The Gray Mask

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE KNIFE BY THE LIFELESS HAND

  He heard McDonald open and close the front door. Then the widow entered,followed by a young man with an abundance of dark hair curling over alow forehead and shading eyes a trifle too deep set. But at first Garthsaw only the widow, and he marveled that one so young and lovely in anetherial sense should have been mated with the elderly invalid upstairs.As he looked it suddenly occurred to him that Reed, since he had lostTaylor as a friend, might crave more than friendship from the widow.

  She sank on a divan. Even in the shadows her heavy black hair and thedark grey traveling dress she wore heightened the weary pallor of herface. Had her eyes held tears they would have been easier to meet, forthe shock was there, dry and unrelieved.

  "It is dreadful to come home this way," she said, "dreadful! I had neverdreamed of his doing such a thing."

  "It is by no means certain," Garth said gently, "that he killed himself.There is a curious situation in this house. McDonald's daughter, thehousekeeper, for instance, has not been seen since a short time beforethe crime."

  Her lips twitched a little. He fancied hope in her eyes.

  "If I could only cry!" she said. "At any rate that would be better forhis memory, wouldn't it? You suspect this woman?"

  "If you are able," Garth said, "I would like you to tell me somethingabout her."

  "I have never seen her," she answered. "She came after I went west.McDonald had a good deal of influence over Mr. Taylor, and I never quitetrusted him. There's no use. You might as well know the truth about Mr.Taylor and me. You've probably heard. We were never quite happy. He wasso much older. We never quite belonged to each other. But that is all.It isn't true all this gossip that I went west for a divorce, and Idon't believe he was the man to kill himself. If there has been a crimeagainst him I want the world to know it. I want his memory clean."

  Quickly the man Reed touched her shoulder. For the first time sinceentering the room he spoke. His voice possessed a peculiar, aggressiveresonance.

  "Helen, you shouldn't take this man's suspicion that he was murdered tooseriously."

  Garth motioned him to silence.

  "At such a time," he said to Mrs. Taylor, "I dislike to bother you, butI'd like to ask one or two questions. Your mother? Her mind?"

  He caught a flash of pain across her white face.

  "She has always been peculiar," she answered, "but she isn't out of herhead, if that's what you mean. I've always thought it's a habit of hersto hide her real thoughts behind apparent absurdities."

  "I had wondered about that," Garth said with satisfaction. "One morething. There has been talk among the servants of spirits, of moans."

  She shivered.

  "I know nothing about that," she said, "except that the house isunbearable. That is one reason I decided on this long visit, why Ishrank from coming home."

  "Unbearable?" Garth helped her out.

  "Old, moldy, and depressing. My husband, I think, believed in it alittle. I've heard him and my mother talk about a figure who sometimeswalked. I laughed at that, and I laughed when they heard moans. You seethe wind often cries in the narrow space between us and the high wall ofthe next house. I've never liked it here. It depresses me too much.That's all."

  "Thanks," Garth said. "You will want time to accustom yourself. Restassured I will do everything I can to get the truth."

  "You must," she said tensely, "and don't hesitate to disturb me if I canbe of any use."

  As they went out the resonance of Reed's undertone reached Garth.

  "Helen. You are giving this man's suspicion too much weight. He seems tohave no evidence."

  After the door had closed Garth telephoned the inspector, suggestingthat the house be guarded in order that he might have McDonald, Clara,and the old lady at hand.

  "I'll give instructions," the throaty rumble of the inspector came back,"to arrest any one who tries to make a getaway."

  Garth hurried to the kitchen. The night was nearly complete there, but,as he entered, he caught a swift, silent movement from the servants'stairs. He walked to the entrance.

  "I thought so."

  The girl Clara shrank from him in the shadows. She wore a hat and cloak.She carried a hand bag.

  "If you don't want yourself locked up, charged with murder, take thosethings off," Garth said. "From this moment the house is watched, and anyone attempting to leave will be arrested."

  The girl commenced to cry again.

  "I am afraid," she sobbed. "Afraid."

  Garth turned on the light.

  "Take me," he directed her, "to the room occupied by the housekeeper."

  Shaken and uncertain, Clara led him to a room at the head of the stairs,which, Garth found, had a second door opening into the upper hall of thefront portion of the house. The room displayed a taste seldom foundamong servants. His examination of it from the first spurred Garth'scuriosity. The bed had been occupied last night, but to all appearancesfor only a brief period, since the blankets and sheets were littledisturbed. Some clothing and a pair of shoes lay at one side, andclothing, shoes, and hats were neatly arranged in the closet, butnowhere could he find a dressing gown or a pair of bedroom slippers.Clara, moreover, could not recall having seen the housekeeper wear anyhat or clothes other than those in the closet. If McDonald's daughterhad fled from the house in slippers and dressing gown it was strange shehadn't been heard of long ago. It became increasingly clear to him thatthe woman remained hidden in the house. It should be easy enough to findher. He would search every corner for the one whose brain, he was nowconvinced, held the solution of the mystery. But on the lower floor hefound no trace. He paused in the lower hall, intending to ring forMcDonald to guide him through the rest of his task.

  All at once his hand which he had raised to the bell hesitated. Hebraced himself against the wall. Through the heavy atmosphere a stifledgroan had reached him, followed by a difficult dragging sound. But as hesprang up the stairs he knew he hadn't heard the cause of Clara'sfright, for the groan had sufficiently defined itself as having comefrom a man.

  In the upper hall there was no light beyond the glow sifting through thestair well. It was enough to show Garth a dark form huddled at the footof the stairs leading to the third story. He ran over and stooped.

  "McDonald! What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

  The silence of the house was heavier, more secretive than before.

  At last, in response to Garth's efforts, a whimpering came fromMcDonald's throat. The heap against the wall struggled impotently torise. Garth recalled the medicines in Taylor's bath room and starteddown the hall. The unintelligible whimpering increased. Garth went on,aware that the black, huddled figure crawled after him with the sublimeand unreasonable courage of a wounded animal.

  He snapped on the light and ran to Taylor's bath room where he poured astimulant into a glass. As he stepped back to the bedroom he facedTaylor's body on which the light shone with peculiar reflections. Theygave to the pallid face the quality of a sneer. But it was only inconnection with another radical difference at the bed that that illusionarrested Garth and sent a chill racing along his nerves. For on thecounterpane, as near the crooked fingers as the revolver lay, now resteda long and ugly kitchen knife.

  With a graver fear the detective glanced at the door of the hall.McDonald had dragged himself that far. He raised his trembling hand,stretching it towards the bed in a gesture, it seemed to Garth, ofimpossible accusation. Then the crouched figure toppled and fell acrossthe threshold while from somewheres beyond the door a high girlish laughrippled.

  Garth sprang forward and knelt by the old man, reluctant to search forwhat he expected to find. There it was at the back of the coat, a jaggedtear whose edges were stained, showing where the knife had penetratedthe shoulder. The wound didn't look deep or dangerous, and in hisunconsciousness McDonald breathed regularly. So Garth hurried back tothe bed and examined the knife. There was no ambiguity about the redstains on the blade. The knife, r
esting close to the dead hand, hadwounded McDonald who had seemed to accuse the still form whose noteprojected the impression of having been written after death.

  Garth smothered his morbid thoughts. McDonald's daughter was the livingforce, probably at large in this house, that he wanted to chain. If shewere guilty of the earlier crime she had sufficient motive for thisattempt to keep the old man silent. She could have got such a knife fromthe kitchen. So, for that matter, could Clara. But the eccentric hadlaughed. Was that merely coincidence? Garth ran across the hall andlistened at her door with an increasing excitement. He heard the runningof water, regularly interrupted, as if by hands being cleansed under anopen faucet. He tried the door and found it unlocked. He entered,staring at the daring indifference of the old woman who stepped from thebath room, calmly drying her hands on a towel.

  "Come in, policeman," she said in her high girlish voice. "Don't sufferin the black hall."

  "Let me have that towel," he cried.

  Without hesitation she offered him the piece of linen. It showed nostains, nor were there stains to be found about the wash basin, but theslab of marble in which it was set was damp as if it had just now beencarefully cleansed. She watched, her wrinkled face set in an expressionof contempt.

  "What are you up to? Think if I wanted to do anything wrong I'd let youfind me out?"

  "Then you know," he said, "what happened out there in the hall. I heardyou laugh."

  She started. Her voice was lower. At last it was as old as herself.

  "Things always happen out there. It is crowded with the people who havelived in this house before us--unhappy and angry people. Often I haveseen and heard the black thing out there. I would never laugh at her."

  Again the doubt of her senility attacked him.

  "You can't impress me with that," he said harshly. "I am talking aboutMcDonald. He was stabbed out there a few minutes ago."

  She laughed foolishly.

  "Horrid old man! But why should I want to see him stabbed?"

  He watched her closely.

  "I saw you strike him. You didn't have enough strength to send the blowhome."

  The assurance of her voice increased his doubt. Whatever her mentalstate she was at least purposeful.

  "You need glasses, policeman. Don't neglect your eyes. You have only onepair."

  He felt himself against a blank wall, and there was McDonald to thinkof. He asked one more question.

  "When did you last see McDonald's daughter?"

  "Maybe at dinner last night," she said. "Nice girl, in spite of herfather. I must go back to my knitting, policeman."

  Garth left her, hurrying down stairs to the front door. He called thepoliceman from the shadows of the portico, instructing him to go to thelarge apartment house on the corner where he would almost certainly finda physician.

  As he gave his directions he saw Nora's slender figure cross the streetand come up the steps, and, as he looked at the pretty Latin face,expressive of an exceptional intelligence, his morose and puzzled mindbrightened. He was surprised to see her now, and a little worried, for agrave menace existed for every one in this house. Moreover, the casemystified him to the point where he felt he must find the solutionhimself. He didn't care to place himself again under obligations to her.Rather he was ambitious to impress her, perhaps to the removal of herreserve.

  "Father's told me about the case," she said. "I couldn't keep away,because you're so hard-headed, Jim."

  Smiling whimsically, she glanced at his frayed watch ribbon.

  "I see you haven't found the answer yet. Tell me everything you havelearned while you have been torturing that poor ribbon."

  "Ghosts or not, Nora," he answered, "the house isn't healthy, and I'drather you didn't stay."

  She laughed and walked in. Shrugging his shoulders, he followed her,closed the door, and told her what had happened since he had telephonedthe inspector. Her face, he noticed, had grown pale, and a troubled lookhad entered her eyes. She shivered.

  "What an uncomfortable place! I can guess what Clara meant. Don't youget an impression of great suffering, Jim?"

  He was familiar with her superstitious sensibility which at times seemednearly psychic. It irritated him that to his own matter-of-fact mind thehouse had from the first conveyed a sense of unhealth. As he started tolaugh at her, Nora with a quick movement shrank against the wall.

  "What's that?" she whispered.

  Garth strained forward, listening, too. He had heard what Clara haddescribed, a crying, smothered and scarcely audible, and he knew whatthe girl had meant when she had spoken of a voice from the grave--a deadvoice.

  Across the moaning cut a shrill feminine scream.

  "Stay here," Garth called to Nora as he started up the stairs.

  He heard her voice, like an echo behind him, as full of misgivings asClara's had been.

  "I am afraid."

  At the foot of the attic stairs he saw the white figure of Mrs. Taylor,staring upward, trembling, hysterical, a violent fear in her eyes.

  "You heard it, too," she breathed. "It wasn't the wind."

  With a shuddering gesture she indicated McDonald's still form.

  "He isn't dead," Garth said.

  While she relaxed a little the fear in her eyes didn't diminish.

  "I--I heard her moan," she said. "I opened my door, and there she was--ablack thing--bending over him like--like a vampire. I couldn't seem tosee her face. She ran up these stairs, and I could see through thebanisters that she went in the big attic room--the room they alwaystalked about where the woman--"

  She broke off, screaming sharply again.

  "Look out! Back of you! There's something black creeping up thestairs--"