  Late that afternoon Braye returned from New York. He looked weary and exhausted, as if under hard and continuous strain. Norma and Eve had both been watching for him from different windows and met on the stairs in their sudden rush to meet him in the hall. It was easily apparent that both girls desired to see him first and tell him the further awful development of the disappearance of Vernie’s body. “What!” he exclaimed, “more horrors! Wait a minute, till I get off this dust coat.” Before Eve or Norma could say more, the others, hearing Braye, came trooping to the hall, and all began to talk at once. “I can’t understand——” and Braye wearily passed his hand across his brow,—“tell me all that happened after I left last evening.” “Nothing especial,” said Tracy, quietly. “We all went to bed early, at least, we went to our rooms. Professor Hardwick and I sat up half the night, talking. But we left Thorpe on guard in the hall here, and of course, it never occurred to any of us there was need of further precaution.” “Nor was there,” said Eve, fixing her great eyes on Braye. “Nobody could possibly come in from outside and take that child away. The house is too securely locked for that, as we all know.” “Why should any one want to?” queried Braye, his face blank with amazement. “No one did want to,—no one did do it,” returned Eve. “You must admit, Rudolph, that the whole thing is supernatural,—that——” “No, Eve, I can’t do that.” Braye spoke positively. “When I’m up here with you psychists, and in this atmosphere of mystery,—and Lord knows ‘Black Aspens’ is mysterious!—I get swayed over toward spiritualism, but when I go down to the city and talk with rational, hard-headed men, I realize there’s nothing in this poppycock!” “Oh, you do!” and Eve’s penetrating glance seemed to bore into his very soul, “then, pray, how do you explain the fact that Vernie—isn’t there?” “I don’t know, Eve,—I don’t know. But some fiend in human shape must have managed to get into the house——” “And get out again?” said Tracy, “and carry the body with him,—when Thorpe sat right here in the hall——” “Where was Thorpe?” asked Braye, suddenly. “In a chair there, by that table,” and Eve indicated a position well back in the great hall. “Then he couldn’t see the doors of both rooms——” began Braye, but Professor Hardwick interrupted: “Nonsense, man, both doors were open, if any move had been made, Thorpe must have heard it.” “Both doors open,” said Braye, “Norma, you said they were closed when you came down to breakfast.” “I asked Thorpe about that,” said Tracy. “He told me that at daybreak, or soon after, he closed the doors, without looking in the rooms. He was scared, I think, though he won’t admit that. He says, he thought the ladies would be coming down and the doors better be closed.” “That’s all right, but it’s strange that he didn’t glance into the rooms.” “I don’t think so,” said Landon. “Thorpe was in charge, but he had no reason to think there had been any disturbance, and he is pretty well scared up over the whole matter. And I don’t wonder.” “Nor I,” said Braye. “It’s all inexplicable. What’s Crawford going to do next?” “I’m not sure,” said Tracy, “but I think he’ll hold an inquest. Of course, he thinks it’s a case of murder——” “How absurd!” cried Eve. “What more does the man want in confirmation of the supernatural? First, those two deaths, impossible of human achievement, and now, the taking away of poor little Vernie, in circumstances that deny any mortal hand in the matter!” “If that’s true, Eve,” Braye spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, “it will do no harm to let the coroner proceed along his own lines. He can’t convict a murderer if there isn’t one,—and if there is one, we all want him convicted, don’t we?” “Of course,” said Landon, “but suppose they pitch on an innocent man?” “It’s all supposition,” declared Braye. “I never heard of such a moil! I can’t see how it can be murder, or body-snatching, yet I can’t stand for ghost-work, either. Say it’s murder,—where’s a motive, for anybody?” “I think you ought to know, Rudolph,” Eve said, slowly, “that that Crawford person asked who would inherit Mr. Bruce’s money, and——” “And we owned up that you were the next of kin, old chap,” put in Landon, smiling grimly. “Any remarks?” “Don’t be flippant, Wynne,” said Braye, seriously, “of course, I’ve thought of that. I can’t very well be charged with the murder, as I wasn’t here at the time, but I do feel deeply embarrassed at the thought that I am, without a doubt, the next heir. That can, I suppose, draw suspicion on me, as I may be said to have motive. But I am not afraid of that, for there’s no possible way I could have turned the trick. But, if it was murder, if there’s the slightest indication of foul play, I’m ready to devote all of Uncle Gifford’s money, if need be, in bringing the criminal to justice.” “Of course, there’s no sense in tacking the crime on you, Braye,” and Landon sighed. “If it was a crime, and if anybody here committed it, they’ll more likely suspect me, for I’m the next heir after you, and if I could despatch two intervening heirs, I could also bump you off, I suppose.” “Don’t talk like that, Wynne,” implored Milly. “It’s not like you, and I——” “I’m only preparing you, Milly, dear, for what may come. That mutton-headed coroner can’t rest till he fastens murder on somebody,—and it might as well be me.” “I want to go home, Wynne,—I want to go back to New York,” and Milly began to cry. “You may, dear, just as soon as you like. But I must stay and see what happens up here. For me to run away would be, to say the least, suspicious.” “Talk sense, Wynne,” broke in Braye; “I wasn’t here, you know, when those two people died. Tell me again, just where were you all?” “Mr. Bruce and Professor Hardwick sat in those two chairs, confabbing,” Wynne explained; “I was passing things round, so was Mr. Tracy. Eve was running the tea things, Vernie was jumping about here and there, and Norma,—where were you, Norma?” “I was near Mr. Bruce and the Professor, listening to their talk,” she returned. “I was greatly interested. Mr. Landon had just given me a cup of tea, and I was sipping it as I listened. There was nothing wrong about the tea, of that I’m certain.” “Of course there wasn’t,” agreed Braye, who had heard the scene rehearsed many times. “There’s nothing wrong anywhere, that I can see, except that a dreadful thing has happened, and we must find out all we can about it. I’ve been to see Uncle Gif’s business friends, he has a few in New York, and they’re flabbergasted, of course. One of them, a Mr. Jennings, is sure it’s a desperate murder, cleverly contrived by some people in Chicago, who are enemies of Uncle’s, and who, he says, are diabolically ingenious enough to have brought it about. He holds that Vernie’s death was accidental,—I mean that they only intended to kill Uncle Gifford. I can’t believe in this talk, for how could it have been brought about? But Jennings thinks it was through the servants,—and that they’re really enemies in disguise.” “Why, they’re all natives of this section,” exclaimed the Professor, “how could they be implicated?” “I told Jennings that, but he thinks they’ve been bought over, or—oh, Lord, I don’t know what he thinks! I don’t know what to think myself! There’s no solution!” “Don’t think now, Rudolph,” and Eve came over to his side, and took his hand in hers. “You’re all tired out, and I don’t wonder. Let’s have tea,—we mustn’t dread tea because of its associations,—if we do that, we’ll all collapse.” With a determined air, Eve went away to order tea served as usual, though Milly had declared she never wanted to have it in that hall again. But Eve’s idea found favour with the rest, and they gratefully accepted the refreshment, which, until that awful afternoon, had been such a pleasant function. “We must settle some things,” Braye said, looking at Landon. “I arranged to send the bodies to Chicago,—of course, I didn’t know——” “Isn’t it terrible!” exclaimed Norma. “What shall you do now?” “I think I’ll send Uncle Gif’s body, at once, and hope to find Vernie’s later. It must be found——” Braye looked about wildly. “I wish I had been here last night! Oh, forgive me, I’m not casting any hint of blame on you others, but,—well, you know I wasn’t here when—when it happened, either, and I can’t sense it all as you do. Professor Hardwick, what do you think about it all?” “I’m an old man, Braye, and I’ve had wide experience, also, I’m a hard one to convince without strong and definite proof, but I’ll state now, once for all, that I’m a complete convert to spiritism and I believe,—I know,—these deaths of our friends were the acts of an inimical spirit, a phantasm, incensed at our curiosity concerning the occult, and our frivolous attitude toward the whole subject.” “You really believe that, Professor?” “I really do, Braye, and moreover I am convinced that the disappearance of—of little Vernie, is the work of the evil spirit. What else can explain it?” “Nothing that I know of, but I can’t swallow the idea of a disembodied spirit making off with a real, material body! I wish I’d been here! Didn’t anybody see or hear anything?” “No,” declared Landon, but Norma gave a quick glance at Eve, who returned it with a defiant toss of her Titian-coloured head. “Why do you look at me like that, Norma?” she asked, shortly. “Why do I?” Norma repeated in a soft significant tone. “I think you know, Eve.” “Well, I for one, shall stay up here for a time, and see how matters go on,” said Braye, with sudden determination. “Who else wants to stay?” “I do,” said Professor Hardwick, “I think we’ve by no means seen the last of the manifestations, and though I feel there is a danger, I am ready to brave it for the sake of investigating further.” “I don’t want to stay,” and Milly shook with nervous apprehension. “Can’t we go home, Wynne?” “Very soon, darling. You can go at once, and I’ll follow as soon as things are adjusted up here. I think none of us ought to seem to run away.” “Certainly not,” Tracy agreed, promptly. “The whole affair is so astounding, I can scarcely get my wits together, but I see clearly, no one must leave this house, until we are all exonerated from suspicion.” “Not even me?” asked Milly, tearfully. “That’s for you and Mr. Landon to decide,” returned Tracy, gently. “I’m not dictating, not even advising, but I have strong opinions on the subject. What say, Braye?” “I quite agree with you, Tracy. But, I’m sure if Mrs. Landon prefers to go down to New York and stay at her mother’s no one could possibly object.” “But I don’t!” Milly surprised them all by saying, “if you put it that way,—if it’s cowardly to go away, I don’t want to go. I want to stay, if Wynne does, and if Eve and Norma stay.” “That’s my brave girl,” and Landon smiled at his wife; “I’ll guarantee that Milly won’t make any trouble, either. Once she’s awake to a duty, she’s bold as a lion. Now, see here, if Crawford stirs up suspicion of any of us, we’ll have to deal with him pretty roughly, I fear. He’s a pig-headed sort, and he will move heaven and earth to gain his point. Moreover, we can’t expect him to subscribe to spook theories, any more than those men Rudolph talked to in New York. One has to go through some such experiences as we have, to believe in them. You, Professor, would never have been convinced by hearsay evidence, would you?” “No, sir, I would not! It took these otherwise inexplicable happenings to prove to me that there is but one way to look. Even a coroner can’t produce a human criminal who could kill those two people the way they were killed, and who could get into and out of this house and take a human body with him! The thing is preposterous!” “You know the doors and windows were all locked?” asked Braye, thoughtfully. “I looked after them, myself,” said Landon. “I always do. After the last one goes upstairs for the night, I invariably look after the locking up. And the house, properly locked, is impregnable. The servants’ quarters are shut off and locked; there is absolutely no way of getting in from outside.” “Going back to Jennings’ theory,” mused Braye, “could we suspect old Thorpe?” “Not for a minute,” declared Landon. “And, too, he wasn’t in the hall when they died. No, I’d trust Thorpe as far as I would any of ourselves. But, there’s Stebbins. I’ve never felt sure that he’s entirely trustworthy.” “Even so,” said Braye, “he wasn’t here when—when they died.” “No, he wasn’t. I can’t see any way he could have arranged things unless he poisoned the cake——” “Rubbish, Wynne!” cried Eve, “you know we all ate that cake. Do be rational.” “But Mr. Bruce was poisoned, Eve, we can’t get away from that.” “Of course he was,” broke in Hardwick, “and doubtless Vernie was too, but it was not done by human agency.” “Well, there we go, reasoning round in a circle,” murmured Norma; “I think our talk is useless, when we surmise and speculate about it all. Let us decide on our immediate plans. Shall you send Mr. Bruce’s body to Chicago, and stay here yourself, Rudolph?” “Yes, as I look at it now. I can’t see anything else to do.” Nor was there anything else to do. For Doctor Crawford persisted in treating the case as a criminal one, and requested that all concerned remain at Black Aspens for the present, with a hint that unless they did so, the request might become a command. “Then you think the two people were murdered?” asked Landon of the county physician. “I don’t say that, for sure; but when a man drops dead, and a trace of poison is found in his stomach, it looks mighty like an intention of death on some one’s part,—maybe the man himself. There’s a show of suicide, you know.” “But Gifford Bruce never would commit suicide!” “If only those committed suicide who are expected to do so, there’d be mighty few of them. Now, I hold that poison was taken into Mr. Bruce’s stomach while he was eating that cake, or whatever he did eat.” “We agree to that,” Landon spoke slowly, “but some of us think the poison was put in by supernatural means.” “Now, ain’t that nonsense,—for reasonable, rational men!” and Crawford’s fine scorn nettled Landon. “Professor Hardwick doesn’t think it nonsense,” he returned. The two were alone, Crawford having asked an interview with the man who had rented the house. “Professor!” and Crawford fairly snorted. “For fool theories, commend me to a college professor. They can’t see two inches either side of their noses!” “We have had reason to believe in spiritual manifestations,” went on Braye. “Yes, and who gave you those reasons? Who rented this house to you folks, for the sole purpose of supplying you with a ha’nted house! Who knew that ghosts must be forthcoming, if you folks was to be satisfied? Who performed ghost doings himself, in order that you might not be disappointed?” “What are you implying? That Mr.—that the owner tricked us?” “That’s for you to find out. You came up here to investigate, as I understand it. Well, why don’t you investigate? You swallow all them ghosts and ha’ntings, and never look around to see who’s fooling you!” “But, Doctor Crawford, what you insinuate is not possible. All the strange things we have seen or heard have occurred at night, or,—yes,—occasionally in the daytime, but always when Mr. Stebbins was at his home in East Dryden.” “How do you know he was?” “Why, he has never been to the house at all, except two or three times on commonplace errands, since we’ve been here. The supernatural manifestations we have observed had no more to do with him than they had with you!” “That’s as may be. Only I advise you to investigate with a little common sense and not too much blind faith in your spook visitors. Now, Mr. Landon, I take it you’re boss around here.” “I’m responsible for the house rent, if that’s what you mean.” “Well, that’ll do. Now, sir, there’s got to be an inquest. I expected, of course, to hold it on the two bodies, but since one’s gone, we’ll have to do what we can without it. I don’t deny that this case is beyond all my experience. I’ve sent for a detective from New York, and I’ll get all the other help I need. But I’m all at sea, myself, and I make no secret of that.” “I thought you suspected Eli Stebbins.” “Not of murder! No, sir! Me’n Eli, we ain’t good friends, haven’t been for years, and I wouldn’t put it past him to play ghost to scare you city people, but murder! Land, no, I wouldn’t ever accuse Eli Stebbins of goin’ that far!” “Have you any definite suspect?” “I don’t say as I have, and I don’t say as I ain’t. Truth is, I’m all afloat. I don’t know which way to turn. Every thing’s so awful unbelievable,—as you might say. Now, there’s them two Thorpes. Good, steady-going New England people, they are, and yet, if I had any reason to suspect ’em, I can see myself doing so. But, land, there ain’t a shred of evidence that way. Why, they wasn’t even in the room when the two of ’em died!” “Wait a minute, Doctor Crawford. Nobody was in the room at the time of those two deaths, but our own party. You don’t suspect one of us, do you?” “No, Mr. Landon, I don’t. You ain’t a gay crowd, nor yet a fast or a common crowd. You’re all high-toned, quiet, law-abiding citizens,—as I size you up. To be sure, decent citizens have committed murder, but I can’t connect up any one of you with crime in this case. I know Mr. Braye will inherit the money that old Mr. Bruce left, and I know that you’re related there, too, but I haven’t seen one iota of reason to suspect any one of your crowd. If I do, I’ll let you know mighty quick! Nor can I hang it on the Thorpes; nor yet on those girls they have in to help. And that’s what the inquest’s for. To bring out, if possible, some evidence against somebody, so’s we can get a start.” “I fear you can’t get that evidence, Doctor, for if there were any we would have found it ourselves. You have my good wishes, for if it is a case of murder, committed by a living, human villain, we most assuredly want him apprehended.” “He will be, Mr. Landon, take it from me, he will be!” |
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