But her answers were curt, even angry at times, and her manner was haughty and resentful.
Great emphasis was laid by the coroner on the tenor of the last words that passed between Iris and her aunt.
The girl admitted that they were quarrelsome words, but declared she did not remember exactly what had been said.
Something in the expression of the maid, Agnes, caught the eye of the coroner, and he suddenly turned to her, saying, "Did you overhear this conversation?"
Taken aback by the unexpected question, Agnes stammered, "Yes, sir, I did."
"Where were you?"
"In the dining room, clearing the table."
"Where was Miss Clyde?"
"In the hall, just about to go upstairs."
"And Mrs. Pell?"
"In the hall, by the living-room door."
"Why were they in the hall?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Bowen had just left, and the ladies had said good-bye to them at the front door, and then they stood talking to each other a few moments."
"What were they talking about?"
Agnes hesitated, but on further insistence of the coroner she said, "Miss Iris was complaining to Mrs. Pell about her habit of playing tricks."
"Was Miss Clyde angry at her aunt?"
"She sounded so."
"Certainly I was," broke in Iris. "I had stood that foolishness just as long as I could "
"You are not the witness, for the moment, Miss Clyde," said the coroner, severely. "Agnes, what did Mrs. Pell say to her niece in response to her chiding?"
"She only laughed, and said that Miss Iris looked like a circus clown."
"Then what did Miss Clyde say?"
"She said that Mrs. Pell was a fiend in human shape and that she hated her. Then she ran upstairs and went into her own room and slammed the door."
"Have you any reason to think, Agnes, that there is any secret mode of connection between Mrs. Pell's sitting room and Miss Clyde's bedroom, directly above it?"
"Why, no, sir, I never heard of such a thing."
"Absurd!" broke in Winston Bannard, "utterly absurd. If there were such a thing, it could certainly be discovered by your expert detectives."
"There isn't any," declared Hughes, positively. "I've sounded the walls and examined the floor and ceiling, and there's not a chance of it. The way the murderer got out of that locked room is a profound mystery, but it won't be solved by means of a secret entrance."
"Yet what other possibility can be suggested?" went on Timken, thoughtfully. "And the connection needn't be directly with Miss Clyde's room. Suppose there is a sliding wall panel, or an exit to the cellar, in some way."
"But there isn't," insisted Hughes. "I'm not altogether ignorant of architecture, and there is no such thing in any part of that room. Moreover, how could any outsider come to the house, get in, and get into that room, without any member of the household seeing his approach? The two women servants were in the house, but Campbell, the chauffeur, and Purdy, the gardener, were out of doors, and could have seen anyone who came in at the gate."
"Might not the intruder have entered while the family was at dinner, and concealed himself in Mrs. Pell's sitting room, until she went in there after dinner?"
"Possibly," agreed Hughes, "but, in that case, how did the intruder get out?"
And that was the sticking-point with every theory. No one could think of or imagine any way to account for the exit of the criminal. Mrs. Pell had undoubtedly been murdered. Her injuries were not self-inflicted. She had been brutally maltreated by a strong, angry person, before the final blow had killed her. The overturned table, and the ransacked room, the empty pocket-book and handbag were the work of a desperate thief, and it really seemed absurd to connect the name of Iris Clyde with such conditions. More plausible was the theory of Bannard's guilt, but, again, how did he get away?
"There is a possibility of locking a door from the outside," said Coroner Timken.
"I've thought of that," returned Hughes, "but it wasn't done in this case. I've tried to lock that door from outside, with a pair of nippers, and the lock is such that it can't be done. And, too, Polly heard Mrs. Pell's screams at the moment of her murder the criminal couldn't have run out, and locked the door outside, and gone through this room without having been seen by someone. You were in the dining room, Polly?"
"Yes, sir, and I ran right in here; there was no time for anybody to get away without my seeing him."
The facts, as testified to, were so clear cut and definite, that there seemed little to probe into. It was a deadlock. Mrs. Pell had been robbed and murdered. Apparently there was no way in which this could have been done, and yet it had been done. The two who could be said to have a motive were Iris Clyde and Winston Bannard. It might even be said that they had opportunity, yet it was clearly shown that they could not have escaped unseen.
Bannard was further questioned as to his movements on Sunday.
He declared that he had risen late, and had gone for a bicycle ride, a recreation of which he was fond.
"Where did you ride?" asked Timken.
"Up Broadway and on along its continuation as far as Red Fox Inn."
"That's about half way up here!"
"I know it. I stopped there for luncheon, about noon, and after that I returned to New York."
"You lunched at the Inn at noon?"
"Shortly after twelve, I think it was. The Inn people will verify this."
"They know you?"
"Not personally, but doubtless the waiter who served me will remember my presence."
"And, after luncheon, you returned to the city?"
"I did."
"Reaching your home at what time?"
"Oh, I didn't go to my rooms until about twilight. It was a lovely day, and I came home slowly, stopping here and there when I passed a bit of woods or a pleasant spot to rest. I often spend a day in the open."
"You had your newspaper with you?"
"I did."
"What one?"
"The 'Herald.'" But even as Bannard said the words, he caught himself, and looked positively frightened.
"Ah, yes. There is even now a 'Herald' of yesterday's date in Mrs. Pell's sitting room."
"But that isn't mine. That that one isn't unfolded I mean, it hasn't been unfolded. You can see that by its condition. Mine, I read through, and refolded it untidily, even inside out."
"Fine talk!" said Timken, with a slight sneer. "But it doesn't get you anywhere. That New York paper, that cigarette end, and that check stub seem to me to need pretty strict accounting for. Your explanations are glib, but a little thin. I don't see how you got out of the room, or Miss Clyde either; but that consideration would apply equally to any other intruder. And we have no other direction in which to look for the person who robbed Mrs. Pell."
"Leave Miss Clyde's name out," said Bannard, shortly. "If you want to suspect me, go ahead, but it's too absurd to fasten it on a woman."
"Perhaps you both know more than you've told "
"I don't!" declared Iris, her eyes snapping at the implication. "I was angry at my aunt. I've told you the truth about that, but I didn't kill her. Nor did her nephew. Because we are her probable heirs does not mean that we're her murderers!"
"Your protestation doesn't carry much weight," said Timken, coldly. "We're after proofs, and we'll get them yet. Mr. Bowen, will you take the stand?"
The rector somewhat ponderously acquiesced, and the coroner put some questions to him, which like the preceding queries brought little new light on the mystery.
But one statement roused a slight wave of suspicion toward Iris Clyde. This was the assertion that Mrs. Pell had said she would call her lawyer to her the next day, to change her will.
"With what intent?" asked Timken.
"With what intent?" asked Timken.
"She promised that she would have all her jewels set into a chalice, and present it to me for my church."
"Oh, she didn't mean that, Mr. Bowen," Iris exclaimed.
"Why didn't she? She said it, and I have no reason to think she was not sincere."
"She may have meant it when she said it," put in Lawyer Chapin, "but she was likely to change her mind before she changed her will."
"That's mere supposition on your part," objected Mr. Bowen.
"But I know my late client better than you do. She changed her will frequently, but her fortune was always left to her relatives, not to any institution or charity."
"She said that she had never thought of it before," Mr. Bowen related, "but that she considered it a fine idea."
"Oh, then you proposed it?" said Timken.
"Yes, I did," replied the clergyman, "I suggested it half jestingly, but when Mrs. Pell acquiesced with evident gladness, I certainly hoped she would put at least part of her fortune into such a good cause."
"You heard this discussion, Miss Clyde?" asked the coroner.
"Of course I did; it occurred at the dinner table."
"And were you not afraid your aunt would make good her promise?"
"She didn't really promise "
"Afraid then that she would carry out the minister's suggestion."
"I didn't really think much about it. If you mean, did I kill her to prevent such a possibility, I answer I certainly did not!"
And so the futile inquiry went on. Nobody could offer any evidence that pointed toward a solution of the mysterious murder. Nobody could fasten the crime on anyone, or even hint a suggestion of which way to look for the criminal.
Sam Torrey, a brother of Agnes, the maid, testified that he had seen a strange man prowling round the Pell house Sunday morning, but as the lad was reputed to be of a defective mind, and as the tragedy occurred on Sunday afternoon, little attention was paid to him.
Roger Downing, a young man of the village, said he saw a stranger near Pellbrook about noon. But this, too, meant nothing.
No testimony mentioned a stranger or any intruder near the Pell place in the afternoon. The Bowens had left the house at about three, and Polly heard her mistress scream less than half an hour later. No one could fix the time exactly, but it was assumed to be about twenty or twenty-five minutes past the hour.
This meant, the coroner pointed out, that the murderer acted rapidly; for to upset the room as he had done, while the mistress of the house was bound and gagged, watching him; then afterward as Timken reconstructed the crime to torture the poor woman in his efforts to find the jewels or whatever he was after; and then, in a final frenzy of hatred, to dash her to the floor and kill her by knocking her head on the point of the fender, all meant the desperate, speedy work of a double-dyed villain. As to his immediate disappearance, which took place between the time when he dashed her to the floor and when Purdy broke in the door, the coroner was unable to offer any explanation whatever.
CHAPTER V
DOWNING'S EVIDENCE
And so the case went to the coroner's jury. And after some discussion they returned the inevitable verdict of murder by person or persons unknown. Some of them preferred the phrase, "causes unknown." But others pointed out that the physical causes of Mrs. Pell's death were only too evident; the question was: Who was the perpetrator of the ghastly deed?
And so the foreman somewhat importantly announced that the deceased met her death at the hands of persons unknown, and in most mysterious and inexplicable circumstances, but recommended that every possible effort be made to trace any connection that might exist between the tragedy and the heirs to the fortune of the deceased.
A distinct murmur of disapproval sounded through the room, yet there were those who wagged assenting heads.
The inquest had been a haphazard affair in some ways. Berrien was possessed of only a limited police force, and its head, Inspector Clare, was a man whose knowledge of police matters consisted of an education beyond his intelligence. Moreover, the case itself was so weirdly tragic, so out of all reason or belief, that the whole force was at its wits' end. The bluecoats at the doors of Pellbrook were as interested in the village gossip as the villagers themselves. And though entrance was made difficult, most of the influential members of the community were assembled to hear the inquiry into this strange matter.
There were so few material witnesses, those who were questioned knew so little, and, more than all, the mystery of the murder in the locked room was so baffling, that there was, of course, no possibility of other than an open verdict.
"It's all very well," said the inspector, pompously, "to bring in that verdict. Yes, that's all very well. But the murderers must be found. A crime like this must not go unpunished. It's mysterious, of course, but the truth must be ferreted out. We're only at the beginning. There is much to be learned beside the meager evidence we have already collected."
The mass of people had broken up into small groups, all of whom were confabbing with energy. There were several strangers present, for the startling details of the case, as reported in the city papers, had brought a number of curious visitors from the metropolis.
One of these, a quiet-mannered, middle-aged man, edged nearer to where the inspector was talking to Bannard and Iris Clyde. Hughes was listening, also Mr. Bowen and Mr. Chapin.
"It's this way," the inspector was saying, in his unpolished manner of speech, "we've got her alive at three, talking to her niece, and we've got her dying at half-past three, and calling for help. Between these two stated times, the murderer attacked her, manhandled her pretty severely and flung her down to her death, besides ransacking the room, and stealing nobody knows what or how much. Seems to me a remarkable affair like that ought to be easier to get at than a simple everyday robbery."
"It ought to be, I think, too," said the stranger, in a mild, pleasant voice. "May I ask how you're going about it?"
"Who are you, sir?" asked Clare. "You got any right here? A reporter?"
"No, not a reporter. An humble citizen of New York city, not connected with the police force in any way. But I'm interested in this mystery, and I judge you have in mind some definite plan to work on."
Mollified, even flattered at the man's evident faith in him, the inspector replied, "Yes, sir, yes, I may say I have. Perhaps not for immediate disclosure, no, not that, but I have a pretty strong belief that we'll yet round up the villains "
"You assume more than one person, then?"
"I think so, yes, I may say I think so. But that's of little moment. If we can run down the clues we have, if we can follow their pointing fingers, we shall know the criminal, and learn whether or not he had accomplices in his vile work."
"Quite so," and with a smile and a nod, the stranger drifted away.
Another man came near, then, and frankly introduced himself as Joe Young, from a nearby town, saying he wanted to be allowed to examine the wall-safe said to have been rifled by the murderer.
"My father built that safe," he explained his interest, "and I think it might lead to some further enlightenment."
Detective Hughes accompanied Young to the closed room that had been Mrs. Pell's sanctum, and they entered alone.
"Don't touch things," cautioned Hughes. "I've not really had a chance yet to go over the place with a fine tooth comb. They've taken the poor lady's body away, but otherwise nothing's been touched "
"Oh, I won't touch anything," agreed Young, "but I couldn't help a sort of a notion that my father might have built more than a safe he was a skilful carpenter and joiner, and Mrs. Pell was a tricky woman. I mean by that, she was mighty fond of tricking people and she easily could have had a secret cupboard, or even an entrance from somewhere behind that safe."