The Mystery of the Hidden Room

by Marion Harvey

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE EXHIBITS

  We entered the building and at McKelvie's request Detective Jones wassent for. We awaited his arrival in silence, merely because McKelvierefused to talk, but he found his golden tongue readily enough whenJones came forward and blandly inquired what he could do for us.

  The police detective was a shorter man than McKelvie, but heavier ofbuild, with a pleasant enough face and fairly agreeable manners. Heseemed to consider himself well enough acquainted with McKelviemagnanimously to overlook his eccentricities, and asked in a banteringway what he expected to get out of a case which had already beensatisfactorily solved by the police.

  McKelvie laughed good-humoredly, and answered in kind. "I was asked toinvestigate," he said, "and my aim, you know, is always to oblige."

  "Whom? Yourself or your client?" inquired Jones shrewdly.

  "My client, of course," McKelvie returned sententiously. "But,seriously, Jones, I did not come here to exchange witticisms, pleasantthough it is to me to do so with such an opponent as yourself."

  "What did you come for then, you blarneyer?" demanded Jones.

  "I want a look at the exhibits. Come now, be a sport and show them tome."

  "They will be of no use to you," answered Jones a trifle suspiciously."They are all evidence against the accused."

  "What's the objection then to showing them to me?" McKelvie responded."I just want to satisfy my client that I have done everything possibleto solve the case. I don't expect to learn anything from them."

  Jones shrugged. "We have deduced all there is to learn and you arewelcome to that," he said quietly.

  "But not welcome to look at the articles themselves, is that it?"returned McKelvie, with a curl of the lip. Then he laughed outright.

  "Say it. Go ahead. Don't spare me," remarked Jones with a grimace.

  "I was wondering how soon it would be before you would be coming to mefor advice, as you did in that last case of yours," McKelvie answeredreflectively.

  Jones flushed, then grinned. "You win," he said, and ushered us into hisprivate office. From a cupboard in a corner of the room he produced thearticles in question, and placed them on the flat-topped desk before us.

  McKelvie picked up the pistol and examined it carefully. "Mrs. Darwin'sfinger-prints, I understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Anyone else's?"

  "No."

  "Dear, dear, that's too bad." McKelvie laid down the pistol and pokedthe bullet with his forefinger.

  "Another theory gone up in smoke?" asked Jones, with a laugh.

  "More or less. Sure the bullet fits the pistol?"

  "As sure as human beings can be of anything in this world. We had thefellow from whom both pistol and bullets were purchased examine theweapon."

  "So. You're sharper than I'd have given you credit for being."

  "The police are not overlooking anything in this case," retorted Joneswith some pomposity.

  "Exhibit three--two handkerchiefs," muttered McKelvie. "Where did theycome from?"

  "The blood-stained one was in Mr. Darwin's hand. The other belongs toMrs. Darwin. As you see, they are identical," explained Jones.

  McKelvie sniffed at each one critically in turn, and then without anywarning of his intention, passed the blood-stained handkerchief suddenlybeneath my nose. Instinctively I drew back, inhaling involuntarily as Idid so, and then I blinked and looked at McKelvie. But he was engrossedin reading the sheaf of bills and taking this as a sign that he did notwish his action remarked upon, I busied my brain in trying to recall thename of that delicate fragrance that for one fleeting second hadassailed my nostrils when McKelvie brushed my face with thehandkerchief. But try as I would I could not remember, and I decided toask McKelvie the name of the perfume when we were once more alone. Inthe interest aroused by more pressing matters, however, I completelyforgot the trifling episode.

  By this time McKelvie had opened the cash box and was engaged in peeringat the stoneless ring through his lens.

  "Thank you, Jones," he said, replacing the ring beside the otherobjects. "But, hello, what's in this envelope?"

  "Burnt scraps of the torn will. And look here, you have overlooked thewill he was making," returned Jones, pushing forward a heavy sheet ofpaper.

  "I noticed that," responded McKelvie indifferently. "May I look insidethis envelope?"

  "Surely. You will find that the most interesting scraps are the one withthe name Darwin and the one with the partially burned letter R,"explained Jones.

  As in the case of the ring, McKelvie used his lens on the scraps, thenhe replaced them in the envelope.

  "Thank you, Jones. Some day I hope to return the favor."

  Jones, who had been highly amused by McKelvie's actions, waived asidethe other's acknowledgment with a lordly air. "You are welcome towhatever you learned. Not much, was it?" he said.

  "No, not much," replied McKelvie with a twinkle, adding as we passed outof earshot, "not much but quite enough, thank you, Mr. Jones."

  "Then you did learn something of importance after all," I remarked as,seated once more in my car, we drove swiftly toward Broadway and headeduptown on our way to the Darwin home.

  "Two things, one of which would have told me if I had not been positivebefore that Mrs. Darwin is innocent."

  "Yes?" I prompted as he paused.

  "There's entirely too much evidence against her. Why, man, it'soverwhelming! One quarter of it would be sufficient to establish herguilt! Just go over it calmly. The quarrel, the change of will, theletter--any one of which would be ample motive. Her presence in the roomwhen the shot was fired, your testimony that she held the weapon in herhand, the finger-prints on the pistol, the handkerchief, the closedroom--It's much too much and thereby proclaims her innocence."

  "And the second thing?" I asked.

  He did not answer for he was employed in making what looked like aseries of hieroglyphics on a page of his notebook. As I shifted closerto watch his occupation, between the traffic signals, he tore out thepage and turning it over made four letters on it and handed it to me.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, I accepted the page with the other, andstole a quick glance at it. The letters he had made were capitals andwere arranged in two sets. In the first group the L and the R werewritten with a flourish, so that the first stroke of the R resembledthat of the L. In the second set the first stroke of the L was loopedwhile that of the R was straight.

  "Well?" I questioned, decidedly puzzled.

  "I wish I knew whether Darwin made his capitals with a flourish,"returned McKelvie. "The initial letter of the name on the scrap Jones soobligingly showed me had been burned away, leaving only the first strokeof the letter visible. If Darwin made his capitals like the first set onthis sheet," tapping the paper I still held, "then the will might havebeen in favor of either the wife or the nephew and there is no way ofproving which, except by taking Cunningham's statement as truth. If, onthe other hand, Darwin made his capitals like the second set, then thewill he destroyed was in favor of Lee Darwin, and Lawyer Cunningham wasguilty of prevarication at the inquest. It makes a nice little problemto think about. I must find an answer to it as speedily as possible."

  "Ruth would know Darwin's hand," I said eagerly.

  "But the prison authorities aren't going to let us run in and out of theTombs every time we happen to think of something we should like to knowabout," he replied dryly.

  Piqued by the irony in his voice I remained silent, for I was not yetsufficiently accustomed to his manner to let his sarcasms passunnoticed, and the remainder of the drive was accomplished in unbrokensilence on both our parts.