At One-Thirty by Isabel Ostrander (best book series to read .txt) 📖

him suavely, and motioned to the large arm-chair by the centertable. When they had seated themselves, Mr. Force volunteered an explanation of his call.

“I lunched with Miss Ellerslie today, Mr. Gaunt. She told me of her talk with you over the telephone this morning, and that you were to have an interview with Mrs. Appleton—young Mrs. Appleton—tomorrow. She suggested my calling this afternoon, to learn what has been going forward, if you have discovered anything which is of importance. I need not tell you how anxious we all are to have the mystery of Garret Appleton’s death cleared up. The girls do not mean to be impatient; but the uncertainty, the suspense, are almost unbearable.”

“Naturally,” replied Gaunt. ” Everything is being done that is possible, and you may tell Miss Ellerslie for me that, although I can make no promises, I am sure I shall have definite news for her before long.”

“I am glad of that.” Force paused, as if uncertain just how to continue, and Gaunt opened a box of cigars that stood upon the centertable.

“Will you smoke?”

“Thanks, no. I had a cigar just after luncheon, which was rather stronger than those I am accustomed to, and my throat seems dry.” The young man coughed rather nervously, as he spoke. “I don’t think I’ll smoke any more, for awhile.”

“Perhaps some water—” The detective made a gesture toward the glass, which stood upon the centertable near his visitor’s hand. Then he seated himself, and filled his pipe. “Inspector Hanrahan was here when you arrived—that was why I was compelled to keep you waiting for a few moments. He seems quite discouraged. He even went so far as to say to me, in confidence, of course, that the mystery might never be solved.”

Randolph Force leaned forward suddenly in his chair.

“Well, isn’t that just possible, Mr. Gaunt?”

He was unaware, perhaps, of the abrupt intensity in his tones.

“Everything is possible, Mr. Force. The fact that I have never yet lost a case upon which I was engaged—I am not boasring, I am stating a fact— does not, of course, preclude the possibility of my losing this one; but, unlike the Inspector, I am still full of confidence.”

“You—you have found further evidence, perhaps, to go on?”

The younger man turned suddenlv: to the table, and, seizing the glass ot water, gulped down half its contents, the ice clinking violently, as the glass shook in his trembling hand. It was the signal for which Gaunt had arranged.

“I have evidence—yes, and proof in abundance, of the minor details. But I will confess to you, Mr. Force, that I still lack the key to the whole situation. The crux of the mystery is still beyond my grasp.”

“‘It seems like such a useless tragedy, doesn’t it?” the younger man ventured. “There doesn’t seem to be an atom of motive, and that weak attempt at making it seem like the work of a burglar, an attempt which a mere child could see through, seems to me like the work of a person whose mind was unhinged. I cannot make head or tail of the whole proceeding.”

“Perhaps you have not a detective’s instinct,” Gaunt replied, quietly. “There are a half-dozen entirely different hypotheses, which would account for every detail that now seems inexplicable to you, Mr. Force, and yet each would seem like the work of a very sane person, indeed, and a very shrewd and crafty one.

“The inspiration of the rearrangement of the room, hours after Garret Appleton’s death, was a clever and daring one; although bunglingly carried out, I admit. But remember that the person who sought to accomplish it was unnerved, working under great stress of grief, or apprehension, and knew the necessity for absolute silence, and the fear of being momentarily discovered at his grim task.”

Randolph Force moved uneasily in his chair, and swallowed audibly. Then, he reached again for the glass of water, sipped a little, and held the glass in his hand. The tremulous tinkling of the ice must have been noticeable to him, even in his perturbed state; for presently he put his other hand also about the glass, to steady it.

“Mrs. Appleton—Miss Ellerslie’s sister—is very eager to see you. She can scarcely wait until tomorrow afternoon. Miss Ellerslie says, and is counting the hours. Naturally, the suspense is maddening for her, poor child. She is, of course, wild with anxiety to know who killed Garret, and, although her sister can give her any news you may have for us, I suppose she feels that she must hear from your own lips what has been accomplished.”

“That may be,” the detective said, with quiet intensity. “Or it is possible there is somediing she wishes to tell me.”

“What could she tell you—what does she know?” Again, that quick intensity of tone. “Surely, she told you everything she knew at your last interview with her.” He gave a short, forced laugh. “Perhaps, poor girl, this thing has preyed upon her mind so much that she has some hallucinations. It may be that she fancies, in her poor, dazed brain, that some insignificant, entirely irrelevant incidents may be of value to you.”

“Miss Ellerslie told me, this morning, that her sister’s mind was quite clear.”

“Yes, of course,” Randolph Force assented. hastily. “It’s clear now, you know; but she is frightfully weak, and she was delirious most of last week. In her condirion, some phases of her delirium may seem very real to her. They do, often, you know, to a person, after a long illness.”

“Still, there are some questions I should like to ask Mrs. Appleton—which I should have asked her immediately after the murder, had her illness not prevented my interviewing her further.”

“Perhaps, Miss Ellerslie could answer them for you—or I,” began the younger man, quickly; but Gaunt shook his head.

“No; only Mrs. Appleton knows.”

“I see; some personal matters between herself and her late husband, perhaps?”

“Yes,” the detective assented, gravely; “between herself and her late husband.”

“But what have you discovered, Mr. Gaunt— those details you referred to? Perhaps, I should not ask; but, then, I am virtually a member of the family, you know, and quite as much interested in the outcome of this terrible affair as they could possibly be.” The ice clinked insistently in the glass.

Gaunt smiled.

“If I told you, Mr. Force, it would really mean nothing to you. When one has a series of minor facts, but no connecting link between them, they would seem to contradict one another, would seem to be purely extraneous, unless one has a theory to build on; and theories are dangerous things to handle. I never disclose my theories until I have proved them, and then, you see, they become no longer theories, but facts…. Do you know if Miss Ellerslie has seen Mrs. Finlay Appleton, or Mr. Appleton?”

“At the funeral, of course; and Mrs. Appleton has sent flowers twice to her daughter-in-law, but has not called. Yates called once, or twice, I believe; but Miss Ellerslie was too busy with her sister to see him.”

“Mr. Force,” Gaint leaned forward, in his turn, “are you a member of the Patriarchs’ Club.^”

“Yes. But I seldom go there. The club has greatly changed in character since I was first a member.”

“How long ago is that?”

Randolph Force set the glass again upon the table.

“An active member? For about fifteen years?” The younger man laughed pleasantly. “I was put up for membership the day I was bom. My grandfather was one of its founders. The Patriarchs’ was one of the most exclusive clubs in the city.”

“How do you mean it has changed in character?”

“It’s become more sporty than conservative…. Don’t think Pm an old fogy, or a prig, Mr. Gaunt. It’s only that I like polo better as a game than a gamble, I prefer yacht-racing to watching a horserace ticker, and I would rather go to the play, or a dance, or stay quietly at home, and read, and wake up with a clear head in the morning, than sit all night in a game with men, half of whom cannot afford to lose, and drink dll I cannot see the cards. The Patriarchs^ although its roster of members srill contains the best and oldest names in New York, has, in my estimation, ceased to be a gentlemen’s club.”

“Have you been there lately?”

“Not in weeks.”

“Indeed! I ask because I wondered if you were there on Monday evening.”

“No. I was at the wedding, with Miss Ellerslie. My mother and I called for her, and brought her home.”

Gaunt had succeeded in his purpose. The change of subject, to that of the club, had had the desired effect, and the younger man’s nervousness seemed to have dropped from him. Temporarily, he was off his guard.

“And during the wedding and the reception which, followed, did Miss Ellerslie seem quite as usual? You noticed nothing out of the ordinary in her manner?”

“Oh, she seemed in brighter spirits than I’ve seen her for a long time. Sbe^s been worrying about her sister a great deal lately, you know. Only, toward the last—” He hesitated, and his latent reserve manifested itself again.

“Toward the last—what?” asked the detective, quickly.

“I—I think she must have overheard something; some idle gossip not meant for her ears. It had distressed her greatly, and she asked to be taken home. She would not tell me what it was that she had heard; but something must have occurred to change her mood so greatly.”

“Gossip! Not about herself, surely?”

“Certainly not! It must have been about— Garret!” Randolph Force spoke hastily, stung by the insinuation in Gaunt’s question, as the latter had intended he should. be. The young man turned to the table, raised the glass, and drained what little was left of its contents. Then, it slipped from his quivering fingers, and fell crashing to the floor, shattered into a thousand bits.

“Oh, I say— I— I’m awfully sorry!”

“It doesn’t matter in the least, Mr. Force…. What was that you were saying about the gossip Miss Ellerslie heard at the wedding—some gossip about Garret Appleton?” But, even as he spoke, he knew that the younger man had realized his mistake the instant he had spoken, and that, now fully on his guard, he would not allow himself to be drawn out upon that subject, and the detective wisely refrained from pursuing it.

“By the way, you are aware, of course,” he went on at once, ” that Mr. Appleton traded in Wall Street through the firm of Smith, Hitchcock & Gregory, at the time of their failure, are you notf

“I knew that they were formerly his brokers; but I did not know that they were so at the time of the failure,” Mr. Force replied, cautiously.

“You did not, then, hear that he lost very much money when the crash came?”

“No.” The other man’s tone was lower, and he moved again uneasily in his chair.

“Did you, by any chance, hear whispers, rumors, that he had gained, and not lost, by the failure?”

There was an instant’s pause; and then Mr. Force parried, with an attempt at lightness:

“Oh, there are always whispers and rumors down in the Street. Finance fattens on them.”

“Did you, Mr. Force, hear any such rumors?” persisted Gaunt.

“I believe I did,” the younger man admitted, reluctantly. “There are always a few bad losers, in every kind of a gamble, you know. They may have been disgruntled because the crash did not seem to effect Garret particularly.”

“Did you hear any rumors of crooked dealing on Garret Appleton’s part, concerning that failure anywhere else besides on the Street? In the clubs, for instance? Think, Mr. Force.”

“I—I really don’t remember. It is so long ago. Of course, Garret was never