Yellow Room

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  “Miss Spencer showed great distress” was what it said beneath.

  The hall was jammed. The coroner, Dr. Harrison, sat at a small table below and in front of the stage, with certain articles covered by a sheet; and the six jurymen sat at one side. They had been shown the body, and looked rather unhappy. Over all was the noise of chairs scraping and people moving and talking. Elinor looked around her distastefully.

  “It sounds like the zoo at feeding time,” she said. “And smells worse.”

  Nevertheless, she put on a good act, smiling and nodding to the people she knew, and ignoring the others. She had dressed carefully in a white sports suit and a small white hat, painfully reminiscent of the one which probably lay under the sheet on the table, and she looked calm and detached. Carol, watching her smile at Marcia Dalton, felt a reluctant admiration for her.

  With the first thump of the gavel the noise subsided, and the silence was almost startling. The coroner’s voice was quiet when he began. There had been no identification of the body. Under the circumstances that had been impossible. Later they hoped to learn just who the young woman was who had been done to death in such a tragic manner. In the meantime an inquest was simply an inquiry, to get such information as they could. The witnesses would be under oath to tell the truth. Any failure to do so would be considered as perjury, and the person guilty under the law.

  After that introduction came the report on the autopsy. The medical examiner from the county seat had conducted it, and he read his report. The body was one of a young woman, between twenty and thirty probably. There had been no assault. The internal organs were normal, and there were indications that she had borne a child.

  The crowd stirred at this. Heretofore she had been merely a girl, dropping, so to speak, out of the blue to be killed mysteriously in the vicinity. Now she became a young mother, and suddenly pitiful.

  The medical examiner went on. Deceased had eaten her last meal probably six hours before death, as the process of digestion was well established. Said deceased had been a blonde, and very little work had been done on the teeth. In spite of the situation in which she had been found she had been killed by a blow that had fractured her skull.

  The fire which had burned her hair and clothing had been started after death. There was no smoke or soot in the lungs, or any indication from the effect of the burns that she had been dead for some time before the attempt had been made to incinerate the body.

  He paused here, for the coroner’s questions.

  “Would it be possible to state how long this interval might have been?”

  “No. Except that death was already well established.”

  Chief Floyd was the next witness. He told of Carol’s arrival at his office, and of going back with her to Crestview. He had found the body in the closet and had it removed after Dr. Harrison had examined it. No, he had taken no pictures. No one had a camera; or if they had, there were no films.

  Asked about the position of the body, he said it was on the floor of the linen closet, with the head toward the rear, and what he called the limbs neatly arranged. Most of the clothing, he said, had been burned, but it was there in that bundle if the jury cared to see it.

  The jury did care. It came forward solemnly and stared at what lay on the table. None of them touched anything, and they filed back, more sober than ever and somewhat shocked. Elinor Milliard, too, had lost some of her poise. She was pale and evidently shaken.

  “It’s horrible,” she said suddenly. “I want to get out, Carol. I’m going to be sick.”

  But Carol caught her arm.

  “Be careful,” she said. “You have to stick it, Elinor. It will be over in a minute.”

  Dane, standing at the rear of the hall, saw the bit of byplay; Elinor’s attempt to rise, and Carol restraining her. He had, as a matter of fact, been watching Elinor from the beginning. She knew something, he was convinced, but what or how much he was not sure. Now as the exhibits were re-covered he saw her relax, and puzzled over that too.

  There followed an interval while a blueprint of the house was circulated among the jury, and this was still going on when there was some movement at the rear entrance doors. People were craning their heads, and to Carol’s surprise she saw that Lucy Norton was being brought in. She was in a wheel chair, and her leg in its cast was carefully propped in front of her. A nurse in uniform was pushing the chair, and Lucy was staring straight ahead, looking pale and nervous.

  Her arrival, Dane saw, was a shock to Elinor. He could not see her face, but she sagged in her chair and Carol looked at her anxiously. The audience, however, did not notice this. It was absorbed in Lucy, in her wheel chair now beside the table, with the nurse bending over her.

  They did not call her at once. Freda was the next witness, and a nervous one. She had gone upstairs to fix Miss Spencer’s room for her, and had gone to the linen closet for sheets. There were black smears all around the door, and she rubbed at one with her finger. “It came off like soot.” After that she opened the door and saw somebody lying on the floor inside. That was all she knew. She had run down the back stairs and fainted in the kitchen. “I was sick to my stomach,” she said.

  They did not keep her long, nor Nora, nor Maggie, who followed them. Even Carol was asked only perfunctory questions, about verifying the fact and notifying the police. Asked if she knew the identity of the deceased she said she did not, nor had she any idea why she was in the house.

  So far there had been no mention of the yellow room. Evidently that was waiting for Lucy. The bus driver testified as to the arrival at six-thirty on Friday morning of the week before of a young woman dressed as the deceased was supposed to have been dressed. Sam of the hamburger stand stated that such a young woman had had coffee in his place early that morning and looked at the telephone book, but did not call anybody. And some of the interval between arrival and that time was bridged by Mr. Allison of the Five-&-Ten. He told of seeing such a young woman sitting in the public park opposite his store.

  “It was early, a little after seven o’clock,” he said, “and I’d just opened the place. She was on a bench by the bandstand, looking as though she was waiting. She wasn’t in any trouble that I could see. There was a squirrel there, and she was trying to coax it to her. Then I went away. When I looked again, about ten minutes later, she was gone.”

  Lucy was better now. Dane saw that she was listening carefully. She was slightly deaf, and her chair had been wheeled well forward. But Carol, closer to her, saw her holding her hand behind one ear, and was certain that the hand was trembling.

  When at last she was called, Dr. Harrison treated her with considerable gentleness.

  “We appreciate the willingness of this witness to appear,” he said to the audience. “As you all know, she has had a serious injury. But her testimony is important. Now, Mrs. Norton—”

  She took the oath without looking at the crowd. There was no noise now. Some of the people at the rear of the hall were standing up, to see or hear better. But the early part of her testimony was disappointing. The girl had arrived at Crestview about half past eight on Friday morning. She had asked for Miss Carol Spencer, and had seemed disappointed that she had not arrived.

  “She kind of hung around for some time,” Lucy said. “She claimed to be a friend of Miss Spencer’s, and she said Miss Spencer was expecting her. I didn’t know what to do. I had plenty of work on my hands, but she didn’t go away. She just sat in the hall and waited. It was cold there, so I asked her back to the kitchen. I’d lit the stove.

  “I told her nobody was coming until the first of the week, and I said she’d better go down to the village and telephone to Mrs. Hilliard’s at Newport, where Miss Carol was staying. But she said her feet hurt her, and couldn’t she at least clean up after the train trip. That’s how she came to be in the yellow room. I didn’t see any objection to that. She was well dressed and looked like a lady. But I thought she was kind of nervous.”

  She went on. She had got soap
and towels, and the girl took a bath and came down in a red kimono. She talked pleasantly, and she offered to pay Lucy five dollars to let her stay the night. Her railroad ticket back was for the next day. She had showed it. And with travel the way it was now she would have to stay somewhere.

  Apparently she had won Lucy, although she refused the money “except for enough to get some food for her. All I had was what I’d brought for myself.”

  She had gone to the village for some groceries, and she cooked a nice lunch and carried it up on a tray. The girl stayed in her room all afternoon. She thought she had slept. But when she carried up her supper the door to the yellow room was locked, and she wouldn’t open it until she told her who she was.

  “She tried to laugh. She said it was just habit. She’d been staying in hotels. But I wasn’t comfortable after that, although she seemed to know the family all right. She asked about Mrs. Hilliard and Captain Spencer, and how Mrs. Spencer was. She’d asked for cigarettes and I brought her some, but she didn’t leave the room again, so far as I know.”

  She had given Lucy the name of Barbour, Marguerite Barbour, and the initials on her bag were M.D.B. That seemed all right, and there wasn’t much in the house to steal anyway, Lucy said. Nevertheless, she was uneasy. She slept badly that night, and when it turned cold she had got up for an extra blanket. As the electric current had not been turned on she took a candle and went to the main linen closet, since the servants’ blankets had not yet been unpacked.

  Her voice grew higher at this point, as she relived the terror of that night.

  “I’d just got to the closet—the door was open an inch or so—when something reached out and knocked the candle out of my hand. I was too scared to move, and the next minute the closet door flew open and knocked me down. I—”

  “Take a minute,” said the coroner kindly. “I know this is painful. Take your time, Mrs. Norton.”

  She drew a long breath.

  “That’s about all anyhow,” she said, more quietly. “When I got up I guess I was screaming. Anyhow I wanted to get out of the house. But it was black-dark, and that’s how I came to fall down the stairs.”

  “Did anyone pass you after that happened?”

  “I don’t know. I must have fainted. I don’t know how long I was out. I don’t remember anything until I heard the birds. That was at daylight.”

  “When you came to, did you notice anything burning?”

  “No, sir. There was nothing burning, or I’d have known it.”

  They asked her very few questions. She had not really seen the hand that knocked over her candle. As to what ran over her after the door knocked her down, she didn’t remember any skirts. But who would, with dresses only to the knees anyhow, and women wearing slacks half the time?

  They wheeled her out after that, and Carol was recalled. She knew no one named Barbour, certainly no Marguerite Barbour. And she had no idea who could have been using that name.

  “You wouldn’t recognize the description of her clothing?”

  “They are practically uniform for spring or summer. No, I don’t.”

  “It is possible of course that she gave a name not her own. Would that help any?”

  Carol shook her head.

  “No one I know is missing,” she said. “I have no idea who she was, or why she wanted to see me.” She looked around the room. It was a sea of faces, curious, some of them skeptical, and not all of them friendly. She stiffened slightly. “If she was frightened to lock her door she was certainly not afraid of Lucy Norton. But she might have been afraid of someone else.”

  “You are not accusing anybody?”

  “Certainly not,” she said, her color rising. “I know nothing about this girl. I don’t even believe she came to see me. That was an excuse for some purpose of her own. But there may be someone who does know why she came. That’s all.”

  They excused her then, and the coroner made a brief summary. It was hoped that the identity of the deceased would soon be established. She was evidently in good circumstances. The face powder she used had been analyzed and was of a fine quality. Her feet and hands had apparently been well cared for. And young women of that walk of life did not disappear easily. It was, of course, one of their difficulties that her purse as well as her clothing had not been found. They hoped to do that eventually, unless it had been destroyed, and all over the country authorities were trying to discover if a young woman of this description was missing.

  In the meantime this inquest was an inquiry into the cause, whether it had been accidental, suicide or murder. He felt he should say here that it was considered impossible that she could have so injured herself, or—as had been suggested—that a cigarette could have caused the fire. However the jury had heard all the evidence, and must make its own decision.

  And they did, without leaving the room. It was murder, by a person or persons unknown.

  11

  DANE HAD LEFT HIS car in an alley some blocks away from the hall. He slipped away to it quietly as soon as the verdict was in, and sat thoughtfully smoking until Tim Murphy joined him, when he took a back road home.

  “Well,” he said, “what did you think of it, Tim?”

  “Phony,” said Tim, biting off a piece of cigar and lodging it in his cheek.

  “The Norton woman’s story?”

  “Sure. Look at her! She’s nobody’s easy mark. None of these New Englanders are, especially the women. So what? She gives the girl a room, she buys groceries for her, and she carries trays up to her. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No,” Dane said, still thoughtful. “She didn’t perjure herself, but she didn’t tell the whole story. Find anything on the hill this morning?”

  “That’s the hell of a place to search. I picked up a bushel of burs. That’s all.”

  Dane glanced at the sky.

  “There’s one thing,” he said. “If this dry spell keeps on we may get a hint. It’s no weather to replant anything, and if you see some shrubbery wilting—Did you notice Miss Spencer’s sister, Mrs. Hilliard?”

  “Who could help it?” said Tim, with appreciation. “Not so young, but a looker all right.”

  “She’s supposed to have been seen here—or, rather, her car was—the night of the murder.”

  Tim whistled.

  “Think it’s true?” he inquired.

  “I think it’s possible. She married Howard Hilliard. You know who he is. Money to burn. She’s not going to let anything interfere with that. Place at Newport, house at Palm Beach, apartment in New York, a yacht when there were such things. The whole bag of tricks.”

  “I see. Think this dead girl was Hilliard’s mistress?”

  “It’s possible. Only why come here?”

  Tim spat over the side of the car.

  “Well, you sure bought yourself a job,” he said philosophically. “You can have it. How long have I got to search that hill or push that lawn mower? I got blisters already.”

  Dane did not reply at once. He was in uniform, and he ran his finger around the band of his collar as though it bothered him.

  “We got one thing there,” he said. “The girl’s name, or the name she gave. Marguerite D. Barbour. The police will go all out on that. Me…” He hesitated. “The initials are probably right. They were on her bag. How about calling up your people in New York, Tim? If she spent a night there at a hotel she’s used those initials, but maybe another name.”

  Tim demurred.

  “Know how many hotels there are in New York?”

  “You can get help. I’m paying for it.”

  “It’s a damn good thing you don’t have to live on your service pay, whatever that is, or whatever your service is for that matter,” Tim said resignedly. “All right. My best men are gone, but I can cover this, I suppose.”

  “Not from here. Drop me at the house and drive over to the railroad. There’s a booth in the station there.”

  “What about dinner? I have to eat sometime.”

  “Get it o
ver there,” said Dane heartlessly. “I’ve never known you to starve yet. And listen, Tim. If you don’t pick up anything by midnight take the train yourself. I want to beat the police to it.”

  “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “Call it a hunch. Say I don’t trust this bunch up here. It’s a big case, and they’re likely to go off on a tangent that may damage innocent people.”

  “Such as the Spencer girl?”

  “She’s out of it,” Dane said dryly. “Go and get your toothbrush. Alex will take you over, and you can get a taxi back.”

  He rested until dinner. He had found that he could still do only a certain amount before the old trouble asserted itself and Alex began to baby him again. It annoyed him that night to find his dinner coming up on a tray.

  “Damn it,” he said irritably. “I can walk, can’t I? And where’s the coffee?”

  “Drink the milk?” Alex said firmly. “Coffee keeps you awake, and you know it.”

  “No word from Tim?”

  “He’s probably eating a beefsteak somewhere.”

  Dane smiled. The matter of ration points was a sore one with Alex. But he dutifully drank his milk, and as a result he was sound asleep when the fire started on the hill above Crestview.

  Tim had telephoned. The only one of his assistants he had been able to locate had found nothing so far, and he was taking the night train to New York.

  “On his hunch!” he told Alex with some bitterness. “And in an upper. I’ll do it, but I don’t have to like it, do I?”

  The fire started late. Carol and Elinor had dined at the Wards’ that night. It was Elinor who accepted over the phone.

  “If we bury ourselves it will make talk,” she told Carol. “There’s too much of it now, after that story of Lucy’s today.”

  “Lucy isn’t a liar.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” said Elinor impatiently. “That’s the point. She was telling the truth. But now everybody knows that awful girl had some reason for coming here. She wasn’t using this house as a hotel.”

  In the end Carol agreed. They walked over to the Wards’, using the gravel path that connected the two properties, and lifting their long skirts as they crossed the dusty lane. In the summer twilight they both looked young and lovely in their light dresses, Elinor’s hair piled high—with Freda’s assistance, of course—and Carol’s brushed back smoothly from her forehead. When they went in they found the colonel there, rather guiltily trying to hide a map.