The Deep Lake Mystery

“Well, Jennie,” he said, in as casual a tone as he could command, “what do you know?”

“Do I have to tell you, sir?”

She looked at him serenely, not at all frightened, and with no diminution of her respectful attitude.

“Why, – er – yes, Jennie, I think you do.”

“I mean, legally, you know. Am I bound to answer your questions? Are you a policeman?”

“Why, yes, in a way,” Kee began, and then he said, quickly, “no, Jennie, I’m not a policeman, but if you don’t tell me, you’ll have to tell the police. Now, wouldn’t you rather tell me, nice and quietly, than to be interviewed by the police, who would scare you out of your wits?”

“Oh, sir, they couldn’t scare me,” the girl returned, with a look of self-reliance that seemed to exhibit neither fear of God nor regard of man. I had never seen on the face of one so young such apparent certainty of an ability to hold her own.

Clearly, Jennie was a find, and would doubtless prove a strong card, for, of course, Kee would get her story out of her.

But he soon found that he could not do it himself. Unless convinced that she was forced to it by the law, Jennie had no intention of divulging her information.

Recognizing this, Kee gave it up and sent her about her business.

“She probably knows nothing,” was his comment. “If she did, Griscom or Hart would have caught on. I suppose she thought she saw something and her imagination exaggerated it.”

“But she doesn’t seem to me imaginative, Kee,” Lora declared. “Not like Posy, you know, out to kick up a sensation. This girl is queer, very queer, but to me she rings true.”

“We’ll hear her story before we decide,” Kee told her. “March will be over to-night, and he’ll have the law on her! Don’t let her go out this evening.”

Lora agreed and then we went out to dinner. Serious conversation at table was strictly taboo, so we had only light chat and banter throughout the meal.

But afterward, snugly settled in the lounge, Keeley said:

“Well, of course, we have to face facts. There’s no use denying, Gray, that matters begin to look pretty thick for Alma. As you know I have to push on; I can’t stop because the girl my friend cares for is under suspicion. So, it comes down to this. If you choose, you may go back to New York till it’s all over, one way or another. You can’t be of any help to me here, and I can’t see how you can be of any use to Alma. This sounds a bit brutal, but I think you understand. If you don’t, I’ll try to explain.”

“You’d better explain, then,” I growled, “for I’m damned if I do understand.”

“Well, it’s only that, as I said, you can’t help any, and if things go against the girl, it would be better for you to be out of it all.”

I suppose something in the look of misery that came into my eyes went to Lora’s heart, for she said:

“Nonsense, Kee, Gray can’t go away. He couldn’t bring himself to do that. Of course, he’ll stay right here with us, and if he doesn’t help, at least he won’t hinder. You go ahead with your investigations and Gray and I will stand at thy right hand and keep the bridge with thee.”

“All right, Lora,” I managed to say, and Kee understandingly refrained from any further words on the subject.

But I grasped his meaning, and I knew that I was to stay only if I put no obstacles in his way and concealed no information that I might in any way achieve.

March came along as per schedule, and he and Keeley plunged at once into the discussion. Keeley Moore was not one of those private investigators who kept secret his own findings or ideas. He was almost always ready to tell freely what he thought or suspected, and he expected equal frankness from his fellow workers.

So, first of all he informed March of the story Posy May had detailed.

March, too, was inclined to take it with a grain of salt.

“I know that kid,” he said. “She’s full of the old Nick, and I’m not sure her word is reliable. But that yarn sounds plausible, and if she did see what she describes, it’s likely somebody else at some time or other has seen the same sort of thing. If so, I’ll try to find it out, and if we get one or two corroborations, we can begin to think it may be so.”

“But, even then,” I suggested, “it may only mean a high temper and not a – a – ”

“A diseased mind,” March supplied. “I don’t know about that. If it were a case of high temper there would be more or less exhibition of it right along. A girl who flies into wild passions at times is going to have slight shows of temper in between or else there’s something radically wrong there. And as I know Miss Remsen, I only know her as a lovely, gentle-natured girl, without this fierce temper at all. If, then, she has spells of it, those spells mean organic trouble of some sort. We could ask her nurse, but we’d learn nothing from her, I’m sure. We could quiz the Pleasure Dome servants, for the older ones, at least, lived there when Alma was there. But again, they would shield her from any suspicion. Or they probably would. We can try it on.”

“What about her doctor?” said Lora. “He’d know.”

“Yes; and that’s a good idea. But her doctor, I think, is Doctor Rogers, and he went to California the day after Mr. Tracy died. He seems to be beyond reach, for he went by the Canadian Pacific, and stopped along the way at various places.”

“Banff and Lake Louise, I suppose,” suggested Maud.

“Yes, but also at some less known places, ranches or such, and his office says he will get no mail until he reaches San Francisco.”

“Fine way for a doctor to leave his arrangements,” exclaimed Keeley.

“Oh, well, he put his practice in good hands, and he’s gone off for a real vacation. But all he could tell us is whether Alma Remsen is in any way or in any degree mentally affected. And I’m quite sure we can somehow find that out without him. If I grill that old butler and that sphinx of a housekeeper over there, I’m sure I can gather from what they say or don’t say about how matters stand.”

“If she is epileptic,” Maud said, “would it explain a criminal act on her part?”

“It might,” March returned, “but I don’t think she is that.”

“I don’t, either,” Kee agreed, and I blessed them both silently for that ray of hope.

Then Keeley told of the new parlour maid and her strange attitudes, and March demanded her immediate presence.

“A servant from that house is just what we want,” he said. “We are in luck.”

Jennie answered Lora’s summons, and appeared, looking as composed and serene as before.

Clearly she had no intention of quailing before the majesty of the law.

“You may sit down, Jennie,” Lora said, kindly, and the girl took a chair with just the right shade of deference and obedience.

“You were employed at Pleasure Dome?” March began, a trifle disconcerted at this self-possessed young creature.

“Yes, sir.”

“For how long?”

“I was there six months.”

“Then you were there when Mr. Tracy died?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you were not there when Miss Remsen lived there?”

“No, sir.”