Carolyn Wells

“ It was the hand of the evil spirite—the wicket ghost He left his ring on the gas. His hand turned the jet—from the finger of that hand came the ring—the moonstone ring—as a token—as a sign——” With a scream Vida flung her hands up and ran away.
“H'm,” thought I to myself, as I turned to my pondering, “more hysterical women, more Poltergeist! I wish I did believe in the supernatural. It would work out so beautifully. The yellow hand—the hand of revenge, Cissy called it—turning on the death-dealing gas, and then leaving a ring from its finger as a sign manual—sign manual is good!” ”

“ Who, then?”
“Poltergeist!” Cissy's voice was a hissing whisper, and her eyes were wild and weird in their expression.
“Hush!” She held up her hand as the coroner began to speak. “Of course you don't know what that means! I didn't suppose you would. But it is an evil spirit who attacks people and harms them and kills them. The Poltergeist has power of materialization or disappearance, at will. And it can steal and maim and kill. Hush! I tell you, till I have finished. This Poltergeist attacked and killed Mrs. Moss' mother some years ago. But I never dreamed it would attack Marybelle. ”

“ I was glad I was not a heavy man, for those foolish little willow rockers were better built to hang harps—small ones—on, than to support a transcendent detective. But I had selected one of them, in a certain corner of the room, which commanded a view of the chandelier and of Marybelle's bed, and I proposed to sit in that chair and study that room off and on, until I conquered that mystery or failed ignominiously. ”

“ I—I may as well admit my baseness from the first—I had a haunting fear that a plain and ordinary solution of the mystery—say, burglar, or proven accident—would reveal itself, and would be nicked out of the chance that had come to me to give my ingenuity full play. And this is not as cold-blooded as it might seem at first blush. Marybelle was dead; nothing could restore her life, and if she had been murdered it would at least give us the gruesome satisfaction of punishing the criminal. ”

“ The design was gay-hued parrots disporting in tropical foliage on a dark background. But I looked over every parrot and every burst of orchid-like bloom, without getting a breath of inspiration. The furniture I nearly tore apart in my earnestness of search. As I had been told, Marybelle had ingeniously bored long auger holes in some chair legs, and in one desk leg, stopping them with ordinary corks, stained dark. What a woman! The jewels she had hidden in these receptacles had been taken away, by Edith probably, but I cared naught. ”

“ The place, I thought, rather ostentatiously titled Woodhurst, for it was merely a big frame house, of the architecture of the early seventies, one of the worst periods America boasts. It was square, even cubic, with another smaller cube on top for a cupola. A large rear “extension,” and recently added porte-cochère and sun parlor, relieved the cubicity, but added to the ungracefulness.
And yet, the charm of the hostess permeated the whole place, and I felt, the moment I entered the hall, the lure of Marybelle. ”

“ How do you know the burglars didn't take them?”
“What burglar?”
“The one who killed Marybelle, of course.”
“Killed her in order to steal the pearls?”
“Of course. What other motive could anybody have had for murder?”
“Inheritance,” I said, looking at her squarely.
“Inheritance? From Marybelle? Oh, do you mean Vida?”
“Vida! Kill her mistress for two thousand dollars? Oh, she doesn't seem that sort. Vida is truly distressed at Marybelle's death.”
“But who, then? Janet? Spears?”
“Nonsense! Who benefited most by the will?”
“Why, Frank and I. You don't mean us, do you?” ”

“ Every dainty belonging of Marybelle's, every cherished souvenir, every personal possession, from the furs in her wardrobe to the soap in her bathroom, were so many mute appeals for vengeance on the wretch who had with one turn of his hand blotted out that fair young life. ”

“ Yet, through one of the six sides of the cube the murderer had entered, and I should discover which. My problem was here; I fairly hugged it to my breast. There was no entrance, yet entrance was made. There was no clew, yet clew should be found. Some human hand had turned on that gas—human?—yes, I believed it human; no ghost had wished harm to our Marybelle.
An observation of Lowell's came to my mind: “Genius finds its expression in the establishment of a perfect mutual understanding between the worker and his material.” ”

“ Anthony, she went off with him to another room.
“I know a story,” began Cissy, but Janet Field, in Marybelle's absence, took the helm.
“No, Cissy,” she said lightly, glancing at Edith Wesley's white face, “no more stories to-night. I forbid it. Marybelle's announcement party mustn't be turned into a spookfest, And it's time for supper, anyway.”
“Supper, hooray!” cried Bellamy, “Nothing like foods to drive away spooks. Mrs. Wesley, come along o' me. A loaf of bread and a jug of wine will bring back the rose of youth to your pale cheeks.” ”

“ The night that she drew the threads through she had let fall a slight dust of plaster without knowing it, and this I suspected, after I began to see into the truth. She had pulled the threads at four o'clock that morning, when Vida saw her sitting on the stairs. Her marvelous hearing had let her know just where the earl was, and also had shown her that Marybelle was sleeping soundly in her bed. Janet's own poise and controlled nature enabled her to answer Vida's inquiries casually, and to turn the question of the situation toward the earl. ”

“ Brad got weaker and weaker, but Marybelle wouldn't let up on the gayeties. Why, don't you remember, Frank, the last party here before he died?”
“Yes,” said Wesley. “Ghastly, it was! Bradley was awfully ill, but Marybelle made him do stunts for us. Oh, never mind all that now. You know, Prall, what a siren she was. She could make a man see white as black, if she wanted to.”
“I didn't know all that,” said Cissy, who with wide eyes had been drinking in the tale. “I loved Marybelle.”
“She was lovable,” said Edith, “but in many ways she was not an admirable character. ”

“ I left Edith resewing the satin pillow, for she was a housewifely sort, and returned to my post.
By sheer mental process, I had found the pearls, so I kept at that exercise. I thought of a murderer entering at dusk, and remaining hidden in wardrobe or closet—poor Marybelle was so near-sighted—till five o'clock, turning on the gas, and then—well, making an exit during the commotion that followed the discovery of the tragedy. Could it have been? But reason told me “No.” There were too many of us at or near the door for any stranger to escape unnoticed. But if not a stranger? ”

“ Five theories, I said. “Accident, suicide, murder, Poltergist, and hypnotism. The first we all agree is impossible. The second, none of us believes after reading her letters and diary. Poltergeist is rubbish—isn't it?” ”

“ Let the solution be Poltergeist, if it chose, or accident, or suicide, or murder in the first degree; let the solution be as difficult, as impossible as it might, I would find it.
I had not the slightest fear of failure. The conditions should baffle me not a whit; I would find the cause of Marybelle Moss' death, whether it was by some simple, natural means or was the work of the hand of revenge.
{ [dhr] } Now, given a mysterious death, the inquest must follow, as the night the day. And this custom, established by tradition and long usage, will, I suppose, always obtain. ”

“ Indians are not like that. The time had come; that was all. I came up here while some were playing bridge, and I knew where all the others were. There was no chance of failure, but I must do my work perfectly. Bringing in that very hall chair, I stood on it, while I removed the tip from the burner. Then——” Janet's clear voice faltered a little, her scarlet lips trembled, but she went on, “then, I put on that burner the betrothal ring Bradley had given me. A poor little jewel, but the symbol of our deep, pure, perfect love, that Marybelle stole away from us. ”

“ None of us blamed Janet for agreeing with the frenzied girl, whether she spoke the truth or not, and to my surprise, Lord Herringdean said slowly: “There is no other solution. Call it absurd, if you will, there is no other way to account for the death of my bride. When there is no possibility of a human hand in the matter, we must admit it to be the work of the fiends.”
“You know,” cried Cissy, suddenly calmer. “You understand, because you loved Marybelle. ”

“ Stafford, the mother, by the throat; but in Marybelle's case it came by night—silently—in the dark hour, and slowly turned on the gas. Then, laughing in wicked, fiendish glee, it disappeared, leaving its victim alone—to die—to die——”
Cissy finished and sank down in a little crumpled heap, almost unconscious.
“Take me away,” she moaned, “take me away.”
And it was Frank Wesley who led her away, beckoning Vida as they went.
Coroner Kemble looked helpless, as some men do when women faint or fly into hysterics. Although they do say women don't faint nowadays. ”

“ I got it, the police having a sort of grudging admiration for me, not unmixed with a certain satisfaction in my lack of achievement so far.
Back home again, ay, even on the way home, I studied the ring. It told me nothing, save its mere surface facts. It was a lady's ring; that is, its size and its general timidity of aspect made it appear so. Surely no man would wear that bauble, even on his little finger. Well, that didn't prove a lady had murdered Marybelle. Besides, that ring might have been on that burner for years. Maybe Marybelle's mother had put it there, for some absurd reason. ”

“ Janet spoke in praise of Marybelle, but under fire admitted she was vain and fond of flattery. But she quickly added that she had been a generous and kind friend—of course, Miss Field did not consider herself in any way a servant—and said frankly, when asked, that she knew she was mentioned in the will for ten thousand dollars.
“I see your drift,” thought I, as I watched the coroner. “Men of your caliber always fix the guilt on the butler or private secretary. ”

“ All madame's jewels I know. I clean them, I arrange them, and I help her sometimes hide them But that bauble? No, never was it madame's.”
“But, Vida, how could it possibly get on the gas fixture? Who except a lunatic would climb up and put it there?”
Vida shuddered. “It was the w'at you call? the polterre ghaist! Yes, but that is who is was. Miss Carreau, she is right. No human hand wore that ring. No human hand put it on the high gas. ”

“ Cissy went reluctantly, fairly dragged off by Bellamy. Miss Field had already gone, called away by a servant, and Edith hadn't been in the room at all. I could hear her sobbing in her own room, next door.
Wesley stayed, and he and I went right to the crucial question.
“Accident or suicide?” I said briefly.
“Oh, never suicide! Marybelle kill herself? Never!”
“But how could it be accidental?” I asked. “Look, Frank, the gas burner is too high for her to have reached. See, it is fully eight feet from the floor. I can't reach it by nearly a foot.” ”

“ The doctor says she—it happened early this morning, the turning on of the gas jet, I mean—about four o'clock, maybe. How could an accident happen then? Marybelle was asleep. She was always a sound sleeper, except when her asthma bothered her. And the room was locked—bolted, and the windows fastened. Nobody could get in. And the Poltergeist, the wicked evil ghost, came and turned on the jet and left it turned on.”
Cissy's voice nearly failed her, she shook like a leaf, and her eyes burned in her white, quivering face, but she went on: “And don't you know what the Poltergeist was? ”

“ The earl smiled. “How should I know?” he said.
“How should you know!” mocked Cissy. “But I won't tell the secret. Hello, Rock, come and make Marybelle let us in. She's planning a surprise for us; she told me so, and this is the beginning of it. Come, help the good work along.”
Rock Bellamy, drawn by the noise we made, came downstairs. He, too, had slept on the third floor, but back, and only waked as the commotion increased.
“What's the matter with you people?” he growled. “Can't you let a fellow sleep? ”

“ Only four of us played, however, as the newly betrothed pair felt privileged to wander off by themselves, and Frank Wesley wanted to smoke. Miss Field effaced herself, so Cissy Carreau and I played against Edith Wesley and Bellamy.
It seems Cissy Carreau was psychic. That means that somebody who wanted to hold her hand had told her she had a psychic hand, and that sort of twaddle. But she took it seriously, and had dipped into the matters of table-tipping and spirit-rapping more than I should have advised for any eighteen-year-old girl, if I'd had any say in the subject. ”

“ But Wesley didn't possess a trained ape or chimpanzee, and, anyway, there was nothing for him to climb up on. A monkey can scramble pretty nimbly, but he can't be trained to spring from the floor to a chandelier, especially when the room is pitch dark. And besides, I didn't suspect old Frank. I knew him pretty well, and though he and Edith did seem to enjoy their good fortune, and didn't seem to mourn Marybelle overmuch, yet I discarded the monkey idea as just about as impossible as any other theory.
The nutshell into which I put my final tabulation was simply this:
1. The gas was turned on. ”