The Almost Perfect Murder Part 12

"Ah," said Mme. Storey dryly. "Mr. Punch's own room!"

There was a ball of string lying on the bureau that she pounced on with the light of triumph in her eye. "If we get out alive we'll hang him with this!" she cried, and thrust the ball in the pocket of her skirt.

I could make nothing of this at the moment. A sudden thought had caused my heart to sink like a stone.

"If it's his room he has the key in his pocket!" I gasped.

Mme. Storey's eyes flashed around the room, searching. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up a stick-pin from the bureau, stuck it diagonally in the lock, then hammered it with a boot so that it crumpled up inside the lock and the head broke off.

"He won't get a key in there in a hurry," she remarked.

By this time the two men had broken into the little room on the shaft. They must have been astonished when they found it empty. But when they saw the wardrobe backed up against the other window on the shaft they knew where we had gone.

"They're in my room!" yelled Mr. Punch. "Come on!"

A moment later he was trying to insert his key in the lock. Failing in that, they kicked the panels. Fortunately those were stout doors. "Wait a minute!" said Punch. "Fetch the fire axe from the head of the stairs."

Meanwhile Mme. Storey and I were busy shoving the bureau in front of the door, and the bed against the bureau to give them plenty to chop through. Then we ran to an outer window.

It was half day and the city lay in a curious stillness under the cool sky. Madison Avenue ran under the window, and across the way we could see the apse of St. Patrick's between the priests' residences flanking it on either side. The street lights were still burning and the early cats were coming out to sniff in the gutters. The only human in sight was an honest policeman leaning against a fire box on the corner, idly swinging his club on its thong. As I was about to yell, Mme. Storey clapped a hand over my mouth.

"If we raise an alarm they'll escape us!" she cried.

She picked up a hairbrush, and leaning out the window tapped it against the wall of the house. It made only a little sound, but in the stillness of early morning it was sufficient. The policeman looked up and saw us. What a strange shock he must have received, seeing Anne Boleyn and Lorenzo hanging out of the top window of an apparently shut-up house at dawn! One can imagine the eyes fairly starting from his head. Mme. Storey gave him the most dramatic pantomime of distress and terror, wringing her hands and alternately pointing inside the house and towards the fire box. All the time she was murmuring to me: "That ought to fetch him! That ought to fetch him!"

I don't know what he thought, but there was obviously only one thing for him to do. He yanked open the door of the fire alarm box, and pulled the hook inside. He then ran down the side street to try to get in the building from the rear.

For a moment or two there was silence in the room. I was desperately trying to figure how long it took firemen to reach a fire. The beating of my heart almost suffocated me. The silence must have alarmed Mr. Punch outside, for he vigorously rattled the door and called out: "You, in there!"

Mme. Storey winked at me and answered in a trembling voice: "Oh, spare us! Spare us!" I wondered how she could joke at such a moment.

Mephisto arrived with the axe and they tackled the door. It proved to be a tough job, because the pa.s.sage was too narrow to swing the axe effectively.

Almost immediately I heard the distant clang of the engines, and then I saw the wisdom of Mme. Storey's ruse. The men with the axe were making too much noise themselves to hear the engines. Even if they did hear they wouldn't connect it with us. After all, it's a common enough sound in the city. Mr. Punch had fairly to hew the door in pieces before he could get sufficient leverage to push the furniture out of the way.

Meanwhile Mme. Storey and I were hanging out of the windows. When the fire trucks swept up below we stretched out our arms to the men just like all the pictures of distressed females we had seen. They swung the big hook and ladder truck around with marvellous skill, and started the machinery going, and the great ladder raised up and extended itself until it dropped with a light tap against our window sill. They had judged it to a hair. Then the men came scrambling up like monkeys.

Firemen are such handsome, well-built fellows, and so modest! Everybody loves the firemen, because they don't interfere with us as the police do--they only save our lives!

The firemen were in the act of scrambling over the sill at the precise moment when our two enemies, having succeeded in shoving the bureau a foot or two from the door, appeared from behind it. The surprise was mutual. Seeing the grotesque figure of Mr. Punch, axe in hand, and Mephisto, horns and tail, the firemen may well have thought they were in a madhouse.

"What's the matter here?" stammered the leader.

Mme. Storey, with a twinkle in her eye, said courteously: "I'm sorry, chief, there's no fire. But these gentlemen were bent on murdering us."

Mr. Punch and Mephisto turned to run, but the firemen leaped on their backs and quickly secured them. Such grand fellows! I disgraced myself by going into hysterics when it was over.

VII.

The next scene took place at Police Headquarters. Of course a general alarm had been sent out for our party and the police had been combing the town for us all night. So we were rushed direct to Headquarters. I doubt if the building had ever witnessed a more bizarre scene than the seven of us in fancy dress lined up before the lieutenant at the desk. Ebbitt, the fat treasurer of the Butlers' a.s.sociation, now carried Mephisto's grinning headpiece under one arm, while his spiked tail dragged forlornly on the ground. Ebbitt had just such a smooth and flabby face as you might expect in the butler who deferentially fills your gla.s.s.

At first we were all treated as malefactors alike. When Mme. Storey explained who she was the lieutenant received it with an air of incredulity that was far from polite. In fact he jeered. Whereupon she insisted on having our friend Inspector Rumsey sent for. After he got there all was clear sailing.

I cannot end my story better than by giving you my employer's statement to the police.

"In the course of my investigation of the Creighton Woodley jewel robbery," she said, "certain facts turned up which suggested to me that there was a very profitable racket being worked by an inner ring of the Butlers' a.s.sociation in connection with expert jewel thieves. But it was difficult to secure evidence.

"The annual masked ball of the Butlers' a.s.sociation to-night gave me an opportunity of mixing with these people in disguise, so I attended the ball and took with me my secretary, Miss Brickley. I also had an operative mixing with the dancers, but we became separated from him.

"As it drew on towards midnight my secretary and I were invited to join a supper party in a private room given by Mr. Punch here. I accepted because I suspected from his air of authority that he was an important man in the a.s.sociation. Later I discovered that he was none other than Alfred Denby, the president, and the man I was most anxious to watch. The gentleman in red, yonder, is Ebbitt, the treasurer of the a.s.sociation.

"Unfortunately I had no knowledge beforehand that there was trouble within the a.s.sociation itself, or I could have taken steps to prevent the murder at the supper table. The murdered man, as you may know, is George Danforth, who was butler to the Creighton Woodleys at the time of the robbery, and, of course, a member of the a.s.sociation. I am prepared to offer proof of every statement I am going to make to you. All this evidence turned up after the murder.

"Danforth was a handsome, pleasure-loving man, very popular among the ladies. Technically he was an honest man, and they tricked him into giving the layout of his master's house, and the information that enabled a successful robbery to be carried out. Danforth, you remember, was called away on the night of the robbery, and had therefore a perfect alibi.

"But he knew then, of course, that he had been tricked. Honesty is all a matter of degree. If he had been absolutely honest he would have taken his story to the police. But he saw a way of supporting himself in luxurious idleness and he fell for it. They offered to admit Danforth to the inner ring, but he refused, and he proceeded to blackmail the Butlers' a.s.sociation out of large sums of money.

"The Creighton Woodley robbery was actually committed by Antonio Pagliariello, more commonly known as Tony Yellow. He is no stranger to you. Alfred Denby gave Tony a receipt for the money turned over to the Butlers' a.s.sociation as their share of the loot, and in some manner this receipt came into Danforth's hands. Probably Tony double-crossed the a.s.sociation and gave the paper to Danforth. It would be like him. This paper const.i.tuted Danforth's hold over the a.s.sociation. It will undoubtedly be found among the dead man's effects." Mme. Storey paused, with a slight smile at the police officials' surprise.

"The inner ring," she went on, "resolved to put Danforth out of the way. They planned to use this man here, Frank Harris by name, as their instrument, but when they were unable to fan Harris's hatred of Danforth up to the killing point, Denby, the president, made up his mind to kill Danforth himself and fasten the murder on Harris. The inner ring had nothing against Harris, who was a loyal member of the organisation, though not a party to the crookedness of the inner ring. Harris was a stupid sort of fellow, they figured, who would never see through the plot.

"The supper party tonight was staged for the murder. Mr. Punch there, or Denby, made sure of his men, Danforth, Harris, and Ebbitt--he had previous knowledge of the costumes they were going to wear; but apparently he picked up some of the women at random. So cunningly thought out was his plan that he wished to have strangers present to give disinterested testimony later. That is how my secretary and I happened to be included in the dinner party.

"A quarrel between Harris and Danforth lent the whole thing realism. At the proper moment, when Mr. Punch was on his feet making a speech, the lights went out and the shot was fired. When the lights were turned on again the smoking revolver lay in front of Harris.

"But Harris had not fired the shot, gentlemen. Mr. Punch had prepared a simple and ingenious scheme for disconnecting the lights under the table. He tied a string to the plug in such a manner, leaving two ends, that when he pulled one end it disconnected the lights, and when he pulled the other it loosened the string and he could gather it all in his hand, thus removing the evidence. When the lights went out he knelt on the floor between Mrs. Danforth and Harris, and fired. He dropped the gun on the table in front of Harris, and a second later he was turning on the switch by the door.

"In the confusion following upon the murder there was a general desire to escape. Mr. Punch, confident in the cleverness of his plot, was dead against it. He insisted on facing the thing out. But a few minutes later, when I had shown up the trick of subst.i.tuting the guns, he became suspicious of me and encouraged a general flight from the scene. I was afraid he would escape--at that moment I hadn't yet discovered his ident.i.ty, or that he would destroy valuable evidence; I had to act on the instant and so I made believe to run with them.

"He carried us to the house of his employers which has been shut up for months, an ideal base of operations for Mr. Punch. When he discovered who I was, he determined to put me out of the way. That's the whole story, gentlemen.

"Now, as to my evidence: When the shot was fired, like nearly everybody else present, I slid under the table. I took the opportunity of doing a little searching under there. By that time Mr. Punch had pulled away the string, of course, but I found, driven into the bottom of the table, the little staples by which he had led the two ends of the string to his right hand and to his left. They are still there, mute evidence of Mr. Punch's crime.

"I knew then what had happened, but it would not have been sufficient evidence to take into court, and I was obliged to search farther. When he went to the window of the supper room to try to prevent the others from leaving, I saw him drop something out, and later when we all left, I found the length of string entangled in the fire escape. Here it is, gentlemen.

"Still, a piece of string is only a piece of string, and I felt that I had not enough yet. My third find clinched the whole matter. On the bureau of Mr. Punch's own room, I picked up this ball of string. The same kind of string as the piece I just handed you. A brand new ball, you see, shows no dust nor marks of handling. Only one piece has been cut from it. String of this kind is made up into b.a.l.l.s of one hundred and fifty yards. You can verify that from the makers. If you unwind this ball you will discover that it makes exactly one hundred and fifty yards, when joined with the piece I first handed you. That's all."

The Death Notice I I disliked the man's voice even before I took in the sense of what he was saying; a slow voice that seemed to dwell with pleasure on its own malice. He said over the wire: "Is Madame Storey there?"

"Who is this speaking?"

He laughed sarcastically. "Oh, I haven't the pleasure of her acquaintance."

"What do you want to speak to her about?"

"That I can only tell her."

"Well, I'm sorry," I said, "but I am instructed not to disturb her unless I know it is for a good reason."

"To whom am I speaking?" he asked.

"Miss Brickley, Madame Storey's secretary."

"I have heard of the admirable Miss Brickley," he said with his insulting laugh. "I feel quite safe in sending her my message by you."

Then he paused, and I said: "Well?"

I could hear his breathing over the wire. He must have had his lips almost directly against the transmitter. "I have a communication to make in which Madame Storey is sure to take a keen professional interest," he drawled. "There is going to be a murder committed at number -- East 75th Street this morning."

"What!" I gasped.

He laughed, well pleased with the effect of his words.

"Wait a minute," I stammered. "I'll connect you with Madame Storey."

"Oh, you can tell her," he said, and hung up, still laughing.

It gave me a nasty shock. My hand was trembling violently when I put up the receiver. Common sense suggested that it was only a hoax, but the ugly voice out of the unknown acted powerfully on my nerves.

Going into her office, I found her sitting at the big table writing a personal letter. She had a cigarette between her lips and was holding her head on one side in the familiar way to keep the smoke out of her eyes. At sight of my face she removed the cigarette and smiled provokingly. She is always amused by my agitations.

"Well, what is it now?" she asked.

I told her.

"d.a.m.n the telephone!" she said pleasantly. "It puts us at the mercy of every lunatic in the five boroughs."

"It's certainly a hoax," I said.

"Undoubtedly. Just the same, we dare not ignore it."

"After all, it's a matter for the police to attend to."

"Quite," she said, taking up her pen again. "Call up Rumsey and pa.s.s the buck to him."

While I was waiting for my call a sudden exclamation escaped from my employer. "What number did you say?"

"-- East 75th Street."

"Good Lord! that's Mrs. George P. Julian's new house. I suppose I'll have to go there anyway."

I groaned in sympathy, for I had had ample experience of that lady's foolishness in the past.

When I got Inspector Rumsey on the wire, I handed over the instrument, and Mme. Storey told him what had happened. He evidently asked for further particulars about Mrs. Julian, for she went on to say: "She's a widow with twenty million dollars, and she's almost the perfect fool. Need I say more? A sugar-bowl for every new fakir who sets up shop. I've already got her out of several sc.r.a.pes, and that's why, G.o.d help me! I am elected to be her friend. Her princ.i.p.al is tied up in a trust fund, but she has over a million a year income, and that's the honey that attracts the bees."

He asked her about her previous relations with Mrs. Julian.

"Well, she was one of Jacmer Touchon's patients. She got me some evidence against him without knowing that she was doing it, and I'm really in her debt on that score. Before that I saved her from handing over half a million to the notorious Walter Hanley. My first meeting with her was at the time of the Miller Moore case. Moore had been bleeding her for a couple of years. I succeeded in sending him to Sing Sing, you may remember."

When she had hung up, Mme. Storey said: "Rumsey is satisfied it's a hoax. He says as long as I feel obliged to go to Mrs. Julian's house he won't bother to send anybody.... He says I can attend to it better than any man," she added, with a side-long smile in my direction.

"Humph!" I said, "he can afford to be flattering when he's getting your services for nothing."

We 'phoned for a taxi and locked up the office. Though my employer affected to treat the matter lightly, I noticed a certain gravity in her expression, and on the way up I asked her if she thought it possible that Mrs. Julian's life was in danger.

She shrugged impatiently. "Sooner or later that woman is certain to get into trouble. So prominent, so wealthy, so foolish! It's a fatal combination."

"But if her money's all tied up in a trust fund, wouldn't it be like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs?"

"So it would seem. But there is this to consider. She has a habit of giving out largesse with a good size string attached to it. She gives these crooks great sums of money in the guise of loans. There is no record that any of it was ever paid back. But when she sours on her dear friends, she is apt to demand her money, and there have been some very ugly scenes. That might supply a motive."

We drew up in front of one of the newer mansions that line the blocks east of the Park. It was one of those houses that embody every known luxury and extravagance--except the trifling matter of sunshine. The few rooms which faced the narrow street got a certain amount of light, but as the house (as well as all its neighbours) covered about ninety per cent, of its lot, all the other rooms had to be content with electric light bulbs. Why be rich, one might ask, if you can't have sunshine? There is no answer. The rooms were filled with art treasures from every quarter of the globe, but you got no definite impression except that of mere expensiveness.

To match everything else, Mrs. Julian had the most expensive of butlers. His name was Bunbury, and he had been with her for years. He was a very handsome man. He seemed to have raised butlering to heights before undreamed of. He was like a celebrated actor playing the part of butler on the stage.

When my employer asked for Mrs. Julian, Bunbury looked deeply distressed. He knew that Mme. Storey was no ordinary caller to be turned away. "Mrs. Julian was not expecting you," he suggested.

"No," said Mme. Storey blandly. "But that will be all right." She walked in.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, following us, "but Mrs. Julian is very much engaged. I have positive instructions not to disturb her."

"I'm sorry too," said Mme. Storey, "but I have to see her. It is a matter of the greatest importance."

"Madam, I cannot ... I cannot..." he protested.

"What's she doing?" asked my employer bluntly.

"She's ... er ... she's having a seance," he replied, embarra.s.sed.

Mme. Storey started up the sweeping staircase with me following her, and the butler bringing up the rear, all but wringing his hands. "Madam, I beg of you ... I beg of you..."

"I will take the responsibility of disturbing her," said Mme. Storey serenely. "... If I insist on going in, you can't very well stop me, can you?" she added.

"It's as much as my place is worth," he whimpered.

"Very well, if you get fired I'll find you another place. You're an excellent servant."

He gave up.