A Chain of Evidence

  XXIV

  THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE

  Laura greeted us cordially; and Miss Pembroke, with a politeness which,though slightly constrained, was quiet and non-committal. But, as I hadhoped, Fleming Stone's winning manner and charming conversationalability seemed to make Janet forget her aversion to detectives. At theluncheon table various subjects were touched upon, but it was not longbefore we drifted into a discussion of the theme uppermost in all ourminds. I could see that although Fleming Stone was apparently talking ina casual way, he was closely studying Janet's face as he talked.

  I noticed that when any reference was made to George Lawrence, Janetseemed perturbed, and, although Mr. Stone said flatly that George couldnot have entered when the door was chained, this did not seem to lessenJanet's concern. But when Stone referred to George's perfect alibi,Janet looked relieved, as if freed from a great fear.

  It was entirely due to Fleming Stone's tact that the conversation waskept at a light and airy level. I was intensely conscious of a growingportent of evil. A cloak of gloom seemed to be settling around me, andit was only with the utmost effort that I could control my nervousapprehensions. What was going to happen, I did not know, but I feltintuitively that a climax was fast approaching, and at last I foundmyself sacrificing all other sympathies to the hope that Janet might bespared.

  I could see that Laura was equally agitated, although she too wasoutwardly calm. Janet, as always, was a puzzle. She seemed alternatelydepressed or gladdened in proportion as the drift of suspicion seemeddirected toward or away from her cousin George.

  In a word, Fleming Stone's personality dominated us all. We were but asstrings of an instrument upon which he played, and we respondedinvoluntarily to his impulses or at his will.

  Into this surcharged atmosphere came another element with the entranceof George Lawrence. He looked handsome and debonair as usual, andinformally begged of Mrs. Mulford permission to share our after-dinnercoffee.

  "We're glad to have you," said Laura, in her affable way, "and, as wehave finished luncheon, we will have our coffee in the library, where wecan be more comfortable."

  Although Lawrence seemed perfectly at ease, and unconscious of anyreason to fear Fleming Stone's investigations, I couldn't help feelingthat his air of ease was assumed. It was not so much any signs ofnervousness or sensitiveness about him, as it was the pronounced absenceof these. It seemed to me that he was playing a part of straightforwardfearlessness, but was slightly overdoing it.

  Fleming Stone talked to Lawrence casually, referring once to his perfectalibi. George remarked that though he had no fear of suspicion fallingin his direction, it gave him a feeling of satisfaction to know that hecould satisfactorily account for his whereabouts at the time the murderwas committed.

  "And now," said Mr. Stone, after the coffee service had been removed, "Ithink I will make my examination of the apartment opposite. It is notprobable that I will discover anything in the nature of a clue, but as adetective I certainly must examine the scene of the crime. I wouldprefer to go alone, if you will give a key. I will rejoin you here aftermy search."

  Janet gave Mr. Stone her key, and without further word he crossed thehall alone to what had been the Pembrokes' apartment.

  After Fleming Stone's departure a strange chill fell on the mentalatmosphere of our little party. George Lawrence seemed to lose hiscareless air, and a grayish pallor settled on his face, notwithstandinghis apparent effort to appear as usual. Janet watched her cousinclosely, and she herself seemed on the verge of nervous collapse. Laura,like the blessed woman she is, strove bravely to keep up, but I saw thatshe too felt that the end was near. As for myself, remembering FlemingStone's promise, I seemed to be possessed, to the exclusion of all else,of a great fear for Janet.

  It could not have been more than ten minutes, if as much as that, beforeFleming Stone returned.

  As he entered our library he seemed to have lost his professionalaspect, and I thought I had never seen a sadder or more sympatheticexpression than I read in his eyes.

  "Mr. Lawrence," he said, without preamble, "it is my duty to arrest youfor the murder of your uncle, Robert Pembroke."

  For a moment there was no sound, and then, with a pathetic,heart-breaking little cry, Janet said: "Oh, I hoped so that it wasn't_you_!"

  To my surprise, Lawrence tried to deny it. Guilt seemed to me to bewritten in every line of his face, yet, with a palpable effort, heassumed an air of bravado and said: "I told you I might be accused, butI can prove a perfect alibi."

  "Mr. Lawrence," said Fleming Stone, more sternly than he had yet spoken,"you have over-reached yourself. That very phrase, 'I can prove aperfect alibi,' gave me the first hint that your alibi was amanufactured one. An innocent man can rarely prove a perfect alibi. Notone man in a hundred can give accurate account to the minute of hisgoings and comings. Your alibi is _too perfect_; its very perfection isits flaw. Again, the idea of _proving an alibi_, or, rather, the idea ofusing that phrase, would not occur to an honest man. He would know thatcircumstances must prove his alibi. It was that which proved to me thatMr. Leroy and Mr. Gresham were innocent. I am informed that Mr. Leroyrefused to tell exactly where he was at the time this crime wascommitted. Had he been guilty he would have had a previously preparedand perfectly plausible alibi. Then Mr. Gresham said frankly that hedidn't know where he was at the particular hour about which Mr. Landonquestioned him. Had he been the criminal, and left his handkerchiefbehind him by way of evidence, he, too, would have prearranged a storyto tell glibly of his whereabouts. No, a perfect alibi should ordinarilylead to grave suspicion of the man making it, for it is ordinarily aconcocted fiction. Again, it would have been a strange coincidence hadyour watch happened to run down, which you admit is a most unusualcircumstance, at the only time in your whole life when you had a reasonfor its doing so. Your watch did _not_ run down; you pretended that itdid so as to get an opportunity to fix the time--the _apparent_ time--inthe mind of the hall boy at your apartment. This is what you did: Youreturned to your apartment much later than 11.25. In the absence of theboy, probably while he was up with the elevator, you stepped in andchanged the time on the office clock. You went out again, and after amoment came in as if just reaching home. You then asked the boy thetime, and he told you, although he had supposed it to be much later.Again you overdid your work when, while going up in the elevator, youasked the boy again, as if to make sure of the time, but really to fixit firmly in his mind, that he might witness for you. Some time later,during the night, you probably slipped down-stairs, eluding theelevator, and corrected the clock. All this is corroborated by the factof your calling Miss Waring's attention to the time when you left herhouse. You carefully brought to her notice that it was then exactlyeleven o'clock, which it was."

  George Lawrence sat as if petrified; for the moment I think he wasreally more amazed at Fleming Stone's marvellous discoveries thanalarmed at his own danger. He did not attempt to deny what Stone hadsaid; indeed, he could not, for under the peculiar magnetism of thespeaker's gaze Lawrence seemed hypnotized, and his silence had tacitlyaffirmed each point as it was brought out against him.

  Suddenly he drew himself together with a bold shrug, as if preparing fora last desperate effort.

  "Your deductions are true in part," he said. "I did change the clock, asyou so diabolically discovered, and I suppose I did overdo matters whenI accounted for every minute too carefully. But, though it was amanufactured alibi, and though I had reasons of my own for wanting toaccount for my movements that night, it has nothing to do with RobertPembroke's death, and couldn't have had; for, as you all know, though Ihave a latch-key, the door was chained all night."

  "Leaving that question, for a moment," said Fleming Stone, "let usconsider these clues, which though apparently leading in variousdirections, point, Mr. Lawrence, directly and indubitably to yourself.When I was told by Mr. Landon of the several clues picked up in Mr.Pembroke's bedroom, the morning after his murder, I was impressed atonce by their number and vari
ety. It was extraordinary to find so manyobjects, unrecognized by any member of the household, in the murderedman's bedroom. Then, when I learned that some of these had been traced,and each so-called clue led to a different suspect, I saw at once thatthe situation was prearranged. The various clues were placed where theywere found, exactly as a mine is 'salted' in expectation of prospectors.You, Mr. Lawrence, deliberately and with intent to throw suspicion invarious directions, and thus baffle detectives,--you placed this key,this handkerchief, this time-table, and these torn tickets in the roomwhere they were found. All this shows not only cleverness and ingenuity,but carefully prearranged plans. Where you obtained those precious'clues,' I do not know, but at a guess I should venture to say that youpicked up the ticket stubs in the street, as they show evidences ofpavement dirt. The time-table has a distinct imprint of the roughenedsurface of the steel stair-binding. I think that as you came up thestairs, intent upon your deadly errand, you chanced to find thattime-table, and left it behind you as one more distracting piece ofevidence. But these details are of no importance. You salted the minesuccessfully, and by the diversity of your clues you led the honestefforts of the detectives in devious paths. But, after all, the missingmoney and the pin, used as a weapon, are the real clues. We have tracedthe pin,--to you. We have traced the money,--to you. We have eliminatedall possible suspicion of anyone else, and if you have anything to sayby way of defense, or in any way concerning the matter, you may speaknow."

  "I have only to say," said Lawrence, "that you have exhibited amarvelous ingenuity in building up this fabrication of falsehoods, butyour whole structure falls to the ground in face of the positiveevidence of the chain on the door. For though I have a latch key to theapartment, entrance is impossible when the chain bolt is on."

  "Oh," cried Janet, with a wail as of utter despair. "If your alibi isbroken, George, then _I_ know how you got in that door!"

  It was my turn to feel despair. Since the alibi was broken, Janet waspractically confessing her complicity in the matter.

  "What do you mean, Janet?" said George sharply. "I couldn't get inunless you had let me in, and you _didn't_."

  "No," said Janet quietly; "I didn't. Nor did Charlotte. But I know howyou got in--at least, how you could have got in."

  "I, too, know how you got into the apartment," said Fleming Stone; "andit was without the assistance, and without the knowledge, of eitherMiss Pembroke or her servant."

  Again that wonderful gaze of Fleming Stone's sad, serious eyes seemed tocompel Lawrence to speak against his will.

  "How did I get in?" he said hoarsely, bending forward as with thebreathless suspense of a man taking his last chance.

  "It is not an easy matter to explain," said Fleming Stone, "nor can Ishow the method in this apartment; but if you will all come with meacross the hall, I will demonstrate to you the possibility of entering achained door."

  Without a word, we all crossed the hall and entered the Pembrokeapartment. It was a cheerful, sunny suite of rooms, and its beautifulfurniture and appointments seemed meant for a happy home life ratherthan grim tragedy. Fleming Stone went first, followed by Laura andGeorge Lawrence. I followed with Janet, and, emboldened by her look ofpathetic appeal, I clasped her hand in mine. When we were all insideFleming Stone closed the door, the night-latch of which, of course,snapped itself.

  Lawrence still acted as one hypnotized. Seemingly with no volition ofhis own, he followed Fleming Stone's movements, keeping his eyes fixedupon the detective as if literally unable to look elsewhere.

  After closing the door, Fleming Stone put on the night-chain. For thefirst time I looked at the chain carefully. It was a heavy brass chain,long enough, when the door was closed, for the end, on which was a sortof knob or button, to reach back to the opening provided for it, andthen slide along the brass slot until it stopped at the other end andhung in a loop. It seemed to me no different from dozens of chains I hadseen of the same sort.

  When it hung finally in position, Fleming Stone turned the knob andopened the door with a jerk, precisely as Charlotte had done on thatmemorable morning.

  "Is it not true," asked Mr. Stone, "that this door, with the chain onthus, has often been violently jerked open?"

  "Yes," said Janet; "Charlotte is very strong, and always pulls the dooropen sharply, forgetting the chain is there. And, too, Uncle Robert hasoften done the same thing, and his motions were always so vigorous thatI thought sometimes he would break the chain."

  "There was no danger of breaking the chain," said Mr. Stone; "but therepeated jerks at it have so forced the end of the slot nearest the edgeof the door, that the brass is sprung outward, and the knob on the endof the chain may be removed--not as easily as it can be at the otherend, it is true, but with some ingenious handling."

  As he spoke, Fleming Stone, by some clever exertion, so twisted the knobon the end of the chain that it came out of the near end of the slot,with no necessity of pushing it back to the other end. I saw at oncethat this could be done also from the outside of the door, there beingample room when the door was ajar to slip one's hand in and free thechain in this manner.

  At this demonstration of an actual fact, Fleming Stone did not look atGeorge Lawrence, but at Miss Pembroke.

  "You knew of this?" he said.

  "I feared it," replied Janet, and I think she would not have spoken butfor those impelling eyes upon her. "I remember George was out oneevening when he was living here, and I thoughtlessly put the chain onthe door and went to bed. The next morning, when I found that he had lethimself in in some way, I wondered at it, but concluded that I must havebeen mistaken, and had _not_ put the chain on. But I had noticed myselfthat the slot was sprung at this end, and I had been thinking that Iwould get a new and heavier chain bolt."

  My first thought was that Janet's puzzling demeanor was now explained,and I understood why she had so readily accepted my services. She hadsuspected George from the first, because she knew that with hislatch-key and the defective chain-lock he could make his entrance. Buthis perfect alibi had deceived her, and relieved her fear, so that shewas glad or sad according as his alibi was sustained or doubted. Janet'sevidence, of course, left no doubt as to George's guilt.

  He saw this himself, and, seemingly at the end of his resources, heexclaimed: "It's no use. I may as well confess. I did kill Uncle Robert,but it was not premeditated, or, at least, not until a few momentsbefore the deed. I want to make my confession to my cousin. I owe it tono one else."

  But although Lawrence said this, he never once moved his eyes fromFleming Stone's face, and seemed really to make his confession to him.

  "It was a violet pin I used, not a hat-pin. I--I had it, by accident, inmy coat lapel all Wednesday afternoon at the matinee. On account ofdisastrous losses in Wall Street that morning, I had determined to killmyself. I'm not of much account, any way, and I was desperate. I knewUncle Robert would give me no money to repay my stock losses, for healways thought speculation no better than any other sort ofgambling--and it isn't. As I sat in the theatre, unconsciously myfingers trifled with the pin, and I conceived a notion of using that totake my own life, instead of a revolver. I went home to dress fordinner, and, still having the pin in my mind, I transferred it from myfrock coat to my evening coat. As I stood looking at it while in myroom, it occurred to me that were it not for the head of the pin I mightpush it into my flesh so far as to hide it. It would then be assumed, Ithought, that I had died a natural death, and both the family and mymemory would be saved the stigma of suicide. Acting on this thought, Ilaid the pin on the hearthstone and crushed off its glass head with myheel. Without definite intention as to when or where I should carry outmy plan, I put the pin in my coat and went on to Miss Waring's dinner.It was as I sat at the dinner table, and looked around at other men ofmy own age and class, that I suddenly realized I did not want to give upa life which held promise of many years of pleasure, could I but tideover my financial troubles. I knew, too, that at Uncle Robert's death Ishould inherit enough to make
good my losses, and an ample fortunebesides. It was then, I think, that the thought came to me, why shouldnot Uncle Robert die instead of myself? He was old, he had no joy inlife, he made my cousin's life a burden to her, and his death would freeus both from his tyranny. I'm not saying this by way of excuse orpalliation, but simply to tell you how it occurred. Like a flash Irealized that if my own death by means of the headless pin might beattributed to natural causes, the same would be true of Uncle Robert'sdeath. I knew I could get into the apartment in the same way I had donebefore, and I knew, too, that as the chain slot was even more pulled outof shape now than it was then, I could with some manipulation replacethe chain before closing the door. I think I need not say that I had nothought of implicating my cousin, for I had no thought of the pin beingdiscovered. The idea obsessed me. The deed seemed inevitable. My brainwas especially active, and planned the details with almost superhumaningenuity. I left Miss Waring's at eleven o'clock, calling her attentionto the fact purposely. I walked over here rather slowly, planning as Iwalked. I resolved, as Mr. Stone has remarked, to leave a misleadingclue or two behind me. I searched the pavement as I walked, forsomething that would answer my purpose, and was surprised to see howlittle may be gleaned along a New York street. I found the two ticketstubs, evidently thrown away by someone, and put them in my pocket. Nearhere, less than two blocks away, I saw a shining object on the sidewalk,and picked up a key, which I was more than surprised to have traced toMr. Leroy. I suppose he dropped it when he was hanging around here,beneath my cousin's window, on his way to the midnight train. I thencame on to this house, and, after loitering about a minute in thestreet, I saw the elevator begin to rise. The main front door is alwaysopen, and I came in and walked up-stairs. It is easy to evade theelevator, even if it passes. On the stairs I found the time-table. Andthen I came----"

  Lawrence stopped. Even his hardy bravado and indomitable will gave waybefore the picture that now came into his mind. His swaggering narrativeceased. His eyes fell, his mouth drooped, and he seemed on the verge ofcollapse.

  Fleming Stone's quiet, even voice broke the silence. "And thehandkerchief?" he said.

  "It came in my laundry, by mistake," answered Lawrence, and he spokelike an automaton, his intelligence seeming to hang on the will ofFleming Stone.

  "You brought it with you on purpose?"

  "No; not that. When I left home my plans were entirely different, as Ihave told you. But I picked up the handkerchief hastily, and thoughnoticing it was not my own, I thrust it into my pocket without thinkingmuch about it."

  "And then when you wanted evidence to incriminate some one other thanyourself, you thought of those unknown initials, and flung thehandkerchief on the bed."

  "Yes," said Lawrence, still as if hypnotized by Stone's compellingglance.

  "And afterwards----?"

  "Afterwards--afterwards--I went out and got down-stairs the same way,having waited until the elevator was on the floor above. I felt like aman in a dream, but I knew that now I _must_ establish my alibi. This Idid exactly as Mr. Stone has described. I took great chances intampering with the office clock, but I knew the boy to be of a stupid,dull-witted type, and, too, he was always half asleep during nighthours. Again I watched my chance to elude the elevator, and slippeddown-stairs later to set the clock right again. I suppose I overdid itin asking the boy the time twice, and also in drawing attention to theclock when it struck eleven."

  "That is so," said Fleming Stone. "A perfect alibi is not possibleunless it is a true one, and then it proves itself without any effort ofanybody."

  * * * * *

  But all this happened many years ago. It is indeed a painful memory, buttime has blended away its poignancy. George Lawrence was arrested, butfound the means to take his own life before his trial could be begun.Janet being left with a large fortune, went abroad at once and Lauraaccompanied her. The two became close friends, and when, some monthslater, I joined them in Italy, the course of true love began to runsmoothly, and has continued to do so ever since.

  Nor has it been difficult to understand Janet. For all queerness andcontradictoriness disappeared after the mystery was solved. It was allbecause she suspected her cousin that she had endeavored to suppress anyevidence that might throw suspicion toward him. He had asked her to getmoney for him from Robert Pembroke. She had asked her uncle for this,and he had told her that if she'd marry Leroy, he would give her notonly the money she asked for, but much more. Knowing, as she did, of thedefective bolt, she knew there was grave reason to suspect George bothof murder and robbery. But once convinced of his alibi, she hoped theguilt might be placed elsewhere.

  Also, of course, the life she led with her erratic and ill-tempereduncle affected her spirits, and made her lose temporarily the joyful andhappy disposition that was really her own, and that was permanentlyrestored after new scenes and new friends had caused her to forget thedreadful past.

  Janet has been my wife for many years now, and, though we live in NewYork, our home is far removed from the Hammersleigh; and though our dooris securely locked, we have never had it guarded by what was to FlemingStone A CHAIN OF EVIDENCE.