Read Ebook: A Master Hand: The Story of a Crime by Dallas Richard

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Ebook has 990 lines and 54249 words, and 20 pages

"He has probably some trifling matter on his mind," I suggested, "the seriousness of which he morbidly exaggerates. He is a nervous fellow anyhow, and has several times hinted to me that he wanted to make a confidant of me about something. I am inclined to believe," I continued, expressing a thought I had entertained before, "that he feels he has been guilty of an injustice to his cousin, Winters, in taking the bulk of his uncle's fortune, and suffers some remorse when he sees the poor fellow going to the bad. For that matter, however," I concluded, "he would have gone there anyhow, and all the faster for a little money."

"It may be there is a woman in the case," said Littell; "it seems to me I have heard of an entanglement of some sort."

"So they say," I answered, "but I don't see why an affair of that sort should give him cause for much worry."

"Well, whatever it is," said Van Bult, "he had better pull himself together and go away for a change. One of you fellows suggest it to him, you know him better than I do. He may give you an opportunity to-morrow, Dallas," he continued, "if he goes to see you as he said he would."

Littell asked if Davis was still with him, and the man replied, "No"; that "Mr. Davis had been leaving at the same time." He then bade us good-night, and went on.

Van Bult here left us, and Littell and I walked as far as Madison Square together, where I crossed over and Littell continued on.

As I entered the club and went up to my room, it was still a little before one o'clock.

Contrary to the usual experiences as claimed of my fellow-men under similar circumstances, I do not recall that I had any misgivings that night or premonition of any sort of the terrible work that was to be done before day. Indeed, as well as I remember, I retired in an entirely placid frame of mind, and slept well.

I doubt if I should ever have thought again of the occurrences of the evening, which after all were commonplace enough, were it not for the sequel that made every word and moment seem fraught with meaning. So, always, it is not the sayings and doings of men that are important but the sequence and sequel of events for which they are but the signs and tools.

A TRAGEDY

I was awakened the next morning earlier than usual by a servant who announced in a hushed voice that Mr. White's man wanted to see me at once. I was naturally disinclined to get up at that hour, it being but a little after seven o'clock, and so directed that the man send me White's message. The reply that Mr. White was dead took me out of bed in a flash, and while I hurried into my clothes, the servant, in obedience to my order, went after Benton. Although but a few minutes had elapsed, I was about dressed when he appeared at the door.

"Is it true," I asked, "that Mr. White is dead?"

"Yes," he answered, and then coming in and closing the door, whispered:

"He was murdered some time last night. I found him dead on the divan in the sitting-room, when I went there this morning."

The news was almost too horrible to believe; but the white face and trembling voice of the man who told it, carried conviction.

"How do you know he was murdered," I asked, after a moment's silence.

"He was stabbed," he said; "the dagger was sticking in him up to the hilt."

"Come on!" I told him, for now I was dressed, and I hurried down the stairs and out of the club, Benton following.

As we walked rapidly toward the house the events of the preceding night recurred to me, but I had no time then nor was I in a sufficiently composed mind to analyze them nor find their bearing, if any, on the subsequent events of the night. Of Benton I asked no more questions; it did not seem worth the while. He had apparently told all he knew of real importance or if he knew more it was not likely I could easily elicit it. Afterwards, I over and over again tried to trace in the events of that evening some drift towards this tragedy, and I had much to ask of Benton. But later I will tell of it all.

When we reached the house, Benton still dogging my footsteps, a few idlers gathered about the door were the only evidence of anything unusual having happened; but as I entered the doorway, I was stopped by a policeman, who refused me admission. He recognized Benton, however, and sent him for some superior, who appeared in the person of Detective Miles, whom I knew, and who admitted me. I remember I hesitated at the sitting-room entrance. It was terrible to think of looking upon the dead body of a man I had left strong and well only a few hours before. The detective observed my action as he stood by to let me enter and said:

"It is a case of murder, Mr. Dallas, but there are no evidences of a struggle, and the victim looks as if he were only asleep."

A little ashamed of my momentary weakness, I crossed the threshold and stood in the room. For a moment I looked about me, avoiding unconsciously the first glance at the poor boy whom I knew lay on the divan. Everything seemed as we had left it the night before. The cards and score-card were still scattered over the centre table, the dishes and glasses stood on the sideboard--they had not even been washed,--and as far as I could judge, the chairs were arranged just as we had occupied them; it was hard to realize I had been away. Then I looked at the divan. Yes, White was there, and, as the detective had said, looked as if asleep. He was dressed as when I left him, in his evening clothes, and lay as a tired boy might have tossed himself down, resting on his right side with his head drooping on the edge of the pillow, one arm thrown over it, and his face partially hidden.

For a moment I thought it all must be some horrible mistake or a dream, so impossible did it seem that he was dead, but then, the detective, who had stepped to the divan, placed his hand significantly on something scarcely observable protruding from his back, just behind the left shoulder. It was the hilt of a dagger; the blade was buried.

I went over and stood beside the detective, and looked down at the body and felt the hand. It was cold. Death must have been some hours before. There could not have been much, if any, struggle, and there were no signs of violence, except the dagger. This had apparently been taken from its sheath, which was still suspended from the wall, within easy reach, just over the divan. I had seen all I needed to tell me the man had probably been murdered in his sleep, and I turned away to look more carefully about the room.

Already the influence of my training in the District Attorney's office was asserting itself, and I was looking for evidences of the criminal, even while sorrowing for my friend. At the first glance, as I have said, nothing had appeared changed in the room or its contents since I had left it the previous night, or rather that morning, but now as my eye fell upon the cards scattered over the centre table, and the score-card still undisturbed, I remembered the money that Van Bult had placed upon the table and that was still there when I left. It was now gone. I looked on the floor where it might have fallen, but could see it nowhere; some one had taken it or perhaps it was in the dead man's pocket; but that would be determined at the right time, and I passed it by for further study of the room.

Just at this time Ned Davis, whom I had not observed on first entering, crossed over to me from a seat by the piano, and asked what I made of it, adding some expression of horror at the terrible event. I told him I could form no theory as yet; then he called my attention to the fact that a plaid ulster that White was in the habit of wearing in rough weather, and which had been lying across a chair near the window, had disappeared.

I remembered it, also, but its disappearance seemed unaccountable upon any theory, and I concluded it would be found somewhere in the room or hall and dismissed it from my mind for the time. I asked Davis if he had seen either Littell or Van Bult, but he said no; that he had been aroused about seven o'clock by a maid servant of the house who was almost hysterical, and only managed to tell him to go down and "see what was there." He had dressed hastily and come down to find things as I saw them, only that there was no one present at that time but a policeman and the landlady, the former standing guard over the door, which was open, and the latter sitting in a half-dazed state on a chair in the hall. That shortly afterwards another officer had appeared with the man to whom I had been talking, he presumed a detective, and he had then been admitted to the room, but not questioned in any way or permitted to touch anything. He said Benton had also appeared at the door with the detective and officer, but had rushed off again somewhere, and that he had seen no one else, except a few of the inmates of the house, and Dr. Lincoln, who had come in, pronounced White dead and left again, saying that he would return at once.

I then turned from Davis, who had resumed his seat, and rejoined the detective, but the latter knew less even than we, for to my question--what did he make of it?--he answered "Nothing yet. The man has been murdered, I think, that is all."

I had seen more or less of this man, Miles, and knew him to be cleverer than the average detective, intelligent, and experienced in his business, and disinclined to hazard opinions prematurely or unofficially, and though I might by insistence have gleaned further expression from him on account of my more or less authoritative position, I did not think it advisable at the time, and allowed the matter to pass to give my attention to Benton, who had just returned.

He told me he had sent a message to Littell at his hotel, and that he would be down at once; also that he had been to Van Bult's rooms, but that the latter had left the city by an early train, and his servant did not know when he would return.

After a while, I saw Littell, who had come in without my observation, standing near the body. He turned away just then, and seeing me, came over and joined me, but further than a mutual expression of grief and horror, we had neither of us anything to say, and stood silently observing the scene.

He recognized and spoke to Davis, and asked where Van Bult was. I told him Benton's report, and he said nothing further. After a while the Inspector of Police directed every one but the officials to leave the room, and Littell and Davis were excluded with the others. I, by virtue of my office, remained and joined the Inspector.

He said the Coroner's jury were about to view the body and the premises, and that after they were gone the police would make a thorough investigation and I decided to remain till it was completed. Very shortly the Coroner and his jury entered, and the latter, after their usual fashion, stood huddled together and stared about them.

Most of them seemed to take chief interest in a morbid way in the body and one or two were inclined to handle it, but this was stopped by the Coroner, who promptly proceeded to herd them and march them through the rooms.

After they had made a tour of the sitting-room, they followed in wake of the Coroner, through the passageway and bedroom and back into the sitting-room again. How much they really did observe that was worth while, I don't know, but I think very little. This formal ceremony over, they were indulged in another look at poor White and then taken away to meet later to "hear evidence and find a verdict."

Once they were gone, I drew a sigh of relief and in company with the Inspector and detective entered upon what was the real search of the premises. With the sitting-room and its contents I was very familiar, and nothing new was developed to interest me until the detective, leaning over the divan and White's body, reached down between it and the wall, where there was a space of a few inches, and brought out a small plaid cap that I recognized as being a match to the plaid ulster that was missing.

The cap had been lying on the floor directly under White's head, where it partially hung over the divan, and had apparently fallen there when he lay down. On seeing it I could not suppress an exclamation of surprise which drew the attention of the officers; so I explained to them that I had not seen the cap since the night before, when it had been lying on a chair with the ulster, and that from its present place I concluded White must have worn it, whereas I had not supposed he had gone out after I had left him.

"But he did go out," said the Inspector, "and not very long after you left."

"But if he wore that cap," I inquired, "how about the ulster that was here last night. Where is it gone?"

"We don't know yet," he replied, "what he wore when he went out; we only know that he did go out." This ended the discussion of the subject for the time.

From the sitting-room we went through the passageway, which contained nothing but some coats and hats hanging from hooks, the plaid ulster not being among them, and then into the bedroom. I saw nothing of interest here; the room was comfortably furnished, but not unusual in any way. The bed had not been disturbed, and everything was in perfect order. Two windows in the rear opened into a yard about six feet below, and one was down from the top, about six inches; otherwise they were closed and the blinds drawn.

A door leading into the rear of the hall was also closed, and locked on the inside. Here, too, there was no sign of the plaid ulster which now seemed to me to bear some relation to the mystery.

Finding nothing further to especially interest me I left the officers to continue their search, and after looking through the adjoining bathroom, that disclosed nothing new, returned to the bedroom and thence, passing the policeman standing guard at the door, went out of the house.

It was now past eleven o'clock, and I had eaten nothing that day. Still I was not hungry, but a feeling of faintness admonished me I must breakfast and at once, if only to fit myself for the difficulties of the case, for I had by this time determined to make it my special duty, if I could secure the consent of the District Attorney thereto.

After breakfasting at a neighboring restaurant, I took the "L" road to my office, studying on the way over the facts surrounding White's death as far as I knew them, but only two things seemed to promise any clue to the mystery,--the missing money and ulster.

THE SUSPECT

On reaching the offices, I at once sought an interview with the District Attorney and found him expecting me. He had, of course, learned of the tragedy from police headquarters, and of my presence on the scene.

There was little I could tell him that he did not already know. The information he had received, however, was but a meagre statement of facts and supplied no clue to the criminal.

"I suppose," he said, "it will prove an ordinary case of burglary and incidental murder, and I have no doubt the police will soon run down their man."

With this expectation I could not so readily agree, and told him so. I explained to him that while the disappearance of the money I knew to have been on the table seemed to bear out his view, the absence of the ulster showed something in the case that would have to be explained.

"Well, Dallas," he said, "I confess I don't see why the ulster should not have been stolen as well as the money, and I doubt if we find the case in any way unusual, but perhaps you are right. Suppose you take charge of it for the office and follow it up!"

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