The Deep Lake Mystery

“Oh, keep still, Gray,” Kee said, impatiently. “What about the Totem Pole, Griscom? Was that here Wednesday morning?”

“I don’t know for certain – ” He looked perplexed.

“Of course you don’t,” I broke in, irrepressibly. “You can’t remember exactly incidents that made no real impression on you at the time. Nobody can. And don’t try to be positive about these things when you’ve really only a vague recollection.”

“No, sir,” Griscom said, speaking deferentially enough, but I caught a slight gleam of obstinacy in his eye.

“Are you talking about those waistcoats?” asked Everett, coming into the room.

“Yes,” Kee said, “why?”

“Only that I’m puzzled. Miss Remsen says her uncle gave them to her on Tuesday, but I know that he wore the dark blue moire one on Wednesday.”

“At dinner time?” Moore asked.

“Yes, we don’t dress in summer, unless there are ladies here. He had it on at dinner I’m positive.”

“Then it’s all part of the planted evidence,” I informed them. “Whoever staged all the foolish scene on the bed, also grabbed up two waistcoats and the Totem Pole, made a bundle of them and deposited it in Miss Remsen’s boathouse.”

“Then why did she say she wanted them for patchwork – ”

“She didn’t at first,” I urged, not realizing where my argument led. “But she was so put about and bewildered by that fool coroner that she scarcely knew what she was saying – ”

“I think you scarcely know what you’re saying, Gray,” and Moore looked at me in kindly admonition. “You’d better hush up, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure Miss Remsen needs an advocate, but if she does, your incoherent babblings won’t do her any good.”

Though he smiled, his tone was serious, and I began to see I was making a fool of myself.

I turned on my heel and left the room, not trusting myself to hush up to the degree desired. In the sitting room, I saw Billy Dean, looking disconsolate.

I was surprised, for he had seemed cheerful enough up to now.

On a sudden impulse, and with a glance that he could not mistake for other than confidential, I said:

“So you saw the canoe Wednesday night?”

“Yes,” he said, answering my eyes rather than my words. Then realizing his slip, he said, quickly, “No, not a canoe, I heard a motor boat about midnight.”

“Yes, and a canoe later,” I persisted. “Look out, Dean, I’m not investigating, I’m only anxious to help – the innocent,” I finished, a little lamely.

“I don’t get you,” the young man said, stubbornly, and again the red flamed in his cheeks.

“Oh, yes, you do, and please understand we’re at one in this matter. I want you to promise not to say anything about it to any one. You see, your unfortunate trick of blushing like a schoolgirl gives you away, and makes you seem to admit far more than you know. Now, before Detective March or Keeley Moore gets after you, just you tell me what you know and let me advise you. I’m as loyal to Miss Remsen as you can possibly be, even if you are in love with her and I’m not.”

I made this not entirely veracious statement to set the poor chap’s mind at rest, for I could see dawning jealousy in his frank and open countenance.

He responded to my sincerity of manner and tone, and speaking almost in a whisper, said:

“I didn’t see her, my room is in the other wing, but I heard Alma’s paddling. I’d know her stroke among a thousand. Nobody paddles as she does.”

“Oh, you couldn’t recognize a mere paddle stroke!”

“Yes, I could. It’s unique, I tell you. She has a peculiar rhythm, and if you know it, it’s unmistakable.”

“At what time was this?”

“About half past one; a few minutes later, just after the clock in the hall had chimed the half hour.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

He glared at me. “That’s a nice question, when you’ve fairly dragged it out of me! But I’m banking on your statement that you’re loyal to Alma and I’m hoping that you can somehow ward off inquiries from Mr. Moore or keep the police away from her house.”

“You don’t think she had anything to do with – ”

“Of course, I know Alma Remsen had nothing to do with her uncle’s death, if that’s what you’re trying to say, but I do believe she was here late that night, and if that fact is discovered, it means trouble all round.”

He had suddenly acquired a dignity quite at variance with his former boyish embarrassment, and spoke earnestly and steadily.

“Why would she come here at such an hour?”

“She – she comes at any time – she has her own key – ” He was floundering again.

“Yes, I know, but at half past one at night! What could be the explanation?”

“I can’t tell you – I daren’t tell you,” he moaned like a child. “But oh, Mr. Norris, do stand by! Do use any tact or cleverness you may possess to keep the hounds off her track! She will be persecuted, unless we can save her!” He began to look wild-eyed, and I began to fear that Miss Remsen had even a worse and more imbecile helper in him than in me.

But the whole affair was growing in interest, and I was glad to have a sympathizer in my belief in Alma Remsen’s innocence, whatever sort he might be.

For I had caught a few words from the next room and I felt certain that Everett and Keeley Moore were talking over the strange story of Alma and the waistcoats.

Feeling I could do no more with Dean just then, I went back to the bedroom.

“Sifting clues?” I asked, trying to speak casually.

Kee looked at me, and smiled a little.

“Absent clues rather than present ones,” he said. “You see, the waistcoats and the Totem Pole disappeared, but so did the plate – the fruit plate.”

“Is that important?” I asked.

“Why, yes, in a way. Everything that is here or that isn’t here is important.”

“A bit cryptic, but I grasp your meaning,” I told him. “Then the hammer that belongs to the nail is important?”

“Very much so,” Kee answered, gravely. “Do you know where it is?”

“I don’t, but it seems to me you haven’t looked for it very hard. If the murderer is one of this household, presumably he used a hammer belonging here.”

“Then it loses its importance. The hammer is only of interest if it was brought in from outside.”