The Mystery of the Hidden Room Part 21

"Well?" I questioned, decidedly puzzled.

"I wish I knew whether Darwin made his capitals with a flourish,"

returned McKelvie. "The initial letter of the name on the sc.r.a.p Jones so obligingly showed me had been burned away, leaving only the first stroke of the letter visible. If Darwin made his capitals like the first set on this sheet," tapping the paper I still held, "then the will might have been in favor of either the wife or the nephew and there is no way of proving which, except by taking Cunningham's statement as truth. If, on the other hand, Darwin made his capitals like the second set, then the will he destroyed was in favor of Lee Darwin, and Lawyer Cunningham was guilty of prevarication at the inquest. It makes a nice little problem to think about. I must find an answer to it as speedily as possible."

"Ruth would know Darwin's hand," I said eagerly.

"But the prison authorities aren't going to let us run in and out of the Tombs every time we happen to think of something we should like to know about," he replied dryly.

Piqued by the irony in his voice I remained silent, for I was not yet sufficiently accustomed to his manner to let his sarcasms pa.s.s unnoticed, and the remainder of the drive was accomplished in unbroken silence on both our parts.

CHAPTER XVII

THE LAMP

The moment we drew up before the house, McKelvie sprang out and disappeared from view. I switched off the motor and clambered out to find Jenkins waiting for me. He nodded in the direction of the grounds and as I had no mind to hunt for McKelvie I was on the point of ascending the steps when he appeared suddenly from behind a clump of bushes.

"Just taking stock of the general atmosphere, as it were," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the grounds, which made me take a second look at my surroundings.

My first visit had not been conducive to leisurely inspection and I now saw that the house was exceedingly unusual, a replica of the relic of a bygone age, although by no means so very old itself. It had been modeled after a type of dwelling that is now obsolete, but which was much in vogue when the English held sway over the Island of Manhattan, and was a ma.s.sive affair with the servants' wing tacked on at the back like an after-thought (which it probably was, since it looked newer than the original domicile), and connected with the main building by a narrow enclosed pa.s.sageway.

The entire structure, including the garage in the rear, stood directly in the center of the vast grounds, and was completely screened from the view of the curious by the forest of trees that surrounded it. It was an odd house, and it is a great pity it is no longer standing, but in a way I can hardly blame the heirs for having had it torn down and a modern home built on the site, since it must forever have remained coupled in their minds with a.s.sociations which we who were in any way connected with the events which took place in that house, were all of us endeavoring to forget.

"Only two things to be learned here," said McKelvie. "First, that it would be easy for anyone to enter or leave the grounds unnoticed on a dark night."

"And it was dark that night, beastly dark," I interrupted.

"And secondly, that there is more s.p.a.ce occupied by the left side of the house than by the right."

He pointed to the building and I saw what he meant. The left side jutted out almost beyond the steps. The right side was cut off level with the topmost gradient and in line with the front door.

"What a curious way to build a house," I remarked. "What's the interpretation, McKelvie?"

His answer was to spring up the steps and ring the bell. He waited a few minutes, then hearing no sound rang again.

"It's no good," said McKelvie, with a shrug, after our third attempt to rouse the inmates. "They've probably deserted the s.h.i.+p. It's a habit with servants when things go wrong in a house. Jenkins, go around back and see if you can unearth the butler. He can be depended upon to have remained behind. Tell him that Mr. Davies wishes to enter the house."

As Jenkins disappeared, McKelvie continued: "Strange that Orton hasn't the gumption to find out what's wanted."

"He left the house for good after the inquest," I returned. "I doubt if there is anyone living here now."

"What about young Darwin?"

"Lee? The last I heard of him he had gone South."

"Lee Darwin gone South?" he repeated. "How do you know?"

"I forgot to mention it last night, but when I first called on you I also went to the Yale Club. They told me Lee had left for the South the previous afternoon. At the time I thought it queer that he should go so soon after the murder, without waiting to attend his uncle's funeral."

"It was odd. I'll have to start somebody on his trail at once. Did you know that he was here the night of the murder?"

"Here in the house?" I gasped.

"No. Outside the study window," he returned.

"But McKelvie," I answered, thinking to trip him, "that footprint was made by Lee Darwin in leaving the study."

"What footprint?" He stared at me in evident surprise.

"I understood you to mean that you had deduced Lee's presence from the footprint that Jones discovered," I returned abashed.

He laughed heartily. "My dear man, where are your reasoning powers?

Footprints don't last forever and we have had a shower since the murder.

Besides I'm not clairvoyant enough to guess by a look at the imprint whose shoe made it. No, I base my deduction on this."

He held up a stick-pin of a peculiar dull brown hue, made in the shape of the head of a bulldog. On the gold setting around the base of the head had been engraved the name, L. Darwin.

"Where did you find it?" I asked eagerly, as he slipped it into his wallet.

"Beneath the first two windows of the study the ivy has grown very thickly. I found the pin close to the wall and directly beneath the second window, entangled in the vine. The head is exactly the color of the ivy stem and it had remained unnoticed. I saw it because I was hoping to find proof of his presence there."

"But I do not see how you could possibly know he had been there," I objected.

"I've learned to read between the lines and I spent the night in thoroughly acquainting myself with the inquest. Besides, Mr. Davies, you have a very retentive mind and you told me more than you guessed last night. One of the things you emphasized was the fact that Lee Darwin had seemed to know that his uncle was dead when he saw the coroner, and that he had turned deathly pale when suddenly accused of being outside the study that fatal night. You ended by saying that although that point was cleared up to everyone's satisfaction you were still persuaded that the young man knew more than he gave out, and I agree with you there."

"But if he witnessed events, why doesn't he clear Ruth then?" I protested.

"I didn't say he saw anything. I merely said he was there," he retorted, and refused to discuss the point further, which was just as well perhaps, for Jenkins was holding the door open and there was much to be done if McKelvie was to clear Ruth before her trial.

As we entered I noticed Mason hovering in the background, and I nodded to him. "Mason, this gentleman is a detective who has come to solve the mystery of your master's death. I should be obliged if you would let him in whenever he comes here."

"Yes, sir, indeed I will, sir. Master was my master and I'm not saying anything against the dead, sir, but I'd like to see someone else swing for it, indeed I would, sir," he said in a troubled whisper.

"Thank you, Mason. That is all. If we need you we shall call you."

He moved slowly toward the servants' entrance and I turned to look for McKelvie. He had been examining the lock of the front door, and now he was employed in measuring the respective distances of the stairs and the drawing-room door from that of the study. As Mason disappeared, however, McKelvie looked up at me with a smile.

"Ready?" he inquired, and when I nodded he opened the door of the study with an eager air and the light of battle in his eyes.

I had expected to see him whip out a lens and begin a minute examination of the room. Instead he adjusted the chair in the position in which it had stood on the fatal night, and seating himself in, closed his eyes.

This procedure did not at all impress me as the right way to go about solving the crime, when every moment was precious. I was on the point of remonstrating with him when Jenkins enjoined silence upon me.

"He's thinking, sir," he said low.

Thinking! I was thoroughly disgusted. With my intimate knowledge of the case thinking for five consecutive days had brought me nowhere, yet here was this man whom I had engaged to find clues and investigate the murder thoroughly, sitting back in a chair thinking--goodness knows about what, since all the thinking in the world would not produce the tangible material evidence of which we stood in such dire need!