WIDENER

HN QP75 H


AL 4167.5.150
Harvard College
Library
VE RI
By Exchange















A HAND AND FOREARM TARU'ST UPWARD IN WHAT
SEEMED A GESTURE OF DEFIANCE


The Body
in the Blue Room
By
SIDNEY WILLIAMS
Frontispiece by
J. CLINTON SHEPHERD
THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
1922


AL 4167.8.150
HARVARD COLLEGE
(OCT 18 922)
LIORARY
Shes i cacola
"
R
RY
COPYRIGHT
1922 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
The Body in the Blue Room
Printed in the United States of America


To the
Memory of Lina
A Lamp in the Darkness





Contents
I. NATURE SETS A SCENE . . . . 9
II. THE Box OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS. 10
III. A NIGHT AND A VISION.
IV. FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION . . .
V. DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE.
VI. MARSTON IS TORTURED .
VII. INVADERS OF A Night.
VIII. TWISTED THREADS . . . . . 114
IX. THE QUEST OF CARLOTTA . . . 134
X. WHEN A CITY BURNS . . .
XI. WITH RED DEATH RACING, .
XII. A PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING . 174
XIII. THE SHOT IN THE WOODS . . . 197
XIV. DRUGGED WINE . . ..
XV. A NIGHT ON THE STAIRS
XVI. THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN 247
XVII. HAPPENING IN THE HILLS . . 276
XVIII. MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
XIX. THE VEIL OF EVENING . . .
318
·
155
217
238
295


--
-


The Body in the Blue Room
CHAPTER I
NATURE SETS A SCENE
SOMEWHERE in the woods an owl's hoot rent the
quiet air. The night absorbed it, and resumed its
self-communing. With the whispering of myriad
leaves mingled faint stirring of dreaming birds, and
murmurs of the insect kingdom.
A queen of serene majesty, the harvest moon
rose, leisurely and golden, and marked the dark
line of far-flung trees that raised their lances on
the rugged hills. In close array they swept to the
shore of a cradled lake. Turquoise in vanished
sunlight, it had retired to rest under its satin
blanket, with the sheen of jewels where moonbeams
tarried, casually at play.
Again, and nearer, an owl cried harshly. For a
moment its dark outline was clear against the sky.
Then it came heavily to earth at the edge of a road
winding ribbon-like to the great gray house over-
looking the lake and forest aisles. Again quiet
reigned in the darkness of trees that pressed the
macadam stretch on either side, as if jealous of
man's intrusion.


CHAPTER II
THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
NATURE going her steady way without. Man fol-
lowing devices of the heart within. As tenaciously
as his grandfather, who imparted to Oakhurst its
distinguished ugliness, had maintained no gentle-
man dined after six, Alfred Carrington contended
that no civilized person would dine before eight.
He sat at the head of the table, dark and spare,
with an expression of irony radiating from heavy.
lidded eyes. As model Americans consecrate them-
selves to accumulation of a fortune, or a paragraph
in “ Who's Who," Carrington had devoted his life
to pleasure. Monte Carlo and Paris knew him as a
princely spender. And to the beggar of Naples he
· was more profitable than a season's total of
German tourists.
Carringtons had adorned public life, founded
libraries, and braced the pillars of art. To Alfred
the estate of leading citizen was anathema. Of
two things he was proud. The array of silver at-
testing his prowess on the polo field, and his repu-
tation in numismatic circles as a collector of coins
and jewels.
10


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ Tell me, Dick. Do you care so much about
everybody's wrongs?”
“Why — ” he began, then looked at her half-
suspicious. “It's only this,” he went on. “Some
things one can't be indifferent to, if he has a heart
in his breast. Women in your position have no
comprehension of them.”
“ I have known hard times,” she submitted.
“Yes," he said ironically. “Once your personal
allowance was cut to ten thousand a year."
“ Anyway, I'm a democrat, Dicky.”
“ Is any woman a democrat?”
He regained for the moment something of the
advocate's fervor.
“I think you are all too completely swayed by
the personal to entertain a true conception of
equality. Take your own case. You like to reflect
that you equally enjoy the conversation of an amus-
ing bootblack and a cosmopolitan grand duke.
You ignore social classification; but you don't for-
get it. You're a dear, Helen. But not a demo-
crat.”
She made obeisance with an inclination of her
head.
“At least, I'm a good friend. To continue our
tête-à-tête. Since,” with a careless glance about the
table, “ such conversation seems in general favor.
Let's talk about Carlotta."
12


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
Marston flushed, but allowed his eyes open en-
joyment of oblivious beauty, as Carlotta Hamlin
gave ear to the studious gallantries of Freddy
Graves. Her piquant profile crowned with darkly
auburn hair was clear against the shadowy green
of tapestry. Eyes into which Freddy gazed with
amiable ardor Marston could not see. But he knew
them well. Eyes of gray that had a trick of some-
times seeming hazel. The truthful mirrors of a
personality elfish, comradely, or icy,-as the mood
might be. At all times Carlotta possessed the in-
terest of the unexpected.
“ She is quite a puzzle,” said Marston, lighting a
cigarette with elaborate unconcern.
Mrs. Carrington smiled. “I suppose that is your
legal mind, Dick. What I had in view was your
personal impression. You and Carlotta have been
here together nearly a week. And you know, even
if I'm not a democrat, or open-eyed to sorrows of
the poor, I am not altogether blind.
"I have known you,” she went on musingly,
“since your nurse, or mine, took us out to walk
and wiped our little noses. And I have known Car-
lotta since we were together in a Paris convent,
with no higher aim than cultivation of a French
accent and a pure heart. I know you both so well,
and am so fond of you, that I will take the risk of
being misunderstood.”
13


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
6 Well?”
Marston was watching bubbles rise through the
clear amber of his freshly filled glass. For a min.
ute or so they sat in silence. About them flowed
the tide of conversation, blending of anecdote for
all with a confidential hum. Then Helen Carring-
ton resumed:
“ Carlotta is my dearest friend. We don't think
alike. And few of our intimates are mutual pos-
sessions. Since we married we have both been
wanderers; and it happened our paths seldom
crossed. Our last meeting before this visit was in
Rome, a year ago. But the tie remains unbroken.
I've a feeling that Carlotta would come to me any
time, and anywhere, if I needed her. And however
wrong I might be, she would try to help me. There
is plenty of firmness and loyalty under her capri.
cious exterior."
She paused; but Marston said nothing.
“ One might suppose I was egging you on to
propose.” She surveyed his averted face quizzic-
ally. “What I want to suggest is that Carlotta's
loyalty is to friendship. Not that she is incapable
of caring for a man. To one who mastered and
really understood her, she would be wonderful,
dear beyond description.
“But they try-and fail,” she went on. “Jim
Hamlin was a good fellow who loved her too much,
14


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ It's a double compliment,” he bantered.
“ You extravagant creature. Begin at once."
“ Well,” he said magisterially, “it's a compli-
ment that I tell you at all."
“Ah, a tribute to my common sense. Now come
to the purely feminine.”
“Well,” pulling reflectively at his cigarette, “I
will tell you. As you came down to dinner, I hap-
pened to see you pause a moment on the landing.
And it popped into my head that you might have
posed for Beardsley's Herodias. No literal re-
semblance, of course. You know the one I mean.
In the Salome series?”
“Yes, I know it.” Her face showed mirthful ap-
preciation. 6 Tall, and so majestic. With a broad
black girdle, and the flowing black mane. And the
handmaiden who clasps a powder-puff to her
breast, while holding in her other hand what looks
like a fat 8. And a bald gentleman with a necklace,
and the look of an outraged butler, supports a
corner of Herodias's robe.”
At his expression of chagrin she laughed in pure
enjoyment.
“Don't be alarmed, Dicky. I like it. It's one
of Beardsley's few figures that look like anybody.
And anyway, he's a fillip to people of our sort,-a
little too far from the primal thing. I'd like to
know Verlaine's Pierrot:
- 16


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
“Le subtil génie
De sa malice infinie
De poète-grimacier –
“You're a queer pretender, Helen," said Mar.
ston, all sincerity again. “While most of us play
up to the crowd, you only recognize its existence
by running yourself down.”
“How do you know?" she countered. “What
does any man know about any woman? Why, we
don't know all about ourselves. But I ought to be
charitable to you, Dicky. You have furnished-
unintentionally—a bright suggestion for tab-
leaux.
“I am already cast for Herodias. And picture
Alfred, sick with passion for young beauty, regard-
ing me with smouldering eyes. Poor dear. I've
never checked him at all. And he's wandered,
so far, he shows signs now of regarding me as the
divine mystery."
“ Sure you're not giving secrets away?" asked
Marston.
“ By no means. For you don't believe me. Let's
get back to our tableaux. Who shall be Salome?
We can't use Amy Stone, even if we have the heart
to take her away from Roger Vincent, who gen-
erally finds the quarrel between their mothers a
barrier almost as effective as a quarantine for dis-
17


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
ease. Amy is nice with children and dogs, and
charmingly considerate with old people. And she
can drive a car or golf ball even to the satisfaction
of Roger. Devotion to physical perfection is his
substitute for religion. Amy might do for the
Goddess of Liberty. But her dance of the Seven
Veils must certainly be reserved for the variety
stage."
“There's Fanny Cutshaw," he somewhat satiric-
ally proposed.
Helen's eyes wandered to a short, slender woman,
with delicate features and vehemently golden hair.
Her dress, which seemed to Marston more like a
lounging robe than a dinner gown, was fashioned
of some Eastern fabric, with serpents of gold
writhing their way across a wisteria background.
As she gesticulated freely the topaz in a ring on the
little finger of her left hand shone yellow. Catch-
ing the light, it seemed somehow baleful, like the
eye of a snake that is as cold as ice. She was ex-
ercising slightly faded blue eyes on General Welles,
who bent toward her with his gallantry for all
women.
Mrs. Carrington came back to her vis-à-vis.
“Many a true word is spoken in jest.' Fanny
could do the Salome dance. You don't like her, do
you, Dicky? And I think just now she sighs for
you."
18


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
“Nonsense,” he said, and added defensively,
“ With other friends of sufficient standing, per-
haps, to venture an opinion, I don't see where she
fits in. She isn't your kind.”
“No, I don't suppose she is. If you want to
analyze it, her claim on me is the weakness of
gratitude. I can't forget favors offered in pure
amiability to a stranger. That was my first meet-
ing with Fanny,-on a steamer in the Bay of Bis-
cay. For once, a slip-up left me with poor accom-
modation. I had a wretched little stateroom, and
I was ill. When a woman, hardly a deck acquaint-
ance, insisted on my transfer to her comfortable
room, and hovered over me more assiduously than
Fifi, who got all my discarded hats and gowns, I
couldn't be ungrateful. And afterward, when I
was in a Paris hospital, she brought me roses every
day.
“So, you see, I'm helpless. Fanny says I am the
light of her life. To be honest, I suppose I am her
ticket of admission to what is called smart so-
ciety. I don't mind that, if my friends behave well
to her.
" She has had a wretched enough life. Her fa-
ther was an English curate, appropriately poor.
At a tender age, as the old stories say, she was
handed over to a London diamond merchant. I
don't know what became of him. Fanny is rather
19


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
reticent on a few subjects. Anyway, she became
one of the wandering sisterhood of the Continent.
You have seen them in the hotels of Ostend and
Paris, in Baden Baden and the Savoy grill. They
know everybody by sight, and collect authoritative
back-stairs information. Their whole life is a pain.
ful pretense that deceives nobody.
“Fanny's only deep attachment was to some In-
dian of high rank-a Parsee, I think—with whom
she spent much time in the Orient. Even there
she was declassée. For in India his code of caste
left her less than the position of chèrie amie in
Europe. You see, she has had an unhappy life.
With it all, she is sweet at heart, and so grateful
for a little kindness. Am I forgiven, Dicky?”
“ Please forgive me,” he said impulsively. “You .
know what I really think of you, Helen. You've
more heart than a dozen pious phrase-makers. For
your sake, I'll stand on my head to give Fanny a
good time.”
“Not every one,” she said with a rueful smile,
“ is so noble. Right now Carlotta is showing signs
of temper.”
In a lull of conversation her voice came to them,
with an accent of boredom.
“No, Mrs. Cutshaw,” she was saying, “I don't
know her. We don't seem to have many mutual
friends, do we?"
20


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
Mrs. Carrington reached for her handkerchief,
and a spangled fan.
“My cue for exit,” she observed. “I must take
the debaters away before Carlotta does something
worse. And she'll have to—to make Fanny recog-
nize the snub. Stay here and smoke in peace. How
I envy men the privilege of settling differences with
their fists. We poor creatures can only battle with
our tongues."
She gave the signal to rise. The distaff diners
disappeared, with a little preening and the hap-
hazard conversation that supports passage from
room to room. The men settled back comfortably
in the camaraderie of social undress. Maxwell,
the perfect butler of clerical aspect, responded
to Carrington's pressure of a button with
cigars.
“You should be photographed now, Freddy,” ob-
served Carrington. “Your spiritual expression
would go well with those songs that make you
rich. What's the latest? "Don't Peroxide Your
Hair, Dad'?”
Freddy Graves' only answer was a slow smile
that curtained his twinkling eyes. With reposeful
relish he pinched the tip of a corpulent Havana,
and held it to his nose appreciatively before apply.
ing the match.
“ Are you sure you have found your metier in
21


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
music, Freddy?” inquired Marston. “Don't you
think you might have better success as a nose
specialist? ”
Still no answer. Freddy watched the first smoke
of his cigar spiral upward, and gathered in his slow
glance all the beauty of the stately room. Its hang-
ing of Gobelin, in which Dryads danced and Cru-
saders went forth to war; the old Flemish altar-
piece that backed Carrington's chair; tall candles
wrought in silver by some cunning Florentine; a
small Correggio, so charmingly suave, facing him
across the table; and the handsome carving of tall
chairs that once stood in some grandee's castle.
Coming back to his cigar, Freddy examined its ash
solicitously. Then, fixing his eyes on the ceiling,
he spoke with perfect irrelevance:
“I saw a funny thing in Little Italy, this morn-
ing, on my way to the Grand Central.”
He paused to sip his coffee, and looked for an
ash tray.
“ Tell us about it before we restrain you,"
prodded Marston.
“Yes, tell us about it, Freddy, in spite of Mar-
ston,” Carrington urged in his genially sardonic
fashion. Other men at the table sat mutely ex-
pectant.
“Well, it wasn't so much," said Freddy slowly.
" Only sort of funny. I'd been down that way to
22


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
see a fellow I heard of, a good fellow in awfully
hard luck, and was steaming through Little Italy,
hustling for the station and hoping for a cab.
Nearly lost my train. Most anybody would pull
up on coming across a brown bear harnessed to
a baby-carriage.”
“ Sure it wasn't a three-toed horse?” interjected
Carrington, with skepticism void of offense.
“ It was a bear all right; a youngish one, with a
cinnamon complexion. And he was harnessed,
with plenty of bells. A fat baby snoozed in the
cart; at least, I suppose it snoozed. It didn't yell.
A youngish woman with considerable dirt and good
looks held the reins.”
“Is that all? ” queried Marston. “You didn't
throw the foaming steed back on its haunches with
one hand, while you deftly rescued the cooing bam-
bino with the other?”
"I did not,” Freddy replied with slight asperity.
“ You go to the deuce."
“I, too, saw something strange in brown once,"
said General Welles musingly.
He was considerably the senior of other men at
the table. But in his attitude was nothing pater-
nal. He had grown old in years and distinguished
at the bar without loss of youthful spirit. His eye
was still keen; his carriage, elastic; and his voice
hearty in trolling a song. Young men loved him,
23


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
for he gave them good company and refrained from
giving them pious advice.
“ Tell us about it, General,” urged Carrington.
“Won't you have some chartreuse?”
“I ought not to, but I will. I'm a gouty old fel-
low, you know. Thank you, Maxwell.”
As the General filled his glass from a decanter
presented by the butler who had lingered in the
background, Marston wondered. Why the look of
hatred, so suddenly erased it seemed a flash of
lightning from a clear sky, that distorted Max-
well's face as the General lowered his eyes reflect-
ively? What interest, other than faithful service,
could Carrington's veteran butler have in his em-
ployer's elderly and distinguished friend? As
Marston turned the question in his mind the butler
quietly left the room.
“ This rolls away the years," the General said,
sipping with delight. “But only for the hour. To-
morrow morning the strange happening I recall
will seem vastly more remote than it does to-night.
I was lusty then."
“ You're the youngest of us now," asserted Car.
rington.
“ Perhaps I have been. But that was long ago.”
His brilliant eyes slightly veiled, the General sat
a moment in reminiscent mood. Then, with a
sbrug and a light sigh, he launched his tale.
24


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
“It's hardly a story; rather an anecdote-a
strange happening. Something to be embroidered
by you of fertile fancy, if you please. It must be
twenty years since it happened. I know it's just
that. For Wentworth was my partner, and he died
down there.
“ The time I speak of we were investigating a
mine in Mexico. It was up beyond Guaduhara, on
the slopes of the Sierra Madres. A magnificent
country then; probably it is so still. When I knew
it no railroad threatened a pine forest presenting
its ramparts of green for hundreds of miles. And
the trees were superbno underbrush. As the sun-
light filtered through one could see ahead a mile.
“ Pardon my slowness in coming to the point.
When I speak of Mexico I cannot restrain my en-
thusiasm. Nor can any man familiar with her rich-
ness, and gorgeous charm. Did any of you ever see
a buttercup tree? Or nasturtiums climbing into
the branches of trees that showed thirty feet of
clear trunk? I did, on the way to Guaduhara."
The General mused a moment; then went on.
“ Wentworth died, and the mine petered out.
Mines usually do. But I met Stevens. You young-
sters may never have heard of him. He never hyp-
notized the newspapers. He knew a heap about
classic art, though. And he was convinced of a
connection between Aztec civilization and the an.
25


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
cient life of India. Our wise men mostly laughed
at the idea. They sized up Stevens as a poseur.
He didn't look like an archæologist to them. More
British than an Englishman. But level-headed,
and grit clear through.
“When I met him that year he was after an
Aztec temple. He got his inspiration from a Mexi-
can Indian while digging for the lost city of Ouari,
in Yucatan. Something the Indian said inflamed
his fancy with the idea that a handful of Aztecs flee-
ing before the Spaniards had picked their way into
the Sierras, where they kept sacred rites alive.
Whether they preserved the pleasant custom of
plucking the heart of a human sacrifice did not
bother us much. Stevens was a born adventurer;
and I liked chance for its own sake in those days."
The General paused to light a cigar, and traced
the pattern of the table cover with his forefinger
meditatively. Freddy Graves opened his lips, but
did not speak. Presently the General resumed:
“We had really no plan at all. Only what Ste-
vens, with his amazing smattering of tongues, had
picked up from the Indian. He told a tall story of
wonderful buildings he had seen; of mountains that
reached to the sky; and a forest stretching like
waves of a great sea. Evidently he thought of a
place somewhere on the West coast. He didn't
know the Sierra Madres by name.
26


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
the regular trail. Then they were guided by land-
marks their master found on a little map. In about
a week, the Indian thought, they came to the jour-
ney's end. It was near the full of the moon and
they went on after sunset. Suddenly they emerged
from the forest. Before them stretched a plateau.
Of course, I'm not undertaking to give you the color
of the Indian's language. Stevens had a hard
enough job, dragging the story from him piece-
meal.
“ There was the plain, with the dark woods be-
hind. And vaguely dark woods below, stretching
far as eye could see. Before them, in the middle of
the clearing, stood a building that seemed round.
The native Mexicans were not suffered to approach
it. At a distance their employer commanded them
to halt. He entered the house of mystery with
strange men in robes who came to meet him, speak-
ing an unknown tongue.
“ Through the night the Indians sometimes heard
a plaintive piping; and lights flashed in the win-
dows-then dulled to blackness. It was a little
past daybreak when their master emerged to
begin the return trip to the coast. The Indians
had, however, a look at the building in the
clear light. It had a great entrance supported by
shining pillars. And the pillars were surmounted
by great snakes of gold. With oaths to the Virgin,
a
28


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
Stevens' Indian swore the snakes raised their heads
to the sun in its first rays.
“ The party hurried back to the coast, and took
passage south. There their employer paid them
and disappeared as mysteriously as he had come.
That was all our guide knew. It was enough for
Stevens. He took fire at the suggestion. As soon
as possible, with our very limited resources, we or-
ganized our temple expedition and set out. For a
while progress was mostly a combat with cactus.
We had hard enough work to save our khaki.
“But I'm loquacious. I have used a deal of lan-
guage in approaching an adventure soon over.
The fourth day in, or maybe the fifth-it doesn't
matter-we had been on the go for a couple of
hours when Stevens, who was pushing the Indians
rather hard, abruptly called a halt. He stood
staring at something on his right. My eyes
followed his, and we stepped forward for a better
look.
“A little off the trail, and stretched under a great
cactus bush, lay a Hindu. The only Hindu I ever
saw in that part of the world. Just then he seemed
a promise of success with the thing we had hap-
hazardly set out to do. He was thin and beardless,
with a long, livid scar over his right eye. Stone
dead, but not yet rigid. His fingers were hardly
stiff in their clutch on something that glittered in a
29


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
slim shaft of sunlight. A little box of gold, with
beautiful decoration of serpents in relief. Stevens
stooped to take it, but stayed his hand.
“ The cover moved. It was raised a little; and
the head of a snake appeared. A small snake that
might have been coated with gold, it shone so. It
wriggled out, and coiled on the Hindu's breast.
For a minute, perhaps, it remained there, holding
our eyes with its unwavering regard. Then it
glided into the bush."
“Why didn't you catch it?” asked Freddy, who
had listened with half-closed eyes, his rotund body
comfortably wedged between chair and table.
The General regarded him appraisingly, but ig-
nored the question.
“When we looked the Hindu over," he said, “ the
only evident injury was a little bite on the left
hand, which held the box. That arm was swollen
considerably. But the face was not distorted. It
wore a look of surprise in death.
“ Stevens pushed the cover up with his riding-
whip. The box was empty. We took it, and buried
the Hindu there in a shallow trench. Then we
went on. But our guide was panic-stricken. For
two more days we managed to keep him on the job.
Then in the night he disappeared. That was the
end of the temple hunt. Nobody else could even
guess which way to go.”
30


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
“What became of the box?” Freddy roused him-
self to inquire.
“That? Oh, that disappeared the night the In-
dian did.”
“Do you think he took it?” Freddy persisted.
“It looked to me as if something took both."
The General answered with a suggestion of re-
luctance. But he went on, slowly, with careful
searching of memory.
“ That night Stevens and I turned in together. A
few yards from the others. Just distant enough to
mark a necessary distinction. As usual, sleep came
soon after a hard day in the open. It must have
been after midnight when I woke. Not suddenly,
but by what seemed a desperate effort of will. You
know the feeling, and the laborious look for some-
thing—one knows not what. It seemed to me I saw
a form silhouetted against a thorn bush in moon-
light dimmed by great trees. I spoke to Stevens,
but got no reply.
“Somewhat doubtful, I slept again. The next
I remember was a guttural Indian song. It was
possibly intended as a call to us. For it was day-
light, and the Indians were busy at the fire. Ste-
vens hadn't stirred. He never did again. He lay
quietly on his side, with a look of inquiry in half-
open eyes. There was a little bite on his left hand.
The gold box had disappeared.”
31


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Silence.
“ What's the rest of it?"
Roger Vincent was the interlocutor now.
“You want the details? There aren't any. As I
told you, our guide had disappeared in the night.
Nothing to explain it; only a couple of souvenirs.
A red kerchief he had worn about his neck was
caught on a thorn bush. And to its nearest neigh-
bor clung a bit of thin yellow fabric. Now you
have it all.”
“What is your theory?” asked Freddy-un-
daunted.
The General countered with a question:
“Have you heard of Izana, the daughter of
Vishnu, who plays with the sun as her golden ball?
And is protected at her altar by snakes of gold?”
“But you don't take any stock in magic! Do
you?"
Freddy was wide-eyed.
“I don't know," the General said, stroking his
chin reflectively. “Once I thought I saw a man
raised from the dead.”
“ But- " began Freddy.
“ All buts barred," interposed Carrington good-
naturedly. “Do you think you are trying a case
with the General, Freddy? Where you shine is at
the piano. Help us to forget all the questions you
asked.”
32


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
"All right. If you want it. Helen said some
thing about it before dinner."
Freddy flexed the fingers of his disengaged hand
appraisingly, and brought his body nearer an up-
right position.
“I think,” he added with a cherubic smile, “her
conscience has quit compelling her to dislike Wag-
ner.”
“You rested while Freddy did all his cross-exam-
ining of the General,” Carrington said to Marston.
“ Do a little scouting for us, won't you? I want to
keep clear until Carlotta finishes the destruction of
Fanny. It was well under way, in spite of the Gen-
eral, before they left the table. Do you mind?”
"Anything to oblige,” Marston agreed. “Sit
tight.”
He entered the great hall where Carringtons
painted by Copley, and those decorously delineated
in American art's black walnut period, by contrast
emphasized the brilliance of a Sargent showing Al-
fred. As he paused a moment before this portrait
Fanny Cutshaw turned from a window command-
ing the long slope to the lake.
“Oh, Mr. Marston,” she said with appealing ac-
cent. “I'm so glad to see you."
" That is pleasant to hear," he responded in
friendly fashion. “Did you come out for the
moonlight?"
38


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ How did you guess? I'm crazy for a breath of
fresh air. Let's go out for a few minutes.”
"Are you dressed for it?”
He looked dubiously at her bare neck and arms;
at the filmy robing of her charmingly slender fig.
ure, and the little feet in high-heeled slippers of
embroidered satin.
“I'm all right. It's warm. And Maxwell will
get me a cloak,” she added, as he still hesitated.
“All right, then, when I have done my errand. I
came to ask if you ladies would like to hear Freddy
play. For once, it takes no coaxing."
“ Maxwell can ask Helen.” She was already
pressing a button. “If I let you go, somebody will
capture you. And I do want to go out. I'm
afraid," plaintively, “ to go alone.”
She was twisting her handkerchief nervously,
and her pretty, undistinguished face showed a
strain. Despite his feeling for Carlotta, Marston
experienced a sense of outrage in his surmise that
Fanny had been socially hazed. She seemed very
small and inoffensive.
" All right,” he said kindly. “We'll send in a
message. I'd like a stroll, too. It's a gorgeous
night.”
« Thank you,” she said with a look of gratitude
that made him somewhat ashamed, and turned to
the butler, waiting at a respectful distance.
34


THE BOX OF THE GOLDEN SERPENTS
“Oh, Maxwell, will you get me a wrap? And tell
Mrs. Carrington, please, that Mr. Carrington
wishes to know if she wants some music."
“ Yes, Madam.”
There was no change in Maxwell's impassive face
as he replied to Mrs. Cutshaw. But Marston felt
in his voice a suggestion of his scorn for social out-
landers. It was a new thought that they must also
bear the condescension of the pantry. Fanny, how.
ever, was nowise cast down. With Marston at her
disposal, she beamed again. And the principal
reason for her sudden cheerfulness was sealed to
him.
“ Will this do, Madam?"
With regard for garments not extended to the
wearer, Maxwell had selected a wrap of purple har.
monizing with Fanny's gown.
" That's very nice," she said approvingly,
and bent on Marston a look that was a call to sery-
ice.
“Will you take the message now to Mrs. Car-
rington, Maxwell?” he said to the waiting butler,
as he fastened the cloak under a coquettishly raised
chin.
“ Very well, sir. Do you care for a top-coat?"
“No, I shall be warm enough. If there is any
inquiry for us, you may say we have gone for a
walk."
35


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ Very well, sir."
As they turned away the butler's eyes followed
them with a curious look.


CHAPTER III
A NIGHT AND A VISION
MARSTON swung open the great door, and fol.
lowed Fanny out into the night. The moon rode
high; so high and clear the land was bathed in light
like that of Venus's fabled garden in Cyprus, where
flourished the tree with yellow leaves and branches,
and golden fruit. Warm September. The air held
both the allure of full fruition, and the first intima-
tion of Autumn's softly treading feet. Near and
far rose the fused chorus of insect pipings, rejoic-
ing of life so soon to die.
Marston shivered slightly, with an undefined
feeling of loneliness. Fanny felt it, and came close
to his side.
“It's spooky. Don't you want to smoke?”
“Not unless you wish me to. There are no mos-
quitoes to keep away. And ghosts don't mind
smoke."
He tucked away the hand laid lightly on his arm.
For a few minutes they paced in silence. The
house was lost to view now; only moonlight before
them on the winding road. On either side the trees
seemed to press closer.
37


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Do you know," Fanny said, breaking the silence
suddenly,“ how nice it is to know a man like you?"
“It's nice of you to think so," he answered with
embarrassment. “I trust you don't think I'm any
better than men in general.”
“But you are." She pressed his arm impul.
sively. “We women know more about men than
they know about each other. It's funny,” she went
on, a little bitterly," but nice men are seldom inter-
esting; and the interesting men are hardly ever
good.”
"Are we all down in black and white?”
He took a jocose note to lighten the situation.
But still Fanny appeared to brood.
“ Heaven knows,” she said at length, “ I've had a
hard enough time in trying to find out.”
Her impulsive gesture of protest was followed by
an exclamation of pain.
“ What's the matter?” he asked anxiously.
“ It's nothing. I caught my handkerchief on a
thorn.”
She was freeing it as she explained.
“But you have hurt your finger. It's bleed-
ing."
“ Only a scratch. It will stop in a moment.
... Come on!”
Wrapping her handkerchief about the pricked
finger as she called her challenge, she caught up her
38


A NIGHT AND A VISION
skirt with her disengaged hand, and was off down
the road. He overtook her in time to protect her
in the inevitable stumble.
“ You can't run with high heels,” he tersely ob-
served.
Between tears and laughter, she rested in the
shelter of his arm, which drew no closer a burden
alluring in the moonlight. Presently she put it
aside with a slightly petulant air.
“It must be splendid," she said, “to be so sen.
sible. Don't you think we ought to be going
back?”
“I'm afraid I have taken you too far," he re-
plied contritely.
“Oh, no.” She laughed lightly. “You are the
soul of consideration."
The Fanny Cutshaw everyone knew returned to
view as they strolled back, slowly breasting the hill.
Did Marston know Lady So-and-So? Had he ever
met the famous Mrs. Blish of Cairo? Was it pos-
sible he had never eaten a salad at the Café de la
Paix? But one could never forget it.
Marston answered politely, for the most part
with negatives. Still she rattled on, as a child
turns pages of a well-remembered picture book.
He hardly heard her, though his lips framed appro-
priate responses. Inner consciousness was con-
cerned with one in the house on the hill. His at-
39


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
tention came back to Fanny with sudden cessation
of her monologue.
With a whispered, “Oh!” she halted in the mid-
dle of a sentence.
“ What is it?” he asked, his eyes straining to
pierce the darkness of roadside trees.
No answer.
Marston moved to investigate. But Fanny
clutched his arm with convulsive vigor. Amazed
and unresisting, he suffered himself to be hurried
up the hill. Several hundred yards they covered
before Fanny paused with a shuddering sigh.
He saw how white she was, with the dilation of
fear in her eyes. She shivered violently, and he
feared for her self-control again. She shook from
head to foot, and half turned away, raising her
handkerchief to her eyes. It was spotted with
blood from her lacerated finger.
“ Take it away,” she said, and thrust it into his
hands. “ Put it out of sight, please.”
He dropped the handkerchief into a pocket, and
took her arm.
“All right now,” he said soothingly.
Obediently she fell into step, and they went on
slowly. At length she spoke, with a little prelimi.
nary sound that might have been either a smothered
sob or laugh.
“ You must think I'm silly to behave so."
40


A NIGHT AND A VISION
“ Not a bit,” he assured her.
After a moment's silence she met his unspoken
inquiry with a counter-question:
“Do you believe thinking of a thing can make
you see it?"
“Why, I don't know," he answered, a little
startled. Then he sought to spare her embarrass-
ment. “Sometimes one sees, and hears, too,
strange things."
“ You're so earnest."
She was laughing a little now; a transparent pre-
tense of gaiety. Again she rattled on, talking a bit
wildly, until they rounded a turn in the road that
brought Oakhurst into view.
A music-room window opened wide disclosed
Amy Stone and Roger Vincent in a far corner, and
evidently interested in their own conversation.
Carrington lounged with negligent grace that left
doubt whether he was merely somnolent or ab-
sorbed in the music. Helen sat by a window where
music and moonlight met, with a look of ardent
appreciation Marston knew well. Carlotta, the
enigma, brooded with eyes fixed on the statue of a
Crusader, returning battered but exalted from a
holy war. Freddy was seated at the piano, for the
nonce merged with beauty.
Without the pretension of a professional pianist,
he yet had suficient technique to serve a musician's
W
41


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
soul. He was in the midst of an intermezzo of the
gentler Brahms, whose modulations flower in soft
dreams.
By mutual impulse Marston and Fanny rested on
a settle under the open window, hidden but appre-
ciative auditors. The music gave forth its tender
charm, and vanished with piquant accéleration into
the air. Fanny rose, extending her hand as Freddy
turned from the piano, his usual plump and beam-
ing self.
“I'm going to my room,” she said hurriedly.
“ Please make my excuses to Helen. Thank you so
much—for everything.”
As she reached the first landing, leaving Marston
standing irresolute in the hall, Carlotta came sud-
denly from the music-room.
“ Won't you have a look at the moon?” he said
haphazardly.
For she seemed oblivious of his presence.
“I think you have seen enough of it for one
night.”
With this observation, made scathing by her
manner, she followed vanished Fanny up the stairs.
The iron of injustice entered Marston's soul. He
stared after Carlotta with a fervent ejaculation.
"Ah! Here is Romeo,” called Carrington as he
entered the music-room. “Dick, your face is
flushed.”
42


A NIGHT AND A VISION
With a smile of understanding, Helen beckoned
him to her side. “Were you making a test, Dick?”
she asked, as he selected a cigarette.
He paused, match in hand, and somewhat resent-
ful in his manner.
“No?" she continued. "Anyway, it worked.”
“I don't know what you mean,” he said with vio-
lent exhalation. “I tried to be decent to a woman
nobody but you seems to fancy. And I must say it
doesn't seem to pay."
“But you're the champion of the under-dog, you
know. And it doesn't work for pay. Dicky," with
an earnest accent, “I think Carlotta likes you very
much.”
“ You do? Why?”
“That's for you to find out. I must escape now.
I can see Alfred is about to propose bridge. And
there is no need for me to be a martyr. I suppose
Roger is paying court to Amy by describing the
charms of his latest polo pony. That leaves you
and Alfred, the General and Freddy-luckless man.
He makes even me feel intelligent at the card table.
“Good night, everybody," she called to the as-
sembled company. - Freddy's music puts me in a
mood for sleep."
“There are four of us left," Carrington observed,
ignoring Amy and Roger. “How about a rub-
ber?"
43


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“I'm getting rusty in my game," said the Gen-
eral.
“I'm game, if you can stand me," assented
Freddy.
“All right,” said Marston.
6 Settled.”
In Carrington's eyes shone a deeper light. He
lavished on games a concentration he would have
scorned to devote to business.
“I suppose," he went on," a host ought to sacri-
fice himself to his guests. We'll dispense with cut-
ting. I'll take Freddy for my partner.”
The card table was brought out. Play went with
normal variation in the luck of deals. Marston,
who was rated a sound player, and the General,
somewhat inclined to employ cavalry tactics, had
in Carrington an opponent who dismayed the dull
at cards. What protective skill could do for the
inept, Freddy had as his shield. They were even
small winners when the General's plaintive obser-
vation that gout was calling brought play to its
close.
“I think I'll go up, too,” said Freddy. “I have
an idea for a song," he added, when Carrington
laughed.
“I knew it hadn't anything to do with bridge,"
was his parting shot.
Carrington seemed inclined to follow the general
44


A NIGHT AND A VISION
example. “Have to write a letter to my agent,"
he explained. “In the morning I'll feel too de-
pressed. Ring, if you want anything. Good night.”
Sitting alone, Marston pondered the evening.
What was the matter with Mrs. Cutshaw? She
must have been reminded of a bitter chapter in her
life. “ Skittish," he said to himself, and turned to
a matter purely personal. Carlotta's snub, mod-
esty forbade him to explain. But he viewed the
room, and the hall's vista, in a new light-seeing a
home. With a half-rueful smile he went slowly up
the stairs.
The night's surprises were not yet finished.
On the first landing Marston paused,-stricken
with amazement. At that moment Carlotta
emerged from a room he knew as Mrs. Cutshaw's,
and passed to her own across the hall. Her door
closed on an alluring vision. Of deeply auburn
hair that flowed in rich profusion; of feet cased in
Turkish slippers, and the alabaster of neck and
arm.
His heart beat unsteadily as he went on to the
floor above. Again he paused. For Maxwell, the
immaculate, the perfect servant, stood outside Gen-
eral Welles' door in an attitude suggestive of eaves-
dropping. On the topmost step Marston came
back on his heels in the shock of surprise. In.
stantly Maxwell was himself again. He straight-
45


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
ened as the sound reached his ears, and came
straight to where Marston stood at the head of the
stairs.
With, “Is there anything I can get for you, sir?"
and, “ Thank you, sir. Good night,” to an involun-
tary negative, he was gone before Marston could
frame a question.
Impressions crowded as Marston went through
the routine of undressing. He reached for a clari.
fying cigarette, and came in contact with Fanny's
handkerchief. A little square of linen slightly torn
and blood-stained. For an irresolute moment he
held it over a scrap-basket. Then he opened his
clothes-press, and put it in a pocket of the coat se-
lected for to-morrow.
Comfortable in bed, and duly bolstered with pil-
lows, he took up Horace, the elegant, the sane, most
modern of ancient poets. In the domain of suave
fancy he was ferried to drowsiness. He slept, and
dreamed.
It was a mediæval city, and he one of its gallants.
He fingered the dagger at his belt as he crossed the
square by the great fountain, with its gargoyles
that mocked the passer-by of daylight, and at night
spouted musically in silence seldom broken, save by
howling dogs or some unwise adventurer's cry. He
turned the corner by the Liberator's statue, and
46


A NIGHT AND A VISION
entered a gate of the first palazzio, opened at his
cautious knock by a silent serving man.
His hand still was on the dagger, as he followed
the waiting maid through dim passages to a great
room of the lord's family. She drew aside the dra-
peries of an entrance on the right. Who rose to
meet him, in a far corner's candlelight? Not Cath-
erine. It was her younger sister, Bianca. What
had she to do with Catherine's rendezvous?
Amazed, he listened to her explanation, her protes-
tation. She herself had sent the message. For
she loved him more than Catherine. Did he doubt
it? And was she not more beautiful? She chal.
lenged him in stormy pride.
Midst grief at her abasement a sharp sound
came to his ears. The sound of a sword drawn
from its sheath. He whirled-to face her father.
His father's foe. “Dog!” That word only was
flung in his face. He drew his dagger, a feeble
weapon against the sword. With a cry of despair,
Bianca threw herself on his breast. He put her
behind him, and faced his slowly advancing foe, his
executioner. With cold malignancy the dagger
was struck from his hand. Helpless before the
weaving steel, he confronted that lean and fur-
rowed face, those eyes narrowed in hatred until
they seemed but points of fire. The blade was at
his throat


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Clutching the coverlet, Marston sat up in bed.
His cry of “God!” still echoed in his ears. Moon-
light filtering through an overcast sky reëstablished
his connection with reality. One by one, he picked
out familiar objects in the room. But figures of
an old Italian'city were still vividly in mind. Such
a dream!“I wonder what Freud would say," he
mused, and drew the covers again about his shoul-
ders, settling down in bed. Overcoming fretted
nerves, he slowly won his way back to sleep.
Long after, or so it seemed, he found himself
again sitting up in bed, and trembling with excite-
ment. It seemed to him he had heard a woman's
cry. A smothered outcry somewhere beneath him.
Painfully alert, he listened. No sound came to his
ears. Nothing but an owl's hoot, far off in the
woods. Once more he slept.


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
seeing that some mindful servant had filled a curi.
ous Chinese bowl with purple flowers Helen loved.
Across doors opening on the long slope to the lake
draperies with dragons grimacing in the firelight
were still drawn.
A sense of seclusion, of rich ease, brooded over
all. As Marston gazed meditatively at the fire,
lighting a cigarette, Maxwell coughed decorously
behind him.
“Will you have your breakfast now, sir? In the
library? Very well, sir. I told cook to prepare it
at your usual time.”
6 Thank you, Maxwell,” said Marston amiably,
and went into the library to finish his smoke. As
Maxwell placed the tray, and paused to ask, “Is
there anything else I can get for you, sir?” he
studied the butler's face. It yielded nothing.
The usual mask, if it was a mask, of a servant
respectful and self-respecting, and deeply conscious
of dignity hedging a butler's estate. Could one say
to him, “ Maxwell, why were you listening outside
General Welles' door last night?” or, “ Maxwell,
why do you hate General Welles?” Marston
smiled in realization of the feeling of gaucherie
that would ensue, as he surveyed that retreating
back..
Breakfast over, he picked up a copy of the Mer-
cure de France, in Carrington's affection a close
50


FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION
second to the Illustrated Sporting News, and read
a story written with waspish wit.
The sound of hoof-beats drew him to the window.
Amy and Roger were racing up the last rise to the
house, her bay mare slightly leading his big gray.
As they came thundering up she raised her hand in
defiance, and her yellow hair streamed in the
breeze. Riding with the seat of a centaur, Roger
reached to snatch her from the saddle.
Marston thought of Siegfried and Brunhild, the
perfect pair. But this Siegfried would bring no
sorrow to Valhalla. For this Brunhild there would
be no ecstatic end on funeral pyre. They would
not suffer through soaring. Because they were
young, and thoughtlessly happy yet subject to life's
uncertainties, Marston thought of them with in-
dulgent tenderness, and a worldling's little prayer
for their well-being. Turning their mounts over to
a groom, they came breezily in with a careless,
“Good morning.”
“You're missing it in here," Roger called over
his shoulder, as he followed Amy up the stairs.
Somehow they had changed the atmosphere in-
doors. The house was a place of confinement
rather than shelter from raw wind. And he was
weary with unconfessed expectancy. He knew
where garments hung, and got a cap and coat with-
out ringing for a servant. Swinging a blackthorn,
51


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
he set forth briskly. It would be three miles down
and back to the boat-house on the lake..
A legal problem held his attention for a while;
but Carlotta would not stay outside. His mind
and heart went back to a moment on the stairs.
At the steps again, he paused for a last deep
breath. And so his eyes came casually to rest on
a bit of yellow caught in a climbing rose-bush that
reached to the eaves. He disengaged it. A scrap
of yellow that was very fine, and seemingly torn
from some garment. It was fringed in a ragged
edge.
“I wonder who has had a frock ruined?” he
said to himself, dropping the bit of cloth into a
pocket.
Inside he found life astir, the vanguard for
luncheon. Carrington had a volume of sporting
prints on his knees. The General, with a bouton-
nière of red supplementing his ruddy cheeks, stood
by the fire, a figure touched by frost but far from
withered. Presently appeared Amy and Roger,
dressed for golf and palpably happy. Freddy came
down with the look of one stinted in slumber, and
relaxed gratefully in a cushioned chair.
A step Marston knew heralded Carlotta. It was
to be, he gathered, one of her temperate days. She
was dressed in black that brought out the sheen of
her hair, and seemed a frame to delicately vivid
52


FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION
beauty. To Marston she was pleasantly polite.
The General appeared to be her beau ideal. He re-
sponded with some appreciation of the situation's
humor.
Helen Carrington arrived, with a brisk clicking
of heels and cheery, “Good morning. If it isn't
too late. I trust you all have found something in-
teresting to do."
Lazy murmurs of assent.
“I have been scandalously lazy,” she went on.
“ Just stayed in bed, and read Anatole France.
He makes me feel supine, anyway. But some had
energy this morning. I heard a cavalry charge up
the hill, and rose in season to see Dick walking as
if he had a wager. Was it some oppressor of the
poor you waved your stick at so fiercely, Dicky?
Carlotta evidently was playing the nun. Freddy,
I suppose, snoozed, as he is doing now. Alfred's
habits are well known-if not famous.
“Now I have answered for you all, who wants
me to make a forecast for the afternoon? Amy and
Roger --” She paused in mock apprehension as
Amy threateningly raised a cushion. “Very well.
Discretion is the better part - "
“ Luncheon is served, Madam."
It was Maxwell's ceremonious appearance. They
rose in unison; but Helen's progress was checked
by memory.
53


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Fanny isn't here. Has anyone seen her to-
day?"
Marston's “No” was the only response.
Helen reached a quick decision. “We'll go in.
She knows the time for luncheon. Maxwell, go to
Mrs. Cutshaw's door, please, and tell her luncheon
is on the table. Jennie will serve the soup."
6 Very well, Madam."
He disappeared, and cheerful chatter was re-
sumed. Freddy, whose anecdotes amused most in
his air of self-communing and conspicuous lack of
detail, was moved to recall pangs of modesty at his
first ball. In the midst of laughter attending Car-
rington's supplementary statement Maxwell ap-
peared.
“ Well, Maxwell?” questioned Mrs. Carrington.
“I knocked on Mrs. Cutshaw's door, Madam.
But there was no answer.”
“ She must be asleep. Tell Fifi to go in and call
her."
“ Very well, Madam.”
“Now,” said Carrington. “It's Dick's turn.
Lighten our suspense while Fifi wakes the Sleeping
Princess. Console us for delay with the fish by
your thrilling story of a moonlight stroll.”
“ Nothing in my experience can rival your imagi.
nation," returned Marston, more conscious of Car-
lotta's heightened color than of his own.
54


FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION
“Why sit here stabbing those present,” she asked
pointedly, “when it is much easier to slander the
absent?"
“ Time!” called Freddy, in imitation of a ring-
side announcer, as Maxwell's assistant entered with
the fish.
A random remark led to discussion of the forth-
coming polo match between Meadowbrook and
Rockaway Now Amy and Roger came in. Run-
ning with animation, talk was suspended when
Helen rose, saying, “ Please excuse me for a few
minutes."
Carrington allowed a flash of astonishment in his
otherwise unruffled face. Only Marston saw Max.
well standing near the doorway and behind his em-
ployer's chair. His expression was at once hesi.
tant and urgent. It was but a minute or two be-
fore Helen returned.
“I'm sorry to disturb luncheon so," she said as
she resumed her place. “But Fifi can't get into
Fanny's room. The door seems to be locked. I
think you'd better go up, Alfred And Dick, too,-
if he will, to find out what the trouble is. No, I
don't want anyone else disturbed, please," she
added, when the General pushed back his chair
and started to his feet with the manner of a volun.
teer.
As he followed Carrington from the room Mar.
55


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
ston bore the memory of Carlotta's eyes. Was it
apprehension they expressed ?
“I hope we've travelled up here for something
worth while,” said Carrington, who obviously re-
garded the inquiry as unnecessary interference
with eating. He knocked at the chamber door.
No answer.
“Fanny!” he called. Still no answer.
He knocked again-louder. Only silence. He
tried the door; it did not yield.
“Well,” he observed, a trifle peevishly, "I guess
we must break in.”
Stepping back a pace, he brought his shoulder
against the door with a powerful thrust that shat-
tered its lock. He pushed the door back on its pro-
testing hinges. And they entered the room.
In the full light of early afternoon Fanny was
stretched on the floor. She lay on her left side, her
head pillowed on her arm. Her left leg drawn up
slightly, and the right arm resting on the rug, sug.
gested quiet slumber. She wore a blue dressing-
gown over her night-robe; and her hair was un-
bound. Standing over her, Carrington called her
name again, --softly:
“Fanny.”
The shaded eyes did not open. He touched her
hand, lifted it, and placed it gently at her side.
“I think she is dead,” he said.
56


FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION
For a minute or so he stood silent at the
window. And the spacious landscape, fusing at
last with the blue, pointed the mystery of a spirit's
flight.
“I suppose we must notify someone," said Car-
rington thoughtfully, and turning at last to Mar-
ston. “I'll consult Helen about it. You stay here,
Dick. If you don't mind. I don't want the serv.
ants gaping about.”
Left to himself, Marston eased consciousness of
the figure on the floor by an inspection of the room.
Covers of the bed in an alcove were turned back for
the night. But their smoothness seemed evidence
that Fanny had not risen from bed to meet her fate.
He looked into the bath-room. It disclosed only the
expected. Tooth-paste, and other toilet articles in
a little cabinet with half-open door. A pair of slip-
pers; a towel dropped carelessly after Fanny's last
bath. That was all.
Back to the familiar chamber. He himself had
occupied it more than once. There was nothing
illuminative in the fireplace, with its neatly ar-
ranged kindling. He mentally checked up the
mantel, with its Swiss clock, the shepherdess in
ivory, and a pair of tall candlesticks. The book-
case beside it seemed, as usual, well filled. And
there was the Chinese urn that had so worried him,
lest a careless foot shatter a Ming. He somewhat
57


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
casually examined the dressing-table, with a little
jacket of silk hanging over the back of its chair.
The array of powder and cream, with warm-hued
sticks and puffs, seemed about what one might ex.
pect.
In the open writing-desk he saw a stack of paper;
the envelopes, the ink-well of silver, with a horse's
head for its cap; and the pens. Conspicuous upon
the blotter, and secured by a paper-weight, a sheet
of paper showed a few words written. Marston
stooped to read. Much as it seemed like spying on
the dead, he knew the contents of the room would be
subject to official inspection.
A sprawling hand, like the writing of a school-
girl:
“ DEAR JIM:
“I must have five thousand dollars - "
Then a blot, possibly caused by the falling of a
nerveless hand.
Who was “ Jim”? Why had Fanny demanded
money of him? Marston had no answer. He
shrank from imputing a base motive to the woman
dead.
What was on the chiffonier? A Swiss watch
ticked quietly. He noted its closed case. Beside
it a ruby ring he remembered on Fanny's finger,
and a diamond set in sapphires. A pearl necklace
58


FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION
seemed carelessly dropped when taken from the
wearer's neck.
Nothing argued confusion until he came to the
chiffonier's top drawer. Its contents were rum-
pled, and an under-garment of pink, edged with
lace, hung over the edge. There a sense of unwar-
rantable intrusion stayed his hand. Let the au-
thorities investigate - because they must. He
turned his eyes to the sofa, beside which Fanny lay.
Only a cushion seemed out of place and it was
neither torn nor stained.
As he looked again at the quiet form a feeling of
danger, acute but unexplained, sent a shiver down
his spine. He whirled to behold—nothing. With-
out volition his eyes focussed on a ventilator set
into the wall. Was anything behind that rectilin.
ear frame, with its ornamental pattern of iron?
He forced himself to approach, standing before it.
Only blackness confronted him. With unrelaxed
vigilance he drew the bookcase from its position
beside the mantel, slowly across the ventilator. A
book withdrawn showed the case solidly backed
with mahogany. He sighed in relief, and moved
the Ming vase to the side of the bookcase nearer
the mantel.
Marston seated himself, facing Fanny's body.
And somehow it seemed she might speak. Were
lids that shrouded the quiet eyes raised ever so
59


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
slightly? Would lips curved in lines of easy slum.
ber open to reveal their secret?
He was startled by the entrance of Carrington,
speaking apologetically:
“ Sorry I was away so long. Complications, you
know. I had to tell the news. Then the happy
house party went up in smoke. Amy and Roger
wanted to take the next train. And Freddy longed
for Riverside Drive. The General, though, took it
well. Carlotta was sensible, too. You might al-
most have thought she expected it. Women are
queer."
He lighted a cigarette, wasting two or three
matches nervously.
"I don't blame anybody for wanting to light
out," he went on. “I'd do it myself, if I could.
But the General steadied them by saying all hands
must stand by to tell what they know. Only it's a
case of what we don't know.”
“ You haven't a suspicion? ” put in Marston.
He wondered why he asked, almost before the
words were out of his mouth. Carrington regarded
him with astonishment.
“Why, no," he said. “You haven't, have you?
Of course not,” as Marston shook his head.
“It happens there is a bit of luck in the mess.
Helen says Dr. Morrison, who practices in this re-
gion, is expected soon to see one of the servants.
60


FANNY FOCUSSES ATTENTION
So he can give us a medical judgment on Fanny,
and tell us what to do. “Uncle Ben,' as they call
him, is a pretty good doctor, with lots of common
sense. A kind of parish priest, you know; and
doctor and banker, too. Helps the people with
mortgages, and cures them of the fever. I'll take
his judgment."
“It's good luck,” suggested Marston, “if he hap-
pens to be a medical officer of the state. The au-
thorities can make it disagreeable, or easy for you."
Carrington shrugged his shoulders.


CHAPTER V.
DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
“Who's here?” asked a brisk voice.
A rather short, thick-set man, with rumpled hair
and a beard of gray-streaked brown, came briskly
into the room.
“Hullo, Alfred,” he said, and turned abruptly to
Marston, who felt the power of sharp but friendly
blue eyes surveying him behind thick glasses. Car.
rington went through the ceremony of introduc-
tion.
“ I've heard of you,” said Dr. Ben, with a strong
grip of the hand.
“Now, what's this?” He suddenly transferred
his attention to the body on the floor. “H’m. It's
lucky I happened to be coming in. Nothing
changed in the room, I suppose?”
His tone was sharply impersonal.
“ No,” Carrington answered. Marston stood
mute.
“ Who has been here since the body was found?”
“Only Marston and myself.”
“H'm.”
Marston felt his face flush slightly under the Doc-
62


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
tor's searching regard. “Uncle Ben” might have
his benevolent moments. But standing there, he
personified a search-light.
“H’m," he said to himself. Stooping over the
body, he touched the cheek, and put a finger on the
wrist. “ Stone dead. H'm."
Still stooping, he carefully surveyed the body,
looking slowly up and down. He noted the peace-
ful pose, and lack of any suggestion of disturbance
in surroundings. Then, rising somewhat labori-
ously, he stood at Fanny's head, and motioned Car-
rington to her feet.
“Help me lift her to the bed. Carefully," as
they raised their slight burden. “ Now I'll make
an examination, and report presently. Get all your
people together. Guests, and the servants, too. I
may want them. Guess that's all."
As they went out, Dr. Ben stood by the bed, pull-
ing his beard reflectively. “H'm," Marston heard
him say.
In the library Helen Carrington and the rest of
the house party awaited them. The same inquiry
shone in every eye. Carrington hastened to meet it.
“I'm sorry, it's bad news. Dr. Ben says Fanny
is dead. And he wants to see us, all of us, when he
comes down. Some of the servants, too. Will you
send for Fifi and Maxwell, Helen? I guess that's
the end of disagreeable details for the present."
63


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
After a moody pause he came out with a half-
apology:
“Of course, I'm not responsible for this situa-
tion. But I feel as if I owed everybody a written
apology.”
“We wouldn't accept it," said the General.
“ You've nothing to blame yourself for."
Roger Vincent hesitated, then mustered courage
for a question.
“Will it do any harm if Amy and I take a little
walk?"
“On the contrary,” Helen assured him, “I think
it might do you good. But come back soon. Gen-
eral," she continued, “won't you show me that
map? I'm sure there'll be time before Dr. Ben
needs us. And I do want to see the place where
you first met my father.” With a little smile she
concluded, “ 1865 is a long way back. And you're
a boy still.”
“Knowing you has helped to keep me so," he gal-
lantly responded, as they went arm-in-arm from the
room.
Freddy fidgeted in mute appeal. “ Come along,"
said Carrington. They disappeared together.
Marston looked at Carlotta. And Carlotta
looked through him. The width of the fireplace be-
tween them seemed to him an immense distance.
She had a book in her hand. And, though she did
64


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
not read it, she conveyed an impression of absorp-
tion. Marston felt himself studiously ignored.
He reached nervously for his handkerchief, and
brought out-another. Startled, he gazed at the
little square of blood-stained linen between his
thumb and forefinger. Carlotta gazed at it, too.
“A precious souvenir?"
Her question seemed more like a scornful obser-
vation.
“It's Fanny's," he said, and hastened to explain.
“ Last night she gave it to me to keep for her-
when we were out walking. She scratched her fin-
ger on a bush. And the sight of blood made her
nervous."
Carlotta's air of unconcern spurred him on.
“Of course, you don't know. I didn't have a
chance to tell you. That was the reason, I think,
she went straight up-stairs when we reached the
house."
“ Undoubtedly,” said Carlotta coldly. “You are
very good at putting two and two together. I don't
suppose you saw her afterward."
“Why, no,” Marston hastened to say. And with
difficulty he refrained from adding:
“ Did you?”
Carlotta ostentatiously turned a page, and began
reading. Marston's uncertainty whether it were
better to retreat, or maintain a front of equal un-
65


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
concern, was ended by the return of Helen and
General Welles. Presently Freddy and Carring-
ton appeared, if not cheered at least saved from
utter dejection. Conversation of the stop-gap va-
riety came to an end with the entrance of Dr. Ben.
“H’m,” he observed, taking his stand by the fire-
place for a survey of the room. "All here? No.
Young Vincent, and the Stone girl missing.”
His blue eyes rested on Helen, with a sudden
crinkling smile.
“I guess they aren't destroying any evidence."
Again he was curtly impersonal. “No use in
beating about the bush,” he said to all present. “I
find in Mrs. Cutshaw's body two injuries. A
scratch on the left forefinger. Nothing. And a
small wound at the base of the skull. No obvious
cause of death. H'm.”
He studied the pattern of a rug in which Persian
makers had woven narrative sealed to purchasers
from strange lands. And as he stared at the rug
he tapped his teeth with a gold pencil-medita-
tively. Seemingly reaching a decision, he surveyed
the assembled company.
Carrington had the look of one prepared to be
resentful. Helen leaned forward in her chair; in
her eyes half-fearful anticipation, and regret. Car-
lotta sat staring into the flames. Amy and Roger,
who had slipped in quietly, occupied a window-seat
66


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ And after that?"
“I saw her afterward,” Marston forced himself
to say, with exasperation that a simple explanation
seemed so difficult. “And I think I can explain the
scratch on her finger you mentioned.”
.“H’m.” Dr. Ben resumed tapping his teeth with
the gold pencil. “Now we are getting on. Do you
mind telling me about it?"
“I went for a walk with Mrs. Cutshaw after din-
ner. We took the road to the lake. About half-
way there, I think, she scratched the hand in which
she carried her handkerchief, on a thorn bush. At
least, I think it was a thorn. Afterward she gave
me the handkerchief to keep for her. It was for-
gotten in my pocket, until I found it a little while
ago. This is it."
Marston drew from his pocket the little square
stained with red, and placed it in the hand extended
to receive it.
Dr. Ben opened and shook it lightly. Out
dropped a bit of yellow; a scrap of fine fabric with
a torn edge.
“What's this?” he asked, stooping to recover it.
“Something I picked up when I took a walk this
morning,” Marston explained. “It was caught on
a rose-bush near the steps. I don't know why I
kept it.”
“ I see.” Dr. Ben held it in between thumb and
68


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
forefinger for inspection by the company. - Has
anybody here a dress made of cloth like this?”
Mrs. Carrington answered: “I don't think so,
Dr. Ben."
He stowed the handkerchief and bit of cloth away
in a capacious wallet, and studied the fire. Pres-
ently he observed, in a casual tone:
“I suppose that was the last you saw of her, Mr.
Marston?”
“Yes, the last,” Marston assented.
" And when was it?"
“When we came in from the walk after dinner.
I didn't look at my watch."
The sharpness of the question drew an answer
from Marston before he realized, with a flash of
resentment, that Dr. Ben was checking up his
replies.
“H’m. Well, I suppose that is all you can tell
us." The Doctor was carelessly genial again.
“ Who saw her after she came in with Mr. Mar-
ston?”
Nobody answered, until Mrs. Carrington again
came to the rescue. “I don't think anybody did,
Dr. Ben. She sent her excuses to me, and went
directly up-stairs. I went up myself, soon after,
and knocked on her door. But she didn't answer.
I suppose she didn't hear, or did not feel like seeing
anyone. So I went on to my own rooms."
69


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
" Then nobody saw her after that?” pursued Dr.
Ben, putting the question generally.
“I did,” said Carlotta.
She dropped the hand that seemed, as Marston
watched her, to screen her from inquiry, and sat up
in her chair; very straight, and also, it appeared
to Marston, a little defiant.
“ You did, Carlotta !” Helen Carrington spoke
in obvious amazement.
“In her room."
Carlotta was not a loquacious witness.
“How did you happen to go there?"
“ She asked me to come.”
“ Do you mind telling us what she wanted ? "
“ I can't.”
Carlotta's lips were locked. With her head held
high she faced her inquisitor defiantly.
“I wish you would." Dr. Ben's manner was
fatherly. “It isn't just something I want to find
out, you know. It's to help all of us get at the
truth.”
Still she faced him silently.
“You want to save Mr. and Mrs. Carrington
from unnecessary embarrassment, don't you?”
“ Yes," she answered, and looked at Helen piti-
fully.
" Then tell us, please, what Mrs. Cutshaw wanted
to see you about.”


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
“I can't,” she persisted.
“I see,” Dr. Ben allowed indulgently. “It's
some idea of honor that prevents. You were inti-
mate friends?”
6 I disliked her.”
“ H'm. You are very frank.”
His blue eyes were inscrutable as he studied her
flushed and agitated face, the while pulling his
beard.
“Perhaps you will tell us how she seemed when
last you saw her.”
Carlotta hesitated—then answered firmly:
“ She seemed very well."
“ No sign of illness? And no injury you noted?”
“No.”
“Now, Mrs. Hamlin, can't you tell us why you
went to Mrs. Cutshaw's room?"
“I told you why. Because she asked me to
come.”
“But what did she want of you?"
“I can't tell you. I can't- " She broke off
nervously.
“ Very well, my dear," he said soothingly.
“ We'll get along without it. About what time do
you think it was when you left her?”
“I didn't look at my watch afterward. But it
was about ten o'clock when I went up to my room.
I undressed then, and was nearly ready for bed
71


THE BODY IN THE BLUB ROOM
when Mrs. Cutshaw telephoned. She was very anx.
ious to see me for a few minutes. She asked
whether I would rather go to her room, or have her
come to mine. I preferred to make the call. You
know," with a look that petitioned, “ sometimes it
is easier to leave yourself than to get someone else
to do it."
. “I know,” assented Dr. Ben. “I suppose you
regarded the call as urgent?”
“ Otherwise, I should not have gone."
“I see. The call, I suppose, was by the house
telephone system. No operator?”
“No. It was on a line anyone could use by put-
ting in a plug for the desired room."
“Is that all you can tell us, Mrs. Hamlin? "
“I'm sorry. Yes."
“ Thank you. I'm sorry I had to trouble you.
You know you have given us some help.”
Marston wondered if Dr. Ben's back was turned
too quickly for him to note the effect of his closing
words on Carlotta: “ You know you have given us
some help.”
There was a frightened look in her eyes,
and the knuckles of her clenched hands showed
white.
Now Amy Stone and Roger Vincent were under
observation. Marston had a feeling their interro-
gation was only serious to themselves.
.
72


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
“I wonder,” said Dr. Ben, jingling the keys in
his pocket, “what we can learn from Miss Vincent
and Mr. Stone. Did I get your names mixed ?” as
Mrs. Carrington corrected him. “Well, one would
be easier to remember. Do you mind telling me,
either of you, just what you know about Mrs. Cut-
shaw's death?”
Roger cleared his throat, and put his hand over
Amy's protectively.
“If you please, sir,” with unconscious reversion
to a lad's manner with the schoolmaster, “ I think I
can speak for both Miss Stone and myself. We
were in the music-room while Mr. Marston and
Mrs. Cutshaw were strolling, last night; and re-
mained together until after their return. I never
saw Mrs. Cutshaw again. Nor did Miss Stone, I
think.”
“ Never,” she said, as he looked to her for con-
firmation.
“ That,” said Roger, with an air of relief in
achievement, “is all we know.”
“ H'm,” said Dr. Ben. “ Thank you."
Staring into the fire, he softly jingled his keys.
And still he stared till Carrington broke the some-
what oppressive silence.
“ How about the rest of us?” he asked. 6 Don't
we count?”
“Of course you do, Alfred. I'll begin with you."
K."
73


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Dr. Ben was briskly professional again. “When
did you see Mrs. Cutshaw the last time?”
" You mean alive?”
“Yes,” Dr. Ben assented, “I mean alive.”
"At dinner, last night. I didn't see her when she
came in from her walk.”
“And to-day?”
“I went up with Marston, at Helen's request,
when Mrs. Cutshaw failed to appear at luncheon.
The servants reported that she did not answer
knocks on her door. We failed, too. Then I broke
in the door. We found her lying as she was when
you came up."
“ You left the room as it was?”
“I didn't touch a thing.”
“Is that also your recollection?” Dr. Ben
looked at Marston. With nothing to account for
the moved bookcase, he nodded assent.
“Now what is your theory, Alfred?"
“I haven't any."
With an effect of preparedness the answer rushed
from Carrington's tongue.
Dr. Ben observed him with a curious little smile.
“I wonder if General Welles and Mr. Graves can
help us."
Quickly Carrington answered for them: “Not
unless they saw Fanny somewhere long after she
went up-stairs. We played bridge till some time
74


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
between eleven and twelve. Marston was the
fourth.”
“But don't let me interfere," he went on half
apologetically. “It's your investigation. Ask
them anything you want to. I was only trying to
save time.”
“I appreciate it, Alfred," said Dr. Ben dryly.
And to Freddy and the General: “ Can you add
anything to what Mr. Carrington has said?”
“I guess that is all,” said Freddy, who had been
smoking dreamily. And the General assented with,
“Quite correct.”
“Did you send for the servants?”
Dr. Ben's boots now seemed recipients of his
earnest attention, as he rocked on his feet before
the fire. There he helped to obscure Marston's
view of Carlotta, who again sat with her right hand
screening her eyes.
“My maid, Fifi, is here, and Maxwell, the butler,"
Mrs. Carrington responded. “I will send for the
others, if you want them. But I'm quite sure they
know nothing."
“All right, Nellie. No use in cluttering up the
place.” Dr. Ben's manner with her was paternally
tender. “Where's Fifi?”
“ Here, sir.”
“Oh, yes. Come here, then, where it is warmer.
Now we can talk without shouting. That's right."
75


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
A dark, slight girl Marston knew as Helen's maid
advanced with the encouragement of a reassuring
smile from where Maxwell stood stiffly attentive to
the rug by Dr. Ben's side. Eyes black as the sloe,
and hair of wavy brown, despite severe coiffure.
Dr. Ben regarded her indulgently, as he put his
first question:
“When did you last see Mrs. Cutshaw, Fifi?”
“ Last night, sir, when I brushed her hair.”
“ So you acted as her maid, did you?"
“ Sometimes, sir, when I was not needed by
Mrs. Carrington. Mrs. Cutshaw did not bring a
maid.”
“And last night was one of the times?"
“I was passing through the hall when she came
up. And she asked me to help her. So I went in.”
“ You mean then?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“How did she seem, Fifi?"
“Excited, sir, and somewhat frightened. She
trembled so when I brushed her hair that I wanted
to get some brandy for her. But she wouldn't let
me."
“When did you leave her, Fifi?"
“Soon after Mrs. Carrington knocked on the
door. My duty was with her then.''
6 What did Mrs. Cutshaw say? ”
6 Only, 'I suppose you must go, Fifi.' She cried
76


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
a little, and I promised to come back if she wanted
me."
“But she didn't call you again?”
“No, sir."
“ And you never saw her afterward?”
“No, sir.” Fifi shivered, and her eyes filled with
tears.
“H’m,” said Dr. Ben, and tapped his teeth re-
flectively.
“You say she appeared frightened,” he went on.
“ Tell me what you noted.”
“Well, sir, she shivered so. Her teeth chattered.
And she would look over her shoulder, as if she ex-
pected to see someone standing behind her. She
seemed very much afraid of something. While I
was brushing her hair she told me to make sure
the door was locked.”
" It was locked then ? "
“ Yes, sir.”
“And after you?”
“ I'm not sure, sir. But I thought I heard the
key turn as I went down the hall.”
“ You told your mistress about this, Fifi?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
“Why not?"
“My mistress does not encourage gossip, sir.
And then I wouldn't have known what to say after
Mrs. Cutshaw failed to answer her knock.”
77


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Why didn't she, Fifi?”
“I don't know, sir. She said to herself: "I
can't-I can't-I can't see anybody now.' ” The
maid clasped her hands, as one deeply agitated, and
reproduced the accent of distress.
“ You saw her afterward, Mrs. Hamlin."
It was an observation, not a question, Dr. Ben
shot suddenly at the woman sitting by his side.
“I suppose so.” Carlotta's voice was quiet.
“ And she seemed well?”
Her voice sharpened in reply. Marston thought
he heard in it a different note.
“I saw nothing wrong with her.”
Carlotta continued her inspection of the fire.
“ Hʼm,” said Dr. Ben, with a little puffing of his
lips. “That's all, Fifi. Where is Maxwell?"
“Here, sir." Skirting the company, the butler
stood quietly before him. Very self-possessed, and
wholly attentive; the perfect servant. So, Mar-
ston reflected, he would have awaited an order for
breakfast, or despatch on any errand.
“What do you know about this, Maxwell?”
“Nothing, sir."
6 What do you think about it, Maxwell?”
“ I have no opinion, sir."
“When did you last see Mrs. Cutshaw?"
“ She called me to get a wrap, sir.”
6 What time was it?"
78


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
“ After dinner, sir."
“I see. Her stroll with Mr. Marston?"
“He was present, sir."
“And you never saw her again, Maxwell?"
“No, sir."
Marston thought he noted slight hesitation in the
butler's reply.
“Who closes the house at night, Maxwell?” Dr.
Ben once more devoted himself to jingling his keys.
“It is my duty, sir."
“ Did you attend to it last night?"
“ Yes, sir."
“ See anything unusual?"
“No, sir.”
“Do you usually look about the upper floors ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“Everything all right last night?”
“ Yes, sir.”
No flicker of irresolution. Not a muscle changed
in Maxwell's impassive face.
« That will do,” said Dr. Ben. “I guess you
have told us all you know. You and Fifi may go
now. Unless," he added, “ you want them for some-
thing, Alfred.”
"No," assented Carrington, with a wave of dis-
missal. “They are not needed.”
Dr. Ben opened and inspected his hunting-case
watch. And he took from an ash-tray on the table
79


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
beside him a small paper band, red with a gilt
edge. It appeared to recall some memory.
“When I was up-stairs,” he observed, “I looked
into the room opening out of Mrs. Cutshaw's.
There wasn't much there of present interest. But
I noticed some cigar ashes. And I think there was
a band just like this one. Let's see."
He drew a corresponding band from a waistcoat
pocket and held up the two together. There was
nothing in his manner to indicate anyone espe-
cially addressed. But Carrington replied, a bit
aggressively.
“ The cigar bands you have are from a brand I
smoke. And the ashes you found in the room open-
ing out of Mrs. Cutshaw's I probably left there.
It isn't much of a recommendation for our house-
keeping to have them found there to-day. I slept in
the room night before last, as I have occasionally
done when my own rooms are given to guests for
a night or two. Day before yesterday I stepped
out for the Bobby Wallaces. They stopped over
night on a motor trip to Baltimore. I suppose you
noted that the connecting door fastens with a bolt
on the side next Mrs. Cutshaw's room.”
“Yes, Alfred,” said Dr. Ben. “I noticed.”
He looked at his watch again and closed the case
briskly. “I guess that I needn't bother you folks
any more just now. I'll send an undertaker, Al-
80


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“H'm,” began the Doctor when they were alone.
Still keeping his post by the fire, he rocked gently
on his feet. “H'm. I asked you to stay, Mr. Mar-
ston, because you are a lawyer. So is the General.
But he's too old to tackle the job we have here.
“I guess you know I am exceeding my authority.
Acting like a police officer and a district attorney
rolled into one. But I think I'm doing the right
thing. I want to save Helen ”-Marston could not
fail to note how his voice softened in Mrs. Carring-
ton's name—"all the trouble I can. So let's go it
alone for the present.”
“Yes," agreed Marston, in response to an inter-
rogative lift of the eyebrows. Jingling his keys,
the Doctor resumed.
“Mrs. Cutshaw was murdered.”
“Are you sure?”
“ Absolutely sure. The scratch on the finger you
explained was nothing. The wound at the base of
the skull was fatal. You overlooked it. That is
not strange. Her hair covered it as she lay on the
floor. And it only bled a little. It was either a
blow accidentally fatal, or one cunningly delivered.
“I suppose,” with a sharp look, “you know your
most sensitive point.”
" I'm not sure - " Marston began.
“I see you don't. You probably think it is your
solar plexus, or the eye. Let me show you. Right
82


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
here, at the base of the brain ”-he put a finger on
the back of Marston's head—“the spine is left al-
most unprotected. Slight penetration there causes.
almost instant death."
Dr. Ben pulled his beard meditatively. Then,
twirling his watch-charm, he resumed: “A punc-
ture there means an abrupt finish. Refined mur-
derers have fancied it.” He gave Marston a grim
smile. “I read up quite a lot after I was called
to look at a farm-hand killed by his chum in haying.
He didn't quite dodge a fork tossed at him in fun.
And one of the tines “pithed' him, as they say, in
that spot. He dropped-dead as a door-nail. They
thought at first he was only fooling."
An explosive stick caused Dr. Ben to turn and
poke the fire. Marston nervously lighted a ciga-
rette, and waited for him to resume.
“ According to the books,” he said, “murderers
used to find that little pocket a handy place. One
of the Medici women killed a man she was tired of
that way. Just a quick little thrust of the dagger
as he slept. It's sure, and quiet. I doubt if Mrs.
Cutshaw knew what killed her.”
“What do you think?" Marston tried to seem
calm. “A woman, or a man?"
“I said what killed her,” reiterated Dr. Ben.
“ There was no weapon left in the room. The
wound is incised. Made with a dagger; maybe a
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
stiletto. The murderer took it away, but left this
behind.”
From his wallet he produced a scrap of cloth
matching the yellow bit Marston had found. They
were identical in shade and texture.
“That,” observed Dr. Ben, “was caught on the
round of a chair near the open window. Quite a
heavy, carved chair, you remember. I suppose that
was why it didn't upset. I take it the murderer
wore that yellow stuff, and got away by the win-
dow. The steel frame on which a rose-bush climbs
past the window is strong enough to support a light
person. You say the piece of yellow cloth you
found was caught in the bush?”
“ Yes,” said Marston. “Where the bush is the
thickest, near the ground.”
“You ask me if the murderer was a man, or a
woman? Mr. Marston—which one wears the sort
of cloth you and I have just held in our hands?”
Marston did not answer. Something locked his
lips.
"I see you agree with me," resumed Dr. Ben.
“Now, what did the woman want? She wasn't an
ordinary thief. You saw the jewelry left on the
bureau."
“ There was a drawer left open,” Marston sug-
gested.
“ H'm. I looked through it. Nothing but under.
84


DR. BEN SEEKS A CLUE
clothes, sort of messed up. The way a woman
leaves things when she goes back to get a handker-
chief, and it's in another drawer. I've been
married, you know," he offered with a shrewd
smile.
“Maybe Mrs. Cutshaw wasn't a tidy woman.
And maybe the drawer was rummaged through by
someone else. Maybe that's the clue we need for
a starter. Then again, perhaps it isn't. It's a tough
case. I think a woman is the murderer. But I
can't say who it is. Can you?”
“ I've no idea,” Marston answered hastily, with a
protective feeling he did not analyze.
“Well,” said Dr. Ben, buttoning his coat, “I
guess it's up to us to find out. What I want of you
is to keep your eyes and ears open. I guess I can
afford to deputize you. You are Helen's friend.
One of the real ones, I mean. H’m. Well, I guess
I must be going-after I have just a word with her.
Know any of her relatives?”
“ Yes. A lot of them.”
“I mean the Cutshaw woman,” explained Dr.
Ben.
“ No, then. I don't know if she had any in this
country.”
"All the more our case. I'll do the post-mortem
as soon as possible. Telephone you to-morrow. If
anything important turns up, I'll try to come over.
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Keep your eye on the room where the body is until
the undertaker comes."
“When may we expect him?" asked Marston.
“ He ought to be here to-night. Comes from
Saleport. That's fifteen miles away. Well, good-
bye.”
“ Good-bye,” responded Marston, looking after
the retreating form, with its broad shoulders and
briskly moving columnar legs. Justice for Fanny
he wished with all his heart. But in his breast
lurked fear he dared not crystallize. He feared to
name it lest it bring him shame of disloyalty. With
a heavy heart Dr. Ben's drafted assistant went to
join his fellow-guests.
86


CHAPTER VI
MARSTON IS TORTURED
In the first shock of Dr. Ben's diagnosis, giving
form without name to his own half-smothered con-
jecture, Marston was relieved to find only men of
the party in evidence. The women, apparently, had
gone to their rooms. Cards were on a table, but
no game in progress. If bridge had been at-
tempted, the dark mystery of Fanny's end must
have overcome the players. Carrington, Freddy
and the General were smoking, each with a brood-
ing air, as Marston entered the library.
“Well? " challenged Carrington. “What's the
idea ? Do you come as a detective, or a suspect?”
“Neither.” Marston tried for an impassive air.
“ The Doctor wanted to discuss a few points with
me."
“What does he think?"
For once Freddy spoke without his air of un-
concern.
“ There really isn't anything definite to tell."
“ He has a secret locked in his breast," mocked
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Carrington, in an attempt at levity so hollow he
himself winced, sensing discords in the air. Then
he said more naturally:
“After what you've been up against, you must
need a drink.”
“ No, thanks. I'd like to. But there are two or
three things I want to look up."
“ Then go ahead,” said Carrington testily.
“ Sleuth all over the house, if you want to.”
As Marston turned away with permission un-
graciously given, the three behind him relapsed
into restless silence.
He approached the great door on the lake side
and saw Dr. Ben enter a somewhat weather-beaten
car. With loud protestation of machinery it got
under way, and went rolling down the hill.
As the Doctor had observed, the rose-bush's steel
support was strong enough to bear an adult's
weight. Marston tried it without mishap, noting
how it was fastened to the side of the house. It
extended above the still open window of Fanny's
room, and within easy reach from it. He went in-
doors and up the stairs to get the distance.
Partly closed, Fanny's door stood somewhat
drunkenly on its broken hinges. Carlotta's door
opposite was open, too. Marston noted it on the
first landing. When he reached the top of the
stairs he saw Carlotta within. Her back was to-
88


MARSTON IS TORTURED
ward him, and she had something in her hand.
She started at the sound of his foot on the topmost
stair. Then she saw who it was and came forward
quickly.
“ Is it all right?" she asked anxiously.
Marston stood dumb with fear and astonishment.
For in her hands was a garment of the fatal yellow.
He could not mistake its shade.
She came a step nearer, her face the mirror of
fear.
“ Tell me,” she said unsteadily, “what is
wrong?”
“For God's sake,” he said harshly, “put it
away."
“ What? Oh!”
Her eyes guided by his came slowly to the stuff
in her hands. In the look that followed he read
neither gratitude nor despair. Was it defiance?
Without another word, she stepped back slowly,
and deliberately closed her door.
Marston raised his hand to knock, but let it fall
again. He slowly turned, and entered the room of
death. With the feeling of a traitor he tried to
reach from window to trellis and found it easy.
Seated at the desk, he read again the few words of
Fanny's unfinished scrawl:
“ DBAR JIM:
“ I must have five thousand dollars —
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
What unknown man, some enemy or lover, it
might be both, would feel relief in Fanny's end?
Had she with her frail affections descended to
blackmail? Much as it seemed like evidence of a
woman's hand, the bit of yellow cloth was not con-
clusive. Marston welcomed any relief from
thoughts pressing home the sinister suggestion of
the yellow gown. He turned impatiently to em-
brace the room in a sweeping glance. Probably
his eyes deceived him in the impression that the
bookcase before the ventilator had been moved
again. He crossed to it swiftly, detecting no
change.
Yet something challenged him. Why he sus-
pected hidden danger in the ventilator, or what it
was that he dreaded, he could not tell. But as he
looked at the screening bookcase, with its volumes
of fiction, of verse, the miscellania of haphazard
collection, he came to a sudden resolve.
From its place by the andirons he took a poker
rather heavier than one would expect to find in
such a twentieth century chamber. Next he pushed
the bookcase away from the ventilator; then, with
instinctive caution for what might be within its
dark depth, he found and released a spring holding
it flush with the wall.
Beside the ventilator, opened to its full extent, he
stood waiting, poker in hand. Minutes passed,
90


MARSTON IS TORTURED
enormously magnified to his imagination; his eyes
never left the opening, black in the gathering
shadows.
No sound violated the absolute stillness. Mar-
ston was about to suspend his vigil when he saw a
sudden spot of light. Appearing on the lower edge
of the ventilator, it vibrated and lengthened. Up-
ward, it moved with a weaving motion from some
unseen base. Then it seemed to flow forward
across the rim of the ventilator.
With convulsive vigor Marston brought the poker
down upon protruding inches of the thing's shin-
ing length. Broken by the blow, it writhed for a
few moments, half in the ventilator, and half out.
Then the balance of weight without caused it to
drop to the floor.
On the tiling it lay, a yellow snake some six
inches long. The scales were yellow, and color
heightened in tiny horns over the glazed eyes. As
Marston touched it with the poker to make sure of
death, its head moved with a venomous motion
associated with the asp. He struck again, and
ground it under his heel.
Satisfied the viper's life was extinct, he lifted it
carefully on the fire shovel, and left it again just
inside the ventilator. Again he waited, watching.
Perhaps there was a mate. But nothing rewarded
his watchfulness.
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
After a few minutes he pushed the snake farther
into the ventilator, and closed the grille. Once
more he moved the bookcase across the opening.
Now he rang for Maxwell. Presently came the but-
ler's easy tread down the hall.
“ Did you ring, sir?” he inquired.
“Yes, Maxwell. Will you bring me a hammer
and some nails ? "
He tried to seem unconcerned in his request.
With better success, Maxwell responded, “ Very
well, sir,” and disappeared. What he was about to
do Marston felt was inexcusable. But something
urged him on.
Hammer and nails produced, Maxwell stood ex-
pectant of further orders. With, “Thank you,
Maxwell. That will do,” Marston took them from
his hands. There was a flash of curiosity in the
butler's well-trained eyes as he turned to go.
Hammer in hand, Marston approached the book-
case. He stooped before it, and rose again. For
Carrington's voice came over his head:
“What the devil are you doing, Dick?"
“I thought you wouldn't mind if I put in two
or three nails, to hold the bookcase where it is.”
Marston's voice and manner conveyed an apology
unexpressed in words.
“What's the matter?" Carrington's face
showed concern. “Has this thing gone to your
92


MARSTON IS TORTURED
head? Do you think the bookcase will walk
away?”
“ No," said Marston somewhat lamely. “But I
thought - "
“Oh, drive a fringe of nails, if you want to."
What feeling was in Carrington's breast as he
swung out of the room Marston could not tell. Left
to himself, he hesitated briefly. Then he knelt by
the bookcase, and fastened its sides to the wall. The
first sound of the hammer caused him to pause
guiltily. But no one questioned; and no one came.
The work finished, he seated himself at the win-
dow with a feeling of relief. It was late afternoon.
As he slowly smoked a cigarette the sun went down
with radiant after-glow. And shadows from the
forest came stealing softly up the hill. The lower
end of the lake looked like a great amethyst in the
failing light.
Mindful of what it once had been, he turned in-
stinctively to the body on the bed. Did it stir?
He thought he saw a slow breath. By a turn of his
wrist he flooded the room with light. Still he was
unconvinced. Even as he stood over her Fanny
held the illusion of light sleep. Her expression was
one of simple sweetness. And in the lamplight her
cheeks seemed delicately pink.
Now her account was all adjusted in the great
reckoning. For the first time Marston thought of
93


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
her husband; of the elderly lover who had sought
to imprison her youth, and tragically failed. And
of “ Jim ” — What had he to do with her end?
Then Carlotta's face came before him. Carlotta,
the provocative. Carlotta, daintily proud. Car-
lotta, steeling herself to calmness under the ques-
tioning of Dr. Ben And Carlotta, with that set
and undecipherable face, closing the door against
him. What was there between her and the Fanny
of yesterday? He feared to solve the problem.
The book he picked up carelessly was a tale of
mysterious crime. A hat-pin inserted showed
where Fanny had paused. Marston turned the
page. Then he read more closely, increasingly ab-
sorbed. It was a story of a woman slain by her
rival in love.
"Excuse me, sir." It was Maxwell's voice from
the doorway. “The undertaker has come.”
“Does Mr. Carrington know?” asked Marston.
“ He said you would attend to the matter, sir."
“ Then bring the men up."
No summons was needed. The undertaker
waited at Maxwell's heels. A short, stout man,
with full gray whiskers. Marston noted his black
string tie, of a sort seldom seen since the black wal-
nut period, and his congress boots. His assistant
was thin and white, with eyes that seemed to set a
guard upon themselves, lest they see too much of
94


MARSTON IS TORTURED
the world. And with them came a stout and beard-
less youth, an apprentice professionally serious.
They wore the air of those that serve in temples.
Deft and quiet, they hardly spoke.
Marston saw Fanny quickly enveloped in a
blanket of some dark material, fastened at the cor-
ners to assist the bearers. Then the burden quietly
lifted; and they were gone. A sensation of dis-
loyalty, of abandonment of poor Fanny to the
hands of strangers, stabbed him as the little pro-
cession with Maxwell leading like a major domo
went down the stairs. He heard doors opened and
closed; the sound of an engine started, and the less-
ening hum of a motor down the driveway.
His mind came back to the living in realization
of time. The watch reminded him it was near the
hour for dinner. He had hardly reached his room
when Maxwell knocked at the door.
“Excuse me, sir. Mr. Carrington wished me to
say there is no need to dress for dinner. The
ladies,” he added with ceremonious spacing, “ will
not be down."
Marston illogically felt as one reprieved.
95


CHAPTER VII
INVADERS OF A NIGHT
THE men had taken their usual stand before din-
ner when Marston went down, and Carrington
shook defiance of sombre intrusion. But dinner
was not without its painful pauses. Then the Gen-
eral would come to the rescue with some gallant
bon mot, and conversation be resumed a bit creak-
ily.
They had reached coffee and cigars when Freddy,
whose eyelids showed an extra droop, observed
meditatively:
“I'd like to hear Dunbar to-night.”
“ Are you talking to the tapestry, Freddy?"
Carrington's tone was acid, in contrast to its
usual bantering note.
Seemingly unobservant, Freddy answered with
characteristic economy:
“Negro boy. Tenor singer. Fine voice. Singin'
in friend's studio this evenin'."
“I'm sorry you have to put up with us instead.
If you don't like our conversation, suppose you give
us a chance to dislike your game at bridge."
Usually the most punctilious of hosts, Carring-
96


INVADERS OF A NIGHT
ton spoke now with open rudeness. But Freddy
declined to take offense.
His expression was plaintive. Then he suggested
hopefully: “Roger makes a fourth.”
“ I'm no good at bridge,” said Roger.
“ Neither is Freddy," commented Carrington.
“But he keeps on trying."
“No fault of mine,” Freddy grumbled as he fol.
lowed his host to the library. A parlor maid an-
swered Carrington's ring.
“ Where is Maxwell?” he asked.
“I think he has gone to his room, sir. He is not
feeling well.”
“ He seemed all right an hour ago. Well, bring
the decanters and the card table.”
Maxwell's reported indisposition did not linger
in Carrington's mind. But Marston pondered the
butler's whereabouts and behavior, to the injury of
the game. Carrington at last pushed back his chair
in disgust.
“ This isn't bridge,” he said. “The General and
I can't play for four."
“ I'm sorry,” Marston apologized. “Somehow,
I can't keep my mind on the cards.”
“I find it hard, too,” said the General. “Per-
haps we aren't in the mood for bridge."
“ Some of us aren't," Carrington asserted, and
proceeded to figure the score. Knowing him well,
97


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Marston wondered at his ill humor so disconcert-
ingly obvious. It was not like him to play the
churl.
Presently they scattered. Roger Vincent went
first, with excuse in an engagement for the early
morning. The General pleaded lumbago. Freddy
discovered letters to write. Carrington went next.
“ You won't miss me,” he said. “When I came
up here I didn't expect to hatch a detective story in
the house. Which are you-Watson or Holmes?"
“Do you object to my effort to help Dr. Ben, Al-
fred?"
“ Of course not. But when he gets around to it,
he'll probably find Fanny died a natural death.
Don't you think so?"
“Maybe,” said Marston. “We can't tell.”
Having waited vainly for some speculative lead,
Carrington rose to go. “You know your way about
the house. Ring for anything you want. Good
night.”
Marston looked at his watch. Barely eleven, and
it seemed very late. What to-morrow would bring
forth he feared to guess. He tried a game of soli-
taire, and pushed aside the cards in disgust.
Mephisto in bronze leered at him from his pedestal.
Aimless, he wandered into the conservatory.
Moonlight came softly through its glass walls and
roof. It was very peaceful there, with the sense of
98


INVADERS OF A NIGHT
luxuriant life and the scent of lilies in the air. To
Marston, however, the place but emphasized the
problem of Fanny's end. He thought of a church;
of brooding music; a casket at the altar, heaped
high with flowers. And the pervading fragrance
of lilies.
After his impatient exit from the conservatory
he paused at the foot of the stairs. Then he went
slowly up, and entered the room of Fanny's last
night. Apparently, nothing had been changed.
Truth to tell, there was nothing to change.
Never was murder more decorously accomplished.
Once more he pondered the line Fanny had left:
DEAR JIM:
“I must have five thousand dollars
"
Helen Carrington might identify “ Jim." He
must ask her to-morrow. He had an unreasoned
feeling their purposes would be identical.
The telephone rang. And presently it rang
again. It was within his reach. And at the second
call he picked up the receiver. Circumstance con-
quered scruple, as Carlotta's voice came clearly to
his ear:
“Did you understand what I was saying when
you were cut off?”
“I think so," answered a masculine voice.
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Marston could not tell. He had hardly determined
his opponent was a man of slight proportions when
the stranger caught his left hand with a curious
hold and seemed to lift sharply under the elbow.
A stab of excruciating pain momentarily paralyzed
him.
He felt himself dropped into the capacious chair
from which he had just risen. And when he strug-
gled to his feet again he was alone. Not with a
rush, for he was still a bit faint with receding pain,
he made his way to the window and looked out.
The withering rose-bush rattled slightly against
the support. And a big beech near by gave slight
salutation to a passing breeze. But neither sight
nor sound of man. No sign of human life lurking
out there in the shadows.
Still nursing his wrenched arm, Marston turned
back to the room. There was no light now save
what entered from the hall,—with its single night
lamp yards from the door. For that reason, and
the suddenness of their encounter, he was only sure
his antagonist of a minute was a man of slight
build. Also he thought the man was tall. But that
was speculation.
Perhaps the intruder had left some clue to his
identity. First closing the door, for he wished no
help in his investigation, Marston switched on two
lights. Then he hastily closed the window opening
102


INVADERS OF A NIGHT
on the lake; and, having lowered the curtain, drew
across it a heavy shade. Next he turned on a third
light, and stood in the centre of the room's illumi-
nation. He looked about him fruitlessly. Now he
continued his careful inspection from door to win-
dow, right and left. He looked under the chairs,
the table, the now empty bed. Not a scintilla of
evidence rewarded him. Materialized from the
darkness, the invader had vanished as mysteriously
as a man from Mars.
Had his stealthy visit some bearing on Fanny's
death? Or was he a commonplace criminal, hap-
pening along, and far from highways of travel at
that time? Both the remoteness of the place, and
the diabolic application of jiu-jitsu ordinary bur-
glars do not understand, seemed to demolish the
idea of casual invasion for loot. What then?
Nowise enlightened, Marston switched off the
light, and very quietly left the room.
He went down the hall and up the stairs to his
own room.
When the room was in darkness his mind still
refused to rest. The day's perplexities would not
down. The behavior of Maxwell disturbed him
least. For it seemed least ominous, though very
strange. What grudge had the Carringtons' faith-
ful butler against the Carringtons' elderly and
honored friend? His look of animosity for a mo-
103


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
ment permitted at dinner was unmistakable. And
the previous evening he had shown a flash of
malignancy. Why? The problem was one in
which Marston felt blended curiosity and concern.
The perplexities of Carlotta? There his heart
held reason in check. But a mind schooled in logic
refused to be effaced. Maxwell's antipathy to the
General might have nothing to do with Fanny's
death. But every hour seemed to connect Carlotta
more closely with that tragic end. Shocking it was
to think of a refined and delicate woman as taking
by violence the life of a fellow-creature. And
doubly shocking so to visualize the woman one
loves.
Unsummoned pictures trooped through his mind
in gruesome procession. He saw Carlotta in the
custody of some dull policeman And Carlotta,
whose daintiness was like that of a bright bird,
caged in a dingy cell. He saw an arraignment,
with the gaping crowd, the avid photographers, and
cynical reporters writing for sentimentalists. His
mind roved to visualization of a trial, with Car-
lotta’s life the stake fought for by a prosecuting
attorney exhausting ingenuity to blacken her char-
acter; and a lawyer for defense who would liken
her to an unsullied dove.
And twelve men trapped because they could find
no excuse for release from jury duty would wearily
104


INVADERS OF A NIGHT
seek the truth through heated verbiage. One day
an elderly, ponderous judge, breaking the expectant
hush of a crowded court-room, would pro-
nounce No. He refused fancy that final
privilege. And he was hot with shame in enter-
tainment of disloyal thought. He wondered how
the night sped with Carlotta in her room below.
Was her sleep untroubled? Or did she dream
dreadful dreams?
In a final effort to recover tranquillity Marston
closed his eyes to darkness, and tried to shut off all
thought. Into a brief blankness came shimmering
mist that turned opalescent. It swayed beautifully
like a cloud curtain presently raised to disclose en-
chanting landscape.
A peaceful intervale, cradled by mountains and
closely protected by the sentinel forest. Green and
quiet, with its brown flock it basked in the after-
noon sunshine. Slowly it faded, with the faint
tinkle of far-off sheep bells. The curtain rose
again. In an old-fashioned garden poppies swayed.
As their scarlet heads nodded in friendly fashion it
seemed to Marston that they advanced to greet him.
So near they came he could almost touch them.
But his brain failed to support the impulse to ex-
tend his hand.
Marston awoke with a start, fancying himself
105


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
still in camp. But it was no cot he slept in; and
things dimly discerned were unknown in draughty
barracks. None slept beside him with stertorous
breath. Gone was the war, with its iron treadmill
of duty. It all came back again in a surge of
memory. And the releasing factor circled high
above the house. He knew it was high by the
blended drone of the engine, like the coursing cry
of a mighty bee. Was it a French plane, or Ameri-
can? No. It sounded more like a Caproni as it
descended.
Throwing aside the covers, he hastened to an
open window and leaned far out. A late moon and
almost full had free sway in the clear sky. The
near landscape was revealed in considerable detail.
And he saw the airplane distinctly, though distant.
It was a bi-plane, and a passenger carrier. He
thought he saw a head peering over the side as it
came down in a wide spiral. While he looked its
nose was pointed sharply upward. He prepared
to attribute its appearance to accident or ca:
price.
But the ascent was checked. For a few minutes
the plane hung seemingly motionless, as an eagle
prepares to plunge. Then down it came again; and
Marston, switching on a shaded light, made haste
to dress. The buzzing ceased. With fancy's eye he
saw the plane descending in wide circles. He
106


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
had covered a third of the distance. A flank ap.
proach was the most feasible.
With his head low, and running a few steps oc-
casionally, Marston followed the curve of the road-
way, somewhat screened by clumps of blossoms and
low growing shrubs. In one of his pauses he saw
two men emerge from the woods. One, short and
broad, he took to be the man on watch as the
plane descended. The other was tall, and seemed
thin. It appeared to Marston that he walked with
a slight limp. Apparently, they returned to confer
with someone guarding the machine. Hesitating a
moment at the edge of the trees, they disap-
peared.
Abandoning efforts at concealment, Marston sac-
rificed all to speed. But his progress was almost
noiseless, as he ran down the long curve to the lake
with a stride that years before had brought him
trophies. Reaching the woods, he pulled up
sharply, and plunged into a path at the left. Used
in riding, it was clear of brush. Despite the dim-
mer light, he pushed on with hardly diminished
speed.
“ But he is not here."
These words uttered in a tone of complaint
brought Marston to a sudden stop. He had not
expected to find the strangers so soon. He seemed
to have passed them. The voice came from a point
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INVADERS OF A NIGHT
to the right, and slightly behind him. As he strove
to place it, a second and heavier voice replied:
“ It is the place. And it is the time."
Marston moved to gain a point of vantage on
the farther side of a large pine. As he reached it
a dry twig snapped under his foot. He moved cau-
tiously, and felt something of ominous import in
the small of his back. As well as if his eyes beheld
it, he knew it was the muzzle of a revolver. An-
other moment of silence. He was too amazed to
speak. Then the heavier voice inquired, chillingly
impersonal:
“ What you doing here?”
“ It's more to the point," Marston retorted, “to
ask what you are doing here?”
He half turned for a look at the unknown. Then
he abruptly desisted. For the sinister pressure at
his back was suddenly emphasized with a thrust.
“ You will advance," the unknown said.
Helpless without arms, Marston was pushed
along the bridle-path till he emerged with his cap-
tors near the plane. No word was spoken as they
marched, or when they paused, till the man by the
machine addressed his companions : “ Have you not
found him?"
“No, master.”
“ Nor found you it?"
“No, master.”
109


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM.
“ And this?" he said.
For the first time he looked directly at Marston,
who saw in the moonlight how tall he was and thin,
with a hooked nose and blazing eyes. In his per-
sonality there was something hawk-like and strange.
The others seemed foreign, too, with an intonation
Marston could not identify. The one of lighter
voice made answer:
“He came upon us in the woods."
“Do you spy?” The leader flung his question
at Marston as an accusation.
"Do you trespass?" Marston retorted. “What
are you doing here?”
No answer. The leader continued to stare at him
with a look of anger. He kept up a rapid tapping
on the frame of the machine. Marston's attention
was drawn to a topaz ring on the third finger of his
left hand. It seemed a baleful eye in the fading
moonlight.
The chief of the nocturnal visitors at length
vouchsafed an explanation: “We are the army
flyers."
“In an Italian machine," suggested Marston.
“ So you are the aviator? And perhaps you also
are the master. Yes?”
He surveyed Marston with the scornful detach-
ment of a superior being.
“No," Marston admitted, suddenly conscious of
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INVADERS OF A NIGHT
his collarless and generally dishevelled condition.
“I am a guest.”
“Ah!” He met the force of fiercely searching
regard. A question hovered on framing lips. Then
the strange being turned with a contemptuous
word :
“ Cochon!”
The epithet was made malignantly insulting
Starting angrily, Marston found himself facing
a revolver. Still he took a forward step. With
the flash of the weapon, and its report, came a sing-
ing past his ears, and almost immediately a muffled
exclamation, apparently from one of his captors
behind him. Then one of them spoke to the man
with the revolver in a strange tongue. Seemingly,
he remonstrated. Still holding the weapon, the
leader waved him back and took the pilot's seat.
A command, and sudden whirring rent the morn-
ing air. Gathering power, the plane ran across the
level stretch, elevating its nose barely in time to
clear the tree-tops. With a burst of triumphant
energy it mounted to the mystery of upper air.
Marston saw it vanish, and turned to climb the
hill.
Tired as he was, and plagued by the latest out-
cropping of mystery, he felt the appeal of that
mysterious hour presaging dawn. The sky had
grown somewhat darker. And stars lost to view in
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
the moon's effulgence now shone briefly bright. In
the woods near by he heard, and sensed, life faintly
stirring. With such an hour, perchance, the world
was born.
Proceeding somewhat abstractedly, Marston was
suddenly conscious of another's presence, as he
stepped through the shrubbery into the roadway.
He was sure something stirred behind a dwarf pine
on the other side.
“ Who's there?” he called sharply.
No answer. But, as he pressed forward, a man
rose beside the pine. It was Maxwell, no longer the
immaculate. Maxwell, wearing a cap and sweater,
and presenting a tousled appearance. But his man.
ner was the same.
“ Pardon me, sir," he said, and removed his cap.
“What are you doing here, Maxwell?"
“I heard the aeroplane, sir. And I thought
someone should investigate. It is my duty, sir,” as
Marston maintained his questioning attitude, “to
see to the safety of the house at night."
“What were you doing, Maxwell, outside Gen-
eral Welles's door, the other night?"
Ruthless impulse to force clarification in some
phase of thickening mystery possessed Marston.
“I wanted to speak to him." The butler spoke
simply, with slight hesitation.
“ Did you speak to him?"
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INVADERS OF A NIGHT
tand you, buton urged:on, sir."
“ No, sir. I changed my mind."
“Why do you hate the General, Maxwell?”
“I beg your pardon, sir."
The butler's voice conveyed inability to believe
his ears.
“But you do hate him," Marston pressed on.
« Sometimes you show it. I saw it in your face at
dinner, Tuesday. And again, last night. What is
it?"
“I don't understand you, sir.”
“ You may trust me,” Marston urged.
“ I am sorry I gave you that impression, sir."
“ But you do dislike the General?”
There was no enlightenment in Maxwell's enig.
matic face. As they reached the steps he said, with
his usual formality:
“May I bring you something before you retire,
sir? Thank you. I will try to see that you are not
disturbed."
A door closed softly and he vanished in the rear
of the house. Too tired for analysis, Marston went
slowly up to bed. As he drew the curtains he
looked out at a sky rimmed with pink. Almost im-
mediately he plunged into deep sleep.
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CHAPTER VIII
TWISTED THREADS
THE crows brought Marston back to conscious-
ness. From the volume of hoarse discourse they
might have been assembled in caucus near by. Fully
awake, he noted how sunshine crept under the cur-
tains, and reached for his watch. It was past ten.
Conscious of much to do, he rang for Maxwell and
prepared his bath.
The butler promptly responded. “I trust you
rested well, sir," he said with becoming deference.
“ May I bring you some breakfast now? Some
bacon and eggs, and a grape-fruit, with coffee?"
" Anything you please," said Marston. “What's
the news, this morning?”
“Nothing, sir. But I should have said Dr. Mor-
rison called for you on the telephone."
“Why didn't you let me know?” demanded Mar-
ston.
“Well, sir, it was several hours ago. I hope you
will excuse me. I knew you had been out very late.
I told him you hadn't come down."
“What did he say to that?"
“ He will call again, sir."
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6 Very well, Maxwell. That was right.”
With a grateful expression the butler withdrew.
As he ate his breakfast, Marston pondered Max-
well's appearance, and disclosures of the early
morning. There was no evident reason to disbe-
lieve his explanation. What more natural than for
a trusted servant, often in charge of the house dur-
ing his employer's absence, to investigate a strange
noise at night? That he had any communication
with the trespassers was unlikely. Marston had
himself hastened to investigate them, and fallen
into their hands. To have converse with them, if
he did go to meet them, Maxwell must have waited
on the spot. Marston dismissed that supposition.
The case of Maxwell, with his seeming grudge
against the General, presented no obvious relation-
ship to the mystery of Fanny's death. But what of
the visitors of the night, the strange aviators of
foreign look and accent? Instinct assigned them
some part in the dark cloud that hung over Oak-
hurst, menacing one of its guests.
Marston recalled the voice in the wood. The one
in seeming remonstrance: “ But he is not here."
And the deeper voice in answer: “But it is the
time. And it is the place.” The time and the place
for whom? And for what? So much, and yet so
little. It seemed almost a dream. Save for an im•
pression of three faces seen by moonlight, and a few
CSUS.
115


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
words remembered, it was as if the aviators had
never appeared. He could not blame himself for
negligence. Had he not hastened, when awakened
by the plane, he would not have seen its occupants
at all. And it was impossible to detain or question
them. An unarmed man with a pistol at his breast
must bow to odds of three to one. As to revelation
of their errand, odds were even greater. But hè
hoped.
And what of Carlotta ? Coming to her position
at last, Marston realized how he had evaded it. It
must be considered. A lawyer, he well knew that
reluctance on his part would not paralyze legal
processes. He endeavored to view Carlotta's posi-
tion with the detachment of a prosecuting attor-
ney.
By her own admission, she was the last person
known to have seen Fanny alive. And it was in
Fanny's chamber, the very place where her body
was found, next day. She said she went there at
Fanny's request. But she would not say what
Fanny desired of her. They were not friends; only
acquaintances. And Carlotta admitted her dislike
of the dead woman.
To continue: No weapon was found. But a scrap
of yellow cloth, caught on a chair in the chamber,
seemed to furnish a clue to the assassin's identity.
Helen Carrington had expressed the opinion that
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TWISTED THREADS
no woman in the house possessed a dress of such
material. And other women present by their si-
lence assented. Yet, a few hours later, he saw Car-
lotta in her room, with a dress of the same yellow
in her hands. He recalled her obvious agitation;
her anxious question as she stood there: “ Is it all
right?” What did she mean?
Suspicious circumstance accumulated. There
was the matter of his accidental eavesdropping at
the telephone. What about Fanny was Carlotta
afraid to discuss over the wire? Who was it she
had promised to meet that day?
Most district attorneys would find in points
enumerated a basis for prosecution. One could not
expect a prosecuting official to take the sympa-
thetic view of circumstances natural enough to
Carrington and his guests. Disagreeable as it must
be, and probably blighting the hope he had dared
entertain, Marston resolved to question Carlotta.
She must be prepared for interrogation without
tenderness, and possibly with purpose to entrap.
He was resolved as he went down the stairs.
But his resolution was balked.
“Here's one of the truants,” said Amy Stone, as
he entered the hall. She sat by the fire, with Roger
very near Back to the others, Freddy stood look-
ing at the lake. The General, a picture of courte-
ous amiability, seemed somehow to assume an air
117


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
of ease usually his without effort. Carrington
lounged in the near background, nervously biting
his nails.
" It seems to me," he observed acidly, that
you're not much of an early bird for a detective,
Dick."
“ Somebody was up beastly early, this morning,"
observed Roger. “Who has an airplane in these
parts, Carrington?”.
“Nobody. You're hipped on machinery, Roger.”
“ Well, I know the sound of an engine.”
“I thought I heard one," volunteered Freddy.
“ Did you get up to see?”
“ No," admitted Roger.
“Wheels,” said Carrington rudely.
Intent to determine whether knowledge of the
night raiders was confined to himself and Maxwell,
Marston did not at first note Carlotta's appearance
on the stairs. Following other eyes, he saw her
there. She paused a moment on the landing, and
came slowly down. To Marston it seemed her al-
ways proudly carried head was poised in defiance.
She wore a small hat, and driving gloves, and a
street dress of green.
“ Leaving us, Carlotta?” Carrington called, as
she moved toward the door.
“ I'm going for a little spin,” she explained.
“ Do you want company? " asked Amy.
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TWISTED THREADS
“There are only two seats in my roadster,” Car-
lotta observed, her hand on the door.
“ I'm only one,” said Amy.
“I am in a bad humor to-day.” The door was
open.
“ Then I'm the doctor.” Undaunted, Amy rose
to follow.
“Such enthusiasm," Carrington noted satiric-
ally. Followed by Marston, he walked to the porch.
Carlotta's car was at the steps, with one of Car-
rington's chauffeurs at the wheel. He stepped
out as she approached. She gave the car a
critical examination, concluding with a slight
frown:
“Is that spring fixed?”
The chauffeur tried to focus on a point indefi-
nitely indicated by her forefinger.
“I don't understand, Mrs. Hamlin,” he replied.
“ Nothing was said to me about a spring."
“ Then it isn't fixed ?”
“ No, Mrs. Hamlin. But - "
She cut him off. " Take it back to the garage.”
“I saw nothing wrong on the way up," he ven-
tured.
“I don't care to use it.” Carlotta's voice was
icy.
“ You may have any one of mine," said Carring-
ton as she turned to enter the house.
119


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM.
" Thanks, Alfred.” She relaxed a little. “I
don't really care much about it."
At the door appeared Amy, ready for a drive.
“What's the matter?" she asked.
" I've changed my mind,” Carlotta explained suc-
cinctly, and gained the stairs. “Luncheon at the
usual time, I suppose,” she said, looking at Car-
rington. “Good-bye till then.”
« • For ways that are dark, and tricks that are
vain,'” quoted the master of the house.
Carlotta's appearance and abrupt departure was
a social bombshell. With Roger sulky and Amy be-
wildered, Marston, who somehow felt himself re-
sponsible for Carlotta's behavior, moved to liven
conversation. The infallible recipe was sports.
Jay Gould's prowess at court tennis was a topic as
stimulating as polo had been the night before. Not
that Freddy cared. But he was never eager to talk
about anything. And the General was the most
catholic of listeners.
The appearance of Maxwell, bearing on a tray
bottles, cracked ice, and a silver pitcher, over which
Carrington presided with ritualistic mien, was
somewhat cheering. Presently Helen Carrington
called from a balcony overlooking the hall:
“Good morning, everybody. And excuse me for
being so late." She was on the stairs now, with a
better view. “ The spirituous bliss. No, Alfred,"
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TWISTED THREADS
10
as Carrington offered a glass. “I'd rather see
things as they are.”
Punctilious to the second of his mistress's ap-
pearance, Maxwell stood before her. “Luncheon is
served, Madam,” he said.
“ Are we all here?” she asked. “Yes. Carlotta
has gone motoring, and won't return in season."
“We have later information,” said Carrington.
66 What?"
“ She is up-stairs."
“I didn't know.” Mrs. Carrington manifested
no surprise. “ Maxwell, will you tell Mrs. Hamlin
lunch is served?"
“I'm here,” called a voice above. Another Car-
lotta appeared. Marston viewed her with astonish-
ment. Disdain in green had vanished but a half
hour before. In her stead returned the woman he
had known before Fanny died. Dressed in cloth
of russet, she brought vivifying influence. Was it
mercurial temperament? Or a brilliant effort to
deceive? Her treatment of him ignored the last
forty-eight hours. In subtle ways he was made to
feel himself a favored man. The black cloud hover-
ing over her seemed preposterous.
“Don't be long with your cigarettes and coffee,"
she said as the women rose from the table. “It's
a gorgeous afternoon for tennis. With Dick for a
partner, I think I could beat you and Amy, Alfred."
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
"I don't like to play soon after eating,” he said
with frank rudeness.
“ Very well, Grandfather,” she mocked. “Per-
haps Roger is young enough to violate the rule."
Vincent's prompt assent was nipped by Carring-
ton's—“I guess we'll have to show you. Give me
a little while.”
Marston flushed with pleasure that she had called
him “Dick.” The first time. Was she trying to
conciliate him? Shame sprang to life at the
thought.
“It's about time to change for the fray," said
Carrington, in a half hour or so. “Roger, you
don't have to dress. Tell Amy and Carlotta we'll
be ready in a few minutes. Probably, they are
waiting for us on the court, and counting the sec-
onds. On another engagement, we'd have to wait
hours for them.”
In part, at least, Carrington's reasoning was
sound. They found their partners waiting, and
Roger, a tournament player, perched in the
referee's chair.
“ Don't you think we'll do well together?” asked
Carlotta, as they took their places.
“I hope so," Marston answered, “in the long
run.”
She gave him a look, and said no more. Warm-
ing up play began. Presently the set was on. To
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TWISTED THREADS
the superior steadiness of Carrington, no longer
blessed with the activity of youth, and Amy, who
was reliable but not speedy, Marston and Carlotta
opposed agility and elan. For the occasion Mar-
ston revived virtuosity of younger days. By no
means one of those that wear muscular power as a
womanly crown, Carlotta gave him astonishing
support.
“I didn't know you could play so well,” said
Carrington in roundabout compliment, when they
had won the vantage set.
“ Just what do you know about me, Alfred?"
Carlotta inquired. Her air was subtly challeng.
ing.
“Mighty little,” he admitted, with a puzzled
look.
After a maid bearing refreshment came Maxwell
with a message.
“Dr. Morrison wishes to speak with you at the
telephone, sir,” he said to Marston.
“ Did you tell him we were playing?” asked Car-
rington, with an accent of reproof.
“Yes, sir. It seems to be something urgent. He
said Mr. Marston would understand.”
“ Maybe he does," Carrington grumbled.
“ I'll see you later,” said Carlotta sotto voce, as
Marston rose to go.
« Thank you," he murmured, and hoped he would
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
be glad to remember. Fear colored expectation as
he hastened to the telephone.
“H'm,” he could hear a familiar voice saying as
he took up the receiver.
“Hello!” he called. “Is it Dr. Morrison?”
“ You guessed right. Sorry to disturb you. Had
to. I couldn't wait. Hell is popping loose here."
“What's the matter?” Marston managed to rush
in with his question.
“Everything. Saleport is burning up. Looks as
if the whole place would go. I'm packing up in my
office now."
“Is there anything we can do?" interjected Mar-
ston.
“No, thanks. It's fifteen miles. And probably
they wouldn't let you in. The militia is in charge.
But that isn't what I want to tell you."
" What is it?" asked Marston with a sudden
chill.
“I performed the post-mortem on Mrs. Cutshaw,
last night.”
“ Yes? "
« Just as I thought. Died of a stab. I'll have to
report murder. Don't know what the district at-
torney will do. Have you found out anything?”
"No," said Marston with momentary hesitation.
“Well,” Dr. Ben went on, “I guess the district
attorney won't do anything for at least one twenty.
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TWISTED THREADS
four hours. He'll have his hands full right here.
When he does get to the Cutshaw case, I'll ask him
to keep my report out of the papers till he is ready
to move. That will save Helen from having the
place overrun with reporters. She knows what I'm
up to. I have just talked with her. You'd better
tell Alfred. He'll probably take it as a personal
injury. H'm."
He paused for a moment. Marston, wondering
if the connection was broken, had moved to hang
up when he heard : “ You know those pieces of yel-
low cloth?”
“ Yes," said Marston.
“I think there is our clue. I'll hold on to them,
if I can keep anything. You might smell the var-
nish blistering now. If I'm up and about, and
there's a telephone line working, I'll call you to-
morrow. Good-bye.”
The problem that oppressed him took a stronger
grip on Marston as he turned away. In part at
least, what he knew must presently be shared with
others. To save Carlotta from humiliation-to
himself he used no stronger word-he must have
her coöperation. In rueful anticipation, he failed
to see her, a little figure in a great carved chair.
“ What is it?" she asked.
Her voice and appearance brought him to a sud-
den halt. “ You mean ?"
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ What does Dr. Ben say?"
She did not tremble. And her voice was steady.
But he saw in her face signs of nervous strain. He
loathed what he had to say. Rage against circum-
stance, and a great desire to take her in his arms,
were hidden in his blunt statement:
“ Dr. Ben says Fanny was murdered.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. Before he realized her
intention she was past him, her feet on the stairs.
“ Carlotta !” he called. She pressed upward
without a backward look.
“A moment, please,” he urged. “I must speak
with you."
“Not now,” she answered. A fleeting glimpse of
a white face turned toward him. Then her door
closed.
Carrington came in, swinging his racquet.
“ You look rather peckish,” he observed. “What's
the word?”
“Nothing good. Saleport is burning. And Dr.
Ben asked me to tell you that he must report mur-
der in Fanny's case.”
“What!” Carrington sat with a lighted match
in his fingers. As it scorched them he flung it
away, with an added word: "How?”
“By a stab at the base of the brain."
“Damnation!” A carved ivory ruler Carring.
ton had picked up snapped in his hands. He tossed
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TWISTED THREADS
the fragments into the fireplace, as he put the next
question:
“Does he suspect anyone?"
“ There is no clue worth mentioning." Unrea-
soning loyalty moved Marston to prompt reply.
“I suppose it means a rumpus, notoriety; all
that newspapers can do to make us comfortable."
“Dr. Ben said he would try to keep the reporters
away.”
“I hope he succeeds.” Carrington gnawed his
lower lip reflectively. “Who knows now?"
“ He has told Helen.”
“She has common sense. No need to mention it
to the others yet. How soon do you think we can
get away?”
“ You can go now, if you want to,” Marston ob-
served. “But it wouldn't look well under the cir-
cumstances."
“I suppose the fools would say we ran away,"
Carrington assented with a frown. “Well, I'll
stick it out for a day or two. I suppose I ought to
look up Helen. See you at dinner.”
Left to himself, Marston realized he was still in
tennis clothes and went up to change. At Car-
lotta's door he hesitated. But it seemed a mute
repulse, and he did not knock. After the bath he
was dressing leisurely when it occurred to him the
light was curiously dim. His watch assured him
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TWISTED THREADS
and he went on again. Near the edge of the wood
something white caught his eye. It lay at the base
of a juniper-bush just off the path. He carefully
lifted it,-a partially consumed cigarette. And a
brand its makers advertised as a treasure in every
American home. Doubtless tossed aside by some
rider. It was thrown away again in Marston's dis-
appointment.
He passed to open ground, in which the airplane
had landed. With calm weather the imprint of its
wheels, lessening with gathered momentum, was
still visible. Any foreign substance might easily be
seen. Nothing detained him till he came to the
place where the plane had stood. There lay some.
thing impossible to overlook. He turned it in his
hand, a case of hammered gold. On one side was
a noble example of Moorish architecture. The
other bore a galloping horseman in the desert.
Work of exquisite delicacy Marston took to be that
of the race enriching Spain before misguided Chris-
tians expelled them, setting back the clock of
progress.
The case contained a few cigarettes of a French
brand. Plainly a souvenir of the strange aviators;
and the property, it might be assumed, of their
leader. The others, as Marston recalled them, were
not men likely to possess a case so costly. Inter-
ested, but nowise enlightened, he dropped it in his
129


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
pocket and set out briskly for the house. It was
twilight.
A burst of light greeted his eyes as he turned the
last corner of the drive. It seemed to stream from
every window. Then rollicking music commenced.
Marston regarded the scene as one beholding or.
ganized levity in a mad-house.
Seated at the piano, Freddy imitated a barrel.
organ in musical acrobatics. And Carlotta, a
dream in iridescent stuff bewildering in the fire-
light, danced with freakish improvisation. Her
verve was irresistible; her feet hardly seemed to
touch the floor. Carrington stood with an elbow
on the mantel, and urged her on. Amy and Roger
occupied a bench by the fire. And on the opposite
side sat Helen Carrington, with some knitted trifle
in her hand. She alone looked faintly troubled.
Carrington saw him first, and waved him on.
“ You'll have to hurry,” he called. “Dinner at
7:30." His face was flushed, and he spoke with a
slight thickness.
As Marston went on to his room Freddy's freak-
ish music pursued him. His last glimpse of the
party showed Carlotta dancing like a fay. A house
of trouble seemed transformed into the house of
mirth. That was still his impression at dinner.
Champagne, the more precious because unpurchase
able, was poured freely. Marston felt strangely ill
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TWISTED THREADS
at ease. In his perplexity what wine he took failed
to warm his blood. Like a ghost at the feast, he
questioned his contact with reality. Only Helen
gave him an occasional troubled glance.
In his coat-pocket he felt the Moorish case, kept
on his person as he dressed for dinner. He held it,
verifying his own impression, in his half-shut hand.
“What's that?" asked Carrington.
“ Something I picked up,” replied Marston.
“ Want to see it?”
Carrington extended a hand a little shaky. But
the connoisseur seemed uppermost as he gave the
case close attention.
“ Don't know where you got it,” he observed, as
he handed it back. “I congratulate you. With
one exception, it's the most beautiful case I've ever
seen.” He paused a moment, collecting his
thoughts. “ The other was like yours. To a dot.
Let's see.” He passed from heavy emphasis to un-
certainty. “That one was in Seville. I ought to
remember. Helen, who was the fellow that had a
case like this one?"
“I don't remember.” She held the case in her
hand.
She placed the case on the table and turned to
the General with some trifling remark. Marking
nervous contraction of her throat, Marston won-
dered as the case was returned to him. The Gen-
131


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
eral came to the rescue with a story relieving con-
straint.
“A little dancing," commanded Carrington,
when the sweets were passed.
“Oh, you'd rather play bridge, Alfred,” said
Helen, with concern in her eyes she strove to keep
out of her voice.
“No, I want Carlotta to dance.” He set his
mouth obstinately.
“But consider Freddy,” urged Carlotta. “His
poor aching arms. And all the mental exertion of
imitating barrel-organ music.”
" I'm game, if you are," assented Freddy, sensi-
tive to the situation.
“Don't let them impose on you,” said Helen.
But Carlotta, with a little pat for her detaining
hand, rose from the table.
. “I won't. It may turn out that I impose on
them. Come, Freddy. All you have to do is the
sort of music Ruth St. Denis would want if she
imitated Isadora Duncan."
"I can jazz Handel's · Largo' for that.” Freddy
headed for the piano, and plunged into a comical
burlesque. Carlotta danced with freedom unusual
in the amateur, and zest uncommon in a profes-
sional. A final advance ended in a beautiful pose.
And close by was the door.
“ Good-bye,” she called. “I'm hot."
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TWISTED THREADS
« Don't go without a wrap," Mrs. Carrington
warned. “You'll catch cold.”
“ Bother!" was the only answer. Then the door
closed.
“A great talent." The General was enthusiastic.
“I have seldom seen better dancing. And I used
to follow the ballet in the old days. There was a
woman in Paris Mrs. Hamlin reminds me of. A
Spanish girl with interesting history. They said
a young priest she bewitched in wayside wandering
left his monastery for her, and lived as her lover
till she restored the monk by tiring of the man. A
bull-fighter, I believe, revenged his sex. Paris
talked about them for a little while. And a fellow
named Smith put it all in a story. Any of you ever
read it? No? Well, it's old enough to be new
again. And worth while."
The General was off at a canter. He received
only perfunctory attention. Marston's mind roved
in quest of Carlotta. The story, somewhat lengthy
with its embellishment, duly ended, he rose, re-
marking: “I guess I'll take a little fresh air."
“ Take this,” said Mrs. Carrington, handing him
a silk scarf from the back of her chair.
A glass dropped by Carrington broke on the floor
with a tinkling sound as Marston passed out into
the night.
133


CHAPTER IX
THE QUEST OF CARLOTTA
It was still and dark, the moon not yet risen.
Marston looked over the valley, to the watch-tower
on a high hill. He knew it for the fire-warden's
eyrie; a solitary point of light in the great sweep
of darkness. He listened eagerly and strained his
eyes, seeking a figure in the driveway, or under
neighboring trees. Neither sight nor sound re-
warded him. But as he strove to pierce the dark-
ness it lightened a little, with a spurt of the fire
gnawing at Saleport's vitals, fifteen miles away.
Marston strolled from the porch into the
grounds. He hoped to encounter Carlotta some-
where in the shadows. Twice he paused to call her
name softly. There was no response. She had left
the house by a door on the side next the mountain.
From it a path led to the garage, a quarter-mile
away. Presumably she had gone that way. Close
on either side trees lifted ramparts of pitchy black-
ness.
After the first hundred yards or so Marston
quickened his pace. Each second intensified pro-
tective instinct. He had covered half the distance
134


THE QUEST OF CARLOTTA
when a sound checked him abruptly. His impres-
sion that it was the opening of a garage door had
immediate confirmation. With the hum of a motor
stirred into action he began to run. But it was
too late.
Past the last turn of the winding path, he saw a
car emerge from the garage. And at the wheel sat
Carlotta. For a moment in the lighted entrance he
saw her face. It was pale and determined. Over
her evening gown she wore some garment. But
her head was bare.
“ Carlotta!” he cried, and dashed across the
greensward to intercept her.
She did not answer or look toward him. Instead,
she stepped on the accelerator. Every ounce of
energy released, the car spurted with a harsh out-
cry steadied in the gush of sustained endeavor.
The fifty yards between fugitive and pursuer
might as well have been a mile. In a minute Car-
lotta was hardly visible under the overarching
trees. No need to wonder which way she had gone.
The road joined the main driveway near the lake.
Farnham, one of Carrington's chauffeurs, met
Marston in his mad rush at the garage door.
“ That was Mrs. Hamlin."
The vehement utterance blended question and
command.
“ Yes, sir,” the chauffeur answered respectfully.
135


THE BODY IN THE BLUB ROOM
“ Get out my car. Quick!”
“ Yes, sir.”
As the man hastened to obey, Marston's uncon-
trollable impatience, the consuming fever of his
anxiety drove him to further speech.
“ You shouldn't have allowed her to take a car
out alone to-night.”
“How could I help it, sir?"
As he answered, seemingly oblivious of the sharp-
ness of Marston's voice, the chauffeur was busy in
preparation of the car.
“ She was bound to do it, sir,” he continued. "I
offered to drive her; but she wouldn't let me. A
fine lady, sir.” Farnham looked up a moment from
his task of filling the tank with gasoline. “A lit-
tle wilful, but plenty of spirit.”
“Yes," assented Marston, his mind's eye intent
upon a slight figure rapidly receding far down the
road.
“ All ready," the chauffeur said. He had a cap
and coat in his hands.
“Any idea where Mrs. Hamlin is going, Farn-
ham?” Marston asked, as he rapidly put the ex-
tended garments on.
She only said, sir, she felt like being alone."
“ Thank you, Farnham."
Marston was in his car now, his hand on the
wheel.
136


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
earth and himself. Palisades of trees marked the
channel of his passage through resilient air. Alert
for the glimpse that would mean Carlotta ahead, he
was not at first conscious of humming telegraph
wires. But presently, somewhere behind, he heard
the faint ringing of steel rails. A subdued roar in-
creased until, with hoarse blasts of a locomotive
whistle, a train of flat cars loaded with fire engines
came abreast, in a clearing beside the road.
Keeping the pace, Marston watched firemen
frantically shoveling coal into an insatiate maw.
Sparks flecked a great trail of smoke from the loco-
motive, and sparks rose incessantly from fire-en-
gines that had steam up, ready for action. Each
smokestack was a vase, and in it stood a great car-
dinal flower, blood-red.
The engineer opened his throttle wide, and the
train gained. Thundering through a cut, it was
lost to view. Marston looked at his speedometer.
It registered fifty. Carlotta could not be far
ahead with the state road still some five miles
away.
Intent as he was apon personal considerations,
Marston took no note of strange and beautiful ef-
fects. Here and there he might have seen patches
of water turned crimson. And dull crimson banked
the dark masses of trees. Saleport was still eight
miles distant; but the fire made it seem much
138


THE QUEST OF CARLOTTA
W
nearer. Bright orange banded the horizon. And
above it a great spread of magenta quilted with
stars, like eyes of blue. The night was very clear
and soft, with a light wind. With peaceful tone
the clock in some steeple struck ten. Then a fac-
tory whistle in the burning city shattered calm.
It shrieked like a monster in pain; three times, and
three more.
Marston heard the faint ringing of bells. Smoke
was distinguishable. It seemed to hover, a burning
cloud. The flames were not red. Rather they were
smoky yellow, or a dirty pink. They climbed fit-
fully, leaping and sinking; disappearing, to reap-
pear in another quarter.
The state road was near now, and Marston ap-
pealed to the car with hoarse exhortation. Fifty-
five miles the speedometer showed; then sixty. A
few seconds later he slackened speed. For not far
ahead, and easily identified by the light of the ris-
ing moon, Carlotta sat at the wheel; a trim and
tense little figure, extracting from her car its ut-
most. Without fear of pursuit, she neither heard
Marston's car nor looked behind her.
He kept closer than prudence sanctioned, lest he
lose her in the hurly-burly of the public way. He
saw it ahead, marked by motor headlights in un-
ending procession. As he anticipated, Carlotta
swung to the right. In the last minute Marston
139


TAE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
spurted desperately, and snatched a place in the
line but a few yards behind her. Fearing detection,
he pulled his cap down until its visor nearly
brushed his nose.
Carlotta never looked back. She had eyes only
for her task. Her desire for speed was evident
when she slipped into the place of a car ahead and
to the left, as it turned into a lane from the double
line. Comments of the occupants of a limousine
thus robbed of lawful gain were lost to Marston.
He was fully occupied in capturing Carlotta's va-
cated place against a competing car of greater size.
Such flurries were occasional, as the crowd swept
on. Cars long past their prime rattled loudly, with
direful creaking at each “ Thank-you-marm.” And
the car of greatest celebrity scampered in and out
like a mouse of the road. Big cars reached into
the night with tireless stride. .. There was
much shouting and singing. Many were bound to
see a city burned, as they would have gone to see a
matinée idol.
They raced into Saleport's outlying district, a
region of frame houses, of corner groceries and
drug-stores, with the inevitable fringe of restless
children and a dog or two. In doorways women,
hands on their hips, stood looking fearfully at the
imperilled heart of the city, and the reddened sky.
The road ahead was blocked with cars now.
140


THE QUEST OF CARLOTTA
They panted and puffed in close quarters. With
much language, and display of bad temper, drivers
attempted to gain some point of vantage. Marston
heard the steady drone of throbbing fire-engines;
ringing of bells, almost smothered by other sounds;
far off, confused shouting.
Suddenly Carlotta, slipping through an opening
so narrow it seemed the mudguard scraped, gained
a length or two. Marston manouvred to recover
lost ground. But every way another determined
driver blocked him. Ahead was almost absolute
stagnation of traffic. Across the road stretched a
rope guarded by policemen whose amiability was
nowise increased by wondering if anything re-
mained of their own homes. With harsh words
they repelled the curious. But now and then some
motorist with the open sesame passed the barrier.
Carlotta worked her way to the line.
He saw her lean forward to address a burly of-
ficer, who shook his head with a gesture of refusal.
Still she urged; but he turned away. Then Mar-
ston's overburdened nerves received a sorry shock.
Another officer raised the rope, dropping it quickly
behind her. As Marston watched with consterna-
tion and amazement, the second officer stepped on
the running-board; and Carlotta's car was lost to
view.
He tried desperately to advance. There was no
141


THE QUEST OF CARLOTTA
a burning city, and forces of evil have full sway.
He had a ghastly vision of Carlotta,-defenseless,
in danger, perhaps slain.
About surged those that gladly would have aided
him,—the underpaid but now glorious writers of
the press. Marston saw them, afoot and in motors;
photographers roaming hungrily with their cam-
eras; and young men darting hither and thither,
buttonholing policemen, interviewing the panic-
stricken, dodging lines of hose,-and deaf to orders.
Despite Saleport wrapped in smoke and flames,
they would have risen as hounds to the scent at a
suggestion of murder among Carrington's guests.
But even had it occurred to him, Marston would
have shrunk from appealing to them in his quest.
Restricted by the fire, and militia on guard, he be-
gan his feverish quest of a little figure in black;
one far too frail to brave dangers of a city doomed.
The line of least resistance led up a slight in-
cline. There he beheld what appeared to be the
major portion of the fire. Capriciously skirting a
considerable area, it had swept in again, burning
uncontrollably at the edge of a great fan. The
nearer flames disported with buildings lost occa-
sionally in billows of smoke. They licked the
doomed structures carelessly, advanced and re-
treated; then suddenly seized them fiercely. From
roofs spurted fire that subsided to a glowing frame-
143


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
work. Buildings far gone collapsed abruptly, or
showed something indistinguishably furious as a
Cubist landscape. The foliage of trees disappeared
in flaming particles, flung by a wind that seemed
born of the fire itself. Many engines labored, but
seemed only to enhance confusion. Their streams
were repelled as mist.
An officer hailed Marston sharply. “What are
you up to?” he called from the sidewalk.
“Press," Marston answered, taking his cue from
the policeman first encountered.
The officer regarded him doubtfully, then turned
away with a gruff remark: “Be careful your tires
don't melt. And stick to the street."
Marston drove on to a square, with a fountain
that no longer played. It was comparatively quiet
there. For a minute or two he sat watchful at the
wheel. His heart leaped as a woman in black
rounded the corner by the church, and drove
briskly across the square. But it was a stranger,
manifestly alarmed by his interest.
Sadly disappointed, he turned again to the
hastening throng. Past him streamed the exiled
from home. Barge-loads of women and children
packed like the proverbial sardine; and many
truck-loads of household goods piled helter-skelter.
Unlucky stragglers came afoot, many of them
clutching something incongruous. Marston won-
144


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Marking how the fire had paused, as if obedient
to a raised hand, Marston was also aware of a
roadster left by the curb. And it looked like Car-
lotta's in the dim light. Could it be? His heart
leaped at the suggestion. But before he could look
for a sign a squad of guardsmen, seemingly ma-
terialized from the shadows, gathered about the
car. With words few and indistinguishable, they
climbed into and on it. Its engine answered, and
they drove quietly away.
Presumably, appropriation in the public inter-
est. From their uniform and the situation Marston
took that for granted. He made no move, fearing
seizure of his own machine. A motorist's chance
of escape from the city so rashly invaded by Car-
lotta was slight. For a foot-passenger there was
none.
146


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Dared he leave the car, even for a minute, to
enter the house of mystery? As he hesitated, a
side door opened and Carlotta appeared, carrying
something in her arms. Both joy of recognition
and fear for her position were lost in the shock of
perception that her burden was a child. She car-
ried it tenderly, seemingly unconscious of her sur-
roundings.
But the situation came home to her as she
reached the curb. Her car was no longer there.
She looked up and down in dazed concern. With
a dull roar some building went to pieces a mile or
so away; and the conflagration's hideousness was
made more visible. A few yards distant, but
screened by foliage boxing the corner of the lawn,
Marston saw her face. Rallying to defense of the
young life in her arms, she fronted fate with a look
of desperate courage.
Marston beheld her with intolerable pain.
Whose child did she hold so tenderly? The mys-
tery of Fanny's death was suddenly complicated.
And his dearest hope seemed desolately remote.
But now he had his hour. The life he might not
claim he could still save. He stepped forward.
But he was anticipated, even as his feet touched the
ground. The figure of a man appeared in the door-
way. For a moment he stood framed in darkness.
Marston saw that he was tall and clothed in white;
148


WHEN A CITY BURNS
it looked like a uniform. The man in white ad-
vanced to where Carlotta stood, swaying with her
burden. From her lips issued no sound.
They were so near Marston might almost have
touched them. With eyes adjusted to the smoky
light, he saw the man in white distinctly; a man
of light complexion, with a long face and sharply
pointed mustache. Something in his carriage sug-
gested military service. At the moment his atti-
tude toward Carlotta seemed one of blended en-
treaty and defiance. He put out his hand as if to
touch her, but arrested the motion.
For a full minute they stood in silence, and Mar-
ston, an unseen and involuntary intruder, felt
the man challenged Carlotta's possession of the
child.
“ Haven't I done what I could?"
His voice was low and blurred.
The child whimpered, and she held it more
closely. She answered him as a stranger:
“It is not for me to judge.”
He struck his clenched hands together sharply,
and his voice thickened.
“ Anyway," he said, “haven't I a right to keep
it?"
She did not answer.
“Why don't you speak?"
“ What is there for me to say?"
149


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Though she answered, she seemed communing
with herself.
He appealed again:“Won't you stay, and let me
protect you?"
“I can't. I'd rather go.”
“ But how? And where?”
“ There'll be a way.”
Marston visualized himself as a performer in
some duly rehearsed tragedy. “Carlotta," he said,
and stepped out into the light.
“ Dick!”
He saw in her face not the sunburst of hope, but
a look of surprise, of resentment.
The man in white did not speak. He merely
looked at them. As Marston returned his stare
their glances crossed like swords.
"I will be responsible for Mrs.-Hamlin's
safety." Marston hesitated over her name. Then
he added assertively,—"I have a motor here."
Carlotta seemed to ignore them equally. But
her decision was not in doubt. With eyes only for
her precious burden she walked to the car. The
man in white took it like a soldier at the last. With
no backward look, he went, very slowly, into the
dark shell of a home. For a minute or so Mar-
ston waited, alertly defensive, half expecting him
to reappear.
Sharp detonations, like the explosion of giant
150


WHEN A CITY BURNS
firecrackers, broke the spell. Marston looked down
the hillside, and saw the fire lunge as if it followed
a fuse. Already it was sweeping past them, and
closing in upon the line of escape. A few swift
strides, and he reached the car. No word was
spoken as he moved into the driver's seat. En-
cumbered as she was, Carlotta stepped in beside
him. He pressed a button, and the car started as
if it knew the road.
“Which way?” she asked.
“ There,” he said, pointing with his free hand to
the east. Though it was quite dark, with all street
lights extinguished and a vast smoke screen veiling
the moon, Marston kept the car at high speed. It
was a time for Providence, not prudence, with red
death racing them down below.
No light showed in any window; inhabitants of
the quarter had fled. The city seemed deserted as
Tyre, the while they whirled through dusk and
empty streets. Clutching the wheel, with eyes
strained in anxious probing of the darkness, he felt
the silence as an iron band clamped upon his fore-
head. Carlotta showed no sign of exterior influ-
ence. She seemed wrapped in meditation, with
that precious burden clasped warmly to her breast.
As they rounded a corner at speed threatening
annihilation, a dark figure and a red lantern came
simultaneously to view. By convulsive application
151


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
of the brake Marston brought the car to a sudden,
grinding stop. Lantern light dimly disclosed the
burly wearer of a uniform.
“ Where are you going?” he roughly demanded.
“ Out. Can't you see?” Marston's voice was
sharp in overstrain.
“ Can't,” the guard curtly responded.
“ I've got to.”
A bayonet pressed against a tire was his answer.
“Damn orders! Be a man, can't you?” Mar-
ston had lost his temper. “I see your own car over
there. Are you going to drive us back to be
roasted ? "
“It's orders," the guard said sulkily. “But I
can't turn the kid back. Go ahead. And drive like
hell; you need to.”
He stepped aside in time to avoid the car's sud-
den forward plunge. They sped down an avenue
lined with great trees. One had measured its
length diagonally on the pavement. Marston
avoided it by a swift turn of the wheel. They came
to the crest of the hill, with three poplars standing
out against the sky. And each inclined to the
right, extending a great arm. It flashed upon Mar-
ston, as he paused a moment in anxious survey, that
they were gibbets, incomplete without prey.
Their course had taken them circuitously, while
the fire had unobstructed way. Fed with frame
152


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
sudden acceleration. And a flicker of red was re-
vealed in the blurry wind-shield. Lungs seemed to
suspend their function in the furious heat, and the
impact of air at terrific speed. Now they were near
the foot of the hill. Marston fiercely pressed for
the car's last atom of power, as the unmistakable
odor of burning rubber came to his agonized con-
sciousness. A fiery tongue extended over a wall
licked a juniper bush just ahead.
For a moment they rode blinded in a red haze.
Marston was vaguely conscious of cross-roads in
which he had no opportunity of selection. They
dashed straight ahead-into sudden coolness. And
that second their ears were saluted with a sharp
report.
154


CHAPTER XI
WITH RED DEATH RACING
WHEN he had checked the car's violent swerve,
and moderated its speed to a rate consistent with
safety, Marston realized they were skirting acres
of ploughed ground. Over its dark furrows the
smoke rolled. But the fire halted at its border,-
impotent. Behind them it had dropped its glowing
barrier, and made slight advance up the road to
their left. There again it was blocked by marshy
land ending in a little lake.
Heavy as it was with smoke that rolled unceas-
ingly overhead, the air came graciously to lungs
taxed almost to exhaustion. Marston relaxed the
grip of fingers that seemed welded to the wheel, and
brought the limping car to a stop before a great
gate. Through its bars, and the ornate fence of
iron on either side, he discerned the last vanity in
granite and marble.
“Shall we rest here?” he asked Carlotta, still
mute as in their desperate dash through the flames.
“If you wish," she assented. And they drove in.
155


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
They paused under a great tree that bent gently to
the neighboring graves. When Marston, alighting,
turned to assist Carlotta he saw how drawn and
white her face was. Great longing possessed him.
But there was no invitation in her eyes, as she
clasped the child with never relaxing arms.
“ Come," he said. She accepted unquestioning
his steadying hands. But as he sought to draw her
to him,-pierced afresh by her weariness, she
stiffened against his encircling arm.
" No. Please don't — "
Her eyes were fixed on her sleeping burden.
“Forgive me," he said.
With bitter eyes he watched her tender handling
of the child. Her fingers caressed the wrappings
they withdrew. It was a little girl; one more know-
ing than Marston would have placed its age at two
or three years. A fair-haired child with eyes shut-
tered in sleep. In all their desperate ride she had
stirred but once; then quieted without a whimper
as Carlotta held her closer.
It was a new Carlotta that Marston saw, bend-
ing over the child with wistful sweetness. She felt
his eyes upon her, with all the force of silent feel-
ing that was neither accusation nor entreaty, but
heavy with wounded hope.
She spoke, a little nervously, without lifting
her eyes.
156


WITH RED DEATH RACING
“ You see, I never can resist a baby. There was
one I lost. ... It almost broke my heart.”
She averted her face. “I hoped for another, I
prayed for it; but it never came. And so "-her
eyes smiled but her lips belied them," you see
what I am."
“ Carlotta!”
To his own ears his voice sounded harsh and
strange.
“What is it?”
Clasping the child more closely, she stepped back
at bay.
“I must know.”
“I am so tired,” she sighed.
Consuming fear made him ruthless.
“ You torture me.”
“How?” she asked, but seemed to shrink from
his answer.
“ The child, and that man."
“I do not understand.”
A great bitterness came upon him. “Do you
think I am made of stone?”
She flinched and half turned away.
“ Another time,” she promised. “There is so
much to explain, and I am-so tired.”
As she finished her voice broke with fatigue, and
she swayed uncertainly. Tenderness possessed
him as he sprang to support her.
157


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Darling,” he murmured, and pressed his lips
upon her hair.
She did not resist, but relaxed against him, mur.
muring,—“I'm so—tired.”
« Sit here."
With peremptory solicitude he supported her to
a seat under the great oak, and took his place be-
side her. For a minute or two they sat there, look-
ing in silence at an angry horizon that marked sav-
age ebbing of slowly dying flames. The conflagra-
tion's fresh endeavors they could not see; but as
they gazed a sudden flare brightened the sky, and a
dull boom came to their ears.
Carlotta drew the child closer, and Marston took
both within the circle of his arms. At first Carlotta
did not wholly yield. For a brief period that
seemed enormously prolonged each sat in rigid re-
pression, and conscious of the other's very heart-
beats. Two questions continually hovered on Mar-
ston's lips. But he had put a padlock on his
tongue.
With Carlotta all effort was concentrated on
preservation of consciousness itself. But soon ir-
resistible weariness overcame her. His own senses
strained to delicate adjustment, Marston was aware
of her gradual relaxation, with little retards, each
effort at recovery of self-control feebler than the
last. Presently her head came to rest on his shoul-
158


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
The wind had changed. Blowing from the east
it protected them against the heat and smoke of
the dying fire. Heavy as it was, the air seemed
clear in contrast to that scorching breath from
which Marston's eyes still smarted. The rising sun
strove to dissipate a yellow haze. Birds sang no
morning song, but flew from bough to bough with
little querulous cries.
Carlotta opened her eyes, and in them dawned
a look of wonder.
“ Where am I?" she asked.
“ Home," Marston answered tenderly.
With remembrance rich color flooded her cheeks.
In a quick movement she left the support of his
arm. Then her eyes fell as his look reproached her.
" Thank you so much," she said hurriedly," for
everything."
“ It's not thanks I want."
“ Breakfast, I suppose.”
He was neither deceived nor stopped by her as-
sumption of unconcern. Daylight had brought
back the torturing doubt, and imperious need to
know.
“ You must see - " he began.
“I see a man in evening clothes, very dirty, a
smutty face and red eyes."
He poured all his demand into imperious state-
ment:
160


WITH RED DEATH RACING
“I must know.”
Still she evaded him, and he clenched his hands
in a sudden impulse to take her secret by force.
“Not now," she retreated a step. “I must look
fter the chicas beseech
and steppatment agal he
Her look was beseeching.
“ Certainly,” he said, and stepped aside. His
heart filled with yearning and resentment against
the situation that forced him to coerce when he
yearned to comfort her. He watched her rouse the
sleeping child and bear her away.
“ I'm going to the lake,” she said over her shoul-
der. Then, made nervous by his silence, she added
appeasingly,--"We won't be gone long.”
“ Very well,” he said, and turned away.
A few yards away his car stood, scarred with
reminders of the night's ordeal. All its varnished
perfection, its brightness of metal, had vanished.
With peeling paint, dingy and discolored, it seemed
a pathetic outcast of the street. But the engine
gave swift response as he switched on power.
“Good old girl," he said, and with a pat of affec-
tion he continued his inspection.
There was little wrong. Only a flattened tire
that had burst in the very moment of their passage
to the zone of safety. The one strapped on behind
seemed to have resisted the heat, so he busied him.
self with the task of replacement. Then he went
161


WITH RED DEATH RACING
with a haughty inclination he knew well. Her
voice came evenly, with a certain remoteness, as if
she spoke to someone unseen.
“I don't remember that I asked for anybody's
help. If my thanks are not sufficient, you'd better
leave us."
For a moment he stared at her in impotent anger,
then turned on his heel with a furious exclamation :
“God! You women!”
When he returned a few minutes later he ad-
dressed her with icy civility.
“ You mean, I suppose, to take the child home
with you?”
“No," she said quietly, “I must leave it on the
way.”
“Where?"
“ That is for you to find out.”
He dropped the hood of the engine to which he
had given a last inspection and stood by the car,
speechless. His look suggested his ears must have
deceived him.
“I mean," Carlotta amended, “we must find a
good place on the way."
“Get in,” he said brusquely, and took the seat at
the wheel beside her. The child in her arms looked
from one to the other as if she sensed the discord
between them; she snuggled closer to Carlotta's
breast. As they started Marston gave them a swift
163


WITH RED DBATH RACING
It was evident that in Marston, Carlotta and the
child these tourists of a day took lively interest.
Over their shoulders, as they sped along, were
hurled question and comment largely indistinguish-
able. Sometimes they grasped the words—" Back
along there - "
They had travelled some miles when Carlotta
broke the silence,—“You haven't found the place
yet,” she reminded him.
“You try," he responded, still with eyes front.
“Possession of the baby may inspire you."
Soon she touched his elbow. His eyes followed
her hand guiding to a house ahead on the right.
It was white and rambling, two storied with an ell,
and altogether comfortable in its appearance. A
clump of salvia gladdened the front yard, and they
came to a stop at the steps beside a bed of purple
asters. Marston wondered if Carlotta's selection
of the house was dictated by a color scheme.
As he shut off the engine the front door swung
open. A meagre little woman with bright black
eyes stood there, examining them with undisguised
curiosity. She saw a man in evening clothes soiled
and scorched, with an expanse of shirt-front dis-
reputably dirty. With the instinct of her sex Car.
lotta sought to propitiate the appraising eye. But
smoke and a night in the open had sadly marred a
dress once delightful. The child in her soiled
165


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
blanket looked sweet and clean; she did not seem
even to resent lack of customary nourishment.
The housewife's examination was thorough and
unflinching. After what seemed a tremendous
silence Marston shelved his resolve that Carlotta
should negotiate.
“I wonder if we can get some breakfast here?”
“ You're from the city, I guess," the woman said.
“ Yes,” he admitted.
“You don't look as if you'd brought much away
with you,” she pursued.
“As you see.”
“Well, I hope you've got something put away
somewhere."
“About breakfast? ” Marston reminded her.
“ Land sake! I'm scatter-brained this mornin'.
Come right in. We had breakfast a long while ago.
But I guess I can scare up somethin'. ...
This way. Set right down.”
The woman guided them, as she chattered, to a
sitting-room comfortable in a homely fashion, with
warm-hued rag rugs, cheerful tidies on the chairs,
and scarlet geranium blooming in the window.
“ There.” She watched them seated with a look
kindly though inquisitive.
“You must be all beat out. Such a night! And
feelin' for the child, too. She's a good little thing,
not a whimper. One of mine would have cried it-
166


WITH RED DEATH RACING
self red in the face, I can tell you. How old is
she?"
Why did Carlotta blush? More closely than her
casual examiner Marston observed her momentary
hesitation as she answered:
“ About two."
“ Your first one, I suppose,” the woman pursued.
“ Yes,” said Carlotta.
Something in her voice indicated distaste for the
line of inquiry pursued. Evidently the farmer's
wife found a reason for it.
“What must you think of me! You about
starved. “And I standin' here, with my tongue run-
nin' like a mill-clapper. I'll get some bread and
milk for the little girl in a jiffy. Just make your-
self comfortable."
She vanished with the last word and they heard
her calling:
“Lu-cy! Lucy! Lucy!”
Marston looked at Carlotta in a new light of ap-
praisal. Carlotta seemingly confined her attention
to the child, still patient and unquestioning. Each
was conscious of the other's resolve to force the
first question. Upon their silent battle the house-
wife intruded, bustling in with a bowl of bread and
milk.
“There,” she said, and deposited it by the ex-
pectant child. “There's something for a good lit-
167


WITH RED DEATH RACING
self red in the face, I can tell you. How old is
she?”
Why did Carlotta blush? More closely than her
casual examiner Marston observed her momentary
hesitation as she answered:
“ About two."
“ Your first one, I suppose,” the woman pursued.
“ Yes,” said Carlotta.
Something in her voice indicated distaste for the
line of inquiry pursued. Evidently the farmer's
wife found a reason for it.
“What must you think of me! You about
starved. “And I standin' here, with my tongue run-
nin' like a mill-clapper. I'll get some bread and
milk for the little girl in a jiffy. Just make your-
self comfortable.”
She vanished with the last word and they heard
her calling:
“Lu-cy! Lucy! Lucy!”
Marston looked at Carlotta in a new light of ap-
praisal. Carlotta seemingly confined her attention
to the child, still patient and unquestioning. Each
was conscious of the other's resolve to force the
first question. Upon their silent battle the house-
wife intruded, bustling in with a bowl of bread and
milk.
“There,” she said, and deposited it by the ex-
pectant child. “There's something for a good lit-
167


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
tle girl. Now, if you folks will wait just a few
minutes I'll fix you up a bite."
“We mustn't impose on you," said Marston.
“Anything you happen to have will do.”
“It's no trouble,” she said decisively. “I
couldn't think of lettin' you go away hungry. You
set there a few minutes, while I make some coffee.
I got some raised biscuits about done in the oven;
and they're good, even if I do say it as shouldn't.”
She disappeared, and they heard her brisk voice
from the kitchen. Again they settled down to their
contest of will, in which Carlotta had the advan-
tage of occupation with the child. Her appetite
quickly satisfied, the little one found pleasure in
playing with the spoon. Something dissolved Car-
lotta's resolve of silence.
“ You must ask her to take the baby for a few
days, when she comes back.” She spoke with re-
straint, not looking up.
“Why? "
“Because she would expect the request to come
from you."
“ Suppose it isn't made at all?"
“ But we must make it.”
“I refuse."
Again silence, now charged with combative feel-
ing. Marston stepped to the window, and stood
looking out across rocky fields. The only sound in
168


WITH RED DEATH RACING
the room was the purring of a cat that, true to its
nature, rubbed against his inhospitable legs.
“ Lucy! Look after things a few minutes."
A call from the kitchen preceded another bus-
tling entrance. Both Carlotta and Marston re-
laxed as the housewife came through the door.
She bore a tray which she deposited with satisfac-
tion.
“ There,” she said, “ draw up. There's coffee and
biscuits, and preserves, and eggs laid this very
mornin'. I guess there's enough to stay your stom-
achs for a while."
Both ate with relish. Circumstances cannot al-
together suppress craving of the healthy human.
And as they breakfasted their hostess pursued, quite
unabashed by reticence, her honestly curious in-
quiry.
“ Are you goin' far?”
“Not a great distance." It was Carlotta who
answered.
“ Maybe it's a place I know "
“ Near Oakhurst,” said Carlotta.
Marston tried to fathom her purpose. The
farmer's wife was visibly impressed.
“ You mean the place where some big bugs named
Carrington live? Up there by the lake? Well, I
want to know!”
For a moment the woman seemed bent on closer
169


WITH RED DEATH RACING
the room was the purring of a cat that, true to its
nature, rubbed against his inhospitable legs.
“Lucy! Look after things a few minutes."
A call from the kitchen preceded another bus.
tling entrance. Both Carlotta and Marston re-
laxed as the housewife came through the door.
She bore a tray which she deposited with satisfac-
tion.
“ There,” she said, “ draw up. There's coffee and
biscuits, and preserves, and eggs laid this very
mornin'. I guess there's enough to stay your stom-
achs for a while."
Both ate with relish. Circumstances cannot al-
together suppress craving of the healthy human.
And as they breakfasted their hostess pursued, quite
unabashed by reticence, her honestly curious in-
quiry.
“ Are you goin' far?”
“ Not a great distance.” It was Carlotta who
answered.
“ Maybe it's a place I know -"
“Near Oakhurst,” said Carlotta.
Marston tried to fathom her purpose. The
farm -if isibly impressed.
ce where some big bugs named
'here by the lake? Well, I

han seemed bent on closer


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
identification of their destination; but there was
something she burned to impart.
“It beats all,” she observed, rocking vigorously,
“ what happened last night.”
“ Yes," said Marston, appreciatively swallowing
a last mouthful. “ It was exciting.”
"As if it wasn't enough,” she went on, “to burn
up all Saleport. There was an airyplane fell right
in our pasture.”
“ Did it?" Marston was interested now.
“ As sure as you're settin' there. On a big rock
in the pasture by the road. Seth, that's my man,
found it when he turned the cows in this mornin'.”
“ Anybody hurt?”
“ That's the funniest part of it. Whoever was in
that airyplane has disappeared as if he went up like
Elijah, instead of comin' down like a stick. And
Seth said there wasn't any blood; nothin' at all but
a funny-lookin' cap with a name we can't read, in-
side. Only we could make out, “Paris.' It beats
all, don't it?”
" It does seem strange,” Marston allowed. Then
to Carlotta : “Don't you think we should go on
now?” He turned again to the woman: “ We are
much indebted to you, Mrs. — ?"
“Patch,” she supplied promptly. “I don't feel
you're beholden to me a bit. I always like to do a
neighborly service.”
170


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ She will be contented with you, I know. And
it's a great favor, I assure you."
Carlotta began buttoning her gloves as if to mark
the understanding. Quite casually she turned to
Marston:
“Have you any money, Dick, you can leave with
Mrs. Patch?”
“I'll see,” he said, for the moment too full of as-
tonishment in the deception to entertain anger.
“Don't bother,” Mrs. Patch interposed. “I
don't want any money. I guess I don't run any
risk. You don't look like child deserters. 'Twould
be a hard-hearted one to run away from this little
precious.”
The child was sleeping, oblivious of the world.
“What's her name?” asked the farmer's wife as
she touched a flushed cheek lightly.
6 Carlotta."
Marston winced at the blow.
Brushing the child's forehead with her lips, Car-
lotta straightened with a resolute air and turned
toward the door.
“You may expect to hear from us in a day or
two," she said. " Just as soon as we can make
some temporary arrangements about living. I
can't tell you how grateful we are for your kind-
ness."
“ You make too much of it,” the woman pro-
172


WITH RED DEATH RACING
tested. “I guess I'll have to do more than that to
earn my crown of glory.” She followed them to
the steps. “You're sure you know your way?
Well, good luck. I'm real glad you called."
As she shaded her eyes, following them down the
driveway to the road, she did not see Marston's
studious avoidance of Carlotta's propitiatory hand.
173


CHAPTER XII
IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
BLACK thoughts possessed Marston as he sent his
car speeding down the country road. Carlotta
seemed pensively inclined. Her overture repulsed
was not repeated.
The morning was glorious. A conquering sun
vitalized the autumn air. Over their shoulder, as
they left Saleport behind, Marston and Carlotta
might have seen how Nature beautified her cruelty.
Smoke rising in great spirals was a brilliant blue
on one edge, and on the other a delicate brown fused
with pearl. It rose with matchless grace and light-
ened, until it was lost in lazy clouds. A chipmunk
chattered importantly. And the last dewdrops
glittered on roadside blackberry vines. A snake
lay sunning itself on a warm flat rock. A wheel
almost grazed it, but it neither coiled nor raised its
head. They left it as they found it, a vision of
patient death.
Much as he strove to disentangle them,-thoughts
of Carlotta's danger in the inquiry into Fanny's
death, and the wreck of his own aspirations min.
gled in Marston's mind. He sustained silence until
174


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
they reached the crest of a long incline fringed with
alders and the young birch, and he eased the car on
the other side.
“ What made you do it?" He shot the question
at her suddenly.
“Do what?"
“ Weren't you satisfied with what you had al-
ready accomplished?”
“I don't know what you mean."
“You do know. You know what I hoped for,
and you let me go on. It wasn't honest.”
Her face, as he saw it in profile, expressed cold
disdain.
“I'm not aware,” still withholding her eyes,
" that I have deceived you in anything. About the
child I warned you. I trust you will forgive me
for borrowing your name. I promise to return it
promptly.”
“ Don't!"
His face had a stricken look. For a minute or
two that seemed much longer he drove in silence.
Then he resumed, speaking with an effort at calm
ness that made his voice harsh with strain:
“Let us drop the purely personal matters that
concern us alone.” As she did not answer he went
on, picking his words carefully.
"Some things I must understand, or I cannot
help you."
175


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
lence, and Marston forced the car to its utmost.
Then he put another question:
“What explanation do you intend giving Helen
and Carrington?”
“ Simply that we went to Saleport, and were
caught in the fire.”
“Doesn't that seem,” he urged with constraint,
“ rather inadequate? ”
Her look had the effect of reading him out of ex.
istence.
“Amplify it, if you feel your protection requires
it.”
His vicious jab at the accelerator, in a gust of
anger, sent the car forward with a leap. More to
the universe than to his companion he addressed a
half-smothered curse.
“ About-your child?” he pursued.
“I'd rather not mention it."
“ But why,” in a final effort, “ all this secrecy? "
“ Because I wish it.”
« Very well,” he said stiffly.
No other word was spoken. They sped past the
lake in which south-bound ducks, a prudent flight of
early autumn, were dawdling in the bright water,
and rushed up the long hill with slightly slackened
pace. A car parked at the steps barred approach
to the house.
As they walked the last few yards, side by side
177


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
but widely separated in spirit, the door opened and
Carrington, in immaculate outing clothes, stepped
forward to inspect them. The better to note their
appearance he shaded his eyes from the strong
light. It was not a very friendly look he gave them
as they stood there so marked by fire and a night in
the open. Marston, both embarrassed and resent-
ful, with the command of silence upon him; and
Carlotta, facing him a bit defiantly.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you,” Car-
rington said at length. “You seem to have made
astonishing progress."
“ You don't understand - "
Marston paused almost as soon as he began. So
limited by Carlotta he felt himself helpless to ex.
plain.
“No,” said Carrington. « There's a good deal
we don't understand. Perhaps,” ironically, “we
may in time. I must say I think you were incon.
siderate to go away so, with the house upset any.
way. Helen has been nearly ill with anxiety over
Carlotta. . . . I thought it might be the plain
foolishness of an elopement. But you don't look
like a bridegroom; more like a tramp. Come in-
side.”
He led the way into the house. Carlotta had
slipped in before them, and was already in conver-
sation with Helen at the foot of the stairs. As they
178


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
entered, the two women, with Helen's arm protect-
ively about Carlotta, went on toward her room on
the floor above.
“ Can you get down to luncheon?” asked Car-
rington, looking at his watch.
“I don't know," Marston replied. “Anyway,
don't wait for me. I feel more like a bath and a
little rest now than anything else.”
While Marston's motive was mainly desire to col-
lect thoughts for an explanation of the night's ad-
venture that would not disclose what he was for-
bidden to reveal, on reaching his room he realized
the futility of such attempt without an understand-
ing with Carlotta. How could he get that? Much as
he disliked to reopen the subject, while still smart-
ing under repeated rebuffs, he reached for the house
telephone to call her. Then he stayed his hand.
Presumably, Helen was with her, getting her ex-
planation. He would later ascertain what it
was.
Pondering the situation drearily, he slowly re-
moved his smoke-stained garments, and gave him-
self to the soothing embrace of a warm bath in a
capacious tub. And relaxation of the flesh affected
in minor degree a kindred easing of the mind.
After the high tension of many hours, but briefly
broken with a little sleep in the country cemetery,
he was let down in progressive drowsiness that in.
179


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
vaded mind and body like a narcotic. Sleep ex-
tended to him the arms of peace, if not of Paradise.
“ Br-r-r-r!”
Marston opened one eye sleepily.
“ Br-r-r-r-r!”
It came again.
He slowly reached for the telephone.
“ Yes, what is it?”
It was Maxwell's voice at the other end, and
deeply apologetic.
“Beg pardon, sir. But you didn't answer when
I knocked at your door, so I thought the telephone
might wake you.”
“Well, it did," said Marston a bit impatiently.
6 What's wanted?”
“ It's Mr. Carrington, sir. He would like to see
you in the library, if you find it convenient to come
down.”
“All right."
There was no one to see the blankness of Mar.
ston's face on receipt of this astonishing request.
“He is there now, sir," was Maxwell's parting
observation.
“Tell him I'll come as soon as possible.”
From the light it was evidently late afternoon.
His watch said a quarter to five. He vainly sought
180


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
a clue to Carrington's summons, as he made a hasty
toilet. It must be something important in Alfred's
estimation; and presumably it was something of an
unpleasant nature. The agreeable things can al-
ways wait. With this reflection he prepared to
descend. Then he took cautious thought of Car-
lotta, and retraced his steps to his room. But she
did not answer her telephone. Without much hope
he knocked at her door. No answer. Then, dread.
ing the mystery, he went on down-stairs.
There was no one visible as he crossed the great
hall. Carrington sat at his desk in the library,
with the effect of being enthroned in a great carved
chair it pleased him to occupy when wrestling with
business, or other momentous occasions. He was
biting his nails; and his look and attitude be
tokened excitement.
“ There's the devil to pay," he said abruptly.
“What — ?" asked Marston, uncertainly.
“ The murder, of course. You haven't forgotten
there was one, have you?”
Carrington's tone was insulting, and more so as
he continued :
“I thought you were Dr. Ben's household assist-
ant, engaged to help run down the criminal?”
“I did promise to help, if I could.” Marston re-
solved one, at least, should keep his temper.
“Well, you neglected the job. And it doesn't
181


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
“ How do I know? He had the impudence to
cross-examine servants before I knew he was here.
He's probably put two and nothing together, and
made eight."
“I suppose that is what you wanted to see me
about?"
In his sudden turn Carrington upset his glass,
pushed impatiently to one side.
“ Of course. We've all been through the mill."
“ Carlotta?” Marston queried.
“No. I mean all but you two. Amy has been
under the harrow, and Roger and the General.
Even Freddy. They are all up-stairs now, aching,
I suppose, to get away. They haven't had a good
time; but I've had a worse one."
He looked uncertainly from the decanter to the
glass on the floor, then he leaned forward to ring
for a servant.
“I'd better go in," Marston suggested," and have
it over with.”
“All right." Carrington rose with a slight sug-
gestion of unsteadiness. “Helen is trying to keep
the beggar out of mischief now.”
He preceded Marston to a room across the hall
and on the lake side. Before a fire sat Helen Car.
rington, listening with an air of amiability to a man
of singular appearance. Marston noticed how he
sat stiffly erect, with his head thrust forward like
183


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
that of a snapping-turtle. He wore lemon-colored
trousers, and a cutaway coat; a rather short, stout
man, with a stubby mustache and hair retreating
from a bulging forehead. He had the eyes of a
bully and a bully's voice,-strident, rasping. He ·
did not rise as they entered, or in the formality of
introduction. Toward Marston he instantly as-
sumed the manner of a cross-examiner.
“ Out all night?”
It was question turned into accusation.
“ You appear well informed," Marston noted.
The district attorney seemed annoyed by unbe-
coming calmness.
“ You went to Saleport?”
“ Yes."
6 What for?”
“The same reason thousands of people did ; to see
the fire.”
6 Well, that doesn't explain your staying out all
night."
“Do I understand you require a full explanation
of my movements?" Marston's air blended sur-
prise with indifference.
Mr. Baumgarten snorted explosively, and rose
abruptly. Backed by the fire, and with both feet
well braced, he stood cleared for action.
“Wasn't you walking with the woman the night
she was killed ? ” he demanded.
184


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
“Do you refer to Mrs. Cutshaw?” With in-
quiry veering to that quarter Marston felt much
easier.
“I do. Wasn't you?” The district attorney
scowled.
“I was," assented Marston.
“And wasn't she flustered afterward?”
“I don't know.”
Mr. Baumgarten became distinctly threatening.
“ You quarrelled, didn't you?”
“I don't remember that we did.”
The district attorney scowled and bit his lips.
Upon his evident mediation of another line of at-
tack Carlotta intruded. A bit pale but seeming
thoroughly composed, she came slowly in and stood
by Helen's chair, with one hand resting lightly on
her shoulder. To Carrington and Marston she
nodded, with a little friendly inclination, her eyes
passing lightly over the district attorney as a
stranger.
“ This is Mr. Baumgarten, the district attorney,
Carlotta," said Helen, by way of explanation and
introduction. Then she added, for the bristling of
ficial whose observation of Carlotta was equally
searching and rude: “Mrs. Hamlin completes the
household, Mr. Baumgarten.”
“I haven't seen Mrs. Marston yet.” You can't
fool me, his challenging air seemed to convey.
185


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ There is no Mrs. Marston." Marston offered
the information.
“You say so. But she telephoned from this
house to Saleport,--this very afternoon."
“I think you are mistaken,” Marston politely
persisted.
“No, I'm not mistaken. Within two hours she
telephoned. And I can tell you where to." He
fumbled in his pockets for a slip of paper. “To
No. 84 Schofield Avenue, and that is the house of
one James Parton. Now what do you say?"
“How does it happen you know so much about
what goes on in my house?” Carrington cut in; he
was obviously angry.
Mr. Baumgarten permitted himself a moment of
complacent self-approval.
“We're not such fools, back here in the country,"
he observed. “Of course, the telephone operator
was instructed to take careful note of all calls from
this house just as soon as the murder was reported.
I must say," he added darkly, “some people took
their time in getting the news to me.”
"Anyway,” said Carrington decisively, “ there is
no Mrs. Marston in the house."
“ Then somebody is using a false name,” Mr.
Baumgarten asserted. “We'll look into that
later.”
During this colloquy Marston watched Carlotta,
186


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
who sat directly opposite, with secret anxiety. That
moment his dominant feeling for her was fond dis-
trust. No flicker of nervousness touched her fea.
tures. Apparently, like the Carringtons, she saw
in the district attorney's assertion only a mistake.
Still fingering his disputed memorandum, Mr.
Baumgarten let his eyes rove over what he obvi.
ously regarded as a hostile company. Then he fixed
upon Carlotta as a fresh victim to attack.
“Let's see, your name is Mrs.-Hamlin?”
To Marston there was a suggestion of menace in
the studious pause before her name.
Carlotta merely bowed in assent.
“ Yes,” said Mr. Baumgarten seemingly commun-
ing with himself. “I have heard of you. Some
people in the house have given me what help they
could.”
Nobody commented upon what was obviously
meant as a warning. With a little snort, the in-
quisitor turned directly to Carlotta. He hurled at
her his first question:
“ Wasn't you the last one with her?”
"I can't tell.” She met him calmly.
“Why not?”
“ Because I don't know."
He pondered a moment and picked up his lead.
« There were hard feelings between you?”
“ No," she corrected him.
187


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ There is no Mrs. Marston.” Marston offered
the information.
“ You say so. But she telephoned from this
house to Saleport,-this very afternoon."
“I think you are mistaken," Marston politely
persisted.
“No, I'm not mistaken. Within two hours she
telephoned. And I can tell you where to." He
fumbled in his pockets for a slip of paper. " To
No. 84 Schofield Avenue, and that is the house of
one James Parton. Now what do you say?"
“ How does it happen you know so much about
what goes on in my house?” Carrington cut in; he
was obviously angry.
. Mr. Baumgarten permitted himself a moment of
complacent self-approval.
“We're not such fools, back here in the country,"
he observed. “Of course, the telephone operator
was instructed to take careful note of all calls from
this house just as soon as the murder was reported.
I must say," he added darkly, “ some people took
their time in getting the news to me."
“Anyway,” said Carrington decisively, “ there is
no Mrs. Marston in the house."
“ Then somebody is using a false name," Mr.
Baumgarten asserted. “We'll look into that
later."
During this colloquy Marston watched Carlotta,
186


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
who sat directly opposite, with secret anxiety. That
moment his dominant feeling for her was fond dis-
trust. No flicker of nervousness touched her fea.
tures. Apparently, like the Carringtons, she saw
in the district attorney's assertion only a mistake.
Still fingering his disputed memorandum, Mr.
Baumgarten let his eyes rove over what he obvi.
ously regarded as a hostile company. Then he fixed
upon Carlotta as a fresh victim to attack..
" Let's see, your name is Mrs.-Hamlin?"
To Marston there was a suggestion of menace in
the studious pause before her name.
Carlotta merely bowed in assent.
“ Yes,” said Mr. Baumgarten seemingly commun-
ing with himself. “I have heard of you. Some
people in the house have given me what help they
could.”
Nobody commented upon what was obviously
meant as a warning. With a little snort, the in-
quisitor turned directly to Carlotta. He hurled at
her his first question:
6 Wasn't you the last one with her?”
“I can't tell.” She met him calmly.
" Why not?”
“ Because I don't know."
He pondered a moment and picked up his lead.
“ There were hard feelings between you?”
“No," she corrected him.
187


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Mr. Baumgarten eased a little on his left leg and
licked his lips.
"Now tell me,” he said, “ all that took place be-
tween you that night. I want everything, remem-
19 Ips.
ber.”
“It's a rather long story," began Carlotta ap-
pealingly. Marston stopped her.
“ Just a moment,” he said.
Mr. Baumgarten looked at him belligerently,
thrusting forward his jaw.
“Well?” he demanded.
“I wonder, Mr. Baumgarten, what is your idea
of this interview. Nobody wants to withhold any
essential information. But if we are all to be cross-
examined, it may as well be done in a proper way,
and in accordance with rules of evidence.”
"Are you a lawyer?" the district attorney de-
manded.
“ The State of New York is good enough to let me
practice.”
The district attorney buttoned his coat with an
air of offended majesty.
“I came here,” he said, " out of consideration for
you folks; but you don't appreciate it. The next
time we meet you'll come to me."
“Only let us know the time and place," suggested
Marston, unable to resist the impulse of irony.
« Don't let that worry you."
188


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
Mr. Baumgarten gave them all a look of mingled
triumph and fury.
“ Somebody,” he said emphatically, “ will be un-
der lock and key."
“ Don't be absurd.” Carrington sprang up, kick-
ing his chair aside furiously.
“ You can keep your opinions."
The district attorney faced him with flushed face
and clenched hands. For a moment Carrington
seemed to meditate the chastisement so obviously
within his power; then prudence restrained him.
“H'm! H'm!”
All turned at the sound of a familiar voice.
Dr. Ben stood in the doorway, comprehending
the strain of the situation, but not its cause.
“What's it all about?” he asked, stepping into
the room.
“He,” said Carrington, with an angry gesture to-
ward the district attorney, “talks about arresting
one of us for killing Fanny.”
“ What's the matter with you, Baumgarten?"
Dr. Ben's voice cut like steel.
6 I didn't come here to be insulted,” blustered the
district attorney. “ Or to have any New York law-
yer tell me how to run my office.”
“ So I see.” Dr. Ben's voice was blighting. “I
189


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
wonder why, at this stage of the proceedings, you
came here at all. Didn't I say I would be respon.
sible for the people in this house?”
The district attorney shifted his feet uneasily, yet
held his ground.
“ Yes,” he said, “but I knew they were your pa.
tients."
“ So you doubt my word?”
Dr. Ben waited a full minute, or so it seemed, for
Mr. Baumgarten's missing answer. Then he went
on:
“ Didn't I keep my promise in the case of
Schwartz?”
With the word “ Schwartz,” the district attor-
ney's high color suddenly left him. He shivered.
His mouth opened like the mouth of a fish removed
from water; and he was as silent.
“Don't you remember Schwartz?” pressed Dr.
Ben.
6 Yes,” gasped Mr. Baumgarten.
“ Then don't forget him.”
When Dr. Ben went on his voice was mild again.
“ There's a good deal for you to do in Saleport,
Baumgarten. As I promised you, I'll look after
things here. If you will excuse me for a few min-
utes, Alfred, there are one or two matters I want
to take up with the district attorney. We can speak
of them on the way to his car."
190


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“All alone, I see,” he said with a swift observa-
tion. “I'm rather glad of it. Something I want
to speak to you about."
He stood back to the fire, rubbing his hands to-
gether in its comforting heat. What he had to say
came with slight delay, as Marston waited, braced
and fearfully expectant.
“I am disturbed by something Baumgarten has
just told me."
“ Yes.”
Marston strove to exclude from his voice a note
of personal concern.
“He says Mrs. Hamlin has a dress like the yellow
bit I found in Mrs. Cutshaw's room. I hate to
say it, but you know I regard that little piece of
yellow as the only clue to the murderer so far
found.”
“But surely you don't think that Mrs. Ham-
lin - "
With doubt of Carlotta voiced by another person
Marston found all his energies rallying to her de.
fense.
“I don't want to think anything ill of her,” Dr.
Ben interrupted. “She seems a nice little woman.
The family, I know, think a lot of her.” For a mo-
ment his eyes rested shrewdly on Marston's non-
committal countenance. Then he went on: "All the
more necessary to get the facts without evasion. I
192


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
What about this telephone to Saleport by some
woman using your name?”
“I haven't the slightest idea.
Dr. Ben played a little tattoo on his teeth with
the gold pencil, and tucked it away again in his
waistcoat pocket.
“I hope you'll be able to clear up one or two of
these points in the next forty-eight hours. If we
don't find out who it is, at least we've got to find out
who it isn't.” He glanced at his watch. “Hem-
lock! Six o'clock, and I've a thousand things to
do in Saleport. Shook 'em all on a tip that Baum-
garten had travelled this way. Mean little runt.
... Well, I must be going.” He reached for
his hat. " Tell Helen I had to hustle off; and tell
her not to worry too much. . . . Remember, I
count on you for results."
He was gone, with a snap of the door. Marston
listened for the sudden crescendo of the starting en-
gine, and the diminishing sound as Dr. Ben rushed
down the lake road. He was no laggard of the .
highway.
Marston could not resist the impression that he
was depended upon for evidence disproving suspi-
cion of Carlotta. Whether she realized her posi-
tion, and to what extent it was evident to Helen and
Alfred, he could not tell. As matters stood
he could only mention the danger to Carlotta
194


IN PERSISTENT MISUNDERSTANDING
herself. If she would permit him! Despite his
rebuff of the morning, for her sake he would try
again.
As he went up to his room he felt the clutch of
oppressive silence. The air was so warm and
heavy, the house absolutely still. He dressed
slowly, with meticulous care as a time killer, and
went down to dinner. He reached the last stair as
Maxwell appeared with his precise announcement
of service.
So they went in.-Carrington, Roger and Freddy
made up the male portion of the dinner party.
Amy, as ever amiable, but for her strangely nerv-
ous, was the only woman.
“Helen and Carlotta have gone back on us,”
grumbled Carrington. “Nerves, I suppose. And
excitement seems to have been too much for the
General; he reports lumbago."
Though Marston gave his conversational best,
out of loyalty to Helen and a feeling that somehow
he protected Carlotta, and Freddy roused himself
to bursts of anecdote, it was a depressing meal.
Roger and Amy palpably ill at ease, while Carring.
ton drank steadily a heady champagne that, far,
from exhilarating, seemed only to deepen his rather
surly depression.
There was no mention of bridge that evening.
Amy retired on the arrival of coffee, and Roger soon
195


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
followed her. Neither was seen again. Soon
Freddy left with a plea of fatigue.
"A fine situation,” said Carrington gloomily, and
directed somewhat unsteady steps to the sanctuary
of his great desk chair. As he sat there with his
head in his hands Marston could not tell whether he
pondered a problem or stared blindly at his blotter.
“I think I'll write a letter,” he said, after a few
uncomfortable minutes.
“ All right.” Carrington did not turn.
“ Good night!”
“ Night.”
As he looked back from the first landing of the
stairs Marston saw the long figure at the desk
straighten a moment. Then it relaxed again in an
attitude suggestive of dejection.
Once in his room Marston felt the long strain
of the night before. His head was heavy; and
his feet and hands were weights of lead. Glad of
the respite of unconsciousness, he was soon in bed.
Slumber took him suddenly.
The last sound he heard was a locomotive whis-
tle, far off and demoniac, echoing in the hills.
196
.


CHAPTER XIII
THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
THOUGH temporarily defeated, vanished Baum-
garten was a dark presence at Oakhurst. His spite
had been obvious. And the added incentive of no-
toriety useful in a campaign for reëlection might
nerve him to defy the whip Dr. Ben held over him.
The sound of a door-bell, of a motor passing on
the lake road, even of a telephone call, seemed
charged with ominous significance. Any moment
a police officer, with his shiny badge and civilian
clothes worn in deference to sensibilities of the
rich, might come with the dreaded warrant. The
servants felt it. And Maxwell grew even more
magisterial, like a general at headquarters plan.
ning the repulse of anticipated attack.
With Carrington frankly morose, and Helen dis-
trait, despite her bravest effort to present a cheer-
ful countenance, the house party socially went to
pieces. The General displayed sudden passion for
pedestrianism. And sometimes he was seen afar
off, standing in deep meditation, and vigorously
tugging at a pointed beard unused to such treat-
ment.
197


· THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Freddy Graves found refuge in music. Hour
after hour he sat at the piano, picking at the keys
with one hand, while the other supported his
thoughtful head. Occasionally he put jottings on
paper, and ran through a few measures of the sort
heralding the young variety soprano, in sunbonnet
and white muslin, or the musical comedy tenor who
threatens to burst his uniform and larynx on a B.
“I'm glad somebody is making something out of
this scrape,” Carrington stopped to say sardonic-
ally.
Freddy lifted appealing eyes.
“Do you want me to play bridge?”
“ No. You can't, you know."
Seeming somehow cheered by his rudeness, Car-
rington went his way. And the unperturbed com-
poser returned to his work, with a little unemo-
tional shrug.
Amy Stone and Roger Vincent were seldom seen,
save at luncheon or dinner, when their obvious ef-
fort to temper complete content in personal circum-
stance, out of deference to others' troubles they did
not fully understand, was quite pathetic. They
made industrious conversation of incidents as they
rode and golfed, but said nothing of unutterable
perfection young love discerns in the other's eyes.
And Marston and Carlotta, the directly threat-
ened pair. For himself Marston felt no alarm. His
198


THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
tion might have noted a light in his room until near
the hour of sunrise.
However late his vigil, Maxwell was about when
Marston came down next morning. It was only
eight, and he realized his intrusion upon time sery-
ants deem their own, for the day's oiling of house-
hold machinery.
“I am very sorry your breakfast is not ready,
sir.” The butler spoke apologetically, after an in-
voluntary glance at the clock.
“ That's all right."
“ The cook will have it ready in a few minutes.
What may I bring you, sir?”
“Whatever you like.”
« Will you have it in the library?”
“ Yes,” said Marston, heading that way.
“I am very sorry the morning papers haven't
come, sir."
“ That's all right,” Marston said again. Then he
yielded to a freakish impulse, and inquired:
“Did you sleep well, Maxwell?”
The faintest shadow, possibly of surprise, rippled
over the butler's deeply lined face.
“Very well, sir. Thank you. And you, sir?”
“No,” said Marston, with a slightly rueful ex-
pression, “I didn't.”
“I am very sorry," with an accent of ceremoni-
ous regret. A curious expression localized about
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
his mouth Marston did not see as he turned
away.
For a minute or two Marston stood at a library
window, viewing the dew-drenched landscape.
From the other side he saw the lake, looking its
bluest in the early sunlight. Ducks afloat there
preened themselves with honest satisfaction. And
in the gentle air the crimson leaves of autumn fell
languidly, reverting to the long sleep.
A peaceful scene, it could not hold him. His
eyes wandered to the carved writing desk in a cor-
ner, with its fresh pens, the massive ink-well of
silver, and compartments not too tightly filled with
crested note-paper. He seated himself, and with
brief hesitation over the opening appellation began
to write.
.“ DEAR CARLOTTA :
“I trust you feel much better. And can't
you give me a few minutes this morning? I assure
you it is of urgent importance to us both. Please
believe me. I am sending this by Maxwell, and
hope he will have an answer for me.
iner for me. « YOUTSOR."
As he sealed the envelope Maxwell appeared with
his breakfast tray.
“Please give this note to Mrs. Hamlin," he di-
rected. “And ask for an answer."
202


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
latest illustration of Carlotta's unexpectedness,
Marston sat smoking. A box of cigars stood at his
elbow, and the third was nearly consumed in the
forced draught of strong respiration when Carring-
ton appeared, looking unusually saturnine.
“ Didn't anybody sleep well last night?” he
asked. “I didn't expect to find you here so
early.”
6 Well, I turned in early.” Marston felt himself
somehow put on the defensive.
" Had breakfast?"
Carrington was looking at a pile of letters just
placed on his desk.
“ Yes, thank you.” A moment's silence. “Oh,
Alfred, isn't there any shooting on your place?"
66 The usual small stuff.”
Carrington had turned at his question with a
look of surprise.
“But I never knew you to go gunning," he pur-
sued.
« Sometimes I do."
• Strange I never heard of it.” Carrington was
still incredulous. “But we've had bunches of sur-
prise lately. If you really want to shoot some-
thing, telephone Smith at the garage. He has
charge of the guns."
" Thanks. I think I will."
Marston rose and grounded his cigar.
204


THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
« Back for luncheon?” queried Carrington, with-
out looking up from his slitting of envelopes.
“I hope so."
“ Then we'll expect you. And, say "
Marston paused.
“Be careful which way your gun is pointed.
One sudden death on the place is enough for this
season."
This was the friendly Carrington Marston had
known so long, and liked. His ill-tempered host of
récent days had vanished.
As he changed his morning clothes for corduroy,
with heavy boots and leggings, Marston wondered
what had put the idea of shooting into his head.
He was no hunter. Sometimes he had regretted it.
For men who came back bronzed from quest of the
deer, or seeking trout and salmon in far inland
waters, returned reinvigorated by the great peace
of Nature. But the call of the wild is for its kin-
dred. It was not in his blood.
Nevertheless he strolled down the hill, cross-
ing the still green slope with lively apprecia-
tion of winey air and the brilliant October sun-
light.
“Where's Smith ? " he inquired of a solidly built
fellow whose face was screened by the hood of a
motor he explored.
“ Yes, sir," The man straightened to face him,
205


THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
with a key he carried. “But gentlemen's likes and
dislikes among guns are almost as decided as their
fancies for women. Now I'd say this is a good gun.
A fine gun for the sort of game we have hereabouts.
Birds, you know, and rabbits. And a fox, maybe.
Would it suit you?”
With a swift movement it was at his shoulder,
ready for the imaginary game.
“Excellently," said Marston.
“ Some cartridges now.” Smith was obviously
pleased with his task of outfitting. “And would
you care for a dog?”
Marston looked uncertain.
“ 'Twould be a deed of kindness, sir. You're the
first gentleman that's been to me for a gun this
season. And the dogs like company. Being hunt-
ing dogs, you know, sir. They have the run of the
place, and all that. But they do miss the fun of
hunting.”
“Suppose you pick out one for me,” Marston
requested.
Smith examined the inhabitants of a wire com-
pound. A dozen or so dogs, playfully active as he
approached, greeted his arrival with wild barking.
“Babbie!” he called.
A red pointer dashed to the door, and stood with
paws upraised against it, and brightly expectant
eyes. And a little behind her hovered the others,
207


THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
a rose-colored sweater. It was nobody he knew.
As they exchanged the coolly friendly glance of
strangers she vanished on the other side of the little
clearing.
He turned the other way, provoking a sudden
whirring of wings. In a few seconds adult par-
tridges that flew, and the fledglings that burrowed,
were equally invisible. And Marston had not fired.
Babbie stood by, with slightly extended tongue.
“What are we out for?" she seemed to inquire.
By this time Marston knew. He sought Carlotta.
Up hill and down dale he looked for her, keeping to
a radius within which he thought she might wan-
der. Once he was sure he saw her across a pond.
The distance was not great, but sufficient to force
reliance on the carriage of the head, what seemed
the fawn shade of a dress he remembered, and the
general suggestion of personality one cannot say is
in this or that thing. He called, cupping his hands.
The woman turned, but did not answer his signal.
As if she did not see him, she looked a moment in
his direction, then turned away into the neighbor-
ing trees.
Careless of scratches, he hurried through the un-
derbrush to intercept her. But twice he paused to
call, “ Carlotta!” No answer came to his strain-
ing ears. Nor was there anywhere a sign, save
footprints in the sand of the pond's shelving shore.
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
They were small, with no obvious indentations of
high heels. Proof presumptive perhaps, but cer-
tainly not conclusive evidence of Carlotta's recent
presence.
He turned away with the confused feeling of
mingled apprehension and resentment that had so
colored his thoughts of Carlotta since the first reve-
lations following Fanny's death. Doing his best
for her, he got nowhere. Even less than that, he
had lost the footing of cordial intimacy that en-
couraged hope.
The call of Babbie, barking wildly on the farther
side of a neighboring hill, was welcome distraction.
He found her digging rapturously at the entrance to
some creature's underground refuge. A fox maybe.
Whatever it was, he had no hankering for its hide.
It did, however, occur to him that Smith would
think it very strange if he returned the gun with-
out some evidence of use. Elevating it at random,
he took a shot at the sky. Then he slipped in an-
other cartridge, and wandered away.
Babbie paused in her task of making the dirt fly
to give him an inquiring glance. Then, with a wag
of her tail one might have interpreted as, “What
a queer fellow," she went industriously back to
work.
Marston filled and lighted his pipe. But some-
how it neither brought him comfort nor promoted
210


THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
mes when He slaime to
much reflection. The urge to do something sent
him forward striding vigorously. He had covered
some miles when it occurred to him that time was a
consideration. He glanced at his watch and saw it
was nearly eleven. Time to think of turning back.
It was an unfamiliar section, but he had a compass
in his pocket, and knew the general direction of
Oakhurst.
With extreme care, for he was little versed in
woodcraft, he took his bearings. Then he lifted his
eyes to a shock of surprise. Was a face suddenly
withdrawn from the screen of tangled vines and
bushes not many yards to the right? Or had his
impression of eyes regarding him intently been only
an optical delusion? He stood searching the unre-
vealing expanse.
Perhaps it was an animal. But one with eyes
several feet from the ground would make some
noise in withdrawing. And no sound had come to
his ears. On sudden impulse he advanced directly
to the point that so challenged his interest, and
parted the foliage. No enlightenment. There was
only a narrow opening, flanked by a quite similar
screen of vines and bushes on the other side. One
of Nature's roadways through the woods.
No hoof-marks, no footprints came to view.
Nothing.
Suppose there had been someone there. Someone
211


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
he might have thought his impression of the attack
a dream.
Still he waited. And there was no sound.
Something must be done. With his gun still
cocked, ready for instant use, he stepped forward
cautiously, his glance sweeping to right and left.
After a few steps it seemed he heard a twig snap.
And he whirled to meet attack from the rear. No
sign of the enemy. Again he advanced, straight to
the tree from behind which he had been shot.
There was no one there. But an empty shell on
the ground testified to the man's recent presence.
And boot-heels had disturbed the pine-needles.
Clearly the man was not killed by his answering
shot. And if wounded, he had escaped without
leaving evidence of injury. Examination of the
ground near by showed not a drop of blood.
It seemed safe now for Marston to investigate his
own injury. A pocket mirror showed what had
happened. Fired the instant he stooped to pick up
an apple, a bullet meant for a frontal shot had
grazed his temple. There was a tiny furrow in
which the blood dried. And blood stains on his
cheek.
He looked for water, and presently found a
brook. In a minute or two he had cleansed his
wound, and protected it with a piece of plaster.
Bathed and refreshed with a drink of water
214


THE SHOT IN THE WOODS
fresh from the hills, he was well able to go on
again.
Again he took his bearings to determine the lo-
cation of Oakhurst. With luncheon at half-past
one there was need of haste. And he had enough of
explaining why he was late. But he could not re-
sist the impulse to turn abruptly now and then.
His fretted nerves conveyed the insistent impres-
sion someone was stalking him.
The motive for attack on him he could not
fathom. The Carringtons' household, and a few
guests on neighboring estates constituted his ac-
quaintance with the region. Unless the assault was
a mistake, which seemed improbable, it must have
had something to do with Fanny Cutshaw's death.
Was he marked as one actively bent on detection
of the murderer? And who thought him important
enough to justify another killing?
He turned the problem without enlightenment.
After a while Babbie rejoined him, trotting unob-
served at his heels. She at least was both happy
and weary from the morning's excursion.
Without further incident he reached the Oak-
hurst grounds, crossing by the lake, and on to the
garage. Smith was still busy there but looked up
quickly at his approach.
“No luck, sir?” he inquired, as he took charge
of dog and gun.
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THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“No. There wasn't much in sight. I only fired
a few times."
“ I'm sorry, sir. I hope you'll try again."
At the house he reached his room unobserved,
and made a quick change. He could not hide the
plaster on his temple. But no sign indicated it
represented a serious experience.
“Did you hit anything but yourself?” Carring-
ton inquired, as he joined the group awaiting lunch.
“ Scratched by a bramble,” Marston explained
with a careless air. “I hardly had a shot all morn-
ing. The dog Smith gave me found a fox. But it
was in its hole."
Conversation interrupted by his appearance was
resumed. Marston looked vainly for the face he
was eager to see. Presently Maxwell appeared
with his usual ceremonious announcement:
“ Luncheon is served, Madame.”
“ Where's Carlotta?” asked Carrington, as they
rose to go in.
“ She won't be down,” Helen explained. “Half
an hour ago she sent word she had a bad headache."
216


CHAPTER XIV
DRUGGED WINE
Food in itself is not a binding force. Luncheon
went badly, for all were ill at ease. Insignificant
living, Fanny had left a long shadow in her taking
off. With one pretext or another the party dis-
persed almost as soon as they left the table.
Marston retired to his room, fruitlessly to sit and
think. By three o'clock he was rather desperate.
His note to Carlotta, returned to him in the morn-
ing, lay on his dresser. And it tempted him. After
his eyes had returned to it a few times he rang for
Maxwell. Soft footfalls, measured as processes of
machinery, preceded a knock at his door.
“ Take this to Mrs. Hamlin, Maxwell,” he di.
rected. “And bring me an answer, please.”
“ Very well, sir.”
He watched the butler's back receding down the
hall. A fellow who gave perfect service, yet some-
how forced one to regard him as a personage.
This time Marston had not long to wait. A ciga-
rette was hardly half smoked when a discreet knock
came again at his door.
217


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Mrs. Hamlin regrets that she cannot see you
this afternoon.”
And the butler stood at attention, like a grena.
dier awaiting order.
" Thank you, Maxwell.” Marston strove to ex-
press unconcern. “That is all."
He crossed to the window. The feeling of futil-
ity was like acid in his veins. The house seemed
stifling, the familiar landscape oppressive. He must
get out, go somewhere, do something. Very quietly,
for he was in no mood for companionship, he went
down-stairs, and down the hill to the garage.
“My car, please,” he said to the man smoking by
the door.
“ Yes, Mr. Marston.” The man touched his cap
respectfully. “ She was overhauled this morning.
There's plenty of gas.”
As he made the turn hiding the house, and let the
engine out a little, he was somehow soothed. Here
was something truly responsive.
Feeling that made Oakhurst and all its surround-
ings temporarily intolerable moved him to turn
from the familiar Saleport road when he had gone
a few miles toward the state highway. While there
was no perceptible difference in scenery, at least
the roadside exhibits would be unfamiliar.
Few were about. He saw harvesters on a hill-
side, and passed a man with a spade on his shoul-
218


DRUGGED WINE
der. Then no one for a mile and more. A woman
leaning on a stile next engaged his somewhat casual
attention. He was driving slowly, and as he passed
it seemed to him she was in some sort of trouble.
But she did not speak, and he dallied with the im-
pulse to offer aid, if needed. Probably the fact that
a turn of the road just ahead would hide her com-
pletely moved him to another look, a half minute or
so later. She was facing him then, and raised her
disengaged hand with a gesture of appeal. His
instinct had not erred. Turning his car into a lit-
tle wood-road, in order that it might not block the
highway, he ran back to where she stood.
“ Pardon me, if I intrude," he said. “I have a
feeling you are somehow in trouble.”
“ A little,” she admitted, and smiled.
“ If I can be of service — ?"
“You are very kind to a stranger."
She smiled again, reminding Marston of the sud-
den flow of sunlight over a wheatfield. She was
tall and blonde, with corn-colored hair, and eyes
deep blue as northern seas. And shading them,
most piquant touch, were brows of golden brown.
And her dress was brown, a warm shade, with a
turban surmounted by a golden-brown feather. A
Scandinavian perhaps, if one cared to apply the
racial tag. And beautiful and buoyant, despite a
little line of pain at the corner of her mouth.
219


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ You see," she explained, “I was foolish enough
to go into the woods with these.” One foot extended
slightly in a high shoe of brown leather. A trim
foot indeed. “The heels are not really high. But
I managed to catch one getting over this stile, and
nearly fell. I suppose I wrenched the ankle in try-
ing to save myself. Anyway, it hurts fearfully. I
don't believe, though, it's broken."
“Let's see. It's this one, I suppose."
He stooped to the left, unmistakably favored as
she leaned against the stile.
“ Swollen some. But not much as yet. How
long ago did it happen?"
“ Only a few minutes ago. You are the first one
passing.”
“My good fortune," he asserted. With the smile
she gave him no man could have said less. “Now
we'll find out what's wrong. Put your hand on my
shoulder, and keep that foot from the ground as
much as possible. It's going to be rather pain-
ful.”
He half carried her to a flat rock forming a rude
seat a few yards distant, and busied himself with
examination of the injured foot. The shoe came off,
and a slit stocking showed an ankle somewhat swol-
len, but not devoid of comeliness in the first stage
of discoloration.
“ Can you turn it at all?” he asked.
220


DRUGGED WINE
She did, with a little frown, and involuntary
“ Oh!” of pain.
“It isn't broken. And we hope it isn't a bad
sprain. The sooner we do something for it, the
better. Did you say you were alone?”
“Yes, unfortunately."
“ But you are staying near here."
“ Not very far. I am not a good enough pedes-
trian to wander many miles.”
“ Then let me take you there. I'll run my car
back here. I think there is room to turn it."
“It isn't necessary to do that. The house is
straight along the way you were going.”
“Very well. I'll carry you to the car."
“But I'm too heavy. And anyway I can
walk.”
“No, to both propositions.” He was stuffing the
removed shoe in his pocket as he spoke. “Now hold
fast."
“You are strong," she said with an accent of
admiration, as he carefully placed her in the car,
and propped the injured foot with a rug.
“Not very."
He stepped in beside her, and they were on their
way. There was little conversation between them.
It was a strange road, and he exercised scrupulous
care to spare her an avoidable jar. At any rate,
the distance was not great. They had proceeded
221


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
but a half mile or so when she indicated on the
right a driveway not yet visible.
“ The house is up there."
It was an entrance so screened it must have
seemed to the casual passer-by no more than an
aperture in the thick, high hedge stretching from
either side of the gate. As Marston turned in some-
one passed just behind them with the violent buzz
of a swift car at high speed.
“Is it far in now?” he inquired of his unknown
companion.
“ Not very. And you can't get lost. There is
only one way to go.”
“Have I hurt you much? It's late to ask now.
But I've tried to be careful."
“You couldn't be more so," she assured him.
“ You have been like an angel.”
Smiling a little at the simile, he picked his way
along. Rising gradually, they had reached a con-
siderable elevation, with silver birches lining the
road. Over their tops he saw their presumable des-
tination.
An irregular pile of not less than three stories.
Sandstone it appeared from the revealed upper
stretches, with a roof of red. And he saw vines
reddened by the fall climbed to its chimneys. No
sign of life, either human or animal, came to his
attention as he brought the car to a stop, swinging
222


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
dent. I must get you into the house, and do what
is possible. At least call a doctor."
“I doubt if you can get one. They are very rare
hereabouts. And I am told all are busy with the
injured of the Saleport fire."
“ To be sure. Then I must do what I can. But
that’s precious little, I warn you."
“I am very grateful,” she protested. “ Still, I
haven't the hardihood to impose on you so. I don't
even know your name.”
“ Marston. I'm sorry," reaching into a pocket,
“ if, as usual, I am without a card."
“ It's quite unnecessary. I wasn't doubting you
in the least."
He bowed.
“I am staying with Alfred Carrington.”
“Ah,” she said, with a slight lifting of her brows.
“ The great place of all this region. I have never
been there."
“ Then you trust me?” he pursued.
She smiled.
“ You know it wasn't that. I simply felt I hadn't
the slightest claim on your kindness."
“Well, that's disposed of now. The key,
please?"
She extended it silently, and he inserted it in the
door. It opened, revealing the empty and heavily
shadowed hall.
224


DRUGGED WINE
“Now,” he said, and took her again in his arms.
“ Which way?”
“To the left, please. I must think a bit.”
After a quick observation, he deposited her on a
convenient couch.
“Now," he pursued in a businesslike way,
“ where is the nearest bath-room?”
“But why?” She simulated alarm. “Do you
mean to drown me?"
“Not at all. The best treatment for a sprain, I
am told, is application of hot and cold water alter-
nately.”
“I see. You won't have to do it, though. Some-
one has discovered us."
She was looking over his shoulder as she spoke.
He turned to find a tall woman with the house
servant's symbolic black apron standing at his el-
bow.
“Well, Annie?” said his vis-à-vis with a hint of
impatience.
“I am sorry, Madame. I came as soon as pos-
sible when I heard the bell.”
“We rang three times."
“I was asleep, Madame, in the rear of the house.
If I had known there was no one to answer the
bell—and "-with slight hesitation, “I did not ex-
pect Madame to return so soon."
“I had an accident.”
225


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ Madame is hurt!”
There was no mistaking affection prompting the
maid's exclamation.
“ Oh, it's nothing much. Not a bad sprain, I
think. Mr. Marston brought me home, and was
about to give me a treatment when you appeared.”
“ The sooner you have it the better.” Marston
rose to go.
" Don't desert me now. After all you've done,
you will at least stay for tea."
“It would be better for you to rest."
“Not at all. The ankle doesn't pain as much
now. And I shall need to forget it. You can't
leave me alone. Can you?”
“ But surely there is someone "
“No one till dinner. Everybody is away. Of
course you'll stay a little while. Hurry, Annie.
Give me your arm. He says we must use hot and
cold water on the ankle. We'll do it nicely, I know.
And we won't be long."
By this time they had reached the door. Her
parting observation came with a dazzling smile
over her shoulder.
“Now mind you don't run away.”
Left to meditation, Marston took stock of himself
and the place. First the place. The room was one
of a sort common among the well-to-do of indeter-
minate character. It was not a library, or a music-
226


DRUGGED WINE
room, or a drawing-room. But it contained a large
writing desk, and shelves of books, a grand piano,
tea and card tables, with a mass of heterogeneous
parlor furniture.
Not the home of the woman who had just de-
parted. She had marked individuality, and evident
intelligence. Further, a mistress would have
known more about disposition of the household for
the afternoon. She was doubtless a guest. Wan-
dering about the world, one sometimes finds him-
self in strange places. She evidently belonged to
a country remote. Seemingly foreign from her ap-
pearance, though she spoke English with colloquial
ease. While she had asked for his name, she had
not given her own. But names signify little with
women, who often lose their own at the altar.
“I knew you were trustworthy."
She had returned unobserved, and stood in the
doorway.
“No. Do not trouble," as he hastened to assist
her. “I can manage quite well with this stick.”
“But aren't you imprudent?”.
He was putting a cushion under her injured foot.
“ Perhaps. But I do not suffer much, Mr. Kind-
heart. Not even so much as the toothache. And
all has been done as you directed. Besides Annie
insisted on a bandage. A pretty ankle?"
Made larger with its swathing, the one somewhat
227


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
puffed accentuated shapeliness of its companion.
The unknown was wearing blue now, with a loose
house-dress that matched her eyes.
“Now the tea, Annie. Yes, that will do. There
are cakes, and the crackers you will not eat. Men
are always for sweets. You drink English break-
fast tea?”
“I like it very much, thank you."
“Of course. All Americans do. But perhaps
you would prefer something else. A cocktail?”
Her hand was extended for the bell.
“No, thank you,” Marston said hastily
6 That is what I do not understand.” She re-
garded him indulgently, yet appraisingly. “ Only
so few years ago every American must have his five
o'clock cocktail. And also his six o'clock cocktail.
It was ritual. But some men in Washington take
a vote to abolish it. And the cocktail disap-
pears."
“We are a law-abiding people,” he explained.
" And a very docile people. Imagine the French
or Italians giving up their wines and cordials with-
out a terrific disturbance.”
She shrugged her shoulders at the thought of
such tumult.
“But let us not talk of prohibition. I have heard
little else—everywhere. What will you smoke? A
cigar, maybe.”
228


'DRUGGED WINE
“ Not now.”
“ Then one of these. I must insist."
From a mesh-bag at her belt she produced a ciga-
rette case of curious design, and held it out in.
pitingly.
“ Real Russian," she suggested. “Makaroffs."
" You seem a thorough cosmopolitan," he ob-
served, extending a lighted match.
“ Your first symptom of curiosity." She was
frankly amused. “Well, my father was Swedish.
And my mother was a Greek. I married a Russian.
What do you make of that?"
“ That you must have been much with English
and Americans.”
“Right in both. Americans go everywhere, you
know."
For a minute or so they smoked in silence, sip-
ping their tea, with eyes on the bright flame of a
newly kindled fire.
“Isn't this nice?" she said.
Marston did not answer at once. Something at
the window had banished all else. A dark thin face.
And while the light was not strong, he felt sure of
the long scar paralleling the nose. The face of the
man with the gun, who had sought his life in the
woods. In a moment it was gone.
“What is it?" the woman asked. “You seem
suddenly distrait."
229


DRUGGED WINE
“And this is Mr. Gondi,” completing the intro-
duction.
Both bowed. The man Marston took to be the
master of the mansion with an air not altogether
cordial.
“ You are a resident of this vicinity?"
He spoke in a somewhat peremptory fashion.
“No. I am a guest of the Carringtons."
With a quick breath, the man called Gondi
seemed about to shoot at Marston another question.
But he restrained himself. Lighting a cigarette
with elaborate care, he took his stand before the
fire. Then it came:
“ You perhaps know Mrs. Cutshaw?"
“ Yes," Marston admitted. “Is she a friend of
yours?"
He caught the man's stabbing look, to which the
woman did not noticeably respond. For the time
being she seemed absorbed in her cigarette, and the
fire's fantastic shadows.
“ I trust Fanny is well?"
The man turned to rearrange the fire.
“I believe she is.”
Marston tried to register unconcern.
“ Have some tea, Seref,” the woman suggested.
“I do not think so," the man said, still with his
back turned. “Was nothing better offered Mr.-
Marston?”
231


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ Yes. He refused a cocktail.”
“But he will not refuse a glass of sherry,"
“I am very grateful — " began Marston.
“I cannot take the refusal. It is a sherry I do
not often offer. Some men will have no other wine
after tasting it. Perhaps it will be so with you,
even in America.”
“But I should be going "
“Not until you have tried it. I myself will se-
lect the bottle. Pardon, monsieur."
He departed as abruptly as he had come. Con-
versation between Marston and the woman went on
in desultory fashion. Now and then he caught her
questioning glance, and could not resist the im-
pression that she was disturbed.
Presently a negro servant entered with a decan-
ter and two glasses on a tray.
“Mr. Gondi,” he announced, “presents his com-
pliments to Mr. Marston. And is sorry for a call on
the long distance telephone. If the gentleman will
pour himself a glass, Mr. Gondi will join him pres-
ently.”
When his message was delivered the negro
seemed much relieved. Partly to please him, for
he was fond of negro servants, Marston poured a
glass.
With a profuse, “ Thank you, sir," the colored
man retired.
232


DRUGGED WINE
“Is it good ? " the woman asked after he had
taken a sip or two.
“ Prime sherry. As good as ever I tasted. It has
a flavor curiously distinctive."
“It is probably a Spanish wine I tasted the other
night. I judge so from its color.”
“May I pour you a glass?”
“No, thank you. Not after tea."
Talk fell into musical channels. And presently
she corrected him.
“ But Floria is not a character in ‘La Boheme.”
“ Certainly not. But weren't we talking of 'La
Tosca'?"
He pulled himself together with an effort.
“ Please do not drink any more wine, Mr. Mar-
ston."
She spoke sharply.
“But my dear lady - "
He spoke in confusion, regarding his half-empty
glass.
“Oblige me, please. And will you excuse me for
a few minutes."
“Let me ring for you."
He started to rise.
“No, if you please. I want my maid. And she
will not hear this bell.”
She was already on her way to the door. At the
threshold she paused:
233


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ Remember, please. No more wine."
Marston sat absorbed in thought. But not
fluently coherent thought. Now he took stock of
himself, it seemed his mind had been increasingly
unwieldy for several minutes. Objects about him
were a bit blurred. And somewhere he heard a
faint singing
He made a resolute effort to steady his head and
sharpen perception. He heard talk in the hall
again. This time it was the woman of chance ac-
quaintance. He recognized her voice. And the
man called Gondi.
“You drugged his wine,” were her first words he
heard.
“ And if I did - ?”.
“I will not have it."
He glanced at her quickly.
“ Do you love the fool?”
“ You are foolish. He was kind to me. And I
will not have harm come to him in consequence of
it.”
“He walked into my hands,” the man said.
“And he is the man I want. It is my good fortune
that he comes. That fool Antonio nearly killed
him this morning. Now I will keep him safe, until
he tells me what I must know."
“ And you will do him no injury?"
“I promise.”
234


DRUGGED WINE
“I don't trust you,” the woman said, after a
brief silence. “I am going back to him.”
“ You will go to your room.”
" Are you my master?”
“ Physically, my dear Christine. It was after all
a fortunate sprain. Must I force you?”
Silence again, followed by slow retreating foot-
steps.
With his eyes on the door, Marston leaned
against the table at his elbow in a drowsy attitude.
His mind was clear enough now. What he had
heard was bracing as the shock of a cold
plunge.
As the door was opened cautiously he moved his
head a little, as if trying to lift it. A face framed
in the doorway was quickly withdrawn. And he
heard the door softly closed.
What he did must be done quickly. A few quick
steps to the window showed his car where he had
left it. Probably it had not been tampered with.
That must be assumed. And it was headed the
right way.
It was a long window, opening easily. He gained
the veranda, and his seat at the wheel, very quietly
and with no more than a minute consumed. The
self-starter responded perfectly. Fortunately the
car answered almost on the instant. There was no
time to warm up the engine. He was already on
235


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
his way down the drive when the door opened, and
a man stepped out.
So much he saw in a glance over his shoulder,
but could not tell who it was. Half expecting a
bullet, and trusting to luck on a winding, unfa-
miliar road, he raced down the hill. When he
reached the highway the turn was difficult. But
he managed it, and turned the right way.
Minutes were hardly more numerous than the
miles covered before he slowed down somewhat at
the intersection with the Oakhurst road. Again he
speeded up, pondering the while an amazing after-
noon after an extraordinary morning.
The man of the midnight air raid on Oakhurst
was still in the neighboring region. And willing
to commit crime to obtain information about
Fanny. Did he not know of her death? Perhaps
his question, “Is she not well?” was meant to
throw inquirers off the scent. What was he, Mar-
ston, supposed to know of such vital importance?
In this matter he would take counsel with Dr. Ben.
Of the woman he thought no ill. Of her honesty
in their meeting he was convinced. She seemed
to him very charming.
On his way into the house he met Carrington at
the steps.
“ Did you throw away your hat?" asked the mas-
ter of the mansion.
236


DRUGGED WINE
Marston improvised readily.
“ It blew into a pond.”
“ Helen and Amy won't be down to dinner to-
night. So you needn't dress.”
“Do you mind if I stick to my room?” Marston
asked. “I feel rather seedy. Not at all like a
meal.”
“ Suit yourself,” Carrington conceded. “ Better
let Maxwell bring something up to you."
“ Thanks."
Weary with the burden of a tumultuous day,
Marston went on to his room.
237


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
The ground floor gained, he began a thorough
inspection. With more speed than one would have
anticipated in one of his years he gained the li-
brary. Carrington no longer sat in his great chair,
but there was evidence of his presence as the Gen-
eral stooped to press a button that brought a
shaded desk light to life. An empty glass, a nearly
empty decanter, and an ice bucket of ornamented
silver stood on the blotter. As the General leaned
forward for closer inspection, a sharp crackle be-
hind him sent his hand swiftly to another button
under the desk. The light winked out, and he stood
tense in the darkness. The sound was repeated;
it came a third time, after a brief interval. Then
he had gained a position beside the door, and
knew what it was only the aimless activity of
a steam pipe, suddenly stirred in the dead of
night.
Satisfied all was safe behind him, he began his
examination of adjacent rooms. From the dining-
room, flooded with sudden light that brought out
beauties of heavy curtains, he passed to the room
of the afternoon's interrogation, with a backward
touch that left Egyptian blackness. The second
room was also empty, and rather chill. Unoccupied
since dinner, it had grown cold with an open win-
dow neglected by some servant; or so he thought,
as he traced the draught and stood a moment at
240


A NIGHT ON THE STAIRS
the window, looking out into the dim moonlight.
Something moved half-way down the long slope,
but it seemed to go naturally on four legs; appar-
ently, an animal.
Another turn of the wrist, and the room was in
darkness. Still moving with surprising ease and
stealthiness, the General returned to the reception
hall. And once more he stood like a statue, chal-
lenging the interferer. The sound came again, like
the soft closing of a door. With all his senses re-
enforcing a suggestion to the ear, the General
slipped behind long draperies drawn across glass
doors at night. Thus hidden, he saw a door behind
the stairs open slowly, and a man's form gradually
revealed.
An impression of familiarity deepened to convic-
tion as the man came into the trifling light. It was
Maxwell, minus his butler's clothes, and a butler's
stoical manners. The collar of a dark coat was
turned up under his chin, and he had discarded his
immaculate linen. Turning slowly, his eyes swept
the room. They passed without a sign of suspicion
over the curtains behind which the General stood.
Satisfied he was alone, he began a noiseless ascent
of the stairs. A final survey of the hall from the
landing, and he disappeared. Only a minute or two
had elapsed since his appearance. Several more
the General devoted to motionless anticipation of
241


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
his return; but the night still concealed him, and
his errand.
Stepping from his hiding place, the General
passed through the door from which Maxwell had
emerged. He opened another door, and went on
past the butler's pantry. Then he paused before
a door on his left. He must have been familiar
with its location, for he knew it in the darkness.
He listened for a moment, and raised his left hand
as if to knock; but the movement was not carried
through. Instead, he shifted his tightly clutched
possession from the right hand to his left, and
tried the door-knob, which turned easily.
He opened the door softly, and entered. Pitch
darkness, and absolute silence. Unseen and unsee-
ing, he stood a moment with senses alert for some
sign of life. Then his right hand went out, and a
bright ray travelled swiftly about the room. It
was absolutely empty, but seemingly not long since
occupied. The bedclothes were turned back, and
upon them were piled a man's garments. The
light searched out a gaping travelling bag, partly
filled, on the floor, and rested on the dresser's open
top drawer.
Again shifting the light to his left hand, the Gen-
eral went through the drawer rapidly. In his quest
of something he relied on touch alone. Nothing
rewarded his fingers; he terminated a moment's in-
242


A NIGHT ON THE STAIRS
decision by kneeling beside the bag on the floor.
As before, no article was removed, until his inquir.
ing fingers closed on something in a side pocket.
Swiftly transferring his find to one of his dress-
ing-gown pockets, the General stood for a moment,
questioning the silence. Then he shut off his elec-
tric lamp, and left the room as silently as he had
come. He went back through the swinging door,
toward the front of the house. In that passage-
way ears or instinct-it may have been both-
warned him of the presence of another. With but
momentary pause he reached for a door on his
right, and melted into the darkness of the room be-
hind it.
As the door behind the stairs opened it admitted
a shaft of feeble light; feeble and fleeting, but
enough to disclose Maxwell to the vigilant watcher.
Again in the border of his own domain, the butler
came on confidently. Though unable to see him
when he had passed, the General was aware that he
opened the second door and passed through.
Presently the General emerged from his hiding
place and regained the reception hall. Now he man.
ifested less concern. Still taking pains to avoid
creaky spots as he went up the first and second
flights of stairs, he had shaken off a furtive air;
but as he gained the third floor he was halted
again.
243


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
Another person abroad. A door shutting off a
section of the hall was opened, and Marston ap-
peared. He also wore a dressing-gown over his
pajamas. For a moment they stared at each other
in silence. The General found his tongue first.
“Aren't you up rather late, or early?” he said,
speaking softly with an accent of jocularity.
“I thought I heard something."
Marston looked at the General with interest not
unmixed with curiosity.
“I also," agreed the General. “Any luck?"
“Nothing,-until just now.”
Advancing a step, the General looked swiftly
down at his pockets.
“We must have been mistaken. But,”—he
added, with eyes on his room, “ I didn't leave my
door open."
It stood a little ajar.
“Probably the wind blew it open,” Marston sug-
gested, following on behind.
“Maybe. But I am positive I closed it as I came
out.”
They were inside now, and looking about. The
General leaned over his dresser, running over a lit-
tle accumulation of keys, jewelry, pocket-change,
contents of his trousers pockets dumped for the
night. As he did so, something protruding from
his dressing-gown pocket caught and fascinated
244


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
the half-hour, as he drifted into uneasy sleep, with
a murmured observation on his lips :
“I wonder what it means?"
246


CHAPTER XVI
THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
ICIO
IR. BAUM
RTEN
WHEN Marston woke there was bright sunlight.
From a point across the lake smoke spiralled white
against the clear blue sky. Nature seemed to touch
all creation with a caressing hand. The house was
silent as an enchanted castle.
As Marston dressed, he had a feeling that per.
haps events of the last three days were evocations
of nightmare. They were so fantastically improb-
able. With a feeling of shame that he tolerated the
doubt, he took out the key-ring just dropped into
his pocket, and opened the steamer-trunk. There
in the tray was the dagger. He looked at it again,
with the stained point, a little darker in the sun-
light. At a knock on the door, he replaced it
hastily in the trunk.
“ Yes,” he called. " Come in.”
He knew the door was fastened. While the knob
was turned, with a little effort at opening, he
dropped the lid of the trunk, locked it, and put the
key in his pocket.
“ Just a minute,” he said, and stepped to the door
to open it. There stood Maxwell.
lunk.
247


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Pardon me, sir,” he petitioned with deference
purely professional. “I have a note for you."
Marston did not identify the writing on a gray
envelope bearing his name, but there came to his
nostrils a faint perfume that evoked an image.
“Thank you,” he said, and dropped the note into
a pocket.
“Will you have breakfast here, or in the library,
sir?"
“In the library,” Marston decided. “Anybody
down?”
“ Not yet, sir. Thank you, sir. I will leave a
paper for you on the desk.”
Holding a bill, at which he seemingly had not
looked, in his hand, Maxwell marched down the
hall. It had more than once occurred to Marston
that, with his concentration on deference trans-
formed into exaction of deference, a mere feat of
position, the butler would make a magnificent
bishop.
Alone again, Marston held the gray envelope to
his nose appreciatively, and broke its seal. Few
notes were ever shorter, and it was unsigned :
“I will see you after lunch."
So Carlotta at last realized, and was willing to
admit, the danger of her position. That she would
give him explanation of her conference with Fanny,
so unfortunate in its implications, and dissipate
248


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
some of the mystery surrounding her later be-
havior, he took for granted. Considering develop-
ments the night of the fire, and her conduct after-
ward, no other conclusion was possible.
As if household machinery moved only at his
pleasure, breakfast appeared in the moment of his
arrival in the library. He seated himself by the
tray, and began to eat. The bacon was crisp as he
liked it; and the eggs done to a second. Over his
second cup of coffee he picked up the morning pa-
per left at his elbow.
It was a New York paper, with Saleport figuring
in two first page display heads. The larger one
was not announcement of the city's burning; it
heralded Fanny's death by violence, for it had hap-
pened in the country house of a New York million.
aire. Marston read the story, an embroidery of
conjecture, with painful interest.
Despite his fear of Dr. Ben, it was evident to
Marston that the district attorney had confided his
impression of the Cutshaw case to a correspondent
of the metropolitan daily. While the report had it
he refused to be interviewed,-“ a person in author-
ity" had given the reporter the ascertained facts
of Fanny's death, with a hint that suspicious cir-
cumstances pointed toward a woman highly placed
in society. It was rumored, the correspondent said,
that Mrs. Cutshaw had quarrelled with the woman
249


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
in question, the last person known to have seen her
alive. It was alleged that both women were inter-
ested in the same man. Sensational disclosures
were expected.
Marston put down the newspaper with a strange
feeling. It was an impression of an unseen enemy,
waiting in some unknown place, to strike in the
dark. “ It was alleged that both women were in.
terested in the same man.” Dr. Ben's shrewd look,
as he said of Carlotta, “ She seems a nice little
woman. I count on you to straighten it out,” and
certain questions of Mr. Baumgarten bearing on
his acquaintance with Fanny, were charged with
new meaning. What did anybody think? What
did they suspect?
With nervousness approximating momentary
panic he rose hastily, and walked into the hall.
Several cigarettes smoked hastily failed to quiet
his nerves, and there was no one to talk with. A
glimpse of a tray borne aloft by Maxwell suggested
that Carrington had called for first aid, after his
heavy drinking of the night before. Freddy like-
wise kept to his room, and there was no trace of the
General, now an object of speculative interest to
Marston. The dagger had placed opposite his name
an interrogation point.
As to Carlotta, he did not know at what time
she had written her message, or from what spot it
250


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
was despatched. He disliked to ask Maxwell. For
a time he hoped for help from Helen, but she like-
wise failed to appear.
Standing at a window overlooking the lake he
saw the surpassing brightness of the morning, and
yearned to share in it. A spin in the clear air
would freshen him for the day's dreaded work. He
telephoned to the garage for his car, and put on
motor clothes. Soon he was seated at the wheel,
and gliding down the driveway.
On the long turn he let out the engine a little,
and relished the feeling of increased power. Badg.
ered as he was by baffling circumstance, and so
sorely hampered by tenderness that forbade im-
partial analysis of Carlotta's situation, he derived
a certain pleasure, a sense of personal release, in
use of the motor's strength. With a sort of irra-
tional exhilaration he drove fast and faster.
Without a goal, he let fancy dictate his course.
He only kept a careless lookout for other travellers
as his car devoured the miles. Once on a wooded
turn he barely escaped collision with a dump-cart
piled high with apples. Giving it the road, he
turned into the gutter, and applied the brake. A
minute only he paused, while the farmer aloft
voiced his complaint.
But now Marston travelled slowly. In a house
ahead on the left he sensed something familiar. A
251


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
the gate, was aware of his presence. Whether Car-
lotta was somewhere about the premises he did not
undertake to decide. Helen's presence, and her be-
havior with the child, filled his mind. Why did
she ask it to call her “Mother"? Was Carlotta,
perhaps, preparing for dark days ahead? That
idea he dismissed angrily.
Driving again at a reckless rate, he reached the
main entrance to Oakhurst, and turned into its
wooded road. The few miles to the great house far
up the hill were soon covered. At that point a
summer-house on the right, and just in the shade
of the first line of advancing trees, provided a rest-
ing place for pedestrians.
There was someone in the shelter, as Marston
casually noted. Then he slowed down the car;
for a woman stepped out into the sunlight, and
a man followed, with a movement as if he
would lay a restraining hand on her shoulder.
She turned with an air of defiance. It was Car-
lotta. The man's air was unmistakably threaten-
ing.
Wheeling into the grass beside the road, Marston
shut off power, and ran to the rescue. Neither saw
him as he approached from the side. The stranger
clutched Carlotta by the wrist.
“ You shall tell me,” Marston heard him say.
“I will not."
253


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
Marston hesitated, feeling himself at a disadvan-
tage; then resentment at Carlotta’s continued lack
of consideration for his feelings came uppermost.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he said, and turned
away.
“Don't go!”
Carlotta cried sharply. Turning, Marston saw
her hands extended imploringly.
“ Well?” he asked.
“ I'm afraid.”
“Afraid of what? Tell me,” he urged.
She hesitated under the unwavering regard of
the stranger, who stood at ease with mocking eyes.
“When you arrived," he explained, “the lady
was about to confide in me.”
“I won't tell,” said Carlotta desperately.
“ But you will."
The man's tone made the assertion a threat.
Marston moved to step between them, but the
stranger was too quick; and his action was unex-
pected. A lean brown hand came suddenly from
his pocket, and Marston looked into the muzzle of
a revolver.
“ Since you have intruded on this conference, I
fear we must continue it_elsewhere."
The man spoke with ominous smoothness. Car-
lotta's eyes supplemented the message of her lips:
“Don't leave me."
255


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
then they jolted over some boulder half-hidden; and
golden-rod on either side of the horse-path brushed
the bottom of the car. The trees came close, grow-
ing dense as they climbed. Their destination and
the outcome of their predicament were equally
problematic.
By a great rock the road turned at right-angle.
It was then Marston first heard the sound of water.
Louder as they went on, it seemingly heralded some
river of the hills. The air grew damp with the
moisture of spray. They came suddenly into a lit-
tle clearing, and Marston felt again the revolver
at his neck.
“ Stop!”
The car halted almost within its own length.
There was little room to manœuvre. A roughly
shingled hut of unpainted boards stood but a few
yards from the road, and even nearer were the
falls in which a river swollen with autumn rain
plunged some fifty feet, to rocks that showed their
heads in swirling water. On the opposite bank a
cluster of white birches posod gracefully against
a background of spruce. For one free to enjoy it,
a charming sylvan scene; but the three in the car
had no thought of picturesque rocks, or foliage, and
tossing spray.
Thick silence. A bird above them tried its voice
in a little trill, and flew away. Marston felt an al-
259


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
know. In the little house so charming you will
refresh, as you say, your recollection.”
“ It's no use to try that,” Marston informed him.
“ There is nothing we can tell you.”
“ But I think," the stranger insisted with a smile
of ill omen, “ the lady can tell me much. Please.”
Still lounging in his seat, with feet carelessly
crossed, he pointed to the hut. As Marston half
turned he read his intention. A sudden upswing
of the forearm, and his revolver again commanded
the situation.
“ Please.”
Furious, but helpless, Marston opened the car
door and stepped slowly to the ground. Carlotta's
eyes followed him with a flash of faith that heart-
ened him like wine. For her sake he banished
anger in appraisal of the situation.
Never relaxing his vigilance, the stranger slowly
pulled himself up in the car and alighted. He
turned to Carlotta with a little bow, addressing her
in the third person:
“ The lady, I much fear, would be disconsolate
alone. And it may be she also is the chauffeur.
Your Buddha says: 'Lead me not into temptation.'
Please.”
He stepped forward to open the car door for her.
But Marston was before him, with impetuous dis-
regard for consequences. Sensing his intent, the
261


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
“ But I tell you - Marston began hotly.
In the midst of his sentence the door closed with
a final rasp. Absolute silence followed. Then
Marston turned to Carlotta with an abrupt ques-
tion:
“ Whose child is it?”
“Fanny's," she answered promptly.
“ And its father - ?”
“He is.”
“ Then why keep it from him?"
As she hesitated he gave her arm a little shake
of admonition. She did not resent it.
“ Speak quickly, please,” he urged, “ while we
are alone. Why shouldn't you let him know?"
“Because I promised Fanny, that night she sent
for me. She had taken it away from him, and he
swore to get it back. She was in constant fear of
him; and that night there seemed to be some special
reason. She made me promise that if anything
happened I would take the child and put it in good
hands; and not to tell anyone until I had done it."
“But surely,” he said, “ Helen knew."
“Not then. I didn't want to be her confidant.
But Helen was down-stairs, and Fanny thought she
couldn't wait. She was so desperate I had to
listen.”
“ Then you were sorry for her.”
The clumsy words sprang from underlying fear.
265


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Of course.”
She spoke in surprise.
“I had nothing against her. Only, you know,
she wasn't our sort, and she was pushing. That
night she irritated me more than usual.”
She paused, then went on as he waited, with un-
comprehending eyes.
“When she said something had upset her, natu-
rally, I thought she meant you.”
“But why?" He was amazed.
“She had been with you last, and at first she
wouldn't say what agitated her so. Then she did
tell—such a sad, sordid story. I feel dishonorable
in repeating it, even now; but with you - "
Both started at a sound like that of a snapping
twig.
“Quick!” he urged. “While there's a chance."
“Yes,” she promised, and went on hurriedly.
“ There was Cutshaw, of course. She married him,
but he never counted for much. They separated
before he died, and Fanny took up with a high caste
Parsee.”
“ There?” asked Marston, with a gesture toward
the door.
“Of course. He had the penchant of his race for
the blonde, and Fanny, apparently, was really fond
of him. But he treated her abominably; so, finally,
she broke the connection. And she took their child.
266


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
in his eyes, and his bitten lips were spotted with
bloody saliva. The clicking of his teeth, as he
strove to force Marston backward, was like the
snapping of a mad dog.
Inch by inch, Marston forced his foe away from
the edge of the platform. Then the Indian resorted
to an unexpected trick. As he allowed his back to
come heavily against the side of the door he kicked
Marston savagely in the abdomen. Excruciating
pain produced temporary weakness. Almost in.
stantly the Indian was at his throat. In a stran.
gling clutch the world turned black; the rush of the
river below he heard only in a confused roaring.
One step back, and two. His befogged brain
somehow retained consciousness of the few inches
that separated him from death.
In a supreme effort he rallied flagging strength.
Slowly he swung the Indian round, until they strug.
gled face to face at the edge of the platform; but
desperately as he strove, Marston could not break
the grip of deadly fingers. Again he was being
forced to the edge of the platform, and his back was
to the river.
Something flashed before his failing eyes. And
to his tortured throat came inexpressible relief.
Thrusting with all his might, he broke the Indian's
hold. Then, reeling, he stood alone.
He did not see the Indian fall, but a cry came
270


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
from far below. Cautiously, for he was spent with
conflict, he balanced himself at the edge of the plat-
form, and looked down.
At first he saw only water tossing wildly. Pres-
ently an arm appeared for a moment in a pool with
which the river rested from its rush over the falls.
It was a hand and forearm thrust upward in what
seemed a gesture of defiance. It did not reappear,
nor was there other sign of human life in water
with which leaves and the debris of autumn mold
revolved.
As he rose laboriously Marston was conscious of
Carlotta at his side. Her steadying hand was
hooked about his elbow, and her eyes, like his, were
fixed on the pool below.
“ You saved me?” he questioned.
“I broke his grip with this."
She held up before him a hat-pin slightly stained
with blood. As she saw its crimson she shivered,
and it dropped from her fingers into the torrent.
She spoke again :
“It was your life, or his. I saw he would not
spare you."
“ And you did that for me?"
“I couldn't do less."
He drew her to him. As she felt his tenderness
the resolution that had sustained her dissolved sud-
denly in womanly tears. He let her cry quietly in
271


TAE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
his arms. Presently she recovered composure and
turned away to dry her eyes.
“I suppose I ought to look for the fellow," he
said, “ though he did try to kill me.”
“But you mustn't,” she protested. “You can't.
Did he hurt you much?”
“Not seriously,” he assured her, with a little
thrill of pleasure at her solicitude. " A kick in the
stomach isn't agreeable, and probably I'll be a little
lame to-morrow. I guess that's all. I think I
ought to climb down to look.”
“What is the use?” She pointed downward.
What was the use? To the bend, a hundred
yards or so below the hut, the river bank was high
and rough; and in that swollen current, lost to
view in a smother of foam, nothing lived.
Probably fatally injured in his fall of some fifty
feet to jagged rocks, the Indian lay drowned in the
pool. Or his body had been swept unnoted to some
point in the river below. Even as they looked it
might be tossing on the way to where the river of
the hills joined another to turn Saleport's spindles.
It was beyond their efforts and area of observation.
Realizing that fact, Marston turned slowly away.
“I suppose you are right,” he said. “We can
only report his death to the authorities."
For a minute or so they stood side by side, with
the sound of the falls in their ears. Then he drew
272


THE SUSPICIOUS MR. BAUMGARTEN
her to him in a gush of protective tenderness, but
only for a moment. She retreated, with appealing
eyes.
“Not now," she pleaded. “Not until all the
mystery is cleared away. It must be perfect,
when it comes."
“As you will, dearest.”
They were silent again, until he spoke, nerving
himself to the question:
" Why didn't you tell them, Carlotta, about the
dress? "
“What dress?”
“ The yellow one, like the piece of cloth I found
in the rose-bush, and the one Dr. Ben picked up in
Fanny's room.”
“But my dress isn't like them.”
As the import of his question came to her she
stepped aside, putting a little distance between
them.
“And you thought I had something to do with
Fanny's death?”
“I feared others would think so."
He spoke in abasement.
A pause, and then she said: “I feared the same
for you.”
« But why?"
In her turn she was apologetic.
“ At first it was the handkerchief. Fanny's, I
273


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
mean, with the blood on it. That day when Dr.
Ben kept you after all the others were sent out I
was sure it meant something bad for you. Did
it?"
“No. He wanted to talk with me about the case.
He made me a sort of assistant."
“ Poor boy. Now I understand. You thought
you must hunt me.”
“And now the district attomey is hunting both
of us.”
He tried to speak lightly. Carlotta shivered.
“What can he do to us?” she asked.
“Nothing, since we are innocent. But he could
make it rather terrible for you, my dear, in clearing
yourself. Somehow we must stop him."
“I shan't mind so much, if you are with me."
She put a hand on his sleeve. He took it quietly
into his own.
“You don't think the Indian killed Fanny?" she
questioned.
Marston hesitated.
“Maybe,” he said at length. “That is one of the
questions to be run down.”
After so much that had happened, and so much
said, he was somehow disinclined to go into the
airplane adventure; and Carlotta did not question
him.
“Don't you think we should be going on? " she
274


CHAPTER XVII
HAPPENING IN THE HILLS
MID-AFTERNOON was warm on the height; and
warm the still abundant foliage. Marston and
Carlotta were equally silent, after a great strain,
and in the shyness of half-avowed love.
As they descended the woods thinned, with occa-
sional open spaces that revealed wild apple trees,
or perhaps some weather-beaten mountain shelter,
and a few maples richly colored. A rabbit by the
roadside regarded them wisely, then disappeared
with a whisk of its stubby tail over the wall.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Car.
lotta.
Her sidelong glance detected a musing look.
“I wonder if I may tell you - "
“Please,” she urged.
“ It was this. You know-but you don't know
there in the cemetery that night, while you slept in
my arms like a tired child, I was plagued with
jealousy for the past, all the years I never knew
you. I had a wish we might be born again, with
understanding and love."
“We shall be," she said presently, “when the
276


HAPPENING IN THE HILLS
cloud over us is cleared away. I know it is possi.
ble. That is why I will have nothing less."
Eyes gave assurance deeper than speech.
Now they had reached the region of less defiant
hills, with patches in which the farmer fought for a
living with Nature; but not even a collie, or a
ragged boy dreaming of greatness, was seen.
Rounding a sharp curve, they saw the white post
with a red triangle ahead. Two minutes later they
were again in the public road, and on the way back
to Carrington's.
“ This time we tell ?"
“Just the truth,” she said promptly. “You un-
derstand now why I wasn't frank with you before."
“ You haven't explained,” Marston could not re-
sist saying, “why you took my name.”
Carlotta's face was crimson, but her eyes were
steady as they met his tenderly mocking look.
He drew on the car's full power for the last
stretch through the Oakhurst woods. And there
came a gush of feeling in which apprehension was
submerged. For the moment no doubt existed. As
the car spurned the highway he felt himself lifted
on the wings of life, beating strongly in the sun-
light. His eyes sought Carlotta's, but he did not
speak.
Alfred was fated again to meet them. He stood
in the door, looking down the drive as they came
277


HAPPENING IN THE HILLS
“I think, sir,” she said at last, “he has gone to
Saleport. At least, I heard him tell John to get the
little Ford ready."
“ When was that?”
With his frown that was purely concentration on
disclosures about his most trusted servant Carring-
ton intimidated Annie more.
“ About an hour ago, sir,” she faltered.
“ Did he say when he would get back?"
“No, sir, but he told Jackson to be ready to serve
dinner.”
“He did, eh?”
· Carrington meditated darkly. Now the General,
who had listened with his usual air of courteous
interest, took a hand.
" Pardon me, Alfred, if I ask Annie a question.
I think she has something more to tell us. Isn't it
80, my dear?”
His manner was encouraging, almost paternal.
The maid brightened under his influence; then out
came the news.
“Of course, sir, it isn't my place to mention it,
but I can see you are worried about Maxwell. It
seemed to me, to all of us—that he was going away.
He had a trunk sent off this morning, sir, and he
was very private about it. When cook asked him
if he was going on a holiday he just stiffened up-
a way he has, sir, and told her to keep in her place."
285


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
« That's all you can tell us?"
“ Yes, sir, everything."
She spoke in obvious relief.
“ All right,” said Carrington. “You may go.
And telephone to the garage for Burbank to bring
up the big Packard. Have Smith come with him,
if he's there, or one of the other men. I want them
as soon as they can get here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” very soberly.
“And you're not to mention anything said here
to the other servants.”
“Yes, sir."
“ You may go.”
The three men sat in speculative silence when
she had done. Then Carrington said to the other
two:
“ What do you make of it?"
“ Suspicious circumstances, at least,” said the
General. “How long have you had Maxwell, Al-
fred? But I remember you told me five years. Did
he come with good references?”
“He had been longer than that with Ned Hunt.
And Ned only let him go because he was closing
his house for a year.”
Hunt, they knew, was one of his few intimates.
"At best," the General observed, "we are pretty
much at our servants' mercy.”
A little more desultory conversation, and the big
286


HAPPENING IN THE HILLS
car roared up to the door. Without waiting for the
chauffeur to ring, they went out to meet him.
“Good prompt work, Burbank,” said Carrington
to the ruddy-faced man at the wheel; “ and I see
you brought Smith with you.” A square-shoul-
dered young fellow in the other front seat touched
his cap respectfully.
“Now don't get out," as Burbank moved to open
the car door. “I don't want the car. I hear Max.
well has gone to town in the little Ford. Is that
so?”
“ He started out an hour ago, Mr. Carrington.”
“Now, what I want is this. Take Smith with
you, and find him; and then you bring him back.
Understand?"
“ Yes, sir."
While Burbank's face for a second or so betrayed
surprise, his voice was matter-of-fact.
“ Take him by force, if necessary,” Carrington
went on. “And in case there happens to be a
policeman around who takes any interest in the
matter, tell him you are under orders from me. I
stand behind you."
“I understand, sir.”
“And make speed," Carrington added by way of
final instruction.
Burbank nodded, and touched his cap.
“ Just a minute," said Marston. “Let me add
287


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
something, Alfred. When you get Maxwell, Bur-
bank, be sure he has no chance to throw anything
away."
“ Yes, sir," said Burbank. “ You don't want us
to search him?"
"No," Carrington decided impatiently. “Don't
stop for anything like that. Bring him straight
back. Now let's see what time you can make."
As the big car tore down the hill, the trio re-
turned to the house.
“ Now, let's see the dagger," Carrington re-
quested, when they were in the library again.
“I can't. I haven't got it now."
“ Where is it, then?"
“I wish I knew. It was taken from my trunk."
“ Broken into ?”
“No," Marston confessed. “I suppose I made it
easy. It happened this morning; I forgot my keys.
They were there on the dresser, for anybody to
use.”
Carrington bit his nails angrily.
“No use in guessing who it was,” he said ; " for
there's only one guess, as we feel now."
" Why not have a look at Maxwell's room?” sug-
gested the General.
With Carrington leading they went back to the
servants' quarters, and entered the butler's room.
If Maxwell proposed to return to Oakhurst, he had
288


HAPPENING IN THE HILLS
Carrington filled his glass again.
“You're sure you can establish self-defense?”
“ Absolutely. Carlotta saw it all.”'
Carrington opened his mouth to speak, but sup-
pressed the thought. After a moment's silence, he
said:
“ Well, tell us all about it later. It's queer it
happened just now."
As Marston went up-stairs he leaned again over
his blotter, talking to himself.
“ So much mystery, I can't make it out."
Marston paused at Helen's door, and tapped.
Fifi responded.
“Yes, Dick, I'm in," Helen called, hearing his
question. “Come in here."
Resting on a davenport in her sitting-room, she
gave him her hand.
“I suppose you want to know about Carlotta.
She is asleep now. Fifi and I did our best; the poor
dear was a nervous wreck. No wonder.”
6 Then she has told you — ?”
“Everything. I'm so sorry she didn't let mc
share the burden. It should have been mine, of
course. Nobody else wanted Fanny here. I can't
help her now, but I'm taking charge of the
child.”
66 I'm glad of that.”
The merest hint of a smile flickered in her face.
291


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“ Yes,” she said. “I understand that. I sup-
pose when this—trouble is over you will marry
Carlotta."
“I hope so," he said, and flushed a little under
her earnest eyes. “You know how I feel about
her."
“Yes, I know. And, wonderful to relate, Car-
lotta knows. How did you manage to tell her, most
reticent of men? And after all I said to discour-
age you."
“But you didn't really," he submitted. “You
said she could be wonderful.”
" And she will be for you, if the mystery of
poor Fanny's death is cleared up. Carlotta has too
much pride to come to you with the slightest smirch
on her name. If the district attorney drags her
into the newspapers, it will be a dreadful shock.
Is there no way to prevent it?"
“I hope so, Helen."
He threw away a cigarette, and stood for a mo-
ment looking into the grate. When he turned back
to her his face was steady again.
“You know how much it means to me. We are
running down the best clue yet. There may be a
solution within an hour."
“I am so glad," she said simply. “I won't ask
you what it is; but let me know as soon as there is
anything to tell, won't you?”
292


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENOY
Carrying a black bag handed over by Burbank,
Carrington went in to the library. They had placed
Maxwell with his back to the fire, and facing the
westering sun. His eyes blinked in its light, and
for a moment they closed completely as the black
bag was set down before him. Marston and the
General occupied a large sofa directly in front.
Up to the time of Carrington's entrance they had
asked no questions, leaving him to silent anticipa-
tion as they talked of little things. Carrington
seated himself in his great chair and looked at the
butler frowningly. The atmosphere became sud-
denly electrical.
Carrington opened his mouth, a question on his
lips. Then he checked it and turned to Marston.
“ You're a lawyer, go ahead.”
“Why did you run away, Wilkins?” Marston's
first question was casually abrupt. “Come, an.
swer.”
“Why do you call me by that name, sir?"
“ It is your name, isn't it?” the General came in
sharply.
The butler looked at him, a moment of pro-
foundly contemplative silence.
“I was once called so," he said at length.
“And you knifed a man,” the General pressed on,
" and ran away?"
No answer.
297


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
“Why did you run away, Wilkins?" Marston re-
peated.
“I thought I would be suspected.”
“ Suspected of what?”.
The butler's eyes became slits of light, but his
facial muscles were steady.
“ Of causing Mrs. Cutshaw's death, sir,” he said
at length.
“ And what made you think that?”
Marston shot his next question immediately.
The butler looked from one of his examiners to
the other; for a moment his eyes wandered to the
door. Just outside was visible the solid figure of
Smith, on guard. At length he answered indi-
rectly.
“When I met General Welles by the garden, to-
day, I was sure he remembered me.”
6 And I remembered that stabbing case of
twenty-five years ago, Wilkins."
The butler sat silent. His only betrayal of agi-
tation was in nervous contraction of the eyes. For
a full minute or so there was no sound but the
snapping fire in the room. Then Marston spoke
quietly:
“ There was a blood-stained dagger found in your
room, Wilkins."
The butler's gaze was concentrated on the black
bag before him.
298


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
she lay there, and fall asleep by their toys. There
was no blood, and nothing in the room disturbed.
What I had seen seemed like a bad dream. I
thought perhaps she had only fainted. I stood by
her and spoke her name, softly. For it was a
strange situation, sir, and I didn't want to alarm
the house.
“Mrs. Cutshaw didn't answer me. I touched her,
but she never moved. Then I was frightened.
What I should have done, sir, was to report the
matter at once to you. But I'd a feeling I would
be blamed. And what was there to prove my story?
“I thought it over for a few minutes; then I went
out and locked the door after me. It seemed the
best thing to do. Mrs. Cutshaw was dead. I could
do nothing for her. And the murderer was gone
in the night, with the woods near by. There wasn't
a trace of him about the house. When I was sure
of that I went up to my room."
“ Then of course you knew Mrs. Cutshaw was
dead,” said Carrington, “when I sent you to call
her for luncheon next day, and we had to break
in the door to find out what was wrong?”
“Yes, sir," Maxwell admitted apologetically.
“But I didn't see then how I could explain my
neglect to tell you the night before.”
“So you let innocent people be suspected,” said
Carrington accusingly.
301


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
bright eyes. There was a cap pulled down over his
forehead, so they seemed just in line with the
vizor."
“You don't remember anything about his
clothes?”:
“Oh, no, sir. Only I'd say that he hadn't any
overcoat.”
“Is that absolutely everything you can tell us?”
“Everything, sir," the butler affirmed.
"Well, it may not be worth very much. And it
may be worth a good deal. I suppose you realize
that you will at least have to remain in custody as
a material witness until the inquiry is over."
The butler winced.
“Smith will look after you for the present," Car-
rington remarked. And,“ Smith!” he called.
The burly guard at the door appeared. And at
his heels Dr. Ben, obviously puzzled by the make-up
and disposition of the company before him.
“ H'm!” he said. “What's up? What's this?"
“ Maxwell,” Marston explained, “has at last toed
the mark with an explanation."
“What explanation?”
“ His story of the murder!”
“Who did it?"
“He doesn't know his name."
“H'm!” An explosive snort.
“A great hugger-mugger,” Dr. Ben went on. “I
303


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
hustled over here because I heard Baumgarten had
been getting busy again. Has he?"
“ Mrs. Hamlin and myself are ordered to appear
to-morrow morning,” said Marston.
“H'm! We'll see. All kinds of excitement. On
the way I stopped to look at a foreign appearing
feller fished out of the river a couple of miles above
town. He fell in the river, I guess, or was pushed
in. Pretty badly mashed up. He can wait, but
I've got another case right here, Alfred.”
66 What!"
Carrington was visibly startled.
“ Yes, another one. As I pulled up to the steps
the second gardener, or maybe he's the third, -was
on his way to tell you a body has been found in the
woods near the edge of the lake. I told him to wait,
and I'd bear the glad tidings."
“Well?” said Carrington. “What shall we
do?”
“ View it at once. It's near sunset and here I am
-the medical examiner."
“ Do you want us?” Carrington inquired.
“We may as well all come. And two handy men
for lifting. Got 'em handy?”
“ Smith will go and,-yes, you, Maxwell. You
may as well come along."
“Very well, sir."
The little procession set out, headed by the
304


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
gardener who stepped with visible appreciation of
his momentary importance. Down by the long row
of syringas he led them, and sharp left through the
trees to a little clearing not far from the water's
edge. Marston recalled it was almost precisely his
route the night of the airplane descent.
Suddenly the gardener stopped, and stood aside,
pointing. By a big juniper and closely screened on
two sides a body lay. As yet little changed, it
showed what was left of a tall, thin, smooth-shaven
man; a dark man of foreign appearance. The nose
was large and sharp. What power had been in the
eyes one could not say; for death had dulled them.
Wide open, they were fixed on the dappled sky.
Advancing a few steps, Dr. Ben stood over the
body.
“ It's singular,” he said after a brief inspection.
“ This fellow looks enough like the one fished from
the river, this afternoon, to be his brother.”
Marston went closer to confirm his impression.
And only his recollection of a figure vanishing in
wild waters, with a single gesture, forbade belief
that his antagonist of the fight at the falls was be-
fore him. He stooped, and saw a ragged scar, per-
haps half an inch long, whitened under the left
eye.
Very close to the scar was a small hole ringed
with blackish blood.
305


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
“ Still thinking of those Indian serpents?” Car.
rington prodded.
“I had a reason."
6 Glad of it.”
The Doctor transferred his attention to the party
in general.
“ Does anyone,” he inquired, “know as much
about this man as the General knows about the
box?"
“I beg pardon, sir."
The butler who had stood in the rear, with Smith
constantly at his elbow, entered the conversation.
“What is it, Maxwell?" asked Carrington
testily.
" That is the man who killed Mrs. Cutshaw."
“ Could you swear it is the man you saw?” ashed
Marston.
“I feel sure, sir.”
“Well,” said Dr. Ben, “ therell be time to link
up evidence later. The thing now is to put this
body in some place until I can send for it. Sup-
pose we have it carried to the garage, Alfred?”
6 All right.”
“Here, Smith, and Maxwell, and you,”—-motion-
ing to the gardener. " Take hold-carefully now,
and bring it along."
The butler bent far over to take a grip under the
shoulders. As he did so something fell from an
307


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
the chair, and the rose-bushes?” Marston inter-
jected.
“From a handkerchief that was on Mrs. Cut-
shaw's bureau. I took it to stifle her if she
screamed again. And I had it in my hand after-
ward. I didn't realize pieces had been torn out
until I got back to my room. At first I was fright-
ened. Then I knew nobody would connect me with
them. I burned what was left of the handkerchief
before I went to bed.”
“ And afterward?"
The General was impatient with any interrup-
tion of the theme.
“ Why didn't you run away that night?"
“I thought it over," the butler said slowly. “I
was almost positive she was dead or would be be-
fore morning, and I felt sure nobody else in the
house knew what had happened. If I ran away,
they'd be sure to suspect me. If I stayed, it seemed
better than an even chance of keeping clear. And
I was right. But for that," pointing to the bill-
book in the General's hand, “ you wouldn't have
caught me."
“ Did you kill her with this?"
Dr. Ben suddenly presented the dagger. The
butler hesitated, and the little circle pressed closer
about him. He looked only at the Indian's body
before him.
311


THE BODY IN THE BLUE ROOM
ua,
6 Yes, sir," he said at length. Then he went on
with his story. He told it with a monotonous voice,
and a remoteness of manner. It was almost like
the revelation of one under hypnotic control.
“I meant to put the dagger in his coat. He was
dead, anyway, so there would be no harm in it.
But somehow I was afraid to take the knife out of
my pocket. Foolish, I see now. I had a better
chance without it."
“I suppose you killed him, too, Wilkins?” the
General interjected.
A flash of hatred in the butler's eyes. It was
gone in a second.
“No, I didn't kill him," he said quietly.
“But you robbed him.” The General held up
the incriminating bill-book.
“I knew he couldn't use that. And I might as
well have it as anybody else.”
“What did happen to him, Maxwell? ” Marston
asked.
“ You remember the night the airship came,
sir?"
“ Yes, and I found you behind a tree on my way
back from here. I'll ask you again what you
wouldn't answer then. What were you out for,
Maxwell?"
“I had promised to meet him," with a nod indi-
cating the dead man. “There was a plan to take
312


MAXWELL MEETS THE EMERGENCY
“ Did you handle it then?”
“No, sir.”
All the reserve of Maxwell's best butlering days
was in his reply.
“And the next one. When did you see that?”
Maxwell pointed to the Indian's body. With its
suggestion of immeasurable remoteness, it lay there
in the slowly fading light.
“He gave it to me.”
“ Gave it to you!"
“To substitute for the one I had seen in Mrs.
Cutshaw's dresser."
“ When was that?"
“ About a week before ”—Maxwell felt for the
palliating word—“ before she died.”
66 What else did he tell you?"
Maxwell hesitated, licking lips that seemed too
stiff for utterance.
“ To put the box he gave me in her dresser,” he
said at length, “and make sure it was covered
up.”
“ Was that all?"
“He told me not to open it. Just to put the key
he gave me down on the dresser."
“ Did you open it?"
“ No, sir.”
“ So you don't know what was in it?"
“ No, sir."
315