THE PASSING OF MARY
McCarty’s indignation spent itself in his efforts to regain his breath, and a glow of returning warmth pervaded his heart when Dennis voiced his complaint.
“This whole day have I been hanging around waiting, and never a sign of you! You’ve not been so busy you couldn’t spare a minute to tell a fellow how things are going, and anyway, why wasn’t I in on whatever you were doing, I’d like to know? Sure, it’s not like you to go to bed with all the news on your chest and me left out in the cold! ’Tis the inflooence of that Terhune, that’s what it is! Since you’ve been associating with the great man, you’ve no use for the like of me!”
“Why isn’t it him you’re getting out of his bed in the middle of the night for news, if he’s so great?” retorted McCarty; but his eyes twinkled. “I’m only a has-been, and fat at that! What should I know about the case?”
“You are out of condition, and that’s a fact,” observed Dennis tactlessly “Look at you now, puffing like a traction engine from just a little sprint round the block! But Mac, you old divil, there ain’t a man in the detective line to-day, on the force or off it, can hold a candle to you with all their scientific contraptions, and well you know it!
“’Tis a week to-night since the murder, and not a step forward have they got, any of them. If the truth about who killed the girl is ever coming out, ’tis you that’ll do the trick, and no one else—with me helping you, maybe.”
“Is that so!” McCarty grunted. “A lot of help you are. And it’s not to hear my news that you got me around here; I’m on to that. You’ve some idea of your own you want to spring!”
“True for you,” responded Dennis. “If you’d found out anything to-day you couldn’t have slept on it without telling me in spite of your grouch. I’ve been thinking the case over, and it come to me that the whole thing hinges on what the girl whispered to you with her dying breath. It’s that flying man you’ve got to find, Mac!”
“That’s real smart of you, Denny, you’re improving!” McCarty commented satirically. “Now, if you’ll just be telling me where he is, I’ll go right out and collar him, and then get some sleep.”
“Oh, you may laugh, but there’s no smoke without fire. That girl said flying man, and flying man she meant, for by the same token she was not delirious or crazy. There’s no flying man but an aviator, and the only one she knows is the one she met on the afternoon before she was killed. I’ve thought all that out, and it’s straight. Of course he’s got an alibi, but so has Quimby, and you knocked it higher than a kite. Mac, you mark my words, he’s the fellow you want.”
“Maybe the poor thing was crazy, after all,” McCarty remarked. “At least that’s what her family are trying to put over now.”
He gave Dennis an account of the day’s events, including his interviews with the Pullman porter, little Stevie, and Miss Beckwith, and the other listened with shining eyes.
“That’s where my idea comes in!” he exclaimed. “If this Mr. Antonio that’s gone is the chauffeur, maybe the aviator fellow was in love with her, too; followed her to the flat on the fourth floor and killed her!”
“Then how did he get away?” demanded McCarty.
“How did the girl who went to Chicago get out, and Quimby, or whoever the man was who was behind the glass closet, and any one else who wanted to? From the way that building was policed, if you ask me, the whole ward could have passed in and out and nobody the wiser! If you can lay your hands on that aviator and make him talk, you’ll learn something, I’ll bank on it.” McCarty’s reply was cut short by the harsh clamor of the fire-bell, and he had merely time to step out of the way as Dennis jumped to his place and the engine shot out of the door.
“And I hope it’s a false alarm!” muttered McCarty, acutely aware once more of his incomplete attire and recalled to the ruse which had urged him forth.
The alarm, however, was a genuine one, a stubborn blaze in a basement cleaning establishment, and Dennis returned water-soaked and too weary to continue the discussion. With a promise to look him up in the afternoon, McCarty left him and returned to his own interrupted slumber.
Nine o’clock the next morning found him in the office of Charles Sturtevant. That young man faced about irascibly from his desk when the ex-roundsman entered, but beneath his bluster McCarty detected a note of uneasiness.
“Confound you fellows! Can’t you ever let a chap alone? I’ve told you repeatedly that I know nothing about the case, and Terhune assured me after his silly farce the other night that I shouldn’t be annoyed any more in connection with it. What do you want now?”
“Just a word, Mr. Sturtevant, and I’ll not bother you again. The inspector thought you would rather make a private statement to me now than have the matter taken up when the inquest is resumed. In this way we can overlook any little question of suppressed evidence in your first testimony, which might be awkward for you later.”
“‘Suppressed evidence!’” repeated Sturtevant testily. “I don’t know what you’re driving at, my man. I haven’t seen Miss Rowntree in months, and have no knowledge whatever of her private affairs. It’s not pleasant, I can tell you, to be dragged into the limelight in such a case merely because one happens to have been a casual friend, and if it keeps up some one is going to suffer for it!”
“It’s about the time when you did know quite a bit concerning the young lady’s private affairs, sir, that the coroner would like to hear; some few things that you forgot to mention which he could recall to you and Mr. Quimby. Of course, if it’s all the same to you, it can wait till the next session of the inquest.”
McCarty nodded bruskly and turned to the door, but the young man interposed hastily:
“If it is anything in which I can be of real service to the investigation, that is quite another matter. I shall be glad to assist you in any way. What—er—is it that you think I can tell you?”
“Just this, sir: You stated at the inquest that your attentions to the young lady were only those of friendship, and that they were interrupted by your going away for the summer. Mr. Sturtevant, did you leave town for a holiday or as an excuse to break of those attentions?”
“That question is an impertinence!” Sturtevant brought his hand down smartly on the desk before him.” “I went on a fishing trip to Canada—
“Did you go before or after you proposed for Miss Rowntree?”
“I never proposed to her!”
“I didn’t say you did, sir. I said proposed for her; asked her stepfather for her. When you did, he told you something that made you change your mind in a hurry.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean!” Sturtevant blustered. “My feelings toward Miss Rowntree were always those of friendship, and they never changed.”
“But you thought twice, as any man would, about marrying a girl whose mind wasn’t quite all there—”
“Look here!” The young man leaped from his chair. “How did you people get hold of that? It’s past and done with, and has no connection with the case whatever, and anyway I thought Quimby would manage to keep it quiet. What’s the good of raking it up?
“Because if this thing comes to a showdown, Mr. Sturtevant, it will not be to Mr. Quimby’s interest to hide that. ’Tis a pity, sir, you were so quick to believe what was told you without finding out the truth for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if I wanted to discourage a man from marrying a girl, so that I could keep control of her property, that would be the strongest kind of a lie I could put up.”
“I—I can’t believe it! Quimby wouldn’t dare make such an assertion if it were not founded on fact, and his stepdaughter’s property wasn’t a patch on his own.”
“A patch that’d maybe stop a disastrous leak, Mr. Sturtevant. Think for yourself. Did you ever see any sign of craziness on Miss Rowntree’s part?”
“I can’t say I ever did.” He strode to the window, “It’s monstrous, unheard of that a man of Quimby’s position would take such a chance—”
“He knew you’d be the last to speak of it, sir. And ’twas no longer a chance than to let the affair go on till he was forced to give an accounting of the trust, which he would have found a pretty hard job. You played in his hands right enough when you let all that slide at the inquest, but you can see that if it becomes necessary for him to establish her insanity, he’ll call on you to back him up, and you’ll be in a hole.”
“But you understand my position!” Sturtevant turned abruptly and came forward. “Miss Rowntree was dead, and I saw no reason for casting a slur upon her memory, to say nothing of the effect on the remaining members of the family. It is true that I admired her immensely and wanted to make her my wife. I was hard hit when I went to Quimby and he told me of her—her trouble, But I thought it was deucedly straightforward and honorable of him to come out with the truth.
“I hadn’t the least idea that the old scoundrel could have an ulterior motive, and naturally I—I fought shy. Every one thought his position was impregnable—thinks so to-day. See here, I’d like to know if your information is correct about his financial condition; I’m pretty well tied up with him, carrying a huge marginal account of his on my books at this moment. If he’s shaky, I’ve got to get out from under.”
“You’ll have to find that out for yourself, Mr. Sturtevant.” McCarty’s voice was thickened with contempt. “The purpose of our investigation is to clear the young girl that’s dead from the black lie that was told about her, and find the man that killed her.”
“Oh, to be sure,” murmured Sturtevant hurriedly. “Of course, the whole incident was most unfortunate, and if I permitted myself to be deceived I regret it deeply, but as you say, any man would naturally think twice before he contracted a marriage with a person who was—er—mentally afflicted. Now, sir, I’ve told you all I really know, and in return you’ve given me some information which I must act upon without delay. Come around again and I’ll be happy to tell you anything I can, but just now every minute counts. You’ll excuse me, won’t you? Have a cigar?”
McCarty declined in disgust, and departed without further conversation. Dead or alive, he concluded that Marion Rowntree was well rid of her self-centered suitor, and dismissed him from his consideration. A task loomed before him which would require all his diplomacy to perform, and his habitual confidence had well-nigh deserted him as he boarded an up-town car on the way to Mr. Terhune’s rooms.
He found the detective busily engaged in mounting a series of photographs upon a board, and affably disposed to ignore the fiasco of their last meeting.
“Still interested in our little case, Mac?” he asked. “It does present some very unusual points, I confess, but basically it is simple, almost elementary. All the minor details are satisfactorily cleared up and I have the whole affair in a nutshell. Scientifically it admitted of only one solution from the beginning and working along that line without blundering into irrelevant issues, I have arrived at the infallible conclusion.”
“Yes, sir,” said McCarty. ‘Have you got the man?”
Terhune frowned.
“That will come,” he announced shortly. ‘The process of ratiocination alone would disclose him in time, but we shall not adopt so lengthy and crude a measure. The objective side of crime is particularly amenable to scientific analysis, and with that objective firmly fixed in the mind the solution presents no difficulties to the expert intelligence.”
“I’ve no doubt of it in the world,” agreed McCarty in haste. Of course, me being an outsider and belonging to the old school that’s past with these wonderful new scientific discoveries you’re master of, sir, it’s that interesting I can’t keep my mind from it.”
“That is natural,” Terhune acknowledged generously. “I like to see a man without prejudice toward innovations which he is not mentally equipped to grasp in their full practical significance.”
A dull red appeared behind McCarty’s ears, but he shifted to the other foot and asked naïvely:
“Then you’ve no objections, Mr. Terhune, to me puttering around a little and asking a few questions of some of the witnesses, just to satisfy my own mind? I’ll not be bothering you, or interfering with the real investigation, but you know we old fellows like to pull in the harness now and again.
Terhune waved his hand airily.
“Go as far as you like, my dear McCarty! Come to me with what puzzles you have some time when I’m not so busy, and I’ll set you straight.”
“Thank you, sir,” McCarty hesitated. “I was thinking of having a bit of a talk with Mrs. Doremus and maybe that girl of hers, this afternoon. Of course if you’d rather I didn’t, sir, thinking I might upset your plans, or want me to wait till you can be along, too—”
“My good man,” Terhune turned with an air of amused impatience, “my plans are not susceptible to change because of anything you may be able to discover. Go to her by all means, and ask what you please, but don’t bother me with any conclusions you may reach. I am concentrating upon this from a scientific standpoint, and my attention must not be even momentarily deflected from it by idle theories or chimerical clues. Run along, Mac, and investigate to your heart’s content.
McCarty needed no second bidding, but hugging the official sanction to his bosom, he hastened off to the fire-house, dragged Dennis forth, and across a little restaurant table he unfolded his scheme.
“So you saw Terhune,” the latter commented. “I suppose you’re after handing over the brooch, and giving him a slant at the little book of notes we found in Mary’s trunk, and the accounts on the back of that envelope.
“I did not,” returned McCarty. “Not being mentally equipped to grasp the grand scientific stunts of him, I’ve permission to blunder along in my own way, and go as far as I like, so long as I don’t bother him with anything I may find out, and interrupt the marvelous workings of his brain.”
Dennis choked over his coffee.
“By God, you put it over on him! On Terhune!” he gurgled. “A free hand and only himself to blame if you leave him at the post! Mac, you’re back in the running and going strong!”
A half hour later they presented themselves at the Hotel Lavenham and Mrs. Doremus received them with an air of languid boredom which did not conceal the alert watchfulness in her eyes. She was clearly on her guard and more self-confident
than at any previous interview.
The maid hovered about in an elaborate pretense of occupation, but McCarty waited pointedly until she withdrew, and then producing the little jeweler’s case, he said:
“I’ve called to return this to you, Mrs. Doremus.
She gave a little scream of delight.
“My diamond pin! It was stolen from my apartment over two months ago. Oh, how glad I am!”
“It was stolen, then? You didn’t just lose it?”
“No, indeed! It disappeared in the most unaccountable way. I advertised for it, offering a reward, but it was never returned. It couldn’t have been lost, for Mary and I searched and searched! Did you find out who stole it?”
The curtains at the doorway swung violently apart and Mary reappeared, her face suffused.
“You have forgotten, Mrs. Doremus!” she cried, and there was no mistaking the open threat in her manner. “You gave me that pin after we found it under your dresser, for nursing you through your illness. It was never stolen!
For an instant the eyes of the two women met and battled, then Mrs. Doremus bowed her head.
“Yes, I—I remember now. I did give this pin to Mary, but my mind wanders since this horrible experience we have been through. I was startled and forgot.
“Denny, take care of the door!” McCarty smiled grimly. “There’s nothing now that you need forget, Mrs. Doremus, nothing the police don’t know. This girl here will have no chance to blackmail either you or Mr. Quimby any more, and we’ll send her up on the theft of this pin alone.”
A snarl of rage broke from the girl, but it was drowned in Mrs. Doremus’s choking cry.
“Blackmail! What do you mean? What have you found out?”
“That Mr. Quimby was your guest at dinner a week ago Monday night; that he was a frequent caller on you, and you’d made up your mind to marry him. There’s no use denying it, ma’am. He was in your apartment at the time his stepdaughter was killed, and he was still there, hiding behind the glass closet in the dining-room, when Inspector Druet and I questioned you later. You knew of the report he started, that his stepdaughter was crazy—”
“Oh, stop! Stop! I can’t bear it! What shall I do? Does Mr. Quimby know what you have discovered? Can’t you keep it quiet? Oh, I implore you! Mr. Quimby will pay anything, anything! not to have this disclosed!”
“We represent the law, ma’am. We’re not playing Mary’s little game. I suppose you don’t know she’s been planning for a long time to blackmail you, before Miss Rowntree ever came to her death. In this little book, which we found in your girl’s trunk, are records of talk between you and Mr. Quimby that she’d listened to and copied down, and meant to make you pay for later on when you’d married him, perhaps. From the evidence of this he was trying to back out and you held his letters over his head, a thing that a man in his position would pay well to keep from the newspapers, Mary well as knew.”
“I cannot believe it! This is infamous! She could not have done such a thing—”
“Here,” proceeded McCarty, ignoring the interruption, “is a little memorandum of what Mary got out of the two of you on account of what happened at the Glamorgan that night. The first amount is ten dollars—”
“Yes!” Mrs. Doremus was staring at him, wild eyed. “I gave it to her when the disturbance occurred, and Mr. Quimby added twenty-five to keep her from letting any one know he was there. You see, he didn’t want to get mixed up in anything.”
“I believe you!” McCarty ejaculated. “Then there’s an item of a hundred and another of fifty—
“Mr. Quimby sent the hundred to me to give her when we found out the next day that the girl who was killed was his stepdaughter, and she got the fifty from me—”
“And some dresses and things, too?”
Mrs. Doremus nodded and swallowed convulsively.
“Mr. Quimby was to let her know when to come to see him and get his instructions—he didn’t dare send any more letters—”
“No. He signaled to her by dropping his hat at the funeral, and she saw it from the crowd,” McCarty went on. “She called that night and got the instructions and five hundred dollars besides, to keep her mouth shut—”
Mary, who had been standing at bay like a figure of stone, suddenly sprang to life.
“It’s a lie!” she screamed. “A lie! You’re letting them drag everything out of you like the fool you are! I never blackmailed you or him either; you gave that money to me of your own free will, and you gave me the brooch, too! If you round on me, I’ll fix both of you! I haven’t told what I know and they’ll not find it out unless I do, but you get me out of this or it’ll be the worse for both of you!”
Mrs. Doremus clenched her hands with an unexpected flare of spirit.
“There’s nothing to conceal now! I have done all that I could, but as long as they know, I’m glad to be free from you. You are a blackmailer and a thief!”
Mary uttered a furious ejaculation, and turning, disappeared. Dennis started to follow her, but halted at a sign from McCarty.
“Terhune’s men are below,” he observed. “She’ll be trailed, wherever she goes.”
“Oh, let her go!” moaned Mrs. Doremus, sinking upon the couch. “I wouldn’t prosecute her if she’d stolen a hundred jewels! All this blackmailing business would come out and—and what you tell me she overheard, and the scandal would be ruinous! You will be merciful and keep the public from knowing that Mr. Quimby was in the house when that terrible thing happened? He has great influence, he will not forget—”
“The public?” repeated McCarty. “Isn’t it the authorities he should be worrying about? If the man was present when his stepdaughter was killed—”
“But he wasn’t; he was with me! It all happened just as I told you, that I swear! We saw the—the body fall past my window, but we had no idea who it was, even later. Mr. Quimby hid because he didn’t want notoriety of any sort, didn’t want it known that he was calling on me.
“We were both absolutely ignorant of his stepdaughter’s presence in the building and don’t know to this moment why she went there or how she met her death. It was not until the next morning, when I saw the papers and received Mr. Quimby’s note, that I learned of her identity and I thought I should go mad! Oh, please, please believe me! I am telling the truth!”