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UNSEEN HANDS





UN SEEN
H A N D S
§ By $
ROBERT ORR CHIPPERHEID, pse, d. eſ
Author of “The Second Büllet”
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NEW YORK
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO.
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1920


Copyright, 1920, by
RoBERT M. McBRIDE & Co
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United States of America
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Published, June, 1920


cFIAPTER
II.
III.
IV.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
$
CONTENTS
TERROR - -
THE UNSEEN HAND
WHO KNEW P - -
BARRY ODELL TAKES HoLD
“I WISH IT HAD BEEN YOU” .
BLOODY HANDs .
“WATCH THEIR EYES”
THE NEEDLE - - - -
DoCTOR McCUTCHEN’s THEORY .
IN THE PARROT’s CAGE
THE VOICE . - - - - - -
THE ROOM witH THE BROKEN WINDow
BEHIND LOCKED DOORS
ESCAPE - - -
WHAT RANNIE KNEw
Miss RISBY SPEAKs
FARLEY DREw's GAME .
“READY TO ANYONE'S HAND”
AN UNDERWORLD PHOENIX
THE TRYST . - -
THE THIRD GENERATION .
THE FINAL CLUE
THE TRAP
FoLDED HANDS .
PAGE
13
23
37
50
62
75
87
100
112
128
141
153
166
181
194
208
221
234
248
260
272
284
293





UNSEEN HANDS
CHAPTER I
TERROR
T was a week since Julian Chalmers's tragic young death
and the fourth day after the funeral, and yet the odor
of dying flowers and the chill gloom which only so mourn-
ful a function can radiate seemed still to cling about the
spacious room. It bore an air of unfamiliarity, too, which
was due in part to the fact that the massive old furniture
had not been replaced with the exactitude which its long-
established position warranted.
The little faded woman who appeared noiselessly on the
threshold and peered within much as a mouse might have
done seemed at once to sense the general atmosphere and
perceive its source. She entered, and as a light footfall
sounded upon the stairs she laid her slender arms about a
huge old arm chair and strove with all her frail strength
to move it toward the table.
“Oh, Aunt Effie, what are you doing?” The words were
more an awestruck exclamation than a question, and a
young girl halted in the doorway as had the older woman
at first. She was small and lithe; a dark, gypsy-like
1
".
-
;


2 UNSEEN HANDS
creature who would have been pretty in other circumstances.
Now her big soft eyes were deeply encircled, and her clear
dark skin chalkily pallid.
“Peters and Gerda have been sadly careless in rearrang-
ing the room, dear. I suppose I must not scold them at-
at such a time, but I should have seen to it myself.” The
little lady's voice was low and as colorless as her personal-
ity. “You know your stepfather always likes this chair
nearer the light.”
“Well, do let Peters attend to it later and come into the
dining-room!” It was not impatience but entreaty which
sounded in the seemingly impulsive cry. “It’s—it's simply
horrible in here! Haven't father and the boys come down
yet? Rannie's always late!”
“You have no patience with his infirmity, Nan, child,”
her aunt responded in gentle reproof as she followed the
girl into the brilliantly lighted dining-room, where at one
end a round table had been laid for six. “Remember he
cannot run up and down the stairs as quickly as you.”
“Oh, I did not mean to be unkind!” Nan Chalmers
spoke in quick remorse, and her eyes darkened as she added
in a half whisper, “We should none of us be unkind to
each other, should we? We can not tell which will be the
next to be taken!”
“It is the Lord's will.” Miss Effie's soft, resigned voice
was lost in the clear, flippant tones of a young man and
the deep rumble of that of an older one as Richard Lorne
and his eldest living step-son entered the room together.
“Remember, Eugene, not to speak of this to your aunt—”
Lorne broke off abruptly as he caught sight of Miss Effie
standing beside the cold hearth.


TERROR 3
“Oh, Aunt Effie knows as well as we do that things al-
ways run in three's,” Eugene responded nonchalantly enough
as he moved toward the table; but his light eyes wavered
and a slight flush mounted to his sleek golden hair and
receded, leaving him more pale than before. He turned
to the younger sister, who was so unlike him in type, and
asked with a flippancy which the quivering of his rather
weak chin belied: “Why so tragic, Nan? It'll be me, not
you; and the infernal jinx that is over this house will have
to work quick, for next month I'll be twenty-five—”
“Silence!” His stepfather's round reddened face puffed
out in anger, and his close-clipped gray mustache fairly
bristled. “If you have no heart, at least preserve a sem-
blance of decency and do not jest about—about matters
which have bowed all our heads in griefl”
His tone grew husky toward the last, and his slightly
prominent blue eyes filled as he turned away.
Nan laid a cool little hand over his.
“Don’t mind Gene, father. He's only trying to cover
up his own feelings; I know him!” She spoke with infinite
tenderness; and it was evident that between the girl and
her stepfather a very real affection existed. “Come, shall
we wait for the other two?”
“I’m here!” A thin, high, whining voice with an inde-
scribably sarcastic undernote in it replied to the question;
and a distorted, humpbacked figure came forward. Ran-
dall, the youngest of the Chalmers children, was a boy of
about eighteen, and dark like Nan, who was two years his
senior; but there the resemblance ceased. Her witching
charm seemed in him to be changed to a malevolent humor,
and his thin lips were twisted, by past pain perhaps, into


4 UNSEEN HANDS
a perpetually sardonic leer. In his correct, somber mourn-
ing clothes, cleverly built to conceal as much as possible of
his infirmity, he nevertheless made one think irresistibly
of a jester in motley as he slid sinuously into his seat at
, the table and made an impish grimace at his sister's face.
Richard Lorne turned to the impassive butler.
“Dinner, Peters. We shall not wait for Miss Chal-
mers.”
Soup was almost finished before the beauty of the family
appeared. Christine was twenty-two and resembled Eu-
gene in her coloring save that her blondness was of a
colder, more brilliant type, and there was no hint of weak-
ness in her exquisite, perfectly chiseled features. She car-
ried herself with the assured air of one conscious of her
beauty; and her elaborate crêpe gown made the more
simple mourning of her sister and aunt appear dowdy by
comparison.
“I’ve been frightfully busy,” she announced as she seated
herself. “It’s a bore to try to separate the sheep from the
goats; but one simply must know whom merely to send
cards to, and who must be replied to personally. Why do
people send condolences, anyway?”
“Usually to be on the safe side in case they might have
been remembered in the will.” The cripple looked up with
a shrewd twinkle in his sunken eyes.
“I hope, my dear, that you have not touched the pile of
correspondence on the desk in the library.” Miss Effie
Meade glanced at her butterfly niece in nervous depreca-
tion. “I have it all nicely arranged for Gene; he says that
he will attend to it this evening.”
Christine tossed her head.


TERROR 5
“I meant my own personal mail, Aunt Effie. I assure
you, it's quite enough for me to take on my shoulders.”
Gene opened his lips as if to retort, but evidently thought
better of it and with a shrug devoted himself to his fish.
The dinner progressed in silence to its close; but when
Peters at a nod from Richard Lorne had placed the coffee
upon the table and departed little Miss Effie glanced about
and said timidly:
“We we mustn't go on like this, you know. The-the
loss of our dear ones—”. She put her handkerchief for a .
moment to her brimming eyes. “To have my poor sister
and her dear son taken from us so suddenly and with so
short a space of time between is heartrending, but it is the
Lord's will and we must not complain. If we go on as
we have been, we shall have Peters talking to the other
servants about us. We are acting as if—as if—”
“As if we were afraid!” Randall, the cripple, thrust him-
self forward suddenly in his chair. “Must we be hypo-
crites eternally? We grieve, of course, each in our own
way, and that concerns only our own souls if we have any,
but there is something else back in the minds of all of us
and that is fear! Even you, even Dad! Why, look around
the table! Aren't we each asking ourselves: ‘Will I be
the next? Will I be the next?' Do we believe it was the
Lord’s will?”
“This is madness!” Richard Lorne put down his coffee-
cup, which he had held suspended in a shaking hand while
he listened as if hypnotized to his step-son's harangue.
“Let us hear no more of this, this wild raving ! I believe
you are losing your mind! You know that the deaths of
both your mother and brother were due to perfectly natural


6 UNSEEN HANDS
causes: accidents. If you do not still that mad tongue of
yours I will have you put away!”
He strode from the room, and Randall laughed shrilly.
“You see? Can't bear to have his innermost thoughts
brought to the light of day!”
But the others were not listening. Instead they were
glancing about as he had bade them; and each read in the
eyes of the others the nameless thing which had been locked
in their own breasts for an interminable week.
In all eyes save those of their mother's sister, Miss Effie;
they shone through her tears with an almost fanatical light.
After a moment of silence she rose and put her arm ten-
derly about the cripple's shoulders.
“Come, Rannie, you are all overwrought, and the fever
mustn't rise again. You know what pain it always brings.
Lie on the couch in my room and let me read to you for a
while.”
The boy flung her off impatiently.
“Let me alone, Aunt Effiel I'm not a child, I tell you!
I'm wise; wiser than all of you!”
Nevertheless, he suffered her to lead him from the room
and preceded her when, on the threshold, she turned.
“You’ll find the light just right, I think, over the desk,
Gene,” she said. “Don’t work too late, dear. There are
so many letters, and I can find time to help you in the
morning.”
As the door closed Christine began to sob hysteri-
cally.
“I’m going to get out of this dreadful house to-morrow!”
she cried. “I’ve felt ever since p-poor Julian was found
as if s-something were hanging over my h-head I'm


TERROR 7
going to Dorothy Landis's and stay; I’d go to-night if I
c—could !”
“Sure, run away,” Gene sneered coldly. “If it is your
turn next you'd probably slip on a banana-peel or get in
a taxi accident before you reached the Landis place! Stick
around like a sport, but watch your step and see what our
jinx has in store for you!”
“Don’t say such dreadful things, Gene dear; you're al-
most as bad as Rannie.” Nan raised her white, serious face
and looked straight into his. “You know you don't believe
in evil spirits any more than I do. There is no use in deny-
ing that I’ve felt just as Cissie has all this last week; but
it may be that we are all just nervous and apt to imagine
things. Why, even poor father showed it to-night when
Rannie burst out like that! If we could all be as stolid
and calm as-as Peters, for instance.”
Gene laughed.
“The impeccable Peters is carrying a newly acquired rab-
bit's foot! Fact. It fell out of his pocket when he stooped
to pick up Dad's cane this morning. Nobody saw it but
me, and I thought best not to make any inquiries just then.
I’ve no doubt that Marcelle has one of those little Rintintin
figures concealed somewhere about her person at this mo-
ment; and Jane and Gerda must be sporting whatever their
particular fetishes are, too. I'm not trying to be funny!”
he added. “I’m just showing you which way the wind is
blowing.”
“They are stupid, ignorant things,” Nan commented.
“But I’ve heard that fear is contagious; and although I
don't believe in a jinx, I do believe that our thoughts can
work on the people around us for good or bad. Now, sup-


8 UNSEEN HANDS
pose that one of us got this fear—which would be ridiculous
if it were not so horrible!—and communicated it to the
rest?”
“Nothing doing,” Gene replied. “If a whole lot of people
think the same thing it's bound to be true; not come true
because they believe it, but be true from the first. You
wait and see what happens next!”
Christine moaned, and regardless of her coiffure bur-
rowed her head still deeper into her folded arms upon the
table.
“If we'd try to think sanely for a minute, we'd realize
how impossible any connection between mother's death and
Julian's could be.” Nan spoke decidedly, but her voice
trembled and lowered as she mentioned those who had
gone. “Dear mother ran a needle in her hand and blood-
poison followed; that might happen to anyone, there is
nothing strange about it.”
“No, but there was something strange about the infec-
tion that set in and spread in spite of what the best spe-
cialists in the country could do; you heard them say that,
themselves!” Gene retorted. “And I suppose it wasn't
queer that when Jule's razor slipped while he was shaving
it should just nick the jugular vein? Well, I'm going in
and start upon those beastly letters. Thank the Lord, Aunt
Effie got them sorted for me!”
“I’m going to pack!” Cissie jumped up as he departed.
“Of course you won't go while Tad lives right next door
and can run in and out any hour of the day, but I—”
“But you!” Nan interrupted hotly. “You want to go be-
cause the Sorrowful atmosphere of this house won't be
conducive to the comfort and pleasure of Farley Drew!


TERROR 9
Because he knows that he isn't welcomed here by any
one but you and Gene! He'll probably be welcomed as
your guest by the Landises; they don't know him as I
do ſ”
“You’re only a child.” Cissie smoothed her crêpe dra-
peries complacently. “What could you know of a man of
the world like Farley?”
“I know that he has led Gene into all the trouble he was
ever in, and poor Julian, too ! That's enough for me!”
Nan poured herself a cup of the cold coffee. “How you
can be so stupid, Cissie!—”
But Cissie had trailed from the room, and her younger
sister was left to her own thoughts.
In the smoking-room back of the library Richard Lorne
was closeted with Samuel Titheredge of Titheredge, Gore
& Wells, attorneys and counselors-at-law.
Samuel was as long and lean and lantern-jawed as Lorne
was short and stout and round-faced; and the two had been
friends since their university days thirty years before. It
was with the freedom, then, of absolute camaraderie that
the lawyer advised his client.
“Dick, don’t be an ass! Go to the authorities with what,
I should like to know? Sad as the affair is, I can't see
that there is anything strange about it. It isn't at all un-
usual for two members of one family to die of different
causes within a month of each other. Buck up, and if there
is anything left in your private cellar take a swig of it be-
fore you go to bed. Why, man, there isn't even a coinci-
dence in the affair! If you take such a cock-and-bull story
to Headquarters, do you know what will happen? You'll get
a lot of derisive notoriety that you're not looking for; and


10 UNSEEN HANDS
afterward when somebody proposes coming to you with a
nice tidy investment, somebody else will tap his forehead
significantly and suggest another broker!”
“But I say that there is a coincidence, Sam,” Lorne re-
torted doggedly. “I may be an ass; but I’ve lived with this
thing in my mind ever since the poor boy was discovered
lying there dead in the bathroom, and I’ve had time to think
it over. The deaths were both on the face of them the re-
sult of accidents; but they might have been deliberately de-
signed to appear as accidents. Do you get me? That
needle which pierced my poor wife's hand might have been
doctored beforehand; and anyone knowing the state of
Julian's mind might have made a sudden noise behind him
at a critical moment when the razor was near the artery.
It would have taken a devilish clever mind—”
“Or an insane one.” The attorney uncrossed his long
legs and added casually: “Your theory presupposes, then,
that it was an inside job?”
For a long moment the two men stared at each other;
and then Samuel with a shrug settled back in his chair
Once more.
“You see, Dick, you're going nutty about this thing. Just
get the poor lad's estate in order and I’ll have the necessary
papers ready for you to sign. Then go away somewhere;
try to amuse yourself and forget.”
“You have the papers ready to-morrow morning, then. I
have a complete statement and accounting for every penny
that his mother left him already prepared; I was going to
turn it over to him, in any event.” Lorne paused and
added: “I suppose if another coincidence of the same kind
occurs in this family within a short time and doesn't involve


TERROR 11
me as the central figure, I shall be able to convince you that
there is something in my hallucination, after all.”
“I should be sorry to hear of such an occurrence,” the
attorney responded slowly. “But if it should happen I–
yes, I'm inclined to think that I might be able to take it a
bit more seriously than I can at present. If you had a
single clue, a single shred of evidence to support your crazy
idea—”
He paused as Lorne held up a warning hand. Steps were
approaching over the bare library-floor, and the inevitable
knock upon the connecting door was followed by a cough of
deprecation.
“Come in, Gene,” Lorne called resignedly.
“It’s about one of these con—one of these letters of con-
dolence, sir.” Gene hastened to correct himself, and with
a far greater respect than he exhibited toward his step-
father in private. He meant to appear always at his best
before the attorney who held the family fortunes, if not in
his grasp, at least under his supervision. “It’s from a
woman—er—the stationery is not quite like that used by
any of our acquaintances, and I can't make out the signa-
ture—‘Mabelle’ something.”
“Let me see it!” Lorne demanded with an almost un-
precedented irascibility in his tones. Gene passed over the
table a flamboyant lavender envelope, and did not betray
by a flutter of his downcast yellow eyelashes that he had
observed not only his stepfather's sudden agitation but the
attorney's start of surprise.
“I’ll reply to this one; I see it is addressed to me—”
Lorne was beginning when a terrific crash in the library
made him start from his chair.


12 UNSEEN HANDS
“Why, it's the portrait! The portrait of grandfather
that hangs directly over the desk where I’ve been at work!
It must weigh tons !” Gene had wheeled about, and his
squeal of terror died in his throat as he turned again to face
the other two, his own countenance convulsed with horror
at the thought he could not utter.
For a moment they stood spellbound and then leaped
past him and through the open door. The life-sized por-
trait with its massive gilt frame had crashed down over the
desk and the space where Gene had been sitting but a minute
before, splintering the heavy chair to matchwood.
“If Gene had not come to us with that letter just when
he did—”. Samuel paused.
“The third coincidence would be complete,” Lorne
finished for him. “He would have been crushed to atoms.
Beginning to believe in my crazy idea a little bit, Sam?
Beginning to see that there is some damnable reason for it
a11?”
“I’m willing now to admit the coincidence, Dick,” the at-
torney said cautiously. “But the legal mind is not adapted
to ghost-hunting; and I’d like to address your attention to
the strands of wire cable which held the picture to the
wall. They have been hacked almost through!”


CHAPTER II
THE UNSEEN HAND
ICHARD LORNE bent forward, his stout knees shak-
ing beneath him, and examined the cable-ends where
they protruded from just under the edge of the frame. The
tips of the sundered steel strands glittered as if burnished,
and some had been turned inward from the force of the
blows which had parted them.
He glanced up at the inscrutable face of his companion.
“What devil's work has been going on in this house!”
He spoke in an awestruck whisper.
For answer the attorney merely touched his finger sug-
gestively to his closed lips with a scarcely perceptible shake
of his head as Gene hastened toward them.
“Dad!” The young man's face was working con-
vulsively. “That didn't just happen! It couldn't! Why,
it doesn't seem as though it fell at all, but as though some-
thing pulled it down over the place where I’d been working
only a minute before. Look at the wall!”
The two older men raised their eyes and saw a number
of small, deep, round holes spaced at regular intervals which
roughly outlined the size and shape of the portrait, and
then glancing down at the upturned back of the fallen pic-
ture beheld a row of stout iron stakes.equally spaced driven
outward from the under part of the frame.
13


14 UNSEEN HANDS
“That's a mere detail,” Samuel commented. “Evidently
the person who hung the portrait did not put any too much
faith in the strength of the stakes driven into the wall;
and wisely, seeing what has occurred, he supplemented them
by the steel cable which has just parted, as you see. You
had a narrow escape, then, Eugene; but it was sheer
accident—”
He was interrupted by a patter of little silken mules
upon the stairs, and in another moment Cissie and Nan
rushed into the room and paused, rooted to the spot at
sight of the fallen picture. Both were clad in kimonos,
and with the golden curls and straight, fine, black hair flow-
ing about their shoulders and mingling as they clung in-
stinctively to each other, they looked like little children. It
was Nan who first drew away from her sister's tense em-
brace. She could see only her father and the attorney, for
Gene stood behind them, and as she advanced the childish
look left her face.
“Where is my brother?” Her tone rang with tragic grief
through the room. “Is he there, beneath that—?”
“Nan!” All the good in the boy's weak face shone forth
as he sprang forward and caught her in his arms. “I’m
safe! I missed it by a fraction of a minute!”
“How did it happen?” Cissie's voice rose shrilly, but be-
fore anybody could reply a faint cry came from the doorway
behind her.
“Gene! You are hurt! Something has happened!”
Looking more mouselike than ever with her gray hair
lying in soft folds about her face and her slender figure
encased in a drab dressing-gown, Miss Meade glided into
the room.


THE UNSEEN HAND 15
“No, I'm not hurt, Aunt Effie. I had just gone to ask
Dad about one of the letters when the portrait fell,” Gene
explained as she stood swaying, her thin, delicate hand grip-
ping his arm until the fingers almost disappeared in the
folds of his coatsleeve. “Mr. Titheredge says it was a
sheer accident, but after what Rannie said at dinner
to-night; after we know how we've all felt since Jule—”
He broke off and added: “Ouch! Aunt Effie, you
hurt!”
She removed her hand from his arm and repeated
mechanically in a dazed fashion:
“You had gone to ask your stepfather about one of the
letters?”
“Yes. These condolence things, you know. But I'm
sure it couldn't have been an accident! Why should that
one picture in all this house have fallen just at the moment
when I left the desk? I'd been sitting there for more than
an hour.”
“What a merciful blessing that you escaped!” Miss Effie
spoke in a low tone, then added quickly with a sharper
note: “But I—it was I who asked you to reply to the
letters, and suggested that you use the library desk here!
I even arranged the light for you! Had you been killed
it would have been my fault!”
“Come, Miss Meade, that's all nonsense!” Samuel
Titheredge stepped forward. “No one can foresee ac-
cidents; and that portrait has hung there more than twenty
years without falling. In any event it is all right; Gene
wasn't hurt, and you and the girls had better go back to
bed and try to forget all about it.”
As if conscious for the first time of their appearance she


16 UNSEEN HANDS
glanced down shrinkingly at her own attire and then turned
to where Nan and Cissie stood.
“Mr. Titheredge is right; let us go back to our rooms.
I—I should never have forgiven myself if anything had
happened to Genel”
When she and the girls had taken their departure the
attorney turned to the white-faced young man.
“You, too, Gene. No use trying to clear up this mess
to-night, and your Dad and I have some business matters
still to talk over. You've had a bad shock and you must
try to get a sound night's rest.”
“Do you suppose I could sleep?” Gene turned on him
hotly. “You and Dad may be blind, but I tell you I know
there is something horribly wrong! We are dying one by
one, and I was scheduled to be the third | There was no
coincidence about any of it. Someone is trying deliberately
to do us all to death, someone who knows what we are
doing from hour to hour !” His voice had risen to a shrill
scream. “How can you shut your eyes?”
Titheredge compressed his lips and nudged Lorne, who
glanced at him and then spoke with sudden sternness:
“Eugene, you are hysterical! You are behaving like a
child ! This matter of the fall of the portrait will be
thoroughly investigated to-morrow, but meanwhile you must
try to pull yourself together. Things will look different to
you in the morning. Go on up to bed like a good chap,
and let Mr. Titheredge and me finish our conference.”
Gene went shakily from the room and they heard him
ascending the steep, old-fashioned staircase. Waiting until
his footsteps had ceased with the thud of a closing door,
Lorne turned to his companion.


THE UNSEEN HAND 17
“Nevertheless, Sam, the boy is dead right! There is
something horribly sinister back of the whole thing, and
it is an insult to even his intelligence to try to convince him
of the fallacy of mere coincidence. I'm not going to wait
until morning and perhaps find some other member of the
family dead in bed! At the risk of the derisive notoriety
you were talking about a little while ago I'm going to have
the authorities in here now !”
“I agree with you that it looks very much as if some
human agency has been at work. We can at least be cer-
tain of it in this last case, with the evidence of the cut
cable; but it is after midnight, and I don't believe another
attempt will be made to-night.” The attorney's calm, sane
voice fell upon the other's ears like a dash of cold water.
“Besides, if you call up now you'll have a mob of heavy-
footed, matter-of-fact plainclothesmen in here who wouldn't
be able to comprehend your almost superstitious appre-
hension and who would obliterate any clue which may re-
main. There is just one lad in the Homicide Bureau at
Headquarters who could understand your point of view and
carry out the investigation with the necessary tact and dis-
cretion if we are to avoid undue notoriety, and that is
Barry Odell. I’ll stay here to-night with you and keep
guard if you think it necessary, turn and turn about; and
in the morning we'll go down to Headquarters. I’ll have
a word with the Commissioner, and we'll bring young Odell
back with us.”
Agitated as he was, Lorne saw the wisdom of the at-
torney's advice and accepted it. After a further examina-
tion of the fallen portrait they turned out the lights and
went upstairs. Samuel elected to share his friend's room;
*


18 UNSEEN HANDS
but sleep did not come and they were still discussing the
extraordinary chain of tragic events when Lorne stopped in
the middle of a sentence and held up a warning hand.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered after a moment.
“What? Don't let your nerves run away with you, old
man.”
“Nerves nothing! Don't speak aloud! I'm sure I heard
a step out in the hall.”
“Well, I didn't, and I’ve keener ears than you,” retorted
Titheredge.
Lorne padded softly to the door and listened for a space
of several minutes, then turned away with a sigh of relief.
“I guess I must have been mistaken. I’ll go to pieces
myself, like Gene, if I’m not careful. God! I wish this
night would end, and we could get hold of that young
fellow you spoke of ! Perhaps it would be better, though,
to go to some private detective agency and avoid the
police.”
“And have your home overrun with operatives, every
member of your household shadowed and their affairs in-
vestigated; and nothing to show for it but a bill as long as
a Japanese letter?” Titheredge demanded contemptuously.
“Use your head, Dick! I wouldn't recommend this
young—” -
He paused, silenced by a swift gesture from his com-
panion.
“Listen! Do you hear it—that grating, gnawing sound?”
It was a cool September night and the windows were open,
but the sweat was pouring down Lorne's chubby coun-
tenance. He padded to the door as before, then beckoned
insistently. “Come over here! Don't you dare pretend—”
*-


THE UNSEEN HAND 19
With an expression of boredom the attorney rose and
tiptoed across the room. He placed his ear to the keyhole
for a minute and then straightened with a shrug.
“Of course I hear it. Mice or even rats in the walls;
you can't drive them out of an old house like this. That's
probably what you heard before.” He resumed his seat.
“You can hear all sorts of noises at night if you only listen
for them.”
“I suppose so,” Lorne muttered somewhat doubtfully as
he went back to his chair. “I could have sworn, though,
that it sounded louder than any rat.”
“As I was saying when you interrupted”—Titheredge
ignored the last remark—“I would not have recommended
Barry Odell to you if I didn't know all about him and his
capabilities. He's young still, about twenty-eight or thirty;
but I’ve watched his work on a couple of murder cases, and
I tell you he will go far.”
Lorne stirred uneasily in his chair.
“Murder! That's rather a strong word, isn't it? We
don’t actually know yet that those wires were severed; and
we don't want the affair treated as an ordinary murder, or
series of them. It's the devilish ingenuity of the whole
thing that staggers me, Sam.” He drummed on the arms of
his chair. “If they hadn't come so rapidly, one after the
other within the month, any sane person would have sworn
they were each the result of pure accident! How could
my poor wife have been poisoned before my very eyes?
And Julian; what terrible influence could have made him
slash his throat in just that vital spot? It would have been
unbelievable except for the damning evidence of those cut
wires!”


20 UNSEEN HANDS
“I thought you just said that we did not know they were
actually cut,” the attorney put in quietly.
“D–n it, I don't know what to think!” exploded the
harassed little man. “When we discuss it the whole thing
seems wildly impossible; and yet I feel it, the entire family
does! Can you ask a police detective to go on that?”
“You can ask Barry Odell to start at the ends of those
severed picture-wires and be certain that he will finish the
job, no matter where the trail leads him—now, what's the
matter? Got a listening-spell on again?”
For Richard Lorne's rotund form had tensed, and his ear
was turned to the door. After a moment he relaxed with a
grunt.
“Thought I heard footsteps again.” He rose. “Let’s go
to bed and try to get a wink of sleep. If I keep on hear-
ing things I’ll be a wreck to-morrow; and I want to have
all my wits about me, if I ever had in my life!”
Morning dawned with a hint of autumnal frost in the
air, and Lorne shook his peacefully slumbering companion.
“It's seven o'clock, Sam. I just rang and told Peters to
have breakfast on the table in ten minutes, and to order
a taxi. For heaven's sake, let's get on downtown and inter-
view your man!”
“Eh P’ Titheredge stretched his long, lanky frame.
“With you in a minute, Dick.”
His host was dressed first and nervously consulted the
clock on the bed-stand.
“Eight minutes past,” he announced. “I’ll go on down
ahead, old man, and see if breakfast is ready.”
He closed the door after him, and the attorney heard his
footsteps die away down the hall. Then all at once there


THE UNSEEN HAND 21
came a hideous, sickening crash, and the sound of a heavy
body hurtling down the stairs.
Collarless, Samuel Titheredge tore open the door and
rushed to the head of the stairs. Other doors were open-
ing, and voices in which Gene's nervous tones mingled with
higher feminine ones in a chorus of startled cries; but the
attorney was oblivious to them. His gaze traveled from the
top step of the stairs, which had collapsed like cardboard,
to the bottom, where a huddled figure lay.
Leaping down, he raised the head of his friend and called
sharply:
“Peters!”
“Sir?” The white, frightened face of the butler peered
from the dining-room door.
“Bring some water, quickly! Mr. Lorne has fallen down
the stairs.”
The ice in the glass tinkled violently as Peters obeyed,
and the attorney watched his face closely as he bent over
his unconscious master.
“Is—is he hurt bad, sir?” The butler clutched the newel
post as he straightened his shaking knees.
“I don't know yet. How is it that you did not hear the
sound of his fall and come to his assistance?” He fairly
shot the question at Peters, and the latter responded halt-
ingly:
“I didn't hear anything, sir; I was in the back pantry.”
A slight flush came into his pale cheeks. “I didn't know
anything was wrong until you called me.”
“Well, go and telephone for the doctor at once.” Tither-
edge passed over the palpable lie. “Then come back here
and help me lift him to the couch in the library.”


22 |UNSEEN HANDS
The family, in various stages of disarray, had appeared
at the top of the staircase and were demanding in frightened
accents what had happened, but Titheredge had ears for
none of them as they rushed down and crowded about.
Lorne was breathing stertorously, and under the shock of
icy water dashed into his face he opened his eyes at last.
“I say, what—”. The sentence ended in a groan as he
strove to sit up and fell back again. “My arm!”
Titheredge noticed then that his left arm was crumpled
and twisted under him, and when they lifted him and bore
him to the couch it swung limp and useless at his side.
He opened his eyes once more as the attorney bent over
him and the others gathered about.
“The stairs,” he whispered faintly. “The top one col-
lapsed as I pressed my weight on it. You remember the
noise I heard last night?”
Titheredge nodded briefly, then turned to the others.
“Move back, please, all of you, and give him air.” As
they obeyed he asked: “Feel better now, Dick?”
“Yes. My side hurts a little when I breathe, and that
arm's broken, I think; but I’m lucky not to have been
killed.” In a whisper once more he added: “I’m all right.
Don't wait here a minute longer. Go and get your Barry
Odell.”


CHAPTER III
who KNEw P
66 HERE'S that taxi P” Titheredge demanded of
Peters in the hall. The latter stood near the
vestibule talking with two workmen, who, in overalls and
with their tool-kits slung over their arms, turned lowering
faces toward him.
“Taxi, sir?” Peters started in surprise and then opening
the door he peered out. “Just drawing up at the curb, sir.
Now then, you two, move one side there and let the gentle-
man pass.”
“Who are these men?” Titheredge paused.
Peters hesitated for a moment and seemed to turn a shade
more pale.
“They say they were sent for to do a bit of carpentering,
sir, but I tell them there must have been some mistake;
they’ve got the wrong address I imagine, sir.”
“Nothin’ doin’?” The burlier of the two men stepped
forward determinedly. “Someone telephoned to the boss
yesterday to send a couple of us up here at half-past seven
sharp this morning to hang a big picture; said it would have
to be spiked to the wall. We're paid for our time.”
The attorney turned and looked searchingly at the cower-
ing butler before addressing the truculent workman.
“There's no mistake; but the work can’t be done now.
23


24 UNSEEN HANDS
What's it worth to you to go away and come back just after
the noon hour to do the job?”
The two consulted together and sulkily named their price.
As the attorney paid them, he asked:
“Who is your boss? Where is his shop?”
“Bill Kenny, sir.” The generous tip which Titheredge
had added to the sum demanded had evidently had a molli-
fying effect. “His place is over on Eighth Avenue, near
Fiftieth. Thank you, sir. We'll be back right after
noon.”
They touched their caps and started down the hall toward
the servants’ staircase which led to the tradesman's entrance,
and the attorney turned to speak to Peters; but that wily
individual had disappeared, and after a moment Titheredge
opened the door and started thoughtfully down the steps.
He had caught the butler in two deliberate lies within the
space of an hour, but he gave the matter little thought. All
the way downtown to Police Headquarters his mind was
busied with one problem. Who had telephoned from that
house to the shop on the previous day? Who had known
that the picture was going to fall?
The Police Commissioner had not yet reached his office,
but a brief interview with his secretary put one of the
smaller examination rooms at his disposal, where the at-
torney was joined shortly by a brisk, smiling young man
whose clean-cut features and almost boyishness of manner
gave no hint of the police department. His forehead was
broad, with just the hint of a scar above one eyebrow; and
the merry blue eyes themselves as well as the high cheek-
bones beneath betokened his ancestry as much as his name
proclaimed it.


WHO KNEW P 25
“Good morning, Mr. Titheredge. Did you want to see
me?”
“I do, Sergeant; you are the only man who can help me
out. Moreover, I know that the case I’ve got for you—if
it is a case at all—will be one after your own heart.”
They shook hands; and as the attorney seated himself
Sergeant Barry Odell asked with a canny twinkle in his eye:
“A matter for the Homicide Bureau and you're not sure
whether it is a case or not? No trace of the body, then?”
“The bodies were there, all right,” Titheredge responded
grimly. “But there was no thought of foul play until last
night. You see, I have a client in whose family two deaths
have occurred within the past month, but they were thought
to have been the result of accident; separate accidents of
a widely different nature. Now we have reason to believe
that they were brought about in some mysterious manner
by an unknown person who seems determined to kill off the
entire family. These people have been friends of mine for
years as well as clients, and as far as I know they haven't
an enemy in the world. We haven't a sign of proof and
no clue except some pieces of clipped wire. Could I go
to any other man in the department but you with such a
story and not be a laughing-stock?”
Odell smiled, but his face grew serious as he replied:
“I don't know, sir, but I’ve been wondering myself why
we hadn’t seen Mr. Lorne down here before this.”
“You!” Titheredge's imperturbability deserted him, and
he stared. “What on earth do you know about it?”
“Only what I've read in the papers, but when I saw
about that young fellow cutting his throat by accident and
just in the place where it would do the most good—or harm


WHO KNEWP 27
always had an accounting every few months. When Julian
became twenty-five, three years ago, he was glad enough
to leave the principal in his stepfather's hands, for the inter-
est was enough to content him; but lately he had gone far
beyond it and—er—requested that the principal be turned
over to him. This request was made just after his mother's
death.”
“Usual reason P” asked Odell.
Titheredge nodded.
“A woman. Naturally, neither his stepfather nor I
wished to see his fortune dissipated, and we reasoned with
him. We even went to the length of hinting that we would
take legal steps to keep the control of the money out of his
hands. Sheer bluff, of course, for he was perfectly normal
mentally, with no settled vices, and we shouldn't have had
a leg to stand on. But he took it seriously and threatened
in an outburst of temper to kill himself rather than be kept
in leading-strings. There was nothing to it, of course; but
you know when the papers get hold of a thing—”
He paused, and the detective asked:
“Did any of the family suggest that it might have been
suicide?”
“No. None of them knew of that absurd threat except
Lorne, and the idea has never entered his mind. He and
I have been busy settling Julian's estate; the terms of his
own father's will decree that it be divided equally between
the living children, since he died unmarried.
“That is how I happened to be there last night, when I
learned from Lorne that not only he but all four of the
children have felt a sort of superstitious fear ever since
Julian's death that there was something more than coin-


28 UNSEEN HANDS
cidence in the two tragedies, or accidents, or whatever you
choose to call them.
“No one had mentioned it; but I gather that the cripple,
Randall, made some sort of outburst about it at the dinner-
table last evening, and that sort of brought the matter to
a head in Lorne's mind. Anyway, when I arrived a little
later for a conference with him he told me of his suspicion
that those so-called accidents might have been devilishly
planned.
“He couldn't suggest anyone who might be guilty, nor
a motive, and I laughed at him; but while we were talking
something occurred that seems to put solid fact behind his
wild theory.”
He told of the fall of the picture and Gene's escape,
and the young sergeant listened with the keenest atten-
tion.
“You are sure about those wires being hacked apart?”
he inquired when the attorney had finished. “The portrait
has been hanging there for years, you say? Couldn't they
have worn through?”
“Impossible. The strands hadn't parted from age; their
tips were bright where they had been severed. I want you
to come up and have a look at them for yourself; but first
let me tell you of a further affair this morning, which to my
mind leaves no doubt that someone, either inside the house
or with a confederate there, is trying deliberately to ex-
terminate the whole family! That sounds ridiculous, I
know, in these days and right here in the heart of the city;
but I have seen what I believe to be the evidence of it with
my own eyes.”
He proceeded to describe the events of the night and


WHO KNEWP 29
early morning; and the detective's merry twinkle vanished
in a vacant, narrow-lidded stare of concentration.
“You did not hear the footsteps?”
“No. I was so stubbornly confident that no further at-
tempt would be made on any of the family for a few days
at least that I thought poor Lorne was the victim of his
own nervous apprehension.” Titheredge's usually dry tones
were filled with contrition. “I only wish then that we had
gone out and investigated, but I was afraid that we would
awaken the rest of the family and there would be another
Scene.
“I did hear the gnawing, grating sound very distinctly,
and I was perfectly sincere when I told Lorne that I thought
it must be caused by rats or mice in the walls. Lorne said
that he could have sworn it sounded louder than any rat,
but I paid no attention. Now, looking back, I realize that
it might well have been a saw cutting through the solid
oak of the top step of the stairs.”
“You haven't had a chance to examine it yet yourself,
Mr. Titheredge?”
“No, but it won't be touched until we get back there—”.
The attorney halted as a sudden memory gripped him. “By
George, I'm not so sure of that, after all! We had better
hurry.”
Sergeant Odell rose. As they made their way from the
building he gave more than one keen side-long glance at his
companion.
It was not until they were speeding uptown in the taxi,
however, that Titheredge mentioned the thought which had
come to him.
“Sergeant, as I was leaving the house this morning to


30 UNSEEN HANDS
run down here I came upon two workmen arguing with the
butler in the hall. They said that someone had telephoned
to the shop yesterday to have them come and rehang a large
picture. Yesterday, mind you, and the portrait only fell
last night! If you can find out who telephoned from the
house—”
“Did they say that the call had come from the house
itself, Mr. Titheredge?” the detective interposed quietly.
“Well, no; now that I think of it they didn't say from
where it was sent, but I inferred—”
“I think we'll go to the shop first.” Again the detective
interrupted him. “That is, if you know what shop sent
them out?”
“Yes. It is Kenny's, on Eighth Avenue.” The attorney
gave the address to the chauffeur. “If a similar order has
been given concerning the broken stair and carried out be-
fore we get there, we'll just rip it apart again.”
“Mr. Titheredge.” The detective had evidently been
following a train of thought of his own. “You said that
Mr. Lorne wanted to 'phone to Headquarters last night but
you dissuaded him?”
“Yes. Even before the portrait fell he said that he felt
like going to the authorities. He had nothing but his vague,
superstitious fears to back up his story, which then seemed
fantastic to me beyond belief. But after that attempt on
Gene's life I had all I could do to compel him to wait until
I could get in touch with you.”
“And where did this discussion take place?”
“Right there in the library in front of the fallen picture.”
“With the door open, so that anyone who chose to listen
could hear all that was said?”


WHO KNEW P 31
“Why, yes.” The attorney looked somewhat taken aback.
“What are you driving at, Sergeant?”
“The necessity for the stairs being rendered almost fatally
dangerous in the night. It was a risk, you know, with you
two talking in that room right at hand.”
“But I don't see”—Titheredge stammered. “I thought
it was done to cause the death of the first member of the
family who attempted to descend, regardless of which one
it might be.”
Odell shook his head, and his tone was very grave.
“Had anyone been listening in the hall outside the library
last night and heard your decision to take your story to
the police this morning, they would naturally suppose that
you would rise earlier than the rest of the family, and that
you and Mr. Lorne would descend the stairs together;
wouldn't they?”
“Good heavens!” the attorney exclaimed. “That never
occurred to me. It was a mad, desperate attempt, then, to
kill us in order to prevent our notifying you!”
“Not necessarily to kill you, but to injure you and delay
our receipt of your message at least until the portrait had
been rehung and the only bit of real evidence which you
seem to possess—the cut wires—removed.” Odell laughed.
“Of course, I may be dead wrong, and it isn't my usual
method to form conclusions before I’ve even gone over the
ground, and then expatiate on them; but that's the way it
looks to me now. Is this your shop?”
The taxi had stopped before a store the signboard of
which read: “William Kenny, Carpentering, Plastering
and Interior Decorating.” It appeared to be a small place
of an inferior sort.


32 UNSEEN HANDS
“Odd that anyone interested in the rehanging of that por-
trait should not have called on some picture dealer for the
service,” Odell remarked to the attorney as they left the
cab and crossed the sidewalk. “It doesn't seem as though
a place of this kind could supply men fitted for the job.”
“Not if the one who telephoned was ignorant of such
things,” Titheredge responded.
Again the detective favored him with a swift side glance,
but vouchsafed no further comment.
William Kenny proved to be a tall, gaunt man who
gesticulated loose-jointedly as he talked; and he appeared
quite willing to talk at any length.
“About that picter-hangin' business.” He rubbed one
outstanding ear reflectively. “I did think it was funny
when my men come back awhile ago an’ told me as how the
butler over there had tried to tell them there was a mis-
take; there wasn't, because I got the call myself over the
'phone yesterday.”
“At what time?” asked Odell.
“Oh, 'long about three, some'eres. I didn't take particler
notice.” Kenny rested one long arm upon the counter and
regarded his inquisitors shrewdly. “Say, nothin’ wrong
about that business, was they?” -
“Not a thing in the world, except that conflicting orders
were given, and we cannot understand it,” Odell replied in
hasty reassurance. “Just what was the order that was
placed with you?”
“To have two men sent over to the Meade house on
Madison Avenue at seven-thirty sharp this morning to hang
a heavy picture; they was to bring along iron staples and
the strongest grade of steel wire. Now, we don't handle


WHO KNEW P 33
much of that kind of work, but I wasn't goin’ to lose a
chance at that swell trade, so I said ‘all right'; an' that's all
there is to it.”
“So you'd never done any work for them before?”
“Nope. Dunno how they come to call me in the first
place, but I ain't kickin' at that.”
“Was the voice that talked to you over the telephone a
man's or a woman's P’ Odell inquired casually with a glance
toward the door as if preparing to depart.
“Couldn't tell; it might have been either.” Kenny
straightened himself. “It was gruff-like, and rasping, but
not real deep. Say,” he added with a touch of anxiety,
“that order ain't canceled, is it? The boys was to go back
just after the noon hour and do the job.”
“Oh, no. Send them along and it will be all right.” The
detective turned toward the door; and Titheredge, who had
taken no part in the questioning, followed, marveling that
the other had left the most important point untouched upon.
With his hand on the doorknob, however, Odell turned
Once more.
“Oh, by the way, that call came directly from the Meade
house, didn't it?”
“Dunno!” Kenny looked his surprise. “It was a city
call, all right, you could tell that from the way the voice
come over the wire, but it might have been from anywhere's
around town.”
“Well, it sure is funny about those conflicting orders.”
The detective shook his head in a puzzled manner. “Too
bad you can't fix the time the call came in to you any
closer, Mr. Kenny.”
“Hold on 1 Maybe I can.” The head of the establish-


34 UNSEEN HANDS
ment paused in what was evidently for him a vast mental
effort. “It was about three—no, it was after; it was just
twenty-five minutes past! I remember because I’d sent
Dooley over to kalsomine some ceilings on Forty-fourth
Street, an' he'd ought to've been back here by two-thirty at
most. I'm payin' the boys by the time; an' he must have
loafed on his job, for he never got back until twenty-five
past three. I'd just started in to bawl him out when the
'phone rang.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Kenny. We've told the other peo-
ple who claim to have been sent for that there was nothing
doing; you had the job. Good morning.”
In the taxi once more cutting across town Barry Odell
remarked:
“The residence of Mr. Lorne and his stepchildren is
known as the Meade house, then. It must have belonged
to his wife's people.”
“Yes, for generations. She and this spinster sister who
has survived her each owned a half interest in it. When
she married Halsey Chalmers he built a house for her up
on Fifth Avenue; but after his death she sold it, and she
and her family, including Miss Meade of course, came back
to live in the old home. Richard Lorne could never per-
suade her to leave it.” Titheredge paused and added: “It
isn't one of these ornate, miniature palaces they are build-
ing nowadays, you know; just a solid, substantial old brown-
stone mansion, and rather a landmark in its way.”
“You spoke of this Eugene who had the narrow escape
last night, and of the youngest son who was a hunchback,
and the girls,” Odell observed. “The daughters are both
grown up?”


WHO KNEW P 35
“Christine, who was named after her mother, is twenty-
two, and Nan is just twenty.”
“Any love affairs?”
The attorney hesitated.
“I believe there is a sort of bread-and-butter flirtation
going on between Nan and a good-looking boy whose
people have the house on the avenue next door. The Meade
house is on the corner. Tad Traymore—his father is old
Thaddeus Traymore of the Palladium Trust Company—is
just out of the university and starting to read law, so there
isn't much chance of the affair assuming the status of an
engagement now.”
“And the other daughter?”
A full minute passed before Titheredge replied.
“That is another source of worry to Lorne. She has
recently become quite infatuated with a man much older
than herself named Drew. His antecedents are irreproach-
able and he is still received in the best society, but his past
—well, it hasn't been one that would render him suitable as
a husband for a girl like Christine.”
“Not Farley Drew who was named in the Gael divorce
case?” The detective's tone had sharpened slightly.
Titheredge nodded.
“That's the chap. His people left him fairly well off;
but he squandered all he had long ago, and it is Christine's
money that he is after, of course, although she is a beautiful
girl. Drew is not the sort of man to be attracted by un-
sophistication.”
“I’ll tell the world that!” Odell commented with emphasis.
“He may be received by the best society, but he'll be re-
ceived by us, too, down at Headquarters if he doesn't watch


36 UNSEEN HANDS
his step. We haven't got anything on him yet, you under-
stand, Mr. Titheredge, but he's been under suspicion in
more than one shady transaction. Always travels around
with men much younger than himself, doesn't he?”
The attorney's lips set in a stiff line.
“Mere boys with wealth, gilded youth, who want to see
life, and he shows them a certain side of it while their
money lasts.”
The detective whistled softly.
“I thought as much,” he said. “So that's how he gained
an introduction into Mr. Lorne's household?”
“Yes. I’m giving you a lot of inside information,
Sergeant, which perhaps in justice to my clients I should
not disclose; but in a case like this where I cannot tell
what may be of use to you I think it best to put you in
possession of whatever facts I know concerning every
member of the family.”
“It is just saving time and trouble for me, Mr. Tither-
edge, for I would find out for myself anyway,” Odell as-
sured him. “Which of the boys was it who brought Drew
to the house; Julian or Eugene?”
There was another pause longer than before and then
the attorney replied slowly:
“It was Eugene.”


CHAPTER IV
BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD
HERE was time for no further talk, for the taxi drew
up at that moment before the house. The doctor's
sedan was just rolling away; and in answer to Titheredge's
ring the housemaid, a plump young woman with cap askew,
admitted them.
“Is Peters busy, Jane?” asked the attorney as he handed
her his hat and stick.
“No, sir. We can't find Peters anywhere, though we’ve
been looking this half hour. Miss Meade didn't send him
on no errand, and we don't know what to think of it.”
“He’ll probably turn up shortly,” Titheredge observed
with a significant glance at the detective. “Has Mr. Lorne
been taken upstairs yet?”
“No, sir. He refuses to go; and Miss Meade, she don't
know what to do! There, he's calling now, sir!”
And indeed an irascible but reassuringly strong voice was
reverberating through the hall from the direction of the
library.
“Sam! Is that you? Did you get him? Sa-am!”
“Come this way, Sergeant.” The attorney led the way to
the library, where Richard Lorne still lay upon the couch.
His clothing had been changed for a dressing-gown with
one sleeve cut out, and the arm was neatly bandaged in a
37


38 UNSEEN HANDS
sling; and although he was pale, his mouth was set in de-
termined lines beneath the stubby gray mustache.
Nan was seated beside him, and Gene stood over by the
window nervously fingering the shade-cord; but the other
members of the family were not present.
As Titheredge performed the introductions Nan rose, her
eyes darkening.
“A detective?” she asked quietly, but her breast rose and
fell with spasmodic rapidity. “Father, what does this
mean?”
“It means, my dear,” Titheredge answered suavely before
Lorne could speak, “that your father and I have talked
things over, and he has told me the possibly imaginary but
nevertheless torturing strain you have all been under since
your brother's death. He shared with you the feeling that
perhaps there was something more than coincidence in the
two sorrows which have come into your life so closely upon
the heels of each other. You know how that portrait fell
last night, almost killing Gene, and what a narrow escape
your father himself had this morning when the top step
of the stairs collapsed and precipitated him to the bottom.
“Of course, these may all be mere coincidences; but we
want to be sure of it to allay all your fears, and so we have
called in this young man to make the fullest investigation.
He will question everyone, and—you listen to this, too,
Gene—you must be absolutely frank with him. Remember,
there must be no lying, no subterfuge.”
“My God!” Gene came forward. “I knew I was right!
I knew that picture was meant to fall upon me and crush
me! And the others—my mother and Julian—”
“Steady there, Gene,” the attorney warned. “We don't


BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD 39
know but that all that has occurred so far has been sheer
accident.”
“Well, I'm glad you are going to find out!” Gene held
out his hand frankly to the detective. “You can count on
me, Mr. Odell.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chalmers. I shall want to have a
little conference with your father and Mr. Titheredge here,
but I'll look you up later.”
Gene took the hint and sauntered out of the library; and
Nan prepared to follow him, but Odell stopped her.
“May I ask, Miss Chalmers, whether or not the broken
stair has been mended yet?”
“No, Mr. Odell. Aunt Effie wanted to have it attended
to, but she was afraid the hammering would disturb father.
She hates to have anything upset around the house.”
“Then if you will sit here with your father for a few
minutes Mr. Titheredge and I will go and inspect it.”
Gene was nowhere to be seen when the attorney and
Odell reëntered the hall, and they mounted the stairs to
the topmost step, covered with a crimson-velvet runner.
The detective knelt on the step just below and felt over the
smooth pile of the carpet's surface.
“You see,” he said rapidly in a lowered tone to his com-
panion, “the tread of the step neither collapsed in the
middle, nor split, nor caved in at either end; it simply
turned forward over the face as if on a pivot as soon as
Mr. Lorne's weight was placed upon it, pitching him head-
long down.”
“The carpet appears to be loose, doesn't it?” Titheredge
himself bent and gave it a tug; and the strip of crimson
velvet came away in his hands from beneath the edge of


40 UNSEEN HANDS
the rug which covered the upper hall, while tiny tacks with
flat brass heads flew in every direction.
“Thumbtacks,” Odell vouchsafed. “When the person
who executed this little maneuver replaced the carpet he
didn't dare hammer, with you and Mr. Lorne in that room
so near by; so he pressed the thumbtacks in as a temporary
hold, and left a good margin of the extra carpet that had
been turned under loose, too, so as to give extra room for
the tread to turn over without pulling out the tacks.”
He folded the runner back across his knees; and the at-
torney uttered a sharp exclamation, as instantly silenced.
A good four inches of the riser or faceboard had been
sawed away at the top where it had formerly supported
the tread; and the tread itself was cut through from wains-
coting and balustrade at either end.
“When Mr. Lorne put his weight upon the step it cracked
across at the line where it is level with the hall-flooring,
and its outer edge crashed down until it rested on the
lowered top of the face,” the detective explained. “It had
much the same effect as if one stepped from the center to
the uptilted end of a see-saw. Do you observe something
else, Mr. Titheredge?”
“Can't say that I do,” the other replied, regarding
thoughtfully the scraps of sawdust which the turned-back
carpet revealed. “Whoever the fellow was—”
He halted abruptly as Miss Meade appeared from her
room down the hall and came quickly toward them. Light
as her footfalls were, the keen ears of the detective caught
them; and in an instant he had turned up the strip of carpet
once more and thrust its end hastily beneath the edge of
the rug.


BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD 41
“Oh, Mr. Titheredge, I am so glad you have returned.”
She spoke with evident anxiety as she approached. “I
hope you will be able to persuade Richard to let us get him
into bed and nurse him. Did they tell you that besides his
arm two ribs are fractured? He refuses absolutely—”
She, too, paused at sight of the strange young man kneel-
ing upon the stairs, and her eyes turned inquiringly toward
the attorney.
“Miss Meade,” Titheredge's tone was very grave. “Will
you permit me to present Sergeant Odell of the police de-
partment?”
She bowed with old-fashioned courtesy as the young man
rose, but her face quivered slightly.
“I—I do not understand ſ” she said. “A policeman in
this house! But why, Mr. Titheredge, why?”
“Because there have been things going on in this house
that both Richard and the children desire to have investi-
gated.” The attorney spoke very gently. “We did not
consult you at first because we did not want to distress
you, but no time could be lost this morning. When the
portrait—”
“Mr. Titheredge means,” Odell interrupted hastily, “that
the deaths of Mrs. Lorne and her son, taken in con-
junction with the fall of the picture last night when your
nephew was only saved by a miracle, and the broken stair
this morning, which almost cost Mr. Lorne his life, may
not have been accidents after all; and I have been engaged
to investigate the latter two occurrences.”
“But this is terrible!” Miss Meade cried in a low tone
as if at a sacrilege. “My poor sister's death and Julian's
were by the will of God! The-the others have been


42 UNSEEN HANDS
troubled by foolish, nervous fears but my faith is strong.
The fall of that picture was an unfortunate accident; and
I blame myself for Eugene's danger, because he sat there
at my suggestion to reply to some correspondence. As to
the stairs giving way this morning, that must have been an
accident too; the house is old, our home for generations
back—” -
Her voice died away as the detective in answer turned
back the carpet once more and silently exposed the damage
which had been deliberately wrought.
Miss Meade caught her breath sharply, and her thin, deli-
cate hands came together in a convulsive clasp.
“Oh, what does it mean? Surely none of the boys would
attempt to play a wicked practical joke at such a time as
this l”
“This was not intended for a joke, Miss Meade.”
Odell's matter-of-fact tone seemed to make her shrink
within herself. “It was done with the deliberate purpose
of injury to some member of this household. The portrait
fell last night because the heavy steel wires which helped to
hold it in its place had been hacked apart. I am sorry to
add to your distress, but the truth must be faced; someone
is trying to murder you all!”
“Murder!” Her pale lips barely formed the word. “I
—I cannot believe it! There must be some hideous mistake.
Why, we haven't an enemy in the world!”
She swayed and would have fallen but that Titheredge
sprang forward and caught her.
“You had better go back to your own room and rest,
Miss Meade. I’ll see that Dick is made comfortable, and
you will need all your strength for what I am afraid lies
i


BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD 43
before you,” he said. “Sergeant Odell may want to see
you later on to ask you for some information, but he will
not disturb you if it is not absolutely necessary.”
He led her down the hall to her own room, closed the
door, and came back to the stair's head to find the detective
carefully replacing the thumbtacks.
“That will do, I think,” the latter observed. “Now, let
us go down and have a look at that picture.”
They descended again to the library. As they entered
Nan rose, kissed her father on the forehead softly, and
went from the room.
“You’ve been examining the stairs?” Richard Lorne
asked, panting from the knife-thrusts of pain which darted
through his hurt ribs at each breath.
“Yes, Dick. They were sawed through, just as we
imagined,” Titheredge replied. “If you won't be taken to
bed just yet, lie still and don't try to talk; I'll keep you
informed of everything that goes on. I suppose you know
that Peters has disappeared?”
Lorne nodded.
“We'll make short work of him if he has had a hand
in what has been going on,” the attorney promised grimly.
“I caught him in two direct lies this morning before I left
the house, but I attributed them to the fact that the man
was addled from fright. Let me see; you've had him three
years, haven't you?”
“Four,” came raspingly from the couch.
“Ah, yes, I remember. Ever have any reason to distrust
him?”
“Never. What's that chap doing?”
Lorne had craned his neck as far as his painful position
t


BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD 45
“I’ll go and look for him myself,” the latter remarked, but
Odell stopped him.
“I should prefer to do that, Mr. Titheredge. Will you
instead go to the servants’ quarters and see if any more of
them have decamped?” He turned again to the couch.
“Mr. Lorne, which is Mr. Chalmers's room?”
“The one on the left, third floor, rear,” panted the sick
man. “Julian's was the room just in front of it.”
“Do they connect?” The attorney had already gone on
his errand, and Odell paused in the doorway.
“Yes, by the bath and dressing-rooms between.”
The detective glanced into the drawing- and dining-rooms
and then mounted the main staircase, avoiding the broken
top step. He was proceeding along the hall to the second
flight leading to the third floor when from one of the rooms
behind him a burst of laughter came; impish, sarcastic
laughter utterly lacking in mirth.
It seemed such a strange, incongruous thing in the silence
of that house that Odell paused; and then in a thin, high,
whining voice came the words:
“The police? That would be like old Sam, wouldn't it?
As well send a village fire-company to put out Vesuvius.
We'll go, one after the other; you'll see!”
From whose lips could that voice have issued? Odell
recalled the two members of the family whom he had
not as yet encountered; the oldest daughter and the
youngest son. The hunchback. It must be he. Odell
waited.
There came a low murmur in an unmistakable feminine
tone, and then the high querulous one again.
“My dear aunt, where is the disgrace to the family in


46 UNSEEN HANDS
having a policeman cross our sacred portals? They are
quite as respectable as murderers, though scarcely as
efficient. Now, if I were the next on the list of our
domestic Dionysius and the sword were suspended over my
head, I should reach up and snap the hair. I can afford to
laugh.”
“Not you! Rannie, my darling, never you!”
The sharp cry was almost a wail, but it held such a wealth
of infinite love and devotion that the listening detective
could hardly credit the fact that it was the quiet, self-con-
tained, little Miss Meade who uttered it. That it was un-
gratefully received was evident from the indistinct but
churlish grumble which followed; and then there was
silence. -
Odell continued on his way upstairs with a new fact
to add to the family data with which the attorney had sup-
plied him. The cripple was evidently his aunt's favorite;
the spinster had taken to her heart the one maimed mem-
ber of the family in preference to all the rest.
When he reached the third floor Odell was conscious of
an acrid odor on the air, which seemed to come from the
rear on the left, the room which Lorne had told him was
occupied by Gene. He bent and looked quickly through
the keyhole, but the turned key obstructed his view. The
smoky, acrid odor was stronger now. Gene had lost no
time after encountering the detective in locking himself in
his room and burning certain papers.
It was natural, perhaps, that the young man should have
private letters which he would not care to have seen by the
prying eyes of a stranger; yet coupling his discovery with
Titheredge's statement of the previous association with the


BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD 47
notorious Farley Drew, Odell decided to look into the
matter without delay.
He rapped smartly on the door, to hear an astonished and
perturbed “Hello?” from within, followed by:
“Be with you in a second.”
Then came the subdued clatter of heavy glassware, a
pause, the scratching of a match, and finally footsteps.
Gene; puffing furiously at a pipe, opened the door.
“Oh, I say, I didn't know it was you, Sergeant. Come
in; hope you don't mind my pipe. Anything I can do for
you?” He was plainly flustered.
Odell took in the room in one swift, comprehensive
glance: the bed had not yet been made, and the chifferobe
was open, its trays and drawers in disorder, but the desk
was closed. The top of the cut-glass tobacco-jar upon it
was open, and the tobacco strewn all about it bore evidence
of the haste with which the pipe had been filled. In the
open grate was a little heap of gray, flaky ashes from
which a thin spiral of smoke still wound its way; and the
detective saw to his satisfaction that a few pieces of hastily
torn paper were scattered unburned upon the hearth.
“I came to ask you if you would help Mr. Titheredge
and myself carry your father to his room.” His eyes came
casually back to the young man's flushed face. “There is
no hurry, however. I believe this room was occupied by
your late brother? I should like to see just where his death
took place. Can you show me, Mr. Chalmers?” He had
indicated the front room by a gesture.
Gene hesitated.
“Both doors are locked and my father has the keys,”
he said at last; and there was an undercurrent of sullen


48 UNSEEN HANDS
defiance in his changed tone as though he anticipated the
next question.
“Will you go and ask him for them, please?”
“But—but no one has entered that room since the
funeral,” Gene stammered. “I don't think father would
like it, Sergeant; and nothing in there could have any
possible bearing on your investigation.”
“Mr. Chalmers, may I remind you that that is not for
you to decide? Will you get those keys at once!” The
last sentence was not a query but a command, and each
word increased in emphatic dominance. Gene gave one
fleeting, desperate glance toward his desk—in the lock of
which the key still remained—and fled downstairs.
Unless the young man had temporarily lost his head and
burned his papers without discrimination as they came to
his hand, those already destroyed must have been the most
important; and locking the door in his turn, Odell went
quickly to the grate and pocketed every unburned scrap
that remained.
Then he moved as swiftly to the desk and opened it. A
disordered heap of letters met his eye; most of them
evidently bills, from the tradesmen's names in the upper
right hand corner. Odell had seized a handful at random
and was about to shut the desk when he noticed that the
small center drawer was not quite closed. Pulling it open
hastily he discovered a small notebook and a few letters
in an odd but unmistakably masculine hand.
He cleared the drawer at one sweep, closed the desk,
and dropping his findings from it into the coat-pocket on
his left side, he drew from the other two or three fragments
of the paper which he had salvaged from the grate.


BARRY ODELL TAKES HOLD 49
One of them bore in a temperamental, feminine hand
only three letters of a word, but they were illuminating:
“lov.” Odell smiled as he replaced it in his pocket; but
his expression changed when he glanced at the others. The
writing upon them was all in a bold, dashing, masculine
hand, and two of the scraps fitted together read: “whole
family in hell before.”
Odell frowned thoughtfully and drew from his left coat-
pocket one of the letters which he had taken from the
center drawer in the desk. It was in the same strongly
accentuated writing, and read without preamble:
“Where do you think you get off, Gene? You are in
too deep to back out now, as I meant you should be. Your
mother's went through without a hitch and the next one
will if you only keep your nerve. It's got to be done by
the sixth or you know where the first one will send you.
I mean business, my boy.
“FARLEY DREW.”
Barry Odell folded the letter slowly and replaced it in its
envelope. To-day was the fourteenth, and Julian Chalmers
had come to his death just eight days before—on the sixth !


CHAPTER V
“I wish IT HAD BEEN YOU”
DELL put the letter back into his pocket and striding
across the room unlocked the door and flung it wide.
He was only just in time; for he could hear hurried foot-
steps bounding up the stairs, and in another moment Gene's
head appeared above the landing.
Its owner peered suspiciously first toward his desk and
then at the grate; but nothing seemed amiss, and the police
sergeant was standing before him with his hand out-
stretched authoritatively.
Silently Gene surrendered the keys.
“Thanks.” The detective made no move toward the
other room. “Mr. Chalmers, how long have you known
Farley Drew?”
The question came so abruptly that Gene shot the in-
quirer a startled glance, which then strayed once more un-
controllably to the desk, while a deep flush came again into
his cheeks.
“What has Mr. Drew to do with the matter you have
under investigation?”
“That does not reply to my question, Mr. Chalmers.”
From taking part in many far more strenuous examinations
Odell well knew the value of the repetition of a name.
Gene flung himself into a chair; and for a moment there
50


“I WISH IT HAD BEEN YOU” 51
was silence while he puffed at his pipe. At length he looked
up and met the detective's gaze.
“See here, Sergeant, I told you downstairs that you
could count on me, and I want this d-n mystery cleared
up as much as the rest do; more, since my own life was at-
tempted last night! But I don't like to discuss my private
affairs, and I won't have my friends dragged in. Unless
you have been prying into my letters while I was out of the
room, I suppose our attorney must have been unearthing
the family skeletons and black sheep and all that sort
of thing for your benefit. However, I’ve no reason for con-
cealing my friendship for Mr. Drew. I met him about four
years ago.”
“Where?”
Gene had recovered his nonchalance and waved lazily
toward a chair.
“I foresee that this interview is apt to be a protracted
one.” He knocked the ashes from his pipe into the hearth.
“I met him at a private gambling club over Morey's, which
I understand your enterprising organization has since closed
up.” -
“With or through whom did you meet him, Mr.
Chalmers?”
“I was with several friends of mine whose names I
cannot recall at the moment and was presented to Mr.
Drew by an acquaintance named Stone.”
“Philip Stone the embezzler?” Odell's smooth, calm,
level tones remained the same; but Gene stirred in his
chair.
“I did not know he had attained such prominence as to
be known as ‘the anything,” he protested with a shrug.


52 UNSEEN HANDS
“I believe he did get in some sort of trouble later with a
trust company or bank or something, but as I told you
he was a mere acquaintance; I had been introduced to him
in a restaurant only a night or two before.”
“You were then about twenty, I think, Mr. Chalmers?”
“I was. I must ask you again what all this has to do
with your investigation.” Gene's eyes began to glow sul-
lenly. “May I suggest that you are wasting valuable
time?”
“Mr. Chalmers, that is my affair. To return to your
friend Farley Drew; when did you first bring him to your
home and introduce him to your sisters?”
A touch of sternness had crept into the detective's tone;
and the glow in the eyes of the young man changed to a
furtive glint.
“I say, you leave my sisters out of this l’’ He half rose
from his chair. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know
about myself, but I won't discuss them with you.”
“That does not answer my question, Mr. Chalmers; and
I doubt if your solicitude is as much for your sisters as
for yourself.” Odell eyed the squirming young man
narrowly. “I represent the law, and there will be a lot
more of our men here presently. It won't get you any-
where to try to oppose me.”
“I have no reason for opposing you, Sergeant,” Gene
responded hastily. “It sort of gets my goat, though, to be
hammered at like this when, by Jove, I’m the injured party.
I introduced Farley Drew to my people about a year ago.”
“And did you present him to your brother at the same
time?”
“To Julian? Yes.” He tried to reply with the old


“I WISH IT HAD BEEN YOU” 53
sangfroid; but his chin trembled, and he put up his hand
to mask it.
“Your brother then became one of his associates?”
“One of his friends,” Gene remarked stiffly.
“Did that in any way affect your friendship with Drew,
Mr. Chalmers?”
“Of course not; why should it? Julian and I traveled
as a rule in different crowds, but we had many mutual
friends, and—and Mr. Drew was one of them.”
“And did you and your brother get on well together, Mr.
Chalmers? You will have to pardon this question, but
others will answer it if you refuse.” Odell paused and re-
peated: “How did you and your brother get on together?”
“About as well as any brothers do, I fancy.” Gene's gaze
wandered to the littered top of his dressing-table, but as if
conscious of the detective's eyes upon him he quickly
averted it. “We had a healthy old row now and then, but
—but we always patched it up. I'd rather not talk about
it now, if you don't mind, Sergeant. It's only a week, you
know—”
, Odell rose.
“Of course. We will go down now and move your
father to his room.”
“But”—Gene rose also and stared in surprise at the de-
tective—“I thought you wanted to go through Julian's
room.”
“That will keep.” Odell smiled slightly. “Come.”
Gene hesitated; but the other so obviously waited for him
that he had no choice, and together they descended to the
library.
When the injured man had been ensconced in bed and


54 UNSEEN HANDS
made as comfortable as possible Titheredge announced that
he must go to his office. Gene had taken the first oppor-
tunity to retire once more to his room; and the detective
went down alone to the hall, where he came upon Miss
Meade in the drawing-room doorway. -
“You are feeling better?” he asked courteously. “I am
sorry that my presence here startled you so this morning.”
“I am glad that you are here,” she replied. “I have been
waiting until you had finished with my brother-in-law, for
I want to talk to you; that is, if you can spare the time
just now.”
She added the last few words in a deprecating manner,
which he realized must be an habitual one with her, as if all
her life she had been kept in the background, set aside.
She seemed not a looker-on but a mere shadow of those of
stronger personality about her.
“I have been anxious for this opportunity myself, Miss
Meade,” he assured her. “I want to know a great many
things which only you can tell me, if you feel strong
enough. It will be painful to you, I am afraid, for I must
touch on your double sorrow of the last month, but my only
motive is to discover the truth.”
“Come in and be seated, please.” She led the way into
the drawing-room and motioned toward a chair. “Tell me
first of all, Sergeant Odell, is it true that attempts were
actually made upon the lives of my nephew and my brother-
in-law P I—I saw where the stairs had been deliberately
cut through, of course, and yet I cannot seem to realize
it. It is the total absence of motive which makes it all
seem like some frightful dream.”
“Nevertheless it is stern reality, Miss Meade.”


“I WISH IT HAD BEEN YOU” 55
Her face quivered, and she bowed her head for a moment.
“You spoke of touching upon my grief. Does that mean
that you think my sister and her oldest son—that they
could have been killed? Their deaths were so plainly the
result of what worldly people call accident that I believed
our trial was the Lord's will, and was endeavoring to resign
myself to it, although no one will ever know what my sister
was to me. Is there a possibility that their deaths were the
result of some evil human design?”
“That is what I must determine.” Odell drew his chair
closer. “When did Mrs. Lorne run the needle into her
finger?”
“A little over five weeks ago, some time during the first
part of August.”
“Did it occur here in this house? Was anyone present
at the time?”
“Yes, I was.” Miss Meade shuddered. “If I had only
known what it was to bring about! But she thought noth-
ing of it at the time and wouldn't even trouble to use the
witch hazel which I brought from my bathroom. Christine
was always a–a rather dominant person and disliked
advice.”
Her voice trailed off vaguely, and Odell gently urged her
O11.
“Will you tell me about it, please, every detail you
remember P”
“I will try, Sergeant Odell; but you must forgive me if
I give you rather a-a rambling account. I am not accus-
tomed to telling things; I usually listen.”
While she paused it came to Odell that her last sentence
epitomized what her years must have brought her. He was


56 YJNSEEN HANDS
* * *
not given to sentimentalizing over old maids, but he found
himself all at once tremendously interested in this middle-
aged spinster, colorless and negative as she was.
“In the first place you must understand that we were
utterly unlike, my sister and I. Perhaps that was why we
were so devoted to each other. I cannot describe her, but
she was beautiful, brilliant, self-assertive; while I have al-
ways been as you see me now.” Her voice urembled at
first but steadied as she went on. “She loved youth and
could not endure the thought of coming age. That is why
we have all stayed in town this summer; she was taking
a special beauty treatment which required some weeks for
its completion. I was the only one who knew this. We
told the rest of the family that it was ill-health and she must
remain in the city for electrical treatments. You can see
how close we were to each other, Sergeant Odell. There
is a little dressing-room off her bedroom—I will show it to
you presently—which she had furnished as a sort of
boudoir; and we sat there for hours together, I mending
and she embroidering. Christine was always fond of bright
colors.”
Miss Meade's voice died away in retrospection, but she
recovered herself and continued:
“Her embroidery-basket was never taken out of that
room, and on the morning when—when it happened we had
been chatting and working for about an hour when suddenly
she uttered a sharp exclamation and dropped the em-
broidery-frame in her lap. I supposed she had merely be-
come impatient, and I did not even look up until she spoke.
‘Oh, I’ve stuck my finger!' I can almost hear her say it
now! As I told you, I got the witch hazel for her; but


58 UNSEEN HANDS
is better, for he and Gene were the first to see him after
Peters came rushing down. I—I only caught one glimpse
before they took me away; and the girls weren't allowed
to go in at all.”
“How did it occur?” the detective asked patiently.
“Please try to tell me all you know of it. Was your
nephew in good health and spirits—aside from his natural
grief for his mother, I mean?”
For the first time Miss Meade hesitated.
“Well, no,” she admitted at length. “He adored my
sister, of course; and he felt her death deeply. He had
been in a nervous, excitable condition for months; and the
shock of losing her increased his nervousness. He started
violently at the sound of an unexpected voice or the abrupt
closing of a door; and he had been losing weight rapidly.
I—I think he had had some trouble over money matters
with his stepfather, but Mr. Lorne must tell you about that;
I really try to keep out of family affairs as much as possible.
“Last Wednesday—a week ago yesterday—he did not
come down for breakfast, nor ring for any to be brought
up to him. Cissie had hers in bed, I remember; and
Randall—my youngest nephew, who is an invalid—was not
well enough to come down; but Mr. Lorne, Nan, and myself
were in the dining-room. I was pouring the coffee when
Gene appeared; and his stepfather asked him if Julian were
up. He said that he didn't think so, he had not heard him
moving about. Mr. Lorne was annoyed, because Julian
had an appointment to go downtown with him that morning,
and finally he sent Peters up to call him.”
Miss Meade paused; and Odell, who had watched her
closely throughout her narration, marveled. Her thin


“I WISH IT HAD BEEN YOU” 59
hands were clasped tightly in her lap; but her voice was
steady and quietly modulated, and her high-bred face as
expressionless as a mask. What unknown reservoirs of
strength and self-control lay behind that meek exterior
And this was the woman whom he had thought a spineless,
colorless personality
“We continued our meal as Peters went upstairs, when
after quite an interval—it must have been five minutes at
least—we heard a most dreadful cry, which brought us all
to our feet. It was Peters and he came scrambling and
stumbling downstairs screaming out with every breath in
that frightful hoarse way. When he reached the dining-
room door here he clung to it as if to keep from falling,
and his face was the color of gray blotting-paper. “For
God's sake, go up, sir!” he said to Mr. Lorne. “For God's
sake, go up!’
“That was all they could get out of him, and Richard
rushed upstairs with Gene after him. Nan ran over to
Peters and commenced to shake him, but he would only
groan; and I passed them and hurried upstairs myself.
When I reached Julian's room Gene was lying face down-
ward across the bed rolling from side to side and crying
terribly, and Richard was standing in the doorway leading
to the bathroom staring down at something which lay at
his feet.
“I went to him, and there lay our poor Julian' I simply
cannot tell you, Sergeant Odell ! It seemed as if a wave of
blood had engulfed him and then ebbed. It was a-a
shambles! I covered my face with my hands and tottered
back; and then Richard came to himself and led me away.
And they tell me it was such a tiny wound in his throat,


60 UNSEEN HANDS
just a fractional slip of the razor. The least unexpected
noise might have been the innocent cause. Oh, he should
not have attempted to shave himself while he was so
nervous!”
Her hands fluttered for a moment and then gripped the
arms of her chair; and the detective saw her face twitch
once and settle again into its masklike fixity.
“What noise could there have been P’’ Odell asked. “Was
anyone else on the third floor at that time?”
“No. Nan has the front room directly opposite, but she
is the earliest riser of us all; the other two are guest-
chambers and were unoccupied. There are always noises
about an old house like this, though. Poor Julian might
have heard the banging of an outside shutter from the rear,
or one of the doors might have closed; there was quite a
high wind that morning as I recall it, and all the windows
were open. There can be no other way to account for it,
Sergeant Odell. No one could have gotten into the house;
and who—who would have wanted his life?”
“Who wanted to take his brother's last night, Miss
Meade, or his stepfather's this morning?” Odell suggested
quietly.
“That is what is torturing me,” she exclaimed. “The
sheer purposelessness of such an act. The boys have been
a—a little wild, I am afraid; but they have done no harm,
and no one could bear such terrible enmity against either of
them. And Richard, Mr. Lorne, who could want to harm
him? That is why it all seems like some hideous night-
mare; that, and the sheer impossibility of anyone breaking
into the house or—or knowing that someone of the family
was going to sit beneath the portrait.”


“I WISH IT HAD BEEN YOU” 61
She broke off as a light but determined step came along
the hall from the direction of the servants’ staircase.
Odell, too, glanced curiously out through the open drawing-
room door just as a tiny, fairy-like figure with masses of
golden hair beneath a small black hat walked quickly past
and toward the entrance door.
“Cissie!” Miss Meade rose and slipped out into the hall.
“Cissie, where are you going?”
“Away! Anywhere!” A girlish treble as clear and cold
as a mountain brook fell upon the detective's ears. “I told
you all last night that I was going, and then we really didn't
know anything, we only felt it. If you think I'm going to
stay in this house a minute longer—”
“But, but my dear—”
“Oh, you needn't worry, Aunt Effie. I sha’n’t go to any
of our friends and tell them of the terrible things that are
going on in the sacred Meade house. I wouldn't disgrace
any of them by being on their hands when the notoriety
starts; and I’m not going to stay here to be murdered either.
I don't know about poor mamma and Jule, but I do know
about father and what so nearly happened to Gene, and I
don't intend to be the next one. You've had your way in
spite of everything, but I won't live another day in the
same house with a-"
To the listening detective it seemed that the clear voice
was snuffed out like a flame; and then there came, low but
startlingly distinct, in Miss Meade's usually colorless tones:
“Silence, Christine ! I wish to heaven that it had been
you!”


CHAPTER VI
BLOODY HANDS
ARRY ODELL crept to the drawing-room door and
peered cautiously out into the hall. The pretty girl
was struggling to free herself from her aunt, whose hand
was clapped across her mouth and who held her in a firm
clasp. Cissie's young virility, though, was more than a
match for the frail, middle-aged woman, and Miss Meade
all at once relaxed and stepped back.
“The young man whom Mr. Titheredge brought from
police headquarters this morning is in the drawing-room
now,” she announced; and as Odell hastily drew back he
caught the veiled warning in her tone. “I am sure that he
will not permit you to go until he has had an opportunity
to talk with you; and certainly you shall not leave this
house without telling either your stepfather or me where
you are going.”
“Why, Aunt Effiel” The utter stupefaction in the girl's
tones betrayed clearly the fact that her aunt's new-found
assertiveness was unprecedented. “I shall go and come as
I please! As for the police, what have I to do with them?
I am amazed that you should attempt to dictate to me when
even mother—”
“Oh, my dear, my dear,” the spinster broke in, “it is


64 UNSEEN HANDS
“Mine.” He spoke quietly; but there was that in his tone
which had caused more than one defiant malefactor to
“come across” without further demur, and Cissie dropped
her eyes. “Allow me, please.”
He took her bag from her unresisting hand, placed it on
a carved chest which stood against the wall and turned to
Miss Meade.
“Your telephone is in the library, is it not? I should
like to use it for a moment. Are there any extensions?”
“Only one, and that is in my sister's room,” Miss Meade
replied. “If you turn it off and shut the library-door you
will have absolute privacy.”
“Thank you. Can you tell me Peters's home address?”
“He has no one except a married sister who lives over
in New Dorp, Staten Island. I will get the address for
you.”
As she hurried away he turned once more to the girl.
“Miss Chalmers, I shall want a little talk with you in
about an hour.”
She bowed stiffly and turning upon her heel walked down
the hall toward the back staircase, while he entered the
library. Each interview with a different member of this
strangely ill-assorted family made him feel that he was
being carried deeper and deeper into a current of cross pur-
poses, and the enigma of the angry young woman's inter-
rupted speech recurred to him again and again in the
minutes that followed.
How would she have completed that sentence if a warn-
ing hand had not been laid across her lips? What or who
could it be with whom she would not live in the same


66 UNSEEN HANDS
“Yes. We can reach it from the hall without disturb-
ing Mr. Lorne. The boudoir connects their apartments,
and my sister's room has been closed since her death.”
She led the way up the servants’ staircase to the pretty
room, rendered cheerful and summery by white wicker
furniture and gay chintz draperies. It seemed impossible
that tragedy should ever have entered here, yet the detec-
tive's eye focussed at once upon a garishly-beaded Indian
basket upon the under shelf of the table. From it over-
flowed a tangle of vari-colored silken threads; and in its
center a square of tan linen, held in an oval embroidery-
frame, showed a glowing poppy half finished from which a
scarlet thread like a thin stream of blood meandered over
the side of the basket.
Odell took up the square of embroidery.
“The needle is not here,” he commented. “The doctor
took it for analysis, no doubt.”
“Yes. I think he feared that the poisoning which re-
sulted from its prick might have been due to some of those
new dyes in the silk, for he took some of that also; but he
told us later that he had discovered nothing that could in
any way account for the fatal result.” Miss Meade
touched the back of a low chair. “Here is where my sister
sat when it happened, Sergeant Odell; and I was seated
across the table, using the Martha Washington sewing-stand .
there. What are you looking for?”
“The packet from which the embroidery needle was
taken,” he responded.
She delved into the brilliant disorder of the basket and
brought forth a black paper packet which she handed to
him. He opened it, glanced at the needles, and put it into


BLOODY HANDS 67
his pocket. Then taking up a pair of scissors which was
attached by a bright-hued ribbon to the handle of the basket
he clipped off a length of the scarlet strand which dangled
from the embroidery frame.
“That's all, I think.” He still spoke in a lowered tone,
mindful of the injured man in the next room. “I am going
up now to look over the apartments of the young man who
died last week. I have the keys—”
To his astonishment Miss Meade announced:
“I will accompany you. It has all been placed in order,
of course; and I believe Mr. Titheredge and my brother-in-
law have removed all the letters and personal effects, but
I can explain to you the position of the body as I saw it.”
“I do not like to subject you to the ordeal—”, the detec-
tive began, but she silenced him.
“I am strong enough, and it is my duty to render you
all the aid I can in consequence of Mr. Lorne's inca-
pacity.”
She preceded him up the stairs and led him along the
hall to the door of the front room; but as he took out the
key to insert it in the lock, the door at the back flew open
and Gene appeared, rage and fear struggling for supremacy
on his weak countenance.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he declared hotly. “I’ll
thank you to return the letters and notebook you stole
from my desk.”
“They will be returned to you in good time, Mr. Chal-
mers,” the detective replied smoothly. “Unless, of course,
they are required as evidence.”
“Evidence of what!” shouted the enraged young man.
“I suppose you'll accuse me next of killing my own brother
...A., “
tº i:
… ... ."
.***


68 UNSEEN HANDS
and trying to commit suicide by pulling down that portrait
on my own head last night!”
“Mr. Chalmers, when I knocked upon your door an hour
ago I interrupted you at your task of burning some letters
and papers in your grate.”
“What of it?” Gene demanded. “A fellow's got some
rights, I guess, to keep his own private affairs from being
pored over by you d-d—”
“Gene!” Miss Meade interrupted, and then turning to the
detective she added: “I—I think I will leave you. Gene
can show you Julian's room; and you will, I am sure, want
to talk to him alone.”
She hurried silently down the stairs and when she had
disappeared the two young men faced each other.
“Mr. Chalmers, when you started to burn those papers
in your grate this morning was it perfectly clean?”
The unexpected, seemingly irrelevant question caught the
other temporarily off guard.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Come and I will show you.” Odell walked straight past
Gene and into his room, and the latter, his resentment
momentarily submerged in surprise, followed.
The detective knelt down by the hearth.
“Will you bring me an envelope?” he requested. Then,
as Gene complied: “I want you to look closely at the ashes,
Mr. Chalmers. What do you see?”
As he spoke he scooped some into the envelope, sealed
it and placed it in his pocket.
“Why, just ashes!” Gene's tone betokened amazement,
but his frightened face went a shade more pale.


BLOODY HANDS 69
“See any difference in the color?” Odell persisted.
“Don’t you know that everything that is inflammable and
of a different texture or substance leaves a different ash
behind? Those pale, gray, satiny flakes are from the paper
which you burned; these coarser, slightly darker ones are
from something else. What did you burn here this morn-
ing or last night, Mr. Chalmers?”
“Nothing! I swear it!” Gene cried huskily. “For God's
sake, Sergeant, tell me what you are driving at! When I
started to burn the letters it seems to me that I did notice
some other ashes there in the grate, but I paid no attention
to them.”
“You detected no odor as of smoke in your room?”
“None. I haven't been long out of it to-day anyway;
I was awakened by Dad's fall and stayed with him only
until you arrived. If anything had been burned here I
surely would have smelt the smoke when I came up to
destroy the letters.”
“Mr. Chalmers, when was the last time you had a fire
in this grate?” Odell looked up in time to catch the younger
man's swift change of expression.
“I—I can't remember,” Gene stammered. “Sometime in
the early spring, I imagine.”
“I do not mean a coal fire, but papers, trash, anything;
when was the last time before this morning that something
was burned here?”
“I couldn't tell you, Sergeant. It's a habit of mine to
burn old letters and such things there instead of having the
maid take them downstairs. She always cleans it out when-
ever she finds any ashes there.”


70 UNSEEN HANDS
He caught himself up suddenly as he realized the slip
he had made, and a look of dogged despair came over his
face, but he added hastily:
“What are those darker ashes from ? What had been
burned in the grate before my letters?”
“That will be determined on analysis.” The detective
seemed not to have noted Gene's damaging statement, and
the young man breathed freer again. “You say it is a
habit of yours to burn things here; surely you can recall
approximately the last time you made use of the grate.
Was it a few days ago, a week, a month?”
“It was a week ago.” The reply came sullenly in a
lowered tone.
“What did you burn then?”
“Merely some old letters and snapshots. I—I was clenn-
ing out a trunk; I meant to go camping next week.”
The explanation was offered glibly, yet Gene could not
meet Odell's eyes; and he flushed as if conscious that his
falsehood had been recognized for what it was although the
detective gave no outward sign. Instead he rose, brushed
off his knees and remarked in a brisk, changed tone:
“If your memory should improve let me know. I am
going now to your brother's room. Will you come and
show me where the body was when you discovered it?”
“I didn't discover it,” Gene denied sulkily. Nevertheless,
he turned to the door. “Peters did that, when my step-
father sent him up here to call Julian. When he gave the
alarm Dad was the first to reach the room; I tried to pass
him but he blocked the stairway. Julian's room was empty
and Dad called once, then went to the bathroom door and
collapsed against it at—at what he saw. I followed and


72 UNSEEN HANDS
“You are sure of that?” Odell, who had been following
with his eyes the location of each object as Gene described
the scene, now turned and looked at him sharply. “You
are sure there were the prints of hands in blood upon the
rim of the tub?”
“Positive of it,” Gene returned. “I told you I could
not forget a single detail. I don't see why he didn't call
for help or something when he found he could not stop the
bleeding. I never heard a thing and I was almost in the
next room.”
“Why do you say ‘almost’?” The detective had grasped
the point, but it was as if subconsciously. The vital fact
which had been revealed to him inadvertently enough by
his companion filled all his thoughts.
“Because the dressing-room is beyond that door, and I’ve
got some gymnasium stuff stacked against it.”
“Why wasn't the door left open?”
Gene hesitated.
“It used to be and we shared this bath together,” he ad-
mitted finally. “But lately Julian wanted this to himself,
so I used the bathroom across the hall.”
“Did you examine the marks on the tub that morning,
Mr. Chalmers?”
“No.” Gene shuddered. “I don't know what I did after
I saw him lying there and realized what must have hap-
pened; I guess I went crazy for a little while. The first
I knew I was lying across Julian's bed, and Dad was shak-
ing me and telling me to go downstairs. I didn't see
Julian again, not even in the casket; I couldn't.”
The detective turned from the doorway and began open-


BLOODY HANDS 73
ing the drawers of the dresser, but they as well as the desk
and closet had been stripped bare.
“Dad and old Titheredge carted off everything but the
clothes,” explained Gene. “Aunt Effie packed those away
in the attic, I think. I know she didn't give them away.”
He laughed shortly in a rueful manner and Odell de-
manded:
“Why? How do you know?”
“Because she never gave a thing away in her life. She
hoards everything she can lay her hands on.”
Odell allowed the comment to pass without remark, but
he stored it away for further reference. If true, it threw
an interesting side-light on the character of the mouse-like
spinster downstairs. She did not look like a miser, and
her apparent attitude toward the rest of the family was that
of a typical poor relation; yet she must possess money.
She owned at least a half interest in the house in which she
lived like a veritable shadow.
After a further cursory examination of the room he
motioned Gene to precede him to the hall, and locking the
door he placed the key in his pocket.
“Where does Farley Drew live?” he asked.
“In the Bellemonde Annex,” Gene responded un-
guardedly, then added: “For God's sake, don't go to him
with anything of this, Sergeant. He—he hates anything
like notoriety, and he can make a lot of trouble.”
“For whom?” Odell demanded as the other paused.
“Oh, well, I don't want to lose his friendship,” Gene
mumbled. “It isn't fair to drag other people into a rotten
scandal like this; and they're bound to resent it. Besides,


76 UNSEEN HANDS
“Yes, sir. And of the other ladies also when they re-
quired my services.” She enunciated clearly but carefully,
as if speaking in a language which was not her native one;
and there was a slight staccato accent which she seemingly
could not eliminate.
“You are French P”
She shook her head.
“Swiss, sir. I come from Zurich.”
“Do you recall the day when Mrs. Lorne pricked her
finger with her embroidery needle?”
“Perfectly, sir, but from the day after. I knew nothing
of it until one morning when Madame awoke with her hand
all inflamed and remembered herself about the accident with
the embroidery needle on the previous day.”
“She did not call the doctor immediately?”
“No, sir; not for three days, although Mees Meade im-
plored her to do so. Mees Meade and I, we poulticed the
hand and bandaged it; but it grew worse, until finally
Madame consented to send for the doctor. After the
nurses came I was not allowed in the room until just at the
last, and then Madame was delirious.”
Gerda had kept her curious light eyes steadily fixed on
the detective's face, and although she replied readily, al-
most mechanically, to his questioning, the impression of
hushed anticipation lingered.
“You know who I am, of course?”
Gerda bowed.
“The officer detective from Police Headquarters, is it
not so? Otherwise I should not be talking of Madame.”
“You understand that you must be perfectly frank with
me?”


“WATCH THEIR EYES” 77
Once more she inclined her head.
“I desire only to aid in discovering the truth.”
Odell eyed her with growing interest, and the conscious-
ness of having seen her somewhere at some past time in-
creased. Her diction was superior to that usually en-
countered in one in her position, and her bearing although
perfectly respectful suggested a certain dignity equally in-
compatible.
“When did you first learn of the discovery of Mr. Chal-
mers's body last week?”
“When Mr. Lorne called me to attend Mees, Meade after
he had led her down from the room of poor Mr. Chalmers.
But I knew there was trouble, terrible trouble before that,
sir, when Mr. Lorne sent the butler, Peters, up to call the
young gentleman.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“In the room of Mees Cissie. She had just had her
coffee and was preparing to get up. We heard Peters pass
the door and then come stumbling down, crying out in a
choked, frightened way. Mees Cissie wanted me to go and
find out what had happened, but I could not, sir. The
strength left me, and I sank down into a chair. We heard
Mr. Lorne go up and Mr. Gene, but Mees Meade walks
so softly that we did not know when she passed the door.
I was still there in that chair when Mr. Lorne called to
me.”
“You remained in attendance on the ladies all the morn-
ing?” Odell’s questions were becoming as mechanical as the
replies. He could not force the woman's personality into a
secondary place, and the sense of incongruity still prevailed.
“With Mees Meade until she had recovered her com-


78 UNSEEN HANDS
posure, sir. Afterward with Mees Cissie, who was hysteri-
cal. It was lunch-time before I descended to the servants’
dining-room in the basement.”
“Gerda, when was it that you first heard talk among the
servants that there was something queer about these two
deaths so close together?”
“Something queer, sir?” she repeated. “Do you mean
that it might be a curse or fate or some strange mystery?”
Odell nodded.
“They were all discussing it when I entered the dining-
room for lunch, sir; Peters and Marcelle, the cook, and
Jane. They said it was not natural.” She broke off with
a shrug. “You must know the usual gossip of the-of our
kind, sir. And it's not to be wondered at. Two deaths in a
month in the same house and both from accident; it is
enough to make anyone afraid to stay here.”
She had retrieved her mistake but added another to it
by too obviously straining for effect.
“You yourself did not take any stock in their su-
perstitious fears, did you?” He deliberately adopted a
more familiar tone, and she as instinctively withdrew
from it.
“I felt uneasy, nervous, but I am not superstitious, sir.”
“Then what made you feel uneasy”
Again that little foreign shrug.
“I don't know, sir. Perhaps the gloom that hung over
the house, the sorrow.”
“Did you hear anything last night? Any sudden noise?”
“Yes, sir. I went to bed quite early, but I was still
awake when I heard a faint crash far below. We sleep on
the top floor, you know. This morning Peters told us of


“WATCH THEIR EYES” 79
the picture that fell down. But that was after the accident
to Mr. Lorne.”
“At what time did Peters leave the house?”
“I don’t know, sir, but it must have been before nine.
He slipped away while the doctor was here attending to
Mr. Lorne, and none of us saw him go. He didn't say
a word to anybody, but just walked out; his things are all
here in his room, Jane says. He was the most frightened
of us all this week and kept saying that we would be
murdered in our beds, but I don’t think he meant it; he
didn't exactly know what he was afraid of.”
She was forcing the volubility, Odell could see; and
gradually the look of anticipation was fading from her eyes.
Could it be that he had actually seen her somewhere be-
fore; that she had recognized him and waited for the recog-
nition to be mutual? He determined to throw out a feeler.
“Gerda, where did you work before coming here?”
“Nowhere. That is, I had been ill for a very long time.”
She hesitated, but the eager look had come back into her
eyes. “Before that I had been maid for a lady here in town
for some years.”
“Who was she?”
The answer came slowly with a curious, studied evenness
of tone.
“A Madame Gael.”
“Not Mrs. Quincy Gael who was divorced?”
“Yes, sir. But the divorce came later, after I had been
taken ill and gone away.”
“Did you ever see or hear of a Mr. Farley Drew in her
Home?”
“I read of him afterwards, sir, of course; but while I


80 UNSEEN HANDS
was there, oh, no. I did not know there was such a gentle-
man.” She paused and then added with a curious veiled
significance in her tone: “I have worked in various other
places, sir, and I have not always been a lady's maid.
Once, long before my illness, when I was strong and my
nerves were steady, I was an attendant in a private sani-
tarium.”
Odell studied her for a moment. Confound the woman!
What was she trying to get at, anyway? He had never
been in a sanitarium in his life, either professionally or as
a patient. True, he had been in a hospital once, when he
had been knifed in pinching Luigi Lombardo the Dago
killer, but—
“What kind of a sanitarium?” he demanded.
The eagerness flashed out in her eyes then and she bent
toward him and spoke rapidly in a low, meaning tone.
“For the insane, sir. Have you ever seen any crazy
people? If you have you never can mistake them, no
matter how clever and cunning they are. There is a look
in their eyes that gives them away to those who know.”
“I’ve never run up against a case of insanity.” Odell's
preconceived ideas were in chaos. Clearly the woman did
not for a moment think that she recognized him, but she
spoke with a purpose. Could it be that she was trying to
give him a tip? Her eagerness, her hushed voice, and the
light in her eyes showed that she was not talking idly.
“Why are you telling me this, Gerda?”
The woman stepped back, and a spot of color came into
her sallow cheeks.
“It-it might come in handy in your profession some
time, sir. There are more crazy people loose in society


“WATCH THEIR EYES” 81
and out of it than you would believe. No one realizes it;
because the most dangerous kind are those who know them-
selves that they are mad, and they hide it from other folks
with the cunning that a sane mind wouldn't be capable of.”
She halted and drew a deep breath as if the subject were
finished; but as he maintained a noncommittal silence and
permitted his expression to register nothing more than a
casual interest, she suddenly advanced once more until she
stood close to his chair.
“Watch people's eyes, sir, when you are on a case.
Watch their eyes. It isn't that they'll be wild and shifty
necessarily, but if you'll study them long enough there'll be
a time when even for just a second they'll let go like a
curtain that's been held together and you'll get a peep at
the diseased brain back of them. They may be crafty
enough to outwit you a hundred times, and cunning enough
to guard their actions and their speech so that you would
be called crazy yourself if you were to accuse them of any-
thing; but they can't always control their eyes! Remember
that, sir, and it will maybe help you a little sometime.”
She turned as if to go but he caught her wrist.
“Wait a minute, Gerda. You've got some particular
reason for telling me this. Do you mean that you know
something? That someone in this house is insane?”
“Hush! Oh, hush!” She drew back and he released
her. “I meant nothing. I thought only to do you a kind-
ness, to tell you something that I had learned which might
at some future time be useful to you. Forgive me, sir, if
I have been impertinent and let me go. I think Mees
Meade is calling me.”
“You think nothing of the kind,” he retorted. “You’re


82 UNSEEN HANDS
trying to tell me something, and you are afraid to come
through with it. I could take you down to Headquarters
and make you speak; but I won't, because you've volun-
teered this to me and I will keep quiet about it. I think
you ought to finish what you’ve started, though. Tell me
what's on your mind.”
“Nothing,” she repeated, still in hushed but vehement
tones. “There is nothing on my mind, sir. I should not
have spoken. You will let me depart now?”
Odell saw that there was nothing more to be gained from
her at the time, either by bullying or cajolery, and he nodded
reluctantly.
“All right, Gerda. If you have anything else you want
to say to me any time just let me know, and I promise you
I'll keep it to myself. Thank you for giving me the tip
for future cases.”
He had struck the right note, for at the door she turned
and came slowly back.
“Remember, then, one thing that I have said to you, sir.
Sometimes they are able to hide it so cleverly that you
would be thought crazy yourself if you accused them with-
out proof.”
This time she left the room without looking back, and for
a space he sat mentally going over their interview word
for word. Her last admonition had made her attitude
clear to him; she suspected someone but without actual
knowledge, without proof. She also was convinced of that
person's insanity, but whether that conviction came from
mere intuition or expert knowledge of such cases remained
to be seen. She might have lied about having been an at-
tendant in a sanitarium; she looked quite capable of lying


“WATCH THEIR EYES” 83
her soul away if it suited her purpose, yet unless she were
a consummate actress she had been absolutely sincere in
her warning. Her own gray-green eyes were strange, in-
scrutable except when alive with eagerness; they reminded
him of those of some gaunt, famished cat. What a good,
consistent hater she would be!
He aroused himself at last from his speculations and rang
the bell. After an interval Jane, the buxom housemaid,
appeared.
“Jane, there will be two men here presently to hang that
picture in the library. Let me know when they come.”
“Ye—yes, sir.” Jane bobbed her head and prepared to
retire from his presence with obvious haste.
“Here, wait a minute. I want to talk to you.”
Her rosy cheeks blanched.
“Yes, sir.” There was a distinct quaver in her tones.
“How long have you been employed here?”
“Three y-years, sir, and never a better mistress than the
poor lady that's gone could a girl have l’” This was easy
ground and she breathed more freely.
“Who was the lady's maid before Gerda came?”
“Margaret McGrath, though she called herself Margue-
rite. She was a nice girl, sir, friendly and didn't give her-
self no airs. She left to get married to-” .
“So she was nicer than Gerda, eh?” Odell regarded her
quizzically, and she tossed her head.
“That stuck-up thing? You'd think she was a lady her-
self the way she goes along with her head in the air, and
the cold politeness of her, as if the rest of us was nothing
but dirt beneath her feet!” Jane's color had returned, and
now it deepened with resentment. “It ain't such a grand


84 UNSEEN HANDS
job to be a lady's maid; I’ve known some housekeepers that
was more free and pleasant to get along with, and I don't
care if you go and tell her I said so. Didn't even want to
room with me when she came, but got Mrs. Lorne to give
her a room to herself. She won't be here long, though,
now the poor mistress is gone.”
“Why?” asked Odell.
“Because she's no good as a personal maid. I heard Miss
Cissie say so herself. Anybody can mend lace and keep
things picked up; but she's such a blockhead she can't even
take messages over the 'phone for Miss Cissie, and she has
to attend to it for herself. Miss Cissie complained about
it to her mother only a few days before the poor lady hurt
herself with that needle, but Mrs. Lorne liked her and
wouldn't hear of sending her away. I guess things’ll be
different now.”
It was evident that the affronted Jane would be quite
willing to continue the subject indefinitely, but the detective
had learned what he wanted to know and promptly took
advantage of the opening which offered.
“What was the needle like which caused Mrs. Lorne's
illness? Did you see it?”
“Indeed I did, sir.” Jane visibly swelled with impor-
tance. “Wasn't it me went and got it when the doctor
asked to see it? Miss Meade came out of the sickroom and
told me to go get it, and I did; but I wrapped my hand up
good in a towel before I touched it, sir, as you may be-
lieve. There it was, sticking into the work she'd dropped
as innocent as if it wasn't the cause of what was going to
be the poor lady's death. It had become unthreaded from
the red silk, but it was right in place for the next stitch.


86 UNSEEN HANDS
downstairs?” Odell's tone was scornful and Jane bridled
beneath it.
“After the deaths and all, it's no wonder I was. I
thought he was dead too, and it put me in a panic. If it's
all nonsense, sir, as you say, why is it that the police are
here?”
He laughed at the impudent thrust.
“To put a stop to the silly notions you’ve all got. Jane,
that morning when young Mr. Chalmers died, who cleaned up
his room and the bathroom after the undertaker had gone?”
Jane's color ebbed in her cheeks.
“I did, sir; me and the cook together, for I wouldn't have
gone into that room alone for all the money in the world.”
She shuddered. “We didn't wait for the undertaker either;
as soon as the doctor came and the med—medical examiner,
I think you call it—and made out papers as to how the poor
young gentleman had died, the body was carried into one
of the guest-rooms across the hall, and me and the cook
started in on the bathroom. It was fairly ghastly, sir.
There was blood everywhere—”
She was evidently going on with a gruesome relish, but
the detective interrupted her.
“Did you notice any on the tub?”
“Yes, sir. The marks of poor Mr. Julian's hands
covered with it, where he'd tried to keep himself up.”
“Both hands, Jane? Are you sure of it?”
“Yes, sir, both hands. I remember because I called the
cook's attention to them. Some of them was blurred, but
there was one place where his two hands had grabbed the
edge of the tub side by side. Cook can tell you, sir. There
was the mark of both hands, plain.”


CHAPTER VIII
THE NEEDLE
6&T DON'T need the cook to corroborate you, Jane.”
The detective rose. “But I want to have a little talk
with her nevertheless. Will you show me to the kitchen?”
Jane hesitated.
“She’ll be starting lunch soon, sir, and I’d not like to be
the one to bother her. She's goodhearted but fiery, being
French.”
“Never mind about that. I want to see her.”
With obvious trepidation Jane led the way downstairs
to a spacious kitchen where a very fat woman stood at the
table beating eggs. She glanced up, lifting a triple row of
chins and glared at the intruders; and Jane turned incon-
tinently and fled.
“Good morning, Marcelle.” He recalled opportunely
that Miss Meade had mentioned her name to him.
“Bon jour, Monsieur,” she responded with native polite-
ness, but her small eyes were stony. “Will Monsieur have
the goodness to tell me what he desires in my kitchen?”
“Something more important than that very excellent
omelette which you are making.” He smiled genially. “I’m
from Police Headquarters.”
“So I have heard, Monsieur, but the children must eat
just the same. I do not know where this house would go
87


88 UNSEEN HANDS
to if it were not for me. No one keeping regular hours,
no one eating.” She turned to him and held out both
hands. “I ask you, Monsieur, how one can take the sorrow
when it comes, how one can bear the fear of he knows not
what, if he have not the full stomach? Me, I am afraid,
I tr-remble, I think I shall be the next that this so evil
fiend which possesses this house shall take; but when I
have eaten I say: “If it comes, it comes. C'est tout. If
it does not come, I give myself the great fear for nothing.’”
“There's philosophy in that,” Odell conceded. “But I
can't sit down and let it come to you all again, you know.
I am here to find out if I can who this fiend of yours is,
and I must have help. As you say, if it were not for you
this house would be indeed upside down; and so I came to
you. Tell me, Marcelle, what do you think of it all?”
“Me? I think much better of it since this morning,
Monsieur.” His crass flattery had had its effect, and
Marcelle, the omelette forgotten, faced him with a good-
natured smile and her fat arms akimbo. “Before, when
Monsieur Julian was taken so soon after his mother, I say
to myself: “It is not good. It is not the will of the
good God as Mademoiselle Meade try to tell me, nor is it
accident which take two from the same family in so quick
time. It is evil, and I do not know whether that evil be
human or of the infernal spirits.” Now that I know it is
human I am not so afraid. I wait only to catch him at his
work!”
She made an eloquent gesture and was turning again
to the table when Odell asked a hurried question.
“This is the tradesmen's door, is it not? The only back
door?”


THE NEEDLE 89
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“You can see anyone who goes out?”
“No one comes or goes that way that I do not know
it, Monsieur.”
“Did you see Peters when he left this morning?”
“No, Monsieur. That poltroon! Never did I like his
eyes.” -
Odell started. Could that be what Gerda had meant?
But why should she warn him when Peters had already dis-
appeared?
“That he should run when women stay!” Marcelle con-
tinued in fine scorn. “He knew better than to go this way,
for I should have stopped him. It must be that he used
the front entrance. Béte P’
“Jane tells me that you helped her clean the rooms of
young Mr. Chalmers after he died. Did you notice any
marks upon the tub?”
“But yes, Monsieur. The marks of both the poor child's
hands. It was terrible, that sight! It is not well to think
of. Me, I am most sorry for poor Monsieur Gene.”
“For Monsieur Gene,” repeated the detective in aston-
ishment. “Were he and his brother so inseparable,
then P”
“It is not that, Monsieur; but the very night before
Monsieur Julian died they have so wicked a quarrell Me,
I am a light sleeper and my room is just at the head of
the stairs above them. On Tuesday evening I make a
soufflé for dessert—and figure to yourself, it is a failure,
it falls!” She paused dramatically. “I am disconsolate;
for only an artist can make a soufflé, and I think that I am
losing my skill. I have the headache and I am sick in my


90 UNSEEN HANDS
heart! I go to bed and at last I sleep, but I wake very late
and I hear loud voices.
“I listen, for my door is open because of the heat. It is
Monsieur Julian and Monsieur Gene and they are both so
angry! I rise to close my door, but I hear one word that
make me stand still like a statue. It is “thief’ and it is
Monsieur Julian who says it. Then there is the sound of
a blow; and me, I go out in the hall and look over the
banisters. Monsieur Julian's door is also open, and there
is the sound of scuffling and the messieurs breathing
hoarsely and cursing.
“At last there came a jar and squeak of the bed-springs,
as if one had thrown the other across the bed; and in a
moment Monsieur Julian appear at the door of his room
dragging Monsieur Gene by the collar. -
“He throw him out into the hall and close the door; and
me, I go back into my room without waiting to see Monsieur
Gene pick himself up. But every time I look at his so sad
face now I think he grieves him because his brother died
without the reconciliation.”
“You do not recall any more of the conversation than
just the one word “thief’, do you, Marcelle?”
“No, Monsieur; and that was only the talk of bad little
boys calling the names to each other that they did not
mean. But this will not help you in your search nor put my
omelette in the pan.”
She turned with an air of finality to the table, and the
detective went slowly upstairs. So Julian and Gene had
quarreled on the last night of the former's life, and Gene
had been afraid or unwilling to admit it to him that
morning.


THE NEEDLE 91
Jane met him at the head of the stairs.
“The men are here now to put up the picture, sir.”
“Very well, I'll see them.” He went to the library, where
he found two workmen standing in dubious silence before
the portrait which they had raised from the desk. At his
approach they turned and the huskier of the two remarked:
“We can’t handle this. We ain't used to this sort of
work, boss.”
“I thought not.” Odell smiled. “Are you the same men
who were here this morning?”
“We are.” The spokesman advanced truculently. “If
you think it is any joke comin' twice and we paid by our
time—”
“How long would it have taken you to hang that portrait,
supposing you had done that sort of work before?” Odell
interrupted.
“The good part of an hour,” the other responded sulkily.
“Well, I'll pay you for that hour and you can loaf away
the rest of it after the next two minutes if you'll give me
your expert opinion on something you do know about.”
The two men looked at each other and then the smaller
one remarked:
“Sounds fair enough; but I knew there was somethin’
phoney about this whole business after what happened this
morning. What do you say, Bill?”
“All right.” The other hitched his overall-strap over one
shoulder. “We'll give it a try, sir.”
Odell paid them and then drew from his pocket the short
lengths of steel wire which he had cut from the back of
the portrait-frame that morning.
“This end I clipped myself,” he explained. “Can you


92 UNSEEN HANDS
tell me how the other end was cut? By what sort of a
tool?”
Each of the men took a piece of the wire and examined
it doubtfully. After a moment the smaller one looked up
with a grin.
“I give it up, boss,” he said. “It wasn't a clipper or the
ends would be pinched together more; these are all frayed
out. Looks as if it had been chewed. What do you say,
Bill?”
Bill proved all at once to be a person of tact as well as
discernment.
“It was either one of two things; an electric circular
saw or an electric file. If I’ve tumbled to the game right,
mister, I figure there wouldn't have been room to work the
circular saw.” He winked expansively toward the portrait.
“I guess you'll find that the party used an electric file, a
small one but high-powered, and kept her hummin’.”
“How long would it take to cut through one of these wires
with the file you mention?” Odell asked.
“Five or six minutes.”
“Does it make much noise?” the detective persisted.
“Only a low buzzin’ and dronin’.”
“Hard to operate?”
“No. A child could work it if it was taught how, but
it takes strength to hold her in position once she gets to
goin' so fast you can't see her. I wouldn't like to try it in
any awk’ard position,”—again he glanced at the portrait—
“and I’m the strongest man at Kenny's.”
“That's all I wanted to know.” Odell put the pieces of
wire back into his pocket. “You can go now. You've got
forty-five minutes to yourselves.”


THE NEEDLE 93
“Yes, thank'ee, sir.”
After they had taken their departure the detective stood
for a minute or two in thought and then turned to ring
the bell, but he found himself confronted once more by
Miss Meade.
“Sergeant Odell, who were those men?”
“They were sent for to rehang the portrait, I believe, but
they were mere carpenters and unable to handle the job,”
he replied. How long she had been standing there he could
not imagine, and he began to feel a certain irritation against
her. She was very gentle and appealing and all that, but
why couldn't she walk so that one could hear her coming?
“Peters must have sent for them before he left, I suppose,
but he should have consulted me.” She was gazing at the
face of the portrait and her voice was introspective. “That
was my father, you know. He—but I am forgetting. I
came to ask you if I might send you a tray of lunch in
here?”
“Thanks, no.” He glanced at his watch. “Miss Meade,
will you give me the address of the beauty-parlor where
Mrs. Lorne was having treatments at the time of ther
death?”
“It is not exactly a beauty-parlor; it is called Monsieur
Florian's, and is at 681 Fifth Avenue. He considers him-
self a specialist, I believe; but I saw no difference in my
sister. To me she had not changed since her first
marriage.”
“A specialist, you say? Will you tell me too, Miss
Meade, what Doctor Adams's office hours are?”
“From nine to ten, one to two, and five to seven,” she re-
plied. “But he will look in sometime this afternoon to see


94 UNSEEN HANDS
how Mr. Lorne is getting along; and you may consult him
then if you wish to do so.”
“I do not know when I can get back, Miss Meade. I have
an appointment now which I must keep. When I return I
want to have an interview with Miss Chalmers and also
with her brother, her youngest brother.”
“I am afraid that will be impossible. He is a semi-
invalid, and this is one of his bad days—”
Her expostulation was interrupted by a voice from the
doorway.
“If you please, Miss Meade, there are four men here, and
they say they want to speak to Sergeant Odell.” It was
Jane, and at her heels four plainclothesmen entered and
stopped just within the doorway.
“Hello, Smith, Kelly, Porter; I asked the chief to be
sure to send you. Hello, Taylor.” Odell greeted them in
turn and then remarked to the shrinking figure beside him,
“They're my assistants from headquarters, Miss Meade.
I'm sorry to inflict them upon you, but we’ve got to guard
against a repetition of the outrages of last night and this
morning. Please give them full liberty to go where they
like about the house, and tell everyone that they are acting
under my orders and must not be interfered with.”
“Certainly, Sergeant Odell.” Miss Meade moved to the
door. “Let me know if there is anything I can do to aid
them.”
Odell issued instructions to his men, glanced at a tele-
phone book for a moment, and then left the house. If he
walked rapidly enough he could catch Doctor Adams at his
office before he started upon his afternoon round of visits.
He felt that he needed air and exercise after the morning


THE NEEDLE 95
with its problems crowding fast upon each other's heels.
He had acquired a bewildering amount of data, most of
which must in the end prove to be irrelevant; but he had
made progress in one direction at least, and there remained
just one more point to be cleared up before he handed in
his report of the morning's progress to his chief.
Doctor Adams's office, the address of which he had
learned in that last hasty glimpse at the telephone book,
was a most imposing one; but the reception room was prac-
tically empty owing to the lateness of the hour, and soon
Odell was ushered into the private consulting-office.
The doctor proved to be a small, genial man of about
sixty, with a shock of snow-white hair and keen twinkling
dark eyes beneath bushy white brows.
“From Police Headquarters?” he repeated when his
visitor had disclosed his identity.
“Yes, Doctor. We have been asked to inquire into the
death of Mrs. Richard Lorne.”
“Dear me!” The doctor shook his head. “The medical
examiner was quite satisfied with my report and that of
the specialists. This will be a sad blow to the family. I
cannot think who—”
“It was the family themselves who asked for an investiga-
tion,” Odell remarked. “I believe that the cause of Mrs.
Lorne's death was not fully determined.”
“Most certainly it was ſº the little doctor replied indig-
nantly. “She died from blood-poisoning. We were all
agreed upon that.”
“Yet you were unable to check it,” Odell reminded him
quietly. “Were you all agreed also upon the nature of the
poison involved?”


96 UNSEEN HANDS
“What do you mean, sir?”
“The specialists admit that the case baffled them from the
start; that they advised every known method of cure, but
the infection kept spreading; and that they virtually gave
up the case at last,” Odell explained mendaciously.
“Well, if McCutchen admitted that there is no harm in
my telling you that it was unique in my experience. There
was every evidence of blood-poison, and yet it failed to re-
spond in the least degree to the treatment usual in such
cases,” Doctor Adams admitted. “The blood itself, of
which we took many samples for analysis, did not reveal the
slightest trace of any poison; and the patient, although suf-
fering great pain, remained conscious almost until the last.”
“I believe you took some of the embroidery silk with
which Mrs. Lorne had been working at the time she pricked
her finger; did you not?”
“Yes, Sergeant. I thought that perhaps some of the dye
had entered the puncture, but upon analysis it proved to be
harmless.”
The detective leaned forward in his chair.
“You took the needle also, I believe?”
The physician nodded.
“It was as clean as though it had been sterilized. The
infection must have come from something else. If people
would only realize the necessity of sterilization of even the
smallest abrasion or puncture the death-rate would be
lowered to an astonishing degree.”
“Perhaps there was something wrong with Mrs. Lorne's
blood,” Odell ventured. “Could that have been a contribu-
tory cause, Doctor?”
“No,” the other replied emphatically. “Her blood was


98 UNSEEN HANDS
against the wall and removed from it a small box, which
he laid upon the table and opened. Odell drew his chair
up to the table and took from his pocket the small black
paper packet and a piece of scarlet embroidery silk.
Then, while Doctor Adams watched him with growing
amazement, he picked up the needle from the box, opened
the packet and compared the others with it, afterward lay-
ing the packet aside. Next he took up the piece of em-
broidery silk and endeavored to thread the needle. His
maneuvers would have been comic had it not been for the
tenseness of his expression as for the following ten minutes
he struggled with his unaccustomed task. At last he looked
up at the other.
“Doctor Adams, while I was awaiting my turn to con-
sult you I studied the nurse who acts as attendant in your
waiting-room. I saw that she had keen eyes and a steady
hand. May I ask that you summon her for a moment?”
“Certainly, Sergeant.” The physician pressed a button
on his desk. “I must confess that I am tremendously
interested, but I cannot imagine what point you are trying
to satisfy yourself upon.”
“I will tell you presently,” Odell responded as the trim
young woman entered.
“Miss Wardell, this gentleman would like you to do some-
thing for him.”
She shifted her tranquil gaze from the doctor to his
visitor, and Odell held out to her the needle and silk.
“Will you thread this for me, please?”
Wondering, Miss Wardell took them from him; but after
one or two fruitless attempts to comply she raised her eyes
again to his.


THE NEEDLE 99
“It is impossible,” she said quietly. “The silk is far too
coarse for this needle. Wait.” She had spied the packet
upon the table, and opening it she selected another needle
and threaded it triumphantly. “See. This is the proper
needle for this silk; it is at least three sizes larger than the
one you gave me first.”
“Thank you.” The detective's face gave no sign of the
excitement which was surging within him. “You have de-
cided a very nice little point for me.”
When Miss Wardell had departed the physician bent over
the table and demanded: “What does this all mean?”
“It means, Doctor, that I have obtained the last proof I
required to convince me that my theory was based on fact.
This needle which was given to you was not the one with
which Mrs. Lorne pricked her finger; it had been sub-
stituted for the original, placed in the embroidery work on
which the unfortunate lady had been engaged; and only the
haste with which the substitution was made and the care-
lessness shown in selecting a needle at random from this
packet without regard to its size has revealed the truth.
Mrs. Lorne was murdered l’”
'90; OB


CHAPTER IX
DOCTOR McCUTCHEN’s THEORY
N leaving the physician's office, Odell made his way to
the establishment of the beauty expert. He found
Monsieur Florian to be an excitable, dapper little Frenchman
with a piping voice and the manners of a dancing-master.
The detective introduced himself as a friend of the Lorne
family; and Monsieur Florian was profuse in his regret
at the untimely death of his client, and only too willing to
demonstrate each phase of his treatment in order to prove
that it could not have left Mrs. Lorne in a condition which
would be conducive to blood-poisoning from the needle-
prick.
Odell departed satisfied that nothing further was to be
learned there, and after a hasty, belated luncheon he visited
the offices of each of the specialists who had been called into
consultation by Doctor Adams. Doctor Kelland was out on
a case and Doctor Day gave the detective practically the
same account of Mrs. Lorne's fatal illness as had Doctor
Adams; it was only when he reached the great McCutchen
that a ray of enlightenment came to him and he found an
unexpected ally.
That internationally famous specialist on blood-diseases
was a big enough man to admit the possibility of a mistake
100


DOCTOR MCCUTCHEN’S THEORY 101
in the diagnosis of the case, even before Odell disclosed the
fact of the substituted needle; and when that was demon-
strated to him he sprang from his chair and paced the floor,
striking his clenched fist into the cupped palm of his other
hand.
“Good God, what fools we were ! What arrant fools!
That goes to show you, Sergeant, how even those of us who
think we stand at the top of our profession take too much
for granted. There was no suggestion of foul play, the
outward indications were identical with those of septicemia
of the ordinary kind; and we looked no farther than our
noses, even though we were battling for a life.”
“Were you the first specialist called in consultation with
Doctor Adams, sir?” asked Odell.
“No, the last; Kelland was called first, then Day. It was
only when it was realized that the patient was sinking that
I was sent for; and it was too late then for me to do any-
thing for her, even if I had discovered the truth. Her
heart would not have withstood the effect of any drastic
treatment. I looked over the record of the case thoroughly
and found practically nothing to suggest, for they had tried
everything known to medical science.” He was still pacing
the floor; but now he turned and faced the detective
squarely. “I should have known then that there was some-
thing vitally wrong, but appearances deceived me. I own
that I had some misgivings at first, but Kelland and Day
were so positive and the patient so far gone that I permitted
my judgment to be swayed, although I was not satisfied in
my own mind; I could not understand why the patient had
not responded to the treatment.”
He recommenced his restless promenade, and Odell was


102 UNSEEN HANDS
silent for a moment or two. At last he remarked thought-
fully:
“It is a pity that there was no autopsy. I suppose it is
too late now, Doctor McCutchen?”
“No. The autopsy must take place now, although I doubt
that it will disclose anything of value toward revealing the
truth. There are some poisons, you know, which can be
introduced in just such a manner as by the prick of a needle
that leave absolutely no trace in the system, and their effect
is quick and sure; but they are rare and beyond the reach
of a layman.” He paused beside the desk. “I presume it
would be unprofessional for me to ask if the family have
any reason to suspect that Mrs. Lorne's death was not the
result of sheer accident other than the fact that the needle
was substituted?”
“I will tell you this, Doctor, under the seal of professional
secrecy. You have heard of the tragic accident which be-
fell Mrs. Lorne's eldest son only last week when while
shaving he severed the jugular vein and died before help
could reach him? I have good reason, amounting almost
to proof, that his was not the hand which held the razor,”
Odell replied very gravely. “In addition to that, two at-
tempts have been made since upon the lives of two other
members of the family; and there is not the slightest clue
to the identity of the murderer. These later attempts had
they been successful would both have passed as accidents
also, but for the fact that the guilty person had grown bolder
and left unmistakable traces of his handiwork behind.”
“Great heavens, this is frightful!” The specialist sank
into his chair. “I read of young Mr. Chalmers's death, of
course, but looked upon it unquestioningly as an accident.


DOCTOR MCCUTCHEN’S THEORY 103
I had noted his highly nervous condition at the time when
I was called in consultation on his mother's case, and the
newspaper account of the manner of his death appeared
plausible enough. It is a horrible thing to believe, because
taken in connection with the probable poisoning of his
mother it points to the work—”
He hesitated and the detective finished the sentence for
him.
“Of someone on the inside, some member of the house-
hold? Exactly, Doctor.”
“But there is no clue, you say, to the identity of that
someone? Has not Mr. Lorne any suspicion, any theory to
advance?”
“Mr. Lorne was one of the intended victims himself and
is too ill now to give me any information; but from the
few words I did exchange with him I believe him to be as
much in the dark as I am. They haven't an enemy in the
world that I have been able to discover, Doctor; and the
attorney who has been their family lawyer for many years
has supplied me with the most minute details of their his-
tory.” Odell paused. “If the crimes are not the work of
someone in the house, there is at least a member of the
household who has a guilty knowledge of them, for there
must have been an accomplice inside to admit him. But I
am taking up your valuable time, Doctor?”
“You are not, Sergeant,” the specialist replied with
emphasis. “A frightful mistake has been made by myself
and my colleagues, and I want to do all that I can to re-
trieve it. Unfortunately, I was called in too late to save
Mrs. Lorne in any event, as I told you; but I feel equally
culpable with the others. Did you tell Doctor Day what


104 UNSEEN HANDS
you have told me about the substitution of the needle?”
“No, Doctor. Merely that the family physician had ad-
mitted that the case stumped him from the beginning. The
medical examiner will notify them both as well as Doctor
Kelland and yourself of the time which will be settled upon
for the exhumation of the body and the autopsy.” The de-
tective rose as if on the point of departure. “In the mean-
time, while the necessary formalities are being arranged, I
wonder if you could give me something to work on?”
“I should be only too happy to, Sergeant. This is going
to be rather a blow to my colleagues and myself when the
truth reaches the public. But I'm not thinking of that now;
all I want is to see justice done; and to be honest I feel a
certain amount of professional curiosity. I'm anxious to
know what poison was used and how we were all so cleverly
hoodwinked.” Doctor McCutchen's keen eyes narrowed be-
hind their tortoise-rimmed glasses. “I’ll be glad to have
you call upon me for any help that I may be able to give
you.”
A discreet knock sounded upon the door, and at the
specialist's impatient bark of admission a white-clad atten-
dant put her head inside.
“Doctor, will you see—”
“Nobody this afternoon. Not at home until six!” He
interrupted her shortly, and as the head withdrew he turned
to the detective. “What information can I give you,
Sergeant?”
“You spoke just now of certain poisons which might have
been used and which would leave no traces in the system,
Doctor. Will you tell me about them and where they might


DOCTOR McCUTCHEN’S THEORY 105
be obtained by someone not a member of the medical pro-
fession?”
“There are comparatively few—” The specialist broke
off abruptly. “I tell you, there's something wrong with that
poisoned-needle theory. I have made about as profound a
study of toxicology as anyone in the country, and I do not
know of any poison so introduced and leaving no trace which
would produce that effect of a slowly progressing septicemia.
There are some which would cause instant death and others
which would merely paralyze. I naturally do not care to
give an opinion before the autopsy, especially in view of the
mistake which you have convinced me that my colleagues
and I have made; but I don't mind advancing a theory
for your consideration. -
“What if that needle had not been poisoned in the sense
you mean? What if it had merely been dipped in the
serum from some other case of blood-poisoning? That is
the one serious danger which surgeons have to face, you
know, and which has brought about meticulous care in
sterilization. The result would have been exactly what was
seen in Mrs. Lorne's case at first.”
“Yes; but she did not respond to any of the forms of
treatment which were tried.” Odell saw his carefully
built-up theory falling to pieces. “You are positive, Doctor,
that there is no poison?”
The specialist waved the question aside impatiently.
“I said “at first,' Sergeant. Let us suppose, then, that
Mrs. Lorne is really suffering from infection: let us sup-
pose also that the would-be murderer or his confederate is
right at hand, a trusted member of the household. As I
33


106 UNSEEN HANDS
remember, Doctor Adams was not called in until the third
day and by that time the infection had spread well up into
the lower arm. One of his first steps would be to make an
incision near the original puncture for drainage. What if
after this was accomplished and the first treatment had been
finished but before the patient had begun to respond to it,
the dressing had been removed and the incision reinfected?
What if this were repeated until death ensued? Mrs.
Lorne would have died from septicemia, true; but she would
have been murdered as surely as if she had been stabbed
through the heart.”
“By George, I believe you have hit it, Doctor,” Odell ex-
claimed. Then a shade of doubt crossed his face, to be as
quickly suppressed, and he added hastily, “I’m going to act
upon that theory at once. Thank you for giving me so
much of your time.”
“You will keep me informed of your progress?” the
specialist asked as they shook hands.
“Surely; and you will hear from the medical examiner
about the autopsy. Thank you again, sir, and good after-
noon.”
In the street once more, Odell turned his footsteps in the
direction of the Meade house. The specialist's theory was
ingenious; but had it been a wholly disinterested one? If
it could be proven it would, of course, exculpate himself
and his colleagues from all censure in the matter of their
diagnosis; but there seemed on the face of it to be insuper-
able difficulties in the path of such an hypothesis. One or
the other of the two nurses must have been constantly on
guard, and Miss Meade had scarcely left her sister's bed-
side. Not even she would have been permitted to change


DOCTOR McCUTCHEN’S THEORY 107
the dressings; that could only have been done by Doctor
Adams himself or the nurses—
The nurses! He made a mental note to learn all that he
could about them at the earliest possible moment; but mean-
while the afternoon was advancing and much remained to be
done before he reported to the captain of his bureau that
night. Much that had occurred in the house of mystery
that day had been inexplicable to him, and there were so
many loose threads to be gathered together that he felt as
if he were attempting to solve four problems at once. A
score of questions were teeming in his brain, and not the
least insistent of them was the significance of Gerda's hint
about insanity.
When he reached the house Jane, who admitted him, in-
formed him that the doctor had come and gone. He started
toward the drawing-room but hearing the low murmur of
voices paused.
“Who is here?” he asked.
“Oh, just Mr. Tad—Mr. Traymore, sir. The young
gentleman who comes to see Miss Nan from next door,”
Jane simpered meaningly. “I’ll call Miss Meade.”
“No. Tell Miss Chalmers, the elder Miss Chalmers, that
I would like to see her in the library at once, please.”
“She's layin’ down,” Jane observed somewhat doubtfully.
“She had hysterics all the morning and she told Gerda that
she wasn't to be disturbed now by anybody.”
“Take my message nevertheless.” There was a sharp
note of authority in his tone, and Jane scurried away.
The temperamental Miss Chalmers was not to be so
easily bullied, however, and it was a good twenty minutes
before she trailed languidly into the library with an air of


110 UNSEEN HANDS
fection for him. I know it must sound disloyal to speak so
of one's own brother; but he doesn't care for anyone. His
only pleasure is to torment and wound others. Last night
father threatened again to have him put away in a sani-
tarium; and I wish he would. Aunt Effie is the only one
who has opposed that.”
“Miss Meade is very much attached to him?”
“Well, I suppose she ought to be.” Cissie shrugged. “It
is her fault that he is a cripple.”
“Miss Meade's fault?” Odell asked casually.
“Yes.” There was a little vindictive gleam in her round
blue eyes. “She dropped him when he was a baby, and he
became hunchbacked. She has simply idolized him ever
since—remorse, I imagine—and spoiled him dreadfully.
None of the rest of us have ever counted with her; and
she'd go through fire and water for him.”
“Why did your stepfather suggest placing him in a sani-
tarium? Is his mind affected?” Odell's tone was still
casual, and his eyes appeared to be fastened upon the paper-
weight which he was balancing between his fingers, but in
reality he was watching each changing expression of the
girl's face.
“No; I would scarcely say that.” She smiled scornfully.
“He is quite the most brilliant member of the family, but his
cleverness is all warped, somehow. Father meant a sani-
tarium for cripples out in the country; for Rannie is really
an invalid, you know. He spends most of his time in bed,
with Aunt Effie nursing him and submitting to his abuse.
After last night's scene when he mocked us all I—I felt as
if my nerves just wouldn't stand any more.”
“You were saying much the same thing to your aunt in


DOCTOR MCCUTCHEN’S THEORY 111
the hall this morning, and when she stopped you she said
she wished it had been you. What did she mean by that
remark, Miss Chalmers?”
“That it had been me whom she dropped instead of
Rannie, I imagine,” Cissie flashed resentfully. “Aunt Effie
is always like that when you say one word against Rannie.”
“You say he is an invalid. Is he weak physically?”
“His spine troubles him a great deal at times, and he
cannot walk very far; but he has tremendous strength in
his hands and arms. He used to pinch us black and blue
when he was in a temper as a child.” Cissie halted sud-
denly, and when she spoke again there was a rising note
of apprehension in her tones. “Why are you asking me
all these questions about him, Sergeant Odell? Surely you
don't suspect him of—of-”
“Do you, Miss Chalmers?” He shot the question at her;
and she tossed her head indignantly, but not before he had
seen her quail.
“Certainly not! How dare you insinuate such a thing!
My brother a-a murderer? You must be mad!” Her
voice rose shrilly and then broke, and she sank into her chair
and covered her face with both hands. “Oh, I don't know
what to think! Some one of us must know ! I am afraid—
afraid!”


IN THE PARROT’S CAGE 113
detailed one of his men to keep a sharp look-out on that
young gentleman's activities; trail him if he left the house,
intercept any letter he might attempt to send, and record a
possible telephone message. Perhaps he had already tried
to communicate with Drew. -
A discreet knock upon the library door interrupted his
meditations, and he opened it to find Taylor, another of the
men to whom he had assigned a special duty, confronting
him.
“Jane told me you had got back, Sergeant, and I thought
I had better report to you now if you've got time to hear
me.”
“Shut the door and fire away, Taylor.” Odell seated
himself once more. “You searched the servants’ rooms
first, as I directed?”
“Yes, sir. That butler must have changed from his livery
into a plain suit; and Jane says that his derby hat, light
overcoat, and a cane with a dog's head on it are missing.
Everything is wide open in his room, none of the bureau
drawers nor the trunk locked; and he left in such a hurry
that he forgot his bank-book, although there is no check-
book around.”
“Have you the bank-book?” -
“Here it is.” Taylor handed him a thin tan book and a
handful of letters, together with a page or two of papers
upon which names and figures were arranged in a sort of
chart.
Odell ran his eye down the columns in the bank-book
first.
“Humph! He had over two thousand last spring, and
his account has fluctuated since like a miniature stock-


IN THE PARROT’S CAGE 115
new, as though she had just bought them before she came
here, Sergeant; and there isn't a letter or scrap of paper
in her room. I’ve been makin' up to Jane to get the dope,
like I always do on a case of this kind; and she tells me that
Gerda hasn’t written a letter nor received one in all the
six months she has been here. Now, I ask you, is that
usual with servants?” Taylor leaned over the table the
better to carry his point. “I’ve gone through the rooms of
many of 'em but this is the first one I ever saw that didn't
have a personal thing in it except just clothes and toilet
articles all unmarked. The store tabs have even been taken
out of the dresses and coats and hats. There's another
thing strange about 'em, too; they're all dark and plain but
they're fine quality, finer than any ordinary servant would
appreciate or pay for; and the toilet articles are real ivory,
or I'll eat my hat!”
“Sure you haven't been listening too much to Jane?”
Odell looked quizzically at his subordinate. “She’s got it in
for Gerda and tried to make a mystery of. her to me; but
I’ve already interviewed the woman, and although she is a
superior sort for a lady's maid her story is straight enough;
she gave me a complete account of where she worked be-
fore and how she happened to get this place. Lay off her,
Taylor; you'll draw a blank there.”
It was no part of Odell's plan to have his henchmen get a
line on the case and begin to speculate on their own account
concerning it; they were there merely to carry out his orders
and he would brook no self-appointed assistants as a matter
of authority.
“Oh, all right,” Taylor responded shortly. “Have it
your own way, Sergeant; but if you ask me—”


116 UNSEEN HANDS
“I didn't!” Odell interrupted sharply. “Where did you
search next?”
“The young lady, the youngest one, was sitting with her
father, so I had a chance to give her room the once over;
but there was nothin’ doin’ there either. She has a coal-
grate, but it was clean and polished.” Taylor sat back
somewhat sulkily in his chair, but he was careful to reply
promptly. “Her desk was full of the things a young society
girl usually keeps—invitations and theater programs and
dance-cards and all that flummery. There were some letters
of condolence, too, on the death of her mother and brother,
and a bundle tied with a blue ribbon; lot of sentimental kid
stuff and all of them signed ‘Tad.’”
“I know all about that.” Odell cast a glance toward the
door. “Anything else?”
“High-brow books and a golf-bag, riding-breeches, and
a Red-Cross uniform that's seen a lot of wear.” Taylor's
good-natured grin reasserted itself. “She must be a regular
girl if she is a swell, that Miss Nan. There wasn't a thing
locked in her room, either.” -
“Her room is on the third floor opposite Mr. Chalmers's,
isn't it? Did you see Porter?”
“I didn't see him but I heard him.” Taylor's grin ex-
panded into a chuckle. “Mr. Gene must have seen him on
guard and invited him in, for from what I heard outside the
door they were playin’ ‘rum' together and Porter had about
mortgaged his next three months’ pay to the young gentle-
man l’”
Odell did not smile. He felt that he had taken Gene's
measure to the weak, snobbish soul of him; and if he had


IN THE PARROT’S CAGE 117
stooped to fraternize with a plainclothesman there was some
ulterior motive behind it. Porter was not easily taken in,
but Odell resolved to caution him nevertheless.
“I went down to the second floor, but I couldn't disturb
Mr. Lorne of course; and the old lady, Miss Meade, was in
her room. Just then Miss Chalmers—Miss Cissie, as Jane
calls her—came out like a whirlwind, slammed her door,
and went off down the back stairs clicking her heels at every
step as if she were mad clear through; and I took a peep
into her room!” Taylor threw up both hands. “Lace and
ribbons, perfume and powder, and all in a hopeless jumble.
It'd take a day to go through it properly; but I steered
straight for the only thing I could find locked up, a little
drawer in her vanity dresser. The only things I found in it.
after I got it open were these notes, a box of cigarettes, a
bottle of medicine, and a little round jar of rouge. Looks
like the young lady was tryin’ to learn to be a sport on the
quiet. There was a grate in her room, too; but it was as
clean as the one in her sister's. The notes are all in the
same handwriting, you see, and all as proper as you please;
but this one taken in connection with the bottle of medicine
I found in the drawer looks kind of"—Taylor recalled his
late rebuke and shrugged. “Oh, well, judge for yourself, sir.”
He placed the notes before Odell upon the table and
pointed out one of them as he spoke. A glance sufficed to
show the detective that they were, as Taylor had said, in
the same writing; and that writing was the unmistakable
hand of Farley Drew, whose letters to Gene were now re-
posing in Odell's pocket. He picked up the note indicated
and read: -


118 UNSEEN HANDS
“DEAR PRINCESS GOLDILocks:
“I send with this the magic potion to drive away that
sleeplessness of which you told me. It is quite harmless,
really, but don't take more at a time than I told you. I
dare not say what I wish your dreams may be, but I am
sure they will be pleasant ones. May I hope to see you
to-morrow at the Landis'?
“Ever faithfully,
“FARLEY.”
Odell folded the note and put it into his pocket with the
others.
“What was that bottle of medicine you found in the
drawer, Taylor?” he asked.
“It was labeled ‘extract of camomilla,” but I’ve seen and
smelled and tasted chloral before. A fine little habit to
start a young girl on! I didn't bring it down to you, but
if you want it I’ll slip in the first chance I get—”
“No, don't disturb it as long as you're sure of its contents;
but get in when the opportunity offers and put back these
notes in the drawer. Is that all?”
Taylor hesitated, and his expression changed.
“Well, no, Sergeant. When I came out of that room
just a few minutes ago I heard the most unearthly screechin'
and chatterin' goin’ on behind a closed door across the hall;
and then somebody said quite distinctly over and over as if
they were bragging about it: ‘Nobody knows how strong
I am. Nobody knows how strong I am.’ It was a queer
voice, and I stopped to listen. After it kept that up for
a while it changed and began to whimper like a kid fretting.
‘Hot,” it repeated again and again. ‘Hot. It burns.”


IN THE PARROT’S CAGE 119
“I knocked, meaning to ask a fool question as an excuse
just to see who was talking, and the same voice called ‘come
in’; so I opened the door. There, right facin' me was a
big parrot's cage with the blame bird in it hangin' upside
down first from one foot and then from the other, and
twistin' its neck around so as to stare at me. It was a
man's room all right, with a bunch of neckties hangin' on
a rack by the dresser and a collar-box and military brushes
in plain sight. I didn't notice any fireplace or grate. The
head of the bed was hidden by the open door, but the foot
of it looked smooth; and I never thought anyone was there.
“I started to walk over to the parrot's cage when a high
whining voice behind me made me turn in a hurry; and
there all curled up in a knot on the bed, as high up on the
pillows as he could get, was a hunchback, grinnin' at me
with a mean twisted kind of a smile.
“I don't mind tellin' you, Sergeant, that it gave me a
turn; for though Jane had said somethin’ about young Mr.
Chalmers bein’ crippled I didn't expect anythin’ like that.
He's got a face—but wait till you see him. I backed up to
the door, apologizin’ as well as I could; but he pulled him-
self up in bed and asked if I was Sergeant Odell. I said
‘no,” that I was just one of your men. I could see then
that he was only a kid, about seventeen or eighteen, but he
looks as old as the world.
“He asked in a kind of a mockin’ way if we'd made up
our minds yet who the practical joker was that had dropped
the picture on his brother and thrown his stepfather down-
stairs; and when I said ‘no’ again, he laughed in a shrill
cackle like an old woman, and the parrot imitated him. I
got out of that room as soon as I could, and I met Jane at


120 UNSEEN HANDS
the foot of the servants’ staircase. She told me you were
here, and I thought I’d report, as I’ve finished the job you
gave me, all but Miss Meade's room and Mr. Lorne's and
Mr. Gene’s.”
“How about Kelly and Smith?”
Taylor grinned once more.
“Kelly's down in the cellar diggin' in the coal for those
tools you told him to find; he's looked everywhere else.
Smith's down in the kitchen tryin’ out his correspondence-
school French on the cook. Gerda wouldn't give him a
look!”
“Well, go and cultivate Jane, and see if you can get any
dope out of her along the lines I told you this morning.
Work on her fears and discount her imagination, and you'll
soon have every detail of the past week from her point of
view. I'm going now to have a little talk with Randall
Chalmers.”
As he went slowly up the back stairs Odell mentally listed
the data which Taylor's search of the rooms had revealed.
The most significant point seemed to be Gerda's strange
aloofness not only from the other members of the house-
hold but from the world in general, and her efforts to efface
all record of the past and render it as difficult as possible
for her identity to be traced back farther than the day
she had entered the house, as evidenced by her care in re-
moving even the tabs from her clothing.
Yet she had willingly enough volunteered information
that morning as to where she had worked previously, and it
was improbable that the late Mrs. Lorne would have taken
into her service, particularly in such an intimate position


IN THE PARROT’S CAGE . 121
as that of lady's maid, a woman of whose past record and
references she had not satisfied herself.
Leaving the problem for future meditation, Odell walked
softly along the hall and paused before Randall Chalmers's
door. From behind it there came to him the raucous voice
of the parrot raised once more in the same whimpering
plaint which Taylor had heard: “Hot. It burns.”
He knocked upon the door.
“Come in,” a whining voice called irascibly; and the de-
tective entered.
The bed was empty but upon the couch was curled a
hunchbacked figure clad in a grotesquely patterned bathrobe.
Odell was conscious of a pair of flashing black eyes staring
at him from behind a disordered shock of long dark hair,
and of thin lips drawn into an indescribable leer. Yet the
detective's tones were curiously gentle when he spoke.
“Sorry to intrude upon you, Mr. Chalmers; but I know
you'll help me if you can, and when I tire you just tell me
to go away. I'm Odell.”
He had struck the right note, and his primary object was
achieved; for the boy pulled himself up on his pillows with
an air of suddenly awakened interest and pushed the hair
back from his eyes.
“And what makes you think I can help you?” he de-
manded bruskly but with the habitual whine temporarily
banished from his tones.
“Well, for one thing, you certainly hit the nail on the head
last night at dinner, you know.” Odell's smile robbed the
words of any offensive significance. “Your family were
laboring under what we might call a hunch, I suppose; but


124 UNSEEN HANDS
well as I think I know the family and small as my regard
is for most of them, could I believe any one of them capable
of conceiving and carrying out such a scheme.
“Gene is too weak and cowardly for one—you see I am
perfectly frank with you. The girls are out of it, I'm sure;
Nan's only a serious-minded kid, and Cissie is a selfish,
calculating little beast, but there is nothing of the potential
murderess in her make-up. Aunt Effie is afraid of her own
shadow, and she wouldn't hurt a mouse; while as for Dad
—well, he worshiped mother, and her death nearly killed
him; so if all these accidents were the work of one person
that lets him out. Moreover, he wouldn't have deliberately
thrown himself downstairs to avert a suspicion which didn't
even exist; nor did he have an opportunity last night, as
far as I can learn, to tamper with that top step. Old Sam
Titheredge stayed overnight and shared his room.”
There was something—a touch of cynicism, the shadow of
a sneer—in the boy's tone which made Odell scan his face
more closely, but he merely asked:
“And the servants P”
“Peters is a pompous old fool, and I think he has only
beaten it because he is scared stiff; Marcelle is stupid and
shrewd at the same time, like so many of the peasant class
in France, but she's loyal and crazy about all of us. Jane
is a blockhead; and Gerda—well, what do you think of
Gerda yourself, Sergeant?”
A suggestion of that significant cunning smile played once
more about his bloodless lips as he put the question; and
the detective replied noncommittally:
“She appears to be a very superior sort of maid.”
The boy chuckled dryly.


IN THE PARROT’S CAGE 125
“Cagey, aren't you? Not that I blame you; I suppose
I'm under suspicion myself along with the rest. And the
opinions I’ve expressed to you of my family aren't exactly
dutiful; are they? The fact is that I have no more use for
any of them than they have for me, and plain speaking is
one of the few indulgences left to me. Aunt Effie is the
only one who hasn't treated me ever since I can remember
as though I were some sort of blight on the family. Not
that I'm looking for sympathy.” The black eyes flashed.
“I’m not trying to make out a brief for myself, Sergeant;
but I wouldn't take the trouble to put any of them out of
the way.”
Despite the callous words Odell felt a certain sympathy
for the pitiful, repulsive creature lying there; for beneath
the bitter contempt he read the underlying resentment of the
boy's lonely, proud spirit. Warped though his mentality
might be by constant brooding over his infirmity, there had
been a ring of sincerity in his tone, and the detective re-
sponded quickly:
“I do not think that you would. But about Gerda; your
mother was quite satisfied with her services, was she motº
Liked her, in fact?”
“I suppose so or she would not have kept her along.
What's the idea, Sergeant? Think her a bit above her
place? She may be; but if she has any ulterior motive in
being here, you can take it from me it is not for the purpose
of exterminating us.”
Could he have spoken from knowledge? Was there a
mystery within a mystery in this strange household? In
the presence of this weirdly precocious lad the detective ex-
perienced again that same sense of bafflement which had


126 UNSEEN HANDS
attacked him more than once since he took hold of the case,
as if a door had suddenly been shut in his face.
Rannie had turned his head away and closed his eyes
as if to indicate that as far as he was concerned the inter-
view was over, and Odell rose.
“Well, I won't bother you any more now; and I’ll see
that my men do not. I understand that one of them
blundered in a while ago.”
“No. Old Socks here, short for Socrates, you know, in-
vited him in. Didn't you, old boy?”
He nodded toward the parrot's cage, and the bird still
hanging upside down ruffled its feathers and remarked
dolorously:
“It burns.”
“What is he talking about?” Odell walked over to the
cage and poked a tentative finger between the bars.
“Look out, he'll give you a nasty nip,” Rannie warned.
“He doesn't like strangers—well, what do you know about
that?”
The parrot had hooded his eyes in speculative fashion,
shifted his feet, and finally sidled over and presented his
head to be scratched. For a full minute Odell stood there
with his back to the couch, his eyes traveling swiftly over
the cage and its inmate. Then he turned and nodding
casually to Rannie started for the door.
“Wise old bird,” he commented.
“You’ll drop in and let me know how you get on?” the
boy asked almost eagerly.
Odell promised, and closing the door softly behind him
he went downstairs. The last two minutes in the invalid's
room had served to dash to chaos all his previous calcula-


CHAPTER XI
THE VOICE
APTAIN LEWIS looked up with a grin as Odell en-
tered the bureau at Police Headquarters that evening
and sank into a chair beside the big desk.
“I thought there must be something doing when you
'phoned down for eight of the boys to-day,” he commented.
“What's going on at the Meade house?”
“Murder,” responded Odell succinctly. “Systematic
murder on a bigger scale than this city has known for years,
and an inside job. Someone is trying to wipe out the whole
family, Captain; and I have struck a million clues and no
motive. In all the five years I have been on your staff I’ve
never seen anything to equal this case.”
The captain gave a low whistle.
“Murder, eh? Sure of it, Odell?”
“Does a man cut his own throat by accident, severing the
jugular vein; drop his razor, grope around with bloody
hands to save himself, and then before he dies hunt for
that razor so that he shall be found with it in his hand?”
demanded the detective. “You know how young Julian
Chalmers was supposed to have died last week. I have
proof that someone took his razor from him, cut his throat
with it, and then slipped it back into his hand as he lay
dead; but they didn't take into consideration the fact that
128


THE VOICE 129
the marks of both his hands in blood were upon the side
of the bathtub.”
“You can prove that?”
“Two reliable witnesses. Moreover, I’m convinced that
his mother, Mrs. Richard Lorne, was also murdered not a
month before.”
“Mrs. Lorne died of blood-poisoning.”
“Yes. By poison with which she was deliberately if in-
directly infected.”
Odell gave his chief a detailed description of the case as
he had learned it from the physicians, and demonstrated
once more his discovery of the substitution of the needle;
and the captain's skeptical manner changed.
“Good work, Odell!” he exclaimed. “Your proof is more
conclusive in the instance of young Chalmers's death than in
his mother's; but it is circumstantial enough in that alone
to warrant a thorough investigation. I’ll see the Chief
Medical examiner to-night and arrange for an autopsy at
once. We'll have to keep a soft pedal on the press, though,
and go slow on this ‘inside job’ stuff until we have the
dope. The Meades are an influential old family and Lorne
has big money interests back of him. Did you get an inter-
view with each of them?”
“All except the youngest daughter and Lorne himself;
but I saw them both for a moment. Any news of that
butler, Peters?”
“Not yet, but I’m having his sister's house watched.
What was that you handed me over the 'phone this morning
about two attempts having been made upon the lives of
two members of the family within the last twenty-four
hours?”


130 UNSEEN HANDS
The detective told his story from the inquiries which he
and Titheredge had made at the carpenter's shop concern-
ing the mysterious telephone message to the conclusion of
his interview with Randall Chalmers and the discovery in
the parrot's cage; and after he had finished the captain sat
for a while in silence.
“Well, let's say that you have established proof of the
murder of Julian Chalmers and the attempted murder of his
brother and of Richard Lorne,” he remarked at last. “You
have also strong circumstantial evidence of the murder of
Mrs. Lorne; and it all points to an inside job. I think for
the time being we can drop Miss Meade and the two young
ladies out of it; that leaves Lorne himself, the two Chal-
mers boys, and the four servants. What do you make of
that cripple?”
“He has abnormally long arms, and hands like talons;
and his attitude toward his family shows that he is lacking
in moral sense to a certain degree, provided this utter cal-
lousness of his isn't a pose. I admit he has me guessing,”
Odell replied frankly. “He’s only a kid, yet he talks like
an old man; and his brain is keen if it is warped. Now,
these two attempted crimes, like the two already accom-
plished, show remarkable ingenuity coupled with a careless-
ness in execution in each case that would seem to mark them
as the conception of a mind that was erratic, to say the least;
and the hacked picture-wires and sawed step of the stairs
would both have required strength of no mean order. The
hint that maid Gerda tried to give me, too, about insanity
sticks in my mind. Who could she have meant but that
boy? -
“There is the sawdust, also. When I first examined the


THE VOICE 131
stairs I saw that, it had all been carefully removed except
a few flecks, and I started on a still hunt to find out what
had been done with it. I discovered the ashes as you know
in Gene Chalmers's fireplace, but I wasn't satisfied. Wood-
ashes smudge, but paper ashes form just a fluff; and the
grate was too clean. That's why I set Taylor the task of
examining the fireplaces in the other rooms; but he found
no trace.
“It’s evident that whoever wanted to get rid of them
had to do it in a hurry, and for some reason couldn't or
didn't dare use a grate. There is none in the hunchback's
room; but there was that metal tray in the bottom of the
parrot's cage, which could be and undoubtedly was used to
burn the sawdust on.
“The proceeding was so hurried, however, that the saw-
dust was not entirely burned. The tray wasn't cleaned, and
it was returned to the cage so hot that it blistered the
parrot's feet. Then the ashes of the sawdust were dumped
in Gene's grate.”
“Exactly. To throw suspicion upon him,” the captain
commented. “So that's the case against the hunchback as
far as it goes?”
“I’m not so sure,” Odell demurred thoughtfully. “You’ve
heard of what these criminologist sharks on the other side
call the elementary and secondary mind, haven't you,
Captain?”
His superior grunted.
“You know what I think of all that bunk,” he said non-
committally.
“Well, those are only terms used to classify the different
degrees of cleverness on the part of the criminal, anyway.”


132 UNSEEN HANDS
Odell's diplomacy came to his aid. “If someone else had
burned that sawdust and put the ashes in Gene's grate to
throw suspicion on him it wouldn't have taken much mental
effort; would it? But if Gene himself had burned it in the
tray from the bottom of the cage in Randall's room, pur-
posely put back the tray uncleaned to leave the evidence, and
then emptied the ashes into his own grate to make it look
as if his brother were guilty and trying to incriminate him,
that would show scheming of a rather higher order;
wouldn’t it?” -
“What are you trying to put over, Odell?” demanded the
captain. “Got anything on this Gene that you haven't told
me about? From what I gather he is a kind of a weak-
kneed but harmless young pup; and he certainly wouldn't
have cut the wires of that portrait almost through and then
sat under it and waited for it to fall on him.”
“Weakness directed by a stronger and more evil person-
ality may very easily develop into viciousness, all the more
dangerous because in a moment of action it would be backed
by the desperation of panic,” the detective remarked. “I’m
not trying to preach, Captain; you know yourself that the
strong-minded crooks are the easiest to handle in the long
run. We haven't any proof that Gene Chalmers ever sat
for an instant under that portrait at the desk last night.
The ladies and Randall had retired, and the only persons
near were Lorne and his attorney in the next room with a
heavy door closed between.
“What was to prevent that young man from cutting the
wires of the portrait with the electric file—I have it on the
authority of an expert that such an instrument makes only
a low buzzing sound, and it is quite possible that it would


THE VOICE 133
not be heard through the massive walls of that old-fashioned
house—waiting until he saw that it was about to come down
and then going in on some flimsy excuse about one of the
letters to his stepfather and the attorney in order to establish
the fact of his narrow escape?
“I admit that I do not believe him capable of conceiving
such a plan; but if the details were drilled into him by
someone else and the incentive strong enough, I am con-
vinced that he could carry it out. Do you remember my
telling you about some letters that I took from his desk after
I had interrupted him in his task of burning them? I have
them here and they will recall someone to you whom we
have been trying to get for a long time.” -
Captain Lewis took the letters, glanced over them,
frowned at the signature, and at last brought his mighty
fist down resoundingly on the desk.
“Farley Drew I So he had his hooks into that lad too,
did he?”
“Not only Gene, but the other brother also, I understand;
the one who is dead. There is a certain note here in par-
ticular that I want you to read.”
Odell selected the one which he had first hurriedly
scanned in Gene's room that morning and laid it before his
chief.
“‘Where do you think you get off—in too deep—meant
you should be—mother's went off without a hitch—got to
be done by the sixth—mean business—Farley Drew.’”
The captain skimmed it hastily aloud and glanced up at his
subordinate. “It is coercion, of course, perhaps blackmail,
but what has it to do—” -
“Gene's mother was already dead when that note was


134 UNSEEN HANDS
written, as you can tell if you look at the postmark, and
that reference to the sixth may mean anything; it just hap-
pens, however, that that was the date on which Julian Chal-
mers was killed.”
“Great Jehoshaphat!” Captain Lewis almost leaped from
his chair. “The Assistant D. A. has tried to get him in
more than one vice clean-up but we never thought we could
hang a thing like this on him! I'll have him down here
to-night and sweat him out. Anything in the rest of these
notes of a threatening nature?”
“No. They are merely to make or break appointments,”
Odell smiled. “Don’t be too sure of landing your bird here
to-night, Captain.”
His superior, who had just pressed a button on his desk,
turned to him with a muttered exclamation very like an
oath.
“You don’t mean that he’s beaten it?” he demanded.
“Did that Gene get away from your man and warn him?”
“On the contrary, Gene has made no move to communi-
cate with him in any way since I started the investigation.
That is why I am quite certain that he managed in some
manner to reach him either last night or early this morning
and caution him that Lorne and the attorney had decided
to call usin,” Odell explained. “He lives at the Bellemonde
Annex up near the park, but I don't believe you will find
him at home this evening.”
Nevertheless the captain issued a curt order to the plain-
clothesman who appeared in obedience to the summons,
and then turned once more to Odell.
“Couldn't you get anything out of the boy himself; this
Gene P”


THE VOICE 135
“No; and the weakest of all the weak spots in this skele-
ton of a theory of mine is that I cannot believe him capable
of having had any part in the death of his mother. I told
you of the quarrel between himself and his brother on the
last night of Julian's life, which the cook overheard; and
it is just possible that they may have had a struggle with
that razor in the early morning; but I don't think he would
have had nerve enough to go immediately afterward to join
the others at the breakfast-table and wait for discovery to
come.” The detective shook his head. “As a case, it is
full of holes any way you look at it; and yet there is that
coincidence of the date, the sixth.
“There is another thing, too. Conspicuous upon Gene's
dressing-table is a silver photograph-frame, empty. And
when in the course of my questioning I asked him if he
and his brother got on well together he flushed, and his eyes
flew to that frame; but he looked away again quickly when
he was conscious that I had noticed the glance. Titheredge
told me that part of the trouble between Julian and his
stepfather over money matters was caused by his infatua-
tion for a woman; and Marcelle when she listened to the
brothers’ quarrel that night heard Gene call Julian a thief.
“Now, there are other precious things that can be stolen
besides those which have money value; love, for instance.
If a young man keeps an ornate photograph frame upon his
dressing-table it usually contains the picture of the object
of his present regard; but when that frame is empty it
might be that he had destroyed the picture in a moment of
jealous rage but kept the frame there as a reminder of his
injury. Gene is the sullen sort who would hug misery, real
or fancied, to his bosom and nurse revenge. If he had been


136 UNSEEN HANDS
crazy about some girl and his brother had taken her from
him, it would have been a strong enough motive to at least
cause a resumption of the quarrel in the early morning.”
“You’re trying to convince yourself, Odell,” the captain
accused him.
“I am trying to find among the tangible clues which I
have gathered and from the score of curious, possibly
significant things which I observed in that strange household
to-day, a single thread that will lead to the truth.”
“What curious things?” asked the captain.
“Why is that woman Gerda occupying so menial a position
when she is obviously far above it? What did she mean by
that veiled hint about insanity? What does the hunchback
Rannie know about her? These questions may all be beside
the-point at issue; yet I feel that in some way they are con-
nected with it, although there is no place for them in the
theory that Gene knows anything about the events of the
past twenty-four hours, to say nothing of being implicated
in his brother's death.” Odell rose and began to pace the
floor of the office as if the mental struggle within him re-
quired some physical expression. “Why did Peters run
away? Who telephoned the carpenter to send someone to
hang the portrait before it had fallen? Who does Cissie
Chalmers fear? Is it Rannie; and if so has she any reason
for that fear other than her very evident dislike of him?”
“It looks like a queer tangle, all right,” his superior ad-
mitted. “You’ve done a good bit for one day, Odell. After
the autopsy on Mrs. Lorne—”
“That can only prove what we know already or else leave
us where we are now. Even if there is a negative result,
which is almost a foregone conclusion, it cannot disprove


THE VOICE 137
the fact that she was poisoned; for Doctor McCutchen him-
self said there was no trace of poison discoverable in her
blood-cultures, yet he is as convinced as I am of the truth.”
Odell turned suddenly and faced his superior. “The thing
that gets me is that the guilty person is there beneath that
roof, talked with me to-day, was within reach of my hand;
and yet I was helpless to accuse. It is maddening! I’ve
practically proved the fact of two murders and two at-
tempted ones; I have the sawdust ashes, the pieces of filed
wire, and the substituted needle for direct tangible clues;
and I’m up against a stone wall. No motive, no slightest
inkling as to the identity of the murderer, and yet among the
ten people who make up that household the solution lies.”
“One of the ten has skipped out, remember,” Captain
Lewis remarked. “When we lay our hands on Peters—”
A knock upon the door interrupted him, and at his im-
patient growl a subordinate entered. When the chief saw
who the newcomer was he half rose from his chair.
“You’ve got him?”
“Yes, sir,” the man chuckled. “Caught him just as he
was trying to sneak into his sister's house. He's outside;
shall I bring him in?”
At the captain's emphatic nod he withdrew, and the
former turned to Odell.
“Peters!” he exclaimed with immense satisfaction. “Per-
haps you'll get something more to work on now. If he isn't
willing to come across with what he knows watch me make
him.”
But it was a wilted and wholly abject Peters who
stumbled over the threshold and collapsed into the chair
opposite the chief. He panted like a frightened rabbit, and


THE VOICE 139
thought nobody heard it but me. You mean the voice—the
voice the night Mrs. Lorne died?”
The captain's chair creaked as he shifted his weight Sud-
denly, but Odell merely nodded.
“Well, you see, sir, it was this way. We all knew by
then that the mistress couldn't live; for Jane had heard
one of the doctors, the last called in it was, tell Mr. Lorne
so, and we were all upset, as you might know; for she was
a—a rare lovely lady, sir, and a kind, good mistress. My
room is on the fourth floor front, just over Mr. Julian's;
and there was nothing above me but the trunk and store-
rooms. I stayed up till midnight to see if I would be
wanted, and then Miss Meade told me to go to bed; but I
couldn't sleep though Marcelle and Jane and Gerda had long
since quieted down.
“Of course, Miss Nan and Mr. Julian and Mr. Gene
didn't go to bed all night; so there wasn't any sound ex-
cept the church clock near striking the hours, and now and
then a snore from Marcelle across the hall. It was after
four o'clock, almost five, I guess, when a thin little thread
of light came in under my door and traveled across the
floor, and then went out again. I couldn't believe my eyes,
for there hadn't been the sound of a footfall outside and I
couldn't see what anybody would be doing with a light up
there in our quarters at that hour; but I jumped out of bed
and opened my door a crack very softly so as to make no
noise.
“I couldn't see anything, not a ray of the light which had
shone under my door; but I heard a voice that seemed to
come from somewhere in the air, and there—there wasn't
anything human about it!”


140 UNSEEN HANDS
The butler paused, and drawing a handkerchief from his
pocket he wiped his pallid face, down which the sweat had
started. He was staring wide-eyed into space, and his
breath rasped in his throat.
“What did it say?” Odell asked.
Peters shuddered.
“I feel as if it was calling down a curse on me to repeat
it, sir; but I’ll never forget it to the longest day I live.
It said: “The first one gone! So shall they all go, one by
one !' That was all; but it started me shaking like a leaf,
and I didn't need anyone to tell me that poor Mrs. Lorne
had passed away. I shut my door somehow and got to the
side of my bed and sat down, straining my ears to listen
for the sound of a footstep; but none came nor did that
light show under my door again. I must have sat there for
a good twenty minutes, for finally the clock in the church
outside struck five; and in the morning they told me that
Mrs. Lorne had died at twenty-five minutes to five.”
“What did that voice sound like?” Odell spoke quickly,
for the butler seemed to be upon the verge of collapse.
“It was low and more like a whisper, but clear and full
of a horrid sort of joy as if the Thing, whatever it was,
was gloating over what had happened. I—I haven't been
the same since; for I keep hearing it in my ears all the
time.” Peters suddenly buried his face in his hands and
sobbed aloud, “God help me, I hear it now.”


CHAPTER XII
THE ROOM WITH THE BROKEN WINDOW
EALIZING that nothing further could be gotten from
the nerve-racked man that night the chief at a nod
from Odell ordered that Peters be taken away.
“What do you make of it? Hysteria or just plain lies?”
he asked when the door had closed behind the limp, sham-
bling form.
“Neither,” Odell replied slowly. “I should not be sur-
prised to learn that he was telling the straight truth.”
“Truth!” Captain Lewis exploded. “Are you going to
tell me next that you believe in ghosts, Barry Odell?”
“I believe in the one Peters heard, and I’m going to make
it my business to find it,” the detective responded gravely.
“I think it will help mightily in the solution of the whole
problem to learn just what it was doing in the upper regions
of the house at the moment when the family, or the rest of
the family, were plunged in their first numbing shock and
grief.”
“Well, it sounds fishy to me,” the chief asserted. “If it
were the murderer why should he go wandering around the
house with a light talking to himself? Peters's story is thin,
too; the atmosphere of the house didn't seem to get on his
nerves to the extent of making him sneak away from it until
he knew we were going to start an investigation. I’ll let
141


ROOM WITH THE BROKEN WINDOW 143.
chief turned to Odell. “It seems as though you had the
right dope; Drew must have had word from that Chalmers
lad and beaten it, and that adds more color to your theory.
If he isn't mixed up in this thing he would have stuck
around and played the friend of the family and braved it
out.”
Odell rose.
“I’ve got to get a line on him and I won't call it a day
until I have,” he announced. “It’s only ten o'clock; I'll go
back to the Meade house and have it out with Gene.”
He had started for the door when the telephone on the
captain's desk whirred and instinctively he waited.
“Yes.—Who?—Oh, it's you, is it, Porter? . . . The
sergeant? Yes, he's here.”
Odell sprang forward and seized the receiver.
“Hello, Porter. Where are you 'phoning from?”
“Is that you, Sergeant?” Porter fairly yelped with ex-
citement. “I’m talking from the booth in Volkert's drug
store over on Third Avenue; you know the place, we had
him up a couple of months ago for selling ‘snow.’”
“What are you doing there?” demanded the exasperated
Odell. “I left you to watch Gene Chalmers. The last I
heard of you, you were playing cards with him.”
“Yes, and he rooked me,” Porter retorted. “I’m trailing
him now. He's just across the street in a tailor's shop next
the corner; it was all closed and dark but he let himself in
with a key. There is only one entrance unless he goes out
some back way, and I don't believe he will, for he thinks
he lost me at the house. He's a slick guy for fair.”
“Keep your eye on that shop till I get there,” ordered


144 - UNSEEN HANDS
Odell. “If he comes out shadow him but 'phone back here
to Headquarters the first chance you get so that I can fol-
low you. Get me?”
“Sure, Sergeant.”
There came the almost simultaneous click of two re-
ceivers, and Odell turned to his chief.
“Can I have Miller? I've a hunch we’ll need him; Gene
Chalmers thinks he has given Porter the slip, and he is over
on Third Avenue in some joint that has a shop in front
for a blind. I rather think there will be developments.”
With the readily accorded permission he and Miller
taxied swiftly uptown, dismissing the car a block from their
destination. Most of the shops were closed; but the avenue
was still brightly lighted, and as they approached the drug
store they could distinguish Porter's short, stocky figure
leaning nonchalantly against the lamp-post at the curb.
As they neared him he turned and greeted them boister-
ously in the tough language of the quarter for the benefit
of any chance passer-by, then drew them around the corner.
“Look back over your shoulder,” he said in low, hurried
tones. “See that shop between the delicatessen and the
tobacconist's? That's the joint. Gene Chalmers hasn't
come out yet and no one else has gone in; but it must be
some sort of a meeting-place.”
“What is that narrow open space around the corner on
the side street, back of the tobacconist's?” Odell queried.
“Looks like a sort of alley to me. Miller, go and see if it
runs back of the tailor's shop and if there is a door open-
ing on it. Look for any lights in the rear and be careful
if there is anyone hanging about.”
As Miller nodded to them carelessly and sauntered across


ROOM WITH THE BROKEN WINDOW 145
the avenue Porter observed with grudging admiration in
his tones:
“I thought that Gene was just a willie-boy but I had the
wrong dope; he's about as slick as they come. I thought
at first that he was too blamed affable when he invited me
into his room, but he seemed so anxious to tell me all about
how that picture nearly fell on him the night before and
ready to offer a hundred different suggestions that he threw
me off the track; and boy! how he can play cards! Not
that I took my hand off my number for a minute until just
at the last,” he added hastily. “But you yourself might
have been taken in by the way he worked that, Sergeant.”
“Possibly,” Odell assented dryly. “I tried to get word to
you before I left “he house to warn you against that very
thing; but you didn't come down to report and I let you
alone to handle the case your own way. How did he man-
age to give you the slip?”
“It was after dinner and he wanted a drink; said that his
stepfather had some private stock locked away in the cellar,
but he had a duplicate key which the old man had given
him. I had my suspicions as to how he had come by that
key; but it was none of my business so I went down
cellar with him. There were stone steps and a flat door
bolted on the inside leading up into the back yard, and a
small room partitioned off where he said the liquor was
stored.
“He turned on the electric light by a switch in the wall
near the staircase, took a key from his pocket, and opened
the door of the store-room. I strolled after him to take
a peep inside when he called to me to look on one of the
hanging shelves that were full of preserve-jars and find a


146 UNSEEN HANDS
glass.” Porter hesitated. “I suppose I was a fool, but I
never suspected he had a chance in the world to make a
break for it then; so I turned to do as he asked, when the
lights went out like a flash, and I heard the door of the
store-room slam. I groped my way to it but it was fastened
by a spring lock and by the time I found the switch in the
wall and turned on the lights again Shaw blew his whistle
outside.
“There must have been a second light-switch in the store-
room and a second door leading up into the yard; and the
kid had evidently planned his getaway ahead, for he's wear-
ing a cloth cap, which I guess he had been carrying folded
up in an inside pocket since before I came on the job. I
ran out of the house, found Blake on guard at the corner,
and he told me young Chalmers had come out of the trades-
men's entrance on the side street and started due east, with
Shaw trailing him.
“I borrowed Blake's hat and hot-footed it after them,
picking them up at Third Avenue in time to relieve Shaw
just as Gene was boarding a surface car. By sheer luck
a drunk happened to be getting out of a taxi in front of
Bud Westley's old poolroom, and I grabbed it and trailed
the car. The kid couldn't have had a suspicion that he was
being shadowed; for he got out at this corner and made
straight for that shop over there without even looking
around.”
“You were an ass to be taken in like that, Porter, but
perhaps it is just as well,” Odell commented. “Our young
friend must have been pretty desperate to risk such a move
when he knew that the house was guarded inside and out.


ROOM WITH THE BROKEN WINDOW 149
a position beneath the lighted window, where the detective
straightened and peered through the ragged hole in the
shade.
Only two men were visible in the room, the older one
whom Miller had described and a stranger. The latter was
gesticulating excitedly, and fragments of his speech reached
Odell’s ears.
“I told him a week, sir. . . Yes, he seemed to, but you
can’t tell about those bulls. . . . But where to, sir? There's
still the difficulty about passports. . . . Oh, Honolulu.
Yes, I can get the baggage out providing they are not watch-
ing the place.”
The older man leaned forward and spoke rapidly in an
indistinguishable tone; and Odell saw the other glance
quickly toward the front of the shop and then back at the
speaker with a look of horror on his face.
“Good God, no!” he cried; and the deference was gone
from his tone. “I’ve helped in the other thing, and I'll ad-
mit that you've paid me well for it; but I wouldn't be a party
to that for all the money in the world! . . . I don't care if
it is, I’d rather do a stretch than go to the chair!”
Before the older man could speak the door leading into
the shop opened, and Gene appeared. -
“We’re caught !” he cried wildly. “Either Sims or I
must have been followed, Farley ! There's a man walking
up and down in front of the shop.”
“Shut that door, you d-n fool!” Farley Drew finished
up with a ferocious oath; but the other, whom Gene had
called Sims, shouldered the young man aside and sprang
through the door into the shop, while Drew himself strode
over to the window.


150 UNSEEN HANDS
Odell and Porter had barely time to conceal themselves
behind the pickle-tubs which Miller had mentioned when
the shade was pulled up, the window opened, and the
sleek head of Farley Drew appeared cautiously reconnoi-
tering.
“Nobody here.” The head withdrew and the window
slammed. Odell reached his point of vantage once more in
time to see Sims reënter, closing the connecting door care-
fully behind him.
“It's the bull who came to your rooms an hour or so ago
looking for you.” The valet's tone was high and quavering,
and his face expressed abject fright. “He couldn't have
followed me here, for I made sure that no one was be-
hind me when I ducked into the alley. I tell you they're
on to us and the game is up!”
“Are we doing any harm? Is there anything incrimi-
nating about this room or our presence here?” demanded
Drew, his tones carrying distinctly at last to the listeners out-
side. “The alley is clear and we have only to walk out that
way and leave that flatfoot to cool his heels on the pave-
ment till morning. Go back to my rooms and stay there
until you hear from me, Sims; and stick to the same story
you told to-night if you are interrogated again. As for
you, Gene—”
His voice sank once more to a scarcely audible murmur,
and Odell whispered hurriedly to Porter:
“Shadow Gene. Don't leave him out of your sight for
a minute. I'll take Drew on; Sims is going back to the
Bellemonde Annex.”
“How about Miller?” asked Porter.
“No chance to warn him now unless your man or


152 UNSEEN HANDS
emerged from behind the heap of tubs determined to risk
another peep through the window, the door opened and
Farley Drew stood smiling on the threshold.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Sergeant Odell. That is
why I got rid of the others. Come in and we will have a
little talk.”


154 UNSEEN HANDS
the cracked, imitation-marble mantel were of cheap, highly-
polished light oak, as were the center table and chairs. A
wide, comfortable-looking couch stood against the opposite
wall, and from behind a half-drawn curtain in the corner
the end of a small gas-stove was visible, with pots and pans
hanging beneath a shelf upon which china and canned goods
were stacked indiscriminately.
Evidently this room was more than a rendezvous; it was
a complete apartment in itself in which one could live in-
definitely without aid or interference from the outside
world.
“Of course this is not the Bellemonde Annex,” Drew
remarked with an ironically deprecatory air as if reading
the other's thoughts. “It has its uses, however. Sit down,
Sergeant. Will you smoke?”
Odell shook his head but pulled a chair up to the table
and seated himself. Drew had assumed the upper hand in
opening the interview, and the detective was well content to
leave the situation for the time being in the other's con-
trol. He was curious to learn the motive back of his host's
attitude. Drew had spoken of a “mutually satisfactory
understanding.” That could only mean a bargain, a com-
promise, or attempted bribery. Odell believed the man be-
fore him to be too clever to essay the latter; yet what
compromise could he hope to effect with the police? The
very fact that he sought to establish one told against him
in the present situation, as he must realize.
Drew, meanwhile, had taken a box of cigars from a
drawer of the sideboard, selected one and lighted it leisurely
before he strolled over to the chair across the table from
his guest and seated himself.


BEHIND LOCKED DOORS 155
Odell looked up and waited for him to speak.
“Sergeant,” he began at length with a speculative eye on
the glowing tip of his cigar, “from what my young friend
Gene Chalmers has told me to-night I believe you to be a
man of not only common sense but intelligence; if I did
not I should not have sought this interview. As I under-
stand it Mr. Lorne sent for you through the mediation of
his attorney to look into the coincidence of the deaths and
other recent accidents which have taken place in his home.
That of course is no concern of mine; but if in the pursuit
of your investigation you should encounter evidence of
some—er—irregularity which had no possible bearing on
your case, what would you do?”
“Irregularity?” Odell repeated.
“Don’t let us waste time by splitting hairs,” Drew
shrugged. “We will say rather that you might unearth a
matter which would in no way interest the homicide depart-
ment of your organization: a strictly family matter, the
probing of which would cause only shame and unhappiness
to people already burdened with grief and perplexity.
Would you consider it your duty without consulting those
most immediately concerned to bring it to the attention of
—er—another branch of the police service?”
“If I discovered evidence of another and separate crime
unconnected with the matter now under investigation?”
The detective paused in seeming reflection. “That is rather
a complex question, Mr. Drew. I fancy it would depend
largely upon the nature of the crime and who ultimately
benefited by it.”
Farley Drew's eyes narrowed, but his tone was still that
of one propounding an abstruse and impersonal argument.


156 UNSEEN HANDS
“If the crime, as you call it, were for gain and happened
to be committed by a member of the family it would be
reasonable to suppose that the guilty person would be the
one to profit ultimately, would it not?”
“Ultimately perhaps but not necessarily directly.” A
quick flash of memory had recalled the note which Odell
himself had laid before his chief an hour before, and with
it a sudden inkling of the possible truth had come. “If
some member of the family were placed in a compromising
position by an outsider and forced into crime for the im-
mediate benefit of that outsider, in order to gain immunity
for himself, it would cease to be a purely family matter,
and its investigation would very likely bring shame and un-
happiness and possibly incarceration to the instigator. Are
you entirely disinterested in this theoretical discussion, Mr.
Drew P”
He smiled steadily into the dark, smoldering eyes across
the table, and Drew forced a sickly grimace in return, but
the fingers holding his cigar twitched murderously.
“Quite.” His voice was curiously even. “I confess I am
disappointed in you, Sergeant; I had taken you to be a man
of independent thought and action, not hidebound like the
majority of your confrères. I have been speaking from a
purely altruistic point of view. I wished to spare a heart-
broken and panic-stricken family from further pain, and to
save one young person from an unmerited punishment for
what the family themselves would be the first to characterize
as a mere mistake. I hoped that you could be induced to
see the matter from that standpoint.”
“And in saving the family from further annoyance in-


BEHIND LOCKED DOORS 157
cidentally protect the real criminal, who had used the young
person you mention as a mere tool, from the consequences
of what he himself had instigated?” Odell laughed in the
other's lowering face. “Let him go scot-free with the ex-
tortion he had practiced upon one member of the family in
order to keep from the rest a knowledge of the truth? You
are not serious, Mr. Drew. The young person may be in
too deep, as it was meant he should be, for him to extricate
himself; but if the matter is not exposed he may be in con-
siderably deeper before he is through. Even if the affair
did not come within the bounds of the case I am investi-
gating, I think that I should find myself compelled to take
a hand.”
For a moment there was silence while Drew blew a series
of smoke rings thoughtfully in the air.
“So Gene lied,” he said at last. “He told me that he had
destroyed that note. You have it in your possession,
Sergeant?”
“No. I turned it in to my chief to-night to be brought
to the attention of the bureau which it would ordinarily
concern if I say the word.” Odell watched the other's face
narrowly. “I may add that no letter, no telephone message,
nothing but my request in person would enable me to regain
possession of it.”
“But you could regain it?” The eagerness in Drew's
tones was unrestrained.
“It is highly probable, Mr. Drew.”
“Could anything induce you to do so? I mean nothing so
crude as bribery, Sergeant. When two men each possess
something that the other wants and their need is equally


158 UNSEEN HANDS
urgent it is sometimes possible to arrange an amicable trade.”
The compromise ! It had come at last. Odell turned
upon the other a gaze of mild inquiry.
“If I am in need of anything, at least to the extent of
compounding a felony in order to obtain it, I am unaware
of the fact,” he said blandly. “Can you be a trifle more
explicit, Mr. Drew?”
“You are young and ambitious; I think you have a real
love for your work, an immense enthusiasm, and you are im-
patient to reach the top of the ladder. I’ve seen your name
in the papers in connection with more than one big case in
a subordinate capacity; but minor success is sometimes a
boomerang. It leads to petty jealousies and persecutions
which retard promotion until the injustice of it embitters
your soul. One celebrated case brought to a successful
conclusion by you alone would make you for life. This
case you are working on promises to be the biggest thing
that New York has seen for years. Can you deny that for
the sake of your career alone it is not vitally necessary that
you should discover the one who is guilty? I do not want
the note back; I merely wish to see it destroyed in my
presence and to receive your assurance that it and the matter
to which it pertains shall be officially forgotten. If in
return for this I furnish you with the motive for this
series of crimes and attempted crimes, and the strongest
kind of circumstantial evidence of the identity of their
perpetrator, would you not consider it a fair deal? At
best you can prove nothing against me and could
only cause me embarrassment, while without my
help you can never solve the problem you have under-
taken.”


BEHIND LOCKED DOORS Y59
“I am not so sure,” Odell demurred. “I’ve only been
on the case a little over twelve hours, you know; and I still
have hopes. As to the note, you may remember I told you
a few minutes ago that it would be turned over to the
bureau which it would ordinarily concern if I said the word.
I have not said the word; for I am not sure yet that it con-
cerns any bureau other than mine.”
“But you—you are a member of the homicide squad!”
Drew stammered, and the stub of his cigar slipped un-
noticed from his fingers.
“Exactly. I am not sure that that note has not a direct
bearing on the murders I am investigating.”
“You’re mad, I tell you, man!” Drew sprang from his
chair. “You know less than I thought of what that note
refers to, if you imagine such a ridiculously far-fetched
thing!”
“Not so far-fetched if you remember the wording of the
note and compare it with the events of the past month,”
Odell remarked quietly. “I quoted a sentence or two from
it before, but do you recall the rest?—‘Your mother's. went
through without a hitch, and the next one will if you only
keep your nerve. It's got to be done by the sixth or you
know where the first one will send you.’ I believe that is
it word for word, Mr. Drew. When you consider that Mrs.
Lorne has already been done to death ‘without a hitch' and
that the sixth of the month was the date of Julian's death, it
appears to lend the note quite another significance; doesn't
it?”
“My God!” Drew retreated a step or two. “What a
devilish misconstruction. But you don't believe it yourself,
Sergeant; you are trying to bluff me. Do you think I


160 UNSEEN HANDS
would be enough of an ass to write so openly and sign my
name to it if I were plotting murder?”
“It isn't so much what I think as what a jury would de-
cide after the District Attorney had got through explaining
it to them,” responded Odell. “You know Hutchins's repu-
tation, don't you, Mr. Drew P. They say he can get a convic-
tion on less evidence than anyone else who has ever been
in office. It may be that the note together with a few other
little things which we have against you are not sufficient to
send you to the chair, but they are strong enough evidence
to indict you and put you on trial.”
“You can't do that!” Drew cried hoarsely, gripping the
back of his chair as he stood behind it until it creaked a
warning. “This talk of a conviction is all rot, and you
know it; but I might as well go to the chair as through the
notoriety and indignity of arrest on such a hideous chargel
It would be a frame-up! You can't do it, Odell, you
sha'n't! You'll never leave this room alive to put it over
on me!”
“Steady there, Drew,” the detective advised coolly, for the
other's voice had risen and his features were working con-
vulsively. “Don’t take your hand off your number; the
chief has the note, remember; and if I don't show up he
will act on it at once. Moreover, two of my men accom-
panied me here, and one saw me enter this room. The
other is waiting outside for me to rejoin him; if I do not
do so within a certain specified time he has his instructions
as to how to proceed.”
A measure of self-control had returned to Drew and he
laughed shortly.
“I’m not a murderer nor even a potential one, as you


BEHIND LOCKED DOORS 161
know yourself, Sergeant. I spoke in sheer desperation
without thinking what I was saying. I am not likely to
place myself in jeopardy by eliminating an obscure mem-
ber of the police force!” He caught himself up abruptly as
if realizing that he had made a false move and added in
haste: “I was foolish to permit myself to become excited
over a mere bluff; I should have grasped the fact at once
that neither you nor your chief would make laughing-stocks
of yourselves by attempting to bring me to trial on such a
charge and with such evidence! It would be a farce, a
patent frame-up and you would be lucky if you were merely
dismissed from the force without having further action
taken against you!”
Odell could not help but admire the cleverness with which
his opponent had turned the tables, and he smiled candidly.
“Granted. Still”—the smile faded and his jaw set sternly
—“an arrest on suspicion, with due publicity, including the
printing of that note verbatim in every newspaper in the
city would achieve practically the same result as far as you
are concerned, my dear Mr. Drew. I fancy that Gene's ex-
planation would not only prove interesting reading to your
circle of acquaintances but would prevent your making
others among the unsophisticated Scions of wealthy
families.”
“Perhaps, but Gene is not in a position to offer explana-
tions,” Drew retorted smoothly. “Having called your bluff,
Sergeant, it seems to me that we are back at the starting-
point of my proposition. Arrest me if you like; I admit it
would ruin me as far as New York society goes, but I'll
break you for it; and the world is wide for my activities
although not for yours, unless you join the army of dis-


BEHIND LOCKED DOORS 163
The silence in the room had remained unbroken, and
Odell was so deeply engrossed in his meditation that he had
not noted the strained look of suspense which crept gradu-
ally over the face of his host. The mournful yowl of a cat
in the alley brought him swiftly from his reverie, and he
straightened in his chair.
“You have stated the case with admirable conciseness,
Mr. Drew. Granted that I was bluffing and starting with
the premise that you are not and that you really can supply
the information you claim, I see no need for haste in the
conclusion of the bargain you propose. I will at least
guarantee that no official use will be made of the note until
I have decided to reject or accept your proposition.”
“An armistice?” Drew threw back his head and laughed
aloud, and something in the quality of his tone made Odell
eye him sharply. A swift and inexplicable change seemed
to have come over the man, and when he spoke again it was
with a note of irresistible amusement in his voice. “You
fancy that you will not need the information which I can
give you? You mean to continue the investigation on your
own account until you are assured that you are up against
a blank wall? Very well, Sergeant. I’ve made the offer
and it stands open. When you decide as you ultimately
must to accept my proposition communicate with my man
at the Bellemonde Annex and I will get in touch with
you.”
He rose and unlocking the door leading into the alley
he opened it and stepped aside.
“We have come to an understanding even though it may
not be productive of immediate results, and the night is no
longer young. I do not wish to appear inhospitable, but


164 UNSEEN HANDS
I fear that your bodyguard in front of the shop may become
concerned for your safety.”
Odell laughed.
“An armistice then, Mr. Drew.” He nodded in response
to the other's half-mocking bow as he passed through the
door. “In spite of your convictions I may be able to
struggle along without agreeing to your terms, so don't
count on hearing from me too soon.”
“I don't!” Drew's laughter rang out once more as he
closed the door, and the same note of exultance sounded in
his tones as before. What could it mean? He had not
achieved his ends, he had not regained possession of the
note; and yet his manner during the last few minutes of
their interview had been that of one whose purpose had
triumphed.
The light had gone out suddenly in the room behind him
even before he had passed the window; and as the detec-
tive stumbled along in the darkness of the alley he pondered
upon this latest problem of all which that day had presented.
He did not underrate Drew's cleverness. The latter had
become cognizant of his surveillance, and resolved to turn
it to good account; but had the possession of the note been
the real point at issue, the motive back of that invitation
to a conference? -
Drew must know as well as he that with Gene's testimony
the note would be superfluous or at best merely corrobora-
tive evidence if any charge were to be brought against him,
and he must also be aware of the remoteness of such a possi-
bility. What then could have been his object in seeking the
interview P
At this juncture Odell reached the mouth of the alley,


CHAPTER XIV
ESCAPE
HE cool, gurgling sound of water slapping smartly and
rhythmically against some obstruction directly beneath
him, a briny, pungent tang in the Stirless air, the feeling of
an intolerable weight and intense cold upon his head and
of rough blankets beneath his hands,-these were the first
sensations which assailed Odell’s returning consciousness.
He opened his eyes but closed them again quickly as a
heavy step approached and a rough voice sounded in his
earS.
“Still dead to the world?”
“Sure.” A second voice with the unmistakable accent of
the lower East Side replied to the first. “Yer don't t'ink dat
rap I give him was any slap on de wrist, do yer? He's good
for anoder day's sleep anyhow.”
“What's the idea of the ice-bag?”
“Dunno. De main guy ordered it, an’ dat lets me out.
'Fraid his little pet got more dan was comin’ ter him an'
was gonna croak, I guess. I could 'a told him different, but
yer know how it is wid dese kid-glove guys; dey ain't takin'
no chances on goin' up fer de long route. Yer boid's all
right, ain't he? I heard him cussin' when yer took out de
gag ter give him der eats.”
Odell's heart gave a sudden leap. If he had a companion
166


ESCAPE 167
in captivity it could be none other than Miller, for the con-
versation he had just overheard left him in no doubt that
Drew had instigated the assault. Miller was lying bound
and helpless somewhere near, and he must contrive somehow
to reach him.
But the first voice was speaking again.
“There's nothing the matter with him just now except
that he's fighting mad. He'll cool down by the time we
turn him loose; but I tell you, Tony, I wish this job was
through.”
“What's eatin' yer?” demanded the one called Tony.
“Pretty soft, I call it; five hundred cold iron men for a
week's vacation and no come-back! De main guy is a
prince about coughin' up, if he is a bum sport.”
“I don’t like it,” the other insisted. “It’s out of our line
for one thing, and I never switched yet without changing
my luck. It's one game to stick up a drunk for his roll
and beat it; but kidnapping two of them, and dicks at that,
don't look so good to me now that I’ve had time to think
it over. Besides, what do we know of this fellow P What
if he gets pinched and squeals on us?”
“Squeal nothin'!” ejaculated Tony disgustedly. “I
t’ought yer was a live one, Pete. Dat guy Sims don't pick
no squealers for his. Let's go out an’ stretch our pins.”
“Suppose this patient of yours wakes up?” Pete's tone
was doubtful. “You haven't even got him tied.”
“Aw, h-1! Ain't I tellin' youse he's out for de count?
C'm on.”
A chair rasped against bare boards, and two pairs of
feet clumped noisily away, but not beyond earshot for their
footsteps; and the low rumble of their conversation still


168 UNSEEN HANDS
came to Odell, alternately diminishing and increasing in
volume as if they were walking up and down nearby. He
heard the regular slap and gurgle of water somewhere be-
low but felt no motion; and he listened in vain for the
creak of hawsers or the vibrating hum of an engine which
would show that they were on board a craft of some kind.
The brief glance which he had essayed before the sound
of footsteps had warned him, revealed the fact that he
was in a small room which might very well have been a
cabin; but he had noticed neither windows nor portholes,
and now once more he ventured to open his eyes.
He was lying upon a low couch with dirty gray blankets
covering him to the chin; and within his range of vision
were three chairs and a table of rough unpainted pine, rows
of shelves against a wall of unplastered laths, and a window
through which he could see the waving branches of a tree,
its leaves already tinged with autumnal flame.
Yet the water was not lapping against the shore; he could
hear it all about him underneath the floor. Clearly he must
be in some sort of house built out over the edge of a bay
or river; and save for the rumble of his captors’ voices and
that liquid gurgle and wash everything was very still.
He raised his hand weakly to steady the ice-bag and
turned his head with infinite caution. A window in the
opposite side of the room looked out upon a clear expanse
of dancing blue waters, with a far shore-line and tiny white
sails scudding between. Odell concluded that he must be
facing due south, for the sun was setting low on his right.
As he turned his eyes from the window they encountered
a long, graceful canoe lying against the wall beyond the head
of his couch, and the paddle standing in a corner; and from


170 UNSEEN HANDS
which he had spoken, and they indulged over-freely after
their enforced abstinence, the increased lethargy which
would follow the brief period of exhilaration might permit
Odell to make a break for liberty; but first he must find
Miller, cut his bonds, and aid his escape.
If there were only some way in which he could get a
message to his subordinate! While the sun sank behind the
horizon and dusk settled into the dreary room the detective
lay cudgeling his brains. His previous effort when he had
raised himself to look about him had made his head throb
violently and showed him how weak and dizzy he still was
after the blow which had been dealt him.
Nevertheless, it had profited him somewhat. He knew
that he must be confined in a private boathouse on some
body of water broader than any nearby lake or river; and
since for obvious reasons he could not have been removed
far from the city, he conjectured that the boathouse was
situated somewhere on the Connecticut shore of the Sound.
Beyond the possibility of escape he did not trouble him-
self about the means of getting back to the city. He would
not have known whether one day or several had elapsed
since he was struck down had it not been for Tony's for-
tuitous remark about having received the package from
Volkert the night before; but the thought of even a day
lost in his investigation drove Odell almost to the verge of
desperation.
• Captain Lewis would understand, of course, that some-
thing had happened to him; but would he keep the case open
for him until he should be found, or would he assign another
detective to it and thereby deprive Odell of the opportunity
for which he had waited so long? Suppose the men whom


ESCAPE 171
he had placed on guard both inside and out of the Meade
residence should relax their vigilance for an hour and enable
the nameless fiend to strike again?
Dusk deepened to darkness while Odell tortured himself
with vain fears and imaginings, and still there was no sign
of the return of Pete from the village. Tony shuffled in
at last, however, muttering curses beneath his breath; and
lighting a smoky lamp and an oil-stove in the corner, he
started to prepare supper.
Odell watched him through warily half-closed eyes as
he sliced ham, opened cans, and placed a huge loaf of bread
and a wooden dish of butter on the table; and the detective
realized suddenly that he himself was faint from hunger.
No food had passed his lips since the previous night; and
he dared not simulate a sudden return to consciousness now
lest Tony redouble his vigilance.
He lay in a silent agony of craving, while the tantalizing
odor of coffee filled the room, and Tony, still grumbling
audibly over his confederate's delay, shuffled back and forth
from shelves to table and stove.
All at once Odell narrowed his lids until only a mere
slit remained, through which he gazed with greater in-
tensity at his jailor's movements; for Tony had brought a
battered tin tray to the table and placed upon it a plate of
ham and beans, a steaming cup of coffee, and a great hunk
of bread.
It was evidently his intention to feed the other prisoner,
and Odell mentally writhed at his inability to establish com-
munication with Miller. If only he could reach that tray
unobserved and place upon it some token which would
show his subordinate that he was near at hand and on the


172 UNSEEN HANDS
lookout for a chance to escape. If Tony would but turn
his back for a minute.
But if the opportunity should come what object could he
place upon the tray? He thrust one hand down cautiously
beneath the blanket but found as he had supposed that his
pockets had been emptied; not even a stub of pencil or scrap
of paper remained.
At that moment as if in answer to his unexpressed prayer
a faint “halloa” sounded from the landward direction, and
with a grunt of relief Tony turned and rushed from the
room, the tray forgotten.
Odell sprang from the couch with the recklessness of
desperation; but he had not taken his weakness into ac-
count, and the room whirled about him so that he reached
out blindly to steady himself. His hands caught the back
of a chair, and as his vision cleared again he saw that hang-
ing across it were his collar and necktie, the latter of a
curious blue and black design. Would Miller recognize
it?
Outside he could hear the two men calling to each other,
and it was evident that Pete was still some distance away;
but no time could be lost. Odell took up the necktie and
tried feverishly to tear off a fragment from the end, but
the strong silk resisted his efforts. He looked hastily about
him, and his eyes rested upon the sharp knife with which
Tony had sliced the ham. Seizing it he hacked and tore at
the silk until a short strip of it came off in his hand. Then
he gouged a piece of bread from the center of the portion
of loaf upon the tray, thrust the bit of silk into the aperture,
and replaced the soft bread to mask its presence.
The knife he secreted beneath the mattress of the couch,


ESCAPE 173
and reclining again he pulled the filthy blankets up to his
chin.
Pete's voice had lowered as he approached; but it had
perceptibly thickened since his departure, and he stumbled
as he ascended the steps which led up to the porch.
“Not a bit of ‘snow’ in the whole
burg!” he ended with a hiccough of disgust. “They don't
seem to know what it is, Tony my boy, but I got the next
best thing to it.”
“Whiskey?” Tony's voice was not over-enthusiastic.
“And laudanum. A foxy old hick in the first farmhouse
down the road sold me the booze, and I got the other in
the drugstore. We'll make a night of it.”
“Gimme dat bottle an' go feed your boid foist,” Tony
interrupted, to Odell's vast relief. “I fixed de tray o' eats
'cause youse was gone so long I figgered dat youse
had blew.”
The door opened and Pete staggered in, seized the tray,
and departed; while Tony seated himself astride a chair
and raised the bottle to his lips.
The fates had been more kind than Odell had dared to
hope. He knew the swift and deadening effect of the mix-
ture which Pete had brought; and when once the men suc-
cumbed to its influence escape would be assured. He
strained his ears to listen for the direction from which
Pete would return, for he had as yet no idea where Miller
was confined. He had heard the former cross the porch
and descend the steps again, but that was all. Could it be
that Miller was in some other building, an outhouse or
shed perhaps? If so he could scarcely hope to find it in
the darkness; and his subordinate, gagged, would be un-


174 UNSEEN HANDS
able to guide him even if he dared venture a subdued call.
While these disturbing thoughts filled his consciousness
they were broken in upon suddenly by a string of pic-
turesque and variegated oaths uttered in a vigorous tone
which seemed to rise from beneath the floor, and he breathed
a sigh of relief. The voice was unmistakably Miller's.
Would he find that bit of silk, recognize it, and be able to
conceal it from the befuddled gaze of his jailor?
An indistinguishable retort from Pete in a threatening
rumble replied to the reception which had greeted him, and
thereafter there was silence for a space. Tony drank
deeply again and placed the bottle on the table with a thump.
The coffee had boiled away and an odor of scorching
grounds filled the air; but Tony was plainly oblivious to it,
and Odell stealing a glance at him noted that he was gaz-
ing straight ahead of him with the set, glassy stare of a
somnambulist; the laudanum. was already getting in its
stupefying effect.
All at once Miller's voice sounded loud and clear from
below as if raised with deliberate intent.
“What's the good of keeping me tied up in an old boat
under a rotten wharf 2 I couldn't run away if I wanted
to, but I’ll bet you a necktie against an old pair of boots”—
The words died away in a choking gurgle as if the speaker
had been swiftly gagged; but Odell had heard enough, and
a glow of renewed hope and cheer swept over him. Good
old Miller' He had found the torn bit of silk, realized its
message, and done his best to reply to it. An hour or two
more at most and the way would be clear for a getaway.
But the detective's hopes seemed doomed to be indefinitely
deferred. When Pete reëntered with the empty tray Tony


ESCAPE 175
roused himself and made fresh coffee, and that together
with the hearty supper which the two men ate seemed to
neutralize the effect of what they had drunk; nor were they
in any haste to renew their libations.
In an inward fever of suspense Odell forced himself to
lie motionless while they smoked leisurely and carried on an
intermittent conversation of which he could make nothing.
Had they forgotten the bottle of drugged liquor which
stood before their very eyes? He had no way of judging
the hour, but the oil in the lamp was half consumed and the
branches of the tree beyond the window were silvered with
moonlight. The bottle on the table was still two-thirds
full; could they mean to husband it until the next day?
It was Tony who brought the situation to an end.
“Fer de love o' Mike pass us de bottle! Hear dem
crickets an’t'ings out dere? Chee, but I'm lonesome fer
T'oid Av'noo!”
Pete drank copiously and handed the bottle to his con-
federate.
“I told you I wasn't crazy about this job,” he remarked
gloomily. “I wonder what the idea is anyway in holding
these guys here for a week?”
Odell wondered also and listened intently for the reply.
“Ter give somebody time ter make a getaway, I guess,”
Tony answered carelessly.
“Well, suppose they make it, Sims and the guy that was
here this morning, and after the week is up we find our-
selves planted here with the two dicks on our hands and
minus the rest of the kale that was promised?” Pete
reached for the bottle and held it once more to his lips.
“Say, when did that guy say he'd be out again?”


ESCAPE 177
perimentally, emitted a faint groan, and threw one arm
up over his head. Tony slept on undisturbed, and the
other figure remained motionless.
With a quick, noiseless movement the detective sat up,
threw the dirty blankets from him, and tiptoeing across the
floor laid one hand on Pete's shoulder and with the other
felt for his heart. It had ceased to beat.
Odell stepped back dizzily and leaned against the table
for support. The shock of his discovery combined with his
long fast and the effect of the blow which he had received
made him faint and giddy; but by a supreme effort he
mastered the weakness which was swiftly overcoming him
and straightened.
The thought of food had become all at once repugnant to
him, with that dead man sitting there; but he reminded him-
self sternly that he might have need of all the strength he
could muster before he and Miller were safely away from
this hideous spot and back at their posts once more.
A box of matches lay on the table, and pocketing that and
the knife which he had secreted beneath the mattress of the
couch, he moved over to the shelf near the stove. An old
newspaper was spread upon it, and in this he wrapped the
bread and ham that remained.
He was turning to the door when a fresh thought made
him pause. If his pockets were empty Miller's were prob-
ably in a like condition, and there was no means of ascer-
taining how far they were from the city.
Money was an absolute essential, and he dared not at-
tempt a search of Tony's pockets lest he awaken. There
was no fear of that as far as Pete was concerned, the de-


178 UNSEEN HANDS
tective assured himself grimly; and approaching the body
once more he pushed it forward by the shoulders, bracing it
against the table, and felt in the hip pockets.
The first yielded only a short blunt-nosed pistol; but from
the second he drew a worn wallet bulging with bills.
Thrusting both articles into his own pockets, Odell eased
the body back into its former position and stealing to the
door cast a final glance backward.
Tony still slept oblivious to all about him; and Pete's body
sagged limply in the chair, his glazed eyes fastened upon
the bottle which had brought death to him.
The detective closed the door softly behind him, and
crossing the narrow porch made his way down the steps
in the clear, cold light of the moon. He found himself
upon a strip of rocky beach bordered by low shrubs and
bushes, through which a single path wound away and dis-
appeared in the stretch of dense woodland beyond. The
boathouse itself was raised high above the water upon stout
piles of concrete; and directly beneath it an open motor
launch rode at anchor, with a rough gangplank reaching
from its deck to the shore.
The moonlight did not penetrate its dark recesses; but as
Odell ran up the gangplank something moved in the bot-
tom of the boat, and an inarticulate gurgle reached his
earS.
He drew the box of matches from his pocket, and strik-
ing one held its sputtering flame close to the writhing bundle.
Miller's eyes stared up at him, the muscles of his jaw
working convulsively in the effort to speak; but the choking
gag prevented his utterance. Odell tossed the match into


ESCAPE 179
the water, knelt beside his companion and deftly removed
the gag.
“Steady, now, Miller; don't speak aloud. One of them
is only asleep, and we've got to make a quick getaway.”
“Gad! but that's a relief l’ Miller exclaimed huskily.
“Here, I’ll roll over so that you can get at my wrists; the
rascal tied them behind my back, and confoundedly tight,
too. How did you manage to get free, Sergeant?”
“They didn't tie me up. I was unconscious from that
knockout I got until a few hours ago; and they—the fellow
who's been guarding me—thinks I am still.”
As he spoke Odell had cut the cords which bound the
other's wrists; and now he began working at the rope about
his ankles.
“How are your legs? Pretty numb?”
“No.” Miller sat up with an involuntary groan and drew
one knee up experimentally. “I guess they are all right.
Have you any idea where we are?”
“Somewhere near a village; and that path through the
trees leads to it. We ought to be able to find a garage or
some farmer with a jitney who will take us back to the
city if it is not too far. Come, I’ll help you.”
Miller staggered a little as they passed down the sagging
gangplank and turned for a last look at the boathouse.
“The chief will send up to-morrow and clean out this hole,
but I’d like one crack myself at the fellow who blackjacked
me in front of that shop last night and has kept me trussed
up like a Christmas turkey ever since,” he observed grimly.
“I’ll get him yet on my own account!”
“You won't have a chance, Miller.” Odell nodded slowly


180 UNSEEN HANDS
in response to the other's startled look. “He’s sitting up
there dead in his chair. Whiskey and laudanum. His
heart must have been weak; and he was a snow-bird, any-
way. Come on, we haven't an hour to lose.”
Silently the two moved along the path and disappeared
among the trees,


CHAPTER XV
WHAT RAN NIE KNEW
N the gray of dawn two dirty, bedraggled, unshaven
figures trailed up the wide, low stairs at Police Head-
quarters and presented themselves before Captain Lewis.
“Well, of all the – Odell! Where have you been P
Miller, why didn't you come back to report? This is a
h—l of a note!” The captain, worn from his night-long
vigil, blustered to mask his relief. “If this is the way you
conduct a case, Sergeant”—
“It isn't,” Odell replied wearily. “Miller and I have been
personally conducted for the last thirty-six hours; tied up
in an old boathouse on the shore at Windermere, Connecti-
cut, after being held up and blackjacked by a couple of
crooks hired by Sims, Farley Drew's man.”
He made a detailed report; and at its conclusion the chief
issued some hurried orders, and then turned to Miller.
“Did you recognize the man who brought you your food;
the one who the Sergeant says was called Pete?”
“No, Captain. It was pretty dark under that boathouse
in spite of the sun shining outside, and I couldn't place his
voice. Volkert can identify him, though, if Tony has
skipped out by the time the boys get there.”
“Tony won't do much skipping if he's sleeping off a
whiskey-and-laudanum jag,” the captain reported grimly.
3.
181


182 UNSEEN HANDS
“I’m going to 'phone the sheriff at Windermere to hold him
for us. How far is that boathouse from the village?”
“About a mile and a half,” Odell responded. “The
sheriff may know whose it is if you tell him that there is
a canoe stored there named the ‘Midinette.” It took us
nearly an hour to wake up the fellow at the garage; but
when we succeeded he brought us into the city in good
time. Here's the rest of the money I took from Pete's
body, and the pistol.”
As he laid them upon the desk the chief took up the re-
ceiver and put in a call for Windermere, then turned once
more to the detective with a quizzical light in his keen eyes.
“Well, I suppose all you want now is to get a bath and
then sleep the clock around,” he remarked.
“No, sir,” replied Odell doggedly, although his head was
swimming from fatigue. “I want to clean up and get back
on the job as fast as I can. Have there been any fresh
developments?”
“A few. Want Miller any longer?”
“Not now. I may need him to-night, though.”
“All right.” Captain Lewis nodded to the subordinate.
“You’re off duty until six, Miller. Report then if you
think you can get about the streets without being kid-
napped.”
Miller, flushing at the implied rebuke in the chief's heavy
attempt at a jest, withdrew; and as the door closed after
him Odell asked eagerly:
“Did you get anything further out of Peters?”
“No. After I got through with him yesterday morning
he was like a squeezed orange; but beyond what he told you
about that voice that he heard, his mind is only a blank of


WHAT RANNIE KNEW 183
bewilderment and a kind of superstitious terror. The queer
thing about it is that he is back at his old job, after all.”
The chief leaned forward in his chair. “I had to let him
go, of course; we hadn't a thing to hold him on, and he
said he was going back to his sister's; but I put a man on
him anyway, so that we could get him if we needed him
again. He didn't even want to go to the Meade house for
his things, and wouldn't until I told him that we had it
guarded inside and out; yet when he got there he stayed;
told Taylor that Miss Meade wanted him to, and he thought
it was his duty. Funny what an influence that quiet little
old maid seems to have on everybody.”
Odell looked up at the last observation.
“Miss Meade? She seems to be the least considered of
anyone in the household.”
“Yet she is running them all now in an unobtrusive way.
Porter and Kelly and Smith all tell me the same. I took
a run up there myself yesterday afternoon and had a talk
with her. She seems quite crushed by the evidence of the
attempts on the lives of her nephew and her brother-in-law;
and I don’t think she believes for a minute that there was
anything questionable about the death of the other boy and
of her sister. Lorne himself is much better and wants to
see you. He sent Titheredge down here for you; but I
told him that you were working on the case and might
not show up for several days.”
“And Gene; did he return to the house the night before
last? Is Porter still on the job?”
“Yes, but the kid has turned sulky; shut himself up in
his room and wouldn't talk to anybody. Smith sent in his
report late last night.”


184 UNSEEN HANDS
“Smith?” In the stress of swift-moving events Odell
had not thought of the plainclothesman whom he had de-
tailed to watch the maneuvers of the temperamental elder
daughter of the house. “What did he have to say?”
The chief grinned.
“She's a clever little girl, that Miss Cissie. Slipped out
of the house yesterday morning about ten o'clock and went
to the Fitz-Maurice Hotel. Smith was right behind her,
and he heard her ask the girl at the telephone exchange for
York 7087, which happens to be the number of Farley
Drew's private wire. Smith got into the next booth and
heard her end of the conversation. She kept insisting on
seeing Drew, and she wasn't satisfied with the excuses she
got; for she flounced out of the booth in a temper and taking
a taxi at the hotel entrance drove straight to the Bellemonde
Annex.
“At the desk there they told her the same story that
Miller got from Sims the other night and that I guess she
had just received herself over the telephone. Smith says
that she was white with rage when she came out; but for
all that she must have had her wits about her, for she saw
and recognized him.”
Captain Lewis paused with a chuckle, and the detective
demanded:
“What did she do then?”
“Led him about the town by the nose! He says no old-
timer could have pulled any cleverer stunts than she did
to throw him off the track; changed cabs half a dozen times,
dodged in and out of department stores and hotels, and
zigzagged from one side of the city to the other, doubling
on her own trail all the time. And where do you think she


WHAT RANNIE KNEW 185
wound up? At a dingy little second-rate apartment-house
west of the park; a walk-up, with letter-boxes and bells in
the vestibule !”
“Did Smith find out what she was doing there? Whom
she was calling on?”
“The party she was looking for was gone. Smith saw
her read over the names on both sides of the vestibule two
or three times; and when she came out she looked dis-
couraged. The janitor was sweeping the sidewalk, and she
stopped to speak to him for a minute; so after she had got
in her taxi Smith went up to him, slipped him a buck and
asked him whom the young lady had been looking for. He
said it was one of the tenants who had gone away sick
eight or nine months before, a Mrs. Gael.”
“Gael,” Odell repeated. “That's the name of the woman
whose husband divorced her and brought in Drew as
co-respondent.”
So little Miss Chalmers was not so unsophisticated as
she had seemed. Her desire to see Drew must have been
desperate indeed to have led her to cast aside all ordinary
conventions and seek him at the home of the woman whom
he had discarded.
“Exactly,” the chief responded dryly. “She didn't know
where else to look for him apparently, for she went straight
home from there; and Smith says that she had a scene with
her aunt which reduced the poor woman to tears, and then
locked herself in her room. So much for his report.
Taylor searched Gene's room night before last when he
beat it to keep his date with Drew, but he didn't find any-
thing except clothes and stuff for out-door sports; skates
and tennis-rackets and polo and golf and hockey sticks. He


186 UNSEEN HANDS
went through Miss Meade's room yesterday morning and
the one her sister used to occupy, but found nothing
suspicious in either of them, of course. He won't have an
opportunity to get into Lorne's room for some time to come,
and the younger son, the hunchback, is still sick; but I left
Taylor on the job on the chance that you would turn up
to-day and might need him. The outside men report noth-
ing doing.”
“And Kelly?” The detective, in mentally gathering up
the loose threads of his investigation at the point where his
abduction had interrupted it, recalled the fourth man, to
whom he had assigned the task of searching for the tools
with which the picture-wire had been severed and the top
step of the stairs sawed through. “Hasn't he sent in any
report yet?”
“Only these.” The chief swung about in his chair and
took from the floor, where they had rested against the wall
unnoticed by Odell, a long, heavy steel saw and a file with an
electric attachment. “Are they the tools you were after?”
The detective reached forward and examined them
eagerly.
“Good work!” he exclaimed. “Where did Kelly find
them?”
“In the last place he would have thought to search for
them; the open tool chest in the cellar. He says he passed
them up a dozen times that first day; looked straight at them
and never even saw them! It took a cool head, that, to
leave them out in plain view on the chance that they
wouldn't be noticed among the other tools.”
“The obscurity of the obvious!” Odell smiled slyly.
“Remember what I said to you the other day about the


WHAT RANNIE KNEW 187
secondary mind, Captain? This is clear evidence of it;
and it will be no small help, I can tell you, in tracing the
culprit, although I’ve known from the first that no ordinary
mentality was back of this series of crimes, in spite of the
strange element of carelessness which enters into each
episode of it. The first instinct of the ordinary criminal
would have been to secrete these tools in as out-of-the-way
a place as their size would permit; but if he were a degree
higher in intelligence he would realize that such a spot would
be the first in which they would be searched for, and the
next step in his reasoning would be that if they were left in
plain view with others of their kind which were in oc-
casional legitimate use in the household they would be over-
looked.”
“Sure; that's what I said.” The chief moved impatiently
in his chair. “They are what you were after, all right.
Kelly asked Peters last night if there were any electrical
carpentering tools in the house or a big saw, and he says
that the butler's surprise looked like the real thing to him.
Peters told him they'd never had any use for a big saw, and
he had apparently never heard of electrical tools.”
Odell laid the file and saw back on the table.
“It is too bad they have been handled so much,” he re-
marked. “Your finger-prints and mine and two or three
more are all superimposed on them.”
“That doesn't matter,” the chief grunted. “Look at your
hands.”
“Phew! Oil, eh?” Odell pulled a grimy handkerchief
from his pocket and wiped his fingers. “I commandeered
this from the garage man; those rascals up there stripped
me clean. Did Kelly upset an oil-can in the tool-chest?”


188 UNSEEN HANDS
“No. He said all the other things in it were rusty from
disuse. Your secondary-minded murderer must have
cleaned these carefully with oil to remove his own finger-
prints before putting them with the others.”
Odell shook his head.
“I don't get it,” he admitted. “The combination of fore-
sight and ingenuity together with rank carelessness in detail
stumps me. It must be that there are two of them work-
ing together, or rather one carrying out the instructions of
another and doing it in a bungling fashion. The method of
work suggests two distinct personalities, and yet I cannot
point to even one possible suspect now.”
As the chief opened his lips to reply the telephone rang
and he took up the receiver.
“Windermere? Sheriff Higgins speaking? . . . This is
Police Headquarters, New York. . . . Yes, Captain Lewis,
Homicide Bureau. Get out as quick as you can to a boat-
house on the shore of the Sound about a mile and a half
from your village. . . . No, I can't tell you on whose place
it is, but there’s a canoe stored there with the name
“Midinette’ painted on it. You'll find a dead man sitting in
a chair, and another sleeping off a jag. Hold him for me
on a charge of—What's that? . . . What? . . . Nothing
left? . . . No trace of the bodies? . . . You're sure it's the
right place? . . . Yes, ‘Midinette.' . . The Osgood Praye
estate. . . . Thanks, Sheriff. My men are on the way out
to you now, and I will appreciate it if you will give them all
particulars.”
He hung up the receiver slowly and turned to Odell.
“That boathouse burned down to the concrete piles last
night an hour after you and Miller made your escape,” he


WHAT RANNIE KNEW 189
said soberly. “When the village fire-department got there
they found nothing left but a mass of charred timbers
washing around between the piles and no trace of the
bodies.”
“The lamp!” Odell ejaculated. “There wasn't enough
oil in it to last more than an hour longer, at most. Tony
must have waked up and lurched against it, for there wasn't
any wind to blow it over. Gad! what a death for him!”
An hour later, after making himself presentable and with
the data which the chief had given him carefully catalogued
in his mind, the detective set out for the Meade house. His
first intention was to see Gene and force from him an ex-
planation of that note which Drew had made an excuse
for the interview in the room back of the shop, and he antici-
pated that the explanation would merely confirm his own
later suspicion; but that would be as so much dead wood
out of his path.
He had interviewed neither Lorne nor his youngest step-
daughter as yet, and if they could furnish him with no
clue the process of elimination was all that was left to him.
The chief was even now honeycombing the city for Drew,
but his apprehension was a matter of relative unimportance
to Odell; he was too deeply engrossed in the problem which
the recent events in the Meade house presented to give a
thought to personal reprisal for his abduction; and he no
longer believed that Farley Drew had any hand in the series
of crimes he was investigating.
Peters, looking slightly better than at their last meeting,
opened the door to him, and Miss Meade met him with out-
stretched hand in the hall.
“Oh, Sergeant Odell, I'm so glad that you have come!”


190 UNSEEN HANDS
There were tired lines under her eyes. “Mr. Lorne looked
for you eagerly yesterday, and I-we were all anxious to
see you.” -
“You have something to tell me, Miss Meade?”
“Unfortunately, no. We are all as much in the dark as
before; but the suspense is horrible! It has been a comfort
to know that your men were here to protect the children.”
“The children alone, Miss Meade? The next blow might
have fallen on you; have you thought of that?” he asked
her quietly.
She shook her head.
“I thought only of the others. It doesn't matter about
me; you see, I–I have no fear. But tell me, have you dis-
covered anything, Sergeant Odell? Although I shrank at
first from a knowledge of the truth I feel now that any
awakening, no matter how bitter and soul-crushing, would
be far better than this nightmare in which we are all living.
Please be frank with me; I must know.”
“My dear Miss Meade, when I have any news you may
rest assured that you shall be the first to hear it,” he replied
gently.
“Will you go up to my brother-in-law now? He has
been asking for you ever since he woke up.” She paused
and then added: “But you look very tired, Sergeant Odell;
may I not first offer you a cup of coffee?”
He shook his head smilingly.
“Thank you, no. I breakfasted early. I will interview
Mr. Lorne presently, but first I should like to see Taylor,
one of my operatives here; may he be sent for, please?”
Taylor came to him in the library, and at his entrance
Odell noted the look of grim satisfaction upon his face.


WHAT RANNIE KNEW 191
“Good morning, Sergeant. Have you seen the chief ?”
Odell nodded.
“Just came from him. He said that you succeeded in
searching Miss Meade's room and her sister's, but you
found no opportunity to get into the one occupied by the
younger Chalmers boy.”
“I did this morning, not an hour ago. He kept to his
room all day yesterday, but to-day he went down to break-
fast, and that was my chance,” Taylor replied eagerly. “I
didn't find anything in his room except clothes and books;
there wasn't so much as a single letter lying around,
and his fountain pen looked as if it hadn't been used for
months.
“I reckon he doesn’t do much but read, for I never saw
so many books in my life outside of a library; they're over-
flowing the bookcases and piled up in the corners of the
room, and a lot of them are on medical subjects. There
were a couple of extra braces, too, for his back; and the
shelves and cabinet in his private bathroom were stacked
with medicine-bottles.
“I was in there giving them the once over when he came
up from breakfast, and I swung the door quick within an
inch of closing just as he opened the other door leading
from the hall, for I’d heard that high whining voice of his,
and I knew he wasn't alone. I only caught the end of a
sentence first:-only keep you a minute.” Then a woman's
voice said quietly: ‘Yes, sir.’ It was that maid Gerda, and
she spoke in a kind of a hushed way as if she were wait-
ing for something to fall.
“‘I’ve known for the last month’—young Chalmers
finished with something so low I couldn't hear; but the


192 UNSEEN HANDS
woman gave a sharp little cry and then tried to cover it
up by a bluff. “I don't know what you mean, sir! I—I
never heard’—
“He laughed that sneering laugh of his and interrupted
her. ‘I caught you listening at the head of the stairs one
day and saw the expression on your face as you looked
down at him. You looked as though you could kill him
then. I'm not going to give you away; don't be afraid of
that. Life and death are nothing to me, and I wouldn't
ring the curtain down on this little melodrama for worlds.
It amuses me immensely.”
“She lost all her deference then and snapped out at him.
‘You—you're not human!' He only laughed at her again
and said, ‘Possibly not, but I don't want the fun spoiled.
That's why I asked you to step in here for a moment; I
wanted to warn you that the young man from Headquarters
is no fool, and your English is altogether too good for a
lady's maid. Better cultivate Jane a bit even if it does go
against the grain, and copy her speech the next time he
interviews you. That's all.”
“I tried to get a look at them through the crack in the
door, but they weren't on a line with it; and the woman
didn't reply for a full minute. When she did it was with
all the old deference and a little bit added, as if she were
mocking him. ‘Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.’ And
with that she was gone.
“I was afraid he would come into the bathroom and
catch me; but he walked up and down for a little, chuckling
to himself, and then turned and left the room, and I heard
him going down the front stairs, which were mended
yesterday. That was my cue, and I beat it.”


WHAT RANNIE KNEW 193
“You’re quite sure of that conversation word for word,
Taylor?” Odell asked.
“Word for word, Sergeant. Whoever the woman is,
young Chalmers has her number.”


CHAPTER XVI
MISS RISBY SPEAKS
HAT could that cryptic conversation mean? For
some little time after he had dismissed the operative
and sent him back to Headquarters Odell sat lost in thought.
It did not seem possible that even the sardonic little hunch-
back, embittered as he was with all the world, could have
been referring to the series of crimes which had already
carried off his own mother and brother, unless he were in-
deed insane, as the woman Gerda had hinted. But had she
in her turn been referring to him when she gave to Odell
himself that mysterious warning?
Obviously, if each suspected the other neither could be
guilty; yet what could the “melodrama” be, and why should
Rannie Chalmers's callous, sneering remark have shaken the
woman momentarily from her well-studied pose? At whom
could she have been looking with murder in her eyes when
the hunchback came upon her, as he had said? If she were
not concerned in the tragic mystery what was her purpose in
this house?
Even as the questions thronged his brain, a casual re-
mark of Taylor's recurred to him with startling significance.
“I never saw so many books in my life . . . a lot of them
are on medical subjects.”
It was natural that a chronic invalid should be interested
194


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 195
in his condition, perhaps to a morbid extent, and would
collect all the data he could find bearing on his case; but
what if Rannie had gone further in his study of medicine?
If his library contained any volumes on toxicology it would
open up a new field of conjecture.
Odell dismissed the matter from his thoughts for the
time being and started upstairs. He would have liked to
investigate it at once; but Richard Lorne had summoned
him in the first place, and he had not yet had an opportunity
of hearing his version of the mystery.
At the top of the stairs, however, he all but collided
with Smith, who with finger on lip beckoned him into
an alcove formed by the bay window over the entrance
door.
“Something's up, Sergeant,” he whispered hurriedly.
“Taylor told me you were here, and I was just coming down
to find you.”
“The chief told me about Miss Chalmers's attempt to
elude you yesterday”—Odell was beginning, but the oper-
ative cut him short.
“I mean to-day, now ! She never left her room yester-
day after that scene with her aunt when she got home, and
this morning she went down to breakfast with a face like
a thundercloud. I was sitting in the hall outside the dining-
room door reading my paper and waiting to see what her
next move would be, when that housemaid, Jane, came run-
ning up the back stairs.
“She was all excited and smiling, but when she saw me
she changed like a shot; gave me a cool little nod, and then
got a duster out of the hall closet and began fussing around
and humming as if there was nothing on her mind but her


196 UNSEEN HANDS
hair; yet I noticed that she didn't get very far from that
dining-room door, and she kept her eyes on it, too.
“Miss Meade and the two young ladies and the hunch-
backed boy were the only ones who had come down to
breakfast; and when they finished and came out I watched
Jane.
“She turned when she heard their chairs moved back and
went up the back stairs; and I walked to the front of the
hall and stood in the library door behind the curtain, where
I could see up the main staircase. Miss Cissie left the
dining-room first and started for her room; and there was
Jane waiting for her in the upper hall. They stood talk-
ing together for a minute; and I saw Miss Cissie jump as
if she'd been shot and grab Jane by the arm and drag her
off down the hall.
“Miss Meade and her younger niece stayed in the dining-
room talking to Peters; but before I had a chance to get
upstairs Rannie Chalmers came out and started up ahead
of me, so I went down the hall to the back stairs.
“When I reached the second floor he was just entering
his room, talking to Gerda; and Miss Cissie and Jane were
nowhere to be seen. Rannie's door was open and I waited
here, where we are standing now, until Gerda came out;
and then he followed her and went down-stairs again. I
hurried over to Miss Cissie's door and listened. Jane was
saying: ‘Oh, miss, it's much too good for me’; and Miss
Cissie said, ‘Nonsense! I can't wear it any more now that
I am in mourning, and I appreciate what you've done for
me. I’ll give you ever so many more pretty things if you
will bring me any other messages that may come that way,
Jane, and never tell anybody.”


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 197
“It wasn't what she said so much, Sergeant, though it
was enough to show me that Jane had put something over
on me, as the way she said it; you never heard such a
change in anyone's tone in your life! Her voice was low
but shaking with excitement and happiness too. You could
tell. I moved away just in time to see Jane come out and
whisk up to her own room with a pink evening dress over
her arm.”
“Humph!” Odell ejaculated. “Where is the young lady
now P”
“Still in her room.”
“Well, go outside and ask Blake and Shaw—they're on
the day watch—if they saw Jane talking to anyone at either
entrance to the house; then come back and don’t let Miss
Cissie out of your sight if she leaves her room. If she
should go out while I am here, be sure you let me know
before you trail her.”
The operative started upon his errand, and Odell went
to the door of Mr. Lorne's room and knocked. An eager
voice fairly bellowed the command to enter, and he obeyed,
to find the sick man sitting bolt upright among his pillows.
“At last !” the latter exclaimed. “Where the devil were
you all day yesterday, Sergeant? I kept the wires hot ring-
ing up Headquarters for you, and got Titheredge to go
down there; but all that your captain would say was that
you were working on the case. What have you discovered?
Do you know who the scoundrel is who cut that picture-
wire and tried to break my neck on the stairs?”
Odell shut the door carefully and drew a chair up to
the bed.
“I can't tell you very much at this stage of the game,


198 UNSEEN HANDS
Mr. Lorne.” He smiled noncommittally. “I have come
rather to hear what you have to tell me about the whole
affair. I understand that it was your desire to notify us
even before the portrait fell in the library.”
“Yes. I was talking it over with Titheredge when Gene
came in with the letter. I felt that those accidents which
resulted in the deaths of my poor wife and her son with
so short a time between might have been deliberately de-
signed to appear as accidents. I don't know why the con-
viction came to me. There was no one I could suspect, no
motive I could fathom; and yet I felt sure as the days
passed after Julian's death that something sinister and
horrible lay behind it all.
“I’m a plain, hard-headed business man, and never took
any stock in this psychic stuff, but there has been an oppres-
sion aside from our natural grief in the air; the children all
felt it and I shouldn't wonder if Effie, my sister-in-law, did
too, although she is such a diffident little body that I doubt
if she ever had an independent thought in her life.
“It was as if there were someone else in the house, some-
one whom we could not see, who was waiting to pick us
off one by one like fruit from a tree.” He paused, and the
ruddy color swept over his face. “I suppose that sounds
like damn-fool talk to you, Sergeant; for, as Titheredge
said, I hadn't a tangible fact to back up my suspicions until
the portrait fell.”
“Some more facts are in my possession now, Mr. Lorne,
which substantiate your suspicions,” Odell observed gravely.
“I have proof that that razor was not drawn across your
step-son's throat by his own hand, and strong circumstantial
evidence, in which the specialists and your family physician


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 199
concur, that Mrs. Lorne's death was deliberately brought
about. The attempts upon your life and that of your other
step-son were self-evident, of course.”
“Proof ſ” Richard Lorne repeated lifting his clenched
right hand over his head only to let it fall impotently once
more. “Christine! My poor Christine and her boy! And
I’ve got to lie here like this I can't make a move to find
the fiend and get my hands about his throat!
Sergeant, I’ll give you anything in the world, all that I’ve
got, if you'll find him for me and then let me have my
way with him.”
“It's my business to find him, sir; that's what I'm here
for,” Odell replied reassuringly. “You’re not going to be
useless in this investigation by any means simply because
you are ill; you might be able to help me more than anybody.
Mr. Lorne, you may not be conscious of it yourself, but
there must have been something more than what we will
call a psychic influence which made your conviction of foul
play so strong. Think! Try to remember when the first
misgivings came to you and what caused them. No matter
how trivial it may seem to you, I want to hear it.”
“It was something my poor wife said in her delirium,
as I thought at the time. Later, after her death, it kept re-
curring to my mind, and I began to wonder whether she
had actually been delirious after all when she spoke.” For
a moment Lorne turned his head away in an obvious effort
to control his emotion. “It was just at dawn on the day
before her death, and she had asked for me. The night
nurse, Miss Risby, was still on duty; and my sister-in-law,
worn out, was asleep on the couch at the other side of the
TOO111.


200 UNSEEN HANDS
“I sat down beside the bed and lifted my wife's hand,
holding it close. She smiled faintly at me; then her eyes
glittering with fever followed the Risby woman around the
room. I had never liked that nurse; she was officious, and
she seemed unwilling at any time to leave me alone with
my wife. Now she kept pottering about, moving bottles
and rattling the cracked ice until I thought I should shout.
Then she picked up a blanket and went over to the couch
to place it about Effie—Miss Meade—and the moment her
back was turned my wife's hand tightened on mine. “Dick,”
she whispered, ‘send her away. Don't let her come in here
any more. She's killing me.’ I tried to soothe her, think-
ing of course that she was off her head; but she clawed
at my hand, and the most piteous expression came over her
poor face.
“‘Oh, won't you believe? Isn't there going to be any
help for me? I’m not crazy, Dick dear, I know. She pre-
tends to be kind, but she makes me suffer more all the time,
and there's something—something diabolical in her eyes.
For God's sake, keep her away from me! I tell you she
means my death!’”
For an instant there swept across the detective's mind
that sentence uttered by Gerda: “Watch their eyes!” Was
it of Miss Risby that she had been trying to warn him?
But Miss Risby had already gone. . . .
“Mr. Lorne, did your wife mention Miss Risby's name?
Could she not have been speaking of the day nurse?”
“No. Her eyes were fixed on the Risby woman all the
time; and when she turned and came toward the bed my
wife shrank back in her pillows as far as she could get,
holding to my hand with all her feeble strength. “Dick,”


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 201
she cried out, and her voice was hoarse with terror, ‘I im-
plore you! Do what I ask! I am not mad, I know!'
Then that confounded nurse intervened and practically or-
dered me from the room, and like a fool I went. My poor
wife's eyes had been so wild, her words so incredible, and
her manner so violent, that it did not occur to me for a
moment that she could be in full possession of her facul-
ties. I supposed as a matter of course that it was all a
mere figment of her disordered imagination.
“When I look back now, Sergeant, I could kill myself.
I feel as guilty as though I myself had caused her death.
My God, if I had only listened and believed." He threw
his sound arm up across his eyes and for a space lay very
still. When at last his arm dropped to his side once
more the detective saw the traces of tears on his fat
cheeks.
“Yet I have nothing even now against that nurse except
my poor wife's accusation; and I would hesitate to accuse
any woman of so vile and purposeless a crime. It is only
that I could not put those words from my thoughts and they
were the last my wife ever spoke to me. The next time I
saw her she was raving in delirium; then the state of coma
ensued which continued until the end. After her death I
thought of mentioning my misgiving to the doctor; but I
knew that he would not give it a moment's credence, and
I tried to put it from my own mind. But I couldn't; I shall
hear that pitiful, desperate appeal ringing in my ears while I
live!”
“Did both the nurses leave immediately after Mrs. Lorne
passed away?” Odell asked.
“Within a few hours; as soon as the undertaker had gone.


202 UNSEEN HANDS
I wanted Miss Meade to keep the other one, Miss Brown,
with her for a day or two, as she was so terribly broken
up by my wife's death that I was afraid she would be ill
herself; but she said that she wanted to be alone with me
and the children. Of course Miss Risby could have had
nothing to do with the further events which occurred here
in this house; and I can't even now bring myself to suspect
her of causing my wife's death, but that warning must have
meant something. My poor wife must have known instinc-
tively that she was being done to death, and mistakenly
suspected the Risby woman. Then came the morning when
we found Julian up there with his throat cut, and I began
to feel that fear of a damnable conspiracy at work against
all of us !”
“I think that your wife's words alone would have justified
official investigation, Mr. Lorne,” the detective remarked.
“In view of the fact that the specialists themselves could
not agree as to why she had not responded to treatment,
they seem particularly significant.”
“I know; but I thought I should only be laughed at, and
I shrank from the idea of the notoriety which would ensue.”
Lorne flushed again. “I didn't even tell Titheredge of what
my wife had said. He's a man of sound common sense with
a trained legal mind; and when he ridiculed the suggestion
that there could be anything more than coincidence in the
two deaths, I realized the reception I would probably re-
ceive from the authorities if I went to them with my story.
I was getting desperate, though, and I would have summoned
you people that night before the portrait fell if Titheredge
hadn't stopped me.”
"How? Why should he have stopped you?” Odell


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 203
noted the change which came over the face of the injured
man at his query.
“He said that my theory presupposed what he called an
inside job; and the thought that suspicion should be directed
against any of the family was too monstrous to be borne. I
couldn't force myself to consider such a hideous possibility,
great as was my inner conviction that those deaths were
more than accidental. Then Gene came in with the letter,
and the picture fell. After I saw the severed ends of the
wire cable which had held it in place I knew that there could
be no more dodging of the issue, no matter what it might
bring to all of us.”
“Until then you had absolutely nothing to sustain that
conviction except what Mrs. Lorne had said in that last
conversation with her? Nothing tangible, I mean. There
were no circumstances connected with the death of your
step-son which you considered suspicious, save the fact
itself following so closely upon your wife's death?”
“Nothing. Julian was in a highly nervous condition.
He had gashed himself badly only a day or two before while
trying to shave, owing to the uncontrollable tremor of his
hands. What proof have you, Sergeant, that he was
murdered?”
A knock upon the door and the entrance of Doctor Adams
saved Odell from the necessity of a reply, and with a
promise to return later for a further conference he with-
drew.
He was starting downstairs when the sound of Rannie's
high, whining voice from the library made him pause. Now
would be as good a time as any to examine the cripple's
collection of medical books.


204 UNSEEN HANDS
Half an hour later, when Doctor Adams emerged from *
his patient's room he came face to face with Barry Odell,
and he noted the extreme gravity of the detective's coun-
tenance even before the latter asked abruptly:
“Doctor, will you give me the addresses of the two nurses
who were in attendance upon Mrs. Lorne in her last illness?”
“Certainly, Sergeant.” The physician looked the sur-
prise and curiosity which he did not voice as he drew a
note-book from his pocket. “Miss Brown's address is 720
West One-hundred-and-tenth Street, and Miss Risby—let
me see—Miss Risby lives at the Hotel for Professional
Nurses in Fifty-second Street.”
“Have you employed them both on cases before? Do
you know them well ?”
“I’ve had them each on several cases but not together.
I’ve known Miss Brown since she graduated and Miss
Risby for about two years, and I can vouch for them both
in every way.” The physician hesitated. “You know that
the Chief Medical Examiner has ordered an autopsy on
Mrs. Lorne? It is to take place on Monday.”
“I knew that one was contemplated,” Odell responded.
“I shall see you again there, Doctor. Thank you for the
addresses.”
He left the house and made his way first uptown to the
residence of Miss Brown, but found that she was out on
a case. As he had intended merely to sound her in a general
way as to her opinion of her fellow nurse, her absence was
of small moment, and he hurried downtown to the second
address. Here fortune favored him; Miss Risby was in
and would join him at once in the reception room.
While he waited, Odell's thoughts went back to that last
-


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 205
half hour in Rannie's room. The medical books he had
found there were by no means confined in subject to spinal
diseases. They had appeared rather to his unlearned eye
to cover the whole field of materia medica; but one small
volume in particular had given him food for thought. It
was a treatise on diseases of the blood; and the chapter on
septicemia had been faintly marked by the imprint of a
thumb upon the margin, a small, delicate thumb, which had
left a trace of aromatic grease upon the white surface of
the page. The perfume had been distinctly noticeable when
he opened the book. Was this another evidence of the
strange carelessness which had characterized each phase of
this astonishing series of crimes?
“Mr. Odell?” A quiet, self-contained voice at his side
roused him from his thoughts; and the detective rose to
find confronting him a tall, slender girl with wide-set, in-
telligent gray eyes, and masses of pale golden hair bound
severely around her small head.
“Sergeant Odell, from Police Headquarters,” he corrected
her pleasantly but in a lowered tone, with a cautious glance
about the deserted reception room. “We are investigating
the murder of Mrs. Richard Lorne.”
If he had hoped by the abruptness of the statement to
shake the girl from her attitude of serene composure he was
doomed to disappointment.
“Murder?” she repeated, regarding him thoughtfully.
“Do you mean it has been decided that she was murdered?”
“You were in nightly attendance upon her, I understand,
Miss Risby; and yet you do not seem surprised,” Odell ob-
served significantly.
“Because I am not. It would be too much to say that


206 UNSEEN HANDS
I actually suspected my patient was being done to death; but
I could not understand why she did not rally under the
treatment. My own impressions were too vague for me to
approach the physician in charge with them, but they were
strong enough to make me take every precaution possible
during my hours on duty. I am heartily glad that an in-
vestigation is to be made.”
“Every precaution,” the detective repeated; and a light
broke suddenly over him. “Is that why you would not
leave Mrs. Lorne alone with her husband?”
A slight flush came into the girl's face, but her eyes met
his steadily.
“Yes, Sergeant Odell. She was in my charge, and I did
not think it wise. I have no proof; I make neither explana-
tion nor defense of my conduct. It was my prerogative to
deny my patient any communication, even with members of
her family, which might prove harmful to her in her con-
dition, and I exercised it.”
“But you permitted her sister to be almost constantly
with her; you must have had some especial reason for deny-
ing that privilege to Mr. Lorne.”
The girl hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she
said slowly:
“If you understood the ethics of my profession and the
position in which we nurses stand in relation to the
physician in charge of a case, you would realize why I have
mentioned this to no one until now. I noticed that Mrs.
Lorne grew rapidly worse after each interview alone with
her husband; and on at least one occasion I am sure, al-
though I cannot prove it, that the bandage upon her hand


MISS RISBY SPEAKS 207
and arm had been tampered with. Because of that lack of
proof I dared not mention the matter to Doctor Adams,
but I did my best to protect my patient; until the hour of
her death she was never, during my hours on duty, alone
again with Mr. Lorne.”


CHAPTER XV12
FARLEY DREw's GAME
OR a moment after Miss Risby's veiled but unmistak-
ably significant statement Odell stared at her while
this new and amazing possibility swept over his conscious-
ness. Was the girl lying, deliberately attempting to throw
suspicion on Lorne, even as he had an hour before prac-
tically accused her?
The detective was forced to admit to himself that she did
not appear to be the type of woman who would commit
herself in any way without due cause and after careful con-
sideration; yet she had said more than the situation de-
manded. She might easily have taken refuge in the ex-
cuse that she thought Mr. Lorne's presence, or that of any
other member of the family except Miss Meade, excited her
patient; she need not have volunteered that observation
about the bandage.
“You are absolutely sure in your own mind that the
bandage was tampered with?” he asked.
The girl shrugged.
“Doctor Adams would tell you that the patient might
very well have loosened it in changing her position in bed;
but I had applied it myself, and I knew that it had been
removed and replaced.”
“Did you examine it, Miss Risby P Was there anything
208


FARLEY DREW’S GAME 209
upon it or in the infected spot itself which suggested that
some foreign matter might have been introduced?”
“No; I could not say that,” she replied conscientiously.
“The irritation and consequent suppuration had materially
increased, and the patient's temperature had risen; but I
found no trace of poison, if that is what you mean.”
“Will you tell me all the circumstances, please? Was
anyone else near Mrs. Lorne on that occasion?”
“No. Miss Meade was sleeping on the day bed in the
boudoir adjoining, but she never stirred until I awakened
her at midnight. She was utterly worn out and had gone
to rest immediately after dinner on the evening in question,
which was five days before Mrs. Lorne's death.
“I was alone with my patient when about nine o'clock
Mr. Lorne knocked upon the door and I admitted him.
After a few minutes I left him quietly talking to his wife;
and requesting him not to remain more than twenty minutes,
I went to my own room, where I wrote a letter. In ex-
actly the time I had stipulated I returned and found that
he had gone, and my patient was in the condition which I
have described.
“I looked in the boudoir and saw that Miss Meade was
still sleeping, and when I awakened her later I learned she
had heard no one in her sister's room. I asked Mrs. Lorne
herself if anyone had touched the bandage, but she denied
it and seemed resentful. She was not a particularly easy
patient to handle, being high-strung and self-indulgent to a
degree; and it was essential that she should not be permitted
to excite herself, so I dared not question her further.”
The quiet, unemotional voice had continued without
emphasis or hesitation until the end; and now the girl sat


210 UNSEEN HANDS
composedly awaiting the next question. Could she have
anticipated this scene and carefully rehearsed it? Her
poise seemed all at once too perfect not to have been studied.
“Miss Risby, there must have been something else to
arouse your suspicions. You would not, in the ordinary
performance of your duty, prevent a man from having a
private interview with his dying wife merely because on an
earlier visit of his the bandage about her arm had become
loosened and her fever increased.”
The shot told, as he could note by the sudden tightening
of the girl's lips; but she shook her head.
“You forget that the irritation of the infected area had
also increased and to an alarming extent. It-it looked to
me, Sergeant Odell, like a deliberate reinfection. I cannot
even under the present circumstances discuss the private
affairs of a family whose household I enter in a professional
capacity, and I do not pretend to hazard any motive for
such a possible act on Mr. Lorne's part; my only duty was
toward my patient and I fulfilled it to the best of my ability.”
“Yet you did learn something of the private affairs of
that family.” Odell seized upon the opening she had un-
wittingly given to him. “You do know or suspect a possible
motive on Mr. Lorne's part for such a crime. Miss Risby,
there are certain occasions when professional ethics must
be put aside. The truth will not bring Mrs. Lorne back to
life, but it may save others from dying as she did.”
“Others?” The girl was startled from her serene com-
posure at last. “What do you mean, Sergeant Odell?
Surely there have been no further cases!”
“You encountered all the members of the family during
your stay, did you not?”


FARLEY DREW’S GAME 211
She nodded wordlessly.
“You have heard of the subsequent death of Mrs. Lorne's
oldest son, Julian Chalmers?”
“No!” she cried. “I have been on a contagious case in
quarantine for the last fortnight. That splendid, robust
young man! I–I can scarcely believe it! How—how did
he die?”
“He was murdered in an even more ruthless fashion
than was his mother. We have absolute proof of that and
the manner of it; and two later unsuccessful attempts have
been made upon other members of the family.” Odell
paused. “You see now, Miss Risby, that no ethical ques-
tion must seal your lips. In the case of Mrs. Lorne, I
may tell you that Doctor Adams as well as the special-
ists are convinced that death was not the direct result
of the prick of that needle; and they are coöperating
with me in every way. I must ask you to be equally
frank.”
“Oh, I don't know what to do!” The girl's hands twisted
together in her lap. “Nursing isn't only a business with
me; it is almost a sacred calling, and I have always striven
to uphold its tenets scrupulously. There can be nothing
more despicable than a woman who enters a home in the
intimate, confidential capacity of a nurse and tattles of the
personal, private matters which inevitably come under her
observation; and yet if it is a question of preventing crime,
I realize that I have no choice. Only if Mr. Lorne is
innocent I am doing a terrible thing in this betrayal of my
trust l”
“If Mr. Lorne is innocent the truth cannot hurt him,”
the detective urged. “Circumstantial evidence alone cannot


212 UNSEEN HANDS
avail in a case of this sort, and where no possible motive
appears—”
“But that is just it,” Miss Risby interrupted him. “I
am afraid that what I have to tell you will seem to establish
a motive, yet I must speak. On the day before the episode
of which I have just told you Miss Brown had a sore throat,
and I assumed her duties as well as my own; Mrs. Lorne
was not then so critically ill, you know. In the afternoon
she was resting easily, and I thought it safe to take a nap
if I remained within call. I went to the day bed in the
boudoir and fell asleep almost at once, but was awakened
by the sound of my patient's voice raised in shrill anger.
“I started up to go to her, my first thought being to curb
her excitement, but when I heard Mr. Lorne's voice I
hesitated. I did not mean to listen, but after the first few
words I decided that it would save them from embarrass-
ment if I did not appear; for their argument was about
finances and of a most private nature.
“Mr. Lorne was urging his wife to sign some sort of
paper which would enable him to sell a certain piece of
property in which I gathered she had equal rights; and she
vehemently refused... I cannot repeat the exact words; but
it was evident that he was in financial straits, and he com-
plained bitterly of his position in practically living on the
money she had inherited from her first husband—of whom
he spoke in a decidedly uncomplimentary manner—while
there remained property of his own which would carry him
safely over some crisis in the stock market and turn the
tide, if his wife would only sign the document.
“She declared that the property in question was bound
to increase in value, and if he had been a fool and got him-


FARLEY DREW’S GAME 213
self into a hole he must take the consequences; that she
had always hated his gambling in Wall Street, and had
warned him that he would fail sooner or later; and it might
as well come now while her private fortune was sufficient
for all their future needs. He swore that he would not live
on her money; and she asked him sneeringly what he was
going to do about it. She resented the slurs cast upon her
first husband; and Mr. Lorne was furious at her ridicule
of his lack of judgment in playing the market.
“A violent quarrel ensued in which he cursed himself
for marrying a selfish, self-willed woman who had been
spoiled all her life, and vowed that he would find some way
to regain independent control of his own property. He as-
serted in no uncertain terms that she wanted him to fail,
in order to place him under further obligations and make
him a slave to her slightest whim, and that he—he would see
her dead first.”
The girl's voice had sunk lower and lower until the final
words came in a mere whisper, and she shuddered as if
shrinking from their very utterance.
“Did Mrs. Lorne still refuse?” Odell asked.
“Yes; and he left in a towering rage, while she merely
laughed at him in a tantalizing way. Aside from the ques-
tion, which was none of my affair, I must confess that I
felt a certain amount of sympathy for Mr. Lorne at the
moment. Mrs. Lorne was a very beautiful woman, but her
disposition was not an easy one with which to get along;
and I had already experienced her almost maniacal outbursts
of temper over the merest trivialities.
“However, when I returned to the sick-room after dinner
that evening I found him again with her, and they seemed


214 UNSEEN HANDS
to have established amicable and even affectionate relations
once more; so I thought no further about the scene of the
afternoon until on the following night, when immediately
after his customary visit with her I found her condition so
changed.”
“And this is all you have to tell me?” Odell rose. “You
can recall nothing else which might have a possible bearing
on Mrs. Lorne's death?”
“Nothing,” Miss Risby responded as she gave him her
hand. “Please do not attach too much significance to what
I have told you, Sergeant. I have witnessed many domestic
quarrels, and it has been my experience that people say a
great deal in the heat of anger which it would be ridiculous
to attach any importance to. I have told you only because
I thought it my duty; but I beg that you will not accept
my statement as conclusive proof.”
Leaving her, Odell returned as quickly as possible to the
Meade house. With every turn he seemed to be unearthing
fresh and conflicting circumstantial evidence, and he felt
that before proceeding any further he must gather up some
of the loose threads which entangled this most perplexing
of all the cases he had known.
When Peters admitted him he proceeded directly to the
third floor and found Porter seated on a chair in the hall
outside Gene's door yawning over a newspaper, which he
cast aside with a quickly suppressed grin at sight of his
superior.
“I’m glad you got back, Sergeant,” he observed with an
innocent air which told the detective plainly that the tale of
his abduction had filtered through from Headquarters dur-


FARLEY DREW’S GAME 217
my stepfather and the family or—or anyone else you like.”
There was a sort of quiet desperation in his tones, with no
trace of bravado. “Ever since I can remember I have been
able to copy people's handwriting without any practice, and
so nearly perfect that they could not themselves tell it from
their own. I used to do it for fun at school when I was
a kid. It was a gift from the devil, I guess; but I never
thought of turning it to account in any dishonest way until
Drew found out about my freakish ability in that line and
put the idea into my head.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Sergeant; I’m not trying to
hide behind his skirts. I forged my mother's name to that
check, and I am willing to take the consequences. Drew
had me in a hole; racing, and gambling, and chits signed at
restaurants for supper parties, and all the rest of it. He
had a stack of I. O. U. paper of mine about a foot high.
My stepfather had paid up my debts twice; and he refused
to do so again, and I knew he meant it.
“Of course I shall be of age in another month and master
of my inheritance from my own father; but Drew wouldn't
wait. The notes were long overdue; and he was pressing
me, and threatening until I was almost crazy.”
Only another month? Odell's thoughts were far afield.
Mrs. Lorne had refused to sign away her rights to certain
property, and she had died; Julian had demanded an ac-
counting of his estate, and he also had perished. Gene
would be of age in four short weeks; and it was obvious
that he, too, would want control of his inheritance—and that
portrait had all but crushed out his life when it fell ! All
this capital had been intrusted to Richard Lorne's keeping.
. . . With an effort the detective forced himself to con-


218 UNSEEN HANDS
centrate on the matter in hand. “Why couldn't Drew wait
one month more?”
“I didn't know then. He always seemed prosperous,
though I fancied he was sailing pretty close to the wind
himself. I hadn't the faintest idea of his real motive. I
owed him all told about twelve thousand dollars; but he
said he would return all my notes and call it square if I
would get ten thousand for him then, and he told me how
it could be done.”
“When was this, Mr. Chalmers?”
“About six weeks ago. I needn't tell you what a rotter
I felt, forging my mother's name; but I knew she would
save me from exposure if the worst came to the worst, even
though she had agreed with my stepfather not to let me
have another cent; and I could pay her back as soon as I
came into my own money. Of course I didn't dream then
what was coming; and she died without ever knowing what
I had done.
“I made the check out to myself, endorsed it, and gave
it to Farley Drew; and he returned all my notes. But when
Dad and old Titheredge were settling up her estate after
her death, the check didn't come back from the bank with
those my mother herself had drawn. I didn't know what
to make of it, and was in a blue funk for fear the people at
the bank had discovered the forgery and were investigating
it quietly. I went to Farley Drew, and then for the first
time learned the sort of man he was, and how I had put
myself in his power.
“Sergeant, he was in no such need of ready money as I
had imagined; he had not cashed that check, nor had he
ever intended to do so. He was going to hold it over my


220 UNSEEN HANDS
but it didn't work. I was a coward and a rotter to steal
from my own mother when she was alive, even though I
could return it so soon; but with her dead and her body
scarcely cold in the grave I—I couldn't! I defied him, and
he saw he had gone too far; but he has been stalling along
ever since.
“That last meeting was the end. I told him that I knew
his game and he could go as far as he liked; he would never
get another penny out of me by fair means or foul; and
if he intended to use that check to expose me I would
anticipate him. I swore I would go to Dad and old Tither-
edge and tell them the truth, and they could do what they
wanted to with me; at least I would be out of his clutches.
I suppose he means to sell them that check for about five
times its face value; but I don't care if they refuse! I
don't care if the whole world knows; for it couldn't con-
demn me half as bitterly as I condemn myself!” Gene's
voice broke suddenly, and he buried his face in his hands.
“Oh, if my mother only understands and forgives!”


CHAPTER XVIII
“READY TO ANYONE'S HAND”
DELL waited until the young man's emotion had spent
itself and then he asked gently:
“Have you told your stepfather?”
“Not yet. He's been mighty square and patient with me;
and I cannot forget how he loved my mother. Now that
he is injured and grief-stricken, and has all this hideous
affair on his hands besides, I can’t bear to add to his suffer-
ing by having him know that there is a criminal in the
family. Don't think that I am trying to hedge, Sergeant,”
Gene added. “I am only too anxious to get the burden of
what I’ve done off my shoulders; but—but it seems like
hitting a man when he is down to go to him with such a
confession now.”
“Then if you will accept a word of advice, if I were you
I would go to Mr. Titheredge, and tell him everything at
the earliest possible moment. You cannot tell when Drew
may make up his mind to strike; and you must be prepared,”
Odell said gravely. “You are right not to disturb your step-
father with the story now: he does seem to be very much
broken up by your mother's death; and Mr. Titheredge tells
me that their married life was ideal.”
He had added this boldly mendacious statement as a
feeler, and Gene responded to it.
221


222 UNSEEN HANDS
“Dad loved mother to distraction, and she was just as
crazy about him; but they were forever quarreling. A lot
old Titheredge knows about it!” he smiled faintly. “Their
quarrels didn't amount to anything, though: you'd think
they were going to kill each other one minute, and the next
they'd be as happy as ever! Dad has a high temper, but
mother—! She was as quick as lightning to flare out, and
just as quick to forgive and take a fellow to her heart again.
“That was why I was sure that, although she would be
simply wild of course, when she found out about the check,
she would cover it up and protect me from the consequences.
I don't care now; nothing matters except that I’d like to see
Farley Drew get what is coming to him.”
“But you will take my advice?”
“Yes, Sergeant, and I cannot thank you enough for the
consideration you have shown me; I don't deserve it, but I
can tell you that this whole awful affair has taught me a
lesson.” Gene looked straight into Odell's eyes. “I told
you at our first meeting that you could count on me to do
anything I could to help you find out who is back of this con-
spiracy to kill us all, and you can. I haven't an idea who it
is; I can scarcely bring myself to think of it, the possibilities
are so horrible. One thing is certain: God knows I hate
Farley Drew; but he could have had nothing whatever to
do with it. I would stake my life on that. May I go to
Titheredge now? I'll take Porter along with me; he is
too good company to leave trailing behind.”
Odell smiled and held out his hand.
“Go along if you like, Mr. Chalmers. I'm glad that we
have had this understanding, and I may call upon you for
help sooner than you think. Tell Mr. Titheredge that you


“READY TO ANYONE'S HAND” 223
came to him on my advice, and that I want everything about
the affair kept as quiet as possible in the interests of the
case upon which I am at work.”
The younger man flushed as they shook hands.
“Thank you, Sergeant Odell. You can trust me now.”
As he made his way down to the second floor the detective
congratulated himself that his supposition in regard to the
forgery had been verified and some headway had been
gained at last in the process of elimination. Gene and
Farley Drew were definitely erased from his list of suspects,
and the motive for Lorne's possible guilt loomed large.
Another factor, minor but significant, presented itself for
his consideration. Kenny, the boss carpenter who had re-
ceived that mysterious telephone summons to rehang the
portrait, said that the voice which spoke to him was “gruff-
like and rasping but not real deep.” Lorne's tones were
hoarse, but throaty rather than low and heavy. It seemed
the wildest improbability that he would telephone such a
message knowing the comment it would arouse in the house-
hold when the men appeared to do their work; but this was
merely another of the irreconcilable inconsistencies which
Odell had encountered at every turn and which must be
left for explanation until the final solution.
He had intended to pay a second visit to Lorne; but as he
passed Rannie's door he hesitated, and then turned back and
knocked.
The familiar high, querulous tones bade him enter, and he
found the hunchback seated by the window with a huge
leather-bound volume in his shrunken, clawlike hands.
“Well, Sergeant, are you hot on the trail?” There was a
trace of the habitual sneer in the boy's voice; but Odell ob-


224 UNSEEN HANDS
served that he laid aside the book as if not ill-pleased with
the interruption. “Have you come to tell me that you have
discovered the family Nemesis?”
“Scarcely that. I want to ask you precisely the same
question which you put to me at our last interview.” The
detective smiled pleasantly. “What do you think of the
maid, Gerda?”
Rannie's eyes narrowed.
“I thought we had dismissed Gerda from further dis-
cussion, but my opinion of her coincides with your own: I
think she is a very superior sort of maid.”
“You know as well as I do that she is far above the
position which she has voluntarily assumed here.” Odell
was still smiling, but a peremptory note had crept into his
tones. “But you know more than I; you know what her
game is in this house.”
Rannie threw back his head with a burst of ironic
laughter.
“So one of your zealous sleuths was on the job this morn-
ing when I was kidding her, was he? I’m sorry to disap-
point you, Sergeant; but I don't know any more than you
do about her. She's just one of the army of reduced gentle-
women forced to earn their own living, unfitted for any-
thing but a position of this sort, and too proud to play the
game like a sport. It amuses me to take her down a peg
now and then; that is all.”
The detective advanced to the chair upon which Rannie
had placed the book, and picking it up he seated himself and
laid it carelessly on his knee.
“You told her that you would not give her away because
you did not want the “fun' spoiled; and you warned her


“READY TO ANYONE'S HAND” 227
unearthed a ponderous tome. “Here is what you want:
‘Pathogenic Bacteria.” That covers the whole field. Take
it along if you want to; but I don't believe you will find
the cause of my mother's death lurking in any vegetable
organisms.”
“I’d like to take them both, if I may.” Odell tucked them
under his arm. “I don't know much about septicemia, or
what poisons would produce it or its counterfeit. That was
one of the points in which I fancy you could be of assistance
to me.”
“I?” The boy laughed again. “So that is how the wind
blows, is it? I told you at our last interview that I wouldn't
take the trouble to put any of the family out of the way;
but I was evidently not convincing. I'll give you all the
rope you want, Sergeant. As a matter of fact, I have been
reading up and experimenting quite a bit lately on patho-
genic bacteria; the bugs, you know, which produce, among
other things, blood-poisoning. Damaging, isn't it, especially
when I admit that I turned my attention to the subject some
months before my mother's death?”
“Experimenting?” Odell repeated sharply. “Do you
mean that you had the living specimens here?”
Rannie nodded coolly; but the detective noted a sudden
quiver of his distorted face.
“Yes. I got them a month before my mother was taken
ill. I have a friend, Phil Hampton, a young bacteriologist,
who lets me fool around his laboratory when I feel able;
and he taught me a lot. Lent me an incubator and gave me
various forms of cocci to develop and experiment with from
time to time.”
“Did you have in your possession at the time of your


228 UNSEEN HANDS
mother's illness the actual type of bacteria which would
produce blood-poisoning?”
“I did. 'I had had them for two or three days. That was
why, when my mother died and the specialists were still
quarreling about why she had not responded to the treat-
ment, I began to wonder if my incubator had been tampered
with. But you will scarcely credit that, of course. What I
am telling you must amount to a practical confession in
your eyes.”
“You are telling me this of your own free will, and I
am accepting your statement in good faith,” Odell replied
slowly. “If you were guilty, why should you tell me so
much and halt at an actual confession? You kept the in-
cubator here in this room?”
“Yes. It had only to be kept at thirty-eight degrees
centigrade—body temperature, you know—and I found the
bacteria a fascinating study. They were a protection, too,
from boredom; neither of the girls would venture into the
room for fear something would escape and bite them. You
would think I had an embryo menagerie here!”
“Did anyone else in the household evince the slightest
interest in your experiments?”
“Lord, no! The servants didn't know anything about
them; they merely had instructions not to touch the incu-
bator. Gene never comes in here, and Dad would not even
let me show them to him; said I was a fool to monkey with
such things, and that there were enough nuisances in the
world without bothering with trouble-makers which were so
small you couldn't see them. As for Aunt Effie, I insisted
upon talking to her about them just to tease her; but it
distressed her so that I quit finally. I believe she thinks


230 UNSEEN HANDS
nodded toward the collection. “Anyone in the house could
have had as easy access to them as to the incubator.”
“Where is the incubator now?”
“I returned it to Hampton.” Rannie flushed once more.
“It makes the whole thing look pretty black against me,
doesn't it? The fact is that after mother's death and I got
brooding about it and wondering why she hadn't responded
to the treatment I got a sort of horror of those wretched,
infinitesimal things which could so easily have been the
cause of it all. I threw out the bacteria, and sent the in-
cubator back to Hampton; but I couldn't get the thought of
them out of my mind.
“I know it was madness to even consider it; but, Sergeant,
if anyone got at the incubator and infected that needle, they
could as easily have gained access to it at any time during
my mother's subsequent illness and reinfected her over and
over again by a mere pin-prick.” The boy's thin hands
clenched. “That is the only possible way to account for
her failure to rally under the treatment.”
“Doctor McCutchen suggested that the incision made for
drainage near the infected spot might have been reinfected
by serum”—Odell was beginning, but the boy waved him
to silence.
“That form of treatment is a special fad of his, but I
know Doctor Adams doesn’t subscribe to it. He knows of
my interest in medical science, and he kept me informed of
every detail of the case. An abscess did form near the
puncture of the needle, but it was not necessary for him to
lance it, and I know that no incision was made. As to the
puncture itself, it would have been impossible to reinfect
the blood through it because of the dead cells which the


232 UNSEEN HANDS
but it is simply impossible for me to convince myself that
any of them could be capable of such a monstrous, un-
natural crime.”
“How did you expect to discover anything in these two
days which would lead you to suspect the guilt of some
member of the household?”
“Simply by studying them and asking unexpected ques-
tions; but, as I told you, it didn't get me anywhere. As an
amateur detective, I am a failure; and now I’ve put it
squarely up to you, Sergeant. The means of bringing about
my mother's death was here, ready to anyone's hand; and
the knowledge of how to make use of it was equally ac-
cessible. I have no proof that anyone did avail themselves
of it, merely suspicion; and if the circumstantial evidence
were twice as strong—”
“Strong!” A raucous but strangely exultant voice behind
them caught up the word and repeated it with impish glee.
“Strong! Nobody knows how strong I am!”
It was Socrates, dancing excitedly upon his perch and
eyeing them obliquely with a knowing leer.
“Who taught the parrot to say that?” demanded the de-
tective abruptly. It was the phrase which had first arrested
Taylor's attention outside the closed door when that con-
scientious operative was searching the house for possible
clues.
“Nobody. He's been harping on that for a month or
more; but I never can tell how he manages to pick up half
that he knows.” Rannie laughed with a tinge of the old
bitterness. “He certainly never heard me boasting of my
physical prowess!”
“Is he ever taken out of this room?”


AN UNDERWORLD PHOENIX 235
w
without dreaming of the necessity of verifying them; state-
ments which might very easily have been doctored by a
desperate man who constantly hoped to recoup on the
market and thus cover up his peculations.
At a first glance it had seemed inconceivable that the man
should have sawed through the top step of the stairs and
then deliberately have precipitated himself down them next
morning; but on second thought Odell began to see the pos-
sibilities. Lorne might well have planned that episode to
throw suspicion from himself in the inevitable investigation,
meaning merely to roll down the stairs uninjured, and then
have miscalculated his fall. If he were indeed guilty, his
dissimulation to Titheredge and his professed determination
to call in the police rebounded against him as evidence of
his craftiness. He would have had ample time to tamper
with the stairs after the attorney went to sleep, and by keep-
ing him there as a guest his own alibi was established.
Then a quick revulsion of feeling came, and Odell re-
minded himself sternly that he had not one shred of real
evidence against this man, nothing but the vague suspicions
of the trained nurse and his own specious imaginings.
Time above all things was essential in this case, and he could
afford to waste none of it on idle speculations.
One seemingly inconsequential thought still rankled in
his brain—the hint which the mysterious Gerda had given
him concerning insanity. He knew better than to approach
her now for further enlightenment, for he had read the
finality in her manner during their first interview; but if
he had some weapon to wield over her and force her con-
fidence. . . . If he could learn her purpose there, discover
the identity of the man upon whom she had looked


236 UNSEEN HANDS
with murder in her eyes from the top of the stairs. . . .
A sudden inspiration flashed blindingly across his con-
sciousness. If it could be true, it would explain much; and
yet. . . .
“Sergeant, I think she's planning a getaway.” Smith ap-
peared suddenly before him.
“Who?” Odell roused himself from his meditations.
“Miss Cissie. She has been moving briskly back and
forth in her room for the last hour, slamming bureau-
drawers and the closet-door; and she is humming to herself
as if she was mighty pleased over something. I thought I'd
better let you know in case you were going out.”
“All right. If she leaves the house trail her; and take
Blake or Shaw along. By the way, what was the address
of that apartment house she went to yesterday looking for
that Mrs. Gael?”
“Number 120-A West Ninety-third Street. But what's
the idea of taking Blake or Shaw along, Sergeant, if I trail
Miss Cissie?”
“Because in the event that she keeps an appointment one
of you will have to escort her home and the other take
Farley Drew to Headquarters.” Odell smiled. “That is
the only date she will leave this house to keep, and it may
be our best chance of locating him unless she had the right
dope in going to that other woman's apartment yesterday.
I’m going out now, but I'll be back before night in any event.
Don't take your hand off your number for a minute, Smith.”
In the lower hall, however, he was arrested as on a similar
occasion two days before by the sound of youthful voices
in the drawing-room, and after a moment's hesitation be
knocked upon the door.


AN UNDERWORLD PHOENIX 239
smiled in spite of himself. There had been an engaging
quality about the young man's boyish yet very earnest out-
burst, which had enabled Odell to read his character more
clearly than hours of grilling examination would have re-
vealed; and he felt with relief that here at least was one
person more or less intimately connected with the household
whose complexities need not be taken into account.
Nan returned as the front door thudded, her soft eyes
sparkling and the dusky roseglow still suffusing her face;
but color and light alike died from her expression as she
closed the door carefully behind her and approached the
detective.
“Rannie says that you have proof that my mother—”.
Her voice faltered and stopped. Then suddenly a swift cry
burst from her lips. “Is it true that they were murdered,
my mother and Julian?” *
“I am afraid there is no possibility of a doubt,” Odell re-
turned gravely. “I have heard all that the rest of the family
and the servants can tell me, Miss Chalmers; and now I
have come to you. You experienced the same fears, the
same vague suspicions as the others after your brother's
death, did you not?”
“Yes, but I didn't really suspect; none of us did, I'm
sure. I only felt nervous and afraid of something I couldn't
see, as if I were a little bit of a girl again and woke up in
the dark.” She drew a deep breath. “I cannot imagine
who would wish to harm us; I can scarcely believe that this
dreadful thing is true. But, but granted that it is, the most
awful part is that someone beneath our roof–"
Her voice had sunk to a mere whisper and once more it
failed her.


242 UNSEEN HANDS
“Wasn't right!” Odell repeated when he could stem the
flow of words. “What sort of a place was she taken
to P”
“A loon'tic asylum !” the woman replied with morbid
relish. “You could have knocked me down with a feather
when I heard it. She told me she was goin' to a san'tarium
to rest, though she hadn't done nothin’ while she lived here
but moon around the house; and she had hardly any callers,
only one gentleman as I know of, and him not often. It's
funny her friends didn't look her up before, if they was so
concerned about her.”
“But where was she taken? What sanitarium?” The
detective's thoughts were racing now. “On whose advice
did she go?”
“How should I know? I ain't never one to poke my nose
in the tenants’ affairs. She was sad-like when she came,
and she kept gettin' droopier and droopier as time went on,
but she was always soft-spoken and quiet, and I never saw
her do anythin’ funny; no more did Agnes, her girl that
come in by the day. Except for her, Mis’ Gael was all
alone. It was after that gentleman who called now and
again had been here for the next to the last time that Mis’
Gael sent for me and told me she was goin’ away to the
san'tarium, but she'd be back in a few weeks. She left the
next day, and my man helped put her trunk in the taxi.
That very afternoon a movin'-van backed up to the door,
and the boss of it showed me an order to take out all her
things and put them in storage. Her rent was paid up in
advance till the end of her lease, so I had nothin’ to say;
and I ain't heard of her since.”
“Who told you that the sanitarium to which Mrs. Gael


246 UNSEEN HANDS
him till he showed up yes'day wit’ Sims at de boathouse.
Dat's Gawd's trut’.”
“What other jobs have you done for him? Come clean,
Tony. How do I know you didn't dope that whiskey to
get away with Pete's roll and the rest that you were both to
be paid?”
“Youse wouldn't frame me?” Tony's hoarse voice rose
to a whine. “I kin prove dat Pete bought dat whiskey off
a hick an’ de laud'mun in a drug-store in de burg near
where we was at. But I’ll come clean, all right; if I’m
goin' up, I’m goin’ ter have comp'ny! De guy dat Sims
works fer is a blackmailer, see? Gets somet'in’ on rich
kids an’ makes 'em cough up. When dey puts up a kick
Sims comes after me, an' I rocks 'em ter sleep an’ sits beside
de cradle till dey wakes up an’ comes across. Dey tinks it's
just a hold-up an’ kidnappin' job o' mine an’ never gets wise
dat de big guy is back o' it; but dey coughs up just de same
an’ never squeals fer fear de other bus'ness will come out;
an' I divvy wid de main squeeze t'rough Sims.”
“You made use of that boathouse before?”
“Nix. We never took none o’ dem out o’ de city, an' I
t’ought it was bad dope ter do it wid youse, but we had our
orders. We kept 'em in a loft over by de river; I kin take
youse dere—”
“No. Here we are at Headquarters; you can tell the Old
Man where it is.” As he opened the door of the taxi Odell
put a final question. “Why did you look for Sims or his
employer up in Ninety-third Street?”
“'Cause I couldn't find Sims; an' I had ter get ter him
right away an' tell him youse an’ de other boid had flown
an’ Pete croaked. I went up ter dat place wid Sims more'n


*THE TRYST 249
immediately into a tiny cluttered office, where a lanky,
sandy-haired individual untied his long legs from about the
swivel chair and literally fell upon his visitor's neck.
“Barry Odell, you confounded old sleuth, where have you
been keeping yourself? The fellows were all asking about
you at the class reunion dinner in June, but all I could tell
them was that you were too busy hunting crooks to think of
the old days.”
“I have been busy, Jim,” Odell responded quietly; but a
slight flush had mounted to his usually impassive brow.
“How are all the fellows? I'd like to have seen them
again.”
“Then why the deuce didn't you show up? You got the
announcement card, didn't you?” Jim Dilke pushed his
guest into a chair and proffered a box of cigars, which
he took from a drawer in the desk. “You needn't be
afraid to try one; they're the kind I keep for our adver-
tisers.”
“Thanks.” Odell accepted a cigar, lighted it, and settled
back in his chair. “Yes, I got old Whip's announcement;
but—well, I didn't graduate with the rest of you, you know,
and our ways lie far apart now.”
“It is you and your insufferable, stiff-necked pride that
widened the path,” Dilke declared with spirit. “I don't
know why in thunder, when your old man died and you
had to quit the university after the freshman year, you
didn't stay on instead, and let some of us see you through.
You could have paid it back.”
Odell shook his head.
“I had to go to work then,” he replied. “There were
others to be taken care of, you may remember; and I don't


252 UNSEEN HANDS
of me to show up only when I want your help; but one of
these days I'll take a vacation and we'll have a little re-
union of our own.”
He rose and laid the stub of his cigar on the ash-tray.
“I’m only too glad to tell you anything I can, old man.”
Dilke held out his hand. “I’ll fix you up a statement of
Lorne's recorded stock deals for the past few months, if you
like. I can get it to your rooms late to-night or to-morrow
morning.”
“I wish you would,” Odell responded as they shook hands.
“I can slip it into my report for my chief and save a lot
of time. So long, Jim.”
Leaving his friend, he made his way to the office of an-
other newspaper farther uptown, a big metropolitan daily,
where he spent more than an hour going over the files of
two years before. He came at last upon that for which he
had been seeking—a reproduction of a photograph—and he
whistled softly as he studied it. One phase of the problem
which had been an enigma from the first was now made
clear.
Dining early, he returned to Headquarters for an hour's
chat with Captain Lewis, but found that there had been no
further developments since his previous visit. Sims still re-
fused to talk, and the earth seemed to have opened and
swallowed Farley Drew.
Miller, whose day of rest appeared to have obliterated
all trace of the hours of torture when he lay bound and
gagged in the launch beneath the boathouse, had reported
for duty; and after telephoning to Smith, Odell set out
once more for the Meade house in company with the
operative.


THE TRYST 253
Blake and Shaw had been relieved at their post outside
by two other plainclothesmen; and Odell stopped to give
them a word of instruction, when Miller suddenly touched
his arm.
The tradesmen's entrance—a door in the high brick wall
of the yard, which opened from the side street—had swung
in cautiously, and as Odell drew his men quickly around the
screening corner of the house a muffled female figure ap-
peared, heavily veiled and swathed in a cumbersome cloak
despite the warmth of the September night. It appeared
to hesitate for a moment, then turned and struck off down
the side street to the eastward; while from the door of the
yard a second figure, that of a man, emerged and followed
stealthily.
“Smith is on the job,” Odell commented in a low tone.
“That means Miss Cissie has started out to keep her ap-
pointment. Come on, Miller.”
In spite of her bulky attire the woman ahead walked
with a lithe grace, and she appeared to be in no uncertainty
as to her route. The trail led east to Park Avenue, north
for several blocks, then west to Fifth Avenue, where at the
corner she jumped into a taxi, which moved off without
waiting for any instructions.
No other disengaged motor was in sight; but just as
Odell and Miller overtook Smith, who had momentarily
hesitated, an ancient hansom cab drawn by a spavined horse
drew up at the curb, and a husky voice addressed them.
The three piled into the cab and a few words from Odell
sent them off in full pursuit of the taxi, whose tail light
was fast disappearing to the north. Then began a long and
tortuous chase which winded the horse before a half-mile


THE TRYST 257
mand admittance in the name of the law. They won't
bother you; but stay there until I whistle; then come back
and lend a hand.”
Smith disappeared in his turn around the corner of the
house; and in another moment the silence was broken by
the tramp and scuffle as of many feet, a resounding clatter
of fists on wood, and a bellowed command.
Odell drew his pistol and a pocket electric flash, and mo-
tioning Miller to one side of the kitchen door, took up
his position at the other. The light in the side window
had been suddenly extinguished; and now above the clamor
from the front of the house Odell caught the sound of
stumbling footsteps within, and once a woman's frightened,
convulsive sob.
The kitchen door swung inward, and a man's figure ap-
peared supporting that of a woman who clung to him
desperately. As he stepped down from the rickety porch
a piercing shaft of light glared into his face, and Odell's
voice commanded:
“Up with your hands, Farley Drew l’”
“You!” Drew emitted a string of oaths; but he thrust
the girl roughly from him and retreated a step or two,
slowly elevating his hands in the air. His debonair
insouciance was gone, and in the glare of the electric torch
his face showed a distorted mask of evil passions.
“You thought Miller and I were safely under guard at
that boathouse, didn't you?” Odell paused to blow a blast
upon his whistle. “It didn’t occur to you that it might be
burned to the waterline; that Pete was dead and Tony at
Headquarters telling all he knows.-Oh, would you!”
For with the realization of what this intelligence meant


THE TRYST 259
Peters. Gerda stood there, and her eyes sought Cissie's
face with a look of stern questioning; but the girl wrenched
her arm from Odell's grasp and with a sob rushed past the
maid and up the stairs.
Odell closed the front door behind him and faced Gerda
beneath the brilliant hall light. The woman raised her eyes
steadily to meet his, but something she read there made her
catch her breath sharply.
When he spoke it was with gentle gravity.
“I want a word with you, Mrs. Gael.”


CHAPTER XXI
THE THIRD GENERATION
66VOU know, then?” The woman who had been called
“Gerda” placed both thin hands to her breast and
bowed her head. “I do not know how you discovered the
truth, but it doesn't matter now; the purpose for my pres-
ence here has been taken out of my hands.”
“The family have all retired?” Odell drew her toward
the library. “Sit down here, please; I shall not detain
you long. Mrs. Gael, I think I know your motive for
masquerading here, but I should like to hear it confirmed
by your own lips. It was in order that you might be re-
venged in some way upon Farley Drew, was it not?”
Again she bowed her head.
“Do you know all that this man has done to me? For
my own folly and unfaithfulness to my husband, I blame
no one but myself; and I have paid for it in the loss of all
that makes life worth living. He had promised me that
if I were divorced he would make me his wife, and I be-
lieved him; later he refused to keep that promise, and he
was my only refuge, my one hope of even a partial re-
habilitation in the estimation of my world.” She lifted her
tragic eyes and rested them upon the detective's face. “I
admit that I was desperate, that I pleaded with him, fol-
lowed him, lost all sense of pride in my terror of a future
260


THE THIRD GENERATION 263
“No. In my blind infatuation I thought of him as a
veritable god; but later, after my husband divorced me and
Farley Drew began to show himself in his true colors, I
learned that he depended for a livelihood upon fleecing and
blackmailing young men whose weaknesses for vice he had
encouraged. Then once I overheard a conversation between
him and his valet which revealed to me that he was actu-
ally in league with recognized criminals. Even that did not
kill the last spark of my love for him, and I was still de-
termined that his moral obligation to me should be paid.
No matter how Sullied his name was, I demanded that he
give it to me; for he had dragged my own in the dust.”
She paused and then asked: “What I have told you is no
news, is it? You know of the swindles and blackmail?”
“Yes, Mrs. Gael. Farley Drew has just been taken into
custody; and one at least of his accomplices has confessed.”
“And that poor little fool upstairs ran away to-night to
go to him? I should not have waited so long; I should have
told you before.” She raised her eyes once more suppli-
catingly to his. “Oh, Sergeant Odell, you will let me go?
I could not bear the reproach in her eyes if she knew the
truth, even though I am not responsible for her infatu-
ation.”
“Yes,” agreed Odell after a moment's reflection. “You
may go, Mrs. Gael; but I want you to think well over the
stand you have taken in regard to withholding the help you
are in a position to give me. Remember, if another death
occurs in this family you may be indirectly responsible.”
“I—I cannot help that,” she cried; and the hunted ex-
pression came once more into her face. “These people
are nothing to me; and what little I could tell you would


264 UNSEEN HANDS
be too utterly preposterous and incredible for you to believe
that it was not the figment of a crazed brain. You do not
know what I endured in those fearful three months; I dare
not face a possibility of the repetition of such suffering.
I will leave the house at once, within the hour; and I can-
not thank you enough. If–if you should suspect what I
believe to be the truth, come to me; prove that you have the
same person in mind, and I will tell you the idea which I
have formed.”
With that Odell was forced for the time being to be con-
tent; and accepting the address of her servant, he saw her
depart with one of the plainsclothesmen who were on duty
outside in tow.
He had had a long day after the sleepless night and the
effects of the blow which Tony had dealt him, and he
plodded wearily homeward in an unaccustomed state of
mental depression. Much had been accomplished in the last
few hours; but it had been of a purely negative nature,
save only that portion of the investigation which had re-
lated to Richard Lorne; and his possible guilt was still
merely a matter of the wildest speculation. Granted the
existence of a conceivable motive, there still remained vast
difficulties in the way of fastening the series of revolting
crimes upon him; and not the least of them in the detec-
tive's mind was the hint of insanity which Mrs. Gael had
attempted to convey to him.
In his own modest rooms once more, he slept the sleep of
utter exhaustion, and awakened to the discordant jangle of
the telephone bell trying to vie with those of a nearby
church. Sunday morning! Four days had elapsed since he
was first called in upon the mystery of the Meade house,


THE THIRD GENERATION 265
and he was no nearer its solution than when he had been
summoned.
He dragged himself out of bed and picked up the tele-
phone receiver.
“Is that you, Barry? This is Jim Dilke speaking. I'm
sending you around by messenger a report on that matter
we were discussing yesterday.”
“Yes?” The haze of sleep cleared like magic from
Odell's brain. “Did you find any dope on how that party
managed to recoup his losses and keep his head above
water?”
“Surest thing you know. He's been working through a
dummy company and simply cleaned up in the past three
weeks; got back all he lost in the last year and then some.
I had him doped all wrong.” Dilke's cheerful, brisk tones
fell leadenly on the detective's ears. “He had nerve, all
right; took the remainder of his holdings, got on the right
side of the market at last, and tripled his capital the first
day. Since then there has been no holding him. He has
been speculating a little on the side under his own name to
keep his connection with the new company under cover—
perfectly legitimate, you know—and lost consistently, but
not enough to even make a dent in what he has rolled up
through the dummy concern. There is a certain clique of
big men who have been out after him for a year or more,
since he broke up a corner they were engineering; but when
they get on to this new move of his they are going to be a
pretty sick bunch.”
“Thanks, old man.” Odell tried to make his voice
cordial. “It was mighty good of you to take all this
trouble.”


268 UNSEEN HANDS
The affair must be getting on his nerves as well as those
of the family!
“We owe you a debt of gratitude aside from the case.”
The attorney smiled. “Gene came down to me yesterday
and made a clean breast of his association with Farley Drew
and what it led him into; and he said you sent him. He is
going to make full reparation from his estate; and his step-
father and I have consented to keep the whole matter a
secret. They cannot either of them be thankful enough to
you.”
“At least they may be sure of one thing: Farley Drew
will never trouble anyone in this household again; and Miss
Cissie has had a very lucky escape, as she will learn shortly.”
Odell hesitated and then added deliberately: “Mr. Tither-
edge, may I have a word with you in the strictest profes-
sional confidence?”
The attorney darted a keen glance at him.
“Certainly, Sergeant. Come right into the drawing-room.
Nan and Gene are with Mr. Lorne, and Miss Meade with
Cissie. I suppose you know that there has been another dis-
appearance among the servants? Gerda is gone.”
“I know.” Odell nodded. “Mr. Titheredge, I am going
to ask you this under the seal of professional secrecy; and
I must request that you tell me the absolute truth, for much
may depend on it. Have you ever heard a suggestion of
insanity connected in any way with the family?”
“Good heavens !” The attorney started back and sank
into a chair. “This is preposterous, Sergeant; absurd I
You surely cannot have conceived the idea—”
“You have not answered my question, Mr. Titheredge.”
Odell smiled. “Of course, if you prefer not to do so I can


THE THIRD GENERATION 269
obtain the information elsewhere; but I should not at this
stage of the game care to have the press get hold of the
fact that such inquiries were being instituted.”
“I should hope not!” Titheredge exclaimed fervently.
“You horrify me! I don't know why you should have
entertained such a thought, nor who could have suggested
it to you; but I can assure you most solemnly that no in-
sanity has manifested itself in the family in this or the last
generation.”
“But before that?” Odell had sensed the mental reserva-
tion. “In what branch of the family was there insanity,
Mr. Titheredge?” -
“You haven't heard, then, about old Joshua P. Meade?”
The attorney had lowered his tones, and he glanced over
his shoulder as if fearful of an eavesdropper. “He was the
father of Mrs. Lorne and Miss Effie, you know; the chil-
dren's grandfather. They have never been told, although
their mother and aunt knew; and the secret was carefully
kept from the world. The old gentleman was always con-
sidered eccentric, and possessed of an ungovernable temper;
and in his later years it was given out that he had suffered
a stroke and become a chronic invalid. He was kept in
strict seclusion, and in that seclusion he finally died.”
“He had lost his mind?”
“Yes. Not gradually; nor could age nor any mental
strain account for it. He became suddenly violent, a raving
maniac in fact, and was kept in a room up on the top floor
here for seven years. Every effort was made to effect a
cure, and the best specialists and alienists were consulted;
but with no result. However, he has been dead these many
years, and, thank God, no trace of his terrible malady has


270 UNSEEN HANDS
asserted itself in either the second or the third genera-
tion.”
“I have been told that Mrs. Lorne possessed an almost
maniacal temper,” Odell observed. “I am quoting the ex-
act words used. One or two of her children have inherited
it from her to a certain extent, have they not?”
“Stuff and nonsense!” the attorney responded testily.
“They are merely high-spirited, like their mother; and she
was an exceptionally brilliant woman. I was reluctant to
mention the old gentleman to you or discuss the matter in
any way, Sergeant, for I feared you might fly off at this
tangent. Old Mr. Meade's malady was not of the sort
which is transmitted.”
“Just what form did his mania take, Mr. Titheredge?”
“It was intermittent. For weeks he would be as seem-
ingly sane as anyone and even played a remarkably good
game of chess; I spent many an evening with him. Then
wholly without warning he would become violent, and
physical restraint would be necessary to prevent his doing
harm to himself and others. Remember, however, that this
trouble did not come upon him until late in life, many years
after his children were born. If you try, Sergeant, to ac-
count for this terrible sequence of events by any inherited
taint in the family, you will not only be wasting your time
but fostering a totally unjust suspicion upon these innocent
children. I can assure you that no curse has descended
upon the third generation in this case.”
Titheredge rose with an air of finality, and the detective
walked with him to the door.
“Doubtless you are right, Mr. Titheredge; but in an affair
of this sort where there seems to be no possible motive, no


CHAPTER XXII
THE FINAL CLTE
OR the rest of the day Ode: pondered over the re-
luctant admission which he had dragged from the at-
torney and its possible significance in relation to the hint
which Mrs. Gael had given him; but although he studied
the members of the family with whom he came in contact
he could read nothing in their expressions or speech which
pointed to the slightest irrationality.
Mrs. Traymore herself arrived with her son to take Nan
home with her, and after some urging the young girl con-
sented to go. Cissie remained in her room with her aunt
in constant attendance upon her; so that Odell had oppor-
tunity for only a brief talk with the older woman, but short
as it was it temporarily quieted his uneasiness.
Miss Meade's face was drawn with fatigue, but her eyes
shone as she told him that Cissie had confided to her the
end of her sorry romance and thanked him for their de-
liverance from Drew's pernicious influence. As for Cissie's
indisposition, she had often suffered in the same way after
too great an indulgence in sweets, and would doubtless be
quite recovered on the morrow.
Rannie had locked himself in his room and was unap-
proachable; but before he departed for the night Odell had
272


274 UNSEEN HANDS
“Oh, Adams is a pettifogging old ass,” the boy re-
turned carelessly. Then his eyes narrowed. “What's the
game?”
“Just this.” The detective leaned forward suddenly until
his eyes were almost on a level with the dark, sardonic
ones upturned morosely to him. “Suppose that I knew no
more about poisons than—well, than I could learn from
glancing through these books of yours at odd times or ask-
ing casual questions of some family practitioner. What
poison would it be easiest for me to obtain without comment
in any drugstore?”
The boy shrugged.
“Carbolic, or any of the acids for eradicating spots or
verdigris, I suppose. They'd be pretty average deadly; but
none of them would have worked, if you are still harping
on my mother's case.”
“I don't mean anything of that sort,” Odell explained.
“I have in mind some poison which would work gradually
and be practically tasteless; something which could be given
in the victim's food, perhaps, and produce symptoms which
might easily be mistaken for those resulting from some
trivial indisposition.”
Rannie's eyes widened and their morose stare gave place
to one of grudging admiration.
“So you're on that tack, are you?” he asked. “I was
only waiting till I was sure before springing it on you my-
self. This is an old house, you know; there are plenty of
mice and rats in the walls, and there is a certain white
powder which exterminates them quicker than anything else,
and which would be sold without question for that purpose
in any drugstore if one's appearance and manner didn't


THE FINAL CLUE 275
arouse suspicion. It is funny, but I was reading up about
it when you came in.”
He reached under the cushions and drew forth the book,
which he opened at a certain page and handed without
further remark to the detective.
“Arsenic!” Odell read. “Tri-oxide, eh? “The crude
oxide yields a white, crystalline powder, odorless but with a
faint, metallic, sweetish taste. Small quantities produce
poisoning.”—Humph! I wonder how small a quantity
would produce a noticeable effect in, say, a few days, and
what that effect would be.” -
Rannie reached out his hand for the book, closed it, an
placed it once more beneath the cushions.
“Three-quarters of a grain—a mere pinch on the end of
a knife—if given twice a day would have a very decided
effect in less than a week,” he said slowly. “I told you once
that I would not take the trouble to put any of my precious
family out of the way; but I didn't mean that I wouldn't
lift a finger to stop someone else from killing even the most
disagreeable of them. The symptoms, Sergeant, are flush-
ing, puffed eyelids, pain, and nausea.”
Odell started from his chair.
“How long have you known this?” he demanded.
“I suspected yesterday; I had only convinced myself when
you came.”
“And the antidote? Quick! Tell me the antidotel”
“An emetic, anything that will remove it from the system.
However, that won't prevent the next dose from being ad-
ministered.” Rannie had dragged himself to his feet.
“Bring Cissie in here, if you like. I’ll see that no one gets
to her, and I guess Dad and I are off your list of suspects


276 UNSEEN HANDS
this time; we haven't either of us left our rooms since
Saturday. It rather looks as though our family nemesis
were working overtime, doesn't it?”
“Don’t mention this to anyone else,” Odell cautioned as
he started hastily for the door. “It may be the very means
of trapping the person we are after.”
He passed out into the hall but paused for a moment, lost
in thought. If Cissie was indeed being slowly poisoned,
and the would-be murderer suspected that his secret was
known, he would instantly cease his efforts, and the oppor-
tunity of proving his guilt would be irretrievably lost. Yet
the girl must be protected and an antidote given to relieve
her suffering. It might even be that one more dose would
prove fatall Dare he attempt dissimulation when her very
life was perhaps in danger?
He advanced slowly to her closed door, and even as he
paused before it with his hand uplifted to knock he heard
her faint groans and Miss Meade's soothing voice in re-
sponse. Another sound reached his ears also, the soft pad
of feet up the back stairs; and he turned to find Peters
coming toward him with a tray upon which a cup of broth
steamed invitingly.
With instant decision the detective advanced and held
out his hand.
“That's for Miss Chalmers, isn't it, Peters?” he asked
carelessly. “I’m just going to ask Miss Meade if she can
spare a minute, and I’ll hand it in to her myself.”
He watched the butler narrowly, but Peters relinquished
the tray without a moment's hesitation, and turning went
downstairs again at his usual dignified gait.
Odell waited until he heard him descend the second flight


THE FINAL CLUE 277
to the kitchen, then put the tray down hastily on a chair
near Rannie's door, and raised the cup to his lips. It con-
tained beef tea undoubtedly, but beef tea with a sweetish,
metallic taste; and the detective replaced the cup and softly
opened Rannie's door.
“Have you a bottle or some small receptacle that is
perfectly clean and sterilized?” he demanded in hushed
tones.
“Several in the medicine-chest.—Here, wait a minute.”
Rannie made his way slowly and painfully to the bathroom,
and returned with a tiny vial in his hand. “What is it?
You haven't got hold of some of the stuff already, have
you?” -
Without waiting to reply Odell dashed back, and filling
the vial with the beef tea, he deliberately overturned the
cup. Then he dashed down the front stairs and out the
entrance door, beckoning to the ubiquitous Blake, who was
still upon his post at the corner.
“Take this as quickly as you can up to Villard's labora-
tory; tell him to put aside everything else and analyze it at
once. Say that I suggested the surest test he knows of for
arsenic and wait for his report.”
As the operative pocketed the vial and started down the
steps he almost collided with Doctor Adams, who greeted
Odell with a certain decorous triumph in his tones.
“I have just come from the autopsy on the body of Mrs.
Lorne,” he announced. “It revealed nothing but what we
anticipated; pyemic focci in the kidneys and liver. You
see, my dear Sergeant Odell, it was a clear case of
septicemia, after all.”
“Doctor Adams,” the detective brushed the statement


THE FINAL CLUE 279
Doctor Adams leaned suddenly back against the vestibule
wall, and his face whitened.
“I am quite willing to assist the authorities in every pos-
sible way, but I must be assured that the diagnosis which
has been made in contradiction to my own is the correct
one,” he asserted with an assumption of dignity. “Of
course, in any event an emetic will do no harm—”
“Everything must be done to relieve her at once, but I
desire above all else that no one in the household be allowed
to suspect that we have discovered the truth; no one at all,
Doctor, not even her aunt or her stepfather; for they might
innocently enough mention it in the hearing of the guilty
person.” Odell spoke rapidly in an undertone. “You will
be informed as soon as you enter the house that Miss Chal-
mers is no better, and you will naturally proceed at once
to her bedside. I want you to pretend that you have in no
way changed your opinion of yesterday; and whatever
measures you take to relieve her suffering must seem to be
in the line of treatment you would ordinarily prescribe for
the case you believed it to be originally.”
“That should not be difficult to arrange,” the physician
murmured. “Should your suspicions be unfounded after
all, Sergeant, the treatment will only cause temporary dis-
comfort to my patient.”
Odell could have throttled the pedantic little man for his
tenacious obstinacy, but he continued patiently to elucidate
his plan.
“After you have concluded your treatment I wish you
to make some excuse to remain with your patient for the
rest of the day if need be; at any rate until I require your


280 UNSEEN HANDS
presence no longer. Do not leave her bedside nor permit
anyone to approach her on any pretext, and see that noth-
ing but your medicine passes her lips.” He paused as a
quick thought came to him. “Would it be possible to give
her some powerful opiate which could not harm her and
yet would throw her into an immediate and profound sleep
which might be depended upon to last at least for some
hours?”
“It would, of course,” the physician assented.
“I hope you will administer it then as soon as you can
make some pretext to be absolutely alone with her. That
will preclude in a plausible manner any suggestion of
nourishment for her until I have had time to perfect my
plan.—Come now, please, Doctor. I will slip in first and
close the door. After I have had time to get upstairs, ring
and ask whoever admits you how Miss Chalmers is.”
Odell suited the action to the word, and from the se-
clusion of Rannie's half-closed door had the satisfaction
of seeing the doctor enter Cissie Chalmers's room.
He had noticed as he passed the hall chair that the tray
was gone, and now he turned questioningly to Rannie.
“Aunt Effie came out looking for Peters with the broth,
and I didn't think you wanted even her to know what you
had discovered just yet, so I told her that I had heard you
out in the hall and gone out to speak to you just as you
stood there with the tray in your hand; said I had spoken
so suddenly that you had upset the cup,” the boy explained
with his twisted grin. “It would be kind of a fierce thing
for her to realize that she had probably been feeding Cissie
poison with her own hands, wouldn't it? Aunt Effie's the
squeamish sort; can't bear to see anybody hurt. They say


THE FINAL CLUE 281
she nearly went crazy when she dropped me and found that
my back would never be straight again; she's nearly
smothered me with devotion ever since.—Did you tip off
old Adams?”
“He’s following my instructions now,” Odell replied,
wondering as he did so why he was giving this strange boy
such complete confidence. If Rannie could in some way
have slipped off downstairs and unseen dropped the poison
into that cup before the broth was placed in it, his audacity
and queer, warped sense of humor would have found rare
sport in hoodwinking the man who had set himself to solve
the problem.
Rannie chuckled.
“I’d like to have seen his face when he found out what
was going on,” he exclaimed. “Have you any idea yet as
to who is doing this thing, Sergeant? I don't believe Cissie
is in any more danger now that you have discovered what
ails her; but Aunt Effie, Nan, and I are the only ones left
of the family who have not received the attentions of our
enemy, and I am curious to know where the lightning will
strike next.”
“We will soon see,” Odell said. “There is your aunt
going downstairs now; I want to speak to her.”
But Miss Meade had already reached the ground floor
and was starting toward the pantry as he descended the
stairs, and Odell decided to wait for her return. He seated
himself on the settle in the hall and gave himself up to the
contemplation of the fresh problem which confronted him.
Miss Meade herself and Richard Lorne were as obviously
beyond question as was the supposition that Cissie was
poisoning herself. Nan was away and Gerda had gone.


282 UNSEEN HANDS
Of the household there remained only Rannie and Gene,
Peters, the cook, and the housemaid. Could it be that he
had taken the servants too much for granted, and that
among them the guilty person might be found?
Miss Meade did not return; and for the better part of
an hour he sat there deep in thought, when all at once the
bell rang. Recognizing Blake's silhouette through the
frosted glass, he opened the door himself and ushered the
operative quickly into the library.
“What did Villard say?” he demanded without preamble.
“You had that sample doped out right, Sergeant.” Blake
grinned. “Villard told me to tell you that he used the
Marsh test, and I watched him; I know a little about
chemistry myself. He treated that stuff you gave me in
the bottle with dilute sulphuric acid and metallic zinc in the
gas generator and when the arsine formed he passed it
through a glass tube and heated it. The metallic arsenic
showed up all right and formed a mirror near the open end
of the tube. There wasn’t the chance of a mistake.”
“Very good, Blake. Go and get your lunch and then re-
lieve Shaw. I'll give you further instructions later.”
He let the operative out quietly and started to ascend to
the second floor, meaning to summon the doctor for a mo-
ment from the sickroom and acquaint him with what he had
just learned, but paused. Someone was going up the second
flight of stairs to the third floor; and a certain stealthy, cat-
like quality in the creeping footsteps made him halt and
listen. Could it be Peters, and if so, what was he doing up
there when he should have been making his preparations for
lunch P
Whoever it was, the objective was evidently the servants'


THE FINAL CLUE 283
quarters; for the steps did not halt outside Gene's door but
kept on, and on an impulse Odell followed.
Up yet another flight and past the servants’ rooms the
tread continued softly but steadily to the last staircase,
which led to the very top of the house; and all at once there
returned to the detective's mind the story which Peters had
told at Headquarters of the figure which had passed his
door at the hour of Mrs. Lorne's death and the voice which
had sounded from somewhere in the darkness about him.
With the utter soundlessness of an Indian upon the trail
Odell crept on until he too reached the top floor. He had
caught no glimpse of the figure which had ascended before
him; but a sharp, scraping noise, as of some heavy object
being pulled over bare boards, sounded from the front room
on the right, and he recalled that Gene had spoken of an
“attic” or trunkroom.
Slowly feeling his way, that no creaking board would
betray his presence, the detective approached the door and
peered cautiously within. He saw a spacious apartment
piled high with trunks and disused articles of furniture, and
lighted dimly by two windows, which were heavily barred.
Surely this must be the room in which the aged lunatic,
Joshua Meade, had been confined l Not a cheerful place
even in daylight; and where was the person who had pre-
ceded him? -
Odell's gaze wandered about the shadowy corners of the
room and then halted as if transfixed, and his eyes widened;
while for all his trained self-possession the blood ebbed
slowly from his face.
The next moment he had turned and slipped as silently
as a shadow down the stairs.


THE TRAP 285
could cite would seem ridiculously inconclusive; while as for
a possible motive—
Then a light broke over his consciousness, and he struck
his hands together sharply. He might not, after all, have
been so far wrong in his deductions as to that. Given an
incentive far more dominating than he had dreamed, the
series of crimes took on at once the aspect of a most subtle
and long-planned scheme; and only in its consummation had
over-zeal betrayed it to the eyes of the law.
But unless he dared risk exposing to still further danger
the several lives of the family whose safety had been
tacitly entrusted to him, how could he prove the culprit's
guilt beyond any doubt or disclaimer? Merely to accuse,
hoping to force a confession, would be not only futile but
a warning to the brain against which he had pitted his own
that could not fail to be heeded forevermore; and the mur-
ders already accomplished must remain unavenged.
Only one means would avail: the culprit must be surprised
into self-betrayal. At a moment when success seemed sure'
and no apparent danger in sight, a blow as unexpected as it
would be disastrous to the whole fabric of that sinisterly
nurtured scheme must threaten; and in the face of the dread
alternative confession would come, in act if not in words.
Even as the detective reached this decision the means by
which he might bring about the dénouement suggested them-
selves to his mind; and a plan sprang full-grown into being.
He turned to the telephone, carefully shut off the switch
which connected with the upstairs extension, and lifting the
receiver, asked in a low tone for Samuel Titheredge's
number.
“Sergeant Odell speaking,” he announced, still in the


THE TRAP 289
possible to awaken Miss Chalmers at, say, three o'clock?”
“Certainly.”
“Will you do so then, and summon Miss Meade—but no
one else—to take your place?”
“At three o'clock. I understand, Sergeant. You think
that if there was really danger to my patient it will be over
then P”
“Absolutely; but since you still doubt that the danger
existed you may be interested in knowing that I sent a
sample of broth which I suspected of having been poisoned
to Villard, the analytical chemist, and he reports unmistak-
able evidence of white arsenic,” Odell added hurriedly.
“Not a word of this, however. When Miss Meade has
taken your place come to me at once in Rannie Chalmers's
room.”
“I will, sir; but this confirmation of your suspicions fills
me with distress,” Doctor Adams declared. “I admit that
I was not convinced even after an examination of my patient
that she was indeed the victim of such an outrage. In the
many years of my professional experience I have never be-
fore come into contact with crime; and the comparative
monotony of a general practitioner's work must have dulled
my perceptions.”
“It is not always easy to see a thing, Doctor, even when
you are looking for it,” Odell replied from the conscious-
ness of the revelation which had come to himself only that
morning. “By the way, will it be safe to move Mr. Lorne
this afternoon from his own room into that of his step-
son next door?” -
“Yes, I think so.” The physician looked his surprise.
“We can assist him through the connecting door between


THE TRAP 291
until the butler had departed upon his errand and then
turned to the others: “I shall be back in a moment, and
I must ask that none of you attempt to leave the room in
my absence. If you do, my men here have their orders
as to how to proceed.”
The doctor sank into a chair with a gasp; but Lorne
twisted irascibly upon his couch. -
“Of all the high-handed—”, he began.
“Oh, see it through, Dad,” Rannie chuckled. “If he has
gone to the trouble of arranging this little entertainment for
our edification we might at least listen politely. Eh, Gene?”
“I don't know about its being so entertaining,” Gene re-
sponded nervously. “I rather fancy we are in for a mighty
serious quarter of an hour. I’ve learned that Sergeant
Odell knows what he's about.”
Thereafter an awkward silence reigned until the door
opened again and the detective reappeared accompanied by
the family lawyer, whose usually grim, imperturbable face
bore a singularly dazed expression.
He nodded to the rest without speaking and took the
chair which Odell turned in the doorway to indicate. Then
the latter faced the hall once more in an attitude of antici-
pation, and the strained silence continued.
Minute followed dragging minute, and even Rannie's
twisted face lost its satirical grin when at last soft, padded
footsteps sounded up the back stairs and Peters again came
into view bearing a cup from the steam of which an appe-
tizing aroma rose.
Odell stepped forward, took the tray from his hands and
whispered something which the others could not hear, but
which the butler seemed to accept without question or sur-


292 UNSEEN HANDS
prise; for he bowed and turned away as if to cross the hall.
Then several things happened almost simultaneously.
Odell reëntered the room, handed the tray to one of his men
who stepped forward to receive it, and turning quickly,
locked the door and pocketed the key. The two men, as if
by previous instructions, stationed themselves one on either
side of the door, and Odell took up the cup from the tray
and advanced to the center of the room.
In the electrified stillness there could be heard a sudden
stir in the hall, and then the detective as suddenly spoke.
“Randall Chalmers,” he thundered, “I want you to drink
this cup of broth to the last drop!”
“No! Don't touch it! Don't, for the love of God!”
The cry came in a harsh, rasping voice which might have
been that of either man or woman, and an unseen hand
rattled the doorknob with frenzied strength.
“Drink it!” Odell commanded inexorably; and as the
words left his lips there came a resounding crash behind
him, the stout door burst inward upon its quivering hinges,
and through the aperture a wild figure leaped for the de-
tective's throat; but the two guards seized it and dragged it
back as the cup crashed to the floor.
The figure was the frail, delicate form of the mouse-like
Miss Meade, but the face was that of a fiend, and the
hideous outburst of laughter which shrilled and echoed
through the room told all too plainly of the crazed brain un-
leashed at last.


CHAPTER XXIV
FOLDED HANDS
66 OLD her tight!” Odell's sharp warning cut through
the dreadful cachinnation. “Don’t hurt her, but
look out for a sudden effort of strength.”
“Effiel” Unmindful of his broken ribs Richard Lorne
had started up on the couch, and his horror-stricken eyes
stared at his sister-in-law. “My God, Effie, what is the
matter with you?”
At the sound of his voice the woman's wild laughter
ceased abruptly, and her body relaxed; but she returned his
stare malevolently, and a sneer, infinitely sly and crafty,
curled her lip.
“I fooled you all—all!” she cried; and freeing one arm
by a lightning-like gesture, she beat her thin breast. “How
I have laughed at you here, here, in these long years while
you have patronized me, thrust me into corners' Me, the
old maid, the one who stood aside, meek and docile and a
nonentity—but useful! Ah, I saw to that! I wanted to be
near you where I could watch you all and think of what I
had planned l”
“The second generation l’” Samuel Titheredge interjected
solemnly.
“I hated her always; that yellow-haired vixen who stole
my toys and finery when I was a child, whose doll-face
293


296 UNSEEN HANDS
many weary hours. Then I put another needle in that
embroidery, in case they looked for it, and went to bed.
It had been so easy, and part of her money would be
Rannie's now.
“But it was all Rannie's. All the money which was be-
ing dissipated by Julian and Gene, thrown away on gew-
gaws to deck her shallow prettiness by Cissie, like her
mother before her. I learned that Julian meant to de-
mand all that had been left him, and so he had to be the
next! The little death-germs were gone from Rannie's
room; but there were other ways, and I knew that the
moment would come.
“One morning I went upstairs while Julian was shav-
ing. He hadn't heard me enter, and as I stood watching
him the way was shown to me. I called him suddenly,
and the razor slipped and made just a tiny cut in his cheek;
but he laid it down and started to staunch the blood. I
offered to help him, but I snatched up that razor, and when
he bent down for me to touch the towel to his face I
slashed his throat instead! I knew just where to strike,
for I had been reading Rannie's books, and Christine's first-
born didn't take long to die!
“I put the razor near his hand, ran down and changed
my dress, and went to the breakfast-table. How clever I
was, then How surprised I was and concerned when
Peters came rushing down with his silly mouth wide open,
and how horror-struck I appeared at the truth! If only I
hadn't been laughing inside all the time, laughing with joy
that one more who had stood in Rannie's path was gone!
“Then the others began to be afraid, and I knew and felt
my power! It was sweet to me after the years when I


FOLDED HANDS 297
had been merely tolerated. I used to look around the table
sometimes and try to choose which should be next; for
they must all go now, and quickly. Every bit of food they
put into their mouths meant so much money out of Rannie's
pocket, money which would help him to forget the injury
I had done him!
“I had read somewhere of a mirror falling and killing
someone; and I thought of that heavy portrait over the
desk in the library and how I could coax Gene to sit un-
der it; for he would have been of age in another month,
and I decided that he must never get his hands on his
property or it would be gone in a year.
“I was strong; nobody knew how strong I was—”
“Nobody knows how strong I am!” A raucous echo
burst upon their ears; and for a moment the horrified,
fascinated gaze of the others turned from the crazed woman
to the huge cage in the corner, where Socrates danced ex-
citedly upon his perch and faithfully repeated the message
which he had at some past moment of gloating triumph
learned from her lips. Odell seized a dark table-cover and
threw it over the cage, and the echo died in an indignant
squawk.
“I was strong, but I couldn't break that cable which held
up the picture until one day I overheard a couple of work-
men next me in a crowded car talking about a new electric
file and what it would do. I went to an electrical supply
shop and saw those files; and one of them went away with
me under my cape, although I had asked for and purchased
only a toaster. I thought I might need a big saw, too; and
that I got at a hardware store over in Brooklyn. Do you
see how clever I am? No one could ever know.


298 UNSEEN HANDS
“I hid the tools up in father's room until I got Gene's
promise to go through the letters of condolence and per-
suaded him to use that desk that evening. Then in the
afternoon when everyone was out I slipped down, locked
myself in the library, and filed through the strands of that
cable so that they could not hold more than a few hours at
most. After that I did the cleverest thing of all! I tele-
phoned to the first carpenter's shop whose number I could
find in the book for them to send someone early on the fol-
lowing morning to rehang that picture, before any of the
rest of the family were up. I didn't want them to notice
those filed cable-ends, and they wouldn't have if only that
meddlesome old lawyer there hadn't suggested calling in
the police.
“I didn't want that, not just yet with only two gone; for
Gene escaped by a miracle. Nobody thought I had had any-
thing to do with the fall of that picture, though; I was too
clever for them. I reminded them all that it was I myself
who had arranged for Gene to sit there; and even that
didn't bring the slightest inkling of the truth to their
understanding!
“The police mustn't come, not at least until Gene and one
or two more had been removed. I had only that night in
which to stop Richard and this idiot Titheredge from inter-
fering with my plans, and I hoped that they would fall
downstairs and break their necks in the morning before
they could leave the house. That wish brought a new in-
spiration to my mind, and I got my lovely, bright new saw
and crept past the room where they were talking and sawed
through the top step of the stairs.
“I never forgot a single detail; that's why no one ever


FOLDED HANDS 299
knew. I gathered up every speck of saw-dust and took it
to my room; and the next morning I burned it in the tray
of the parrot's cage, which I had removed ostensibly for
Jane to clean, and hid the ashes in Gene's grate. The saw
and file I put in the tool-chest in the cellar, where anyone
might find them. But only Richard was hurt; and the
police came, and I had to be on my guard. That strange
maid of Christine's was following me about too, and star-
ing at me, as if she had begun to read through my eyes
what was going on in my thoughts; and I dared not try an-
other plan I had for getting Gene out of the way because
I had to watch myself so closely.
“That wicked Cissie was the means of nearly bringing
my secret to light; and for that I determined that she should
be the next to go. She tried to run away, and when I
stopped her at the very door she sneered at my love for
Rannie. I would have killed her then, I think, only the
young man from Headquarters was in the drawing-room,
and I remembered in time that I must not use strength. My
seeming weakness was the most perfect evidence in my de-
fense as long as I could keep people from knowing how
strong I really was.”
She had babbled on as if talking to herself; and the others
sat spellbound, listening as the dreadful story unfolded it-
self to their ears; and more than once the detective had
glanced at Doctor Adams inquiringly. It did not seem pos-
sible that one of unsound mind could tell so connected and
clear a tale; and the thought recurred that perhaps the
woman was feigning insanity. Her hatred and jealousy of
her sister and the money-lust combined would have been
motive enough for even so hideous a series of crimes; but


300 UNSEEN HANDS
when he glanced in turn at her face all doubt died within
him. Whether distorted with rage or smiling in malicious
triumph, the light of reason had irrevocably fled from it;
and the workings of her maniac mind showed plainly in her
wildly staring eyes.
Mrs. Gael's words returned to him again, and with them
a complete understanding of her attitude. No wonder that
in view of her own former detention she dared not speak
and proclaim the lunacy of this woman, who with the
cunning of madness had concealed her condition from all
the rest of the world even while realizing and glorying in
it.
Effie Meade had been swaying to and fro in an ecstasy
of triumphant glee; but all at once she stopped and glanced
at the fragments of the cup upon the floor.
“That too would have worked my will,” she muttered.
“When Cissie went into the drawing-room to talk to that
young upstart from the police who was trying to discover
my secret I listened and heard her defame my darling, my
Rannie. That minute decided her fate, but I was forced to
dissemble. I did not want her to die as Julian had; I
wanted her to suffer, to fade before my eyes as her mother
had; that mother whom she was so like.
“I delved through Rannie's books once more and found
out about the white powder and how easily it could be
obtained. I told the clerk in the drugstore that I wanted it
to kill rats; and so I did! The rats who stood between
my boy and the wealth which I meant should be all his.
“I began to give the arsenic to her the very next day,
but it was not until Saturday that she showed the first
effects, and when she complained I rejoiced. I had mixed


302 UNSEEN HANDS
knocked upon the door and told me that you had taken the
broth from him once more and said that you wanted it for
Rannie, and instructed him to bring up more for Cissie–
For Rannie! You would have killed him for whom I had
planned it all!
“I saved him, though Cissie and the others still live.
Rannie, Rannie, I did it all for you; and though they may
rob you of a portion of the wealth which should be yours,
you will still be richer than all; and I have made you sol”
She half rose in her chair with her hands outstretched
to the object of her insane adoration; but he shrank from
her, his eyes like livid coals of fire in his horrified face.
“Don’t speak to me, you devil!” Loathing beyond the
power of words filled his shaking voice. “If you were not
mad I could kill you as you sit there! Murderess! You
have done me a greater injury than when I was a child!”
Some inkling of his meaning must have filtered through
to her diseased mind; for she began to whimper like a
hurt animal and the tears rolled down her faded cheeks.
“It was for you! They hated you, all of them. They
laughed at your infirmity; but I would have given you the
power to triumph over them, every one!” Her tones rose
once again to a shriek. “Rannie, I love you, love—”
The shriek ended suddenly in a rattling gurgle; and she
clutched at her breast as the distortion of mania left her
face and a look of wonder shot with pain took its place.
A glow as of returning sanity suffused the staring eyes for
a fleeting moment; then they dulled, and her head dropped
forward on her breast.
Odell was by her side in an instant; but Doctor Adams
was before him; and the detective retreated a step as the


FOLDED HANDS 303
physician felt the woman's limp wrist and pressed his head
against her heart.
Then he straightened and faced the others solemnly.
“She is dead,” he announced. “That final paroxysm was
too much for her already over-strained heart, and it failed.
It was a merciful end.”
“Too merciful!” cried Richard Lorne in a voice of agony.
“Think of my wife It was hatred, and crafty, awful re-
venge, not madness, which brought about her murder.
Think of Julian, cut off in his youth !”
“It was the germ of insanity born in her, the heritage
from her father.” Doctor Adams turned to Blake and
Shaw. “Help me lift her to the bed.”
The others sat in a stricken silence while the frail little
figure was composed upon the snowy coverlet and the hands
which unseen had wrought such fearful tragedy were folded
peacefully upon her breast.
“Still I cannot understand, Sergeant, how you first dis-
covered the truth.”
Richard Lorne was the speaker as he, Gene, Rannie,
Samuel Titheredge, and the detective were seated in his
room on the following day. Cissie was slowly recovering
under the care of the discreet Miss Risby; and below in the
darkened drawing-room the still form of Effie Meade rested
where so lately the bodies of her victims had lain.
“The point which puzzles me is why I did not discover
it at once,” Odell replied frankly. “The finding of the saw
and file in so obvious a place as the chest where the other
tools were kept ought to have led me to suspect the person
who had as obviously suggested that your step-son sit be-


FOLDED HANDS 305
penter over the telephone. Miss Meade's was low and
clear and softly feminine until she gave that cry outside
Rannie's door when she thought he was about to swallow
the poisoned broth.”
“Oh, Aunt Effie could always do that,” said Rannie.
“Throw her voice and change its tone, I mean; she used
to amuse us when we were kiddies by telling us the story
of the three bears—a favorite of ours, I remember—and
imitating their growls.”
“But how did you first come to suspect her?” Gene
asked.
“I did not, until a few hours before I tried that little ex-
periment; but I had already decided that a crazed mind
was back of the series of murders and attempted murders.
Someone whom I may not name had hinted to me that a
member of the household was unquestionably insane, and
a little talk which I had with Mr. Titheredge here confirmed
the possibility of it.” Odell met the attorney's eye and
shook his head reassuringly. “Down at Headquarters
Peters had told us of a mysterious intruder at the hour of
Mrs. Lorne's death, who passed up the stairs to the attic
and whom he firmly believed to be a ghost. He did not see
it but caught a glimpse of the light it carried and heard it
say: “The first one gone! So shall they all go, one by
One!’”
“The she devil!” Lorne groaned. “But what was it
that happened a few hours before you tricked her into be-
traying herself?”
“With Rannie's help I proved yesterday that your eldest
stepdaughter was being slowly poisoned by an admixture
of white arsenic in her food; and that narrowed the pos-


306 UNSEEN HANDS
sible suspects down to Miss Meade, Mr. Gene Chalmers,
and the three servants. During the morning I heard foot-
steps ascending to the very top of the house, and something
in their stealthy, almost noiseless tread recalled Peters's
story of the ghost to my mind.
“On an impulse I followed; but the person ahead was
always just beyond my range of vision until I halted in the
doorway of the storage room, the one with the barred
windows. Then I saw Miss Meade. With her frail,
slender arms she was moving two huge, heavy trunks which
were piled one on top of the other; and she seemed to put
forth no effort in a task that would normally require the
energy of two husky men. I did not see her face at once;
but when she turned it toward me the mask was off, and I
knew that my search was ended even before I heard her
insane speech: ‘Eat that, my pretties. I have enough left
for Cissie's last dose. I'll fool them all!’
“I made my escape before she was aware of my presence,
and decided that the only way to convince any of you of
her guilt would be to trick her into betraying herself. The
greatest thing in her life was her love, or obsession, for
Rannie; and I determined to play upon that. I gathered
you in as witnesses, laid my trap, and sprung it as you
know.
“I would feel culpable in having brought on the scene
which resulted in Miss Meade's death, but there was no
other way to bring her machinations home to her; and
Doctor Adams has since informed me her case was incur-
able and that future existence would have meant for her a
mere tortured blank. Her superhuman strength was, of
course, a part of her madness.”


FOLDED HANDS 307
“She is better dead,” Titheredge observed in his dry
judicial tones. “It is only a pity that her malady did not
manifest itself a few short weeks ago; but we have you to
thank, Sergeant, that she was prevented from carrying out
her hideous scheme to exterminate the family.”
“We owe you our lives,” Richard Lorne declared
brokenly. “When I think of my poor wife I could go mad
myself, and it is as well perhaps that her sister is be-
yond my reach. Sergeant Odell, I shall not speak of reward
at this moment; but you will not find me unappreciative of
the masterly way in which you have handled this case and
brought it to a successful conclusion, nor unmindful of the
debt that I and mine owe to you.”
Odell rose.
“It was only in the line of my professional duty, sir,” he
said quietly. “My one regret lies in the solution of the
problem—that an afflicted, unfortunate member of your own
family should prove to have performed the dreadful, self-
appointed work of those unseen hands.”
THE END
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