CHAPTER VII
Mrs. Balfame sat with Mrs. Battle, Mrs. Gifning, Mrs. Frew, hersister-in-law, Mrs. Cummack, and several of her other friends in herquiet bed-chamber. It was an hour after the death of David Balfame andshe had, for the seventh time, told the story of packing her husband'ssuit case, carrying it down stairs, returning to her room to undress,hearing the commotion down by the gate. Yes, she had heard a report, butElsinore Avenue--automobiles--exploding tires--naturally, it had meantnothing to her at the moment. No, he did not cry out--or if he did--herwindow was closed; it was the side window she left open at night.
She had accepted a bottle of smelling salts from Mrs. Battle, but satquite erect, looking stunned and frozen. Her voice was expressionless,wearily reiterating a few facts to gratify the curiosity of thesewell-meaning friends, as wearily listening to Lottie Gifning'sreiteration of her own story: As the night was warmer than usual she andher husband and the two friends that had motored in with them had sat onthe porch for awhile; they had heard "Dave" come singing down DawbarnStreet; two or three minutes later the shot. Of course the men ran overat once, but for at least ten minutes she was too frightened to move.One of the men ran for the coroner; if "poor Dave" wasn't dead theywanted to take him at once where he would be comfortable.
Mrs. Balfame's demeanour was all these solicitous friends could havewished; although they enjoyed tears and emotional scenes as much as anywomen, they were gratified to be reassured that their Mrs. Balfame wasnot as other women; they still regretted her breakdown at the Club,although resentfully conscious of loving her the more. And if theywanted tears, here was Polly Cummack shedding them in abundance for thebrother she now reproached herself for having utterly despised.
Below there was a subdued hum of voices, within and without. The policehad come tearing up in an automobile and ordered the amateur detectivesout of the grounds; their angry voices had been heard demanding how thequalified fools expected the original footsteps to be detected aftersuch a piece of idiocy.
Mrs. Balfame had shaken her head sadly. "They'll find nothing," shesaid. "If only I had known, I could have called down to them to keep outof the yard."
"Now, who do you suppose that is?" Mrs. Battle, who was short and stoutand corseted to her knees, toddled over to the window and leaned out astwo automobiles raced each other down the avenue. They stopped at thegate, and in a moment Mrs. Battle announced: "The New York newspapermen!"
"Already?" Mrs. Balfame glanced at the clock and stifled a yawn. "Why,it's hardly an hour--"
"Oh, a year or so from now they'll be coming over in bi-planes. Well, ifour poor old boobs of police don't unearth the murderer, they will. Theyare the prize sleuths. They'll find a scent, or spin one out of theirbrains as a spider spins his web out of his little tummy--"
Mrs. Cummack interrupted: "Sam is sure it is Old Dutch. He's gone withthe constable to Dobton."
Dobton, the county seat, and the centre of the political activities ofEast Brabant, intimately connected with the various "towns" by trolleyand telephone, embraced the domicile of Mr. Konrad Kraus, amiably knownas "Old Dutch." His home was in the rear of his flourishing saloon,which was the headquarters of the county Republicans. David Balfame hadpatronised--rumour said financed--the saloon of an American sired byErin.
Another automobile dashed up. "Sam, I think; yes, it is," cried Mrs.Battle.
A few moments later Mr. Cummack appeared upon the threshold.
"Nothin' doin'," he said gruffly. "Old Dutch's got a perfect alibi. Beenbehind the bar since six o'clock. It's up to us now to find out if hehired a gunman; and we're on the trail of others too. Poor Dave had hisenemies all right."
He paused and looked tentatively at his weary but heroic sister-in-law.His own face was haggard, and the walrus moustache he had brought out ofthe North-west was covered not only with dust but with little moistislands made by furtive tears. With that exquisite sympathy andcomprehension that men have for the failings of other men, which farsurpasseth that of woman, he had loved his imperfect friend, but he hada profound admiration for his sister-in-law, whom he neither loved norpretended to understand. He knew her surfaces, however, as well as anyone, and would have been deeply disappointed if she had carried herselfin this trying hour contrary to her usual high standard of conduct. EnidBalfame, indeed, was almost a legend in Elsinore, and into this legendshe could retire as into a fortress, practically impregnable.
"Say, Enid," he said hesitatingly. "These reporters--the New Yorkchaps--the local men wouldn't dare ask--want an interview. What do yousay?"
Mrs. Balfame merely turned her haughty head and regarded him with icydisdain. "Are they crazy? Or you?"
"Well, not the way they look at it. You see, it's up to them to fill acolumn or two every morning, and there's nothing touches a new crimewith a mystery. So far, they haven't got much out of this but the barefact that poor Dave was shot down at his own gate, presumably by someone hid in the grove. An interview with the bereaved widow would makewhat they call a corking story."
"Tell them to go away at once." She leaned back against her chair andclosed her eyes. Mrs. Gifning flew to hold the salts to her nose.
"Better see them," persisted Mr. Cummack. "They'll haunt the house tillyou do. They're crazy about this case--hasn't been a decent murder formonths, nothin' much doin' in any line, and everybody sick of the war.The Germans take a trench in the morning papers and lose it in theevening--"
"Sam Cummack! How dare you joke at a time like this?" His wife ranforward and attempted to push him out of the room, and the other ladieshad risen and faced him with manifest indignation.
Suddenly Mrs. Cummack put her arms about him and patted the top of hishead. He had burst into tears and was rubbing his eyes on his sleeve."Poor old Dave!" he sobbed. "I'm all in. But I'll find that low-down curwho killed him, cut him off in his prime, if it takes the last cent I'vegot."
Mrs. Balfame rose and crossed to his side. She put her hand on hisshoulder. "I never should have suspected that you had such depth offeeling, Sam," she said softly, "I am sure that the cowardly murdererwill be caught and that yours will be the glory. Send thoseinconsiderate reporters away."
Mr. Cummack shook his head. "As well talk of calling off the police.They'll be round here day and night till the man is in Dobtonjail--longer, for they know the public will want an interview with thewidow. Better see them, Enid."
"I shall not." Mrs. Balfame put her hand to her head and reeled. "Oh, Iam so tired! So tired! What a day. Oh, how I wish Anna were here."
Three of the women caught her and led her to her chair. "Anna!" shereiterated. "I must have something to make me sleep--"
"I'll call her up!" volunteered Mrs. Gifning. "I do hope she is athome--"
"She was to go out to the Houston farm," interrupted Mrs. Cummack. "Shestopped at our house on the way out--Sammy has bronchitis--"; and Mrs.Gifning, who was as nervous as the widow should have been, ran down tothe telephone, elated at being the one chosen to horrify poor Dr. Annawhile engaged in the everlasting battle for life.
"I'll stay with Enid till Anna comes," volunteered Mrs. Cummack. "Iguess she'd better be quiet. One of you might make coffee for those thatare going to sit up--"
"Frieda's doin' that," said Mr. Cummack. "They're all in thedining-room--"
Mrs. Balfame had left the shelter of Mrs. Cummack's arm and was sittingvery straight. "Frieda? This is her night out--"
"She was in bed with a toothache, but I routed her out. Well, I'll putthe men off till to-morrow, but better make up your mind to see themthen."
He left the room and when Mrs. Balfame was alone with her sister-in-law,whom she had never admitted to the sacred inner circle, but who was akind forgiving soul, she smiled affectionately. "Don't be afraid that Ishall break down," she said. "But those women had got on my nerves. Itis too kind of you to have dismissed them, and to stay with me yourselftill Anna comes. It has all been so terrible--and coming so soon afterwhat happened at the Club. Thank heaven I did not permit mys
elf to speakseverely to him, and even when he telephoned for his suit case I was notcross--I never would hold a man who had been drinking to strictaccount--"
"Don't you worry your head. He was my brother, but I guess I know what atrial he must have been. And if he hadn't been my brother I guess I'dsay we wouldn't have blamed you much if you had given him a dose of leadyourself--"
Mrs. Balfame raised her amazed eyes. But in a moment the weary ghost ofa smile flitted over her firm mouth, and she asked almost lightly: "Doyou then believe in removing offensive husbands?"
"Well--of course I'd never have that much courage myself if Sam wasn'tany better than he should be--he's pretty decent as men go--but I know afew husbands right here in Elsinore--well, if their wives gave themprussic acid or hot lead they wouldn't lose _my_ friendship, and I guessany jury would let them off."
"I guess you're right." Mrs. Balfame was beginning to undress. "I thinkI'll get into bed--But it requires a lot of nerve. And the risk ispretty great, you know. Anna once told me of an untraceable andtasteless poison she had--"
"Oh, Lord!" Mrs. Cummack may have been too hopelessly without style andambition to be one of the arc lights of the Elsinore smart set, but shepossessed a sense of humour, and for the moment forgot the abrupt takingoff of her brother. "Don't let that get round. The poison wouldn't besafe for an hour--nor a few husbands. I think I'll warn Anna anyhow--I'mnot sure I can keep it."
The door opened softly and Mrs. Gifning's fluffy blonde head appeared."I couldn't get Anna herself," she whispered. "The baby hasn't come. ButMr. Houston said he'd tell her as soon as it was over, and let her go.He was terribly shocked, and sent you his love."
"Thanks, dear," murmured Mrs. Balfame. "I'll try and sleep awhile, andPolly has promised to sit with me till Anna comes. Good-night."
Mrs. Balfame: A Novel Page 7
