The House of the Whispering Pines (10 page)

"I was there last night. Miss Clifford was in the house and received me.
She told me that Arthur's state of mind was pitiful. He was never a very
affectionate brother, you know, but now they cannot get him away from
Carmel's door. He sits or stands all day just outside the threshold and
casts jealous and beseeching looks at those who are allowed to enter.
They say you wouldn't know him. I tried to get him to come down and see
me, but he wouldn't leave his post."

"Doesn't he grieve for Adelaide? I always thought that of the two she had
the greater influence over him."

"Yes, but they cannot get him to enter the place where she lies. His duty
is to the living, he says; at least, his anxiety is there. He starts at
every cry Carmel utters."

"She—cries out—then?"

"Very often. I could hear her from where I sat downstairs."

"And what does she say?"

"The one thing constantly. 'Lila! Lila!' Nothing more."

I kept my face in shadow. If he saw it at all, it must have looked as
cold and hard as stone. After a moment, I went on with my queries:

"Does he—Arthur—mention me at all?"

"I did not discuss you greatly with Miss Clifford. I saw that she was
prejudiced, and I preferred not to risk an argument; but she let fall
this much: that Arthur felt very hard towards you and loudly insisted
upon your guilt. She seemed to think him justified in this. You don't
mind my telling you? It is better for you to know what is being said
about you in town."

I understood his motive. He was trying to drive me into giving him my
full confidence. But I would not be driven. I simply retorted quietly but
in a way to stop all such future attempts:

"Miss Clifford is a very good girl and a true friend of the whole
Cumberland family; but she is not the most discriminating person in the
world, and even if she were, her opinion would not turn me from the
course I have laid out for myself. Does the doctor—Dr. Carpenter, I
presume,—venture to say how long Carmel's present delirium will hold?"

"He cannot, not knowing its real cause. Carmel fell ill before the news
of her sister's death arrived at the house, you remember. Some frightful
scene must have occurred between the two, previous to Adelaide's
departure for The Whispering Pines. What that scene was can only be told
by Carmel and for her account we must wait. Happily you have an alibi
which will serve you in this instance. You were at the station during
the time we are speaking of."

"Has that been proved?"

"Yes; several men saw you there."

"And the gentleman who brought me the—her letter?" It was more than
difficult for me to speak Carmel's name. "He has not come forward?"

"Not yet; not to my knowledge, at least."

"And the ring?"

"No news."

"The nurse—you have told me nothing about her," I now urged, reverting
to the topic of gravest interest to me. "Is she any one we know or an
importation of the doctor's?"

"I did not busy myself with that. She's a competent woman, of course. I
suppose that is what you mean?"

Could I tell him that this was not what I meant at all—that it was her
qualities as woman rather than her qualifications as nurse which were
important in this case? If she were of a suspicious, prying
disposition, given to weighing every word and marking every gesture of
a delirious patient, what might we not fear from her circumspection
when Carmel's memory asserted itself and she grew more precise in the
frenzy which now exhausted itself in unintelligible cries, or the
ceaseless repetition of her sister's name. The question seemed of such
importance to me that I was tempted to give expression to my secret
apprehension on this score, but I bethought myself in time and passed
the matter over with the final remark:

"Watch her, watch them all, and bring me each and every detail of the
poor girl's sickness. You will never regret humouring me in this. You
ordered the flowers for—Adelaide?"

"Yes; lilies, as you requested."

A short silence, then I observed:

"There will be no autopsy the papers say. The evidences of death by
strangulation are too well defined."

"Very true. Yet I wonder at their laxity in this. There were signs of
some other agency having been at work also. Those two empty glasses
smelling of cordial—innocent perhaps—yet—"

"Don't! I can bear no more to-day. I shall be stronger to-morrow."

Another feeler turned aside. His cheek showed his displeasure, but the
words were kind enough with which he speedily took his leave and left me
to solitude and a long night of maddening thought.

O, he sits high in all the people's hearts;
And that, which would appear offence in us,
His countenance like richest alchemy
Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.

Julius Caesar
.

And you still hold him?"

"Yes, but with growing uncertainty. He's one of those fellows who affect
your judgment in spite of yourself. Handsome beyond the ordinary, a
finished gentleman and all that, he has, in addition to these advantages,
a way with him that goes straight to the heart in spite of prejudice and
the claims of conscience. That's a dangerous factor in a case like this.
It hampers a man in the exercise of his duties. You may escape the
fascination, probably will; but at least you will understand my present
position and why I telephoned to New York for an expert detective to help
us on this job. I wish to give the son of my old friend a chance."

The man whom Coroner Perry thus addressed, leaned back in his chair and
quietly replied:

"You're right; not because he's the son of your old friend, a handsome
fellow and all that, but for the reason that every man should have his
full chance, whatever the appearances against him. Personally, I have no
fear of my judgment being affected by his attractions. I've had to do
with too many handsome scamps for that. But I shall be as just to him as
you will, simply because it seems an incredibly brutal crime for a
gentleman to commit, and also because I lay greater stress than you do on
the two or three minor points which seem to favour his latest
declaration, that a man had preceded him in his visit to this lonely
club-house,—a man whom he had himself seen leaving the grounds in a
cutter just as he entered by the opposite driveway."

"Ah!" came in quick ejaculation from the coroner's lips, "I like to hear
you say that. I was purposely careful not to lay emphasis on the facts
you allude to. I wished you to draw your own inferences, without any aid
from me. The police did find traces of a second horse and cutter having
passed through the club-house grounds. It was snowing hard, and these
traces were speedily obliterated, but Hexford and Clarke saw them in time
to satisfy themselves that they extended from the northern clump of trees
to the upper gateway where they took the direction of the Hill."

"That is not all. A grip-sack, packed for travelling, was in Mr.
Ranelagh's cutter, showing that his story of an intended journey was not
without some foundation."

"Yes. We have retained that grip-sack. It is not the only proof we have
of his intention to leave the city for a while. He had made other
arrangements, business arrangements—But that's neither here nor there.
No one doubts that he planned an elopement with the beautiful Carmel; the
question is, was his disappointment followed by the murder of the woman
who stood in his way?"

District Attorney Fox (you will have guessed his identity before now)
took his time, deliberating carefully with himself before venturing to
reply. Then when the coroner's concealed impatience was about to disclose
itself, he quietly remarked:

"I suppose that no conclusion can be drawn from the condition of the body
when our men reached it. I judge that it was still warm."

"Yes, but so it would have been if she had met her fate several minutes
earlier than was supposed. Clarke and Hexford differ about the length of
time which intervened between the moment when the former looked into the
room from the outside and that of their final entrance. But whether it
was five minutes or ten, the period was long enough to render their
testimony uncertain as to the exact length of time she had lain there
dead. Had I been there—But it's useless to go into that. Let us take up
something more tangible."

"Very good. Here it is. Of the six bottles of spirits which were
surreptitiously taken from the club-house's wine-vault, four were found
standing unopened on the kitchen table. Where are the other two?"

"That's it! That's the question I have put myself ever since I
interrogated the steward and found him ready to swear to the correctness
of his report and the disappearance of these two bottles. Ranelagh did
not empty them, or the bottles themselves would have been found somewhere
about the place. Now, who did?"

"No one within the club-house precincts. They were opened and emptied
elsewhere. There's our clew and if the man you've got up from New York is
worth his salt, he has his task ready to hand."

"A hard task for a stranger—and such a stranger! Not very prepossessing,
to say the least. But he has a good eye, and will get along with the boys
all right. Nothing assertive about him; not enough go, perhaps. Would you
like to see him?"

"In a moment. I want to clear my mind in reference to these bottles. Only
some one addicted to drink would drag those six bottles out of that cold,
unlighted cellar."

"Yes, and a connoisseur at that. The two missing bottles held the
choicest brand in the whole stock. They were kept far back
too—hidden, as it were, behind the other bottles. Yet they were
hauled to the front and carried off, as you say, and by some one who
knows a good thing in spirits."

"What was in the four bottles found on the kitchen table?"

"Sherry, whiskey, and rum. Two bottles of rum and one each of sherry
and whiskey."

"The thief meant to carry them all off, but had not time."

"The
gentleman
thief! No common man such as we are looking for, would
make choice of just those bottles. So there we are again! Contradictions
in every direction."

"Don't let us bother with the contradictions, but just follow the clew.
Those bottles, full or empty, must be found. You know the labels?"

"Yes, and the shape and colour of the bottles, both of which are
peculiar."

"Good! Now let us see your detective."

But Sweetwater was not called in yet. Just as Coroner Perry offered to
touch his bell, the door opened and Mr. Clifton was ushered in. Well and
favourably known to both men, he had no difficulty in stating his
business and preferring his request.

"I am here in the interests of Elwood Ranelagh," said he. "He is willing
to concede, and so am I, that under the circumstances his arrest was
justifiable, but not his prolonged detention. He has little excuse to
offer for the mistakes he has made, or the various offences of which he
has been guilty. His best friends must condemn his hypocrisy and
fast-and-loose treatment of Miss Cumberland; but he vows that he had no
hand in her violent death, and in this regard I feel not only bound but
forced to believe him. At all events, I am going to act on that
conviction, and have come here to entreat your aid in clearing up one or
two points which may affect your own opinion of his guilt.

"As his counsel I have been able to extract from him a fact or two which
he has hitherto withheld from the police. Reticent as he has shown
himself from the start,—and considering the character of the two women
involved in this tragedy, this cannot be looked upon as entirely to his
discredit,—he has confided to me a circumstance, which in the
excitement attendant on Miss Carmel Cumberland's sudden illness, may
have escaped the notice of the family and very naturally, of the police.
It is this:

"The ring which Miss Cumberland wore as the sign and seal of her
engagement to him was not on her hand when he came upon her, as he
declares he did, dead. It was there at dinner-time—a curious ring which
I have often noted myself and could accurately describe if required. If
she took it off before starting for The Whispering Pines, it should be
easily found. But if she did not, what a clew it offers to her unknown
assailant! Up till now, Mr. Ranelagh has been anticipating receiving this
ring back in a letter, written before she left her home. But he has heard
of no such letter, and doubts now if you have. May I ask if he is correct
in this surmise?"

"We know of no such letter. None has come to his rooms," replied
the coroner.

"I thought not. The whereabouts of this ring, then, is still to be
determined. You will pardon my having called your attention to it. As Mr.
Ranelagh's legal adviser, I am very anxious to have that ring found."

"We are glad to receive your suggestion," replied the district attorney.
"But you must remember that some of its force is lost by its having
originated with the accused."

"Very true; but Mr. Ranelagh was only induced to speak of this matter
after I had worked with him for an hour. There is a mystery in his
attitude which I, for one, have not yet fathomed. You must have noticed
this also, Coroner Perry? Your inquest, when you hold it, will reveal
some curious facts; but I doubt if it will reveal the secret underlying
this man's reticence. That we shall have to discover for ourselves."

"He has another secret, then, than the one involving his arrest as a
suspected murderer?" was the subtle conclusion of the district attorney.

"Yes, or why does he balk so at the simplest inquiries? I have my notion
as to its nature; but I'm not here to express notions unless you call my
almost unfounded belief in him a notion. What I want to present to you is
fact, and fact which can be utilised."