The Almost Perfect Murder Part 11

"What gave them such a powerful hold?" asked Anne Boleyn softly.

"Well, during their term of office they have added a hundred thousand dollars to our benefit fund. And fifty thousand to the Women's Auxiliary. They are fine men."

"Where did they get it all?"

"From investments. Mr. Ebbitt, the treasurer, takes the dues and invests the money in Wall Street and cleans up. He then hands the money to me for the benefit fund. I run that," Harris said, with a pitiful sort of pride.

"Has the treasurer ever made a report to the a.s.sociation?"

"n.o.body wants a report as long as the money's coming in."

"When did he last pay in something to the fund?"

"Six weeks ago. Ten thousand. But he took that back again."

"Why?"

"Said he saw a chance to double it on the Street."

"Six weeks ago? Wasn't that just the time when Danforth came out with his big car and his diamonds?"

"Well--yes," muttered Harris dubiously.

I could well believe that this line of testimony was making Mr. Punch sweat, but he couldn't say anything without showing his hand. However, Mephisto interfered.

"What's all this got to do with Harris's shooting Danforth?" he protested. "You ain't getting anywhere, miss."

"I'm trying to prove that Danforth was an out-and-out scoundrel," she said sweetly. "If I can show Harris that he has a first-rate defence, he'll confess and we can all go home."

Mephisto was obliged to make believe he was satisfied, but I doubted it.

"Danforth was a scoundrel all right," muttered Harris.

"But I'll never confess!"

Anne Boleyn took a new line. "Where did you get that costume?"

"What's that got to do with it?" he answered sullenly. "I've nothing to conceal. I hired it at Steele Bros., costumiers."

"Who sent you to them?"

"President Denby. He told me he seen this Turkish costume there just my size, and I went and got it."

"How was President Denby masked tonight?"

"I don't know. n.o.body knew. He said he could have more fun if they didn't recognise him for the president."

"And treasurer Ebbitt?"

"I don't know that neither. He's a serious-minded man. Maybe he didn't come to the ball."

Mme. Storey then resumed her original line of questioning. "When did President Denby and Danforth first quarrel?" she asked.

"Just about that time," said Harris. "Six weeks ago."

"This would be just after Danforth had been cleared by the police of complicity in the Creighton Woodley robbery."

"Yeah. Mr. Denby wasn't on to him then. He wanted to show his confidence in Danforth and he offered to put him in on the Executive Committee. But Danforth refused, and there was trouble."

"Did you overhear their quarrel?"

"Well, they were in the private office with the door closed and I was outside," said Harris. "I just heard a word or two."

"What was it?"

"Well, I heard Danforth shout out: 'When I gave you the layout I thought it was only talk! You tricked me!' I didn't pay no attention. I knew Danforth was crooked."

"What else?"

"Later Danforth hollered: 'I was an honest man until this happened! You made a crook out of me!' That's a laugh, all right. Mr. Denby making a crook out of that rat!"

"Did you tell Mr. Denby what you overheard?"

"No, I made out I didn't hear nothing just to save trouble."

"Did you hear anything else?"

"The last thing Danforth said was: 'I got hold of the receipt you gave Tony Yellow for the money. Never mind how. I got it!' And with that he came bursting out of the private office----"

Mr. Punch could stand no more. He sprang up, trembling with rage.

"You lie!" he cried.

"Liar yourself," retorted Harris. "If Mr. Denby was here, he'd bear me out! He's a good friend of mine."

"This is Mr. Denby," said Anne Boleyn. "Let him speak for himself."

Now, Mr. Punch was a quick-witted man, and he realised if he delayed an instant in taking up her challenge he would only come off worse in the end. He s.n.a.t.c.hed off his mask.

"Sure I'm Denby," he cried to Harris. "And I was a good friend of yours, Frank. But you can't save yourself from this murder by a tissue of lies!"

The false nose and chin still grotesquely obscured his real features, but they all knew him now. A murmur of amazement went around. Poor Harris gaped at him like a clown. The man's instinct warned him he had been tricked, but his wits were not sharp enough to work it out.

Mr. Punch then turned furiously on my employer. "Who is this woman that's so keen about our private affairs?" he cried. "Take off your mask, miss, and let's have a look at you!"

She coolly lifted it, and faced him out with a dry smile. Mr. Punch went staggering back.

"Rosika Storey!" he gasped. "Oh, my G.o.d! The detective!"

For a moment there was complete silence in the room. Mme. Storey's beauty and her contemptuous a.s.surance laid a spell on them. In her superb black gown she looked the queen. They stared at her open-mouthed. n.o.body moved.

Then Mr. Punch began to recover himself. A dark flush spread underneath his make-up. He smiled grimly.

"Do you realise what this means?" he said to the others. "This woman is out to smash our organisation. She cares nothing about the murder. She's after our benefit funds. Well, you're all members. Going to stand for it?"

"No! No!" they cried. It was strange to see how they instantly drew together when their money was threatened. Danforth's wife and his mistress forgot their jealousy; even Frank Harris, the poor fool they were trying to railroad to the chair, joined in with them. He was one of those morons who can conceive of nothing higher than a blind loyalty to the organisation. Mephisto obviously was hand in glove with Mr. Punch now as he had been throughout.

They all began to shout together: "She did it! She did it! She shot Danforth. I saw her do it, I'll swear to it!"

Harris put in: "She come between me and Zuleika and fired at him crouching down. I felt her there. I smelled her perfume. I'll swear to it!"

It was like an infernal chorus.

"We'll all swear to it! She can't get off!"

Which shows how much dependence you can place on human testimony!

Mr. Punch, however, had more sense.

"Quiet, you fools!" he shouted with an angry gesture. "You couldn't touch her. She has too much prestige. She's too clever for you. She'd go on the stand and make monkeys of you all. Besides, there's this other strange woman. They're in together. They would support each other on the stand."

Mephisto furiously shook his fist at us. "These spies shan't wreck our organisation!" he cried.

"Sure!" agreed Mr. Punch cunningly. "The money is rolling in without the slightest risk to us, and we want to enjoy it! If we stick together we five can make a little central finance committee."

This appealed to their cupidity.

"What will we do with them?" cried Mephisto.

All faces were unmasked now except for Mephisto's grinning headpiece.

"Well," began Mr. Punch. He paused, and that hideous smile spread between hooked nose and chin. "She's a clever woman, but she and her fellow spy are only mortal.... And this is a nice quiet house!"

The two women cried out a little. They were willing to swear our lives away, but outright murder scared them. As for me, all the blood in my veins turned to water. I moved closer to Mme. Storey. She was smiling scornfully. The black pit of the front drawing-room yawned at our backs.

"Leave this to me," Mr. Punch said to the women. "I'll take the responsibility. All you've got to do is to stand by me afterward. There's a grand cellar under this house," he went on, smiling. "And the family won't be back for three months."

Mephisto drew the gun he had kept all this time and coolly reloaded it.

"Put it up!" said Mr. Punch sharply. "We'll do this quietly."

Mme. Storey affected to laugh with quiet amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Look in the back room," she said.

All five heads turned as one. She touched my hand, and we melted noiselessly into the darkness behind us.

VI.

We had only one second's respite, of course. They discovered they had been tricked, and Mr. Punch yelled: "Watch the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs! It's the only way out! Come on, Ebbitt!"

Mme. Storey seized my hand, and we headed diagonally across the front drawing-room for the main hall. As we reached it, our pursuers came tumbling out of the middle room. The grand stairway was immediately before us, and we sprang up. There was no other place to go. Terror lent wings to my heels. I never ran so fast in my life.

As Mr. Punch came through the lower hall, he paused to press some switches, and the whole central well of the house became flooded with light. Punch and Mephisto leaped up the stairs after us.

We opened the first door we came to, ran in, slammed it, and shot a bolt. Almost immediately the two men flung themselves against the other side. This was one of the princ.i.p.al bedrooms of the house.

Immediately it was only too apparent to us that the windows were boarded up like those below, and we could neither escape that way nor summon help. We had only run from one trap into another.

We heard the men run along the hall outside, and immediately guessed there was a way into our room from the front. I was for trying to find the communicating door, but she prevented me.

"Must get out of this," she muttered.

She softly drew the bolt, and we stole out into the stair hall again. Frank Harris and the two women were watching at the foot of the stairs. All three of them were infected with the blood l.u.s.t now.

The third floor of the house was all cut up into a maze of small rooms and pa.s.sages in which we lost ourselves hopelessly. In the dark it was impossible to figure out the plan. We could no longer hear our pursuers--crouching in wait at some strategic corner, we supposed. It was agonising not to know.

"There must be back stairs," whispered Mme. Storey. "Look for them."

In slowly feeling our way along the wall of a pa.s.sage, I leave you to imagine my feelings when my groping fingers suddenly touched fingers exploring from the other direction.

I screamed like a madwoman. Luckily the man was scarcely less startled than I. Mme. Storey and I dashed away down the pa.s.sage, collided with the wall at the end, crossed some sort of open s.p.a.ce, and hid ourselves in another pa.s.sage before we dared draw breath.

"We are in the front of the house now," she whispered. "We must find the back stairs."

Finally the suspense became unsupportable. Having crept back to the beginning of the pa.s.sage, we peeped around the corner. There they crouched waiting, Punch and the Devil, the latter still masked.

They sprang at us and we fled back through the pa.s.sage. We were quicker than they. There was a door around the corner, and we got it closed and bolted behind us as they flung themselves against it. I heard Punch roar with laughter.

"We've got them now!" he yelled.

We were in a small bedroom, evidently a servant's room, with a window opening on the air shaft. Through the skylight at the top of the shaft we saw that day was breaking. I heard Punch say: "Drive your foot through a panel of the door!"

A tiny room opening on a shaft and those fiends outside! Our position seemed absolutely desperate and I'm afraid I began to cry. Mme. Storey's face was sternly composed.

The door held for a brief while against Mephisto's furious blows, and Mme. Storey still had a trick up her sleeve. There was the window of another room cater-cornered across the air shaft, and while I steadied her she leaned far out of our window and got it opened. We then with considerable difficulty crossed over from sill to sill. I never could have made it had not the Devil been at my heels.

The room we entered was evidently lived in, and I gasped with relief to see that it had two unshuttered windows opening on the blessed outer air! But first we had to barricade the way we had come. With immense exertions we managed to shove a heavy wardrobe in front of the window on the shaft. This offered a formidable obstacle to anybody on the insecure perch of the window sill, and we did not believe they could follow that way. There was still the door of the room, of course. We discovered that it was locked, and no key in it.

When we had time to look about us we saw a man's personal belongings scattered about; clothes, shoes, knick-knacks on the dresser. On the wall was a framed photograph of an a.s.sociation picnic.