२० B47 DEATH WEARS A MASK DEATH WEARS A MASK By THERESE BENSON Author of THE UNKNOWN DAUGHTER THE GO-BETWEEN STRICTLY PRIVATE FOOL'S GOLD THE FOURTH LOVELY LADY GALLANT ADVENTURESS Harper & Brothers Publishers New York and London 1935 DEATH WEARS A MASK Copyright, 1935, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America All rights in this book are reseroed. It may not be used for dramatic, motion, or talking-picture purposes without written authorization from the holder of these rights. Nor may the book or part thereof be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing. For information address: Harper & Brothers, 49 East SSrd Street, New York, N. Y. FIRST EDITION For Berry- on approval. Fararian DEATH WEARS A MASK Chapter ! “So to be Police Commissioner is the height of your ambition " "I didn't say that,” Samuel Mellon, the new Police Commissioner, cut in briskly, “I said it was the height of my ambition to make a good Commissioner. What I meant is that I have none of the aims attributed to me in the organs of the other party. I've no wish to be either Mayor, Governor, or President. I love New York, even corrupt as it is, and I believe the Police Commissioner is in a better position than any other one man to clean it up. That's enough of a job for me to tackle. Politically I'm promised a free hand and I intend to end racketeering, dope peddling, and graft. I don't propose to do it at the expense of the lives of my best men, either. I'll have to go slow until I've gained the confidence of the force, who resent the appointment of a rank outsider as their head. One can understand that and even sympathize with it, but come back when I've been a year in office instead of 2 DEATH WEARS A MASK ten days and we'll have results to talk about.” Sam Mellon threw up his head and squared his shoulders, prepared to carry any burden they must bear, and, facing each other over their coffee-cups, the likeness and the unlike- ness between the two men became pronounced. The two years' difference in their ages, a vast gap at fourteen and sixteen, was now bridged. If anything, Sam looked the younger. They were tall, of about the same height and build, blond, clean shaven, well dressed and rather noticeably straight featured. There the resem- blance ended. Sam Mellon, gray-eyed and alert, was a forceful man with a purpose in life. Harvey Thorne, drooping lids veiling blue eyes that looked on a world without in- terest, was a drifter, his manner listless to an extent that made Sam wonder why he had troubled to hunt him up after such a lapse of time. The answer to that'unspoken question he was soon to learn. "I'm glad, honestly glad, you've got what you want. We were always friends even when we were rivals.” Harvey took his cigar out of DEATH WEARS A MASK 3 his mouth and regarded the ash fixedly before knocking it off and staring at the glowing to- bacco beneath as if only thus could he tell that it was still alight. “If you don't mind my speaking of it after all these years, there's something I'd like to ask you." His manner had become tense, and Sam, to whom his call had been most unexpected, since he had not known Thorne was in the country, remembering that as a younger man he had always over-emphasized both his successes and his failures, for the first time wondered how hard he had been hit by the failure of his mar- riage. Consuela averred that he had been glad to be rid of her. "Fire away, old man,” he said, and took another cigarette from the tooled-leather humidor that Harvey Thorne's ex-wife had given him for Christmas. There followed a momentary silence. When he glanced up for an explanation of it, Thorne burst out: : "You never married. Does that mean that you never got over Consuela?”. DEATH WEARS A MASK Sam laughed, a hearty, care-free laugh. "Far from it. Connie and I are the best of friends. She declares I understand her better than anyone in the world. I assure you I make no such claim. She amuses me, entertains me (she gives a damn' sight better performance off the stage than most actresses do on it); but, frankly, I can't see why I was once so crazy about her." "You never married,” Harvey Thorne re- peated, obstinately accusing. “No, I never did. For one thing, I'm a dud with women. The sort of man they call 'dear old Sammie' and forget the minute he's out of sight. Then I figure that when you cut me out with Consuela, the affair was serious in my eyes because I was decidedly beyond the calf- love age-twenty-eight, if you remember- and the natural to-hell-with-all-women reac- tion carried me long past the time of impet- uous love-affairs." "God!” cried Harvey Thorne, and it was & prayer he uttered rather than an expletive, “I wish I had your temperament.” DEATH WEARS A MASK different colleges. He knew that it was really his engagement to Consuela Dacosta and Thorne’s infatuation with her that had brought them together at all. That engagement had been broken when Consuela had thrown him over for the younger and richer parti; but for a time previous to that, Thorne, pursuing Consuela relentlessly, by dint of making up parties for her, taking them both off for week- ends on his yacht, inviting them to go to ath- letic events in his private car, had managed to form a third at most of their amusements. It spoke well for his amiability and charm that he had been able to do this without antagoniz- ing Sam. Yet in truth when Consuela had announced her intention of breaking their engagement, Sam had thought of her only and had never attempted to dispute the decision. Consuela was the queen who could do no wrong and, as she had been careful to point out, it was far better for both of them that she had found out their mistake before rather than after a trip to St. Thomas's.. DEATH WEARS A MASKO “Reno seems to me hopelessly vulgar,” she had said. “More mixed even than the crowd at Palm Beach. I do not fancy myself in that galère.” He broke off his memories. “The trouble with you, old man, is that you've allowed yourself to grow morbid over this affair. By your own showing, any other fellow would have failed, even as you did. You were married for four years and decided you couldn't make a go of it. Now you've been divorced for five don't tell me you can't make a go of that, either! You're too much of a man to let any woman mess your life up to that extent. Have you seen Connie?” “God forbid!” Thorne said, devoutly. Then, with a certain hope in the cadence of his voice, “Has she changed?” (Perhaps he thought a change would bring him release.) "No," Sam owned, “no-o, I can't say she has. She's still Connie. Feverishly gay, slight almost to emaciation, red-headed— ” "Fausse maigre and Titian,” Thorne cor- rected him. “Bones like a bird and beautiful 8 DEATH WEARS A MASK hair. Has she cut it? It was one of the things we quarreled about-one of the many things.” “Yes, she cut it. Now she is letting it grow again." To Sam it was pitiful how Thorne seized on each meager item of information, ab- sorbing it as might a man dying of thirst a few raindrops from a passing cloud. “Then, if I were you, if you don't want to see her, I should go away." “Away from here?” Thorne looked vaguely around, like one in a dream, as though Connie might be expected to materialize from the empty air before his eyes. “No, not here more than any other place in New York, although there's a chance that this fancy-dress ball on the roof might attract her," Sam explained patiently. “You're liable to run into her anywhere in the city!”. "I suppose you're right," Thorne muttered, almost below his breath, then roused himself. “As a matter of fact, I'm only staying for a day or so. I'm off on a Caribbean cruise with Bill Martin. We're to pry into the home life of the jellyfish, I believe. It doesn't matter. I always DEATH WEARS A MASK did like yachting, and I've had to give up my own boat, what with the depression and all.” He did not say “with an expensive ex-wife.” In his imagination Sam supplied that item, and for the first time blamed Connie. After all, it was a bit thick to deprive a man, against whom there was no complaint, of the means to alleviate his loneliness. For a moment he saw Connie as rapacious. “One more question, then I'm on my way,” Thorne said, leaning forward and putting his half-smoked cigar in the ash-tray. “You'll for- give me for bothering you, Sam. There's really no one else I'd care to quiz about Connie; but our being in the same boat in a measure makes it seem different to me. . . . Why did she never go on the stage again? That was another bone of contention. I married her to get her out of the sight of every lecherous old beast who paid a premium to sit in the front row to ogle her. Melbourne Gorman himself continued to per- secute her even after she had left his company, and I wasn't going to finance a come-back.” 10 DEATH WEARS A MASK Sam inhaled cigarette smoke and emitted it in a paler blue cloud before answering. "I'm not sure that I know," he replied at last. “Of course, as I said, Connie is Connie; yet as I see it now, it was always a case of personality. She never was a great actress, Harvey. She has that something—the sparkle that goes to one's head like champagne-I guess magnetism is as good a word for it as any—that if she had been a dancer or a singer would have put her over big. Unfortunately, her ambition was set on the legitimate stage. She returned here after your separation, Mrs. Harvey Thorne, a social success on two con- tinents, sure of her beauty and fascination, and expected to panic managers into falling over their feet in their hurry to beg her to play leads. In imagination she saw her name in colored lights on Broadway; in great adver- tisements splashed across the theatrical pages of the newspapers. She expected admiration, adulation, a sensational success. . . . Well, it just didn't happen like that. Any one of half a dozen of them would have given her a bit- DEATH WEARS A MASK 11 the sort of thing she did before she was mar- ried, for Gorman and others. Pretty little sis- ter of the star, you know. Society girl, visitor to fatten up a house party and look the part. Frankly the value to the Metropolitan stage of a Junior League background is vastly over- rated by its possessors. So Connie turned up her nose at the offers she had and the man- agers hunched their shoulders to their ears and spread out their empty hands, palms up. They weren't going to back her or any other so- ciety queen for the sake of sport." "I understand,” Thorne got slowly to his feet and seemed to shake himself like a good- natured dog. There was indeed something of the innocence of puppyhood still about him. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I ought to have furthered her ambitions myself. It was damn' selfish of me not to, because, you see, I believe she's got it in her. No, really, Sam, you're mis- taken. She's an actress, all right. Do you re- member that terribly cold winter at St. James's? When the school gave a torchlight skating party on the lake and the ice on the 12 DEATH WEARS A MASK trees dripped fire? That's like Connie. She can imitate flames and remain an icicle under- neath. Surely that's being an actress? I've thought of it often and it brings her to my mind as nothing else does. A glancing, flicker- ing play of light, thrilling, never twice the same except in its lack of warmth.” He hes- itated. “Maybe I ought to give her more money, so that she could be her own backer ” “For Heaven's sake, Harvey,” Sam was aghast at this possible outcome of their talk, "don't be a quixotic fool. You're allowing her far more than you ought already. And to pre- vent your doing anything so asinine, I'll tell you something I ought perhaps to keep to my- self. Connie would simply chuck all you gave her not to the birdies but to the bulls and bears. She's the most fatuous plunger I know. A gambler for the kick she gets out of it.” "So that's where the money goes!” Thorne exclaimed, enlightenment dawning on him. “I thought that possibly she was saving to put on a play, starring herself. I knew she didn't live DEATH WEARS A MASK 13 up to what I gave her. Nowhere near, in fact. Thank you for telling me. Now I'll be running along. I'll hope to see you again before I sail.” “And you won't do anything foolish like giving Connie more money to throw away?” “I certainly will not,” Thorne vowed with unexpected force and decision. “My father's fortune came from hard, honest work. I'm not ready to see it absolutely wasted.” “Good lad!” Sam helped him into his top- coat and pushed the button for the elevator. “'By," said Thorne, jerkily. “You're a square chap, Sam. Pray God you never fall in love with an actress.” A flood of color made Sam's face very boy- ish for a moment, but he said nothing in direct reply. . “Do you know how to manage this gadget?” he inquired. “I can ring for the doorman. We're not Sutton Place. In this building we don't aspire to the elegance of elevator-boys for the three elevators.” "I can run it, all right. I'm only_” The door of the car closed, the elevator started 14 DEATH WEARS A MASK downward, and what else he said was lost in Sam's shouted “Good-by!” He looked at his watch before he entered his living-room. Nearly nine. Time to telephone to Police Headquarters. . . . There was noth- ing doing there, so he rang for Sing, who came at once. “Mr. Thorne has gone and I'm going out,” he told him. “Take away the coffee-cups and that foul cigar stump. Then you can go if you want. I'll not need you-won't be back till late, probably. There's a very flossy talkie at the picture-house, if you're interested.” Sam could never accustom himself to the fact that Sing Lo was not the old-time type of Chinese "boy,” long celebrated in tales of the California of the past. Sing was a student at Columbia, cold-blooded and calculating where his employer was in question, busily acquiring ideas and theories which he proposed to carry home to China to augment the troubles there. His position with Sam suited him admirably, leaving him free after breakfast, since Sam lunched downtown, to arrange his day to fit DEATH WEARS A MASK 15 his own convenience until it became necessary to prepare dinner; but he wasted no time on sentiment. He did the work he was paid to do, or engaged a fellow-countryman to clean if he were cramming for an examination. The place was always in excellent order, and as Sam's bachelor establishment required no woman servant, Sing saved room rent by occupying the maid's room. This had a bath attached, leaving unused the butler's lavatory (opening off a narrow corridor at the end of the pantry nearest the foyer) except on the rare occa- sions of formal parties, when it was turned over to the men, while the ladies luxuriated in Sam's own quarters, there being no guest- room. Besides the master's bedroom and bath there were an unusually spacious living-room, a dining-room, kitchen, a small entrance foyer and the elevator vestibule. It was a compact and comfortable arrangement and one that was easily cared for by one servant, as no elaborate entertaining was contemplated. When the boy did not answer, Sam repeated his remark. US 16 DEATH WEARS A MASK "You heard me, Sing? I'm told it's a peach of a picture.” “Sir, I heard you," Sing replied, disdain- fully. “I think, however, if I make haste I shall not miss much of the lecture at the Town Hall on the “Theoretical Function of Money in Government." Sam gazed at his servant, his eyebrows ascending quizzically toward his hair. “Very good, Sing. If that's your idea of a night of pleasure, it's all right with me.” He went into his own room, and a little later, on hearing a distant door bang, pictured to him- self a short and stocky figure in well-cut, well- brushed American clothes, speeding West- ward to his chosen goal. He himself was in no hurry to be off. His unheralded visit from Thorne and their con- versation together had moved him more than he would have thought possible. He remem- bered Harvey as one of fortune's favorites. A debonair youth who imperiously demanded of Fate anything he wanted, even the girl en- gaged to marry Sam, and whose demands were W DEATH WEARS A MASK 17 in all cases fulfilled. The contrast with the man who had just left him was poignant. Sam had readily accepted Connie's version of their matrimonial débâcle. Too readily, he now thought, full of pity for Thorne, whom he had not encountered previously since the divorce (not, parenthetically, arranged in Reno, but in the socially superior city of Paris). He picked up the evening paper, but did not look at it, his mind still centered on Har- vey. It was tragic that he had set his heart on a woman so sure to wreck him when all that he needed for happiness was her exact oppo- site. A home-loving girl who would have lots of babies, puppies, and flowers and a place on Long Island—a girl like Louise, for in- stance, who had turned down two men better suited to make her happy to marry Ed Harris. As if his thoughts had furnished a cue, in answer to an imperative ring he threw down the paper and opened the door to admit his niece in person. Mrs. Edwards Harris, youngest child of 18 DEATH WEARS A MASK Sam's eldest brother and the only girl in a family rich in boys, had been systematically spoiled from the day of her birth. After her father and mother died, her brothers had scat- tered. Two to South America, one to a diplo- matic post in Italy, and one to California. Louise was sent to boarding-school, not soon enough, however, to have any effect on an im- perious temper that wanted what it wanted- and at once. School finished, Sam, as her guard- ian, arranged that a cousin should bring her out and gave the ball expected of a prosperous bachelor uncle. He was really warmly attached to his ward and cannot be said to have rejoiced when she announced her intention of marrying Ed Harris, mildly pointing out that Ed and she had few tastes in common; but he was not surprised that all his arguments were brushed aside, and he gave her away, all ivory satin and Irish point lace, at a very elaborate church wedding, with a feeling of relief that that re- sponsibility was now shifted to other shoul- ders. Louise looked like a blond angel and he would have allowed no one else to criticize her. DEATH WEARS A MASK 19 Indeed, only occasionally did he confess to him- self that he would feel easier when she had a family of children at her heels to keep her from scrutinizing too closely certain of Ed's contacts. For Ed was a very handsome, very popular customers' man and bond salesman at a fashionable broker's, and it fell to his lot, not altogether unwelcomed, to keep certain of the more difficult plungers among the ladies as happy, contented and, above all, ever-hopeful as was possible with the market what it was. Louise came in now, very regal in an ermine evening wrap, and before she took it off Sam sensed something wrong. Too accustomed to her moods to acknowledge it at once, he switched on more electricity and, taking her lightly by the shoulder, swung her around to face the glare. “Let a fellow look at you, Lou. Am I mis- taken or are you particularly gorgeous to- night?” . Louise smiled unwillingly as she handed him her furs, bag, and white satin mask. 20 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Of course I'm gorgeous. I'm going to this fancy-dress ball as-can you guess, Sammie?” Sam stood off from her and regarded her critically. The style of her dress was of a date before his time. Her flaxen-yellow hair was drawn to the top of her head in puffs and adorned with a diamond star, once her grand- mother's. Her waist was sharply nipped in; her gown of pale blue silk, cut very low to display a plump and pretty neck, was over- ornamented and draped in panniers on the hips and at the back in a way most mysterious to a mere man; and wherever she could, Louise wore jewels. Her fingers, her wrists, her throat, across the front of her bodice, sparkled and glittered. A trifle too rounded perhaps for present- day styles, with her pale golden hair, her baby- blue eyes and apple-blossom skin, she had chosen wisely to go as — “Lillian Russell!” Sam exclaimed. Louise was gratified. She clapped her hands lightly. “You're good, Sammie,” she complimented him. “So you think I'll pass ?” DEATH WEARS A MASK 21 “Pass? You'll take the shine out of everyone else. Give your aged uncle a kiss. He's proud of you.” In his bones Sam felt that this was only a respite, yet he hoped by cajolery to put Louise in a better temper. And, as was to be expected, Louise saw through him. “No use trying to flatter me, Sammie. I stopped in here especially to tell you some- thing you won't want to hear.” She paused without lifting her eyes to his, then went on deliberately, her mouth settling into hard lines that made her look years older. “You're not a woman, so you won't say, 'I told you so'; but I'm about fed up with your young friend, Ed Harris.” “Tough luck for Ed," Sam said, keeping his voice carefully free of emphasis. “What's the special complaint?” “Now don't jump, Sammie. You're going to like this even less than the first statement. The special complaint is his very marked de- votion to your old love, Consuela Thorne.” Chapter 11 Sam was not so surprised as Louise had antic- ipated and, to hide his prior knowledge, rather overacted his astonishment. "Really, Lou, isn't it a little silly to flare up like that about an affair that is very plainly pure business on Ed's part? Connie is a heavy plunger. She represents a steady income to the office. It's up to him to keep her in a good humor. It wouldn't get him anywhere with the firm if she took her account to another broker.” "She won't,” Louise broke in, a sneer dis- figuring her pretty face. “When a woman's beginning to be passée, there's no measure to her infatuation with a younger man.” Her uncle laughed naturally and spontane- ously. However Ed might appear to his jeal- ous wife, Sam had no illusions about that facile young man, and the picture of Connie madly in love with Ed Harris or anyone else of his caliber was to his mind too fantastic in its ab- 22 DEATH WEARS A MASK 23 surdity; as foolish as the suggestion that at thirty Consuela must be considered on the shelf. “Listen, Lou. You will acknowledge that I know Connie Thorne better than you possibly can. And Harvey Thorne, who had oppor- tunities to know her better still, once said to me that she reminded him of an icicle lit up by torchlight, flaming to the eye and ice be- neath. She has a very level head and isn't go- ing to throw away enormous alimony for the sake of Ed's beaux yeux." (He did not tell her that he had just seen Harvey. He had no wish that Connie should hear of her late hus- band's presence in the city through him, how- ever indirectly.) “She may flatter Ed a bit for the sake of the tips on the market she wheedles out of him. Believe me, aside from that, she doesn't take him seriously.” “That's what you think, and it's entirely Connie's point of view you're considering. Naturally, I'm more interested in the state of Ed's affections and, since he takes her seri- ously, we are right back where we began this DEATH WEARS A MASK 25 And now, after this digression, let us return to our muttons; our black sheep, I ought to call them. ... I am furious. And in my place, you would be, too. Mrs. Thorne and Ed are going to this party in your penthouse in complemen- tary costumes.” “What do you mean complementary cos- tumes?” "Don't ask me,” Louise shrugged. “I was given to understand that neither one was com- plete without the other, when I suggested that Ed should go with me as Lillian Russell's first husband—Perugini, or some such name. An Italian singer, wasn't he? Ed said he couldn't, having a prior engagement with Mrs. Thorne.” She ended on a choke that was close to a sob. In his own mind Sam acknowledged that this was carrying things too far. He wished that Louise had refused the invitation to this party, fearing a public flare-up when she met the pair of masqueraders. He had declined to go, finding such mummery boring and not sure what duties might turn up, but now be- 26 DEATH WEARS A MASK gan to reconsider. On the spot, his influence ** might suffice to keep Louise calm. Certain of his support, she might even be content to bide her time. “That's annoying-hardly incriminating in a legal sense,” he began slowly, wary of a mis- step. “Now here's where I stand in the matter and it's just where I stood on your wedding day. If you mean to part from Ed, I'll back you up, only it's got to be final. There must be no backing and filling. A divorce giving you the right to remarry must be secured. I want to see you out of New York in a house in the country. I want half a dozen grand- nieces and nephews to lavish my depreciated dollars on. So you've got to keep calm and not give either of them an inkling of what you have in mind until we secure some real evi- dence. Are you game enough to do this? Be- cause, if not, I wash my hands of you." "I'm game,” Louise's eyes sparkled; she knew the value of the proffered aid. “If you'll help me, I'll do exactly as you—” The ring- ing of the doorbell interrupted her. “That's DEATH WEARS A MASK 27 probably Ed. He condescended to promise he'd meet me here." “Remember," Sam warned her, "you're to do or say nothing to give yourself away. We don't want any babbling about this affair be- fore we're ready.” This was all diplomatic, an endeavor to prevent an embarrassing scene. He still hoped that Louise's resentment would exhaust itself if given time, being sure her complaint had no more serious grounds than thoughtlessness. “Trust me. I can keep my temper when I see a reason for doing it,” Louise averred as he opened the door. Consuela Thorne, the upper part of her fea- tures concealed by a black loup, stood in the elevator vestibule, and a more unwelcome visi- tor it would have been difficult to find. There was nothing Sam could do to prevent a meeting, and resigning himself to it on the ground that if a flare-up must come, it had better occur in the privacy of his apartment rather than in the crowded studio on the roof, he stepped aside and allowed her to enter. 28 DEATH D D WEARS A MASK "Come in, Connie.” He tried to infuse some- thing of his wonted hearty welcome into his voice and was amazed that Connie, usually so observant, did not sense the difference. Mrs. Thorne, however, was full of her own con- cerns and crossed the threshold gaily, taking off her loup to disclose a radiant face. "How disappointing you are, Sam!” She flashed a smile at him. “I hoped no one would recognize me.” As they entered the living-room side by side Louise came forward and, to Sam's relief, greeted this new arrival as if they were the best of friends. (Mentally he registered a be- lief that the duplicity of womankind could not be measured. “They'd smile at you when they meant to stick a knife in your gizzard,” he phrased it, inelegantly, to himself.) In the brilliant light which he had not modi- fied, Consuela made an amazing figure. Not wishing to stir Louise to anger, he expressed no admiration; and it was his niece who took up that task, fulfilling it with seeming enthusi- asm. DEATH WEARS A MASK 29 "Do let me look at you. But you are mar- velous, Mrs. Thorne. Drawn by Botticelli, painted by Titian–I trust Ed will prove worthy of you." Unconscious of double entendre, if one were intended, Consuela made her a deep curtsey, rising as lightly as a flower bowed by the wind.. "To slip back gracefully over the additional century, a lady from the pages of the Decam- eron. Do you truly like me? I had a delightful time looking up the old costumes at the Met- ropolitan and the Library.” "You are too marvelous!” Louise spoke sin- cerely, and beyond doubt Connie, aglow with life and color and simply bubbling over with some inner joy, made an irresistible pic- ture. This woman passée-past her prime—what was it Louise had said? Sam permitted himself an ironical grin. Beside her, his niece’s blond prettiness paled as a wax candle is outshone by an electric light. If Ed were really infatu- ated with Connie (which he still did not be- . 30 DEATH WEARS A MASK lieve), Louise pitted against her, would have no chance. "And you, Sam? What do you say? I am avid for appreciation tonight. I've a serious reason for wishing to look my best.” “Let me take your cape and then we'll see you in all your splendor.” He still felt it politic to avoid any expression of en- thusiasm. At once she resisted his suggestion, drawing the short, full, velvet cape more closely across her breast. "No. I'm only staying here a minute. This party upstairs is to get under way early, as we unmask at midnight, and I'm only half the tableau. It can't be fully revealed until we ar- rive at the penthouse. ... Oh, Sam, those two hopes of the architectural future are such bad judges of liquor! What they serve so inno- cently is only fit to be used in case of dire necessity as an antidote for snakebite. Won't you be an angel and give us a decent cocktail before we go up? I'm sure Mrs. Harris needs a bracer as much as I do." DEATH WEARS A MASK 31 “Sing is out—" Sam began, loath to leave the two women alone together. Consuela, who was all sparkle and did not seem at all in need of the requested bracer, gave a crow of delight. "Better and better,” she declared. “I know no one else who makes a cocktail to equal yours, and since repeal, they all seem to be worse rather than better. I fancy it's the bought gin that lacks the proper sting. And this is my day. You can't refuse me anything today.” “Why not?” Sam asked, not unnaturally, being a matter-of-fact person, and Louise listened for Consuela's reply. “Haven't you read the evening paper?” The newspaper, still in its folds and cast aside in a chair, answered for itself, and she seized on it to put it behind her. “Well, then, you shan't until I'm gone. You're to make that cocktail because you've always spoiled me, because we've always been friends through thick and thin, and always will be. It's to be a sort of pledge between us.” Laughingly she pushed 32 DEATH WEARS A MASK him toward the door into the pantry passage, and after another attempt at protest, although her words reminded him of his new sympathy for Harvey, Sam gave in. There seemed to be no plausible excuse for a refusal. Once in the pantry, his path was beset with unforeseen difficulties. He was something of a stranger in his own kitchen quarters, where Sing was apt to make him feel an intruder, and he had to search to find the ingredients he required. There was no gin ready. To make the cocktails requested, he needed his own gin with his own specially compounded flavoring extract. Connie was too expert to be satisfied with any substitute. There was alcohol in plenty, that he laid his hands on almost imme- diately, and once he had mixed his gin he ex- pected all to be plain sailing. A ring at the bell did not interrupt him, since Louise had been warned to admit Ed; but bottles of both French and Italian vermouth had to be opened; a hunt through the icebox revealed no limes, yet, knowing limes were there some- where, his growing irritation made him persist DEATH WEARS A MASK 33 in the search, prying into cupboard after cup- board and slamming doors in disgust, till he came across them by chance in a little bowl in the china-closet. Swearing never again to give Sing a night off, he assembled olives, pret-sticks, glasses and shaker on the tray and at last reëntered the living-room only to find it deserted. For a moment he suspected that some child- ish trick was to be played on him in retalia- tion for his delay. It hardly seemed possible that all his guests would leave without a word of farewell. He shook the cocktails vigorously and poured out a drink, thinking that would make them break cover. Nothing happened. He glanced into both his bedroom and the dining-room. No one was there and Louise's wrap was gone from the foyer. Assuredly he was alone in the apartment. Naturally he was annoyed and in no mood for a solo cocktail party. However, the drinks had been made with care and he took the one he had poured out, pondering on his future movements. His conclusion was that there had 34 DEATH WEARS A MASK probably been some sort of a row between the women, which it was now too late to prevent. In consequence his attendance at the masquer- ade would serve no good purpose. Once there, he might be forced to take sides openly, and if he was to be of use as a mediator, he must preserve an appearance of neutrality. Such being the case, he was free to go to the Club. Taking his hat, coat, and stick out of the closet, he put out all the lights save one in the living-room. Then he turned the switch for the vestibule, illuminating it brightly, and threw open his front door with an impatient jerk, slamming it sharply behind him. Only then did he realize that on the small Italian bench placed there to accommodate messengers Con- suela was sitting with her usual nonchalant grace. Sam was indignant. "Honestly, Con,” he burst out, heatedly, “I'll be damned if I know what you're up to. I made the cocktails you asked for. You can go in there and drink them. Then take your- self off to your party. I've no more time to DEATH WEARS A MASK 35 waste on you. I'm going out." His outraged dignity demanded this much of a show of in- dependence, and he waited, expecting some apology from Consuela. She knew, none bet- ter, how to make excuses that sounded plausi- ble. Grimly he told himself that she had had plenty of practice. Through the holes in her mask he fancied that her eyes were regarding him mockingly and there was no reply of any kind. Plainly, she was playing a game with him and meant to do it in her own way. He stared at her coldly, determined not to let her propitiate him too easily when she made the move he confidently expected. Then it seemed to him that his blood con- gealed ; his outraged nerves sent electric shiv- ers racing over his body. He drew back, afraid to test what his eyes warned him was the ghastly truth. The velvet cloak, brilliantly blue as a king- fisher's feathers, had fallen away, displaying over Consuela's heart the protruding handle of a dagger, and beneath, on the delicate bro- 36 DEATH WEARS A MASK cade of her costume, was a horrible, horrifying stain. Struck dumb and trembling, Sam bent closer and put out a shaking finger tip. Then he straightened, quite beside himself with anger. That was not blood; it was paint. And the dagger was a fake, having no blade. It was the heartless trick of an actress bent on mak- ing a sensation. It was abominable. It would have been bad enough to try such a hoax on a stranger. How dare she try to befool him? For a moment he was too enraged to speak to her. Yet how beautiful she was sitting there in that languidly graceful attitude, her red-gold head on its slender, rounded neck relieved against the primrose yellow of the wall, a shade which of a sudden took on a new signifi- cance because it was a fitting background for her subtle color scheme, in which blue, green, and gold achieved new harmonias. That was where she scored over other women. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a way of ex- DEATH WEARS A MASK tending her beauty to her possessions and her surroundings. How quiet she was, waiting for him to ex- haust himself in railing at her before she sprang up to hang on his arm and coax him back into a more genial humor. Perhaps Har- vey was right in claiming, after all, that she was in fact an actress. With every moment he looked at her his anger was evaporating, while really this jest was too cold blooded for ex- cuse. His whole future would be wrecked by any such happening and Consuela, with her clear judgment, would be the first to realize that any scandal occurring in his quarters would infallibly mark the end of his career. She would visualize the newspapers, had it been a real tragedy, with MURDER AT THE PO- LICE COMMISSIONER’s screaming in headlines across the front pages. An experimentalist in the emotions, doubt- less she had been curious to observe how he would reacts to such a shock. No, he would be in no hurry to forgive her. She had meant to give him this fright. 38 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Listen, Connie”-he spoke with cold de- tachment_“I don't like this game you are playing. Probably it's very amusing from your point of view. I suppose I am deficient in a sense of humor. I confess it's not the sort of joke I'm fond of. I'm running along. I'll open the door into the apartment for you. It's quite at your service. Sorry Sing's out, but, as I said before, the cocktails are ready for you.” He turned away from her, fumbling for his latch-key, found it, and unlocked the door, even going so far in the interests of hospitality as to enter the foyer and switch on again the lights he had just extinguished. Then he went back to the vestibule. "I'm off," he said, lightly. “I hope you en- joy your cocktail. I think it's exactly as you like it. Don't let it stand until the ice melts. Good night.” His finger was extended to press the button to summon the automatic elevator when again a cold chill ran over him. The figure on the bench was like a waxen image. He could de- DEATH WEARS A MASK 39 tect no rise and fall of the bosom in breathing. Surely no living woman was ever as motion- less as that form posed so lightly in the corner of the bench? Almost involuntarily he took a step toward her. "Con?” He whispered it, unaware that he did so. “Connie?" Still there was no response and he went nearer, trying to reassure him- self by the thought that at last she was getting what she was playing for-a virtual confession that she had taken him in. Not knowing now whether to be angry or frightened, he put out his hand and gave her a gentle little shake. The equilibrium of the pose disturbed, her head fell forward and Sam's grasp alone pre- vented the collapse of the whole body. Chapter III Shuddering, Sam set the body back in the cor- ner of the bench, bracing it against the arm. He needed a moment when he was not touch- ing it to regain control of himself; then he summoned his fortitude and felt for a pulse. Finding none, he bethought him of other tests to determine life, and held his watch with the crystal close to Connie's carmined lips. There was no mist on the glass, yet he would not give up hope. He hastened into the living room to come back with a cocktail. A cocktail made at her imperious command. He offered this to her mouth, unaware that he was begging her to drink it, imploring her to make an effort for Sam, Sam who had al- ways been so fond of her. The few drops he poured between her teeth ran out again and he knew the attempt to be futile. He stood erect, wondering what he ought to do next. Call a doctor? What use? Connie, DEATH WEARS A MASK so joyously vital and alive a short half-hour before, was now dead. Gone forever from the gay world she had so relished. Sam had long ceased to love her as a lover, but he had still loved her exuberant gaiety, and now he set his teeth hard and vowed to punish the hound who had done this deed. He gave no consideration to the possibility of a natural death, although he had seen no mark of violence. Delicate as she was to look at, Connie was never ill and never tired. She had been killed, how he did not know nor did it seem to matter. He never doubted that what he was looking at was the result of murder. Just then he heard the sound of the elevator starting from the entrance hall and, at that noise, for the first time since he had learned of her real fate, his thoughts reverted to his own career and the ruin discovery would spell for him. His future was in the balance; more, the future of the city he loved. He must de- cide on his course. If found with Connie's body, he might even be accused of murdering her.... His apartment was on the eighth floor. 42 DEATH WEARS A MASK Before the elevator had reached the third he had made up his mind to give himself time to review the situation. Nothing was to be gained now by extreme haste. Stooping to set the cocktail glass beneath the bench where it would not readily be seen, his hand encoun- tered something and mechanically his fingers closed on it. Presumably it was a possession of Connie's. She was always dropping things for attendant swains to pick up, and nothing must be left behind to show that she had been there. He lifted her in his arms (so light she was. so pitifully light, even in death. What was it Harvey had said? 'Bones like a bird') and carried her into the foyer, where another bench received her; then, noiselessly, he shut the door into the vestibule and had turned off the electric switch before the elevator reached the floor below, standing with his ear to the crack until he was sure it was not going to stop. It was on its way to the penthouse, filled, no doubt, with hilarious guests. He caught the murmur of their voices and their merriment, diminishing as it ascended. DEATH WEARS A MASK 43 Then he went into the living-room and col- lapsed into a chair. Rousing himself at last, he faced the un- welcome facts. This marked the end of all his unselfish plans for the betterment of the city. No public official, however guiltless, could survive the scandal that must follow the revelation of this crime. And in his case there was material for various injurious theories. Had he not once been jilted by the victim? He was in need of a stimulant to quicken his brain, sluggish from shock. The thought of the cocktails was distressing, but they were within reach and he was unequal to a search in the pantry for whisky and soda. He poured and gulped a cocktail and shortly felt a little better. He ought, he knew, to call Headquarters and ask that Inspector Dolan and his aides of the Homicide Squad be sent to him at once. He reached for the telephone, then held his hand as a new horror presented itself. Without a realization that he was carrying 44 DEATH WEARS A MASK anything, he had brought with him the small object that he had picked up under the bench and it now rested on the table between him and the telephone. Immaculate and innocent- looking, he yet drew back from it as though it were venomous. Louise's little white satin loup! So it was Louise, his niece, who had done this frightful thing. He remembered her gusty tempers as a child. He recalled the concentrated bitterness of her tone when speaking of Connie. He re- membered that her brothers had nicknamed her "the white Indian” because, incongruous as it seemed with her blond prettiness, she was implacable when roused. He recalled with hor- ror how lightly he had thought that very eve- ning that a girl might smile at you when ready to plunge a knife into you. He hadn't meant it literally then. Now every new memory made it more sure that there had been trouble be- tween the two women, after which Louise had killed Connie and fled, trusting him to protect her from the just retribution for her hasty act. DEATH WEARS A MASK 46 And that, unquestionably, was exactly what he must do. He had no need of time to deter- mine that. There was no doubt in his mind. He, who was bound and had vowed to see justice done in the city without fear or favor, must do his best at any cost to protect the guilty. He dared not even salve his honor by resign- ing, because he must be in a position to know all that was discovered. How was he to set about it? First he must remove every trace of visi- tors. He took up the tray and went into the pantry, where deftly and quickly he washed the used dishes and glasses. He emptied the shaker down the sink and ran hot water to melt the ice in case Sing came in there before retiring, which he was hardly likely to do. The alcohol was in a five-gallon tin that concealed the amount used. The opened vermouth bot- tles betrayed that cocktails had been made. For a moment he was puzzled, then he filled the bottles up with the rest of the gin he had mixed. He would blow Sing up for not leav- ing gin prepared. Could say he had opened the 46 DEATH WEARS A MASK vermouth, wanting a cocktail, before he dis- covered this lack. He put everything back in place and threw the skin of the lime he had squeezed, together with a cigarette stub or two he found marked with lipstick, down the toilet in the butler's lavatory. He then turned on every light in the living-room in a search for anything else incriminating, to discover nothing. So far so good. It remained to dispose of the body and at once get speech with Louise. While he was at work cleaning up, he had puzzled out a plan of action and meant to go through with it. Hat and coat resumed, he was all ready for the next act in the drama when a violent ring at his doorbell made him jump nervously. That would never do. He must bring even his reflexes under control. "I am as jittery as a woman,” he thought, his ear again close to the crack. Ed's jovial voice was clearly to be distin- guished, and there were others with him. If admitted, Ed, who was proud of his con- DEATH WEARS A MASK 47 nection with the Police Commissioner, was capable of sitting talking for an hour or more. Further than that he was persistent, he might camp in the vestibule for an indefinite period, and Sam was bent on disposing of that inani- mate figure as quickly as possible. . The boldest action to take would doubtless be the best. For the second time that evening Sam opened his door quickly and whipped out, closing it smartly behind him. Ed Harris and two friends, all in elaborate fancy-dress costumes, stood without; and Sam, glancing downward, why he could not have told, for the young gentlemen were al- ready far advanced on a hilarious evening and had noted nothing, saw on his own shirt front a large spot of blood. Even before he sensed the full horror of this incriminating blot, he had instinctively buttoned his overcoat across his chest. "Here's our young uncle, the distinguished Police Commissioner." Ed announced. “I've brought m'friends, Jim Cassatt and Bud Lauder, to have a cocktail with you, Sam. DEATH WEARS A MASK 49 to barracks for the rest of his time of service.” Sam moved toward the elevator, the others perforce following, when Ed suddenly doubled up with laughter. “Listen, you fellas!” He exclaimed, still chuckling. “This joke is certainly on me. I didn't come here for a drink. There'll be noth- ing else but upstairs. I came for m'wife. Now isn't that amusing? A chap who doesn't re- member his own wife.” His companions also seemed to find this ex- tremely funny, although one of them re- marked owlishly that it wasn't the first case of the kind he'd heard of, thus giving Sam a respite in which he decided to take the bull by the horns. “Louise?” he said, interrogatively. “Why come here for her? The poor girl's probably waiting for you to fetch her from home.” "She certainly isn't," Ed replied. “I dressed early to go to the Club, but she said this morn- ing that she'd meet me here." "That was this morning,” Mr. Cassatt, up- holstered, so far as Sam could determine, in 50 DEATH WEARS A MASK the guise of a purple macaw, made his first contribution to the conversation. “S morning I said I never would take another drink as long as I lived." He readjusted his beak mo- rosely. “And now look at the damn' thing!” Mr. Lauder remarked in mild wonder. “Trouble is, women aren't logical like us. Shouldn't ever expect 'em to do what they say." “Le's all go to Mutt and Jeff's brawl,” Mr. Cassatt suggested as a brilliant new idea. “They'll be surprised to see us. Right here this might as well be a prohibition state, an' I'm a conscientious wet. I was brought up on the bottle.” Sam managed a laugh. “Come on, we'll all go,” he said. Ed, however, held him back. “Can't let you disgrace the family by dis- playing ignorance," he pointed out. "Even Lauder's disguised as a bootlegger in memory of the dear dead days. Maybe you thought that was his own nose. 'Tisn't. His is worse. Fancy dress obligatory. Said so on the invita- tions." DEATH WEARS A MASK 61 "Sure it's obligatory.” Sam reached into a pocket and pinned on a badge. “I expect to take first prize, if there is one. I'm going as a Police Commissioner disguised as a gentle- man.” This passed muster as a witticism, and all crowded into the elevator, where Sam folded his handkerchief catercornered and tied it around his head below the eyes. That blood spot—that ghastly blood spot on his shirt. If anyone discovered it how could he explain it? Even a cut when shaving would not be so liberal with blood and who ever shaved in a dress shirt? It was a risk he must take. He put up his hand to find that the top button of his overcoat was far from secure. But Ed was speaking. “You're good, old man. No one's denying you're no end clever. But you've not got a look-in for first prize. Didn't you see my cos- tume? Real silk tights. Real fourteenth cen- tury, right out of the Decameron. (That's a naughty book, which I hope you never read.) Though we're perfectly proper, I'd have you know. Even Louise can't object if she remem- 52 DEATH WEARS A MASK W & bers her history. Cicisbeos were always purely Platonic. I'm her cicisbeo and Connie's my murdered mistress.” Sam's horror was veiled in a measure by his handkerchief mask, while Cassatt saved him from any need to reply by saying: “You'd better be Platonic, in view of what was in the evening papers.” There was no time to inquire what that item was. They had reached the penthouse and the party, amid the wail of saxophones and other instruments of torture and the babel of raised voices. At once they revealed themselves to their hosts who were receiving the guests and plunged into the colorful throng. The evening paper? Sam had forgotten previously that Connie had made a mystery of what it contained. But this was not the place to puzzle over that. His immediate need was to find Louise and warn her to be silent about her visit to his apartment, and while he searched for her to keep that incriminating spot hidden. He moved hither and yon in the crowd, see- DEATH WEARS A MASK 58 ing powdered heads, the bald pates of Pier- rots, Basque berets, huge Mexican hats, paste crowns and pirate handkerchiefs; but nowhere the blond puffs and diamond star of his niece. And mechanically he replied to jibes and jests, although afterward he could recall no word of these exchanges. The hosts, two merry lads popularly known as Mutt and Jeff, whose names were Sidney Taylor and Tom McCain, were the only peo- ple unmasked at that stage of the entertain- ment. He approached Taylor and was about to inquire if anyone answering Louise's de- scription had come, when a sudden memory swept over him. Her mask. She could not ven- ture here without it, even had she been able to harden her heart and brace her nerves to the task. He turned away abruptly, meaning to leave at once, only to run into Ed. “Do you know,” that gentleman said fret- fully, “I believe you're right and Louise is waiting for me at home. I can't find her any- where. Won't I catch it for neglecting her.” 64 DEATH WEARS A MASK "You'd better go fetch her,” Sam sug- gested, well aware that Ed would feel free to do nothing of the sort. "I know who you are,” a squeaky voice at his elbow asserted. “You're Richard Dix. 'At's who you are.” “Wrong," Sam replied, impatiently. "I'm Greta Garbo.” Then to Ed, having disposed of the domino, “In fact, you'll have to go — " "Can't,” Ed said, sourly. “Women sure are the devil. Wish I owned a pickle factory. My team mate was to have met me here at ten and she hasn't shown up yet." He did not again mention Connie by name, for which Sam was thankful, and, a bright thought striking Ed, his voice became more cheerful as he appealed to his wife's uncle. “I'll tell you what, old fella, you go after her, like a good scout. Save my life, that will. Re- lations have been a little strained lately. Go after her and bring her here, and earn the blessing of a broken-spirited broker." “That's right, get some one else to do your DEATH WEARS A MASK 55 work for you and call it executive ability,” Sam grumbled, simulating unwillingness. “Go after Lou yourself.” "What time is it?" Ed demanded, plucking at Sam's overcoat. “I've no place for a watch in this rig." Almost convulsively Sam threw off his hand. He had no idea of the time but answered promptly: "It's quarter past eleven. I just looked." "Listen, Sam,” said Ed, as solemn as one making a vow: “I'm done with all women, do you hear me? I can't go away now. Even Con- nie isn't likely to be much more'n an hour late, and what she'd do if she came here and didn't find me waiting for her would be painful in the extreme. Please be a good uncle and find out what's become of your niece. Honestly, I'm afraid she must be sick. I know she'd taken a lot of pains with her costume.” "In that case you certainly ought to go to her, but if you can't, I suppose I must -" Still pretending reluctance and disregarding Ed's thankful relief, Sam made his way to 56 DEATH WEARS A MASK the elevator, past a number of revelers who shouted guesses as to his identity and to whom he made some reply with an attempt at light- ness. Once more in his own apartment, he hesi- tated whether to wait and change his shirt, to decide that not only was there no time, but that he did not know what to do with the blood-stained garment. It could not go to the laundry, and Sing must not see it. To attempt to wash the stain out himself would be as in- criminating as to leave it. ... He went to the telephone and called Louise's apartment. It was a relief when she answered, promptly, “Is that you, Ed?” “No, it's Sam. I'm coming to see you at once. I'll ring three times. Let no one else in. But just in case Ed should call you, you have a headache and didn't show up at my place. Remember, you were not there at any time this evening.” He was about to hang up when he heard her speaking in puzzled tones: “But, Sam, what's the sense of that? You know I was seen there." With an inward groan he suddenly recalled DEATH WEARS A MASK 67 that ring at the doorbell which he had for- gotten, and realized that it had not been Ed's. “Who saw you?” he demanded. “Why, what's the matter with your mem- ory, Sam? Consuela Thorne, of course.” For a moment he was too stunned to reply, then he heard his voice saying, automatically, bereft, as it were, of any control by him: “That's of no consequence. You were not there.” This time he did hang up and clasped his hands over his forehead. He felt as if he had been struck a heavy blow between the eyes. So Louise didn't do it! She would never have attempted duplicity with him. There was no cunning in her and she would have counted confidently on his help. That white mask. He must take it back to her. What had he done with it? He looked to right and left but it was gone. He even moved some of the furniture and searched underneath, then gave up the quest. He had put it somewhere, his brain was too confused to recall where. If Sing found it, he must explain that he had used it himself at the masquerade. It did not look like a man's 58 DEATH WEARS A MASK mask. No matter, Sing wouldn't know that. Suddenly he straightened up. Since Louise had not committed the murder, who had? And the answer came all too readily-Harvey Thorne. If Harvey were guilty, where did his duty lie? Could he give him up, turn over to pub- lic justice that soul who must now be on the rack? And was he himself free of blame in the matter since he had given him a clue to Con- suela's whereabouts that night? Once again he determined to tell nothing of what he might suspect, and if he was to con- ceal what he knew the time had come to nerve himself to his last, most horrible task. And he must guard against getting more betraying bloodstains on his clothing. He went into the foyer where poor Connie, with her black loup still partially concealing her face, was poised in the corner of the bench. He had yet to learn how she had been killed. The bloodstains on his chest pointed to a stab in the back. He could no longer put off exam- ining DEATH WEARS A MASK 59 Thank God, there was almost no blood. At the base of the skull where the vertebrae joined it, a diamond-hilted dagger had been driven home and, as a crowning shock to Sam, it was a trinket he himself had given her years before during their courtship. He did not disturb it. The lights extinguished, he brought up the elevator. It was the work of only a moment to carry Connie to it and descend to the floor below. There he opened the door cautiously. Had there been a light he would have closed it again and gone down to the next floor. As the vestibule was in darkness, he placed Con- nie against the wall on the marble paving. Then, without an instant's delay, he continued onward to the ground floor, passing on his way out several late comers to the masquerade, ex- cited, hurrying, gaily clad and careful of their disguises, as well as Thady Keogh, the door- man, who was greatly diverted by the party. Staying to speak to no one, although sev- eral recognized him, Sam hurried out into the night. Chapter N When Sam Mellon emerged on the street he walked for several blocks before he realized that it was snowing. The distance from his apartment overlooking Beekman Place to Louise's on East Fifty-Seventh Street was short and he needed a period in which to col- lect his thoughts, so he ignored the solicitation of passing taxis and strolled slowly on in the driving storm. The snow brought Connie poignantly to his mind. She had always loved snow. She was as excited as a child over the first flakes. During their engagement a snowstorm was always the signal for a long tramp. In the country, if he had time; if not, in Central Park. The picture in his mind was vivid. Erect and sparkling she danced at his side, her cheeks glowing, her bright hair blowing from under her beret, wearing usually a sweater of some brilliant hue that no other red-head would have dared but which suited her in fact and fancy. Con- 60 DEATH WEARS A MASK 61 nie, a law unto herself, a joy to the beholder -Godl now that she was dead and gone from him, was he fated to fall in love with her all over again? No, no—for there was Alix. Gen- erous, where Connie was frankly grasping; gentle, where she was gaily impervious to any sentiment. Harvey Thorne had been right when he had compared her to the reflection of flame on ice, crystal clear and dazzling yet without warmth. There was nothing in Con- nie's nature to light the fires on the hearth of a home. Sam wondered where Harvey was. Would this death prove a release for him from the spell his wife had thrown over him? He wished sincerely, whether he was guilty or not, that Thorne would have sailed on his proposed yachting trip before the sensation of this trag- edy burst upon the city. That, however, was unlikely. He could not recall Harvey's exact words, but the impression he had received was that the start was to be made some days later, and he hoped against hope that the reporters, who would respect no man's grief, would not 62 DEATH WEARS A MASK learn that Mrs. Thorne's divorced husband was in the city. Since Louise was not involved, it might have been better if he had followed the routine procedure and called in the police at once. It was too late to do that now, when he had prob- ably destroyed the clues they would have found, besides hopelessly confusing the issue by removing the body. He went over all the details again and again and could reach no other conclusion. If the murderer escaped, he would certainly have aided and abetted that escape, yet if Harvey were the guilty party he could not bring him- self to feel sorry for this dereliction from duty. A sleepy doorman who knew him admitted him in Fifty-Seventh Street, and Sam thought it as well to give an explanation of his pres- ence at that unusual hour. "Mr. Harris was worried because Mrs. Harris left the party feeling ill,” he said, speaking the truth with forced geniality. “He couldn't come, himself, so I'm going up to make sure it's not serious.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 68 “I was surprised to see her back so soon,” the man said, sympathetically. “Usually, from suchlike parties, they come in about breakfast- time. Mrs. Harris she said she had a bad head- ache.” “Yes, she's always been subject to them, and with so much grippe about — " “Yes, sir. I'll run you up, sir.” He locked the front door as he spoke. “We're short- handed here for that very reason. One of our boys on the night shift is home sick.” Sam's three rings brought Louise at once. She had taken off her elaborate costume and was looking very much more at her ease in a rose-colored hostess gown. “Your insinuation was scandalous," she be- gan, jocularly. "Who did you think would be calling on me at this ungodly hour that you warned me to let no one else in?" Sam could not respond to this mood. "I want to know exactly what happened when I went out to shake those cocktails,” he said. "Well, take off your overcoat and come in," 64 DEATH WEARS A MASK Louise rejoined. “It's certainly no secret, since absolutely nothing happened. Did you think I'd bite your precious Connie?" Take off his overcoat! How could he until he had explained the situation? “I've no time to stop, Louise. I must know why you went away without that drink.” "Oh,” Louise exclaimed, “so that's what up- set you! Nothing happened, I tell you. Didn't I promise to hold myself in check? You can trust me, Sam. I didn't ask for that cocktail and I decided that I didn't want Ed to see me in competition with Mrs. Thorne. To be quite open with you, she fairly took my breath away. For the first time I saw her as a man must. She was dazzling, fascinating; there was a glamour about her; she commonized me in my own eyes. Instead of feeling myself a per- sonage of a period I realized that I had made a mistake in selecting Lillian Russell to im- personate. Her day was too recent. I only looked dowdy and overdressed. So I invented a migraine and walked out just as the bell rang-” She stopped short, clapping a hand DEATH WEARS A MASK 66 over her mouth. “Oh, Sam, I forgot her. It was Alix Ruland. She saw me, too. But why must I hide that I was there? You're my uncle — " “Sit down and don't dare faint. Something terrible happened after you left. When I came back with the cocktails no one else was in the whole apartment. So I drank one, cursing all women. Then I decided to go to the Club. Out in the elevator vestibule Connie sat. Dead. Murdered. Stabbed in the back.” Louise did not scream. Instead she looked at him blankly, repeating his words parrot- like. “Dead, murdered?” As if unable to com- prehend what was stated so uncompromis- ingly. Then, galvanized into action by a sus- picion, she seized Sam's arm and shook it. “Ed did it. You can't hide it from me. Oh, save him, Sam. Save him!” "Don't be a fool,” her uncle said, roughly, his intention to discourage hysterics. “Ed had nothing to do with it. He didn't get there till half an hour later, ripe from the Princeton Club, accompanied by two other brandy 66 DEATH WEARS A MASK peaches. But I had the scare of my life, be- cause just under the body, which was seated on the bench against the wall, I found your white satin loup.” "And thought I did it!” Louise's enlight- ment was instant. “Oh, poor Sammie, what did you do? You couldn't call the police after that.” "I certainly wasn't going to send you to prison for life," he began, and in rapid detail sketched for her the course of his reasoning and his actions, omitting any mention of Har- vey Thorne. Louise nodded understandingly. “There's just one point I don't see through. How could you find my mask when I have it here?” She picked it up from the table where she had thrown it and dangled it from one finger, while Sam stared at it, horror dawning in his eyes. “Alix?” he commenced in a strangled voice, then cleared his throat. “What did she have on, Lou?" “She wasn't masked,” Louise said, “al- DEATH WEARS A MASK 67 though she was in costume. She looked lovely as the Empress Josephine and she was awfully happy. She stopped me long enough to tell me that Gorman, her manager, had consented at last to pay the price demanded for the play she wanted to star in. It made a great hit in London and he cabled to his agent there this morning. It's called “This Business of Being a Woman.' I can't tell you how sorry I was for her when I came home and read the eve- ning paper.” That paper again! “What was in that blasted paper?” Sam demanded. “Come sit down.” This time Louise com- manded. “I'm wet,” Sam protested. “I'd ruin your furniture.” “Take off that coat." “My shirt is-soiled.” Louise strove to hide a shudder. "Never mind that ” Sam obeyed her and entered the room to find her pouring him out a Scotch and soda. 68 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Drink that,” she ordered, briefly. “You'll need it. Because, you see, Sam, what's in the paper supplies a motive.” Sam set down the glass untasted. “Let me see it. I'm not a weakling." Without another word Louise handed him the paper, and the two who bent their heads over it were conscious of the same thought. Poor Connie Thorne had at least had the fun to be derived from making a front page sensa- tion while she was alive, and Connie loved to make a sensation. There was a picture of her, an amazingly beautiful picture for a newsprint, and oppo- site to it a cut of a morosely handsome man. “He doesn't look any too resigned to his lot,” had been Louise's first thought on see- ing it, a conclusion she now kept to herself. Between the two, in large type: FUTURE STAR ANNOUNCES EN- GAGEMENT IN TWO FIELDS THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. THORNE TO REËNTER THE THEATRICAL ARENA UNDER THE MAN- AGEMENT OF HER FUTURE HUSBAND DEATH WEARS A MASK 69 There followed several columns recounting Connie's varied activities and triumphs and the fact that Hugh Oliver, well known as a polo-player, had secured for her the great British theatrical sensation, "This Business of Being a Woman,” in which he proposed to reintroduce her to the New York public after the termination of their honey- moon. It was vulgar, blatant publicity, although doubtless priceless as advance advertising. Having read it through to the last word, Sam picked up his glass and drained it thirst- ily. “More?" Louise asked, reaching for the Scotch. He shook his head in the negative. “Was that mask Alix's?” he demanded. "Possibly,” Louise confessed, and added, in instant defense: "Certainly it proves nothing. She might have dropped it on leaving the ele- vator.” "How did it get 'way off to the side under that bench?” 70 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Kicked there, or dragged under Mrs. Thorne's skirts.” Louise frowned, concentra- ting on the problem. “If she was stabbed in the back, it couldn't have been done while she was leaning against the wall. She was placed there afterward.” "Louise,” Sam spoke with an effort, "as a woman, do you judge Alix to be capable of such a deed ?" "I wonder if one can conceive of anyone she knows and likes—and likes, remember, Sam, I'm awfully fond of Alix-committing a- murder.” Louise brought out the last word with an effort. “Actresses must be emotional. If she did it, I'm sure it was in a moment of -exaltation, can we say? I mean a moment such as an actress must reach in a great part on the stage. And once the thing was done, the dreadful thing, I'm sure she would come to herself and expect, exactly as on the stage, to find that it was not real. Don't be hard on her, Sam. Help her as you meant to help me." Sam groaned. “And what becomes of my fine promises to DEATH WEARS A MASK 71 uphold the cause of justice at any cost? I'll resign, of course, the first moment it's feasible.” Louise, all sympathy, put a hand on his arm. “There's something greater than justice, Sam dear.” “What's that?” he asked, curtly. “Mercy,” she returned, her voice modulated to a new sweetness. Sam made no comment. "Well, I must be getting along,” he said. “Do you know, I'm in more of a quandary over how to dispose of a blood-stained shirt than I was over the body of the victim. I don't care for Sing to see it - ” “Certainly not,” Louise cut in, sharply. "Don't trust Sing, ever. And that shirt ought to tell you something of the value of circum- stantial evidence. You must know that it might have been used against you if you had been caught with —” She left the rest to his imagination. “Add to that that I supplied the weapon, 72 DEATH WEARS A MASK even if it was ten years ago, and I agree my position looks precarious," Sam said. Louise shivered, his real danger brought home to her, and he went on: “In fact I've been afraid to ask myself whether cowardice played any part in my determination to sup- press the facts in this case.” His niece, concerned with actualities, pre- vented an elaboration of this self-searching. “Come into Ed's dressing-room. I'll find you a shirt. Throw me out that one. I'd like to burn it at once, but I'm afraid of the smell.” Soon she was busily cutting it apart. The rags she put in her rag-bag, mixing them with its contents. The bosom, its telltale stain cut away, she rolled tightly, confined it with a rub- ber band, and hid it under the beginning of a layette in the drawer of a highboy. When Sam came out she had cleared away all traces of the operation. “I've read my detective stories,” she an- nounced cheerfully. “The laundry marks I cut into fine shreds and put under the coals. I'll look later and make sure they've been DEATH WEARS A MASK 78 entirely destroyed. Now what's the next step?” "I'm going back to Mutt and Jeff's to as- sure Ed that your headache has yielded to aspirin and that you have gone to bed. Mean- while you can do something for me. Call up Alix - " “She'll be at the party — “Without a mask? I don't think it. Anyhow, call and keep on calling at intervals until you get her. Tell her what I told you. That she was not in my rooms tonight. Tell her nothing more than that over the phone. I'll see her the first chance I find.” “Sam,” Louise hesitated, “mightn't it make a lot of trouble? Do you know in whose vesti- bule you left- " "Sure,” said Sam. “The floor below mine. You realize that each apartment to be passed was an additional risk for me. And a haughty old dame lives there who can't possibly be con- nected in any way with Connie.” To his amazement Louise began to shake with laughter. 74 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Oh, forgive me!” She choked over the words hysterically. "I didn't think I'd ever want to laugh again, only this is so funny. I remember now that Miss Lucilla Livingston lives there, the arbiter and champion of every- thing correct; the most ultra-conservative, cen- sorious woman in all New York. She makes a business of her social position, a very paying business, requiring an office and a force of trained assistants. She's as sharp as a needle, carries her years gallantly, rather accentuating than disguising them, knowing that an appear- ance of youthful artifice would be against her interests. She keeps the lists of those socially eligible, introduces a girl now and then or re- ceives if a hostess falls ill, arranges dates for parties and is in general the watchdog of the 'Four Hundred.' Well-born, the perfect snob, a genuine believer in social privilege and re- sultant duties, I can imagine nothing more incongruous than for her to find herself mixed up in front-page crime.” “I see what you mean, Lou. But I can't laugh tonight,” Sam said, moodily. "Now I'm DEATH WEARS A MASK 75 going back. If Alix is there, I'll square things with her. Should I see her, I'll try to let you know. If she isn't there, you won't fail to per- sist until you get in touch with her.” “One other thing before you go,” Louise was reluctant to stress this point, but felt that Sam ought to be told of it. “Some time ago before you knew her well, in fact-there was a rumor that Hugh Oliver was devoting him- self to Alix. I-I never heard that she cared for him, but I'm afraid that Connie cut her out." “Is that all?” Sam asked, grimly. “No. When I passed her on my way home, she said to leave the door open. Some one else was coming up." Sam started. “She didn't say who that was?”! "No, she didn't. I've an idea it was a man.” “Why?" "No reason. Just a hunch. Shall I ask her if he came?" “No,” said Sam, after a moment's reflection. "No. If he's implicated, she'd be too loyal to 76 DEATH WEARS A MASK tell you. Did you recognize anyone on your way out?” Louise shrugged. "Not to be sure. Costumes make such a dif- ference and there was quite a crowd in the entrance hall. All masked, too. A number of men tried to stop me, and one, dressed as Fal- staff, called me 'Lillian.”” “That may be a clue," Sam suggested, thoughtfully. “Some one in the profession, I'd say, and not too young. ... Well, keep on thinking it over. You may recall something else. And be sure to tell Ed nothing. A broker's office is a hotbed of gossip.” "Don't I know that?” Louise's scorn was apparent. “I've learned to keep my own coun- sel. And, Sam, if it's any consolation to you, your niece has grown up tonight. You won't have any more trouble with her.” Sam kissed her and went out as she hurried to the telephone to call Alix Ruland at her rooms in the Gotham. To her surprise, she encountered no diffi- culty and gave her message at once. DEATH WEARS A MASK 77 "Do I understand you correctly, Louise? I am to deny under any and all circumstances that I was in Sam's rooms tonight. But why, why, why?" “Because Sam says you must,” Louise re- plied. “Can't you trust Sam?” "Yes,” said Alix Ruland; then to Louise's ear her voice took on a deeper note: “Yes, you're right. I can trust Sam. I was not there tonight.” Both women hung up. Chapter V Back home Sam resisted an almost over- mastering temptation to turn in to his own rooms to rest. Mentally and physically he felt fagged. However, to see Alix was the vital necessity of the hour and he kept on up to the penthouse. It must be midnight or past. He looked at his watch. Yes, as he had thought; 12:17. He gave the stem a turn or two to make sure it did not run down. The masqueraders would be unmasked. He need not bother with that silly handkerchief, and it would be easier to locate Alix if she were there. She was dressed as the Empress Josephine. He must not forget that in hunting for her. He opened the door of the car and at once was again in the midst of hurly-burly and fan- tasy, there being no foyer in the penthouse. Large as the studio was, it was crowded and the gay costumes and dominos made a pat- tern of color dazzling to eyes accustomed to pageants tempered by the black and white of male evening attire. DEATH WEARS A MASK 79 Several people hailed him at the same time. "Here's the Police Commissioner," was the cry. “Let him decide." This was taken up all over the studio and he found himself the center of a milling throng, through which Ed pushed toward him. "Lou all right?" Sam nodded reassuringly as he asked, "Have you seen Alix?” “No, she's not here, is she? Here's the question before the house," Ed went on in a louder voice, then broke off to complain plain- tively: "If you guys would just be quiet a second so that Sam could hear what I'm trying to tell him " "I'm no Solomon,” Sam protested. “What- ever the dispute, I'm for an open vote. If I side with Ed, those opposed will say it's be- cause he's my nephew; while if I vote against him my happy family life will be simply a shattered dream.” Merriment came easily at that stage of hilarity, and after the laugh this earned, it was made clear that the consensus of opinion de- manded that Sam hear Ed out. 80 DEATH WEARS A MASK "It's like this,” Ed began. “I claim that no decision can be reached until all contestants are present. Mrs. Thorne hasn't turned up yet. Shame on her for a deceiver!" Would this nightmare never end? Even while he was thinking that, Sam's eyes were searching everywhere for Alix and failing to find her. “And I claim,” another man submitted, “a contestant should be disqualified who isn't at the line when the pistol is fired.” (Sam conquered an insane desire to say: "But no pistol was fired. It was a dagger.” He was increasingly aware of the need to hold his impulses in check.) “The time was not specified,” Ed declared, aggressively. "I leave it to everybody—was there any hint that this was to be a Cinderella party? And Mrs. Thorne's on her way. Her maid told me that she left home long ago. It's this damn' (pardon, ladies if you misunder- stood) this damp though beautiful, fleecy white snow that's responsible for her delay. In the words of the poet, 'Snow, snow, beautiful DEATH WEARS A MASK 81 snow, it messes things up wherever you go.' She is held up in the traffic somewhere.” Ed did not believe in his own argument. Connie's maid had expressed great surprise over the telephone, saying her mistress had left home shortly after nine; but he was playing for time. Before there was any reply a shout came from those guests nearest the elevator. Some one wishing to descend had opened the door. "Hold on a second. Mrs. Thorne's here now.” They had glimpsed her, seated on the floor of the car, her loup adjusted, her bright head posed as if challenging their applause. Unable to believe his ears, unwilling to dis- believe them, Sam almost staggered as he crowded with the others in the direction of the lift. So Connie had been shamming, bent on convincing him that she was an actress, after all. Holding her breath so as not to mist his watch crystal. But the blood-surely that had been real blood? And that dagger hilt? Fast- ened in her hair, of course in some way. Like the one on her bodice. And aimed directly at 82 DEATH WEARS A MASK him. She had never forgiven his disbelief in her powers. Ed had pushed his way to the front and now was declaiming dramatically: "Here she is at last, the peerless lady of my inspiration.” He plucked out his dagger and darted forward, stabbing downward, then stepped back that all might see. “Pity and envy me, for I, her cicisbeo, her Platonic and disinterested lover, have ended her life rather than that she should grow old and unlovely or unite herself to one unworthy of her intoxicat- ing charm." There was a laugh and a cheer or two and some one said: "The delay is explained. You can count on Mrs. Thorne to work up an effective en- trance.” Over the heads of those in front of him Sam caught a glimpse of the shimmering silk of Connie's skirt, crumpled in the corner of the elevator, and his suddenly aroused hopes died within him. Meanwhile Ed was going on, ad- dressing himself now to Connie: DEATH WEARS A MASK. 88 "Do not fancy that I repent. For your sake, I have sacrificed what was more precious to me than life itself. The opportunity to worship your beauty from afar.” Turning to the crowd: “You'll find my misericorde in her heart. ... And I demand for us the acclaim of the assembled company as the most thrilling of the many masterly representations here present, for surely no one save Mrs. Thorne would consent to die for your amusement.” There followed loud clapping and many expressions of admiration, amid which Ed entered the lift and offered Consuela his hand. “Come, bow to the nice ladies and gentle- men,” he said, jocosely. There was no answer- ing movement from the figure posed in the corner. “Connie”-he spoke sharply—“let me help you up.” Sam, who had been through a similar ordeal, sympathized with him but dared not betray his earlier knowledge, and of a sud- den Ed drew back with a cry of fear, turning a startled face to his audience. "Sam!” he called, sharply, his voice rising 84 DEATH WEARS A MASK to a falsetto. “Come here. There's something wrong." je Again there was a wave of clapping, this being taken as a part of the prearranged per- formance, but a way was opened for Sam who, too, might be an actor in the drama, and he passed through it to repeat in public the at- tempts he had previously made to detect the spark of life. Then he straightened, holding up his hand for silence, and appealed to his two hosts, who had joined him solicitously. "Is there a doctor here?” At last a realization of tragedy communi- cated itself to the throng, an ominous silence replaced the noise and merriment, and two men were pushed or came forward in a hush so profound that their soft footfalls rang out like drumbeats. They examined the body only to turn grave faces to the company that of a sudden stirred nervously, giving out a rustling sound like dry leaves swept by a rising wind. “Dead—for some time,” was the answer to Sam's questioning look. "A stab in the back. An unusual stab, I'd judge,” the second man volunteered. DEATH WEARS A MASK 85 At once the crowd burst out with expres- sions of horror. How was she killed? Where was she killed? Who had done this frightful deed? Ed, down whose face tears were now run- ning, plucked at the doctor's sleeve. “Tell them my dagger was only a fake,” he begged. “That's paint on her gown. I swear it is. My blade's only tin foil. It wouldn't cut anything. See, here it is. All crumpled up. My God! We thought it was such a wonderful stunt-and now —” He covered his twitch- ing face with his hands, unable to regain com- mand of himself. Sam entered the car and set the safety de- vice. It was his duty to take command and he faced Mutt and Jeff gravely. “Place a guard at your rear door," he ordered. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is obvious that nobody here present can be implicated in this terrible crime, yet I am forced to see to it that no one leaves before the arrival of the police.” Murmurs of protest rose on all sides, min- gled with repeated queries: How was she 86 DEATH WEARS A MASK killed? How long had she been dead? Who had been in the elevator with her? And one woman cried hysterically: “But we want to go home. We don't want to be involved in the publicity of this.” Her words were taken up by others voicing the same sentiment, one man even sug- gesting that the ladies at least might be per- mitted to leave. “There will be as little publicity as possible,” Sam promised, soothingly. “I'm sure you all wish to help, not to hinder, the law in this case. Also remember that to try to go away in a hurry might look like an attempt to escape. Believe me, the wisest course for everybody is to stay quietly here. I am now going to call Headquarters. If you will reflect, you will see that the elevator is out of commission until the police have inspected it.” The orchestra, its instruments silenced and deserted, huddled in a corner of the balcony, fearing even to speak to one another; and from the dining-room, where a buffet supper was in readiness, waiters peered anxiously forth as a shriek greeted his last words. From whom it DEATH WEARS A MASK 87 came he could not determine. He was directed at once to the telephone, over which, after he had used it, he set a guard. On the whole, though there were tears here and there, he felt that the women present had stood the shock extremely well. . It was a relief when at last he had poured the available facts into the ear of Inspector Dolan of the Homicide Squad, a square-shoul- dered, heavy veteran in whom it was safe to repose confidence and from whom results were confidently demanded. Thereafter Sam reminded himself that all he had to do was to remember that he knew nothing of the case before the elevator with its ghastly burden had been opened by some one who was sneaking home early to bed. The wait before the arrival of the Inspector was really remarkably short. A summons from the Police Commissioner in person admitted of no delay, and he came accompanied by six of the Homicide Squad, including the police photographer carrying his heavy kit, all of whom looked very large, substantial, and effi- 88 DEATH WEARS A MASK cient when contrasted with the frightened guests in their fanciful costumes. These men silently took over the charge of the exits. Owing to the snow, the little roof garden, coated in white, proclaimed its inno- cence at once. No one had passed that way, while the fire escape betrayed that it had been used for a distance of two flights. The policeman who had gone to the window opening on it from the servant's room came back hastily to whisper his discovery, and Do- lan looked reproachfully at Sam. “My fault, Inspector," he acknowledged. “I ordered no one to leave and set a watch on the telephone. I forgot the fire escape. How- ever, I think we'll find it's only some zealous reporter bent on beating the City News man, who'll be here with the Medical Examiner.” “We'll find out about that,” Dolan said, gruffly, and sent one of his men to knock up that floor and ask who had taken a short cut to liberty. He came back with an Irish cook in tow, divided between rage at being haled from her DEATH WEARS A MASK 89 bed for the second time that night, fright that she might be implicated in a murder, and a sense of importance at her sudden prominence. “Why wouldn't I let her in out of the snow?” she demanded, truculently. "It wasn't like as if it was one of you maraudin' cops. One of the Holy Sisters, it was, come knockin' at me window. 'Faith, you're a fine bird to be on the fire escape at this hour,' I sez, for I'll not deny I was not expectin' her. 'Let me in, child, an' say nothin',' sez she. 'It's the telee- phone I'm wantin' to get at.' An' when I heard her tell some one there'd been a killin' done, I'd little wonder she wanted out of there." “You let her out?” asked the Inspector. "I did not then. She waited for no lettin'. "Thanks, Bridget,' she sez, and was off down the back stairs before ever I could open my mouth to tell her it wasn't me name.” “Would you know her again?” "I've me doubts. Woke up sudden like, out " “What is your name?” “ 'Tis Jane Toole. I never seen the man II 90 DEATH WEARS A MASK worth changin' it for, glory be to God.” She tossed her tousled head and the Inspector made a note. "That's all for the present, Jane. Don't leave your place without the permission of the Police Department.” “What has the police to do with me?" Jane demanded, her courage rising as she found that she was not to be arrested. “I'm an honest girl an' I want no truck with the police. Mrs. Ford's my mistress an' I'm stayin'. I'm satis- fied with her. Leastwise I've stood her non- sense three years " “Very good, Jane. I'll let you know if I've further need of you.” The Inspector nodded with a ghost of a smile to Jane's escort; and the stout, middle-aged figure in a red blanket robe over purple pajamas waddled away, sniffing contemptuously. Her opinion of the police force as a terror to malefactors was never to be the same again, “Undoubtedly it was a reporter," Sam as- serted. “You'll hear an extra on the street in record time. Really, Inspector, I kept them for DEATH WEARS A MASK 91 you, but I think these people are exonerated by the fact that they were here. My nephew, who is terribly shot to pieces over this, was Mrs. Thorne's team mate in a stunt they had worked up together for this party, and he has been on edge all the evening, waiting for her to arrive.” “What's that?” Dolan pricked up his ears. “Been on edge, has he? And did he go out to find her?" Sam smiled. The suspicion was only natural. "He phoned and was told she was on her way. In fact, his alibi is so perfect that, ac- cording to all the detective stories I've ever read, it's highly suspicious. He dined at home, dressed and went to the Princeton Club to meet two other fellows. The three of them came to me, begging cocktails, which I refused them, thinking they had a good enough start on the evening already, and we came up here together. . . . We've all been pretty intimate with Mrs. Thorne for years and we're used to putting up with her irresponsibility. She was never on time. She might be early or she might 92 DEATH WEARS A MASK be late and that was as close as anyone could calculate with her. I may add, whenever she came she made herself welcome. She was a gay and delightful guest. I was out of the building for a while—and I'm a legitimate suspect, I suppose, since I was once engaged to her.” "You were?” Dolan veiled his glance, but Sam could feel him studying him. “Ten years ago. Before she married Thorne. One recovers from those early affairs, Inspec- tor. Mrs. Thorne and I were always warm friends." “And why did you go out? It's not the night I'd select for takin' the air.” “I went to see how my niece, Mrs. Harris, was. Ed was worried about her. She is subject to migraine-headaches, you know—and a bad attack kept her from this party. So, as he had this engagement with Mrs. Thorne and couldn't leave till she came, he asked me to go see if his wife was all right.” “Couldn't you telephone?" “As a matter of fact I did, only, as I wasn't DEATH WEARS A MASK 93 satisfied with her reply, I went up to Fifty- seventh Street to see if she needed a doctor.” “And did she?” "No," Sam acknowledged, wishing he could say “yes," "she'd dosed with aspirin, which sometimes works for her and sometimes doesn't, and after she'd given me a drink of Scotch, told me she was ready for bed and that I was to take myself off, which I did. She's my only niece and I've always obeyed her.” He ended with a smile. Smiles were coming easier as he warmed to his rôle. “How about these people?” The Inspector stared around. “It seems to me there ought to be a law against masked parties. How in hell do you know who was here and who wasn't? Any gangster could crash the gate and mix with the crowd.” "Hardly," Sam told him. “One or other of the hosts (young architects, very decent fel- lows and only casual acquaintances of Mrs. Thorne) received the guests and had them lift their masks for identification as a precaution. Moreover, it seems to me that the people here 94 DEATH WEARS A MASK are hall-marked as innocent because Mrs. Thorne never got here-alive." “Well, they can't go down in the elevator till the Doc has had a look at the corpse. Aside from that I can't see that it will have much to tell us, considering the number of people who have used it.” "I fancy they'll all be glad to walk down the stair at the back,” Sam said. “The service elevator is shut after eleven. This is a pretty ghastly experience for these ladies, Inspector. You could post men to take down names and addresses as they filed out." “They'll wait till we hear what the doctor has to say,” Dolan insisted, and Sam protested no further. He felt anew that the uniformed force and those like Dolan, who had risen from the ranks, looked on his appointment as purely political and resented it. In the end he would win their liking and respect, but, as he had hinted to Thorne, that would take time. "Everything is entirely in your hands," he said. “I've no experience, as you know, and no wish to hamper you by inexpert advice. My DEATH WEARS A MASK 95 apartment is on the eighth floor and I'll be glad to have you use it as your headquarters in the building when you've finished up here. Remember, I'm personally interested in this case. Mr. and Mrs. Harris and I have lost an old and dear friend.” Dolan grunted. Sentiment carried no weight with him and he was not sure this here now young Harris was not implicated in some way. The Commissioner was a very smooth proposition. It kind of looked as if he wanted to show he'd had an opportunity to do some- thing that he hadn't done to turn attention away from this nephew. The arrival of the Medical Examiner cre- ated a diversion, even though he had little to add to the sum of their knowledge. Mrs. Thorne had been dead for approx- imately three hours. The penetration of the medulla oblongata by a sharp instrument was a sufficient cause for death. There would be an autopsy, but he expected nothing new from it. All that was mortal of poor Connie was 96 DEATH WEARS A MASK lifted from the floor of the elevator, and the guests were declared at liberty to go, their names and addresses being taken down and each being asked just one question. Did he or she know of anything that might throw any light on the tragedy? The answer in all cases was an unqualified "No." Chapter VI The necessary details in the penthouse com- pleted and the guests there released from durance, Sam, Ed, the Inspector and various detectives of the Police Department who were awaiting further orders, adjourned to the eighth floor. The Inspector glanced around him apprais- ingly as Sam pushed aside books and maga- zines to leave a wide space for his use on the heavy oak refectory table, set beneath the studio window that would soon be admitting gleams of daylight. Tobacco, ash-trays and cigars were placed within reach and he was asked to make himself at home. Perhaps the new Commissioner wasn't go- ing to be such a bad guy, after all, Dolan ruminated, quite softened by these attentions. He cleared his throat and spoke more ami- cably than he had previously. “You can be of great use to us, Commis- sioner, in explaining a number of points, since 97 98 DEATH WEARS A MASK you room in this building. It seems a big place. Perhaps you can tell us how it's divided and who lives here." Sam jumped to his feet and crossed the floor to an oak kas in which he rummaged for a while before he found a stiff document and paused long enough to blow the dust from it. “I can do better than that. I can show you a plan of the whole house,” he said. “It was be- gun with the intention of making it one hun- dred per cent coöperative, but the builder was caught with a lot of the apartments unsold during the late unpleasantness, when real estate became a liability rather than an asset. Those are renting very well now, however, and he doubtless will get rid of all of them when better times are established. This is the blue print.” He unfolded it and spread it on the table, flattening it out with one hand. “You see, we are on the corner and the building consists of three identical stacks, each with the same floor space and each with its automatic elevator. This gives every apart- DEATH WEARS A MASK 99 ment its own vestibule and warrants the name of ‘discreet apartments, which is what all so planned are called. The only place tenants are likely to run into one another is in the entrance hall, and really you'd be surprised how seldom one encounters any of one's neighbors. Pri- vacy is practically assured.” "But this ain't like this room here," the In- spector was tracing the white lines laboriously with a thick forefinger, his massive forehead corrugated in a frown. "No," Sam agreed, “it isn't. I was one of the early birds who bought before the building was under roof, and I made changes to suit myself. I'm a husky brute and I like lots of room, so I eliminated a spare bedroom and bath and threw all that area into this room." “ 'Tis a fine big room, a man's room,” the Inspector said, approvingly. “I'm beginning to get the hang of things now. Then the other apartments in this stack ain't like this, neces- sarily?” “No,” Sam answered, “although I can tell you little about most of the others. The floor 100 DEATH WEARS A MASK above mine belongs to a bride and groom. Mr. and Mrs. Alpheus Carter. They're in Florida. I'm sure their apartment follows the original plan because it was finished for the builder. Mrs. Carter's father bought it only last autumn and gave it to her for a wedding present." “Servants living there?” “I believe not. There's only one servant's room, and a toilet for a non-resident butler. I'm inclined to fancy that Mrs. Carter went South because she wasn't very successful as a housekeeper. The place is vacant, I'm reason- ably sure, but we can find out positively from the superintendent. The seventh floor belongs to a Miss Livingston. Very blue blood. A sort of social secretary to the rich.” "How old a lady?” The Inspector glanced up keenly from his notes and Sam received the impression of unexpected intelligence such as is sometimes conveyed by a gleam in the eye of an English bulldog, half hidden in its wrinkles. “So far as the mere male can judge, be- DEATH WEARS A MASK 101 tween fifty and sixty and makes no effort to hide it." "Friend of the murdered woman?” "Most unlikely. Indeed, I've no hesitancy in saying no." “Let's begin at the bottom and go up,” Dolan suggested. “I don't think we need look beyond this stack. No one would risk lugging a corpse across the entrance hall with a jam- boree like that upstairs going on and guests arriving constantly. First floor?” “Dentists' offices. Non-resident. Private doors on the street. Service entrance in rear on the court like the rest of us. I have a plan of that floor somewhere if you want it.” "Not necessary," Dolan shook his head. “Second floor?” “An old grouch named Scott, aged seventy or a hundred. He rents and won't even speak to you if you meet in the elevator. I know nothing about his servant, although I suppose he has one. Third floor. Two maiden ladies. Look like school-teachers. I never heard their names. Fourth floor. Mrs. Trevor and her sis- 102 DEATH WEARS A MASK ter, Mrs. Lee; the latter divorced, while Mrs. Trevor is a real widow. Both of them were at the party, as were Jenks, Ransom, and Kettle, bachelors who share the fifth floor. Sixth. The Señor and Señora Gomez. Refugees from Cuba. Three kids, with more eyes and black eyelashes than you'll often see. Seventh. Miss Livingston. I told you all I knew about her before. Eighth floor. Samuel Mellon. My serv- ant, Sing Lo, Chinese, was out at a lecture. I don't know what time he came in. I'll ring and ask him, if you like.” “Not necessary at the moment,” the Inspec- tor replied. “Presumably he was not in the building when the murder occurred." “Ninth. The Carters, in Florida. Tenth. Mrs. Ford, daughter at college. You saw their cook. Eleventh. Mr. and Mrs. Manheim, two sons, at boarding-school, I fancy. At least I never see them except in the holidays. Just German kids, as blond as the Gomez offspring are dark. The penthouse is the twelfth.” “Do you know which of these people knew the murdered woman?” DEATH WEARS A MASK 103 Sam wished he would frame his questions differently. It was painful to think of Connie in his terms, but there was no use of protest- ing. The Inspector would hardly understand his sentimental shrinking, and he answered, promptly enough: “Not to swear to. I'd guess the fourth, fifth, eighth and ninth floors only. Of them, one is out of the city and the others were at the party.” "Sure,” said the Inspector. “Ain't that the best place they could be if they did it? Only who's to swear they were there all the time? Remember, the lady was done in three hours before we saw her. Just about whân she ought to have reached here, according to what her maid said." "True," Sam conceded. "Let's have Thady Keogh, the doorman up. He may remember when she came in.” "He doesn't,” the Inspector grunted. “It didn't take long to get that out of him. He says all women look alike to him, 'aiven them as is different,' and the old fool means it. If 104 DEATH WEARS A MASK we bother him with more questions, he'll only begin to remember a lot of things that never happened; and I've troubles enough without that. What's your idea of the motive for this killing?” he demanded abruptly, including Ed, who had been very silent, with Sam in the keen glance of his little eyes. Ed spoke, unexpectedly and perhaps un- wisely: “Jealousy.” The Inspector seized upon this at once. "Jealousy, huh? Now who would you say was likely to be jealous of her?” "Oh, lots of women thought she was too at- tractive.” At the sound of his own voice Ed had recovered his self-confidence and now put forward his ideas nonchalantly. “Or she may have had some new man on the string who resented today's development. Mrs. Thorne kept her own secrets. Für instance, I never suspected—did you, Sam ?—that she was en- gaged to Hugh Oliver ?" Dolan brought his heavy fist crashing down on the table. DEATH WEARS A MASK 105 "D’you mean to tell me she was the dame all this hullabaloo was about in the evening newspapers? Why did no one say that be- fore?” "It never occurred to me that you didn't know it,” Sam replied, truthfully. “Hand over that paper!” This was ad- dressed to his henchmen, three of whom had their heads bent over the sheet which they had picked up on entering. “Did either of you know this man Oliver ??? “Yes,” said Ed. "He was a customer of ours. I'm a broker, you know. Mrs. Thorne made a pot of money after he began giving her tips. He's a wise baby and something of a character. I've been told that his mother was a woman of good family in Kentucky, who eloped with one of her father's jockeys. The fellow did what very few can do—made a fortune picking the winners; and after he died his son carried on; only instead of horses, he gambled in stocks. That's why he and Mrs. Thorne cottoned to each other. He admired her for her nerve where most men would have 106 DEATH WEARS A MASK been afraid to marry a woman who plunged as heavily as she did.” "I knew him, too,” Sam volunteered. "Not as well as Ed seems to have done. That is, I had heard nothing of his beginnings. He came to New York several years ago with a great deal of money, knowing nobody intimately, if indeed he had any friends. He was introduced to people and put up at a couple of clubs by his brokers, of whom Mr. Harris is one. I shouldn't say he was ever popular, although he has gained a certain position. I confess that the announcement of their engagement and his plans for Mrs. Thorne (or her plans for her- self) were a complete surprise to me. I had thought him the perfect snob. The male social climber, who is rather a contemptible creature to my mind. But probably Mrs. Thorne could twist him around her finger." Ed shook his head in a vigorous negative. "Don't you fool yourself, Sam. Not even Connie could do that. That little man is made of wire and leather. You couldn't touch his feelings or influence him in any way in a thousand years." DEATH WEARS A MASK 107 “Then I don't understand the match," Sam said. “Certainly Connie would be no help to him socially." "You mean she wasn't a society dame?” The Inspector had pricked up his ears at this ex- change between uncle and nephew. "Not in the restricted sense that Oliver would apply the term,” Sam explained. “She came from a small New England coast town. Her maiden name was Dacosta. Portuguese, I think. Claimed social position there, which meant nothing to New York. Then she went on the stage. Never had anything but small parts and they were given to her for her looks." “Gay little lady?” Dolan suggested gen- ially. "No." Sam took him up sharply. “Don't get that notion. Mrs. Thorne was chaste. There were no back-stage affairs. She had plenty of ardent admirers. A lot of young fel- lows and some old ones were crazy about her- as a pretty girl, not as an actress, understand. At first I seemed to be the favorite. Then Harvey Thorne cut me out. The rest you can probably read there, except tKat it is a fact 108 DEATH WEARS A MÁSK that her social position was less secure after she left Harvey. God alone knows why. Divorce is a commonplace of modern so- ciety and there was never any scandal about Mrs. Thorne. She was too cool-headed for that.” “Do you know, I think it was her coloring,” Ed said reasonably. “Everyone thinks of nat- ural red-heads as hot babies, whereas Connie was an absolute iceberg." (Strange how everyone compared her to ice. Glittering but without warmth.) “Where's this Harvey Thorne, the first hus- band?" Prepared to lie, Sam was saved the trouble. “They got a Paris divorce," Ed cut in. “Thorne has never been back in New York since then.” The Inspector gathered together his papers. “So far, we're certain of only one thing,” he announced. “Mrs. Thorne was murdered. That's really all we know for sure. We can guess that it was done in this building, prob- ably in the elevator, but since that car was sure DEATH WEARS A MASK 109 to be extra busy all night on account of the party, her body wasn't left in it. For a while, at least, it was hid somewhere else. Remember she'd been dead some time when you found her. It strikes me that it would have been easy to stow her in one of the private vestibules. Then, if no one happened to call at that flat, she could stay there undiscovered for hours. If some one living here done her in, the most likely place is the empty apartment, the Car- ters', didn't you say?" (“But I wanted her to be found—by some one else,” Sam thought.) “There aren't apt to be many callers after nine or thereabouts,” Ed volunteered. “How came the body to be put back in the elevator?” Sam objected. “I rode up in it about fifteen minutes before the final discovery and I assure you it was empty then.” This was a point that had been puzzling him and he was curious to hear the police theory, if there was one. “What time did Commissioner Mellon come in?" The Inspector, not averse to proving his 110 DEATH WEARS A MASK thoroughness to his superior officer, turned to one of his men, who replied, categorically: “The Commissioner left here at eleven- twenty-eight on foot, arrived at Mrs. Edward Harris's at eleven-forty-two; left Fifty-sev- enth Street in a taxi at twelve-nine, arriving here at twelve-sixteen." .. . “I should think that was approximately, perhaps accurately, correct," Sam said, con- cealing his surprise that his movements had been checked up and wondering if any infor- mation had reached Dolan as to his visitors of the evening. If there had, it was going to be very difficult for him to explain why he had remained silent. Chivalry to ladies or to a friend would be a poor excuse in Dolan's little pig eyes. “You were at home all evening, were you, Commissioner?" Effort was made to render the inquiry indifferent rather than suspicious, and one of the detectives stirred uneasily. “What is it, McCurdy?” "If the Commissioner was here all evening, how come he never opened his paper?" The DEATH WEARS A MASK 111 man asked, taking his courage in his teeth. "It hadn't been so much as unfolded.” This was coming close, edging a way into a period Sam was loath to have considered, yet he replied without visible hesitation. “Over in that corner, Inspector, you'll see my desk. On it are my ledger and several bank books. I'm certainly one of the world's worst accountants. I pledge you my word not one of them balanced. I've two friends each of whom has his own way of cutting that knot. Of course it goes without saying that one al- ways has less than expected, not more. One of these men puts down this difference as 'Cash to Maria,' his wife. The other has a superior method. He writes in the figures necessary to strike a balance with 'G.O.K. after them. That means, God only knows. Now I've no wife and I've the miserable sort of conscience that nags at me until I straighten things out, so that's where my time went. Not much good as an alibi, I grant you. To that you may add the absolute fact that to my mind the evening papers are rarely worth reading. Sing can 112 DEATH WEARS A MASK testify that more than half the time mine reach the pantry without being opened.” “Well, then, if you didn't read the paper, how come that you knew about the lady's en- gagement?” McCurdy persisted, obstinately. This was going too far, and the Inspector made a movement as if about to protest. Sam silenced him. . "I like a zealous officer, McCurdy,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice. “I've no special love for one who wastes time barking up the wrong tree. If I don't read the evening papers, there are plenty of other people who do. Mrs. Thorne's engagement was the fa- vorite topic of conversation at the party this evening. I trust that satisfies your curiosity ?" “McCurdy's a good man, Commissioner, if he wasn't such a damn' fool," Dolan said, apologetically. "He's one of them that love detective stories, which, if I had my way, there'd be a law against. Is there anything else you think we ought to do here? It's in my mind this case is going to be a puzzler.” “Well, there's just one thing. Not much use, DEATH WEARS A MASK 118 probably, only it seems to me we should de- termine where the body lay from the hour of the murder up to the time it was sent on to the penthouse.” No sooner had Sam made this suggestion than he repented of it. A memory came to him of a cocktail glass nearly full and probably touched at the edge with lipstick, standing under the bench in his vestibule. How was he to explain that? He had entirely for- gotten it when doing his careful washing up. "I was going to see to that before we pulled out o' here," Dolan assured him with dignity. “McCurdy and Knudsen, you take a look in each vestibule and come back here and report whether you find anything or not.” The men went out and Dolan turned con- fidentially to Sam with a swift descent to the level of humanity. “An' you don't read the evening papers? Now I like to see the pitschers in mine." Sam smiled. The big man was of a sudden, almost child-like. “What's your idea, Inspector, would there be any use of our offering a reward for evi- DEATH WEARS A MASK 115 people in the house she's the least likely to have any knowledge of this case.” “Them's the kind that's always guiltiest,” Knudsen contributed, sententiously, and Do- lan nodded agreement. "At all events, we'll interview this here now society dame," he said. "Not tonight,” Sam interposed, promptly. “She's an old lady. She won't run away, and it's now around four o'clock. We can't rout her out of bed at this hour when it's more than doubtful if she knew the use that was being made of her vestibule. Post a guard there if you wish. Photograph the spot. Let no one enter or leave the apartment, front or rear, and the first thing in the morning I'll go with you to interview her.” "After all, 'tis only as if a parcel was left at the wrong address and later called for and taken to its destination,” McCurdy said, shrewdly. “It seems to me some one meant the poor lady to get to that party." “Waiting till morning can do no great hurt," Dolan finally conceded, albeit unwill- 116 DEATH WEARS A MASK ingly, and he and his subordinates took them- selves off, each with a final cigar from Sam's humidor. Sam turned to Ed, who returned his gaze dully. He had been suddenly sobered by his discovery of Connie's body. Now he began to feel the after-effects of too much liquor and too much excitement. “The thing for you to do is to go home,” Sam said. “I'd keep you here, but you'll need civilized clothes in the morning. Don't wake Louise if you can help it. If you do, you'll talk for hours. Take a couple of luminal tablets and try to get a little sleep. You've got to show up at the office tomorrow and you'll need all the nerve you can summon to answer the ques- tions you'll be pelted with.” He helped his nephew into his overcoat and escorted him to the vestibule. "Good night, old man," he ended. When the elevator (which neither man could open without a vision of that glittering figure crumpled in the corner) had come and gone, Sam bent to retrieve the telltale cocktail DEATH WEARS A MASK 117 glass. Fate had been kinder to him than he deserved, in view of his carelessness. ... Search as he might, he could not find it and at last was forced to conclude that it was not there. Could he have washed it and forgotten it? He knew that he had not. Was it then in the possession of the police? Inspector Dolan's was a face that had hidden many secrets. Chapter VII If the glass wasn't there, it wasn't there and there was no use worrying over it. Once more Sam extinguished the lights and went into his own room to prepare for bed. Yet what was the use of going to bed if he couldn't sleep? He never felt less like it in his life, with his mind going over and over the known facts in this tragedy. He was a step in advance of the police. He at least knew where Connie was slain, but that told him nothing more, the varying suspicions that flitted through his mind all seeming equally preposterous. He marched up and down his room without attempting to undress. The thing for him to do was to follow the prescription he had suggested to Ed, and even luminal took half an hour to get in its good work. He went into the bathroom and searched the shelves of his neatly arranged medicine- closet. There was the bottle. He took out the cork and tilted it on his palm. Nothing came. 118 DEATH WEARS A MASK 119 It was empty. Really, Sing was going too far. Sam was a methodical bachelor; had he taken the last tablets he would have bought another supply at once. Now that he hadn't the drug, he wanted it more than ever. His first impulse was to ring for Sing and tell him that, since he had used all the luminal without permission, he must go for more, no matter what the hour, yet that would take time. Sing would have to dress, and already it was past four o'clock. No, the quickest thing was for him to go himself. The drug store at First Avenue was open all night. In irritable haste he went to the elevator, pushing his arms into his over- coat sleeves as he summoned it. Thady was standing inside the hall door, out of the storm, very wide awake and eager for some one to exchange theories with him. "Aw, Mr. Mellon, who ever done the like of that to a lady?” the old Irishman began. Sam cut him short. "I can't stop to go into that now, Thady. I'm badly in need of rest. I'm going to the 120 DEATH WEARS A MASK drug store to get something to make me sleep." "Perhaps, then, when ye come back, ye'll be tellin' me what I'm to do with the um- brella?" Thady suggested, with dignity. He was a privileged character and not used to be- ing treated cavalierly. "What umbrella ?” Sam paused in button- ing his overcoat to the chin. “That one in the corner there.” Thady nodded toward it. “ 'Twas your friend left it with me, and then he never come down again at all.” Sam did not doubt the old doorman's ac- curacy. If Thady said he hadn't, Harvey had never gone out. What did that indicate? Had Thorne learned of the announcement in the papers and, following Consuela to his apart- ment, killed her rather than see her the wife of another man, and was he still hiding in the building? If so, where? Could he by any chance be the person disguised as a nun who had escaped by way of Jane Toole's room? That seemed unlikely, for if he had committed DEATH WEARS A MASK 121 the crime, why, knowing Connie to be dead, would he go to the ball? Unable to make the pieces of the puzzle fit, Sam was once more wellnigh overwhelmed with anxiety for a friend. He chided himself for being slow-witted. What he ought to do at the moment was so plain. "Did Mr. Thomas forget his umbrella, Thady?” he asked. “Well, that just proves that a pretty girl will make a man forget any- thing. I'll take it when I come in. I'll be seeing him tomorrow at his office. It's small wonder you didn't recognize Harry when he went out with Miss Carey. He put on his costume in my place and I'd not have known him myself.” "So that was the way of it," said Thady, with a sigh of relief. “And Mr. Thomas was the gentleman's name. There's an H and a T on the name plate. I was wonderin' had I ought to mention the matter to the poliss. I kind o’hated to take it up wit' 'em. They can make a man a heap of trouble.” “Right you are,” said Sam, genially. “Keep 122 DEATH WEARS A MASK your own secrets and don't you ever trust a policeman, Thady. I'm one and I know. They're dangerous. Once get in their bad books and they'll be blaming you for every- thing wrong that happens in all New York.” "God save us!” ejaculated Thady. “Is it you is tellin' me that? But you ain't a real cop.” He sputtered with relief as he opened the door and let Sam out into the storm. "I'll be right back. Don't go to sleep.” It was a joke of the house to insist that Thady slept all night. As good as his word, Sam returned in short order, shook himself, stamped the snow from his feet, and accepted the umbrella from Thady. This, because of his suspicious disposi- tion, Detective McCurdy missed entirely, al- though, had he remained at his post across the street, he would have witnessed it through the glass doors of the apartment house, and it might have presented certain questions to his inquiring mind. When Sam came out his heart had leaped with joy that he was to be the officer to pre- DEATH WEARS A MASK 123 vent the Commissioner's flight from justice. He had even a vision of himself, shoulders well back, military in bearing, a becoming expres- sion of modesty on his handsome face (at least sundry ladies had told him it was handsome, and who was he to dispute their judgment?), receiving a medal or some other suitable re- ward for efficiency and devotion to duty. He followed Mr. Mellon to the drug store, already mentally framing his report, where he at once changed his suspicion to suicide. Going in the moment Sam's back was turned to flash his shield and demand what the last customer had bought, he was grievously disappointed to find it was a harmless article. He had pictured him- self breaking down Sam's door and telephon- ing Inspector Dolan the sad news that his solu- tion of the mystery, which the Inspector had so derided, had been proved correct. By the time he had resumed his watch Sam and his new bit of evidence were safe on the eighth floor. The umbrella had no special individuality. Numbers like it were on sale in every depart- 124 DEATH WEARS A MASK ment store. The band on the Malacca crook handle had no more than the initials on it, and Sam realized that it might have been much worse. It had been a flash of inspiration that had suggested to him that it might be marked. Indeed, there was room to have engraved Har- vey's full name, in which case his lie would have needed amendment. He owned an um- brella that was almost identical. He must carry it with him in the morning, no matter what the weather, and this one must be concealed. He thought at first of pushing it back in his closet behind his suits, but it was one of Sing's duties to press his clothes. It might be discovtred inopportunely. No, the best thing to do was to hide it where he could vow it had never been hidden at all. With this in mind, he stood it among a mixed collection of umbrellas and canes in the coat-closet. People were always giving a bachelor umbrellas and canes that he could not use. And then at last he went to bed. Unutter- ably weary, he quite forgot the luminal which he had been at such pains to procure, and slept DEATH WEARS A MASK 125 dreamlessly without it, to wake at half past seven, when, according to routine, Sing brought him a cup of coffee. This and his first cigarette preceded his bath and shave. Sam was apt to linger over this luxury. Today he wasted no time. He felt rested and his mind was clear. He wanted to be ready for Inspec- tor Dolan when he came. And he decided that while Sing deserved to be hauled over the coals, he would postpone that reckoning until he had fewer pressing matters engaging his attention. "I'll have my breakfast at eight, Sing,” he said as he accepted the coffee-cup. And promptly at eight he sat down at the table in the dining-room. .-"Was it a good lecture?” he asked. “Very educative, sir. Very informing,” Sing answered, plaeing half a grapefruit before him and going out to the kitchen. "And that,” thought Sam, "is amusing. I wonder where the little liar really went? Why does he feel that he must keep up a bluff with me? Well, it's none of my business, but why 126 DEATH WEARS A MASK lie gratuitously? If he had anything to gain by it, it would be understandable.” It had been his intention to read at once all the printed details of Connie's tragedy. It was mere chance that the paper beside his plate displayed prominently in a box the following item: AUDIENCE AT THE TOWN HALL DISAPPOINTED DISTINGUISHED ECONOMIST CAUGHT · IN BLIZZARD PENNSYLVANIA TRAIN SEVEN HOURS LATE His breakfast eaten, Sam was in his living- room when Inspector Dolan arrived unat- tended. "I thought the two of us was all that was needed to make this trip into high society," he grinned. “I doubt if the old dame knows aught about the case." "I feel sure she doesn't," Sam rejoined. “It's my idea that it would be polite if I sent her a DEATH WEARS A MASK 127 note asking her to receive us for a few minutes, but I didn't wish to do that without your approval.” "Is it necessary?” Dolan asked. “Won't it kind of put her on her guard?” "If she has anything to hide she's on her guard already,” Sam pointed out. “It isn't necessary, only polite and likely to put Miss Livingston in a better frame of mind to tell us anything she knows, provided she knows anything." "Let's see what you'd say?" Dolan sug- gested, grudgingly. Sam went over to his desk and wrote: My dear Miss Livingston:- Would it be convenient for you to receive me and Police Inspector Dolan for a few moments? We will not trespass unduly on your valuable time. Very truly yours, SAMUEL B. MELLON, Commissioner. 128 DEATH WEARS A MASK "I can't see any sense in that,” Dolan reread it. “Nor can I see much harm it can do." Sam sealed it in the envelope he had ad- dressed, and rang for Sing. “Take that to the floor below and await an answer,” he told the Chinese. In less than five minutes Sing returned with a verbal reply. "Miss Livingston says she will see you at any time, but will appreciate it if you will make an early visit, as she has a number of important appointments later in the day." Sam got to his feet. "Shall we go at once?" “Sure,” replied Dolan. Shortly they were ushered into Miss Liv- ingston's reception room by a highly respect- able, uniformed waitress, and Dolan stared around him curiously. This apartment had not deviated from the architect's plan and, furnished with Victorian elegance, the richly brocaded chairs, sofa, and heavy draperies joined with the grand piano, oil-paintings in wide gold frames, and an Au- busson carpet to make it look over-crowded Cr DEATH WEARS A MASK 129 and small in comparison with the spacious ef- fect achieved on the floor above. They seated themselves, but the lady did not keep them waiting long. She entered, a rather dumpy woman with a figure corseted after the style of the nineteenth century, and Sam at once grasped the fact that her back- ground, her dignity, and her age were all parts of her stock in trade. He rose to meet her, and Dolan, following his example, lumbered to his feet. Miss Livingston bowed formally, but did not offer her hand, regarding her visitors with a marked lack of enthusiasm through a single Oxford that she held to her right eye. Without the least effect of graciousness, she motioned them to resume their seats and es- tablished herself in a straight-back chair, in which she was reminiscent of Queen Victoria on her throne “I presume you have come about this de- plorable affair of last night,” she said coldly, without preamble, in a rather harsh voice, much inflected. 130 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Yes,” Sam told her. "It is our duty to interrogate every possible source of informa- tion, though Inspector Dolan and I have no expectation that you can have anything of value to tell.” “I have not,” Miss Livingston agreed. “I was amazed when I read this morning that the young woman was dead. I simply took it for granted that she was intoxicated.” “Then you saw her?” Inspector Dolan snapped out his question before Sam recov- ered his breath. "Certainly I saw her.” Miss Livingston brought her single eye-glass into play. “I put her on the elevator. She was not a person I knew socially and from her costume it was ob- vious that she was to be a guest at a party go- ing on in the penthouse on the twelfth floor. To place her where she would find friends to care for her in her inebriated condition appeared the reasonable thing to do." "It didn't occur to you to take her in and care for her here?” Again it was the Inspector who spoke and again he was transfixed DEATH WEARS A MASK 181 by the piercing eye behind that single eye- glass. "It did not. I told you that I did not know the young woman and, regarding her condi- tion as—undignified, shall we say?-I had no desire to do anything that might lead to an acquaintance.” "Had you no suspicion that she was-in- jured?” Sam inquired, in a low tone. Miss Livingston looked at him more kindly and volunteered an explanation. “The smell of liquor was quite strong.” (As well it might be, considering how much had spilled, due to Sam's shaking hand.) “I thought her a beautiful if deplorable figure. She wore a little black mask and I presume was heavily made up. There was no pallor. Nothing to make one suspect anything other than what I did suspect." “Mrs. Thorne was never intoxicated in her life.” A hint of indignation in Sam's defense of Consuela caused Miss Livingston to harden. “There was no way for me to know that,” 132 DEATH WEARS A MASK she asserted. “I explained before that I was not acquainted with her.” Sam rose. Nothing was to be gained by pro- longing this interview. “I judge that is all, Inspector?” “Just one question,” said Dolan. “How did you happen to discover the body, Miss Liv- ingston? Were you coming home?" "No." Miss Livingston almost smiled. "It was the night of a weekly bridge party that was called off because of the storm. No, I didn't go out. Before I go to bed it is my habit to open the door from the foyer to make sure that the light in the vestibule is not left burn- ing all night. Little economies now are the order of the day. Under the circumstances, it hardly seemed sensible to leave Mrs.—” She paused, questioningly. “Mrs. Thorne?” Sam supplied the name. “Mrs. Thorne alone there. Consequently I took the action that I considered wise." Her tone said clearly that she did not expect any- one to have the temerity to dispute her wis- dom. DEATH WEARS A MASK 133 “Thank you,” said Sam. “I think you have made your position abundantly plain.” For the life of him he could not help resenting her attitude toward Connie, although he acknowl- edged the logic of it. “I really think your name needn't be mentioned. Need it, Inspec- tor? What Miss Livingston has told us has cleared up a point that was important only because it was obscure.” · Miss Livingston raised her fine eyebrows. "It hardly matters,” she declared. “My po- sition is unassailable. No mere accident can affect me.” So poor Connie, for all her importance in the headlines, had become a "mere accident." Miss Livingston rang for the servant to open the door for them, and they left in si- lence. Once in the elevator, Dolan exploded. “The damn' old cockatoo! I don't suppose she killed the poor girl, but that's not sayin' I don't think she's equal to it.” “And now what next?” Sam asked. Already his early energy was sapped. He was begin- 134 DEATH WEARS A MASK ning to feel weary and the day had hardly begun. “What about the poor lady's funeral?” Do- lan inquired, unexpectedly. "In all the years I've known her, I never heard of any relatives. I presume Hugh Oli- ver, her fiancé, will want to arrange it. You have the address of her apartment and I sup- pose the body can be moved there today?” “Soon as the Medical Examiner gives per- mission,” Dolan replied. “An' it was a true word you spoke when you said you didn't read the papers. Not even the morning ones, I'd add.” . His tone was portentous enough to startle Sam. “What have I missed ?” he demanded. “This here now Hugh Oliver sent in a state- ment for publication early last night to all the newspaper offices. It said they must have misunderstood Mrs. Thorne, and to save her embarrassment he wished it understood that no engagement between them existed. He was going into theatrical production and might DEATH WEARS A MASK 185 * star her, but there was no possibility of any other relation.” “The low cad!” cried Sam, remembering Connie's glowing happiness of the evening be- fore. That dagger was not the only stab aimed at her defenseless back. Dolan nodded approval. “That's what I thought myself,” he said. Chapter VIII "In all my experience in this Department,” said Dolan, helping himself to one of Sam's Corona Coronas and leaning back in his chair, "I never came across a case with so few clues. Even the weapon with which Mrs. Thorne was killed was her own. Her maid said the lady had had it as long as she'd been with her, and that's five years or more. Ever since her di- vorce, in fact.” “I could have told you that,” Sam volun- teered. “About the dagger, I mean. I gave it to Mrs. Thorne ten years ago. It was the sort of bizarre ornament that appealed to her. I had the edge rounded and for a while she wore it thrust through a coil of hair on top of her head. I used to think it was dangerous, but she said so were hatpins, which were universal at that date, and nobody worried about them. I hadn't seen it for ages. In fact, I'd forgotten all about it till I recognized it last night.” “So you saw it last night? Where?” Dolan 136 DEATH WEARS A MASK 137 asked, sharp suspicion in his keen stare; and Sam was aware of the pitfall he had prepared for himself. “In the elevator,” he answered, with appar- ent frankness. “I told you I made the first tests to determine if she were alive before I called for doctors. I'm new at this sort of thing, In- spector. I think I was afraid of a panic among the guests, 'way up there, eleven stories above the street. So when Ed Harris assured me that the hilt over her heart was part of her costume, I looked to find some other cause of death, and immediately I came across the dag- ger. I thought of fingerprints, so I never touched it. ... It was only too plain that noth- ing could be done for poor Mrs. Thorne. ... Did you find fingerprints?” he ended, with sudden curiosity. No recorded criminal had done this, he was sure, but fingerprints might make identification certain if an amateur mur- derer were captured. “With that crust of little diamonds on the hilt, tiny little chips, they are, all irregular, there couldn't be a useful fingerprint. If the 138 DEATH WEARS A MASK murderer had picked the weapon with that in mind, he couldn't have made a better choice. No, this thing isn't that easy. You and me are up a tree together, Commissioner. Only I've got to warn you I'm sitting prettier'n you are. McCurdy hasn't suspected me yet, but he's got handcuffs oiled all ready for you the first slip you make.” Dolan laughed, a fat and facile laugh. He didn't think Sam had anything to do with the crime. No Police-Commissioner committed murder except in some fool story-book that there ought to be a law against. Even once or twice when Commissioner Mellon had said something that sounded funny he had kept a tight hold on that fact. "Now," said Sam, who had picked up the paper and read frowningly the paragraph Hugh Oliver had released for publication, "in view of this”-he tapped it with his fore- finger—“I don't know who will take charge of the funeral arrangements. I think it probable that duty will devolve on my niece and Miss Alix Ruland.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 139 "The actress?" Dolan was interested. “I saw her once in that play called 'Other Men's Wives. She was great.” “Yes, she's a talented actress and a sweet soul. I rather think she's as intimate a friend as Mrs. Thorne had. At all events, if I can't help you in any way, I think I'd better go up and see her. If no one else has the matter in hand, we will have to make the arrangements." “The funeral must be entirely private,” Do- lan warned. “Otherwise you've no idea what a flock of cranks'll push in. Just out of curiosity. You ain't too young to remem- ber when Valentino died. ... Well, so long. You've only got to let me know if you want me." Sam heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed on Dolan's broad back. He not only could now go to see Alix without directing suspicion toward her; he had an excellent rea- son for going. He took up the telephone and called the Gotham, asking to be put through to Miss Ruland's suite. Her maid answered the call 140 DEATH WEARS A MASK to say that Miss Ruland was out. No, she did not know when she would be in. “This is Mr. Mellon speaking,” Sam said. “Miss Ruland left no message for me?" There was a momentary hesitation. "No," the woman said, “she left no message. Only, Mr. Mellon, I don't think she would mind if I told you where she's gone. A-may, Mrs. Thorne's maid, called her, all panicky. She meant to do right, only she didn't know what to do, and not a soul had come near her to give her any orders.” "So Miss Ruland went there. That was kind,” Sam said. “I'll arrange that she has help.” He hung up. His first thought was to send Louise to assist Alix. He reconsidered that. After all, a man was needed, and his position would enable him to have the place guarded from intrusion, if necessary. When he had seen Alix he could call Louise to help her. For various reasons it would be well for her to be associated with friendly services to Consuela Thorne. DEATH WEARS A MASK 141 He left home on foot and, mindful of Do- lan's hint about McCurdy's interest in his movements, let two taxis pass to jump hur- riedly into the third that hailed him, telling the man to drive to Connie's address in West Fifty-Fifth Street, just off Fifth Avenue. To his annoyance, he found a little crowd, composed largely of newspaper men, collected around the low doorstep. These greeted him as a boon from heaven. Here at last was some one who must know something and in whose power it was to obtain their admission to premises from which they had been excluded. The Commissioner stopped and looked them over with an eye in which they searched in vain for any sign of softening. “The knights of the press!” he exclaimed. “Do you take yourselves off voluntarily or do I call in a few large men with shiny buttons to assist the dispersal?” "Aw now, C'missioner, have a heart!” one ingenuous cub burst forth. “Here's the grand- est front-page sensation since Cain killed 142 DEATH WEARS A MASK Abel, and Micky Flinn got a beat on it for that lousy Transcript.” "So Micky was the Sister of Charity who took to the fire escape?" No flash of conscious- ness greeting this sally, Sam, his eyes flicker- ing from face to face, was forced to conclude either that it was not Micky who had fled by the back way or that these men were ignorant of how the news had reached the street. “Never mind that now. It's immaterial. What you all want is to get in here, isn't it? Well, lads, you're wasting your time. There will be no pandering to morbid curiosity in this case. Those are my orders and I mean to see that they stick.” He turned his back as an auda- cious youth leveled a camera, and was admit- ted by a policeman stationed within, who had recognized him through the wrought-iron grille that protected the glass door. “Good work!” Sam thought. He might have known that Dolan would not neglect Connie's residence as a possible source of information. The place was an unpretentious selection DEATH WEARS A MASK 143 for Mrs. Harvey Thorne, in view of the in- come Harvey allowed her. Two old-style houses had been combined, the tall front stoops removed, the interiors divided in vari- ous ways to create a number of small apart- ments. There was no elevator. Consuela had defended her choice by saying it was only a place to sleep. In fact, she preferred being entertained to entertaining and found it con- venient to plead lack of facilities for return- ing social favors. On the second floor, she had a reception-room, bedroom, and bath, entirely modern in design and decoration; a kitchen- ette with a breakfast alcove, and a single room with bath, adequate for a child or a maid. Aimée occupied this and opened the door of the apartment to Sam with every evidence of relief, ignoring the policeman who stood guard in the hall without. As he anticipated, Alix was there before him. Perhaps the things that most appealed to him in Alix Ruland were the twinkle in her eyes, that showed instant response to any hu- 144 DEATH WEARS A MASK morous situation, and her ever-ready sym- pathy. The humor was quenched now and it was a sad and serious girl who greeted him. Five years younger, taller than Connie and almost as slender, Alix Ruland was before all else graceful. Hers was not the cultivated grace of a dancer, but the exact coördination of every part of a perfectly proportioned body. It was only after her grace had been noted that her face was studied, and then the conclusion usu- ally was that her charm lay in the play of her expression rather than in her features. Her eyes were dark, not especially large, but well set and long-lashed; her hair, dark brown and waved, whether by nature or art it was impos- sible to tell. Her mouth, generous in its curves, was only lightly touched with lip-stick. Of her nose she was wont to remark, sadly, “The less said of it the better." No one save herself found any fault with it. It remains to be said that for a woman of her age she had attained a remarkable position in her profession. She met Sam in silence with outstretched DEATH WEARS A MASK 145 hand. Then, when they had seated themselves, she went directly to the point. “Aimée has something to tell you, Sam. Something she has been in doubt whether or not to tell the police.” “But I am the police,” Sam pointed out, with entire seriousness. Alix shook her head in its small brown hat that went so well with her tweeds and cross- fox furs. “Not the police she's afraid of, Sam. You're not the kind to make a mountain out of a mole- hill. And this probably is only a molehill. Tell him, Aimée.” “It is a strange woman, m'sieur, who has come again and again demanding madame.” "A strange woman? Do you mean a stran- ger to Mrs. Thorne, Aimée?” “That, too, perhaps.” Aimée nodded ener- getically. Also I mean she was strange. Un- like anyone I had ever seen—and very bold, m'sieur.” "They often are,” Sam agreed. “It's likely she had something to sell.” 146 DEATH WEARS A MASK "Non, non, non!” Aimée was very positive in her rejection of this suggestion. “It is true she had not an air of fashion, but she had dis- tinction. You will understand, madamoiselle, when I say I found it difficult to refuse her when she commanded me to admit her. She was not used to being disobeyed, and I was glad each time she came when the door was safely closed between us. There was something to fear about her.” “Would you ever have thought this had it not been for what happened last night?” Sam inquired, his native shrewdness to the fore. “M'sieur, I thought of it and spoke of it often to madame. I even begged that at least she tell you of the visits. She only laughed.” “Was this a large woman?” Sam was try- ing to find a reason for a fear that evidently was not assumed. “Little like a sparrow—and brown. And weak, too. Once when she pressed against the door I closed it easily." “When did you first see her??? “Two months agoa little more when DEATH WEARS A MASK 147 ma ca madame returned from the Hot Springs. She came, a card in her hand like any visitor; only, after I said madame was out she would not leave the card.” “And then?” “She came again and yet again, and of late she has come still more frequently." “Did Mrs. Thorne never receive her?” "Never. The first few times she was really out. Then she gave me orders not to admit a little lady in black silk.” "Had you described her?” Sam asked sharply. “I might have. Her attire was unusual. Only you know madame was not greatly in- terested in other people. She was not a patient listener. Yet this lady seemed to amuse her. She would say, when she came in, 'Comment ça va, Aimée? Did your bête noir call to- day?" "About her clothes, Aimée. You speak as if they were remarkable.” Alix made this suggestion. “They were different. Not modish, made- 148 DEATH WEARS A MASK moiselle, though expensive. Black silk-al- ways black silk. Such things, to be made as hers were made, must be the work of skilled needlewomen. Special orders. The shops, as mademoiselle knows, they follow the style. It is always the dernier cri with them.” It was plain that Aimée had a respect for the little woman like a sparrow who dared to dress as she pleased at great expense; for now she further elaborated the theme, addressing herself to Alix; while Sam, recognizing that deep was calling to deep, preserved his silence. “And her hats. You would need to see them to believe.” “Big?” Alix had a vision of waving ostrich plumes. "Non, non, but little, mademoiselle, set right on the top of the head without coquetry; and, as if that were not enough, tied under the chin, so, and so.” The maid graphically imi- tated the tying of a bow. “Ma foi, she would not need to fear a gust on the top of the Em- pire State Building.” Aimée paused, perhaps for lack of breath. DEATH WEARS A MASK 149 "How old was this lady?” The woman was patently puzzled by this question of Sam's, and he amended it. "I mean was she of an age to be a rival of Mrs. Thorne's?" The Frenchwoman's face cleared. "Impossible. She could have been madame's mother. Not that I think she was. Her hair was black without a thread of gray. Her skin was sallow as an Italian's. There were deep lines here and here.” Her gesture sketched wrinkles from nose to mouth. “Also, beside the eyes were many, like cracks in glass. She was clearly past the years of romance.” "You say Mrs. Thorne gave orders not to admit her. Do you think she knew who it was?” Aimée pondered this for some time without replying. She was an intelligent French- woman, herself beyond the age of coquetry, as she might have phrased it, and even before the recent fatality she had been greatly con- cerned about the strange little visitor. "I do not believe they were acquainted, if 150 DEATH WEARS A MASK that is what you mean,” she declared at last. “Yet I am sure madame knew who the other was. Knew and held her in a certain contempt, as if they were at odds and she was sure of winning the game, whatever it was.” "I wonder,” Alix said, ruminatively, “why the visitor never wrote?” At her words a flood of crimson spread over the serving-woman's face. She had a certain sturdy pride in her own integrity. “Mademoiselle, she did write just once. She left the note with me and I handed it to madame without a word. She opened it, then she laughed aloud and tore it in four pieces. These she threw in her waste-basket. You shall see. For I, who do not spy upon my employ- ers, I confess I was inquisitive. I put them to- gether-so!” From her apron pocket she drew a double sheet of paper, torn, as she had de- scribed it, in four pieces, and spread these on the table with a dramatic gesture. It was expensive paper, heavy, of a deep lavender color, and diffused a curious scent. Alix held a piece close to her nose and sniffed. DEATH WEARS A MASK : 151 “Curiouser and curiouser,” said Alice. That is an odor familiar to my childhood. I can't give a name to it. I'll remember sooner or later. Gently Sam took the torn fragment from her slender fingers and added it to the others on the table. In a handwriting that was spidery and of a past elegance, the words were clear. You would be better advised to see me. There was neither salutation nor valedic- tory. No hint of friendliness or of threat, yet the sentence held a curiously chilling menace to the three who read it. Sam was the first to tear his eyes away from the thin and flowing lines in that handwriting of another era. "Is that all you know of the matter, Aimée?” “Not quite, m'sieur. I have acknowledged that I was curious. One day I was returning from doing our little shopping; fruit for madame's breakfast, cream, a sweetbread for her lunch next day; when I saw the little lady O - - 152 DEATH WEARS A MASK in black on the opposite pavement. I had no doubt she had rung our doorbell without re- sponse. She was what madame would have called ‘scuttling.' Moving on the street as if pursued. I turned and followed.” The woman hesitated. “Go on,” Alix spoke with gentle insistence. “You had not told me this, Aimée.” “Nothing really came of it,” Aimée owned. “Simply I was more sure than ever of the lady's position. On Sixth Avenue a large, shining car was standing, a footman ready at the door; he flung it open, she hopped in with the quick movement of a timid bird. In an in- stant the man took his place and the car started. Started so fast that it flashed into my mind that its engine must have been running, after the fashion of the gangsters in the films." "Did you take its number?” Aimée shook her head. “That is not a thing a woman observes, m’sieur. I occupied myself in thinking how clever I had been to discern that this strange little person was a lady of position. For the DEATH WEARS A MASK 153 car was very handsome and very valuable, that I am sure.” “The footman was uniformed, of course.” "He was, m’sieur. But it is not as in the old days when a family might be known by its livery. The car was a dark green, almost black, and the cloth of the man's coat was, as was proper, an exact match." "How do you happen to speak such excel- lent English, Aimée?” Sam asked, abruptly. The woman smiled. “I have never seen France. I was born in London and went to school there. It was meant that I should be a governess to young children. French was talked in my home. My father was chef in a restaurant. Having no serious talent for cooking and not caring for children, I came here—you will laugh, m’sieur -because I read a book about explorations and wanted to see with my own eyes the red Indians of New York!” Alix still had her mind on the problem of the little woman in black. “Tonka bean!” she exclaimed, triumphantly. 154 DEATH WEARS A MASK “I have one in my great-great-grandfather's snuff-box, and even in grandmamma's day Southern ladies carried them in their pockets and laid them among their handkerchiefs. Now I wonder—” She stopped abruptly and changed the subject. “Tell me, Aimée, when the automobile drove away, what did you do?” "Me?” Aimée was surprised. “I came home with my shoppings. Just in time to admit M'sieur Oliver, who, in fact, was awaiting me on the doorstep.” Chapter IX “Mr. Oliver has not communicated with the apartment here?" Sam demanded. Aimée shook her head. "M'sieur Oliver must be crazy with grief—” she began. It was Alix who interrupted her, speaking with a harshness unusual in one so gentle. “After what was in the papers this morn- ing, I have no faith in Mr. Oliver's affection for Mrs. Thorne. He didn't show her even de- cent respect in disavowing their engagement publicly." “You're right.” Sam's concurrence was heartily positive. “The man must be an utter cad. I wish Connie had a brother to take on the job of horsewhipping him.” Aimée made a motion as if craving permis- sion to speak. “Yes, Aimée?” Alix addressed her. “There is something else you have thought of?” “No, mademoiselle, nothing new. Only I 155 156 DEATH WEARS A MASK ask permission to say you are wrong. It seems a dreadful thing that M'sieur Oliver has done. A cruel thing. Yet there must be some expla- nation. Never doubt that he loved my mistress. You would only need to see his eyes follow- ing her everywhere to know that. To see him touch the least thing belonging to her. It was a great passion. She had an attraction for him that he could not resist. He he was enslaved by her-enchanted. Had she been a snake and he a little bird he would have hop-hop-hopped right down her throat. I do not know where M'sieur Oliver is that he has not come here; but wherever that may be, he is, I am sure, a man crushed-heartbroken.” Aimée had made a good special plea. “Meanwhile,” Sam said dryly, taking this, nevertheless, for a bit of Gallic effusiveness due to generosity on the part of Oliver, “it de- volves on some one else to make the necessary arrangements. I presume there's little hope Mrs. Thorne was far-sighted enough to make a will? Few young women can bring them- selves to do that.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 167 d. near Aimée threw up her hands in the attitude of one astounded. "The letter” she stammered, "the letter for m'sieur. Why didn't I remember it before? Certainly I am beside myself. It is 'in madame's escritoire. She showed it to me again not a week ago.” The woman went to the desk that stood near a front window, to return carrying an enve- lope in her hand, which she held out to Sam with a gesture of apology. "It is for you, m'sieur.” Having turned over to him the strong ma- nila envelope, very unlike Consuela's usual ornate taste in stationery, Aimée, with innate delicacy, left the room, murmuring that she would be in her quarters within call of the bell if needed. Sam slit open the tough paper with a paper- knife Alix handed to him and took out two documents. One was unmistakably a formal will. The other was a letter to Sam. Tears, unashamed, stood in his eyes as he saw that it began, Dear old Sammie: 158 DEATH WEARS A MASK You are, I believe, the nearest thing to a friend that I possess ex- cept, possibly, Harvey, and I've im- posed on him so much that I shall spare him now, at your expense. After all, I treated you better than I treated him. At least I didn't marry you. I want you to act as sole executor of my estate, be it large or small. My will is not complicated. I leave every- thing to Harvey, save two thousand dollars to Aimée Cocteau. Sell my effects, other than the square em- erald ring which I wish Alix to have. This is repetition. You will find the dull details set forth legally in the accompanying Last Will and Testament. I think it very unlikely that any- one will make a claim as a relation, but to warn you against such a pos- sible fraudulent claimant, you can verify the fact that I was a found- DEATH WEARS A MASK 159 ling, abandoned in the traditional manner on the doorstep of Captain Seth Winthrop's house in Salem, Massachusetts. The story does not go on in story-book fashion. I did not become the light of their eyes and the comfort of their old age. Neither Captain Winthrop nor his wife being interested in a red-headed, nameless infant, I was turned over to the Poor Farm. I shall not go into any further details of my delightful childhood. I escaped by running away. I flatter myself that I have some strength of character and perhaps some of the histrionic ability you always refused to allow me, because I had vowed to learn to act like a lady and I claim I gave a creditable imitation. I sup- pose you can't be the real thing un- less you are born to it. If I go out with the band playing, the lights flaring, and a jolly good time being had by all, you are not 160 DEATH WEARS A MASK to be sorry. Look up at the sky some night and when a nice bright star twinkles down, say: "There's Connie winking at me. I'm glad she went when she did. She had nothing that would have helped her to bear defeat or even old age. It's hard for a girl to be born without a name even harder to be born without a heart. She had some good times and I don't grudge her one of them, no matter what they cost. Cheerio, Con.” And somewhere, Sam, I'll be say- ing cheerio to you. CONSUELA. Having read it, he handed it to Alix with- out comment and began to glance through the will. It was exactly as Connie had written, and uncomplicated by further instructions or bequests save that she left to Sam a small bronze figurine that he had claimed was enough like her to be a portrait. When he turned again to Alix she was weeping without disguise. DEATH WEARS A MASK 161 "It is so sad, so unbearably sad,” she sobbed, "to think that under all her fire and glitter there was hidden so much bitterness.” “There was more bitterness than I ever sus- pected and more heart than she ever owned to, even at the last.” Sam picked the letter off Alix's knee where it had fallen, folded it, and replaced it in the envelope with the will. “Knowing her beginnings explains her savage determination to justify her pride in herself. I can't be sorry she died before she had made a failure, because you can see she dreaded it.... Now I want to call Louise to help you. Then I'll arrange the details of the funeral and tell Dolan what I've done. Also that I'm the exec- utor in charge of her estate. That will make my directing things here more natural.” “Had Connie anything to leave?” “Strangely enough, she may have had con- siderable. Ed told me she had made a lot of money since Oliver had been advising her about her operations. That man appears to have the Midas touch.” “About the little lady in black?” Alix asked. “Do you think the police should be told? The I . 162 DEATH WEARS A MASK whole tenor of that letter seems to indicate Connie's belief that her life might be short.” “Yes,” Sam agreed. “But that might have been only a premonition, soon forgotten in the ordinary course of events. However, I do think Dolan should know of it.” He felt that he was concealing far too much from Dolan already, to add the serving-maid's contribu- tion to the list unnecessarily. “You'd better prepare Aimée for Dolan. He's something of a rough diamond.” Alix went to talk to Aimée and Sam hur- ried through his proposed program. When she rejoined him, he had just hung up with finality. "I offered to come here to stay or to send Mary,” she began, abruptly. “Aimée's only fear was of a return of the little black lady, and when I told her the police guard would not permit her to enter, she said she did not mind staying alone. She is quite without su- perstitious fears. However, she has a married friend, a Mrs. Milhau, who has been here once DEATH WEARS A MASK. 168 already today and who will return later, pre- pared to remain. I think that is a satisfactory arrangement.” "Couldn't be better,” Sam agreed. “I'll no- tify the men at once that Mrs. Milhau is to be admitted, as well as Louise.” He opened the door and sent the guard there downstairs to pass the order on to his mates. When he turned back into the room, Alix had resumed her seat and he placed himself beside her. “Sam,” she said, deliberately, “I've a con- fession to make.” Sam's heart stood still. All his suspicions on learning the ownership of the white mask trooped back upon him in full force. “Fire away,” he returned, vainly trying to steady his voice. “When Louise telephoned to me, I couldn't understand, and this morning, when I read the account, I thought that you had killed Con- nie and perhaps were afraid that I knew some- thing—or at least that I would be forced to testify because I saw her last night in your 164 DEATH WEARS A MASK apartment-” She broke off, uncertain how Sam was taking her revelation. "Well then,” said Sam, “I've a confession to make, too. When I found your mask under the bench where Connie was seated, I thought it was Louise's. Since she had hers all right, I jumped to the conclusion that it was yours and that you knew something of the murder. So you see that we were equally foolish.” Instead of relief on Alix's face, Sam sur- prised a look of horror. “You found my mask under the bench where Connie was seated?” She whispered the words as if she could hardly trust the evidence of her own ears. “You mean she was dead when you found it there?” “Yes,” said Sam. “Pull yourself together, Alix. You mustn't go to pieces now. Dolan may be here any minute. I found her, and sus- pecting Louise because of the mask, I was forced to conceal that the crime had occurred there. Then when I learned that Louise was definitely out of it, I had you to consider in- stead. I arranged the disposal of the body. DEATH WEARS A MASK 165 It was horrible, but forget all that. It's done and can't be undone. I want to learn exactly what happened on your arrival on the scene." With an almost heroic effort Alix controlled even the trembling of her hands. "I passed Louise, who was going home with one of her terrible headaches. I told her to leave the door open because I expected Gor- man to follow me — " "Did he?" "No. There wasn't time. I stayed only a few minutes. As soon as I went in, Connie flew at me and told me of her engagement and that Hugh had secured the play that I thought was mine. I-I was terribly dis- tressed, Sam. You see, I had told Connie how much I wanted that particular play and what a wonderful find I considered it. Of course I realize now that she probably hadn't listened to me. As Aimée said, she was a bad listener. At the time, it seemed to me that she had delib- erately seized on what she knew I considered desirable and the loss of it marked for me the downfall of all my ambitions. It was the ve- 166 DEATH WEARS A MASK hicle I had been searching for for three years. I don't believe I can make you understand what a blow it was. I said something about its being my play. She laughed and declared that she needed it far more than I did—something like that. I felt queer-almost sick—and after congratulating her and hearing that you were mixing cocktails, I made an excuse of go- ing to find Gorman and went down again, leaving her alone. He was still in the entrance hall, where I had left him with quite a crowd. Until I saw them, I'd forgotten that I was unmasked. Then I realized that I had lost my loup, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to the party. I simply couldn't. I drew Gor- man to one side and told him the news, and of course he was furious. He simply raved. He had played fast and loose with the idea, but once he had given in on price, he considered the play his property. He insisted that his was the prior claim. The agents had no right to enter into negotiations with any other party until they had broken with him. He'd produce their correspondence. He'd get an injunction. DEATH WEARS A MASK 167 arou I urged him not to make up his mind to any such action. Connie and I were friends. It was too late. He simply snorted, throwing his head around like a bull—you remember the way he has—and I saw he wasn't listening to me. Anyway, that was no place to talk busi- ness, so I told him I was going home, and went!” “Alix, do you remember if you closed my door when you left Connie?" Alix wrinkled her brow in an effort at con- centration. "Honestly, Sam, I can't say that I remem- ber; but I don't believe I did. I had a sort of coronation robe for Josephine, that I'd worn as an evening wrap, hung over my arm. I'd taken it off because people were stepping all over it in the hall. It was heavy. Burdensome to carry, and I don't believe I thought of the door or the light or anything but running away to hide my disappointment.” Sam bit the ivory paper-cutter reflectively. “That explains how another person got in without ringing the bell. I guess we can take 168 DEATH WEARS A MASK it as proved that the door was open. Your ring was the only one after Connie came.” “Then it was my fault that she was killed.” “Not at all. I wasn't answering the bell. I'd told Louise to do it and I didn't know she was gone. To my mind another ring would only have called for the addition of a couple more cocktails. And Connie would have opened it. Ed was expected, you know. It simply means that I have no data on how many more visitors I may have had.” “Do you think you'll ever find out who did it?” “Dolan's a sort of bulldog. He may. Per- sonally, at the moment I've not even a sus- picion” (he justified this statement by think- ing that he didn't-couldn't-suspect Thorne), "unless the lady in black silk offers a peg to hang one on. Of course if he knew of it, the Inspector'd be warranted in accusing me of confusing the case by removing the body; yet I swear to you, Alix, that there wasn't a thing to point to the presence on the scene of any other person except your little white mask.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 169 “Then I am the legitimate suspect.” Alix drew a long breath. “You must tell Dolan that I was there, Sam, and that you found my mask. I won't do a thing to increase the difficulties of the police." "Bless your heart," Sam said, sardonically. "And what about my personal difficulties? Connie killed in my apartment with a dagger I gave her, on the very night that her engage- ment to another man had been announced. And, to cap the climax, I removed the body. Sweet child, once the detectives of the Homi- cide Squad attach themselves to me in a seri- ous way they need not trouble to look any farther; and believe me, they'd like nothing better than to be saved the trouble. Can you think of greater glory for any man on the force than to lock the handcuffs on the Police Commissioner?” On the whole, Sam and Detective McCurdy were of much the same mind in this matter. Not knowing this, Alix yet stared at him, a new and horrifying dread clutching at her heart. Chapter X It was not on his own account solely that Sam wished to enforce silence upon Alix. While he himself was freed of all doubts of her, he saw only too clearly that her burning desire for the play Consuela had secured would furnish in the minds of the police an entirely adequate motive for ending Connie's unwel- come rivalry. He had thought of that the mo- ment he learned that the mask belonged to her and not to Louise; but he had failed to realize the intensity of her disappointment until she had voiced it herself. Also, her leaving the party unceremoniously, as she had, was unfor- tunate. If that became known, it would be hard to account for it. Louise's headache had so far not aroused suspicion; while another lady in costume departing incontinently, might attract attention to both of them. Once more he assured himself that there was no course save silence open to him. Louise's arrival was calming. On the sur- face, she was usually placid and now she pur- 170 DEATH WEARS A MASK 171 posely accentuated her placidity. Louise was far from being a stupid young woman and op- portunity for reflection had assured her that they must proceed warily or they would find themselves with a most alarming scandal in the family. Her own departure from the or- deal of the masquerade had been most un- fortunate. Had she waited, probably nothing tragic would have happened, while the police might not be so ready as her uncle to see noth- ing ambiguous in that migraine. She and Alix greeted each other affection- ately, and had begun a low-voiced discussion of the details of the funeral when Inspector Dolan was announced. Sam was amused to observe that the mighty Inspector was manifestly impressed by the company in which he found himself. He had admired Miss Ruland on the stage, and Mrs. Harris's blond elegance was of the opulent type that made an immediate conquest of him. Under their influence he forgot to be intimi- dating even to Aimée, who told her story as before, both clearly and convincingly. He acknowledged the distinguished car with 172 DEATH WEARS A MASK its two men to be a promising lead, but on one point he remained unsatisfied. “What was it scared you about this little old woman?” he demanded. “You were younger than she was and stronger. I can't for the life of me see why you were afraid of her.” Aimée shrugged her shoulders with a cer- tain effect of ashamed embarrassment. "Perhaps it is like this,” she suggested. “When I was a child, on the way to bed I had to pass a closet door. Always I ran. My mother showed me that there was nothing there to alarm, and for that day I was content. The next day it was the same as before. Some- thing could hide there to jump out on me and, although nothing ever did, I was still afraid. So with this little lady. When she was safely gone I would say to myself, ‘But, Aimée, you fool, she is harmless.' Then when she came again I seemed to turn to jelly as before. I cannot say if it was her voice, so flat, so hard; or her eyes so cold; or her few words, which seemed to mean so much that she never said. She terrified me." DEATH WEARS A MASK 173 “Did your mistress seem afraid of her?” “M'sieur, I do not know. The more she had feared the more she would have made a jest of fear. Two things lead me to say she was not afraid. She was contemptuous of the strange lady. Must one not have a respect for what one fears?" “Yes, yes, Aimée. You're right!” Alix ex- claimed, impetuously. Dolan remained stolid. He wasn't sure he followed her reasoning, but he made a note of it in his notebook. “You said two things—” He held his pencil poised. "Madame would never receive her,” Aimée answered, as if this explained much. Dolan stared at her, his small eyes widening in surprise. "Surely that shows she was afraid? Surelee!” Aimée shook her head in obstinate contra- diction. “It might with some. Not with my mistress. She had an inquisitiveness of the emotions. I feel sure that had she been afraid she would 174 DEATH WEARS A MASK have invited the lady in, if only to discover how one shuddered in such circumstances.” Dolan looked helplessly at the others to see how this abstract analysis struck them. “Do you make sense of that?” he inquired. Alix and Louise exchanged glances and Louise spoke: “Mrs. Thorne was a complex character, but the fact that she made a will leads me to think that she was afraid. That is, unless she had been ill. How about that, Aimée? Had Mrs. Thorne consulted a doctor recently?" “Never in the years I have been with her," Aimée asserted. “She had not even little sick- nesses like other people.” "You would have known of it?" Dolan again poised his pencil. Aimée shrugged her shoulders. “Who can say? For a reason, madame might have kept her own counsel. Here, I can see no reason. She ate, she slept, she amused hér- self, she complained of nothing except some- times of her luck in the stock market or at bridge. When she went to the dentist she told DEATH WEARS A MASK 175 me. She never mentioned a doctor and rarely took medicine. Her health seemed perfect.” The rest of the day wore through somehow without new developments, and when Sam reached home he was too tired to be pleased when Sing, hearing the sound of his key in the lock, met him with the news that there was a lady waiting for him. A lady waiting to see him indicated tea or cocktails, and Sam was in no mood for either, or for the gossip that would accompany the entertainment. He expected his visitor to be some casual acquaintance who had ventured on the intrusion, driven by a desire for inside information about the Thorne sensation. His surprise was intense, on entering his living-room, to find Miss Lucilla Livingston seated in the most uncompromising of his chairs, which she had selected with unerring judgment. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mellon,” she said. And when he had bowed before her and in- quired what he could do for her, being under no illusion that the pleasure of his society had 176 DEATH WEARS A MASK lured her there, her rejoinder furnished a fur- ther surprise. “You can get rid of that heathen who is listening at the pantry door,” she said, crisply. In a couple of swift strides Sam reached it and threw it open to catch Sing slipping into the butler's lavatory. He was indignant at this evidence of espion- age, but not ready at the moment to come to an issue with the man. Instead, he opened his notecase and took out some bills. "You are to go to Francis and Company's. Order and pay for a case of Italian vermouth. That they can send. Bring back with you a bottle of benedictine and a bottle of white mint. There's a retail store right there." “Sir, it will make me late with my dinner," Sing's tone was surly, and Sam faced him sternly. "I am aware of that, Sing, and the sooner you go the sooner you should be back.” There was no reply possible to this, short of open rebellion, and Sing went. DEATH WEARS A MASK 177 “When he has had time to be off, I would suggest that you bolt the back door so that he can't return unexpectedly,” Miss Livingston commanded rather than suggested. “What I have to say is not meant to go any farther- for the present.” There was something of menace in the cadences of the lady's voice, and Sam caught himself wondering if here before him was Aimée's little lady in black. But there was nothing birdlike about Miss Livingston. She was of a solid if dumpy figure and one not given to scurrying-or was it scuttling-along the street. Sam followed her instructions and returned to seat himself opposite to her. “We are quite alone,” he said, eager to be rid of his neighbor as quickly as possible. “Why did you murder Harvey Thorne's wife?" Miss Livingston demanded, bringing into play that devastating single eyeglass. Sam stared back at her, speechless with amazement. "Don't waste time denying it. I know you 178 DEATH WEARS A MASK did it. And I may tell you that it rests entirely with you whether I pass on the facts to the District Attorney." "IMI kill Connie?” Sam at last found his tongue. “What in God's name are you talking about?” “You killed her and you almost killed Har- vey Thorne,” his visitor snapped. “Don't try to impose on me. Cleverer men than you have tried it and failed.” “Would you mind telling me on what you base this accusation?” Sam asked, warily. In- stinctively he knew this old woman to be for- midable. A person whose evidence would carry weight on the witness stand and not one easily to be shifted from her purpose, whatever it might be. “Harvey Thorne paid you a visit last eve- ning, arriving just as you were finishing your dinner. He took coffee with you. You don't deny that?” “Why should I? It is quite true.” “You were alone when he got here, but later you gave him a hint that his divorced DEATH WEARS A MASK 179 wife might soon arrive. When he left you, he told you he was coming to see me. Then, for some reason best known to yourself, you killed Mrs. Thorne and, wishing to make it appear as if he had done it, you placed her in my vesti- bule. I can swear to this. I heard you start the elevator from your landing, come to mine, throw open the door, carry something out, and instantly make your way to the street level.” “You have very sharp ears," Sam said, in a vein of compliment. “Unfortunately for the value of your evidence, the question of identi- fication would be difficult. You heard, you say, but you saw nothing. Moreover, on one point of several, I must correct you. I did not know that Harvey was visiting you. I remember now that he said something as he pushed off in the elevator. 'I'm going' or 'I'm only going' were all I caught of his words. And far from wishing him to be suspected, I've been doing my utmost to keep from the police any knowl- edge of his presence in the city.” Seeing her look of incredulity, he added: “Are you aware 180 DEATH WEARS A MASK that he left an umbrella engraved with his ini- tials in the charge of the doorman, and if I hadn't trumped up a story about a friend of mine named Harry Thomas who had dressed for the masquerade in my apartment and who had forgotten his umbrella when escorting a lady home, it would have been handed over to the police with the added information that Harvey Thorne was still in the building?” “And so he is,” Miss Livingston admitted, grimly. “That's what I'm here for. To get him away promptly is the price of my silence. He's been half out of his mind since we found the body. Unfortunately, not knowing her, I called to him for help ". “You don't mean he came on it like that?” Sam's sympathy for his friend was too sincere to be mistaken. “Good God! How-how heart- rending." Miss Livingston softened a trifle and looked at Sam less inimically. "It was just that,” she agreed, “heart-rend- ing. Of course Harvey recognized her and thought only of her while I, seeing at once that DEATH WEARS A MASK 183 "Bless the man!” Miss Livingston snapped. "Do you think I carry this for ornament? The other eye's blind. It would be an affectation to use a double eyeglass. Forget about me. I want to get away before that sneaky boy of yours returns.” “I can tell my tale quickly if you don't de- mand details," Sam said. “Sing was out. My niece, Louise Harris, came, and then Connie. She insisted on a cocktail which I had to make with no ingredients ready. Lou went home with a headache. I found the apartment empty and was going to the Club when I came on Connie in the vestibule. She was quite dead. Indeed, the Medical Examiner says that death was instantaneous. What I would have done otherwise I don't know; but finding a white mask on the floor beside her, I got a wrong notion. I thought I had to protect Lou. Then when I discovered to whom the mask really belonged the obligation remained the same. I had Harvey in mind, too—I put Connie in your vestibule because I knew that by no stretch of the imagination could you be con- was Chapter XI “Why can't Harvey walk out of this apart- ment openly in daylight?” Sam's thoughts had harked back to the immediate necessity of safety for his friend. “Bill Martin's a good scout. Once on the yacht, Harvey'll find things to do that'll take his mind off his troubles.” “We daren't risk his walking out openly,” Miss Livingston said, “because the place is watched. If you don't know why, perhaps your fat friend who called on me with you does. That's a small reason. We might be able to get around it if Harvey would go, but he has made up his mind to stay here until he sees justice done.” “Aren't we men dumb?” Sam exclaimed, whole-heartedly. “What help could he be to justice shut up in a nice well-ventilated and advertised cell, awaiting trial on a capital charge? I'll have to see him. You didn't by any chance tell him that I was the murderer, did you?” 185 186 DEATH WEARS A MASK "I didn't.” Miss Livingston was almost be- trayed into a laugh. “And that's no thanks to any belief in your innocence, either. I was sure you were guilty; jealous, probably, of Hugh Oliver. No, I kept quiet because some arrange- ment with you seemed to offer my only hope of smuggling Harvey out of the country. I was prepared to bargain with you. My silence for his safety.” “So I gathered,” Sam said, dryly. “Sup- pose I drop in on you this evening? I'm ex- ecutor of Connie's will and I've , letter from her that I think may be a comfort to Harvey. At least it's a proof that even after five years' separation she cared more for him than she did for any other man.” “The complexities of the human heart are beyond human understanding,” remarked Miss Livingston, sententiously, as she rose. “We'll expect you about eight-thirty. Don't forget to unbolt your back door, young man, so that your Chinese junk can sail in.” Once the lady was gone, Sam began to go over what she had told him, and of a sud- DEATH WEARS A MASK 187 den, with blinding force was struck with what amounted to a certainty that Harvey Thorne was Consuela's slayer. That flamboyant article in the evening papers could hardly have es- caped him. Undoubtedly he had seen it and his call on the eighth floor was made for the ex- press purpose of locating his ex-wife. Then, when he had misunderstood Sam to the extent of imagining that Consuela was expected there, nothing could have been easier than to watch for her, concealed in the swarm of mas- queraders abready beginning to congregate in the entrance hall. He might even have gone back to the apartment, moved only by a desire to see Connie once again while she was still free, or to plead with her to return to him. And if Connie had been contemptuous, or as exasperating as no one else could be More than likely Thorne had thought he was hiding her engagement to Oliver in the hope that he had not heard of it. Sam tried to review their conversation in his mind. Most of it had been trivial. They had been separated for too many years for an easy 188 DEATH WEARS A MASK renewal of intercourse. Finally, Thorne had spoken of Connie and had made it abundantly clear that he had never recovered from his in- fatuation. Was he the sort of man who would rather see her dead than know her married to an- other? He had always seemed easy-going rather than intense, but he had revealed un- suspected depths of suffering when talking of his wife. Sam seized his head in his hands. Was suspi- cion in this case to be directed away from one of his friends only to settle more firmly on another? And if Harvey had slain his wife, what was he going to do about it? He, the Police Commissioner of New York City. One thing he was most certainly not going to do, and that was give the poor fool up to justice. Harvey had suffered much in his short adult life, and, if he had killed Connie, he would suffer still more in the future. He, his and her old friend, would spare him anything he could, DEATH WEARS A MASK 189 confident that that would have been Connie's wish. And after all, it could do the city no harm. He was not letting loose a habitual criminal to prey on it. He reached for his telephone with the idea of calling Bill Martin and finding out when his boat was to sail. Then he held his hand. He had a sudden flash of intuition-of warning- what if he himself were not freed from suspi- cion in the eyes of the police? Why was Sing spying on him? What if his wire were tapped? He might play right into their hands if he mentioned Harvey over the phone. He told himself that this was ludicrous- far fetched. The Commissioner of Police afraid of the force he commanded; but still he did not telephone. Sing, in a very bad temper, came in with the two bottles of liqueurs, gave Sam his change, and was walking back to his kitchen with the bottles, when his master stopped him. “You may leave those. They are a commis- sion. Ladies dislike to buy liquor for them- selves.” 190 DEATH WEARS A MASK “I am to deliver them for you?” Sing asked, awakening to a sudden interest. Sam concealed a smile. It hardly seemed likely that Sing cherished a passion for the movie-mad Eliza, but the thought was amus- ing and the liqueurs would furnish an excuse for his own call on his neighbor if he were watched, since any sudden intimacy might arouse interest. "No," he said. “I'll take them to Miss Live ingston myself before I go out this evening.” This visit was short and less harrowing than he had anticipated. Harvey looked ill, but was quite collected. Sam gave him Connie's letter, telling him to keep it if he wished, and advised him of the provisions of her will. Harvey shaded his eyes with his hand for a minute, then placed the let- ter in an inner pocket with the gentle words, “Thanks, Sam," and at once changed the sub- ject. “You have arranged about the funeral?” “Yes,” Sam replied. “It will be entirely DEATH WEARS A MASK 191 private. A simple service at the Little Church Around the Corner.” “And the interment?” Harvey's fingers, in- terlaced, showed the first sign of his nervous tension. "I shall have to buy a lot tomorrow. Unless, that is, I find a deed in her box at the State Trust Company." "Don't do that,” Harvey leaned toward him, touchingly moved. “Whatever you find, Connie is still my wife in my eyes. I want her buried with the Thornes, where I can sleep beside her when my time comes. Is there any objection to that? I'll give you a letter to Les- ter and Simpson, who have charge of all my affairs. They'll see to everything.” "No objection, old man," Sam hesitated. “Only I'd like you to be out of the country before it became known. It's sure to create talk and I don't want to see you hounded by reporters." "God, no!” Thorne passed a hand over his hair, brushing back the locks that had fallen forward on his forehead. “I'm in no state to 192 DEATH WEARS A MASK endure a probing of my reasons. I'll warn Lester to swear that I wirelessed him from Tahiti. No, that's too far. Where could I have had the news? Europe? It was probably in the Paris Herald. Connie was greatly admired there.” “Lester will know the best lie to tell,” Sam assured him, soothingly. “The thing for you to do is to get out of town as fast as you can.” “I'm not going.” Thorne's mouth set in a stubborn line. “I mean to find Connie's mur- derer, and then - " "And then?” Sam repeated, interrogatively. “Then I'll kill him with my naked hands.” The words burst forth savagely and Sam asked himself whether this was the longing for a just retribution or an attempt to act as Har- vey fancied an innocent man in his position would act. "You'd only hamper the officials if you stayed here, old man. But we'll talk of that later. Meanwhile suppose you give me that authorization for your lawyers?” Obediently Thorne went into his room to DEATH WEARS A MASK 193 write the necessary letter, and Miss Living- ston popped out of her own chamber to talk to Sam. "How do you find him?” she asked. “Amazingly calm,” Sam answered. “But I haven't yet broached any plan to get him away. To tell you the truth, I don't know what to suggest until I've seen Bill Martin. I hope to catch him at the Club when I leave here. After what you said about watchers, I had a sudden hunch that it might not be healthy to phone from my rooms." "That sounds like sense to me,” Miss Liv- ingston nodded. “I've notified my office that I have the grippe. My secretary is competent to carry on without me for a few days. I flatter myself my organization is wellnigh perfect. I'll stay on guard here and see that he doesn't go out or run any risks, but I'll be happier when he's gone." “Do you think you can manage him?" The question was so ridiculous that she did not even answer it. She, not to be able to man- age a mere man, forsooth! 194 DEATH WEARS A MASK Sam went close to her and spoke in a whisper. "Have you ever asked yourself if Harvey could have done this thing? In sudden jeal- ousy, perhaps. I mean to protect him, you understand. What you say will make no differ- ence with me, but I want the truth. What time last night did he get here?” Miss Livingston raised her single eyeglass from force of habit, then remembering Sam's objection to it, charitably let it fall to the end of its platinum chain. “Certainly I've considered it,” she returned, tartly. "I'm not a moron. And the answer is that I know positively that he did not do it, so don't give that another thought.” "How do you know?" Sam asked, naturally enough. Miss Livingston fronted him with an in- scrutable expression on her face. “I may tell you some day, all in good time,” she replied. And Sam noted that his most pertinent ques- tion remained unanswered. Sam finally ran Bill Martin down at- of all DEATH WEARS A MASK 195 impossible places to reach—the Aquarium, where, long after closing time, he was still deep in heated controversy with an authority on sponges and the lower forms of animal life to be found in tropical waters. Securing his attention under difficulties, Sam mentioned that Harvey wanted to know where the yacht was berthed and when he expected to sail? Whereupon Bill, an anæmic-looking, bald-headed little man with a sunburnt nose, burst forth into unexpectedly lurid language, a son of a sea cook being about the mildest epithet he applied to Harvey. "We were ready to sail today, but where is he, I ask you? He never came in last night. I've been looking for him everywhere, shout- ing about all over town — This alarmed Sam, anxious that Harvey's presence in the city should not be advertised; but it developed that Bill's idea of a thorough search was an amble through the Natural His- tory Museum and the Aquarium, murmuring to himself, "I wonder where the damn' fool has got to?" No harm had been done, and when the little 196 DEATH WEARS A MASK man (another who scorned the daily papers) þeard the startling news that they contained and that if it was learned that he was within reach, his friend might be in danger of deten- tion until the curiosity of reporters and police was satisfied, his one thought was to hasten their departure lest he find himself deprived of the services of an extra navigator and willing helper. The question of Harvey's innocence, complicity, or guilt never troubled a mind that found anemones and sea snails of far more importance than human beings. · It developed that Thorne's gear was already on board, that Bill would sleep on the yacht that night in order to be ready to sail as early as possible; and, promising to deliver Harvey not later than 10 A.M. the next day, Sam left him amid the coldly glistening tanks with their strange inhabitants, to the more congenial so- ciety of the controversial expert. It remained to get Harvey away from the apartment undetected, and that, when he took a survey of the surroundings, did not look so easy. DEATH WEARS A MASK 197 Rightly or wrongly, on his return he thought he marked down at least four un- necessary loiterers, plain-clothes men or re- porters, who would be equally dangerous, in the immediate vicinity of the entrance; while within the doors which Thady opened for him was no less a menace than Detective McCurdy. McCurdy did not welcome him home with any enthusiasm, but Thady was undisguisedly glad to see him. “Sure now, Mr. Mellon, can't ye tell this man to quit pesterin' me? I've told him all I know and he's all for puttin' words in me mouth that I never said at all.” Sam was in a quandary. To side with Thady would further antagonize McCurdy, whom al- ready he recognized as an enemy. He essayed a middle course, glancing humorously at the de- tective as though indulgent of old Thady's peculiarities. But McCurdy was not of a friendly nature. He averted his eyes even when the Commissioner addressed him jocularly: “What's it all about, McCurdy? Maybe I can help you out." 198 DEATH WEARS A MASK “It's about a lady, Mr. Mellon. A lady in a white nightgown, that went away early from the party. She was cryin', and that's God's truth if it was the last word ever I spoke. But I don't know her name, nor ever did. And that's no lie.” Thady had burst out in con- siderable indignation before McCurdy at- tempted to open his mouth. “A lady in a white nightgown?” Sam ad- dressed the detective, while his heart sank at this mention of Alix in her Josephine costume. “That would be a domino, of course. There were numbers of them of all colors, McCurdy. You must have noticed that.” “And was they all crying?” The detective muttered, belligerently. “A good many were," Sam returned. “There was a tragic interruption to that party.” "That come later, Mr. Mellon," Thady volunteered, and Sam heartily wished he could have prevented this utterance. “This young lady left quite early in the evenin.” “Are you sure of that, Thady?" Sam 200 DEATH WEARS A MASK nance manufactured evidence. Thady's an hon- est man and there's no use telling him what he thinks. You ought to have experience enough to know that such testimony won't stand up under cross-examination. I don't say forget about me, I merely suggest that you don't let the real culprit crawl between your feet while you are watching me.” No sooner had he said it than he was sorry. There was Harvey to get off, whether be- tween McCurdy's feet or slipping through his outstretched fingers he didn't care. But for the moment McCurdy was concentrating on the tearful girl, and Sam brought the con- versation back to her: “If you really want to know, I'll gladly tell you that no lady in a white domino called on me that night." "Nor any dame in a white dress?" McCurdy asked, quickly, tranfixing Sam with a cold greenish stare. "Nor any lady in a white costume,” Sam replied, steadily. “At least not while I was at home. You surely remember that I went out, not only to the masquerade, but also to see DEATH WEARS A MASK 201 how my niece was getting along. She was far from well. Sing, my servant, was out. If you have reason to think such a call was made, all I can say positively is that I saw no such per- son and that if she called during my absence there was no one to admit her to my apart- ment." He paused, then resumed his jocular man- ner. “And really, McCurdy, I've never known my guests to depart in tears, flattering as such grief at parting would be.” With a mutter of unintelligible words, Mc- Curdy stamped out into the night, leaving Sam uncertain whether he had helped or harmed the cause he served. It might have comforted McCurdy had he known that the Police Commissioner was as much at sea in this case as he was. Cudgel his brains as he might, Sam could think of no motive for Connie's murder if he dismissed jealousy on Thorne's part, and Miss Livingston asserted his innocence positively. Yet surely no one killed without a reason, 202 DEATH WEARS A MASK and who had any reason to wish Connie ill—to put an end to that bright if aimless life? That was the question continually before him, and he found no answer to it. When asked if he knew of any enemies, he had replied with an unhesitating "No." There was nothing malicious or snobbish about Connie. Nothing at all that he knew of to justify or account for enmity. Who then had dealt her that blow in the back? He did not know. Chapter XII Sam was a youngish man, thirty-eight to be exact, and in good condition. Tall, fair, mus- cular, leading a regular life with enough amusement and no harmful dissipations, he was not accustomed to the feeling of physical exhaustion resulting from the strain on his nerves and his emotions during the previous twenty-four hours. He returned to Beekman Place with an ab- solute longing for home and bed. But before he could hope for that he must again see Miss Livingston and Harvey to arrange a plan for delivering the latter to the good yacht Nauti- lus, so christened in a burst of inspiration by Bill Martin, who had inclined rather coyly to the Sea Urchin, while refusing to be beguiled by certain bibulous friends who, with one voice, pleased by the connotation, voted for the Sponge. He rang Miss Livingston's bell and was admitted promptly by the lady in person. 203 204 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Eliza is at the movies again. It's different now from my young days when the servants had to be in at ten o'clock promptly and say good night to their master and mistress on the way to bed. If the theater kept open all night Eliza would never get any sleep,” she said, adding: “Come in. Did you accomplish any- thing?" Sam followed her into her reception-room, and Harvey, who was seated in a stiff chair, doing nothing, turned at his approach. “Hello, Sam,” he said listlessly. “You back again ?” “Yes. I wanted to tell you that I saw Bill Martin.” “I hope you warned him not to count on me for this cruise. He'll get some one else easily enough.” "No," Sam returned, "I didn't. I hadn't the heart. I found that his whole expedition hangs on your going with him. He has been searching for you all day, and the Nautilus will sail the moment you're on board. Wait!” He held up his hand as Harvey was about to protest. “If DEATH WEARS A MASK 205 you stay in the city, you will hamper and not help the search for Connie's slayer." Harvey stared at him incredulously. “How is that possible? It seems to me that you can't have too much help in a case like this." “Did you never hear that 'Too many cooks spoil the broth??” Sam had begun, when Miss Livingston interposed: “Harvey is man enough to bear the truth, Commissioner Mellon. This house is under police surveillance, Harvey. I have a plan to get you off to the yacht undetected—with help”-she glanced at Sam—"and when you look at the case as if it concerned not you but another, you'll acknowledge that if you are found here, your arrest is certain.” Harvey fixed his eyes on hers, opening and shutting his mouth foolishly without uttering a word. Then he ran a finger around his collar as if its tight fit strangled him. "You can't mean that anyone would be so brutal as to fancy that I'd harm Connie, Miss Lucilla?”' he burst out at last. 206 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Once they knew you were here, they'd think of nothing and no one else.” Noting the impression this made, Sam has- tened to confirm the fear he saw growing in the other's face, and Harvey clutched at him, over- whelmed by a sudden wave of panic. “Get me away, Sam. I couldn't bear it. I'd go crazy if I had to stand trial. If I were- were accused of—of — Why, you know I loved her-always. There might not have been another woman in the world, for all I cared. I loved her, I tell you. I swear it!” He was babbling, on the verge of hysteria, and Sam slipped a hand through his arm. “We'll get you away, don't you worry. The thing for you to do now is to go to bed and try to sleep so that you'll be on your toes in the morning and ready to help rather than to hinder us." He urged Harvey toward the door of the room he was occupying. “And remem- ber, old chap, that I'm here at the head of the police force of New York and that I'll never rest until we find and convict-and convict, mind you—the real murderer. Until that day DEATH WEARS A MASK 207 you are to stay out of the city. The less atten- tion is drawn to you and your whereabouts the better I'll be pleased.” He shut the door on his friend, who had again lapsed into a listless docility, and re- joined Miss Livingston. "You look as if a drink wouldn't hurt you. What will you have? Some of your own bene- dictine, or Scotch? I warn you I haven't any soda.” “Thank you,” said Sam. “I'll take the Scotch. I want to sleep, myself.” Miss Livingston selected benedictine and, over their drinks, explained her proposed plan, which Sam approved. Then he rose to go. “We'll call that settled and I'll be here in the morning. What time do you usually start for your office? ... Nine? ... Good. I'll get downstairs on the dot." At last he was at home, but the telephone was ringing madly. Would he never find rest and quiet? He dropped his coat and hat in the 208 DEATH WEARS A MASK foyer and picked up the nearest instrument, which happened to be the one in the pantry, thus doubtless disappointing Sing, who was emerging from his room, expectant of listen- ing in. “Commissioner Mellon speaking. ... Sorry. My man is supposed to be here to take mes- sages in my absence. ... You did?... Good work!” Evidently there followed quite a re- cital, for it was some minutes later that Sam said: “Hm. How strange! Still, it's a step for- ward and we may learn something more about it tomorrow. It didn't disappear into thin air. It's dark green, not a very usual color.” Hearing this, Sing's own color took on a greenish hue until Sam's next words reassured him. "And two uniformed men onvthe box. That will attract notice anywhere. Well, tell Inspec- tor Dolan I'll be in my office as early as pos- sible tomorrow morning.” The message informed him that the police had located the garage, the Mammoth, patron- ized by the very rich of Park Avenue; but the DEATH WEARS A MASK 209 mysterious car was there no longer. The bill had been paid without haggling and it had left the day before. It had been entered there about ten weeks previous in the name of the chauffeur, Benoit Sansrancune. A funny name, but the man was a foreigner. In fact, neither he nor the footman spoke much Eng- lish, and while there were plenty of other chauffeurs ready to be friendly, men who talked their language, too, the two men kept very much to themselves. The general impres- sion around the garage was that it was a case where unusual discretion was called for. The car, perhaps, of the “friend” of some very prominent man. No one so far had been found who had seen its owner. It was operated under a Florida license and telegraphic inquiry there had only uncovered the fact that it was issued under the name of the aforesaid Benoit Sans- rancume. It might, of course, be a case where the chauffeur owned his own automobile and rented it out. The men at the garage took no stock in this theory, the car being a Hispano- Suiza, very expensive. A guy with the money 210 DEATH WEARS A MASK to buy it would be more likely to start a garage of his own, or at least a filling station. That was the sum of the information that had reached him over the telephone and, tired out as he was, standing first on one foot and then on the other, he noted with interest that the time of the car's arrival in the city coincided with Connie's return from the Hot Springs and the first appearance of the little lady in black. It might be well to send some one to the Hot Springs to inquire what had happened there to account for this pursuit of her, for pursuit it appeared to have been. Inspector McCurdy, that human ferret, would be the man for the job. Sam was distinctly bored by his atten- tions and nothing short of a direct order, which he did not care to give, seemed likely to rid him of the annoyance. He finally crawled into bed with a sigh of relief, and slept until Sing brought his coffee in the morning. On the floor below, Miss Livingston was less fortunate. Harvey's presence had required 214 DEATH WEARS A MASK such praise. “Awful exciting, I call it. Ex- actly like a movie, if you ask me.” Miss Livingston nodded her head. She was as tired as Sam, being quite unused to emotion such as she had been enduring uncomplain- ingly. “It's too much like a movie for my taste," she said. “It ain't for mine,” Eliza returned, val- iantly. “I think it's grand. Ronald Colman could do the hero, and between us, ma'am, we'll manage to save the innocent man and perhaps we'll help convict the guilty.” “I'm afraid I'll rest content if we succeed in doing the first,” Miss Livingston sighed wearily. "I won't,” Eliza asserted. “Confidential, ma'am, I got my eye on the real criminal. In every other talkie I ever saw except the Char- lie Chans, it's the Chinaman who does the dreadful deed. And all the time there's that Sing upstairs, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth and nobody paying any at- tention to him at all, just because he's the DEATH WEARS A MASK 215 Police Commissioner's chef. As if that was any alibi. If there was a detective worth his salt 'round the place, he'd have been in jail long before this." After exchanging good nights, the two women started on their several ways, but Miss Livingston called Eliza back as various con- tingencies passed through her tired brain. "Make your bed as soon as you're up," she warned the woman. “There will be no time to air it. Then bring your night things and slip- pers with you to leave in Mr. Thorne's room. And, Eliza, you'll have to undress in the dark. You can turn on your light a moment to hang up your coat and hat. That would be natural, but switch it off at once. I'm sure your new acquaintance will have an interest in your win- dow, for all his kind blue eyes.” "I thought of that and it would be like his impudence, ma'am,” the woman rejoined. “Them detectives is up to all sorts of tricks, but I'll be a match for him. You learn an awful lot in the movies, these days. Good night, ma'am.” 216 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Good night, Eliza." This time they really separated, and with Miss Livingston went the thought, to stay with her while she undressed and to haunt her after she at last was between her lavender- scented sheets: Could Eliza possibly be right? Was Sing a legitimate suspect? Mr. Mellon had said his man was out, but had anyone checked up on his movements? What provoca- tion could have caused him to commit such a crime, if he had committed it? She had taken a dislike to the man when she had heard him demanding a commission from a small tradesman for work that was evidently done for his master. That she recognized as a personal prejudice, and she had read enough of the immemorial “squeeze" of China to know that a Chinese servant might look on it as his rightful per- quisite. It by no means followed that he was ready to murder one of his master's friends without thought of gain. Without thought of gain? Was that the key to the riddle? Had Consuela Thorne had DEATH WEARS A MASK 217 something that had tempted the house man to commit the deed? Once Harvey was safely on his way to the Caribbean, she must remember to suggest this possibility to the Police Commissioner—who perhaps would not thank her for depriving him of an efficient servant. Over the crass selfishness implied in this last suggestion she balked. “I don't know who the chap's family are or where he came from, but at least he's a friend to his friends,” she ruminated, “and he'll want to find the murderer.” Chapter XIII The morning broke clear and cold. Sam would have welcomed fog or rain to make the task of spying more difficult. However, he followed his usual routine without haste and on finish- ing his breakfast turned to Sing: "You were a little slow in answering that call just as I came in last night, Sing. Were there any other messages for me?" “I was asleep,” Sing said, his face falling into sullen lines at any hint of criticism. “There was only one call. A woman, a lady perhaps, she spoke well, wished to speak with you. She refused to leave a message.” “Probably it was my niece- “It was not Mrs. Harris.” “Well, if it's anything important, the lady will call again. And, Sing, buy a tablet and pencil and keep them beside the phone in the pantry. I wish every call you receive to be recorded.” “Sir, I never fail to give you your mes- sages.” 218 DEATH WEARS A MASK 219 “Not often, perhaps. You did not tell me yesterday that Mrs. Harris wanted to speak to me particularly.” “If you are dissatisfied with me, sir -_" Sing began, hotly. “When I am, I shall not hesitate to tell you,” Sam interrupted. “Meanwhile don't for- get that tablet and pencil.” He picked up his paper and looked at his watch. “Dinner at the usual time.” At nine o'clock precisely he was in the lower hall. A rather callow lad named John Scott was doorman in the daytime. The intense cold had driven him inside and Sam stopped to speak to him. "A little brisk out doors this morning, John?” "It's bitter, C'missioner." John was careful to give him his title. “I wisht the house would give us doormen swell big capes like a friend of mine has over at the Normandy. They look good and they're grand to wrap up in on days like this. The wind is whistlin' off the river somethin' fierce.” 220 DEATH WEARS A MASK "I'll make a note of it,” Sam promised. Then he caught sight of Miss Livingston com- ing rather feebly across the hall from the eleva- tor. “I'm afraid I'll freeze. This ulster is sup- posed to be the warmest thing I have, but it's homespun and it feels like tissue-paper on a windy day like this.” He especially wanted John to remark that ulster and he turned up the collar ostentatiously, pulled his muffler higher, and began to put on a new pair of pig- skin gloves, just as the lady reached him. “Good morning, Mr. Mellon,” she said. Her morning had been full of excitement, yet so far she had come off victorious. She longed to tell Sam what had happened, but this was not the time for that. According to plan, he addressed her: "John says it's very cold. Ought you to be going out so soon when you've had a touch of the grippe?" "I can't afford to baby myself,” she re- turned petulantly. “There's the Schuyler din- ner-dance list to be made up, and several other things no one else can attend to—and I've left DEATH WEARS A MASK 221 my notes upstairs. That shows I'm not well yet. I never forget anything." She turned to go up again, tottering a little as if from weak- ness, and Sam stopped her. “Sit down and take it easy. I'll go fetch your notes. Surely your maid can get them for me.” Miss Livingston sat down as if relieved by this offer of help. “You're very kind. Tell Eliza-Eliza's my maid's name that she will find a small red- leather notebook in one of the files in the spare room. Remember, red. I don't want the black one. It's in the third or the fifth file from the right hand. I can't be sure which. I think it's the third, but she will have to look.” Sam started toward the elevator, then called: “Oh, John!” “Yes, sir?" He beckoned to the lad and whispered to him: “The old lady ought not to be going out. In just five minutes whistle for a taxi. I'll persuade her to let me drop her at her office.” 222 DEATH WEARS A MASK “Her own car is here, sir.” "I didn't know she had a car. Well, have it at the door then in five minutes and I'll help her into it so fast she won't have time to feel chilled.” He stepped into the elevator and in less than a minute was in Harvey's room, where he divested himself of coat, hat, muffler and gloves. “Get into these quickly," he said. “No, wait a minute. Those evening clothes might give you away. We'll have to change trousers at least. Miss Livingston's a real sport. She no- ticed that we were the same height and build and had hair the same color. Now with this muffler and with your collar pulled up, I don't think there's a chance in the world of anyone guessing that it isn't Sam Mellon. Off you go!” Eliza was in the foyer, holding out a red notebook. “Don't forget this, sir,” she said, eager to help the plot along. “I just couldn't bear it if you didn't get away safe. Only I know you will.” Sam was standing, his eyes on his watch. DEATH WEARS A MASK 223 “Time to be off, old man,” he said. Harvey wrung his hand silently and stepped into the elevator. “I wisht I dared look out of the window to see what happens,” Eliza hinted. “You mustn't risk it,” Sam told her, and caught the woman staring at him as if fasci- nated. “Them trousers, sir,” she faltered. “We forgot all about them. Of course Mr. Thorne had them on underneath-You see, his tailor basted strips with his name into all of his clothes and we remembered to rip them out before the police came this morning - ”. “The police?" Sam interrupted, simply aghast. “Yes, sir. Awful early. About eight o'clock. Miss Livingston made a fuss about letting them into the spare room. But, to get rid of ’em, she let 'em in at last. It was airing, with my nightgown and slippers and all on a chair, and her files and papers in plain sight on top o' the desk. I never in all my life see anyone so disappointed as that lad with the blue eyes. 224 DEATH WEARS A MASK They went through the whole flat, poking into closets and under beds. When they found Mr. Thorne's evening clothes, with the labels all ripped out, in the butler's lavatory, they thought they had something for sure. But Miss Livingston was a treat." "How did she explain them?” “The best she could. She said she had 'em for the use of a butler when she gave dinner parties. She said she was particular what her attendants wore, and that's no more than the truth. Then when they asked why the labels was all gone, she explained, very haughty, that she did not propose to risk some casual em- ploye (those was her very words, sir) going off with clothing that had her nephew's name in it." "Is Mr. Thorne her nephew?" Sam asked, rather stupidly, for the question agitating his mind was where they had parked Harvey while this search was going on. “Bless you, no, sir! But Mr. Lucius Liv- ingston is, and she called him out of bed last night to tell him he'd given her a set of dinner DEATH WEARS A MASK 225 clothes that didn't fit him and what tailor in London made 'em. They were too new to be called old, you see.” “She thought of everything " "Indeed she did, sir. She even changed his blotting-paper. She might have been going to the movies all her life. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.” "But," Sam at last got out the question he was eager to have answered, “where was Mr. Thorne all this time?” . Eliza took a long breath and emitted an excited giggle. This was the climax of her tale. “Miss Livingston told me that a long time ago there was a man who wrote books. Sort of detective stories, and he invented the very best way of hiding something, and that was not to hide it at all. So yesterday I got the loan of a pair of old overalls and an old coat from my brother, who's a plumber but very obliging, and while the detectives was pokin' ’round into my room and every place that was no business of theirs, Mr. Thorne was work- ing in the dining-room with all the curtains 226 DEATH WEARS A MASK pinned up out of the road, polishing the win- dows, and the whole place smelling so strong of ammonia, that reelly no one could suspicion him.” “Why in the world didn't Miss Livingston tell me that she suspected that the police were going to search her apartment?”. “Oh, sir,” said Eliza, righteously, “Miss Livingston and me, we didn't think it would be quite the thing for the Police Commissioner to be mixed up in making fools of the police. We didn't think it would look well, sir.” "Perhaps you were right, Eliza,” Sam said, suppressing his amusement. “And since I may possibly be treated to a similar visitation, I shall bring these trousers back to you, once I've changed.” “Shall I go up and fetch you something else to wear, sir?” “No,” said Sam. “The best thing for you to do is to make sure when Sing has gone out. Then I'll run up and change, but not before.” "Perhaps that's just as well, sir.” Eliza Users 228 DEATH WEARS A MASK to go out in the cold, me suffering with a troublesome tooth, and he stopped at the door for the money. I saw him go down.” “Good girl," Sam said approvingly, and took his departure. He chose another suit and dressed hur- riedly, but just as he was about to leave, won- dering how he was to explain this second apparition to John, the doorman, his tele- phone rang. Impatient at being delayed, he thought of ignoring the call, but the imperi- ous demand of the ringing overcame his re- sistance. It was Louise's voice that came to him, pleasantly conversational, evidently ready for a long chat. "Hurry with anything of importance you have to say, Lou. I've a lot to do and am in the devil of a rush." “O.K.,” said Louise, “Aimée says —” "In French,” Sam hinted. His French was far from fluent, but he had bethought him sud- denly of the possible tapping of his line. Louise, a little startled, rose to the occasion: DEATH WEARS A MASK 229 "In French, of course. Elle m'a dit que l'émeraude carrée de madame est perdue." “O.K.,” said Sam. “I mean, trés bien," and hung up. Thereupon, wasting no more time, he took the telltale trousers to Eliza, who at once be- gan an intensive search for tailor's labels. Connie's square emerald gone? What did that mean? The police would have returned everything on the body, yet that ring was the one ornament Connie never appeared without. The rest of her jewelry might be changed to harmonize with her clothes. That square em- erald, supported in its platinum setting by two smaller triangular diamonds, she always wore. It must have been taken from her dead hand. “I like it,” was her usual response when twitted with the fact that it accorded ill with her dress. Alone with him and in a more ex- pansive mood, she had said: “To me, it's a sign of victory. Incidentally, it's one of the few things I possess that cost me nothing- absolutely nothing—not even a qualm of con- science." 230 DEATH WEARS A MASK He wondered what lay behind her light words. He found now that, in thinking of Connie, it was not her sparkling prettiness, the challenge of her gay glances, her provoca- tive humors that he remembered but rather the puzzle of her bitterness, so well hidden from the world that must only be permitted to think her happy, poised on the crest of the wave of suc- cess. Poor beautiful Connie. At least she had died without being disillusioned. Hugh Oliver, to her, was still a captive, and her most per- sistent ambition was on the way to fulfillment. Only, since she had cared for Alix enough to leave her that treasured ring in her will, how had she brought herself to deprive her friend of the play so necessary to her professional future? For even if Connie herself had made a success in “This Business of Being a Woman,” he had no faith that she would have stuck to the profession. One success with plenty of hurrah and adulation, that would have been fun; while the steady grind of the- atrical production with its wearing work and its inevitable ups and downs, would soon have DEATH WEARS A MASK 231 turned Connie's thoughts to seeking a pleas- anter channel for her energies. True, she had been on the stage earlier in her life and had seemed to enjoy it; but she was young then, the parts, not taxing, and she was in need of the money she earned. How she would have met Oliver's denial of her claim that they were engaged to be married he could not conceive. It was a situation so brutal in its cruelty that he could only be thankful she was spared all knowledge of it. And what had become of Hugh Oliver? He was sure that reporters as well as police must be looking for him to ascertain what, if any- thing, he could suggest to furnish a lead to work on. That he was in any way concerned in the murder Sam did not believe. If the man had meant to put an end to Connie's life, there would have been no need for the perfidy of his announcement. The Commissioner stepped out of the ele- vator in the lower hall just as one of the other cars brought down a chattering load of young mu 232 DEATH WEARS A MASK girls. This was the best of luck. He hung back to let them precede him, sure that they would engage John's attention to the exclusion of a mere man, and that he could slip out behind them while the doorman was putting them in taxis. And as he had planned, so it happened. John had no eyes for him, and he had reached the corner before he felt a touch on his shoul- der. McCurdy. Of course it would be McCurdy. Chapter XIV “Commissioner Mellon!" McCurdy began, in- sistently. Sam was annoyed. And this was no time for a display of patience. He turned on McCurdy none too pleasantly. “If you have anything to say to me, Mc- Curdy, you will find me in my office. I'm on my way there to meet Inspector Dolan. I've no time to waste on you." "I ain't askin' you to waste time,” McCurdy persisted, doggedly. “I want to know how come you went out first with Miss Livingston, and now, dressed all different, here you are by yourself when nobody seen you come back.” Sam stood on the curb and signaled to a taxi, which sailed on regardless. “And how come you come here to get a taxi instead of taking one at the house?” “McCurdy,” said Sam, “I've only one fault to find with you at present. Your idea of the science of detection seems to be that it's a 233 234 DEATH WEARS A MASK game of Twenty Questions.” A taxi stopped and he got in, discouraging McCurdy's evi- dent intention of following by slamming the door. “Step on it, driver,” he said, and gave the address. If McCurdy followed him in another cab, as he probably did, Sam had no way of knowing it. He wasted no time when he reached his of- fice and had attended to some routine business as well as the selected mail his secretary had ready, before Dolan was shown in. Sam mo- tioned him to a chair and continued to speak into the telephone. "Is that you, Miss Livingston? I just wanted to tell you that after I left you I took your advice. I went back and changed to warmer clothes. And, since I was so obedient, I'm hoping you'll follow my suggestion. For one who has had the grippe, a whole day at your office is too much. Good-bye. I'm going to drop in soon, if I may, to find out how you are.” He hung up and turned an annoyed face to Dolan. DEATH WEARS A MASK 285 "Listen," he growled, “and see that my or- ders are carried out. If the city's money is to be wasted on watching me, I insist on being well watched. Understand? I don't want to be stopped on the street again by that ass McCurdy and called to account because it hap- pened that he didn't see me return to Beek- man Place. I'm not responsible for his stu- pidity. Shooting craps, wasn't he, instead of being on his job? Does he expect me to punch a time-clock when I go in or out? There's no mystery about my movements. I'm perfectly ready to tell you anything that you want to know, but I'll be damned if I'll give an ac- count of myself to that numskull who ought to be walking a beat in Flatbush. Now is there anything that you wish me to explain to you?” Dolan, a little red in the face, stuck to his guns. “How-how did you get back into the apartment in Beekman Place without being seen?” Sam shrugged his shoulders irritably. "It's news to me that I did. I've never gone in any way save by the front door.” 236 DEATH WEARS A MASK “McCurdy says the doorman didn't see you, either.” “Isn't that what I'm grumbling about? I don't propose to report to the doorman.” Sam increased the heat of his complaint. “If my movements are under suspicion, it's up to this Department to keep an efficient watch. Do you expect your criminals to come up and tip their hats for permission to go here, there, or the other place? Honestly, you break my heart you're so innocent.” It had been long years since Dolan had been accused of innocence, and he felt it deeply. He rose ponderously from his chair and went out, leaving the door open and saying over his shoulder, “I'll be back in a jiffy.” "Where are you going?” Sam called after him. Then, as an afterthought, he added: “If you meet McCurdy you might suggest that if John Scott didn't see me go in, it's possible he didn't see me go out, either. It might be worth this Department's while to inquire. You ought to find out if I'm still in my rooms or 238 DEATH WEARS A MASK Dolan came back, having worked off a good deal of his indignation, and sat down again. “Any more news of that car?" Sam asked. The Inspector shook his head and then be- gan, in extenuation: “That ain't surprising when you think that that murder took place around half-past nine and outside the snow was coming down heavy. It was just the night for a safe get-away. And a car like that, taking some chances in such a storm, could make up to eighty miles an hour and hardly more'n seem to be idling. Be- fore daylight it could put five hundred miles behind it, and that's a conservative estimate. Now draw a five-hundred-mile circle outside of New York and there's a whole lot of coun- try to hear from." Sam nodded. "True enough. And here's another thought. That's a rich man's car. The owner of it may have a number of others. Perhaps he even has a country place near here. What's to prevent his storing this bus till we've forgotten all DEATH WEARS A MASK 239 about it? It's tying up quite a lot of money, yet if his life's in question— " Dolan gave his knee a resounding slap. "Sure. That dodge might work, C'mis- sioner.” “Well, keep on looking for it. I suppose you tried to find out where it was bought?”. "Not in the New York agency," Dolan re- plied, “nor Boston, Chicago, or Philadelphia. They all seem to sell more sporty models. Open cars mostly, which you'd think should make it easier to turn this one up." “Unless the agency thought it politic to con- ceal knowledge of it to oblige a rich customer," Sam hinted. “Is that all you know?” “Every damn' thing," Dolan said, gloom- ily. “We don't seem to be gettin' anywhere." "I've a bit of news that may lead us in a different direction," Sam told him. “Aimée, Mrs. Thorne's maid, reports that when her mistress left home she was wearing a large emerald ring." The inference was plain and the Inspector emitted a loud whistle of incredulity. 240 DEATH WEARS A MASK “What do you mean by that, exactly?" Sam was nettled. “I mean there wasn't any emerald ring when we seen her, and this Frenchwoman has worked out a clever way to mop it up out of her mistress's jewel-case, unsuspected—or at least she thought she had. How much was it worth?" “I'm no jeweler. Plenty. I'd guess well over five thousand.” Again the Inspector whistled. “Five grand! That's a lot in the Frogs' money. What did it look like?” Sam, who could draw a little, rapidly sketched on a loose slip of paper and passed the result over to the Inspector, who folded it up carefully, preparatory to putting it in his notebook. “It was about that size, square, set in plat- inum, with large triangular diamonds sup- porting it on each side,” Sam explained. “We'd better have copies of that sent to all pawnshops and to private dealers in fine gems. But you are mistaken in suspecting Aimée of taking it.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 241 “You've been seeing her. She's put it over on you -- " “No, I haven't seen her. I preferred that we should go there together, although I don't believe she'll have anything more to tell us.” “If you weren't there, how did you hear about this?” “My niece, who, as you know, is helping Miss Ruland with all the arrangements, called me up and told me.” Sam wondered if he were wrong in his belief that his telephone was tapped. It struck him that Dolan fancied he had not heard the news over the wire, but the Inspector's face gave away no secrets. “This Aimée got around Mrs. Harris, then.” "No," Sam said, positively. “Just listen to me, Inspector, and don't theorize until you have all the facts in your possession.” “She'll be trying to make out that the police swiped it. I can't be fooled, I tell you. These Frenchwomen-” Dolan sputtered, stubborn in his conviction that as a nation the French were born to duplicity. Sam interrupted him: TO 242 DEATH WEARS A MASK “I have known Mrs. Thorne well for about eleven years. We were friends for nine months, engaged for about a year. Then she threw me over to marry Thorne. That lasted four years, most of which time they were abroad. For five years she has been living in New York. At least it was her headquarters. Now that ring was given to her while she was still engaged to me, and thereafter she always wore it." “Who gave it to her? You?” “No. It was much too valuable for me to think of buying. I don't know who gave it to her. She never would tell me. In fact, we quar- reled over it. She acknowledged that it came from a man, and I insisted that she ought not to wear another man's ring. Of course I was a jealous young fool, and quarrels never got you anywhere with Mrs. Thorne. She was like quicksilver. Fluid, glittering, impossible to grasp. Impossible to remain angry with. That ring—I think she was superstitious about it. I have a feeling that it was a sort of fetish with her.” -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- DEATH WEARS A MASK 243 "I get you,” said Dolan. “A mascot, sort of. Well, the P.D. never saw that ring." “I know that,” Sam agreed impatiently. “When Ed and I went to her in the elevator and I tried to feel her pulse, there was some- thing unfamiliar about her hand. I thought it was because it was dead. Mrs. Thorne was not at all child-like, but she had a childish way of curling her fingers around yours. It was very winning, like a youngster who was eager to be taken walking.” He paused, carried along on the flood of his memories; then re- sumed abruptly, “I can swear that at that time the ring was already gone." Dolan was mollified by this offer of evidence tending to protect the good name of the Po- lice Department. He recognized that the Com- missioner could hardly be expected to feel for it the jealousy he did, who had spent years in its service; but it was good to have the promise of his support. He could not know how Sam was longing to tell him that, hours earlier, when he had first made vain efforts to reani- mate Connie's lifeless form, the same thing DEATH WEARS A MASK 245 recent short telephone conversation. He had now a high opinion of Miss Livingston's re- sourcefulness. Consequently, without endan- gering Harvey, he felt free to give the order for the grave on the Thorne plot. That would open up a field of sentimental speculation to the reporters and might even awaken an in- terest in Harvey's whereabouts; but he was secure in the vague destination of Bill Mar- tin's vessel and in the fact that he had warned him that temporarily his wireless had better be put out of commission. It was strange to feel snobbish about such a matter, but it struck him that poor Connie's burial in the Thorne family lot must appear in a measure a vindication of her; and he was glad to remember that of the two men whose names must be connected with hers, Harvey held a position far more secure in the eyes of the social world. Oliver had money to recom- mend him. No more, since, if he had roots any- where, they were not imbedded in the soil of Manhattan. As he sealed his letter Sam caught the un- 246 DEATH WEARS A MASK friendly eyes of Detective McCurdy fastened upon him. He turned the address so that it could be read. “I'd hate you to go away unhappy, Mc- Curdy,” he said, carelessly, “although I should think you could trust me to Inspector Dolan for a little while. I'm sure he will guarantee to keep me out of mischief. Yes, the letter's to a lawyer. Not a criminal lawyer, McCurdy. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not prepar- ing my defense yet. And one word in your ear: If you manage to turn up that ring, you'll be doing something more useful than anything I've learned of your attempting yet.” His telephone buzzed and he picked it up. “Oh, it's you, is it?... Yes, I'll try to stop in for a minute or two later. That is, if I can escape the vigilance of the Police Depart- ment. If I can't, I'll bring Inspector Dolan with me." He hung up, then glanced at Detective Mc- Curdy in considerable amusement. “I know you'd love to know who that was," he said lightly. “And strange as it seems, I'm DEATH WEARS A MASK 247 not going to tell you. There's always the chance that if I tell you everything you may lose interest in me, and that is something I simply couldn't bear. Shall we get going, In- spector?” DEATH WEARS A MASK 249 her. And I'm all for her as against that swine Oliver.” “An' so am I,” Dolan agreed. “Tell me more about this Oliver. The way he disap- peared now—that ain't natural, is it? Do you think maybe he's mixed up in this murder ?” "I think it more likely he's ashamed to show his face” Sam began. Dolan placed a re- straining hand on his arm. “I don't mean he killed her himself. But for some reason he was mad clear through at the announcement in the evening papers. And there was that masked ball. Could you think of a better opportunity? There certainly ought to be a law-- Suppose Mrs. Thorne stood in his way more'n we know? Suppose he had an- other woman? He could have got some one else to do his killing for him just as easy. Why, it's done every day.” “Of course it's possible;? Sam agreed. “Only I can't seem to make myself believe it. Oliver was a peculiar type. You've seen his picture. Rather morose-looking fellow." “Yeah,” Dolan agreed. “The kind a wo- 250 DEATH WEARS A MASK man'd call han’some. Regular he-man, sort of.” “Yes—in his picture,” Sam said, signifi- cantly; "only his lower half and his upper half didn't match. His legs were too short and slightly bowed. An inheritance from his father the jockey, perhaps, which took away from his impressiveness. And while he had plenty of chin, he didn't seem to me to be a man of strong character. Yet Ed Harris, who saw much more of him than I ever did, claimed he was." “Well, I wish we could turn him up. I can think of a lot of things I'd like to ask Mr. Oliver,” Dolan growled, and once again Sam was reminded of the old game of Twenty Questions. "Do you mind stopping at Miss Ruland's with me?” This was a change of subject with- out intentional avoidance. “She said she wanted to see me urgently." Dolan was flattered by this invitation. He had greatly admired both Mrs. Harris and Miss Ruland. DEATH WEARS A MASK 251 “Oh, I wouldn't like to feel that I was buttin' in on a lady,” he said, bashfully, "and I ain't dressed for company. I've got an aw- ful old necktie on.” “You're just as well dressed as I am,” Sam reassured him, “and I'll guarantee Miss Ruland will be glad to see you. I know she liked you. We'll stop in at the Gotham and then go on to Mrs. Thorne's apart- ment. Maybe Miss Ruland will want to go there with us.” "In a Police Department car?" Dolan was shocked, whether because he saw the fair fame of the Department sullied by being used as the conveyance for an actress or on Miss Ru- land's account, Sam did not inquire. “On foot, man. It's only a step from her hotel.” At the desk they were told that Miss Ru- land expected Mr. Mellon. He was to go right up. "Telephone that Mr. Dolan is with me,” he ordered, purposely suppressing Dolan's hard- won title out of regard for the feelings of the 252 DEATH WEARS A MASK clerk, and Dolan gave him a sour look as they entered the elevator. “What did you have to do that for?” he de- manded. “I didn't have to,” Sam replied. “I only concluded that as you admire Miss Ruland, you would prefer to do the correct thing when calling on her and that is to announce your coming." “Oh!” said Dolan, his expression that of one grappling unsuccessfully with an abstruse so- cial problem. Then the fifth floor was reached and Mary opened the door for them. Miss Ruland was awaiting them in her little sitting-room and greeted both of them cor- dially. “You wanted to see me?" Sam suggested. “Yes,” Alix nodded. “I promised Gorman to ask for Hugh Oliver's present address, but I'm hoping against hope that you don't know it.” She included both men in this, and it was Dolan who answered her. “Then you have your wish, Miss Ruland. He's gone from his apartment at the Ritz and 254 DEATH WEARS A MASK it now, Gorman wants to buy it from him. I. have no doubt he also calculates on getting a bargain.” (And Connie not yet in her grave. Surely Broadway had the coldest blood in the world.) “How do you mean buy it from him, Miss Ruland?” It was Dolan, exploring new fields, who asked the question. “Does a man buy a play outright? I thought the author usually got a sort of rake-off.” “Usually he does,” Alix conceded. “It's customary for a manager to pay so much down for an option, which must be exerted within a certain time. Then, when the play is put on, the author gets a royalty on each seat sold. In this case the author, who is a Hungar- ian, and the translator, an Englishman, are at daggers drawn. If the agent secured the con- sent of one to an arrangement, the other at once automatically demanded something dif- ferent. So he tried to find a purchaser to buy the American rights outright. It was there Gorman balked. It was a lot of money to part with all at once. Only when Hugh Oliver - - - DEATH WEARS A MASK 265 stepped in and accepted the offer, he began to see he had lost the chance of a lifetime to make a fortune. I'm not claiming that the theater isn't a queer business. One can't be absolutely sure that a European hit will click here, but truly this is a remarkable play, as near a cer- tainty as I can imagine.” "And you want it,” Sam said, coldly. “There we can't help you. We know nothing of the whereabouts of Hugh Oliver.” "Sam!” Alix exclaimed. "How could you think such a thing? I can't act in that play now. Why, it was poor, poor Connie's!” Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned her head away, outraged at his suspicion. “How could I bear to learn the part?" she gulped, stran- gling a sob. (Surely Broadway's heart was the warm- est to be found anywhere.) "Forgive me, Alix. I ought to have known you better.” Sam's apology was entirely sin- cere. - "It's all right”-the tears still stood in her eyes—"you understand now; but how am I 256 DEATH WEARS A MASK ever going to make Gorman see it? He's com- ing here this afternoon about half-past four. I suppose you're too busy to drop in and back me up?" “I'm never too busy if you want me, Alix,” Sam returned, ignoring Dolan's presence. “I'll be here. Now we've got to go over to speak to Aimée. Lou tells me that that ring- the big emerald, I mean-has disappeared.” Alix was surprised out of all caution. “Why, she was wearing it when I saw her " Sam, acutely conscious of where this ad- mission might lead if he did not succeed in heading it off, cut in on what she was saying: “I know. I've just been telling Inspector Dolan that it was almost as much part of her as her Titian hair. We were all used to seeing it and it was so conspicuous that it would have been missed at once. Perhaps, when we find it, we will have a solution of the whole mys- tery.” “I suppose the thief will certainly try to sell it,” Alix speculated. 258 DEATH WEARS A MASK finished business and you can forget all about it.” They took their leave, and going down in the elevator Dolan turned to Sam. “I ain't blamin' you. She's a lovely lady.” Sam was startled. Did this mean that the Inspector had understood his calculated in- terruption? "You aren't blaming me for what?” he asked. "I ain't blamin' you for thinking she's a lovely lady,” Dolan answered. “I ain't so in- nocent I can't see that." Evidently that word “innocent” had cut deeply. They stepped into the Police Department car, although the distance was so short it was hardly worth while to ride, and had not gone halfway when Sam grasped Dolan's arm. “Those legs!” he gasped. “Do you see that sawed-off man walking away from us? I can't be mistaken. That's Hugh Oliver.” On the instant Dolan sprang into action. Leaning forward, he spoke to the driver. “Draw up to the curb and stop, but keep 260 DEATH WEARS A MASK hard on the chap. If he cared anything at all for her, he's in a tough spot.” “I'll spot him!” Dolan grunted as they neared the step where Oliver was parleying with the policeman on guard. "I don't care who you was a friend of,” the officer was saying, clearly. "Nobody gets in here without a special permit. And say, if you're such a pal of the C'missioner's, here he is now. You can sing your little song to him." Chapter XVI At the policeman's words Oliver whirled on his heels, presenting a ravaged face to the in- spection of the two men who stood on the step below him. He was so short that his head was only on the level of Inspector Dolan's, and Sam, still looking down on him, thought that never had he seen such a change in a hu- man countenance, and was correspondingly softened. Clearly Aimée was right. Hugh Oliver had loved Consuela Thorne. It was indeed a crushed and broken-hearted man who fronted them, not defiantly as one conscious of having inflicted an injury and regardless of it, but as a humble suppliant. Even Dolan, who had no way of measuring the change in him, was si- lenced temporarily by his first words. "Mr. Mellon, thank God you're here. You are Police Commissioner now, aren't you? You will tell this man he can't keep me out. I 261 262 DEATH WEARS A MASK have a right to be here. He must let me go in to Connie.” Sam looked at Dolan interrogatively, who shook his head in an emphatic negative. "I can't give such an order without asking you a few questions first,” he then said. His tone was not unfriendly, for who could be hard on one so broken? But he was not letting his sentimental sympathy run away with him. “We have a car here. Suppose we go and sit in it while we talk? We'll have privacy there.” Docilely Oliver followed them across the pavement, murmuring to himself the while like a broken-hearted child: “But I want to go to Connie—to Connie - " Once established in the automobile, Dolan, who had pulled down one of the small seats and sat facing the other two, could contain himself no longer. “After that pretty piece you sent to the papers, what rights do you think you have?" Oliver stared at him as if he had not seen him before. Then his lids drooped over his eyes with an effect of unutterable fatigue. DEATH WEARS A MASK 263 "I hoped it might save her life. Otherwise it was of no consequence. I told Connie that I should be obliged to do it if she persisted in sending out an announcement of our engage- ment. She understood the risk, but she was always willful. You know how willful she was, Mellon.” “Yes, she was headstrong— " “And fearless. That was her fatal trait," Oliver supplemented, wringing his hands to- gether desperately. “I tried my best, yet I couldn't get her to believe me. She knew what I thought and couldn't bring herself to credit the reality of the danger. I even suspected sometimes that she relished the thrill in the possibility that there might be something in it.” "Danger? What danger are you talking about?” Dolan growled. “The danger of of death.” Oliver brought out the word with difficulty, his voice hardly raised above a whisper. “I warned her, and I sent that contradiction; but I was too late. Too late. Too late.” The repetition took on DEATH WEARS A MASK 265 involved, Sam agreed heartily, if silently, with this dictum. "You're quite right, Oliver,” he said. “Take your time over it. Tell us in the way least painful to you. Inspector Dolan and I are bound to see that the guilty one is pun- ished " "No!” Oliver interjected, almost with vio- lence. “There will be no punishment in this case. Not at the hands of the law.” “Tell your story, Mr. Oliver. The C'mis- sioner an' me ain't so good at solving riddles," Dolan suggested, to add, grimly: "We'll be responsible for the legal end o' the matter." "Perhaps you won't credit it any more than Connie did,” he murmured. “Anyhow, I'll have to go back into my family history to try to make you understand. You'll have pa- tience, I hope. ... My mother was born in the purple, so to speak, in a state where the people could recite their pedigrees (and their horses' pedigrees) for ten generations. My father was a remarkable man, a genius in his way, but from the day she married him her name was DEATH WEARS A MASK 267 affection, an American gained only an anom- alous position, the suspicion that such matches were entered into for revenue only being too deeply rooted to combat. No, I was to marry an American of birth and breeding. One whose family pedigree could challenge her own.” "I see. Connie didn't fill the bill.” “She didn't, and I knew she didn't. I could make no such claim for her. And I was anx- ious that my mother should not hear of our con- nection until it was too late for her to attempt to interfere. That, perhaps, was a mistake on my part. Had I told her of our acquaintance her antagonism might not have been roused as it was. But for some time (I'm now thirty- three) she had been growing uneasy about my failure to marry. She had interfered more than once when she fancied I was paying too much attention to a girl she considered undesirable, by calling on me to escort her to some resort at a distance. Evidently she had other sources of information about me than my letters. I didn't mind. I always told myself that when the time came that I wanted to marry, I could 268 DEATH WEARS A MASK coax her around. After all, I was all she had in the world.” “Was money her hold over you?" Sam asked. "Money?” Oliver started as if he had been talking to himself and was surprised to find that he was not alone. Then he resumed his story, speaking in a flat and toneless voice: “No. We are independent of each other as far as money goes. Her hold on me consisted solely of affection. Mine for her, hers for me. But let me get on with this. My feelings don't matter. She sent for me while I was at the Hot Springs this autumn. She had heard of my devotion to Connie and such a match would have been the wreck of all her hopes. Her son marry a divorcée without a back- ground! She could conjure up nothing worse. ..... Like a fool, I refused to go to her. The first rebellion of my life. . . . This must sound to you trivial-unbelievable ” "No,” Sam returned, “not in view of what followed. Go on.” “Well, as I wouldn't go to her, she came to DEATH WEARS A MASK 269 find me. Not to the same hotel. She summoned me to meet her at her inn. She was not there, and I waited, on fire with impatience to have our scene over with and hurry back to Connie. Every minute away from her was a minute wasted. My mother had been cunning. By sending for me, she had got me out of the way and herself had driven to call on Mrs. Thorne. Their interview must have been a bit of ironic comedy, for she set the key of their conversa- tion by immediately offering to buy Connie off! Connie, who had so far never flattered me by taking my pleadings seriously.” He turned to Sam and went on, addressing him directly: “You who knew her can imagine the imp of mischief that entered into Connie after such an offer. She undoubtedly gave a fine performance of the conscienceless little gold- digger. She flaunted that huge emerald she always wore in a way to convince my mother that it was 'a gift from me, from whom in reality she had consistently refused to accept more than flowers. She confessed afterwards that she had been outrageous. 'But she was 270. DEATH WEARS A MASK worse than I was, Hugh. I stopped short of insulting her. And now I mean to marry you, just to get even with her.' That is the way we became engaged.” He paused, to add pathetically. “But do you know, I think she really liked me. Under her glitter, Consuela was a lonely soul, just as I am. And she knew that all I asked was to make her happier." His chin drooped and he sat silent, absorbed in his revery. Sam had not the heart to rouse him, but Dolan's moments of sentimentality were fleeting. “Well, get on with it,” he urged. “Who killed her and how was the get-away man- aged ?" Oliver lifted one shoulder as if to shake off an unwelcome touch, then he resumed mechan- ically: “When she returned to the inn, my mother was a transformed woman. There is no use of repeating the details of the scene we had. I felt as though I were facing a stranger. All tenderness toward me was submerged. She V: DEATH WEARS A MASK 271 commanded me to set aside my paltry ideas of personal happiness. As much as a dethroned king, I was obligated to restore my dynasty to power. And if I was not prepared to do this voluntarily, she must make sure that I did nothing derogatory by removing my tempta- tion. She warned me that Mrs. Thorne would never live to marry me. Gentlemen, I do not think that I am a coward, yet she frightened me. I knew I had to deal with a monomaniac. All of this, with full details which I have spared you, I told Connie on my return to her. She laughed me to scorn and her reply to the chal- lenge was the remark I quoted. Loving her as I did, I should have refused, but that was too much to expect of flesh and blood. The most I could do, when my mother followed us to New York, was to exact a promise that Connie would not see her alone under any cir- cumstances.” “If your mother is a little lady who always dresses in black silk, Connie kept that prom- ise,” Sam told him. “How do you know? But, yes, my mother 272 DEATH WEARS A MASK always dresses in black. She never wore colors again after my father's death." Dolan slapped his knee in the way he had when enlightened on any point, and Oliver went on, although his question remained un- answered. "I understood that she had tried to see Con- nie a number of times without result. I don't know if she hoped a different effort at persua- sion might be more successful; but she evi- dently wanted a private interview and I'm confident that it wasn't until Connie's daring announcement, which she doubtless rated a de- fiance, that she became actually dangerous.” “Did she do it herself or did she hire it done?” Dolan demanded, impatiently. Oliver continued his appointed task as if he did not hear. "The masked ball' was a hell-born oppor- tunity for one as crafty as she. She went as a Sister of Charity- " “My God!” Dolan shouted, “an' slid out as sweet as you please by the fire escape. There ought to be a law against 'em, the trouble they DEATH WEARS A MASK 273 cause the police. . . . I always meant to tell you, C'missioner, there was no 'extra' that night. The Transcript got a beat on it because Micky Flinn was at the party and managed to get to a phone before anyone else; but that wasn't till four or nearly. Go on, Mr. Oliver. Sorry I interrupted you. So your mother did this herself? Did she show you the emerald ring she took ?” A flush crept into Oliver's pale cheeks. “My mother is not a thief !” he exclaimed. “If there's a ring missing, she knows nothing about it. As to the murder, she did it alone. But she is not responsible. I can furnish indis- putable medical testimony to that effect. There is a long history of insanity in that pedigree she is so proud of, poor soul. She did it, and she is now under restraint. I've brought you the weapon she used.” With which words, he held out an old- fashioned, pearl-handled revolver. “There have been several shots fired,” he ended, and sank back on the cushions as if, a tension relaxed, he was glad to rest. 278 DEATH WEARS A MASK armed to kill (with a loaded pistol ready, mind) nothing would divert her from using it. It is the reasoning brain that would at once perceive the advantage of a soundless instru- ment. However, we can consult an alienist on that point if nothing else turns up. For the moment I am more interested in Aimée's testi- mony. It seems to me there's a lead indicated there if we can only follow it up. And Oliver was quite right to resent the suggestion that Mrs. Oliver would take anything that wasn't hers.” “He said Mrs. Thorne had sort of gloated over that ring. To tease the old lady, like. It wasn't my idea that she'd taken it for the value of it, but to get even, perhaps.” “That's plausible," Sam owned, "only, the small pin must be explained as well.” “If you ask me, it's as crazy as everything else we get hold of,” Dolan growled. “There just ain't any sense in this case however you look at it. What kind of a crook is it, I ask you, that'd pass up those di’mon's on her left hand and take a little leaf, that from what DEATH WEARS A MASK 279 Aimée says, must have looked a lot like spin- ach; and that ain't meant for a joke, either.” “It is strange," Sam agreed. “And another point that struck me was that the emerald and that bit of jade in the pin Aimée used to fasten down that loose bow, were both green. She says it had very little value. That's why she didn't miss it at first. And of course the pin might have been lost " “She told us it had a safety catch," Dolan pointed out. “No, I don't believe it was lost. Whoever has the emerald ring has the other, too." A man came in, evidently no stranger to the place, since he was greeted effusively by the head waiter and wafted deferentially toward a desirable table to be at once sur- rounded by a feverish activity, fresh flowers being brought and instant service responding to all his wishes. His companions, two elaborately-turned-out blondes, appeared to vie with the management in flattering attentions to the words of the great man. 280 DEATH WEARS A MASK Sam and Dolan watched the scene with con- siderable interest. Sam because he recognized the favored individual, Dolan because he didn't. “Who's the guy that looks like Mussolini?” he inquired at last. “Offhand, who would you expect him to be?" Sam looked away from the newcomers. "Don't stop to study him. Give me a snap judgment.” "I'd say he was a gambler. Head of a policy syndicate, perhaps," Dolan replied promptly. “Prosperous. Not what you'd call a real sport. He would ask better'n an even chance. I think there's a streak of yellow in him, besides.” "Not so bad,” Sam glanced at the Inspector approvingly. “That's Gorman, the theatrical manager I'm to meet at Miss Ruland's this afternoon. And there's no denying all theat- rical production's a gamble. But I should say that at this moment Gorman is preparing to minimize any risk he may anticipate if Miss Ruland refuses to go on with the play "This DEATH WEARS A MASK 281 Business of Being a Woman,' which he now sees within his grasp. That blond beauty on his left is Clarissa Cromium, who in all likelihood is his second choice for the lead.” “Could she and Miss Ruland possibly play the same part?" Sam met Dolan's eyes, interested by this bit of discernment. “They could not,” he said dryly. “Of course Cromium in a way is a finished actress. She would do something with it. Possibly some- thing effective. The hitch is that the woman in the play is supposed to be a lady, instinctively refined. Clarissa Cromium only knows of ladies by hearsay and doesn't believe half she hears. If she played the part like that, it would be a washout and, being clever, she'd know that before they'd rehearsed three times. So she would lapse into her customary courtesan with a raucous voice and a heart of gold and make her audience like it. But it wouldn't be the same play.” "I get you,” said Dolan. "Who's the other 282 DEATH WEARS A MASK skirt? She's not hard to look at, either, and she's been trying to lamp you ever since she came in.” “I know,” Sam explained, still managing to avoid the young woman's signals, “and if we don't get out of here she'll send a waiter for me. She'd prefer a fourth at the table. That's Folly Lambert. She's not a bad sort. Gorman brought her along so that Cromium wouldn't be too certain he was after her for a part until he was ready to break the news to her himself. Folly is in a hit, so asking her out entails no risk.” “There's tricks in all trades,” said Dolan, pushing himself back from the table with both hands. “I'm ready to go if you are. Maybe the Detective Division will have turned up some- thing that'll be a help.” "If they've found the ring, I'll shout aloud the praises of Allah,” Sam returned. "There ain't any such name in the Depart- ment, so I wouldn't count on him," Dolan said woodenly, as they surrendered their checks and accepted their hats and coats from the DEATH WEARS A MASK 283 coat-room attendant in return for an appro- priate token of esteem. Routine business unconnected with the Thorne case engaged Sam's attention for the rest of the day until it was time for him to present himself at the Gotham. As luck would have it, he was delayed in the traffic and reached the hotel to find Gor- man ahead of him. He did not know how this would suit Alix, but was of the opinion that it was just as well. Mary admitted him. She was a stout and jovial Irishwoman, who had been Alix's dresser ever since she had had a part that war- ranted that extravagance, and knew as much about her mistress' business as Alix did her- self. "He's ragin' like a wild bull,” she whispered. "I don't know will she be able to hold out. There's a contract between 'em.” "Miss Ruland was to have the selection of her plays,” Sam reminded her. Mary nodded a wise head. DEATH WEARS A MASK 285 for the flops I have, like everybody else. I don't claim to be a wizard. ... Now times have been hard and I see the opportunity of a life- time. We won't have to spend a cent on ad- vance advertising. The newspapers have sure done that for us in great shape, and when "This Business of Being a Woman' opens, the public'll be waiting in lines reaching around the block. Nothing will keep them out of the theater. Nothing !". "I can't believe people are so callous,” Alix murmured, and went on, after a momentary hesitation, "I tell you, Mr. Gorman, even if I attempted it, which I still positively refuse to do, I would only score an utter failure. It would ruin my reputation as an actress. And that is precious to me. I've labored for years to build up a name for sincere work.” "It doesn't matter how bad a performance you gave, with you in that part, after this publicity, you couldn't push 'em out of the theater, and you'd get your percentage, wouldn't you?” Gorman scowled at her until he looked more than ever like Mussolini. "I 286 DEATH WEARS A MASK tell you, young lady, it's the box-office that talks.” “If the quality of the performance makes no difference, why don't you put in Clarissa Cromium to play the lead?” Sam was politely suggestive. “I saw you at lunch today and thought she was looking especially handsome. And she's always effective on the stage.” “If you saw us, why were you so damn' un- friendly?" Gorman asked raspingly. “Folly all but stood on her head trying to attract your attention.” “Oh, I was out on business and my time wasn't my own. You know I'm Police Com- missioner now and Inspector Dolan of the Homicide Squad was with me. I didn't fancy you would welcome an interruption by us." Sam had spoken lightly enough and accused himself of imagination in thinking that Gor- man changed color. Alix ought to light the lamps sooner. The days were short and the room seemed dark to him. Meanwhile Alix was speaking in her warm, sympathetic voice: “That's a brilliant idea, Sam.” She was DEATH WEARS A ASK 287 filled with genuine relief to learn that for all his bluster Gorman was certainly looking else- where for a star. “You're right. Clarissa is always stunning on the stage. I think she's one of the handsomest women I ever saw." “She'd be rotten, and you know it,” the manager shouted. “You can't jolly me into making a fool of myself. I talked to her today and she hasn't a brain in her wooden head. She doesn't know what that play's about. I get what you're up to, all right. You're plan- ning to let me down and want to see me put some one in who'd kill the show before it was started, so the critics would say: 'Won't these managers ever learn? If only Alix Ruland had been given that part - " He was trying to work himself up into one of the furies for which he was celebrated and Sam was determined to spare Alix that irrita- tion. Her nerves had been subjected to enough strain already, and of a sudden he put a firm hand on Gorman's shoulder. "It strikes me that all this discussion is pre- mature, if not absolutely unnecessary. You 288 DEATH WEARS A MASK don't own that play yet, and if you are afraid Cromium will lose money in it the simplest course is for you not to buy it. Miss Ruland has no desire to kill anything, Gorman, but she has her own reputation to consider and she has warned you that she will not play that part.” With a convulsive twist of his body Gorman drew his shoulder out of Sam's grasp and left the room without the ceremony of farewells. Alix glanced thoughtfully at Sam. “There is frequent discussion in the theater as to whether Gorman's rages are real or act- ing. I've always maintained that they were pure histrionics like David Belasco's. Now I don't know. He was ready to half kill you for interfering. For a minute I actually feared he was dangerous. ... Thank you so much for reminding me that he doesn't own the play yet. Under my contract, it may mean safety for me should he buy it in spite of my protest. But before you came in he'd been assuming that it was his. Talking as if he had spent a fortune that I was bent on making him lose. DEATH WEARS A MASK 289 afraid males it sbe 1 she Now he has been warned in time and I shan't feel any obligation.” “Yes, that's your trump card,” Sam agreed. “If he buys now, he is over-riding your very legitimate objection.” “Besides, no one even knows where Hugh Oliver is,” Alix reminded him, comfortably. “I'm afraid they soon will know,” Sam was forced to acknowledge, and forthwith plunged into a review of the events of the day, Gorman happily forgotten. Chapter XVIII Sam Mellon had hardly left Alix's suite when her doorbell rang once more and Gorman entered unannounced, having brushed by Mary without ceremony. Alix, who was searching in her bookcase for something to read, turned to him with surprise and a total absence of pleasure. She did not doubt that he meant to begin his importun- ities again. She held herself armed against him by the clause in her contract originally in- serted to guard her from being drafted to bolster a weak cast in some vulgar drama of the sort for which Gorman had earned a repu- tation, yet she shrank from the struggle she now felt to be inevitable. "You?” she exclaimed involuntarily, and then wished she had remained silent when Gor- man replied in a nasty tone: “Yeah, it's me. Did you hope it was your boy friend back again? He's gone. I waited downstairs till I saw him go out. I was about 290 DEATH WEARS A MASK 298 stimulating companion. I doubt if I realize even now how much I shall miss her.” She stified a little sob. “Whatever Connie may have been with men, women had nothing to complain of in their relations with her. She was really helpful, always ready with her advice (and it was sound and well thought out) or even with money. I never needed that for my- self, but she went fifty-fifty with me in several cases in the profession that I couldn't have handled alone. It is known to the public—the newspapers have had so little to print about the case that they have had to expand every item that they got hold of—that Mrs. Harris and I have taken charge of the funeral. I'm sure you'll agree, when you think it over, that I should be branded as heartless if I showed myself at a restaurant until some time after she was buried. That, if you like, is the policy side of it. The other side, the real reason for my decision, is that I don't want to go out with anyone in the world. I have no heart for gaiety. Can't you understand that? I'm sad. In no mood for jazz and dancing. I've lost a DEATH WEARS A MASK 297 him. Then she grabbed Hugh Oliver, with a fortune big enough to mean something, at the exact moment when he was getting serious over you. Next, she took your play away from right under your nose. (Nice, friendly act that, I don't think.) That was a big blow and proved to be the last straw. But keep your spirits up and remind yourself that I'm your best friend. I don't believe anyone else has an inkling of it." “Of what?” Alix cried, goaded beyond her endurance. “Of the fact that you killed her,” Gorman replied coldly, his eyes narrowed to slits. For a moment Alix could not seem to draw her breath. Then she smiled, a smile of utter derision. “That is a discovery!" she said, scoffingly. “On what do you base it?” “On the following evidence. You came down in the elevator in tears, told me that Connie Thorne had stolen your play, refused to go to the party we were both bound for and wan- dered out into the worst snowstorm in years al- 298 DEATH WEARS A MASK in a flimsy rag of chiffon, carrying your cloak bundled up in your arms.” Alix started to speak and he silenced her with a gesture. “It was plain to me even then that you were un- hinged—I'd not hesitate to swear to that be- fore a jury—I didn't guess the reason for the bundled cloak till I ran the lift up to Mellon's apartment and found Connie alone there, lying with your mask under her.” “And the reason for the bundled cloak ?” Alix asked, with admirable fortitude. "Bloodstains, of course.” Alix rose and rang the bell. "Mary,” she said, on the prompt appear- ance of her maid, “I want that purple velvet cloak, the property cloak that I used the other night-from the revival of 'The Princess Fla- via,' I mean." “I wanted to ask you about that, Miss Ruland. The lining was terrible sleazy stuff, all rotten. There were great pieces right out of it. You couldn't possibly wear it again as it was, so I ripped it and was waiting to find out should I buy something to reline it with 302 DEATH WEARS A MASK from end to end or we might ruin what we got now without enough return to make it worth while. It's you and the accusation against you, and the play that was the cause of the trag- edy, that'll make the best publicity stunt that was ever pulled off.” "Then the thing for you to do," said Alix eagerly, “is to go right out and get that play. Don't wait for anything. Don't forget that Hugh Oliver's a business man, too. Tell him I'll be a thousand times better in it than Con- nie could ever have hoped to be. Explain that you know all about her acting. You had her in your company and she was just no good. Pretty little fluff with no brains. You'll know what to say. Lay it on thick. Make him see the profit to be made out of the advertisement. If he won't sell the play outright, offer to take him in on some sort of a partnership basis. That might fetch him. He probably wants to swell around as a producer. Above everything bear down hard on how far I'd surpass Connie and what a pot of money is to be made if we don't lose any time sentimentalizing.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 303 Gorman leaped to his feet. “Where's my hat and coat?” he shouted. “God, you're a great business woman. I'd never have believed you had it in you. Be- tween us we'll stampede the town with this.” He went and, once she was sure he had actu- ally gone, she took up the telephone in a hand that even her will failed to steady. “Sam!” she cried when she got his number. “Thank Heaven you're there. You know where Hugh Oliver is—you said you did. Find him at once. You must. And tell him under no circumstances to see Gorman, my manager. Oh, Sam, make sure of this, because if they meet you'll have another murder on your hands. Hugh will kill Gorman and I'll be to blame. I gave a real performance, but I had to make certain that Hugh wouldn't sell him that play.” She hung up without giving Sam a chance to reply, and throwing herself down on the couch, burst into deep and bitter sobs. Chapter XIX O11 Consuela Thorne was buried the next day with as much privacy as the well-known enterprize of the Metropolitan press permitted. One of the morning papers had an exclusive item (at a price) concerning the blanket of white orchids Hugh Oliver had sent from a famous florist's. The evening papers all flared out with the astounding information that she was laid to rest with generations of the Thornes. How much more would their readers have marveled had they known that she, who died a Thorne, had been born a nameless nobody. Praise for Harvey Thorne's devotion and chivalry was unanimous, and there interest in the affair might have died a natural death had not the loss of the emerald ring leaked out through the search being made for it. The drag of the city pawnshops and high- class dealers in second-hand jewelry had proved fruitless. The ring had not been pre- 304 DEATH WEARS A MASK 305 sented anywhere, and for the moment, save for a notification sent to other cities, the activities of the police seemed at a standstill for lack of material evidence of any sort. Sam settled down to work the next morning at the congenial tasks he had projected when he had decided to accept the Commissioner- ship. This was a job he was fitted for. He had never flattered himself that he would make his mark as a detective, nor was it a requirement of his position, and while he still remembered his promise to Harvey Thorne and intended to press to the utmost any line of inquiry that promised results, so far, as Dolan had said, their case had seemed to blow up, leaving no least clue save for the emerald ring, of which nothing might be heard for years. Hugh Oliver had again vanished mysteri- ously from the city, doubtless gone to rejoin his mother in the safe retreat in which he had hidden her. No one had seen him before he left, and Melbourne Gorman had been trying to find him ever since, without result. The theatrical manager was in a fever lest the 306 DEATH WEARS A MASK Thorne case should be forgotten before he could announce his purchase of the play. Sam, who had been as unsuccessful as every- one else in reëstablishing communication with Hugh Oliver, had finally typed a letter and sent copies to his hotel and to his favorite clubs, marked "Urgent. Please Forward." In this he had stated simply that Miss Ruland, a sincere friend of Consuela, felt an emo- tional shrinking from appearing in the part designed for her in “This Business of Being a Woman,” and hoped he would see his way clear to refusing to sell it to Melbourne Gorman, her manager, who, once it became his prop- erty, would certainly try to force her into ac- cepting the lead in it under her contract, and who would exploit every angle of its acquisi- tion mercilessly. That appeared to be all he could do beyond urging the police to leave no stone unturned, and he returned with vigor to the monumental tasks before him. These seemed simple in com- parison with the Thorne case and its multiple calls on his emotions. DEATH WEARS A MASK 307 On that particular morning Louise Harris was sitting quietly at home, sewing. So far as she was concerned, the murder was a thing of the past. She did not care whether the per- petrator of the crime was brought to justice or not. Tragedy had come close to her. Its heavy shadow had lifted quickly when she had destroyed the last trace of it in burning Sam's mutilated shirt bosom after Ed had gone to his office on the day following the crime. She made a very pretty picture amid the vivid chintzes of her living-room where her blond head and delicate coloring seemed to have found their appropriate setting. She was singing softly to herself as she thorn-stitched a piece of fine nainsook. Anyone who had seen her would have known at once that here was a happy woman. In answer to a ring at the doorbell she heard the soft footfalls of Millet, the butler, as he went to open the door. An instant later he came to her. "It's that Sing. Commissioner Mellon's DEATH WEARS A MASK 309 “Good morning, Sing,” she said. “What is your message?" “You will excuse” he closed the door be- hind him. “It is for your ear alone.” "Well,” Louise spoke impatiently, "I am listening." “I am come”-Sing's words burst forth as if they could no longer be controlled—“to offer you my devotion and my aid.” Louise was not surprised to hear of the de- votion. For some time she had suspected that Sing purposely neglected to notify Sam of her approaching visits in order to secure the opportunity for a few words with her. She had not taken this seriously, being used to admira- tion; had, in fact, been rather amused by it. Now she realized that it might become annoy- ing if not checked. "Thank you, Sing,” she said coldly. “I have no need for either.” “That is ignorance that speaks so loudly,” Sing countered, with portentous gravity. “The drum, empty of all save wind, makes the most noise. I come to warn you that my help is in- DEATH WEARS A MASK 311 In my country I am not that. By birth I am important. Also I am now American educated. I shall have even a Ph.D. When I go home, whatever faction I attach myself to will be greatly strengthened. I can exact a large price for my services." "For your sake, I am pleased to hear this, Sing; yet I cannot see why you are telling me. If you have a message, let me have it; then go. I am busy." “I tell you because I want you to under- stand certain things before I say more," he persisted, undaunted by the snub she had ad- ministered. "It is difficult for you to appre- ciate because you are born a barbarian; but what I say are true words. My father is of the old régime. He has wealth beyond your dreams. Houses with many courtyards, of a beauty such as you have never seen, hundreds of servants. Not a small place like this will be mine.” He looked around disparagingly. “When I return to him, there is nothing I may not ask. I am the only son of his number one wife.” “Then I don't understand why you stay 312 DEATH WEARS A MASK here.” Louise interjected, impatiently, not be- lieving a word of this bombast, which, how- ever, was entirely true. "I stayed for two reasons. First, to estimate the worth of American learning. Not so good. Second, because I had seen you, beautiful as a flower of the lotus.” “I'm sorry, Sing. You force me to tell you that you are impertinent as well as foolish. I am a married woman. I cannot listen to you any longer.” Refraining, out of delicacy, from mentioning the racial obstacle as well, Louise folded up her sewing preparatory to rising and ringing for Millet. “We will forget this, you and I; you need not fear that I will mention it to my uncle.” "Wait,” Sing extended his hand peremp- torily, yet without touching her. “There is more to be said. You are married, yes; but not happily married. Do not trouble to deny this. I heard you tell your uncle.” “You heard me tell my uncle? You were lis- tening! How dared you?” Louise gasped. Sing smiled, a very superior smile. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - DEATH WEARS A MASK 318 "I listened because it was my need to know. A woman's heart is like a needle at the bottom of the sea, hard to find. I hoped to learn where yours reposed.” “But you didn't!" Louise exclaimed an- grily. "No, I only learned where it was not. That, for the time, is sufficient. It emboldens me to offer you my protection. Do not misunder- stand. You can go to your Reno. You may placate any gods you fear; and, when you speak, I will marry you by your rites and by my own. Then we will journey to China, where I promise you you will find yourself a queen, a white camellia in our gardens. I will even promise to take no other wives, although it will be foolish of you to ask it, since it will annoy my honorable parents and the women would all be your humble servants.” The man was painfully in earnest. He endeavored to preserve the impassivity of his countenance, but it was beyond his power to hide his emo- tion; and, annoying as it all was, Louise was sorry for him. A woman needs must make ex- 814 DEATH WEARS A MASK cuses for an honest admirer. She wished to show him the futility of further pleas, and the sewing on her lap appeared to offer a way. She shook it out of its folds. “Look, Sing,” she said, gently. “Here is a reason why you must talk no more of your offer.” Sa Sing made an impatient gesture with one hand as if brushing aside a cobweb. "It is not important. If a boy, gladly I shall adopt him. If a girl, there will be room for her in the courtyards of the women. See, I bring the child its first present. A propitious gift of jade to ensure good luck.” He offered it on the palm of his hand, a jade leaf, Chinese in work- manship, set in soft yellow gold. Louise made no move to take it and he re- turned it reluctantly to his pocket. “I'm sorry, Sing. Nothing you can say will make this thing you have in mind possible. I shall not leave my husband now.” She did not trouble to tell him that she loved Ed. This man was her uncle's servant to her, nothing more. She had not pointed out his menial posi- m DEATH WEARS A MASK 315 tion out of innate kindliness, and also, perhaps, a certain subconscious dread of angering him was influencing her to curb her tongue. "If you will not do it of your own free will, there are other ways,” Sing said, menacingly. “But do not let us talk of those. I have a ring for you here. Almost as beautiful as jade.” He held out toward her Consuela Thorne's emerald ring. There was no mistaking it. Louise found herself staring at it, unable to withdraw her eyes. Connie Thorne's ring, and he had heard her tell Sam she was done with Ed. Then he had been there in the apart- ment on the night of the murder. He had not gone out to a lecture, as Sam had supposed. She did not stop to find out where he had hidden. "Did you kill her?” she asked, in a hushed voice. Sing looked at her in admiration of her re- straint. “Do not fear for me. She was quite dead before I took the ring. I thought it would please you and would be supremely beautiful on your lily hand.” 316 DEATH WEARS A MASK "If you didn't kill her yourself, at least you know who did.” "Sure I know.” Sing returned, with a sur- prisingly American intonation, then added, entirely Chinese again: “The wise man is ac- counted wise because of the things he does not tell.” “You must go to my uncle at once. Since he is the Police Commissioner ". “I know,” Sing interposed, significantly. “And why do you assume that he does not also know? That is what I meant when I said that if you would not do it of your own free will, there were other ways." Louise, never a meek person, was indignant at this implication. “Do you want me to think that my uncle knows about this murder and is concealing his knowledge? I don't believe it.” "Had he not been the Police Commissioner, your honorable uncle would himself have been in a cell before now. Understand, without my testimony it is doubtful if they could convict him; but what is to prevent my giving it?” 818 DEATH WEARS A MASK unmarked. I have the shirt that Commissioner Mellon came home in that night, a shirt with a laundry mark that is not his. A shirt of a make he never wore and certainly not the one I put studs in late that afternoon. I ask you, why did he have to change his shirt?” (He had not mentioned a certain white mask, of which he had possessed himself, not seeing where it strengthened his present accusation.) "Something might have stained it,” Louise said, weakly. This man was a devil, a clever devil. He was building up a case against Sam. "Doubtless something did," Sing returned significantly, and did not trouble to answer when she said: "I meant wine or food.” She dared not now acknowledge that the change had been made in her apartment. She could not meet the chal- lenge to produce the shirt Sam had left be- hind. "Such, then, is part of the evidence to con- nect the honorable Commissioner with the crime. There is also the fact that he has concealed Mrs. Thorne's visit to his rooms." 320 DEATH WEARS A MASK fide in him if she were fated to sacrifice herself for his sake. “I shall tell him nothing,” she said firmly. And believing her, Sing at last consented to take his leave. Left to herself, Louise tried to review the situation dispassionately when it was difficult even to accept the fact that it was real. That her uncle's servant had dared to bring such an accusation against his master. That he had not feared to approach her with such a propo- sition! It was preposterous. Utterly revolting. She loved Ed and was to be the mother of his child. The mere thought of another man in her life nauseated her. She would kill herself be- for she would submit. And yet what good would that do? The re- sult would be the same as if she refused to listen to him. Sing would be left free to de- stroy Sam. She got up and walked swiftly up and down the room, deep in thought, until suddenly she stopped and struck her palms together sharply. DEATH WEARS A MASK 321 Of course Sing wished her to pledge herself not to tell Sam! Inspector Dolan had said that when they recovered the emerald ring they would have found the murderer as well. Well, she knew where the ring was to be found, and the murderer was not Sam. Sing had said, "She was quite dead before I took the ring- Before I took —” But how was she to go about convicting him? She longed now to find some way of doing this, yet could evolve no plan that would clip Sing's claws, being certain that if she at- tempted to involve him in any way he would produce evidence that would serve to place the guilt squarely on Sam's shoulders, so much greater was his cunning than hers. The mere thought of the Chinese overwhelmed her with fright and disgust, while his hold over her was strengthened by her inability to take her trou- ble to her uncle, who had been her willing helper and adviser all her life, and the value of whose advice she recognized even when she went her willful way, disregarding it. To give up Ed whom she loved and who was 822 DEATH WEARS A MASK the father of her child, to go to a strange land with a man of alien race whom she still looked on as an inferior in spite of his claims to pride of place and birth-surely that was more than any woman should be asked to endure? She felt no obligation of loyalty to Sing. He knew she had no affection for him, had not even attempted an appeal based on such a plea. His demand, backed by threats, was blackmail, and she felt justified in circumvent- ing him in any way short of breaking her word. Could she consult Dolan? No. Sing would suspect his information came from Sam and so through her. Alix? No. The same objection held. And then she thought of some one she hardly knew who might be glad to hear the last of the case. At least it was worth trying. Chapter XX Louise Harris was not the only person inter- ested in bringing the murderer to justice. Dolan wanted to find the guilty party in the line of his duty, uncomplicated by any personal feeling. McCurdy, urged on by an instinctive an- tagonism that Sam's jocularity had done noth- ing to lessen, longed for the glory certain to descend upon one who could claim that he had brought in the evidence to convict the Police Commissioner. (Any Police Commissioner would have been satisfactory to McCurdy; but since he disliked Sam, his duty would be es- pecially pleasing if he succeeded in nabbing the present incumbent.) Sam wanted to avenge Connie, for Harvey and because of his own lasting affection for her. Miss Livingston assured herself that her only interest was to see justice done and Har- vey Thorne cleared of any possible suspicion. 323 DEATH WEARS A MASK 325 youth, perhaps, but she was not given to de- preciating her own charms and had it in mind to prove to that impudent detective with the misleadingly kind blue eyes that he would have been wiser to keep in her good graces. When she thought of him, Eliza still tossed her head with a grand gesture of disdain. The evening papers had news that night supplied by his press agent on the order of the indefatigable Mr. Gorman, who, for all his efforts, had still been unable to get on the trail of Hugh Oliver. To his anxious mind the sen- sation was in danger of deflating. He did not expect the mystery to be solved, consequently something must be done to keep the interest from collapsing altogether, and that some- thing was already formulated in his brain. He had been intrigued by its possibilities when talking with Alix. Naturally, Thady Keogh's story of a lady in white, who had departed in tears, had not escaped the vigilance of the press; but since no one had come forward to confirm his testi- mony, it had been set down to the excited 826 DEATH WEARS A MASK imagination of the old Irishman, anxious for his share of the limelight. It was only a won- der that by that time he was not insisting that what he had seen was the ghost of the victim. There had even been some consideration given to thought of an article on "The Haunted Apartment House, but that had been em- balmed as material for the silly season. Now. Gorman had furnished front-page news with photographs, complete. Pictures of Consuela Thorne and Alix Ruland seemed to smile at each other across the intervening head lines. SOLUTION OF THE ENIGMA WEEPING WOMAN IN WHITE IS ALIX RULAND, SUCCESSFUL EMOTIONAL ACTRESS The story sent out paralleled the facts very closely except where it said that now that the funeral of her dearest friend was over, Miss Ruland wished to do her part toward clearing up the mystery surrounding the crime. 828 DEATH WEARS A MASK Gorman was quite satisfied with the space and the slant given to the story he had released. There was room to develop it in the future in any way he found ex- pedient. Before this news was actually on the street in print Alix's telephone was besieged by re- porters eager for more details. Mary answered with her usual bland com- petence and assertion of ignorance. Miss Ru- land had gone away for a rest. Could she say whether Miss Ruland wore white at the masquerade party at which Mrs. Thorne lost her life? Yes, that much she did know. Miss Ruland had worn a queen's mantle of purple velvet, edged with ermine-stage ermine. ... Mary hung up, convinced that she had scored a point for her beloved mistress, who had been notified by Gorman's secretary too late to stop it, had it ever been possible, of the detailed account her management was about to present to the public. She assured herself that she did not care for DEATH WEARS A MASK 329 herself, and that so far as Sam was involved, nothing could make her reveal that it was in his living-room that she had had her last short interview with Connie. It really had had no bearing on the crime unless—and here of a sudden, she stiffened—unless Sam, in taking her part, had in some way accidentally killed Connie. That he had killed her intentionally she did not for a moment credit. Could he have overheard the conversation between them? She knew the construction of his pantry and its relation to the rest of the apartment, and she at once decided that he could not, unless he had stood in the little passage beside the but- ler's lavatory. And Sam would not have stood there lis- tening. On hearing the news, she had reproached Connie for taking her play, and Connie had replied with her customary nonchalance, that Alix did not need it as much as she did. Alix could carry any play, even a weak one, while she required a masterpiece to make the suc- 830 DEATH WEARS A MASK cess necessary to her. Alix had left her, cer- tain that nothing would persuade Connie to generosity or even fair dealing, and when she had gone down in the elevator to rejoin Gor- man, her tears had been for the shattering of her ideal of friendship as much as for the loss of the play. Had Sam heard that conversation, he would have come out with something to say to both of them. That would have been Sam's way. She wanted to see him, only she had told the desk to deny her to all callers and Mary to leave the telephone off the stand. Precau- tions that prevented the nuisance of calls from outsiders, with the objection that it left Sam no way to communicate with her short of com- ing there and making his way to the fifth floor unannounced. "Mary,” she said, "call Commissioner Mel- lon. Ask if he will be in this evening. If he says yes, tell him I'll be there. And, Mary, tell him I said to get rid of Sing. I don't trust him and I mean to go up by the service ele- vator to avoid that doorman.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 331 Thus it happened that the coast was already clear when Miss Livingston propounded her astonishing theory to Eliza, to find that fine mind in complete accord with hers. “You've hit it, ma’am,' Eliza said. “I been sure of it from the beginning. But how you're going to get in there to search beats me.” “There's nothing easier. I'm going up the fire escape and through his window, natur- ally,” Miss Livingston snapped. To Eliza this did not seem at all natural, but she said, “Yes, ma'am," as in duty bound, and added: "Only, it would seem as if it was more my place, ma'am. I could go on an er- rand for you, like, and I don't know can you manage the fire-escape stairs. They might make you dizzyish.” "Eliza, all my family were noted for their strong heads." ("Three-bottle men," she might have added.) “I never am dizzy, and I should never think of sanctioning the visit of an unmarried girl to a young man's room. It would be most improper. I'm going myself.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 833 though she's awful cute.” She tripped down the stair and into the apartment below, con- gratulating herself on her ready lie. "He's gone,” she said, breathless with ex- citement. “The gentleman's at home, but he'll be 'way at the front. Now's our chance, ma'am. Let's nip out my window. Do you think you ought to have your furs?" Denying any need of wraps for that short trip, Miss Livingston led the way dauntlessly up the steps, which indeed seemed very open, unprotected, and insufficient, to the platform above. "Luck's with us,” Eliza hissed, pointing to the window which was raised about six inches from the bottom. Before lifting it, she covered her hands with her apron, soiling it beyond future use. She knew her movies forward and back. "Fingerprints,” she whispered, significantly. “Nonsense!” Miss Livingston was nervous and spoke with asperity to hide it. “Utter non- sense. We aren't going to steal anything." "It's entering and breaking or something 334 DEATH WEARS A MASK like that,” Eliza insisted, loath to be robbed of her thrill as a marauder. “Well, have it your own way," said Miss Livingston, developing sudden and unex- pected meekness. “Only, let's get inside. Take off that apron and use it on the sill. I was a fool not to wear gloves.” “Yes, ma'am. I mean, no, ma'am. This will do just as well if we remember not to touch anything inside.” "We'll probably have to risk that, unless I find some of Sing's gloves for us to put on,” Miss Livingston said grimly, while Eliza thought: A good idea that. That was what education did for you. Gave you notions like that when you reelly needed 'em. Sing's own gloves. Now that was clever. Cunning like a fox the old lady was. However, by that time they were both in- side the room. "Smells stuffy,” said Miss Livingston, sniff- ing. “Like incense at church, only different,” DEATH WEARS A MASK 337 Turning to see what had drawn the woman's attention, Miss Livingston was, for a moment, equally dumfounded. Then she recovered her customary aplomb and went closer to examine the object that had called forth Eliza's excla- mation. Surmounting a carved bracket, in a colored, carved, and gilt frame, was the picture, evi- dently cut from the rotogravure section of a Sunday paper, of a blond young woman. Before this joss sticks had been burned, and on the shelf, in an exquisite saucer of translu- cent jade, the missing green jade leaf and the emerald ring lay beside a single flower of white camellia, offerings as to a goddess. “Well, of all the nerve!” Eliza ejaculated. “That's that awful pretty Mrs. Harris who's here so much. C'missioner Mellon's niece, the boys say she is. And I took the picture for the Holy Virgin.” “There is all the evidence we need,” Miss Livingston moved toward the door into the apartment, and Eliza stopped her in alarm. “Oh, ma'am, where are you going?” she de- 338 DEATH WEARS A MASK manded. “We can't go that way. We'll be caught.” “We can't go that way because that villain Sing has the key in his pocket,” Miss Living- ston snapped, having tried the door and found it locked. “Besides, I'd better sit down and make sure what I'd best do before I do some- thing I'll be sorry for later." “Like my grandmother used to say,” Eliza having polished the doorknob was spreading her apron over the window sill once more. “'Take time to blow your tea, the way you won't be burning your mouth.'” "Exactly,” said her mistress, scrambling through the window and down the fire escape with most surprising agility. 840 DEATH WEARS A MASK now what am I going to do? I may be arrested any minute.” “You're going to see a lawyer tomorrow, let him look over your contract and point out to Gorman that his publicity has made it doubly impossible for you to play in 'This Business of Being a Woman.' If you went on in it, I verily believe you'd be hissed off the boards as Connie's murderess. It would certainly be said openly that you had rid yourself of her to get your play back.” Sam preferred to center her mind on the professional angle. He himself was unsure what view Dolan and his subor- dinates might take, but he hid his anxiety and Alix nodded. “And Gorman thinks that would be good advertising. He claims curiosity would fill any theater." “The man must assume that his stars have hides like a rhinoceros—or like his own.” “Do you know, Sam, I feel as if my career were ended. I don't believe I'll ever again be equal to facing an audience. Certainly not un- less you catch the murderer.” DEATH WEARS A MASK 841 “That's now.” Sam returned. “It's a result of shock. You couldn't give up the theater. It wouldn't let you. And sooner or later we'll find you another play. How about something from the Chinese? Our brilliant Sing might help us there." "I've meant to speak to you about him for some time,” Alix began, diverted from her own situation. “What do you know about that man? He isn't the usual type of houseman. At least he doesn't seem so to me.” "How does he seem to you?” Sam asked, lazily. It was not often that he had Alix to himself like this and he was enjoying it. "I'm afraid sinister is the only word I can suggest at the moment. And it isn't because he's Chinese. I've met a lot of Chinese, on and off, and I like most of them extremely. They usually have such a keen sense of humor. Now I've never seen this man smile.” Sam laughed. Alix was always so delight- fully earnest. “I see. First requirement for houseman, can he see a joke? What do I try him with? Wode- 342 DEATH WEARS A MASK house or the New Yorker? The jokes in it are sometimes a trifle subtle." Alix ignored his frivolity. "Where was Sing the night that Connie died ?" Sam started, all the banter gone immedi- ately. "By Jove, Alix!” he said. “By Jove! The little beggar lied to me about that and I've no idea why. He said he was going to a lecture at the Town Hall, and when I asked him about it the next morning, he told me it had been ‘very informing, and in the paper, star- ing me in the face, was the statement that it had been necessary to disappoint the audience because the lecturer was caught in the blizzard on his way East.” In sudden excitement Alix seized his arm and shook it. “Can we have stumbled on the murderer? ... By accident, like this? ... Oh, Sam, where could he have hidden?” She bent her brows, then her face cleared. “I know!” She ex- claimed. “In the lavatory off the pantry.” 848 DEATH WEARS A MASK me over. I don't claim to be an actor, but I certainly dramatized my own situation to my- self. The truth is, I took it damn' philosophi- cally. Now if I lost, Hang it, there's the bell. I never have a chance to see you alone any more.” He went to the door to admit Miss Living- ston and the faithful Eliza, backed up by the solid presence of Inspector Dolan and De- tectives McCurdy and Knudsen, he of the kind blue eyes. The ladies were introduced and, with the detectives placed discreetly in the background, Miss Livingston at once got down to business. “Am I right when I say you are satisfied that when you find the present holder of that emerald ring, Inspector Dolan, you will have come close to the perpetrator of the murder ?” She raised her eyeglass and regarded the stout Inspector as she might an aspirant for social honors whose money was derived from dealing in second-hand clothing. "Yeah I mean yes, Miss Livingston." He wriggled under her inspection. “He'd have 850 DEATH WEARS A MASK before I told you that Eliza and I saw both the ring and the jade leaf in Sing's room this evening." The three police officers hardly waited to let Miss Livingston get the words out of her mouth before they were on their feet. “Where are you going?" she inquired, the eyeglass again coming into play. (“I'm going to get me one of them,” Knud- sen whispered to his partner.) "To pick up the little things you mention,” Dolan said, with an elephantine attempt at either irony or playfulness, it was hard to tell which. “You can't get in. Sing's door is locked and he carries the key with him.” "And he won't be here till the end of the first pickshurs,” Eliza volunteered, helpfully. “You got a good ten minutes yet.” “What made you suspect Sing, Miss Liv- ingston?” Sam put this question. “It's curious, because just when you rang up, Miss Ruland and I had decided that for certain reasons Sing would bear investigating.' DEATH WEARS A MASK 351 His query remained unanswered. The bell rang once more, and while Sam went to open the front door, Dolan, who was taking no chances, sent the two officers to await Sing's coming, with orders to bring him directly into the front room. He meant to be the one to explore Sing's belongings himself to recover the stolen property. There might be other things, too, that would tell an officer of his experience much; exactly what he could not foretell, since they already had the weapon. The newcomer was Louise, not altogether surprised, when she stopped to think, to find the assemblage. “Ed dropped me on his way to The Lambs,” she explained. “I had nothing to read and had sewed till my eyes were tired. You're to take me home, Sammie darling." Sam introduced his niece to Miss Living- ston, who, however, boasted a royal memory and at once recalled having met Mrs. Harris before. Inwardly she was rather sorry for this girl. With a sound instinct for social distinc- tions, she acquitted her of any encouragement DEATH WEARS A MASK 353 privacy unless you can show me a search war- rant.” “I don't need a warrant." Dolan's tone was menacing. “Give up the key or we'll take it from you. The choice is up to you." Sing's narrow eyes had at once discovered Louise's presence and his heart was bitter within him. Thus did women keep their prom- ises. Well might it be said that such were but writing on water. “You come for the ring, I presume," he said, an unassailable pride in his gesture as he handed over the key to his door. “You may have it. It cost me nothing and I have no fur- ther use for it.” It cost him nothing? Sam and Alix ex- changed glances. That was what Connie had said about that ring. "It's liable to cost you a good long term in prison, if not your life,” Dolan snarled at him. "It was a free gift to me,” Sing returned, evidently surprised to find himself accused of anything ignoble. “If it is your idea that I 854 DEATH WEARS A MASK stole it, inquire of the Legation of my country in Washington. They will tell you that I am a prince and have no need to steal.” Dolan smirked in entire disbelief. "An' so you come here to take a job cookin'?” he sneered. “I'm afraid your story won't washee-washee.” A dark flush mounted to Sing's forehead. “Commissioner Mellon, I appeal to you as a gentleman, and to Miss Livingston." He bowed. “Am I to be insulted as well as for- cibly restrained and humiliated? I am telling the truth. That ring and a small jade pin were given to me. As to my being poor-yes, I am poor in America. My honorable father cares only for the learning of our own philosophers. So long as I stay here in disobedience to his commands, I dare not ask him for funds; but once I set foot in China again, all that he has is also mine.” Miss Livingston nodded. “I am sure we can accept as true anything that Prince Sing tells us.” She ignored a stifled “Mercy on us !” from Eliza, who stood Chapter XXII In an instant all in that room were on their feet. The utterance of that word had galva- nized them into action. “You mean to say you saw the murderer?” Dolan rumbled, incredulously. Sing looked at him with great disfavor. "In my country there is a saying that 'A lie in time saves nine,'” he remarked, icily. “But why should I waste even one lie on you when the truth will serve? Yes, I saw the mur- derer. I even talked with him. It was an inter- esting experience psychologically. I shall write a paper on it later. I never chanced to meet a murderer before, although we do not place an equal value on all human life as you seem to do in this less civilized and reasonable land.” (“'Less civilized,' by gosh!” McCurdy mut- tered to Knudsen. "Give me the chance and I'll wring his civilized yellow neck for him.”). Sing was going on, monotonously now, yet 356 358 DEATH WEARS A MASK back at her as he lumbered to his feet, entirely forgetting that this was the elegant Mrs. Ed- wards Harris whose pictures often graced the society pages, “You're right at that, kid.” His rising had silenced Sing, and he added a com- mand. “Wait,” he said, “this seems likely to be a long story. I think the C'missioner an' I'd better go an' gather in that ring before we listen to it, after all.” Sam was surprised at this change of plan, but he had no objection to it other than his natural desire to reach the bottom of the trag- edy that had culminated in his quiet apart- ment. He rose willingly enough, determined, as always, to interfere in no way in an officer's execution of his duty, and the two passed out through the pantry together. Louise drew a long breath. She knew her respite would be short and she saw no mercy in those obsidian eyes that followed her every movement from a face that looked as if molded in brass. There was one thing that might soften him-one only—if he could be con- vinced that she had not broken the letter of DEATH WEARS A MASK 363 (“They was beautiful,” Eliza murmured, rebelliously, to herself, hardly understanding his words yet aware that the opinion expressed was not complimentary.) "So I determined, for that and other rea- sons, to stay indoors. How to occupy my time profitably was the question.” (It was Knudsen who nudged McCurdy now. "I'll say it was profitable, with that ring worth five grand,” he whispered.) Sing went on, unheeding. "I had some thought of going to the party in the penthouse. ‘Crashing,' the boys at col- lege call it." “A most reprehensible breach of decorum, Prince Sing,” Miss Livingston interposed. “I should be sorry to learn that you were guilty of it." "In this strange land, actions derogatory to the dignity seem frequently to be usual.” Sing regarded her with what almost amounted to a smile. “I had a mandarin costume. No one would expect to find a Chinese in the dress of his own country. However, my presence was too great an honor to bestow on that bour- wei DEATH WEARS A MASK 366 to make it, not too willingly, and I amused myself by thinking how he would curse poor Sing Lo, who had left no materials prepared, as indeed was his duty. The ladies talked for a few minutes, then Mrs. Harris, for all she was dressed in fancy dress, said she was not going to the party. She had a severe pain of the head that grew steadily worse. She was leaving just as Miss Ruland came into the foyer.” “Did they speak?” Dolan asked. “Yes, things without meaning, like 'Hello, darling,' and about the headache and how stu- pid the learned doctors who could do nothing to cure it.” "I can tell you all about that,” Alix said. "I should have told it before, only Connie was alive and well and alone when I left her, and I couldn't see what value such a statement could have." (“'Alive and well and alone with the C'missioner!” McCurdy said, excitedly, out of the corner of his mouth to his mate.) “It strikes me, young lady,” Dolan grunted, DEATH WEARS A MASK 367 their terms,' I told her, quite happily, ‘and we'll find something better suited to you.' There perhaps I said the wrong thing, making her think I underrated her talents, because she turned in an instant as hard as steel. 'If you can do it, I can,' she said. ‘Moreover, you can carry an untested vehicle more easily than I, since your name is made. Sam will be here in a few seconds with cocktails. Be a good sport and drink to my success. You don't really need this play at all.' Maybe I was un- just to her. Maybe, as Aimée said, she had not listened to me and did not realize how I would feel. At all events, that was testing me too high. I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I merely said to give Hugh my love, he was a lucky man, and that I hoped that they'd both be happy, and then I went out. I don't remem- ber whether I shut the door or not. Perhaps Sing can tell us.” “You left it open," Sing declared. “Mrs. Thorne had followed you to the vestibule. She was talking fast. Excited, a little ashamed, perhaps. 'Don't be silly about this, Alix,' she DEATH WEARS A MASK 369 able longer to contain himself, leaped to his feet and pointed an accusing and brilliantly manicured finger at Sam. “All along I've said he was at the bottom of it. You left her alone with the C'missioner, that's what you did.” “Not exactly,” said Sing, regarding Mc- Curdy with considerable distaste. “I also was present.” And Dolan grinned at Sam. “Your man Friday?” he asked, with a de- cidedly peculiar intonation. DEATH WEARS A MASK 373 it like a fool. He said he would do anything, anything, if she would only marry him. He said he was half crazy with love for her. He would divorce his wife. He would pretend to try Ruland in the part and throw her out as in- competent in order to put Connie, as he called her, in her place. "Amazing was her reply. She fairly scorched him with her scorn. Put her in Miss Ruland's place? Ruin a real actress for her, who was only going on the stage again out of vanity? He was a low worm to suggest such a thing—and to her. To her who had always laughed at him and his airs of the conqueror. 'Get out while you have a chance to go in safety. If I told Sam Mellon what you proposed to do to Alix, he would break every bone in your cringing body! She turned her back on him-on a man beside himself with hate and he leaped to his feet and stabbed her with an instrument he drew from her own hair.” .:. "Here in this foyer?" Dolan asked. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, breath- ing audibly. “Who is this man?” DEATH WEARS A MASK 381 “Listen here,” said Gorman. “Perhaps you know my business better than I do. Every time I see you, you tell me how smart you are, and yet I doubt it. In these rotten times, between the sensational radio programs and the films, you've got to give the public a great kick be- fore they so much as wake up. Ruland's a sensational actress in a sensational profession. This is going to put money in her pocket. She gets a nice fat percentage when we take in over a certain amount.” "If she's not in prison," Sam reminded him, dryly. “If not-well, even then I don't think it would compensate her for the questioning looks and averted heads she will meet. There is only one remedy. I must arrest the real murderer. Sing?" The Chinese had been awaiting this ques- tion. “Yes, sir. Indubitably," was his answer. It was hardly out of his mouth when Mc- Curdy slipped a handcuff on Gorman's wrist. At last McCurdy was a happy man. He had made the arrest in the Thorne case. 882 DEATH WEARS A MASK Gorman drew a deep breath and rose stum- blingly. “Let's go,” he said. “Naturally, I consider this an outrage. Beyond that I shall say noth- ing until I see my lawyer. I assume that I shall be permitted access to a lawyer?" “Certainly," Sam told him, and watched the officers take him away. Arrest for murder seemed devoid of dramatics, altogether a tamer affair than he had anticipated. “All right, Sing,” he said, with an attempt at lightness. “I hope you and I are in the clear this time, but we'll have to watch our step in the future." “Yes, sir.” With a wooden face Sing brought his hat and coat. Farewells on the seventh floor were soon said once he had told them of Sing's identifica- tion. As they were leaving, Sam stopped, turn- ing to Miss Livingston on a sudden memory: “You promised to tell me why you were so sure Harvey didn't kill Connie. Was it the time element? Because I fancy the police would have been hard to convince about that.” 384 DEATH WEARS A MASK derer. ... How about Harry Thaw, did you say? I know nothing of Pittsburgh upstarts, sir.” “And you kept this from me?” Sam infused all the reproach possible into the question. "You'd not been a policeman very long. How was I to know you didn't fancy yourself a sleuth? I had enough trouble subduing my own detective instincts without having to bat- tle with yours.” Miss Livingston still main- tained the superb arrogance of her pose, but there was a faint trace of apology in the mod- ulation of her harsh voice. “Didn't I tell you she was marvelous? She is what I call a grand person,” Louise de- clared. “Let's take Alix home first, then we'll walk. I need exercise." It was not the arrangement Sam would have preferred, but, as usual, Louise had her way. At the Gotham Sam left his niece on the pavement with a muttered excuse and fol- lowed Alix into the lobby. “See here,” he began, conscious of having not DEATH WEARS A MASK 387 cle out of the corners of her eyes. “He's the only man who ever enshrined me, and once he's safely back in China, I think I'll send him a really good photograph—one taken with the baby, perhaps-just to remember me by. I've had plenty of men in love with me whom I didn't admire so much as I do Sing.” "I thought you warned me not to trust him.” “Yes, I believe I did-and that only proves how quickly a woman can change her mind. Probably it was his title. The American love of a title is notorious.” They had reached the entrance to her apart- ment as she spoke, and she went on: “I'm not asking you to come in. I'm tired and so are you, but the next time I intimate delicately that your niece is expecting an heir, I'll thank you to show some interest.” She had dropped a kiss on his cheek and was gone. He rubbed the spot reflectively as he turned to walk home. Women were rum, but he was mighty glad of this news. It would