The Deep Lake Mystery

“There are but two,” he said, thoughtfully. “I am sure there’s no secret passage, for I measured and sounded the walls thoroughly. So it’s either that the criminal had some clever mechanical contrivance with which he turned that key in the door behind him, or he jumped out of the window.”

“Into the lake!” cried Lora.

“Yes, into the lake. It implies an expert diver, and it is a most dangerous proceeding, even then. But you asked for the possibilities.”

“Is Everett or Dean an expert diver?” I asked.

“Everett is. Dean not.”

“And Everett is in love with the Dallas, too. Well, we can hardly eliminate him, then.”

“But I refuse to suspect a lover of murder,” Kee insisted. “He must realize he will be suspected, if not convicted, and where would he stand with the fair one then?”

“Murderers don’t always think ahead,” I said, sagely.

“This one did. He thought far enough ahead to bring that horrible nail. We’ve no reason to think there was a nail lying about among the flowers and crackers.”

“Isn’t there a story about somebody being killed with a nail?” I asked.

“There is,” Kee replied, “it’s in Holy Writ. Jael killed Sisera, or Sisera killed Jael, I forget which, but the weapon was a nail driven in the victim’s head.”

“Yes,” I returned, “I know, but I don’t mean that story. There’s another – by a Frenchman – ”

“No,” said Maud, in her quiet, confident way, “it’s a Spanish story, by Pedro de Alarcón. The name of it is The Nail. It’s a horrible tale, but the theme is a murder by a nail driven in a man’s head.”

“Then,” and Kee shook himself, as if roused to action, “then we must look for a man who has read that story. Nobody would think of a nail, unless something had suggested it to him. I say that eliminates all the servants, unless, maybe, that chauffeur chap, Louis. I can’t see any of the others reading Spanish stories, even in translation. Item one. Search the Tracy library for a copy of that story. Is it a whole book, Maud?”

“No. A short story. I read it in a collection of Spanish and Italian mystery tales. I have it at home, but there’s no point to it in connection with this matter, except the nail.”

“That association means something,” Kee persisted. “When we do find the murderer, we’ll find he got his notion from that story.”

“Or from the Bible,” I said.

“Maybe. But I think more likely Maud’s story. As I remember it, the Scripture narrative is not very dramatic, and so, less likely to imbue our murderer’s mind with the plan than the Spanish yarn is.”

“Granting the Spanish story, then,” I said, “can’t we eliminate the servants? They’d surely not read such literature.”

“All right, eliminate them for the moment,” Kee agreed. “We can always go back to them if need be. That leaves us, in the house, Everett, Billy Dean and Ames. Help yourself.”

“Ames,” I said decidedly. “He’s the very one to read morbid, sensational literature.”

“But everybody reads detective stories nowadays,” Lora said. “Especially the grave and reverend seigneurs who wouldn’t be suspected of such tastes.”

“This wasn’t a detective story,” Maud informed us. “It was a thriller, a scare story.”

“All the same,” I said, “and more in line with Ames’s effects than straight detective yarns. I’m all for Ames. He wanted money, a lot of money, and Tracy wouldn’t let him have it, so, as he would not only get a large bequest at Tracy’s death, but, for all we know, could bury in oblivion his indebtedness to Tracy, of course he wanted Tracy out of the way. Moreover, if by the same token he could get the beautiful lady, that was an added inducement.”

“I’m ready to admit all that,” Kee was very thoughtful now; “and I can conceive of Ames in a murderer’s rôle. But I happen to know he is no diver. He can swim a little, but not expertly, and he can scarcely dive at all.”

“Perhaps,” I offered, “he is a master-diver, and had kept it secret for this very reason. What do you know of his past?”

“Nothing at all. And Norris, that was clever of you. If Harper Ames came here to commit that murder and escape by the window, it would be in keeping with his diabolical astuteness to pretend to be inexpert at swimming.”

“We’re building up a case instead of eliminating,” I said, secretly elated at Moore’s word of praise. “But before we go on, what about the two secretaries? I mean, are they omnivorous readers?”

“Mr. Everett is,” Maud volunteered. “He was here one night and we talked about books. We didn’t talk very seriously, but I gathered he was widely read, and had really good taste in literature.”

“And Everett is undoubtedly in love with Mrs. Dallas,” Kee went on, “and of course, he will have a bequest, and of course, he could get out of the room as well as anybody else, and we know somebody did, so all things being equal, why not suspect Everett instead of Ames?”

“Because of the difference in the characters of the two men,” Lora said, with emphasis. “I’m ready to grant a murderer may masquerade as an angel of light, but all the same, we have to judge our fellow men more or less by appearances, and I’ll pick Ames for a criminal long before I’ll choose Charlie Everett.”

“And we’re leaving out Billy Dean entirely?”

“I am,” I said. “He’s a nice, decent chap, and he’s too young for a murderer, at least, with no motive other than a bit of money. He isn’t in love with Mrs. Dallas, is he?”

“Lord, no. He’s in love with the Remsen girl.”

“Well, then,” I said, “if that nice boy is in love with that nice girl, he’s not going to commit a crime. I say, let’s eliminate him.”

“Then,” Kee summed up, “we’ve eliminated everybody but Ames and Everett. Griscom is the only servant we could possibly suspect, and he is said to be devoted to his master, and too, I’m told he has a tidy sum laid by, so I don’t see him driving nails into people.”

“We can’t get away from the nail and the sort of character it connotes,” I said. “I stand by Ames until he’s definitely eliminated.”

“Well, I guess we’re all agreed, then,” and Keeley rose and stretched his long arms. “Now, I’m for a swim. Who’ll go?”

We all went, and I found that the water of a sunny cove of Deep Lake was an ideal bathtub, and I forgot for the time being the sinister depths of the Sunless Sea.

CHAPTER VII

THE INQUEST

The inquest was an interesting affair.

I gathered from Coroner Hart’s manner that he had picked up some information or some bits of evidence that meant a lot to him, and he seemed impatient to begin his questioning.

The setting of the scene was far too beautiful to be wasted on a crime session and I looked about at the curious crowd of neighbours and villagers with distaste.

We were in the great ballroom, which occupies the lower floor of the wing containing Sampson Tracy’s rooms. On three sides, the Sunless Sea lapped its dark waters against its rocky shores, and the merest glance into its black depths was enough to deter the stoutest heart from an unnecessary dive therein. But an escaping murderer, if brave enough to risk the danger, and skilled enough in diving and sufficiently familiar with the position of the principal rocks, might make the goal. It was a comfort to me to think that, since the authorities assumed that was the way the criminal got out, it rather freed Alma Remsen from suspicion.

For that delicate girl, even though a good diver, as I had heard, could never have committed that brutal murder, and then have dived into those perilous depths at desperate risk of her own life.

Seats had been reserved for our crowd, and as we took them I glanced at the coroner’s jury. All well to do and fine looking men from the large estates that bordered the whole length of Deep Lake. Some were grave, some seemed unable to quell a naturally gay and jolly disposition, but all were alert and alive, and I felt that the case was in good hands.

I knew few of the audience. Mrs. Dallas was accompanied by several friends, and I also noted the young girl, Posy May, who had been at the Moores’ dinner party.

Then I saw Alma Remsen. She sat near Posy and she was accompanied by a woman who impressed me strongly. Never have I seen a face of more determination and grim endurance than that of Mrs. Merivale, which I later learned was her name.

She was the nurse who had cared for Alma since she was born. She lived with the girl in her island home, and surely no one could ask for a more capable and efficient-looking guardian.