VI—The Grey-Stone House
Harleston returned at a quarter to three, and Ranleigh showed him into the small room at the rear, provided with every facility for seeing what went on and overhearing and reducing what was said in the Superintendent’s private office.
Promptly at three, Mrs. Winton was announced by appointment, and was instantly admitted.
She was about thirty years of age, slender, with dark hair and a face just missing beauty. She was gowned in black, with a bunch of violets at her waist, and she wore a large mesh veil, through which her particularly fine dark eyes sparkled discriminatingly.
The Superintendent arose and bowed graciously. Ranleigh was a gentleman by birth and by breeding.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Winton?” he asked, placing a chair for her—where her face would be in full view from the cabinet.
“You can do nothing for me, sir,” she replied, with a charming smile. “I came to you as head of the Police Department for the purpose of detailing what I saw in connection with the matter I mentioned to you over the telephone. It may be of no value to you—I even may do wrong in volunteering my information, but—”
“On the contrary,” the Superintendent interjected, “you confer a great favour on this Department by reporting to it any suspicious circumstances. It is for it to investigate and determine whether they call for action. Pray proceed, my dear Mrs. Winton.”
She gave him another charming smile and went on.
“I was out last evening, and it was after midnight when I got back to the Burlingame. My apartment is on the third floor front. Instead of going to bed at once, I sat down at the open window to enjoy the gentle breeze. I must have dozed, for I was aroused by a cab coming up Eighteenth and stopping before the large, grey-stone house opposite—the rest of the houses are brick—which was unoccupied until two days ago, when it was rented furnished. I live just across the street and hence I notice these things—casually of course, as one does. I watched the cab with languid interest; saw the driver descend from the box, which seemed a bit peculiar; but when, instead of going to the door of the cab, he went up the front steps and into the house—the door of which he opened with a key that he took from his pocket—my curiosity was aroused. A moment later, a man in evening dress came leisurely out and sauntered to the carriage. It seemed to me he was interested in looking around him, and at the houses opposite, rather than at the cab. He remained at the cab, presumably in talk with those within, for several minutes. Presently the door clicked and a woman stepped out, followed by a man. The woman disappeared into the house. The two men drew in so close to the cab that they were hidden from me; when they reappeared, they were carrying a woman—or her body—between them. They hurriedly crossed the sidewalk mounted the steps, and the house-door closed behind them instantly. The noise of the door seemed to arouse the horse, doubtless he took it for the door of the cab, and he started slowly up the street toward Massachusetts Avenue. After walking a short distance, and in front of a vacant lot near the corner, he halted—obviously he realized that no one was holding the lines, and he was waiting for his driver to return. Just then one of the men put his head out of the doorway, saw that the horse was no longer before the house, and dodged quickly back. I waited for further developments from the house. None came, except that in one of the rooms a light was made, but it was behind closed shades. Pretty soon the horse calmly lay down in the shafts, stretched out, and apparently went to sleep. Disturbed by the occurrence, and debating what I ought to do, I sat a while longer; and I must have dozed again, for when I awoke the house was dark, and a man, a strange man, I think, was standing beside the cab, and the horse was up. The man was gathering the reins; he fastened them to the driver’s seat, spoke to the horse, and the horse moved off and into Massachusetts Avenue toward Dupont Circle. The man watched him for a moment; then turned and went down Massachusetts Avenue. After waiting a short while, I went to bed. This morning, I decided it was well for you to know of the episode.”
“And you have told it wonderfully well, Mrs. Winton,” said the Superintendent, “wonderfully well, indeed.”
“You don’t know how often I rehearsed,” she laughed, “nor how much of the essentials I may have omitted!”
“Not much, I fancy. However, you’ll not object, I suppose, to answering a few questions as to details.”
“I wish you to ask anything that suggests itself,” she replied. “I’ve an appointment at the Chateau at five; just give me time to keep it.”
“We’ll get through long before five!” the Superintendent smiled, though his shrewd grey eyes were coldly critical. It was most unlikely that she was the Lady of Peacock Alley; yet all things are possible where a woman is concerned, as he knew from experience. “About what time was it when the cab stopped before the house?” he asked.
“About one o’clock, as near as I can judge,” she answered.
“What was the interval between the driver’s going into the house and the man in evening clothes coming out?”
“Scarcely any interval—not more than a minute.”
“Do you know how long a minute is?” said Ranleigh, drawing out his watch.
“Not exactly!” she admitted.
“Do you mind if I test you?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then tell me when it is a minute....”
“Now?” said she.
“Fourteen seconds!” he smiled.
“Fourteen seconds!” she exclaimed incredulously “It’s not possible.”
“You’re considerably above the average, Mrs. Winton. However, it depends much on what you’re doing at the moment. Last night when you were watching, not estimating, you probably were nearer right as to the interval. When, may I ask, did the driver reappear?”
“He didn’t reappear—at least that I saw; he may have come out of the house while I dozed.”
“Might not the man that you saw last have been he?”
“I’m perfectly sure it wasn’t. The driver was medium-sized and stout, this man was tall and slender. I couldn’t have been mistaken.”
Ranleigh nodded. Her story was testing up very well on the known points.
“Now, Mrs. Winton, can you give some description of the woman in the case—her appearance—how she was dressed—anything to aid us in identifying her?”
“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help,” Mrs. Winton replied. “She was, I think, clad in a dark street gown. In the uncertain electric light, I could not distinguish the colour—and the men were so close to her I had little chance to see. About all I’m sure of is that it was a woman; slender and about the average height. I did not see her face.”
The Chief nodded again.
“What about the house, Mrs. Winton? Did you see anything unusual before tonight?”
“I saw no one but the servants—though I didn’t look quite all the time,” she added with a smile. “I’m not unduly curious, I think, Major Ranleigh, under the, to me, unusual circumstances; and in mitigation of my curiosity, I’ve told no one of the matter.”
“You’re a woman of rare discretion, Mrs. Winton,” the Superintendent replied.
“I fear I’m a busy-body,” she returned.
“I wish then there were more busy-bodies of your sort. Tell me, could you recognize the men?”
“Not with any assurance.—Neither could I recognize the occupants of the house,” she added. “The truth is, though you may doubt, that I scarcely notice them; but one can’t see a to-let-unfurnished sign on a house opposite for six months, without remarking its sudden disappearance from the landscape.”
“I should say that you wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t notice—and comment, too,” Ranleigh declared. “And the Department is much indebted to you for the information, and it appreciates the spirit that moves you in the matter.”
Mrs. Winton arose to go—the Superintendent accompanied her into the hall, rang the bell for the elevator, and bowed her into it.
“Don’t you wish to know the result?” he inquired with a quizzical smile, as he put her in the car.
“I’m not unduly curious!” she laughed.
When he returned, Harleston was standing in his office lighting a cigarette.
“It’s infernally close, not to mention hot, in that cabinet of yours,” he observed; “though one can see and hear.”
“Ever see her before?” the Superintendent asked.
“I don’t recall it!”
“Ever hear the voice?”
“No.”
“What do you think of her?”
“Good to look at, truthful, sincere.”
“And her story?”
“Simple statement of fact, I take it.”
“Hum!” said Ranleigh.
“Which means?” Harleston asked.
“Nothing at present; may be nothing at any time. I never believe a story till its truth is established—and then I’m still in a receptive state of mind. However, it does seem true, and Mrs. Winton herself supports it; which is enough for the time.”
“At any rate, we’ve found the lady of the cab,” Harleston remarked. “Or rather we’ve located her as of one o’clock, which is shortly before I happened on the scene.”
“Is there anything in the description that corresponds to the lady of the photograph?”
“It all corresponds; slight, above medium-height, dark gown—she affects dark gowns;—but thousands of women are slight, above medium-height, and wear dark gowns.”
“At least it eliminates the very tall and the stout,” Ranleigh observed. “Let me ask you, what do you make of Mrs. Winton’s appointment at the Chateau at five, and her being gowned in black?”
“A mere coincidence, I think. What would be her object in telling this story to you between three and four o’clock, and meeting me at five to recover the lost document.”
“Search me! I’m sure only of this: there are too many women in this affair, Mr. Harleston, too many women! Man is a reasoning being and somewhat consistent; but women—” a gesture ended the remark.
“Just so!” Harleston laughed. “And now for the Lady of Peacock Alley!”