The Window at the White Cat

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XXIV

  WARDROP'S STORY

  "I have to go back to the night Miss Jane disappeared--and that'sanother thing that has driven me desperate. Will you tell me why Ishould be suspected of having a hand in that, when she had been a motherto me? If she is dead, she can't exonerate me; if she is living, and wefind her, she will tell you what I tell you--that I know nothing of thewhole terrible business."

  "I am quite certain of that, Wardrop," I interposed. "Besides, I think Ihave got to the bottom of that mystery."

  Margery looked at me quickly, but I shook my head. It was too early totell my suspicions.

  "The things that looked black against me were bad enough, but they hadnothing to do with Miss Jane. I will have to go back to before the nightshe--went away, back to the time Mr. Butler was the state treasurer,and your father, Margery, was his cashier.

  "Butler was not a business man. He let too much responsibility lie withhis subordinates--and then, according to the story, he couldn't do muchanyhow, against Schwartz. The cashier was entirely under machinecontrol, and Butler was neglectful. You remember, Knox, the crash, whenthree banks, rotten to the core, went under, and it was found a largeamount of state money had gone too. It was Fleming who did it--I amsorry, Margery, but this is no time to mince words. It was Fleming whodeposited the money in the wrecked banks, knowing what would happen.When the crash came, Butler's sureties, to save themselves, confiscatedevery dollar he had in the world. Butler went to the penitentiary forsix months, on some minor count, and when he got out, after writing toFleming and Schwartz, protesting his innocence, and asking for enoughout of the fortune they had robbed him of to support his wife, he killedhimself, at the White Cat."

  Margery was very pale, but quiet. She sat with her fingers locked inher lap, and her eyes on Wardrop.

  "It was a bad business," Wardrop went on wearily. "Fleming moved intoButler's place as treasurer, and took Lightfoot as his cashier. Thatkept the lid on. Once or twice, when there was an unexpected call forfunds, the treasury was almost empty, and Schwartz carried things overhimself. I went to Plattsburg as Mr. Fleming's private secretary when hebecame treasurer, and from the first I knew things were even worse thanthe average state government.

  "Schwartz and Fleming had to hold together; they hated each other, andthe feeling was trebled when Fleming married Schwartz's divorced wife."

  Margery looked at me with startled, incredulous eyes. What she must haveseen confirmed Wardrop's words, and she leaned back in her chair, limpand unnerved. But she heard and comprehended every word Wardrop wassaying.

  "The woman was a very ordinary person, but it seems Schwartz cared forher, and he tried to stab Mr. Fleming shortly after the marriage. Abouta year ago Mr. Fleming said another attempt had been made on his life,with poison; he was very much alarmed, and I noticed a change in himfrom that time on. Things were not going well at the treasury; Schwartzand his crowd were making demands that were hard to supply, and behindall that, Fleming was afraid to go out alone at night.

  "He employed a man to protect him, a man named Carter, who had been abartender in Plattsburg. When things began to happen here in Manchester,he took Carter to the home as a butler.

  "Then the Borough Bank got shaky. If it went down there would be an uglyscandal, and Fleming would go too. His notes for half a million werethere, without security, and he dared not show the canceled notes hehad, with Schwartz's indorsement.

  "I'm not proud of the rest of the story, Margery." He stopped hisnervous pacing and stood looking down at her. "I was engaged to marry agirl who was everything on earth to me, and--I was private secretary tothe state treasurer, with the princely salary of such a position!

  "Mr. Fleming came back here when the Borough Bank threatened failure,and tried to get money enough to tide over the trouble. A half millionwould have done it, but he couldn't get it. He was in Butler's positionexactly, only he was guilty and Butler was innocent. He raised a littlemoney here, and I went to Plattsburg with securities and letters. Itisn't necessary to go over the things I suffered there; I brought backone hundred and ten thousand dollars, in a package in my Russia leatherbag. And--I had something else."

  He wavered for the first time in his recital. He went on more rapidly,and without looking at either of us.

  "I carried, not in the valise, a bundle of letters, five in all, whichhad been written by Henry Butler to Mr. Fleming, letters that showedwhat a dupe Butler had been, that he had been negligent, but notcriminal; accusing Fleming of having ruined him, and demanding certainnotes that would have proved it. If Butler could have produced theletters at the time of his trial, things would have been different."

  "Were you going to sell the letters?" Margery demanded, with quickscorn.

  "I intended to, but--I didn't. It was a little bit too dirty, after all.I met Mrs. Butler for the second time in my life, at the gate downthere, as I came up from the train the night I got here from Plattsburg.She had offered to buy the letters, and I had brought them to sell toher. And then, at the last minute, I lied. I said I couldn't getthem--that they were locked in the Monmouth Avenue house. I put her in ataxicab that she had waiting, and she went back to town. I felt like acad; she wanted to clear her husband's memory, and I--well, Mr. Flemingwas your father, Margery, I couldn't hurt you like that."

  "Do you think Mrs. Butler took your leather bag?" I asked.

  "I do not think so. It seems to be the only explanation, but I did notlet it out of my hand one moment while we were talking. My hand wascramped from holding it, when she gave up in despair at last, and wentback to the city."

  "What did you do with the letters she wanted?"

  "I kept them with me that night, and the next morning hid them in thesecret closet. That was when I dropped my fountain pen!"

  "And the pearls?" Margery asked suddenly. "When did you get them,Harry?"

  To my surprise his face did not change. He appeared to be thinking.

  "Two days before I left," he said. "We were using every method to getmoney, and your father said to sacrifice them, if necessary."

  "My father!"

  He wheeled on us both.

  "Did you think I stole them?" he demanded. And I confess that I wasashamed to say I had thought precisely that.

  "Your father gave me nine unmounted pearls to sell," he reiterated. "Igot about a thousand dollars for them--eleven hundred and something, Ibelieve."

  Margery looked at me. I think she was fairly stunned. To learn that herfather had married again, that he had been the keystone in an arch ofvillainy that, with him gone, was now about to fall, and to associatehim with so small and mean a thing as the theft of a handful ofpearls--she was fairly stunned.

  "Then," I said, to bring Wardrop back to his story, "you found you hadbeen robbed of the money, and you went in to tell Mr. Fleming. You hadsome words, didn't you?"

  "He thought what you all thought," Wardrop said bitterly. "He accused meof stealing the money. I felt worse than a thief. He was desperate, andI took his revolver from him."

  Margery had put her hands over her eyes. It was a terrible strain forher, but when I suggested that she wait for the rest of the story sherefused vehemently.

  "I came back here to Bellwood, and the first thing I learned was aboutMiss Jane. When I saw the blood print on the stair rail, I thought shewas murdered, and I had more than I could stand. I took the letters outof the secret closet, before I could show it to you and Hunter, andlater I put them in the leather bag I gave you, and locked it. You haveit, haven't you, Knox?"

  I nodded.

  "As for that night at the club, I told the truth then, but not all thetruth. I suppose I am a coward, but I was afraid to. If you knewSchwartz, you would understand."

  With the memory of his huge figure and the heavy under-shot face that Ihad seen the night before, I could understand very well, knowingWardrop.

  "I went to that room at the White Cat that night, because I was afraidnot to go. Fleming might kill himself or some one else.
I went up thestairs, slowly, and I heard no shot. At the door I hesitated, thenopened it quietly. The door into the built-in staircase was justclosing. It must have taken me only an instant to realize what hadhappened. Fleming was swaying forward as I caught him. I jumped to thestaircase and looked down, but I was too late. The door below hadclosed. I knew in another minute who had been there, and escaped. It wasraining, you remember, and Schwartz had forgotten to take his umbrellawith his name on the handle!"

  "Schwartz!"

  "Now do you understand why I was being followed?" he demanded. "I havebeen under surveillance every minute since that night. There's probablysome one hanging around the gate now. Anyhow, I was frantic. I saw howit looked for me, and if I had brought Schwartz into it, I would havebeen knifed in forty-eight hours. I hardly remember what I did. I know Iran for a doctor, and I took the umbrella with me and left it in thevestibule of the first house I saw with a doctor's sign. I rang the belllike a crazy man, and then Hunter came along and said to go back; DoctorGray was at the club.

  "That is all I know. I'm not proud of it, Margery, but it might havebeen worse, and it's the truth. It clears up something, but not all. Itdoesn't tell where Aunt Jane is, or who has the hundred thousand. But itdoes show who killed your father. And if you know what is good for you,Knox, you will let it go at that. You can't fight the police and thecourts single-handed. Look how the whole thing was dropped, and themost cold-blooded kind of murder turned into suicide. Suicide without aweapon! Bah!"

  "I am not so sure about Schwartz," I said thoughtfully. "We haven't yetlearned about eleven twenty-two C."