The Luminous Face

The detective examined the two, and gave a short whistle.

“Well,” he declared, “if I knew of anybody who could forge as well as that – I’d get him behind bars as quick as possible! Why, man, the signatures are identical! As to the typing, that is as personal as penmanship. Have you a typewriter?”

“No”; growled Barry, looking like a wild beast at bay. “I haven’t.”

“Do you ever use one?”

“No.”

Louis looked up, with such a surprised air, that Prescott said, “Yes, you do. Whose?”

“Nobody’s,” repeated Barry, now furiously incensed. “You quit these absurd questions! I won’t answer any more!”

“Why, Phil,” said Phyllis, gently, “don’t get so angry. Mr Prescott is only trying to find out about this letter.”

“And an important letter it is,” cried Millicent.

She was greatly excited, her eyes flashed and her lips trembled, as she fairly glared at Barry.

“So you’re the criminal,” she went on, “you killed my brother! Some need to ask why! Just because you’re in love with Phyllis and you found Robert was cutting you out! A fine way to remedy matter – to kill your rival!”

“Oh, Millicent,” Phyllis begged, “don’t jump at conclusions like that! Even if Phil did write that letter it doesn’t prove he killed Mr Gleason.”

“No”; Barry said, as if struck with a new view of it all; “even if I did write that, it proves nothing further.”

“Oho!” said Prescott, “you’re admitting that you wrote it, then?”

“I admit nothing. I deny nothing. I only say – ”

“Don’t say anything, Phil,” Louis warned him. “You say too much, anyway. Prescott’s on the job, let him find out who wrote the letter, and who signed it.”

“As if there was any doubt;” the detective scoffed. “But, laying aside the question for the moment, did you say, Mr Barry, that you have been doing some investigating on your own account?”

“On my own account, and on account of my friends here,” Barry replied, but his tone and expression betrayed agitation. “I’ve found out who owns the fur collar.”

“Who?” Prescott asked.

“Ivy Hayes.”

The effect of his announcement was slight on all present, except Louis Lindsay. He started, looked frightened, began to speak and then checked himself.

“Well, Louis,” Barry said, “out with it! I know you’re interested in Miss Hayes – what’s the word?”

“This is the word,” said Louis, and his low voice was intense and incisive, “if you or anybody else undertakes to drag Ivy Hayes’ name into this muddle, you’ll have to reckon with me!”

“Oh, come, now,” Prescott smiled, “in the first place, I won’t have my case called a muddle – next, if Miss Hayes or anybody else is connected with it in any way, she’s in it already, without having to be dragged in – as you call it. Go on, Mr Barry, what did you learn from or about Miss Hayes?”

“I learned that she was in Mr Gleason’s apartment the afternoon of the murder – ”

“She wasn’t!” Louis exclaimed, “She wasn’t!”

“Oh, hush, Louis,” Barry said, contemptuously, “she told me herself she was.”

“Go on,” said Prescott.

“She left Mr Gleason alive and well, when she departed.”

“At what time?”

“She doesn’t remember exactly – it’s the hardest thing in the world to make people assert a time. But I gathered it was not far from six o’clock when she left Gleason’s rooms.”

“That’s getting pretty close to the time of the murder,” Prescott said thoughtfully.

“Oh, she didn’t kill Gleason,” Barry put in, “He was planning to take her next day to buy a bracelet – as Ivy said, why would she kill a man who was about to do that?”

“You innocent!” exclaimed Millicent; “of course, she said that to pull the wool over your eyes! I don’t believe you did it after all, Phil! I believe it was that Ivy person! A girl like that wouldn’t leave her fur collar, unless she went away in a fearful hurry or trepidation.”

“A point, Mrs Lindsay,” and Prescott looked at her admiringly. “It would indeed denote a preoccupied mind, to leave a fur collar. And she was there about six, you say. But the man wasn’t killed till nearly seven.”

“Oh, she didn’t tell the truth about the time,” said Millicent, nodding her head sagaciously. “I’m surprised she admitted being there at all – but, I’m told they always slip up on some details.”

“Well, at any rate, there are several matters to be looked into,” Prescott said, rising to go. “I’m interested in your story of the Hayes girl, Mr Barry, but I’m even more interested in this letter you wrote.”

“I didn’t write it, I tell you!”

“I know you tell me so, but I can’t take your word for that. I’m going to consult a penmanship expert. And, if you’ll take my advice you won’t try to leave town – for, you’d find it difficult.”

“Meaning I’m to be under surveillance?”

“Oh, well, the matter has to be cleared up,” Prescott shrugged.

“Perfectly ridiculous!” Barry stormed on, after the detective had gone; “you know, don’t you, Phyllis, I had nothing to do with the matter?”

“Of course,” Phyllis replied, but her voice was disinterested and her gaze was far off. “But, look here, Phil, tell me something. When can I get my money – or some of it?”

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

“Whew! What do you want of all that? Are you mercenary, Phyllis?”

“No; but I want it – ”

“Oh, she does!” cried Millicent. “She’s been harping on that all day. I think it’s disgraceful! She thinks of nothing but that.”

“Oh, no, Millicent,” and Phyllis’ face flushed painfully – “I do want some ready cash, for an important purpose – ”

“And sometimes I go back to my first idea that you killed my brother,” Mrs Lindsay glared at her stepdaughter.