Book: Raspberry Jam

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Raspberry Jam




He stared at Eunice as he talked. It was quite evident he meant
to frighten her--almost to accuse her.

But with her strange contradictoriness, she smiled at him.

"You have stated a problem, Mr. Shane, to which there can be no
answer. Therefore, that is not the problem that confronts us."

"Fine talk--fine talk, lady, but it won't get you anywhere. To
the unbiased, logical mind, the answer must be that it's the work
of the other two people."

"Then yours is not a logical or unbiased mind," Hendricks flared
out, "and I object to your making implications. If you are
making accusations, do so frankly, and let us know where we stand
I If not, shut up!"

Shane merely looked at him, without resenting this speech. The
detective appeared to be marking time as he awaited the return of
his partner.

And Driscoll returned, shortly. His manner betokened success in
his quest, whatever it may have been, and yet he looked
distressed, too.

"It's a queer thing," he said, half to himself, as he fell into a
chair Shane pushed toward him. "Mrs, Embury, do you keep an
engagement book?"

"Why, yes," replied Eunice, amazed at the question put to her.

"Let me see it, please."

Eunice went for it, and, returning, handed the detective a finely
bound volume.

Hastily he ran over the dates, looking at notes of parties,
concerts and theatres she had attended recently. At last, he
gave a start, read over one entry carefully, and closed the book.

Abruptly, then, he went back to Embury's room, asking Dr. Crowell
to go with him.

When they reappeared, it was plain to be seen the mystery was
solved.

"There is no doubt," said the Medical Examiner, "that Sanford
Embury met his death by foul play. The means used was the
administering of poison--through the ear!"

"Through the ear!" repeated Elliott, as one who failed to grasp
the sense of the words.

"Yes; it is a most unusual, almost a unique case, but it is
proved beyond a doubt. The poison was inserted in Mr. Embury's
ear, by means--"

He paused, and Driscoll held up to view a small, ordinary glass
medicine dropper, with a rubber bulb top. In it still remained a
portion of a colorless liquid.

"By means of this," Driscoll declared. "This fluid is henbane
--that is the commercial name of it--known to the profession,
however, as hyoscyamus or hyoscyamine. This little implement, I
found, in the medicine chest in Miss Ames' bathroom "

"No! no!" screamed Aunt Abby. "I never saw it before!"

"I don't think you did," said Driscoll, quietly. "But here is a
side light on the subject. This henbane was used, in this very
manner, we are told, in Shakespeare's works, by Hamlet's uncle,
when he poisoned Hamlet's father. He used, the play says,
distilled hebenon, supposed to be another form of the word
henbane. And this is what is, perhaps, important: Mrs, Embury's
engagement book shows that about a week ago she attended the play
of Hamlet. The suggestion there received--the presence of
this dropper, still containing the stuff, the finding of
traces of henbane in the ear of the dead man--seem to lead to a
conclusion--"

"The only possible conclusion! It's an openand--shut case!"
cried Shane, rising, and striding toward Eunice. "Mrs, Embury, I
arrest you for the wilful murder of your husband!"




CHAPTER X

A CONFESSION


"Don't you dare touch me!" Eunice Embury cried, stepping back
from the advancing figure of the burly detective. "Go out of my
house--Ferdinand, put this person out!"

The butler appeared in the doorway, but Shane waved a dismissing
hand at him.

"No use blustering, Mrs, Embury," he said, gruffly, but not
rudely. "You'd better come along quietly, than to make such a
fuss."

"I shall make whatever fuss I choose--and I shall not 'come
along,' quietly or any other way! I am not intimidated by your
absurd accusations, and I command you once more to leave my
house, or I will have you thrown out!"

Eunice's eyes blazed with anger, her voice was not loud, but was
tense with concentrated rage, and she stood, one hand clenching a
chair-back while with the other she pointed toward the door.

"Be quiet, Eunice," said Mason Elliott, coming toward her; "you
can't dismiss an officer of the law like that. But you can
demand an explanation. I think, Shane, you are going too fast.
You haven't evidence enough against Mrs, Embury to think of
arrest! Explain yourself!"

"No explanation necessary. She killed her husband, and she's my
prisoner."

"Hush up, Shane; let me talk," interrupted Driscoll, whose calmer
tones carried more authority than those of his rough partner.

"It's this way, Mr. Elliott. I'm a detective, and I saw at once,
that if the doctors couldn't find the cause of Mr. Embury's
death, it must be a most unusual cause. So I hunted for some
clue or some bit of evidence pointing to the manner of his death.
Well, when I spied that little medicine dropper, half full of
something, I didn't know what, but--" Here he paused impressively.
"But there was no bottle or vial of anything in the cupboard, from
which it could have been taken. There was no fluid in there that
looked a bit like the stuff in the dropper. So I thought that
looked suspicious--as if some one had hidden it there. I didn't
see the whole game then, but I went around to a druggist's and
asked him what was in that dropper. And he said henbane. He
further explained that henbane is the common name for hyoscyamin,
which is a deadly poison. Now, the doctors were pretty sure that
Mr. Embury had not been killed by anything taken into the stomach,
so I thought a minute, and, like a flash, I remembered the play
of 'Hamlet' that I saw last week.

"I guess everybody in New York went to see it--the house was
crowded. Anyway, I've proved by Mrs, Embury's engagement book
that she went--one afternoon, to a matinee--and what closer or
more indicative hint do you want? In that play, the murder is
fully described, and though many people might think poison could
not be introduced through the intact ear in sufficient quantity
to be fatal, yet it can be--and I read an article lately in a
prominent medical journal saying so. I was interested, because
of the Hamlet play. If I hadn't seen that, I'd never thought of
this whole business. But, if I'm wrong, let Mrs, Embury explain
the presence of that dropper in her medicine chest."

"I don't know anything about the thing! I never saw or heard of
it before! I don't believe you found it where you say you did!"
Eunice faced him with an accusing look. "You put it there
yourself--it's what you call a frame-up! I know nothing of your
old dropper!"

"There, there, lady," Shane put in; "don't get excited--it only
counts against you. Mr. Driscoll, here, wouldn't have no reason
to do such a thing as you speak of! Why would he do that, now?"

"But he must have done it," broke in Miss Ames. "For I use that
bathroom of Eunice's and that thing hasn't been in it, since I've
been here."

"Of course not," and Shane looked at her as at a foolish child;
"why should it be? The lady used it, and then put it away."

"Hold on, there, Shane," Hendricks interrupted. "Why would any
one do such a positively incriminating thing as that?"

"They always slip up somewhere," said Driscoll, "after committing
a crime, your criminal is bound to do something careless, that
gives it all away. Mrs, Embury, how did that dropper get in that
medicine chest in your bathroom?"

"I scorn to answer!" The cold tones showed no fear, no
trepidation, but Eunice's white fingers interlaced themselves in
a nervous fashion.

"Do you know anything about it, Miss Ames?"

"N--no," stammered Aunt Abby, trembling, as she looked now at the
detectives and then at Eunice.

"Well, it couldn't have put itself there," went on Driscoll.
"Who else has access to that place?"

Eunice gave no heed to this speech. She gave no heed to the
speaker, but stared at him, unseeingly, her gaze seeming to go
straight through him.

"Why, the maid," said Aunt Abby, with a helpless glance toward
Elliott and Hendricks, as if beseeching assistance.

"The servants must be considered," said Hendricks, catching at a
straw. "They may know something that will help."

"Call the maid," said Shane, briefly, and, as neither of the
women obeyed, he turned to Ferdinand, who hovered in the
background, and thundered: "Bring her in--you!"

Maggie appeared, shaken and frightened, but when questioned, she
answered calmly and positively.

"I put that dropper in the medicine closet," she said, and every
one looked toward her.

"Where did you get it?" asked Shane.

"I found it--on the floor."

"On the floor? Where?"

"Beside Miss Ames' bed." The girl's eyes were cast down; she
looked at nobody, but gave her answers in a dull, sing-song way,
almost as if she had rehearsed them before.

"When?"

"This morning--when I made up her room."

"Had you ever seen it before?"

"No, sir."

"Why did you think it belonged to Miss Ames?"

"I didn't think anything about it. I found it there, and I
supposed it belonged to Miss Ames, and I put it away."

"Why did you put it in the medicine chest?"

The girl looked up, surprised.

"That seemed to me the proper place for it. Whenever I find a
bottle of camphor or a jar of cold cream--or anything like that
--I always put it in the medicine chest. That's where such
things belong. So I thought it was the right place for the
little dropper. Did I do wrong?"

"No, Maggie," Driscoll said, kindly, "that was all right. Now
tell us exactly where you found it."

"I did tell you. On the floor, just beside Miss Ames' bed. Near
the head of the bed."

"Well, Miss Ames--I guess it's up to you. What were you doing
with this thing?"

"I didn't have it at all! I never saw it before!"

"Come, come, that won't do! How could it get there?"

"I don't know, but I didn't put it there." The old lady trembled
pitifully, and looked from one to another for help or guidance.

"Of course, she didn't!" cried Eunice. "You sha'n't torment my
aunt! Cease questioning her! Talk to me if you choose--and as
you choose--but leave Miss Ames alone!"

She faced her inquisitors defiantly, and even Shane quailed a
little before her scornful eyes.

"Well, ma'am, as you see, I ain't got much choice in the matter.
Here's the case. You and your aunt and Mr. Embury was shut in
those three rooms. Nobody else could get in. Come morning, the
gentleman is dead--murdered. One of you two done it. It's for
us to find out which--unless the guilty party sees fit to
confess."

"I do! I confess!" cried Aunt Abby. "I did it, and I'm willing
to go to prison!" She was clearly hysterical, and though her
words were positive, they by no means carried conviction.

"Now, that's all bosh," declared Shane. "You're sayin' that,
ma'am, to shield your niece. You know she's the murderer and--"

Eunice flew at Shane like a wild thing. She grasped his arm and
whirled him around toward her as she glared into his face,
quivering with indignation.

"Coward!" she flung at him. "To attack two helpless women--to
accuse me--me, of crime! Why, I could kill yon: where you stand
--for such an insinuation!"

"Say, you're some tiger!" Shane exclaimed, in a sort of grudging
admiration. "But better be careful of your words, ma'am! If you
could kill me--ah, there!"

The last exclamation was brought forth by the sudden attack of
Eunice, as she shook the big man so violently that he nearly lost
his balance.

"Say, you wildcat! Be careful what you do! You are a tiger!"

"Yes," Aunt Abby giggled, nervously. "Mr. Embury always called
her 'Tiger'."

"I don't wonder!" and Shane stared at Eunice, who had stepped
back but who still stood, like a wild animal at bay, her eyes
darting angry fire.

"Now, Mrs, Embury, let's get down to business. Who's your
lawyer?

"I am," declared Alvord Hendricks. "I am her counsel. I
represent Mrs, Embury. Eunice, say nothing more. Leave it to
me. And, first, Shane, you haven't enough evidence to arrest
this lady. That dropper thing is no positive information against
her. It might be the work of the servants--or some intruder.
The story of that housemaid is not necessarily law and gospel.
Remember, you'd get in pretty bad if you were to arrest Mrs,
Sanford Embury falsely! And my influence with your superiors is
not entirely negligible. You're doing your duty, all right, but
don't overstep your authority--or, rather, don't let your desire
to make a sensational arrest cloud your judgment."

"That's what I think, Mr. Hendricks," said Driscoll, earnestly;
"we've found the method, but I'm by no means sure we've found the
criminal. Leastways, it don't look sure to me. Eh, Shane?"

"Clear enough to me," the big man growled; but he was quite
evidently influenced by Hendricks' words. "However, I'm willing
to wait--but we must put Mrs, Embury under surveillance--"

"Under what!" demanded Eunice, her beautiful face again contorted
by uncontrollable anger. "I will not be watched or spied upon!"

"Hush, Eunice," begged Elliott. "Try to keep yourself calm. It
does no good to defy these men--they are not really acting on
their own initiative, but they are merely carrying out their duty
as they see it."

"Their duty is to find out who killed my husband!" and Eunice
gave Shane another stormy glare. "They cannot do that by
accusing two innocent women!"

"If you two women can be proved innocent, nobody will be more
glad than me," Shane announced, in a hearty way, that was really
generous after Eunice's treatment of him. "But it beats me to
see how it can be proved. You admit, ma'am, nobody could get
into Mr. Embury's room, except you and Miss Ames, don't you?"

"I don't admit that at all, for the murderer DID get in--and DID
commit the murder--therefore, there must be some means of
access!"

"Oho! And just how can you suggest that an intruder got in, and
got out again, and left those doors fastened on the inside?"

"That I don't know--nor is it my business to find out."

"Maybe you think a flyin' machine came at the window, ma'am! For
nothin' else could negotiate a ten-story apartment."

"Don't talk nonsense! But I have heard of keys that unlock doors
from the outside--skeleton keys, I think they are called."

"Yes, ma'am, there are such, sure! But they're keys--and they
unlock doors. These doors of yours have strong brass catches
that work only on the inside, snap-bolts, they are. And when
they're fastened, nothing from the other side of the door
could undo 'em. But, I say--here you, Ferdinand!"

The butler came forward, his face surprised rather than alarmed,
and stood at attention.

"What do you know of events here last night? "Shane asked him.

"Nothing, sir," and Ferdinand's face was blankly respectful.

"You'd better tell all you know, or you'll get into trouble."

"Could you--could you make your question a little more definite?"

"I will. When Mr. and Mrs. Embury came home last night, were
they in good humor?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You do know! You know your employers well enough to judge by
their manner whether they were at odds or not. Answer me, man!"

"Well, sir, they were, I should judge, a little at odds."

"Oh, they were! In what way did they show it? By quarreling?"

"No, sir."

"How, then?"

"By not saying anything. But it's not uncommon for them to be at
odds, sir--"

"Speak when you're spoken to! After Mr. Embury went to his room,
did you attend him?"

"I was in his room, yes."

"Mrs, Embury was in her own room then?"

"Yes."

"Her outer door was closed?"

"Yes."

"And, therefore, fastened by the snap-bolt?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Don't you know so? Don't you know that it must have been?"

"Yes."

"And then--then, when you left Mr. Embury's room--when you left
him for the night-did you close his door?"

"I did."

"And that, of itself, locked that door?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Stop saying you suppose so. You know it did! You've lived in
this house two years; you know how those doors work--you know
your closing that door locked it? Didn't it?"

"Yes, it did. I turned the knob afterward to make sure. I
always do that."

Ferdinand now seemed to be as discursive as he was reticent
before. "And I know Miss Eunice's--Mrs, Embury's door was
locked, because she had to unbolt it before I could get in this
morning."

"But look here," Driscoll broke in, "are these doors on that
snap-bolt all day? Isn't that rather an inconvenience?"

"Not all day," vouchsafed Ferdinand. "They can be turned so the
bolt doesn't catch, and are turned that way in the daytime,
usually."

"But," and Driscoll looked at him intently, "you can swear that
the bolts were on last night?"

"Yes, sir--"

"You can't!" Hendricks shot at him. The lawyer had been
listening in silence, but he now refuted Ferdinand. "You don't
KNOW that Mrs, Embury put on the catch of her door when she
closed it."

"I do, sir; I heard it click."

"You are very observant," said Shane; "peculiarly so, it seems to
me."

"No, sir," and Ferdinand looked thoughtful; "but, you see, it's
this way. Every night I hear the click of those locks, and it
sort of seems natural to me to listen for it. If it should be
forgotten, I'd think it my duty to call attention to it."

"A most careful butler, on my word!" Shane's tone was a little
sneering.

"He is, indeed!" Eunice defended; "and I can assert that it is
because of his faithfulness and efficiency that we have always
felt safe at night from intrusion by marauders."

"And you did lock your door securely last night, Mrs, Embury?"

"I most assuredly did! I do every night. But that does not
prove that I killed my husband. Nor that Miss Ames did."

"Then your theory--"

"I have no theory. Mr. Embury was killed--it is for you
detectives to find out how. But do not dare to say--or imply
--that it was by the hand of his wife--or his relative!"

She glanced fondly at Miss Ames, and then again assumed her look
of angry defiance toward the two men who were accusing her.

"It is for you to find out how," said Mason Elliott, gravely.
"It is incredible that Mrs, Embury is the guilty one, though I
admit the incriminating appearance of the henbane. But I've beet
thinking it over, and while Mr. Driscoll's surmise that the deed
can possibly be traced to one who recently saw the play of
'Hamlet,' yet he must remember that thousands of people saw that
play, and that therefore it cannot point exclusively toward Mrs,
Embury."

"That's so," agreed Driscoll. "Who went with you to the play,
Mrs, Embury?"

"My aunt, Miss Ames; also a friend, Mrs, Desternay. And, I
understand you went yourself, Mr. Driscoll. Why single out me
for a suspect?"

The haughty face turned to him was quite severely critical.

"True, Mrs, Embury, why should I? The answer is, motive. You
must admit that I had neither motive nor opportunity to kill your
husband. Mrs, Desternay, let us say, had neither opportunity nor
motive. Miss Ames had opportunity but no motive. And so you, we
must all admit, are the only human being who had both
opportunity--and motive."

"I did not have motive!" Eunice flushed back. "You talk
nonsense! I have had slight differences of opinion with my
husband hundreds of time, but that is not a motive for murder! I
have a high temper, and at times I am unable to control it. But
that does not mean I am a murderess!"

"Not necessarily, but it gives a reason for suspecting you, since
you are the only person who can reasonably be suspected."

"But hold on, Driscoll, don't go too fast," said Mason Elliott;
"there may be other people who had motives. Remember Sanford
Embury was a man of wide public interests outside of his family
affairs. Suppose you turn your attention to that sort of thing."

"Gladly, Mr. Elliott; but when we've proved no outsider could get
into Mr. Embury's room, why look for outside motives?"

"It seems only fair, to my mind, that such motives should be
looked into. Now, for instance, Embury was candidate in a hotly
contested coming election--"

"That's so," cried Hendricks; "look for your murderer in some
such connection as that."

"Election to what? "growled Shane.

"President of the Metropolitan Athletic Club--a big
organization--"

"H'm! Who's the opposing candidate?"

"I am," replied Hendricks, quietly.

"You! Well, Mr. Hendricks, where were you last night, when this
man was killed?"

"In Boston." Hendricks did not smile, but he looked as if the
question annoyed him.

"You can prove that?"

"Yes, of course. I stayed at the Touraine, was with friends till
well after midnight, and took the seven o'clock train this
morning for New York, in company with the same men. You can look
up all that, at your leisure; but there is a point in what Mr.
Elliott says. I can't think that any of the club members would
be so keen over the election as to do away with one of the
candidates, but there's the situation. Go to it."

"It leaves something to be looked into, at any rate," mused
Shane.

"Why didn't you think of it for yourself?" said Hendricks, rather
scathingly. "It seems to me a detective ought to look a little
beyond his nose!"

"I can't think we've got to, in this case," Shane persisted; "but
I'm willing to try. Also, Mrs, Embury, I'll ask you for the
address of the lady who went with you to see that play."

"Certainly," said Eunice, in a cold voice, and gave the address
desired.

"And, now, we'll move on," said Shane, rising.

"You ain't under arrest, Mrs, Embury--not yet--but I advise you
not to try to leave this house without permission--"

"Indeed, I shall! Whenever and as often as I choose! The idea
of your forbidding me!"

"Hush, Eunice," said Hendricks. "She will not, Mr. Shane; I'm
her guaranty for that. Don't apprehend any insubordination on
the part of Mrs, Embury."

"Not if she knows what's good for herself!" was Shane's parting
shot, and the two detectives went away.




CHAPTER XI

FIFI


"Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Shane, Mrs, Embury is a dear friend of mine
--a very, very dear friend--and I'd so gladly go to see her--and
comfort her--console with her--and try to cheer her up--but
--well, I asked her last night, over the telephone, to let me go
to see her to-day--and--she--she--"

Mrs, Desternay's pretty blue eyes filled with tears, and her
pretty lips quivered, and she dabbed a sheer little handkerchief
here and there on her countenance. Then she took up her babbling
again.

"Oh, I don't mean she was unfriendly or--or cross, you know--but
she was a little--well, curt, almost--I might say, cool. And I'm
one of her dearest friends--and I can't quite understand it."

"Perhaps you must make allowances for Mrs. Embury," Shane
suggested. "Remember the sudden and mysterious death of her
husband must have been a fearful shock--"

"Oh, terrible! Yes, indeed, I do appreciate all that! And
of course when I telephoned last evening, she had just had
that long interview with you--and your other detective, Mr.
What's-his-name--and--oh, yes, Mr. Elliott answered my call and
he told me just how things were--but I did think dear Eunice
would want to see me--but it's all right--of course, if she
doesn't want my sympathy. I'm the last one to intrude on her
grief! But she has no one--no one at all--except that old aunt,
who's half foolish, I think--"

"What do you mean, half foolish?"

"Oh, she's hipped over those psychic studies of hers, and she's
all wrapped up in Spiritualism and occult thingamajigs--I don't
know what you call 'em."

"She seems to me a very sane and practical lady."

"In most ways--yes; but crazy on the subject of spooks, and
mediums and things like that! Oh, Mr. Shane, who do you suppose
killed Mr. Embury? How awful! To have a real murder right in
one's owns circle of acquaintances--I had almost said friends
--but dear Eunice doesn't seem to look on me as her friend--"

The blue eyes made a bid for sympathy, and Shane, though not
always at ease in the presence of society ladies, met her half
way.

"Now, that's a pity, Mrs, Desternay! I'm sure you'd be the
greatest help to her in her trouble."

Fifi Desternay raised her hands and let them fall with a pretty
little gesture of helplessness. She was a slip of a thing, and
--it was the morning of the day after the Embury tragedy--she was
garbed in a scant but becoming negligee, and had received the
detective in her morning room, where she sat, tucked into the
corner of a great davenport sofa, smoking cigarettes.

Her little face was delicately made up, and her soft, fair hair
was in blobs over her ears. For the rest, the effect was mostly
a rather low V'd neck and somewhat evident silk stockings and
beribboned mules.

She continually pulled her narrow satin gown about her, and it as
continually slipped away from her lace petticoat, as she crossed
and recrossed her silken legs.

She was entirely unself-conscious and yet, the detective felt
instinctively that she carefully measured every one of the words
she so carelessly uttered.

"Well, Mr. Shane," she said, suddenly, "we're not getting
anywhere. Just exactly what did you come here for? What do you
want of me?"

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