The Room with the Tassels

“I know it. That Thorpe he says it’s murder, but he can’t guess how it could be. That fool of a Crawford, he don’t know nothing, of any sort. Wayburn, now, he’s a fair doctor, but, good land! what can they learn from a post-mortem? Those people was warned, and them warnin’s was carried out. What more is there to learn?”

“Well and clearly put, Mr. Stebbins,” commented the Professor. “No elaboration of phrases could state that more succinctly. They were warned, – the warnings were carried out. That is the whole truth.”

“But granting that,” said Norma, “and I’m willing to grant it, why did the spirits want to kill Vernie? A lovely, innocent child couldn’t have incurred the wrath of the spirits to that extent.”

“They ain’t no tellin’, ma’am, what them ha’nts will do.” Stebbins spoke heavily, as if burdened with fear. “Now I leave it to you folks. Ain’t you smelled prussic acid around?”

“I have,” said Norma. “And I,” added the Professor. “I know it was not brought here by any of our party – ”

“Nor not by the cook,” said Stebbins. “Hester, she’s leery of that bitter almond flavourin’ and she don’t never use it. Well, don’t that smell prove somethin’?”

“It isn’t actual proof,” and Tracy looked thoughtful. “But it is an inexplicable odour to hang round an old house.”

“’Tain’t inexplicable if it’s due to the ha’nt,” urged Stebbins. “And that’s what it is due to. Why, that smell’s been said to be round here ever since the time of the Montgomery murder.”

“What’s wrong between you and Doctor Crawford?” asked Eve, suddenly. “You say yourself you aren’t good friends.”

“No, ma’am, we ain’t. It’s a sort o’ feud of long standin’. They ain’t no special reason, jest a conglomeration of little things. But one thing is ’cause he makes fun of the spooks here. He don’t take no stock in such things, and nobody can make him. Thorpe, now, he don’t neither. He sticks to it Mr. Bruce and Miss Vernie was murdered.”

“By what means, does he think?” asked Eve, quickly.

“Well, that he don’t know. But murder he says it was, and that he sticks to, like a puppy to a root.”

“Get him in here,” said Landon, abruptly, and Thorpe was summoned.

“Yes, sir,” the butler averred, on being questioned. “I’m willin’ to go on record as a disbeliever in spooks. They ain’t no such things. I don’t deny I’ve been some scared up hearin’ you ladies and gentlemen talk about such matters. But I don’t believe in ’em and I never will. Them two pore critters was done to death, but I’m free to confess I can’t see how.”

Professor Hardwick looked at the speaker. “As Mr. Dooley observed,” he said, “your remarks is inthrestin’ but not convincin’. My man, if there is no possible way that murder could have been done, – and we in here are agreed on that point, – what is left but the inevitability of supernormal agents?”

“Your long words gets me, sir, but it don’t make no difference. It wa’n’t spooks.”

“He’s hopeless,” said Tracy. “Let’s ask him other things. Thorpe, my man, have you never seen any circumstance or occurrence in this house, that you couldn’t explain by natural means?”

“I ain’t never been in this house, sir, except as I came here to buttle for you folks. Mr. Stebbins, he give the job to me and my wife, ’cause we’re honest, hard-working people, and he knew he could trust us not to tattle or tell no tales of your goin’s on. He says, ‘Thorpe,’ says he, ‘they’re a queer lot what’s comin’ up here, but they’re my tenants, and I don’t want ’em bothered none by gossip and tale-bearin’ to the village.’ Ain’t that right, Mr. Stebbins?”

“Just so,” said Stebbins, calmly. “Them’s just about my very words. You told me, Mr. Landon, that you were a crowd of spook-hunters, and so it was up to me to spare you all the annoyance I could. An’ well I know how the villagers gossip about this here house, if they get a chance. So, with the Thorpes at the head of things and a couple of good close-mouthed girls for helpers, I ’llowed you’d not be troubled. And you ain’t been, – up to now. But this thing can’t be kept quiet no longer. Of course, a thing like this is more or less public property, and I can tell you, there’ll be plenty of curious villagers up here to the inquest and all that.”

“Inquest!” cried Eve, “what do you mean?”

“Jest that, ma’am. That dunder-headed coroner, or county physician as he really is, he’s set on havin’ an inquest, – says he’s got to. Well, I don’t know much about law, but if they can ketch and hang a ha’nt, let ’em do it, say I!”

The arrival on the scene of the two doctors cut short further discussion. “There is a strange condition of things,” Crawford began, addressing himself to Wynne Landon. “We find decisive, though very slight evidence that Mr. Bruce died from poison.”

A hush followed, as his stunned hearers thought over the grave significance of this statement.

“Poison?” repeated Landon, dazedly. “What sort of poison? Who administered it?”

“As I said,” resumed the coroner, “it’s a strange case. The poison found is the minutest quantity of a very powerful drug, known among the profession as strychnine hydrochlorate. This is so deadly that a half grain will kill a man instantly, or in a few seconds. But my colleague and I have agreed that since it is impossible for this to have been administered at the moment of Mr. Bruce’s death, it must be that he had taken it in cumulative doses, and the result culminated in his sudden death.”

“Why would he take it?” cried Milly.

“Where could he get it?” asked the Professor. “Such a drug is not available to the general public, is it?”

“It is not, sir, but whoever gave it to him, must have procured it somehow. Those questions are for the future. We are just learning the facts. The results of our tests prove positively the presence of that particular poison. There is no doubt of that.”

“But wait,” and Eve fixed her compelling eyes on the coroner’s face. “Remember, Doctor Crawford, though you may not believe in the occult, other and wiser minds do. I wish to remind you, therefore, that we who believe these deaths were caused by supernatural agency, believe also that the powers that compassed the deaths are able to make the deaths seem attributable to natural causes, whether poison or anything else.”

“Eve!” exclaimed Milly, “that is going too far!”

“Not at all!” said the Professor. “Miss Carnforth is quite right; and indeed, logic must prove that if a phantasm can take away a human life it can also produce effects that resemble conditions brought about by human means.”

“I repeat,” the coroner interrupted, “these things are beside the question. We are conducting an autopsy, not an inquest, at present. I am giving you my report as a medical man, not as a member of the police force. Those other matters will be considered later. We have completed our examinations in the one case, we will now proceed to the case of the other victim.”

“They killed each other,” Thorpe broke in, nodding his head in the positive manner he affected. “Leastwise, one of ’em killed both; and of course, Miss Vernie, she wasn’t no murderer!”

“Wait till you are called upon to testify, my man,” and Crawford glowered at the forwardness of the old butler.

“There’ll be testifyin’ on both sides,” volunteered Stebbins, speaking a little belligerently.

Crawford turned on him, and it was easily seen that enmity existed between these two. “You, ’Lijah Stebbins, keep quiet,” he admonished, “there’s them that says you know too much about these doings, anyhow.”

“What do you mean by that?” Stebbins’ eyes glowed with anger.

“Nothing now, and maybe nothing at any time. But you’d better lie low. You might be unduly suspected of ha’nting your own house!”

To the surprise of all present, Stebbins turned a chalky white, and whimpered a little, as he said, “I don’t know what you mean, – I ain’t done anything.”

“See’s you don’t!” advised Crawford, enigmatically, and then the two doctors started to go on their second gruesome errand.

“This door’s locked,” announced Doctor Wayburn, trying to gain entrance to the Room with the Tassels.

“I have the key,” said Eve Carnforth, slowly, and, with a white face, she offered it to the men.

“What are you doing with it?” asked Landon, in amazement.

“I d-don’t know,” and Eve showed great nervousness. “I think I feared some one would go in there.”

The others looked at her curiously, for the white face was pallid and the scarlet line of her lips was thin and straight.

An exclamation from Doctor Wayburn claimed their attention, and speaking from the doorway of the Room with the Tassels, he said:

“There is no body here.”

“What!” cried several at once, and crowded to the door.

“Absolutely none,” repeated the doctor, and Professor Hardwick pushed his way past the two medical men and entered the room.

“It’s gone!” he said, reappearing, “Vernie’s body is gone!”