A Master Hand Part 11

Miles looked at her severely.

"Mrs. Bunce," he said, "if I were you I would admit I found the bills myself, otherwise it may be awkward for you when we have to put you and your servant on the stand to prove where they were found. This gentleman and myself will not say anything about this conversation and there will be no trouble if you simply tell the truth about it."

The woman broke down finally and began whining something about a poor woman not being allowed to keep what she found in her own house and what belonged to her by right, but Miles did not wait to listen but left the house, I following him.

Once alone with him again I could not restrain the expression of my disappointment.

"That was a very clever piece of work, indeed," I said, "but unfortunately does the case of Winters harm instead of good."

"How?" he asked.

"Why, the missing bills having now been accounted for," I answered, "there is nothing to show that any one else was on the scene that night or to furnish a motive for the crime, and so there remains no one but Winters to whom suspicion can attach."

"You don't look at it properly," he answered; "the most important thing incidental to the discovery of the money is the fact that its effect will be to substantiate Winters's statement."

I looked at him inquiringly, and seeing I did not comprehend, he explained.

"White evidently took all the money with him, carelessly stuffed in the outside pocket of his ulster, when he went out that night and he might easily have dropped one of the bills in the vestibule: such being the case, Winters's statement that he found it there becomes not only reasonable, but probable."

I saw the force of this at once, and was rejoiced at it: but at the same time I was more perplexed than ever by the situation it disclosed.

"If White," I asked, expressing my doubts to Miles, "took all the money out with him that night, as you say, what motive remains to explain the murder?"

"We have got to find a new motive," he answered, "and when we do find it, I am much mistaken if it does not disclose a deeper planned scheme and a cleverer hand than we have antic.i.p.ated."

My interest was keenly aroused and I was ready at once to enter into the new aspect of the case, but Miles would not have it so.

"Wait till to-morrow, Mr. Dallas," he said; "you are tired, and had better seek some amus.e.m.e.nt this evening," and bidding me good-bye, he left me.

I recognized the virtue of his advice and acted on it, for after all enough had been done for one day.

CHAPTER IX

A CLUE AND A CONFERENCE

A week had elapsed since the happening of the events related in the last chapter, and I sat with Littell and Van Bult in one of the private rooms of a quiet downtown restaurant, where we had been lunching together by my invitation.

For some time past I had seen little or nothing of these two friends.

Van Bult had been off again somewhere, and I had been too busy to look up Littell, for my whole time and attention had been given to investigation of the White case: but now being at the end of my resources I had summoned them to this gathering that I might advise with them.

I must advise with somebody, and it seemed to me that these two were the most available. They were necessarily interested in the case and more or less familiar with the facts, and besides they were both cleverer than the average of men, while one of them at least was an experienced and astute lawyer.

I felt, therefore, or perhaps only hoped, that where Miles and myself had come to a halt in our work from sheer inability to make further progress, these two, building on what we had done, and fresh and new to the subject, might supplement our efforts and carry them on to some definite result.

During the preceding week, the detective and myself had not been idle nor had we worked altogether to no purpose, for we had secured one bit of additional evidence that seemed to open a new field for investigation, and it was this new matter with the other occurrences that led up to it that I was now submitting to my friends.

The day after our interview with Mrs. Bunce, which resulted in the finding of the missing money, Miles and I had resumed our work upon the case, but from a new standpoint. After a consultation we had concluded, as he had suggested, that we must look for the motive of the crime in some object less commonplace than theft.

To a.s.sume that White had been murdered for the money and that it had been abandoned almost immediately afterwards and without any apparent occasion, was too unlikely to be tenable. To find another motive for the crime, however, seemed next to impossible. If the object of the murderer was not theft, then he must have had a personal interest to subserve in the removal of White: but such an a.s.sumption involved the recognition of some grave secret in the life of White and anything of that kind was inconsistent with the life and habits of the man. I had known him long and intimately, and knew no one whom I thought in character less devious or secretive. His life had been that of any other idle man of means about town. It had not even had a serious side to it that I had ever observed, and I could not conceive of his having had an enemy who could cherish animosity, much less a design upon his life.

Under these circ.u.mstances, as may be understood, it was with faint hope that I undertook the new line of work; but there was no alternative, for, as Miles had said, if I was right in my belief in Winters's innocence, there must have existed some mystery in White's life to explain his death, and if we were to save Winters, we must discover it.

Yielding to the force of this argument, therefore, I had sought another interview with Benton and probed him upon every subject that could throw any light upon White's private life or a.s.sociations: but further than some additional details of the intimacy with Belle Stanton, I learned, as I had antic.i.p.ated, nothing of any importance. If White had either enemies or secrets Benton either had no knowledge of them or was unwilling to disclose it.

In the meanwhile the detective had sought Belle Stanton and interrogated her to the same end, but with no better success. She talked very freely on the subject and apparently told all she knew, but this was little or nothing of importance. She admitted, however that for some time past, White had seemed worried and nervous, which condition had been steadily getting worse. He had also, she said, complained of not sleeping and being worried about some person or something, but he had never mentioned in her hearing any name.

Failing thus with both Benton and Miss Stanton, the only two persons who seemed likely to know anything of White's private life, we next had recourse to inanimate sources. By the detective's advice, we determined to make an exhaustive search of his rooms. The authorities had, of course, already done this, but it was just possible something had been overlooked.

In pursuance of this plan we had visited the premises, and thoroughly examined everything. I had even gone through the pockets of his clothes while Miles had ransacked every drawer, vase, and other receptacle that by any chance might contain anything. It had all, nevertheless, proved in vain, and we were about abandoning the work, when Miles picked up a piece of paper, a corner of which had been barely visible, protruding from under the writing desk. He glanced at it, at first indifferently, then with a closer interest, and at last took it to the window and scrutinized it under the light, while I, too impatient to wait on him, studied it at the same time over his shoulder.

That which he had found was a torn bit of a letter without either address or signature, but the latter was unnecessary as I recognized the handwriting of White. The paper was about the following shape, and contained these broken words and sentences:

[Ill.u.s.tration: Handwritten note]

We turned the sheet over, but the reverse side was blank: evidently the letter had been concluded on another page, if it were ever concluded, and all else was missing.

We renewed our search, peering into every nook and corner of the room and moving the furniture, but there was nothing more. Probably the other pieces had been thrown into the waste-paper basket which stood beside the desk, and this sc.r.a.p, by a lucky chance, had escaped its destination.

We sent for the landlady and interrogated her as to the disposition made of the sweepings of the room. She in turn sought the hired girl, who remembered "fixing up the room" and emptying the basket the morning before White's death, but she had put the sweepings in the ash-can and they had long since been removed in the usual way.

We deemed it of the greatest importance that we find the other pieces of the letter if possible, and to that end Miles had sought out the ash-man for the district, and had the dump where he unloaded his cart thoroughly searched for them, but in vain. The rest of the letter was hopelessly lost.

In it we both believed was contained a clue to the mystery we were trying so hard to unravel, but we were compelled to accept the inevitable in this instance and make the most of what we had secured. It was a good deal, too, though very incomplete. It might not trace the crime to any particular individual, but at least it showed a secret in the life of the murdered man that affected him deeply and in which another had an intimate share, and it showed, further, that all was not in accord between the two. There had evidently been a bitter contest going on, for how long or what about was not disclosed, but it had existed and should be explained.

I had tried to complete the lines that were mutilated, but some of them were so incomplete and susceptible of so many different interpretations that the results were not sufficiently reliable to be useful or safe to work upon. I did, however, satisfy myself that the substance of the first seven lines had been something like the following (the words in parentheses are supplied):

"longer, my conscience will not"

(let) "me rest--I must, I will"

(do) (so-) "mething about it in"

(spite of) or (stead of) or (place of) "you;--If you will"

(oppose) or (thwart) or (not help) "me, then I will"

(ask some one) or (appeal to some one) or (confide in some one) or (tell some one) "else--We"

(have been together in) "all this"

Further than this it was useless to try to fill in the broken sentences.

This much was all we had accomplished and the situation was critical.

With the day set for the trial less than a week distant, I had not only failed to find definite evidence that could direct attention to any one else than the prisoner, but so far had even failed to secure the services of a lawyer to defend him. There were plenty to be had among those who made a specialty of criminal practice, but I did not consider such qualified for the service: the best of them were so well known in that capacity that their methods and arguments were received with incredulity by the average juror: while of those who were engaged in civil practice, I found none of such parts as I sought inclined to take the case.

Whoever defended Winters would have an uphill fight to make. The prosecution would be supported by the press and by public sentiment and the jurors would probably take their seats in the box with every disposition to deal fairly by the prisoner, but with an underlying conviction that he was guilty and the trial but a legal formality.

To successfully combat such odds, to even command a serious hearing, would require not only a lawyer of ability and standing, but a man possessed of the quality of personal magnetism: for it is this that is most potent in saving desperate cases. To find that man, however, seemed next to hopeless.

Such, then, was the status of things at the hour of which I write, when having submitted the facts and the difficulties, together with my theories of the case, to my companions, I sat waiting expectantly for some expression from them on the subject: but there ensued only discouraging silence. Littell sat tipped back in his chair, smiling a little to himself and reflectively watching the smoke curl slowly up from the cigar held daintily between his fingers: while Van Bult, leaning forward, contemplated the tips of his shoes, elevated apparently for the purpose, and whistled a plaintive tune.