I stepped through the long French window on to the veranda, and after a thorough examination of the veranda, I went on down the steps to the gravel walk. Against a small rosebush, just off the walk, I saw a small slip of pink paper. I picked it up, hardly daring to hope it might be a clue, and I saw it was a trolley transfer, whose punched holes indicated that it had been issued the evening before. It might or might not be important as evidence, but I put it carefully away in my note-book for later consideration.
Returning to the library I took the newspaper which I had earlier discovered from the drawer where I had hidden it, and after one more swift but careful glance round the room, I went away, confident that I had not done my work carelessly.
I left the Crawford house and walked along the beautiful avenue to the somewhat pretentious inn bearing the name of Sedgwick Arms.
Here, as I had been led to believe, I found pleasant, even luxurious accommodations. The landlord of the inn was smiling and pleasant, although landlord seems an old-fashioned term to apply to the very modern and up-to-date man who received me.
His name was Carstairs, and he had the genial, perceptive manner of a man about town.
Dastardly shame! he exclaimed, after he had assured himself of my identity. Joseph Crawford was one of our best citizens, one of our finest men. He hadnt an enemy in the world, my dear Mr. Burroughsnot an enemy! generous, kindly nature, affable and friendly with all.
But I understand he frowned on his wards love affair, Mr. Carstairs.
Yes; yes, indeed. And who wouldnt? Young Hall is no fit mate for Florence Lloyd. Hes a fortune-hunter. I know the man, and his only ambition is the aggrandizement of his own precious self.
Then you dont consider Miss Lloyd concerned in this crime?
Concerned in crime? Florence Lloyd! why, man, you must be crazy! The idea is unthinkable!
I was sorry I had spoken, but I remembered too late that the suspicions which pointed toward Miss Lloyd were probably known only to those who had been in the Crawford house that morning. As for the townspeople in general, though they knew of the tragedy, they knew very little of its details.
I hastened to assure Mr. Carstairs that I had never seen Miss Lloyd, that I had formed no opinions whatever, and that I was merely repeating what were probably vague and erroneous suspicions of mistakenly-minded people.
At last, behind my locked door, I took from my pocket the newspaper I had brought from Mr. Crawfords office.
It seemed to me important, from the fact that it was an extra, published late the night before.
An Atlantic liner had met with a serious accident, and an extra had been hastily put forth by one of the most enterprising of our evening papers. I, myself, had bought one of these extras, about midnight; and the finding of a copy in the office of the murdered man might prove a clue to the criminal.
I then examined carefully the transfer slip I had picked up on the Crawford lawn. It had been issued after nine oclock the evening before. This seemed to me to prove that the holder of that transfer must have been on the Crawford property and near the library veranda late last night, and it seemed to me that this was plain common-sense reasoning, and not mere intuition or divination. The transfer might have a simple and innocent explanation, but until I could learn of that, I should hold it carefully as a possible clue.
IV. THE INQUEST
Shortly before two oclock I was back at the Crawford house and found the large library, where the inquest was to be held, already well filled with people. I took an inconspicuous seat, and turned my attention first to the group that comprised, without a doubt, the members of Mr. Crawfords household.
Miss Lloydfor I knew at a glance the black-robed young woman must be shewas of a striking personality. Tall, large, handsome, she could have posed as a model for Judith, Zenobia, or any of the great and powerful feminine characters in history. I was impressed not so much by her beauty as by her effect of power and ability. I had absolutely no reason, save Parmalees babblings, to suspect this woman of crime, but I could not rid myself of a conviction that she had every appearance of being capable of it.
Yet her face was full of contradictions. The dark eyes were haughty, even imperious; but the red, curved mouth had a tender expression, and the chin, though firm and decided-looking, yet gave an impression of gentleness.
On the whole, she fascinated me by the very mystery of her charm, and I found my eyes involuntarily returning again and again to that beautiful face.
She was dressed in a black, trailing gown of material which I think is called China crepe. It fell around her in soft waving folds and lay in little billows on the floor. Her dark hair was dressed high on her head, and seemed to form a sort of crown which well suited her regal type. She held her head high, and the uplift of her chin seemed to be a natural characteristic.
Good birth and breeding spoke in every phase of her personality, and in her every movement and gesture. I remembered Parmalees hint of unworthy ancestors, and cast it aside as impossible of belief. She spoke seldom, but occasionally turned to the lady at her side with a few murmured words that were indubitably those of comfort or encouragement.
Her companion, a gray-haired, elderly lady, was, of course, Mrs. Pierce. She was trembling with the excitement of the occasion, and seemed to depend on Florence Lloyds strong personality and affectionate sympathy to keep her from utter collapse.
Mrs. Pierce was of the old school of gentlewomen. Her quiet, black gown with its crepe trimmings, gave, even to my masculine eye an effect of correct and fashionable, yet quiet and unostentatious mourning garb.
She had what seemed to me a puzzling face. It did not suggest strength of character, for the soft old cheeks and quivering lips indicated no strong self-control, and yet from her sharp, dark eyes she now and again darted glances that were unmistakably those of a keen and positive personality.
I concluded that hers was a strong nature, but shaken to its foundation by the present tragedy. There was, without doubt, a great affection existing between her and Miss Lloyd, and yet I felt that they were not in each others complete confidence.
Though, for that matter, I felt intuitively that few people possessed the complete confidence of Florence Lloyd. Surely she was a wonderful creature, and as I again allowed myself to gaze on her beautiful face I was equally convinced of the possibility of her committing a crime and the improbability of her doing so.
Near these two sat a young man who, I was told, was Gregory Hall, the secretary. He had been reached by telephone, and had come out from New York, arriving shortly after I had left the Crawford house.
Mr. Hall was what may be termed the average type of young American citizens. He was fairly good-looking, fairly well-groomed, and so far as I could judge from his demeanor, fairly well-bred. His dark hair was commonplace, and parted on the side, while his small, carefully arranged mustache was commonplace also. He looked exactly what he was, the trusted secretary of a financial magnate, and he seemed to me a man whose dress, manner, and speech would always be made appropriate to the occasion or situation. In fact, so thoroughly did he exhibit just such a demeanor as suited a confidential secretary at the inquest of his murdered employer, that I involuntarily thought what a fine undertaker he would have made. For, in my experience, no class of men so perfectly adapt themselves to varying atmospheres as undertakers.
Philip Crawford and his son, an athletic looking young chap, were also in this group. Young Crawford inherited to a degree the fine appearance of his father and uncle, and bade fair to become the same kind of a first-class American citizen as they.
Behind these people, the ones most nearly interested in the procedure, were gathered the several servants of the house.
Lambert, the butler, was first interviewed.
The man was a somewhat pompous, middle-aged Englishman, and though of stolid appearance, his face showed what might perhaps be described as an intelligent stupidity.
After a few formal questions as to his position in the household, the coroner asked him to tell his own story of the early morning.
In a more clear and concise way than I should have thought the man capable of, he detailed his discovery of his masters body.
I came down-stairs at seven this morning, he said, as I always do. I opened the house, I saw the cook a few moments about matters pertaining to breakfast, and I attended to my usual duties. At about half-past seven I went to Mr. Crawfords office, to set it in order for the day, and as I opened the door I saw him sitting in his chair. At first I thought hed dropped asleep there, and been there all night, then in a moment I saw what had happened.
Well, what did you do next? asked the coroner, as the man paused.
I went in search of Louis, Mr. Crawfords valet. He was just coming down the stairs. He looked surprised, for he said Mr. Crawford was not in his room, and his bed hadnt been slept in.
Did he seem alarmed?
No, sir. Not knowing what I knew, he didnt seemed alarmed. But he seemed agitated, for of course it was most unusual not finding Mr. Crawford in his own room.
How did Louis show his agitation? broke in Mr. Orville.
Well, sir, perhaps he wasnt to say agitated,he looked more blank, yes, as you might say, blank.
Was he trembling? persisted Mr. Orville, was he pale? and the coroner frowned slightly at this jurors repeated inquisitiveness.
Louis is always pale, returned the butler, seeming to make an effort to speak the exact truth.
Then of course you couldnt judge of his knowledge of the matter, Mr. Orville said, with an air of one saying something of importance.
He had no knowledge of the matter, if you mean Mr. Crawfords death, said Lambert, looking disturbed and a little bewildered.
Tell your own story, Lambert, said Coroner Monroe, rather crisply. Well hear what Louis has to say later.
Well, sir, then I took Louis to the office, and we both saw thethe accident, and we wondered what to do. I was for telephoning right off to Doctor Fairchild, but Louis said first wed better tell Miss Florence about it.
And did you?
We went out in the hall, and just then Elsa, Miss Lloyds maid, was on the stairs. So we told her, and told her to tell Miss Lloyd, and ask her for orders. Well, her orders was for us to call up Doctor Fairchild, and so we did. He came as soon as he could, and hes been in charge ever since, sir.
A straightforward story, clearly told, observed the coroner, and then he called upon Louis, the valet. This witness, a young Frenchman, was far more nervous and excited than the calm-mannered butler, but the gist of his story corroborated Lamberts.
Asked if he was not called upon to attend his master at bedtime, he replied,
Non, Msieu; when Monsieur Crawford sat late in his library, or his office, he dismiss me and say I may go to bed, or whatever I like. Almost alway he tell me that.
And he told you this last night?
But yes. When I lay out his clothes for dinner, he then tell me so.
Although the man seemed sure enough of his statements he was evidently troubled in his mind. It might have been merely that his French nature was more excitable than the stolid indifference of the English butler. But at the same time I couldnt help feeling that the man had not told all he knew. This was merely surmise on my part, and I could not persuade myself that there was enough ground for it to call it even an intuition. So I concluded it best to ask no questions of the valet at present, but to look into his case later.
Parmalee, however, seemed to have concluded differently. He looked at Louis with an intent gaze as he said, Had your master said or done anything recently to make you think he was despondent or troubled in any way?
No, sir, said the man; but the answer was not spontaneous, and Louiss eyes rolled around with an expression of fear. I was watching him closely myself, and I could not help seeing that against his will his glance sought always Florence Lloyd, and though he quickly averted it, he was unable to refrain from furtive, fleeting looks in her direction.
Do you know anything more of this matter than you have told us? inquired the coroner of the witness.
No, sir, replied Louis, and this time he spoke as with more certainty. After Lambert and I came out of Mr. Crawfords office, we did just exactly as Lambert has tell you.
Thats all, Louis.... But, Lambert, one other matter. Tell us all you know of Mr. Joseph Crawfords movements last evening.
He was at dinner, as usual, sir, said the butler, in his monotonous drawl. There were no guests, only the family. After dinner Mr. Crawford went out for a time. He returned about nine oclock. I saw him come in, with his own key, and I saw him go to his office. Soon after Mr. Porter called.
Mr. Lemuel Porter? asked the coroner.
Yes, sir, said the butler; and Mr. Porter, who was one of the jurors, gravely nodded his head in acquiescence.
He stayed until about ten, I should say, went on the butler, and again Mr. Porter gave an affirmative nod. I let him out myself, went on Lambert, and soon after that I went to the library to see if Mr. Crawford had any orders for me. He told me of some household matters he wished me to attend to to-day, and then he said he would sit up for some time longer, and I might go to bed if I liked. A very kind and considerate man, sir, was Mr. Crawford.
And did you then go to bed?
Yes, sir. I locked up all the house, except the office. Mr. Crawford always locks those windows himself, when he sits up late. The ladies had already gone to their rooms; Mr. Hall was away for the night, so I closed up the front of the house, and went to bed. Thats all I know about the matter, siruntil I came down-stairs this morning.
You heard no sound in the nightno revolver shot?
No, sir. But my room is on the third floor, and at the other end of the house, sir. I couldnt hear a shot fired in the office, Im sure, sir.
And you found no weapon of any sort in the office this morning?
No, sir; Louis and I both looked for that, but there was none in the room. Of that Im sure, sir.
That will do, Lambert.
Yes, sir; thank you, sir.
One moment, said I, wishing to know the exact condition of the house at midnight. You say, Lambert, you closed up the front of the house. Does that mean there was a back door open?
It means I locked the front door, sir, and put the chain on. The library door opening on to the veranda I did not lock, for, as I said, Mr. Crawford always locks that and the windows in there when he is there late. The back door I left on the night latch, as Louis was spending the evening out.
Oh, Louis was spending the evening out, was he? exclaimed Mr. Orville. I think that should be looked into, Mr. Coroner. Louis said nothing of this in his testimony.