From clue to climax

Chapter I

HE milkman left a can of milk on the front veranda and drove on to the next house in the street. The iceman came along half an hour later, looked curiously at the closed door, as he unfastened the hooks from a block of ice, and rapped loudly on the step, but no one came to answer his call.

An hour later a young man sleeping in the front room down-stairs awoke suddenly and sat up in bed. He was astonished to note that the sunlight on the carpet extended from the window far into the room, indicating that the sun had risen above the tall buildings across the street. He felt a strange heaviness in his head, and a desire to lie down again, but he shook off the feeling, and rose and began to dress.

What could be the matter? The little clock on his dressing-case pointed to ten. What had caused him to oversleep? Why had Mr. Strong not waked him as usual? The old man was always up with the sun, and had never allowed him to sleep later than eight.

The young man hurriedly put on his trousers, thrust his feet into his slippers, and drew aside the portiere that hung between his room and his uncle’s. Strong’s bed was in the right-hand corner of the room, and Whidby could see the back part of his head and one side of his gray whiskers.

Whidby called to him softly, but Strong did not stir. Whidby called again, and stamped his foot, but still the old man remained motionless.

“ That’s queer,” murmured Whidby, as he approached the bed. Strong’s face was towards the window ; his eyes were open ; a ghastly smile was on his face. He was dead. Whidby saw that by the awful pallor of his face, which made each hair of the beard stand out as if under a magnifying glass. For a moment Whidby stood as if turned

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to stone ; then he drew down the sheet, which had been drawn up closely under the old man’s chin, and saw the long deep gash in the throat and the dark clots of the blood which had soaked into the mattress.

Whidby was strangely calm. In an instant he had decided on a course of action. He stepped to the telephone across the room, and looked over the directory ; then he rang, and held the receiver to his ear.

“ Hello,” he said, “that’s the central office, isn’t it? Well, all right ; one seventy-six on four eighty-two, please.”

“ Well, what is it?” presently came from the telephone.

“ Is that Police Head-Quarters ?”

“Yes.”

“I am Alfred Whidby, 278 Leighton Avenue. A horrible thing has occurred here during the night. I have just discovered that my uncle, Mr. Strong, — Richard N. Strong, the banker, — has been murdered. Come and attend to it.”

There was a silence, broken by a low, indistinct murmuring as if people were talking at the other end of the wire ; then the reply came :

“ All right ; as soon as we can get there.”

Then Whidby hung up the receiver, and rang the bell. He went back into his room, put on his shirt, collar, and necktie, and brushed his hair. His head still felt heavy and ached a little. The electric cars were whirring past the house, and a blind man was playing an accordion a few doors away. There was a crunching step on the gravelled walk near his window : Whidby raised the sash and looked out. It was Matthews, the gardener.

Seeing Whidby, he touched his hat, stopped, and asked after Mr. Strong. Whidby made no reply, but sat down on the window-sill and stared at the old man. He was wondering if the police would prefer for him to keep the news from the gardener. It was the look of slow astonishment coming into Matthews’s eyes that made him decide what to say.

“ Matthews,” he said, “ something has happened ; I can tell you that much, but that is all. I have telephoned the police ; you’d better not come in till they get here. If I were you I’d go on with my work : the rose-bushes near the fountain need trimming.”

Matthews stared and started to speak, but Whidby withdrew, sat down on the side of his bed, and tried to collect his thoughts. Suddenly he was roused by a sharp ring at the door-bell. Whidby’s heart sank, and he was all in a quiver, but he rose calmly and went to the door. It was a boy with the morning paper. He held also a bill in his hand, and wanted to collect the money due to him for delivering the paper for the month past, but Whidby sent him away, and stood for several minutes in the door-way watching the crowd passing in the street. Then he closed the door, and went into his uncle’s room and walked restlessly to and fro at the foot of the bed. Suddenly he stopped at the telephone and rang the bell.

“ One seventy-five on four eighty-two, please,” he said.

“ Hello there,” was the reply.

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“Well?” asked Whidby.

“ You are one seventy-six instead of one seventy-five, aren’t you?”

“ Yes. Did I say one seventy-five ? I meant one seventy-six.”

“ All right ; there you are, Mr. Whidby.”

“ Whidby !” thought the young man. “ I wonder how he knew my name. Ah, he must have overheard me speaking to the police.”

The bell rang.

“ Hello,” said Whidby. “Is that Police Head-Quarters?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“ This is Alfred Whidby, 278 Leighton Avenue ”

“ I know ; but what is wrong now ?”

“ I telephoned you about the murder up here. Aren’t you going to send some one to see about it ?”

“ That was only a few minutes ago, Mr. Whidby, and it is over two miles. Captain Welsh has just left with Mr. Minard Hendricks, the famous New York detective, who happens to be in town.”

“ Ah, I see,” said Whidby : “ the time drags with me, you know. I am all alone.”

“ I understand. Good-by.”

“ Good-by.”

The young man turned and walked round the bed for another look at Strong’s face. Surely, he thought, that weird smile and the twinkle in the dead man’s eyes were the most remarkable things ever connected with a murder case. He could not bear to look at the face, so he went into his own room. He wondered what had caused him to oversleep. He went to his bed and smelt the pillows to see if he could detect traces of chloroform. He had decided that he could not have been drugged, when the bell of a passing car caught his ear. He knew that the car had stopped in front of the house by the whirring, chromatic sound as it started on again. Then he heard steps on the veranda and went to the door.

Chapter II

It was Captain Welsh, the Chief of Police, and Mr. Minard Hendricks, the detective from New York. The latter scarcely nodded when he was introduced to Whidby. His sharp, gray eyes, under massive, shaggy brows, rested on the key which he had just heard Whidby turn in the lock.

“Has no one been out at this door this morning?” he asked, abruptly.

“ No,” stammered Whidby, — “ yes ; that is, I came to answer the ring of a newsboy a moment ago.”

“ And you locked the door after he left ?”

“ Yes.”

“ Why did you do it ?” The detective’s eyes were roving about the veranda, hall, and yard, but his tone sounded sharp and to the point. Whidby felt that he was waiting for a reply.

“ I don’t know,” replied the young man, helplessly. “ I suppose I

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was excited, and it seemed to me that it would be best to keep curious people out till you came.”

“Certainly,” remarked Captain Welsh; but the detective went on with a frown :

“ Was the door unlocked when you opened it for the newsboy?”

“ I — I’m afraid I can’t remember,” answered Whidby.

“ That is unfortunate,” said Hendricks. “ Where is the body?”

“ This way,” replied Whidby. “ The second door on the right.”

The detective opened the door, and the others followed him to the bed. He looked long and silently at the face of the dead man ; then he said, “Has any one touched this sheet since you discovered the murder ?”

“I drew it down to see where he was wounded. If I had thought ”

“ No matter,” replied the detective, and he lifted the sheet and examined the gash. Then he replaced it carefully, and asked, “ How was the sheet arranged when you found him?”

“Just as it is now, I think,” said Whidby. “Just as if the murderer had replaced it with both hands, one on each side, as you did.”

“ Stand where you are,” Hendricks suddenly ordered. He raised the window-shade, went down on hands and knees, and made a minute examination of the carpet. Then he rose and surveyed the room. “Where did you sleep?” he asked.

Whidby pointed to the portiere. “ In that room.”

The detective drew the heavy curtains aside.

“You came through here this morning?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Hendricks looked at Whidby’s bed. “Slept later this morning than usual, eh?” he asked.

“ Yes ; I don’t know what was the matter with me. I felt heavyheaded and dizzy when I awoke.”

Captain Welsh nodded knowingly, but said nothing.

“ You telephoned as soon as you discovered the body ?” Hendricks went on.

“Yes.”

“ Where do you get your meals?”

“ Here, usually ; but to-day the cook is away on leave of absence. Uncle and I were going over to the Randolph, the restaurant on the corner, for our meals till she returned.”

“ Have you eaten anything this morning ?”

“ Well, you’d better go : we’ll look after everything and telephone the coroner.”

“ All right,” replied Whidby. He turned to the wash-stand and filled a basin from a pitcher of water. “ In my excitement I forgot to wash my face and hands.”

“ Stop !” cried Hendricks, and he caught Whidby’s arm as his hands were almost in the water. “Pardon me, but you’ve stained your fingers somehow.”

The young man stared at his right hand in surprise. There was a

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faint red smudge on the thumb and fingers. “Why,” he said, “I

don’t see how it could have got there, unless I wonder if ”

Whidby turned quickly into the other room and bent over Strong’s bed. “ Ah,” he cried to the others. “ See ! I must have got it from the corner of the sheet when I put it back ; you see there is blood on the under side.”

The detective had followed Whidby no further than the portiere, where he stood indifferently watching the young man’s movements.

“ Yes, from the sheet or this curtain,” he replied, pointing to an almost invisible spot of blood on the portiere.

“ Then the fellow must have been in my room too,” said Whidby, wonderingly.

“ And just after the deed was done,” Hendricks remarked.

The young man stared at the detective curiously as he returned to the wash-stand and took off his coat. “ Look,” he cried to him, “ here is some of it on my cuff.”

“ I noticed that,” replied the detective. “ It is a drop of blood. Perhaps you had better detach the cuff and give it to me. You did not sleep in that shirt ?”

“ No.” Whidby gave him the cuff.

“ Where did you lay the shirt last night when you took it off?”

“ On that chair near my bed,” answered Whidby.

“ That’s all you can do for us,” said Hendricks. “ You’d better go to breakfast.”

Whidby crossed the street and entered the restaurant on the corner. He took a seat at the table the farthest from the door, and ordered some eggs, coffee, rolls, and butter ; but he found that he had no appetite, and he drank his coffee when it was so hot that it burnt his lips. Then he bought a newspaper, and sat for ten minutes gazing at it absently.

On his return home he found the yard filled with a crowd of curious people. Some of them stood on the veranda near the windows. The door was closed. Whidby tried the knob, but it was locked. Turning, he saw Matthews coming round the corner of the house.

“ Captain Welsh asked me to send you in at the rear door,” the man said. “ They’re goin’ to hold a inquest on ’im.”

WTiidby followed the gardener into the house. How he disliked to see the body again, and the strange smile on the dead man’s face ! But there was no help for it. He must do what he could towards bringing the criminal to justice.

The atmosphere of Strong’s room was so close that Whidby could hardly breathe, and the perfume from the conservatory sickened him. The coroner and jury had arrived. Indeed, they seemed to be waiting for him. He sat down near a window. He wondered what they would ask him, and if he could make intelligent replies.

The coroner opened the proceedings with a few words to the jury, and Whidby thought they stared at him furtively whenever his name was mentioned. Then his testimony was called for, and Whidby felt that he was repeating word for word the account he had given Hendricks a short while before.

The detective rose next and told in careful detail how the police had been called to the telephone by Whidby and first informed of the murder ; how the young man had met him and Welsh at the door, and what was said about whether the door was locked. He spoke of the blood-stain on Wliidby’s hand, and produced the cuff with the drop of blood on it. It was his opinion, he said, that the cuff could not have been worn at the time it received the drop, nor for at least half an hour afterwards, for, as the jury could see, the blood had dried in such a shape as to prove that it had remained motionless for some time. Mr. Whidby had said that the shirt with the cuff attached had lain on a chair near his bed all night.

Then the coroner called for Whidby’s night-shirt, and the jury passed it from one to the other and examined it carefully. At that moment Whidby rose to call attention to the blood on the portiere, and on the corner of the sheet, which he thought Hendricks and Captain Welsh had forgotten to mention, but the coroner ordered him, rather coldly, to sit down.

Matthews was next called, but he could testify to nothing except that he slept in the cottage behind the house and had not waked during the night. Then the coroner requested Whidby and Matthews to leave the room, and Whidby went into the library across the hall and closed the door behind him.

He sat down and tried to collect his thoughts, but it was impossible. Half an hour went by. He heard the jury tramp through the hall, cross the veranda, and go out at the gate. Then Matthews rapped on the door.

“ Come in,” said Whidby.

“ Two undertakers are waitin’ outside, sir,” said the servant. “ They both want the job. I tol’ ’em I’d see you about it.”

“ Use your judgment ; engage one of them. I can’t attend to it.” Whidby called to the old man as he was closing the door. “ What was the verdict of the jury?” he asked.

“ Met his death by the hand of some person unknown, sir. They called me back to open the windows, and I stayed.”

“ Ah, you remained in there.”

Matthews opened the door a little wider and stood in the opening. “ Your name came up mighty often, sir, after you went out.”

“ My name? what did they say about me?”

“ I didn’t catch it all, sir, but the detective mentioned the stain on your hand and said it no doubt came from the sheet or from the curtain between the rooms. He said your explanation satisfied him, and that he did not believe a guilty man would wait for the police to come before he washed his hands and then do it right before ’em. It seems to me it would be foolish to mix you up in it, sir, even if you did know about the will.”

“Will? What will are you talking about?” asked Whidby, abruptly.

“ Why, master’s will, sir. They must ’a’ opened his desk an’ got into his private papers, for they said there was a will makin’ you heir to all the property. They seemed to think there was motive enough, but they couldn’t fasten it on you.”

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“ Wliat else did you hear, Matthews ?” Whidby had turned pale, and was twisting his handkerchief tightly in his hands. u If one is to be suspected of murdering one’s nearest relative in cold blood, it is a substantial comfort to know that there is not enough evidence to convict. Did you hear anything else?”

“ Nothin’ important, sir. There was a good deal said about a report that master was thinkin’ about gettin’ married, and that he would likely alter his will if he did. Mr. Soddingham mentioned that it had been talked of at the club, but that you had laughed at the report. They seemed to have found some of the young lady’s letters with master’s papers, and they appeared to point that way.”

“ I think I did deny the report at first,” said Whidby, thoughtfully, “ but I confess I had just begun to think my uncle was in love. She is a worthy young woman, but much too young for him, and was influenced by his wealth. Perhaps you had better go and speak to the undertaker. I suppose they will want to put the coffin in here. I shall go up-stairs and occupy the front room. I don’t feel like going out ; my head aches, and I don’t seem to have half my wits about me. I could not rest in my old room with the undertaker in the other.”

Chapter III

As Whidby ascended the stairs in the hall, Matthews admitted one of the undertakers and his assistants and showed them into Strong’s room. Whidby went into the bedroom above, closed the door, threw himself on a lounge, and shut his eyes. In a few minutes he began to feel less nervous. A restful sensation stole over him, and he felt sleepy. Suddenly his mind reverted to what seemed a vague dream of the night before. Was it a dream, or could it have been reality? He sprang up, quivering all over with excitement, but the more he thought of it the more the memory evaded him, till in desperation he sat down on the lounge and buried his face in his hands. Just then he heard a step in the hall, and some one rapped on his door.

He rose and went to the door. It was Matthews.

“ Colonel Warrenton is down-stairs, sir, and wants to see you.”

u Send him up here,” said Whidby. “ I don’t care to go down.”

In a moment Colonel Warrenton entered. He was a short, middle-aged man, with a red face and iron-gray hair. He put his silk hat on a table and gave Whidby his hand.

“ I was dumfounded by the news,” he said. “ We are such good friends that I waived all ceremony and came right round.”

“ I’m glad you did, old man,” returned Whidby. “Sit down, and excuse me if I am not entertaining. The truth is, I am badly broken up over this affair. Something is wrong with me : I am not myself at all.”

The visitor’s glance wandered aimlessly about the room in the silence that followed Whidby’s remark. Then the colonel said,-—

“ You need not tell me anything. I have heard all about it from Captain Welsh. He and I have been intimate friends for years. You

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have not asked for my advice, but, my boy, I love you like a brother, and I don’t want to see you run your head into trouble for the lack of a lawyer’s opinion.”

“ Why do I need legal advice ?” asked Whidby, nervously. “ In what way ? I don’t understand.”

The lawyer drew his chair nearer to the young man, who was seated on the lounge, and laid his hand on his knee.

“ Of course it is absurd to think of your being concerned in Strong’s death, Alfred,” he began ; u but I am obliged, through the force of habit, to look at such affairs from a professional stand-point. I know you are innocent ; but innocent men have been hanged before this, and I have seen men put on trial for murder with less circumstantial evidence against them than there is against you.”

Whidby brushed back his dishevelled hair with a quivering hand, and stared at his friend.

“ You mean that I may yet be accused ?”

“ It all depends on Hendricks,” the colonel interrupted. “ He is the brightest man in his line in the world. If he gets on the track of the real criminal, you are all right, and not a soul will accuse you ; but if his investigations should be confined to this house it might grow very unpleasant for you. It struck me that this view of the case might not occur to you, and that is the reason I am here. You see, it is well that I came of my own accord, for if you had sent for me it might have had an ugly look.”

The young man rose and began to walk to and fro across the room. “ I am very much obliged,” he sighed. a I never dreamed of being suspected. Matthews said that after I left the room during the inquest something was brought up about the blood-stain on my hand and uncle’s will ; but that did not trouble me.”

Colonel Warrenton’s glance followed his friend’s form back and forth for a moment ; then he said, —

“ Pardon me, my boy, but do you really know if you got the blood on your hand from the sheet, or from the portiere ? Is your memory clear on that point ?”

“ No ; I did not notice it till I started to wash my hands. In fact, the detective called my attention to it. I must have been very much excited, or I would have noticed a thing like that; but, old man, my head is in such a whirl that I do not know what I am saying. I overslept, and feel as if I had been drugged. Besides,” — Whidby stopped at the colonel’s side and put his hand on his shoulder, — “ besides, to tell the truth, something has come into my mind since I have been in this room, — something I did not remember at the inquest. Perhaps I ought to tell the police about it, since I did not think of it when testifying. As I was lying down just before you came up, something flashed into my mind like a dream. I seemed to recall walking about my room and being half waked by stumbling over a chair near my bed. I caught the chair to steady myself, and half remember that my shirt, which I had thrown on the chair when I went to bed, fell on the floor. It seems to me that I picked up the shirt and replaced it, and then went back to bed. I know the shirt was on the chair when

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I waked this morning, but I can’t imagine what I was doing up in the night.”

“ Ah, that is indeed curious,” said the lawyer, thoughtfully. “ Can you remember passing the portiere, or touching it with your hand ?”

“ No ; I have told you all I remember.”

“ Was the chair between the portiere and your bed?”

“Yes.”

“ Was the back or the front part of the chair towards the portiere?”

“The back.”

“ You are sure of that?”

“Yes; it is quite clear to me, though I can’t explain why, that I ran against the back of the chair.”

“Then you were undoubtedly coming from the direction of the portiere and going towards your bed ?”

“ It seems so.”

“ Do you walk in your sleep ?”

“ Not now ; at least, not to my knowledge. I used to do it when I was a boy.”

“ At that time were you ever conscious afterwards of having done so?”

“ Yes ; I would sometimes get lost in my room and be unable to find my way back to bed till I waked.”

“ That showed you had a habit of walking about and unconsciously returning to bed. It was only when something half roused you that you were unable to act for yourself.” Colonel Warrenton reflected for a moment ; then he said, “ Look here, Alfred ; I want to give you some advice. You have truthfully testified on oath as to what happened last night to the best of your memory at the time you were questioned. This little circumstance has since come into your mind. Now, my advice to you is to keep this to yourself, — unless, of course, you should be called to testify again.”

“ Why?” asked Whidby.

“ For the sake of your personal safety. Innocent men have been executed for crime too often for one to deliberately put his head into a halter.”

“ Pooh !” said the young man, uneasily. “ It seems like confessing to guilt to keep back anything bearing on the case.”

“ You are not capable of seeing what is best for you to-day, my boy. Don’t say anything about it for a while, anyway, — at least, not till I see you again.”

“ All right; I can promise that,” said Whidby, as he shook hands with the lawyer.

Whidby continued to pace the floor of the room until Matthews rapped at the door.

“ What is it now?” asked Whidby, admitting him.

“ A lady in the library to see you, sir.”

“ A lady to see me? Who is it?”

“ I took her to be Miss Delmar, sir.”

“Annette — Miss Delmar? You must be mistaken.”

“ I think not, sir.”

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“ Tell her I will be down at once.” Whidby turned to a mirror and stared at his haggard features and dishevelled hair. “ I wonder what she can want,” he said to himself, as Matthews softly closed the door. “This is no place for her. Poor girl! She has heard the reports, and could not wait.”

Descending the stairs and turning into the library, Whidby found the visitor standing at a window looking into the yard.

“Annette!” he exclaimed, as she turned, and he advanced to her with extended hands.

“ Oh, Alfred !” she cried, softly, as she put her hands into his. “ I am so sorry about this.” Then she saw his face in the light from the windows, and shrank back in amazement. “ Why, why, you are ill ! You look — I never saw you look so badly. What is the matter ?”

“ I have had an awful time of it,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “ I suppose I show it. But why did you come here ? Why didn’t you wait ? I was coming round as soon as possible.”

“ I couldn’t wait, dear,” she said. “ I simply should have gone mad. I knew you could explain.” She shuddered. “ Where is it ? — your uncle, I mean.”

He nodded towards the room across the hall.

“ In there. The undertakers have it in charge.”

She drew more closely to him.

“ This is certainly a proof of my love, Alfred,” she said, smiling faintly. “There never lived a soul with a greater horror of such things than I have, and yet I came. No, I could not wait. You know how papa is. He never had much faith in you anyway, and this morning when he heard the news down town he came right home to see me. Oh, he acted shamefully ! I hate to think that he is my father. I could not tell you all he said.”

Her voice had sunk into a whisper, and she hid her pretty face on his shoulder to keep him from seeing the tears in her eyes.

“ What did he say ?” asked Whidby.

“ Oh, he says they think you did it. He says there is undoubted evidence against you.”

Whidby was silent for a moment, drawing his breath rapidly, and looking more careworn than ever. He raised her face with a trembling hand and looked into her eyes.

“Pshaw ! Didn’t he know that the coroner’s jury gave a verdict that — that uncle met his death at the hands of some person unknown ?”