WIDENER LIBRARY
HX 5CH7 5
HOUSE
of CARDS
HANNAH GARTLAND


AL 1619,8.5
--- ---
-
--
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY

TERI
PURCHASED FROM THE
BOSTON LIBRARY SOCIETY
WITH INCOME FROM THE
AMEY RICHMOND SHELDON FUND
1941


*





THE HOUSE OF CARDS





THE HOUSE
OF CARDS
BY
HANNAH GARTLAND

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1922


. AL 1619,85
1.58
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
MAR 5 1941
COPYRIGHT 1922
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
The Quinn & Boden Company
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
RAHWAY
NEW JERSEY


TO
LEE THAYER
WITH ADMIRATION AND AFFECTION


-
-
-
-


CHAPTER
JFFEUR
ES
CONTENTS
PAGE
I THE TRAGEDY . . . . . . 1
II THE CHAUFFEUR TELLS TALES .
III THE INSPECTOR CONGRATULATES
HIMSELF . . . . . . . 28
IV JAMES Macoy, REPORTER . . . 36
V THE REPORTER BECOMES DETEC-
TIVE . . . . . . . .
VI FAILURE . . . . . . .
VII THE INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG 70
VIII PANIC IN High PLACES. . . . 81
IX EVEN AMONG THE MIGHTY . . 92
X DALRYMPLE HEDGES . . . . 100
XI A PUZZLE . . . . . . . 112
XII A CAB-DRIVER OBSERVES . . . 120
XIII ANOTHER CLUE . . . . . 130
XIV THE FLY EVADES THE WEB . . 144
XV BUT BECOMES ENTANGLED AT
LAST . . . . . . . . 157
XVI “THE HUNCH” ..... 169
XVII ON THE TRAIL . . . . . . 177
XVIII MRS. GRAYSON ENTERTAINS . . 186
XIX Macoy AS Host .....
196
vii


viii
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
.
PAGE
XX DALRYMPLE EXPLAINS
210
XXI THE LAVENDER SEAL . . . . 223
XXII An EYE-WITNESS . . . . . 235
XXIII A LULL IN THE CASE . . . . 245
XXIV Macoy Is DAZZLED . . . . 254
XXV A DISCOVERY . . . . . . 269
XXVI THE CONFESSION . . . . . 281
XXVII THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY LEARNS
SOMETHING . . . . . 293
XXVIII -AND REVEALS SOMETHING . . 305
XXIX THE END . . . . . .


THE HOUSE OF CARDS
doddering to their pensions and it's here the
likes of them ought to be.”
He was suddenly interrupted in these reflec-
tions. The door of one of the houses near the
middle of the block opened swiftly, and a woman
flung herself precipitately down the steps. She
paused an instant on the lower step, glanced
eastward toward Madison Avenue and then
turned her head in the direction from which he
was coming. Catching sight of the uniform, she
darted toward Dooley, while he quickened his
pace to meet her.
“Officer,” she panted, with a quick intake of
the breath, “there's been an accident!”.
She was a middle-aged woman, apparently of
the domestic service class. She was dressed in
a badly fitting serge suit and wore an unbecom-
ing hat.
Dooley forgot his ill-humor and became alert
and businesslike at once.
“What's the trouble?” he asked the woman,
eagerly.
She swallowed hard several times before she
managed to reply:
“Mr. Barwood-he's been shot.”.
“And who shot him?" rather ineptly inquired
the policeman, catching her by the arm.


THE TRAGEDY
“I don't know," she gasped. “I've only just
come, and I found him just like he is.”
She turned quickly and led the way with hur-
ried steps to the house from which she had just
emerged, Dooley, now thoroughly aroused, fol-
lowing close at her heels. They mounted the
steps and threw open the door which stood
slightly ajar. Indicating a door at the right of
the hall, she shrank back and allowed Dooley to
enter the room alone.
With eyes dazzled by the cheerful morning
sunlight, he did not, in the contrasting gloom
of the interior, at once perceive that the room
held an occupant. A faint, low, rough sound of
heavily drawn breath immediately caught his
attention, and Dooley swung swiftly to the left.
There, seated close beside the door, facing the
center of the room, was the figure of a man clad
in a rough tweed suit. He was leaning slightly
to one side, his stertorous breath making the
only break in the silence.
Dooley went to the window and pushed back
the heavy curtains. The unsparing morning
sun fell full upon the face. It caused no change
in the set, staring eyes. Never again would
those pupils contract to earthly light. That the
man was still breathing seemed a miracle, for


THE HOUSE OF CARDS
directly in the center of the forehead, just at
the edge of the graying hair, was an ugly, round,
dark crimson wound.
With a horrified ejaculation, Dooley turned
swiftly in search of the woman who had brought
him there. He found her clinging to the door-
jamb, her still, white face averted.
“Why haven't you called the family?” he
asked.
“There's no family to call,” she replied, in a
hushed voice. “He lives alone."
“It's the ambulance that's needed the first
thing anyway,” said Dooley, eyeing her curi-
ously. “Where's your telephone?”.
Without a word she conducted him along the
hall to the telephone which was just out of sight
in a turn of the hall.
Dooley took down the receiver and put in his
call, then with a sharp glance from narrowed
eyes, proceeded to question the woman at his
side.
“Where did you tell me you were when it hap-
pened?"
"I don't know when it happened,” she de-
clared. “I come here every morning from my
home on Second Avenue, and when I came this
morning, this is the way I found him," and she


THE TRAGEDY
5
ery
picked nervously at the folds of her coarse serge
dress.
“But you don't mean to tell me there's no one
at all in the house besides himself !” exclaimed
Dooley.
“There's nobody at all, I tell you. He
doesn't keep any servants in the house, and he
has no family.”
“How did you get in then, I'd like to know?”
queried the puzzled policeman. “Was the door
unlocked?”
“No, sir. It was locked as usual. I had my
own key, and I let myself in with it.” She was
trembling with nervousness, but manifestly en-
deavoring to control herself. Though she an-
swered all his questions promptly, Dooley felt
vaguely repelled by an equivocal something in
her attitude.
“Who else has keys?” Dooley queried.
“Nobody but myself and Mr. Barwood," she
asserted, firmly.
“He must have shot himself, then," muttered
Dooley. “I'll take a look around for the gun.”
With an uneasy feeling of reluctance, but
mindful of his imperative duty, Dooley softly
traversed the length of the hall and again found
himself in the awesome presence of the dying
18


THE HOUSE OF CARDS
man. There was something so disturbing in the
fact that the man still breathed that Dooley,
with difficulty, compelled himself to go near the
body. His examination of the floor was some-
what perfunctory, but it was sufficient to assure
him beyond question that there was no weapon
there.
“Well, anyhow, he didn't do it himself unless
somebody swiped the gun,” concluded Dooley.
He straightened slowly and glanced curiously
about him.
The apartment was rather smaller than one
would expect to find in a house of its apparent
size from the outside. It was furnishel ele-
gantly, but rather stiffly, after the manner of a
reception room used only for formal visitors.
The rug was a costly Persian whose prevailing
color was a faded rose. The chairs were of gilt
and pale blue satin damask. A console table
against the wall opposite the door supported on
its carved and gilded legs a polished top, which,
in its turn, held a fragile jardinière of old
Sèvres.
The walls were frescoed panels with garlands
of pink roses framing landscapes of shady green
trees and sparkling blue fountains, where
charmingly dressed ladies walked with gallant


THE TRAGEDY.
gentlemen in costumes of delicate shades of
satin and flowing sleeves of lace.
"It's up to date anyway,” soliloquized
Dooley. “It's just like the curtain at the new
movie theayter on Grand Street."
In grim contrast to these scenes of joyous,
pulsing life, the unconscious figure in the chair
sat under the black shadow of Death.
“This don't look right to me,” said Dooley.
“I'll call up the precinct.”
He again sought the telephone, and was just
replacing the receiver on the hook after deliver-
ing his message, when the sound of an ambu-
lance clanging noisily up to the curb, brought
him to the door. He admitted the young in-
terne, and together they entered the room of
the tragedy.
The labored breathing could not now be
heard, but the position of the body remained un-
changed. The eyes were still open and staring.
Around the mouth the muscles had relaxed giv-
ing the appearance of a mocking smile. The
doctor touched the stiffening wrist, and bent his
head to the breast for a moment. Rising, he
answered the question in Dooley's eyes by a
shake of the head.
“All over," he said. "How did it happen?"


0
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“That I can't tell you, sir. I found him sit-
ting here breathing hard when I was called in.
There's no one living here but himself, so I am
told by the woman who calls herself his house-
keeper, and she claims she was not here when
it happened. The door was locked, she claims,
when she got here. But the queer part of it is,
there's no gun about, so he couldn't have done it
himself,” Dooley explained.
“Looks like an interesting job for the police,"
commented the young doctor, indifferently.
"Tell me, Doctor,” said Dooley, moving away
from the uncanny eyes that seemed to follow
him, “is there any truth in the saying that you
can see the picture of the last person he looked
on in a dead man's eyes? Because if there is,
and you being a doctor might have the nerve to
look, you might find out who shot him.”
The doctor smiled indulgently and shook his
head.
“Mere superstition, officer. There's nothing
in it. I'll report the case to the coroner. This
is his job, now. Don't touch the body, or disturb
anything. But, of course I needn't tell you
that."
The perfunctory visit being over, Dooley


THE TRAGEDY
closed the door after his departing visitor, and
not wishing to return to the reception room, he
proceeded to familiarize himself with the rest
of the ground floor.
At the far end of the hall, a broad stairway
went half way up to the floor above, and turned
on a landing. Back of the reception room,
where the hall widened, a door led into a room
having more the appearance of a clubroom than
a drawing room in a private house. Huge
chairs and heavy club lounges were upholstered
in brown leather. Beside the chairs were smok-
ing stands. A feeble light penetrated the room
through two windows in the rear, heavily draped
in brown velour. The air was oppressive and
ominous. Dooley was glad to seek the hall
again, but there, too, the air seemed stifling, and
he opened the front door for relief.
“Hello, Dooley," a cheery voice called.
“Housebreaking so early in the morning?”
"Is that you, Mr. Macoy?” called back
Dooley, a note of relief in his voice, as he recog-
nized in the man before him, a very youthful
newspaper reporter. "It's a great nose for
news you have. It's a wonder to me you didn't
get here before it happened!"
see
0


10 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
wa
The reporter bounded up the steps, and os-
tentatiously whipped out a note book.
“Has something happened?” he asked ea-
gerly. “I'm in great luck this morning. Give
me the dope, Dooley, and I'll get it in the ten
o'clock edition." His young face was alight
with excitement.
“It's going too fast you are, Mr. Macoy. I'll
give you no news until the coroner comes, so put
up your note book. It's all alone in the house
with him I am-barrin' the housekeeper, as she
calls herself, and she gives me the creeps worse
nor two dead men.”
“Oh, it's a case for the coroner, is it?” ex-
claimed the reporter. “Let me come in, then,
Dooley, and hear what the coroner says. Be
a good fellow, do, and I'll put your name
all over the city before twelve o'clock,” he
pleaded.
“It's against regulations, but you can come
in and keep me company, if it gets me broke.
Who wants to stay alone in a house wid a sittin'
up corpse, and a woman that keeps you wid
your fingers crossed," and he stepped aside,
and allowed the reporter to enter.
A few minutes later an automobile bearing
the police headquarters shield, drew up to the


THE TRAGEDY
curb, and Dooley stepped down to meet it.
From it alighted Inspector Kane, a uniformed
policeman, and two plain clothes men.
“Well, Dooley, what is this you're after hav-
ing here? I thought you never had anything
happen on your beat!" said the big, alert, blue-
eyed Inspector as Dooley piloted them to the
door.
“Well, I got it comin' and goin' this time,
sir." Dooley replied ruefully. “A man shot
dead betune his own four walls, and nobody
widin' to shoot him, and nothing to shoot him
wid."
“What are you giving us Dooley? You're
talking like we had no Dry Laws” retorted the
Inspector.
“You can see for yourself, sir, and make out
of it what you can. Indeed, it's no fairy tale
I'm tellin' you," and he threw open the door of
the reception room and stood back to allow his
superior to enter first.
An oppressive silence reigned in the room
where the dead man sat with wide-open, staring
eyes. A pedestal clock chiming the half hour,
broke upon their ears with almost alarming
clamor. The Inspector instinctively lowered his
voice.


12
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“He was still living when you phoned me, you
said ?”
“He was, but he was dead before the doctor
got here," replied Dooley.
“I suppose the doctor will notify the coro-
ner?"
“He said he was going to send him imme-
diately,” responded Dooley.
“Well, now, begin at the beginning, and tell
me all about it,” said the Inspector, glancing
about the room, and taking in its contents in a
swift, comprehensive survey.
Dooley glanced apprehensively at the upright
body.
“You're right, Dooley,” agreed the Inspec-
tor, comprehending the other's meaning.
“We'll find pleasanter quarters," and he led
the way into the hall.
“There's no place you might call just exactly
pleasant,” said Dooley, “but there's a room
back here that hasn't got any corpses in it,
please God," and he led the way to the room
with the brown leather upholstery.
At sight of the room in such striking contrast
to the one they had just left, the Inspector ele-
vated his eyebrows.
“Doesn't look much like a family room, does


THE TRAGEDY
13
it? I've seen rooms like this before, but not in
private houses,” he soliloquized, his eyes not-
ing thoughtfully every detail of the room.
When he completed his inspection, he turned
to Dooley, and motioned to chairs as he seated
himself.
“Well, now, Dooley, let's hear all about it.”
“I had just come on duty,” began the patrol-
man, “and was grumbling because there is
never anything to be seen on this street until
the limousines come rolling up after the theayter
and the opera, when a woman came flying out
of the door of this house, looking first wan way
and then the other for an officer. When she laid
her eyes on my uniform she came toward me
with her eyes big and staring, and entirely out
of breath like she had been running hard,
though, sure, it was only a few steps she had
run. 'Officer,' she says, 'Mr. Barwood has been
shot.' 'And who shot him'? I says. Then she
tells me that she just came and unlocked the
door with her own key,—she's the cook or some-
thing—and she found him sitting there with a
bullet in his brain, and that's all I can get out
of her. It's queer acting she is, but whether
it's because of the fear that's on her, or some-
thing else, I can't rightly say,” he concluded.


14
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
"Where is this woman now?” inquired the
Inspector.
“I don't mind having seen her since the doc-
tor left, but she's not left the house, I made sure
of that. Shall I find her for you?”
“Yes, the sooner I question her, the better,”
said the Inspector briskly.
Dooley found the woman on the stair-landing
leading to the second floor. She had apparently
recovered from her fright, and she accompanied
Dooley with extreme self-possession. She re-
turned the Inspector's keen, appraising gaze
with level, expressionles: eyes.
“I'll work for all I get out of you, my lady,”
commented the Inspector to himself.
He seated himself again in the brown leather
chair from which he had risen, and allowed her
to remain standing. She met the brevity of his
questions with replies equally brief.
“You are the housekeeper here?” he began.
“Yes, sir,” she admitted in a tone just short
of aggressive.
“What is your name?"
“Mary Cox."
“Are there any other servants?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you live here?”


THE TRAGEDY
15
“No, sir, I live with my husband on Second
Ave, and come in by the day.”
“How long have you been housekeeper here?”
“Nearly five years.”
“And you have the entire care of this large
house?”
“Yes, sir, only Jerry, the furnace man.”
“Did you see Jerry this morning?”
“No, sir."
“What time did you get here?”
“I opened the door at just half past eight."
“How do you know it was just half past
eight?”
“The clock in the hall struck the half hour
just as I came in the door.”
“And when did you discover Mr. Barwood ?"
“Just as soon as I came in.”
“Did you give the alarm at once?”
“Yes, sir, just as fast as I could go."
“Do you have a key to this house?”
“Yes, sir."
“Was the door locked when you arrived this
morning?"
“Yes, sir."
“Who else has keys?"
“No one but Mr. Barwood. The house was
burglarized a couple of months ago, and the


16 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
locksmith came and put on new locks. There
were only two keys."
“Have you ever lost your key?"
"No, sir."
“Ever lent it?"
“No, sir."
"Where do you keep it when you're home?”
She shot a suspicious glance at her ques-
tioner.
“I wear it around my neck, for fear I may
forget it and have to go back for it, as I did once
or twice when I first came, or else ring Mr.
Barwood up, and he doesn't like that." To
corroborate her statement, she pulled the key
out of her bosom showing it suspended from a
stout leather cord.
“When did you last see Mr. Barwood?”
“He came in about five o'clock yesterday.”
“How did he appear? Troubled about any-
thing."
“No, sir, he appeared about as usual.”
How long were you in the house this morn-
ing before you called Officer Dooley?”
“Not a minute, sir, I hadn't taken off my
hat," and, indeed, she had not yet removed it.
"Did Mr. Barwood dine at home last eve-
ning?”
mom-


THE TRAGEDY
17
“No, sir, he seldom did.”
“Where did he dine?”
“I don't know, sir, he never told me where
he was going to dine."
“What time did you leave?”
“At my usual time, half past five. My work
was done and I locked up the house and went
home."
The Inspector jotted down a few notes in his
note book, and replaced it in his pocket.
“Mrs. Cox, I shall need you again. Don't
leave the house without permission from the
police.” He shot a significant look at one of
the detectives he had brought with him, who
followed the enigmatic Mrs. Cox from the room.


CHAPTER II
THE CHAUFFEUR TELLS TALES
66 DON'T care much about that woman,"
the Inspector remarked when Mrs. Cox
had passed out of the room, “whatever
she knows she's not going to give it to the police
till it's dragged out of her. Of that I'm certain.
But what have we here?”
He had stepped into the hall just in time to
see patrolman Dooley open the front door and
admit a young man in a chauffeur's uniform.
Through the open door he glimpsed a handsome
limousine drawn up at the curb.
Dooley looked at the Inspector for instruc-
tions. The chauffeur gazed about him in evi-
dent astonishment at the unexpected group in
the hall.
“Who are you, young man?" the Inspector
inquired abruptly.
“My name is Turner. I am Mr. Barwood's
chauffeur," he replied, his eyes roving about as
if in search of the meaning of this unusual as-
18


THE CHAUFFEUR
19
sembly. “He told me to bring the car around
at ten o'clock, and I'd like him to know I'm on
time.”
“When did Mr. Barwood give you orders to
bring the car around at this time?” the Inspec-
tor asked.
“Last night,” replied the chauffeur.
“Where was he when he gave the order?"
“Here at his house," said Turner.
“What time was that?”
The chauffeur's manner stiffened. "I don't
care to blab about Mr. Barwood's business while
I'm in his service," he answered with some dig-
nity.
“You are no longer in his service,” the In-
spector grimly remarked. “He is lying dead in
there with a bullet in his brain. Perhaps you
would like to see for yourself," and he motioned
with his hand to the door of the reception room.
The chauffeur hesitated about entering, and
the Inspector led the way. He watched Turner
with the closest scrutiny while he gazed upon
the lifeless body of his late employer. Turner's
manner indicated surprise and curiosity, but he
did not betray the slightest agitation.
“Now will you answer my question?” asked
the Inspector.


20
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Yes, sir, but not in here. Let's get out of
this,” he proposed.
The Inspector conducted him to the large
room farther down the hall where he had held
his interview with Mrs. Cox.
“Now are you ready, Turner?"
“What was your question, Officer?” Turner
asked.
“I asked you what time it was last night
when Mr. Barwood gave you the order to bring
the car here at ten o'clock.”
“It was about one o'clock,” Turner replied
promptly.
“Did you bring him home in his car at that
time?"
“I certainly did,” he affirmed.
“Do you usually work as late as that and re-
port again at ten o'clock in the morning?”
“I have no regular hours. Mr. Barwood
usually engages taxicabs at night unless hem”
he hesitated.
“Well, go on. Unless he—what?" urged
Kane.
"Well, taxi drivers sometimes talk, and
garages can keep tabs on a man,” Turner ex-
plained.
“You imply that Mr. Barwood didn't want


22
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Look like a woman's job?”
“Why do you ask that?”.
“Because I brought a woman here with him
last night."
The Inspector glowed with inward satisfac-
tion at the ease with which he was picking up
important clues. Indeed, it was almost too easy
to furnish him with any zest. He did not, how-
ever, betray his gratification. His tone was
almost casual as he said: “Indeed, and what
was she like?”
“She was a medium sized woman dressed all
in black. She had on a long straight cloak that
hung in folds around her, and she wore one of
those long floating veils that gets in your eyes
when a woman sits on the front seat with you
when you're driving."
“You have no idea who she was? Didn't Mr.
Barwood call her by name?”
Turner laughed amusedly. “Oh, yes, she had
a name. They all have. She was Miss John-
son,” he chuckled.
“What is there funny about that? Have you
ever seen Miss Johnson before?"
“Oh, yes, lots of times,” he replied mean-
ingly. Sometimes she was short and plump,
and sometimes tall and slim. Sometimes she


THE CHAUFFEUR
23
had black hair and again it was yellow, and oc-
casionally it was red. You see he called them
all Miss Johnson. You'd be surprised to know
the real names of some of these people. It was
no cheap joint, I'll tell the world.”
“Do you know their real names?”
“Not on your life! I was paid good money
not to know them,” Turner asserted emphat-
ically.
“I see, I see," mused the Inspector, “then
this one didn't remind you of any one you had
ever seen before?”.
“Oh, I didn't say she didn't remind me of
any one,” he corrected. “She did.”
“Who did she remind you of?”.
“It was a woman I used to see around with
Mr. Barwood at various places—Long Branch
and Seabright and other nearby places, outside
of New York.".
“What makes you think it was the same
woman?”
“Well, I used to drive them around together
a good deal. Her husband and Mr. Barwood
were pretty good friends at one time. He
wasn't exactly in Mr. Barwood's class. He was
only a curb broker, but he was a crackerjack at
choosing the right time to sell short. I've heard


24 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
'em talk. He made a pot of money last winter
in a promotion scheme, too, and if you ask me,
I think Barwood got a good haul out of it, him-
self, although his name didn't appear in the
deal.”
“If you know all about these people, Turner,
you must know their names,” declared the In-
spector.
“Of course I know their names,” admitted
Turner.
"Well, then, come across with it, man, and
don't hold it up any longer," said the Inspector.
Turner began to grow cautious. “Of course
I don't care much about going on a witness
stand and giving away all my employer's
secrets. It wouldn't help me much on my next
job, but that's all I care about it. But look
here! I couldn't swear that the woman I drove
here last night was the same woman.”
“No, of course you couldn't be expected to
see distinctly in that light, but who did she re-
mind you of?” The Inspector's voice was per-
suasive in the extreme, as he felt Turner waver-
ing.
“She made me think of Mrs. Jack Dalrymple
and I'm dead sure that's who it was, but I don't


THE CHAUFFEUR 25
want to run into any trouble swearing to it,”
he protested.
“Have you any idea where these people are
now?"
“No, I haven't heard anything about them
since we left Bar Harbor a month or more ago.
They were down there then.”
"Where did you go to get Mr. Barwood last
night?”
“He was on 40th St., near 7th Avenue.”
“Have you any idea where he came from to
the car, whether it was a theater, or club, or a
private house?”
“Not the sneakingest notion, but it probably
wasn't from any place in that neighborhood.
He wasn't any angel I reckon, but he was a good
scout about covering up the ladies' tracks,” he
affirmed loyally.
“What time was it when he telephoned you?”
“It was before one o'clock. I waited some
time at the corner where he told me to be.”
The Inspector made a sign to the detective
who had been standing partially hidden by the
folds of the window draperies, and they both
stepped into the hall.
“Blake," said the Inspector, "find out where


THE CHAUFFEUR
the coroner's office. The Inspector wisheu
be present at the examination of the body. B
fore leaving the room, he turned back to Turner
and spoke significantly:
“Well, Turner,” he said, “you will probably
be wanted again; for, so far as I can see, you
were the last person to see Mr. Barwood alive.”
“Except for the woman in black, Inspector,"
corrected Turner.


THE INSPECTOR
29
v
.
struggling for expression, but he could not, at
the present moment, bring it to the surface. It
seemed, however, not contradictory to his im-
pression that a woman should accompany Bar-
wood to his house late at night, and that morn-
ing should find an avenging bullet in his brain.
A good detective does not jump to conclu-
sions, however. He was willing to appear to
consider the theory of suicide, in spite of the
absence of the weapon, and to this end he ques-
tioned the Coroner.
“What do you think, Coroner, about Mr. Bar-
wood shooting himself? The gun isn't here, of
course, but it isn't beyond the bounds of possi-
bility that some one may have come in after
the shot was fired, and carried it off.”
"Judging from the nature of the wound, I
don't think he could possibly have done it him-
self,” the Coroner declared with conviction.
“See the direction the shot took-downward.
A man would have to hold the gun in an almost
impossible position to shoot that bullet. No
man would have risked missing the mark by
holding it in that position.” The Coroner illus-
trated the position. “There would be only one
chance in a hundred that he would hit a vital
spot."


30 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Then you think he was sitting in the chair
and some one stood over him?".
“Precisely, like this,” and he illustrated
again.
“Do you think the person who shot him stood
as close to him as that?” Kane asked doubt-
fully.
“He must have stood close to him, and over
him, to give the bullet that downward trend,”
the Coroner asserted positively. “A man would
have to be eight feet tall if he fired from this
spot,” the Coroner indicated the spot, “or ten
feet high from this position," and he moved
farther away from the body.
“You must be right,” Kane admitted, “but
there doesn't seem to have been any struggle.
Do you think a visitor took him by surprise ?”
“Undoubtedly, but to find out who and why
is up to the police. If the jury should render
an open verdict, I shall watch with a good deal
of interest for your results.”
“I think that I can promise you that you
won't have to wait long, Coroner, a week at
latest," the Inspector confidently assured him.
“Good luck to you, Inspector,” the Coroner
replied with a suspicion of a smile.
"Thank you, sir." Kane ignored the sugges-


THE INSPECTOR
31
tion in the smile. "There's one thing more I'd
like to ask you. He was alive when the house-
keeper came in at eight thirty-and couldn't
have lived more than fifteen minutes after that.
Could you make a guess from that about the ap-
proximate time he was shot?”
“With such a wound he would immediately
become unconscious. The shot must have been
fired not more than ten or fifteen minutes be-
fore her arrival, if she came the time she says
she did. A half hour is the extreme limit I
would give a man to live with that kind of a
wound.”
“Hm, hm," said Kane thoughtfully, “half an
hour. Speaking of that housekeeper, I'd like
to have you take a look at her, Coroner. Dooley,
call her in."
Mrs. Cox came in again, and Kane questioned
her in the presence of the Coroner, but nothing
could shake her story as she had previously told
it. She repeated it for the third time with such
exact similarity that Dooley was moved to re-
mark, sotto voce, “Sounds like a record on the
phonygraft.”
"Do you mean to tell me," the Inspector in-
credulously inquired of no one in particular,
“that any one could anywhere in New York


32 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
City, enter a house, shoot a man, and leave again
by the front door in broad daylight, and nobody
see him? Wasn't there a milkman, a delivery
boy, or a janitor anywhere on this block?”.
“There was an old colored man cleaning the
steps of a house a couple of doors away when I
got here," answered Dooley.
"Why didn't you detain him? He's the very
man we want,” the Inspector impatiently de-
manded.
“I did so," said Dooley, “but he is that
scared, I misdoubt me if you can get very much
out of him. He thinks we are accusing him of
the crime.”
"Bring him in and we will see what he has
to offer," Kane ordered.
Dooley disappeared, and presently a commo-
tion was heard in the hall. “Fo'Gawd, I's in-
nocent, Mr. Policeman. Don't take me in
there," a voice wailed. “Turn me loose, man,
turn me loose.”
“Come on wid ye,” Dooley's voice broke in,
“Sure no harrum is coming to ye. Come on,
now,” he urged.
Kane and the Coroner, the latter's work be-
ing finished for the time being, followed the
sounds of the controversy into the hall, where


THE INSPECTOR
33
they saw Dooley, holding firmly in his grasp a
struggling and wild-eyed old darkey.
“Here's Jerry, the furnace man, Inspector,"
Dooley explained rather superfluously.
Jerry was a pathetic object of fear. His eyes
were rolling in their sockets, and his old gray
woolly cap shook in his trembling hands.
“Now, Jerry, don't be scared,” began the
Inspector soothingly, “we haven't anything on
you. We just want to find out who came into
Mr. Barwood's house this morning, or who
went out of it. You know Mr. Barwood's house,
don't you?”
“Yas, sah, I knows it,” admitted the fright-
ened darkey.
“Did you clean the steps this morning?” the
Inspector continued persuasively.
“Yas, sah, I done clean the steps," he
pleaded, “but I didn't do no hahm. I b’longs
to de Rise and Shine Baptis' church, an’I's in
good an' reglar standin'.”
“Why, of course, you are, Jerry, we all know
that,” Kane assured him, “but you could see if
anybody went in or out of this house this morn-
ing, couldn't you? How long had you been here
when Mrs. Cox came?”
“How come I know how long I bin? I doesn't


34 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
carry no watch.” He twirled the cap round and
round in his hands.
“Did you see Mrs. Cox when she came?” the
Inspector went on.
“Yas, sah, I sees Mrs. Cox when she done
come,” he admitted.
"Did you see this officer go in with Mrs.
Cox?” indicating Dooley. At sight of the uni-
form his fears returned.
“Yas, sah, I reckon I did,” he fairly wailed,
which brought a laugh at Dooley's expense.
“Just one more question, Jerry," the Inspec-
tor urged, “and then I'll let you go home and I
won't bother you any more. Now, think hard.
Did you see anybody go in or out of this house
this morning while you were cleaning the
steps?”
“No, sah,” Jerry emphatically asserted, gain-
ing confidence from the laughter and the prom-
ise to let him go, “nobody come out o' disaway
house de whole endurin' time I was heah. I
never 'lows nobody to step on my clean steps
while I's washin' 'em. No, sah, if angel Gabel
come to me and says, “Jerry, I's gwine step
plumb on you-all's clean steps,' I'd say, 'Scusen
me, angel Gabel, but isn't you-all got nice shiny
stahs o' your own to step your golden slippers


CHAPTER IV
JAMES MACOY, REPORTER
TAMES MACOY, the young newspaper re-
porter, who had slipped so unobtrusively
into the Barwood house on the morning of
the murder, was really possessed of practical
common sense; but this quality was so often ob-
scured by an overworked and very youthful
imagination that it was often difficult to assort
the two for any practical use. He was young-
let us pardon him for that—and only just
emerging from the stage where he himself, as
the captor of Raffles, was his favorite hero. It
was not so long ago that he had pursued that
famous criminal into ladies' boudoirs, gentle-
men's strongly guarded treasure vaults, over
house tops, hanging breathlessly suspended at
dizzying heights between tall buildings, puffing
fascinating rings of smoke from his favorite
Sullivan into the face of the Chief of Police,
swimming impossible distances, “and getting
away with it every time."
36


JAMES MACOY, REPORTER 37
“He couldn't get away from me,” he used to
think. Many a time had he laid his hand on
that cock-sure gentleman at the exact moment
when he had eluded the keenest of picked de-
tectives. At sight of his captor, Raffles would
make a courtly bow and say, “The game is up.
I have known for months that my doom was
sealed. You are the only man I ever feared.
Be kind to Bunny.” And then would ensue the
fascinating pursuit of Bunny. Sometimes they
were captured together. At other times he
would trail him through interminable laby-
rinths, which always led ultimately to Bunny's
arrest. And Bunny would weep and say, “Had
I but served my God with half the zeal I served
Raffles—" Macoy couldn't remember the rest
of the quotation; but meant to look it up in
Poole's Index, or Who's Who, or somewhere if
he ever wanted to use it for his newspaper.
With this so very recent background, it is not
strange that his ambition placed detective work
as his highest goal. In all detective stories he
had read, the road to this exalted position lay
through newspaper reporting; and thus he
sought a job and found it as a space writer for
the Rising Star.
He still had day dreams which occasionally


38 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
interfered with the strict facts in his reports,
but they were taking on a little more substantial
form. Just at this time, the detective frater-
nity welcomed with great enthusiasm the theft
of the Peruso diamonds which were stolen from
a Long Island country house at the opportune
moment when New York hadn't a real sensa-
tion on hand. Macoy had taken the initial steps
to the recovery of the diamonds, the capture of
the thief, and an immense reward, when chance
led him to the neighborhood of Fifty
Street on the morning of the Barwood murder.
Taking instant advantage of the opportunity
gained through his chance acquaintance with
Dooley, he lost no time in beginning an inspec-
tion of the house. Dooley indicated to him the
room where the body lay, but had no mind to
accompany him. Macoy, left alone, began to
employ traditional detective methods. He paid
little attention to the body, but began a search
for clues. The room with its stilted, gorgeous
furnishings afforded few hiding places. There
was no sign of disorder. The windows were
closed and fastened. No one was in hiding be-
hind the satin curtains. The young reporter
began to feel aggrieved over this trick of fate,
and was about to leave the room when his eye


JAMES MACOY, REPORTER 39
caught a glint of light at the edge of the rug.
He stooped and picked up a small, iridescent
glass bead.
“Not much,” he muttered, “but who knows
what it may lead to?”.
He placed it carefully in a compartment of
his bill book, and returned the book to his
pocket. He went carefully over the room again,
but failing to find anything further, he re-
turned to the hall. There he glanced at the tele-
phone in the angle, and passed on to the room
beyond with the brown leather furniture. Find-
ing nothing in the nature of clues here, he
passed on beyond the stairs where he discov-
ered a small room elegantly fitted up as a ladies'
dressing room. The toilet articles on the Em-
pire dressing table were of gold, ivory, and
crystal. The doors were fitted with full length
mirrors. An Aubusson carpet of dull rose
blended with hangings of uncut velvet of the
same color.
“Good night! Looks like a hangout for
classy dames, all righty right!” ejaculated the
amateur detective. He searched carefully
through this room, but found nothing to add to
his single clue. Being satisfied that his search
had been thorough, he was about to leave the


40
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
room and ascend the stairs, when a noise at the
front door attracted his attention. It was the
moment of the Inspector's entrance on the scene.
Fearing that his presence would be questioned
and its discovery be followed by his instant
dismissal, Macoy stepped back and concealed
himself behind the heavy drapery which hung
at the door of the dressing room.
Luckily for him, this door was in such close
proximity to the lounging room in which the
Inspector conducted his examinations, that he
could hear practically everything which trans-
pired.
After Mrs. Cox's dismissal, fearing from the
sounds within the room that his position was
becoming untenable, he slipped unobserved up
the stairway, his detective instinct not yet ap-
peased.
On the first landing he paused an instant and
glanced down on the hall below, then continued
on his way to the upper landing. This brought
him to a large square hall from which only one
door opened. It was closed, and he stood before
it in some hesitation, for he was not yet inured
to penetrating the privacy of strangers' bed
rooms and boudoirs. He had to remind himself
that he was on detective duty before he could


JAMES MACOY, REPORTER 41
summon the courage to turn the brass knob,
and boldly push himself in. When he did so,
he found himself in the most extraordinary
apartment he had ever seen.
It was a very large room, evidently occupying
the whole second floor of the house. The light
was obscured by heavy velvet curtains which
fell in thick, golden folds before the windows.
His footsteps fell soundlessly on the long pile
of a velvet carpet as he moved to the windows
to let in light. Pushing back the heavy folds, he
found the windows covered with ornamental
iron grill work, elaborately wrought, but very
strong, as he found when he tested them. “Gee!
this would be no paradise to a second story
man,” he murmured, and turned about to view
the room by the entering light.
Suspended from the ceiling hung a huge crys-
tal chandelier, its dangling prisms reflecting
brilliant colors where the rays of sunlight
touched them. Numerous crystal sconces were
placed on the pilasters of the wall paneled in the
French manner in gold brocade. Many square
tables occupied the room, upon which were
placed packs of cards and bridge scores. From
the rug near one of these tables Macoy picked
up a tortoise-shell hairpin. Occasional smok-


42 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
ing stands were in evidence. At the farther end
of the room stood a long table which had no
apparent use, its polished top quite bare and
empty. At the end of the table, a door stood
partly open. Macoy crossed the room, pushed
it wide open, and looked about him. The use
of the long table was now quite apparent. A
green cloth with all the other accessories of a
complete faro layout was revealed. A roulette
wheel, shelves piled with packs of cards, boxes
of dice, and neatly arranged poker chips met
his eye. A closed safe, set in a space evidently
meant to be concealed by a panel, stood exposed
to view, the panel not drawn before it.
"Looks as though somebody got away from
that safe in a hurry," he commented, and tried
the door only to find it securely locked.
On leaving the room, he attempted to place
the door by which he had entered ajar precisely
as he had found it. In adjusting it, he discov-
ered that the door was one of the brocade panels
with which the entire room was fitted, and when
closed made a continuous wall without apparent
break.
“Some joint this, I'll tell the world!” he ex-
claimed in surprised admiration of the scheme.
He was just about to leave the room when


44
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
by an auburn haired vamp. Note the color of
the pin-not auburn, you observe. Careless,
or she would have screwed her hairpins to her
head. The last woman to leave the room, or
some other woman would have pinched the jool.
Lucky at cards, too, or she would have cut and
run when her money gave out. She had a past,
or she wouldn't have been present. She-"
“Oh, cut it out, Harding, cut it out. Can't
you see you are giving the sleuth all your
points?” interrupted Flynn.
"By the heathen gods, Kid, if you put my
stuff in your paper, I'll skin you alive,” threat-
ened Harding; and the two men after another
laugh at Macoy's expense began a serious
search of the room entirely ignoring the youth-
ful reporter, Harding, however, retaining the
hairpin and nonchalantly placing it in his own
pocket.
Macoy's face flushed, and he then and there
made a vow that come what would, he would
not give the police the benefit of any more clues
he might find.
Still smarting under the ridicule, he de-
scended the stairs and again entered the recep-
tion room. Other reporters had arrived during
his absence and, drawn a little apart at some


JAMES MACOY, REPORTER 45
distance from the body, were discussing the af-
fair with an entire lack of formality, the ab-
sence of any family evidently rendering delicate
reserve unnecessary.
The body had not been removed. The in-
scrutable smile of the dead man guarded his
secret. His arm farthest from the door hung
straight down from the body. The hand was
clenched, as Macoy had previously observed
when he had stooped down to look for the re-
volver. But his eyes now discerned what he
had failed to see before. Closed in under the
tight fingers was a tiny bit of paper. Glanc-
ing swiftly about to make sure that he was un-
observed he gently loosened the fingers, and
drew forth a piece of mottled, gray green paper,
obviously the corner of a bank check.
Presently the voices of Flynn and Harding
were heard descending the stairs. Macoy
waited until they were well within the room,
and without undue haste made his way into the
hall.
He was just in time to see a shadowy figure
disappear on the upper landing. He followed
softly, but by the time he reached the landing
there was no one in sight. He secreted himself
in a linen closet and waited. Presently he saw
aw


46 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
Mrs. Cox come rapidly and stealthily down from
the third floor concealing something in the folds
of her dress and pass through a door in the rear
of the hall. Allowing a little time to elapse, he
followed until she reached the basement. He
could not follow further, but secreted himself
again until she returned, now with her hands
free.
He was elated with his good fortune, and lost
no time in beginning a search for the object she
had left. At the end of half an hour, he emerged,
hot and triumphant, and tried not to appear con-
scious of a slight bulge in his pocket. Fearing
that he might again be intercepted he hurriedly
left the house, and turned toward the Avenue.
He walked for some time, turning over in his
mind the experiences of the morning, when sud-
denly it occurred to him that he had a problem
on his hands. He began to question the im-
portance of the clues he had. He hesitated to
give them to his paper after the rebuff he had
received in his last essay in detective work. He
was “sore” at the police, and he began to won-
der if he had any right to take anything away
from the house. He began to feel creepy, and
to fear that instead of his figuring in the rôle
of detective, he might occupy the ignominious
JI-


JAMES MACOY, REPORTER 47
position of prisoner at the bar. He grew more
and more disturbed after he attended the in-
quest in the afternoon. Chance, however, solved
his problem for him. On the street, he almost
fell over a newsboy shouting, “Hustry, Mister,
all about the Barwood murder, huxtry!" He
purchased a paper and read the headlines:
“The District Attorney will make an inde-
pendent investigation of the Barwood mys-
tery.” “Gee! that's what I'll do,” he decided,
“I'll go to the District Attorney."


50 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
she suppressed something she was on the verge
of saying
“I never should have gone to Albany on that
Larkin affair,” he continued. “It took twice
as long as I expected, and Beardsley could have
got every bit of that evidence as well as I.
Sidney begged me not to go. She had set her
heart on my going with her down to Longport
with the Garrett Lamberts. But where would
my business be, Nathalie, if I kept up with Sid-
ney's social activities?”
• “You have just admitted that you could have
gone to Longport with her just as well as not,”
Mrs. Grayson reminded him. “She is young
and loves a good time. Everybody invites her,
and there are so many times she can't go with-
out you without violating the proprieties. Ard
she is very, very beautiful, Stephen. Don't you
think there is some danger in neglecting a young
and beautiful wife who is as fond of the social
whirl as Sidney is?” she cautioned. .
“Neglect her! I adore her. It is more for
her sake than my own that I want to get on.
Where will her pretty clothes and her good
times come from if I don't stick to business?”
he protested warmly.
“But you do attend to details that you could


THE REPORTER
51
just as well delegate,' she insisted. “You sim-
ply exhausted yourself on that Larkin case, and
then had a heart attack that nearly finished you.
This Albany business has left you a perfect
wreck. You are looking ghastly this morning.
Why don't you take Sidney and run away for
a few days, and let the police look after the Bar-
wood case? You will be all the more fit for it
when you come back.”
“I have no choice in the matter, Nathalie, I
must look after this case myself. I shall need
all my batteries in action too,” he added, the
lines tightening about his mouth.
“It does promise to be an interesting case,”
she conceded reluctantly, “but all you men are
like a pack of hounds. Once you get the scent,
you are fierce for the chase, and nothing can
hold you back. I don't think I like District
Attorneys,” she concluded slowly.
A faint smile lighted his fatigued face.
“Would that all my enemies were as frank and
fair,” he said.
He regarded her for a long moment as if
weighing her in the balance; then with a
changed manner he began to clear his desk for
action. He swept the newspapers aside, and
gave his attention to the pile of letters before


52 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
him which Mrs. Grayson had already opened
and annotated. He glanced through them and
dispatched them with an efficiency born of cus-
tom. Some were dwelt upon and a few cabalis-
tic notes made upon their margins. Others
were passed by with a mere check of a blue
pencil. When all were finished, he gave Mrs.
Grayson some verbal directions concerning
them, and then asked abruptly:“Who has been
here this morning?”
“A good many people have been here, but
most of them have gone. Mr. Lambert was in
and said he would come back at two o'clock.
Here is a list of the others.” She placed a
paper before him.
He glanced swiftly down the list, and then
asked abruptly: “Who is this 'Mr. James
Macoy, Reporter'? What does he want with
me?"
“I don't know," she replied with a smile, “he
is a funny looking chap and most persistent in
his determination to see you. He says that no-
body else will do. He must see you personally.”
“Send him in, then. I'll relieve his over-
strained mind at once,” said Wallace.
“But, Stephen,” Mrs. Grayson objected,
“Judge Howard is here, and is in a hurry."


THE REPORTER
53
“Never mind. If Macoy came first, I will see
him first. Let the lion wait,” Wallace replied
decidedly.
Mrs. Grayson made no attempt to conceal her
surprise and disapproval, as she gathered up
the letters and left the office.
Mr. Wallace scrutinized curiously the young
man who now presented himself, and what he
saw was not reassuring. If the fairies had been
present at his birth, they had surely been sparse
with their gifts to Mr. James Macoy. Stand-
ing less than five feet four on a pair of feet
whose toes slightly turned in, arms a bit long
for his curtailed body, hair of the Traddles
type, with very bushy eyebrows to match the
hair, he was, at first sight, far from prepossess-
ing. He had fine eyes, however, and his manner
of addressing the District Attorney was more
free from embarrassment than one would expect
from his personal appearance.
“My name is James Macoy," he began with-
out any greetings. “I have been a space writer
on the Rising Star for a few months now, and
I have learned something in that time of the
methods of crooks. I have nosed around after
news, and got it, too, when other fellows have
failed. I am so young, and so darned queer


54 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
looking that nobody takes me seriously. Now,
Mr. Wallace, won't you take me on this Bar-
wood case? I can ferret out things. I know
some things already the police don't know."
He waited anxiously for the other's verdict.
“What things do you know that you haven't
told the police?” sharply inquired the District
Attorney.
Macoy stared fixedly a moment over the head
of his interlocutor at a picture of Abraham Lin.
coln hanging on the wall beyond. Then he
brought his gaze to bear directly on the other's
face.
“Are you employing me, Mr. Wallace? If so,
I'm your man."
"Have you told anybody what you are with-
holding from me?" parried Mr. Wallace.
“No, sir, not a blamed soul,” said Macoy
heartily.
Wallace considered a moment. “I will put
you on this case, Mr. Macoy, on one condition."
“Name it,” urged Macoy eagerly.
“The condition is, that every bit of evidence
you get, no matter how apparently trivial it
seems to you, you bring it directly to me—and
to me only. And before you give anything to
your paper for publication, you will show it


THE REPORTER
55
to me--and that you don't talk about these con-
ditions,” he added meaningly.
"I agree to that, Mr. Wallace. I'll work like
the devil for you. I look so damn stupid nobody
is afraid of me, and I can nose around a good
bit without arousing suspicion." He was beam-
ing with satisfaction.
“Very well, then,” said Wallace,"sit down
and tell me what you know."
"It is this way,” he began, seating himself
in the proffered chair, “I happened around to
the Barwood house yesterday morning after
the murder, and I snooped around quite a bit.
The whole of the second floor was thrown into
one large room, and it was full of card tables
where the swells had been going to learn bridge.
It all looked very innocent, but do you know,
the sly old guy had a whole gambling outfit
there-cards, dice, chips, a roulette wheel, and
a faro layout? Just press a button, and biff!
along slides a panel in the wall, and there's
the whole business, neat and tidy. Nice, re-
spectable people happen along, and back slides
the panel. Nothing doing! Regular Sunday
school room. Nice old ladies learned to play
bridge in the morning, and Mr. Barwood was
as dignified as a grandfather. Swell young


THE REPORTER
57
classes of people there? Did they find a list
of names, or any clue to the identity of these
people?"
“Not a scrap. Not a name on anything in
the whole blooming house," replied Macoy
cheerfully.
“And the housekeeper? Didn't she know any
of them?” pursued the District Attorney.
“No, they put her through her paces, but she
didn't know a thing. Now I'm going to tell you
about her, too. I was there yesterday with both
feet and then some as quick as the police got on
the job. I was there when they were looking
for the weapon, and examining the doors and
windows; and I was most particularly there
when they forgot to keep an eye on the house-
keeper."
“Well—what then?” prompted the District
Attorney.
“Well, I didn't like the actions of that
woman,” continued Macoy. “She didn't tell all
she knew, not by a gun shot. She said she came
in at eight-thirty, but who saw her come in?
I was at the inquest, and that medical expert
said the shot hadn't been fired more than ten or
fifteen minutes before she called the police.
Why didn't somebody see her? Because she


58
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
didn't go in at that time, that's why.” The
searching eyes of Wallace were riveted on the
other's face.
“You have found a witness who did see her
enter before eight-thirty?”.
“No, but I'm going to. You can't tell me that
anybody can walk into a house and shoot a man,
and walk out again just as if he was going for
a hair cut, and nobody see him. No, sir, the per-
son who did that shooting was in the house long
before that, and he never left the house."
Macoy pronounced these words with an air
of supreme conviction and paused to observe
their effect. He was a little disappointed in the
lack of enthusiasm the District Attorney dis-
played over this ingenious deduction.
“That is a plausible theory, Macoy, but not
very original; and without some proof, your
deduction isn't worth much."
“Excuse me, sir, but you haven't heard the
whole story yet. The Inspector winked to a
plain clothes dick to keep an eye on her, but he
seemed to think that keeping her from leaving
the house was all that was necessary. Dooley
was in the front hall, and a man outside, and
she couldn't get away; so the blooming dick let
her out of his sight, and spent his time guying
V


THE REPORTER
59
me, and taking away from me the clue I had
found. When he and his running mate had
chased me out of the card room, I caught sight
of Mrs. Cox's skirts disappearing on the land-
ing of the stairway leading to the third floor. I
waited a minute and slipped up after her, and
hid in a linen closet that opened out of the hall.
I left the door open a crack. Pretty soon she
came out and looked over the railing and lis-
tened. Then she went cautiously down the
stairs, and I knew she was up to mischief. I
followed her and had a regular Hide and Seek
game clear to the basement. I know she went
there to hide something. I waited in a dark
corner for her to come out, and when she was
quite gone, I jumped out and got on to my job.”
Macoy dearly loved a dramatic situation. His
eyes kindled as he warmed to his subject. “It
wasn't a very large object she was carrying. I
thought I knew what it was all right, "She'll
likely hide it in the coal,' I said to myself; but
the coal didn't seem to be disturbed. Then I
took a look in the furnace; all cleaned out for
the summer and nothing there. I meant to find
that revolver if it took a leg. So I began to look
over, and under, and around every blamed thing
in the basement. Finally I reached away down


60
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
behind a laundry tub and my hand struck some-
thing. I pulled it up and here's what I found.”
From his inner pocket he withdrew a brown
paper parcel. He began to untie the string
with the deliberation he judged due to the occa-
sion, then he opened the paper and laid before
the District Attorney a long, flame colored chif-
fon scarf, the ends embroidered in threads of
heavy black silk, and the rich pattern outlined
with fine gold sequins.
He produced an effect that exceeded his ex-
pectations. The District Attorney had listened
with flattering attention to his recital; and
Macoy fancied that his hands trembled slightly
as he seized the scarf and eagerly began a
minute examination of it.
“Gee, but he's anxious to make the first
scoop,” thought Macoy. "There's some pep
in him; not much like that codfish, Griswold.
Lawyers and editors are sure different.”
Wallace laid the scarf on the desk before him
and regarded it for a long time without speak-
ing. “I suppose,” he said, finally, speaking
half to himself, “we ought to turn this over to
the police. If it throws any light on the crime,
we must undoubtedly do so; but if it merely
means the exposure of some foolish, infatuated
mi


THE REPORTER
woman that cold-blooded villain got into his
power, what's the use, Macoy? What's the
use?”
“Yours truly won't give it to the police for
two reasons. The first is they'd pinch me for
taking it from the house; and the second is that
while I'm on this trail, I want them to think I'm
the same damn fool they've always thought
me.”
“Well, then, we'll make this Exhibit A in our
private collection,” said Wallace, gravely, “and
keep it until it is actually needed to serve the
ends of justice.”


CHAPTER VI
FAILURE
IN spite of the District Attorney's lukewarm-
ness towards Macoy's theory, the latter
I held persistently to the belief that Mrs. Cox
knew something about the murder, if she were
not actually guilty herself. He assumed that
the scarf belonged to some one that she knew;
that that person was in the house when she ar-
rived and surprised them; and that she had al-
lowed the woman to go, and then shot Barwood
with his own gun. True, she had testified that
he never had a gun in the house; and none of
his acquaintances who had been questioned by
the police had ever known of his owning one.
But, he argued, he was shot, and in that house,
and with some sort of a gun—there was no con-
troverting that. Furthermore, Mrs. Cox was
there and ten minutes after the shot was fired
she was the only one there. “Why, it ought to
be a cinch to construct the happenings of ten
62


FAILURE
63
minutes," he thought. “Just find the gun,
trace up the owner, and there you are.”
He regretted that he had not made a more
thorough search of the coal bin. When he re-
turned to do so, detectives had been there and
sifted the coal, sounded panels, and searched
every hidden nook but had found no weapon.
Thoroughly discomfited, he reluctantly aban-
doned his carefully built-up theory. Mrs. Cox
could not possibly have spirited the revolver
away under the eyes of the police, he knew.
He was moodily walking away from the house
when farther along the street he caught sight
of the old colored man whom he had heard
questioned on the morning of the murder; and
who had denied seeing anybody enter or leave
the house before Mrs. Cox arrived. He was
sweeping the steps of a house the exact counter-
part of Barwood's..
“Hello!” Macoy saluted, “aren't you the man
that takes care of the Barwood house?” The
old man continued to sweep vigorously.
“Hello! I say,” repeated Macoy, speaking
in a louder tone, “Don't you take care of the
Barwood house?”.
“No, sah, I doesn't,” he declared, moving
away with his broom.


64 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Who does do it?" Macoy persisted, follow-
ing the retreating darkey.
“Dey isn't no Barwood house, not as I knows
on.” He jabbed a refractory piece of paper
with his broom, and intimated by his manner
that the interview was over.
“Hm, I see,” said Macoy, determined to
make the old man talk. “Now would you be so
kind and accommodating as to tell me who did
take care of it when there was one?”
"How come I know who-all took care of it?
I's no inf'mation buah,” sullenly replied the
darkey, without looking up from his work.
Macoy couldn't determine whether his reti-
cence came from natural disinclination to talk,
in which case he was a racial anomaly, or
whether he had been questioned until he was
tired of it, or whether he knew something he
didn't want to reveal. The detective in Macoy
chose to entertain the latter assumption, but all
attempts to ingratiate himself with Jerry failed.
The case didn't seem to be “getting any fur-
therer," as Macoy heard a girl in the subway
regretfully remark that morning as she threw
down her paper after avidly reading every de-
tail of the murder.
He walked rather aimlessly along Fifty —


FAILURE
. 65
Street towards Lexington Avenue, and pres-
ently entered a kiosk of the subway. He me-
chanically purchased a ticket, and dropped it
into the chopper just as a down-town express
came thundering in. He seated himself and be-
came occupied with his own thoughts. Pres-
ently he found himself at Brooklyn Bridge. He
emerged from the tunnel and made his way to
the street. He was not far from the District
Attorney's office and made a sudden resolve to
go there.
The District Attorney was not in, so he made
bold to ask for Mrs. Grayson, who had shown
him much friendliness on his former visits to
the office. She was in her small inner office en-
gaged in filing some papers, and she looked up
with an encouraging smile when she saw her
visitor. "I have come to unburden my mind to
you,” he said.
"Well. Pilgrim. lay your burden down." she
smilingly invited, motioning him to a chair be-
side her. He suddenly discovered that his mind
was singularly free from any burden. He even
longed for one to fill the vacuum existing there.
But he had to say something, so he rather vacu-
ously repeated the remark of the girl in the
subway, whereupon they both laughed.


66 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
This broke down the reserve between them,
and without knowing it, he was talking unre-
strainedly to his gracious listener. As he talked
her woman's eye took note of him—his ill-fitting
clothes, his tasteless necktie, his unmanageable
hair; and because she had come to like him, she
hoped for an opportunity to help him remedy
these needless deficiencies. He was quite un-
aware that she was gently leading him on to
speak of himself, his ill success at reporting,
and his present perplexities. As she listened,
she knew him for a gentle, loving, lonely soul;
and she surprised herself when she heard her
voice saying:
“Mr. Macoy, we are wasting the city's time.
How would you like to come to my little apart-
ment in Irving Place this evening and finish
our interview?”
The dull red rose in his neck, and mounted to
his ears and forehead. An instinctive feeling
of self-defense rose in him. Was she ridiculing
him? He might have known it. But her eyes
were smiling kindly into his, and held the gra-
cious invitation. She was saying: “It's a tiny
place, and I have very few visitors." The
whitening hair framing her lovely face looked


FAILURE
like a halo to Macoy; and he almost choked as
he gratefully accepted her invitation.
Her apartment proved to be not so tiny as
Macoy expected. He had a hall bedroom mind;
and the word tiny, translated in terms of his
experience, meant something very different
from this charming apartment, with room for a
piano, a huge divan, comfortable chairs, a tea
table, a library table, bookcases filled with in-
viting books, still leaving a feeling of space. He
immediately felt the indefinable charm that a
room always has when occupied by well-bred
people of refined tastes.
She met him cordially. "And so you came?
I thought for a moment you were going to de-
cline my poor little hospitality."
He shifted his hat to his other hand and
bluntly replied:“Honestly, I thought you were
making fun of me, Mrs. Grayson, and I'm like
a Ouija board, if you make fun of me, I don't
work.”
The merriest laugh she had indulged in for
many a day pealed from her throat at this un-
conventional and surprising reply. Nothing
could have more quickly put him at ease. His
hands and feet took care of themselves when


68
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
10V
he sat down, and it was with more curiosity
than embarrassment that he watched her go
through some unfamiliar movements. On a tea
table rested a massive silver tray; and on that
stood an array of teacups, silver spoons, sugar
bowl, and tongs. In an electric kettle water
presently began to boil. From a lacquered Jap-
anese box she extracted tea; and placing it in a
silver tea pot she poured the boiling water on it.
Macoy watched her hands and movements with
fascinated interest. She poured tea into a shell
of a cup, and pausing with a lump of sugar in
the tongs, she uttered the usual formula: “One
lump or two?" and waited for his reply.
“What are you going to do with it?” he in-
quired.
Again she laughed and he laughed with her.
“I am going to give it to you; now don't tell
me you don't drink tea.”.
“I'd drink poison hemlock for you. Go the
limit!” he answered heartily.
After they had tea, she let him choose his own
topics for conversation. He talked well and
intelligently, and she decided that she liked
him. Though innately refined, he lacked the
outward expressions of sophisticated society.
She resolved to make a friend of him, and when


FAILURE
69
she closed the door behind him at his departure,
she found that some of the chill had departed
from her own heart. Just before retiring that
night, her hand fell upon a volume of “Sesame
and Lilies.” She opened it and read:
“Let heart sickness pass beyond a certain
bitter point, and the heart loses its life for-
ever."
“Perhaps he may save me from that,” she
murmured.
And the Fates, unknown to them both, were
spinning the threads which were to weave them
into the all-absorbing mystery which Macoy was
bent upon unraveling.
vent upon absorbing mhich were to


CHAPTER. VII
THE INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG
\HERE were others besides Macoy who
believed that Mrs. Cox was withholding
something of vital importance to the in-
quiry. She had been kept under strict sur-
veillance for two days, and had been repeatedly
questioned. Under the continued badgering of
the police, she had finally admitted that her first
story was not strictly true. On the third day
she was brought to the Criminal Courts build-
ing to testify before a council of police officials
and assistant district attorneys. The formality
of the proceeding was too much for her, and she
signified her willingness to tell the whole truth.
“Now, then, Mrs. Cox,” Inspector Kane be-
gan, "you admit that your first statements were
false?"
“Yes, sir,” she admitted.
“Just why were you telling untruths, Mrs.
Cox?”
"I did it to shield a woman who happened to
70


INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG 71
be in the house at the time, but had nothing to
do with the murder—if it was murder—and
didn't know anything about it until I told her.”
"Who was this woman?”
“I don't know. I had never seen her before."
The inspector made an impatient exclama-
tion. "That kind of talk is stupid, Mrs. Cox.
Moreover, it's dangerous. Do you know what
perjury means?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman's eyes snapped.
“You are under oath now, and by God, you'd
better tell the truth,” said Kane, bringing his
closed fist down on the desk with a resounding
thwack, and fastening eyes upon her which held
in them a dangerous glint.
The woman stood unmoved, and since he had
not asked a question, she did not speak.
“I ask you once more who that woman was,"
Kane threatened.
“I don't know who she was. I never saw her
before,” Mrs. Cox replied evenly.
“Then what in the name of the devil were
you shielding her for?” Kane was growing more
and more exasperated.
The woman's eyes held the glint now as she
turned them full on the inspector.
“Because,” she said slowly, “I'm tired of
LOW as


72 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
seeing women get the heavy end of the deal
every time. Just because a woman makes a
misstep, and does a foolish thing, it's no reason
for mixing her up with a crime she didn't com-
mit."
“How do you know she didn't commit the
crime?" In his irritation Kane almost shouted
the words.
“Because," she looked at her questioner
tranquilly, “she told me so."
The inspector reddened with annoyance.
“Who are you, woman, that you should be the
judge of whether or not she committed the
crime?”
“Nobody. It's none of my business who
committed the crime. I'm not a policeman,"
she replied in an unruffled tone.
“Don't you know that you can be held as an
accessory after the fact for letting that woman
go?” Kane made no attempt to conceal his
vexation.
“It wasn't up to me to arrest the woman. I
didn't see her commit the crime any more than
you did. Why didn't the police arrest her
themselves? She walked out right under their
noses."
An assistant district attorney, seeing Mrs.


INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG 73
Cox getting rather the better of the inspector
by preserving her temper while he was losing
his, inquired pleasantly if he might ask Mrs.
Cox a few questions. His tone was conciliatory
and courteous, and he succeeded in drawing out,
bit by bit, a fairly connected story of the inci-
dents of the fateful morning.
When she arrived at Barwood's house, she
said, she entered by the front door as usual and
closed it behind her. She was about to pass on
to the rear of the house when she noticed the
figure of a man sitting just inside the door of the
reception room. Mr. Barwood often came down
for his mail in the morning, and on these occa-
sions she usually took orders for his breakfast.
She stopped at the door, and as he did not
speak to her, she thought he had fallen asleep
in his chair. Somewhat mystified by this un-
usual occurrence, she stepped into the room and
looked at him. When she discovered that he
had been shot and was unconscious, she was
alarmed and ran to the front door, both to
escape a like fate that might be in store for
her if she lingered, and to raise an alarm. Just
as she was about to open the door, a woman
wrapped in a long black evening coat came hur-
riedly down the stairs.


74 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Oh, what has happened?" she cried. Her
face was ashen white and her eyes dilated with
fear.
“Don't you know what has happened?” Mrs.
Cox inquired.
“No," the strange woman said breathlessly,
“the door bell rang and Mr. Barwood thought it
was the postman. After a long time, I thought
I heard a shot and the closing of the front door.
What is it? Did Mr. Barwood shoot somebody?
Do tell me, and be quick about it,” she urged.
“Somebody has shot Mr. Barwood," I told
her.
“Is he-is he dead?” she whispered.
“No, but he is unconscious. I'm going out to
raise an alarm."
“Oh, please let me get away before you do,"
she begged. “I swear to you I don't know any-
thing about it. I don't know who came in, and
I mustn't, mustn't be found here. You are a
woman-you understand-I am not a criminal."
And I knew she wasn't. She was scared about
being found there.
“You seem to know the symptoms," put in
the inspector somewhat sarcastically.
“I have had good reasons to," she grimly re-
plied.


INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG 75
“And then what did you do?” continued the
Assistant District Attorney.
“I told her to hurry and I would wait for
her to get to the corner before I called any one."
“Don't you realize, Mrs. Cox,” her ques-
tioner continued, “that you have committed a
very grave offense, if not a criminal one?
Didn't you know that Mr. Barwood was in a
very critical condition, and a minute or two
might make the difference in saving his life?
You held his life in your hands."
“I didn't think of it just that way at the
time,” she said slowly.
“But you did provide for the woman's
safety,” he reminded her.
“That's different,” she said. Her tone con-
veyed a world of meaning, and her eyes held in
their unfathomable depths secrets of tragedies
which had not seared her soul, but had filled it
with unutterable compassion for the fragile
woman.
There was silence for a moment. This plain,
almost repellent woman, had removed them for
a moment from the sordid, ugly atmosphere to
something finer and rarer.
Inspector Kane broke the silence, and his tone
was unconsciously gentler.


76
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Mrs. Cox, where were you when I came to
the house on the morning of the murder?”
“I was in Mr. Barwood's living room on the
third floor.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was tidying up the room. I knew people
would soon be coming up there."
“Did you take anything away or conceal any-
thing?”
“Yes, sir. The woman had left a scarf there,
and I took it away and hid it. I thought there
was no use in having a scandal on the house as
well as a murder.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I hid it in the basement behind the laundry
tubs, afterwards."
“What do you mean by "afterwards'-after I
left the house?”
“No, sir, it was while you were still in the
house talking to all those people. I was almost
sure I was followed when I went down there,
and when I looked for it afterwards it was
gone."
“How about that, Harding?" the Inspec-
tor sharply inquired of the detective. Did you
and Flynn search the basement that morn-
ing?!


INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG 77
“We sure did, and there was nothing behind
the laundry tubs, either then or the next day
when we made a more thorough search,” Hard-
ing stoutly asserted.
“Think anybody else got there ahead of
you?” There was a note of reproof in his
voice.
“Couldn't have,” Harding defended. “There
was no one else in the house but that kid re-
porter, and we scared him off in the first round.
Flynn and I found him prowling around the
card room, and we chased him out. He beat it
for the reception room, and was there when we
got back after our inspection. He beat it out
of there, too, as soon as he saw us. Guess if
you jog Mrs. Cox's memory a bit, she can tell
you where she really did hide it-if there was
anything to hide.”
But Harding was mistaken. Mrs. Cox turned
her fathomless eyes full upon him, and favored
him with a long, steady stare. He quailed be-
fore it in spite of himself. He felt that there
was something malignant in her steady eye.
He forced himself to appear.indifferent, but he
would have thanked his lucky stars to be out of
the room and away from her presence. He tried
not to look at her, but she held him glued to


78 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
the spot. When she was apparently satisfied
that the insolent young man would not again
make invidious insinuations in her presence, she
withdrew her gaze, and retired into that re-
moteness which had so baffled them.
Even Kane was subdued by the spell cast by
this inscrutable woman, and he looked helplessly
toward his colleague who had taken Mrs. Cox
out of his hands before.
“You haven't given us any description of the
woman, Mrs. Cox. Will you do so now? You
are placing yourself in jeopardy by protecting
her any longer," said the suave voice that had
elicited her previous testimony.
"What do you want to know?” she inquired.
“I have answered all your questions."
“I want you to describe the woman. Tell us
how she looked, and what she wore."
“You must remember that I saw very little
of her, and I can't tell exactly how she looked.
My description might fit a hundred women,"
she parried.
“You give the description, please, and leave
it to the police to sort her out from the other
ninety-nine.”
“She was a medium-sized woman, with dark
hair and eyes," offered Mrs. Cox.


INSPECTOR STRIKES A SNAG 79
“Hm, that description would certainly apply
to a hundred women. Now, Mrs. Cox, can't you
state something more definite than that?"
“How definite?” she asked.
“Well, something like this. If any person
had entered your house, and taken the life of
some one in your family, you could give us a
better description than that to work on. Come,
now, couldn't you?”
“She didn't take anybody's life,” reiterated
the exasperating witness.
The lawyer knew that Kane's method with
her would be unavailing. Accordingly, he ap-
proached her from a different direction.
“Mrs. Cox, are you aware that we have no-
body's word but yours that there was another
woman there? You have no witness as to the
time you arrived, no witness to show that Mr.
Barwood was not living when you did arrive.
No one was seen to enter or leave the house that
morning. Do you see the position you are in
if the police assume there was no woman there?
Your inability to describe her casts suspicion
on you. It is perfectly fair to assume that the
reason you don't describe her is because there
was no one to describe. You must see the jus-
tice of that.”


80 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
Mrs. Cox brought her level gaze to bear on
the lawyer.
“That's up to them,” she said, with discom-
fiting composure. “I've told all I know. There
was a woman there. If the police had been on
their job a little earlier, they would know them-
selves how she looked.”
Inspector Kane regarded her with suppressed
fury. Hold this woman as a material witness,"
he ordered.
And even then he had not the satisfaction of
seeing her quail. She moved away with the
officer with maddening indifference, and carried
with her the honors of war.


CHAPTER VIII
PANIC IN HIGH PLACES
\HAT same evening the District Attorney
and Mrs. Wallace were dining with the
Garrett Lamberts. Ever since their col-
lege preparatory days, a Damon and Pythias
friendship had existed between the two men.
They were totally unlike save that they were
both men of unimpeachable honor. Garrett
Lambert, large, blond, somewhat loosely jointed,
possessed of a fortune considered large even in
New York, spent more money each year than
Wallace ever hoped to make. He was the typ-
ical well-bred man of easy means, whose face
and manner indicated a life of pleasure without
sensuality. He was known among his friends
as a “good sport.” He betted openly and lost
honorably. Both he and his wife had been,pupils
of the great whist expert whose mysterious
death was now the uppermost theme of conver-
sation everywhere in New York.
They had frequently played in their own
81


82
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
home with Barwood as their guest when the
stakes were rather higher than Lambert cared
to have made public at the present time. He
had frequently remonstrated with his wife for
playing for high stakes in her own home; but
she was carried away by an infatuation for the
game which seemed epidemic among idle, fash-
ionable society women. There was scarcely a
day when she did not play, either in her own
home, or at the house of some equally infat-
uated woman, who had no trouble in making up
tables at any hour.
Stephen Wallace had neither the time nor the
inclination for what he called the sporty life
of his friends. In appearance he was quite
the opposite of Lambert. He was somewhat
more spare of frame. His black hair waved
away from a high, intellectual forehead. His
dark eyes were set rather far apart, and held
in their depths something of the look of the
visionary. He idealized woman, and had been
instrumental in mitigating the rigors of punish-
ment of the unfortunates of that sex. His un-
ceasing efforts to bring about a Children's
Court had recently met with success. As a
champion of the weak and friendless, he was
extremely popular; and as a trusted District


PANIC IN HIGH PLACES 83
Attorney, it was confidently expected that he
would speedily probe the mystery of the Bar-
wood murder, and bring the offender to justice.
His absorption in business left him little time
for social affairs. On this account, his ex-
tremely fascinating wife was often forced to
accept the chaperonage of the Lamberts, a task
which they assumed with the greatest pleasure.
Mrs. Lambert was much older than Sidney Wal-
lace, and she enjoyed the prestige of presenting
this fresh, unspoiled young beauty to her
friends.
Left by the death of her parents, at the age
of ten, to the care of a bachelor uncle, that dis-
tracted relative had placed Sidney in a convent
where she remained until she was eighteen. She
had hardly emerged from that chrysalis when
she met Wallace, many years older than she,
and her first lover. Almost before she had time
to analyze her feelings, she found herself a wife,
free from convent restraints, and an accepted
member of a circle which had the leisure and
taste for amusements. She brought into that
sophisticated group an effervescent spirit of
youth that was irresistible. She was brimming
with vitality. She had an innocent love of beau-
tiful clothes; and a warm appreciation of every-


84 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
thing suggesting life, and light, and color. Her
love of a good time, her contagious laughter,
combined with the innocence and impulsiveness
of youth made her a favorite everywhere; and
soon no gathering was quite complete without
Sidney Wallace.
At first her husband accompanied her in a
succession of dinners, theaters, operas and other
social affairs; but she became so extremely pop-
ular, that he found it impossible to keep up the
pace with her, and more and more, as business
became pressing, he left her to the care of the
Lamberts.
Mrs. Lambert led, what to Wallace, seemed a
gay and empty life, but not more so than other
women of her class. Her social position was
unimpeachable; she was amiable and discreet.
She was, therefore, the natural chaperone of
Sidney when he could not attend her himself.
Naturally, Sidney learned to play auction whist.
She was not an expert player, but, under Bar-
wood's tutelage, she learned to keep within the
rules of the game. She played without hesita-
tion, was a good loser, and was not in any
sense an undesirable partner.
The mysterious death of the popular teacher,
and the publicity thereby given to his private


PANIC IN HIGH PLACES 85
life, had thrown many of his pupils into a state
of mind bordering on panic. Among this num-
ber were the Lamberts. The newspapers were
throwing out daily hints that revelations would
soon be forthcoming involving persons in high
life. Mrs. Lambert had forgotten her discretion
on just one occasion. On the evening but one
before the murder, she had played into the small
hours at an after-theater game at the now noto-
rious house. Moreover, she had taken Sidney
with her. The other guests were unknown to
them, but Sidney instinctively felt out of place
and uncomfortable. Mrs. Lambert was equally
sensitive to sinister forces, but her gambling
passion outweighed her good judgment on that
occasion. They remained and played on and on
while the night wore away. Mrs. Lambert was
shocked at the lateness of the hour when she
perceived it, and she hurried away with Sidney
in a taxicab at the same time the other guests
departed. Her conscience had troubled her
moderately in the succeeding hours, but she
salved it by resolving never to go there again.
She had almost succeeded in stifling the still,
small voice when the tragedy occurred, and the
seriousness of her position was thrust upon
her. She had told her husband at once of her


86
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
indiscretion, and he had hastened immediately
to take steps to prevent an exposure.
This, then, was the state of affairs on the
evening when the friends were dining together.
The two women were in the library, whither
Mrs. Lambert had repaired in a state of nerves
immediately after the coffee had been served,
leaving the men to finish their coffee and cigars
in the dining room.
“Where have you been keeping yourself, Sid-
ney?” Mrs. Lambert complained to the younger
woman who had thrown herself into a deep arm
chair near the table where the soft light from
the shaded lamp played upon her bright, brown
hair, “I have been paralyzed with fright. I
haven't dared to open a paper for fear I should
see a list of our names in it. 'Scandal in High
Life! New York's fashionable set play bridge
at Barwood's.'” She nervously lighted a ciga-
rette, and pushed a box across the table to Sid-
ney. Mrs. Wallace took one from the box and
toyed with it, but did not light it. “Garrett
and all the men are making frantic efforts to
keep the women's names out of the papers,"
Mrs. Lambert continued, "and their own, too,
for that matter. I confessed to him that I played


PANIC IN HIGH PLACES 87
poker at an after-theater game there, and he
was shocked at what he called my scandalous be-
havior; but how did I know Mr. Barwood was
going to be so inconsiderate as to let himself get
shot, and get us into all this trouble?” She
flung the smoking match impatiently into the
yawning mouth of a bronze dragon, and threw
herself into a deep chair opposite Sidney.
“Oh, Anne!” said Sidney, “I wish I had
never learned to play. I never want to see a
card again-never, never,” she exclaimed, clasp-
ing her hands on her breast, and her eyes filling
with tears.
“For heaven's sake, Sidney, don't cry about
it. I have trouble enough about my own posi-
tion, without being reminded that I dragged
you into it. I didn't dare tell Garrett I took
you there. I think that would be the last straw.
The dear man is acting like a trump about me.
If money and influence, or any earthly thing
will keep it from getting out, he will accomplish
it; but I couldn't bear his scorn if he knew I
took you. Oh, why wasn't the man shot forty-
eight hours sooner, and then we never would
have been there that night!".
Sidney shuddered. “Oh, Anne! I'd give


88 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
anything if I had never gone there. The pierc-
ing black eyes of the croupier at the roulette
wheel seemed to follow me everywhere I went.
If I ever meet that man anywhere again, I know
I shall shriek. And that tall blonde man who
kept on playing until he lost everything, haunts
me, too. As long as he was playing, he didn't
show any emotion, but I caught his eye for a
moment as he was leaving, and there was trag-
edy there, Anne, I know it. And Mr. Barwood
himself—ugh!” She shivered as with some hor-
rid recollection.
“Sidney,” said Anne suddenly, “Did you
lose any money that night? I was so shocked
when I saw how late it was, I only thought of
getting you home.”
Sidney hesitated. “Yes, I lost,” she said in
a low voice.
“Did you lose much? Surely you didn't play
for high stakes! I stipulated with Mr. Barwood
that you should not play beyond two hundred
dollars. You didn't lose more than that, did
you?” Mrs. Lambert's tone was one of genuine
distress. Sidney did not reply.
“Sidney, you are straining my nerves to the
breaking point! Why don't you answer me,
child?” She rose and flung away'her cigarette,


90 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
danger of a scandal is quite over. The police
department has agreed with him not to allow
anything to be published that will merely create
a scandal, and that has no bearing on the crime.
They know well enough that society people
have been playing up to the full limit of respect-
ability, but they believe that the motive for the
crime will be found elsewhere. Now, forget it,
Anne. Sidney looks as though the sawdust had
all spilled out of her doll. Let's have a rubber
at ten cents a point to kill Dull Care," he pro-
posed.
“Garrett, you have no sensibilities!” Mrs.
Lambert replied irritably. “Do you think I
ever want to look a card in the face again?
Never-never-never- So help me!”
Mr. Lambert laughed. “We might telephone
to the Salvation Army headquarters, and bor-
row some hymn books. Stephen, can't you imag-
ine Anne spending all the rest of her evenings in
penitential garb singing psalms?”
“That's Anne, true to life,” Stephen chaffed,
falling in with Lambert's attempt to lighten the
depression. “I can look ahead a hundred years
-or is it a thousand before one can be canon-
ized—and see her picture hanging on every-
body's walls, her eyes rolling heavenward like


PANIC IN HIGH PLACES 91
one of Carlo Dolci's madonnas, and wearing a
halomonly Anne's halo will have to be studded
with diamonds."
“If you see me hanging on a wall, it will be
in a Last Judgment with horny red devils in
full pursuit, prodding me with red hot, three-
pronged forks,” retorted Anne lugubriously.
“Well, you are hard hit, Anne,” her husband
smiled good humoredly, “but I always thought
you a better sport than that.”
“I am a good sport,” she asserted. “How
can you say I am not?”
“Well, losing, you know, is a part of the game,
my dear,” he reminded her.
“For goodness' sake, beat me, Garrett, but
don't preach.”
“Don't be so distressed, Anne,” said Stephen,
moving over to her and laying his hand sym-
pathetically on her shoulder, “I have a hope
amounting to a belief that no disclosure will be
made not bearing on the crime."
She raised her eyes to meet his, and saw un-
derstanding and forgiveness there. She seized
his hand in both hers and pressed it fervently.
“You are an angel, Stephen,” she said.


CHAPTER IX
EVEN AMONG THE MIGHTY
CYVENSEN, the butler, entering with a card
on a tray created a diversion. He spoke
in a low tone to Lambert. “Mr. Ruther-
ford asked if Mr. Wallace was here."
Mr. Rutherford followed up his card. “You
will excuse me, Lambert, and I shall beg the
indulgence of Mrs. Lambert, too, for breaking
in with business matters on a social occasion,"
he said, after exchanging greetings, “but neces-
sity compelled me to lay a matter before the
District Attorney without delay. I telephoned
to his house, and learned he was here. As the
matter was important, I took the liberty of fol-
lowing him up.".
“Quite right-right you are," assured Lam-
bert hospitably. “There is a room back here
where I hatch all my nefarious schemes. It is
as secluded as the Chamber of the Council of
Ten. Make yourselves comfortable,” he urged,
ushering them into the room and adjusting


EVEN AMONG THE MIGHTY 93
lights. “You will find us in the library when
you have finished your business.” He closed
the door and left them alone.
“Steve, I'm in the devil of a mess,” the vis-
itor declared, as soon as the door closed behind
Lambert.
“You, Rutherford, in the devil of a mess!”
replied Wallace. “You surprise me. I have
watched your steady, cumulative successes with
the belief that you were immune from the com-
plications we lesser mortals manage to tumble
into. What can I do for you?”
Wallace sat down and regarded his visitor
curiously. Here was a man who had made a
phenomenal success in business; he had a repu- .
tation for indomitable will power, inexhaustible
energy, and great foresight; he had been chosen
by the Government to distribute vast sums of
money during the war. His whole career spelled
success, and yet he was "in a devil of a mess."
“You may as well know the worst at first,
Wallace,” Rutherford began abruptly, "my
wife has been in a panic ever since that Bar-
wood murder. I have just wormed the whole
story out of her, and I'll be damned, Steve, if
somebody hadn't sent that brute to the devil, I
would do it myself.” He paced excitedly back


94 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
and forth. “I knew Dorothy had been playing
for fairly high stakes, and I had warned her
not to play too high, merely as a matter of good
form; for, unfortunately, she can afford to lose
a good deal, and still have plenty left. But it
seems that she has been winning from Barwood,
and she had accepted his check in payment. One
day he invited her to play roulette at his house
after the theater. She declined, and he insisted
-very pleasantly at first, and then with a sneer
that she didn't give her opponents a chance to
win their money back. She wouldn't stand for
that impeachment, and in an evil moment she
went there. Something about the place at night
aroused her distrust, and when he invited her
again she positively declined. And then he
threatened her. He reminded her that he had
vouchers to show that she had accepted money
from him, and proof that she had visited him
at night without the knowledge of her husband.
She offered him any amount he would name for
the vouchers, but he told her that her attendance
was worth more than money, and offered the
alternative of continuing her visits, or facing a
scandal. Blackmail, damn him! He meant to
use her to give a semblance of respectability to
his accursed joint; but the devil who owns him
got him before he could carry out his purpose,”


EVEN AMONG THE MIGHTY 95
he continued, still moving restlessly backwards
and forwards across the room.
Wallace occupied a chair on the far side of
the table, in a pose of earnest attention, bending
forward a trifle to catch every word the excited
speaker was saying. A shaded lamp on the
table concealed his features, but the tenseness
of his body and his suggestive silence betrayed
that he had lost no syllable, and that every word
was informing him of much he desired to know.
After an almost imperceptible pause, the mag-
nate continued. “What I want to know, Steve,
are the police apt to call for Barwood's papers?
And are the executors of his estate obliged to
give them up? And if they do, is there any way
to keep the police from making those vouchers
public?" He stopped before Wallace, his brows
contracted in an anxious frown.
“I am watching that rather closely myself,
Rutherford. A friend of mine was present yes-
terday when Barwood's compartment in the
Manhattan Bank was opened. I have asked for
a list of his securities, and of his vouchers for
the last few months; but I am not sure I can get
them. They are all in the hands of his execu-
tors, and they are not inclined to expose Bar-
wood's private peccadilloes unless a court com-
pels them to do so, which I don't think at all


96
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
likely. I can assure you there is strong pres-
sure brought to bear at police headquarters to
keep the women's names out of it; and there is
really no desire there to make public a lot of
gossip that has no direct bearing on the crime.
Of course, I needn't assure you that the Dis-
trict Attorney's office is carrying out the same
policy."
“It's a great relief to me to know that, Wal-
lace,” Rutherford declared, his anxiety amelio-
rated for the moment, “but how about that
flame-colored scarf that housekeeper testified
she had concealed? May not that have belonged
to some woman in our social set? Who knows
how many respectable women have fallen into
the snare? My wife has never seen such a scarf
in the possession of any of her friends, but the
shivers run up and down my spine every time
I hear a boy call an extra. If they get the name
of one woman, they'll get the whole bunch.”
“I don't think it belonged to any of your
wife's friends,” Wallace assured him. “I have
questioned other women who have played there,
and no one recognizes the scarf. Besides, there
was a woman of another class there, the one
Mrs. Cox let out. The scarf undoubtedly be-
longed to her," he consoled.


EVEN AMONG THE MIGHTY 97
“The newspapers made a big hullabaloo over
it, anyway,” Rutherford protested, “and they
have given pretty broad criticisms of the women
who played legitimate bridge there. A flame-
colored scarf is too suggestive for them to over-
look.”
“Oh, well,” Wallace replied, “the dear pub-
lic must be appeased. They are clamoring for
a sacrificial victim. The police can't produce
one. The papers must fill their columns; the re-
porters are very imaginative. Most of their
stories of the case have very little foundation.”
“Nevertheless, Wallace, you must admit that
the facts are a damn sight worse than anything
the papers publish,” Rutherford exploded.
“What's the matter with our women, Steve?
We began our married life with a comfortable
home, one maid, and one motor car. The neigh-
bors envied us. Then we began to envy the
man with a larger house, more servants and two
motor cars. Then I doubled my stride and we
overtook and passed them. We were scarcely
settled, when we discovered that we had a neigh-
bor with a still larger house, and more servants;
and that it wasn't the thing to look after your
own children. I stepped on the accelerator and
caught up, and I've been living that merry-go-


98
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
round ever since. Now my house is so big I
can't find my children in it, or if I do, I have
to go through a ceremony sufficient to admit me
to the Grand Llama of Thibet. I shouldn't
know my wife if I met her in anything but even-
ing dress. I dine out with people I scarcely
know, and entertain people whose names I don't
dare call for fear of mixing up the Browns with
the Joneses. My wife has no time for the chil-
dren, and she goes the rounds with all the other
women whose husbands are slaving to help them
keep up the pace with each other. And what is
the pace? Rapid enough to land them at the
very brim of perdition. It's a hell of a life,
Steve. Can you conceive of anything more
hideously unmoral!”.
“Let's not be too hard on our wives, Jack,"
gently remonstrated Wallace. “Haven't we
spent several thousand years in shaping the
present-day woman? Mother Eve was rather
severely punished for taking the initiative in
satisfying a very commendable curiosity. Hy-
patia was put to the flames for having and ex-
pressing opinions. Ann Hutchinson was ex-
pelled from a colony that abhorred suppression
of speech—for men. In our own time, we have
Susan B. Anthony who was the butt of ridicule


EVEN AMONG THE MIGHTY 99
throughout her whole gentle life. No, we want
to be the whole show ourselves!” Wallace set-
tled himself comfortably in his easy chair.
“Look at our churches where the women do
ninety-nine per cent. of the work. We don't
allow them any part in the administration. We
want them to ornament the pews while we strut
up and down the aisles with the collection box.
There's something wrong, I agree with you, but
it's more fundamental than woman's natural
vanity. For my part, I welcome with all my
heart the entrance of women into politics. They
will undoubtedly wound our vanity by discov-
ering how rottenly indifferent we are to the vital
problems of the day; but they may spur us on to
take a squint now and then beyond our offices
and our own personal affairs. But if we do
squirm to find ourselves weighed in the balance
and found wanting, we won't be worrying about
our wives seeking an outlet for their activities
in frivolous and questionable amusements. But
we are forgetting our manners, Rutherford,”
he broke off abruptly and rose from his chair.
"I think you can set your mind at ease about
those vouchers. There is nothing at present to
indicate that Barwood's private banking ac-
count has anything to do with his death."


CHAPTER X
DALRYMPLE HEDGES
LAKE, the detective, who had been as-
signed to follow the movements of Jack
Dalrymple and his wife, had no great dif-
ficulty in discovering their names on the reg-
ister of the Commodore. It was quite another
matter, however, to find the couple. They did
not appear Wednesday night, and Blake spent
most of the next day in the huge lobby of the
hotel where he consumed an unlimited number
of magazines and cigars, and paid as many
visits to the desk as he deemed the temper of
the Custodian of the Book would bear.
When the evening editions of the newspapers
began to arrive, he purchased one or two, ab-
sorbed their contents with an expedition born
of long practise, and then settled down in a
comfortable chair to look over the top of his
paper and watch the cosmopolitan crowd that
thronged the lobby. Commuters, a bit early for
their trains, dropped into big arm chairs or
100


DALRYMPLE HEDGES 101
man
lounges and deposited their bags and parcels
by their sides. Every now and then a man
would rise suddenly and greet a friend with
whom he had made the place a rendezvous.
Smart young army officers, accompanied by ad-
miring wives or sweethearts, were jostled by a
crowd of substantial looking women obviously
returning from a conference on Civic Virtue.
Fidgety old gentlemen, piloted by capable look-
ing wives, appeared and disappeared. Middle
westerners, with their wives and daughters, sat
and watched the kaleidoscopic view before them
with an enjoyment whetted by novelty. Bell
boys in their gray-blue uniforms, wove in and
out, holding aloft placards containing mystical
numbers, paging the lobby. A young woman in
a plaid sport skirt and a bewitching hat, dashed
in from Forty-second Street, dropped into a
chair, whipped out a vanity case and powdered
her nose, quite unconscious of observation.
Then she dashed out again.
“Wonder if she knows where she is going,"
mused Blake, “or whether she just flits from
place to place like that, and only stops when
instinct prompts her to powder her nose.”
Many times the shifting scene changed before
Blake learned that the man he was seeking had


102 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
bee.
arrived. On getting this information, he stepped
into a pay telephone booth, and after a brief
space reappeared at the desk.
“Will you send my card up immediately?”
he requested.
The clerk turned to the girl at the switch-
board and waited a moment.
“You can go right up,” he said, “suite ten-
three."
Blake followed the bell boy to the elevator,
and alighted on the tenth floor. He rapped
at number three and was admitted by a rather
florid, well-set-up, prosperous looking man, ap-
parently about forty-five years of age. His
astute black eyes beneath their rather beetling
brows took in every detail of Blake's person in
one swift glance.
“Well, Mr.-ah-Blake, I don't seem to
have the pleasure of your acquaintance," he
challenged, glancing at the card in his hand.
“Undoubtedly not, Mr. Dalrymple, I'm from
police headquarters." He turned back the lapel
of his coat displaying his shield.
“Well, what do you want of me? Get it
over," he demanded briskly.
“Inspector Kane of headquarters wants you
and Mrs. Dalrymple to come with me to the


DALRYMPLE HEDGES 103
house of Mr. Barwood, who was found mur-
dered yesterday morning to see if you can throw
any light on the crime,” Blake explained.
“Don't know a thing about it. Hadn't spoken
with him in two months. Used to see a good
deal of him when we were putting through some
business deals together. Don't move with his
social gang in New York. Tell 'em so." He
dismissed Blake with a wave of the hand.
"Do you want me to take that message, Mr.
Dalrymple? My instructions were to request
you to come with me,” Blake persisted.
“I can't go with you to-night. I've only just
come in. I've some business to attend to." He
looked fatigued and worried.
“I'll wait for you then. If you'll tell me
when you'll be ready, I'll telephone the In-
spector when to expect us." Blake held on
doggedly.
“See here, young man, are you arresting
me?” Dalrymple looked piercingly at the detec-
tive.
“Not at all, Mr. Dalrymple, I'm only request-
ing you to come. I'm not even subpoenaing
you," replied Blake placatingly.
“Well, then, I don't have to come.”
“No, sir."


104 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
TOOM
“Then I'll be damned if I will,” he decided.
“All right, Mr. Dalrymple, I'll take your mes-
sage,” said Blake goodnaturedly. “Good even-
ing,' and he turned to the door.
“Hold on a minute, young man; I don't get
you. Just what do they want me for? Do
they think I shot the man?” he asked gruffly.
“If they did, they wouldn't ask you to come,
Mr. Dalrymple.”
“That's right. Well, wait a minute. Sit
down a while and I will speak to my wife." He
waved to a chair and disappeared into a room
beyond. At the end of a quarter of an hour he
reappeared, and taking his hat and stick he an-
nounced, "Lead away, young man, I'm ready.
Mrs. Dalrymple is indisposed, and, really, I
can tell them all we both know in five minutes."
At the street level, Blake hailed a taxicab and
in a few minutes they arrived at Barwood's
house. They were admitted by a detective, who
regarded Blake's companion curiously. "The
Inspector wants Mr. Dalrymple on the third
floor," he told Blake.
Dalrymple did not know that all the rooms on
the two lower floors were occupied by police
officials questioning friends, acquaintances, and
associates of Barwood, gathering all the evi-


DALRYMPLE HEDGES 105
dence that could throw light on Barwood's
movements the night of the murder, and on the
days preceding.
They mounted the two flights of stairs, and
Blake opened a door and entered. Dalrymple
cast a swift and comprehensive glance around.
He immediately inferred that on this floor were
the living apartments; for the room he was
standing in was a dining room, with a built-in
buffet indicating its permanent purpose. It
had apparently not been disturbed since its late
occupants had used it. A round table in the
center of the room was covered with a daintily
embroidered cloth; plates were laid for two,
and the remains of a meal were still upon it.
The dregs of champagne from two nearly empty
glasses tainted the air faintly with their sickish
sweet odor. A partly emptied bottle still stood
in the cooler in the water of the melted ice.
Cigarette stubs and ashes nearly filled an ash
tray. Without pausing or appearing to notice
the table, Dalrymple's eye took in every detail
of the room before he passed with his guide into
the next room, which was what he expected to
find-an ordinary, well-furnished living room.
“Mr. Dalrymple,” Blake announced.
Inspector Kane rose from his seat at one end


106 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
of a library table, and came forward to meet
him.
“Mr. Dalrymple,” he said cordially and apol-
ogetically, “I'm sorry to have to trouble you to
come here, but as a friend of Mr. Barwood
I'm sure you are ready to help us all you can
in the investigation we are making to ferret
out the mystery of his death."
“I'm no particular friend of Barwood,” he
replied easily, as he seated himself in the
chair indicated by the Inspector. “I have known
him for some time, and we have had some busi-
ness dealings together, but I have no special
intimacy with him.”
“I understood you and Mrs. Dalrymple were
guests of his on a yachting trip to Bermuda
last year,” the Inspector volunteered.
“Oh, yes, that's true; but Mrs. Dalrymple is
a pretty good bridge player, and Barwood chose
his yachting parties always with an eye to good
bridge games. Nothing like yachting for get-
ting bored to death, you know, and Barwood
never did go in for bores."
“When did you see Mr. Barwood last, Mr.
Dalrymple?”
“Oh, I should think it was about two months
ago at Bar Harbor."


DALRYMPLE HEDGES 107
“How did you happen to be there at the same
time?"
“Oh, he put in with his yacht while my wife
and I were staying there. Just accidental our
being there at the same time.”
“How long have you been in New York, Mr.
Dalrymple?"
“Only a few days," he replied nonchalantly.
“Just how many days, Mr. Dalrymple?"
Kane persisted.
“Sounds like a prisoner in the dock," laughed
Dalrymple lightly. “Let me see—to-day is
Thursday, and I came to New York last Friday.
That is just " and he counted off mockingly
on his fingers “one-two-three-four-five
days—six days.”
“Thank you,” smiled the Inspector. “Now
would you mind telling me where you and Mrs.
Dalrymple were the night previous to the mur-
der?"
“Not at all, if I can recall it. Time fairly
flies away from you here in New York, you
know. Now you want to know where I was-
what night? Barwood was shot-Wednesday
morning, wasn't he?”
“Yes, about eight-thirty o'clock. Where
were you at that time?”


108 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
"I was up in Bronxville, eating my breakfast.
I never shoot a man before I have had my
breakfast. It spoils my appetite. By the way,
is it against etiquette to smoke in the dock?”
he bantered.
The Inspector fell in with his humor, and
Dalrymple took from his pocket a gold mono-
grammed cigar case and proffered it to the In-
spector, who declined.
“Don't know what you're missing," Dal-
rymple declared. “Special importation." He
extracted one for himself, lit it, and when the
smoke began to float in fragrant rings about
them, the Inspector continued:
“You say you were eating your breakfast at
eight-thirty o'clock Wednesday morning. Was
Mrs. Dalrymple with you?”
“Why, man alive, of course she was with me.
I'd never get up to breakfast without Mrs. Dal-
rymple's prodding."
“What time did you go to Bronxville?"
“Well, it was pretty late. We dined at the
Ritz and then went to the Manhattan theater
to the Midnight Follies, and then I drove to
Bronxville. I don't know just what time we
got there. I should say it was after two
o'clock."


DALRYMPLE HEDGES
109
“You say 'we.' Who was with you?”
“Nobody but Mrs. Dalrymple.”
“What garage was your car in?"
“Do you mean here in New York?”
“Yes, I mean what garage did you take it
from when you drove to Bronxville?”
“Why— What's the name of that garage up
there on Forty-fourth Street near the Amster-
dam theater—the Ajax, isn't it? Yes, I'm sure
that's it. The Ajax.”
“And what garage did you put it in at Bronx-
ville?”
“My own, or rather the one belonging to the
place. I don't own the place.”
“What time did you come to New York to-
day?"
"I got here about six o'clock this evening,"
he replied, knocking the ash from his cigar and
showing a trifle of irritation.
“Was Mrs. Dalrymple with you?”
The spark of irritation kindled into flame.
He rose and looked with glowing eyes at his in-
terlocutor.
“That's none of your business," he said.
“You say Barwood was shot about half-past
eight in the morning. I have proved to you
that neither of us was in the city at that time,


110 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
and what we did after that is our own private
affair."
“You mean you have said that neither of you
were in the city—not proved,” the Inspector
gently corrected.
“Then prove it yourself, and be damned to
you. That's your business, not mine." He
strode toward the door.
“Just a minute, Mr. Dalrymple. I want you
to do a little thinking while you are putting it up
to me to prove that your alibi isn't a good one.
See if you can't refresh your memory a bit
about where you were Tuesday night; and per-
haps you would like to correct your statements
about Mrs. Dalrymple's movements,” Kane
gently but firmly insisted.
“Dammit, man, what do you want? I have
told you where I was at the time Barwood was
shot, and what I did after that has no bearing
on the case, and it's my own business,” he as-
serted, chewing nervously at his cigar.
“I asked you to correct your statement about
where you spent Tuesday night," urged Kane.
“Well, then, since you know more than I do
about where and how I spent it, perhaps you
can tell me,” he satirically suggested.
“Perhaps I can,” said Kane smoothly.


DALRYMPLE HEDGES
111
“About the car, now. Where did you say it was
while you were at the theater?”
"I've told you once, and that gum shoe over
there,” nodding toward a detective, “has been
taking notes of it. I'll be hanged if I'll tell you
again,” he replied with irritation. “If you've
got anything to prove, prove it. I don't know
any more than you do who killed Barwood; and
I don't know any motive for the crime; and I
don't know anything about Barwood's private
affairs. If you've got any suspicion of me, it's
up to you to get the evidence. You can't get it
out of me." He glared at the Inspector a mo-
ment and strode out of the room.


CHAPTER XI
A PUZZLE
NY news of the lady yet, Blake?”
It was five o'clock the next after-
noon when Blake appeared at the In-
spector's office to make his report on the Dal-
rymples.
“Only what I telephoned you this morning,”
Blake replied. “The housemaid said that
neither of them were in Bronxville Tuesday
night. The cook said that she didn't cook any
breakfast Wednesday morning, and they were
pretty sure that the car was not in the garage
that night. Those are the only servants they
have there. It isn't a large place.”
“How much truth was there in the story he
told yesterday, or wasn't there any ?" Kane
questioned..
“Yes; they did dine at the Ritz,” replied
Blake, consulting his note book. “They went to
the Follies afterward. He did take his car
from the Ajax garage, but not until seven-thirty
112


A PUZZLE
113
in the morning. He didn't go to Bronxville at
all that night, and I don't believe she went with
him wkerever he went. The car was not brought
back to the Ajax garage until nearly five o'clock
last night. I think he had just pulled in from
a long trip when I found him at the Commodore
Hotel.”
"Perhaps he took her to the hotel and left
her, and then went out somewhere and made
a night of it,” suggested Kane.
“Looks like he did make a night of it, and
that she did, too, but not together," Blake re-
plied.
“What makes you think they were not to-
gether?"
“Because that chauffeur of Barwood's rec-
ognized the woman he took to the house that
night," Blake answered in some surprise at
the question. “Besides, the night clerk at the
hotel has no recollection of her coming to the
hotel that night. She turned up there in a taxi
about nine o'clock Wednesday morning. Don't
you see, she had just about time after the mur-
der, to walk out a block, hail a taxi, and get
back to the hotel.”
“Did you find out how she was dressed when
she went into the hotel in the morning?'


114 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
norn-
“Yes, the description follows the chauffeur's
all except the veil. She wore a long black
wrap of the kind not usually worn in the morn-
ing, and she acted nervous and hurried. She
asked for the keys and seemed to expect a
telegram. She telephoned down two or three
times after she went up to inquire for a tele-
gram. After about an hour she came down in
the elevator dressed for traveling. She had a
taxi called, and she left, taking with her a small
trunk such as they carry on automobiles.”
“You found the cab?”.
“Yes, she was driven to the Vanderbilt Ave-
nue entrance of the Grand Central Station, and
she's in the station yet for all I can trace her,"
Blake answered ruefully.. “Dalrymple tried
to make me think she was at the hotel in their
apartment, but the clerk at the desk had just
told me she wasn't there."
“You've done a very good day's work, Blake,
but now I've some news for you.” Kane lei-
surely filled his pipe again.
Blake craned his neck in eager attention. Af-
ter a few preliminary puffs, Kane satisfied .
Blake's curiosity.
“I have had the cook and the housemaid from
Bronxville here this afternoon, and they have
nu


A PUZZLE
115
recollected that Mr. and Mrs. Dalrymple were
there that night. It was Monday night they
stayed in town. They are both very positive."
Blake jumped to his feet.
“Holy Smoke! Dalrymple has been there
and fixed 'em.”
The Inspector's eye twinkled. “And that
isn't all,” he continued, pausing to note the
effect on Blake. "The chauffeur has been here,
and he finds that he has a very bad memory,
too. It was Monday night he took the woman
home with Barwood, and she didn't at all re-
semble Mrs. Dalrymple.”
.“I suppose Turner did a Rip Van Winkle
stunt from Monday night till Wednesday
morning when he reported for duty,' scoffed
Blake. Then he wrinkled his brow in thought
a moment. “Don't you remember," he sud-
denly exclaimed, “his saying that Barwood
didn't bribe him to keep his mouth shut, but
that he made it worth while?”
“I was just waiting for you to recall that,
Blake."
“Wonder if he will stick to that story under
oath."
“I've known people to have very bad mem-
ories even under oath, Blake.”


116 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Well, then, since they have all lost their
memories and gone nutty, where is all my care-
fully compiled evidence?” asked Blake dis-
mally.
“Your troubles are only just beginning,
Blake,” Kane held him in suspense for a while,
enjoying his doleful countenance.
“Well, for the love of Mike, get it over,”
Blake entreated.
“What would you say to another woman be-
ing there that night, or the same woman twice?”
Blake bounded from his chair. “Holy
Crickets ! Did Turner bring her, too?”
“No, she arrived alone in a Black and White
taxi."
“Well, I'll be jiggered!" Blake ran his
fingers through his shock of brown hair, and
gazed about in perplexity.
“Look a here, Chief, couldn't you give a fel-
low the whole story at once, and not keep him
dancing like a hen on a hot griddle,” he im-
plored.
Kane laughed. “I got the story from a man
who lives opposite Barwood's. He got home
about one forty-five and was just letting him-
self in when a Black and White drew up in
front of Barwood's curb, and a lady in a long


A PUZZLE
117
motor coat got out and went in. About half
an hour later he heard the purr of the motor,
and like any man, he took a look. The lady
came out alone, and the taxi drove toward the
Avenue. As I have just got the story not five
minutes before you came in, that's all I know
about it."
“Well, I'll be blowed! That chauffeur, when
he first told his story and was telling it straight,
said he brought Barwood and the woman there
at one-thirty. How could the woman get away
from there and get back again in fifteen min-
utes ? And for the love of Mike, how many
times did she come and go if she was there
in the morning for Mrs. Cox to let her out?”
"Let's not use up our brains puzzling over
a matter we can get at in an easier way." He
reached for a desk telephone standing beside
him, and called “Columbus 5000.” “It's a
good record they keep in them garages," he
remarked, fallingly unconsciously into an Irish-
ism not wholly dropped in his promotion from
the ranks.
“Police department speaking, Inspector
Kane. Have you a record of a cab that brought
a lady to 73 East Fifty — Street Tuesday
night, or rather Wednesday morning around


A PUZZLE
119
right. Thank you.” He replaced the receiver
on the hook and turned to Blake.
“Michael Shanahan, cab 204. Your best bet
is their regular hangout at the Penn Station.
This Shanahan took a lady from Fortieth
Street near Park Avenue to Barwood's house
last Wednesday morning a little after half past
one; waited half an hour for her, and took her
back to the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance of the
Grand Central Station,” he repeated.
“It's me for a heart to heart with Michael
Shanahan and that right now—that is if you
give me the order," he corrected.
“Go to it, my son. Run 'em down-run 'em
down," he said soberly. “We arrest the poor
unfortunates on the East Side for walking the
streets, and lock 'em up and fine 'em, or send
'em to Blackwells Island; but up town they ride
in taxis all night and sleep on beds of silk and
down all day and pass for decent folks. It's too
one sided. It's not a square deal. It's time
we caught up with 'em, Blake. Now go to it.”
we


CHAPTER XII
A CAB-DRIVER OBSERVES
LAKE lost no time in executing his
Chief's order. When he emerged from
the subway at the Pennsylvania Station,
he immediately singled out Shanahan by the
number of his cab, which, fortunately, was at
that moment drawn up far down the line. He
approached him leisurely, and pronounced his
name. Shanahan touched his cap, and reached
for the electric starter preparing to take a pas-
senger.
“Is your name Shanahan?” inquired Blake.
“That's me name, sorr. Is it a cab you'd be
after having?"
“No, I just want to ask you a few questions,
Shanahan." Blake turned back the lapel of the
coat displaying his shield.
“Saints preserve us!” the cab driver ex-
claimed. “Is it the police that's after us?
Don't you know, Mr. Officer, there's no crooked
deals allowed by the Black and White Taxi
120


122 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
so low. You'd have wondered to see her out
alone at that time of night. So you would."
“What did she look like, Shanahan?”
“Well, I couldn't mostly say. She was all
wrapped up in one of them milit’ry capes, or
evening coats, or whatever ye like to call them,
and she wore a veil that sure you couldn't see
whether it was black or white she was."
“What color was her wrap?”
“Black, sorr, black it was, and black, too, was
her veil. Sure she might have been riding be-
hind the priest in the first carriage at a fu-
neral.”
“How long did you wait for her?”
“Half an hour it was, and I sitting there."
“Did you see any one else at the house?”
“I can't rightly say that I did or I didn't. I
mind me the door opened, and she kem down
the steps, like a running deer and jumped into
the taxi; and she says, 'Grand Central Station,
driver, and hurry, hurry,' she says, in a tone
I never heard the like of before."
“And no one came out of the house with her?
You didn't see anybody inside, or a face at the
door?” Blake pursued eagerly.
“I'm certain sure no one kem out with her,
at all, at all; and I can't rightly say whether
there was annywan in the door; I puzzled my


A CAB-DRIVER OBSERVES 123
O
mind about that afterward.” Shanahan drew
his brows together to illustrate the thought he
had spent on it.
“Where did she get out of the cab?”
“At the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance, it
was."
“And you don't know where she went?”
“That I couldn't know, sorr, unless I fol-
lowed her,” said Shanahan reproachfully.
“Did she carry anything in her hand-any
luggage?”
“Not what you'd rightly call luggage. She
had one of them little silk bags on her wrist;
and I couldn't rightly swear that I saw that, or
whether it is there's never a woman without
one. You don't see their feet but you know they
have them,” declared Shanahan speculatively.
“What did you think of her, Shanahan, was
she a rounder?”.
"Well, av coorse she was a rounder,” Shana-
han admitted, “or she wouldn't be traipsin'
around that time o' night calling on single men.
But I will speak the truth of her. She was a
quiet wan, and maybe it was new to the game
she was."
“And you can't give me any further descrip-
tion of her? Was she tall or short?”
“Sure, there was no call for me to measure


124 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
her; but she was just tall enough, and not too
tall. A finer steppin' colleen you wouldn't find
this side of Cork.”
“Oh, she was young then? You didn't let
that get by you."
“I did not. Why would I when I have two
eyes in my head?”
“Did you use your ears to such good advan-
tage that you would know her voice if you heard
it again?”
“Huh! Would I indeed! I'd know it among
all the saints singing in Paradise. Sure it was
like the music of a harp, so it was—though sorra
the harp I ever heard,” he candidly admitted.
Blake was disappointed in the amount of in-
formation he was getting, but he dissembled it
to the best of his ability. He had established
the fact that a woman 'young, and tall enough,
but not too tall,' attractive enough to win Shan-
ahan's admiration, had visited Barwood's house
between the hours of one-thirty and two o'clock
on the morning of the murder. Further evi-
dence he was not likely to get. He removed
his foot from the running board of the car, and
flung away his cigar.
“I am sorry you can't tell me anything more,
Shanahan, but I'm obliged to you for the infor-
mo


A CAB-DRIVER OBSERVES 125
mation you have given me. I'll do as much for
you sometime. Good-by.”
“If so be you are not in any hurry, sorr,” in-
terposed Shanahan, “I suppose you wouldn't
be wanting to know annything about the man I
took to that same house that self-same night,
now, would you?”
Blake nearly forgot the rule of a detective
never to let his face betray his thoughts.
“Did you really take a man there too?” he
said, “That’s odd, isn't it?” He tried to make
his manner casual.
“I did that same,” replied Shanahan.
"There was goings on enough in that house
that night. I don't know what was up, at all;
but what's going to be will be, and there's no
use of speculatin'."
“What sort of a man was it you took there,
Shanahan?” asked Blake.
“Well, now you're asking me something
easier. The men can't conceal their features
with veils like the ladies, God bless them, do.
Moresomeover, men have some shape to them.
The women, now, are all one straight line from
their neck to their heels, like the statue of Lib-
erty down near Ellis Island; and when they
wrap their faces up like the women on the cig-


126 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
arette packages, only twicet as thick, and come
at a man in the dark—but you'll excuse me, now,
sorr-I'm being called up to take a passenger.”
“I'm your passenger, Shanahan, I'll get in
with you, and drive all day if necessary."
Blake promptly sprang into the front seat of
the taxi, and Shanahan pulled up before the
starter, who made an entry in a note book, and
waved them away.
When they swung into Seventh Avenue, Shan-
ahan resumed his conversation.
“About that man, now," he said, "he was big
and strong, with shoulders like Jack Dempsey
-I never saw Jack Dempsey, God forgive me
if I misquote him—but it's shoulders like that
he has in the pictures of him.”
"Was he smooth shaven?” asked Blake.
“He was, and his face had that blue look that
a heavy black beard has when it's kept back
from growing where God planted it."
“And his manner? Slow spoken, was he, and
a bit diffident like the woman?”.
“Sorra a bit of it.” Shanahan laughed at
the recollection. “Slow spoken was it? He
kem up to me like he was shot out of a gun, and
he bellowed like a bull, ‘Cab here.' He jumped
in and says, “73 East Fifty — Street, and get


A CAB-DRIVER OBSERVES 127
there quick,' he says. I threw in the clutch and
stepped on the gas. “I'll go the limit of the
speed laws,' I says, "and I can't do no better
nor that.'
66Damn the speed laws,' he says. "There
are no speed laws this time of night. I'll make
it worth your while to get there.' He reached
into his pocket, and pulled out a roll of bills as
big as a bale of cotton—God forgive me if I'm
telling it a bit too big_it looked that big to me,
for my rent was due that day; and he peeled
off a bill and held it in his hand. I looked out
of the tail of my eye, and I saw a sawbuck in
one corner. Now I'm telling you confidential,
Mr. —," he glanced inquiringly at his pas-
senger.
“Blake,” the owner of the name genially sup-
plemented.
"Mr. Blake—but it's a detective you are,”
Shanahan suddenly remembered. “Maybe you
think I'd so far forget my duty-".
Blake laughed.
“Let’s forget it, Shanahan. What's a little
thing like a traffic law between friends? Let
it go that you got there in the course of time,
and your passenger went into the house, did
he?"


128 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“He did that. He was out and up the steps
before the taxi had hardly stopped. “Drive
around the corner away from this house,' he
ordered. “Wait at the pay telephone booth in
Gray's pharmacy and come back as soon as I
call you.' I waited where he told me and it
was not long before a woman's voice called over
the wire. “Are you the cab driver?' she says,
kinda cautious like. I admitted I was. 'Come
immejetly to 73 East Fifty — Street,' she
says. I went back and the big man was stand-
ing on the sidewalk waiting for me, and there
was another man with him.”
“What kind of a looking man was he?”
“I didn't see his face plain, he wore a cap
pulled down over it; but he was a high stepper,
not heavy built like the other man. Sort of a
gentleman he was more like.”
“Where did you take them?”
“I took them to West Street."
“West Street! What the deuce were they
doing there at that time of the night?" ex-
claimed the astonished detective.
Shanahan shrugged his shoulders. “Sorra a
bit of me knows,” he said. “They tipped me,
and dismissed me, and my job was done with.
I can say to you, Mr. Blake, that was not a bad


A CAB-DRIVER OBSERVES 129
night's work for Michael Shanahan. Now,
could you be after telling me, Mr. Blake, -I
do be often ponderin' it in my mind—what’s.
the reason money is so much freer at night than
in the daytime? I could drive from Easter
Sunday till the last day of Lent in the daytime,
and not get the tips I get in wan good week of
business at night.”
“You know as well as I do, Shanahan, the
crooks are all out at night,” Blake replied in-
dulgently.
“That's true for you, but so are the police
that is, they are supposed to be,” he amended,
wishing to conform to the strict truth.
Blake threw a calculating eye on the meter,
and after putting a few more questions, he sig-
nified his desire to be taken to police headquar-
ters, where he parted from the driver, leaving
a generous tip in Shanahan's expectant hand.
“Good bag of game on this trip,” thought
Blake to himself as he opened the door. “One
woman and two men—and West Street-West
Street- In the name of all that's holy-why
West Street?”


ANOTHER CLUE
131
tor Kane was at that moment closeted with a
Federal Secret Service agent who was inter-
ested in that same expedition. The Inspector
was, as usual when the circumstances would per-
mit, puffing his old briar pipe. .
“You were saying, Mr. Knowles," he said,
consulting a tablet in his hand, “that this sec-
retary of Barwood's, James M. Burrell by name,
was steward of the Excelsior Club, and you have
evidence that he has been handling thousands
of dollars worth of liquor, and distributing it
to private individuals, as well as furnishing the
club?" .
“Yes," replied Knowles, "we have run down
four thousand dollars worth somebody has dis-
tributed this last week; and we suspect that
Burrell had a hand in it. Barwood was a mem-
ber of the club, and Burrell was his private sec-
retary, as well as steward of the club. See the
connection? Barwood was shot by some un-
known person. Why not assume that Barwood
was mixed up in this business and that there
was a quarrel over the distribution of the
profits?”
Kane was reluctant to abandon a theory al-
ready formed, involving Mrs. Cox and the mys-
terious woman, or women, who had visited Bar-


132 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
wood's house that fatal night; but he was too
good a detective to be influenced entirely by
the obvious. He was willing to maintain an
open mind for any new theories. He laid his
pipe on the desk before him, and leaned back
so far in his swivel chair that it creaked a pro-
test.
“You have no evidence that it was Barwood
any more than any other member of the club,
that was pulling off this whiskey deal, have
you?” he inquired.
“No," replied Knowles, “only that Burrell
was his secretary.".
“How did you get on the trail of Burrell?”
Kane inquired.
“Sullivan, the Prohibition Enforcement di-
rector, has been holding an investigation, and
he has checked up the evidence of enough other
witnesses to make things look suspicious for
Burrell. Sullivan laid low on it, waiting to in-
volve Barwood. He wanted to get the men
higher up,” explained Knowles.
“I noticed Barwood had an unusually well
stocked cellar, but I thought it was a left-over,"
said Kane.
“Barwood could get all he wanted, all right.


ANOTHER CLUE
133
The question is—did he get it from Burrell,
and how deep into the business did Barwood
go? The morning Barwood was murdered, ten
truck drivers were arrested on the New York
side of the Hoboken Ferry, for hauling whiskey
concealed in oil barrels. They claimed not to
know whom they were taking it to. Their or-
ders were to take it to the Jersey side where
they would be met by the consignee, and receive
further orders. We have had agents stationed
over there ever since, but something has scared
the birds away. Whether the driver of the first
truck we let pass over as a decoy put them wise
or not, we don't know. He wasn't seen to com-
municate with anybody. There was no sus-
picious looking person about. We have watched
every mortal soul from the babies to the gray-
beards; but if they were there, they flew the
coop. We have all the drivers under arrest,
but they swear that they were gathered up in
the night, with instructions to load instantly,
and get started. They all tell the same story,
and no third degree seems to get anything else
out of them."
Kane slapped his knee with his big hand, and
roared with laughter.


134 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“God! What a funeral procession,” he said,
“and him going out in the middle of the night
to arrange it for himself !”
Knowles laughed, too, and lighted another
cigar. Kane relighted his pipe, and they re-
sumed their conversation enveloped in clouds
of tobacco smoke.
“Did you get any dope on who the other fu-
neral directors were?” Kane asked humorously.
“One of them might be this man Burrell
slightly disguised. We think there were at
least three, but you can't depend much on the
description given by those drivers. They were
more interested in the size of their pocket books
than in their looks."
“How did the crooks ever get all that stuff
out of the warehouse?” Kane suddenly scented
a reflection on the police department.
“Dead easy,” said Knowles, "they showed
permits signed by C. R. Sullivan, State Prohi-
bition director, but—the signature was forged.”
“That wasn't done by any subordinate,"
promptly declared Kane. “There was brains
there as well as nerve.”
“Yes, for they have put it over more than
once. Now who was the brains of the deal?
Not Burrell, I am convinced. This man, Bar-


ANOTHER CLUE
135
wood, had brains, or he couldn't have pulled off
the stunt to the world that he did. He played
the game of life to the limit—if he did run out
of chips at the end. I'll say that for him," said
Knowles heartily.
"You're right there,” Kane agreed. “He
fooled the police good and plenty, and we don't
owe him anything; but I'd like to find the man
who killed him for the sake of the game if noth-
ing else. By the way, do you know Jack Dal-
rymple?”
“Yes; he's a curb broker-a pretty smooth
article. Made a good many deals that were just
within the law-if they were even that. He was
a friend of Barwood. One of our agents saw
them laughing and talking together at Koch's
Chop House, a place we are keeping our eye
on, the day before Barwood was murdered. We
have been trying to connect him up with this
whiskey deal, but so far, we can't get anything
on him.”
“Do you know where he was the night before
the murder?”
“He was seen about town the evening before
with his wife; but that's all I know. I hoped
you could give me some dope on that."
"Well, all I know myself is, he lied like a


136 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
trooper to me to cover up his tracks that night.
Wherever he was, he doesn't want it known.
His wife has disappeared-hot footed it out of
the city the morning of the murder, and hasn't
been seen since. He is too foxy to communicate
with her. We've had him shadowed ever since
he turned up from wherever he was, hoping to
catch her through him. I may as well tell you,
she probably spent Tuesday night in Barwood's
house.”
“The devil you say !” exclaimed Knowles,
jumping to his feet, “how much more of a mo-
tive for murder than that do you want?”
“That is usually quite enough,” admitted
Kane, “but the trouble is, we can't get the
slightest evidence to show that he was in the
house or even in the neighborhood, that morn-
ing. In fact, the evidence is to the contrary.
It appears that he left the city before eight
o'clock that morning; and unless those medical
experts will come across, and admit that a man
might live longer than they swear he could live
with such a wound, the fat is all in the fire as
far as Dalrymple is concerned. You can't prove
that a medical expert is mistaken, and he
wouldn't admit it if he knew it; so you see how
we are up against it.”
WO


ANOTHER CLUE
137
“Why don't you suspect the woman? She
had opportunity, motive, intention probably,
and all the stock things you fellows demand,
didn't she?” laughed Knowles.
“Well, who knows but she did?” said Kane
knocking the ashes out of his pipe on the palm
of his hand, "if she was there. We have only
the word of a chauffeur for it, whose memory
has entirely failed him since he saw her there."
“I thought you had remedies at headquarters
for failing memories," laughed Knowles.
The Inspector smiled. “Speaking of memo-
ries, I am reminded that I have a man outside
waiting for me now, who was detailed on this
very job. I'll call him in. You may learn some-
thing about your precious whiskey.” Kane
couldn't resist the good-natured thrust.
He rose from his creaking chair, went to the
door, and called in Blake. After introducing
him to the Federal agent, he resumed his seat
and said: “Sit down, Blake, and give us your
report.”
Blake was glad of an audience for almost the
first time since he had been detailed on the case.
He told of Shanahan's report of the woman he
had driven to the fated house a few hours be-
fore the murder; and he gave intense satisfac-


138 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
tion to his two listeners when he related in de-
tail Shanahan's story of taking two men from
Barwood's house to West Street at the very
hour when the raid on the warehouse was taking
place. This supplied the very link in the chain
that Knowles was after.
“Could Shanahan give any description of the
two men?” asked Kane.
“Yes, fairly well,” replied Blake, and he re-
peated the description accurately from memory.
“Good work!” commended the Inspector.
“Now who was the man with the blue face that
foiled the plan of Nature?”
“That answers to the description of Dal-
rymple,” said Blake.
“And who was the other? Barwood him-
self?".
“I think so, but I'll know more, maybe, after
I've made a visit to West Street," said Blake.
"I think we can give you a hint to work on,''
said Kane. “Mr. Knowles, will you tell Mr.
Blake about that little party you have been hav-
ing down in that section, while I open the win-
dows to make room for more tobacco smoke?”
Blake was too eager to gather light on his in-
vestigation to notice the other's humor.
“What was that, Mr. Knowles ?” he asked.


ANOTHER CLUE
139
“I have been telling the Inspector,” said
Knowles, “that the Rotary warehouse on West
Street was emptied of its contents—a big stock
of Jamaica rum-on the night of the murder.
Somebody was to be on the Jersey side of the
Hoboken Ferry to meet the trucks that were
transferring it; but when the trucks got there,
there was nobody to meet them-except the Fed-
eral agents.”
A sudden thought struck Blake. “Could it
be,” he said, “that Barwood was the man to
look after that end of it? Gosh! it's kind of
gruesome to think of him sitting there passing
in his checks, while all those whiskey barrels
were lined up in procession waiting for him.”
Blake made a slight gesture of throwing off a
disagreeable impression.
“The Inspector thought it was funny,”
Knowles informed Blake with a wink.
“It is funny, damn funny,” persisted Kane,
"and very appropriate. He used his wits
against the police for years—and got the best
of 'em, too, I'll admit-but the devil knows his
own, and when the right time comes, he's
Johnny on the spot. He likes a bit of fun, now
and then, too, it seems; and when he got ready
to roast Barwood, he made him carry his own
ioa
Can
WI


140 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
fire wood. It's not given to many men to ar-
range their own funeral processions. I only
wish the whiskey barrels had followed the
hearse up Fifth Avenue,” he said whimsically.
They all laughed at the Inspector's conceit,
and then Knowles went on: “I can see the
pieces beginning to fit into place in this picture
puzzle. Now, the Federal agent was tipped off
by somebody that that stuff was to be trans-
ferred to a safer place. Suppose Barwood was
suspected by the rest of his gang, and that was
the reason he was called out that night to get
the stuff away twenty-four hours ahead of
schedule time.”
“And then, what?” queried the Inspector.
“Well, I can't construct a working theory
in a minute; but I believe we are getting warm.
If I could get a line on that secretary, and link
him up with Dalrymple, I think I would be on
a hot trail,” said Knowles confidently.
“You come back here at four o'clock Monday
afternoon, and I'll have that secretary here, or
know the reason why," said Kane, rising to com-
plete the interview.
“Thanks, Inspector, I'll be here on the dot,"
said Knowles, also rising
As Knowles and Blake were leaving the In-


ANOTHER ČLUE
141
spector's office, they met detective Harding just
arriving. Harding had been detailed to trace
the movements of Dalrymple on the day of the
murder.
“Got anything?" inquired Blake laconically.
“Heaps,” said Harding with equal brevity.
“Let's go back, and get his dope,” Blake pro-
posed to Knowles. “Guess the old man won't
mind."
The Inspector readily admitted them to his
conference with Harding, and they took seats
again in the office.
Harding produced a carefully compiled note
book, and made his report with constant refer-
ence to it.
“On Wednesday, the day of the murder," he
said, “Dalrymple took his car from the Ajax
garage at seven forty-five in the morning, and
started for Jersey. Somewhere on the way,
before eight o'clock, he picked up a man in golf-
ing outfit just starting for a Country Club,
whose car had broken down. This man, whose
name is Edmunds, says Dalrymple dropped him
on the Perth Amboy road at half-past eight
o'clock; and Dalrymple himself drove on in the
direction of Perth Amboy. Edmunds says that
Dalrymple had a grip with him. At Morman, a


ANOTHER CLUE
143
suppose when they get to be a little more scien-
tific, now,” whimsically, “they'll be telling the
department the man's not been shot at all—but
it's a natural death he's died.
“However, joking aside, I admit it looks like
a pretty complete alibi for Dalrymple—" He
paused a moment and then repeated slowly, con-
sideringly, “if-Barwood was shot as late as
they say,"


CHAPTER XIV
THE FLY EVADES THE WEB
ROMPTLY at four o'clock on Monday af-
ternoon, Burrell, secretary to the late Mr.
Barwood, appeared at headquarters. He
was a fair, pink, smiling man, who viewed the
world through big, innocent, blue eyes, veiled
with becoming dark lashes. He had an ingra-
tiating manner calculated to impress the Inspec-
tor with his entire willingness to make himself
agreeable at any sacrifice of his personal feel-
ings.
At the Inspector's invitation, he seated him-
self, and crossed one well-tailored leg over the
other, clasped the fingers of two plump and
dimpled hands together, and rested his elbows
on the arms of his chair, the while his glance
traveled toward Knowles who was keeping un-
ostentatiously in the background.
Kane, however, made no explanation of the
presence of the other man. He devoted himself
at once to the matter in hand. His ability to
144


THE FLY EVADES THE WEB 145
size up a man at sight had won him his promo-
tion in the department. He inventoried Bur-
rell, and catalogued him before he began to
question him.
“Mr. Burrell,” he began, “how long were you
secretary to Mr. Barwood ?”
“Fourteen years, Inspector, to be exact, four-
teen years, two months, and three days,” came
the reply in a bland voice.
“And how long have you been steward of the
Excelsior Club?”.
“Fifteen years—to be exact, fifteen years and
one month.”
“Was Mr. Barwood a member of the club?"
“Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Barwood was a mem-
ber when I went there."
“When was he there last, Mr. Burrell?”
“On Tuesday, the day before he was—unfor-
tunately, shot. To be exact, he dined there.”
“Did you see him again after that?”.
“If my memory serves me right, I did see
him again that evening at the Follies—to be
exact, I did see him.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Oh, no, he was with a party of friends.". .
The smooth voice was a protest against any
such breach of etiquette.


146 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Did you know the people he was with?”
Kane went on.
“Yes, I know who they were,” Burrell ad-
mitted.
“Who were they?”.
“Mr. and Mrs. Randall Lawson, and a lady
I understood to be Mrs. Lawson's sister, and
another gentleman-a foreign-looking man I
was told was a Brazilian banker."
“Don't you know the lady was Mrs. Lawson's
sister?”' probed the Inspector.
“To be exact-yes, I know it.”
“Had you ever seen the Brazilian banker be-
fore?"
“Not to say I had seen him. I knew he was
staying at the Waldorf.”
“What interest did you have in him that
somebody took the trouble to tell you he was
staying at the Waldorf ?”
“None, none whatever in him. It was my
interest in Mr. Barwood's friends—any friend,
to be exact,” the witness hastened to assure
him.
“Mr. Burrell, where was Mr. Barwood when
you last saw him?" Kane's question was sharp
and abrupt.


148 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
an
Inspector Kane shot a swift glance at
Knowles, who met it with one compounded
equally of amusement and admiration.
“Your telephone calls, now, Mr. Burrell,”
Kane went on, “you may perhaps have a record
of them?"
“I'm sorry," the other apologized, “I really
have no record.”
The Inspector, veteran inquisitor as he was,
was enjoying the wily evasions of his opponent.
“Your memory, then, Mr. Burrell. Could
you by any chance recall that a call was put in
for you at your house about two o'clock Wednes-
day morning?”
Burrell smiled indulgently at the absurdity
of the question. "There couldn't have been.
The telephone is in my bed room on a stand be-
tween my wife's bed and my own and we cer-
tainly would have heard the call.”
“Mr. Knowles," Kane said, turning to the
Federal agent, and with difficulty suppressing
a wink, “maybe you would like to question Mr.
Burrell.”
Knowles rose from his chair, and crossed
over to the window where he stood with his
back to the light. He thrust his hands in his
trousers pockets, and tipped back and forth
Users


THE FLY EVADES THE WEB 149
once or twice on his heels and toes. All the
time he was regarding the apparently unper-
turbed secretary.
“Mr. Burrell,” he commented, “that note
book of yours must be a prize.”
"You think so, Mr. Knowles ?" guardedly re-
turned the secretary. There was something in
the deliberate movements of Knowles that de-
tracted from the satisfaction he had experienced
while talking to Kane.
“Must be—the only thing that detracts from
its value is its transparency.”
“Meaning—?” The innocent blue eyes rested
on the other's face in guileless inquiry.
“Meaning that an eye sufficiently trained can
read all that's in it, and better still, and more
of it—all that isn't in it.”
“You are a joker, I see, Mr. Knowles. My
little book is hardly worth it,” Burrell gently
remonstrated.
“How would you like to hear a few memo-
randa from mine-made up from notes that
ought to be in yours?” said Knowles, drawing
a small memorandum pad from his coat pocket,
and scanning it in imitation of the other's man-
ner.
“Mem. On Tuesday night, October Twenty-


150
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
fifth, the steward of the Excelsior Club, re-
ceived an urgent summons to meet a friend—”.
he took off his eyeglasses, and held them af-
fectedly poised in one hand while he surveyed
the steward.
The steward's eyes narrowed a trifle, and he
remarked: “Interesting, if not profitable.”
“Oh, but it was supposed to be profitable-
profits to be shared. Let me read on," he os-
tentatiously restored his eyeglasses, and read
again:
“Said steward left his happy home in great
haste, and hot-footed it to West Street. There
he met other friends who preferred the quiet
shades of West Street to the bright lights of
the Tenderloin-Got that record in your note
book, Steward?”
“Go on," the other said reservedly.
“Want to hear more, do you? A certain
warehouse, supposed to contain the entire
stock of the Jamaica Rum Company—but which
Secret Service agents knew had been badly de-
pleted—by the way, did you ever hear of the
Jamaica Rum Company, Mr. Steward?” .
“You boasted you could read my book with
a magician's eyes. Why claim my help?” sar-
castically.
W


THE FLY EVADES THE WEB 151
"That's straight goods, too,” admitted
Knowles, with a glance at the Inspector, where
he met the same amused twinkle as before.
“That's an interesting book of yours, Mr.
Knowles. I'd like to hear more of it," said the
Inspector. “We have a Banshee in our family,
but she doesn't do anything for us till we're
near dead. She doesn't help me to read a book
that's in another man's pocket.”
Knowles read on: “The warehouse of the
Jamaica Rum Company was broken into—that
is, it was opened with a key—and the remain-
der of the stock was removed in the night. It
got as far as the Hoboken Ferry," he paused
again.
“You might have read that in the papers,
there's nothing particularly clever in that
story," said the steward contemptuously.
"The clever part is coming,” retorted
Knowles. “Secret Service agents knew for
some time that the stock was being taken out.
They also knew that a certain club was kept
well stocked with liquor—particularly a very
fine brand of Jamaica Rum. Then they found
that the weekly bankings of the steward of that
club ran up to more than the steward's salary."
Here the pink fingers twitched.


152 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“But the amount of increased banking,"
Knowles continued to read, "didn't begin to
cover what all that liquor sold for; and the
Federal agents bided their time to find out
where the rest of the proceeds went.”
A shade of growing interest crept into the
steward's eyes, in spite of his effort to appear
unconcerned.
“Finally,” continued Knowles, “the agents
were tipped off to the fact that the bootleggers
were getting wise, and that they were prepar-
ing to get the entire stock out. They were go-
ing to begin moving Thursday.”
Knowles closed his tablet, placed it in his
pocket, and took off his glasses. He produced
from another pocket a case, extracted there-
from an oblong piece of pink cloth, wiped the
glasses carefully, and replaced them on his nose.
The interview appeared to be ended.
Burrell was plainly disturbed. His efforts
to conceal his uneasiness could no longer be
disguised.
“And that's all there is to the story, Mr.
Knowles ?” the Inspector inquired guilelessly.
“All that Mr. Burrell wants me to read in
public, Mr. Kane. It's quite a long story," re-
plied Knowles.


THE FLY EVADES THE WEB 153
“But you stopped just where it began to be
interesting," objected Kane. “You said they
were going to pull off the stuff Thursday night,
and I understood you to say that they did pull
it off Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morn-
ing; and you Secret Service men never caught
up with them, although you knew it was there,
and you knew they were going to get it out.
How do you explain that?”.
“Mr. Burrell has the answer in his little
absent-minded note book, Inspector," Knowles
replied affably. “You might ask him to go on
with the story. I have to go up to the Prohibi-
tion Director's office now. I think he will have
brought in one or two of the stockholders of the
Jamaica Rum Company by this time.”
Knowles was taking his leave with this part-
ing shot when Burrell broke in:
“Oh, cut out that stuff, Officer, I'm no kid
not to see through that cheap talk. I get you.
Pull off your stunt right here and now, and let's
get it done with. You can't connect me with
that gang Tuesday night, so don't waste your
time. But this other stuff about handling the
whiskey for the club-give me your dope on
that and let me clear myself."
“You heard what I said,” said Knowles.


154 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
a
“Where did your club get its Jamaica Rum?”
“It came from the Jamaica Rum Company's
stock, but you can't prove that I handled it for
myself.”
“Well, if you are absolutely innocent, Mr.
Burrell, you won't leave it to me to prove it.
You'll tell the truth.”
“You don't understand my position, Mr.
Knowles. As the steward of the club, I am
bound to be loyal to the members. Ask the
steward of any club in the city if he isn't ex-
pected to keep his mouth shut about what the
members do; and if he's told to put a few cases
of liquor in the cellar, it isn't his business to
ask where it came from.”
“You are beating about the bush, Burrell.
You don't have to tell a damn thing you don't
want to. I have other means of getting at it-
and believe me, your name's written there. It's
the first name on the pay roll. You're down for
full time already; and when we get your over-
time, you'll be paid time and a half for it all
right. Now, I'll get out. I've wasted too much
time with you already. See you later, Inspec-
tor," and the officer left the room.
"And we haven't discussed Barwood with you


THE FLY EVADES THE WEB 155
-yet,” murmured Kane regretfully, as the door
closed behind Knowles.
“What the devil do you mean, Inspector?”
inquired Burrell irritably. “You haven't asked
me anything about Mr. Barwood. You infer
that I have refused to tell you something that
you haven't even asked me about." Burrell's
studied repose had quite disappeared.
“You have such a sensitive point about
'honor'—I was going to say, among thieves—
that I don't see any use of asking you ques-
tions,” said Kane.
“Well, that's where you're mistaken. Bar-
wood is dead and gone where you can't touch
him; and he can't get back at me, either. I am
not going to put my neck in a noose to save his
reputation, no matter what I might have done
to keep him out of jail.”
“Well, if you really mean business, Burrell,”
said the Inspector, taking his watch from his
pocket, and comparing it from force of habit
with the timepiece on the wall, “and are not
going to have a squeamish conscience every five
minutes to block the game, I'll listen to you
now; but make short work of it, for there's a
line stretching from here to the Battery waiting
for me now.”


156 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“I'll tell you anything you want to know
about Barwood; but when it comes to mention-
ing other names, I warn you right now, I'm not
going to give them away until I have to.”
“We'll come to that in good time," said Kane.
“Take one of these cigars, and make yourself
comfortable, while I settle one or two matters
waiting for me."
The Inspector left the room, and Burrell se-
lected a cigar and lighted it. Then he paced
back and forth in the room, holding the for-
gotten cigar between his fingers until the spark
died out.


CHAPTER XV
BUT BECOMES ENTANGLED AT LAST
HEN Kane returned to his office, Bur-
rell was standing at the window gaz-
ing vaguely over a conglomerate
mass of roof-tops. There was a slight frown on
his usually unruffled brow; an expression of con-
cern in his tightly-set lips. To the most casual
observer, it would be obvious that something
was disturbing him. At the sound of Kane en-
tering the room, however, his anxious expres-
sion was exchanged for one of easy unconcern.
"Now, then, Mr. Burrell,” said Kane, af-
fecting not to see the sudden change in expres-
sion, “I have a little time to give you on this
matter; but I don't want to spend it all beating
about the bush, trying to frame questions that
you can't dodge. Go ahead and tell me all you
know about this man Barwood.” Kane re-
sumed his seat in his swivel chair.
“You are giving me a large order, Inspec-
tor,' replied Burrell, seating himself and cross-
.
157


158 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
ing his legs, “to tell you all I know about a man
whose secretary I have been for fifteen years.
Just what line of talk do you want? He was a
many-sided man, as you must know. I take it
you want to know all about his liquor business."
Kane nodded assent. “Yes, we will take that
first, although it is to the Federal agents you
should be telling that story. I want to find out
who shot Barwood.”
“I don't see what this liquor business has to
do with that," Burrell replied.
“You go on with the story and I'll make the
application," said Kane.
“You seem to know the main facts of the case
already,” Burrell began. "The Jamaica Rum
Company had an enormous stock of liquor that
they failed to dispose of before the Prohibition
Law went into effect. The stockholders stored
it in the Rotary warehouse on West Street. Of
course it couldn't be removed without an order
from the Prohibition Enforcement Director-
and you know it was removed.”
Kane made a gesture of comprehension.
“Yes, go on. The Excelsior Club got a liberal
supply of it?"
“As you already know," Burrell replied
easily, "but they didn't get the whole of it.”


ENTANGLED AT LAST
159
“No, I understood not; but how did you get
hold of your share of it?” Kane's eyes did not
waver in their scrutiny of the secretary.
“I had an order," he replied tersely.
“Who gave you the order?”
“Mr. Barwood gave it to me; but it was
signed by C. R. Sullivan, State Prohibition En-
forcement Director."
Kane was alive to the subtle reservation in the
statement. He came back at him quickly with
the question: "Didn't you know the order was
forged?”
“You'd have hard work to prove that I knew
that, wouldn't you, Inspector?” Burrell replied
without apparent resentment. “You'd have to
get a pretty expert mind reader, wouldn't you?”
The Inspector, without appearing to hear the
question, continued: “Can you show the or-
der?”
“I can.” Burrell's reply was prompt and
positive.
“You bought the liquor outright from the
stockholders, then, and sold it to the club?”
“Not so fast, Inspector. You're trying to
involve me in an illicit deal,” Burrell protested.
“I had nothing to do with it but to stow it
away."


160 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
W
“You were well paid, I take it, judging from
your bank account,” the Inspector commented
drily.
“Well, even stowing away liquor these days
is dangerous business, and deserves its re-
ward."
"You knew that, did you?”
“Of course I knew it. That's why I played
safe,” said Burrell complacently.
“Do you think you have played exactly
safe?” said Kane meaningly.
"That remains to be seen, Inspector. It's up.
to you to get the goods on me." Burrell shifted
his eyes from their contemplation of his pol-
ished shoe-tips, and looked steadily at Kane.
Kane changed his base. “Who are the stock-
holders?” he asked.
“I have forgotten them—all but Mr. Bar-
wood.” Burrell held his position firmly.
“Hm-m. I thought you were going to tell
me all about this liquor deal,” challenged Kane.
“I told you I would tell you circumstances
but not names,” Burrell corrected.
“Go ahead, then, and tell me what happened
in connection with the removal of that whis-
key."
Burrell reflected a moment. "The stuff had


ENTANGLED AT LAST 161
to be got out that night, as I told you," he said.
“It was more dangerous to leave it in its de-
pleted state than it was to move it. An S. O. S.
call was sent out, and the interested parties got
busy. A party was despatched to remain in
Barwood's house and act as a telephone cen-
tral to keep the different parties in touch with
each other while Mr. Barwood directed opera-
tions at the base. Something about Mr. Bar-
wood's manner that night, added, perhaps, to
some previous doubts, aroused a suspicion that
he had stacked the cards; and there was some
ugly talk. However, when they saw the stuff
got safely out, the matter was smoothed over;
and Mr. Barwood left in a taxi with one of his
friends about five o'clock in the morning; and
that's the last I know about him.”
Kane believed that this story was substan-
tially true in all that concerned Barwood; and
that Burrell was naturally withholding the part
that might incriminate himself and others whose
interest he was manifestly protecting.
“Was this man who left with Barwood one
of those who thought he had double-crossed
'em?” he asked.
“No, in fact, he was the peacemaker and
smoothed out the trouble.”


162 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“One other question, Mr. Burrell. Was the
party who remained at Barwood's house to op-
erate the telephone a man or a woman?”
Burrell retired into his former reserve. He
studied his well-manicured finger nails care-
fully. “That I have quite forgotten, Inspec-
tor," he said.
“Then I suppose you wouldn't remember
whether the party in the house had any special
connection with the man who left with Bar-
wood?"
“That's one of the things you must not ask
me to remember, Inspector,” Burrell objected.
“Do you know whether the man who accom-
panied him home entered the house?” Kane
continued to probe.
“Yes, he did," Burrell admitted, candidly.
“He answered the telephone from there."
“What time was that?"
“About half past five, or a little after."
“You are sure of that?”
"Positively."
“How do you know?” Kane ventured this
question prepared for the evasion which fol-
lowed.
“I can't tell you that, but I know."


164 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
he was with ladies, or with men that he wanted
to stand well with—but-".
Burrell made a significant gesture with shoul-
ders and eyebrows.
“Go on," urged Kane.
“He was an inscrutable man,” Burrell went
on, almost as if speaking to himself. “He had
a perfect passion for intrigue. He would take
a roundabout course to accomplish an end when
the straight course was perfectly safe and easy.
He was very popular with women. Whenever
he wanted to make a new conquest, he would
feign indifference. He lost no opportunity to
keep himself before the object of his pursuit;
but he managed to make it appear that he was
the pursued. Funny how women fall for that
sort of thing. Did you ever hear of Dick Colby?
Shot himself, you remember, some fourteen or
fifteen years ago. Papers made it appear that
he was in financial difficulties. Nothing in it.
His finances were as straight as yours and mine.
His wife learned to play bridge at Barwood's.
She was a beautiful woman and Barwood went
mad over her. Not that he showed it—not
even to her, as far as anybody could see; but
he exercised his diabolical fascination until the
woman was infatuated with him. She com-


ENTANGLED AT LAST 165
mitted all sorts of indiscretions. Her limousine
was seen standing before his house at all hours;
and when the thing became a scandal, Barwood
slid out from under and posed as an innocent
victim. That was his method. It didn't always
end as tragically as that; but it ended in Bar-
wood's favor every time. He was one of the
most fascinating men I ever met-and the most
subtle. Once in a while a woman failed to fall
for him—especially the younger set. He was
growing too old for them. They loved the ex-
citement of his bridge parties, and they courted
his favor—but only professionally. He couldn't
forgive that. I have seen his countenance
change in an instant from the most amiable,
deferential expression to one of the most vindic-
tive, malevolent, and deadly that a human face
can wear. This last was never aired in public,
you understand. The first time I saw it was
one evening at his own house when he had been
making himself most agreeable to a beautiful
young woman whose husband was a homely,
drab looking man. Barwood had resorted to his
usual method, and the young woman was quite
oblivious to it. Then he kept himself beside
her, ostensibly to teach her the game. She
treated him with the deference she would her


THE HOUSE OF CARDS
grandfather. When taking her leave, she said
something about his kindness in giving the
young people so much pleasure, and went away
casting adoring glances on her drab looking
young husband. For just a lightning flash, I
caught that look. I was so amazed I stared in-
credulously. If any possible venom could have
been added to his expression, he favored me
with it; and then he resumed his usual suave,
gracious manner.
"I have wondered since he was shot, how any
man could shoot straight at him if Barwood
favored him at the moment with that evil eye.
The Coroner said Barwood was probably look-
ing coolly past the muzzle of the gun into the
eye of his slayer when the shot was fired. I'll
lay a hundred to one he wasn't. Barwood may
have been cool-he had nerve, I'll have to hand
it to him for that; but the man doesn't live who
could maintain his nerve while Barwood fixed
one of his malevolent glances on him."
Kane listened intently to the secretary's char-
acterization of his employer—the frankness of
his revelations compensating in a measure for
his former reticence.
The disclosure of Barwood's methods with
women strengthened the theory already enter-


ENTANGLED AT LAST 167
tained by Kane. He had had too much experi-
ence to ignore the possibilities in a situation
like the one in the present case, where two
women, and possibly a third, had been in Bar-
wood's house within a few hours of his death.
He had no quarrel with the Biblical interpreta-
tion of Eve's mischievous activities in the Gar-
den of Eden; and he firmly believed that subse-
quent history bore out the justice of that ver-
dict. Cherchez la femme had been his instinc-
tive judgment at first. While the secretary had
given him no positive clue in the present case,
he had corroborated Kane's theory by showing
that the conjecture was not inconsistent with
the character of the murdered man.
“Have you any theories, Mr. Burrell?” Kane
asked.
“No, there are too many strings to it for
me. There are a dozen ways in which it might
come about. He was a gambler, as the police
have just discovered. His place was the ren-
dezvous, at one time, of an exclusive set—but
lately, the best known professional gamblers
have been there—and in fact, anybody with
money to lose. Not long ago, I saw a shady
friend of Barwood steering a young millionaire
cub there. Quite similar to under-world


168 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
methods, you see. Then he was suspected of
double dealing in the Jamaica Rum business.
And lastly, he had not completely lost his fasci-
nation for the women-far from it. So, there
you are; take your choice, I give you my word,
I don't know any more than you do where to
look for the person who had the nerve to do
him in."


CHAPTER XVI
“THE HUNCH”
C HILE swarms of detectives were de-
spatched in every direction in a
search for clues in the murder mys-
tery, James Macoy, the young reporter, was
trying his amateur wings for a flight toward
Fame. That his hour had come he firmly be-
lieved. He took himself very seriously. In
fancy he saw himself, alone and unaided, pre-
senting the author of the crime to the District
Attorney, and receiving the plaudits of a grate-
ful public. Newspaper notoriety, at this stage
of his career, stood for “fame." His connec-
tion with the District Attorney's office had given
him a standing with himself—a confidence that
he had lacked before; but otherwise, his equip-
ment for the pursuance of the quest consisted
more in enthusiasm than in concrete material.
He had, to be sure, found four objects in the
house of the murdered man on the morning of
the tragedy; but Harding had appropriated the
169


170
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
m
shell hairpin, and he had turned the scarf over
to the District Attorney. He had retained the
scrap of paper and the iridescent bead and
upon these as a foundation, he intended to build
the structure of his dreams. Thus far his ef-
forts had ended in a cul de sac. He had no con-
fidant to stimulate his mind with theories; and
he had no experience in the technicalities of
detective work. He had to depend, therefore,
entirely upon what he called his “hunch.”
This “hunch” led him, two days after the
murder, to the scene of the tragedy. He stood
for a long time, hands in pockets, bending a
steady gaze on the house front. If he had
thought to draw inspiration from the brown
stone façade that looked coldly down upon him
as he stood, he was disappointed. The win-
dows stared unwinkingly back. A gust of wind
was hurling scraps of paper and dead leaves in
a restless eddy in a basement stairway. He
knew the police were in possession of the house,
and he had no desire to enter. He did most
earnestly wish, however, to possess the secret
which the dwelling held. Finding himself at-
tracting attention from passers-by, he moved
slowly on, and soon caught sight of Jerry, the
old janitor.


“THE HUNCH”
171
“Hello, Jerry, haven't they arrested you
yet?” His salutation was wholly unpremedi-
tated and without ulterior purpose. He was,
therefore, quite unprepared for the effect of
his words. Jerry's eyes widened and he
dropped his broom.
“Fo' de Lawd!” he exclaimed, “I knowed
dis was gwine happen. I done forgot my rabbit
foot dis mawnin'. Look like de Lawd's gwine
send dis ole niggah trouble. Whut you-all
aimin' to do, Mistah?”
Macoy was quick to take advantage of this
unexpected opening. “You've got to tell the
truth, Jerry, or go to jail,” Macoy heartlessly
lied, deducing instantly from Jerry's state of
agitation, that he really did have some knowl-
edge that he was concealing.
“I nebber did stole that money," Jerry pro-
tested, “fo' Gawd, I didn't. The lady she done
drap it; and fo' I could snatch it up and give
it to her, she was done gone-mos' over to the
Avenue. I's been keepin' it for her ebber since
-dat’s de truf,” he pleaded.
“She doesn't believe that, Jerry; she says
you snatched it away from her and ran away,
and she's going to have you arrested and sent
to the Island for life unless you tell me all about


"THE HUNCH”
173
“Did you see anybody else, Jerry?” Macoy
questioned eagerly.
“I didn't see nobody after dat, I done tole
you, 'scusen Mis’ Cox an’ all them policemen.
I was skeered at first Mis’ Cox got all them
policemen to 'rest me, an' send me to jail 'cause
I had the money. I was jes clarin' out, when
that big one what done come fust with Mis' Cox
hollered at me, an' axes me questions, an' so
combusted me, I 'clare I was mighty nigh Jor-
dan's ribber.”
“But before that, Jerry-before Mrs. Cox
came, and before the woman went out, you must
have seen some one, if you were in the vestibule
next door. Think Jerry, think!” Macoy did
not attempt to repress the eagerness of his
voice.
“There wasn't nobody, I done tole you-
'scusen only the gent’man in the swellness ober-
coat dis darkey ebber laid his eyes on. The
wind jes blowed the corner back, an' it was all
shiny silk; an' jes when I thought it was red
like, it all turned greeny. Golly! he wasn't no
po' white trash-he was quality, he was."
Macoy was so intensely excited that he was
in actual physical pain. His breath came in


174 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
short gasps. “When was that, Jerry?” he man-
aged to say, “how long before Mrs. Cox came?”
“Mos' no time 'tall,” Jerry declared. “I
wasn't done 'mirin' that obercoat when I looks
up an' sees Mis’ Cox."
“Did you see the man go into the house?”
“No, he mus' a gwine in 'fore I done got
yeah, 'cause I neber did saw him come. I jes
see him when he done come down the steps."
“But he might have come in while you were
in the vestibule of one of the other houses and
you not see him, couldn't he, Jerry?” *
“Trus’ Jerry for seein' him, if he done come.
Why, I takes keer dese yeah houses, I does,”
he proudly affirmed.
"What kind of a hat did he wear?” continued
Macoy.
“Kinda sof' brown like his obercoat."
“How did he look ?”
"Jes' like quality, I done tol you—dat ober-
coat—"
“Never mind about the overcoat, Jerry, I
want to know how he looked—tall or short-
dark or fair?"
"I dunno 'bout dat,” said Jerry, taking off
his old woolly cap and scratching his head, "jes


"THE HUNCH”
175
'bout so so, I reckon," and that was the only
description Macoy could gather.
“How long was Mrs. Cox in the house before
she came out for the policeman?" Macoy re-
turned to a subject about which Jerry was more
explicit.
“The other lady what los' the money done
come out first."
“How long after that did Mrs. Cox come
out?” Macoy continued.
“I reckon by the time the other lady was
flappin' her buzzard's wings on the Avenue Mis'
Cox done come out."
“How did it happen Mrs. Cox didn't see you
pick up the money?”.
“How come she could see me? She couldn't
see through no do', I reckon.”
"Well, now, Jerry—about the money—have
you it with you?”
“Yassah, I done try to spen' it, an' the man
looked at me 'spicious like, an' I didn't try no
mo'."
“Let me see it, Jerry.".
Jerry reached down into the depths of a
capacious pocket, and brought forth a very
much soiled rag which he unrolled, and pro-
duced therefrom a fifty dollar bill.


CHAPTER XVII
ON THE TRAIL
ACOY now possessed a clue, thanks to
his felicitous meeting with Jerry, un-
IVI known to any other person. He felt
quite sure of Jerry's secrecy in the interest of
his own self-preservation. To be sure, Jerry
had not given a definite description of the man
whom he had seen leaving the house. He was
"quality,” and wore a strikingly lined over-
coat. He must have made his exit from the
house after the shot was fired. Did he or the
woman in the black coat fire the shot? Was he
a jealous husband, or was there collusion be-
tween the man and woman? Was Mrs. Cox
implicated, or did she accidentally arrive at a
moment when she might encounter the man,
and did encounter the woman? If the visitors
were familiar with the routine of the establish-
ment, did they not know that Mrs. Cox was
due to arrive at that hour? If they were not
familiar with it, and were unknown to Bar-
177


ON THE TRAIL
179
-might almost be a play suit; Butcher, Bryant -
9100. I'll take them alphabetically,” he re-
solved. “Here goes for Backhaus, Men's Out-
fitters.”
He jotted names and addresses in his note
book, closed and replaced the directory and
made directly for the establishment of Back-
haus.
“It's certainly high class,” he observed, as
he noted the absence of an excessive display
of goods. Only a few customers were present.
A young man came toward Macoy, and asked
politely what he might show him. Macoy felt
the contrast between the well pressed, well
fitting, up-to-date clothes worn by the salesman
and his own rather negligently worn garments.
He was conscious, too, that the appraising eye
of the salesman noted the difference; and he
imagined a shade of difference in his manner
because of this appraisal. Macoy managed to
make his wants known, and a faint shadow of
an amused smile grew around the corners of
the salesman's mouth at the incongruity of the
request. He, however, courteously offered to
show the stock of ready-made overcoats.
“Here is one of our newest coats,” he ex-
plained, "hether mixture-comes in two shades


ON THE TRAIL
181
self appraising every overcoat he met on the
street between his visits. He speculated on
whether the collar would look well turned up
or down, and decided just what proportion of
the inside was lined. He felt more at his ease
in the shops with experience, too; and found
that it saved time to ask directly for coats with
linings.
Near the corner of Fortieth Street and the
Avenue, he paused before a shop not on his
alphabetical list. It was a Men's Clothing
Shop, but had no display in the windows except
a few late model fall hats. One happened to be
a “soft brown." He stepped inside, and made
his stereotyped inquiry for “overcoats with
colored linings." An elderly man courteously
invited him to mount a winding marble stair-
way, which brought him to a spacious room with
a neutral tinted rug and comfortable uphol-
stered chairs and divans, but no sign of cloth-
ing. His inquiry here was met with instant
response. The salesman invited him to be
seated, and presently Macoy reaped the reward
of his weary search. The salesman reappeared
from some place to which he had vanished, and
brought with him, over his arm, two overcoats
with changeable silk linings, one of which would


182
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
vu.
answer to Jerry's description of “greeny-red,”
the other of blue and gold.
“These are an English importation we have
just received,” he explained. “Haven't been
in a week. You can't get these anywhere else
in the city; they were made exclusively for us
by Copley of London. Best of material both
in the coat and in the lining. Swagger, aren't
they ?” he commented.
“Yes," Macoy admitted, “but they don't look
practical to me. They are a bit too swagger
for any one but sports. You couldn't wear them
anywhere but to the races and such places,
could you?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, we are selling them to our
very best customers for street wear. They are
a novelty, of course, and next season may be
quite out. Perhaps you would like something
for more than one season's wear,” he sug-
gested, with a glance at Macoy's last year's
clothes.
"No," Macoy persisted, “I particularly
wanted a colored lining; but I want to be sure
I won't look like a successful gambler in it."
“Oh, no, no, no," responded the salesman,
"we have sold only three as yet, but they were
bought by our very best customers. Judge


ON THE TRAIL
183
Parrish took one with this changeable blue;
and Mr. Woodman, the architect on Riverside
Drive, took another. So, you see, they are not
exactly sporty coats.”
“And who bought the other one?" Macoy
tried to keep his eagerness out of his voice.
“I don't really know," the salesman re-
sponded. “I didn't sell it myself.”
“But I have a reason for wanting to know,"
said Macoy. “I'd really like to know who
bought the other one.”
It was a slack time in the shop, otherwise
Macoy would not have received the amount of
attention he was getting. His question was
apparently inquisitive, but the salesman had a
little curiosity himself concerning the sale.
“Did you sell that other coat, Molossi?” he
inquired of a dapper young salesman standing
near by.
“Yes, I sold the first one of the lot,” he re-
plied.
“This must be an interesting job, yours,"
Macoy commented ingratiatingly. “You get
to know all the millionaires and can call 'em all
by their first names, I suppose.”
“Yes, it's a part of our job to remember our
customers' names, and it's worth a lot to a


184
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
as
UTY.
salesman when the customer can remember
his," put in the older man.
"Then you must know the name of the cus-
tomer you sold the first of these coats to?”
Macoy looked at Molossi.
“I am sorry to say I don't. It was my first
day on the job, and he was the first customer
I had,” the young salesman admitted regret-
fully.
“But didn't you get his name when you de-
livered the coat?” Macoy felt he had the whole
mystery unravelled, if this name should provi-
dentially come into his possession.
"It wasn't delivered. He came in and bought
it in a hurry. Had a grip with him, and said
he was going to take a train. Paid cash for it
and wore it."
Macoy made one more effort. “What kind
of a looking man was he? You will excuse me,
but I have a special reason for wanting to find
that man. I'd give anything to find out who
he is.”
The older man eyed him with new interest.
“Not a detective, are you?” he inquired.
“Yes," Macoy admitted, “I'm making a little
private investigation, and the man who bought
that overcoat is interested in the case."


ON THE TRAIL
185
“You'll get in Dutch with the firm if you put
detectives on the track of their customers,
Molossi," the older man warned the younger.
"I couldn't if I wanted to. I wouldn't know
the man again from a side of sole leather,"
Molossi retorted.
The interview was apparently ended, and
there was nothing for Macoy to do but to take
his departure, which he did with a keenness of
disappointment which only the very young can
feel.


CHAPTER XVIII
MRS. GRAYSON ENTERTAINS
BOUT eight o'clock that same evening,
Macoy was moved to go and call on Mrs.
1 Grayson. She made him feel more at
his ease than any one he had ever talked with.
He needed a sympathetic listener after his fail-
ure of the day; and, as she had assured him of
a welcome at her apartment at any time, he be-
took himself, after a dreary dinner in his board-
ing house, to Irving Place.
He found her quite alone. Her little maid
had gone to the movies, she explained. A cheer-
ful wood fire was burning on the hearth, more
for company, she told him, than because it was
really cold. The softly shaded light fell upon
her gown of some clingy, silvery gray stuff,
which fascinated Macoy as he sat on the side
of the hearth opposite her and watched her.
,"I'm glad you came,” she said, “I'm some-
times fearfully lonely just sitting by myself and
thinking. I try not to do it-not to think, I
186


MRS. GRAYSON ENTERTAINS 187
mean; but I can't read continually, and when
I play, the music stirs up everything I want to
forget. So I sit by the fire, and wish—" she
smiled at him, “for a nice young man who is
lonely, too, to come and sit with me. The lone-
liness of youth, and the loneliness of age”
she half mused— "so different, but they both
hurt."
“I'd be so glad to come,” he said eagerly,
“if I knew you wanted me; but I can't imagine
what company a gawky fellow like me can be
to a lovely—so different from anybody I ever
knew kind of a lady. You don't get any pleas-
ure out of making sport of me as Blake and
Harding do. You are too, too-perfect,” he
added, hesitating for the right word.
“Who are Blake and Harding?" she in-
quired, “and why do they make fun of you?”
“They are a couple of detectives from police
headquarters I often run into; and they make
me feel awkward, and stupid, and very, very
young; and I always know that my clothes are
not right; and—and just about every way a fel-
low can feel when he knows he's in wrong.
You know how it is—no, of course you don't,
how could you?” he apologized.
“Why do you let anybody make you feel that


188 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
way? You don't have to, you know,” she said,
gently.
"I don't!” he exclaimed. “Look at me,'
and he stood up to exhibit himself. “My arms
are too long, and my legs are too short, and
my hair always stands on end—I'm just a cari-
cature, I am I know it.”
She looked at him appraisingly. “And you
have good teeth, a well-shaped mouth, fine
eyes,” she counted off, “and a straightforward,
engaging manner. A good tailor could correct
the appearance of your long arms, and the right
kind of a barber would tame your insubordinate
hair in no time. There is really nothing the
matter with you but your clothes. Am I too
frank?" she asked.
“Lord, no, but what have clothes to do with
a man? Haven't I the right to wear the kind
of clothes I want to, so long as I pay my bills
and live straight?” he inquired, genuinely puz-
zled.
“Yes, but you don't wear the clothes you
want to. You don't wear the kind that makes
you happy. You have just admitted that your
friends who dress better make you self-con-
scious. If you were dressed right, they couldn't


MRS. GRAYSON ENTERTAINS 189
make you feel that way. Do you mind telling
me where you buy your neckties?”
“At the Ten Cent Store. It's cheap and
handy.”
She began to laugh, but checked herself.
“Tell me,” she urged gently, “do you have
to economize so much on your clothes? Because
if you do, it is better economy to buy better
clothes."
"Lord, no; I have more money than I spend.
I could spend a lot more than I do. I just
thought these were all right," he said, looking
ruefully down upon the offending garments.
“No, you didn't think they were all right.
You just didn't know they are all wrong," she
corrected.
“Well, if you say so, I'll get a new suit to-
morrow," he ejaculated.
“Do you know where to find a good tailor?”
“Well, yes, I rather think I know the best of
them,” he responded promptly. "There's
Backhaus, Ball, Becker," he counted on his fin-
gers; “Broad, Men's Tailors; Briller, Boys'
and Men's Outfitters, Fourth Avenue; Buck-
man, Butcher—".
“Goodness,” she laughed, “you sound like a


190 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
bill collector. How do you happen to have all
these names so handy?”.
“Why–1–14" he flushed with embarrass-
ment. He meant to keep his secret from every-
body until he had something definite to commu-
nicate.
“I have been doing a little detective work on
my own,” he stammered awkwardly.
She saw his embarrassment and with ready
tact swerved from the topic.
“Then I'd advise you, young Sherlock, to look
around you and see if you can detect a nice,
plain, business suit that you think I would like
to see you wear; and then go to a good tailor
and have one made like it. Don't buy it ready-
made. Don't-buy-it-ready-made," she im-
pressed upon him with mock seriousness. “And
then observe the kind of shirts well-dressed men
wear with business suits. And your neckties-
ah, can I trust you with your ties and socks,
or must I buy them myself?" she paused
thoughtfully.
He knew she meant what she was saying, and
that she proffered her advice in a friendly spirit.
He was more touched than he cared to show.
“Just you watch me," he said, “I'll be wait-
ing at the door of Broad Brothers, Boys' and


MRS. GRAYSON ENTERTAINS 191
Men's Outfitters, at cock-crow to-morrow morn-
ing.”
“Well, then, if that is settled, let's make some
tea. Rosetta is out and you'll have to help me."
She rose and he followed her. “This is my
kitchenette. See the cunning little cupboards,
and the toy kitchen things. You can draw the
water here. You might as well learn the ways
of the place, for I shall depend upon you to
come often and keep me from being lonely. Can
you make sandwiches?”
Her assistant proved an adept in his task.
When the things were ready, and she had
poured his tea, he reverted to her plaint of
loneliness.
“Mrs. Grayson,” he said, in his quaint abrupt
manner, “don't you ever go anywhere?”
“Listen to the innocent!” she exclaimed,
reaching for a thin slice of lemon which she
speared on the prongs of a slender, silver fork,
“don't I go to my office, and keep New York
city in order six days in the week?”.
“Yes, I understand that, but while the city
is brewing more mischief on the seventh day
than you can straighten out in the other six,
what do you do?”
“I stay here,” she glanced at him for a hint


192
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
of his meaning. He seldom asked her a direct
question, and had never been curious about her
personal affairs.
“Alone?” he said.
“Yes, usually alone. Rosetta likes to spend
Sunday with her family.”
“You told me you were lonely sometimes.
Mrs. Grayson, when I get some clothes you are
not ashamed to be seen with, will you let me
take you somewhere?” He had reverted to his
shyness and the question was awkwardly put,
but she understood him.
"Where would you like to take me?" she said.
“Anywhere,” he blurted. “I can get a taxi,
and we can go up Riverside Drive, and up the
Hudson. It's lovely up there now-if you only
would,” he pleaded, and turned red with em-
barrassment.
She couldn't bear to see him embarrassed,
he was so genuine, and so considerate. But it
was long since she had motored on Riverside,
or in public places where she was once known,
and she could not bring herself to accept his
invitation. But she suddenly remembered there
were other places where she had never been,
and where she was certain she would not meet
any one in her former set. She knew these
a


194 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
I'll wear a plain suit such as I wear in the sub-
way every day. You know I do ride in the
subway. Did you think I went to the office in
an airplane?”
He wasn't quite satisfied, but he couldn't
think of a proper retort.
“Isn't there a quiet place on the shore some-
where, where we could watch the sea?” she sug-
gested.
“Do you like that?” his eyes brightened. “I
know a place on Staten Island, just the place I
think you would like. It's almost deserted
now, but I think we can get something to eat.
Of course, it isn't the Palisades and the blue,
blue Hudson,” he warned, giving her yet an-
other chance to choose the more desirable spot.
“Staten Island for me," she promptly de-
cided. “I have never known any one who ever
went there. It sounds delightfully remote. I
feel as if we were bound on a thrilling adven-
ture to explore unknown lands. Is there any
prospect of our getting shipwrecked, and cast
upon the island like Robinson Crusoe?”
Here was a chance for Macoy to make a pretty
speech, but he had not been trained in the man-
ners of a courtier, so he could only laugh at
her fancy. The tinkle of the bell of her apart-


MACOY AS HOST
197
re
back to the mirror and looking over his shoulder
to note the effect from behind.
“Well,” she sighed, “it surely pays. You
don't look like the same boy."
“I really don't, do I? Wonder I never
thought of this myself. Well, anyway, I'm glad
you are not ashamed of me. Now, let's not
waste a minute of this day. The weather man
has turned out a perfectly corking day in your
honor."
She put on her hat and they set out. The
air was crisp, and they walked briskly down
Irving Place, and entered the kiosk of the sub-
way at Fourteenth Street.
“We've got to take the subway to the Bat-
tery,” he apologized. “After that it will be
the open sea for Robinson Crusoe's island.!!
At the Battery, they entered the Municipal
Ferry House, and Macoy purchased two tickets
for New Dorp.
“This is Dutch, you know,” she said, “we'll
share the expense equally like two comrades."
“We'll attend to that later." He assumed a
dictatorial manner to conform with his new
responsibilities.
To Macoy's relief there were fewer passen-
gers on the boat than he had feared—the day
60


198
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
being Sunday. They placed chairs in the bow
and faced the waters of the bay. Mrs. Gray-
son might have seen this view many times be-
fore from the deck of an ocean liner; but her
memories of the harbor were connected with
stewards, and stewardesses, and steamer chairs,
and a stateroom filled with costly hot-house
flowers, and the inevitable bustle that accom-
panies a departure for Europe.
But this was all new in her experience. The
blue water rippled in the sunlight and curled
in foamy joy in the wake of the boat. Over-
head the sky was cloudless. The wonderful
sky line of the city, always fascinating, stood
out in the clear atmosphere with unusual dis-
tinctness. Passing Governor's Island, its bright
green lawn blending with the blue of sea and
sky, they could see the khaki clad figures on the
parade ground, and floating overhead, the starry
symbol which they guarded. Ellis Island stood
out on their right, its red brick buildings mak-
ing a dash of contrasting color with the sur-,
rounding waters. The Statue of Liberty was
the only familiar object in the panorama to Mrs.
Grayson. No tourist, however hardened, can
fail to have a thrill when Liberty gives him a
welcome home. The Hudson, seen from this


MACOY AS HOST
199
point, was outlined by grain elevators and other
massive buildings along the Jersey shore.
Freight ships from distant lands, battered and
worn, lay at rest in the harbor; and numerous
tugs bustled with busy importance, up and down
and across their way. In front of them, St.
George loomed up, looking as foreign as its
name. .
They pushed into the slip of the ferry house
at last, and passed through the waiting room,
where lines of trolley cars were standing. With
some occult wisdom, Macoy chose one, and they
were soon whirled away through green country
lanes, catching a glimpse of ships at Stapleton,
and swinging away again past orchards fra-
grant with ripening fruit. At New Dorp they
left the trolley car.
“Are you good for a walk of a mile and a
half ?” Macoy questioned.
“Assuredly,” she said, the wine of the day
in her veins.
They swung off through the tiny village.
“How delightfully Dutch the name sounds,"
she said.
“Yes, New Dorp took the place of Old Dorp,
the original settlement, I believe. I have heard
that the Indians made it uncomfortable for the


200 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
Dutch in their first settlement, and they fortified
themselves here."
They cut through fields blue with chicory blos-
soms, and yellow with the golden rod, and at
last arrived at their destination.
Pine Tree Beach was a private resort for
people of moderate means. The gate was
guarded by a Teutonic dragon, who required
credentials before admitting them. These
Macoy produced, and they entered a sparse pine
grove, which made a background for the long,
sandy beach. A fellow reporter with a small
family owned one of the simple cottages on the
shore, which, like most of the others, was now
unoccupied. It had a spacious porchi, upon
which they could sit and look out across the
Lower Bay. The tide was coming in, pounding
the beach with its great breakers, which receded
reluctantly, only to be met by others rolling
tumultuously in from the open sea, retreating
in their turn, to be lost in the mysterious deep-
ness whence they came.
They sat for a long time watching the sea in
silence, Macoy, with his customary, sympathetic
understanding of his companion's remoteness,
refraining from disturbing her. Then they rose
and walked on the sand.


MACOY AS HOST
201
At length she spoke to him:“What does this
all mean to you, Spirit of Youth?”
He didn't quite understand her.
“You mean—?” he said.
“I mean the irresistible force that pounds
away on this little strip of sandy beach. Do
you see that shell—the shell of some little crea-
ture-a horseshoe crab, I think you call it?
What chance had the little crab against that
tremendous avalanche? What understanding
did he possess that would warn him of the
coming danger? And if he had known, where
would he have gone? The water was his ele-
ment; he had to live in it. But it bore him
to the shore, and it beat him, and pounded him,
and when his life was beaten out of him, see how
it played with his poor, useless shell. See it roll
up on the beach on the crest of that wave, and
see the wave retreat and leave it there. Now
watch the next one come and lift it up, and
carry it farther on. All that energy used just
to batter a poor little crab.”
Macoy realized she was not talking to him.
He didn't understand her, but it made him
vaguely uncomfortable. He didn't reply, and
they walked a long time in silence, Macoy hop-
ing she would speak again in terms he could


202 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
comprehend. He was sure her thoughts were
not pleasant ones for her.
At last he broke the silence. “The tide is
turning," he said. “The breakers are not
reaching anywhere near as far in. See how
wide the beach has grown.”
“True," she said, “and the little crab is de-
serted by its own element, and left to the mer-
cies of the sun. But you are fortunate, little
crab," she laughed rather bitterly, “you won't
know it-unless you look back upon yourself
from some still, heavenly pool, and then it
won't matter."
Her manner suddenly changed. “But what
am I doing! Spoiling your perfectly corking
day by talking about dead crabs! I suppose it
wouldn't be consistent of me to eat one, now,
would it?— Oh, I don't mean a horseshoe—the
other kind, you know. But what I mean is,
aren't you hungry?”
"Just ravenous," he exclaimed, joyfully;
"you just stay on the porch while I bring on
the feast." He quickened the pace, for fear
she might relapse into her former mood.
“No, indeed, or, as you would say, 'not on
your life.' I'm going to help you,” she de-
clared.


MACOY AS HOST
203
“Come on, then," he challenged.
He led the way to a little detached building
in the rear of the cottage, and unlocked it with
a key. Inside they found a well packed lunch
basket, and, together, they brought it around
to the porch, and spread its contents upon a
rough table.
"What have we in the thermos bottle? hot
coffee! and here is a little jar of cream, and-
chicken sandwiches, and salad, and what deli-
cious looking grapes! You must have rubbed
Aladdin's lamp to bring forth this feast," she
exclaimed.
They ate with good appetites and merry talk.
If her eyes rested in wistful reminiscence for a
moment on Ambrose Channel in the distance,
where a majestic ocean liner had passed on the
high tide and disappeared beyond the horizon
line, Macoy did not appear to notice it.
When they had finished, they returned the
basket to the little box of a room where they
had found it, and restored the key to its hiding
place under a broken board in the window.
frame.
Catching sight of a lighthouse far up the
beach, she challenged him to a race. They
walked swiftly, the wind catching her skirts


204
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
mo
and flapping them about her ankles. Her hair
escaped, and little tendrils blew across her face.
When they arrived at the lighthouse, Macoy
was gallantly in the rear.
“You cheated!” she panted. Macoy loved to
see the pink color that the exercise had brought
to her cheeks, and the sparkle in her eye.
“Testimony not supported by proof,” he
countered.
“But I love you for it, you fine boy.” She
regarded him a moment with a puzzled air.
As usual, when he could not fathom her
meaning, he didn't attempt a reply.
“Sit down beside me on this stone coping and
tell me something,” she ordered, seating her-
self and making room for him beside her.
“Pump me,” he said, “you'll get all the
news that's fit to print.”
“The eternal male!" she laughed, "an infant
hinting at a lurid past. Now look me straight
in the eye.” He turned his candid orbs full
upon her without embarrassment.
“I'm waiting,” he said. “My heart's in my
mouth, my pulse is accelerated, and my tongue
—what does a tongue do? Oh, yes—cleaves to
the roof of my mouth.”
“You're mixing your figures, my friend. You


MACOY AS HOST 205
said your heart was in your mouth, and I am
sure that would more than fill it. But what I
want to know is this—how can you, with your
subtly fine feeling—your sentiment—your chiv-
alry-your-"
“Courage, beauty, magnanimity,” he helped
her out.
“I am serious now,” she said. “I am won-
dering how you, with all these qualities, could
choose an occupation that requires none of them,
but calls for just the opposite characteristics.
It's a puzzle to me, and it grows upon me the
more I know you."
He flushed. He drove the toe of his shoe into
the sand, and watched the tiny grains make
haste to regain their equilibrium. He knew
that she referred to his occupation of detective,
and not to that of reporter.
“I always thought,” he said slowly, trying
to frame his thoughts in appropriate words,
“that there was no higher virtue than justice.
I don't know just how to say it, for I'm afraid
I have never thought of it before, but it seems
to me that the detective is valuable to society
in as much as he protects it by bringing the
criminal to justice.”
“Who is a criminal?”


206 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
"A criminal? Why, a man who commits a
crime.”
“Very lucid. The man who made that defini-
tion would make justice and punishment synon-
ymous. A crime is anything from stealing a
loaf of bread for a starving child, to relieving
a millionaire of funds he stole from some one
else. Justice would punish the child savior, and
restore the goods to the millionaire with an
apology for discommoding him.”
Macoy felt that there was some sophistry in
her argument, and that it wasn't entirely orig-
inal; but it was her apparent lack of approval
of his chosen vocation which troubled him.
He picked up a handful of the beach sand, and
watched it trickle through his fingers.
ť my work,” he said.
"tell me just why, please.”
“Because,” she said, studying her words, “it
keeps you dwelling in an atmosphere where you
don't belong. Tell me, now, where are your
thoughts most of the time these days?”
“Why—you know. I am trying my detective
powers on the Barwood case."
“The Barwood case. Yes, I thought so. You
have to go into unwholesome details of the
night life of people you couldn't associate with


MACOY AS HOST
207
without being contaminated. You must find a
motive arising from the lowest passions of men
—and, somehow, it seems incongruous to me.
It doesn't seem as if you could do it and remain
the same clean-minded boy you are.”
Macoy winced. “But perfectly respectable
people went to Barwood's house, and he was
received in the best homes in the city. His
time wasn't all spent with the sordid kind.”
“True, my friend, but you are not looking
for the murderer among that class of people.
But suppose you did find him there, you are
ignoring all those qualities that make for re-
spectability. You are putting aside, as not
worth your consideration, all the good there
may be in him, to discover the sordid, the ugly,
the hideous passion that obsessed him for a
moment. When you have done that year after
year, I am afraid you will see nothing but evil
motives and overlook the good. Think of a
world full of people and no good to be seen
in any of them.”
“But some one must protect society from the
man who allows a moment, even one moment,
to obsess him to the extent of taking the life of
another. Not that I think Barwood's life was
any contribution to the good of society."


CHAPTER XX
DALRYMPLE EXPLAINS
HILE the police were collecting evi-
dence that tended more and more to
implicate the Dalrymples, and the
trap was about ready to be sprung, that couple
of unpleasant notoriety were in the private office
of their attorney, Mr. Chester Farrell.
Jack Dalrymple's rather florid face was
twitching with nervousness. He chewed the end
of a cigar, and rolled it from one side of his
mouth to the other. Now and then his teeth
closed on it with a vicious snap. His hands
were thrust in his trousers pockets, thereby ex-
posing a tendency to corpulence which in his
more guarded moments, he took pains to con-
ceal. He paced with uneasy steps from one side
of the office to the other.
Mrs. Dalrymple was pale, her pallor accentu-
ated by her abundant, glossy, purple black hair,
but she was self-possessed. She had the air of
an animal brought to bay, and determined to
JO1
210


DALRYMPLE EXPLAINS 211
make her captors pay dearly for their victory,
if victory it must be.
Chester Farrell was the most formidable
criminal lawyer in the state. He was a hand-
some man, fastidious in dress, and punctilious
in manner. In court, he had an air of indiffer-
ence amounting to boredom while listening to an
opponent's testimony. He cross-questioned
witnesses with an air of such seeming careless-
ness that he could make the most important tes-
timony appear trivial to a jury. An unwary ad-
versary was often caught off his guard by Far-
rell's method; and a jury was inevitably swayed
by his almost hypnotic power.
Dalrymple had no doubt of his attorney's abil.
ity to get his wife acquitted in case of an arrest
and trial, but for more reasons than one, he
shrank from the publicity of a trial.
“Before I consent to take your case, Mr.
Dalrymple,” said the lawyer, after Dalrymple
had laid the bare facts before him, “I want
you to understand clearly the conditions. In
order to win your case, I must know absolutely
the whole truth. If you conceal something from
me while leading me to believe you have made
a clean breast of everything, and if afterwards
it comes out in the trial, leaving me with a


212 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
weak spot in my evidence, it absolutely finishes
my interest in the case.”
Dalrymple became still more uneasy. Mrs.
Dalrymple replied:
“How do we know, Mr. Farrell, that you
won't use that information to prosecute us on
another charge just as soon as this one is set-
tled?” she asked.
Farrell's lip curled slightly. It was evident
she was judging his ethics by her own standard.
“I'd get no more clients if I pursued that
method,” he explained. “I should decline to
take any case that involved the betrayal of a
former client's confidence. It is a case of
noblesse oblige, you understand.”
Dalrymple looked helplessly at his wife, who
met his gaze with a shrug of her shoulder.
“There is no help for it, Jack. I seem to be
between the devil and the deep sea. It seems a
bit ironical to me, Mr. Farrell,” she said with
a note of sharpness in her tone, “that the most
innocent party in the whole transaction should
have to pay the piper."
Dalrymple had the grace to grow a shade
more uncomfortable. He moved toward his
wife's chair and urged defensively: “You must
do me the justice to remember, Kitty, that I


DALRYMPLE EXPLAINS 213
never dreamed of this outcome when I asked
you to go there.”
“No, but you knew you were leaving me in a
most compromising position. I told you so, and
begged you to get somebody else,” she replied,
ignoring the appeal in his voice.
“The business was so urgent there was no
one else to get," he explained, “and with Bar-
wood out of the house, you were not actually
compromised. Confound it, Kitty, don't you
see I'm suffering the tortures of the damned al-
ready! Don't rub it in." The perspiration
stood in beads on his forehead, but his wife was
still unmoved.
Chester Farrell sat listening to this parley
with his accustomed remoteness, but lost none
of its significance.
Mrs. Dalrymple turned toward the lawyer to
signify her readiness to be questioned.
“Do I understand you to say that your hus-
band left you alone in the house with Mr. Bar-
wood the night before he was murdered?” Far-
rell asked.
“No, by God, you needn't understand any-
thing of the kind,” broke in Dalrymple precipi-
tately. “This is how it was. I had a deal on
with several men that had to be done on the
as 10


214 THE HOUSE OF CARDS :
double quick. Barwood was in the deal and
was to join the rest of the bunch. When we got
together in West Street, Barwood wasn't there.
I jumped into a taxi and went after him, and
brought him down there. My wife stayed alone
in Barwood's house until Barwood and I got
back somewhere around five o'clock. It was not
a conventional hour to take Mrs. Dalrymple to
the hotel where we were staying, so we decided
to stay where we were until a suitable hour.
About seven o'clock a man rang me up, and
said there was trouble brewing. I went out in-
tending to go back, but found I had to start on
the run for Jersey. I 'phoned Barwood to that
effect, got my car out of the garage and started.
I had all sorts of trouble on the way; and I
didn't hear of the murder until I read of it in
the paper the next morning at Ocean View. I
couldn't get in touch with my wife. I waited
hoping to hear from her, but she didn't expect
me to wait and didn't wire me. I got back
to the Commodore Hotel that night about crazy
-only to find a plain-clothes dick waiting to
take me to the police in Barwood's house. I
didn't know what had become of Mrs. Dalrym-
ple-only knew by the papers that she had
escaped, and that her identity wasn't known.


DALRYMPLE EXPLAINS 217
some one entered. Do you know it wasn't Mrs.
Cox who did both?”.
“I don't believe it was Mrs. Cox who came in
first,” insisted Mrs. Dalrymple obdurately.
“Could you go on the witness stand and swear
it was not she?”
“No-of course not.”
“The prosecution will work on the theory that
you took the weapon away with you—but they
can't prove it unless they find the weapon. The
other woman had as much opportunity as you
to get away with it. Don't worry about that.
They haven't a leg to stand on there; but-you
spent the night with him.”
“The implication in that statement is false-
utterly false,” said Dalrymple, growing excited
again, and again mopping his brow with his
monogrammed silk handkerchief.
Mrs. Dalrymple flushed.
“We won't take that up at present,” said
Farrell. “Let's look around for other suspects.
Mr. Dalrymple, was there any trouble in your
party on West Street, that night?”.
“Yes, there was. You know what we were
doing—trying to move some stuff that legally
belonged to us; and I hold it's nobody's infernal
business what I do with my own goods."


218 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“What was the trouble?” said Farrell. The
quiet drawl of his question, as he fingered the
ribbon on his tortoise-shell eyeglasses, was in
sharp contrast to the brusque utterances of
Dalrymple.
“Well, we got wind that the Federal Agents
were on to us,” said Dalrymple, with the air of
making a clean breast of the whole matter, “and
we decided to make our get-away Wednesday
night. We'd had a detective working for us,
and he learned that somebody had tipped the
agents off about the time. As soon as we heard
that, we got busy and decided to pull it off late
Tuesday night. When Barwood didn't appear,
it got circulated about that he had double-
crossed us. One of the men who had been sus-
picious of Barwood for some time swore he'd
get him. After I got Barwood down there, this
man accused him of stacking the cards, and
told him point blank, that if we didn't get away
with the stuff, or if we got caught with the
goods, he'd shoot him.”
“But you got away with it without the police
finding it out, didn't you?”
“Yes. Of course it was confiscated over in
Jersey the next morning; but they didn't find
the owners. They're on my trail, I think, and


CHAPTER XXI
THE LAVENDER SEAL
FEW days later Inspector Kane was in
his office at headquarters opening the
morning mail which was lying before
him on his desk. He leisurely slit open the en-
velopes with the blade of a jackknife, withdrew
the contents and perused them. He assorted the
letters as he read, placing them in neat piles ac-
cording to their contents, or tearing them once
across and flinging them into the waste basket.
He puffed at his pipe, the odorous fumes en-
veloping him, adding to his senses a physical
satisfaction corresponding to his inward state.
For he was on the verge of making an arrest in
the Barwood murder case.
The newspapers had been more than usually
drastic in their censure of the police. The sup-
pression of the names of wealthy people who
had been socially connected with the murdered
man gave rise to the suspicion that money had
223


THE LAVENDER SEAL 225
Kane's complacent satisfaction was reflected
in his manner of receiving the man who had
been, in some sense, his rival in the criminal
pursuit. He rose as Wallace entered, and his
good-humored smile was touched with just a
trifle of patronage. Wallace ignored the patron-
age, and at once stated the object of his call.
“I have come to talk over the case of Mrs.
Dalrymple before you make an arrest, In-
spector," he said, seating himself at the other's
invitation. “I am not quite satisfied that you
have evidence enough to warrant it. But you
probably have more than I am acquainted with.
We have to go pretty carefully. You know we
are up against Chester Farrell, whom Dalrym-
ple has retained as his wife's attorney, and he
will riddle us to rags unless we have incontro-
vertible proof."
“Well, I think we have circumstantial evi-
dence enough to send her to the chair, Mr. Wal-
lace; and circumstantial evidence is all we'll
ever get in the case.”
“That is true," admitted Wallace patiently,
“but you must have a strong chain of evidence,
with no breaks in it. Perhaps you have it.
Suppose you outline it to me, beginning with
the motive."


226
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Well, in the first place, we have undeniable
proof that she was in the house at the time of
the murder—Mrs. Cox has positively identified
her. Secondly, she was alone in the house with
Barwood—the defense cannot prove anything
contrary to that. Lastly, considering the char-
acter of the man, he presumably pressed un-
welcome attentions upon her and she shot him.”
Wallace's refined, highly intelligent, almost
classical features retained their expression of
courteous attention while Kane expounded his
theory.
“Let's see if Farrell can find any flaw in
this reasoning," he said. “She was there with
the consent and connivance of her husband. He
had twice visited the house that night. She was
there to protect their joint interests. All the
testimony we can gather in the illicit liquor
traffic goes to show that Barwood and Dalrym-
ple were in the same boat. They may have been
double-crossing the rest of the gang, but they
couldn't afford to double-cross each other.
Then again, judging by the size of the job they
pulled off that night in West Street, there was
no time left for amours. I can see Chester
Farrell now, drawing his long legs up from his
chair, and toying carelessly with his eyeglasses


THE LAVENDER SEAL
227
on their black silk ribbon, while discharging bat-
teries of ridicule on the prosecution for assum-
ing that a man of the world like Dalrymple
didn't have his eyes wide open to the situation
in Barwood's house that night."
“But they had been drinking," argued Kane.
"There were the bottles to prove it. A man
can't be trusted with any woman when he's
drunk.”
“Did you observe the bottles closely?” said
Wallace. “There was not even one empty bot-
tle—just one partly emptied. Nothing to indi-
cate a debauch. A man of Barwood's habits
could drink far more than that without losing
his head. It was evident to me when I exam-
ined the room, that they were having breakfast
together in a friendly way when they were in-
terrupted. But, granted that they had quar-
relled, how do you account for the fact that the
murder occurred in the reception room? You
must bear in mind that Farrell will know just
exactly what took place there, and even if Mrs.
Dalrymple is guilty, he'll clear her unless we
can clinch every point we make.”
Kane was unconvinced. He smiled trium-
phantly as he brought another argument.
“Don't you think, Mr. Wallace, if she were


228 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
innocent, that Dalrymple would come forward
and tell the reasons for his wife being in the
house that night rather than have her arrested
for the murder?”
“Dalrymple has other reasons for not telling
too much to the police," said Wallace. “Any-
how, he is acting now under Farrell's orders.
In any case, it isn't Farrell's job to prove her
innocent. It's up to us to prove her guilty; and
Farrell will sit tight, with that inscrutable
smile of his, and watch us flounder in our own
net. I'm not keen for the job, Inspector, I'm
frank to say, unless we can bring forth some-
thing that I don't see now."
The Inspector's face fell. His blue eyes
roamed over the objects in the room a moment,
and then settled on the District Attorney. There
was something in the personality of the man,
even in his faultless clothes, that made Kane
realize the futility of an argument with him
even before he began it. He knocked the ashes
from his cold pipe and leaned back in his
chair.
“We might as well throw up the job then,
since no one was there to see it done. You
have proof that a woman was shut up alone
with him in his house under very unusual cir-


THE LAVENDER SEAL 229
cumstances. He had a bad reputation with
women. He had been drinking. The woman
left the house before the police got there, and
had every opportunity to get away with the
gun. In fact, she was the only one who left
the house after the murder, and she must have
taken the gun. No one else could have taken
it.”
“Have you found the gun, Inspector?” Wal-
lace inquired. “If you can furnish me with
the gun, and with any evidence connecting Mrs.
Dalrymple with it, I am ready for the arrest.
Otherwise, I don't see any chance of convicting
the woman. Our only witness is Mrs. Cox,
whose testimony is quite as much in their favor
as in ours. She is ready to swear to her belief
that Mrs. Dalrymple got her first information
of the murder from her; and that she did not
know until she came down the stairs who was
the victim of the shot she had heard.”
Kane sniffed skeptically. “Mrs. Cox has told
so many lies, and has had so much truth prodded
out of her, that I believe, when she is grilled
on the witness stand, she will part with some
more valuable information rather than go to
Auburn."


230 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Personally, I believe the woman is telling
the truth,” said Wallace, "and for that reason,
I would rather do that grilling in private than
before a jury. If she fails us, and we get noth-
ing more from her, what is our next move?
Can we prove that Mrs. Dalrymple quarreled
with Barwood? Can we actually show a mo-
tive? Can we furnish the weapon?”
Kane held on doggedly. “They can be com-
pelled to tell what they were doing that night.
Dalrymple will be subpænaed, and that secre-
tary, Burrell, who allows that he prowled
around all night with them.”
“Very true,” Wallace acknowledged gra-
ciously, “I admit it is easy enough to run down
the bootlegging gang: but I don't see where we
have any proof that the murder grew out of
that. It may have—but can we prove it by
arresting a woman who happened to be in the
house?”
For a fleeting moment Kane had a suspicion
that the District Attorney was withholding the
arrest because he had not himself collected the
evidence; but one could not long retain that
suspicion in the presence of Stephen Wallace.
His whole bearing refuted it. The fine, almost
spiritual expression of his strong face, the


THE LAVENDER SEAL
231
candid eyes, the restrained, unimpassioned man-
ner gave the lie to the unworthy thought. Kane
rejected it instantly.
“What do you really think of Mrs. Cox?”
he suddenly asked.
"I think she is in the same boat with Mrs.
Dalrymple; but it's a tidy little craft, and it's
riding the storm safely at present," Wallace
rejoined.
"Well, I suppose I'll have to wait a bit, Mr.
Wallace; but I give you my word, sooner or
later, I'll run those women down." Hard
lines, seldom seen in his good-humored face,
formed about his mouth, and his eyes nar-
rowed in a way that boded no good to his
quarry.
Wallace was visibly relieved at his decision
to "wait a bit.”
"I think you are quite justified in that deci-
sion, Inspector, and I am sure you will see the
wisdom of it later. Granted that the woman is
guilty. We put her on trial now, and fail to
convict her for lack of evidence. Six months
later, we may find the requisite evidence—it
may come out when the whiskey case is tried-
but she can claim her constitutional right of not
being placed twice in jeopardy for the same


232
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
offense. She has slipped through our fingers
because we hadn't the patience to wait for de-
velopments. It's a little difficult to bear, I'll
admit,” he said, noticing the newspaper car-
toons on the desk under the Inspector's big
hand, “but we can't afford to let the news-
papers run the case for us. Remember the
fable of the man and his son who drove their
ass to market.” Wallace's smile was very
pleasant.
“And now, I must get back to my office," he
said, rising. “I hope you won't think me over-
cautious, Inspector; but this man Barwood had
so many sides to his character, he had so many
groups of companions, so many interests, that
any one of them may supply the motive, and we
are in danger of overlooking something vital
if we hasten. That's why we must watch our
step. Here's hoping for better luck when we
meet again.” He held out his hand with such
an engaging smile that Kane was completely
disarmed.
"Well, I'll be damned!” he said to himself
when the door closed on his visitor.
He stared into space for several seconds with
a puzzled frown on his forehead. There was an
elusive something struggling for recognition,


THE LAVENDER SEAL 233
and he instinctively refrained from moving a
muscle for fear of inhibiting it. It eluded him,
however, and he winked rapidly several times,
as if, by clearing his vision, he could recall it.
It was gone, however. Gone to stay.
“Damn funny sensation that was,” he said,
shaking his big shoulders like a shaggy dog.
“Somebody walking over my grave, the old
women would say."
He was not given to speculating on psychic
sensations, however, and he was soon enveloped
in his usual atmosphere of tobacco smoke. The
letter which he had been about to open when
the District Attorney interrupted him, lay be-
fore him on his desk.
He picked it up, and scrutinized the super-
scription written in a fine, old-fashioned, fem-
inine hand. He turned the envelope over, and
regarded a seal in lavender-colored wax,
stamped with an Old English W.
“It's some style I'm getting to my corre-
spondence," he remarked whimsically. The
jackknife was again requisitioned, and the en-
closure brought forth. A faint odor of lavender
emanated from the sheet. The Inspector read
the words:


234
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
Inspector Kane,
Police Heaaquarters.
Dear Sir: In the interests of justice, I should
like to communicate something to you in con-
nection with Mr. Barwood's tragic death. Will
you kindly call to see me at your earliest con-
venience at 71 E. Fifty — Street.
RUTH HARPER WAINWRIGHT.
“Seventy-one E. Fifty - Street! Why,
that's next door to Barwood's house,” he ex-
claimed, his face beaming with pleasure. “Who
knows but I'm on the track of something now
that will suit the District Attorney. It might
be, Ruth Harper Wainwright saw something
with her own eyes; for I'm convinced nothing
short of that will start Stephen Wallace into
action. But why waste the time speculating.
I'll go at once.”
He reluctantly abandoned the unsmoked pipe-
ful of his good, old Latakia-taking care to
draw several long puffs first-took his hat from
a peg, and started briskly on his new quest.


CHAPTER XXII
AN EYE-WITNESS
HE Inspector was familiar enough with
the route to E. Fifty — Street, and
1 little time elapsed before his car pulled
up at 71. The exterior of the house was the
exact counterpart of its neighbor where the
mysterious murder had taken place. He
mounted the steps, and rang the bell.
While waiting for admission, he studied the
house which had grown so familiar to him since
that fatal morning when its master closed his
account with his destiny, and bore away with
him the secret which the Inspector was making
the vital interest of his life to discover.
The house had been turned over to Barwood's
executors, after the police had nearly wrecked
the interior in a vain search for the weapon.
The blinds were now drawn down, and an omi-
nous stillness brooded over the place. Spar-
rows were twittering in the vines of the
dwellings on either side, but no sound broke
a.
235


238 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
with a diamond pin in an antique setting. She
had the waspish waist so cultivated before the
days of athletics for women. Her hair was
parted in the middle, and dressed with such
perfection that it had almost the appearance
of a wig. She sat so motionless, looking at Kane
out of keen, gray eyes, and was so altogether
perfect in appearance, that Kane almost in-
voluntarily looked for the placard “Please do
not handle,” that he remembered seeing in his
youth, on the wax figures in the old Eden
Musee.
Presently she spoke.
“He doesn't seem so formidable, does he,
Ellen?”
“He doesn't, somehow, look as terrible as I
thought,” responded Ellen.
Kane's face broke into smiles. His merry
eyes twinkled, and his sides shook with laughter.
“And what did you think, ladies? Did you
think it was horns and a tail I had?”
At this the waxen image became human. A
gleam of humor appeared in her eyes.
“Not that, but I thought you'd be bristling
with guns or something, and haul us off to
court, maybe, in one of your horrid patrol
wagons. I had a vision of myself as Marie


AN EYE-WITNESS
239
Antoinette, going through the streets in a tum-
bril.”
“And what crime had you committed, Madam,
that you invited me here to give you a free ride
in a patrol wagon?” asked the amused and
puzzled Inspector.
“That's what we are going to tell you about,
Inspector. First, I must tell you that Ellen and
I have a great secret." She looked at the maid
for corroboration of her statement, and Ellen
nodded.
“You see, when I met with that unfortunate
accident that broke my hip, and made me a
cripple for the rest of my life".
Kane started, and observed for the first time
the crutches that stood in the shadow beside her
chair.
“My son and his family became so attentive
to me, and paid me so many visits of condolence,
and sympathy, and what not, that I had to do
something to get rid of them.”
“And what did you do, Madam?” said the
Inspector, wondering what this was leading up
to.
“Why, I just closed up my own house and
came here to live with them.”
“Well, upon my word, I never should have


240 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
thought of that,” laughed the Inspector. “How
did it work?”
“Admirably. I insisted on having this upper
floor fitted up for Ellen and me. My son had a
lift put in which takes us directly to the ground
floor, with an entrance to the garden. I am
presently going to show you the outdoor ex-
tension on the roof.”.
“Well, I'm sure you have all the equipment
for the grandest secret in the world. I wonder,
now, if you're going to tell it to me,” he in-
vited.
“Presently. You must understand first, that
Ellen and I have a great deal of spare time on
our hands, since I cut myself off from the per-
functory visits of the younger members of the
family."
“You do, indeed. I wonder, now, what you
do with it," said the Inspector.
“That is our secret,” she affirmed impres-
sively. Then she added, sotto voce, with a
humorous glance at Ellen: “We read about-
murders.”
The Inspector pricked up his ears. He had
thought the conversation aimless.
“And you read about the Barwood murder


AN EYE-WITNESS
241
and sent for me to tell me something about it?"
he questioned avidly.
“Precisely. We couldn't help having an in-
terest in a murder that occurred so near to us;
and so Ellen has gone out and bought every
paper that has had anything about it, and we
read it together when there is no one about to
catch us at it.”
“And you have read something in the papers
that contradicts something you know. Am I
right?”
“Quite right. Let me see, first, if the papers
are right. They say that the murder occurred
between eight and eight-thirty?".
“Thereabouts.”
The Inspector was visioning a defeated Dis-
trict Attorney after all.
“And that there was a woman in the house
when it occurred?”.
“Yes,” admitted Kane.
“Only one?"
“No proof of but one." His hopes ran high.
Madame Wainwright was on the verge of dis-
closing what he had vainly sought to find.
“And you are going to arrest the woman?”
“I can't state that positively, now," he re-
plied.


CHAPTER XXIII
A LULL IN THE CASE
HE crisp October days had passed. No-
vember was merging into December and
still no arrest had been made for the
Barwood murder. The newspapers had passed
through the usual stages from sensational head.
lines to one column on the first page and “con-
tinued on page 3”; then to page 3 exclusively,
and, finally, to a mere obscure announcement
of the sale of the dead man's effects. The pub-
lic had forgotten all about it. What the police
thought was kept sub rosa.
As for Macoy, his enthusiasm for running
down criminals was waning. The fancy-lined
overcoats became not uncommon on the Avenue.
For a long time he couldn't see a woman's cloak
caught by the wind and “flappin' like a buz-
zard's wings,” but he gave a start and involun-
tarily pursued it. But he soon found that this
would give him occupation for a lifetime. While
245


246 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
4
.
zealously pursuing one in a northerly direction,
he would encounter one coming south. While
hesitating which one to follow, another would
dart in from a side street. He found, too, that
he had only to stand any evening before the
Opera House, the Ritz, or the Waldorf to see
limousines discharging hundreds of them. He
gave it up.
His visits to Mrs. Grayson had become more
frequent, and it finally became tacitly under-
stood that he was to spend every evening with
her. This companionship was good for her.
His experiences of life had been so remote from
hers, he was so unlike any one she had ever
known that there was no danger of his striking
painful chords, or reviving memories she was
striving to forget. At first she had cultivated
him through an unconscious selfishness. He
was a Lethean spring to her. But she could not
long withstand the contagion of his youthful
enthusiasms. She began to take pleasure in
his visits, and soon formed a genuine attach-
ment for him.
As for Macoy, she had opened up a new world
to him, and he was entering it with joyous satis-
faction. Every evening found him punctually
in her apartment. He became familiar with its


A LULL IN THE CASE
247
appointments. He was surprised to find that
furnishings were not just furniture picked up
at random to fill vacant spaces, but that every
piece had a meaning. Every picture, every
book, every ornament was woven into the
woman's life, and was a part of it. Through
his intimacy with her, he was receiving a lib-
eral education. Through her eyes he saw
beauty where none existed before.
One evening he stood looking at an exquisite
copy of Botticelli's “Primavera.” It puzzled
him to discover a reason for Mrs. Grayson dis-
playing a picture so conspicuously which to him
seemed a bit shocking. He summoned up his
courage to ask her, loyally certain that it was a
perfectly correct thing to do by virtue of her
doing it.
When she interpreted the beautiful allegory,
he caught something of her feeling for the ex-
quisite delicacy and spirituality of the work.
He felt, with her, the joy and freshness of the
spring time symbolized in the group of the
"Three Graces” clad in their transparent rai-
ment. When she explained the significance of
the pregnant “Spring” and of the winged and
blindfolded “Love” discharging the fiery arrow
above her head, he was humbled and ashamed


A LULL IN THE CASE
249
“Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I lay me down with a will.”
“Imagine a man almost perpetually con-
demned to his couch, and facing death so se-
renely, writing such ripping stuff as 'Treasure
Island' and 'Kidnaped,'” he said.
“If you want to get at his real personality,
you should read ‘Vailima Letters,'” she said.
He pounced upon a volume at once, and re-
luctantly laid it down, only when he was obliged
to leave.
“Do you know what I am going to do?” he
questioned enthusiastically, standing, hat in
hand, preparing to take his leave. “To-morrow
I am going to buy a complete edition of Steven-
son, and read every word he ever wrote before
I do another thing."
But when he came again, he would respond to
quite another stimulus, and he would as enthu-
siastically declare he was going to buy every-
thing some other favorite had written "before
he did another thing."
And she, on her part, reacted to the enthusi-
asm of this fresh young spirit, and the sense of


250
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
SE
010
loneliness which had oppressed her became less
acute.
One evening she said: “How does it happen
you have never read these things before?
Didn't you read them in school?”.
“I don't know whether I did or not. It was
this way, you see. We used to divy up on as-
signments. I'd read one thing and another
fellow another and then we'd swap. It didn't
mean anything only getting by. I never knew
a fellow in school who didn't hate English.
There was so much writing about it when you
had nothing to say.”
“With such an aversion to writing, how then,
did you happen to become a reporter?" she
asked.
“Oh, that's different. I always liked to write
what was in my own mind, but I never cared
much about paraphrasing another person's
thoughts,” he replied lightly.
“I may be dense,” she persisted, “but I
thought reporting meant telling actual facts,
and not what was in your mind—but I remem-
ber—you told me once your editor often re-
proved you for letting your imagination run
away with your facts."
“Oh, well, that was when I was reporting the
T
1
n run


A LULL IN THE CASE 251
proceedings of the Juvenile Court and the Night
Court. I tell you, when I saw those people
down there, all in an alien land, getting roasted
for their ineffectual attempts to get adjusted to
new conditions, I could see myself groping
around in a new country, not knowing the cus-
toms or the laws, and—and I guess I did spread
it on thick sometimes,” he laughed. “He called
me down often enough, I'll tell the world. He
told me once I was only fit for children's play-
grounds; but I noticed the next assignment he
gave me was an important one."
"Your sympathy with these foreigners, who
must have been law-breakers or they wouldn't
have been in court, doesn't seem consistent with
your eagerness to run down criminals as a pro-
fession,” she said, always puzzled to account
for his choice of an occupation.
“You keep thinking about that, don't you,
Mrs. Grayson? Well, you are not likely to
worry long about it, if my success in the Bar-
wood case is any criterion of my detective
ability,” he said rather ruefully.
"Are you still working on that? I haven't
heard you mention it lately,” she said.
“No, I've given it up,” he said. “Of course,
I won't say that if the guilty person should drop


À LULL IN THE CASE 253
e USU
r
S
“The usual thing,” he replied, rather sul-
lenly.
She was sorry she had hurt him, but rather
pleased at his show of spirit. She had many
resources for restoring him to good humor,
however. He left at his usual time with the
assurance that he was going to buy all the
books that told anything about King Arthur,
and read them all through before he did another
thing. But unexpected events were to happen
on the morrow which were destined to startle
Macoy into activities far removed from the sor-
rows of the legendary king.


CHAPTER XXIV
MACOY IS DAZZLED
HEN he appeared at the apartment
the following evening, Macoy had for-
gotten that he had ever been annoyed
with his goddess. They had fallen into the
habit of having tea when he came, and he was
very proud and happy to be able to manipulate
the tea things. Rosetta had gone out, and they
were having quite a merry time over the tea-
cups when the bell of the apartment rang.
“Rosetta has forgotten something and come
back," Mrs. Grayson said, rising to admit her.
But it was not Rosetta. It was Mr. and Mrs.
Stephen Wallace.
“Why, Nathalie,” Wallace smiled, with a
somewhat amused glance at her visitor, “I am
glad to see you giving a party.” He crossed
the room and shook hands cordially with Macoy.
Mrs. Grayson kissed Sidney affectionately,
and Macoy, no longer at his ease, made a move
to go.
254


MACOY IS DAZZLED
255
“Don't go, Mr. Macoy-Let me present Mr.
Macoy, Mrs. Wallace,” she said. "They never
stay five minutes, three is their limit-more
than that bores them to death.”
“False utterly false, Mr. Macoy. She is
trying to make us apologize for intruding.”
Sidney Wallace looked at him out of the most
captivating eyes Macoy had ever seen. He tried
to murmur "no intrusion,” but wasn't quite
sure whether it was Mrs. Grayson's place or his
to say it.
“We are going to stay fifteen minutes and
then we are going home and going to bed.
Stephen has been working so hard over that
horrid Barwood case that he does not sleep
nights; so he's going to bed early to-night. He
looks like a 'wreck of his former self.' Don't
ever marry a District Attorney, Nathalie,” she
warned playfully.
“You have the only one that's worth while,
Sidney, and I'm afraid that you are not taking
very good care of him.” She regarded the
subject of their jest with grave concern.
“Don't bother about me,” he objected.
"Nathalie, you are too warm for me here with
this fire." He removed his overcoat and threw


256 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
it over the back of the davenport. The fire-
light playing on his face revealed careworn
lines and deep shadows under the eyes. Macoy,
mindful of his recent lesson on clothes, re-
marked the careful toilet and the easy grace of
the man. He was not in evening dress, having
reached home late, and, as Sidney said, meant
to retire early to make up his lost sleep.
“Better take off your coat, too, Sidney,"
he advised, and helped her remove the camel's
hair motor-coat which completely hid her
toilet.
Macoy could scarcely suppress a cry of admir-
ation when, the wrap removed, she stood forth
in evening dress. Her gleaming shoulders and
arms were bare. The symmetry of her figure
was revealed rather than concealed by the
clever draperies which paraphrased a gown.
All black and filmy it was, and lovely beyond
words; but it held Macoy's eyes with something
of a terrified fascination for the bodice was
spangled with iridescent beads. A loose panel
depending from somewhere was ornamented
with larger beads of the same character. And
in his pocket Macoy held a counterpart of those
beads.
“What a funny time of day to have tea," she


MACOY IS DAZZLED
257
en
chaffed, and her voice was as charming as her
eyes.
“You weren't going to be offered any, Sid-
ney. I know your perverted taste for coffee too
well,” Mrs. Grayson countered, her eyes rest-
ing affectionately on the radiant figure before
her.
Sidney moved over to the long mirror between
the windows, and adjusted her hair which had
become slightly disarranged in her short motor
ride. Her husband dropped informally down
on the davenport, thrust his legs out in front
of him, and stretched his arms to their full
length along the back of the davenport—the
gesture of an infinitely weary man.
"I just dragged Stephen around here,
Nathalie, and I promised to stay only fifteen
minutes, so enjoy your blessings while you
can,” enjoined the silvery, rippling voice.
“At your present rate of speed, you won't
get seated before your fifteen minutes are up,”
said her hostess.
“Thank heaven, I don't have to sit down to
enjoy myself; do you, Mr. Macoy?” The iri-
descent beads caught and reflected the light,
and Macoy's fascinated eye followed the move-
ments of this beautiful creature as she moved


MACOY IS DAZZLED
259
weary land? Are you going to get a tray and
help me with these things? No use gazing on
that door she went through. She isn't coming
back, and if she does, she isn't for you, you
know. I declare I believe you're going to drop
that cup!"
Macoy, thus admonished, attended to the
clearing up. After they had finished and were
again sitting by the fire, Macoy suddenly broke
forth:
“Mrs. Grayson, are those dresses very com-
mon?"
She looked down on her clinging gray draper-
ies and smiled. “Does my gown look com-
mon?" she queried.
“Oh, I don't mean yours. I mean Mrs. Wal-
lace's," he hastened to explain.
She looked at him in amused astonishment.
"Well, upon my word! Don't you ever let Mrs.
Wallace hear you ask if her gowns are common.
She prides herself on her exclusive raiment.
Her gowns come from the Rue de la Paix, and
here is a mere man asking if they are common."
She held up her hands in mock horror.
He pursued the subject, however. “Those
beads now, or whatever you call 'em. Do many
ladies wear them on their gowns?”
n


260
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“Yes, beads are used quite a good deal on
evening dresses. Do you like them?”
“Yes,,but they puzzle me. What I want to
know is—did you ever see any just exactly like
Mrs. Wallace's?”
"No, not exactly like them,” she told him.
“That is an imported gown from Paris, and
those gowns are never duplicated. The chances
are there couldn't be found in New York a bead
to match them if Sidney should lose one; and I
notice she has lost one of the large ones from
the panel.”
Macoy's heart beat like a trip-hammer.
“Why, what makes you look so queer? Are
you ill?” Mrs. Grayson solicitously inquired,
noting the perspiration on his brow, and his
y apparent trepidation.
His throat was dry. When he could speak, he
said in awestruck tones:
“Mrs. Grayson, I have a bead like that." He
put his hand in an inner pocket and drew out a
small packet. He carefully undid it and brought
into view the counterpart of the beads on Mrs.
Wallace's dress.
His manner was so impressive that his un-
easiness communicated itself to her.
“Where did you find it?" she asked.


MACOY IS DAZZLED
263
suddenly asked. “You don't mind confiding in
me, do you?” she urged, as she noticed a trifling
hesitation in his manner.
“No, I don't mind telling you, now that you
know this much,” he said.
"Perhaps we can puzzle it out together. Two
heads are better than one, you know,” she said.
“I have this little scrap of paper,” he said.
Reaching into his pocket, he drew forth a
bill-folder and carefully extracted therefrom
the bit of blue-gray paper which he had taken
from the dead man's hand on the morning of
the murder. He passed it to Mrs. Grayson. She
examined it carefully and then said:
“Sherlock, would you trust this paper to me
until to-morrow evening at this time? I'll be
very careful of it.”
This was a rather unexpected turn of events,
but his hesitation was scarcely perceptible.
“Sure thing," he responded loyally.
“Now, have you any other clues ?" she
asked.
“Mr. Wallace has one, but I don't know as
he wants me to speak of it,” he hesitated.
She looked keenly at him so long that he
began to fidget.
“You see, I promised him that I wouldn't


264 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
we
tell anybody about any clues I had-except
only himself; and I don't know as I had any
right to tell you about these. I am sure, now,
I have broken my word,” he continued, as a
growing sense of disloyalty began to possess
him.
“Don't feel uncomfortable about it, Sherlock.
On my sacred word I swear Mr. Wallace's
secrets are safe with me. I would like to know
—and not out of curiosity either—what that
other clue is; but I won't ask you to tell me
until you feel that it is perfectly honorable to
do so."
He did not reply. Another long silence en-
sued before she spoke again.
“Do I understand you that no living being but
yourself has any knowledge of these two objects
which you call clues ?”
“No one,” he said.
“Do you consider them important?”
"The paper must surely be. It was certainly
the last thing he ever held in his hand. A part
of it is gone--and it wasn't anywhere in the
house."
“Have you any reason to connect the bead
with the paper? Do they necessarily belong to
the same person?”
SU


MACOY IS DAZZLED
265
OVE
“No-not necessarily, I suppose; but the
bead must have been dropped there quite a short
time before his death; otherwise it would have
been discovered by the housekeeper and taken
away."
“But you weren't the first person in there
that morning,” she protested. “Mrs. Cox was
there before you, and so was the policeman
Dooley, and it is evident they didn't see it. It
might have lain there some days.”
“But, you see, I was looking for things like
that. I wasn't half as excited over seeing that
dead, staring body as I was at the sight of that
bead. I was a detective,” he explained, “mak-
ing a special search for small details. Mrs.
Cox was startled and excited; Dooley was on his
job of getting the doctor and the coroner.”
“That is exactly the point I am making,' she
argued. “A casual observer would not have
seen it. Mrs. Cox could have overlooked it
when she tidied up the room the previous day.”
Macoy shook his head unconvinced.
“You see the trend of my thoughts, don't you,
Sherlock? It wouldn't be beyond the realms of
possibility that Mrs. Wallace went to Mr. Bar-
wood's house. All the expert auction players
in New York have been his pupils. I know Mrs.


MACOY IS DAZZLED 267
bead can't be duplicated in New York, do you?”
he asked, a dawning hope appearing in his voice.
“Yes, I am practically sure,” she said. “You
never can match anything on an imported
gown."
"Then this must be Mrs. Wallace's bead,”
he said in genuine distress.
“I am afraid it is," she conceded, “but I
hope you are not jumping to the conclusion that
the owner of the bead shot Mr. Barwood.”
“No," he hesitated, “but I did think the
two were connected.”
“Now, to be frank with you,” she went on,
forcing herself to speak in a light tone, “I don't
attach much importance to your precious bead
and there surely need be no mystery about it.
We can find out when and under what circum-
stances it was dropped there by asking Mrs.
Wallace—and by the way, she may be glad to
recover her property; but I agree with you that
the paper is important. It looks like a corner
of a bank check. You can easily trace it to
the bank that issues that particular paper, but
there I leave you, Sherlock. I would rather
take my chances on a hunt for the apples of
Hesperides than to try to find the remainder
of that check. When it comes to detectives, I


268 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
am like the purple cow, 'I'd rather see than be
one.'"
Her manner was vivacious, and she talked on
in a rather higher key than usual, leading away
from the unpleasant topic. But Macoy was not
deceived. He knew she was troubled. He fol-
lowed her lead in light talk, but left rather
earlier than his usual time.
When she closed the door behind him, she
went and stood before the fireplace, shivering
as with sudden cold—but her head was burn-
ing hot.


CHAPTER XXV
A DISCOVERY
\HE following morning Nathalie Gray-
son went early to her office in the Dis-
trict Attorney's suite. She was paler
than usual, and her habitual look of sadness was
replaced by one of deep anxiety. Before re-
moving her hat, she opened the safe and took
from it a check-book issued by the Columbus
Trust Company. Then she sat down to her desk
and took from a velvet bag on her arm a flat,
leather bill-purse from which she took the frag-
ment of gray-green paper which Macoy had
given her the preceding evening. Placing the
torn bit by the side of a blank check in the open
check-book, she compared the two, and then went
white to the lips. Hoping against hope, she took
a magnifying glass and carefully scrutinized the
two papers. At the close of her scrutiny, she
flung down the glass, and resting her elbows on
the table, she buried her face in her hands.
269


270 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
“It must not be. It must not be," she
groaned. A long time she sat in this position
thinking. "Thousands of people use the Colum-
bus Trust Company's checks,” she assured her-
self. “It doesn't mean anything."
But this assurance was hollow. It failed to
comfort her. Other incidents kept obtruding
themselves. What was troubling Stephen? He
had not been like himself since he had under-
taken the Barwood case. She recalled the day
he came home from Albany—the very morning
of the Barwood murder-how ghastly he looked !
She recalled that she had urged him to take
Sidney away for a few days—and she remem-
bered, with a start, that he had told her Sidney
was in the hands of a trained nurse. She had
thought at the time, that that was only one of
Sidney's social affectations. Sidney was as
healthy as a young puppy. Could she have re-
ceived some shock that morning? Stephen's
face rose before her as it appeared to her that
morning, and her heart was wrung with anguish
at the memory.
rose from her chair and mechanically
took off her hat. Her hands were icy cold. She
tried to control her rising fears, but her body
shook as with an ague. Stephen was a vision-


A DISCOVERY
271
ary. Had he found that Sidney was com-
promised in some way? Sidney, innocent and
guiltless, but about to be proclaimed otherwise
before the world? And had he taken justice
into his own hands? She believed Stephen
would do it where a woman's honor was at
stake, and stand fearlessly before the judg-
ment of God, certain of the rectitude of his
action.
Utterly unable to conceal her agitation should
any one seek admission, she locked her door.
But she locked the contents of Pandora's box
in with her..
“Stephen wasn't here when it happened,"
she told herself. “He was in Albany and didn't
reach New York until nine o'clock—I heard him
tell Assistant District Attorney Chickering so
-or, at least Mr. Chickering assumed it, and
Stephen didn't contradict it."
Her heart contracted again. She went to her
letter file and searched among its contents. Yes,
her memory did serve her right. There was the
letter telling her he would arrive on the six-
seventeen train; he was to have a busy day
and would be at the office by nine. And then
he didn't come at nine, and he didn't transact


272 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
the business he intended to that day. Some-
thing occupied him and disturbed him, and he
had been like a graven image ever since.
Here her thoughts became so tumultuous that
they took no definite form. They were like the
phantasms of Dreamland-heads presented
themselves without bodies, and bodies without
heads. Scenes introduced themselves and
shifted to others almost before they had begun.
Out of this chaotic state, she presently forced
herself; and she became acutely conscious of
only one thing—Stephen must not find her here.
She could not meet him in this state of agita-
tion. She looked over the memoranda of her
morning's work, selected a few important Iet-
ters and made a pile of them, then rang for an
office boy.
"Take these to Miss Sherwood and ask her
to have them ready for Mr. Wallace when he
comes,” she ordered.
She' wrote a hasty note to the District At-
torney excusing her absence, replaced her hat
and left the office. She glanced apprehensively
down the corridor toward the elevators which
were beginning to discharge the stenographers
and clerks of the offices on that floor. Seeing


274 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
Her mistress shook her head. “I'll be all
right presently, Rosetta,” she said.
Rosetta moved quietly about the room, put-
ting away hat and gloves and bag, and keeping
an affectionate eye on the white face of her
mistress.
Her mistress was, in the meantime, consumed
with a desire to get possession of Rosetta's
newspaper.
“Rosetta,” she said, “I wish you would go
to the Ward drug store and get me a package
of magnesia.”
“Yes, ma'am, I'll hurry right along; but why
Ward's? That's four blocks up, and I can get
it right here at the corner at Black's Cut Rate.
It'll be cheaper, too, I think, and I'll get back
quicker, too.”
"I want you to get it at Ward's, Rosetta. I
like their magnesia better, and you needn't
rry back. Only go now and get ready," she
urged.
“I have nothing to do to get ready. I'll
go right now," said the willing little maid.
As soon as Rosetta departed, Mrs. Grayson
seized the paper. Enormous headlines met her
eye:
now


276
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
for a ten cent drink.' I put down a fifty cent
piece to pay him, too, just to let him know I
could buy two drinks if I wanted to. Then I
picked up my change as if it wasn't nothin'
much to me, and walked away with my head up
high like Theda Bara in the last act. He was
good looking, though,” she added reminiscently,
“and I might go again just to show him. How
much magnesia shall I fix for you, Mrs. Gray-
son? It doesn't seem that magnesia's the right
thing for the awful pain you've got.”
No answer from the white, suffering woman.
met the question; and Rosetta sensing some-
thing deeper than physical pain, and sensing,
too, her own futility, withdrew quietly to the
little kitchen. At noon she prepared a dainty
luncheon, and spread it carefully on the dining
room table. She surveyed an omelet garnished
with parsley, and approved its effect on the
shining silver platter. The doilies were fresh,
and showed the polished mahogany table
through the meshes of the lace. The crystal
bowl of sweet peasma shy gift from Macoy the
previous evening—was not quite in the center of
the table. She moved it a trifle, and stood back,
her head bent to one side, and surveyed it crit-
ically-yes, that was better.


A DISCOVERY
277
When she was satisfied that the effect could
not be improved upon, she went to the living
room and called her mistress. Mrs. Grayson
was standing at the window, her hands clasped
behind her. She turned at Rosetta's summons,
and stared at the maid as if to recall her
identity.
“Luncheon is served, Mrs. Grayson,”
Rosetta announced.
“Luncheon ?”' echoed her mistress.
“Yes, Mrs. Grayson, it's a nice luncheon.
Eggs is a dollar a dozen, but I have made you
an omelet the way you like. It's a sin to waste
it, now, ain't it?" she urged, noting signs that
her mistress meant to reject it.
With an effort of the will Mrs. Grayson pulled
herself together. “Yes, of course, Rosetta. I
didn't know it was so late," and she preceded
Rosetta to the dining room.
Once seated, she seized upon a glass of water
and drained its contents.
“More water, Rosetta."
She drained the second glass as avidly as the
first.
“More yet, Rosetta.”
Her parched tongue was soothed by the cool-


278 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
ing drink. She forced herself to eat a portion
of the omelet and a roll.
She was relieved when she heard her tele-
phone bell ringing. She left the table to answer
the call. She was wanted at the office; Mr. Wal-
lace was away, and she was needed to advise
about some papers; if she was too ill to come,
should Miss Sherwood come to her? She de-
cided to return to the office.
After she had left the house, Rosetta removed
the scarcely touched luncheon, and washed her
dishes. Then she made her preparations for
dinner and tidied up her kitchen. When she
had arrayed herself in a fresh afternoon gown
with the coquettish little apron and cap which
Mrs. Grayson provided her, she took an approv-
ing survey of herself in the long mirror; after
which she sat down in the living room and
crocheted. She was working out a pattern of a
yoke from directions in the Woman's Own
Journal.
66Five chain, 1 dc in 2d stitch below, * 2
chain, 1 d c in 2d stitch below *. Repeat from
* to *_” she murmured, “I wonder if that
woman's arrested yet,” she thought. “I can
hardly wait for the evenin' paper. The papers
are getting to be as interestin' as the movies,
murmu


280 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
ishing. She regained her courage by degrees
and went about her duties of preparing din-
ner. The rain was still falling so heavily that
she decided to delay the dinner, reasoning that
Mrs. Grayson would wait until the storm sub-
sided before venturing out. In this she was
correct. It was later than usual when her mis-
tress came, and Rosetta was waiting at the
door to relieve her of her dripping mackintosh
and umbrella. She was carrying a goodly-
sized parcel-an unusual thing with her—which
she refused to let Rosetta take possession of.
She took it to her bedroom herself.
Dinner was more mechanical than luncheon.
After the dismal meal was concluded, Rosetta
announced that the rain was over, and re-
quested permission to go to a movie that is,
if you don't need me, Mrs. Grayson. You look
awful sick."
“I'm not ill, Rosetta, I don't need you," she
assured her.
After the departure of Rosetta, she went to
the telephone and called a number.
“Is this you, Stephen?-I need you very
much. I must see you immediately—No, don't
bring Sidney-I have something for your ears
only—and oh, Stephen-please, please come at
once."


CHAPTER XXVI
THE CONFESSION
FTER Mrs. Grayson hung up the re-
ceiver, she began to make preparations
· for Stephen Wallace's visit. First she
went to the dining room and drank a glass
of French brandy to brace herself for the
ordeal before her. Then she sat down and be-
gan to arrange her confused thoughts in an
orderly manner.
By the time her visitor arrived, a faint flush
had returned to her face and her manner was
composed. She met him at the door of her
apartment in answer to his ring.
“Good evening, Nathalie," he greeted her,
depositing his umbrella in the rack and remov-
ing his overcoat. “I came as quickly as I
could.” He reached out his hand and held hers
in his strong grasp while he looked earnestly
into her troubled eyes.
“What is it? Has something happened to
trouble you?”
281


282
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
She withdrew her hand and motioned him to
a seat.
“Sit down, Stephen, I will tell you pres-
ently."
She sat down at the end of the table where
her face was in the shadow.
“Stephen,” she said, “I am going to make
a confession."
He saw that she was shaken to the depths,
and he waited solicitously for her disclosure.
“You are going to confess what, Nathalie?”
he gently urged.
She wet her parched lips with her tongue,
and tried to speak in a natural tone; but the
sound, when it came, was in a whisper:
“I shot Gregory Barwood."
“Good God! Nathalie, what are you say-
ing?"
His face became as white as hers, and he
stared at her for several seconds before he
could utter the words:
“But I don't understand. You couldn't have
done it! Are you losing your reason, Nath-
alie?”
She shook her head. “No, I shot him.”
For a long time neither spoke. He was think-
ing, confusedly at first, and then his thoughts


THE CONFESSION 285
"I can't just now—I'll find it later,” she
said.
“Your shoes, then,” he urged, an odd infleo
tion in his voice, “how did you disguise your
feet?” He glanced down at the small feet en-
cased in gray suede slippers.
“I wore men's shoes,” she said.
“Where are they? Let me see them.”
“Don't ask me, Stephen,” she pleaded, “I
never want to see them again-1-1-burned
them.”
He regarded her curiously before he spoke
again.
“There was a flame colored scarf found in
Barwood's house the morning of the murder.
Do you know anything about that?” he asked.
“Yes, it was mine. I left it there,” she as-
serted unflinchingly.
Wallace's mouth twitched with a faint smile.
“I might forgive you for shooting Barwood,
Nathalie, but I can hardly overlook the bad
taste you displayed in wearing that combination
-a woman's orange-red scarf with that over-
coat lining."
“I didn't wear them together-I had been
there before.” The swift color mounted to her


286 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
we
face, and suffused her neck and brow. All the
blood in her body seemed to throb in her tem-
ples.
He received this shock with a sudden con-
traction of the muscles around the heart.
“What do you expect me to do with this
confession, Nathalie? Do you expect me to
arrest you?” She met his eyes bravely, but
hers were burning with feverish fire, and there
were dark circles beneath them.
“No, I am going to tell this story to Inspec-
tor Kane the first thing to-morrow morning
before they arrest Mrs. Dalrymple."
“Are you so fond of Mrs. Dalrymple?" He
smiled a wry smile.
“No, but I couldn't let an innocent person
be arrested for a crime that I committed—could
you, Stephen?” She looked earnestly at him
for his answer.
“No-of course not,” he admitted. “But
you know," he suddenly reminded her, “I have
to prosecute the case in virtue of my office."
“Oh, Stephen, you needn't do it-Mr. Beards-
ley or any one of the assistant district at-
torneys could prosecute me. Why need there
be a trial if I confess?” she pleaded. Her eyes


THE CONFESSION
287
were dry and bright. She was reaching the
limit of her endurance.
He reached forward impulsively and grasped
her cold hands in his, his face twitching with
emotion.
“You are a loyal and brave liar, Nathalie,”
he said, “but not a very convincing one."
“Oh, Stephen, let me lie-please let me do
something worth while,” she implored.
“It isn't necessary," he said. “Whatever
you may have found out-whatever conclusions
may have been forced upon you—oh, you loyal,
generous woman—you are mistaken. I didn't
shoot Gregory Barwood.”
“You didn't?" she gasped.
"No." He shook his head gravely.
“Then whose pistol is that?”.
“It is the pistol that killed Barwood, but I
did not fire it."
“And the overcoat?”
“Mine—but a perfectly innocent coat-as in-
nocent as I am,” he smiled reassuringly.
At that smile, so free from any sense of guilt,
the overpowering tension under which she had
been laboring for many hours relaxed sud-
denly.


THE CONFESSION
289
teria, which at the end of a quarter of an hour
she had under control. With a sigh of relief,
Wallace passed his hand over his brow and
plunged his fingers into his heavy black locks,
a gesture habitual with him when anything
troubled him.
“Stephen,” she said, with a little catch in
her breath—the aftermath of her emotion, “you
are too funny.”
“My God! Nathalie,” he said, drawing a long,
deep breath, “it may look funny to you, but
it's the longest half hour I ever spent."
“Forgive me, Stephen. I couldn't help it.
After the tension was relieved—Oh, you don't
know how I have suffered!"
Stephen looked at her apprehensively.
“Don't talk about it any more to-night, Nath-
alie. You can't bear it. I-I shan't know what
to do if you faint again.”
"I am not going to give way again-you
needn't be afraid. I want to hear more about
it. I must go down on my knees and ask your
pardon for suspecting you. But I don't see
what it all means.”
“Are you sure you can talk it over and not
have it exhaust you?” he remonstrated.
“Yes, oh, yes--very, very sure. In fact, I


290 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
must discuss it with you to-night. It is tre-
mendously important that I should.”
Some undercurrent of meaning in her words
startled him. “What do you mean, Nathalie ?”
he asked quickly.
She didn't answer him at once and he caught
at her meaning.
“Some one else suspects ?” he queried anx-
iously."
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Who?" His eyes glowed with a sudden
flame and he waited tensely for her answer.
“Macoy, the reporter.”
“That kid?” rather contemptuously. “I
thought he was working for me. He pledged
me he wouldn't reveal anything he found out
to any one but me. As he hasn't reported any
thing of consequence, I thought he hadn't un-
earthed any thing but the scarf. In fact, I've
seen so little of him I've considered him a
negligible quantity when I have thought of him
at all—You don't mean he has been to the
police with that story?” he asked suddenly.
“No, he hasn't been to the police or to any-
body but me.”
“And you-believed-1-shot-Barwood ?”
“Oh, Stephen, forgive me," she groaned.


THE CONFESSION
291
“Everything pointed that way. All the evi-
dence kept piling up against you."
“Evidence? What evidence?" His manner
indicated sudden alarm.
“All the clues that Macoy has been running
down led directly to you. I have tried not to
believe it, but when everything hung together
and pointed in your direction, I thought you
might have had a strong enough motive to
justify your action. And I believed in you,
Stephen. I knew if you did it, you felt guilt-
less before God.”
He sat in deep thought for a long time,
scarcely hearing her last words. Finally;
“How long have you known this—suspected, I
mean?”
"Since last night when you and Sidney called
here.”
“What could possibly have aroused your
suspicion then?” he inquired in a surprised
tone.
She hesitated for an appreciable time. “Sid-
ney's black spangled gown,” she said.
“Sidney!” he cried out, springing to his feet,
his eyes ablaze with a fierce light, “Sidney!
What has Sidney got to do with it?”.
She cowered before the gaze bent upon her.


292 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
With a little shiver she placed both hands be-
fore her face and moaned: “Oh, I don't know
-I don't know.”
He strode up and down the long room and
again paused before her.
“That witless reporter was here last even-
ing. Did he fill your mind with suspicion?”
“Yes," she nodded.
“Curse him!” he exclaimed. The over-
strained nerves of the habitually self-controlled
man gave way, and he called down a series of
maledictions that he was not aware were in his
vocabulary on the head of the meddlesome re-
porter. This sudden and amazing blaze of
anger possessed him for several seconds, dur-
ing which he paced the floor, kicking an inof-
fensive footstool from his path, and clutching
his hands in a gesture which boded no good
to the neck of the hapless object of his wrath,
which, in his imagination, he was clutching.


CHAPTER XXVII
THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY LEARNS SOMETHING
'HEN the force of his anger was spent,
Stephen Wallace with a shock real-
ized that something had happened to
Nathalie. She was no more pallid than before.
She had not fainted. She was a living, breath-
ing body from which the tie that bound her to
others of her kind had been broken. A posi-
tive, violent grief would have been a relief to
witness compared to this deadly lassitude.
When Stephen saw the withering consequences
of his outbreak, he was immediately filled with
remorse and self-condemnation.
“Forgive me, Nathalie,” he said, “I don't
deserve your friendship. You were willing to
sacrifice not only your life, but your honor for
me. I am so profoundly moved that I think I
am beside myself. Don't look like that, Nath-
alie,” he implored, resting one hand on the arm
of her chair and bending over her. “Look into
293


294 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
my eyes, Nathalie Nathalie,” he called, as
though she were departing from him and he
were losing her forever.
Although he knew she heard him, his plea
met with no response. His face became hag-
gard. He turned and flung himself into a chair,
crossed his arms on the table, and buried his
face in them. The groan that he emitted would
have brought the woman who loved him trail-
ing white robes from her sepulcher to comfort
him. Nathalie was on her feet and at his side
in an instant.
“Stephen,” she said, “For God's sake let's
understand each other. We are both beating
about in the dark. What is it all about, and
how did I happen to make that hideous mis-
take ?"
“It wasn't such a hideous mistake as you
think,” he replied, raising his head and fixing
his harassed eyes upon her.
“Then let us calm ourselves and talk ration-
ally. You brought my shipwrecked bark into
a safe harbor once, and I thought I could do
you a like service. I thought you were on the
rocks, Stephen, but you tell me I was mis-
taken."
“No, you are not mistaken, Nathalie, I am


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY 295
on the rocks-hopelessly wrecked. Don't try
to bring your frail little craft to the rescue;
you'll only go down with me.”
Her eyes became radiant with a strange light.
“I want to go down with you, Stephen,” she
said softly.
He shook his head, too profoundly moved to
utter more than, “No, no.”
“Then take my little craft and go to safety-
for Sidney's sake.”
He groaned again at the thought of Sidney.
“Sidney must share my fate," he said.
“Don't take the joy out of her beautiful
young life, Stephen-I know what it means. I
have lost out beyond recovery. Why add
another joyless woman to the long list? She is
so young—there will be so many weary years
ahead of her. And you—with your honorable
name dragged in the dust-I can't bear it,
Stephen-I cannot bear it."
He was not so surprised at the discovery of
heroism and strength in Nathalie as another
man might be, for all his life he had reverenced
women; but he was deeply moved.
“Nathalie,” he said, “I can't accept your
sacrifice; but to my dying day I shall not for-
get it. Now let me tell you how it came about.


296 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
It will relieve me from this terrible strain if I
can share it with you.”
"I am so glad to hear you say that—so glad
to share trouble with you,” she said.
He drew his chair up close to hers, and when
he had seated himself he gazed into space a
few moments.
“I am wondering where to begin,” he said,
tentatively. “I suppose it really begins where
I first met Sidney, but that's too long a story
and the details are irrelevant. Another start-
ing point might be where I first brought Sid-
ney and Anne Lambert together. Mrs. Lambert
would probably say I should begin at the point
where I began to neglect Sidney—she calls it
neglect. But you know all that, and you know
that Sidney, through Anne, met Gregory Bar-
wood and learned to play auction bridge. You
know, too, that all that crowd played for money.
It didn't seem to me to be any more harmful
than the other amusements of that set, and I
should have been considered a brute if I ob-
jected to Sidney's choice of amusements. They
played for higher stakes than I considered in
good taste, but Sidney played a good game and
didn't lose more than she made. As long as
she was breaking about even I didn't want to


298 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
walled.
ard—I can't do it—the icy water—the cold,
coal-black water. And then in the spring to
float up with my face all swollen, and my hair
all fallen out-oh, I just can't do it I can't,'
she wailed.
“I took hold of her hands and tried to re-
move them from her face but she shrank away
from me. 'Don't lock me in, Stephen,' she said.
'I'll go away somewhere and never, never come
back-but I can't hear you call me a hypo-
crite, a liar, and a criminal; and say I have all
my father's want of principle, and—that I have
no sense of duty, and no religion, and no mor-
ality. I can't say, like Nora, that I did it for
your sake; and everybody will say that you
prompted me to it-
"Sidney,' I exclaimed. “Sidney, dear, you
are ill. You are delirious—Let me take off your
hat.' But she shrieked when I touched her, and
shrank away from me, huddling up against the
wall.
6'He won't give up the bond as Krogstad
did. I went and asked him and he said and
he said and she shook so violently she could
not finish her sentence.
“I went over to her and took her forcibly in
my arms, and caressed her.


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY 301
“Just what was it, dear?' I drew her down
beside me on the sofa. “You needn't worry
about his ruining me; he was trying to scare
you. What was it?'
6'It-it was a check.'
“I must confess I was relieved.
""How much was it?'
“ 'It was a whole lot, Stephen; it was ten
thousand dollars-
“That did give me a start, but I said: 'Did
he have the check when you saw him last night?
He hadn't cashed it?'
""No, he hadn't cashed it.'
"6"Well, then, cheer up, little one. We'll give
him the surprise of his life. When he presents
the check at the bank for payment this morn-
ing, he will find ten thousand dollars there as
soon as the bank is open.'
“'It wasn't that money so much, Stephen.
Anne would lend me the money, I am sure, until
I can win it back; but I didn't want Anne to
know I lost so much.'
""What do you mean, then?'
“ 'It was the signature,' she confessed with
her lids lowered.
"The signature! Whose signature? For


302 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
God's sake, Sidney, whose signature?' The
cold sweat stood out on me. I was intensely
relieved to hear her say:
6.Your signature. When I told him I didn't
have that much money he told me it would be
just as well to sign your name to my check,
and that I would surely win and replace the
money the next day. And I went to see “The
Doll House” at the theater last night; and I
realized then what it meant to forge another
person's name. I tried to go and drown myself
as Nora was going to do; and I couldn't do it,
Stephen I couldn't do it.'
“I don't know how I had kept myself in hand
so far, but I had succeeded. It was bad enough,
but not so bad as it might be. · My voice was
quite steady when I explained to her that he
had no hold over her whatever; that when the
check came in I would honor the signature.
Then I tried to make it clear to her that she
must never forge any one's name again.
"Oh, I never will,' she promised. ""The
Doll's House” scared me almost to death.
Poor Nora-Krogstad gave back the bond, but
she and her husband were parted forever. I
couldn't bear never to see you again, Stephen,'
she sobbed.


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY 303
no
CCO
"I comforted her again as best I could. “And
now that our troubles are all over,' I said, 'we
will not play for money any more, will we?'
""No, no, never,' she said. “But there's
something else I want to ask you, Stephen.
When you win, isn't it all right to take a check
and cash it?'
" "Yes, that's according to the code,' I said,
wondering what was coming next.
60*Well, Mr. Barwood threatened me about
that. I won two hundred dollars from him
once and he gave me a check. Afterward, when
I refused to go to his house to play roulette, he
showed me what he called a voucher, and he
said he could make me trouble with it. Anne
and I went one night, and I didn't feel com-
fortable with the kind of people I met there; so
I made up my mind I would never go again.
After the theater last night, I telephoned him
and asked him for the voucher, and he told me
if I would go there alone, he would meet me at
the door and give it to me.
"When I reached there, he let me in and
said if I would come into the reception room
he would give it to me. When I got there he
tried to make me promise that I would play
regularly once or twice a week at roulette or


304 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
a
faro. I promised him, for I was deadly afraid
of him, and then I asked for the voucher. I
am ashamed to tell you, Stephen, how he was
going to hold it over me, that I had visited him
alone at night, and he could prove by the
voucher that I had received money from him.
He laughed at me when I begged for it. He
held it in his hand and showed it to me, and
said he would keep it as a guarantee of my
good faith. He said it would add greatly to the
prestige of his house to have the wife of the
District Attorney there. His eyes were so evil,
I was afraid of him, and I rushed out of the
house, trembling so I could hardly stand. I
jumped into the taxi I had waiting for me and
hurried home—and oh, Stephen, what a night
I spent!'
“Then, Nathalie, I saw red. All the primi-
tive passions of the Cave Man obsessed me. I
utterly lost control of myself. Forked light-
ning played about the room for a few seconds.
Sidney went into hysterics. I telephoned for a
nurse who lived in the same apartment house,
and, as soon as she came, I went on the trail
of Barwood."


CHAPTER XXVIII
-AND REVEALS SOMETHING
o cu
| OD only knows what was in my heart
when I put on my overcoat and hat
and dashed out of the house. I found
a taxi at the corner and drove up Fifth Avenue.
I don't know why I dismissed the taxi at the
corner of E. Fifty- Street. The act was a
subconscious one, for I had no definite plan
of action-no conscious notion of covering up
my tracks.
“I rang Barwood's bell and he opened the
door himself. Barwood is too old a poker
player to let his face betray his thoughts, but
I caught, for one fleeting second, a glimmer of
surprise in his eyes. If he hesitated for an
almost imperceptible moment, to admit me, it
passed, for I was forcing my way in uninvited.
He became suave in a moment.
" This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Wal-
lace,' he greeted me, opening the door wide and
305


306
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
motioning me, with a graceful wave of the hand,
to the reception room.
66.The pleasure is wholly yours, Mr. Bar-
wood, I assure you, and will be a very fleeting
one. You know what I have come for. I will
give you just five minutes to produce the
voucher you are holding over my wife, also
the check you induced her to forge.
“Nathalie, I hope never again to see such an
evil look in any human eye as he shot at me.
"And what if I refuse,' he sneered.
“'I'll have the whole police department here
in less than a quarter of an hour to raid your
house—the most accursed joint in the city,' I
replied.
“He smiled-if the parting of cruel lips over
white teeth can be called a smile.
"And what explanation will the District At-
torney give to the police of his presence here
at this hour?' he inquired with solicitous polite-
ness.
"That needn't concern you. Your five min-
utes is getting away from you. I swear by all
the gods, pagan and Christian, if those papers
are not in my hand at the end of that time, I'll
pull your accursed gambling house down over
your head.'
-


-AND REVEALS SOMETHING 307
"Again that diabolical smile. He made a
Chesterfieldian bow.
""Pardon me,' he said, “your language is
more violent than the occasion demands. It
will give me pleasure to present you with my
property-for it is mine, you must admit. No
process of law could relieve me of my own
vouchers. But if the District Attorney does not
wish his wife to pay her gambling debts, he
shrugged his shoulders, ‘his check shall be re-
turned to him. The code of honor does not
seem to enter into his calculations. It would be
worth ten thousand dollars to me, I think,' he
continued musingly, 'to watch the effect upon
gentlemen who learn that Stephen Wallace re-
pudiated his wife's gambling debt. It would
make good political material, too—It's really
worth it to me. If you'll excuse me, I will go
immediately to my safe upstairs and get the
documents. I assure you, it will give me the
greatest pleasure.'
“He had recovered himself and was really
enjoying the situation.
“I drew my watch from my pocket, merely to
do something with my hands, to keep them from
closing around his throat and throttling him
where he stood.


308 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
0
“ There isn't much time left,' I said, 'and
to make sure that I get them before the time
expires, I will go with you.'
“His eyes narrowed again. "You can't force
me to give up those papers. They are mine,
you know; and there is enough in them to bring
your house tumbling down to its foundations-
to use your own metaphor.'
"6You have a little more than two minutes
left. I have sworn to call the police at the end
of that time, and by all I hold sacred, I will
keep my oath.'
“He glared at me a moment, then folded his
arms.
"6"On reflection, I refuse to give them up.
Call the police. If they raid my safe, they will
find the voucher with your wife's signature-
likewise the forged check. It is because I sus-
pected the police were getting wise to my place,
that I tried to inveigle women like your wife
and Mrs. Lambert to come here, and lend re-
spectability to it. Let them raid it. They won't
find much on me, and I can reestablish myself
again in a month; and no one will remember a
little bit of unpleasantness. But how about
your wife after I have circulated a few innuen-
does concerning that voucher? And forgery,


-AND REVEALS SOMETHING 309
too, I seem to remember that there are some
unpleasant consequences connected with for-
gery. Am I right?
“I would have killed him then and there, had
not my reason told me that nothing was to be
gained by that, so long as the incriminating
papers were in the safe. Then, too, the men-
tion of Mrs. Lambert's name brought to my
mind an evening when Sidney and I were din-
ing at the Lamberts'. John Rutherford came
there in great perturbation, and told me a tale
of Barwood's dealings with his wife that cor-
responded exactly with Sidney's experience.
Like a flash it came to me that here was my hold
on him.
" You forget that I am a lawyer, Barwood.
Really, your success in scaring women has weak-
ened your intellect. If I don't repudiate the
signature of that check, what can be done about
it? Nothing. I acknowledge the signature as
mine and pay the debt. No forgery even
charged. But I do seem to recollect that black-
mail has what you call unpleasant consequences
- blackmail — yes — very unpleasant conse-
quences. Did you ever hear of the Jacob Cone
case? Twenty years, wasn't it? He's in Os-


310 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
sining now, and he didn't deserve half as long
a sentence as you do.'
“Blackmail,' he laughed. “Who will believe
it is blackmail? There is no one's word but
your wife's that I attempted it. It's no use,
Wallace, you may as well come across and let
your fascinating wife grace my harmless little
parties. Perhaps you will join her-yes,' he
added triumphantly, the more I think of it,
the more I am sure you will join us. Why didn't
I think of it before!
“His laugh was the wickedest I hope I may
ever hear.
" 'You are not going to have any more harm-
less little parties here, Barwood. In the future
your evenings will be spent en solitaire up the
river,' I assured him. “Mr. John Rutherford
has a couple of million dollars lying around
loose that he's anxious to spend on making you
comfortable in a cell in Ossining.'
“To do him justice, he faced this charge with-
out a change of expression.
66 "Then I'll go down in good society,' he
averred. “And since you have gone that far,
there will be no necessity for me to give you
the papers. You have overbid your hand, Wal-
lace. You should be an expert lawyer enough
IV mo


--AND REVEALS SOMETHING 311
to get your papers first, and make your threats
afterwards. Now I can destroy them and where
is your proof?' he laughed.
"'Here,' I said, and drew a police whistle
from my pocket. 'From where I stand, I can
see a patrolman.' Pure bluff that was; there
was not even a dog to be seen on the street.
'If you don't go this instant, without any fur-
ther parley, I call.'
" The pot is yours,' he said.
“He made a mocking bow and turned on his
heel. I followed him up the stairs. In the
card room, he touched a secret spring, and a
brocaded panel in the wall rolled noiselessly into
the space between the walls. We were then in
a small room, fitted with shelves loaded with the
paraphernalia of a gambling house.
“In this room, he touched another spring,
evidently, for a small panel slipped out of sight,
revealing a safe. He used the combination
quietly, and the door of the safe swung open.
I watched him narrowly. He knew just where
to lay his hands on Sidney's checks. He pro-
duced them immediately and handed them, with
a mocking bow, to me. I made sure they were
the originals, placed them in my pocket, and
was about to leave the room when I caught the
.


312 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
most diabolical expression I have ever seen on
a human face. As a child, I used to be mor-
tally afraid of a cat's eyes in the dark. Some-
thing of the childish terror I used to feel shot
like a lightning bolt through me.
"If you can afford to make this public, I
can,' he said.
"'You will precede me to your door,' I
threatened, ignoring his remark.
“With mock ceremony he went ahead of me
down the stairs. When we reached the hall he
said to me in an altered tone:
"'Step in here a moment, Mr. Wallace. The
game is up and you have won. Now, for the
sake of all concerned, and to avoid a scandal
that will smirch the names of half the society
women in the city, can't we talk it over?'
“I hesitated. There was much truth in what
he said. He motioned me into the reception
room. The light was very dim, the windows be-
ing almost covered with heavy draperies. He
crossed over to the mantel and rested his right
arm on it. Then he laughed—a low, gurgling,
inhuman sound, and while I watched him in sur-
prise, he raised his arm and I was looking
straight into the muzzle of an Army Colt.
"Now, we will have the papers back,' he


—AND REVEALS SOMETHING
313
said. “If you make an attempt to use that
whistle, you are a dead man. I'll shoot, and
raise an alarm afterwards. I'll tell the police
that you attacked me and I turned the bullet
on you in self-defense. Place the papers on that
chair near the door,' he ordered. His tone had
a deadly chill in it. I placed the papers on the
chair, and he moved near it, keeping me covered
all the while. As he came toward me, I backed
away toward the center of the room. He took
the checks in his left hand, made sure that they
were the same ones he had just parted from, and
then he addressed me with malevolent humor:
"Stephen Wallace,' he said, 'In less than
five minutes I'm going to kill you. I think it
will be less than two-why defer so great a
pleasure? In about two minutes, then, you are
going to be lying on the floor with your brains
blown out. A few minutes later the police will
be here, and will learn how you came to my
house with a deadly weapon to kill me because
your wife had been too fond of me - I shall
have the proof of her favors here. I shall
tell them that I threw up your hand as you
were about to shoot, and the shot intended for
me was turned upon yourself.'
“It was a close shave, Nathalie. If he hadn't


314 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
paused one instant to throw up his eyes to the
ceiling to gloat over his diabolical cleverness,
he would have carried out his threat. In that
instant I was upon him and threw him back
in the chair. He must have drawn the trigger
while he was falling, for his arm was up in an
instant.
“Before I knew that I had struck his arm I
heard the report. The revolver dropped to the
floor, and then I saw that the bullet had struck
home.
“I didn't know until long after that I picked
up the revolver and put it in my pocket. I have
no recollection of doing so, but I found it after-
ward in my overcoat pocket. I don't know,
either, what prompted my movements after I
left the house. There was no one in the street
but an old darkey cleaning the steps of a house
a couple of doors away. I walked out to Fifth
Avenue, hailed a taxi and started home, I sup-
pose; but when I got to Forty-second Street
and saw the Grand Central Station, I dismissed
the cab and went in. I went through to the Con-
course and found that the nine o'clock from
Albany was just in. I joined the throng of in-
coming passengers, and appeared to be just


CHAPTER XXIX
THE END
RS. Grayson noted the deep lines in the
face grown so haggard in the preced-
ing days, and the blue shadows beneath
the eyes indicating the mental suffering he had
endured.
Rising from her seat, she crossed over to his
side and rested her hand on the back of his
chair. She longed to drink with him the bit-
ter cup he was about to drain.
“You will not be arrested, Stephen,” she
said. “No one knows anything about it but
young Macoy, and he has voluntarily pledged
himself to keep his lips sealed forever. I am
so relieved to know the truth, Stephen. If you
had only trusted me, and confided in me at
first, it would have saved us both so much suffer-
ing."
He lifted his troubled eyes to hers. “How
could I dream that you would come into pos-
session of any knowledge of it? You are the
condo der any that you could come into polo
316


THE END
317
ven.
last person in the world I should connect with
any gossip about it, even. How did it come
about, Nathalie?”.
“Providentially, I think,” she said. “You
remember the morning you came from Albany
and found that young reporter waiting for you.
He had waited a long time before you came,
and for some time after. I don't know what
attracted me to him—the divinity that shapes
our ends,' possibly. It must have been your
star, too, that led you to retain him in your
exclusive service. I saw him frequently after-
wards. He came often to my apartment and
gradually gave me his confidence. He was
obsessed with an ambition to be an expert de-
tective. He had a very youthful mind, and per-
haps for that reason, he refreshed me. The
more I saw of him the better I liked him, and I
began to depend upon him to keep me company.
I liked him because he was so humbly apprecia-
tive; and, perhaps, because he set me upon a
pedestal and worshiped me, and so, in a meas-
ure, restored me to my lost estate. It is only
very recently that I took seriously his activi-
ties in detective work. I knew he was search-
ing for evidence in the Barwood case, which,
when he had a sufficient collection, he meant to


318
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
present to you. He was not satisfied with any-
thing short of producing the criminal, and that
is why he didn't give you his clues.”
“What were his clues? It seems I have en-
tirely underestimated him. How little we
know what apparently insignificant person may
hold our doom in his hands.”
“Yes, indeed,” she said, “and how trilling
the clues seem. The first one was a shell hair-
pin found on a rug in the card room which the
detectives took away from him. In the re-
ception room he found an iridescent bead from
that Celestine gown of Sidney's. Last evening
when you and Sidney came here and found us
at tea, Sidney was wearing the gown. After
you had gone, Macoy showed me the bead, and I
remembered that Sidney wore that gown to the
theater the night before the tragedy. Macoy
asked me a great many questions about the
bead, particularly about the chance of there be-
ing any others like it. I had to tell him that
there wasn't one chance in a hundred of there
being a duplicate. Besides, there was one miss-
ing from the panel of the gown. I missed it
at once before I knew that Macoy had it, at that
moment, in his pocket. I was very uneasy after
he showed it to me. I pressed him for other


320 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
overworking; or that you were possibly worry-
ing about Sidney. I suspected that she was
gambling recklessly. Then, when all this began
to converge to one point, I was so troubled that
I came home in great distress. I found Rosetta
reading the morning paper, and learned that a
woman was to be arrested for the murder. I
was crazed, Stephen. I thought I saw the whole
thing—Sidney was compromised—she was in-
nocent-you took justice in your own hands,
and would hold the act justified where a
woman's honor was concerned. I knew, too,
that if an innocent person were arrested, you
would give yourself up. I was in a state bor-
dering on insanity, I think. About two o'clock
Miss Sherwood rang me up and said she
couldn't handle the Sweethammer papers alone,
and I returned to the office to assist her. Macoy
came in just as I was finishing, about four
o'clock, narrowly escaping a drenching in the
shower just coming on.
“After the fury of the wind ceased, it settled
down to a steady pour which promised to last
for some time. I had my raincoat in the office,
but no umbrella; Macoy had no protection. I
took the liberty to get your key and unlock your
closet, and Macoy and I went in together to


THE END
321
hunt for wraps. Suddenly I heard an exclama-
tion, and I looked up and saw Macoy leaning
against the door jamb, his limbs trembling so
he could hardly stand. His eyes were riveted
on something in the closet with an expression
that made my heart stand still. He pointed to
the object which was causing his agitation.
“That overcoat,' he said, in a rasping, un-
natural voice, whose is it?'
“My nerves were quivering before this and
now they became living wires.
"Another clue?' I thought I shrieked, but
my voice was only a whisper.
“'Yes,' he said hoarsely, 'whose is it?'
“Like a flash I recalled that he had been
searching through all the men's furnishing
shops for something—and, intuitively, I knew
it was that overcoat.
“'If you must know—it's mine,' I desper-
ately lied.
66 «Yours! Why, it's a man's coat,' he said.
"Yes, yes, I know—but I bought it to use
on one occasion only—the occasion is over now
-I have never worn it since,' I asserted.
“He looked at me fixedly and I knew that he
knew I was lying. Then he said:
“'You say you bought the coat yourself?'


322 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
6. “Yes, yes,' I told him, 'don't talk to me
about it. You know why-I had a good reason
-oh, yes—an urgent reason. I'll tell you some-
time. Go away–I can't bear any more now.'
.6'No, indeed you can't, dear Mrs. Grayson,'
he said.
"He took me by the arm and led me to your
desk chair where he made me sit. He brought
me a glass of water and held it to my lips.
""Calm yourself, dear, dear Mrs. Grayson.
I understand it all. Don't talk about it any
more. I promise you my lips are sealed for-
ever unless you ask me to open them. Let me
call a taxi and take you home. I will not speak
to you on the way, and I swear that I will never
speak a word anywhere, or at any time, that
will give you a moment of pain. Please, please
believe me.' There were tears in his eyes as
he bent his pleading young face above me.
"'Yes, call a taxi,' I bade him, “and then go
down and wait until I come.'
“He went instantly, and then I went to the
closet and got the coat and made it into a hasty
parcel. While tying it up I began to think of
the pistol which had never been found. I
searched for some time before I found it. You
will forgive the liberty I took, I know_but I


THE END
323
was desperate, and I found that secret drawer
and secured the pistol. Then I joined Macoy
and he took me home. I could hardly wait for
you to come, but I knew you would have to
dine with Sidney."
He listened without interrupting her, his
elbow resting on the arm of his chair, his hand
supporting his head. His eyes were bent with
a strange expression on the woman who was
making this unconscious revelation of herself.
“Words fail me, Nathalie,” he said at last.
“I have never known a woman before I thank
God for the revelation.”
A flush rose to her cheek, and the light of
the joyous martyr shone in her eyes.
“And now you must let me carry out my
plan,” she said eagerly. “Mrs. Dalrymple,"
He raised his hand and stopped her.
“Mrs. Dalrymple will not be arrested now,"
he said. “That has been my greatest anxiety.
Inspector Kane came to my office yesterday and
told a remarkable story of Mrs. Dalrymple hav-
ing been seen sitting in a window of Barwood's
house smoking cigarettes all the time Barwood
was having his interview with me and going to
his death. Bless Mrs. Dalrymple for her love
of cigarettes. It has saved my life and my


324 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
honor, and—” he paused and looked at her
with that new, unfathomable expression in his
eyes, "it has revealed to me something I never
knew I had before, and which I shall hold here-
after as a precious and a sacred treasure.”
He rose and crossed the room, standing with
his back to her a few moments. Then he turned
with the air of a man who has locked something
away in the secret chambers of his heart, never
to be brought forth except in hours of solitude.
His manner was quite matter of fact when he
spoke.
“Now I would like to know your friend Macoy
better. It is a ticklish sensation to know that
your most carefully guarded secret is in the
possession of a cub like that. It isn't exactly
pleasant to think that at any moment in the
future he can spring it on me, or scatter it
broadcast before my political or personal ene-
mies. I seem to have shifted the burden of
Mrs. Dalrymple for that of Macoy."
“Let me call up Macoy, Stephen, and ask
him to come here and meet you right now. He
will be expecting it, I know. He was so dis-
turbed about me when he left me I believe that
is his ring now he is probably calling me."


326 THE HOUSE OF CARDS
his relief he uttered a silent prayer of thank-
fulness for the passing out of his life of his
burden of horror. Over him swept a wave of
deep tenderness for the woman who had led
him out of his Gehenna, and he silently sent up
a petition that she, too, might not long continue
to live on “the half of a broken hope for a pil-
low at night.”
And then he went to Sidney.
Nathalie Grayson's eyes followed his tall
figure as he left the apartment, and as the door
closed behind him, she clasped her hands on her
breast for a moment in deep thankfulness that
his hands were not red with the blood of his
enemy. Then she turned to Macoy and placed
both hands on his shoulders.
"I want you to forgive me,” she said, “the
disagreeable things I have said to you about
detective work."
He removed her hands and held them tightly
clasped in both of his.
“Dear Lady," he said, “it is my thanks you
deserve and not my pardon. You have led me
to see things so differently. Mr. Wallace is a
wonderful man—wonderful! And now that he
is going to take me into his office, where I shall
study law, and keep my feet on the earth and my