  In the kitchen the discussion was going on in less guarded terms. “It’s murder,” Thorpe declared flatly. “No spooks ever killed off those two people in a minute, just like that!” “Murder, your grandmother!” snorted Stebbins. “Who done it, and how? I ask you that! Those folks came up here to hunt ghosts, and I should say they found ’em, good and plenty! You know’s well’s I do, this house has always been ha’nted, ever since that woman killed her husband in that very room where the little girl’s lyin’ now. I wouldn’t go in that there room for a fortune, I wouldn’t!” “Now Eli, don’t be foolish,” and Thorpe shook his head. “How could a spook kill two folks at onct,—right out in the open, as you may say?” “For that matter, how could anybody murder two people at once? Nobody was around but their own crowd, and that lot of people ain’t for murderin’ each other! I know that!” “It was spooks,” declared Hester, with an air of settling the matter; “I’ve smelled ’em of late. That smell of bitter almonds is been in the air a heap, and I ain’t had none for flavourin’ or anything. Land, I’d never flavour a cake with that! I put vanilla even in my ‘Angel Food.’” “I’ve smelled it too,” spoke up Nannie, a helper of the older woman’s; “when I’ve been a-dustin’ round in that there ha’nted room, I’ve smelled it—not strong, you know, but jest a faint whiff, now’n then. I skittled out ’s fast’s I could, I kin tell you!” “Nope, you’re all wrong,” insisted old Thorpe. “’Tain’t spooks, it’s murder. That’s what it is.” “Who done it, then?” demanded his wife. “That I dunno. But I have my s’picions. How,—I dunno, either. But that’s neither here nor there. Murder’s been done, but I’ll bet that mutton-headed Crawford ain’t got brains enough to see it.” “He ain’t got brains enough to go in when it rains,” agreed Stebbins, “but you’re ’way off, Thorpe, a surmisin’ murder. Why, jest f’r instance, now, how could it ’a’ been done?” “Now how can I tell that!” Thorpe spoke with fine scorn. “I don’t know all the goin’s on of them hifalutin folks, but if you’d heard ’em talkin’ ’s much as I have, you’d know that they’re up to lots of things such as us ignorant people don’t know nothin’ about.” “They do talk awful hifalutin,” corroborated Hester. “I’ve heard ’em say things that hadn’t no meanin’ whatsoever to me, and yet they was plain English too.” “Well, if you ask me,” and Thorpe looked important, “I’d jest say keep your eye on one of them women.” “You mean that red-headed varmint, I know,” said his wife. “Well, she’s a handful, all right, but I don’t believe she’d go so far’s to kill anybody.” “You don’t, don’t you? Well, she’d go just so far as there was any goin’ at all,—an’ then she’d go right on. Oh, I kin read character,” and Thorpe plumed himself so evidently on his mental powers that Stebbins snorted outright. “You’re, a hummer, you are! I s’pose you’re clairvoyant, yourself! Well, let me advise you to keep your trap shut about Miss—that lady you referred to. This is my house, and those are my tenants, and I won’t stand any talk from you about ’em.” “That’s right, Thorpe,” admonished his wife. “Mr. Stebbins, he’s right. An’ he’s right about the ghosts, too. Why, I happen to know that the spooks warned that little Reid girl she’d die at four o’clock, and die she did, jest at four! Can you beat it? Spooks? Why, of course it was spooks! What else?” “Yes, and the message was that two of ’em ’d die, and two of ’em did,” added Stebbins. “How could any mortal human bein’ bring that about? I ask you?” “Land! I don’t know! I told you I didn’t. But,” and Thorpe wagged his head positively, “it wasn’t spooks.” The same questions were being discussed in the hall by the ones more intimately interested. Doctor Wayburn had arrived, and he and Crawford were shut in the drawing room endeavouring to wrest from the unknown, the secret of Gifford Bruce’s death. The little group, still gathered in the hall, were talking earnestly of the immediate future. “It’s so pathetic,” Norma was saying, “that there are so few to mourn for poor little Vernie. That child had actually no relatives but her uncle and Mr. Braye.” “Wynne is a sort of a cousin, too,” put in Milly, “and indeed, Norma, I feel as sorry as if Vernie had been my own sister.” “Oh, I don’t mean that,—of course, we all feel that way. But, she was so alone in the world. Mr. Braye is terribly broken up. He loved her——” “Not only loved her,” said Eve, “but he was ambitious for her. He wanted her put in care of a capable woman this fall, and brought up properly. Mr. Bruce was no sort of a guardian for the child—I mean he was all right, of course, as a legal guardian, but he was no man to have charge of her social and home life.” “He knew that,” said Landon, “he told me he meant to have Vernie properly chaperoned and all that, this winter. She was a dear kiddie.” “Oh, she was,” and Norma wept afresh. “I am a complete convert to spiritualism, now,” said the Professor, gravely. “I’ve thought over these things very deeply, I’ve considered every possible aspect of the case, and there is no explanation of those two mysterious deaths, except supernormal forces. It is no use to shirk the supposition of murder, indeed we must consider it very carefully, but it is out of the question. Nobody could have compassed those two deaths in an instant of time, however secret or subtle the methods. Do you all agree?” “Of course,” said Eve, positively, and Tracy added, “That is undeniable, Professor, foul play was impossible. But, moreover, there was no one here present but our own party. I can’t let the implication pass that it could have been in the heart of any one of us——” “Nonsense!” interrupted Hardwick, “that’s absurd, Mr. Tracy. When I speak of murder, it is in the abstract, and because it is right that we should consider the matter from every angle. We must even think of suicide, and of——” “Suicide is as absurd as murder,” said Landon, indignantly. “But what other atrocity had you in mind?” “Don’t lose your temper, please,” the Professor said, mildly. “I am obliged to preserve an impersonal attitude, or I can’t think at all! The other thought is, that one of the victims killed himself and the other one.” “Please, Professor,” said Eve, “at least confine yourself to rational common sense. But since you raise this absurd theory, let’s settle it once and for all. Could Mr. Bruce have willingly killed himself and Vernie?” she asked of them all. “No!” replied Landon. “Mr. Bruce was fond of life and he adored that child! Cut that out!” “Then,” pursued Eve, “could Vernie have killed herself and her uncle?” “Rubbish!” cried Landon, “don’t say such things, Eve. Professor, are you answered?” “And remember,” put in Tracy, “the two were the width of this hall apart. What means could have been employed?” “What means were employed, anyway?” said Norma. “Oh, what did kill those people?” “The utter absence of any material means proves the fact that it was supernatural,” declared the Professor. “I only mentioned those other theories to prove their absurdity. Now, as I say, I am a convert to spiritualism in all its form and phases. How can one help being after this? And I, for one, desire to stay here for a time and I feel sure that the departed spirits of our friends will communicate with us.” Milly shuddered at the idea, but Eve’s wonderful eyes glowed with a sudden anticipation. “Oh, Professor Hardwick!” she exclaimed, “how splendid! Will you really stay here a while? Will you, Milly? I can’t stay unless you and Wynne do. Will you stay, Norma? and you, Mr. Tracy?” “Oh, I can’t!” Milly moaned. “I needn’t, need I, Wynne?” “No; darling, not if you don’t want to. I can’t see, Eve, why you wish to stay here. It gives me the horrors to think of it. And if you really expect spiritual communications from Vernie or Mr. Bruce, you can receive them just as well anywhere else.” “Not just as well,” demurred the Professor. “The conditions here are ideal for investigations. We haven’t taken it up seriously, you know.” “But, Miss Carnforth, can’t you ask some other friends to come, if the Landons prefer to return to New York? I don’t doubt you know the right ones, who could chaperon you, and also take an interest in our work.” “Yes,” began Eve, thoughtfully, and then Stebbins came into the room. “The doctors through yet?” he asked; “what they found out?” “No, they’re not through yet,” answered Landon. “Sit down, Stebbins, and talk a little bit. I wish you’d tell us of anything you know of your own experience, not hearsay, mind you, that has happened in this house, that can truly be called supernatural.” “Well, that ha’nted room,——” “Wait a minute,” interrupted Landon, “don’t tell us anything about that haunted room that you don’t know, personally, to be a fact.” “I know it’s ha’nted,” asserted Stebbins, doggedly. “I’ve slept there and I’ve seen ghosts spookin’ around in it.” “Do you think there are really such things as ghosts?” “I know it.” “And do you think they could be responsible for the death of Mr. Bruce and Miss Reid?” “I know it. That Thorpe he says it’s murder, but he can’t guess how it could be. That fool of a Crawford, he don’t know nothing, of any sort. Wayburn, now, he’s a fair doctor, but, good land! what can they learn from a post-mortem? Those people was warned, and them warnin’s was carried out. What more is there to learn?” “Well and clearly put, Mr. Stebbins,” commented the Professor. “No elaboration of phrases could state that more succinctly. They were warned,—the warnings were carried out. That is the whole truth.” “But granting that,” said Norma, “and I’m willing to grant it, why did the spirits want to kill Vernie? A lovely, innocent child couldn’t have incurred the wrath of the spirits to that extent.” “They ain’t no tellin’, ma’am, what them ha’nts will do.” Stebbins spoke heavily, as if burdened with fear. “Now I leave it to you folks. Ain’t you smelled prussic acid around?” “I have,” said Norma. “And I,” added the Professor. “I know it was not brought here by any of our party——” “Nor not by the cook,” said Stebbins. “Hester, she’s leery of that bitter almond flavourin’ and she don’t never use it. Well, don’t that smell prove somethin’?” “It isn’t actual proof,” and Tracy looked thoughtful. “But it is an inexplicable odour to hang round an old house.” “’Tain’t inexplicable if it’s due to the ha’nt,” urged Stebbins. “And that’s what it is due to. Why, that smell’s been said to be round here ever since the time of the Montgomery murder.” “What’s wrong between you and Doctor Crawford?” asked Eve, suddenly. “You say yourself you aren’t good friends.” “No, ma’am, we ain’t. It’s a sort o’ feud of long standin’. They ain’t no special reason, jest a conglomeration of little things. But one thing is ’cause he makes fun of the spooks here. He don’t take no stock in such things, and nobody can make him. Thorpe, now, he don’t neither. He sticks to it Mr. Bruce and Miss Vernie was murdered.” “By what means, does he think?” asked Eve, quickly. “Well, that he don’t know. But murder he says it was, and that he sticks to, like a puppy to a root.” “Get him in here,” said Landon, abruptly, and Thorpe was summoned. “Yes, sir,” the butler averred, on being questioned. “I’m willin’ to go on record as a disbeliever in spooks. They ain’t no such things. I don’t deny I’ve been some scared up hearin’ you ladies and gentlemen talk about such matters. But I don’t believe in ’em and I never will. Them two pore critters was done to death, but I’m free to confess I can’t see how.” Professor Hardwick looked at the speaker. “As Mr. Dooley observed,” he said, “your remarks is inthrestin’ but not convincin’. My man, if there is no possible way that murder could have been done,—and we in here are agreed on that point,—what is left but the inevitability of supernormal agents?” “Your long words gets me, sir, but it don’t make no difference. It wa’n’t spooks.” “He’s hopeless,” said Tracy. “Let’s ask him other things. Thorpe, my man, have you never seen any circumstance or occurrence in this house, that you couldn’t explain by natural means?” “I ain’t never been in this house, sir, except as I came here to buttle for you folks. Mr. Stebbins, he give the job to me and my wife, ’cause we’re honest, hard-working people, and he knew he could trust us not to tattle or tell no tales of your goin’s on. He says, ‘Thorpe,’ says he, ‘they’re a queer lot what’s comin’ up here, but they’re my tenants, and I don’t want ’em bothered none by gossip and tale-bearin’ to the village.’ Ain’t that right, Mr. Stebbins?” “Just so,” said Stebbins, calmly. “Them’s just about my very words. You told me, Mr. Landon, that you were a crowd of spook-hunters, and so it was up to me to spare you all the annoyance I could. An’ well I know how the villagers gossip about this here house, if they get a chance. So, with the Thorpes at the head of things and a couple of good close-mouthed girls for helpers, I ’llowed you’d not be troubled. And you ain’t been,—up to now. But this thing can’t be kept quiet no longer. Of course, a thing like this is more or less public property, and I can tell you, there’ll be plenty of curious villagers up here to the inquest and all that.” “Inquest!” cried Eve, “what do you mean?” “Jest that, ma’am. That dunder-headed coroner, or county physician as he really is, he’s set on havin’ an inquest,—says he’s got to. Well, I don’t know much about law, but if they can ketch and hang a ha’nt, let ’em do it, say I!” The arrival on the scene of the two doctors cut short further discussion. “There is a strange condition of things,” Crawford began, addressing himself to Wynne Landon. “We find decisive, though very slight evidence that Mr. Bruce died from poison.” A hush followed, as his stunned hearers thought over the grave significance of this statement. “Poison?” repeated Landon, dazedly. “What sort of poison? Who administered it?” “As I said,” resumed the coroner, “it’s a strange case. The poison found is the minutest quantity of a very powerful drug, known among the profession as strychnine hydrochlorate. This is so deadly that a half grain will kill a man instantly, or in a few seconds. But my colleague and I have agreed that since it is impossible for this to have been administered at the moment of Mr. Bruce’s death, it must be that he had taken it in cumulative doses, and the result culminated in his sudden death.” “Why would he take it?” cried Milly. “Where could he get it?” asked the Professor. “Such a drug is not available to the general public, is it?” “It is not, sir, but whoever gave it to him, must have procured it somehow. Those questions are for the future. We are just learning the facts. The results of our tests prove positively the presence of that particular poison. There is no doubt of that.” “But wait,” and Eve fixed her compelling eyes on the coroner’s face. “Remember, Doctor Crawford, though you may not believe in the occult, other and wiser minds do. I wish to remind you, therefore, that we who believe these deaths were caused by supernatural agency, believe also that the powers that compassed the deaths are able to make the deaths seem attributable to natural causes, whether poison or anything else.” “Eve!” exclaimed Milly, “that is going too far!” “Not at all!” said the Professor. “Miss Carnforth is quite right; and indeed, logic must prove that if a phantasm can take away a human life it can also produce effects that resemble conditions brought about by human means.” “I repeat,” the coroner interrupted, “these things are beside the question. We are conducting an autopsy, not an inquest, at present. I am giving you my report as a medical man, not as a member of the police force. Those other matters will be considered later. We have completed our examinations in the one case, we will now proceed to the case of the other victim.” “They killed each other,” Thorpe broke in, nodding his head in the positive manner he affected. “Leastwise, one of ’em killed both; and of course, Miss Vernie, she wasn’t no murderer!” “Wait till you are called upon to testify, my man,” and Crawford glowered at the forwardness of the old butler. “There’ll be testifyin’ on both sides,” volunteered Stebbins, speaking a little belligerently. Crawford turned on him, and it was easily seen that enmity existed between these two. “You, ’Lijah Stebbins, keep quiet,” he admonished, “there’s them that says you know too much about these doings, anyhow.” “What do you mean by that?” Stebbins’ eyes glowed with anger. “Nothing now, and maybe nothing at any time. But you’d better lie low. You might be unduly suspected of ha’nting your own house!” To the surprise of all present, Stebbins turned a chalky white, and whimpered a little, as he said, “I don’t know what you mean,—I ain’t done anything.” “See’s you don’t!” advised Crawford, enigmatically, and then the two doctors started to go on their second gruesome errand. “This door’s locked,” announced Doctor Wayburn, trying to gain entrance to the Room with the Tassels. “I have the key,” said Eve Carnforth, slowly, and, with a white face, she offered it to the men. “What are you doing with it?” asked Landon, in amazement. “I d-don’t know,” and Eve showed great nervousness. “I think I feared some one would go in there.” The others looked at her curiously, for the white face was pallid and the scarlet line of her lips was thin and straight. An exclamation from Doctor Wayburn claimed their attention, and speaking from the doorway of the Room with the Tassels, he said: “There is no body here.” “What!” cried several at once, and crowded to the door. “Absolutely none,” repeated the doctor, and Professor Hardwick pushed his way past the two medical men and entered the room. “It’s gone!” he said, reappearing, “Vernie’s body is gone!” “Impossible!” cried Landon, “what do you mean? Why, we’ve all been right here all the morning! How could it be gone?” “See for yourself,” and Hardwick stepped aside. There was no denying the fact. Scrutiny of the whole room showed no presence of the cold, still form that had been reverently laid on that bed. Everybody entered and peered around, fruitlessly. They shook the heavy hangings and looked behind them, but to no avail. Vernie’s body had utterly disappeared! |
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