CHAPTER XII MAURICE TRASK, HEIR
The funeral services of John Waring were solemn and impressive. Noreference was made to the manner of his taking-off, save to call itmysterious, and the encomiums heaped upon him by the clergy and thecollege faculty were as sincere as they were well-deserved.
There were two members of the great audience who were looked at withcuriosity by many.
One of these was Miss Mystery, the girl who, it was vaguely rumored wasin some way connected with the tragedy.
To look at her, this seemed impossible, for a sweeter face or a gentlermanner could scarce be imagined.
Anita Austin sat near the front, on one of the side aisles. She wore agown of taupe-colored duvetyn, and a velvet toque of the same color. Herolive face was pale, and now and then her small white teeth bit into herscarlet lower lip, as if she were keeping her self-control only bydetermined effort.
A close observer might note that she paid no heed to the utterance of theable men who gave tribute to John Waring's character, but her troubledeyes rested on the flower-covered casket, and the rising tears overflowedas she stifled an occasional sob.
And then, fairly clenching her hands in a determination to show noemotion, this strange girl would straighten up, and stare blankly aheadof her as if in utter oblivion of the scene.
Directly behind her was Helen Peyton, who had chosen that place with theintention of watching Miss Mystery. Mrs. Peyton was by her daughter'sside, but her whole attention was on the funeral services, and shethought of little else.
Not far off was Gordon Lockwood, and with him were Mrs. Bates and hernephew, Pinckney Payne. Of this trio only the secretary let his gazewander now and then to the sad little face that was rapidly becoming thedearest thing in life to him. As the church filled, and theflower-scented atmosphere grew oppressive, Miss Austin let her coat fallfrom her shoulders, and Lockwood noted with a start that she wore thesame gown she had worn to the lecture at which he first saw her. Again hecounted the queer little buttons that edged the sailor collar. He shookhis head, and a great feeling of compassion filled his heart.
"Poor child," he said to himself, "what does it all mean?"
The other magnet for strangers' eyes was Maurice Trask, the relative ofJohn Waring, who had come from his home in St. Louis, to take possessionof his inheritance.
For, in the absence of any will, he had proved himself the next of kin,and had gladly, even eagerly, taken the reins of government of theaffairs and home of the dead man.
He was the son of John Waring's cousin, and though the two men had nevermet, the credentials and records brought by Maurice Trask left nopossible doubt as to his heirship.
Trask was not prepossessing of appearance, though he was well-manneredand moderately well-dressed. His lack was that of sophistication, and heseemed ignorant of the finer conventions of life. He was what is known asa self-made man, and men of home manufacture require some sterlingqualities to start with if they are to turn out a satisfactory product.
These qualities Trask didn't have, and a first glance at thesharp-featured face gave an impression of greed and shrewdness.
There was also a slight air of bravado, which was quite evidently causedby an uneasy feeling of inferiority. He seemed to say, "I am as good asyou are," because his conviction of that fact needed some such assertionto bolster it up.
In his seat as chief mourner, he was decorum itself. His black garb wasvery black, and if it betrayed a provincial cut or fit, such an effectwas more in keeping with the man than correct apparel would have been.
His grief might have seemed a trifle ostentatious to one who rememberedhe had never seen his cousin, but on the whole Maurice Trask was acceptedby those whose curiosity led to criticism, as a satisfactory heir to theWaring estate.
Nor was this an inconsiderable matter, for John Waring, beside hisprofession, had written several successful books, and possessed in all agoodly fortune.
Moreover, there was no mystery about Trask. His life was an open book,the lawyers had said; his family tree was of correct record and his claimto the estate clear and true.
While as to that minx, Miss Mystery, nobody knew or could find out whereshe came from, what she was doing in Corinth, or who she was, anyway.Clearly she was mixed up with Doctor Waring in some unconventionalway--that is, if the reports were true that she visited him in his studywithout the knowledge of his household. No shadow of blame was attachedto John Waring for this--although it would seem that the man was old andwise enough to ward off an attack from such a small vampire.
"That's what she is," Helen Peyton concluded, to herself, as she mused onthe girl who sat in front of her. "She just plain vamped poor DoctorWaring--and she got into the study--and, now, I can prove it!"
After the funeral, the chief mourners went back to the Waring home todiscuss matters. Mrs. Peyton had tea served in the living-room, for allwho came, and many neighbors, drawn by curiosity, accepted herhospitality.
Trask, rubbing his hands involuntarily, slipped easily into his new roleof host, and rather overdid his part.
"Yes," he would say, "yes, yes. I learned from the addresses how fine aman my cousin was--yes, yes, a noble character. Now, I can't expect totake his place in your community all at once--but I'll get there! I'llget there! And you'll all help me, won't you?" he beamed on them. "Yes,yes, you'll all help me to become one of the first citizens ofCorinth--one of the first citizens of your lovely, tree-decked town. Yes,yes."
Plate and cup in hand, he moved around among his guests, a littleawkwardly but full of amiability and good cheer. His sentiment was quiteevidently, "the king is dead; long live the king," and he wanted to getsettled on his throne at once.
But the cousin of John Waring had another side to him.
This was shown when, later on, he met a few people in the study.
Cray was there, by invitation, and Morton also. Lockwood and the twoPeytons.
"Just a few words at the outset," Trask began, and he was noticeably moreat ease in this executive session than he had been in the socialatmosphere.
"I want to maintain this household, for a time at least, as I find it. Ishall be glad, Mrs. Peyton, if you will continue to keep house for me,and I should like you, Mr. Lockwood, to remain as secretary, if you arewilling. There is, of course, much to be done in settling the estate, andyour knowledge would be invaluable. Also, if you will, Mrs. Peyton, I'dlike you to engage servants--or keep the ones you have. In fact, pleaselook after the house matters entirely. For, here is what I want to dofirst. Find the man who killed my cousin. I never shall feel right intaking and using his home and his money unless I do everything in mypower to discover his murderer."
"It may be a case of suicide," suggested Attorney Cray, who was narrowlywatching the speaker.
"No-sir-ee! First place, as near as I can figure it out, my cousin wasnot the man to take his own life. Also, he was on the eve of taking afine position as College President--also he was about to marry abeautiful lady. Why worry? And too--and this is to me the strongestargument against the suicide theory--I've read lots of detectivestories--you needn't sniff, Mr. Cray, those stories are often founded onfact--and many of them hinge on the mystery of a sealed room. Often abook starts out with a situation just like this; man found dead. Roomlocked up. No weapon about. Murder or suicide? And, listen here;invariably the solution is murder. Yes, sir--invariably! Why? 'Causesuicide is a mighty scarce article. You don't find Human Nature puttingan end to itself very often. That is, not worthwhile Human Nature. Yoursuicides are weak men, down and outers, ignorant, half-baked chaps. Notfine, upstanding men such as John Waring was. You know that, Mr. Cray?"
"Yes," the attorney nodded. "That's certainly so, Mr. Trask. And, anyway,if you're going to make investigations, you have to start on the theoryof murder."
"Just that exactly," Trask agreed. "Then if we run up againstproof--actual proof of suicide, why then, we know where we're at."
Lockwood looked at Trask and listened to him with interest. He was a newtype to the secretary, who with all his knowledge of characterizationcouldn't quite place him.
At first, Lockwood had felt an instinctive dislike, the newcomer had beenso patently pleased with his inheritance, and so evidently insincere inhis mourning. But this sensible, straightforward insistence on avenginghis cousin's murder--if it were murder--raised Trask in Lockwood'sestimation, and he concluded to remain as secretary, for a time, atleast.
"You have the case in charge, Mr. Cray," Trask went on, "and I want youto push it--push it, sir. Get help if you want--get some hifalutindetective, if that's the proper caper--but, get results. Results, that'swhat I'm after! Here's my idea. Get busy, and do all you can as quick asyou can. Don't dawdle. Put things through. And then--if you can't findthe criminal, after due effort, then, we'll give up the hunt. That's myidea. Do all you can--and then quit."
"Very well, Mr. Trask," Cray replied; "I understand, and I'll do as yousay. When you have the time to devote to it, I'll give you a history ofthe case."
"The time is now, Mr. Cray. And your history must be put in a nutshell.The circumstances of John Waring's death, I know. Also, I know whom Isuspect as the murderer. So tell me your decisions to date."
"I fear we have made no decision, Mr. Trask. As a matter of fact theevidence to date points in a most painful direction."
"What! You're deterred from justice because evidence points in a painfuldirection! My stars, Cray! is that the way you detect in New England!"
"But evidence may be false, and it is unwise to accuse withoutcertainty--"
"I have some certain evidence," said Helen Peyton, and all turned to lookat the girl, who spoke hesitatingly and in a low tone.
"Yes, I wouldn't tell it--but--I think I ought to. I just found it outtoday."
"Of course you must tell it, Miss Peyton," Trask said, dictatorially."Out with it!"
"Well," Helen spoke to Cray, "you know Mr. Lockwood rubbed off some marksfrom this chair the morning after--after we found Doctor Waring."
"Yes, they were without doubt indicative marks. What do you know aboutthem?" Cray looked at her earnestly, for he had great interest in thatact of the secretary's.
"They were the marks made by the buttons on the back of the dress MissAustin wore today."
For a moment Gordon Lockwood's calm almost deserted him. It was but afleeting instant, yet Cray's sharp eyes caught the look of utter dismaythat crossed the impassive face of the secretary. Immediately the usualhauteur returned and the grave eyes met Cray's without a tremor.
"How do you know?" Cray was all alertness.
"I sat behind her at the funeral. She took off her coat and I couldn'thelp noticing a certain arrangement of buttons. It struck me, because Inoticed the marks on the chair back, and they were just the same design."
"Absurd," Lockwood said, quietly, but with a deep scorn in his tone. "Asif you could identify the trimming on a lady's gown!"
"But I did," Helen persisted, spurred by Lockwood's manner. "I noticed iton the chair, a clear pattern of the trimming of the collar, and two rowsdown the back. And then I saw Mr. Lockwood rub it off of the chairbackwith utmost care. And today, when I saw Miss Austin's dress, I recognizedit at once. She was here that night--Mr. Lockwood knew it--and he erasedthe marks--"
"Helen, don't be too ridiculous!" Lockwood spoke now in a soft drawl,that made Helen flush with anger.
"I'm not ridiculous! Am I, Mr. Cray? It's evidence, isn't it? It provesthat girl was here--doesn't it? And Gordon did rub it off--Ito saw himtoo, and I saw him. He was rubbing the chair when I came to call him tobreakfast--he can't deny it!"
"I do deny it," Lockwood said, quietly. "Miss Peyton is excited anddoesn't remember accurately."
"Nothing of the sort!" blazed Helen. "It's all true. Gordon won't admitit because--"
"Helen, hush!" Gordon's look stopped her at once. "Don't say thingsyou'll regret."
"But I don't regret them," put in Cray. "All this is important. Mr.Lockwood, do you deny obliterating these marks in question?"
"Of course I do," Lockwood smiled slightly. "If I was moving the chair ortouching it, when Miss Peyton came to call me to breakfast I don'tremember it. At any rate, it was with no intention of removing evidence."
Gordon Lockwood told these falsehoods with as calm an air as he wouldhave shown in making truthful statements. He was not only deeply in lovewith Anita Austin, but he did not and would not believe her guilty ofcrime, or of any connection with a crime. Wherefore, he was ready andwilling to tell any number of lies to save or shield her.
And from his manner none could guess he was saying other than absolutetruth.
"But look here," spoke up Maurice Trask. "This won't do, you know. Areyou people accusing a girl of Doctor Waring's murder? A _girl_!"
"Not accusation yet," Cray told him, "but we want to know more about theyoung lady in question. In fact, she's been dubbed Miss Mystery, becauseso little is known about her."
"Miss Mystery, eh? And she came here to see the Doctor the night hedied?"
"She did not!" Lockwood asserted, calmly. "Had she done so, I should haveknown it."
"Of course you would," Trask looked at him shrewdly. "Of course. But theimpress of her clothing was left on the chairback? Is that it?"
"That's it," said Helen, sharply. "And when forty-leven other thingsprove her presence here that evening, I don't know why Mr. Lockwood sopositively denies it. He must have a deep interest in the young lady!"
Helen's spitefulness was undisguised, and her mother looked pained andregretful. Both these women had hoped that Gordon Lockwood's affectionsmight turn toward Helen, and the older one realized that such speeches asthis would in no way further their plans.
But Helen was thoroughly jealous of Miss Mystery, for more reasons thanone, and she let her unbridled tongue expose her feelings.
Cray knew all this, and therefore took Helen's statements with a grain ofsalt. And yet, he soliloquized, she would scarcely make up that rigmaroleof the dress trimming. He fancied it was true. And why shouldn't it be?The evidence of Anita Austin's presence in John Waring's study that fatalnight was far too strong to be ignored. Moreover, the girl's possessionof the money and the ruby pin had yet to be satisfactorily explained. Itwas unthinkable that anyone should have stolen these things and "planted"them in Miss Austin's bureau drawer!
"I'd like to see this young woman," said Trask, suddenly.
"I'm going over to see her now, come along," invited Cray, who was alittle impressed by the perspicuity of this stranger.
"I'm going, too," declared Helen Peyton, and as Lockwood couldn't keepaway, they all went over to the Adams house.
In the cosy sitting-room they congregated, and Mrs. Adams went upstairsto summon Anita.
She found the room locked. When, in response to a repeated summons, thedoor was opened, Mrs. Adams faced a tearful, sad-faced girl, who askedindifferently what was wanted.
"You'll have to come down stairs," the landlady said; "Mr. Cray is there,and--and some others. They want to see you."
"I won't go down. I don't want to see anybody."
"I guess you'll have to." Mrs. Adams spoke a little crisply. "It's a--asummons. You've got to come."
"Oh." Miss Austin's manner changed. "Well, I will, then. Wait till Ibathe my face."
Mrs. Adams came in, closed the door and waited. She felt sorry for MissMystery, but she also felt suspicious of her. Perhaps the mystery wouldnow be cleared up.
The good woman was about to speak kindly to her strange boarder but asshe watched, she lost the desire to help her.
For, to Mrs. Adams' primitive notions, the girl was doing dreadfulthings.
Having bathed her tear-stained face, Miss Mystery proceeded to powder itlightly, and, horror of horrors, she added the merest flick of rouge toher pale cheeks. And not content with such baseness she stooped tofurther degradation and touched her pale lips with some heathenishcontraption that made them just a li
ttle redder!
No, Mrs. Adams had no sympathy for a girl who would do such awful things,and she waited in a grim and stony silence.
Then Miss Mystery fluffed out her pretty dark hair a little more over herears, settled her sailor collar, with its row of tiny buttons fortrimming, and with a critical glance at her shoes, signified herreadiness to go down stairs.
Still in disapproving silence, Mrs. Adams marched by her side, and theywent together to face the visitors.
The attitude of the girl as she entered the room was a triumph ofperfection.
Her beauty, which usually needed no artificial aid, was striking, and herlarge dark eyes rested on each in turn with an air of innocent wonder,quickly followed by a pathetic, beseeching little smile that touched theheart of several auditors, even though they deemed it disingenuous.
Maurice Trask, shrewd and calculating, sized her up, as he would haveexpressed it.
And his sizing up was decidedly complimentary. So much so, in fact, thathe almost concluded to take her part against all comers.
"I'm for her," he said to himself, "and yet," he added, to the sameconfidant, "she's nobody's fool! That girl knows what she's about--and byjingo, if she wanted to kill a man, she could kill him! I'll say shecould!"
It was Miss Austin's dress that caught every one's eye. Not a personpresent, among the visitors, but wanted to say, "turn around--oh, do!"
But the girl sank into a low chair beside Saltonstall Adams and quietlyawaited developments.
"May I present Mr. Trask," Cray said, a little awkwardly, for it was noteasy to be casual under the glance of those pathetic eyes.
Anita bowed courteously if coldly, and then there was an embarrassingsilence.
"Well," Trask remarked, at last, "you people are not very talkative,guess I'll take the helm myself. Miss Austin, will you be good enough toget up and turn around?"
The request was so simply made, that, almost without thinking of itsstrangeness, Anita did exactly as she was asked.
Sure enough, there were two rows of buttons down the back of her bodice,and another row across the sailor collar.
At a nod from Trask she sat down again, and then the storm broke.
"I told you so!" cried Helen Peyton. "That's the very dress that made themarks on that chair back! Dare you deny, Miss Austin, that you were inDoctor Waring's study that night he died?"
The dark eyes of Miss Mystery opened wide in horror. She seemed fairlyparalyzed with fright, and glanced wildly from one face to another.
Maurice Trask's showed only frank admiration. He looked at the girl as ifhe had never before seen any one so attractive.
Gordon Lockwood's face betrayed no emotion of any sort. Had he beenindifferent to Miss Mystery instead of loving her, as he did, he couldhave shown no less expressive countenance.
And all the others present showed definite and decided suspicion, scornand hatred.
Except one. Old Salt looked kindly at the agitated girl. He even held outa protective hand, and with a gentle inflection, said:
"Tell the truth, dear child. _Did_ you know Doctor Waring?"
Slowly Miss Mystery's eyes traveled round the room. Looking at each facein turn, her own expression became more and more hard and stubborn. Then,seeing the kindness on the face of Old Salt, she broke down utterly andsobbed out. "Oh, he's dead--he's dead! what shall I do?"