Deep Lake Mystery/Chapter 17

’VE just read a detective story, where a sweet young girl was the criminal, after all,” Maud said, contributing an argument to our conversation.

It was Sunday, the day after the Tracy funeral.

As we sat on the porch, after the midday dinner, Ames came along and joined our group.

“Well, Mr. Moore,” he said, “unless you consider yourself engaged by me on the Tracy case, and you certainly have never given me to understand that, I am ready to call the deal off.”

“Why?” Keeley said, offering him a cigar.

“Principally because the evidence seems so strong against Alma Remsen, and I’ve no wish to see that girl convicted.”

“Why not?”

“First, because she isn’t guilty, and second, because, if she were guilty, I don’t want to be in any way instrumental in bringing it home to her.”

“You’d compound a felony”

“Oh, rubbish! But, yes, of course, I’d compound a felony rather than raise a finger to help establish her guilt.”

“What makes you think she is guilty?”

“I didn’t say I thought she was guilty, I said the evidence seems to point that way. But evidence doesn’t always point to the truth, by any means.”

“Very true. Have you any other suspect?”

“I’m not looking for suspects. I want to get away from the whole business.”

“Yet only a few days ago, you wanted me to investigate this matter at your direction and at your expense.”

“I know it. But I’ve changed my mind. I want to go away, to go back home. If I’m needed for any purpose, you can always find me. I’m not going to disappear.”

“I don’t think you’ll be wanted by the authorities, Mr. Ames, if that’s what you mean. I have crossed you off my list of suspects and I think Detective March has done the same. However, you will speak to them, of course, before you leave town.”

“Oh, certainly. And, Mr. Moore, I’ve been doing a bit of looking about on my own. I don’t know that it will be of help or even interest to you, but I’ve satisfied myself that nobody at Pleasure Dome was the murderer of Sampson Tracy.”

“You mean no member of the household?”

“Yes, none of the staff of servants, neither of the secretaries, nor myself. That completes the tale of the occupants of the house that night.”

“And how have you come to your conclusions?”

“By questioning, both straightforward and also more adroit. I have talked to the servants, and I have examined their rooms and possessions, and I have no hesitancy in pronouncing them all innocent.”

“Perhaps they know something about it, though.”

“Not the ones who are there now. A few, I believe, have been dismissed. They may know something. I cannot get at them, of course. But those who are there, and they are the principal ones, are innocent, and are eager to find the criminal.”

“They do not, then, suspect Alma Remsen? Surely they would not be anxious to discover her guilty.”

“No, they will hear no word against her. Griscom, especially, flies into a rage at a hint of her implication in the matter.”

“And the two secretaries?”

“Are as innocent as I am. I can scarcely expect you to take my word about myself, but I want to witness for Everett and Dean. They had no reason to kill Tracy, for I don’t agree that their expected legacies were sufficient motive. I had a motive, I suppose, as I sorely needed the money he left me, but I didn’t kill him to get it.”

Ames didn’t smile, he made his statement in a calm, honest way that carried absolute conviction. And there was no evidence against Ames. Had he wanted to kill Tracy, he surely would not have gone to the trouble to fix up all those foolish decorations, nor would he have been apt to think of making that telltale scratch across his own door.

“I think nobody suspects you, Mr. Ames,” Keeley said, and Ames returned:

“No, nobody does. They’re all on the trail of Alma Remsen. By all, I mean of course, the police; there’s nobody else sleuthing, that I know of, except yourself.”

“There is plenty of evidence that seems to point to Miss Remsen,” Kee said, slowly, “the question is, does it really indicate her? Did you ever hear, Mr. Ames, that she was in any way affected, either physically or mentally, by any disorder that would make her—er—irresponsible in her behaviour?”

Ames moved uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’d rather not answer that question,” he said, “but I suppose my disinclination to reply would be construed as affirmative. So, while I decline to discuss it, I will admit that I have heard rumours to that effect.”

“Then if it can be proved that she is mentally affected, surely no punishment can come to her, even in case of conviction.”

“Perhaps not. But if she is mentally afflicted, it seems all the more horrible to add to her sufferings the horrors of a trial.”

My heart warmed toward Harper Ames. At least, he had the instincts of a human being, and not those of a cold-blooded sleuth.

“You feel, as I do, that the bizarre effects of that deathbed implies, or at least suggests, the work of a disordered mind?”

“Either that, or an exceedingly clever mind trying to give the effect of a more or less demented person.”

“Have you, in your talks with the servants or secretaries, learned any rational explanation for those strange conditions?”

“None at all.”

“One more question, please, Mr. Ames,” Kee said, gravely, “and then I have done. Have you, since the death of Sampson Tracy, learned of any incident aside from these strange conditions we have mentioned, that seems to you to implicate Miss Remsen?”

An obstinate look came over Ames’s face, and he shook his head, but it was plain to be seen that he was concealing something.

“You can’t expect us to believe that half-hearted negation,” Kee said, with a nod of understanding. “I know you don’t want to accuse that poor girl of anything more, but try to realize that what you think against her interests may be for them.”

“That’s a new way to put it!” and Ames looked a little bewildered. “But it might be true. You know in the story books the nephew is always overheard having a violent altercation with his uncle, but he is always proved innocent.”

“Who overheard Miss Remsen quarrelling with her uncle?”

“I did. I may as well tell you, for I daresay it is my duty. And it may, as you say, redound to her favour, though I can’t see how. Well, I was passing through the hall on the Tuesday afternoon, the afternoon she said she was there, you know, and the two were in the library. The door was partly open, and with no intent of eavesdropping, I couldn’t help hearing some words as I went by. Alma was talking, and while not loud, her voice was strained, tense, as if with deep feeling or passion. She was saying: ‘Please don’t tell Mrs. Dallas, uncle, please don’t! If you do, I shall do something desperate! I can’t bear it to have you tell her! She hates me, anyhow, and it would make her hate me worse! Uncle, I beg of you. …’ I heard no more, as I went right along.”

“You’re sure of what you did hear?”

“Sure of the intent. I may not have the words exact. But Alma was very angry and Tracy very decided. I gathered that. And the speech I heard was absolutely as I have told you in meaning, if not in identical language.”

“Well, let’s come right down to it. You think Tracy proposed to tell his prospective bride that his niece had an affliction that made her uncertain of herself at times?”

“That is what I think. I know that Tracy planned to tell Mrs. Dallas something—and you know she declared that herself—so, hearing Alma say what she did, how can one help putting two and two together?”

“It may be as you say. But what about the theory that Alma is shielding somebody?”

“Who can it be? Only one or both of those strange old people who take care of her. And somehow, I can’t see her running her own head into a noose to save them, even if they are in danger, which, by the way, I haven’t heard that they are.”

“They’re not definitely suspected that I know of, but I’ve thought it might be that they were so upset by Tracy’s determination to expose the secret of Alma’s affliction, that one of them might kill him to prevent such a disclosure.”

“Ingenious as a theory,” Ames said, “but not very probable as I see it.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, would either of those people, capable of murder though they might be, cut up all those monkey-tricks that looked like the work of a diseased mind? Just the way to draw suspicion on their beloved charge.”

“That’s a facer,” Kee agreed, “unless they didn’t think of that, and only arranged the flowers and things with a view toward general bewilderment.”

“Not good enough. No, Alma isn’t shielding anybody, but she is queer, very queer. And the older servants, Griscom and Fenn, are worried sick about her.”

“They don’t believe she did it?”

“They don’t know what to believe. There’s so much against the girl. And there’s a rumour that somebody saw her over there that night.”

“Who saw her?”

“I can’t find out. One maid told me another maid had told her so, but Fenn came along and gave the girl a dressing down, and she won’t open her lips now.”

“Well, Mr. Ames, I’m grateful for the facts you have detailed. Every fact helps, just as every opinion hinders. Isn’t Miss Remsen now the owner and head of the Pleasure Dome estate?”

“In a way, yes. Legally, of course, she is the rightful heir. And as she is not under arrest, she can take possession if she chooses. But she says she won’t go there until this inquest matter is over, and then, I suppose if she should be accused and arrested, the place would be shut up for a time.”

“Hard lines on Mrs. Dallas,” Maud said, “losing her expected fortune and prominent position.”

“Yes, and no.” Ames smiled a little. “Between you and me, Mrs. Merrill, though Mrs. Dallas is terribly shocked at the manner of his death, I can’t feel she is mourning deeply for Mr. Tracy. I think Charlie Everett had pretty well cut out the elderly millionaire.”

“Well, that’s her business,” Lora said, coldly. “I am so sorry for Alma, I’ve no sympathy to spare for Mrs. Dallas. They can’t arrest the girl if she isn’t responsible for her actions, can they?”

“I don’t know. It depends on conditions and circumstances.”

“I hope, Mr. Ames,” I said, speaking more pleasantly than I felt, because I had no wish to antagonize him, “that you won’t feel it necessary to tell any one else what you have told us. Mr. Moore, of course, will tell the police whatever he deems wise, but I mean the matter needn’t become village gossip.”

“No, Mr. Norris,” Ames returned. “I have no wish to have Miss Remsen’s name bandied about. And now that I have told all I know, my own conscience is clear, and if not detained by the authorities, I shall go home. But I daresay they will keep me until after the finish of the inquest on Friday.”

Ames went off and his departure was closely followed by the arrival of that detestable little Posy May.

I cordially disliked the girl, and I felt sure she was bringing fresh tales about Alma.

Nor was I wrong.

The flapper swung herself over the arm of a big chair, and landed Turkish fashion in its depths. Demanded cigarettes and their attendant paraphernalia.

Then, with a solemn, owl-like expression on her pert little face, she said, “I have additional information.”

Keeley prepared to listen, for he had often said he gained more knowledge from outsiders than from the regular force.

“Yes,” Posy went on, “I’ve been inquiring round among the folks who live nearest to Whistling Reeds Island, and I’ve found three who have seen Alma when she was in her tantrums.”

“Look here, Miss May,” I said, hoping to trap her, “how is it that you or your friends you’ve been interviewing can see what goes on on the Island? I’ve been there, and it seems to me it’s so walled in by trees and shrubs that there’s little visible from the lake.”

“That’s true, Mr. Norris,” Posy spoke seriously, “but there is a place at the back of the house, a sort of vista, small, but open. I think somebody removed a tree or two in order to see out. If your boat is in line with that, you can see in quite plainly. That’s where I saw Alma when she was paddywhacking the old nurse, and that’s where my friends have seen exhibitions of the same sort.”

Posy had a quaint way with her, when she was serious, and somehow she gave the impression of sincerity in what she said.

Anyway, she had the attention of her hearers and she went on, excitedly:

“So, I asked the girls, and they couldn’t remember at first, and then the three of them said yes, they had seen Alma through that opening in the trees. And they said—one of them did—that she saw Alma going for the nurse with a croquet mallet. And the man—that’s the nurse’s husband—had to come and pull Alma off of his wife!”

“Now, Posy,” Kee looked at her sternly, “I don’t want these yarns at all if there’s a bit of fairy story about them. Do you know them to be true?”

“I honestly think so, Mr. Moore, because I made Ethel—it was Ethel Wayne who told me this one—cross her heart and hope to never if it wasn’t true. And Ethel is a truthful girl, anyway. Why, once

“Never mind side shows. Now, if you feel certain you have true stories to tell, get on with the others. Who next?”

“Oh, you hurry me so! Well, then I struck Mary Glenn. She is a very serious thinker, and she wouldn’t exaggerate a tiny mite, she wouldn’t. And she said she saw something she never had told anybody, not even her mother. And she wouldn’t tell me at first, till I told her it was official work I was doing and that if she didn’t tell I’d set the force on her. You know everybody is quelled at mention of the law and so she came off her perch, and told me.”

“Told you what? Now, repeat it as she said it, don’t embroider it any.”

“No, sir. Well, she said she saw Alma through that same gap in the hedge, and Alma wasn’t angry or anything like that, but she was throwing things into the lake. And the nurse was trying to stop her, but she couldn’t. Alma threw in her string of beads and then her hat and then her slippers and then a book she had with her, and then something else, Mary couldn’t see what that was. And all the time the nurse was saying, ‘Now, Miss Alma—oh, please be good, Miss Alma,’ and like that. So, if Alma Remsen isn’t off her head, I don’t know who is!”

“You said there were three,” Moore said, quietly, “go on, please.”

“The last is the strangest of all,” Posy said, with a tense calm, quite like Keeley’s own. “Daisy Dodd told me, and she’s a most reliable person. I’d trust Daisy to tell the truth about anything! Well, she was out in her canoe, one afternoon, late, you know, about dusk, and she saw Alma come out through that gap in the trees, and stand on the edge of the lake. It’s awful deep there, and there’s quite a high bank. Well, Alma stood on the bank, and all of a sudden she put up her hands, and splash!—she dove in! Daisy was scared to death, it was so deep and all, but Alma came right up, and swam off a few strokes and then she swam back to shore, and scrambled up the bank, all dripping wet.”

“Had she on a bathing suit?”

“No, that’s just it. She had on her everyday clothes, one of those sports suits she ’most always wears, and she came out of the water, like a drowned rat, and then stood, looking at herself as if surprised she should have done what she did.”

“Was the nurse on the scene that time?”

“Daisy said, she rowed on then, but as she was nearly past, she heard somebody cry out, ‘Oh, Miss Alma, what have you been up to?’”

“Well, Posy, is that all?”

“Yes, Mr. Moore, and you can depend on it all as being true, at least so far as I know. And I know those girls would never make up those yarns, there’d be no sense in that, would there?”

“No, I can’t see that there would,” Keeley said, speaking absent-mindedly as if his thoughts were on the stories he had just heard.

“Posy, you’re a good girl,” Lora said, feeling, I was sure, that somebody ought to give the girl the applause she had earned. “But you’re going to keep those things secret for us, aren’t you?”

“Yes’m, I’m going to do just what you and Mr. Moore tell me. For I’ve made up my mind. I’ve found myself and I’m going to make detective work my vocation. I think I have a decided talent for it, and I am

“Well, Posy,” Keeley said, suddenly waking up, “if you want to be a detective one of the first things to learn is to keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve just promised Mrs. Moore not to say a word until you say I may.”

“That’s a good girl. Now if that finishes your report, I’ll excuse you for to-day. I have to act upon your information, you know. You feel sure, don’t you, that these episodes happened just as you’ve narrated them?”

“Yes, I do. I know those girls, and what they say they saw, they saw. Daisy said she thought Alma was a little lacking, but the others didn’t say that, they only thought she had a fierce temper that broke out suddenly sometimes.”

“Either of those things may be true, but don’t think about it. Run off now, and play with your sheik. And forget all about this case unless you get some further knowledge that is both true and important. But, remember, not a word of it to any one—not any one at all!”

“See my finger wet, see my finger dry, see my finger cut my throat if I tell a lie,” said the girl, in a singsong tone, and with accompanying dramatic gestures of fearful histrionic fervour.

Then she ran away, and we sat and looked at one another.

“The problem seems to be solved,” I said.

“Seems to be,” Moore returned, and something in his voice gave me a grain of hope. I don’t know what it was, it was not really encouragement, but I knew he had a ray of light from somewhere, and I had to be content with that.

“You believe all Posy said, don’t you, Kee?” Lora asked.

“Yes, I do. Those youngsters aren’t going to make up such things, and I know that gap in the line of trees, I’ve often looked in there but I never had the luck to see any drama enacted.”

“Why do they have that break when they seem so anxious for utter concealment?” Maud inquired.

“Maybe the servants cut it for convenience in taking in parcels, or to look for their sweethearts,” Kee surmised. “Oh perhaps it just happened that a couple of trees died and haven’t yet been replaced. I say, Gray, why don’t you go over to see Alma?”

I nearly fell off my chair at this, and my heart bounded at the idea. Then, I thought what it might mean, and I said, bitterly:

“To spy on her, and come home and tell you what I’ve ferreted out?”

“I feared you’d say something like that,” he returned, gently. “But while you can do that or not, as you choose, I tell you honestly, I had only your own interest at heart when I suggested it.”

“Then I’ll go,” I said, heartily, knowing Kee incapable of insincerity.

“What are you going to give as a reason for calling?” Lora asked, smiling kindly at me.

“The truth,” I said, smiling back, and in a few moments I was off.

I jumped into a rowboat, a canoe was not such a familiar craft to me as to the others, and I rowed away to the island house.

The dour boathouse keeper met me, and after a mere word of greeting I hurried up the path to the house.

Merry herself answered my ring, and at first she looked stern and unapproachable. “Miss Alma is seeing nobody, sir,” she informed me. “She is lying down just now.”

“Won’t you ask her if she couldn’t give me a few minutes? I’m not here on business of any sort, I’m just making a social call, and perhaps I can cheer her up.”

I had unwittingly struck the right note, for Merry smiled a little, though the tears came into her eyes, too, and she gave me a long look as she said, “sit on the porch, please, sir, and I’ll ask Miss Alma.”

I sat down, and there, in that strange, eerie stillness, in that quiet, mysterious atmosphere, I vowed my life to Alma Remsen, I consecrated my heart and soul to my darling, and I determined to save her from this cloud that seemed to hang over her.

To be sure, my ideas of this salvation and indeed of the cloud itself were a trifle vague, but both mind and soul were full of her and her dearness, and at a light step behind me I turned to see her coming toward me across the verandah.

All in white, her golden curls a little tumbled, and her big, beautiful eyes a little heavy with trouble and sadness, she came, her two hands outstretched as if asking my aid.

I rose slowly, as she slowly advanced, and it seemed to me that as she traversed those few feet across the porch and as I awaited her, we asked and answered all the necessary questions, and when at last I held her two dear hands in mine, I drew her nearer into my arms and clasped her to me.

She made no resistance, she did not hold back or repulse me, but lay against my breast like a tired child, finding haven at last.

I held her so, soothing her a bit, and caressing her golden head, but saying no word lest I startle her.

In a moment, she lifted her head, her eyes gazed into mine and all the woe and sorrow came back into them.

“No, dear,” I said, “no, don’t look like that. Look happy”

“Happy!” she said, with an awful intonation.

“Yes,” I said, “like this!” and I kissed her.