part of Hollander. + +They were within four or five feet of him and still crouched below him +as blood stained the white spread in a sickish smear when Hollander +dragged his mangled wrist across it to the floor. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +2:40 a. m.—The Angle of Death’s Path + +The pounding on the door became hysterical, and Cassidy, who for two +cents would have become hysterical himself, went over and unlocked it. +He found Dr. Worth, backed by scandalously excited servants and +flanked by Nurse Murrow and O’Brian, pressing across the sill. + +“Is it Endicott?” Dr. Worth demanded breathlessly. + +“No, sir—it’s Hollander. We shot the knife from his hand before he +could stick it into Endicott, and then we shot him down.” + +“Close this door, Officer, and keep these people out. Come in with me, +Miss Murrow.” + +Dr. Worth came into the room with Nurse Murrow. Cassidy closed the +door, and the shrill clatter of excited whisperings ebbed like a tide. + +“Thank God, Officer, you saved Endicott. What a mess.” Dr. Worth +glanced critically at Hollander, huddled on the floor by the bed in a +blood-soaked heap. “You two men help Nurse Murrow. Stretch him out on +that chest over there by the window. Do what you can for him, Miss +Murrow, until I’ve taken care of Endicott.” + +Cassidy and Hansen lifted Hollander and carried him to the improvised +cot Miss Murrow arranged with blankets and a pillow on top of the +mahogany chest by the window. + +Nurse Murrow then became the acme, the pink of proficiency. She +dressed and bound Hollander’s wounds, and applied the proper +tourniquet above his shattered wrist. In her opinion, his condition +was not fatally serious, when one considered his obvious physique and +his probably excellent constitution—of iron—and, yes, he _was_ +distinctly handsome. What a pity they’d arrest him. Or perhaps he was +under arrest already, although she usually associated handcuffings +with arrests. But there surely wouldn’t be any handcuffs now. In spite +of her long familiarity with dreadful injuries she shuddered a little +at that shattered wrist. And they couldn’t be so soulless as to move +him to prison. Dr. Worth would never permit any patient of his to be +treated like that. And, after all, Hollander _was_ the doctor’s +patient. . . . + +Dr. Worth himself was standing beside her. There was a bewildered, +curiously grave look on his face. She sensed intuitively what had +happened. + +“Mr. Endicott, Doctor?” + +Dr. Worth shrugged helplessly. “He’s dead.” + +“But I swear that knife never went in, sir,” Cassidy said. “Hansen, +here, and me was watching Hollander like cats. Sure we saw the knife +even before it touched the bedclothes.” + +“Didn’t Hollander have a gun, too?” + +“No, sir. Why do you ask?” + +“Because Endicott was killed by a bullet.” + +Hansen’s Nordic young face grew very red and then very white. Cassidy +showed nothing of what he was thinking—certainly nothing of the +sickening, puzzled worry that clamped his chest—except that there was +a tight clenching of his hands. + +“Too bad,” Cassidy said. + +“Yes,” agreed Dr. Worth, “it is too bad.” + +“You’re sure, sir?” + +Dr. Worth grew icily formal. “Quite,” he said. He was also getting +good and mad. This was the sort of thing, he told himself angrily, +that taxpayers shelled out their money for. Protection! It was enough +to make anybody laugh. A lot of protection the police force of New +York City had been for Endicott. They’d shot him—that’s what. + +“But I don’t see how——” + +“Officer, there is no mistaking the difference between a bullet wound +and one made by a knife. In this case especially it is perfectly +obvious. I dare say the charge against you two men will be just +technical—accidental homicide in line of duty!” + +Dr. Worth did permit himself one short laugh. + +“I guess so, Doctor,” Cassidy said. + +“And is there anything that has to be done, Officer?” + +“In what way, sir?” + +“Why, a report made to the medical examiner?” Dr. Worth became almost +airy in his mounting anger. “This sort of starts the whole thing over +again, doesn’t it? I mean, won’t the medical examiner have to come +back up and investigate before we can move the body and—oh, well, you +know the line.” + +“Maybe so, sir.” Cassidy’s face was the colour of a red tile brick. +“Cripes, but I wish the lieutenant was here.” + +“I understand that he will be here any minute.” + +“You’ve heard from him, sir?” + +Dr. Worth felt that if he didn’t apply the brakes he would become +positively light-headed. “Oh, yes, yes, indeed, Officer. He called up +to warn me that my patient was going to be murdered and suggested that +I run downstairs and stop it. Murder? Fiddlesticks—it’s beginning to +graduate into a catastrophe.” + +“What has happened here?” + +Lieutenant Valcour, very pale, still very weak, and with an improvised +bandage around his head, had come unobserved into the room. + +“You can see,” Dr. Worth said with almost insulting distinctness, “for +yourself.” + +Dr. Worth then went on to expand. He related in detail his version of +the battle—he insisted that it was a battle—which had just taken +place. + +Entirely apart from the natural discomfiture of his head, Lieutenant +Valcour was feeling desperately glum. Under no light, no matter how +favourable, could his handling of the case be considered a success. He +had to his credit one slap on the face, a good crack on the head from +a lead slug, and now it seemed that the very man whom they had been +ordered to guard had been shot and killed by his own men. That, at +least, was the impression the angry bee talking to him was obviously +trying to give. Oh, it would be a _cause célèbre_ all right, but he +shuddered to think of just what it would be celebrated for. + +“This,” he said, “is nonsense.” + +Dr. Worth was by now thoroughly acid. + +“I am glad that you are able to find in the miserable situation some +element of humour, Lieutenant.” + +“Humour? Not humour, Doctor. I am just trying to say that the +probability of Endicott’s having been shot by one of my men is +nonsense.” + +“Would it convince you, sir, were I to remove the bullet and let it +speak for itself? Imperfections in the barrel leave their markings, +don’t they? You can then doubtless determine which one of these two +young men fired the unhappy shot.” + +“Please don’t get irritated, Doctor. I’m not trying to annoy you or to +be funny. It’s simply that I cannot see—just where is the wound +located, Doctor?” + +“In the chest.” + +“Cassidy, where were you and Hansen standing?” + +“We was crouched on the floor just inside the room, sir—not over five +feet off from Hollander,” Cassidy said. + +“Then consider your angles, Doctor. There’s Endicott—there’s about +where my men were crouched. It would take pretty wild shooting for +either of them to hit Endicott in the chest. In fact, one might almost +consider it impossible.” + +Dr. Worth still hovered around zero. “From the number of innocent +bystanders whom one reads about in the newspapers as having been shot +down by the police——” + +“That is an unfair comparison, Doctor. Those cases you refer to have +all involved a chase of some sort—rapid motion—streets cluttered up +with people. There was nothing like that here. I’m going to call up +Central Office and ask permission for you to remove the bullet and +determine the angle of its path.” + +“Permission, sir? And do you think it is my business or my pleasure to +go probing about for bullets and determining the angles of their +paths? I happen to be a specialist, sir——” + +“Yes, yes, Doctor. But right now it is your business to do just that. +We must have the information immediately.” + +“And why so, sir?” + +“Because if the calibre of the bullet that killed Endicott differs +from the ones in the guns of my men, or if the angle of its course +proves conclusively that it could not have been fired by one of them, +then the murderer is still loose about the house. He couldn’t have +escaped, you see, as the guards are still on duty down below.” + +. . . Then the murderer is still loose about the house . . . + +The chilling possibilities of the statement served a good deal to cool +Dr. Worth’s steaming indignation. He was getting tired with being +angry, anyway. + +“I’m sorry I have been impatient, Lieutenant. You may be quite right, +and I’ll be glad to help you in any way that I can.” + +“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll telephone Central Office from downstairs, as +I want to instruct the men on guard down there to be doubly careful. +If you’d care to start in probing it will be quite all right. I’ll +explain everything to the medical examiner. It’s something, you see, +that we must know. Cassidy, you and Hansen are not to leave this room. +Search both it and Hollander for a gun.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went out, and Dr. Worth proceeded, with the aid of +Nurse Murrow, to probe. + +The room had an air about it of a shambles. Cassidy and Hansen, having +searched for a gun and found none, leaned dispiritedly against the +wall near the chest on which Hollander was lying. They felt a measured +sense of relief—had felt it, in fact, from the moment when Lieutenant +Valcour had come into the room. Each knew he could never have fired +that shot which had killed Endicott. And each was reasonably certain +that the other couldn’t have, either. + +They could determine nothing from Dr. Worth’s face as to how the +examination was going. Neither of them looked very closely at what he +was doing. Their wonderings ran along parallel lines: Hollander +couldn’t have had a gun or they’d have seen it or found it during +their recent search. None of their shots could have gone so hopelessly +wild as to have hit Endicott. But somebody did have a gun, and +Endicott had been shot by it. But there had been nobody in the room +with Endicott except themselves and Hollander. And Hollander couldn’t +have had a gun, or they’d have seen it . . . the perfect loop +continued on and on. Each made the circle in his thoughts and then +started in all over again. If Lieutenant Valcour hadn’t reëntered the +room, and if Dr. Worth hadn’t just then extracted the bullet, they +probably would have gone mildly mad. + +“Everything’s all right, Doctor,” Lieutenant Valcour said. “The +medical examiner was only too pleased at your kindness in helping him +out. He won’t be up again to-night unless I send for him. He asked me +to thank you.” + +“Not at all, Lieutenant.” Dr. Worth showed considerable excitement. +“You know, it’s surprising. I don’t know much about the calibre of +bullets, but I think you’re right about the angle. Here’s the bullet.” + +Lieutenant Valcour inspected a leaden pellet curiously and then +slipped it into a pocket. + +“It isn’t from one of our guns, Doctor,” he said. + +“I’m not surprised, Lieutenant—not surprised at all. Because the angle +it entered at—why, damn it, Lieutenant, it must have been fired from +some place over there.” + +Dr. Worth indicated a problematic area which included the corner where +Hollander was stretched out. Lieutenant Valcour looked just above +Hollander at the window. It was the window which had been opened about +six or seven inches from the bottom by Nurse Murrow so that the air +for her patient would be quite fresh and clear. + +It was still open. + +And outside of it, as Lieutenant Valcour very well knew, ran the +shallow balcony which offered not only adornment to the rear of the +house but a passageway to—and from—the windows of Mrs. Endicott’s +room. + +But Mrs. Endicott was under the influence of a narcotic, and a nurse +and a maid were both in the room with her. + +But were they? . . . + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +3:00 a. m.—Thin Haze of Dread + +Dr. Worth, too, was staring at the black, impenetrable rectangle left +by the opened window. It was a passageway for air, but infinitely more +so was it a passageway leading to obscure recesses of the night: +recesses that seemed to offer a maleficent sanctuary to hell-born +secrets of distorted souls. + +Who had crept along that balcony and fired that shot? + +The apparent improbability of anyone from Mrs. Endicott’s room having +done so transplanted the problem from clear fields of logic and of +simple facts into vague regions of absurd conjecturings which stared +wanly out at Lieutenant Valcour through baffling curtains of darkness +and of fog. + +He felt a definite sense of uncertainty, and—as one does when +confronted by a suggestion of the unknown—an impalpable dread. It was +nothing that he could put his finger on; it seemed, absurdly, some +emanation from the outer night creeping in through that rectangle of +black to hang in thin hazes about the room. + +“What would you suggest doing with Hollander, Doctor?” he said. + +Dr. Worth, whose own thoughts had been warily browsing in disagreeable +pastures, sought relief in professional preciseness. + +“He would be better off in a hospital, Lieutenant. I consider his +constitution to be more than sufficiently strong to obviate any danger +in moving him. Are you going to arrest him?” + +Lieutenant Valcour smiled faintly. “He is under arrest now, Doctor. I +should like to get a few things straightened out, though, before +booking him on any definite charge. Would it hurt him very much to +talk with me before he is taken to the hospital?” + +“Not if it weren’t for too long.” + +“Could you give him something to revive him—to brace him up?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Then I will have a man send for an ambulance, and I’ll just talk with +Hollander until it gets here.” + +“That will be all right.” + +“And if you don’t mind, Doctor, I should like to be alone with him. +Just he and I and—Endicott.” + +Dr. Worth was already busied with restoratives. “Certainly,” he said. +“Miss Murrow and I will be outside, if you want to call us.” + +“Cassidy,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “wait outside in the hall, and +you, Hansen, go downstairs and telephone for an ambulance. Let me know +as soon as it gets here.” + +And in a moment Lieutenant Valcour found himself alone in the room +with Endicott, with Hollander, and with those curious mists that +hinted at unnamed dreads. + +The restoratives were effective, and Hollander opened his eyes upon a +stranger who was sitting on a chair beside the mahogany chest. He +wondered idly who the stranger was. The drug which Dr. Worth had given +him made him feel rather alert and smart. Any sense of pain was +completely deadened. His eyes travelled leisurely about the room and +hesitated at a sheet-covered object on the bed. That would be his +friend called Endicott. His lids closed sharply as a reaction to some +wound that was not physical. + +Lieutenant Valcour stared thoughtfully down at Hollander’s pale face. + +“What did you do with Endicott’s hat?” he said. + +Hollander opened his eyes again in bewilderment. “I don’t know what +you’re talking about,” he said. “And who are you, anyhow?” + +“I’m Lieutenant Valcour, Mr. Hollander. We’ve talked together over the +telephone. The hat I’m referring to is the one that Endicott must have +been wearing, or carrying in his hand, or that was some place near him +when you attacked him shortly after seven this evening.” + +“I didn’t attack him, Lieutenant.” Hollander’s lips were +peaked-looking and didn’t move very much when he talked. “I wasn’t in +this house until a little after one-thirty this morning—after you had +called me up.” + +“Which did you think Mrs. Endicott would really do, Mr. Hollander?” + +Hollander tried painfully to concentrate. He felt the need of being +very careful of his footing: they were on dangerous ground. + +“Do?” + +“Yes—when she told you during tea at the Ritz that she had about +reached the end and was either going to kill Mr. Endicott or commit +suicide. Or didn’t you really believe either?” + +It seemed impossible that Hollander’s face could grow any paler. + +“You’re crazy, Lieutenant.” + +“All sorts of people tell me so lots of times, Mr. Hollander. Did you +have to wear Endicott’s hat when you went out because you had lost +your own?” + +Hollander sighed fretfully. “You must think I’m awfully dumb,” he +said. + +“Oh, not at all—well, in a few things, yes. Your choice of friends, +for example. And I don’t mean the Endicotts.” + +“Whom do you mean, Lieutenant?” + +“That dark-eyed child, for one—Mr. Smith. But perhaps you don’t know +that his name is not Smith. I imagine that when you left him in the +apartment he was still either Jack Perry or Larry Nevins. He shows +great versatility, really, in his adoption of names. I was just a +little surprised and disappointed at his present selection of Smith.” + +“You’ve been to my apartment, Lieutenant?” + +“Yes. I had quite an enlightening talk with the present Mr. Smith. +Where did you leave Endicott’s hat?” + +Hollander, after one peevish glare, shut his eyes. + +“I can tell you pretty well what happened, you see, except for that,” +Lieutenant Valcour went on. “You _did_ believe Mrs. Endicott this +afternoon when she told you her intention. That much is fact. And now +for a little fiction: either at the Ritz, or just as you were handing +her into her car, you stole her purse.” + +Hollander’s eyes snapped open and glared viciously. + +“Because,” Lieutenant Valcour continued, “you wanted her keys—the keys +to this house. You were a little hazy as to just what it was you +intended to do, but you did know that you were going to kill Endicott, +and that you were going to do it before his wife either committed +suicide or killed him herself. You went to your apartment and got the +stiletto. Then you came back here, let yourself in with Mrs. +Endicott’s keys, came up to this floor and into this room. You may +have been in several of the other rooms first: I don’t know. Nor do I +know just what you were searching for while you waited in here, +either. Mrs. Endicott herself will tell me all about that later. At +any rate, you were going through Endicott’s clothes in that cupboard +when you heard him coming. You closed the cupboard door. You were +naturally nervous and upset—everyone is when contemplating or +committing a crime. You were afraid there would be some slip, so you +disguised yourself with dust smeared on your face. Then, either +because you made some noise or else because he wanted to get something +Endicott opened the cupboard door and saw you. You must have had the +stiletto all ready in your hand and have looked pretty horrible +altogether, because the shock of seeing you stopped his heart and he +crumpled to the floor.” + +Hollander’s eyes began to look feverish. + +“His falling like that startled you,” went on Lieutenant Valcour. “You +felt his heart, and in pulling open his overcoat so that you could get +your hand inside you ripped off the top button. What did you do with +it?” + +Hollander grinned faintly. “Swallowed it,” he said. + +Lieutenant Valcour flushed a little. “You probably put it in your +pocket. You were satisfied that Endicott was dead—miraculously +dead—and that you hadn’t had to stab him. But he _was_ dead, and you +experienced the natural panic of all murderers. I don’t mean that you +went wild, or anything. But your mind didn’t function correctly. You +may have been quite calm, but it wasn’t a calmness based on +intelligence. You dragged Endicott into the cupboard and closed the +door. You washed the dirt from your hands and face in the bathroom, +combed and brushed your hair, wiped the silver clean, and then printed +that curious note which Mrs. Endicott found, and which contained no +significance other than to direct suspicion to some outside agency in +order to shield her from becoming a suspect herself. But why did you +take Endicott’s hat, and where did you put it?” + +“You’re talking bunk, Lieutenant.” + +“On the contrary, Mr. Hollander, those were the moves which were made +here to-night—whether you were the person who made them or not.” + +“Yes?” + +“Yes. And it is quite within the range of possibility that if you +didn’t make them, then Mrs. Endicott did.” + +Hollander looked very worried, very tired. + +“You’re bluffing, Lieutenant,” he said. + +“And you’re a very frightened man, Mr. Hollander.” + +“Are you going to arrest Mrs. Endicott?” + +“That depends.” + +“Because she didn’t do it.” + +“Why didn’t she, Mr. Hollander?” + +“Because she loved her husband.” + +“I wish you would explain to me how it is that she loved him so much +that she wanted either to commit suicide or else kill him.” + +“Pride, Lieutenant.” + +Lieutenant Valcour tested the possibility of that angle. It could not, +he felt, be ignored. As many outrages were yearly committed under the +goadings of pride as there were committed because of jealousy and +hate. + +“You believe, Mr. Hollander, that the other women whom her husband +played around with hurt her pride so keenly that her love became +coloured with hate?” + +“Why not?” A certain fierceness crept into Hollander’s voice. His eyes +were shining very brightly. “People don’t know her as I know her. +_Nobody_ knows her the way I know her.” + +Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “She made you hate your friend—a man +you’d been through the war with—whose life you had saved.” + +“That’s the bunk, Lieutenant.” + +“But you did, didn’t you?” + +“Oh, sure, it’s all true enough, about it happening—but that stuff +doesn’t last.” + +“Friendship?” + +“Among men? Hell, no.” Hollander jerked his head fretfully. “Gratitude +gets damned tiresome, Lieutenant, not only to give it but to get it.” + +“Especially,” Lieutenant Valcour said gently, “if a woman comes +between.” + +“No—no—no.” + +There was a complete and very convincing finality in the three +negations. + +“But you do love Mrs. Endicott.” + +“I worship her.” + +“And she?” + +“I don’t know.” There was nothing obscure in Hollander’s expression +now, and his eyes were frankly, genuinely sincere. “Why should she? +I’m nothing. Herbert was everything.” + +Lieutenant Valcour almost regretted having to do so when he said, +“Then why, Mr. Hollander, does she address you in her notes as ‘Tom, +darling’?” + +Hollander didn’t answer for a minute. He considered the question quite +seriously. “I guess it’s just because she’s sorry for me,” he said. + +“And I, personally, think that that’s a pretty bum guess.” + +“No—listen here, Lieutenant . . .” + +Hollander’s voice began to wander. His sentences became +broken—meaningless. It was with a sense of relief that Lieutenant +Valcour saw the door open and two stretcher carriers come in followed +by Dr. Worth and the ambulance surgeon. Hollander, as they carried him +out, was unconscious again. + +Lieutenant Valcour detained Dr. Worth at the door. + +“There is something I should like to ask you,” he said. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +3:15 a. m.—The Properties of Horror + +“Doctor,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “our immediate concern is to find +out who fired that shot. The principal reason is quite academic: we +want to catch and arrest the person who did it. A secondary reason is +that many people who reach the state of mental unbalance where they +are impelled to commit murder don’t stop with the crime. They’ve +tasted blood. They are in a state of abnormal acuteness, and are +driven by a new fear: that of discovery and capture. To prevent being +captured, they reason, why not kill again? There is nothing to be +lost. You see, they can only be electrocuted once. I am presupposing, +of course, that the criminal is an outsider—some person at present +hidden in the house, who will make some desperate effort at escape. It +is a supposition that must be entertained, even though it is not a +very good one. I believe that the facts will eventually prove the +criminal to be a legitimate inmate.” + +“That narrows the field, doesn’t it, Lieutenant, to whoever was in +Mrs. Endicott’s room?” + +“It does, unless somebody dropped a rope ladder from an upstairs +window and got onto the balcony in that way. But I don’t put much +stock in those tricks, Doctor, any more than I do in sliding panels +and trapdoors. Outside of the badger game I’ve never come across a +sliding panel in my life, and I don’t ever expect to, either.” + +Dr. Worth was inclined to take the idea more seriously. “But a rope +ladder—there might very well be one around the house for an emergency +fire escape.” + +“All right, who was in the room just above this one? You. Did you come +down a rope ladder and shoot Endicott?” + +“God’s truth—my dear man——” + +“Oh, be sensible, Doctor, of course you didn’t. And who had the room +across the hall from you, which also is above the balcony? Mrs. +Siddons, the housekeeper. If you saw her, you’d scarcely picture her +as hurrying up and down a rope ladder. No, Doctor, whoever was on that +balcony came from Mrs. Endicott’s room. We’re back to the same three +people: Mrs. Endicott, her maid, and her nurse.” + +“But Mrs. Endicott is out of the question, Lieutenant. She is still +under the influence of the narcotic I gave her.” + +“How about the nurse, Doctor? Have you known her long?” + +“Known her? Only for the several cases she has worked on with me. But +she comes from the most reputable agency in the city. How about the +maid?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“She is just as good a candidate for suspicion as Miss Vickers, isn’t +she? Why under the sun should Miss Vickers want to shoot Endicott?” + +“I’m not seriously considering Miss Vickers at all. It’s perfectly +obvious that whoever did shoot Endicott was either directly +responsible for the earlier attack during the evening or else involved +in it as an accomplice.” + +“That might still include the maid.” + +“It certainly might. I wonder if you’d mind asking Miss Vickers to +come in here. I’d like to question her first.” + +Dr. Worth nodded toward Endicott’s body, covered with a sheet on the +bed. “Miss Vickers, Lieutenant, being a nurse is naturally accustomed +to seeing the dead, but it will be rather gruesome for the maid if you +question her in here, too.” + +“Very gruesome, Doctor.” + +“Well, you know best. You’re liable to have a fine case of hysterics +on your hands.” + +“I’ll risk it.” + +Dr. Worth left and closed the door. There again swept over Lieutenant +Valcour, with the solitude, that indefinable feeling of some lurking +dread. There were voices crying out to him from the subconscious, +warning him of dangers that were very real, very close at hand—but the +messages were indecisive, as are all instinctive things which fall +beyond the charted seas of any human knowledge. + +Nurse Vickers came in without the formality of knocking. Her glance +toward the bed was professional and not coloured by any sign of +nervousness. + +“Thank you for coming, Miss Vickers. I’ll only bother you for a +minute.” + +“No bother at all, Lieutenant.” + +“There is just one thing I want to know: who was in the room with you +and your patient at the time of the shooting?” + +“Why, I couldn’t say, Lieutenant, exactly.” + +“Why not, Miss Vickers?” + +“Because I wasn’t there myself. I was down in the kitchen making some +coffee. I left Roberts with Mrs. Endicott. You see, there wasn’t +anything that had to be done except just to be there. I’m sure it was +quite all right.” + +“Of course it was. I’m not suggesting for a minute, Miss Vickers, that +I thought otherwise.” Lieutenant Valcour studied the woman for a +second and then said, “I just wanted to know if you could help me +check up on the number of shots that were fired.” + +“I didn’t hear any shots at all, Lieutenant, ’way down there in that +kitchen.” + +Lieutenant Valcour wondered at this. The sound of one shot might well +have been heard down in the kitchen: the shot which had killed +Endicott and which had been fired from the balcony. The sound would +surely have travelled clearly in the still night air and to the +kitchen from outside. And yet he believed Nurse Vickers implicitly in +her statement that she had heard no shot. There was no earthly reason +why she should lie about it. The fact convinced him that whoever had +fired had held the pistol inside of the window. He glanced at the sash +and realized that the opening afforded plenty of room for a hand +holding a gun to reach through. + +“No,” he said, “I suppose you couldn’t have heard anything at all. +Maybe Roberts can help me. She was in the room, wasn’t she, when you +came back?” + +“Oh, yes, Lieutenant, and terribly excited about the shooting. She +seemed so upset, in fact, that if there hadn’t been so many much more +important things for Dr. Worth to attend to, I’d have asked him to +give her something to quiet her.” + +“One can hardly blame Roberts,” Lieutenant Valcour said. “The +fusillade must have been quite a shock, you know. And then everyone’s +nerves are on edge to-night anyway. In just what fashion was she +upset, Miss Vickers? From your professional experience, I mean, you +probably could diagnose her actions. Was it fright—nervous shock?” + +“Oh, fright, of course, Lieutenant. I’ve seen lots of nervous and +hysterical people during my work but never one as badly off as she +was. I’m not exaggerating one bit when I say that she was gripped with +an hysterical sort of terror.” + +“Really. As bad as that?” + +“Why, I was almost afraid even to let her stay in the room with the +patient. The poor creature actually seemed to blame Mrs. Endicott in +some fashion for what had happened. Just imagine this, Lieutenant: +when I came in she was literally leaning over the bed and shaking her +fist at Mrs. Endicott.” + +“You are quite certain of this, Miss Vickers?” + +“I saw it with my own eyes, Lieutenant.” + +“And was Roberts saying anything?” + +“Just the jumble that people go in for when they’re hysterical.” + +“You couldn’t catch anything connected?” + +“I didn’t try, Lieutenant. I had to get her away from the bed and calm +her down.” + +“You were able to?” + +“I was. She calmed down quite suddenly and became perfectly normal +again. I persuaded her to run downstairs and make herself a good +bracing cup of tea.” + +“Possibly carrying the pistol with her,” Lieutenant Valcour thought +bitterly, “to hide it in some place where it might never be found.” + +“Did she come back into the room afterward?” he said. + +“Well, not really, Lieutenant. I know how particular you police +officers are about the littlest details. She just stopped at the door +to tell me she was feeling all right again. She said she was going +upstairs to her room to take a little rest.” + +“And you’re quite sure, Miss Vickers, that you can’t recall any of the +words that Roberts was saying when you found her leaning over the +bed?” + +“I would if I could, Lieutenant. It was just a jumble. Ice—something +about ‘ice and human hearts.’ Then she switched to ‘searing flames’ +and I don’t know what all else.” + +“Would it bother you very much to go up to her room and see whether +she’s in condition to come down here for a few minutes?” + +“Why, not at all. I’d be glad to.” + +“Thank you, Miss Vickers. You’ve helped me tremendously. Oh, there’s +just one thing, Miss Vickers.” + +Miss Vickers paused at the doorway. + +“Yes, Lieutenant?” + +“When you came back upstairs from the kitchen, did you notice anything +about the atmosphere of Mrs. Endicott’s room?” + +“Why—I don’t know—you mean a sense of tension or something?” + +“No, I don’t. I mean was it as warm as when you left it, or cooler, or +what?” + +“Yes, I do, too—it was cooler—_much_. Because I remember after I +quieted Roberts I went over to one of the radiators to see if the heat +was still turned on. I thought Roberts must have turned it off, +although I couldn’t for the life of me see why. But the radiator was +quite hot, so I realized it must have been just the change from the +kitchen. It’s a hot kitchen.” + +“That is probably just what it was. Would you send Roberts to me now, +please?” + +“I will, Lieutenant.” + +“Thank you.” + +Miss Vickers went out and closed the door. + +Lieutenant Valcour then did a rather horrible thing. He went over to +the bed and pulled down enough of the sheet so that Endicott’s face +was exposed. + +And then he sat down and waited for Roberts. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +3:24 a. m.—On Private Heights + +“You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?” + +She _had_ been under a strain, and a rather terrible one. There wasn’t +any doubt about that. It was emotion, after all, that brought age, not +years, thought Lieutenant Valcour as he glanced at the dark rings so +clearly visible beneath her tragic eyes. + +Roberts hadn’t looked toward the bed—yet—but then he hadn’t really +expected that she would. Perhaps she wouldn’t look for some time, but +eventually she would lose some portion of that really splendid +self-control that she was exerting and then, instead of the expanse of +white sheet she had been expecting, there would be Endicott’s +face. . . . + +“I wonder if you could tell me, Miss Roberts, the number of shots that +were fired during the shooting.” + +“I’m sure I couldn’t.” + +She was pointedly on guard, her eyes held at a level that included his +cravat but went no higher. + +“The question isn’t as silly a one as it seems,” Lieutenant Valcour +said. “I don’t suggest for a minute that you counted the shots as they +were being fired, actually, but it’s quite within possibility that +your subconscious mind really did that very thing, and that on +consciously thinking about it the number might come to you. It’s +something along the principle of visualizing sound.” + +“I’m sorry. I’m sure that no amount of thinking about it would clear +the rather terrible confusion of that moment.” + +“Won’t you sit down?” + +“I prefer to stand, thank you.” + +“Just as you wish. You were with Mrs. Endicott, weren’t you, when it +happened?” + +“Yes.” + +Lieutenant Valcour admired the accomplished ease with which the word +had so unhesitatingly been brought out; but then most women, in his +estimation, were natural-born liars. The art formed for him one of +their greatest charms. + +“You were sitting down beside the bed?” he went on. + +“Yes. Reading.” + +Splendid—splendid—she was a Bernhardt—a Duse. + +“And Miss Vickers?” + +“She was down in the kitchen making some coffee.” + +“Did the shooting upset you, Miss Roberts?” + +“I’m naturally nervous. The sound of firing has always disturbed me +terribly.” Then she flung at him abruptly, “My brother was killed in +the war.” + +Lieutenant Valcour both looked and felt genuinely consoling. He also +felt a selfish measure of irritation. The statement was such a perfect +period mark. When a young woman, no matter how great a criminal, +potentially, announces flatly that her brother has been killed during +the war, one can’t ride over the fact roughshod. + +“Was there anyone whom you loved killed in the war, Lieutenant?” + +She was determined to hammer at the point, it seemed. He wished that +she would stop. + +“There wasn’t, Miss Roberts.” + +“Then you don’t know much about soldiers.” + +“No, not much, really.” + +“I don’t mean soldiers—or the war itself, either. It’s a state of +being—a sort of lucid abnormality. It’s hard to tell you just what I +do mean. But it’s the thing,” she ended fiercely, “that made me +understand Mr. Endicott. He never quite recovered, you see, from being +a soldier.” + +“And perhaps it also made you understand why Mrs. Endicott +misunderstood him?” + +Things were going better now; the channel was broadening into useful +seas. + +“Of course it was,” Roberts said. “She, too, lost no one in the war.” + +The fog rolled in again. + +“I’m afraid I’m not following you very clearly.” + +“It’s quite useless, Lieutenant—simply that in Mr. Endicott I kept +seeing my brother. I suffered for him to the extent I would have +suffered for my brother had my brother been in similar circumstances.” + +“Suffered?” + +“Yes, suffered. From her damned superiority.” + +“You think that Mrs. Endicott overdid the mental?” + +He noted that Roberts was slowly losing control. There was a blazing +quality of anger creeping into her eyes. + +“Lieutenant, she regarded that man as her tame tiger. You realize how +strong he must have been physically.” + +“Very strong.” + +“It used to please her to control him—you know the way it’s commonly +expressed—with a ‘word.’” + +“I shouldn’t exactly say that she had succeeded.” + +“The other women?” + +“Yes.” + +“She didn’t care about that. If anything, it satisfied her sense of +power. She looked on them as a pack of shoddy substitutes that he +could fool with, kick around, and treat terribly, if he liked. But she +still remained the original—the unapproachable—the happy possessor of +a tame tiger. He was always _hers_, you see, no matter what it was he +had done. She’s had him crying.” + +“That’s a little hard to believe.” + +“It’s the truth. He took her in his hands one night and twisted +her—just like that! She didn’t say a thing to him. For a month +afterward he went around the house like a whipped cat. Then she said +something kind to him, and he cried. I wish she was in hell.” + +“Perhaps she is, Miss Roberts—just that.” + +“She won’t stay in it long. Her kind doesn’t.” + +Lieutenant Valcour held his eyes thoughtfully directed toward the bed. + +“Tell me, Miss Roberts, do you think that Mr. Endicott is happier +dead? Let me put it in this fashion: if Mr. Endicott had really been +your brother, would you rather have seen him dead than living in the +emotional hell you picture Mr. Endicott as having lived in?” + +His gaze retained its determined fixity. + +“No,” she said. “There is always a way out.” It was irresistible. She +found herself having to look, too. Against every advice of instinct +her eyes were drawn toward the bed in company with Lieutenant +Valcour’s . . . peace—there _was_ peace—greater than she had ever seen +when he had been living—peace to a tired heart—a plain, normal, happy +human heart that had been broken on the wheel of too much +complexity. . . . “Oh, I’m lying, Lieutenant! I would—I would—a +million times rather.” + +He worked very fast now, having captured the mood. “Were you thinking +of all that when you stood outside on the balcony and watched him +through the window?” + +Her eyes clung immovably to the cold closed lids, the mouth, carved in +gentle shadows; her very being seemed withdrawn on private heights. “I +wasn’t on the balcony.” + +“And I’d like to know what you did with the gun.” + +. . . Perhaps he was laughing at it all now, if people laugh in +heaven. He and her brother. They would have met and be laughing at it +all together. But they wouldn’t be laughing at her. . . . “There +wasn’t any need to use the gun, Lieutenant.” + +“Then what did you do with it?” + +“Put it back in the bottom of my trunk.” . . . He’d know, now, the +exact reason why she had done the things that she had done. People +know everything in heaven—sort of an enveloping awareness—like +lightning darting brilliantly to immediate comprehension at its +target—target—gun?—_gun_. Her face was bleak ivory. “What did you say, +Lieutenant?” + +“I had just asked you, Miss Roberts, what you did with the gun, and +you told me that you put it back again in the bottom of your trunk.” + +Her eyes, as she looked at him, were strangely devoid of fear. + +“Then if I told you that, you’ll find it there.” + +“It wasn’t the wisest place to put it, Miss Roberts.” + +“It doesn’t matter much.” + +“You mean you don’t care?” + +“Not just that. I’m speaking about the gun. I never fired it.” + +“Then why did you hide it?” + +“Because it’s illegal to have a gun.” + +“Then why did you have one, Miss Roberts?” + +“It’s one my brother gave me over twelve years ago. I’ve always kept +it with me.” + +“What calibre is it?” + +“A Colt .38.” + +The bullet in Lieutenant Valcour’s pocket had been fired from a +Colt .38. + +“And to-night you were going to use it to save Mr. Endicott by +shooting him.” + +“No, Lieutenant. I was going to use it to shoot Mrs. Endicott if she +attempted to get near him again.” + +“Again?” + +“Why, yes, Lieutenant. She went out of the room last night right after +he had knocked and said good-bye.” + +“Out into the hallway?” + +“Yes.” + +“When did she come back?” + +“She didn’t come back.” + +“Then when was the next time you saw her?” + +“When you rang for me—after you had found Mr. Endicott in the +cupboard.” + +“And you think it was Mrs. Endicott who put him there.” Lieutenant +Valcour thought for a moment of the broken finger nail of Mrs. +Endicott’s otherwise immaculate hand. “But why, Miss Roberts, should +she kill her—tiger?” + +“Perhaps Mr. Hollander could tell you that better than I.” + +“And why did you get a gun to prevent Mrs. Endicott from going again +to her husband, when you knew she was under the influence of a +narcotic, that she was unconscious, and couldn’t possibly move?” + +“Because, Lieutenant, she never drank the narcotic.” + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +3:51 a. m.—A Woman’s Slipper + +Lieutenant Valcour felt a distinct shock, and his eyes became +predatorily alert. If this astonishing thing was true and Mrs. +Endicott had not taken the narcotic prepared for her by Dr. Worth, +then the bypaths one might dart along were numerous and alarming +indeed. + +“How do you know, Miss Roberts?” he said. + +“Because when the nurse went downstairs to make that coffee I went +over to the bed. I wanted to take a close look at Mrs. Endicott. Have +you ever felt that desire to look closely at something that you hate +very much? It’s the curiosity of hate, I suppose. I put my hand on the +spread, at the edge, so that I could lean down. The spread was damp; +something had been poured on it. There wasn’t anything that could have +been poured on it except the narcotic. She’d recovered consciousness, +you see, when the nurse and Dr. Worth brought her in from here and put +her to bed.” + +“But wouldn’t he or the nurse have seen her pour it out?” + +“None of us saw it, Lieutenant, because she said, just after the +doctor had handed her the glass, ‘There’s blood on that dresser.’ We +all looked at the dresser, of course. Naturally there wasn’t any blood +on it. The doctor thought she was delirious. She was just finishing +drinking when we turned around.” + +“Didn’t you accuse her—when you felt the damp spot on the spread?” + +“What was the use? She never would have admitted it. I believe,” +Roberts said fiercely, “that I could have stuck pins in her and that +she’d have endured the pain rather than admit it. And suddenly I began +to feel afraid—not so much of her, as of what she might do to Mr. +Endicott. She was playing a trick and I didn’t know just what the +purpose of it was. I ran upstairs and got my gun, then came right +back.” + +“She was still in bed?” + +“Yes. But the shooting was over, and the room was cold. The room was +cold”—Roberts’s voice was very intense as she drove her points +home—“and her skin was cold, and her breathing was heavy from recent +exertion. I think I was going to kill her. I _would_ have killed her +if the nurse hadn’t come in just then.” + +“Why didn’t you tell someone of this at once, Miss Roberts?” + +“Would you have? Would anyone have?” + +“I don’t quite understand.” + +“There had just been that shooting—and I had a gun. I wanted to get +rid of it. By the time I had got rid of it, it was too late. I +couldn’t say anything then without practically accusing myself of a +murder I didn’t commit.” + +“You’ll stay here in the house, Miss Roberts?” + +“Naturally, since I’m to be accused of having killed Mr. Endicott.” + +“Not as yet, Miss Roberts.” + +“It won’t bother me.” She added bitterly, as she started for the door, +“You’ll find me a tractable prisoner.” + +“One minute please, Miss Roberts. How long were you gone from Mrs. +Endicott’s room when you went upstairs to get the gun?” + +“Just long enough to run up and back again. I have no idea, really.” + +“Where is your room?” + +“On the upper floor—the room to the left of the corridor in the front +of the house.” + +“And whereabouts did you keep the gun?” + +“In my trunk—where it is now.” + +“Was the trunk locked?” + +“Yes. I keep it locked.” + +“And the keys for it?” + +“In a purse. The purse was in a dresser drawer.” + +“Then that gives us a pretty good idea of the length of time you must +have been gone, doesn’t it?” + +“I suppose it does. Three or four minutes, probably.” + +“Nearer, I imagine, to five or six. But we don’t require the actual +number of minutes. The point we need is, rather, a comparison of two +different operations within the same time limit. While you were going +through the various movements you have described, would Mrs. Endicott +have had the time to get out of bed, supply herself with a revolver, +open a window, and, from the balcony, shoot Mr. Endicott, return to +her room, and be in bed again by the time you came down? I think so, +don’t you?” + +“There would have been plenty of time for that.” + +“You’ve been with Mrs. Endicott for quite a while. Have you ever +noticed whether or not she owns a pistol?” + +“I don’t think I have. No, I’m sure I’ve never seen one. That doesn’t +prove anything, though. There are any number of private places where +she may have kept it. It is also possible”—Roberts seemed desperately +earnest in her effort to strengthen each link in her accusation, for +she was accusing rather than simply offering a theory—“that someone +may recently have given her a revolver, isn’t it?” + +“Everything is possible.” + +“Mr. Hollander, for example?” + +“A very good example.” + +He said nothing further, and after a while the stillness became almost +physically oppressive. Roberts was finished with emotions. “Is that +all?” she said, and her voice was colourless. + +“I believe so, Miss Roberts—except that I wish you would tell me why, +in view of your recent insinuations concerning Mrs. Endicott and +Hollander, you ever suggested him as the proper friend to stay with +her husband to-night. It’s a little inconsistent, don’t you think?” + +“Very.” + +“Then why did you do it?” + +“I have nothing further to say.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went abruptly to the door and opened it. Cassidy +and Hansen were standing near by in the corridor. + +“Hansen,” he said, “go with Miss Roberts up to her room. There is a +gun in her trunk. She will give it to you. Keep it for me.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Roberts went outside. + +“Am I to consider myself under arrest, Lieutenant?” + +“No, Miss Roberts. But, as I have explained, you are not to leave the +house. Cassidy, come inside here with me.” + +Cassidy came in and closed the door. He watched Lieutenant Valcour +draw the sheet up again over Endicott’s face. + +“What’s Dr. Worth doing, Cassidy?” + +“He has gone back to bed, sir. Shall I go get him?” Cassidy cast one +suspicious look toward the bed. + +“No, let him sleep. There’s nothing just this instant. I’ll want to +see him in about a quarter of an hour, though.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went into the bathroom, opened the window, and went +outside onto the balcony. The gray before dawning was in the sky, and +a rare clearness was vibrant in the fresh, sweet air. + +The outline of the garden down below was quite distinct. There were +other gardens belonging to the adjacent houses, too, and to the houses +backing them from the rear. It was a street of gardens which bloomed, +Lieutenant Valcour reflected, for the express benefit of caretakers in +summer, while their owners spent the season at fashionable resorts +either in the mountains or on the shore. + +Lieutenant Valcour went and carefully examined with his flashlight the +window to Endicott’s room that had been raised from the bottom when +the shot was fired. He played the light upon the surface of its glass. +It was quite clean. There was no trace of any pressing of noses or of +foreheads against its polished surface. Nor, on the stone sill, were +there any telltale threads of silk, or any of the various clues that +would serve to indicate a woman’s presence. + +He stared speculatively for a minute at the windows of the room above, +where the curiously vindictive Mrs. Siddons was now presumably +resting, or else indulging in her blank-eyed game of mental +maledictions. No, he couldn’t really visualize her as descending to +the balcony by a rope or any other kind of ladder. A hundred years +ago, perhaps, she might have gone so far as to shape a replica of Mr. +Endicott in wax and then, with appropriate incantations, proceed to +stick pins in such portions of it as would cabalistically do the most +good. But there was no such simple expedient left her in our modern +skeptic age. It would be necessary, of course, to interview her +further concerning those vague, bitter hints she had thrown out about +outrageous actions on the part of Endicott toward the maids. + +Even the city could not kill the fair fresh breezes of dawn. He stared +at the dimming stars and wondered whether Roberts’s extraordinary +statement was a lie. For after all it hinged upon nothing more +significant than a damp spot at the edge of a spread, and Roberts +could easily have spilled something there herself to offer as +corroborative evidence to her tale. Was she, he wondered, quite so +smart? And from all that he had been able to judge of her, he rather +thought that she was. + +He would have to consult with Dr. Worth, of course, before doing +anything drastic. And the doctor would probably raise a holler, +especially since he had just gone to bed and would have to be yanked +summarily out of it again. Well, bed-yankings were to be expected in +the lives of doctors and of the police; they were expected to be +perpetually on tap, like heat or water. + +He made his way slowly toward the windows of Mrs. Endicott’s room, +carefully inspecting the balcony and sills with his flashlight as he +went along. There were no smudges, no threads, no clues until he +reached the last window in the row. And there, on the balcony floor +just below its sash, something blazed in the circle of his torch a +bright jade green. + +It was a woman’s slipper. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +4:14 a. m.—Tap—Tap—Tap + +Lieutenant Valcour picked the slipper up and sighed. It was a +distressingly leading and decisive clue, but it did not lead in a +direction he cared to follow, nor did it decide things as he thought +they ought to be decided. + +On the surface of it, the case seemed blatantly plain: Hollander had +come to the house at seven to save Mrs. Endicott from committing +murder or suicide and had shocked Endicott almost to death—and just a +short while ago Mrs. Endicott had shot her husband to prevent him from +making a statement that would convict Hollander. + +Rubbish! + +Lieutenant Valcour flatly refused to believe it. And yet one had to +believe that Hollander had certainly intended to stab Endicott with +that knife; the point was irrefutable. Furthermore, Hollander’s +motives remained clear enough and beautifully simple: he wanted to +protect Mrs. Endicott. + +But what about her motives? + +And Roberts’s? + +And as a kernel to the whole perplexing enigma, what had been the +object of the search through Endicott’s pockets and among the papers +in the left-hand upper drawer of his desk? + +There was nothing to be gained, however, by standing outside on the +balcony and admiring the flushing sky and breathing in with the manner +of a connoisseur the morning air. Lieutenant Valcour returned, via the +bathroom window, to Endicott’s room. + +“The night’s almost over, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy by way of +greeting. + +“Almost over, Cassidy.” + +“And it’s been a hell of a night, too, if you don’t mind my saying +it.” + +“I don’t mind your saying it.” + +“Especially for him.” + +Cassidy jerked a muscular thumb toward the bed. + +“Least of all for him, Cassidy.” + +“He may be well out of it at that.” + +“He is. There’s a lot of beautiful tripe written about how all people +kill the things they love. Metaphysically, perhaps. But with a bullet, +Cassidy? Not so.” + +“I don’t get you, Lieutenant.” + +“That isn’t strange, Cassidy. So far I don’t even get myself.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went to the door and opened it. Hansen was standing +outside, and in his hand was a gun wrapped in a clean handkerchief. + +“Roberts’s gun, Hansen?” + +“Yes, Lieutenant. It was just where you said it would be, in the +trunk. I wrapped it in a handkerchief to keep any prints you might +want on it.” + +“That’s right, Hansen. Go upstairs now and wake up Dr. Worth. Ask him +if he will please come down here at once.” + +“Yes, Lieutenant.” Hansen hesitated for a minute. + +“Well, what is it, Hansen?” + +“I understood you all right didn’t I, sir,” Hansen said uncomfortably, +“when you told me that maid wasn’t to be put under arrest?” + +“Yes. I don’t want to do anything about her as yet. Later on we may +book her on a violation of the Sullivan Law and again we may not.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour took the gun and went back into the room with it, +closing the door. He carefully unfolded enough of the handkerchief so +that the barrel was exposed. He sniffed this and decided that the gun +had neither been recently fired nor cleaned. There was just the +definite odourlessness which one finds with guns that have not been +used or taken care of for a very long time. So far, then, he was +inclined to believe that Roberts’s story was correct. + +“Is that the rod that done the trick, Lieutenant?” said Cassidy, who +had been keenly interested in the sniffings. + +“No, it isn’t, Cassidy. This gun hasn’t been fired for years, maybe.” + +“Well, I wish it was. I’d like to get out of this joint.” + +“Still nervous, Cassidy?” + +“No, I ain’t nervous, Lieutenant. I’m just uncomfortable. It’s like +there was something in this case that hasn’t broken yet. You know what +I mean? Something we ain’t so much as put a finger on.” + +Lieutenant Valcour knew very well just exactly what Cassidy meant. He, +too, felt that same indefinable effect of impending “somethings” that +were connected with obscure danger. It was an emotion, however, which +required official scowlings. After all, psychic patrolmen were not +considered as being to the best interests of the force. One shouldn’t +be allowed, really, to graduate into psychic realms anywhere below the +rank of lieutenant. + +“Discounting your weekly adventures between paper covers, this is your +first real murder case, isn’t it, Cassidy?” + +“I thank God it is, sir.” + +“Well, you’ll get used to them after a while. Before you’re called in +on your fourth or fifth you’ll be finished with having presentiments.” + +“Will they be likely to be like this one, sir?” + +“That will depend entirely, Cassidy, upon just how much publicity this +one is given in the papers, as well as on the supply at hand of +potential victims who have weak hearts. I dare say the method will +become fashionable for a while.” There was a peevish rap on the door. +“Ah, come in, Doctor.” + +Dr. Worth was just as peevish as his knock. The camel’s-hair dressing +gown in which he was still bundled hinted blurringly at indignant +muscles that quivered beneath its loose folds. His hair was +rumpled-looking and frowsy. + +“Really, Lieutenant,” he began, “this is getting to be beyond a joke.” + +“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I had to discuss Mrs. Endicott’s condition +with you most seriously and at once.” + +Dr. Worth paled a little at this. + +“Nothing’s happened to her, too, has there?” + +“No, Doctor, nothing has. And I don’t think that just now I could +stand another murder. It’s about her physical condition in general. Is +her heart all right?” + +Dr. Worth’s curiosity was beginning to get the upper hand over his +grouch. + +“Perfectly sound. Why do you ask?” + +“Because I want to try an experiment on her.” + +“You want to what, sir?” Dr. Worth almost shouted it. He was +thoroughly awake now. + +“Not so loud, please, Doctor. I want you to let me stay in the room +alone with your patient. You can open the connecting bathroom door a +little and watch me through its crack, but I want the nurse out of the +way. And I don’t want you to make any noise or comments while you’re +watching. I don’t want Mrs. Endicott to know that you’re there.” + +Dr. Worth looked at Lieutenant Valcour sharply. “This is nonsense. She +couldn’t possibly tell who was or who wasn’t there. She’s +unconscious.” + +“Perhaps she isn’t, Doctor. This is what her maid has just told me.” +Lieutenant Valcour offered Dr. Worth Roberts’s astonishing theory +concerning the poured-out narcotic, and Dr. Worth was quite properly +astonished. “So you see it’s a possibility, Doctor, and the fact of my +finding that slipper outside of the window makes it practically a +certainty.” + +“It’s the most astounding thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. If you +don’t intend to shock her, Lieutenant, I’ll agree to anything you +say.” + +“I shan’t do anything rough, Doctor, like discharging a gun off near +her ear, or pinching her, or slapping her, or any of the tricks which +are so popularly supposed to be kept up the sleeve of a policeman. You +can stop me at any minute if you object to anything I may be doing.” + +“Have you planned just what you will do?” + +“With a woman like Mrs. Endicott there wouldn’t be any use in planning +anything. All that I can do in advance is to create an atmosphere and +then do whatever occurs to me as being best when the proper time +comes. There won’t be anything complicated about it.” + +“Just what sort of an atmosphere, Lieutenant?” + +“Well, in the first place I’ll call the nurse outside into the +corridor and you can tell her not to go back in again until I say so. +You might suggest to her that she go down to the kitchen and make some +coffee—she seems a little dippy about coffee—or something. Then we’ll +leave Mrs. Endicott quite alone in her room for a minute or two. If +she’s really faking, she’ll begin to worry about what is going on. +Then the door will open again and, instead of the nurse, I’ll come in. +She’ll be pretty certain to suspect that I’ve found the slipper, but +will be all the more careful to keep up her pretence of being under +the influence of the narcotic. If she gets away with that, you know, +she can always claim that Roberts herself must have dropped the +slipper onto the balcony as a plant. The main thing is that Mrs. +Endicott won’t know just what’s up, and when a woman of her +temperament can’t figure a thing out mentally, it about drives her +crazy.” + +“Then I suppose, Lieutenant, that when you get her into this receptive +state you’ll speak to her?” + +Lieutenant Valcour laughed. “On the contrary, Doctor, I haven’t the +slightest intention of saying a single word. Shall we go now? After +you’ve arranged things with Nurse Vickers you can come back in here +again and start watching from the bathroom.” + +They went outside, and Lieutenant Valcour rapped softly on Mrs. +Endicott’s door. It opened a bit, and Nurse Vickers looked out. She +saw Dr. Worth and came outside, shutting the door behind her. + +“You wanted to see me, Doctor?” + +“Yes, Miss Vickers. How is Mrs. Endicott?” + +“Quite comfortable, Doctor. She’s breathing as peacefully as a child.” + +“There haven’t been any signs of restlessness?” + +“Oh, no, Doctor. She hasn’t budged since I’ve been watching her.” + +Dr. Worth mildly raised his eyebrows. “That in itself is rather +curious,” he said. + +“Curious, Doctor?” + +“Oh, nothing to be alarmed at, Miss Vickers. You look a little tired. +Run downstairs and drink some coffee. The lieutenant, here, will stay +with Mrs. Endicott, and you’re not to go back into her room again +until he says so.” + +“Help!” thought Lieutenant Valcour. As a detective Dr. Worth was a +darned fine doctor. Miss Vickers, as he had expected, was instantly +curious. + +“Something more wrong, Doctor?” + +“No Miss Vickers,” Lieutenant Valcour said coldly. “Please do as the +doctor instructed, and at once.” + +“Oh.” + +Nurse Vickers, feeling a little outraged, vanished toward the stairs. + +“Shall I go and stand by the bathroom door now?” said Dr. Worth. + +“If you wish. Don’t make the slightest sound when you’re opening it, +and don’t open it more than an inch at the most, please.” + +“I won’t, Lieutenant.” + +Dr. Worth, feeling very much like one of those fabulous characters he +had read about in Fenimore Cooper when a child, went back into +Endicott’s room. + +Lieutenant Valcour waited another full minute before he opened the +door and went inside. He did not look at Mrs. Endicott, but walked +softly over to a chair, lifted it, and placed it close beside the bed. +He drew the slipper from his pocket and sat down. + +There was an utter and complete hush. For three minutes—he timed +himself with his wrist watch—he sat motionless and stared at the +closed lids of Mrs. Endicott’s eyes. + +Then he began to tap the slipper quite softly, but quite persistently +and with a rhythmic regularity, upon an arm of the chair. + +Tap—tap—tap—tap—tap—— + +Mrs. Endicott’s face retained the smooth expressionlessness of +slumber. + +Tap—tap—tap—— + +Her breathing held the steady depths of sleep. + +Tap—tap—tap—tap—— + +“If you do that much longer,” she said quietly, “I shall go insane.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +4:29 a. m.—A Turn of the Screw + +“You needn’t say anything you don’t care to, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“I’m glad you didn’t use the stereotyped formula, Lieutenant. It would +have disappointed me if you had. Get me a cigarette, please; there are +some over there on the dresser.” + +Lieutenant Valcour stood up. He got the cigarettes and lighted one for +Mrs. Endicott and one for himself. + +“You shouldn’t have dropped your slipper outside of the window,” he +said. + +“You shouldn’t have found it.” + +Her eyes, now that they were opened, were admirably guarded, and her +fingers, as they held the cigarette, showed no trace of nervousness. + +“The slipper is of no great consequence, Mrs. Endicott. There are so +many other things, too, you see.” + +“Sort of a wholesale strewing of clues? I never imagined you as +bothering very much with clues. It’s people you’re more interested in: +reading their minds.” + +Her eyes offered an almost impudent invitation that he read hers. + +“Whom were you aiming at when you fired, Mrs. Endicott, at your +husband or at Mr. Hollander?” + +Mrs. Endicott blew smoke rings elaborately. + +“At neither, Lieutenant. I didn’t have a gun.” + +“Then it was just curiosity?” + +“What was?” + +“Your going out on the balcony.” + +“I didn’t go out on the balcony. I’ve never been on it in my life.” + +“I am not stupid, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“Nor very credulous, either.” + +“No, nor credulous.” + +“That’s the trouble with truth: it often sounds so silly.” + +“Surely you realize how things look against you, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“Black.” + +“The worst of all is your not having taken the narcotic, and then +having pretended to be in a state of unconsciousness.” + +Her eyes became stupefyingly innocent. “Is it illegal to decide not to +take medicine, Lieutenant?” + +His respect for her as an adversary began to mount by leaps and +bounds. “No, Mrs. Endicott. But in the present case it was +purposefully deceptive.” + +“Why, I simply disliked hurting Dr. Worth’s feelings; that was all.” + +Lieutenant Valcour pictured her maintaining that attitude—smartly +dressed in becomingly plain black, very innocent, very +beautiful-looking—before the twelve impressionable and normally dumb +people one finds on juries. He was grudgingly afraid she could get +away with it. + +“And it isn’t illegal, either,” she went on, “to go to sleep, is it?” + +Lieutenant Valcour decided that if anything was to be gained from the +interview he would have to give a turn to the screw. + +“No, Mrs. Endicott, sleeping isn’t illegal. Even,” he added +negligently, “if your husband has just been killed, and your—well, +whatever state of relationship exists between you and Mr. +Hollander—your friend, let us say, is wounded to the point of death.” + +The cigarette dropped from her fingers to the floor. Lieutenant +Valcour crushed it with the sole of his shoe. + +“I don’t believe you.” + +Her voice had the same pallid qualities as her skin. + +“You must have seen for yourself, Mrs. Endicott, that he was pretty +badly hurt when he slipped to the floor. There was blood enough +smeared around, goodness knows.” + +“You’re trying to trap me.” + +“Just stating facts, Mrs. Endicott. Of course you may have left the +instant after you fired and so not have seen Mr. Hollander shot down +by the police.” + +“You are being vulgarly brutal.” + +“You were certainly in a frantic enough hurry to have dropped your +slipper and not to have bothered to pick it up. Did you throw the gun +into the garden, Mrs. Endicott? We’re bound to find it, you know.” + +“Is Mr. Hollander still in the house?” + +“No.” + +“Where have they taken him?” + +“To the hospital.” + +“Please ring for my maid and leave the room. I must go to him +immediately.” + +“I’m sorry.” + +“Will you please leave this room?” + +“You don’t seem to realize, Mrs. Endicott, that you are under arrest.” + +The thought stunned her. Her head fell back among the pillows as if it +had been thrown there. + +“But that’s silly—silly, I tell you.” + +“You admitted yourself, Mrs. Endicott, that the truth is always +silly.” + +“You are actually charging me with the murder of my husband?” + +“‘Arrest’ was perhaps an injudicious word. I am holding you, Mrs. +Endicott, as a material witness, for the present.” + +Mrs. Endicott had recovered somewhat from the shock. + +“I shan’t be bromidic, Lieutenant, and attempt either tears or +bribery. I’m not stupid enough to think that either would affect you +in the slightest from the performance of duty. But I should like to +appeal to your reason.” + +“You will find me a sympathetic listener, Mrs. Endicott. My wretched +conceit forces me to add that I shall also be an intelligent one.” + +“You see, I knew pretty well what was going on from hearing the nurse +and Roberts talking about it. Lieutenant, just what do you want me to +admit?” + +“That you were on the balcony.” + +“But I wasn’t.” + +“Then how did your slipper get there?” + +“It fell from my foot.” + +Lieutenant Valcour stood up abruptly. “You will have to pardon me, +Mrs. Endicott,” he said, “while I search this room.” + +“You misunderstand me. I mean exactly what I say. I wasn’t on the +balcony, and the slipper did fall off my foot. If you must know it, I +was straddling the window sill.” + +“What stopped you from going out, Mrs. Endicott?” + +“The sound of the shooting. It unnerved me. I almost fell back into +the room and closed the window. I knew that I had dropped a slipper +outside, but the idea of doing anything further than hurrying back +into bed terrified me.” + +Lieutenant Valcour examined the slipper he still held in his hand. +“This is a slipper for the left foot,” he said. “And in that case, +when you were straddling the window it is the foot which must have +been on the outside. Isn’t that so?” + +“That’s rather elementary, isn’t it?” + +“Quite. But it serves to prove that at the moment when the shots were +fired you could look along the balcony toward the windows of your +husband’s room. Did you?” + +“I imagine so. I’m not quite certain, really. It was absolutely dark +out there.” + +“On the contrary, there was a glow cast on the balcony from the +farthest window, which was open a little, wasn’t there?” + +“Perhaps. Yes, I think there was.” + +“And did you see anybody standing at that window when the shots were +fired?” + +“You mean on the balcony?” + +“Yes.” + +“No.” + +“That is all, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“You don’t believe me.” + +“Frankly, I don’t.” + +Mrs. Endicott’s expression hardened perceptibly. Whether from +bitterness or from some sudden private determination it was difficult +to say. + +“Does being detained as a material witness prohibit me from getting +out of bed and dressing?” she said. + +“Not at all. In fact, it is essential that you do so. You see, we +detain our material witnesses in jail.” + +He heard again, as he had heard it earlier in the night, the muted +echo of brass bells in her voice. “If you will leave me then, please?” + +“Just as soon as I have searched the room.” + +“For what?” + +“For a revolver, Mrs. Endicott.” + +Mrs. Endicott closed her eyes. She turned on her side and faced the +wall. Lieutenant Valcour conducted his search with the thoroughness +and speed born of experience. In the room, in the room’s cupboard, in +the various drawers, beneath the different pieces of furniture, there +was no gun. He took a dressing gown and placed it on the bed. + +“Put this on, please, Mrs. Endicott, I want to search the bed.” + +She did so, without either comment or objection. She went to the +window and stared unseeingly at the breaking day. + +Lieutenant Valcour removed the spread, and with a pencil roughly +outlined the damp spot where the narcotic had been spilled. Then he +folded the spread and tucked it under one arm. The rest of the +bedclothes, the mattress, the pillows, concealed no gun. He walked to +the door. + +“I will send your maid to you, Mrs. Endicott, if you wish.” + +She continued to stare through the window and to present her back to +him. She said nothing. He tried to catch the suggestion in her pose. +It wasn’t a gesture of petty rudeness or angry spite; nor was it by +any means suggestive of despair or fear. He went outside and closed +the door. + +And as he crossed the corridor to Endicott’s room it occurred to him +with shocking clearness that, in spite of the idea’s seeming +absurdity, her pose had suggested a very definite mood of positive +exaltation. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +4:41 a. m.—As the Colours of Dawn + +“Well,” Lieutenant Valcour said, as he joined Dr. Worth in Endicott’s +room, “what do you think now?” + +Dr. Worth was finished with bewilderments. In spite of the +camel’s-hair robe swathing him, he had recaptured to an impressive +extent his air of dignity. + +“Lieutenant,” he said, “I think that my services are no longer +required in this house. With your permission, I shall dismiss the two +nurses and go home.” + +“Why, certainly, Doctor, if you wish. The prosecuting attorney will +probably require your testimony to secure an indictment and will want +you later on at the trial, but I’m sure he will bother you just as +little as possible. We realize how annoying any court work is to a +doctor.” + +“I shall be glad to testify whenever required.” + +“Will you also let me know where to keep in touch with the two nurses? +Their testimony will be needed, too.” + +Dr. Worth stated the name and address of the Nurses’ Home at which +Miss Vickers and Miss Murrow could always be reached, and Lieutenant +Valcour wrote them down in his notebook. + +“Would it bother you very much, Lieutenant, to let Mrs. Endicott know +that I have gone, when you see her?” + +“Not at all, Doctor.” + +“I doubt whether she will require my services again.” He paused for a +moment at the doorway. “That woman, sir, is of iron.” + +“I shouldn’t wonder, Doctor. At any rate, she is pretty thoroughly +encased in metal. I’ll send Cassidy along with you to pass you and the +nurses by O’Brian down at the door. No one can leave the house, you +see, without permission.” + +“Thank you, Lieutenant. Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye, Doctor, and thanks for all your assistance. Cassidy, come +back after you’ve seen the doctor out, and stay in the corridor. I’ll +call when I need you.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +The door closed, and Lieutenant Valcour was alone. With a persistence +that was becoming annoying, the same curious feeling of lurking danger +crept out at him from the room’s stillnesses. His nerves were usually +as steady as the quality reputed to be enjoyed by a rock, and the +strange little jumpings they were going in for were getting that +fabulous animal known as his goat. + +He went over to the chair before the flat-topped desk and sat down. +There was that drawer filled with disordered papers to be gone +through. He removed the drawer and emptied it of its contents by the +simple expedient of turning it upside down onto the top of the desk. + +There were, mixed up among bills and receipts, a surprising number of +letters from women. He read each one of them carefully and felt a +little sorrier, at the conclusion of each, for the future of the +race—not so much because of any danger to its morals as to its +mentality. + +He made a little group of each batch of notes from the same woman. One +pile topped the list with the number of ten. These were signed “Bebe” +and were addressed with deplorable monotony to “My cave man.” Endicott +must have been rather an ass, he decided, as well as a pretty low sort +of an animal. It was all very well for Roberts to rave on about +soldiers, and simple hearts, and war, and things. That’s just what it +amounted to: raving. What if Endicott and, presumably, her brother had +had simple hearts. So had guinea pigs. + +Lieutenant Valcour wondered whether everyone else connected with the +case was quite sane and he just a little mad. Roberts—Mrs. +Endicott—the housekeeper—Hollander—Madame Velasquez. They all seemed a +little touched, and that was a sign of madness when one considered +everyone else but one’s self insane. But no one was ever truly normal +under disagreeable and terrifying circumstances; at least, he had +never found anyone who was so. + +The letters were meaningless as possible clues to a motive; just a +sticky conglomeration of lust, greed, dullness, and execrable taste. +He shoved them aside. + +He watched the strengthening light of day as it came through the +window across the desk before him. Such sky as he saw was of rubbed +emerald, and the backs of the houses across the intervening gardens +were mauve and dark gray, with lines of lemon yellow running thinly +along their roofs. + +He thought of _Bohême_—dawn always made him think of _Bohême_—and +hummed a bar or two of it softly. Then he thought of Mrs. Endicott, +and his thoughts were pastelled in the colours of the dawn: a woman of +half-tones and overlapping lacquer shades. + +It became quite clear in his mind that she never would have killed her +husband. Or Hollander. That, in fact, she never would have killed +anybody at all. The belief became fixed, even in face of the sizeable +amount of evidence against her. + +He reviewed her case, in digest, as the prosecuting attorney might +present it to a jury: from the very start there was that contrary fact +of her having telephoned for the police. Why? On the slender ground of +a pencilled note that might or might not have been a threat, and an +instinctive premonition that her husband was in danger. The +prosecution would thereupon interpolate a smart crack or two on the +general subject of premonitions, fortune tellings, and the Ace of +Spades. They would point out that people who committed crimes which +were bound to be shortly discovered occasionally got in touch with the +police in order to use the gesture as a premise of their innocence. + +There were her definite admissions of intent to kill her husband—her +having left her bedroom immediately upon his having knocked and said +good-bye—and her recent most damaging actions in regard to the +narcotic and having been on the balcony. + +Motive? + +The prosecuting attorney could offer a thousand. The most prominent +ones would include a jealous rage at her husband’s easily proved +peccadillos with other women and her own rather significant attitude +toward Hollander. Yes, it would be only too possible for the +prosecuting attorney to get a conviction against Mrs. Endicott, and to +rope Hollander in as an accomplice. He’d want the weapon, though, to +make the case complete. Lieutenant Valcour had forgotten about the +weapon. He stood up, went to the door, and opened it. Hansen was +standing outside, having taken his post there until Cassidy should +come back from letting out Dr. Worth and the nurses. + +“Hansen,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “I want you to search the backyard +for a revolver that may have been thrown there from the balcony. If +you can’t find it, search the two adjoining backyards, and the three +in the rear as well. Don’t wake up the people in the other houses, +just get a stepladder and cross the party walls.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Report to me as soon as you’ve finished, or find anything.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour closed the door again. The revolver would clinch +the case: Mrs. Endicott the principal, and Hollander the accomplice. +What a sweet bunch of muck it would be, too. There were all sorts of +sob angles: Hollander and Endicott as Damon and Pythias, brothers in +arms during the war who were transformed through the vicious caprice +of a siren into Cain and Abel. Or would Mrs. Endicott spatter the +tabloids as a woman wronged who had by a reversal of the usual +position of the sexes taken her just revenge beneath the legendary +cloak of the unwritten law? If her lawyers were smart, she would. And +they would be smart, too. She’d probably have the most impressive +battery of legal guns that were procurable in the state lined up on +her side. + +It wasn’t the gun only that Lieutenant Valcour wanted. There was +something else. Endicott’s hat: that was it. How did the person who +had been caught in the cupboard fit in with Endicott’s hat? The answer +came to him with the sudden clearness that will enlighten a problem +that the subconscious mind has been working on for some time. The hat +was the final touch to the person’s disguise. And the fact would +pre-suppose a woman. A man’s hat would add immeasurably to any +disguise adopted by a woman. + +But which woman? + +And why had his hat been in the cupboard? + +And still there was no answer to the baffling question as to what had +been the object of the search through Endicott’s pockets and his +papers. There was, of course, a perfectly plain and logically possible +solution: the object or paper, whatever it was, had been found and had +been carried off by the thief along with Endicott’s hat and the top +button from his overcoat. And if such were the case, just what that +object or paper was might never be known. + +For the fourth time since he had been sitting at the desk Lieutenant +Valcour sniffed the air. There was a faint trace of scent—a curiously +reminiscent odour—all but intangible, but which he was quite certain +he had encountered in some different locality at some time during the +night. It was only apparent when he sat at the desk, and the deduction +was reached without too much mental labour that it must, hence, +emanate from something connected with the desk. Perhaps that aperture +from which he had pulled the drawer—— + +The telephone rang sharply. He drew the instrument to him across the +top of the desk, and took the receiver from the hook. + +The call came, he was informed, from Central Office. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +5:01 a. m.—Lunatic Vistas + +The report from Central Office which Lieutenant Valcour received over +the telephone contained one definitely useful piece of information: +the person who had used the comb and brushes belonging to Endicott had +been a blonde and was either a man or a woman with bobbed hair. + +And Mrs. Endicott, Lieutenant Valcour reflected as he hung up the +receiver, had blonde shingled hair. And so, except for the shingling, +did Hollander. + +Roberts, on the other hand, had not. + +And where, he wanted to know, was his inspiring confidence in the +innocence of Mrs. Endicott now? Precisely where it had been before. +His mind began to gibber. What _was_ that curious scent, that trace of +an aroma? What about Hollander’s roommate: the young Southerner who +preyed upon wealthy women in night clubs? Had Endicott evidence that +Hollander was mixed up in similar jobs, and had Hollander come to +steal it, or silence Endicott? Rats! And what were Marge Myles’s +address and telephone number doing in Mrs. Endicott’s personal +directory? And why had Mrs. Endicott been such a stupid liar as to say +she had seen no one on the balcony at the time when the shots were +fired, when the only apparent place from which the shot that had +killed Endicott could have been fired was the balcony? . . . A +knock-knock. + +“Come in,” he said. + +Cassidy opened the door. + +“There’s an old dame downstairs, Lieutenant, who insisted on coming +in. She wants to see you.” + +“Did she say who she was, Cassidy?” + +“She did. And you can believe it or not, sir, but her name is +Molasses.” + +Lieutenant Valcour made a desperate clutch at his scattering reason. + +“By all means, Cassidy,” he said, “show Mrs. Molasses right up.” + +Madame Velasquez, in the penetrating light of early morning, was +beyond words. The intervening hours since Lieutenant Valcour had left +her, wigless and talking to herself in her stepdaughter’s apartment, +had unquestionably been ones of worry. As she came into the room +Lieutenant Valcour motioned to Cassidy to wait outside and close the +corridor door. + +Over her black sequinned dress she had thrown an evening cape of blue +satin edged with marabou, and on her wig rested a picture hat trimmed +with plumes. Her eyes ignored the details of Endicott’s room, of +Endicott’s body stretched beneath the sheet; ignored everything but +Lieutenant Valcour, the man whom she had come to see. + +“Marge is dead,” she said. + +Her voice still retained the curious qualities that made it suggest a +scream. + +Lieutenant Valcour wearily closed his eyes. One other murder would +truly prove to be the straw with himself in the rôle of the already +overladen camel. + +“Sit down, Madame Velasquez,” he said, “and tell me how it happened.” + +Madame Velasquez spread billows of blue satin and marabou into an +armchair. + +“I don’t know how it happened,” she said. + +“Did you find her body in the apartment?” + +“There ain’t no body.” Madame Velasquez then added, as her brittle +little eyes glittered with a strange sort of conviction, “He made away +with it.” + +“Who did, Madame Velasquez?” + +“Herbert Endicott,” she said. + +For a startled moment Lieutenant Valcour stared sharply down curious +vistas: _had_ Endicott killed Marge Myles, perhaps having called for +her just after she had written that note to her mother? He brought +himself up shortly. Utter nonsense! Endicott was in this very room at +the time when Marge Myles must have been writing that note and was +himself in the process of being killed. + +“That isn’t possible, Madame Velasquez,” he said quietly. “Endicott +was himself attacked right here at about the time your stepdaughter +must have been writing that note to you. That was at seven last +evening—at the very moment he was to call for her at her apartment—and +it must have been a little after seven when she wrote, as she states +in the note that he hadn’t come.” + +“No matter”—her beringed fingers fluttered extravagantly—“I feel +certain he did it, and I want him punished and caught.” + +“But Mr. Endicott is dead, Madame Velasquez.” + +“That’s what _you_ say,” she said. + +Was he really, Lieutenant Valcour wondered, going mad? There seemed +such terribly disturbing possibilities of fact in every absurd aspect +on the case the woman facing him opened up. Who, after all, _had_ +identified Endicott? His wife, and that only by implication; his +friend Hollander, again by implication; Roberts had seen the dead +man’s face, but she, in common with all the world, was mad; Dr. +Worth—what proof was there that Dr. Worth _was_ Dr. Worth, or that the +telephone number given him by Mrs. Endicott had been Dr. Worth’s? It +could all have been arranged by some clever mob. . . . + +“This is folly,” he said abruptly, really more to convince himself +than the nutlike face peering at him from the armchair. What he needed +was sleep—just a couple of hours of good sleep. “Madame Velasquez, +that body on the bed is Herbert Endicott. Now tell me as lucidly as +you can, please, just why you say that Marge is dead.” + +Her little eyes began to glitter with rage. “I believe she has killed +herself to spite me.” The knotted paste jewels on her thin fingers +quivered indignantly. “She did it to make me suffer,” she added, “to +_stint_ me.” + +“Just so she wouldn’t have to give you any more money,” he suggested. + +Madame Velasquez began to weep noisily. “What’ll I do, Lieutenant—oh, +what _will_ I do?” + +He continued to regard her through lazy eyes. + +“Can’t you find somebody else to take her place?” he said. “Somebody +else to blackmail?” + +“I ain’t young. It’s too _late_.” + +“Tut, tut, Madame Velasquez.” + +“No, I ain’t. And unless it’s a case like Marge’s was, such rackets +take looks.” + +“But surely such an intelligent and charming woman as you, Madame +Velasquez”—he unearthed a trowel and laid it on pretty thick—“a woman +of the world, surely you can think up other cases where the evidence +or proof can be faked. You know very well that you never had any real +or visible proof that Marge killed her husband in that canoe disaster, +now, don’t you?” + +“I did, too, Lieutenant.” + +“Nonsense. If you really did, you’d have it with you and would show it +to me.” + +She nibbled the bait slyly and refused it. + +“I wouldn’t, and I haven’t. And,” she said, “I want proof of that +trollop’s death. I’ll get it if I have to drag the river myself.” + +Madame Velasquez jumped up and ran nervously to the door. + +“Then you saw her drown herself, Madame Velasquez?” + +“I saw nothing, but I know—I know—what must have been . . .” + +She was out in the corridor and running for the stairs—a velvet virago +in blue. Lieutenant Valcour ran out after her, and saw that Cassidy +was blocking her way. + +“Ring up the wagon, Cassidy, and have her booked as a material +witness.” + +Madame Velasquez began to screech. “Don’t touch me. Keep your dirty +hands off me.” + +“Take her downstairs, Cassidy. After you’ve arranged for the wagon +leave her with O’Brian. Then go up to the housekeeper’s room and ask +Mrs. Siddons if she’ll come down. I’ll see her in Endicott’s room.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour slowly retraced his steps. When he was again in +Endicott’s room and the door shut, he felt a strong recurrence of that +annoying sense of some hovering danger. He even shivered a little as +if at some draught of cold air and glanced hastily at the windows. + +But both were closed. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +5:25 a. m.—There Was a Sailor + +Mrs. Siddons had not gone to bed at all. She remained the same amazing +pencil done in flat planes of black that had left him standing with +his ear pressed against the panels of her bedroom door. + +Lieutenant Valcour was acutely interested in her attitude toward +Endicott’s body. Her glance, the instant she entered the room, had +flown to it surely and accurately. There was no sorrow, no horror or +fear of the dead in that glance. It was wholly one of triumph, the +satisfied gazing of some revenge that was removed from petty +commonplaces. Mirrored in its satisfaction were avenging hell fires, +tormenting presumably the black and wicked soul of what had been a +very black and wicked Endicott. After that single initial glance she +did not look toward the bed again, but came over and sat with +extraordinary rigidity on the edge of a chair from where she could +stare out of the window at the clear morning light of the winter’s +day. + +“Several hours ago, Mrs. Siddons,” Lieutenant Valcour said abruptly, +“you spoke with considerable bitterness about Mr. Endicott’s attitude +toward the servants. I shan’t embarrass you by asking for any +information in detail. There are only one or two things that I want to +know—— Are you listening to me, please?” + +She dragged her eyes from the daylight, from the white misty air from +which she had been gathering in her thoughts the happy flowers of a +seed long bedded in hate. + +“I am listening,” she said. + +“Then the first thing I want to know is this: was there any one +particular instance in which Mr. Endicott’s actions toward one of the +servants were especially brutal or resented?” + +The coals began to glow faintly beneath the ash that dusted her eyes. + +“There was one very particular instance, Lieutenant.” + +“Recently, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“It occurred about a year ago, almost to a day.” + +“Did Mr. Endicott attack her?” + +“Yes.” + +“Here in the house?” + +“No, Lieutenant. It happened on her afternoon and evening out. Mr. +Endicott’s car was parked outside at the curb. He offered her a ride.” + +“Where is this girl now, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“She was committed last year to an institution for the insane.” + +The ash was completely gone now, and her eyes blazed with avenging +fires. + +“But surely she brought charges, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“She was insane when they found her, Lieutenant. She was trying to die +by throwing herself in front of a motor in Central Park. She has never +spoken lucidly since.” + +Lieutenant Valcour shrugged hopelessly. There it was again: that +wretched wave of hearsay showing its baffling crest above the placid +sea of established fact. Rumour had had it that Marge Myles had killed +her husband; rumour now would have it about all sorts of terrible +implications concerning Endicott, who was dead, and a girl who was +confined in an insane asylum. And neither, obviously, could give +direct testimony in accusation or defense. + +“What was Mr. Endicott’s story?” he said. + +“That he had driven her to Macy’s, where she wanted to buy something, +and had left her there.” + +And why not? Undoubtedly Endicott had been the blackest sort of a +sheep, but the case was valueless without a thousand illuminative +lights, without a whole medical history of the girl’s family, for +example. + +“Did you know this girl fairly well, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“Yes. It is my habit to know all of the girls in my charge here very +well. It is my duty, as I see it, to act not only as a housekeeper, +but as their religious mentor and guide.” + +“Then in the case of this girl, had she ever previously shown any +symptoms of being mentally unbalanced?” + +“There were times when I thought so, yes. Her family, you see, was not +free from the taint. Her grandmother, on her mother’s side, had been +insane. That is what made Mr. Endicott’s actions so peculiarly +detestable, sir. She might have continued to live a normal, useful, +happy life had he not shocked her so fatally.” + +And on the other hand, Lieutenant Valcour decided, Endicott need not +necessarily have done anything remotely of the sort. With such a +direct strain of insanity inherent in her blood no outside agency +whatever might have been needed to awaken it into activity. And then, +he reminded himself, the girl had been shopping. He often wondered why +more women didn’t go mad while shopping. + +“Had Mr. Endicott any alibi for the period between the time he left +her at Macy’s and came home?” + +“No, Lieutenant. He said he had driven out a ways on Long Island along +the Motor Parkway and then had come back.” + +“So nothing was done about the matter officially?” + +“There was nothing to do.” + +“Then the only substantiated fact in the story is that she was seen +getting into Mr. Endicott’s car in front of this house. I suppose +someone did see her?” + +“Yes.” + +“Who?” + +“Mrs. Endicott saw her, Lieutenant.” + +There was distinct food for thought in that. No matter how far flung +the tangents in the case appeared to be, they touched as a common +circumference the enveloping influence of Mrs. Endicott. + +“Is this girl still confined at the institution, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“I don’t know. There has been nothing said—no communication.” + +“What was the colour of her hair, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“Black—the deepest, prettiest black I ever saw. They say that +opposites are attracted to one another, and it was so in her case.” + +“What do you mean by that?” + +“Her husband was a blond.” + +Lieutenant Valcour caught his breath sharply. It fitted surprisingly +well—the motive—the crime—the fact that the girl might have retained +her key to the servants’ entrance and her husband have got hold of it. +And her husband would readily enough have believed the talk about his +wife and Endicott—husbands had a habit of doing just that. To the +man’s way of thinking, it wouldn’t have been anything so ephemeral as +a maternal grandmother who had driven his wife insane: it would have +been Endicott. + +Madame Velasquez’s innuendoes against the true identity of anybody +came back to Lieutenant Valcour with annoying force. What about +Hollander? Hollander was a blond, and obviously of a different level +in education and position than the Endicotts. And who had identified +Hollander? Nobody. Endicott and his wife were the only two in the +house who could, and Endicott was dead, and Mrs. Endicott had not seen +Hollander at all, if her unbelievable statement were true: that she +had not gone out onto the balcony and along it to the window from +where the shot had been fired. + +Suppose the man who had sat with Endicott had just been posing as +Hollander but had been, in reality, the husband of this unfortunate +girl. Suppose he had been waiting outside for an opportunity to +reënter the house, had waylaid Hollander and forced his errand from +him, had taken his driver’s licence and cards from him and had shown +them to O’Brian at the door to gain admittance. . . . + +No—there still arose that fundamental question: what had the attacker +been searching for among Endicott’s papers? This girl’s husband surely +would have nothing for which to search, unless it would be for +problematic evidence of his wife’s infidelity, and that theory was +pretty thin. . . . + +“What became of this girl’s husband, Mrs. Siddons?” + +“He is a sailor on merchant vessels.” Her gesture vaguely encompassed +the Seven Seas. “Where he is, or when, is as indeterminate as wind and +tide.” + +Lieutenant Valcour did not molest her extravagance. He refrained from +pointing out that few things were determined quite so accurately, +nowadays, as the tides or, for the matter of that, the winds +themselves. He stood up. + +“Thank you, Mrs. Siddons.” + +“Shall I go?” + +“If you will be so kind. Later, perhaps, we will go into greater +details concerning this poor girl’s husband.” + +Mrs. Siddons feasted her eyes for one parting, blinding instinct on +the bed. She stopped at the door and said, “You will never get them +from me, Lieutenant. And I am the only person who knows; who even +knows that she was married at all. She confided in me, and if it was +her husband who did this thing you will never drag his name from my +lips even if my silence should mean——” Her eyes became clouded and her +thoughts confused. She wanted to say something magnificent, something +splendidly fitting to the occasion which she interpreted quite +sincerely as a divine act on the part of God, with that poor, frail +little Maizie’s husband as His instrument on earth. Even if her +silence were to mean what? The words wouldn’t form. They rattled +around in her tired head meaninglessly: bar of justice—herself in the +dock—oh, it was cruel—life was cruel, and living was crueler still. +Only death was kind, sleep and peace beneath the shelter of His sweet +omnipotence. She stumbled a little as she crossed the threshold and +made her way, sobbing futilely, back upstairs. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +5:46 a. m.—Mrs. Endicott Cannot Be Found + +Lieutenant Valcour stepped across the corridor and rapped on the door +of Mrs. Endicott’s room. There was no response. He rapped again, and +still there was no response. He turned the knob and the door swung +inward. + +The room was empty. + +He closed the door and called to Cassidy, who was at the other end of +the corridor. + +“Sir?” said Cassidy, when he had joined him. + +“You’ve been out here all the while, haven’t you, Cassidy?” + +“Except when I went upstairs to get the housekeeper, sir.” + +“That’s right, you did. Come inside here for a minute with me. There +are some questions I want to ask you.” + +They went into Endicott’s room. + +“Sure, it’s good to see the daylight again, Lieutenant. Will we be +cleared up here soon?” + +“I have a feeling that we’ll be finished pretty soon now. Tell me, +Cassidy, was it you or Hansen fired first at Hollander?” + +“Lieutenant, Hansen and I have been disputing that very point. We all +but came to blows over it, we did.” + +“Why so?” + +“Because I claim it was him who fired the first shot, and he still has +the audacity to say it was me who not only shot first, but shot two +times before he so much as pulled the trigger.” + +“That,” said Lieutenant Valcour, “is exactly what I wanted to know. +You were both right and both wrong.” + +“Now, how can that be, Lieutenant?” + +“Neither of you fired the first shot, because it was fired by the +murderer over there at the window. You heard it, and thought Hansen +had fired. Hansen heard it, and then heard your following shot, and +thought that you had fired twice.” + +“That must have been it at that, Lieutenant.” + +“It was. The second thing I wanted to ask you about is Mrs. Endicott. +She isn’t in her room. Have you seen her about the corridor, or +anywhere else?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Then go and look her up. Ask the men downstairs if they’ve seen her, +and if they haven’t, look through the rooms on this floor and up +above. When you do come across her, ask her if she will please come in +here and see me.” + +“Yes, Lieutenant.” + +Cassidy went out and closed the door. + +Lieutenant Valcour was beginning to feel very, very tired. He yawned +elaborately, stared out of the window for a minute or two, and then +sat down again at the desk. There was something that he had intended +to do there when he had been interrupted by the arrival of Madame +Velasquez. + +What was it? + +It wasn’t connected with that wretched premonition of danger which was +nagging at him with increasing insistence. But it was something just +as intangible . . . + +Elusive as a shadow . . . + +Yes, that was it—the thing that he had forgotten: he had intended to +trace to its source that faint scent which was so curiously +reminiscent of some place—some thing. It had come, he remembered, from +the aperture from which he had taken the drawer. He shoved a hand +inside and felt around. Wedged far in the back was a crumpled letter +written on heavy notepaper. He pulled it out, and the scent became +more penetrating. + +It came back to him quite clearly now. It was the same perfume that +had drenched the note left by Marge for Madame Velasquez up at the +apartment. He took the letter from its envelope, smoothed it, and then +turned to the signature. Yes, it was signed “Marge.” + +A knock on the hall door interrupted him, and he placed the letter on +the desk. Hansen came in. + +“Yes, Hansen?” + +“I have searched all the yards you told me to, sir.” + +“Well?” + +“There wasn’t any gun, Lieutenant, that I could see.” + +“Did you look through all the shrubbery? There are some evergreens +down there that I noticed.” + +“Yes, sir, I looked through and beneath every one of them.” + +“All right, Hansen.” Lieutenant Valcour studied the young man facing +him for a curious moment. “You were at sea for a while, weren’t you?” + +“Yes, sir. I was with the navy during the war, and after that on +merchant ships for a year or two.” + +“Would it be possible for a sailor to climb up onto the balcony +outside this window from the garden?” + +“I couldn’t say offhand, Lieutenant. I didn’t notice much about the +balcony when I was down there.” + +“Then go down again and see what you think. Let me know whether it +would be an easy job, difficult, or impossible.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Hansen went out, and Lieutenant Valcour had barely returned his +attention to the letter from Marge Myles when there was another +rapping on the door. This time it was Cassidy who came in. Lieutenant +Valcour dropped the letter back upon the desk and turned to him. + +“Did you find Mrs. Endicott all right, Cassidy?” + +“No, sir, I didn’t.” + +Lieutenant Valcour felt strangely disturbed. He had half expected +Cassidy to answer in just that way; the denial was nothing more than a +fulfilment of the curious premonitions he had been experiencing of +some subtle danger. + +“Did you look in all the rooms?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Question anybody?” + +“Everybody, Lieutenant. There’s no one has seen hide nor hair of her.” + +“How about the men at the doors?” + +“Each one was at his post, sir. She didn’t go out.” + +“Then in that case,” said Lieutenant Valcour, “she must still be in.” + +The thought was both a bromide and a consolation. Nowadays, Lieutenant +Valcour assured himself, people didn’t vanish into thin air; it just +wasn’t being done. While concentrating in his mind as to the possible +whereabouts of the unfindable Mrs. Endicott, his hands were +mechanically placing the piles of letters he had assorted back into +the empty drawer. He had shoved the letter from Marge Myles carefully +to one side. Any reading of it would have to come later, after he had +hit upon some logical explanation for this sudden move on the part of +Mrs. Endicott. + +“He must have been some stepper, Lieutenant,” Cassidy said, eyeing +with interest one disappearing pack of pink envelopes. + +“Quite a stepper, Cassidy.” . . . Where _could_ she hide? And why +should she? . . . + +“Each one of them piles from some dame?” + +“That’s right, Cassidy—each one from some dame.” . . . She wanted to +get out of the house, one could be pretty sure of that, and go to the +hospital to see Hollander. But how could she have got past the men at +the doors? She couldn’t. . . . + +“It certainly does beat hell what some guys can get away with, +Lieutenant.” + +“But it never does beat hell, Cassidy.” . . . And Hansen had been out +around the backyards, even supposing she had attempted anything so +unbelievable as to scale fences. That was absurd. . . . + +“It ain’t all a matter of looks, exactly—no, nor money, either.” +Cassidy’s glance toward the bed was but half complimentary. “I’ve run +with lads that was one step this side of being human monkeys, but +could they pick them? I’ll say. They had sex appeal. How about it, +Lieutenant?” + +“Undoubtedly, Cassidy.” . . . As for the roof, it was peaked and +offered no passage to the roofs of the adjoining houses. One couldn’t +picture her, in any case, scrambling over roofs any more than one +could believe that she would scramble over fences. . . . + +“And the worst of it is with these bimbos that have it, they ain’t +ever satisfied.” + +“No one is ever satisfied, Cassidy.” . . . There might be a way to the +roof at that, from the attic . . . attic . . . + +“Not ever with anything, Lieutenant?” + +“Not really ever with anything.” . . . Attic . . . and that curious +look that one had had to interpret as exaltation. It couldn’t be +possible, but still—— “Stay right here, Cassidy!” + +Cassidy gave a nervous jump. The words were sparks from flint striking +steel. Lieutenant Valcour’s sudden spurt of speed as he rushed toward +the door was surprising. + +A possible solution to Mrs. Endicott’s absence had just come to him +with rather horrible clearness. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +6:00 a. m.—Mist Drifting Through Mist + +Lieutenant Valcour was out of the door in no time and racing along the +corridor up the stairs to the floor above. Somewhere—somewhere was the +entrance to the stairs leading farther up to the attic. Ah!—softly +now, quietly, not to disturb or shock. Thank God the treads were firm +and didn’t creak. . . . + +There was a window in the attic, at the garden end of its peak, not a +large window, but big enough to permit the cold white light of morning +to illumine the place grayly. + +Mrs. Endicott’s back was toward him, her face toward that window, and +the light from it blurred softly about her silhouette of darkness. She +had upended the trunk she was standing on, and it had placed her hands +within convenient reach of the rafter about which she had fastened one +end of a short rope. Its other end was coiled in a running noose about +her neck. + +Lieutenant Valcour measured the distance between where he stood at the +top of the stairs and the trunk. He could never make it. Some board +would creak. And yet, if he cried out, or spoke, if he failed in the +proper choice of a word—in fact, the least thing that startled her +would destroy her almost calm stance of fatalistic poise. + +He took a penknife from his pocket and, slitting the laces of his +shoes, removed them. Thank God her back was toward him, and the window +was there with its square of light cut clearly in muffled grays—its +light with which she seemed to be holding some private service of +communion—that inevitable farewell with earth indulged in by each +wretched soul before exchanging its conscious lonesomeness for the +obscure and problematic company of the damned. . . . + +He was very near her now, himself a mist drifting softly through +mist. . . . + +Whispering—whispering—he could hear her whispering—a thin flow of +meaning rather than of words, sent from the grayness to that light +beyond—sent through a little measured casement out into the +immeasurable brilliance of eternity. Her hands were resting easily by +her side; her body relaxed more and more peacefully in repose. + +“. . . and if you’re there, Tom darling, and Herbert, too . . .” + +He could leap forward now and catch her if it were necessary, but +better be safe, quite safe. + +“. . . it won’t be heaven, dear. They have no room for such as you and +me in heaven. But when you come——” + +His arms closed gently about her, and her body seemed to stiffen into +steel. She relaxed at once, and then stared down at him incuriously. +She removed the noose from about her neck as casually as she might +have taken off a hat. He lifted her to the floor. + +“There isn’t any hurry,” she said. + +He knew that she was hinting definitely at the future, when he and the +law were finished with her and she would be free to book her passage +for eternity again without supervision or restraint. + +“No hurry, Mrs. Endicott; nor any need, now.” + +The “now” dragged her sharply from the mists. She stared at him with +penetrating interest. + +“Mr. Hollander,” he said, “will undoubtedly recover.” + +“Yes?” + +The word was clipped from some inner store of ice. + +“Doesn’t that alter the surface of things, Mrs. Endicott—of your +intention?” + +“Why should it, Lieutenant?” + +“I am sorry that you choose to continue evasive.” + +“I’m not. It is you who see things, read things in people that are +never there.” + +“That isn’t true, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“What is there further that you wish to know?” + +There was no compromise, no yielding, and the hardness in her voice +was very definite. She looked almost extravagantly capable, too, in +the smart dark dress she had put on. She was, Lieutenant Valcour +reflected, one of those rare women who always “look their best” no +matter what the time is or the situation; who make a point of looking +so even when quite alone, and especially so, he added, when committing +suicide. But he was not deceived by her hardness. There were invisible +forces working within her, still stirred into turmoil by that +impressive emotional ladder she must have so recently climbed in order +to arrive at the decision to take her own life. If he were ever to +understand this complex woman he felt that he must do so now, while he +and she stood where they were in their private world—a tight little +sphere of shadows sifted with mists of sunlit dust—and before they +descended the attic stairs to the routined environment of daily +living. He decided to attempt to lead her by certain matter-of-fact +paths that would end in quicksands. + +“Why did you have the address of Marge Myles in your directory, Mrs. +Endicott?” + +She answered with the mechanical patience of an elder explaining some +academic problem to a child. + +“It was necessary to take her into account. As I have already told +you, she possessed a certain standing—enough of a one to differentiate +her from the other women whom my husband picked up promiscuously—and +the time might have come when I felt it advisable to get rid of her. +Not murder—you’re too intelligent to misunderstand me—there are +several ways one woman can get rid of another woman that are just as +effective.” + +“Which one did you employ, Mrs. Endicott?” + +“It wasn’t especially nice, but I wasn’t dealing with a nice woman. I +employed forgery.” + +This caught Lieutenant Valcour a little unprepared. + +“Forgery?” + +“Yes. I added a postscript to a letter Harry Myles had sent me before +he married Marge. Harry never dated his letters. This one was harmless +enough, but there was a reference in it to the camp he owned by that +lake up in Maine. The postscript that I added changed the whole +character of the letter. It made it apparent that Harry very +definitely feared Marge was planning to murder him. I gave that letter +to Herbert about a month ago, when it seemed that his interest in +Marge was becoming dangerously serious.” + +“Didn’t he ask you why you hadn’t produced it before?” + +“Yes. I explained that I had just come across it in an old letter file +that hadn’t been gone through for years. I asked him whether it was +too late to do anything about it—show the letter to some proper +authority, for instance. Of course I knew what he would say.” + +“That it was too late?” + +“Yes.” + +“But didn’t he also ask you why you hadn’t said something about the +letter at the time of Harry Myles’s death?” + +“I pointed out that we were in Europe at that time and didn’t hear the +news until many months later, when we got back. By then the letter had +escaped my mind.” + +“And did your action influence your husband’s feeling toward Marge +Myles?” + +“It was beginning to. Things like that work slowly; they keep breeding +in the mind until they become effective.” + +She had missed, he decided, her century. When the Medicis were in +flower she, too, would have bloomed her best. + +“Mrs. Endicott, what was your real reason for sending for the police +last night?” + +“I can explain that better by accounting for my movements between the +time that Herbert knocked on the door to say good-bye and you arrived. +Will that satisfy you?” + +“I hope so, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“I shan’t lie to you, Lieutenant. I shall tell you the exact truth. +Roberts was in the room with me, fixing some disorder in my dress. I +left the room shortly after and started down the corridor for the +sitting room. Mrs. Siddons, my housekeeper—I don’t know whether you’ve +met her or not?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“She was standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the floor +above. She said she had something to tell me, and we went into the +sitting room.” + +“That was just after seven o’clock?” + +“Five minutes—ten—yes. Mrs. Siddons brought up the subject of a +particularly despicable affair that my husband was involved in with +one of our maids over a year ago. Shall I go into it?” + +“It isn’t necessary, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“The maid was married. Her husband was a sailor.” Mrs. Endicott paused +for a moment, and seemed to be sorting in her mind which facts she +cared to present and which, in spite of her recent avowal of candour, +she preferred to hold in reserve. “You have probably noticed, +Lieutenant, that Mrs. Siddons is an abnormal woman. She is the most +striking example of the religious-fanatic type that I have ever met. +Her life is literally built upon the composite foundation of faith and +duty which she believes all mankind owes to God. Her belief in direct +punishment visited by God on earthly sinners is a fixed idea. And last +night in my sitting room she told me that God was going to strike my +husband and that His instrument would be the husband of that maid whom +Herbert had injured.” + +“But if that was an act which she so obviously desired to see +consummated, Mrs. Endicott, why did she warn you—anybody—about it in +advance?” + +“Religious fanatics, Lieutenant, scorn the idea that human agency can +interfere with the workings of any divine plan. Things, for them, are +ordained and are supposed to happen just exactly as they are +ordained.” + +“But why did she warn you?” + +“She came to tell me about it, she said, in order that I might be +prepared for the shock. She has always sympathized inordinately with +me over what she terms Herbert’s ungodly actions. I asked her, +naturally, to be more explicit, and I finally forced the admission +from her that she had seen, or else believed that she had seen, the +maid’s husband that afternoon loitering about the street in front of +the house. She went upstairs, then, to her own quarters. It seemed +absurd.” + +“Then it began to prey upon you?” + +“Indirectly.” + +“How?” + +“In its possible relation to something else.” + +Lieutenant Valcour became intuitive. + +“You are wondering now,” he said, “whether or not you ought to tell me +all about the tea.” + +“How did you establish the connection?” + +“Between your having tea with Mr. Hollander yesterday afternoon and +Mrs. Siddons’s story?” + +“Yes.” + +“It’s rather simple, isn’t it?” + +“Is it?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Endicott, I think it is. You won’t deny, will you, that you +very definitely impressed on Mr. Hollander that your determination to +‘end it all’ either by committing suicide or killing your husband was +sincere? Mr. Hollander _was_ the confidant for your secret confusions, +sort of a proving ground for reactions. I’ve already substantiated +that theory, both through Mr. Hollander himself and his friend.” + +“No, I won’t deny it.” + +“And you believed that he would do something to prevent you from +accomplishing your purpose.” + +“I suppose I did.” + +“And in your naturally upset state of mind last evening Mrs. Siddons’s +curious prophecy concerning the maid’s husband taking his revenge made +more of a genuine impression upon you than you cared to admit. You +were subconsciously afraid that something _would_ happen—that the +sailor might really injure or kill your husband, and that Mr. +Hollander, when the police investigated, would somehow become +involved. There was even a possibility that worshipping you as he +does, when he heard of your husband’s murder he might give himself up +to the police and offer a false confession in order to shield you. It +has often been done, you know.” + +“You are right, Lieutenant. I did think exactly that. The muddle of +the whole thing began to drive me crazy during dinner. I went down at +seven-thirty and ate nothing. I don’t think I stayed at the table for +more than five minutes. I went upstairs and into Herbert’s room, +looking for something. I really don’t know what—unless it was for some +sort of physical confirmation of his aliveness by the things he owned. +Then I saw that note on his desk. I hadn’t the shred of a nerve left +by then, and the note genuinely worried me. It was such a direct +confirmation of Mrs. Siddons’s story. I wasn’t exactly panicky, but I +felt as if things had got out of hand. I tried to reach Mr. Hollander +by telephone, but he wasn’t in his apartment. I began to picture +converging forces: himself—the maid’s husband—and Herbert as a focal +point. I felt that something had to be done. Well, I telephoned the +police.” + +“Why didn’t you tell me about the maid and her husband when I came, +Mrs. Endicott?” + +“It isn’t the sort of thing one would plunge into directly.” + +“You would have told me in time, then?” + +“Certainly.” + +“And why,” he asked quietly, “did you try to direct my suspicions +against Marge Myles when, in view of your special knowledge, that +maid’s husband was the logical suspect? That’s a little inconsistent, +isn’t it?” + +She looked at him evenly. + +“Do you always do precisely the proper thing at the proper moment?” + +“Rarely ever, Mrs. Endicott.” + +“Well, neither do I. I don’t think anybody does.” + +She adopted again that patient, explanatory precision of the teacher. +“A person’s actions or statements during any moment of great strain +are dominated by that moment itself, rather than being any sane +reflection of logical and contributory causes. At such times one +clings to straws.” + +“Marge Myles was a straw?” + +Mrs. Endicott shrugged. “Herbert had gone, as I supposed, to see her. +I believed that whatever happened to him would occur between this +house and her apartment, or at some moment during the evening while +they were together. I’m not claiming that there was any sense to my +beliefs. I wasn’t feeling exactly sensible just then.” + +“And you would have been quite willing to have Marge Myles blamed for +anything that happened rather than either the sailor or Mr. +Hollander?” + +“Oh, quite.” + +It was very convincing—her willingness, that is. As for her +credibility, Lieutenant Valcour retained reservations. He started +along another divergence. + +“Why have you kept Roberts so long in your employ, Mrs. Endicott, when +you must have known how deeply she hates you?” + +Mrs. Endicott smiled with frank amusement. + +“You’ve never kept a maid, have you, Lieutenant?” + +“Hardly.” + +“Then you can’t appreciate fully what I mean when I say that Roberts +is a good maid. What earthly difference does it make whether she hates +or loves me? I’m hiring her services, not her emotions, and her +services are excellent. I’ve frequently wished that someone in my +successive chain of cooks would develop a similar passion. There’s +something so binding about it.” + +He felt that she was escaping him again, that her armour was swiftly +undergoing repair. In the brightening light her face shone clearer. +She didn’t seem quite such an enigma, after all. Nothing ever was, he +reflected, truly enigmatic in daytime. It was just a tired face, +wearied by any number of things other than the lack of sleep. + +“I wish you would trust me, Mrs. Endicott,” he said. “I’m not a bad +sort, really, and I’m not trying to trap you into admissions that +would prove injurious to yourself. There are still confusions that +have to be straightened out. I have been assured by Mr. Hollander that +you were devoted to your husband. You personally imply that your +interest in Mr. Hollander is purely that of a friend, and yet you +address him in your notes as ‘Tom, darling.’ And there isn’t any +question but that he worships you. The situation doesn’t fall under +the heading of the eternal triangle. It’s a hub, rather, from which +radiate several broken and uneven spokes.” + +“Broken spokes.” The phrase appealed to her in a tragic sense +inordinately out of keeping with its flavour of triteness. But then—he +had said so to her before, ages ago—the trite things were the true +things. And that’s just what Tom and Herbert and herself were. And the +hub? Passion, she supposed, or perhaps a composite illusion of all the +various derivatives of love. + +“It’s hard to resolve human feelings into the simplicity of A B C’s,” +she said. “I can’t just say I loved Herbert because I was married to +him and because he was the first person I ever loved, or that no +matter how many other people there may be later in my life I will +always return to him in my heart, just because he _was_ the first +person whom I loved, and expect you to understand.” She brushed with +elementary strokes through fog in her effort to be explicit. “I love +Tom Hollander, too, just as much as I loved Herbert. It isn’t nice, +but it’s the truth. Love isn’t a unit, a single emotion tightly +wrapped up in one word. It’s a hundred feelings and desires and any +number of little human hurts that are longing to be made well again.” +A certain bitterness crept into her manner: a bitterness of revolt. +“The whole wretched business is too stylized. It’s quite all right to +love your father and your mother equally; in fact, it’s held wrong not +to—exactly fifty per cent. of your parental love must go to each. +Brotherly love must also be reduced to proportionate fractions. The +love for one’s neighbours is presumably scattered into legion. But if +a woman announced that this otherwise divisible quality is spent upon +more than one single man——” + +Her laughter wasn’t very pleasant to hear. Lieutenant Valcour felt a +little upset; there was something disturbingly reasonable in her +attitude. Was it pure sophistry? Not really. There was a strong +element of fact and truth running through it all. It was useless to +parade before her the different _clichés_ of what any universal +acceptance of her implied philosophy would do to society. He imagined +rather accurately the treatment she would hand out to them. And like +most people who had got what they wanted, he didn’t know even faintly +what to do with it. He couldn’t come out flatly and ask her if she was +planning to marry Hollander, and apart from the insight it gave him +into her character there hadn’t been any special advancement toward a +definite solution of the problem of who _did_ kill her husband, and +for what motive. Lieutenant Valcour began to feel that it was he who +had landed in the quicksands rather than herself. + +“You have been very patient with me, Mrs. Endicott, and very kind. To +an extent I am beginning to understand you. We have arrived again, but +perhaps with a surer footing this time, at our stumbling block. Before +we attack it, I wonder if you cannot think of any reason why your +husband should have joined you up here in the attic when he found you +here yesterday afternoon.” + +Mrs. Endicott was still too drugged with abstracts to attend very +kindly to the mechanics of detailed fact. + +“Well,” she said, “it wasn’t to commit suicide. That leaves your other +nine tenths, doesn’t it?” + +“You mean that he must have been just looking for something?” + +“There’s hardly any other plausible explanation.” + +“But does he keep things up here?” + +“He may have. This is his trunk.” + +She moved off toward the window, disinterested in anything further +that he might care to do. A complete lassitude drenched her, and she +sunned it negligently in the light sifting down through dusty panes. + +Lieutenant Valcour righted the upended trunk and raised its lid. There +were some papers lying loosely in its upper tray. He studied them +curiously until he came across a certain one that caused him to draw +his breath in sharply. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. +Then he closed the trunk. His manner, as he approached Mrs. Endicott, +was implacably stern. + +“I want you to tell me,” he said, “just where about this house you +have hidden Marge Myles.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +6:30 a. m.—As Is Mirage + +Mrs. Endicott stared sharply at Lieutenant Valcour. She was suddenly +tensely alert. + +“I think,” she said, “that you have gone mad.” + +“Do you still maintain the pretence that when you were on the sill of +your window and looking toward your husband’s room you saw nobody on +the balcony?” + +“There is no reason why I should alter the truth.” + +“I shall be as patient with you, Mrs. Endicott, as you have just been +with me. Listen carefully to me, please, and I will tell you why it is +I believe Marge Myles killed your husband, and why I think you have +given her sanctuary after the crime by concealing her some place +within this house.” + +“I’ve no alternative but to listen, Lieutenant. But you are +wrong—absurdly wrong.” + +“We will start with the initial premise, Mrs. Endicott, that Marge +_did_ murder Harry Myles in that canoe episode on the lake. I know +that she has been paying blackmail to her stepmother, Madame +Velasquez, for a long while, probably since the time of the crime +itself. Well, a woman of her type doesn’t pay hush money easily; she +makes very certain, first, that the blackmailer really has the goods +on her. Which made it simple for your husband.” + +“Herbert? Are you suggesting the fantastic idea that Herbert was +trying to blackmail her?” + +“People are blackmailed into giving up more things than money, Mrs. +Endicott. I’m not suggesting that your husband was after money, but I +do suggest that to further some abortive purpose Mr. Endicott held the +postscript forgery that you made over Marge Myles’s head as a threat. +I have just found that letter in his trunk, and it is now in my +pocket.” + +“Abortive purpose—— Don’t go on just for a moment, please—I’m trying +to make it fit.” + +“It’s something along the lines of cruelty that I’m suggesting—some +special cruelty.” + +“Perhaps. Herbert liked to see things squirm. He was subconsciously +sadistic.” + +“He probably drove her pretty far, because she made up her mind to get +that letter—he undoubtedly greatly magnified its importance as +evidence to her—no matter at what risk to herself. I don’t really +believe that when she came here last night she had any intention at +all of actually killing your husband. What she wanted was that letter. +Did you let her into the house, Mrs. Endicott?” + +Mrs. Endicott smiled a bit acidly and kept her lips tightly +compressed. + +“Because if you didn’t,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, “she must have +stolen a key from your husband. At any rate, she was in the house here +and searching for the letter in Mr. Endicott’s room sometime around +seven last night. Mr. Endicott should have been miles away up at her +apartment, according to appointment, and leaving her a clear field. +She had planned the whole thing out pretty carefully, because she left +a note for Madame Velasquez, who was due to arrive at the apartment +for a visit last night. Marge implied in the note that it had been +written after seven when, as a matter of fact, it must have been +written considerably earlier and planted in the apartment either as an +alibi or as an explanation to Mr. Endicott of her absence. It would +certainly have sent him hurrying off to the Colonial in search of her. +It wasn’t successful, of course, as he was undoubtedly delayed because +of the quarrel he had with you, and was here in the house instead of +up at her apartment as she had expected he would be. Don’t you see +that it rather all fits in?” + +“Quite. But I still fail to understand what possible connection it can +have with me.” + +“It has every connection with you, Mrs. Endicott, because unless we +can prove that Marge Myles fired the shot this morning that killed +your husband it will be unpleasantly necessary to establish the charge +against yourself.” + +“I am probably very stupid, Lieutenant, but it is incomprehensible to +me why I should shoot my husband around two or three o’clock this +morning because Marge Myles was searching for a letter in his room at +seven last night.” + +“Consider the problem, please, as two separate crimes and follow it +through on that basis. At seven o’clock last night we have Marge Myles +searching the pockets of your husband’s clothes in his cupboard. He +comes into the room, and she finds herself trapped in the cupboard. He +opens the door, and the sudden terrifying sight of her gives him a +heart attack. She believes him dead and drags him into the cupboard so +that his body will not be found until she has had a chance to escape. +She hasn’t returned to her apartment, you know, all night, so it’s +quite possible she has either taken flight or is in hiding some place +in the city.” + +“Then I can’t, as you have suggested, be hiding her in the house.” + +It was Lieutenant Valcour who now assumed the rôle of teacher, with +Mrs. Endicott as his young pupil. + +“Not under that supposition. But if she did escape from the house at +that time, what have we left? You found the scrap of paper on which +she herself wrote a hinted threat in an effort to divert suspicion, +and the writing of which was inspired by the distraught mental +condition she must have been in. You called the police, and we found +Mr. Endicott. Your suspicions jumped unerringly to the man who was +uppermost in your thoughts: Mr. Hollander. He, you said to yourself, +had done this thing to save you. Consequently, when you learned that +Mr. Endicott had been revived and was expected to make a statement, +you shot him to prevent his accusing Mr. Hollander, and you arranged +your alibi with considerable ingenuity by only pretending to have +taken the narcotic.” + +“It makes quite a case, doesn’t it?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Endicott, quite a case.” + +“And the alternative? You did suggest that there was an alternative.” + +“That Marge Myles has never left the house at all. That she is still +here. And this is what the prosecuting attorney will offer to the +jury: that with your knowledge she got onto the balcony through one of +the windows in your room, shot Mr. Endicott, returned to your room, +and was hidden by you some place around this house.” + +“All of which is unfortunately negatived, Lieutenant, by the fact that +it was my slipper you found outside the window, and not hers.” + +“The prosecuting attorney can alter the action of the scene to suit +that, Mrs. Endicott. After Marge Myles got onto the balcony you were +terrified at the thought of what you had become a party to. You made +an effort to recall her, when the shots were fired and threw you into +a panic. You dropped your slipper and got back into the room.” +Lieutenant Valcour became quietly persuasive. “Which of my two +theories shall I believe? I can make you no promises, Mrs. Endicott, +because any confession that has been given under an understanding that +there will be an amelioration of punishment loses value in court. But +I can suggest to you that if you choose to make things easier for +justice the act may prove beneficial for yourself. There are more +unwritten laws than the common one so generally known.” + +Mrs. Endicott looked at him queerly. + +“You don’t worry me,” she said, “at all. Any course that I might take +can have but a common, a desired ending. The method of achievement is +utterly inconsequential to me, as long as the ultimate result remains +the same.” + +She was mounted again, Lieutenant Valcour decided, upon her hobby +which carried her along indifferent trails to death. The apparent +strength of her obsession rendered any further efforts on his part +futile. In the attic there was, for him, no longer anything of mystery +or the beauty of shrouded things. It was an ugly, littered room +peopled by a smartly turned out beauty who, like a petulant and +spoiled child reaching for the moon, sought further mysteries in that +life which beckons from beyond life, and by a tired, oldish fellow +standing stupidly in his stockinged feet away from his shoes. + +“Come downstairs with me, Mrs. Endicott,” he said. “As soon as my men +have thoroughly searched this house you will be formally charged.” + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +7:11 a. m.—The Criminal and Weapon of the Crime + +Lieutenant Valcour was once more in his shoes. Even in their laceless +condition they restored his confidence in the relative fitness of +things. + +Mrs. Endicott preceded him down two flights of stairs and to the door +of her husband’s room, which Lieutenant Valcour opened. He looked +inside and saw Cassidy sound asleep, seated on the large mahogany +chest by the window. And he did not blame Cassidy so much as he envied +him. + +“Cassidy.” + +Cassidy’s sharp return to consciousness would have reflected credit +upon the hero of any Western drama. + +“Sir?” + +“Put your gun back, Cassidy.” + +“Yes, Lieutenant. I must have dropped off for a cat nap.” + +“We can discuss that later. I want you to take Mrs. Endicott down to +the entrance hall with you and leave her there in charge of O’Brian. +She is under arrest.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“After that, warn the men on the servants’ entrance and garden door to +keep on their toes. If anyone tries to get past them on any pretext +whatever they are to stop him. Look up Hansen—he may still be in the +backyard—and then both of you come back here. We will then search the +house.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Lieutenant Valcour went into Endicott’s room and closed the door. It +was getting to be a mechanical action with him that caused him to go +to the desk and sit down. The perfumed sheet of notepaper, which he +had twice been prevented through interruptions from reading, caught +his attention at once. He read the letter through. + + I don’t believe you [it began, without any preliminaries], and right + from the start I tell you I think you are a liar and a louse. Harry + never wrote your wife no such thing, and even if he did it proves + nothing anyway. Nobody can prove a _thing_. You think it is funny to + scare me and if you do it any more I am going to show you just how + damn funny it is. I am through with you just the same way that your + wife is through with you and you are a nasty rat. + + Marge. + +Not really, Lieutenant Valcour decided, an essentially nice person. He +folded the letter and put it in his pocket to keep company with the +postscript forged by Mrs. Endicott. It would serve ably in +establishing a motive and help the prosecuting attorney to clinch the +case. Just as soon, he added unhappily, as he had unearthed the +criminal and the weapon of the crime. That criminal, he repeated +softly to himself, who with her weapon was still at large about the +house, unless his theory of the case was basically wrong. + +And therein lay the danger, the source of that curious presentiment of +impending menace which had gripped him at odd intervals throughout the +night. Strange that it should possess him most strongly in this silent +room. But wasn’t that just the association of ideas? Endicott, dead on +the bed over there, and the path of that death-dealing bullet cutting +through that corner over by the other window. He sought relief from a +return of it by a mental mopping up. It didn’t do to linger on +presentiments. . . . + +There were those few little side issues to think about; issues that +had puzzled him, but which did not bear any direct reference to the +main theme. He felt that they were explainable without any further +personal investigation. + +It seemed obvious to him, for example, that the reason why Mrs. +Siddons had gone downstairs with her bonnet on, when the sight of +O’Brian by the front door had turned her back, was a desire on her +part to get in touch with Maizie’s sailor husband and warn him that +the crime she thought he had committed had been discovered and that +the police were in the house. She had told Mrs. Endicott that she +believed that she had seen him loitering about the street during the +afternoon. And Mrs. Siddons would never have questioned her own +ability to walk right out and find him because, if it so desired, +Providence would have prearranged a suitable rendezvous. + +. . . They came from that corner, really: those definitely significant +waves of warning, as insistent as the scent that had led him to +find the letter from Marge Myles in the desk. But they weren’t a +scent, nor were they anything so definite as a letter. They were +(the astonishing thought thrilled him disagreeably) _Marge Myles_—her +personality—herself—inimical. . . . Nonsense, nonsense—the room was +empty. . . . + +He forced himself to think of the two little bewilderments that had +troubled him in connection with the thoroughly bewildering Roberts. +That pregnant look she had given him—what had it really meant, more or +less, than an intense urge on her part to erase any spell of +fascination which Mrs. Endicott might have cast upon him, and to plant +in its place the seeds of suspicion of Roberts’s own sowing. It had +been nothing more, really, than that. + +Now of greater inconsistency had been Roberts’s suggestion of +Hollander as the proper friend to stay with Endicott; for Roberts +assuredly had held a fantastic passion for Endicott—fantastic in that +there was this abnormal interrelationship of his personality with that +of her war-killed brother—and she had just as assuredly been convinced +that a liaison existed between Hollander and Endicott’s wife. There +was but one solution: Roberts had never observed Hollander and Mrs. +Endicott together, and she had hoped, should morning bring a meeting, +that under the natural dramatic effect of the setting there might be +some betrayal. A look, perhaps, was all she wanted to confirm her +suspicions. And there could have been in her mind no thought of any +real danger to Endicott from Hollander, for had there not been a nurse +and two policemen close by on guard? Then later, when Endicott was +well again, Roberts could have told him the thing which she had seen. + +. . . Mental fingers, that’s what they were, plucking at his nerves +and forming dissonances that chilled him queerly. He _wasn’t_ +alone—but he must be—the room was empty. . . . + +He would think of that Mr. “Smith” who lived with Hollander. Did he +fit in—beyond one solid thump on the head? Only as one of the myriad +side issues that cling like parasites to the trunk of each major +crime. One could suppose (with reasonable assurance that the +supposition would later prove to be fact) that Hollander was in some +genteelly illicit profession such as bootlegging, and that Mr. Smith +drummed up Hollander’s customers for him among the night +clubs—incidentally relieving some of the more foolish of them of their +jewels. Mr. Smith might well have believed, at that moment when +Lieutenant Valcour went to the telephone in their apartment, that if +Hollander’s goose was cooked his own might be cooked, too, and a +blackjack had then seemed the simplest expedient that would insure his +fading swiftly out of the picture. + +. . . The room was empty—the room was empty. . . . + +As for the emotional jungle of warped and sunless growths through +which Endicott, his wife, Marge Myles, and Hollander had all +groped their illusion-drugged way to this unhappy end—that lay +beyond the punishment or acquittal of earthbound law. The proper +tribunal for that must be found seated within their separate souls. +Lies—evasions—fetid depths . . . + +But _had_ she lied? + +Had there truly been no one on the balcony, as Mrs. Endicott had said? + +The shot had assuredly been fired from the direction of that window +above the large mahogany chest. + +Above? + +Presentiments were banished before the lash of fact. The lid of that +chest was _not quite closed_. And the object that was holding it open, +for the space of perhaps a half of an inch, was the small black muzzle +of a gun. + +Lieutenant Valcour’s hand moved indolently toward the upper left +pocket of his vest, in which there rested a flat, efficient little +automatic of small calibre. He knew what had happened—that owing to +his stillness for the last five minutes the murderer had thought the +room was empty and was attempting to escape. His hand moved more +quickly, but not quickly enough. The lid opened wider—eyes—a face—a +little shock of alarm, of terror—all ever so much more quickly +accomplished than told. The lid slammed up. + +“Quit it, Lieutenant, and put your hands down flat on the top of that +desk.” + +“You’re Marge Myles, of course,” he said. + +He flattened his hands on the desk’s mahogany surface and stared +curiously at her sultry beauty as she sat on the rim of the open +chest. Flamboyant, that’s what she was, and terribly bizarre from the +effect of a shingled ripple of bleached blonde hair above her Spanish +night-filled eyes. + +“You have put yourself in my way, Lieutenant”—her voice was as +disagreeable as the clash of dishes in a cheap restaurant—“and I am +going to kill you and escape.” + +“I see,” Lieutenant Valcour said politely, “that you believe in +threes.” + +“How?” + +“Your husband, Mrs. Endicott’s husband, and now myself. One—two—three. +For the sake of symmetry it is a pity that I am a bachelor.” + +She enjoyed for a full moment of silence—luxuriated in it, really—the +sense of power which she held over this man. She had always enjoyed +the power exerted by her body, and it was refreshing to drink quietly +for a while of this different sort of power, which, through the medium +of the pistol held unwaveringly in her hand, controlled the services +of life and death. She would shoot him soon. . . . + +Lieutenant Valcour hoped that Hansen would not blunder. + +He could see Hansen quite clearly now, all but pressed against the +outside of the window just behind Marge Myles. So Hansen, he +reflected, had found that there _was_ a way to climb up onto the +balcony from the garden down below. What a handy thing it was, at +times, to have been a sailor. Lieutenant Valcour fervently hoped +that—the usefulness of the rule having been accomplished—Hansen would +promptly stop being a sailor and become a policeman. He couldn’t, and +didn’t, expect that Hansen would shoot a woman down in cold blood, nor +would Hansen dare to startle her by throwing open the window or +crashing through its glass. Could Hansen shoot through the glass and +knock the pistol from her hand? Maybe once, Lieutenant Valcour thought +unhappily, out of every twenty times. And she certainly wouldn’t +refrain from pulling the trigger while Hansen practised twenty times. + +“Tell me,” he said, “how you ever managed to breathe inside of that +chest.” + +“The back of it is broken.” The casualness of the question had +startled her into an answer. + +“Your own back must be pretty well broken, too.” Was Hansen, the +idiot, going to smash the glass after all with the butt of his gun? +Hansen was staring very intently at him, seeking advice. He all but +imperceptibly shook his head in negation. “And what did you have in +the paper bag you carried when you came here and from which you tore +that scrap of paper upon which you wrote the misleading note?” + +“This gun.” + +“You carried the gun in a paper bag?” + +“I was smart, was I not? Who would think that in a cheap paper bag +there was a gun?” + +“Not even a disciple of the fourth dimension.” Hansen was aiming now +at her wrist. It was absurd—he faintly shook his head again. No—no! +“How did it happen that Mr. Endicott had his overcoat on but you had +his hat?” + +“I wear it for a better disguise. I have the dust on my face—there is +the hat—it fits well over my cloche. The effect is astonishing.” + +“I see, and so when Endicott came back into the room to get it he +couldn’t find it and thought he must have left it in the cupboard?” + +“Yes—yes—you are a smart man, too.” + +“And you entered the house with a duplicate key which you had had made +from one of Endicott’s?” + +“Dear heaven, yes—how else?” + +It did not please her that her climax should come at a commonplace +moment, when inconsequential questions were being asked and equally +inconsequential answers being given. It was not bravura: the man was +genuinely unafraid. And she wanted him to be afraid. One shouldn’t +just dribble from the world: there should be a blaze, a scene. + +Then Hansen rapped, quite gently, upon the panes. + +Inspiration? Genius? Perhaps. Lieutenant Valcour’s Gallic blood swept +back to the nation of its source and he could have kissed that dear, +that brilliant Hansen upon both of his ruddy, his intelligent, his +Nordic cheeks. + +She whirled as if something had flicked her. Blue serge—brass +buttons—a glinting shield. She pulled the trigger. + +But the muzzle of the gun was in her mouth. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +8:37 p. m.—Five Years Later + +Mrs. Hollander thought for a moment of simply dialling the operator +and saying, “I want a policeman.” + +It was what the printed notices in the telephone directory urged one +to do in case of an emergency. But it wasn’t an emergency exactly, +nor—still exactly—was it a policeman she wanted. She wanted a +detective, or an inspector, or something; a man to whom she could +explain her worry about Thomas, and who could do something about it if +he agreed with her that Thomas was in danger. + +Mrs. Hollander wanted most of all a man like Lieutenant Valcour, who +had so ably handled that wretched affair five years ago when she had +been married to Herbert and Herbert had been shot. She wondered +whether Lieutenant Valcour was still on the force, and decided to find +out. She dialled Spring 3100. She grew nervous while waiting. + +“This is Mrs. Thomas Hollander speaking,” she said, when the same type +of impersonal, efficient voice answered her as had been the one five +years before. “I am ’phoning to inquire whether a Lieutenant Valcour +is still connected with the police force. . . . I beg your pardon? +Oh.” She gave the address of her apartment house on Park Avenue. + +“This is Mrs. Thomas Hollander speaking,” she began again upon a +second voice saying, “Hello!” “and I am trying to get in touch with a +Lieutenant Valcour who—— I beg your pardon? . . . You _are_ Lieutenant +Valcour—Inspector, is it? But how perfectly efficient! I am worried, +Inspector, about Mr. Hollander, and I wonder whether it would be +possible for you to come up and talk it over with me. . . . No, he +hasn’t disappeared. I know exactly where he has gone, but I have +reason to believe that something might happen to him. . . . Yes, I am +the Mrs. Hollander who was formerly Mrs. Herbert Endicott. . . . Yes, +that dreadful affair. . . . Oh, you will? Thank you so much.” + +Inspector Valcour smiled a curiously satisfied little smile all to +himself as he sat in a department limousine, chauffeured by a +department driver, and sped smoothly north along Lafayette Street on +the way to Mrs. Hollander’s address on Park Avenue. + +And he thought of many things. + +He thought of Marge Myles and of Herbert Endicott, who were dead; and +of Madame Velasquez who, too, had died. + +He thought of Mrs. Siddons, returned to her native New England hills, +sinking her body and her being into their granite harshnesses and +drawing amazing sustenance from them, as a flower will that grows in +the imperceptible fissure of some solid rock. + +He thought of Roberts whom he had never seen again and of whom he had +never again heard, after the violation of the Sullivan Law had been +charged against her, and her sentence suspended. She had gone back to +England, probably, to lapse into a proper background for her neurotic +broodings. + +And that partner of Hollander’s—the Southernistic Mr. Smith. He had +faded entirely, never to return; nor was the fact of any consequence +at all. He had been at best a side issue too unimportant for further +bother. + +But most of all he thought of Mrs. Endicott, who was now Mrs. +Hollander. + +The annals of history and the annals of crime were fringed with women +just like her: beautiful, astonishing women, who revolved with their +uncertainties like satellites about the world of normal beings, +trailing their baleful, striking brilliance like an impalpable +poisonous gas across the surface of every person whom they plucked and +tortured within the intricate enigma of their hearts. The law never +could touch her—nor could a person, either. She would escape. She +would always escape, with the subtlety of mercury slipping between +impotent fingers. + +For she _had_ escaped. + +There wasn’t any doubt in his mind about that. She had been the focal +point five years ago in that Endicott case, no matter what the law or +men might say. Her forgery of that postscript had had a deeper, a more +deliberate intention than the mere breaking up of any affair between +her husband and Marge Myles: it was to have been a breaking up of all +of his affairs. Of him. + +She was the true murderer of her husband, and not Marge Myles. She had +simply spread the powder train to a suitably lethal explosive and had +then applied the match. The movements of the others had been nothing +more than gyrations performed by stringed puppets. And she had held +the strings. Some of her puppets had died, committed suicide, and been +killed. And it didn’t matter in the least. The world was ageless, she +herself was ageless, and plenty of puppets grew perennially every +spring. + +Inspector Valcour wondered, as he descended to the curb and prepared +to enter the lift to her apartment, whether Thomas had become a +puppet, too. + + + The End + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE + +This transcription is made from the text of the 1929 edition published +by Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc. However, the following errors have +been corrected from the original text: + + * “stubborness” was changed to “stubbornness” (Chapter I). + * “It’s contents” was changed to “Its contents” (Chapter I). + * “pressent” was changed to “present” (Chapter IX). + * “telehone” was changed to “telephone” (Chapter XI). + * “occasionallly” was changed to “occasionally” (Chapter XXIV). + * “Endicoott” was changed to “Endicott” (Chapter XXVI). + * “and than had” was changed to “and then had” (Chapter XXVI). + * “chauffered” was changed to “chauffeured” (Chapter XXXI). + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75500 *** diff --git a/75500-h/75500-h.htm b/75500-h/75500-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b7dc80 --- /dev/null +++ b/75500-h/75500-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9560 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>Murder by the Clock</title> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> +body { + margin: 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; 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white-space: nowrap; + padding-right: 0; + vertical-align: top; +} +.toc .t { + font-variant: small-caps; + padding-left: 0; +} +.sc { font-variant: small-caps; } +.signature { + font-variant: small-caps; + padding-right: 2em; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0; +} +.finis { + font-size: small; + margin-top: 3em; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +div.chapter { page-break-before: always; } +div.section { page-break-before: always; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75500 ***</div> + +<figure> + <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<div class="section" id="titlepage"> + +<h1>Murder by the Clock</h1> +<p class="authorprefix">by</p> +<p class="author">Rufus King</p> + +<p class="publisher">Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc.</p> +<p class="publisher">Garden City, New York, 1929</p> +<p class="copyright">Copyright, 1928, 1929 +by The Consolidated Magazine Corporation (The Red Book Magazine)</p> +<p class="copyright">Copyright, 1929 by Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="contents"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table class="toc"> +<tr> + <td class="n">I.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch01">8:37 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch01">Spring 3100</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">II.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch02">9:24 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch02">Hall Marks of Murder</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">III.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch03">9:45 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch03">Guards Are Stationed at the Doors</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">IV.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch04">10:02 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch04">Pale Flares the Darkness</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">V.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch05">10:17 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch05">Living or Dead?</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VI.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch06">10:32 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch06">Pictures in Dust</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch07">11:01 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch07">Banked Fires</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VIII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch08">11:28 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch08">Mrs. Endicott Screams</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">IX.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch09">11:55 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch09">Queer Deeps</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">X.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch10">12:06 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch10">The Stillness of a Grave</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XI.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch11">12:15 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch11">To Watch by Night</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch12">12:30 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch12">Madame Velasquez Stirs up Muck</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch13">2:01 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch13">Glittering Eyes</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIV.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch14">2:01 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch14">An Empty Sheath</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XV.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch15">2:13 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch15">The Thin Steel Blade</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVI.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch16">2:13 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch16">Time <i>versus</i> Death</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch17">2:40 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch17">The Angle of Death’s Path</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVIII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch18">3:00 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch18">Thin Haze of Dread</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIX.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch19">3:15 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch19">The Properties of Horror</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XX.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch20">3:24 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch20">On Private Heights</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXI.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch21">3:51 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch21">A Woman’s Slipper</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch22">4:14 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch22">Tap—Tap—Tap</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch23">4:29 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch23">A Turn of the Screw</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIV.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch24">4:41 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch24">As the Colours of Dawn</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXV.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch25">5:01 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch25">Lunatic Vistas</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXVI.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch26">5:25 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch26">There Was a Sailor</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXVII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch27">5:46 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch27">Mrs. Endicott Cannot Be Found</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch28">6:00 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch28">Mist Drifting Through Mist</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIX.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch29">6:30 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch29">As Is Mirage</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXX.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch30">7:11 <i>a. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch30">The Criminal and Weapon of the Crime</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXXI.</td> + <td class="w"><a href="#ch31">8:37 <i>p. m.</i>—</a></td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch31">Five Years Later</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> + +<h2>Chapter I. <br> 8:37 <i>p. m.</i>—Spring 3100</h2> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott thought for a moment of simply +dialling the operator and saying, “I want a +policeman.”</p> + +<p>It was what the printed notices in the telephone +directory urged one to do in case of an emergency. +But it wasn’t an emergency exactly, nor—still +exactly—was it a policeman she wanted. She wanted +a detective, or an inspector, or something; a man to +whom she could explain her worry about Herbert, +and who could do something about it if he agreed +with her that Herbert was in danger.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott had never had any personal contact +with the police. Whenever she thought about it at all +she thought of the force as an efficient piece of +machinery, the active parts of which one observed daily +from one’s motor as healthy and generally good-looking +young men who controlled traffic. She knew +that there was a patrolman whose beat carried him +past their door. Upon thinking suddenly about it she +realized that she had only seen this man twice or +three times at most during the past year. She knew +that Herbert always left a ten-dollar gold piece to be +given him by one of the maids at Christmas, and a +check for twenty dollars as a subscription to some +enterprise vaguely designated as the “fund.”</p> + +<p>She wondered momentarily whether the police +characters she had seen in various plays, while at the +theatre with Herbert, were true to life. Most of the +characters had been brutal, in spite of a pleasant +tender-heartedness reluctantly betrayed toward the +final curtain, and just at present she wanted quiet, +competent understanding—not brutality.</p> + +<p>It occurred to her that a private investigator might +be better, but she was uncertain as to the extent of +their official powers. She decided to rely on the police, +because the police could do something if they agreed +with her that something ought to be done.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott looked up the telephone number of +police headquarters and dialled Spring 3100. She +grew nervous while waiting.</p> + +<p>“This is Mrs. Herbert Endicott speaking,” she +said, when an undeniably masculine voice answered. +It was an impersonal, efficient voice with no +overtones about it. “Will you please connect me with +your detective department? . . . I beg your pardon? +Oh.” She gave the number of her house on East +Sixty-third Street between Fifth and Madison +avenues.</p> + +<p>“This is Mrs. Herbert Endicott speaking,” she +began again, upon a second voice’s saying, “Hello,” +“and I am worried about Mr. Endicott. I wonder +whether you could send someone up to talk it over +with me. . . . No, he hasn’t disappeared. I know +exactly where he has gone, but I have reason to believe +that something might happen to him. . . . Yes, it’s +the Mr. Endicott who has been in the papers recently +in connection with Wall Street. . . . Around in a few +minutes? But I thought police headquarters were +down on Centre Street. . . . They transferred the call +to the precinct station? Really. . . . Oh, thank you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott replaced the receiver on its hook. +She felt distinctly impressed at the efficiency with +which her request had been so instantly transferred +to the place where it could be handled competently +and with dispatch.</p> + +<p>The living room where she had been telephoning +was on the second floor of the house. She left it and +went to her dressing room, which was toward the +rear of a corridor on the same floor. She gave her +appearance a preoccupied inspection before a pier +glass. The soft and uneven lines of the jade chiffon +of her dress would offer a satisfactory mask, she felt, +for the nervous tenseness of her body. She renewed +the red on her upper lip where she had been biting it. +She returned to the living room, lighted a cigarette, +and picked up a novel which she did not read.</p> + +<p>She smoked three cigarettes.</p> + +<p>Her sense of aloneness became stifling. The conceit +grew upon her nervous condition that she had +changed places with the furniture. She had become +inanimate and the furniture endowed with attributes +of life, as if her being were under the influence of some +dispassionate regard by something that had no eyes +with which to see. It was nonsense—nonsense. She +never should have listened—at least not attentively—to +that wretched old woman. She could very well +just have given the appearance . . . one had to be +polite . . .</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott moved restlessly to one of the draped +windows and stared down on the silent street. About +her stretched the city of New York, and yet her +environment could not have been quieter in some cabin +in the woods. Not as quiet. Her memory swerved +to that hellish week with Herbert in the forests +outside of Copenhagen . . . what on earth <em>was</em> the name +of that little watering place . . . Trollhättan? . . . +No, that was in Sweden. Names never mattered. She +looked up for a while at a slender slice of night sky +horizoned by cornices across the street. It was heavy +with stars that held her as if they were so many +magic mediums arranged in heaven for the express +purpose of granting her earthbound wishes. Wishes? +She shrugged. She released the drapes, and they +settled into place.</p> + +<p>A maid opened the living-room door and came in.</p> + +<p>“A lieutenant from the precinct station, madam.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Jane. Ask him to come up here. Did he +give his name?”</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant Valcour, madam, I think he said.”</p> + +<p>“Try and be more careful in the future about +getting names.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott lighted another cigarette. Her sense +of having done the proper thing began to desert her +in a rush. The police had a habit of finding things +out—unexpected things, irrelevant to any matter on +hand. She was sure of it, and wondered on what she +based the knowledge: books, hearsay. She would have +to be careful, but after all, a person with +intelligence—— He was standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“My maid,” she said, “wasn’t sure of your name. +Is it Valcour?” She noticed with a sense of relief that +he was not in uniform and that he had left his hat and +overcoat downstairs. Mrs. Endicott had an aversion +to discussing things which fringed on possible +intimacies with people who were hatted and coated. +He was a mild elderly man with features that were +homely but not undistinguished, well dressed in +tweed, and not smoking a cigar. He affected her with +a quieting sense of reassurance.</p> + +<p>“Valcour is correct, Mrs. Endicott. I happened to +be leaving for home when your call was put in, so +I stopped in personally instead of sending a detective +as you suggested.”</p> + +<p>The faint trace of cultured precision in his speech +made her suspect foreign origin. She was sensitive to +voices, and while not exactly collecting them, they +almost amounted with her to a hobby. They were +an essential part in the attraction she felt toward +certain people, and it would have been within the +bounds of possibility for her to have fallen in love +with a voice.</p> + +<p>“You are of French origin, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“French-Canadian, Mrs. Endicott. I became +naturalized twenty years ago.”</p> + +<p>She offered her hand. They sat down. Now that he +was here she felt that the necessity for hurry had +vanished; his air of official protection had erased it. +She wondered how it would be best to begin: just +where to plunge into the foggy mass that composed +her worry.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour accepted a cigarette and lighted +it. He was agreeably impressed with Mrs. Endicott +and with the room. Both were unusual, and the +competent foundation in culture he had acquired at +McGill University in his youth enabled him to place +them at a proper evaluation. The furniture was low +set in design and severely simple, the general effect +one of spaciousness and repose oddly marred by a +muted undernote of harshness. It was not bizarre. +He suspected it, correctly, of being modernistic. Mrs. +Endicott herself had the startlingly clear perfection +of features one occasionally finds in blondes. He +decided that her age centred on twenty-five. Beneath +her authentic beauty—her face seemed planed in pale +tones of pink ice—there would be a definite substrata +of metal. He noted that the six cigarette butts crushed +in the vermilion lacquered tray on a small table beside +her chair had not been smoked beyond a few puffs +each. A clock standing on the broad-shelved mantel +of the fireplace struck nine.</p> + +<p>“My husband,” Mrs. Endicott said abruptly, “has +been gone now exactly two hours.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour smiled amiably and settled +himself a little less formally in his chair. His manner +presented itself to her as a freshly sponged slate upon +which she could trace any markings that she might +choose.</p> + +<p>“He left here at seven o’clock this evening,” Mrs. +Endicott said, “to go to the apartment of a woman +with whom he thinks he is in love. Her name is Marge +Myles, and her apartment is on the Drive.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour’s smile seemed to offer both +consolation and an apology.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid there isn’t very much we can do for +you,” he said. “It’s always private inquiry agents +who handle work of that—well, of that rather delicate +character.”</p> + +<p>“No—I haven’t made myself plain.” Mrs. Endicott’s +indeterminate thoughts began to crystallize. +“I’m not looking for evidence to secure a divorce. +This woman is nothing of any permanence, but I’m +afraid of her—of what she might do to Herbert.” +Then she added, as if the simple statement in itself +would insure his comprehension, “You see, I’ve seen +her.”</p> + +<p>“With him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. They were lunching at the St. Regis. Herbert +always was a fool about those things. She’s +foreign-looking—the Latin type.” Mrs. Endicott felt the +need for being meticulously explicit. “Her eyes are +like the black holes you see in portraits of Spanish +women. They’re the entire face; everything else blurs +into a nonessential whiteness. This woman’s eyes are +like that—like weapons. I know she’s the sort who +would kill if she got stirred up over something—got +jealous or something. People do get jealous enough to +kill,” she ended.</p> + +<p>“Frequently.” Lieutenant Valcour stored away +in his memory the broken nail on the little finger of +Mrs. Endicott’s left hand. The uniform perfection of +detail in the rest of her appearance made it stand out +jarringly. “This is all most unfortunate,” he said +sympathetically, “but I still doubt whether there is +anything we could do. If there were only something +definite—say a threat, for example—we’d be very +glad to investigate it and to offer Mr. Endicott +suitable protection.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott stood up. The abruptness of the +movement spread the folds of chiffon that streamed +from a bow on her left shoulder, and Lieutenant +Valcour’s deceptively indifferent eyes lingered on +bruise marks that showed blue smears upon white +skin before the chiffon fell back into place.</p> + +<p>“Would you come with me to my husband’s +room?” Mrs. Endicott said.</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“There’s something there I’d like to show +you—to ask you what you think about it.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour followed Mrs. Endicott along +the corridor that led past her dressing room. A door +beyond this opened into her bedroom, and directly +across the corridor from it was the door to Endicott’s +room. The blank end of the corridor served as a wall +for the bathroom, which connected the two bedrooms +and turned them into a suite which ran the width of +the rear of the house.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour sensed a difference in the +furnishings of Endicott’s bedroom that set it at sharp +variance with the other parts of the house that he +had seen. It was done in heavy mahoganies that were +antiquated rather than antique, and methodically +centred in each panel of its gray-toned walls was a +print of some painting by Maxfield Parrish. After a +comprehensive glance around he felt as if he had +already met Endicott. He had at least evolved a +fairly accurate portrait of the man’s sensibilities, if +not of his physique. He thought that Endicott would +be difficult: a clearly divided neighbouring of the +physical and the ideal, assuredly conscious of the +fitness of things—which would be responsible for his +acquiescence in the tone of the rest of the house—but +dominated by an inner stubbornness which faced +ridicule in the maintaining of his private room at the +level he had accepted as a standard years before.</p> + +<p>“That is his desk.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott indicated a flat-topped desk which +was placed before one of the rear windows. A +lemon-jacketed book with crumpled pages was lying on it +as if it had been slammed there. Near the book was +a scrap of paper. Lieutenant Valcour leaned down +and stared at the paper without picking it up. On it +was printed in pencil:</p> + +<figure> + <img src="images/scrap.png" + alt="Scrawled capital letters reading “BY THURSDAY OR—”."> +</figure> + +<p>He looked at Mrs. Endicott. She was evidently +waiting for him to speak.</p> + +<p>“To-day is Thursday,” he said. “Might it not be +simply a memorandum?”</p> + +<p>“My husband doesn’t print his memorandums, nor +is it likely he would use a piece of paper torn from a +paper bag.” She added, to clinch her belief, “I can’t +imagine Herbert ever having a paper bag.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he bought something at some +haberdasher’s.”</p> + +<p>“The paper is too cheap. It’s more like the sort +they use at grocers’ or small stationers’.”</p> + +<p>“So it is.”</p> + +<p>“And there’s a crudeness about the printing. It’s +almost an intentional crudeness.” Mrs. Endicott +stared fixedly at Lieutenant Valcour. “It’s the sort +of printing you’d expect to find in a threat,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I have learned to find almost any sort of writing +or material used for purposes of conveying a threat,” +Lieutenant Valcour said. “People who threaten are +invariably unbalanced emotionally, if not actually +mentally, and there is never any telling just what they +will do. There was a case that recently came to my +attention where a woman received a threat which +had been engraved on excellent paper and enclosed +in the conventional inner envelope one uses for formal +announcements or invitations.”</p> + +<p>“Really.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not, by that, questioning your judgment in +the matter of this note, Mrs. Endicott. It might quite +well be a threat, as you think.”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing else apparent that it could be.”</p> + +<p>“When did you find it, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“After my husband had left.”</p> + +<p>“Lying just about where it is now?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly where it is now.”</p> + +<p>“I see. You didn’t touch it then—just read it. I +wonder why your husband left it there.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him almost impatiently. “I don’t +imagine he did leave it there—that is, purposely. It +probably fell out from between the leaves when he +slammed the book down.”</p> + +<p>“Has it occurred to you that we might call up this +Marge Myles—but that’s foolish. Of course you’d +have thought of that.”</p> + +<p>He observed her obliquely as she answered.</p> + +<p>“He’d never forgive me.” Her gesture was faintly +expressive of helplessness. “I’m not supposed to +know anything about it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. This menace, Mrs. Endicott, this +danger that you are fearing, where do you think it +lies?”</p> + +<p>She became consciously vague. “The +streets—indoors—out——”</p> + +<p>“And you’re basing it entirely upon this note?”</p> + +<p>“Primarily. It’s something concrete, at any rate. +I think that he ought to have protection, and yet, if +I did do anything about it, he’d put it down as +spying.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if this note is a threat there is rarely only +one, you know. I wonder whether we might find any +others. I haven’t the remotest justification for +looking, but I’m willing to do so if you wish me to.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott grew curiously detached. “His papers +are in the upper right-hand drawer,” she said.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour opened the drawer. Its contents +were in a state of considerable confusion. It +was not the sort of confusion which is the result of a +cumulative addition of separate notes, letters, and +sheets of paper, but a kind that exists when a +normally orderly collection of papers has been milled +around in suddenly.</p> + +<p>“There’s quite a mass of stuff here,” he said. “It +might be simpler to eliminate other possible places +before tackling it. I must repeat again that I’ll be +exceeding any legal rights by doing so, but if you +earnestly believe your husband is in danger I’d like +to go through the pockets of his clothing.”</p> + +<p>“Pockets?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a much more usual place to find important +things than you would imagine.”</p> + +<p>“His clothes are in that cupboard.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott indicated a door. Lieutenant Valcour +went over and opened it. An electric light was +automatically turned on in the ceiling. The large +hulk of a man crumpled into one corner of the +cupboard gave him a severe shock. The man was dead. +He closed the door and faced Mrs. Endicott. He +nodded toward the desk, on which a telephone was +standing.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to use that telephone for a few minutes,” +he said. “There’s a message I want to put through. +Also, please ring for your maid.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s eyes widened a little. “There’s +something in the cupboard,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Ring for your maid, please.”</p> + +<p>She went past him and toward the cupboard door. +He shrugged. The value of her reaction would offset +the brutality of not stopping her. She opened the door +and looked in. Her grip tightened on the knob.</p> + +<p>“Then he didn’t go out at seven,” she said.</p> + +<p>“No, Mrs. Endicott. He didn’t go out at all.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> + +<h2>Chapter II. <br> 9:24 p. m.—Hall Marks of Murder</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour felt that the utter stillness of +the room would overwhelm him. He—Mrs. Endicott—everything +seemed to be taking its cue from death. +He reached past Mrs. Endicott and touched the +body’s cheek. It was quite cold.</p> + +<p>“Where is your room, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>He carefully pried her fingers from the knob of the +cupboard door and then closed it.</p> + +<p>“But you can’t leave him in that cupboard.”</p> + +<p>Her voice held the toneless qualities of arrested +emotion, as if the functioning of her nerve centres +had stopped.</p> + +<p>“We must leave him in there, Mrs. Endicott, +until someone from the medical examiner’s office has +seen him. If you’ll tell me the name of your family +physician before you lie down——”</p> + +<p>“Lie down—I? Lie down?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and rest. I’ll call the doctor up on the +possible chance that we’re mistaken, only I’m quite +certain, Mrs. Endicott, that we aren’t.”</p> + +<p>She stumbled verbally in her rush. “Worth—Dr. +Sanford Worth—Calumet 876—it’s 876 something—I +know it perfectly well. I—it’s in my +book—come with me.”</p> + +<p>She seemed mechanically vitalized, and her movements +were those of a nervous, jerky toy. She flung +open a door adjacent to the cupboard. It led into a +bathroom, the fittings of which were of coral-coloured +porcelain. A door in the opposite wall led into her +bedroom. She went immediately to a leather reference +book beside a telephone near her bed.</p> + +<p>“It’s Calumet 8769,” she said.</p> + +<p>Her finger slipped in the dialling. Lieutenant +Valcour gently took the instrument from her hands +and put through the call.</p> + +<p>“The office of Dr. Worth?” he said, when a +woman’s voice answered him. “This is the home of +Mr. Herbert Endicott. I am Lieutenant Valcour of +the police department. Mr. Endicott is dead. I would +appreciate it if Dr. Worth would come here at once +and consult with the medical examiner, and also +attend to Mrs. Endicott. Thank you.” He replaced the +receiver.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the slightest intention of collapsing, +Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“We will need Dr. Worth anyway, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour dialled the Central Office and, +in a suddenly most efficient voice, gave the requisite +information. He then called his own precinct station +and told the sergeant at the desk to send over a detail +of five men in uniform.</p> + +<p>“The chief of the Homicide Bureau, the medical +examiner, and some of my own men will be here +presently,” he said to Mrs. Endicott.</p> + +<p>“And my husband has to stay in that cupboard +until they come?”</p> + +<p>“Unless Dr. Worth arrives first and disagrees +with me that Mr. Endicott is dead.”</p> + +<p>“It’s inhuman.”</p> + +<p>“Very, but there’s a set routine for these cases +that we have to observe. Is this the button you ring +for your maid?”</p> + +<p>He pressed a push button set in the wall at the +head of the bed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I don’t want her.”</p> + +<p>“You may, and there’s no harm in her being with +you. I’m going to leave you in here for a little while, +until the people we’ve telephoned for come.”</p> + +<p>“You insist on my staying in this room?”</p> + +<p>“Heavens, no. Do anything you like, Mrs. Endicott, +or that you feel will help you. As long,” he added +gently, “as you don’t leave the house.”</p> + +<p>“Oh.”</p> + +<p>“You see we’ll have to talk such a lot of things +over, just as soon as the usual formalities are +finished.”</p> + +<p>“It’s rather terrible, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty terrible, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“So”—she mentally groped for a satisfactory +word—“so conclusive.”</p> + +<p>It seemed a peculiar choice. Lieutenant Valcour +sensed that it wasn’t just Endicott’s life alone which +was concluded by death, but something else as well—such +as an argument, perhaps, or a secret and bitter +struggle. The precise significance was elusive, and he +gave it up, or rather checked it within his memory +in that compartment which already contained six +barely smoked cigarette butts, a broken finger nail, +bruise marks, and a note which, in view of the body, +might safely be presumed to have been a threat.</p> + +<p>A maid knocked on the door and came in. She +stared speculatively for a curious second at +Lieutenant Valcour.</p> + +<p>“Madam rang?”</p> + +<p>“No, Roberts. Lieutenant Valcour rang. +Lieutenant Valcour is of the police.”</p> + +<p>Any sudden announcing of the police is always +shocking. It is a prelude to so many unpleasant +possibilities even in the lives of the most blameless. +They are in a class with telegrams. Lieutenant +Valcour noted that Roberts accepted his identity with +nothing further than an almost imperceptible catching +of breath. Mrs. Endicott’s attitude puzzled him. +It wasn’t resentment, certainly, or any stretching at +rudeness; such emotions seemed so utterly +inconsequential at this moment when she must have been +wrenched by a very severe shock. It reminded him of +the aimless play of lightning clowning before the +purposeful fury of a storm.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Endicott will explain things to you,” he +said. “Stay with her, please.”</p> + +<p>There lingered, as he went into the bathroom, a +picture of the two women, separated by the distance +of the room, standing quite still and staring at each +other: Mrs. Endicott, young, exquisitely lovely +looking—the other, older, quite implacable. The +connection was absurd, but the effect remained of +two antagonists in a strange encounter who are +standing in their separate corners of a ring. He closed +the bathroom door and slipped the catch. He turned +on all the lights.</p> + +<p>There was a single window. He parted muslin +curtains and looked at a glazed lemon-coloured shade, +especially along its hemmed bottom. There were some +smudges at its centre that interested him. He believed +that they had been made by a dirty thumb. He raised +the shade and the lower sash of the window.</p> + +<p>The night was clear and cold and windless. A +shallow stone balcony ran the width of the rear of +the house. It was for ornamentation rather than use, +as to get onto it one had to straddle the window sill. +Lieutenant Valcour did so, and stood looking down +upon the dimly defined outlines of what, in spring, +would bloom into a formal garden. He satisfied himself +that there seemed no access to the balcony from +the ground unless one used a ladder or were endowed +with those special and fortunately rare qualities which +transform an otherwise normal person into a human +fly.</p> + +<p>The house was five windows wide; the two on the +right of the bathroom belonged to Mrs. Endicott’s +room, and the two on its left to her husband’s. He +flashed on his electric torch and examined all five +sills. None showed a trace of recent passage, and +there was no very good reason, he realized, why any +of them should. They were clean, windswept, and +smooth.</p> + +<p>How pleasant it would be, he reflected, to come +across the perfect imprint of a shoe, or a rubber, +or—what was it that was so popular at the moment?—of +course: the footprint of a gorilla. The case would +then be what was technically known as an open-and-shut +one. He’d simply take the train for California +and arrest Lon Chaney, and—— But enough.</p> + +<p>And the floor itself on the balcony was smugly +lacking in clues. He relinquished the keen sharp air, +the star-heavy night, and returned to the bathroom +by way of its window, which he closed, and again drew +down its lemon-coloured shade.</p> + +<p>A cake of soap in a container set in the wall above +a basin attracted his attention. It was so incredibly +dirty. Someone with exceptionally dirty hands had +used it and either hadn’t bothered to rinse it off or +else hadn’t had the time to. The dirt had dried on it.</p> + +<p>He couldn’t vision such a condition of uncleanliness +in connection with the hands of either Mr. or +Mrs. Endicott, unless there had been some obscure +reason. He preferred to think for the moment that +the hands had belonged, and presumably still did, to +the murderer. That, of course, eliminated the gorilla. +What a pity it was, he reflected, that he was so +constantly obsessed with infernal absurdities. Even +though he tried to keep them under triple lock and +key when working with his associates on the force, +they had a distressing habit at times of cropping out +into the open where they could be seen. Nor were +they of a humour especially in vogue among his +contemporaries; there rarely was an +and-the-drummer-said-to-Mabel or an-Irishman-and-a-Jew among them. +Rarely? He shuddered. Never. As a result there were +occasions when he rested under the cloud of being +considered mildly lunatic. It was bad business. He +had told himself so firmly again and again. Success +and humour formed bedfellows as agreeable as an +absent-minded dog would be <i>en négligé</i> in the boudoir +of a surprised cat.</p> + +<p>With a beautiful access of gravity he lifted the lid +of an enamelled wicker hamper and peered in at the +soiled linen it contained. There were many towels. +Towels were, he reflected, one of the few genuine hall +marks of the rich. The Endicotts, hence, must be +very, very rich, as it was obvious that they shed—or +was it shedded?—towels as profusely as the petals +fall from a white flowering tree.</p> + +<p>There was a badly soiled and crumpled towel on +the very top of the pile. He picked it up and looked +at it. It was very dirty and still faintly damp. He +folded it, set it on the floor beneath the basin, and +placed the cake of soap upon it. They were, he smiled +faintly, Exhibits B and C. The distinction of being +classified as Exhibit A was already reserved by the +threatening note on the desk. As for the smudges on +the lemon-coloured shade, they would have to be +definitely determined as finger prints before they +could have their niche in the alphabet. The prosecuting +attorney would be pleased. He was a man whose +flair for alphabeted exhibits amounted to a passion. +Lieutenant Valcour hoped that he could find a +crushed rose. The prosecuting attorney was at his +best with crushed roses. For example, take that +knifing case in the Ghetto. Three petals were all the +prosecuting attorney had had there, but they had +bloomed, via the jury, into tears. Into tears, +Lieutenant Valcour amended, and tripe.</p> + +<p>A pair of silver-backed brushes showed no finger +marks upon their shining surfaces, nor were there any +on the silver rim that backed a comb. One could infer, +Lieutenant Valcour decided, and did, that someone +later than Mr. Endicott had used them, as Mr. +Endicott would never have wiped them off to remove +his prints, and had he not done so there certainly +would have been some signs of usage. What a careful +murderer it was, he thought, to polish the evidence +so very clean. And what a grip the subject of finger +prints maintained upon the criminal mind, and upon +the lay mind as well. It seemed to embrace their +Alpha and Omega in the scientific detection of crime. +Lieutenant Valcour offered to bet himself his last +nickel that the murderer had overlooked entirely the +possibility of what might be found left within the +bristles of the brushes and between the teeth of the +comb. He took a clean hand towel from the rack and +wrapped the brushes and the comb up in it. He set +the bundle on the floor beside the cake of soap and +the dirty towel. The alphabet, he reflected, had now +been depleted down to F.</p> + +<p>The bathroom could tell him nothing more. He +reconstructed its segment of the drama before leaving +it: the murderer had entered, gone at once to the +window and pulled down its shade. There had been a +washing of hands and a brushing and combing of hair. +The murderer had wiped the silver clear of finger +prints and had left. The whys and wherefors must +come later. The shell would remain unchanged until +the moment came to pour it full of motive and give +it reason and life.</p> + +<p>He went into Endicott’s room and opened the +cupboard door. The beam from his electric torch, +added to the ceiling light, brought out sharply the +waxy pallor of the face’s skin. Its good-looking, +homely ruggedness was marred by a slight cast of +petulance, as inappropriate as a pink bow on a lion. +Cruelty showed, too, a little—and something inscrutable +that baffled analysis. Endicott weighed, Lieutenant +Valcour decided, close upon two hundred pounds +and no fat, either; a strong, powerfully muscled +man, and about thirty-five years old. He played the +light upon Endicott’s right hand and exposed the +wrist a little by drawing up the sleeve. The wrist and +hand were normally clean, as he had expected.</p> + +<p>He gently inserted his fingers into such of Endicott’s +pockets as he could reach without disturbing +the body. From the rumpled state of their linings +and their complete emptiness it was apparent that +they had been hastily turned inside out and replaced.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour began to sniff at a motive. +Not robbery, exactly, in the ordinary sense, as an +expensive platinum wrist watch and a set of black +pearl shirt studs were untouched, but robbery in the +extraordinary sense—one that had been indulged in +for a certain definite purpose. He strongly began to +suspect that there would be the ubiquitous “fatal +papers.” It might also develop that Endicott was +the secretive owner of some fabulous jewel of a sort +usually referred to as a Heart of Buddha, or perhaps +some important slice of the Russian crown +jewels—the number of which now almost equalled, he +reflected, the thousands upon thousands of ancestors +who came over to our shores on the <i>Mayflower</i>.</p> + +<p>The top button was missing from Endicott’s +overcoat. It would have been torn away when the +murderer had lifted his victim from the floor in order +to drag him into the cupboard. Otherwise there wasn’t +anything that hinted at a struggle. There wasn’t +any blood, or any wound, or sign of contusion visible +on the head, and no trace of blood around such parts +of the cupboard that Lieutenant Valcour could see.</p> + +<p>He suddenly wondered where Endicott’s hat was. +It wasn’t on Endicott’s head, nor in the cupboard, +nor in the bedroom, which struck him as strange. +He was a strong believer in the paraphrase that where +the coat is, there the hat lies, too. One could look for +it more carefully later. Just at present, of greater +importance was Exhibit A.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went to the desk, picked up +the note and studied it. The pencil used had been a +thick leaded one, almost a crayon. And there, right +before his nose in a shallow tray that held an assortment +of office things, was a pencil with a very thick +lead that was almost a crayon. He copied the note +with it on the back of an envelope he took from his +pocket. He compared the result with the printing on +the note. They were alike.</p> + +<p>One begins, he informed himself gently, to wonder.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> + +<h2>Chapter III. <br> 9:45 p. m.—Guards Are Stationed at the Doors</h2> + +<p>There are knocks, Lieutenant Valcour believed, and +knocks. He ranged them from gentle careless rappings, +through sly sinister taps, to imperative demands +and, finally, thumps. He classified the ones at +the moment being bestowed upon the hall door as +official whacks. He was right. He put the scrap of +paper and the crayon pencil in his pocket and turned +to greet five men from the station house who flooded +into the room on the heels of his “Come in.”</p> + +<p>They were intelligent-looking young men, well +built, alert, and their uniforms were immaculate—five +competent blue jays outlined sharply against +gray walls. Lieutenant Valcour knew each one of +them both by reputation and by name.</p> + +<p>He nodded to the starchiest and youngest looking +of them. “Cassidy,” he said, “stay in here. O’Brian, +stay by the front door, and keep Hansen with you to +carry messages. There’s a servants’ entrance at the +front, McGinnis. It’s yours. And you, Stump, watch +the door from the back of the house into the garden. +If anyone wants to leave the house send him to me +first. You can let anyone in, with the exception of +reporters, and find out their business. Now in regard +to the reporters just be your natural genial selves +and say that apart from the plain statement that +Mr. Herbert Endicott, the owner of this house, is +dead and that—” Lieutenant Valcour choked +slightly—“foul play is suspected, you can tell them +nothing. The police, as usual, are actively on the job, +have the case well in hand, and there is every reason +to believe that in view of our customary efficiency +the guilty parties will soon be brilliantly apprehended +etcetera and so forth Amen. Excuse-it-please.”</p> + +<p>“Cuckoo,” confided O’Brian to Hansen as, with +Stump and McGinnis, they filed out.</p> + +<p>“Cuckoo as a fox,” agreed Hansen, who had +worked under Lieutenant Valcour on a case before.</p> + +<p>“Yeh?”</p> + +<p>“Yeah.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour and young Cassidy were alone.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Cassidy, how are the servants taking all +this, if you bumped into any of them?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, I only saw the girl at the front door, +Lieutenant. She’s a sorry piece, and was shivering +worse than one of them new and indecent dances.”</p> + +<p>“Did she say anything?”</p> + +<p>“She did not, beyond telling us to follow her +upstairs. She took us to that door across the hallway +first, and some lady said you was in here.”</p> + +<p>“How did that lady’s voice sound to you, +Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“Smooth, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Not nervous?”</p> + +<p>“Devil a bit.”</p> + +<p>“What are you looking for, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“The corpse, sir.”</p> + +<p>“It’s in that cupboard.”</p> + +<p>“Is it now?” said Cassidy, casually removing +himself as far from the cupboard door as he could. +“It ain’t one of them Western hammer murders, is +it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what kind of a homicide it is, +Cassidy. There are no marks on him that I can see.”</p> + +<p>“Will it be poison, then?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let’s hope it’s one or the other. I hate them +mystery cases where the deceased got his go-by from +a Chinese blow gun, or some imported snake from +Timbuctu, or parts adjacent.”</p> + +<p>“When did you ever work on such a case, +Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Lieutenant, you can read about them every +week in the magazines. There’s one that’s in its +fourth part now where some louse of foreign extraction +kills a dumb cluck of a Wall Street magnet with +a package of paper matches, the tips of which was so +fixed that they exploded when struck, instead of +acting decent like, and shot dabs of poison into the +skin of his fingers. Can you imagine it? Just say the +word and I’ll bring it around to the station house and +you can read it for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, Cassidy.”</p> + +<p>“It’ll be no trouble at all, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>An important knock on the door disclosed a +stranger. Lieutenant Valcour addressed him, +correctly, as Dr. Worth.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sanforth Worth did not merely imagine that +he cut a distinguished figure; he was sure of it. A +certain grayness clung impressively about the +temples of an intellectual brow, and he was probably +one of the few physicians left in New York who had +both the audacity and ability to wear a Vandyke. +He was dressed in evening clothes and had not +bothered to remove his overcoat or to give up his hat.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Worth? I am Lieutenant Valcour, of the +police. Mr. Endicott is in here.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth bowed gravely, and with a sparklingly +manicured hand stroked his Vandyke once. “I +have been afraid of something like this for quite a +while, Lieutenant,” he said. His voice, in company +with everything else about him, sounded expensive.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour raised his eyebrows. “It +begins to seem, Doctor, as if everybody except Mr. +Endicott himself anticipated his murder.”</p> + +<p>“Murder?”</p> + +<p>It was Dr. Worth’s eyebrows’ turn. They raised. +They fell. They became, in conjunction with pursed +lips, judicious. He removed his overcoat and placed +it, with his hat, upon a chair.</p> + +<p>“I believe you will find, Lieutenant, that it is just +his heart. His—— Dear God in heaven, man, what +have you left him slumped down like this for?”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t touch him, Doctor, unless you think +he isn’t dead.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth stiffened perceptibly. “Fancy that,” +he said. “Well, one would infer that he is dead, all +right. Just the same, Lieutenant, is there any legal +objection to opening his coat and shirt bosom? I +dare say I could slit them, if you preferred. You see, +it might be advisable to test for any trace of heart +action with the stethoscope.”</p> + +<p>“I had no intention of offending you, Doctor. +Go right ahead and do anything you think is +absolutely essential to establish life or death.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth melted conservatively. “You see, sir, +I know his heart. He had a nervous breakdown two +years ago which left its action impaired.” He loosened +Endicott’s overcoat and the black pearl studs set in +a semi-soft shirt bosom. He listened for a moment, +and then removed the stethoscope. “No trace,” +he said. “He’s dead. Shall I button up the shirt front +and the coat again?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t necessary, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>The hall door opened abruptly. The homicide chief +and the medical examiner came in, followed by a +squad of detectives. Lieutenant Valcour was well +acquainted with both officials. He introduced them +to Dr. Worth and placed at their disposal such +information as he had gained while waiting for them to +arrive.</p> + +<p>The department’s experts automatically began to +function at once. A photographer was already +arranging his apparatus to make pictures of the body +from as many angles as its position in the cupboard +would permit. A finger-print man went about his +duties along the lines laid down by established +routine. The medical examiner and Dr. Worth +gravitated naturally together and plunged into a +discussion of Endicott’s medical history.</p> + +<p>The homicide chief, a well-built, alert-looking man +of fifty, by the name of Andrews, drew Lieutenant +Valcour a little to one side.</p> + +<p>“What do you really make of it, Valcour?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s undoubtedly murder, Chief, but I doubt +whether there’ll even be an indictment unless we get +a lucky break, establish a definite motive, and get a +confession.”</p> + +<p>“I feel that way about it, too. Any signs of an +entry having been forced?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t looked. I’ve been in here all the time, +and my men just came.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Stevens and Larraby are making the rounds +now. They’ll let us know. If the autopsy doesn’t +show poison or some wound it’ll be a nuisance. If +it’s a straight heart attack, as Dr. Worth claims, we +might just as well drop it. Can you imagine getting up +before a jury that’s been shown a picture by the +defense of a big husky like Endicott and saying, ‘This +man was scared to his death?’ Suppose a woman +was the defendant. They’d laugh the case out of +court.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it won’t be as bad as all that, Chief. While +you’re busy in here I’ll wander around and try to +scare up something. Would you mind sending for me +when the medical examiner reaches some decision as +to the manner of death?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing, Valcour. I’ll see to it, too, that those +brushes and comb are looked into.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll probably be in Mrs. Endicott’s room. That’s +the door just across the corridor.”</p> + +<p>Andrews was aware of Lieutenant Valcour’s reputation +in the department for the painless extraction +of useful information from people. “Go to it,” he +said. “And squeeze every drop that you can.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> + +<h2>Chapter IV. <br> 10:02 p. m.—Pale Flares the Darkness</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour wondered concerning Mrs. +Endicott as he walked slowly across the corridor and +knocked on the door of her room. A curious, curious +woman, with youth and beauty that almost passed +belief. He knew her instinctively as one of life’s +misfits: complex to a note far beyond the common tune; +essentially an individualist; essentially unhappy from +an inevitable loneliness which is the lot of all who +are banished within the narrow confines of their own +complexity; a type he had seldom met, but of whose +existence he was well aware.</p> + +<p>Roberts opened the door. The woman’s face was +butchered and her eyes had the quality of glass.</p> + +<p>“Ask Mrs. Endicott, please, whether she feels +strong enough to see me for a moment.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s voice was definitely metallic. As +it reached him in the corridor, disembodied from any +visual association with herself, it seemed to hold a +muted echo of brass bells.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, come in. I wish, Lieutenant, you +would give up the tiresome fiction that I am going to +collapse. I’ll ring, Roberts, when I want you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> + +<p>As Roberts passed him on her way to the door +Lieutenant Valcour felt an imperative awareness of +an attempt at revelations—an attempt to impart to +him some special knowledge. Her eyes, as she glanced +at him, lost their cobwebs and grew sharply informative. +It was entirely an unconscious reaction on his +part that forced from his lips the word “Later.” +The cobwebs reappeared. She left the room.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour drew a chair close to the +<i>chaise longue</i> upon which Mrs. Endicott was +nervously lying. Flung across her knees was a robe +of China silk, a black river bearing on its surface +huge flowers done in silver and slashed at its fringes +with the jade chiffon of her dress. He launched his +campaign by first swinging, wordily, well wide of its +ultimate objective. His tone, from a deliberate casual +friendliness, was an anodyne to possible reservations, +or fears.</p> + +<p>“It is the tragedy of a detective’s life,” he said +pleasantly, “that the sudden slender contact he +has with a case affords such a useless background for +human behaviour. You can see what I mean, Mrs. +Endicott. Were I you, or some intimate friend either +of yourself or of your husband, I would already be in +possession of the countless little threads that have +woven the pattern of Mr. Endicott’s life for the +past five or ten years. You’ll forgive me for outraging +oratory? It’s a nasty habit I’ve contracted in later +years whenever dealing with the abstract. I’m not +making a speech, really. What I’m trying to express +is that in that background, that pattern of Mr. +Endicott’s life, one thread or series of interrelated +threads would stand out pretty plainly as the reason +why someone should wish to kill him.”</p> + +<p>“I,” said Mrs. Endicott, “have several times +wished to kill him.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour nodded. “There is nothing +left for me but the trite things to say about marriage. +And trite things, after all, are the true things, don’t +you think?”</p> + +<p>“If they’re just discovered. I mean by that, that +to the person just discovering their deadly aptness +they’re true. Rather terribly so sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“But the aptness wears off with usage?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s slender hand and arm were models +of quietness in motion as she reached for a cigarette. +“Everything wears off with usage,” she said. “Love +quicker than anything else.”</p> + +<p>“But it doesn’t wear off completely, love doesn’t, +ever.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott looked at him sharply. “Why are +you a detective?” she said.</p> + +<p>“The accident of birth—of environment. Only +geniuses, you know, ever quite escape those two +fatalities. My parents emigrated from France to +Canada, where my father held a certain reputation +in my present profession. My parents died. There +was enough money to secure an education at McGill—one +had contacts here in the States . . .” Lieutenant +Valcour smiled infectiously. “I reversed Cæsar +in that I came, was seen, was conquered.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott was amused. “How utterly +conceited.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>The smile vanished from her face with the peculiar +suddenness of some conjuring trick. She veered +abruptly. “What are they doing in my husband’s +room now?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Worth and the medical examiner are determining +the cause of death.” Lieutenant Valcour transferred +his attention to a Sargent water colour above +the mantel. “Dr. Worth has already expressed the +opinion that it was heart failure,” he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott offered no immediate comment. +She withdrew, for a moment, into some private +chamber, and her voice was rather expressionless +when she spoke. “But that isn’t murder.”</p> + +<p>“It could be—if the disease itself were used as a +weapon.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe that I understand.”</p> + +<p>“Why, if some person who knew that Mr. Endicott +was subject to heart attacks were deliberately to +shock or scare him suddenly, or even give him a +not especially forceful blow over the heart, and he +were to die as a result of any one of those things, +that would be murder. It would have to be proved +pretty conclusively, of course, that it had been done +deliberately.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott joined him in his continued inspection +of the Sargent. “It would indicate a rather +circumscribed field for suspects, too, don’t you think?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. One would confine one’s suspicions to +those who were intimate enough with him to know +of his physical condition. But apart from all that +phase, there are those things we technically speak of +as ‘attendant circumstances.’ They point to murder.”</p> + +<p>Their glances brushed for a second in passing and +then parted.</p> + +<p>“Such as?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour explained, with certain reservations. +“The note you showed me—the position of Mr. +Endicott in the cupboard—the fact that he is +completely dressed for out of doors, but there is no +trace of his hat—oh, several little things that speak +quite plainly.” He focussed her directly. “Where +did Mr. Endicott usually keep his hats?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never noticed particularly. There’s a cupboard +downstairs in the entrance hall, and of course +the one——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ve looked for it up here. I wonder whether +you’d care to tell me what happened—what you did, +I mean, and what you remember of Mr. Endicott’s +movements from the time, say, of his reaching home +this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s face sought refuge in the very +pith of candour. “Why, nothing much—nothing +unusual.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour laughed pleasantly. “That +is where I fail in my background,” he said. “The +things done were usual to both of you and therefore +of no importance. To me, however, they would prove +interesting because of their unfamiliarity. Did you +talk at all?”</p> + +<p>“Elaborately.”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> + +<p>“I said elaborately. Herbert makes a point of +talking elaborately whenever he’s lying.”</p> + +<p>“I see—he was lying, then, about Marge Myles.”</p> + +<p>“And unoriginally. But Herbert never was original, +much, in his emotions. He told me he was going to +an impromptu reunion of some men in his class at +the Yale Club. These reunions have occurred with +astonishing regularity once a week for the past +month, in spite of their impromptu character. I +detest having my intelligence insulted,” she ended, +not unfiercely, “more than anything else in the +world.”</p> + +<p>“You will forgive me for becoming personal, but +I doubt whether Mr. Endicott understood you very +well.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t understand me at all.”</p> + +<p>“And you, him?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott momentarily disarranged the perfect +arch of her eyebrows. “I could see through him +perfectly,” she said. “A child could see through him. +But understand him? I don’t think anyone could +understand Herbert. He made a fetish of reticence. +He was,” she concluded, “half animal.”</p> + +<p>“And the other half rather cloudily complex?”</p> + +<p>“A fog.”</p> + +<p>“And when he came home this afternoon at five?”</p> + +<p>“Five-thirty—nearer six, even.”</p> + +<p>“Toward six, he joined you in the living room and +gave you the weekly excuse.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say the living room. It was the top +floor—you may have noticed that this house has a peaked +roof—in what would correspond in the country +to an attic——” She stopped sharply, and her +defensive veneer cracked for an instant, long enough +to show that she was definitely startled. “I——”</p> + +<p>“You feel that you shouldn’t have told me that. +Perhaps you shouldn’t. If the fact of your having +met Mr. Endicott in the attic has nothing to do with +the case at all, it will cause us to snoop around +among your personal affairs unnecessarily.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t ‘meet’ me there, as you say. He—I +don’t know why he came up there. I never will know +why.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t ask him?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott forced Lieutenant Valcour’s full +attention by the almost startling intentness of her +eyes. “There has never been a direct question +put or answered between Herbert and me during the +whole period of our married or unmarried life,” she +said. “My hold on him was the static perfection of +my features and a running, superficial smartness in +attitude and mind that passed for intellect. His hold +on me was that I loved him.”</p> + +<p>“Even when you wished to kill him?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose even then. Mind you, I never wished +him <em>dead</em>—there’s a difference.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, quite.” Lieutenant Valcour smiled engagingly. +“You often felt like killing him, but you +wanted it to stop right there.”</p> + +<p>“You know, I wish you’d come to tea sometime——” +Mrs. Endicott’s eyes contracted sharply. Her +voice became a definite apology, not to Lieutenant +Valcour, but as though its message were being sent +along obscure and private channels to some port +where it would find her husband. “There are +moments,” she said, “when you make me forget.”</p> + +<p>“Forgetting isn’t a sin. That’s natural. It’s not +loving—being mentally hurtful—that’s a sin. There +isn’t any word exactly for what I mean. Did you +both stay in the attic and go through the trunk +together, or whatever it was you were going through?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott smiled as if at some secret knowledge. +“I wasn’t going through a trunk,” she said.</p> + +<p>“No? I just mentioned it, as nine times out of ten +that’s what people do in attics.”</p> + +<p>“And the tenth customary thing,” said Mrs. +Endicott, reaching for a cigarette, “is suicide.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> + +<h2>Chapter V. <br> 10:17 p. m.—Living or Dead?</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour’s eyes narrowed slightly. +He had a habit of dividing suicides into two classes—those +who talked about killing themselves, and those +who did so. He knew that the two rarely overlapped. +He felt a shocking conviction that in Mrs. Endicott’s +case she might well have been the exception which +proved the rule. “I suppose an attic is the conventional +place for suicide,” he said. “Or at least to think +about it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s laugh was without humour. “One +doesn’t need an attic in order to think about it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true. And so you went downstairs with +him, then?”</p> + +<p>“He followed me in here. That is,” she corrected +herself with noticeable carelessness, “we went into +the living room and he wondered, while he kissed me, +whether I’d mind very much being alone for dinner. +I doubt whether you’ve ever experienced, Lieutenant, +the rather perfect torture of a, well, an abstract kiss. +Men don’t.”</p> + +<p>“We’re too self-centred, I’m afraid, or conceited +or something, or else our sensibilities aren’t refined +enough to be hurt by it.”</p> + +<p>“But you could understand—if you could vision +the background?”</p> + +<p>“Everybody knows what love is, Mrs. +Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just it—it’s the comparison of what is +with what has been. It’s an indescribably vulgar +subject—kissing—but it’s either very wonderful or +very painful. People who claim it can be a combination +talk nonsense. We can eliminate, of course——”</p> + +<p>“Of course—‘petting’ they call it, or did. You never +know from one minute to the next just what a thing +is being called. And then he went to his room to +dress?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Alone?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Has he a valet?”</p> + +<p>“Herbert? Heavens, no.”</p> + +<p>“And you dressed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Roberts helped you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>“Then when Mr. Endicott said good-bye?”</p> + +<p>“He called it through the closed door.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour almost visibly showed his +surprise. “He did say good-bye?”</p> + +<p>“Herbert insists upon saying good-bye. He rapped +on the door and called in. If it would interest you to +know his exact words,” she said bitterly, “they were +in the falsetto voice he uses when he thinks he’s being +especially funny and were, ‘Don’t be angry with +Herbie-werbie, sweetheart. Goodie-byskie.’ ”</p> + +<p>“They’re almost a motive in themselves,” said +Lieutenant Valcour, smiling. “Which door did he +rap on, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“The hall door.”</p> + +<p>“I see. And you heard him going down the stairs?”</p> + +<p>“One can’t hear footsteps with the door closed.”</p> + +<p>“And that was at——?”</p> + +<p>“The clock over there on my mantel was striking +seven.”</p> + +<p>“And after that there is nothing further you can +tell me about Mr. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You dined. You went to his room. You found +the note. You began to worry, and then you called +us up.”</p> + +<p>“That is it.”</p> + +<p>“Was it in this room here or up in the attic, Mrs. +Endicott, that you told him you were going to kill +him?”</p> + +<p>“Here, after he—— That wasn’t exactly fair, +was it?”</p> + +<p>“Heavens no, but awfully smart.” Lieutenant +Valcour’s smile was the essence of pleasantness. “I +do wish you’d continue with the ‘after he.’ After he +did what? Or was it something he said?”</p> + +<p>“Did.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“I told you,” she blazed, “that he was half animal. +You can hardly expect me to become more explicit.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was genuinely upset. “I do +beg your pardon, Mrs. Endicott,” he said. “About +this afternoon, were you in the house?”</p> + +<p>“Partly. I had tea at the Ritz, early, about +four-thirty—with,” she added defiantly, “a man.”</p> + +<p>“Ah.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly so. That will permit you to reverse +another tradition and go <i>cherchez l’homme</i>.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour found instant good humour. +“So you decided to fight fire with fire,” he said.</p> + +<p>“If you care to call it that.”</p> + +<p>“Just who is Marge Myles, and what?” +Lieutenant Valcour said suddenly.</p> + +<p>“There are several terms one might apply to her. +They all mean the same thing. I believe that recently, +however,” Mrs. Endicott said very distinctly, +“she has lost her amateur standing.”</p> + +<p>“Recently?”</p> + +<p>“The past year or so.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Endicott had known her as long as that?”</p> + +<p>“Until the past month or two my husband had +not known her at all. He’d heard of her, of course, and +so had I.”</p> + +<p>“Then she is a woman who once had position?”</p> + +<p>“She was the wife of one of Herbert’s friends, a +man who died two years ago and left her penniless. +They say, incidentally, that she killed him.”</p> + +<p>“Killed him?”</p> + +<p>“It was just gossip, of course. They had a camp +near some obscure lake up in Maine. The canoe +they were in one evening upset. Harry Myles couldn’t +swim.”</p> + +<p>“And Marge Myles?”</p> + +<p>“Marge Myles was famous for her swimming.”</p> + +<p>“Then the inference is that she, well, neglected to +save her husband?”</p> + +<p>“That—and that she deliberately upset the canoe. +I repeat it’s all gossip. People dropped him, you +see, after he married her. That’s a commentary for +you.”</p> + +<p>“You mean they still accepted him while he +was—that is, before the ceremony.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, while he was living with her. It’s thoroughly +natural, of course. People didn’t have to recognize +her then; they could ignore her. But you can’t ignore +a man’s wife; you either have to recognize her or not. +The nots had it. If she had been a genuinely nice +person, or an amusing one, I doubt whether the +fact of their having lived together really would have +mattered. But she wasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“What was she before her marriage?”</p> + +<p>“A member of that much-maligned group known +as the chorus.”</p> + +<p>“And recently she had got in touch with your +husband?”</p> + +<p>“She looked up all of Harry’s old friends. Don’t +you see? As a widow she again had a standing—a +shade higher, but similar to the one she held +before Harry married her. I don’t know how many +others she landed, but she certainly landed +Herbert.”</p> + +<p>“And you were afraid she would do something +to him?”</p> + +<p>“Well, she killed Harry.”</p> + +<p>“Then you personally believe the gossip?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott did not bother to give a direct reply. +She shrugged, and twisted a little on the <i>chaise +longue</i>.</p> + +<p>“And do you associate her in any way, Mrs. +Endicott, with what has happened here to-night?”</p> + +<p>She continued to evade further direct responsibility +for an opinion. “Who else?” she said.</p> + +<p>“But the actual mechanics of it, Mrs. +Endicott—how could she have got into the house?”</p> + +<p>“It could be done. Herbert himself might have +let her in.”</p> + +<p>“That’s going a little far, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It was rotten of me to suggest it. I never +really thought it, Lieutenant. I just said it.”</p> + +<p>“And after all, Mrs. Endicott, why should she want +to kill your husband? You weren’t trying to keep him +from her.”</p> + +<p>“He might have been trying to keep himself from +her.”</p> + +<p>“He might. It’s stretching it a little, though, to +think she’d deliberately kill him for that.”</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t do it deliberately.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. When a woman starts out to kill +she invariably chooses some weapon, or a poison. +Every case has proved it again and again. But we’re +only speculating, aren’t we? Who was it who took you +to tea?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t any intention of telling you.”</p> + +<p>“Because it might involve him?”</p> + +<p>“He couldn’t possibly be involved. If I thought +he were I’d tell you in a minute.”</p> + +<p>Someone knocked on the door.</p> + +<p>“Just the same, Mrs. Endicott, I wish you would +tell me who he was.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was able not only to recognize +finality, he could accept it. He considered Mrs. +Endicott’s very definite refusal to answer his +question as of small consequence; there were so many +more ways than one for frying an eel. He stood up +and crossed to the door. He opened it and stepped into +the corridor, closing the door behind him. Even in +the dimmish light young Cassidy’s normally ruddy +face was the colour of chalk.</p> + +<p>“What’s happened, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“Honest to God, Lieutenant, I’m scared stiff. +They’re getting things ready in there to bring that +corpse back to life.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> + +<h2>Chapter VI. <br> 10:32 p. m.—Pictures in Dust</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour stared for a puzzled instant +at the white face.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Cassidy?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Honest to God, Lieutenant, I mean just what +I say.”</p> + +<p>“But that’s impossible.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy went even further. “It’s sacrilege,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” Lieutenant Valcour said sharply. +“You have simply misunderstood Dr. Worth. It is +possible that Mr. Endicott was not dead at all but +in some state of catalepsy. No one, Cassidy, can bring +back the dead.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to hear you say so, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then let us go in.”</p> + +<p>“Must I go back in there, too?”</p> + +<p>“You must. Forget the fact that you’re a superstitious +Irishman, Cassidy, and remember that you’re +a cop. Cops, as you’ve been told more times than +one, should be noble, firm, and perpetually cool, +calm, and collected.”</p> + +<p>“Sure now, you’re kidding.”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and I’ll try, Lieutenant—but cripes!”</p> + +<p>“But nothing,” advised Lieutenant Valcour as he +opened the door to Endicott’s room.</p> + +<p>The effect was shockingly garish. All shades had +been removed from their lamps, and the various details +of the furnishing stood out in the painful white +light brightly clear.</p> + +<p>Andrews was alone. He stood near the bed upon +which Endicott had been placed, looking in rather +shocked bewilderment at the body. Lieutenant +Valcour joined him. A blanket had been drawn up to +Endicott’s chin, and the face which remained exposed +looked very waxlike—very still—very much like a +dead man’s indeed.</p> + +<p>“This is the damnedest thing, Valcour.”</p> + +<p>“What is, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“They say there’s a chance that this man isn’t +dead. Worth is going to operate.”</p> + +<p>“Operate? But Dr. Worth himself admitted that +the heart had stopped beating after testing with a +stethoscope. What sort of an operation?”</p> + +<p>“Worth’s going to inject adrenaline into the +cardiac muscles.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder just how much value there is in that +stuff.”</p> + +<p>“Well, unless Endicott’s been poisoned, the medical +examiner and Worth both seem to think there’s +a chance. They feel there’s no harm in trying, +anyway. It sounds silly to me, but they reminded me of +that recent case in Queens—you probably read about +it—where a man had been pronounced dead for six +hours and was revived. Of course, they said he wasn’t +really dead, just as they now think that Endicott +may not be really dead. No one can bring back the +dead.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour threw a bland look to Cassidy, +who was standing in as convenient a position to the +hall door as he could possibly get.</p> + +<p>“They say,” Andrews went on, “that adrenaline’s +been used off and on for years. Worth says they try +it quite often when a baby is born ‘dead.’ Sometimes +it starts the heart pumping and the baby lives.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “It will make +things pretty simple for us if it works with Endicott,” +he said. “He can make a statement and prefer charges +himself. Where is everybody?”</p> + +<p>“The medical examiner and Worth are downstairs +telephoning and making arrangements for the +operation. My men have finished and have gone back to +headquarters. There wasn’t any sign of forcing an +entry, so it looks like an inside job, if there was any +job. I tell you, Valcour, if it wasn’t for your suggestion +that robbery was a motive, or for that note that +might have been a threat, I’d drop the whole thing. +It’s a different matter if the adrenaline doesn’t work +and an autopsy proves poison or something. Find out +much from Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“Enough to be interested in learning more. Want +the details?”</p> + +<p>“Later, if I have to get to work on the case. You +want to keep on handling it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead. Call for any outside stuff you want us +to check up on for you. I’ll send you a report on the +brushes and comb as soon as they finish with them +downtown.”</p> + +<p>“You going, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“No use in my sticking around, Valcour. We +haven’t a case yet, really, that calls for any Central +Office work. Hell, according to those two six-syllable +specialists downstairs, we haven’t even got a corpse. +Robbery there may have been, and it’s your precinct—so +go to it. I’ll find out from the medical examiner +when he gets back how the operation turned out, +and if there’s going to be an autopsy. If poisoning +is proved and you haven’t pinned it on anyone by +then, I’ll get on the job again. I suppose you’ll see +that the people in the house are given the +once-over?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll run along then. Good luck, Valcour.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Chief.”</p> + +<p>Andrews left the room and closed the door.</p> + +<p>“I bet he’s got a date,” said Cassidy.</p> + +<p>“He’d stay here if he had twenty dates, if he +thought it was necessary,” said Lieutenant Valcour.</p> + +<p>“Well, I wish I had a date.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have a whole vacation if you don’t brace +up. I’m going to take a look in that cupboard, now +that Endicott’s no longer in it.”</p> + +<p>Even a cupboard seemed preferable to Cassidy to +being in the room. “Can’t I help you, sir?” he said +with almost fervent politeness.</p> + +<p>“No, Cassidy, you can’t. You can stay just where +you are.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour picked up a straight-backed +chair and took it into the cupboard with him. He +held a sincere respect for the Central Office men, but +at the same time felt that their work was too methodically +routine to permit their darting along interesting +tangents or wasting their time in strolls along +bypaths that might lead to fertile fields. There was no +criticism in his mind at all. He admired the system +that had been established, and the expert functioning +of its units and departments. He knew very well that +its average of successes was greater than its average +of failures. But it was deficient in that elusive, +time-taking, and sometimes expensive thing known as +the “personal equation.” It remained, at its best, a +machine.</p> + +<p>A certain amount of carelessness, too, ran in the +general plan. In many cases some things were slurred +over, some missed entirely. This again was not +surprising when one considered that the personnel was +recruited largely from the more intelligent men in the +ranks. Intelligent, yes, but hardly specialists, nor +could one in all fairness expect them to be.</p> + +<p>When working on a case they functioned along +two distinctly separate but parallel lines. One +department of specialists handled the technical and +chemical investigation of material things and clues found +on the scene of the crime—just as the brushes and +comb were shortly to be examined by the proper men +down at Central Office. A second department dealt +with the human aspect—examining witnesses, looking +up all friends or connections of the victim; a +large, competent organization that would stretch +feelers, no matter how many were necessary, to every +contact point of the victim’s life within the city, and +from whose findings some possible motive could be +established and some possible suspect or group of +suspects be evolved.</p> + +<p>The two branches would then compare notes, and +if a satisfactory amount of evidence had been +obtained by the technical department to establish a +case against one or several of the suspects, arrests +would be made or the suspects brought in for +questioning. According to the temperament and station +of the suspects, one of the various forms that go to +make up the properly dreaded third degree would be +employed and a confession obtained. The work of +the Central Office would then be finished, and the +case up to the prosecutor.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was glad that in the present +instance the homicide chief had felt it useless to set +in motion the machinery of the second branch until +more definite developments should occur. The case +interested him. Mrs. Endicott interested him—her +astonishing beauty, her mind, her +contradictions—Roberts—Marge Myles—three women who offered +an assurance of satisfying an almost blatant curiosity +he possessed for discovering the source springs of +human behaviour. This talk about reviving Endicott +and Endicott himself making a statement—well, +perhaps. But until it was accomplished he preferred +to think of Endicott as a corpse, the case a definite +homicide, and of possible suspects right in the house.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour concentrated his attention +upon the cupboard. There were shelves along the +back of it, the lowest one being at the height of a +man’s head. Numerous suits of clothes were hanging +from beneath this lowest shelf. He stood on the chair +and played his flashlight along the top of it. There +was nothing there but an accumulation of dust. He +felt a distinct and highly satisfactory thrill when he +noted that streaks showed where the dust had very +recently been rubbed away, as if somebody had +deliberately wiped both his hands in it. It linked +with the dirty cake of soap. Andrews had said +nothing about the streaks. It was pretty obvious that +the Central Office men had overlooked them—had +casually observed that the shelves were empty and +had let the matter go at that.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour began to feel quite pleasant +and informed himself gravely that a deduction was +in order. For a happy moment he considered the +possibility of that curious and sinister Oriental +influence that crops up so perennially in the very +finest of murder cases—of Cassidy’s murder cases: +that elusive figure swathed in gray, whitely turbanned +above coffee-coloured skin, who has a penchant +toward religious fanaticism the esoteric rites of which +involve dust. This breath-shocking villain would +ultimately be trapped by the bright detective through +the wretch’s occult passion for this dust. Had one, +Lieutenant Valcour wanted to know, such an +enigma to deal with here? No, he informed himself +sternly, one knew damned well one had not. But +in the place of such a handy and beautiful +deduction—what?</p> + +<p>He stared at the dust and began to see pictures in +it: a crouching person tormented by hate or fear, +or both, who knows that Endicott is going to open +the cupboard door. What, in the name of the lighter +humorists, to do? The person dreads recognition. Is +there no disguise? No, curse it—but yes—the dust! +The person’s hands are smeared, and by means of +the hands, the face . . .</p> + +<p>“Ain’t there <em>nothing</em> I can do for you, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour sighed and got down from the +chair.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Cassidy,” he said. “You can take this chair +and put it over by the hall door. Then you can sit +down.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy bitterly. +“But when you’re in that cupboard there ain’t +nobody in the room with me but that live corpse.”</p> + +<p>“Then sit where you can’t see it.”</p> + +<p>“Cripes, Lieutenant, I don’t <em>have</em> to see it. I get +the chills just thinking about it.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll get the gate, Cassidy, if you don’t snap +out of it.”</p> + +<p>“All right, sir, but if you come out and find me +keeled over, don’t blame me.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t dream of it, Cassidy.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour reëntered the cupboard. He +examined the corner in which Endicott had been +slumped. The suits on the hangers had fallen back a +little into shape. He carefully went through their +various pockets. They were empty, and from the +rumpled condition of their linings he knew that they +had been hastily gone through before. Perhaps the +Central Office men had done so, but he doubted it. +They would concern themselves pretty exclusively +with the effects taken from the clothes Endicott had +been wearing at the time of the attack.</p> + +<p>It interested him to note that the suits against +which Endicott’s body had been slumped showed +evidence of having been searched with the rest. It +confirmed his theory that that was what the attacker +had been doing when caught in the cupboard by +Endicott’s sudden appearance in the bedroom, and it +also strengthened his theory of the ingenious use of +dust from the shelf top as a disguise.</p> + +<p>Shoes lined a low shelf along the bottom of one +side, and hat boxes occupied a corresponding shelf +on the other. Lieutenant Valcour dismissed the +possibility that the particular hat he was searching +for—the one that Endicott was wearing or intended to get +at the moment of the attack—would be in a box. +Perhaps it was in the cupboard Mrs. Endicott +spoke about downstairs in the entrance hall. The +point kept nagging at him irritatingly, and he +considered it important enough to go down and find out.</p> + +<p>Cassidy barely restrained himself from clutching +Lieutenant Valcour’s arm by the hall door.</p> + +<p>“Honest to God, you ain’t going to leave me in here +alone, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Honest to God, Cassidy, I am.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went out. Cassidy took one +bleak look at his charge, the living corpse, carefully +crossed the fingers of both his hands, and sat down.</p> + +<p>“I just knew,” he muttered truculently, “that this +case was going to be one of them printed damn things.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> + +<h2>Chapter VII. <br> 11:01 p. m.—Banked Fires</h2> + +<p>The corridor was deserted.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour walked along it to the top of +the stair well and looked down into the entrance hall. +He could see the broad athletic back of Officer +O’Brian on guard at the door. O’Brian’s snub nose +was pressed against the plate glass, and his eyes, one +presumed, were staring out through the door’s bronze +grille upon the street.</p> + +<p>As Lieutenant Valcour went down he wondered at +the complete stillness of the house. There was no +sound of any nature at all. There was a waiting +quality about the stillness: a definite waiting for +something that would shatter the hush into +bedlam.</p> + +<p>“What are you pressing your nose against the +glass for, O’Brian?” he said.</p> + +<p>The young policeman turned and grinned at him +broadly.</p> + +<p>“Sure, it’s them boys from the papers, sir,” he +said. “They’re all stirred up over what the medical +examiner has just told them.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour groaned faintly. “When was +this, O’Brian?”</p> + +<p>“Not two whisks of a lamb’s tail ago, sir—out +there in the vestibule.”</p> + +<p>“Did the medical examiner go out into the +vestibule?”</p> + +<p>“He did that, Lieutenant, and the last mother’s +son of them has just beaten it off down the street like +a jumping jack rabbit. They were crazy after +photographs, but he drew the line at that now.”</p> + +<p>“Really?” Lieutenant Valcour was politely +astounded.</p> + +<p>“Sure and he did—with the exception of a flash or +two he let them take of himself.”</p> + +<p>“And were you the little birdie, O’Brian?”</p> + +<p>“Was I the which, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Did you say ‘peet-tweet’ over his left shoulder as +the flashlights went off?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sure now, sir, and I did have the door open a +wee bit. I was just explaining to the boys that they +couldn’t come in without your permission nohow, +and it was then that the medical examiner came +along and, hearing the talking, went outside to +pacify them.”</p> + +<p>“A modern martyr throwing himself to the lions. +Except for the tea party, O’Brian, has anything +happened down here?”</p> + +<p>“Not a thing, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Any of the servants been drifting around?”</p> + +<p>“Only one old dame in black, and seven foot +tall if she’s one inch. She came halfway down the +stairs, took one dirty look at me, and then stalked +back up as stiff as a poker. Her bonnet was on her +head.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know who she was, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“That and I don’t, sir. She looked like she might +be a housekeeper.”</p> + +<p>“She probably was. By the way, O’Brian, just +what was it the medical examiner told the boys?”</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant, I could make neither the head nor +the tail out of it. I’d been telling them myself that +the boss upstairs was dead and that foul play was +suspected, and they were hot after the medical +examiner for a further word, and I’m damned if he +didn’t give it to them.”</p> + +<p>“What was the word, O’Brian?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed and it sounded like crinoline, sir—the stuff +the missus do be talking about in old dresses.”</p> + +<p>“Was that all he said?”</p> + +<p>“It was enough, sir. ‘Crinoline,’ said he, and +looked very wise at that. Then he added, ‘For the +present, boys, no more,’ and off they scampered like +the devil in person was after them.”</p> + +<p>“All right, O’Brian. Just stick where you are.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour wandered around the entrance +hall but encountered, beyond his own and the +medical examiner’s, no hat. He knew that Dr. +Worth’s was still upstairs where the doctor had left +it in Endicott’s bedroom. He found the cupboard +Mrs. Endicott had referred to. There was no hat. +The subject was becoming a fixed idea. It was +growing increasingly believable that the attacker had +taken the hat and worn it out of the house. But why +should the attacker leave the house? And what +was the matter with the attacker’s own hat? Time, +if not Endicott himself, would have to tell.</p> + +<p>From a reception room opening off the entrance +hall he caught the murmur of Dr. Worth’s and the +medical examiner’s voices in consultation. He passed +the door indifferently and went upstairs.</p> + +<p>. . . an old dame in black, seven foot tall if she was +an inch. Her bonnet was on her head.</p> + +<p>. . . and her bonnet, Lieutenant Valcour repeated +softly to himself, was on her head.</p> + +<p>He continued on up a second flight of stairs to the +third floor. A door toward the end of the hall was +open, and light flooded out through the doorway. +He walked to it and looked in.</p> + +<p>A tall, thin woman sat on a chair before a grate in +which some coals burned bleakly. She was +unbelievably gaunt—her silhouette a pencil, rigidly +supporting an austere face beneath a smooth inverted +cup of steel gray hair. Black taffeta sheathed +her, tightly pressing against flat narrow planes, and +smoothly surfacing two pipelike arms that ended in +the tapering, sensitive hands of an emotional ascetic.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour rapped on the door jamb.</p> + +<p>The woman did not start. Her head alone turned +and faced him, and her eyes were a contradiction of +nature—black planets glowing coldly in a sky of +white.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, I am Lieutenant Valcour of the +police. Are you, by any chance, the housekeeper?”</p> + +<p>Her voice was of New England—low almost to +huskiness, a trifle harsh, and completely stripped of +all nuances.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant. I am Mrs. Siddons.”</p> + +<p>“May I come in? Thank you—please don’t get up. +I’ll only stay a minute or two, if you don’t mind.”</p> + +<p>He took a chair and placed it before the fireplace +beside her own. He sat down and did nothing beyond +observing obliquely for a moment the curiously +artificial placidity of Mrs. Siddons’s clasped hands.</p> + +<p>“There is no use in questioning me, Lieutenant, +because I have nothing to say.”</p> + +<p>Her tone was the chill clear winds that sweep the +rigorous mountains of Vermont.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour warmed his hands before the +lazy coals and smiled amiably. “And I,” he said, +“have absolutely nothing to ask.”</p> + +<p>“That is a lie.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing abusive in the remark. It +was simply a statement of fact, coldly, dispassionately +pronounced by the remarkable pencil dressed +in black who spired beside him. Lieutenant Valcour +was shocked into a nervous laugh. He discarded his +mask of indifference and stared at Mrs. Siddons +openly and with complete interest. Not planets, her +eyes—rather were they banked fires beneath whose +ash hot coals smouldered deeply.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” he said, “but that your +forbears came from Salem.”</p> + +<p>A look of interest stirred sleepily in the coals.</p> + +<p>“Why so, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Because there’s a look of witch-burning in your +eyes.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Siddons gestured a slow negation.</p> + +<p>“I would never abrogate the rights of God.”</p> + +<p>“But you would approve, Mrs. Siddons.”</p> + +<p>“I would <em>rejoice</em>, sir, in the crushing out of any +evil or”—her tone became implacably stern—“of +any evil thing.”</p> + +<p>“Or even of a human being?”</p> + +<p>Her look did not waver.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant—or even of a human being.” +She went on steadily and unemotionally. Her words +were fragments of stone chipped from some elemental +quarry of granitelike conviction and harsh purpose. +“That is why you find me dry-eyed, sir, in spite of +the tragedy which has been visited upon this house.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour felt that there was a catch in it +somewhere. If she held Endicott’s condition in the +light of a tragedy then she scarcely regarded his +death as an act of vengeance on the part of her +unquestionably inflexible god.</p> + +<p>“Tragedy?” he repeated softly.</p> + +<p>“A tragedy, sir, for blinded eyes.”</p> + +<p>He hoped that she wasn’t going to be allegorical. +He endeavoured to interpret. “It is hard on Mrs. +Endicott,” he said.</p> + +<p>For a moment he thought she was going to melt. +“That poor young thing,” she said, and her voice +fringed on unaccustomed softnesses. “That sweet +young child of beauty—what a bitter ending for the +journey of her tormented heart.”</p> + +<p>He stepped delicately out upon the fragile ice. +“But she’s really better off, don’t you think?”</p> + +<p>“She will never know to the full the fortune of her +release.” Mrs. Siddons’s incredibly thin body was +suddenly shaken with passion as she added, “From +that hateful—that filthy beast.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come, Mrs. Siddons—no man is quite as bad +as all that.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes blazed with the heat of a strange malevolence. +“You didn’t know him, Lieutenant, as we did.”</p> + +<p>“ ‘We,’ Mrs. Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“Myself, sir, and the servants under my charge.”</p> + +<p>“You found him disagreeable—overbearing?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Siddons stared fixedly at the coals, as if +finding in their vibrant reds some adequate illustration +of her angered thoughts. “I found him such a +man, Lieutenant, that I am glad to know that he +is dead.”</p> + +<p>“But you see, Mrs. Siddons, he isn’t dead.”</p> + +<p>He thought for a minute that she was going to +faint and instinctively leaned forward to support her. +She stood up unsteadily but refused the offer of his +hands.</p> + +<p>“If you will pardon me, sir, I believe I will lie +down. There has naturally been a certain +strain—a——”</p> + +<p>She bowed and found her way to a door that +led into an inner room. Lieutenant Valcour listened +for a moment at its panels after she had closed it.</p> + +<p>He could not determine whether the muffled sound +he heard was of peculiar laughter or a sob.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch08"> + +<h2>Chapter VIII. <br> 11:28 p. m.—Mrs. Endicott Screams</h2> + +<p>The tangents and the bypaths were beginning to +increase. Lieutenant Valcour tabulated them as +he went thoughtfully down the stairs and along the +corridor toward Endicott’s room: Mrs. Endicott +herself, and the Spartan Mrs. Siddons—both had +been partially explored; Roberts, with her astonishing +glance that had hinted so definitely at revelations. +Then what of Marge Myles? And what of the +unknown man with whom Mrs. Endicott, that afternoon, +had taken tea? He opened the door to +Endicott’s room and went in.</p> + +<p>Preparations for the operation were practically +complete. Dr. Worth and the medical examiner were +beside the bed, and hovering near them were two +trained nurses in uniform—middle-aged, competent +women, starched and abstract looking, moving a bit +aloofly in their private world which was so concisely +separated from the sphere of laymen.</p> + +<p>Cassidy, who seemed bleaker than ever, still +stiffly occupied the chair near the doorway. He +continued to inspect with an almost feverish interest an +unsullied expanse of white ceiling above his head.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour seated himself on the corner of +a long mahogany chest that was placed before the +window farthest from the bed and gravely watched +Dr. Worth. He began to feel a little sickish and +hoped that he wasn’t going to make an ass of himself +and faint. He had witnessed any number of accidents +and stabbings, but had never been present at an +operation, and it worked on his nerves. Even if +Endicott weren’t dead, he certainly looked it. +Suspended animation and catalepsy were all right as +figures of speech, but the human illustration was +rather ghastly. Lieutenant Valcour felt justified in +believing that he knew his corpses. He wondered why +Dr. Worth was delaying—hesitating—no, bending +over now, and in his hand, ready to give the injection +of adrenaline into the cardiac muscles, was . . .</p> + +<p>The response was immediate.</p> + +<p>With the aid of the stethoscope Dr. Worth heard +Endicott’s heart throbbing again, growing steadily +stronger. Quite noticeably beneath the bright white +lights a faint flush started to run through Endicott’s +skin. Lieutenant Valcour saw it, and he moistened +with his tongue the dry pressed surface of his lips.</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth straightened up and handed the stethoscope +to the medical examiner. “Endicott lives,” +he said.</p> + +<p>No one had noticed Mrs. Endicott standing in the +doorway. No one had even noticed that the door +was open. It was her terrific scream, her dropping to +the floor, that shocked everyone into instant +awareness of her presence. Dr. Worth nodded to one of +the nurses. With her aid he lifted Mrs. Endicott +and carried her from the room. Everyone else remained +quite literally spellbound, still chained within +the influence of that extraordinary scream. It didn’t +seem more than a second or two before Dr. Worth +returned. He went directly to Lieutenant Valcour.</p> + +<p>“I have given Mrs. Endicott a narcotic that will +keep her quiet for the night,” he said. “It was +outrageous—her being here. That guard at the door +should have seen to it that it was kept closed.”</p> + +<p>“Most outrageous, Dr. Worth. I believe all of us +were hypnotized by watching you.”</p> + +<p>“And I don’t care what the law is, she can’t be +questioned or disturbed in any way at all until I say +so.”</p> + +<p>“But that <em>is</em> the law, Doctor. You are quite within +your rights to dictate concerning your patient.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to dictate. I’m just as willing as +anybody to have the criminal side of this mess cleared +up, if there is a criminal side.”</p> + +<p>“Endicott would hardly have crawled into a +cupboard to have a stroke, would he, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“No.” Dr. Worth’s intelligent eyes stared +speculatively at Lieutenant Valcour for a minute. “Not +unless he’d hidden in there to overhear something, +and did overhear something that gave him a stroke,” +he said.</p> + +<p>The cesspool, Lieutenant Valcour decided, was +beginning to show strange depths within its depth. +The medical examiner came over and joined them. +He complimented Dr. Worth briefly on the success +of his operation, assured Lieutenant Valcour that +the homicide chief would be given a full report of +Endicott’s recovery, and presumed that from now on +the case would be left in Lieutenant Valcour’s hands. +Lieutenant Valcour would deal with whatever +charges of robbery or assault might develop from it. +He said good-bye and left the room, with the fullest +intention of going right straight home to bed; and so +he promptly did, as soon as he had made the +promised report to Andrews.</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth pointedly raised his eyebrows. “Then +there will be charges, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“That will depend largely upon Endicott, Doctor. +As he is now revived he will tell us himself who +attacked him, or the nature of the circumstance that +gave him the shock.”</p> + +<p>“I trust so.”</p> + +<p>“There isn’t any doubt, is there?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth grew expansive. “Certainly there is a +doubt,” he said. “While it is true that Endicott +has been revived, it is impossible to state definitely +that he will recover consciousness. And even granting +that he should recover consciousness, there is also a +chance that he might prefer not to make any statement +at all. What would you do then, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Fold my tents, Doctor, and fade away.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth looked down a long straight nose for a +minute at tips of low patent-leather shoes. “And if +Endicott does not recover consciousness,” he said +softly, “what will you do then?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll be surprised at the number of things I +will do then.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth’s eyes, surfeited with patent leather, +snapped up sharply. “I must impress on you that +Mrs. Endicott is not to be disturbed,” he said.</p> + +<p>“She won’t be, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Nurse Vickers, who helped me into her room +with her, is going to stay with Mrs. Endicott all night. +Two day nurses will come in the morning: one for her, +if necessary, and surely one for Endicott. I need +scarcely impress upon you the seriousness of <em>his</em> +condition.” Dr. Worth made a gesture of irritated +bewilderment. “I wish I knew him more +intimately—who his friends are, I mean.”</p> + +<p>“He never talked with you about them?”</p> + +<p>“Never. He seems an unusually reticent man, with +an almost abnormally developed feeling for privacy +concerning his intimate affairs.” Dr. Worth’s manner +grew definitely severe. Mentally, he wagged a finger +under Lieutenant Valcour’s nose. “He mustn’t have +any further shock. There must be nothing, absolutely +nothing that will shock him when, and if, he regains +consciousness.” He directed his attention momentarily +to the nurse. “Get those shades back on the lamps, +please, Miss Murrow, and turn out the ceiling lights. +And now, Lieutenant, to continue about Endicott. +As she is under the influence of the narcotic I gave +her, it is out of the question that his wife be here. I +wish she could be. I want the first person he sees to +be someone he knows—loves. His mind, you see, will +pick up functioning at the precise second where it left +off—at least, such is my conclusion.”</p> + +<p>“And that was one of shock.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant, evidently one of shock or of +great fear. We cannot overestimate the importance of +getting him past it safely. Personally, I shall sleep +here in the house to-night, and Nurse Murrow will +call me if Endicott shows any signs of coming to. +That may not be before morning. I hope so, in a way, +as the effect of the narcotic will have worn off by then, +and Mrs. Endicott can be in here with him.”</p> + +<p>“One of the servants might know of some friend,” +Lieutenant Valcour suggested. “I take it you would +like a friend to sit here with him during the night?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth was emphatic. “It is almost a necessity +that there should be. The mental and nervous +viewpoints, you see, predominate in the case.”</p> + +<p>“There is just one thing that I would like to +arrange, too, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“I want to keep a couple of men posted all night +in the bathroom. They can sit on chairs just inside +the doorway there, where they can watch the bed, +but where Endicott can’t see them. He need never +know they are there.”</p> + +<p>“What on earth would be the need for that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s quite simple, Doctor. When Endicott +comes to he will be in a position to tell us who gave +him the shock—a shock sufficient almost to kill +him—one which would have killed him if we hadn’t found +him to-night—and if,” he added thoughtfully, “Mrs. +Endicott hadn’t had her suspicions.”</p> + +<p>“But why the men in the bathroom?”</p> + +<p>“Because I don’t want to take any chances of there +being a repetition before Endicott makes his +statement.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth pursed his lips and looked very wise +indeed. “I see,” he said. “I see. You are afraid that +the same person might get at him again and, well, +silence him before he could talk.”</p> + +<p>“Something like that, Doctor.” Lieutenant Valcour +became courteously formal. “As the physician +in charge of this case, sir, have you any objection +to my stationing the two men in the bathroom?”</p> + +<p>“Providing Endicott isn’t able to see them and +won’t be disturbed by them in any way at all.”</p> + +<p>“Then that’s settled. You’ll have a nurse in here +all the time, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’m going to ask her to keep this hall door +locked on the inside. She can open it if anyone +knocks, and my men will keep their eyes on whoever +comes in.”</p> + +<p>“The precautions seem extraordinary, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“And so does the case. I’ll go downstairs now and +try to find out something from the servants about +his friends. I’ll tell them, if you like, about your +staying here, in case there is anything that has to be +got ready.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went outside. He found the +maid Jane in the hallway, seated on a chair near the +stairs, trembling. A tray with an empty glass was on +the floor beside her. She saw him, picked up the tray, +and stood up.</p> + +<p>“I’m that upset, sir,” she said, “<em>that</em> upset.”</p> + +<p>“Something has startled you?”</p> + +<p>“Startled! Glory be, sir—what with this bringing +back of the dead and the missus gone into a comma—if +it wasn’t for them three cops at the downstairs +doors I’d be out of this house this minute, and so +would the rest of us, too.”</p> + +<p>“How many of the ‘rest of you’ are there?”</p> + +<p>“Sure and including the housekeeper there’s eight +of us, sir.”</p> + +<p>The Endicotts, Lieutenant Valcour was now quite +certain, must be multimillionaires.</p> + +<p>“All women?”</p> + +<p>“Except for the houseman and chauffeur.”</p> + +<p>“And do they sleep in the house?”</p> + +<p>“The chauffeur does not, sir. He has an apartment +for himself and his wife and his three-year-old child, +named Katie, over the garage in East Sixty-sixth +Street, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Have all of you been in service here a long time?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed and we haven’t, sir—except for Roberts +and the housekeeper. I’ve been here a month myself, +and the rest of us not more than two or three.”</p> + +<p>“And Roberts has been Mrs. Endicott’s maid for +the past several years, say?”</p> + +<p>“And sure and ever since she landed here from +England, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Roberts is an Englishwoman?”</p> + +<p>“Hold your whisht, sir, and I’ll tell you that she’s +of the aristocracy, no less.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour considered this gravely. It was +not improbable. Many English families were utterly +wrecked financially by the war, and the children had +scattered whither they could, like sparrows, in search +of bread. “You’re sure of this?” he said.</p> + +<p>“And indeed it is common knowledge, sir. The +housekeeper herself, it was, who told me.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour switched suddenly. “I wonder +whether you could tell me who Mr. Endicott’s +intimate friends were,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, there’s quite a few people have called +on the madam off and on, and a few on Mr. Endicott, +too. I couldn’t say, though, as to just how intimate.”</p> + +<p>“But didn’t he ever discuss his friends?”</p> + +<p>“Not before me, sir. I’m one of the downstairs +girls. Perhaps Roberts would know. She’s often in the +room with the madam and Mr. Endicott even when +the pair of them is quarrelling that hard +that—— Glory be to——”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut,” said Lieutenant Valcour gently. +“Married couples are always quarrelling together. +There’s nothing unusual in that.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed and there ain’t.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether you’d ask Roberts to come out +here and see me.”</p> + +<p>“I will, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—and will you also tell whoever has to know +about it that Dr. Worth plans to stay here all night? +And then let him know, please, where he is to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Jane went to the door of Mrs. Endicott’s room and +knocked. Nurse Vickers opened it and stepped halfway +out, blocking the entrance. Their voices were +too low for Lieutenant Valcour to hear, but he saw +the nurse retreat into the room, caught an affirmative +nod from Jane, and presently Roberts came out and +toward him.</p> + +<p>“You wished to see me, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>There was still that curious shielding in her eyes—a +hinting at definite information kept closely guarded +behind twin gates.</p> + +<p>“I want you to tell me,” he said quietly, “why +you compelled me a while ago in Mrs. Endicott’s +room to say ‘Later.’ ”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe I quite understand.”</p> + +<p>“And I believe that you do.”</p> + +<p>Roberts became coolly detached. “One is justified +in having one’s beliefs.”</p> + +<p>“Just why do you hate Mrs. Endicott so?”</p> + +<p>She flinched as if he had struck her physically.</p> + +<p>“Is that why you sent for me?” she said.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour himself indulged in a veiling of +eyes. “I wish,” he said, “that you would sit down.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch09"> + +<h2>Chapter IX. <br> 11:55 p. m.—Queer Deeps</h2> + +<p>Roberts went indifferently to the chair that Jane +had been using and sat down. Lieutenant Valcour +drew another up beside her. He began with the usual +distant skirmishing before launching the main body +of his attack.</p> + +<p>“I will explain why I wanted to see you,” he said. +“It’s concerning Mr. Endicott—concerning his +condition.” He noted the sudden reflex from tension +on the part of her hands as he summed up concisely +the statement made to him by Dr. Worth. “I understand,” +he concluded, “that Mrs. Endicott is under +the influence of a narcotic and will not be available +before to-morrow morning at the earliest. Dr. Worth +naturally wants to prevent all risk, and so we’ve +turned to you.”</p> + +<p>He felt her staring through him, as if by some +fourth-dimensional process his being had been erased +from her vision.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Endicott has very few friends,” she said.</p> + +<p>“You are taking the word at its literal meaning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, quite. His acquaintances are numerous and +transient.” She focussed him into an entity again. +“They are mostly women. I don’t suppose one of +them would do?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour smiled slightly. “Not if their +status is so uncertain—their emotional status, I +mean.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.” The masked effect of her attitude +remained unchanged as she asked with almost +perfunctory detachment, “Would a man do?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Because there is one man of whom Mr. Endicott +speaks quite frequently as being his ‘best’ friend.”</p> + +<p>“Here in town?”</p> + +<p>“In a bachelor apartment on East Fifty-second +Street.”</p> + +<p>“You have his exact address?”</p> + +<p>“It is in the memorandum book beside the +telephone in Mrs. Endicott’s room.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour grew markedly casual. “A +mutual friend, then?”</p> + +<p>“One couldn’t say.”</p> + +<p>“He is your only suggestion?”</p> + +<p>“He is the only man to whom I have heard Mr. +Endicott refer in terms of friendship and of intimacy.”</p> + +<p>“Then there really isn’t any choice.”</p> + +<p>Roberts’ smile signified nothing. “No choice.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever seen this man?”</p> + +<p>“His name is Mr. Thomas Hollander. I have never +seen him.”</p> + +<p>“Has anyone in the household ever seen him, to +your knowledge?”</p> + +<p>“I dare say. I don’t know. One could inquire.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour recognized the rising inflection +at each period mark, a habit so much in vogue among +certain types of English people when they wish to be +mildly disagreeable. He felt a Gallic insistence to +retaliate even at the expense of chivalry. At the worst, +he thought, he would only be living up to the popular +conception of the men in his profession. And there +<em>was</em> some link of peculiar intimacy between this +woman and Endicott. . . .</p> + +<p>“If we cannot get hold of Mr. Hollander,” he said, +“would you consider it advisable for the post to be +taken by yourself?”</p> + +<p>He repented instantly at the sight of her deadly +whiteness. It seemed impossible that blood could +drain so swiftly from the skin. His own face blazed +like fire from the slap of her hand across his cheek. +He noticed, as he sat very still, the strange terror +that hid beneath her bitter, staring eyes: it wasn’t +any terror of the law, the cheek of which she had +symbolically in his person just so vigorously slapped; +it wasn’t any terror of what he or the machine he +represented could do to her—what anyone or anything +could do to her. . . . It was baffling; baffling as +the undiscoverable source of any intense emotional +reaction is baffling—something that drew its sustenance +from roots imbedded not in the immediate +present but in the past. . . .</p> + +<p>“You will permit me to offer my apologies?” he said.</p> + +<p>She returned vividly to the moment, and her colour +swept back in a succession of bright waves.</p> + +<p>“I am not usually so unmannerly,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Nor usually subjected to insult. The fault was +mine.”</p> + +<p>Her laugh was quite harsh. “On the contrary, +Lieutenant, I am accustomed to insult.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you stay with Mrs. Endicott?” +he said softly.</p> + +<p>“Because there are some people, Lieutenant, who +can only find their happiness in hell.”</p> + +<p>“Martyrs.”</p> + +<p>“Not martyrs, precisely.”</p> + +<p>“Just what, then, precisely?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a sharing, if you wish—sort of a sharing of +torture.”</p> + +<p>Vague—vague. Lieutenant Valcour felt quite +convinced that he would shortly begin to gibber, if +the mysteries of hearts, of minds that he had dipped +into during the past few hours, did not soon coalesce +within the mould of reason. He began to envy his +sterner compatriots on the force who confined their +processes to the comfortable fields of hard, cold +facts—the “did you at five-forty-five this afternoon +place the silver teaspoon on the pantry shelf, or did +you not?” sort of facts. He conceded that their +wholesome, plein-air tactics were quite right, and that +his own, in spite of their usually successful results, +were hopelessly wrong. They at least were never called +liars, or slapped in the face, or found themselves +helplessly swirling in a sea of metaphysics with a splendid +chance of being thoroughly drowned. He forced himself +to concentrate. What was it that slash of pale +lips had been saying? A sharing of something . . . Of +course, of torture.</p> + +<p>“You mean,” he said, “a sharing that is now going +on?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps—but especially in the past. Do you +believe, Lieutenant, that the dead remain in +emotional touch with the living?”</p> + +<p>“And that, my poor fish,” he told himself severely, +“is what your interminable probing into people’s +souls has got you into.”</p> + +<p>“I have never thought about it. But I should like +to believe that it is true. I should like to believe in +anything that offers corroborative proof of +immortality.”</p> + +<p>“You are convinced of the finality of death?”</p> + +<p>“It is a dread, not a conviction.”</p> + +<p>Roberts nodded her head swiftly. “And with +me—with me—if I could only <em>know</em>.”</p> + +<p>“So that you would be quite certain that your +sacrifice is not being made in vain.” Lieutenant +Valcour spoke very softly. He was approaching, he +felt, no matter how grandiloquently, that goal +toward which he had been aiming: the answer to the +amazing look she had given him in Mrs. Endicott’s +room.</p> + +<p>The mood broke. She stood up abruptly.</p> + +<p>“You wished that address book?” she said.</p> + +<p>It was of no great matter. Moods, at least, did not +die. They were always there—somewhere—waiting +to be recaptured.</p> + +<p>“If you will be so kind,” he said.</p> + +<p>She went to the door of Mrs. Endicott’s room, +opened it, was swallowed up. Lieutenant Valcour +waited outside. The case was becoming mired in +evasions. That was the trouble with cases whose milieu +rose beyond a certain social and mental level. They +invariably grew kaleidoscopic with overtones. Crime +in the lower strata was noteworthy for its crudenesses +rather than its subtleties: an intrigue among animals, +with the general patentness of some jackal filching its +prey. But breeding and intellect generally presupposed +masks: the inbred defensiveness of manner and +social combativeness with the world which offered +barriers most difficult to pierce. Roberts opened the +door and handed him the small leather reference book +Mrs. Endicott had used when verifying the telephone +number of Dr. Worth.</p> + +<p>“Thomas Hollander,” she said. “The names are +listed alphabetically.”</p> + +<p>The door closed even in that short second which +preceded his thanks. It was a gesture of retreat from +hinted intimacies. It wasn’t so much the door of the +room she had closed as it was the door guarding her +secrets. He felt that she wanted to show him she had +already repented of having gone so far—not that she +<em>had</em> gone any distance, really, but there were beacons, +faint pin points of light toward which he would chart +a course over the surface of her troubled seas.</p> + +<p>He took the reference book and sat down. He began +with A and started to go systematically through +it. At H he fixed in his memory the street and +telephone number of Hollander’s house. He continued +without interest to turn the pages.</p> + +<p>At the end of the M’s he came, to his marked +bewilderment, upon the address and telephone +number of Marge Myles.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch10"> + +<h2>Chapter X. <br> 12:06 a. m.—The Stillness of a Grave</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went to the head of the stairs.</p> + +<p>“O’Brian!” he called down.</p> + +<p>O’Brian looked up at him from below.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Send Hansen up here, please.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>A painting on the wall held Lieutenant Valcour’s +attention while he waited. A Gauguin, he thought, +and, going closer, confirmed it. His eye drifted over +the entire corridor. Everywhere were the details of +great wealth, and the young owner of it all not a +happy child of kind fortune, but a detested, a +passionately hated, and a passionately loved man. There +flashed again before him in brief review Mrs. +Endicott, a storehouse of mountain storms in summer; +Mrs. Siddons, spiritual ash; Roberts, the shortest +step this side of some fervour bred in the swamps of +lunacy; Hollander—Marge Myles—who knew? And +would one ever know? Suppose, as Dr. Worth had +more than hinted, Endicott should refuse to speak—if +that strange reticence harped upon so insistently +both by his wife and his physician should resist . . .</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant, sir, Officer Hansen reporting.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour dragged his eyes from the +Gauguin unwillingly.</p> + +<p>“All right, Hansen,” he said. “Come with me.”</p> + +<p>They went down the corridor and stopped before +the door to Endicott’s room.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what’s gone on here to-night, +Hansen?”</p> + +<p>“From what I’ve heard, sir, the man who was +thought dead is now alive.”</p> + +<p>“That is correct.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour opened the door and beckoned +to Cassidy. Cassidy came out and joined them.</p> + +<p>“When you two men go back into that room,” +Lieutenant Valcour said, “I want you to get a couple +of chairs and sit down just inside the bathroom +doorway. Put the chairs where you can watch the +bed and this hall door. If you talk, use a low voice +that won’t disturb either the patient or the nurse, +and from the moment when she indicates that he’s +returning to consciousness, say nothing at all and sit +still. The shock of knowing that you were there might +disturb his heart again. Is that clear?”</p> + +<p>They assured him, in unison, that it was.</p> + +<p>“This hall door,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, +“is going to be kept locked on the inside by the nurse. +Every time she opens it, watch carefully. Keep your +eye on anyone who comes into the room, especially +if they offer some excuse for wanting to be +there—and when I say ‘anyone,’ I mean just that. For +instance: the nurse might want some coffee and ring +for a servant. Watch that servant every second, until +she goes and the door is locked again. While on the +subject of coffee, you will drink none that may be +offered you while you’re on watch.”</p> + +<p>“I never drink coffee, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy. +“Now if it was a cup of tea——”</p> + +<p>“If you get thirsty,” said Lieutenant Valcour +severely, “take some water from the tap. And eat +nothing at all. I don’t want to have to come back +here and find you both groggy with knock-out drops +and with heaven-knows-what happened to Endicott. +Mind you, I’m not suggesting that anything like +this will happen—but it might. Clear?”</p> + +<p>Again, in unison, they assured him it was all most +clear.</p> + +<p>“Keep in mind,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, +“that primarily you are in a sick-room over which +Dr. Worth has absolute charge. You are not to +interfere with anything he may do, or with any +arrangements he may make during the night. You +are only to step in if you see that Endicott’s life is +threatened through the action of some person who +may approach him. Try to prevent this by physically +overpowering the attacker if you can, but if there is +no time for that do not hesitate to shoot.”</p> + +<p>“Even if it’s a woman, Lieutenant?” said Hansen +quietly.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “There are no such +things,” he said evenly, “as sex or chivalry in +murder.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I am painting, incidentally, the darkest prospect +of the picture. In all probability nothing will happen +at all. You’ll spend a sleepless and tiresome night, +get cricks in your necks, and damn the day you ever +joined the force. Now, then, there is one thing more, +and that concerns a man by the name of Thomas +Hollander. Dr. Worth believes it advisable that an +intimate friend of Endicott be near him and be the +first person whom Endicott sees when he recovers +consciousness. Mr. Hollander is that friend. I am +going to try to get in touch with him shortly, explain +matters to him, and get him to come up here. Mr. +Hollander is naturally the exception to my previous +instructions. Let him alone. Don’t interfere with +him, but—” Lieutenant Valcour’s pause was +significantly impressive “—watch him. Watch him, my +good young men, as two harmonious cats might watch +a promenading and near-sighted mouse. Shall I +repeat?”</p> + +<p>“I get you, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy. And +Hansen, he was assured, had “got” him, too.</p> + +<p>“Then we will go in, and you will establish +yourselves for the night at once.”</p> + +<p>He opened the door, and they went inside. Dr. +Worth’s arrangements were complete, and he was +ready to turn in. Nurse Murrow had received her +instructions and was to call Dr. Worth should +Endicott show any symptoms of returning consciousness.</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth joined Lieutenant Valcour at the door.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing further we can do for the +present, Lieutenant, except wait,” he said.</p> + +<p>“All right, Doctor. I’ve told my men how things +stand.” He nodded toward Cassidy and Hansen, +who, on tiptoe, were vanishing into the bathroom +with two chairs. “I’ve told them you’re in charge +here, and that there’s not to be an unnecessary sound +or move out of them.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth continued to remain politely incredulous. +“Well, I dare say you know what you are doing, +but it still seems an extraordinary precaution to me.”</p> + +<p>“And it probably is. I spoke to one of the maids +about your staying here, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—thank you. They’ve told me where my room +is. It’s the one directly above this one.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve also lined up one of Endicott’s friends. I’m +getting in touch with him directly, and when he +comes I’ll have him sent up to you. You can tell him +just what you want him to do, and then see that he +gets in here all right, if you will, please.”</p> + +<p>“By all means. Who is he, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“A Mr. Thomas Hollander—lives on East +Fifty-second Street.”</p> + +<p>“Never heard of him; but there’s no reason why I +should have.” He sped a parting look toward Endicott, +faintly breathing on the bed. “The most +reticent man, Lieutenant, whom I have ever met.”</p> + +<p>They went outside and closed the door.</p> + +<p>Nurse Murrow went over and locked it. She felt, +to put it mildly, not a little atwitter. Her life had +not conformed to the popular version of a trained +nurse’s. There had been no romantic patients in it +whose pallid, interesting brows she had smoothly +divorced from fever by a gentle pass or two with +magnetic fingers. No grateful millionaire had offered +her his heart and name; nor had any motherly eyed +old dowager died and willed her a fortune. No. There +had been, on the other hand, a good many years of +sloppy, disillusioning, grilling work, long hours spent +in pampering peevish patients, patients who were +ugly with that special ugliness which is inherent in +the sick, snappish doctors, and a perfect desert of +romance.</p> + +<p>The present case loomed as a heaven-sent oasis. +Who knew what might not develop out of it? It +awakened all the atrophied hunger of her starved +sentimentalism. And even if nothing <em>did</em> result from +it—nothing practical, like marriage, or a good +bonus—it would at least leave her something to think +about during those endless, tiresome, tiring hours of +the future. . . .</p> + +<p>She crossed to the bed and looked down at Endicott. +She felt his pulse and made a notation on her +night chart. She lingered near the bathroom +doorway.</p> + +<p>“The strangest case,” she whispered, “that I’ve +ever been on.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy looked up at her bleakly.</p> + +<p>Hansen said, “Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say,” she whispered on, “that it’s quite +in the ordinary run of things for you gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“There’s an atmosphere—a something sinister——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>Nurse Murrow’s broad shoulders jerked impatiently. +There was a talk-chilling quality in being +so determinedly ma’am’d. She gave it up, and settled +herself starchily in an armchair. She adjusted a lamp +so that it shaded more efficiently her eyes.</p> + +<p>A floor board creaked upstairs—once.</p> + +<p>That would be Dr. Worth, she decided, going to +bed. What a man! What a shining light in his profession! +A little bigoted, perhaps, in some things, but +so distinguished—admirable—a bachelor, +too—— But what nonsense!</p> + +<p>A complete stillness settled gently on the house. +The stillness of a grave.</p> + +<p>Yes, she thought, just exactly that—the stillness +of a grave. . . .</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch11"> + +<h2>Chapter XI. <br> 12:15 a. m.—To Watch by Night</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour refreshed his memory from +the leather reference book and then dialled the +number.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thomas Hollander?” he said, when a man’s +voice answered him. It was a smooth, soft voice, and +he suspected that further words beyond the initial +“hello” would reveal a Southern accent.</p> + +<p>“Who is calling, please?” went on the voice, +making the expected latitudinal revelation.</p> + +<p>“I have a message from the home of Mr. Herbert +Endicott for Mr. Thomas Hollander. Will you ask +him to come to the ’phone, please?”</p> + +<p>“One moment.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour drew stars on a scratch pad +while he waited. He wondered idly what secret powers +or hidden vices they would disclose if examined by a +trained graphologist. He made quite a good star and +drew exciting rays out from its points. That would +undoubtedly show, he told himself, that he was a +nosey, mean-spirited, and cold-hearted sleuth hound. +What an infernal time it took to get Hollander to the +telephone! Had the line gone dead? Ah . . .</p> + +<p>“Yes?” It was a deeper voice, this time, and held +no promise, or threat, of Southern softnesses.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thomas Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“This is the home of Mr. Herbert Endicott, Mr. +Hollander.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“And I am Lieutenant Valcour talking—of the +police.”</p> + +<p>The deadness of the wire became a pause of the +first magnitude. Then:</p> + +<p>“Well, Lieutenant, what’s it all about?”</p> + +<p>“It is about Mr. Endicott, Mr. Hollander.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Another pause.</p> + +<p>“He’s dead?”</p> + +<p>“Dead? Why no, Hollander. Were you expecting +him to be?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by ‘expecting him to be’? +Certainly I wasn’t. Please come down to facts, +Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“I was about to. Mr. Endicott has suffered a heart +attack brought on by some sudden shock. His +condition is serious, and Dr. Worth, who is attending +him, insists that some friend be at hand when Mr. +Endicott recovers consciousness.”</p> + +<p>“You mean”—the voice was speaking very +carefully now—“in addition to Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“No, unfortunately Mrs. Endicott cannot be +present.”</p> + +<p>Again a pause, and then:</p> + +<p>“Why not, Lieutenant? She isn’t—that is——”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“Damn it, is she arrested?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. What for?”</p> + +<p>“Well, what in hell are you cops in the house for +if”—the voice ended less belligerently—“there +hasn’t been some crime?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour remained splendidly detached.</p> + +<p>“We shan’t be certain that there either has or +hasn’t been a crime, as you infer, until Mr. Endicott +recovers consciousness and lets us know.”</p> + +<p>“He’s unconscious?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Is his condition serious, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Most serious, Mr. Hollander.”</p> + +<p>“And Mrs. Endicott—why is it she can’t be with +Herb?”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Worth has given her a narcotic. She’s +sleeping. Her nerves are unstrung.”</p> + +<p>This evidently took a minute to digest.</p> + +<p>“From what, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“From her husband’s condition.”</p> + +<p>“Did Mrs. Endicott suggest that you call me up, +Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“No. Roberts, her maid, said you were a friend—a +mutual friend. Roberts tells me that your name is the +only one she has ever heard spoken by Mr. Endicott +in terms that would imply intimacy.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right.”</p> + +<p>“You and Mr. Endicott are intimate friends, are +you not?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty thick, Lieutenant. What is it you want me +to do?”</p> + +<p>“To sit with Mr. Endicott until he recovers +consciousness. Dr. Worth is afraid that his heart will go +back on him again if there isn’t someone he knows +with him when he comes to. If you’ll be kind enough +to come up, Dr. Worth will explain the whole peculiar +affair to you much better than I can.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course. Yes. When?”</p> + +<p>“As soon as convenient.”</p> + +<p>“In about an hour? There are some things——”</p> + +<p>“That will do perfectly. Thank you very much, +Mr. Hollander. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour hung up the receiver of the +hall telephone he was using and walked to where he +had left his coat and hat. He put them on and +buttonholed O’Brian by the front door.</p> + +<p>“O’Brian,” he said, “there’s a man coming here +shortly by the name of Thomas Hollander. Have him +identify himself by a visiting card, or a letter, or his +driver’s licence, or initials on something or other. +Give him a pat, too, in passing to make certain that +he hasn’t got a gun. If it offends him, say that it is +just a matter of routine. As a matter of fact, in his +case, it probably is. Then show him up to the room +that Dr. Worth is occupying for the night.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“From Dr. Worth’s room he will be taken down +to Mr. Endicott’s room and will stay there until +morning.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I want you to tip the men off on guard down here +that I want it known I am going home until to-morrow. +Tell Mr. Hollander that if he asks to see me. +I am leaving the house now and may be gone for a +couple of hours, more or less. Then I’m coming back. +I’ll rap on this door here, and you let me in.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“There’s probably a lounge or something in that +room there just off this hall. I’ll spend the night on +it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What is the name of the gentleman who is +coming?”</p> + +<p>“Thomas Hollander, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Good.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went outside. The normal orderliness +of life returned comfortingly with the first +deep breaths of cold night air. He walked the short +half block to Fifth Avenue and hailed a taxi. He got +in. He gave the driver, through the half-opened +window in front, the Riverside Drive address of Marge +Myles.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch12"> + +<h2>Chapter XII. <br> 12:30 a. m.—Madame Velasquez Stirs up Muck</h2> + +<p>The taxi ran north along Fifth Avenue for a few +blocks and then bore left into the leafless, frosty +stretches of Central Park. It was deserted of +pedestrians. Occasional yellow lights showed the vacant +surface of benches and empty walks.</p> + +<p>The average worthlessness of any person’s reactions +when suddenly confronted by the police, Lieutenant +Valcour reflected, was a curious phenomenon. +It was his belief that only rarely were such reactions +the result of the moment at hand. They were instead +a subconscious scurrying backward to some earlier +time when something had been done by that person, +or known by that person, which might then have +brought him into the grip of the law. No one—he +included himself in the arraignment—led a blameless +life. No, not even the saints, for they had their +periods of expiation, which in themselves presupposed +blemishes that required the act of expiation for their +erasure. And so it was with people when, even in the +rôle of the most innocent of bystanders, they were +confronted by the police. Inevitably there lurked a +certain fear, an instinctive thrusting out of defenses +as a guard against the chance discovery of that early +blemish. . . .</p> + +<p>Take Hollander, for instance. Every word of his +telephone conversation had been a negative defense, +and yet one could not link it necessarily with the +attack on Endicott. No, not necessarily. It was +perfectly obvious that Hollander had <em>expected</em> something +to happen to Endicott, and equally obvious that he +was worried about the fact that Mrs. Endicott might +be involved in it, but one couldn’t say that he had +been involved in it himself. . . .</p> + +<p>The taxi stopped. Lieutenant Valcour got out, paid +the driver, and dismissed him.</p> + +<p>Riverside Drive seemed about ten degrees colder +than the midtown section of the city had been. Or was +it fifteen or twenty degrees? A northerly wind blew +iced blasts from the Hudson River and at him across +the treetops of the terraced park. Marge Myles, +Lieutenant Valcour decided as he took in the façade +of the building that housed her apartment, did +herself rather well.</p> + +<p>A sleepy and irritable Negro casually asked him +“Wha’ floor—’n’ who, suh?” as he entered the +overheated lobby. The boy was smartly snapped into full +consciousness by the view offered him of Lieutenant +Valcour’s gold badge.</p> + +<p>The proper floor proved to be the fourteenth.</p> + +<p>As the hour was hovering about one in the morning, +Lieutenant Valcour was considerably surprised at the +promptness with which the door swung open in +response to his ring, and considerably more surprised +by the querulous voice that emerged from beneath a +wig, dimly seen in the poor light of a foyer, and said, +“Well, I must say you took your own time in coming. +Put your coat and hat on that table there, and then +come into the parlour.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour complied. He followed a dimmish +mass of jet bugles into the more accurate light +of a room heavily cluttered with gold-leafed furniture +and brocades.</p> + +<p>“I’m Madame Velasquez—Marge’s ma. I ain’t +Spanish myself, but if there ever was a Spaniard, my +late husband Alvarez was.”</p> + +<p>The wig on Madame Velasquez’s head offered no +anachronism to the bugles of her low-cut dress. Its +reddish russet strands were pompadoured and puffed +and showed at unexpected places little sprays of +determined curls. The face beneath it bore an odd +resemblance to an enamelled nut to which nature, +in a moment of freakish humour, had added features.</p> + +<p>“Now I want you to tell me at once, Mr. Endicott, +what you have done with my little Marge.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour with curious eyes tried to +probe a closed door at the other end of the room.</p> + +<p>“I expected to find her here, Madame Velasquez,” +he said quietly. “Isn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“She ain’t. And what is furthermore, Mr. Herbert +Endicott, you know she ain’t.” Her voice had grown +shrill, but without much volume. It was rather the +ineffective piping of some winded bird.</p> + +<p>“What makes you say that, Madame Velasquez?”</p> + +<p>The bunched strands of artificial jewellery that +were recklessly clasped about Madame Velasquez’s +thin neck quivered defiantly.</p> + +<p>“And you never met her here at seven,” she said. +“I suppose you’ll say you <em>wasn’t</em> to meet her here at +seven. Well, I got this note to prove it. There, now.”</p> + +<p>She handed Lieutenant Valcour a sheet of +notepaper that reeked of some high-powered scent.</p> + +<blockquote> + + <p>Make yourself at home, Ma [read the note]. Herb Endicott was + to meet me here at seven. He didn’t come although he was to take + me to the Colonial for dinner. I am going to the Colonial now and + see if he is there. Maybe I did not understand him right, Ma. + I will be home soon anyways.</p> + + <p class="signature">Marge.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>“And it is now,” said Madame Velasquez, “after +1 <span class="sc">a. m.</span>”</p> + +<p>“She knew you were going to pay her this visit, +Madame Velasquez?”</p> + +<p>“I telegraphed her this afternoon. I’m here for a +week. Where is she?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know where she is, Madame Velasquez.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Endicott, one more lie like that and I’ll call +the police.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, Madame Velasquez. You see, I +am the police.”</p> + +<p>The bugles, the jewels, the curls became still with +shocking abruptness, as a brake that without warning +binds tightly.</p> + +<p>“You belong to the police?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Madame Velasquez—Lieutenant Valcour.”</p> + +<p>He showed his badge.</p> + +<p>“Then you ain’t Mr. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“No, Madame Velasquez.”</p> + +<p>“Then he—she—they’ve gone and done it, +Lieutenant—they have run away.” Madame Velasquez +began to simper.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Madame Velasquez, but they haven’t +run away. Mr. Endicott, you see, was attacked this +evening. If he doesn’t live, whoever did it will be +charged with murder.”</p> + +<p>There was a complete absence of expression in +Madame Velasquez’s tone. “And you think Marge +done it,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Not necessarily so at all. Your daughter may very +well have met somebody else at the Colonial—some +other party of friends—and have joined it when Mr. +Endicott failed to show up. The Colonial is closed by +now, but perhaps she went on to some night club. +I shouldn’t worry.”</p> + +<p>“Why should she go on to some night club when +she knew her ma was waiting for her here?”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez’s thin hands, the fingers of +which were loaded with cheap rings, played nervously +with any substance they chanced to touch.</p> + +<p>“Something’s happened to her, Lieutenant,” she +went on. “I always told her as how it would. Marge—I +told her a hundred times if I ever told her once—there’s +a limit to the number of suckers you can play +at one and the same time.”</p> + +<p>“You think that some man who was jealous perhaps +attacked Endicott first and then got after her?”</p> + +<p>“Man? Men, Lieutenant, men. That brat kept the +opposite of a harem, if you know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“She isn’t your daughter, really, is she, Madame +Velasquez?”</p> + +<p>“She was Alvarez’s only child by his first wife—some +Spanish female hussy from Seville. What made +you guess?”</p> + +<p>“The way you talked about her. But do keep right +on, Madame Velasquez. What a remarkable pendant—it’s +a rarity to see so perfect a ruby—may I?”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez simpered audibly while Lieutenant +Valcour leaned forward and stared earnestly +at the bit of paste.</p> + +<p>“My late husband, Lieutenant, used to say that +nothing was too good for pretty Miramar. That’s my +name, Lieutenant—Miramar.”</p> + +<p>“Few people are so happily named, Madame +Velasquez. Tell me—let me rely upon your woman’s +intuition—just what did Marge expect from +Endicott?”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez leaned forward confidentially. +An atmosphere as of frenzied heliotropes clung +thickly about her.</p> + +<p>“Every last damn nickel she could get,” she said.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour assumed his most winning +smile. “Scarcely an <i>affaire du cœur</i>, Madame +Velasquez.” If he had had a moustache, he would have +twirled it. “I suppose her early marriage embittered +her, rather hardened her against men?”</p> + +<p>“Well, if it did I ain’t noticed it none.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps Endicott came under the heading of +business rather than pleasure?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes, and then no.”</p> + +<p>“A happy combination?”</p> + +<p>“Just a combination. Not so damn happy.”</p> + +<p>“A little bickering now and then?”</p> + +<p>“A lot.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed? Marge was on the stage, wasn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“If you can call it the stage nowadays, +Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“In the chorus, wasn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And Harry Myles saw her and carried her off.”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez’s laugh was an art; unfortunately +not a lost one. “The millionaire marriage,” +she gasped. “My dear”—her hand found a resting +place on one of Lieutenant Valcour’s knees—“he +didn’t have a cent.”</p> + +<p>“She felt disappointed, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Disappointed!” Madame Velasquez fairly +screamed the word at him, like an angry parrot. Her +manner changed and became darkly mysterious. “I +know my little know,” she said. “You can believe +me, Lieutenant, little Miramar’s not the boob some +parties I could mention, but won’t, think she is.” +Her voice grew harsh with the gritty quality of a file. +“I’ll learn her to leave me in the ditch like this.”</p> + +<p>“Then you think Marge purposely isn’t here to +greet you?”</p> + +<p>It was a sweet little bunch of filth, taken all in all, +thought Lieutenant Valcour. It was perfectly plain: +Madame Velasquez either held definite knowledge +that Marge had killed Harry Myles, or else had +convinced Marge that she knew. And then Madame +Velasquez had simply bled Marge of all the money +she could get.</p> + +<p>“Is Marge frightened easily, Madame Velasquez?”</p> + +<p>“About some things.”</p> + +<p>The reddish, dusty-looking curls nodded vigorously. +Lieutenant Valcour looked at his watch. It was +one-thirty. He stood up.</p> + +<p>“Thank you for receiving me, Madame Velasquez. +If I leave you a telephone number would you care to +call me up when Marge comes in? Or will you be in +bed?”</p> + +<p>“Leave your number, Lieutenant.” The seamy +enamelled face became more nutlike than ever. “I +got a thing or two to talk over with that female +Brigham Young.” She raised a be-ringed hand and +held it unescapably close to Lieutenant Valcour’s +lips.</p> + +<p>He brushed them gently against a hardened coat +of whiting, smiled his pleasantest, and left, assisted +doorward by what might at one time have been +called a sigh.</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment in the small foyer, after +putting on his hat and coat, and pencilled the +Endicotts’ telephone number on one of his cards. He +started back to give it to Madame Velasquez.</p> + +<p>She wasn’t in the room where he had left her, and +the room’s other door stood ajar. He crossed to it +softly and looked in. Madame Velasquez—yes, +he convinced himself, it <em>was</em> Madame Velasquez—was +sitting before a dresser. Her wig was off, and her +heavily enamelled face peered into a mirror beneath +thin knots of corn-gray hair. As the lonely, weak old +voice rose and fell, Lieutenant Valcour caught a +word or two of what Madame Velasquez was saying:</p> + +<p>“He didn’t know—if I went and told her once, I +told her a thousand times—he didn’t <em>know</em>.” There +followed a short, dreadful noise that passed as +laughter. “But <em>I</em> know—Miramar knows, +darling—you little lousy . . .”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour retreated softly. He left the +card lying on a table. He went outside and closed the +door. He rang for the elevator and shut his eyes while +waiting for it to come up. There were times when +they grew a little weary from looking too intimately +upon life.</p> + +<p>Down in the lobby he used the house telephone +and called up the Endicotts’.</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant Valcour talking,” he said.</p> + +<p>“O’Brian, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Everything quiet?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed and it is, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hollander get there yet?”</p> + +<p>“He’s just this minute after arriving, sir. He’s +upstairs with Dr. Worth now.”</p> + +<p>“Did he identify himself all right?”</p> + +<p>“He did that, Lieutenant, with cards and a driver’s +licence.”</p> + +<p>“Good. I’ll be along in about an hour now. +Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>He was helped by the bitter wind as he walked east +to Broadway. He found a taxi and gave the driver +Hollander’s address on East Fifty-second Street. He +settled back and closed his eyes. He went to sleep.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch13"> + +<h2>Chapter XIII. <br> 2:01 a. m.—Glittering Eyes</h2> + +<p>Nurse Murrow didn’t slumber, exactly; it was much +too slender a lapse from consciousness for that. But +it was not until the second gentle rapping that she +stood up.</p> + +<p>Someone was rapping on the hall door.</p> + +<p>She glanced at her wrist watch as she crossed the +room, and was glad to note that it was just after two +o’clock. Three or four hours, now, and it would be +dawn. She’d get some coffee, then, and her work for +the night would be almost over.</p> + +<p>As she turned the key in the lock she noticed with +a sharp thrill of interest that the two policemen, very +quiet, very alert, but still sitting on their chairs in +the bathroom doorway, had each drawn a gun from +its holster and was holding it by his side. She opened +the door.</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth, his dignity considerably muffled in +camel’s hair, stood in the corridor with a stranger.</p> + +<p>“Miss Murrow,” he said, “this is Mr. Thomas +Hollander, the friend who is going to sit up with +Mr. Endicott. He understands everything about the +situation, and I have advised him just what to do.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth failed futilely in suppressing a yawn. +“Are there any reports?”</p> + +<p>“No, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll return to my room. Call me at the +slightest indication.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>Hollander came inside. Miss Murrow closed the +door and locked it again. She stood watching Hollander +as he went an uncertain step or two toward the +bed, with that natural hesitation with which one +approaches the very ill. He was a personable young +man in his thirties. He was more than personable, +she decided. Not handsome, exactly—heavens, no—she +corrected herself rapidly. The features weren’t +moulded in the tiresome regularity of handsomeness. +Engaging? Perhaps. A body perfectly proportioned, +with the broad shoulders and slim hips of a +fighter—of, yes, a prize fighter—an amateur sportsman.</p> + +<p>Hollander had finished with staring down at +Endicott. His walk, as he came over to where she was +standing, caused Miss Murrow to change her opinion +as to his vocation. She put him down as a sailor, a +yachtsman. There was a buoyancy, a certain fluidity, +in his movements, as if his feet were accustomed to +maintaining him with poise across the surfaces of +moving things. His eyes, except for one flashing +glance, did not meet her own directly.</p> + +<p>“Is it all right to smoke?” he said.</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid +not, Mr. Hollander. Mr. Endicott’s lungs require as +clear air as possible. I’ve even opened that window a +little to keep the atmosphere in the room quite +fresh.” She nodded toward the window above the +large mahogany chest. The sash was up about six or +seven inches from the bottom.</p> + +<p>“Oh.” Hollander continued to stand before her, +giving her still that peculiar effect of movement. +There was nothing perceptible about it. His body was +like a stolid field, motionless, beneath drifting +shadows of the clouds. “Will Dr. Worth be here when +Herb comes to?”</p> + +<p>Nurse Murrow felt a professional stiffening. “I +will inform Dr. Worth at the first sign of returning +consciousness.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> + +<p>“How’ll you inform him?”</p> + +<p>“By going up to his room, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Oh.” Hollander’s gaze wavered about at the line +of her chin. “Then I’ll just baby Herb along until +you get back down here with the doctor.”</p> + +<p>“The doctor and I will undoubtedly be back before +Mr. Endicott actually does come to.”</p> + +<p>“Uh-huh. Good kid, Herb.”</p> + +<p>She threw out a tentative feeler.</p> + +<p>“You and he are great friends, Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“Buddies. War buddies.”</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow’s thoughts fled back along old trails. +“How splendid! So few war friendships have really +lasted, Mr. Hollander. I know it’s been so in my +case, and with so many, many others.” A faint flush +crept over her palish cheeks and made her look +rather young again. “There was a girl with me in +hospital at Chaumont, and we just knew we were +going to be friends for life, but she lives out in Akron, +Ohio.”</p> + +<p>“Uh-huh.”</p> + +<p>“We wrote quite regularly for a while after we got +back from France—we both sailed from Brest on the +<i>Amerika</i>—but then it sort of dwindled. Postal +cards—picture postal cards at Christmas. Last year we +didn’t even send any. I wonder what she’d be like +if I saw her again. Have you ever wondered about +people whom you’ve once been very fond of, that +way—about whether they change in time, I mean?”</p> + +<p>“Everything changes.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it, though? Just like the seasons. Oh, I +do think you can draw so many happy comparisons +between life and nature. They’re interlinked, if you +get what I mean. That’s why the weather is so affecting. +I just can’t <em>help</em> feeling gloomy on a gloomy day, +and when it’s bright and cheerful and all sunshiny +outside, why then I’m that way, too.”</p> + +<p>“Cripes!” muttered Hollander softly.</p> + +<p>“What did you say, Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“I said that was nice.”</p> + +<p>“Now I suppose with you and Mr. Endicott you +see each other quite regularly.”</p> + +<p>“Now and then.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose whenever your business permits?”</p> + +<p>His look flicked her like a whip.</p> + +<p>“Where’ll I sit?” he said.</p> + +<p>Nurse Murrow vanished within her professional +sphere.</p> + +<p>“Near the patient, please.”</p> + +<p>She wondered whether he had meant to snub her. +It wasn’t a snub exactly. Yes, it was, too. Well, what +of it? He was attractive enough to get away with it, +and it probably was nothing but brusqueness, after +all. Many strong men were brusque—purposely so +to hide a tender interior. There was a man, and a +millionaire at that . . . Hollander was back again +beside her. She wondered whether it was so—whether +people who didn’t look into your eyes were people +whom it was unsafe to trust.</p> + +<p>“Just what do you know about all this?” he said +softly.</p> + +<p>“About all what, Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“About the police being in the house.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it just too thrilling?”</p> + +<p>“Uh-huh. Whom do they suspect?”</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow began to feel friendly again. He <em>was</em> +so good-looking. She wished she had a whole lot of +exciting and important information to give him that +would keep him standing there listening, so that she +could just stare at him and try to put her finger on +the source of that amazing effect of fluidity.</p> + +<p>“They haven’t said whom they suspect, really.” +She lowered her voice to an appropriate pitch. “But +I know they think it’s somebody who is in the house.”</p> + +<p>Hollander’s voice was a whisper. “You wouldn’t +say it was Mrs. Endicott whom they suspect, would +you?”</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow appeared a trifle shocked. “Oh, it +would be too dreadful to think a wife would harm a +husband. But it does happen.” Her mind tabulated +the news offered daily by the papers. “Why, it +happens almost every day. Oh, you don’t <em>think</em>——”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I don’t think she did it,” Hollander +said fiercely. “It’s what the police think that I’m +trying to get at. What makes you so sure they’re +going to hang it onto somebody who’s in the house?”</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow nodded toward the bathroom door. +“From the way they’re guarding Mr. Endicott from +being attacked again. From being attacked,” she +added, “before he can make a statement.”</p> + +<p>“Then they’re still just guessing?”</p> + +<p>“Just guessing.”</p> + +<p>It seemed to satisfy Hollander, and he managed +to convey the impression that the conversation, so +far as he was concerned, had come to an end. Miss +Murrow went over to her chair in a corner of the +room and sat down. He was deep, she decided. Yes, a +deep creature, with deep impulses. . . .</p> + +<p>Cassidy and Hansen tilted back their chairs a bit +and, with loosened collars, settled for the last tiring +watches of the night. They had nodded briefly to +Hollander, and he had nodded just as briefly in return. +He looked to them like a good scout. Like one of +the boys. Regular. Cassidy tried to remember what +that last line of hooey was that the lieutenant had +shot at them about Hollander. Something about cats. +About two cats, that was it, watching a +promenading and near-sighted mouse. Nuts.</p> + +<p>Hollander took an armchair and pushed it close +to the head of the bed. It was an upholstered armchair, +heavy, and with a tall solid back. He placed it +so that its back was to the bathroom door. The back +also obliquely obscured him from a full view on the +part of Nurse Murrow. He vanished into its overstuffed +depths and settled down. His eyes travelled +slowly along the spread until they came to rest with +a curious fixity on the smooth, masklike face of his +friend Endicott.</p> + +<p>Then the pupils of Hollander’s eyes contracted +until they glittered like the heads of two bright pins.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch14"> + +<h2>Chapter XIV. <br> 2:01 a. m.—An Empty Sheath</h2> + +<p>It was just after two o’clock when Lieutenant +Valcour stepped to the pavement and paid his fare to +the driver. The cab snorted away and left silence +hanging heavy on the street. The bachelor apartment +house where Hollander lived had an English basement +entrance. He found Hollander’s name among a +row of five others and pressed the proper button. +After he had pressed it four times, a voice answered +him through the earpiece of the announcer.</p> + +<p>“Who and what is it?” said the voice.</p> + +<p>It was the Southern voice.</p> + +<p>“This is Lieutenant Valcour of the police +department talking.”</p> + +<p>“Oh. Mr. Hollander has already left, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I know that. I want to come +upstairs.”</p> + +<p>“Fourth floor, Lieutenant—automatic lift.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.”</p> + +<p>The release mechanism on the door was already +clicking. Lieutenant Valcour entered a smart little +lobby and then an electric lift. He pressed the button +for the fourth floor.</p> + +<p>“Sorry to bother you like this,” he said, as he +stepped out into a private foyer, and stared curiously +at the young man facing him.</p> + +<p>“No trouble at all, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very kind of you, Mr.——”</p> + +<p>“Smith, Lieutenant—Jerry Smith.”</p> + +<p>“Since when?” asked Lieutenant Valcour gently, +as he started to follow Mr. Smith into an adjoining +room.</p> + +<p>“Why, what do you mean, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>The man stopped, and his soft dark eyes stared +earnestly at Lieutenant Valcour from a ruddy, +slightly dissipated-looking young face.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour removed his hat and placed it +on a settee. “Nothing much, Mr. Smith,” he said. +“Certainly nothing beyond the fact that I saw you +one morning last month in the line-up down at +headquarters. In connection with some night-club business, +I believe. The charge fell through, I also believe, +because the woman involved preferred the loss of her +emerald necklace to the loss of prestige she certainly +would have suffered during the publicity of a trial +had she pressed the case. That’s all I mean, Mr. +Smith.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose, sir, I could convince you of my +innocence?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t suppose you could.”</p> + +<p>“It was my misfortune that the case never did +come to trial, Lieutenant. I could have cleared myself +then.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense. You could have brought counter +charges—sued for damage for false arrest.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith looked inexpressibly shocked. “We of +the South, sir, do not bring charges against a lady.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the ethical distinction between swiping a +woman’s necklace and bringing charges against her +is a shade too delicate for my Northern nerves to +grasp.” Lieutenant Valcour crossed casually to a +chair placed before a secretary and sat down. “Sit +down, Mr. Smith,” he said, “and tell me something +about your friend Thomas.”</p> + +<p>“The straightest, squarest gentleman who ever +lived, sir. Why . . .” Mr. Smith plunged into a +panegyric that would have brought a blush even to the +toughened cheek of a Caligula.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour permitted him to plunge. +While the flood poured into his ears, his eyes were +inconspicuously busied with such papers as were on +view in the secretary.</p> + +<blockquote> + + <p><span class="sc">Tom, darling</span> + [he read on the folded half of a sheet of notepaper]: + Let’s tea on Thursday at the Ritz. 4:30, as Herbert . . .</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour did not consider it essential to +reach out and turn the page. His fingers absently +busied themselves with the leather sheath for, +presumably, a metal paper cutter or, perhaps, a stiletto.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he is an honourable and an upright gentleman, +sir, and if you think there is anything wrong +with him in the Endicott business”—Mr. Smith +temporarily moved north of the Mason and Dixon +Line—“you’re all wet.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith was through.</p> + +<p>“For how long has he known Endicott, Mr. +Smith?”</p> + +<p>“As I’ve been telling you, Lieutenant, ever since +that night he saved Endicott’s life.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour became almost embarrassing +in the sudden focussing of his attention. “Would it +bother you very much, Mr. Smith, to tell me of that +occurrence again?”</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s just as I’ve been <em>saying</em>, Lieutenant, +in the war—the war.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course. Endicott and Hollander were in +the same outfit, and Hollander saved Endicott’s +life.”</p> + +<p>“You can prove it, sir, if you wish. Just call up +the Bronx armoury and ask for the adjutant—in the +morning, of course, as he wouldn’t be there now. +He’ll make it official.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I believe it all right, Mr. Smith. It’s a very +reasonable explanation of why Endicott should be so +intimate with one of your friends.”</p> + +<p>“I swear you have me wrong, Lieutenant. I had +no more to do with that gilt-knuckles job than—” +Mr. Smith sought desperately for a convincing +simile—“than a babe unborn.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t any of my business anyway, Mr. Smith, +even if you had,” said Lieutenant Valcour soothingly. +He tapped the leather sheath he was holding against +his fingers. “I suppose Hollander was even quite +prominent at the wedding, when Endicott was +married?”</p> + +<p>“Prominent? He was the best man.”</p> + +<p>“Really. Well, well. Mrs. Endicott is indeed a +very beautiful woman, and from all that she has told +me, a much misunderstood one.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith poised himself delicately upon the fence +and remained watchful.</p> + +<p>“It must have been rather a problem for Hollander,” +Lieutenant Valcour went on reflectively, +“when she told him this afternoon during their tea +at the Ritz that she was faced with one of two +things.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t he tell you?”</p> + +<p>“Tell me what, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“That Mrs. Endicott told him she couldn’t stand +it any longer: that she either was going to kill her +husband or else commit suicide.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith smothered a sharp intaking of breath.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you know how women talk, Lieutenant. It’s +just talk.”</p> + +<p>“Then he wasn’t impressed, really?”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course not. No more so than you or I +would have been.”</p> + +<p>“He got back here from the Ritz at six?”</p> + +<p>“About.”</p> + +<p>“And stayed here until I ’phoned him?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith looked a little baffled. “Well, not +exactly, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Just how exactly, Mr. Smith?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, he left for dinner right after he +came in.”</p> + +<p>“Just after six?”</p> + +<p>“Near six-thirty.”</p> + +<p>“And what time did he get back from dinner?”</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t here, Lieutenant. I had a date and +didn’t get back here myself until around midnight.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour became very, very casual.</p> + +<p>“Did Hollander plan to marry Mrs. Endicott after +she’d got the divorce?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Golly, no. There wasn’t going to be any divorce. +It was platonic—and damned if I don’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s quite possible.”</p> + +<p>“I have never seen her—but to hear Tom rave!”</p> + +<p>“She is very beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant,” Mr. Smith’s exceedingly attractive +dark eyes stared solemnly into Lieutenant Valcour’s +veiled ones, “he thinks she’s a saint. I mean it.”</p> + +<p>“Dark and strange,” muttered Lieutenant +Valcour. “Dark and strange.”</p> + +<p>“What’s dark and strange, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“The rather terrible things that sometimes happen, +Mr. Smith, under the patronage of love.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be damned if you talk like a cop,” said Mr. +Smith, suddenly very suspicious.</p> + +<p>“Then I’m afraid you are damned, Mr. Smith. +What,” Lieutenant Valcour asked suddenly, “was +kept in this?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith, momentarily distracted from his suspicions +by the abrupt switch, stared at the leather +sheath Lieutenant Valcour was holding out at him.</p> + +<p>“Some sort of a sticker that Tom picked up on +the other side,” he said. “Damascus steel, he calls +it. Uses it for a paper knife.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder why it isn’t in its sheath,” said +Lieutenant Valcour mildly.</p> + +<p>“Search me.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour poked around among the +papers.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t here in this secretary, either.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know where it is, Lieutenant. It +was there this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know where it is either, Mr. Smith, but +I’m going to find out.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead.”</p> + +<p>“Where was it you saw it this afternoon? On this +secretary?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour’s search of the secretary was +swift and thorough. The pigeonholes, the drawers +yielded no stiletto of Damascus steel. Hidden in one +of the drawers was a copy of the <i>Oxford Book of +English Verse</i>. That interested him momentarily. He +gave it sufficient attention to note that the most used +portion included the Sonnets of Shakespeare. But +there was no time now—no time.</p> + +<p>“I’m going through the rooms here,” he said, “and +look for that stiletto.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll be exceeding your authority if you do, +Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any objections?” Lieutenant Valcour +asked quietly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith grew almost fervent in his protestations +that he had none. Why should he? He had nothing to +conceal, nor had Hollander. Of course, there were a +bottle or two of gin and a quart of Scotch, but he +didn’t imagine the lieutenant would be interested in +anything along that line. No, the lieutenant assured +him, he wouldn’t be. Liquor was not in his province. +Then it would be all right to go ahead and search? +Lieutenant Valcour wanted to know. Oh, quite.</p> + +<p>In spite of his verbal acquiescence Mr. Smith +followed Lieutenant Valcour through the two other +rooms of the apartment with a gradually growing air +of truculence. He stood near and a little behind him +when, after the search yielded nothing, Lieutenant +Valcour went to a telephone and dialled the +Endicotts’ number.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour did not get the connection, +because Mr. Smith drew a pliable leather-bound slug +of lead from his pocket and struck Lieutenant +Valcour with it on the head.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch15"> + +<h2>Chapter XV. <br> 2:13 a. m.—The Thin Steel Blade</h2> + +<p>Miss Murrow began to feel fidgety.</p> + +<p>Even after the many, many years she had spent in +nursing she had never accustomed herself to spending +a night quite comfortably in a chair. She had always +had her attacks of the fidgets, and would probably +continue to have them until she arrived at the port +of destination for all good nurses and married one +of her patients or a doctor. Of the two she really +preferred a patient.</p> + +<p>She trained a speculative eye on her present one +over there on the bed. Not really speculative, as—she +told herself firmly—he was already married. +Although heaven knew that that never mattered. Take +the case of that red-headed Gilford girl who had +snapped old man Tomlinson right up from under his +wife’s nose—probably, at that, because of his wife’s +nose, which had been an unusually large one. Miss +Murrow giggled. That was almost witty enough to +tell to Mr. Hollander.</p> + +<p>He must have <em>felt</em> that she was thinking about him. +What a curious expression that was in his eyes. He +had just turned them toward her, and they seemed +to glitter. Yes, that was the word +exactly—“glitter.”</p> + +<p>It was a fancy of Miss Murrow’s to be meticulous +in the matter of words. “Really,” she thought, “I +don’t see why I couldn’t be an author.” She felt sure +she had ever so much more knowledge of life than one +encountered in the average run of books. Tripe. Yes, +“tripe” was indeed the word. Of course, her books +wouldn’t be average. Now that little story of Delia +Hackenpoole and the interne with those shifty +eyes . . .</p> + +<p>Eyes . . .</p> + +<p>Yes, Mr. Hollander’s eyes <em>were</em> glittering—even +in that second flash she had just caught of them. +But possibly he, too, had the fidgets. He’d been sitting +terribly quiet for the past ten minutes or so. Not a +budge out of him. A body would forget he was there, +almost.</p> + +<p>Of course he was handsome. Especially in that soft, +vague light from the distant lamp which picked his +pale features out obscurely. And they <em>were</em> pale, at +that. Genuinely pale. She did hope he wasn’t +going to be ill or have a nervous breakdown and +ruin this perfectly marvellous case of the dear +doctor’s. . . .</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sanford Worth. What a pleasant name it +would be. <i>Distingué</i>. How apt the French were! (She +knew ten phrases.)</p> + +<p>Was that right hand of Mr. Hollander’s actually +moving, or was it an illusion of light and shade? It +seemed to be slipping slowly from the arm of the +chair and would eventually end up in his lap. It was +moving—it wasn’t—quite creepy, really. Damn the +fidgets! She shifted her centre of balance and felt +temporarily relieved. Overstuffed chairs were really +wretched for prolonged periods of sitting, when you +came right down to it, whereas a good old-fashioned +horsehair sofa, such as Aunt Helen had had at +Sciota. . . .</p> + +<p>Why, the hand was gone!</p> + +<p>Positively gone—like a conjuring trick.</p> + +<p>It wasn’t on the arm of the chair, so it must be in +Mr. Hollander’s lap. Then it <em>had</em> been moving after +all, and she hadn’t been just imagining it. Why, it +was almost <em>sneaky</em>. . . .</p> + +<p>His profile was toward her. Not a snub nose, exactly, +nor <i>retroussé</i>. You couldn’t apply that term to +anything about a man, and whatever else he might +be, Mr. Hollander certainly was a man.</p> + +<p>How interesting his life at sea must have been. +(She had definitely ticketed him as a sailor.) Lives +at sea were always interesting. All the best books +were in accord with that. You never read of a Main +Street on the ocean. What with the girls in every +port and the fights and the smell of crisp salt air . . . +What a wretched little twirp that boy had been down +at the beach last summer, with his absurd remarks +about the salt smell being a lot of decayed lobster +pots and dead fish. Of course the air at sea was salt. +Sea and salt were synonymous.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hollander <em>did</em> have the fidgets.</p> + +<p>She couldn’t see exactly, because of the masking +arm of the chair, but he certainly was fiddling with +something. She’d think he was twirling his thumbs, +if he looked like the sort of man who twirled thumbs, +but he didn’t, so it wasn’t that.</p> + +<p>She looked at her wrist watch and saw that the +hands were approaching the half hour. She’d have to +examine her patient and note his pulse on the chart. +What a pity that the only time you really felt +comfortable in an overstuffed chair was at the moment +when you had to get up.</p> + +<p>She stood up, smoothed starched surfaces, and +sailed, a smart white pinnace, toward the bed. She +smiled engagingly at Mr. Hollander and then started +to take Endicott’s pulse. She gave a slight start and +concentrated her full attention upon Endicott.</p> + +<p>“I think there’s a change.”</p> + +<p>Hollander looked up at her alertly. “Change?”</p> + +<p>“I think he shows signs of coming to.”</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow wondered a moment at the tight +little lines which suddenly appeared on Hollander’s +face, hardening and aging it rather shockingly, and +altering the features into a cast whose hidden +significance she could not define exactly. Strain, perhaps, +better than anything else, served as an explanation: +an emotional strain.</p> + +<p>“How can you tell?” he said.</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow smiled a bit superiorly. “It becomes +instinct, mostly.”</p> + +<p>“Will it be soon?”</p> + +<p>“Very soon now. Be careful, please, not to disturb +him or make any sudden noise or movement until +I come back. I want Dr. Worth to be on hand before +the patient actually does regain consciousness.”</p> + +<p>“You going up to get him now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” She went over to the bathroom door and +spoke to Cassidy. “You gentlemen will be careful, +won’t you, about being seen? I’d stay well back within +the doorway, as sometimes a patient is a little, well, +wild when he comes to like this, and if he started +jerking around at all he might see you.” She smiled +engagingly. “What with the uniforms and +everything——”</p> + +<p>Miss Murrow left implications of the possible fatal +consequences hanging in air and returned to Endicott. +She examined him critically for another moment, +checked his pulse again, and then started for the +door. She stopped just before she reached it, and said +to Hollander: “I suppose you had better lock the +door after me. Lieutenant Valcour placed great +stress on the fact that it should be kept locked +constantly.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll lock it,” said Hollander.</p> + +<p>“It does seem kind of foolish, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Hollander smiled grimly. “Most foolish.”</p> + +<p>He stood up and joined her at the door. She went +outside. He closed the door and locked it. He stared +almost blankly for an instant at the two policemen. +They had drawn their chairs back a little within the +bathroom doorway. Hansen was impassively studying +the ceiling above his head. Cassidy, leaning forward +a little, was looking with solemn eyes at the outline +of Endicott’s still figure beneath the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>Hollander stretched cramped muscles and then +went back to his armchair beside the bed. He sat +down and was all but completely obscured from the +two guards by its high back. With imperceptible +movements he drew a thin steel blade from beneath +the cuff of his left coat sleeve and held it in such a +fashion that it was masked in the palm of his right +hand, the hilt extending up a little beneath the shirt +cuff. He leaned forward and stared down upon Endicott’s +quiet face. Not quiet, exactly, for the lids were +twitching—opening—and Endicott’s eyes, bright and +unseeing from fever, stared up. . . .</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch16"> + +<h2>Chapter XVI. <br> 2:13 a. m.—Time <i>versus</i> Death</h2> + +<p>O’Brian stirred a bit restlessly in his chair by the +hall door and yawned; then he looked at his watch. +It was almost a quarter past two. He began to enumerate +the various things he would give for a good cup +of strong black coffee, and his shirt headed the list. +Or, if not coffee, some excitement to keep him awake.</p> + +<p>The telephone jangled.</p> + +<p>He stood up abruptly and went to the instrument. +It would be, he imagined, Lieutenant Valcour calling +again to find out if everything was all right. Well, +everything was.</p> + +<p>O’Brian lifted the receiver and said, “Hello!”</p> + +<p>No one answered him, and there wasn’t any sound +from the other end of the line, unless you could call +a sort of thumping noise and a faint tinkle that might +have been breaking glass a sound.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” O’Brian said again.</p> + +<p>The line wasn’t dead, because there wasn’t that +peculiar burring one hears when the connection is +broken. The receiver of the ’phone at the other end +was certainly off the hook. O’Brian singled out one +of the patron saints of Ireland and wanted to know, +most emphatically, just what sort of fun and foustie +was being made of him.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” He tried it again.</p> + +<p>There was a click. The burring sound started. The +line was dead. Whoever had been calling from the +other end had hung up.</p> + +<p>O’Brian very thoughtfully did likewise.</p> + +<p>Then he began to wonder what he ought to do. It +didn’t take him very long to decide, especially as the +thumping noise and tinkle of breaking glass grew +louder in retrospect the more he thought about them. +He didn’t have to go as far as Denmark; something +was certainly rotten right here in New York.</p> + +<p>He dialled the operator, identified himself as a +member of the police force, and stated that he wanted +the call he had just received instantly traced.</p> + +<p>“Oneminuteplease,” requested a voice with a +macadamized smile.</p> + +<p>The minute stretched into two—ten—but eventually +he was informed that the call had come from +the apartment of a Mr. Thomas Hollander, whose +’phone number and address were thereupon given.</p> + +<p>O’Brian jotted them down. He then dialled the +telephone number of Hollander who was, as he very +well knew, right upstairs. Several persistent diallings +failed to awaken any response.</p> + +<p>The complexion of the work afoot grew dirtier. +O’Brian felt certain that it was connected with the +terrain activities of Lieutenant Valcour. If it had +just been some occupant of Hollander’s apartment +who had wanted to call Hollander up about +something, there would have been an answer.</p> + +<p>And there wouldn’t have been that thumping noise, +and the tinkle of breaking glass.</p> + +<p>It seemed a matter that required investigation at +once. O’Brian telephoned his precinct station and +reported the occurrence and his beliefs about it to +the sergeant in charge. He was assured that a raiding +squad would be dispatched within a matter of +minutes to the address he had given.</p> + +<p>One was.</p> + +<p>They found Lieutenant Valcour helplessly bound, +very dazed, very weak, lying on the floor beneath a +table when the men crashed the door to Hollander’s +apartment and broke in. Cold water—a glass of +whiskey from a convenient decanter—and intelligence +and strength began to return. Lieutenant Valcour +pushed away the hands that were supporting +him and, going to the telephone, called the Endicotts’.</p> + +<p>“O’Brian?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant—you all right, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes—pay attention to every word I say and +follow my instructions to a letter. Endicott’s life +depends upon it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Go upstairs to Dr. Worth and wake him. Tell +him I believe that Hollander is armed with a knife +and that he is probably just waiting for a chance to +use it when he won’t be observed by the nurse or +Cassidy and Hansen. Hollander is Endicott’s enemy, +not friend. Tell Dr. Worth to go down and knock on +Endicott’s door. Tell him to go right inside when it +opens. Now get this.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Tell him to ask the nurse how the patient is—to +act natural about it. Tell him to start to go out +and then, as a second thought, tell him to beckon to +Hollander as if he wanted to tell Hollander something. +Hollander will get up and go to him. Tell him +to whisper to Hollander that there’s something he +wants to tell him privately, if Hollander will step +outside for a minute into the corridor. You be in the +corridor. When Hollander comes out, jump him. +Put the cuffs on him and keep him quiet until I get +there. I’ll be right on up. O. K.?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour rang off. He turned to the +sergeant in charge of the detail.</p> + +<p>“Leave one man here, Sergeant,” he said. “The +rest of you men can go back to the station after +you’ve dropped me at the Endicotts’.”</p> + +<p>“Anything you want the man who’s left here to do, +Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Not unless a dark-haired youngster comes back, +which he won’t. But if he should, just have him kept +for me, please, on ice.”</p> + +<p>Down on the street, Lieutenant Valcour jumped in +beside the driver of the department car and said, +“Step on it, Clancy. It’s only eleven blocks up and +three west.”</p> + +<p>The car shot forward, swept to the right at the +corner, and lunged up Lexington Avenue. There was +little traffic, and what little there was was so scattered +that nothing impeded its way.</p> + +<p>“Something going to break on that Endicott +business, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Either going to, or has.”</p> + +<p>“A homicide, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Possibly—by now.”</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Nurse Murrow smoothed the last wrinkles from +her uniform while waiting for Dr. Worth to open the +door. It paid to look one’s best. Always, at any time +at all. One never could tell.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Doctor. I’m sorry to get you up again so +soon, but Mr. Endicott shows symptoms of coming +to.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth, who was no longer the eager-eyed +practitioner he once had been, did his best to shake +off the puffy chains of sleep.</p> + +<p>“I’ll come right down, Miss Murrow.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll wait, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Just want to dash some cold water on my face.”</p> + +<p>“No hurry, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>He vanished into the room again. Ah, dreamed +Miss Murrow, <em>what</em> a man! And he’d never been +snappy with her, either. So many were snappy. +Someone was coming up the stairs—quickly—two at +a time—a policeman——</p> + +<p>“Where’s the doctor, miss?” said O’Brian, a little +winded.</p> + +<p>“He’s coming right out, Officer.”</p> + +<p>“I gotta see him at once.”</p> + +<p>O’Brian brushed her aside and opened the door. +Dr. Worth met him, astonished and glistening, on +the threshold.</p> + +<p>“Say, lissen, Doctor, the lieutenant just called up, +and he said . . .”</p> + +<p>O’Brian thereupon repeated all that the lieutenant +had said.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear man, this is the most extraordinary +thing I have ever heard in my life!” Dr. Worth’s +slightly damp eyebrows indulged in a series of +gyrations.</p> + +<p>“Sure there ain’t no time for astonishments, +Doctor,” said O’Brian. “Let’s go—easy and quietlike, +now. We’re not to put this bird wise. . . .”</p> + +<p>With O’Brian leading, they started down the +stairs.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>“Hello, Herb,” Hollander said softly.</p> + +<p>Endicott’s voice was so weak that it scarcely +carried to Hollander’s ears. “Who is it?” he said. +“What . . .” the voice dribbled off.</p> + +<p>“It’s your friend, Herb.”</p> + +<p>Sullen, petulant lines clung suddenly to Endicott’s +mouth, making the thickish lips look almost viciously +weak. He made a curious noise that might have been +intended for a laugh.</p> + +<p>“Have no friend.” The voice was the ghost of dead +whispers.</p> + +<p>“What happened to you, Herb?”</p> + +<p>“Happened?” Endicott’s eyes made a strong effort +to get through the fogs shrouding them. “Something +did happen—I want the police—I’ll teach that +rotten—that——”</p> + +<p>There wasn’t any sound for a while.</p> + +<p>“You’ll teach whom, Herb?”</p> + +<p>Endicott was staring very fixedly up at Hollander +now. And Hollander’s right hand, the fingers of which +were unnaturally rigid, was gently moving to that +spot on the spread which would lie above Endicott’s +heart.</p> + +<p>“Who is it you’re going to teach, Herb?” +Hollander said again.</p> + +<p>The mists were clearing, and Endicott could see +things almost plainly. He fixed Hollander’s face +into definite focus. “God damn you,” he said, “for +a——”</p> + +<p>“Now, now, Herb, that isn’t nice, and you don’t +know what you’re saying.”</p> + +<p>Hollander’s right hand had found the spot. It hung +above it, motionless, very rigid, and the fingers very +stiff.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to call a policeman and——”</p> + +<p>Endicott’s voice was so weak as to be almost +inaudible. His lips seemed as motionless as the rest of +his body, which was completely inert.</p> + +<p>“No, you’re not, Herb,” whispered Hollander. +“And you’re not going to tell, either.”</p> + +<p>Endicott got tired of looking up at Hollander. +His eyes travelled fretfully along Hollander’s right +arm.</p> + +<p>“Neither you nor all the devils in hell,” he +whispered faintly, “can stop me from telling.”</p> + +<p>And then he saw the knife.</p> + +<p>“Can’t I, Herb?”</p> + +<p>It was the slenderest knife Endicott had ever seen. +He wondered where on earth Hollander had got it. +No hilt—or perhaps the hilt was cupped in Hollander’s +hand. A stiletto, that’s what it was, and its +point was pressing through the white spread at a +point that lay just above his heart. Why, if the +pressure kept on, it would go right into his heart. . . .</p> + +<p><em>Crack</em> . . .</p> + +<p><em>Crack</em> . . . <em>crack crack</em> . . . <em>crack</em> . . . <em>crack</em> . . .</p> + +<p>A bullet from Cassidy’s gun shattered Hollander’s +right wrist. Hansen’s shot caught him in the right +shoulder. Two bullets out of the fusillade that +followed lodged, one in his right hip, and the other one +farther down in the leg. Both officers, in spite of Nurse +Murrow’s orders, had moved into the room and were +crouched on the floor where they would still be +concealed from Endicott’s line of vision, but where they +could better and more closely observe what had been +the faintly suspicious movements on the part of +Hollander.</p> + +<p>They were within four or five feet of him and still +crouched below him as blood stained the white spread +in a sickish smear when Hollander dragged his +mangled wrist across it to the floor.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch17"> + +<h2>Chapter XVII. <br> 2:40 a. m.—The Angle of Death’s Path</h2> + +<p>The pounding on the door became hysterical, and +Cassidy, who for two cents would have become +hysterical himself, went over and unlocked it. He found +Dr. Worth, backed by scandalously excited servants +and flanked by Nurse Murrow and O’Brian, pressing +across the sill.</p> + +<p>“Is it Endicott?” Dr. Worth demanded +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“No, sir—it’s Hollander. We shot the knife from +his hand before he could stick it into Endicott, and +then we shot him down.”</p> + +<p>“Close this door, Officer, and keep these people +out. Come in with me, Miss Murrow.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth came into the room with Nurse Murrow. +Cassidy closed the door, and the shrill clatter of +excited whisperings ebbed like a tide.</p> + +<p>“Thank God, Officer, you saved Endicott. What a +mess.” Dr. Worth glanced critically at Hollander, +huddled on the floor by the bed in a blood-soaked +heap. “You two men help Nurse Murrow. Stretch +him out on that chest over there by the window. +Do what you can for him, Miss Murrow, until I’ve +taken care of Endicott.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy and Hansen lifted Hollander and carried +him to the improvised cot Miss Murrow arranged +with blankets and a pillow on top of the mahogany +chest by the window.</p> + +<p>Nurse Murrow then became the acme, the pink of +proficiency. She dressed and bound Hollander’s +wounds, and applied the proper tourniquet above his +shattered wrist. In her opinion, his condition was not +fatally serious, when one considered his obvious +physique and his probably excellent constitution—of +iron—and, yes, he <em>was</em> distinctly handsome. What a +pity they’d arrest him. Or perhaps he was under +arrest already, although she usually associated +handcuffings with arrests. But there surely wouldn’t be +any handcuffs now. In spite of her long familiarity +with dreadful injuries she shuddered a little at that +shattered wrist. And they couldn’t be so soulless as +to move him to prison. Dr. Worth would never permit +any patient of his to be treated like that. And, after +all, Hollander <em>was</em> the doctor’s patient. . . .</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth himself was standing beside her. There +was a bewildered, curiously grave look on his face. +She sensed intuitively what had happened.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Endicott, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth shrugged helplessly. “He’s dead.”</p> + +<p>“But I swear that knife never went in, sir,” Cassidy +said. “Hansen, here, and me was watching Hollander +like cats. Sure we saw the knife even before it +touched the bedclothes.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t Hollander have a gun, too?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“Because Endicott was killed by a bullet.”</p> + +<p>Hansen’s Nordic young face grew very red and +then very white. Cassidy showed nothing of what he +was thinking—certainly nothing of the sickening, +puzzled worry that clamped his chest—except that +there was a tight clenching of his hands.</p> + +<p>“Too bad,” Cassidy said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” agreed Dr. Worth, “it is too bad.”</p> + +<p>“You’re sure, sir?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth grew icily formal. “Quite,” he said. +He was also getting good and mad. This was the sort +of thing, he told himself angrily, that taxpayers +shelled out their money for. Protection! It was +enough to make anybody laugh. A lot of protection +the police force of New York City had been for +Endicott. They’d shot him—that’s what.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t see how——”</p> + +<p>“Officer, there is no mistaking the difference +between a bullet wound and one made by a knife. In +this case especially it is perfectly obvious. I dare say +the charge against you two men will be just +technical—accidental homicide in line of duty!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth did permit himself one short laugh.</p> + +<p>“I guess so, Doctor,” Cassidy said.</p> + +<p>“And is there anything that has to be done, +Officer?”</p> + +<p>“In what way, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Why, a report made to the medical examiner?” +Dr. Worth became almost airy in his mounting anger. +“This sort of starts the whole thing over again, +doesn’t it? I mean, won’t the medical examiner have +to come back up and investigate before we can move +the body and—oh, well, you know the line.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe so, sir.” Cassidy’s face was the colour of a +red tile brick. “Cripes, but I wish the lieutenant was +here.”</p> + +<p>“I understand that he will be here any minute.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve heard from him, sir?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth felt that if he didn’t apply the brakes +he would become positively light-headed. “Oh, yes, +yes, indeed, Officer. He called up to warn me that my +patient was going to be murdered and suggested that +I run downstairs and stop it. Murder? Fiddlesticks—it’s +beginning to graduate into a catastrophe.”</p> + +<p>“What has happened here?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour, very pale, still very weak, +and with an improvised bandage around his head, +had come unobserved into the room.</p> + +<p>“You can see,” Dr. Worth said with almost +insulting distinctness, “for yourself.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth then went on to expand. He related in +detail his version of the battle—he insisted that it +was a battle—which had just taken place.</p> + +<p>Entirely apart from the natural discomfiture of his +head, Lieutenant Valcour was feeling desperately +glum. Under no light, no matter how favourable, +could his handling of the case be considered a success. +He had to his credit one slap on the face, a good +crack on the head from a lead slug, and now it seemed +that the very man whom they had been ordered to +guard had been shot and killed by his own men. That, +at least, was the impression the angry bee talking to +him was obviously trying to give. Oh, it would be a +<i>cause célèbre</i> all right, but he shuddered to think of +just what it would be celebrated for.</p> + +<p>“This,” he said, “is nonsense.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth was by now thoroughly acid.</p> + +<p>“I am glad that you are able to find in the miserable +situation some element of humour, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Humour? Not humour, Doctor. I am just trying +to say that the probability of Endicott’s having been +shot by one of my men is nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“Would it convince you, sir, were I to remove +the bullet and let it speak for itself? Imperfections in +the barrel leave their markings, don’t they? You +can then doubtless determine which one of these two +young men fired the unhappy shot.”</p> + +<p>“Please don’t get irritated, Doctor. I’m not trying +to annoy you or to be funny. It’s simply that I cannot +see—just where is the wound located, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“In the chest.”</p> + +<p>“Cassidy, where were you and Hansen standing?”</p> + +<p>“We was crouched on the floor just inside the +room, sir—not over five feet off from Hollander,” +Cassidy said.</p> + +<p>“Then consider your angles, Doctor. There’s +Endicott—there’s about where my men were crouched. +It would take pretty wild shooting for either of them +to hit Endicott in the chest. In fact, one might almost +consider it impossible.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth still hovered around zero. “From the +number of innocent bystanders whom one reads +about in the newspapers as having been shot down +by the police——”</p> + +<p>“That is an unfair comparison, Doctor. Those +cases you refer to have all involved a chase of some +sort—rapid motion—streets cluttered up with people. +There was nothing like that here. I’m going to call up +Central Office and ask permission for you to remove +the bullet and determine the angle of its path.”</p> + +<p>“Permission, sir? And do you think it is my business +or my pleasure to go probing about for bullets +and determining the angles of their paths? I happen +to be a specialist, sir——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Doctor. But right now it is your business +to do just that. We must have the information +immediately.”</p> + +<p>“And why so, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Because if the calibre of the bullet that killed +Endicott differs from the ones in the guns of my +men, or if the angle of its course proves conclusively +that it could not have been fired by one of them, then +the murderer is still loose about the house. He couldn’t +have escaped, you see, as the guards are still on duty +down below.”</p> + +<p>. . . Then the murderer is still loose about the +house . . .</p> + +<p>The chilling possibilities of the statement served a +good deal to cool Dr. Worth’s steaming indignation. +He was getting tired with being angry, anyway.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry I have been impatient, Lieutenant. +You may be quite right, and I’ll be glad to help you +in any way that I can.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll telephone Central Office +from downstairs, as I want to instruct the men on +guard down there to be doubly careful. If you’d +care to start in probing it will be quite all right. +I’ll explain everything to the medical examiner. It’s +something, you see, that we must know. Cassidy, you +and Hansen are not to leave this room. Search both +it and Hollander for a gun.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went out, and Dr. Worth +proceeded, with the aid of Nurse Murrow, to probe.</p> + +<p>The room had an air about it of a shambles. +Cassidy and Hansen, having searched for a gun and +found none, leaned dispiritedly against the wall near +the chest on which Hollander was lying. They felt a +measured sense of relief—had felt it, in fact, from the +moment when Lieutenant Valcour had come into the +room. Each knew he could never have fired that shot +which had killed Endicott. And each was reasonably +certain that the other couldn’t have, either.</p> + +<p>They could determine nothing from Dr. Worth’s +face as to how the examination was going. Neither of +them looked very closely at what he was doing. Their +wonderings ran along parallel lines: Hollander +couldn’t have had a gun or they’d have seen it or +found it during their recent search. None of their +shots could have gone so hopelessly wild as to have +hit Endicott. But somebody did have a gun, and +Endicott had been shot by it. But there had been +nobody in the room with Endicott except themselves +and Hollander. And Hollander couldn’t have had a +gun, or they’d have seen it . . . the perfect loop +continued on and on. Each made the circle in his thoughts +and then started in all over again. If Lieutenant +Valcour hadn’t reëntered the room, and if Dr. Worth +hadn’t just then extracted the bullet, they probably +would have gone mildly mad.</p> + +<p>“Everything’s all right, Doctor,” Lieutenant +Valcour said. “The medical examiner was only too +pleased at your kindness in helping him out. He won’t +be up again to-night unless I send for him. He asked +me to thank you.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, Lieutenant.” Dr. Worth showed +considerable excitement. “You know, it’s surprising. +I don’t know much about the calibre of bullets, but +I think you’re right about the angle. Here’s the +bullet.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour inspected a leaden pellet +curiously and then slipped it into a pocket.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t from one of our guns, Doctor,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I’m not surprised, Lieutenant—not surprised at +all. Because the angle it entered at—why, damn it, +Lieutenant, it must have been fired from some place +over there.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth indicated a problematic area which +included the corner where Hollander was stretched +out. Lieutenant Valcour looked just above +Hollander at the window. It was the window which had +been opened about six or seven inches from the +bottom by Nurse Murrow so that the air for her +patient would be quite fresh and clear.</p> + +<p>It was still open.</p> + +<p>And outside of it, as Lieutenant Valcour very well +knew, ran the shallow balcony which offered not only +adornment to the rear of the house but a passageway +to—and from—the windows of Mrs. Endicott’s room.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Endicott was under the influence of a +narcotic, and a nurse and a maid were both in the +room with her.</p> + +<p>But were they? . . .</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch18"> + +<h2>Chapter XVIII. <br> 3:00 a. m.—Thin Haze of Dread</h2> + +<p>Dr. Worth, too, was staring at the black, impenetrable +rectangle left by the opened window. It was a +passageway for air, but infinitely more so was it a +passageway leading to obscure recesses of the night: +recesses that seemed to offer a maleficent sanctuary +to hell-born secrets of distorted souls.</p> + +<p>Who had crept along that balcony and fired that +shot?</p> + +<p>The apparent improbability of anyone from Mrs. +Endicott’s room having done so transplanted the +problem from clear fields of logic and of simple facts +into vague regions of absurd conjecturings which +stared wanly out at Lieutenant Valcour through +baffling curtains of darkness and of fog.</p> + +<p>He felt a definite sense of uncertainty, and—as one +does when confronted by a suggestion of the +unknown—an impalpable dread. It was nothing that he +could put his finger on; it seemed, absurdly, some +emanation from the outer night creeping in through +that rectangle of black to hang in thin hazes about +the room.</p> + +<p>“What would you suggest doing with Hollander, +Doctor?” he said.</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth, whose own thoughts had been warily +browsing in disagreeable pastures, sought relief in +professional preciseness.</p> + +<p>“He would be better off in a hospital, Lieutenant. +I consider his constitution to be more than sufficiently +strong to obviate any danger in moving him. Are you +going to arrest him?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour smiled faintly. “He is under +arrest now, Doctor. I should like to get a few things +straightened out, though, before booking him on +any definite charge. Would it hurt him very much to +talk with me before he is taken to the hospital?”</p> + +<p>“Not if it weren’t for too long.”</p> + +<p>“Could you give him something to revive him—to +brace him up?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will have a man send for an ambulance, +and I’ll just talk with Hollander until it gets here.”</p> + +<p>“That will be all right.”</p> + +<p>“And if you don’t mind, Doctor, I should like to be +alone with him. Just he and I and—Endicott.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth was already busied with restoratives. +“Certainly,” he said. “Miss Murrow and I will be +outside, if you want to call us.”</p> + +<p>“Cassidy,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “wait outside +in the hall, and you, Hansen, go downstairs and +telephone for an ambulance. Let me know as soon as +it gets here.”</p> + +<p>And in a moment Lieutenant Valcour found himself +alone in the room with Endicott, with Hollander, +and with those curious mists that hinted at unnamed +dreads.</p> + +<p>The restoratives were effective, and Hollander +opened his eyes upon a stranger who was sitting on a +chair beside the mahogany chest. He wondered idly +who the stranger was. The drug which Dr. Worth +had given him made him feel rather alert and smart. +Any sense of pain was completely deadened. His eyes +travelled leisurely about the room and hesitated at +a sheet-covered object on the bed. That would be his +friend called Endicott. His lids closed sharply as a +reaction to some wound that was not physical.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour stared thoughtfully down at +Hollander’s pale face.</p> + +<p>“What did you do with Endicott’s hat?” he said.</p> + +<p>Hollander opened his eyes again in bewilderment. +“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. +“And who are you, anyhow?”</p> + +<p>“I’m Lieutenant Valcour, Mr. Hollander. We’ve +talked together over the telephone. The hat I’m +referring to is the one that Endicott must have been +wearing, or carrying in his hand, or that was some +place near him when you attacked him shortly after +seven this evening.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t attack him, Lieutenant.” Hollander’s +lips were peaked-looking and didn’t move very much +when he talked. “I wasn’t in this house until a little +after one-thirty this morning—after you had called +me up.”</p> + +<p>“Which did you think Mrs. Endicott would really +do, Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>Hollander tried painfully to concentrate. He felt +the need of being very careful of his footing: they +were on dangerous ground.</p> + +<p>“Do?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—when she told you during tea at the Ritz +that she had about reached the end and was either +going to kill Mr. Endicott or commit suicide. Or +didn’t you really believe either?”</p> + +<p>It seemed impossible that Hollander’s face could +grow any paler.</p> + +<p>“You’re crazy, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“All sorts of people tell me so lots of times, Mr. +Hollander. Did you have to wear Endicott’s hat +when you went out because you had lost your own?”</p> + +<p>Hollander sighed fretfully. “You must think I’m +awfully dumb,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, not at all—well, in a few things, yes. Your +choice of friends, for example. And I don’t mean the +Endicotts.”</p> + +<p>“Whom do you mean, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“That dark-eyed child, for one—Mr. Smith. But +perhaps you don’t know that his name is not Smith. +I imagine that when you left him in the apartment he +was still either Jack Perry or Larry Nevins. He shows +great versatility, really, in his adoption of names. I +was just a little surprised and disappointed at his +present selection of Smith.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve been to my apartment, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I had quite an enlightening talk with the +present Mr. Smith. Where did you leave Endicott’s +hat?”</p> + +<p>Hollander, after one peevish glare, shut his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I can tell you pretty well what happened, you +see, except for that,” Lieutenant Valcour went on. +“You <em>did</em> believe Mrs. Endicott this afternoon when +she told you her intention. That much is fact. And +now for a little fiction: either at the Ritz, or just as you +were handing her into her car, you stole her purse.”</p> + +<p>Hollander’s eyes snapped open and glared viciously.</p> + +<p>“Because,” Lieutenant Valcour continued, “you +wanted her keys—the keys to this house. You were a +little hazy as to just what it was you intended to do, +but you did know that you were going to kill Endicott, +and that you were going to do it before his wife +either committed suicide or killed him herself. You +went to your apartment and got the stiletto. Then +you came back here, let yourself in with Mrs. Endicott’s +keys, came up to this floor and into this room. +You may have been in several of the other rooms +first: I don’t know. Nor do I know just what you +were searching for while you waited in here, either. +Mrs. Endicott herself will tell me all about that +later. At any rate, you were going through Endicott’s +clothes in that cupboard when you heard him coming. +You closed the cupboard door. You were naturally +nervous and upset—everyone is when contemplating +or committing a crime. You were afraid there would +be some slip, so you disguised yourself with dust +smeared on your face. Then, either because you made +some noise or else because he wanted to get something +Endicott opened the cupboard door and saw you. +You must have had the stiletto all ready in your hand +and have looked pretty horrible altogether, because +the shock of seeing you stopped his heart and he +crumpled to the floor.”</p> + +<p>Hollander’s eyes began to look feverish.</p> + +<p>“His falling like that startled you,” went +on Lieutenant Valcour. “You felt his heart, and in +pulling open his overcoat so that you could get your +hand inside you ripped off the top button. What did +you do with it?”</p> + +<p>Hollander grinned faintly. “Swallowed it,” he +said.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour flushed a little. “You probably +put it in your pocket. You were satisfied that +Endicott was dead—miraculously dead—and that you +hadn’t had to stab him. But he <em>was</em> dead, and you +experienced the natural panic of all murderers. I don’t +mean that you went wild, or anything. But your +mind didn’t function correctly. You may have been +quite calm, but it wasn’t a calmness based on +intelligence. You dragged Endicott into the cupboard +and closed the door. You washed the dirt from your +hands and face in the bathroom, combed and brushed +your hair, wiped the silver clean, and then printed +that curious note which Mrs. Endicott found, and +which contained no significance other than to direct +suspicion to some outside agency in order to shield +her from becoming a suspect herself. But why did +you take Endicott’s hat, and where did you put it?”</p> + +<p>“You’re talking bunk, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, Mr. Hollander, those were the +moves which were made here to-night—whether you +were the person who made them or not.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And it is quite within the range of possibility +that if you didn’t make them, then Mrs. Endicott +did.”</p> + +<p>Hollander looked very worried, very tired.</p> + +<p>“You’re bluffing, Lieutenant,” he said.</p> + +<p>“And you’re a very frightened man, Mr. +Hollander.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to arrest Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“That depends.”</p> + +<p>“Because she didn’t do it.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t she, Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“Because she loved her husband.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you would explain to me how it is that she +loved him so much that she wanted either to commit +suicide or else kill him.”</p> + +<p>“Pride, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour tested the possibility of that +angle. It could not, he felt, be ignored. As many +outrages were yearly committed under the goadings +of pride as there were committed because of jealousy +and hate.</p> + +<p>“You believe, Mr. Hollander, that the other +women whom her husband played around with hurt +her pride so keenly that her love became coloured +with hate?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” A certain fierceness crept into Hollander’s +voice. His eyes were shining very brightly. +“People don’t know her as I know her. <em>Nobody</em> +knows her the way I know her.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “She made you +hate your friend—a man you’d been through the war +with—whose life you had saved.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the bunk, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“But you did, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sure, it’s all true enough, about it +happening—but that stuff doesn’t last.”</p> + +<p>“Friendship?”</p> + +<p>“Among men? Hell, no.” Hollander jerked his +head fretfully. “Gratitude gets damned tiresome, +Lieutenant, not only to give it but to get it.”</p> + +<p>“Especially,” Lieutenant Valcour said gently, “if +a woman comes between.”</p> + +<p>“No—no—no.”</p> + +<p>There was a complete and very convincing finality +in the three negations.</p> + +<p>“But you do love Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“I worship her.”</p> + +<p>“And she?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.” There was nothing obscure in +Hollander’s expression now, and his eyes were frankly, +genuinely sincere. “Why should she? I’m nothing. +Herbert was everything.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour almost regretted having to do +so when he said, “Then why, Mr. Hollander, does she +address you in her notes as ‘Tom, darling’?”</p> + +<p>Hollander didn’t answer for a minute. He considered +the question quite seriously. “I guess it’s just +because she’s sorry for me,” he said.</p> + +<p>“And I, personally, think that that’s a pretty bum +guess.”</p> + +<p>“No—listen here, Lieutenant . . .”</p> + +<p>Hollander’s voice began to wander. His sentences +became broken—meaningless. It was with a sense of +relief that Lieutenant Valcour saw the door open and +two stretcher carriers come in followed by Dr. Worth +and the ambulance surgeon. Hollander, as they +carried him out, was unconscious again.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour detained Dr. Worth at the +door.</p> + +<p>“There is something I should like to ask you,” he +said.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch19"> + +<h2>Chapter XIX. <br> 3:15 a. m.—The Properties of Horror</h2> + +<p>“Doctor,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “our immediate +concern is to find out who fired that shot. The +principal reason is quite academic: we want to catch +and arrest the person who did it. A secondary reason +is that many people who reach the state of mental +unbalance where they are impelled to commit murder +don’t stop with the crime. They’ve tasted blood. +They are in a state of abnormal acuteness, and are +driven by a new fear: that of discovery and capture. +To prevent being captured, they reason, why not kill +again? There is nothing to be lost. You see, they can +only be electrocuted once. I am presupposing, of +course, that the criminal is an outsider—some person +at present hidden in the house, who will make some +desperate effort at escape. It is a supposition that +must be entertained, even though it is not a very good +one. I believe that the facts will eventually prove the +criminal to be a legitimate inmate.”</p> + +<p>“That narrows the field, doesn’t it, Lieutenant, to +whoever was in Mrs. Endicott’s room?”</p> + +<p>“It does, unless somebody dropped a rope ladder +from an upstairs window and got onto the balcony in +that way. But I don’t put much stock in those tricks, +Doctor, any more than I do in sliding panels and +trapdoors. Outside of the badger game I’ve never come +across a sliding panel in my life, and I don’t ever +expect to, either.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth was inclined to take the idea more +seriously. “But a rope ladder—there might very well +be one around the house for an emergency fire +escape.”</p> + +<p>“All right, who was in the room just above this +one? You. Did you come down a rope ladder and +shoot Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“God’s truth—my dear man——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, be sensible, Doctor, of course you didn’t. +And who had the room across the hall from you, +which also is above the balcony? Mrs. Siddons, the +housekeeper. If you saw her, you’d scarcely picture +her as hurrying up and down a rope ladder. No, +Doctor, whoever was on that balcony came from Mrs. +Endicott’s room. We’re back to the same three people: +Mrs. Endicott, her maid, and her nurse.”</p> + +<p>“But Mrs. Endicott is out of the question, Lieutenant. +She is still under the influence of the narcotic +I gave her.”</p> + +<p>“How about the nurse, Doctor? Have you known +her long?”</p> + +<p>“Known her? Only for the several cases she has +worked on with me. But she comes from the most +reputable agency in the city. How about the maid?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“She is just as good a candidate for suspicion as +Miss Vickers, isn’t she? Why under the sun should +Miss Vickers want to shoot Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not seriously considering Miss Vickers at all. +It’s perfectly obvious that whoever did shoot Endicott +was either directly responsible for the earlier +attack during the evening or else involved in it as an +accomplice.”</p> + +<p>“That might still include the maid.”</p> + +<p>“It certainly might. I wonder if you’d mind asking +Miss Vickers to come in here. I’d like to question her +first.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth nodded toward Endicott’s body, covered +with a sheet on the bed. “Miss Vickers, Lieutenant, +being a nurse is naturally accustomed to seeing the +dead, but it will be rather gruesome for the maid if +you question her in here, too.”</p> + +<p>“Very gruesome, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you know best. You’re liable to have a +fine case of hysterics on your hands.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll risk it.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth left and closed the door. There again +swept over Lieutenant Valcour, with the solitude, +that indefinable feeling of some lurking dread. There +were voices crying out to him from the subconscious, +warning him of dangers that were very real, very close +at hand—but the messages were indecisive, as are all +instinctive things which fall beyond the charted seas +of any human knowledge.</p> + +<p>Nurse Vickers came in without the formality of +knocking. Her glance toward the bed was professional +and not coloured by any sign of nervousness.</p> + +<p>“Thank you for coming, Miss Vickers. I’ll only +bother you for a minute.”</p> + +<p>“No bother at all, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“There is just one thing I want to know: who was +in the room with you and your patient at the time of +the shooting?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I couldn’t say, Lieutenant, exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Why not, Miss Vickers?”</p> + +<p>“Because I wasn’t there myself. I was down in the +kitchen making some coffee. I left Roberts with Mrs. +Endicott. You see, there wasn’t anything that had to +be done except just to be there. I’m sure it was quite +all right.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it was. I’m not suggesting for a minute, +Miss Vickers, that I thought otherwise.” Lieutenant +Valcour studied the woman for a second and then +said, “I just wanted to know if you could help me +check up on the number of shots that were fired.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t hear any shots at all, Lieutenant, ’way +down there in that kitchen.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour wondered at this. The sound +of one shot might well have been heard down in the +kitchen: the shot which had killed Endicott and +which had been fired from the balcony. The sound +would surely have travelled clearly in the still night +air and to the kitchen from outside. And yet he +believed Nurse Vickers implicitly in her statement that +she had heard no shot. There was no earthly reason +why she should lie about it. The fact convinced him +that whoever had fired had held the pistol inside of +the window. He glanced at the sash and realized that +the opening afforded plenty of room for a hand +holding a gun to reach through.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “I suppose you couldn’t have +heard anything at all. Maybe Roberts can help me. +She was in the room, wasn’t she, when you came +back?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Lieutenant, and terribly excited about +the shooting. She seemed so upset, in fact, that if +there hadn’t been so many much more important +things for Dr. Worth to attend to, I’d have asked him +to give her something to quiet her.”</p> + +<p>“One can hardly blame Roberts,” Lieutenant +Valcour said. “The fusillade must have been quite +a shock, you know. And then everyone’s nerves are +on edge to-night anyway. In just what fashion was +she upset, Miss Vickers? From your professional +experience, I mean, you probably could diagnose her +actions. Was it fright—nervous shock?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, fright, of course, Lieutenant. I’ve seen lots +of nervous and hysterical people during my work but +never one as badly off as she was. I’m not exaggerating +one bit when I say that she was gripped with an +hysterical sort of terror.”</p> + +<p>“Really. As bad as that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I was almost afraid even to let her stay in +the room with the patient. The poor creature actually +seemed to blame Mrs. Endicott in some fashion for +what had happened. Just imagine this, Lieutenant: +when I came in she was literally leaning over the bed +and shaking her fist at Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite certain of this, Miss Vickers?”</p> + +<p>“I saw it with my own eyes, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“And was Roberts saying anything?”</p> + +<p>“Just the jumble that people go in for when they’re +hysterical.”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t catch anything connected?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t try, Lieutenant. I had to get her away +from the bed and calm her down.”</p> + +<p>“You were able to?”</p> + +<p>“I was. She calmed down quite suddenly and became +perfectly normal again. I persuaded her to run +downstairs and make herself a good bracing cup of +tea.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly carrying the pistol with her,” Lieutenant +Valcour thought bitterly, “to hide it in some place +where it might never be found.”</p> + +<p>“Did she come back into the room afterward?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Well, not really, Lieutenant. I know how particular +you police officers are about the littlest details. +She just stopped at the door to tell me she was feeling +all right again. She said she was going upstairs to her +room to take a little rest.”</p> + +<p>“And you’re quite sure, Miss Vickers, that you +can’t recall any of the words that Roberts was saying +when you found her leaning over the bed?”</p> + +<p>“I would if I could, Lieutenant. It was just a +jumble. Ice—something about ‘ice and human +hearts.’ Then she switched to ‘searing flames’ and +I don’t know what all else.”</p> + +<p>“Would it bother you very much to go up to her +room and see whether she’s in condition to come down +here for a few minutes?”</p> + +<p>“Why, not at all. I’d be glad to.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Miss Vickers. You’ve helped me +tremendously. Oh, there’s just one thing, Miss +Vickers.”</p> + +<p>Miss Vickers paused at the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“When you came back upstairs from the kitchen, +did you notice anything about the atmosphere of +Mrs. Endicott’s room?”</p> + +<p>“Why—I don’t know—you mean a sense of +tension or something?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t. I mean was it as warm as when you +left it, or cooler, or what?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do, too—it was cooler—<em>much</em>. Because I +remember after I quieted Roberts I went over to one +of the radiators to see if the heat was still turned on. +I thought Roberts must have turned it off, although +I couldn’t for the life of me see why. But the radiator +was quite hot, so I realized it must have been just +the change from the kitchen. It’s a hot kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“That is probably just what it was. Would you +send Roberts to me now, please?”</p> + +<p>“I will, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.”</p> + +<p>Miss Vickers went out and closed the door.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour then did a rather horrible +thing. He went over to the bed and pulled down +enough of the sheet so that Endicott’s face was +exposed.</p> + +<p>And then he sat down and waited for Roberts.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch20"> + +<h2>Chapter XX. <br> 3:24 a. m.—On Private Heights</h2> + +<p>“You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>She <em>had</em> been under a strain, and a rather terrible +one. There wasn’t any doubt about that. It was +emotion, after all, that brought age, not years, thought +Lieutenant Valcour as he glanced at the dark rings +so clearly visible beneath her tragic eyes.</p> + +<p>Roberts hadn’t looked toward the bed—yet—but +then he hadn’t really expected that she would. Perhaps +she wouldn’t look for some time, but eventually +she would lose some portion of that really splendid +self-control that she was exerting and then, instead of +the expanse of white sheet she had been expecting, +there would be Endicott’s face. . . .</p> + +<p>“I wonder if you could tell me, Miss Roberts, the +number of shots that were fired during the shooting.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I couldn’t.”</p> + +<p>She was pointedly on guard, her eyes held at a level +that included his cravat but went no higher.</p> + +<p>“The question isn’t as silly a one as it seems,” +Lieutenant Valcour said. “I don’t suggest for a +minute that you counted the shots as they were being +fired, actually, but it’s quite within possibility that +your subconscious mind really did that very thing, +and that on consciously thinking about it the number +might come to you. It’s something along the principle +of visualizing sound.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry. I’m sure that no amount of thinking +about it would clear the rather terrible confusion of +that moment.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you sit down?”</p> + +<p>“I prefer to stand, thank you.”</p> + +<p>“Just as you wish. You were with Mrs. Endicott, +weren’t you, when it happened?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour admired the accomplished ease +with which the word had so unhesitatingly been +brought out; but then most women, in his estimation, +were natural-born liars. The art formed for him one +of their greatest charms.</p> + +<p>“You were sitting down beside the bed?” he went +on.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Reading.”</p> + +<p>Splendid—splendid—she was a Bernhardt—a Duse.</p> + +<p>“And Miss Vickers?”</p> + +<p>“She was down in the kitchen making some coffee.”</p> + +<p>“Did the shooting upset you, Miss Roberts?”</p> + +<p>“I’m naturally nervous. The sound of firing has +always disturbed me terribly.” Then she flung at him +abruptly, “My brother was killed in the war.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour both looked and felt genuinely +consoling. He also felt a selfish measure of irritation. +The statement was such a perfect period mark. When +a young woman, no matter how great a criminal, +potentially, announces flatly that her brother has +been killed during the war, one can’t ride over the +fact roughshod.</p> + +<p>“Was there anyone whom you loved killed in the +war, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>She was determined to hammer at the point, it +seemed. He wished that she would stop.</p> + +<p>“There wasn’t, Miss Roberts.”</p> + +<p>“Then you don’t know much about soldiers.”</p> + +<p>“No, not much, really.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean soldiers—or the war itself, either. +It’s a state of being—a sort of lucid abnormality. +It’s hard to tell you just what I do mean. But it’s the +thing,” she ended fiercely, “that made me understand +Mr. Endicott. He never quite recovered, you +see, from being a soldier.”</p> + +<p>“And perhaps it also made you understand why +Mrs. Endicott misunderstood him?”</p> + +<p>Things were going better now; the channel was +broadening into useful seas.</p> + +<p>“Of course it was,” Roberts said. “She, too, lost +no one in the war.”</p> + +<p>The fog rolled in again.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I’m not following you very clearly.”</p> + +<p>“It’s quite useless, Lieutenant—simply that in +Mr. Endicott I kept seeing my brother. I suffered for +him to the extent I would have suffered for my +brother had my brother been in similar +circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“Suffered?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, suffered. From her damned superiority.”</p> + +<p>“You think that Mrs. Endicott overdid the +mental?”</p> + +<p>He noted that Roberts was slowly losing control. +There was a blazing quality of anger creeping into +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant, she regarded that man as her tame +tiger. You realize how strong he must have been +physically.”</p> + +<p>“Very strong.”</p> + +<p>“It used to please her to control him—you know +the way it’s commonly expressed—with a ‘word.’ ”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t exactly say that she had succeeded.”</p> + +<p>“The other women?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“She didn’t care about that. If anything, it satisfied +her sense of power. She looked on them as a pack +of shoddy substitutes that he could fool with, kick +around, and treat terribly, if he liked. But she still +remained the original—the unapproachable—the +happy possessor of a tame tiger. He was always <em>hers</em>, +you see, no matter what it was he had done. She’s had +him crying.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a little hard to believe.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the truth. He took her in his hands one night +and twisted her—just like that! She didn’t say a thing +to him. For a month afterward he went around the +house like a whipped cat. Then she said something +kind to him, and he cried. I wish she was in hell.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps she is, Miss Roberts—just that.”</p> + +<p>“She won’t stay in it long. Her kind doesn’t.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour held his eyes thoughtfully +directed toward the bed.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Miss Roberts, do you think that Mr. +Endicott is happier dead? Let me put it in this +fashion: if Mr. Endicott had really been your brother, +would you rather have seen him dead than living in +the emotional hell you picture Mr. Endicott as +having lived in?”</p> + +<p>His gaze retained its determined fixity.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said. “There is always a way out.” It +was irresistible. She found herself having to look, too. +Against every advice of instinct her eyes were drawn +toward the bed in company with Lieutenant +Valcour’s . . . peace—there <em>was</em> peace—greater than she +had ever seen when he had been living—peace to a +tired heart—a plain, normal, happy human heart +that had been broken on the wheel of too much +complexity. . . . “Oh, I’m lying, Lieutenant! I would—I +would—a million times rather.”</p> + +<p>He worked very fast now, having captured the +mood. “Were you thinking of all that when you stood +outside on the balcony and watched him through the +window?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes clung immovably to the cold closed lids, +the mouth, carved in gentle shadows; her very being +seemed withdrawn on private heights. “I wasn’t on +the balcony.”</p> + +<p>“And I’d like to know what you did with the gun.”</p> + +<p>. . . Perhaps he was laughing at it all now, if people +laugh in heaven. He and her brother. They would +have met and be laughing at it all together. But they +wouldn’t be laughing at her. . . . “There wasn’t any +need to use the gun, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Then what did you do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Put it back in the bottom of my trunk.” . . . He’d +know, now, the exact reason why she had done the +things that she had done. People know everything in +heaven—sort of an enveloping awareness—like +lightning darting brilliantly to immediate +comprehension at its target—target—gun?—<em>gun</em>. Her face +was bleak ivory. “What did you say, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“I had just asked you, Miss Roberts, what you did +with the gun, and you told me that you put it back +again in the bottom of your trunk.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes, as she looked at him, were strangely +devoid of fear.</p> + +<p>“Then if I told you that, you’ll find it there.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t the wisest place to put it, Miss Roberts.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter much.”</p> + +<p>“You mean you don’t care?”</p> + +<p>“Not just that. I’m speaking about the gun. I +never fired it.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did you hide it?”</p> + +<p>“Because it’s illegal to have a gun.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did you have one, Miss Roberts?”</p> + +<p>“It’s one my brother gave me over twelve years +ago. I’ve always kept it with me.”</p> + +<p>“What calibre is it?”</p> + +<p>“A Colt .38.”</p> + +<p>The bullet in Lieutenant Valcour’s pocket had been +fired from a Colt .38.</p> + +<p>“And to-night you were going to use it to save Mr. +Endicott by shooting him.”</p> + +<p>“No, Lieutenant. I was going to use it to shoot +Mrs. Endicott if she attempted to get near him +again.”</p> + +<p>“Again?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, Lieutenant. She went out of the room +last night right after he had knocked and said +good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Out into the hallway?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“When did she come back?”</p> + +<p>“She didn’t come back.”</p> + +<p>“Then when was the next time you saw her?”</p> + +<p>“When you rang for me—after you had found Mr. +Endicott in the cupboard.”</p> + +<p>“And you think it was Mrs. Endicott who put him +there.” Lieutenant Valcour thought for a moment +of the broken finger nail of Mrs. Endicott’s otherwise +immaculate hand. “But why, Miss Roberts, should +she kill her—tiger?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps Mr. Hollander could tell you that better +than I.”</p> + +<p>“And why did you get a gun to prevent Mrs. Endicott +from going again to her husband, when you knew +she was under the influence of a narcotic, that she was +unconscious, and couldn’t possibly move?”</p> + +<p>“Because, Lieutenant, she never drank the +narcotic.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch21"> + +<h2>Chapter XXI. <br> 3:51 a. m.—A Woman’s Slipper</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour felt a distinct shock, and his +eyes became predatorily alert. If this astonishing +thing was true and Mrs. Endicott had not taken +the narcotic prepared for her by Dr. Worth, then the +bypaths one might dart along were numerous and +alarming indeed.</p> + +<p>“How do you know, Miss Roberts?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Because when the nurse went downstairs to make +that coffee I went over to the bed. I wanted to take +a close look at Mrs. Endicott. Have you ever felt +that desire to look closely at something that you hate +very much? It’s the curiosity of hate, I suppose. I +put my hand on the spread, at the edge, so that I +could lean down. The spread was damp; something +had been poured on it. There wasn’t anything that +could have been poured on it except the narcotic. +She’d recovered consciousness, you see, when the +nurse and Dr. Worth brought her in from here and +put her to bed.”</p> + +<p>“But wouldn’t he or the nurse have seen her pour +it out?”</p> + +<p>“None of us saw it, Lieutenant, because she said, +just after the doctor had handed her the glass, +‘There’s blood on that dresser.’ We all looked at the +dresser, of course. Naturally there wasn’t any blood +on it. The doctor thought she was delirious. She was +just finishing drinking when we turned around.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you accuse her—when you felt the damp +spot on the spread?”</p> + +<p>“What was the use? She never would have admitted +it. I believe,” Roberts said fiercely, “that I +could have stuck pins in her and that she’d have +endured the pain rather than admit it. And suddenly +I began to feel afraid—not so much of her, as of what +she might do to Mr. Endicott. She was playing a trick +and I didn’t know just what the purpose of it was. I +ran upstairs and got my gun, then came right back.”</p> + +<p>“She was still in bed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. But the shooting was over, and the room +was cold. The room was cold”—Roberts’s voice was +very intense as she drove her points home—“and +her skin was cold, and her breathing was heavy from +recent exertion. I think I was going to kill her. I +<em>would</em> have killed her if the nurse hadn’t come in +just then.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you tell someone of this at once, Miss +Roberts?”</p> + +<p>“Would you have? Would anyone have?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite understand.”</p> + +<p>“There had just been that shooting—and I had a +gun. I wanted to get rid of it. By the time I had got +rid of it, it was too late. I couldn’t say anything then +without practically accusing myself of a murder +I didn’t commit.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll stay here in the house, Miss Roberts?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally, since I’m to be accused of having +killed Mr. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“Not as yet, Miss Roberts.”</p> + +<p>“It won’t bother me.” She added bitterly, as she +started for the door, “You’ll find me a tractable +prisoner.”</p> + +<p>“One minute please, Miss Roberts. How long were +you gone from Mrs. Endicott’s room when you went +upstairs to get the gun?”</p> + +<p>“Just long enough to run up and back again. I +have no idea, really.”</p> + +<p>“Where is your room?”</p> + +<p>“On the upper floor—the room to the left of the +corridor in the front of the house.”</p> + +<p>“And whereabouts did you keep the gun?”</p> + +<p>“In my trunk—where it is now.”</p> + +<p>“Was the trunk locked?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I keep it locked.”</p> + +<p>“And the keys for it?”</p> + +<p>“In a purse. The purse was in a dresser drawer.”</p> + +<p>“Then that gives us a pretty good idea of the +length of time you must have been gone, doesn’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it does. Three or four minutes, +probably.”</p> + +<p>“Nearer, I imagine, to five or six. But we don’t +require the actual number of minutes. The point +we need is, rather, a comparison of two different +operations within the same time limit. While you +were going through the various movements you have +described, would Mrs. Endicott have had the time +to get out of bed, supply herself with a revolver, open +a window, and, from the balcony, shoot Mr. Endicott, +return to her room, and be in bed again by the time +you came down? I think so, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“There would have been plenty of time for that.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve been with Mrs. Endicott for quite a while. +Have you ever noticed whether or not she owns a +pistol?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I have. No, I’m sure I’ve never seen +one. That doesn’t prove anything, though. There +are any number of private places where she may have +kept it. It is also possible”—Roberts seemed desperately +earnest in her effort to strengthen each link in +her accusation, for she was accusing rather than +simply offering a theory—“that someone may recently +have given her a revolver, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Everything is possible.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hollander, for example?”</p> + +<p>“A very good example.”</p> + +<p>He said nothing further, and after a while the +stillness became almost physically oppressive. +Roberts was finished with emotions. “Is that all?” she +said, and her voice was colourless.</p> + +<p>“I believe so, Miss Roberts—except that I wish +you would tell me why, in view of your recent +insinuations concerning Mrs. Endicott and Hollander, +you ever suggested him as the proper friend +to stay with her husband to-night. It’s a little +inconsistent, don’t you think?”</p> + +<p>“Very.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did you do it?”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing further to say.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went abruptly to the door and +opened it. Cassidy and Hansen were standing near by +in the corridor.</p> + +<p>“Hansen,” he said, “go with Miss Roberts up to +her room. There is a gun in her trunk. She will give +it to you. Keep it for me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Roberts went outside.</p> + +<p>“Am I to consider myself under arrest, +Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Roberts. But, as I have explained, you +are not to leave the house. Cassidy, come inside here +with me.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy came in and closed the door. He watched +Lieutenant Valcour draw the sheet up again over +Endicott’s face.</p> + +<p>“What’s Dr. Worth doing, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“He has gone back to bed, sir. Shall I go get +him?” Cassidy cast one suspicious look toward the +bed.</p> + +<p>“No, let him sleep. There’s nothing just this +instant. I’ll want to see him in about a quarter of an +hour, though.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went into the bathroom, +opened the window, and went outside onto the balcony. +The gray before dawning was in the sky, and a +rare clearness was vibrant in the fresh, sweet air.</p> + +<p>The outline of the garden down below was quite +distinct. There were other gardens belonging to the +adjacent houses, too, and to the houses backing them +from the rear. It was a street of gardens which +bloomed, Lieutenant Valcour reflected, for the +express benefit of caretakers in summer, while their +owners spent the season at fashionable resorts either +in the mountains or on the shore.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went and carefully examined +with his flashlight the window to Endicott’s room +that had been raised from the bottom when the shot +was fired. He played the light upon the surface of its +glass. It was quite clean. There was no trace of any +pressing of noses or of foreheads against its polished +surface. Nor, on the stone sill, were there any telltale +threads of silk, or any of the various clues that would +serve to indicate a woman’s presence.</p> + +<p>He stared speculatively for a minute at the windows +of the room above, where the curiously vindictive +Mrs. Siddons was now presumably resting, or +else indulging in her blank-eyed game of mental +maledictions. No, he couldn’t really visualize her as +descending to the balcony by a rope or any other +kind of ladder. A hundred years ago, perhaps, she +might have gone so far as to shape a replica of Mr. +Endicott in wax and then, with appropriate +incantations, proceed to stick pins in such portions of +it as would cabalistically do the most good. But there +was no such simple expedient left her in our modern +skeptic age. It would be necessary, of course, to +interview her further concerning those vague, bitter hints +she had thrown out about outrageous actions on the +part of Endicott toward the maids.</p> + +<p>Even the city could not kill the fair fresh breezes +of dawn. He stared at the dimming stars and +wondered whether Roberts’s extraordinary statement +was a lie. For after all it hinged upon nothing more +significant than a damp spot at the edge of a spread, +and Roberts could easily have spilled something there +herself to offer as corroborative evidence to her tale. +Was she, he wondered, quite so smart? And from all +that he had been able to judge of her, he rather +thought that she was.</p> + +<p>He would have to consult with Dr. Worth, of +course, before doing anything drastic. And the doctor +would probably raise a holler, especially since he +had just gone to bed and would have to be yanked +summarily out of it again. Well, bed-yankings were +to be expected in the lives of doctors and of the +police; they were expected to be perpetually on tap, +like heat or water.</p> + +<p>He made his way slowly toward the windows of +Mrs. Endicott’s room, carefully inspecting the balcony +and sills with his flashlight as he went along. +There were no smudges, no threads, no clues until +he reached the last window in the row. And there, +on the balcony floor just below its sash, something +blazed in the circle of his torch a bright jade green.</p> + +<p>It was a woman’s slipper.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch22"> + +<h2>Chapter XXII. <br> 4:14 a. m.—Tap—Tap—Tap</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour picked the slipper up and +sighed. It was a distressingly leading and decisive +clue, but it did not lead in a direction he cared to +follow, nor did it decide things as he thought they +ought to be decided.</p> + +<p>On the surface of it, the case seemed blatantly +plain: Hollander had come to the house at seven to +save Mrs. Endicott from committing murder or +suicide and had shocked Endicott almost to death—and +just a short while ago Mrs. Endicott had shot her +husband to prevent him from making a statement +that would convict Hollander.</p> + +<p>Rubbish!</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour flatly refused to believe it. +And yet one had to believe that Hollander had +certainly intended to stab Endicott with that knife; +the point was irrefutable. Furthermore, Hollander’s +motives remained clear enough and beautifully +simple: he wanted to protect Mrs. Endicott.</p> + +<p>But what about her motives?</p> + +<p>And Roberts’s?</p> + +<p>And as a kernel to the whole perplexing enigma, +what had been the object of the search through +Endicott’s pockets and among the papers in the +left-hand upper drawer of his desk?</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be gained, however, by standing +outside on the balcony and admiring the flushing +sky and breathing in with the manner of a connoisseur +the morning air. Lieutenant Valcour returned, +via the bathroom window, to Endicott’s room.</p> + +<p>“The night’s almost over, Lieutenant,” said +Cassidy by way of greeting.</p> + +<p>“Almost over, Cassidy.”</p> + +<p>“And it’s been a hell of a night, too, if you don’t +mind my saying it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind your saying it.”</p> + +<p>“Especially for him.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy jerked a muscular thumb toward the bed.</p> + +<p>“Least of all for him, Cassidy.”</p> + +<p>“He may be well out of it at that.”</p> + +<p>“He is. There’s a lot of beautiful tripe written +about how all people kill the things they love. +Metaphysically, perhaps. But with a bullet, Cassidy? +Not so.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t get you, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t strange, Cassidy. So far I don’t even +get myself.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went to the door and opened +it. Hansen was standing outside, and in his hand was +a gun wrapped in a clean handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“Roberts’s gun, Hansen?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant. It was just where you said it +would be, in the trunk. I wrapped it in a handkerchief +to keep any prints you might want on it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Hansen. Go upstairs now and wake +up Dr. Worth. Ask him if he will please come down +here at once.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant.” Hansen hesitated for a minute.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it, Hansen?”</p> + +<p>“I understood you all right didn’t I, sir,” Hansen +said uncomfortably, “when you told me that maid +wasn’t to be put under arrest?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I don’t want to do anything about her as yet. +Later on we may book her on a violation of the +Sullivan Law and again we may not.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour took the gun and went back +into the room with it, closing the door. He carefully +unfolded enough of the handkerchief so that the +barrel was exposed. He sniffed this and decided that +the gun had neither been recently fired nor cleaned. +There was just the definite odourlessness which one +finds with guns that have not been used or taken +care of for a very long time. So far, then, he was +inclined to believe that Roberts’s story was correct.</p> + +<p>“Is that the rod that done the trick, Lieutenant?” +said Cassidy, who had been keenly interested in the +sniffings.</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t, Cassidy. This gun hasn’t been fired +for years, maybe.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I wish it was. I’d like to get out of this +joint.”</p> + +<p>“Still nervous, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“No, I ain’t nervous, Lieutenant. I’m just +uncomfortable. It’s like there was something in this +case that hasn’t broken yet. You know what I mean? +Something we ain’t so much as put a finger on.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour knew very well just exactly +what Cassidy meant. He, too, felt that same +indefinable effect of impending “somethings” that were +connected with obscure danger. It was an emotion, +however, which required official scowlings. After all, +psychic patrolmen were not considered as being to +the best interests of the force. One shouldn’t be +allowed, really, to graduate into psychic realms +anywhere below the rank of lieutenant.</p> + +<p>“Discounting your weekly adventures between +paper covers, this is your first real murder case, isn’t +it, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“I thank God it is, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll get used to them after a while. Before +you’re called in on your fourth or fifth you’ll be +finished with having presentiments.”</p> + +<p>“Will they be likely to be like this one, sir?”</p> + +<p>“That will depend entirely, Cassidy, upon just +how much publicity this one is given in the papers, +as well as on the supply at hand of potential victims +who have weak hearts. I dare say the method will +become fashionable for a while.” There was a peevish +rap on the door. “Ah, come in, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth was just as peevish as his knock. The +camel’s-hair dressing gown in which he was still +bundled hinted blurringly at indignant muscles that +quivered beneath its loose folds. His hair was +rumpled-looking and frowsy.</p> + +<p>“Really, Lieutenant,” he began, “this is getting +to be beyond a joke.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I had to discuss Mrs. +Endicott’s condition with you most seriously and at +once.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth paled a little at this.</p> + +<p>“Nothing’s happened to her, too, has there?”</p> + +<p>“No, Doctor, nothing has. And I don’t think +that just now I could stand another murder. It’s +about her physical condition in general. Is her heart +all right?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth’s curiosity was beginning to get the +upper hand over his grouch.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly sound. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“Because I want to try an experiment on her.”</p> + +<p>“You want to what, sir?” Dr. Worth almost +shouted it. He was thoroughly awake now.</p> + +<p>“Not so loud, please, Doctor. I want you to let me +stay in the room alone with your patient. You can +open the connecting bathroom door a little and watch +me through its crack, but I want the nurse out of the +way. And I don’t want you to make any noise or +comments while you’re watching. I don’t want Mrs. +Endicott to know that you’re there.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth looked at Lieutenant Valcour sharply. +“This is nonsense. She couldn’t possibly tell who was +or who wasn’t there. She’s unconscious.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps she isn’t, Doctor. This is what her maid +has just told me.” Lieutenant Valcour offered Dr. +Worth Roberts’s astonishing theory concerning the +poured-out narcotic, and Dr. Worth was quite +properly astonished. “So you see it’s a possibility, +Doctor, and the fact of my finding that slipper outside +of the window makes it practically a certainty.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the most astounding thing I’ve ever heard of +in my life. If you don’t intend to shock her, +Lieutenant, I’ll agree to anything you say.”</p> + +<p>“I shan’t do anything rough, Doctor, like discharging +a gun off near her ear, or pinching her, or slapping +her, or any of the tricks which are so popularly +supposed to be kept up the sleeve of a policeman. You +can stop me at any minute if you object to anything +I may be doing.”</p> + +<p>“Have you planned just what you will do?”</p> + +<p>“With a woman like Mrs. Endicott there wouldn’t +be any use in planning anything. All that I can do +in advance is to create an atmosphere and then do +whatever occurs to me as being best when the proper +time comes. There won’t be anything complicated +about it.”</p> + +<p>“Just what sort of an atmosphere, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Well, in the first place I’ll call the nurse outside +into the corridor and you can tell her not to go back +in again until I say so. You might suggest to her +that she go down to the kitchen and make some +coffee—she seems a little dippy about coffee—or +something. Then we’ll leave Mrs. Endicott quite +alone in her room for a minute or two. If she’s really +faking, she’ll begin to worry about what is going on. +Then the door will open again and, instead of the +nurse, I’ll come in. She’ll be pretty certain to suspect +that I’ve found the slipper, but will be all the more +careful to keep up her pretence of being under the +influence of the narcotic. If she gets away with that, +you know, she can always claim that Roberts herself +must have dropped the slipper onto the balcony as a +plant. The main thing is that Mrs. Endicott won’t +know just what’s up, and when a woman of her +temperament can’t figure a thing out mentally, it +about drives her crazy.”</p> + +<p>“Then I suppose, Lieutenant, that when you get +her into this receptive state you’ll speak to her?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour laughed. “On the contrary, +Doctor, I haven’t the slightest intention of saying a +single word. Shall we go now? After you’ve arranged +things with Nurse Vickers you can come back in here +again and start watching from the bathroom.”</p> + +<p>They went outside, and Lieutenant Valcour rapped +softly on Mrs. Endicott’s door. It opened a bit, and +Nurse Vickers looked out. She saw Dr. Worth and +came outside, shutting the door behind her.</p> + +<p>“You wanted to see me, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Vickers. How is Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“Quite comfortable, Doctor. She’s breathing as +peacefully as a child.”</p> + +<p>“There haven’t been any signs of restlessness?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Doctor. She hasn’t budged since I’ve +been watching her.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth mildly raised his eyebrows. “That in +itself is rather curious,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Curious, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing to be alarmed at, Miss Vickers. +You look a little tired. Run downstairs and drink +some coffee. The lieutenant, here, will stay with Mrs. +Endicott, and you’re not to go back into her room +again until he says so.”</p> + +<p>“Help!” thought Lieutenant Valcour. As a +detective Dr. Worth was a darned fine doctor. Miss +Vickers, as he had expected, was instantly curious.</p> + +<p>“Something more wrong, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“No Miss Vickers,” Lieutenant Valcour said +coldly. “Please do as the doctor instructed, and at +once.”</p> + +<p>“Oh.”</p> + +<p>Nurse Vickers, feeling a little outraged, vanished +toward the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Shall I go and stand by the bathroom door now?” +said Dr. Worth.</p> + +<p>“If you wish. Don’t make the slightest sound when +you’re opening it, and don’t open it more than an +inch at the most, please.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth, feeling very much like one of those +fabulous characters he had read about in Fenimore +Cooper when a child, went back into Endicott’s room.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour waited another full minute before +he opened the door and went inside. He did not +look at Mrs. Endicott, but walked softly over to a +chair, lifted it, and placed it close beside the bed. +He drew the slipper from his pocket and sat down.</p> + +<p>There was an utter and complete hush. For three +minutes—he timed himself with his wrist watch—he +sat motionless and stared at the closed lids of Mrs. +Endicott’s eyes.</p> + +<p>Then he began to tap the slipper quite softly, but +quite persistently and with a rhythmic regularity, +upon an arm of the chair.</p> + +<p>Tap—tap—tap—tap—tap——</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s face retained the smooth +expressionlessness of slumber.</p> + +<p>Tap—tap—tap——</p> + +<p>Her breathing held the steady depths of sleep.</p> + +<p>Tap—tap—tap—tap——</p> + +<p>“If you do that much longer,” she said quietly, “I +shall go insane.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch23"> + +<h2>Chapter XXIII. <br> 4:29 a. m.—A Turn of the Screw</h2> + +<p>“You needn’t say anything you don’t care to, Mrs. +Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you didn’t use the stereotyped formula, +Lieutenant. It would have disappointed me if you +had. Get me a cigarette, please; there are some over +there on the dresser.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour stood up. He got the cigarettes +and lighted one for Mrs. Endicott and one for +himself.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have dropped your slipper outside +of the window,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have found it.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes, now that they were opened, were admirably +guarded, and her fingers, as they held the +cigarette, showed no trace of nervousness.</p> + +<p>“The slipper is of no great consequence, Mrs. +Endicott. There are so many other things, too, you +see.”</p> + +<p>“Sort of a wholesale strewing of clues? I never +imagined you as bothering very much with clues. It’s +people you’re more interested in: reading their +minds.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes offered an almost impudent invitation +that he read hers.</p> + +<p>“Whom were you aiming at when you fired, Mrs. +Endicott, at your husband or at Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott blew smoke rings elaborately.</p> + +<p>“At neither, Lieutenant. I didn’t have a gun.”</p> + +<p>“Then it was just curiosity?”</p> + +<p>“What was?”</p> + +<p>“Your going out on the balcony.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t go out on the balcony. I’ve never been +on it in my life.”</p> + +<p>“I am not stupid, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“Nor very credulous, either.”</p> + +<p>“No, nor credulous.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the trouble with truth: it often sounds so +silly.”</p> + +<p>“Surely you realize how things look against you, +Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“Black.”</p> + +<p>“The worst of all is your not having taken the +narcotic, and then having pretended to be in a state of +unconsciousness.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes became stupefyingly innocent. “Is it +illegal to decide not to take medicine, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>His respect for her as an adversary began to mount +by leaps and bounds. “No, Mrs. Endicott. But in the +present case it was purposefully deceptive.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I simply disliked hurting Dr. Worth’s +feelings; that was all.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour pictured her maintaining that +attitude—smartly dressed in becomingly plain black, +very innocent, very beautiful-looking—before the +twelve impressionable and normally dumb people +one finds on juries. He was grudgingly afraid she +could get away with it.</p> + +<p>“And it isn’t illegal, either,” she went on, “to go +to sleep, is it?”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour decided that if anything was +to be gained from the interview he would have to +give a turn to the screw.</p> + +<p>“No, Mrs. Endicott, sleeping isn’t illegal. Even,” +he added negligently, “if your husband has just been +killed, and your—well, whatever state of relationship +exists between you and Mr. Hollander—your friend, +let us say, is wounded to the point of death.”</p> + +<p>The cigarette dropped from her fingers to the floor. +Lieutenant Valcour crushed it with the sole of his +shoe.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe you.”</p> + +<p>Her voice had the same pallid qualities as her skin.</p> + +<p>“You must have seen for yourself, Mrs. Endicott, +that he was pretty badly hurt when he slipped to the +floor. There was blood enough smeared around, +goodness knows.”</p> + +<p>“You’re trying to trap me.”</p> + +<p>“Just stating facts, Mrs. Endicott. Of course you +may have left the instant after you fired and so +not have seen Mr. Hollander shot down by the +police.”</p> + +<p>“You are being vulgarly brutal.”</p> + +<p>“You were certainly in a frantic enough hurry +to have dropped your slipper and not to have bothered +to pick it up. Did you throw the gun into the +garden, Mrs. Endicott? We’re bound to find it, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“Is Mr. Hollander still in the house?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Where have they taken him?”</p> + +<p>“To the hospital.”</p> + +<p>“Please ring for my maid and leave the room. I +must go to him immediately.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p>“Will you please leave this room?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem to realize, Mrs. Endicott, that +you are under arrest.”</p> + +<p>The thought stunned her. Her head fell back +among the pillows as if it had been thrown there.</p> + +<p>“But that’s silly—silly, I tell you.”</p> + +<p>“You admitted yourself, Mrs. Endicott, that the +truth is always silly.”</p> + +<p>“You are actually charging me with the murder +of my husband?”</p> + +<p>“ ‘Arrest’ was perhaps an injudicious word. I +am holding you, Mrs. Endicott, as a material +witness, for the present.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott had recovered somewhat from the +shock.</p> + +<p>“I shan’t be bromidic, Lieutenant, and attempt +either tears or bribery. I’m not stupid enough to +think that either would affect you in the slightest +from the performance of duty. But I should like to +appeal to your reason.”</p> + +<p>“You will find me a sympathetic listener, Mrs. +Endicott. My wretched conceit forces me to add that +I shall also be an intelligent one.”</p> + +<p>“You see, I knew pretty well what was going +on from hearing the nurse and Roberts talking about +it. Lieutenant, just what do you want me to admit?”</p> + +<p>“That you were on the balcony.”</p> + +<p>“But I wasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Then how did your slipper get there?”</p> + +<p>“It fell from my foot.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour stood up abruptly. “You will +have to pardon me, Mrs. Endicott,” he said, “while +I search this room.”</p> + +<p>“You misunderstand me. I mean exactly what I +say. I wasn’t on the balcony, and the slipper did +fall off my foot. If you must know it, I was straddling +the window sill.”</p> + +<p>“What stopped you from going out, Mrs. +Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“The sound of the shooting. It unnerved me. I +almost fell back into the room and closed the window. +I knew that I had dropped a slipper outside, but the +idea of doing anything further than hurrying back +into bed terrified me.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour examined the slipper he still +held in his hand. “This is a slipper for the left foot,” +he said. “And in that case, when you were straddling +the window it is the foot which must have been on +the outside. Isn’t that so?”</p> + +<p>“That’s rather elementary, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Quite. But it serves to prove that at the moment +when the shots were fired you could look along the +balcony toward the windows of your husband’s room. +Did you?”</p> + +<p>“I imagine so. I’m not quite certain, really. It was +absolutely dark out there.”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, there was a glow cast on the +balcony from the farthest window, which was open +a little, wasn’t there?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. Yes, I think there was.”</p> + +<p>“And did you see anybody standing at that window +when the shots were fired?”</p> + +<p>“You mean on the balcony?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“That is all, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t believe me.”</p> + +<p>“Frankly, I don’t.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s expression hardened perceptibly. +Whether from bitterness or from some sudden +private determination it was difficult to say.</p> + +<p>“Does being detained as a material witness prohibit +me from getting out of bed and dressing?” she +said.</p> + +<p>“Not at all. In fact, it is essential that you do so. +You see, we detain our material witnesses in jail.”</p> + +<p>He heard again, as he had heard it earlier in the +night, the muted echo of brass bells in her voice. “If +you will leave me then, please?”</p> + +<p>“Just as soon as I have searched the room.”</p> + +<p>“For what?”</p> + +<p>“For a revolver, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott closed her eyes. She turned on her +side and faced the wall. Lieutenant Valcour +conducted his search with the thoroughness and speed +born of experience. In the room, in the room’s +cupboard, in the various drawers, beneath the different +pieces of furniture, there was no gun. He took a +dressing gown and placed it on the bed.</p> + +<p>“Put this on, please, Mrs. Endicott, I want to +search the bed.”</p> + +<p>She did so, without either comment or objection. +She went to the window and stared unseeingly at the +breaking day.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour removed the spread, and with +a pencil roughly outlined the damp spot where the +narcotic had been spilled. Then he folded the spread +and tucked it under one arm. The rest of the +bedclothes, the mattress, the pillows, concealed no gun. +He walked to the door.</p> + +<p>“I will send your maid to you, Mrs. Endicott, +if you wish.”</p> + +<p>She continued to stare through the window and +to present her back to him. She said nothing. He +tried to catch the suggestion in her pose. It wasn’t a +gesture of petty rudeness or angry spite; nor was it +by any means suggestive of despair or fear. He went +outside and closed the door.</p> + +<p>And as he crossed the corridor to Endicott’s room +it occurred to him with shocking clearness that, in +spite of the idea’s seeming absurdity, her pose had +suggested a very definite mood of positive +exaltation.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch24"> + +<h2>Chapter XXIV. <br> 4:41 a. m.—As the Colours of Dawn</h2> + +<p>“Well,” Lieutenant Valcour said, as he joined Dr. +Worth in Endicott’s room, “what do you think +now?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth was finished with bewilderments. In +spite of the camel’s-hair robe swathing him, he had +recaptured to an impressive extent his air of dignity.</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant,” he said, “I think that my services +are no longer required in this house. With your +permission, I shall dismiss the two nurses and go home.”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly, Doctor, if you wish. The prosecuting +attorney will probably require your testimony +to secure an indictment and will want you later on at +the trial, but I’m sure he will bother you just as little +as possible. We realize how annoying any court work +is to a doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be glad to testify whenever required.”</p> + +<p>“Will you also let me know where to keep in +touch with the two nurses? Their testimony will be +needed, too.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Worth stated the name and address of the +Nurses’ Home at which Miss Vickers and Miss Murrow +could always be reached, and Lieutenant Valcour +wrote them down in his notebook.</p> + +<p>“Would it bother you very much, Lieutenant, to +let Mrs. Endicott know that I have gone, when you +see her?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt whether she will require my services +again.” He paused for a moment at the doorway. +“That woman, sir, is of iron.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder, Doctor. At any rate, she is +pretty thoroughly encased in metal. I’ll send Cassidy +along with you to pass you and the nurses by O’Brian +down at the door. No one can leave the house, you +see, without permission.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Lieutenant. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Doctor, and thanks for all your +assistance. Cassidy, come back after you’ve seen the +doctor out, and stay in the corridor. I’ll call when I +need you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>The door closed, and Lieutenant Valcour was alone. +With a persistence that was becoming annoying, the +same curious feeling of lurking danger crept out at +him from the room’s stillnesses. His nerves were +usually as steady as the quality reputed to be enjoyed +by a rock, and the strange little jumpings they were +going in for were getting that fabulous animal known +as his goat.</p> + +<p>He went over to the chair before the flat-topped +desk and sat down. There was that drawer filled with +disordered papers to be gone through. He removed +the drawer and emptied it of its contents by the +simple expedient of turning it upside down onto the +top of the desk.</p> + +<p>There were, mixed up among bills and receipts, a +surprising number of letters from women. He read +each one of them carefully and felt a little sorrier, +at the conclusion of each, for the future of the race—not +so much because of any danger to its morals as to +its mentality.</p> + +<p>He made a little group of each batch of notes from +the same woman. One pile topped the list with the +number of ten. These were signed “Bebe” and were +addressed with deplorable monotony to “My cave +man.” Endicott must have been rather an ass, he +decided, as well as a pretty low sort of an animal. It +was all very well for Roberts to rave on about +soldiers, and simple hearts, and war, and things. That’s +just what it amounted to: raving. What if Endicott +and, presumably, her brother had had simple hearts. +So had guinea pigs.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour wondered whether everyone +else connected with the case was quite sane and he +just a little mad. Roberts—Mrs. Endicott—the +housekeeper—Hollander—Madame Velasquez. They +all seemed a little touched, and that was a sign of +madness when one considered everyone else but one’s +self insane. But no one was ever truly normal under +disagreeable and terrifying circumstances; at least, +he had never found anyone who was so.</p> + +<p>The letters were meaningless as possible clues +to a motive; just a sticky conglomeration of lust, +greed, dullness, and execrable taste. He shoved them +aside.</p> + +<p>He watched the strengthening light of day as it +came through the window across the desk before +him. Such sky as he saw was of rubbed emerald, +and the backs of the houses across the intervening +gardens were mauve and dark gray, with lines of +lemon yellow running thinly along their roofs.</p> + +<p>He thought of <i>Bohême</i>—dawn always made him +think of <i>Bohême</i>—and hummed a bar or two of it +softly. Then he thought of Mrs. Endicott, and his +thoughts were pastelled in the colours of the dawn: +a woman of half-tones and overlapping lacquer +shades.</p> + +<p>It became quite clear in his mind that she never +would have killed her husband. Or Hollander. That, +in fact, she never would have killed anybody at all. +The belief became fixed, even in face of the sizeable +amount of evidence against her.</p> + +<p>He reviewed her case, in digest, as the prosecuting +attorney might present it to a jury: from the very +start there was that contrary fact of her having +telephoned for the police. Why? On the slender +ground of a pencilled note that might or might not +have been a threat, and an instinctive premonition +that her husband was in danger. The prosecution +would thereupon interpolate a smart crack or two on +the general subject of premonitions, fortune tellings, +and the Ace of Spades. They would point out that +people who committed crimes which were bound to +be shortly discovered occasionally got in touch with +the police in order to use the gesture as a premise of +their innocence.</p> + +<p>There were her definite admissions of intent to +kill her husband—her having left her bedroom +immediately upon his having knocked and said +good-bye—and her recent most damaging actions in regard +to the narcotic and having been on the balcony.</p> + +<p>Motive?</p> + +<p>The prosecuting attorney could offer a thousand. +The most prominent ones would include a jealous +rage at her husband’s easily proved peccadillos with +other women and her own rather significant attitude +toward Hollander. Yes, it would be only too possible +for the prosecuting attorney to get a conviction +against Mrs. Endicott, and to rope Hollander in as an +accomplice. He’d want the weapon, though, to make +the case complete. Lieutenant Valcour had forgotten +about the weapon. He stood up, went to the door, and +opened it. Hansen was standing outside, having taken +his post there until Cassidy should come back from +letting out Dr. Worth and the nurses.</p> + +<p>“Hansen,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “I want you +to search the backyard for a revolver that may have +been thrown there from the balcony. If you can’t +find it, search the two adjoining backyards, and the +three in the rear as well. Don’t wake up the people +in the other houses, just get a stepladder and cross +the party walls.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Report to me as soon as you’ve finished, or find +anything.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour closed the door again. The revolver +would clinch the case: Mrs. Endicott the principal, +and Hollander the accomplice. What a sweet +bunch of muck it would be, too. There were all sorts +of sob angles: Hollander and Endicott as Damon and +Pythias, brothers in arms during the war who were +transformed through the vicious caprice of a siren into +Cain and Abel. Or would Mrs. Endicott spatter the +tabloids as a woman wronged who had by a reversal +of the usual position of the sexes taken her just +revenge beneath the legendary cloak of the unwritten +law? If her lawyers were smart, she would. And they +would be smart, too. She’d probably have the most +impressive battery of legal guns that were procurable +in the state lined up on her side.</p> + +<p>It wasn’t the gun only that Lieutenant Valcour +wanted. There was something else. Endicott’s hat: +that was it. How did the person who had been caught +in the cupboard fit in with Endicott’s hat? The +answer came to him with the sudden clearness that will +enlighten a problem that the subconscious mind has +been working on for some time. The hat was the final +touch to the person’s disguise. And the fact would +pre-suppose a woman. A man’s hat would add +immeasurably to any disguise adopted by a woman.</p> + +<p>But which woman?</p> + +<p>And why had his hat been in the cupboard?</p> + +<p>And still there was no answer to the baffling +question as to what had been the object of the search +through Endicott’s pockets and his papers. There +was, of course, a perfectly plain and logically possible +solution: the object or paper, whatever it was, had +been found and had been carried off by the thief +along with Endicott’s hat and the top button from +his overcoat. And if such were the case, just what that +object or paper was might never be known.</p> + +<p>For the fourth time since he had been sitting at +the desk Lieutenant Valcour sniffed the air. There +was a faint trace of scent—a curiously reminiscent +odour—all but intangible, but which he was quite +certain he had encountered in some different locality +at some time during the night. It was only apparent +when he sat at the desk, and the deduction was +reached without too much mental labour that it must, +hence, emanate from something connected with the +desk. Perhaps that aperture from which he had pulled +the drawer——</p> + +<p>The telephone rang sharply. He drew the instrument +to him across the top of the desk, and took +the receiver from the hook.</p> + +<p>The call came, he was informed, from Central +Office.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch25"> + +<h2>Chapter XXV. <br> 5:01 a. m.—Lunatic Vistas</h2> + +<p>The report from Central Office which Lieutenant +Valcour received over the telephone contained one +definitely useful piece of information: the person who +had used the comb and brushes belonging to Endicott +had been a blonde and was either a man or a woman +with bobbed hair.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Endicott, Lieutenant Valcour reflected +as he hung up the receiver, had blonde shingled hair. +And so, except for the shingling, did Hollander.</p> + +<p>Roberts, on the other hand, had not.</p> + +<p>And where, he wanted to know, was his inspiring +confidence in the innocence of Mrs. Endicott now? +Precisely where it had been before. His mind began +to gibber. What <em>was</em> that curious scent, that trace +of an aroma? What about Hollander’s roommate: +the young Southerner who preyed upon wealthy +women in night clubs? Had Endicott evidence that +Hollander was mixed up in similar jobs, and had +Hollander come to steal it, or silence Endicott? Rats! +And what were Marge Myles’s address and telephone +number doing in Mrs. Endicott’s personal directory? +And why had Mrs. Endicott been such a stupid liar +as to say she had seen no one on the balcony at the +time when the shots were fired, when the only +apparent place from which the shot that had killed +Endicott could have been fired was the balcony? . . . +A knock-knock.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” he said.</p> + +<p>Cassidy opened the door.</p> + +<p>“There’s an old dame downstairs, Lieutenant, +who insisted on coming in. She wants to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Did she say who she was, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“She did. And you can believe it or not, sir, but her +name is Molasses.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour made a desperate clutch at +his scattering reason.</p> + +<p>“By all means, Cassidy,” he said, “show Mrs. +Molasses right up.”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez, in the penetrating light of +early morning, was beyond words. The intervening +hours since Lieutenant Valcour had left her, wigless +and talking to herself in her stepdaughter’s +apartment, had unquestionably been ones of worry. As +she came into the room Lieutenant Valcour motioned +to Cassidy to wait outside and close the corridor door.</p> + +<p>Over her black sequinned dress she had thrown +an evening cape of blue satin edged with marabou, +and on her wig rested a picture hat trimmed with +plumes. Her eyes ignored the details of Endicott’s +room, of Endicott’s body stretched beneath the sheet; +ignored everything but Lieutenant Valcour, the +man whom she had come to see.</p> + +<p>“Marge is dead,” she said.</p> + +<p>Her voice still retained the curious qualities that +made it suggest a scream.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour wearily closed his eyes. One +other murder would truly prove to be the straw with +himself in the rôle of the already overladen camel.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Madame Velasquez,” he said, “and +tell me how it happened.”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez spread billows of blue satin +and marabou into an armchair.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how it happened,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Did you find her body in the apartment?”</p> + +<p>“There ain’t no body.” Madame Velasquez then +added, as her brittle little eyes glittered with a strange +sort of conviction, “He made away with it.”</p> + +<p>“Who did, Madame Velasquez?”</p> + +<p>“Herbert Endicott,” she said.</p> + +<p>For a startled moment Lieutenant Valcour stared +sharply down curious vistas: <em>had</em> Endicott killed +Marge Myles, perhaps having called for her just after +she had written that note to her mother? He brought +himself up shortly. Utter nonsense! Endicott was in +this very room at the time when Marge Myles must +have been writing that note and was himself in the +process of being killed.</p> + +<p>“That isn’t possible, Madame Velasquez,” he +said quietly. “Endicott was himself attacked right +here at about the time your stepdaughter must have +been writing that note to you. That was at seven last +evening—at the very moment he was to call for her +at her apartment—and it must have been a little +after seven when she wrote, as she states in the note +that he hadn’t come.”</p> + +<p>“No matter”—her beringed fingers fluttered +extravagantly—“I feel certain he did it, and I want +him punished and caught.”</p> + +<p>“But Mr. Endicott is dead, Madame Velasquez.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what <em>you</em> say,” she said.</p> + +<p>Was he really, Lieutenant Valcour wondered, going +mad? There seemed such terribly disturbing possibilities +of fact in every absurd aspect on the case the +woman facing him opened up. Who, after all, <em>had</em> +identified Endicott? His wife, and that only by +implication; his friend Hollander, again by implication; +Roberts had seen the dead man’s face, but she, in +common with all the world, was mad; Dr. Worth—what +proof was there that Dr. Worth <em>was</em> Dr. Worth, +or that the telephone number given him by Mrs. +Endicott had been Dr. Worth’s? It could all have +been arranged by some clever mob. . . .</p> + +<p>“This is folly,” he said abruptly, really more to +convince himself than the nutlike face peering at him +from the armchair. What he needed was sleep—just +a couple of hours of good sleep. “Madame Velasquez, +that body on the bed is Herbert Endicott. Now tell +me as lucidly as you can, please, just why you say +that Marge is dead.”</p> + +<p>Her little eyes began to glitter with rage. “I believe +she has killed herself to spite me.” The knotted paste +jewels on her thin fingers quivered indignantly. “She +did it to make me suffer,” she added, “to <em>stint</em> me.”</p> + +<p>“Just so she wouldn’t have to give you any more +money,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez began to weep noisily. “What’ll +I do, Lieutenant—oh, what <em>will</em> I do?”</p> + +<p>He continued to regard her through lazy eyes.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you find somebody else to take her place?” +he said. “Somebody else to blackmail?”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t young. It’s too <em>late</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut, Madame Velasquez.”</p> + +<p>“No, I ain’t. And unless it’s a case like Marge’s +was, such rackets take looks.”</p> + +<p>“But surely such an intelligent and charming +woman as you, Madame Velasquez”—he unearthed +a trowel and laid it on pretty thick—“a woman of +the world, surely you can think up other cases where +the evidence or proof can be faked. You know very +well that you never had any real or visible proof +that Marge killed her husband in that canoe disaster, +now, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I did, too, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense. If you really did, you’d have it with +you and would show it to me.”</p> + +<p>She nibbled the bait slyly and refused it.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t, and I haven’t. And,” she said, “I +want proof of that trollop’s death. I’ll get it if I have +to drag the river myself.”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez jumped up and ran nervously +to the door.</p> + +<p>“Then you saw her drown herself, Madame +Velasquez?”</p> + +<p>“I saw nothing, but I know—I know—what must +have been . . .”</p> + +<p>She was out in the corridor and running for the +stairs—a velvet virago in blue. Lieutenant Valcour +ran out after her, and saw that Cassidy was blocking +her way.</p> + +<p>“Ring up the wagon, Cassidy, and have her booked +as a material witness.”</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez began to screech. “Don’t +touch me. Keep your dirty hands off me.”</p> + +<p>“Take her downstairs, Cassidy. After you’ve +arranged for the wagon leave her with O’Brian. Then +go up to the housekeeper’s room and ask Mrs. Siddons +if she’ll come down. I’ll see her in Endicott’s +room.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour slowly retraced his steps. +When he was again in Endicott’s room and the door +shut, he felt a strong recurrence of that annoying +sense of some hovering danger. He even shivered +a little as if at some draught of cold air and glanced +hastily at the windows.</p> + +<p>But both were closed.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch26"> + +<h2>Chapter XXVI. <br> 5:25 a. m.—There Was a Sailor</h2> + +<p>Mrs. Siddons had not gone to bed at all. She +remained the same amazing pencil done in flat planes +of black that had left him standing with his ear pressed +against the panels of her bedroom door.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was acutely interested in her +attitude toward Endicott’s body. Her glance, the +instant she entered the room, had flown to it surely +and accurately. There was no sorrow, no horror or +fear of the dead in that glance. It was wholly one of +triumph, the satisfied gazing of some revenge that +was removed from petty commonplaces. Mirrored +in its satisfaction were avenging hell fires, tormenting +presumably the black and wicked soul of what had +been a very black and wicked Endicott. After that +single initial glance she did not look toward the bed +again, but came over and sat with extraordinary +rigidity on the edge of a chair from where she could +stare out of the window at the clear morning light +of the winter’s day.</p> + +<p>“Several hours ago, Mrs. Siddons,” Lieutenant +Valcour said abruptly, “you spoke with considerable +bitterness about Mr. Endicott’s attitude toward the +servants. I shan’t embarrass you by asking for any +information in detail. There are only one or two things +that I want to know—— Are you listening to me, +please?”</p> + +<p>She dragged her eyes from the daylight, from the +white misty air from which she had been gathering +in her thoughts the happy flowers of a seed long +bedded in hate.</p> + +<p>“I am listening,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Then the first thing I want to know is this: was +there any one particular instance in which Mr. +Endicott’s actions toward one of the servants were +especially brutal or resented?”</p> + +<p>The coals began to glow faintly beneath the ash +that dusted her eyes.</p> + +<p>“There was one very particular instance, +Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Recently, Mrs. Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“It occurred about a year ago, almost to a day.”</p> + +<p>“Did Mr. Endicott attack her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Here in the house?”</p> + +<p>“No, Lieutenant. It happened on her afternoon +and evening out. Mr. Endicott’s car was parked +outside at the curb. He offered her a ride.”</p> + +<p>“Where is this girl now, Mrs. Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“She was committed last year to an institution +for the insane.”</p> + +<p>The ash was completely gone now, and her eyes +blazed with avenging fires.</p> + +<p>“But surely she brought charges, Mrs. Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“She was insane when they found her, Lieutenant. +She was trying to die by throwing herself in front of +a motor in Central Park. She has never spoken lucidly +since.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour shrugged hopelessly. There it +was again: that wretched wave of hearsay showing its +baffling crest above the placid sea of established +fact. Rumour had had it that Marge Myles had killed +her husband; rumour now would have it about all +sorts of terrible implications concerning Endicott, +who was dead, and a girl who was confined in an insane +asylum. And neither, obviously, could give direct +testimony in accusation or defense.</p> + +<p>“What was Mr. Endicott’s story?” he said.</p> + +<p>“That he had driven her to Macy’s, where she +wanted to buy something, and had left her there.”</p> + +<p>And why not? Undoubtedly Endicott had been +the blackest sort of a sheep, but the case was valueless +without a thousand illuminative lights, without a +whole medical history of the girl’s family, for +example.</p> + +<p>“Did you know this girl fairly well, Mrs. Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It is my habit to know all of the girls in +my charge here very well. It is my duty, as I see it, +to act not only as a housekeeper, but as their +religious mentor and guide.”</p> + +<p>“Then in the case of this girl, had she ever +previously shown any symptoms of being mentally +unbalanced?”</p> + +<p>“There were times when I thought so, yes. Her +family, you see, was not free from the taint. Her +grandmother, on her mother’s side, had been insane. +That is what made Mr. Endicott’s actions so peculiarly +detestable, sir. She might have continued to live +a normal, useful, happy life had he not shocked her +so fatally.”</p> + +<p>And on the other hand, Lieutenant Valcour decided, +Endicott need not necessarily have done anything +remotely of the sort. With such a direct strain +of insanity inherent in her blood no outside agency +whatever might have been needed to awaken it into +activity. And then, he reminded himself, the girl +had been shopping. He often wondered why more +women didn’t go mad while shopping.</p> + +<p>“Had Mr. Endicott any alibi for the period +between the time he left her at Macy’s and came +home?”</p> + +<p>“No, Lieutenant. He said he had driven out a ways +on Long Island along the Motor Parkway and then +had come back.”</p> + +<p>“So nothing was done about the matter officially?”</p> + +<p>“There was nothing to do.”</p> + +<p>“Then the only substantiated fact in the story is +that she was seen getting into Mr. Endicott’s car in +front of this house. I suppose someone did see her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Endicott saw her, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>There was distinct food for thought in that. No +matter how far flung the tangents in the case +appeared to be, they touched as a common circumference +the enveloping influence of Mrs. Endicott.</p> + +<p>“Is this girl still confined at the institution, Mrs. +Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. There has been nothing +said—no communication.”</p> + +<p>“What was the colour of her hair, Mrs. Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“Black—the deepest, prettiest black I ever saw. +They say that opposites are attracted to one another, +and it was so in her case.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?”</p> + +<p>“Her husband was a blond.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour caught his breath sharply. +It fitted surprisingly well—the motive—the +crime—the fact that the girl might have retained her +key to the servants’ entrance and her husband have +got hold of it. And her husband would readily enough +have believed the talk about his wife and Endicott—husbands +had a habit of doing just that. To the man’s +way of thinking, it wouldn’t have been anything so +ephemeral as a maternal grandmother who had +driven his wife insane: it would have been +Endicott.</p> + +<p>Madame Velasquez’s innuendoes against the true +identity of anybody came back to Lieutenant +Valcour with annoying force. What about Hollander? +Hollander was a blond, and obviously of a different +level in education and position than the Endicotts. +And who had identified Hollander? Nobody. Endicott +and his wife were the only two in the house who could, +and Endicott was dead, and Mrs. Endicott had not +seen Hollander at all, if her unbelievable statement +were true: that she had not gone out onto the balcony +and along it to the window from where the shot had +been fired.</p> + +<p>Suppose the man who had sat with Endicott had +just been posing as Hollander but had been, in reality, +the husband of this unfortunate girl. Suppose he had +been waiting outside for an opportunity to reënter +the house, had waylaid Hollander and forced his +errand from him, had taken his driver’s licence and +cards from him and had shown them to O’Brian at +the door to gain admittance. . . .</p> + +<p>No—there still arose that fundamental question: +what had the attacker been searching for among +Endicott’s papers? This girl’s husband surely would +have nothing for which to search, unless it would be +for problematic evidence of his wife’s infidelity, and +that theory was pretty thin. . . .</p> + +<p>“What became of this girl’s husband, Mrs. +Siddons?”</p> + +<p>“He is a sailor on merchant vessels.” Her gesture +vaguely encompassed the Seven Seas. “Where he is, +or when, is as indeterminate as wind and tide.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour did not molest her extravagance. +He refrained from pointing out that few things +were determined quite so accurately, nowadays, as +the tides or, for the matter of that, the winds +themselves. He stood up.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mrs. Siddons.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I go?”</p> + +<p>“If you will be so kind. Later, perhaps, we will go +into greater details concerning this poor girl’s +husband.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Siddons feasted her eyes for one parting, +blinding instinct on the bed. She stopped at the +door and said, “You will never get them from me, +Lieutenant. And I am the only person who knows; +who even knows that she was married at all. She +confided in me, and if it was her husband who did +this thing you will never drag his name from my lips +even if my silence should mean——” Her eyes +became clouded and her thoughts confused. She +wanted to say something magnificent, something +splendidly fitting to the occasion which she +interpreted quite sincerely as a divine act on the part +of God, with that poor, frail little Maizie’s husband +as His instrument on earth. Even if her silence were to +mean what? The words wouldn’t form. They rattled +around in her tired head meaninglessly: bar of +justice—herself in the dock—oh, it was cruel—life was +cruel, and living was crueler still. Only death was +kind, sleep and peace beneath the shelter of His +sweet omnipotence. She stumbled a little as she +crossed the threshold and made her way, sobbing +futilely, back upstairs.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch27"> + +<h2>Chapter XXVII. <br> 5:46 a. m.—Mrs. Endicott Cannot Be Found</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour stepped across the corridor +and rapped on the door of Mrs. Endicott’s room. +There was no response. He rapped again, and still +there was no response. He turned the knob and the +door swung inward.</p> + +<p>The room was empty.</p> + +<p>He closed the door and called to Cassidy, who was +at the other end of the corridor.</p> + +<p>“Sir?” said Cassidy, when he had joined him.</p> + +<p>“You’ve been out here all the while, haven’t you, +Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“Except when I went upstairs to get the +housekeeper, sir.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, you did. Come inside here for a +minute with me. There are some questions I want to +ask you.”</p> + +<p>They went into Endicott’s room.</p> + +<p>“Sure, it’s good to see the daylight again, +Lieutenant. Will we be cleared up here soon?”</p> + +<p>“I have a feeling that we’ll be finished pretty soon +now. Tell me, Cassidy, was it you or Hansen fired +first at Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant, Hansen and I have been disputing +that very point. We all but came to blows over it, +we did.”</p> + +<p>“Why so?”</p> + +<p>“Because I claim it was him who fired the first +shot, and he still has the audacity to say it was me +who not only shot first, but shot two times before he +so much as pulled the trigger.”</p> + +<p>“That,” said Lieutenant Valcour, “is exactly +what I wanted to know. You were both right and +both wrong.”</p> + +<p>“Now, how can that be, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Neither of you fired the first shot, because it was +fired by the murderer over there at the window. +You heard it, and thought Hansen had fired. Hansen +heard it, and then heard your following shot, and +thought that you had fired twice.”</p> + +<p>“That must have been it at that, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“It was. The second thing I wanted to ask you +about is Mrs. Endicott. She isn’t in her room. +Have you seen her about the corridor, or anywhere +else?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then go and look her up. Ask the men downstairs +if they’ve seen her, and if they haven’t, look through +the rooms on this floor and up above. When you do +come across her, ask her if she will please come in +here and see me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy went out and closed the door.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was beginning to feel very, +very tired. He yawned elaborately, stared out of the +window for a minute or two, and then sat down +again at the desk. There was something that he had +intended to do there when he had been interrupted by +the arrival of Madame Velasquez.</p> + +<p>What was it?</p> + +<p>It wasn’t connected with that wretched premonition +of danger which was nagging at him with increasing +insistence. But it was something just as +intangible . . .</p> + +<p>Elusive as a shadow . . .</p> + +<p>Yes, that was it—the thing that he had forgotten: +he had intended to trace to its source that faint +scent which was so curiously reminiscent of some +place—some thing. It had come, he remembered, +from the aperture from which he had taken the +drawer. He shoved a hand inside and felt around. +Wedged far in the back was a crumpled letter written +on heavy notepaper. He pulled it out, and the scent +became more penetrating.</p> + +<p>It came back to him quite clearly now. It was the +same perfume that had drenched the note left by +Marge for Madame Velasquez up at the apartment. +He took the letter from its envelope, smoothed it, +and then turned to the signature. Yes, it was signed +“Marge.”</p> + +<p>A knock on the hall door interrupted him, and +he placed the letter on the desk. Hansen came in.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Hansen?”</p> + +<p>“I have searched all the yards you told me to, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“There wasn’t any gun, Lieutenant, that I could +see.”</p> + +<p>“Did you look through all the shrubbery? There +are some evergreens down there that I noticed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I looked through and beneath every one +of them.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Hansen.” Lieutenant Valcour studied +the young man facing him for a curious moment. +“You were at sea for a while, weren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I was with the navy during the war, +and after that on merchant ships for a year or two.”</p> + +<p>“Would it be possible for a sailor to climb up onto +the balcony outside this window from the garden?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t say offhand, Lieutenant. I didn’t +notice much about the balcony when I was down +there.”</p> + +<p>“Then go down again and see what you think. +Let me know whether it would be an easy job, +difficult, or impossible.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Hansen went out, and Lieutenant Valcour had +barely returned his attention to the letter from Marge +Myles when there was another rapping on the door. +This time it was Cassidy who came in. Lieutenant +Valcour dropped the letter back upon the desk and +turned to him.</p> + +<p>“Did you find Mrs. Endicott all right, Cassidy?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I didn’t.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour felt strangely disturbed. He had +half expected Cassidy to answer in just that way; the +denial was nothing more than a fulfilment of the +curious premonitions he had been experiencing of +some subtle danger.</p> + +<p>“Did you look in all the rooms?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Question anybody?”</p> + +<p>“Everybody, Lieutenant. There’s no one has seen +hide nor hair of her.”</p> + +<p>“How about the men at the doors?”</p> + +<p>“Each one was at his post, sir. She didn’t go out.”</p> + +<p>“Then in that case,” said Lieutenant Valcour, +“she must still be in.”</p> + +<p>The thought was both a bromide and a consolation. +Nowadays, Lieutenant Valcour assured himself, +people didn’t vanish into thin air; it just wasn’t being +done. While concentrating in his mind as to the +possible whereabouts of the unfindable Mrs. Endicott, +his hands were mechanically placing the piles of +letters he had assorted back into the empty drawer. +He had shoved the letter from Marge Myles carefully +to one side. Any reading of it would have to +come later, after he had hit upon some logical +explanation for this sudden move on the part of Mrs. +Endicott.</p> + +<p>“He must have been some stepper, Lieutenant,” +Cassidy said, eyeing with interest one disappearing +pack of pink envelopes.</p> + +<p>“Quite a stepper, Cassidy.” . . . Where <em>could</em> she +hide? And why should she? . . .</p> + +<p>“Each one of them piles from some dame?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Cassidy—each one from some +dame.” . . . She wanted to get out of the house, one +could be pretty sure of that, and go to the hospital to +see Hollander. But how could she have got past the +men at the doors? She couldn’t. . . .</p> + +<p>“It certainly does beat hell what some guys +can get away with, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“But it never does beat hell, Cassidy.” . . . And +Hansen had been out around the backyards, even +supposing she had attempted anything so unbelievable +as to scale fences. That was absurd. . . .</p> + +<p>“It ain’t all a matter of looks, exactly—no, nor +money, either.” Cassidy’s glance toward the bed +was but half complimentary. “I’ve run with lads +that was one step this side of being human monkeys, +but could they pick them? I’ll say. They had sex +appeal. How about it, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly, Cassidy.” . . . As for the roof, it +was peaked and offered no passage to the roofs of +the adjoining houses. One couldn’t picture her, in +any case, scrambling over roofs any more than +one could believe that she would scramble over +fences. . . .</p> + +<p>“And the worst of it is with these bimbos that have +it, they ain’t ever satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“No one is ever satisfied, Cassidy.” . . . There +might be a way to the roof at that, from the attic . . . +attic . . .</p> + +<p>“Not ever with anything, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Not really ever with anything.” . . . Attic . . . +and that curious look that one had had to interpret +as exaltation. It couldn’t be possible, but +still—— “Stay right here, Cassidy!”</p> + +<p>Cassidy gave a nervous jump. The words were +sparks from flint striking steel. Lieutenant Valcour’s +sudden spurt of speed as he rushed toward the door +was surprising.</p> + +<p>A possible solution to Mrs. Endicott’s absence +had just come to him with rather horrible clearness.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch28"> + +<h2>Chapter XXVIII. <br> 6:00 a. m.—Mist Drifting Through Mist</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was out of the door in no +time and racing along the corridor up the stairs to +the floor above. Somewhere—somewhere was the +entrance to the stairs leading farther up to the attic. +Ah!—softly now, quietly, not to disturb or shock. +Thank God the treads were firm and didn’t creak. . . .</p> + +<p>There was a window in the attic, at the garden +end of its peak, not a large window, but big enough +to permit the cold white light of morning to illumine +the place grayly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott’s back was toward him, her face +toward that window, and the light from it blurred +softly about her silhouette of darkness. She had +upended the trunk she was standing on, and it had +placed her hands within convenient reach of the rafter +about which she had fastened one end of a short +rope. Its other end was coiled in a running noose +about her neck.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour measured the distance between +where he stood at the top of the stairs and the trunk. +He could never make it. Some board would creak. +And yet, if he cried out, or spoke, if he failed in the +proper choice of a word—in fact, the least thing that +startled her would destroy her almost calm stance +of fatalistic poise.</p> + +<p>He took a penknife from his pocket and, slitting +the laces of his shoes, removed them. Thank God +her back was toward him, and the window was there +with its square of light cut clearly in muffled +grays—its light with which she seemed to be holding some +private service of communion—that inevitable +farewell with earth indulged in by each wretched soul +before exchanging its conscious lonesomeness for the +obscure and problematic company of the damned. . . .</p> + +<p>He was very near her now, himself a mist drifting +softly through mist. . . .</p> + +<p>Whispering—whispering—he could hear her whispering—a +thin flow of meaning rather than of words, +sent from the grayness to that light beyond—sent +through a little measured casement out into the +immeasurable brilliance of eternity. Her hands were +resting easily by her side; her body relaxed more and +more peacefully in repose.</p> + +<p>“. . . and if you’re there, Tom darling, and Herbert, +too . . .”</p> + +<p>He could leap forward now and catch her if it were +necessary, but better be safe, quite safe.</p> + +<p>“. . . it won’t be heaven, dear. They have no room +for such as you and me in heaven. But when you +come——”</p> + +<p>His arms closed gently about her, and her body +seemed to stiffen into steel. She relaxed at once, and +then stared down at him incuriously. She removed +the noose from about her neck as casually as she +might have taken off a hat. He lifted her to the floor.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t any hurry,” she said.</p> + +<p>He knew that she was hinting definitely at the +future, when he and the law were finished with her +and she would be free to book her passage for eternity +again without supervision or restraint.</p> + +<p>“No hurry, Mrs. Endicott; nor any need, now.”</p> + +<p>The “now” dragged her sharply from the mists. +She stared at him with penetrating interest.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hollander,” he said, “will undoubtedly +recover.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>The word was clipped from some inner store of +ice.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t that alter the surface of things, Mrs. +Endicott—of your intention?”</p> + +<p>“Why should it, Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry that you choose to continue evasive.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not. It is you who see things, read things in +people that are never there.”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t true, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“What is there further that you wish to know?”</p> + +<p>There was no compromise, no yielding, and the +hardness in her voice was very definite. She looked +almost extravagantly capable, too, in the smart dark +dress she had put on. She was, Lieutenant Valcour +reflected, one of those rare women who always “look +their best” no matter what the time is or the situation; +who make a point of looking so even when quite +alone, and especially so, he added, when committing +suicide. But he was not deceived by her hardness. +There were invisible forces working within her, +still stirred into turmoil by that impressive emotional +ladder she must have so recently climbed in order +to arrive at the decision to take her own life. If he +were ever to understand this complex woman he felt +that he must do so now, while he and she stood where +they were in their private world—a tight little sphere +of shadows sifted with mists of sunlit dust—and +before they descended the attic stairs to the routined +environment of daily living. He decided to attempt +to lead her by certain matter-of-fact paths that would +end in quicksands.</p> + +<p>“Why did you have the address of Marge Myles in +your directory, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>She answered with the mechanical patience of an +elder explaining some academic problem to a child.</p> + +<p>“It was necessary to take her into account. As +I have already told you, she possessed a certain +standing—enough of a one to differentiate her from the +other women whom my husband picked up promiscuously—and +the time might have come when I felt it +advisable to get rid of her. Not murder—you’re too +intelligent to misunderstand me—there are several +ways one woman can get rid of another woman that +are just as effective.”</p> + +<p>“Which one did you employ, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t especially nice, but I wasn’t dealing with +a nice woman. I employed forgery.”</p> + +<p>This caught Lieutenant Valcour a little unprepared.</p> + +<p>“Forgery?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I added a postscript to a letter Harry Myles +had sent me before he married Marge. Harry never +dated his letters. This one was harmless enough, but +there was a reference in it to the camp he owned by +that lake up in Maine. The postscript that I added +changed the whole character of the letter. It made it +apparent that Harry very definitely feared Marge +was planning to murder him. I gave that letter to +Herbert about a month ago, when it seemed that +his interest in Marge was becoming dangerously +serious.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t he ask you why you hadn’t produced it +before?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I explained that I had just come across it +in an old letter file that hadn’t been gone through for +years. I asked him whether it was too late to do +anything about it—show the letter to some proper +authority, for instance. Of course I knew what he would +say.”</p> + +<p>“That it was too late?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But didn’t he also ask you why you hadn’t said +something about the letter at the time of Harry +Myles’s death?”</p> + +<p>“I pointed out that we were in Europe at that time +and didn’t hear the news until many months later, +when we got back. By then the letter had escaped +my mind.”</p> + +<p>“And did your action influence your husband’s +feeling toward Marge Myles?”</p> + +<p>“It was beginning to. Things like that work slowly; +they keep breeding in the mind until they become +effective.”</p> + +<p>She had missed, he decided, her century. When +the Medicis were in flower she, too, would have +bloomed her best.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Endicott, what was your real reason for +sending for the police last night?”</p> + +<p>“I can explain that better by accounting for my +movements between the time that Herbert knocked +on the door to say good-bye and you arrived. Will +that satisfy you?”</p> + +<p>“I hope so, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“I shan’t lie to you, Lieutenant. I shall tell you +the exact truth. Roberts was in the room with me, +fixing some disorder in my dress. I left the room +shortly after and started down the corridor for +the sitting room. Mrs. Siddons, my housekeeper—I +don’t know whether you’ve met her or not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“She was standing at the foot of the stairs leading +to the floor above. She said she had something to +tell me, and we went into the sitting room.”</p> + +<p>“That was just after seven o’clock?”</p> + +<p>“Five minutes—ten—yes. Mrs. Siddons brought +up the subject of a particularly despicable affair that +my husband was involved in with one of our maids +over a year ago. Shall I go into it?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t necessary, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“The maid was married. Her husband was a +sailor.” Mrs. Endicott paused for a moment, and +seemed to be sorting in her mind which facts she +cared to present and which, in spite of her recent +avowal of candour, she preferred to hold in reserve. +“You have probably noticed, Lieutenant, that Mrs. +Siddons is an abnormal woman. She is the most striking +example of the religious-fanatic type that I have +ever met. Her life is literally built upon the composite +foundation of faith and duty which she believes all +mankind owes to God. Her belief in direct punishment +visited by God on earthly sinners is a fixed idea. And +last night in my sitting room she told me that God +was going to strike my husband and that His +instrument would be the husband of that maid whom +Herbert had injured.”</p> + +<p>“But if that was an act which she so obviously +desired to see consummated, Mrs. Endicott, why +did she warn you—anybody—about it in advance?”</p> + +<p>“Religious fanatics, Lieutenant, scorn the idea +that human agency can interfere with the workings +of any divine plan. Things, for them, are ordained +and are supposed to happen just exactly as they are +ordained.”</p> + +<p>“But why did she warn you?”</p> + +<p>“She came to tell me about it, she said, in order +that I might be prepared for the shock. She has +always sympathized inordinately with me over what +she terms Herbert’s ungodly actions. I asked her, +naturally, to be more explicit, and I finally forced +the admission from her that she had seen, or else +believed that she had seen, the maid’s husband that +afternoon loitering about the street in front of the +house. She went upstairs, then, to her own quarters. +It seemed absurd.”</p> + +<p>“Then it began to prey upon you?”</p> + +<p>“Indirectly.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“In its possible relation to something else.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour became intuitive.</p> + +<p>“You are wondering now,” he said, “whether or +not you ought to tell me all about the tea.”</p> + +<p>“How did you establish the connection?”</p> + +<p>“Between your having tea with Mr. Hollander +yesterday afternoon and Mrs. Siddons’s story?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“It’s rather simple, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Is it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mrs. Endicott, I think it is. You won’t +deny, will you, that you very definitely impressed on +Mr. Hollander that your determination to ‘end it all’ +either by committing suicide or killing your husband +was sincere? Mr. Hollander <em>was</em> the confidant for +your secret confusions, sort of a proving ground for +reactions. I’ve already substantiated that theory, +both through Mr. Hollander himself and his friend.”</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t deny it.”</p> + +<p>“And you believed that he would do something to +prevent you from accomplishing your purpose.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I did.”</p> + +<p>“And in your naturally upset state of mind last +evening Mrs. Siddons’s curious prophecy concerning +the maid’s husband taking his revenge made more of +a genuine impression upon you than you cared to +admit. You were subconsciously afraid that something +<em>would</em> happen—that the sailor might really injure +or kill your husband, and that Mr. Hollander, +when the police investigated, would somehow become +involved. There was even a possibility that worshipping +you as he does, when he heard of your husband’s +murder he might give himself up to the police and +offer a false confession in order to shield you. It has +often been done, you know.”</p> + +<p>“You are right, Lieutenant. I did think exactly +that. The muddle of the whole thing began to drive +me crazy during dinner. I went down at seven-thirty +and ate nothing. I don’t think I stayed at the table +for more than five minutes. I went upstairs and into +Herbert’s room, looking for something. I really don’t +know what—unless it was for some sort of physical +confirmation of his aliveness by the things he owned. +Then I saw that note on his desk. I hadn’t the shred +of a nerve left by then, and the note genuinely +worried me. It was such a direct confirmation of Mrs. +Siddons’s story. I wasn’t exactly panicky, but I felt +as if things had got out of hand. I tried to reach Mr. +Hollander by telephone, but he wasn’t in his apartment. +I began to picture converging forces: himself—the +maid’s husband—and Herbert as a focal point. +I felt that something had to be done. Well, I +telephoned the police.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me about the maid and +her husband when I came, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t the sort of thing one would plunge into +directly.”</p> + +<p>“You would have told me in time, then?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“And why,” he asked quietly, “did you try to +direct my suspicions against Marge Myles when, in +view of your special knowledge, that maid’s husband +was the logical suspect? That’s a little inconsistent, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>She looked at him evenly.</p> + +<p>“Do you always do precisely the proper thing at +the proper moment?”</p> + +<p>“Rarely ever, Mrs. Endicott.”</p> + +<p>“Well, neither do I. I don’t think anybody does.”</p> + +<p>She adopted again that patient, explanatory precision +of the teacher. “A person’s actions or statements +during any moment of great strain are dominated +by that moment itself, rather than being any +sane reflection of logical and contributory causes. +At such times one clings to straws.”</p> + +<p>“Marge Myles was a straw?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott shrugged. “Herbert had gone, +as I supposed, to see her. I believed that whatever +happened to him would occur between this house and +her apartment, or at some moment during the evening +while they were together. I’m not claiming that +there was any sense to my beliefs. I wasn’t feeling +exactly sensible just then.”</p> + +<p>“And you would have been quite willing to have +Marge Myles blamed for anything that happened +rather than either the sailor or Mr. Hollander?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, quite.”</p> + +<p>It was very convincing—her willingness, that is. +As for her credibility, Lieutenant Valcour retained +reservations. He started along another divergence.</p> + +<p>“Why have you kept Roberts so long in your employ, +Mrs. Endicott, when you must have known how +deeply she hates you?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott smiled with frank amusement.</p> + +<p>“You’ve never kept a maid, have you, +Lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly.”</p> + +<p>“Then you can’t appreciate fully what I mean +when I say that Roberts is a good maid. What earthly +difference does it make whether she hates or loves +me? I’m hiring her services, not her emotions, and +her services are excellent. I’ve frequently wished that +someone in my successive chain of cooks would +develop a similar passion. There’s something so +binding about it.”</p> + +<p>He felt that she was escaping him again, that her +armour was swiftly undergoing repair. In the brightening +light her face shone clearer. She didn’t seem quite +such an enigma, after all. Nothing ever was, he +reflected, truly enigmatic in daytime. It was just a +tired face, wearied by any number of things other +than the lack of sleep.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would trust me, Mrs. Endicott,” +he said. “I’m not a bad sort, really, and I’m not +trying to trap you into admissions that would prove +injurious to yourself. There are still confusions that +have to be straightened out. I have been assured by +Mr. Hollander that you were devoted to your husband. +You personally imply that your interest in Mr. +Hollander is purely that of a friend, and yet you +address him in your notes as ‘Tom, darling.’ And there +isn’t any question but that he worships you. The +situation doesn’t fall under the heading of the eternal +triangle. It’s a hub, rather, from which radiate +several broken and uneven spokes.”</p> + +<p>“Broken spokes.” The phrase appealed to her +in a tragic sense inordinately out of keeping with its +flavour of triteness. But then—he had said so to her +before, ages ago—the trite things were the true +things. And that’s just what Tom and Herbert and +herself were. And the hub? Passion, she supposed, or +perhaps a composite illusion of all the various +derivatives of love.</p> + +<p>“It’s hard to resolve human feelings into the +simplicity of A B C’s,” she said. “I can’t just say I +loved Herbert because I was married to him and because +he was the first person I ever loved, or that no +matter how many other people there may be later +in my life I will always return to him in my heart, +just because he <em>was</em> the first person whom I loved, +and expect you to understand.” She brushed with +elementary strokes through fog in her effort to be +explicit. “I love Tom Hollander, too, just as much as +I loved Herbert. It isn’t nice, but it’s the truth. Love +isn’t a unit, a single emotion tightly wrapped up in +one word. It’s a hundred feelings and desires and +any number of little human hurts that are longing to +be made well again.” A certain bitterness crept into +her manner: a bitterness of revolt. “The whole +wretched business is too stylized. It’s quite all right +to love your father and your mother equally; in fact, +it’s held wrong not to—exactly fifty per cent. of +your parental love must go to each. Brotherly love +must also be reduced to proportionate fractions. The +love for one’s neighbours is presumably scattered into +legion. But if a woman announced that this otherwise +divisible quality is spent upon more than one +single man——”</p> + +<p>Her laughter wasn’t very pleasant to hear. Lieutenant +Valcour felt a little upset; there was something +disturbingly reasonable in her attitude. Was it +pure sophistry? Not really. There was a strong +element of fact and truth running through it all. It +was useless to parade before her the different <i>clichés</i> +of what any universal acceptance of her implied +philosophy would do to society. He imagined rather +accurately the treatment she would hand out to +them. And like most people who had got what they +wanted, he didn’t know even faintly what to do with +it. He couldn’t come out flatly and ask her if she was +planning to marry Hollander, and apart from the +insight it gave him into her character there hadn’t +been any special advancement toward a definite +solution of the problem of who <em>did</em> kill her husband, +and for what motive. Lieutenant Valcour began to +feel that it was he who had landed in the quicksands +rather than herself.</p> + +<p>“You have been very patient with me, Mrs. Endicott, +and very kind. To an extent I am beginning to +understand you. We have arrived again, but perhaps +with a surer footing this time, at our stumbling +block. Before we attack it, I wonder if you cannot +think of any reason why your husband should have +joined you up here in the attic when he found you +here yesterday afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott was still too drugged with abstracts +to attend very kindly to the mechanics of detailed +fact.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “it wasn’t to commit suicide. +That leaves your other nine tenths, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“You mean that he must have been just looking +for something?”</p> + +<p>“There’s hardly any other plausible explanation.”</p> + +<p>“But does he keep things up here?”</p> + +<p>“He may have. This is his trunk.”</p> + +<p>She moved off toward the window, disinterested +in anything further that he might care to do. A complete +lassitude drenched her, and she sunned it negligently +in the light sifting down through dusty panes.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour righted the upended trunk and +raised its lid. There were some papers lying loosely +in its upper tray. He studied them curiously until he +came across a certain one that caused him to draw +his breath in sharply. He folded the paper and put +it in his pocket. Then he closed the trunk. His +manner, as he approached Mrs. Endicott, was implacably +stern.</p> + +<p>“I want you to tell me,” he said, “just where +about this house you have hidden Marge Myles.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch29"> + +<h2>Chapter XXIX. <br> 6:30 a. m.—As Is Mirage</h2> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott stared sharply at Lieutenant +Valcour. She was suddenly tensely alert.</p> + +<p>“I think,” she said, “that you have gone mad.”</p> + +<p>“Do you still maintain the pretence that when +you were on the sill of your window and looking +toward your husband’s room you saw nobody on the +balcony?”</p> + +<p>“There is no reason why I should alter the truth.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be as patient with you, Mrs. Endicott, as +you have just been with me. Listen carefully to me, +please, and I will tell you why it is I believe Marge +Myles killed your husband, and why I think you +have given her sanctuary after the crime by +concealing her some place within this house.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve no alternative but to listen, Lieutenant. +But you are wrong—absurdly wrong.”</p> + +<p>“We will start with the initial premise, Mrs. +Endicott, that Marge <em>did</em> murder Harry Myles in that +canoe episode on the lake. I know that she has been +paying blackmail to her stepmother, Madame Velasquez, +for a long while, probably since the time of the +crime itself. Well, a woman of her type doesn’t pay +hush money easily; she makes very certain, first, that +the blackmailer really has the goods on her. Which +made it simple for your husband.”</p> + +<p>“Herbert? Are you suggesting the fantastic idea +that Herbert was trying to blackmail her?”</p> + +<p>“People are blackmailed into giving up more things +than money, Mrs. Endicott. I’m not suggesting that +your husband was after money, but I do suggest that +to further some abortive purpose Mr. Endicott held +the postscript forgery that you made over Marge +Myles’s head as a threat. I have just found that letter +in his trunk, and it is now in my pocket.”</p> + +<p>“Abortive purpose—— Don’t go on just for a +moment, please—I’m trying to make it fit.”</p> + +<p>“It’s something along the lines of cruelty that I’m +suggesting—some special cruelty.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. Herbert liked to see things squirm. He +was subconsciously sadistic.”</p> + +<p>“He probably drove her pretty far, because she +made up her mind to get that letter—he undoubtedly +greatly magnified its importance as evidence to +her—no matter at what risk to herself. I don’t really +believe that when she came here last night she had any +intention at all of actually killing your husband. +What she wanted was that letter. Did you let her +into the house, Mrs. Endicott?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott smiled a bit acidly and kept her lips +tightly compressed.</p> + +<p>“Because if you didn’t,” Lieutenant Valcour went +on, “she must have stolen a key from your husband. +At any rate, she was in the house here and searching +for the letter in Mr. Endicott’s room sometime +around seven last night. Mr. Endicott should have +been miles away up at her apartment, according to +appointment, and leaving her a clear field. She had +planned the whole thing out pretty carefully, because +she left a note for Madame Velasquez, who was due +to arrive at the apartment for a visit last night. +Marge implied in the note that it had been written +after seven when, as a matter of fact, it must have +been written considerably earlier and planted in the +apartment either as an alibi or as an explanation to +Mr. Endicott of her absence. It would certainly have +sent him hurrying off to the Colonial in search of her. +It wasn’t successful, of course, as he was undoubtedly +delayed because of the quarrel he had with you, and +was here in the house instead of up at her apartment +as she had expected he would be. Don’t you see that +it rather all fits in?”</p> + +<p>“Quite. But I still fail to understand what possible +connection it can have with me.”</p> + +<p>“It has every connection with you, Mrs. Endicott, +because unless we can prove that Marge Myles fired +the shot this morning that killed your husband it will +be unpleasantly necessary to establish the charge +against yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I am probably very stupid, Lieutenant, but it is +incomprehensible to me why I should shoot my +husband around two or three o’clock this morning +because Marge Myles was searching for a letter in his +room at seven last night.”</p> + +<p>“Consider the problem, please, as two separate +crimes and follow it through on that basis. At seven +o’clock last night we have Marge Myles searching +the pockets of your husband’s clothes in his cupboard. +He comes into the room, and she finds herself +trapped in the cupboard. He opens the door, and the +sudden terrifying sight of her gives him a heart attack. +She believes him dead and drags him into the cupboard +so that his body will not be found until she has +had a chance to escape. She hasn’t returned to her +apartment, you know, all night, so it’s quite possible +she has either taken flight or is in hiding some place +in the city.”</p> + +<p>“Then I can’t, as you have suggested, be hiding +her in the house.”</p> + +<p>It was Lieutenant Valcour who now assumed the +rôle of teacher, with Mrs. Endicott as his young +pupil.</p> + +<p>“Not under that supposition. But if she did escape +from the house at that time, what have we left? You +found the scrap of paper on which she herself wrote +a hinted threat in an effort to divert suspicion, and +the writing of which was inspired by the distraught +mental condition she must have been in. You called +the police, and we found Mr. Endicott. Your +suspicions jumped unerringly to the man who was +uppermost in your thoughts: Mr. Hollander. He, you said +to yourself, had done this thing to save you. +Consequently, when you learned that Mr. Endicott had +been revived and was expected to make a statement, +you shot him to prevent his accusing Mr. Hollander, +and you arranged your alibi with considerable +ingenuity by only pretending to have taken the +narcotic.”</p> + +<p>“It makes quite a case, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mrs. Endicott, quite a case.”</p> + +<p>“And the alternative? You did suggest that there +was an alternative.”</p> + +<p>“That Marge Myles has never left the house at +all. That she is still here. And this is what the +prosecuting attorney will offer to the jury: that with your +knowledge she got onto the balcony through one of +the windows in your room, shot Mr. Endicott, +returned to your room, and was hidden by you some +place around this house.”</p> + +<p>“All of which is unfortunately negatived, Lieutenant, +by the fact that it was my slipper you found +outside the window, and not hers.”</p> + +<p>“The prosecuting attorney can alter the action of +the scene to suit that, Mrs. Endicott. After Marge +Myles got onto the balcony you were terrified at the +thought of what you had become a party to. You +made an effort to recall her, when the shots were +fired and threw you into a panic. You dropped your +slipper and got back into the room.” Lieutenant +Valcour became quietly persuasive. “Which of my two +theories shall I believe? I can make you no promises, +Mrs. Endicott, because any confession that has been +given under an understanding that there will be an +amelioration of punishment loses value in court. But +I can suggest to you that if you choose to make things +easier for justice the act may prove beneficial for +yourself. There are more unwritten laws than the +common one so generally known.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott looked at him queerly.</p> + +<p>“You don’t worry me,” she said, “at all. Any +course that I might take can have but a common, a +desired ending. The method of achievement is utterly +inconsequential to me, as long as the ultimate result +remains the same.”</p> + +<p>She was mounted again, Lieutenant Valcour decided, +upon her hobby which carried her along indifferent +trails to death. The apparent strength of +her obsession rendered any further efforts on his part +futile. In the attic there was, for him, no longer +anything of mystery or the beauty of shrouded things. +It was an ugly, littered room peopled by a smartly +turned out beauty who, like a petulant and spoiled +child reaching for the moon, sought further mysteries +in that life which beckons from beyond life, and by a +tired, oldish fellow standing stupidly in his stockinged +feet away from his shoes.</p> + +<p>“Come downstairs with me, Mrs. Endicott,” he +said. “As soon as my men have thoroughly searched +this house you will be formally charged.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch30"> + +<h2>Chapter XXX. <br> 7:11 a. m.—The Criminal and Weapon of the Crime</h2> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour was once more in his shoes. +Even in their laceless condition they restored his +confidence in the relative fitness of things.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Endicott preceded him down two flights of +stairs and to the door of her husband’s room, which +Lieutenant Valcour opened. He looked inside and +saw Cassidy sound asleep, seated on the large +mahogany chest by the window. And he did not blame +Cassidy so much as he envied him.</p> + +<p>“Cassidy.”</p> + +<p>Cassidy’s sharp return to consciousness would have +reflected credit upon the hero of any Western drama.</p> + +<p>“Sir?”</p> + +<p>“Put your gun back, Cassidy.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lieutenant. I must have dropped off for a +cat nap.”</p> + +<p>“We can discuss that later. I want you to take +Mrs. Endicott down to the entrance hall with you +and leave her there in charge of O’Brian. She is under +arrest.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“After that, warn the men on the servants’ entrance +and garden door to keep on their toes. If anyone +tries to get past them on any pretext whatever +they are to stop him. Look up Hansen—he may still +be in the backyard—and then both of you come +back here. We will then search the house.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour went into Endicott’s room and +closed the door. It was getting to be a mechanical +action with him that caused him to go to the desk +and sit down. The perfumed sheet of notepaper, +which he had twice been prevented through interruptions +from reading, caught his attention at once. +He read the letter through.</p> + +<blockquote> + + <p>I don’t believe you [it began, without any preliminaries], and + right from the start I tell you I think you are a liar and a louse. + Harry never wrote your wife no such thing, and even if he did it + proves nothing anyway. Nobody can prove a <em>thing</em>. You think it + is funny to scare me and if you do it any more I am going to show + you just how damn funny it is. I am through with you just the + same way that your wife is through with you and you are a nasty + rat.</p> + + <p class="signature">Marge.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Not really, Lieutenant Valcour decided, an essentially +nice person. He folded the letter and put it in +his pocket to keep company with the postscript forged +by Mrs. Endicott. It would serve ably in establishing +a motive and help the prosecuting attorney to clinch +the case. Just as soon, he added unhappily, as he had +unearthed the criminal and the weapon of the crime. +That criminal, he repeated softly to himself, who +with her weapon was still at large about the house, +unless his theory of the case was basically wrong.</p> + +<p>And therein lay the danger, the source of that +curious presentiment of impending menace which +had gripped him at odd intervals throughout the +night. Strange that it should possess him most +strongly in this silent room. But wasn’t that just +the association of ideas? Endicott, dead on the bed +over there, and the path of that death-dealing bullet +cutting through that corner over by the other window. +He sought relief from a return of it by a mental +mopping up. It didn’t do to linger on +presentiments. . . .</p> + +<p>There were those few little side issues to think +about; issues that had puzzled him, but which did +not bear any direct reference to the main theme. +He felt that they were explainable without any +further personal investigation.</p> + +<p>It seemed obvious to him, for example, that the +reason why Mrs. Siddons had gone downstairs with +her bonnet on, when the sight of O’Brian by the front +door had turned her back, was a desire on her part +to get in touch with Maizie’s sailor husband and warn +him that the crime she thought he had committed +had been discovered and that the police were in the +house. She had told Mrs. Endicott that she believed +that she had seen him loitering about the street +during the afternoon. And Mrs. Siddons would never +have questioned her own ability to walk right out +and find him because, if it so desired, Providence +would have prearranged a suitable rendezvous.</p> + +<p>. . . They came from that corner, really: those +definitely significant waves of warning, as insistent as +the scent that had led him to find the letter from +Marge Myles in the desk. But they weren’t a scent, +nor were they anything so definite as a letter. They +were (the astonishing thought thrilled him +disagreeably) <em>Marge Myles</em>—her +personality—herself—inimical. . . . Nonsense, nonsense—the room was +empty. . . .</p> + +<p>He forced himself to think of the two little +bewilderments that had troubled him in connection with +the thoroughly bewildering Roberts. That pregnant +look she had given him—what had it really meant, +more or less, than an intense urge on her part to erase +any spell of fascination which Mrs. Endicott might +have cast upon him, and to plant in its place the seeds +of suspicion of Roberts’s own sowing. It had been +nothing more, really, than that.</p> + +<p>Now of greater inconsistency had been Roberts’s +suggestion of Hollander as the proper friend to stay +with Endicott; for Roberts assuredly had held a +fantastic passion for Endicott—fantastic in that there +was this abnormal interrelationship of his personality +with that of her war-killed brother—and she had just +as assuredly been convinced that a liaison existed +between Hollander and Endicott’s wife. There was +but one solution: Roberts had never observed +Hollander and Mrs. Endicott together, and she had +hoped, should morning bring a meeting, that under +the natural dramatic effect of the setting there might +be some betrayal. A look, perhaps, was all she wanted +to confirm her suspicions. And there could have been +in her mind no thought of any real danger to Endicott +from Hollander, for had there not been a nurse and +two policemen close by on guard? Then later, when +Endicott was well again, Roberts could have told +him the thing which she had seen.</p> + +<p>. . . Mental fingers, that’s what they were, +plucking at his nerves and forming dissonances that +chilled him queerly. He <em>wasn’t</em> alone—but he must +be—the room was empty. . . .</p> + +<p>He would think of that Mr. “Smith” who lived +with Hollander. Did he fit in—beyond one solid +thump on the head? Only as one of the myriad side +issues that cling like parasites to the trunk of each +major crime. One could suppose (with reasonable +assurance that the supposition would later prove to +be fact) that Hollander was in some genteelly illicit +profession such as bootlegging, and that Mr. Smith +drummed up Hollander’s customers for him among +the night clubs—incidentally relieving some of the +more foolish of them of their jewels. Mr. Smith might +well have believed, at that moment when Lieutenant +Valcour went to the telephone in their apartment, +that if Hollander’s goose was cooked his own might +be cooked, too, and a blackjack had then seemed the +simplest expedient that would insure his fading +swiftly out of the picture.</p> + +<p>. . . The room was empty—the room was empty. . . .</p> + +<p>As for the emotional jungle of warped and sunless +growths through which Endicott, his wife, Marge +Myles, and Hollander had all groped their +illusion-drugged way to this unhappy end—that lay beyond +the punishment or acquittal of earthbound law. The +proper tribunal for that must be found seated within +their separate souls. Lies—evasions—fetid depths . . .</p> + +<p>But <em>had</em> she lied?</p> + +<p>Had there truly been no one on the balcony, as +Mrs. Endicott had said?</p> + +<p>The shot had assuredly been fired from the direction +of that window above the large mahogany chest.</p> + +<p>Above?</p> + +<p>Presentiments were banished before the lash of +fact. The lid of that chest was <em>not quite closed</em>. And +the object that was holding it open, for the space of +perhaps a half of an inch, was the small black muzzle +of a gun.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour’s hand moved indolently toward +the upper left pocket of his vest, in which there +rested a flat, efficient little automatic of small calibre. +He knew what had happened—that owing to his +stillness for the last five minutes the murderer had +thought the room was empty and was attempting to +escape. His hand moved more quickly, but not +quickly enough. The lid opened wider—eyes—a face—a +little shock of alarm, of terror—all ever so much +more quickly accomplished than told. The lid +slammed up.</p> + +<p>“Quit it, Lieutenant, and put your hands down flat +on the top of that desk.”</p> + +<p>“You’re Marge Myles, of course,” he said.</p> + +<p>He flattened his hands on the desk’s mahogany +surface and stared curiously at her sultry beauty as +she sat on the rim of the open chest. Flamboyant, +that’s what she was, and terribly bizarre from the +effect of a shingled ripple of bleached blonde hair +above her Spanish night-filled eyes.</p> + +<p>“You have put yourself in my way, Lieutenant”—her +voice was as disagreeable as the clash of dishes +in a cheap restaurant—“and I am going to kill you +and escape.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” Lieutenant Valcour said politely, “that +you believe in threes.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Your husband, Mrs. Endicott’s husband, and +now myself. One—two—three. For the sake of +symmetry it is a pity that I am a bachelor.”</p> + +<p>She enjoyed for a full moment of silence—luxuriated +in it, really—the sense of power which she held +over this man. She had always enjoyed the power +exerted by her body, and it was refreshing to drink +quietly for a while of this different sort of power, +which, through the medium of the pistol held +unwaveringly in her hand, controlled the services of +life and death. She would shoot him soon. . . .</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Valcour hoped that Hansen would not +blunder.</p> + +<p>He could see Hansen quite clearly now, all but +pressed against the outside of the window just behind +Marge Myles. So Hansen, he reflected, had found that +there <em>was</em> a way to climb up onto the balcony from the +garden down below. What a handy thing it was, at +times, to have been a sailor. Lieutenant Valcour +fervently hoped that—the usefulness of the rule +having been accomplished—Hansen would promptly +stop being a sailor and become a policeman. He +couldn’t, and didn’t, expect that Hansen would shoot +a woman down in cold blood, nor would Hansen +dare to startle her by throwing open the window or +crashing through its glass. Could Hansen shoot +through the glass and knock the pistol from her hand? +Maybe once, Lieutenant Valcour thought unhappily, +out of every twenty times. And she certainly wouldn’t +refrain from pulling the trigger while Hansen +practised twenty times.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” he said, “how you ever managed to +breathe inside of that chest.”</p> + +<p>“The back of it is broken.” The casualness of the +question had startled her into an answer.</p> + +<p>“Your own back must be pretty well broken, too.” +Was Hansen, the idiot, going to smash the glass after +all with the butt of his gun? Hansen was staring very +intently at him, seeking advice. He all but imperceptibly +shook his head in negation. “And what did you +have in the paper bag you carried when you came here +and from which you tore that scrap of paper upon +which you wrote the misleading note?”</p> + +<p>“This gun.”</p> + +<p>“You carried the gun in a paper bag?”</p> + +<p>“I was smart, was I not? Who would think that in +a cheap paper bag there was a gun?”</p> + +<p>“Not even a disciple of the fourth dimension.” +Hansen was aiming now at her wrist. It was absurd—he +faintly shook his head again. No—no! “How did +it happen that Mr. Endicott had his overcoat on but +you had his hat?”</p> + +<p>“I wear it for a better disguise. I have the dust on +my face—there is the hat—it fits well over my cloche. +The effect is astonishing.”</p> + +<p>“I see, and so when Endicott came back into the +room to get it he couldn’t find it and thought he must +have left it in the cupboard?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—yes—you are a smart man, too.”</p> + +<p>“And you entered the house with a duplicate key +which you had had made from one of Endicott’s?”</p> + +<p>“Dear heaven, yes—how else?”</p> + +<p>It did not please her that her climax should come at +a commonplace moment, when inconsequential questions +were being asked and equally inconsequential +answers being given. It was not bravura: the man +was genuinely unafraid. And she wanted him to be +afraid. One shouldn’t just dribble from the world: +there should be a blaze, a scene.</p> + +<p>Then Hansen rapped, quite gently, upon the panes.</p> + +<p>Inspiration? Genius? Perhaps. Lieutenant Valcour’s +Gallic blood swept back to the nation of its +source and he could have kissed that dear, that +brilliant Hansen upon both of his ruddy, his intelligent, +his Nordic cheeks.</p> + +<p>She whirled as if something had flicked her. Blue +serge—brass buttons—a glinting shield. She pulled +the trigger.</p> + +<p>But the muzzle of the gun was in her mouth.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch31"> + +<h2>Chapter XXXI. <br> 8:37 p. m.—Five Years Later</h2> + +<p>Mrs. Hollander thought for a moment of simply +dialling the operator and saying, “I want a +policeman.”</p> + +<p>It was what the printed notices in the telephone +directory urged one to do in case of an emergency. +But it wasn’t an emergency exactly, nor—still +exactly—was it a policeman she wanted. She wanted a +detective, or an inspector, or something; a man to +whom she could explain her worry about Thomas, +and who could do something about it if he agreed with +her that Thomas was in danger.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hollander wanted most of all a man like +Lieutenant Valcour, who had so ably handled that +wretched affair five years ago when she had been +married to Herbert and Herbert had been shot. She +wondered whether Lieutenant Valcour was still on +the force, and decided to find out. She dialled Spring +3100. She grew nervous while waiting.</p> + +<p>“This is Mrs. Thomas Hollander speaking,” she +said, when the same type of impersonal, efficient +voice answered her as had been the one five years +before. “I am ’phoning to inquire whether a Lieutenant +Valcour is still connected with the police force. . . . +I beg your pardon? Oh.” She gave the address +of her apartment house on Park Avenue.</p> + +<p>“This is Mrs. Thomas Hollander speaking,” +she began again upon a second voice saying, “Hello!” +“and I am trying to get in touch with a Lieutenant +Valcour who—— I beg your pardon? . . . You <em>are</em> +Lieutenant Valcour—Inspector, is it? But how +perfectly efficient! I am worried, Inspector, about Mr. +Hollander, and I wonder whether it would be possible +for you to come up and talk it over with me. . . . No, +he hasn’t disappeared. I know exactly where he has +gone, but I have reason to believe that something +might happen to him. . . . Yes, I am the Mrs. +Hollander who was formerly Mrs. Herbert Endicott. . . . +Yes, that dreadful affair. . . . Oh, you will? Thank +you so much.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Valcour smiled a curiously satisfied little +smile all to himself as he sat in a department +limousine, chauffeured by a department driver, and sped +smoothly north along Lafayette Street on the way to +Mrs. Hollander’s address on Park Avenue.</p> + +<p>And he thought of many things.</p> + +<p>He thought of Marge Myles and of Herbert Endicott, +who were dead; and of Madame Velasquez who, +too, had died.</p> + +<p>He thought of Mrs. Siddons, returned to her native +New England hills, sinking her body and her being +into their granite harshnesses and drawing amazing +sustenance from them, as a flower will that grows in +the imperceptible fissure of some solid rock.</p> + +<p>He thought of Roberts whom he had never seen +again and of whom he had never again heard, after +the violation of the Sullivan Law had been charged +against her, and her sentence suspended. She had +gone back to England, probably, to lapse into a +proper background for her neurotic broodings.</p> + +<p>And that partner of Hollander’s—the Southernistic +Mr. Smith. He had faded entirely, never to return; +nor was the fact of any consequence at all. He had +been at best a side issue too unimportant for further +bother.</p> + +<p>But most of all he thought of Mrs. Endicott, who +was now Mrs. Hollander.</p> + +<p>The annals of history and the annals of crime were +fringed with women just like her: beautiful, +astonishing women, who revolved with their uncertainties +like satellites about the world of normal beings, trailing +their baleful, striking brilliance like an impalpable +poisonous gas across the surface of every person +whom they plucked and tortured within the intricate +enigma of their hearts. The law never could touch +her—nor could a person, either. She would escape. +She would always escape, with the subtlety of +mercury slipping between impotent fingers.</p> + +<p>For she <em>had</em> escaped.</p> + +<p>There wasn’t any doubt in his mind about that. +She had been the focal point five years ago in that +Endicott case, no matter what the law or men might +say. Her forgery of that postscript had had a deeper, +a more deliberate intention than the mere breaking up +of any affair between her husband and Marge Myles: +it was to have been a breaking up of all of his affairs. +Of him.</p> + +<p>She was the true murderer of her husband, and +not Marge Myles. She had simply spread the powder +train to a suitably lethal explosive and had then +applied the match. The movements of the others had +been nothing more than gyrations performed by +stringed puppets. And she had held the strings. Some +of her puppets had died, committed suicide, and been +killed. And it didn’t matter in the least. The world +was ageless, she herself was ageless, and plenty of +puppets grew perennially every spring.</p> + +<p>Inspector Valcour wondered, as he descended to +the curb and prepared to enter the lift to her +apartment, whether Thomas had become a puppet, too.</p> + +<p class="finis">The End</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="transcriber"> + +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>This transcription is made from the text of the 1929 edition +published by Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc. However, the +following errors have been corrected from the original text:</p> + +<ul> + <li>“stubborness” was changed to “stubbornness” (Chapter I).</li> + <li>“It’s contents” was changed to “Its contents” (Chapter I).</li> + <li>“pressent” was changed to “present” (Chapter IX).</li> + <li>“telehone” was changed to “telephone” (Chapter XI).</li> + <li>“occasionallly” was changed to “occasionally” (Chapter XXIV).</li> + <li>“Endicoott” was changed to “Endicott” (Chapter XXVI).</li> + <li>“and than had” was changed to “and then had” (Chapter XXVI).</li> + <li>“chauffered” was changed to “chauffeured” (Chapter XXXI).</li> +</ul> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75500 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75500-h/images/cover.jpg b/75500-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..099d070 --- /dev/null +++ b/75500-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75500-h/images/scrap.png b/75500-h/images/scrap.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..16d2a4d --- /dev/null +++ b/75500-h/images/scrap.png diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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