II
MIDNIGHT AND MR. KING
Leroux clutched at the corner of the writing-table to steady himselfand stood there looking at the deathly face. Under the most favorablecircumstances, he was no man of action, although in common with the restof his kind he prided himself upon the possession of that presence ofmind which he lacked. It was a situation which could not have alarmed"Martin Zeda," but it alarmed, immeasurably, nay, struck inert withhorror, Martin Zeda's creator.
Then, in upon Leroux's mental turmoil, a sensible idea intruded itself.
"Dr. Cumberly!" he muttered. "I hope to God he is in!"
Without touching the recumbent form upon the chesterfield, withoutseeking to learn, without daring to learn, if she lived or had died,Leroux, the tempo of his life changed to a breathless gallop, rushedout of the study, across the entrance hail, and, throwing wide the flatdoor, leapt up the stair to the flat above--that of his old friend, Dr.Cumberly.
The patter of the slippered feet grew faint upon the stair; then, asLeroux reached the landing above, became inaudible altogether.
In Leroux's study, the table-clock ticked merrily on, seeming to hastenits ticking as the hand crept around closer and closer to midnight.The mosaic shade of the lamp mingled reds and blues and greens upon thewhite ceiling above and poured golden light upon the pages of manuscriptstrewn about beneath it. This was a typical work-room of a literary manhaving the ear of the public--typical in every respect, save for thefur-clad figure outstretched upon the settee.
And now the peeping light indiscreetly penetrated to the hem of a silkengarment revealed by some disarrangement of the civet fur. To the eyeof an experienced observer, had such an observer been present in HenryLeroux's study, this billow of silk and lace behind the sheltering furmust have proclaimed itself the edge of a night-robe, just as the anklebeneath had proclaimed itself to Henry Leroux's shocked susceptibilitiesto be innocent of stocking.
Thirty seconds were wanted to complete the cycle of the day, when one ofthe listless hands thrown across the back of the chesterfield opened andclosed spasmodically. The fur at the bosom of the midnight visitor beganrapidly to rise and fall.
Then, with a choking cry, the woman struggled upright; her hair, hastilydressed, burst free of its bindings and poured in gleaming cascade downabout her shoulders.
Clutching with one hand at her cloak in order to keep it wrapped abouther, and holding the other blindly before her, she rose, and with thatsame odd, groping movement, began to approach the writing-table. Thepupils of her eyes were mere pin-points now; she shuddered convulsively,and her skin was dewed with perspiration. Her breath came in agonizedgasps.
"God!--I... am dying... and I cannot--tell him!" she breathed.
Feverishly, weakly, she took up a pen, and upon a quarto page, alreadyhalf filled with Leroux's small, neat, illegible writing, began toscrawl a message, bending down, one hand upon the table, and with herwhole body shaking.
Some three or four wavering lines she had written, when intimately,for the flat of Henry Leroux in Palace Mansions lay within sight of theclock-face--Big Ben began to chime midnight.
The writer started back and dropped a great blot of ink upon the paper;then, realizing the cause of the disturbance, forced herself to continueher task.
The chime being completed: ONE! boomed the clock; TWO!... THREE! ...FOUR!...
The light in the entrance-hall went out!
FIVE! boomed Big Ben;--SIX!... SEVEN!...
A hand, of old ivory hue, a long, yellow, clawish hand, with part of asinewy forearm, crept in from the black lobby through the study doorwayand touched the electric switch!
EIGHT!...
The study was plunged in darkness!
Uttering a sob--a cry of agony and horror that came from her verysoul--the woman stood upright and turned to face toward the door,clutching the sheet of paper in one rigid hand.
Through the leaded panes of the window above the writing-table swepta silvern beam of moonlight. It poured, searchingly, upon the fur-cladfigure swaying by the table; cutting through the darkness of the roomlike some huge scimitar, to end in a pallid pool about the woman'sshadow on the center of the Persian carpet.
Coincident with her sobbing cry--NINE! boomed Big Ben; TEN!...
Two hands--with outstretched, crooked, clutching fingers--leapt from thedarkness into the light of the moonbeam.
"God! Oh, God!" came a frenzied, rasping shriek--"MR. KING!"
Straight at the bare throat leapt the yellow hands; a gurgling cryrose--fell--and died away.
Gently, noiselessly, the lady of the civet fur sank upon the carpet bythe table; as she fell, a dim black figure bent over her. The tearingof paper told of the note being snatched from her frozen grip; but neverfor a moment did the face or the form of her assailant encroach upon themoonbeam.
Batlike, this second and terrible visitant avoided the light.
The deed had occupied so brief a time that but one note of the greatbell had accompanied it.
TWELVE! rang out the final stroke from the clock-tower. A low, eeriewhistle, minor, rising in three irregular notes and falling in weird,unusual cadence to silence again, came from somewhere outside the room.
Then darkness--stillness--with the moon a witness of one more ghastlycrime.
Presently, confused and intermingled voices from above proclaimed thereturn of Leroux with the doctor. They were talking in an excitedkey, the voice of Leroux, especially, sounding almost hysterical. Theycreated such a disturbance that they attracted the attention of Mr. JohnExel, M. P., occupant of the flat below, who at that very moment hadreturned from the House and was about to insert the key in the lock ofhis door. He looked up the stairway, but, all being in darkness, wasunable to detect anything. Therefore he called out:--
"Is that you, Leroux? Is anything the matter?"
"Matter, Exel!" cried Leroux; "there's a devil of a business! Formercy's sake, come up!"
His curiosity greatly excited, Mr. Exel mounted the stairs, enteringthe lobby of Leroux's flat immediately behind the owner and Dr.Cumberly--who, like Leroux, was arrayed in a dressing-gown; for he hadbeen in bed when summoned by his friend.
"You are all in the dark, here," muttered Dr. Cumberly, fumbling for theswitch.
"Some one has turned the light out!" whispered Leroux, nervously; "Ileft it on."
Dr. Cumberly pressed the switch, turning up the lobby light as Exelentered from the landing. Then Leroux, entering the study first of thethree, switched on the light there, also.
One glance he threw about the room, then started back like a manphysically stricken.
"Cumberly!" he gasped, "Cumberly"--and he pointed to the furry heap bythe writing-table.
"You said she lay on the chesterfield," muttered Cumberly.
"I left her there."...
Dr. Cumberly crossed the room and dropped upon his knees. He turned thewhite face toward the light, gently parted the civet fur, and pressedhis ear to the silken covering of the breast. He started slightly andlooked into the glazing eyes.
Replacing the fur which he had disarranged, the physician stood up andfixed a keen gaze upon the face of Henry Leroux. The latter swallowednoisily, moistening his parched lips.
"Is she"... he muttered; "is she"...
"God's mercy, Leroux!" whispered Mr. Exel--"what does this mean?"
"The woman is dead," said Dr. Cumberly.
In common with all medical men, Dr. Cumberly was a physiognomist; he wasa great physician and a proportionately great physiognomist. Therefore,when he looked into Henry Leroux's eyes, he saw there, and recognized,horror and consternation. With no further evidence than that furnishedby his own powers of perception, he knew that the mystery of thiswoman's death was as inexplicable to Henry Leroux as it was inexplicableto himself.
He was a masterful man, with the gray eyes of a diplomat, and he knewLeroux as did few men. He laid both hands upon the novelist's shoulders.
"Brace up, old chap!" he said; "you will want a
ll your wits about you."
"I left her," began Leroux, hesitatingly--"I left"...
"We know all about where you left her, Leroux," interrupted Cumberly;"but what we want to get at is this: what occurred between the time youleft her, and the time of our return?"
Exel, who had walked across to the table, and with a horror-strickenface was gingerly examining the victim, now exclaimed:--
"Why! Leroux! she is--she is... UNDRESSED!"
Leroux clutched at his dishevelled hair with both hands.
"My dear Exel!" he cried--"my dear, good man! Why do you use that tone?You say 'she is undressed!' as though I were responsible for the poorsoul's condition!"
"On the contrary, Leroux!" retorted Exel, standing very upright, andstaring through his monocle; "on the contrary, YOU misconstrue ME! I didnot intend to imply--to insinuate--"
"My dear Exel!" broke in Dr. Cumberly--"Leroux is perfectly well awarethat you intended nothing unkindly. But the poor chap, quite naturally,is distraught at the moment. You MUST understand that, man!"
"I understand; and I am sorry," said Exel, casting a sidelong glanceat the body. "Of course, it is a delicate subject. No doubt Leroux canexplain."...
"Damn your explanation!" shrieked Leroux hysterically. "I CANNOTexplain! If I could explain, I"...
"Leroux!" said Cumberly, placing his arm paternally about the shakingman--"you are such a nervous subject. DO make an effort, old fellow.Pull yourself together. Exel does not know the circumstances--"
"I am curious to learn them," said the M. P. icily.
Leroux was about to launch some angry retort, but Cumberly forced himinto the chesterfield, and crossing to a bureau, poured out a stiffpeg of brandy from a decanter which stood there. Leroux sank upon thechesterfield, rubbing his fingers up and down his palms with acurious nervous movement and glancing at the dead woman, and at Exel,alternately, in a mechanical, regular fashion, pathetic to behold.
Mr. Exel, tapping his boot with the head of his inverted cane, wasstaring fixedly at the doctor.
"Here you are, Leroux," said Cumberly; "drink this up, and let usarrange our facts in decent order before we--"
"Phone for the police?" concluded Exel, his gaze upon the last speaker.
Leroux drank the brandy at a gulp and put down the glass upon a littlepersian coffee table with a hand which he had somehow contrived tosteady.
"You are keen on the official forms, Exel?" he said, with a wry smile."Please accept my apology for my recent--er--outburst, but picture thisthing happening in your place!"
"I cannot," declared Exel, bluntly.
"You lack imagination," said Cumberly. "Take a whisky and soda, and helpme to search the flat."
"Search the flat!"
The physician raised a forefinger, forensically.
"Since you, Exel, if not actually in the building, must certainly havebeen within sight of the street entrance at the moment of the crime, andsince Leroux and I descended the stair and met you on the landing, it isreasonable to suppose that the assassin can only be in one place: HERE!"
"HERE!" cried Exel and Leroux, together.
"Did you see anyone leave the lower hall as you entered?"
"No one; emphatically, there was no one there!"
"Then I am right."
"Good God!" whispered Exel, glancing about him, with a new, and keenapprehensiveness.
"Take your drink," concluded Cumberly, "and join me in my search."
"Thanks," replied Exel, nervously proffering a cigar-case; "but I won'tdrink."
"As you wish," said the doctor, who thus, in his masterful way, actedthe host; "and I won't smoke. But do you light up."
"Later," muttered Exel; "later. Let us search, first."
Leroux stood up; Cumberly forced him back.
"Stay where you are, Leroux; it is elementary strategy to operate from afixed base. This study shall be the base. Ready, Exel?"
Exel nodded, and the search commenced. Leroux sat rigidly upon thesettee, his hands resting upon his knees, watching and listening. Savefor the merry ticking of the table-clock, and the movements of thesearchers from room to room, nothing disturbed the silence. From thetable, and that which lay near to it, he kept his gaze obstinatelyaverted.
Five or six minutes passed in this fashion, Leroux expecting each tobring a sudden outcry. He was disappointed. The searchers returned, Exelnoticeably holding himself aloof and Cumberly very stern.
Exel, a cigar between his teeth, walked to the writing-table, carefullycircling around the dreadful obstacle which lay in his path, to helphimself to a match. As he stooped to do so, he perceived that in theclosed right hand of the dead woman was a torn scrap of paper.
"Leroux! Cumberly!" he exclaimed; "come here!"
He pointed with the match as Cumberly hurriedly crossed to his side.Leroux, inert, remained where he sat, but watched with haggard eyes. Dr.Cumberly bent down and sought to detach the paper from the grip of thepoor cold fingers, without tearing it. Finally he contrived to releasethe fragment, and, perceiving it to bear some written words, he spreadit out beneath the lamp, on the table, and eagerly scanned it, loweringhis massive gray head close to the writing.
He inhaled, sibilantly.
"Do you see, Exel?" he jerked--for Exel was bending over his shoulder.
"I do--but I don't understand."
"What is it?" came hollowly from Leroux.
"It is the bottom part of an unfinished note," said Cumberly, slowly."It is written shakily in a woman's hand, and it reads:--'Your wife'"...
Leroux sprang to his feet and crossed the room in three strides.
"Wife!" he muttered. His voice seemed to be choked in his throat; "mywife! It says something about my wife?"
"It says," resumed the doctor, quietly, "'your wife.' Then there's apiece torn out, and the two words 'Mr. King.' No stop follows, and theline is evidently incomplete."
"My wife!" mumbled Leroux, staring unseeingly at the fragment of paper."MY WIFE! MR. KING! Oh! God! I shall go mad!"
"Sit down!" snapped Dr. Cumberly, turning to him; "damn it, Leroux, youare worse than a woman!"
In a manner almost childlike, the novelist obeyed the will of thestronger man, throwing himself into an armchair, and burying his face inhis hands.
"My wife!" he kept muttering--"my wife!"...
Exel and the doctor stood staring at one another; when suddenly, fromoutside the flat, came a metallic clattering, followed by a littlesuppressed cry. Helen Cumberly, in daintiest deshabille, appeared inthe lobby, carrying, in one hand, a chafing-dish, and, in the other,the lid. As she advanced toward the study, from whence she had heard herfather's voice:--
"Why, Mr. Leroux!" she cried, "I shall CERTAINLY report you to Mira,now! You have not even touched the omelette!"
"Good God! Cumberly! stop her!" muttered Exel, uneasily. "The door wasnot latched!"...
But it was too late. Even as the physician turned to intercept hisdaughter, she crossed the threshold of the study. She stopped shortat perceiving Exel; then, with a woman's unerring intuition, divined atragedy, and, in the instant of divination, sought for, and found, thehub of the tragic wheel.
One swift glance she cast at the fur-clad form, prostrate.
The chafing-dish fell from her hand, and the omelette rolled, agrotesque mass, upon the carpet. She swayed, dizzily, raising one handto her brow, but had recovered herself even as Leroux sprang forward tosupport her.
"All right, Leroux!" cried Cumberly; "I will take her upstairs again.Wait for me, Exel."
Exel nodded, lighted his cigar, and sat down in a chair, remote from thewriting-table.
"Mira--my wife!" muttered Leroux, standing, looking after Dr. Cumberlyand his daughter as they crossed the lobby. "She will report to--mywife."...
In the outer doorway, Helen Cumberly looked back over her shoulder,and her glance met that of Leroux. Hers was a healing glance and astrengthening glance; it braced him up as nothing else could have done.He turned to Exel.
"For Heaven's sake, Exel!" he said, evenly, "give me your advice--giveme your help; I am going to 'phone for the police."
Exel looked up with an odd expression.
"I am entirely at your service, Leroux," he said. "I can quiteunderstand how this ghastly affair has shaken you up."
"It was so sudden," said the other, plaintively. "It is incrediblethat so much emotion can be crowded into so short a period of a man'slife."...
Big Ben chimed the quarter after midnight. Leroux, eyes averted, walkedto the writing-table, and took up the telephone.