The Curved Blades

“Why did you deny the knowledge?” asked Scofield, sternly.

“I’m – I’m not sure – ”

“You are sure!” stormed Gray. “Now where were you when Miss Carrington spoke those words to you? If not in her boudoir, then on the balcony outside the window, perhaps.”

“Absurd,” said the Coroner.

“Not at all,” said Gray; “that window opens on a balcony enclosed by glass. It is easily reached from outside by a small staircase, mostly used in summer, but always available. How could Miss Carrington speak to the Count concerning the bonds and concerning her infatuation for himself, which is no secret, unless he were there before her? And how could he be in the room – in her boudoir – unknown to the servants? Moreover, Mr. Coroner, I believe the glove found in Miss Carrington’s hand to be the property of Count Charlier.”

“But no!” cried the witness, excitedly; “I have repeatedly disclaimed that glove. It is not mine, I know not whose it is. I know nothing of this sad affair, whatever. If the money is left to me, as I have been told, it is a – a surprise to me.”

“Surprise nothing!” murmured Haviland, but he said no more to the Count.

“If my story might be told now, – ” ventured Mrs. Frothingham.

After a moment’s hesitation, Coroner Scofield decided to let her tell it, as having a possible bearing on Count Charlier’s testimony.

The rather stunning-looking widow was fashionably dressed, and she fluttered with an air of importance as she took the stand. She related again the story she had told of the supposed burglar, whom she saw leaving the living-room by way of a window, at four o’clock on Wednesday morning.

“How can you be so sure it was a burglar?” asked Scofield.

“Oh, he looked like one. All huddled up, you know, and his face buried between a high coat collar and a drawn-down cap. And he walked slyly, – sort of glided among the shrubs and trees, as if avoiding notice. No man on legitimate business would skulk like that.”

“Might it not have been Count Charlier?” asked the Coroner, bluntly.

“Certainly not!” and Mrs. Frothingham gave a little shriek. “The Count is a slim and elegant figure; this was a stocky, burly man; a marauder, I know.”

“It may be,” said the Coroner, wearily. “It may be that a burglar was concealed in the house, or let in by a servant, and that he attacked Miss Carrington as she was seated at her dressing table. It seems impossible that he should have administered poison to her, however, and the conjoined circumstances may indicate collusion between – ”

“Between whom?” asked Inspector Brunt.

“I don’t know,” confessed Scofield. “Every way I try to think it out, I ran up against an impassable barrier.”

“That’s what I say,” began Haviland; “it is a most involved case. I shall cable Carrington Loria for authority to employ an expert detective.”

“Why cable him?” asked Pauline; “I am equally in authority now. Carr and myself each receive half the residuary estate of Aunt Lucy, and, of course, I am as anxious to find the – the murderer, as Carr can possibly be.”

“Well, somebody will have to authorize it who is willing to pay for it. As man of business in this home, I am willing to attend to all such matters, but I must have authority.”

“You seem to me a little premature, Mr. Haviland,” commented the Inspector. “Perhaps when the inquest is concluded, it may not be necessary to call on any other detective than our own Mr. Hardy.”

“Perhaps not,” agreed Haviland; “but unless you people all wake up, you’re not going to get anywhere. I admit the getting is difficult, but that’s just the reason a wise sleuth should be called in before the trails grow cold.”

And then the Coroner returned to his task of questioning Mrs. Frothingham.

The widow was not definitely helpful. Her statements were often contradictory in minor details, and when she corrected them they seemed to lose in weight. She stuck to the main points, however, that by the help of a strong field-glass she had discerned, in the bright moonlight, a man leave by way of the French window, at four o’clock, and had seen him make his way stealthily out by the great entrance gates of the place.

Cross-questioning on this brought no variations, and the jurymen wagged their heads in belief of her story.

But her accounts of her own doings on Tuesday evening were vague and indefinite.

“I was in my own home all the evening,” she said at one time; and again, “I went out for a short walk at eleven o’clock.” This last in refutation of Haskins, the Carrington butler, who deposed to having seen the lady walk across the lawns of Garden Steps.

“Where did you walk?”

“Oh, just around my own place; and for a moment I strolled over here because the Steps looked so beautiful in the moonlight.”

“You were alone?”

“I was. I have no house guests at present, save the Count; and as my brother, who lives with me, is on a Western trip, I was alone, and I walked about to kill time until Count Charlier should return after his bridge game over here.”

“Did you walk near the house, while on the Garden Steps’ estate?” asked Scofield, scenting a possible espionage of her titled visitor.

“Oh, no!” and the witness bristled with indignation; “why should I! I was not really an acquaintance of Miss Carrington, merely a neighbor.”

“Beg pardon, ma’am, but I saw you on the conservatory verandah,” said Haskins, in a deprecatory way.

“That is not true, Mr. Coroner,” said the lady, glancing scornfully at the butler. “I beg you will not accept a servant’s statement in preference to mine!”

“You are sure of this, Haskins?” said the Inspector gravely.

“Yes, sir. Sure, sir.” and the man looked doggedly certain, though a little scared.

“And you deny it?” went on Scofield to Mrs. Frothingham.

“I most certainly do! How absurd for me to be over here, and how more than absurd for me to deny it if I were!”

This seemed sensible. Why should she deny it? And mightn’t the butler be mistaken? Or deliberately falsifying?

If there were collusion or criminal assistance by any of the servants, surely the word of all of them must be mistrusted unless proven.

And, too, what could have brought Mrs. Frothingham to the verandah of a home where she was not an accepted guest? Or, could she have been spying on the Count?

For it had slowly entered the Coroner’s not very alert mind that perhaps the volatile widow had her own plans for the Count’s future, and Miss Carrington did not figure in them. The manner of the witness bore out this theory. She was self-conscious and at times confused. She frequently looked at the Count and then quickly averted her gaze. She blushed and stammered when speaking his name or referring to him. In a word, she acted as a woman might act in regard to a man of whom she was jealous. And the situation bore it out. If Mrs. Frothingham had matrimonial designs on her distinguished guest, would she not naturally resent his visits to a rich neighbor? Mrs. Frothingham was not rich, and she may well have been afraid of Miss Carrington’s charm of gold, which could cause many a man to overlook anything else that might be lacking.

Coroner Scofield was getting more and more tangled in the mazes of this extraordinary case. He was practically at his wits’ end. At last he blurted out: “It is impossible, it seems, to get a coherent, or even plausible story from a woman! Is there any man present, who knows any of the details of the happenings of Tuesday evening and night?”

There was a moment’s silence at this rather petulant speech, and then Stephen Illsley rose, and speaking very gravely, said:

“It seems to be my unpleasant duty to tell what little I know of these matters.”

The relieved Coroner heard this with satisfaction. Accepting his good fortune, he prepared to listen to Illsley’s testimony.

“I was spending the evening here,” the witness began, “and during my visit I was in the various rooms. At a late hour, perhaps something after eleven, – I was crossing the hall, and I saw Mrs. Frothingham on the stairway.”

“On the stairway!” exclaimed the Coroner, in amazement.

“Yes,” returned Illsley, his grave eyes resting on the face of the widow, who stared at him as if stricken dumb. “Yes, I saw her distinctly. She was evidently coming downstairs, one hand rested on the banister, and she was looking upward at the ceiling.”