A Husband by Proxy

by Jack Steele

  CHAPTER VI

  THE CORONER

  Not in the least reassured, but considerably aroused in all hisinstincts by these further developments of a night already full ofmysterious transactions, Garrison, after a futile watch for hisneighbor, once more plunged into a study of the case in which he foundhimself involved.

  Vaguely he remembered to have noticed that the man who had come here toBranchville with him on the train carried no baggage. He had no doubtthe man had been close upon his trail for some considerable time; butwhy, and what he wanted, could not be so readily determined. Certainthe man had extracted Ailsa's letter from the pocket of the case, yethalf convinced that the thief had been searching for the necklacesintrusted to his care, Garrison was puzzled.

  There seemed to be no possible connection between the two. He couldnot understand what a thief who would take the one would require of theother. Aside from his money, the gems were the only articles hepossessed of the slightest value or significance. Half persuaded thatthe diamonds and pearls afforded the booty for which his visitor hadsearched, he was once more in doubt as to whether he had lost Ailsa'sletter or not. He might find it still among his things, at his room inForty-fourth Street.

  He was fully convinced the man would return no more. Nevertheless,when he turned in at last, the jewels were under the pillow.

  Branchville, in the morning, proved an attractive place of residence.Half its male population went to New York as commuters. Its housewivesthen bustled about their gardens or their chicken-coops, at the rear ofthe houses, and a dozen old men gathered slowly at the post-officestore to resume the task of doing nothing.

  Garrison experienced no difficulty in searching out Mrs. Webber, thewoman who had supplied certain details concerning the finding of thebody of the man, John Hardy, whose death had occurred here the previousweek.

  The house, at the porch of which the body had been discovered, wasempty. Mrs. Webber went with Garrison to the place, showed him exactlywhere the body had reclined, and left him alone at the scene.

  He looked the details over carefully. The porch was low and roofed;its eaves projected a foot. If, as Garrison fancied, the stricken manmight have come here in weakness, to lean against the post, and hadthen gone down, perhaps leaving heel-marks in the earth, all signs ofany such action had been obliterated, despite the fact that no rainshad fallen since the date of the man's demise. Garrison scrutinizedthe ground closely. A piece of broken crockery, a cork, the top of acan, an old cigar, and some bits of glass and wire lay beside thebaseboard--the usual signs of neglect. The one man-made article in allthe litter that attracted Garrison's attention was the old cigar. Hetook it up for a more minute examination.

  It had never been lighted. It was broken, as if someone had steppedupon the larger end; but the label, a bright red band of paper, wasstill upon it. The wrapper had somewhat spread; but the pointed endhad been bitten off, half an inch up on the taper.

  Aware that the weed might have been thrown down by anyone save Hardy,Garrison nevertheless placed it in an envelope and tucked it away inhis pocket. A visit to the local coroner presenting itself as the nextmost natural step, he proceeded at once to his office.

  As a dealer in real estate, a notary public, and an official in severaldirections, the coroner was a busy man. He said so himself.

  Garrison introduced himself candidly as a New York detective, dulylicensed, at present representing a State insurance company, and statedthe nature of his business.

  "All right," said the coroner, inclined at once to be friendly. "Myname is Pike. What'd you want to know? Sit down and take it easy."

  "As much as I can learn about the case." Garrison took a profferedchair. "For instance, what did you find on the body?"

  "Nothing--of any importance--a bunch of keys, a fountain-pen, and--andjust some useless trash--I believe four dollars and nineteen cents."

  "Anything else?"

  "Oh, some scraps of paper and a picture postal-card."

  "Any cigars?" asked Garrison.

  "Yep--three, with labels on 'em--all but one, I mean." He had takenone label for his son's collection.

  "What did you do with the stuff?"

  "Locked it up, waiting orders from the court," replied Mr. Pike. "Youbet, I know my business."

  Garrison was pursuing a point. He inquired: "Do you smoke?"

  "No, I don't; and if I did, I wouldn't touch one of them," said thecoroner. "And don't you forget it."

  "Did anyone help you to carry off the body--anyone who might havethrown a cigar away, unlighted?"

  "No, siree! When Billy Ford and Tom Harris git a cigar it never gitsaway," said Mr. Pike.

  "Did you find out where the dead man came from and what he was doing inthe village?"

  "He was stopping down to Hickwood with Mrs. Wilson," answered Pike."His friend there was Charlie Scott, who's making a flying-machinethat's enough to make anybody luny. I've told him he can't borrow nomoney from me on no such contraption, and so has Billy Dodd."

  Garrison mentally noted down the fact that Scott was in need of money.

  "What can you tell me of the man's appearance?" he added, after amoment of silence. "Did his face present any signs of agony?"

  "Nope. Just looked dead," said the coroner.

  "Were there any signs upon him of any nature?"

  "Grass stain on his knee--that's about all."

  "About all?" Garrison echoed. "Was there anything else--any scratchesor bruises on his hands?"

  "No--nary a scratch. He had real fine hands," said the coroner. "Butthey did have a little dirt on 'em--right on three of the knuckles ofthe left hand and on one on the right--the kind of dirt you can't ruboff."

  "Did it look as if he'd tried to rub it off?"

  "Looked as if he'd washed it a little and it wouldn't come."

  "Just common black dirt?"

  "Yes, kind of grimy--the kind that gits in and stays."

  Garrison reflected that a sign of this nature might and might not proveimportant. Everything depended on further developments. One deductionwas presented to his mind--the man had doubtless observed that hishands were soiled and had washed them in the dark, since anyone withthe "fine" hands described by the coroner would be almost certain tokeep them immaculate; but might, in the absence of a light, wash themhalf clean only.

  He was not disposed to attach a very great importance to the matter,however, and only paused for a moment to recall a number of the various"dirts" that resist an effort to remove them--printers' ink, acidstains, axle grease, and greasy soot.

  He shifted his line of questions abruptly.

  "What did you discover about the dead man's relatives? The nephew whocame to claim the body?"

  "Never saw him," said the coroner. "I couldn't hang around the corpseall day. I'm the busiest man in Branchville--and I had to go down toNew York the day he come."

  "Did you take possession of any property that deceased might have hadat his room in Hickwood?"

  "Sure," said Pike. "Half a dozen collars, and some socks, a few oldletters, and a box almost full of cigars."

  "If these things are here in your office," said Garrison, rising, "Ishould like to look them over."

  "You bet, I can put my hand on anything in my business in a minute,"boasted Mr. Pike. He rose and crossed the room to a desk with a large,deep drawer, which he opened with a key.

  The dead man's possessions were few, indeed. The three cigars whichhis pocket had disgorged were lying near a little pile of money.Garrison noted at once that the labels on two were counterparts of theone on the broken cigar now reposing in his pocket. He opened the boxbeneath his hand. The cigars inside were all precisely like theothers. Five only had ever been removed, of which four were accountedfor already. The other had doubtless been smoked.

  On the even row of dark-brown weeds lay a card, on which, written inpencil, were the words:

  A BIRTHDAY GREETING--WITH LOVE.

  Garrison let
fall the lid and glanced with fading interest at the fewinsignificant papers and other trifles which the drawer contained. Hehad practically made up his mind that John Hardy had died, as thecoroner had found, of heart disease, or apoplexy, even in the act oflighting up to smoke.

  He questioned the man further, made up his mind to visit Charles Scottand Mrs. Wilson, in Hickwood, and was presently out upon the road.