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Title: The Almost Perfect Murder.
A Case Book of Madame Storey.
Author: Footner, Hulbert (1879-1944)
Author [preface]: Anonymous
Date of first publication: 1937
Edition used as base for this ebook:
New York: Caxton House, 1939
Date first posted: 21 July 2010
Date last updated: 21 July 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #577
This ebook was produced by: Al Haines
THE
ALMOST PERFECT MURDERMr. Hulbert Footner’s well-known character, Madame Storey, is perhaps
the most celebrated woman detective in fiction. Her detective ability
is aided to some extent by feminine intuition, but she achieves
results—amazingly successful results, for the problems here elucidated
certainly proved baffling enough to the police. This volume provides
thrilling fare for all readers of detective stories, and Mr. Hulbert
Footner writes with his customary verve and ingenuity.
THE
ALMOST PERFECT MURDERA Case Book of Madame Storey
BY HULBERT FOOTNERPublishers
CAXTON HOUSE, INC.
Rockefeller Plaza
New York, N. Y.
1939
Made in the
United States of
America
CONTENTS I THE ALMOST PERFECT MURDER II MURDER IN MASQUERADE III THE DEATH NOTICE IV TAKEN FOR A RIDEV IT NEVER GOT INTO THE PAPERS
The Almost Perfect Murder
IFay Brunton was one of those stars who suddenly shine out on Broadway
in full effulgence, and are almost as quickly darkened. Most people
will remember her name, but I doubt if many could name the parts in
which she appeared. But to those of us who knew her, she remains a
vivid and lovely memory; she was so beautiful! And that was not all of
it; beauty is not uncommon on Broadway: it was her great sweetness of
nature that endeared her to us; her girlishness; her simplicity. She
was not a great actress; her smile was her passport to popular favour.
My employer, Madame Storey, who knows everybody in the great world, had
become acquainted with Fay, and through her I had met the girl. By
degrees, I can hardly say how, Fay and I had become intimate friends.
She brought colour and incident into my life. To a plain Jane like me,
she was marvellous. I was the recipient of all her charming
confidences—or nearly all; and as well as I could, I steered her with
my advice amongst the pitfalls that beset a popular favourite. For one
in the limelight she was incredibly ignorant of evil. And you could
not bear to show her the ugly side of life.
How bitterly I regretted that I had not warned her against Darius
Whittall in the beginning. But I had thought that her natural goodness
would protect her. Goodness, however, is apt to be blind. Whittall’s
name had been connected with Fay’s for several months, but he was only
one of many. I had hoped that one of the young men would win out;
particularly one who was called Frank Esher, a fine fellow. I banked
on the fact that Fay had been shy about mentioning his name in her
confidences. As for Whittall, he was a notorious evil-liver. His wife
had committed suicide some weeks before. To me he was no better than a
murderer.
How well I remember the morning that Fay came to our offices to tell
us. It must have been November, for the trees in Gramercy Park had
shed their leaves, though the grass was still green. This was during
Fay’s second season when she was appearing with huge success in _Wild
Hyacinth_. She came in beaming, and I marked the gleam of a new pearl
necklace under her partly-opened sables. What a vision of youthful
loveliness she made, sparkling with a childlike excitement!
She had Mrs. Brunton with her. This lady was not her real mother, but
an ageing actress whom Fay had rescued from a cheap boarding-house, and
set up as her official chaperone. Such an arrangement is not unusual
on the stage. Mrs. Brunton was a typical stage mamma; over-dressed,
over-talkative; a foolish woman, but devoted to Fay, and people put up
with her on that account.
When Fay came to call, business was dropped for the time being. I took
her in to my mistress. What a complement they made to each other! the
one so dark and tall and wise; the other simple, fair and girlish.
Alongside my mistress, the girl looked the least bit colourless, but
that was inevitable. There is only one Madame Storey. Fay was not
aware that she suffered by comparison with the other, and if she had
known, I doubt if she would have minded.
Mrs. Brunton was in a great flutter. “Oh, I hope we’re not
interrupting anything important! Fay couldn’t wait a minute! What I
have been through since last night you wouldn’t believe! I didn’t
sleep a wink! And then to be hauled out of my bed at eight o’clock!
Eight o’clock! And dragged here half-dressed. Is there a mirror
anywhere? I know I’m a sight…!”
And so on; and so on. The exasperating thing about that woman was that
her talk never meant anything. She surrounded herself with a cloud of
words. Nobody ever paid any attention to what she said. Talk with her
was a sort of nervous habit, like biting the fingernails.
Meanwhile Mme. Storey was gazing into Fay’s face with searching
kindness. Nervously pulling off one of her gloves, the girl mutely
exhibited the third finger of her left hand. I caught a glimpse of an
emerald that took my breath away.
“Who is it?” asked Mme. Storey.
“Darius Whittall,” she murmured.
It was a horrible shock to me. Fortunately none of them was looking at
me at the moment. The thought of seeing my friend in all her youth and
loveliness handed over to that murderer—for such he was in all
essentials—was more than I could bear. The bottom seemed to drop out
of everything.
Mme. Storey’s face showed no change upon hearing the announcement,
though she must have known Darius Whittall better than I did. She
enfolded the girl in her arms, and murmured her good wishes.
Meanwhile Mrs. Brunton in the background was talking away like steam
puffing out of a boiling kettle. I perceived a certain glint of
anxiety in the old lady’s eye; she knew that Darius Whittall was no
paragon for a husband. But he was so rich! so rich! who could blame a
mother? She was relieved when Mme. Storey appeared to make no
difficulties about the match.
“Well, I never thought he’d be the one!” said Mme. Storey with an
appearance of great cheerfulness.
“Neither did I,” said Fay, laughing.
“Are you dreadfully in love with him?”
“I suppose so … I don’t know… Don’t ask me to examine my
feelings!”
“Look at her!” cried Mrs. Brunton. “Isn’t that enough? Radiantly
happy!”
“But if you’re going to marry the man,” said Mme. Storey, laughing,
“surely you must know the state of your feelings!”
“I want to marry him,” said Fay quickly. “Very much. I suppose it’s
because he needs me so.”
Mme. Storey’s expression said: Hum! But she did not utter it. She
asked when it was going to be.
“Soon,” said Fay. “There’s no reason for delay. It will be very
quiet, of course.”
“Of course,” said Mme. Storey.
Fay seemed to feel that some further explanation was required. “It’s
true his wife has only been dead two months,” she said. “But as Darius
pointed out, she had not been a real wife to him for years before that.”
“Poor woman!” said Madame Storey.
We all echoed that. “Poor woman!”
By this time I was aware that my mistress was not any better pleased
with Fay’s announcement than I had been; but she was too wise to burst
out with objections as I might have done.
“Why do you suppose she killed herself?” she said thoughtfully.
“Oh, don’t you know?” said Fay. “She was in love with somebody else.
Darius talks about her so nicely. He offered to let her divorce him,
but she wouldn’t because of her religion. A Catholic, you know. I
suppose she could see no way but to end it all. Darius honours her for
it.”
“Oh, don’t talk about it!” cried Mrs. Brunton. “Don’t let that cloud
darken this happy day! How that poor man has suffered! And such a
gentleman with it all. Such delicacy! I could tell you things about
him! But never mind!”
What has he given her? I thought.
Fay and Mme. Storey ignored her interruption. “But I think,” the
former went on with gentle censure, “that she ought to have considered
what a dreadful blow it would be to her husband.”
“Still,” said Mme. Storey dryly, “if she had not done it, you would not
be marrying him now.”
“No-o,” said Fay innocently. “I suppose not…. Of course Darius is
going to sell the house at Riverdale,” she continued with an
involuntary shiver. “I shouldn’t care to live there where it happened.”
Mme. Storey struck out on a new line. “Well! Well!” she said, “what a
poor guesser I am! Frank Esher was the one I backed.”
I saw a spark of animosity leap out of the old woman’s eye. I suppose
it occurred to her, too, that my seemingly candid mistress was trying
to gum her game.
“Oh, Frank Esher!” said Fay pettishly. “Don’t speak of him!”
“He was so good-looking!” said Mme. Storey dreamily.
“Good-looking, yes,” said Fay with some heat. “But impossible. You
don’t know! Oh, impossible!”
“I liked him,” said Mme. Storey, “because there seemed to be a genuine
fire in him. Most young fellows are so tame! I should have thought he
would make a wonderful lover.”
Fay, silenced, looked at her with rather a stricken expression in the
candid blue eyes.
Mrs. Brunton rushed in to fill the breach. “Fire!” she snorted.
“Preserve us from that kind of fire. That’s all I have to say. I
don’t speak of his rudeness to me. I am nobody. He treated Fay as if
she was just an ordinary girl. No sense of the difference in their
positions. A dreadful young man! He spoiled everything. So different
from Mr. Whittall. He is such a gentleman. You never catch him making
a vulgar display of his feelings!”
Fay had recovered her speech. “That incident is closed,” she said.
“Frank was simply a thorn in my side.”
But Mme. Storey would not let Frank drop. “By the way,
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