Winsome Winnie and other New Nonsense Novels

by Stephen Leacock

  One striking fact, however, was decided from the testimony of theexpert, namely, that the stomach of the deceased was found to containhalf a pint of arsenic. On this point the questioning of the districtattorney was close and technical. Was it unusual, he asked, to findarsenic in the stomach? In the stomach of a club man, no. Was not halfa pint a large quantity? He would not say that. Was it a small quantity?He should not care to say that it was. Would half a pint of arseniccause death? Of a club man, no, not necessarily. That was all.

  The other testimony submitted to the inquest jury brought out variousfacts of a substantive character, but calculated rather to complicatethan to unravel the mystery. The butler swore that on the very day ofthe murder he had served his master a half-pint of arsenic at lunch. Buthe claimed that this was quite a usual happening with his master. Oncross-examination it appeared that he meant apollinaris. He was certain,however, that it was half a pint. The butler, it was shown, had been inKivas Kelly's employ for twenty years.

  The coachman, an Irishman, was closely questioned. He had been in Mr.Kelly's employ for three years--ever since his arrival from the oldcountry. Was it true that he had had, on the day of the murder, aviolent quarrel with his master? It was. Had he threatened to kill him?No. He had threatened to knock his block off, but not to kill him.

  The coroner looked at his notes. "Call Alice Delary," he commanded.There was a deep sensation in the court as Miss Delary quietly steppedforward to her place in the witness-box.

  Tall, graceful and willowy, Alice Delary was in her first burst ofwomanhood. Those who looked at the beautiful girl realized that if herfirst burst was like this, what would the second, or the third be like?

  The girl was trembling, and evidently distressed, but she gave herevidence in a clear, sweet, low voice. She had been in Mr. Kelly'semploy three years. She was his stenographer. But she came only in themornings and always left at lunch-time. The question immediately askedby the jury--"Where did she generally have lunch?"--was disallowed bythe coroner. Asked by a member of the jury what system of shorthand sheused, she answered, "Pitman's." Asked by another juryman whether sheever cared to go to moving pictures, she said that she wentoccasionally. This created a favourable impression. "Miss Delary," saidthe district attorney, "I want to ask if it is your hat that was foundhanging in the billiard-room after the crime?"

  "Don't you dare ask that girl that," interrupted the magistrate. "MissDelary, you may step down."

  But the principal sensation of the day arose out of the evidence offeredby Masterman Throgton, general manager of the _Planet_. Kivas Kelly, hetestified, had dined with him at his club on the fateful evening. He hadafterwards driven him to his home.

  "When you went into the house with the deceased," asked the districtattorney, "how long did you remain there with him?"

  "That," said Throgton quietly, "I must refuse to answer."

  "Would it incriminate you?" asked the coroner, leaning forward.

  "It might," said Throgton.

  "Then you're perfectly right not to answer it," said the coroner."Don't ask him that any more. Ask something else."

  "Then did you," questioned the attorney, turning to Throgton again,"play a game of billiards with the deceased?"

  "Stop, stop," said the coroner, "that question I can't allow. It's toodirect, too brutal; there's something about that question, somethingmean, dirty. Ask another."

  "Very good," said the attorney. "Then tell me, Mr. Throgton, if you eversaw this blue envelope before?" He held up in his hand a long blueenvelope.

  "Never in my life," said Throgton.

  "Of course he didn't," said the coroner. "Let's have a look at it. Whatis it?"

  "This envelope, your Honour, was found sticking out of the waistcoatpocket of the deceased."

  "You don't say," said the coroner. "And what's in it?"

  Amid breathless silence, the attorney drew forth a sheet of blue paper,bearing a stamp, and read:

  "This is the last will and testament of me, Kivas Kelly of New York. Ileave everything of which I die possessed to my nephew, Peter Kelly."

  The entire room gasped. No one spoke. The coroner looked all around."Has anybody here seen Kelly?" he asked.

  There was no answer.

  The coroner repeated the question.

  No one moved.

  "Mr. Coroner," said the attorney, "it is my opinion that if Peter Kellyis found the mystery is fathomed."

  Ten minutes later the jury returned a verdict of murder against a personor persons unknown, adding that they would bet a dollar that Kelly didit.

  The coroner ordered the butler to be released, and directed the issue ofa warrant for the arrest of Peter Kelly.

  CHAPTER VI

  SHOW ME THE MAN WHO WORE THOSE BOOTS

  The remains of the unhappy club man were buried on the following day asreverently as those of a club man can be. None followed him to the graveexcept a few morbid curiosity-seekers, who rode on top of the hearse.

  The great city turned again to its usual avocations. The unfathomablemystery was dismissed from the public mind.

  Meantime Transome Kent was on the trail. Sleepless, almost foodless, andabsolutely drinkless, he was everywhere. He was looking for Peter Kelly.Wherever crowds were gathered, the Investigator was there, searching forKelly. In the great concourse of the Grand Central Station, Kent movedto and fro, peering into everybody's face. An official touched him onthe shoulder. "Stop peering into the people's faces," he said. "I amunravelling a mystery," Kent answered. "I beg your pardon, sir," saidthe man, "I didn't know."

  Kent was here, and everywhere, moving ceaselessly, pro and con, watchingfor Kelly. For hours he stood beside the soda-water fountains examiningevery drinker as he drank. For three days he sat on the steps ofMasterman Throgton's home, disguised as a plumber waiting for a wrench.

  But still no trace of Peter Kelly. Young Kelly, it appeared, had livedwith his uncle until a little less than three years ago. Then suddenlyhe had disappeared. He had vanished, as a brilliant writer for the NewYork Press framed it, as if the earth had swallowed him up.

  Transome Kent, however, was not a man to be baffled by initial defeat.

  A week later, the Investigator called in at the office of InspectorEdwards.

  "Inspector," he said, "I must have some more clues. Take me again to theKelly residence. I must re-analyse my first diaeresis."

  Together the two friends went to the house. "It is inevitable," saidKent, as they entered again the fateful billiard-room, "that we haveoverlooked something."

  "We always do," said Edwards gloomily.

  "Now tell me," said Kent, as they stood beside the billiard table, "whatis your own theory, the police theory, of this murder? Give me yourfirst theory first, and then go on with the others."

  "Our first theory, Mr. Kent, was that the murder was committed by asailor with a wooden leg, newly landed from Java."

  "Quite so, quite proper," nodded Kent.

  "We knew that he was a sailor," the Inspector went on, dropping againinto his sing-song monotone, "by the extraordinary agility needed toclimb up the thirty feet of bare brick wall to the window--a landsmancould not have climbed more than twenty; the fact that he was from theEast Indies we knew from the peculiar knot about his victim's neck. Weknew that he had a wooden leg----"

  The Inspector paused and looked troubled.

  "We knew it." He paused again. "I'm afraid I can't remember that one."

  "Tut, tut," said Kent gently, "you knew it, Edwards, because when heleaned against the billiard table the impress of his hand on themahogany was deeper on one side than the other. The man was obviouslytop heavy. But you abandoned this first theory."

  "Certainly, Mr. Kent, we always do. Our second theory was----"

  But Kent had ceased to listen. He had suddenly stooped down and pickedup something off the floor.

  "Ha ha!" he exclaimed. "What do you make of this?" He held up a squarefragment of black cloth.

  "We never saw it," sai
d Edwards.

  "Cloth," muttered Kent, "the missing piece of Kivas Kelly's dinnerjacket." He whipped out a magnifying glass. "Look," he said, "it's beenstamped upon--by a man wearing hob-nailed boots--made in Ireland--a manof five feet nine and a half inches high----"

  "One minute, Mr. Kent," interrupted the Inspector, greatly excited, "Idon't quite get it."

  "The depth of the dint proves the lift of his foot," said Kentimpatiently, "and the lift of the foot indicates at once the man'sheight. Edwards, find me the man who wore these boots and the mystery issolved!"

  At that very moment a heavy step, unmistakably to the trained ear thatof a man in hob-nailed boots, was heard upon the stair. The door openedand a man stood hesitating in the doorway.

  Both Kent and Edwards gave a start, two starts, of surprise.

  The man was exactly five feet nine and a half inches high. He wasdressed in coachman's dress. His face was saturnine and evil.

  It was Dennis, the coachman of the murdered man.

  "If you're Mr. Kent," he said, "there's a lady here asking for you."

  CHAPTER VII

  OH, MR. KENT, SAVE ME!

  In another moment an absolutely noiseless step was heard upon thestair.

  A young girl entered, a girl, tall, willowy and beautiful, in the firstburst, or just about the first burst, of womanhood.

  It was Alice Delary.

  She was dressed with extreme taste, but Kent's quick eye noted at oncethat she wore no hat.

  "Mr. Kent," she cried, "you are Mr. Kent, are you not? They told me thatyou were here. Oh, Mr. Kent, help me, save me!"

  She seemed to shudder into herself a moment. Her breath came and wentquickly.

  She reached out her two hands.

  "Calm yourself, my dear young lady," said Kent, taking them. "Don't letyour breath come and go so much. Trust me. Tell me all."

  "Mr. Kent," said Delary, regaining her control, but still trembling, "Iwant my hat."

  Kent let go the beautiful girl's hands. "Sit down," he said. Then hewent across the room and fetched the hat, the light gossamer hat, withflowers in it, that still hung on a peg.

  "Oh, I am so glad to get it back," cried the girl. "I can never thankyou enough. I was afraid to come for it."

  "It is all right," said the Inspector. "The police theory was that itwas the housekeeper's hat. You are welcome to it."

  Kent had been looking closely at the girl before him.

  "You have more to say than that," he said. "Tell me all."

  "Oh, I will, I will, Mr. Kent. That dreadful night! I was here. I saw,at least I heard it all."

  She shuddered.

  "Oh, Mr. Kent, it was dreadful! I had come back that evening to thelibrary to finish some work. I knew that Mr. Kelly was to dine out andthat I would be alone. I had been working quietly for some time when Ibecame aware of voices in the billiard-room. I tried not to listen, butthey seemed to be quarrelling, and I couldn't help hearing. Oh, Mr.Kent, was I wrong?"

  "No," said Kent, taking her hand a moment, "you were not."

  "I heard one say, 'Get your foot off the table, you've no right to putyour foot on the table.' Then the other said, 'Well, you keep yourstomach off the cushion then.'" The girl shivered. "Then presently onesaid, quite fiercely, 'Get back into balk there, get back fifteeninches,' and the other voice said, 'By God! I'll shoot from here.' Thenthere was a dead stillness, and then a voice almost screamed, 'You'vepotted me. You've potted me. That ends it.' And then I heard the othersay in a low tone, 'Forgive me, I didn't mean it. I never meant it toend that way.'

  "I was so frightened, Mr. Kent, I couldn't stay any longer. I rusheddownstairs and ran all the way home. Then next day I read what hadhappened, and I knew that I had left my hat there, and was afraid. Oh,Mr. Kent, save me!"

  "Miss Delary," said the Investigator, taking again the girl's hands andlooking into her eyes, "you are safe. Tell me only one thing. The manwho played against Kivas Kelly--did you see him?"

  "Only for one moment"--the girl paused--"through the keyhole."

  "What was he like?" asked Kent. "Had he an impenetrable face?"

  "He had."

  "Was there anything massive about his face?"

  "Oh, yes, yes, it was all massive."

  "Miss Delary," said Kent, "this mystery is now on the brink of solution.When I have joined the last links of the chain, may I come and tell youall?"

  She looked full in his face.

  "At any hour of the day or night," she said, "you may come."

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER VIII

  YOU ARE PETER KELLY

  Within a few moments Kent was at the phone.

  "I want four, four, four, four. Is that four, four, four, four? Mr.Throgton's house? I want Mr. Throgton. Mr. Throgton speaking? Mr.Throgton, Kent speaking. The Riverside mystery is solved."

  Kent waited in silence a moment. Then he heard Throgton's voice--not anote in it disturbed:

  "Has anybody found Kelly?"

  "Mr. Throgton," said Kent, and he spoke with a strange meaning in histone, "the story is a long one. Suppose I relate it to you"--he paused,and laid a peculiar emphasis on what followed--"_over a game ofbilliards_."

  "What the devil do you mean?" answered Throgton.

  "Let me come round to your house and tell the story. There are points init that I can best illustrate over a billiard table. Suppose I challengeyou to a fifty point game before I tell my story."

  It required no little hardihood to challenge Masterman Throgton atbilliards. His reputation at his club as a cool, determined player wassurpassed by few. Throgton had been known to run nine, ten, and eventwelve at a break. It was not unusual for him to drive his ball clearoff the table. His keen eye told him infallibly where each of the threeballs was; instinctively he knew which to shoot with.

  In Kent, however, he had no mean adversary. The young reporter, thoughhe had never played before, had studied his book to some purpose. Hisstrategy was admirable. Keeping his ball well under the shelter of thecushion, he eluded every stroke of his adversary, and in his turn causedhis ball to leap or dart across the table with such speed as to buryitself in the pocket at the side.

  The score advanced rapidly, both players standing precisely equal. Atthe end of the first half-hour it stood at ten all. Throgton, a grimlook upon his face, had settled down to work, playing with one knee onthe table. Kent, calm but alive with excitement, leaned well forward tohis stroke, his eye held within an inch of the ball.

  At fifteen they were still even. Throgton with a sudden effort forced abreak of three; but Kent rallied and in another twenty minutes they wereeven again at nineteen all.

  But it was soon clear that Transome Kent had something else in mind thanto win the game. Presently his opportunity came. With a masterly stroke,such as few trained players could use, he had potted his adversary'sball. The red ball was left over the very jaws of the pocket. The whitewas in the centre.

  Kent looked into Throgton's face.

  The balls were standing in the very same position on the table as on thenight of the murder.

  "I did that on purpose," said Kent quietly.

  "What do you mean?" asked Throgton.

  "The position of those balls," said Kent. "Mr. Throgton, come into thelibrary. I have something to say to you. You know already what it is."

  They went into the library. Throgton, his hand unsteady, lighted acigar.

  "Well," he said, "what is it?"

  "Mr. Throgton," said Kent, "two weeks ago you gave me a mystery tosolve. To-night I can give you the solution. Do you want it?"

  Throgton's face never moved.

  "Well," he said.

  "A man's life," Kent went on, "may be played out on a billiard table. Aman's soul, Throgton, may be pocketed."

  "What devil's foolery is this?" said Throgton. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that your crime is known--plotter, schemer that you are, you arefound out--hypocrite, traitor; yes, Masterman Throgton, or rather--l
etme give you your true name-_Peter Kelly_, murderer, I denounce you!"

  Throgton never flinched. He walked across to where Kent stood, and withhis open palm he slapped him over the mouth.

  "Transome Kent," he said, "you're a liar."

  Then he walked back to his chair and sat down.

  "Kent," he continued, "from the first moment of your mock investigation,I knew who you were. Your every step was shadowed, your every movementdogged. Transome Kent--by your true name, _Peter Kelly_, murderer, Idenounce you."

  Kent walked quietly across to Throgton and dealt him a fearful blowbehind the ear.

  "You're a liar," he said, "I am not Peter Kelly."

  They sat looking at one another.

  At that moment Throgton's servant appeared at the door.

  "A gentleman to see you, sir."

  "Who?" said Throgton.

  "I don't know, sir, he gave his card."

  Masterman Throgton took the card.

  On it was printed:

  _PETER KELLY_

  CHAPTER IX

  LET ME TELL YOU THE STORY OF MY LIFE

  For a moment Throgton and Kent sat looking at one another.

  "Show the man up," said Throgton.

  A minute later the door opened and a man entered. Kent's keen eyeanalysed him as he stood. His blue clothes, his tanned face, and theextraordinary dexterity of his fingers left no doubt of his calling. Hewas a sailor.