The Diamond Pin
"It isn't only the frock, Aunt Ursula, it's this horrid state of things generally. Why, I never dare pick up a thing, or touch a thing – without the chance of some fool stunt making trouble for me!"
"Now, now, I will try not to do it any more. But, don't talk about going away. If you do, I'll cut you out of my will entirely."
"I don't care. That would be better than living in a trick house! Look at my face! It will be days before these stains wear off! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Aunt Ursula!"
The old lady looked roguishly penitent, like a naughty child.
"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, you can get them off with whatcha-call-it soap. But I hope you won't! They make you look like a clown in a circus!"
Mrs. Pell's laughter had that peculiarly irritating quality that belongs to practical jokers, and Iris' sensitive nature was stung to the core.
"Oh, I hate you," she cried, "you are a fiend in human shape!" and without another word she ran upstairs to her own room.
Ursula Pell looked a little chagrined, then burst into laughter at the remembrance of Iris' face as she denounced her, and then her expression suddenly changed to one of pain, and she walked slowly to her own sitting room, went in and closed the door behind her.
It was part of the Sunday afternoon routine that Mrs. Pell should go to this room directly after dinner, and it was understood that she was not to be disturbed unless callers came.
A little later, Polly was in the dining-room arranging the sideboard, when she heard Mrs. Pell's voice. It was an agonized scream, not loud, but as one greatly frightened. The woman ran through the hall and living room to the closed door of the sitting room. Then she clearly heard her mistress calling for help.
But the door was locked on the inside, and Polly could not open it.
"Help! Thieves!" came in terrified accents, and then the voice died away to a troubled groaning; only to rise in a shrill shriek of "Help! Quickly!" and then again the moans and sighs of one in agony.
Frantically Polly hurried to the kitchen and called her husband.
"One of her damfool jokes," muttered the old man, as he shuffled toward the door of the locked room. "She's locked herself in, and she wants to get us all stirred up, thinkin' she's been attacked by thugs, an' in a minute she'll be laughin' at us."
"I don't think so," said Polly, dubiously, for she well knew her mistress' ways, "them yells was too natural."
Old Purdy listened, his ear against the door. "I can hear her rustlin' about a little," he said, "an' – there, that was a faint moan – mebbe she's been took with a spell or suthin'."
"Let's get the door open, anyway," begged Polly. "If it's a joke, I'll stand for it, but I'll bet you something's happened."
"What could happen, unless she's had a stroke, an' if that's it, she wouldn't be a callin' out 'Thieves!' Didn't you say she said that?"
"Yes, as plain as day!"
"Then that proves she's foolin' us! How could there be thieves in there, an' the door locked?"
"Well, get it open. I'm plumb scared," and Polly's round face was pale with fright.
"But I can't. Do you want me to break it in? We'd get what for in earnest if I done that!"
"Run around and look in the windows," suggested Polly, "and I'm going to call Miss Iris. I jest know something's wrong, this time."
"What is it?" asked Iris, responding to the summons, "what was that noise I heard?"
"Mrs. Pell screamed out, Miss Iris, and when I went to see what was the matter, I found the door locked, and we can't get in."
"She screamed?" said Iris. "Perhaps it's just one of her jokes."
"That's what Purdy thinks, but it didn't sound so to me. It sounded like she was in mortal danger. Here's Purdy now. Well?"
"I can't see in the windows," was his retort, "the shades is all pulled down, 'count o' the sun. She always has 'em so afternoons. And you well know, nobody could get in them windows, or out of 'em."
Ursula Pell's sitting room was also her storehouse of many treasures. Collections of curios and coins left by her husband, additional objects of value, bought by herself, made the room almost a museum; and, in addition, her desk contained money and important papers. Wherefore, she had had the windows secured by a strong steel lattice work, that made ingress impossible to marauders. Two windows faced south and two west, and there was but one door, that into the living room.
This being locked, the room was inaccessible, and the drawn shades prevented even a glimpse of the interior. The windows were open, but the shades inside the steel gratings were not to be reached.
There was no sound now from the room, and the listeners stood, looking at one another, uncertain what to do next.
"Of course it's a joke," surmised Purdy, "but even so, it's our duty to get into that room. If so be's we get laughed at for our pains, it won't be anything outa the common; and if Mrs. Pell has had a stroke – or anything has happened to her, we must see about it."
"How will you get in?" asked Iris, looking frightened.
"Bust the door down," said Purdy, succinctly. "I'll have to get Campbell to help. While I'm gone after him, you try to persuade Mrs. Pell to come out – if she's just trickin' us."
The old man went off, and Polly began to speak through the closed door.
"Let us in, Mrs. Pell," she urged. "Do, now, or Purdy'll spoil this good door. Now what's the sense o' that, if you're only a foolin'? Open the door – please do – "
But no response of any sort was made. The stillness was tragic, yet there was the possibility, even the likelihood, that the tricky mistress of the house would only laugh at them when they had forced an entrance.
"Of course it's her foolishness," said Agnes, who had joined the group. She spoke in a whisper, not wanting to brave a reprimand for impertinence. "What does she care for having a new door made, if she can get us all soured up over nothing at all?"
Iris said nothing. Only a faint, almost imperceptible tinge remained of the ink stains on her face. She had used vigorous measures, and had succeeded in removing most of the disfigurement.
Campbell returned with Purdy.
"Ah, now, Mis' Pell, come out o' there," he wheedled, "do now! It's a sin and a shame to bust in this here heavy door. Likewise it ain't no easy matter nohow. I'm not sure me and Purdy can do it. Please, Missis, unlock the door and save us all a lot of trouble."
But no sound came in answer.
"Let's all be awful still," suggested Purdy, "for quite a time, an' see if she don't make some move."
Accordingly each and every one of them scarcely breathed and the silence was intense.
"I can't hear a sound," said Campbell, at last, his ear against the keyhole, which was nearly filled by its own key. "I can't hear her breathing. You sure she's in there?"
"Of course," said Polly. "Didn't I hear her screamin'? I tell you we got to get in. Joke or no joke, we got to!"
"You're right," and Campbell looked serious. "I got ears like a hawk, and I bet I'd hear her breathing if she was in there. Come on, Purdy."
The door was thick and heavy, but the lock was a simple one, not a bolt, and the efforts of the two men splintered the jamb and released the door.
The sight revealed was overwhelming. The women screamed and the men stood aghast.
On the floor lay the body of Ursula Pell, and a glance was sufficient to see that she was dead. Her face was covered with blood and a small pool of it had formed near her head. Her clothing was torn and disordered, and the whole room was in a state of chaos. A table was overturned, and the beautiful lamp that had been on it, lay in shattered bits on the floor. A heavy-handled poker, belonging to the fire set, was lying near Mrs. Pell's head, and the contents of her writing-desk were scattered in mad confusion on chairs and on the floor. A secret cupboard above the mantel, really a small concealed safe, was flung open, and was empty. An empty pocket-book lay on one chair, and an empty handbag on another.
But these details were lost sight of in the attention paid to Mrs. Pell herself.
"She's dead! she's dead!" wailed Polly. "It wasn't a joke of hers – it was really robbers. She called out 'Thieves!' and 'Help!' several times. Oh, if I'd got you men in sooner!"
"But, good land, Polly!" cried Campbell, "what do you mean by thieves? How could anybody get in here with the door locked? Or, if he was in, how could he get out?"
"Maybe he's here now!" and Polly gazed wildly about.
"We'll soon see!" and Campbell searched the entire room. It was not difficult, for there were no alcoves or cupboards, the furniture was mostly curio cabinets, treasure tables, a few chairs and a couch. Campbell looked under the couch, and behind the window curtains, but no intruder was found.
"Mighty curious," said old Purdy, scratching his head; "how in blazes could she scream murder and thieves, when there wasn't no one in here? And how could anyone be in here with her, and get out, leavin' that 'ere door locked behind him?"
"She was murdered all right!" declared Campbell, "look at them bruises on her neck! See, her dress is tore open at the throat! What kind o' villain could 'a' done that? Gosh, it's fierce!"
Iris came timidly forward to look at the awful sight. Unable to bear it, she turned and sank on the couch, completely unnerved.
"Get a doctor, shall I?" asked Campbell, who was the most composed of them all.
"What for?" asked Purdy. "She's dead as a door nail, poor soul! But yes, I s'pose it's the proper thing. An' we oughta get the crowner, an' not touch nothin' till he comes."
"The coroner!" Iris' eyes stared at him. "What for?"
"Well, you see, Miss Iris, it's custom'ry when they's a murder – "
"But she couldn't have been murdered! Impossible! Who could have done it? It's – it's an accident."
"I wish I could think so, Miss Iris," and Purdy's honest old face was very grave, "but you look around. See, there's been robbery, – look at that there empty pocket-book an' empty bag! An' the way she's been – hit! Why, see them marks on her chest! She's fair black an' blue! And her skirt's tore – "
"Good Lord!" cried Polly, "her pocket's tore out! She always had a big pocket inside each dress skirt, and this one's been – why it's been cut out!"
There could be no doubt that the old lady had been fearfully attacked. Nor could there be any doubt of robbery. The ransacked desk, the open safe, the cut-out pocket, added to the state of the body itself, left no room for theories of accident or self-destruction.
"Holler for the doctor," commanded Purdy, instinctively taking the helm. "You telephone him, Campbell, and then he'll see about the coroner – or whoever he wants. And I think we'd oughter call up Mr. Bowen, what say, Miss Iris?"
"Mr. Bowen – why?"
"Oh, I dunno; it seems sorter decent, that's all."
"Very well, do so."
"I – I suppose I ought to telephone to Mr. Bannard – "
"Sure you ought to. But let's get the people up here first, then you can get long distance to New York afterward."
Once over the first shock of horror, Purdy's sense of responsibility asserted itself, and he was thoughtful and efficient.
"All of you go outa this room," he directed, "I'll take charge of it till the police get here. This is a mighty strange case, an' I can't see any light as to how it could 'a' happened. But it did happen – poor Mis' Pell is done for, an' I'll stand guard over her body till somebody with more authority gets here. You, Agnes, be ready to wait on the door, and Polly, you look after Miss Iris. Campbell, you telephone like I told you – "
Submissively they all obeyed him. Iris, with an effort, rose from the couch and went out to the living room. There, she sat in a big chair, and stared at nothing, until Polly, watching, became alarmed.
"Be ca'm, now, Miss Iris, do be ca'm," she urged, stupidly.
"Hush up, Polly, I am calm. Don't say such foolish things. You know I'm not the sort to faint or fly into hysterics."
"I know you ain't, Miss Iris, but you're so still and queer like – "
"Who wouldn't be? Polly, explain it. What happened to Aunt Ursula – do you think?"
"Miss Iris, they ain't no explanation. I'm a quick thinker, I am, and I tell you, there ain't no way that murderer – for there sure was a murderer – could 'a' got in that room or got out, with that door locked."
"Then she killed herself?"
"No, she couldn't possibly 'a' done that. You know yourself, she couldn't. When she screamed 'Thieves!' the thieves was there. Now, how did they get away? They ain't no secret way in an' out, that I know. I've lived in this house too many years to be fooled about its buildin'. It's a mystery, that's what it is, a mystery."
"Will it ever be solved?" and Iris looked at old Polly as if inquiring of a sibyl.
"Land, child, how do I know? I ain't no seer. I s'pose some of those smart detectives can make it out, but it's beyond me!"
"Oh, Polly, they won't have detectives, will they?"
"Sure they will, Miss Iris; they'll have to."
"Now, I'm through with the telephone," said Campbell, reappearing. "Shall I get New York for you, Miss?"
"No," said Iris, rising, "I'll get the call myself."
CHAPTER III
THE EVIDENCE OF THE CHECKBOOK
Winston Bannard's apartments in New York were comfortable though not luxurious. The Caxton Annex catered to young bachelors who were not millionaires but who liked to live pleasantly, and Bannard had been contentedly ensconced there ever since he had left his aunt's home.
He had always been glad he had made the move, for the city life was far more to his liking than the village ways of Berrien, and if his law practice could not be called enormous, it was growing and he had developed some real ability.
Of late he had fallen in with a crowd of men much richer than himself, and association with them had led to extravagance in the matter of cards for high stakes, motors of high cost, and high living generally.
The high cost of living is undeniable, and Bannard not infrequently found himself in financial difficulties of more or less depth and importance.
As he entered his rooms Sunday evening about seven, he found a telegram and a telephone notice from the hotel office. The latter merely informed him that Berrien, Connecticut, had called him at four o'clock. The telegram read:
"For Heaven's sake come up here at once. Aunt Ursula is dead."
It was signed Iris, and Bannard read it, standing by the window to catch the gleams of fading daylight. Then he sank into a chair, and read it over again, though he now knew it by rote.
He was not at all stunned. His alert mind traveled quickly from one thought to another, and for ten minutes his tense, strained position, his set jaw and his occasionally winking eyes betokened successive cogitations on matters of vital importance.
Then he jumped up, looked at his watch, consulted a time-table, and, not waiting for an elevator, ran down the stairs through that atmosphere of Sunday afternoon quiet, which is perhaps nowhere more noticeable than in a city hotel.
A taxicab, a barely caught train, and before nine o'clock Winston Bannard was at the Berrien railroad station.
Campbell was there to meet him, and as they drove to the house Bannard sat beside the chauffeur that he might learn details of the tragedy.
"But I don't understand, Campbell," Bannard said, "how could she be murdered, alone in her room, with the door locked? Did she – didn't she – kill herself?"
But the chauffeur was close-mouthed. "I don't know, Mr. Bannard," he returned, "it's all mighty queer, and the detective told me not to gossip or chatter about it at all."
"But, my stars! man, it isn't gossip to tell me all there is to tell."
"But there's nothing to tell. The bare facts you know – I've told you those; as to the rest, the police or Miss Iris must tell you."
"You're right," agreed Bannard. "I'm glad you are not inclined to guess or surmise. There must be some explanation, of course. How about the windows?"
"Well, you know those windows, Mr. Bannard. They're as securely barred as the ones in the bank, and more so. Ever since Mrs. Pell took that room for her treasure room, about eight or ten years ago, they've been protected by steel lattice work and that's untouched. That settles the windows, and there's only the one door, and that Purdy and I broke open. Now, that's all I know about it."
Bannard relapsed into silence, and Campbell didn't speak again until they reached the house.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" was the first greeting to the young man as he entered the hall at Pellbrook. It was spoken by Mrs. Bowen, who had been with Iris ever since she was summoned by telephone, that afternoon. "It's all so dreadful, – the doctors are examining the body now – and the coroner is here – and two detectives – and Iris is so queer – " the poor little lady quite broke down, in her relief at having some one to share her responsibility.
"Isn't Mr. Bowen here?" Bannard said, as he followed her into the living-room.
"No, he had to attend service, he'll come after church. Here is Iris."
The girl did not rise at Bannard's approach, but sat, looking up at him, her face full of inquiry.
"Where have you been?" she demanded; "why didn't you come sooner? I telegraphed at four o'clock – I telephoned first, but they said – they said you were out."
"I was; I only came in at seven, and then I found your messages, and I caught the first train possible."
"It doesn't matter," said Iris, wearily. "There's nothing you can do – nothing anybody can do. Oh, Win, it's horrible!"
"Of course it is, Iris. But I'm so in the dark. Tell me all about it."
"Oh, I can't. I can't seem to talk about it. Mrs. Bowen will tell you."
The little lady told all she knew, and then, one of the detectives appeared to question Bannard. He explained his presence and told who he was and then asked to go into his aunt's sitting room.
"Not just now," said the man, whose name was Hughes, "the doctors are busy in there, with the coroner."
"Why so late," asked Bannard; "what have they been doing all the afternoon?"
"Doctor Littell came at once," explained Mrs. Bowen, "he's her own doctor, you know. But that coroner, Doctor Timken, never got here till this evening. Why, here's Mr. Chapin!"
Charles Chapin, who was Mrs. Pell's lawyer, entered, and also Mr. Bowen, so there was quite a group in waiting when the doctors came out of the closed room.
"It's the strangest case imaginable," said Coroner Timken, his face white and terrified. "There's not the least possibility of suicide – and yet there's no explanation for a murder."
"Why do you say that?" asked Chapin, who had heard little of the details.
"The body is terribly injured. There are livid bruises on her chest, shoulders and upper arms. There are marks on her wrists, as if she had been bound by ropes, and similar marks on her ankles."
"Incredible!" cried Mr. Chapin. "Bound?"
"The marks can mean nothing else. They are as if cords had been tightly drawn, and on one ankle the stocking is slightly stained with blood."
"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen.
"Yes, and the flesh beneath the stain is abraded round the ankle, and the skin broken. The other ankle shows slight marks of the cord, but it did not cut into the flesh on that side. Her wrists, too, show red marks and indentations, as of cords. It is inexplicable."
"But the bruises?" pursued Mr. Chapin, "and the awful wound on her face?"
"There is no doubt that she was attacked for the purpose of robbery. Moreover, the thief was looking for something in particular. It is clear that he stole money or valuables, but the state of the desk and safe prove a desperate hunt for some paper or article of special value. Also the pocket, cut and torn from the skirt, proves a determination to secure the treasure. As we reconstruct the crime, the intruder intimidated Mrs. Pell by threats and by physical violence; tied her while search was made through her room; and then, in a rage of disappointment, flung the old lady to the floor, where she hit her head on a sharp-pointed brass knob of the fender. This penetrated her temple and caused her death. These things are facts; also the state of the room, the overturned table and chairs, the broken lamp, the ransacked desk and safe – all these are facts; but what theory can account for the disappearance of the murderer from the locked room?"
There was no answer until Detective Hughes said, "I've always been told that the more mysterious and insoluble a crime seems to be, the easier it is to solve it."
"You have, eh?" returned the coroner; "then get busy on this one. It's beyond me. Why, that woman's wrist is sprained, if not broken, she has some internal injuries and she was suffering from shock and fright. The attack was diabolical! It may be that the murder was unpremeditated, but the mauling and bruising of the old lady was the work of a strong man and a hardened wretch."
"Why didn't she scream sooner?" asked Hughes, who was listening intently. He had been detailed on other duties while his confrères investigated the scene of the crime.
"Gagged, probably," answered Timken. "There are slight marks at the corners of her mouth which indicate a gag was used, for a time at least. How long was it," he said abruptly, turning to Iris, "that your aunt was in that room alone? I mean alone, so far as you knew?"
"I don't know; I was up in my own room all the time after dinner, and – I don't know what time it was when they called me – I seem to have lost all track of time – "
"Don't bother the girl," said Mrs. Bowen. "Polly, you tell about the time."
The servants were in and out of the room, now clustered at the doorway, now hurrying off on errands and back again.
"It musta been about ha' past three when I heard her scream," said Polly, "or maybe a bit earlier, but not much. I was in the dining room, settin' the sideboard to rights after dinner, and I heard her holler."
"And you went to the door at once?"
"Yes; just 's quick 's I could. But the door was locked – "
"Was that usual?"
"Yes, sir, she often locks it when she takes a nap Sunday afternoons. And then I went and called Purdy, and we couldn't get in."
"Yes, I know about the barred windows and so on. Did you hear any further sounds from Mrs. Pell?"
"Some; sorta movin' around an' faint moanin's. But the truth is – we thought she was a foolin' us."
"Fooling you?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Pell, she was great for jokin'. Many's the time she's hollered, 'Help! Polly!' and when I'd get there, she'd laugh fit to kill at me. She was that way, sir. She was always foolin' us."
"Is this true?" asked Timken, turning to the others.
They all corroborated Polly's statements. Even Chapin, the lawyer, told of jests and tricks his wealthy client had played on him, and Winston Bannard declared he had suffered so much from his aunt's whims that he had been forced to move away.
"And you, Miss Clyde, did she so tease you?"
"Indeed she did," said Iris. "I think I was her favorite victim. Scarcely a day passed that she did not annoy and distress me by some practical joke. You know about the ink, this noon – " she turned to Mrs. Bowen.
"Yes," said that lady, but she looked grave and thoughtful.
"But surely," pursued the coroner, "one could tell the difference between the screams of a victim in mortal agony, and those of a jest!"
"No, sir," and Polly shook her head. "Mrs. Pell was that clever, she'd make you think she'd been hurt awful, when she was just trickin' you. But, any ways, sir, me an' Purdy we did all we could, and we couldn't get in. Then Campbell, he come, and helped to break down the door – "
"And you're sure the murderer couldn't have slipped through as you opened the door?"
"Not a chance!" spoke up Campbell. "We smashed it open, the lock just splintered out of the jamb, as you can see for yourself, and we were all gathered in a clump on this side. No, sir, the room was quiet as death – and empty, save for Mrs. Pell, herself."
"And she was dead, then?"
"Yes, sir," asseverated Purdy, solemnly. "I ain't no doctor, but I made sure she was dead. She'd died within a minute or so, she was most as warm as in life, and the blood was still a flowin' from her head where she was struck."