Chapter X
_I Receive an Ultimatum_
Fielding Thaneford was buried three days later in S. Saviour'schurchyard. As relatives, even in remote degree, we were bound to attendthe services, and also to be present at the interment. For Betty it wasan ordeal, the reopening of a half-closed wound, and I could feel herhand tremble as it lay in the crook of my arm, the grave yawning at ourfeet. In my capacity as Hildebrand of the "Hundred" I was already herofficial protector, and I was looking forward to the establishment of arelationship infinitely nearer and dearer. Even now I think she sensedwhat was in my mind and heart; but, after all these emotional upheavals,there must be a decent interval for a new adjustment to the facts oflife--compensation, as the mathematical formula has it. The mutualunderstanding had already been established, and the flower of our futurehappiness would be all the lovelier for that we did not seek to forceits bourgeoning.
As the funeral party withdrew from the burial enclosure, John Thanefordpresented himself.
"I shall be going away Saturday," he began, fixing his eyes exclusivelyon Betty's face.
"Do you mean for a visit?" she inquired.
"I don't quite know," he evaded. "But I dare say the 'Court' will beshut up indefinitely."
"I am sorry for that."
"Are you going to be at home within an hour or so? There is something Ihave to say to you. Now then, I won't be put off by made-up excuses," headded, seeing that Betty hesitated.
"Come any time after five," she answered. He stood aside, and we passedon.
After luncheon I went down to the lower reach of the Whippany where wewere preparing to install a small electric power and storage plant.Presently, I saw a familiar figure walking over from the house--ChalmersWarriner.
"Just got back from New York last night," he explained, "and thought I'drun over and see you all. So the old man died?"
We talked generally on the events of the last fortnight; then I wentmore particularly into the circumstances attendant upon FieldingThaneford's last hours, and Warriner listened attentively. The series ofnumbers which Betty had obtained from the dying man plainly appealed tohis imagination, but he agreed with me that neither the numbersthemselves nor their alphabetical equivalents offered any intelligibleclue. "Of course he wanted to put over some message," he mused, "and hetrusted to Betty's intuition to make things plain."
* * * * *
Betty, instead of Miss Graeme! Really, I hadn't been aware that Warrinerwas on so intimate a footing at the "Hundred." But of course it was allright; Warriner was older, by at least ten years, than either Betty ormyself, and he probably looked on himself as a sort of elder brother tothe entire household. I tried to recall if Betty was accustomed to callhim by his Christian name. But I could not remember ... it was none ofmy business ... what difference anyway could it make.
Unconsciously I had yielded to the slight pressure of Warriner's handupon my arm. He led me away from the noisy gang of negroes working onthe projected dam and power-house; presently we were within sight ofone of the farm barns. The great double doors were open, but thedistance was full half a mile, and nothing within the structure wasdiscernible.
Warriner unwrapped the slender parcel that he was carrying, and producedwhat looked very much like an old-fashioned spy glass, only of mostunusual length. "And that's just what it is," he said, divining mythought. "Except that I have replaced the object glass with the lens Ipicked up the other day at Thaneford's crow's-nest on Sugar Loaf."
"Go on."
"I told you that there seemed to be some extraordinary opticalproperties in that piece of glass. I tried it out in my own laboratory,and got certain results. Then, when I was in Baltimore, I had Carter ofJohns Hopkins check me up with his more complete apparatus. Some ratherastonishing conclusions."
"How so?"
"Well, you've probably heard of the telephoto lens--a sort of longdistance microscope, to use very colloquial language. I have seentelephoto pictures of the Matterhorn, taken five or six miles away, inwhich you could make out the actual geologic texture of the rocks.
"But, of course, there must be plenty of light on the object to getclear definition. On the same principle, one can stand inside a room andsee everything outdoors with perfect distinctness. It's a very differentthing, trying to look into a room from without. The visibility is low,as they say, and you don't get much."
"Yes, I understand that."
"Again there are optical lenses specially designed to make the most ofpoor illumination. A familiar example is the sailor's night-glass.
"You guess what I'm coming to. This particular lens has the telephotorange, and, at the same time, it works with the minimum of illumination.Never saw anything like it before, and it would be worth a fortune inthe binocular field."
"Show me."
Chalmers Warriner rested the long glass on a fence post, ranged it onthe open door of the barn nearly three thousand yards away, and did somepreliminary focussing and other adjustments. He took a look, and theninvited me to do the same.
It was truly marvellous! It seemed as though I were standing on the verythreshold of the barn and looking inside. I recognized Adam Lake, thefield foreman, working on the engine of a small tractor. In thebackground, Zack was oiling a set of harness. The details wereastoundingly distinct.
"It's evident now," continued Warriner, "that the iron trough atThaneford's observation point was intended to support a telescope suchas this. The instrument is too long to hold steadily in the hand, and ithad to be ranged precisely on the two-foot opening of the pridella. Itwas therefore possible to sit comfortably concealed on Sugar Loaf, andkeep accurate tab on whatever was passing in Francis Graeme's library;provided, of course, that one of the pridellas was open. Even thiswonderful lens could not penetrate stained glass. It isn't an X-rayapparatus."
"Granting all your premises--why?"
"And that's just what I would like mightily to know," answered Warriner."But let's go back to the house; there's something else I want to showyou."
We went to the library, and, by way of refreshment after our long walkin the sun, I told Effingham to make us some claret cup. Presently hebrought it in, and proceeded to fill a couple of long, Rhinewine glasseswith the beverage. The big cut-glass pitcher was heavily beaded withcool moisture, and looked irresistibly inviting; the EighteenthAmendment was unanimously declared unconstitutional, and we drank anddrank again. So long as the cellar of "Hildebrand Hundred" continued tofunction it was still worth while to acquire a thirst.
Warriner took a small object from a cardboard box, and passed it over tome. "Remember that?" he asked.
"I suppose it's the same moth cocoon which we found plastered on thepostern-door----"
"And directly on the line between door and casing," interjectedWarriner. "Being proof positive that the door could not have been openedfor a period considerably antecedent to Graeme's death."
"I presume so."
"Well, I took that cocoon home, and made some tests. It had beenfastened on the door by means of mucilage--common, ordinary mucilage."
I stared at Warriner without speaking. This was indeed confounding.
"To air some of my recently acquired entomological knowledge, I may tellyou that the moth caterpillar generally goes underground to enter thepupa stage," continued Warriner. "If the transformation does take placeat the surface the cocoon is sometimes found under a dead leaf or afallen branch; still more rarely beneath the bark of a tree. It isvirtually impossible that it should have been fixed naturally in such anexposed position as the crack of a door.
"Even more significant is the fact that this cocoon is of a species notindigenous to Maryland; in fact, it doesn't belong to this country atall. Come over here," and he led me to the corner in which stood theglass cases containing Richard Hildebrand's famous collection of the_lepidoptera_. Warriner pointed out a magnificent specimen of the GreatPeacock moth of Europe, an entomological aristocrat described by theFrench naturalist, J. H
. Fabre, in one of his fascinating essays. Nowall the other specimens of the adult butterfly or moth were accompaniedby their respective cocoons. But below the Great Peacock was a vacantspace. Warriner lifted the lid of the case, and extended his hand forthe cocoon that I still held. He fixed it in the empty place. "Certainlyit looks as though it belonged there," he said tersely.
Effingham came in to take away the tray of pitcher and glasses. "Comehere, boy," said Warriner with the confident command of the born andbred Southerner, and Effingham was prompt to obey.
"You remember the day Marse Francis died?"
"Yassah."
"When Miss Eunice sent you up stairs to get the ammonia was she wearingany kind of a wrap?"
"Nossah. Dere was a lil' brack shawl er-hangin' on 'er arm; nuffinelse."
Warriner glanced at me. "Keep that in mind," he said quietly. He turnedagain to Effingham. "Did she ask you for anything?" he continued.
"Nossah."
"I believe you're lying to me. Just think it over ... carefully now."With the greatest deliberation Warriner took some strands of coarsegreen and yellow worsted from his pocket, and proceeded to tie them intoan intricate-appearing knot. Effingham watched him with concentrated andfascinated attention. .
"Well?" said Warriner sharply, and leaned forward with the variegatedknot depending from his forefinger. Effingham shivered, and backed away.
"I do 'member one lil' thing," stammered the old man. "Mis' Eunice, shedone tole me to-gib 'er----"
"The master-key?"
"Yassah, dat's ezackly what she done said. She 'splained the doctahmight want to go in the liburry befo' I come back."
"Then you did give it to Miss Eunice?"
"She grabbed it fum me, right outen my han', and tole me to git erlong.An' dat's de whole Gawd's truf, Marse Chalmers."
"All right," nodded Warriner, and Effingham retired with everyindication that he was glad to get away.
"Anything is voodoo to one of the old-time darkies," smiled Warriner. "Abit of colored ribbon and two crossed sticks is a good enough 'cunjer'for almost any emergency."
"I recall your threat at the inquest about the postern-door," Iassented. "It brought home the bacon without delay. All the same, mydear chap, you must admit that these revelations are most disturbing. Idon't know----"
"----what to think of Eunice Trevor." Warriner had interrupted tofinish out my sentence for me. "But let me sum up my conclusions todate," he continued.
"Miss Trevor was on the library terrace around one o'clock. Presumablyshe received a signal from the observation point on Sugar Loaf thatFrancis Graeme was lying dead, and that she might safely enter the room,and abstract the iron despatch-box which was supposed to contain thewill disinheriting John Thaneford. She hadn't the nerve to examine thebox in the dead man's presence, or she may have been alarmed by someinterruption from without--say Effingham's summons to luncheon. Thethought occurred to her of blinding her own trail, and so she snatched acocoon at random from the case of mounted specimens, daubed it withlibrary gum, and stuck it on the crack of the postern-door, of coursefrom the outside, as she was making her escape by the secret entrance.Naturally she was not aware that, in her haste, she had dropped one ofher roses in the passageway.
"In the seclusion of her room she opened and thoroughly searched thebox, but found only the original will in which John Thaneford had beennamed the residuary legatee. The natural explanation would be thatFrancis Graeme had been prevented from carrying out his intention ofmaking you his heir, and that no later instrument was in existence. Inher devotion to John Thaneford's interests, it would now becomenecessary for her to get the despatch-box back in the library before thetragedy should be discovered and the room carefully examined. She foundher opportunity when Doctor Marcy went to meet Betty, leaving Effinghamon guard at the library door. You remember the darky telling us that shehad a shawl on her arm, an obvious means of concealing such an object asthe despatch-box. Then she took the master-key from him----"
"Why did she wait so long?" I interrupted. "She might never have hadthat chance."
"Well, at the first opening of the library door she may have been toounnerved to risk it. You recall that she fainted at the moment whenMarcus, the house-boy, made the discovery of the body.
"In the second place the box is rather bulky, and she would have foundgreat difficulty in placing it in position, under the alert and curiouseyes of the servants. Finally, she may have had some thought ofre-entering the room by means of the postern-door, which still remainedunlocked."
"A desperate _dernier ressort_," I observed. "Somebody would havecertainly seen her."
"Granted. Anyway Betty's arrival did give her a chance, and she wasquick to take advantage of it.
"Well, that's my case," concluded Warriner. "How does it strike you?"
"It has its weak points."
"Agreed."
"Who unlocked the library door when Doctor Marcy returned with my CousinBetty?"
"Marcy says it was Effingham. Miss Trevor would want to get themaster-key out of her possession the instant that she had accomplishedher purpose of replacing the despatch-box. And somehow she managed it,even though Betty and the doctor arrived on the scene a trifle inadvance of Effingham's return with the ammonia."
"Very well; we'll drop that issue for the present. Assuming that youhave fairly reconstructed the action connected with the abstraction ofthe despatch-box and its return to the room, there still remains thequestion of how Francis Graeme came to his death. Was it the accident ofhis falling and striking his head on that same iron box, or was heattacked from behind? Remember that the postern-door was unlocked allthe time."
"I don't think it was Eunice Trevor who killed him," returned Warriner."Of course, it is conceivable that she entered by the secret way, struckGraeme down, and escaped with the despatch-box; everything elsefollowing as before. But, in the first place, she is a woman, and belowthe normal feminine in the matter of physique. An assault of thisnature is no child's play, even granting the element of completesurprise. Secondly, it is pretty clear that she entered the library inobedience to a signal from John Thaneford. He had been watching theprogress of events through his wonderful telephoto lens, and the wavingof a handkerchief told her that the way was open."
"How about Thaneford himself?"
"Assuming that it was a murder, I still see no ground for trying to fixthe guilt on him. He could hardly have approached the library thatmorning without being seen by Zack and Zeb."
"He might have had an accomplice, or rather a tool. But I suppose thathypothesis is open to the same objection--the continued presence of thetwo men who were mowing the lawn?"
"Yes and no," returned Warriner thoughtfully. "A white man certainlywould be noticed. But there are always negroes coming and going aboutour Southern houses, and Zeb and Zack would have paid no attention toanyone of their own color. Moreover, there are plenty of bad niggerscapable of cutting your throat for a couple of dollars."
"But think of the risk involved in using such an instrument!" Iexclaimed. "And somehow I can't quite believe it of John Thaneford,heartily as I dislike him. I can understand his committing this allegedcrime with his own hand, but I don't see him hiring a black thug to actfor him."
"Nor I," agreed Warriner. "It isn't in the picture."
"And so we come back to the verdict of the coroner's jury: Dead by thevisitation of God. Only it's curious----"
"Yes?"
"----that John Thaneford should have had such definite foreknowledgethat the visitation in question was impending. Remember the look-out onSugar Loaf and the handkerchief marked with his initials."
"It's a blind alley right enough," assented Warriner. He picked up thespy glass with which he had been experimenting, and looked it over withminute attention. "Did you ever hear," he asked, "that in his youngerdays Fielding Thaneford was considered to be an expert in the science ofoptics? He made a number of improvements in lenses, and enjoyed areputation quite analogous to that of John B
rashear, of Pittsburg. Idare say he constructed this very lens."
"But on the twenty-first of June, this year of grace, the old man wasphysically helpless. He couldn't have walked ten feet withoutassistance."
"I'm not trying to bring him into it," replied Warriner calmly. "Imerely state another fact that should be borne in mind."
* * * * *
The noise of wheels on the gravelled driveway announced the arrival of avisitor, and presently I recognized John Thaneford's voice inquiring forBetty. It annoyed me that he should come to the house, but Betty hadgiven him the appointment, and I had no shadow of an excuse forinterfering. After fidgetting around for some ten minutes I beggedWarriner to make himself at home, and left the house for the ostensiblepurpose of giving some directions to the workmen who were relaying abrick wall leading to the glass-houses. But I kept an eye on the frontdoor, and when, a quarter of an hour later, John Thaneford finally madehis appearance, I managed to meet him on the portico. One glance at hisdark face satisfied me as to the nature of the answer he had receivedfrom Betty. That was all I wanted to know, and I would have passed himwith a bare word and nod. But he would not have it so.
"I have just one thing to say to you, Cousin Hugh," he began.
Cousin Hugh again! It was astonishing what concentrated insolence thisrural bully contrived to put into this ostensibly friendly salutation.But no matter; I did not intend to have any brawling on my own doorstep,and I determined to take no notice of covert provocation.
"And it's this," he continued. "The girl or the 'Hundred'--you canchoose between them. But both you shan't have."
He waited for me to reply, but I only stood there and looked at him.
"Which is it to be?" he asked, his thick, black eyebrows narrowing to aV-point.
"I've nothing to say to you," I answered.
"Very good. Only remember that I played fair, and gave you your choice.Good evening, Cousin Hugh, and damn you for a white-livered Yank that Iwouldn't feed to my hawgs." He raised his hand as though half inclinedto strike me; then he changed his mind and dropped it.
"Please don't hesitate on my account," I observed. "I can take whateveryou may be able to give." Whereupon he favored me with another scowl,and departed.
"That puts him out of the running," I reflected with no smallsatisfaction. But my complacency was short-lived. Chalmers Warrinerstayed to dinner, and my worst fears were confirmed; Betty did call himby his Christian name, and the two were evidently on the very best ofterms. I dare say I must have sulked a little, for after Warriner haddriven back to Calverton Betty became appallingly distant and reserved.I had to make my peace, and I did so with all humbleness. I fancied thatthere was a subdued glint of amusement in Betty's eye as I stumbledthrough some banal excuses about a splitting headache--I am nothing ifnot original. But she gave me absolution very generously, and we bothagreed that Warriner was one of the best fellows on earth.
"It's mostly on account of the reputation of the 'Hundred' forhospitality," added Betty. "You know, we think a lot of that down here,and you are now the head of the family. Of course you understand; andso, good night, Cousin Hugh."
Cousin Hugh again! But with a difference; all the difference.
* * * * *
I had been sitting alone in the library after the retirement of theladies. It struck eleven o'clock, late hours for country mice, and Irose to go to my room. Just then the telephone bell rang, and I foundWarriner on the wire. "I have this moment learned," he began, "that anegro named Dave Campion was arrested late this evening, charged withthe murder of Francis Graeme. You had better come to Calverton the firstthing in the morning."