The Red Seal Part 8

"Amyl nitrite," repeated Kent reflectively. "It is given for angina pectoris."

"Yes. Well, in this case it was the remedy and not the disease which killed Turnbull," announced Ferguson triumphantly.

"Nonsense!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Kent. "I happen to know that the capsules contain only three minims--I once heard Turnbull say so."

"True, but Turnbull got a lethal dose, all right; and he thought he was taking only the regular one. Devilishly ingenious on the part of the criminal, wasn't it?

"Yes. Have you detected the criminal?" Kent put the question with unmoved countenance, but with inward foreboding; the detective's mysterious manner was puzzling.

"Not yet, but I will," Ferguson hesitated. "The first thing was to establish that a crime had really been committed."

Kent bent down and sniffed again at the handkerchief to which a faint fruity aroma still clung.

"How did you discover that?" he asked.

"Dr. McLane and I took the handkerchief to a laboratory and the chemist found from the number of particles of capsules in the handkerchief, that at least two capsules--or double the usual dose--had been crushed by Turnbull and the fumes inhaled by him; with fatal results."

"Hold on," cautioned Kent. "In the flurry of the moment, Turnbull may have accidentally put two capsules in the handkerchief, meaning only to use one."

"Mr. Kent," the detective spoke impressively, "that wasn't Turnbull's handkerchief."

"Not his own handkerchief!" exclaimed Kent. "Then, are you sure that Turnbull used it?"

"Yes; that fact is established by reputable witnesses; Dr. Stone, Mr. Clymer, and the deputy marshal," Ferguson spoke with increasing earnestness. "That is a woman's handkerchief--look at it."

Ferguson laid the little bundle on the broad arm of Kent's chair and with infinite care folded back the edges of the handkerchief, revealing as he did so, the small particles of capsules still clinging to the linen. But Kent hardly observed the capsules, his entire attention being centered on one corner of the handkerchief, which had neatly embroidered on it the letter "B."

CHAPTER VI. STRAIGHT QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS

Colonel McIntyre, with an angry gesture, threw down the newspaper he had been reading.

"Do you mean to say, Helen, that you decline to go to the supper to-night on account of the death of Jimmie 'Turnbull?" he asked.

"Yes, father."

McIntyre flushed a dark red; he was not accustomed to scenes with either of his daughters, and here was Helen flouting his authority and Barbara backing her up.

"It is quite time this pretense is dropped," he remarked stiffly. "You were not engaged to Jimmie--wait," as she attempted to interrupt him.

"You told me the night of the burglary that he was nothing to you.'"

"I was mistaken," Helen's voice shook, she was very near to tears. "When I saw Jimmie lying there, dead"--she faltered, and her shoulders drooped forlornly--"the world stopped for me."

"Hysterical nonsense!" McIntyre was careful to avoid Barbara's eyes; her indignant snort had been indicative of her feelings. "Keep to your room, Helen, until you regain some common sense. It is as well our friends should not see you in your present frame of mind."

Helen regarded her father under lowered lids. "Very well," she said submissively and walked toward the door; on reaching it she paused, and spoke over her shoulder. "Don't try me too far, father."

McIntyre stared for a full minute at the doorway through which Helen took her departure.

"Well, what the--" He pulled himself up short in the middle of the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n and turned to Barbara. "Go and get dressed," he directed.

"We must leave here in twenty minutes."

"I am not going," she announced.

"Not going!" McIntyre frowned, then laughed abruptly. "Now, don't tell me you were engaged to Jimmie Turnbull, also."

"I think you are horrid!" Barbara's small foot came down with a vigorous stamp.

"Well, perhaps I am," her father admitted rather wearily. "Don't keep us waiting, Babs; the car will be here in less than twenty minutes."

"But, father, I prefer to stay at home."

"And I prefer to have you accompany us," retorted McIntyre. "Come, Barbara, we cannot be discourteous to Mrs. Brewster; she is our guest, and this supper is for her entertainment."

"Well, take her." Barbara was openly rebellious.

"Barbara!" His tone caused her to look at him in wonder; instead of the stern rebuke she expected, his voice was almost wheedling. "I cannot very well take Mrs. Brewster to a cafe at this hour without causing gossip."

"Oh, fiddle-sticks!" exclaimed Barbara. "I don't have to play chaperon for you two. Every one knows she is visiting us; what's there improper in your taking her out to supper? Why"--regarding him critically--"she's young enough to be your daughter!"

"Go to your room!" There was nothing wheedling about McIntyre at that instant; he was thoroughly incensed.

As Barbara sped out happy in having gained her way, she announced, as a parting shot, "If you can be nasty to Helen; father, I can be nasty, too."

Colonel McIntyre brought his fist down on a smoking table with such force that he scattered its contents over the floor. When he rose from picking up the debris, he found Mrs. Brewster at his elbow.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"No, thanks, everything is back in place." He pulled forward a chair for her. "If agreeable to you I will telephone Ben Clymer that we will stop for him and take him with us to the Cafe St. Marks; or would you prefer some other man?"

"Oh, no." She threw her evening wrap across the sofa and sat down. "Are the girls ready?"

"They--they are indisposed, and won't be able to go to-night."

"What! Both girls?"

"Yes, both"--firmly, not, however, meeting her eyes.

"Hadn't I better stay with them?" she asked. "Have you telephoned or Dr.

Stone?"

"There is no necessity for giving up our little spree," he declared cheerily. "The girls don't need a physician. They"--with meaning, "need a mother's care." He picked up her coronation scarf from the floor where it had slipped and laid it across her bare shoulders; the action was almost a caress. She made a lovely picture as she sat in the high-backed carved chair in her chic evening gown, and as her soft dark eyes met his ardent look, McIntyre felt the hot blood surge to his temples, and with quickened pulse he went to the telephone stand and gave Central a number.

Back in her chair Mrs. Brewster sat thoughtfully watching him. She had been an un.o.bserved witness of the scene with Barbara, having entered the library in time to hear the girl's last remarks. It was not the first inkling that she had had of their disapproval of Colonel McIntyre's attentions to her, but it had hurt.

The widow had become acquainted with the twins when, traveling in Europe just before the outbreak of the World War, and had made the hasty trip back to this country in their company. Colonel McIntyre had planned to bring the twins, then at school in Paris, home himself, but business had kept him in the West and he had cabled to a spinster cousin to chaperon them on the trip across the Atlantic Ocean. Nor had he reached New York in time to see them disembark, and thus had missed meeting Mrs.

Brewster, then in her first year of widowhood.