Raspberry Jam Part 29

"How perfectly absurd! Oh, I've a notion to telephone and ask her to go for a drive. What fun!"

Shane looked at the mischievous face in astonishment. He was experienced in human nature, but this shallow, frivolous att.i.tude toward a tragedy was new to him.

"I thought you and Mrs. Embury were friends," he said, reprovingly.

"Oh, we are--Or rather, we were. I'm not sure I can know her--after this! But, you see, I can't take it seriously. I can't really believe you mean that you think Eunice--guilty! Why, I'd a thousand times rather suspect the old aunt person!"

"You would!" Shane spoke eagerly. "Could that be possible?"

"It could be possible this way," Fifi was serious now. "You see, Miss Ames adores Eunice. She found it hard to forgive Sanford for his tyrannical ways--and they were tyrannical. And Miss Ames might have, by way of ridding Eunice from a cruel husband--might have--oh, I can't say it--it sounds too absurd! But, after all, it's no more absurd than to suspect Eunice. Why don't you look for somebody else?"

"How could anybody get in?"

"I know," impatiently; "but I've read detective stories, and 'most always, the murder is committed in what they call 'a hermetically sealed room,' and yet somebody did get in!"

"There's no such thing as a hermetically sealed room! Don't you know what hermetically sealed means?"

"Yes, of course I do, literally. But that phrase is used--in detective stories, to mean an inaccessible room. Or a seemingly inaccessible one. But always it comes out that it could be entered."

"That's all very well in fiction, ma'am; but it won't work in this case. Why, I looked over those door locks myself. n.o.body could get in."

"Well, leaving aside the way they got in, let's see whom we can suspect. There's two men that I know of who are dead in love with Mrs.

Embury--and I daresay there are a lot more, who can see a silver lining in this cloud!"

"What--what do you mean?"

Shane was fascinated by the lovely personality of Mrs. Desternay, and he began to think that she might be of some real help to him. Though a skilled detective, he was of the plodding sort, and never had brilliant or even original ideas. He had had a notion it would have been better to send Driscoll on this errand he was himself attempting, but a touch of jealousy of the younger and more quick-witted man made him determine to attend to Mrs. Desternay himself.

"Well, Mr. Stupid, if you were in the presence of Mrs. Embury and Mr.

Elliott and Mr. Hendricks,--as you said you were--and didn't size up how matters stand with those two men, you are a queer sort of detective!"

Her light laughter rippled pleasantly, and Shane forgave her reproof by reason of her charm.

"Both of them?" he said, helplessly.

"Yes, sir, both of them!" She mimicked his tone. "You see, Mr. Shane, it's an old romance, all 'round. When Eunice Ames was a girl, three men fought for her hand, the two we've just mentioned, and Mr. Embury, who was the successful suitor. And he succeeded only by sheer force of will. He practically stole her from the other two and married her out of hand."

"I suppose the lady agreed?"

"Of course, but it was a marriage in haste, and--I imagine that it was followed by the proverbial consequences."

"What do you mean?" asked the dull-witted Shane.

"That they repented at leisure. At least, Eunice did--I don't believe Sanford ever regretted."

"But those two men are Embury's friends."

"Sure they are! Oh, friend Shane, were you born yesterday? I thought detectives were a little more up-to-date than that! Of course, they're all friends, always have been, since they made mud-pies together in their Boston backyards."

"Did you belong to that childish group?

"Me? Lord, no! I'm Simon Pure Middle West! And I glory in it! I'd hate to be of New England descent--you have to live up to traditions and things! I'm a law unto myself, when it comes to life and living!"

"And you met Mrs. Embury?"

"At boarding-school. We spent four years together--chums, and all that. Then after we were both married, we drifted together again, here in New York--and somehow Eunice's husband didn't take to poor little Fifi one bit! I wonder why!"

Her look of injured innocence was charming, and Shane had to make an effort to keep to the subject in hand.

"So those two men admire Mrs. Embury?"

"Admire is a silly word! They adore her--they worship the ground she walks on! They are, no doubt, decently decorous at the pa.s.sing of their old friend, but as soon as the funeral baked meats are cold enough, look out for a marriage table on which to serve them!"

"Did--did Mr. Embury realize that his friends so admired his wife?"

"Probably. Yes, of course, he did. But he didn't care. She was his--she gave them no encouragement--such things aren't done--" Fifi's eyes rolled upward--"and, I only tell you, to show you that there are, at least, other directions in which to look!"

"But--let me see--Mr. Hendricks was in Boston at the time of Mr.

Embury's death."

"Then that lets him out. And Mr. Elliott? Where was he?"

"I haven't made definite inquiry. Probably he--"

"Probably he has an alibi! Oh, yes, of course he has! And if he killed Sanford Embury, he's more likely than ever to have a fine alibi!

Look here, Mr. Shane, I believe I could give you cards and spades and beat you at your little detective games!"

"You mix me all up, with your ridiculous suggestions!" Shane tried to speak sternly, but was forced to smile at the roguish, laughing face that mocked him.

"All right, play your own game. I tried to help, by suggesting more suspects--in a mult.i.tude of suspects there is safety--for our dear Eunice! And she never did it! If you can't contrive a way for either of those two men to get through those bolted doors, then turn your eagle eyes toward Aunt Abby! She's a queer d.i.c.k--if you ask me, and Eunice Embury--well, I admit I resent her coolness last night, but I freely own up that I think her incapable of such a crime."

"But you two discussed the poisoning business in the play--"

"We did. But we discussed lots of other points about that play and compared it with other presentations we have seen, and, oh, you're too absurd to hang a murder on that woman, just because she saw a murder on the stage--or rather heard the description of one!"

"But that's the coincidence! She did hear that murder described fully.

She did talk it over with you. She did show a special interest in it.

Then, a week or so later, her husband is killed by identically the same method. She, and she alone--except for a mild old lady--has opportunity to do the deed; the instrument of death is found in her cupboard; and she flies into a rage at the first hint of accusation, of the crime! By the way, if as you hint, one of those men did it, would they leave the medicine dropper that conveyed the poison, in Mrs.

Embury's rooms. Would they want to bring suspicion against the woman they love? Answer me that?"

"There might be another solution," Fifi nodded her wise little head thoughtfully. "Perhaps whoever did it, tried to throw suspicion on Miss Ames."

"That makes him a still more despicable villain. To implicate falsely a harmless old lady--no, I can't think that."

"Yet you think Mrs. Embury did!"

"I don't know. Perhaps the two women worked in collusion. Or Miss Ames might have wakened and learned the truth, and agreed to keep the secret. In fact, Miss Ames confessed that she did the murder, but we know she was not telling the truth then. However, she knows who did do it--I've no doubt of that. Well, Mrs. Desternay, I can't subscribe to your original, if rather impossible, suggestions, but I thank you for this interview, and I may say you have helped me."