The Deep Lake Mystery

Ames, with a petulant gesture, picked up an ivory paper cutter from the table and drew it leisurely across a cupboard door, making a slight rattling sound.

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head satisfiedly, “just like that.”

“As if some one were passing your door, and idly drew across it something he had in his hand?”

“Yes, just that.”

“Why haven’t you told this before?”

“I attached no importance to it. In fact, I had forgotten it.”

“And what brought it again to your mind?”

“Nothing especial. I was going over the events of that night, to think if there was anything else I could tell Mr. Moore. I didn’t know he was going to throw me!”

Keeley laughed outright. Ames spoke so like an aggrieved child.

“I haven’t thrown you, Mr. Ames,” he declared. “I’m sure you and I are going to work together. I’m awfully interested in the chap who drummed along your door. I believe it was the murderer himself.”

“You do!” Ames turned a friendly look on Kee. “Then you can run him down?”

“I hope so. Now, tell us, who is it you’re shielding?”

“Nobody. Honest. But this sound in the hall was worrying my conscience.”

“I see. I see.” And I knew that Keeley Moore had crossed Harper Ames definitely off his list of suspects.

Doubtless he was right. Kee was seldom wrong.

But I was worried. I was getting to the pitch where I was always worried – about Alma. Oh, if only I hadn’t seen her go to Pleasure Dome that night! Or if I could find an innocent reason for her going. Or if she hadn’t denied on the witness stand that she did go.

Anyhow, it was plain to be seen that not only Keeley Moore but Detective March had exonerated Ames in their minds, and that because of Ames’s own frank relation of a hitherto suppressed bit of evidence.

“All a fake,” I said, angrily, to myself. “He’s pulling wool over their eyes!” But I knew better. Even to my untrained intelligence, Ames’s story had rung true. He had heard the sound in the hall, and no one who heard his tale could doubt it.

Then Ames rose to go, and somehow, I found myself by Maud’s side walking down to the gate with our caller.

“Do come over again, Mr. Ames,” Maud said, hospitably, as she bade him good-bye.

And then Ames went off and March came along on his way out.

Maud stopped him to speak a moment, and I half turned aside. Had I known what the result of her words would be, I think I should have choked her to silence ere I let her utter them!

But I only heard her say, casually: “Then you will not be at the funeral, Mr. March?”

“No, Mrs. Merrill. I think it too good a chance to lose to do two or three errands I have in mind.”

“One of them being to search Miss Remsen’s home?”

“That’s almost too strong a phrase. But I mean to take a run over there and see what I can get from the other servants when the two Merivales are away.”

“Then, do this, Mr. March, will you? Glance over the bookcase and see if you notice a book of short stories – detective stories, you know. The title is Mystery Tales of All Nations, Volume VIII.”

“Is it your book?”

“Oh, no, I don’t know that it’s there at all. Just see, that’s all.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” and March went away.

Angrily, I turned on Maud Merrill.

“Have you got it in for Alma?” I exclaimed.

“Mercy, no! Don’t look at me like that, Gray Norris! I’m only trying to get any information I can. And I still think that story is at the bottom of this murder!”

“Trust a woman to get a fool idea into her head and stick to it like a puppy to a root!” I cried, scowling at her.

But she only laughed at me, and changed the subject.

CHAPTER XII

MY SECRET

We went back into the house and Maud, with a smile at me, said:

“Keeley, I asked our super-sleuth, March, to scout around for a stray copy of that book that has in it the story of The Nail, and Graysie, here, is mad at me.”

“Nonsense!” I cried, “I’m not. But I daresay there were some thousands of copies of the book printed, and if, when and as you find one, you can’t at once assume that you have hit upon the murderer of Sampson Tracy.”

“That story is Maud’s angle of the case,” Kee said. “Her own exclusive property and she must be allowed to exploit it as she likes. I’m free to confess I haven’t much faith in it as a pointer, but I will say if the book is found on the bedside table of any one who benefits by Sampson Tracy’s death, it will be a lead that must be followed up.”

“Oh, all right,” I said, grumpily. “I can see you all suspect Alma Remsen more or less, but why don’t you come out and say so?”

“Gray,” Keeley spoke a little sternly, “you’ve fallen in love with Miss Remsen, and while that’s your own affair, you mustn’t assume that it at once absolves her from all suspicion in this matter. Now, wait a minute before you explode. I don’t say the girl is suspected of crime, but there is a possibility that she knows something she hasn’t told, just as Ames knew about that step in the hall, and just as you know something that wild horses couldn’t drag out of you.”

“What do you mean?” I spluttered, angry and ashamed at the same time.

“You know what I mean. You have some bit of knowledge or information that you have been on the point of telling me half a dozen times, and then have concluded not to do so. I’m not asking you what it is, I’m not saying it is your duty to tell. That’s your business. But I do say you have no right to cavil at anything I may do in the interests of justice, and no reason to get upset if my investigations tend toward Alma Remsen’s connection with the case.”

I was in love, I was upset, but after all, my sense of fairness was still with me.

“You’re right, Kee,” I said. “And I will not again let my admiration for Miss Remsen come into the question. Except where it concerns her, I am ready to help, if I can, with your work, and I am sure you can give me chores to do, away from that line of inquiry. Let me interview others, there must be others, and you will find that I am not the fool you think me.”

“There, there, bless the boy,” Maud patted my arm, and though I might have resented her manner in another there was something about her kindly sympathy that made me welcome her friendly interest.

“Of course I think you a fool, Gray,” Moore assured me. “I’ve always thought so. But, aren’t we all?”

“Of course we are,” chimed in Lora. “I wouldn’t give a fig for anyone who wasn’t a fool in some ways. Now, don’t think, Gray, your shy avowal is news to us, for we knew you had fallen for the lovely Alma almost before you knew it yourself. And we all approve, and look forward to a happy ending. But for the moment, we are engrossed in another matter. And though Keeley says he is not going to urge you to tell us the secret you are withholding, I am, and I hope you will feel that it is better to let us know it.”