The Luminous Face

“We weren’t certain,” Millicent said, “for my brother changed it quite often. He was ready to settle a large amount on Phyllis at once if she would consent to marry him, but he had already made a will leaving his fortune equally divided between us two. He never liked Louis, rather, he disapproved of him. Of late, Louis has run wild – ”

“It isn’t his fault,” Phyllis defended; “he has been duped and deluded by a lot of men with whom he had no business to associate at all. But let’s leave Louis out of it, for Mr Wise has declared he doesn’t suspect him, and he is in no other way concerned in this business.”

“That’s true, Miss Lindsay. Now, tell me, did Mr Gleason contemplate changing his will again in case Miss Lindsay refused him definitely?”

“Yes, he did,” Phyllis stated; “he told me unless I made the announcement at the dinner party, he would change his will and cut me out of it entirely.”

“Did he, then, assume that you could be bought in that fashion.”

Phyllis colored, but she replied, “Yes, he did. But, mostly because he knew how desperately I wanted money for my brother. And, too, it isn’t a gracious thing to say – but Mr Gleason was not such an attractive man that he had much reason for being accepted outside of his wealth.”

“I see; and he had made the existing will recently?”

“Within a month or so.”

“Who knew of it?”

“No one, I believe,” Millicent said, “but Phyllis and Louis and myself – except, of course, the lawyer who drew it.”

“Mr Fred Lane?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t he one of that group of men who were discussing murder at the Club that day?”

“Yes,” Millicent looked inquiringly at him; “but you don’t dream that Mr Lane – ”

“Why not?”

“Oh, nonsense, Fred Lane and my brother were good friends.”

“At any rate, it is to the men of that group that I shall first direct my investigations. Few of them really liked Mr Gleason. Forgive me, if I seem unkind, Mrs Lindsay, but I cannot work if trammeled by too great consideration for your feelings.”

“Don’t stop for that, Mr Wise. I quite understand. And I know my brother was not a favorite with the Club men. He was too different. He was out of the picture. They had little in common. Now, in so far as that is of assistance to you in forming your theories, use it, for it is quite true. My brother was a far better and worthier man than most of them, but his ways were different and he did not show to advantage when among them. If Phyllis could have cared for Robert he could have made her very happy, I know. But that’s all past. What I want now, is to avenge my brother’s death. To discover and punish his murderer, no matter who he may be. I beg of you, Mr Wise, spare no time, pains or expense to ferret him out.”

“Indeed I shall not. Can you think of any grievance or reason for enmity toward Mr Gleason on the part of those men I refer to?”

“Only one reason, Mr Wise, and that applies to several. They were jealous of his attentions to Miss Lindsay.”

“Oh, Millicent!” Phyllis cried, in protest.

“It is true. Miss Lindsay is a belle, and all the men of that group were her admirers – or almost all. Doctor Davenport, is, of course, excepted, and Mr Lane. They are married men.”

“Leaving Mr Barry, Mr Pollard and Mr Monroe.”

“Yes; and they surely cannot be suspected. You have declared Mr Barry innocent, Mr Pollard was in his own home at the time of the crime, and Dean Monroe – why, he hasn’t even been thought of.”

“Has he been inquired of as to his whereabouts at the time?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. Has he, Phyllis?”

“I don’t know. But it’s silly to think of Dean! Why, he scarcely knew Mr Gleason.”

“But he is devoted to you?” Wise asked the question so casually that Phyllis answered, frankly, “Yes, he is. That is, he has asked me to marry him.”

“And you refused?”

“I did. But, Mr Wise, is it necessary to tell you such things?”

“It is, Miss Lindsay. I fully believe that you are the innocent cause of this murder. This attaches no blame to you, in any way, but it makes it imperative for me to learn these details. Probably nine crimes out of ten are committed because of a woman – so don’t let it disturb you.”

“Not disturb me!” Phyllis cried; “of course it disturbs me! If there are women so foolishly vain as to enjoy stirring up strife among their admirers, I am not of that sort. I wish I were dead!”

“There, now, Phyllis,” Millicent said, “don’t act like that. I, too, believe the murderer was somebody who was jealous of Robert because of you, but you can’t help that. I’m sure my brother had no enemy who would come from the West to kill him.”

“You can’t be sure of such a thing as that, but we can prove up where the people were who might be suspected here.”

Methodically Wise went about the job.

Although he had told the Lindsays he was sure of Philip Barry’s innocence, none the less did he look into his alibi.

And it seemed to be all right. The doorman and the desk clerk at the small hotel where he lived were almost certain that he had came in that afternoon, just about six, as he said he did. They were not willing to swear to it, but they were reasonably certain, and Wise felt pretty sure they were right.

Next he went to the nearby hotel where Pollard lived.

“Yes, sir,” declared the doorman there, “I saw Mr Pollard come in – he nodded to me just like he always does. And later, I saw him when he went out again. I put him into his taxi myself.”

“At what time, about?”

“No about about it. It was just twenty-five minutes to seven – ”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll tell you how I know. Mr Pollard glanced at his wrist watch as he got into the cab. It had a radium dial, and I saw it plain.”

“Mr Pollard wears a wrist watch, then?”

“Yes, he’s worn it ever since the war. Got used to it over there, I s’pose. Well, anyway, that’s what happened, so – if the watch was correct – it was seven-twenty-five.”

“Good,” said Wise. “And, as I understand it, one or two people saw Mr Pollard in his room, or heard him telephone during the hour or so he was here?”

“Yes, sir,” the desk clerk rehearsed the story a little wearily. The employees of the hotel had told the tale often, for owing to Manning Pollard’s threat – which had passed into history – he was frequently being suspected by somebody, detective or amateur, and the hotel people had been called upon to rehearse the story until they were letter perfect in their parts.

Next, Pennington Wise investigated the doings of Dean Monroe.

And the result was that he learned that Monroe had gone from the Club that day straight to the home of his mother, and had remained with her until so late that he had to make great haste dressing for dinner in order to reach the Lindsay house on time.

“H’m,” said Penny Wise, profoundly, to himself; “h’m.”