XII ESTELLE'S STORY
At the invitation of Haviland, Fleming Stone was a house guest at GardenSteps. Pauline had raised objections to this, but with Carr Loria'sauthority back of him, Gray had insisted, and Pauline unwillinglyconsented.
Stone himself recognized the fact that Pauline disliked him, or at anyrate disliked having him on the case, but he ignored it and showed to herthe same gracious manner and pleasant attitude that he showed to all.Anita, on the other hand, seemed charmed with Stone. She lost noopportunity to talk with him, and she used every endeavor to attract hisattention to herself. In fact, she tried to flirt with him, and much tothe surprise of the others, Stone seemed ready to meet her advances andrespond to them.
The morning after his arrival, breakfast over, Stone announced hisintention of making a thorough examination of Miss Carrington's rooms,and asked that he be permitted to go alone for the purpose.
"If Mr. Hardy comes, send him up," he ordered, as Haviland unlocked thedoor to give him admittance.
Stone passed through the boudoir to the bedroom and from that to theelaborate dressing-room and bath. Quickly he noted the obvious details.Everything had been left practically untouched, and his rapid, trainedgaze took in the bed, turned down but not slept in; the toiletaccessories laid ready in the bathroom; and the fresh, unused towels,that proved the unfortunate victim had not prepared to retire, but had,for some reason, donned her jewels at that unusual hour.
Back to the boudoir Stone went and made there more careful scrutiny.Carefully he examined the white dust of powder on the floor. At Hardy'sorders, this had not been swept away, and Stone stood, with folded arms,looking at it. He saw the place where the powder had been smearedabout,--he had been told of this,--but he saw other places where faintfootprints were to his keen eye discernible. Not sufficiently clear tojudge much of their characteristics, but enough to show that a stockingedfoot had imprinted them.
"Well, what do you make of the tracks?" asked Hardy, coming in upon hismeditations.
"Their tale is a short one but clear," returned Stone, smiling a greetingto the younger detective. "As you see, they go out of the room only, theydon't come in."
"Proving?"
"That the intruder came in at the door, accomplished his dreadfulpurpose, and then, stepped around here in front of his victim,--herewhere the powder is spilt, and then went straight out of the room. Whydid he do this?"
"He heard something to frighten him off?"
"He saw something that frightened him. I doubt if he heard anything. Buthe dropped his black-jack and fled. Did you bring the photographs of thescene?"
"Yes, here they are." Hardy handed over a sheaf of the gruesome pictures,and Stone scanned them eagerly. Yet their gruesomeness lay largely in theidea that the subject of them was not a living person,--for in appearancethey were by no means unpleasant to look at. The face of Miss Carringtonwas serene and smiling, her wide-open eyes, though staring, were filledwith a life-like wonder, not at all an expression of fright or terror.
"You see," volunteered Hardy, "she was sitting here, admiring herself,and happily smiling, when the villain sneaked up behind her and gave herthat crack over the head."
"But she was already dead when she was hit on the head."
"So the doctors think, but I believe they're mistaken. Why, there's notheory that would account for hitting a dead person!"
"And yet, that is what happened. No, Hardy, the doctors are not mistakenabout the hour of death, and about the poison in her system and all that.But the most obvious and most important clue, for the moment, is thatblack-jack. Just where was it found?"
"Right here, Mr. Stone, under the edge of this couch. Hidden on purpose,of course."
"No, I think not. Dropped by the burglar, rather, when he was startled bysomething unexpected. You see, he doubtless stood here, where the powderis dusted about, and to drop the thing quickly, it would fall or be flungjust there where it was found."
"Yes, but what scared him, if he didn't hear anything?"
"Something that frightened him so terribly that he fled without takingthe jewels he had come for! Something that made him make quick, straighttracks for the door and downstairs and out, by the way he had entered."
"Good lord! Say, Mr. Stone, you think it was that make-believe Count,don't you?"
"Why make-believe?"
"Oh, somehow, I feel sure he's a fake. He's not the real thing,--or _I'm_greatly mistaken!"
"Let me see that glove found in her hand. Have you it with you?"
Hardy had brought some of the exhibits held by the police, and, takingthe glove from his bag, he handed it to Fleming Stone.
Stone looked at the glove hastily, but, raising it to his nose, smelledof it very carefully.
"No," he said, returning it, "no, the Count is not the man who wieldedthe black-jack. I'm fairly certain of that."
"Well, I'm blessed if I can see how you know by smelling! By the way, Mr.Stone, I suppose you heard all about the conversation that Miss Fraynerelated as taking place in this room after one o'clock that night?"
"Yes, I've read the full account of it. What do you think about it?"
"Oh, I think it was the Count, talking to Miss Carrington before hekilled her. He has a very low voice, and speaks almost inaudibly always.Then, you see, he is down in her will for ten thousand dollars of thosebonds, and he's very fond of pearls,----"
"What's that? Who said he was fond of pearls?"
"Oh, maybe you didn't hear about that. Why, Miss Frayne rememberedafterward, that another sentence she heard Miss Carrington say was, 'Iknow how very fond you are of pearls.' She forgot that speech in herevidence, but found it afterward in the written account she had of whatshe overheard at the door. And his Countship is fond of pearls. He talkeda lot about those the lady wore that last evening. He says himself pearlsare a hobby with him."
"So you really think the Count was in this room that night?"
"Surely I do. It's no insult to the lady's memory to say so. She had aright to receive him in her boudoir if she chose to do so. It's no secretthat she was trying to annex him, and he was not entirely unwilling. Yousee,--the way I dope it out,--she had him up here to show off herstunning jewels, and so tempt him on to a declaration that she couldn'tseem to work him up to otherwise. You know she said, 'To-morrow these mayall be yours, if you will only----' or some words to that effect. Whatcould all that mean, except as I've indicated? And she said, 'You are thegame I'm after,'--those weren't the words, I know, but it meant that."
"However, I can't think the Count struck that awful blow that fracturedher skull. Villain he may be, even a murderous one, but that black-jackbusiness, to my mind, points to a lower type of brain, a morethick-skinned criminal."
Stone spoke musingly, looking about the room as he talked.
"Could it be," he went on, "that she was talking to herself? or, say, toa picture,--a photograph of somebody? I don't see any photographs about."
Both men looked around, but there were no portraits to be seen.
"Funny," said Hardy: "most women have photographs of their family orrelatives all over the place. Not even one of Miss Stuart or of hernephew, Loria."
"No, nor any of absent friends or school-mates." Stone looked over allthe silver paraphernalia of the dressing-table and other tables for evena small framed photograph that might have escaped notice, but found none.On the walls hung only gilt-framed water colors or photographs of famousbits of art or architecture in dark wood frames. Many of these were ofold world masterpieces, Italian cathedrals or Egyptian temples. Otherswere a well-known Madonna, a Venus of Milo, and one at which Hardyexclaimed, "She's a sure enough peach! Who's she?"
"That's Cleopatra, starting on her Nile trip," said Stone, smiling atHardy's evident admiration.
"'Tis, eh? Then Loria brought it to her. He's daffy over anythingEgyptian. And he's mighty generous. The house is full of the stuff hebrings or sends over; and it's his m
oney, Mr. Stone, that pays yourdamages. Miss Stuart, now, she's none too free-handed, they say."
But Fleming Stone paid little heed to this gossip. He was studying thephotographs of the dead lady as being of far more interest than pictureson the boudoir walls.
"Where's that maid?" he said suddenly; "the one who brought the breakfasttray----"
"She's in the sanatorium," returned Hardy; "we told you that, Mr. Stone."
"Yes, yes, I know. But where? Can I see her? Now, at once!"
"Yes, I suppose so. It's right near here. A small private affair, only afew patients. They needn't really have sent her, but she carried on so,Miss Stuart wouldn't have her about any longer."
"Come, let us go there." As he spoke, Fleming Stone left the room, andwithout waiting for the hurrying Hardy, ran downstairs, and was in thehall, getting into his great coat when the other joined him.
So great was Hardy's faith in his superior, and so anxious was he towatch his methods, that he donned his own overcoat without a word, andthe two set forth.
It was only a short walk, and on the way, Stone looked about in everydirection, asking innumerable questions about the neighboring houses andtheir occupants.
After passing several large and handsome estates, they came to a districtof less elaborate homes, and after that to a section of decidedly poorerresidences. At one of these, Stone stared hard, but not till they werewell past it, did he inquire who lived there.
"Dunno," replied Hardy; "it's a sort of boarding-house, I think, for thelower classes."
"Is it?" said Stone, and they went on.
At the sanatorium they found Estelle. She was not hysterical now, but wasin a sort of apathetic mood, and listless of manner.
Stone spoke to her with polite address, and a manner distinctlyreassuring.
"It will be much better for you, Estelle," he said, pleasantly, "if youwill speak the truth. Better for you, and better for----you know whom."
His significant tone roused her, "I don't know who you mean," sheexclaimed.
"Oh, yes, you do! somebody whose name begins with H, or B, or S."
"I don't know any one beginning with S," and Estelle frowned defiantly.
"But some one with----" Stone leaned forward, and in the tense pause thatfollowed, Estelle's lips half formed a silent 'B'.
"Yes," went on Stone, as if he had not paused. "If you will tell thewhole truth, it will be better for Bates in the long run."
Estelle began to tremble. "What do you know?" she cried out, and showedsigns of hysteria.
"I know a great deal," said Stone, gravely, "and, unless assisted by whatyou know, my knowledge will bring trouble to your friend."
"What do you want me to tell you?" and Estelle, now on her guard, spokeslowly and clearly, but her fingers were nervously twining themselves inand out of her crumpled handkerchief.
"Only your own individual part in the proceedings. The rest we will learnfrom Bates himself."
"How do you know it was Bates?"
"We have learned much since you left Garden Steps," and now Stone spoke alittle more sternly. Hardy looked at him in wonder. Who was this Bates,clearly implicated in the murder, and known to Estelle?
"You see, Mr. Haviland saw you go down to open the window for him to comein," Stone went on, as casually as if he were retailing innocent gossip."Did you go down again and close it?"
"I haven't said I opened it yet," and Estelle flashed an irate glance ather questioner.
"No, but you will do so when you realize how necessary it is. I tell youtruly, when I say that only your honesty now can save your friend Batesfrom the electric chair."
Estelle shuddered and began to cry violently.
"That only makes matters worse," said Stone patiently. "Listen to me.This is your only chance to save Bates' life. If I go to the police withwhat I know, they will convict him of the murder beyond all doubt. If youtell me what I ask,--I think, I hope, between us, we can prove that hedid not do it."
"But didn't he?" and Estelle looked up with hope dawning in her eyes.
"_I_ think not. Now there's no time to waste. Tell me what I ask or youwill lose your chance to do so. You opened the living-room window forBates to come in, at about three o'clock?"
"Yes," admitted the girl.
"And went down and closed and fastened it at----"
"Five o'clock," came in lowest tones.
"Not knowing that Miss Carrington was dead?"
"Oh, _No_!"
"For Bates went there only to steal the jewels?"
"Yes."
"And so, when you took the breakfast tray, and found the lady--as you didfind her--you were frightened out of your wits, and dropped the tray?"
"Yes."
"And so, to shield Bates, who you thought had killed her, you lied rightand left, even trying to incriminate Miss Stuart?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you seen Bates since?"
"No, sir."
"And until now you have thought he killed your mistress?"
"I didn't know."
"Another thing, Estelle; you put bromide in the glass of milk in orderthat Miss Carrington might sleep soundly, and not hear Bates come in?"
"She didn't drink that milk!"
"But you fixed it, thinking she would?"
"Yes."
"That's all. Come on, Hardy." and somewhat unceremoniously, Stone tookleave, and made for the nearest telephone station.
After that, matters whizzed. Stone had called the Police Headquarters andasked that an officer be sent with a warrant for the arrest of Bates.
"How do you know where he is?" asked Hardy, nearly bursting withcuriosity.
"I'm not sure, but at least I know where to start looking for him," Stonereplied, as the two went back the way they had come.
Stone stopped at the boarding-house he had noticed on the way to thesanatorium, and rang the bell.
Sure enough, Bates lived there and Bates was at home.
At Stone's first questions he broke down and confessed to the assaultwith the black-jack.
"But I didn't kill her!" he cried, "she was already dead! Oh, my God! canI ever forget those terrible, staring eyes! The saints forgive me! I washalf crazy. There she was, dead, and yet smiling and happy looking! Oh,sir, what does it all mean?"
The Curved Blades Page 12
