In the Onyx Lobby Part 9

"Yes, of course, but the police must be sent for."

"Sure," put in Bob Moore, who was gaining confidence in his own importance, "I must get this matter hushed up before people begin to get around. Lucky it happened in the night! It's none too good an advertis.e.m.e.nt for the house!"

"I think I'll go up and tell my aunt myself," said Bates, thoughtfully.

"You stay here by--by the body, Doctor. And, I say,--what--how was he killed?"

"Stabbed," said the doctor, shortly.

"What with?"

"I don't know,--except that it was with a sharp blade of some sort.

There's no weapon in sight."

"No weapon! How queer!"

"Queer or not, I can't find any. It's a pretty strange affair, to my mind. Yes, I'll stay here, you go and tell your aunt's people, and,--Moore, you come right back after you take Mr Bates up."

In silence the return trip was made in the elevator, for Bates was thinking how he should break the news to the two excitable women upstairs, and Bob Moore's thoughts were in such a riot, that he was trying hard to straighten them out.

In front of Miss Prall's bedroom door, her nephew hesitated for some time before knocking. Not only was his courage weak but his brain was receiving so many sudden jolts that he could scarcely control his voice.

Why, now, he was his uncle's heir. Unless he had already changed that will! Had he?

At last, with a gentle knock, repeated more loudly, and finally with a fusillade of raps, he succeeded in rousing Miss Prall, who demanded, with asperity, "Who's there?"

"Me; Rick. Open the door, please."

"What's the matter? You sick?" his aunt exclaimed, as she unlocked her door.

"No; now, listen, Aunt Let.i.tia, and don't faint--for anything. Uncle Binney is--has been--why, somebody killed him!"

"Killed him! Is he dead?"

"Yes, ma'am"; both were unaware of the absurdity of the words, "he's downstairs,--in the lobby,--and he's been stabbed."

Richard's teeth were chattering from the tension of his nerves, and the horror of the situation, but Miss Prall's nerves were strong ones, and she said, "I'll dress and go right down. And I'll tell Eliza,--you needn't. Go in the living-room and wait for me there."

Rather relieved at not being sent back downstairs and decidedly willing to let his aunt break the news to Miss Gurney, Bates went to his own room and added some finis.h.i.+ng touches to the hasty toilet he had made.

Then he awaited his aunt, as directed, and in an incredibly short time she appeared, all dressed and impatient to go downstairs.

"We won't wait for Eliza," she said; "come along. Oh, no, wait a minute!" She returned to her bedroom, and shortly reappeared.

Her vigorous push of the elevator b.u.t.ton brought Moore quickly, and he took them down.

Miss Prall strode rapidly along the lobby and spoke brusquely to the doctor.

"What are you doing? Why do you touch him before the police arrive?"

"Good Lord, how you startled me!" exclaimed Doctor Pagett, who in his absorption had not heard her approach. "I have a perfect right to examine the body, ma'am," he went on indignantly. "Do you suppose I don't know my business?"

"I've always heard no one must touch a murdered man until----"

"Then how are we to know it is a murder?" he countered, looking at her keenly. "Will you read that paper, Miss Prall? Don't touch it!"

"Women did this," she read, aloud. "Well, I'm not surprised. If ever a man was mixed up with women,--of all sorts, it was Sir Herbert! But what women did it? Where are they?"

She looked about, as if expecting to see the criminals cowering in the shadows or behind the great columns of the lobby.

"They have disappeared,--not an uncommon procedure," returned the doctor, dryly. "And they have taken with them the weapon with which the crime was committed, thus removing a most important clue! Have you any suspicion--in any direction?"

Doctor Pagett shot this query at her with such sharp suddenness that Miss Prall almost jumped.

"I!" she exclaimed loudly. "How could I know anything about this man or his women? He's nothing to me!"

"He is your nephew's uncle."

"Well, that makes him no kin of mine, does it? Don't you dare mix me up in this thing!"

"n.o.body's mixing you up in it, ma'am," and, indifferently, the physician returned his attention to the dead man, and became engrossed in studying the writing on the paper.

And then, as three men from Police Headquarters appeared at the front end of the long lobby, Eliza Gurney stepped from the elevator at the other end. Apparently she was holding herself well in hand, for, though her face was white and drawn with fear, her firm set lips and clenched hands betokened a resolve not to give way to nerves in any fas.h.i.+on.

"Let me see him," she said, in steady tones.

"Who are you, madam?" said Officer Kelsey, resenting her determined push forward.

"I'm Miss Gurney, the companion of Miss Prall," and the air with which she made the announcement would have fitted a grand d.u.c.h.ess.

Impressed, the policeman made way for her, and then continued his questioning.

"Who's in command here?" he said. "Who's nearest of kin?"

At the first question, Miss Prall stepped forward, but at the second, she fell back in favor of Richard Bates.

"I am," Bates said, quietly. "He is my uncle, Sir Herbert Binney."

Further statistics were ascertained and then the police began actual investigation. The detective was the smallest and least conspicuous man of the three, and his una.s.suming air and somewhat stupid-looking face would have carried a conviction of his utter incompetency, save for his alert, darting black eyes, that seemed to look in several directions at once, so rapidly did they roll about.

Corson was his name, and he asked questions so quickly and so continuously that he scarce waited for answers.

"Where had he been?" he flung out. "Who saw him come in? Who was on door duty? What's _your_ name? Moore? Well, did you admit this man?"

"No," said Bob Moore, "I was up in the elevator taking one of the tenants to his floor. There's only me on, late at night."

But Corson seemed unheeding. Already he had turned to Miss Prall.

"Does this man live with you? Did he, I mean. Where did he set out for when he left home? What time did he go?"

"Now you look here!" said Miss Let.i.tia, angrily. "I can't answer forty-seven questions at once! Nor other people can't, either. You talk more slowly, sir, and more rationally."