At One-Thirty, Isabel Ostrander [ebook reader with highlight function .TXT] 📗

want to ask me? I’m afraid I’ve told you everything I know.”

“I’d like to know what jewelry was taken from your brother’s body,” was the opening remark, which evidently surprised the younger man by its tenor.

“Oh, I’ve already given a list to Inspector Hanrahan, as nearly as I can remember, and Garret’s man can tell me.”

“Still, I should like to have you repeat it to me,” the detective reiterated, patiently.

“Pearl studs, pearl and mother-of-pearl vestbuttons and cuflF-buttons, a small gold watch, thin gold cigarette-case, and a small seal purse. That’s all, I think.”

“All? No small jeweled pin, or insignia of some sort?”

. Yates Appleton’s knuckles cracked suddenly, as he gripped the back of a high carved chair upon which he was leaning.

“Pin? I never thought of that! He did have some such thing, I believe. Frat’ pin, from his university days, I imagine, although I never inquired. He was superstitious about it, and wouldn’t go without it; but in dinner-clothes—”

“He wore it pinned inside his vest-pocket, in evening-clothes, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Yates Appleton gasped, and looked his perturbed astonishment. “By Jove! I remember now, IVe seen him pin it there once or twice, or under the lapel of his coat. Silly of him; but, as I say, he was superstitious about it. Td Hke to know how you found it out, Mr. Gaunt. Hardly anybody knew about it.”

“The thief did,” Gaunt observed, quietly. “Rather unusual, wasn’t it? The man who robbed and murdered him evidently was someone who knew him and his habits thoroughly—or else had nerve enough, after firing a shot, which, had it been heard, would have brought the whole house about his ears, to search his victim’s clothes with the most minute detail.”

“Hum-m! I never thought of that/’ the young man answered, thoughtfully.

“What did you do last evening, Mr. Appleton? You went out immediately after dinner, did you not?”

“Almost immediately. Family parties always bore me.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the club first—the Patriarch’s, for awhile. Met some chaps I knew, and played cards, and had a few drinks. Then, I drove around in the car for awhile, and—and—”

“And then?”

“Then, I went to tl^e rooms of a fellow I know^ and he came out with me.”

“Where?”

“Oh, we rode around some more in the car, and stopped at various places for drinks. Then, I left him at his rooms, and came home to bed myself.”

“At what time did you leave the club?”

“The club? Oh, I don’t know—at about halfpast twelve.”

“And when did you reach your friend’s rooms?”

“About one.”

“Your friend can verify that?”

“Yes, and the door-man at the club can verify the time I left there, if necessary, as you very well know. Good heavens, man! you don’t suspect me of murdering my own brother, do you?” He spoke with the irritability of nerves worn to the breaking point.

“My dear Mr. Appleton, this is merely a matter of form, you know. No one suspects you, of course; but the police will go into this much more rigorously, if I don’t. They must know where every member of this household was at every moment last night…. Are your friend’s rooms near the club?”

“Within five minutes, in the motor car.” The young man spoke sullenly, but more quietly.

“So that, after leaving the club, you only drove around by yourself for about twenty minutes?”

“Yes. I was coming home, and then I—changed my mind.”

“At what time did you finally reach home?”

“I don’t know—about three, I suppose.”

“And you heard or saw nothing unusual?”

“No. James was waiting up for me, in my dressing-room, and I went straight to bed. I was feeling a—a little tight.”

“I understand. Now, Mr. Appleton, will you give me your friend’s name and address, please?”

“Maurice Livingston, Bryant Chambers,” the young man returned, sullenly.

“Mr. Appleton, what is that strong odor of witch-hazel I smell?”

“My hand—I hurt it. My man’s been dressing it for me.”

“How did you hurt it?”

“Bruised it—got caught in the door of the car last night.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I was tight, I tell you—intoxicated, if you Hke that better! I only noticed it this morning.”

“Well, Mr. Appleton, I won’t keep you much longer. I wonder if you know of any enemies your brother may have made—if he feared anyone, feared an attack of some sort?”

“Lord, no! He wasn’t man enough to make enemies,” the affectionate brother returned, “not bad enough enemies’to want to take his life; although there were lots who hated him, and a few who would have been glad to have him out of the way.”

“Out of the way? Whom do you mean by that, Mr. Appleton?” the detective spoke peremptorily, and the other man squirmed uneasily.

“Oh, I don’t know!” he blundered. “There’s a chap whose rather gone on Natalie. Not that she’s ever given him any encouragement, that I’ve noticed; but you never can tell about these sly ones. She was jealous, and always rowing Garret, you know, and playing the ill-used wife, and bleating to Barbara about it, and maybe she worked on this fellow’s sympathies. He’s one of the intense, quiet kind. Perhaps he’ll think there’s a chance for him, now. I fancy he won’t be sorry, for one, that Garret’s gone.”

“What is the man’s name?”

“Harmon Witherspoon. He lives down in the old Wthcrspoon Mansion, on Washington Square.”

“Well, Mr. Appleton, I won’t detain you any longer.” Gaunt rose. “If I need you again, I shall find you at your rooms—the Calthorp, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I am going straight there. This house is getting on my nerves.”

“Will you please ring for a servant, and have me conducted to the drawing-room or library? I want to interview Miss Ellerlsie.”

“I’ll take you myself. The library’d be best.” Yates Appleton pressed the button in the wall with alacrity, as if glad the searching interview was over. “James,” he added, when the man appeared, “send someone to tell Miss Ellerslie that Mr. Gaunt would like to speak to her in the library.”

In the great entrance-hall, at the foot of the stairs, however, they were halted by the Inspector. ]

“Mr. Gaunt, I’d like to speak to you for a minute please. Were you going anywhere, special?”

“To the library, to interview Miss Ellerslie,” the detective replied.

“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll show you the way myself, after I’ve had a word with you.”

Inspector Hanrahan waited until Mr. Yates Appleton was up the stairs and well out of earshot, before he spoke again.

“It’s about the autopsy, Mr. Gaunt. They found the bullet, as you know; but they found something else, too. It is a bruise on the left shoulder, high up near the neck, as if it was a blow aimed at the heart, and wide of the mark. As sure as you’re alive, Mr. Gaunt, someone hit him a blow! That looks like a struggle, don’t it? That looks as if he’d tried to defend himself, and been worsted. Sort of knocks your theory that he just sat still and let himself be done to death, don’t it?”

“It looks like it. Inspector,” Gaunt answered with a slight smile, which gave no hint of the tumult of his thoughts. “Any other marks on the body?”

“None but the bullet-wound,” the Inspector returned, briefly. “But this is the darndest case I ever struck in my life, Mr. Gaunt. Who killed him, and why did they come back hours later and fix up that window stunt?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Been after any more of the servants?”

“Yes; but it’s no good. Katie, the housemaid that was stuck on Louis, Mr. Appleton’s man, won’t admit a thing, and Maggie, the blatherskite of a cook, won’t do anything but weep, and wail, and bemoan the day she left Ireland. I’m going to get after Dakers, the butler, again. He’s smooth and polite, and slick as they come; but I have an idea that fellow’s got something up his sleeve.”

“All right. Inspector. By the way, would you mind telling me what color hair this is? It’s golden, isn’t it?” He pulled the strand of hair from his vest-pocket as he spoke.

“Sure, it’s golden, right enough/’ The Inspector’s tone was full of honest wonder. “HowM you know?”

“By the texture. I can tell the color of most hair by the feel of it between my fingers—not the difference between the finer shadings, perhaps, but the general tone.”

“It beats me how you do it I But where did you get it?”

“Never mind that now. I’ll tell you if it turns out to be important. Here comes Miss Ellerslie. Let me know later if you learn anything.”

“Miss Ellerslie? She ain’t coming yet, Mr. Gaunt. There ain’t a soul in sight.”

“I hear her footstep in the hall above. There! She’s just at the head of the stairs.”

The Inspector glanced up involuntarily, and saw a slight, gray-clad figure.

“Holy Virgin!” he muttered to himself, stepping back, with round eyes full of wonder on the man before him. ‘This is the library, here on your right,” he added hurriedly, and departed, all but crossing himself as he went.

“You wished to see me, Mr. Gaunt?” the low, sweet, pulsing voice sounded upon his ears, and Barbara Ellerslie led the way into the library. “I shall be glad to tell you anything I can.”

“Your sister, Mrs. Appleton—how is she?” Gaunt asked, for once at a loss how to lead up to the subject he must inquire into. The nearness of this strange, magnetic woman, the poignancy of her, was as oddly disturbing as the vibrations of the violin-like tones. She seemed to radiate a suggestion of limitless power in her perfect selfcontainment, of glowing health, of body and mind, and soul, in her easy poise and control.

“She is better. The first reaction from the shock has gone, and she is quieter. She will be able to see you later, for a few moments, if you wish. But, please, be very gentle with her, Mr. Gaunt.” The low voice sank even lower, as he was later to know was its wont, when anything that touched her very deeply was uttered. “She is not well, not over-strong at best, and now slie is in a delicate condition. She has had much to endure, and it culminated in the shock of this morning’s tragedy. Please, be very—kind to her.”

“I will,” the detective found himself promising, almost vehemently. “I shall not annoy her any more than I can possibly help, and I shall try to say nothing to grieve or excite her.”

“Thank you.” The voice was a mere tremulous breath; but she must have leaned toward him, involuntarily, for the clean, pure fragrance of her hair and body, free from the taint of cloying scents and acrid perfumes, stole over his senses, and seemed to numb them. With an effort of his will. he pulled himself together, and spoke in a tone more stem than he had meant, to cover his own confusion and bewilderment at himself.

“But in order to spare your sister, Miss Ellerslie, I must ask you to answer my questions without reservation. You went out inunediately after dinner, last evening?”

“Yes, to a wedding—a very quiet one, that of an old schoolmate. I went with friends, and returned quite late.”

“At what time?”

“About one o’clock.”

“Did you retire at once?”

“No. My sister’s maid and mine—an old mammy, whom we brought with us from our home— was waiting up for me, and she said that Natalie was awake, and very nervous. Without waiting to disrobe, I went in and talked with her for some time, until she quieted down, and almost slept. Then, I returned to my room.”

“You retired immediately?”

“Yes.”

“You were, therefore,