I was just about to do that, Mr. Moore, the Coroner said, with such haste that I had my doubts of his veracity.
But he rang a bell in the wall, and we waited for a response.
The butler himself answered it, a rather grandiose personage in the throes of excitement and grief at the terrible happenings to his master.
Well, Griscom, Ames said, with his habitual frown, these gentlemen want to ask you some questions. Answer them as fully as you can.
Was it Mr. Tracys habit to have a bit of fruit or a cracker in his room at night? the Coroner inquired.
Yes, sir, said the butler, and the sound of his own voice seemed to steady him. He always had an orange or a few grapes and a cracker or two on the table by his bed, sir.
And do you think this orange and these crackers are the ones put out for him last night?
Im sure of it, sir. I put them out myself.
Then where is the plate? Surely you had them on a plate.
Of course, sir. They were on a small gilt-edged plate. I dont see it about.
No, I dont either. Had Mr. Tracy a valet?
No, sir, he didnt like a man fussing about. I attended him, sir, and a footman helped me out now and then; and Mrs. Fenn, shes cook and housekeeper, sir, she looked after his clothes, saving what I did myself.
Have you any reason to think your master would take his own life?
Oh, Lord, no, sir. Begging your pardon, but he was very fond of life, was Mr. Tracy. I thought he died of a fit, sir.
Probably he did. A fit or stroke of apoplexy. I begin to think, Inspector, we have no murder mystery on our hands after all.
No, said Farrell, shaking his head, apparently not.
Apparently yes, said Keeley Moore, quietly. He had been looking at the dead man, and though he had not moved, but had stood for a long time, with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the still figure on the bed, I knew, somehow, that he had made a discovery.
Stand over here, please, Inspector, he said, in his calm, matter-of-fact way.
Farrell went and stood beside him, and Moore pointed to a very small circular object that shone like silver, though nearly hidden by the thick and rather long hair of Sampson Tracy.
It was the head of a nail that had been driven into the mans skull.
CHAPTER IV
THE NAIL
My God! Farrell exclaimed, stepping closer and pushing aside the gray hair, thus clearly revealing the awful truth.
A flat-headed nail, the head rather more than a quarter of an inch in diameter, had been driven into the skull with such force that it showed merely as a metal disk. Having been hidden by the dead mans hair, it had remained unnoticed until Moores quick eyes espied it.
Farrell picked at it a little, but it was far too firmly fastened to be moved by his fingers.
What shall we do? the Inspector asked, helplessly. Shall we try to get Doctor Rogers back?
No, returned the Coroner, hes just starting on a long trip. Let him go. He could do nothing and it would be a pity to spoil his journey. His diagnosis of apoplexy was most natural in the circumstances, for the symptoms are the same. I, too, thought death was the result of an apoplectic stroke. But now we know it is black murder, the case comes directly within my jurisdiction, and theres no occasion to recall Doctor Rogers.
Youre right, Ames assented, but who could have done this fearful thing? I can hardly believe a human being capable of such a horror! Mr. Moore, you simply must take up this case. It ought to be a problem after your own heart.
Every word the man uttered made me dislike him more. To refer to this terrible tragedy as a problem after Moores own heart seemed to me to indicate a mind callous and almost ghoulish in its type.
I knew Kee well enough to feel sure that he would investigate the murder, but not at the behest of Harper Ames.
He only acknowledged Amess speech by a noncommittal nod and turned to Detective March.
We have our work cut out for us, he said, very gravely. I have never seen a stranger case. The murderer must have been a man of brute passions and brute strength. That nail is almost imbedded in the bone, and, I fancy, needed more than one blow of the hammer that drove it in. But first, as to the doors and windows. You tell me they were locked this morning?
Yes, sir, answered Griscom, the butler, as Moore looked at him.
He was a smallish man, bald and with what are sometimes called pop-eyes. He stared in a frightened manner, but he controlled his voice as he went on to tell his story.
Yes, sir, I brought the masters tea at nine oclock, as always. The door was locked
Is it usually locked in the morning? Moore interrupted.
Sometimes, not always. When it is locked, I knock and Mr. Tracy would get up and open the door. If unlocked, I walked right in.
And this morning it was locked, and the key in the lock on the inside?
Yes, sir. So I knocked, but when there was no answer, I got scared
Why were you scared?
Because Doctor Rogers had often told me that Mr. Tracy was in danger of an apoplectic stroke, and that I must do anything I could to make him eat less and take more exercise. Ive been with the master a long time, sir, and I had the privilege of a bit of talk with him now and then. So I did try to persuade him to obey the doctors orders, and he would laugh and promise to do so. But he forgot it as soon as he saw some dish he was fond of, and hed eat his fill of it.
Go on, Griscom, Moore said, what happened next?
I went to Mr. Everett
Yes, he went to Everett, broke in the aggrieved voice of Harper Ames. Why did he do that, instead of coming to me, Id like to know!
Go on, Moore instructed the butler.
I went to Mr. Everett, sir, he was up and dressed, and he said, at once, to get Louis thats the chauffeur and tell him to bring some tools, I did that, and Louis first pushed the key out of the lock, and then poked around with a wire until he got the door open. Then we came in
Who came in?
Mr. Everett and Mr. Ames and me, sir. And Mrs. Fenn shes the housekeeper she saw Louis running upstairs, so she came, too.
And you saw ?
Mr. Tracy, just as he was when you first saw him, sir. Just as he is now, except for the things Doctor Rogers chucked out.
Is that door, the one that was locked, the entrance to the whole suite?
Yes, sir, that door is the only one connecting these rooms with the house.
I see. Now what about the windows?
They havent been touched, sir.
Kee Moore turned his attention to the windows. There were many of them. The suite of Sampson Tracys was a rectangular wing, built out from the main house, and having windows on three sides. But all of these windows overlooked the deep, black waters of the Sunless Sea. It had been the whim of the man to have his quarters thus, to be surrounded on all sides by the water of the lake that he loved, and he usually had all the windows wide open, doubtless enjoying the lake breezes that played through the rooms, and listening to the birds, whose notes broke the stillness of the night.
What is below these rooms? Moore asked.
The big ballroom, sir. Nothing else.
After scrutinizing every window in the bedroom, dressing room, bathroom and sitting room, Moore said, slowly: These windows seem to me to be inaccessible from below.
The big ballroom, sir. Nothing else.
After scrutinizing every window in the bedroom, dressing room, bathroom and sitting room, Moore said, slowly: These windows seem to me to be inaccessible from below.
It was characteristic of the man that he didnt say they were inaccessible but merely that they seemed so to him.
As they certainly did to the rest of us. We all looked out, and in every instance, the sheer drop to the lake was about fifteen or more feet. The outer walls of marble presented no foothold for even the most daring of climbers. They were smooth, plain, and absolutely unscalable.
It is certain no one entered by the windows, Moore said, at last, having looked out of every one. I suppose the house is always carefully secured at night?
Yes, sir, Griscom assured him. Mr. Tracy was very particular about that. He and all the household had latchkeys, and the front door indeed, all the doors and windows were carefully seen to.
Who has latchkeys?
Mr. Everett, Mr. Dean, myself and the housekeeper. Then there are others which are given to guests. Mr. Ames had one
With so many latchkeys about, one may have been abstracted by some evil-minded person.
Not likely, sir. We keep strict watch on them.
Well, that would only give entrance to the house. How could anyone get into and out of Mr. Tracys room, leaving the door locked on the inside?
I knew Moore purposely voiced this problem himself, to head off those who would ask it of him. He had often said to me, if you dont want a question asked of you, ask it yourself of somebody else. And so, as he flung this at them each felt derelict in not being able to reply.
But Amess querulous voice volleyed the question back.
Thats why I want you to do up this business, Moore, he said. Thats what makes it such a pretty problem
Moore could stand this no longer.
For an intimate friend of a martyred man, I should think you would see the matter in a more personal light than a pretty problem!
Oh, I do. Im sad and sorry enough, but I dont wear my heart on my sleeve. And first of all, Im keen to avenge my friend. And I know that whats to be done must be done quickly. So, get busy, I beg.
The more Ames said, the less I liked him, and I knew Kee felt the same way about it. But the man was right as to haste being advisable. The circumstances were so peculiar, the conditions so fantastic, that search for the criminal must be made quickly, or a man of such diabolical cleverness would put himself beyond our reach.
The Inspector, the police detective and Keeley Moore consulted a few moments and then Inspector Farrell said:
The case is altered. Now that we know it is wilful murder, and not a stroke of illness, we must act accordingly. Coroner Hart will conduct an immediate inquiry, preliminary to his formal inquest. No one may leave the house; you, Griscom, will tell the servants this, and I shall call in more help from the police station to guard the place. We will go downstairs, and the Coroner will choose a suitable room, and begin his investigation.
Farrell was an efficient director, though in no way a detective. He locked the door that commanded the whole apartment after he had herded us all out.
We filed downstairs, and I could hear womens voices in a small reception room as we passed it.
The Coroner chose a room which was fitted up as a sort of writing room. It was of moderate size and contained several desks or writing tables, evidently a writing room for guests. There was a bookcase of books and a table of periodicals and newspapers.
Clearly, the house had every provision for comfort and pleasure. Save for the sinister atmosphere now pervading it, I felt I should have liked to visit there.
The Coroner settled himself at a table, and instructed Griscom to send in the house servants one at a time. He also told the butler to serve breakfast as usual, and advised Harper Ames to go to the dining room, as he would be called on later for testimony.
Harts manner now was crisp and business-like. The realization of the awful facts of the case had spurred him to definite and immediate action.
Mrs. Fenn, the cook-housekeeper, threw no new light on the situation. She corroborated Griscoms story of the locked door and the subsequent opening of it by Louis, but she could add no new information.
You were fond of Mr. Tracy? asked Moore, kindly, for the poor woman was vainly trying to control her grief.
Oh, yes, sir. He was a good master and a truly great man.
Youve never known, among the guests of the house, any one who was his enemy?
No, sir. But I almost never see the guests. Im housekeeper, to be sure, but the maids do all the housework. I superintend the cooking.
And youve heard no gossip about any one who had an enmity or a grudge toward Mr. Tracy?
Ah, who could have? He was a gentle, peaceable man, was Mr. Tracy. Who could wish him harm?
Yet somebody did, the Coroner put in, and then he dismissed Mrs. Fenn, feeling she could be of no use.
The other house servants were similarly ignorant of any guest or neighbour who was unfriendly to Mr. Tracy, and then Hart called for the chauffeur.
Louis, a Frenchman, was different in manner and disinclined to talk. In fact, he refused to do so unless all members of the household were sent from the room.
So the Coroner ordered everybody out except Farrell and Detective March, Moore and myself.
Then Louis waxed confidential and declared that Mr. Ames and Mr. Tracy were deadly enemies.
I thought the man was exaggerating, and that he had some grudge of his own against Ames. But Hart listened avidly to the chauffeurs arraignment, and I was forced to the conclusion that Louis knew a lot.
Yet it was all hints and innuendoes. He stated that the two men were continually quarrelling. Asked what about, he replied Money matters.
What sort of money matters? Hart asked him.
Stocks and bonds and mortgages. I think Mr. Ames owed Mr. Tracy a great deal of money and he couldnt or wouldnt pay it, and so they wrangled over it.
There was no quarrelling on other subjects?
No, sir, except now and then about Mrs. Dallas.
And what about her?
Well, Mr. Ames didnt want Mr. Tracy to marry her.
Did Mr. Ames favour the lady himself?
Oh, no, sir. Hes a woman hater. Or at least he says so. No, but he didnt want Mr. Tracy to marry anybody for fear he might cut him, Mr. Ames, out of his will.
How do you know all these things?
Well, I drive the car, you see, and they talk these matters over, and I cant help hearing them. They make no bones of it, they talk right out. I never repeat anything I hear, in an ordinary way, but as you ask me, sir
Yes, Louis, tell all you know. So Mr. Ames would suffer financially if Mr. Tracy married?
I dont know that, sir, but I know he thought he would. And I suppose he knew.
It seems to me, Farrell said, we ought to know the terms of Mr. Tracys will as it might help us to get at the truth.
We cant do that at the moment, Hart said, and anyway, this is merely a preliminary inquiry to get the main facts of the situation.
But the other servants had no more information to impart than those hitherto questioned. A chambermaid, one Sally Bray, convinced us that all the queer decorations spread on the bed had been already in the room and were, therefore, not brought in by the murderer.
The red feather duster belonged in a small cupboard that held polishing cloths and dusters. The larkspur flowers had been in a vase on a side table, and the whole bunch had been removed from the vase and laid around the dead man. The orange and crackers had been on a plate on the bedside table, but where the plate was, Sally had no idea. The crucifix was Mr. Tracys property and belonged on a small hook above the head of his bed.