She said, “I think that would be fun.” As I walked beside her toward the house she added, “I’m so glad the suspicion is lifted off all of us.”
“The colonel is tenacious,” I reminded her.
There was an odor of dust about the circuit court room on the second floor of the red brick county courthouse. Dust coated the warped pine floor, clung like talcum to the long rows of varnished pine benches, floated like golden motes in the angular yellow beams of the afternoon sun. The tall windows were glazed with it.
In the judge’s leather chair on the judge’s bench sat Coroner Lester Hart. He was a gaunt individual with deep hollows under his eyes and uneven yellow teeth, and his blue shirt was frayed at the cuffs. He appeared to be well pleased with the position of authority the inquest into the death of my great-uncle gave him, and he darted quick glances of triumph at the reporters, the crowd of spectators in the room.
Little of interest to me had developed during the early part of the testimony. I sat on one of the wooden spectator benches between George Coffin and Dr Harvey and listened to Deputy Sheriff Jeff Watson describe how he and the sheriff had been notified of the tragedy and relate what they had seen when they arrived at Graymere. The deputy’s account was graphic, and he had the undivided attention of the six-man jury, especially when he told how the intruder had been surprised in my great-uncle’s room. He made me into something of a hero when he declared that I had tried to stop the intruder but had been stunned by a blow with a poker.
Coroner Hart leaned toward the deputy and asked, “Do you think the intruder was the same person who killed Mr Coffin?”
“No.”
I noticed that Sheriff Wilson, who was seated with Colonel Black and Dr McNally, the toxicologist, who had flown down from Chicago in a special plane at dawn, shook his head angrily at the deputy. Apparently he had no desire to have the problem complicated.
The coroner continued, “Who do you think it was?”
“I think it was someone looking for the new will,” said the deputy slowly. “I don’t think the madman would have been interested in any will.”
While he was leaving the stand the jury digested this theory. They had already heard about the missing will from Dr Harvey, and they had been read a deposition by Mrs Spotswood telling of the discovery of the body. They had also heard an account of Mr Glunt’s previous feat of chopping off his wife’s and children’s heads, an attendant’s story of his escape while on his way to the asylum and the local coroner’s physician’s report that death was the result of decapitation.
I really didn’t see why the theft of the will was brought out at all, the function of the jury being to turn in a verdict of either murder, suicide or accidental death, not to determine the motive for the crime. I suspected the coroner’s questions were the work of Colonel Black.
There was something strange in the colonel’s manner anyway. All during the inquest he had been seated at the very rear of the courtroom, holding some sort of a debate with Dr McNally and the sheriff. As far as I could make out he had paid no attention to the testimony.
While the attendant from the asylum was on the stand my curiosity got the better of me. Could there be new evidence in the case? I walked to the back of the room and paused behind the trio. The colonel was speaking:
“If you want blue cardinal flowers, Sheriff, I advise you to get a beehive.”
“What in tarnation have bees to do with my bed of blue cardinal flowers?” demanded the sheriff.
“You say you have hummingbirds in your garden. That’s why you have plenty of red cardinal flowers. Hummingbirds like red flowers, so yours are more often fertilized than the blue.”
“Yes, but what …” began the sheriff.
Dr McNally took up the lecture. “Bees like blue and purple flowers. Have lots of bees, and you will have lots of blue cardinal flowers.”
“I declare!” The sheriff’s voice was awed. “I been selling seed for thirty years and never knew that.”
“You should send a beehive along with each package of blue lobelia,” said the colonel. “That would assure the buyer of plenty of flowers.”
“And a couple of sphinx moths with every orchid,” added Dr McNally.
At this moment the sheriff was called to the stand. I followed him to the front of the room, my faith in detectives shaken. Was this the way a detective worked? Talking about bees and flowers?
The sheriff substantiated almost everything his deputy had said, but he asserted that in his opinion the intruder who had struck me was the madman. He admitted he didn’t know why the madman had returned to my great-uncle’s room, but he scored a point with the jury by demanding if anybody in the world did know why a crazy person did something.
The jurymen—evidently, from their tan faces and ill-fitting black clothes, farmers—nodded at this evident truth.
I went on the stand next, and while I told of my encounter with the madman on my way around the lake the sheriff beamed at the jury. I could see his point of view. If it was understood that the madman was responsible for all the disturbance at Graymere the case would be closed upon his capture, and the sheriff would be spared any further trouble.
“You say you heard the madman mutter something as he passed you?” Coroner Hart asked. “What was it?”
“A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket,” I replied.
The jury, to my surprise, guffawed at this.
I completed my story of my first night at Graymere, and the coroner asked:
“Have you any idea who was responsible for the theft of the will from your great-uncle’s room, Mr Coffin, or who struck you over the head?”
I said I hadn’t and was released from the stand.
“Now,” said the coroner to the jury, “you have heard testimony to the effect that the madman was near Graymere on the night of the murder, and you have heard the sheriff’s opinion that only the madman could have committed the crime. You have heard of a former and similar crime by the madman, and you have the physician’s report. Ordinarily that would be enough, but …” He fixed his eyes on the back of the room and raised his voice. “I have been asked to allow another person to testify. I wish you to listen carefully to him, but I do not want anything but facts to sway your findings in this case.
“Dr William McNally.”
Both the colonel and the toxicologist came forward. Dr McNally was a small, pink-and-white, round-faced man. His hands were plump, his skin shone as though it had just been scrubbed, his thin hair was slicked back on his head. He smiled shyly at the jury.
In response to the coroner’s questions he gave the following information: his residence was Chicago, Illinois; his present occupation was president of the North western Laboratories; by profession he was a toxicologist. He admitted that he had aided in the autopsies of more than a thousand persons, partly while he was chief medical examiner for the coroner of Cook County.
“But most of these were cases where poisoning was suspected, weren’t they?” objected the coroner. “Not murders like this.”
“Quite so,” agreed Dr McNally with his shy smile.
“Did you perform an autopsy on the body of Tobias Coffin?” asked the coroner.
“Not exactly. I made certain examinations at the request of Colonel Black, representing the American Insurance Company, and with your kind permission.”
“Will you tell us what you discovered?”
“I opened the body with one intention. I wished to discover whether or not there was chloroform present in the lungs and blood stream.”
“Yes?”
“There was.”
The coroner’s mouth dropped open, disclosing his gold crowns. “In what quantity, Dr McNally?”
“In a quantity sufficient for me to state that Mr Coffin was unconscious when he met his death.”
A murmur of voices rose over the courtroom. The jury eyed the coroner in bewilderment. My mind turned over this new phase of the mystery, but I didn’t see that Dr McNally had made things
any clearer. Did the chloroform indicate that Uncle Tobias had been drugged by someone before the madman had chanced upon him? That would account for the absence of an outcry or struggle. But why had someone drugged him? Who would have done that? Certainly the madman couldn’t and wouldn’t have done it before decapitating Uncle Tobias. No madman would be that considerate of his victim’s feelings. Or would he?
The noise of voices had died down, and the coroner was speaking. “But what does the chloroform mean, Dr McNally?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said the toxicologist frankly. “I have merely given you my findings and my opinion as to the state of the deceased at the time of death. And even if I did have an idea, to say what it was would exceed my field of authority. I advise you to ask Colonel Black.”
Coroner Hart turned to the colonel, who smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“I haven’t any answer ready at this time,” he said, “but I would like to point out one more thing to the jury.”
“What is that?”
“I should like to have them examine the collar worn by the dead man at the time his body was found.”
One of the sheriff’s deputies produced my great-uncle’s clothes, and the colonel extracted the stiff collar from the bundle. I could see on it the brown stains which I had noticed after the murder on my first night at Graymere. The article was handed from man to man in the jury and finally reached the coroner, who held it up to a beam of light from the afternoon sun.
“What am I supposed to make of it?” he demanded.
“Smell it,” ordered Colonel Black.
The coroner held the collar to his nose, inhaled deeply. A surprised expression appeared on his gaunt face; he sniffed again. “Gunpowder!” he exclaimed.
“Thank you,” said Colonel Black.
Chapter XVI
I SEIZED THE LADDER and pulled myself out of the cold water. My skin tingled from the exertion of the brisk swim to and from the raft. As my head appeared above the top of the pier Dan Harvey, seated on the base of the diving board, opened his mouth.
“Is it true what they say …” he began, looking at me.
“Is what true?” I asked.
“Is it true what they say about Dixie?” he repeated, shaking his body to and fro.
Miss Harvey, lying on the pier with Miss Leslie and Burton Coffin, giggled. “It’s just a popular song, Professor,” she called.
“I like a little more swing in my music,” I said.
Joan smiled at me. “Sit down,” she said, patting the pier beside her. “The sun feels awfully good.”
Burton Coffin scowled at me, so I sat down. “Why weren’t you at the inquest, Burton?” I inquired. “It was very interesting.”
His tone was surly. “I had to stay with Mother.”
Dan Harvey moved over to us. His blond hair was slicked as tight against his head as a skullcap, and water ran down the bridge of his nose between his alert blue eyes. “What was the verdict anyway, Professor?” he demanded. “Joan tried to tell us, but I don’t think she got it right.”
Joan shrugged her firmly rounded shoulders. “There were so many whereases and inasmuches in it,” she said.
“It was a rather curious verdict,” I said. “The jury decided that Uncle Tobias had been murdered by a person or persons unknown, and then recommended that Elmer Glunt be apprehended as soon as possible.”
“That is sort of funny,” agreed Dan Harvey. “Why didn’t they come right out and say Elmer did the murder?”
“I think the coroner wanted to have Glunt’s name in the verdict so as to please the sheriff, who wants everyone to think the madman has been responsible for all the trouble up here,” I said, “and yet is afraid that the murder might just possibly be the work of somebody else.”
“There have been some darn strange things happening here,” said Dan Harvey darkly.
His sister smiled at him. “Cheer up, Dan; the worst is over now.”
Burton Coffin got to his feet. “How do you know?” he asked Miss Harvey and strode off.
“Good night!” said Miss Harvey in mock alarm. “The way he said that you’d think he knew something more was going to happen.” She stared after him with wide blue eyes.
“Boy! I wish we were back in New York,” exclaimed Dan Harvey.
Despite their outward appearance of lightheartedness I could see that both the young Harveys were frightened. A certain effort in their gaiety, a certain nervousness in their manner betrayed them. I had also noticed during the past two days how they clung together, as if for protection.
“I think I’ll go in and get ready for dinner,” announced Miss Harvey. “Coming, Dan?”
“Sure,” said Dan. He waved a languid hand at us. “See you later.”
Joan and I lay silently in the sun for a time. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the cool, graceful outline of her neck and her bare back. Her bathing suit clung to her body, and I could see she had the sort of a figure I admire in a young woman, boyish, but not stringy. I felt a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I wondered what was the matter with me. I also felt a strong desire to touch her bare arm, but I resisted this unworthy impulse.
Finally she said, “I believe the Harveys are scared.”
“I think so too,” I said, “but then, who isn’t?”
“Are you scared even now?”
“Yes. I’m worrying about tonight.”
She turned her face toward me so that her cheek rested on the pier. “I’m scared too.”
I felt a distinct glow inside of me. She wouldn’t have confessed that if she didn’t feel I was a friend. I yielded to my impulse and took hold of her hand. “I’m not much of a man of action,” I said, “but I’ll do my best to see that nothing happens to you.”
For a moment her gray eyes were tender, and to my surprise she returned the clasp of my hand. “Thanks,” she said and released her hand. “I think we’d better go in to dress.”
My heart was beating a delightful tattoo in my breast as we walked through the grass to the house. I was suddenly conscious of the perfume of the roses and purple phlox in the air and of the unique gold stripes made by the sunlight in the big oak trees. There seemed to be an idyllic quality about Graymere, about the tall trees and the soft grass and the subtle air, that I had not noticed before.
At the steps leading up to the front veranda we encountered Sheriff Wilson. His small face was at once excited and jubilant. “We found his trail,” he called down to us.
“Found whose trail?” I asked.
“Glunt’s. We found where he’d built a fire this morning, directly across the lake. We ought to be pickin’ him up any minute now.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Joan. “That will end all our troubles, won’t it?”
The sheriff frowned. “Thare’s some that don’t think so,” he said, “but you mark my words, miss, as soon as that madman’s caught there’ll be no more trouble around here.”
“How many men have you got on his trail?” I asked.
“Eighteen, and six more are coming out. They’re bound to catch him.”
I took Joan to her room and then returned to mine. I had a shower and dressed for dinner and then went into Colonel Black’s room. He had on his evening clothes and was standing by his window, looking over the gray-green forest of fir trees. His face, which would have been hawklike had it not been for the plump flesh around the jowls and chin, was set in a frown.
“Hello, Peter,” he said, turning his head slightly in my direction.
“Hello,” I said.
“Been tryin’ to figure this deuced thing out,” he said, “but I can’t seem to make much progress. Too many conflictin’ elements. Devilish confusing.”
“You mean with the madman——”
“No! No! That fellow’s out, no matter what the good sheriff says. Not considering him at all. The problem revolves about the other elements.”
“You mean the chloroform?”
�
�That’s one.”
“And the gunpowder?”
“Number two.”
“What did you make of the gunpowder, Colonel?”
“What did you?”
“Nothing.”
“And I, I fear, make too much of it.”
I couldn’t get him to elaborate on this statement. He smilingly shook his head and said, “Don’t want to make a fool of myself, Peter. Tell you later perhaps.”
I sat down on the bed and said, “Colonel, I have something which I think I ought to tell you.”
His face suddenly alert, the colonel moved away from the window. The late sun put a reddish tinge in his sparse hair. “What is it?”
I told him about my encounter with George Coffin. I told him how I had heard a noise in the kitchen, had followed George to the lake, how he had thrown food into the water and how he had returned to the house.
“Will you repeat what he said when he threw the chicken into the lake?” Colonel Black asked when I had finished the story.
“He said: ‘There, eat that.’”
“So!” The colonel’s blue eyes, as bright and clear as a child’s, were fixed on mine. “D’you suppose there’s a creature livin’ in the lake, a naiad subsistin’ on broiled chicken and Jersey milk?” he chuckled at my dazed expression. “Maybe your cousin’s one of the elect of mankind, before whom nymphs appear and goddesses shine. Do you suppose Graymere’s a center for all those elusive sprites, the dryads, the leimoniads, the potamids, the oreads, the Napaea of ancient Greece?”
I shook my head.
“No. I’ll give you a better solution, Peter. Your cousin threw that chicken into the lake to get rid of it.”
I nodded.
“He wanted to make it appear our friend Mr Glunt had visited the house for sustenance and had carried away the chicken and other viands.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, “but what about Mrs Coffin?”
“Her scream?’”
“Screams,” I corrected him.
“You forget I did not hear them. Still I think they were genuine enough. You say his face was daubed with mud, and you were barely able to recognize him? Then his wife, awakened from sleep, would be even less apt to know him.” The colonel was frowning again. “Two answers to her screams are possible. Either your cousin woke her accidentally while he was passing through her bedroom into his, or he frightened her deliberately, to add a witness to the madman’s presence in the house.”
The Search for My Great-Uncle’s Head Page 18
