The Mark of Cain

Inspector Collins was interviewed as to the message that brought to him the first news of the murder.

He patiently retold the story, now old to him, and Stone questioned him as to the woman’s voice.

“I couldn’t rightly hear her, sir. Her kids was all screamin’ and whoopin’-coughin’ to beat the band.”

“Gee!” remarked Fibsy, “Vapo-crinoline!”

“What?” asked Stone.

“It’s the stuff they uses for whoopin’ cough. Me kid brother had it onct. Vapo Kerosene, or sumpin.”

“Also,” the captain went on, “there was a phonograph goin’ and there was building goin’ on near. I could hear riveters.”

“But who was the woman? Didn’t she give her name?”

“No, she was a dago woman,” Collins said, stroking his chin reflectively; “I couldn’t find out where she lived, nor why she sent the message. There was such a racket goin’ on where she was, I couldn’t half hear her.”

“What sort of a racket?”

“All sorts. She said her children had whooping-cough, and they did, for sure; but there was other noises. Seemed like hammerin’ and screechin’ and music all at once.”

“Music?”

“Oh, only a phonograph goin’. Playin’ some rag-time. Dunno what ’twas; ‘My Cockieleekie Lassie’ or some such song. Or maybe – ”

“Well, never mind the song. Did you finally get the message?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What was it?”

“Only that Rowland Trowbridge was dead and for me to go to Van Cortlandt Park woods for the body.”

“Singular that an Italian woman should tell you the news.”

“Very singular, sir.”

“What did you do then?”

“Called up the Van Cortlandt Park Station, and told them to look into the matter.”

Stone asked further details concerning the finding of the body, and then inquired as to the nature of the wound.

“He was stabbed,” said Collins, “And, without doubt, by a slender-bladed dagger or stiletto.”

“An Italian stiletto?” asked Stone.

“That is impossible to tell,” answered the Inspector a little pompously. “The wound would present the same appearance if made by any sharp, narrow-bladed weapon.”

“This weapon was not found?” went on Stone.

“No,” replied Collins, “I had vigorous search made in vain. But its absence proves the deed of an intelligent person. Whoever killed Mr. Trowbridge, went to the woods, knowing his victim would be there, and carrying his weapon with him.”

“It seems to prove that the criminal was provided with a dagger,” agreed Stone, “but it in no way convinces that it was not an accidental meeting between the murderer and his victim.”

So far the facts were bare ones. The announcement through the green cord of the telephone, the finding of the dagger-killed body, and the identification of the victim were clearly stated, but what inferences, could be drawn? There were no side lights, no implications, no pegs on which to hang theories.

Still keeping Fibsy with him, Stone returned to the Trowbridge house. It had been agreed that should he meet any one there, he was to be introduced as Mr. Green, a friend of Kane Landon’s.

As, it happened, there was quite a crowd in the library. Judge Hoyt had asked the district attorney and Alvin Duane to meet him there for a conference with Avice. Also, they wanted a few more words with Stryker, who had returned to his old place as butler.

As a friend of Landon’s and as an acquaintance of Avice’s “Mr. Green” was made welcome, and Avice asked that he be allowed to discuss the matter with them all. “Mr. Green is sure that Kane is innocent,” Avice said, “and he may be able to suggest some point that we may have overlooked.”

No one objected to the presence of the stranger, nor did they mind when Fibsy slid into the room, and sat down in a corner. It was no secret conclave, and any hint or theory would have been welcomed.

Stryker, who was present, was giving the best answers he could to the questions put to him.

“What were you really doing, Stryker,” the district attorney asked, “that afternoon of Mr. Trowbridge’s death?”

The old man shook his head. “I can’t remember,” he said; “I was at home when the news came, but I can’t just recollect whether I had been out afore that or not.”

Mr. Whiting appeared to think this a little suspicious, and questioned him severely.

But, “Mr. Green” smiled pleasantly;

“His alibi is perfect because he hasn’t any alibi,” he said cryptically.

“Just what does that mean to your cabalistic mind?” asked Whiting, ironically.

“Only this. If Stryker were implicated in this crime, he would have had an unshakable alibi fully prepared against your questions. The very fact that he doesn’t pretend to remember the details of his doings that afternoon, lets him out.”

Whiting saw this point, and agreed to the conclusion, but Alvin Duane looked decidedly crestfallen.

“In that case,” he said to Whiting, “an alibi is always worthless, for they are, according to the learned gentleman, always faked.”

“Not at all,” said Stone, easily. “An alibi is only ‘faked’, as you call it, by the criminal. Had Stryker been the criminal, he would have been shrewd enough, in all probability, to be prepared with a story to tell of where he spent that afternoon, and not say he doesn’t remember.”

The butler himself nodded his head. “That’s right! Of course I wouldn’t kill the master I loved, – the saints forgive me for even wording it! – but if I did, I’d surely have sense to provide an alloby, or whatever you call it.”

As no further questioning seemed to incriminate the man, he was dismissed from the room.

Baffled in his attempt to prove his somewhat vague theory as to Stryker, Duane insisted on a consideration of the note alleged by Avice to have been found in her uncle’s desk.

Judge Hoyt took up this matter somewhat at length. He admitted that Miss Trowbridge had found the note, as she averred, but he urged that it be not taken too seriously, for in his opinion, it had been written on Mr. Trowbridge’s typewriter by other fingers than the owner’s. And it was probably done, he opined, to turn suspicion away from his client.

“And do you want suspicion to rest on your client?” asked Stone.

“I do not and I do not propose that suspicion shall rest on him. But I do not care to divert it from him by fraudulent means.”