Kent roused himself from his abstraction. “We cannot talk here,” he said, looking at the gay diners who surrounded them. “And I have several important matters to discuss with you, Mr. Clymer.”
His remark was overheard by their waiter, and he stopped pouring out Kent's coffee.
“There is a small smoking room to the right of the dining room,” he suggested. “I passed there but a moment ago and it was not occupied. If you desire, sir, I will serve coffee there.”
“An excellent idea.” Clymer rose quickly and he and Kent followed the waiter to the inclosed porch which had been converted into an attractive lounging room for the club members. It was much cooler than the over-heated dining room, and Kent was grateful for the subdued8 light given out by the artistically9 shaded lamps with which it was furnished. There was silence while the waiter with deft10 fingers arranged the coffee and cigars on a wicker table; then receiving Clymer's generous tip with a word of thanks, the man departed.
Kent wheeled his chair around so as to face his companion and still have a side view of the dining room, where tables were being rapidly removed for the dance which followed dinners on Thursday nights. Clymer selected a cigar with care and, leaning back in his chair until the wicker creaked under his weight, he waited patiently for Kent to speak. It was fully11 five minutes before Kent addressed him.
“So James Turnbull was poisoned after all,” he commented. “A week ago I would have sworn that Jimmie hadn't an enemy in the world.”
“Ah, but he had; and a very bitter vindictive12 enemy, if the evidence given at the coroner's inquest this afternoon is to be believed,” replied Clymer seriously. “The case is remarkably13 puzzling.”
“It is.” Kent bit savagely14 at his cigar as a slight vent15 to his feelings. “'Killed by a dose of aconitine by a person or persons unknown,' was the jury's verdict, and a nice tangle16 they have left me to ferret out.''
“You?”
“Yes. I'm going to solve this mystery if it is a possible thing.” Kent's tone was grim. “And Colonel McIntyre only gave me until Saturday night to work in.”
Clymer eyed him in surprise. “McIntyre desires to get back his lost securities; judging from his comments after the inquest, he is not particularly interested in who killed Turnbull.”
“But I am,” exclaimed Kent. “The more I think of it, the more convinced I am that the forged letter, with the subsequent disappearance17 of McIntyre's securities has some connection with Jimmie's untimely death, be it murder or suicide.”
“Yes,” shortly. “Aconitine would have killed just as surely if swallowed with suicidal intent as if administered with murderous design.”
A pause followed which neither man seemed anxious to break, then Kent turned to the banker, and the latter noticed the haggard lines in his face.
“Listen to me, Mr. Clymer,” he began. “My instinct tells me that Jimmie Turnbull never forged that letter or stole McIntyre's securities, but I admit that everything points to his guilt19, even his death.”
“How so?”
“Because the theft of the securities supplies a motive20 for his suicide—fear of exposure and imprisonment,” argued Kent. “But there is no motive, so far as I can see, for Jimmie's murder. Men don't kill each other without a motive.”
“There is homicidal mania,” suggested Clymer.
“But not in this case,” retorted Kent. “We are sane21 men and it is up to us to find out if Jimmie died by his own hand or was killed by some unknown enemy.''
“Rest easy, Mr. Kent,” said a voice from the doorway22 and Kent, who had turned his back in that direction the better to talk to Clymer, whirled around and found Detective Ferguson regarding him just inside the threshold. “Mr. Turnbull's enemy is not unknown and will soon be under arrest.”
“Who is he?” demanded Clymer and Kent simultaneously23.
“Philip Rochester.”
Clymer was the first to recover from his astonishment24. “Oh, get out!” he exclaimed incredulously. “Why, Rochester was Turnbull's most intimate friend.”
“Until they fell in love with the same girl,” answered Ferguson succinctly25, taking possession of the only other chair the porch boasted. “One quarrel led to another and then Rochester did for him. Oh, it dove-tails nicely; motive, jealous anger; opportunity, recognition in court of Turnbull disguised as a burglar, at the same time Rochester learns that Turnbull has been caught after midnight in the house of his sweetheart—”
“D—mn you!” Kent sprang for the detective's throat. “Cut out your abominable26 insinuations. Miss McIntyre shall not be insulted.”
“I'm not insulting her,” gasped27 Ferguson, half strangled. “Let go, Mr. Kent. I'm only telling you what that half crazy partner of yours, Rochester, was probably thinking in the police court. Let go, I say.”
Clymer aided the detective in freeing himself. “Sit down, Kent,” he said sternly. “Ferguson meant no offense28. Go ahead, man, and tell us the rest of your theories.”
It was some minutes, however, before the detective had collected sufficient breath to answer intelligently.
“I size it up this way,” he began with a resentful glance at Kent who had dropped back in his chair again. “Rochester knew his friend had heart disease and that his sudden death would be attributed to it—so he took a sporting chance and administered a fatal dose of aconitine.”
“How was it done?” asked Clymer.
“Just slipped the poison into the glass of water he handed to Turnbull in the court room,” explained Ferguson, and glanced in triumph at Kent. “Neat, wasn't it?”
Kent regarded the detective, his mind in a whirl. His theory was certainly plausible29, but—“Have you other evidence to prove, your theory?” he asked.
“Yes.” Ferguson checked off his points on his fingers. “Remember how insistent30 Mr. Rochester was that Turnbull had died from angina pectoris?”
“I do,” acknowledged Clymer, deeply interested. “Continue, Ferguson.”
The detective needed no second bidding.
“Another point,” he began. “There never would have been a post-mortem examination if Miss Helen McIntyre hadn't asked for it. She knew of the ill-feeling between the men and suspected foul31 play on Rochester's part.”
“Wait,” commanded Kent. “Has Miss McIntyre substantiated32 that statement?”
“Not yet,” admitted Ferguson. “I stopped at her house, but the butler said the young ladies had retired33 and could not see any one.” Kent, who had called there on the way to keep his dinner engagement with Clymer, had been met with the same statement, to his bitter disappointment. He most earnestly desired to see the twins and to see them together, to make one more effort to induce them to confide34 in him; for that they had some secret trouble he was convinced; he longed to be of aid, but his hands were tied through lack of information.
“Don't imply motives35 to Miss McIntyre's act until you have verified them, Ferguson,” he cautioned. “Go on with your theories.”
“One moment,” Clymer broke into the conversation. “Did Rochester tell you, Ferguson, that he had recognized Turnbull in his burglar disguise?”
“No, sir; I never had an opportunity to ask him, for he disappeared Tuesday night and has not been seen or heard of since,” Ferguson rejoined.
“Hold on,” Kent checked him with an impatient gesture. “I had a telegram from Rochester this morning, stating he was in Cleveland.”
“I didn't forget about the telegram,” retorted Ferguson. “It was to consult you about that, that I hunted you up to-night. That telegram was bogus.”
“What!” Kent half rose from his chair.
“Yes. After the inquest I called Cleveland on the long distance, talked with the City Club officials and with Police Headquarters; all declared that Rochester was not there, and no trace could be found of his having ever arrived in the city.”
Clymer laid down his half smoked cigar and stared at the detective.
“You think then that Rochester has bolted?” he asked.
“It looks that way,” insisted Ferguson. “How about it, Mr. Kent?” The question was put with a touch of arrogance36.
Kent did not reply immediately. Every fact that Ferguson had brought out fitted the situation, and Rochester's disappearance added color to the detective's charges. Why was he hiding unless from guilty motives, and where had he gone? Kent shook a bewildered head.
“It is plausible,” he conceded, “but, after all, only circumstantial evidence.”
“Well, circumstantial evidence is good enough for me to work on,” retorted Ferguson. “On discovering that the telegram from Cleveland was a hoax37, I concluded Rochester might be lurking38 around Washington and so sent a description of him to the different precincts and secured a search warrant.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Armed with it I visited Mr. Rochester's apartment, but couldn't find a clew to his present whereabouts,” admitted Ferguson. “So then I went to your office, Mr. Kent, and ransacked39 the firm's safe.”
“Confound you!” Kent leaned forward in his wrath40 and shook his fist at the detective. “What right had you to do such a thing?”
“The search warrant covered it,” explained Ferguson. “I could look through your safe, Mr. Kent, because Rochester was your senior partner and you shared the office together; I was within the law.”
“Perhaps you were,” Kent controlled his anger with an effort. “But I had told you I did not know Rochester's whereabouts before I showed you the Cleveland telegram, which you claim is bogus.”
“It's bogus, all right,” insisted the detective. “I thought it just possible I might find some paper which would give me a clew to Rochester's hiding place, so I went through the safe.”
“How did you get it open?” asked Kent.
“I found it open.”
Kent leapt to his feet. “You—found—it open!”—he stammered41. “Why, man, I locked that safe securely just before I left the office at six o'clock.”
“Sure?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes, all alone. Sylvester left at five o'clock”
“Who knew the combination of the safe?”
“Only Rochester and I.”
It was Ferguson's turn to spring up “By—!” he exclaimed. “I thought the electric bulbs in the office felt warm, as if they had recently been burning—Rochester must have been there just before me.”
“It would seem that Rochester is still in the city,” remarked Clymer. “Do you know, Kent, whether he had his office keys with him?”
“I presume so,” Kent slipped his hand inside his pocket and took out a bunch of keys. “He left these duplicates in his desk at the office.”
“Sure they are duplicates?” questioned Ferguson, and Kent flushed.
“I know they are,” he retorted. “Rochester had them made over a year ago as a matter of convenience, for he was always forgetting his keys, and kept these at our office.”
“He's a queer cuss,” was the detective's only comment and Clymer broke into the conversation.
“Did you find any address or paper in the safe which might prove a clew, Ferguson?” he inquired.
“Did the safe look as if its contents had been tumbled about?” asked Kent.
“No, everything seemed in order.” Ferguson thrust his hand inside his coat pocket. “There was one envelope in the right hand compartment44 which puzzled me—”
“Hold on—was that compartment also unlocked?” asked Kent.
“It was,” not giving Kent time to speak again Ferguson continued his remarks. “As this was unaddressed I brought it to you, Mr. Kent, to ask if it was your personal property”—he drew out the white envelope which Helen McIntyre had brought Kent that morning and turned it over so that both men could see the large red seal bearing the letter “B.”
“It is my property,” asserted Kent instantly.
“Would you mind opening it?” asked Ferguson.
“I would, most certainly; it relates to my personal affairs.”
Ferguson looked a trifle non-plussed. “Would you mind telling me its contents, Mr. Kent?” he asked persuasively45.
Kent regarded the detective squarely. He could not betray Helen, the envelope might contain harmless nonsense, but she had placed it in his safe-keeping—no, confound it, she had left it in the safe for Rochester—and Rochester was apparently46 a fugitive47 from justice, while circumstantial evidence pointed48 to his having poisoned Helen's lover, Jimmie...
Clymer glanced down at the envelope which the detective still held, the red seal making a distinct blotch50 of color on the white, glazed51 surface.
“Ah, Kent,” he said in amusement. “So rumor52 is right in predicting your engagement to Barbara McIntyre. Good luck to you!”
Through the open doorway to the dining room where the dancing had ceased for the moment, came a soft laugh and Mrs. Brewster looked in at them. McIntyre, standing53 like her shadow, gazed in curiosity over her shoulder at the three men.
“How jolly to find you,” cooed Mrs. Brewster. “And what a charming retreat! It's much too nice to be occupied by men, only.” She inclined her head in a little gracious bow to Ferguson and stepped inside.
“Have my chair,” suggested Clymer hospitably54 as the pretty widow raised her lorgnette and scanned the Oriental hangings and lamps, and lastly, the white envelope which lay on the table, red seal uppermost, where Ferguson had placed it on her entrance.
“Are your daughters here, Colonel McIntyre?” asked Kent as he took a step toward the table. McIntyre's answer was drowned in an outburst of cheering in the dining room and the rush of many feet. On common impulse Kent and the others turned toward the doorway and looked inside the dining room. Two officers of the French High Commission were being held on the shoulders of comrades and were delivering, as best they could amidst cheers and applause, their farewell to hospitable55 Washington.
As his companions brushed by him to join the gay throng56 in the center of the room, Kent turned back to pick up the envelope he had left lying on the table. It was gone.
In feverish57 haste Kent looked under the table, under the chairs, the lounge and its cushions, behind the draperies, and even under the rugs which covered the floor of the porch, and then rose and stared into the dining room. Which one of his companions had taken the envelope?
Outside the porch the beautiful trumpet58 vine, its sturdy trunk and thick branches reaching almost to the roof of the club building, rustled59 as in a high wind, and the branches swayed this way and that as a figure climbed swiftly down from the porch until, reaching the fence separating the club property from its neighbor's, the man swung across it, no mean athletic60 feet, and taking advantage of each sheltering shadow, darted61 into the alley62 and from there down silent, deserted63 Nineteenth Street.
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1
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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7
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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8
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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9
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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12
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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16
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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17
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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18
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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21
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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27
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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28
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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29
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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30
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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31
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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32
substantiated
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| v.用事实支持（某主张、说法等），证明，证实( substantiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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34
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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35
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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36
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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37
hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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38
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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39
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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40
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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41
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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43
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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44
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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45
persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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46
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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47
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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48
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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49
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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50
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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51
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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52
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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53
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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54
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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55
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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56
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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57
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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58
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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59
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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61
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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62
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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63
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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