Book: Raspberry Jam

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Raspberry Jam




"But did you, Sanford--did you? "Miss Ames implored.

"It would be better you should never know."

"I must know. I've got to know! Tell me, Sanford. It wasn't
Eunice?

"No--it wasn't Eunice."

"Was it--oh, San--was it--I?"

"Yes, Aunt Abby--it was. But you were entirely irresponsible
--you were asleep--hypnotized, perhaps--perhaps merely asleep."

"Where did I get the stuff?"

"I think somebody hypnotized you and gave it to you--"

"When? Where?"

"I don't know--it is vague--uncertain--But you put it in my ear
--remember, Aunt Abby, I don't blame you at all. And you must
not tell this. You must let it go as suicide. That is the only
way to save yourself--"

"But they suspect Eunice--"

"They'll never convict her--nor would they convict you. Tell
them you got into communication with my spirit and I said it was
suicide."

"Ask him about the raspberry jam," put in Fibsy, in a stage
whisper.

"What!" the medium came out of his trance suddenly and glared at
the boy.

"I told you I could do nothing if the child stayed here," Marigny
cried, evidently in a towering passion. "Put him out. Who is
he? What is he talking about?"

"Nothing of importance. Keep still, McGuire. Can you get Mr.
Embury's spirit back, sir?"

"No, the communion is too greatly disturbed. Boy, what do you
mean by raspberry jam?"

"Oh, nothin'," and Fibsy wriggled bashfully. "You tell him, Miss
Ames."

It needed little encouragement to launch Aunt Abby on the story
of her "vision" and she told it in full detail.

Marigny seemed interested, though a little impatient, and tried
to hurry the recital.

"It was, without doubt, Embury's spirit," he said, as Aunt Abby
finished; "but your imagination has exaggerated and elaborated
the facts. For instance, I think the jam and the gasoline are
added by your fancy, in order to fill out the full tale of your
five senses."

"That's what I thought," and Fibsy nodded his head. "Raspberry
jam! Oh, gee!" he exploded in a burst of silly laughter.

Marigny looked at him with a new interest. The amber-colored
glasses, turned toward the boy seemed to frighten him, and he
began to whimper.

"I didn't mean any harm," he said, "but raspberry jam was so
funny for a ghost to have on him!"

"It would have been," assented Marigny, "but that, I feel sure,
existed only in Miss Ames' fancy. Her mind, upset by the vision,
had strange hallucinations, and the jam was one--you know we
often have grotesque dreams."

"So we do," agreed Fibsy; "why once I drempt that--"

"Excuse me, young sir, but I've no time to listen to your dreams.
The seance is at an end, madam. Your companion probably cut it
off prematurely--but perhaps not. Perhaps the communication was
about over, anyway. Are you satisfied, Miss Ames?"

"Yes, Mr. Marigny. I know the appearance of Mr. Embury was a
genuine visitation, for he called me by a peculiar name which no
one else ever used, and which you could not possibly know about."

"That is indeed a positive test. I am glad you received what you
wished for. The fee is ten dollars, madam."

Aunt Abby paid it willingly enough, and with Fibsy, took her
departure.

On reaching home they found Alvord Hendricks there. Mason
Elliott had tarried and Fleming Stone, too, was still there.
Eunice was awaiting Aunt Abby's return to have dinner served.

"I thought you'd never come, Auntie," said Eunice, greeting her
warmly. Eunice was in a most pleasant mood, and seemed to have
become entirely reconciled to the presence of Stone.

"You will dine here, too, Terence," she said kindly to the boy,
who replied, "Yes, ma'am," very respectfully.

"Well, Eunice," Aunt Abby announced, after they were seated at
the table, "I'm the criminal, after all."

"You seem pretty cheerful about it," said Hendricks, looking at
her in astonishment.

"Well, I wasn't responsible. I did it under compulsory
hypnotism."

"You owned up to it before, Aunt Abby," said Eunice, humoring
her; "you said--"

"I know, Eunice, but that time it was to shield you. Now, I know
for certain that I did do it, and how it came about."

"Dear Aunt Abby," and Elliott spoke very gently, "don't you talk
about it any more. Your vagaries are tolerated by us, who love
you, but Mr. Stone is bored by them--"

"Not at all," said Fleming Stone; "on the contrary, I'm deeply
interested. Tell me all about it, Miss Ames. Where have you
been?"

Thus encouraged, Aunt Abby told all.

She described the seance truthfully, Fibsy's bright eyes--not
lack-luster now--darting glances at her and at Stone as the tale
proceeded.

"He was the real thing--wasn't he, McGuire?" Miss Ames appealed
to him, at last.

"You bet! Why, if the side wire of his beard hadn't fetched
loose and if his walnut juice complexion hadn't stopped a mite
short of his collar, I'd a took him for a sure-fire Oriental!"

"Don't be so impertinent, Terence," reproved Stone; "Miss Ames
knows better than you do."

"It doesn't matter that he was made up that way," Aunt Abby said,
serenely; "they often do that. But he was genuine, I know,
because--why, Eunice, what did Sanford use to call me--for fun
--Aunt what?"

"Aunt Westminter Abbey," said Eunice, smiling at the
recollection.

"Yes!" triumphantly; "and that's what Sanford called me to-day
when speaking to me through the medium. Isn't that a proof? How
could that man know that?"

"I can't explain that," declared Elliott, a little shortly, "but
it's all rubbish, and I don't think you ought to be allowed to go
to such places! It's disgraceful--"

"You hush up, Mason," Miss Ames cried; "I'll go where I like!
I'm not a child. And, too, I wasn't alone--I had an escort--a
very nice one." She looked kindly at Fibsy.

"Thank you, ma'am," he returned, bobbing his funny red head. "I
sure enjoyed myself."

"You didn't look so; you looked half asleep."

"I always enjoy myself when I'm asleep--and half a loaf is
better'n no bed," the boy grinned at her.

"Well, it may all be rubbish," Alvord Hendricks said, musingly;
"and it probably is--but there are people, Mason, who don't think
so. Anyway, here's my idea. If Aunt Abby thinks she poisoned
Sanford, under hypnotism--or any other way--for the love of
heaven, let it go at that! If you don't--suspicion will turn
back to Eunice again--and that's what we want to prevent. Now,
no jury would ever convict an old lady--"

"Nor any woman," said Elliott. "But that isn't the whole thing.
I say, Alvord, since Mr. Stone is on the job, suppose we give him
full swing--and let him find the real murderer. It wasn't
Eunice!"

His words rang out so vibrantly that Stone gave him a quick
glance. "You're sure?" he asked, as it seemed, involuntarily.

"I am," responded Elliott, with a satisfied nod of his handsome
head.

"But your being sure doesn't help much, Mason," Eunice said, a
despondent look coming into her eyes. "Are you sure, Mr. Stone?"

"I can't quite answer that question yet, Mrs, Embury," the
courteous voice replied. "Remember, I've only just begun to look
into the matter."

"But you know all about it--from Mr. Shane and Mr. Driscoll."

"I know what they think about it--but that's a different story."

"You don't agree with their deductions, then?" asked Hendricks.

"I don't agree with their premises--therefore--" Stone smiled
cryptically, and left the sentence unfinished and ambiguous,
which was his deliberate intention.

"We will have coffee in the living-room," said Eunice, as she
rose from the table. Always a charming hostess, she was at her
best to-night. Her thin black gown was becoming and made her
fair throat and arms seem even whiter by contrast.

She stood back, as the others left the room, and Hendricks,
tarrying, too, came close to her.

"Brace up, dear," he said; "it will all come out right. I'm
sorry Elliott dragged in this Stone, but--it will be all right,
somehow."

"But it's all so mysterious, Alvord. I don't know what to do--or
say--"

"Don't lose your temper, Eunice. Let me advise you strongly as
to that. It never does any good--it militates against you. And
here's another thing--Are you afraid of the little Desternay?"

"Afraid--how?" but Eunice paled.

"Afraid--she knows something--oh, something injurious to--"

"To me? She knows heaps!" The haughty head tossed, and Eunice
looked defiant.

"You beauty!" and Hendricks took a step nearer. "Oh, you
splendid thing! How I adore you. Eunice--you are a goddess
to-night! And you are for me! Some day--oh, I'm not going to
say it now---don't look so alarmed--but, you know--oh, Sweet, you
know! And you yes, you, too, my splendid Tiger--"'

"Hush, Alvord! Never call me that!"

"No, I beg pardon. And I don't want to. That was San's own name
for you. I shall call you my Queen! My glorious Queen-woman!"

"Oh, stop! Don't you dare make love to me!

"And don't you dare say 'dare' to me! I dare all--"

Ferdinand's entrance cut short this dialogue, and Eunice and
Hendricks went into the other room.

Almost immediately a visitor was announced,, and Hanlon came in.

"Why, Mr. Hanlon," Eunice said, greeting him cordially, "I'm glad
to see you again."

"So am I," cried Aunt Abby, hastening to welcome the newcomer.
"Oh, Mr. Hanlon, I went to see your man--Mr. Marigny, you
know--"

"Yes? I called to see if you had found him all right."

The necessary introductions were made, and Hanlon took his place
in the group.

He was a little ill at ease, for he was by no means a member of
"society," and though he had been at the Embury house before, he
seemed a trifle in awe of his surroundings.

"And I called, too," Hanlon said, "to offer you my respectful
sympathy, Mrs, Embury, and ask if there's anything I can do for
you."

"Why, you're very kind," said Eunice, touched by his
thoughtfulness, "but I'm afraid there's nothing you--anybody can
do for me."

"F. Stone can," declared Fibsy; "he can do a lot for you, Mrs,
Embury." The red head nodded vigorously, as was the boy's habit,
when much in earnest.

Hanlon regarded him closely, and Fibsy returned the scrutiny.

"Say," the boy broke out, suddenly. "I've seen you before.
You're the man who found the hidden jackknife, in Newark!"

"The same," and Hanlon smiled at him. "Were you present?"

"I sure was! Gee! You're a wonder!"

"I was a wonder, but I don't do wonderful things any more."

"What do you do now?"

"Yes," chimed in Eunice, "what are you doing, Mr. Hanlon? You
told me you were going to take up a different line of work."

"I did, Mrs, Embury; I'm a prosaic and uninteresting painter man
nowadays."

"An artist?"

"In a way," and Hanlon smiled; "I paint signs--and I try to do
them artistically."

"Signs! How dull for you--after your exciting performances!"

"Not so very dull," interrupted Aunt Abby. "I know about the
signs Mr. Hanlon paints! They're bigger'n a house! They're
--why, they're scenery--don't you know?--like you see along the
railroad--I mean along the meadows when you're riding in the
cars."

"Oh, scenic advertising," observed Fleming Stone. "And signs on
the Palisades--"

"Not on the natural scenery," laughed Hanlon. "Though I've been
tempted by high rocks or smooth-sided crags."

"Are you a steeple-jack?" asked Fibsy, his eyes sparkling; "can
you paint spires and things?"

"No;" and Hanlon looked at the boy, regretfully. "I can't do
that. I'm no climber. I make the signs and then they're put
where they belong by other workmen."

"Oh," and Fibsy looked disappointed at not finding the daring
hero he sought for.

"I must not presume further on your kindness, Mrs, Embury,"
Hanlon said, with an attempt at society jargon, "I merely called
in for a minute. Mr. Hendricks, are you going my way? I want to
see you about that sign-"

"No, Hanlon--sorry, but I'm not going now," and Hendricks shook
his head. "I'm here for the evening."

"All right see you later, then. Where can I find you? I'm
something of an owl, myself."

"I'll call you up after I get home--if it isn't too late,"
Hendricks suggested.

"Never too late for me. See that you remember."

Hanlon looked at Hendricks with more seriousness than the subject
appeared to call for, then he went away.

"You got the earache?" asked Fibsy suddenly, of Hendricks, as
that gentleman half absently rubbed his ear.

"Bless my soul, no! What do you mean by such a question? Mr.
Stone, this boy of yours is too fresh!"

"Be quiet, Terence," said Stone, paying but slight attention to
the matter.

"Oh, all right, no offense meant," and the boy grinned at
Hendricks. "But didn't you ever have an earache? If not, you
don't know what real sufferin' is!"

"No, I never had it, that I remember. Perhaps as a child--"

"Why, Alvord," said Aunt Abby, "you had it fearfully about a
month ago. Don't you recollect? You were afraid of
mastoiditis."

"Oh, that. Well, that was a serious illness. I was thinking of
an ordinary earache, when I said I never had one. But I beg of
you drop the subject of my ailments! What a thing to discuss!"

"True enough," agreed Stone, "I propose we keep to the theme
under consideration. I've been engaged to look into this murder
mystery. I'm here for that purpose. I must insist that I
conduct my investigation in my own way."

"That's the right talk," approved Elliott. "Now, Mr. Stone,
let's get right down to it."

"Very well, the case stands thus: Shane says--and it's perfectly
true--there are five possible suspects. But only one of these
had both motive and opportunity. Now, the whole five are here
present, and, absurd though it my seem, I'm going to ask each one
of you the definite question. Ferdinand," he raised his voice
and the butler came in from the dining-room, "did you kill your
master?"

"No, God hearing me--I didn't, sir." The man was quiet and
composed, though his face was agonized.

"That will do, you may go," said Stone. "Mr. Elliott, did you
kill your friend--your partner in business?"

"I did not," said Elliott, curtly. He was evidently ill-pleased
at the question.

"Mr. Hendricks, did you?"

"As I have repeatedly proved, I was in Boston that night. It
would be impossible for me to be the criminal--but I will answer
your ridiculous query--I did not."

"Mrs, Embury, did you?"

"N--no--but I would rather be suspected, than to have--"

"You said no, I believe," Stone interrupted her. "Miss Ames, do
you really think you killed your niece's husband?"

"Oh, sir--I don't know! I can't think I did--"

"Of course, you didn't, Aunt Abby!" Mason Elliott rose from his
seat and paced up and down the room. "I must say, Mr. Stone,
this is a childish performance! What makes you think any of us
would say so, if we had killed Embury? It is utterly absurd!"

"You're absurd, Elliott," cut in Hendricks. "Mr. Stone is a
psychologist. He learns what he wants to know not from what we
say--but the way we say it. Right, Mr. Stone?"

"Right, Mr. Hendricks." Stone looked grave. "Anything more to
say, Mr. Elliott?"

"Yes, I have! And it's this: I asked you to come here. I asked
you to take this case--as you've already surmised--to free Mrs,
Embury from wrongful suspicion. Wrongful, mind you! I do not
want you to clear her if she is guilty. But she isn't.
Therefore, I want you to find the real criminal. That's what I
want!"

"And that's what I'm doing."

"Of course he is," Eunice defended him. "I wish you'd keep
still, Mason! You talk too much--and you interfere with Mr.
Stone's methods."

"Perhaps I'd better go home, Eunice." Elliott was clearly
offended. "If you don't want me here, I'll go."

"Oh, no--" Eunice began, but Hendricks said, "Go on, Elliott, do.
There are too many of us here, and as Eunice's counsel, I can
look after her interests."

Mason Elliott rose, and turned to Eunice.

"Shall I go?" he said, and he gave her a look of entreaty--a look
of yearning, pleading love.

"Go," she said, coldly. "Alvord will take care of me."

And Elliott went.




CHAPTER XVI

FIBSY'S BUSY DAY


"It's this way, F. Stone," said Fibsy, earnestly, "the crooks of
the situation--"

"The what?"

"The crooks--that's what they call it--"

"Oh, the crux." Stone did not laugh.

"Yessir--if that's how you pronounce it. Guess I'll stick to
plain English. Well, to my way of thinkin', the little joker in
the case is that there raspberry jam. I'm a strong believer in
raspberry jam on general principles, but in pertikler, I should
say in this present case, raspberry jam will win the war! Don't
eat it!"

"Thought you were going to talk plain English. You're cryptic,
my son."

"All right--here goes. That jam business is straight goods. The
old lady says she tasted jam--and she did taste jam. That's all
there is about that. And that sweet, pleasant, innercent
raspberry jam will yet send the moiderer of Mr. Embury to the
chair!"

"I think myself there's something to be looked into there, but
how are you going about it?"

"Dunno yet--but here's another thing, Mr. Stone, that I ain't had
time to tell you yet, that--"

"Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me your story in
order."

"Supposin' I do!" Fibsy thought a moment before he began. It
was the morning after the two had dined at the Embury home, and
they were breakfasting together in Stone's hotel apartment.

"Well, Mr. Stone, as you know, I left Mrs, Embury's last night
d'eckly after Mr. Hendricks took his deeparture. As I s'pected,
there was trouble a-waitin' for him just outside the street
doorway, that Hanlon chap was standing and he met up with Mr.
Hendricks--much to the dismay of the latter!"

"Your English is fine this morning--go ahead."

"Well--Hanlon fell into step like with Mr. Henricks, and they
walked along, Hanlon doing the talking. I didn't dare get close
enough to overhear them, for they're both live wires, and I don't
fool either of 'em into thinking meself a ninkypoop! So I
trailed, but well out'a sight--and, hold on, Mr. Stone, while I
tell you this. The fake mejum that Miss Ames went to see
yesterday afternoon, was none other than friend Hanlon himself!"

"What? Fibs, are you sure?"

"Sure as shootin'! I spotted him the minute he came up to Mrs,
Embury's. I didn't reckernize him at first as the whiskered
Moses, but I did later. You know, Mr. Stone, I saw him do stunts
for newspapers in two towns, and I wonder I didn't tumble to him
in the spookshop. But I didn't--I dessay because when I saw him
doing his mind-readin' tricks outdoors he was blindfolded, which
some concealed his natural scenery. Well, he hadn't more'n
tripped over the Embury 'Welcome' mat, than I was onto him. Me
thinker woiked light lightnin' and I had him ticketed and
pigeonholed in no time."

"Is he mixed up in the Embury case?"

"He's mixed up with Mr. Hendricks in some way, and he learned
from Miss Ames that Hendricks was to be among those present, so
he made up foolish excuses and betook himself to the vicinity of
said Hendricks."

"Why?"

"Wanted to converse with him, and couldn't get hold of him
otherwise. Hendricks, it would seem, didn't hanker for said
conversation."

"I remember Hanlon asked Mr. Hendricks if he were going his way,
and Hendricks said he was going to spend the evening where he
was."

"Egg-zackly. And did. But all the same, Hanlon waited. And a
wait of an hour and a half registers patience and perseverance
--to my mind."

"Right you are! And you trailed the pair?"

"Did I?" Fibsy fell back in his chair, as if exhausted. "I
followed them to Mr. Hendricks' home, they chatterin' glibly all
the way--and then after a few minutes' further remarks on the
doorstep Hendricks, he went in--and Hanlon--! You know, Mr.
Stone, Hanlon's nobody's fool, and he knew I was follerin' him as
well as he knew his name! I don't know how he knew it--for I was
most careful to keep out'a sight, but all the same, he did know
it--and what do you think he did? He led me a chase of miles
--and miles--and miles! That's what he did!"

"On purpose?"

"On purpose! Laughin' in his silly sleeve! I was game. I
trotted along--but bullieve me! I was mad! And the galoot was
so slick about it! Why, he walked up Broadway first--as if he
had a business appointment in a desprit hurry. Then, having
reached Hunderd an' Twenty-fi'th Street, he pauses a minute--to
be sure I'm trailin', the vilyun and then, he swings East, and
across town, and turns South again--oh, well, Mr. Stone, he
simpully makes me foller him till I'm that dog-tired, I near
drops in my tracks. And, to top the heap, he leads me straight
to this hotel, where we're stayin'--yes, sir! right here--and
makin' a sharp turn, he says, 'Good-night!' pleasant like, and
scoots off. Can you beat it?"

"Poor old Fibs, that was an experience! Looks like the Hanlon
person is one to be reckoned with. But it doesn't prove him
mixed up in the murder mystery in any way."

"No, sir, it don't. It's only made me sore on him--and sore on
my own account, too!" Fibsy grinned ruefully. "Me feet's that
blistered--and I'm lame all over!"

"Poor boy! You see, he's a sprinter from 'way back. His stunts
on that newspaper work prove he can take long walks without
turning a hair."

"Yes, but its croolty to animiles to drag a young feller like me
along, too. I've got his number. Just you wait, Cele!
Remember, Mr. Stone, he played spook-catcher to Miss Ames. That
means something, sir."

"It does, indeed. This is a great old case, Fibsy. Are you
getting a line on it?"

"I think so, sir," and the lad looked very earnest. "Are you?"

"A strange one. But, yet, a line. To-day, Fibs, I want you to
interview that Mrs, Desternay. You can do it better than I,
jolly her along, and find out if she's fried or foe of Mrs,
Embury."

"Yessir. An' kin I do a little sleuthin' on my own?"

"What sort?"

"Legitermit--I do assure you, sir."

When Fibsy assumed this deeply earnest air, Stone knew some
clever dodge was in his mind, and he found it usually turned out
well, so he said, "Go ahead, my boy; I trust you."

"Thank yer," and Fibsy devoted himself to the remainder of his
breakfast, while Stone read the morning paper.


An hour later Terence McGuire presented himself at the Embury
home and asked for Miss Ames.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said, as he smiled brightly at her.
"Howlja like to join me in a bit of investergation that'll
proberly end up in a s'lution of the mystery?"

"I'd like it first rate," replied Miss Ames, with enthusiasm.
"When do we begin?"

"Immejitly. Where's Mis' Embury?"

"In her room."

"No use a-disturbin' her, but I want'a see the jersey--the
gymnasium jersey your ghost wore."

Aunt Abby looked disappointed. She had hoped for something more
exciting.

But she said, "I'll get it," and went at once to Sanford Embury's
room.

"Thank you," said Fibsy, as he took it. But his eager scrutiny
failed to disclose any trace of jam on its sleeves.

"Which arm did you bite?" he asked, briefly.

"I didn't really bite at all," Miss Ames returned. "I sort of
made a snap at him--it was more a nervous gesture than an
intelligent action. And I just caught a bit of the worsted
sleeve between my lips for an instant--it was, let me see--it
must have been the left arm--"

"Well, we'll examine both sleeves--and I regret to state, ma'am,
there's no sign of sticky stuff. This is a fine specimen of a
jersey--I never saw a handsomer one--but there's no stain on it,
and never has been."

"Nor has it ever been cleaned with gasoline," mused Miss Ames,
"and yet, McGuire, nothing, to my dying day, can ever convince me
that I am mistaken on those two subjects. I'm just as sure as I
can be."

"I'm sure, too. Listen here, Miss Ames. There's a great little
old revelation due in about a: day or so, and I wish you'd lay
low. Will you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, don't do or say much about the affair. Let it simmer. I'm
on the warpath, and so's Mr. Stone, and we're comin' out on top,
if we don't have no drawbacks. So, don't trot round to
clarviants or harp on that there 'vision' of yours, will you?"

"My boy, I'm only too glad to keep away from the subject. I'm
worried to death with it all. And if I can't do any good by my
efforts, I'll willingly 'lay low' as you ask."

"All right, ma'am. Now, I'm off, and I'll be back here when I
come again. So long."

Fibsy went down in the service elevator and forthwith proceeded
to interview the rubbish man of the house and some other
functionaries.

By dint of much prodding of memory, assisted by judicious silver
offerings, he finally learned that there was an apartment
occupied by a couple with four children, who, it appeared,
consumed large quantities of jam of all flavors. At least, their
rubbish was bristling with empty jam pots, and the deduction was
logical.

Seemingly unimpressed, Fibsy declared it was pickle-fiends he was
searching for, and departed, outwardly crestfallen, but inwardly
elated.

Going out of doors, he walked to the corner of Park Avenue, and
turned into the side street.

Crossing that street to get a better view, he looked up the side
of the big apartment house, and his gaze paused at the window in
the tenth story which was in Miss Ames' sleeping-room. Two
floors below this was the apartment of the family who were
reputed jam eaters.

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