Raspberry Jam Part 36

"No," and Aunt Abby spoke with deep solemnity, "a materialized spirit is evident to our senses--one or another of them. In this case I discerned it by all five senses, which is unusual--possibly unique; but I am very psychic--very sensitive to spiritual manifestations."

"You have seen ghosts before, then?"

"Oh, yes. I have visions often. But never such a strange one."

"And where did this spirit disappear to?"

"It just faded. It seemed to waft on across the room. I closed my eyes involuntarily, and when I opened them again it was gone."

"Leaving no trace behind?"

"The faint odor of gasoline--and the taste of raspberry jam on my tongue."

Fibsy snickered, but suppressed it at once, and said, "And he left the little dropper-thing beside your bed?"

"Yes, boy! You seem clairvoyant yourself! He did. It was Sanford, of course; he had killed himself with the poison, and he tried to tell me so--but he couldn't make any communication--they rarely can--so he left the tiny implement, that we might know and understand."

"H'm, yes;" and Stone sat thinking. "Now, Miss Ames, you must not be offended at what I'm about to say. I don't disbelieve your story at all. You tell it too honestly for that. I fully believe you saw what you call a 'vision.' But you have thought over it and brooded over it, until you think you saw more than you did--or less! But, leaving that aside for the moment, I want you to realize that your theory of suicide, based on the 'vision' is not logical. Supposing your niece were guilty--as the detectives think--might not Mr. Embury's spirit have pursued the same course?"

Aunt Abby pondered. Then, her eyes flashing, she cried, "Do you mean he put the dropper in my room to throw suspicion on me, instead of on his wife?"

"There is a chance for such a theory."

"Sanford wouldn't do such a thing! He was truly fond of me!"

"But to save his wife?"

"I never thought of all that. Maybe he did--or, maybe he dropped the thing accidentally--"

"Maybe." Stone spoke preoccupiedly.

Mason Elliott, too, sat in deep thought. At last he said:

"Aunt Abby, if I were you, I wouldn't tell that yarn to anybody else.

Let's all forget it, and call it merely a dream."

"What do you mean, Mason?" The old lady bridled, having no wish to hear her marvelous experience belittled. "It wasn't a dream--not an ordinary dream--it was a true appearance of Sanford, after his death.

You know such things do happen--look at that son of Sir Oliver Lodge.

You don't doubt that, do you?"

"Never mind those things. But I earnestly beg of you, Aunt Abby, to forget the episode--or, at least, to promise me you'll not repeat it to any one else."

"Why?"

"I think it wiser for all concerned--for all concerned--that the tale shall not become public property."

"But why?"

"Oh, my land!" burst out Fibsy; "don't you see? The ghost was Mrs.

Embury!"

The boy had put into words what was in the thoughts of both Stone and Elliott. They realized that, while Aunt Abby's experience might have been entirely a dream, it was so circ.u.mstantial as to indicate a real occurrence, and in that case, what solution so plausible as that Eunice, after committing the crime, wandered into her aunt's room, and whether purposely or accidentally, dropped the implement of death?

Stone, bent on investigation, plied Miss Ames with questions.

Elliott, sorely afraid for Eunice, begged the old lady not to answer.

"You are inventing!" he cried. "You are drawing on your imagination!

Don't believe all that, Mr. Stone. It isn't fair to--to Mrs. Embury!"

"Then you see it as I do, Mr. Elliott?" and Stone turned to him quickly. "But, even so, we must look into this story. Suppose, as an experiment, we build up a case against Mrs. Embury, for the purpose of knocking it down again. A man of straw--you know."

"Don't," pleaded Elliott. "Just forget the rigmarole of the nocturnal vision--and devote your energies to finding the real murderer. I have a theory--"

"Wait, Mr. Elliott, I fear you are an interested investigator. Don't forget that you have been mentioned as one of those with 'motive but no opportunity.'"

"Since you have raised that issue, Mr. Stone, let me say right here that my regard for Mrs. Embury is very great. It is also honorable and lifelong. I make no secret of it, but I declare to you that its very purity and intensity puts it far above and beyond any suspicion of being 'motive' for the murder of Mrs. Embury's huband."

Mason Elliott looked Fleming Stone straight in the eye and the speaker's tone and expression carried a strong conviction of sincerity.

Fibsy, too, scrutinized Elliott.

"Good egg!" he observed to himself; "trouble is--he'd give us that same song and dance if he'd croaked the guy his own self!"

"Furthermore," Stone went on, "Mrs. Embury shows a peculiarly strong repugnance to hearing this story of Miss Ames' experience. That looks--"

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" cried Miss Ames, who had been listening in amazement; "it wasn't Eunice! Why would she rig up in Sanford's gym jersey?"

"Why wouldn't she?" countered Stone. "As I said, we're building up a supposit.i.tious case. a.s.sume that it was Mrs. Embury, not at all enacting a ghost, but merely wandering around after her impulsive deed--for if she is the guilty party it must have been an impulsive deed. You know her uncontrollable temper--her sudden spasms of rage--"

"Mr. Stone, a 'man of straw,' as you call it, is much more easily built up than knocked down." Elliott spoke sternly. "I hold you have no right to a.s.sume Mrs. Embury's ident.i.ty in this story Miss Ames tells."

"Is there anything that points to her in your discernment by your five senses, Miss Ames?" Stone asked, very gravely. "Has Mrs. Embury a faintly ticking watch?"

"Yes, her wrist-watch," Aunt Abby answered, though speaking evidently against her will.

"And it is possible that she slipped on her husband's jersey; and it is possible there was raspberry jam on the sleeve of it. You see, I am not doubting the evidence of your senses. Now, as to the gasoline.

Had Mrs. Embury, or her maid, by any chance, been cleaning any laces or finery with gasoline?"

"I won't tell you!" and Aunt Abby shook her head so obstinately that it was quite equivalent to an affirmative answer!

"Now, you see, Aunt Abby," protested Elliott, in an agonized voice, "why I want you to shut up about that confounded 'vision'! You are responsible for this case Mr. Stone is so ingeniously building up against Eunice! You are getting her into a desperate coil, from which it will be difficult to extricate her! If Shane got hold of this absurd yarn--"

"It's not entirely absurd," broke in Stone, "but I agree with you, Mr.

Elliott; if Shane learns of it--he won't investigate any further!"

"He shan't know of it," was the angry retort. "I got you here, Mr.

Stone--"