The Curved Blades

Next morning the inquest was proceeding. The great living-room at Garden Steps was crowded with listeners, drawn hither by sympathy, interest or curiosity. And each class found ample to satisfy its motive. The mere fact of being within that exclusive home, within those heretofore inaccessible doors, was enough to thrill and delight many, and observation and scrutiny were as well repaid as was the listening to the astounding revelations that were poured into their ears.

Coroner Scofield’s jury was composed of intelligent men, who were eagerly receptive to the appalling facts narrated to them and the curiously bizarre bits of evidence that became known as the witnesses were questioned.

Dr. Stanton told of his being called to the house, and his discoveries and conclusions. He admitted that he assumed death was caused by the blow on the head, but claimed that it was a pardonable error in view of the fact that such a blow had been given. He affirmed, and Dr. Moore corroborated it, that the autopsy showed that death was caused by aconitine poison, administered, either by the deceased or another, at an hour not earlier than one o’clock, and probably soon thereafter. The terrible blow that had fractured the skull had been given after life had been for some time extinct.

Dr. Stanton asserted emphatically his late patient’s detestation of drugs or medicines of any sort, adducing thereby the extreme improbability of the poison having been self-administered. Moreover, the temperament and disposition of the late Miss Carrington entirely evinced a love of life and desire to prolong it by means of any device or assistance the doctor might give.

Pauline was called next, and a little flutter of excitement in the audience greeted her appearance.

Exceedingly dignified, but of a sweet, gracious mien, she at once received the silent approval of the crowd. Her black gown, its collar of sheer white organdy slightly open at the throat, well suited her pale, beautiful face and her dark hair and eyes. To-day, her eyes seemed fathomless. At times, gazing intently at the Coroner until they almost disconcerted him; and then, hidden by veiling lids, whose long lashes fell suddenly, as if to conceal further disclosures.

On the whole, Pauline was not a satisfactory witness. She told, in most straightforward way, of leaving the breakfast table to go to her aunt’s room and of finding there the dead body. She told clearly all the circumstances of the upset tray, the spilled powder and the eccentric garb of Miss Carrington herself. But questions as to her opinion of these facts brought little response.

“You left Miss Carrington at half-past twelve?” asked Coroner Scofield.

“Not so late, I think,” returned Pauline; “probably at quarter or twenty minutes past twelve, – I am not sure.”

“How was she then dressed?”

“In the gown she had worn during the evening.”

“And her jewels?”

“When I left my aunt, she was wearing her pearls and the other jewelry she had worn with her evening dress. Some brooches and rings and bracelets.”

“But not so much as she had on when you discovered her in the morning?”

“Not nearly so much.”

“How do you account for this?”

“I don’t account for it. To me it is exceedingly mysterious.”

“And the paper snake round her neck?”

“I have no idea by whom such a thing could have been brought to my aunt. But I am positive she never put it on herself. Nor can I think she would allow it to come near her if she were alive, – or conscious, – or, had power to scream for help. Any one knowing my aunt’s fear and horror of anything reptilian will agree to this.”

“It seems evident,” said the Coroner, thoughtfully, “that some intruder entered Miss Carrington’s room, at or near one o’clock. That this intruder in some manner induced Miss Carrington to swallow the poison, whether conscious of her act or not. That the intruder subsequently, and for some reason, placed the snake round the neck of the victim, and, later still, brutally gave her a stunning blow with the black-jack which was found, and thereby fractured her skull. Granting these assumptions, can you, Miss Stuart, give us any information that would lead to discovery of the hand that wrought this havoc?”

“Not any,” and Pauline raised her great eyes a moment to Scofield’s face and slowly dropped them again.

“Then can you not express an opinion or suggest a theory that might account for such strange happenings, at least, in part?”

“No,” said Pauline, slowly; “I have no idea, nor can I imagine why my aunt should be so elaborately arrayed and seated in an easy chair in front of her mirror. It is contrary to all her customs or habits.”

“Could she have been killed first and could the jewels and adornments have been added afterward?” asked the Coroner of the doctors.

“No,” replied Dr. Moore; “the whole condition of the body and clothing make such a theory practically impossible.”

“Quite impossible,” added Dr. Stanton; “and, too, what would be the sense of such a proceeding?”

“We are establishing the facts of the proceedings, not the sense of them,” returned the Coroner, a little testily, for he was at his wits’ end even to make a beginning in this strange case.

“At least,” he went on, “we have the facts and the approximate time of the crime; have you, Miss Stuart, any suspicion of who the murderer can be?”

The question was shot out suddenly. If its intent was to startle the witness, it certainly succeeded. Pauline Stuart turned even whiter than she had been, and she caught her breath quickly and audibly as she flashed a frightened glance at Gray Haviland. It was by no means an accusing glance, though many who saw it, eager for a direction in which to cast their suspicions, took it for such.

But Pauline controlled herself immediately. “Certainly not,” she said coldly. “That is, I can have no suspicion of the murderer’s identity. It was, of course, a midnight intruder, of the criminal class. I have no individual acquaintances who use or possess the weapon that was employed in this crime.”

“The black-jack is an auxiliary only. The poison may have been administered by one not versed in the ways of professional criminals. You admit that, I suppose?”

“It is no doubt true,” said Pauline, icily, “that poison may be given by a person not belonging to the criminal classes. I fail to see, however, how that fact affects the matter in hand.”

“It may well affect it. Since Miss Carrington was killed by a deadly poison, we must conclude that the black-jack assault was made with the intention of concealing the poisoning and making it appear that the blow caused the death. There seems to me no other way to account for the conditions that confront us.”

A silence followed this. Its truth was patent to everybody. Clearly, the poisoner had delivered the blow, for no one else would attack a victim already dead. And a plausible reason would be the hope that the poisoning would pass unnoticed in view of the other apparent cause of death.

“And it points to the work of an amateur,” went on Scofield; “a professional criminal would know that the autopsy would disclose the earlier crime.”

Pauline lost her nerve. “I don’t know anything about it!” she cried, and sank back into her seat, her face buried in her hands.

Coroner Scofield was a man of tact. “It is entirely natural, Miss Stuart,” he said, “that this thought should overcome you. But we must realize the fact that the theory of a professional burglar is practically untenable, because nothing was stolen. A burglar’s motive could be only robbery, and this did not take place. Nor can we think that a burglar was frightened away, before he could appropriate the jewels. For, after giving the poison, and before the blow was given, sufficient time elapsed for a successful getaway to be made. Nor would the burglar have been at pains to cover up his poisoning work, for having achieved his end, he would have secured his booty and made escape. So, it is evident that the motive, not being robbery, is as yet unknown, and may be obscure and complicated.”

“What could it have been?” asked Pauline, her composure regained, her voice low and even.

Scofield looked at her. “It is said, Miss Stuart, that the only motives for murder are love, revenge or gain. Can you imagine any one of these directed toward your aunt?”

Pauline replied tranquilly. Evidently she had fully recovered her poise. “I can think of no one who could have killed my aunt for love; it is improbable that she has ever done any one such wrong as to call for such a deed in revenge; as to gain, if you mean pecuniary gain, all the legatees mentioned in her will may be said to have that motive.”

Pauline’s manner and tones were so impersonal, so scathingly ironic as to amount to a disclaimer for all the legatees. Her way of suggesting it made it seem so far removed from possibility that it was far more emphatic than any denial could have been.

But Coroner Scofield was as unmoved as his witness.

“Quite so,” he said coolly; “and therefore inquiries must be made. Did you, Miss Stuart, after leaving your aunt soon after midnight see or hear anything unusual or suspicious?”

“What do you mean by unusual or suspicious?”

“I mean did you see or hear anything, anything at all, that you could not explain to yourself as being in any way connected with the tragedy we are investigating?”

Before answering, Pauline looked in turn at all the members of the household. Haviland slowly turned his head as if to look at something across the room, and as slowly brought it back to its previous position.

“I did not,” said Pauline, looking straight at the Coroner.

“That is all,” said Scofield, briefly, and the next witness was called.

This was the maid, Estelle. Her eyes were red with weeping, but she was not hysterical now, or incoherent. She answered tersely questions as to Miss Carrington’s habits and as to her words and actions during the maid’s last interview with her.

“I left her at about quarter of one,” the witness deposed; “I had given her the Oriental negligée, of which she is fond. I offered to take down her hair and put away her jewels, but she declined those services, and bade me leave her.”