The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) by Arthur B. Reeve (the little red hen ebook .TXT) 📖
- Author: Arthur B. Reeve
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Kennedy's Suit-Case Was Lying Open On The Bed, And He Was
Literally Throwing Things Into It From His Chiffonier, As I
Entered After A Hurried Trip Up-Town From The Star Office In
Response To An Urgent Message From Him.
"Come, Walter," He Cried, Hastily Stuffing In A Package Of Clean
Laundry Without Taking Off The Wrapping-Paper, "I've Got Your
Suit-Case Out. Pack Up Whatever You Can In Five Minutes. We Must
Take The Six O'clock Train For Danbridge."
I Did Not Wait To Hear Any More. The Mere Mention Of The Name Of
The Quaint And Quiet Little Connecticut Town Was Sufficient. For
Danbridge Was On Everybody's Lips At That Time. It Was The Scene
Of The Now Famous Danbridge Poisoning Case--A Brutal Case In Which
The Pretty Little Actress, Vera Lytton, Had Been The Victim.
"I've Been Retained By Senator Adrian Willard," He Called From His
Room, As I Was Busy Packing In Mine. "The Willard Family Believe
That That Young Dr. Dixon Is The Victim Of A Conspiracy--Or At
Least Alma Willard Does, Which Comes To The Same Thing, And--Well,
The Senator Called Me Up On Long-Distance And Offered Me Anything
I Would Name In Reason To Take The Case. Are You Ready? Come On,
Then. We've Simply Got To Make That Train."
As We Settled Ourselves In The Smoking-Compartment Of The Pullman,
Which For Some Reason Or Other We Had To Ourselves, Kennedy Spoke
Again For The First Time Since Our Frantic Dash Across The City To
Catch The Train.
"Now Let Us See, Walter," He Began. "We've Both Read A Good Deal
About This Case In The Papers. Let's Try To Get Our Knowledge In
An Orderly Shape Before We Tackle The Actual Case Itself."
"Ever Been In Danbridge?" I Asked.
"Never," He Replied. "What Sort Of Place Is It?"
"Mighty Interesting," I Answered; "A Combination Of Old New
England And New, Of Ancestors And Factories, Of Wealth And
Poverty, And Above All It Is Interesting For Its Colony Of New-
Yorkers--What Shall I Call It?--A Literary-Artistic-Musical
Combination, I Guess."
"Yes," He Resumed, "I Thought As Much. Vera Lytton Belonged To The
Colony. A Very Talented Girl, Too--You Remember Her In 'The Taming
Of The New Woman' Last Season? Well, To Get Back To The Facts As
We Know Them At Present.
"Here Is A Girl With A Brilliant Future On The Stage Discovered By
Her Friend, Mrs. Boncour, In Convulsions--Practically Insensible--
With A Bottle Of Headache-Powder And A Jar Of Ammonia On Her
Dressing-Table. Mrs. Boncour Sends The Maid For The Nearest
Doctor, Who Happens To Be A Dr. Waterworth. Meanwhile She Tries To
Restore Miss Lytton, But With No Result. She Smells The Ammonia
And Then Just Tastes The Headache-Powder, A Very Foolish Thing To
Do, For By The Time Dr. Waterworth Arrives He Has Two Patients."
"No?" I Corrected, "Only One, For Miss Lytton Was Dead When He
Arrived, According To His Latest Statement."
"Very Well, Then--One. He Arrives, Mrs. Boncour Is Ill, The Maid
Knows Nothing At All About It, And Vera Lytton Is Dead. He, Too,
Smells The Ammonia, Tastes The Headache-Powder--Just The Merest
Trace--And Then He Has Two Patients, One Of Them Himself. We Must
Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 2See Him, For His Experience Must Have Been Appalling. How He Ever
Did It I Can't Imagine, But He Saved Both Himself And Mrs. Boncour
From Poisoning--Cyanide, The Papers Say, But Of Course We Can't
Accept That Until We See. It Seems To Me, Walter, That Lately The
Papers Have Made The Rule In Murder Cases: When In Doubt, Call It
Cyanide."
Not Relishing Kennedy In The Humour Of Expressing His Real Opinion
Of The Newspapers, I Hastily Turned The Conversation Back Again By
Asking, "How About The Note From Dr. Dixon?"
"Ah, There Is The Crux Of The Whole Case--That Note From Dixon.
Let Us See. Dr. Dixon Is, If I Am Informed Correctly, Of A Fine
And Aristocratic Family, Though Not Wealthy. I Believe It Has Been
Established That While He Was An Interne In A City Hospital He
Became Acquainted With Vera Lytton, After Her Divorce From That
Artist Thurston. Then Comes His Removal To Danbridge And His
Meeting And Later His Engagement With Miss Willard. On The Whole,
Walter, Judging From The Newspaper Pictures, Alma Willard Is Quite
The Equal Of Vera Lytton For Looks, Only Of A Different Style Of
Beauty. Oh, Well, We Shall See. Vera Decided To Spend The Spring
And Summer At Danbridge In The Bungalow Of Her Friend, Mrs.
Boncour, The Novelist. That's When Things Began To Happen."
"Yes," I Put In, "When You Come To Know Danbridge As I Did After
That Summer When You Were Abroad, You'll Understand, Too.
Everybody Knows Everybody Else's Business. It Is The Main
Occupation Of A Certain Set, And The Per-Capita Output Of Gossip
Is A Record That Would Stagger The Census Bureau. Still, You Can't
Get Away From The Note, Craig. There It Is, In Dixon's Own
Handwriting, Even If He Does Deny It: 'This Will Cure Your
Headache. Dr. Dixon.' That's A Damning Piece Of Evidence."
"Quite Right," He Agreed Hastily; "The Note Was Queer, Though,
Wasn't It? They Found It Crumpled Up In The Jar Of Ammonia. Oh,
There Are Lots Of Problems The Newspapers Have Failed To See The
Significance Of, Let Alone Trying To Follow Up."
Our First Visit In Danbridge Was To The Prosecuting Attorney,
Whose Office Was Not Far From The Station On The Main Street.
Craig Had Wired Him, And He Had Kindly Waited To See Us, For It
Was Evident That Danbridge Respected Senator Willard And Every One
Connected With Him.
"Would It Be Too Much To Ask Just To See That Note That Was Found
In The Boncour Bungalow?" Asked Craig.
The Prosecutor, An Energetic Young Man, Pulled Out Of A Document-
Case A Crumpled Note Which Had Been Pressed Flat Again. On It In
Clear, Deep Black Letters Were The Words, Just As Reported:
This Will Cure Your Headache.
Dr. Dixon.
"How About The Handwriting?" Asked Kennedy.
The Lawyer Pulled Out A Number Of Letters. "I'm Afraid They Will
Have To Admit It," He Said With Reluctance, As If Down In His
Heart He Hated To Prosecute Dixon. "We Have Lots Of These, And No
Handwriting Expert Could Successfully Deny The Identity Of The
Writing."
He Stowed Away The Letters Without Letting Kennedy Get A Hint As
To Their Contents. Kennedy Was Examining The Note Carefully.
"May I Count On Having This Note For Further Examination, Of
Course Always At Such Times And Under Such Conditions As You Agree
To?"
The Attorney Nodded. "I Am Perfectly Willing To Do Anything Not
Illegal To Accommodate The Senator," He Said. "But, On The Other
Hand, I Am Here To Do My Duty For The State, Cost Whom It May."
The Willard House Was In A Virtual State Of Siege. Newspaper
Reporters From Boston And New York Were Actually Encamped At Every
Gate, Terrible As An Army, With Cameras. It Was With Some
Difficulty That We Got In, Even Though We Were Expected, For Some
Of The More Enterprising Had Already Fooled The Family By Posing
As Officers Of The Law And Messengers From Dr. Dixon.
The House Was A Real, Old Colonial Mansion With Tall White
Pillars, A Door With A Glittering Brass Knocker, Which Gleamed Out
Severely At You As You Approached Through A Hedge Of Faultlessly
Trimmed Boxwoods.
Senator, Or Rather Former Senator, Willard Met Us In The Library,
And A Moment Later His Daughter Alma Joined Him. She Was Tall,
Like Her Father, A Girl Of Poise And Self-Control. Yet Even The
Schooling Of Twenty-Two Years In Rigorous New England Self-
Restraint Could Not Hide The Very Human Pallor Of Her Face After
The Sleepless Nights And Nervous Days Since This Trouble Had
Broken On Her Placid Existence. Yet There Was A Mark Of Strength
And Determination On Her Face That Was Fascinating. The Man Who
Would Trifle With This Girl, I Felt, Was Playing Fast And Loose
With Her Very Life. I Thought Then, And I Said To Kennedy
Afterward: "If This Dr. Dixon Is Guilty, You Have No Right To Hide
It From That Girl. Anything Less Than The Truth Will Only Blacken
The Hideousness Of The Crime That Has Already Been Committed."
The Senator Greeted Us Gravely, And I Could Not But Take It As A
Good Omen When, In His Pride Of Wealth And Family And Tradition,
He Laid Bare Everything To Us, For The Sake Of Alma Willard. It
Was Clear That In This Family There Was One Word That Stood Above
All Others, "Duty."
As We Were About To Leave After An Interview Barren Of New Facts,
A Young Man Was Announced, Mr. Halsey Post. He Bowed Politely To
Us, But It Was Evident Why He Had Called, As His Eye Followed Alma
About The Room.
"The Son Of The Late Halsey Post, Of Post & Vance, Silversmiths,
Who Have The Large Factory In Town, Which You Perhaps Noticed,"
Explained The Senator. "My Daughter Has Known Him All Her Life. A
Very Fine Young Man."
Later, We Learned That The Senator Had Bent Every Effort Toward
Securing Halsey Post As A Son-In-Law, But His Daughter Had Had
Views Of Her Own On The Subject.
Post Waited Until Alma Had Withdrawn Before He Disclosed The Real
Object Of His Visit. In Almost A Whisper, Lest She Should Still Be
Listening, He Said, "There Is A Story About Town That Vera
Lytton's Former Husband--An Artist Named Thurston--Was Here Just
Before Her Death."
Senator Willard Leaned Forward As If Expecting To Hear Dixon
Immediately Acquitted. None Of Us Was Prepared For The Next
Remark.
"And The Story Goes On To Say That He Threatened To Make A Scene
Over A Wrong He Says He Has Suffered From Dixon. I Don't Know
Anything More About It, And I Tell You Only Because I Think You
Ought To Know What Danbridge Is Saying Under Its Breath."
We Shook Off The Last Of The Reporters Who Affixed Themselves To
Us, And For A Moment Kennedy Dropped In At The Little Bungalow To
See Mrs. Boncour. She Was Much Better, Though She Had Suffered
Much. She Had Taken Only A Pinhead Of The Poison, But It Had
Proved Very Nearly Fatal.
"Had Miss Lytton Any Enemies Whom You Think Of, People Who Were
Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 3Jealous Of Her Professionally Or Personally?" Asked Craig.
"I Should Not Even Have Said Dr. Dixon Was An Enemy," She Replied
Evasively.
"But This Mr. Thurston," Put In Kennedy Quickly. "One Is Not
Usually Visited In Perfect Friendship By A Husband Who Has Been
Divorced."
She Regarded Him Keenly For A Moment. "Halsey Post Told You That,"
She Said. "No One Else Knew He Was Here. But Halsey Post Was An
Old Friend Of Both Vera And Mr. Thurston Before They Separated. By
Chance He Happened To Drop In The Day Mr. Thurston Was Here, And
Later In The Day I Gave Him A Letter To Forward To Mr. Thurston,
Which Had Come After The Artist Left. I'm Sure No One Else Knew
The Artist. He Was Here The Morning Of The Day She Died, And--And-
-That's Every
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