The Deep Lake Mystery

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I say. And we’ve got to get that knowledge.”

“Of course, then, if she knows anything, it’s to do with Alma. She couldn’t know anything about any other suspect.”

“Look here, Norris, you’ll have to remember that I’m out to find the murderer of Sampson Tracy. I’m not considering whether the evidence I collect is going to implicate this one or that one, or whether it isn’t. I want only the truth.”

“Well, I don’t,” I told him. “I want to clear Alma Remsen, and I’d perjure myself straight into perdition if it would do her any good.”

“Well, it wouldn’t. Your word, after that speech, isn’t worth the effort it takes to speak it, as you must see for yourself. Why don’t you try to realize that that sort of talk won’t get you anywhere, nor help the girl either. Why don’t you try to understand that to find the real murderer is the only thing to free Miss Remsen, and the only way to do that is to investigate.”

All of a sudden, I saw myself for a silly fool.

“You’re right, March,” I said, earnestly; “and I’m going to try.”

“That’s more like it,” he applauded. “Come on, we’ll work together.”

CHAPTER XVII

AMES TAKES A HAND

“I’ve just read a detective story, where a sweet young girl was the criminal, after all,” Maud said, contributing an argument to our conversation.

It was Sunday, the day after the Tracy funeral.

As we sat on the porch, after the midday dinner, Ames came along and joined our group.

“Well, Mr. Moore,” he said, “unless you consider yourself engaged by me on the Tracy case, and you certainly have never given me to understand that, I am ready to call the deal off.”

“Why?” Keeley said, offering him a cigar.

“Principally because the evidence seems so strong against Alma Remsen, and I’ve no wish to see that girl convicted.”

“Why not?”

“First, because she isn’t guilty, and second, because, if she were guilty, I don’t want to be in any way instrumental in bringing it home to her.”

“You’d compound a felony – ”

“Oh, rubbish! But, yes, of course, I’d compound a felony rather than raise a finger to help establish her guilt.”

“What makes you think she is guilty?”

“I didn’t say I thought she was guilty, I said the evidence seems to point that way. But evidence doesn’t always point to the truth, by any means.”

“Very true. Have you any other suspect?”

“I’m not looking for suspects. I want to get away from the whole business.”

“Yet only a few days ago, you wanted me to investigate this matter at your direction and at your expense.”

“I know it. But I’ve changed my mind. I want to go away, to go back home. If I’m needed for any purpose, you can always find me. I’m not going to disappear.”

“I don’t think you’ll be wanted by the authorities, Mr. Ames, if that’s what you mean. I have crossed you off my list of suspects and I think Detective March has done the same. However, you will speak to them, of course, before you leave town.”

“Oh, certainly. And, Mr. Moore, I’ve been doing a bit of looking about on my own. I don’t know that it will be of help or even interest to you, but I’ve satisfied myself that nobody at Pleasure Dome was the murderer of Sampson Tracy.”

“You mean no member of the household?”

“Yes, none of the staff of servants, neither of the secretaries, nor myself. That completes the tale of the occupants of the house that night.”

“And how have you come to your conclusions?”

“By questioning, both straightforward and also more adroit. I have talked to the servants, and I have examined their rooms and possessions, and I have no hesitancy in pronouncing them all innocent.”

“Perhaps they know something about it, though.”

“Not the ones who are there now. A few, I believe, have been dismissed. They may know something. I cannot get at them, of course. But those who are there, and they are the principal ones, are innocent, and are eager to find the criminal.”

“They do not, then, suspect Alma Remsen? Surely they would not be anxious to discover her guilty.”

“No, they will hear no word against her. Griscom, especially, flies into a rage at a hint of her implication in the matter.”

“And the two secretaries?”

“Are as innocent as I am. I can scarcely expect you to take my word about myself, but I want to witness for Everett and Dean. They had no reason to kill Tracy, for I don’t agree that their expected legacies were sufficient motive. I had a motive, I suppose, as I sorely needed the money he left me, but I didn’t kill him to get it.”

Ames didn’t smile, he made his statement in a calm, honest way that carried absolute conviction. And there was no evidence against Ames. Had he wanted to kill Tracy, he surely would not have gone to the trouble to fix up all those foolish decorations, nor would he have been apt to think of making that telltale scratch across his own door.

“I think nobody suspects you, Mr. Ames,” Keeley said, and Ames returned:

“No, nobody does. They’re all on the trail of Alma Remsen. By all, I mean of course, the police; there’s nobody else sleuthing, that I know of, except yourself.”

“There is plenty of evidence that seems to point to Miss Remsen,” Kee said, slowly, “the question is, does it really indicate her? Did you ever hear, Mr. Ames, that she was in any way affected, either physically or mentally, by any disorder that would make her – er – irresponsible in her behaviour?”

Ames moved uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’d rather not answer that question,” he said, “but I suppose my disinclination to reply would be construed as affirmative. So, while I decline to discuss it, I will admit that I have heard rumours to that effect.”

“Then if it can be proved that she is mentally affected, surely no punishment can come to her, even in case of conviction.”

“Perhaps not. But if she is mentally afflicted, it seems all the more horrible to add to her sufferings the horrors of a trial.”

My heart warmed toward Harper Ames. At least, he had the instincts of a human being, and not those of a cold-blooded sleuth.

“You feel, as I do, that the bizarre effects of that deathbed implies, or at least suggests, the work of a disordered mind?”

“Either that, or an exceedingly clever mind trying to give the effect of a more or less demented person.”