Read Ebook: The unseen ear by Lincoln Natalie Sumner

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1576 lines and 56139 words, and 32 pages

band, and when she died within the year of their marriage, she left him, then about five years of age, to John to bring up, and he legally adopted him, giving him our name. John," she added, "is very kind-hearted, if somewhat hasty in his actions."

Reminded of his cigarette by his burned fingers, Richards dropped the stub in his coffee cup and started to light another just as Maud, the parlor maid, appeared in the dining room.

"Detective Ferguson has called to see Mr. John," she announced, addressing Mrs. Hale. "Do you know when he will return, ma'am?"

"I do not," Mrs. Hale pushed back her chair and rose with alacrity. "Where is the detective?"

"In the library, ma'am."

"Show him into the drawing-room," Mrs. Hale directed, and not giving Richards an opportunity to pull back the porti?res before the entrance to the large room which adjoined the dining room on the west, she swept majestically away.

"Maud!" The parlor maid halted as Richards' low voice reached her. "Did my wife eat her breakfast?"

"Yes, sir, a little." Maud's sympathetic smile blossomed forth as she caught Richards' pleased expression. She lingered before speeding on her errand to the waiting detective. "Miss Judith has brightened considerable since I gave her Miss Polly's answer."

Richards' strong hand caressed his clean-shaven chin. "And what was the answer?" he questioned. "Verbal?"

"Oh, yes, sir; James brought back word that Miss Polly would be right over, and so I told Miss Judith."

"Thank you, Maud," and the parlor maid felt rewarded by Richards' charming smile.

Richards had become a favorite with the servants, who idolized "Miss Judith," as they still persisted in calling her. They had awaited with interest the arrival of the bride and groom two weeks before, an interest intensified by the storm which had arisen on receipt of Judith's cablegram to her father telling of her marriage in far-away Japan to Joseph Richards.

Robert Hale had made no attempt to conceal or modify his fury while Mrs. Hale, deeply hurt by what she termed her "unfilial conduct," had promptly made the best of the situation and endeavored to persuade her husband to accept the inevitable and cable Judith their forgiveness. Hale, anxious to return to his scientific experiments, finally succumbed to her arguments, backed up by those of his brother John, and, going a step further than his wife had expected, added an invitation to return to the paternal roof.

Richards had borne himself well under the inspection of his wife's family, and Hale had grudgingly admitted to his wife that perhaps he wasn't such a bad lot after all, to which Mrs. Hale, who had been won by Richards' charm of manner and handsome presence, had indignantly responded that Judith had been most fortunate in her selection of a husband. Hale's only response had been a sardonic grin.

As the parlor maid hurried down the hall, Richards paused in thought; Mrs. Hale had not invited him to go with her to the drawing-room, but--with bent head he meditatively paced up and down, his steps involuntarily carrying him nearer and nearer the porti?res; as he paused irresolutely before them, Mrs. Hale's voice came to him clearly.

"Detective Ferguson, I must insist on an answer to my question."

Richards jerked the porti?res aside and without ceremony entered the drawing-room. Ferguson turned at sound of his footsteps and bowed to him before answering Mrs. Hale who was regarding him with fixed attention.

"I can't tell you anything, Mrs. Hale," he protested. "I came here to get information."

"What information?" Mrs. Hale had frowned at sight of Richards, then, her momentary displeasure gone, addressed herself to the detective. She enjoyed the r?le of inquisitor.

"I wanted to talk with Mr. John Hale."

"He is out."

"So your maid said." Ferguson fingered the table ornaments with restless fingers; he was getting nowhere and time was slipping away. "Where's he gone?"

Richards answered the question. "To the cemetery, I understood him to say." He glanced at his watch. "Mr. Hale should be back in a very short time."

"Then I'll wait, Major," and Ferguson, who had secretly resented Mrs. Hale's discourtesy in not asking him to be seated, jerked forward a chair and threw himself into it. "Can I see your husband, madam?"

"You cannot." Mrs. Hale rapped out the reply, and Richards shot a quick look of inquiry in her direction. "My husband is under Dr. McLane's care, and until the doctor gives permission he cannot be interviewed."

"Dr. McLane," repeated Ferguson, and his face brightened. "The doctor came in just before I did. Will you please send him word that I would like to see him before he leaves?"

Mrs. Hale considered for a brief second, then turned to Richards who was standing near the mantel. "Please touch the bell for Maud," and as he did so, she again spoke to Ferguson.

"Why do you desire to see my husband?" she asked, and her manner had regained its usual suavity.

"To question him regarding the occurrences of last night," answered Ferguson. "Have you already done so?" and he eyed her keenly.

Mrs. Hale shook her head, but before she could otherwise reply, Maud came into the room.

"Ask Dr. McLane to come here before he leaves," she directed. "Tell him that Detective Ferguson and I both wish to see him," and Maud vanished. Mrs. Hale settled herself back in her chair and regarded Ferguson attentively. There was a bull-dog air about the detective that warned her he was not to be trifled with. In spite of her haphazard characteristics and total lack of tact, she recognized determination in the opposite sex, though never giving in to her own.

"What did you ask me, Mr. Ferguson?" she inquired sweetly.

"Have you told your husband of the death of Austin Hale?" Ferguson put the direct question with quiet emphasis, and she answered it in kind.

"I have not," adding before he could speak, "My husband was asleep when I went to our rooms after my interview with you this morning, and when he awoke two hours ago he complained of feeling feverish, so I forbore breaking the news to him until after Dr. McLane's visit."

Francis Latimer, senior member of the firm of Latimer and House, stockbrokers, was one of the popular bachelors of Washington. Inclined to embonpoint, of medium height, a little bald, and wearing round, horn spectacles, he resembled in his fastidiousness of dress and deportment a Pickwick in modern attire. At the moment his face, generally round and rosy with an ever present smile, wore an unusual seriousness of expression as he greeted Mrs. Hale and Richards. He glanced inquiringly at Ferguson and returned that official's bow with a courteous inclination of his head.

"Detective Ferguson has been waiting to see you, John," explained Mrs. Hale, as the men stood for a second in silence.

Ferguson stepped forward. "You told me to call at ten o'clock, Mr. Hale," he reminded him, and John nodded.

"So I did," he acknowledged. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, but I had to see the superintendent of the cemetery," he stopped and cleared his voice. "Latimer and I have just returned from making arrangements for the funeral services. Have you," again a slight huskiness in his usually clear voice slurred his words, "have you heard, Ferguson, the result of the autopsy?"

"Dr. McLane,"--the detective gave no one an opportunity to greet the busy surgeon--"you were present with Coroner Penfield at the post-mortem examination of young Hale, were you not?"

"Yes." McLane took the hand Mrs. Hale extended to him and gave it a reassuring squeeze; he judged from her unaccustomed pallor that she was much upset. "Yes, well?" and he looked inquiringly at the detective.

"Tell us the result, doctor," urged Ferguson, and added as McLane hesitated, "You will be betraying no confidences, because the coroner telephoned me to stop and see him about it when I leave here."

"Go ahead, McLane," broke in John Hale. "I am entitled to know what caused Austin's death--don't keep me in suspense any longer," and McLane, looking at him closely, saw that tiny beads of sweat had gathered on Hale's forehead.

John Hale, who measured six feet two in his stocking feet, presented a striking contrast to Frank Latimer as they stood side by side, a contrast Washington society had laughed at and grown accustomed to. Their Damon and Pythias friendship had commenced when they were students at Harvard University and, continued through the years of their separation when John Hale was in Mexico, was cemented again upon the latter's return to make his home permanently in the National Capital. Hale was the elder by two years. His healthy out-of-door life showed in the breadth of his shoulders and deep chest, and he was seldom credited with being forty-seven years of age. For the first time McLane became aware of the crow's-feet discernible under his eyes as John Hale moved nearer him.

"Coroner Penfield's examination," McLane stated, "proved that Austin died as the result of a wound in the chest. The weapon penetrated the right ventricle of the heart, and death was due to internal hemorrhage."

A heavy sob broke from Mrs. Hale. "Oh, poor Austin!" she lamented. "Oh, why did he do so mad an act?"

"Explain your meaning, madam," insisted Ferguson quickly, and held up a cautioning hand as John Hale was about to interrupt her.

"Was the wound self-inflicted, doctor?" questioned Ferguson, and Mrs. Hale grew conscious of the strained attention of her companions as they waited in silence for McLane's answer.

The surgeon answered with a question.

"Was any weapon found by the body?"

Ferguson took from his pocket a package wrapped in oilskin. Removing the wrapping, he exhibited a pair of long slender shears. One blade was covered with bloodstains.

"These shears were lying near the body," he announced.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet