The Alan Ford Mystery MEGAPACK®

by Carolyn Wells

  “Who done it?” he said, clenching his fists and glancing from one to another of the silent people gathered about.

  “We have no idea,” said Mr. Swift, who was naturally spokesman; “she was, of course, shot, but no one seems to have heard the report of a pistol.”

  “One of them newfangled kind; they don’t make no noise, hardly,” and Kinney nodded his head, sagaciously. “Better get the detectives on the case, right off. And there’s too many people in here. Everybody must clear out, exceptin’ the nearest kin.”

  “I must stay,” said Eileen Randall, assertively, “I’m the maid of honour, and I want to stay near Ethel, whatever happens.”

  “All right, miss, you can stay.”

  Kinney was also willing that the bridegroom should stay, and the uncle of the dead girl, but others he put out.

  “You three choir men, now,” he went on, glancing at the group in cassocks and cottas, “you ain’t got no call here, ‘ceptin’ curiosity, and you’d better go.”

  The three, who were all friends of the dead bride, started, on being thus spoken to, and rather reluctantly moved away. Guy Farrish cast a last glance at the fair white face, and left the room. Hal Kennedy paused a moment for a longer look, and then followed. But Eugene Hall, the third of the singers, asked permission to stay until the coroner came.

  “Oh, well, stay if you want to,” said the Inspector, “you can, of course, only I don’t want a lot of unnecessary folks around.”

  “You’re right, Kinney,” said a voice, and a young man came in from the church. “There’s a crowd outside getting bigger every minute. Don’t let any more in here.”

  The newcomer was Bob Keene, a reporter, who had expected to write up a graphic account of the wedding, and who now found it his dreadful duty to report the tragedy.

  “I tried to keep out of this,” he said to Eileen, whom he knew, “but my boss insisted I should come. Who could have done it? Have you any idea?”

  “No,” returned the girl, in low tones like his own. “I can’t see any light on the mystery or any way to look for light. The whole thing is so—so unbelievable! I can’t realize yet that Ethel is—is gone!”

  “Old Bingham can’t either! Look at him! He seems absolutely dazed.”

  “Of course he is! Think of the shock. Poor man—”

  “It’s fierce! I was in the church, and I didn’t hear anything that sounded like a shot.”

  “Neither did I. Mr. Kinney says there are pistols that don’t make any noise,—it must have been one of those.”

  “I’ve heard of them, but I didn’t know they were really soundless. However, I suppose the music drowned what sound there was. Hello, here’s the Coroner. Hartt’s a good fellow, he’ll find out something, I’ve no doubt.”

  Coroner Hartt came in, followed by a detective of the Police Bureau. Hartt was a capable-looking man, more intelligent in appearance than the average coroner, and of alert and energetic manners. He spoke to Doctor Van Sutton and the bridegroom, and then addressed himself mainly to the uncle of the bride.

  “Have you any knowledge of who could possibly have done this thing?” he asked of Mr. Swift.

  “Not the slightest. My niece hadn’t an enemy in the world, that I am aware of. And yet, I can’t think it could have been an accident.”

  “Accident! No! But there’s a devilish crime to be discovered and punished. Who saw the lady fall?”

  “Everybody in the front part of the church, I suppose,” answered Mr. Swift “That is, everybody who could see her at all. Of course, as there was such a crowd, the ones behind could not see clearly.”

  “Who was nearest to her?” went on Mr. Hartt.

  “I was,” said Eileen Randall, quickly; “I was stooping down to arrange her train, for her to walk down the aisle, when she just sank down in a heap.”

  “You heard no sound, as of a pistol?”

  “No; but that was not strange, if it was one of those silent ones, for the music had just burst forth and the choir was singing, and besides that, the audience had begun to laugh and chatter as they always do after a wedding ceremony is completed.”

  “And Miss Moulton—er—Mrs. Bingham made no sound?”

  “No scream or anything like that. There was a little queer, gurgling sound in her throat,—but it was involuntary, I’m sure.”

  “Do you think she had any idea of who shot her?”

  “I have no means of judging that. It was all over in an instant. The fall, I mean. She fell all in a heap,—she didn’t sink down slowly.”

  “Death was instantaneous,” said Doctor Endicott, who had been away and returned. “The shot went straight through the temple to the brain.”

  “Did you see her fall?” said the Coroner, turning suddenly to Stanford Bingham.

  “Eh, what?” said the bridegroom, looking up from the attitude of dejection he had shown ever since the tragedy.

  “Did you see your wife fall?” repeated Hartt, looking at him steadily.

  “I saw her fall, yes,” replied Bingham, “but at that moment Dr. Van Sutton was speaking to me, congratulating me, in fact, and I was paying attention to him. I felt, rather than saw Ethel fall, and I turned, to see her on the floor. I can’t remember clearly after that,—for the shock unnerved me.”

  “Small wonder!” said Eileen, sympathetically, and she looked at Bingham with infinite compassion.

  Bob Keene noted the two. As many reporters grow to be, he was almost clairvoyant in his perceptions, and he seemed to sense a sort of telepathic communication between Bingham and the maid of honour.

  “And you have no suspicion of the criminal?” went on Mr. Hartt.

  “Not the slightest,” returned Bingham. “Indeed, I can scarcely believe there could have been such a crime. Could it have been an accident? Could the shot have been intended for some one else? Myself, for instance. Or any other of the bridal party? How could any one want to kill Ethel?”

  Bingham’s face was ghastly. He looked like death, himself. His fingers twisted nervously round each other, and great beads of perspiration formed on his brow. Occasionally he darted a sudden quick glance at the dead form near him and as quickly glanced away again.

  “We can’t judge of that,” said the Coroner, “until we know where the shot came from. The bride, of course, stood at your left, Mr. Bingham?”

  “Yes,” assented Bingham, but he spoke almost doubtfully, and glanced uncertainly at his left arm.

  “Of course she did,” broke in Eileen. “Brides always stand the same way. Ethel was on Mr. Bingham’s left side. As she fell I was practically between them, as I stooped down to arrange her train.”

  “Then as the shot is in her right temple, we know it must have been fired by some one on the same side of her as Mr. Bingham was,” declared the Coroner. “That is, it was fired by some one on that side of the church, the east side. Now, to discover how far away the assailant stood. I should judge some several feet; but there are practically no powder marks to be seen, as the bullet entered the brain through a thick roll or puff of hair.”

  Doctor Endicott agreed with this conclusion, and the Coroner went on.

  “Assuming, then, that the criminal was in the church, it must have been one of the audience, or one of the bridal group.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hartt,” cried Eileen, “it couldn’t have been one of the bridal party! How can you suggest such a thing?”

  “It is not for any one to say what could or could not have been except as it is proved to us by evidence. Granting this horrible crime there must be a criminal, and we must seek him wherever the evidence points. It is difficult to see how a member of the audience could have fired the shot unseen, but we must believe that it was done, for there is no alternative. What we must get at first, is the distance and direction of the hand that held the revolver.”

  “And the motive,” put in Mr. Swift. “What could be the motive for the shooting of a young and lovely girl at her wedding altar?”

  “There are not ma
ny motives for murder,” began the Coroner, thoughtfully. “Could it have been robbery? Is anything missing?”

  Eileen gave a sudden exclamation. “There is!” she said; “Ethel’s pendant is gone! Her great diamond!”

  Bingham started out of his reverie. He gave a quick glance at the fair white throat of his bride, and said, “So it is! Her diamond is gone!”

  “Was it a valuable gem?” asked Hartt.

  “Very,” said Eileen, as Bingham did not make any reply. “It was a priceless stone, worthy of a princess. It hung by the slenderest chain of fine platinum links, and now it is gone!”

  “Absurd!” said Mr. Swift. “If the jewel is gone, it is because it slipped off when she fell. No sane human being would or could shoot a bride to steal her jewels! Such a theory is untenable.”

  “I think so, too,” agreed Bingham. “The slight chain probably broke when she fell, and the stone either slipped down into her clothing or it has dropped to the floor. It is of no consequence in view of the greater crime.”

  “Not comparatively, of course,” said the Coroner, “but this matter should be looked into. The theft of the jewel may be a clue.”

  “If it was a theft,” repeated Bingham. “I don’t believe the gem is stolen. It must have fallen off accidentally.”

  “Let us go and look in the church,” said Eileen, rising.

  Whereupon several of them went back into the church, deserted now, save for the sexton, who was sitting in the end of one of the forward pews.

  Questioned, he said he had not swept up or in any way disturbed the space about the pulpit where the bridal party had stood.

  But careful search showed no trace of the diamond or the little chain. It might be found on the bride’s person, or it might never be found. Stanford Bingham showed not the slightest interest in the matter, but both Mr. Swift and Eileen were greatly worried about it.

  “I’m sure Ethel was shot for that reason,” said the girl; “some horrible criminal was clever enough to kill her, and then afterward, in the flurry and excitement, he could get near enough to steal the diamond unobserved. That must be the solution of the mystery, for what other is there? Nobody could have any other reason for killing Ethel.”

  The Coroner pondered. It was far-fetched and well-nigh impossible that it should be as Eileen assumed, and yet, as she said, what other theory could be advanced?

  “It’s a most baffling case,” he said at last “There are no clues, there is no one to suspect, there are no witnesses,—that is, no one who knows anything definite,—and yet there were hundreds of witnesses!”

  Then the detective who had come with the Coroner spoke. “It seems to me,” he said, slowly, “that we are getting nowhere.”

  “Because there’s nowhere to get,” grumbled the Coroner.

  “But let us think it out,” went on Mr. Ferrall, the detective; “we know the shot was fired from the east side of the church; that is, from some one who stood on the right side of the bride, but we do not know that that some one was in the church. The windows are all open, might not the murderer have stood outside and fired through the window?”

  “Good wotk!” said Inspector Kinney; “that’s the first glimmer of light I’ve seen. It’s much more likely that’s the truth, than that one of the audience could do it, unobserved by his near neighbours.”

  Coroner Hartt looked dubious and a little sulky. He was angry that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

  “In that case,” he said, “we’ve got to look for a regular crook. Some of the well-known professionals. Only such a one would dare anything so dangerous to pull off.”

  “I don’t believe the shot was fired through the window,” said Mr. Swift. “It’s too far away and, too, the windows are too high. No one could fire through them without standing up on something, and then he would have been seen.”

  “The windows are high,” agreed the detective, “but they are banked up on the outside where vines are planted. I’m not sure, it must be investigated, but I think a man could easily shoot through that front window on the east side.”

  “It was that window, if any,” said Mr. Swift, thoughtfully. “If so, wouldn’t there be footprints, or some evidence?”

  “Ought to be,” said Ferrall; “I’ll go and have a look.”

  He left the group and went out of the church by its front door and made his way around to the window in question.

  “A fool’s errand,” said the Coroner; “that shot was fired at closer range than the window. It was the work of some clever crook who was in the audience, dressed like a gentleman, and who, with an automatic pistol, committed the deed, while everybody was looking at the bride, and he was unnoticed. Then, later, in the excitement, he mingled with the crowd around the body, and managed to get the diamond,—also unobserved.”

  “There wasn’t any crowd around the body except our own people,” said Mr. Swift. “If any stranger had come near Ethel, I should have noticed him. You didn’t see any one, Eileen?”

  “No; no one but our own crowd. However, I was so overcome and almost crazy, I doubt if I should have noticed any one.”

  “But I know there were no strangers near Ethel,” went on Mr. Swift. “I tried to go to her when she fell, but I seemed paralyzed with shock and fright. Then Warren went to her, and he cried out, ‘She’s shot!’ and then the others closed in around her, but they were only the bridesmaids, and ushers, I am sure. You saw no one, did you, Doctor Van Sutton?”

  “No one but the ones who were there all through the ceremony,” replied the minister. “Then the organist and several of the choir came down. If any stranger was about, they would know it, for they saw it all from the choir loft, and could tell better than we, who were down on the floor.”

  “I’m sure we shall find the jewel on the body,” said Bingham. “When can we take it away, Mr. Hartt?”

  “I think you can take it any time now, sir. So far as this inquiry is concerned, I think we can find out no more at present. If you desire, Mr. Bingham,—or, Mr. Swift,—you may remove the body at once.”

  “It must be taken to my home, of course,” said Everson Swift, with a deep sigh.

  Stanford Bingham seemed about to speak, and then thought better of it, for he said nothing, but he looked unutterably agonized and helpless.

  “Shall I telephone for an undertaker, Mr. Swift?” suggested Bob Keene, moved to do anything he could to help.

  “Yes, if you will,” and Mr. Swift showed relief at being released from that sad duty.

  And then Doctor Van Sutton returned to the room where lay all that was mortal of the beautiful bride, and the others prepared to go home.

  CHAPTER III

  A Few Bars of Music

  KEENE ran across the street to telephone, and returned just as Detective Ferrall was going back into the church.

  The group near the pulpit, not yet dispersed, asked Ferrall of his search.

  “Footprints by dozens,” he replied. “All over the ground, under every window. The windows are too high to look in at, but there are old boxes and benches beneath them. You see, there were any number of curiosity-seekers who couldn’t get into the church, but who wanted to see the show. There must have been several peepers at each window.”

  “Perhaps some of them could tell of the shooting,” suggested Keene; “they would have a better view than those inside.”

  “There was nothing to see,” said Ferrall, decidedly; “I haven’t a doubt the deed was done with one of those new automatics. They’re hammerless, and the pocket model, as they call it, is tiny. Why, the whole affair is only about four inches long. A man can hold it in his hand, absolutely unseen. And he can discharge it from his pocket, or from under a handkerchief or any concealing material. They’re dead easy to aim, and they make almost no sound and practically no smoke.”

  “That must have been the way of it,” said Stanford Bingham, “yet, even granting all that you say, how could any one hit Ethel from a distance, with other people in between?”<
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  “He watched his chance,” said the detective, “and shot when the opportunity presented itself. And I’m not sure he was so far away as we think. The appearance of the wound is not an infallible indication of the distance from which the pistol was fired, since her thick hair allowed no trace of powder marks.”

  Just then Warren Swift returned. “I think you’d better go home, father,” he said to the elder Swift. “Mother is pretty well broken up, the house all decorated, you know, and those caterers all about,—oh, it’s awful!”

  “Yes, yes, Warry; I’ll go. I suppose I can’t do anything here?”

  “No, Mr. Swift,” said Inspector Kinney. “The undertaker will attend to the removal of the body, and bring it to your home. You had better go there to receive it.”

  With bowed head, Everson Swift turned to leave the church. To walk back along the aisle up which he had so short a time before led his beautiful niece, in all the panoply of her wedding array! All were silent at the tragedy of it, and Eileen bowed her head in her hands and wept.

  The bridegroom touched her arm, lightly. “You’d better go home, dear,” he said, in a low tone.

  Eileen looked up with frightened eyes. “Don’t,” she whispered; “oh, Stanford, don’t!”

  Bingham stepped hastily back from the girl, but not before the quick eye of the detective had caught his expression of solicitude and the tender note in his voice.

  “Is Mr. Swift here?” said the undertaker’s assistant, coming in from the parlour.

  “No,” said Warren, “he’s gone home. What is it?”

  “Why, here’s a paper that we found in the lady’s glove. We thought you ought to have it.”

  “In her glove?” said Warren, as he took the paper.

  “Yes, sir, it was folded small and stuffed into her right-hand glove.”

  “Let me see it,” said Bingham, and the man handed it over to him.