Book: Raspberry Jam

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Raspberry Jam




"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say! You like me, you've always liked me. Now,
stand by me, and I'll stand by you."

"How?"

"You think I can't! Well, madame, you're greatly mistaken! That
big blundering fool of a detective person has been to see me--"

"Shane?"

"The same. And--he grilled me pretty thoroughly as to our going
to see 'Hamlet' and whether we talked the poison scene over--
and so forth and so on. In a word, Eunice Embury, I hold your
life in my hands!"

Fifi held out her pretty little hands, dramatically. She still
stood, her white fur scarf hanging from one shoulder, her small
turban of red breast feathers cocked at a jaunty angle above her
straight brows, and one tiny slippered foot tapping decidedly on
the floor.

"Yes, ma'am, in my two hands,--me--Fifi! If I tell all we said
about that poisoning of the old 'Hamlet' gentleman, through his
ear--you know what we said, Eunice Embury--you know how we
discussed the impossibility of such a murder ever being
discovered--you know if I should give Shane a full account of
that talk of ours--the life of Madame Embury wouldn't be worth
that!"

A snap of a dainty thumb and finger gave a sharp click that went
straight through Eunice's brain, and made her gasp out a
frightened "Oh!"

"Yes, ma'am, oh! all you like to--you can't deny it! Shane came
to see me three times. I almost told him all the last time, for
you steadily refused to see me--until to-day. And now, to-day, I
put it to you, Eunice Embury, do you want me for friend--or foe?"

Fifi's blue eyes glittered, her red lips closed in a tight line,
and her little pointed face was as the face of a wicked sprite.
Eunice stood, surveying her. Tall, stately, beautiful, she
towered above her guest, and looked down on her with a fine
disdain.

Eunice's eyes were stormy, not glittering--desperate rather than
defiant--she seemed almost like a fierce, powerful tiger
appraising a small but very wily ferret.

"Is this a bargain?" she cried scathingly. "Are you offering to
buy my friendship? I know you, Fifi Desternay! You are--a snake
in the grass!"

Fifi clenched her little fists, drew her lips between her teeth,
and fairly hissed, "Serpent, yourself! Murderess! I know all
--and I shall tell all! You'll regret the day you scorned the
friendship--the help of Fifi Desternay!"

"I don't want your help, at the price of friendship with you! I
know you for what you are! My husband told me--others have told
me! I did go to your house for the sake of winning money--yes,
and I am ashamed of it! And I am ready to face any accusation,
brave any suspicion, rather than be shielded from it, or helped
out of it by you!"

"Fine words! but they mean nothing! You know you're justly
accused! You know you're rightly suspected! But you are clever
--you also know that no jury, in this enlightened age, will ever
convict a woman! Especially a beautiful woman! You know you are
safe from even the lightest sentence--and that though you are
guilty--yes, guilty of the murder of your husband, you will get
off scot free, because"--Fifi paused to give her last shot
telling effect--"because your counsel, Alvord Hendricks, is in
love with you! He will manage it, and what he can't accomplish,
Mason Elliott can! With those two influential men, both in love
with you, you can't be convicted--and probably you won't even be
arrested!"

"Go!" said Eunice, and she folded her arms as she gazed at her
angry antagonist. "Go! I scorn to refute or even answer your
words."

"Because they're true! Because there is no answer!" Fifi fairly
screamed. "You think you're a power! Because you're tall and
statuesque and stunning! You know if those men can't keep you
out of the court-room at least you are safe in the hands of any
judge or jury, because they are men! You know if you smile at
them--pathetically--if you cast those wonderful eyes of yours at
them, they'll grovel at your feet! I know you, Eunice Embury!
You're banking on your femininity to save you from your just
fate."

"You judge me by yourself, Fifi. You are a power among men, most
women are, but I do not bank on that--"

"Not alone! You bank on the fact that either Hendricks or
Elliott would go through hell for you, and count it an easy
journey. You rest easy in the knowledge that those two men can
do just about anything they set their minds to--"

"Will you go?"

"Yes, I will go. And when Mr. Shane comes to see me again, I
will tell him the truth--all the truth about the' Hamlet' play
--and--it will be enough!"

"Tell him!" Eunice's eyes blazed now. "Tell him the truth--and
add to it whatever lies your clever brain can invent! Do your
worst Fifi Desternay; I am not afraid of you!"

"I am going, Eunice." Fifi moved slowly toward the door. "I
shall tell the truth, but I shall add no lies--that will not be
necessary!"

She disappeared, and Eunice stood, panting with excitement and
indignation.

Aunt Abby came toward her. The old lady had been a witness of
the whole scene--had, indeed, tried several times to utter a word
of pacification, but neither of the women had so much as noticed
her.

"Go away, Auntie, please," said Eunice. "I can't talk to you.
I'm expecting Mason at any time now, and I want to get calmed
down a little."

Miss Ames went to her room, and Eunice sat down on the davenport.

She sat upright, tensely quiet, and thought over all Fifi had
said--all she had threatened.

"It would have been far better," Eunice told herself, "for my
cause if I had held her friendship. And I could have done it,
easily--but--Fifi's friendship would be worse than her enmity!"


When Mason Elliott came, Detective Driscoll was with him.

The net of the detectives was closing in around Eunice, and
though both Elliott and Hendricks--as Fifi had truly surmised
--were doing all in their power, the denouement was not far off
--Eunice was in imminent danger of arrest at any moment.

"We've been talking about the will--Sanford's will," Elliott
said, in a dreary tone, after the callers were seated, "and,
Eunice, Mr. Driscoll chooses to think that the fact that San left
practically everything to you, without any restraint in the way
of trustees, or restriction of any sort, is another count against
you."

Eunice smiled bravely. "But that isn't news," she said; "we all
knew that my husband made me his sole--or rather principal
--beneficiary. I know the consensus of opinion is that I
murdered my husband that I might have his money--and full control
of it. This is no new element."

"No;" said Driscoll, moved by the sight of the now patient,
gentle face; "no; but we've added a few more facts--and look
here, Mrs, Embury, it's this way. I've doped it out that there
are five persons who could possibly have committed this--this
crime. I'll speak plainly, for you have continually permitted
me--even urged me to do so. Well, let us say Sanford Embury
could have been killed by anyone of a certain five. And they
size up like this: Mr. Elliott, here, and Mr. Alvord Hendricks
may be said to have had motive but no opportunity."

"Motive?" said Eunice, in a tone of deepest possible scorn.

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Elliott, now, is an admirer of yours--don't
look offended, please; I'm speaking very seriously. It is among
the possibilities that he wanted your husband out of his way."

Mason Elliott listened to this without any expression of
annoyance. Indeed, he had heard this argument of Driscoll's
before, and it affected him not at all.

"But, Mrs, Embury, Mr. Elliott had no opportunity. We have
learned beyond all doubt that he was at his club or at his home
all that night. Next, Mr. Hendricks had a motive. The rival
candidates were both eager for election, and we must call that a
motive for Mr. Hendricks to be willing to remove his opponent.
But again, Mr. Hendricks had no opportunity. He was in Boston
from the afternoon of the day before Mr. Embury's death until
noon of the next day. That lets him out positively. Therefore,
there are two with motives but no opportunity. Next, we must
admit there were two who had opportunity, but no motive. I refer
to Ferdinand, your butler, and Miss Ames, your aunt. These two
could have managed to commit the deed, had they chosen, but we
can find no motive to attribute to either of them. It has been
suggested that Miss Ames might have had such a desire to rid you,
Mrs. Embury, of a tyrannical husband, that she was guilty. But
it is so highly improbable as to be almost unbelievable.

"Therefore, as I sum it up, the two who had motive without
opportunity, and the two who had opportunity without motive, must
all be disregarded, because of the one who had motive and
opportunity both. Yourself, Mrs. Embury."

The arraignment was complete. Driscoll's quiet, even tones
carried a sort of calm conviction.

"And so, Eunice," Mason Elliott spoke up, "I'm going to try one
more chance. I've persuaded Mr. Driscoll to wait a day or two
before progressing any further, and let me get Fleming Stone on
this case."

"Very well," said Eunice, listlessly. "Who is he?"

"A celebrated detective. Mr. Driscoll makes no objection--which
goes to prove what a good detective he is himself. His partner,
Mr. Shane, is not so willing, but has grudgingly consented. In
fact, they couldn't help themselves, for they are not quite
sure that they have enough evidence to arrest you. Shane thinks
that Stone will find out more, and so strengthen the case against
you but Driscoll, bless him! thinks maybe Stone can find another
suspect."

"I didn't exactly say I thought that, Mr. Elliott," said
Driscoll. "I said I hoped it."

"We all hope it," returned Elliott.

"Hope while you may," and Driscoll sighed. "Fleming Stone has
never failed to find the criminal yet. And if his findings
verify mine, I shall be glad to put the responsibility on his
shoulders."




CHAPTER XIII

FLEMING STONE


One of the handsomest types of American manhood is that rather
frequently seen combination of iron-gray hair and dark, deep-set
eyes that look out from under heavy brows with a keen,
comprehensive glance.

This type of man is always a thinker, usually a professional man,
and almost invariably a man of able brain. He is nearly always
well-formed, physically, and of good carriage and demeanor.

At any rate, Fleming Stone was all of these things, and when he
came into the Embury living-room his appearance was in such
contrast to that of the other two detectives that Eunice greeted
him with a pleased smile.

Neither Shane nor Driscoll was present, and Mason Elliott
introduced Stone to the two ladies, with a deep and fervent hope
that the great detective could free Eunice from the cloud of
danger and disgrace that hovered above her head.

His magnetic smile was so attractive that Aunt Abby nodded her
head in complete approval of the newcomer.

"And now tell me all about everything," Stone said, as they
seated themselves in a cozy group. "I know the newspaper facts,
but that's all. I must do my work quite apart from the beaten
track, and I want any sidelights or bits of information that your
local detectives may have overlooked and which may help us."

"You don't think Eunice did it, do you, Mr. Stone?" Aunt Abby
broke out, impulsively, quite forgetting the man was a
comparative stranger.

"I am going to work on the theory that she did not," he declared.
"Then we will see what we can scare up in the way of evidence
against some one else. First, give me a good look at those doors
that shut off the bedrooms."

With a grave face, Fleming Stone studied the doors, which, as he
saw, when bolted on the inside left no means of access to the
three rooms in which the family had slept.

"Except the windows," Stone mused, and went to look at them.
As they all had window boxes, save one in Aunt Abby's room, and
as that was about a hundred feet from the ground, he dismissed
the possibility of an intruder.

"Nobody could climb over the plants without breaking them," said
Eunice, with a sigh at the inevitable deduction.

Stone looked closely at the plants, kept in perfect order by Aunt
Abby, who loved the work, and who tended them every day. Not a
leaf was crushed, not a stem broken, and the scarlet geranium
blossoms stood straight up like so many mute witnesses against
any burglarious entrance.

Stone returned to Aunt Abby's side window, and leaning over the
sill looked out and down to the street below.

"Couldn't be reached even by firemen's ladders," he said, "and,
anyway, the police would have spotted any ladder work."

"I tried to think some one came in at that window," said Elliott,
"but even so, nobody could go through Miss Ames' room, and then
Mrs, Embury's room, and so on to Mr. Embury's room--do his deadly
work--and return again, without waking the ladies--"

"Not only that, but how could he get in the window?" said Eunice.
"There's no possible way of climbing across from the next
apartment--oh, I'm honest with myself," she added, as Stone
looked at her curiously. "I don't deceive myself by thinking
impossibilities could happen. But somebody killed my husband,
and--according to the detectives--I am the only one who had both
motive and opportunity!"

"Had you a motive, Mrs Embury?" Stone asked, quietly.

Eunice stared at him. "They say so," she replied. "They say I
was unhappy with him."

"And were you?" The very directness of Stone's pertinent
questions seemed to compel Eunice's truthful answers, and she
said:

"Of course I was! But that--"

"Eunice, hush!" broke in Elliott, with a pained look. "Don't say
such things, dear, it can do no good, and may injure your case."

"Not with me," Stone declared. "My work has led me rather
intimately into people's lives, and I am willing to go on record
as saying that fifty per cent of marriages are unhappy--more or
less. Whether that is a motive for murder depends entirely on
the temper and temperament of the married ones themselves. But
--it is very rarely that a wife kills her husband."

"Why, there are lots of cases in the papers," said Miss Ames.
"And never are the women convicted, either!"

"Oh, not lots of cases," objected Stone, "but the few that do
occur are usually tragic and dramatic and fill a front page for a
few days. Now, let's sift down this remarkably definite
statement of 'motives and opportunities' that your eminent
detectives have catalogued. I'm told that they've two people
with motive and no opportunity; two more with opportunity and no
motive; and one--Mrs, Embury--who fulfills both requirements!
Quite an elaborate schedule, to be sure!"

Eunice looked at him with a glimmer of hope. Surely a man who
talked like that didn't place implicit reliance on the schedule
in question.

"And yet," Stone went on, "it is certainly true. A motive is a
queer thing--an elusive, uncertain thing. They say--I have this
from the detectives themselves-that Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Elliott
both had the motive of deep affection for Mrs, Embury. Please
don't be offended, I am speaking quite impersonally, now. Mr.
Hendricks, I am advised, also had a strong motive in a desire to
remove a rival candidate for an important election. But--neither
of these gentlemen had opportunity, as each has proven a perfect
and indubitable alibi. I admit the alibis--I've looked into
them, and they are unimpeachable--but I don't admit the motives.
Granting a man's affection for a married woman, it is not at all
a likely thing for him to kill her husband."

"Right, Mr. Stone!" and Mason Elliott's voice rang out in honest
appreciation.

"Again, it is absurd to suspect one election candidate of killing
another. It isn't done--and one very good reason is, that if the
criminal should be discovered, he has small chance for the
election he coveted. And there is always a chance--and a strong
one--that 'murder will out! So, personally, I admit I don't
subscribe entirely to the cut-and-dried program of my esteemed
colleagues. Now, as to these two people with opportunity but no
motive. They are, I'm told, Miss Ames and the butler. Very
well, I grant their opportunity--but since they are alleged to
have no motive, why consider them at all? This brings us to Mrs,
Embury."

Eunice was watching the speaker, fascinated. She had never met a
man like this before. Though Stone's manner was by no means
flippant, he seemed to take a light view of some aspects of the
case. But now, he looked at Eunice very earnestly.

"I am informed," he went on, slowly, "that you have an
ungovernable temper, Mrs, Embury."

"Nothing of the sort!" Eunice cried, tossing her head defiantly
and turning angry eyes on the bland detective. "I am supposed to
be unable to control myself, but it is not true! As a child I
gave way to fits of temper, I acknowledge, but I have overcome
that tendency, and I am no more hot-tempered now than other
people!"

As always, when roused, Eunice looked strikingly beautiful, her
eyes shone and her cheeks showed a crimson flush. She drew
herself up haughtily, and clenching her hands on the back of a
chair, as she stood facing Stone, she said, "If you have come
here to browbeat me--to discuss my personal characteristics, you
may go! I've no intention of being brought to book by a
detective!"

"Why, Eunice, don't talk that way," begged Aunt Abby. "I'm sure
Mr. Stone is trying to get you freed from the awful thing that is
hanging over you!"

"There's no awful thing hanging over me! I don't know what you
mean, Aunt Abby! There can't be anything worse than to have a
stranger come in here and remark on my unfortunate weakness in
sometimes giving way to my sense of righteous indignation! I
resent it! I won't have it! Mason, you brought Mr. Stone here
--now take him away!"

"There, there, Eunice, you are not quite yourself, and I don't
wonder. This scene is too much for you. I'm sure you will make
allowance, Mr. Stone, for Mrs, Embury's overwrought nerves--"

"Of course," and Fleming Stone spoke coldly, without sympathy or
even apparent interest. "Let Mrs, Embury retire to her room, if
she wishes."

They had all returned to the big living-room, and Stone stood
near a front window, now and then glancing out to the trees in
Park Avenue below.

"I don't want to retire to my room!" Eunice cried. "I don't want
to be set aside as if I were a child! I did want Mr. Stone to
investigate this whole matter, but I don't now--I've changed my
mind! Mason, tell him to go away!"

"No, dear," and Elliott looked at her kindly, "you can't change
your mind like that. Mr. Stone has the case, and he will go on
with it and when you come to yourself again, you will be glad,
for he will free you from suspicion by finding the real
criminal."

"I don't want him to! I don't want the criminal found! I want
it to be an unsolved mystery, always and forever!"

"No;" Elliott spoke more firmly. "No, Eunice, that is not what
you want."

"Stop! I know what I want--without your telling me! You
overstep your privileges, Mason! I'm not an imbecile, to be
ignored, set aside, overruled! I won't stand it! Mr. Stone, you
are discharged!"

She stood, pointing to the door with a gesture that would have
been melodramatic, had she not been so desperately in earnest.
The soft black sleeve fell away from her soft white arm, and her
out-stretched hand was steady and unwavering as she stood silent,
but quivering with suppressed rage.

"Eunice," and going to her, Elliott took the cold white hand in
his own. "Eunice," he said, and no more, but his eyes looked
deeply into hers.

She gazed steadily for a moment, and then her face softened, and
she turned aside, and sank wearily into a chair.

"Do as you like," she said, in a low murmur. "I'll leave it to
you, Mason. Let Mr. Stone go ahead."

"Yes, go ahead, Mr. Stone," said Aunt Abby, eagerly. "I'll show
you anywhere you want to go--anything you want to see I'll tell
you all about it."

"Why, do you know anything I haven't been told, Miss Ames? I
thought we had pretty well sized up the situation."

"Yes, but I can tell you something that nobody else will listen
to, and I think you will."

Eunice started up again. "Aunt Abby," she said, "if you begin
that pack of fool nonsense about a vision, I'll leave the room--I
vow I will!"

"Leave, then!" retorted Aunt Abby, whose patience was also under
a strain.

But Stone said, "Wait, please, I want a few more matters
mentioned, and then, Miss Ames, I will listen to your 'fool
nonsense!' First, what is this talk about money troubles between
Mr. and Mrs, Embury?"

"That," Eunice seemed interested, "is utter folly. My husband
objected to giving me a definite allowance, but he gave me twice
the sum I would have asked for, and more, too, by letting me have
charge accounts everywhere I chose."

"Then you didn't kill him for that reason?" and the dark eyes of
the detective rested on Eunice kindly.

"No; I did not!" she said, curtly, and Stone returned,

"I believe you, Mrs, Embury; if you were the criminal, that was
not the motive. Next," he went on, "what about this quarrel you
and Mr. Embury had the night before his death?"

"That was because I had disobeyed his express orders," Eunice
said, frankly and bravely, "and I went to a bridge game at a
house to which he had forbidden me to go. I am sorry--and I wish
I could tell him so."

Fleming Stone looked at her closely. Was she sincere or was she
merely a clever actress?

"A game for high stakes, I assume," he said quietly.

"Very high. Mr. Embury objected strongly to my playing there,
but I went, hoping to win some money that I wanted."

"That you wanted? For some particular purpose?"

"No; only that I might have a few dollars in my purse, as other
women do. It all comes back to the same old quarrel, Mr. Stone.
You don't know! can't make you understand--how humiliating, how
galling it is for a woman to have no money of her own! Nobody
understands--but I have been subjected to shame and embarrassment
hundreds of times for the want of a bit of ready money!"

"I think I do understand, Mrs, Embury. I know how hard it must
have been for a proud woman to have that annoyance. Did Mr,
Embury object to the lady who was your hostess that evening?"

"Yes, he did. Mrs, Desternay is an old school friend of mine,
but Mr. Embury never liked her, and he objected more strenuously
because she had the bridge games."

"And the lady's attitude toward you?"

"Fifi? Oh, I don't know. We've always been friends, generally
speaking, but we've had quarrels now and then--sometimes we'd be
really intimate, and then again, we wouldn't speak for six weeks
at a time. Just petty tiffs, you know, but they seemed serious
at the time."

"I see. Hello, here's McGuire!"

Ferdinand, with a half-apologetic look, ushered in a boy, with
red hair, and a very red face. He was a freckled youth, and his
bright eyes showed quick perception as they darted round the
room, and came to rest on Miss Ames, on whom he smiled broadly.
"This is my assistant," Stone said, casually; "his name is
Terence McGuire, and he is an invaluable help. Anything doing,
son?"

"Not partickler. Kin I sit and listen?"

Clearly the lad was embarrassed, probably at the unaccustomed
luxury of his surroundings and the presence of so many high-bred
strangers. For Terence, or Fibsy, as he was nicknamed, was a
child of the streets, and though a clever assistant to Fleming
Stone in his career, the boy seldom accompanied his employer to
the homes of the aristocracy. When he did do so, he was seized
with a shyness that was by no means evident when he was in his
more congenial surroundings.

He glanced bashfully at Eunice, attracted by her beauty, but
afraid to look at her attentively. He gazed at Mason Elliott
with a more frank curiosity; and then he cast a furtive look at
Aunt Abby, who was herself smiling at him.

It was a genial, whole-souled smile, for the old lady had a soft
spot in her heart for boys, and was already longing to give him
some fruit and nuts from the sideboard.

Fibsy seemed to divine her attitude, and he grinned affably, and
was more at his ease.

But he sat quietly while the others went on discussing the
details of the case.

Eunice was amazed at such a strange partner for the great man,
but she quickly thought that a street urchin like that could go
to places and learn of side issues in ways which the older man
could not compass so conveniently.

Presently Fibsy slipped from his seat, and quietly went into the
bedrooms.

Eunice raise her eyebrows slightly, but Fleming Stone, observing,
said, "Don't mind, Mrs, Embury. The lad is all right. I'll
vouch for him."

"A queer helper," remarked Elliott.

"Yes; but very worth-while. I rely on him in many ways, and he
almost never fails to help me. He's now looking over the
bedrooms, just as I did, and he'll disturb nothing."

"Mercy me!" exclaimed Aunt Abby; "maybe he won't--but I don't
like boys prowling among my things!" and she scurried after him.

She found him in her room, and rather gruffly said, "What are you
up to, boy?"

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.