At One-Thirty - Isabel Ostrander (book reader for pc .txt) 📗

Gaunt, a type prevalent everywhere in America at least; particularly so in New York society: the flirt incarnate, the girl, who, in spirit halfwanton, half-puritan, plays with fire, yet holds herself rigidly aloof from the all-consuming flame. It might be that she had been fascinated by the malicious delight of a flirtation, with a married man, carried on under his helpless wife’s eyes, careless of the suffering she caused, and had discovered that in the process her own heart had been singed, but no more. Perhaps she had hoped that a divorce might be arranged, and she step into Natalie’s shoes; but the prospect of an heir had precluded that. Perhaps—who could tell, now? —he had tired of what was to him a purposeless game, and had told her, on that momentous evening, that they had come to the parting of their ways. In any event, might she not have returned stealthily for a final interview, previously arranged between them, and, in a moment of madness, slain him, determined that, since she could not possess him before the world, no other woman should? In that case, her horror and astonishment of the morning had been consummately simulated, and her nerve and courage supreme. He believed her capable of it; but it seemed scarcely credible that she could be capable of the crime itself, and the practical difficulties in the way of her clandestine departure from her own house in the small hours of the morning, and a return unobserved to the Appleton mansion, seemed well’ nigh insurmountable.

“Young woman to see you, sir.” Gaunt had been so lost in thought that he had not heard the approach of Jenkins. “Says she comes from the Appleton house. She seems kind of “upsetlike.”

“Ask her to come up, please.” The detective rose hastily, and pushed Scrapper gently into an inner room, closing the door upon him. A young girll The method of Jenkin’s announcement suggested one of the domestics. Could it be that, in interviewing only the principals in the affair, and the only two of the servants whose information he had thought would be of most immediate use to him, he had overlooked an important link in the chain?

Jenkins returned, ushering in a pretty, redcheeked maid, whose blue eyes, although sullen and frightened, glowed with determination. Jenkins eyed her in bold admiration; but with a toss of her head she dismissed him from her interest, her gaze fixed upon the tall figure before her, the thin, ascetic face softened by a kindly smile, as if he could see her standing there, trembling, but resolute, in the doorway.

“Who is it, please?” he asked quiedy, as she remained tongue-tied.

“Tis me, sor, Katie Gerahty. I’m housemaid at the Appleton’s—”

“Aye, yes. Come in, Katie…. Jenkins, that will do. Now, Katie, what is it you wished to see me about?”

“Twas me that found the—the corpse, sor. Tve been expectin’ all day long that you’d ask for me; but you didn’t, an’, when I found you’d gone, I thought I’d better come after you.”

“I understand. I hadn’t time to interview all of you today, and I thought Inspector Hanrahan had talked to you.”

“Sure, he had, sor, an’ a fine bully he is, too. He’d get nothin’ out of me, if I died for it, talkin’ to me as if I’d killed the poor master meself! I found his body, sor—but I found something else beside, an’ though I wouldn’t give the Inspector the satisfaction of gettin’ it from me, I’m an honest girl, an’ I don’t keep nothin’ that don’t belong to me.”

“And what was it that you found, Katie? You did right to bring it to me.” Gaunt with difficulty restrained his eagerness.

“This, sor.” She approached, and placed in his outstretched hand a small, golden object. His fingers closed quickly over it, and he felt it all over with minute care.

It was a man’s gold cufflink, of the sort that are sometimes given to ushers at weddings, save that the initials on one side, and the date on the other, instead of being cut in, were raised, and of a plain block design. Thp detective’s delicate, sure fingertips spelled out for him the figures, 1911, and on the other side the letters, Y. A.

“And where did you find this, Katie?”

“In the den, sor, right by the door, when I first went in. Like enough it had rolled or been dropped there.”

“How did you happen to notice it, with Mr. Appleton sitting there dead before you?”

“Well, you see, sor, it was kinder dark in the den when I opened the door—only the one window open and the shade up and the side curtains halfhiding that. I wasn’t what you might call waked up for the day, either, and, when I seen Mr. Appleton sittin’ there in his chair, I thought he was sleeping. Twouldn’t be the first time that Fd come down, savin’ your presence, and found him stupid drunk there from the night before. Then I seen something shinin’ at my feet, an’ I picked it up, and afterward went clost to Mr. Appleton to wake him if I could—and there was that bloody splash on his shirtfront, and the awful dead face of him starin’ up at me. I screeched then, sor. In th’ excitement after, I forgot all about the cufF-button that I dropped in me apron-pocket, until that Inspector began asking me ugly questions in the way of him, and sure I just wouldn’t let on about it. I was afraid after to give it to one of the family; so I thought I’d better bring it to you.”

“Very well, Katie. I will see that it reaches the owner.” Then, as the girl seemed to hesitate, he asked: “Is there anything more you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes, son ‘Tis about that French thing—that maid, Marie. Before you come this mornin’, she slipped away from the crowd of us around the door of the den, and I—well, I followed her. She had a funny look on her face, and—well, to tell you the truth, sor, she’s no friend of mine. We had a diflFerence about a young man—but that’s neither here nor there. When I come up with her, she was usin’ the telephone in the back hall. I heard her say, ‘It is true, ma^m^selley he is dead—murdered 1 I thought that you would wish to know privately, so as to be prepared for the shock when the news reaches your house.’ Then she hanged up the receiver with a bang.”

“To whom do you think she was speaking, Katie? Have you any idea?” The detective paused and then, as the girl made no answer, he added: “To Miss Doris Carhart, by any chance?”

“How did you know, sor?” The girl’s surprised exclamation was involuntary; but she went on hastily: “Of course, I have no proof, but—well, you know how servants sometimes sees more than they’re supposed to. I have been thinkin’ for a long time that there was some carryings-on between

Mr. Appleton and the Judge’s daughter, and that this Marie was kinder helping them out. ‘Twas just a suspicion of mine, an’ I’m not paid to carry no tales.”

“I understand, Katie. I won’t quote you. You are a very bright girl, and you have helped me a lot. If you see anything going on that you think I ought to know, come to me, here. I’ll make it worth your while…. By the way, Katie, why don’t you wear glasses? You’re very near-sighted, and you should have it corrected. You don’t want to become like me, you know,” he added, with a smile.

“My eyes do De troublin’ me a lot, sir. I don’t see how you know about thatl” Her round eyes grew wider as she spoke.

“Your ankles are weak, too. You should wear stouter shoes,” he commented. “You stumble a little, and you are a little uncertain in your walk, also, although you are not heavy-footed. You take very short steps, and plant your heel down first. That shows you are near-sighted, and afraid to strike out, because of turning your ankle and falling.”

“Well, sor, It beats all how you knew; but it’s true!” ‘Katie backed away toward the door as she spoke, and felt desperately behind her for the knob. She desired above all things to get away from this uncanny presence. “I—I’ll come again, sor, if I hear anything more!” And she departed.

After the girl had gone, Gaunt sat for some moments turning the cufF-button over and over in his hands. Out of the seemingly hopeless array of conflicting evidence, some facts began to dovetail magically, and to suggest an almost impossible hypothesis, from which the detective, accustomed as he was to studies of the darker side of human nature, shrank.

The reappearance of Miss Barnes put an end to his reflections for the time being.

“I have found several references, Mr. Gaunt,” she said, “in the society news of five and six years ago to the Appleton family; but they are merely announcements of receptions, dinners, dances, and so forth, although you may wish me to read you the lists of the guests. But four years ago— four years last April, to be exact—there is the announcement of the engagement between Mr. Garret Appleton and Miss Doris Carhart, daughter of Judge Anthony Carhart, of the Supreme Court. Three months later, in July of the same year, there is an announcement of the breaking of that en’ gagement.”

“That was something I had not looked for,” Gaunt murmured to himself. Then aloud: “Go on, please. Miss Barnes.”

“I thought you might like me to look up, also, while I was among these old files, any articles I might find referring to the Carharts.”

The dfetective smiled in grateful appreciation.

“I find that in October of the previous year— five years ago—Miss Carhart made her dibut, and in December of that year she was bridesmaid at the Lancaster-Dubois wedding. All other references are practically the same as those relating to the Appleton family—invitations to social affairs at their house, or appearances at the opera. In November, four months after the breaking of the engagement with Miss Carhart, comes the announcement of Mr. Appleton’s engagement to Miss Natalie Ellerslie, of Louisville, Kentucky, and. in the following March, that of their marriage, All the later references to them which I have been able to discover are merely those of social affairs, and among the guests listed Miss Carhart’s name and Judge Carhart^s appear almost invariably.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Barnes, and now —what time is it please?”

As if in answer, six silvery notes sounded from the bronze clock on the mantel, and Gaunt, taking up the telephone receiver, called up the Bryant Chambers, and asked for Mr. Maurice Livingston.

“This is Mr. Livingston. Who is it, please?” came in a hearty, good-natured voice over the wire.

“Mr. Gaunt is speaking—Mr. Damon Gaunt. You have, no doubt, Mr. Livingston, heard of the sudden death of Mr. Garret Appleton. I have been retained by the family to investigate matters for them. In the course of my work, I have interviewed Mr. Yates Appleton, and, as a mere matter of form, I should like to see you, if you can spare me a few moments, to corroborate some of his statements.”

“If you can come at once, Mr. Gaunt, I shall be glad to give you any assistance in my power. I have a dinner engagement at seven o’clock.”

“I can be with you in ten minutes, Mr. Livingston.”

“Very good.”

The receiver clicked, and Gaunt summoned Jenkins for his hat and coat, and to call a taxicab. Jenkins, too, accompanied him to Bryant Chambers, and, under the guidance of the hallboy, conducted him to the door of Mr. Livingston’s apartment, after which he returned to the cab, to wait.

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