The Cat's Paw
Page 20
Craige ignored the question and Potter broke his long silence.
“I imagine he did,” he said. “Mrs. Parsons was the divorced wife of Gentleman Jake, and later she married Amos Parsons. He left some property and she came east. She’d have lived straight, Craige, if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Craige,” Mitchell’s harsh voice made the lawyer turn with a nervous jump. “Did you conceal that small bottle of prussic acid in the ivory dice cup?”
“Yes,” sullenly, then with a venomous glance at Kitty. “I hoped to involve you.”
“You yellow devil!” Ted Rodgers rose and stepped toward him, but Mitchell intervened.
“The law will deal with him, Mr. Rodgers; stand back, Sir. Now, Craige, come on—” and, at a sign, Welsh, the detective, took his place by the lawyer.
Twice Craige tried to get upon his feet, only to sway back into his seat. He had aged in the past hour, and when he finally stood upright his shoulders sagged forward and his trembling knees seemed unable to support him.
“Catch him on the other side, Welsh,” Mitchell directed. “Mr. Potter, please telephone to Coroner Penfield.” With a jerk of his head he indicated the prone figure behind them. “Mrs. Parsons cannot be moved until he gets here. Come, Craige.”
Craige moved forward a few hesitating steps and then halted. An irresistible attraction which he could not conquer drew his eyes toward Cecelia Parsons. Whatever emotion he felt he controlled admirably. He stood for a moment motionless, then, without glancing to right or left, he squared his shoulders and swinging around strode arrogantly from the library, the two men on either side walking rapidly to keep up with him.
The silence in the library grew oppressive and Kitty was conscious of a feeling almost of nausea when Nina Potter came toward her.
“Kitty,” she said brokenly. “I did you a very great wrong when I wore your red coat to come here on Sunday night with Leigh.”
“Did you not do your husband a greater wrong?” Kitty asked swiftly.
“No.” Nina flushed scarlet. “I am a coward, but I am a loyal wife.”
“I am entirely to blame,” Leigh Wallace turned and addressed Potter directly. “I was once engaged to your wife. We quarreled and she broke it off. I never saw or heard from her again until we met this winter. Nina would not let me pay her any attention, so, forgive me, Kitty, I went with you because I could be with Nina without arousing talk,” he hesitated.
No one spoke, and, after an instant’s pause, Wallace continued:
“On Saturday night Oscar brought me a note from Miss Susan Baird asking me to come here on Sunday at five o’clock. I did take the peaches from Mrs. Parsons’ table on a silly impulse, for I knew Miss Baird was fond of them and thought that I could placate her with a gift.
“When I got here she told me how my father had jilted her and of her hatred of me. She declared that she had secured, through bribing one of Nina’s servants, some old love letters of mine—they were undated, and she proposed showing them to Ben Potter. I tried in every way to induce her to return them to me, even offering a large sum of money. She ordered me out of the house,” he paused. “Then I went to Nina and asked her to see Miss Baird and try to get her to give up the letters.”
“So I came over here with Leigh on Sunday night,” Nina Potter took up the story. “Miss Susan had loaned me your red coat, Kitty, last Wednesday to wear home when it blew up so cold. The coat is distinctive in appearance, and—well—” she faltered—“I knew if any one saw me, there was a chance I might be mistaken for you. Afterwards I got rid of the coat by selling it to a second-hand dealer.” She caught her husband’s averted gaze and colored painfully.
“Leigh left me at the side door of ‘Rose Hill,’” she added. “I entered the library—saw Miss Susan sitting there—dead—” she covered her eyes with her hand as if to shut out some terrifying vision and a shudder shook her. “I must have fainted, for it was late when I stole out of the house. I left by the front door, and in my terror I put the big key in the lock on the outside with some idea of locking poor Miss Susan in the house. I heard an automobile coming and ran away, forgetting to turn the key in the lock after all. When I got home I found Ben had not gotten in and that you were still asleep, Kitty—so—” she faltered again and glanced appealingly at her husband.
Potter stirred uneasily. “I drove around a bit,” he said. “Kitty, as I thought, coming over here at that time of night with Wallace troubled me, and I wanted time to think things over. When I heard of Cousin Susan’s murder—well, I—well, I kept silent until my jealousy of Wallace drove me to try and implicate Kitty and him in the crime.
“I saw you, Ted.” he turned to Rodgers, “come out of a second-hand clothing store on Pennsylvania Avenue with Kitty’s coat on your arm. The dealer told me that you had just paid twenty dollars for it. I decided that if the coat was worth that to you, it might be worth double the money to me: so I bribed the dealer to buy the coat back from you. When that scheme failed, I went to your apartment—”
“Where you failed again,” broke in Rodgers. “Your coat was accidently burned up, Kitty, all except one pocket. In that pocket I found the clue which gave the the first inkling that Charles Craige might have murdered your aunt—”
“What was it?” demanded Kitty breathlessly.
“An ‘I.O.U.,’ which your aunt must have slipped inside the coat pocket and forgotten. The signature was obliterated, but I recognized Craige’s handwriing,” Rodgers explained. “It showed me that Craige was under heavy financial obligations to Miss Susan Baird while all the time he protested absolute ignorance of her wealth. I immediately started to investigate Craige’s career, and it was that investigation, as he said a few minutes ago, which forced his hand last night—”
“And he nearly killed you!” Kitty’s eyes were shining as she faced her lover. “You endangered your life for me—”
Regardless of the others’ presence Rodgers drew her to his side.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Sweetheart—”
“Ahem!” Ben Potter cleared his throat, and faced the others.
“Did you get your letters, Nina?” he asked, turning to his wife.
“Not then, only this afternoon,” she explained. “I found them in a box under the mattress of Miss Susan’s bed. Mrs. Parsons suspected that I was searching for something, for yesterday she told me that for a considerable sum of money she would aid me.”
“That woman was a fiend incarnate!” ejaculated Rodgers.
“She sho’ly was, Sah,” agreed Oscar. “She done her bes’ to make me tell de police that ole Miss let people have money. Yo’ see, Miss Kitty, ole Miss had me to help her, an’ I promised never to tell, an’ I never broke my promise, never.”
“Oscar!” Kitty’s eyes were dim with tears as she laid her hand on the faithful servant’s shoulder. “Where did you disappear yesterday?”
“Jes’ went down to my rooms an’ laid low,” promptly. “Mandy an’ me thought things were gettin’ kinda critical ’round hyar. Las’ night I heered yo’ an’ Mister Rodgers a-plannin’ to see Mister Craige, an’ then I went home again, scared stiff.”
“Wait, Oscar—” Rodgers interrupted him quickly. “Why did you ask me to find Miss Kitty’s red coat?”
“I seen some one a-wearin’ dat coat enter dis house as I was passin’ along de street late Sunday night,” the negro explained. “I couldn’t swear it warn’t yo’, Miss Kitty, an’ I couldn’t swear it were; but I calculated dat whoever t’was might a lef’ somethin’ in de coat pockets to tell on them.”
“It was a clever thought,” exclaimed Rodgers. “But it would have been better had you taken me entirely into your confidence, Oscar.”
“Yessir.” But Oscar looked doubtful. “I was mighty concarned ’bout Miss Kitty, ’deed I was, Sah. It warn’t ’till jes’ a spell back that that detecertif man, Mister Welsh, who tried to find me in Front Royal an’ at las’ found me to home, ’splained to me I had orter be hyar wif
yo’, Honey, Miss Kitty, so then I corned round wif him.”
Leigh Wallace heard the old man to the end, then stared moodily across the library. He started for the doorway and turned around.
“I’ve destroyed your letters, Nina,” he said. “I, forgive me, I feared that you had killed Miss Susan Baird on Sunday night. That was why I was so overcome when the crime was discovered. Mr. Potter,” he spoke with deep feeling. “Your wife loves you devotedly. I am but a forgotten incident in her life. I received my orders for foreign service to-day. Good-by.” He clicked his heels together and with a bow which included all in the library, turned and strode from the room.
At sound of the front door closing, Potter stepped forward. He was oblivious of any one’s presence but his wife.
“Nina, can you forgive me?” he asked humbly. “I have acted the part of a jealous fool.”
Nina’s answer was not in words. With a face in which joy obliterated the shadow of the past few days, she slipped her arm within his and he led her from the room.
“Doan yo’ wait hyar, Miss Kitty—” Oscar came forward a pace. “Jes’ you an’ Mister Rodgers go right along. I’ll stay wid dis—” and he nodded significantly at Rodgers. The latter turned to take a last survey of the library. Not far from Cecelia Parsons lay a small furry body—both were rigid in death.
“Come, sweetheart—” Rodgers slipped his arm around Kitty and they walked toward the drawing room. Once there Kitty gave way to the grief consuming her.
“Poor Aunt Susan—how could Charles Craige have had the heart to kill her!” she exclaimed. “He was her trusted friend.”
“He was a man of masks,” Rodgers said gravely. “A man of character, well educated, a social favorite and a brilliant lawyer, but heredity proved too strong for him.” And as Kitty looked at him in question, he added, “Were you not aware that his father died insane?”
Kitty shook her head. “I never knew it,” she said. “How dreadful! The whole affair—Aunt Susan’s death—her life, oh, Ted, her life!”
“Hush!” Rodgers laid his finger gently on her lips. “Let us forget the tragedy in our happiness.”
Glancing shyly upward, Kitty read the worship in his eyes and her rapidly beating heart sang a glad response.
“All my life I have prayed for love,” she murmured as he took her in his arms; “even when I was only a little lonely child—and now to feel such happiness as I never even imagined. To have you with me always—”
“In our Kingdom of Love”—Rodgers’ tender, caressing voice was melody in her ears—“My queen—my queen!”
THE END
A Note on the Author
Natalie Sumner Lincoln (1881–1935) was an American novelist born in Washington, D.C. She was a prolific writer and is most remembered for her mystery and crime novels.
Discover books by Natalie Sumner Lincoln published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/Natalie Sumner Lincoln
I Spy
The Cat’s Paw
The Moving Finger
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Copyright © 1922 Natalie Sumner Lincoln
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eISBN: 9781448213290
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