The Room with the Tassels

“No,” and Milly shuddered; “it is bad enough that it should have been Mr. Tracy, but far better than to suspect one of us here.”

“Furthermore,” continued Wise, “let us look into the details of the death of Vernie Reid. Who can give me the exact facts as noticed?”

“I,” said Eve Carnforth; “and, now, as I look back, I see it all in a different light! I was looking at Mr. Bruce, as everybody was, startled by the sound of crashing china, and I heard Mr. Tracy say, ‘Vernie, child! What is the matter?’ or some such words. Then he ran quickly to her side and held her up in his arms, while I ran to them and helped him to lay her on the sofa.”

“See?” said Wise; “at the moment Tracy sprang toward the girl she was unharmed, and as he put his arm round her, he scratched her arm with a sharp pointed instrument, which had been dipped in the awful poison that we have learned of. It is said to be similar to that with which the barbarians of South America tip their arrows. But the least scratch is instantly fatal, and proved so in Vernie’s case. The instrument he used, we have reason to think, was a steel pen.”

“Why do you think that?” asked Professor Hardwick.

“Because Zizi found a few new ones in Tracy’s room, that had not been used for writing purposes. There were five in a small paper parcel. We have found that he bought these at a shop in the village, buying six at the time. This is merely a shred of evidence, but the fact that Zizi found the pens became known to Mr. Tracy, in fact he caught her searching his room. It was this that made him try to do away with the child.”

“Tracy? Do away with Zizi!” exclaimed Braye. “Why, he was gone away from here, then.”

“No. He had left the house, but he was lurking about, and after all had retired that night, he came through the revolving column, and kidnapped Zizi, and threw her into the lake, – as he had previously thrown in the body of Vernie Reid. That, he did, lest the scratch on her arm be discovered by the doctors, and he be suspected.”

“Then it was Tracy who discovered the secret of the revolving column,” said Braye, thoughtfully. “You take a great deal for granted, Mr. Wise.”

“I take nothing for granted, save what the facts prove, Mr. Braye. That Tracy used the revolving column is positive. Do you not all remember the night when Professor Hardwick saw the apparition of the Shawled Woman? On that night Mr. Tracy was supposed to be in Boston. As a matter of fact, he was not, he had left the house, saying he was going to Boston but he remained in hiding near the house, played ghost, and then went on his way.”

“I was in New York that night,” said Braye, musingly. “But, look here, Mr. Wise, one afternoon, about dusk, Miss Cameron and I distinctly saw the apparition of the Shawled Woman in the Room with the Tassels when we ourselves were out of doors. We saw it through the window, – don’t you remember, Norma?”

“I do, – ”

“Then that was Mr. Tracy’s doings also,” declared Wise. “How simple for him to get the paraphernalia from the column, where it was always in readiness, make his appearance to frighten you two, and then return the shawl and so forth before you could enter and catch him.”

“It would have been possible,” agreed Braye, and then Hardwick began.

“There were many other strange things to be accounted for, such as moanings and rustlings in the morning at four o’clock, and also occasional odours of prussic acid, without apparent reason.”

“Lay them all to Tracy,” said Wise, “you won’t be far out. Now, who was running that Ouija board the night it said the two people would die at four o’clock?”

“Vernie and Mr. Tracy,” said Norma, “but when it said that, Mr. Tracy took his hands off and said he would have no more to do with it. He said he believed Vernie pushed it to those letters.”

“He was a good actor,” said Wise, looking grave and sighing; “he fooled you all, it would seem.”

“He certainly fooled me, good and plenty,” said Braye, angrily. “You say you have him in custody, Mr. Wise?”

“I did not say that, but I have him under such surveillance that he cannot get away. There are some other matters to be discussed. Granting Tracy’s guilt, what do you ascribe as a motive?”

There was a profound silence. What could have been the motive for a perfect stranger to kill with deliberation two people who had never injured him in any way, and from whose death he could expect no pecuniary advantage?

“Look here,” said Wynne Landon, suddenly, “Mr. Tracy went away from here because the spectre appeared to him. How do you account for that?”

“Mr. Tracy said so,” returned Wise, “but that story of his ghostly vision was made up out of the whole cloth, – which was all of the ‘cloth’ with which he ever had to do.”

“He made up that yarn, then, as an excuse to get away?” said Hardwick.

“He did just that,” replied Wise. “But what has any one to suggest as Mr. Tracy’s motive for the crimes he committed?”

“Plain homicidal mania,” offered Hardwick, at last, as no one else spoke.

“No,” said Wise, “John Tracy is not of that type. Such people are abnormal, they have special physical characteristics, and they are easily recognized, once suspicion is attached to them. Tracy is a quiet, even debonair character, he is even-tempered, gentle-mannered and though deeply clever he hides it under a mask of kindliness and consideration. Victims of what is called homicidal mania are not at all like this. They are difficult to get along with, they do queer, inexplicable things, and most of all, they show in their faces the traits that lead them to their villainous deeds. You all know Tracy is not of this type. Therefore you must look further for his motive.”

“Did he receive any bequest from Mr. Bruce’s will?” asked Hardwick, wonderingly.

“Certainly not,” asserted Landon. “He didn’t know Mr. Bruce until we came up here, and that would have been no motive for his killing Vernie. Nor can there be any personal motive, Mr. Wise, for that. Shall we not have to ascribe it to some form of degeneracy, whether that seems plausible or not?”

“No,” decreed Wise, looking sternly from one to another. “No; John Tracy’s motive for those two inhuman murders was the motive that is oftenest the reason for murder – money lust!”

Eve Carnforth gave a scream and buried her face in her hands.

Milly Landon turned white and swayed as if about to faint, but her husband caught her in his arms and supported her.

“What can he mean?” said Norma, turning to Braye, “how could Mr. Tracy have done it for money? Who would give him money?”

“Hush, Norma,” said Braye, in a low voice, and Norma remembered it was the same tone he had used, when she had before asked questions of him. She had thought over his words on that occasion, and had concluded he meant she must not say anything that seemed to throw suspicion toward Wynne Landon. She looked at the sobbing Milly, and the pained, strained face of Wynne, who was trying to soothe her, and then Norma turned to Eve.

Eve was using all her will power to preserve her poise, but Norma saw at once that she was having difficulty to do so. In kindness of heart, Norma went over to the suffering girl.

“Come with me, Eve,” she said, softly, “let us go off by ourselves for a while.”

“Yes, do,” said Penny Wise, looking kindly at the two girls. “Zizi, perhaps you can be of use.”

Zizi followed the other two, and they went to Eve’s room. With all the deftness of a nurse, Zizi found some aromatic cologne, and a fresh handkerchief, and in a moment was bathing Eve’s temples, with a gentle, soothing touch.

“What a funny little piece you are!” said Eve, looking at the small sympathetic face, and speaking in a preoccupied way.

“Yes,” acquiesced Zizi, while Norma sat by, lost in her own thoughts.

“Tell me,” said Eve, suddenly roused to energy. “Tell me, Zizi, – you know as much as Mr. Wise does, – tell me, who paid Tracy money?”

“What!” cried Norma, “Eve, hush! don’t say such things. If anybody did, we don’t want to know it!”

“We’ll have to know it,” said Eve, simply, “and, Norma, – ”

But Norma interrupted her; “No, Eve, we don’t have to, at least, we don’t have to ask about it, or inquire into it. The detective will do that.”

“You’ll soon have to know,” said Zizi, quietly; “indeed you know now, don’t you, Miss Carnforth?”

“I asked you!” cried Eve, hysterical again. “Tell me, tell me at once, girl!”

But Zizi shook her head, and continued to bathe Eve’s brow. “Try to be calm,” she whispered, “there will be much for you to bear, and you must be brave to bear it.”

Eve looked at her wonderingly, and seeing deep compassion in the black eyes, she ceased questioning and closed her own eyes.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes and rose from her couch. “Thank you, Zizi,” she said, “I am all right now. I am going back to join the others. Will you come, Norma?”

Dazedly, as one in a dream, Norma rose, and the three went down stairs. Apparently little had been said of importance since they left. There was a tense silence, and Pennington Wise said, “I find I must speak out and tell you the truth. I had hoped for a confession but I see no signs of it.