  “Now, Mr. Stebbins, you’d better speak out in meetin’ and tell all you know. Tell your Auntie Zizi jes’ how naughty you was, and how you managed it. C’mon, now,—’pit it all out!” Zizi sat on the edge of a chair in Elijah Stebbins’ office, and leaned toward him, her eerie little face enticingly near his, and her smile such as would charm the birds off the trees. Stebbins looked at her, and shifted uneasily in his chair. “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” he began, “I played a silly trick or two, but it was only in fun. When I see they took it seriously, I quit.” “Yes, I know all that,” and the impatient visitor shook a prompting little forefinger at him. “I know everything you said and did to scare those people into fits, and when they wouldn’t scare, but just lapped up your spook rackets, you quit, as you say, and then,—they took up the business themselves.” “You sure of that?” “I am,—certain. Also, I know who did it. What I’m after is to find out a few missing ways and means. Now, you were a tricksy Puck, weren’t you, when you moved the old battered candlestick that first night? And it did no harm, that I admit. It roused their curiosity, and started the spook ball rolling. Then, as a ghost, you appeared to Mr. Bruce, didn’t you?” “Well, I—did,” Stebbins grudgingly confessed, forced by the compelling black eyes, “I just wrop a shawl over my head, and spooked in. But nobody believed his yarn about it.” “No; they thought Mr. Bruce made up the story, because he had said he would trick them if he could.” “Yep, I know that,” agreed Stebbins, eagerly. “Then once again, I played spook, and that time, Miss Carnforth was a sleepin’ in that ha’nted room. You see, I expected it would be one o’ the men, and when I see a woman——” “You were more scared than she was!” Zizi leaned eagerly forward, almost spilling off her chair, in her interested attention. “I believe I was,” said Stebbins, solemnly. “Anyways, I went out, vowin’ never to do any more spook work,—and I never did.” “All that tallies with my discoveries so far,” Zizi nodded, “now what I’m after, is the way you got in.” “That’s a secret,” and Stebbins squirmed uneasily. “A secret entrance, you mean?” “Yes’m. And how to get into it is a secret that has been known only to the owner of that house, for generations,—ever since it was built. Whenever anybody bought it or inherited it, he was told the secret entrance, and sworn never to tell of it.” “But, look here, Mr. Stebbins, your entrance to that house, or whatever it is, was seen by somebody. That somebody used it afterward, and played ghost, and committed crime, and even stole the body of that poor little girl away. Also, some one carried me,—me! if you please, out by that secret passage, and tried to drown me! Now, do you think it is your duty to remain silent, because of that old oath of secrecy?” Zizi had risen and stood over him like a small but terrifying avenging angel. If she had brandished a flaming sword, it could not have impressed Eli Stebbins more than her burning black eyes’ glance. Her long, thin arms were outspread, her slim body poised on tiptoe and her accusing, condemning face was white and strained in its earnestness. “No, ma’am, I don’t!” and Stebbins rose, too. “Come with me, Miss; I’ll go with you and I’ll show you that secret entrance, nobody could ever find it alone, and I’ll own up to all I did, wrong or right. I’m no murderer, and I’ll not put a straw in the way of findin’ out who is.” In triumph, Zizi entered the hall of Black Aspens, leading her captive. Though it must be admitted Stebbins came willingly. “This here’s my house,” he said, with an air of importance, “and so far’s I’m responsible for queer goin’s on, I’ll confess. And after that, you, Mr. Detective, can find out who carried on the hocus-pocus.” “Thank you, Mr. Stebbins,” said Pennington Wise, gravely. “Suppose we ask all the members of the household to be present at your revelations.” “Not the Thorpes, or them servant maids, if you please. They ain’t none of ’em implicated, and why let ’em know what’s goin’ on?” “That’s right,” said Zizi. “Whatever we learn may not be entirely given to the public. Just call the rest of the party, Pen.” As it happened, the men were all in the hall talking with Wise when Stebbins arrived, so Zizi went in search of the women. They were congregated in Milly’s room, and as they came downstairs, the detective noted their expressions, a favourite method with him of gaining information. Milly’s round little face was so red and swollen with weeping, that it excited only compassion in any observer. Norma, too, was sad and frightened-looking, but Eve was in a defiant mood, and her scarlet lips were curved in a disdainful smile. “As we’re all at one in our search for the criminal,” Wise began, tactfully, “I think it best that we should hear, all together, Mr. Stebbins’ explanation of how this house may be entered from outside, though apparently locked and bolted against intrusion.” “I should think, Mr. Wise,” said Eve, scornfully, “that if there were such a possibility, your detective genius ought to have discovered it.” “He couldn’t,” said Stebbins, simply. “It ain’t a means that any one could discover.” “Then how did the criminal find it out?” demanded Eve. “He must have seen me come in by it,” Stebbins replied. “Nobody could ever suspect the real way.” “Oh, come now,” said Zizi, “Mr. Wise does know. He is not at all vain glorious, or he would tell you himself. But he prefers to let Mr. Stebbins tell.” “Is that so, Mr. Wise?” asked Professor Hardwick, eagerly. “If you have discovered the secret entrance, I wish you would say so. I feel chagrined that my own reasoning powers have given me no hint.” “I have satisfied myself of the means and the location of the entrance,” Wise returned, “but I have not examined the place definitely enough to find the hidden spring that must be there.” “You know that much!” cried Stebbins, in amazement. “Yes, largely by elimination. There are no hollow walls, no false locks, no sliding panels,—it seems to me there is no logical hidden entrance, but through one of those columns,” and he pointed to the great bronze columns that flanked the doorway. “By golly!” and Stebbins stared at the speaker. “You’ve hit it, sir!” “I could, of course, find the secret spring, which must be concealed in the ornamentation,” Wise went on, “but I’ve hesitated to draw attention to the columns by working at them. Suppose we let Mr. Stebbins tell us, and not try to find what we know must be cleverly concealed.” “But wait a minute,” pleaded Hardwick. “I’m terribly interested in this proof of Mr. Wise’s perspicacity. You needn’t touch the column, but tell us your theory of its use. Is there a sliding opening in the solid bronze?” “I think not,” and Wise smiled. “I may be all wrong, I really haven’t looked closely, but my belief is that one or both of those great columns, which, as you see, are half in and half out of the hall, must swing round, revolve, you know,—and so open a way out.” “Exactly right!” and Stebbins sprang toward the column that was on the side of the hall toward the Room with the Tassels. “That’s the secret. Nobody ever so much as dreamed of it before! See, you merely press this acorn in this bronze oak wreath, half-way up, press it pretty hard, and the column swings round.” They crowded closer to see, and learned that the column was made in two half sections, one in the hall and one outside. These, again, were divided horizontally, about seven feet above the floor, and the joint concealed by a decorative wreath of bronze oak boughs. The column was hollow, and one half the shaft revolved within the other, which, in turn, revolved over the first, so that by successive movements of the two, one could pass right through the vestibule wall, and close the opening after him, leaving no trace of his entry or exit. The vestibule wall, of mahogany, concealed the longitudinal joint in the column when closed. The doors were hinged to this wooden wall, and were opened and closed, and locked, quite independently of the columns. Owing to perfectly adjusted ball bearings, and a thoroughly oiled condition, the mechanism worked easily and soundlessly. “The whole contraption was brought from Italy,” Stebbins informed them, “by the original Montgomery. I don’t think he ever used it for any wrong doings, though they do say, soldiers was smuggled through in war times, and contraband smuggling went on, too. But those is only rumours and probably exaggerated.” “You exaggerated the ghost stories, too, didn’t you, Mr. Stebbins?” asked Wise. “I didn’t need to, sir. Those yarns of the Shawled Woman, have been told and retold so many years now, they’ve grown way beyond their first facts, if there ever was any truth to ’em. This here column, only one of ’em revolves,—has always been kept secret, but when the little witch child made me see it was my duty to tell of it, tell of it I did. Now, sir, go ahead and find who committed them dastardly murders and I’ll consider I did right to break my oath of secrecy.” “No one will blame you for it,” said Professor Hardwick, who was still experimenting with the revolving column. “This is a marvellous piece of workmanship, Landon. I never saw such before.” Pennington Wise was covertly watching all the faces as the various ones peered into the opening left when the column was turned. He stood on guard, too, and when Eve curiously bent down to open a long box, which stood up on end, against the inside of the bronze cylinder, he reached ahead of her. “Yes,” he said, consentingly, “let us see what is in here.” In full view of all, he opened the long box, such a box as long stemmed roses might have been packed in, and took from it a voluminous cloak of thin white material, a flimsy, white shawl, and a mask that represented a skull. “The paraphernalia of the Shawled Woman,” the detective said, exhibiting the things, “your property, Mr. Stebbins?” “Yes, they are,” and the man looked shame-faced, but determined. “I made all my plans, before the folks came up here, to ha’nt the Room with the Tassels. I meant no harm, I vow. I thought they was a silly set of society folks, who believed in spooks, and I thought I’d give ’em what they come for. I bought the mask at a fancy shop in town, and the thin stuff too. The shawl is one my wife used to have. I own up to all my doin’s, because while they was foolish, and maybe mean, they wasn’t criminal. Now, if so be’s somebody saw me go in and out, and used those ghost clo’es, which it seems they must have done, I’ll help all I can to fasten the guilt where it belongs.” “I, too,” declared Rudolph Braye. “It certainly looks as if some one had seen Mr. Stebbins enter the house secretly, and watching, saw him leave. Then, this night prowler tried the game himself.” “Yes, sir,” replied Stebbins. “Just the same sort of spring, inside and out. Anybody seein’ me go through, either way, could easily work out the secret. But, not knowing of it, nobody’d ever suspect.” “Of course not,” agreed Braye. “Now, we have a start, let us get to work on the more serious aspect of the affair. For, while this revelation explains the entrance of some midnight marauder, with intent to frighten us, it doesn’t do much toward lessening the mystery of those two deaths.” “You’re sure, Mr. Stebbins,” and Eve turned glittering eyes on him, “that you never ‘haunted’ after that night when you appeared to me! You know a ghost appeared to Vernie after that. Can we believe that was not the work of the same malignant——” “Malignant is not the word to apply to Mr. Stebbins,” Pennington Wise interrupted her, “and it is up to us,—to me, to find who took his place as haunter of this house. Also, who it was that removed the body of Vernie Reid, doubtless through the revolving column, and—who kidnapped and tried to drown Zizi.” “Those are secondary problems,” said Braye, thoughtfully gazing at the detective. “But they must be solved, too, of course. What I’m more anxious about, however, is to learn how any one could compass the murders,—if murders they were.” “Of course they were,” said Hardwick. “Now that I know as much as I do know, I’m sure we’ll learn all. Mr. Wise, I’m of a detective bent, myself, and you may count on me to help you all I can. You needn’t laugh——” “My dear Professor Hardwick, I assure you I’ve no thought of laughing, or of belittling the help you offer. I’m truly glad of your assistance and it is my habit to be frank with my clients, so we need have no reservations, on either side. The assurance we have received that an intruder could and did enter the house, gives us new directions in which to look and new theories to pursue. I’m sure you will all agree with me that the body of Miss Reid was carried out through the secret column, and not removed by supernatural means.” “Without doubt,” said Rudolph Braye, but Eve Carnforth looked a denial. “I can’t agree,” she said, “that the discovery of a secret entrance disproves all possibility of the presence of supernatural agencies. I think no human intruder can be held responsible for all we have been through. How do you account for two deaths occurring at the very moment they were foretold?” Her question was evidently addressed to Wise, and he replied, “I think, Miss Carnforth, that those two deaths were murders, cleverly accomplished by human wills, and it is my immediate duty to prove this. Therefore, I am now going to endeavour to recover the missing body of the unfortunate girl who was killed.” “What! Vernie’s body!” and Eve gasped. “Yes. And not wishing to do anything to which you may not all agree, I announce frankly that I am going to have the lake dragged.” “The lake!” cried Wynne Landon, “why, man, it is miles long!” “But I think that the same person who tried to drown Zizi is responsible for the disappearance of Miss Reid’s body, and I feel sure that if we look in that same part of the lake we will find what we are after.” “Incredible!” exclaimed Landon. “You will only waste your time!” Wise looked closely at the face of the speaker, and then turned quickly to observe another face. “At any rate, it can do no harm to try,” he said, finally. “Not at all,” said Braye; “go ahead. But even the recovery of Vernie’s body, will get us no nearer to her murderer. I wish I had been here at the time of those deaths. While I cannot feel I should have been of any help, I do think I could have noticed something or formed some opinion or conclusion from the circumstances.” “No, Rudolph,” said the Professor. “There was nothing to be seen or deduced from anything that happened at that time. I was nearest to Mr. Bruce, Miss Carnforth was nearest to Vernie. Neither of us saw anything suspicious or of unexplainable intent.” “And yet Mr. Bruce was poisoned,” said Wise, glancing from one face to another. “And I feel positive Miss Reid was also poisoned. She must have been. What else could have killed her, like that?” “True enough,” and Braye nodded his head. “But do you think an examination of her body, after all this time, could prove that?” “Whether it could or not,” said Wise, “we want to recover the body if possible. My theory is that it must have been thrown in the lake. If it was taken away through the revolving column, what else could have been done with it? To bury it would have been to risk discovery. And Zizi’s experience——” “Are you sure, Mr. Wise, that Zizi’s experience was truthfully related? May she not have been hysterically nervous, and imagined the whole thing? I’ve heard of such cases.” “Who put you up to that idea, Miss Carnforth?” said Wise, very quietly, and Eve flushed and turned aside, remaining silent. Pennington Wise’s theory proved the true one. The men employed to drag the lake at Black Aspens succeeded in finding the body of Vernie Reid. A bag of bricks had been tied to the ankles, in the same manner as described by Zizi, and the little form had been sunk in almost the same place that Zizi had been flung into the water. Reverent hands carried the body to the house, and later it was examined by a skilled physician from New York City. He reported that death had ensued upon the girl’s arm being scratched with some sharp implement, which had been previously dipped in a powerful poison. As this was the same physician who had passed the final judgment on the cause of Mr. Bruce’s death, his report was listened to with confidence and belief. “You must know,” he said, to the awed group, “that about last March, a plot was formed against some high officials in England. These diabolical plans included the use of extremely poisonous drugs. By a most culpable oversight the names and descriptions of these poisons crept into the public press, and since then, several attempts at their use have been made, mostly, I am glad to say, without result. “But, it is clear to me, that the murderer of these two people, Mr. Bruce, and the child, Vernie Reid, used the poisons I have told you of.” “I read about them,” said Pennington Wise. “They included a rare drug only to be obtained from South America.” “That was the statement,” said the doctor, “but I’m credibly informed there is a supply secretly hoarded in this country. However that may be, I am convinced that was the means used in Miss Reid’s case. This poison must be introduced under the skin, by means of a cut or scratch, whereupon, the effect is instantaneously fatal. Twenty seconds is said to be the extreme length of time for life to remain in a body after the introduction of the venom. There is a distinct scratch on Miss Reid’s upper right arm, so inflamed and poisoned as to leave no doubt in the matter.” “That’s why the body was removed,” said the Professor, “lest that scratch be discovered.” “Yes,” agreed Wise, “and the other victim, Mr. Bruce, was killed by having the poison introduced into his stomach.” “That was a different poison,” said the doctor. “That was strychnine hydrochlorate, which acts with equal speed. The evidential point is, that these two poisons were both plotted to be used in the case I mentioned in England, which, however, was foiled before it was actually attempted. The grave wrong, was the account in the newspapers, which was so circumstantial and definite as to give information to whoever cared to use it. Can any one doubt that the villain in this case, read the article I speak of, which was in several of our American papers, and made use of his ill-gotten directions to achieve his purpose?” “How did it get into Mr. Bruce’s stomach?” demanded Braye. “It was secretly placed in his tea or in the cake he was eating,” declared the doctor. “Don’t ask me how,—or who did it. That is not my province. But whoever could plan these fearsome deeds, could find an ingenious method of carrying out his plans,—of that I’m sure.” “I wish I’d been present,” said Braye, again, as he sighed deeply. |
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