“Come in!” he called as the knock was repeated with more insistence2. Doctor Leonard McLane stepped briskly inside and closed the door behind him.
“I am glad I found you, Dave,” he said, and, observing Curtis’ pleased smile on recognizing his voice, added: “I called to see Anne Meredith, but she had gone out motoring with Lucille Hull3 and Gerald Armstrong. Herman told me that you were in, so I came upstairs.”
Curtis sighed with relief. “I am very glad that you are here, Leonard,” he exclaimed. “Frankly, I was just thinking of telephoning to you to come over at once.”
“Indeed?” McLane drew up a comfortable rocker and seated himself near the blind surgeon. “What do you wish to see me about, and why are you caressing4 a pair of pajamas5?”
As he spoke6 Curtis had picked up the pajamas from the chair where he had dropped them upon hearing McLane’s knock on his door.
“I’ll explain all in good time,” he answered, seating himself. “Please treat our conversation as confidential7, Leonard.”
McLane nodded his head thoughtfully. “I presume it’s about John Meredith’s murder and”—he hesitated—“Anne.”
“Why do you connect the two?” quickly.
“It is what every one is doing,” said McLane. He noticed the harassed8 lines in Curtis’ face and his expression grew more serious. “Coroner Penfield told me what transpired9 at the inquest and that you insisted that Anne be represented by a lawyer. How,” he glanced keenly at his companion, “how did you happen to pick on Sam Hollister?”
“Anne asked for him,” replied Curtis. “Isn’t he a good lawyer?”
“W-why, yes; so I understand.” McLane’s tone did not convey conviction. “But he is not a criminal lawyer.”
Curtis hitched10 his chair closer to McLane. “You think it will come to that?” he asked, with unconcealed anxiety.
McLane nodded his head somberly. “It appears to me that Anne knows more than she has told,” he said. “Why she is withholding11 information which may aid the police in detecting her uncle’s murderer is one of the mysteries of the case.”
“But there is no criminal action in that,” protested Curtis.
“Unless it comprises being an accessory after the act,” McLane pointed12 out. He paused a moment before asking, “What are the known facts connecting Anne with the murder?”
Curtis sat back in his chair and checked off each point as he spoke. “First, Herman, the butler, testified that he overheard John Meredith quarreling with a ‘female’ in his bedroom that night. He took her to be Anne because he thought he recognized her dress. Secondly13, Gretchen, the chambermaid, said that she overheard a conversation between a man and a woman after midnight under her window. The woman said, ‘I will do it to-night,’ and the man replied, ‘Don’t lose your nerve.’”
“Well, did Gretchen identify the woman?” asked McLane as Curtis paused.
“Indirectly, yes. She declined, as she put it, ‘to tell on her young mees.’” Curtis hesitated. “Her statement satisfied the coroner and she was excused.”
“I see!” McLane stroked his chin reflectively. “Well, what next?”
“I overheard Mrs. Meredith speak to Anne in the hall just after I found Meredith’s body.” Curtis spoke with growing reluctance14, and McLane nodded his head in silent understanding. “Mrs. Meredith said nothing to connect Anne with the crime, but it did prove that Anne was up and about at the time of her uncle’s murder.”
“Quite so, it did,” agreed McLane. He lowered his voice. “Did anything come up at the inquest about the parrot and its cry: ‘Anne—I’ve caught you—you devil?’”
“No.”
McLane sat back and frowned. “Why not, I wonder?” he muttered.
“And this is Tuesday morning—”
“Which leaves us very little time to solve the mystery of Meredith’s death.” Curtis sighed, then bent17 forward and laid his hand on McLane’s knee. “Can I depend upon your help, Leonard?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good!” Curtis’ face lighted with his charming smile. “We must work to clear Anne. She must not be dragged any further into the limelight.”
“If it only stops at the limelight!” The exclamation18 escaped McLane involuntarily. “I am afraid, Dave, that Coroner Penfield is holding back something more than the episode of the parrot to spring at the next hearing of the inquest.”
“It may be,” admitted Curtis. “Penfield stopped his direct examination after producing the hair which he and Inspector19 Mitchell found wound around the button on the jacket of Meredith’s pajamas. The hair matched Anne’s in color and texture20.”
“And Penfield claimed that it was caught around the button when Anne pressed her ear over Meredith’s heart to see if it was still beating,” broke in McLane. “It was a clever deduction21 on his part.”
“Quite so, and one warranted by facts—as far as he knew them,” answered Curtis. “Is the hall door closed, Leonard? Are we alone?”
McLane glanced toward the door and then about the room.
“The door is shut,” he said. Rising, he walked over to it, pulled it open and glanced up and down the empty hall, then closed the door and turned the key in the lock. “We are entirely22 alone, Dave. Go ahead and say what you wish.”
Curtis waited until his companion had resumed his seat.
“After I had notified Sam Hollister of Meredith’s death, I went back with him to the body,” he began. “Hollister left me to telephone to Coroner Penfield. While waiting for him to return, I ran my hands over Meredith’s body and found some hair, evidently from a woman’s head, caught around that jacket button.” He paused. “I may also state that when I first found Meredith he was lying partly on his right side, face pressed against the carpet and his arms outflung.”
“So I read in your printed testimony,” interjected McLane.
“But when I examined the body for the second time, it was lying on its back,” finished Curtis.
“It was?” McLane shot a questioning glance at his blind companion. “Why didn’t you mention it at the inquest?”
“I was not questioned on that point,” calmly. “If I am recalled at the next hearing I will speak of it. In the meantime—”
“Yes?” as Curtis paused.
“I want your advice, and, if need be, your aid.”
“Sure, go ahead.” McLane was listening with deep attention and with increasing impatience23 at his friend’s deliberation of speech.
“I unwound several of the hairs,” went on Curtis, “and put them in my wallet. Later that morning, that is yesterday, I showed them to Fernando and asked him their color. He said the hairs were white.”
“White!” echoed McLane in astonishment24.
“Fernando said that they were white,” repeated Curtis. “I had to depend upon his eyesight.”
“But,” McLane took out his handkerchief and dabbed25 his forehead, “the hair Penfield found about the button was chestnut26 in color. I’ve seen it and it certainly came from Anne’s head.”
“Possibly Fernando lied when he told me the hair was white.”
“Sure, he might have; with the object of shielding Anne. The servants are devoted27 to her,” McLane added. “Let me see the hair and I can settle the question.”
“Unfortunately the hair has disappeared out of my wallet.”
“Good Lord!” McLane sat back and regarded Curtis in startled surprise.
“I discovered it was missing during the inquest at the time it was stated that the hair Penfield found was chestnut in color,” went on Curtis. “Having nothing to prove my statement, I kept silent.”
“I see!” McLane gnawed28 at his upper lip. A second or more passed before he broke the silence. “There isn’t a white-haired woman in the household,” he said.
“Then Fernando lied,” Curtis’ lips compressed into a hard line, “and not for the first time. Listen attentively29, Leonard.” The injunction was hardly needed, but Curtis could not see his companion’s absorbed regard as he sat back watching him. “When dressing30 for dinner on Sunday evening I told Fernando to tie a string on the outside knob of my door so that when I came upstairs, if I was alone, I could identify my bedroom without difficulty.”
“Did he do so?”
“No. Fernando claims that I never ordered him to tie a string on the door knob.” Curtis spoke more slowly than usual. “But after discovering Meredith lying dead in the hall, I went in search of my room and, finding a string hanging from a knob of a closed door, entered that bedroom, supposing it to be mine.”
“Whose was it?”
“John Meredith’s.”
McLane sat back and again rubbed his forehead with his handkerchief.
“I’m blessed if I see—” he exclaimed.
“Unhappily I don’t see—at any time.” Curtis covered his sigh with a slight cough. “This is the point, Leonard; a string was tied to John Meredith’s door knob and is still hanging there. A string was also hung on my door knob Sunday evening and cut off before I came upstairs.”
“What?”
Instead of replying Curtis rose and went over to his bureau. Taking his despatch box from the drawer he made his way to the bed and, turning the key in the lock, threw back the lid.
“This piece of string,” he said, holding it up, “has one end tied in a loop, which has been cut.” He handed the string to Leonard. “I found the string lying in front of my door, partly hidden under the hall carpet.”
McLane took the string and eyed it attentively. “Just a moment,” he exclaimed. “I’ll be back.” He stopped at the hall door, unlocked it and sped up the hall. During his absence Curtis stood by the bed, head bent in a listening attitude. Barely three minutes elapsed before McLane was beside him again.
“I have compared the string with that still hanging from Meredith’s door,” he said, in explanation. He placed the string in Curtis’ hand. “It is the same color and weight, and was evidently cut from the same ball of twine31.”
“And Fernando denies that I ever requested him to tie a string to my door,” mused32 Curtis, as he put the string back in his despatch box.
“Could he have tied the string on your door, then cut it off, and tied one on Meredith’s door as a practical joke?” asked McLane. “And after the events of Sunday night be afraid to confess?”
“That is a plausible33 theory,” admitted Curtis, somewhat dubiously34, however. “But why pick out John Meredith’s door?”
“Ask me something easy,” begged McLane. “Did you go in Meredith’s bedroom, Dave?”
“Yes. I telephoned from there for Sam Hollister.” Curtis paused, then spoke with added gravity. “While standing15 before the instrument trying to recall Hollister’s number, I heard a woman moving about in the bedroom.”
McLane’s eyes were twice their usual size. “Go on,” he urged. “Don’t keep me in suspense35. Did the woman see you?”
“No. I had not switched on the electric lights,” Curtis explained, keeping his voice low but distinct. “As she went by me on her way out of the room, she tossed this handkerchief in my direction.” He took it out of his despatch box and gave it to McLane. “When I picked it up I detected the smell of chloroform very plainly.”
“A,” he said aloud, and the gravity of his tone was unmistakable. “Anne?” He laid the handkerchief back in the despatch box. “Lock up the box, Dave,” he directed. “Have you shown the handkerchief to Coroner Penfield?”
“No.” Curtis pocketed the key of the despatch box. “I know you won’t approve, Leonard, but”—and his tone was grim—“I decline to further involve Anne Meredith in the mystery of her uncle’s murder.”
“I am with you there,” declared McLane. “I wish, however, that you had spoken to me sooner about the handkerchief.”
“This is the first time I have seen you since we met in Meredith’s bedroom yesterday,” Curtis pointed out. “But I must confess, Leonard, that the handkerchief did slip my mind. I had left it in the pocket of this suit of pajamas, and only recollected37 the handkerchief when I found the pajamas lying on this bed about fifteen minutes before you came in.”
“Lazy habits you have,” commented McLane, speaking more lightly. “Leaving your pajamas around your room at this time in the morning.”
“I did not leave them there,” protested Curtis. “I don’t know who could have laid them on the bed. It’s made up, is it not?”
McLane turned about and gazed at the bed as Curtis crossed the room to his bureau, despatch box in hand.
“The bed is made up,” McLane stated slowly. Something caught his eyes and he stepped close to the bedstead and bent forward. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “There is an impression of a hand on the counterpane—”
“Monsieur le docteur!” McLane straightened up swiftly and encountered Susanne’s frightened gaze. The French maid was standing holding the hall door ajar. “Mademoiselle Anne is calling for you—come quickly!”
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1
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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7
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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9
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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10
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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11
withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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16
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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18
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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20
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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21
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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22
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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28
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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29
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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30
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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31
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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33
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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36
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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37
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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