CHAPTER VI
IN THE EAST CORRIDOR
When the detective left he enjoined absolute secrecy on everybody inthe household. The Greenwood Club promised the same thing, and asthere are no Sunday afternoon papers, the murder was not publicly knownuntil Monday. The coroner himself notified the Armstrong familylawyer, and early in the afternoon he came out. I had not seen Mr.Jamieson since morning, but I knew he had been interrogating theservants. Gertrude was locked in her room with a headache, and I hadluncheon alone.
Mr. Harton, the lawyer, was a little, thin man, and he looked as if hedid not relish his business that day.
"This is very unfortunate, Miss Innes," he said, after we had shakenhands. "Most unfortunate--and mysterious. With the father and motherin the west, I find everything devolves on me; and, as you canunderstand, it is an unpleasant duty."
"No doubt," I said absently. "Mr. Harton, I am going to ask you somequestions, and I hope you will answer them. I feel that I am entitledto some knowledge, because I and my family are just now in a mostambiguous position."
I don't know whether he understood me or not: he took of his glassesand wiped them.
"I shall be very happy," he said with old-fashioned courtesy.
"Thank you. Mr. Harton, did Mr. Arnold Armstrong know that Sunnysidehad been rented?"
"I think--yes, he did. In fact, I myself told him about it."
"And he knew who the tenants were?"
"Yes."
"He had not been living with the family for some years, I believe?"
"No. Unfortunately, there had been trouble between Arnold and hisfather. For two years he had lived in town."
"Then it would be unlikely that he came here last night to getpossession of anything belonging to him?"
"I should think it hardly possible," he admitted.
"To be perfectly frank, Miss Innes, I can not think of any reasonwhatever for his coming here as he did. He had been staying at theclub-house across the valley for the last week, Jarvis tells me, butthat only explains how he came here, not why. It is a most unfortunatefamily."
He shook his head despondently, and I felt that this dried-up littleman was the repository of much that he had not told me. I gave uptrying to elicit any information from him, and we went together to viewthe body before it was taken to the city. It had been lifted on to thebilliard-table and a sheet thrown over it; otherwise nothing had beentouched. A soft hat lay beside it, and the collar of the dinner-coatwas still turned up. The handsome, dissipated face of ArnoldArmstrong, purged of its ugly lines, was now only pathetic. As we wentin Mrs. Watson appeared at the card-room door.
"Come in, Mrs. Watson," the lawyer said. But she shook her head andwithdrew: she was the only one in the house who seemed to regret thedead man, and even she seemed rather shocked than sorry.
I went to the door at the foot of the circular staircase and opened it.If I could only have seen Halsey coming at his usual hare-brained clipup the drive, if I could have heard the throb of the motor, I wouldhave felt that my troubles were over.
But there was nothing to be seen. The countryside lay sunny and quietin its peaceful Sunday afternoon calm, and far down the drive Mr.Jamieson was walking slowly, stooping now and then, as if to examinethe road. When I went back, Mr. Harton was furtively wiping his eyes.
"The prodigal has come home, Miss Innes," he said. "How often the sinsof the fathers are visited on the children!" Which left me pondering.
Before Mr. Harton left, he told me something of the Armstrong family.Paul Armstrong, the father, had been married twice. Arnold was a son bythe first marriage. The second Mrs. Armstrong had been a widow, with achild, a little girl. This child, now perhaps twenty, was LouiseArmstrong, having taken her stepfather's name, and was at present inCalifornia with the family.
"They will probably return at once," he concluded "sad part of myerrand here to-day is to see if you will relinquish your lease here intheir favor."
"We would better wait and see if they wish to come," I said. "It seemsunlikely, and my town house is being remodeled." At that he let thematter drop, but it came up unpleasantly enough, later.
At six o'clock the body was taken away, and at seven-thirty, after anearly dinner, Mr. Harton went. Gertrude had not come down, and therewas no news of Halsey. Mr. Jamieson had taken a lodging in thevillage, and I had not seen him since mid-afternoon. It was about nineo'clock, I think, when the bell rang and he was ushered into theliving-room.
"Sit down," I said grimly. "Have you found a clue that willincriminate me, Mr. Jamieson?"
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. "No," he said. "If you hadkilled Mr. Armstrong, you would have left no clues. You would have hadtoo much intelligence."
After that we got along better. He was fishing in his pocket, andafter a minute he brought out two scraps of paper. "I have been to theclub-house," he said, "and among Mr. Armstrong's effects, I foundthese. One is curious; the other is puzzling."
The first was a sheet of club note-paper, on which was written, overand over, the name "Halsey B. Innes." It was Halsey's flowingsignature to a dot, but it lacked Halsey's ease. The ones toward thebottom of the sheet were much better than the top ones. Mr. Jamiesonsmiled at my face.
"His old tricks," he said. "That one is merely curious; this one, as Isaid before, is puzzling."
The second scrap, folded and refolded into a compass so tiny that thewriting had been partly obliterated, was part of a letter--the lowerhalf of a sheet, not typed, but written in a cramped hand.
"----by altering the plans for----rooms, may be possible. The bestway, in my opinion, would be to----the plan for----in one ofthe----rooms----chimney."
That was all.
"Well?" I said, looking up. "There is nothing in that, is there? A manought to be able to change the plan of his house without becoming anobject of suspicion."
"There is little in the paper itself," he admitted; "but why shouldArnold Armstrong carry that around, unless it meant something? Henever built a house, you may be sure of that. If it is this house, itmay mean anything, from a secret room--"
"To an extra bath-room," I said scornfully. "Haven't you athumb-print, too?"
"I have," he said with a smile, "and the print of a foot in a tulipbed, and a number of other things. The oddest part is, Miss Innes,that the thumb-mark is probably yours and the footprint certainly."
His audacity was the only thing that saved me: his amused smile put meon my mettle, and I ripped out a perfectly good scallop before Ianswered.
"Why did I step into the tulip bed?" I asked with interest.
"You picked up something," he said good-humoredly, "which you are goingto tell me about later."
"Am I, indeed?" I was politely curious. "With this remarkable insightof yours, I wish you would tell me where I shall find myfour-thousand-dollar motor car."
"I was just coming to that," he said. "You will find it about thirtymiles away, at Andrews Station, in a blacksmith shop, where it is beingrepaired."
I laid down my knitting then and looked at him.
"And Halsey?" I managed to say.
"We are going to exchange information," he said "I am going to tell youthat, when you tell me what you picked up in the tulip bed."
We looked steadily at each other: it was not an unfriendly stare; wewere only measuring weapons. Then he smiled a little and got up.
"With your permission," he said, "I am going to examine the card-roomand the staircase again. You might think over my offer in themeantime."
He went on through the drawing-room, and I listened to his footstepsgrowing gradually fainter. I dropped my pretense at knitting and,leaning back, I thought over the last forty-eight hours. Here was I,Rachel Innes, spinster, a granddaughter of old John Innes ofRevolutionary days, a D. A. R., a Colonial Dame, mixed up with a vulgarand revolting crime, and even attempting to hoodwink the law!Certainly I had left the straight and narrow way.
I was roused by h
earing Mr. Jamieson coming rapidly back through thedrawing-room. He stopped at the door.
"Miss Innes," he said quickly, "will you come with me and light theeast corridor? I have fastened somebody in the small room at the headof the card-room stairs."
I jumped! up at once.
"You mean--the murderer?" I gasped.
"Possibly," he said quietly, as we hurried together up the stairs."Some one was lurking on the staircase when I went back. I spoke;instead of an answer, whoever it was turned and ran up. I followed--itwas dark--but as I turned the corner at the top a figure darted throughthis door and closed it. The bolt was on my side, and I pushed itforward. It is a closet, I think." We were in the upper hall now."If you will show me the electric switch, Miss Innes, you would betterwait in your own room."
Trembling as I was, I was determined to see that door opened. I hardlyknew what I feared, but so many terrible and inexplicable things hadhappened that suspense was worse than certainty.
"I am perfectly cool," I said, "and I am going to remain here."
The lights flashed up along that end of the corridor, throwing thedoors into relief. At the intersection of the small hallway with thelarger, the circular staircase wound its way up, as if it had been anafterthought of the architect. And just around the corner, in thesmall corridor, was the door Mr. Jamieson had indicated. I was stillunfamiliar with the house, and I did not remember the door. My heartwas thumping wildly in my ears, but I nodded to him to go ahead. I wasperhaps eight or ten feet away--and then he threw the bolt back.
"Come out," he said quietly. There was no response. "Come--out," herepeated. Then--I think he had a revolver, but I am not sure--hestepped aside and threw the door open.
From where I stood I could not see beyond the door, but I saw Mr.Jamieson's face change and heard him mutter something, then he bolteddown the stairs, three at a time. When my knees had stopped shaking, Imoved forward, slowly, nervously, until I had a partial view of whatwas beyond the door. It seemed at first to be a closet, empty. Then Iwent close and examined it, to stop with a shudder. Where the floorshould have been was black void and darkness, from which came theindescribable, damp smell of the cellars.
Mr. Jamieson had locked somebody in the clothes chute. As I leanedover I fancied I heard a groan--or was it the wind?
The Circular Staircase Page 6
