  It was Saturday. The funeral of Miss Carrington had been held the day before and the imposing obsequies had been entirely in keeping with her love of elaborate display in life. The casket was of the richest, the flowers piled mountain high, the music, the most expensive available; for the young people in charge had felt it incumbent on them to arrange everything as Miss Lucy would have desired it. It was a pathetic commentary on the character of the dead woman that while all who mourned her felt the shock and horror of her death, they were not deeply bowed with sorrow. Pauline, as nearest relative, would naturally grieve most, but for the moment her affections were lost sight of in the paralyzing effects of the sudden tragedy. Anita Frayne had practically “gone to pieces.” She was nervous, and jumped twitchingly if any one spoke to her. Gray Haviland was reticent, an unusual thing for him, and devoted most of his time to matters of business connected with the estate. Estelle, the maid, had succumbed to a nervous break-down, and had been taken to a nearby sanatorium, where she indulged in frequent and violent hysterics. The household was in a continual excitement. Lawyers and detectives were coming and going, neighbors were calling, and reporters simply infested the place. Pauline and Anita, though outwardly polite, were not on good terms, and rarely talked together. But this morning the two girls and Haviland were called to a confab by Hardy, the detective. “They’ve arrested the Count,” Hardy began, and Anita screamed an interruption: “Arrested Count Charlier! Put him in jail?” “Yes,” returned the detective. “I found the other one of that pair of gloves, the mate to the one in the lady’s hands,—where, do you suppose?” “Where?” “Rolled up in a pair of socks, in the Count’s chiffonnier drawer; of course, to hide it, as it is not at all easy to destroy a thing like that while visiting.” “I know it,” said Pauline, earnestly; “it is hard. I’ve often noticed that, when I’ve wanted to burn a letter or anything. You can’t do it, unknown to the servants or somebody.” “Rubbish!” said Anita, “It would have been easy for the Count to dispose of a glove if he had wanted to. But he didn’t. He never committed that crime! If a glove was found, as you say, somebody else put it there to incriminate an innocent man. It’s too absurd to fasten the thing on Count Charlier! Do you suppose he went to the boudoir and gave Miss Carrington poison, and then shook hands good-evening, and left his glove in her grasp? Nonsense! The glove in her dead hand was put there by the criminal to implicate the Count, and the glove in the rolled-up socks for the same purpose and by the same person!” “By Jove, Miss Frayne! You may be right!” cried Hardy. “Somehow I can’t see the Count’s hand in this thing, and yet——” “And yet, he did it!” put in Haviland. “Have they really jailed him? I’m glad.” “I’m sorry,” said Pauline, and her face was white; “Did he—did he—c-confess?” The girl’s voice trembled, and she could scarcely pronounce the words. “Not he,” said Hardy; “he seemed dazed, and declared his innocence,—but he was not convincing. He takes it very hard and talks wildly and at random. But you know what Frenchmen are; liable to go off their heads at any time.” “But look at it,” reasoned Anita; “why would the Count kill Miss Carrington? Why, he thought of marrying her.” “Not much he didn’t!” and Hardy smiled a little. “I size it up this way. Matters had gone so far that he had to propose to the lady or clear out. He didn’t want to clear out for then she would take back the little matter of ten thousand dollars already marked for him in her will. Moreover, he couldn’t realize that tidy little sum, which he very much wants, so long as she lived. To be sure, he would have had far more, had he married her, but that was not in ‘his nibs’’ plans. So he resorted to desperate measures. He’s a thorough villain, that man! Outwardly, most correct and honorable, but really, an adventurer, as is also his friend, the dashing young widow.” “Mr. Hardy,” and Pauline spoke calmly, now, “do you know these things to be true of Count Charlier, or are you assuming them?” “Well, Miss Stuart, I know human nature pretty well, especially male human nature, and if I’m mistaken in this chap, I’ll be surprised. But also, I’ve set afoot an investigation, and we’ll soon learn his record, antecedents and all that. At present, no one knows much about him; and what Mrs. Frothingham knows she won’t tell.” “It was very strange for Aunt Lucy to give him that money——” began Pauline musingly. “Not at all,” broke in Gray, “I know all about that. Miss Carrington had a certain bunch of bonds that amounted to just fifty thousand dollars. In one of her sudden bursts of generosity, and she often had such, she decided to give those bonds to five people. I mean, to devise them in her will, not to give them now. Well, four were Miss Stuart and Carr Loria, Miss Frayne and myself. And then, she hesitated for some time, but finally announced that the fifth portion should be named for the Count. I was there when the lawyer fixed it up, and Miss Carrington turned to me and said, laughingly, ‘I may change that before it comes due!’ Oh, she was always messing with her will. I’m glad there’s a tidy bit in it for me, as it is. Her demise might have taken place when I was for the moment cut out.” “Was there ever such a time?” asked Hardy. “There sure was! Only last month, she got firing mad with me, and crossed me off without a shilling. Then she got over her mad and restored me to favor.” “You and Miss Frayne have other bequests than those particular bonds you mentioned?” asked the detective. “Yes, we have each ten thou’ beside, which was all right of the old lady, eh, Anita?” “None too much, considering what I have stood from her capricious temper and eccentric ways,” returned the girl. “Your own temper is none too even,” said Pauline, quietly; “I’d rather you wouldn’t speak ill of my aunt, if you please.” What might have been a passage at arms was averted by the appearance of a footman with a cablegram. “It’s from Carr!” exclaimed Pauline, as she tore it open, and read:
“He’s in Cairo,” commented Haviland, looking at the paper; “that’s lucky. If he had been off up the Nile on one of his excavating tours, we mightn’t have had communication for weeks. Well, he practically retains me as business manager, at least for the present. And Lord knows there’s a lot to be done!” “I don’t understand, Gray, why you look upon Carr as more in authority than I am,” said Pauline, almost petulantly; “I am an equal heir, and, too, I am here, and Carr is the other side of the world.” “That’s so, Polly. I don’t know why, myself. I suppose because he is the man of the family.” “That doesn’t make any difference. I think from now on, Gray, it will be proper for you to consider me the head of the house as far as business matters are concerned. You can pay Carr his half of the residuary in whatever form he wants it. I shall keep the place, at least for the present.” “Won’t Mr. Loria come back to America?” asked Hardy. “I scarcely think so,” replied Pauline. “There’s really no use of his doing so, unless he chooses. And I’m pretty sure he won’t choose, as he’s so wrapped up in his work over there, that he’d hate to leave unless necessary.” “But won’t he feel a necessity to help investigate the murder?” urged Hardy. “I don’t know,” and Pauline looked thoughtful. “You see what he says; when he asks if he shall come home, he means do I want him to. If I don’t request it, I’m fairly sure he won’t come. Of course, when he learns all the details, he will be as anxious as we that the murderer should be found. But if I know Carr, he will far rather pay for the most expensive detective service than come over himself. And, too, what could he do, more than we can? We shall, of course, use every effort and every means to solve the mysteries of the case, and he could advise us no better than the lawyers already in our counsel.” “That’s all true,” said Haviland; “and I think Loria means that when he puts me in charge of it all. But after a week or so we’ll get a letter from him, and he’ll tell us what he intends to do.” “I shall cable him,” said Pauline, thoughtfully, “not to come over unless he wants to. Then he can do as he likes. But he needn’t come for my benefit. The property must be divided and all that, but we can settle any uncertainties by mail or cable. And, I think I shall go on the trip as we had planned it.” “You do!” said Gray, in amazement. “Go to Egypt?” “Yes, I don’t see why not. I’d like the trip, and it would take my mind off these horrors. Our passage is booked for a February sailing. If necessary I will postpone it a few weeks, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t go. Do you?” “No,” said Haviland, slowly. Hardy seemed about to speak and then thought better of it, and said nothing. “Of course I shall not go,” began Anita, and Pauline interrupted her with: “You go! I should say not! Why should you?” “Why shouldn’t I, if I choose?” returned Anita, and her pink cheeks burned rosy. “I am my own mistress, I have my own money. I am as free to go as you are.” “Of course you are,” said Pauline, coldly. “Only please advise me on what steamer you are sailing.” “That you may take another,” and Anita laughed shortly. “But I may prefer to go on the one you do. Aren’t you rather suddenly anxious to leave this country?” Pauline faced her. “Anita Frayne,” she said, “if you suspect me of crime, I would rather you said so definitely, than to fling out these continual innuendoes. Do you?” “I couldn’t say that Pauline. But there are,—there certainly are some things to be explained regarding your interview with your aunt on Tuesday night. You know, I heard you in her room.” “Your speech, Anita, is that of a guilty conscience. As you well know, I saw you come from her room at the hour you accuse me of being there.” “Let up, girls,” said Haviland; “you only make trouble by that sort of talk.” “But when an innocent man is arrested, Pauline ought to tell what she knows!” “I have told, and it seems to implicate you!” The impending scene was averted by Haviland, who insisted on knowing what word should be sent to Loria. “May as well get it off,” he said; “it takes long enough to get word back and forth to him, anyway. What shall I say for you, Polly?” “Tell him to come over or not, just as he prefers, but that I shall be quite content if he does not care to come; and that I shall go to Egypt as soon as I can arrange to do so. Put it into shape yourself,—you know more about cabling than I do.” Haviland went away to the library, and Hardy followed. “Look here, Mr. Haviland,” said the latter, “what do these ladies mean by accusing each other of all sorts of things? Did either of them have any hand in this murder?” “Not in a thousand years!” declared Gray, emphatically. “The girls never loved each other, but lately, even before the death of Miss Lucy, they have been at daggers drawn. I don’t know why, I’m sure!” “But what do you make of this story of Miss Frayne’s about hearing Miss Stuart in her aunt’s room?” “She didn’t hear her. I mean she didn’t hear Miss Stuart; what she heard was Miss Carrington talking to herself. The old lady was erratic in lots of ways.” “Why do you all say the old lady? She wasn’t really old.” “About fifty. But she tried so hard to appear young, that it made her seem older.” “She was in love with the Count, of course?” “Yes; as she was in love with any man she could attach. No, that’s not quite true. Miss Lucy cared only for interesting men, but if she could corral one of those, she used every effort to snare him.” “Is the illustrious Count interesting?” “She found him so. And, yes, he always entertained us. She made that bequest to attract his attention and lure him on. And then——” “Well, and then?” “Oh, then he couldn’t withstand the temptation and he shuffled her off, to make sure of the money now.” “You think he killed her, then?” “Who else? Those girls never used a black-jack——” “But the poison?” “Had it been poison alone, there might be a question. But that stunning blow has to be remembered. And neither Miss Stuart nor Miss Frayne can be thought of for a moment in connection with that piece of brutality.” “But the snake? The queer costume?” “The costume wasn’t so queer—for a boudoir garb. The snake is inexplicable,—unless the man has a disordered mind, and used insane methods to cover his tracks. Then there’s the glove, you can’t get around that!” “That glove might have been put in her hand by anybody.” “That’s so! By a professional burglar, say! I really believe——” “Oh, let up on that professional burglar business! No burglar is going off without his loot, when he has uninterrupted time enough to kill a person twice, with poison and then, to hide that, with a fractured skull! How do you explain, even in theory, those two murderous attacks?” “Good Lord, man, I don’t know! It’s all the most inexplicable muddle. I don’t see how any of the things could happen, but they did happen! You’re the detective, not I! Aren’t you ever going to discover anything?” “I may as well own up, Mr. Haviland, I am beyond my depth. There is a belief among detectives that the more bizarre and amazing the clues are, the easier the deduction therefrom. But I don’t believe that. This case is bizarre enough, in all conscience, yet what can one deduce from that paper snake and that squeezed-up glove? It was all up in a little wad, you know, not at all as if it were carelessly drawn from a man’s hand, or pulled off in a struggle.” “There was no struggle. The features were composed, even almost smiling.” “I know it. That proves it was no burglar. Well, I’m up a tree. I wish you felt inclined to call in Fleming Stone. He’s the only man on this continent who could unravel it all.” “I want to get him, but Miss Stuart won’t hear of it. I’d have to have either her authority or Loria’s.” “But Mr. Loria gave you full swing, in that cable.” “Yes, for ordinary business matters. But this is different. I’d have to have assurance that he’d pay the bills before I engaged Stone. I’ve heard he’s some expensive.” “I’ve heard that, too. But, by Jove, I’d like to work with him! Or under him. I say, I wish you could bring it about.” “I might cable Loria on my own, and not mention it to Miss Stuart until I get the permission.” “Do. For as you say, the two ladies cannot possibly be involved, and I, for one, don’t believe that nincompoop Count ever pulled off such a complicated affair all by himself.” “What about the widow he’s visiting?” “Ah, there you have it! Those two are in it, but there’s more mystery yet.” “I’d like to have it straightened out,” said Haviland, thoughtfully. “In a way, I feel responsible to Loria, since he has put me in charge. And if he wants me to get Stone, I’ll be glad to do so. As you say, it can’t affect the girls,—that stuff Anita made up was only to bother Pauline. You see, Pauline came back at her with a counter accusation. They’re both unstrung and upset, and they scarcely know what they’re saying.” “Then there’s that French maid.” “Oh, Estelle. She’s a negligible quantity. She’s hysterical from sheer nervousness, and she lies so fast she can hardly keep up with herself.” “Well, think it over, and if you see your way clear to call in Stone, I’ll be mighty glad. If the Frenchman is the guilty party, Stone will nail him and prove it beyond all doubt. And if not, we surely don’t want an innocent man to swing.” “That we don’t,” agreed Haviland. |
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