Deep Lake Mystery/Chapter 13

ND then Alma came home.

I watched her as she paddled her canoe, with long, clear-cut strokes, and I remembered what Billy Dean had said about her paddling being unmistakable.

Perhaps this was an exaggeration, but surely her method was that of an expert. She brought the pretty, graceful craft to a landing and sprang out, followed more leisurely by the gaunt figure of the ever-watchful Merry.

She wore an exceedingly becoming sports costume of white with borderings of black, and a little white felt hat with a black cockade.

I watched her as she came nearer and I realized anew that this was the one girl in the world for me. And I knew, too, that she needed a friend, needed some one to lean on, in the ordeal that was ahead of her. For whatever the outcome of the inquest, she faced new responsibilities and burdens in the adjustment of her uncle’s estate.

I suppose a more conscientious nature would have hesitated to aspire to a girl set apart by a sudden acquisition of great wealth, but I was too deeply in love to think of that. I had a competent income myself, and I should have been glad to marry Alma Remsen had she been penniless, but all those considerations were as nothing to the all-absorbing thought of how I loved her.

She was so appealing as she raised her eyes to mine, when she greeted me, and her sweet face was so wistful, that it was all I could do to keep from grabbing her up in my arms and carrying her off.

As it was, I took her hand and made conventional inquiries, the while devouring her with my eyes.

I think she sensed my restraint, for her handclasp was friendly, even trustful, and we sat down together on a porch settee.

“You’re a frequent caller, Mr. Moore,” she said, almost gaily. “I’m sorry I was so unsatisfactory on the occasion of your other visit; I’ll try to do better this time.”

I looked at her in some apprehension. I felt sure her light manner was assumed, to cover the depths of worry and anxiety that, it seemed to me, showed themselves in her dark eyes.

“I don’t want to bother you too much, Miss Remsen,” Keeley said, “but you can be a real help, if you choose.”

“Of course I choose. Ask me anything you like—I’ll answer.”

She gave a little smile and tossed her head with a pretty gesture.

Both the Merivales had disappeared. I had an uncanny feeling that they were watching from behind some window curtain, but I had no real reason for this. The victrola had ceased its music—doubtless Katy had turned it off.

“It’s about that last call you made on your uncle,” Keeley proceeded, and I could see he was watching her closely, though he seemed not to do so. “It was the last time you saw him alive, was it not? That Tuesday afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Alma, in a quiet, steady voice. “Yes, that was the last time.”

“What did you go there for?”

“On no especial errand; only to see him. I always go over two or three times a week, or thereabouts.”

“And, according to Mr. March, you raised a window in your uncle’s sitting room, thereby leaving your fingerprints on the white enamel paint?”

“So Mr. March told me. I know little of fingerprints—I mean as evidence—but I well know how they mar white paint. I am a tidy housekeeper, and I am continually at war with fingerprints on white paint.”

I glanced around the porch and looked through the window into the living room. Everything was immaculate and I could well believe that the girl made a fetish of tidiness.

“Yes. Then it scarcely seems like you to have your hands in such condition that they would leave marks on the window frame.”

“No, it doesn’t seem like me.” Alma lifted her lovely little hands one after the other and scrutinized them with apparent interest. “No, I rarely have dirty hands. Even as a child, Merry says I was always tidy. But, Mr. Moore, I’m told that fingerprints cannot be mistaken, and so the fact remains, doesn’t it, that on that particular occasion my hands did need washing?”

There was a certain something in Alma’s voice that drew my attention. She seemed to be speaking casually, seemed really indifferent as to the subject, yet her tone was alert and her whole manner tense. It was almost as if she was studying the effect of her words on Moore far more intently than he was studying her. Yet, this was absurd. Why should she fear him? She had already admitted and explained the fingerprints to March, who had expressed himself satisfied.

“You went to the window, then, to raise it in order to let more air into the room?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t it rain in?”

“What?” the suddenness of her exclamation made me jump.

“Yes,” Keeley went on, “there was a hard shower Tuesday afternoon, and it came from the east. It should have rained right in that window.”

“Then it was before or after the shower,” Alma said, but she faltered a little. “For it certainly did not rain in.”

“At what time were you there?”

“I don’t remember exactly. After lunch and before tea time.”

“You usually have afternoon tea, Miss Remsen?”

“Yes. Merry, my nurse, is English and she enjoys it, so we’ve made it a habit. I’ve grown to like it.”

“Then, you were doubtless at your uncle’s on Tuesday, sometime, say, between two o’clock and five.”

“Yes, that must be right.”

“You went and returned in your canoe?”

“Yes.”

“And it was not raining when you went, or when you came home, or when you opened that window?”

“No.”

“But, Miss Remsen, it is an established fact that it rained all that afternoon, from one till six o’clock. This is verified by the weather statistics.”

Only for a moment did Alma look blank. Then she said, quickly:

“Oh, really? Then I must be mistaken in the day. I must have been there Monday afternoon. The days fly by so swiftly in summer, I can hardly keep track of them.”

“Perhaps,” said Kee, looking a bit baffled. “But another strange thing—Griscom says those fingerprints were not on the white paint Wednesday evening when he put the suite in order for the night. He says he would surely have seen them if they had been.”

She gave a little light laugh. “Poor old Griscom. His eyes are not what they used to be, I daresay. Now, Mr. Moore, just what is it you want me to say? Am I proving an alibi? Or are you trying to trick me into a confession that I killed my uncle? Because, I didn’t, and though I may be hazy about the exact time of my last visit to him, I did go over there”

“And he did give you the satin waistcoats?”

“Yes,” but now her eyelids quivered, “he did give me the satin waistcoats.”

“And you did open that window?”

“Yes,” she spoke slowly.

“And you had in your hand the Totem Pole and it chanced to make a red mark on the side of the window frame?”

“Yes—yes, I did.”

“Well, none of these things is incriminating in any way. Now, go on, please, why did you step up on the window sill?”

“I didn’t!” A look of horror came into her eyes.

“But there is the mark of a sole there, a rubber sole. No, not those shoes you have on now,” he glanced at her crossed feet, “but shoes whose rubber soles show a design of little diamond-shaped dots.”

Alma took an appreciable moment to collect herself and then said calmly, “I don’t own any such shoes as you describe, Mr. Moore.”

“Are you willing I should glance through your wardrobe?”

I could have slain Keeley with decided relish, but Alma seemed to take no offence. She paused an instant, as if considering, then said:

“Certainly. Shall I take you to my dressing room?”

“No, please. Will you remain here with Mr. Norris and let a maid show me the way? I’m sorry, but believe me, Miss Remsen, frankness is your best card. Please play it.”

As this was accompanied by Kee’s kindest smile and most winning manner, I was not greatly surprised to see an answering smile on Alma’s face.

“Merry,” she called out, but in a tone so little above her speaking voice I was surprised to see the woman appear at once. Yet I might have known she was within listening distance.

“Merry, dear,” Alma said, “Mr. Moore has occasion to look over my shoe cabinet. Are all my shoes in it?”

“Yes, Miss Alma, except the ones you are wearing.”

“Then take Mr. Moore upstairs and give him all the assistance he requires.”

It was easy enough to see that Merry was not rejoiced over her errand, but she nodded assent and led the way into the house.

No sooner had they disappeared than I seized my opportunity. It might be I should never again get such a good chance.

“Alma,” I said, breathlessly, “I love you—oh, my darling, how I love you! Now, wait a minute, don’t look at me as if I had lost my mind, and don’t, for Heaven’s sake, call help! I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, and my love grows stronger every moment that passes. You may not love me—yet—but you will some day. I’ll see to that. So, for the present, just accept the situation as it is, and let me help you. I can’t help thinking you do not realize the danger you are in. The detective March is for you, but Keeley Moore is out for investigation, and when he gets started nothing ever stops him. If you have anything to hide, anything to conceal, give it to me. I will help you in any way and every way I can.”

Had I been less excited, I should have enjoyed the passing emotions that played successively across her face. Amazement, happiness, wonder, fear, terror and after all, a beautiful trust, that told me more than all the rest.

“Gray,” she said, “I shall love you some day, I promise you that, now, but first, you must, you will help me! I am in danger, I can’t explain all to you now, I’m not sure I ever can, but in one matter you must help me. There is something I want destroyed, something that must be destroyed. Will you attend to that?”

“Of course I will. Give it to me quickly. Is it small enough to throw into the lake?”

“Small enough, yes. But it won’t sink. Weight it, and throw it in the lake when nobody can possibly see you, or else burn it—but you couldn’t do that?”

“Not very well, as I am visiting friends. But give it to me, and I’ll see to it that it is destroyed at once.”

“I hoped to do it myself, but I think—I fear I am being watched. When I went to the village with Merry, a man in a canoe seemed to follow and he watched me, yet tried to look as if he were not watching me. Oh, I know.”

“Did you object to Moore’s questioning?”

“Oh, no.” She looked weary and a little sad. “I suppose I must go through with a lot of that.”

“Do you mind his looking at your wardrobe?”

“No,” she smiled at this. “What does he expect to find? I haven’t any other rubber-soled shoes. I’ve ordered a new tan pair, but they haven’t come home yet.”

She scrutinized her little white canvas shoe, and as she held it up, I noticed the pattern of round dots on the rubber sole.

“Give me what you want thrown away,” I whispered. “I think I hear Moore’s step. And, Alma, I must see you, unhurried and alone. Can’t you meet me some evening late—some night soon—out on the lake?”

What possessed me to say that, I don’t know, but it seemed to strike her like a blow.

“Oh, no,” she said, and fairly shuddered. “Don’t suggest such a thing! I never go on the lake after sundown.”

This, when I had seen her canoeing after midnight!

Well, all that must some time be explained, and I rushed on:

“Then, let’s not keep it secret, but announce our engagement at once, and I can look after you.”

“Mercy, no! What an idea. But here, here is the thing I want destroyed. Not only thrown away, it must be instantly and secretly destroyed.”

“As you destroyed the shoes,” I said, involuntarily.

“Yes,” she returned, gravely, almost solemnly, “as I destroyed the shoes.”

From a handbag she had brought with her and had laid on the settee she drew a small book, a worn, paper-covered volume, which she hurriedly thrust into my hand, her eyes turned to the house, where we could now hear the nurse and Keeley coming downstairs.

I stuffed the book into my overcoat, glad that I had with me the light topcoat I usually carried against the chill winds of Deep Lake.

Then, quickly folding the coat inside out, I threw it over a chair back just as Keeley reappeared.

“Thank you very much, Miss Remsen,” he said, cheerily. “Your willingness to put the whole house at my disposal makes me more sure you have nothing to conceal than any words you could say.”

“But I didn’t put the whole house at your disposal!” she exclaimed with mock dismay.

“But your good nurse did. She took me on a whirlwind voyage of discovery, and I discovered absolutely nothing”

“Not even the shoes?” Alma looked positively roguish now, and very alluring.

“Not even the shoes,” Kee repeated. “Nor the Totem Pole. What became of that?”

All Alma’s gayety fell away from her. She showed again that fear that so often darkened her eyes and clouded her brow.

But she shrugged her shoulders lightly, and said, “Oh, it’s around somewhere—it must be.”

“Never mind,” Kee said, kindly, “it doesn’t really matter.”

“You saw the waistcoats?”

“Yes, they were lying on the bed in the guest room. If you’re like my wife, you use the guest-room bed for a general temporary repository.”

“Every woman does,” Alma smiled, but it was a pitiful little smile. More than ever I longed to capture her bodily and carry her off from this situation that was so rapidly growing worse. I knew Kee so well that I felt sure he had discovered far more than he disclosed, and my heart throbbed at thought of his possible future disclosures.

We came away then, after a little more good-natured, chaffing banter between Alma and Keeley.

Merry stood in the background. Her quick eyes darted from one to another of us, but her expression was one of satisfaction and content, and I realized that if Kee had found anything, Merry didn’t suspect it.

He bade Alma good-bye in cordial, pleasant fashion, and I did the same. I could show my feelings in no way save to press her hand and gaze deeply into her eyes, and having accomplished this histrionic gesture, I turned to find Kee looking at me with full comprehension of the situation.

I didn’t mind that, for he already knew I was in love with her, so, aside from a slight sheepish feeling, I was unembarrassed as I strode along by his side down to the dock. Old Merivale was ahead of us, to push us off, so Kee said nothing, but he nudged my elbow and pointed significantly to some footprints in the dust of the path. We were walking between some flower beds in preference to the gravel walk, and the prints were, in many instances, clear and distinct.

They had been made by a small shoe, obviously a woman’s shoe, whose rubber sole showed little diamond-shaped dots.

There could be no doubt about it. The prints were too plain to be mistaken by either of us.

Keeley said no word, but he made sure I saw and understood their importance.

I was sick at heart at the way things were going, but with an undercurrent of gladness that Alma had not repulsed my love. True, she had not definitely accepted it, either, but I was willing to bide my time.

Old Merivale deftly assisted us into our craft and gave us a shove off. I rowed, at Keeley’s request.

“Isn’t it your turn, lazybones?” I asked him.

“No, you row,” he returned, in a preoccupied tone, and willingly enough I plied the oars.

After we had rounded a bend of the shore, and were out of sight of the Remsen house, he said, very seriously:

“So you proposed to compound a felony, Gray?”

All at once, I remembered the book Alma had given me to destroy. I had forgotten it for the few moments we were taking leave, but I didn’t blame myself for that, as I considered it hidden in my overcoat pocket, and my overcoat, folded inside out completely protected it. Had Keeley found it?

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the proper response. Well, I mean, when a lady gives you a book to destroy, why don’t you destroy it?”

He sat in the stern, facing me and steering. As I looked at him, ready to give vent to my wrath, he said, with a friendly smile:

“Hold on, Gray. Don’t fly off the handle. Do you know what the book is?”

“No, I don’t, but I can tell you”

“If you can’t tell me the name of the book, nothing you can tell me is of any consequence. Can’t you guess the title?”

His grave tone and serious face gave me a hint. I stared at him, unbelieving.

“You don’t mean” I stammered.

“Of course I do. It is Detective Stories of All Nations, Volume VIII.” He held it up, and then my rage boiled over.

“You—you took that from my pocket!”

“Of course I did. And I shall keep an eye on you after this. Gray, try to recognize what you are doing. Try to recognize what I am doing. Or to put it plainer, remember that I am doing only my duty, and you—are obstructing my honest efforts.”

His straightforward glance and his friendly smile won the day, and I mumbled miserably, “What can I do, Kee? I love her so.”

“I know, I know, and it complicates matters terribly.”

“Shall I go away, back to New York?”

“That would be the best plan, but I know you won’t do it.”

“No,” I said, “I won’t do it.”

“Then, if you stay here, I mean, if you stay with us, you’ve got to play fair.”

“Fair by you or fair by Alma?”

“Both. Don’t think, boy, that I don’t understand. But I can’t have my work blocked by your interference. Heretofore, you’ve been a help on my

“But this is different!” I cried.

“Yes, this is different. So, since you won’t go back to New York, and I don’t want you to stay at Deep Lake under any other roof but ours, what’s the answer?”

Putting it up to me like this, I couldn’t combat him or even rebuff him. He was playing fair, all his cards on the table. I must in all honour and justice do likewise. “It would be horrid,” I said, at last, “to stay here at the Inn, or anything like that. And I can’t—Oh, Kee, I can’t go back to New York. But I most certainly propose to play the game. Now, I can only say that if I learn anything further about Alma that I think you want to know, I will tell you, and, on the other hand, if you learn anything, you must tell me.”

“Spoken like your own true self,” and Moore fairly beamed on me. “Now, tell me, did she ask you to destroy the book? For of course I only assumed that.”

“Yes, she did. Said she was watched or followed and the thing must be absolutely destroyed.”

“Then, knowing as we do, what story is in this book, knowing, from Maud, that it is a story of a murder setting forth the very method of Sampson Tracy’s murderer, and knowing that Alma Remsen wants this book destroyed secretly, what are we to think?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure, what you are to think, but I know that my thoughts include no slightest suspicion of her having done this thing. Accessory after the fact, perhaps. Shielding that man or woman or both, who are there taking care of her, but implicated herself, no!”

“It may well be you are right,” Kee said, slowly. “I hope to Heaven it’s no worse than that. But it must be investigated. If you were not in love with Alma, if she were not in any way a lovable person, you would be keen to look into these strange facts and circumstances. Now, have you a right to interfere with my pursuance of my duty and my taking up a case which is in line with my profession and my life work? I am influenced by no wrong motive, prejudiced by no personal bias, and as I see it, it is my plain duty to help all I can toward the cause of justice and right. Suspicion rests on many people. Many of these must be innocent. Is it right to let them remain under a cloud, under an unjust doubt, because you have come to love one of the principal actors in this drama?”

“No,” I said, desiring most honestly to play fair, “no, but I shall have to work on Alma’s side, even if that means working against you.”

“That’s all right, so long as you work fairly. As you said, tell me all you discover, and listen to all I discover. Then, we are at one, and the truth will conquer. How far have you gone with her? Are you two engaged?”

The calm way he said this brought me to my senses. Of course, we weren’t engaged, she hadn’t even said she loved me or wanted me to love her. And I told Kee this, and he smiled kindly, and held out his hand.

“Bless you, my children,” he said, but with a little catch in his voice.