“Alas,” Charlie answered. “I wish very much that it were. But - Mr. Holt - that pink scarf - one end of which I see hanging from your pocket -“
“Say - I’m sorry,” Holt said. “I’m afraid I’ve mussed this up something terrible. You know - when I tucked it in there - I hadn’t seen you -“
“It’s all right, I’m sure,” the girl replied.
“It is not all right - pardon me,” cried Chan sternly taking the scarf. “Excuse that I call attention to the fact, but we are not enjoying social hour of tea. This is your scarf, Miss Beaton?”
“As I told you, upstairs.”
“It was found in dead hands of Ellen Landini? How do you account for same?”
“I can not account for it, Mr. Chan.”
He took the pin from his pocket. “Have you seen this before?”
“It is mine.”
“It is yours. It was found by the dead woman’s side.”
“It’s a little old pin I used to fasten my scarf. When I left the scarf on that bed upstairs, I just carelessly stuck the pin in it. That’s all.”
“You are alone in room next to one in which murder occurs. Your scarf and your pin are in dead person’s presence. And you can not explain -“
“Perhaps, as my brother said -“
“Your brother made gallant effort to think up explanation. It is not enough, Miss Beaton. I have long experience in these matters, and never before have I encountered evidence so damaging -“
“But -” Suddenly the girl’s face was stricken with fear. “Surely you don’t think that I - that I could - kill Landini? What motive -“
“What motive?” cried Doctor Swan. “What motive indeed?”
With one accord, they turned and looked at the doctor.
“I’m sorry, Miss Beaton,” he said. “It’s rather painful - such a charming girl, too. But under the circumstances, I should be shirking my duty shamefully if I did not recall our little conversation on the pier - what you said -“
“Very well,” said the girl in a low voice. “What did I say?”
“Our little conversation about Landini,” the doctor continued suavely. “Your last words to me, as I recall, were: ‘I hate her! I hate her! I wish she were dead!’”
Chapter VI
THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING
A tense silence followed in that big bright room, broken at last by the collapse of a burning log, which fell into a hundred pieces, sending sparks and embers in all directions. Sing moved forward to attend to it, and at that moment young Hugh Beaton faced Doctor Swan. He was livid with rage; an utterly unexpected transformation seemed to have taken place in the boy.
“You contemptible lair!” he cried hoarsely.
“Just a minute,” Swan replied coolly. “It so happens I am telling the truth. Am I not, Miss Beaton?”
The girl’s eyes were on the handkerchief which she twisted nervously in her hands. “You are,” she said softly.
“So sorry,” Charlie began. “But, Miss Beaton, it now becomes necessary for us to know -“
“Yeah - I suppose it does,” said the sheriff. “But look here, there’s no need of any more of this inquisition in front of everybody. Mr. Ward - is there another room -“
Ward rose. “Yes,” he answered. “You may use the dining-room, if you wish. If you’ll come with me -“
“That’s the idea,” Holt approved. “The rest of you stick right here - understand? Now, Miss Beaton - yes, your brother too - and Doctor Swan - you come along with me and the inspector.” As they followed Ward, he added to the girl: “I don’t aim to make any public show of you. Some things is private.”
“You’re very kind to me,” the girl said.
Ward ushered them into the dining-room, closed the door and disappeared. Doctor Swan was looking rather sheepish.
“Miss Beaton, believe me - I am very sorry that I was faced with such an unpleasant duty,” he remarked. “Still - you understand my position -“
“Oh, we understand it, all right,” her brother cried hotly. “Try to pin this terrible thing on some one else if you can. Your own situation is pretty shaky. Looking out the window when the shot was fired - enjoying the beautiful snow! Did you carry my sister’s scarf into the study? Was it you Landini asked to -“
“Hughie,” interrupted his sister, “please be quiet.”
“Most admirable suggestion,” Chan smiled. “It is Miss Beaton who should be talking now. So sorry, my dear young lady - but why did you cry out that you wished Landini dead?”
The girl sat down in the chair which Don Holt had placed for her near the fire.
“It’s quite true,” she began. “I did say that. I said I hated too. I did hate her. To explain I have to go back - a long way back - and even then - I doubt if you will quite understand. You don’t know what it is to be poor - horribly poor - and to have some one in the family with a great gift, a gift you believe in - to slave and struggle and fight for that person’s training and education. That’s - that’s what happened to us.”
“Must you tell all this?” her brother protested.
“I have to, Hughie. You see, we knew very early that Hugh had a voice - and from then on, everything went for that. My father wearing the same old overcoat year after year - my mother going without, scrimping, saving - neither having any fun, any joy in life - just to pay for Hugh’s education. New York - and then, Paris - and finally, after years of that sort of thing - Hugh giving a concert here and there, making a little money at last - seemingly on the threshold of a great career. The moment we’d always dreamed about. And then this woman, pouncing on him, threatening to ruin everything -“
“You’re wronging her, my dear,” said the boy.
“Wronging her! She was fifteen years older than you. Had she any interest in your career? Would she have helped you to success - of course not. We all knew that. You knew it yourself. You said, only the other day -“
“Never mind. She’s dead now.”
“I know,” the girl nodded. “I don’t want to say anything - I just want to make clear my feeling about her.” She turned to Chan and the sheriff. “It just seemed I couldn’t let this marriage happen,” she explained. “I mustn’t. I came out here to try to stop it if I could. I talked with her - she laughed at me. I became desperate - I wanted to save Hugh from this terrible mistake. He was just a passing fancy with her, I felt. I was furious when she began going around with this Ireland person -“
“Stop it,” put in the boy. “There was nothing in that. It was - Ellen’s way.” He was very white.
“It was not much of a way,” the girl replied. “It sickened me. Tonight when she called him up, and left us to go home alone - I was furious. Hughie might weakly stand for that sort of thing -“
“Go on,” the boy said. “Tell ‘em I’m weak - no good - spineless. Tell ‘em I always have been. That you’ve always had to care for me - mother me -“
“Have I said so?” the girl answered gently. “Don’t be angry, Hughie. I’m only trying to explain the mood I was in when I went out on that pier. Soon Doctor Swan came out. I’d met him before in Reno. We got to talking about Landini, and I - I went a little wild, I guess. I told him what I thought about her marrying my brother - and as the plane came nearer, I burst into tears, and I - I said I hated her and I wished she was dead. And I did - I did - but I didn’t kill her.” She was weeping now. “I - I know it looks terrible,” she went on. “I was in the next room. My scarf was in her hands, and my pin beside her. Why - how? I don’t understand. I can’t explain it. Some one - put them there. Some one who must have known how I felt toward her. For what other reason?”
She stopped suddenly, staring at Doctor Swan. Charlie and the sheriff were also looking at the doctor. Landini’s third husband felt of his collar nervously, and his face flushed slightly.
“Yeah,” nodded Don Holt. “Might be something in that theory, Miss Beaton. Well, we won’t detain you in here any longer. I want to say right now, I under
stand exactly how -“
“Quite true, quite true,” Charlie put in. “Yes, Miss Beaton, you may return to other room. But I would falsify facts if I hid from you you are for present moment in dangerous position. Later discoveries may clear same up. With deep sincerity I may say, I hope so.” He smiled. “You see, I like the sheriff.”
Holt stared at him. “What’s that got to do with it?” he wanted to know.
“Another mystery which time, I trust, will solve,” Charlie said. “Mr. Sheriff, will you be good enough to remain in this room with me for one moment?”
After the others had gone, Charlie sat down and motioned Holt to a chair near by.
“Well?” said Holt rather gloomily.
“Feel somewhat same way myself,” nodded Chan. “Well! A moment’s summing up in order now. By this time we have questioned all those who were not present in my vision when the shot was heard. What have we got?”
“Not much, if you ask me,” sighed Holt. “Swan and Romano were shut up in their rooms, looking out the windows. Oh, yeah? Cecile was climbing the back stairs, Sing was foraging for a blanket in his room, and Miss Beaton was right next door to the study, powdering her nose. Dog-gone it, I wish she’d been somewhere else. But anyhow, she was there when the shot was fired. And that accounts for the five. What’s the answer?”
“Somebody is Iying,” Chan remarked.
“Sure - somebody is certainly Iying. But which one? Romano?”
Charlie considered. “Romano had the money from her purse. Did she, then, give it to him? Or did he slip in to protest matter of settlement, lose temper, kill her, and himself remove money? Possible. No alibi.”
“That fellow Swan,” mused Holt. “I don’t like him.”
Charlie shook his head. “Again - please maintain neutral attitude. But - Swan - I can not say I admire his looks myself. Did he kill the lady? Possible. No alibi.”
“Cecile had a mighty good motive,” the sheriff reflected.
“So far - absolutely nothing connects Cecile with murder,” Charlie reminded him. “And yet, she is quite possible selection. She has no -” He paused, and a slow smile spread over his face. “Note the peculiar situation,” he added. “Perhaps not so strange to you, but to me, with my experience, up to this minute unheard of. Five people not accounted for at time of shooting, and of the five not one has even offered alibi. I wonder -“
“What?’ inquired Holt eagerly.
Chan shrugged. “No matter. It lightens work - we have no alibis to investigate. But it also adds heaviness - we have, alas, five healthy suspects. I have kept you here to remind you of one thing - we are near state line. It is your duty to see that no one of five departs across that line tonight.”
“I know. I suppose there’ll be an argument. Perhaps we could put some of them up at the Tavern.”
“It is very late,” Chan replied. “Romano, Cecile and Sing remain here naturally. You must persuade the good doctor and Miss Beaton to do the same - for tonight at least. There are plenty rooms. I will be responsible.”
“Suppose one of them slips out in the night,” suggested Holt.
“Only the thief oils his wheelbarrow,” Chan said, as they rose. “And only the guilty flee. It would be a happy solution. I shall be sitting just inside my door all night. I shall try not to take nap - but I can not guarantee. For I now realize suddenly that I have been napping all evening.”
“How so?” Holt inquired.
“There were six, not five, unaccounted for at time of shot.”
“Six?” Holt cried. “Good lord - another one. Who?”
“I forgot the cook,” Chan explained. “Most impolite of me - for she is a very good cook. Perhaps very good witness, too. If you will arrange matter of overnight stay, I will visit kitchen. You might join me there, when able.”
“Sure,” said Holt. He paused. “I suppose I may as well let Ireland go back to Reno?”
“Why not?” Chan shrugged. “He could have had nothing to do with killing. Yes, Ireland, Dinsdale and young Beaton, if he wishes - these may go.”
Separating from Holt, he followed the passageway toward the rear until he came to the kitchen door. Looking in, a homey scene greeted him. Beside an old-fashioned kitchen range, in a large easy chair, sat the ample figure of the cook, sound asleep. At her feet, on a bit of old carpet, lay Trouble, the dog, also mercifully slumbering. Chan smiled and moved on to the back steps.
For a time he walked about outside, using a flashlight he had obtained from his luggage when he went for the fingerprint paraphernalia. He studied the path which led to the hangar, but the snow on that was packed hard, and no clear footprints were discernible. The lights on the field were still blazing, and Michael Ireland’s plane stood like an actor in a spotlight.
The examination yielded him nothing, and he paused for a moment, staring at the clear beauty of the distant mountains, then went inside. Holt was standing beside the kitchen door.
“Sleeping, eh?” he said, nodding toward the cook.
“The slumber of innocence,” Chan smiled. “Matters are now arranged for the night?”
Holt nodded. “All set. Swan put up a battle - got to get back to Reno - lot of appointments early in the morning. But he’s staying all right - that bird’s not putting anything over on me. I don’t like - oh, yes, lesson number one. Anyhow, I hate the sight of him. Miss Beaton is staying - Cecile’s fixing her up with the necessary feminine doodads. Her brother has decided to put up here for the night, too.”
“We shall be a large party,” Chan answered.
The cook was stirring in her chair, and the two stepped into the kitchen.
“So sorry to disturb you,” Charlie apologized.
“Sure, I should be in me bed,” the woman answered. “Why am I here - oh, yes - the poor lady. I was after forgettin’ -“
“Let me explain, Mrs. -” Holt began.
“O’Ferrell,” she added.
“Mrs. O’Ferrell. I am Don Holt, sheriff of the county.”
“God have mercy on us,” she cried.
“And this is Inspector Chan, of the Honolulu Police.”
“Honolulu, eh? Sure, he got here quick.”
Charlie smiled. “Honored, if I may say so. Earlier this evening I had great pleasure to sample your cooking, and I bow to you in humble congratulation.”
“You talk very nice,” she responded, pleased.
“But sterner topics now engage us,” he continued. “You are evidently aware of what happened a short time ago?”
“Murder,” she said. “I am. I don’t hold with it.”
“We none of us hold with it,” he assured her. “That is why we seek the murderer. It becomes necessary to ask a few questions, which I know you will answer gladly.”
“I will that. I’ll not be at peace in this house, with a murderer havin’ the run of it. But I’m afraid I can’t help ye much. I been busy in this room all evenin’, for a dinner like that is no joke, nor is washin’ dishes after a picnic, ayether. I’m supposed to have the help of Sing, but like a will-o’-the-wisp he’s been this night, now here, now gone.”
“He’s been in and out occasionally, however?”
“In an’ out is right.”
“Well, Mrs. O’Ferrell, let us take it from the time you heard the airplane. Where was the plane when you first heard it?”
“I couldn’t tell you that exactly, Mr. Chan, but it must have been some distance off, over the lake, ye might say. I heared it buzzin’, an’ I thinks, now what can that be, an’ thin Cecile - no, wait a minute - thin Mr. Ward himself stops in that door, an’ asks me have I seen Sing. I says I think Sing is on the back porch, an’ Mr. Ward is hardly gone, whin Cecile comes in mad as a hornet, with somethin’ about her husband, an’ a blanket, an’ this opera singer, an’ what-not. An’ thin the plane comes over th’ house, an’ from that minute I have me hands full, what with Cecile ravin’ and this poor lamb at me feet” - she indicated the dog - “scared near out of his wits be the noi
se.”
“Ah - Trouble was frightened by the plane?”
“He was that, sir, an’ no mistake, cryin’ an’ whinin’ an’ carryin’ on until I had to take him on me lap, an’ comfort him, an’ him tremblin’ all over like gelatine.”
“And Cecile -“
“Cecile wint out in th’ passage, like she was waitin’ f’r some one. I see Mr. Ward an’ you an’ the leather man come in, but I didn’t hear any talk from Cecile. I was too busy with th’ dog to come to th’ door. Look at him, th’ poor little orphan, sleepin’ there so peaceful an’ not knowin’ his loss.”
Chan smiled. “We will leave him in your care for the present, Mrs. O’Ferrell, and I’m sure he could not be in kinder hands. That is all. I suggest you retire for the night.”
“Thank ye kindly, sir, but I’ll not rest in me bed until this wild murderer is caught. Ye’ll move as fast as ye can, I hope.”
Charlie shook his head. “We must collect at leisure what we may use in haste,” he explained. “The fool in a hurry drinks his tea with a fork.” He and Holt went into the passage. At the foot of the back stairs, Holt stopped. “A lot we got out of that,” he remarked glumly.
“You think so?” Chan asked.
The sheriff looked at him suddenly. “We didn’t get anything, did we?”
Charlie shrugged. “He who fishes in muddy waters can not tell the great catch from the small.”
“Yeah. I guess this is the back stairway, isn’t it? I told that doctor to wait for me upstairs - he’ll think I’ve forgot him. Let’s go up.”
They found the doctor in the study, his work evidently completed, his bag closed on the desk, and himself with professional calm seated by the fire. He rose as they entered.
“Well,” he said, when he had been introduced to Chan, “I’ve made the examination, although the coroner, of course, will want to make another in the morning. Poor Landini - I knew her as a young bride in this house, and she comes back to it to die. Um - er - that is, of course, beside the point. Nothing much to be said. The bullet entered about four inches below the shoulder, and pursued I believe, a downward course. Perhaps the person who fired it was standing over her, and she was on her knees.” He looked at Chan.
Charlie Chan [6] The Keeper of the Keys Page 8
