"What happened next?"
"We all wint in the house, an' there we found poor Mr. Langmore dead in the library, in his chair. The doctor thought he moight be aloive yit an' had his mother an' me run upstairs fer some medicine from the medicine closet. In the upper hall we kim on Mrs. Langmore's body, also dead, an' I got that scared Oi turned an' flew down the back stairs an' out av the house loike the divil was afther me!"
There was a general laugh throughout the courtroom, at which the coroner rapped loudly on the desk.
"Silence. Such—ahem! conduct at an inquest is not to be allowed. If this happens again I shall clear the courtroom."
"Thet's right, Jack, make 'em behave themselves," came from the old farmer in front. "This is serious business, this is."
"What was done with the body of Mrs. Langmore?" continued the coroner to the servant girl.
"The docther said to lave it till you came."
"Mrs. Langmore was quite dead?"
"Yis. Hivin rest her sowl!"
"And Mr. Langmore?"
"Sure an' the docther could do nothin' fer the poor mon. It made the docther sick to work over the corpse an' he soon had to give it up."
"Now, tell me, how do you think the two were killed?"
"Oi dunno. The docther ought to tell that—sure an' he has the eddication, an' Oi haven't."
"There were no marks of violence?"
"Phat?"
"The victims had not been struck down?"
"Oi dunno as to that, sur—better axed the docther."
"Hum!" Coroner Busby mused for a moment. "How long have you lived with the Langmore family?"
"Iver since Mr. Langmore married his sicond woife."
"How many of the family lived at home?"
"The first year there was the mister and missus an' Miss Jennie an' Miss Margaret. But Miss Jennie married an' moved away—she's travelin' now, they tell me."
"Then Miss Margaret was the only child home?"
"Yis, sur."
"Didn't Mrs. Langmore have two sons?"
"Yis, but they niver lived there. One av thim used to come an' see her now an' thin, an' that's all."
"Was Miss Margaret on good terms with Mrs. Langmore?"
"She was not. Mrs. Langmore was a—a vixin, always afther findin' fault, an' Oi wasn't on good terms wid her meself."
"Ah! Then you quarreled also?"
"Oh, no, sur, Oi knew me place, so Oi did, an' did me wurruk an' said nothin'. If it hadn't been fer Miss Margaret Oi'd a lift me job long ago. But she was such a noice girrul, an' so lonely loike, in the house wid that tongue-lasher—"
"Wait! wait! You say Miss Margaret and Mrs. Langmore quarreled. When did they quarrel last?"
At this question the domestic pursed up her lips and looked at Margaret.
"Oi have nothin' to say about that," she answered coldly.
This reply was a surprise to all, including Raymond. The coroner gazed at the witness sternly.
"You must answer," he said. "It is my duty to get at the bottom of this awful affair."
"Oi'll not answer," was the stubborn return.
CHAPTER XII
FOR AND AGAINST
There was a moment of intense silence throughout the courtroom. Every eye was turned on Mary Billings, who pursed up her lips more closely than ever.
"You'll not answer?" thundered Coroner Busby.
"Mr. Coroner," began Raymond, rising, "is it legally necessary that she answer? Remember, she is here without proper legal council."
"Silence! I—ahem—yes, she must answer, or I shall have to commit her, as a witness if for nothing else. Girl, are you going to answer or not?"
"Sure, an' Oi—"
"Chief, will you call a policeman?" went on the coroner, turning to the chief of police.
He was a fairly good judge of human character. At the sight of the bluecoat the domestic wilted and began to sob.
"Ohone! Ohone! don't take me to prison!" she wailed.
"You prefer to answer?"
"Yis, if Oi must. But Oi think Miss Margaret the swatest little lady—"
"Never mind that. When did the girl and her stepmother quarrel last? Come now, tell me the plain truth," and the coroner put as much of sternness as possible in his voice.
"Well, thin, if yez has got to know, it was on the marnin' av the murders, sur," sniffled the servant girl.
"When was this?"
"Right afther breakfast. They had some words at the table, too."
"What was said? Repeat the exact words if you can," and the coroner leaned forward expectantly, while many in the courtroom held their breath.
"Mrs. Langmore said she wished Miss Margaret was off the face of the earth, an' that she'd be afther seein' that the dear girrul wasn't in the house much longer. 'Twas a very bitter scene, an' me heart wint out to the dear girrul—"
"And what did Miss Margaret reply to that?"
"She said it was her father's house, an' she would stay as long as her father wished her to. An' it was her father's house, too."
"And after that?"
"A whole lot more followed, which Oi didn't catch, fer Oi am no avesdropper. But Oi did hear Mrs. Langmore, in a perfect rage, cry out that she'd kill Miss Margaret if the girrul didn't moind her."
"And then?"
"Miss Margaret said she would do as she pl'ased—that she was her own mistress—an' Oi was glad to hear her say it. Mrs. Langmore went on wid her quarrel—sure, an' she had the divil's own tongue, so she had. Thin she must have caught hould av Miss Margaret, fer Oi heard the girrul cry out to lit go or she'd stroike her down. Thin there was more wurruds, hotter an' hotter, an' Mrs. Langmore said she would make the girrul mind as sure as fate, an' thin Miss Margaret got roused up an' she said fer Mrs. Langmore to beware, that she had Southern blood in her veins, an' she wouldn't be accountable fer what she did, if her stepmother wint too far."
There was a pause, and a murmur ran the round of the little courtroom. The testimony seemed to be highly important and many shook their heads. The girl and her stepmother had certainly had a bitter quarrel, the girl had hot Southern blood in her veins, and the bitterness had ended in the tragedy. In the minds of many it was only a question of what the extenuating circumstances might be.
"Was Mr. Langmore present at this quarrel?" asked the coroner, after another pause.
"He was at the breakfast table, but afther that he wint to the bank."
"Did you hear anything more?"
"Not right away, sur. Oi wint to me work. Whin Mr. Langmore came from the bank Oi heard him talkin' to Miss Margaret."
"What was said then?"
"Oi dunno exactly, exceptin' that he said he was sorry she an' her stepmother had quarreled, an' he wanted her to make it up wid his woife."
"And what did Miss Margaret say to that?"
"She said that all she wanted was to be left alone."
"What else?"
"Oi didn't hear anything more, as Oi wint to the ciller fer coal. By an' by Oi see Miss Margaret in the garden cryin'. Oi wanted to go to her, but Mrs. Langmore kim to the kitchen an' Oi had to attind to me wurruk."
"How did Mrs. Langmore seem to appear when she came to the kitchen?"
"Sure an' she was very excited an' findin' more fault than iver. She stayed only a few minutes, an' thin wint to the library, an' that was the very last Oi saw av her. Oi'm sorry she's dead, but she had that divil's own temper!" And the domestic heaved a long sigh.
"That will do. You may sit down." The coroner looked around the courtroom. "Is Doctor Bardon present?"
For reply the young physician came forward from one side of the room. He looked pale and slightly troubled. In a low voice he corroborated the testimony already given regarding the finding of the two bodies, and told what he had done in his effort to restore Mr. Langmore to life.
"I thought there might be a spark there still, but I was mistaken," he went on. "He looked so natural—and Mrs. Langmore looked natural, too, for the matter of that. But both were stone dead."
"What was the cause of death?"
"That is something of a mystery. I have tried my best to get at the bottom of it, but I cannot, nor can my colleague, Doctor Soper."
"Were the pair strangled, smothered, poisoned?" suggested the coroner.
"I have a theory that they were poisoned, but not in an ordinary way. Neither Doctor Soper nor myself could find any traces of ordinary poison."
"What is your theory?"
"Something was used to stupefy them, and so much was used that it killed them."
"In that case the murder might have been unintentional?"
"Yes. Somebody might have thought to stupefy Mr. Langmore and then rob him. But the drug, being too powerful, or used too long, might have done its deadly work. Then the crime may have been discovered by Mrs. Langmore and the murderer might have turned on her to conceal his first wrongdoing."
"Hum. Have you—ahem! any idea of the nature of the poison?"
"No, excepting that it had a very powerful odor. When I bent over Mr.
Langmore I got several whiffs of it and it made me sick at the stomach.
But the odor was soon gone."
"And you have no idea what the poison was?"
"No, nor has Doctor Soper. It may be something new, or something little known. Chemists are constantly discovering new things," went on the young physician, bound to clear himself of any suspicion of ignorance concerning medical matters.
"You found no marks of violence, as if there had been a struggle?"
"The only marks I found were two scratches on the right arm of Mrs. Langmore, right above the wrist, and a scratch on Mr. Langmore's left cheek."
"Finger nail scratches?"
"Possibly, or else they may have been made by a ring or bracelet—if there was a struggle."
"Hum! Have you anything else to tell, doctor?"
"I have not. I am willing to tell all I know."
There was another pause, as the young physician stepped back. The coroner was about to call one of the women set to guard Margaret and the Langmore mansion, when he suddenly turned.
"Miss Langmore, you will please take the stand again," he said, and the girl did so, throwing aside her veil. "Are you in the habit of wearing finger rings and bracelets?"
It was a leading question and several gasped as they heard it. Raymond started to rise up, but then sank back again.
"I do not wear bracelets," answered Margaret. "I have two rings."
"What kind of rings are they?"
"One is a plain gold band. It was my mother's wedding ring." The girl's voice sank low suddenly. "The other is a diamond ring, as you can see," and she held up her hand.
"Will you let me have the diamond ring?"
"Yes, sir." She took it off. "But please be careful of it, for it—it is very precious to me."
The coroner nodded. "That is all just now," and as Margaret let fall the veil again, he called Doctor Bardon to his side. A whispered conversation ensued, and the young physician left with the precious circlet—Margaret's engagement ring—in an envelope.
"Margaret, you should not have let him have that ring," whispered
Raymond.
"How could I help it?" was the low answer. "Oh, this is terrible! I feel as if everybody was trying to look me through and through!"
"I can't understand why Mr. Adams is not here," went on the young man. "Perhaps he has found some important clew and is following it up," he added hopefully.
"They are bound to convict me, Raymond! Isn't it horrible?"
"They shall never do it, never!" cried the young man. And then a sharp rapping on the desk terminated the brief conversation and restored quietness to the little courtroom.
CHAPTER XIII
THE WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE
The next witness called was Mrs. Morse, who told briefly how she had been placed in charge of the upper part of the Langmore mansion shortly after the tragedy, and how she had been watching Margaret. She said the girl had had only a few visitors, mentioning Raymond Case and a stranger from New York.
"Who was the stranger?" asked Coroner Busby.
"A Mr. Adams. He's either a lawyer or a detective."
"Oh!"
"I brought Mr. Adams to see Miss Langmore," put in Raymond. "Wasn't that all right?"
"Certainly—certainly," answered the coroner hastily.
"I have kept the best watch on Miss Langmore that I could," went on the woman. "You told me to do it."
"Has Miss Langmore had anything to say about her father?"
"She seems to be very sorry that he is dead."
"What did she say about Mrs. Langmore?"
"She does not seem to care much about her stepmother."
"Have you discovered anything unusual, Mrs. Morse, that had to do with this tragedy?"
"Well, I don't know. I have looked around a bit, and among other things I found this. It was in Miss Langmore's dressing case."
As she spoke the woman held up a small bottle. It was marked chloroform and was empty.
"Anything else?"
"With the empty bottle I found the half of a big silk handkerchief. It was wrapped around the bottle and had Miss Langmore's monogram in the corner. I went on hunting around the house and I found the other half of the handkerchief in a dark corner of the upper hallway, not far from where Mrs. Langmore's body was found."
At this announcement there was a buzz of excitement. All present looked at the witness and then at Margaret. The girl had thrown aside her veil once more, and was standing up, with a face as pale as death itself.
"I—I—may I speak?" she faltered.
"Yes."
"I bought that chloroform a month ago and used it to put a sick canary and a sick parrot out of their misery. Mary Billings saw me chloroform the parrot."
"When did you do the chloroforming?"
"About a week ago, on the parrot. The canary I chloroformed when I obtained the drug."
"Sure, and that's roight, sur," broke in the servant girl.
"Then you know all about using chloroform?" remarked the coroner dryly.
"The druggist told me."
"Did it take all you had for the birds?"
"No."
"What did you do with what remained?"
"I threw it away, for I had no further use for it."
"Hum." The coroner turned to Mary Billings. "Did you see her throw the chloroform away?"
"N—no," stammered the servant girl. "But if she says she did, she did," she added stoutly.
"Now, Mrs. Morse, did you find anything else of value?"
"I did not, but Mrs. Gaspard, who was in charge downstairs, did."
"Very well, you may step down. Mrs. Gaspard!" And the other woman came forward to face the coroner and his jury, and was sworn.
"Mrs. Morse says you found something of importance. What was it?"
"It was this, Mr. Busby," and the woman held out a sheet of note paper.
"I came across it on the stairs leading to Miss Langmore's room. Shall
I read it?" And as the coroner nodded, the woman read as follows:
"Since you refuse to open your room door to me, let me give you fair warning. You must either obey your mother that now is, and me, or leave this house. I have had enough of your willfulness and I shall not put up with it any longer."
As the woman finished reading she handed the paper to the coroner.
"Ahem! Mrs. Gaspard, do you know who wrote this note?" asked the latter.
"The handwriting is exactly like Mr. Langmore's. I have compared the two, and so have Mrs. Morse and Mr. Pickerell, the schoolmaster."
Again all eyes were bent upon Margaret. She had again arisen and was swaying from side to side.
"My father—never—never sent me—never wrote such a note—" she gasped, and then sank back and would have fallen had not Raymond supported her.
"A glass of water, quick!" cried the young man, and it was handed to him, and also a bottle of smelling salts. In a moment more Margaret revived.
"Take me away," she moaned.
"I am sorry, but that cannot be allowed," replied the coroner. "You will have to remain until this session is over."
"It's an outrage!" exclaimed Raymond, his eyes flashing. "You are all against her, and you are going to prove her guilty if you possibly can. The whole proceedings is a farce."
"Silence, young man, or I'll have you removed by an officer. You have interrupted the proceedings several times. I do not know what interest you have—"
"I am not ashamed to tell you of my interest, sir. I am engaged to this young lady. I know she is innocent. It is preposterous to imagine that she would kill her own father. They loved each other too much."
"Yes, but this note—" piped in Mrs. Gaspard. She was a strong believer in Margaret's guilt.
"I know nothing about that. It may be a forgery. I know Miss Langmore is innocent."
"To merely say a thing does not prove it," came from the coroner. "We want facts, nothing else—and we are bound to have 'em." He began to warm up also. "I'm here to do my duty, regardless of you or anybody else. I ain't going to shield anybody, rich or poor, high or low, known or unknown! Now, you sit down, and let the inquest proceed." And Raymond sat down, but with a great and growing bitterness filling his heart. He looked at Margaret and saw that she was trembling from head to foot.
There was an awkward pause.
"Mrs. Gaspard, did Mr. Pickerell say he thought Mr. Langmore had written this note?" questioned the coroner.
"He said the two handwritings were exactly alike. Here is a letter written and signed by Mr. Langmore. You can compare the two, if you wish."
The letter was passed over and not only the coroner, but also his jury, looked at both documents carefully.
"Pretty much the same thing," whispered one man.
"Exactly the same," added another, and the rest nodded.
The coroner looked around the courtroom and then at the jury.
"Have any of you any questions to ask?" he queried of the men. "If not we'll take a brief recess until Doctor Bardon returns."
One after another the jurors shook their heads. Whatever the coroner did was sufficient for them. Coroner Busby had picked men he knew would agree with him.
The recess had lasted but a few minutes, when Doctor Bardon reappeared.
His face wore a knowing look that was almost triumphant.
"You will please take the stand again, doctor," was the request. "I wish to ask you if a person could be smothered by chloroform."
"Certainly, under certain conditions."
"Do you think it possible that Mr. and Mrs. Langmore could have been smothered in that way?"
"Possibly, yes, although I did not see any traces."
"Would there have been traces?"
"Yes and no—it would depend on circumstances."
"Hum. Now about the diamond ring belonging to Miss Langmore, which I gave you a short while ago to examine? Have you—ahem—examined it?"
"I have, and so has Doctor Soper. We used a magnifying glass and made several tests."
"Did you find anything unusual?"
"We did. In the first place two of the prongs which hold the diamond in place are bent out and up in such a fashion that each forms a sharp point. We next looked under the stone and found there a substance which both of us are convinced is a bit of dried-up blood."
"You are sure it is blood?"
"Yes. I can illustrate it scientifically, if you desire."
"It will not be necessary just now. When you say blood do you mean human blood?"
At this the young physician shrugged his shoulders.
"I am not prepared to go as far as that. We should have to make another test. The amount was so very small."
"Might be blood from a mosquito," muttered Raymond. "There are enough around here."
"You may think as you please," said the young doctor. "I am only stating the facts."
"Have you anything else to say, doctor?" came from the coroner.
"Nothing more. Here is the ring. We have kept what we found under the stone."
"Very well. Miss Langmore, you may have the ring back." It was passed out and Raymond took it and slipped it back on Margaret's hand, which was cold and nerveless. The girl was sitting as motionless as a marble statue.
There was another pause and then, one after another, several minor witnesses were brought up and examined. At four o'clock the coroner began to sum up the evidence, to which the jury listened with close attention. Then the jurors filed out into a side room, the door to which was tightly closed.
"Is—is it over?" faltered Margaret. "Wha—what will they do next?"
"We must wait for the finding of the jury, Margaret."
"How long will that take?"
"I don't know."
"Mr. Adams did not show himself. I thought he would help us in some way."
"He must have a good reason for staying away."
"What do you think the jury will do?"
At this direct question, the young man gave an inward groan. "I don't know," he answered in an unnatural voice. "We must hope for the best."
In less than an hour it was announced that the jury had arrived at a verdict. Those who had left the courtroom returned and the jurymen filed in. The excitement was subdued, but plainly at a white heat. The coroner took his place at the desk.
"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?" was the question put.
"We have," was the unanimous answer.
"Who will speak for you?"
"Mr. Blackwell, our foreman."
"Very well. Ahem! Mr. Blackwell, what is the verdict?"
Mr. Blackwell, a well-known citizen of the town, stood up. The courtroom became intensely silent.
"We find that Mr. and Mrs. Barry Langmore came to their deaths either by being smothered, chloroformed, poisoned, or in some similar fashion, the direct means not yet being brought to light, and we find that the evidence points to Margaret Langmore as the one who committed the murders."
Hardly was the verdict rendered than a wild cry rang out through the courtroom. Margaret staggered to her feet, put out her hands in an uncertain fashion, and then dropped senseless into Raymond's arms.
CHAPTER XIV
IS THIS MADNESS?
Instantly there was wild confusion, and half a dozen persons sprang forward to assist Raymond with his burden. But he waved them back.
"Let her have air," he said. "Don't crowd so close. She must have air," and he moved towards a window. The crowd separated to let him pass and allowed him the use of an entire bench, while more water was brought and the bottle of smelling salts was again produced. In the meantime the coroner whispered to the chief of police, who in turn whispered to a policeman, and the two minions of the law followed Raymond.
Margaret lay like one dead, every particle of color having forsaken her cheeks. Raymond waited anxiously, and then applied his ear to her heart.
"A doctor!" he cried hoarsely. "A doctor, for Heaven's sake! She is dying!"
Doctor Bardon came forward, followed by Doctor Bird, and both looked at the unconscious one closely and critically. There was no shamming here—the shock had been heavy—the bolt had struck home.
"This is serious, truly," murmured the older physician. "We had better remove her to a side room and loosen up her garments."
Many were willing to assist, but Raymond shook them off and he and Doctor Bird carried Margaret into the room where the jury had arrived at the verdict which had so stunned her. Then a nurse who happened to be in the court-room was called in, and she and the physician began to work over the suffering girl.
"Doctor—" Raymond could scarcely speak. "She will—will come around all right?"
"Why, I guess so. She has swooned, that is all. The trial was too much for her. And then there was such a crowd, and the ventilation being poor—"
The young man waited, five, ten, fifteen minutes—it was as an eternity. The doctor still continued to work, and so did the nurse. Then the latter whispered something and Raymond caught the words, "a mental shock, by her eyes."
"What's that?" he questioned. He looked at Margaret and saw that her eyes were wide open and she was staring hard at him. "Margaret!"
She did not answer, but continued to stare, turning from him to the nurse and then to the old doctor. The chief of police was at the doorway and she gave him a look that fairly froze his blood.
"Who—" she began and stopped short. "How light it is! What struck me? Why are you all staring at me in this manner? What have I done? Where am I? Have I been sick?"
"Margaret!" Raymond came closer and took her hand. "Margaret!"
She stared at him and flung his hand away. "I've had a horrible dream—I dreamed papa was murdered—that somebody had strangled him! Strangled him to get my engagement ring from me! And there was blood there, blood, and nobody could come to the lawn party. Oh, if they knew—and my poor head—it swims so! And the bottle—the handkerchief—"
"Margaret, Margaret! Don't go on so!" He caught her hand again and sank down on his knees beside her. "Be calm. It will all come out right. You fainted, that's all. Don't you remember, Margaret?"
"Yes, yes, I remember. You said you would marry me, and then you said, you," she tore her hand away and pointed her finger at him, "you said I had murdered papa and murdered her! Oh, the shame of it, the shame!" And then she gave a shriek and began to rave, tearing at her clothes and her hair, until the latter fell all over her face. The paroxysm lasted for several minutes and then she fainted once more.
"I shall have to give her something to quiet her," said the doctor. "She is in a worse state than I at first imagined. The strain has been entirely too much for her nervous system. We must get her to some quiet spot."
"Shall we take her home?" asked Raymond.
"No, I would not advise that, Mr. ——"
"My name is Raymond Case."
"My home is a quiet one," spoke up the nurse. "If you wish you can take her there. It is not very far from here."
"Besides," the old doctor paused. "The coroner has something to say about it."
"Coroner Busby has turned the prisoner over to me," came from the chief of police, and he advanced a few feet into the room.
"The prisoner!" faltered Raymond. "Oh, yes, I suppose that is right. But you can't take her to jail. I'll go her ball for any amount he may fix."
"Sorry, Mr. Case, but they don't take bail on such a charge as murder."
"But you can't lock her up in this condition—it would be inhuman. I'll have her taken to some quiet place and you can have a guard set—I'll pay all the bills. Ask the coroner if that won't do. She isn't going to run away. She looks now more as if she might die!" and he gave a groan that came straight from his heart.
The chief of police had once been young and in love with a pretty girl and his face softened. Then he remembered what Raymond had said about paying the bills.
"I'll fix it up with Busby," he said. "Go ahead and do what you wish, only don't take her out of town."
A little later a carriage was brought around and Margaret was placed inside and driven rapidly to the home of Martha Sampson, the nurse. She began to rave again, but the physician gave her a quieting potion, which put her in a sound but unnatural sleep. She was placed in a pretty and comfortable bedroom on the second floor in the rear, so that she might not be annoyed by those passing the house in front. Two policemen, in plain clothes, were put on guard, one relieving the other.
In the meantime the news that Margaret had been adjudged guilty by the coroner's jury spread like wild-fire, and the curiosity seekers could scarcely be kept away from the place to which the poor girl had been taken.
"The grand jury can't do anything but indict her," said more than one.
"And, if there is any justice left, she'll surely be electrocuted."
It was a bitter blow to Raymond, to have Margaret thought guilty, but he did not think of that as he sat by her side, or walked up and down in the little hallway just outside of her door. Her staring eyes haunted him and he longed for a look that should tell him her reason had once more asserted itself.
The doctor had come and gone twice and had promised to come again that evening. Slowly the hours wore away. The nurse had gone below to prepare herself something to eat, and Raymond stood by the suffering one's bedside. He saw the eyelids of the one he loved quiver slightly.
"Margaret!" he said softly, bending over her.
There was no response and he repeated the name several times. Then her eyes opened full.
"Where am I?" she asked vacantly.
"You are safe, with me," he answered and took her hand.
"With you, Raymond? Where?"
"At the home of a lady who is going to take care of you for the present."
"How queer! I thought I was at my own home."
"We thought it best to bring you here. Miss Sampson will do all she can for you. The doctor said you must be kept very quiet." He smoothed down her hair. "You have had a terrible trial, my dear."
"A trial? I don't remember it. What was it?" She stared vacantly at him. "Oh, how queer my head feels!" And she put one cold hand to her temple.
"Never mind trying to think now, Margaret. Just take it easy. The doctor will come back in a little while and he will give you something that will make you all right again."
"How long have I been here?"
"Only four hours. Now please, don't worry."
"I can't—I can't think—it's all like a terribly dark cloud, Raymond." She stared in a wild fashion and then a look of untold horror crossed her drawn features. "Ah! Yes, yes, I remember now! I remember!" She shook from head to foot. "I remember! The courtroom! And those many men and women! And the ring—our engagement ring—think of that, Raymond! They found blood on it, blood!" And she shivered again.
"Margaret, dearest, you must try to keep quiet," he interrupted soothingly. "It will all come out right, I feel certain of it."
"Right? I don't know what you mean by that word. Was I on trial, or what?"
"No, not on trial. It was simply the coroner's inquest. But don't think of it, dear." He tried to brush back her hair, but she stopped him. The wild look in her eyes was increasing.
"The inquest? Oh, yes, I know now, and they said—they said—" She gave a piercing scream. "They said I had killed her and killed my own father! Yes, that I had killed them! Do you hear, Raymond, I had killed them!" She sat up and motioned him away. "Do not touch me! Do not come near me!"
"Margaret!" he interrupted appealingly.
"No! no! It is too late, too late!" Her voice sank to a hoarse whisper. "I see it all—the blood on the ring, the chloroform, our quarrels, and what she said to me, and then, and then—" She gave another scream. "Go away! go away! You must not come near me again!"
"But Margaret, dear—"
"No, I cannot listen! You must go away, and let them take me to prison, let them hang me if they will!" Her voice sank still lower. "There is nothing else to do—I see the end. They have cornered me, have found me out! Yes, they have found me out!" She gave a wild, uncanny laugh that made his flesh creep. "Ha! ha! I thought they could not do it, but they did. They have found me out! They have found me out!" And then, with another scream, she pitched back and lay again like one dead.
CHAPTER XV
LOVE VERSUS BUSINESS
"Uncle Adam, you must tell me everything. Do you hear?—everything!"
"But my dear Letty, I am not sure of these things. I only want you to wait. That's easy enough, isn't it?"
"It will be, if you tell me everything. But I can't wait if I am kept in the dark." The girl raised her tear-stained face to that of the detective. "Oh, I am sure you will do the best you can and all that—you have always been so kind to me. But—but I must know the details."
A half hour had passed since he had discovered that Letty Bernard was in love with Tom Ostrello, that she had been in love with the traveling man ever since they had first met. He had heard her whole tale, how the young man had taken her out and how they had planned for the future—a tale not uncommon even in these plain, common-sense days, when Romance lingers only on the outskirts of society. He had been tremendously interested, as much so as if the girl was his own flesh and blood.
"Of course, he invited me to the theatre before he knew of the death of his mother," Letty went on. "And I suppose he has been so upset he hasn't thought to notify me. But he might have sent me word," she added wistfully. "I should have done so if it was my mother."
"He is not like you, Letty."
"Well, he is just as good."
"That remains to be seen."
"Are you going to tell me what you have in your mind or not, Uncle
Adam?"
He gazed at her fondly. How could he tell her? And yet, if his suspicions were correct, it would be better for her to know the truth now than to be struck down by it later on.
"There is nothing very definite, Letty," he said slowly. "You know that all detectives get on the wrong trail at times—I have made a mess of more than one case—you know that, even if the general public doesn't."
"Then he is suspected of these murders?" she said boldly.
"If you must have the whole story, I'll tell it to you. It is certainly a curious situation. At first suspicions pointed to Mr. Langmore's daughter; now they appear to point to Mrs. Langmore's son. For your sake and for the sake of Miss Langmore, who appears to be a very nice young lady, I trust we shall be able to prove some outside party guilty."
"Tom isn't guilty, I am sure of that."
"And Raymond Case is equally certain that Miss Langmore isn't guilty."
"He is the young man who came here and engaged you?"
"Yes."
"Is he engaged to her?"
"Yes."
"Then, of course, he thinks her innocent."
"I think her innocent myself."
"Do you think Tom is guilty?"
At this direct question Adam Adams winced. He saw before him a disagreeable duty which must be performed.
"I see I must give you the facts, Letty. But I will do so on one condition only, and that is, that you keep what I have to say to yourself—considering them as office secrets."
"Very well, Uncle Adam, I'll promise," she answered, with a pale face upturned to him. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. Then he locked the office door, sat down in an armchair and let her sit on his lap, just as she had done since childhood.
His recital took the best part of an hour, and he gave all the particulars of his interview with Cephas Carboy and with Doctor Calkey, and told of the finding of the bit of paper with the address of the drug firm on it, and of the strange Chinese poison. At the mention of the fatal drug she drew a sharp breath.
"I—I—" she began, and stopped short.
"Do you know anything of that drug, Letty? Perhaps he spoke to you about it?"
"He did, once, when we were speaking of poisons. He said he was glad his firm had decided not to handle it, for it was too dangerous. It has a power that most folks do not know about."
"The power to kill people, I suppose."
"No, not that. He said it was a fatal drug, but more than that, he said it had a strange power, according to the Chinese chemists who manufactured it. That power was, if it was used on a person and did not kill it would, in a few days or a week, make that person mad."
"Humph! Worse and worse! Such a drug should be banished by law. But to go on with my story, if you must hear the whole of it. I am fairly certain it was that drug which was used to kill Mr. and Mrs. Langmore."
"But Tom did not use it," she insisted. "Somebody else must have gotten the drug from him or from his traveling sample case."
"That is possible. Now there is another side to this case, which I cannot understand at all." And then he told of the counterfeit bank bills.
"Counterfeits!" she exclaimed, and the color began to leave her face once more. "What kind of bills were they, Uncle Adam?"
"They were one hundred dollar bills, on the Excelsior National Bank of
New York City."
She gave a gasp and clenched her little hands to control herself. He could not help but notice her increased agitation.
"What is it, Letty? Do you know—"
"Oh, Uncle Adam, do not ask me," she gasped. "I—I—there is some mistake—Tom did not—" she failed to go on and looked at the detective hopelessly.
"What do you know about these counterfeits? Come, it is best that you tell me everything," he continued kindly, but firmly.
"To—Tom had a counterfeit one hundred dollar bill. He—we went to the theatre and he got into some trouble over it, until he convinced the ticket seller that he did not know it was bad."
"Did he tell you where he got the bill?"
"No, he said he got stuck, that's all."
"Do you know what he did with it?"
"He said he was going to give it back and get a good one for it, if he could."
At that moment a postman's whistle sounded in the hallway and several letters dropped through the slit in the door. The girl glanced at them, and uttering a faint cry, arose and picked them up.
"Here is one from Tom now." She tore it open and glanced at it hastily. "I knew it," she went on. "He is all upset because of the murder and scarcely knows what to do. He had an important engagement in Albany for yesterday and one in New York for to-day, but has broken both. He says he will come to me as soon as he can, and adds a postscript asking me to look in the papers for the particulars of the awful affair. You read it, Uncle Adam. That doesn't look much as if he were guilty, does it?"
The detective took the communication and scanned it with care. It had evidently been penned in a hurry and was signed, "Your own Tom." One line read: "I hope with all my heart that the authorities bring the guilty party to justice."
"How could he pen that if he was guilty himself?" said Letty, pointing to the line. "Oh, Uncle Adam, you must look elsewhere for the one who did this foul deed."
"I wish I knew where he got that counterfeit?"
"Perhaps I can find out for you."
"Can you tell me where he stays when in New York?"
"At the Kingdon House, on Broadway."
"Then I may look him up."
"Cannot I do something?"
"Yes—wait and keep quiet, Letty."
"But you will try to clear him, if you can, won't you?"
"I am going to try to find the guilty party."
"It is dreadful to remain here and do nothing, with such a cloud hanging over one."
"Then take a vacation. It will do you good. Get Miss Harringford to come in here—she knows the ropes—and you go off in the country or to the seashore. I'll make you an allowance of fifty dollars for the trip. Take it out of the cash on hand. And, Letty, don't worry too much."
The girl smiled, but it was not a smile to please one. "Very well, I'll go off," she said, and turned back to her desk. "I'll take the time off to help clear poor Tom," she murmured to herself.
CHAPTER XVI
SOMETHING ABOUT A SECRET SERVICE MAN
On the following morning the newspapers brought to Adam Adams the full particulars of the Langmore inquest, with the finding of the coroner's jury. The papers also described how Margaret Langmore had fainted and been placed at a nurse's residence, under the care of a physician and guarded by the police. By a few it was supposed that the girl's illness was genuine, but the general opinion was that it was assumed, in order to draw public sympathy. Raymond Case was pictured as a loyal, but misguided young man, and it was hinted that his relatives were much chagrined to see him remaining at the accused girl's side, in view of the evidence which had been brought to light.
The detective read the accounts with interest and then leaned back in his office chair in a thoughtful mood. Letty had absented herself and in the outer office was another girl, who had done substitute work before. Suddenly the detective arose with decision, went to the telephone, and rang up Central.
"Hullo!"
"Give me 45678 Park."
There was a buzz and then a heavy voice came over the 'phone.
"Hullo!"
"Is that you, Vapp?"
"Yes. Is this Mr. Adams?"
"Yes. Are you particularly busy?"
"Not if there is any money afloat," and a chuckle came over the wire.
"I want you to do some shadowing for me, I don't know how long it will take. It's a man—a commercial traveler. You can pick out your own make-up."
"When am I on?"
"Right away."
"Want me up there first?"
"I think it will be best. I want to give you some details."
"I'll be there in half an hour and all ready for the job."
Adam Adams busied himself in various ways, and at the end of half an hour, a well-dressed, middle-aged man came in, carrying a small sample case in one hand.
"Hullo, going to be a commercial traveler yourself, eh?" commented the detective.
"It will give me an easy way to get around," answered Charles Vapp. "I'm Andy Weber, representing the Boxton Seed Company. A seed man can go anywhere, in the city and the country. I got the outfit from old Boxton himself. He thinks it a good joke and he will keep mum. Now, what's the game?"
"I want you to do some shadowing for me."
"All right—that's my line."
"This is a bit out of the ordinary, Vapp."
"Well, that makes it more interesting. Who is the party?"
"The fellow's name is Tom Ostrello."
"Foreigner, eh?"
"No, he is American-born—the son of Mrs. Langmore."
"You don't mean the woman who was murdered with her husband?"
"Yes. He is a commercial traveler for a drug concern."
"Good! I'm glad I elected to be a traveler myself."
"As I said, Vapp, this is no ordinary case. I want you to keep track of this man day and night."
"I'll do it—if it can be done."
"I want you to note every person he communicates with."
"I'll do that, too."
"And here is another thing of great importance. If he spends money, try to find out if it is good money."
"Eh?" The shadower looked surprised for an instant. "You want me to look out for counterfeits?"
"Exactly."
"That is not so easy, but I'll do my best," went on Charley Vapp, and then he asked a number of questions regarding Tom Ostrello, all of which Adam Adams answered as well as he was able.
"You are to stay on this case until I tell you to drop it," said the detective. "And remember, if anything unusual occurs, let me know as soon as you can reach me."
"I understand. Anything more?"
Adam Adams mused for a moment.
"Yes. You know Miss Bernard, who works for me here?"
"Sure."
"Well, take care that she doesn't see you shadowing Ostrello."
"I'm wise," answered the shadower, smiling, and the next moment he was gone. He was not flustered by what was before him, for he had been shadowing people for eleven years, and as long as there was five dollars per day and his expenses in the work, he was willing to continue indefinitely.
With the shadower gone, Adam Adams meditated for a moment and then donned his walking coat and his hat. In his pockets he placed several large but rather flat packages.
"I am going out, Miss Harringford," he said to the clerk. "If I am not back by five o'clock, you may lock up and go home. Be on hand as usual in the morning."
Down in the street he hopped aboard a passing car and rode eight blocks. He entered an office building, went up in an elevator to the third floor, and took himself to a suite of offices occupied by certain United States secret service officers.
"I want to see Mr. Breslow," he said, and was shown to a private apartment, where an elderly man sat, studying several reports.
"How are you, Adams!" was the greeting.
"Rather busy to-day, but what can I do for you?"
"I want to sell you some bank bills," was the reply, and Adam Adams dumped the package on the desk. Mr. Breslow opened it and examined the contents.
"By the jumping Judas! Where did you get those? Say, this is worth while."
"I guess you haven't rounded up quite as many as I have, have you?" said the detective, with a grim smile.
"As many? Why, man, we've only run across sixteen so far, and you've got thirty. They are such a clever counterfeit that even the banks get nipped. This is wonderful! I didn't know you were following this trail. Why didn't you say something before? Or maybe you wanted to spring a surprise, and make some of the boys, down here feel cheap."
"No, it was nothing but blind luck. I wasn't on the trail at all. I simply stumbled over the bills."
"Did you get your man?"
"There was no man to get."
"Do you mean to say you found the bills?"
"I did and I didn't. They were in the safe of a man who was murdered.
I guess I'll have to tell you the best part of the story," and Adam
Adams did so. "This is, of course, confidential," he went on.
"Trust me for that, Adams. Strange complication, as you just remarked. I suppose you are going to follow up the murder mystery. Will you follow this up, too?"
"I think so. I can't get it out of my head that the two are related to each other."
"More than likely. Now, you just said you wanted to know something."
"I want to know about this John S. Watkins, of Bryport."
"Um! If I give you his record, you'll of course keep it to yourself.
You know how the department is about such things?"
"You are safe with me."
"I'll have the record brought in."
There was a wait of several minutes, and then a big book was produced from one of the safes.
"Here you are, Adams: John S. Watkins, Bryport. Born at New Haven, October 4, 1862. Former occupation, model maker and cabinet maker. Private detective for four years, and one year with the Cassell agency. Entered the United States service three years ago. Never been advanced. Cases 45,254; 47,732; 46,829. Wait till I see what those cases are."
Then three other records were brought forth and examined.
"Humph! all small affairs. No wonder he hasn't been promoted. The first is that of a young woman who used washed postage stamps. They found four dollars worth of washed stamps in her possession. The next is the arrest of a cigar dealer, who used stamped boxes more than once. He was a fellow sixty-eight years old and got two years. The last case is a mail-order swindle, a ten-cent puzzle, a small affair, run by a nineteen-year-old boy, and sentence was suspended."
"Not a very brilliant record," was Adams's comment. "It's a wonder he can hold his job."
"It is a wonder. But he may have political influence, or something else, or, it is barely possible that he may be doing some work that is not on record here. That is all I can tell you."
"What is his salary?"
"A thousand or twelve hundred a year."
"Not a very elaborate income. No wonder he would like to run down those counterfeiters. It would be a feather in his cap, eh?"
"Most assuredly. Do you expect to double up with him? Of course, it's none of my business and you needn't answer if you don't care to."
"I don't know what I'll do yet. This is a complication I want to study first."
"I see. Well, if we can help you—"
"I'll send word, don't fear. And if I do send word, I want you to act on the jump."
"Don't worry about that. I know if you send word it means business," answered the secret service officer, with a laugh.
An hour later found Adam Adams on a train bound for Bryport. He reached that city in the evening, and from a directory he learned where the secret service man resided. A street car brought him to within two blocks of the dwelling. It was a building of no mean pretentions and on a corner which looked to be valuable. Walking along the side street he saw that two domestics were at work in the kitchen and dining room.
"He certainly lives in style," mused Adam Adams. "Wonder if he manages it on twelve hundred a year?"
As it was a warm night the windows were open and by going close to the house he could hear the conversation being carried on by the servants as they moved back and forth between the two rooms.
From their talk, he learned that Mrs. Watkins and her two daughters were at Saratoga, and that it was expected that the husband would join his family there soon.
"And we'll have good times when he's gone, ain't that so, Caddie?" said one of the domestics.
"That we will," was the answer. "Better times than now, anyway, when you can't tell when he is coming in and when he is going out. It is a queer way he has with him lately."
"I guess he is worried over his money."
"Why, what do you know about that, Caddie Dix?"
"What do I know, Nellie Casey? Tim Corey told me Mrs. Watkins didn't git a cent of the old grandfather's money, although she said she did, and so did the master say so. It all went to the other part of the family."
"Then where did Mr. Watkins git his money, I'd like to know."
"Don't ask me. Tim says he is flush enough at the club and other places. The government must pay him more than most folks imagine."
"Is Tim goin' to the Rosebud's picnic?"
"Yes, and Dan's goin' too, and Dan wants me to bring you," went on one of the domestics, and then the talk drifted into a channel which was of no further interest to Adam Adams.
He rightfully surmised that John Watkins was not home and was somewhat puzzled to decide what he should do next. It was a long journey from Bryport to Sidham, and it was a question if he could accomplish anything at the scene of the tragedy during the night.
"Perhaps it will pay just as well to go to a hotel and go to bed," he told himself.
He had just come out to the corner of the street and was halting at the curb, when he saw two men approaching. One of the pair was John Watkins, and the other was a heavy-set stranger, with bushy hair and a round, red nose and mutton-chop whiskers.
"Here we are, Styles," said John Watkins. "It's a little late, but I reckon the girls can fix us up something to eat. It's better than going to a restaurant."
"Anything will do me, if you've got a glass of ale to go with it," was the reply.
"Got to have a real Englishman's drink, eh?" said the secret service man, with a short laugh. "Well, I've remembered you and I can fix you up to the queen's taste. Come on inside." And then the pair entered the house.