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Chain of Evidence

<h2>XXIV</h2> <h3>THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE</h3> Laura greeted us cordially; and Miss Pembroke, with a politeness which, though slightly constrained, was quiet and non-committal. But, as I had hoped, Fleming Stone's winning manner and charming conversational ability seemed to make Janet forget her aversion to detectives. At the luncheon table various subjects were touched upon, but it was not long before we drifted into a discussion of the theme uppermost in all our minds. I could see that although Fleming Stone was apparently talking in a casual way, he was closely studying Janet's face as he talked. I noticed that when any reference was made to George Lawrence, Janet seemed perturbed, and, although Mr. Stone said flatly that George could not have entered when the door was chained, this did not seem to lessen Janet's concern. But when Stone referred to George's perfect alibi, Janet looked relieved, as if freed from a great fear. It was entirely due to Fleming Stone's tact that the conversation was kept at a light and airy level. I was intensely conscious of a growing portent of evil. A cloak of gloom seemed to be settling around[Pg 307] me, and it was only with the utmost effort that I could control my nervous apprehensions. What was going to happen, I did not know, but I felt intuitively that a climax was fast approaching, and at last I found myself sacrificing all other sympathies to the hope that Janet might be spared. I could see that Laura was equally agitated, although she too was outwardly calm. Janet, as always, was a puzzle. She seemed alternately depressed or gladdened in proportion as the drift of suspicion seemed directed toward or away from her cousin George. In a word, Fleming Stone's personality dominated us all. We were but as strings of an instrument upon which he played, and we responded involuntarily to his impulses or at his will. Into this surcharged atmosphere came another element with the entrance of George Lawrence. He looked handsome and debonair as usual, and informally begged of Mrs. Mulford permission to share our after-dinner coffee. "We're glad to have you," said Laura, in her affable way, "and, as we have finished luncheon, we will have our coffee in the library, where we can be more comfortable." Although Lawrence seemed perfectly at ease, and unconscious of any reason to fear Fleming[Pg 308] Stone's investigations, I couldn't help feeling that his air of ease was assumed. It was not so much any signs of nervousness or sensitiveness about him, as it was the pronounced absence of these. It seemed to me that he was playing a part of straightforward fearlessness, but was slightly overdoing it. Fleming Stone talked to Lawrence casually, referring once to his perfect alibi. George remarked that though he had no fear of suspicion falling in his direction, it gave him a feeling of satisfaction to know that he could satisfactorily account for his whereabouts at the time the murder was committed. "And now," said Mr. Stone, after the coffee service had been removed, "I think I will make my examination of the apartment opposite. It is not probable that I will discover anything in the nature of a clue, but as a detective I certainly must examine the scene of the crime. I would prefer to go alone, if you will give a key. I will rejoin you here after my search." Janet gave Mr. Stone her key, and without further word he crossed the hall alone to what had been the Pembrokes' apartment. After Fleming Stone's departure a strange chill fell on the mental atmosphere of our little party. George Lawrence seemed to lose his careless air, and a grayish pallor settled on his face, notwithstanding[Pg 309] his apparent effort to appear as usual. Janet watched her cousin closely, and she herself seemed on the verge of nervous collapse. Laura, like the blessed woman she is, strove bravely to keep up, but I saw that she too felt that the end was near. As for myself, remembering Fleming Stone's promise, I seemed to be possessed, to the exclusion of all else, of a great fear for Janet. It could not have been more than ten minutes, if as much as that, before Fleming Stone returned. As he entered our library he seemed to have lost his professional aspect, and I thought I had never seen a sadder or more sympathetic expression than I read in his eyes. "Mr. Lawrence," he said, without preamble, "it is my duty to arrest you for the murder of your uncle, Robert Pembroke." For a moment there was no sound, and then, with a pathetic, heart-breaking little cry, Janet said: "Oh, I hoped so that it wasn't you!" To my surprise, Lawrence tried to deny it. Guilt seemed to me to be written in every line of his face, yet, with a palpable effort, he assumed an air of bravado and said: "I told you I might be accused, but I can prove a perfect alibi." "Mr. Lawrence," said Fleming Stone, more sternly than he had yet spoken, "you have over-reached[Pg 310] yourself. That very phrase, 'I can prove a perfect alibi,' gave me the first hint that your alibi was a manufactured one. An innocent man can rarely prove a perfect alibi. Not one man in a hundred can give accurate account to the minute of his goings and comings. Your alibi is too perfect; its very perfection is its flaw. Again, the idea of proving an alibi, or, rather, the idea of using that phrase, would not occur to an honest man. He would know that circumstances must prove his alibi. It was that which proved to me that Mr. Leroy and Mr. Gresham were innocent. I am informed that Mr. Leroy refused to tell exactly where he was at the time this crime was committed. Had he been guilty he would have had a previously prepared and perfectly plausible alibi. Then Mr. Gresham said frankly that he didn't know where he was at the particular hour about which Mr. Landon questioned him. Had he been the criminal, and left his handkerchief behind him by way of evidence, he, too, would have prearranged a story to tell glibly of his whereabouts. No, a perfect alibi should ordinarily lead to grave suspicion of the man making it, for it is ordinarily a concocted fiction. Again, it would have been a strange coincidence had your watch happened to run down, which you admit is a most unusual circumstance, at the only[Pg 311] time in your whole life when you had a reason for its doing so. Your watch did not run down; you pretended that it did so as to get an opportunity to fix the time—the apparent time—in the mind of the hall boy at your apartment. This is what you did: You returned to your apartment much later than 11.25. In the absence of the boy, probably while he was up with the elevator, you stepped in and changed the time on the office clock. You went out again, and after a moment came in as if just reaching home. You then asked the boy the time, and he told you, although he had supposed it to be much later. Again you overdid your work when, while going up in the elevator, you asked the boy again, as if to make sure of the time, but really to fix it firmly in his mind, that he might witness for you. Some time later, during the night, you probably slipped down-stairs, eluding the elevator, and corrected the clock. All this is corroborated by the fact of your calling Miss Waring's attention to the time when you left her house. You carefully brought to her notice that it was then exactly eleven o'clock, which it was." George Lawrence sat as if petrified; for the moment I think he was really more amazed at Fleming Stone's marvellous discoveries than alarmed at his own danger. He did not attempt to deny what[Pg 312] Stone had said; indeed, he could not, for under the peculiar magnetism of the speaker's gaze Lawrence seemed hypnotized, and his silence had tacitly affirmed each point as it was brought out against him. Suddenly he drew himself together with a bold shrug, as if preparing for a last desperate effort. "Your deductions are true in part," he said. "I did change the clock, as you so diabolically discovered, and I suppose I did overdo matters when I accounted for every minute too carefully. But, though it was a manufactured alibi, and though I had reasons of my own for wanting to account for my movements that night, it has nothing to do with Robert Pembroke's death, and couldn't have had; for, as you all know, though I have a latch-key, the door was chained all night." "Leaving that question, for a moment," said Fleming Stone, "let us consider these clues, which though apparently leading in various directions, point, Mr. Lawrence, directly and indubitably to yourself. When I was told by Mr. Landon of the several clues picked up in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, the morning after his murder, I was impressed at once by their number and variety. It was extraordinary to find so many objects, unrecognized by any member of the household, in the murdered[Pg 313] man's bedroom. Then, when I learned that some of these had been traced, and each so-called clue led to a different suspect, I saw at once that the situation was prearranged. The various clues were placed where they were found, exactly as a mine is 'salted' in expectation of prospectors. You, Mr. Lawrence, deliberately and with intent to throw suspicion in various directions, and thus baffle detectives,—you placed this key, this handkerchief, this time-table, and these torn tickets in the room where they were found. All this shows not only cleverness and ingenuity, but carefully prearranged plans. Where you obtained those precious 'clues,' I do not know, but at a guess I should venture to say that you picked up the ticket stubs in the street, as they show evidences of pavement dirt. The time-table has a distinct imprint of the roughened surface of the steel stair-binding. I think that as you came up the stairs, intent upon your deadly errand, you chanced to find that time-table, and left it behind you as one more distracting piece of evidence. But these details are of no importance. You salted the mine successfully, and by the diversity of your clues you led the honest efforts of the detectives in devious paths. But, after all, the missing money and the pin, used as a weapon, are the real clues. We have traced the pin,—to[Pg 314] you. We have traced the money,—to you. We have eliminated all possible suspicion of anyone else, and if you have anything to say by way of defense, or in any way concerning the matter, you may speak now." "I have only to say," said Lawrence, "that you have exhibited a marvelous ingenuity in building up this fabrication of falsehoods, but your whole structure falls to the ground in face of the positive evidence of the chain on the door. For though I have a latch key to the apartment, entrance is impossible when the chain bolt is on." "Oh," cried Janet, with a wail as of utter despair. "If your alibi is broken, George, then I know how you got in that door!" It was my turn to feel despair. Since the alibi was broken, Janet was practically confessing her complicity in the matter. "What do you mean, Janet?" said George sharply. "I couldn't get in unless you had let me in, and you didn't." "No," said Janet quietly; "I didn't. Nor did Charlotte. But I know how you got in—at least, how you could have got in." "I, too, know how you got into the apartment," said Fleming Stone; "and it was without the assistance,[Pg 315] and without the knowledge, of either Miss Pembroke or her servant." Again that wonderful gaze of Fleming Stone's sad, serious eyes seemed to compel Lawrence to speak against his will. "How did I get in?" he said hoarsely, bending forward as with the breathless suspense of a man taking his last chance. "It is not an easy matter to explain," said Fleming Stone, "nor can I show the method in this apartment; but if you will all come with me across the hall, I will demonstrate to you the possibility of entering a chained door." Without a word, we all crossed the hall and entered the Pembroke apartment. It was a cheerful, sunny suite of rooms, and its beautiful furniture and appointments seemed meant for a happy home life rather than grim tragedy. Fleming Stone went first, followed by Laura and George Lawrence. I followed with Janet, and, emboldened by her look of pathetic appeal, I clasped her hand in mine. When we were all inside Fleming Stone closed the door, the night-latch of which, of course, snapped itself. Lawrence still acted as one hypnotized. Seemingly with no volition of his own, he followed Fleming[Pg 316] Stone's movements, keeping his eyes fixed upon the detective as if literally unable to look elsewhere. After closing the door, Fleming Stone put on the night-chain. For the first time I looked at the chain carefully. It was a heavy brass chain, long enough, when the door was closed, for the end, on which was a sort of knob or button, to reach back to the opening provided for it, and then slide along the brass slot until it stopped at the other end and hung in a loop. It seemed to me no different from dozens of chains I had seen of the same sort. When it hung finally in position, Fleming Stone turned the knob and opened the door with a jerk, precisely as Charlotte had done on that memorable morning. "Is it not true," asked Mr. Stone, "that this door, with the chain on thus, has often been violently jerked open?" "Yes," said Janet; "Charlotte is very strong, and always pulls the door open sharply, forgetting the chain is there. And, too, Uncle Robert has often done the same thing, and his motions were always so vigorous that I thought sometimes he would break the chain." "There was no danger of breaking the chain,"[Pg 317] said Mr. Stone; "but the repeated jerks at it have so forced the end of the slot nearest the edge of the door, that the brass is sprung outward, and the knob on the end of the chain may be removed—not as easily as it can be at the other end, it is true, but with some ingenious handling." As he spoke, Fleming Stone, by some clever exertion, so twisted the knob on the end of the chain that it came out of the near end of the slot, with no necessity of pushing it back to the other end. I saw at once that this could be done also from the outside of the door, there being ample room when the door was ajar to slip one's hand in and free the chain in this manner. At this demonstration of an actual fact, Fleming Stone did not look at George Lawrence, but at Miss Pembroke. "You knew of this?" he said. "I feared it," replied Janet, and I think she would not have spoken but for those impelling eyes upon her. "I remember George was out one evening when he was living here, and I thoughtlessly put the chain on the door and went to bed. The next morning, when I found that he had let himself in in some way, I wondered at it, but concluded that I must have been mistaken, and had not put the[Pg 318] chain on. But I had noticed myself that the slot was sprung at this end, and I had been thinking that I would get a new and heavier chain bolt." My first thought was that Janet's puzzling demeanor was now explained, and I understood why she had so readily accepted my services. She had suspected George from the first, because she knew that with his latch-key and the defective chain-lock he could make his entrance. But his perfect alibi had deceived her, and relieved her fear, so that she was glad or sad according as his alibi was sustained or doubted. Janet's evidence, of course, left no doubt as to George's guilt. He saw this himself, and, seemingly at the end of his resources, he exclaimed: "It's no use. I may as well confess. I did kill Uncle Robert, but it was not premeditated, or, at least, not until a few moments before the deed. I want to make my confession to my cousin. I owe it to no one else." But although Lawrence said this, he never once moved his eyes from Fleming Stone's face, and seemed really to make his confession to him. "It was a violet pin I used, not a hat-pin. I—I had it, by accident, in my coat lapel all Wednesday afternoon at the matin�e. On account of disastrous losses in Wall Street that morning, I had determined[Pg 319] to kill myself. I'm not of much account, any way, and I was desperate. I knew Uncle Robert would give me no money to repay my stock losses, for he always thought speculation no better than any other sort of gambling—and it isn't. As I sat in the theatre, unconsciously my fingers trifled with the pin, and I conceived a notion of using that to take my own life, instead of a revolver. I went home to dress for dinner, and, still having the pin in my mind, I transferred it from my frock coat to my evening coat. As I stood looking at it while in my room, it occurred to me that were it not for the head of the pin I might push it into my flesh so far as to hide it. It would then be assumed, I thought, that I had died a natural death, and both the family and my memory would be saved the stigma of suicide. Acting on this thought, I laid the pin on the hearthstone and crushed off its glass head with my heel. Without definite intention as to when or where I should carry out my plan, I put the pin in my coat and went on to Miss Waring's dinner. It was as I sat at the dinner table, and looked around at other men of my own age and class, that I suddenly realized I did not want to give up a life which held promise of many years of pleasure, could I but tide over my financial troubles. I knew, too, that at Uncle Robert's death I should inherit enough[Pg 320] to make good my losses, and an ample fortune besides. It was then, I think, that the thought came to me, why should not Uncle Robert die instead of myself? He was old, he had no joy in life, he made my cousin's life a burden to her, and his death would free us both from his tyranny. I'm not saying this by way of excuse or palliation, but simply to tell you how it occurred. Like a flash I realized that if my own death by means of the headless pin might be attributed to natural causes, the same would be true of Uncle Robert's death. I knew I could get into the apartment in the same way I had done before, and I knew, too, that as the chain slot was even more pulled out of shape now than it was then, I could with some manipulation replace the chain before closing the door. I think I need not say that I had no thought of implicating my cousin, for I had no thought of the pin being discovered. The idea obsessed me. The deed seemed inevitable. My brain was especially active, and planned the details with almost superhuman ingenuity. I left Miss Waring's at eleven o'clock, calling her attention to the fact purposely. I walked over here rather slowly, planning as I walked. I resolved, as Mr. Stone has remarked, to leave a misleading clue or two behind me. I searched the pavement as I walked, for something[Pg 321] that would answer my purpose, and was surprised to see how little may be gleaned along a New York street. I found the two ticket stubs, evidently thrown away by someone, and put them in my pocket. Near here, less than two blocks away, I saw a shining object on the sidewalk, and picked up a key, which I was more than surprised to have traced to Mr. Leroy. I suppose he dropped it when he was hanging around here, beneath my cousin's window, on his way to the midnight train. I then came on to this house, and, after loitering about a minute in the street, I saw the elevator begin to rise. The main front door is always open, and I came in and walked up-stairs. It is easy to evade the elevator, even if it passes. On the stairs I found the time-table. And then I came——" Lawrence stopped. Even his hardy bravado and indomitable will gave way before the picture that now came into his mind. His swaggering narrative ceased. His eyes fell, his mouth drooped, and he seemed on the verge of collapse. Fleming Stone's quiet, even voice broke the silence. "And the handkerchief?" he said. "It came in my laundry, by mistake," answered Lawrence, and he spoke like an automaton, his intelligence seeming to hang on the will of Fleming Stone. [Pg 322] "You brought it with you on purpose?" "No; not that. When I left home my plans were entirely different, as I have told you. But I picked up the handkerchief hastily, and though noticing it was not my own, I thrust it into my pocket without thinking much about it." "And then when you wanted evidence to incriminate some one other than yourself, you thought of those unknown initials, and flung the handkerchief on the bed." "Yes," said Lawrence, still as if hypnotized by Stone's compelling glance. "And afterwards——?" "Afterwards—afterwards—I went out and got down-stairs the same way, having waited until the elevator was on the floor above. I felt like a man in a dream, but I knew that now I must establish my alibi. This I did exactly as Mr. Stone has described. I took great chances in tampering with the office clock, but I knew the boy to be of a stupid, dull-witted type, and, too, he was always half asleep during night hours. Again I watched my chance to elude the elevator, and slipped down-stairs later to set the clock right again. I suppose I overdid it in asking the boy the time twice, and also in drawing attention to the clock when it struck eleven." "That is so," said Fleming Stone. "A perfect[Pg 323] alibi is not possible unless it is a true one, and then it proves itself without any effort of anybody." <hr class="tb" /> But all this happened many years ago. It is indeed a painful memory, but time has blended away its poignancy. George Lawrence was arrested, but found the means to take his own life before his trial could be begun. Janet being left with a large fortune, went abroad at once and Laura accompanied her. The two became close friends, and when, some months later, I joined them in Italy, the course of true love began to run smoothly, and has continued to do so ever since. Nor has it been difficult to understand Janet. For all queerness and contradictoriness disappeared after the mystery was solved. It was all because she suspected her cousin that she had endeavored to suppress any evidence that might throw suspicion toward him. He had asked her to get money for him from Robert Pembroke. She had asked her uncle for this, and he had told her that if she'd marry Leroy, he would give her not only the money she asked for, but much more. Knowing, as she did, of the defective bolt, she knew there was grave reason to suspect George both of murder and robbery. But once convinced of his alibi, she hoped the guilt might be placed elsewhere. [Pg 324] Also, of course, the life she led with her erratic and ill-tempered uncle affected her spirits, and made her lose temporarily the joyful and happy disposition that was really her own, and that was permanently restored after new scenes and new friends had caused her to forget the dreadful past. Janet has been my wife for many years now, and, though we live in New York, our home is far removed from the Hammersleigh; and though our door is securely locked, we have never had it guarded by what was to Fleming Stone a chain of evidence. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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