  Granniss looked at the constable blankly. Then he said, “Oh, well, you may as well accuse me as anybody, for the present. Where’s Dunn?” “He’s coming,” replied Potter, angry at the young man’s indifference to his charge. “But you can’t treat this matter so scornfully, Mr Granniss. I’ve been thinking a whole lot about you in connection with all these mysteries up here, and I’m of the opinion you know more about some things than you admit.” “Quite right, I do,” said Rod, cheerfully. “But don’t arrest me just yet, for a really worth while detective is coming this morning and he may disagree with your conclusions. But this is a bad thing,—about this poor girl. I can’t understand it.” “I can,” and Potter looked straight at him. “You found her in your way and—you put her out of it.” “Oh, come now, Sheriff,” this from Bill Dunn, who had come hurrying in, “don’t go off half-primed! You haven’t any evidence against Mr Granniss, except that he was in the house.” “I will have, though!” Potter muttered. “Where’s the butler?” “Here I am,” and Kelly put in his appearance. “Who saw this girl last?” Potter thundered, glaring round at the assembled members of the household. They were all present, for Nurse Fletcher had been unable to resist her aroused curiosity, and Minna Varian, too, stood in the background, composed and quiet, but evidently holding herself together by a strong effort of will-power. “I did,” said Hannah, who stood, silent and grim, with folded arms, watching the sheriff. “Where was she, then?” “In her bed,—last night after midnight. She had been down stairs,——” “After midnight?” “Yes. She heard somebody down stairs, and—Martha was a brave one! She thought it was robbers in the house and she went down to see.” “Well?” “Well, it was Mrs Varian, who had gone down to the library. So Martha came up again,——” “Leaving Mrs Varian down there?” “Yes,” Minna interrupted, “leaving me down there.” “What were you doing, Mrs Varian?” “I was wakeful, and I went down to the library to look over some papers.” “And this girl came to you there? Tell the story in your own way.” “There’s little to tell. I was startled at Martha’s unexpected appearance, and sent her back to her room. Shortly afterward, I went back to my own room. That is all.” “Then Martha must have come down stairs again.” “That is quite evident,” said Minna, looking sorrowfully at the dead girl. “Oh, Mr Potter,—Rodney,—what does it all mean?” “It will take a lot of clearing up, ma’am, before anybody can say what it means. Where were you at this time, Kelly?” “In my own room, asleep,” answered the butler. “You heard nothing of the goings on?” “No; my room is up in the third story, and I sleep very soundly.” “Humph! You do? Well, how about the doors and windows? I suppose they were locked and barred as usual?” “Yes, they were,” asserted Kelly. “I always look after those,—especially nowadays.” “Then there was no way for an intruder to get in this house, last night, between midnight, say, and morning?” “No way, sir,” assented Kelly. “Then this girl was murdered by either you, Kelly, or by Mr Granniss. Those marks on her throat of a strangling hold, were made by a man,—and by a strong man. Either of you two could have done it,—now, which one did?” “Not I, sir,” Kelly denied, as calmly as if he were merely refuting a slight accusation. “I know nothing about it.” “I don’t believe you do,” said Potter, judicially, “but I do think you’re implicated, Mr Granniss. Were you in your room all night?” “Of course I was. I retired about one o’clock, and I didn’t open my door again until I was summoned this morning to learn of Martha’s death.” “You say that glibly enough,—but it will take some proof.” “No; your denial of it, or suspicion of my veracity will take the proof. Can you produce it?” “You’re not wise to be so cocksure, sir. There is such a thing as elimination, and I say that only you could have done this thing. The women are not capable of such a deed, and I’ve no reason to suspect Kelly.” “And just what is your reason for suspecting me?” Rodney’s eyes were beginning to grow stern and his jaw set firmly. “Also, what evidence have you for your suspicions?” “Come off, Potter,” Bill Dunn warned him. “You ain’t got no real evidence against Mr Granniss, and you’d better go easy. To my mind, Mr Granniss ain’t going to kill a servant girl without a good reason.” “He may have a very good reason. Suppose Mr Granniss was at the safe and suppose Martha surprised him there as she had startled Mrs Varian. And suppose Mr Granniss didn’t want it known that he had been there, so he took the only sure method of silencing her lips.” “And what would Mr Granniss be doing at the safe?” asked Dunn. “Well, I happen to know that there was considerable of value in that safe last night.” Rodney started. How did the sheriff know that? But he said, “This is aside the mark, Mr Potter. For Mrs Varian has trusted me with the combination of the safe. I can open it at any time without let or hindrance. Why, then, should I sneak down in the middle of the night to do so?” “For the very good reason that you wanted to take the money that was there and make off with it.” “And did I get it?” “I should say not,” declared Potter, “since you are still here!” He looked proud of this triumph of deduction, and went on: “You had some valuables in that safe last night, Mrs Varian, did you not?” “Yes,” replied Minna, almost smiling at the trend of the questions. “Are they there now?” “No, they are not.” “Aha! What did I tell you?” “But they are not there, because when I visited the library late last night, I took them away to my room for better protection of them.” “Oh!” Potter looked deeply chagrined. “You have them safe, then?” “Oh, yes, quite safe, thank you.” “Well, all the same,” went on the sheriff, doggedly, “Mr Granniss thought they were there, and went down to steal them.” “Maybe Martha was there on the same errand,” said Dunn, thoughtfully. “Don’t you dare say a word against that pore dead child,” cried Hannah, resenting at once any aspersion of her friend. “She would never dream of such a thing.” “What did she come down for, then?” asked Potter. “She had been down and had spoken to Mrs Varian. Then she returned to her room, you say, and went back to bed. Now, why did she go down again?” “That I do not know,” Hannah said, belligerently, “but it was for no wrong purpose. Maybe she thought again she heard burglars, and maybe,—this time she was not mistaken.” “That would be a fine theory,” Potter observed, “but for the fact that a burglar couldn’t get in or out. So if she heard any one prowling about it must have been some member of the household. Isn’t she a very daring young person?” “She was afraid of nothing,” Hannah stated. “She was great for detective stories, and she was crazy to investigate and inquire into all the goin’s on of this terrible house! Martha was a dabster at puzzles. She was terrible quick-witted, and sensed out everything—like a ferret! I never saw her beat at findin’ out things!” “That would explain why an evil-doer, if there was one, would put her out of the way rather than have her live to tell of his depredations.” “All right, sir,” Hannah conceded, “if so be’s you put it that way. But don’t you accuse that innocent girl of any wrongdoings herself, for she never did! Never.” “It does look that way,” Rodney said, thoughtfully. “If Martha had that investigating proclivity, that would explain her reappearance down stairs,—that is, if there was a burglar,—yet, how could there be one? As usual, we’re reasoning round in a circle. Now, Mr Potter, I think your conclusions are logical and probable, except in so far as they drag me into this thing. I didn’t leave my room last night at all. But I shall be at your disposal any time you want to question me further on the subject. Now, I want to go to the library and attend to my daily routine of business matters. Also, Mr Wise will arrive before noon, and perhaps his skill may be helpful to your inquest.” Shortly before noon Pennington Wise did arrive. He brought with him a strange, almost weird little girl creature, who ran up the steps and into the house before him. Granniss had opened the door to them, and after greeting Wise, he turned to the girl. “My assistant,” Wise said, carelessly. “Name, Zizi. Give her over to the housekeeper, she’ll take care of herself. Where’s the library—or living room?” Quite apparently tired from the steep walk up the cliff, Wise sank into a chair that Rodney placed for him. They stayed in the hall, which was large and square, and was often used as a sitting room. Zizi, however, dropping her bag in the hall, darted toward the dining room and thence to the kitchen. “Oh,” she cried, to Hannah, “are you the cook? Do give me some tea and toast or something,—I’m famished! My heavens! Who’s that?” Zizi bent over the dead girl, whose body still lay on the kitchen floor. Martha was clad only in a kimono, over her nightdress, and wore bedroom slippers but no stockings. “Hopped out of bed and ran down suddenly, didn’t she?” commented the strange girl. “Didn’t even stop to pin up her hair. Must have heard somebody that she was pretty sure was burglaring, or she wouldn’t have run down again on the chance of its being Mrs Varian the second time.” “How do you know all about it?” asked Hannah, aghast, at the remarkable person that had invaded her kitchen. “But you’re right! Martha was too cute to be caught in a mistake twice,—she must have been sure it was not Mrs Varian again!” “Your chauffeur, who met us at the train, told us about this poor girl.” Zizi’s black eyes snapped as she delicately touched the awful bruises on Martha’s throat. “Small doubt what did for her! Brute!” Kneeling down, she ran her tiny fingers lightly over the body, and finally scrutinized the hands. “Look, Hannah,” she said, quietly, and held open the left hand. It showed a dark green streak, of some sort, that spread entirely across the palm. “Paint?” asked Hannah, not specially interested. “Our porch chairs have been painted lately,—but I don’t see how she got out on the porch. Though o’ course, she could ’a’ done so. That Martha.” Just then Potter and Bill Dunn returned, and said they were ready to take the body of the girl down to the village, where her parents lived. “And a good job to get it out of this house,” said Dunn. “I tell you, Potter, poor Martha’s death has nothin’ to do with those other horrors up here; and Mrs Varian has all she can stagger under without the extra sorrow and trouble of a servant girl.” “Wait!” commanded Zizi, for her ringing tone was nothing less than commanding, “wait, till Mr Wise sees this girl.” She ran for the detective, who came at once. The sheriff gazed with eager curiosity at the great city detective, and sniffed to see that he was a mere human being after all. He saw only a good-looking, well set up man, with chestnut hair, brushed back from a broad forehead, and sharp blue eyes that were kindly of expression but keen of observation. But the astute Bill Dunn saw more than this. He recognized the air of efficiency, the subtle hint of power, the whole effect of generalship which fairly emanated from this quiet-mannered man. There was no bustle about Pennington Wise, no self-assertion, but to those blessed with perceptions he gave an instant impression of sure reasoning and inerrant judgment. He glanced quickly at Zizi, caught the almost imperceptible motion of her own little bird claw of a hand, and then, without seeming to notice her at all, he spoke genially to the two men, and nodded sympathetically at the cook. And they all liked him. If asked why, they could not have told, but his manner and attitude were so friendly, his mien so inoffensive and his cordial acceptance of each of them was so pleasant that he was instantly in their good graces. Even the sheriff, who had been fully prepared to dislike and distrust this city wizard, capitulated gladly, and was ready to subscribe to all his theories, deductions and decisions. “Too bad,” Wise said, with real feeling, as he knelt by Martha’s side. And few could have seen, unmoved, the bright young face of the strong healthy girl who had been so brutally done to death. Gently, he lifted her chin and examined the black bruises on her throat. “Finger-prints?” suggested Potter, eager to show the city man his familiarity with modern methods. “Hardly,” Wise said. “I doubt much could be learned that way,—the bruise is so deep. Perhaps there may be prints of the ruffian’s hands on her clothing. You might try it out, Mr Potter.” Then, while the two men were speaking to each other about the matter, Wise unobtrusively looked at the inside of the girl’s hands. On the left palm he saw the long smear of dark green, and after quick but careful scrutiny, he bent lower and smelled of it. Then he closed the dead hand and rose to his feet. “You may take away the body, Sheriff,” he said, “so far as I am concerned. She has people?” “Yes, sir. Parents and sisters. Oh, it’s a sorry thing for them.” “It is so,” and then Wise let his perceiving eyes roam over the kitchen. “Have you searched the floor well for anything that may have been dropped?” he asked. “Oh, yes,” the sheriff answered. “That’s all been done, Mr Wise. We’re plain country folks here, but we know a thing or two.” “I’m sure of that,” Wise assented. “Did you look under the dresser and beneath that corner cupboard?” “Well, no; we didn’t think it necessary to go so far as that.” “Probably not; most likely not. Yet, I wish, Hannah, you’d get a broom and just run it under there.” “I’ll do it,” volunteered Kelly, who had come to the kitchen. He brought a broom, and brushing under the two dressers, brought out some dust, some threads and shreds and two yellow beads. “Martha’s?” asked Wise, quietly, picking up the beads. “No!” exclaimed Hannah, staring at them. “Miss Betty’s!” “Miss Varian’s!” Wise was himself surprised. “Yes, sir; the very ones she wore the day—the day she—was lost.” “I’ll take charge of them,” he said, simply, and put them in his pocket. Kelly and his broom failed to find anything further, and suddenly realizing the side light it gave on her housekeeping habits, Hannah began to explain how everything was going at sixes and sevens of late. “Of course it would,” Zizi soothed her, as Wise returned to the hall. “Now, Hannah, tell me, did you find anywhere, any more of Miss Betty’s beads?” “I found two, when I was sweepin’ here one day. But I slipped ’em in this drawer an’ never remembered them again. Here they be.” She retrieved the two beads, and Zizi took them. “Did she wear a long string of them?” “No, miss, a fairly short string. About like that you’ve on yourself.” Zizi’s modest little string of black beads hung perhaps four inches below her throat. She examined the yellow beads, saw they were of amber, and put them away in her little handbag. “Now, Hannah,” she went on, “you and I are friends——” “An’ that I’m proud to be, miss!” “And you must help me all you can——” “Help you what?” “Find out the truth about Miss Betty,—and perhaps,—find her.” “Are you,—are you——” “Yes, I’m a detective,—that is, I’m the assistant of Mr Wise, and he’s the greatest detective in the world.” “Is he that, now?” and Kelly, unable to resist the fascination of this queer visitor, joined the group. “Yes, he is. And he is going to solve the whole mystery,—if we all help. And, maybe we’ll help best by doing nothing. And especially by saying nothing. So, you two keep quite still about finding these beads, won’t you, and about matters in general. You talk over things with the villagers, I suppose, but don’t say anything about what happens up here now. Discuss the past, all you like, but not the present. See?” They didn’t see clearly, but they were more than ready to promise whatever this girl asked, and then between the two, Zizi was served with such a luncheon as might have befitted a royal guest. “Goodness, gracious, sakes alive!” she exclaimed, “don’t bring me anything more, I beg of you. I shall go to sleep like an anaconda and not wake up for six months!” Then, while the detective ate his luncheon at the table with Minna Varian and her secretary, Zizi went in search of the nurse. She found Mrs Fletcher eating her meal from a tray in her sitting room. It hurt her pride to do this, but Minna Varian declared that she saw quite enough of Fletcher between meals and must have some respite. “Nice to eat alone, I think,” was Zizi’s observation as she entered, uninvited, and perched herself on the arm of a nearby chair. “You’re Fletcher, aren’t you? Now, won’t you please tell me some things confidentially? I see, you’re a woman of deep perceptions, and are not to be caught napping. Tell me, do you think Mrs Varian went down stairs a second time last night?” “That she did not,” asserted the nurse. She was flattered at Zizi’s attitude and would have told her anything she asked. “How do you know?” “I can’t go to sleep myself, you see, till Mrs Varian is asleep. So I always wait until I hear her steady breathing before I let myself drop off.” The statement was too surely true to be disbelieved and Zizi went on. “Then who was it that Martha heard downstairs, that she went down a second time?” “Maybe she didn’t hear anybody. Maybe she went down to see what she could pick up herself——” “Steal, do you mean? Oh, for shame! To accuse a poor, dead girl!” Mrs Fletcher looked ashamed. “I oughtn’t to,—I s’pose. But, Miss, what else is there to think? I well know how this house is locked up of nights; nobody from outside could get in. The other servants are as honest as the day, and though I’ve no real reason to suspect Martha, yet there doesn’t seem to be any other way to look,—does there, now?” “Some way may turn up,” said Zizi. “Tell me more about Betty,—Miss Varian.” “I can’t tell you from having known her, for I never saw the girl, but since I’ve been taking care of Mrs Varian there’s little I don’t know about the whole family. She’s nervous, you know, and so she talks incessantly, when we’re alone.” “Nothing, though, to cast any light on Miss Varian’s disappearance?” “Oh, no; nothing but sort of reminiscences about her husband and how good he was to her, and how she grieves for him,—and for her child. Poor woman,—it’s fearful to hear her.” “It must be,” said Zizi, sympathetically; “my heart bleeds for that poor tortured soul.” |
|
