In the Onyx Lobby Part 22

"No, not that. But when the word women occurs in connection with the murder of a rich and influential man, there's bound to be surmise,--at least."

"Oh, I suppose so. Well, do you want me down here? I'd like to go up to see my aunt."

"Wait a minute. Have you ever thought, Mr Bates, that the feud between your aunt and Mrs Everett is a mighty queer affair?"

"I've often thought that, but,--pardon me,--don't get outside your own proper boundaries!"

"Oh, I'm not. Now, a queer thing, like that feud, has to be taken into consideration."

"Not in connection with the murder of my Uncle Binney."

"Maybe not in direct connection, but as a side light. You know the feud has a decided bearing on your affair with Miss Everett."

"I object to your use of the word 'affair.' My friendship with Miss Everett is in spite of, even in defiance of, the feud between her mother and my aunt. I make no secret of it to you, but as I advise you, the matter is confidential. I'm treating you as a fellow-man, Corson, and I don't want you to abuse my confidence in your fellowship, or your--manliness."

Corson fidgeted a little and returned, "I've got to do my duty, Mr Bates, and part of my duty seems to me to be to tell you that I'm not allowed to observe confidences if they affect my orders."

"They don't! How can your investigations of this murder case be affected by my friendship for Miss Everett?"

"They can,--in a way. You see, I know a lot about this feud business. I know how inimical, how full of vicious hatred those two women are, and have been for years. And I know how your recent special interest in Miss Everett has roused the renewed anger of not only your aunt, but her mother----"

"Phew! You do know it all, don't you?"

"I do. Therefore, I felt I must inform you of the extent of my knowledge, so you and I can understand each other. Now, drop the subject for the moment, for I've other matters to speak of. Where do you suppose the weapon is?"

"I've not the slightest idea! How could I have?"

"Do you know what the weapon was?"

"Only what the doctor said, a very sharp knife of some sort."

"Yes; now did you know that the doctor has also said that the stroke delivered by that same sharp knife was so well planted, so skillfully driven home, that it implies the work of some one with a knowledge of anatomy?"

"A doctor?"

"Not necessarily,--unless a woman doctor. But, what other idea suggests itself?"

"Oh, I don't know. Don't ask me riddles."

"A nurse, then. Can't you see the reasonableness of suspecting a trained nurse, after Dr Pagett's opinions?"

"All right; where's your trained nurse in Sir Herbert's bright galaxy of beauty?"

"That's a point to be looked up. But, I may tell you that Julie Baxter studied nursing before she took up telephone work."

"H'm. Might be coincidence."

"Of course it _might_. But we have to investigate coincidences. You don't know of any nurse or ex-nurse in your uncle's circle of friends?"

"Friends seems to me an inappropriate word."

"Look here, Mr Bates, you let my choice of words alone, and answer my questions."

"All right, I will. I don't know of any nurse at all and I shouldn't tell you if I did!"

"Not a very wise remark on your part, Mr Bates," and Corson looked at him meaningly.

"I don't care whether it's wise or not. You make me disgusted with detective work! Why do you go around sneaking up on any woman you can hear of? Why don't you go about it from the other side? Find a motive for the murder and then find the criminal who had the motive! Don't suspect this one because she studied nursing and that one because the old gentleman kissed her! It isn't a unique case, my uncle's fancy for chorus girls,--but it by no means indicates the result of murder! Get the weapon, then find its owner. Get a clue,--a real, material clue, and then trace the criminal. Get some evidence,--actual, spoken or circ.u.mstantial,--and deduce your facts from it. For heaven's sake, do some real detective work, and not just dance around questioning any kiddy-girl you happen to see!"

"Your words are not without reason," and Corson gave Bates a peculiar smile. "Indeed, I had some idea of doing just what you suggest. But one of the first things to do in the hunt for evidence is to find out where your uncle was last night between twelve and two. You see, the people at the Magnifique say he sent the girls home by themselves and then soon after went off himself in the neighborhood of midnight. Next he's heard of at two A. M. dying on the floor of the onyx lobby! Where was he in the meantime?"

"That's truly a most important question to be answered," said Richard, very seriously. "On that depends far more than on the frightened admissions or denials of a lot of excited young women."

"I quite agree with you," said the detective.

CHAPTER IX

The Library Set

But it proved no easy matter to trace the whereabouts of Sir Herbert Binney between the hours of twelve and two on the night he met his tragic death.

The detectives were aware that he said a pleasant good-night to the chorus girls he had entertained at supper, and had left the Magnifique, alone, about midnight, but then all trace was lost. Naturally enough, for peaceable citizens are not noticed if they follow a beaten or usual path.

Nor could it be discovered whether he came into the onyx lobby alone, or accompanied by the person or persons responsible for his death. The absence of the weapon precluded all thought of suicide, therefore, he had been murdered and the murderer was still at large.

There was no witness to his dying moments but the night porter, Bob Moore. His testimony was not doubted, for, so far, no reason was apparent for his having any ill will toward the victim of the tragedy.

The two police detectives on the case worked well together. Corson was the more clever minded of the two, and Bates more energetic and active.

But they felt decidedly baffled at the stone wall they found themselves up against.

Sir Herbert had left the Hotel Magnifique, walking. Where had he gone or whom had he met? A highwayman or thug was improbable, for such a person would not follow a victim into his own home before attacking him. This added plausibility to the written statement incriminating women.

Angry or vindictive women might accompany him to the lobby of his own hotel, pleading or threatening in their own interests and then, in their final despair at gaining their point, stab him and run away.

Which, the detectives concluded, was just what had happened, and the thing now, was to find the women.

In default of any other way to look, they were still investigating the women employed in The Campanile.

But they had narrowed their search down to a few of those. Princ.i.p.ally of interest was Julie Baxter, the telephone girl,--but more for the reason of her relations with Moore, than because of her own admissions.

A persistent quizzing of Moore had proved to the detectives'

satisfaction that he did not know where Julie was the night of the murder, and that he was himself anxiously worried at her refusal to tell.

For the girl would not tell even her _fiance_ where she had been. She persisted in her story that she had been up to no harm but she was determined to keep her secret. This, in connection with her strong will and blunt manner, convinced the detectives that, though she need not have been criminally implicated, she, at least, knew definite and indicative facts about the murder.