Carolyn Wells

“ You heard nothing during the night, Miss Ames?”
“I did and I didn’t,” was the strange reply.
“Just what does that mean?” and Doctor Harper looked at her curiously.
“Well,” and Aunt Abby spoke very solemnly, “Sanford appeared to me in a vision, just as he died—”
“Oh, Aunt Abby,” Eunice groaned, “don’t begin that sort of talk! Miss Ames is a sort of a spiritualist, doctor, and she has hallucinations.”
“Not hallucinations—visions,” corrected the old, lady. “And it is not an unheard of phenomenon to have a dying person appear to a friend at the moment of death. ”

“ 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!” ”

“ If the man could see—could even peep—there might be a chance for trickery. But with those thick cotton pads on his eyes and then covered with that big, thick, folded silk handkerchief—it’s really a muffle-there’s no chance for his faking.”
“And if he could see—if his eyes were wide open—how would he know where to go?” demanded Aunt Abby. “That blindfolding is only so he can’t see Mr. Mortimer’s face, if he turns round, and judge from its expression. And also, I daresay, to help him concentrate his mind, and not be diverted or distracted by the crowd and all.” ”

“ Dr. Marsden looked at her curiously. “Those questions are not for me, madame,” he said, a little curtly. “I shall call Examiner Crowell, and he will take charge of the case.”
“He’s the same as a coroner! I won’t have him!” Eunice declared.
“It isn’t for you to say,” Dr. Marsden was already at the telephone. “The course of events makes it imperative that I should call Dr. Crowell. He is not a coroner. He is, of course, a Civil Service appointee, and as such, in authority. You will do whatever he directs.”
Eunice Embury was silent from sheer astonishment. ”

“ The Emburys were in Eunice’s bedroom. Sanford was in evening dress and was about to leave for his club. Eunice, who had dined in a negligée, was donning an elaborate evening costume. She had dismissed her maid when Embury came into the room, and was herself adjusting the finishing touches. Her gown of henna-colored chiffon, with touches of gold embroidery, was most becoming to her dark beauty, and some fine ornaments of ancient carved gold gave an Oriental touch to her appearance. ”

“ A Trip To Newark
Perhaps no factor is more indicative of the type of a home life than its breakfast atmosphere. For, in America, it is only a small proportion, even among the wealthy who ‘breakfast in their rooms.’ And a knowledge of the appointments and customs of the breakfast are often data enough to stamp the status of the household.
In the Embury home, breakfast was a pleasant send-off for the day. Both Sanford and Eunice were of the sort who wake up wide-awake, and their appearance in the dining-room was always an occasion of merry banter and a leisurely enjoyment of the meal. ”

“ Embury had heard her pleading, not unkindly, but with a bored air, and had finally remarked, as she paused in her arguments, “I refuse, Eunice, to give you a stated allowance. If you haven’t sufficient confidence in your husband’s generosity to trust him to give you all you want or need, and even more than that, then you are ungrateful for what I have given you. ”

“ 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. ”

“ She did hear that murder described fully. She did talk it over with you. She did show a special interest in it. Then, a week or so later, her husband is killed by identically the same method. She, and she alone—except for a mild old lady—has opportunity to do the deed; the instrument of death is found in her cupboard; and she flies into a rage at the first hint of accusation, of the crime! By the way, if as you hint, one of those men did it, would they leave the medicine dropper that conveyed the poison, in Mrs. Embury’s rooms. Would they want to bring suspicion against the woman they love? ”

“ 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!” ”

“ Aunt Abby flew to her bedroom, and returned quickly, wearing a lace cap Eunice had given her, and talking as she adjusted it.
“It must be a stroke—and yet, people don’t have strokes at his age. It can’t be apoplexy—he isn’t that build—and, too, he’s such an athlete; there’s nothing the matter with him. It can’t be—oh, mercy gracious! it can’t be—Eunice! Sanford wouldn’t kill himself, would he?” ”

“ Eunice looked defiant rather than penitent. “But that couldn’t have done it! I mean, we didn’t quarrel so violently that San burst a blood-vessel—or that sort of thing!”
“Of course not; in that case the doctors would know. That’s the queerest thing to me. A man dies, and two first-class physicians can’t say what killed him!”
“But what difference does it make, Mason? I’m sure I don’t care what he died of—I mean I don’t want him all cut up to satisfy the curiosity of those inquisitive doctors!”
“It isn’t that, Eunice; they have to know the cause, to make out a death certificate.” ”

“ Nobody thinks a man can do any great creative work after thirty. Inventing, you know, or art or literature—honestly, that’s the attitude now. Isn’t it, Mason?”
Elliott looked serious. “It is an opinion recently expressed by some big man,” he admitted. “But I don’t subscribe to it. Why, I’d be sorry to think I’m a down-and-outer! And I’m in the class with you and Embury.”
“You’re none of you in the sere and yellow,” declared Eunice, laughing at the idea. “Why, even Aunt Abby, in spite of the family record, is about as young as any of us.” ”

“ Almost as if hypnotized, Eunice Embury gave her consent, and the two doctors went away together.
“Tell me all about it,” said Elliott; “all you know—” And then he saw how weak and unnerved Eunice was, and he quickly added, “No, not now. Go and lie down for a time—where’s Miss Ames?”
“Here,” and Aunt Abby reappeared from her room. “Yes, go and lie down, Eunice; Maggie has made up our rooms, and your bed is in order. Go, dear child.”
“I don’t want to,” and Eunice’s eyes looked unusually large and bright. “I’m not the sort of woman who can cure everything by ‘lying down’! I’d rather talk. ”

“ Aunt Abby took up the tale, as Elliott turned back to the telephone; “and I think it’s very queer. Did you ever know a man to die, Alvord, and nobody be able to tell what killed him?”
“I certainly never did! What had he eaten?”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Eunice spoke up; “it must be that something gave way—his heart, or lungs—”
“Never! Sanford was a sound as a dollar!”
“That’s what Dr. Harper says. They’re—they’re going to have an autopsy.”
“Of course. We’d never be satisfied without that. They’ll find the cause that way, of course. Dear Eunice, I’m so sorry for you.” ”

“ Fifi was serious now. “You see, Miss Ames adores Eunice. She found it hard to forgive Sanford for his tyrannical ways—and they were tyrannical. And Miss Ames might have, by way of ridding Eunice from a cruel husband—might have—oh, I can’t say it—it sounds too absurd! But, after all, it’s no more absurd than to suspect Eunice. Why don’t you look for somebody else?” ”

“ Sanford thinks he can tame it by giving me as good as I send—by playing, as he calls it, Petruchio to my Katherine—but, somehow, I don’t believe that’s the treatment I need.”
Her dark eyes were wistful, but she did not look at him.
“Of course it isn’t!” Elliott returned, in a low voice. “I know your nature, Eunice; I’ve known it all our lives. You need kindness when you are in a tantrum. The outbursts of temper you cannot help—that I know positively—they’re an integral part of your nature. ”

“ Dr. Crowell took up the narrative and told of Dr. Harper and Dr. Marsden, who were not now present. He told further of the mysterious and undiscoverable cause of the death.
“Let me see him,” said Shane, rising suddenly.
Most of this man’s movements were sudden—and as he was in every respect awkward and uncouth, Eunice’s dislike of him grew momentarily.
“Isn’t he dreadful!” she cried, as the two detectives and the Medical Examiner disappeared into Embury’s room.
“Yes,” agreed Hendricks, “but, Eunice, you must not antagonize him. It can’t do any good—and it may do harm.” ”

“ Hanlon coming, Eunice?”
“Soon now, I think,” and Eunice spoke with entire composure, her angry excitement all subdued. It was characteristic of her that after a fit of temper, she was more than usually soft and gentle. More considerate of others and even, more roguishly merry.
“You know, Mason, that what we are to be told to-day is a most inviolable secret—that is, it is a secret until tomorrow.”
“Never put off till to-morrow what you can tell to-night,” returned Elliott, but he listened attentively while Eunice and Aunt Abby described the performance of the young man Hanlon. ”

“ 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!” ”

“ Willy Hanlon, as he was called in the papers, came shyly forward and Eunice, with her ready tact, proceeded to put him at once at his ease.
“You came just at the right minute to help me out,” she said, smiling at him. “They are saying women are no good at describing a scene! They say that we can’t be relied on for accuracy. So, now you’re here and you can tell what really happened.”
“Yes, ma’am,” and Hanlon swallowed, a little embarrassedly; “that’s what I came for, ma’am. But first, are you all straight goods? Will you all promise not to tell what I tell you before tomorrow morning?” ”

“ They’re decent men, and all they want to get at is the truth.”
“That isn’t so!” Eunice was angry again. “They’re horrible men! rude, unkempt, low-down, common men! I won’t have them in my house! You have no right to insist on it. They’ll be all over the rooms, prying into everything, looking here, there and all over! They’ll ask impertinent questions; they’ll assume all sorts of things that aren’t true, and they’ll wind up by coming to a positively false conclusion! Alvord, Mason, you’re my friends—help me out! Don’t, let this man do as he threatens!” ”