The House Opposite Part 12

I don't need to tell you to treat this letter as absolutely confidential, nor to a.s.sure you again that only the deepest interest in Miss Derwent, and the conviction that she is in need of help, induce me to pry into her affairs.

More than this I cannot tell you, so don't ask me.

Good-night, old chap! Hope your leg is getting on all right.

Affectionately yours, CHARLES K. FORTESCUE.

HOPE FARM, BEVERLEY, L. I., Friday, August 11.

DEAR CHARLEY,--You may imagine how exciting I found your letter when I tell you that I have known May Derwent since she was a tiny tot, and that their country place is not half a mile from here. She is exactly my sister Alice's age, and I have never known her very well till she came out last winter, for eight years make a big barrier between children. I like and admire May extremely, for not only is she a very beautiful girl, but an extremely nice one, as well. Difficult as it may be to explain certain things, I am sure that, whatever the trouble she is in, if you knew the whole truth, you would find it only redounded to her credit. She is an impulsive, warm-hearted and rather tempestuous child--generous, loyal, and truthful to a fault. I have just been discreetly sounding Alice about her, and asked why I had not seen May since I had been down here this time, as on former occasions she used always to be running in and out of the house. And Alice tells me that for the last three months May has been a changed being. From a happy, thoughtless girl, overflowing with health and spirits, she has become a listless, self-contained, almost morose woman. She refuses to go anywhere, and spends most of her time either in her own room or taking long solitary walks or rides. The doctor talks of nervous prostration, but do you think it likely that a vigorous, athletic young girl would develop nerves solely in consequence of a few months' gaiety during the winter? It seems to me incredible, and so I am forced to believe that May has something on her mind which is reacting on her body, causing her to shun all the things she used to delight in. Now, when a young, rich, beautiful, and sought-after girl suddenly takes to avoiding her species, and becomes pale and melancholy, the usual explanation is--an unhappy love affair. And, of course, that may still turn out to be the truth in this case; but in the meantime I have another hypothesis to suggest, that seems to me to fit in with the known facts even better than the other.

May Derwent is not an only child, but has, or at any rate had, a brother about ten years older than herself who, I confess, was one of the heroes of my childhood. Only a little older than the rest of us boys, he was much bigger and stronger. He was the leader of all our games, and the instigator of our most outrageous exploits. He was the horror of all parents and the delight of all children.

Cruel, vindictive, untruthful, leaving others to pay the penalty for his faults whenever it was possible, he was not a nice boy even in those early days, but then he was so handsome, so bold and unscrupulous, so inspired in devising new crimes for us to commit, that it is hardly to be wondered at that he was at the same time our terror and our idol. His school record was bad; his college record was worse, till one fine day he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from Harvard, and has never been heard of since. What had occurred I never could find out; that it was something very disgraceful I am sure, for his mother, whose pride and hope he had been, never again mentioned his name.

Now, don't you think it quite possible that he may have returned and been bothering his sister in some way? She may be either trying to s.h.i.+eld him from still greater disgrace, or be endeavouring to spare her mother the further knowledge of his misdeeds. Mind you, these are all merely the wildest conjectures.

As for May's lovers, their name is simply legion, including young Norman, the millionaire, Sir Arthur Trevor, Guy Weatherby and a painter chap--Greywood, I think his name is. Mere Derwent, I believe, favors Norman's suit, having (sensible woman!) a great faith in American husbands, but there is a rumour that May, with the perversity of her s.e.x, is inclined to smile on the young artist, who, I am told is an affected chap, just back from Paris, without either money or talent. But no doubt he strikes her as a more romantic lover than good old Norman, who is the best of fellows, and absolutely eligible in every way.

Alice tells me that May has appeared quite eager for her Bar Harbor visit, notwithstanding that she has refused all other invitations, and Mrs. Derwent has had great hopes that the change would do her good.

What you have told me is no small tax on my discretion, but what you have refrained from telling taxes my curiosity far more. But notice--I ask no questions!!

By the way, why don't you come down and spend next Sunday with us?

You might see the lovely May again,--who knows?

Affectionately yours, FRED.

CHAPTER VII

MR. MERRITT INSTRUCTS ME

Fred's letter was a great relief to me. I had not dared to allow my thoughts to dwell on the man whom I had seen in May Derwent's apartment on that eventful night. The supposition, however, that it was her brother, explained everything satisfactorily. Nothing could be more likely than that this angel of mercy should give shelter to this returned prodigal, and try to save him from the punishment he so richly deserved. But what cared I what _he_ had done? She--she--was immaculate.

At the hospital that morning, I was in such good spirits that I had some difficulty in keeping my elation within bounds. As it was, I noticed that several nurses eyed me with suspicion.

My preoccupation about Miss Derwent's affairs had been so great that I had hardly given a thought to the mysterious murder, and was consequently very much surprised, on returning home that afternoon, to find the detective patiently awaiting me.

"Well, Mr. Merritt," I exclaimed; "glad to see you; what can I do for you? Anything wrong with your heart, or your liver, or your nerves, eh?"

"Well, Doctor, I guess my nerves are pretty near all right," he answered, with a slow smile.

"I'm glad to hear it. Won't you sit down?"

He selected a comfortable chair, and we sat down facing each other. I wondered what could be coming next.

"Now, Doctor," he began, in a matter-of-fact voice, "I'd like you to tell me all you know of the murder."

He had taken me completely by surprise, but I am learning to control my features, and flatter myself that I did not move a muscle as I quietly replied:

"This is a very strange question, and I can only answer that I know nothing."

"Oh, hardly as little as that," the detective rejoined, with irritating complacency.

"Just as little as that," I a.s.serted, with some warmth.

"Well, Doctor, if that is the case, you can no doubt explain a few things that have been puzzling me. In the first place, will you tell me why, if you were not expecting another victim, you showed such surprise at the sight of the corpse? What reason could you have had for being so deeply interested in the relative positions of your roof--not your office, mind you, but your roof--and the room in which the body was found, unless you had noticed something unusual from that point of observation? Why were you so sure that the Derwent's flat was occupied, if you had not seen some person or persons there? By the way, I noticed that from your roof I could look directly into their windows. Again, you betrayed great surprise when Miss Derwent lifted her veil. Why did you do so, except that you had previously seen a very different looking person in her apartment? And why did you select the Atkins's two servants out of all the people in the building, to question about a certain noise, but that you yourself had heard a scream coming from their premises? And, lastly, you showed an unexplained interest in the back door of the Rosemere, which is particularly suggestive in view of the fact that this window is exactly opposite to it. I need only add that your presence on the roof during some part of Wednesday night, or early Thursday morning, is attested by the fact that I found some pipe-ash near the chimney. You smoke a pipe, I see" (pointing to a rack full of them); "your janitor does not, neither do your two fellow-lodgers. Besides that, all the other occupants of this house are willing to swear that they have not been on the roof recently, and those ashes could not have been long where I found them; the wind would have scattered them. You see, I know very little, but I know enough to be sure that you know more."

I was perfectly dumbfounded, and gazed at the detective for some moments without speaking.

"Well, granted that I was on the roof during a part of Wednesday night, what of it? And if I did hear or see anything suspicious, how can you prove it, and above all, how can you make me tell you of it?"

"I can't," rejoined Mr. Merritt, cheerfully. "I can only ask you to do so."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I shall have to delay satisfying my curiosity till we meet in court, but I do not doubt that my patience will then be adequately rewarded, for a skilful lawyer will surely be able to get at many details that would escape me, and I hardly think that you would resort to perjury to s.h.i.+eld two women whom I am convinced you never laid eyes on before yesterday, and have certainly not seen since." The detective paused.

I still hesitated, for I felt an extreme reluctance to further compromise that poor girl by anything I might say.

"Come, Doctor," he urged, leaning forward and placing his hand on my knee, "don't you think it would be better for all parties for you to tell me what you know? I am as anxious to s.h.i.+eld the innocent as you can be. By withholding valuable information you may force me to put a young lady through a very trying and public ordeal, which I am sure might be easily spared her, if I only knew a few more facts of the case."

This last argument decided me, and making a virtue of necessity I gave him a minute account of all I had seen and heard. When I came to describing the man's prolonged search Mr. Merritt nodded several times with great satisfaction.

"Can't you tell me a little more how this man looked?" he eagerly inquired. "You must have seen him pretty clearly while he was moving around that lighted room. Had he any hair on his face?"

"Well," I confessed, "it is a funny thing, but I can't for the life of me remember; I've tried to; sometimes I think he was clean shaven, and again I am sure he had a small moustache."

The detective glared at me for a moment; it was difficult for him to forgive such aggravating lack of memory. To be given such an opportunity and to foozel it! He heaved a sigh of resignation as he inquired:

"Can you remember how he was dressed?"

"Oh, yes," I replied with alacrity, anxious to retrieve myself, "he had on a white s.h.i.+rt and dark trousers, and his sleeves were rolled back."

"Did he close the windows before he left?"

"Yes, and he pulled down the blinds also."

"You are sure that you saw no one in the apartment resembling Miss Derwent?"

"Quite sure; the woman I saw was taller and had flat, black hair."

"What do you mean by 'flat'?"