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

exercise over him? Her presence, her physical and mental nearness, seemed to produce an intoxication, an exhilaration, an inward reaching out toward her, to which he could give no name. Could it be that he, the keen, calculating dissector of human motives and emotions, the automaton, from whose sightless eyes the world of romance must be forever hidden, was falling in love with a woman’s voice, with the indications, manifest to his wonderfully acute intuition, of a pure and lovely nature?

He pulled himself up short in his line of thought with a strong effort of will. He was a detective, an officer of the law, engaged in the perpetual battle against crime. A dead man, who—no matter what sins had blackened his private life, no matter what evilness had sullied his nature—had been foully done to his death, and lay separated from him by only a wall or two, mutely begging for the only justice left that could be meted out to him in this world, demanding vengeance on his slayer 1 And he, Damon Gaunt, who had answered that silent call, who had accepted that sacred trust, was idly allowing himself to drift into dangerous =byways, lured by the unconscious charm of an innocent siren I Every moment wasted in idle thought was a treachery to the cold clay lying near, the thing that had borne at least the semblance of manhood, the father of a little unborn child.

And there was work ahead for him to do— work that would require the full play of all his trained faculties, that would tax his every resource to the uttermost. Which of the many significant strands he held in his hand would lead to the truth? Which of the telltale evidences he possessed of the strange and varied way in which the secret hours of the night had been passed in the den, would point to the unknown hand that had pressed the trigger?

Soft, light footsteps warned him of Barbara Ellerslie’s return, and in a moment her quiet tones thrilled through the silence of the room.

“If you will come now, Mr. Gaunt, please. My sister is eager to talk with you.”

He rose and followed her in silence until she turned to guide his steps, and side by side they went up the great staircase together. ]

At the door of young Mrs. Appleton’s room, she halted, and, turning to him, whispered tremulously:

“Remember your promise, Mr. Gaunt. Be very gentle with her. She has suffered so much, and I fear she is going to be very ill. Please, do not take too seriously any random remarks she may make. She seems a little light-headed to me. Please, please, spare her all you canl”

He bowed his head in silent reassurance, and she turned the doorknob softly.

“Natalie, dear,” she said, and he marveled anew at the tender mother-note that deepened in her tones, “here is Mr. Gaunt. He must see you alone for just a minute, dear. He will not distress you; he is here as a friend, to help us in our trouble…. Sit here, please.

She guided him to a soft, billowy, absurdly low chair, and he heard the quiet closing of a door behind her.

A little, dry, burning hand, like a bird’s claw, grasped his convulsively, and the shrill, high, childlike voice of the morning cried out in anguished tones:

“Oh, Mr. Gaunt, who did it? Who killed my husband?”

For reply he raised his head suddenly, and asked sternly:

“Who else is in this room?”

“Why, no one—” began Natalie Appleton; but a trembling, aged voice interrupted her.

“Hit’s me, suh. Ah jes’ couldn’ bear ter go ‘way an’ leave mah chil’ ‘lone wif yo’. She’s reel po’ly, an’ she needs ‘er ol’ mammy. ‘Sides Ah wanter know what yo’ gwine do ter ‘er!”

“Why, Mammy Lu!” the girl—for she was little more—cried out in distress. “I told you to go out — I told you! I want to talk to Mr. Gaunt alone. Why didn’t Miss Barbara see that you obeyed me?”

“Mis’ Ba’b’ra done tole me ter go; but I was behine de do’ w’en she done open hit,” the old woman returned, rebelliously. “Ain’ gwine to have mah chil’ flustrated no mo’ dis day!”

“Well, you are going out immediately! Do you hear me, Mammy Lu?”

Natalie sat up on her pillows, and waited until, with much grumbling and dubious shaking of her head, the old negress had taken her departure.

“There, she’s gone!” Natalie sank back with an exhausted air upon her couch. “I didn’t intend to deceive you, really, Mr. Gaunt. I didn’t know she was there. She brought us both up, Barbara and me, and she takes liberties, sometimes.”

“That is all right, I quite understand,” he returned, soothingly. “Let me arrange your pillows for you. There!”

He deftly smoothed the pillows about the little face, and contrived in so doing to get a strand of her hair between his fingers. He paused for an imperceptible instant of time, and then, patting a cushion with his left hand, he deliberately took a lock of her shining hair between the fingers of his right, and felt it. It was soft and fine and silky—the identical texture of the slender strand which had wound around his fingers a few hours before, the strand he had taken from the pendant of the low-hanging brass lamp in the room of death.

She smiled up at him, as he seated himself again, in acknowledgment of his kindness, not dreamed that he had discovered that for which he had searched all day, and discovered it where he would least have desired to come upon it.

“Mrs. Appleton, I don’t know who killed your husband,” he replied to her question, at last. “I am here to find out, if I can, and I want you to help me. “

“Me? Why, what can I do, Mr. Gaunt? How should I know what happened? I was asleep— think of it! Asleep, through it all!”

“Just answer a few questions as nearly as you can remember, Mrs. Appleton; try to think clearly. I want to know just what occurred after dinner last evening.”

“Nothing. Everything was quite as usual—I mean, as usual when just the—the Carharts dine with us.”

“And that is often?”

“Yes, very—that is, since Garret’s mother and brother have been staying with us. She and the Judge played double-dummy bridge; Barbara went to Clara Shirley’s wedding; Yates went out somewhere, too—I don’t know where. I didn’t feel very well, and went up to bed early.”

“You were ill?”

“N-no. Just not very well.”

“Were you unhappy, depressed? You need not be afraid to answer me frankly. I have talked with Mrs. Appleton, and your brother-in-law and sister. I know the situation between you and your husband. You went upstairs to be by yourself?”

There was a pause, and then suddenly she doubled her little fists, and beat upon the soft-padded arms of her chaise-longue.

“Yes!” she burst out in a muffled voice, as if from between clenched teeth. “Yes! I couldn’t stand it any longer! Her presence in my house, the looks that passed between her and my husband, the glances they cast at me! They showed me so plainly, they showed that they were trying to make me feel that I was an interloper, that I stood between them and happiness. Oh! I am not jealous, Mr. Gaunt; all that has passed long ago. But I am proud. This was my home, and I was being thrust aside, made to feel of no account, a stumbling-block, whom they were forced to tolerate. It was horrible! “

“But you are sure, Mrs. Appleton? Perhaps your—the state of your health makes you fanciful. Perhaps. your husband was only showing ordinary courtesy to the daughter of an old friend.”

With a convulsive intake of her breath, she opened her lips to speak; but no words came. After a moment of silence, she said, in an oddly constrained, repressed tone:

“Yes, I am sure—now!”

“Why now?” he asked, quickly.

“Because—oh, anyway, I—I ought to know, Mr. Gaunt/’ She spoke with childlike querulousness^ then went on quickly: “At any rate, I couldn’t bear to stay any longer watching her sitting there in my drawing-room, talking and looking as if she wished me out of the way. I thought that, if she wanted to talk to my husband alone, I would give her an opportunity; so I excused myself, and came up to bed. I disrobed, and tried to read; but the words all ran ^together in a jumble, and I couldn’t fix my mind on anything. I thought of telephoning the doctor for a sleeping-powder—he had told me when I felt very nervous and upset to let him know. But then I remembered the— the people downstairs, and that they would make inquiries, and Garret would say I—I had done it for effect. So, I decided to wait until Barbara came home.”

She paused, and Gaunt took her little hot hand in his for an instant, in silent encouragement.

“And did you?” he urged her, gently.

“Y-yes.” The high, bell-like voice, with the little suggestion of her sister’s in its drawling sweetness, faltered, and then went on hastily: “When she returned. Mammy Lu t-told her I was nervous, and she came in, and we talked for a little while, and she quieted me—she always can— and I f-fell asleep.”

Why did she hesitate, and stumble so over her simple recital?

“You did not wait for your husband to come upstairs?”

“Oh, no!” the matter-of-fact tone was infinitely pathetic in its unconsciousness. “Garret never troubled to come in and say.‘good night’ to me— lately. He usually sits down in the—the den—” her trembling voice sank to a whisper; she had not yet realized the truth fully; she had not yet learned to speak of her husband in the past tense—“until long after everyone else in the house is asleep. He stays there, drinking by himself until he is in a stupor.”

“I understand. Well, Mrs. Appleton, what is the next thing you remember?” His voice was still gentle, but it held a compelling, insistent underlying note to which she involuntarily responded.

“I woke up with terrible screams ringing in my ears, and I heard quick footsteps, as of someone running along the hall and down the stairs. I threw on something, and ran down, too. I heard a commotion in the den, and rushed to it. Everyone seemed to be there, the servants and all—all but Mammy Lu. I found out later that she was hiding upstairs, frightened half to death. And Yates—I didn’t notice him anywhere. And then —I saw Garret! He was sitting in his big chair by the table, staring straight at me with awful. bulging eyes, and there was a great red blotch on his shirtfront. The—the next thing I knew, I was in Barbara’s arms, hiding my face on her shoulder to keep from seeing Garret. I don’t remember what happened after that, except begging some strange men—police officers, I think they were—to let me leave that dreadful room, and come up here.”

“Mrs. Appleton,” Gaunt’s voice was very grave, “at what time were you in the den yesterday?”

“In the—d-den?” she stammered; and the detective could hear the silken coverlet shiver with her involuntary start. “I—I haven’t been in the den. I can’t remember when I was there last—days ago, any way. Why d-did you ask me that?”

“Think, Mrs. Appleton. Try to remember,” he urged, his gravity deepening, as he ignored her question. “You were in the den, )ftou know! Think!”

“But I wasn’t! I wasn’t! What do you mean? What are you trying to insinuate!” her voice rose shrilly, in hysterical trepidation.

“Don’t you remember?” he persisted, a note of sternness creeping into his tones. “You caught your hair on that brass hanging lamp.”

While she watched him,