The Curved Blades

“That I cannot answer. That whole conversation is most mysterious.”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Stone, under any other hypothesis than that of the presence of Pauline Stuart in her aunt’s room at the time!”

“May I come in?” and Gray Haviland’s good-natured face appeared, as he knocked and opened the door almost simultaneously.

“Yes,” said Stone, “and I will ask you, Miss Frayne, to leave us. I am getting to work in earnest now, and I want to push things a little.”

Stone watched the effect of this speech on Anita and was not surprised to see her look at him with startled eyes, as she unwillingly went through the door he held open for her.

“What’s doing?” asked Haviland, in his breezy way; and Stone replied, frankly: “Lots. Those two girls are sworn foes, aren’t they?”

“Of late they have seemed to be. The break came a month or more before Miss Carrington died. Two beauties never can remain friends.”

“They are both beautiful women,” agreed Stone. “Which do you think had a hand in the tragedy?”

“Good Lord! Neither of them! What are you talking about? That Count man is responsible for the whole thing, Bates and all.”

“I know you think so, Mr. Haviland, but I can’t agree with you. Now, look here, we’ve got to face things squarely. Take the story Miss Frayne tells, about that mysterious conversation. If it were all a figment of her brain, – ”

“What! Man, you’re crazy! Anita Frayne make that all up out of the solid! Never, in a thousand years! If she said that talk was talked, it was talked, and that’s all there is about that! Why or by whom it was talked, is another matter, and as I understand it, that’s what you’re here to find out. And, between you and me and the arc light, I don’t believe you ever will find out.”

“No?”

“No! And this is no aspersion on your powers. I believe that fool Count was in there, and as he’ll never admit it, and you’ll never believe it, how can it be proved?”

“Never mind that, now. Prepare yourself, Mr. Haviland, for some unwelcome questions. You don’t want to, but I must insist on your answering them. Which do you consider the more truthful and honest of the two young women I’ve just been talking to?”

“Nixie! You can’t get an answer to that question out of me! Why, I’d be a cad to say anything but that they are both impeccably truthful and honest.”

“So you would, in ordinary circumstances. But you must realize, Mr. Haviland, that I’m here for the definite purpose of solving the mystery of a terrible crime, and I can only do it by inquiry and investigation. If you really refuse to help me I must learn what I want to know in other ways.”

“But, hang it, man,” and Haviland, impressed by Stone’s manner, considered the question; “I do think they’re both truthful, – that is, one of them – Oh, I can’t say it! I can’t talk against a woman!”

“You’ll be obliged to tell all you know, sooner or later. If you tell me now, I truly believe it will be better all round.”

“Well, then, – now wait, I’ve got to think this thing out; I believe, – why, blessed if I don’t believe either of them would lie if she was in a tight place! There! you’ve made me say a nice, honorable thing, haven’t you?” and Haviland looked utterly disgusted with Stone and with himself too.

XVIII

FLED!

The days went by, leaving the mystery unsolved. Count Charlier was released from custody, there not being sufficient evidence to hold him. Bates was in jail awaiting the action of the Grand Jury, but it was recognized that he was not the murderer of Miss Carrington.

Search for the poisoner had so far been fruitless, and the newspapers were clamoring for the arrest of somebody. But the Police Detectives were at their wits’ end, and even Fleming Stone was baffled.

For hours, Stone sat thinking over the many peculiar features of the case. It was not in embarrassment that he felt himself unable as yet to trace the criminal, it was rather with a sensation of curiosity that he wondered what point he had overlooked. There must be some clue, some definite indication of what way to look, but so far he had not perceived it.

So interested was he in the search that he took no note of the passing of time or the growing impatience of those who watched him.

“It’s this way, Hardy,” he would say to the younger detective, “the mystery centres about that paper snake. When we find out the reason for Miss Carrington’s sending for that thing, we’ve the whole story.”

“You believe, then, that she did send for it?”

“Of course; why not?”

“We’ve only Miss Stuart’s word for that; and it doesn’t seem as if Miss Carrington would – ”

“Nonsense! It doesn’t seem, you mean, as if Miss Stuart would – Why, man, what possible sense could there be in Miss Stuart’s buying that snake on her own account? If she set out to poison her aunt, – which she didn’t, – she could have managed it in a dozen ways without lugging in that paper reptile. In fact, it never would have occurred to her to do so. Why would she do it?”

“In an attempt to frighten the lady to death?”

“Rubbish! The first effect of such a fright would be a fearful outcry on Miss Carrington’s part, and immediate discovery of the plot. Moreover, if Miss Stuart bought that snake for any such purpose, she would have bought it secretly; at some little, obscure shop, not at a well-known emporium. No, sir, the snake is the key to the puzzle, but how? That is the question. You see, the doctors are pretty sure that the thing was put round the lady’s neck before she died. Therefore she was either unconscious at the time, or, – she was willing.”

“Never! Everybody says her fear of the things would never let her have it put on her willingly.”

“I know they say so, but they may be mistaken. I’m beginning to evolve a theory that will fit the facts, queer as they are. But my theory needs a whole lot of other facts to back it up, and those facts I can’t seem to find.”

“Does your theory implicate Miss Stuart?”

“It does not.”

“I thought not.”

“You thought quite right. It does not implicate Miss Stuart, because she is in no way responsible for her aunt’s death. But she may have knowledge, or she may think she has, that is leading her to shield somebody else.”

“Whom?”

“I don’t know. She is rather a puzzling creature. Is she – is she in love with that cousin of hers?”

“Haviland?”

“No, the one in Egypt.”

“Oh, Loria. I don’t know, I’m sure. You read his letter to her, it wasn’t in any sense a love-letter.”

“No, but it was evidently a letter written with the idea of other people reading it, because of the circumstances. Of course, he wouldn’t put any intimate talk in it. And it was typewritten, so I couldn’t judge anything of the man from his chirography.”

“Does handwriting mean much to you?”

“Yes, indeed. It is a wonderful expression of character. But I don’t suppose it would declare his adoration of a lady, unless he put it in words also.”

“You don’t connect Loria with the crime in any way, do you?”

“I don’t see how I can, unless in collusion or through the assistance of Miss Stuart. And I’m not ready to do that. I’m working now on that conversation overheard by Miss Frayne.”

“You accept that whole, then?”

“Yes, for the simple reason that she would not have invented all that talk. Even if she were in the room herself, and the remarks were addressed to her, she might be trying to lay the blame elsewhere; to create that conversation out of her own brain is too preposterous. You see, Hardy, these things must be weighed in the balance of probability. If Miss Frayne had set out to invent a lot of stuff which she merely pretended to overhear, she would have had two sides to the conversation. It is that unusual effect of one voice only that gives her story the stamp of truth.”