CHAPTER XII
MY COMMISSION
When I came to, I was lying in darkness, and the stillness was absolute.When I tried to move, I found I was practically a prisoner: I had falleninto an air shaft, or something of the kind. I could not move my arms,where they were pinioned to my sides, and I was half-lying,half-crouching, in a semi-vertical position. I worked one arm loose andmanaged to make out that my prison was probably the dumb-waiter shaft tothe basement kitchen.
I had landed on top of the slide, and I seemed to be tied in a knot. Therevolver was under me, and if it had exploded during the fall it haddone no damage. I can hardly imagine a more unpleasant position. If theman I had been following had so chosen, he could have made away with mein any one of a dozen unpleasant ways--he could have filled me as fullof holes as a sieve, or scalded me, or done anything, pretty much, thathe chose. But nothing happened. The house was impressively quiet.
I had fallen feet first, evidently, and then crumpled up unconscious,for one of my ankles was throbbing. It was some time before I couldstand erect, and even by reaching, I could not touch the doorway aboveme. It must have taken five minutes for my confused senses to rememberthe wire cable, and to tug at it. I was a heavy load for the slide,accustomed to nothing weightier than political dinners, but with muchcreaking I got myself at last to the floor above, and stepped out, stillinto darkness, but free.
I still held the revolver, and I lighted the whole lower floor. But Ifound nothing in the dining-room or the pantry. Everything was lockedand in good order. A small alcove off the library came next; it wasundisturbed, but a tabouret lay on its side, and a half dozen books hadbeen taken from a low book-case, and lay heaped on a chair. In thelibrary, however, everything was confusion. Desk drawers stood open--oneof the linen shades had been pulled partly off its roller, a chair hadbeen drawn up to the long mahogany table in the center of the room, withthe electric dome overhead, and everywhere, on chairs, over the floor,heaped in stacks on the table, were papers.
After searching the lower floor, and finding everything securely locked,I went up-stairs, convinced the intruder was still in the house. I madea systematic search of every room, looking into closets and under beds.Several times I had an impression, as I turned a corner, that some onewas just ahead of me, but I was always disappointed. I gave up at last,and, going down to the library, made myself as comfortable as I could,and waited for morning.
I heard Bella coming down the stairs, after seven sometime; she cameslowly, with flagging footsteps, as if the slightest sound would sendher scurrying to the upper regions again. A little later I heard herrattling the range in the basement kitchen, and I went up-stairs anddressed.
I was too tired to have a theory about the night visitor; in fact, fromthat time on, I tried to have no theories of any kind. I was impressedwith only one thing--that the enemy or enemies of the late AllanFleming evidently carried their antagonism beyond the grave. As I put onmy collar I wondered how long I could stay in this game, as I now meantto, and avoid lying in state in Edith's little drawing-room, withflowers around and a gentleman in black gloves at the door.
I had my ankle strapped with adhesive that morning by my doctor and itgave me no more trouble. But I caught him looking curiously at the bluebruise on my forehead where Wardrop had struck me with the chair, and atmy nose, no longer swollen, but mustard-yellow at the bridge.
"Been doing any boxing lately," he said, as I laced up my shoe.
"Not for two or three years."
"New machine?"
"No."
He smiled at me quizzically from his desk.
"How does the other fellow look?" he inquired, and to my haltinglyinvented explanation of my battered appearance, he returned the sameenigmatical smile.
That day was uneventful. Margery and Edith came to the house for aboutan hour and went back to Fred's again.
A cousin of the dead man, an elderly bachelor named Parker, appearedthat morning and signified his willingness to take charge of the houseduring that day. The very hush of his voice and his black tie promptedEdith to remove Margery from him as soon as she could, and as the girldreaded the curious eyes of the crowd that filled the house, she wasglad to go.
It was Sunday, and I went to the office only long enough to look over mymail. I dined in the middle of the day at Fred's, and felt heavy andstupid all afternoon as a result of thus reversing the habits of theweek. In the afternoon I had my first conversation with Fred and Edith,while Margery and the boys talked quietly in the nursery. They had takena great fancy to her, and she was almost cheerful when she was withthem.
Fred had the morning papers around him on the floor, and was in hisusual Sunday argumentative mood.
"Well," he said, when the nursery door up-stairs had closed, "what wasit, Jack? Suicide?"
"I don't know," I replied bluntly.
"What do you think?" he insisted.
"How can I tell?" irritably. "The police say it was suicide, and theyought to know."
"The _Times-Post_ says it was murder, and that they will prove it. Andthey claim the police have been called off."
I said nothing of Mr. Lightfoot, and his visit to the office, but I madea mental note to see the _Times-Post_ people and learn, if I could, whatthey knew.
"I can not help thinking that he deserved very nearly what he got,"Edith broke in, looking much less vindictive than her words. "When onethinks of the ruin he brought to poor Henry Butler, and that Ellen hasbeen practically an invalid ever since, I can't be sorry for him."
"What was the Butler story?" I asked. But Fred did not know, and Edithwas as vague as women usually are in politics.
"Henry Butler was treasurer of the state, and Mr. Fleming was hiscashier. I don't know just what the trouble was. But you remember thatHenry Butler killed himself after he got out of the penitentiary, andEllen has been in one hospital after another. I would like to have hercome here for a few weeks, Fred," she said appealingly. "She is in somesanatorium or other now, and we might cheer her a little."
Fred groaned.
"Have her if you like, petty," he said resignedly, "but I refuse to becheerful unless I feel like it. What about this young Wardrop, Jack? Itlooks to me as if the _Times-Post_ reporter had a line on him."
"Hush," Edith said softly. "He is Margery's fiance, and she might hearyou."
"How do you know?" Fred demanded. "Did she tell you?"
"Look at her engagement ring," Edith threw back triumphantly. "And it'sa perfectly beautiful solitaire, too."
I caught Fred's eye on me, and the very speed with which he shifted hisgaze made me uncomfortable. I made my escape as soon as I could, on theplea of going out to Bellwood, and in the hall up-stairs I met Margery.
"I saw Bella to-day," she said. "Mr. Knox, will you tell me why youstayed up last night? What happened in the house?"
"I--thought I heard some one in the library," I stammered, "but I foundno one."
"Is that all the truth or only part of it?" she asked. "Why do menalways evade issues with a woman?" Luckily, woman-like, she did not waitfor a reply. She closed the nursery door and stood with her hand on theknob, looking down.
"I wonder what you believe about all this," she said. "Do you think myfather--killed himself? You were there; you know. If some one would onlytell me everything!"
It seemed to me it was her right to know. The boys were romping noisilyin the nursery. Down-stairs Fred and Edith were having their Sundayafternoon discussion of what in the world had become of the money fromFred's latest book. Margery and I sat down on the stairs, and, as wellas I could remember the details, I told her what had happened at theWhite Cat. She heard me through quietly.
"And so the police have given up the case!" she said despairingly. "Andif they had not, Harry would have been arrested. Is there nothing I cando? Do I have to sit back with my hands folded?"
"The police have not exactly given up the case," I told her, "but thereis such a thing, of course, as stirring up a lot of dust and thenru
nning to cover like blazes before it settles. By the time the publichas wiped it out of its eyes and sneezed it out of its nose and coughedit out of its larynx, the dust has settled in a heavy layer, clues areobliterated, and the public lifts its skirts and chooses anotherdirection. The 'no thoroughfare' sign is up."
She sat there for fifteen minutes, interrupted by occasional noisyexcursions from the nursery, which resulted in her acquiring by degreesa lapful of broken wheels, three-legged horses and a live water beetlewhich the boys had found under the kitchen sink and imprisoned in aglass topped box, where, to its bewilderment, they were assiduouslyoffering it dead and mangled flies. But our last five minutes wereundisturbed, and the girl brought out with an effort the request she hadtried to make all day.
"Whoever killed my father--and it was murder, Mr. Knox--whoever did itis going free to save a scandal. All my--friends"--she smiledbitterly--"are afraid of the same thing. But I can not sit quiet andthink nothing can be done. I _must_ know, and you are the only one whoseems willing to try to find out."
So it was, that, when I left the house a half hour later, I wascommitted. I had been commissioned by the girl I loved--for it had cometo that--to clear her lover of her father's murder, and so give him backto her--not in so many words, but I was to follow up the crime, and therest followed. And I was morally certain of two things--first, that herlover was not worthy of her, and second, and more to the point, thatinnocent or guilty, he was indirectly implicated in the crime.
I had promised her also to see Miss Letitia that day if I could, and Iturned over the events of the preceding night as I walked toward thestation, but I made nothing of them. One thing occurred to me, however.Bella had told Margery that I had been up all night. Could Bella--? ButI dismissed the thought as absurd--Bella, who had scuttled to bed in apanic of fright, would never have dared the lower floor alone, andBella, given all the courage in the world, could never have moved withthe swiftness and light certainty of my midnight prowler. It had notbeen Bella.
But after all I did not go to Bellwood. I met Hunter on my way to thestation, and he turned around and walked with me.
"So you've lain down on the case!" I said, when we had gone a few stepswithout speaking.
He grumbled something unintelligible and probably unrepeatable.
"Of course," I persisted, "being a simple and uncomplicated case ofsuicide, there was nothing in it anyhow. If it had been a murder, underpeculiar circumstances--"
He stopped and gripped my arm.
"For ten cents," he said gravely, "I would tell the chief and a fewothers what I think of them. And then I'd go out and get full."
"Not on ten cents!"
"I'm going out of the business," he stormed. "I'm going to drive agarbage wagon: it's cleaner than this job. Suicide! I never saw acleaner case of--" He stopped suddenly. "Do you know Burton--of the_Times-Post_?"
"No: I've heard of him."
"Well, he's your man. They're dead against the ring, and Burton's beengiven the case. He's as sharp as a steel trap. You two get together."
He paused at a corner. "Good-by," he said dejectedly. "I'm off to huntsome boys that have been stealing milk bottles. That's about my size,these days." He turned around, however, before he had gone many stepsand came back.
"Wardrop has been missing since yesterday afternoon," he said. "That is,he thinks he's missing. We've got him all right."
I gave up my Bellwood visit for the time, and taking a car down-town, Iwent to the _Times-Post_ office. The Monday morning edition was alreadyunder way, as far as the staff was concerned, and from the waiting-roomI could see three or four men, with their hats on, most of themrattling typewriters. Burton came in in a moment, a red-haired youngfellow, with a short thick nose and a muggy skin. He was rather stockyin build, and the pugnacity of his features did not hide the shrewdnessof his eyes.
I introduced myself, and at my name his perfunctory manner changed.
"Knox!" he said. "I called you last night over the 'phone."
"Can't we talk in a more private place?" I asked, trying to raise myvoice above the confusion of the next room. In reply he took me into atiny office, containing a desk and two chairs, and separated by aneight-foot partition from the other room.
"This is the best we have," he explained cheerfully. "Newspapers areagents of publicity, not privacy--if you don't care what you say."
I liked Burton. There was something genuine about him; after Wardrop'skid-glove finish, he was a relief.
"Hunter, of the detective bureau, sent me here," I proceeded, "about theFleming case."
He took out his note-book. "You are the fourth to-day," he said. "Hunterhimself, Lightfoot from Plattsburg, and McFeely here in town. Well, Mr.Knox, are you willing now to put yourself on record that Flemingcommitted suicide?"
"No," I said firmly. "It is my belief that he was murdered."
"And that the secretary fellow, what's his name?--Wardrop?--that hekilled him?"
"Possibly."
In reply Burton fumbled in his pocket and brought up a pasteboard box,filled with jeweler's cotton. Underneath was a small object, which hepassed to me with care.
"I got it from the coroner's physician, who performed the autopsy," hesaid casually. "You will notice that it is a thirty-two, and that therevolver they took from Wardrop was a thirty-eight. Question, where'sthe other gun?"
I gave him back the bullet, and he rolled it around on the palm of hishand.
"Little thing, isn't it?" he said. "We think we're lords of creation,until we see a quarter-inch bichloride tablet, or a bit of lead likethis. Look here." He dived into his pocket again and drew out a roll ofordinary brown paper. When he opened it a bit of white chalk fell on thedesk.
"Look at that," he said dramatically. "Kill an army with it, and they'dnever know what struck them. Cyanide of potassium--and the druggist thatsold it ought to be choked."
"Where did it come from?" I asked curiously. Burton smiled his cheerfulsmile.
"It's a beautiful case, all around," he said, as he got his hat. "Ihaven't had any Sunday dinner yet, and it's five o'clock. Oh--thecyanide? Clarkson, the cashier of the bank Fleming ruined, took a biteoff that corner right there, this morning."
"Clarkson!" I exclaimed. "How is he?"
"God only knows," said Burton gravely, from which I took it Clarkson wasdead.