The Almost Perfect Murder, Hulbert Footner [digital e reader .TXT] 📗

rear a dining-room. The doors of the

salon stood open and there was no s�ance going on in there. It could

hardly be in the dining-room, so we kept on up.

 

The next floor was devoted to Mrs. Julian’s personal suite; boudoir,

bedroom, dressing-rooms and so forth. All the doors giving on the hall

were closed. From behind a door in the front came the steady drone of

a single voice—a disquieting sound. Mme. Storey made unhesitatingly

for that door, and opened it. The butler had faded away.

II

The room was dark except for a patch of uncertain light towards the

left. I had an impression of several motionless figures sitting

around, and I saw a ghastly distorted face in the dim light. It seemed

to have no body. It made my blood run cold. I almost cried out,

though I guessed there was trickery in it.

 

The voice ceased when we opened the door. There was a silence, then

Mrs. Julian’s voice, sharp and angry, demanding:

 

“Who is it? How dare you come in here?”

 

“Sorry, Aline,” said Mme. Storey calmly. “I had to speak to you.”

 

Mrs. Julian did not instantly recognise the voice. She continued to

cry: “Get out! Get out!” The strange figure in the middle of the room

broke in sulkily: “It is useless. Everything is spoiled now. You had

better turn on the light.”

 

Mme. Storey pressed the switch which was beside the door, and the

lights flooded on. The room was Mrs. Julian’s boudoir, and it

presented a very odd scene. When I say the house had no character I

should except the boudoir. That had plenty of character—of the wrong

sort. A sea of baby-blue brocade with a foam of lace upon it. One

might have guessed at a glance that this room expressed the soul of an

elephantine blonde woman of fifty-odd.

 

To the left stood an elegant little lacquer table with a carved

teak-wood stand upon it supporting in turn a crystal globe. This was a

beautiful object, reflecting as it did all the lights in broken shining

particles. One can easily understand how a crystal globe has always

been an object of mystery. A foot or so above the globe hung a lamp

concealed within a black shade. It was the light from this falling on

the crystal which had created the eerie glow I had first seen.

 

Beside the table stood a theatrical figure, a short, plump man in a

frock-coat that was too tight for him. He had a chocolate-coloured

face and shifty black eyes. His lank black hair was plastered over his

temples in the very manner of an oily schemer. His shallow eyes rolled

viciously at us. Anybody but Mrs. Julian would have distrusted him at

sight.

 

Beyond the table in an overstuffed baby-blue armchair sat Mrs. Julian,

overstuffed herself, and enveloped in God knows how many yards of

lavender chiffon. Her face which is naturally red showed a bluish hue

under the powder. Perhaps that’s why she wore lavender. She was a

good-natured creature in her way, and I knew that my employer had a

kind of fondness for her.

 

Along the far side of the room sat three other persons, two men and a

woman, of whom I shall have more to say directly. All three had an

unwholesome look like things that wanted the sun.

 

Mrs. Julian’s puffy face presented a study when the lights went up.

Dark with anger under her make-up, nevertheless she knew she could not

afford to quarrel with Mme. Storey. She bit her lip and looked at the

floor.

 

“It is nothing,” she muttered; “only … at such a moment of emotional

tension it’s a shock to have it broken.”

 

My employer instantly took her cue from the scene.

 

“I know,” she said sympathetically. “But I had a strong premonition

that you needed me, Aline, and I hurried right here. You can’t stop to

question such feelings. I wouldn’t let the servant keep me out.”

 

This sort of talk was well calculated to impress Mrs. Julian. She

looked at Mme. Storey, surprised to hear it from her, and began to

melt. “Oh, Rosika! But I am all right, darling!”

 

“I’m so glad!” said Mme. Storey, taking her hand.

 

The East Indian, seeing the current turning against him, became sulkier

than before. He placed the crystal and its stand in the middle of a

brilliant silk handkerchief and began to tie up the ends in Oriental

fashion. “With your permission I will retire,” he said stiffly to Mrs.

Julian.

 

“Oh, please don’t go,” said Mme. Storey in seeming concern. “I am

so interested in everything pertaining to the psychic…. Introduce

me, Aline.”

 

“This is Professor Ram Lal,” said Mrs. Julian a little unwillingly.

Perhaps she suspected my employer of irony. “Madame Rosika Storey.”

 

All the persons in the room glanced at Mme. Storey with fear and

dislike. I began to feel there must be some foundation for the warning

we had received, and a nasty chill struck through me. Was it possible

that this scowling Oriental meditated an attack on Mrs. Julian, and one

of his rivals, getting wind of it, had telephoned us?

 

“Do go on with your demonstration, Professor,” said my employer

cajolingly. “All my life I have been fascinated by the mystery of the

crystal, and have been longing to meet somebody to elucidate it.”

 

“I am sorry,” he said with the pompous air that such people are bound

to assume, “but the precious filaments that bind us to the infinite are

too tenuous to be joined immediately when once they are snapped.”

 

Mme. Storey listened to him with pretended respect. “Then let us sit

and talk awhile,” she said, matching his tone. “Let us try to put

ourselves in tune with the infinite so that new filaments may be

woven.” Drawing a chair up beside Mrs. Julian, she produced her

cigarette case. I sat down behind them.

 

Mrs. Julian, finding her friend so unexpectedly sympathetic, sighed

with satisfaction, and took a cigarette. “Sit down, Ram Lal,” she said

carelessly.

 

He dared not go then, though I fancy he was still suspicious of Mme.

Storey. Declining a cigarette, he sat down on the other side of the

table with an air of forced patience.

 

“Do uncover the precious crystal,” begged Mme. Storey. “I love to lose

myself by gazing in its depths.”

 

He obeyed with an ill grace.

 

“How inexpressibly beautiful!” she murmured. “The clear transparent

sphere which seems to conceal nothing yet hides all! It is symbolic of

the whole cosmos!”

 

Mrs. Julian, now completely persuaded, leaned over and patted her hand.

“Oh, Rosika, it is so sweet to hear you talk like this! Of course

you’re the cleverest woman in the world, but sometimes I have felt that

… that … well, you know…”

 

“That I lacked soul?” murmured Mme. Storey reproachfully. “Oh, Aline,

how could you!”

 

There was good comedy in this, but I felt no inclination at the time to

smile. The East Indian’s ugly expression kept me on tenterhooks.

 

“I see that Madame Storey is one of us,” he murmured. “A true psychic!”

 

Mrs. Julian was quite carried away. The folds of lavender chiffon

undulated with emotion. “Oh, Rosika, you have no conception of what a

wonderful man he is!” she whispered. “In Ram Lal I have found a bridge

to the beyond! He reads both the past and the future. I know that

what he foretells of the future will come true because he is never

wrong about the past. As soon as he begins to read the sphere the

veils fall one by one!”

 

“Oh, my dear, how wonderful! And what does he say is in store for you?”

 

A shudder of ecstasy passed through Mrs. Julian’s vast bulk.

“Happiness!” she whispered; “a great happiness!”

 

Such a rigmarole! I had all I could do to keep from snorting out loud.

It made me mad that such a fool should have so much money to throw to

the dogs while intelligent people have to get along with the barest

necessities.

 

Ram Lal was not supposed to hear Mrs. Julian’s praises, but of course

he could guess what she was saying. He lowered his eyes in mock

modesty, but the smirk around his lips gave him away.

 

“And the wonder of it is,” Mrs. Julian went on, “this is only an

ordinary crystal, though it was the best to be bought in New York.”

She dropped her voice again. “Just wait until the great Julian crystal

is finished, my dear!”

 

“What’s that?” asked Mme. Storey.

 

“Ram Lal is having the biggest and most flawless crystal made that the

world has ever seen!” she whispered. “It’s a secret as yet between him

and me. It’s going to cost a hundred thousand dollars! Ah! just think

what that will reveal!”

 

I wondered if she had given him the money yet. It seemed to me the

whole situation depended on that.

 

“And I mean to build a perfect temple to house the perfect crystal!”

she whispered ecstatically. “So that all men may be permitted to share

in universal knowledge. That shall be my contribution to my age!”

 

“But I thought it was against the law,” suggested Mme. Storey dryly.

“Crystal-gazing, I mean.”

 

“Only if you take money for it,” said Mrs. Julian a little sharply.

Evidently this unpleasant feature had been forced on her attention

before. “I shall endow the temple, of course, so that knowledge may be

free to all!”

 

Mme. Storey, while she occupied herself with the East Indian, did not

overlook the other persons in the room. “Introduce me to the rest of

your friends, Aline,” she said pleasantly.

 

Mrs. Julian threw them an inattentive glance. Clearly their noses were

out of joint for the time being. “Dr. Cushack, Mrs. Bracker, Mr.

Liptrott,” she said carelessly.

 

My employer arose and shook hands with each of them affably. The

doctor was a small man with an inferiority complex; looked very fierce,

squared his shoulders and talked in a deep bass voice. He had a small

waxed moustache and used a slight foreign accent. That was to convey

the idea that he had been educated abroad, you understand. He had the

cheek to kiss my employer’s hand in the Continental manner.

 

“I see that Madame Storey has a great sense of humour,” he said, with a

glance of contempt in Ram Lal’s direction.

 

She made believe not to get it. “Oh, I hope so,” she said with a

silly-sounding laugh, and passed on to the next one.

 

Mrs. Bracker was one of these skinny little women who have reduced to

within an inch of their lives. All the make-up in the world could not

hide the gaunt lines of under-nourishment and the haggard eyes. She

was, God save her! a beauty-culturist. She took Mme. Storey’s hand in

both of hers.

 

“It is an honour to meet the great Madame Storey,” she simpered, while

her eyes glittered with dislike. Well, naturally a beauty culturist

wouldn’t have much use for the real thing.

 

The third was an old man dressed in a respectable black suit. He

talked a little like a down-Easter. He was like any other old man,

except that his eyes had a crazy expression. As Mme. Storey approached

him he fumbled with the straps of a square leather case, and drew from

it a weird-looking box with various cords and attachments hanging from

it.

 

“I am the discoverer of the invisible ray,” he said impressively, “with