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“What's wrong with your hand?” Jowett asked quickly.


THE
Moreton Mystery .
By
ELIZABETH DEJEANS
\
•Muthor of
The Tiger's Coat, Nobody's Child
Etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
W. H. D. KOERNER
[[E]]
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


CopyRIGHT 1920
The CURTIs PUBLISHING CoMPANY
CopyRIGHT 1920
THE Bobbs-MeRRILL CoMPANY
Tº ſº. YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
* , , , , "ty
368,279 A
Astor, LENeX AND
TLLD&N Four pailors
Printed in the United States of America
Press of
Braunworth - coe
Book Manufacturers
anooklyn, N. Y.
:


chapter
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
X
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX
XXX
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII
t
ſ-
CONTENTS
A RED-Hot NIGHT -
A SURPRISE . . . . . .
THE WAIF AND THE WIFE . .
THE STEEL GRIP
A STOLEN INTERVIEw
THE House-PARTY . . .
A Toast - - - -
SoMETHING HAs HAPPENED
SUSPICIons AND A Conviction
PARKER Is Politic -
Jowett MAKEs A Discovery
No REAL MEETING GROUND
THE BUTLER TAKES A HAND .
GUEssING AT THoughts
THE HouseHold CoLLECTs
AN AccusATION - - - - -
THE SEMICIRCLE PUTs Over A FARCE
MoTIVES - -
THE PocKET-CASE
GIVE ME Your CoNFIDENCE
WIDow’s WEEDs .
THE Doctor's THEORY . -
It's Wom AN AGAINST Wom AN
His SUBconscious SELF
PARKER ExPECTs A VISITOR
I'M DoNE . - - - -
AN APPEAL AND A REFUsAL
THE WoRKERS IN SECRET
A CALL FOR HELP
FROM THE BEGINNING
THE TINY MARK - -
THE INEXPLICABLE ExPLAINED -
SHE NEEDs You . . . . . . .
PAGE
13
19
47
55
75
87°
97.
105.
111.
115,
140
160
182
188
203
214
223
232
241
256
260
274
287
300
322
332





The Moreton Mystery
I
A RED-HOT NIGHT
HE hazy gray of an August morning crept upon
the city, slowly bleaching the tops of the sky-
scrapers, gradually etching into distinctness towers and
spires and roofs, rows upon rows of mammoth forms
with excrescences revealed. Between them lay gulfs
of murky gloom besprinkled with gleams that were
and then were not, snatched away by oncoming day.
Beyond the huge concourse of behemoths, a silvery
strip widened and grew, paled at the edges, spread
until it met encircling gloom, then stretched an eager
arm oceanward, toward the vastness, the harbor
awakening. Its twinkling lights were fading into dark
bodies which rode the silvery expanse, formless hulks
rapidly gaining outline. The city was waking from
a restless sleep into the incisive complaints of day; the
sun was rising upon a red-hot airless night.
Seated at his window, Parker watched the coming
of a white-hot day. He had slept little; who had
slept other than fitfully during that interminable night?
1


2 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Certainly the girl in the next room had not! The eve-
ning before he had envied her, or, rather, he had en-
vied the man who had joined her. He had seen her;
the man he had not seen. Parker had passed her door
just as she was entering it, preceded by a bell-boy bear-
ing a single suit-case. She had turned to close her
door, flinging back, as she turned, the long automobile
veil she was wearing, and he had seen her face dis-
tinctly, an imperfect oval, a brow too wide and low to
complete the oval of cheek and chin; dominant eyes
the color of sea-water on a cold gray day and heavily
fringed with black; straight determined brows; nose
faintly piquant; a voluptuous mouth; dusky satin-soft
skin. It was a contradictory face and arresting, ice-
cold eyes, warm mouth, and pomegranate tinting. She
was not tall, below the usual woman's height, slim and
well-formed—and young, certainly not over twenty-
two.
For a moment, before the door closed on her, her
eyes had met his fully, and coldly, and Parker had ex-
perienced an instant interest. Was it possible that she
was alone in this hotel overrun with officers, men of
all descriptions and many nationalities, and, in addi-
tion to them, the civilians who were coming and going
to Washington? Scarcely the place for a strikingly
beautiful young girl.
As Parker had divested himself of garments and had
bathed in water that no amount of persuasion could
make less than milk-warm and then had prepared for


A RED-HOT NIGHT 3
bed, he had continued to think of his neighbor—until
his interest was given poignancy by the realization that
a man had entered the next room. He had heard
through the connecting door the rattle of the key
against the metal of the outer door, the girl opening it
evidently; then a soft laugh and some deep exclama-
tion, the man's voice, smothered as if by an embrace.
So that was it—the expected man! A large
man and deep-chested, for the voice was so deep.
Parker knew the hotel well. For the last five years
it had been his custom to close his up-town apartment
during August, give his housekeeper a month's holiday
and betake himself to the seashore or the mountains;
or, if possible, to add two or three weeks to his own
holiday and go to Europe. When called into town by
business, he always stopped here. It was a single
room his neighbor occupied, not a suite, and it was ten
o'clock. A girl who had come to meet her lieutenant
husband? A bridal pair?
Early in the night, Parker had decided that they
were certainly a married couple. A deep murmur,
the man's muffled voice, reached him occasionally, and
movements. They had been followed by what Parker
had judged to be the silence of a complete understand-
ing, and Parker had reflected that it was a pity that
either a meeting or a parting should be staged in this
abominable heat; it was enough to cause the first rift
in the lute.
Parker was in no agreeable frame of mind himself.


4 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Why in heaven's name must Mathew Moreton be
moved to make a will during this blazing week in
August! And why in such haste? He had received
a long-distance call from Moreton's steel foundries in
Pennsylvania: “Meet me at my office on Friday
morning at eleven, Parker, and be prepared to draw
up a will,” Moreton had said. No, he had never felt
in better health in his life, but he wanted the will
drawn. “Then arrange to go out with me to Moreton
House for over Sunday—we'll get out of the heat as
soon as possible.”
So Parker had come from the Adirondacks, in-
wardly fuming at the compulsion a multimillionaire
can exert upon even a very successful lawyer. Had
Parker himself possessed a million, he would have
said, “Go tol” But he was not worth a million, far
from it, though he hoped to be, some day. He was only
forty, and he had been mighty successful. Moreton
had had much to do with his success; he did not be-
grudge Moreton his will, but the man had a perfectly
good will already—what had come over him?
Parker had drawn his bed into the middle of the
room so as to catch what breeze there might be, then,
sans garments of any sort, had stretched himself upon
the bed. He had not expected to sleep. New York
had turned on a spell of heat unknown since eighteen
something, and all any mortal could hope for was to
escape alive. There had been two days of this sort of
thing, and to-day the horses had begun to drop, to say


A RED-HOT NIGHT 5
nothing of humans—to-morrow there would be a
harvest of death.
As Parker lay on the burning sheet, he hoped that
Moreton had reached New York and was scorching,
as he was. Possibly it was the killing weather that
had set the millionaire considering whether his house
was in order, altogether to his liking. There was not
a nervous atom in Mathew Moreton's composition, but
this sort of torment was enough to make any man
think seriously of his possible demise.
Parker had passed on then to a consideration of his
own finances: he had laid by, in gilt-edged securities,
sufficient to provide for his old age, trust his caution
for that, but he had some shaky investments which
needed bolstering, everything was uncertain in these
war-times—he could make good use of a hundred
thousand, if he could lay his hands on it.
Everitt Parker wanted money; he had always
wanted money; he had always longed to handle money
—as Mathew Moreton handled money—as other mil-
lionaire clients of his handled money. His profession
was his first passion, his was innately a legal mind,
but money, sums of it at hand, would be a gorgeous
pastime! . . . That was the reason he had never
married; he had not met a fortune large enough to
tempt him.
Then, as sometimes happened, the other man in
Everitt Parker asserted himself, reminding him that,
in his heart, he had no desire for the much married


6 THE MORETON MYSTERY
or the widowed woman; that, had he ever been over-
whelmingly in love with a young girl, he would have
married; some one young and beautiful and with
brains; some unusual girl. As he approached the for-
ties, his craving for youth as a companion, an offset
to legal intricacies and the perpetual contact with
shrewd-minded men, had asserted itself, annoyingly.
It was part with the lift of heart he had begun to feel
when he watched the boys in khaki. There had been
dozens of them at the station, moist-faced, their uni-
forms perspiration stained across the shoulders and
around the belt line, swinging in and out of trains,
swarming all over the place.
Parker had felt no particular heart-stir over the
war; he had no young relations who would be affected
by it; the thing was inevitable, and, in his secret mind,
he considered the whole situation was being rather
badly managed, but he would have to adapt himself
to it. In a perfunctorily dutiful way he had joined
with others of his profession in offering his services
to the government. . . . But those boys forming
into line and marching through the intolerable heat!
They were going to march in the same fashion, only
with even greater eagerness, straight into the German
hell, while he, in taxied ease, was on his way to draw
up a rich man's will! Dry work that, while the whole
world was up and doing. Parker had envied them
their youth and enthusiasm; had wished, for the time
being, that he might be one of them. *


A RED-HOT NIGHT 7
And thinking of it again brought to his mind the
warm youth of the girl in the next room—a war
bride? Who was she, and from whence had she
come? For over an hour there had been no sounds
in the next room, a love-laden silence, Parker had de-
cided. . . . But, after midnight, when the city had
quieted somewhat, he was conscious of a murmur next
door, voices quite indistinguishable but persistent.
They were not sleeping, those two. They were talk-
ing steadily—from one o'clock until two.
Then there had been movements, the click of a
switch, a line of light beneath the connecting door, the
man's voice more plainly distinguishable. Parker
thought then that he heard the rattle of a key in their
outer door, and was certain that some one brushed by
his own door. Then there was perfect silence. . . .
They had gone then? Their light was still burning!
But in a few minutes it was switched off; the
man had gone of course, the woman was still there.
Parker had thrust aside his pillow and had sought
a cooler spot on the bed. This was a highly respect-
able hostelry, but it was not the first case of the kind
he had known. Still, it might be quite all right, some
young officer snatching the last possible minute with
his bride and now bound for his train. . . . Sleep
had seemed an impossibility to Parker, and reading
meant a light and more heat. . . . Sprawled, with
arms extended, he must finally have slept, but lightly
and with the occurrence uppermost in his mind, for he


8 THE MORETON MYSTERY
was conscious of starting up broad awake, galvanized
by sounds in the next room. . . . He looked at
his watch—it was the stillest hour of the night, three
o'clock.
Then the sounds that had startled him were re-
peated, a woman weeping bitterly, deeply, desperately,
now with face in her pillow, now turned, gasping for
breath—so it seemed to Parker. And there was no
man's voice answering her, either soothing or object-
ing; she was evidently quite alone and sobbing her
heart away. . . . God, how she cried and choked
and strove to smother her sobs! Parker had never
heard any creature cry like that, keep it up, sob after
sob, until every nerve in him was jumping. Mechan-
ically he had begun to dress, with the intention of
doing something, ask her through the connecting door
what was the matter, telephone to the office—do some-
thing!
Then his usual caution had suggested that, if she
were one sort of girl, he would simply be bringing
confusion upon her; and, if of the other sort, he would
probably bring an awkward entanglement upon him-
self. . . . As for telephoning to the office—that
was out of the question.
With the reflection that there must be an end to
all things, even to such weeping as hers, Parker had
seated himself at the window and waited; the city was
waking.


II
A SURPRISE
UT not until the gray of morning lightened into
unmistakable day was there quiet in the next
room. Either the early stir in the hotel had fright-
ened the weeping girl into silence, or exhaustion had
plunged her into sleep; the latter most likely. Had
Parker's strained attention discovered movements, he
would have feared some desperate act. That any one
could weep like that, for hours, in this suffocating heat,
and not go mad, seemed impossible; it would tear a
man to pieces, to weep like that.*.*.*. Then Parker
realized that he was in a subnormal state himself, ex-
hausted and every nerve on edge... It had been a hor-
ror of a night.
Parker decided to bathe and dress and have his break-
fast sent up to him, as soon as it could be served. At
ten o’clock he must go to his office and prepare to meet
Moreton, but until that time he would stay where he
was, not because it was a whit cooler here than his
office would be, but because he meant to make a few
discoveries. If his neighbor moved about he would
hear her; if she left her room he would follow her;
9


A SURPRISE 11
opened his door and waited. The elevator that took
her down should carry him.
Promptly at half past six a bell-boy appeared, and
Parker gave them time to pass down the hall and near
the Thirty-third Street elevator. Then he followed.
As he approached them, he was conscious that, through
the obscuring pink of the girl's veil, he was being
closely scrutinized. But as they stood side by side in
the elevator she became oblivious of his presence. Be-
neath her veil Parker could discern the black line of
her lowered lashes, and that the warm color he had
noticed the night before was gone. Her eyes were
heavy and her skin looked dull. She appeared even
younger than he had thought her.
When they reached the main floor, she stepped out
promptly; the Thirty-third Street entrance was straight
ahead.
“The office?” Parker asked of the elevator boy.
“Around to the left, sir.” -
Parker swung around the corner, then came back.
She had reached the sidewalk and several details
rushed upon Parker: a touring-car standing directly
before the entrance, the bell-boy lifting her bag into
the tonneau, a big man with an extraordinarily thick
shock of gray hair bending forward and offering a
guiding hand to the girl, seating her beside him on the
front seat.
Parker knew that car almost as well as he knew his


12 THE MORETON MYSTERY
own; he knew the man better than he knew any other
client of his—Mathew Moreton, multimillionaire, hus-
band of a woman nearly his own age and childless,
the man whose will he was about to draw.
Parker turned back then, and, somewhat vaguely,
went down to the grill. Had he been a vulgar sort,
he would have laughed. Had he known Mathew
Moreton less well, he would probably have shrugged.
As it was, he was profoundly surprised—and in-
terested.


III
THE WAIF AND THE WIFE
* T’S NIXIE,” Mathew Moreton said.
“The Nixola Allen mentioned in your will?”
Parker asked quickly.
“Yes. . . . You won't see her at dinner—I want
you to meet her now,” and Moreton's big voice vol-
leyed across the stretch of water, “Nixie! Ahoy, there!
. This way!”
It was the afternoon of the following Saturday,
and Moreton had brought Parker out with him to
Moreton House. When they first glimpsed the lake,
Moreton had pointed out a canoe which was mid-lake
and headed for the dense, rock-studded woods op-
posite. Moreton had brought his car to a stop at the
water's edge, where the park drive skirted the lake
closely. Then he had called.
She heard, for she stopped paddling and looked be-
hind her. Moreton waved his handkerchief, and she
waved in return, then headed for them. There was a
considerable distance between them, and Moreton set-
tled back in his seat.
“What do you think of my lake?” he asked with
13


14 THE MORETON MYSTERY
a note of satisfaction. “All that space covered with
water was an old stone-quarry with a clean stream
running through it, when I took hold of it. Only ten
years ago, I bought Henderstott's folly, the house and
the grounds. Then I obtained the quarry and the woods
around it, and now see! I've got a hundred acres in all
now, park and lake and terraces, and a sunken garden
—a place that figures in every pamphlet on beautiful
New York estates. When we get up to the house,
you'll see the Hudson, up river and down, and pretty
much all of Westchester County. There's nothing in
New York State to compare with it, in my estima-
tion. . . . Money and brains—the combination will
accomplish anything!” -
Parker had frequently heard Moreton express this
same sentiment; one reason for Mathew Moreton's
success had been his cheerful self-assurance. He had
a cheerful-souled as well as a shrewdly confident way
with him that won men—and money. In the main,
Parker agreed with him: money and brains certainly
procured the material things, and, to Parker's way
of thinking, material things were desirable. But,
judging by the will he had just drawn, money and
brains had not procured matrimonial contentment for
Mathew Moreton.
To some extent, Moreton's will had explained that
curious night at the hotel. The thing was not like
Moreton—as Parker had known him—but observa-
tion had taught Parker that when a man of Moreton's


THE WAIF AND THE WIFE 15
type cuts loose from his wife he is apt to solace him-
self with youth. The millionaire's domestic relations
were certainly not of the happiest, a thing Parker
had not suspected until he drew the will. Parker him-
self had worked his way up; with him, in the begin-
ning, it had been brains and an indomitable will; then
brains, influence, and some money. He had a high ap-
preciation of money, yet he did not agree with More-
ton. And he doubted whether Moreton agreed with
himself; it was simply his way of speaking.
But Parker nodded in agreement, while he watched
the figure in the canoe gain distinctness, a slim little
body topped by an obscuring mop of dark curls. “She
is little more than a child,” he remarked.
“It’s not I can tell you exactly how old Nixie is—she
can't tell you herself, nor can any one else, so far as
I’ve been able to discover,” Moreton answered. He
hesitated, then said with decision: “You may as well
have the story now. . . . Mrs. Moreton and I had
been married eleven years and no children or prospects
of any when we picked Nixie up. That was seven
years ago—Mrs. Moreton was forty-one and I forty-
five. It was just one of those chances, our private
car was sided at a God-forsaken little town in Iowa,
a wreck on the road ahead that held us eight hours,
and in a field near by a circus, some penny side-shows
and that sort of thing. We went to the show and saw
that baby lifting weights and doing trapeze work, the
prettiest, most graceful little body you ever saw, with


16 THE MORETON MYSTERY
bleached curls fluffed up in a mass and eyes blackened
till they looked like lumps of coal.” His voice grew
dry. “Mrs. Moreton was just recovering from her
last “interest' and was getting into shape for Child
Welfare, and she fell for that baby. She got into a
fever over the shame of it and—well, the upshot was
that I regularly bargained for the child, and had no
great difficulty doing it, for it developed that little
Mademoiselle Nixola, as she figured on the bill-boards,
didn't belong to any one in particular. A trapeze-
woman by the name of Allen had joined the circus
with Nixola attached to her, and a couple of years
before the Allen woman had died and left Nixie as
a sort of legacy to the troupe. As nearly as any one
could determine, the child was about thirteen. I ar-
ranged with the manager, and Nixie came on east
with us, and for a year or so there was a possibility
that we'd adopt her. . . . But it didn't turn out
that way.”
Moreton was speaking more deliberately now, and
there was something besides dryness in his voice, cold-
ness commingled with feeling. “You see, Parker, Mrs.
Moreton has always been high-strung, too much high-
living and inbreeding on the part of her forebears, I
suppose. . . . We started well enough, she had
family and I had money, I was making money then
by leaps and bounds, and the first years she worked to
make us fashionable. Then that palled, perhaps be-
cause she couldn't make a mere dancing partner of


THE WAIF AND THE WIFE 17
me, and there were periods of neuritis and neurosis
and what-not, and then she took up “interests.”
There were no children—I laid her discontent largely
to that. . . . Well, in the beginning, I mildly op-
posed the adoption idea, partly because I hadn't much
faith in Nixie's powers of regeneration—the kid was
adaptable enough, on the surface; she was phenome-
nally observant and quick-witted, she slipped into beau-
tiful clothes and smooth language—but I felt sure that,
at heart, she was an Arab and always would be. That
didn't bother me particularly, but it would bother
Mrs. Moreton mightily in the future; Nixie and Mrs.
Moreton were cut from entirely different pieces of
cloth. But my main objection was that I wasn't at
all sure Mrs. Moreton's enthusiasm would last—I’d
watched too many ‘interests’ come and go. I advised
waiting until Nixie was a little older—we'd know
better then what she was going to be. If it proved
a genuine bit of mother feeling, I was willing enough,
my beginnings weren't much more to boast of than
Nixie's.” Moreton paused to laugh shortly. “Lord
bless you! At the end of two years Nixie was a for-
gotten toy! She was given a governess and just
shunted—kept out here in the country year in and year
out. Mrs. Moreton was forty-four and her troubles,
both bodily and mental, had begun, and they've con-
tinued to the present day. This last two years she's
turned against Nixie—she can't endure the sight of
her, and yet she won't allow the girl out of her sight,


18 THE MORETON MYSTERY
poor Nix! . . . But Nixie's grown on me. She
suits me. She's a loyal soul and she has a head full
of good sense—and she's real woman. We're de-
voted to each other. I don't mind telling you that
that little girl there is the biggest interest I have on
earth; it's a thing you have to know, but it goes no
further, understand. . . . . Here she is—now take a
look at her.”


IV
THE STEEL GRIP
ARKER did not need Moreton's urging; he was
looking with keen interest at the little figure which,
as it swung from side to side, tossed a mass of dark
curls over a face whose features he could not distin-
guish. Even when the canoe touched ground a few
yards away and she sprang out, he did not really see
her face.
Then she turned and flung back her curly mane, and,
at that gesture, even before he saw her eyes, which
were widened by a sudden flash of recognition, he knew
who she was: his neighbor during that interminable,
burning night; her slight body, undraped now by a
flowing veil, and her childish curls had deceived him.
Parker experienced a decided shock. He was con-
scious that he was changing color. Just what his eyes
had said to her he did not know, but he noticed that
the warm flush in her cheeks had mounted to her
brow, and that, after the first flash of recognition, she
looked only at Moreton, and that her eyes had no part
in her smile and general air of pleasure.
“You’re back early " she said. “I thought it
19


20 THE MORETON MYSTERY
couldn't be you, for Holt said he was going to the
station to meet you.”
In his rapidly returning coolness Parker noticed there
was genuine enough pleasure in Moreton's eyes and
voice. “I decided to bring Parker out in the car. . . .
Nixie, this is Everitt Parker, my lawyer, you know.
Shake hands with him.”
She sprang lightly to the step of the car, on More-
ton's side, and leaned across his body, offering Parker
her hand, and, as she did so, she looked fully at him,
her lips still smiling but her eyes, opaque as cloudy
green water, offering an unfathomable surface to
Parker's steady observation. “The lake is pretty, isn't
it?” she asked with the insouciance of a child. But her
eyes were not a child's eyes; they were wise and very
chill.
“It was prettier a few minutes ago, Miss Nixie.”
Parker saw that she instantly grasped his meaning
and also assimilated his quickly adopted attitude; she
had negatived his recognition—so be it. Parker de-
cided that she was swiftly intelligent and thoroughly
experienced. When he had joined her at the elevator
she must have realized that he had been her neighbor
during the night, he had come from the room next
her own, she could see that; and she must have guessed
that he had purposely followed her. And Parker was
uncomfortably conscious that now, before he had con-
quered surprise, he had looked at her meaningfully,
with the intensest surprise and curiosity.


THE STEEL GRIP 21
She drew her hand from his and dropped heavy
lashes over her opaque gaze, and Moreton chuckled,
as if amused at the cool scrutiny she had given his
lawyer. “Getting a little exercise before dinner, were
you, baby? It's a blessing this morning's storm broke
the heat, but it's too hot still for much exertion—don't
overdo.” He looked fondly at her lowered lashes and
flushed cheeks.
“It stormed fearfully here,” she answered.
“Lilian got back safely from her motor trip?”
“Yesterday,” she said composedly.
“Who are we going to run into at the house? The
doctor, of course—if it wasn't for him, I don't know
what we would do, he's an ever-present help in time of
trouble.” He spoke half amusedly, half seriously and
also with a touch of contempt.
She nodded. “Coming back through the heat made
Mrs. Moreton ill. The doctor's staying over till to-
morrow.” -
“That's a blessing. . . . Lilian's all right again,
I suppose?”
“Yes, it was just a nervous attack.”
“Who else?”
“The Von Betlers and Mrs. Insmann. There is a
Count Gansingen, too. They are all staying over Sun-
day.”
“That crowd ſ” Moreton's broad black brows low-
ered into an angry line. “Who is this Count Gan-
singen?”


22 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“I don't know, but Burke says he has lived in New
York for a long time and that he knows all the best
people. Burke said he was ‘very much of a gentle-
man.” . . . He's not a German.” Parker saw her
hand touch Moreton's shoulder.
“Oh, some one of Lilian's fool foreigners,” he said
more quietly. “Who else?”
“Driscoll—he said he wanted to see you.”
“Glad there's one American in the bunch—two,
counting the doctor,” Moreton muttered. “Driscoll's
on a borrowing expedition, of course—still he's a
Moreton. . . . He's been haunting you, I dare say,
and you took to the lake—eh, Nixie?”
“He went for a walk,” she answered non-commit-
tally.
“Yes, the house would be too hot for him. . . .
The rest are all there?”
“They had tea, then they went for a ride.” Her
color had faded; she looked tired and grim, an expres-
sion that aged her.
“What that crowd needs is a good jolt!” Moreton
said decidedly. Then his manner changed completely.
He put his arm about her, took her hand and patted it.
“You run along to your canoe now,” he said affection-
ately. “I wanted Parker to meet you, that's all. He
knows my affairs, so if ever you need advice and I’m
not by to give it, you apply to him. You're the biggest
interest I have on earth, Nixie girl—just remember
that and live up to it.”


THE STEEL GRIP 23
The color swept over her face and her hand must
have tightened on his, for Moreton laughed. “You
have a grip, baby! . . . Show Parker the wonder.
Parker give her your hand.”
“Willingly,” Parker said.
Nixie fixed her eyes on his and the suffusion which
had softened them faded. “I’ll hurt you,” she said.
Parker laughed. He was slenderly built and not
over medium height, but he was proud of his muscle.
He trained regularly in his club gymnasium and was
fully a match for the powerfully built man beside him.
Parker had sporting proclivities—so had Moreton. On
more than one occasion he and Moreton had wrestled
and the millionaire had good-naturedly cursed what
he called Parker's “steel-wires.” Moreton had accused
Parker of a sly knowledge of ju-jutsu.
The girl's hand was slim and firm, she gripped well,
but Parker smiled as he looked from her steady eyes to
her tightening fingers. Then he ceased to be amused,
for each slim finger stiffened into steel. It was not
just a hand-grip, arm and shoulder came into play—
and she had the best of it.
Parker's color rose. “Lord—” he muttered.
She suddenly relaxed. “I said I would hurt you,”
she returned softly.
Involuntarily Parker rubbed his wrist. “Where did
you learn that—in the ” He caught himself up; he
had almost said, “circus.”
“Born with her and then trained into perfection,”


24 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Moreton interjected hastily. “We used to play about
in my gymnasium, up there at the house, Nix and I. I
have some muscle myself, but she always got the bet-
ter of me. . . . Climb in behind, baby, and let me
take you to the house.”
She sprang to the ground. “No, I'm going to
canoe.”
“Come, get in—I’ll send Holt for the canoe, later
on.”
“I better not,” she said quietly.
Moreton eyed her for a moment, then nodded.
“Perhaps you're right. . . . Go ahead—but, Nixie,
be at the boat-landing at seven—I want to see you be-
fore dinner.”
She did not answer, for a car had just rounded the
group of willows about which the drive circled and
was almost upon them. The broad-shouldered, strong-
looking young fellow who was driving brought his car
to an abrupt stop and touched his cap. He was in
chauffeur's livery and Moreton spoke carelessly to
him:
“Going for me, were you, Holt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I didn't come by train. Draw out of the
way, will you, and let us by. You can come on back
then and look after this car—it didn't take the hill
right.”
“Yes, sir. But I’ll have to go to the station first—
Burke said there were some supplies coming out.”


THE STEEL GRIP 25
“Oh, all right—but don't forget to look after this
car, for I want it in the morning.”
The chauffeur backed and made room for them,
waited for them to pass, but Parker noticed that he
was not looking at them. His eyes were fixed on
Nixie, who had already shoved her canoe into the
water and sat with paddle across her knees.
And from beneath her curls she was returning the
look, steadily.


V
A STOLEN INTERVIEW
ORETON parted from Parker in the upper hall.
“Make yourself at home,” he said cordially.
“Burke, here, will attend to you. There's the library
and the porches, or the grounds if you want to walk
about. We'll gather at dinner-time, seven-thirty—I’ll
see you then.”
The butler led Parker to one of the guest-rooms,
where Parker dismissed him with: “Never mind my
bag. I'll attend to it.”
As soon as the door closed on the man Parker went
to the window. His room was on the lake side of
the house, above the terraces, with a clear view of the
water and an extended one of rolling country beyond.
Parker's gaze sought the farther shore of the lake;
on his way to the house he had seen Nixie headed
again for the opposite woods. But the canoe was not
in sight now; she had probably drawn it up behind
some rock and had gone into the woods.
Without pausing to look about him, Parker left his
room and walked out on the terraces. The house, an
enlarged and magnificent imitation of an old colonial
mansion of the Delaware-Maryland type, a central
26


A STOLEN INTERVIEW 27
building and two wings with a Georgian portico its
front entrance and a wide and long veranda in the rear
overlooking terraces and lake, crowned a wooded hill
above the Hudson. As Moreton had said, there were
extended views in every direction. It was a superb
location and nearly a million had been expended in
beautifying it.
This was Parker's first visit to Moreton House, and
he meant to inspect it very thoroughly, but that was
not his immediate interest. He realized now that
Moreton had not asked him to his country home
merely to enjoy its beauty. Parker was inclined to be
both critical and skeptical; he had met with too many
surprises, too many unexpected twists in apparently
honest and clean natures not to be skeptical. He sur-
mised that Moreton wished to acquaint him with a situ-
ation about which Moreton could speak only half truths
and about which he intended Parker should know
only half the truth, and he had begun by introducing
him to Nixola Allen, and by emphasizing a paternal
attitude. Moreton seemed to feel that his will needed
explanation or justification, particularly to his lawyer
who was expected to enforce its provisions.
Parker had not drawn Moreton's two previous wills;
he had been counsel for the millionaire only six years.
It was a surprising document he had just been called
on to prepare and had opened up to him a vista of con-,
jectures, coming as it did after that occurrence at the
hotel. And since Parker had made the astounding dis-


28. THE MORETON MYSTERY
covery that Nixola Allen and the girl at the hotel were
one and the same, the vista had immeasurably wid-
ened and lengthened. His brain was busied with con-
jectures and possibilities.
Six years before, when Moreton first engaged his
services, he had said with characteristic decision, “I’ve
watched your career, Parker—you've the right lawyer
stuff in you, and you're not too well off to neglect
business. You've a long way to go yet before your am-
bition's satisfied, and you're a young man, only thirty-
four. Breen was a good lawyer, but he was too old,
and now he's dropped off. I want a man who will well
outlast me. Your wits are keen and your body's strong
—you may set to upon my affairs.”
Parker had made a careful study of the millionaire's
business interests and had met most of the men with
whom Moreton had financial connections, but of More-
ton's family affairs he knew little more than the gen-
eral public. He had met Mrs. Moreton only twice,
and he had never heard of a Nixola Allen until he
drew the will. Mrs. Moreton had impressed Parker
as the young grande-dame, overcultured, physically
delicate, and veneered by a deliberate vivacity; he had
doubted whether she was clever. He had thought her
beautiful, however, quite the patrician type, a woman
who did not look her forty or so years. She had
shown Parker a barely polite attention; she had never
extended to him any social favor.
So Moreton's insistence that he come out with him


A STOLEN INTERVIEW 29
to Moreton House had surprised Parker. When the
will had been signed and deposited, Moreton had said
abruptly, “I told you when I telephoned, I wanted you
to come out with me to Moreton House. When you
took charge of my business interests, you made a study
of them—you've taken hold of something else now, so
I want you to meet my family.” -
Moreton certainly wished to acquaint him with a
situation, not in its entirety, but sufficiently for him
to get a good working basis, and Parker meant to
gain all the knowledge possible. His opinion of
Mathew Moreton and of his probable relations with
Nixola Allen, the moral aspect of the situation, had
nothing to do with his duty to Moreton as a client.
Parker had already acquired an impression, down there
by the lake, something of which he fancied Moreton
had no suspicion, and he was intent now on verifying
that impression.
When he reached the lake, he found, as he had ex-
pected, a path skirting it and leading into the woods
toward which Nixie had been so determinedly headed.
Parker did not enter the woods but kept at their edge
until he saw the station, a stone's throw away, and
noticed that there were no waiting automobiles about.
Then he turned into the woods.
Moving cautiously through the undergrowth and
circling the rocks with care, he took a diagonal course
which would, in time, bring him to the lakeside. The
morning storm had made the ground sodden, so there


30 THE MORETON MYSTERY
was no rustling or snapping of twigs to hamper him.
But his frequent pauses for observation and listening
were not rewarded; he saw no one; he heard no one.
Then, suddenly, he came upon them. He had circled
a rock and parted the bushes at its base, and there, a
short distance away, stood Nixie and the chauffeur,
whose powerful physique Parker had instantly no-
ticed.” He saw now that the young man was full
six feet tall, broad-shouldered and broad-chested. He
was not in the least handsome, he looked as if he
might be a pugilist; low brow, high cheek-bones, long
upper lip, preponderant jaw, and reddish hair cropped
close. His eyes were his best feature, for they were
vividly blue and keen—Parker had been struck by their
intentness when he and Moreton had passed him on
the park drive.
The young man had been looking at Nixie then and
he was looking at her now; looking down at her, for
she appeared a child beside his height and breadth.
He was facing Parker, so Parker could see the play
of his features distinctly. He was heavily tanned,
but his very evident emotion had turned him a brick
red. Had it not been for the expression of his large
mouth, the slightly parted lips and his air of complete
absorption, Parker would have judged him to be in a
rage; he looked such a powerful brute. The spell of
passion was on him, but not anger. Nixie's face
Parker could not see, only her back-tossed curls. She


ingly.
id chok
” he sa
-
“Forgive me


l


A STOLEN INTERVIEW 31
was looking up at Holt and talking in too rapid and
too low a tone for Parker to distinguish even a word.
But when she finished, Parker caught Holt's excla-
mation: “You mean it?”
She nodded vigorously, and he suddenly caught her
up and held her strained to him, his face hidden by her
curls. His embrace was so tense with passion that
Parker felt his own cheeks burn. The man was mur-
muring over her, smothering her with kisses.
She struggled resolutely, and finally he set her down
—those steel muscles of hers were probably equal even
to his strength. “Can't you be sensible?” she said.
“Don’t make me sorry I came !” She had stepped back
from him, so Parker caught the words.
Holt's answer was perfectly distinct. “Sensible!
after that promise of yours! Why, Nixie, it's been
all I could do not to strangle Moreton. When I watch
him petting you, things turn red. Be sensible!”
“Hush!” she said sharply. “That ridiculous jealousy
of yours!” Her voice rang in anger and she had re-
treated until they stood well apart. “I owe everything
to him!” she declared passionately. “I’d be making a
poor return if I weren't at least affectionate to him! I
won't endure being misunderstood P’
He flung back his head. “I hate him I wish he
was ” He stopped suddenly, lowered his head and
looked down at the ground, his face flaming, his lips
bitten.


32 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Nixie said nothing at all, simply looked at him.
Parker had a partial view of her face now, lips hard-
set and eyes steady. Though a little thing, she looked
imposing. She neither moved nor spoke until Holt
raised his eyes to her. The flush of angry jealousy
was fading from his face; when he met her steady
gaze, it vanished and he looked ashamed and miserable.
“Harry—” she said softly.
He reached her at a stride, dropped on his knees,
put his arms about her and hid his face against her.
“Forgive me—” he said chokingly. “It’s enough—
just to be allowed to love you—”
A conquered lion. She stroked his hair, smiled
down on him. “Perfectly conscious of her power,”
Parker thought.
Holt drew her hands down then and kissed them,
turned them palms up and held them against his face.
Parker barely caught his thick murmur. “You know
you hold me between your little hands. . . . You're
so little—and so dear. . . . He can be near you,
and I can't—that's what hurts—”
“I know,” she said softly. Then with more decision,
“But you must go now. The train will be in before
you get there and some one may suspect.”
“Very well—” he said in the same thick way. He
got up, bent and kissed her hair, turned hastily and
disappeared behind a rock. Parker heard him start
his machine.
Nixie stood for a few minutes where he had left


A STOLEN INTERVIEW 33
-
her, looked after him in an expressionless way, then
down at the ground. Her lips quivered, then set in a
resolute line. . . . Suddenly she swung about and
dived into the bushes, almost within reach of Parker's
arm; she was making for the lake.
And Parker also left the woods. . . . . . As he un-
packed his bag, carefully locked it again, then dressed
for dinner, he frowned frequently. When dressed he
sat down by his window and stared at the terraces be-
low, smoking steadily, thinking intently. . . . He
wondered, among other things, whether Nixola Allen
would tell Moreton that his lawyer had been their
neighbor, that night at the hotel? What was Nixola
Allen, anyway?


VI
THE HOUSE-PARTY
ARKER found the house-party gathered on the
veranda and was conscious that every member of
the group eyed him interestedly, though, when he
joined them Mrs. Moreton rose with an air of merely
vague recognition.
He introduced himself a trifle incisively. “I am
Everitt Parker, Mrs. Moreton—I see you don't re-
member me.”
She gave him a thin hand and as thin a smile. “Oh
—yes, I do remember now—Mr. Moreton mentioned
having brought you out with him. . . . Mrs. Ins-
mann—Mr. Parker, my husband's lawyer; Mrs. von
Betler—and Mr. von Betler, whom you have prob-
ably met, and Count Gansingen. . . . Edouard, you
and Mr. Parker should know each other, the family
physician and the family lawyer! Doctor Edouard Le-
vene, Mr. Parker.”
Parker received a distinct impression of each in
turn, Mrs. Insmann, blue-eyed and fair-haired, a
handsome woman, certainly over forty and indisput-
ably a Teuton; Mrs. von Betler, perhaps forty-six,
34


THE HOUSE-PARTY 35
dark and slender and nervously alert, as indisputably
an American; Von Betler, six feet tall, strongly built
and fair, decidedly of the Prussian officer type; Count
Gansingen, not tall and not particularly well-featured,
but with an indefinable grace about him, suggestions
of the diplomat and courtier; and Doctor Levene, who
shook Parker's hand cordially.
Parker studied the latter, for he remembered More-
ton's remarks about “the doctor.” Mrs. Moreton had
strained a point when she had called him “the family
physician.” Moreton's physician was an elderly man
whom Parker knew well. Doctor Levene was younger,
though by no means a youth; Parker judged him to
be near his own age, about forty. He was typically
a New York product, Parker decided, probably an
evolution from the heterogeny of the East Side: an
Irish lift of cheek-bones, eyes and coloring suggestive
of the Hebrew, the slight mustache and mouth of the
southern European, mustache and hair both a jet black.
He had the dapper body, nervous vivacity and affected
speech of the erotic New York youth, yet, in spite of
his effeminate effect, he conveyed an impression of
cleverness and experience and the capacity to please.
He evidently stood high in Mrs. Moreton's favor, for
her affected pronunciation of his name and the droop-
ing glance she gave him when she sank back in her
chair were expressive.
Parker was struck by the change in Mrs. Moreton;
He had not seen her for three years. Moreton had told


36 THE MORETON MYSTERY
him that she was forty-eight, and it was apparent that
she had reached the stage when not even a skilled
masseuse can hide the inevitable. She was still a hand-
some woman, her body had not lost its long graceful
lines, and either her maid or nature had preserved
the golden lights in her hair, but there was imminent
wreckage about her mouth and chin, premonitions of
deep nervous lines, and there was a strained, dilated
look in her large hazel eyes. And she was thinner;
she had the pinched appearance about the nostrils
usual with a highly nervous woman when mentally and
physically subnormal. Her tinting had always been
delicate and now she was only slightly rouged, yet
even that touch of artificiality made her look hectic.
Parker noticed that her hands moved incessantly, and
that her vivacity appeared more than ever a veneer;
she gave the impression of mental and physical tensity.
She was a little pathetic, Parker thought.
He at once fell into conversation with Von Betler,
for he knew something of his history and was ac-
quainted with a number of his business associates.
Though of German parentage, he was American born.
His father had established the immense drug manu-
facturing company which had made a fortune for the
family and had enabled the son to marry into Mrs.
Moreton's set. But, unlike Moreton, Von Betler was
well born; he came of a prominent Prussian family.
Parker knew, after America had declared war, that
Von Betler had proved himself stanchly loyal. He


THE HOUSE-PARTY 37
had worked energetically for the Liberty Loans and
had associated himself with that group of German-
Americans which was interested in Americanizing the
German in America. Though viewed with distrust in
the beginning, Von Betler had won the liking of the
patriots with whom he had worked.
Parker chose for a topic the equipping of a private
laboratory, a matter in which one of his clients was
interested, and Count Gansingen soon joined in the
conversation; it appeared that he had studied medi-
cine. He seemed a much-traveled man and extremely
intelligent, and Parker recalled, now, that he had heard
of him a number of times as a man of much social
charm and possessed of a considerable fortune, not
an American citizen, but a frequent visitor in New
York, where he was much sought after socially. He
was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and Parker decided that
he must be a German, until Gansingen spoke of Switz-
erland as “my country.”
“You are not German, then?” Parker said.
Gansingen smiled and shook his head. “Else I
would not be here,” he replied. “I am a Swiss—of that
country whose neutrality irks me.”
There was something very charming about the man;
even his precise English was delightful. He had in-
troduced the subject of war and he continued, “I can
endure it no longer, this sitting still, with the whole
world on fire to vindicate a principle. The first year
of the war I was in the Orient. Then the fire touched


38 THE MORETON MYSTERY
me and I returned to Switzerland. There I bore in-
action as long as I could—I must have my part in this
struggle. So I came to America; I am beyond the age
for the trenches, but I have a good medical training,
which just at this time, I am told, America is in need
of, to send in support of its army. I have that to
offer, and surely in some such capacity your govern-
ment will find a place for me. I have been, as you say,
‘pulling the ropes' to get some kind of commission
with the medical corps. I am very eager for it.”
Von Betler nodded. “You will get it. We want
every man who is honest and willing, and trained ma-
terial is at a premium. . . . -I'm after the so-called
German-American who has been systematically Teu-
tonized, for I feel that the loyal German-American
citizen is the man best fitted for the work of Amer-
icanizing the German-American. The German under-
stands the German, however little he may understand
the psychology of other nations. And the loyal Ger-
man-American understands better than any other
American citizen the pull of the ‘Fatherland,’ that
commingling of sentimentality and patriotism which
is so strong in the German and which has been so care-
fully fostered by the ‘Father-Country.’ And he knows
better than any American possibly can the reasons
why so many German-Americans have failed to declare
their loyalty; they are afraid of their own people,
afraid of boycott, social and political and in business,
and they also resent the attitude of so many Amer-


THE HOUSE-PARTY 39
icans, “The leopard can’t change his spots’ attitude,
and ‘Every German be damned” But the German-
American is a big actuality in America, and a poten-
tiality, and I consider his Americanization one of our
most vital problems. . . . I've been giving myself
to it.” Von Betler expressed himself resolutely and
with heightened color.
Gansingen spoke of the pro-German strongholds in
the Middle West, he and Von Betler talked earnestly
of the best methods of counteracting German propa-
ganda, and Parker listened with interest, but with one
ear also for the conversation of the others. Doctor
Levene was entertaining the three women with an ac-
count of a Newport house-party of which he had been
a member. Mrs. Moreton was of course his patient
and his admirer, but Parker gathered that the other
two women were not Doctor Levene's patients; Mrs.
von Betler the doctor had evidently met before, but
Mrs. Insmann he was meeting for the first time, and
Parker concluded that the doctor was bent upon mak-
ing an impression. He had much social gossip at his
tongue's end; it appeared that his Newport hostess,
Mrs. Gordon-Syke, was his patient, a star-patient evi-
dently.
Parker was amused by the adroit way in which
Doctor Levene played off his eminent hostesses against
these three women who had not quite achieved the
Newport altitude. He spoke in intimate and affec-
tionate terms of the Grassmeres, whose wealth and


40 THE MORETON MYSTERY
social stability there was no gainsaying. Mrs. Elfreda
Craxton, the widowed niece of Alfred Grassmere, ap-
peared to be the doctor's particular friend—he called
her by her first name.
Mrs. von Betler asked, “When are you two people
going to announce what everybody knows? Come,
ºfess up, Doctor! A Christmas wedding? And am I
invited?”
“My dear Mrs. von Betler!” Levene protested.
“Neither Elfreda nor I are responsible for that ridicu-
lous rumor | There’s not a word of truth in it!”
But he looked both self-conscious and pleased, quite
the boyishly devoted lover and the fortunate choice
of an heiress. Then, with becoming promptitude he
switched the conversation to Mrs. Gordon-Syke and
gossiped with zest. Parker, who was a stickler for
professional etiquette, was somewhat shocked when
Doctor Levene concluded with a description of “dear
Mrs. Gordon-Syke's ravishing peignoir, absolutely ex-
quisite—but seductive—most charming things are se-
ductive.”
“The silly fool!” was Parker's first mental com-
ment, which was followed by a somewhat closer analy-
sis of the lady-doctor, or, rather, of the doctor of
ladies, for Parker decided that the man deliberately
appealed to the socially ambitious woman well along
in life, whose nerves were askew and whose body was
jaded; that he both tantalized and interested such
women as Mrs. Moreton. He certainly had an instinct


THE HOUSE-PARTY 41
for flattery, though with these three women his com-
pliments were not at all subtle. But they did not want
subtlety; they were too consciously on the wane; they
demanded substantial lumps of sugar. “Well, why
not?” Parker reflected, amused. “Their type needs a
physician—quite as decidedly as their millionaire hus-
bands need a lawyer, and, for the fortune-spoiled, the
pill must be sugar-coated or they won't take it.
Rightly handled, they are paying patients—and cli-
ents—the physician and the lawyer must live.”
Parker also reminded himself that this type of
woman was usually childless, and that even the over-
civilized woman's heart is sometimes a queer void.
Doctor Levene had a boyish air and lapsed easily into
appeal, possibly a mere affectation, but the more allur-
ing for that. To women who were themselves largely
composed of affectations, if not actual abnormalities,
Levene's was the only language that greatly appealed.
The doctor was a very clever man; he was also a good
self-advertiser.
Moreton interrupted Parker's observations. He
came up the terraces and strode along the veranda to-
ward his guests. Evidently he had been down at the
boat-landing with Nixie, and it struck Parker that he
looked grim; Parker wondered whether Nixie had
told him that his lawyer had been a next-door neigh-
bor of theirs at the hotel.
Moreton spoke to them all, but shook hands with
none of them, not even with Count Gansingen. When


42 THE MORETON MYSTERY
his wife performed the introduction, he said incisively,
“Glad to meet you, Count. Mrs. Moreton takes a spe-
cial interest in foreigners, so I'm always having the
pleasure of meeting them. . . . My dear, I hope I
haven't delayed your dinner?”
To one who did not know Mathew Moreton, the
speech would appear merely an American brusquerie.
How it struck Count Gansingen, Parker could not tell;
the count bowed with faultless politeness. But to Mrs.
Moreton the greeting was discomposing; her color
rose, and Parker noticed that Doctor Levene glanced
at her, then looked away.
“Burke has been watching for you—he'll announce
dinner in a moment,” Mrs. Moreton answered clearly.
There was anger in her voice, and her foot tapped the
floor impatiently.
“Where's Driscoll—he came out to-day, didn't he?”
Moreton asked.
“Here!” a voice answered from a near-by window,
and its owner swung himself out over the ledge. “I
took up that book of Hoffman's in there, and gad! I've
lost my appetite! Whose is it, Uncle Mathew—yours
or Aunt Lilian's? . . . How’dy, Von Betler.
How’dy, Parker. . . . Hello, Doctor—I didn't ex-
pect to see you here! . . . Mrs. von Betler, your
butler turned me away from your door last week—”
He shook hands with them all, an immaculately
groomed young man of about twenty-seven, a younger
addition of Mathew Moreton, big-framed, ruddy-faced,


THE HOUSE-PARTY 43
pale gray eyes, startlingly heavy and black brows,
and a wide humorous mouth. A loose sagging mouth
on occasion, as Parker well knew, for, at Moreton's
bidding, he had several times taken this nephew of his
in hand, straightened him out and paid his debts.
The story was, that Mathew Moreton had set his
elder brother up in business, but the brother was of
no account; that he had dropped off some twelve years
before, and that Moreton had then tried to make some-
thing of his brother's son, had sent him to college and
had given him a mining-engineer's training with the
wish to keep him out of cities.
But Driscoll Moreton had thrown up his first job;
he loved New York. And he had a natural aptitude
for newspaper work. He had “pulled off” some bril-
liant things for various papers with which he had been
connected. But he was given to lengthened sprees that
were disastrous; while only his splendid constitution
saved him from physical wreckage. Had it not been for
his utter unreliability, he would have made a famous
war correspondent; he had been eager to go to the
front, he had persuaded one paper to back him, then
had begun his duties by missing his steamer—at the
eleventh hour he was too intoxicated to be shipped.
Perhaps that experience had cooled his ardor, at any
rate, he had not enlisted, and, so far, he had not been
taken in the draft.
There was one curious thing about him, he was al-
ways immaculate in appearance; even when intoxi-


44 THE MORETON MYSTERY
cated he avoided the gutter. And he had a social gift;
he was deplored but greatly liked and was a favorite
with women. “Gad!” he had said to Parker on the
occasion of his last spree. “If only I could bring my-
self to it, there're plenty of women who would see me
through, but no, thank you, Papa! I haven't got to the
point of working women. . . . I guess Uncle
Mathew don't miss the bits he gives me—he hasn't
an heir, you know. And, Parker, if he'd let me have
a sum just now, I know a corking investment that
would net us an easy twenty-five per cent. Perhaps I’d
pull up, if I’d make some money.” Parker suspected
that he had come now on that errand.
Mrs. von Betler made room for him beside her and
he promptly remarked, “Stunning wave you've got on
your hair—it's the ‘Cocotte,' isn't it?”
**The Cocotte P’”
“Yes, the ‘Cocotte Wave.’”
“I never heard of it,” she said with interest.
“You haven't! Haven't you heard of Madame
Steinall's Cocotte Wave? Greatest thing invented!
It's warranted harmless, will withstand fog, rain, soap
and water—lasts till the hair sprouts again. It was
invented by Madame Steinall—she’s an Austrian, by
the way, a Viennese—I’ll give you her address,” and
he dived into a coat pocket.
“What's that?” Doctor Levene asked.
Driscoll raised his pale eyes for a momentary glance.


THE HOUSE-PARTY 45
“Madame Steinall. . . . She's an adept in dyes,
Levene—and she'll grow hair on the most hopeless
bald spot in existence. Recommend her to your pa-
tients. Mrs. Ericson Cantor swears by her and Mrs.
Gordon-Syke is one of her patrons—just tell your
lady patients that—and that madame has a score of
actresses on her lists. She's just acquired Mrs. Grass-
mere, by the way.”
“Elfreda hasn’t mentioned her.”
“No? Your fiancée's too busy over the Red Cross
for such trifles as hair-dressing, Levene.”
“Mrs. Cantor's hair is a wonderful color,” Mrs.
von Betler murmured.
“My dear Madame! Such a suggestion never ema-
nated from me!” Driscoll exclaimed in apparent hor-
ror. “Madame Steinall dresses Mrs. Cantor's hair.”
There was a laugh in which Mrs. Moreton did not
join. Her lip lifted; her husband's nephew was evi-
dently no favorite of hers. Moreton, who stood tow-
ering above them, eyed the young man amusedly.
Then his face changed and he looked away at the lake.
He touched Parker's shoulder. “See there!” he
said, and pointed.
Nixie in her canoe was paddling across the lake,
followed by half a dozen swans. In mid-lake she
stopped and was surrounded; from the activity of the
birds, she was evidently feeding them.
“Pretty, isn't it?” he said with growling softness.


46 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“It’s clean and cool down there,” and he walked to the
veranda rail. There was wistfulness in his eyes and
in his voice.
Parker rose, that he might see better, and Driscoll
also sprang up. “I say!” he breathed; and then, “I
wish I could paint!”
“Burke is announcing dinner,” Mrs. Moreton re-
marked dryly. -
Moreton swung about. “I am quite ready, my dear,”
he returned curtly. “Will you and the count lead the
way?”
The antagonism between the two was apparent
enough, and Parker caught the exchange of several
glances. Mrs. Moreton laid her hand on Gansingen's
arm, and, with Doctor Levene on her other side, she
“led the way,” her head high, her beautiful profile
rigid.


VII
A TOAST
RS. MORETON showed discrimination in seat-
ing her guests; Parker found himself on More-
ton's right, between Moreton and Von Betler. Mrs.
Insmann came next, then Doctor Levene at Mrs.
Moreton's left, Count Gansingen at her right, Mrs.
von Betler between the count and Driscoll, who was
at Moreton's left. Mrs. Moreton had placed a buffer
on either side of her husband.
As the dinner proceeded, it had the qualities of a
divided camp. Parker talked to Von Betler when the
latter was not claimed by Mrs. Insmann, otherwise he
was silent, for Driscoll was deep in talk with More-
ton. Mrs. Moreton's end of the table was gaily loqua-
cious; both the count and Levene calling forth laugh-
ter. Under their skilful homage Mrs. Moreton flushed
into a vivacity which lost its metallic quality.
Parker, who was, perforce, a listener, discovered
that the investment Driscoll was proposing to More-
ton was nothing less than a controlling interest in Ma-
dame Steinall's establishment. Driscoll pronounced
Madame Steinall a genius, but what interested Parker
was the apparent business value of the proposition.
4.
47


48 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Driscoll showed some of his uncle's faculty for scent-
ing a money-making certainty. Moreton was evidently
impressed, for he gave the matter his close attention,
his observant eyes all the while on his nephew's earnest
face.
He leaned back—finally. “It’s a good proposition,”
he remarked.
Evidently his approval meant much to Driscoll, for
he flushed. “You’d be willing, then?” he asked eagerly.
“No,” said Moreton.
The color left Driscoll's face with startling sudden-
ness. “Why?” he asked finally.
“I’d rather not give my reason,” Moreton returned.
“Lack of confidence in me, I suppose.”
“No-” Moreton said slowly and so low that Parker
barely caught it. “I’ve always hoped you'd evolve
some business capacity, for you'll have money to han-
dle one of these days. . . . I drank when I was
your age, and pulled up. A man who's determined and
who has the business keenness you've just shown will
find a way—I’m not the only man who has money to
invest. Besides, you know how I feel—that you ought
to be at the front—quit drinking and enlist. . . .
You want Nixie—but I can’t help you in that ven-
ture.”
“You won’t, you meanſ” There was an angry glint
in Driscoll's eyes. “I grasp your ‘reason.’”
“Why I decline to back Madame Steinall?” More-
ton squared his shoulders. “I'd fling all I’ve got into


A TOAST 49
the lake before I’d back a German—in anything!
That's my reason, sir—in this case!”
“Oh—all right, sir. I'm sorry you have such de-
termined prejudices. I have no love for the tribe my-
self, but, with me, it wouldn't stand in the way of a
perfectly honest business transaction. Besides, Ma-
dame Steinall is not a German—she’s an Austrian.”
He raised his glass and emptied it, then turned to Mrs.
von Betler. He had flushed again and his hand was
not steady. When on the veranda, Parker had sus-
pected that Driscoll had been drinking during the
afternoon. Burke refilled his glass, and Parker no-
ticed that Driscoll quickly emptied it.
Moreton sat for a time, silent, his food untouched.
Then he turned to Parker and talked of unimportant
matters. The only thing that betrayed his thoughts
was a remark he made about Nixie. “If Nix were
here, we'd have a livelier end of the table. When
we first took her, we settled on a birthday for her—by
our count, she was nineteen last month. But Mrs.
Moreton continues to regard her as under age for so-
ciety, so Nix is excluded.”
“I should say that she was two, perhaps three, years
older than that,” Parker answered.
“Very likely,” Moreton said thoughtfully. “You
see, she's such a little thing. That Allen woman wasn't
her mother. Nixie must have been just a child the
woman picked up somewhere. And I’ve no doubt that
circus work stunted the child's growth. I've been


50 THE MORETON MYSTERY
working on the matter of Nixie's parentage for some
time and have made a memoranda of all the facts I've
learned, and I’m going to put Jowett on the job. . . .
There is one thing sure, Nixie has sense enough for
thirty-five—better judgment than some who are nearly
fifty,” and he glanced at his wife.
It was evident to Parker that Nixie had not told
Moreton of his encounter with her at the hotel; More-
ton showed no self-consciousness when he spoke of
her. For some reason she had kept the thing to
herself.
After glancing at his wife, Moreton deliberately
appraised his wife's guests. There was a purposeful
air about him, but his intention was not apparent until
Mrs. Moreton rose. “Let us go out to the veranda for
coffee,” she said. “You gentlemen will not want to sit
here, it is so hot.”
“Quite right,” Moreton answered. “But just wait
a moment, Lilian. . . . Burke, fill our glasses—I
have a toast to propose.”
While the silence held a vague surprise at More-
ton's manner, the butler and footman filled the glasses.
When they stood aside, Moreton turned to them. “Fill
for yourselves,” he commanded. They hastened to
obey, then stood at attention.
Moreton ran his eye over the company, then slowly
rose, his glass held high. “Ladies and gentlemen—”
he said incisively, “to the cause of the Allies—to
America! . . . To the complete vanquishing of her


A TOAST 51
foe and the annihilation of autocracy, however long it
takes—to Democracy!”
Every man at the table sprang to his feet. Levene
stood with his eyes fixed on Mrs. Moreton. She was
already standing, but when her husband concluded, she
seated herself and looked at him with blazing eyes.
“I’m against this war—I’ll not drink!” she said pas-
sionately. Mrs. Insmann also kept her seat. Mrs. von
Betler had risen.
Moreton merely glanced at his wife. “Levene?” he
said with peculiar emphasis.
The doctor had bent over Mrs. Moreton, implor-
ingly; at Moreton's question he came upright. “Of
course I drink to that!” he said warmly. “You know
I’m going over as soon as I can get there!”
Moreton looked about him and smiled slightly. “I
see the gentlemen are all standing,” he remarked.
“Count, you have something to say?”
Gansingen’s fine voice rang out. “I come of a neu-
tral country, but of whose neutrality I do not approve.
I drink with all my heart!”
Moreton merely nodded; his eyes were shining and
his face warmly flushed. “Von Betler—and Mrs. von
Betler—you are both on your feet—do you drink my
toast, in its entirety?”
Von Betler had grown fiery red. “I do! America is
my country!” he said, looking at Moreton with hot
eyes.
“Exactly!” Moreton returned.


52 THE MORETON MYSTERY
... They drank, all but Mrs. Moreton and Mrs. Ins-
mann, Moreton draining his glass to the last drop. He
set it down, then bent toward them, his clenched hand
on the table, and though he spoke quietly it was omi-
nously and with tremendous force. “Hereafter, every
soul who enters my house first salutes the flag, and any
one who sits at my table drinks my toast, and I shall
see to it that he or she does so with his heart as well
as his lips. The pacifist, the time-server, and the spy
shall not find lodgment under my roof. The man or
woman of doubtful sympathies need not seek to enter
here—if they do so, it is at their peril. . . . We are
fighting for a vital principle—whether the world shall
progress or shall retrograde depends largely upon us,
and we are at death grips with a powerful foe. It is
best for us to realize it.” He looked at his wife, who
had grown very white, and his voice softened some-
what. “You do not realize, Lilian—I speak for you
as well as myself, and out of consideration for your
welfare. . . . Now take your guests to a cooler
place and serve them their coffee. As for me, I have
some important papers to look over—you will excuse
me.” He straightened and turned on his heel. “Bring
me a glass and a pitcher of water, to my study—then
see that I am not disturbed,” he said to the butler as
he passed him, and, going on, crossed the hall to the
immense library. He passed through it to the room
beyond and shut himself in.
The butler disappeared with the haste of a sub-


A TOAST 53
mersible avoiding a shot, and then, for a moment, they
all remained as they were, held by various emotions.
Certainly nothing in Parker's experience, since his
country had declared war, had given him a more acute
feeling of his slackness in the mighty struggle. That
big, bluff, gray-haired man had been majestic, so pro-
foundly earnest and sincere. Some of the things
Parker had thought of him, during the last few days,
seemed grotesquely unreal. For the moment, Parker
was deeply and tensely moved.
They were gathering themselves together. Mrs.
Moreton had risen, uncertainly, and with eyes dilated.
Doctor Levene took her arm and said something to
her, and she answered hurriedly, “No, no, I'm all
right! But what has come over him—?”
Both Parker and Driscoll caught Levene's grave
answer. “You knew that he was particularly excited
and distressed to-day, and yet you refused to drink his
toast. . . . But don't, for heaven's sake, give way
to your nerves now—remember you have guests.” He
had rebuked her; his manner was grave and decided.
“Oh, I know, but I don't see why he went on like
that—against everybody. He must have lost his mind.”
She was shaking, visibly, and the doctor guided her
to the door, his face grave and troubled. He glanced
back at Parker and Driscoll, and indicated Mrs. More-
ton by a nod, as if to say, “She's my patient—I’ll have
to look after her.” The others were silent; they went
out together, warmly flushed and with an air of dis-


54 THE MORETON MYSTERY
tress, like people who had been undeservedly de-
nounced. Driscoll and Parker were left alone.
Driscoll was staring at his companion. “Gad!” he
exclaimed. “That gave me a regular turn! I’ve never
in my life seen him like that! Why, he as good as
accused them! He's insulted the lot of them 1 Aunt
Lilian and Mrs. Insmann are fool pacifists, but the rest
are as straight as a die! . . . They'll see to-morrow
through, they'll want to avoid the appearance of a
break, but they'll never come here again—not after
that!” He poured himself a finger-length of whisky
and drank it. “There's been another row this after-
noon, I suppose. . . . He's simply brooded over
Aunt Lilian's silly pacifism until he's off his head,” he
muttered. -
Parker was perfectly cool again. “You will be off
yours, if you drink much more,” he said curtly.
“You’re more than half seas over now. Better go to
your room.”
“I will—couldn't face that crowd now,” Driscoll
declared. He went into the hall and Parker saw him
mount the stairs.
Parker stood for a moment, considering. The scene
he had just witnessed and Driscoll's remarks had given
him added food for thought. He wished to avoid the
gathering on the veranda, and decided to go out by the
front door.


yes—
VIII
SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED
HREE hours later, at half past eleven, Parker,
who was in his room, was startled by a loud
knocking on the door opposite his own, followed by
exclamations and then a woman's high, tense voice:
“No, it's Mr. Parker I want! . . . Mr. Parker!
Mr. Parkerſ” -
When Parker jerked open his door, it was Nixie
who stood before him, her eyes wild and her face very
pale. Parker noticed that there were others in the
hall, Von Betler without coat or collar and Mrs. von
Betler in negligee and, with them, Mrs. Insmann; all
with startled faces.
“What is it? What has happened?” Parker de-
manded. -
Nixie gripped his arm. “I want you!” she said.
“Come down-stairs—it's Mr. Moreton—!”
“Something has happened to him?”
She was breathlessly urging him to the stairs. “Yes,
They were plunging down the stairs, the others fol-
lowing, when Nixie slipped and almost fell. Parker
55


56 THE MORETON MYSTERY
caught her and steadied her. “Keep my arm! . . .
Where is he? What's the matter with him?”
“I don't know—” she answered, panting. “He can't
speak—he's in his study. . . . I think he's dying—”
“Dying!” Parker exclaimed.
They ran through the dimly lighted library and into
the room beyond. Here they encountered a glare of
light which made distinct the group at one end of the
plain office-like room: Mrs. Moreton braced against
the big square desk, leaning over and peering at what
lay on the floor, her neck craned and her lips fallen
apart; Count Gansingen standing beside her and look-
ing down; Holt, the chauffeur, also in the same atti-
tude; Burke, the butler, near by, his face ashen; Doc-
tor Levene on his knees beside a prostrate body that
hulked long and large; and, a little apart from the
group, a stockily built, capable-looking man who stood
with hands in his pockets, face grave and eyes ob-
Servant. -
When Parker and Nixie and those following rushed
in, then stopped under the spell of tense silence that
rested upon the room, the stranger glanced up. He
nodded to Parker; then he tiptoed over to him.
Parker's dark face had blanched and set and hard-
ened. “What has happened, Jowett?” he asked very
low and through tight lips.
“He'll tell us in a minute,” the other answered in a
whisper.
“How came you to be here?”


SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED 57
“I’ll tell you later.”
Meanwhile the chauffeur had joined Nixie; his face
was fiery red; his was perhaps the only face in the
room that had not blanched. She looked up at him;
her excitement had quieted and her straight brows
were knit in tense questioning. “What is he doing to
him?” she demanded in a whisper.
“Making an examination,” he answered thickly. He
continued to stand beside her while she stared at Doc-
tor Levene's bent back and moving hands. They all
waited. The servants were crowding in, and they also
stood arrested. The man beside Parker was the only
person in the room whose gaze was not fixed on the
doctor and the prostrate body; his eyes roved over the
room, passed from face to face. He studied Parker's
hard-set expression as keenly as any other. Parker had
folded his arms and was standing motionless, head a
little bent, eyes intent beneath slightly lowered brows.
Doctor Levene lifted, finally, then rose to his feet.
He was very white, save for the vivid spots of color
on his cheek-bones. He ran his eye over the group,
then, though evidently quivering with excitement, he
spoke slowly and evenly and without a trace of his
usual affected manner:
“I wish I could say something else—but—he is dead.
. . He died of hydrocyanic poisoning. Traces of
the poison are in his mouth and on his lips. And,
there, on the desk, is the bottle of hydrocyanic, un-
corked—and the glass with some drops of the poison


58 THE MORETON MYSTERY
in it. . . . Death must have come almost instantly
—and I judge that he took the poison only a few min-
utes ago, certainly within the last twenty minutes.”
When he concluded, there was a universal caught
breath, like a great sigh. Then, in the silence that fol-
lowed, a man's excited voice demanded, “What's hap-
pened? What's happened? . . . Oh, my Lord!”
It was Driscoll who had burst in upon the hush, in
his pajamas, his hair disheveled, his look wild. At
sight of his uncle's motionless body, his arms lifted in
a dramatic gesture and he stood for a full moment
petrified and staring. Then his arms dropped and he
buried his face in his crooked elbow and wept like a
child. Perhaps he was not sober, at any rate he was
completely unmanned.
It may have been his audible weeping that brought
on Mrs. Moreton's hysteria. She suddenly fell across
the desk in a convulsion of shrieks and frantic laugh-
ter, clutching and slipping to the floor as Doctor Le-
vene sprang to catch her. Count Gansingen, who was
nearest, helped to lift her and hold her, for she strug-
gled violently, shrieking over and over again, “He has
killed himself He has killed himself—” Von Betler
came forward, and Mrs. Insmann, and they succeeded
in holding her while Doctor Levene drew from his
pocket a physician's case and gave her a hypodermic.
Either her hysteria quickly merged into stupor or the
opiate was powerful, for she soon relaxed into moan-
ing, and then into silence. They carried her to the


SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED 59
couch and Mrs. Insmann sat beside her. She had not
lost her presence of mind, but Mrs. von Betler was
weeping and wringing her hands.
Parker had not moved. He had continued to stand
with arms folded. He had looked at Doctor Levene
while the latter was speaking; he had glanced at them
as they worked over Mrs. Moreton, but most of the
time he was looking at Nixie and the chauffeur. Holt
stood close to the girl, and from the time she had en-
tered the room he seemed unconscious of any other
presence; he never moved his eyes from her white set
face. Holt's own face had paled; he looked gray now,
in spite of his tan. -
Nixie had stood very erect. She had stared at the
doctor while he made his examination, eyed him nar-
rowly while he made his announcement, and she had
turned and looked at the group collected about Mrs.
Moreton; but she had made no movement toward
them, had not offered her help. Instead, she went to
Moreton, who had been forsaken for the moment, and
knelt beside him. She looked at him for a long mo-
ment, then covered his poor distorted face with her
little handkerchief. She did not weep and she said not
a word; her face was as set and white as marble.
And she continued to kneel beside the body. She
looked like a child as she knelt there, a little thing
with curls escaping from the loosened ribbon at the
back of her neck. But her face was not that of a
child, nor her eyes a child's eyes, for they traveled


60 THE MORETON MYSTERY
about the room, observantly; watched the group bear-
ing Mrs. Moreton to the couch, then settled intently
on the man whom Parker had called “Jowett.” This
man was now deftly examining the desk, the small un-
labeled and uncorked bottle which was a quarter full
of liquid, and the glass in which were a few drops,
and the pitcher nearly filled with water. He examined
closely the chair which was thrust back from the desk
and also the floor near the desk and the rug upon which
Moreton lay.
But when he bent and lifted the handkerchief from
Moreton's face, Nixie caught his hand. “You’re a
stranger—what are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I have Mr. Parker's permission,” he answered, and
she instantly dropped his hand.
While they were busied over Mrs. Moreton, the man
had said something to Parker, and, after a slight hesi-
tation, Parker had nodded. Then the man had set to
work. When Doctor Levene left Mrs. Moreton and
turned toward them, Jowett was rising from his in-
spection of the body.
Doctor Levene's brows lifted in surprise. “Who are
you?” he asked. “You don't belong in this house.”
The man looked at him meaningly. “My name is
Jowett—I was in Mr. Moreton's employ. I happened
to be on the grounds when the alarm was given. I have
Mr. Parker's permission.”
The doctor's look cleared. “Oh, I see!” he said
quickly. “I’m glad you're here, Mr. Jowett. Of course


SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED 61
Mr. Parker is in charge here, as Mrs. Moreton's rep-
resentative. . . . Mr. Parker, will you suggest
what we shall do next? The coroner must be notified
—of course.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped
his brow and his hands, and it was evident that his
self-control was breaking; for a nervous effeminate
man he had borne himself exceedingly well. “This—
this fearful thing has about bowled me over,” he said
thickly. “That was a quick passing—he must have
been irresponsible for the moment. It's—I'm terribly
sorry—” His voice failed him and he turned away.
“Who found my uncle?” Driscoll asked abruptly.
“I was in bed when some one pounded on my door and
said Uncle Mathew had killed himself.” He had re-
covered from his fit of weeping; he was certainly quite
sober now, deadly pale and red-eyed, but calm.
The doctor turned and spoke with greater steadi-
ness. “It was Burke who told us; he said Miss Allen
had sent him. I was on the veranda with Mrs. More-
ton and Count Gansingen, sitting close to the library
window, when we were startled by seeing the library
door burst open and Miss Allen running through the
library. The next moment Burke came out to us.
When I ran in here, Holt and Miss Allen were trying
to lift the body.”
“You found him, Nixie!” Driscoll said with peculiar
emphasis.
They were all looking at her, and she rose slowly
and faced them, looked at them in a wide-eyed reso-


62 THE MORETON MYSTERY
lute way, then fixed her eyes on Parker, and addressed
him. “Yes, it was Har—Holt and I who found him.”
She had stumbled over the chauffeur's name and was
momentarily confused. Then she went on steadily:
“Holt wanted to see Mr. Moreton about something,
and I brought him in. The door was a little open, but
I didn't notice at first—only that the room was dim,
just the reading light burning. I didn't see him the
first time I looked in. . . . Afterward, I opened the
door wider and we came into the room, and then we
saw that Mr. Moreton was lying on the floor by the
desk—as if he had fallen from his chair. . . . And
we couldn't tell what was the matter till I turned on
the lights. . . . When we saw his face . . . I
thought it must be a fit—but he wouldn't speak—and
—Holt said he wasn't breathing—and I ran out
through the library—and Burke was in the dining-
room—and I told him to get Doctor Levene. . .
Then I ran back and we, Holt and I, tried to lift him
up—and Doctor Levene and the others came in and he
made us put him down. . . . And then I ran for
you, Mr. Parker.” She had spoken with pauses toward
the end, maintaining steadiness with the greatest dif-
ficulty. Her determined self-control was remarkable.
Almost at her first word Parker had lost his air of
merely an observant onlooker. The moment she fin-
ished he spoke, and with decision: “As Doctor Levene
has said, it devolves on Driscoll Moreton and myself
to take charge here—until we can learn Mrs. More-


SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED 63
ton's wishes. . . . Miss Allen has told us what we
all wanted to know. If Mr. Moreton's chauffeur had
come on his errand a few minutes earlier, possibly this
tragedy might have been averted. But it happened
otherwise, and now we must endeavor to help in every
way possible a family who are in deep distress. I beg
you—and I know Driscoll Moreton seconds me in the
request—I beg of you all to be calm. A man whom
we all respected, and whom many of us loved, has
left us. We are shocked and grief-stricken, but let us
avoid excitement. Things in this room must remain
just as they are until after the coroner's inquest, which
is usual in such cases.” Parker paused and looked
about him, at the silent group and at the collection of
servants. “Can any of you tell me where the nearest
coroner lives?”
There was silence for a moment; then a voice at the
door said, “I think, sir, there's a coroner at Fulton.
Mr. Crane, I think 'is name is, sir.” It was the butler,
Burke, who had spoken.
“Fulton is at the far end of the county,” Parker
objected. “There are three coroners for the county.
. Jowett, do you—?”
“There is a coroner at Ford's Landing, and he must
be the nearest,” Doctor Levene interrupted. “But I
don’t know his name.”
“The telephone will help us to that,” Parker an-
swered. “Driscoll, you and Mr. Jowett and Holt and
myself must remain and assist Doctor Levene, for


64 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Mrs. Moreton must be carried to her room. I think
Burke had better take two of the maids and go up at
once and see that Mrs. Moreton's room is in readiness,
then give Doctor Levene any assistance he requires.
Miss Allen, will you see that matters are attended to
up there?” He raised his voice slightly. “And the
rest of you, please go quietly to your rooms. We want
no confusion or excitement in the house—its master
has gone to rest and its mistress is ill.”
He was obeyed. But Von Betler, before he led his
wife away, said to Parker, “I suppose we must remain
until after the inquest. If there is any possible thing
my wife and I can do, please let us be of assistance.”
He looked haggard and distressed, and spoke feelingly.
“Yes, no one must leave until after the inquest,”
Parker answered. “I’ll call on you, Mr. von Betler—
if I need help.”
“It's a fearful thing,” Von Betler said, his voice not
altogether steady. He turned away abruptly and went
out with his wife.
Count Gansingen came to Parker for a moment.
He appeared more self-controlled than Von Betler, but
he also looked pale and distressed. “It is mysterious
and terrible—a man at the height of his success to take
his life! Please if there is anything I can do, give me
the opportunity of helping.”
Parker thanked him, then turned to his duties.
“Doctor, will you call the coroner? That's your prov-
ince.”


“SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED” 65
“No, you do it,” Levene returned. “It will take
iſ time and I must look after Mrs. Moreton.”
“Very well.”
Driscoll and Holt and Jowett, with Doctor Levene
in attendance, carried Mrs. Moreton up-stairs, and
Parker was left alone in the study.
He surveyed the room alertly for a few moments,
the windows, the floor, the door into the library. Then
he went swiftly to the body, knelt beside it, removed
Mixie's handkerchief and looked closely at Moreton's
features; parted his thick hair and examined his head,
then his throat and his wrists and his hands. He drew
up the shirt-sleeves and examined the arms, as far up
as he cotſká, then drew the sleeves down again and re-
placed Nixie's handkerchief. He worked deftly and
rapidly and did not disturb the position of the body.
Then he examined the uncorked and labelless bottle on
the desk, took up the cork, which lay nearby, smelled
it, paused a moment, then put the cork back in exactly
the position it had occupied. He also scrutinized the
paper which lay under the reading-light, a somewhat
lengthy memorandum upon which Moreton had evi-
dently been working. -
Then, in the same swift, purposeful way, he went
into the library and telephoned.


IX
SUSPICIONS AND A CONVICTION
ARKER was still at the telephone when Jowett
and Holt returned; Driscoll was not with them.
Holt stood near the hall door, as if waiting for orders,
and Jowett walked about, glanced into the study, went
to the windows giving on the veranda, looked out,
and finally strolled into the hall.
When Parker had finished telephoning, Jowett turned
toward the library. “When is the coroner coming?” he
asked.
“In the morning—half past eight,” Parker an-
swered. “He has to get his jury together—then they'll
motor over.” He turned to the chauffeur. “Holt, will
you kindly be on hand early in the morning—we shall
want the car.”.
“Yes, sir,” Holt answered and went out quickly, as
if glad to escape. His heavy face still looked gray.
Then Parker asked Jowett, “Where is Driscoll?”
“He went to his room, Mr. Parker. He looks all
in—I guess he's doing some thinking, like the rest of
us.” He spoke in an alert, somewhat tense way.
“Come into the study,” Parker said.
66


SUSPICIONS AND A CONVICTION 67
He led the way in, then paused in surprise, for
Nixie was there. She was covering Moreton's body
with a robe taken from the couch. When Parker
came in, she stood up, but said nothing, simply looked
at him. Shock and strain were plainly visible upon
her; she was tremulous.
Parker's quick eye had circled the study, but he did
not ask her how she had entered. She had certainly
not come by way of the library, and none of the study
windows gave on the veranda, and the first floor of
this wing of the house stood high; some ten feet from
the ground.
Parker simply said, “Why, Miss Allen . . . I
meant to do that. You ought not to be here—you
have gone through too much already.”
“I came to ask you something,” she answered.
“Yes?” he returned kindly.
“What time will the coroner come to-morrow?”
“At half past eight.”
She considered for a moment, then asked anxiously,
“What will he do?” -
“He will hold the usual inquest—ask us all what we
know of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Moreton's
death, then, if possible, determine the cause.”
“I thought so—” she said slowly, and then, with a
touch of appeal, “And will you stay in this room, or
close by, to-night?”
“Yes, that was my intention. . . . But why do
you ask?” Parker said gravely. Jowett, his hands


68 THE MORETON MYSTERY
thrust deep in his trousers pockets, was eying the two
Keenly.
“Because this was his room,” Nixie answered. “His
papers are on the desk—and”—she looked away from
him, trying to steady her quivering lips— “I know
Mr. Moreton wanted you to look after his affairs—
if he should die—even little things.”
“I intend to look after them,” Parker said. “So,
don't worry, Miss Nixie. . . . Won't you go to
your room now and try to rest?” He spoke with great
gentleness and he had come close to her.
Nixie gave him a swift upward glance charged with
doubt and anxiety. “Yes—I’ll go. . . . Thank
you,” she said, and drew away from him. Then, as
if moved by impulse, she turned suddenly and offered
fier hand to Jowett. “Thank you for helping to-
night,” she said rapidly. “I’ve heard Mr. Moreton
speak of you. You know how fine he was. He was
a good father to me—always.”
Jowett jerked his hand from his pocket and clasped
hers. She let her hand lie in his long enough for him
to look into her tear-dimmed eyes. Then she drew it
away and hurried out through the library.
Jowett stared after her, his lips slightly parted, and
for a few moments Parker watched his surprise and
absorption. Then he asked, “Well, Jowett?”
The man started and turned. “A hell of a note—it
fooks to me! . . . Who is this Miss Allen?”
“A ward of Moreton's—she's lived with them since
-


SUSPICIONS AND A CONVICTION 69
she was a child,” Parker said quietly. “But what
brought you out here, Jowett?”
Jowett plunged his hands back into his pockets. Par-
ker knew that attitude meant stirred feeling; once or
twice before he had seen Jowett under the stress of
emotion. “He sent for me,” he answered. “Tele-
phoned in at six o'clock—said he had a job for me that
would take me out West, that might take weeks, and
wanted to know if I was free to give all my time to it.
He told me to get the nine o'clock out—that when the
house quieted down, at half past eleven, he'd come out
and have a talk with me, and that meantime I might
amuse myself by keeping watch on the house and the
grounds. . . . He laughed when he said that, like
that part of it was a joke. . . . I caught the nine
o'clock, got up here from the station at twenty to
eleven and hung about. Then I ran into this!” He
nodded toward Moreton's still form. There was de-
cided feeling in his voice, distress and something akin
to anger.
“Yes—” Parker said and drew a long breath. “Poor
Moreton—”
“Have you any idea why he sent for me?” Jowett
asked.
Parker remembered what Moreton had said about
setting Jowett to work on Nixie's parentage. And
the memorandum on the desk was evidently a list of
instructions designed for him. Jowett was a de-
tective who worked alone; Moreton had frequently
l


70 THE MORETON MYSTERY
employed him, and so had Parker, for, like Moreton,
he had a high opinion of Jowett's acumen and his dis-
cretion; he was clever and he was honest, he was not
to be bought. It was exactly the sort of thing Moreton
would put into Jowett's hands.
But, for reasons of his own, Parker did not impart
his conclusion. He shook his head. “Moreton said
nothing to me about sending for you.” His manner
was reserved to the extent of being provocative, per-
haps intentionally so.
Jowett eyed him. “You guess, but you won't tell,”
he said shrewdly though not aggressively. “Well, I
don't know why he sent for me, but I do know that
you’re appointed to look after Moreton's interests,
and I’ve got something to tell you. I'll get it off my
chest as briefly as possible, for I judge I’ve got a busy
night before me: I told you I was hanging around
out there for three-quarters of an hour? Well, I’d cir-
cled the house a couple of times when this Miss Allen
came out by the front door and made for the garage.
That husky chauffeur was there and the two talked
in whispers for a time. I took them for a pair of
lovers who were too serious for any spooning. Then
the chauffeur went into the room that opens off the
garage, his bedroom, I judge. He turned on the light,
so I saw what he was doing—he took something white
from a satchel and put it into his pocket. . . . Then
they came to the house, and, because they came cau-
tiously, with a lookout for any one that might be


“I saw them going up a flight of stairs at the end of the passage”





SUSPICIONS AND A CONVICTION 71
about, I followed them. Miss Allen, in the account
she gave, didn't mention how they got in here—she
left us to infer that they came in by that door,” and
the detective pointed to the door into the library.
“But they didn't,” he continued. “There is an en-
trance into the basement, below this room, which
wouldn't be noticed from the outside because of the
bushes. The veranda runs across the library, but not
So far as this room, and the corner made by the
Veranda and the basement wall is filled with tall shrub-
bery that hides the door. . . . Well, Mrs. Moreton
and the two men were on the veranda, just as the doc-
tor said, and Miss Allen and the chauffeur took such
pains to avoid being seen from above that I got in-
terested. The door below opens into a passageway,
and I followed them in. It was not lighted, but the
chauffeur had a flashlight, and I saw them going up
a flight of stairs at the end of the passage. They made
as little noise as possible, and after they reached the
top I couldn't hear a sound, though I came as far as
the foot of the stairs. I stopped there, for I didn't
know just what to do. The girl had come out the front
way and I knew by the look of her that she was no
servant. What she and the chauffeur were sneaking in
that way for, I couldn't imagine, unless she was tak-
ing him to her room. Anyway, I thought best not to
go up the stairs—besides, in fifteen minutes or so
Moreton would be out looking for me.
“But I hung around the passage, against the time


72 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Moreton would be out, when, all of a sudden, some
rays of light struck across the top of the stairs and the
next minute there was a commotion. I came up then
and found myself in a long carpeted passage which
had a boxed stairway at the end, evidently going to
the floor above this, and an opening into this room,
that window over there which is curtained like a win-
dow and looks like one, but is really a door—it's
hinged like a door and swings into this room. It stood
open and the light I'd seen came from it. When I
came in, this room was glaring, all the lights on, and
the people you saw when you ran in were collected
about a body on the floor—Moreton, lying here by the
desk. Nobody noticed me. I closed the door by which
I’d come and stood where you saw me when you came
in with Miss Allen. Just as I came into the room I
saw Miss Allen run out through the library, going
for you, I suppose.” The detective had talked rapidly
and toward the end, as he noted Parker's impassive
face, with a certain sharpness and insistence.
When he finished, Parker nodded. “What you've
told me confirms what Miss Allen said.”
Jowett's brows lifted. “She didn't mention the
window-door, and she said nothing about the interval
of twenty-five minutes. I know just when they en-
tered the house, for I looked at my watch before I
followed them in—I didn't want to keep Moreton wait-
ing. And I know to a minute when I entered this


SUSPI, CIONS AND A CONVICTION 73
fööri, for one's of the first things I did was to look at
iny watch.”
Parker frowned 'slightly. “It's natural enough, her
not going into deta ils, Jowett—she wouldn't want to
calf attention to a fri endship with the chauffeur. And
there's evidently no n ystery about that window-door,
for she cathe in that w ay only a few minutes ago. I
think it was just as she s Said: Holt had some sort of a
request to make of Moret on and she undertook to help
him through with it. Miss. Allen was devoted to More-
ton and he to her; if she bay sked a request Holt * to
make, Moreton would have § Tanted it. He may ave
got into some speeding mess, # * al we know. d dryl
“And that twenty-five minute, 37" Jowettasked º y.
“I dare say there's a perfectly good exp º Or
that interval—they may have gol " "P stairs º, we
can't tell.” He sighed impatientl. But all †:
a secondary matter! What in hea Ven's name made
Moreton do this mad thing!”
“Are you asking my opinion?” Jow
flash of the eye. “I’ve never known a 1,
found it easy to be candid!”
“If you have an opinion that's not foun
sensational conjecture, I'm willing enough A
Parker retorted icily.
Jowett was not quelled by his manner. “.
conviction, Mr. Parker—a very decided convict
“About what?”
rett said with a
awyer yet who
ded on mere
“o hear it!”
I have a
- jy
1O11.


74 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Mathew Moreton's death.”
“Have you? Explain what you mean.”
Jowett's face had hardened into stubborn lines. “I
will, Mr. Parker: I’m convinced that this was no
suicide.”
“You think it was an accident?”
Jowett's patience suddenly forsook him. “Accident!
No!” he said with sudden heat. “It was murder! A
cold-blooded, wilful murder—and you're just as cer-
tain of it as I am!”


76 THE MORETON MYSTERY
of feeling. “I have just as strong a sense of justice as
any other right-minded man. I knew Mathew More-
ton—his kind don't suicide. He was a good sort, was
Moreton, and if any one has done him bad, I’d like to
send him—or her—to the chair for it. Besides, I'd
like to pull off a big thing like this. . . . You know,
Mr. Parker, in my business, I go a lot on instinct. The
moment I came into this room I had the feeling; and
when I saw Moreton's face I was certain. That man
died fighting. Didn't you notice his expression? His
face was set in a look of fury. . . . Now, you can
see, from the position of the desk, against this end
wall, that, when seated and looking over papers, his
back would be turned to that window-door. The way
in which his chair was thrust back and the position of
his body after he fell indicate that he was seated back
to that window-door and, probably, with head bent
forward over those papers on the desk—”
“And also with his back to the library door,” Parker
interrupted.
Jowett made an impatient gesture. “Yes, of course,
he sat with his back to the whole room. . . . Now,
it would not be a difficult matter for a man and a cool-
headed woman—it would be possible for one man
alone, provided he was strong and skilful—to pinion
Moreton from behind, cover his mouth with a cloth,
get a pressure on his throat with the cloth held in such
a way as to protect the throat from finger-marks, and
pour some drops of that dope into his mouth. It takes


PARKER IS POLITIC 77
an awful short time for that stuff to act. When it did,
he would slip to the floor without any assistance of
theirs. The few drops poured into the glass and the
bottle placed on the table would be a still easier mat-
ter.”
Jowett expected an incredulous comment. Instead,
Parker asked quietly, “You think then that one man,
alone, could have managed it?”
“It's possible,” the detective said, “if the man was
unusually strong and skilful and had a cool head. You
remember the Powell case? A towel and a bottle of
poison. But both Powell and his assassin bore marks
of a struggle—Powell's assassin hadn't quite strength
enough to cope with his victim. Of course a man at-
tacking from behind has the advantage.”
“I saw you examine the throat and wrists; did you
find any suspicious marks?” Parker asked in the same
quiet way.
“No-but I made only the briefest examination.
. . . Mr. Parker, I’m not making any accusations,
but this can so easily be murder. There ought to be an
investigation—I think the circumstances justify it. I
want to examine Moreton's body more thoroughly. I
want to find where that bottle and its contents came
from ; I want to search this room; I want to explore
that passage out there and find where that boxed stair-
way leads to; I want to investigate that husky chauf-
feur, hunt up his record, and I want to know where
those two were during that twenty minutes when I
----


PARKER IS POLITIC 79
must have lost his mind.’ And Driscoll Moreton re-
marked to me later, “There’s been another row this
afternoon, I suppose. He's simply brooded over Aunt
Lilian's silly pacifism until he's off his head.’ I don't
go so far as to agree with Mrs. Moreton and Driscoll,
but I think it a possible explanation. I have known
too many financiers, Jowett, who, for apparently no
adequate reason, have retired to their rooms and put
an end to themselves. Moreton was a terribly hard
worker, and this last week he's been hustling about in
heat that's been enough to prostrate any man. His
kind do break sometimes, very unexpectedly and curi-
ously. . . . I am telling you all this because it's
best to look on all sides of this case, and not run away
with a fixed idea.”
It was not like Everitt Parker to give information,
but the scene at dinner would be public property in a
few hours, and he had decided that the explanation
he had given would be the one given by Mrs. Moreton
and her guests: a sudden and inexplicable brain-storm.
And he also had his own reasons for emphasizing the
probability of suicide.
Jowett had listened with keen interest, but his air
was as resolute as ever. “It’s possible,” he said without
conviction, “but surely, if there is cause for doubt, any
chance that Moreton met with foul play, his wife, and
you, as executor, would not oppose an investigation?
If there are suspicious circumstances, you would want
them cleared up?”


80 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Parker had been thinking steadily. He had consid-
ered and had decided upon his course. He had for-
gotten nothing; every circumstance, every unexpected
development, all his secret knowledge, he had weighed
and considered. And he had given tense thought to
Jowett’s determined attitude. Parker remembered his
own first important case—all hell would not have
stopped him or have swerved him. Jowett was an
ambitious man. He was also a clever detective, and
he was animated by a very real liking for Mathew
Moreton. It would never do to antagonize Jowett; he
was bound to ferret, let him ferret unmolested.
“You have a perfect right to your conviction,”
Parker answered gravely. “There will, of course, be
the inquest, and any information you can bring to it
will be important. If there is a possibility of foul play,
of course the heirs will want to know it, and I’d want
to know it. You have your suspicions and your con-
viction, and I feel that you ought to be given every
opportunity to investigate, now, before the inquest.
Mrs. Moreton's not in a condition to give you permis-
sion, but I think I’m quite within my rights in saying,
“Go ahead and make every discovery you can.” . . .
But, Jowett, you know as well as I that an accusation,
even the statement of a suspicion, is a mighty serious
thing.” He ended a trifle sternly.
“I know all that,” Jowett said. His mental comment
was, “Lawyer to the backbone, but dead afraid I'm
right. The chauffeur's not the only man who's inter-


PARKER IS POLITIC 81
ested in that girl—and little wonder, if she looks at
every man as she looked at me.”
“Very well,” Parker returned. “Now, what can I do
to help you? You want the run of the house—you can
take my room to-night, if you want to? I shall get
my bag and camp out there in the library.”
Jowett considered a moment. “Yes, I'll take your
room—I want a chance to get about up-stairs. I’ll be
stirring about here in the study, too, part of the time.”
“Come on up with me then—but first let me see
whether we can lock this place.”. -
Parker went to the window-door, found a key in the
lock and turned it. He next examined the door into the
library and found that it also had a key. “That's all
right,” he said. “You can have the keys and go in
when you want to.”
As they left the room, Jowett said, “There's one
question I’d like to ask—is Miss Allen one of More-
ton’s heirs?”
Parker's answer was prompt. “I can't say as to
that. I know he was attached to her—he has probably
made some sort of provision for her.”
“I should judge so,” Jowett returned.


XI
JOWETT MAKES A DISCOVERY
ARKER and Jowett went up to Parker's room.
Parker secured his bag, unlocked it and thrust into
it a book that was lying on the bed, then locked it
again.
*I'll leave you now,” he said. “I want to see Dris-
coll a minute, then I'll go down.”
Jowett had glanced about the room, then had
watched Parker lock his bag. “I’d like to see him
too,” he remarked. “It was like a stage frame-up—
the way he came in down there in the study.”
“Very well—come with me then.”
They found Driscoll seated by one of the windows
in his room, slouched in a big chair, head hung, and
with the same disordered look about him which he had
worn when he had appeared in the study; he was still
in his pajamas.
“How are you?” Parker asked. “I thought I'd see
how you were, before I turned in.” -
“I’m right enough,” Driscoll answered tonelessly.
He straightened somewhat and the movement made
him catch his breath.
“What's wrong with your hand?” Jowett asked
quickly.
82


JOWETT MAKES A DISCOVERY 83
Driscoll’s hand and wrist were wrapped in a towel.
Driscoll looked down at it. “It’s strained,” he said.
“I’ll get Levene to look after it, by and by—I’ve got
a wet towel around it.”
“Let me see it,” Jowett offered. “Perhaps I can
do something for it.” Parker understood the eager-
ness the detective could not altogether eliminate from
his voice. He himself was galvanized by sudden in-
terest.
Jowett dropped on his knees beside Driscoll and be-
gan to unwrap the towel; Parker stood over them.
“Take care!” Driscoll said through his teeth. “It
hurts!”
His hand and his wrist and his arm were badly
swollen. And his hand was scratched. “How did you
do that?” Jowett asked. “Your other hand's scratched
too.”
“I don’t know—exactly,” Driscoll answered without
raising his eyes. “I was drunk after dinner—had had
a good deal in the afternoon and then wine at dinner,”
—he glanced up at Parker—“then that whisky—it was
that finished me. . . . I fell when I got to my
room, I suppose—anyway, I didn't notice I was hurt
until we lifted Aunt Lilian; then I saw my arm was
no good.”
One of Driscoll Moreton's characteristics was an
almost reprehensible candor, but now, neither his man-
ner nor his words were candid. He had a shamed


84 THE MORETON MYSTERY
look, and there also hung about him the indifference
of wretchedness.
There was a moment's silence, then Jowett said, “I
don't see how you ever managed to get out of your
clothes, with a wrist like that?” He spoke in the mild
tone one employs when bent upon eliciting informa-
tion from an unsuspecting child.
A little of the flippancy usual with Driscoll More-
ton tinged his answer. “Oh, I'd dress and undress
accurately enough, even when too drunk to remember
whether I’d simply scrapped with somebody or been
beaten up for trying to kiss a girl.” Jowett did not
know Driscoll, but Parker did; the speech was very
like him, and it was also the truth.
“You’ve got a bad arm there,” Jowett continued.
“The doctor ought to tend to it right away.”
“He'll be along,” Driscoll said indifferently. “He’s
fussing over Aunt Lilian just now.”
“I’m going to get him,” Jowett persisted. “You
oughtn't to let that go. It must hurt like the devil.”
Parker had no doubt that Jowett greatly desired to in-
vade Mrs. Moreton's privacy; the man was insatiable.
“Get him if you want to ! I don't care what you
do!” Driscoll exclaimed with sudden impatience. “I’m
not thinking about my arm—all I want is to be let
alone!”
Jowett seized upon the permission and hastened out.
Driscoll's flash of irritation was also very character-
istic, but the way in which he looked up at Parker,


JOWETT MAKES A DISCOVERY 85
as soon as Jowett had disappeared, and what he said
were not like the Driscoll Moreton Parker knew. “I’m
done!” he said. “I’ve drunk the last drop of that stuff
I’m going to ! Katie, the chambermaid, came in here
a few minutes ago with some brandy and begged me
to take it, and I wouldn't. Katie's a good sort—she
brought me this wet towel. . . . I made my vow,
down there in the study. I wish I’d listened to him
when he was living. I’ve been thinking, sitting here
alone, of what a beast I’ve been. No wonder a decent
girl won’t have anything to do with me!” His eyes
filled with tears. “And the last thought I had of him
was an ugly one—I wished I had some of his money.
I went up-stairs thinking that—with that damned
whisky burning me up! . . . I’ll sit here and give
it to myself till the man he wanted me to be gets so
worked into my marrow that I’ll walk straight—from
this night on.” He was unstrung, yet there was a
substrata of profound feeling and resolution beneath
his emotion.
Parker had his own thoughts, but all he said was,
“Your uncle would be glad to hear you say that.”
“Perhaps he does hear me,” Driscoll returned.
Jowett came in then. “Doctor Levene says he can't
leave Mrs. Moreton just now, but he'll come as soon
as he can.”
“Yes, he and his little black bag,” Driscoll said
contemptuously; then with weary indifference, “I’m
much obliged.” His sudden change of tone was prob-


86 THE MORETON MYSTERY
ably meant to cover his emotion; he kept his face
turned from Jowett.
“You had better go to bed,” Parker said.
“No. I told you—I’m going to sit here till morn-
ing. . It'll be the best thing I ever did for myself.”
His voice was husky again.
Parker motioned Jowett out and they went to the
head of the stairs together, but Parker made no refer-
ence to what Jowett must consider an important dis-
covery, not even when Jowett said, “I know a reporter
who knows Driscoll Moreton—he told me whisky had
a queer effect on him. He said, too, that Driscoll was
always broke and wanting money—he told me a lot
about Driscoll Moreton. . . . He spoke of him as
“Mathew Moreton's heir.’”
“Whisky intoxicates Driscoll—as it does most peo-
ple,” Parker returned equably. “But Driscoll's a good
sort, nevertheless. . . . Here are the keys to the
study, Jowett. I’m going to get a couple of hours'
sleep on the library divan, sometime before morning—
I propose to have a clear head for to-morrow's work.
You'll prowl about for the remainder of the night, I
suppose?”
“I’ll not do much sleeping.”
“Then will you wake me at daylight? I always
sleep on a case, but there's one bad thing about me—
I’m never able to wake myself at a given hour, as
some people can.”
“You can rely on me,” Jowett said.


XII
NO REAL MEETING GROUND
THE sun was shining brightly when Jowett
- aroused Parker. He sat up and looked about
him. “You let me oversleep!” he said sharply.
“I couldn't help myself,” the detective answered un-
perturbed. “I’ve had my hands full, Mr. Parker.”
Parker regarded him gravely, but his momentary
annoyance had passed. “You’ve had an eventful night
then? . . . Well, I slept soundly—after I got to
sleep. I feel better.”
Jowett showed the effects of a sleepless night; he
looked unrefreshed, thoughtful and grim. “Yes, I've
had plenty to occupy me. . . . I had to hurry down
to the station just at daylight, and the trip took me
longer than I expected.”
“I told you to call on me if there was anything I
could do to help you.”
“There wasn't anything you could do, Mr. Parker.
. . . I’d rather tell my story in sequence, if you
don’t mind: As soon as I'd parted from you, I over-
hauled the study and the passage beyond, and the
stairs—you probably heard me at it. I found that
87


88 THE MORETON MYSTERY
the boxed stairway goes up to a small landing which
has only one door, an entrance directly into Moreton's
bedroom—one can go up from the study into More-
ton's room and through it to the main hall. There's
also an up-stairs porch which crosses Moreton's bed-
room and the room next to it, which is an unoccupied
guest-room, and runs as far as Miss Allen's room.
One of her windows opens on it, and there is a door
opening from Moreton's bedroom on to the porch. I
wanted to examine Moreton's body next, but I had
given particular attention to that bottle of poison and
its cork, so, when I saw through Miss Allen's window
that she was not in her room, I took the opportunity
to search it. I was looking for a particular thing and
I found it. In her bathroom is a medicine cupboard,
and on the top shelf there are a number of empty
bottles, the larger ones labeled “Glycerine' or ‘Witch-
Hazel,” and several little one-ounce bottles labeled
“Rose-Water,’ all from the same New York drug-store.
The top shelf is dusty, and I found there a small dust
mark where one of those one-ounce bottles had re-
cently stood, and into which that bottle of poison ex-
actly fits. And I also found, in the waste-paper basket,
a little ball of paper. I opened it out; it was a label
like those on the one-ounce bottles in the cupboard,
and marked, “Rose-Water.” The cork to that one-
ounce labelless bottle of poison has an easily distin-
guishable odor of roses.”
Parker had bent over to put on his shoes. He


NO REAL MEETING GROUND 89
looked up. “That's interesting,” he said. “Was the
ball of paper wet or dry P’’
“Dry on the outside, damp in the center.”
“Did you find any trace of a bottle from which the
one-ounce bottle might have been filled?”
“No, I didn't find anything else in her room that in-
terested me particularly—but I hadn't much time to
give to it. I felt pretty certain that Miss Allen had
gone for a talk with the chauffeur, and she might
step in on me any moment. . . . Then I went around
by Moreton's room and through into the main hall.
Mrs. Moreton's apartment is directly across the hall
from her husband's; then there are several guest-
rooms on her side of the hall. On Moreton's side of
the hall are, first his room, next the unoccupied guest-
room, then Miss Allen's room, then your room, then
Driscoll's. Driscoll's door was open and I went in.
The doctor was bandaging his arm. I wanted the
doctor—I’d decided that we'd examine Moreton's
body together.
“So you're getting fixed up at last?' I said.
“Driscoll looked sick, he didn’t say anything, but the
doctor said, ‘I’ve been telling Driscoll that Mr. More-
ton's body ought to be examined, more thoroughly
than I was able to examine it in those few minutes.
Have you examined it?’
“‘When we were in the study, not since,' I told him.
‘I’d like to have a look over again.'
“Driscoll seems a blunt sort. ‘Go ahead and do it,


90 THE MORETON MYSTERY
you two, if you have any suspicions,’ he said. “To
my mind, it's a clear enough case of suicide.” He
looked worried though, fairly sick with anxiety. He
turned his head away and shut his eyes, and the doc-
tor came out with me. Neither of them asked if I
was a detective, but they both knew I was—the doctor
understood that as soon as he saw me in the study.
“Well, he went down with me, that back way and in
by the window-door, and on the way he said, ‘I agree
with Driscoll. He and I were talking of the state of
excitement in which Mr. Moreton left the dinner table
last night. Mr. Moreton was utterly unlike himself
during and after that fracas. I'm certain it's suicide,
but I want to make a more thorough examination be-
fore the inquest. I want to feel really satisfied that
there are no marks of violence.’
“I said nothing at all, I didn't even ask him what the
“fracas' was. We set to work, but we’d barely begun
when the window-door was pushed open—I hadn't
locked it behind us—and Miss Allen came in—”
Parker stopped short in his dressing. “Miss Al-
len—” he said.
“Yes, Miss Allen. . . . She came up to the desk
and stood there. I said nothing, but the doctor begged
her to leave and she refused pretty curtly. He got
scarlet then and let her alone. She stood there through-
out the whole thing, just holding on to the desk and
looking, her face like chalk and her eyes red. She'd
been crying hard and she did look a little thing, young
º
-**


NO REAL MEETING GROUND 91
and little and in trouble, but there was a stony look
about her, too. She's got grit, hard grain in her, that
girl, and will. Will enough for anything!”
Jowett paused. Evidently he had been impressed;
possibly he expected Parker to say something. But
Parker was silent, his face impassive. Jowett con-
tinued: “It made me feel queer, her standing there,
and it upset the doctor for a time, his hands shook.
He's nervous as a cat; physically he's a whiffet, but
he knows his business, that man. He cooled down
presently and regularly set to work. He made a good
examination—between us we made it thorough, I can
tell you.”
“And the result?” Parker asked.
“We found no suspicious marks—nothing.”
“And Miss Allen P”
“She stood there, holding to the desk, until we had
dressed the body, covered it and started to leave. She
looked positively ghastly, and I thought she was going
to faint, but when we started to go she turned and
went out ahead of us, straight up-stairs through
Moreton's bedroom and into the main hall, then into
her own room, without looking at us or speaking to
us. Doctor Levene said to me, “That's a strange thing
for a girl to do—I don't understand her.” It certainly
struck me as queer—how do you explain it, Mr.
Parker?”
“I hardly think a bad conscience brought her—that
wouldn't be correct criminal psychology—not as I
.


92 THE MORETON MYSTERY
have observed it,” Parker said dryly. Then with a
change of tone, “But affection might have brought
her and have held her there.”
Jowett considered Parker's answer, then he shrugged.
“Well, anyway, we went back up and, after we'd
talked for a time—the doctor appears to know a good
deal about the Moreton family—he went to Mrs.
Moreton's apartment and I went to your room. I
stayed there for a while and all the time I was there
I could hear Miss Allen in her room, walking the
floor—when she wasn't listening at her door to what
was going on, just as I was, for no one up there ap-
peared to be sleeping. Von Betler and the count didn't
go to bed—they talked together in the count's room
for a time, but most of the time Von Betler was with
his wife and Mrs. Insmann. Mrs. von Betler was ill
and had to have attention, and it was plain Von Betler
was worried over her—he seems to be very fond of
her. Doctor Levene was in and out, doctoring every-
body, as far as I could make out, but most of the
time in Mrs. Moreton's room. He told me, when we
were talking together, that he'd had ‘a tragic time'
with Mrs. Moreton—that she'd been “dangerously
near a total collapse,’ but was better. He talks like
a sissy, but he seems to have a kind heart—he was
certainly doing his best for everybody up there, Dris-
coll included.
“Then, near morning, I came down-stairs and had
a look around the first floor and the veranda. In the


NO REAL MEETING GROUND 93
dining-room, I ran into the little butler, Burke. From
the look of him, he'd not touched his pillow that night
—I believe he was on guard down there—he looked
it. I tried to talk with him, but he shut up tight. He's
a polite but resolute little Irishman, though he talks
cockney English. He said, ‘I’m sorry not to answer
questions, sir, but I’ve 'ad no orders to answer ques-
tions. Perhaps in the morning, sir, Mr. Driscoll or
Mr. Parker will tell me what's my duty—I’m quite
ready to do my duty, sir, though there's very little I
know about what's happened.’
“I let him be and went out to the garage. I wanted
to have a look at the chauffeur. The place wasn't
locked and the chauffeur's door was open. I got a
surprise then, for at the first glance I saw that he'd
flown.”
“Holt gone!” Parker exclaimed. “You’re sure of
that?” His brows had lowered.
“Gone—bag and baggage. . . . It didn't take me
long to digest the fact, and then I got the garage tele-
phone and arranged to have him shadowed, if he
should turn up in New York. I'd just finished that,
when a man came up from the park—he proved to be
the head-gardener. He said that about three-quarters
of an hour before, Holt had called him out from his
cottage by the park gate and had given him a letter
addressed to you which the gardener was to deliver
at the house. Holt told him he was on his way to the
station, that he wanted to catch the next train, and that


NO REAL MEETING GROUND 95
My new position is some distance away and is a really
important position, far more so than the one I have
occupied. I have to be on hand to the hour of agree-
ment or I lose it. I was going to tell Mr. Moreton
last night that I should be leaving early in the morning.
“Each month Mr. Moreton gave me a sum in ad-
vance for garage supplies, etc. I have deducted my
wages from the sum and my account for supplies is
in the locker in the garage, and, I think, will be found
Correct.
“I am exceedingly sorry to leave at this time, when
the Moreton family are in trouble. It is absolutely
necessary for me to reach my new position on time,
otherwise I would remain until I could tell the coroner
what little I know of Mr. Moreton's death. When I
parted from you last night, I hoped I might be able
to stay until noon, but I find that if I do stay I shall
not be able to make train connections. As I can not
appear at the inquest, I am enclosing a statement.
“Please accept my regrets and my sincere distress
over what has occurred.
. “Respectfully,
“Harry Holt.”
Jowett folded the note. “Um—” he said thought-
fully. “He writes like an intelligent, educated man.
But it was foolish of him to run. . . . I
wonder how the coroner will find—with a material
witness decamped after that fashion?”
Parker offered no opinion. He had given close at-
tention to the detective's recital and had decided that
Jowett had been unnecessarily minute as to detail and
altogether silent as to his deductions. He had evi-


96 THE MORETON MYSTERY
dently settled upon his course; there was going to be
no real meeting ground for them.
Parker had finished his dressing, had put on his
coat, and now he settled his collar with decision. His
air was energetic. “What the coroner’ll do remains to
be seen,” he said. “I’m going up to my room now and
wash up a bit,” and he lifted his locked satchel.
Jowett eyed him gravely. “Here are the keys you
loaned me,” he returned. “There are no traces of my
search in there—everything's just as it was.”
Parker pocketed the keys. “Very well,” he said
pleasantly. “I’ll see you later then, Jowett.”


XIII
THE BUTLER TAKES A HAND
ARELY had Parker reached his room when he
was disturbed by a mild knock on his door.
It proved to be the butler bearing a tray. “It’s your
breakfast, sir,” Burke said. “Mrs. Moreton thought
the guests would prefer to breakfast in their rooms.”
“Mrs. Moreton is better then, Burke?” Parker
asked.
“Yes, sir—very weak, Doctor Levene says, sir, but
comin' 'round from the shock and quite herself again.”
“That's good.”
“I’ll set it for you on the table 'ere by the window,
sir. There's coffee and toast and eggs and fruit;
would you like anything else, sir?”
“No, no, nothing more—though I’ll do justice to
what you’ve brought. Strangely enough, I'm hungry.”
“Yes, sir—it's something to be sitting down to
breakfast with a good conscience, sir. . . . Shall
I put your things to rights, sir? The footman's serv-
ing across the 'all—I’m looking after the family.”
“Across the 'all,” referred to the Von Betlers, the
count, and Mrs. Insmann. And Burke's remark anent
“a good conscience,” was curious.
–
97 4


THE BUTLER TAKES A HAND 99
“You’ve been some time with Mr. Moreton, then?”
“Ten years, sir—come this autumn. 'Twas Mr.
Moreton brought me over from England ten years ago.
I was butler to Sir Donald Blair, sir, before that—for
twelve years—till he died.”
“And I’ve been connected with Mr. Moreton for
six years—that was a terrible thing, last night, Burke.”
“It was, sir! I've never in my life had a worse
turn. It was the surprise of it, partly, sir.”
“Then you didn't notice anything unusual about Mr.
Moreton when you took him the water last night?”
“No, sir—not what you would call anything un-
natural. He seemed moved, though, sir, and I was
moved myself, after what 'ad 'appened at dinner, sir.
When I set the tray on the desk, he looked up at me
so—under his brows—it was a way he 'ad of looking
sometimes—and he nodded his head. “We’re well
over fifty, Burke,” he says, “but some day we'll break
out. We’ll shoulder muskets and make for the front,
eh, Burke?' and he laughed in his throat, like.”
“And you, Burke—what did you say?” Parker
asked gravely.
Burke straightened. “I stood so, sir—and saluted.
And he laughed again, and I went out. . . . That's
the last I seen of him livin'.” Burke's voice faltered
somewhat.
“Yes, you appear to be the last person who saw
Mr. Moreton alive. . . . You should tell Miss
Allen about it, Burke—I imagine it would be a great


100 . THE MORETON MYSTERY
comfort to her. She was very devoted to Mr. More-
ton, wasn't she?” -
“Yes, sir. . . . . Shall I put this suit in the bag,
sir?”
“Yes, please, Burke. . . . And Mrs. Moreton
would be comforted by it, too.”
“These under-things, sir—how about them?” Burke
asked with even greater reserve.
But Parker persisted. “In the bag, too, Burke.
- As for some of those at dinner last night, I
wonder if they guessed that, whatever Mr. Moreton
may have done subsequently, he was merely grimly
playing with them at dinner.”
That struck fire. “You’ve said it, sir! Are they
thinkin' a man like Mr. Moreton would have his brain
upset by the likes of them! Not by no means, sir!
There was no steadier head ever put on a man's shoul-
ders than Mr. Moreton's head on his body, sir! Me
that's been with him ten years knows that! He 'ad
his troubles, sir, and he was sharp-spoken sometimes
—he made hot young fellows like Holt champ the bit
and he made silly, conceited people feel small, and
sometimes he flashed out speeches he didn't mean, but
he was a good man, sir.”
Parker was in haste, but he found Burke well worth
while. “He ad his troubles,” was significant; Par-
ker scented a fund of information in Burke. He also
decided that the little butler was clever, much too
shrewd to be even “skilfully handled.” For some


THE BUTLER TAKES A HAND 101
reason of his own, he had chosen to give Parker an
account of his last sight of Moreton, and Parker was
certain that he had purposely mentioned Holt.
So Parker ventured the question, “What sort was
Holt, Burke? They tell me that his month was up
yesterday and that he has gone—cut the inquest.”
“Yes, sir—so they say. I don't know him, sir—he
kept by himself always.”
It seemed to Parker that he spoke coldly. “Where
was his home—how came Mr. Moreton to hire him?”
Parker asked.
“I don't know that, sir, but it would not be like
Mr. Moreton to take a man without reference. Holt
was a good chauffeur, sir.”
“But hot-tempered?”
“He is young, sir—that's all I meant to say,” Burke
protested.
Parker had made short work of his breakfast, and
now he rose. “Well, Burke, I hope you'll not forsake
the family in their trouble.”
“I 'ave no wish to do so, sir. . . . But it will
be Mrs. Moreton will decide about the servants for
Moreton House, I suppose, sir.” There was a cau-
tious question in the supposition.
“All that will work out later, Burke, but you may
tell the servants from me that I hope they will go right
on with their work, and that I am certain none of
them will regret sticking to their places. I know that
would have been Mr. Moreton's wish.”


102 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Yes, sir. . . . . . And may I ask, sir—is it true
there's a detective in the 'ouse? The servants have
taken on about it—for instance, there is Katie, sir,
one of the chambermaids, was on her knees all night,
upset something terrible, and when they said there was
a detective here as well as there going to be an inquest,
she got into 'ysterics. They 'ave no sense, sir, them
Irish.”
Parker remembered that Driscoll had mentioned the
chambermaid; she had brought him the wet towel.
He made a mental note of “Katie”; undoubtedly it
was Burke's purpose that he should. “There is a de-
tective here and he will be present at the inquest, but
there is no reason why any one should feel nervous
because of that. What is it troubles Katie, Burke?”
“She hasn't told me, sir, so I don't know,” Burke
answered with an instant return to caution.
Parker was half amused and half irritated. No
wonder Jowett had decided to “let him be”; he was a
perfect little oyster. Nevertheless, Parker surmised
that Burke could have told him some interesting
things; he knew a deal more than Jowett was likely
to discover. One thing was certain, the man dreaded
the inquest; there was something or other he wanted
to hide.
Parker tried him on another point. “Have you
taken Mr. Driscoll his breakfast yet, Burke?”
“Yes, sir. He rang for me to his room, to 'elp him
on with his clothes—because of his arm.”


THE BUTLER TAKES A HAND 103
“It seems to be a bad sprain—how did he hurt it?”
“He spoke of a fall, sir—after dinner last night.”
“And is Miss Allen down yet, Burke?”
“She's 'ad her breakfast in the library, sir. . . .
And that makes me think, Mrs. Moreton has been ask-
ing for the keys to the study, sir—Doctor Levene was
down asking about them for Mrs. Moreton. He says
Mrs. Moreton was worried for fear people would be
going in before the coroner came. . . . Miss Allen
took her coffee, sir, and then she went out-of-doors.”
Parker gave him the keys. “The room is locked
and the windows fastened. Give the keys to Mrs.
Moreton and nobody else.”
Burke gave him a fleeting glance. “I will, sir.
And your bag—if you will unlock it, sir, I’ll
put in these folded things.”
“Just leave them on the bed, as they are, Burke. I
can't tell just when I'll be leaving.”
“Yes, sir. I 'ope you'll be staying till to-morrow
though, sir—the 'ouse seems distracted, with no one
to take hold. . . . Across the 'all, they’ve sent for
Mr. von Betler's car, and the count has telephoned
into town for his car, so they expect to be leaving
just after the inquest.”
“Is Doctor Levene also going?” Parker asked.
“I think not, sir—not with them.”
“Mrs. Moreton, of course, is not well enough to be
left.”
“Probably not, sir.”


104 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Parker took up his hat. “Did you notice what di-
rection Miss Allen took, Burke? I want to see her.”
There was the briefest pause before Burke answered
firmly, “No, sir.”
As Parker went out he said to himself, “I’ll wager
that's another man she holds ‘between her little
hands.’” He also surmised that Burke had been as
intent upon sounding him as he had been intent upon
sounding Burke. Was there any one in that house
who was not suspicious of his neighbor—suspicious
and watchful?


"106 THE MORETON MYSTERY
if she's in her room, if you wish. . . . Will you
wait here, sir?”
“Yes, yes,” Parker said impatiently. He felt cer-
tain that Burke knew where Nixie was.
Burke returned promptly. “Miss Allen is not up-
stairs, sir.”
“Have you any idea where she is?” Parker asked.
“It’s important, Burke—I want to see her.”
But Burke remained firm. “I don't know, sir.”
Parker was both irritated and anxious. “It will
never do for her not to be at the inquest,” he said
warningly. If Burke knew where the girl had hidden
herself, and Parker was certain he did, he might take
the word to her.
“I think she must be about the place—she'd 'ardly
stay away from the inquest, I think, sir,” Burke said
mildly.
“Have you seen Mr. Jowett? Do you know where
he is?” Parker asked. It was quite possible that Jowett
had seen Nixie.
“I saw him go to the garage a bit ago, sir.”
The garage doors were closed and locked, but
Parker heard some one moving about inside. He
rapped, and presently Jowett unlocked the doors and
revealed himself, smudged and in his shirt-sleeves.
“Oh, it's you!” he said. “I thought it was the gar-
dener with the new chauffeur. The gardener's on the
track of a man to take Holt's place—he says they are
so short-handed here, the draft took so many of their


“I asked her if she knew where the chauffeur had gone”


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GUESSING AT THOUGHTS 107
assistants. . . . The coroner hasn't come yet, has
he P’’ He went over to a set-basin and began to wash
his hands.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” Parker answered. “I’m
looking for Miss Allen—have you seen her?”
“You’re not disturbing me—it’ll have to wait any-
way—it’s about time for the coroner. . . . Yes,
Miss Allen was here when I first came in. She came
out of the tool-room back there,” and Jowett pointed
to a door opening off the garage. “I’ve been over-
hauling things back there myself, for from the looks
of her hands she'd been messing around the old tires
and stuff that's stored there. . . . She was white
as paper when I walked in on her, and then got red.
When I asked her point-blank what she was about, she
didn't answer, only looked at me. I tried to talk to
her a little—among other things, I asked her if she
knew where the chauffeur had gone, and she answered
me curtly enough, “I don't know,’ and walked out with
her head up.” Jowett appeared thoroughly irritated.
“Did you see which way she went?” Parker asked.
“Straight to the house,” Jowett answered, giving
the roller-towel rough handling. “She went around by
the veranda.”
Parker himself felt ruffled, though he did not show
it. He desired greatly to know just what course the
detective would take at the inquest. Much depended
on Jowett, and Parker thought he knew his man, but
he was not certain. It was a thing he would not ask.
*


108 THE MORETON MYSTERY
He looked at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes to
nine—I’ll go back to the house. The coroner ought to
be along in a few minutes.”
Jowett shoved some tools from a bench. “Why not
wait here,” he returned. “I’m going to-I confess I'm
tired.” He looked it, but at the same time there was
an air of tensity about him.
Parker sat down, and, for a few minutes, the two
nursed their knees in silence. Then Jowett said ab-
ruptly, “It always irritates me when I can't place a
face. I’m living certain that I've seen Holt before! It
grows on me that I have, but I can't grasp the connec-
tion. You know a deal about sporting events; Holt's
the pugilist type—have you ever seen him in the
ring?”
“No, I’d remember him, if I had. I never saw him
until I came here yesterday.”
“I’ve been trying to think if I hadn't seen him at
some prize-fight. . . . He has anything but a good-
looking phiz—he's noticeably ugly—but a superb body.
. I feel he's given me the slip, in a way.”
Parker felt, as he had felt with Burke, that Jowett
was talking for a purpose. He answered equably,
“He ought to be easily traced—he's too physically per-
fect a specimen to escape notice. . . . I agree with
what you said this morning, that he's a fool to run.”
Jowett's answer surprised Parker. “I fancy he's not
run very far.”
“In hiding, near by, you think?” The quite new


GUESSING AT THOUGHTS 109
idea that Holt was in the neighborhood, possibly hid-
den somewhere by Nixie, gave sharpness to Parker's
question.
Perhaps Jowett guessed Parker's thoughts; at any
rate he spoke next of Nixie. “From that memoran-
dum on Moreton's desk, he's evidently been trying to
hunt up Miss Allen's parentage. That must have been
the job he was going to put me on. . . . What's
her history, Mr. Parker—how did Moreton come to
take her into his family?”
This line of questioning was intensely disagreeable
to Parker. If Jowett was intent on irritating him, he
had selected the right subject. “I don't know much
about the circumstances,” he replied in the same equa-
ble way. “She's been with them since she was a child,
I believe, and I understood Moreton to say that it was
Mrs. Moreton who had wanted to take the child, in the
first place.”
“But I noticed that Miss Allen did not go to Mrs.
Moreton when Mrs. Moreton had her fit of hysterics
last night,” Jowett returned shrewdly.
“I remember, she didn't. . . . The fact is, Jowett,
I know almost as little as you do about the Moreton
family. This is the first time I've ever been in their
home—it's all about as new to me as it is to you.”
Jowett's lips twitched slightly. Then he straightened
and pointed: “There they come!”
He stood up and looked keenly at the two automo-
biles which had come up from the park and were cir-


'110 THE MORETON MYSTERY
cling the driveway. Then he asked abruptly, “What's
the coroner's name?”
“Henry—William Henry.”
Jowett whistled softly.
“Why—do you know him?” Parker asked.
“I didn't connect him with Ford's Landing,” Jowett
answered somewhat absently, his eyes fixed on the man
who was driving the foremost automobile. Then he
said with decision, “You bet I know—of him! .
Come on, Mr. Parker—we'll see now, what we shall
see '''


XV
THE HOUSEHOLD COLLECTS
HILE the coroner and his jury were busied in
the study, the household collected in the library.
Jowett and Parker were among the first to appear;
then the Von Betlers and the count came in, and the
servants began to gather, hanging back in a group near
the hall door. Driscoll Moreton came in alone, looking
pale and harassed and carrying his arm in a sling, but
as carefully dressed as usual. In a few moments Mrs.
Moreton appeared, leaning on Mrs. Insmann's arm and
with a maid in attendance bearing a black-edged hand-
kerchief and a bottle of smelling-salts. Doctor Levene,
who had received the coroner's party and had been
talking with them in the study, came out to Mrs.
Moreton and helped her to a chair. She was very
white, looked weak and ill and walked uncertainly.
Parker noticed, however, that she was becomingly
gowned in filmy black and that her beautiful hair was
elaborately dressed.
Nixie was the last to appear, and Parker drew a
breath of relief when he saw her. She also looked ill,
her skin was dull and there were heavy circles about
her eyes. Certainly she had given no thought to her
111


*112 THE MORETON MYSTERY
appearance, for her curls were gathered in a hurried
knot on the top of her head and thrust through by a
big hairpin, and her dress, a loosely belted morning-
gown of some summer material, was none too fresh;
there were several smudges on the skirt, acquired prob-
ably in the garage. She stood apart, her full lips tight-
Set.
When she came in, Driscoll, who was standing be-
side Parker and Jowett, started toward her, but a
veritable blaze lifted in Nixie's eyes. Driscoll dropped
back, and Parker heard him sigh. Jowett also had
noticed, and he eyed the young man keenly. Burke
was the only person who approached Nixie; the cor-
oner had ordered chairs to be brought into the study,
and, as Burke passed her, carrying a chair, he stopped
and spoke to her and she nodded. Of all the grave
faces in the room, the little butler's was perhaps the
saddest; his withered cheeks were pallid and his mouth
drooped. He looked very old and troubled as he limped
in and out of the study.
When the entire household had collected, Parker
went into the study and gave the coroner Holt's letter,
both Holt's letter to him and the enclosure. Parker
explained briefly, and the coroner said with surprise,
“He went and left this?”
He read Holt's letter to Parker, then the letter ad-
dressed to himself, while Parker studied him keenly.
He was a medium-sized man, rather frail-looking and
slightly stooped, with a sparse, closely cut beard and


THE HOUSEHOLD COLLECTS 113
weak spectacled eyes. His general appearance sug-
gested the small-town shop-keeper of the more intel-
ligent order. Parker had glanced the jury over; they
were plainly dressed men, none too intelligent-looking,
very evidently citizens of Ford's Landing.
The coroner folded the letter. “I must talk with the
jury about this,” he said gravely. “This man, Holt,
certainly can not be reached to-day, nor for several
days. He has given an address, but it is at a distance.
He has made what seems like a complete statement,
however. . . . Doctor Levene spoke of you, Mr.
Parker—you were Mr. Moreton's lawyer—what
would you do in my place?”
“I think it is a matter for you to decide, Mr. Henry.
There certainly are those present who can identify
Holt's signature, and Miss Allen was with Holt when
the discovery was made, so there is one witness present
who can give an account of it.”
“Yes, so I understand. I shall proceed with the in-
quest. . . . I shall be glad of any suggestions you
can offer, Mr. Parker.”
“I have none to offer, Mr. Henry.”
Parker went back into the library and took his
former position beside Jowett. A few minutes later,
at the coroner's request, they all filed in, the family
taking the foremost row of chairs in the semicircle
which was so disposed that every one in the room
would face the coroner and Moreton's covered body.
The coroner had placed a table before his own chai;


114 THE MORETON MYSTERY
and had grouped the jury; he had given the large
office-like room as nearly as possible the appearance of
a Court room.
Parker chose the end seat of the semicircle; by turn-
ing slightly, he could see every face in the room. And,
perhaps with the same motive, Jowett took the seat
next to Parker. Doctor Levene had guided Mrs. More-
ton to the other end of the semicircle. He sat beside
her and her maid sat just behind her. The servants
came in last, and Parker noticed that Burke slipped
into the chair behind Nixie.
When Mrs. Moreton entered the study she had
glanced once about the room, had looked shrinkingly
at her husband's covered body, and had seemed about
to faint. Her maid hurriedly offered the smelling-
salts, and Doctor Levene spoke in Mrs. Moreton's ear.
He was evidently anxious about his patient and was
doing his best to brace her for the ordeal. Mrs. More-
ton nodded in answer and pressed her hand to her
eyes. She sat in that position, motionless, except for
the occasional shiver which shook her.
There was silence while the coroner arranged the
papers on his table.


XVI
AN ACCUSATION
HE coroner looked up finally and by a few pre-
cise questions established the fact that the entire
household and every employee about the place, with the
exception of the chauffeur, were now present.
Then he lifted a paper. “I have here a communica-
tion from Harry Holt, the chauffeur—is there any one
here who knows Harry Holt's writing?”
There was silence. Then a woman's steady voice
answered, “I know it. I have often seen garage ac-
counts he made out for Mr. Moreton.” It was Nixie
who had answered; she was sitting very erect, her
hands clasped in her lap.
“What is your name—and your position in the fam-
ily?” the coroner asked, as one would address a serv-
ant.
“My name is Nixola Allen. . . . I—Mr. More-
ton always treated me like a member of the family. I
have lived six years with Mr. and Mrs. Moreton—”
“Nixie was Uncle Mathew's ward,” Driscoll inter-
rupted sharply. “My uncle treated her as he would a
daughter.”
“I see. . . . Will you look at this signature, Miss
Allen.”
*
115


116 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Nixie rose and walked to the table, glanced at the
folded sheet the coroner held out to her and said
firmly, “Yes, that is Holt's writing.”
“Very well.”
Parker reflected that politeness might have moved
the man to bring the paper to Nixie, but, apparently,
he was not gifted with consideration. The jury stared
at Nixie. When Driscoll had rebuked the coroner,
Mrs. Moreton had taken her hand from her eyes and
had straightened. She also looked at the girl, her face
grown hard.
The coroner was proceeding. “Will you please tell
us now, Miss Allen, all you know of the circumstances
surrounding Mr. Moreton's death?”
Nixie evidently possessed quick perceptions; her
mental comments had probably been much the same as
Parker's. At any rate, her rejoinder was curt: “Do
you mean how Holt and I came to find Mr. Moreton?”
“That first, if you like.”
Nixie gave almost word for word the account she
had given the night before, only without pauses. She
began steadily and ended firmly. The only variation
in her account was when she spoke of “the door.”
Then she pointed to the window-door which stood half
open.
“You say you did not see Mr. Moreton the first time
you looked in, and then you speak of an “afterward.”
How long afterward did you make the discovery?”
“I don't know just how long.”


AN ACCUSATION 117
“Several minutes?”
“It must have been.” Her voice was less clear.
“Were you standing at the door during that time,
you and the chauffeur?”
She did not answer for a moment. Parker, who
was observing her as intently as he had ever observed
any witness, saw the color come in her cheeks. Sud-
denly she gained resolution. “No. As soon as I saw
that only the reading-light was burning and that Mr.
Moreton wasn't at the desk, I thought he must have
gone up to his room, and I told Holt that I’d go up
and see. Holt went up to Mr. Moreton's bedroom
door with me. He waited on the landing up there and
I knocked and then I went into Mr. Moreton's room,
for I thought he must be on the porch—his bedroom
opens on it and he often sits there. But he wasn't there
either, and I climbed in at my window, from the porch,
my bedroom window, and went out by my door to the
up-stairs hall. I went down the stairs then to the front
hall”—she pointed in the direction of the library—
“and looked in at the library, but he wasn't there. I
went right back up-stairs then, and through my room
again to the porch and then through Mr. Moreton's
room to the landing. Holt was waiting there and I told
him I couldn't find Mr. Moreton, that possibly he had
gone out-of-doors. We talked on the stairs for a time,
then we went down and I thought I had betterlook into
the study again to make sure and that time I opened the
door wider and we went into the room. . . . Then


118 THE MORETON MYSTERY
we saw Mr. Moreton lying on the floor by the desk—
I’ve told you the rest.” She ended abruptly.
“Why were you so eager to find Mr. Moreton?” the
coroner asked.
“Because Holt had told Mr. Moreton that he was
going at the end of his month and Mr. Moreton
seemed to have forgotten about it. Holt was one of
the best chauffeurs Mr. Moreton had ever had and I
knew it would bother Mr. Moreton to be left without
anybody. Mr. Moreton had been away from Moreton
House for over a week and Holt was going in the
morning. He wanted to see Mr. Moreton and ex-
plain.”
“Did he need your help for that?”
“I don't know that he did,” she retorted, “but I was
quite willing to help him find Mr. Moreton. Holt had
told me that he had to go and I was anxious for Mr.
Moreton to know—Mr. Moreton had made no ar-
rangements for a chauffeur, and in the morning he
would be without one.”
“I do not understand why you climbed through
your window to reach the hall? I noticed when I went
up-stairs that there is a door from Mr. Moreton's
room into the hall.”
Again Nixie paused and her already high color
deepened. “I didn't want any one to see me coming
out of his room,” she said finally. “I never go into
Mr. Moreton's room—in that way. I went in last night


AN ACCUSATION 119
only because I was so sure he was on the porch—and
Holt was waiting and anxious to see him.”
The coroner paused and stirred the papers on the
table before he asked his next question. “Miss Allen,
do you know whether of late Mr. Moreton had mat-
ters on his mind which caused him worry—any de-
cided anxiety?”
Nixie's eyes dropped to Moreton's still body. Her
lips quivered and the flush in her cheeks faded. She
was silent so long that several people in the room
stirred and sighed, made nervous by the tense silence.
“He had—worries—” she answered at last and in a
low voice, “but they would never—make him do that.
He was too splendid and strong to do that!”
There was measureless pain in her husky voice, and a
vibrant note, some intense feeling not easy to analyze.
Judged by years and her appearance, she was a very
young girl, but her emotion, whatever it was, be-
longed to a woman richly endowed with feeling.
The coroner's question, following as it did upon
that note of profound emotion, sounded harsh. “Will
you tell us of what nature were these ‘worries' you
mention?”
Nixie lifted her eyes to his. “No,” she said with
finality. “They were confidences.”
“You know that you are under oath, Miss Allen.”
The answer flashed from her lips. “I know that!
There are others who can answer your question—if


120 THE MORETON MYSTERY
they want to " Her look and manner expressed de-
testation both of him and his questioning. From the
beginning, there had been ill-concealed antagonism in
her manner.
“I am here to discover every fact which may throw
light upon this tragedy,” the coroner said sternly,
“however painful my duty may be to the person ques-
tioned.” His thin cheeks had flushed.
“And there's no one more anxious to have you suc-
ceed than II” Nixie returned passionately. “But I'll
not betray confidences! I've told you Mr. Moreton did
have worries, and I’ve also told you that I know they
would never have made him do that.” And she pointed
to the fatal bottle on the desk.
The coroner made a note. “We will take that up
later,” he said evenly. “Katie Kearney?”
He was answered by a gasp. “Yes—sir—” The
chambermaid, a pretty gray-eyed, black-haired girl,
blue about the lips from fright, grasped the back of
Driscoll's chair and struggled to her feet.
“There's nothing to be terrified about, Katie,” the
coroner said reassuringly. “Just answer my questions
truthfully—that's all we ask of you.”
“Yes—sir—”
“Now, Katie—just tell us about yesterday—all you
know about it—take your time.”
Katie seemed unable to begin.
“Were you here when Mr. Moreton came home yes-
terday, Katie?”


AN ACCUSATION 121
*Yes—sir—”
“Did you see him?”
“Yes, sir.” She was gaining confidence.
“How did he seem? His usual self?”
“No, sir—he was angry.”
“Angry with you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” And Katie suddenly found her
Irish tongue. “It wasn't me he was angry with, sir—
it was a dollar he give me! I come through the hall
up-stairs and he was comin' through walkin' fast
afther he'd come from the automobile with the lawyer
gentleman and Burke was takin' the gentleman to his
room, and Mr. Moreton was frownin' an' he says to
me, ‘Is Mrs. Moreton back yet, Katie?’ he says. And
I says, ‘No, sir.’ And he said, “When she gets back
you come an' tell me—at once!” and he shut his bed-
room door. It was mad he was, and I was scared—
some one was goin' to catch it. But it wasn't me, for
he’d give me a dollar, and I went down-stairs. It
was the cook put me off—she was scoldin’ about some-
thing—and thrue to God, sir, I forgot all about Mrs.
Moreton's gettin' back till the hour aftherward! Then
I run up to tell Mr. Moreton, but there he was comin'
out of Mrs. Moreton's room—” Katie stopped.
“Yes?” said the coroner.
“He was speakin’ loud, sir—and he says, “It will
drive me to suicide, Lilian! The thought of the fu-
ture makes me sick" and he went into his room and
shut the door.” She ended in a sort of breathless awe.


122 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Did you ever hear Mr. Moreton speak in that way
before, Katie?”
* “No, sir—never to say a thing like that.”
s “Did you see Mr. Moreton again yesterday?”
: “No, sir—not till I seen him like he is—now. . . .
All us girls, except Mrs. Moreton's maid and Mrs.
von Betler's maid, was in our rooms talkin' together;
we'd been up there all evening, and I come with the
rest when we all run down into this room . . . and
there Mr. Moreton lay—an' rememberin’ what he'd
said to Mrs. Moreton, I was 'most crazy, an' I run
first thing up an’ pounded on Mr. Driscoll’s door to
tell him—an' then I run back down here. .
They whispered to me, ‘He's dead,” they says, an' I
couldn't do nothing but just pray. . . . Mr. More-
ton, he was always—good—to us—girls—” She had
flung her apron over her head and was sobbing aloud.
Hers were not the only wet eyes in the room. Dris-
coll's were full of tears. He turned about and put his
hand on Katie's shoulder, “Don’t cry, Katie,” he said
kindly. “Hush, now,” and she quieted somewhat.
Nixie had not stirred. She looked fixedly at Moreton's
still form, her face hard as granite. Mrs. Moreton
kept her eyes covered.
The cook, a belligerent-looking Irishwoman of snub
features and ample girth, took Katie in charge and
vigorously reproved her: “What kind of a noise to be
makin' now, Katie—and him lyin' there! Shame to
ye! . . . It's down sick ye'll be, shure!” Her own


AN ACCUSATION 123
cheeks were wet and she mopped them energetically,
then applied the damp handkerchief to Katie's swollen
eyes.
“Mrs. Horgan?” the coroner said.
The big woman stopped her ministrations and got
to her feet. “That's me, sir!” she declared pugna-
ciously.
“Will you—”
“There's nothin' I know to tell yous!” she inter-
rupted. “How should there be? I’tend to my cooking
and it's God's truth I’ve my hands full wid it! It's no
time I have for gossipin’ about th' family! I don't
know a thing about it. I was in me room undressin’
when them two, Mrs. Moreton's maid an’ Mrs. von
Betler's, run up cryin' to th’ girls what had happened,
an' I come on down and seen Mr. Moreton lyin' still,
God rest his soul!”—she crossed herself—“and
that’s all I know, exceptin' that he was a good mas-
ther. He had a kind heart in him for them that works,
had Mr. Moreton. . . . Once a month regular he'd
come into th' kitchen an’ slip me a ten-dollar bill. ‘Get
some cloridy of lime, Mrs. Horgan,’ he’d say. It was
just his joke—makin' fun of me pronunciation—poor
soul—” Her voice had broken and then she caught
herself up and settled into ferocity. “That's all th’
testhermony I’ve got to give, an’ yous are welcome
to it!”
“That will do, Mrs. Horgan,” and the coroner went
impassively on. He questioned servant after servant.


124 THE MORETON MYSTERY
They had noticed nothing unusual about Mr. Moreton,
either on the day of his death or previously. They
had seen no strangers about the place, everything
about Moreton House had been just as usual, and they
either could not or would not tell of any family dis-
sensions. Mrs. Moreton's maid had been with Mrs.
Moreton only a week, and testified that she and Mrs.
von Betler's maid had spent the evening in Mrs.
Moreton's apartment, waiting for their respective
mistresses to retire, and that she, Mrs. Moreton's
maid, had left the room only once, a little after ten
o'clock, when, at an order transmitted through Burke,
she had taken down to Mrs. Moreton, who was on the
veranda, a wrap and her bottle of smelling-salts. That,
when the alarm was given, she and Mrs. von Betler's
maid had run up to tell the other servants.
The footman, who appeared to be a stupid sort and
much frightened, testified that Mr. Moreton had
“talked angry about the war at dinner.” He also had
been with the family for only a few days. The head-
gardener, an intelligent man, said that Mr. Moreton
usually got “very earnest” when he talked about the
war. That Mr. Moreton was “wrapped up” in the
war. The draft had taken all of the gardener's assist-
ants, and that Mr. Moreton had given every man of
them a handsome present when he left. He admitted
that Mr. Moreton seemed to have something on his
mind lately—that he often looked worried. Mr. More-
ton was a good master, the head-gardener declared;


AN ACCUSATION 125
he “thought a deal of Mr. Moreton;” he had been
head-gardener at Moreton House for five years.
He also testified as to Holt's departure and the letter
Holt had entrusted to him. No, he had not known
that Holt was going at the end of his month. Asked
about Holt, he declared that the young fellow was a
“fine” chauffeur, there couldn't be a better. “Holt was
uppish,” he never had anything to do with the other
servants, and he was hot-tempered, “but he sure
'tended fine to his work and minded his own business.”
No, Holt had not seemed excited the night before,
only in a hurry to get his train. Neither the head-
gardener nor any of the other outdoor employees had
seen any suspicious characters about the place. None
of the servants had seen any one about who didn't
belong to the place, except Mr. Jowett, and they had
seen him for the first time when they came into the
study the night before.
Then the coroner interrogated Burke. He elicited
the fact that Burke was English and that he had
served the family for ten years; also that Mr. Moreton
reposed confidence in him, though Burke was modest
in this admission. “I was never more than a trusted
servant, sir,” Burke protested. “Mr. Moreton was not
the man to talk of his affairs with a servant.” Burke
was evidently determined to establish that fact in ad-
Vance.
“You served at dinner last night, Burke, did you
not? Will you give us an account of what passed?”


126 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Yes, sir,” and Burke gave a very accurate but en-
tirely colorless account of what was said and done up
to the time of Moreton's withdrawal into the study.
The coroner pressed him to describe Moreton's
manner. “Was Mr. Moreton excited when he spoke?”
“No, sir, it 'adn’t occurred to me that he was, sir.”
“Angry, then?”
“No, sir, 'ardly that, sir.”
“Just what impression did his manner make upon
you? You surely received an impression of some sort,
Burke?”
Burke's even delivery did not vary. “I thought his
manner earnest, sir.”
“But not excited?”
“Determined, rather, sir.”
“You took the pitcher and glass to him, then, did
you, Burke?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Describe what passed.”
“When I went in he was writing at his desk, sir.
When I set the tray down, he looked up at me. “We’re
well over fifty, Burke,” he says, “but some day we'll
break out. We’ll shoulder muskets and make for the
front, eh, Burke?' And I saluted, sir, and went out.
That's the last time I saw Mr. Moreton livin', sir.”
There was the faintest variation in Burke's even voice,
just at the end, otherwise he might have been describ-
ing the most ordinary of occurrences. His account
lacked entirely the thrill he had imparted to it when


AN ACCUSATION 127
talking with Parker. If he was purposely endeavoring
to appear stupid, he almost succeeded.
“I must ask you again to describe Mr. Moreton's
manner?” the coroner said with a touch of asperity.
“He seemed earnest, sir.”
“More so than usual?”
“No, sir—not unnaturally so, sir.” It would be
difficult to conceive of anything more unimaginative
than Burke's manner, or more faultlessly polite.
“You have been many years with Mr. Moreton—
have you noticed whether, of late, he was more ir-
ritable or excitable than was customary with him?”
“I can’t say as to that, sir. I 'ad such respect for
Mr. Moreton that whatever he did or said seemed
quite as it should be, just Mr. Moreton, you see, sir.”
“Do you know of his having worries or anxieties
during the last few days, or the last few months?”
Burke's air was more positive. “Mr. Moreton never
at any time mentioned such matters to me, sir, there-
fore I know nothing whatever about it.” -
The coroner nodded curtly, and the little white-
haired man sat down. Jowett chuckled under his
breath, and even Parker's lips twitched slightly; not
an easy witness to handle, that! The jury whispered
together, as they had when Nixie had flung her de-
fiance at the coroner. But they asked no questions.
The coroner made a note, then called upon Von
Betler. Von Betler stated that his father had been a
German and his mother an American; that he was


128 THE MORETON MYSTERY
American born and bred. He said that he had known
the Moreton family for a number of years, for his
wife had been a lifetime friend of Mrs. Moreton,
but that he had seen very little of Mr. Moreton since
Germany declared war, for until America entered the
war he had remained strictly neutral and he and Mr.
Moreton had differed on the advisability of America's
participating in the struggle. Von Betler stated that
America's entrance into the war had radically changed
his attitude. It was a call upon his patriotism, and since
the moment of America's actual entrance into the war
he had both openly and privately stood for America
and her interests. Von Betler also stated that from the
moment Germany had declared war his wife had been
strongly pro-Ally and an earnest worker in many war
charities. “A patriotic wife and a stanch American is
the best possession an American of mixed sympathies
can have,” Von Betler declared with no little feeling.
“She sets his feet on the right path.” Von Betler said
that he had come to Moreton House with the hope of
having an old-time heart-to-heart talk with Mr. More-
ton, and that Mr. Moreton's attitude at dinner the
night before had been a great surprise and shock to
him.
Von Betler also stated that the butler had given an
accurate account of what was said at dinner, but that
he, Von Betler, differed with Burke regarding Mr.
Moreton's manner; that he had thought Mr. Moreton
entirely unlike himself, so much so that he had been


AN ACCUSATION 129
amazed. Von Betler declared, feelingly, that he had
never been more horrified than he was when he en-
tered the study a few hours later and saw what had
occurred.
“Will you tell us, please, Mr. von Betler, just where
you were and what you did after dinner, between that
time and the moment when you entered the study?”
“I went from the dinner table out to the veranda
with Mrs. Moreton, Mrs. Insmann, my wife, Count
Gansingen and Doctor Levene. We had coffee there.
Both my wife and I were distressed over the affair at
dinner, so we excused ourselves and went to our room.
Mrs. Insmann accompanied us. I remember I looked
at my watch as we went up, and it was half past ten.
My wife donned a negligee and I removed my coat and
collar and we sat together in our room and talked.
My wife and I were out of sympathy with Mrs. Ins-
mann's pacifist ideas, so we talked earnestly and for
some time. Then, suddenly, some one rapped loudly
on our door. It was Miss Allen in great excitement
calling for Mr. Parker; she had mistaken his room,
which was across the way. She rapped then on Mr.
Parker's door, he came out and we all ran down-stairs
into the study.”
“Did you leave your room at any time after coming
up from the veranda?”
“No.”
“Did either of the ladies leave it?”
“No.”


130 THE MORETON MYSTERY
The coroner called then upon Mrs. von Betler, who
in a trembling voice verified her husband's testimony.
She stated that in all the years she had known Mr.
Moreton she had “never seen him in such a state.”
That she had always considered Mr. Moreton “an
equable tempered man.” That she had been frightened
by his manner—he had seemed “so very angry and
denunciatory, as if he had just heard or knew of some-
thing that had stirred him to the depths.” She stated
that she had accepted Mrs. Moreton's invitation to
Moreton House because she wanted a chance to talk
both to Mrs. Moreton and Mrs. Insmann about their
pacifist ideas, for she felt that neither of them realized
how foolish they were, “to say the least of it.” Mrs.
von Betler looked terribly distressed; she shook from
head to foot while she talked, and when she mentioned
Mr. Moreton's death her eyes filled with tears.
Mrs. Insmann was pale but collected, and was suc-
cinct in her corroboration of Mr. and Mrs. von Bet-
ler's testimony. She stated that for two years she had
been an intimate friend of Mrs. Moreton; that she
was the widow of Colonel Frederick Insmann, a
United States army officer; that she had been born in
Germany, but had come to America when a baby. She
declared that her army experience had given her a
horror of war, but, because of her army connections,
she had felt it would be bad taste to exploit her opin-
ions, and that she had never associated herself with
pacifist activities. She said that she did not drink Mr.


AN ACCUSATION 131
Moreton's toast the evening before simply because she
could not conscientiously “stand for war.” She ap-
peared to be a rigid sort of woman, and altogether cer-
tain of herself.
Count Gansingen testified that he had been born in
Berne, that his parents had been Swiss, an old and
well-known family, and that he was a Swiss citizen;
that he possessed independent means and had spent
much of his life in travel; that he had been educated
both in Germany and in England. He said that for the
last ten years he had spent most of his time in America
because he liked America and the Americans and had
made so many friends among them. He spoke of his
country's neutrality and his earnest desire to “work
with America in her struggle.” He said that he had
offered his services in any medical capacity the au-
thorities might think fit, for, being a man of nearly
middle age, it seemed the only opportunity open to him.
He stated that he had several times met Mrs. More-
ton, socially, but had never met Mr. Moreton until
this, his first visit to Moreton House. He said that
the scene at dinner had made a deep impression on
him; Mr. Moreton had been “so startlingly aroused
and profoundly stirred.” The count said that, as a
stranger to Mr. Moreton, he perhaps could not judge
So well as those who knew him well, but that when
Mr. Moreton had first joined them on the veranda,
before dinner, Mr. Moreton had appeared to him to
be perturbed. The count's voice was not altogether


132 THE MORETON MYSTERY
*
steady when he spoke of seeing Moreton in the study.
“Ah, that was a dreadful thing!” he said. “I had such
a tremendous feeling of a life cut off, of a fine and
capable man gone! It was the pity of it.”
When asked to account for himself after dinner, the
count stated that he had gone with the others to the
veranda and had remained there until the butler had
run out to call Doctor Levene.
“During that time, did you see any one enter or pass
through the library?”
“No, not until a girl ran through the library and
Doctor Levene exclaimed, “Why, that's Miss Allen!'
and the next moment the butler ran out to us.”
“After Mr. and Mrs. von Betler retired, who were
with you on the veranda?”
“Mrs. Moreton and Doctor Levene.”
“Did either of you leave the veranda?”
“No.”
“Did any one join you, or did you see any one on
or near the veranda?”
“Only the butler, who twice came out to us with
iced-water, and Mrs. Moreton's maid who brought to
her mistress a scarf for which Mrs. Moreton had sent.
Otherwise we were alone and most of the time talking
earnestly, for Doctor Levene was arguing with Mrs.
Moreton against pacifism.”
“Mr. Driscoll Moreton?”
“Here,” Driscoll answered. He had started slightly
and his face twisted when he moved his arm.


AN ACCUSATION 133
“I see your arm is bandaged, Mr. Moreton.”
“Yes, I sprained my wrist last night.”
The coroner made a note, then he asked, “I may
seem to be harping on one subject, but will you tell us
what impression Mr. Moreton's words and manner
made upon you—I mean at dinner last night?”
Driscoll, as was usual with him, was brutally candid.
“I’ve got to explain first of all that I was a little
stewed—I’m often more than that. I'd been drinking
during the afternoon and I drank more at dinner. I
wasn't drunk, but I was a little over, so you'll have to
take my impressions for what they're worth. Uncle
Mathew struck me as not excited, but tremendously
sincere, and denunciatory. He was down on shilly-
shallying and pacifism and spies.” Driscoll’s voice
deepened. “The old gentleman was grand as he stood
there and gave it to us! I felt like a dog—at not being
in the trenches! And because he made me ashamed of
myself, I criticized him. I said something to Parker
about Uncle Mathew's being off his head and I was
growling to myself that if one had a pile of money
the war and everything else came easy, but I wasn't
really thinking those things. What I really was think-
ing was that Uncle Mathew was absolutely right, that
we've either got to strangle the German or he will
strangle us, and that I'd let whisky make a slacker of
me—”
He paused, and then his voice dropped into depres-
sion. “I took a big drink of whisky then, and the stuff


134 THE MORETON MYSTERY
went to my head. I wasn't fit to be seen, and I went
off up to my room. . . . I’ve only the vaguest im-
pression of falling about and then getting into bed,
and I didn't know any more until one of the maids
screamed and pounded on my door, saying that “Mr.
Moreton had killed himself.' I know I was in bed
then, for I got out and down-stairs. . . . I wasn't
sober yet, but it brought me around—seeing the fine
old man—like that—” Driscoll's voice failed him.
“And your sprained wrist, Mr. Moreton?”
“I hurt it when I fell, I suppose,” Driscoll answered
thickly. “I didn't notice it until we carried Aunt Lil-
ian up.”
“Mr. Moreton, do you know whether your uncle
had causes for worry, whether he was under an un-
usual strain of any sort during these last weeks?”
“I didn’t see Uncle Mathew often—ashamed to
most of the time,” Driscoll answered bluntly. “I don't
know of any unusual strain.”
The coroner nodded. Then he called on Doctor Le-
Vene.
The doctor testified that he had been Mrs. More-
ton's physician for the last two years and had been a
frequent visitor at the Moreton home, but that he had
never been Mr. Moreton's physician. Asked next about
the occurrences at dinner the evening before, he an-
swered that it seemed to be a matter which had been
very fully gone into already. On being pressed, he
said:


AN ACCUSATION 135
“I can only state my impressions, Dr. Henry. I was
startled and alarmed by Mr. Moreton's unusual man-
ner. I should hardly call it excitement, more the sud-
den expression of a fixed idea—every one present
seemed suddenly to be regarded as an enemy—such an
unusual attitude for Mr. Moreton to take toward any
one; ordinarily he was so genial.”
“What do you mean by saying that you were
'alarmed? Do you mean that, as a physician, you saw
cause for alarm in Mr. Moreton’s manner?”
Levene flushed. “A physician's impressions are not
always correct,” he said hastily. He looked highly un-
comfortable, like one caught in a slip of the tongue.
“But such was your impression?” the coroner per-
sisted.
The doctor hesitated, then said reluctantly, “I told
you I was not Mr. Moreton's physician, so my impres-
sions don't amount to much. . . . I was anxious, I
suppose, because Mrs. Moreton had told me in great
distress that Mr. Moreton had been excited and angry
earlier in the afternoon, and she had told me of the
remark Mr. Moreton had made, the same to which the
maid, Katie, referred. I wanted to quiet Mrs. More-
ton's anxiety, she was anything but well, so I told her
that Mr. Moreton was merely suffering from the heat
of the last few days. I wish now that I had said some-
thing or done something, though I don't know what I
could have done, in my position.” Levene's voice was
both regretful and troubled.


136 THE MORETON MYSTERY
The coroner made a note, and, with him, that ap-
peared to indicate that he meant to return to some
particular subject. “Will you give an account of the
occurrences after dinner—such of them as you know?”
“Why, I went with the rest to the veranda and re-
mained there until we were startled by seeing Miss
Allen burst open the study door and rush out through
the library, then run back again into the study. Then
Burke came out to us and said that Miss Allen wanted
me to come at once to Mr. Moreton. We ran into the
study and found Miss Allen and the chauffeur trying
to lift Mr. Moreton from the floor. . . . Do you
want me to give the result of my examination?”
“Yes.”
“Well, almost at the first glance I saw that it was a
case of poisoning—all the signs were there. And I
feared hydrocyanic even before I detected the odor and
the traces of the poison in the mouth and on the lips.
Then the bottle on the desk”—the doctor pointed—
“told the story. He had fallen close beside the desk,
evidently from his chair, which was thrust back. He
was dead, quite dead, but there was no rigor whatever.
As I stated last night, he could have been dead only a
few minutes—I feel positive, for less than twenty
minutes. . . . I looked for marks of , violence,
though such a possibility seemed out of the question,
but found none. Of course my examination at that
time was only a hasty one, for Mrs. Moreton was


AN ACCUSATION 137
totally overcome—she was in violent hysteria, scream-
ing, “He has killed himself He has killed himself!'
I did what I could for her and we got her to her room,
but, for a time, I was afraid of a collapse, possibly
brain-fever, or some serious result. To my relief, she
rallied wonderfully, but, until she did, I had no time
to think of other things. When she was out of danger,
I felt that I ought to make a more thorough examina-
tion, and I consulted with Driscoll Moreton, who was
Tuite willing. So, assisted by Mr. Jowett, I made a
Second and very careful examination which satisfied
us both. There was not a mark, not a single indication
of violence.”
“Doctor Levene, you have been a frequent visitor
in this household—have you noticed any change in
Mr. Moreton of late, anything out of the normal, I
mean?”
Again the doctor showed evident embarrassment.
“I scarcely know how to answer,” he said finally. “I
was not Mr. Moreton's physician and my observations
would be merely those of an onlooker.”
“Such as they were, we should like to have them.”
“Well—I have noticed for some time that Mr.
Moreton was not his usual self. At times he was de-
pressed and at other times he was highly irritable.
Remember, I am stating my impressions, and
no knowledge derived from a confidence on Mr. More-
ton's part.”
4


138 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“On Mrs. Moreton's part then, Doctor Levene?”
Levene made a quick gesture of distress. “Mr.
Coroner, I simply can't answer that question' . .
Mrs. Moreton is here; if, after hearing her, you de-
mand it, I suppose I shall have to speak—unless Mr.
Parker can tell me that a physician is not legally bound
to betray a patient's confidence?” He looked in flushed
helplessness at Parker.
There was no occasion for Parker to answer, for the
coroner said promptly, “That matter can wait, Doctor
Levene. . . . Mrs. Moreton, I must ask you a few
questions now.”
She started and shrank. For the most part, she had
sat sunk in her chair, her thin heavily ringed hand
shading her eyes. Only occasionally had she dropped
her hand and straightened, as when Driscoll had as-
serted Nixie's position in the family. She shrank and
then she straightened, looking at the coroner with di-
lated eyes.
He continued. “Mrs. Moreton, we have had testi-
mony regarding various occurrences, there has been
much said for and against the theory that Mr. Moreton
was in a frame of mind that might result in the trag-
edy, evidences of which are before us. . . . Will
you please tell us whether, to your knowledge, Mr.
Moreton was harassed, was under strain, was unusu-
ally worried, or was brooding over some matter or
some subject?”


AN ACCUSATION 139
The room was very still for the moment before she
spoke. “Yes, he was,” she said clearly.
“Will you tell us what it was?”
Vivid spots of color showed in her cheeks. “It was
the girl we took into our home seven years ago—
Nixola Allen. She was the cause.”


XVII
THE SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE
RS. MORETON'S declaration was followed by
a stir in the room, short drawn breaths on the
part of the servants, a movement among the jury, a
low exclamation from Driscoll Moreton; his pale face
had flamed scarlet and he had half risen, then had
dropped back again. Parker's eyes had traveled rap-
idly over every face in the room, and, for an instant,
they had met Burke's; the little butler had flushed and
his eyes were very bright. Even Jowett had stirred;
like Parker, he was studying those about him. Nixie
was the only person in the room who was apparently
unmoved; she looked steadily at Moreton's body, her
lips tight-set. But her hands betrayed her; Parker
saw how they gripped and twisted in her lap.
The coroner had shuffled his papers, his face quite
expressionless. Then he asked briefly, “Please ex-
plain?”
“I must go back a little to do so,” Mrs. Moreton
answered clearly. “We took Nixola into our home
some seven years ago. We took her away from dis-
tressing conditions. She was a child trapeze per-
former and heavy-weight lifter in a small circus. We
140


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 141
had no actual knowledge of her parentage—as far as
we could discover, she was an orphan. We both pitied
her and I was more than willing to give her a home,
but we never adopted her. My husband became very
fond of her, and during the last year and a half she
seemed fairly to obsess him—particularly during these
last few months. We had given her every advantage,
the best of governesses, a luxurious home. I wanted
her to have every advantage and was quite willing to
join with my husband in any sensible plan for her
future. But I simply could not agree to some of his
plans for her. During this last year, he suggested
one impractical thing after another—she was always
uppermost in his thoughts—and whenever I objected
to any of his plans he became greatly excited, so much
so that I felt very anxious about him. It seemed to
me that he was losing his mind over the girl. More
than once he said to me that his life wasn't worth living
—he seemed to care for Nixola more than he did for
any one or anything on earth, and his state of mind
communicated itself to almost everything I said or
did. He disapproved of everything I did, disapproved
of my friends, and particularly of my attitude toward
this dreadful war. Out of respect for his feelings, I
have very carefully kept out of all pacifist movements,
I did not obtrude my own personal views, and I am
dreadfully sorry that I did not drink the toast he pro-
posed last night, for, after all, the thing I want and
have always wanted is whatever is best for my coun-


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 143
and that in a few days she would leave Moreton
House. That she was of age and should do as she
pleased. I foresaw various complications,” Mrs. More-
ton said with a drop in her voice; “it seemed to
me most unwise, utterly impossible, and I told him so.
In the end, he left me with the remark Katie over-
heard.” Mrs. Moreton restrained her tears with dif-
ficulty. “It-it has not been easy to—to talk of my do-
mestic affairs in this way—but the truth had to be
told—” Her voice failed her and she pressed her hand-
kerchief to her eyes. Her maid offered the smelling-
salts, but Mrs. Moreton pushed the bottle away—she
was excited as well as distressed.
If a pronounced silence at an inquest may be called
an awkward silence, the moments that followed should
be so characterized; awkward moments weighted with
meaning, for there was much that might be inferred
from Mrs. Moreton's statements. There were stolen
glances at Nixie, but most of those present were glanc-
ing down. The servants looked shocked and distressed,
Burke was hotly flushed, and Driscoll Moreton ap-
peared a fit subject for apoplexy; he had crimsoned
almost to purple and was shaking.
The coroner seemed at last to have decided on his
next question. “Can you tell me, Mrs. Moreton,
whether your husband had any business worries at
this time?”
“Yes, he was afraid of a strike at the steel mills—
that was what took him away during that hot


144 THE MORETON MYSTERY
weather.” She spoke with a certain indifference, as
if she had made her one great effort and nothing else
mattered very much.
“Do you know of Mr. Moreton's having any ene-
mies, or an enemy?”
“No.”
“Did he ever receive threatening letters, or express
himself as fearful of any one or anything?”
“No, never to my knowledge.”
“Do you know whether Mr. Moreton was in the
habit of carrying a pistol, or whether he kept a pistol
or any defensive weapon near him, in his room or in
his study?”
“No, I'm very sure he didn't—I never saw or heard
of a pistol in our house.”
“Do you know of your husband's having had a bot-
tle of poison in his possession? A bottle of hydrocy-
anic acid, or any other poison?”
Mrs. Moreton looked at him with widened eyes.
“No.”
“Do you know whether there was any such bottle
of poison anywhere in or about the house?”
“No, certainly not—I should have been terrified to
have any such thing about. . . . We had just the
usual medicines, some of them marked ‘poison,’ of
course, like carbolic acid, just the usual things one
has in a house, but no dreadful thing like that on the
desk—” She shuddered.
“Where were the medicines of the household kept?”


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 145
“In the medicine-cupboard in Mr. Moreton's room
—all except the medicines prescribed for me by my
physician and which I took daily.”
“Did Mr. Moreton ever keep sums of money in
the house—carry sums of money on his person?”
“No, he was particular about that. Everything was
paid by check, and I never knew him to carry much
money with him.”
“You went to the veranda after dinner—did you
leave it at any time during the evening?”
“No.”
“Not even to enter the house?”
“No. I don't think I even got up from my chair.
We none of us left the veranda, for after Mr. and
Mrs. von Betler and Mrs. Insmann went up-stairs,
Doctor Levene and Count Gansingen began to talk to
me about Mrs. Insmann's and my views—they didn't
approve of our action at dinner—and I was so inter-
ested in what we were saying and so distressed, too,
that I didn't notice time or anything, until Nixola ran
through the library. That startled us all.”
“That will do for the present, Mrs. Moreton,” and
the coroner turned to Nixie. “Miss Allen,” he said
dryly, “were the ‘worries' to which you referred the
same as those mentioned by Mrs. Moreton, or of some
other nature?”
“It is true that Mr. Moreton worried about me,”
Nixie answered huskily.
During Mrs. Moreton's testimony Nixie had


146 THE MORETON MYSTERY
blanched until she was so white that the blue circles
about her eyes looked like bruises. When she answered
the coroner, her lips appeared to be stiff. She had not
once raised her eyes from Moreton's still form and
Parker could not decide whether she was cold with
anger or with fear, not until the coroner said, “Mr.
Parker?” Then Nixie lifted her eyes to Parker and
he saw that it was neither anger nor fear that looked
at him out of their queer cloudy depths; it was pain—
and appeal. Her lips appealed, and without any word;
they were blue and a little parted.
Parker knew what it was she begged of him. He
returned her look, and his answer to the coroner was
a somewhat dry “Yes.” In answer to further ques-
tions, he stated that he had been Mr. Moreton's lawyer
for some six years and that he was well acquainted
with his client's business transactions, that Mr. More-
ton constantly consulted with him.
“Was there any business matter which of late caused
Mr. Moreton anxiety—the strike mentioned by Mrs.
Moreton, for example?”
“No, nothing which should cause Mr. Moreton any
unusual anxiety. He talked with me regarding the im-
pending strike, discussed it in businesslike fashion,
and on his return from Pennsylvania he seemed to re-
gard the difficulty as settled.”
“So far as you know, were Mr. Moreton's financial
affairs in good condition?”
“Yes—quite so.”


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 147
“Did Mr. Moreton ever consult with you regarding
his family, domestic affairs, matters of that sort?”
“Only in a business way.”
“Anxiously, or as if troubled over family matters?”
“No. He discussed business arrangements for his
family coolly and in business fashion—as he always
discussed all business matters.”
“Are you well acquainted with Mr. Moreton's house-
hold, Mr. Parker?”
“I have met Mrs. Moreton three times, twice, casu-
ally, three years ago, and yesterday. To Miss Allen I
was introduced for the first time yesterday. This is my
first visit to Moreton House.”
“What were your impressions of the scene at the
dinner table last night—more particularly regarding
Mr. Moreton’s manner, his frame of mind?”
“Mr. Driscoll Moreton has given my impressions in
even better words than I can choose. I can only add
that it did occur to me that Mr. Moreton might be
somewhat grimly playing with the assembled com-
pany.”
“As Mr. Moreton's legal adviser you would be apt
to know—to your knowledge did Mr. Moreton have
enemies, or an enemy, man or woman?”
“Not to my knowledge. Plenty of business competi-
tors, but not enemies.”
“And no entanglements that might make some
woman his enemy?”
“Not to my knowledge. In my six years' acquaint-


148 THE MORETON MYSTERY
ance with Mr. Moreton, he impressed me as a par-
ticularly clean and upright man.”
“Will you kindly tell us where you were after din-
ner, between that time and the moment when the alarm
was given?”
“I went from the dining-room out to the front lawn,
found a bench and smoked several cigars. When I
returned to the front hall, I looked at my watch—it
was a quarter past ten. I passed through the hall, to
the library door, noticed a book which was lying on
the small table just within the library door, took it up
to my room with me and became absorbed in it. I was
still reading when I heard my name called and Miss
Allen rapped on my door. I hurried down to the study
with her, Mr. and Mrs. von Betler and Mrs. Insmann
just behind us.”
“Did you leave your room after entering it?”
“No, not until Miss Allen came for me.”
“Mr. Parker, any observations you may have made
concerning this tragedy, any circumstances that may
have come to your attention which the examination so
far has not revealed, anything you may have to dis-
close will be of particular value to us. Will you call
our attention to any such points?”
Parker's voice was mild and scrupulously polite. “I
have been greatly interested in the examination you
have conducted. Mr. Coroner, your examination has
been admirably conducted, so much so that I have no
suggestions to make.”


150 THE MORETON MYSTERY
final look into the study, and this time we stepped into
the room. Then we saw a dark heap lying near the
desk. We turned on the lights and then we saw that it
was Mr. Moreton, lying as if he had fallen out of his
chair, and I discovered almost at once that he was not
breathing. Miss Allen thought from his contorted face
that it must be a fit, but I felt certain he was dead.
She ran out then to get help, then ran back and we
tried to lift him to the couch. Then Doctor Levene,
Mrs. Moreton, and a gentleman whom I did not know,
and Burke, the butler, all ran in together. Doctor Le-
vene said to me, “Don’t move him,” and I stood aside
while he made an examination. In the meantime Miss
Allen had run out and had come back with Mr. Parker,
and others of the household had collected. Then Doc-
tor Levene told us that Mr. Moreton was dead and
called our attention to the bottle of poison on the desk.
“‘I know of no reason why Mr. Moreton should
have taken his life—he was the last person I would
think would do such a thing.
“‘HARRY HolT.
“‘If desired, I can be reached by mail.
“‘Box 273, Station F, Chicago, Ill.’”
The coroner folded the paper and looked over the
room filled with people. “If any one present knows
aught to the contrary—if this statement can be chal-
lenged—I wish he or she would speak.”
There was silence. Then one of the jury spoke up:
“I’d like to fix the length of time the chauffeur says
he was there on the stairway. Miss Allen, how long
were you away?”


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 151
“I don't know how long,” Nixie answered. “It
couldn't have been more than just a few minutes, just
long enough for me to go through the rooms the way
I told you and then come right back. When I came
back to Holt we stood on the stairs up there and talked
for a time. Holt has told exactly what happened in
his statement.” Nixie was still very white, but her
manner was decided.
“How long did you and the chauffeur stand there
talking?” the juror persisted.
“Longer than it took me to look for Mr. Moreton,”
Nixie returned firmly, “though I have no way of
knowing how long it was. . . . If you want to
know just how long it took me to look for Mr. More-
ton, you can come with me and I’ll do over again just
what I did.”
Parker caught the glint in Jowett's eyes, and he
himself was stirred by admiration. Nixola Allen was
quick-witted. The juror looked somewhat vague, but
the coroner remarked, “That is a matter we can take
up later—kindly tell me, Miss Allen, did you have any
conversation with the chauffeur after this tragedy oc-
curred?”
“Yes, he helped the others carry Mrs. Moreton up-
stairs and I went along. Holt spoke to me, just a few
words, before he and Mr. Jowett went down-stairs.”
“What did he say to you?”
“I don't remember exactly his words, just that he


152 THE MORETON MYSTERY
was so sorry for me, for—for he knew how much I
cared for Mr. Moreton—” For the first time Nixie's
voice quivered, then failed her.
“Did you see him again, before he left?”
“No.” She had suddenly regained firmness.
“How, then, did you know that he had written this
statement?”
Parker saw her hand clench as if she would like to
strike her questioner, but she answered coolly, “I
never stated to you or any one that Holt had written
that statement and I did not know that he had made
a statement until you yourself told us so. Except for
the occasion of which I have told you, when we all
went up with Mrs. Moreton, I have not seen Holt or
talked with him since Mr. Moreton's death. I don't
know where he went, or where he is, or what he is
doing.”
The coroner looked somewhat nonplused; evidently
Nixie had answered at a sweep certain questions he
had prepared. He also looked incredulous and he per-
sisted: “Was Holt the young man's real name, Miss
Allen?”
“I think so—I never heard him called anything else.
I heard him tell Mr. Moreton once that he had an
uncle in Chicago named Holt.”
“Where was he born? Where was his home?”
“He told Mr. Moreton that he was born in Illinois
and had worked in Chicago—I think he said that he
had come from Chicago to New York. Mr. Moreton


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 153
never took any one without recommendations, so Holt
must have furnished them.”
“Do you know the address of this uncle of Holt's,
Miss Allen?”
“No, I do not, but Mr. Moreton may have had it.”
Nixie's answers were prompt and direct, so much so
that they had a touch of challenge about them. She
sat erect and looked the coroner full in the eye; she
had entirely recovered from the distress which had
marked her before Parker gave his testimony.
“Miss Allen, I want you to fix for us more definitely
the length of time you spent with the chauffeur on the
stairs.”
“I have no way of telling just how long it was.”
“Half an hour?”
“No, not nearly that long.”
“Ten minutes?”
“It may have been as long as that.”
The coroner's naturally dry voice was arid. “Detail
your conversation together, perhaps then—”
“I think I can throw some light on this point, Mr.
Coroner,” Jowett’s quiet voice interrupted.
Nixie turned swiftly and looked at him; there was
a general stir in the room. Parker cursed, inwardly;
he had mistaken his man then!
“I am glad to hear you speak, Mr. Jowett,” the cor-
oner said with the nearest approach to heartiness that
seemed possible to him. “I have purposely not ques-
tioned you until others had testified. . . . Will you
4


154 THE MORETON MYSTERY
first of all tell us how you so fortunately came to be
here?”
“Mr. Moreton had sent for me,” Jowett said tersely.
“He telephoned me early in the evening that he had a
job for me which would take me west for several
weeks. He telephoned at six o'clock, told me to get
the nine o'clock out, and said that at half past eleven
he'd come out and have a talk with me and in the
meantime I might amuse myself by keeping an eye on
the house and the grounds. He laughed when he said
that, as if that part of it was a joke. I got the nine
o'clock and got up to the house at twenty minutes to
eleven, then hung about.” Jowett paused as if waiting
for further questioning.
“Please continue, Mr. Jowett. Every step of yours
and every observation you have made is of interest to
us.” The coroner was quite right, the room was tense
with expectation.
“I hung around, as I said,” Jowett continued, “just
filling in time, and after about half an hour or so I
saw Miss Allen, whom I didn't know, hadn't ever
seen before. I saw her come out of the front door and
go to the garage, and in a little while she and the
chauffeur, who had been busy over one of the cars in
the garage, started out together for the house. They
disappeared in the bushes at the corner of the study.
I didn't know anything about this house, didn't know
there was an entrance down there, so, out of curiosity,
I followed them and my flashlight showed me a door


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 155
in the wall. I investigated and discovered a dark pas-
sageway with a flight of stairs going up to the floor
above. Miss Allen and the chauffeur were going up the
stairs when I came into the passage, the chauffeur
using his garage flashlight. They went on up and dis-
appeared. I judged that Miss Allen was one of the
family and considered that it wasn't any of my busi-
ness to follow them up, but out of curiosity, wonder-
ing mainly where such a passage could lead to, I stayed
down there in the passageway, expecting every minute
that Mr. Moreton would be out looking for me. I
didn't hear a sound, had no idea where the two had
gone to, until a light struck across the upper part of
the stairs and then I heard exclamations followed by
a commotion. I ran up the stairs then and saw that
window-door over there standing wide open and this
room full of light, the light I had noticed from below,
and people in the room—Mrs. Moreton over by the
desk, the count standing by her, the doctor bending
over Mr. Moreton, who lay on the floor, Miss Allen
hurrying out of the room, and the butler and chauffeur
standing near by. I entered and presently Miss Allen
came in with Mr. Parker, and others came crowding
in.” Jowett paused in a matter-of-fact way, as if
ready for further questioning. Parker had settled
back in his seat, his face expressionless.
“How long were you in the passage below?” the
coroner asked. For some reason, he had flushed; he
was eying the detective intently.


156 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“I should say—something over ten minutes,” Jowett
returned with an air of careful consideration. “I know
I looked at my watch immediately after I ran up to
this room and it was just half past eleven.”
“And you heard no sounds? No steps in the passage
above or on the upper stairway or in this room?”
“No, not a sound until I saw the light flash out
across the stairs above me—you noticed perhaps that
the upper passage and the boxed stairway are car-
peted.”
“No voices?”
“No.”
The coroner turned to Nixie. “You stated that you
and the chauffeur talked for some time on the stairs.”
“I said we talked ‘for a time,’” she corrected curtly.
“We talked very low—mostly in whispers, I think.”
“Why in whispers?” the coroner demanded.
“Because it didn't occur to me to talk loud, and
Holt whispered—I suppose because I did. It was late
and most people in the house would have wondered
why I was with the chauffeur. Mr. Moreton would
have understood, as soon as Holt explained why he
wanted to see him—I wasn't keeping quiet because I
didn't want him to hear, only just because of others
who might gossip—I wish Mr. Moreton had been able
to hear.” Again there was in her voice the note of
deep emotion.
“Would you have heard a whisper, Mr. Jowett?"
the coroner asked.


'158 THE MORETON MYSTERY
generally. I had observed no marks of violence on
Mr. Moreton's body, but wanted a further examina-
tion. Doctor Levene expressed the same desire and
we, together, made a second examination with the re-
sult he has stated. After that, I spent some time up-
stairs in observation, then came down-stairs and looked
this floor over, then went out to the garage, where I
discovered that the chauffeur had left. Just then the
head-gardener came up from the park with Holt's let-
ter to Mr. Parker and I took charge of it and deliv-
ered it to Mr. Parker. After that I had a look about
the grounds, and the garage. . . . That brings me
to the time of your arrival.” Jowett paused and re-
garded the coroner with an open countenance, like one
who has made a full statement, but who is quite willing
to answer any further questions.
The entire company had hung upon the detective's
words; there was a blank look on most faces when he
concluded. “You have scarcely answered my question,
Mr. Jowett,” the coroner objected after a moment's
silence. “I shall be more explicit: in your investiga-
tions have you discovered anything which would war-
rant a suspicion of foul play?”
“I have suspected every one in the house and out of
it,” Jowett returned bluntly. “I’ve suspected every-
thing and everybody—it's my business to suspect. I
have discovered nothing which I can present to you,
Mr. Coroner. I have no suspicious circumstances and
no 'clues' to offer—I feel quite futile at this investiga-


SEMICIRCLE PUTS OVER A FARCE 159
tion. It’s a position a detective dislikes to occupy, but
there it is,” and Jowett settled back in his seat with an
air of finality.
“Your admission, in itself, is most important,” the
coroner answered with extreme gravity, and then he
turned to the whispering jury. There was a stir
throughout the room, and more than one audible sigh.
Parker had been watching Nixie; she had listened to
Jowett with breathless attention, and, at his conclusion,
her face was alight. She half rose, as if to leave the
room, then sank back and drew the granite mask over
her features; her eyes were again fixed on Moreton's
still form.
The coroner turned from an undertoned consulta-
tion with the jury, and the room instantly settled into
attention.


XVIII
ſ MOTIVES
cc c ATHEW MORETON died from the effects
of poison administered by his own hand,’”
Driscoll repeated in a low voice. He looked up at
Parker. “It’s not the truth,” he said solemnly.
“Such was their decision,” Parker returned.
As soon as the inquest was over, Parker had touched
Driscoll’s arm. “Come with me to your room—I want
to talk to you,” he said, and Driscoll had followed him
from the study. When they reached his room, Dris-
coll had dropped into a chair by the table. His white
face, which the bright light made ghastly, the slackness
of his big body, his heavy eyes, his entire personality
expressed complete depression; more than that, a sort
of sick misery.
He looked haggardly at Parker. “Their decision,
yes,” he said. He looked away then, out over the lake
and into the farther distance. “But it's not the truth,”
he reiterated with settled conviction. “You noticed
Uncle Mathew's expression last night—the jury didn't
see that and no one told of it. His features have set-
tled—he looks peaceful this morning, but I’ll never
160


MOTIVES 161
forget that look of fighting rage. . . . It's not the
truth, Parker.”
“Better for us to accept it as such—for the present,”
Parker answered.
Driscoll’s eyes came back from the distance. “This
is not the end of it, then? . . . I've felt it wasn't.
That whole inquest struck me as a farce which it was
best to maintain, practically every one working for the
same end. Nixie was pretty honest, for she said, “He
would never have done that?” but she was hiding some-
thing, too, like most of the rest of us.”
Parker was lighting a cigar; he snapped the match
in two and flung it down. “Their decision amounts to
nothing—it's only the beginning!”
Driscoll spoke with sudden fire. “Parker, don't run
off with a wrong idea—Nixie had no hand in it! I'd
take my oath on it, every day of the year! That
damned dog-in-the-manger jealousy of Aunt Lilian's'
I could have choked her when she let out all that
venom! It was so much the worse because she believes
every word she uttered. Uncle Mathew obsessed to the
point of suicide by Nixiel Or by Aunt Lilian's jeal-
ousy either, for that matter! She's been the one ob-
sessed A perfect hell she made of it here, and what
wonder that Uncle Mathew turned to Nixie for com-
fort. He simply adored Nixie—he loved every hair of
her head. But there was nothing wrong about his de-
votion. He was unloved and childless and Nixie was
his one comfort—he clung to her and he adored her.”


162 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Driscoll paused for breath and shook his shoulders
impatiently. “I could have said all this at the inquest,
but to what purpose? It would only have given point
to Aunt Lilian's insinuations. It seemed to me the less
said the better. . . . Lord, what a mess! And
there's bound to be more of it.”
Parker regarded him thoughtfully. “And did Miss
Allen love your uncle?” he asked.
Driscoll flung up his uninjured hand. “Ask me
something I know! . . . It's not easy to tell about
Nixie, Parker. A less demonstrative, more secretive,
more determined-willed woman never existed—or a
more intense and fiery woman—under the surface. I
don't know another girl who'd have been capable
of holding her place in this family, as Nixie has, in
the face of Aunt Lilian's jealousy, just going quietly
on when the ground was red-hot under her feet and the
air stifling, outwardly indifferent to Uncle Mathew's
devotion, inwardly indifferent, too, for all I really
know. Yet she stuck to him loyally. Fine though the
old man was, I believe he would have gone on the
loose, but for Nixie. She held him straight. She was
Uncle Mathew's right hand and his right eye, and yet,
not an act, not a look of which Aunt Lilian could
take any real advantage. Nixie's a wonder, Parker.
I've gone down before her, and I don't care if you
know it, either.” He straightened and squared his
shoulders. “And you just take it from me: if any one


MOTIVES 163
tries to fix this thing on Nixie, I'll do something that
will surprise people!” Then he suddenly dropped back-
into depression. “Nobody knows better than I what a
jealous drink-crazed man is capable of,” he muttered.
Then more clearly, “I don't know, Parker, whether
Nixie loved Uncle Mathew or not—I used to think
that she loved power better than anything else—but
for a long time I’ve been uncertain whether Nixie
dearly loved Uncle Mathew or whether she simply
had an immense pity for him. . . . I don't know.”
“What do you know about that chauffeur?” Parker
asked abruptly.
Driscoll instantly stiffened. “Nothing! I never
gave him a thought—until last night!” He sprang up
and walked restlessly about. “It struck me that Nixie
was trying to shield him, at the inquest. . . . I've
always thought that some day Nixie'd really love, and
then it would be all over with her—the unreclaimed
circus-woman would show in her. . . . But that or-
dinary, strapping fellow—” He whirled on Parker.
“What's her interest in him, anyway?”
“Mainly his interest in her, I imagine !” Parker
flashed out. There was as much restless irritation in
his answer as there was in Driscoll’s question.
“Another case of pity, you think?” Driscoll de-
manded jealously.
Parker had quickly taken himself in hand. “Very
likely,” he said composedly.
a


164 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“She wouldn't take to him, surely? That statement
of his was well expressed, but it's my belief some one
wrote it for him. Why, the man's got a pugilist's mug
on him—he's common and rough, a chauffeur!”
“Has it occurred to you that possibly Miss Allen's
acquaintance with him dates back to the circus days?”
“Lord, no! . . . What makes you think that?”
“He looks the type, doesn't he?”
“Yes—I suppose he does—” Driscoll conceded in
a troubled way. “And you think he's mad over Nixie,
of course?”
“It certainly looks that way to me.”
Driscoll cursed through his teeth.
“Let’s let that be for a while, Driscoll—tell me, does
Burke like Miss Allen?”
“Devoted to her. . . . The servants all like her.”
“Speaks well for her,” Parker said briefly. “Burke's
known her ever since she came into the family, hasn't
he P”
“Yes. Burke's not butler for the town house, only
for Moreton House. He's out here the year round,
and so is Nixie—that is, she was until last winter.
Aunt Lilian took her to the town house last winter to
keep her under her eye, I suppose. Nixie and her
governess, Burke and a couple of servants, that used
to be the household out here during the winter months,
and Uncle Mathew used to slip down here and play
around with Nixie, like any kid on a holiday, or a
father with his pet child, until Nixie grew into an out-


MOTIVES 165
and-out beauty and Aunt Lilian put a stop to it. This
last winter Nixie's had no governess, but I think that
the maid Aunt Lilian had for years acted as spy on
Nixie. Three months ago the creature had an opera-
tion and didn't get over it, and Aunt Lilian's had a
succession of maids since then and Nixie's been freer
from surveillance, I fancy. Nixie's had a bad time of
it altogether, and I guess it's true that Uncle Mathew
wanted to get her away from it all, set her up for her-
self, a proposition that to Aunt Lilian would be like a
red rag to an angry bull.”
Parker continued his questions. “Burke's a safe
sort, Driscoll, loyal and close-mouthed?”
“Old Burke? Tight as an oyster. . . . Burke
doesn't approve of me, I can’t blame him for that.
He's a bit sly, I think, but I’ve got to confess that he
served Uncle Mathew faithfully, and Nixie too—he's
loyal, all right.”
“I’m glad to have all the side-lights I can on what's
happened,” Parker remarked. .
Driscoll paused in his walk and faced him. He
looked desperately anxious, but resolute. “I’m willing
to give you all the side-lights I can, but I want to know
first where you stand. We think the same, Parker,
that Uncle Mathew never took that dose of his own
free will? That some one forced it on him?”
“I’m not prepared to say that your uncle did not
take his own life,” Parker returned.
“Oh, quit being a lawyer for a few minutes and


166 THE MORETON MYSTERY
speak out!” Driscoll exclaimed. “Accuse me if you
want to—only say what you actually think!”
“I’m not accusing anybody, even in my own mind,”
Parker answered equably. “I’m trying to weigh every
circumstance carefully. . . . What I want is to talk
this thing over with you, Driscoll—discuss motives
rather than individuals.”
“Go ahead. Lord knows, I want light on the sub-
ject!”
“Well, let us consider this household, then—we'll
begin with Mrs. Moreton; we'll grant that she and her
husband did not love each other, that their relations
were decidedly strained; moreover, that Mrs. More-
ton has been distracted by jealousy. But you agree
with me, don't you, that her having any part in that
crime is highly unlikely?”
“Out of the question!” Driscoll said decidedly. “Be-
sides, there were witnesses to prove that she never left
the veranda.”
“I know that, she was accounted for and so were a
number of others. What I want to get at is: would
she be capable of conniving with some one to commit
that crime—had she a motive?”
“Aunt Lilian couldn't have had a hand in it,” Dris-
coll declared. “I know Aunt Lilian so well: she gets
angry and goes off the handle, she'll row endlessly and
she nags and nags and magnifies her suspicions, but
she's mentally and physically incapable of being a
criminal. She's the kind of coward that's bound hand


168 THE MORETON MYSTERY
tional ass—he'd fall dead at the mere thought of jeo-
pardizing his much-prized social position! He's been
suffering agonies at the thought that his happen-so con-
nection with this business might hurt his position.
He's been aiming right along for Elfreda Craxton's
set. There are some pretty decent things about Levene—
I know for a fact that he means to go over and do his
bit—he'll have his commission in a few days. In his
case, there'd not be a shadow of a motive. He admired
Uncle Mathew immensely and many's the time he
smoothed out Aunt Lilian's tempers. He's always
been semi-physicianally devoted to Aunt Lilian, that’s
his way with all his good-paying lady patients, they
want to be treated that way. Aunt Lilian's nothing to
him but a good-paying patient, and Aunt Lilian has
smiled on him merely because the devoted services of
a young society physician—which would be her defini-
tion of him—flatters her vanity. Aunt Lilian likes to
look interesting and to be told that she’s ‘alluring.”
She's not altogether a hypochondriac either—she really
does suffer and often really needs a doctor.”
Parker showed genuine interest in Driscoll's analy-
ses. “The doctor has two good witnesses to his move-
ments after dinner,” he commented.
“It couldn't have been Levene,” Driscoll repeated.
“You appear to have thought him out pretty well.”
“I’ve thought over every person and every possibil-
ity until my head aches,” Driscoll answered with sud-
den weariness.
l


MOTIVES 169
“So have I,” Parker confessed. “But let's go on:
Von Betler, Driscoll?”
“I’ve considered Von Betler—and the count,” Dris-
coll said thoughtfully “I’ve turned them over and
over in my mind, but I can’t see it, Parker. The thing's
impossible, viewed in the light of a German plot with
either of those two implicated. And in these days the
first thing one's mind jumps to is the possibility of a
German plot. I’ve known Von Betler ever since I was
a boy. He's a gentleman and a pretty fine sort and his
wife's the stanchest little American alive. It's true
that before we declared war Von Betler sided more or
less with Germany, a thing Uncle Mathew couldn't
forgive, but it's also true that since we’ve been in it
Von Betler has worked heart and hand for America.
He's gone in openly for the anti-German propaganda
work we are doing in this country. His father was a
Prussian, that's the worst that can be said against
him. And the count's not a German or a German sym-
pathizer. Long before the war ever began I heard
him express himself about Prussianism—he was en-
tirely out of sympathy with German autocracy. And
he's always kept himself clear of the rich Germans in
New York. He knows the best people in the city, many
of them intimately—Aunt Lilian secured something
of a lion when she got Gansingen out here for a week-
end, and naturally she was in a rage when Uncle
Mathew snubbed him. Uncle Mathew didn't know
anything against him—he was simply completely out


170 THE MORETON MYSTERY
of patience with Aunt Lilian's silly running after for-
eigners. She thinks it's smart to have them about—
‘Count this' or ‘Lord that’—it sounds well. I doubt
whether Uncle Mathew knew who Gansingen was—
Uncle Mathew gave up society long ago—left the
whole thing to Aunt Lilian. I’ve known Gansingen
for some time and I like him. He's one of the most
charming men socially that I’ve ever known. It's true,
too, that he wants the government to give him a job
—he's ready to go on ambulance service or anything
they want him to do.”
Parker nodded. “It’s inconceivable from any angle
it's viewed. A murder plot is a pretty serious thing.
And, after Moreton's attitude at dinner, Von Betler
and the count would be the first to come under sus-
picion, even a mad Hun could foresee that. To strike
Moreton down immediately after that scene at dinner
—or to permit such a thing to be done—would be the
surest way to court suspicion. Besides, Driscoll, there
was no earthly reason for any particular German ani-
mus against Moreton. He was an earnest patriot, but
so are hundreds of others. It's true he runs those steel
mills and had government contracts, but killing More-
ton wouldn't stop his steel output or cancel his con-
tracts—the mills would go on just the same. I know
his business affairs pretty well—Moreton was not en-
gaged in a single undertaking that would bring Ger-
man wrath upon him. Moreton expressed himself
freely, but so has every patriot in the country—every


MOTIVES 171
.*
one’s expressing himself some way or another. T. .
There must be a motive for a crime like that, and in
looking for it in this direction I don't find it.”
“Nor I. I don't believe there's a single real German
sympathizer in the house—unless possibly Mrs. Ins-
mann, and the Von Betlers accounted for her after
dinner. A woman couldn't have done that thing any-
way—no woman could accomplish a Powell murder,
she hasn't the wrist strength.”
“Hardly woman's work,” Parker said, “but stranger
things have happened. Still, as far as Mrs. Insmann
is concerned, I judge her to be of the martyr-pacifist
order, nothing worse. . . . You followed the
Powell case, then, Driscoll?”
“I was one of the reporters at the trial,” Driscoll
answered uncomfortably. “I was reading the whole
thing over again, yesterday afternoon, in Hoffman's
book on Poisons and Some Strange Cases. . . . I
wish I’d never seen that damned book!” He did not
look at Parker; he looked down.
“I remember you asked your uncle about it. To
whom does it belong?”
“I don't know. . . . I know it oughtn't to be
allowed out of a psychopathist’s library.”
Parker dropped the subject. “We come then to the
person to whom we both have given the most thought,”
he said practically, “and that's the chauffeur. . . .
We'll leave Miss Allen out of the matter, Driscoll,
except in as far as her evident faith in Holt may have


172 THE MORETON MYSTERY
led her to shield him from suspicion by emphasizing
the short time it took her to search for Mr. Moreton.
If, as she insisted, she went through Mr. Moreton's
room and her own and down to the library, turned and
came back immediately, the crime could scarcely have
been committed by the chauffeur during her absence,
for by going through the performance at the request
of the jury, she demonstrated to us all that it takes
just six minutes to hurry through Moreton's room,
pass through her own, run down the stairs and look
into the library, and return to the landing where both
she and the chauffeur declared he was waiting. . . .
Now, Driscoll, Jowett told me last night that, by his
watch, exactly twenty-five minutes passed between the
time Miss Allen and Holt entered the basement and
the moment when Jowett himself entered the study.
In that case, there are certainly about fifteen minutes,
in addition to the six, to be accounted for. Now—”
“Twenty-five minutes!” Driscoll interrupted sharply.
“He didn't tell us that at the inquest! He said he
waited ‘something over ten minutes.’ I never dreamed
that twenty-five minutes had passed—nor did the
jury! Why, Parker, Levene has insisted that Uncle
Mathew hadn't been dead more than twenty minutes.”
Driscoll was greatly perturbed.
“Jowett slurred the fact, and for good reasons of
his own, I fancy,” Parker returned dryly.
“What reasons?” Driscoll demanded.
“Because he knows that this is only the beginning.”


174 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Yes, I do,” Driscoll confessed. “I believe the man
had a reason for being here, and his making off looks
bad. . . . You see, Parker, Nixie had a lonely time
of it, Aunt Lilian won't let her see people, and this
fellow may have imposed on her. If she had faith in
him, she'd try to shield him—she's that sort. I can't
get the German plot idea out of my head; Uncle
Mathew had such an out-and-out detestation of the
whole tribe. If Holt was a German agent, we don't
have to look far for a motive.”
“There's always the possibility of private revenge,”
Parker suggested quietly. “Jealousy, some fancied in-
sult, any one of half a dozen things.”
Driscoll paused abruptly in his walk. “If Holt was
madly in love with Nixie and he suspected, misunder-
stood, I mean, the character of Uncle Mathew's love
for Nixie—and was jealous . . . I know what that
sort of thing is like . . . why, Parker—” He
stopped.
“Exactly,” Parker answered. “But not in sudden
anger, Driscoll, for whoever committed that murder
—if it was a murder—I persist in that “if”—whoever
committed that crime had the Powell case in mind and
had planned his course, else how came he to have the
hydrocyanic?”
Driscoll stood still, considering, his brows drawn.
Then he sighed heavily. “It’s beyond me!” he said. “I
can't help feeling, though, that Holt may be the man.”
“But you realize, of course, that if Holt should be


MOTIVES 175
accused of the crime and arrested, Miss Allen would
almost certainly be dragged in as an accomplice?”
“Realize! I've done nothing but realize, from the
moment Nixie told her story in the study and I saw
how Holt hung on her words!” Driscoll exclaimed in
despair.
“Well, Holt's not arrested yet,” Parker said briskly.
“Let’s not borrow trouble. There are several other
possibilities for us to consider, Driscoll: there remain
for our consideration, myself, yourself and Jowett—
and the possible—”
“Jowett!” Driscoll interrupted in amazement.
“We agreed to consider everybody, didn't we?”
Parker returned composedly.
“Yes, but Jowett never entered my head!”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that of all the people
connected with last night's tragedy, myself, yourself
and Jowett are the only ones who have no one to vouch
for our movements after dinner?” Parker answered
with a sort of grim amusement. “Even the chauffeur
has Miss Allen's testimony to the effect that he had
only six minutes to himself. . . . Well, let us begin
with Everitt Parker as the possible criminal?”
“It’s no time for joking, Parker.”
“I think myself that it would be rather difficult to
persuade a jury that I killed Mathew Moreton, though
I have no doubt there are those who have carefully
canvassed the possibility. . . . Yourself, Driscoll?”
“My God, no!” Driscoll said with passionate em-


176 THE MORETON MYSTERY
phasis. “I growled at the old man sometimes, but I
respected him and loved him.” His eyes filled with
tears.
“How about Jowett?”
“You’re not serious, Parker?”
“Why not?” Parker demanded. “Find a motive
and, for all I can see, Jowett's as likely a suspect as
any one of us. He's intelligent, well enough acquainted
with the Powell murder and others to plan the thing
skilfully. He certainly was about the place last night
unchaperoned. It's often the least likely person who
finally proves to be the criminal, Driscoll.”
“I give it up!” Driscoll said with a gesture expres-
sive of bewilderment.
“Not till we've considered the last possibility,” Park-
er persisted. “This house is not inaccessible—that
basement door was not locked, and when I came in at
quarter past ten the front door stood open. Well, what
was to hinder some outsider from sneaking in that
way and up-stairs and down again to the study through
Moreton's room, and being startled by sounds of steps
on the basement stairs—those stairs aren't carpeted—
escaping up the boxed stairway, through Moreton's
room, and possibly out again by the front door. . . .
I tell you, Driscoll, if the circumstances were a little
different, I'd thrill over getting this case before a
grand jury! I'd make them see double and luxuriate
in doing it!”
There were in Everitt Parker a few drops of blood


MOTIVES 177
of the wandering tribe; American for four genera-
tions, of Puritan ancestry, but dowered nevertheless
by a dark ancestress; some time in the past a Rachel
had been united to a Puritan Parker. The “incal-
culably valuable drops” were his, the inheritance which
has produced three-fifths of the world's creative leaven
and four-fifths of her dramatic expression. Son of a
blue-eyed mother and a blond father, he was dark,
aquiline, and warm-tinted. For a brief few moments
his dark face was alight, his slim fingers aquiver; he
had flung out his hands, palms up, a gesture in which
he never indulged, except when moved.
Driscoll Moreton studied him anxiously. “But
you'll not stir muddy water, Parker? I swear Nixie
couldn't have had a hand in it, and she'd be drenched
with dirt, if this thing came into court.”
Parker's hands dropped and he spoke very quietly.
“I stir muddy water? No. . . . But some one else
will do that, or I’m no prophet.”
“Jowett?”
“Probably—or some one else, very certainly.”
“And wer’”
“Sit tight and hold our tongues—and if it comes to
a fight, fight. . . . I’ve told you I could make a
jury see double.”
“You’ll stand by Nixie then, Parker?” Driscoll
asked eagerly.
“Your uncle appointed me her counsel,” Parker an-
swered succinctly.


178 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Driscoll drew a long breath. “I feel better!” he
said with profound relief. “I have a lot of confidence
in you, Parker. . . . And now I'll tell you some-
thing: you remember Aunt Lilian was questioned
about there being poison in the house? Well, I know
that there was. Yesterday afternoon I went to Uncle
Mathew's medicine-cupboard—you know how I am
when I have a spree coming on, a damned aching and
restlessness that gets the best of me. I was awfully
keen on keeping a clear head and I was looking for a
sedative—aspirin helps me sometimes. Well, there
wasn't any aspirin, but there in plain view was a bottle
of hydrocyanic, plainly labeled.”
Parker's face had lost all expression. “You didn't
tell of it at the inquest,” he said.
“No-” Driscoll answered slowly. “I considered
and then I didn't. . . . It was Aunt Lilian who was
questioned, you remember, not I. I’d decided that the
less said the better. . . . The bottle I saw wasn't
the one on the desk, Parker; it was larger and almost
half full. I’ve been to Uncle Mathew's medicine-cup-
board before, other times I’ve been out here, but I
never saw that bottle before. When I saw it, I thought,
‘What's Uncle Mathew got that stuff about for?" but
it didn’t make any great impression on me. When I
was reading Hoffman's book I thought of it again,
then forgot it, for I’d been out in the dining-room and
had had a drink or two. . . . But, Parker, after we
carried Aunt Lilian up last night, I went first thing


MOTIVES 179
and looked in the medicine-cupboard, and the bottle
wasn't there; it wasn't anywhere about. . . . I
didn't tell this at the inquest for I was so dead afraid
that in some way it might be used against Nixie.” He
stopped.
Parker had been thinking intently. “It’s as well you
didn't mention it,” he said rather absently. “Jowett,
of course, overhauled that medicine-cupboard, he
wouldn't let a thing like that pass, but, if the bottle
was gone when you looked, it was not there when
Jowett made his investigation. . . . It’s a bit of
evidence, I must say,” he added in the same preoccu-
pied way. “That bottle must be about, somewhere—
it's not so easy to do away with a bottle. . . . Tell
me, did you notice any empty one-ounce bottles in the
cupboard, like the one on the study desk?”
“No, every bottle had something in it and I don't
remember seeing any bottle as small as that.” Driscoll
regarded Parker's preoccupation anxiously. “Do you
think the thing could be used against Nixie?” he asked,
then added with a touch of defiance, “I think it's a
much more certain proof that Uncle Mathew may
have thought of suicide. I wish now I had come for-
ward with it at the inquest.” -
Parker aroused somewhat. “No, I'm glad you didn't
happen to be questioned. We'll keep the thing to our-
selves for the present—we'll have to. . . . Driscoll,
we’ve had a pretty full talk, and we understand each
other; we’re both looking to Miss Allen's interests.


180 THE MORETON MYSTERY
|
Now there's something I want you to do—I want you
to get into town to your office and find out what your
paper means to do in the way of a story of this thing.
There’re bound to be reporters out here, I wonder
they haven't appeared before this, but I have an idea
that their papers won't allow them to say much—I
fancy the lid's already on. You go in and find out.”
“You think the Secret Service is on to it?” Driscoll
asked quickly.
“Like as not. But if your paper wants a story,
you're prepared to give it to them, just the surface
facts and the gist of the inquest—and don't forget to
emphasize Miss Allen's extreme youth and characterize
the chauffeur as a boy. Also speak of Miss Allen as
Mathew Moreton's adopted and well-beloved daugh-
ter; speak of her frantic distress and eager search for
help when she and the young chauffeur made the dis-
covery, and be sure to mention Mr. Moreton's anxiety
over the strike at the mills and his strenuous activity
during this last hot week. . . . But I don't need to
tell you your business—there's no man in New York
better qualified than you are to write a skilful story.”
“I intended to go in and give them a story, if they
wanted it. . . . You think then that the Secret
Service may take a hand in this?”
“I don't know a thing more about it than you do,
Driscoll. I do think, though, that in a case like this
anything is possible, so you make haste into town,
|
|


MOTIVES 181
Driscoll. I’ll get in as soon as I can, and then I'll tele-
phone you.”
“I’ll get the next train,” Driscoll said with energy,
and he looked at his watch.
“That's right!” Parker returned with satisfaction.
“Keep going and don't brood.” He put his hand on
Driscoll's shoulder. “And, my boy, cut the whisky. If
the ache gets you, think of Nixie-think of your uncle
—you remember what you said to me last night.
Things may not go altogether well with Nixie, Dris-
coll—we'll need to have clear heads. . . . Don't
brood over impossibilities, my boy—and don't drink!”
The tears gathered in Driscoll’s eyes. He did not
trust himself to speak; he merely nodded in a decided
way and went out. And in a few minutes Parker also
left the room.


XIX
THE POCKET-CASE
EN Parker reached the first floor, he found
that the coroner's party had gone, that the mas-
ter of Moreton House had been borne to his room.
The study had been cleared of all signs of the recent
inquest, had been restored to its usual state, and Burke
was busied now in the library. Under his direction, a
maid was dusting and setting things to rights. The
little butler looked wan and tired, but he showed no
diminution of energy. When Parker appeared, he
looked at him in a veiled yet wholly respectful way.
“Have you seen Mr. Jowett?” Parker asked.
“He went to the garage, sir—immediately after the
inquest.”
“And where is Miss Allen, Burke?”
“I’ve not seen her since the inquest, sir. . . .
Mrs. Moreton's orders were to get these rooms in order
at once, as the funeral will be to-morrow morning, so
I have been occupied here, sir.”
“What are the plans for the funeral?” Parker asked.
“A simple service by the clergyman from Ford's
Landing, sir, and only the family present, and then the
body taken into town. . . . If I see Miss Allen, I
shall tell her you wish to see her, sir?”
182


THE POCKET-CASE 185
a stool and had a look at the shelf, and this is what I
found, wrapped in this cloth and thrust back in a far
corner.” Jowett took a paper parcel from his pocket
and unrolled it, a square of soft dusting material, like
several others hanging in the garage, wrapped about
a bottle which was a quarter full of a colorless liquid.
Jowett handed the bottle to Parker. “Don’t touch
the glass,” he warned. “Keep the cloth between the
glass and your fingers.”
Parker read the label, which was hand-printed on a
square of white paper, the lettering very perfectly
done:
“HYDRocyAN1c AcID, Poison.”
“Take the cork out carefully and smell of it,”
Jowett said.
Parker did so and nodded.
“Unmistakable—that odor?”
“Hydrocyanic certainly,” Parker returned. He gave
the bottle to Jowett and the detective carefully re-
wrapped it and replaced it in his pocket. If he intended
to speak, he was hindered, for the garage telephone
rang sharply.
“I’ll leave if you like?” Parker suggested.
“No, stay—I’ve something to say when I’ve finished
with the telephone,” and Jowett hurried out.
Parker followed in leisurely fashion and seated him-
self on the bench. He listened keenly enough, but there
was nothing to be had from the one-sided conversation.


186 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Yes—yep, yep. . . . Repeat—didn't get that
last? . . . Yep, have it now. . . . All right-o!”
Parker gathered that the message Jowett was receiv-
ing was in code; the snatches of jargon hollowly vi-
brating through the telephone were quite unintelligible
to Parker.
Jowett hung up the receiver and turned briskly to
Parker. He looked at his watch as he came. “I’m go-
ing to get the next train,” he announced, “but I’ve got
an extra five minutes in which to apologize.”
“Go ahead,” Parker said easily, but his color rose.
“You’ve discovered, of course, Mr. Parker, that
sometime last night, while you slept on the divan, your
pockets were picked, all of them that could be reached,
and that some one must have picked the lock of your
bag? I found two things in your bag that interested
me, one a crumpled bath-towel, and another, Doctor
Hoffman's book on Poisons and Some Strange Cases.
It's a new publication and he cites the Powell case,
among others; the pages on the Powell case are well
thumbed. Then, in the inside breast pocket of your
coat I found a case with two small flat bottles, one
marked ‘Chloroform,’ another ‘Hydrocyanic Acid.”
The bottle marked ‘Chloroform’ was empty, the other
bottle was full to the cork. . . . I apologize for tak-
ing possession of your property, but it seemed neces-
sary.” If there was satisfaction or triumph or a desire
to prod, beneath Jowett’s words, he succeeded perfectly
in concealing everything but a certain even politeness.


THE POCKET-CASE 187
Parker's eyes had not shifted from the detective's;
his slightly heightened color was his only betrayal of
emotion, whether of anger or perturbation it would be
difficult to tell. “Yes, I discovered my pocket had been
picked as soon as I put on my coat this morning, and
when I went to my room I missed my bath-towel and
the book,” he said with the merest touch of thickness
in his speech. “You’re welcome to the rest of the loot,
Jowett, but I’d like that pocket-case as soon as you see
fit to return it. I’m attached to that pocket-case, I’ve
carried it for over ten years—just a fad of mine.”
There was no little admiration in the look Jowett
gave the lawyer, and there was a note of genuine regret
in his answer. “Sorry I can’t promise about the pocket-
case, Mr. Parker, but I’ll do my best. I guess my best
is my duty.”
“You’re perfectly in the right,” Parker answered
without a trace of either embarrassment or anger. “I
judge you're going to carry all this to the right quar-
ter?”
“I am. It's too big a thing for me to handle.”
Parker nodded. “I felt sure you’d reached that con-
clusion,” and he rose. He was a graceful man, light
on his feet and with the swing and force of perfect
health about him; he appeared even more alertly erect
than usual. “If you're going to the station, I'll go as
far as the house with you,” he added, and he led the
way, his face impassive, his manner easy.


XX
GIVE ME YOUR CONFIDENCE
S Parker watched Jowett swing off down the ter-
races his brows lowered into a frown. Then he
turned and looked about him; there was no one in
sight, and he stood too close to the house to be easily
seen from the windows above. A few feet away was
the corner filled with shrubbery which Jowett had de-
scribed as hiding the entrance to the basement; it also
screened Parker from any one who might be on the
veranda.
Parker passed behind the bushes, found the base-
ment door and tried it. It was not locked and he en-
tered the passageway, a tunnel-like place with a stair-
way at its farther end. When he closed the door,
Parker was in semi-darkness. He could distinguish
the stairway, however, and he quickly ascended and
found himself in the upper passage, which was much
lighter, for there was a window at the farther end,
evidently designed to light the passage and the boxed
stairway which led up to Moreton's bedroom. Half-
way down the passage was the window-door into the
study, closed and its blind drawn.
Together with the coroner's jury, Parker had can-
188


GIVE ME YOUR CONFIDENCE 189
vassed this wing of the house, so he wasted no time in
looking about him, but went straight on to the foot of
the boxed stairway. And there he came upon the per-
son he was seeking, Nixie, standing on the second
step, head craned, lips parted, and eyes blazing. The
heavy carpeting deadened the sound of footsteps, but
Nixie had evidently heard his approach, for her atti-
tude was one of intent listening. When Parker strode
upon her hiding-place and suddenly faced her, she
gasped.
“I’m sorry—I didn't mean to frighten you!” he said
in his pleasantest manner. “I looked everywhere for
you, before the inquest, and afterward it occurred to
me that you might be here.”
“I’m not frightened—” she said breathlessly, “I-
thought it was some one else.” The fire in her eyes
died; she looked white and very tired, then, and her
whole attitude was an anxious question, “What do you
want with me?”
Parker replied to it in his kindliest tones. “I simply
wanted to talk a little with you, before going back into
town. . . . Won't you come down to the lake with
me? You look very tired and it's pleasant down
there.”
Nixie shook her head. “I’d rather stay here.”
“We'll talk here then—we're not likely to be dis-
turbed.”
Parker could not understand why she had spent
most of the morning in that hot, airless place. He was


190 THE MORETON MYSTERY
certain now that immediately after breakfast she had
hurried to her present hiding-place and that, except
for the time she had spent in the garage, she had not
emerged from it until the coroner and his party had
begun their investigations. He felt quite as certain that
Burke had known where she was. At the coroner's de-
parture, she had evidently again taken up her post.
Parker hoped to discover the reason; he hoped to dis-
cover much from Nixola Allen. His anxiety, as well
as his interest and curiosity, had reached an almost un-
manageable pitch.
Nixie offered no explanation, however; simply
seated herself on the step, and Parker sat down beside
her. She was a little thing, and he could look down on
her, a mass of crisp, live curls that escaped from the
knot at the back of her head and rebelled against
even the ribbon band which attempted to keep them
from falling over her face, a fore-shortened view of
long lashes, piquant nose, full firm-set lips. Her
loosely belted and uncorseted frock gave her the much
coveted straight lines, but Parker saw that it covered
firm curves; she was small-framed but muscular, slim
little hands, tiny feet, but the well-developed leg of the
professional acrobat. And Parker's downward glance
discovered something else which interested him; her
hands, clasped in her lap, held a bunch of keys, a num-
ber of keys, so many that her hands could not cover
them. . . . Had she been trying to gain access to
the study? -


GIVE ME YOUR CONFIDENCE 191
“I want to get back to town as soon as possible,”
Parker continued easily, “but first there are several
things I must talk over with you. I shall see you to-
morrow, for Burke tells me that the funeral will be
in the morning, and that means that I shall have to
come out with the will, but I may not have a chance
to talk with you before the will is read.”
Nixie stiffened and her eyes widened. “Does the
will have to be read so soon?”
“Immediately after the funeral, Miss Nixie. That
is one of the provisions of the will.”
She looked down and Parker saw her features set in
the expression that hardened her face, the bleak grim
look she had worn throughout almost the entire in-
quest.
“You know the disposition Mr. Moreton made of
his property, Miss Nixie?” Parker continued.
“In a general way,” she answered without raising
her eyes. “He told me he intended to provide for me.”
“He has, and I foresee trouble. . . . Now, I
do not want to force your confidence, but Mr. More-
ton appointed me your counsel, and I mean to do my
best to see you through the complications which are
almost certain to follow. To do so I should be armed
by a complete understanding. What I want you to do
is to be quite open with me, for you know, of course,
that whatever a client tells her legal adviser is held in
strict confidence. If there are circumstances which
are unknown to others, or which you would shrink


192 THE MORETON MYSTERY
from having others know, but with which I ought to
be acquainted in order to protect you and your inter-
ests, please confide them to me. Only by a complete
knowledge of every circumstance connecting you with
Mr. Moreton—and his family—will I be able to guard
you against a very possibly painful situation. I want
to fulfill my trust to the very best of my ability.”
Parker spoke with great gentleness, but also with
firmness.
Nixie was silent for a long moment; then she said
evenly, “There is nothing I can tell, Mr. Parker.”
“I am your friend—please believe me, Miss Nixie,
and trust me,” he said earnestly. As he spoke, he put
his hand on hers.
She shrank from him and her answer was resolute,
“I am sorry, but I have nothing to tell you, Mr.
Parker.”
Parker flushed, for her distrust of him was so evi-
dent. She both distrusted and feared him, and yet,
in what she realized was her desperate strait, she de-
pended on him. Twice she had appealed to him, once
in the study, in Jowett's presence, when she had said,
“I know Mr. Moreton wanted you to look after his
affairs—if he should die—even little things,” and
again when he had been called upon at the inquest and
she had turned and looked at him; there had been
desperate appeal in her eyes then. And on both oc-
casions he had stood by her.
In his irritation, Parker was tempted to frighten


GIVE ME YOUR CONFIDENCE 193
her into complete dependence on him; he was even
tempted to make a distant reference to that night at
the hotel, say something which would draw from her
a confession. . . . Then Parker's usual coolness
reminded him that she most certainly sensed his opin-
ion of her; she knew that he must have drawn certain
conclusions, since that night at the hotel, and in either
case, whether she was or was not guarding a shameful
secret, it was natural that she should shrink from him.
He also reminded himself, rather grimly, that time
was certain to accomplish the thing he sought. If
he was any judge, Nixola Allen would be in about
as sore straits as it was possible for a woman to be.
And, as he looked down at the hand he had
touched, he told himself that he had made a mistake.
His act had been involuntary, prompted by an attrac-
tion he was much too clear-headed to deny. From
the first moment he had seen her, and in spite of every-
thing, she had attracted him and he had made her
cause his, to an extent that fairly appalled him, viewed
in the light of recent developments. . . . The flush
left Parker's face and his expression became impassive.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “You will feel
more confidence in me later on, so I won't press for ex-
planations now. . . . But at the risk of being disa-
greeable, there are a few questions I must ask: to your
knowledge, have you any living relative?”
She drew a quick breath which might have been one
of relief. “No, nobody.”


194 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“I gathered from what you said at the inquest that
you are convinced Mr. Moreton did not take his own
life?”
“He couldn't have done such a thing.” She spoke
in a hard determined way, with none of the feeling
she had shown at the inquest.
“He had an enemy then, Miss Nixie?”
“He must have had,” she said in the same hard way.
“But you do not know who?”
She was silent.
“It may be of tremendous importance to your inter-
ests to elucidate that matter,” Parker persisted. “I
am not questioning out of mere curiosity.”
“I am not certain of anything,” she finally answered.
“I don't want to say any more.”
“Even the statement of a suspicion would help me,”
Parker suggested.
She shook her head.
“Well, I won't press you—we'll drop that matter,”
Parker said. “But there's one more question: who is
Harry Holt, Miss Allen? In spite of your testimony,
I can't help feeling that you know more about him
than any one else, and I ask because I feel certain that
he is going to be drawn into the future complications
which I am trying my best to avoid.”
Her voice could not have been more icy. “I told
at the inquest all I have to say about Holt.
What do you mean when you say he may be drawn
into future complications? What do you mean by


196 THE MORETON MYSTERY
She certainly possessed “grit” and “will” and several
other qualities that made for “coolness.” But it was
evident that her steadily enunciated statement cost
her something, for her forehead, beneath her curls,
had grown moist and tiny beads of perspiration pep-
pered her upper lip.
“That is a probability we must try to avoid,” Parker
said.
Nixie did not ask, “How can we avoid it?” She
said none of the things Parker thought it would be
natural for her to say. “It would be a great—pity,”
she answered with a quiver of undeniably genuine
feeling. “A very great—pity—” she added slowly
and softly. Her voice was sweet when robbed of cold-
ness and steadiness.
Parker was as completely puzzled as he had ever
been in his life. What was going on beneath, those
childish curls of hers? What was she anyway? He
had come determined to elucidate Nixola Allen, and it
seemed that he was going to leave in a doubly be-
mazed condition. But with Everitt Parker puzzle-
ment bred a patience and determination that not even
a secret angry anxiety could stir. “Grit” and “will”
and distrust and native secretiveness would break—in
time. Both he and she-and Holt—were facing an
avalanche of difficulties. *
Parker's practical brain had already told him that
he might as well leave her alone. “Yes, it would be a
‘pity,’” he said with extreme dryness. “But I must


GIVE ME YOUR CONFIDENCE 197
go. If for any reason you should need me, you will
find my office number in the telephone book—and also
my residence number, for I shall continue to stay at
the Hotel.” Parker's voice was super-dry
when he named the hotel where they had both spent
an unforgetable night.
His abrupt move startled Nixie. She rose hastily
and the keys in her lap which she had forgotten fell
and scattered upon the floor. Parker gathered them
up and returned them to her, and for a brief moment
his eyes met hers. “Keys to every room in the house,”
he remarked lightly. “You must be bent on a house-
breaking expedition.”
His voice was quite under his control, but combined
irritation, curiosity and anxiety barbed his always
keen glance. Her opaquely wide look dropped beneath
his and she made no answer. She received the keys
in her cupped hands, the color flaming in her cheeks.
Parker strode away, and it was his irritation which
made him pause at the study door and try it, and with-
out any effort to conceal his rattling of the knob. The
door was securely locked, and he went on down the
stairs to the lower passageway. But there he stopped.
He had left something unsaid, and that something
was important. His irritation urged him not to re-
turn, but it was a rare thing for Parker to allow anger
to interfere with what he considered his legal duty.
He climbed the stairs again and gained the upper
passage, then halted and listened, for sounds that were


198 THE MORETON MYSTERY
painfully familiar had reached his ear. He considered
a moment, then went on to the boxed stairway and
stood, looking down on Nixie.
She lay on the steps, her face buried in her folded
arms, convulsed by an agony of weeping. She was
twisting about in her misery, clutching at the car-
pet on the steps, gripping the step itself with a force
Parker could well imagine, for there was a queer throb
in his wrist reminding him of her steel fingers. She
had broken down, surrendered to a passion of grief
or regret, or terror—probably to all three emotions.
Her tumbled curls and small body and utter abandon-
ment made her appear a frantically distressed child.
This was the way in which she had wept that hot
night at the hotel, gasping sobs which set Parker's
nerves to twitching.
He stood over her for a time, his jaws hard-set, his
face particularly expressionless. Then he sat down
beside her and put his hand on her heaving shoulder;
under its thin covering it was burning hot. “Miss
Nixie?” he said.
He startled her terribly, for she cried out, then half
rose and shrank away from him. “Leave me—alone!
Go away—” she gasped.
“I’m not going away,” Parker said quietly. “You’re
going to tell me just what the trouble is, and I’m going
to help you.”
She did not answer for a time, for she was evidently
using all the strength she possessed to gain control of


200 THE MORETON MYSTERY
He answered kindly enough. “Yes, he has left you
money. . . . Why, do you need money?”
Her tear-rimmed eyes brightened. “A sum I could
have at once?”
“Why—I think you ought to be allowed enough to
live on, even in case of court proceedings.” It was
the nearest approach Parker dared make to the dan-
ger in which she stood; too plain a reference, and she
might withdraw into her granite fastness. She had
relaxed into apparently perfect naturalness; she looked
both doubtful and eager, the first time he had seen her
look really girlish.
“Could I have the use of a thousand dollars, at once,
to-morrow—if I wanted it?”
Parker did some rapid thinking: Holt in need of
money to make a get-a-way? Possibly Nixie herself
meditating flight? “Do you want to make a present
of it to some one—or run away with it yourself?” he
asked smilingly.
“No, no! . . . I want to do something with it—
for Mr. Moreton—and I have only a hundred dollars,
from presents he made me.”
Parker had reached a decision. “I could not possibly
let you have it from the estate, no one could, but I can
loan you a thousand, Miss Nixie.”
“To-morrow P”
“I can give you a check now, if you want it,” and
his hand went to his pocket.
“And you'd be sure to get it back from the estate—a


202 THE MORETON MYSTERY
tempted to escape from all this, leave Moreton House,
if nothing else. Don't do it. Take a lawyer's word
for it, that you would be doing a suicidal thing for
yourself—and Holt. . . . . . . And, incidentally, for
myself.” - * ,
Nixie stood up and, with the aid of the step and her
upflung head, she looked tall. “Leave Moreton House!
. . . Moreton House is my home and here I stay!”
she said with tensity.
“Right you are!” Parker said. Her answer had
quieted one of his fears.
He turned to go, but Nixie held out her hand.
“Thank you for lending me the money,” she said some-
what royally and yet with sweetness.
Parker shook hands with her and departed. His
cynicism was assuring him that he had parted rather
easily with a thousand dollars. His experience, his in-
stinct, rather, told him with greater decision that he
had emerged from that supplementary interview with
a point gained. At least, he was carrying away with
him one definite conclusion regarding Nixola Allen.


XXI
widow's weeDs
HEN Parker re-entered the house by way of
the veranda and started up-stairs to his room,
he was stopped by Burke. “Mrs. Moreton wishes to
see you, sir. I have been watching for you to come in.”
There was both questioning and anxiety in the little
butler's respectful manner. His intelligent blue eyes
searched Parker's face keenly and at the same time
with deference. Parker guessed that Burke had known
perfectly well that he had been with Nixie, and also
that he was very anxious over the result of the inter-
view; that probably Nixie was almost as much of an
enigma to Burke as she was to Parker himself. If
Burke was devoted to Nixie, he would naturally be
poignantly fearful of the same “complications” Parker
feared. Parker was convinced that Burke knew far
more about Moreton's affairs, business and otherwise,
than any one suspected.
It occurred to Parker that Burke might be willing
to talk, and he decided to test him. “I’ll see Mrs.
Moreton presently,” Parker answered. “I wish I could
have a talk with you first, Burke.”
Burke's look grew veiled. “Yes, sir—certainly, sir,”
203


204 THE MORETON MYSTERY
he said cautiously. “But it will 'ardly be possible just
now, sir, for I have been ordered to remain here in
the 'all. . . . There has been a reporter out, talking
with Doctor Levene. The doctor asked for you, sir,
but you couldn't be found.”
Parker could not determine whether Burke was re-
luctant or merely cautious. “Perhaps you can bring
me some lunch, in my room—later on,” he suggested.
“I shall see Mrs. Moreton, then I must get back to
town.”
“Your lunch will be sent up. I shall bring it up my-
self, sir—if possible,” Burke answered in the same
veiled way. “Mrs. Moreton wished you to come di-
rectly to her apartment, opposite to Mr. Moreton's,
Sir.”
Parker nodded and went on up-stairs, still uncer-
tain as to Burke. The man was terribly anxious, that
was evident; he looked harassed and ten years older
than the rosy-faced man who, the day before, had car-
ried Parker's bag into Moreton House. But was he
prepared to rid himself of the knowledge Parker was
certain he possessed? If he was, he would find a
means. It rested now with Burke himself; certainly he
could not be coerced.
Parker was ushered into Mrs. Moreton's apartment
by her maid, who was not too much oppressed by the
family tragedy to regard the family lawyer with in-
tense interest. Mrs. Moreton's pink and gold boudoir
was so shaded that it was almost dim, and Mrs. More-


WIDOW’S WEEDS 205
ton, her hair banded with black, swathed in a black
negligee and braced upon the couch by many pillows,
completed the general effect of illness and mourning.
The tabouret at her knee supported the bottle of smell-
ing-salts and the black-edged handkerchief.
Parker decided that Driscoll was quite right, a
straining after effect was one of Mrs. Moreton's char-
acteristics, and these pronounced appurtenances of
mourning were quite a natural self-expression. Never-
theless, he sensed in her a certain relief, amounting
almost to satisfaction. She had worn that air ever
since she had delivered her testimony against Nixie.
She still looked like one who had experienced a severe
shock, but she did not appear to be grief-stricken or
overwhelmed. She gave Parker her thin hand, then
motioned him to the chair beside her.
Parker avoided the usual expressions of sympathy.
“I wish you were feeling less ill, Mrs. Moreton.”
“I am really too ill to see any one,” she answered,
“but there is something I must ask you about.
Mary, I will ring when I want you.”
The maid noiselessly withdrew and they were left
together. Mrs. Moreton then lifted the smelling-salts,
and there was silence for a moment. She spoke then
with somewhat more vigor. “There is no need of my
saying how horrified I have been, or of apologizing
for my nerves, or of talking of the fearful thing which
has happened. I feel more myself now and there are
things which must be attended to.”


208 THE MORETON MYSTERY
other only this last week. The first two wills he de-
stroyed in my presence and the presence of a member
of the Safety Trust Company. This last will provides
that directly after the funeral it shall be read in the
presence of the family.” -
Parker saw in her widened eyes the desire to ques-
tion further, restrained by her fear of showing too
much eagerness. “I see,” she said hastily, and her
color deepened. “I suppose you drew this new will?”
Parker sensed her instant antagonism. Before her
husband's death, he had meant nothing to her, her hus-
band's lawyer and unconnected with her social set.
Since her husband's death, he had gained somewhat in
importance, some one whose services she intended to
retain, but only so long as he pleased her. Not until
this moment had it occurred to her that he was vitally
connected with her property interests and probably the
custodian of her husband's wishes and intentions, of
which she knew practically nothing.
“Yes, I drew the will,” he said quietly. “I have at-
tended to all such matters for Mr. Moreton for the
last six years. . . . I feel, Mrs. Moreton, that we
should follow Mr. Moreton's wishes in every respect.
Aside from the instructions concerning the disposal of
his remains, I know of no point that we need to con-
sider until after the will is read.”
“Yes, of course,” she said nervously and at the same
time with an edge to her words. “You know all about
his wishes—of course.”


WIDOW'S WEEDS 209
“Being in my position, I do of course know a good
- deal about his wishes,” Parker returned equably, “and,
knowing as much as I do, there is something I want to
say: Mr. Moreton's death is a sensationally tragic
thing, Mrs. Moreton, and, in any case, there will be
public comment. I feel very strongly that we should
do nothing to arouse a still greater stir. We must
consider the social position of the family—your so-
cial position. Innuendoes, scandal, anything of that
sort will reflect upon your social position, for it
will be an attack upon the name you bear.
You have asked me to advise you, and I am do-
ing so to the best of my ability; let us subordinate
private animosities, and endeavor to carry out Mr.
Moreton's wishes with the least stir possible, always
bearing in mind that Mr. Moreton built his fortune
and that it was his right to dispose of it in lawful
fashion. . . . I speak from my not inconsiderable
legal experience, Mrs. Moreton, when I advise you
that you will further both your personal and family
interests by avoiding controversy, and above all, public
comment and scandal.” He ended with no little stern-
116SS.
She was sitting tense now, without the support of
pillows. “Yes, yes,” she agreed hurriedly. “Of course
I don't want talk and comment. But I had to say what
I did at the inquest—I had to tell the truth. I certainly
don't want that matter to go any further, but I don't
See what else I was to do, Mr. Parker? Mr. Moreton


210 THE MORETON MYSTERY
was certainly not himself, to do what he did, and I am
convinced that he has not been himself for some time
because of of the state of mind he was in.” She was
evidently frightened, but she was also defiant.
Parker's private opinion was, that, for a nervous un-
controlled woman, she had testified with greater re-
serve than might have been expected. He guessed that
she had been advised; Doctor Levene had probably
urged upon her the unwisdom of a family exposé. She
was seething, that was evident, but she was also afraid
and she was thinking rapidly and, Parker judged, du-
biously concerning the possible contents of the will.
“You could, of course, state only what you believed to
be true,” Parker agreed.
“Did Mr. Moreton make you an executor?” she
asked abruptly.
“Yes, together with the Safety Trust Company.”
Her lips parted, then closed on some question.
Parker did not want to be questioned. “Is there
anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Moreton, or can
I do anything for you in the city? . . . I am a little
hurried, for I want to get the next train. . . . I
understand that the funeral will be in the morning,
and, in that case, I shall have to bring the will out, for
according to its provisions, it must be read by myself
directly after the funeral and in the presence of only
the immediate family, yourself, Driscoll Moreton,
your sister, Mrs. Burnside, of Philadelphia, and Miss


WIDOW’S WEEDS 211
Allen. I reached Mrs. Burnside by long distance last
night.”
The flush in Mrs. Moreton's cheeks had deepened
to a hot red. “Everything seems to have been care-
fully arranged l’” she flashed in bitter sarcasm.
Parker looked at her in a surprise which was either
well assumed or quite natural. “Everything would
have to be carefully arranged in the settlement of an
estate as valuable as Mr. Moreton's. . . . I think
Mr. Moreton's will is as carefully thought out and as
concise a legal document as I have ever seen, and small
praise due me, who drew it up, for Mr. Moreton had
so thoughtfully weighed and considered every point
before he called upon me for merely the legal phrase-
ology.”
“I should scarcely call either my sister or Miss Allen
members of the family,” she said hotly. “I have not
seen my sister for over ten years, and Miss Allen is
certainly not related to us in any way.”
“I have merely stated a provision of the will,”
Parker returned equably.
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Moreton said with less heat.
But she breathed quickly and her hands clenched and
unclenched.
“Then if there is nothing further, Mrs. Moreton, I
shall go and pack my bag,” Parker said in the same
mild way. “Should you wish to communicate with me
before to-morrow, I can be reached by telephone.”


212 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Mrs. Moreton was evidently trying hard to control
her anger. “I do not think of anything—at present.
Doctor Levene is very kindly attending to the funeral
arrangements for me—he has spent part of the morn-
ing telephoning to the right people. . . . I hope you
will come to the funeral,” she added with an attempt
at graciousness.
Parker shook his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Moreton,
I appreciate being asked, but your arrangements better
stand just as they are. If you will tell me the hour, I
shall time my coming.”
“The services will be at ten o'clock, just a short
service by the rector at Ford's Landing. I have taken
an especial interest in that little church, and the rector
is attached to me.” She had regained much of her
usual manner, but only after great effort; beneath the
surface she was still hotly angry, and the chilly hand
she offered him was not accompanied by even a glance;
he might regard himself as in utter disgrace.
Parker bowed over her hand and withdrew. When
the door had closed on the pink and gold of her bou-
doir, he smiled slightly and shrugged. Then his face
settled into hard lines. He looked particularly grim
when a footman and not Burke brought him his lunch,
a quiet-faced man of nearly middle age who had cer-
tainly not been among the servants in the study that
morning. He served Parker with the air of a finished
Waiter; he was evidently far more intelligent than the


WIDOW'S WEEDS 213
footman who had been present at dinner the night
before.
“Have you just been taken on?” Parker asked.
“Yes, sir—in the footman's place, sir.”
Apparently the man was an American and Parker
glanced him over keenly. “The footman's gone then?”
“He and the butler had some words, sir, and he was
discharged. . . . I have been working at The Inn,
at Ford's Landing. Burke knew me and gave me a
chance at this place.”
“I see,” Parker said meaningly, but the man re-
turned his look in a merely surprised way.
“Burke has known me some time, sir, so he knows
I'm capable—I waited in private before I went to The
Inn,” the man protested, evidently puzzled by Parker's
Inanner.
“Oh, that's all right,” Parker said as he went out,
“Burke's a good judge of capability.”


XXII
THE DOCTOR's THEORY
O Parker's surprise and satisfaction Doctor Le-
vene joined him at the front door. Parker
wanted a talk with the doctor. “Bound for the city
too?” he asked.
“Yes. I think Mrs. Moreton is well enough to be
left now—there is really no reason for my remaining.
- I'm glad to get away, Parker—I’m about
done,” he added in an undertone.
He looked it; there were dark circles about his eyes
and his skin lacked color. “It’s been a bad twenty-
four hours,” he continued. “I have never been able
to stand a prolonged nervous strain, and I have had
such a really affectionate interest in the Moretons.
The whole thing has been simply dreadful!”
He talked and gestured like a nervous woman, and
Parker understood why Driscoll’s pronounced mascu-
linity was repelled by Doctor Levene and why Moreton
had mentioned him with a touch of contempt. Parker
himself felt satirically inclined toward the man, and
yet he was forced to grant that the doctor had borne
himself very well, had done his duty by his patient
214


THE DOCTOR'S THEORY 215
and had endeavored to be helpful to every one. Doc-
tor Levene was pronouncedly a New York product
of a certain order, he was not responsible for his
dapperness and feminine affectations. He had his
place and part in the social structure of the great cos-
mopolitan city; he had made a place for himself, no
easy thing to do in a city of ravenous competition,
and Parker respected accomplishment. He did not
feel drawn to the man, the majority of men would not
be attracted by him, which was probably the doctor's
misfortune and not his fault.
Parker nodded an agreement to the doctor's re-
marks, for the presence of the chauffeur made inti-
mate conversation inadvisable. The head-gardener
had evidently secured a man to take Holt's place, a
capable-looking, youngish man, who handled the car
well. They had barely time in which to get the train,
and there were some steep slopes and sharp turns on
the way to the station. Parker noticed that the man
drove well; he evidently knew his business.
It was a sparsely passengered train, for there were
only a few who were bound for the city at three
o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. Parker chose a seat
as distant as possible from any passenger, and Doctor
Levene settled himself beside him with a sigh. “I
need sleep,” he said. “I haven't closed my eyes for
twenty-four hours. . . . I doubt whether I could
sleep, though—I can't get all this horrible business
out of my mind.”


216 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Mrs. Moreton told me you had been negotiating
with the undertakers this morning, no very enlivening
occupation,” Parker answered. “What firm did you
secure?”
“Eberbaugh and Harris.” Doctor Levene made a
gesture of despair. “Poor Mrs. Moreton and her
nerves! I've been begging her to act sensibly.
Parker, you may be thankful that you deal mostly with
men. I’m so surfeited with women's nerves that I’m
fairly jumpy myself! . . . You see, from the
beginning of my practice, I have worked on the theory
that in every woman—and man also-more particu-
larly the highly civilized product, there lies a more or
less active abnormality. It's apt to crop out in women
between forty and fifty. I owe my success in the
treatment of women to this theory of mine. I search
for the either semi-latent or pretty fully developed
abnormality, and work from that basis.”
Parker regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re a stu-
dent of the abnormal, then, Doctor?”
“I have to be.” Doctor Levene smiled. “Now I
dare say that even as apparently perfectly normal a
man as yourself possesses a tiny morbid streak which
may be either recognized or unrecognized by yourself.
Mr. Moreton was apparently as wholesome
a man as ever existed, but witness the outcome!”
Parker made a mental comment as to what might
be the doctor's secret abnormality, but he was not
particularly interested in Doctor Levene's make-up.


THE DOCTOR'S THEORY 217
The doctor had evidently mentioned Moreton with a
purpose, and that was a matter in which Parker was
interested. “An unexpected denouement certainly
—how do you explain it?” he asked.
Doctor Levene hesitated. “We’re talking confiden-
tially, of course?”
“Certainly.”
“A mad infatuation of a man of over fifty for a
young girl!” Levene stated with decision. “It’s not
the first case of the kind I’ve known. I’ve not had
more than a few moments' doubt of the cause since
the moment I was summoned to the study.
You see, Parker, I’ve been pretty intimately connected
with the family for more than two years and I’ve seen
the thing grow. And Mrs. Moreton's distraction over
it did not help matters. Heavens ! these family trage-
dies a physician, particularly a physician who has a
number of middle-aged women patients, walks in on
and can't remedy!” He spoke with a sort of half-
indignant, half-sad disgust.
“You have had far better opportunities for judging
than I have,” Parker returned, “but why this sudden
outcome in Moreton's case?”
“Well, I have my theory.”
“I’d like to hear it, Levene—I consider you well
fitted to judge.” The touch of deference in Parker's
manner was flattering.
“I think it was the result of a sudden revelation.”
Parker considered a moment. “I don't just get that.”


218 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“I believe that for some time, in moments of exas-
peration or excitement or realization of the hopeless-
ness of any solution for a domestic situation such as
his, Mr. Moreton considered suicide. Mrs. Moreton
told us that he frequently said his life wasn't worth
living, and I think the culmination was reached when
he suddenly discovered that Miss Allen favored some
one else. Mr. Moreton was—well, certainly not his
usual self at dinner last night, and he had just come up
from a conversation with Miss Allen at the lakeside.
If, after what may have been an upsetting talk with
her, he received a final blow, some convincing proof
that Miss Allen was playing double, for instance, the
“denouement,’ as you expressed it, would be a possible
thing, wouldn't it?”
“Quite possible,” Parker agreed. “You have cer-
tainly evolved an interesting theory.”
“It’s the only reasonable explanation I have been
able to make to myself,” Levene said with conviction,
“and, as you say, I have had unusual opportunities
for judging.”
“You noticed Moreton's expression?” Parker said
thoughtfully. “How do you explain that?”
“Of course I noticed his expression, but wouldn't
he be suddenly and violently enraged if he had made
such a discovery? Quite insane for the moment? He
loved that girl beyond anything, Parker—believe me,
I know !”


222 THE MORETON MYSTERY
wrought-up condition, and if I can do anything at all
to help you keep things quiet, and of course that's what
you want, why call on me. I wish, anyway, that you'd
dine with me some evening soon—you can get me at
my office.”
It had already occurred to Parker that the doctor
might be exceedingly useful. He returned with cordi-
ality Levene's invitation to dine with him: “I’ll do
that, and with pleasure. . . . Drop in at my hotel
and dine with me, sometime this week, Levene.”
When he reached his hotel, Parker telephoned to
Driscoll Moreton. “You know who this is—how is
it going?”
“Orders from headquarters—only the barest skele-
ton of a story allowed,” Driscoll returned. “The lid's
on—tight.”
“I guessed as much. Come and have dinner with
me to-night, Driscoll—seven o'clock.”


XXIII
IT’s woman AGAINST woman
OMENTS of complete silence followed the
reading of the will.
Parker folded the document and the papers accom-
panying it, apparently quite oblivious of the four silent
people before him, but in reality vividly conscious of
them and of the tense silence, for, robbed of legal
phraseology, Mathew Moreton had disposed of his for-
tune as follows:
To his nephew, Driscoll Moreton, he had bequeathed
two hundred thousand dollars.
To his sister-in-law, Mrs. Burnside, forty thousand
dollars, and to each of her three sons, all of whom
were serving in the army, the sum of twenty thousand
dollars.
To the butler, Arthur Burke, twenty thousand dol-
lars. -
To the widow of one of the head-gardener's assist-
ants, five thousand dollars. (This assistant had enlisted
immediately upon America's declaration of war and
had lost his life on a torpedoed troop-ship. He had
left a widow and two children.)
223


224 THE MORETON MYSTERY
To the mother of the young man who for several
years had acted as Moreton's secretary and had for-
feited a lucrative salary to enter the army, the sum of
five thousand dollars. (She was a widow, elderly and
in large part dependent upon her son, but had urged
him to enlist.)
To each of the household servants who had served
the family for more than five years the sum of five
hundred dollars.
To various charities, war charities in particular, in
aggregate, the sum of two million dollars.
To Lilian Moreton, his wife, the widow's portion
required by the laws of the state, and, in addition, the
New York City family residence in East Sixty-sixth
Street.
And finally, in Moreton's own words: “To my
ward, known as Nixola Allen, and regarded by me as
my beloved daughter, I give, devise, and bequeath all
the rest and residue of my property, real, personal and
mixed, with the request that her husband, should she
marry, shall take the name of Moreton and be known
by that name, and that her children, should she have
issue, shall bear the name of Moreton.” From the
carefully annotated list of Mathew Moreton's posses-
sions, which accompanied the will, it was apparent
that Nixola Allen was heir to the bulk of the Moreton
estate, some fifteen million dollars; and she became
sole mistress of Moreton House.
The instructions, explanations, and list of posses-


IT'S WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN 225
sions which accompanied the will made a considerable
document, though a model of clearness. Regarding
Driscoll, Moreton said, “I gladly give to my nephew,
Driscoll Moreton, the sum named in my will and with-
out restrictions, feeling that he will be moved thereby
to make a useful and competent man of himself, and
will, first of all, give himself to the service of his
country. I have always had faith in him.”
Of Mrs. Burnside, Moreton said: “I leave to Mrs.
Burnside the sum I have named because of my very
deep respect for her. She has had small means, she
was early left a widow, and yet she has reared three
clean manly boys and has offered them to the service
of their country. I remove my hat at the thought of
such women—I wish that every man of wealth would
do his bit toward smoothing the path of such mothers.”
And of Nixie, Moreton said: “Nixola Allen has
been to me a loving and faithful daughter, the comfort
of my middle-age. Being childless, I leave to her the
bulk of my estate, not only by reason of my affection-
ate regard for her, but because I know that she will,
in as much as is humanly possible, apply my fortune
to the aims and ends which I myself have at heart. She
knows what they are. She has youth, strength, and
great good sense. She also has before her many child-
bearing years, and through her I hope to assure the
continuance of the Moreton name.”
Parker had read the will and the accompanying
document in a clear incisive voice, and he now folded


226 THE MORETON MYSTERY
the papers and secured them with an elastic, his hands
steady, his face utterly impassive.
Then he looked up, squared his shoulders and ran
his resolute eye over the four silent people. “I have
read you Mathew Moreton's last will and testament,
as directed by him,” he said.
Then the thing he had foreseen happened. Mrs. More-
ton rose and came to the table and placed a clenched
hand upon it; she was flushed to scarlet, quivering
from head to foot, and her eyes were widely dilated.
“And I notify you that I shall contest that so-called
will! It is either a forgery, or it was the work of a
man who wasn't in his right mind and was influenced
to make an unjust disposition of his property!”
Parker met her blazing eyes steadily. “You are, of
course, free to contest, Mrs. Moreton, but I warn you
that the allegations you have made are serious.”
His equable tones appeared to irritate her beyond
endurance. “I have grounds for my allegations!” she
said violently. “You and Driscoll Moreton had your
reasons for influencing Mr. Moreton, and she, that
girl”—Mrs. Moreton whirled and pointed a shaking
finger at Nixie—“she's been at the bottom of the whole
thing, she is nothing but a-’’
Driscoll had sprung to his feet. “Be careful what
you say, Aunt Lilian!” he interrupted warningly. He
had grown dead white.
Mrs. Burnside, a tall woman plainly gowned and
with a care-worn face, very evidently several years


IT'S WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN 227
her sister's senior, had reached Mrs. Moreton's side.
“Lilian l Control yourself!” she begged. “You don't
know what you say when you are angry!”
But Mrs. Moreton flung off her sister's hand and
faced them all, so beside herself that her high voice
was stringy. “You drunken beast!” she said to Dris-
coll. “You think you'll walk off with two hundred
thousand and a high-priced lawyer to help you do it!
But you won't! And I’ll say what I please now to
that thing!” she screamed, her finger still pointing at
Nixie. “For three years she has been working for just
this, inveigling and scheming and tempting, drawing
an impressionable old man into her net, making him
mad over her! You're just as much a murderess as if
you'd strangled him with your steel fingers—perhaps
you did strangle him and poison him as Powell's mur-
derer did—you're capable of it. . . . I took you
out of the dirt and I’ll send you back to it, Nixola
Allen! I'll—” She stopped because her voice had
broken in two, not because words had failed. Flung
to her full height, her fair head a-quiver, she burned
and gasped for breath.
Mrs. Burnside, crimson and aghast, stood where her
sister's passionate movement had thrust her, against
the table. Just what Driscoll had meant to do he him-
self probably did not know, he had moved as if by some
means to silence that high, uneven voice. But Parker
had stopped him, gripped his arm and held him. “Keep
still, Driscoll!” he half whispered. “Let her talk!”


228 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Nixie had said nothing. When Mrs. Moreton had
first whirled on her, she had risen slowly from her
chair, her eyes still wide and vague, the look of utter
absorption, which had grown upon her during the read-
ing of the will, and which, at its conclusion, made her
appear spell-bound. She had risen and had simply
looked at Mrs. Moreton. And after the flood of Mrs.
Moreton's rage and scorn had poured over her she still
continued to look at her, though no longer vaguely, for
the blood had surged into her face and her eyes were
blazing. But she said nothing, simply waited until
Mrs. Moreton recaptured her voice and plunged on:
“I’ll tell the truth about you, Nixola Allen! You'll
be known from one end of the country to the other!
I’ll prove in open court exactly what you were to my
husband, you p. -
Even Parker caught his breath at the vividly ugly
accusation. And Nixie gasped, the thing had struck
her in the face. But she did not go down before it;
she stiffened and paled and grew taller. Then, sud-
denly, and swiftly, she took the few steps which
brought her close to her accuser. The elder woman
was much taller, the girl looked up at her; it was her
ringingly clear voice and dauntless eyes that made
her impressive.
“You poor dupe of clever people!” she said. “Don’t
you know how hard it is to prove a lie!”
And that was all. She turned in the same swift
way, walked by them all to the door, opened it and


IT'S WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN 229
closed it behind her with decision. Mrs. Moreton
looked after her; they all looked after her.
Then Mrs. Moreton turned on the remaining three.
“You, Sarah, and your sons, shall not get your hun-
dred thousand which he gave you without a single
word to me! . . . And you, Driscoll Moreton,
won't have your debts paid by me! . . . Nor you
your rake-off, Mr. Parker! In less than an hour I'll
get the best legal talent in New York to protect me
from your machinations!” And she also swept by them
and left the room. She was aflame, but it was a pur-
poseful rage, she showed no signs of hysteria.
Of the three who remained, Parker appeared to be
the only one possessing presence of mind. He had
already lifted the telephone and was calling a number.
Mrs. Burnside was ringing her hands and Driscoll was
white and shaking with passion.
“Go after her—go at once and let her rage at you!”
Parker said to Mrs. Burnside across the telephone.
“There's no telling what mad thing she may do unless
there's some one for her to expend herself upon. If
you can divert her from the telephone, you may save
her and all of us from the biggest scandal New York's
known for many a day! . . . I’m calling up Doctor
Levene—he'll be able to handle her, if any one can.”
And his sharp, quick conversation with Doctor Levene
followed:
“Levene, this is Parker. You're needed out here—
Moreton House. . . . Yes, Mrs. Moreton. . . .


230 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Now listen! She's wildly upset over—affairs. As soon
as I ring off, call her up. Don't let her talk, under-
stand, nor gather that I’ve called you, but as soon as
you hear her voice you'll know she needs attention,
and you tell her you're coming out directly—get a ma-
chine if necessary. . . . Yes, yes, she's on the point
of doing something—regrettable. Come and advise
her—you're the one person who can do it. . . . I'm
off now, get her!”
Mrs. Burnside had gone and Driscoll was calmer,
but still very white. “Can he stop her?” he asked.
“If any one can.”
“Will he do it?”
Parker was consulting his watch and his manner
was hurried. “He’ll try—you'd think so if you'd heard
his voice. I knew he'd not be aching to figure as a star
witness in any case of Mrs. Moreton's. I fancy,
though, she'll throw him over and go her own way.
. Now listen, Driscoll—I want to get back to
town. Take this envelope and give it to Miss Allen,
Search for her till you find her and give it to her.
. Have a talk with her—it won’t do any harm.”
Driscoll shrank. “I can’t thrust myself on her after
—what's just happened. It's you ought to talk to her,
Parker—tell her what you told me yesterday, that you
mean to stand by her.”
Parker's reluctance was decided. “I can't do it.
You're a Moreton—it devolves on you. . . . Tell
her that I’ve gone to look after her interests. If she


IT'S WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN 231
needs me she must call me, and if I have anything to
report I'll call her. . . . Go and do what I tell you
—if I can't stop this thing one way, I'll try another.”
“It isn’t true, Parker—what Aunt Lilian accused her
of. It isn’t true!”
“We’re not discussing that,” Parker answered
sharply. “Nobody's guilty until proved so—it's my
business to see that there's no proving in this case.”
“But you think Aunt Lilian will go ahead regard-
less?” Driscoll asked with vivid anxiety. “I’m not
thinking of my two hundred thousand—she may have
them, if she’ll only let Nixie alone!”
“I think she will go ahead, and I think Miss Allen
will fight to the last ditch. It's not merely money with
either of them, Driscoll—it's woman against woman.
. You go, now—then hunt me up in town.”
a


XXIV
HIS SUBCONSCIOUS SELF
HE will had been read in the library, and when
Driscoll started to find Nixie he encountered
Burke, who was moving restlessly about the front
hall. He must have seen Nixie when she left the li-
brary and he must also have seen Mrs. Moreton's rush
through the hall and up the stairs.
Burke was trembling; he looked pitifully old and
anxious. “I want Miss Allen; where's she gone?”
Driscoll demanded.
Certainly there was no comfort to be drawn from
Driscoll's look and manner, and Burke asked hurriedly,
“Mr. Driscoll, sir—is it true Mr. Moreton has left
everything to Miss Allen, sir?”
Driscoll glared at him. “You overheard, I suppose!”
he returned sharply.
“I couldn't help hearing Mrs. Moreton, sir.
It was terrible—it makes me forget my place, sir,” he
said in distressed apology.
“Yes, it's true enough—and there's the devil to
pay.”
Burke lifted his shaking hands in a gesture of de-
spair. “I’ve been afraid of it, sir—I’ve been afraid of
232


HIS SUBCONSCIOUS SELF 233
it! Mr. Parker should have advised Mr. Moreton
against it—he should indeed! But he didn't under-
stand, of course. . . . But now, is there nothing
Mr. Parker can do, sir? If only Mrs. Moreton can be
kept from acting at once, sir—that is most important.”
“You’re for Miss Allen all right, Burke,” Driscoll
said more kindly. “Just stick to that—she'll need you.
Aunt Lilian's gone jealous mad, I think—we'll simply
have to do the best we can. . . . Where did Nixie
go?”
“To her room, I think, sir. . . . Mr. Driscoll, sir—
if Doctor Levene could talk to Mrs. Moreton—that
would be best. Doctor Levene will not want trouble,
sir—he will 'ave his reasons, sir.”
“Parker telephoned him,” Driscoll answered. “Park-
er's in the library, there—go in and talk to him, Burke,
I have to see Nixie.”
But, as Driscoll went up the stairs and looked back,
he saw that Burke had not gone into the library; he
was still limping about the hall. “What's he holding
off from Parker for?” was Driscoll's mental com-
ment.
To Driscoll’s surprise, it was the new footman who,
in answer to his knock, opened Nixie's door. And, to
his still greater surprise, he saw that Nixie was pre-
paring to go out. She had already donned a different
gown and her hat and gloves lay on the dressing-table.
When Driscoll stood in the open door, she was arrang-
ing her hair, and with an air of haste.


234 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“You, Driscoll? . . . Come in,” she said com-
posedly, and to the footman, “That's all, Sanderson—
just see that Murray has the car ready.” Then she
turned and faced Driscoll, her head high, her eyes
steady. “Well?”
Driscoll had lost his pallor; under Nixie's cold eyes
he grew crimson. “It was Parker sent me, Nixie—he
wanted me to give you this,” and he held out the en-
velope. He was thoroughly embarrassed.
She frowned in a puzzled way; then her look
cleared. “Oh, I remember. . . . Thank you.” Her
manner was a dismissal.
“He told me to tell you that he had gone to look
after your interests, and that if you needed him you
must call him, and if he had anything to report he
would call you. He's going back to town.”
Nixie had put the envelope in her hand-bag and now
she turned to the glass and took up her hat. “Thank
you,” she repeated, without looking at him.
But Driscoll did not leave. He had known Nixie
for some four years and that granite hard look of hers
was better understood by him than by Parker. “I’m
sorry, Nixie,” he said abruptly.
She drew a sharp breath. “It couldn't be helped,”
she said curtly. “I’m going to town, and I don't want
to talk.” She set her teeth on the last word. She lifted
her hands to her hat, hiding her face from him.
“Parker has telephoned to Levene—maybe he can
do something with Aunt Lilian,” Driscoll said.


236 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Do you think that's wise?” he asked anxiously.
“It’ll put Aunt Lilian in a still bigger rage.”
Nixie's lips tightened. “Very likely. I’m doing what
he meant me to do—she doesn't matter.”
“But she does matter, Nixie-she matters terribly.
We know what a hell she made of it for him, but if
she does what she's threatened, the public will side
with her—it always does—she is the wife and you the
interloper. That's the view every one will take. She
can do exactly what she said—simply ruin you!”
“What would you advise me to do?” Nixie asked
quietly.
“Compromise with her,” Driscoll said quickly.
“Is that Mr. Parker's advice?” she returned in the
same quiet way.
“No, I don't know what he will advise—he seemed
to think that you'd fight, in spite of everything. It's
my advice, though. I was thinking on my way up
here to you that it would be a deal better for you to
take a competence and keep your name clean. Nixie,
she'd smudge you all over with dirt—you don't realize
to what lengths she'd go. You don't realize what it
would be like!”
“I think I do,” she said icily, “and also your reason
for urging me—where there's doubt there's fear.”
He caught his breath as from a blow. “Nixie!
. . . Won't you ever forgive me! That was months
ago and I was clean beside myself with jealousy! I


240 THE MORETON MYSTERY
are you going to see Mr. Parker?” She was all tense
energy, vivid and determined.
“Yes, I'll see him, of course. . . . He's got to tell
me what to do.”
“Then tell him just what I’ve told you, Driscoll.”
“I will.” He looked down like a man bowed by
shame and distress. “It doesn't matter about me—it's
you I'm thinking about. . . . I'm sorry, Nixie.
. I know ‘sorry' isn't the word—but I don’t know
how to put it just now, for my head won’t work.
. I’ll have to see Parker—that's the first thing
to be done.” And he turned to the door. There he
paused and looked at her, a gaze that enveloped her;
then he opened the door and went slowly out.


XXV
PARKER EXPECTS A VISITOR
T was one o'clock before Parker was ready for
bed. He had come to his up-town apartment at
midnight, and, for an hour, he had been busy, opening
windows, unpacking his bags, putting fresh sheets on
his bed. The place had been closed almost a month
and it was hot and stuffy. He had decided suddenly to
leave the hotel. He had sent for his housekeeper, but
for that night he would have to shift for himself.
Until the place cooled off, it was useless to try to
sleep, so Parker sat by the window. It was a hot
night, but not the unbearable heat of the last week;
there was a breeze from the south and his windows
faced south and east, an open view, for his apartment
was on the twelfth floor and in an apartment-house
which crowned one of the slopes of Park Avenue,
a solidly fashionable structure with a deal of white
and brass and every possible convenience to recom-
mend it to the extremely well-to-do. Parker was a
stockholder, one of the joint owners of the place, and
he had altered his apartment to suit his taste; he had
thrown two rooms into one to make the spacious com-
241


242 THE MORETON MYSTERY
bination of living-room, library and drawing-room
which at one time it had been his ambition to possess.
The dining-room was also to his liking, a large room
furnished in old mahogany brought from his father's
weather-beaten New England home—there had been
some splendid old mahogany in his father's house, but
no money with which to keep it polished.
It glistened now beneath the light which Parker had
left burning. With the feeling that the place looked
ghostly in its coverings of white, Parker had uncovered
tables and chairs, a half-hour of unnecessary work;
and the same feeling of discomfort had led him to
leave the lights burning; hall, library, dining-room,
and his bedroom, all were lighted as if for guests,
shaded lights expressive of luxury and hospitality.
As he smoked and glanced the place over, conscious
meanwhile of the breeze that was cooling his back
and lowering the temperature in the rooms, Parker
thought, in a secondary way, of the guests he had
welcomed there, a brainier set than Mrs. Moreton's,
not so conventionally fashionable, people whom Parker
had considered worth while, some of them moneyed,
some of them not, the women a little too accom-
plished, Parker thought, lacking in individuality,
young in years many of them, but with very little of
youth about them. . . . On the twentieth of July,
he had given a dinner to those of them who were in
or near town. Then he had gone to the mountains
himself and, on the fifteenth of August, Moreton had


PARKER EXPECTS A VISITOR 243
called him back to draw that will of his. That was
Thursday, just five days ago, and in that five days he,
and some others, had lived the better part of a lifetime.
Five days! Fifty years, more like! And a tangle
over which he had been straining all the gray matter
he possessed; how to extricate others—and himself
He had returned from reading the will with
a definite purpose: he must have it out with Jowett
as soon as possible. Then, on his way into town, he
had made a discovery which had led him to examine
carefully his few belongings at the hotel and as a re-
sult he had meditated over a solitary dinner, conscious
meantime of another solitary diner ensconced in an
alcove of the hotel dining-room.
He had decided then to move to his apartment, but
quite openly, for he had had his bags sent on from the
hotel and had telephoned to his housekeeper, a conver-
sation any one was at liberty to hear. He had made
the necessary arrangements for the forwarding of
telephone messages and mail and the address to be
given callers. And then he had started out in search
of Jowett.
But Jowett either could not or would not be found,
and at midnight Parker had sought the marble en-
trance of his apartment-house. In the course of his
search, he had tried to reach Doctor Levene; he had
even called up Moreton House and had been told by
Burke that Doctor Levene had left Moreton House
at nine o'clock that evening. He had ventured one


244 THE MORETON MYSTERY
question, “Everything quiet, Burke?” and there had
been a grain of comfort in the butler's answer, “Mrs.
Moreton is resting, sir.” That had been after Parker
had ceased to search for the elusive Jowett.
Parker had come up to his hot and silent apartment,
but before he set to work he had tried again to get
Doctor Levene, at his office, his residence, and his club.
The answer had been the same, “The doctor has not
been in all evening.” When he hung up the receiver,
Parker wondered how long it would be before the
shadowy figure which had dogged all his movements
that afternoon and evening would make its way up the
fire-escape and probably into his very bedroom? Very
likely some one was already in hiding there.
As he smoked, Parker had been listening as well
as thinking. He felt no inclination to look out of the
window; there was a deal of moonlit space out there
and he was up high, but one of his dining-room win-
dows gave on the fire-escape. He had expressed his
defiance of the “shadow” by opening the window wide
and leaving it open, but in all his coming and going,
he had kept an eye on it. He was asking himself
whether he would be more likely to sleep if the win-
dow were closed and latched, and decided that it would
be a humiliating concession to his nervousness. Then
he wondered about the lights and decided, with a sort
of grim humor, that he would leave the light in the
library burning; it would keep the shadow from pos-


PARKER EXPECTS A VISITOR 245
sibly stumbling overchairs and thereby startling Parker
out of the sleep he was determined to get.
Parker rose then to go the rounds and had just
switched off the hall light when a bell in the kitchen
regions pealed, his front door-bell, pressed by a deter-
mined hand. Parker dropped his cigar and then cursed
both himself and the intruder, “You damn fool!
. Why couldn't they wait until to-morrow!” He
saved his rug from a burnt hole, and promptly opened
the door.
It was Driscoll Moreton who stood before him,
white-faced and hollow-eyed, his hair damp on his
forehead and his hat under his arm.
“Hello!” Parker said with an uncontrollable note
of relief. “Come in.” And then “Been drinking?”
It was the first time in his acquaintance with Driscoll
Moreton when the young man could be described as
“disheveled,” for his tie was askew and his white
trousers were grass and dust stained.
“No,” Driscoll answered quietly, “I’m sober.” And
he deposited his hat on the hall table with the air of
one who knew what he was about. Then he looked at
the lighted room. “Aren't you alone?”
“I’m not certain,” Parker said rather grimly, “but
I'll see whether we can have a room to ourselves for
a time. . . . Come into my bedroom.”
Parker led the way in and, while Driscoll watched
him, he locked the doors, looked under the bed and


246 THE MORETON MYSTERY
in the closets, examined the bathroom. “It’s all right,”
he said finally. “Sit down, Driscoll.”
“So they've been on your track too,” Driscoll said
without surprise.
“I was followed from Moreton House this after-
noon—quite openly and apparently followed,” Parker
answered, “and I found when I reached the hotel that
my things had been gone through. I was fool enough
to leave in my bag at the hotel a rough draft of More-
ton's will, and it was gone. The will itself is safe
enough, I had it in my breast pocket and as soon as I
reached town I got it into a safety-deposit box, took
a taxi and was double quick about it. I can't under-
stand why they'd want that draft of the will, but evi-
dently they did want it.”
“They're taking a lot of unnecessary trouble,” Dris-
coll said heavily. “I’ll solve the mystery for them
presently.”
“What do you mean?” Parker asked quickly.
“I came to tell you, but first there's something else:
I ran into Levene at the station, here in New York,
I mean, and he told me that he'd tried his best with
Aunt Lilian, but all he could persuade her to do was
to hold off until to-day. He told her it was too late in
the afternoon to get lawyers and that sort of thing,
and that she ought to think out her case anyway, not
go at it in too much of a hurry.”
“She's going ahead then?”
“Levene said he couldn't do a thing with her. He


PARKER EXPECTS A VISITOR 247
said he'd never seen her in such a state, perfectly
white with rage and not a bit of hysteria. The best
he could do was to get a short delay.” Driscoll spoke
even more dully and monotonously. “Levene talked
for some time. He said that Aunt Lilian is convinced
now that the whole thing has been a plot, the will and
Uncle Mathew's death. And she accused Nixie—she
thinks the chauffeur helped her. Levene said he didn’t
know what to think now. He said he couldn't con-
ceive of Nixie's having done it, but, since talking with
Aunt Lilian, he felt sure that the only thing which
could possibly stop Aunt Lilian, have her come to some
sort of agreement with Nixie, would be to convince
her that Nixie had no hand in the murder. Levene
said that Aunt Lilian was determined to fix the crime
on Nixie. . . . Levene wound up by saying that,
if it was murder, whoever did it might as well come
forward now, for Aunt Lilian was bent upon a com-
plete exposé.”
When Driscoll began his monotonously delivered
speech, Parker had been about to seat himself. But
he had paused, had straightened and had folded his
arms, and stood looking down at Driscoll with much
the same expression he had worn when standing over
Moreton's body. He was both listening to and study-
ing Driscoll, his low monotonous voice, his air of phy-
sical and mental exhaustion which was curiously com-
mingled with determination. When Driscoll concluded,
Parker remarked in an expressive way:


248 THE MORETON MYSTERY
“Oh, did he? . . . And what did you say?”
“I didn't do much talking—all I said was that I
knew Nixie had no hand in it, and that I was glad that
Aunt Lilian was going to hold off till to-day. I didn't
tell him why, but he very likely guessed—he looked
at my arm as if he did.”
“Guessed what?”
“Why, that I meant to give myself up.” Driscoll
spoke in a dully matter-of-fact way, like one who has
lived with an idea so long that he has lost all feeling.
“Oh–” Parker said slowly. Then, “Was it Le-
vene's talk that suggested the idea?”
“No. I made up my mind after seeing Nixie.”
“You mean when you took the envelope to her—after
the will was read?”
“Yes, she told me then.”
“Told you what?”
There was a touch of impatience in Driscoll's
answer. “Why, that I did for Uncle Mathew. That's
the way I hurt my arm. I didn't know what I was
doing, of course—I was crazy drunk.”
“Nirie told you that!” A surge of color darkened
Parker's face.
“Yes, she told me. She told me to tell you too,
that she meant to fight—in her own way.”
Parker looked at him and said nothing. The silence
held for some moments, until Parker reached for a
chair and sat down. “Well—” he said tonelessly.
“This is something quite— new—” He passed his


252 THE MORETON MYSTERY
fight for me the way you'd be bound to do and get
me locked up for years, or, worse, an asylum—well,
it got me. And I was thinking, too, that Aunt Lilian
wouldn't be likely to let up on Nixie, even then. I
started to walk out through the country and before I
got myself together it was dark and I was miles from
the station. I just missed a train, too, and had to
wait, so I didn't get into town until eleven.”
Parker wondered how much more talking Driscoll
could stand. His voice was getting weak and his face
more gray; he was evidently nearing a collapse. But
there was one more question he must ask:
“You say Levene met you at the station—at eleven
o'clock?”
“Yes. He was on the platform. I ran against him
as I got off the train, and he stopped me and told me
what I’ve told you. . . . It was then I noticed I
was being shadowed, for I recognized one of the two
fellows who were standing behind Levene and me
while we talked. It was Darcross, a Secret Service
man. There was no reason for Darcross and the other
fellow to be hanging about—there were only we four
left on the platform. Then, when Levene and I sep-
arated, Darcross followed Levene, and I knew the
other fellow would follow me. I walked several blocks
to make sure and found that I was followed, and that
the fellow wasn't being careful about it—the sort of
thing they practise when they want to break a crim-
inal's nerve—let him know they're there every minute
S.--


254 THE MORETON MYSTERY.
sudden passion. “I got a whiff of it near the station
and it made me deadly sick! I almost went under.”
“No, no—I meant a cup of tea or coffee. There
must be something of the kind in the pantry,” Parker
answered soothingly. “You go on in and get your
bath.” And without appearing to do so, he watched
anxiously the effort it cost Driscoll to rise from his
chair and his staggering movements toward the bath-
room. He hung about until Driscoll came unsteadily
in, apparently more tired than refreshed by the bath;
so much so that Parker helped him into bed.
“You’ll feel better now,” he said encouragingly.
“Tea ought to fix you up.” There was an abrupt ten-
derness in his voice.
“I do feel—done—” Driscoll confessed faintly.
Parker hurried out to ransack the pantry for a pos-
sible canister of tea, and as he searched about his sup-
pressed feelings found expression in muttered speech.
“Done!” he said with vehemence, “I should think so!
That girl!”
He found no tea, but something which he considered
better, a can of consommé. In his haste he scarcely
gave it time to heat. But when he came to Driscoll's
bedside with it, he had composed his features into im-
passivity. “Just drink it,” he said steadily. “You've
got to keep up, remember.”
Driscoll appeared to find it a difficult task, but suc-
ceeded finally and layback with closed eyes, and Parker


PARKER EXPECTS A VISITOR 255
said kindly, “That's right. . . . Now you try to
sleep.”
“I won't sleep,” Driscoll answered dully. “Lying
down may rest me, though.”
“Want the light out?”
“No. I had enough of the dark—out there in the
country—” and Driscoll drew a sharp breath.
Parker went out and closed the door carefully be-
hind him. Then he walked straight to the telephone.


XXVI
I'M DoNE
HE first gray of morning had not yet begun to
mingle with the warm electric glow in Parker's
apartment when a second peal of his front door-bell
put a stop to his steady walk up and down his library.
He had been walking for the better part of an hour
and a half. At intervals he had gone in for a word
with Driscoll, an inquiry about the light, an offer to
sit with him, any word which would assure Driscoll of
his presence and support and which at the same time
would not excite him. For Driscoll had not slept; he
had lain quite still but with eyes wide open. In the last
half-hour a hot flush had appeared in his cheeks and
his brief answers to Parker's questions had been so
thick as to be almost inarticulate; he had become rest-
less and irritable. Parker had bound a wet cloth about
Driscoll's head and had slipped in frequently to
change it.
When the bell rang he went swiftly into the bed-
room. “Just my housekeeper, Driscoll,” he said re-
assuringly. “I’ll shut the doors so she won’t disturb
you.”
“It’s morning, isn't it—what are we losing time
for?” Driscoll demanded with the irritability of fever.
256


I'M DONE 257
“We can't do anything for another two hours,”
Parker declared decidedly. “You leave it to me, Dris-
coll.”
Driscoll muttered weakly and impatiently and Parker
hurried out, closing the door as he had said.
But it was not his substantial-looking housekeeper
who stood at his front door. It was Nixie in automo-
bile coat and veil who stepped in. “How is he?” she
asked before Parker could speak.
Parker had known that it could not be his house-
keeper, that it was too early for either his housekeeper
or for Nixie to come, and he had braced himself for
further trouble. In his surprise he forgot the greeting
he had prepared. “How did you get here so soon?”
he demanded.
His question was curt enough, but not more so than
her answer. Nixie had given his grim face one swift
appraising glance. “Never mind about that,” she said.
“Just take me to him, please!” She had jerked off her
veil and was pulling off her coat.
Parker was instinctively polite and though his face
lost none of its sternness, he helped her with her coat.
And, somewhat curiously, the conventional strain in
him, his New England inheritance, asserted itself. “I
didn't expect you for another hour—there's no one
here but Driscoll and myself.”
“What difference does that make!” she returned. “I
was in town, not at Moreton House. When you tele-
phoned to Moreton House, Burke pretended to give


258 THE MORETON MYSTERY
you a message from me, that I’d start in as soon as I
could get ready. He did it on his own responsibility,
then called me up and told me. . . . Now take me
to him, please!” She had flung aside her coat, had
tossed back her always rebellious hair, and stood the
epitome of action, cheeks afire and eyes bright. It was
also evident that she was keenly anxious and in haste.
But Parker had something to say. He had flushed
hotly and his brows had come together. “What did
you mean by telling that poor boy such an abominable
falsehood?” he demanded. “You’ve about killed him!
He worships you, so I couldn't tell him that you had
deceived him in order to save yourself—it would have
driven him mad. . . . I've stood loyal to you, Nix-
ola Allen, but I’m done! I don't know what you are
—in spite of everything I've refused to judge you—I
considered myself your lawyer, not your judge—but
this last is too much for me! I’ve no use for sheer
cool-headed cruelty; . . . I'll look after that poor
boy, but your tussle with Mrs. Moreton may go to—"
Parker caught himself up on the word, then added, his
tense anger settling into as determined a threat, “You’ll
tell him the truth, whatever it is, and do it in a way
that won't hurt him too much, or I'll go to the authori-
ties and make a clean breast of all I know. Burke got
that impression when I telephoned to him, and now
I’ve warned you.” He walked to the bedroom door
and put his hand on the knob, still looking at her from
under frowning brows. “Are you going to do what


I’M DONE 259
I've told you?” If he was simulating anger he did it
well, no actor could have done better.
Nixie had grown very white, for the first time in
his knowledge of her she looked really frightened. Her
lips were unsteady. “Of course I'll tell him—that he
misunderstood—me—” she answered submissively.
“Very well,” Parker said coldly, and opened the
door. Then, as if he doubted her word, he stood with-
in the room and watched her.
Nixie went directly to the bed. “Driscoll?” she
said softly. “What's the matter?”
“Nixiel” Driscoll gave a convulsive start and
jerked the wet cloth from his eyes. The girl bent over
him. “Nixie—” he repeated and choked. He had
clutched her by the arms and was looking into her eyes.
“You poor thing!” she said, and at that Driscoll
drew her down beside him, his arms went about her
and he buried his head in her lap.
“I don't care—as long as you're—here—” he an-
swered brokenly. -
“It’s all a big mistake—indeed it is,” she said softly.
“I’ll tell you in a little while.”
Then Parker went out and closed the door. He
went to the big front window of the living-room and
sat down, and for the second time that night he swept
his face with his hand and ran his fingers through
his hair. “Lord—” he said, and there were weariness
and relief in the expression, as well as several other
emotions.


262 THE MORETON MYSTERY
ligee, a boudoir-gown, Parker would have called the
loose net-draped construction, hardly a dinner or an
evening gown.
While Parker had walked the floor or had sat by
the window, even while talking to his housekeeper, in-
termingled with his thoughts and all his planning, had
been the pricking consciousness of Driscoll’s hot face
buried in Nixie's satin lap. He granted that his irri-
tation was unreasonable, as unreasonable as the vivid
annoyance he felt at the long silence in the next room.
But, even while granting it, he allowed his impatience
to get the better of him, for finally he rapped on the
bedroom door; he had breakfast as his excuse.
He rapped, and receiving no answer, rapped again
—waited—then opened the door. Then he walked to
the bed, for the silence was explained; Nixie was there,
sitting on the bed with her small slippered feet doubled
under her, her back braced by a pillow and her head
dropped sidewise on her shoulder. Driscoll lay full
length under the sheet, his cheek resting on Nixie's
hand and, as if for double security, his hand held her
wrist; they were sleeping as soundly and as profoundly
as two children. . . . Driscoll had fallen asleep
with his cheek pillowed on her hand and her wrist
tightly held, and she had watched for a time and then
her eyes had closed—that was the way of it.
Parker stood for a while looking down at them. The
electric light still burned and the sun warmed the win-


264 THE MORETON MYSTERY
intentness of this apparently complete reconciliation
with Driscoll and what it might mean. She was so
utterly unfathomable.
Parker also thought of the coming day with its cloud
of difficulties. And yet she was able to sleep like that!
He had not been able to sleep. . . . He had told
her that he was done with her. All talk! He had
gone on puzzling over her and her affairs and would
continue to do so. . . . And they had no time to
Waste.
He touched her bare arm. “Miss Nixie?”
She waked easily and with only a slight start, a
downward look first at Driscoll who had not stirred,
then up at Parker. “I fell asleep,” she whispered.
Then she looked startled. “My! What time is it?”
“Nearly seven—breakfast is almost ready.” She
appeared to have forgotten his anger, and Parker spoke
and looked an entire stranger to severity.
“I’m glad it's not later,” she said, relieved. “We
mustn't wake him—I’ll try to get my hand away,” and
she drew it by degrees from Driscoll's lax clasp, paus-
ing anxiously when he stirred and sighed, as gentle
and as careful in her movements as if she guarded
some one well-beloved. Parker watched and won-
dered.
She crept off the bed finally, then, when her feet re-
fused to support her, reached for Parker's support.
“My hand and my feet are perfectly numb,” she com-
plained in a whisper. “And there is a fearful glare


AN APPEAL AND A REFUSAL 267
“We'll talk after breakfast,” Nixie said. “Is this
where you live? It's a very nice apartment. I like
this big room so much. I think there ought to be
plenty of books in the room where one lives, not the
formal library like the one at Moreton House.” She
had taken the seat Parker had offered her and was
looking about her with interest. “I like it,” she added.
“I have lived here only about four years—I own
my apartment, so I did about what I liked with it. I
tried to take off all the newness I could, for most of
the furniture is old. When my father died, I came in
for all the old family things. Everything back there in
the dining-room came from my home.”
Nixie turned to look and met the amazed eyes of
Parker's housekeeper. She had come to announce
breakfast, and, for the moment, had forgotten her
errand, for Nixie was an arresting vision.
Parker's active sense of humor was stirred and he
also felt somewhat uncomfortable on Nixie's account,
she was certainly a suspiciously bright-hued appari-
tion. He instantly discovered, however, that Nixie
was entirely at her ease; she looked at his sedate house-
keeper in the same way in which she had looked at
His furniture. All he said was, “Is it breakfast, Mrs.
Bowen P”
There was a degree of severity in her answer. “It’s
ready if you are, Mr. Parker.”
Nixie rose promptly, and Parker thought that he
caught the same glint in her eyes that he had noticed


268 THE MORETON MYSTERY
when she had spoken of leaving Moreton House at
midnight. She passed his housekeeper with a slight
inclination of her head, and, even before she was seated
at the table, she remarked, “That is your father—and
mother?”
She was looking at the portraits opposite, a fair-
haired, dreamy-eyed man of over-refined features, and
the companion portrait, a strong-featured woman with
blonde hair plainly dressed, and a thin-lipped, resolute
mouth; hers was a decidedly cold and haughty face.
“Yes—New Englanders, both of them,” Parker an-
swered. “My family dates back beyond the Revolu-
tion.”
“You are not like either of them,” Nixie said
thoughtfully. “And yet you are—rigid—like your
mother, underneath. . . . Mr. Moreton was right,
you're New York spread over Boston. And you look
like—” she stopped. -
“A Jew,” Parker supplemented. “The intelligent
type, I am glad to say. . . . I don't know where
I got my looks, I’m sure.”
“You are good-looking as well as intelligent-look-
ing,” she answered with conviction and entirely with-
out coquetry.
Parker laughed. “Thank you,” he said and flushed.
But Nixie was still looking at the portraits. “I
wonder how it feels actually to belong to a family.
Mr. Moreton thought that I did not belong
to Trixie Allen, the woman who left me to the circus


AN APPEAL AND A REFUSAL 269
troupe, but I think I did. I think that she was my
mother and that at one time she had been something
quite different. . . . There are somethings I remem-
ber way back, a house out on the desert—I remem-
ber how the sun used to go down into the sand, and
droves of cattle—and a man who ate at the table and
sometimes took me on his knee while Trixie cooked at
the stove. She was little and pretty. . . . I re-
member waking up, Trixie was holding me, and we
were on a horse. It was night-time, moonlight, and
it was still everywhere. After that I remember trees
—I remember them distinctly, for I had never seen
real trees before. Then I remember the circus, all
about it, so I must have been older. I remember just
how Trixie looked in her fluffy skirts. She used to
laugh and toss her hair when the people applauded—
she liked it. I never saw her after those first recollec-
tions, so she must have died. Then there were the
years of traveling about and learning the trapeze and
balancing weights—until the Moretons took me. I
didn't even know just how old I was, but I think I am
nearly twenty-one. . . . I think Trixie was my
mother and the man in the desert was my father and
that my mother ran away from the sand and the cook-
ing, and because she was my mother she took me with
her, and because she didn't want my father to find us,
she wouldn't tell anybody anything. Perhaps he took
her from some show and she was lonely on the desert
—I don't know—” The housekeeper who had gone


272 THE MORETON MYSTERY
There was another pause, then Parker asked: “You
are acting under advice then, in this matter?”
Nixie hesitated, then said with evident embarrass-
ment, and at the same time with resolution: “Yes—
I am. . . . But I don’t want to be questioned,
and I shall not tell who my—adviser is. . . .
Oh, and I want to give you this—thank you very much,
but I haven't needed it.” And she took from the
bosom of her dress the envelope Parker had entrusted
to Driscoll the day before, and laid it on the desk.
She had flushed warmly and looked thoroughly uncom-
fortable, though determined. -
“I am to consider myself dismissed then?” Parker
asked dryly.
Nixie looked beyond measure embarrassed and at a
loss for an answer.
“Do you think you have treated me fairly?” Parker
continued. “From the beginning you have refused me
any sort of an explanation. You have treated me with
distrust, even with suspicion. I am not hurt at being
set aside—I think I know now under whose direction
you have been acting, and, in a way, I’m greatly re-
lieved. I have a great deal of confidence in Mr. Jowett,
and in spite of the fact that he has run away with a
wrong idea. It's your distrust of me that hurts.”
Parker meant to speak without feeling, but he did not
succeed.
Nixie looked utterly distressed. “I know how I
must seem to you,” she said, “but I have been com-


XXVIII
THE workERS IN SECRET
“AT last!” Parker said. “Well, Jowett, I'm glad to
see you.” And he smiled at the visitor his office
boy had ushered in.
It was five o'clock and Parker was preparing to
leave his office. He pointed to a chair, “Sit down,
will you—I’ve been wondering all day whether I’d
have this pleasure.”
Parker's lips smiled, but his eyes were keen. He
noticed at once that Jowett had his hands in his pock-
ets. Some day he meant to tell the detective that that
attitude of his was a “dead give away.” There were
few men who could control their features better than
Jowett, but a detective should know how to manage
his hands as well as his features; Jowett was evidently
“stirred up.”
“I can't,” Jowett answered. “I’ve simply come to
deliver a message: you're wanted at once.”
“What for and by whom?” Parker asked alertly.
“By the Workers in Secret,” Jowett returned with
the air of one who relishes a bon mot of his own.
“One of the ‘Workers' sent me along with the mes-
sage.”
“The Department of Justice, eh?”
274


THE WORKERS IN SECRET 275
“Sure—no less person than the chief, I guess.”
“What does he want with me, Jowett?”
“Search me, Mr. Parker! I can make a guess, same
as you, but I don't know a thing more about it than
you do—just what it is they want of us.”
“You’re summoned too, then?” Parker asked
quickly.
“Yes, and glad of it. I'm tired of waiting around
with some one at my heels every minute!”
“You too!” Parker exclaimed in surprise. “Why,
Jowett, I thought you were in on the whole thing!
I thought it was you who had set them on, and I was
glad of it! If I hadn't been so certain of it, I should
have gone to them myself.”
“‘Set them on’—nothing!” Jowett returned a trifle
curtly. “Why, three hours after Moreton was found
they were thick about the place, but I didn't know it
until just before the inquest. Then I got an intimation
from one of them that the less I said at the inquest,
or elsewhere, the better, which intimation I obeyed.
I was told too, that, the inquest over, I had better pro-
ceed to the garage and wait for a telephone message.
You were there when it came, just an order to come
on into town and go about my business as usual and
hold my tongue, which order I have obeyed to the
letter—that's the reason I couldn't let you get at me
last night.”
“But you've told them your story, haven't you?”
Parker asked.


276 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Jowett's voice was extremely dry. “I have not.
They evidently haven't been in need of it.
You remember when you came to the garage looking
for Miss Allen, just before the inquest? Well, not
five minutes before that a youngish chap stepped in on
me in the tool-room where I was intent on Miss
Allen's trail, and gave me the intimation I spoke of,
his credentials first—they were all right—and then
only a dozen words or so. When you knocked, he sent
me to the garage doors and that's the last I saw of him.
Where he came from I don't know, for I’d locked the
doors. He and others had been about since before
daylight, that much he told me, and that I better play
incompetent at the inquest. I succeeded in doing that,
I think—to perfection.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Parker would have
been amused at the hurt to his professional pride which
Jowett could not conceal. But he was too intent upon
another matter. “Who notified them then?” he asked.
“I don't know—if you don't,” Jowett answered
meaningly.
“It was not my doing—you're wrong there, Jowett,”
Parker declared.
“And you didn't advise its being done?” Jowett said
with a note of genuine surprise.
“Certainly I didn't. I thought you were looking
after it, and I preferred to have it that way.”
“Um! . . . Well, some one got into communi-


278 THE MORETON MYSTERY,
thought very likely you'd been holding a club over
her.” He looked curiously pleased and relieved, so
much so that he colored slightly.
For the first time since the conversation began, Jow-
ett looked amused, but he refrained from speaking
his thoughts, except obliquely. “No, I haven’t seen
her since I caught her in the garage and asked her
where Holt was and she went off with her head up.
. . . . I told you about that encounter with her.”
Parker rose rather hastily. “Yes, I remember.
- So you've been doing exactly what I have,
simply holding your tongue, sitting still and waiting
for orders, eh? . . . Well, the order has come,
at last.” Parker dusted his shoes with his handker-
chief, tossed the handkerchief aside, then put on his
hat with an air of decision. “I suppose we'll be ques-
tioned together, and we'll be two dolts if we don't
come away from the interview with some inkling of
who they’re after.”
“I hope so—I’ve spent a good deal of valuable time
guessing.”
“Jowett, what did you do with the bottle you found,
and that pocket-case of mine?”
“Turned them over to the Department of Justice as
soon as I got back to town, them and the little wad of
paper I found in Miss Allen's waste-paper basket. I
explained the circumstances, merely how I had found
them, and called attention to the finger-prints on the
bottle.” Again Jowett's voice was dry. “One would


THE WORKERS IN SECRET 279
suppose that they'd have asked me a few questions,
but ‘Workers in Silence’ would fit that crowd—I was
dismissed with nothing but a polite “Thank you.’”
“Well, they appear to want us now,” Parker re-
marked cheerfully.
Two hours later, Parker and Jowett came out to-
gether into the corridor of the topmost floor of the
highest building in New York. There was no one in
the corridor but themselves, it was after seven o'clock
and the business rush was well over. “Let’s do our
talking here, there's no one about,” Parker suggested,
and they turned to the right, to a window which com-
manded a superb view of the harbor and the reach
into the grayly misty open beyond, the ocean pathway
to “over there.” The room from which they had
come could not have been better chosen; from its
windows a telescope could be used to advantage.
They turned their backs to the view, keeping an eye
on the empty corridor. “Well, how much wiser are
you than you were before we went in there?” Parker
inquired promptly.
“Not an iota,” Jowett answered decidedly.
“That was skilful work,” Parker said with admira-
tion. “That man's worthy of his place.”
“I turned myself inside out, thoughts and feelings
and facts—everything,” Jowett said. “It’s more than
you did.”
- “You weren't in my shoes,” Parker answered


THE WORKERS IN SECRET 281
with a touch of annoyance. “I honestly don't know
what to think. What I’d like to be certain of is that
the right person will go to the chair for that crime—
I'll sleep better when I know that.” He flushed
warmly.
“I am afraid I can't accommodate you,” Parker
said meaningly.
“Nonsense, Mr. Parker, I never attached any im-
portance to that pocket-case incident—that is I didn't
after I thought the thing over. I detailed the circum-
stance in there, of course, but you noticed he didn't
question you about it.”
“Because he was already informed: there are twenty
men in my club, Jowett, who know that I’ve carried
that case for ten years—ever since the train wreck
in which I escaped and the physician who was trav-
eling with me was caught, pinioned under a burning
car. It was two awful hours before they got him out
and he was dead then. The man knew he was done for
—from the very beginning—but he actually spent two
hours of agonized dying with the means of ending
it right there in his breast pocket and a free hand for
administering the dose to himself. I disagreed with
that man. I got that pocket-case and I’ve carried it
ever since. I used the chloroform on a stain I got on
my white trousers—in the Adirondacks—and forgot
to fill the bottle when I came to New York, I was too
interested over Moreton's will to think of it.


282 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Doctor Levene says there's a morbid streak in even the
sanest person—that's a manifestation of my morbid
streak, I suppose.”
“I guessed there was some such explanation,” Jowett
said apologetically. And then, probably with the in-
tent of making the most generous amends in his power,
he said, “There's one person I hope will weather
through all this—and that's Miss Allen.”
Parker was looking worn, keener-eyed and thinner-
lipped than was usual with him. At Jowett's unex-
pected conclusion, he flushed to the eyes. “Do you,
Jowett?” he said, quite as boyishly as Driscoll might
have said it. He looked infinitely pleased.
Jowett reflected that love did queer things to a man;
that he wouldn't be Parker for anything—not with
Nixola Allen as the woman in question; but he said,
“Yes. I took a liking to her at the inquest—she was
fighting for something, for some thing, I mean—not
just for somebody, though she was doing that too, to
the best of her ability. . . . I don't make her out
at all, but I like her better than I did.”
Though still in a glow, Parker had recaptured some
of his usual caution. “I confess I don't understand
her,” he said with a good assumption of impersonality.
“I fancy that that chief of the ‘Workers in Secret'
knows more about her than any one else. . . .
I think we had better be going, don't you?” And he
led the way toward the elevator.
But, as they waited for the express, Jowett noticed


THE WORKERS IN SECRET 283
that Parker's expression was still bright, and there
was a pleasant light in Parker's eyes when he asked
abruptly, “You’re married, aren't you, Jowett?”
“Finest little woman in the world, and two kids,”
Jowett answered heartily.
“You noticed that the chief spoke to me on the side,
didn't you—just before we came out? . . . . Tell
your wife that he said to me, ‘I want that man on our
staff—he's the right stuff and he's got the right spirit
—the Government needs his kind.’”
Jowett's hands sought his pockets. “He did!” He
was silent for a moment, then he said decidedly, “I’d
like it. I’d like to be doing something for America,
just now—I’ve often envied the fellows who are go-
ing over. I’d fight the enemy over here—like hell!
That's what Mathew Moreton was doing.”
They parted a little later on, at the foot of the ele-
vated, and when they shook hands, Parker said: “By
the way, Jowett, when you are one of the ‘Workers'
watch out for your hands. When you are stirred up
they go down into your pockets. In my office there,
this afternoon, I knew you were nervous about their
calling me—your hands were in your pockets.”
“Thanks for the pointer,” Jowett returned and his
eyes twinkled. “I’ll give you one in return for it:
when you're upset, think you're up against something
particularly hard, don't fold your arms—opposing
counsel might take advantage of it, you know.”
They both laughed.


A CALL FOR HELP 285
He didn't mention her, so of course I didn't say a
word.”
It was evident that Dricoll had exerted his usual
charm; he went to the heart of most women. Natu-
rally his housekeeper was consumed with interest and
curiosity, but Parker had no information to give.
“Has any one telephoned or called to see me?” he
asked unsmilingly.
“A gentleman telephoned twice, a Doctor Levene.
The first time he telephoned he asked if a Mr. Driscoll
Moreton was here or had been here. I didn’t know the
young man's name who was here, so I said I'd find
out. He was eating his dinner when the man tele-
phoned, so I asked him, and he said, “Tell Doctor Le-
vene that no one by that name is here or has been here,
so far as you know.’ So I told the gentleman that.
Then he called up again, this evening.”
“What did he want that time?” Parker asked.
“He asked for you and if I knew where you were.
I said you were late for dinner and I didn't know
when you'd be back. I told him you usually left your
office before five o’clock.”
“What time was his first call, Mrs. Bowen?”
“About four o’clock, I think.”
“And the second time?”
“Just before you came in.”
“It's all right,” Parker said. “He’ll probably call up
in a few minutes. I’ll go to the telephone if it rings,”
and he applied himself to his dinner; his housekeeper


XXX
FROM THE BEGINNING
T was a charming little apartment into which Parker
was ushered, and by Burke. When Parker sprang
out of his car, the old butler had limped from the en-
trance of the apartment-house and had met him.
“You here, Burke!” Parker had exclaimed. He did
not know whether to feel relieved or not; he studied
the old man's face keenly.
Burke looked worn and tired, but he smiled. “I came
in early this morning, sir—Miss Allen sent me down
to meet you.”
“She's not in trouble, I hope?”
“Just keen to see you, sir. . . . I'll take you up at
once.”
Parker asked no more questions. He was rather
white and realized that he was short of breath. He
had driven at a rate which was in itself a sufficient
strain, and he had had anxiety tugging at him as well.
They had come up in silence, into the room which
overlooked the University grounds. “I’ll tell her, sir,”
Burke said, and disappeared. He must have been some-
what excited, for he forgot to take Parker's hat.
Parker stood and looked about him; a longish room
287


FROM THE BEGINNING 289
“Yes. . . . Let us sit by the window—it's cooler
there. See, put this pillow behind you, so—it'll be
more comfortable.” And with much the air of one
waiting upon an invalid, she chose a pillow and placed
it in the corner of the divan, patted it and looked up
at him, gravely and at the same time with a half smile.
“And how about yourself?” Parker asked. “Are
you comfortable that way?”
He was amused as well as pleased, for she had
climbed upon the couch much as a child would upon
a bed, had gathered her feet under her and sat with-
out support, facing him, her hands clasped in her lap.
She looked purposeful.
“Yes. This thing is so wide and high up and I am
so little, I’m more comfortable this way. . . . Mr.
Parker, I am going to begin straight from the begin-
ning and tell you everything.”
“That is what I have wanted, Miss Nixie—from the
beginning.”
“I know it—but I couldn't. . . . Mr. Parker, I
told you this morning about the time before the More-
tons took me. I told you on purpose. That much I
could tell without breaking any promise, and now I'll
go on from the time the Moretons took me. . . . It
was summer and they took me to Moreton House. It
was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I loved
it. I didn't find it difficult to live in a different way,
I did whatever I was told, for, you see, I had been
trained, like any horse or dog. It was simply a differ-


FROM THE BEGINNING 291
“It was then Mr. Moreton began really to like me.
He had always been kind to me, but he had left me
altogether to Mrs. Moreton. I was very ill, but he
wasn't afraid to come into my room. He used to tip-
toe in and pat my hand. “Never mind, Baby—we'll
bring you round,’ he’d say. I was taken ill in the town
house, and the minute I could be moved, Mrs. Moreton
wrote that I must be sent out to Moreton House and
the town house be disinfected from roof to cellar so
she could come back. It was winter and I did not see
her again until summer. She had lost all interest in me
by that time.
“But Mr. Moreton used to come. He used to play
with me—he fitted up the gymnasium and he got the
canoe and we used to walk about the country together.
I knew from the beginning how it was between him
and his wife—there were scenes, it was a constant
friction. I was very sorry for him. Oh, Mr. Parker,
she was so unreasonable! Nothing he did pleased her,
nothing he said satisfied her. I don't know how he had
managed to bear it for so many years.
“All that summer after my illness it was a wretched
household, visitors coming and going and things ap-
parently smooth on the surface, but just misery under-
neath. I was fortunate that summer, for Mrs. More-
ton had no more interest in me than she had in any one
of the servants—half the time she forgot that I existed
and was quite indifferent to Mr. Moreton's liking for
me. I wore dresses that were too short for me and


294 THE MORETON MYSTERY,
the one person in whom Mrs. Moreton confided and
to whom she would listen. It was just after he gained
his ascendency over her that she first broke out to Mr.
Moreton against me. I suspected that Doctor Levene
had put the idea into her mind, and I was certain that
it was he who advised Mrs. Moreton not to let me
leave, and at the same time advised her to restrain her-
self—above all not to rage at me, for I might leave the
house and then Mr. Moreton could see me whenever he
pleased. He must have used strong arguments, for she
acted contrary to her nature in not raging at me. I
utterly distrusted Doctor Levene, and so did Burke.
I thought that he was certain I was misbehaving my-
self with Mr. Moreton, that in time we would be
caught red-handed, and that out of the catastrophe he
was planning some benefit—perhaps a huge sum from
Mr. Moreton. I knew he wanted money. But Burke
and I did not tell Mr. Moreton—we were afraid of
some terrible scene and a public accusation which
would have driven Mr. Moreton frantic. Doctor Le-
vene appeared to have a quieting effect on Mrs. More-
ton—in a way, Mr. Moreton was grateful to him, and
we left it at that. But I wish we had told him Oh,
how I wish we had! No matter what came of it, I wish
we had told him! We didn't suspect the truth, or,
rather, Burke and I suspected only part of it, but if
Mr. Moreton had known even that part, he would at
least have driven that snake from the house—l”
Nixie had stopped because she was shaken from


296 THE MORETON MYSTERY
they could exploit, and they began to weave their plans.
I never suspected that—Burke never suspected either,
or we would have told Mr. Moreton instantly. I never
suspected that there might be treachery in our house
until the evening of the dinner party. Just before I
went down to the boat-landing to meet Mr. Moreton
—you remember he asked me to meet him at seven
o'clock—I found that an important paper he had left
with me when he went to Pennsylvania to his steel
works, a big scheme of his to help in the war, had been
taken. It had been stolen from my locked chest and
out of a despatch box to which I had the key. I had
looked at it the day before—it was there then. But I
didn't suspect Doctor Levene of that, not for a minute
—why, every one had heard that he was going to the
front—he had told everybody! . . . Mr. Moreton
and I did not know whom to suspect. Mr. Moreton was
not always wise when he got angry, and he said what
he did at dinner. . . . Then they killed him—”
She stopped again, apparently unable to go on. But
he was firm. “Go on,” he said. “You have too much
will to give way. Go right on—I’d rather not ask
questions—I’ll get the straight of it best this way.”
“Every word I said at the inquest about finding Mr.
Moreton was true—every word Harry Holt wrote was
true!” she said vividly. “We left out only one thing:
when I saw Mr. Moreton's face, I said, ‘Harry, it's a
stroke,” but he said, ‘No, he's fought some one.’ And


XXXI
THE TINY MARK
IXIE broke the silence which followed Parker's
exclamation. “I want to explain about Mrs.
Moreton—if you will sit down,” she said gently, for
there had been profound emotion in Parker's voice,
pity and deep anger and passionate disgust.
He turned, sighed, and sat down again beside her.
“Yes, go on,” he said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”
“I want to tell you step by step, I’ll tell you about
Mrs. Moreton a little later on. . . . After I had
talked with Burke, I came down to the study and
begged you to take charge of the room. I thought
that there might be clues there which they would try
to destroy. I didn't want Doctor Levene to come into
the study. I couldn't tell you the reason, I was certain
I was right in my suspicions, but I didn't know. I
wanted to tell the Secret Service people first and let
them judge. I was certain too that Mr. Jowett sus-
pected Harry Holt and me and—and, Mr. Parker, I
knew you didn't think well of me. I felt that you
thought about me a great deal as Mrs. Moreton did,
naturally you would not believe me.”
300


THE TINY MARK 305
about him. He's not here, but he's safe—that's all
I’ll tell you.”
“Then morning came, and I began watching Doctor
Levene. He was in Mrs. Moreton's room talking with
her, for some time. Then he came down with Mrs.
Moreton's order for breakfast to be served in the
rooms. He told Burke that he had an order for Holt
from Mrs. Moreton, and started out to the garage.
Burke whispered to me, ‘He knows Holt's gone—the
servants all know it.’ I followed Doctor Levene to
the garage. The doors stood open and when I came in
he came out of the tool-room. I know now that he must
have gone straight into the chauffeur's room and into
his closet and when he heard me come in he must
have run into the tool-room by the door which opens
into it from the chauffeur's room. Then he walked
out of the tool-room into the garage where I was.
“‘I can’t find Holt,” he said, and he crossed over to
the chauffeur's room and looked in. “Why, his things
aren’t here!' he said then. “The man's decamped—
that looks queer!’ And he looked hard at me.
“I thought it was stupid of him to think he could
fool me. He knew Harry had gone—he had some
other reason for being in the tool-room. But I said,
“They just told me that he had gone—I came to see
for myself,’ and I gave him look for look. I looked as
blank as I could and stood just where I was.
“He turned and walked out and went straight to the


THE TINY MARK 307
ful, for he hurried up the basement stairs and went
straight to the window-door. He unlocked it and
stepped in—he had turned to lock it again, but I was
at his elbow. His expression when he saw me was a
thing I'll remember—he looked clammy, there were
tiny beads of perspiration on his forehead.
“But he had his explanation ready. “Mrs. Moreton
wanted me to get things ready here—it's about time
for the coroner.’
“‘I have been thinking so too,” I said. “If you’ll go
through the room and unlock the library door, Burke
can help you.’
“He had to do it, and I stayed where I was, close to
the window-door, until the coroner's party arrived and
they all came into the study. Then I had to go.”
Nixie had paused, and when she continued there was
a vibrant note in her voice. “And now I can explain
why I acted to you as I did after the inquest. When
you found me in the boxed stairway after the inquest,
I was waiting to talk to the same Secret Service man
who had talked with me in the night. The keys I had
collected for him—they wanted to fit a key to the
study door—it would be better than picking the lock.
Directly after the inquest Burke had purposely quar-
reled with the footman and had taken on one of the
Secret Service men whom we called Sanderson, and
another man, Murray, had hired himself to the head-
gardener as chauffeur. I had plenty of helpers after
the inquest, but I had no money, so I asked you for


310 THE MORETON MYSTERY
a girl might do, but not an experienced spy. They
filled the little bottle from a larger one which they had
with them, and put the larger bottle in Mr. Moreton's
medicine chest, thinking that its presence there would
go to prove suicide, or, should murder be suspected,
that it would most likely throw suspicion on me or
some one belonging to the family.
“We also know now that after the murder both the
count and Doctor Levene were in deadly fear, for the
count had bungled his work, and there was something
in the study which they wanted desperately. We know
now that Doctor Levene bitterly reproached the count
for the mishap which had put them in such danger and
that the count said very little, merely that he was will-
ing to gamble on the chance of the object's being hid-
den where it would escape notice, probably for years—
that they were safe enough, and that if any one was sus-
pected it would be Harry and myself. The count told
Doctor Levene that he felt certain the inquest would
result in a verdict of suicide. He told him that they
must not talk together for several days—that they
would meet in New York, when it was safe to do so.
He told Doctor Levene to do nothing, to hold his
tongue and wait for the inquest.
“But Doctor Levene is a nervous coward, really, and
all that night he was casting about for a scapegoat;
when he dressed Driscoll's arm, he tried to plant in
Driscoll’s mind the idea that perhaps Driscoll had com-
mitted the crime. He meant to direct suspicion against


THE TINY MARK 313
Government—somewhere—he was very mysterious
and important over it, and all the next morning he
called in what money he could. He must have been
pretty frantic, nearly insane, for he began to be aimless
in some of the things he did; that was after he dis-
covered that the count did not mean to be found, that
the count evidently meant to escape and leave Doctor
Levene to his fate. At the time you telephoned to
Doctor Levene, just after reading the will, he must
have been desperate.
“But he had to come. He had to keep up appear-
ances and he had to ward off danger if he could. And
the Secret Service people decided to let him come—
they weren't ready yet to arrest him. When I left the
room, after the will was read, I was going to come
into town and tell the chief about the will and ask him
to stop Mrs. Moreton if he could, but when Driscoll
came up and told me that Doctor Levene was coming
to Moreton House, I let my affairs go, for we were
all of us convinced that Doctor Levene would try to
get into the study again. After what they had discov-
ered from their examination of the body, we thought
we knew what it was Doctor Levene wanted to find in
the study. We had searched every inch of the study,
but we had found nothing—perhaps he would find it
for us. When I spoke to Sanderson about ‘the bolts,’
I was telling him to prepare the study.
“Doctor Levene came and if ever a man worked
nard to dissuade a woman, he did. He even hinted to


316 THE MORETON MYSTERY
him money, too. Then he tested him and found that
he was willing to do their work for good pay.
“Doctor Levene spied on a number of families, col-
lecting information for the count. Mrs. Moreton
seemed to them good game, and the Moreton house-
hold offered opportunities. Mrs. Moreton was always
ready to receive foreigners, and Mr. Moreton was
deep in war interests. They might be able to learn
a great deal. So Doctor Levene made himself nec-
essary to Mrs. Moreton, and there is no doubt that,
both before we declared war and afterward, she enter-
tained, without knowing it, more than one German
spy. Laterly, Mr. Moreton was so rude to any for-
eigner who came to the house that he couldn't come
again without exciting suspicion. The count never
came, though Mrs. Moreton often invited him—he was
too wise for that. He came only when they had de-
cided on a somewhat hurried plan.
“You see, in the beginning, their idea was simply to
keep going the state of things which existed in the
Moreton household, for it gave Doctor Levene an op-
portunity to spy on Mr. Moreton. Then they dis-
covered things: that Mr. Moreton was furnishing
money for testing and developing certain explosives,
and that he had a big idea for promoting the efficiency
of our Secret Service. His idea was that our Secret
Service was our important home army, and it was his
intention to use both his money and his influence to
gain every possible advantage for what he called, “Our


318 THE MORETON MYSTERY
Nixie nodded. “But the count didn't discover that.
He thought you were going to Moreton House with
Mr. Moreton for final consultations with him about
his will. He made his plan then and offered Doctor
Levene a big sum, and it was arranged that they would
divide equally whatever they could steal from Mrs.
Moreton in the future. The count was to do the deed,
and Doctor Levene was to assist. It was a supposed
suicide the count had planned and Hoffman's book
had given him the foundation for his plan. He also
had another use for Hoffman's book—in case murder
was suspected, the presence of the book in Moreton
House might fasten suspicion upon some one who could
not prove as perfect an alibi as the count meant to fur-
nish for himself and Doctor Levene. So he placed the
book on the library table.
“The count had secured an invitation to Moreton
House from Mrs. Moreton who was only too pleased
to entertain him. And fortune seemed to favor them,
for Mrs. Moreton was not feeling well and telephoned
Doctor Levene to come—he did not have to ask for an
invitation. . . . They took with them the bottle
of poison which Doctor Levene afterward hid in the
chauffeur's closet and a bottle of smelling-salts which
they had prepared, and Doctor Levene had his physi-
cian's pocket-case which he usually carried. They
held several consultations during that Saturday after-
noon and adapted their plan to circumstances. They
made one mistake, they took that paper from my box


THE TINY MARK 319
—they were very anxious I shouldn't have it in my pos-
session after Mr. Moreton's death—and they gambled
on the chance of my not missing it until Mr. Moreton
was out of the way.
“Then there was that scene at dinner, and one would
suppose that it would have stopped them, but the count
argued that Mr. Moreton's suspicions were aroused
and that meant great danger to them, so the sooner he
was disposed of the better, also that Mr. Moreton's
outburst at dinner together with his remark to Mrs.
Moreton in the afternoon—that he would be driven to
suicide—would help to establish suicide. He argued
that the scene at dinner would convince any one that
no German spy would dream of killing Mr. Moreton
after such an occurrence. The count considered the
dinner scene helpful to their plans.
“They had decided that Mrs. Moreton must be their
alibi, and they took advantage of circumstances: they
were left alone with her, and Mr. Moreton was alone
within a few feet of them, in his study. They managed
to have Mrs. Moreton send twice for Burke and Mrs.
Moreton's maid sent down to them with the smelling-
salts—everything must appear just as usual. When
Mrs. Moreton was upset by Doctor Levene's pretended
reproaches over her having asserted her pacifism at din-
ner and she said she felt exhausted, Doctor Levene
who had made the substitution, gallantly held his bot-
tle of smelling-salts for her—she was used to such
attentions from him. Then for fifteen minutes she


320 THE MORETON MYSTERY
knew nothing, and Doctor Levene watched over her
while the count did his work.” Nixie stopped.
“Go on,” Parker urged.
She continued with difficulty. “Mr. Moreton was
sitting with his back to the door into the library, his
head bent, so—over his desk—and the count stole up
behind him—and thrust just here,”—Nixie leaned for-
ward and placed a cold forefinger on the back of Park-
er's neck—“just here, at the base of the brain, under
Mr. Moreton's thick hair. . . . It was not the
poison which the count afterward put between Mr.
Moreton's lips which killed him, Mr. Parker—it was
the hypodermic injection of the same poison. . . .
That was the count's wonderful idea: only a most pow-
erful and skilful man could have done what Powell's
murderer attempted to do—the thing was physically
impossible, and the verdict would be suicide—and his
tiny murderer's mark would never be found. . . . He
could not destroy that fine strong man except by a poi-
soned thrust from behind. . . . Mr. Moreton turned
and struck the count's arm—then he fell. The hypo-
dermic needle flew out of the count's hand, slid along
the polished floor and fell into the register. But the
count had to finish his work before he could look for it,
and he was doing that when he heard Harry and me
come up the basement stairs. Then he ran back to the
veranda. And that poor foolish woman didn't even know
that she had been unconscious—Doctor Levene told


THE INEXPLICABLE EXPLAINED 323
Parker looked at the photograph, but without sur-
prise. “Yes, I saw him this afternoon, down-town,”
he said quietly. “I guessed then how it was. . . .
He was standing in a Red Cross automobile, talking
to a crowd near the City Hall. It was his voice which
attracted me first, then what he had to say. He has a
wonderful voice, Miss Nixie. When I saw who it was
I listened for half an hour. He was talking to the
East Side and a big sprinkling of business men and
lawyers. The way he handled that crowd was re-
markable. There was about every nationality there
and he got at the brain as well as the emotions of every
one of us. I happened to elbow Senator Banks—he's
a western senator, and something of a dandy. He
looked excited. ‘Hello, Parker!' he said. “What do
you think of him? Why, he's stuff for the Senate!
I've been here for the last twenty minutes, and I’ll be
damned if he hasn't made me laugh and cry! Who is
he P’
“We were standing near a gang of toughs. They
were not laughing. One of them nudged another,
‘Shirt-bosom don't know Hal Kelly!" he said. ‘Wow!'
Then his pal jeered at us: ‘Shiny-Shoes better go over
the top, like us guys is going to. Them trenches Kelly
stood in would spile him good an' plenty!”
“The talk was over then and, as we got out of the
crowd, some one began singing, ‘Has anybody here
seen Kelly? Has anybody here seen Kellee!’ and as
we went on the whole crowd was still singing.
A


THE INEXPLICABLE EXPLAINED 327
$P
:
haven’t said “good-by” to you,” he half whispered, and
walked away.
“A week afterward I knew what he meant. I was at
the lake when Mr. Moreton came back from town one
evening and Harry was driving his car. When Mr.
Moreton said, “This is Holt, Baby—our new chauffeur.
They put some shot into him over there, but he'll be
going back one of these days,’ Harry only touched
his cap, but his eyes spoke.
“Mr. Parker, I don't know how I looked, but I know
how I felt. For a week I had been dying by inches,
and suddenly I was well. . . . Mr. Moreton told
me afterward that Harry had shown him his papers
and had told him that he wanted something to do while
he was waiting for his commission. He said: ‘Harry
is a fine sort, and I told him that the moment he was
wanted he was at liberty to go.” He had asked Mr.
Moreton to call him Holt and not to speak of his
history, because of the other servants. Mr. Moreton
told me that of course we must treat him exactly as
we would a chauffeur, that Harry understood that.
And I said nothing at all. I knew Harry was there
to be near me, but I said nothing—it's one of the
things for which I'll always blame myself. But I
didn't mean to deceive—I meant to hold out to the end.
“I held out for a long time, Mr. Parker—for over
six weeks. The first time Harry tried to speak to me,
I told him he was Harry Holt, the chauffeur, nothing
more. In all that time I treated him as I would the


THE INEXPLICABLE EXPLAINED 331
called her “an Arab.” But, as he had said, at the
core she was tender, and she was very lovable—she
possessed a compelling quality. Parker recalled Dris-
coll's remark that the biggest thing in her was a pas-
sionate “loyalty.” To husband and child and friend
and country, she would be unswervingly true.


SHE NEEDS YOU 339
which Nixie had disappeared, then rose and went to
them, parted them and looked into the next room.
When he came back to Parker, he said in a low voice,
“I don’t want Nixie to hear. . . . Something has
Inappened, Mr. Parker, and Driscoll and I agreed that
she ought not to be told to-night—it would be a shock
to her. . . . Doctor Levene will not trouble this
world any longer—he has done for himself.”
“He has! He had the courage for it? . . . But
he was alive enough at eight o'clock this evening, for
he telephoned to my apartment. That's something I’ve
puzzled over. Nixie said he had been arrested this
morning, but he telephoned twice to-day, to my apart-
ment? Did some one use his name?”
“No, he telephoned. . . . They were certain
enough of him, Mr. Parker, and all day they have
been using him. They have located several others of his
kind through him. . . . They have their theory now,
about his conduct last night, and those two telephone
calls to your apartment. They think that his meeting
with Driscoll in the subway last night was really acci-
dental, that he was hanging about the subway trying
to collect courage to end things. They thought at the
time that he was watching for somebody and they
wanted to discover who it was. What he gathered
from Driscoll must have heartened him for the time
being; a scapegoat was going to materialize. But when
they arrested him he knew he was done for. When he
telephoned to your house the first time, he was down-