Heart to heart

A moment later the coroner came in, accompanied by the policeman and another gentleman, who afterward proved to be a detective. The coroner was about to admit into the room half a dozen friends, but the detective stopped him.

“Too many here already,” he whispered. “Wait until we have made an examination of the premises, otherwise valuable clews may be destroyed.”

“It shall be as you say, Mr. Hull,” returned Granby. “You have had great experience in this sort of work, while this is only the second murder case I have had, although I have been coroner eight years.”

“I will show you how to proceed, Mr. Granby,” returned Jack Hull. “You may virtually leave matters entirely in my hands.”

James Granby nodded and looked relieved. He was a short, stout man, accustomed to take life easy, and he had a perfect horror of the duty before him.

“The man is dead, beyond a doubt,” went on Jack Hull. “Who found him so?” he asked, turning to the others.

“I saw him first,” replied Jimmie. “Mr. Cross broke down the dure and we came in—him an’ Jackson an’ meself—and I saw him just where he is now.”

“And he was dead?”

“Quite dead,” returned Henry Cross quietly.

“You felt his pulse?”

“Yes, I made a close examination. But his body is not yet cold. I do not believe he has been dead long.”

Jack Hull stepped forward at once and made an examination. Then he whispered to the coroner, after which he drew from the dead man’s breast the dagger and laid it on a newspaper, so that the blood might not soil another spot.

“It looks like robbery and murder,” observed the coroner, feeling it his duty to say something.

Jack Hull nodded. Then he glanced about the apartment, observing every detail with a keen, professional eye. Henry Cross watched him curiously, and Jimmie and Jackson looked on with mouths wide open, as if half expecting him to announce the solution of the mystery then and there.

“If we had some one here who knew something of the dead man’s possessions, we might ascertain if a robbery has been really committed,” said Hull, after several minutes of oppressive silence.

“Jimmie is his man, sir,” said Jackson, eager to have the chance of speaking. “He ought to know.”

The detective bent his coal-black eyes on the valet. The look was so sharp and aggressive that Jimmie shivered, and for the instant was in danger of mental collapse, through fear of being thought the murderer.

“You are Mr. Chesterbrook’s valet?”

“Yis, sir.”

“Then you know something about his personal property—jewelry and the like?”

“Sure, sir, I know all he had, for it was meself had to put th’ things away many a time when he was so careless as to leave ’em around.”

“He was careless, was he? Left his valuables lying in sight of outsiders?”

“Often, sir. More than once he left the room dures open, wid his diamond studs an’ other things right out on the table an’ bureau.”

“Ah!” Jack Hull looked suddenly wise.

“Then some one must have come in here to rob him, been seen, and the thief, to prevent capture, killed poor Chesterbrook,” interrupted James Granby, with a look on his round face as if he had suddenly solved the problem.

“Not so fast, my dear sir,” replied Jack Hull. “We must not jump at conclusions. Let us take account of the property first, and see if anything is missing. Will you name the principal things?” he added, turning to Jimmie.

The valet ran his hand through his thick, red hair and down the side of his smoothly shaven face, and drew up his under lip.

“He had two gold watches, sir, an’ a silver one—an old one from his grandfather, so he told me. Then he had three diamond studs, a ruby an’ a diamond ring, three badges, four gold watch chains an’ a silver one to go with the silver watch, a gold pen, a silver inkstand, a silver cigar set Miss Willowby, poor soul! gave him, an’—an’——”

“That will do for the present. Just look about and show me if all the articles are still here,” said Hull.

With a long sigh Jimmie stepped up to the bureau and opened a case which was lying on the top, behind a large pincushion. The detective’s face fell, for he saw at a glance that the majority of articles just mentioned were there. A watch, chain, and ring were missing, but these were on the corpse. The silver inkstand and cigar set were on the desk in the front room, and so was the gold pen.

“Humph!” was all Hull said. Then he turned to the coroner, and a brief conversation in a whisper was carried on.

In the meantime, Henry Cross walked slowly to the front room, and here stood gazing out of the window. Evidently he was carefully deliberating upon some serious matter. Twice he started to turn back, and each time hesitated. At last he walked toward the desk.

Here he again paused. Then, casting a hurried look over his shoulder, to make certain he was not observed, he slid his hand under the loose sheets before mentioned. His fingers came in contact with the slip of paper which had before attracted his attention. He crushed the slip in his hand, withdrew his arm, and placed the closed hand in his side pocket.

“I will take another look around,” Cross heard Hull say to the coroner, and he breathed a long sigh, but whether of relief or not it would be hard to state.

The detective began to search everywhere—the bedroom, the front room, the closet, the alcove. He looked into the drawers of the desk, under the luxurious rugs scattered about, and shook the hanging curtains between the rooms. Then he turned his attention to the corpse, examined the position of the body, and calculated with his eyes how Chesterbrook must have stood when the dagger was thrust into his heart. Then he turned the dead man over on his side, to see if anything of importance lay under him.

“Ah!” he murmured, and his hand closed over a small object before any one else in the apartment saw it. He looked farther, but nothing else came to light.

The finding of the object seemed to put Jack Hull on a new train of reasoning. He left the body, and, dropping on his hands and knees, began to search along the carpet.

“Looking for footsteps?” asked the coroner.

“Yes,” promptly returned the detective. He hunted around for a moment more, brushed his hand over several spots, and then arose to his feet.

“How did you come to burst in the door?” he suddenly asked, addressing Henry Cross.

“Jimmie was somewhat alarmed, because the doors were locked on the inside, and he could not arouse Chesterbrook.”

“And he called you in?”

“No, I was coming downstairs. My rooms are just above these. I was on my way to poor Allen’s wedding.”

“Oh! And your rooms are just above?”

“Yes.”

“You had been in them the greater part of the morning?”

“No. I was down at my office early this morning and did not come home to dress for the occasion until about nine o’clock.”

“While you were dressing, did you hear anything unusual going on down here?”

“I have been thinking that over. I believe I did hear the murmur of voices and a shock of some kind, but I am not sure, for I was paying no special attention.”

“Was the shock like that of the fall of a body?”

“It might have been. Try my best, I really cannot remember.”

Jack Hull was about to ask more questions; but he stopped in the middle of the first word, and turned to the coroner.

“Mr. Granby, I am ready for the inquest, if you are.”

“Well—ah—all right,” returned the official, rather lamely. “I presume we can hold it here—in the front room?”

Jack Hull nodded, and he smiled to himself. He was a personal friend of Granby, and he wondered why in the world the fellow wanted to remain coroner, seeing that he was little better than a figure-head.

The door of the front room was opened by the detective, and a score of respectable-looking men were admitted, including the coroner’s clerk, another detective, and a doctor. The doctor, after consulting the coroner, at once proceeded to make an examination of the corpse; the clerk prepared to take notes at the desk; and in a moment more the large front chamber took on something of the appearance of a courtroom.

The valet was the first witness to be questioned. He gave his full name readily, and said he had been in Allen Chesterbrook’s employ for nearly six years.

“You are his personal servant,” said the coroner. “Do you take care of his clothes?”

“Indeed I do, sir. Divil a bit of care would they git if I didn’t!”

“Did you occasionally help him dress?”

“Most always, sir.”

“Why were you not on hand this morning to help him—it being his wedding day?”

“He said he wanted no help, sir. He wanted to be left alone until tin minutes of tin. Then I was to call him—if the machine was there. He sent me off to the post office.”

“To post some letters for him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“To whom were those letters addressed?” put in Jack Hull, catching the coroner by the arm.

“I didn’t look, sir,” Jimmie drew himself up proudly. “It’s not me business, sir.”

“And when you came back from the post office, what did you do?” went on Coroner Granby.

“I went downstairs and talked to Jackson—the janitor there—till the car came. Then I came upstairs to call Mr. Chesterbrook. I thumped on the dure, but could git no answer. Then Mr. Cross came down, and he suggested we smash the dure in, an’ we did it.”

“And what did you find?”

“Sure an’ we found the rooms pretty much as they are now, sir, an’ poor Mr. Chesterbrook a-lyin’ there, dead, in his own precious blood.” And Jimmie began to sob, while two big tears coursed down his honest face.

“You could not get in, because the doors were both locked on the inside?”

“They wur, sir,” and Jimmie wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

“The windows,” whispered Jack Hull to the coroner.

“Yes. How did you find the windows when you came in?” questioned James Granby.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Were they closed?”

“No, sir; one of thim, that one, was open a bit. I opened it meself early this mornin’. Mr. Chesterbrook always liked the fresh air, even if it was a bit chilly.”

“And the other was closed and locked?”

“It was closed, an’ I think it was locked.”

Jack Hull walked over to the window Jimmie had pointed out. It opened upon the roof of a broad piazza, which extended along the front of the house, and back to an addition on one side.

“Humph!” he said to himself. “Any one could easily get out of this window, and walk into one of the others—even a woman!”

The coroner was about to dismiss the valet, when Hull again whispered to him.

“Ah, yes. As far as you know, Neirney, did Mr. Chesterbrook expect any one to call on him this morning?”

“No, sir. He was to meet all of his friends, an’ them as was to take part in the weddin’, at the church.”

“Did he have any friends here last night?”

“Yes, sir. There was Mr. Longley an’ Mr. Gardener. They came to talk over a few little points about the weddin’ service.”

“No other gentleman—or lady—called?”

“No other gentlemen, sir; an’ as fer ladies, nary a one iver came near the rooms.”

“Excepting the maid to clean up,” laughed Hull shortly.

“No, sir; there isn’t a girl in the house. It’s men as does the work entirely. It’s a bachelor’s hall, out an’ out.”

“Ah!” said Jack Hull, but he said no more. He nodded to Granby, and Jimmie was allowed to retire.

Jackson was then asked to step up. He said he had been janitor of the building ever since Chesterbrook had occupied apartments there.

“Did you see any one visit him this morning?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you see any strangers in the building?”

The janitor thought for a moment, and then replied in the negative.

“Who occupies the room next to this one—I mean the room next to that window?”

“No one, sir. It has been vacant for two months.”

While the coroner had been asking the question Jack Hull had slipped out of the room. He now came back, smiling to himself. He had found the door of the room unlocked and the window partly open. He whispered the fact to the coroner; and after a few more questions, which brought forth nothing of value, Jackson was dismissed.

“Henry Cross.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe you told me you occupy the rooms above these?”

“I do.”

“You have occupied them for some time?”

“For eight months.”

“Then you must know something about Mr. Chesterbrook. Perhaps you were friends?”

The face of Henry Cross paled a trifle, and then flushed up.

“We were well acquainted,” he said quietly.

“You have already told me that you came home about nine o’clock, to dress for the wedding. Did you see any strangers about the building at that time?”

“Not to my recollection.”

“You came home and went directly to your rooms?”

“I did.”

“Do they extend over both of these rooms?”

“I think they do. They are exactly similar to these.”

“Will you please state, so far as you are able, just what you heard in these rooms between nine o’clock and the time you burst open the door?”

“As I said before, I believe I heard the murmur of voices and some sort of shock, something like the falling of a heavy book.”

“You were on your way to church when you came downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“This murder does not seem to have been committed for the purpose of robbery. Can you offer any suggestion concerning it?”

Henry Cross paused before replying. There was a faint tremor in his voice when he replied, a tremor Jack Hull noted.

“I cannot.”

“You say you were well acquainted with Mr. Chesterbrook. Can you think of any private motive——”

“No, sir.”

“But you must have known something of his affairs?”

“I paid no attention to them,” returned the young man, so sharply that the coroner started, and Jack Hull leaned forward with renewed interest.

“Do you mean to imply by that that you were not very friendly?”

“We were not friends at all, sir.”

It was a surprise to all how calmly and deliberately Henry Cross uttered the words. He stood erect, his arms folded, gazing vacantly at a paper in the coroner’s hands.

“And yet you were going to the wedding,” went on Granby, after Jack Hull had whispered in his ear.

“I was. I had received an invitation from Colonel Willowby, and had promised his daughter I would be there.”

“Then you are on friendly terms with the Willowbys?”

“I am; we have been warm friends for years.”

“But you did not—er—fancy Chesterbrook, and therefore paid but scant attention to his goings and comings,” went on Coroner Granby, after considerable hesitation.

“We were not friendly. He was not a congenial companion, to my way of thinking. He went his way and I went mine, that was all. I feel sorry to speak thus of one who is now dead, but I feel bound to tell the truth.”

Henry Cross cast down his eyes. But even as he did so, he felt that the penetrating optics of Jack Hull were on him, those eyes which were well calculated to frighten criminals into confessions of guilt.

The detective scribbled down a few words on a pad, and held them so that the coroner might read them.

“You never quarreled with him—had any high words with him?”

Henry Cross straightened up.

“We had some words once—at a ball last winter. But that matter was patched up soon after.”

“What caused the quarrel?”

For one brief instant the young man’s eyes flashed fire. Then they dropped, and when they were raised they looked as mild as before.

“I must decline to answer that question. It cannot possibly have any connection with the matter in hand,” he said.