CHAPTER VII
A Splash of Blood
The door closed after Peter with a snap of the spring lock, and Donald Morris waited, striding nervously about. At every turn in the length of the room he paused beside the frail scarf which still lay upon the table. It drew him with an irresistible, horrible fascination.
Whose blood was that upon it? What fearful scene had taken place in this quiet room? The overturned table suggested that there might have been a struggle. But what sort of a struggle, and between whom? Was there some secret animosity between these two sisters, living so closely together and in such seclusion? That had been his impression for a long time. Was it correct? And if so, what then? Had the feeling between them been serious enough to cause——
His troubled reflections were interrupted by a quick, quiet knock on the outer door. He went swiftly into the shadowy hall, and hearing the detective's voice just outside, he threw open the door, disclosing Clancy and the janitor.
The latter seemed very much abashed by the summons. He snatched off his old hat, and with his two hands clasped behind his back he bowed several times in a quick, foreign way, and smiled deprecatingly.
He was dressed in an old loose pair of dark trousers and a blue-and-white striped, long-sleeved blouse, open at the throat. Altogether he appeared what he was—a kindly, childlike, dirty little Italian, such as one may see by the hundred in the section south of Washington Square.
"Come on in, Angelo," said Clancy, pleasantly. "Don't be afraid. Mr. Morris and I just want to ask you a few questions. Name's Angelo Russo," he added, turning to Morris. "Says he's been janitor here for about four years." Then, turning back, he took the seemingly reluctant Italian by the arm. "Come in here, Angelo," he repeated. "Nothing for you to be afraid of. I guess Sullivan must have treated you kind of rough, didn't he? But he didn't mean anything. Professional etiquette, that's all. Now sit down there and make yourself comfortable, and tell us what you know about the tenants here."
His manner was cheerful and disarming, and the janitor was reassured. He seated himself on the edge of a chair near the door of the living room and answered Peter's questions with a volubility which was almost overwhelming.
"No know mucha 'bout da ladies," he said, with a characteristic shrug and a nervous grin. "Ver' quiet, ver' nice. Both keep alla to selves. Both speak pleasant to Angelo, no speak mucha. Say 'Nice day, Angelo,' Mees Anne say, ev' morn' she go out buy grub. Dat all. 'Nice day, Angelo.' Da tall, gran' one, Mees Mary, she say, 'Good eve', Angelo,' if see her when she go teatro at night. No see her ver' mucha. No roun' vestabula, me, lika in morn' when Mees Anne come down. Den——"
"What does Miss Anne look like, Angelo?" Donald Morris interrupted. He was filled with an intense desire to learn all that was possible about the strange sister whom he had never seen—whom, now, it appeared he would never see if Mary's letter gave the exact fact. "There will be no one left but Anne, and you will never see her. She will see to that." Why would there be no one left but Anne? Where——
"She looka da nice, quiet lady," again the Italian shrug and the gesture of open hands. "Weara da black, ver' plain. No tall an' gran' lika da sist'. She looka lika alla da ladies, only she hava da big, reda mark on face, here, looka lika blood——"
"You mean a birthmark?" Clancy broke in hastily. "A conspicuous birthmark?" He exchanged a hopeful glance with Morris. A thing of that sort ought to make it easier to trace her, if it became necessary.
"Non capisch da birt'mark," Angelo showed a slightly puzzled face, "but he big reda place alla lika here." He raised a stubby brown hand and passed it across his dark cheek and down on his neck. "Too mucha bad," he added. "Oth' side she awright."
"Did she resemble Miss Mary?" asked Morris, eagerly. "Did she look at all like her sister?"
"N', no!" The Italian's negation was very emphatic. "Mees Mary tall, lika Madonn', stan' straight," he lifted his square body in the chair, "lika da lil'. See face tru vail lika ange' in cloud, si, si. Sometime me lika see no vail. N', no, Ev' time she wear him. Tinka, me, she wear him so peopl' in street not know she great Mees Blake ev'bod' talk 'bout."
Morris nodded. "That's true, Angelo. But tell us more about Miss Anne. We know how Miss Mary looked." There was a world of sadness in his voice. "Describe Miss Anne to us. Was she tall or short?"
"Si, si. Pret' gooda tall," answered the janitor, considering heavily, "but no so ver'. She hanga down, lika dis," drooping slightly forward. "She looka ver' sad alla time. She nev' speak, only, 'Gooda morn', Angelo.' That all. Jus' 'Gooda morn', Angelo'."
"How long were the sisters here?" asked Clancy.
"Not know for sure. Come two, tree year ago. Soon aft' me taka da job."
"So long as that, and you don't know anything more about them?" asked Peter, sharply.
Again the shrug, with eyebrows raised. "How me know mucha 'bout da ladies? Justa da janitor, me."
"Well, you must know," said Peter, "what servants they had."
"No serv', no serv' 'tall," Angelo replied, quickly. "Two ladies all alone. Tinka dey do alla own work. Tinka, me, Mees Anne do alla work, an' Mees Mary, she sleep late. No see come down till time for she go teatro. Mees Anne she go out ev' morn'——"
"All right," Peter interrupted. "Then they had no servants—not even a laundress?"
"Me no know—maybe. Somebod' might come for wash. Me no know who, if anybod'. Me no in hall alla time. Only morn' when clean up hall—me liva da basemen'. Door no lock alla da day. If somebod' ringa da bell, me go."
"Then you don't know if the ladies had many visitors, or who they were?" asked Peter, with a frown. The conversation seemed not to be eliciting anything useful to his purpose.
The janitor shook his head.
"See ol' lady come, two, tree, four time. Fine, gran' ol' lady, ver' big, wide——" Angelo thrust out his hands together, palms down, to the full reach of his short arms, and brought them around to his sides in a full, sweeping curve, graphically expressive of great embonpoint. "Gran' ol' lady," he repeated, his white teeth flashing in a grin, "she puffa some on alla da stair!"
"You don't know her name?" Peter inquired, eagerly.
Again the Italian shook his head.
"Or where she lives?"
"How know, me?" was the reasonable response.
"And you've never seen any other friends of theirs?"
"No, no. No see anybod'."
Peter realized that there was no hope in this direction. He leaned back and thought for a moment, frowning, his keen eyes half closed. Morris shifted, uneasily, in his chair. He felt that they were merely wasting time. He had no ideas as to what should be done in the circumstances, but he felt, agonizingly, that they should be doing something—anything. At last Clancy spoke:
"It was easy enough for both the sisters to leave without your seeing them, then, Angelo?"
"Oh, si, si. Easy—sure!"
"And they said nothing to you about going? That seems a little queer to me. Did they ever go away before, and leave the apartment empty, and not tell you to look out for things?"
"No tinka dey both go sama time before. Mees Mary, she go in summer time, but Mees Anne stay alla time home."
Peter looked around the room. Had they gone away together this time, amicably, as sisters should? The strange phrasing of the letter came back to him, and his eyes rested, in disturbed consideration, on the blood-stained scarf.
Suddenly he rose from his chair. "I guess that's about all, Angelo," he said. "I don't suppose you're familiar enough with things here," he glanced again about the disordered room, "to know what's missing."
"No, no." The janitor jumped to his feet, shaking his head rapidly, emphatically. "Mos' nev' come up here, me. No know what gone. Sleepa in basemen'. My wife she sick—she hear noding, me hear noding! Burg' he mus'a go up fi'-'scape into da kitch', you see? Wind' broke——"
"Yes, I saw that the window was broken," said Peter, quietly. "Well, we're much obliged to you, Angelo. I guess we won't need you any more, but I may see you again. I may be coming in here a few times. It'll be all right. You can ask Sullivan. He knows me and Mr. Morris, too."
At the words of dismissal the Italian, nothing loath, started for the door. Peter followed him into the hall.
"You keep your eyes open, Angelo," he said, "and let us know if any one comes to this apartment. We'll make it worth your while. And, by the way, who has the apartment just below this?"
The janitor's left hand was on the knob of the door. "Nobod'. He's empty. Been empty two, tree mont'."
"All right, Angelo," said Peter, smiling genially. "Don't forget what I said about letting us know if any one, any one, mind, comes to this apartment or asks for Miss Blake or her sister. Find out who it is if you possibly can. It'll be worth more than this to you, by a damsight," and he thrust a folded bill into the janitor's welcoming palm.
The Italian's sharp little eyes glanced up and away. "Me tella you somebod' come," he agreed, readily.
"Oh, and before you go," said Peter, in an off-hand manner, "just leave me the door key, will you?"
"Door he shutta da spring lock," explained Angelo, quickly. "No needa da key."
"No?" said Peter, casually. "Well, I'd rather have the key, anyway. Always feel safer, somehow. I'm so absent-minded, Angelo, that I often forget things and have to go back for 'em, and if the door was shut, I'd have to go all the way to the basement to hunt you up, see? Just give me the key and I'll leave it with you when I go down."
"Awright, awright," said the Italian, pulling a key from a ring which was secured by a chain to his belt. "Me tinka awright," and he opened the outer door.
As he did so, the sun, nearing the zenith, shone in from the front room, striking full upon the white panels, and Peter, who was just behind him, uttered a sharp exclamation and started forward. Instinctively, he caught the Italian's arm and drew him away from the door.
"Just a moment. Mr. Morris!" he called in a voice the excitement of which was carefully held in check. "Come here just a moment, will you?"
"Look here." He spoke again as Donald Morris quickly reached his side. "Look at this!"
Angelo Russo caught his breath, and crossed himself, fervently. "Madre di Dio!" he whispered to himself.
Morris, leaning forward, felt a horrible shiver pass over him from head to foot.
On the white door, just below the lock, was a long, dark splash of blood.