5 THE SEUM MURDER S A CIFT TO THE LIBRARY OF THE EN UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN G. Garl Huber 828 M/524riu 1 1 17 STIEDONHSONIA B ARTES SCIENTIA | LIBRARY VERITAS OF THE Y OF MICHIGAN TNIVERSITY OFM NITRITTURINTILLANT TCEBOR SL-QURRIS PEI RIS-PENINSULAMAM IN CIRCUMSPICE GUN NUMRI DMONUMUNUNINN Fonte A TEMATTOMUUSMITT WHIC B . O . O . O . O . O . GOOO OOOOOOO PWWMUNOMODULOOMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU1119 OUD- SER.. ........ . . From the Library of Dr. Carl G. Huber MTUNUT 1 12 THE MUSEUM MURDER I 1 Books by JOHN T. MCINTYRE BLOWING WEATHER SHOT TOWERS A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY STAINED SAILS SLAG THE MUSEUM MURDER THE MUSEUM MURDER BY JOHN T. MCINTYRE In all the priceless collection, the finest work of art that day was-murder! 1 PUBLISHED FOR re THE CRIME CLUB, INC. BY DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC. GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK, 1929 COPYRIGHT, 1929 BY JOAN T. MCINTYRE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y. FIRST EDITION 1 From the Library D. Carl G. Huber 1-17-460 2 her 1 I IT > N 'T WAS an August morning. Duddington Pell Chal- mers, when he thought about it afterward, and he did think of it with a deal of intentness more than once, recalled that it was a hot morning. As he sat at break- fast he could see a haze over the trees in the park; the sun, hung about quarter way in the sky, was quite red. The air, as it stirred in the streets and came in at the windows, was heavy and moist. Now fat people do not prosper in the city on hot days; but Duddington was quite good-humored. His cold tub and the splash of the shower had his blood moving briskly; he felt invigorated. He ate his breakfast with many evidences of appreciation, for Turvy was an ex- cellent cook and could do little saddles of fish in a way that was very attractive. “You got an excellent color this morning, Turvy,” said Duddington as he ate; “the white flows into the brown and the brown into the darker edges; it's very appetizing.” “Thank you, sir," said Turvy, “Your coffee is ripening,” said Duddington as he I THE MUSEUM MURDER looked at the dark, mahogany-colored fluid steaming in a broad-topped cup. “It's really growing quite expert. I shall have old Tom Macey in to breakfast some morn- ing, and he shall check up on you. Tom knows a lot about coffee. But for my own drinking you're making splendid progress, Turvy. Usually, Englishmen never make good coffee. They have the tea complex, as I might say, and the bean is never quite understood by them.” He ate some delicately done toast and a little marma- lade which Turvy placed before him in a small silver dish; he sipped his coffee and looked with much satis- faction at a Roman vase in the center of the table. Duddington liked a little sherry of a morning; its bright touch upon the palate, its lifting quality, its brown, cheery color pleased him. When Turvy poured it into a tall goblet, Duddington lighted a cigarette and whistled a few bars of “ Le Cæur de ma mie.” He felt very contented. "Let me have that catalogue,” said he. He'd left the city in mid-July to be gone until October; then Custis wrote asking him to return; but this catalogue of MacQuarrie's was really what brought him back. The moment he'd seen the Spanish glass item he'd packed a bag and returned. “Forty pieces,” he said to Turvy, reading the description once more. “Forty pieces of South Spanish.” } 1 THE MUSEUM MURDER 3 1 “It seems a wonderful chance, sir,” said the man, who was thin and wiry and had sparse sandy hair and a quick eye. “There are two tall tankards,” said Duddington, "and quite a number of bottles and tavern glasses. Eight Almeria goblets, out of the old Moorish furnace of the Thirteenth Century.” “You could do with those, sir," said Turvy. “They have quite a splendid sound.” Duddington approved of MacQuarrie's place. They seldom made a noise about a thing there; you never heard any yelping through the mail; there were no outcries in the newspapers. If they had a rare item they told you of it, gravely, as became an important matter; there was never a crush of people who came merely out of curiosity. You sat leisurely, and talked, and bid. You had an excellent time. Duddington thought of this, smoked the cigarette, and drank a little of the sherry. Then he arose and began to dress. "It's going to be a warm day, Turvy,” he said. "Warm days always begin like this. Mist and a red sun. I think I shall wear a soft collar.” Turvy had a bothered look. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Chalmers,” he said, “but you have no soft collars, sir.” 1 Blog THE MUSEUM MURDER “No soft collars!” said Duddington. He paused in the act of fastening his sleeve links. “Why not?” “The laundry has made a mistake of some kind, sir. All your soft collars—two dozen of them, sir-have gone astray." Duddington went on with the sleeve links. He felt quite cool and at ease, and he desired to keep so. What were a few dozen collars! “Very well,” he said. “We'll not get into a state of mind about it. Have someone go out immediately and get some others.” “I've already sent out, Mr. Chalmers,” the man said. “And I've gone myself—to all the good places near at hand. And I've telephoned others. But I haven't been able to get you any collars, sir.” Duddington whistled more bars of “ Le Cæur de ma mie,” and looked at a water color hanging over his writ- ing desk. It had been done by Alma Rogers, and showed a green lane in Brittany; there were some cows in it, a spot of broken hedge, and a yellow path. A man could wear a stiffly starched collar down a lane like that without discomfort. But New York streets at high noon of an August day were something else. “Turvy,” he said, “why can you not get me any soft collars?" Turvy hesitated. He was a man of good sense and THE MUSEUM MURDER 5 did not care to touch his employer upon a tender spot. For Duddington Pell Chalmers was a person of size; he was more than merely fat: he was ponderous. Being above six feet in height he weighed two hundred and eighty pounds. His limbs were mighty; his torso was colossal; his smooth, pink face was vast and round. “There were none of your size, sir,” said Turvy. “You take a size twenty, Mr. Chalmers; and, if you'll remem- ber, the last you had were made to order.” Duddington remembered. So they were. He'd given the order himself. He recalled that the man at the shop where he'd gone-one of the pointed-moustached, purple-shirted sort-had smiled when the size was mentioned. Also Duddington suspected him of winking at another man-a narrow-shouldered youth with plastered-down hair. They'd thought it diverting, but Duddington had not. He'd never fancied the little jokes of tailors or glovers or shirt makers about his size. He knew he was of a comfortable shape, but did not care to have the matter too sharply observed by others. Couldn't man be fat if he had a mind to? And what the devil did they mean by their chuckles ! He gazed out over the park with its haze above the trees and its dim red sun, and he saw the scorching drives and the flurries of dust lifting in the trails of motor cars. He felt himself gradually coming to a glow; there THE MUSEUM MURDER were small globules of moisture upon the backs of his hands. “I hope, Turvy, you spoke sharply to the laundry people when they reported their error,” he said. “Yes," said Turvy, firmly, "I did, Mr. Chamers; I told them their carelessness wasn't to be tolerated, sir. That was after I'd discovered your collars had been sent to another person.” “Oh!” said Duddington, “they were sent to an- other person!" He buttoned on the stiff collar reluctantly, finished his dressing, and descended in the elevator. The stiff linen band was uncomfortable; he put a finger down behind it and tugged at it. “Hot day, suh,” said the elevator operator. “It'll sta't singin' befo' night.” : Duddington felt this was true. And MacQuarrie's might be stuffy; the forty pieces of Spanish glass after all might draw a huge crowd; he might have a most uncomfortable day. And then he visioned the man who had his soft collars: he was a smug and uninteresting- looking person, and decidedly the sort that would take an advantage. “I'm sure Turvy did not say enough to those people,” he told himself, exasperated. “I shall speak to them myself.” THE MUSEUM MURDER He paused in the corridor to get a newspaper and ask the telephone operator to call him a cab; and as he talked to the boy at the telephone desk he felt the starched collar catching him expertly under his Adam's apple. He turned to go into a room where there were some public telephones and collided with a man who'd been standing just behind him. He was an extremely tall man—"extremely” was the word Duddington found fixed in his mind later on when he had occasion to re- view the incident-and he apologized at once. “Not at all,” said Duddington. “My fault entirely. I beg yours.” The fat young man went into the room where the telephones were; this was also, so it seemed, the objec- tive of the tall man, for he followed at once and began searching through a directory at one side. Duddington got the laundry branch and put an unaccustomed rasp into his voice as he spoke. They said they were sorry; it would not happen again. However, Duddington noted that these protestations were made in an ex- ceedingly cheerful voice; he frowned as he listened to it and put no faith in it. He called their attention to the sort of day it was and the way he'd been inconvenienced; he told them he was completely dissatisfied with their way of doing things. But then, just as he was adding to the displeasure already in his voice, they told him the THE MUSEUM MURDER collars had been located; they were in the office and ready to deliver. “We'll send them up to you at once, Mr. Chalmers,” said the clerk. “And I'd like to call your attention to an enclosure in the package. Kindly look for it.” “An enclosure in my package of collars!” said Duddington. He grew very red; the perspiration started upon him. “What do you mean?" He saw a bill being sent him in this unusual way; and his attention was being called to it as though he were a person who did not pay promptly. “This is an impertinence.” The clerk began an explanation, but Duddington would not listen. “Send the parcel to my apartment at once," he said. “At once! I shall make settlement with you im- mediately!" He went out to his cab, which stood at the curb, and told the man to drive to MacQuarrie's. He was very angry. The insolence of them! The starched collar gripped him tightly, and he felt it wilting. In a half hour it would be an unsightly, pulpy mass. And they were sending him an enclosure, were they? He rapped upon the glass, and the driver of the cab slowed down and turned to see what was wanted. Duddington desired him to drive to the laundry and gave him the street and number. The clerk at the laundry branch was a blonde girl Va THE MUSEUM MURDER 2s with bright blue eyes and rouged lips. The idea of a bill in Mr. Chalmers package of collars was rejected by her at once. Oh, no! They never did things like that! It was not to be thought of. She produced the package; upon the regulation list fastened to it was written the word “enclosure" in red ink. She did not know what it was; in mentioning it over the telephone she'd merely desired to call his attention to it. Duddington said he'd take the collars himself. He hooked his stick over his left arm and cleared his throat. He said he supposed the incident was closed. He'd been rather put out, and quite likely lost his temper. He'd meant to withdraw his patronage, but if they saw to it that the matter wasn't repeated he was willing to say no more about it. “Mr. Chalmers,” said the clerk, cheerfully, “it never shall be repeated. We shall take great care of that. Good- day, sir.” And so Duddington, with his collars under his arm, got into the cab and was driven away. THE MUSEUM MURDER II coins were in cabinets at one side; etchings covered one whole wall; another was devoted to some Belgian water colorists. But the gallery was hot, and the fat young man fumbled with his starched collar. “What's the idea of the hurry, MacQuarrie?” he said to the man. “Forty pieces of South Spanish glass on a day like this! You'll not have more than a handful to bid.” MacQuarrie's voice sank to a whisper. "Mr. Chalmers,” he said, “as is usually the case, the owner is pressed for money. It is a lady, and she is quite anxious to have the matter put through as quickly as possible. She is Mexican. Her ancestors were Spanish crown officers in the old times. One of them, who was made governor of a province in 1592 by King Philip, filled a ship with his personal property and family and sailed from Spain to take up his duties. The glass," and MacQuarrie's voice sank even lower, "was in that ship. Genuine Almeria! A beautiful apple green, and un fractured throughout the whole lot. One of the rarest lots I have put up for sale in years.” MacQuarrie was a short man and quite bald; he had a rounded stomach and a big, white, heavy face. He'd been, some ten years before, bookkeeper to an auc- tioneer who specialized in art objects; acquiring an tensive knowledge of the art-buying public and the 12 THE MUSEUM MURDER e- sources of supply, MacQuarrie began business for himself on a side street. From the first he'd been care- ful. He built up a reputation for wide learning in the matter of paintings and etchings by a few phrases and a set of gestures; people journeyed from far and near for opinions on pottery, silver, rugs, and old jewelry. He came along rapidly; as his means grew he moved into Fifth Avenue and established exclusive contacts; each room was set like a stage; his lighting was spoken of as being perfect. While the proprietor of the place was talking to Dud- dington, a small stoop-shouldered man with peculiarly light eyes approached; his mouth drooped at the corners, and he had a habit of pulling his coat about him as though it were a cloak. “I knew I should see you, sir,” he said to Duddington, with a wave of the hand and a smile that showed a row of too-perfect teeth. “As soon as I opened my catalogue the other morning I said to myself: 'Mr. Chalmers will be there. He finds it hard to resist glass of any kind; but Spanish glass and such a rich item of it will make it impossible for him to stay away.'” "I think you're right, Marsh,” said Duddington. “Of course, I fancy good pottery and some kinds of silver; and I have a decided weakness for lithographs and water colors. But glass fills my eye when it's good and of THE MUSEUM MURDER 13 the proper sort; and the South Spanish make, after the Moorish design, does more with me than any other." Marsh said he thought the Moors splendid fellows, and that they had a wonderful sense of form and color. Their carved leather was magnificent; so were their inlaid armor and their brasses. Of course, their glass furnaces were crude, but what else could be said of any primitive art or handicraft? Duddington mopped his face with a large handkerchief; Marsh's talk pictured deserts and Arab towns, brown artificers and caravans laden with the rich product of their factories. Mac- Quarrie had gone to meet some new arrivals, and Dud- dington sat down in a red Chinese chair and fanned himself with a catalogue. He said the Moors had their influences and had been guided by them just as the Venetians, or Flemings, or Bohemians, had been. Byzantium was the Arab's near neighbor, and her designs and colors had their effect; and Byzantium had inherited from the older Greek-Roman source, which, in its turn, had been enriched by the spoil of Egypt. "The Venetian glass maker," said Duddington, really had much the same influences as the Arab, but as her geographical contacts were not the same, her growth in this art came by another route, and with a different result. And though the Venetian product is 14 THE MUSEUM MURDER magnificent it lacks something which the cruder Moor possessed. I think,” said Duddington, “the difference had its beginning in the attitude of mind. The Arab received the gift humbly; and the Venetian took it with a good deal of arrogance, as he was apt to do.” The pieces of Spanish glass were set out upon a table; they were the product of the old furnaces of Almeria, beyond a doubt; rather thick and clumsy and having a solidity of metal which other European glass had not. There were goblets and tankards and bottles and bowls and vases, all of a lovely pale green, translucent, shining, generous. “Almost perfect!” said Duddington. “Splendid speci- mens! I never saw better,” he said to MacQuarrie, who was at the table with a man who had just come in. “Take this Alagon," holding up a tall piece and allowing the light to fall through it: “It almost shows the dark hand of its maker; the sun of the South is in it in spite of its coloring; the shape of it at once suggests the black tents of the horse breeders, or the inns beside the water holes where the caravans came to rest.” MacQuarrie's second chin quivered pleasurably. He spoke to the man beside him. “Mr. Chalmers is an enthusiast,” he said. Then to Duddington. “You know Mr. Sheerness, I think." "Oh, yes,” said Duddington. He nodded to Sheerness, THE MUSEUM MURDER 15 a big, gray-haired man with hard eyes and a heavy jaw. "How do you do?" Sheerness greeted Duddington briefly; he fumbled with his watch guard; his hard eyes went here and there among the green glass pieces with a kind of resentment. "When you see Mr. Chalmers in town on a hot day, something is going on,” said MacQuarrie to Sheerness. "There is a promise of the unusual.” He smiled and nodded his shining head. “A catalogue or announce- ment has told him something." Duddington lifted his brows. · "MacQuarrie seems to look upon his patrons as sort of salesroom barometers. I've heard that some of his most expert judgments are based upon who shows in- terest in what he's offering.” MacQuarrie laughed, Marsh rubbed his hands and nodded and smiled. But Sheerness stared, coldly. “I'm favorably disposed toward this collection,” he said to the dealer. “It seems quite authentic.” MacQuarrie gestured. “I've been concerned in the sale of art objects and antiques for twenty years,” he said. “And I've never seen so many perfect pieces in one group.” He looked at Duddington as though hoping for a further expression; but the fat young man was admiring some tavern glasses and paid no attention. So the art dealer shifted his eyes 16 THE MUSEUM MURDER a to Marsh. “No one knows more about this kind of thing than Mr. Marsh,” he said to Sheerness. “You know him, I think.” Sheerness merely glanced at the man, but Marsh put on his glasses with some eagerness. “South Spanish is a new thing for the collector,” he said. “And in consequence there's still some of it to be found outside the institutions. You are quite correct in your judgment, Mr. Sheerness: these pieces are abso- lutely authentic.” Sheerness nodded, and then with a kind of contempt turned his back on the man; he spoke in a low tone to MacQuarrie, handing him a card upon which he'd writ- ten some memoranda. And then, without a word or a glance to one side or the other, he left the place. And when he'd gone Duddington beckoned to the proprie- tor. “MacQuarrie,” he said, “any time that person comes into your place with his damned arrogance, I'll take it as a favor if you'll not call my attention, if I'm here, to anything he's occupied with.” "Mr. Chalmers,” said MacQuarrie, "really, now. I only meant to " “Very well,” said Duddington. “I'm making a point of this so you'll not forget it. You have a habit, for your own advantage, of calling people into the range THE MUSEUM MURDER 17 of his insolence.” He looked steadily at the man for a moment and added:“This is the first time it's happened to me; if it happens again I shall have something to say to both Mr. Sheerness and yourself which neither of you will like.” MacQuarrie protested and apologized, but Dudding- ton frowned him away. “Damned swine, both of them,” said the fat young man to Marsh. “Mr. Sheerness is a hard person to approach,” said Marsh. “The cure for that is to not approach him,” said Duddington. “That would be quite an easy attitude for you, sir,” said Marsh. “But I have a living to make, you see. My knowledge of art matters and antiques is my chief asset, and if I'm to earn anything by it I must have the favor of rich collectors and active institutions." “I suppose that's true enough,” said Duddington. “But what have you earned by way of Sheerness in the last, let us say, five years?” "Nothing.” Marsh shook his head. “Not anything. There was a time when I was very useful to him; he was beginning his collections then, and I advised him and helped his judgments. But that affair of the Hals did for me, Mr. Chalmers. It ruined me, sir." 18 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Well, what else could you expect?” said Dudding- ton. “You worked against Sheerness, didn't you? He wanted that picture; he'd stated in the public prints he meant to buy it. Having had what he wanted all his life, he never considered that someone might overreach him. When you stepped in with the John Gregory money behind you and took the picture right from under his nose you did an unforgivable thing.” “But,” protested Marsh, “it is all in the game. Everyone understands that.” “Sheerness doesn't. No man appreciates the sporting aspects of anything if he is accustomed to keeping con. stantly in the front of his mind that he is a very great person. And rules mean nothing to him. He wants what he wants and bears down all opposition. If you oppose him you are his enemy. If you are cleverer than he, or more ready, or have more information, you af- front him. In buying the Hals for the John Gregory Museum when he desired it, you caused him to halt for a moment in his stride. He'll never forgive you for that.” “He bears MacQuarrie no ill will,” said Marsh, rub- bing his hands together. “He comes here quite often; he's, perhaps, the heaviest buyer the gallery has. And then there is Custis, of the John Gregory Museum. He was the person who gave me my authority in buying the On е THE MUSEUM MURDER 19 picture, and Mr. Sheerness is on good terms with him.” “Yes, I know,” said Duddington. He nodded; as he wiped the dust from one of the tavern glasses there was a puzzled look upon his face. “So he is.” “It was Custis, Mr. Chalmers, who insisted on the purchase being made in the way it was. If Mr. Sheerness was publicly humiliated, Custis was to blame, not I. For, do you see, sir, he detested Mr. Sheerness and wanted to see him laughed at. I didn't realize it then, but I do now. He detested Mr. Sheerness, and he still does. For all the good will Mr. Sheerness has shown him, for all the gifts he's made his institution, Custis jeers behind his back. He derides him.” Duddington did not reply to this. He called to Mac- Quarrie's assistant, penciled a bid on the back of a card, and handed it to him. The man looked at the figures and lifted his brows. "If you want to buy in this glass, Mr. Chalmers," he said, “and cannot attend the sale, I don't mind saying to you there is a higher price already offered. A gentleman desires this lot as a gift to an art institution, and his bid is very high. If you can see your way clear to raising this figure,” looking at the card, “I'll be glad to put it down.” “No,” said Duddington. “That's my price, Curry. No more.” 20 THE MUSEUM MURDER The man went away, and Marsh nodded; there was a pale gleam in his light-colored eyes. “Sheerness will make another gift to the John Gregory Museum, I think. This will be another gesture, showing how well disposed he is toward Custis. And, Mr. Chalmers, Custis will still make game of him.” 22 THE MUSEUM MURDER were in need of pressing and rather well worn; and he had the full, rather overdone manner of the old school. “I've just rung his bell, but there's been no answer.” “No matter," said Duddington good-humoredly. “It is all right. I am Mr. Chalmers.” The tall man shook hands with him. “I saw you some time ago," he said. “Downstairs. I had no idea it was you. This is the third time I've been here since. And I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you.” “That's fine,” said Duddington affably. “My name's Podmore," said the tall man. “D. P. Podmore. I'm from Cincinnati. I've been in Boston on business, and I've stopped over on the way back es- pecially to see you.” “Good!” said Duddington. He unlocked the door. That is, he turned the key and to his surprise found the lock not set. “Will you come in?” Mr. Podmore followed him in. The windows were open; the trees moved gently in the park; the street noises at that height were subdued to a drone. “A wonderful little place,” said the man from Cin- cinnati as he went to a window and stood looking out. “Such a view! Do you know, Mr. Chalmers, a man could get nothing quite like this in my city no matter what price he'd offer." THE MUSEUM MURDER 23 Duddington put the parcel of collars upon a side table; the tall man went to another window and looked out. This opened upon a court, and there was the plat- form of a high-railed fire escape directly outside. The fat young man gazed at his visitor; there was something eager and unusual about him; and for the first time it came to Duddington that Mr. Podmore's being on the fifteenth floor, apparently without the knowledge of the clerk downstairs, was somewhat peculiar. “We are away behind New York," said the man. “Quite a distance behind.” He left the window, put his hands in his pockets, and took a turn or two up and down the floor. “Mr. Chalmers," he said, looking at Duddington, "you have been known to me by reputa- tion for a long time; not only by your name as a con- noisseur of the fine arts, but also as a bon vivant. I might say as an epicure. The table, sir, is a fading tradition in this country; the knowledge of sound wine, and the proper time and condition to drink it, is be- coming a mere memory.” “Mr. Podmore,” said Duddington gravely, “you are quite right. People no longer give attention to cookery: what should be delicate and succulent dishes are left in the hands of clumsy pretenders for preparation; and as for wines, there are only a few well-selected cellars left in all New York.” 24 THE MUSEUM MURDER C "No doubt,” said the man. “And, as time goes on, these, too, will disappear. A generation will come who have never put a leg under a table in the old sense. And then, Mr. Chalmers, the world, to all intents and purposes, will have come to a stop. But,” and Mr. Podmore gestured this away, “that's not what I came to talk about; I'm here to have you settle a vexed ques- tion-a question that has not only been vexing me, but quite a number of others in my city.” Duddington looked at the speaker in surprise; he waved his hand toward a chair, and they both sat down. “Anything I can do,” said the fat young man, “I'll do with pleasure.” “I have been, in my day, a collector of rare wines," said Mr. Podmore. “My knowledge, if I may say so, set many a gentleman's feet upon the path he should go in the matter of vintages. And I have always been an admirer of those mixtures which existed in their most perfect form in the United States alone-mixtures, Mr. Chalmers, which, if they had not been abolished in a legal sense, would eventually have enabled this nation to take a place in the front rank with those others which have given creature comforts their proper share of attention.” There was a too fervid color in this speech, and Dud- dington frowned a little and looked puzzled. THE MUSEUM MURDER 25 “Quite so, Mr. Podmore,” he said. “I see what you mean.” Mr. Podmore got up once more; he seemed restless; the eager manner was more and more pronounced; he moved about the room. “I am much older than you,” he said. “And conse- quently I have eaten a great many more dinners, and before those dinners I have been given many sorts of cocktails. But one memorable night a few years ago in the city of Toledo, sir-I became acquainted with the Chalmers,” he nodded and waved one hand in a gesture of gratitude. “Sir, the absolute monarch of all before-dinner drinks.” Duddington's suspicious manner relaxed; indeed, he looked pleased. "It is nothing of importance,” he said. “Just a little thing. Maybe clever, but that's all.” Mr. Podmore sat down upon a corner of the side table. “I expected that,” he said. “True ability is always modest. I do not know how this cocktail was received in the East upon its first appearance; but in Toledo it was regarded with the utmost favor.” “Awfully nice of them,” said Duddington, more pleased than ever. "I'm greatly obliged.” “I was astonished at the texture of your thought, Mr. Chalmers; I was overjoyed. The drink had an exquisite 26 THE MUSEUM MURDER balance that amazed me.” Becoming even more ex- pansive, the man took more room on the table; the packet of collars was in his way, and he placed it upon a window sill. “The man who mixed it was a New Yorker,” he said, “a gentleman whom I'd never seen before, nor since, and he'd gone away before I had a chance to question him. In Cincinnati I asked for the drink at a number of clubs and at private gatherings. Mostly they were in ignorance of its existence; some few claimed to know how it was made; but it was always a shocking concoction; nothing like the real things at all.” “That's too bad,” said Duddington. "I'm awfully sorry.” “No two results were alike,” said Mr. Podmore. “I've drunk probably threescore attempts at a Chal- mers, and no two were alike." "It's just stupidity, that's what it is,” said Dudding- ton. “I'm frightfully grieved, Mr. Podmore, I assure you.” “When I questioned the correctness of the mixings," said the man from Cincinnati, “I became engaged in contention. I had difficulties on every hand.” He was quite excited; he slipped from the table and stepped about the room, gesturing. “One night at the Merchants Club my remarks affronted a number of prominent members. They upheld the club's idea of the Chalmers, THE MUSEUM MURDER 27 and I denounced it. Stewards were sent for; butlers were questioned; afterward hotel keepers, local ex- perts, old members with a known taste for such things, and even ex-barkeepers were cross-examined. But the result was chaos. The testimony was bewildering; rec- ipes were tested and found to be worthless. The wit- nesses quarreled among themselves; what might be called a state of anarchy grew up; in the end the highly respectable Merchants Club found itself practically dis- organized.” - "Dear me!” said Duddington, aghast. “Why, that was a devil of a state of things, wasn't it?". Mr. Podmore, very much fushed, sat down upon the window sill and fanned himself with his hat. "That is precisely what I thought myself,” he said. “Precisely. In a sense, Mr. Chalmers, the situation was ridiculous. And I resolved, at my first opportunity, to drop off in New York, see you, and get the facts of the recipe from your own lips.” "Well, of course, Mr. Podmore, I feel immensely flattered. It never occurred to me that my little idea for a cocktail would ever cause a stir like this. But, for- tunately, the whole matter can be settled at once, and, no doubt, to the satisfaction of all interested parties.” Duddington nodded good-humoredly. “Have you a pencil? Good. It would be best to put it down so you'll 28. THE MUSEUM MURDER be quite sure of it. First, you take a glass shaker " “What!” interrupted the man from Cincinnati. “A glass shaker? Why, not one of them used that.” Duddington shook his head; he had an air of distress. “There, you see. What can you expect? They were wrong at the very start. The glass shaker is absolutely necessary, because the other sort always leaves a metal- lic taste. This is, of course, slight, but it is noticeable to a sensitive palate. I never use one.” “Glass!" said Mr. Podmore admiringly. “That's a delicate stroke. I begin to see the reason for your suc- cess, sir, in these matters.” "The ice should be cracked, but not too fine,” said Duddington. “Bear this in mind. Shaved ice will not do. It is altogether wrong and must never be used by a per- son who hopes for quality. The gin should be Hol- land's " “No!" cried Mr. Podmore excitedly. “Surely not, Mr. Chalmers!" “Holland's,” repeated Duddington firmly. “Gordon is well enough when you can get it good, but it has no place in the Chalmers. One part of Holland's, one of French vermouth, a scant six drops of Peyschaud Bit- ters " “And then the drop of absinthe,” said Mr. Podmore, his pencil poised. erm Ca VI THE MUSEUM MURDER 29 aw “Absinthe!" Duddington looked at him in horror. “No, no!" “What, no absinthe?” “By no means,” said Duddington. “Not a breath of it.” “Why, then," said Mr. Podmore, much astonished, “I now see the reason for all our trouble. The metal shaker in the first place, the wrong sort of gin, and then the absinthe. Every so-called Chalmers I ever saw mixed in Cincinnati had absinthe in it. They were all so fixed in their belief that this was one of the funda- mentals that I never for a moment doubted it. Mr. Chalmers,” after he had scribbled the last facts into a small book with a hand that shook, so agitated was he, “I am indeed grateful to you for putting me right in this.” He arose to grasp Duddington by the hand, and in doing so struck the parcel of collars and toppled it from the window sill and into the courtyard below. "Well, now, that was extremely awkward of me,” said Mr. Podmore. “I trust it was nothing of a breakable nature, sir.” "Some soft collars,” said Duddington. “It's no mat- ter. I'll call the office; one of the boys will bring them up to me.” “By no means," said the man from Cincinnati. “You shall not be put to further trouble on my account, 30 THE MUSEUM MURDER Mr. Chalmers. I'll get them; it will take but a min- ute.” Before Duddington could speak, Mr. Podmore had thrust himself through the window opening upon the fire escape and started do 7. “Upon my word!” said Duddington, amazed. “What the devil does the fellow mean?" He called to Podmore, who glanced back and waved his hand reassuringly; but he kept on down the iron stairs. Exasperated, and with a feeling that something was going forward of which he had no knowledge, Duddington fumed about the room for a space, then went to the telephone and called the office. “Send someone out into the courtyard and stop a man who is on his way down the fire escape. And bring him up here." : He hung up the receiver and looked about; he tried closet doors and cabinets and drawers in tables; he looked into his bedroom; everything was neat, orderly, untouched. “Somehow,” said Duddington, “I now think that fellow was coming out of this apartment when I saw him at the door.” There was a chest of drawers in his dressing room where he kept his shirts and such things; this was open, and the contents of the drawers were tossed as though by a hasty, searching hand. “He's been in this,” said Duddington. He stroked his THE MUSEUM MURDER 31 chin and breathed heavily. “No doubt of that at all. But what's the idea? Why, if he " There was a ring at the door bell; Duddington found the clerk standing there. “I hurried out into the courtyard as soon as I got your call, Mr. Chalmers,” he said. “One of the porters who happened to be in the office went with me. But there was no one on the fire escape, and there was no one in the court.” “No one at all?” said Duddington. “No, sir. But the porter picked this up.” He held out the parcel of collars, the wrapping paper broken and the neatly typed list soiled and torn. “As it has your name upon it, I brought it up.” And as Duddington took the parcel the clerk looked into the room and said: "Is anything wrong?” "No," said Duddington, “I think not. There was a visitor here, that's all; and he took a somewhat uncon- ventional way of leaving.” “Someone you know?" “No,” said Duddington. “A stranger.” “We are careful not to permit people to get upon the private floors unless they are known,” said the clerk. “But apartment thieves are clever. Sometimes they manage it.” “It's all right, I think. I'll make no complaint now,” IV IT WAS a few hours later. Duddington Pell Chalmers I had a shower, and a doze in a big chair; then Turvy brought his lunch, a few biscuits, a pint of nicely cooled champagne, and a cigar. As he smoked the cigar Duddington looked at his watch. "Haviz will be here shortly,” he said to Turvy. “Bring him right in.” “Yes, sir,” said Turvy. “Immediately he comes.” Duddington drew slowly at the cigar; it was a blend of tobaccos he'd carefully thought out for his own taste; suave, aromatic, full of sunlight and the cool drip of rain; there was a trace of the tilled earth, giving it the tang that made it perfect. He looked at the water color over his writing desk. Alma Rogers had a grateful touch; he'd always thought that; she'd worked at life until she'd separated an individual thing, a thing you'd remember as Rogers herself if you gave much thought to it. The fire, the air, the water that had gone to make her had gone into this picture. It was a way she had. Duddington believed it was a way every good painter had. If a man was merely a manufacturer of landscapes, 33 34 THE MUSEUM MURDER or marines, or portraits, why, well enough. Sometimes things of that sort were attractive; you enjoyed looking at them. But make no mistake-they were only things of paint, canvas, labor, and money. The spirit of the maker was not in them. But this wasn't so of Rogers. She'd put her essence into everything she'd done. Duddington felt she was as fully present in the little water color as she would have been had she stood beside him. A lane in Brittany; a narrow yellow way through a green country. She hadn't bothered much with the hedge or with the break in it; but it was a hedge as truly as though it grew out of the ground, and the break was one you felt you could crawl through. And the cows! They were of white and brown paint; the drawing was swift and not too careful; but they had, you were quite sure, calved and given suck; they gave milk to women who brought clean bright pails; they were the daughters of great bulls! “Damned fine talent,” said Duddington as he smoked and looked. “Quite wonderful.” Haviz came in about three o'clock. He was a dark, middle-aged man with heavy black brows, and eyes of a peculiar burning quality; his face was long and thin; he had strong, grasping hands and his hair was shot with gray. He sat down and talked with Duddington; from among the drinks named for him he took brandy. THE MUSEUM MURDER 35 “Pretty heating tipple for the time of year,” said Duddington. Haviz put down the empty glass and lighted a cigarette. 4 “When I've got to go talk with Custis, I feel I must have a bracer,” he said. “If there is anyone who takes it out of me he is the man.” Duddington nodded his head. “That's about the way he acts on me,” he said. “He's an infernal little elemental, with envy in all his doings and malice in all his words.” Haviz sat silent for some time, his heavy brows drawn together. · "I know the way you have of thinking of him,” he said. “Your view is half humorous; he's a sort of un- born thing to you-an imp, and scarcely responsible according to the usual code. But I've known him a long time; I have seen shades of his character which you have not. He's dangerous.” And then with a sudden burst of passion that made Duddington open his eyes: “And God help the person who falls into his hands. He's as pitiless as ice." Duddington pursed up his lips and blew out his cheeks; and he blinked his eyes rapidly. “Well,” he said, “I don't fancy him. I especially don't care for him as a person who has the future of an 36 THE MUSEUM MURDER art institution like the John Gregory Museum in his hands. That was a terrible mistake the old man made in his will delegating such large powers to Custis; if he'd any foresight at all he'd have known such powers would be used to further private ambitions, to thwart enemies and promote ill feeling. For Custis laps such things up as a cat does milk. But, at the same time," and Duddington smiled good-humoredly, “his ad- ministration has not been without its good points. The way he's handled the cold blooded Sheerness almost makes me forgive him everything else.” Haviz drew deeply at his cigarette and exhaled the smoke in a cloud. He said the whole matter between Custis and Sheerness was one he'd never been able to quite understand-from the point of view of Sheerness, that was to say. “I was speaking about that very thing only this morning,” said Duddington. Haviz threw up a quick sketch. The whole business career of Sheerness had been predatory; his dealings had been within the law, but ruthless. No man who dared stand in his way but eventually felt the weight of his blows; anyone who resisted him at once became the object of his unrelenting anger. And yet, there was Custis, who had humiliated him as perhaps no one had ever humiliated him before, and Sheerness forgave him THE MUSEUM MURDER 37 and bestowed upon the institution he represented rich gifts. There were some, Haviz said, who thought Custis was merely ambitious in buying the painting The Syndic's Daughter. The Gregory Museum, so their notions went, had no outstanding work by an old master, and so when the Hals canvas was put up for sale they thought Custis was eager to acquire it in order to enrich the institution's collection. But, in Haviz's mind, this belief struck far from the truth. He'd always felt Custis had some sort of an old score to settle with Sheerness; the two had had dealings together years before and had fallen out, and Custis had never failed to speak bitterly upon all occasions of his former patron. And so, when the Hals came along in the Paris sale, Custis, with the Gregory money behind him, saw in it an opportunity to give expression to his spite. Duddington nodded. “That is what happened. I feel sure of it.” Haviz said Custis's side of the situation was not hard to understand. But Sheerness and his attitude were different. Here was a man who had come to consider himself as being little short of omnipotent. Then this thing of the picture happened. For a little space he lost his balance; he cursed Custis and raged like a demon. Suddenly, however, he calmed down; in a month he'd made advances to the Gregory Museum; he visited it 38 THE MUSEUM MURDER for the first time; he viewed the Hals and said that, while he regretted not having secured it, he could not help feeling that after all the museum's acquisition of it might be best. He spoke pleasantly to Custis; he praised his enterprise; and everyone was amazed. "I couldn't credit it at first,” said Duddington. “It wasn't until Sheerness made his first gift that I was fully persuaded.” “That first gift was enough to persuade anyone: the Paulding collection of Roman medals!” Haviz twitched in his chair and gestured. “Sheerness had bought them up like snapping your fingers and had them sent directly to the Museum. I'm told he never even saw them. The damned arrogance of the man is appalling, isn't it? The finest collection of ancient bronze impressions in America, and he buys and disposes of them as though they were so much groceries." “He's brought the methods of his business into the art game,” said Duddington. “He cares no more, really, for the rare things he collects than I do for the type of engraving used in his common stock. But the things are rare; other people are anxious to have them; they attract notice to him; and so he spends his money for them. He hires art ferrets to go rummaging about; he has standing offers for great paintings. Since the war he has depleted, in an art sense, some of the oldest THE MUSEUM MURDER 39 families and towns in Europe. There's that lot of Florentine breviaries which the Gregory Museum got from him. Their like was never gotten together before; every monk who worked upon their illumination was a master; weeks must have sometimes been given to the perfecting of a single page.” "I mentioned the matter of the gifts to MacQuarrie the other day,” said Haviz. “He took it quite calmly; he said it must be that Sheerness had made up his mind to distribute his art holdings before his death and not trust to making a will. I asked him what he drew from the fact that all the gifts had been made to the Gregory. But he only shook his head and said a man must begin somewhere, and he supposed the Gregory was simply lucky enough to come first to Sheerness's mind.” “That's not the answer,” said Duddington. "No." “What do you think is?” asked Haviz. He sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed upon Duddington's face. “What's his motive?” "I couldn't say,” replied the fat young man. “But if anybody thinks Sheerness has forgiven Custis, they're mistaken. He still hates him; and whatever he has in mind, whatever has caused him to act in this extraordi- nary way, has that feeling behind it.” “Yes,” said Haviz. “He still hates Custis. I agree with you in that. He hates him as bitterly as ever.” THE fine Georgian house built years before by 1 John Gregory, and for many years occupied by him, stood in a street in the Murray Hill section. And this, by command set down in the old man's will, was now the John Gregory Memorial Museum and housed his splendid art collection; also, in the words of the will, it was to be “open and free of access to the public for- ever.” The splendid bronze doors were at the level of the sidewalk; inside there were eight broad marble steps lifting to the first floor, and with a magnificent balus- trade of white stone in the middle. This entrance was lighted by two huge windows, one on each side of the doorway. To the left, as you gained the corridor, was the main picture gallery. On the right was a room given over to pottery, glass, and kindred arts; next this was the stairway leading to the second floor; behind this again was the room used for the handsome pieces of sculpture collected by the founder during his long life. At the left rear of the corridor were the offices of the museum; a wonderfully fashioned wrought-iron gate at the end of the corridor opened into a storeroom. 40 THE MUSEUM MURDER 41 Down the full length of the building the walls were hung with exquisite rugs, with bits of armor, antique weapons, rare brasses, and bas-reliefs. The main pic- ture gallery glowed with the color of the superb paint- ings for which John Gregory had paid out, possibly, three millions or more of dollars. Upon the back wall, so arranged that the light fell craftily upon it, was the famous painting of the Dutch master, Frans Hals, the most talked of and easily the most precious item in the museum. The prints, medals, coins, old ivory, wood carvings, etchings, work in gold and silver, were on the second floor; also the illuminated manuscripts, and rare bindings, and early Americana of various sorts in which the founder had been interested. Duddington and Haviz passed down the corridor; as it was late there were few visitors in the place: the usual little knot, however, was gathered before the Hals. “Speaking from a business point of view,” said Dud- dington, “a quarter of a million was well spent in that picture. It's gained the institution wonderful publicity; people come to look at it because of the price, who'd never think of doing so for any other reason." They went into the office, and a girl seated at a desk arose. “Good-afternoon, Mr. Chalmers,” she said. “How do you do, Mr. Haviz? Mr. Custis is engaged for a mo- 42 THE MUSEUM MURDER wa seco ment. I'll speak to him when he's through, if you'll wait.” A door opening from the office into the main gallery was open, and in this stood a second girl and a young man. “How are you, Chalmers?” said the latter. He shook hands with Duddington. “Glad to see you.” “Hello, Billy," said the fat young man. “Still in town, eh? Well, you artist fellows do beat the deuce." Billy Gregory laughed. “I'm gathering data for this job I've got out on the west coast,” he said. “I'll have to be leaving in another month, so I thought it would be as well to do what I could in advance.” “If I had known you were in town I'd have expected to see you at MacQuarrie's this morning,” said Dud. dington. “They had a showing of some good things, I believe,” said Billy Gregory, regretfully. “But, then, I suppose it makes no difference; I can never touch anything at a MacQuarrie sale, anyway; his patrons never have any trouble outbidding me. And, besides that,” with a smile, “I'm a painter first and a collector afterward, so I'm going to allow the auctions to slip for a while.” “Glad to hear you say it,” said Duddington with much satisfaction. “You've got your name to make, THE MUSEUM MURDER ordered several barrels of brushes and a few hundred gallons of color.” Alma Rogers put her hand on the young man's arm; but she looked at Duddington and Haviz. “When he says things like that, don't listen to him," she said. “It's only a screen to hide what he really feels. He's white and shaking with hope. I know it, for I've been watching him.” “All right, Alma,” said young Gregory, soberly. "I'll not deny it. Yes,” to Haviz, “I think you're right when you say this is my sort of thing. I've wanted just such a chance; but my luck's always been so rotten I couldn't believe it'd ever come my way.” “You mustn't think of poor luck now, Billy,” said Alma. “You must put all such things out of your mind and consider your amazing opportunity. And never for a moment doubt yourself,” looking into his face. “Never.” “No; that's right, Bill,” said Duddington. “Not for a moment. And sit tight. You'll do it splendidly, old boy." “It's come to be a kind of joke to speak of the big, outdoor, manlike thing,” said Alma. “But there is a good deal in it, for all. And Billy feels it so wonderfully. There's a stir in his touch; and he's full of drama. For all my New England pastorals, and my sleepy moun- THE MUSEUM MURDER tains of the south, and my lanes and cottages in France, Duddy, I'd love a thing like this if I were a man.” “You could do it, too,” said Billy admiringly. “She'd take your breath away with it,” to the others. “Keep to the smaller things, Alma,” said Dudding- ton. “Keep your fire centered. I'd rather walk down a lane in Brittany with you than step about in the palace of a king.” Alma laughed. “Duddy,” she said, "you are the most loyal person in the world. When you like a thing you never change. But I see what you mean. Billy's job is really one for a man.” “The Commerce of the West!” said Haviz, nodding. “No limit to it, at all.” "I've been thinking about it,” said Billy. “I've been trying to imagine how my ideas will look on those huge walls. First I'd have the Indian tribes and their trading with each other; then the coming of the white man in his wide-winged ships. Then the fur trade begins; here is the Santa Fé Trail with its dangers, its romance, its color, its mingling of the nations. Then we have the trappers riding their mustangs, leading their pack mules across the mountains, along the brims of rushing rivers, and wintering in their huts in the wilderness. Now comes early California, like Acadia with its cava- 46 THE MUSEUM MURDER liers, its good priests, and mild savages; here is the mis- sion of San Gabriel, the fur traders' fairs, the dis- covery of gold, the wagon trains, the pony express, the coming of the railroad. I'll show Shasta towering to the skies, and beneath it the Modoc making his last stand; on the plains I see the tepees of the Sioux; among the hills there is the sun dance of the Blackfeet. The lum- berjack appears in the far woods of the north. There is the great wheat country with its gang plows and power- driven machinery; then the tall towers of the oil men; and those magicians who made stark, hot deserts bloom like gardens.” The young man's face had grown almost rapt as he talked; and Alma drew very close to him. "Billy!" she said, “you see it!” "By George!” said Duddington enthusiastically, “there's a fine lot of material in the subject, isn't there? It just goes to show,” to Haviz, “what a little thinking over a thing will do." "There's one thing, Gregory," said Haviz to the young painter, “you'll not have to go far for your early Indian, Spanish-American items for study. Here they are, right under your hand, in the museum." Billy nodded and smiled. “You know," he said, “I rather think it was my familiarity with my grandfather's collection that made THE MUSEUM MURDER 47 me so anxious to get this commission. I'd grown up with it, so to speak; it fascinated me.” “He's at work already,” said Alma, proudly. “I found him sketching in the corridor just now when I came in to see Mary.” “There is an old Spanish casque and some arms out there,” said Billy. “They'd been brought from Mexico into California at an early date, and I'd admired them for years.” He showed a sketch he'd been making, a helmet of the type the troops of Cortez had worn, a long, heavy-hilted sword, and a dagger, curved and pommeled in the Moorish fashion. “There's also a cuirass, and some short leg armor I want to get,” he said. Just then the door of the inner office opened, and MacQuarrie appeared. “I thank you, Mr. Custis,” he said. “Of course, I shall be guided entirely by what you say. Good-after- noon.” He closed the door and was crossing the office when he saw Duddington and Haviz. “How are you?” he said. He shook hands with both. “And how are you, Miss Rogers?” to Alma. “Mr. Gregory, I'm pleased to see you. Surely,” and he smiled at them affably, “some- thing is going on. Here I find two officials of the Museum present, the grandson of the generous founder, and New York's most talented young painter. All in a group." $8 THE MUSEUM MURDER He gestured playfully, his white, fat face full of good- nature. “You must tell me the answer.” The girl who had gone into the office immediately upon MacQuarrie's appearance now came out. “Mr. Custis will see you now,” she said to Dudding- ton. “And you, Mr. Haviz.” The two went into the private office, leaving the pic- ture dealer talking with Billy and Alma. A thin, crabbed man, who had a ugly twist to his body, giving him a bent and crooked look, sat at a desk, studying some cards; he glanced up and nodded. “I thank you,” he said. “You are prompt, gentlemen. Sit down.” “Could we have a window or two open?” said Haviz. “You keep it rather close here, Custis.” “Ha, ha!” Custis laughed; there was a mocking look in his eyes as he nodded his head at the man. “I'd for- gotten, Mr. Haviz. Of course, you need gallons and gal- lons of fresh air. I'll call a man in and we'll have them all up.” He was about to touch a button, but Haviz stopped him. “We'll not make a fuss over it,” said Haviz. “So don't bother. I'll open them myself.” He threw up several of the windows and then sat down. “Now,” he said, “if Chalmers is ready, we'll hear what you have to say." THE MUSEUM MURDER The mocking look in the eyes of Custis increased. “Why, now, that's excellent,” he said. “There's never any time lost where you are concerned, Mr. Haviz. It's a wonder, considering your efficiency and promptitude, you've never pushed your art further than you have." “It may be I would have progressed further if I hadn't set myself against certain things,” said Haviz, and Duddington surprisedly noted his face was white. "Good work isn't always necessary to getting ahead in the way you recognize, Custis.” The man at the desk grinned delightedly at the anger he had aroused in Haviz; and he was about to say some- thing more in the hope of adding to it when Duddington leaned forward. “You've called us here on business," he said. “And I've come back to the city in this terrible weather in response. So don't let's waste any time.” Custis favored the young man with an acid smile; he sank back in his chair. “Very well,” he said. “Since you both seem to be in a hurry, we'll come to the matter at once. It has to do, as so many things seem to, of late, with Mr. Sheer- ness.” “What's that estimable gentleman been doing now?" asked Duddington. "A few days ago,” said Custis, a twist at the corner 50 THE MUSEUM MURDER of his mouth, “he gave us two of the three known plates of the Salamancan engraver, Vasqual.” "No!” said Duddington. “Did he, really? Why, you know, he gets more and more sporting all the time.” “Mr. Sheerness is a wonderful person,” said Custis, still with a sheer. “One might expect anything from him.” He got up and went to a cabinet and took out a portfolio. "He has a keen scent,” he said as he undid the fastening; “and as he has a great deal of money little escapes him.” He threw the portfolio open. “Whistler," he said, “is a master whose slightest work has been so searched out that an expert might say it was not possible that the most fragmentary thing had been overlooked. And yet look at these!" "Lithographs!” said Duddington, astonished. “But don't say they are really Whistlers!” “Twenty-odd,” said Custis. “Each of them a Whist- ler." While Duddington exclaimed and eagerly examined the faded and somewhat tattered prints, Haviz looked on with a frown; he trifled with his stick, and his foot beat an impatient time. “In 1877,” said Custis, “Whistler first showed an interest in lithography and worked on the stone in- termittently for twenty years. He exhibited some THE MUSEUM MURDER seventy prints at that time, and, until now, these were regarded as his entire work in that medium.” “I suppose,” said Haviz, “these cost Sheerness a fabulous sum of money.” "He did not say,” said Custis, with his disagreeable smile. “But no doubt they did. The items Mr. Sheer- ness buys always do.” Haviz savagely prodded the floor with his stick. “One of the most astonishing things in art,” he said, “is that its rewards go mainly to speculators. Whistler wore out his nerves and embittered his spirit trying to gain recognition in this medium,” nodding toward the lithographs, “and now the profits go to strangers." "That's a condition that has always existed,” said Custis. “I don't see how it can be remedied.” “There's been no attempt to remedy it. A million is tossed dealers for the works of a dead man, where a dol- lar is laid out fostering the work of artists still alive artists who hold the future of painting and sculpture and such like things in their hands.” Custis screwed his mouth to one side. “I had not thought work was as slack with you as all that,” he said. Haviz looked at the man steadily, his eyes flaming. But it was Duddington who spoke. "I agree with Haviz,” said he. “There are scores of 52 THE MUSEUM MURDER young men and women in the art schools to-day whose abilities are being dwarfed through lack of a little money. One tenth the sum spent upon these scraps, which Whistler assuredly never intended to see the light, would solve the problems of scores of earnest students and afford them a chance to develop.” Duddington was still talking; Custis, shaking his head in derision, gathered up the prints and restored them to the portfolio; and then Sheerness was shown in. He nodded coldly to Haviz. Duddington ignored him, sitting deep in his chair, studying a painting upon the office wall and whistling “Le Ceur de ma mie" under his breath. “I'm sorry to call you into town on such a day, Mr. Sheerness,” smiled Custis. “It must have been incon- venient.” Sheerness nodded; he did not sit down, but stood erect and silent. “I think,” said Duddington, "we have all been inconvenienced.” “No doubt,” Custis looked at him disagreeably; “your attention is so likely to be taken up by dinner engagements, and Mr. Haviz, I know, is engrossed in his studio with his portrait painting. However, it was ary to have you all here together, and I think myself extremely fortunate,” nodding at each of them, THE MUSEUM MURDER “to have accomplished it. For there is something to which I desire to call your attention,” to Sheerness, "and I felt it would be best if I had the attendance of my fellow trustees as witnesses.” Sheerness moved about the office, his hands behind him. To Duddington, the man's arrogant jaw and cold eyes seemed more arrogant and cold than he'd ever noticed them before. “Our dealings with you, Mr. Sheerness," Custis said, “have been of a most cordial and kindly nature. Prof- itable to us, and I hope pleasant to you. But," and his hand went to his mouth as though to hide the malice that played about it, “things come up now and then that are neither one nor the other; and it is one of those we are met here this afternoon to discuss.” He crossed the office and opened a door which led to the storeroom. “If you please,” he said. They followed him into the place, and he turned on the lights. There was a huddle of unframed canvases leaning against the walls; opened cases which seemed to have been partly emptied; bits of ironwork and brass and sculpture stood about. And quite near to the office door stood a figure of what seemed tarnished silver, apparently very old, but in an excellent state of preser- vation. ? "A Diana," said Duddington, much interested. “An THE MUSEUM MURDER Ephesian Diana!" He went quite close to the silver figure, examining it closely. “Well, I say, now, here's a find. Where'd it come from, Custis?” With a smirk Custis indicated Sheerness. “This,” he said, “is a gift of Mr. Sheerness to the John Gregory Museum.” “Ah!" said the fat young man, and puffed his cheeks. “I see.” “It was because of this figure,” said Custis, “that I called you to meet Mr. Sheerness here this after- noon." “Just why did you feel that necessary?" asked Haviz. “When you received the collection of Roman medals for the museum, we were not sent for. A set of Whistler lithographs has probably been here for some time, and we are only informed of it to-day.” “The medals and the lithographs were instantly ac- cepted with the institution's thanks,” said Custis, deriding Haviz with a look. “It was felt it would be time enough to mention them in due course of the museum's affairs. But the statue of Diana!” He turned his look upon Sheerness. “That is another matter; it calls for a consultation, Mr. Sheerness; it's a thing de- manding the opinion of more than one man." There was a frown upon the face of Sheerness; some- thing snarling was in his expression; Duddington, ob- THE MUSEUM MURDER 55 serving him casually, felt the sudden ferocity of a beast in his attitude. “Well?” said the man. Custis went nearer to the silver figure. He passed a hand over it; he peered at it with appraising eyes; an exultation seemed to fill him. “I've heard you spoken of as an astute man,” said Custis, "of keen observation and ready perception. Your judgment, Mr. Sheerness, has always been con- sidered fair. And your knowledge of antique art, while not extensive, is usually regarded as respectable.” “You have something in your mind, Custis,” said Sheerness, coldly. “Don't hesitate. What is it? The Artemis? Speak out." “I've no doubt,” said Custis, “that this figure cost you a great deal of money to locate and much more to secure.” Again he put his hand over his mouth and stood looking at Sheerness as though trying to hide the laugh that was there, but really, as Duddington noted, to accentuate it. “But, for all that, it is spurious.” * The eyes of Sheerness were like cold agates seen through narrow slits. “What damned nonsense is this?” he said. "In the language of the street,” said Custis, “the statue is a fake. Mr. Chalmers,” nodding toward the fat young man, “is acquainted with the Greek handi- 56 THE MUSEUM MURDER 1 craft of this particular period; he's done a small book upon the silversmiths of the first half century after Christ. He, I think, will bear me out if he examines this piece carefully.” But Duddington shrugged his shoulders. “I'd rather not concern myself in the affairs of this gentleman,” he said. “If you want support for your contention, Custis, hire it. I've no doubt you can secure a dozen experts within an hour to uphold any- thing you say Custis smiled his disagreeable smile; his narrow, crooked body writhed in enjoyment. "I do not need support,” he said. “My own judgment, if necessary, is enough for me. The statue is a counter- feit,” he said to Sheerness. “The situation is to be de- plored, sir, but the fact is you have been swindled.” Sheerness looked at him with his usual deliberate coldness. “Custis,” he said, "you are talking like a fool!" But Custis sniggered and gesticulated. “A clever rascal had you in hand that time,” he said, hugely pleased. “A master of craft, I'd say, sir; for he's taken you in completely.” Sheerness took out a fine handkerchief and unfolded it; he wiped his forehead, and put it back in his pocket. “I know from past experience, Custis,” he said," that 1 1 THE MUSEUM MURDER it is impossible to reason with you when you have once made up your mind. But I have unquestioned proof that this figure once stood in the temple of Ephesus, itself. It can be traced back without a break in its history.” “The person you dealt with was a master rascal. He not only shut your eyes but sealed them. At your trade of money-making, Mr. Sheerness, you'd be a hard man to fool; but in things like this you are a child. This swindler wrapped you around his finger.” “You like an opportunity to mock anyone who does not agree with you, Custis. And like most men in your trade it pleases you to parade your knowledge. But in this matter I deny your learning, and I resent your manner. More than that," and Sheerness's voice was hard, and his face set, "not another thing will this institution receive from me.” He moved toward the door opening into the office. “Not another thing." “I am extremely sorry," grinned Custis. “But, of course, what must be, will be.” Sheerness angrily passed through the office and out into the corridor, and Custis stood smiling at Haviz and Duddington. “A fraud!” he said. “A fraud that wouldn't have taken in any but an arrogant ass. I dare say Mr. Sheerness, with his money and his way of buying, has been victimized more than once. But he's been able to hide it. This time, however, he'll not be. I'll take care the newspapers get THE MUSEUM MURDER it; we'll have the spurious figure photographed on the front page; the chagrined millionaire will be shown next to it.” He sniggered, his eyes full of gratified malice. “That will stir him up, I think. Newspaper attention of that sort seldom fails.” Duddington walked into the office; the others fol- lowed. “Is that all you desired of us?” he said, looking with aversion at Custis. “Have you brought me back to the hot city merely to witness someone's possible discom- fiture?” “Isn't that enough?” said Custis. “Why, man, there are thousands who'd have given their right hands to see the look on his face when I told him he'd been made a fool of.” Duddington put on his straw hat and picked up his stick. "Well, I wish you'd sent for one or two of them and left me out of it,” he said. “I don't appreciate your little mannerisms, Custis, and that I tell you as plainly as I can." He nodded to Haviz and went into the outer office; his examination of the silver figure, which was thick with dust, had soiled his hands, and he washed them at a stand in a corner. While doing so he spoke to the girl at the desk. Corne THE MUSEUM MURDER 59 “How are you feeling, Mona?” he said. “Not very well, Mr. Chalmers,” she said. He nodded. “You look sort of worn out,” he said. “You should get more air. It's a pity Alma couldn't get to Brittany this summer and take you with her.” She smiled, wanly. “I'll be having my vacation soon,” she said; “that'll help me.” Her eyes looked strange, and the thin hands fumbled with a sheet of paper she was trying to get into the typewriter. “Alma will be with me then.” “That's good,” said Duddington. “And when you go, Mona, forget everything having to do with work. You've been going it too hard for the last year or so." “I'll have a good rest. You shall see,” nodding at him, smiling, but with an effort. “I'll do very well. And by the end of September I'll be back, strong and ready to go on again.” Duddington passed out into the corridor. He saw Billy Gregory there, sketching at a table. It was now quite near to the closing hour; a group stood before The Syndic's Daughter; then he heard a voice at his elbow and, turning, saw Marsh. “You are here late, Mr. Chalmers," the man said. “Much later than you usually are when you visit the museum.” 60 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Yes,” said Duddington briefly. “Some business.” “I was going over some Greek armor and saw you come in with Mr. Haviz. And, then, a while after that, as I talked with young Mr. Gregory, I saw Mr. Sheerness come in. The business you were called in on, Mr. Chalmers, was possibly about his gifts to the museum?” “Yes,” said Duddington. “It was about Sheerness and his things." “I saw him come out of the office a few minutes ago,” said Marsh. “He looked angry.” The man paused a moment; it seemed as though he expected Duddington to say something. "He slammed the door after him,” he said. “It is not difficult to make Sheerness angry,” said Duddington. “He goes around primed for it most of the time.” He walked down the corridor and out at the street door. He did not turn and look back, but somehow he had a feeling that Marsh was standing motionless, his coat drawn about his spare form, looking after him. VI D UDDINGTON PELL CHALMERS had a bath; then he stretched out in a big cane chair in a suit of cool pajamas and nodded for a space; he read some from Montaigne in a little tree-calf edition edged with gilt and printed in fine legible old type. Then, as seven o'clock struck, he began to think of his dinner. He could hear Turvy moving about in the kitchen, and some notions for snacks of food ran in his head. If there were any slices of cold meat, now, they would make a tasty bite if he had Turvy score them with a knife and rub into them a paste made of French mus- tard, cayenne, and butter; and then grill them nicely. A pint bottle of cold ale could come with this, and some browned toast cut from the end of a French loaf. That would be enough for a hot night, though a few mush- rooms done with some lobster would be attractive, and Turvy always handled mushrooms cleverly. Duddington considered this and thoughtfully picked over the mat- ter of his wine and cigarettes. “Then,” he said, “I could dress leisurely and get down town in time to see the last act of one of the revues.” 61 62 THE MUSEUM MURDER A breeze had sprung up, and shadows were forming in the east; the trees in the park were moving, and the city's noises had died down. Duddington was just about to call for Turvy to talk his dinner over with him and tell him to run the bath full of cold water once more, when the telephone rang. He lay still, the evening breeze coming deliciously in at the window; he heard Turvy leave the kitchen and go into the dining room. “Hello," Duddington heard him say. “Yes, this is Mr. Chalmers' apartment. Yes, he is in. Yes, sir, but just now he's asleep. My orders are not to disturb him at such times unless the matter is urgent. If you can leave a message I'll give it to him when he awakes." There was a brief pause; Duddington heard a rasping voice; then the rattle of the receiver as Turvy dropped it. The man hurried into the hall and knocked upon his door. “Mr. Chalmers!” he said, and his voice was shaking. “Mr. Chalmers !" “What is it?” said Duddington, sitting up.“What is it? What's wrong, Turvy?” “Something terrible has happened, sir!" Turvy opened the door, and his pale face could be seen in the dim light. “The police just called. From the Museum, sir. Mr. Custis was found a half hour ago, lying near the staircase. He was dead. He's been murdered!" Duddington came out of the chair with a bound like THE MUSEUM MURDER 63 that of a huge rubber ball. Cold water and dinner, both, were forgotten; he dressed hastily. “What else did they say, Turvy? Were there any particulars?” “No, sir. The policeman who called said they desired you there at once because you are one of the trustees of the institution. And he said to tell you they will also summon Mr. Haviz.” "Get a cab, Turvy,” said Duddington. He buttoned his sleeves, put on a collar, and knotted his tie. Custis! Dead! Murdered! “How did they say he was killed?" he asked Turvy. “There was no mention of that, sir. The officer seemed only interested in getting you there; he was in a great hurry." Duddington pulled on his coat. Near the staircase! And a half hour ago. The light must have been faint there at that time; semi-dark; and the crooked figure of Custis lying, perhaps, with the bitter face turned upward. “Murdered!” said Duddington. “Good God, what a shocking thing!” • The cab was below, and he got in; and he was set down in front of the John Gregory Memorial in less than a half hour. Two policemen were at the door. Duddington told them who he was, and they called a sergeant. 64 THE MUSEUM MURDER In Cover se “Oh, yes; you are to go in, Mr. Chalmers. Inspector Lynch spoke of you a while ago.” Duddington entered. There was a single light in the corridor; some policemen in uniform were loitering about. One of them told him Lynch was in the office. The place was pale and depressing, and Duddington felt a chill creep over him as he glanced toward the staircase and saw a huddled shape on the floor near it, covered by a Chinese robe. A heavy-browed, rather sullen-looking young man in the gray uniform worn by the museum's watchmen stood just inside the office door. “How are you, Slade?” said Duddington. The man nodded; he seemed a person of few words; his heavy jaw protruded truculently, and his head was lowered. “That's Inspector Lynch inside there,” he said. “He's been asking for you.” There was a tall, well-made man of about forty years standing in the inner office beside Custis's desk; he looked keen and businesslike, more like a lawyer than a policeman. He was talking to another man, a short burly person who had his hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets and wore a heavily knotted, highly colored tie with a large pin in it. “I don't seem able to get this man Haviz anywhere,” THE MUSEUM MURDER 65 the short man said. “He hasn't been in his rooms since noon. We rung him up at his studio, and at the Skillet Club, where he's a member, but couldn't make him. One of the people who got on the 'phone at the Skillet Club told us about a restaurant on Fourth Street where he's in the habit of going. But there was no luck there, either.” “Very well,” said Inspector Lynch. "Try again in about fifteen minutes; if you can't get in touch with him, send a man out to pick him up.” “Right,” said the stocky man. He had caught sight of Duddington and now called across the room. “Want to see anybody?” "Mr. Lynch, I think,” said the young man, advanc- ing. “My name is Chalmers,” he said to the inspector. "I am one of the trustees of the museum and was telephoned for a while ago.” “Oh, yes.” Lynch greeted Duddington with a smile and a nod. “Glad to see you, Mr. Chalmers. I'm sorry to have to get you here on such a business as this.” "What have you found out?” said Duddington, dis- turbed. “Are there any particulars?" “So far, almost none. The watchman,” he indicated the sullen-eyed young man in the gray uniform, “found the body just as it is now, except for the covering, and telephoned the police. I was at dinner, but came down as 66 THE MUSEUM MURDER at once, finding Mr. Moore,” motioning toward the stocky man, “and a squad belonging to the precinct that got the call." "You're quite sure it was murder, are you?" said Duddington. "Absolutely. Stabbed right through the middle of the back; it couldn't be suicide, the way it was done." “Are there any indications as to who might have killed him?" “Not yet. But Moore's men and mine have combed the building and settled one thing, at least. It's an inside job. You know how this building is arranged, with its locks and fastenings and grated windows. Everything was sound and tight. If an outsider killed Custis he'd still be here; the only way he could have gone out would be by way of the front door, and then the watch- man would have had to let him out." Duddington was appalled. “You think the crime was done by somebody belong- ing to the place?” he said. “That's rather shocking, isn't it?” Moore cocked one eye at him, a corner of his mouth drawn down. “The watchman says you were here until late this afternoon,” he said. “Yes,” said Duddington, mopping his face. “So I 68 THE MUSEUM MURDER of some facts which would be of service to us. Could you say, for example, if he had any enemies?” Duddington pursed up his lips and blew out his cheeks until his face looked like a full moon. "Inspector,” he said, “if Custis had no enemies, the world is a meeker place than I take it to be.” The keen eyes of Lynch glinted. “Can you elaborate that point a little?" he said. “It sounds like a good lead.” “Well,” said Duddington, “it's an old rule and, I think, a very kindly one, never to speak ill of the dead. But this is a situation in which a little plain talk will possibly do good. Custis was a man of the bitterest temper I ever came in contact with. His amusement was to jeer and deride; he loved to goad people. He had an almost uncanny faculty for finding out a person's weak spots, and then he'd prod at them. He'd open an old wound with all the cleverness of an imp; and he'd rub verbal salt into it for months afterward.” “Well,” said Moore, “there's something! A guy like that is likely to be sent over the bumps any time. Somebody's got tired taking it,” he said to Lynch, “and suddenly turned round and put the works on him.” “Can you fix the time when you came in this after- noon, Mr. Chalmers?” said Lynch. “In a conversation I had with Custis on the telephone a THE MUSEUM MURDER 1 69 making the appointment he named four-thirty. Haviz arrived at my place before four; we talked a while and then came downtown. I'd say we were quite close to the appointed time; not five minutes one way or the other.” “What time is the museum closed to the public?” “The regulations say five o'clock. The night watch- man comes on duty a little before that; his first act is to ring a bell which notifies visitors that it's time to go.” : “Did you notice anyone in particular when you came in and when you went out?" Duddington considered. “Of course,” he said, “there were a number of strangers. But when I came into the outside office, there were three people I knew: Mona Rogers, who is employed in the office here; her sister Alma Rogers, an art student; and young Billy Gregory, a painter, and grandson of John Gregory, the founder of the museum.” Lynch made a note of these. “Anyone else?” he asked. “When we arrived,” said Duddington, “Custis could not see us at once, as he was engaged. We waited in the outer office. A little while later the person he was talking with came out, and we were asked to come in.” “Who was the person Custis was engaged with-any- one you know?” 70 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Yes, MacQuarrie, an art dealer on Fifth Avenue. He stopped and spoke to us.” “That was about four-thirty?” “Yes; after we'd talked with Custis in this office for a while, Sheerness came in. That's Sheerness, the art collector and banker. He'd made a gift to the institution which had been found to be spurious. Someone had swindled him. As the thing was important, Custis desired to have us present when the matter was ex- plained. That's why he had sent for us. Sheerness was angry; he did not believe the figure was a fake and said so. Custis was not very tactful, and Sheerness resented the situation very much. He was here less than ten minutes when he left.” “That would be about ...?" “Four-forty." “Who else came into the office?" “No one, while I was there. I left directly afterward. I spoke to Miss Rogers in the outer office as I went out. There were still some visitors in the Museum, but not, many." “You saw no one among them you knew, or recognized as being in any way concerned with Custis?” “No one but Billy Gregory—but wait a moment!” Duddington checked himself. “Yes, I did. In the cor- ridor, near the door of the picture gallery, I saw Marsh.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 71 “Who is he?" “He's a sort of expert-a man much like Custis was before this museum was founded. He is employed in art matters by people who have some doubts as to their own knowledge.” “Did he speak to you?” “Yes." “Can you recall what he said?” “Why, yes. He said he'd been examining the collec- tions.” "Nothing else?” “He mentioned several people he'd seen in the museum--young Gregory, Mr. Haviz. He spoke of Sheerness also. He wondered what Sheerness's visit to Custis meant. He said he'd noticed Sheerness was angry when he left; that he'd slammed the door after him.” "Slammed the door!” said Moore. “Well, that'll stand looking into. More people have attracted atten- tion to themselves by that little thing with a door than any other way I know.” "Was that all?” asked Lynch. “Did Marsh say anything else?” "No; I left the museum after speaking with him, and went home, where I was when your man called me on the telephone.” “Thank you, Mr. Chalmers,” said Lynch with a wave 72 THE MUSEUM MURDER of the hand. “You've given us that first little push which is so necessary.” He turned to Moore. “Have Brace call Sheerness and MacQuarrie.” He hesitated a moment. “Have you any idea, Mr. Chalmers, where this man Marsh might be found?” “Not the faintest. Though,” as an afterthought, “MacQuarrie might be able to tell you. He's in constant touch with men of this kind and no doubt has their ad- dresses.” “We'll ask him about that when he gets here,” said Lynch to Moore, who had looked at him inquiringly. Moore summoned a sergeant from the corridor and instructed him to secure the telephone numbers of both MacQuarrie and Sheerness. “And tell them to step on it. Police business.” “That other party just came in,” said the sergeant. “Edwards, the day watchman.” “Want to see him now?” asked Moore of Lynch. “Yes; send him in, Sergeant.” “Right.” The sergeant glanced at the young man in the gray uniform and, lowering his voice, spoke a few words to Moore. Then he handed him a card with some lines written on it. “Cunningham looked it up. What you said was O. K.” The sergeant went out; Moore, after glancing at the card, handed it to the inspector. THE MUSEUM MURDER 73 “As soon as I heard that fellow Slade's name I pinned something to it. Just about the time I fixed for it, too,” he added, with much satisfaction. A subdued sort of man was brought in by a police- man; he was about forty years of age and looked like an anxious householder and father of a family. “Are you the watchman who was on duty here to day?" asked the inspector. “Yes, sir; and,” eagerly, “I went off at five o'clock. I know nothing at all, absolutely nothing about what happened here this afternoon.” “Your name is Edwards, I believe," said Lynch, pay- ing no attention to his words. “Yes, sir; George Edwards. And I've been watch- man here for six years. Slade," and he indicated the heavy-faced young man in the outer office, “came about two years ago. We work turn about. He's on the night shift one week, and I'm on the day; the next week we change around.” “You were here all of to-day, I suppose?” "Oh, yes, sir. From seven-thirty this morning. That's when the night watchman goes off. I sweep up the floors and dust; then the doors are opened to the public at nine-thirty." “Where are you usually stationed during the hours the museum is open to the public?” 74 THE MUSEUM MURDER ea “Mostly in the corridor, sir, near the front door. But sometimes I walk through the exhibition rooms to see what's going on. There's never any real need of that, though, because all the portable items, that is, things that might be picked up and concealed, sir, are under heavy glass.” “Did you notice anything out of the customary to-day at any time?” “No, sir. It was much the same as any other day.” "Nothing at all that attracted your attention?” "No, sir.” “When you go home at night, Mr. Edwards, do you ever tell your wife-maybe as you are both sit. ting at supper-about any of the happenings of the day?” “Oh, well, I suppose everyone does that." Edwards rubbed his hand around the crown of his derby hat; his anxious look was broken by a wan smile. “The wife likes a little gossip after being taken up with the chil- dren all day; and I often speak of things just as a kind of relief to her.” “When the call came for you to come here this evening, what were you doing?” “Having a smoke by the window. I don't get a chance for it during the day, and sometimes I'm hungry for it when I get home.” 76 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Do I understand that to-night you were telling your wife how disagreeable Custis was with Slade?" “Yes, sir. We just got a-talking, you see. When Slade came into the museum before five o'clock we spoke a few words at the front door, as we often do, and Mr. Custis saw us there. He didn't say anything to me, but he was nasty with Slade.” “What about?” "About delay in ringing the bell warning the visitors to go. He didn't speak very loud; Mr. Custis never did that when he had anything to say to Sladenever that I heard, anyway. He was what you might call bitter, sir. He spoke of how impatient Slade always was. And headlong. Slade's the kind of a young man who wants to get a thing over quickly. "You're all fire and spirit,' says Mr. Custis to him. ‘But never when it's in the way of work. I've been noticing you. Everything goes slack when you're on duty, I might as well get in a loafer from the streets.”” "Was that all?" "That was all I heard. But after I'd got ready to go I spoke to Slade again at the front door. He said he'd had more words with Mr. Custis and had been told an- other man would be in his place at the end of the week." "He didn't say anything more?" THE MUSEUM MURDER 77 roo “No, sir.” “Very well, Mr. Edwards. That will be all for the present. But would you mind taking a seat in one of the rooms for a while. I may want you again. Thank you." When the watchman had left the office Lynch picked up the card which Sergeant Brace had brought in. He read the penciled lines once more, and then said to Dud- dington: “Moore thought he remembered this man Slade, and we called headquarters for information. It seems he was convicted some four years ago and served a year in the county prison for shooting and dangerously wounding a man he had quarreled with.” "I hadn't known that,” said Duddington, disturbed. “Haviz didn't, either, I'm sure. I recall Custis saying, when the young man came here, that he was his nephew and that he'd like to have him in the position of watch- man. And of course, we consented. Have you questioned him as yet?" “Only briefly,” said the inspector. He nodded to Moore. “Bring him in.” Moore went to the door and beckoned to Slade, who still stood in the outer office. The watchman came in; he looked at Moore in a hostile manner. “What's wanted?” he asked. “The inspector'll tell you that.” THE MUSEUM MURDER uuuu: m r Lynch took up a sheet of paper with Slade's name written at the head of it; after a glance over what was set down he said to the man: “After you rang the bell to-night for all visitors to leave, what did you do?” “I went back to the front door. My job was to stand there until everyone was out. At five o'clock I locked the door. Anyone who went out after that had to hunt e door can be opened only by a key, and I had that.” “Was there anyone in the building after five o'clock besides Custis and yourself?” “Yes." “Will you tell me who they were, in what order they went out, and at what time, as nearly as you can?” “The first person who went out after five o'clock was Mr. Marsh. I didn't know he was in the place, and said something about it. He apologized, and said he hadn't heard the bell ring. I am not sure, but I think that was about five-ten or five-fifteen.” “Where had he been that he couldn't hear the bell ?” "You can hear it from any place in the building,” said Slade. “Who was the next to leave?” “Young Mr. Gregory. He left about ten minutes after Marsh. The next to go was Miss Rogers, who wa THE MUSEUM MURDER 79 works in the office. That must have been about five- thirty; she usually leaves at that time.” . “She was the last?” “Yes.” “When did you last see Mr. Custis alive?” asked the inspector. “Shortly after I rang the bell. I stepped into the office to speak to him. He was sitting at this desk. Mr. Haviz was with him.” Lynch turned to Moore. “See if they have any word of this man Haviz,” he said. Moore went out into the corridor, and the inspector continued, to Slade: “What did you desire to speak to Custis about?” “Oh, some general matters.” “Had he sent for you?” “No.” “What did you do after that?” “Between the time the bell rings and five o'clock the man on the night shift always shuts the doors opening into the exhibition rooms and draws the curtains. I did that; then I relieved Edwards at the front door.” "When did you find the body?” “It must have been about six-thirty. I start on my first round of the building about six as a rule, but nights Custis is in the office I'd put it off; because I THE MUSEUM MURDER might be on the second floor when he'd get ready to leave, and then he'd have another chance to complain. On my rounds of the building I always begin with the sec- ond floor; when I got to the stairway to-night I saw the body, lying just where it is now;the knife was on the third step from the bottom, just as though someone had laid it down.” There was a stir in the outer office; and Duddington saw Sergeant Brace bringing in Mona and Alma Rogers. And young Billy Gregory followed behind them. sa VII M put their hands over her faces her whole body was ONA ROGERS had turned deathly white; she put her hands over her face; her whole body was trembling. “Mona!” said her sister. “Mona, please!” She took the hands from the pale face and held them in her own. “Don't think of it, dear. Put it out of your mind.” Sergeant Brace, who was a big, kindly man, brought a glass of cold water. Alma made Mona swallow a little of it, and it seemed to give her new strength at once. "She saw the body on the floor near the stairs,” said Billy to Duddington, “and she's frightened. I don't think she's very well, anyhow." Lynch had seats placed for the two girls in the outer office. Alma and Billy helped Mona to one of them, and Alma sat with her arm across the back of her sister's chair. “I don't want to make too heavy a demand on you,' said the inspector to Mona. “For it's plain to be seen you shouldn't be here at all. But police matters are rather merciless; you see, we've come to know they must be searched into at once if any good is to be done.” 81 82 THE MUSEUM MURDER Alma whispered to Mona, and the girl made a mur- mured reply. “I think she'll be able to do anything you require of her,” said Alma. “But, please, whatever it is, be as careful as possible.” “You may be quite sure of that.” Lynch turned to Moore, who had just entered. "No news of Haviz,” said the precinct detective. “We've sent Andresona to look him up. Sheerness has 'phoned that he'll be here as soon as possible. He's at- tending a dinner at Senator Daly's. Has the sergeant told you who these new people are?” looking at the two girls and Billy Gregory. “Yes.” The inspector asked the young man into the inner office. “I had to send for you in this matter, Mr. Gregory, because you were present in the Museum at or about the time of its occurrence. I'm sorry to incon- venience you, but it is quite necessary.” "If there is anything I can tell,” said Billy, “I'll be glad to tell it.” “You were here this afternoon doing some sort of work, I believe?” “Yes; making some sketches of bits of armor.” “On this floor?” “Yes, in the corridor just outside the door of the main gallery. The pieces I was working on are hung there." THE MUSEUM MURDER 83 “You left the museum a little after the usual time, I'm told.” “Yes; I stayed until I'd finished what I had to do. I sketched the things from various points of view, and it took a little time.” “What was the last time you saw Mr. Custis alive?” “Let me think.” Billy considered, frowning. “Oh, yes; I saw him come along the corridor from the direction of the front door. When he saw me he stopped and asked me if I knew how close it was to closing time. I said I hadn't thought of it. He said the museum had rules and he expected me to live up to them, the same as any- one else. He couldn't show any partiality. I tried to kid with him a little: I said: “What's a few rules among friends?' But you could never get a laugh out of Custis. He was pretty sour with everyone; and he was especially so with me.” “What reason had he for that?” Billy smiled. “Oh, it was about the money, I guess." “What money?” “My grandfather's.” Duddington, as he watched, was aware of a sudden tremor in his chest; he had a feeling he should signal Billy: he should warn him to be careful. “Your grandfather was the founder of this institution, THE MUSEUM MURDER 85 “I see.” Lynch paused a moment, tapping the end of a pencil upon a desk. Duddington could see the picture that was in his mind: Billy, stung by some saying from the wasp tongue of Custis, following the man angrily to make a reply. To the police mind it was a situation that might lead to a great deal. But when the inspector spoke again it was to take up something else. “You selected the spot outside the main gallery door to work in because the armor you were sketching was hanging there?" “Yes.” Lynch looked at Moore, who produced some sheets of paper which had been crumpled but afterward care- fully straightened out. “One of our men found these in a scrap basket. Are they your drawings?” “Yes,” said Billy, after a glance at the sheets. “These show you'd taken the things you were in- terested in down from the wall.” “Yes,” said Billy. “I wanted to get them from vari- ous points of view.” The inspector considered for a moment, his eyes on the floor. “Bring the office girl in,” he said to Moore. Mona Rogers came into the private office at the precinct de- 86 THE MUSEUM MURDER tective's request, Alma anxiously at her side. “Miss Rogers,” said the inspector, “you are acquainted with Mr. Gregory, here, I think.” “Yes,” said the girl in a low voice. “I have known him for a long time." “Do you know if he and Mr. Custis were friends?” “Oh, no,” said the girl. “Not friends. They knew each other, of course, but I wouldn't say they were friends.” “They never quarreled, though; they were friendly enough to avoid that?” "No," said the girl. “No, I never heard them quar- rel.” “This evening, before the closing hour, Mr. Custis came into the office, and Mr. Gregory followed him in. You were at your desk then, were you not?” “I was.” The girl lifted her head; she seemed alarmed; her hands grasped her sister's tightly. “But that wasn't what I'd call a quarrel. They--they only had a few words.” “What about?” - “I don't know,” said Mona, frightened, bewildered. “I–I can't remember.” “Now, you look here,” said Moore, shaking his fore- finger in her face, “don't come that kind of stuff. We've heard that before.” can 88 THE MUSEUM MURDER Lynch picked up some sheets of paper holding the discarded sketches. “Among these sketches you made there is one of a helmet, another of a breastplate, and still another of a dagger. As I've said, these drawings show all had been taken down from the wall. Which of them did you sketch first?” “The casque,” said Billy, “then the breastplate.” “The dagger came last?” “Yes.” “It was on the verge of closing time when Custis stopped to speak to you. You must have been working on the drawing of the dagger at that time.” Billy hesi- tated. Duddington saw Lynch make a sign to Moore. “Would you know that weapon if it was shown to you?" “I think so,” said the young man. “Is this it?” As the inspector spoke, Moore held up a curved dagger clotted with blood. “My God!” said Billy as he looked at it. His mouth was suddenly drawn down at one side, his eyes opened wide. He sat down in a chair and covered his face with his hands. VIII THERE was a dead silence for a moment; then 1 Alma Rogers went to Billy and bent over him. “Billy!” she said. “What is it?" He took his hands away from his face; he seemed very much shaken, but smiled at her reassuringly. “It's all right, Alma,” he said. “This thing has hit me harder than I thought; and that knife”-he looked at it as it lay upon the desk where Moore had placed it- “is a kind of shocking thing to see.” Duddington approached and spoke to him; then the young man drank a glass of water which Alma got for him, and stood up. "All right?" said Lynch. The man's face was hard, his eyes were now like fint, and he tapped the end of the pencil upon his palm as though to hide a kind of fierce impatience. He was like a hound running in full cry. “Take your time. I don't want to hurry you." “I'm all right, now,” said Billy. He approached the desk and stood leaning against it, assuming a careless- ness which the watching Duddington saw he was far from feeling. “If there is anything more, I'm ready to hear it.” 90 THE MUSEUM MURDER was “After your conversation with Custis,” said Lynch, “what did you do?”. Billy reflected. “When I left the office I noticed the last of the visitors were leaving; the place was quite silent. The sheets upon which I had been sketching were upon a little table; I sat down and was about to finish, and then I saw the dagger I'd been drawing was not there.” There was a silence for a moment; then Lynch said: “Had you left it on the table when you went in to speak to Custis?” “I thought I had. But when I considered the matter I realized what I had really done. While talking with Custis in the corridor I'd picked the dagger up ” “What for?” said Moore, his cunning eyes like two beads. “What did you do that for?” “Oh, it was just a gesture. I picked it up to illustrate what justice should be done upon people who were always scheming and hoodwinking, and when I followed him into the office I still had it in my hand.” “Oh, was that it?” Moore nodded his head and winked at Lynch. “You followed him to continue the argument and had the thing in your hand.” Billy smiled; he'd recovered from the sudden shock and seemed easier in his mind; he was amused at the man's satisfaction with himself. “While I talked with THE MUSEUM MURDER 91 mo Custis in the outer office I must have put it down. I don't remember doing it, and I don't remember where." “You left the dagger in the office?” “Yes." “Your work wasn't finished; you couldn't go on with- out it, could you?” “No. For a moment I thought I'd go in and get it; then I realized the museum would be closed in a few moments and I wouldn't have time to do anything more. I was disgusted and discouraged with the whole situation; so I crumpled up the drawings I'd made, threw them into the waste basket, and went upstairs.” “Had the bell for closing rung before that time?” “It rang while I was standing there." “What did you go upstairs for?” “To get my coat and hat. I am quite familiar with the place, as you may suppose, and when I work here dur- ing the hot months I always hang my things in a closet at the rear end of the corridor on the second floor.” Lynch looked back over the notes he'd made and said: “It was quite some time between that and when you went out.” “Yes, I know,” said Billy. “That was because of some Spanish and early California saddles and horse furniture in a room on the second floor; the door to it was quite near to where I'd put my coat. I'm interested in such 92 THE MUSEUM MURDER things just now and went in to look at them. I don't know how long I stayed. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. It might have been less. The museum main door was locked when I got there, and Slade, the watch- man, let me out.” “As you came down the stairs and through the lower corridor, did you notice anything unusual?” “No. Everything was as it had been, as far as I could see. Except that the doors opening from the corridor into the galleries and exhibition rooms were closed. That is, I understand, a thing they do every night after hours.” “You didn't see anyone as you came down and went out except Slade?” “No one." “Do you know Mr. Haviz?” “Yes.” “When you were speaking to Custis in the outer office, did you notice if Haviz was in this inner office?" "No." Billy reflected a moment. “I think the door to this office was closed.” “That will do for the present, Mr. Gregory,” said the inspector. “And thank you.” “I say,” said Billy to Duddington, as they stood at one side, “that's the first time I've ever seen a thing like that done. Did you notice how they worked on me? one THE MUSEUM MURDER 93 Almost everything I said or did had a sinister meaning or look.” “A curious kind of thing, this police business,” said Duddington, stroking his round chin. “Sort of gives a person the creeps. That man Lynch doesn't seem a bad kind of a fellow, but at the same time he's out for blood. He'll entangle and throw anyone he can get anything on at all.” But Lynch was speaking to Mona again, and they gave him their attention. "When Mr. Gregory followed Mr. Custis into the outer office," said the inspector, “did you notice if he had anything in his hand?” The girl was very white; her eyes looked strangely dark and seemed set in deep hollows. She shook her head. “I did not see anything.” “There was not a dagger-this one-” indicating the weapon on the desk-"upon a table, or a chair, or a cabinet?” “I did not see one.” “While Mr. Gregory was quarreling with Mr. Custis, was Mr. Haviz in this office?” “Yes, sir.” "He was alone here; the door was closed; Mr. Custis had gone out of the office, leaving him here?" 94 THE MUSEUM MURDER - “Yes, sir.” “Do you know why he did this?” “No, sir.” “After Mr. Gregory left the office, did Mr. Custis go into the private office?" “No. Just then Slade came in. He is a watchman. It seems Mr. Custis was much dissatisfied with his work and had so expressed himself. Slade was very angry. And Mr. Custis discharged him.” “What did Slade say?" “I don't know.” The girl spoke in a low voice; she seemed in a state of terror. “But he spoke very loudly, and he hammered with his hand upon a table. When he went out Mr. Custis stood in the center of the room. I looked up, and he was laughing. He made no sound, but I could tell he was laughing because he had his hand over his mouth. It was a way he had.” “Did he come into this office, then?” . "No, sir. He stood looking at the door of it for a moment; then he turned and went out into the corridor. That is the last time I saw him.” “What about Haviz? What did he do?” “He waited about five minutes, and then came out to where I sat. He asked about Mr. Custis. And when I said he'd gone out again, Mr. Haviz left.” “Didn't he say anything?" im THE MUSEUM MURDER “He said something under his breath, but I couldn't make out what it was.” The inspector then said he was through with Mona for the time being and suggested very kindly that if there was a rest room in the museum Alma had better take her there and have her lie down. “She'll probably be called upon again,” said Lynch; “and as she does not look at all well it'll be advisable to have her recover a little of her strength.” Alma and Billy were leading Mona down the corridor to a little alcove off at one side when Sergeant Brace appeared, and walking at his side was MacQuarrie, the picture dealer, pale and quite agitated. “Good-evening, Gregory,” said MacQuarrie. “This is a frightful thing, isn't it?” {"Quite,” said Billy. “What's the idea of your being brought in?" “I haven't the faintest notion,” said MacQuarrie. “I had gone home after finishing my correspondence at my galleries, and the police telephoned me.” Sergeant Brace took the picture dealer back to the office, where he shook hands with Duddington. "Is it really true he's dead?” he said. “It seems im- possible. Why, only this afternoon I " But the sergeant had given his name to the in- spector, and he was now called. 96 THE MUSEUM MURDER "Mr. MacQuarrie!" “Here,” he said. He went to the desk where Lynch sat. “I can't imagine what you want of me," he said, his white chin quivering. “But anything I can do, I'll do gladly.” “I have been told, Mr. MacQuarrie, that you were here in the museum this afternoon." “Yes.” “About what time?” “Perhaps about four-ten. Maybe a trifle earlier." “Were you here on business?” “Yes, with Mr. Custis. I called him up on the tele- phone and he made an appointment.” “Do you mind telling the nature of your business?" “Well-ah-it was a rather delicate matter.” Mac- Quarrie fidgeted with his fat white hands and looked at the inspector doubtfully. “Sometimes men in my line must be careful,” he said. “And in order to prevent things they must resort to other things which might, in an ordinary sense, be called breaches of confidence. To-day a gentleman called at my gallery and made an exceedingly large bid upon some rare articles which are to be put up for sale in a few days. I was given to under- stand that these items- of rare glass, sir--were intended as a gift to this museum. The gentleman was Mr. Sheerness, the banker.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 97 "Is that what you came to see Mr. Custis about?” "Just a moment, sir." MacQuarrie gestured hastily. “There is something else which I should tell you first. Mr. Sheerness is a generous patron of the John Gregory Museum. He has presented it with a good many valu- able things. The other day Mr. Custis, whom I met in the street, happened to say Mr. Sheerness had made a gift to the museum a few days before which he found to be not genuine. And he said he meant to refuse it." MacQuarrie cleared his throat; his heavy chin trembled. “As soon as I got word of the intended gift of the pieces of glass I got in touch with Custis. I felt it would be inexpedient to mention the matter of the counterfeit until the later gift was bought and presented.” i "I understand,” said Inspector Lynch, smiling. "Mr. Sheerness is somewhat touchy in regard to certain things,” said MacQuarrie. “He is exceedingly generous, but dislikes having his knowledge of art mat- ters called into question. And I did not want the mu- seum to lose the gift of the Spanish glass.” "And also you did not desire to lose a sale to a moneyed man who bids high for what he wants,” sug- gested Lynch good-humoredly. · MacQuarrie smiled weakly; he stroked one fat hand with the other and looked at the inspector. “Business is business, as the saying goes. Of course, 98 THE MUSEUM MURDER we people who are concerned in the commercial aspects of art desire to keep interest stimulated.” “When you were with Mr. Custis you discussed only this matter of Sheerness's gift to the museum?” “Why, as far as I can remember, yes. I tried to reason with him. I showed him it would be very much to the museum's disadvantage if he did anything to make Mr. Sheerness angry at that time.". “How did he take your suggestion?” "Mr. Custis has always been a difficult man to deal with,” said MacQuarrie. “He was more set in his ways, as I might call it, than any other person I've ever known. He refused even to consider what I said to him. He meant, as he said, to show Mr. Sheerness how little he knew. When I remonstrated, he laughed at me; and he said he would not miss the opportunity this gave him for anything I could name. You see, sir," and MacQuarrie lowered his voice, “Mr. Custis, for all Mr. Sheerness's generosity, did not care for him.” "From what I've gathered," said the inspector dryly, “Mr. Custis was not overfond of anybody." “Why, yes, you might say that. He was a peculiar man. And hard to deal with.” "How long were you engaged with him—in this conversation, I mean?” “No more than fifteen or twenty minutes. It was CI THE MUSEUM MURDER 99 I see W ca le about four-thirty or somewhere about that time when I left him.” “Did you see anyone you knew as you came out of this office?" MacQuarrie considered. “Let me see: there was the girl in the office, Miss Rogers, of course, and, oh, yes, there were a number of people,” brightening up. “Mr. Chalmers," indicating Duddington, “was outside there, also Mr. Haviz, the other museum trustee, and Miss Rogers' sister, a very excellent young painter, examples of whose work I have on sale in my galleries. And young Mr. Gregory.". “No one else?” “No. I recall it perfectly. I stopped to speak with them for a moment and then hurried back to my business." While MacQuarrie was speaking, Sergeant Brace came in again and whispered something to Moore; the precinct detective went at once to Lynch. “Andresona, the man who was sent to get Haviz, has just telephoned in. He's got trace of him. Haviz seems to be wandering around. He'll stop in places, clubs, little restaurants, and spots like those, but he'll only stay long enough to get a drink and then be off again.” “Tell them to let me hear at once if anything turns CEITIS up.” “Sure,” said Moore. 100 THE MUSEUM MURDER Sergeant Brace, noting that the inspector had finished with MacQuarrie, now came forward. “Sheerness is outside. He asks to see you as soon as possible. He's left Senator Daly's dinner party without saying anything to anyone and must get back.” “Let's have him,” said Lynch. “Will you take a seat outside somewhere, Mr. MacQuarrie?” to the art dealer. "I'm asking everyone to wait a little in case I find it necessary to speak to them again.” “To be sure,” said MacQuarrie, with a gesture. “Of course! Anything to assist the cause of justice, sir.” He went out; and a few moments later Sheerness came in. He was in evening dress; his brows were drawn darkly and his eyes were hard. His big gray head was carried well up; under the strong overhead light Dud- dington saw an animal-like set to his face; the way the heavy head was fastened to the neck gave the young trustee of the museum a sudden flash of illumination. “A pig!” said Duddington to himself. “For all the fine trappings and the high air, a hog! The ruthless wild boar of the forest." “You are Inspector Lynch?" demanded Sheerness, his cold eyes upon the officer. Lynch nodded. “Mr. Sheerness?” he said, and set the name down upon a sheet of paper. THE MUSEUM MURDER 101 VS “I understand Custis has been murdered,” said Sheerness. “But what has that to do with me? Why am I called here in the matter?” "It is necessary to work out all the information we can," said the inspector quietly. “Your name was given us among a number of others who had been with Custis a short time before his death. We'd like to check upon what you have to say." The intolerant eyes of Sheerness went from one policeman to another; but their looks were as grim and intolerant as his own. “Will you sit down?" said Lynch. “Thank you, no.” Sheerness stood before the in- spector, his hands clenched, an ugly look about his mouth. “The wild pig in a thicket!” was Duddington's thought. “The dogs all around him!” "You came to see Custis this afternoon?” said Lynch, fingering the sheets of paper. "I did. He'd sent for me." “Would you mind saying why he asked you to come here?” "It was about a gift I'd made the museum,” he said. “He desired me to call upon him to discuss it. He said the matter was quite important and could not wait. It chanced that I was in the city because of the affair at Senator Daly's, and I came.” 102 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Was there anyone present during your conversation with Custis?" “Yes, his fellow trustees, Haviz and Chalmers.” “When you had finished with the matter you came to talk about you left the office, I believe?” “Yes.” “What time was this?” “Somewhere before five o'clock. I recall looking at my watch. I'd asked Edwards, who was at the door, to call me a cab, and there was a delay in getting one." “Were Mr. Chalmers and Mr. Haviz still with Custis when you left?” “Yes." “I think that will be all, Mr. Sheerness. But as I have a few more people to question I'd like you to remain until I get them in.” The ugly look in the banker's eyes deepened. "Frankly, Inspector, I think it both stupid and insolent to have called me here; and this request adds to it.” ... “This is our method,” said Lynch coldly, “and we are asking all who are called to submit to it.” Sheerness was about to reply when the door of the outer office opened and Sergeant Brace entered with Marsh at his side. IX US name M ARSH spoke to Duddington; he nodded to Sheer- TVIness, smiling and seeming to be very desirous of pleasing. And then he looked at the policemen. "Which of you is Mr. Lynch, please?” he said. Moore indicated the inspector, and Marsh turned toward him. "Inspector, my name is Marsh, and I'm very sorry to have been any trouble to you. One of your men has just told me you've sent for me, and as I've not been at home for some hours, of course I did not see him.” Inspector Lynch put the name “Marsh" at the top of a fresh sheet of paper. “How does it happen you are here,” he said to Marsh, “if my messenger did not meet you?" Marsh's light-colored eyes went from Lynch to Moore and back again. He looked at Duddington and then at Sheerness, who had paused and was listening. “It was an odd sort of chance," he said. “I happened to be passing here, and seeing the lights in the museum, I stopped. Then I saw the policemen at the door. I asked what the matter was, but they refused to say. But when I mentioned my name they remembered I was wanted and asked me to step in and speak to you.”. 103 104 THE MUSEUM MURDER “You were in the museum this afternoon, Mr. Marsh, I think?” “Oh, yes.” Marsh gestured. “I come here often. I am well known as a visitor. Also in the capacity of an ad- viser in some things. Mr. Custis has used my knowledge of art matters in various ways." “Do you mind saying just what brought you to the museum this afternoon?” “Not at all. You see, Inspector, I go about from one place to another where the things I am interested in are exhibited or dealt in. That is the way I secure my con- tacts. People in charge of galleries, shops, or museums are acquainted with me; and I come to know those who frequent their places; from these acquaintanceships I get my living. We will take this as a sample day. In the morning I visited a print dealer's with an amateur who is buying early American color prints-crude things, but not very plentiful, and therefore high priced. After that I examined some landscapes to be sold at auction and reputed to be originals of certain French masters who worked during the Second Empire and who refused to give their time and talents to producing the battle pieces then so in vogue. Later I went to Mr. Mac- Quarrie's place to view some items in his catalogue to be sold in a few days. I sat in an auction room from two o'clock until four buying books with English bindings THE MUSEUM MURDER 105 for a collector. Then I stopped here at the John Gregory on my way home.” “What time was that?” “Shortly after four. It was a dull day here, evi- dently; the visitors were not many, and there was no one I knew, until I saw Mr. MacQuarrie come in, and later Messrs. Chalmers and Haviz. By and by Mr. Sheer- ness," with a nod toward that gentleman, “also came in.” “You were here some time after that, were you not?” “Yes.” "Did you again see any one of those whom you have mentioned?" "Oh, yes. I saw Mr. MacQuarrie come out of the office in a great hurry. Some time later, perhaps fifteen minutes, Mr. Sheerness appeared once more." Inspector Lynch glanced at one of the sheets upon the desk. “Did you note anything in Mr. Sheerness's manner as he left the office?" The pale eyes of Marsh shifted to Sheerness, who stood near the office door; then he looked at Lynch once more. “He seemed angry,” said Marsh. “I could see plainly something had disturbed him. He banged the office door after him.” 106 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Custis had been impudent,” said Sheerness, com- ing forward. “I told you of that a few moments ago, Mr. Lynch. It is possible I did wear an angry expression; also I may have slammed the door.” Inspector Lynch nodded in acknowledgment of this; but when he spoke it was to Marsh. “Where were you during this time?" “In the corridor. I was looking at some Greek armor near the door of the main gallery. A little dis- tance from me Mr. William Gregory, the artist, sat at a little table, sketching.” “Did you speak to anyone?” “Yes: Mr. Chalmers. Hecame out. We talked for a few minutes, and then he left.” “What did you do next?" “I went upstairs. I'd remembered some Roman medals the museum had recently acquired. I had never seen them. They are in a room on the second floor, at the front. When I got there I became much interested in them. A few of the pieces I'd never heard of before, and I desired to examine them under a glass. I decided to ask Custis to have the case opened for me, but when I looked at my watch I saw that was out of the question, because it was already past the museum's closing time." “The closing bell rings at five. Didn't you hear it?" THE MUSEUM MURDER 107 1 SO en “No, oddly enough, I did not. I must have been so engrossed with the medals, the sound didn't register on my mind.” “When you looked at your watch and saw how late it was, did you come downstairs at once?” "Immediately. I spoke to the watchman and said I was sorry to give him any trouble.” “While you were on the second floor, did you see any. one else?” “No; no one was there, probably because it was so late in the day." “You did not go toward the back of the building?" "No." “You did not see Gregory, the young man who had sat sketching in the lower corridor, while you were up- stairs?” “No, sir.” “Did you see Mr. Custis at all while you were in the building?" -. "Yes, sir. He passed me while I was examining the armor, going down the corridor toward the street door.” “You did not see him return?” “No, sir.” There was a pause; Marsh looked at his nails and shut and opened his hands; he seemed uncer- tain; his eyes went here and there but avoided the 108 THE MUSEUM MURDER W looks of any who had been listening to him. Then he seemed to become suddenly resolved. “I saw Custis again before I left, though,” he said. “It was rather a peculiar thing, and I thought I'd say nothing about it. For trivial matters like this are sometimes remembered long after more important ones are forgotten; and a man holding a responsible position like Custis is often injured by them, if they spread.” Again there was a silence; then Inspector Lynch said: “Haven't you been told what has happened here to- night?" “No. But I've judged it was a robbery or something of the kind, seeing the police are here." “It's rather more serious than that,” said Lynch. “Custis has been murdered.” Marsh sat down in a chair; his face had gone a dirty white; he held both hands to his chest and coughed. “Custis! Murdered?" he gasped. "He was found near the foot of the stairs,” said Lynch. “On the floor-stabbed.” “Near the foot of the stairs! Stabbed!” Marsh sat helplessly staring about. “Murdered!” “You say you saw him again before you left," said Lynch. “Where did you see him?" "He was standing in the main picture gallery. I saw him there when I reached the lower floor." THE MUSEUM MURDER 109 “Who was with him?" “He was alone.” Duddington saw the flash of intelligence between the two policemen, and again the quick hands of Lynch searched through the sheets of paper on his desk. And he selected the one headed “Slade." “The night watchman has stated the doors opening from the lower corridor into the exhibition rooms were closed before you came down. He closed them himself." “No doubt, sir. But the door leading to the main gal- lery stood open-it is a sliding door, as you may have noticed, sir; it had been pulled back perhaps a matter of two feet. This was unusual; and because of that I stopped and looked in.” “What did you see?” "I saw Mr. Custis.” “What was he doing?” “He stood near the door and was laughing to himself. Indeed, I might say it was more than just laughing: it was mockery. He seemed to be gloating over someone. It's a queer kind of an idea, sir, I know. But that's how it struck me.” Duddington, as he stood listening, felt as though a light were moving about in his mind; it was a small light, and dim, and it flitted about, opening up dark places. Suddenly, as he followed it with his inner eye, he . 1 1 1 3 IIO THE MUSEUM MURDER caught his breath sharply and stirred. Then, as Lynch went on with his questioning, the fat young man turned and went into the outer office; he passed through the door opening into the main gallery. He was gone but a few minutes, and when he came back there was a new look in his eyes; he drew in a breath deep with satis- faction. W in AFTER finishing with Marsh, Inspector Lynch had n the offices cleared; then he sat down at Custis's desk and lighted a cigar. “I've been listening,” said Duddington Pell Chal- mers, "and I've been watching; but I'm not sure if you've made any headway or no." . “I suppose not,” said the inspector. “But what you see going on is the regular grinding of the police mill. We begin at what we take to be the beginning and go plodding through it: incident by incident; person by person; question by question. We get a great quantity of material, a huddle of facts; and somewhere inside that is the truth.” "And then you sift it out?” said Duddington. “If we are lucky, we do,” smiled Lynch, drawing at his cigar. “In this case we have rather a large number of leads; a number of things have happened which might be of large importance; a number of people are moving on the outskirts of the matter, anyone of whom might be the person we are looking for. First, let's take Slade. He was alone here with Custis, as far as we've learned, III II2 THE MUSEUM MURDER for some time. He was Custis's nephew; he has a record with the police; he is a sullen-mannered, primitive type, the sort that is easily diverted into sudden, criminal acts. He was not well disposed toward Custis; they did not get on together; and at last Custis, after weeks or months of fault-finding, discharged him; Slade was to quit the institution at the end of the week. That, in it- self, is a good lead. “But take the case made out under the name of young Gregory. He is grandson to the founder of the museum. The old man died leaving him not a dollar of his im- mense fortune. The will placed Custis, whom young Gregory detested, in practical charge of everything. Around about five o'clock to-day this young man was sketching, among some other things, a peculiar sort of knife. While he was so doing Custis and he had an altercation. It has been shown Custis was in the habit of making bitter remarks to him of one kind or another whenever he had the opportunity. This afternoon Gregory, exasperated, threatened Custis; he went so far as to pick up the knife he was sketching to give point to the threat. Further still, he followed Custis into the office outside there, the knife in his hand, to continue the altercation. Later, he says, he went to the second floor; he remained in the building for some time, indeed, until everyone except the working force had gone. THE MUSEUM MURDER 113 Then he, too, left. The knife he'd threatened Custis with was the knife that put an end to the old man's life.” į "I'll admit,” said Duddington, “there are some things in both cases, as you present them, that are extremely interesting from a police point of view. But the authori- ties would never go before a grand jury with this evi- dence and ask that Slade or Billy Gregory be indicted.” “Why, I am not sure of that,” Lynch said. “Our present district attorney is a rather venturesome official. He likes to take cases that have some element of chance, and battle them through, trusting to luck to resolve the doubtful parts after the indictment is secured. And, don't be misled," the inspector knocked the ash from his cigar, “the case against young Gregory could be presented quite powerfully. It needs a little more work, I know, but bear in mind, we've been on the case only a little more than a hour.” He nodded, and Duddington noted how sharp and jutting the man's chin was and how tight his mouth. “If the next hour pro- duces half as much again," he said, "we'll send this young fellow up for trial as sure as you sit there.” Duddington regarded the man attentively. “I say,” he said, “Billy isn't alone, you know. Don't forget you've scored a few points against Slade.” “I have that well in mind,” said the inspector. “But he does not require the same immediate attention as 114 THE MUSEUM MURDER Gregory. If Slade should turn out to be our man-and, mind you, that wouldn't at all surprise me the matter'll be sure to show as a common sort of affair, and we'll have very little trouble picking up the facts. But the Gregory side of it will make fine fighting; it is rich in potentialities.” Duddington stirred and blew out his cheeks; he sat up very straight in his chair. . “Well, if you're speaking of richness,” he said,“ what about Sheerness? If I were a policeman his angle of the case would give me a real feeling of satisfaction. That'd be a case that'd get the front pages of the newspapers and hold them for a month.” - Inspector Lynch nodded through a haze of cigar smoke; his face was placid, but his eyes were quick with interest. “Sheerness is at this moment within the crime's radius," he said. “But he's extremely unlikely as a subject.” "Well, it may be,” said Duddington, "you haven't shown your appreciation of him as a possibility, as you have of Billy Gregory. Not that I want to see Sheerness in any sort of trouble, mind you,” with a gesture. “No. But I don't like to see one man made a goat of.” “Sheerness,” said the inspector, “left the museum before closing time. Custis was seen alive by five people, THE MUSEUM MURDER 115 yourself among them, after he'd gone. And then he had not the same feeling of bitterness toward Custis that young Gregory had.” “Now, wait,” said Duddington, lifting a hand.“ Wait. The first of those things I'll grant you. Sheerness did leave the museum before Custis was killed. That can't be denied. But about not having a feeling of bitterness toward Custis. Don't be too sure of that! If you hunt around you can find a good two dozen witnesses who'd testify that Sheerness hated Custis as bitterly as any man was ever hated before.” “That's interesting,” said Lynch. “Very." . “Mind you,” said Duddington, “while I can't stand Sheerness, I have no desire, as I just now said, to pin suspicion upon him. I'm going into this with you simply to show you Billy Gregory is not alone in the matter of motive.” He mopped his face; the office was hot, and the air stirred faintly. There were the sounds of voices and footsteps in the street as people, all unconscious of the tragedy lately enacted in the museum, passed by. “Sheerness,” said Duddington, “made the beginnings of his fortune in electric street railways. Then he be- came interested in steel, in motor cars, and railroads. At forty-five he was one of the wealthy men of the coun- try. He wasn't a college man. He'd been brought up in a small New Jersey town; his father was a hardware 116 THE MUSEUM MURDER dealer, and he'd been sent to high school. From there he'd gone directly into business. Now, at forty-five, an enormous power in finance, with a New York mansion on Park Avenue, a place on Long Island, another somewhere in Florida, a fourth in the English county of Surrey, and still another on the Riviera, Sheerness had some time to look around him. And he saw a number of things he'd never noticed before. It wasn't enough to have money. Too many people had it. To really attract the attention of the world, he found, a man must engage himself in something unique. So he began collecting objects of art.” Lynch nodded. “Yes, I know about that. But that is hardly unique, is it? It seems to me most men of his kind go in for it.” “Sheerness was different. In his purchases he was a colossus. He wasn't satisfied to try and attract the world's notice; he meant to compel it, as he'd compelled every commercial thing he'd ever gone after. He turned the art auction rooms of Europe and America into absolute whirlpools; he lifted values to unheard of heights; the whole business of buying and selling paint- ings of name and quality became a feverish dream. And -now, mark this—it was Custis who'd planned this magnificent display of vulgarity; he was Sheerness's hired man, his was the knowledge that operated the THE MUSEUM MURDER 117 amazing machine. But you've heard something of Cus. tis's ways and disposition to-night; anyone of even small observation would know that a mocking, derisive little imp like that could never go far at the heels of a semi-Jehovah like Sheerness. And he didn't. At the end of two years they parted; Sheerness silent and contemptuous; Custis in a shriek of jeering laughter, Then Custis gave the benefit of his really great learning and judgment to old John Gregory. “The old man was at that time about seventy. He'd been an apothecary, and in the 1870's had begun pre- paring and advertising patent medicines; his gains from this had been huge. An instinctive collector all his life, he'd gathered up everything unusual he could lay hands upon. What Billy told you to-night about the influence of Custis on the old man is true. I feel sure the museum was Custis's idea; I'm quite confident he persuaded Mr. Gregory, for the reason Billy gave you—to increase his own power and authority and to provide himself with a wider field for his operations. Art politics was his de- light. “With the money backing of old Gregory, Custis began pestering Sheerness in all his art dealings; he harried his flanks, he was constantly threatening him, he forced him to raise his already huge prices; more than once he tricked the great man into some awkwardness ea. 118 THE MUSEUM MURDER that exposed him to the laughter of the knowing ones. Through it all Sheerness kept silent; but no one who knew him doubted what he felt. He loathed the jeering imp; he'd gladly have ground him under his feet. “But it was not until John Gregory's death, not until this museum had been opened to the public and was functioning as a settled institution with Custis in con- trol, that Custis struck Sheerness the blow that caused the breakdown of the great man's silence; then, for a single instant, so I'm told, Sheerness showed the fury he'd been holding in check. Even people who knew him well were amazed. This was at the time Custis, assisted to some extent by Marsh, the man you have here to- night, and, to a less extent, by MacQuarrie, whom you also have here, threw dust in Sheerness's eyes, and took the Hals painting from him when he thought he had it safely in his hands. “I know what you're going to say: that he didn't keep his anger very long. You are thinking this giving of gifts is not the attitude of a person who hates another. If Sheerness hated Custis enough to want to take his life, you'll say, would he do what you've been told he's done for this museum? Of course, it would seem not. But, at the same time and don't forget this Sheerness is a deep-digging, predatory beast; he has nerves of steel wire and a face like stone. And he has cunning! The IO THE MUSEUM MURDER 119 financial history of this country for the past twenty-five years is tracked back and forward by the signs of his raids, some of which have cost a dozen lives; every page is marred by the pitfalls he's dug for his enemies to fall into. Do you suppose, Inspector, because this man's interests have changed, his methods also have? Depend upon it, he brings the same ferocity into the art game that characterized him in the money market.” “You think, then," said Lynch, and his steady eyes were fixed upon Duddington, “that this seeming generosity in the matter of gifts was an approach?”. “I've always thought so,” said Duddington. “And- how do I know it was not an approach to what has taken place here to-night?” “I've been in the police business a good many years," said the inspector, “and I've seen some odd things; but, if what you're hinting at is true, why, all I can say is, I've lived to see something new. Think of a man paving his way toward a murder by a long series of costly gifts!” “Understand,” said Duddington, “I'm charging Sheerness with nothing; because I have no proof against him-not the slightest. What I'm really trying to do is to show you there was, at least, one other person, whom you had not specially mentioned, who had a motive for murder equally as plain as Billy Gregory's. And a I20 THE MUSEUM MURDER man who, I really believe, would not hesitate a moment if he thought murder necessary to his satisfaction.” “We'll grant the motive, for the sake of argument,” said Lynch; “but what of opportunity? I think you must look in Gregory's direction when it comes to that.” "I know,” said Duddington. “That has great weight. But if I were a police inspector it wouldn't close a case for me. It would only make me look much further-and much deeper-than I had been looking. I'd settle my- self for a battle. Awhile ago you seemed to indicate you preferred the idea of Billy Gregory as the criminal, over Slade, because Billy's potentialities were more attractive. Very well. But here are the possibilities of Sheerness towering over those of Billy like a mountain peak. If you could clutch and throw a man like Sheer- ness, Inspector, your name would be graven on tablets of brass. What? As long as the tribe of policemen func- tioned in the world, you'd be remembered.” Lynch smiled; he looked at Duddington with a good deal of approval. “You don't go back on your friends,” he said. “Well, that's the kind of thing I like to see.” “How can I? How could anybody who knows Billy go back on him in a thing like this? I'm sure he's innocent.” “Well, it may be,” said the inspector. “But at this stage of a thing one can never be sure. However, I'll say this," e ca n nev eve 122 THE MUSEUM MURDER any particular idea, just asked a question here and there as they came up in my mind. I says to him, what did he do after he locked the front door? And he says he sat down and read the paper till Marsh came along and was let out. And, I says, what did he do then, after that? Read the paper again? And he says yes. And then I says, did anything happen while he sat there? Did he see anything? He says no. And then I says—this was a lucky one! I says, did he hear anything? And he says, yes, he did!” Moore waited; he saw the interest in the two faces and the attentive attitudes of the two figures; he nodded to both Duddington and the inspector, highly approving of himself, and proceeded: “He says, yes, he did: he says he was reading his newspaper, and then he thought he heard a sound. Someone was upstairs-at the back. The sound was footsteps. Then they were plainer; they were on the iron stairs, he says, and he could hear them click, click, click as they came down, he says. Then suddenly they stopped. Completely. There was a pause. Then he heard something else. He heard somebody cry out! Not like somebody was hurt. I asked him that. No: like some- body that was astonished-surprised. You know what I mean,” Moore gestured, looking at the inspector and then at Duddington. “Then Slade says there was a as THE MUSEUM MURDER 123 whispering, like as if somebody was shouting under their breaths. Then this stopped, too; the footsteps started again. Then this young fellow Gregory came along the corridor, and Slade let him out.” Lynch's face was set; there was a look of exultation in his eyes. “Get Gregory," he said. “I thought you'd want him," said Moore. “One of my men's got him just outside." The precinct detective went to the door and beck- oned; and Billy Gregory came in. At the first mention of the footsteps on the stairs Duddington saw the young man go white; then the pause, the whispering, came in direct thrusts from Lynch. “I didn't stop on the stairs,” said Billy, his eyes startled, and his voice shaking a little. “At least, I have no recollection of having done so. I am quite sure I spoke to no one and heard no one speak.” “That'll do,” said Lynch. Billy was taken out, and the inspector looked at Duddington. “Well, there it is,” he said quietly. “There is the one outstanding thing I just now spoke of. When young Gregory leaves this build- ing to-night he will be in custody." XI ALMOST at once Moore put his head into the room; A his face was full of expectation. “Inspector,” he said, “I think things have begun to break right for us. The man you sent out after Haviz has just brought him in. Want to see him?" “Just a moment.” Lynch read from his notes. "Haviz. One of the trustees. Painter by profession. Came here with Chalmers by appointment at four- thirty. Left before closing time. Appears to be a person whom Custis disliked. Oh, yes, here's what I want! He read some parts of Mona Rogers's statement atten- tively and then looked at Duddington. “What, in particular, did Haviz have against Custis-or vice versa?” Duddington shook his head. “I haven't enough real knowledge of their affairs to venture a reply to that, at such a time,” he said. “This thing of how Custis stood in the outer office grinning at the closed door while Haviz sat waiting for him to return seems to indicate a condition that might bear looking into. And then to turn and go out, ap- 1 24 THE MUSEUM MURDER 125 parently for the mere pleasure of keeping the man wait- ing! That fact would make me pay some attention to Haviz, even if there were nothing else.” “It would easily be possible to attach too much im- portance to such acts of Custis's,” said Duddington. “They were common with him; he was a kind of imp: what the Germans call poltergeist.” “Are MacQuarrie and Marsh well acquainted with Haviz?” asked the inspector. “Rather well so,” said Duddington, but with no enthusiasm. "Hold Haviz in the corridor,” said Lynch to Moore. “Let me have MacQuarrie now and Marsh afterward.” When the picture dealer came in he was anxious of face and perspiring. Under the strong overhead lights he looked whiter than ever; his second chin trembled. “It is a very difficult night,” said he to Duddington. "I don't recall ever going through a hotter.” Lynch took MacQuarrie in hand easily; he began far enough from his real objective not to attract the man's attention, and gradually approached. “You are acquainted with the terms of John Gregory's will, I suppose, Mr. MacQuarrie?” he said. "Oh, yes,” said the dealer. “Oh, yes, Mr. Lynch. As a matter of fact, I have one of the printed copies of it and have read it carefully several times.” 126 THE MUSEUM MURDER “You know who the trustees of the museum are?” “Oh, yes.” MacQuarrie mopped his face and nod- ded. “Yes, indeed. Mr. Custis was one, and Mr. Chal- mers, here, and Mr. Haviz. There were just the three of them.” “You've known Mr. Custis and Mr. Chalmers for a long time?" “Yes; quite some years." “And Mr. Haviz?” “Yes, Mr. Haviz, too." “Mr. Haviz is an artist, I believe?” “A painter-yes. And I think quite a sound one. Fine talent.” "Being fellow trustees, I suppose Mr. Custis and Mr. Haviz were on friendly terms?" “Yes, quite friendly. Of course, Mr. Haviz was a little short tempered at times, but then, that was really nothing.” “Short tempered? What was that about?” “Oh, nothing much.” MacQuarrie smiled; he made an affable gesture. “Nothing at all. I think Mr. Haviz is of French or Spanish blood, and people of those countries are quicker to take offense than Americans of English stock. Anyway, Mr. Haviz always seemed to resent Mr. Custis's humor.” “I hadn't heard Mr. Custis was given to humor.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 129 Mr. Lynch, as I've said,” and MacQuarrie's white, soft hand rubbed at his two chins, “it would be absurd to remember these things against Mr. Haviz. He re- gretted them himself. I'm sure, as soon as they were over.” "In any matters of this sort that came up between Custis and Haviz, were they always caused by Custis making light of Haviz's failure to prosper as an artist?” “Why, I think so.” “You are not sure?” “No, Inspector, I'm not. I will admit there sometimes did seem to be something else. I didn't know what it could be, but there seemed to be something." “What gave you that idea?" “The way they spoke, sometimes. Not what they said, mind you: the way they said it. And the way they looked. But it never lasted long; it was all over in a little while; so I made up my mind, whatever it was, it couldn't be much.” When MacQuarrie went out of the office, Marsh was brought in. “I trust you are making progress, Inspector," said the man, his light-colored eyes going here and there. “It is really a dreadful thing; the more I think of it, the more horrified I am. I suppose the news- papers will be full of it in the morning.” are n 130 THE MUSEUM MURDER “You've been occupied in your present work for a good many years, I believe, Mr. Marsh,” said Lynch. “Oh, yes,” said Marsh. “More than twenty, I should say—that is, independently. I was employed by an an- tique and picture dealer some years before that.” “How long have you known Mr. Haviz?" asked the inspector. “As a matter of fact, Inspector, I have never what you might call known Mr. Haviz. He has always been quite distant with me. Even from the first. And, of course, seeing that—and he made it quite plain—I never made any approaches." “But in spite of that you knew of him?" “Oh, yes. I recall when he first came here. He set up a little studio on the West Side and went to a night class at an art school. He was quite a good painter even then; they told me he'd studied with Spanish and Italian masters at Rio Janeiro, where he came from. Custis kept an art shop in Irving Place at that time and handled pictures for young painters who were coming along. He took some from Haviz and sold them. They became quite close friends." “I see,” said Lynch. “I remember Haviz was greatly pleased. I sat near him at restaurants and other public places at times, and he talked quite excitedly. Custis was a great man to THE MUSEUM MURDER 131 him. He felt he couldn't do better than tie up with him—to put himself unreservedly at his disposal. It was a path that would lead to fortune. Two-three years with Custis, then Paris, Rome, Madrid; the great gal- leries; a studio in the heart of things. Then work and life. And fame!" “Custis had impressed him, it seems.” “Custis could always impress people when he wanted to, and it seems he wanted to in Haviz's case. Custis knew human nature.” Marsh looked at Duddington. “You have always seen the repellent side of him, Mr. Chalmers, but he had another: he could attract, as well.” “Why,” asked the police inspector, “should he go out of his way to impress an unknown young painter?" Marsh shook his head. "I never knew. Though,” and the light-colored eyes fixed themselves upon Lynch's face for a moment, “I heard rumors at the time. There were people who dis- liked Custis at that time also, and some of them talked.” “What did they say?" “I don't recall the words; but here is the body of their remarks: Custis was clever; he knew pictures, and many wealthy people had confidence in his judgment and knowledge. But he held these people in contempt. 132 THE MUSEUM MURDER He said they were stupid. However, they had money, and he was willing to profit by their ignorance. He was skilled in restoring old paintings; he could take dim, moldy canvases and make them glow with their original colors. And-here was the thing people whis- pered-in devising clever ways for taking years from old paintings, he'd discovered equally clever ways of adding years to new ones.” “What had that to do with gaining the good will of Haviz?” Marsh smiled in a thin sort of way; he stood with his coat drawn about him, apparently full of regrets. “It has always been a sort of outlaw desire among the more unscrupulous art dealers and picture restorers,” he said, “to have contacts that could produce skillful imitations, to be sold as the authentic work of certain masters. I have no doubt,” the dim smile still persisting, "the wish has carried on in some places and exists even now. At any rate, Custis was then supposed to be one who had this desire; it was hinted he coveted a painter who'd work with him, a painter with a sense of imita- tion, in touch, line, color, texture. If he could get the confidence of such a one, why, then-who knows?- masterpieces might be discovered! Ancient, lost work, hidden by dirt and varnish, painted over, but now restored, might appear.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 133 - “And did they?" Marsh nodded. “Within three years, two!” he said. “One of them is a Reubens that now hangs in the palace of a cattle king somewhere in the Argentine. The other is a Murillo, now in Chicago, and the gem of a private collection.” “There were no more?” "No." Marsh shook his head. “I do not know why. Perhaps,” and the thin smile again lighted up his face, “Mr. Haviz's falling out with Custis, going abroad, and setting himself up in Paris had something to do with it. He did not return for some years.” There was a silence; then Duddington, who had been listening, spoke. "I say, Marsh, don't you think it a shabby kind of a thing to hint at Haviz being concerned in a matter like that when you have no proof?” “I merely repeat, at the request of the inspector, what I heard at that time. I do not say the things are true. I have no idea of them, one way or the other.” But there was a smirk on the man's face as he spoke; and Duddington turned away, disgusted. But when Marsh had left the room, after more questioning by Lynch, the fat young man spoke again. “Surely, Inspector, you can't put any confidence in the sayings of a man like that. It's plain enough he 134 THE MUSEUM MURDER doesn't like Haviz, and he's taking this opportunity of showing it.” “Well, it may be so. But we shall see,” said the in- spector. “Of course the lead will need more work before we can do anything with it. But there is one thing I can call your attention to now, and that is the way what Marsh said fits in with what MacQuarrie said. Together they build up a situation. An ambitious young painter. A crooked art dealer. Temptation. The youth, dazzled, and having no experience to guide him, falls. At last realizes what he's done and leaves the country. When he returns the crook holds the thing over him. Exasperated, the young artist, now a reputable trustee, kills him.” “But Haviz had no opportunity to commit this crime, even if he desired to. He'd left the museum; he could not have got in again unless Slade admitted him.” Lynch went out into the corridor, Duddington fol- lowing him. Haviz stood with Moore, looking pale and nervous and quite disheveled. He shook hands with Duddington and spoke of the murder in a shaking voice. “Call Edwards,” said Lynch to Moore. The watchman was summoned and approached nervously. “Edwards," said the inspector, “do you know Mr. Haviz, here?” THE MUSEUM MURDER 135 1 “Oh, yes. I've known him for a long time, sir." “Did you notice him going out to-day?" “I did, sir. Just a little while before I turned things over to Slade. I remember very well saying good- afternoon to him as he left." “Thank you.” Lynch turned to Haviz. “Come in,” he said. Haviz followed the inspector into the inner office. “I was sitting in the Skillet Club when the detective told me of what's happened,” Haviz said to Dudding- ton. “Stabbed in the back! It gave me quite a turn." “The medical examiner will be here in a little while, I'm told, and then the body can be removed,” said Duddington. “In the meantime the police are trying to get at the bottom of the affair.” “I spoke with Alma Rogers after I came in,” said Haviz, in a low tone. He bit at his thumb nail. “She tells me they suspect Billy Gregory. What damned nonsense is that?" “This man Lynch, who is in charge, is quite keen,” whispered Duddington, nodding toward the inspector, who stood at the desk looking over his notes. “Nothing unusual in the way of method, but seems able to un- cover things. I've been rather taken by him." Haviz put his hand on Duddington's arm; and the young man felt it trembling. 136 THE MUSEUM MURDER “He can't have any real thing against Billy!” said the man. “He'll not arrest him?" “From what he says, I'm afraid he wil,” said Dud- dington gravely. Haviz turned toward Lynch; he was pale and twitch- ing and evidently highly excited. “You've sent for me, Inspector," he said, "and I'm here. I don't know what you expect of me; but judging from all the trouble you took to locate me, it must be something important." “We always like to get people in for questioning at the earliest possible time," said Lynch, looking up from his papers. “You were not at your apartment or your studio when we called: so we thought it best to hunt you up." "I haven't been home since morning," said Haviz. “And my studio has been closed since noon.” He rub- bed at his jaws, and Duddington noted a marked slackening of his body; his hot eyes seemed to hold little meaning. “There was a great deal to do. There were people to see.” He paused and when he spoke again it was as though suddenly frightened. “Custis has been killed! It is a terrible thing to think of, and somewhere someone is going about with that man's dirty blood upon him. On his clothes; on his hands.” Duddington went to Haviz hastily. THE MUSEUM MURDER 137 “It's all right,” he said soothingly. “It can't be helped, now, you know. Buck up; don't let yourself go.” “A stab wound in the back!” said Haviz. He shook his head, his eyes upon Lynch. “In the back! I knew it would happen some day. It had to." He began to laugh, and Duddington suddenly realized he was quite drunk. “But I never thought it would be like this," said Haviz. “Not stabbed in the back. I thought it'd be his throat.” “I say, now,” said Duddington anxiously. “Pull yourself together.” Then he spoke to Lynch. “It's the whisky he's been taking. He's tight, and not at all fit for questioning." Lynch hesitated for a moment; then he said: “Perhaps you're right. At any rate, we'll give him a little time and maybe he'll come around.” A policeman was called in. “Sober him up,” said the inspector. “I'll want him here again for examination.” And when Haviz had disappeared, Lynch said to Duddington with satisfaction, “I like this lead, next to young Gregory's. It's got the stuff in it. Custis was killed by a knife; and the knife is a ‘natural' for a South American. Also, Haviz is the sort, if properly wrought up, to use one." “I don't know," said Duddington; "but it would take a good deal to convince me he used one, here, to- 138 Tur THE MUSEUM MURDER night. He'd left the building, as I've already said, and he could not return without Slade letting him in.” Lynch smiled and reached for one of his sheets of notes. “I'm afraid you're using the argument I used for Sheerness in favor of Haviz. But,” and he took his eyes from the paper, “their cases are not quite the same. There was no way for Sheerness to get into the building except by way of the front door; but with Haviz it's different: there is a back door opening from the store- room, next here, and Slade told me in my first examina- tion of him that Haviz had a key to it.” “There are three keys to it,” said Duddington. “Each of the trustees had one. But what does Haviz's posses- sion of a key to the rear door indicate to you?” Lynch looked at him, surprised. “Why, that he could unlock the door and enter when he was so disposed.” "It is evident,” said Duddington, “you have not yet had the rear door open.” “No, we were unable to unlock it, as Custis, so we were told, kept his key in the office safe, and the combination was on.” "Well, when you finally do open the back door," said Duddington, blowing out his cheeks, “you'll find one thing. It cannot be unlocked except from the in- THE MUSEUM MURDER 139 side. So no matter how much Haviz might have desired to enter, that door was closed to him. His key was use- less.” . "I see,” said Lynch. He nodded and tapped his pencil upon the edge of the desk. “I see.” “That back door is necessary for the bringing in of pictures, statuary, and such things,” said Duddington, “but old John Gregory only permitted its being put in with the greatest reluctance. He suspected doors. He saw in them only possible places for the entry of thieves. As you no doubt have noticed, there are only two doors in the building—the entrance door for visitors is the other. The locks for these were specially contrived; and the matter of the rear door keys being held only by the trustees was set down in the old man's will.” “Well, you've got me blocked,” admitted Lynch good-humoredly. “But it's all right; the matter is only in its second hour, and I'll get even with you before I'm done.” He looked at Duddington smilingly. “You still think there are indications of Sheerness having had something to do with this thing. That's going to trip you in the end. I'm sure to win over you on that alone.” “As I've said, I don't know that Sheerness is guilty of this murder,” said Duddington. “But, and right in line with your own reasoning, I do know that Billy Gregory and Haviz are not guilty.” Ant then as Lynch, 140 THE MUSEUM MURDER his attention caught by the speaker's emphasis, stared at him, Duddington went on: “If Billy killed Custis, what would his motive have been? Hate, revenge! If Haviz killed him, what the motive? Again: hate, re- venge! And if the crime was the watchman, Slade's? Once more: hatred, revenge!" The fat young man drew in a deep breath; his colossal proportions seemed to double, and he fixed Lynch with his eye. “All hatred and revenge. Isn't that your idea?” “Yes,” said Lynch quietly. “Very well. I'm going to show, and without speaking more than a half dozen words, that you are wrong. The murder of Custis wasn't that sort of crime at all.” He beckoned Lynch and went into the outer office; opening the door into the main picture gallery he waited for the inspector to follow him. At places the walls were hung with heavy black curtains, and Duddington pointed to these. “Slade said, after all the visitors left, his first duty was to close the doors to the corridor and draw the curtains. These are the curtains he meant; they are intended to save certain valuable paintings from the morning sunlight. Here," and he indicated a curtained spot, “is where the Hals masterpiece hung.” With a sharp fling Duddington threw the curtain aside: Lynch saw an empty frame staring at him from the wall; the painting had been cut from it and was gone! XII TNSPECTOR LYNCH stood frowning and silent be- 1 fore the empty frame; and after a few moments he said to Duddington: “How did you know of this, and how long have you known it?" "I thought of it while you talked with Marsh the first time," said the fat young man. “It suddenly worked into my mind. It must have been something Marsh said about Custis standing here all alone and laughing. I knew it must be something about the picture that made him laugh-something about Sheer- ness. So the idea popped into my mind: 'I wonder if the picture is safe!' So I came in to see.” “You didn't mention the matter to me," said Lynch. “Why was that?” "I wasn't convinced you did not already know it,” said Duddington. “I am not very well acquainted with the methods of the police, and didn't care to risk a faux pas. It has only been during the last ten minutes I've felt sure you didn't know it was gone." . “I see,” said Lynch. He still frowned at the blank 141 142 THE MUSEUM MURDER frame. “Of course,” he said, “we'd have finally come to it in the course of our routine. But, as I've said more than once, the case is only a little more than an hour old, and our work hadn't got this far.” “Well, at any rate,” said Duddington. “We know it, now. A picture valued at a quarter of a million dollars has been stolen. What does that indicate to you? Do you still think the killing of Custis was a thing actuated by personal hate? Or does it look to you like a crime which was, perhaps, the accidental result of a robbery?" Lynch shook his head. “It alters the face of the matter; there is no doubt about that,” he said. “But it is too early to make up one's mind about it. A case like this has many ramifica- tions; the police, unless they go carefully, are apt to be led astray.” He looked at Duddington, his prominent jaw stuck out. “I've seen murder cases with robbery attachments before this, and later on it's been found that the robbery was only added to throw the police off the track of the real motive.” “Well,” said Duddington, “of course, I don't know what you have in mind. But the thing I'm thinking of is this: What's become of the painting? It's been stolen, but how did the thief get it out of the building?" Lynch nodded. “I've been considering that myself," he said. He THE MUSEUM MURDER 143 pushed open the door leading into the corridor and spoke to Sergeant Brace; then, reclosing the door, he went with Duddington into the inner office. “At a venture I'd say the painting is still in the museum,” he said. “You see what the windows are like"-pointing to one -“grated, and with apertures too small to permit the passage of even much less bulky things than this pic- ture, even if rolled. I've sent for Slade; we'll find out what he has to say about the chances at the front door." Slade was brought in. He was sullen looking and re- garded Lynch with no very favoring eye. It was very plain he resented being at the beck and call of the police. “Slade," said the inspector, “from what you've said, three people left the building after closing time. Marsh was the first of these. He went out about five-fifteen, and you spoke to him as he went out. Was there a good light at the door at that time?” “There is full daylight at five-fifteen,” said Slade. “And if you'll look you'll see there's a large window at each side of the front door.” "Was Marsh carrying anything when you spoke to him?” “No.” “No parcel, or package, or anything of that sort?” “No.” 144 THE MUSEUM MURDER “What about Gregory and Miss Rogers?” "Neither had anything," said Slade. “I'd seen it if they had.” When the watchman went out the inspector said to Duddington: "As you've seen, this man is by no means free of sus- picion himself; and as he had the means of opening the door there is, of course, the possibility of his having done so and handing the painting to a confederate on the outside. But, fortunately, I am able to check up on that." Moore brought in a gray-haired policeman, ruddy and good-humored and with the appearance of having been on the force for many years. “Patrolman Monaghan, Inspector,” said Moore. "He's the man who was on duty outside.” "From one o'clock on, Inspector, I've been sitting outside on the museum steps. There is a house over the way under quarantine, and I was detailed to watch it.” "I'm told you had occasion to notice when the museum closed?” “Yes, sir, at five o'clock. The watchman spoke to me just before he put the lock on the door.” “Did you notice who came out after that?" "I did. Two men and a girl, with a little time between them.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 145 “Did any of them carry anything? A parcel? A roll? Any large-sized package?” “No, sir.” “You are sure of that?” "I am.” “Did the watchman open the door at any time after five o'clock and pass a bundle to anyone outside?” “No, sir.” “You were constantly there at the door of the museum until the alarm was given of the murder and the police detail arrived ?" . “I was, sir. From five o'clock until just now, when I was called in to speak to you, I was near the front door. Only the three I've mentioned came out; and none of them had a bundle.” "That's all. Thank you, Monaghan.” Lynch looked at Moore. “Now, let me see Haviz.” “O. K.,” said the precinct detective. “And what about Newman?” asked Lynch. “He's on his way.” Haviz came in a few minutes later, still disheveled and white. His hands fumbled with his hat rim, but he seemed much calmer than he'd been a while be- fore. “Mr. Haviz,” said Lynch, “I understand it was writ, ten in the will of John Gregory that each trustee of the 146 THE MUSEUM MURDER museum be provided with a key to the rear door and that there be no others.” “That is true," said Haviz. “You have your key, I suppose?” There was a pause; then Haviz shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have not. I gave that key up some three months ago." “You gave it up? To whom?" “To Mr. Custis." “Do you mind saying why that was?" “I had some words with him. There was something I objected to in his management. I was angry. I said if I had no voice in the regulation of the museum's affairs I'd prefer to have none of the responsibilities. I then gave him the key. It was a sort of gesture. He put it in his safe with his own saying if I wanted it, it was there for me." “You did not have the key to-day?" "I tell you,” said Haviz passionately, “I have not had it for three months.” - Lynch was still engaged with Haviz when a thin young man with red hair and keen gray eyes, carrying a leather bag, came in. “How are you, Inspector?” he said, easily. He put down the bag and, taking off his hat, mopped his face. “Is this the box?” pointing to a safe at one side. THE MUSEUM MURDER 147 “Yes,” said Lynch. He told Haviz he had no further questions for him just then, and Haviz paused in the doorway to the outer office and talked with Dudding- ton. The red-haired young man turned the knobs on the safe door and listened. “The burglar's friend!” he said. “It's a wonder some of these places don't keep their valuables in cracker cans. They'd be just as safe. These tumblers act like educated dogs: you just whistle and they fall into place.” In a short time he swung the safe door open. Lynch opened the inner compartments, in one of them he found two delicate steel keys, flat, and of a peculiar cut, lying side by side. “The keys to the rear door,” said Duddington when they were shown to him. “Yes, sir; I'm sure of it.” “If there is any doubt about whom they belonged to," said Haviz, “look at the shaft of each. You'll find Cus- tis's name on one and mine on the other.” XIII OIS COME ten minutes later Lynch and Duddington were in the storeroom next Custis's office, watch- ing the red-haired young man as he shot and reshot the lock on the back door. “I'd say," said the red-haired young man, “that there was only one of this lock made. And it didn't come from a factory. Somebody made it by hand, keys and all; and who ever it was," admiringly,“was a work- man.” “An old Welsh mechanic made it, at the special request of John Gregory,” said Duddington. “And you are quite right;" to the locksmith, “it is the only one of its kind.” “There is no hole in the door, and so it can't be opened from the outside," said the red-haired young man. "The lock has not been tampered with at any time. Every- thing is as right as it was the day it was put on.” After the lock expert had taken his bag and said good-night, Duddington Pell Chalmers sat in a chair in the inner office and smoked a cigarette. Lynch was out in the corridor; the place was filled with rummaging 148 THE MUSEUM MURDER 149 policemen, upstairs and down; everything must be opened and looked into! The Hals masterpiece was still in the building, the inspector said, and must be found. Still in the building! Duddington nodded and blew out a cloud of smoke. Well, maybe so. To get it out would seem impossible. “But the person who took the picture managed to make away,” said Duddington. “So why couldn't the picture itself be slipped out, somehow?" He smoked until he'd burned the cigarette far down; then he lighted another, shaking his head, a puzzled frown between his eyes. To steal a picture like that. A world-known masterpiece. No one would have stolen it but a fool! For after it had been stolen, what could be done with it? It couldn't be sold. No one would buy it. To offer it for sale would mean instant arrest. The thief would not even have the satisfaction of displaying it; he'd not dare tell anyone he had it. “He can do nothing but hide it,” said Duddington. “What an ass! What stupidity!" There was the theft of the celebrated Gainsborough portrait from a London gallery. It had been missing twenty years when the thieves, unable to do anything with it, gave it back to the owners through a go-between. The Mona Lisa itself had been stolen only a few years before, and returned. “With two examples of that sort before him, someone 150 THE MUSEUM MURDER now turns his hand to this! It's really preposterous," said Duddington. “It is, indeed.” When Inspector Lynch came in, alert and quick of glance, Duddington spoke what was in his mind. “Crime is always stupid,” said the inspector in reply. “Even when intelligent people turn to it, as they some- times do, they usually fumble with it and in the end destroy themselves. However," and he shook his head, “this matter of the picture is not necessarily a sign of dullness.” Duddington sat looking at him through a haze of smoke. “I think I see what you mean. I've considered that, too. Your idea is, perhaps the person who cut the pic- ture from the frame never had it in his mind to sell it, nor show it to anyone. That he'd be content with the mere possession of it.” “Yes," said the inspector. “That man,” said Duddington, “would be a collec- tor.” He threw the cigarette end into a tray and lighted a fresh one. “And don't forget, I've mentioned a col- lector to you in this matter. And one that has had a singular interest in this very picture.” “You mean Sheerness. I remember," said Lynch. “But frankly, I'm still not interested in him. And I'll tell you why. A thief steals a thing because that's the easiest THE MUSEUM MURDER 151 way, to him, of getting it. Sheerness's easiest way of getting a thing is to buy it." “But here,” said Duddington, “is something he desired very much, and it was not for sale.” Lynch shook his head. “Well, when money fails, a man of Sheerness's sort brings pressure to bear." “Nothing once in the Gregory collection can be sold. It's so stipulated in the old man's will. And no pressure, no matter how great, could operate against that.” Lynch sharpened a pencil with a small knife. He sat down at the desk and drew a fresh sheet of paper toward him. “Sheerness and his possibilities will receive their due share of police attention before we have finished,” he said. “But just now there is a trail more heavily marked and a good deal more possible. And that's the one we mean to follow first." “Billy Gregory's!” said Duddington. He sat up straight in his chair; he hated the cold insistence of Lynch in this direction; for all the man appeared a decent enough sort, there was a ruthlessness about him that was almost detestable. It was, possibly, a police color, taken on by years of contact. He felt Billy to be weaker than Sheerness; he'd seen Billy break on two oC- casions and almost go to pieces. And this had excited 152 THE MUSEUM MURDER the hound in him; he wanted to bare his fangs, to leap upon the fallen one and tousle, and gnaw, and worry him. “It's an infernal shame, Inspector, to grind at the idea of that young man the way you do. As I see it, of all the people who might have had a hand in this affair, Billy Gregory is the least likely." "In spite of what I see you're thinking,” said Lynch, “my outlook upon this case is without prejudice. Young Gregory is no more an object of attack than any of the others. But," and he smiled, “there is quite a good deal of feeling on your part. You are his friend, and see, in the common routine of police investigation, clear evidence of spleen. I assure you there is none." Duddington did not reply to this. He pitched his cigarette away, got up, and began walking up and down the floor. To neglect working on Sheerness was blind- ness! Just nothing less than blindness. A swift persis- tence at this time might have an amazing result; a criminal might be detected, thrown, and tied, who'd startle the city! Who but Sheerness desired the picture? And he did desire it! In spite of all his appearance of friendliness, in spite of all his generosity, he did desire it. He coveted it as he coveted nothing else in the world. He'd lost it at Paris but had never given it up. He wanted it. And would a man who had trampled hun- dreds into the muck in his passage through the world stop THE MUSEUM MURDER 153 e was at one man's life? A man he hated as much as he did Custis? “He'd put a knife in him with pleasure, if everything else failed,” Duddington told himself. “He'd not hesi- tate an instant.” MacQuarrie came into the office. There was a shocked look upon his fat white face. “The Hals!” he said to Duddington. “Stolen! What possessed them? How can they profit by it?" He gestured helplessly. “When I think of a thing like this I have a feeling that a sacrilege has been done. The Temple of Art has been violated.” Then he approached Lynch at the desk. “Mr. Moore says you wish to speak with me, Inspector," he said. “Yes, for a moment, if you don't mind. Your line of business brings you in contact with a great many people, I suppose, Mr. MacQuarrie?” said Lynch. “Oh, yes; with people interested in producing, or buying, or selling art, that is.” The man nodded af- fably. “A great many, sir.” "It must be an interesting business,” said Lynch. “Collectors must bring a good deal of variety into it by their different needs, I suppose?” “Quite so. A great deal.” "Have you noticed,” said the inspector, “if the col- lecting habit ever runs in families? Would a man who 154 THE MUSEUM MURDER is, let us say, a fancier of old ivory, be likely to have a son with the same sort of liking?” “Yes, Mr. Lynch, it happens that way frequently. Very frequently. One might say collecting is in the blood. Yes. It is handed down, like other traits, from father to son." “Take a man like old Mr. Gregory, the founder of this institution-you knew him, I suppose?” “Oh, yes; very well.” “Take a man like him. It seems to me he was so powerfully given to collecting that there'd be quite a tendency in that direction among his descendants.” MacQuarrie nodded and smiled. “There is,” he said. “Quite well developed, too. And young Mr. Gregory, being the only descendant alive, seems to have it all concentrated in him. He has the talent and knowledge; if he had the means, he'd be a collector of note. Even as it is,” and MacQuarrie seemed both interested and amused, “he has a nice little lot of items; indeed, the word ‘nice' is not suffici- ently expressive, for his collection would not be dis- dained by many people much better known.” There was no doubt but Lynch was an excellent policeman! Duddington admitted that. The man seemed to have a splendid sense of direction; he visioned things a long way off-while they were still not more THE MUSEUM MURDER 155 than possibilities. And he was honest. Nevertheless, Duddington felt a resentment. He disliked everything Lynch stood for. He hated the cold routine. The dull grinding of the machine, under the guidance of that steady hand, brought up in him a desire to protest; Lynch's mind was always on Billy; he did not forget him for a moment. Duddington found he couldn't watch and listen any longer; it was impossible; he must go out of the office. He'd had enough. “Curt, snappy voices; sharp eyes, and alert looks, and an insistence on going what is thought to be forward, are not sufficient,” the young man told himself. “They are not nearly sufficient. Curt, snappy voices have never yet commanded any deep-lying thing; merely sharp eyes have never yet seen any truth of real consequence. I must get my thoughts on something else.” He shut the door of the outer office behind him and looked down the corridor. XIV un THE lights were all on; there was a little group I near the stairway, and Duddington noticed a professional-looking man with a small leather case in his hand. “The medical examiner,” said the young man. “I suppose they are about to remove the body.” He walked down the corridor and turned into the exhibition room to the left, the door of which stood open. There was a small alcove off this, and there Dud- dington found Alma Rogers and Billy Gregory beside Mona, who sat, pale and frightened looking, supported by some cushions. “How are you?” said Duddington to the girl. She smiled wanly and murmured something. “I think," said Duddington, “everything'll be all right in a little while. The police are quite alert; and, as they suggest, the further they go the more likely they are to come at the truth.” He looked at Billy and Alma. “You've heard about the picture, I suppose?” he said. “Yes,” said Billy. “Sergeant Brace spoke of it. Of course, I'm sorry to hear that so fine and so valuable a 156 THE MUSEUM MURDER 157 thing has been lost; but at the same time it changes the aspect of the case and relieves me of the suspicion Lynch piled up around me.” “Why, yes, of course,” said Duddington blinking his eyes. “It should do that, surely.” He talked with them for a time and then managed to draw Billy and Alma into a far corner of the room. “Now, listen,” he said. “What you say, Bill, about suspicion being lifted from you should be so. And it would be if we had anyone but policemen to deal with.” Alma put her hand upon Duddington's arm; she said in a frightened voice: “Do you mean, Duddy, they still believe Billy killed Mr. Custis?” “Well, now, we'll not go quite as far as that,” said Duddington, soothingly. “No, we'll not say that. As a matter of fact, they have not made up their minds as to who did the thing. But, still we must not forget that you,” and he tapped the young artist on the chest with his big forefinger, “are being carried about in their minds. You are among the suspects, Billy; they've got you halfway into the mire, and we'll all have to pull together to get you out.” “But what can we do?” said Alma, pale and trembl- ing. “If the police are against us, we are helpless." Billy put his arms about her. 158 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Now, don't be frightened! You've got to bear up so you can see to Mona. And keep any idea of the police harming me out of your mind. They can't do it. After all, they don't amount to much; they only begin a thing; to-morrow, or next day, it'll be taken out of their hands. And then I'll be dealing with men who have a much less professional view." “Now, wait,” said Duddington. “Now, wait.” He puffed out his cheeks and regarded the two seriously. "Of course the police are not the last court of appeal; you are right there. And they have a narrow, professional way of looking at things: though I will say this man Lynch is a good deal better than the run of them. But I ask you to forget all about this notion of to-morrow. That's no kind of a hope for a man in your position to hold. Waiting for to-morrow or next day is no frame of mind for a person under suspicion of having done a murder. What you need to center on, Bill, is to-night. Do you understand that? To-night! For if this thing goes beyond twelve o'clock with you still in it, you'll be put under arrest. You'll be held; the newspapers'll have your name six inches high on the front page. They'll have your picture.” "Oh, no!” said Alma. “They'll not arrest him!” She clung to the young man. “Surely, they'd not arrest you, dear." THE MUSEUM MURDER 159 "Hush-sh-sh-!” he tried to quiet her. “It's all right, Alma. Don't be alarmed. I see what Chalmers is driving at. He means I must not sit quiet and allow them to fasten this thing on me. And he's right.” He held out a hand to Duddington, and the fat young man gripped it tightly. “If they pin an arrest on me it's going to do me harm. I may lose my commission for the mural; the thing might injure me in many ways." - "The man or woman who's been arrested on suspicion of having done a murder,” said Duddington, “seldom gets really clear of it. The police, the district attorney's office, the newspapers may say he's absolved of all blame; but there'll always be someone to point a finger and say what was once thought of him.” “Billy,” said Alma, “you must not have that happen to you! It would be dreadful! Through your whole life. It would embitter you; it might spoil all you've ever hoped for." “Duddy's right,” said Billy. “He usually is. There must be no waiting for to-morrow or next day. What's to be done must be done now.” He paused and looked about. The room was empty, save for themselves; from the corridor came a single voice, a sharp, professional voice, speaking strange words. The body was being examined, and the doctor was dictating his findings. Then Billy drew a long breath; a dismayed look came THE MUSEUM MURDER 161 in your hand. The weapon he was killed with! And then this business Slade tells about: of your stopping on the stairs as you came down, of the whispering, and then your immediate appearance. In a policeman's eyes those are enough to put you in the very shadow of the chair. From the moment those things were learned you were, as far as the inspector is concerned, fixed in the center of the whole matter, and all his efforts have been spent trying to arrange everything else around you.” “We'll find something that will change that,” said Alma hopefully. “We are sure to, for Billy is innocent, and there must be something, somewhere, to prove it." Duddington blinked sympathetically; of course it was right that she should feel so, but he had little hope in the mere chance of such a thing coming to pass. “Lynch's whole attitude,” he said, “shows what prejudice will do to even a reasonable man. When the picture was shown to have been stolen I felt sure, Billy, the pressure around you would grow slack. But did it? Not in the least. To divert him from you I pointed to Sheerness as being the only person mentioned in the matter who was interested in the painting. Lynch barely listened. It was his idea that a collector had done the murder and robbery. I at once mentioned Sheerness as a collector. But no. He said when he'd run everything else out, he'd turn to Sheerness. And his first act, after IS XV Se INSPECTOR LYNCH arose as Billy Gregory entered 1 the office, followed by Duddington. He smiled and seemed quite good-natured. “Thanks for your promptness. I thought it might be of value to have a talk with you at this point. If you don't mind, I'd also like to have you go with me and indicate all the places in your statement. I want to fix your movements in the corridor when you spoke with Custis; your talk with him in the outer office, your going upstairs and coming down again.” “Very well,” said Billy quietly. “Anything you like.” "Thank you.” Lynch moved toward the door, the young man beside him; Duddington was following, but Lynch paused and said to him: “If you don't mind, Mr. Chalmers, may I suggest that this, being a parti- cularly important phase of the inquiry, be carried out by the police alone? Very often these things require a delicate balance; and you, being so earnest a friend of Mr. Gregory's, might disturb it.” "Quite so,” said Duddington. “Whatever you say, Inspector.” 163 164 THE MUSEUM MURDER Lynch and Billy went into the corridor. Duddington could hear the murmur of their voices as questions were asked and answers were made; he heard their feet upon the stone floor. Then they returned to the outer office. The questions continued. Duddington, in the inner office, sat in a swivel chair, his knees crossed, his eyes closed. The talk was a blur. The sharp insistence of the police inspector was invariably followed by the quiet patience of Billy. What was said? When was it said? Why was it said? Dull, tireless, plodding on and on! Never ending! Then the two went into the corridor once more, and the fat young man heard them as- cending the stairs. Each step was sharply outlined; each fell separately upon the ear; as Duddington sat relaxed and listening each seemed to speak a terrible word. A gloomy chamber. Cold. Still. The deep silence of very early morning. The ghastly chair with its metal plates and death-bringing wires. He got up, shuddering. “Now, there'll be none of that!” he said. “None of that, at all. I'll have to keep my nerve if I'm going to do any good.” He took a turn up and down the floor. “I'm hungry,” he said regretfully. “If I'd only had that little grill, and the mushrooms, and the ale, I'd be fortified to stand these things.” He heard a step in the outer office; it was Alma Rogers, and she came in, quiet but anxious. THE MUSEUM MURDER 165 “Where is Billy?” she said. “He's gone upstairs,” said Duddington. “Mona said she'd get along without me for a little while. I felt nervous and wanted to know why they'd sent for him.” “It's all right,” said Duddington. “Quite all right. Only another set of questions.” “Questions!” She suddenly went weak and Dudding- ton hastily supported her. “Oh, how afraid I am of them! One upon another: and they are meant to en- tangle and trap a person, Duddy. And Billy is resentful and headstrong. He'll say something that'll put him right in their hands.” “No, he'll not,” said Duddington. “Not now. You needn't be afraid of that. He's up to their dodges now and will be careful.” “But how terribly things fell together when they questioned him the first time! It was just as though Mr. Lynch was proving him guilty!" Duddington nodded. “They put it together very cleverly. There's no doubt of that. But don't be afraid, Alma; what one man puts together another can take apart. A few of the items they keep insisting upon do lead toward Bill; however, mainly because they're neglecting some others that de- cidedly lead away from him. The inspector insists upon 166 THE MUSEUM MURDER keeping one eye shut; he'll look only at certain things, and that's a weakness we ought to be able somehow to take advantage of.” “Duddy, I confess I feel just as Billy felt awhile ago," said the girl despondently. “I encouraged him then, but there wasn't much hope in my heart, for all that. He was right. We are quite helpless, Duddy. We can do nothing." Duddington Pell Chalmers gesticulated; his eyes were angry, and when he spoke his voice was sharp. "Alma,” he said, "if we are to have a chance of ac- complishing anything to-night you must get that out of your mind. No one ever won a fight while cherishing defeat or acknowledging weakness. You say we can do nothing. That's not so. We can do anything we resolve to do! Do you see what I mean? If we keep our minds fixed in that direction nothing can stop us. The truth is somewhere, and we are going to poke around until we find it.” He put his hands deep in his coat pockets, his fat cheeks distended and his head shaking. “We are going to start differently from Lynch,” he said. “His principal trouble is that he's allowed a single fact to dominate him. He was called in to investigate a murder. Custis had been killed, and immediately that fact took possession of the inspector's mind; it crowded everything else out. Even when he was shown the paint- THE MUSEUM MURDER 167 ing had been stolen it didn't swerve him much. He went through the motions of having a fresh glimmer or two, but he hadn't really. He began to ask questions pointed in a new direction, but not because he thought they'd lead to any new thing. What he was really trying to do was to defend his original idea." “Couldn't you speak to him?” suggested Alma. “No one can speak to a policeman in full cry,” said Duddington. “The thing's impossible. A policeman at work has the self-confidence of kings. So, as I see no hope of Lynch coming at the truth, we'll have to, as I've said, see what we can do ourselves. And, Alma, we are going to start right.” He gestured; his chest bulged hugely. “At the real beginning. And that beginning is the Hals painting.” “You are very sure of that, Duddy, aren't you?” said the girl, wistfully. .. He glowered at her; he was resolution itself. “I am,” he said. “And I have every reason to be. Listen: A picture has been stolen, and a man has been murdered. What are the chances, do you suppose, that they were two separate and unrelated crimes?”. “Oh, no!” said Alma. “They couldn't be.” “The odds are about a million to one against it! Very well, then! We are agreed that the same person committed both crimes. But is it reasonable to suppose 168 THE MUSEUM MURDER his original intent was to kill Custis and that he stole the painting as a sort of afterthought?” “No,” said Alma. “No, Duddy, I do not think that.” “Doesn't it look,” said Duddington, “that the original intention was to steal the Hals; that it was the first and only object; and that Custis came accidentally upon the thief, and his death resulted?” He could reconstruct the scene, he said. It was quite plain to him. He could see the thief in the main picture gallery, cutting the canvas along the line of the frame. Or he had already cut it away and was rolling it up. Or he had the roll under his arm and was making away with it. And then Custis chanced upon him. “It must have been a sudden chance," said Dud- dington. “Because if Custis'd had time to do so he'd given an alarm. He'd have called to Slade at the front door.” “Duddy,” said Alma, in a low voice, “suppose it was Slade who killed him?" “Well, Inspector Lynch has brought out certain facts against Slade, to be sure; but they all point to murder as the original intent. Lynch has said that robbery has often been faked in order to throw the authorities off the track; but a person resourceful enough to turn a trick like that in an emergency would be a criminal THE MUSEUM MURDER 1 169 of a deal of experience and not a little intelligence. And I don't think Slade has much of either.” Duddington moved about the office; he snapped his fingers, he shook his head, he thrust out his chin. The picture! He felt sure he was right about that. The pic- ture was the beginning of it all. It was the beginning for the criminal, and it must be the beginning for himself. “The person who finds the painting, Alma,” he said, “will be within hand's reach of the criminal. And it's still in the museum. It must be. It couldn't have been smuggled out." “But, Duddy,” said Alma, “if the matter was plan- ned, the criminal must have seen the difficulty of re- moving the picture. Knowing he would not be able to take it away, why should he risk his life in the at- tempt?” Duddington regarded her steadfastly. “That's a good question, Alma. And it's a hard one to answer. I know that, for I've been asking it of myself for the last half hour. It may be the thief's plan was to hide the painting somewhere in the building and then wait for a favorable opportunity for making away with it. That seems to be the inspector's idea; for his men are searching through the upstairs region at this minute." Duddington stood looking about the office. The pic- 170 THE MUSEUM MURDER 2010 ture had been on the first floor. The murder had been done on the first floor. And it seemed to him the hiding place would be there, also. It would be more ready of access at a critical moment, a thing which anyone laying a deliberate plan would not overlook. “There are no closets in any of the exhibition rooms," said Duddington; “no crevices or old ventilators, panels or loose boards. Everything is smooth and new and in plain view. The second floor is the same. The basement would be the only reasonable place to secrete anything, but there is no way of getting into the basement except from the outside.” “The place is very new, Duddy,” said the girl. “It would seem impossible to hide anything in it.” “Let's wait a bit and see, though,” said the fat young man. “We mustn't miss anything; we'll only have this one chance, you know, Alma.” He went into the outer office, opened the door, and looked into the corridor. “Custis was killed near the foot of the steps,” he said, "and that is about two dozen feet from the office door. The painting hung in the main gallery; and here is a door,” indicating it, “leading into that gallery. This office was quite handy to either spot, Alma.” He closed the door to the corridor. “And this office, unlike the exhibition rooms, has a great many places where a thing might be hidden.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 171 The girl drew in a deep breath, and her eyes went from side to side. “But Mona was here,” she said. “Mona left about five-thirty. There is a blank of an hour after that.” "But, Duddy,” said Alma, "wasn't Mr. Custis in the office?” “The last time he was seen alive was in the main gal- lery,” said Duddington. “He may have returned to the office afterward, but we have no evidence that he did.” “But the criminal would not be able to count upon his absence,” said Alma. “No,” said Duddington. “You are quite right there. But if the office has been used, or not used, as a place to secrete the picture will be a thing easily learned. Here we are, and here it is. Let's look around.” There was a closet in the outer office, but it was filled with stationery and matters having to do with the work of the place. Drawers were opened, rugs were turned up. They did the same for the inner office; everything possible was opened and searched through; desks, tables. Duddington hunted through a bookcase, then drew it from the wall to make sure nothing was behind it. Upon Custis's desk were some opened let- ters; some penciled memoranda; there was a printed announcement of a picture sale; one item was marked; W 172 THE MUSEUM MURDER an old Spanish picture that was to be put up at auction -The Death of St. John, the Divine. “Yes, if the building was only an old one with paneled walls and fireplaces and doors and corridors opening into and leading hither and yon,” said the fat young man, “a person could carry on a search with some enthusiasm.” He sounded the desks for secret backs and looked for secret drawers. He did the same for the bookcase and the filing cabinets. “But it's all nonsense,” said Duddington. “These things are standard makes; no mysteries are possible where they're concerned.” But he went over the inner office again and again; and he revisited the outer office also. But nothing resulted. Then he opened the door and went into the storeroom, Alma following him. XVI L ERE,” said Duddington, as he turned on the 11 lights and they stood looking about, “is a promis- ing place. There is a good deal of space and much litter: a person meaning to hide anything is always attracted by clutter and disorder; there are so many things to attract the mind from a true direction, he calculates the chances of discovery are greatly lessened.” There were many frames and canvases leaning against the walls. One by one Duddington handled them; he pulled out packing cases and examined them inside and out. There were two large closets; he opened both and hunted through them; and when at last he'd searched everything and everywhere, he stood looking at Alma rather forlornly. “It doesn't seem to be here,” he said. “If it is, that fellow, whoever he may be, is remarkably cunning.” “Duddy,” said Alma, suddenly frightened as she. realized what his words meant, "we must not stop. We must find it. We mustn't let them take Billy away!" "All right, all right,” said the fat young man, hastily. "We're not beaten yet, Alma. Don't think we are. 173 174 THE MUSEUM MURDER as it. But, you see, this crook apparently planned with a good deal of care. He reasoned things out. And that's what we must do. I've been taking the matter too lightly. Just to go rummaging around is not enough. We've got to match this fellow, cunning for cunning.” He drew his great bulk up until he towered; he ges- tured and stepped about. “Yes; this whole matter must have been reasoned out before the attempt was made, and we must follow the same method if we hope to get anywhere." In moving about he felt some hard, gritty particles under his feet; he shuddered and moved to another spot. “I seem to be letting my nerves run loose," he said. “A little bit of grit under my foot annoys me.” More grating of particles followed and he laughed. “I'll be giving an exhibition of temperament in a few minutes," he said. “Let's go into the office and sit down. What we really need just now is a quiet, earnest talk.” Alma took one of the chairs in the outer office; Duddington turned on the water at the washstand and began to remove the grime from his hands. “We've had no luck,” said he, “but, nevertheless, I've not lost faith in this immediate vicinity as the hiding place of the picture. It's here, Alma, just as sure as I'm speaking to you; I don't see how it can be any- THE MUSEUM MURDER 175 where else.” He put his hands under the running water and washed the soap from them; then he took up a paper towel and was drying his hands and still talking when Alma said: "You've let the water run, Duddy. It's overflowing. Please turn it off.” He went to the wash stand and reached into the bowl to remove the plug. "Hello,” he said, “that's queer. There is no plug in it, but the vent's stopped, somehow.” He picked at it with one finger. “Some solid kind of a substance is lodged in the throat of the pipe,” he said. Alma came to see what he was doing. “There it goes!” The water suddenly ran out of the bowl with a rush, and he stood examining a bit of white chalk-like material which he held in his hand. “What is it?" said the girl. “Looks like plaster-of-paris,” said Duddington. “What a silly thing for anyone to put into a wash bowl; they might have known it would stop the pipe after it set.” He took another towel and was drying his hands once more: then he stopped, a perplexed look upon his face. “I say,” he said to Alma, “that's peculiar.” “What is?” she said. “Why, the plaster in the vent pipe. It must have got- ten there in the last few hours.” “What makes you think that?” 176 THE MUSEUM MURDER “I washed my hands in that bowl just before I left late this afternoon, and it was quite clear then." He looked at Alma and saw the expression upon her face, and smiled. “All right; I see what you're thinking. And I guess you're right. Just now I ought to have my mind on the picture and the murder instead of on the museum's plumbing. But, Alma,” he said reassuringly, “never fear. It won't be long before we begin to show something." He followed her back into the inner office. She stood by the desk; he moved about, frowning earnestly. “I've read of people thinking and planning so intently that they left the color of their thoughts behind them in the place they worked in. An almost palpable thing. Do you see what I mean? People who stood in the rooms after they'd gone felt it; it pressed upon their consciousness.” Duddington went to the door of the storeroom and looked in; the lights were still on, and the place was dusty and still. He stood for some time, his head lowered, his hands held behind him. "Surely, Duddy,” said Alma, "you don't expect anything of that sort?" “Oh, no,” he said. “Of course not. Anything we get we'll have to work for. But, do you know, this room draws me; it keeps beckoning me, as it were. I suppose that's because it's so promising a place for what the THE MUSEUM MURDER 177 thief had in mind, and I keep thinking of it.” He went into the storeroom, she following him with her eyes. Near the silver figure of Diana she heard a crisp little sound under his feet and saw him gesture, annoyed. “What is that stuff?” he said;“it seems to be scattered around hereabouts. They are hard little particles that crush when I step on them.” She saw him look at the floor, turn away, and then turn back, as though a thought had just come to him. He stood for a moment looking down, then he steadied himself with a hand against the wall while he lifted his foot and examined the sole of his shoe. “What is it, Duddy?” asked the girl. "Small bits of plaster,” he said. “Plaster-same as was in the vent pipe of the washstand.” He came into the office, perplexed, shaking his head. She spoke to him, but he was not listening. “That's dashed funny,” he said. There was a crumpled paper on the floor near the wash stand; he went out and picked it up. It was thick with a white dust. “A wrapper,” he said. “It held a dry, white sub- stance.” He looked at Alma. “A good deal like plaster.” She went to him and put her hand on his arm, anxi. ously. “Duddy," she said, “what do you think it means?" THE MUSEUM MURDER 179 shook his head, she said:“But there must be something." "No. Not yet,” he said. “I'm only trying to untangle what I have in my mind.” “What is that?" asked Alma. “Why, I can't say,” said Duddington. “The fact is just now, I don't know, myself.” He went into the storeroom once more. The grit under foot crackled as he moved about. "I was in this room with Haviz and Custis this afternoon," he said. “We were looking at this silver figure, here." "A moon goddess," said Alma from the doorway. "The Greek, Artemis.” She noticed Duddington, sud- denly still before the statue, his round face full of light. “Duddy,” she said, “you stand there as though you were praying to Diana.” “There is an impulse to thankfulness in most of us, I think, when we are suddenly fortunate,” said the fat young man. She stood gazing at him for a moment, and then said anxiously: “Is there something now that makes you think you are fortunate??” “Wait,” he said. “I'm not sure.” He sat upon the edge of a work bench, his eyes still upon the silver figure. The bench was cluttered with 182 THE MUSEUM MURDER been in; for his fingers had left the hard, smooth sur- face of the bronze-they touched a softer, rougher thing. He looked at the bust; he was holding it bottom up in his hands. And the bottom was weighted with a filling of plaster. Duddington arose from the work bench. He looked toward the office door, but Alma was not there; then he heard her voice; also the voices of Lynch and Billy Gregory. Evidently the two had returned to the outer office while he sat thinking, and she'd gone out to them. He closed the door and turned on more lights. He looked at the bust, his eyes filled with surmise, his cheeks distended. Ballasted with plaster! Why, to be sure. All things of that kind were. They were hollow and had no great weight, and ballast of some sort was needed to hold them upright. They were all like that. He put the bronze piece upon the bench and stood look- ing at the statue. All such things were hollow! The Diana, too, was so. It must be; if it were solid the weight of silver would be enormous. It, too, must be weighted at its base. " : Plaster! Duddington stepped about. The particles crushed under his feet as before. He moved away and ceased to feel them; he returned to the silver figure and there they were again! The floor was free of them ex- cept for a small space at the goddess's feet. 184 THE MUSEUM MURDER knew enough for that. And knowing the thing was false he knew it would be returned. Long acquaintance with Custis must have told him the man would never miss a chance like that. Quite so! Then suppose, things being as they were, the picture Sheerness so envied the museum was cut from its frame and rolled into a cylinder. Suppose the statue of Diana was tipped over, the plaster at its base broken through, the picture inserted, the broken place mended with plaster of Paris, a substance which sets almost immediately! “And with the Diana returned,” said Duddington, “Sheerness would have the painting; the Gregory Museum would have lost the gem of its collection; he would have had his revenge.” Lynch and Billy and Alma had entered the inner office; Duddington heard their voices. At any moment now someone might open the door. With a quick move he tipped the figure of Diana over and looked at its base. In the soiled base there was a broad patch of clean fresh white! "Found!” said the fat young man. “Found, by George!” And then he righted the figure, rubbed his hands with his handkerchief, and went into the office. mte! XVII DILLY GREGORY looked rather white a few minutes later when he, with Alma and Dudding- ton Pell Chalmers, left the office and walked down the corridor toward the alcove where Mona was waiting. "He looks terribly worn, don't you think so?" said Alma to Duddington. She put her arm through Billy's. “The police are cruel,” she said; “they have no right to use you this way. You have told them all you know, What more could they expect?” Billy smiled, but rather faintly. “I think I caught a new note in the inspector's voice,” he said to Duddington. “A quite positive one. He's made up his mind pretty thoroughly in the last little while.” “I hope,” said Alma anxiously, "you've not been permitting them to lead you into saying things. You are very candid and open, Billy. And that does not do with the police. No matter how good-natured Mr. Lynch seems to be, remember, in this matter, he is against you. His desire is to twist your words into something you had not intended them to mean. The 185 THE MUSEUM MURDER police always keep trying to fit what one person tells them to what another person has said; and that's always dangerous." Billy laughed and patted her arm. “You talk like someone who has had a great deal of experience with man-hunting,” he said. “But, never- theless, what you say is true. They are dangerous, and it's necessary to be on one's guard.” - They found Mona awaiting them, anxious and wide- eyed; she held Alma to her tightly and asked many questions; her face twitched and she seemed to control herself with great difficulty. They quieted her as much as possible; then, after a little, the two young men went down the long room, and as they stood by an open window Billy said: “I couldn't say it where Alma could hear, but I'm under arrest, Duddy. My next move will be into a cell.” But Duddington drew at his cigarette quietly; he did not seem in the least disturbed. “When did they tell you that?” he said. “They haven't told me. It wasn't necessary. Their whispering, their looks at one another, were as plain as any words could be.” "All right,” said the fat young man; “however, don't forget, what a person makes up his mind to do is not always what he does in the end." 188 THE MUSEUM MURDER was ma was much concerned, he said. He was afraid she worked too hard. She should be spoken to; something should be done to make her see it was dangerous to do too much.” "Mona lives and works for Alma," said Billy. “Alma and her painting mean everything to her. She's earned the living for both for a half dozen years so Alma could study and perfect herself.” Mona was frail looking, Billy said, but at the same time she was one of the most resolute women he'd ever seen. No one would quite realize how strong willed she was until they knew the girl's full history. “I know some of it,” said Duddington. “But not very much, I suppose.” The sisters came from a small town in northern New York, Billy said. Their father had been a general merchant but had left little behind him when he died. At that time Alma was fifteen and Mona about twenty. They came to New York City, Alma to finish her schooling, and Mona to go into an office. The elder sister had always been ambitious; but it was not long before she saw she desired more than life seemed likely to give her. She knew she was a plodder, with little imagination: she could follow a routine tirelessly, but could create nothing. But Alma had talent; her drawings had always ex- THE MUSEUM MURDER 189 cited interest; people had exclaimed over them and said she should go to an art school. Mona arranged this for her; and almost at once Alma's gift leaped forward; she showed an immediate and astonishing quality; her line was singularly free, her color fixed the imagina- tion. Mona watched this growth as one might watch an enchantment. Not once did she feel envy; indeed, from the first, one thought had possession of her mind: her duty in the future was the safeguarding of Alma's promise. She would work and provide what money the younger girl would need. Alma protested that she should have a part in their maintenance, but Mona said that would come later. In a few years, she said, Alma would be the worker. Her wonderful pictures would be known everywhere; people would be seeking her out; commissions would be pouring in! Then Mona would profit by the little help she'd given. She'd have a quiet corner in Alma's house; sometimes she'd ride in the park in Alma's car, After all, she said, the whole matter was a speculation on her part; she would profit by it in time to come. "She's a wonderful girl," said Duddington. “She is, indeed.” “She saw to it that Alma had the best instruction; that her surroundings were right; that she had a studio and every opportunity. For two months each summer 190 THE MUSEUM MURDER Alma went abroad where she could paint and get ideas. And all the time Mona worked.” “Yes,” said Duddington. “I knew about that. There's unselfishness for you.” But after some years of this something happened. Knowing Mona was not really strong, Alma had been watching her, dreading a breakdown. A number of times she'd pleaded to be permitted to take some of the burdens upon herself. But Mona would not listen; to work and provide the money was her duty, she said; and she meant to do it. But, finally, Alma, watching and anxious, noticed something that filled her with alarm. She saw little mannerisms in the other girl which had only lately appeared. Odd ways. A dead white color; eyes that seemed sometimes to look at you and dream. She spoke to Billy. Yes, he'd noticed these things, too. And in a short time they knew the truth. Endless work had broken Mona's strength; she felt she had to keep up for Alma's sake, but it wasn't possible without aid. And so she'd turned to drugs. “Yes,” said Duddington. “I'd recognized the signs some time ago; but they disappeared. I thought she'd given the thing up.” “She had. Alma forced her to abandon the habit; also she procured a leave of absence for her; she was sent to a sanitarium until she was well. Alma gave up THE MUSEUM MURDER 191 her art studies, her studio, her trips to Brittany in the summer. She got work from advertising agencies and set about earning the living for both.” “When Mona recovered, she did not return to her usual work?” asked Duddington. "No," said Billy. “She was employed as secretary by Sheerness at the time of her breakdown; but she didn't return to him, for Alma decided the work there was too burdensome. I'm not given to praising Sheer- ness," said Billy, "for I do not care any more for him than you do. But he did show consideration at that time; for it was he who recommended her for the posi- tion here with Custis.” · “Yes,” said Duddington. He nodded and drew at his cigarette. "I recall that quite well, for the matter was brought to my attention as trustee-in Custis's usual perfunctory way." There was a pause, and then Dud- dington added: “You say Alma made Mona promise to abandon the drug habit. But promises are not always kept.” Billy's eyes had a harassed look. “Of late I have not felt right about Mona,” he said. “She hasn't kept the promise,” said Duddington. Then, as he noted Billy's look upon him, he added. “Her color and manner have told me something; but I've not depended upon that. While you and Alma 192 THE MUSEUM MURDER were talking with Lynch awhile ago in the inner office, I opened Mona's desk and found this.” He showed a small bottle, about half full. “Heroin,” he said. “I was afraid of it,” said Billy. “My God, what will Alma say!” He covered his face with his hands; Dud- dington stood looking at him. “It's plain enough,” said the fat young man, “that you've had quite a drubbing to-night. And I suppose,” quietly, “that matter, as you came down the stairs after closing time, did not prepare you any too well for it.” Billy took his hands from his face; his expression was fixed, his eyes suddenly cold. i “What do you mean by that?" he said. “Why, the thing Slade, the watchman, told Moore. Now, wait,” as Billy was about to speak, “I know what you're going to say, but before you say it, let's talk. When Inspector Lynch asked you about this matter, you said it never happened. And, as I suppose you noticed, he didn't believe you. You haven't told me it didn't happen, Bill, but you would if you had to. I can see that. And I'll be frank with you: I wouldn't believe you, either. But I'm not going to do as he did. I'm not going to ask you what happened at about five-twenty o'clock on the stairs as you came down from the second floor. I'm going to tell you." THE MUSEUM MURDER 193 Their backs were turned, but they could hear a steady sobbing at the other end of the room, and they could hear Alma speaking soothingly. “You realized you'd spent more time upstairs than you'd thought,” said Duddington. “It was getting late, and you started down the staircase. The place was quiet; small sounds could be plainly heard; your foot- steps rang out sharply. You were part way down when you stopped suddenly. I could go into the corridor now and point out the very spot to you; it is where the stairs turn, there is a view through the door of the main picture gallery; I've stopped there more than once, for The Syndic's Daughter was to be seen from that turn with a rather fine lighting.” Duddington looked at the young artist, but Billy's face was still set, his eyes were cold and steady. “Yes, you stopped there,” said Duddington, “directly at that turn; the door of the gallery was partly open, and you saw something inside that caught your attention. It was Mona Rogers; she had the old Spanish knife in her hand; she had drawn the curtains from the Hals paint- ing and was cutting the canvas from the frame.” “I saw nothing,” said Billy Gregory composedly; “neither Mona Rogers nor anyone else.” “That's all right,” said Duddington. “It's not my intention to try and force an admission from you, $10N 194 THE MUSEUM MURDER W 1 Bill; I'm merely showing you I know what happened. You saw Mona Rogers cutting the picture from the frame; indeed, she must have gotten it free already and was, perhaps, rolling the canvas up; you were startled, appalled; then you called to her in a loud whisper. She stood there, looking up at you. Again you called to her: you probably do not remember what you said, but no doubt you demanded to know in God's name what she was about. But she made no reply; she stood blank and white, the picture in her hands. You did not know what to do. If you rushed down the stairs, took the canvas from her, and called the watch- man, the thing would be irrevocable; if you went to her and tried to reason with her it would perhaps come to the same thing, for her drugged mind would resist your words. You had only a moment to consider, and you resolved to say nothing; you'd do nothing; you would permit her to carry the matter through. No doubt she had a plan; she would not be detected immediately, at least; and when she was nearer normal you'd speak to her; if need be, you'd speak to Alma. Between you you'd arrange a way to put the matter right. And, then, with that in your mind, and with your heart shaking in your breast, you went on your way down- stairs and out into the street.” 196 THE MUSEUM MURDER fury,” said Duddington. “It was like dropping a lid upon a roaring furnace. And then he forgave Custis! He showed himself to have forgotten all about his resentment toward the Gregory Museum! It was quite marvelous. And then, to top it all, he began making the institution rich gifts.” Did Billy remember when the first of these gifts was made? Duddington himself was not sure; but he was quite confident that when the dates were hunted up it would be found the gifts started not long after Mona Rogers came into the museum as an employee. Billy turned upon Duddington fiercely. “Do you mean to say that Sheerness ” But he did not finish the question; possibly he saw the ready answer in Duddington's eyes. “Yes,” said the fat young man, “that is exactly what I mean. Sheerness's gifts were meant to pave the way, to make ready for some final act. And that final act was given to Mona Rogers to do.” Did Billy ever really believe Sheerness had forgotten the matter of the Paris sale? Would a man of Sheer- ness's temperament ever really forgive Custis for an affront so studied? Would he not continue to loathe the Gregory Museum and curse it in his heart? Did Billy suppose Sheerness had ever really given that picture up? Did Billy suppose Sheerness ever looked at it hanging THE MUSEUM MURDER 197 on the wall of the main gallery and admitted it wås not his property? Did Billy suppose Sheerness had ever been satisfied to permit Custis, jeering, grinning, triumphant, to remain in possession of it? “When Mona Rogers recovered from her illness and came to him,” said Duddington, "he had an idea all ready and shaped in his mind. There was a vacant place in the museum's office; a secretaryship. She needed work. He would secure the place for her. She was grate- ful; perhaps in her weakened state she wept. She thanked him. But, wait! that was not all. There was something still to come. I can picture him,” said Dud- dington, “as he sat looking at her. A savage hog; a beast of the thickets! He asked about her sister. Younger than herself; an artist of talent whose training she had been paying for. Yes, he knew that. He'd been searching about for some time and knew a good deal more than that. He told her it was a tedious, long way to go about it; and in the end the result might be failure. To put an artist forward much means were needed; there must be powerful backing of many sorts. I can see him plainer than ever when he reaches that point,” said Dudding- ton. “What if Alma were sent abroad for several years? Paris, Rome, all the art centers of Europe? What if her name and news of her work were to be constantly seen in the newspapers and art publications? What if, when 198 THE MUSEUM MURDER she got home, a great exhibition were given of her paintings, if people of high station flocked about her, purchasing, giving commissions; that she be made the rage? "Mona was overwhelmed! It was her dream come true! But, now,” said Duddington, “came mention of the price she'd have to pay: the theft of the Hals mas- terpiece. She was frightened. She trembled and rose to her feet. She meant to leave. Can't you see her? She could not do it! No matter what the reward, she could not. And he was cold and indifferent. It was an op- portunity, he said. He had merely mentioned it to her; and of course, if she preferred not to take advantage of it, it was quite all right. She might even have had the door open,” said Duddington, “but she returned. She agreed. And to-night you saw the result. That it was Mona who stole the picture, you know.” There was a long pause; and then: “All right, Duddy; I give up,” said Billy. “I can't stand against that. Yes, I know it, and what I saw hap- pened a good deal as you've reasoned it out." || "Mona's condition to-night is due to a revival of the drug habit,” said Duddington. “As the time for doing the thing approached she found she lacked strength and courage; she knew she'd never be able to carry it THE MUSEUM MURDER 199 su a through without the stimulating heroin, or some drug of that sort." "I thought of Sheerness in the matter," said Billy. “Indeed, he came into my mind almost at once. But I was not convinced; the thing seemed almost beyond humanity. And I couldn't question Mona and make sure, because of her condition.” “Sheerness tempted her. In her desire to help Alma, Mona agreed to do what she's done.” Duddington gestured. “We don't have to consider that part of it any more, Bill; it's all settled and done with; we know. But there's something else.” He looked at Billy with a centered attention. “The murder,” he said. “I'm thinking of it,” said Billy, in a low, frightened voice. “It has not been out of my mind since I heard of it first.” He suddenly clutched Duddington's arm. “She didn't do it,” he said in a strained voice. “She couldn't have.” “Listen,” said the fat young man, quietly. “A picture has been stolen here to-night. And a man has been murdered. Both things happened within the same hour. What are the chances, do you think, of their having been done by different persons?” “Mona didn't do it!" said Billy Gregory steadfastly. “She couldn't.” XIX INSPECTOR LYNCH was at the desk in the inner 1 office; near him sat a short man, dark, with glittering black eyes and an upstanding shock of hair. “Sit down, Mr. Chalmers,” said the inspector. “This is Andresona, a headquarters man. It was he who was sent out to locate Haviz.” Duddington shook hands with the headquarters man and took a chair. “You've got back to Haviz again, have you?” he said to Lynch. “We take them up one at a time,” said the inspector. He was smoking a cigar, leaning back and seeming in quite a good humor. “As a matter of fact, as I suggested to you awhile ago, my mind is pretty well made up; but at the same time there seem to be some interesting bypaths, and it is good police to patrol them and see what's been going on. There is always the possibility of a hook-up, you see, with the principal idea. I've got excellent results more than once that way.” He looked at the Italian. “Go on, Andresona; let's hear what you have to tell.” 202 204 THE MUSEUM MURDER ona talked with him on the telephone. Not five minutes before,” said Andresona with a laugh. “That's the kind of breaks you get in this business. Haviz had asked the party if he had any liquor in the place, and when he found out there was none he'd immediately hung up. After calling another friend with the same kind of luck I got a cab and went to the Skillet Club. The steward is Italian, and to get him right I gave Florence-he's from there-a very nice place on the map. Then he told me a lot. Since I'd called up, Haviz had been there again. He'd had more drinks. He'd sat and cursed over his liquor and swore to have someone's blood. After that he left to call on Mr. Sheerness." “No!” said Duddington. “Yes,” said Andresona. “The steward heard him say so. So did some of the waiters. He called a cab, and left in it, talking to himself. So I got a cab, too. Sheerness lives on Park Avenue, and I went there and rang the bell. The man who came to the door was in livery; he was English and very smooth-spoken. Yes, Mr. Haviz had been there. A half hour before—maybe not so long. He had asked to see Mr. Sheerness. No, he had no appointment, he'd said, but he desired to see him. He was told Mr. Sheerness was dressing, that he had an engagement and was already late; that he could see no one. But that made no difference; to see him was THE MUSEUM MURDER 205 as W Haviz's desire, and he would remain until he had done so. He talked loudly, and finally Sheerness heard him and sent down to know what was wrong. And when he got Haviz's name he saw him right away. “The man I talked to,” said Andresona, "was a dignified man; something had been said to him that made him feel angry. If this had not been so he wouldn't have told me so much. But that he was angry, and I was of the police, got him started. He said plenty.” “What did he tell you?” asked Lynch. "He said Sheerness took Haviz into a big room just off the hall: a room where he saw what few people came on business. And they talked for five minutes. The door was partly open, and the man was in the hall, which was his place; and when Haviz talked loud the man could hear what he said. It was about a picture,” said And- resona, and he looked first at Lynch and then at Dud- dington. “About a picture Sheerness wanted. Also it was about a man Haviz had made up his mind to kill.” “What time was this?” asked Lynch. “Was there any way of checking up on that?" Andresona smiled, showing his excellent teeth. “Yes, there was a way, Inspector; a very good way. The man at Sheerness's mentioned it when I asked him about the time. Mr. Sheerness was going to dinner at THE MUSEUM MURDER 209 “You have not spoken to him often, I'd say—other than the usual greetings??" “Not what might be called conversation, Inspector. No.” · “Slade knows him, too, of course?” Duddington smiled at this. Lynch had approached in his usual manner; by a slightly devious route he had arrived at the matter he had in view, so as to cause no foreboding in the mind of the person being questioned. “Yes," said Edwards, nodding readily. “Yes, Slade knows Mr. Haviz.” “Rather better than you do, I'd say," said Lynch confidently. Edwards agreed. He smiled and rubbed his hands to- gether. "Oh, yes; a good deal better. They've been on what might really be called friendly terms for a long time.” “On friendly terms? What do you mean by that?” Edwards gestured and hesitated. At last he said: “I suppose it is not a private matter; we all knew of it, here; and there's no harm in telling you about it. Some time during last winter, Slade and Mr. Custis had a falling out: they never did get along very well together, as I suppose you've gathered, sir. Mr. Custis was going to discharge Slade, but Mr. Haviz interfered. He interceded and got him another chance.” 210 THE MUSEUM MURDER “I see,” said Lynch. “And then what?” “Naturally, Slade was grateful. He felt he'd been well treated by Mr. Haviz and put himself in the way to do something in return. They'd often talk; I know Slade went several times to Mr. Haviz's studio to help with something that had to be done. Yes, sir; you might say they were on friendly terms." Inspector Lynch asked a number of other questions, but they developed nothing new, and Edwards was told that was all. When he'd gone out of the office Dudding- ton said: “This seems to be working very smoothly; and I use it as an occasion for calling your attention to the way facts sometimes fall together, Inspector. They are not always to be trusted. There would be the making of something of a case against Haviz if it were not for the policeman keeping the quarantine watch on the front steps, and who would have seen him if he'd gone in or out.” “I haven't forgotten the man on the steps,” said Lynch coldly. “Get Slade in," he said to Brace. And after the sergeant had gone the inspector continued: “No man can be in the police business as long as I've been and not have realized the possibilities of what I, some little time ago, called the hook-up.' In a case of this sort, widely separa- ted things have a way of running suddenly together. All THE MUSEUM MURDER 211 along I've had my mind on young Gregory; but that does not prevent my turning to Haviz if something new develops; at any minute, as I've said before, I may come upon a thing that'll tie them together. If I can show that Haviz came back to the museum after leay- ing Sheerness and was admitted by Slade, I'll be pretty well convinced that he and Gregory acted together in whatever took place here to-night. What you say about the policeman on the front steps would be quite correct if we could be sure he did what he believes he did. This man said he never left the steps after closing time and practically never took his eyes from the door. I've never been satisfied with that, and meant to take it up with him, if Moore failed to find the painting hidden somewhere in the building. I'll have him in after I get through with Slade.” Brace brought Slade in; then the inspector and sergeant spent a few minutes in the outer office convers- ing in low tones; when they had finished the sergeant disappeared, and Lynch came in and spoke to the watchman. “Slade,” he said, “in the information you gave the police when first questioned you said you found the body of Custis lying on the floor near the stairway at six- thirty o'clock.” “Yes,” said Slade. “I said that. And it is a fact.” 212 THE MUSEUM MURDER “Would you mind telling me once more how you came to make the discovery?” “Miss Rogers had gone out. Custis was the only other person in the place. I sat by the front door wait- ing for him to leave. I was reading. Some time passed. The first thing a watchman does here at night after everyone's gone, as I've told you, is to go over the place on both floors and make sure everything is all right. This is usually about five-thirty or five-forty. It seemed to me I had been sitting there quite some time, and I looked at my watch. It was six-twenty-eight. That was pretty late, much later than I'd thought. So I made up my mind I'd better start around the building, taking a chance on Custis not wanting to get out while I was gone and starting an argument about it. I went along the corridor, meaning to go upstairs first, as I usually did. Then I saw the body and turned in the alarm.” “Did you do that immediately?" “Yes." “Think carefully. Didn't you do something else first? Didn't you hunt around to see if there was anyone hid- ing in any of the rooms—the murderer?" “No." “You didn't go to the front door to make sure it was locked? ... You didn't make an examination of the body to make sure the man was dead?” THE MUSEUM MURDER 213 “I knew the door was locked,” said Slade sullenly. “And I didn't touch the body.” “How long a time does it take to get from the front door, where you were standing, to the staircase?" “Oh, about thirty seconds, I'd say.” "You did not stop on your way between the two points to do anything else something you saw needed doing, or something you'd forgotten?” "No." “Are you quite sure, after you looked at your watch, you didn't hesitate? You seemed to have had it in your mind that Custis might appear at any moment, and if he didn't find you there ready to let him out he'd rep- rimand you. Didn't you think it best to wait a little longer and make sure about him?”. “No,” said Slade. “As soon as I saw what time it was I started. I remember I was still putting the watch back in my pocket as I walked up the six steps from the front door to the corridor level. When I got to the place where the body was lying no more than thirty seconds had passed. Two or three seconds after that I was in the office, outside there, calling the police station. That couldn't have been later than six thirty-one. I'd be willing to swear it wasn't that late." Duddington saw a frown upon the inspector's face, and the strong jaw was set. XX T YNCH took the watch from Duddington's hand and L looked at it; then he turned to Slade coldly. "For a man whose work depends so much upon an accurate knowledge of the time, you seem to handle it with a good deal of carelessness,” he said. Slade stared at the inspector, and then at Dudding- ton, with astonished eyes. “I've had that watch for fifteen years," he said. “It was my father's, and it's a good watch. I don't think I ever let it run down before.” Lynch stood looking at him, disbelief in his eyes. Then he said: “If you don't mind, Slade, I'll keep this for a little while. I'll return it to you later." “All right,” said Slade. When the man had gone the inspector nodded to Duddington good-naturedly. “That was a good point,” he said. “I'll admit it never occurred to me at all.” “I thought it might be possible,” said Duddington, "and that we'd better have a look. However, it doesn't really add anything to the sum of our knowledge." 215 216 THE MUSEUM MURDER “It shows that Slade was telling the truth as he un- derstands it, at any rate.” “We can't be sure of even that,” said Duddington. “A watch can be made to run down if you know how to do it; also the hands can be made to indicate any hour you desire.” A furrow came upon the inspector's brow; he looked intently at the fat young man. “You think Slade, perhaps, anticipated a possible checking up of the time and had the watch ready fixed?” “Such a thing is possible. Understand, I have no real faith in the idea, or in any other part of your carmise concerning Haviz. I pointed the thing out to you be- cause I thought it was the fair thing to do." “I'm obliged to you,” said Lynch. His jaw was set; it was plain to see he didn't care for Duddington's attitude. “However, if I see a chance even a small one --of Haviz having entered the museum after his visit to Sheerness, nothing can keep me from coupling Slade and him together in some enterprise which cost Custis his life.” “Would you, really?” Duddington stared at him. “What, then, becomes of your theory of Billy Gregory?” “I have not disturbed that,” said Lynch. “It is still fixed in my mind. This matter of Haviz may be an ex- THE MUSEUM MURDER 217 tension of the same thing. Who knows? It's been my experience one can never tell where one clue in a crime ends and another begins until the whole thing has been worked out. It looks difficult to connect young Gregory and Haviz, and yet a half hour ago it would have seemed equally difficult to connect Haviz with Slade.” “But I would not call what you've been shown in their case a connection, exactly,” said Duddington. “Maybe not,” said Lynch. “But, at least, it is a lead which I mean to follow out.” They discussed this point for a few minutes, then the door opened and the gray-haired, good-humored police- man, Monaghan, came into the office. “I'd like a few further words with you, Monaghan,” said the inspector. “Awhile ago, when I spoke to you, you said you sat on the museum's front steps from the closing hour until the police came in reply to the call from Slade by telephone.” “Yes, sir; I was there." “You never left the steps? You were always in sight of the front door?” “I was.” : “It must have been rather tiresome." “Well, a little bit, Inspector: but a man gets used to a thing like that after a while." 218 THE MUSEUM MURDER Lynch had been studying Monaghan, so it seemed to Duddington, inch by inch; and now he said: "From the look of your hands I'd say you were at one time a baseball player.” The gray-haired man smiled. “Why, yes,” he said. “Years ago. I was in the big leagues for a while," with some pride. He looked at his hands. “You can't back-stop for those strong lads and not get a finger knocked crooked here and there." “Do you still keep an interest in the game? Do you follow the scores in the newspapers?” "I never miss a game," said Monaghan, glowing. “It's as interesting to me as it ever was.” "Sporting finals of an afternoon, eh?” Lynch smiled at him encouragingly. “I always have one,” said Monaghan. “It's like a meal of good victuals to me.” “Did you have one to-night?” There was a pause; a shadow fell suddenly across Monaghan's face, and when he spoke the jolly ring had gone from his voice. “I did,” he said. “And, Inspector, now I think of it. I was too sure about not leaving the steps outside after the museum's closing hour. You see, this is a quiet street, and no newsboys come through it. Around about six o'clock I got to wondering what the boys had done 220 THE MUSEUM MURDER “No doubt,” said the fat young man. He fixed the inspector with a wide-open eye. “But, Inspector, the person who really interests me now is not Haviz; it's the same man who got my attention earlier in the evening-Sheerness.” Lynch met Duddington's look squarely; and he smiled a little. “I know,” he said, “you have it in your mind I'm avoiding Sheerness. But, let me assure you, such is not the case. The guilty person is the person I am after, no matter who he is. I don't mind admitting I've made a special effort to keep my mind from Sheerness, and I've had my reasons for it. Awhile ago I said to you it was not likely he figured in the case, because a man of his sort usually got what he wanted through purchase or by means of pressures. Now, a shadow has fallen upon him since then, not a deep one, but one sufficiently so to make me give him a second look; but I still hold to my belief about the purchasing and the pressures. If he is in this thing, it is by means of someone he's bought, someone he's taken advantage of, someone who couldn't help themselves. He has not touched the crime directly. If I am right in all this, the best method of reaching that fact is through the active criminal, the person who ac- tually stole the painting and killed Custis. No matter how clever this person is, and he is clever, he'll be easier THE MUSEUM MURDER 221 to catch than Sheerness. And once we have him in hand, we can, at our leisure, entangle anyone else who may be concerned.” "Well, that's quite reasonable.” Duddington nodded his head. "You are on friendly terms with this man Haviz,” said Lynch, "and, as is perfectly natural, are inclined to defend him. But consider what we've just turned up. Haviz, somewhat the worse for liquor, and in a most disturbed state of mind, went to Sheerness to-night and began talking about murder and about a picture Sheer- ness wanted. An hour later, less than an hour, a man whom Haviz hated was stabbed to death; a painting which Sheerness had coveted was stolen.” “Yes, I know,” said Duddington, “one thing follows the other quite ominously.” "A little investigation shows Haviz would have had time to accomplish the crime if he could have gained an entrance to the museum; and a little further search shows his entrance was possible.” Again Duddington agreed with the inspector. “It looks as though poor Haviz had got himself into a devil of a mess,” he said. “But, at the same time, Mr. Lynch, let us consider an angle of the matter brought to my mind by what you've just said. As you've stated more than once, your principal and fixed belief is the 222 THE MUSEUM MURDER guilt of Billy Gregory. If Haviz was in the museum this evening, your opinion is that it was as a companion of Billy's—a helper. They were leagued together, so to speak.” “Yes,” said Inspector Lynch. "You are convinced Billy had a part in the death of Custis. You are inclined to believe Haviz had, also. And you have a feeling Slade is concerned in the crime, likewise. Very well,” Duddington looked at Lynch, his great round face full of inquiry:“If all three had a part in the crime, why did Slade tell Moore, a while ago, of the episode upon the stairs just before Billy left the building?” Lynch smiled; he did not seem at all put about. “I've thought of that,” he said. “And my answer is that I place the thing alongside a number of others that have come up to-night. So far, Į have no answers for any of them.” Duddington sat down. He felt most uncomfortable. The clock on Custis's desk showed the hour of ten was very near, and he was hungry. He pictured his apart- ment on the fifteenth floor, facing the park, high and airy, cool water in the bath, and Turvy in the little kitchen, busy over the deviled grill. His spirit hovered there, anxiously. The slices of beef should not be scored too deeply; a dull knife was best, for if the paste- answer THE MUSEUM MURDER - 223 French mustard, salt, cayenne, and other things-sinks too deeply, the flavor is gone, the dish is nothing. The mushrooms and lobster, too! Much care was always needed with them; there should be a proper amount of heat; there should not be Moore came in and closed the door behind him with a snap; he looked at the inspector with delighted eyes, rubbing his hands and chuckling. “Well,” he said, "you never can tell. The thing that looks least sometimes turns out best.” ? “What's up?" asked Lynch. "I've just had a talk with Curley,” said Moore. “You know, you said it would be a good idea if a man went over the neighborhood and got in touch with storekeepers, or householders, or anyone like that. I told Curley to get on that because he's least like a cop of all the men on the job. And he's turned up something, Inspector; something that looks mighty good.” “Is he in the building?” said Lynch. ' "Yes, I told him to wait, you might want to see him.” Moore opened the door and spoke to someone in the corridor. He returned, followed by a slightly built young man who looked like a clerk. He had a precise, dry air, and his slim hands kept fingering his hat brim. "Moore asked me to go out and cover the vicinity, Inspector,” he said in reply to Lynch's question. “It's 224 THE MUSEUM MURDER not much of a place to get information in, as the houses are almost all dwellings and look kind of blank in front. I tried a number of them, but they knew nothing; they were acquainted with none of the museum people and had not been at the front windows any time during the early evening. They asked me more questions than I asked them, and some seemed to be pretty well con- vinced I was a suspicious character. One, a chauffeur, had stood in the street for a space somewhere from five- fifteen to five-thirty; he'd noticed people coming out of the museum, but he had no notion who they were or how many there were. “When I got around the corner, on the side street, I hadn't much hope, for I was entirely out of sight of the museum's front doorway. But the windows on the north side overlook it, and I thought there might be a bare chance of someone having noticed something. There are some little shops; one is occupied by a cobbler, an- other has cut flowers on sale; but both those were closed. The only place open was a bakery, with a small lunch bar, rather well along in the street. I went in and got a cup of coffee and a sandwich. The proprietor is a Pole, and he began to talk as soon as I gave him a chance. “He didn't know anything about the museum. It was a place where statues and pictures were kept; he'd never XXI THERE was a frown upon the inspector's face as he I looked at Curley, and it was quite plain to Dudding- ton he did not welcome what he'd just been told. "Are you sure there's no mistake?” he said. "Are you positive Marsh is the man the baker means?” "I arranged about ten minutes ago for him to see Marsh without being seen. He's sure.” “Have you got him in the building?” “Yes, sir.” "He's in the corridor, now," said Moore. “I got a .man to take Marsh upstairs and keep him there until I sent him word, for it seemed to me he'd best not know we'd heard of this.” "Quite right,” said the inspector. “Let's have the baker." In a few moments a foreign-looking man came in; he was short and heavy-limbed and his eyes blazed with excitement. "It is the police!” he said to Moore. “The police are in the place! But why am I here? What have I done?” “It's all right,” said the precinct detective. “Don't ST 226 THE MUSEUM MURDER 227 >> worry. You'll be out of here just as soon as the inspector has a little talk with you.” Lynch looked at the slipof paper Curley had given him. “You are Peter Krimposki, a baker, and your place of business is in the street on the north side of this building?” “I am Krimposki," said the man. “I bake and keep a lunch place. I sell good food at not much expense. From my window I see this building.” “You are acquainted with Marsh, the man you were asked about?" i “Yes, I know him. I have known him for a long time. He is the only one from this place to buy from me. Often he will come in and drink tea and smoke.” “Would this be during the day or night?” “The day. I have never seen him at night until ten days-maybe two weeks ago. Then he came in and talked. He smoked and ate buns. Sometimes we played checkers. He is not a good player.” “What gave you the idea he was watching the back entrance to this museum?” “At first I did not know he watched. I serve him what he wants; I take his money. And, as I say, some- times we would play checkers. He is a nice man. He knows a lot about Europe. Of Poland he knows much. He would stand by my lunch bar and talk. and I would THE MUSEUM MURDER 229 The eyes of the inspector fixed themselves attentively upon the fat young man. “But you have thought of him?” he said. “Yes,” said Duddington. “As a matter of fact, since this thing broke I've given some attention to everyone concerned. Marsh is a shabby, furtive sort of character, with a vast memory, and a widespread, superficial knowledge. He knows thousands of people interested in the selling and purchasing of art objects, and as he gets his living through them he watches their move- ments and their likes and prejudices with a good deal of care. The fact that he was here this afternoon, after hours, and that a valuable picture was later found to be missing, at once fell together in my mind. However, that was all; I did not see any way in which he could be concerned.” “What's his history?” asked the inspector. “He must be well on toward sixty, now,” said Dud- dington, “and when he was a young man, so I'm told, he kept a picture-frame shop downtown. He made all his own frames at a bench, was a good workman, and after a bit got together quite a trade. Artists came to him for special work; and by and by picture dealers got to know of him. Then the collectors. He dealt in paint- ings after a time; he read all the literature that was to be had on the arts and higher handicrafts; he pretended 230 THE MUSEUM MURDER a good deal, and finally was accepted as a practical authority. One of the things that made him come into my thoughts when the painting was seen to be missing to-night was that he was concerned in the purchasing of it in Paris some years ago when it was bought in for the John Gregory Museum.” “Ah!” There was a new light in the inspector's eye. “Just how did he figure in that?” “Custis engaged him. Marsh is known, as I've said, as a clever operator, with a thorough knowledge of the inside working of these matters. Custis was afraid, per- haps, if he appeared in the thing himself, Sheerness's agents would suspect something. At any rate, his con- fidence in Marsh was not misplaced, for in the first day of the sale The Syndic's Daughter was so manipulated that it appeared unexpectedly, and the price ran into the hundreds of thousands with such astonishing sud- denness that Sheerness's people were dazed. They put a message on cable and fought for a delay; but the sale went through, and Marsh, in Paris, had secured the painting before Sheerness, in New York, knew it was in danger.” “That is interesting,” said Lynch; he frowned and looked at his nails. “It could easily have some bearing on to-night's happenings. However, at this moment, I confess I don't see just what the connection might be. THE MUSEUM MURDER 231 But, wait: maybe after I've had another little talk with Marsh the thing may be clearer.” Moore had been instructed to bring the man in, and now did so. Marsh had his coat pulled tightly about his spare frame in his usual, nervous way, and his light- colored eyes were quick and apprehensive. “The police seem tireless,” he said to Duddington, with a tight-lipped smile. “Always something new. But," and he suddenly shifted the smile to Lynch, "whatever trifling information I possess, Inspector, is at your servcie, I'm sure.” -. “The things I desire to know are not important,” said Lynch, “but it is necessary to keep the record straight." He looked at Marsh valuingly. “You've known Custis a long time, I understand?" “Yes, a number of years." “And you know Mr. Haviz, and young Gregory, and Mr. Sheerness, and this man Slade, the watchman?” “All of them.” “How well do you know Sheerness?” The man smiled in the same tight-lipped, mirthless way. “No one knows Mr. Sheerness very well. He does not permit it. I undertook a number of commissions for him -very profitable-some years ago; but of late I've been out of favor with him.” 232 THE MUSEUM MURDER “I see,” said Lynch. “And, once more, what has your acquaintance been with Haviz?” “Very slight. Mr. Haviz has never welcomed the ad- vances of people in my line. He's always said we were frauds; he's said it openly, not caring who heard it.” “You've resented that, I suppose?” “Naturally.” “Being on no sort of terms with Haviz, of course you cannot tell me how he stood with Sheerness.” Marsh smiled bleakly. “Oh, yes. Yes, I can. For I make it a point, Inspector, to keep myself well posted on matters within the limits of my operations. Haviz has never liked Sheerness. And Sheerness has always looked down upon him.” “It wouldn't occur to you they had business transac- tions of any kind?” Marsh hesitated, his pale eyes going from the in- spector to Duddington. “No,” he said at last. "No." “Do you know anything of Haviz’s habits?” “He is a moody kind of a man, a good painter, but one who refuses to conform. He has a reputation for argument." “Do you know anything about where he spends his leisure hours—his evenings?”. "No," said Marsh. “I've never heard anything about 234 THE MUSEUM MURDER u us “Within a half dozen blocks. In Henry Street.” “You never saw Haviz here at night but the once?” “No.” “What about Custis?” Marsh shook his head. “I've seen lights in the office window now and then. And I've heard he worked at night, sometimes. But the night I've mentioned is the only time I've seen him.” • “You say you use this side street often on your way home?" “Yes.” “When did you use it last?” “I don't know," said Marsh. “I'm not sure.” “Could you say if it was last week? Or was it last night?" “No,” said Marsh. “Was it any time lately?” “No, not lately.” “Not within several weeks?”. “No; not within several weeks.” “All right.” Lynch sat back in his chair. “That'll be all for now.” And Marsh went out of the office. 238 THE MUSEUM MURDER ton did not like; and out of the tail of his eye he noted a look of resentment upon the face of the inspector. “When you were in the museum this afternoon,” said Lynch, “you were alone for a space with Custis-in his private office. What happened during that time?” “We talked. Custis and I always talked. And, as usual, we did not agree.” “What did you talk about?” “About pictures. About patrons of art. Also about the great sums of money sometimes spent by collectors. He went out of the office while I was still there, saying he would be back.” “And you waited for him?" “Yes, for quite some time. I heard him talking to someone in the outer office; the voices were high-pitched and excited. Since then I've heard it was Billy Gregory he was talking with, though at the time the voice was so choked with excitement and rage I did not recognize it. When this interview had ended I waited again; then I could remain no longer, and left.” “It's been said you looked disturbed as you went out.” “I resented being treated as I had been,” said Haviz. “I know Custis and his impish tricks; he kept me wait- ing with the idea of irritating me.” “When you left there, where did you go?” THE MUSEUM MURDER 239 “I walked the streets. I felt low and disheartened. I thought of the past, and of what the future might be. I was in quite a state of mind." “Why was that?” Haviz shook his head. “I don't know. I get that way now and then. It's a kind of sinking of the soul, maybe brought about by a glimpse of the futility of everything." “Did you go anywhere?” : “Yes, to the Skillet Club. I sat there for a while; and as I couldn't get away from my thoughts any other way, I began to drink. Then I visited some other places; I . drank in each of them. I visited several people.” “Who were they?” “The only important one was Sheerness.” “Are you in the habit of visiting him?" “No; it was the first time I'd ever been in his house, and I wouldn't have gone then if it hadn't been for the liquor I'd taken.” “Do you mind telling me why you went there?” “I was fuddled. I desired to protest, I think. And Sheerness must have seemed like the person who'd listen. What gave me that idea I can't say. I'd never been in a condition of mind before where such a thought would have occurred to me." • “You say you think you desired to protest. Had er 240 THE MUSEUM MURDER something happened that made this seem necessary?” “No. I was muddled, that's all. I talked with Sheer- ness for a little while I really don't know what about then I left.” Duddington, as he watched, saw the inspector's ex- pression grow colder and colder, and after a few minutes more he got up, spoke a few words of apology to Haviz, and took Lynch into the corridor. “I don't want you to lose your patience,” said Dud- dington to the inspector. “And if you listened to a little bit more of that sort of thing, I'm afraid you'd do so. But, somehow, I'm confident Haviz wants to, and will, tell everything, though, I'm afraid, not to the police. He feels the authorities are unfriendly; he avoids any outspoken word because of that. Now, it may be asking a good deal, but let me take this part of the thing in hand. I'll guarantee to have all he knows for you in half an hour. I'll not trick him; I'll not betray a confidence. He'll understand from the first I mean to pass every- thing he tells on to you.” Lynch hesitated a moment; then he said: “Very well. See what you can do." And as the inspector walked away Duddington was about to return to Haviż when he saw Billy Gregory, white and drawn looking, coming down the corridor toward him. 242 THE MUSEUM MURDER “I say,” he said, “this won't do. You'll not be able to stand it, either of you. What say if I telephone for a doctor?” “No!” Mona gestured, eager, frightened. “No, Mr. Chalmers. I am really all right. After I get a little rest I'll be quite well. And Alma is worried about me, that's all.” “I've been wanting to have a doctor in for some time,” said Alma. “But she'll not hear of it.” “Some little kind of a nerve thing is what you need,” said Duddington to Mona. “You're wrought up. A doc- tor would have you right in no time at all. You'd better have one.” But Mona protested; she seemed almost frantic in her refusal. She'd be well enough in a very little while. Yes, she'd been frightened. She'd grown faint and weak; and the police had done her no good with their questioning; the whole air of the place was weighted with dread. She wanted to leave it; she wanted to get away; she wanted to forget it all! "You will, Mona," said her sister soothingly. “You will, dear. In a little while I'll call a cab and we'll go home. You'll be quiet then. Nothing shall bother you.” The girl looked at Duddington with great hollow eyes; dark, sick-looking eyes. She wanted to speak to him, she said. She had something to say to him of much THE MUSEUM MURDER 243 importance. And she desired to speak to him alone. Alma must go out of the room. “Please, Alma, forgive me!” Her pale hand held tightly to the younger girl's. “I know this must seem odd to you; but, dear, it is necessary. Some time you will understand.” Alma kissed her. “Very well,” she said gently. “Whatever you wish, Mona.” When Alma had gone out, Mona sat looking at Dud- dington; she seemed trying to find words to frame the thoughts that were in her mind. “I tried to say to Alma what I must say. But I could not. I could not talk with Billy. And I am afraid of the police. I do not know you very well, Mr. Chalmers, but I do know you are good-natured and tolerant; and as I am in great trouble I feel sure you'll tell me what you think is best for me to do.” “You may be very sure of that,” said Duddington gravely. “And,” he said, “it may not be necessary to tell me everything; some of it may already be known to me.” · The great eyes, deep in the dark hollows, regarded him, frightened, pitiful; the slim, small body seemed to shrink to a shadow; her hands fluttered about her heart. “You need not tell me,” went on Duddington, “about THE MUSEUM MURDER 245 COV NA happened. Sheerness spoke to her. Now! now! Dudding- ton's big hands held her tightly. She must be quiet. Had he not said to her there were some things she'd not have to tell him?-that some of them he might already know? Yes, Sheerness had spoken to her. About Alma. Was that not so? There was a pause; long shudders ran through the girl's body. Then she spoke: "I had been ill and was recovered; but Alma would not hear of me taking up my work again as Mr. Sheer- ness's secretary; she said it was too hard; that I wasn't strong enough for it. I felt desperate and wretched, for all the things I'd got for her had been let go: her school- ing, her studio, her opportunities to go abroad. She'd taken employment, and I saw her day after day, work- ing over a drawing board, doing commercial things, wasting her beautiful talent to pay for our lodging and food. “When I was well enough I went to Mr. Sheerness. It was of an afternoon, and he sat at one of his library windows. He was very attentive, listening to all I said; and he told me he was sorry I had to give up my work with him. I did not say why I was giving it up-that is, not more than that I was not able to go on with it. But while I talked with him I noticed a painting upon a small stand; it stood leaning against the corner of a 246 THE MUSEUM MURDER bookcase not far from him. It had been placed that way so the light would fall properly upon it; he'd been look- ing at it before I came in. And then I saw it was one of Alma's pictures! You know the one, Mr. Chalmers- she did it in France: a group of cattle on a windswept beach, and with the sea foaming up on the sand?” “He sat with the light on it-and he'd been looking at it before you came in?” Duddington gazed at her, with his head nodding. “The damned swine!” . “I had risen to go,” said Mona, “when I mentioned the picture. He said he'd only just bought it. He'd been studying it; and he told me the artist was one of fine genius. Then I said it was Alma's work, my sister's,” said Mona. “He was surprised. He'd known my sister was a painter, but he hadn't associated the picture with her. My giving up my work was too bad, he said; he'd heard I helped Alma, and it would be a hardship, now my assistance was withdrawn. He stood studying the picture; there was a frown on his face. I was standing by the door, my hand upon the knob, when he asked me if I did not understand there were certain responsibilities the relatives and friends of talented persons were ex- pected to assume.” “No!” said Duddington, appalled. “Good God, no! He didn't say that!” “I replied that I did know it,” said Mona, “that I THE MUSEUM MURDER 247 knew it bitterly and well, and that I'd all but wrecked my health trying to live up to the knowledge. He waited for some time, never taking his eyes from the picture; and then he said, as I was unable to go on with his work, he'd do what he could to get me employment elsewhere that would not tax me so heavily. He knew of a position in an art museum; it was possible he could procure that for me. I was immensely grateful and told him so, but he said for me to wait-perhaps in a few minutes I would not feel so. He seemed cold and hard, not at all like a man about to do a friendly or kindly thing. He said he was a man of business, and as such was accus- tomed to bargaining; no business man, as he told me, ever did anything that did not benefit him in some way; it was his belief no business man ever forgot his own interest for a moment, and he wanted to make that quite plain to me before he stated what he called his proposition.” “Proposition!” said Duddington, swaying his great bulk in the chair. “But, of course. The wild hog of the thicket! Oh, my God!” "He'd heard Alma was a student. There was no doubt that she had remarkable talent. The picture before him proved that. He supposed I had saved no money. I said I had not; all I'd earned had gone to pay our living ex- penses. He inquired what Alma would do if my salary 248 THE MUSEUM MURDER stopped. I said she'd already secured employment. He thought her giving up her studies was dangerous. It might mean ruin. As that was my one fear, I began to cry. He said many a promising talent had been de- stroyed that way.” Duddington shut his great fists, and silently cursed Sheerness. And Mona went on: He'd told her he had it in his mind to send Alma abroad, not for a few months, but for some years. She could finish her studies that way. He had it in his power to surround her with patronage; she'd need publicity, and she should have it; her posi- tion as an artist should be made secure. "It's monstrous!” said Duddington. “The whole thing is really beyond parallel. What came next? He said in return for all these things he desired your support, didn't he? He said he wanted your aid in righting a wrong that had been done him? I know the beast. That's the way he'd put it.” Duddington leaned toward Mona. “He asked you to steal the Hals!” He sensed the cry upon her lips, and again he caught hold of her. “Listen to me! Don't be frightened. I know about that. I know you took it; I know where it is hidddn. No, no! Not the police. No one but myself. So don't be afraid.” He arranged the pillows at her back and sat looking at her with steadfast eyes while she talked. It wasn't until after she'd been taken into the museum as Custis's 250 THE MUSEUM MURDER she'd gone away. It was after Mr. Haviz had gone that Mona took the drug. She knew the time was at hand; she was afraid she'd break down, and so she took more than usual. No one was in the office, all was quiet. And she had a feeling that everything was far away, that she was waiting, somewhere in space, for the all-important moment. She went into the storeroom, lowered the figure of Diana to the floor and broke a small hole in the plas- ter at the bottom. This was not hard to do, for at that spot it had been set in very lightly. She stood there for some time in a dull kind of way, the feeling of aloofness strong upon her. Then she re- membered Custis. He was still in the building. He was somewhere about, and she was afraid of him. He might return at any moment. He was her enemy. That was fixed in her mind. He was her deadly enemy and was lurking somewhere to prevent her carrying out the thing she desired to do. Also he was Alma's enemy. She was sure of that. He hated Alma; he wanted to destroy her wonderful future. And so he was lurking somewhere in the quiet of the museum. And he was watching. And she'd laughed. She remembered doing so, and she remembered the sound of it had seemed a long way off. Then a great feeling of safety came into her mind. She was deeply secure. Custis could not harm her; no one could; the drug had placed her far beyond the reach of THE MUSEUM MURDER 251 everyone and everything. And then she'd gone into the outer office. She had a small knife upon her desk, but a heavier one lay upon a table, and she took it up; and opening the door into the main picture gallery, she went in. She cut the canvas carefully and rolled it up. While she was doing so, someone called to her; a voice, as though from the very depths of the world, spoke. It was a warning voice and filled with fear. It was Custis's voice-Custis, who hated Alma, and who desired to ruin her future. But Mona would not listen. She smiled to herself, in her security; no one could harm her; she was too far away. Then she'd gone into the storeroom. She'd hidden the picture in the statue; she'd stuffed a newspaper into the aperture at its base, wet the plaster, and applied it. Then she'd washed her hands and prepared to go home. She did this in a sort of daze; and there were other things she must do; things she must do carefully. She must say good-night to the watchman at the door as she always said it. She had thought it all out. No one must notice anything different about her. And then, when she reached the corridor, she saw Custis. “No!” said Duddington, his heart suddenly weaken- ing. “No!” She saw Custis. And he spoke to her. As he spoke he moved toward her, and she was more afraid of him XXIV NUDDINGTON, a few minutes later, left Mona in charge of her sister; and he spoke to Billy Gregory in the corridor. "She'll do pretty well, I think,” he said. “She's worried, and she wanted to talk a little.” “What did she say?" asked Billy. “Oh, she talked about the case and what the police were doing. I suppose, as I've been listening to it all, she thought I had inside information.” “My heart's shaking for Mona,” said the young painter. And then in a lower tone: “If it ever reaches the police about the drug and the picture, she'll never pull away from the killing. She hasn't the strength to stand it, no matter how innocent she might be.” “It's our job to keep the police away from her until we've had time to do something,” said Duddington. “And I want to say to you, Bill, the way you are taking the thing on yourself and saying nothing is mighty fine. I'm proud of you.” “Oh, it's not much,” said Billy. “Not really. Because, you know, they had me in mind, anyhow; so I can ride TIE 253 THE MUSEUM MURDER 255 in his voice than there had been for some time. “You don't think it's much use to go on?” But Moore's eyes snapped. “Listen,” he said; “the police always go on. If we are stuck, it's only about the picture. Understand? About who killed the old man is different. We can pick out of several, there. And our favorite pick is still young Gregory.” “Has Lynch spoken to Marsh again?” “Not yet. We're saving that baby. And this man Ha- viz, too. Both of those people know more than they've told; and maybe they think,” derisively, “they are going to get away with it that way! Maybe they think the easy way they've been treated here is all we've got. Well, wait till we get them to headquarters and start giving them the works. They'll speak out then, believe me.” Duddington went upstairs. The lights were on full, the whole place was in disorder, showing the passage of the police in their search for the missing masterpiece. Entering the great room at the front, the fat young man saw Sheerness sitting at an open window; the man was motionless, upright, staring into the summer night. Duddington approached; he stood leaning against the end of a row of cases and wiped his face with a large white handkerchief. “The police seem to have been working all around 256 THE MUSEUM MURDER you,” said Duddington, as he quietly viewed the con- fusion of the room. Sheerness made no reply, his jaw jutted more than before; his eyes, as they turned upon Duddington, were cold and contemptuous. “But,” con- tinued the fat young man, “I dare say you were not bothered. They fumble things so, and maul them about, and are so generally stupid, the best way is to pay no attention.” He put the large white handkerchief away and lighted a cigarette. “I don't know if they told you, or if you made any inquiries,” he said; “but the picture called The Syndic's Daughter has been missed. That's what they were searching for." “So I've been told,” said Sheerness. “And not having found it here,” said Duddington, " they began searching the rooms downstairs. Also the offices and storeroom.” He observed the man closely, but there was no movement, no change of expression. “I spoke to Moore just before I came up here. He's the short man, a precinct detective, or something. He said they've had no luck on the lower floor, either. I suppose they've mauled and fumbled down there, too. I think,” approvingly, “you are quite right not to be annoyed by them; for if a man has seen to it that everything has been carefully done, he need not worry. From care of 260 THE MUSEUM MURDER "I say again I'm not sure. Furthermore, she's not sure. She was in a daze, caused by the drug she'd taken. She had the dagger in her hand when she met Custis in the corridor near the stairs. She admitted that to me. He seized her; she was afraid and desperate. She is not sure she killed him. And she is not sure she did not.” There was a long space of silence. Sheerness, cold, inso- lent, granite-jawed, remained unmoved. Duddington nodded to him. “She may have to stand trial for this,” he said. “And don't forget, if she does, you'll be tried with her.” SU XXV TNDER a light in the lower hall Duddington saw MacQuarrie; the man was seated on a bench read- ing a newspaper. “I like a newspaper of an evening,” he said, wiping his fat white face and readjusting his collar. “There are things in it I'm interested in-business things. I like to read of sales, and of art movements of a general kind. One never can tell what an obscure thing will do; it may mark a revival; the sale of an example of a man's art may call public attention so strongly to him that he may become a favorite. I take all such things into con- sideration.” “Good business,” said Duddington approvingly. “I see you keep your eyes open, MacQuarrie.” “At any rate, I try to. My overhead is heavy, and things must be kept moving. And so I must be vigilant. I see in the papers that a man of means has purchased a new house, or he is remodeling his old one. Immediately that suggests art. A handsome stair rail. Paneling. Rugs. Silver. Pictures. A marble for a recess. Brass. You'd be surprised the sales I make by following up just such possibilities.” 261 THE MUSEUM MURDER 263 to smaller collectors, finally; a man with all that money backing springing up in unexpected places would, you know.” “That,” said MacQuarrie, “should have been a per- manent position for him. Mr. Sheerness was then fairly new in the field; he was prepared to release large sums, and with a little care Marsh could have given him splen- did service-and also could have profited largely. He had friends," said MacQuarrie reproachfully, “who stood ready to aid him. I'm sure I would have rendered any assistance possible. My stock, my connections, were at his service. But he made mistakes; and he has suffered for them.” “I wouldn't call Marsh an adventurous character," said Duddington; "and yet, what other term are we to use in speaking of the Parisian episode, in which he bid in The Syndic's Daughter?” “Quite right,” said MacQuarrie. “For that was the affair that really spoiled his prospects. Why he did it, I have never understood. Of course," and the picture dealer lifted his brows and gestured with both hands, “I took part in the thing, myself. But I ran no real risk of Sheerness's displeasure; it was all in my line of busi- ness. I merely covered the matter here in New York, acting for a principal, and presumably knowing little of THE MUSEUM MURDER 265 “But that was a rumor only. People talked about things then as they talk now. There may have been no truth in it at all. I repeat, Mr. Chalmers, Custis was not with- out his good points; though,” with another smile and a nodding of his head, “I must say he sometimes made them difficult to see.” “I should think he did,” said Duddington. “And if he put Marsh in the way of losing patronage and ignored him afterward, Marsh is a pretty pale ghost of a man not to have resented it.” ... “He did resent it,” said MacQuarrie. “Oh, yes.” The man stroked his chin and regarded Duddington reassur- ingly. “Yes, indeed. Marsh is poor; I believe he has a family; but he is not as lacking in spirit as he may seem. He did resent being used and cast aside. There have been times when he's been very bitter about it. Once I heard him mention the matter to Mr. Haviz; it was in my galleries. Mr. Haviz spoke of Custis in an angry way which,” with a chuckle, “was no unusual thing with him; and he and Marsh agreed that Mr. Custis was akin to the devil himself. Ha, ha! It was rather curious to see how eagerly they came together on that subject. I've never heard them agree before; and after that they'd speak often as they met. I've noticed them," said Mac- Quarrie, "a number of times in conversation. A like taste or a like aversion does a great deal toward drawing THE MUSEUM MURDER 267 eyes went here and there as though seeking a way of escape. “Is that your third or fourth conference with Mr. Lynch?” said Duddington. “He seems to favor you somewhat." There was resentment in Marsh's pale eyes. “I wish they'd find someone else,” he said. “They are beginning to shed their veneer, Mr. Chalmers. They were reasonable enough at first, but I find them pretty rough, now." . “I see,” said Duddington. “But of course that is to be expected; the police are not lily handed, Marsh, you know. Let the going be hard, or let them sight what they are after, and no person with information need expect mercy.” Marsh smiled wanly; he stood with his coat pulled about his spare figure, and looked around. “They are upon a new tack with me, sir," he said. "And I can't quite make it out. They speak of Mr. Haviz. As I understand it, they fancy I am quite friendly with him—that of late I've been extremely friendly. And Mr. Sheerness, too! What could have put it into their heads that I am upon terms with him, I don't know. But that's what they think. Haviz and Sheerness! It's comic, that's what it is, Mr. Chalmers. Why, Haviz hates me. And as for Sheerness, he wouldn't 268 THE MUSEUM MURDER spit on me.” The man laughed in a thin, forlorn sort of way. “But the inspector thinks I am quite in their con- fidence; that I'm operating with them in some way. And he fancies, Mr. Chalmers, that Mr. Haviz and Mr. Sheerness have had something to do with the disappear- ance of the Hals. And ” but here his voice suddenly broke and failed; his mouth formed words, but he made no sound. Then he caught his breath sharply:“And with the death of Mr. Custis!” he said. “To be frank with you, I'm not surprised, where you are concerned,” said Duddington. “As I see it, the first thing a man should do when he's called for questioning in a case like this is to tell everything he knows. He should not hold back a thing. You haven't done that. It was plain that you were keeping something back. So can you wonder if the police are impatient with you?” There was a pause. Marsh looked at the floor. “I suppose, Mr. Chalmers, you mean the matter of the bakeshop,” he said. “The inspector brought that up just now.” “Did you tell him what you were doing there?” But Marsh smiled his tight-lipped smile and shook his head. “Well,” he said, “I gave him an answer. But, I'm afraid, not the kind that satisfied him. For the police, you see, require a person to have a good deal of knowl- V THE MUSEUM MURDER 269 edge. They demand specific information, and I hadn't any such to give them. I admitted I stood in the bake- shop often of an evening and watched the back door of the museum. Mr. Lynch asked me why I did so. I said I had no real idea; and then Mr. Moore called me a liar.” Duddington nodded: “Yes, I suppose he would.” "It is a fact, Mr. Chalmers, that I had no concrete reason for keeping this vigil. I was what might be called suspicious of certain persons, I'll admit that; but I knew nothing that would warrant my mentioning anyone's name to the police." “I think I know what you mean,” said Duddington. “I can speak in confidence to you, Mr. Chalmers, for you've always treated me with consideration. But I can't with the police. I'm told they are on the point of arresting young Mr. Gregory, so you can see why it is I hesitate to speak out and possibly involve others who also may be innocent. That would be too bad.” “You are quite right,” said Duddington. “I approve of that. Of course, if you were speaking to the man Lynch, alone, I think you could be candid. But, as it is, it's not Lynch-it's a system; it's a thing which reduces everybody to a common quality; no one ever comes out of the police machine as clean as he, or she, went into 272 THE MUSEUM MURDER knew something about Mr. Haviz? What if there was some sort of thing Haviz desired kept quiet, and " “Just a moment,” said Duddington. “Are you refer- ring now to the thing you mentioned awhile agoof some paintings supposed to have been done by Haviz at Custis's request?” “I am. I don't know if the rumor has any foundation, Mr. Chalmers, but if it has, wouldn't that give Custis a grip upon Haviz? I hope you see what I mean. We will suppose Custis has a piece of low-pressure work to do; at first,” with a tight-lipped smile, “he had me in mind as a helper, but being afraid he could not trust me, he turned to Haviz. Having authority over him, he'd feel sure of him. Do you keep with me, sir? And, also,” said Marsh, gesturing, “there might have been another reason. Haviz is a trustee of the museum.” “What do you mean by that?” demanded Dudding- ton, sharply. "I repeat," said Marsh, “I had no idea what Custis had in mind. But, now, we know The Syndic's Daughter is missing, só would it be going too far to suppose it might have been that? I know, sir, what I'm saying is an astonishing thing, but it really isn't so much so as some other things which have happened here to-night.” “No,” said Duddington. “That's true.” “Here is what is in my mind, Mr. Chalmers. Suppose su en THE MUSEUM MURDER 273 Custis was in need of money. Suppose he planned, with the aid of a second person, to steal the Hals. A reward would be offered for its return. He would propose that at a trustees' meeting. If Haviz was his confederate, he would support him. Then, no matter what your thought was, as a trustee, they'd carry it out. The picture would be returned by a third person, and they'd pocket the proceeds.” “Marsh,” said Duddington firmly, “this whole thing is dashed nonsense!" Marsh gestured. “It may be you are right,” he said. “Remember, I am telling it to you in confidence; I'm not sure of it, there- fore I've kept it from the police. The only thing I've been sure of, Mr. Chalmers, was that something was going to happen; and it was in my mind it would be a thing having to do with the museum. There would be goings and comings; and at the back door, because of the watchman at the front possibly Slade-whom Custis always distrusted.” “Custis seems fixed in your mind; but have you thought of anyone as his aide other than Haviz?” Marsh nodded his head. “To-night,” he said. “I've considered a number of people and a number of things. People and things passed in and out of my mind, for there was nothing to hold 278 THE MUSEUM MURDER perhaps in a crowd. He'd known some of these gentry to be amazingly clever. But, then, why should one of them fancy his keys? More especially a particular key? No, a pickpocket wasn't the explanation. There was more to it than that. A good deal more. He stood, think- ing hard. It was best to take the matter up short, to look at everything that would seem to have anything to do with it. He'd never had much use for the key. Indeed, now that he looked back upon it, he couldn't have used it for several years, perhaps more. He recalled one time he'd unlocked the back door so Custis wouldn't have the bother of opening the safe for his key. But that was a long time before. There was another time or two --once when he was going about the building with the insurance people. But nothing recent. He did not recall- But, wait! Just a second, now! Just a second. There was a time! And not long before. No more than a few weeks. While he'd been in town the last time. He hadn't opened the door himself. No. He'd given the key to someone. He'd taken it off the ring and given it to this person. It was one afternoon. A hot afternoon. Something had been delivered, and Custis was absent. Slade had come to Duddington for the key. Yes, it was Slade. He'd given it to Slade. · "I was standing in the outer office,” said Duddington, “and Slade came in and asked Haviz for his key. Haviz THE MUSEUM MURDER 279 told him he'd have to get mine. So I took the key off the ring and gave it to him. There were a number of people present. I'd been talking to Haviz. Mona was there at her desk with MacQuarrie. He was reading off a list of something, and she was taking it down on the typ- ing machine. Marsh was there, too, sitting near the door, waiting for Custis." Yes, he'd given the key to Slade. He knew that. It was perfectly clear. Some old Dutch pewter had ar- rived-it had been bought for the museum at an out- of-town sale by MacQuarrie. That was it! And it was a list of those items MacQuarrie was reading to Mona. Yes, it was getting perfectly clear. It was all coming back, now. “And when the cases had been carried in,” said Dud- dington to himself, “Slade returned the key! I'm sure of that, for I came into this room and locked the door. I locked it carefully and tried it afterward to make was sure.” And then the key? What of that? He tried to picture himself as taking his key ring out and replacing the key upon it. But he couldn't. He'd been still talking with Haviz; they were discussing the purchase of the pewter items, and Haviz was of the opinion the museum was going rather too far in its featuring of such things. He was for fine art, and not so much handicraft. Dudding- 280 THE MUSEUM MURDER ton had disagreed; he'd rapped with the key upon the edge of a table to emphasize a remark. That was as clear in his mind as though it had just happened. And then he'd put the key in his pocket! The little cash pocket inside the larger pocket of his coat! He remembered the coat he'd worn. The day had been a hot one; almost as hot as the one just passed; and he'd worn a linen suit. A suit of gray linen. And when he'd reached home an hour later, he'd taken it off. “I haven't worn it since,” said Duddington. “Not once, since.” · He went into the inner office; Lynch and the other policemen were no longer there, and Duddington sat down at the telephone and called his apartment. Turvy replied. “Yes, Mr. Chalmers,” he said. “The gray linen suit. Yes, it is here. A key, sir? Very well; I'll look.” Dud- dington waited for some minutes; then Turvy spoke again. “I've looked in all the pockets, Mr. Chalmers; but there is no key. I have looked carefully. I have es- pecially looked in the small pocket inside the right- hand coat pocket, sir.” “You are quite positive, Turvy?” “Quite, sir." “Very well. Thank you.” Duddington hung up the receiver; he sat very still, THE MUSEUM MURDER 281 No key in the little pocket. Well, he'd expected that, but he'd wanted to make quite sure. The suit had gone to the laundry since he'd worn it; and it was quite possible the people at the laundry- “Now, just a moment!” he said. “Let's have a mo- ment on this. The laundry, eh? Now, wait. This might be something." He put his elbows on the desk, and his chin in his hands; he stared straight before him. He remained in this posture for some time, rigid, and not moving, his mind fixed. Then he relaxed, leaned easily back in the chair and reached for the directory. In a few moments he'd called the laundry; and after the bell had continued ringing for a little while, a man's voice spoke surlily in his ear. "Is this the White Laundry?” said Duddington. “Yes; but there's no business done at this hour. You'll have to call to-morrow.” “Are you employed at the establishment?” “I'm the watchman.” “Thank you. Perhaps you could tell me where I might get in touch with the proprietor?" The man, none too willingly, gave Duddington a number; and in a little while a maid at the proprietor's home was speaking. Mr. Evans was out. He'd gone to play pinochle with some friends. He did not care to be XXVII IN THE corridor, a few moments later, Duddington I encountered Lynch. “We are all set to go," said the inspector. “And if you haven't spoken to Haviz you'd better do it now." "I'll report on him at once,” said Duddington. “But first I must have a word with Marsh.” The inspector looked at him inquiringly, his eyes narrowed. “You seem to have a good deal of business on hand,” he said. “What's up?". "Wait,” said Duddington. “Wait for a little while, Inspector. It may be you're going to be surprised.” He was about to pass on, but paused again. “I'll venture a prediction: you're going to take someone away from here on a charge of murder within fifteen minutes. Who is it going to be?” “Gregory,” said Lynch, truculently. “Not Gregory,” said Duddington. “I'll stake my head on it.” Marsh was talking with one of the policemen, farther 286 THE MUSEUM MURDER 289 This dealer sold some of his pictures at good prices. And as their relations grew more fixed, the man said he'd sell more-provided they were of a kind which he would mention. “He did mention them,” said Duddington, “as you know to your cost. Spurious works of dead masters. He proposed to age and sell them; and you'd share the profits with him.” Haviz had taken his pipe from his mouth while the fat young man talked; his jaw had gone slack, his color was yellow and ghastly under the lights. “How do you know that?" he said. - Duddington replied that a couple of questions had brought it to the attention of the police not more that an hour before. But it appeared to be a thing suspected for years; possibly gossiped over by people who knew them both. Yes, Custis mentioned what he wanted; and Haviz had agreed. There had been two of the fake pictures made; at least, that was the number spoken of. But two had all the evil possibilities of two dozen as far as Haviz's security and peace of mind went; for, wit- ness: One of them had just reappeared, brought to public notice after years of semi-oblivion by the death of its owner. The owner's estate must be settled, and this painting, for which a huge sum had been paid, was to be disposed of. XXVIII TITHIN a very few minutes after his interview VV with Haviz, Duddington spoke to Inspector Lynch in the corridor. The inspector, with tight-drawn brows, listened to Haviz's story. “Where did he go after he left Sheerness?” asked the inspector. "He began wandering the streets again, finally return- ing to the Skillet Club, where Andresona found him.” "Well, all right,” said Lynch, reluctantly. “The thing hangs together pretty well, and of course must receive consideration. But," and his eyes glinted, “Gregory will have to do as good as that, or better, if you hope to keep the handcuffs off him. And, even then, I think they'll only stay off for a while.” Duddington smiled. “The only chance you'll have to decorate him with irons, Inspector, will be if he gets himself mixed up in another case. Because,” and the smile was a most com- fortable one, “this one's quite safe; as far as he's con- cerned, it's all tied up and tucked away." And then as Lynch stood looking at him, he added: “Pass the word 293 THE MUSEUM MURDER 295 way; of Mona concealing the rolled-up picture inside the silver figure! At this point Duddington was not able to control the police. They arose in vast excitement; they were in the storeroom in a moment; the statue was tipped over; a hole was knocked in the fresh plaster. The picture was found! “Now,” said Moore, wiping his face; “now you can tell me anything, and I'll believe it." Duddington smiled. "Hold on to the painting,” he said. “But let's go into the office. We've got the worst part of it ahead of us, and I want quiet and attention.” - Tipped back in a desk chair, Lynch lighted a cigar. “You're coming to the murder,” he said. “Very well: but I hope it's not the girl.” Andresona gestured. “It is not,” he said confidently. “He is her friend: and, see, he smiles.” Duddington mentioned that morning. Its heat. His missing soft collars. His talk with the laundry people over the telephone in the public room while the tall man listened. The "enclosure.” The tall man's reappearance at the apartment, and his adventure with the package of collars. “Nice work!” said Moore. “A fine performance.” “A tall man!” Andresona frowned and pondered. “Thin. Long hair. I can't place him.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 297 tective had gone out, and he gestured and talked. Sometimes he paused in his pacing, his voice sinking very low; he indicated obscure things; he suggested points that might be made in the matter yet remaining to do; he named people. And then Marsh came in, fol- lowed by Moore. “Marsh,” said the inspector, “I understand Mr. Chalmers described a man to you a bit ago, and you said you knew him.” i "I know a man who could very well be the one he had in mind, Inspector,” said Marsh. “Some years ago he was an auctioneer; he cried sales in the galleries, and for rug dealers, and people like that. A tall man, rather unkempt. I've heard he once served a term in a Con- necticut prison for fraud.” “What's his name?” Marsh said the man's name was Grismer; and he also said he'd like, before going further in that matter, to speak of something else. “You've had me in here several times, Inspector, and I've been a good deal troubled in my mind because of the result of your questioning. As I told Mr. Chalmers a little while ago, I was forced to make certain reserva- tions in my talks with you; I had to make them, because if I'd told all I know I'd have mentioned names of probably innocent people; and I didn't want to do it.” THE MUSEUM MURDER 299 "Awhile ago," said Marsh, “I told you I'd merely chanced into the museum this afternoon. That was not quite all the truth, for I'd come hop ng to see or hear something. There were a number of people viewing the exhibition; I noted them all; I observed who were in the offices. When I went upstairs it was really to examine the Roman medals, as I said; but only in a secondary sense. My principal object, gentlemen, was to watch the movements of a person who had ascended the stairs only a little while before.” The detectives stirred in their chairs. Duddington fanned himself with his hat, an attentive look on his face. · "I was very quiet,” said Marsh. “I moved about among the cases; but the person I'd seen had disap- peared. He had so completely disappeared, I felt con- vinced he had hidden. I smiled to myself; I was satisfied the things I'd had in my mind were true. The bell had rung for all visitors to leave, and I was thinking of going downstairs; then I heard footsteps. I stood behind a pillar and listened. I saw Custis; he was near the head of the staircase, looking around him. He came into the room where I was; I kept behind the pillar, and so could only hear him. In a few minutes he went out; and finally I heard him go down the stairs. I waited awhile 302 THE MUSEUM MURDER had gone away. Didn't you? Didn't you hide until everyone had gone away?” “No! No! I didn't!I— " “Then you came downstairs. You saw Custis." The powerful hand of the inspector gripped the flabby creature by the white, fat throat. “You saw Custis in the corridor.” “I didn't,” the man writhed. “I didn't. No one was there.” “You killed him. You drove the knife into his back.” “He said I was a thief,” wheezed MacQuarrie, sud- denly giving way. “He said I stole the picture.” :· And then it all came out, in a rush, gasping, frantic, pleading. MacQuarrie had gone into the thing with Custis to steal the painting; they were to enrich them- selves by means of the reward. But he'd found Custis meant to squeeze him; to keep most of the money wrung from the trustees for the return of the picture. At first MacQuarrie was inclined to give the whole matter up; he was not the kind of person to submit to such treatment. And then, suddenly, came the matter of Duddington's key. Yes, he'd been in Cus- tis's outer office the day Duddington loaned the key to Slade to open the rear door. He'd seen it returned; he'd noted, just by chance, that Duddington, being engaged in conversation, did not trouble to put the key back 304 THE MUSEUM S sec es were MURDER ing to find the bundle of collars; he was leaving, defeated once more, when he saw the young man coming down the hall with the parcel in his hand. Then, with the key in his possession, MacQuarrie visited Custis and gave him a last chance to treat him "fairly”; indeed, he was with him in the museum's private office discussing the matter when Duddington and Haviz arrived to keep their appointment. But Cus- tis still insisted upon the greater part of the reward, and MacQuarrie left him. The man then hid away on the second floor until the front doors were closed for the night. When, at last, he started downstairs he saw Mona Rogers in the corridor, white and ill-looking, and ap- parently dazed. She had the dagger in her hand. She seemed about to fall; and Custis who had been speaking to her, supported her. She dropped the weapon and drew away from him. And then she went down the corridor and out of the building. Custis went into the office. Waiting awhile, MacQuarrie descended the stairs. The door to the main gallery was partly open; he went in, cautiously, drew aside the curtain covering the Hals painting, and found it gone. He was still stand- ing, overwhelmed, holding back the curtain, when he heard a sound behind him. It was Custis. The cripple called MacQuarrie vile names; he tried to strike him. 306 THE MUSEUM MURDER were compelled to act at once; if Sheerness had not so acted, the Diana would have been boxed up and re- turned to him to-morrow, and his chance would have been lost; in MacQuarrie's case he was forced to im- mediate action by the fear that Custis might carry out the theft as he'd originally planned, and so, as it were, leave him holding the bag.” And now came a bustle at the front door; it was Aung open, and the panting of motors was heard out- side. “I'll have to take the girl,” said Lynch to Dudding- ton. “I'm sorry.” “But you'll let her sister stay with her until Sheer- ness arranges the matter with the district attorney, I hope,” said Duddington. “Absolutely,” said the man. “Depend on me for that." There was a quick movement of feet, prisoners, police and witnesses toward the door. Haviz sat down and lighted his pipe, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Duddington went into the office and called a cab; after that he got his own apartment and spoke to Turvy. “Turvy,” he said, “I'm coming home, directly. Have my bath ready. And if there are any slices of cold beef, score them a little and rub that paste I told you of