In the Onyx Lobby

  CHAPTER VI

  The Little Dinner

  The next morning at eight o'clock, Morton, the day doorman, came onduty.

  Corson eagerly began at once to question him, and he told the story ofSir Herbert Binney's departure from the house, but there his informationended.

  "All I know is, Mr Binney went away from here in a taxicab, 'long abouthalf-past six, I think it was. And he went to the Hotel Magnifique,--atleast, that's what he told the driver. And that's the last I saw of him.But his man, Peters, is due any minute,--maybe he'll know more."

  "Peters? A valet?"

  "Yes, and general factotum. He comes every morning at eight, and takescare of his boss."

  And in a few moments Peters arrived. His shocked astonishment at thenews was too patently real to give the slightest grounds of suspicionthat he had any knowledge of it before his arrival.

  "Poor old duffer!" he said, earnestly, "he was awful fond of life. Now,who would kill him, I'd like to know!"

  "That's what we all want to know, Peters," said Corson. "Come, I'll goup to his rooms with you, and we can look things over."

  Up they went, and the detective looked about the apartment of the deadman with interest. There were but two rooms, a bedroom and bath and agood-sized sitting-room. The furniture was the usual type of hotelappointments and there were so few individual belongings that the placegave small indication of the habits or tastes of its late occupant.

  "Nothing of a sybarite," commented Corson, glancing at the few andsimple toilet appurtenances.

  "No," returned Peters, "but he was accustomed to finer living in hisEnglish home. He's no brag, but I gathered that from things he let dropnow and then. But when he was on a business trip, he didn't seem to carehow things were. He was a good dresser, but not much for little comfortsor luxuries."

  "What about his friendships with ladies?"

  "Aha, that was his strong point! As a ladies' man he was there with thegoods! He liked 'em all,--from chorus girls to duchesses,--and he knewEnglish ladies of high life, I can tell you."

  "But over here he preferred the chorus girls?"

  "I don't say he preferred them. He went out a lot to fine homes andhobnobbed with some big people. But he was in his gayest mood when hewas getting off for a frolic with the girls."

  "As he was last night?"

  "Yes; he didn't say much about it, but he did tell me that he was totake a couple of peaches to dinner, and afterwards see them in a Reviewor something they dance in."

  "Can't you be more definite? Don't you know what revue? Or the girls'names?"

  "No; I've no idea. Sir Herbert didn't mention any names, and of course Ididn't ask him anything."

  "Then, I'll have to go to the Magnifique to get on with this. First,I'll take a look around here."

  But a careful investigation of the late Sir Herbert's papers andpersonal effects cast no light on the mystery of his death. There wereseveral photographs of young women, quite likely theatrical people, butnone had a signature. However, Corson took these in charge as well assome few notes and letters that seemed significant of friendships withwomen.

  "As young Bates is, I believe, the heir to Sir Herbert's estate, Isuppose he'll take charge of these rooms, but, meanwhile, I'll lock upas I want to go downstairs again now. You're out of a job, my man!"

  "Yes,--why, so I am! It's the first I've realized that!"

  "Maybe Mr Bates will keep you on."

  "Not he! Those young chaps don't want valets. He doesn't, anyhow. No,I'll be looking for a new berth. Oh, it'll be easy enough found, but Iliked Sir Herbert mighty well. He was a queer dick, but a kind andeasy-going man to live with."

  "And he never chatted with you about his young lady friends?"

  "Never. He was a reserved sort, as far as his own affairs wereconcerned. You could go just so far and no farther with Sir HerbertBinney."

  "Well, he left a paper stating that his death was brought about bywomen."

  "He did? Why, how could that be?"

  "That's what I've got to find out. He tried to write a message, and diedin the very act. But he wrote clearly and distinctly the words, 'Womendid this,' and we've got to believe it."

  "Oh, yes; if it was the other way, now, if women did it, he might try toput it up to a man, to shield the girls. But if he wrote that, it's so,of course. Must have been some of those skylarking kids, and yet, itain't likely, is it now? Some vamp, I should say."

  "That's it! Not a young chorus chicken, but an older woman, or women.Adventuresses, you know."

  "Yes, that's what I mean. I suppose your first move is to trail hissteps of last evening."

  "Yes, and I must get about it before the trail gets cold. I've so manyways to look. You know, Peters, he wasn't liked by the girls of thishouse."

  "Well do I know that,--and small wonder. The girls in this house are asnice a bunch of young ladies as ever lived. And the tenants are decentmen,--they don't chuck an elevator girl under the chin or try to kissher every time they ride up or down in her car alone with her!"

  "And Sir Herbert did?"

  "That he did! I heard it time and again. All the girls were right downmad about it. They're not that sort of girls."

  "But I suppose they're not the sort of girls to stab him in theirrighteous wrath?"

  "Oh, good Lord, no! Though there's one of 'em, now,----"

  "Which one?"

  "No, I'll mention no names. Why, I've no right to hint at such a thing."

  "But if you know anything----"

  "I don't. Go ahead with your investigations. If there's anything tostart your suspicions, let me know which way you're looking."

  Corson went downstairs again, and rounded up all the girls employed inthe house who might be apt to come in contact with the tenants.

  Daisy Lee, an elevator girl, and Julie Baxter, a telephone girl, werethe only ones who seemed to have rancorous or vindictive feelings towardthe dead man.

  Daisy, a frail, pale girl with a soft pretty face and lovely eyes, saidfrankly she was glad he was dead, for he bothered the life out of herwith his attentions.

  "He'd wait till I took other people up or down," she said, angrily,"so's he could ride with me alone, and then he'd kiss me."

  "Why didn't you report his actions to the management?" Corson said,sharply.

  "Well," Daisy blushed and hesitated.

  "Speak up, Day!" said Julie. "I'll tell you, sir. She didn't tell 'causehe brought her candy and flowers if she wouldn't."

  "That's so," Daisy admitted, pouting. "I like flowers and candies aswell as anybody, and they're scarce nowadays."

  "Where were you last night?" Corson inquired, suddenly.

  "Home and in bed," declared Daisy, and when Julie gave her a quick,surprised look she said, defiantly, "Well, I was!"

  "And where were you?" The detective turned to Julie.

  "Home and in bed," she said also, but her tone was not convincing.

  Corson was about to ask further questions of them, but just then Mr Vailcame down in the elevator, and the detective turned to him.

  "What!" Vail exclaimed, as the news was told him. "Binney! Why, who didit?"

  "Women," said Corson, succinctly, and Vail looked mystified.

  "Women! What women? And how do you know?"

  He was enlightened as to the written message, and he looked utterlyamazed.

  "I never heard of such a thing! How could he write all that after he wasstabbed with a stroke that killed him?"

  "Well, he did! He was just dying when Bob Moore came down from takingyou up."

  "Oh, then? Yes, Moore and I chatted a few moments about detectivestories, and do you mean to say that at that very moment poor old Binneywas being murdered a few floors beneath us?"

  "Just that, sir."

  "What an awful thing! Have you any idea of the identity of the women?How _could_ women do it?"

  "That's what everybody says! To me it's just as easy to think women didit as men,--and a heap more logical! Why, a man wouldn
't have dared tocome into a brightly lighted place like this and stab somebody and getaway again! But an angry woman--that's just what she would do!"

  "That's true: I mean it's true no man would take a chance like that,--nosane man. But a woman, in a towering rage or insanely jealous orsomething--well, anyway, it's the most astonishing case I ever heardof!"

  "It's all of that! You knew Sir Herbert Binney pretty well, didn't you,Mr Vail?"

  "In a business way; not socially. We had several conferences as to hisBun bakery. I've a Bread business of my own, and we talked about acombine, but we finally gave up the plan and Sir Herbert took his offersto the Crippen concern,--or, said he was going to do so."

  "You and he friendly?"

  "Oh, yes; the affair was entirely amicable. The whole thing resolveditself into the fact that his Buns were really more cake than bread,--atleast, from the American point of view,--and so better adapted toCrippen's use than to ours."

  "And you came in last night just before Sir Herbert came?"

  "So you tell me now. Naturally, I didn't know he followed me in."

  "Where'd you spend the evening?"

  "With a friend, Dr Weldon, in Fifty-first Street."

  "Mind if I call him up and ask him?"

  Vail stared at the detective.

  "Meaning you're questioning my veracity, or connecting me with thecrime?"

  Corson reddened, but stuck to his suggestion. "No, sir, but,--well,you're the nearest I've found to a material witness, and----"

  "Well, do you know, it strikes me you don't know what a material witnessis! However, I've not the least objection to your calling up myfriend,--go to it! Here's his number."

  A little sheepishly, Corson took the number and called up Dr Weldon. Thehearty response of a genial voice assured the inquirer that Mr Vail hadspent the evening before with the doctor, that he had arrived late,having been to a theater, and that the two had played chess until nearlytwo o'clock, when Mr Vail, surprised at the lateness of the hour, hadstarted for home. That was the extent of Dr Weldon's information.

  "And quite satisfactory," Corson said, with a relieved air. "I had toknow, sir, that you weren't with Sir Herbert. Now, I must find out whowas with him,--of either sex."

  "You're all right, Corson," Vail said; "I think you see your dutyclearly, and if I can help you in any way, call on me. And, look here,don't you let any suspicion fasten itself on Bob Moore. That chap's allright. He's everlastingly reading murder yarns, but he's interested inthe detective side of them, not the crime side. I wouldn't say this, butI heard something about his being questioned and I want to stand up forhim. In a general way, I mean. And as to this case, it's very strange, Iknow, but don't let its strangeness lead you into impossible theories.You know, already, that at the time of Sir Herbert Binney's murder, BobMoore was up at the tenth floor,--I can testify to that,----"

  "Now, I don't know, Mr Vail," and Corson looked deeply perplexed. "Whatyou say's true enough, but look here, we've only Moore's word that hefound that man dying when he came down. Suppose Sir Herbert came in andMoore stabbed him----"

  "And Sir Herbert wrote a paper saying it was women?"

  "Well, no,--but maybe Bob wrote that paper himself----"

  "You're getting pretty well tangled up, Corson. Why don't you put ahandwriting expert on that paper, and see if it's in the dead man's fistor not?"

  "Good idea, Mr Vail! I never thought of it!"

  "Try it, and, excuse me, Corson, but I say this in all honesty, I thinkyou'd better get some help. I believe this is a big case and amysterious one, and it wouldn't do you any harm to have a colleague toadvise with. Do as you like, or as you're told, but that's how it looksto me. Now I must be off, but I'll come home early, for I'm interestedto know how things go."

  "Hold on a minute, Mr Vail; you know Moore pretty well. Do you thinkit's possible that he knows who did it, knows who the women are, evenperhaps saw the thing done, and then helped them to get away anddisposed of the weapon?"

  "Anything is possible, Corson, but I think what you suggest isexceedingly improbable. I know Moore only from my chats with him now andthen in the elevator, and that's all I can say. To me, anything crookedin that young man seems decidedly unlikely."

  Vail went off leaving a sadly perplexed detective behind him, who feltthat he didn't know which way to turn, and was inclined to follow theadvice he had received regarding a colleague.

  Corson was anxious for further talk with the members of the Prallhousehold, but they had not made appearance yet and he hesitated to callthem.

  He decided to run down to the Magnifique at once, when he receivedunexpected help from the telephone operator, Julie Baxter.

  "Sir Herbert has a lot of telephone calls from ladies," she said, with ameaning glance.

  "Is that so? Did he have any yesterday?"

  "Yes, he did. About five o'clock, a skirt called him up and they had amerry confab."

  "Who was she?"

  "Dunno; but he called her 'Babe.'"

  "Not very definite! Most girls get called that! What did she say?"

  "How should I know that?" and Julie's big eyes stared haughtily at him.

  "By the not unheard of method of using your ears. What did she say?"

  Really eager to tell, Julie admitted that she listened in, and that anappointment was made for dinner at the Magnifique. Further details shecould not supply.

  Whereupon Corson carried out his plan of going to the big hotel at once.

  He hunted down the head waiter of the grill room of the night before,and, having found him asleep in his room, waked him up and proceeded tointerrogate him.

  "You bet Sir Herbert Binney was here," the man declared, when he gothimself fully awake; "he had two of the prettiest little squabs I eversaw, along, and they had a jolly dinner."

  "And then?"

  "Then they all went off to the theater, and after the show he broughtthem back, also two more,--four of 'em in all,--and they had supper."

  "All amicable?"

  "Oh, yes,--that is, at first. Later on, the girls got jealous of eachother, and--well, the old chap's a softy, you know, and they pretty muchcleaned him out."

  "Just what do you mean?"

  "Well, he made them presents, or promised them presents,--he's terriblyrich,--and each of those girls was afraid somebody else would get morethan she did. So, they squabbled quite a lot."

  "Sir Herbert was good natured?"

  "Yep; he just laughed and let 'em fight it out among themselves."

  "Now, look here, did any of those four girls get angry enough to wishSir Herbert any harm?"

  "Did they? Why, I heard Babe Russell say she was going to kill him, andViola Mersereau, she said, if she was sure it would never be discovered,she'd shoot him herself."

  "Are you sure of these things? Because--somebody did kill Sir HerbertBinney about two o'clock this morning."

  "What! Who did it?"

  "We don't know, but we've reason to suspect women."

  "That's the bunch, then! Lord, I didn't think they'd go so far as that!But that Viola is a ring-leader,--she's a vamp, if there ever was one!And little Russell! Well, she's soft and babyish looking but she's gotthe temper of a wildcat! And they were out for the goods, those youngshe's! They're all straight, you know, but they're just little greedies.And that man was their natural prey. Why, they could get anything out ofhim! Not pearl necklaces and diamonds,--I don't mean that,--but fans andvanity-cases and silk stockings and lockets and such trifles. Nottrifles in the aggregate, though. That man must have spent a good bigroll on 'em last night."

  "How do you mean, spent it?"

  "Why, he'd give this one or that one a yellowback to buy a new hat,say,--and then the others would tease for new hats. And maybe, if hedidn't have the kale, he'd give 'em checks, or he'd tell 'em they couldhave the hat or the scarf or whatever charged to him. But he was strict.He told each one the limit she should pay, and if she paid more, theycouldn't be friends any more. It was a queer mix-up, but
all friendlyand decent. He was just like a big frolicsome boy, and the girlies werelike soft little kittens, playful,--but, kittens can scratch."

  "And they did?"

  "Yes, there was more real ill nature shown last night than ever before.Sir Herbert wasn't as generous as usual; I daresay he's tired of thegame,--anyway, they couldn't bamboozle him to more than little trinkets,and I think Viola was out for furs. And furs mean money. But he onlysmiled when she hinted and she spoke more plainly, and then when hedidn't agree she got mad."

  "You seem to know all about it."

  "Couldn't help knowing. They took no pains to be quiet, and I was aroundmost of the time, and finally I became interested to see how it wouldcome out."

  "And how did it?"

  "They all went off together,--I mean the girls did. He bundled 'em intoa taxicab, gave the driver a bill and said good-night. That's the way healways does. He never escorts 'em home. Then he came back in here,settled his account, lit a cigar and strolled off by himself."

  "At what time was this?"

  "Abut one, or a little before. Not very late. Sir Herbert's no villain.I read him like a book. He just liked to see those girls enjoy a goodsupper, same's he liked to see 'em dance on the stage. Anyway, there'sthe history of the evening, so far as I know anything about it."

  Corson went away, went to the theater where the girls belonged,--foundout where they lived and went there.

  The four lived in the same boarding house, and one and all refused toappear at any such unearthly hour as ten A. M.

  But the strong arm of the law was used as an argument, and, after atime, four kimonoed and petulant-faced maidens put in an appearance.

  Corson meant to be very intimidating, but he found himself wax in theirhands. One and all they denied knowing anything of Sir Herbert Binneyafter he had entertained them at supper and sent them home in a cab.

  They expressed mild surprise at his tragic fate, but no real regret.They seemed to Corson like four heartless, brainless dolls who had nothought, no interest outside their silly selves.

  But in the dark eyes of Viola Mersereau and in the blonde, rosy face ofBabe Russell he saw unmistakable signs of fear,--and, working on this,he blustered and accused and threatened until he had them all inhysteria.

  "You've not got a chance!" he declared. "You're caught red-handed! Youtwo said in so many words that you wished the old chap was dead, andafter you got home, you sneaked out,--whether there were others to knowit, or not, I can't say,--but you two sneaked out, went to TheCampanile, waited your chance, dashed in and stabbed the man and dashedaway again. And you'd been safe, but for his living long enough to tellon you! 'Women did this!' Of course they did! And _you're_ the women!Who else could it be? What other women,--what other sort of women wouldcommit such a deed? Come now, are you going to own up?"