At One-Thirty by Isabel Ostrander (best book series to read .txt) đ
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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, whoâno matter what sins had blackened his private life, no matter what evilness had sullied his natureâhad 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 doâ 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 Ellerslieâs return, and in a moment her quiet tones thrilled through the silence of the room.
âIf you will come now, Mr. Gaunt, please. My sister is eager to talk with you.â
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. Appletonâs room, she halted, and, turning to him, whispered tremulously:
âRemember 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 canlâ
He bowed his head in silent reassurance, and she turned the doorknob softly.
âNatalie, dear,â she said, and he marveled anew at the tender mother-note that deepened in her tones, âhere 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 troubleâŠ. 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 birdâs claw, grasped his convulsively, and the shrill, high, childlike voice of the morning cried out in anguished tones:
âOh, Mr. Gaunt, who did it? Who killed my husband?â
For reply he raised his head suddenly, and asked sternly:
âWho else is in this room?â
âWhy, no oneââ began Natalie Appleton; but a trembling, aged voice interrupted her.
âHitâs me, suh. Ah jesâ couldnâ bear ter go âway anâ leave mah chilâ âlone wif yoâ. Sheâs reel poâly, anâ she needs âer olâ mammy. âSides Ah wanter know what yoâ gwine do ter âer!â
âWhy, Mammy Lu!â the girlâfor she was little moreâcried out in distress. âI told you to go out â I told you! I want to talk to Mr. Gaunt alone. Why didnât Miss Barbara see that you obeyed me?â
âMisâ Baâbâra done tole me ter go; but I was behine de doâ wâen she done open hit,â the old woman returned, rebelliously. âAinâ gwine to have mah chilâ flustrated no moâ dis day!â
âWell, you are going out immediately! Do you hear me, Mammy Lu?â
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.
âThere, sheâs gone!â Natalie sank back with an exhausted air upon her couch. âI didnât intend to deceive you, really, Mr. Gaunt. I didnât know she was there. She brought us both up, Barbara and me, and she takes liberties, sometimes.â
âThat is all right, I quite understand,â he returned, soothingly. âLet me arrange your pillows for you. There!â
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 silkyâthe 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.
âMrs. Appleton, I donât know who killed your husband,â he replied to her question, at last. âI am here to find out, if I can, and I want you to help me. â
âMe? Why, what can I do, Mr. Gaunt? How should I know what happened? I was asleepâ think of it! Asleep, through it all!â
âJust 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.â
âNothing. Everything was quite as usualâI mean, as usual when just theâthe Carharts dine with us.â
âAnd that is often?â
âYes, veryâthat is, since Garretâs mother and brother have been staying with us. She and the Judge played double-dummy bridge; Barbara went to Clara Shirleyâs wedding; Yates went out somewhere, tooâI donât know where. I didnât feel very well, and went up to bed early.â
âYou were ill?â
âN-no. Just not very well.â
âWere 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?â
There was a pause, and then suddenly she doubled her little fists, and beat upon the soft-padded arms of her chaise-longue.
âYes!â she burst out in a muffled voice, as if from between clenched teeth. âYes! I couldnât 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! â
âBut you are sure, Mrs. Appleton? Perhaps yourâthe state of your health makes you fanciful. Perhaps. your husband was only showing ordinary courtesy to the daughter of an old friend.â
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:
âYes, I am sureânow!â
âWhy now?â he asked, quickly.
âBecauseâoh, anyway, IâI ought to know, Mr. Gaunt/â She spoke with childlike querulousness^ then went on quickly: âAt any rate, I couldnât 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 couldnât fix my mind on anything. I thought of telephoning the doctor for a sleeping-powderâhe had told me when I felt very nervous and upset to let him know. But then I remembered theâ the people downstairs, and that they would make inquiries, and Garret would say IâI had done it for effect. So, I decided to wait until Barbara came home.â
She paused, and Gaunt took her little hot hand in his for an instant, in silent encouragement.
âAnd did you?â he urged her, gently.
âY-yes.â The high, bell-like voice, with the little suggestion of her sisterâs in its drawling sweetness, faltered, and then went on hastily: âWhen she returned. Mammy Lu t-told her I was nervous, and she came in, and we talked for a little while, and she quieted meâshe always canâ and I f-fell asleep.â
Why did she hesitate, and stumble so over her simple recital?
âYou did not wait for your husband to come upstairs?â
âOh, no!â the matter-of-fact tone was infinitely pathetic in its unconsciousness. âGarret never troubled to come in and say.âgood nightâ to meâ lately. He usually sits down in theâthe denââ 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 tenseââuntil long after everyone else in the house is asleep. He stays there, drinking by himself until he is in a stupor.â
âI understand. Well, Mrs. Appleton, what is the next thing you remember?â His voice was still gentle, but it held a compelling, insistent underlying note to which she involuntarily responded.
âI 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 allâall but Mammy Lu. I found out later that she was hiding upstairs, frightened half to death. And YatesâI didnât notice him anywhere. And then âI 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. Theâthe next thing I knew, I was in Barbaraâs arms, hiding my face on her shoulder to keep from seeing Garret. I donât remember what happened after that, except begging some strange menâpolice officers, I think they wereâto let me leave that dreadful room, and come up here.â
âMrs. Appleton,â Gauntâs voice was very grave, âat what time were you in the den yesterday?â
âIn theâd-den?â she stammered; and the detective could hear the silken coverlet shiver with her involuntary start. âIâI havenât been in the den. I canât remember when I was there lastâdays ago, any way. Why d-did you ask me that?â
âThink, Mrs. Appleton. Try to remember,â he urged, his gravity deepening, as he ignored her question. âYou were in the den, )ftou know! Think!â
âBut I wasnât! I wasnât! What do you mean? What are you trying to insinuate!â her voice rose shrilly, in hysterical trepidation.
âDonât you remember?â he persisted, a note of sternness creeping into his tones. âYou caught your hair on that brass hanging lamp.â
While she watched him,
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