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<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> <h3>THE EVIDENCE OF THE CHECKBOOK</h3> 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[Pg 41] 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[Pg 42] 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[Pg 43] 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."[Pg 44] 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."[Pg 45] "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[Pg 46] 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?"[Pg 47] "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?"[Pg 48] "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,[Pg 49] 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." "Did you move anything in the room?" "No, sir, only so much as was necessary to get around. The table that was upset had a 'lectric lamp on it, which had a long danglin' green cord, 'cause it was put in after the reg'lar wirin' was done. I coiled up that 'ere cord, and picked up the pieces of broken glass, so's we could step around. But I left the bag and pocket-book and all, just where they was flung. And the litter from the desk, all over the floor, I didn't touch that, neither—nor I didn't touch the body."[Pg 50] Purdy's voice faltered and his old eyes filled with tears. "You did well," commended the coroner, nodding his head kindly at him, "just one more question. Was Mrs. Pell in her usual good spirits yesterday? Did she do anything or say anything that seemed out of the ordinary?" "No," and Purdy shook his head. "I don't think so, do you, Polly?" "Not that I noticed," said his wife. "She cut up an awful trick on Miss Iris, but that wasn't to say unusual." "What was it?" and the coroner listened to an account of the date with ink in it. The story was told by Mrs. Bowen, as Iris refused to talk at all. "A pretty mean trick," was the coroner's opinion. "Didn't you resent it, Miss Clyde?" "She did not," spoke up the rector, in a decided way. "Miss Clyde is a young woman of too much sense and also of too much affection for her dear aunt, to resent a good-humored jest——" "Good-humored jest!" exclaimed Hughes. "Going some! a jest like that—spoilin' a young girl's pretty Sunday frock——" "Never mind, Hughes," reproved Timken, "we're not judging Mrs. Pell's conduct now. This is an investigation, a preliminary inquiry, rather, but not[Pg 51] a judgment seat. Miss Clyde, I must ask that you answer me a few questions. You left your aunt's presence directly after your guests had departed?" "Within a few moments of their leaving." "She was then in her usual health and good spirits?" "So far as I know." "Any conversation passed between you?' "Only a little." "Amicable?' "What do you mean by that?" "Friendly—affectionate—not quarrelsome." "It was not exactly affectionate, as I told her I was displeased at her spoiling my gown." "Ah. And what did she say?" "That she would buy me another." "Did that content you?" "I wasn't discontented. I was annoyed at her unkind trick, and I told her so. That is all." "Of course that is all," again interrupted Mr. Bowen. "I can answer for the cordial relationship between aunt and niece and I can vouch for the fact that these merry jests didn't really stir up dissension between these two estimable people. Why, only to-day, Mrs. Pell was dilating on the wonderful legacies she meant to bestow on Miss Clyde. She also referred to a jeweled chalice for my church, but I am[Pg 52] sure these remarks were in no way prompted by any thought of immediate death. On the contrary, she was in gayer spirits than I have ever seen her." "I think she was over-excited," said Mrs. Bowen, thoughtfully. "Don't you, Iris? She was giggling in an almost hysterical manner, it seemed to me." "I didn't notice," said Iris, wearily. "Aunt Ursula was a creature of moods. She was grave or gay without apparent reason. I put up with her silly jokes usually, but to-day's performance seemed unnecessary and unkind. However, it doesn't matter now." "No," declared Winston Bannard, "and it does no good to rake over the old lady's queer ways. We all know about her habit of playing tricks, and I, for one, don't wonder that Polly thought she screamed out to trick somebody. Nor does it matter. If Polly hadn't thought that, she couldn't have done any more than she did do to get into that room as soon as possible. Could she, now?" "No," agreed the coroner. "Nor does it really affect our problem of how the murder was committed." "Let me have a look into that room," said Bannard, suddenly. "You a detective?" asked Timken.[Pg 53] "Not a bit of it, but I want to see its condition." "Come on in," said the other. "They've put Mrs. Pell's body on the couch, but, except for that, nothing's been touched." Hughes went in with Bannard and the coroner, and the three men were joined by Lawyer Chapin. Silently they took in the details. The still figure on the couch, with face solemnly covered, seemed to make conversation undesirable. Hughes alertly moved about peering at things but touching almost nothing. Bannard and Mr. Chapin stood motionless gazing at the evidences of crime. "Got a cigarette?" whispered Hughes to Bannard and mechanically the young man took out his case and offered it. The detective took one and then continued his minute examination of the room and its appointments. At last he sat down in front of the desk and began to look through such papers as remained in place. There were many pigeonholes and compartments, which held small memorandum books and old letters and stationery. Hughes opened and closed several books, and then suddenly turned to Bannard with this question. "You haven't been up here to-day, have you,[Pg 54] Mr. Bannard? I mean, before you came up this evening." "N-no, certainly not," was the answer, and the man looked decidedly annoyed. "What are you getting at, Mr. Hughes?" "Oh, nothing. Where have you been all day, Mr. Bannard?" "In New York city.' "Not been out of it?" "I went out this morning for a bicycle ride, my favorite form of exercise. Am I being quizzed?" "You are. You state that you were not up here, in this room, this afternoon, about three o'clock?" "I certainly do affirm that! Why?" "Because I observe here on the desk a half-smoked cigarette of the same kind you just gave me. "And you think that is incriminating evidence! A little far-fetched, Mr. Hughes." "Also, on this chair is a New York paper of to-day's date, and not the one that is usually taken in this house." "Indeed!" but Winston Bannard had turned pale. "And," continued Hughes, holding up a check-book, "this last stub in Mrs. Pell's check-book[Pg 55] shows that she made out to you to-day, a check for five thousand dollars!" "What!" cried Mr. Chapin. "Yes, sir, a check stub, in Mrs. Pell's own writing, dated to-day! Where is that check, Mr. Winston Bannard, and when did you get it? And why did you kill your aunt afterward? What were you searching this room for? Come, sir, speak up!"[Pg 56] <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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