Natalie Sumner Lincoln

“ She laughed softly. “You are the most practical of men,” she said. “It would not have been so difficult to find a companion anxious to spend the whole afternoon with me for my sake alone.”
“Colonel McIntyre, for instance?” he teased, and laughed amusedly at her heightened color. “Have a care, Margaret; McIntyre's flirtations are all very well, but he is the type of man to be deadly in earnest when once he falls in love.”
“Thanks for your warning,” Mrs. Brewster smiled, then grew serious. “I sent for you to ask about Jimmie Turnbull's death this morning. ”

“ There was a note of urgency about his appeal, and Ferguson straining his muscles until the blood pounded in his temples, threw the struggling man into a tufted arm-chair which stood by the entrance to the small dining room, and drawing out his handcuffs, slipped them on securely. “Stay there,” Ferguson admonished his prisoner. “Or there will be worse coming to you,” and he thrust the muzzle of his revolver against the man's heaving chest to illustrate his meaning; then as Kent called again, he sped down the hall and brought up breathless at the front door. ”

“ I believe it was the drug used in the celebrated Lamson poison case,” replied the physician slowly. “I cannot recall any others just at the moment.”
“How about suicides?”
“It is seldom, if ever, used for suicides.” Stone spoke with more assurance. “I have found in my practice, Kent, that suicides can be classed as follows: drowning by the young, pistols by the adult, and hanging by the aged; women generally prefer asphyxiation, using illuminating gas. But this is beside the question, unless”—bending a penetrating look at his companion—“unless you believe Jimmie Turnbull committed suicide.” ”

“ Mrs. Brewster, after a quiet inquiry regarding her health, had been less enthusiastic in her welcome. Barbara was just stifling a yawn when the limousine stopped at the entrance to the Cafe St. Marks.
Inside the cafe all was light and gaiety, and Barbara brightened perceptibly as the attentive head waiter ushered them to the table Colonel McIntyre had reserved earlier in the evening.
“It's a novel idea turning the old church into a cafe,” Barbara remarked to Benjamin Clymer. “A sort of casting bread upon the waters of famished Washington. I wonder if they ever turn water into wine?” ”

“ Ferguson's laugh was contemptuous. “A desperate man will do anything, Mr. Kent.”
“I know,” Kent looked dubious. “I would believe him guilty if it were not for the use of aconitine—that shows premeditation on the part of the murderer.”
“And why shouldn't Rochester plan Turnbull's murder ahead of the scene in the police court?” argued Ferguson. “Wasn't he living in deadly fear of exposure? If he did not commit the murder, why did he run away? And if he is innocent, why doesn't he come forward and prove it?”
“He may not know that he is suspected of the crime,” retorted Kent, rising. ”

“ Helen began, and her voice gained steadiness as she proceeded, “that the burglar whom Officer O'Ryan and I caught lurking in our house was James Turnbull?”
“He was,” answered Ferguson, and Stone, as the twins looked dumbly at him, confirmed the detective's statement with a brief, “Yes.”
The silence that ensued was broken by Barbara rising to her feet.
“Jimmie won his wager,” she announced. Her gaze did not waver before the concentrated regard of the men facing her. “He broke into our house—but, oh, how can I pay my debt to him now that he is dead!” ”

“ Helen's devotion to Jimmie, her insistence upon an autopsy being held indicated her innocence. She had stated at the inquest that she had not known the burglar's identity; Kent paused as the thought occurred to him—the twins had swapped identities on the witness stand, and therefore Helen had not been called upon to answer that question! To the best of his recollection she had only been asked if she had recognized Jimmie in the court room and not at her home. But Helen it was who had summoned Officer O'Ryan on discovering the burglar and had him arrested. ”

“ Kent turned over the envelope—the flap was held down securely with a large red seal which bore the one letter “B.” He dropped the envelope inside the drawer, locked the compartment, and closed the door of the safe.
“Let us talk,” he suggested and led the way back to their chairs. “Helen,” he began, after she was seated. “There is nothing I will not do for your sister Barbara,” his manner grew earnest. “I—” he flushed; baring his feelings to another, no matter how sympathetic that other was, was foreign to his reserved nature. “I love her beyond words to express. ”

“ Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. “Would you mind driving me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there.”
Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. “Home, Harris,” she directed, as the chauffeur listened for the order.
Neither spoke as the big car started up the street but as they swung past old St. John's Church, Mrs. Brewster broke her silence.
“Mr. Kent,” she drew further back in her corner. “I claim a woman's privilege—to change my mind. Forget that I ever expressed a wish to consult you professionally, and remember, I am always glad to meet you as a friend.” ”

“ Colonel McIntyre did not look his age of forty-seven years. His hair, prematurely gray, had a most attractive wave to it, and his erect and finely proportioned figure showed to advantage in his well-cut dress suit. Barbara's heart swelled with pride—her dear and handsome father! Then she transferred her regard to Margaret Brewster; she had been such a satisfactory friend—why oh, why did she wish to become her step-mother? The twins, with the unerring instinct of womanhood, had decided ten days before that Weller's warning to his son was timely—Mrs. Brewster was a most dangerous widow. ”

“ Gathering his wits together Kent hurried into the bedroom—it was empty; so also was the bathroom opening from it. From there Kent made the rounds of the apartment, switching on the light until the place was ablaze, but in spite of his minute search of closets and under beds and behind furniture he could find no trace of his late adversary. Kent stopped long enough in the pantry to refresh himself with a glass of water, then he returned to the living room and sat down in an arm chair by the window. He wanted time to think. ”

“ Why did you wish information about this box of aconitine pills prescribed for Mrs. Brewster during her attack of neuralgia?”
“You have just stated that aconitine is not usually administered to murder a person,” Kent spoke seriously, choosing his words with care. “Do you wonder then, that I consider it more than a coincidence that Jimmie Turnbull should have died from a dose of that poison, and that the drug should have been prescribed for one of the inmates of the house he visited shortly before his death?” ”

“ What had been discovered to point to murder? The finding of a handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, which had not belonged to the dead man. Proof—bah! it was ridiculous! What more likely than that Jimmie, while in the McIntyre house before his arrest as a burglar, had picked up one of Barbara's handkerchiefs, stuffed it inside his pocket, and when threatened with exposure on being held for the grand jury, had, in desperation, crushed the amyl nitrite capsules in Barbara's handkerchief and killed himself. ”

“ Kent sat back and watched the detective's rapidly changing expression. “And no trace has been found of the Colonel's securities, last known to be in the possession of Turnbull.”
“Great heavens!” ejaculated Ferguson. “Which was the forger—Turnbull or Rochester?”
Kent shook a puzzled head. “That is for us to discover,” he said soberly. “Colonel McIntyre contends that Turnbull forged the letter and stole the securities, then fearing his guilt would become known, committed still another crime—that of suicide, he could have swallowed a dose of aconitine while at the police court.” ”

“ Barbara sprang up, astounded.
“Our marriage certificate,” repeated McIntyre firmly. “Margaret and I were married last week in Baltimore. We would have told you, Helen, but your peculiar conduct and Barbara's, so angered me that I forbade Margaret to take you into our confidence.”
“Father!” Barbara got no further, for Helen had risen. She spoke with quiet dignity.
“You forget, father, that since Monday night we have thought you a forger and, worse, a murderer,” her voice faltered. “In our effort to guard you we have become estranged. ”

“ Brewster to a cafe at this hour without causing gossip.”
“Oh, fiddle-sticks!” exclaimed Barbara. “I don't have to play chaperon for you two. Every one knows she is visiting us; what's there improper in your taking her out to supper? Why”—regarding him critically—“she's young enough to be your daughter!”
“Go to your room!” There was nothing wheedling about McIntyre at that instant; he was thoroughly incensed.
As Barbara sped out happy in having gained her way, she announced, as a parting shot, “If you can be nasty to Helen, father, I can be nasty, too.” ”

“ Kent did not reply immediately. “A man does not usually carry a woman's handkerchief about with him,” he commented slowly. “Odd, is it not, that Jimmie should have used a handkerchief of yours in the police court just prior to his death, while you were sitting a few feet away?”
“I?” Mrs. Brewster turned and regarded him steadfastly. She was deadly white under her rouge. “Mr. Kent, are you crazy?”
“Yes, crazy to know why you kept your presence in the police court on Tuesday morning a secret,” replied Kent. ”

“ Helen McIntyre moved back from the door to make room for Coroner Penfield. Having had occasion to attend court that morning, he was passing the door when attracted by the group just inside the room. Courteously acknowledging Helen's act, Penfield stepped briskly across the threshold and stopped abruptly on catching sight of the lonely figure on the floor.
“Won't you hold an autopsy, Ferguson?” asked Clymer, breaking his long silence.
“No, sir, we never do when the cause of death is apparent,” the detective bowed to Coroner Penfield. “Isn't that so, Coroner?” ”

“ That playhouse had surely never staged a more complicated mystery than the one he had set himself to unravel. What consolation could he offer Helen? If he encouraged her belief in his theory that Jimmie committed suicide he would have to establish a motive for suicide, and that motive might prove to be the theft of Colonel McIntyre's valuable securities. Threatened with exposure as a thief and forger, Jimmie had committed suicide, so would run the verdict; the fact of his suicide was proof of his guilt of the crime Colonel McIntyre virtually charged him with, and vice versa. ”

“ Turnbull, who masqueraded as a burglar on a wager with Miss McIntyre died suddenly from angina pectoris,” explained the deputy marshal.
“Just a case of death from natural causes,” broke in Rochester. “Please write out a permit for me to remove Turnbull's body, Dr. Penfield.”
Helen McIntyre took a step forward. Her eyes, twice their accustomed size, shone brightly, in contrast to her dead white face. Carefully avoiding her sister's glance she addressed the coroner.
“I must insist,” she began and stopped to control her voice. “As Mr. Turnbull's fiancee, I—” she faltered again. ”

“ Margaret Brewster is not leaving until May.”
“I had not forgotten,” curtly. “I propose that she go with us.”
A faint “Oh!” escaped Helen, otherwise she made no comment, and McIntyre, after contemplating her for a minute, looked away.
“Either go to Atlantic City with us, Helen, or resume your normal, everyday life,” he said shortly. “I am tired of heroics; Jimmie Turnbull was hardly the man to inspire them.”
“Stop!” Helen's voice rang out imperiously. “I will not permit one word said in disparagement of Jimmie, least of all from you, father. Wait,” as he attempted to speak. ”

“ Kent started and, gazing at Rochester and the clerk, saw there was a general resemblance in coloring and physique.
“Did you present the checks to McDonald at the Metropolis Trust Company bearing Rochester's and my forged signatures?” he asked.
“I did,” acknowledged Sylvester. “Mr. Rochester's wardrobe came in very handy for deceiving the casual glance. You know, 'clothes make the man, and want of it the fellow.'”
Kent looked up quickly, struck by an idea.
“Sylvester, did you steal the envelope containing the securities from me at the Club de Vingt?” he asked. ”

“ Margaret Perry Brewster, the fascinating widow, added nothing material to the case in her testimony, and she was quickly excused, after stating that she was told about the tragedy by the McIntyre twins upon their return from the Police Court.”
“Well what of it?” asked Kent.
“Only this, Mr. Kent;” Mrs. Sylvester enjoyed nothing so much as talking to a good looking man, especially in the presence of her husband, and she could not refrain from a triumphant look at him as she went on with her remarks. ”

“ Barbara straightened up and winked away the tears. “There is,” she said tersely. “Investigate Jimmie's death.”
Kent gazed at her in astonishment. “Please explain,” he suggested. “The morning paper states very plainly that the cause of death was an attack of angina pectoris.”
“Yes, I know, and that is what Philip Rochester contends also.” Barbara paused and glanced about the office; they had the room to themselves. “B-but Helen believes otherwise.”
Kent drew back. “What do you mean, Babs?” he demanded. ”

“ Colonel McIntyre transferred his regard from her to the butler. “You need not wait, Grimes.” He remained silent until the servant was safely in the pantry, and then addressed his daughter. “None of your tricks, Barbara,” he cautioned. “If Helen is ill enough to require medical attention, Dr. Stone is to be sent for, regardless of your sudden dislike to him, for which, by the way, you have given no cause.” ”

“ Kent, this Jimmie Turnbull masquerades as a burglar night before last at the McIntyre house, is arrested, a charge brought against him for house-breaking by Miss Helen McIntyre, and shortly after he dies—”
“From angina pectoris,” finished Kent, as the detective paused.
“So Mr. Rochester contended,” admitted Ferguson. “We'll let that go for a minute. Now, when Miss McIntyre saw Turnbull's body, she demanded an autopsy. Why?”
“To discover the cause of death,” answered Kent quietly. “That is obvious, Ferguson.” ”