The Mystery of the Hidden Room

by Marion Harvey

  CHAPTER X

  JENKINS' ADVICE

  Philip Darwin was a man of so great wealth and social prominence thatthe news of his murder and the subsequent arrest of his wife aroused thepublic to such a pitch of sensational excitement and furor that thedistrict attorney, an exceedingly clever man by the name of Grenville,was forced to set the trial for the end of November, within two monthsfrom the date of the murder.

  Whereupon I hastened to lay the case before my lawyers, who were alsothe Trenton solicitors, since I took no great stock in Cunningham forthe reason that he had been Darwin's attorney. Therefore, as I remarkedbefore, I went to the firm of Vaughn and Chase, where I found the seniorpartner in his office. I would rather have spoken to Chase, who wasyounger and more enthusiastic, but he was out of town, so I had tocontent myself with Richard Vaughn.

  The senior partner was the old-fashioned type of lawyer, cautious andunimaginative, and he listened to my rather disconnected statements withpatient tolerance. When I had finished he shook his head and eyed merather pityingly.

  "You know of course that we do not make it a practice to take upcriminal cases?" he said with indulgent kindliness.

  "I didn't know," I said, rising and walking toward the door. "I came toyou because you have handled her father's business for years, but Icertainly won't trouble you to defend her since it might break a rule ofyour firm," and I flung open the door.

  "Tut, my dear boy, don't fly off the handle at my first remark. Closethe door and sit down, please. Of course we'll take the case," hecontinued as I resumed my seat, "or rather we shall see to it that shehas proper counsel at the time. But you must realize for yourself thatwe haven't much evidence to go on."

  "You have a good knowledge of her character, you know she is incapableof murder, and you have her account of what happened in the study," Ireturned.

  Again he bent upon me that tolerant, pitying look. "My dear boy," hesaid, laying a hand on my knee, "you are young and in love and as isonly natural you are letting your heart run away with your head. Besidesyou know nothing of courts and their proceedings. Mrs. Darwin's accountof that minute or two in the study is, to say the least, extremelyfanciful."

  "But true," I interrupted with conviction.

  "Yes, yes, of course," he replied soothingly. "But remember that a juryof twelve honest, but more or less stolid, citizens is convinced byfacts and not by fancies."

  "What do you advise then?" I asked dully.

  "I shall call on the little lady myself and have a talk with her andarrange for her defense. I shall also try to make her more comfortable.My advice to you is, get more evidence, good, substantial, unshakableevidence."

  It was all very well for Mr. Vaughn to talk of getting further evidence,I muttered savagely to myself as I dined that night. But where inKingdom Come was I going to find it? Over and over I reviewed thecoroner's inquest and the more I studied the facts the blacker thingsgrew for Ruth.

  In utter weariness of mind I finally flung myself into my chair, fromwhich I had been called so abruptly two nights before, and waived asidethe newspapers that Jenkins was offering me. I had caught a glimpse ofthe headlines. Philip Darwin's life history, his penchant for chorusgirls, his wealth, and his prominence, were blazoned forth for all toread. Even his wedding was raked from the files, and old pictures of thewedding party were on display. I had no desire to go over the sickeningbusiness again.

  And then as Jenkins laid the papers on the table, the name, CoraManning, caught my eye and I picked up the discarded sheet and avidlydevoured the column devoted to this woman whose name had appeared onPhilip Darwin's will. An enterprising reporter had discovered where CoraManning lodged and had forthwith set out to interview her. But the onlyperson he saw was the girl's good-natured landlady who declared thatCora Manning had left the house at eleven the night of the murder,carrying her suitcase and that she had told her landlady that she wasgoing on a journey of great importance and not to worry in the leastabout her. When the reporter asked where the girl had gone the landladyreturned that she had no idea, but that since she had taken artists,writers, and actors as lodgers, she had ceased to worry herself abouttheir comings and goings so long as they paid their board, for accordingto her they were all erratic and far from responsible.

  All of which, contended the reporter who had made the scoop, onlycorroborated the statement which he had made the previous evening as towhat actually took place in the study between the husband and wife. Mrs.Darwin had entered the study and had quarreled with her husband aboutthe letter. Mr. Darwin in anger had torn up his will and had defiantlybegun a new one, writing down the first name that occurred to him toannoy his wife, whereupon she snatched the pistol from the drawer andkilled him.

  "Fool!" I muttered, flinging the paper into the fire in my indignation."Of all the idiotic trash that has been printed that's about the worst.Does the young idiot think all that could happen in two minutes? Yegods, has the whole world gone mad that they can believe her guilty!"

  "It's a dreadful thing, sir," said Jenkins respectfully, as hereplenished the fire that I had so signally extinguished.

  "It's a miserable business and blacker than Egypt," I answered dismally.Then recalling Mr. Vaughn's words I said abruptly, "Jenkins, if you werethe jury, knowing what you have read in the papers, would you say thatMrs. Darwin was guilty?"

  "If I were twelve easy-going men not given to much reasoning, I'd sayshe was, sir," he replied deferentially, adding before I could speak,"But knowing Mrs. Darwin--as it were--personally--sir, I'd say she wasinnocent."

  I buried my face in my hands with a groan of utter despair. If Jenkins,a servant, albeit an ultra-intelligent one, was as persuaded as Mr.Vaughn that the jury would find Ruth guilty, I might as well give up atonce.

  "If I were you, sir, if you will pardon the liberty of my giving advice,I'd ask Mr. McKelvie to help me, sir."

  I raised my head. "Who is Mr. McKelvie, Jenkins?"

  "He is a gentleman, sir, who is interested in solving problems of crime.It's a sort of hobby with him, sir," said Jenkins, his usually sombereyes beginning to sparkle as he spoke.

  "You mean that he is a private detective?" I asked, not overly pleased,for Jones of Headquarters had struck me as being up to snuff and yetevery clue that he found had only drawn the net more tightly about Ruth.It was no wonder therefore that I was chary of detectives, for except inbooks, I deemed them all cut out of the same mold and after the samepattern.

  "Oh, no, sir," returned Jenkins, horrified. "He's not a detective in theordinary sense of the word. He is what you call an investigator of crimeand he only takes cases that he thinks are worth-while solving. He doesit mostly to amuse himself, sir."

  "Oh, I see. A second Sherlock Holmes, eh?" I said ironically.

  Jenkins looked hurt. "He says, sir, that there is no one who can equalSherlock Holmes. He says, sir, that beside Holmes he's only an amateurburglar, though begging his pardon, I don't agree with him, sir."

  "How does it happen that you know so much about him, Jenkins?" I askedsuspiciously.

  "He once saved my life in the Great War, and in return I help him withhis cases when he needs me, sir."

  "Humph. I thought I employed you, Jenkins."

  "Well, yes, sir. But I have my free hours, sir." The poor fellow's facegrew so very mournful at my insinuation that I could not help smilingeven in the midst of my despondency.

  "I'm not blaming you, Jenkins. I was merely wondering why he didn't hireyou altogether," I said.

  "He's rather eccentric, sir. He does not want to be bothered withservants."

  "And do you think this very strange gentleman will condescend to helpme, Jenkins?" I inquired dubiously.

  "Oh, yes, indeed, sir, if I ask him."

  "Do you really believe that he can find a ray of light amidst theStygian darkness of this horrible business?" I asked, interested inspite of myself.

  "I'm sure of it, sir."

  "Very well, then. Get me my hat and give me his address. Anything
isbetter than this deadening inaction."

  When he returned with my overcoat and hat, Jenkins handed me a foldednote. "If you don't mind, sir," he said apologetically. "Mr. McKelviedoesn't always receive strangers, sir."

  Queer customer, I reflected as I departed on my errand and I had mydoubts of his ability to aid me, grave doubts which were only increasedby the faded gentility of the old house on Stuyvesant Square, and farfrom quieted by the sight of the darky who popped her head out of thefront window at my ring. It was a head calculated to frighten away anybut the boldest intruder, a head bristling with wooly gray spikes setlike a picket fence around a face the whites of whose eyes gleamedbrighter and whose thick lips flamed redder against the shiny blacknessof her skin.

  "Courageous man to employ such an apparition," was my thought as Iproferred my request.

  "Mistuh McKelvie?" she repeated after me, parrot-like. "No, suh, heain't home, no, suh."

  "Are you sure?" I persisted, holding out the note; for I recalledJenkins' remarks.

  "Ah ain't 'customed to tellin' no lies, young man," she responded with ahaughty toss of the head.

  "Will you please tell me then when I can find him at home?" I continued,too weary to be amused by the incongruity of unkemptness trying to lookhaughty and dignified.

  "About a week, suh. He's away, yessuh," and she pulled in her head andslammed the window in my face.