How Many Cards?/Chapter 2

HE inspector approached the table and gazed thoughtfully down upon its array of porcelain and silver and glass.

"You're getting to be quite in Wade Terhune's class with your deductions, Mac, but you're right, I think," he observed. "If Creveling sat here, where the food is almost untouched and the bread crumbled, it looks as though he might have known what was coming to him, or feared it, anyway. We'll find out what enemies he had—"

McCarty shook his head.

"I don't think so, sir," he said quietly. "I think it was his visitor who sat in that chair. Mr. Creveling was host and all the servants were gone unless they're lying murdered upstairs, so he must have waited on the table himself, and you see the wine cooler is right close up to the other chair. I found this near it on the floor."

He produced the broken bit of amber and the inspector scrutinized it carefully.

"Part of a cigarette holder, eh? A mighty slender one, too, by the curve of this fragment. It looks as though a lady—"

He paused as McCarty picked up the broken cigarette from the table and silently handed it to him. It was but little thicker than a straw and bore in tiny square gold letters the initials E. C. C.

"They're the same as on the platinum case in the waistcoat pocket of the dead man in the other room there," McCarty remarked at length. "I've my opinion of a fellow that would call a thing like that a smoke, but no matter. Did you take a good look at the supper table, sir?"

"No dope there, beyond what you pointed out." Inspector Druet had turned away. "Let's have a look upstairs before the rest go to it."

But he was too late, for even as he spoke the door of the next room opened and heavy footsteps could be heard crossing the rotunda and mounting the broad stairs. Like conspirators, the inspector and McCarty waited until they died away in the regions above.

"I wonder, now, what they did with the young crook I caught climbing out of the window?" McCarty queried aloud to himself.

"What's that?" Inspector Druet demanded.

Briefly McCarty recounted the events of the night and when he had concluded his companion started for the door leading into the hall once more.

"We'll have a look at the body and then join the rest upstairs. This is a headquarters job all right, Mac, and I'm going to take charge."

"I thought you would, sir." McCarty heaved a sigh of satisfaction not unmixed with envy. "At least you'll not have Terhune with his scientific stunts and mechanical mind-readers butting in on this case."

"How about you yourself?" The inspector halted and bent a quizzical gaze upon his companion. "Going to quit before the end of the first round?"

"Quit?" McCarty flushed. "Well you know, sir, that I'm not in it except maybe to testify against the lad for breaking and entering. I've nothing to do with the murder nor the solving of it."

"But you're itching for a chance, aren't you, you old scout?" The other smiled. "I'll swear you in as a special officer to-morrow, just as I did on the last case you got yourself mixed up in since you left the force. Come on, now."

McCarty's eyes shone and he squared his massive shoulders with proud elation as they entered the room where the master of the house lay. He was officially at work again, and the inhabitants of the instalment-plan suburban colony in which he had invested his savings and from which he drew his modest revenue might run the place to suit themselves until the case was finished. He was back in the old game!

When they opened the door of the study they found that its only occupants were the dead man and the wretched youth who still cringed in his chair, to one arm of which he had now been securely handcuffed. At sight of the inspector's face he uttered a sharp ejaculation and cowered further down.

"Well, well!" Inspector Druet searched his countenance keenly. "It seems to me we've met before, my friend."

"No, sir! Youse got me wrong—!"

"Have I? We've got you mugged down at headquarters; I never forget a face. Have you done time? What's your name? Speak up!"

"Joe Bodansky," the youth muttered sullenly. "I did one stretch in de reform'tory 'cause de gang I traveled wit' swiped some lead pipe, but I didn't have nottin' to do wit' it! Dis is de foist toime—"

"Never mind; thought I had you right. I'll get your story downtown later." Inspector Druet turned to McCarty and indicated the body. "Is this the way it was when you saw it first, Mac?"

"Yes. I was the third one to see it as far as we know; Joe, here, was first, then Clancy and then me. It don't look as if those flatfeet upstairs had disturbed it any except that the gun was lying nearer to the hand, almost touching the fingers—this way."

McCarty stooped and moved the position of the pistol a trifle.

"He sure got his with a vengeance, didn't he?" the inspector remarked.

A quick gleam of light came into McCarty's own eyes.

"Maybe he did, sir," he vouchsafed.

"There seems to have been a bit of a struggle here; look, Mac." The inspector spoke suddenly.

The strip of tapestry which lay along the center of the refectory table had been pulled awry at the end near which the man had fallen and it was evident that only the heavy lamp which stood upon it had prevented it from being swept to the floor, but there were no other signs of disorder in the room.

"Yes, sir," McCarty agreed somewhat doubtfully. "He wouldn't have had time to catch at it in falling, after that shot hit him, but maybe whoever it was did it might have twisted that table cover in rage or excitement before they fired and killed him."

"And you think Creveling was the sort of man to stand calmly and wait without raising a hand to defend himself while his guest worked his own nerve up to the point of murder?" The inspector shrugged. "Come along, let's go up and see what the others have found out."

The patrol wagon clattered up to the entrance at that moment and Joe Bodansky, obviously relieved to be removed from the immediate vicinity of the dead man, even in so grim and forbidding a vehicle, was consigned to the care of its officials.

After it had departed the inspector and his freshly appointed assistant mounted the great staircase to be met at the top by Clancy and two detectives from the borough headquarters. The latter were none too pleased to find an inspector from the central office already on the job but they concealed their chagrin with what diplomacy they could muster.

"Nothing doing up here, Inspector," the senior of the twain announced. "We've looked in every hole and corner to the very roof and there isn't a soul about, living or dead. Nothing's been disturbed, either, and except for two or three of the servants' rooms it doesn't seem as if any of them had been occupied for some time, not even the master's own apartments."

"Mac, here, and I will just have a look around, anyway, and join you and Sam and Clancy below, Pete," Inspector Druet responded. "The Commissioner has put me in charge but I may need you both."

"Did you send the young crook off in the wagon, sir?" asked Clancy.

"Yes. He'll be taken care of and I'll want your report on him later, but I understand you and McCarty are agreed that he had nothing to do with the main crime, the murder.—Come, Mac."

As the rest descended to investigate the lower regions of the house, McCarty and the inspector crossed the wide corridor and entered the first room of a spacious suite on the left. It was evidently that of the mistress of the establishment, for the delicate lines of the furniture of the First Empire, the fragile ornaments and soft hues of the priceless rugs, all betokened a feminine influence, although the toilet articles and similar objects of intimate daily use were missing and a slight smudge of dust lay here and there as if the effort to keep the rooms in order had of late been merely perfunctory.

"Looks as if the Missis had been away, all right," McCarty observed. "I don't read the society columns as regularly as I might, not having moved in such circles as this before, but I guess we'll know where she is when the boys of the press get hold of this for an 'extra.'"

The rooms across the hall were no less richly appointed, but as unmistakably masculine in appearance as the first suite had been feminine. The furnishings were massive, the color scheme of walls and rugs and draperies dark but boldly vivid, and despite its unstinted luxury the apartment bore an air of studied simplicity. Its rigid orderliness proclaimed that it, too, had not been occupied recently, but it was well aired and dusted as if in preparation for the immediate return of the owner.

In the lounging-room which opened off the bedchamber Inspector Druet approached an antique mahogany desk which stood in one corner and opened one drawer after another, while McCarty watched speculatively over his shoulder. They seemed to be filled with account books and miscellaneous correspondence mostly of a financial nature, and the latter was turning away when his superior paused with his hand upon the knob of the small drawer between the pigeon holes.

"Locked," he remarked succinctly. "And there isn't any keyhole."

"Then it works with a spring," McCarty suggested. "Million-a-month Creveling may not have dropped all his old philandering ways when he married, but he'd scarcely be likely to leave anything of a confidential nature in the place where his wife would first of all be looking for it, granted that she was of the looking kind."

"We have no time to bother with it now, at all events," the inspector remarked after several futile attempts to open the drawer. "I'll have an expert up here the first thing in the morning, but we had better be getting on through the house now; it's almost four o'clock."

Together they continued their inspection of the upper floors, but found nothing even remotely bearing on the investigation until they came to the topmost one, where the servants' quarters were evidently located. Here two connecting bedchambers and a third across the hall bore mute testimony not only of occupation but of hurried departure.

In the first room dresses and aprons of a plain, serviceable quality were scattered about and in the adjoining one the half-opened closet door and drawers of the bureau revealed the habiliments of a butler dragged forth in obvious confusion.

The room on the other side of the landing was fitted out with a higher grade of furniture than the other two, worn but comparatively luxurious, as though the articles might have been relegated here from below stairs. An examination of the tailor's tabs on the suits which filled the clothes closet revealed that they had evidently been discarded from Creveling's own wardrobe.

"His valet, probably," McCarty hazarded. "The butler and one of the women servants must have occupied those rooms across the hall."

"That's obvious," retorted the inspector. "They may have been here last night and made a getaway when the murder was done, but if we can find the housekeeper's books we can get a line on who they were. The other rooms on this floor don't look as though they had been entered for weeks—"

"What's that—?" McCarty suddenly raised a thick, stubby finger in warning and cocked his ear.

"What?" the other demanded in curt tones.

"I thought I heard a sound downstairs, sir. Not all the way, but on the first sleeping floor.'"

"One of those flatfeet from borough headquarters, I suppose," the inspector grunted. "I didn't hear anything; you must be getting nerves, Mac! That big room at the back may have been the housekeeper's. Let's have a look at it anyway."

Obediently McCarty followed his superior down the hall, but as he did so he cast a swift glance at the stairs. Did he or did he not see a flitting shadow pause immovable just above the edge of the top step and then disappear?

Without comment he entered the room at the rear. The furniture was of walnut in severe lines, the rugs dark and spotless and the few pictures which broke the somber monotony of the gray wallpaper were of sedate, classic subjects.

A businesslike-looking desk stood near the window, but it was quite bare, and no intimate touches of human occupancy were visible save a tea-wagon covered with dusty porcelains drawn up beside the cold hearth.

"The housekeeper's room all right, I guess," remarked the inspector, as one after another he tried the drawers of the desk. "These are all locked and I don't see any keys about. It is pretty obvious that nobody has been in here, either, for some time. The whole thing looks funny to me, Mac. Of course, the three servants whose rooms have been occupied at least lately may have been left as caretakers while the family were away, but why did Creveling come back here just to give that little supper and get himself murdered after it—what in the world are you doing now?"

For McCarty was lifting the desk carefully, first from one side and then from the other and shaking it tentatively when he had raised an end from the floor.

"Well," he replied at length, "there would be little object, wouldn't there, sir, in locking an empty desk? Of course, we could force the drawers but I'm thinking it's small help you'd get from what's in here in solving the mystery downstairs. The locks are rusty, too, as you'll notice. Did you try the dressing-table?"

"Yes. The drawers are unlocked and empty. There's nothing more here, Mac; let us go down now and see what the rest have discovered."

But it was evident that no discovery of any significance had been made.

Sam and Pete, the two detectives from the borough headquarters, together with the policeman, Clancy, were standing in a little group near the body of the dead man in the study and the faces of all three bore an expression of stupefaction.

"Anything new turned up?" asked Inspector Druet crisply.

"No, sir. The kitchens are all in order, though it's evident that they have been used lately, but not for the supper that we found spread out in the next room." Pete, the elder of the two detectives, replied: "That came from Mazzarini's, the caterer; his boxes are down in the pantry now."

"There's food and ice left in the refrigerators," the other detective, Sam, volunteered. "But it's not the kind of stuff the likes of him would eat."

He pointed with a grimy thumb at the dead man and was evidently about to continue his remarks when the inspector demanded:

"Have any of you boys been upstairs since we left you on the second floor?"

"No, sir." It was Clancy who answered. "There was nothing to take us up there, and plenty to look over down here though it is little enough that we found out!"

"You see, Mac?" The inspector turned with a grin to McCarty. "I told you that you were hearing things when you thought there was a sound from below while we were on the servants' floor!—Look here, Clancy, you've been on this beat nearly six months; you ought to know about how many there were in the household."

"I think I do, sir, and I can't get it through my head where they've all gone to," responded the officer. "To my knowledge there were ten of them, not counting the housekeeper; the cook was the butler's wife, and besides there was a footman, valet and houseman, then the kitchenmaid, housemaid, parlormaid and laundress, and the lady's maid, of course. The valet I almost never saw, but it comes to me now that the cook and the butler are the only ones I've noticed around for some time."

"What do you mean by 'some time'?" barked the inspector.

"Weeks, anyway, sir; maybe a month." Clancy shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Not since a few days after the last big entertainment the Crevelings gave."

"When was that? What sort of an entertainment?"

"How should I know, sir?" the officer replied to the last question. "'Twas a dinner or dance or something; awnings and a red carpet spread out to the curb and an orchestra playing till all hours, and a string of motor cars reaching around into both side streets. Except when they give some big society shindy like that the house is the quietest on the block, as I was remarking to McCarty only to-night.—But where is he?"

Clancy had turned for superfluous corroboration to the spot where the ex-roundsman had stood behind his chief, to find that he had vanished.

"I thought that I heard the front door close just now, sir," Pete observed.

"You're getting jumpy, like Mac," the inspector laughed. "You couldn't drive him out of the house now that he's on the old trail again; wait till you boys retire and then open the papers some fine morning and find a fresh murder mystery staring you in the face and the force being raked over the coals for not pinching the man who did it before the first edition reached the press! There isn't one of the three of you who wouldn't want to be back in harness with a chance to clap his hand on the shoulder of the murderer!—Mac's only poking around on his own account, but Clancy, this looks bad for you; a prominent citizen shot to death in his own house on your beat with an army .44 that could be heard a mile off, and it took a cheap crook to discover the crime!"

Clancy turned a rich crimson.

"Everything was quiet and the house dark when I went my rounds up to near midnight, sir," he said with dignity. "We'd received no notification of the family being away or any special watch being necessary. Besides, there's a private watchman employed on this block, the same as on the others up and down the Avenue. It did come to me as strange that I didn't run into him, but I thought no more about it. There's many a night I don't see him."

"You say that the house was dark up to nearly twelve o'clock," repeated Inspector Druet. "When did you notice first that it was lighted?"

"At about a quarter before; I rang in at the box on the next corner ten minutes afterwards, more or less." Clancy's tone was cautious. "The faint little stream of light coming from the window here on the first floor meant nothing to me, for I'd often seen it till near dawn, and lots of the ground floor windows are left open the night long in all the residences on my beat this mild spring weather. I passed regular, and not once did I hear the sound of a shot or anything else, for that matter, but the motor cars going up and down the Avenue."

"What was the first you knew of this affair, then?"

"When I heard a pounding on the sidewalk, as though some one was rapping for help. That must have been a little after two o'clock, and I was a couple of blocks away. I saw two figures standing under the lamp post out there and I came on the run. It was McCarty and the young second-story crook that he'd nabbed crawling out of the window here half a minute after he'd got in."

Clancy continued his narrative with impartial justice to the ex-member of the force and much dramatic detail as to his own finding of the body, and at its conclusion McCarty reappeared. He entered silently and took up a respectful position in the background, his face guilelessly stolid as the inspector went to the telephone and called for the chief medical examiner, turning in a brief report to headquarters.

"Did you find out anything, Mac?" asked Clancy anxiously in an undertone.

McCarty shook his head.

"What could you find out in an empty house?" he countered evasively.

"Well, there's a smell on you as though you had been to some high-toned barber's, and Pete thought he heard the front door close awhile back."

Clancy sniffed the air audibly, much as a dog on the scent, and McCarty's twinkling blue eyes narrowed for an instant as he backed slightly away from the other man.

"Barber's, is it?" he repeated in great disdain. "I've been poking around the rooms upstairs and some of them smell yet of perfumery; Pete must have heard me closing a door up there behind me, if he heard anything at all. It's a wonder you and the boys wouldn't get on the job and do something before the papers get hold of this, and you have a howling mob of reporters storming the house!"

"It's up to the inspector," retorted Clancy sullenly. Then his tone changed. "There's a bell ringing somewhere!"

Inspector Druet had turned sharply and the two detectives glanced at each other. There was silence for a moment and then the subdued but insistent peal was repeated.

"You answer it, Mac," the inspector ordered. "Try the front entrance door first. The medical examiner or one of his assistants wouldn't have had time to get here, and it's five o'clock in the morning."

McCarty crossed the wide rotunda and even as he flung open the front door the bell rang once more through the silent house.

A middle-aged gentleman, small but erect and dapper despite the evident haste with which he had clothed himself, stood fuming on the threshold.

"Who are you?" he demanded peremptorily. "What is the meaning of this? Where is Mr. Creveling, and why have I been summoned from my bed at this unseemly hour? I insist upon an explanation—!"

"Just a moment, sir." The inspector had followed McCarty and the latter stood aside. "I am afraid that before you get your explanation I must ask you who you are, and who summoned you. I am from Police Headquarters."

The little man shrank back aghast and his Vandyke beard, tinged with gray, waggled in outraged amazement as McCarty shut the massive double doors behind him.

"'Police'!" he gasped. "What on earth has Eugene—? I demand to see Mr. Creveling at once!"

"I am afraid that is impossible," Inspector Druet replied smoothly. "Will you answer my questions, please? What brings you here at what you yourself have admitted is an unusual hour?"

"'Unusual'!" the newcomer exploded. Then with an obvious effort he calmed himself and responded in dignified resentment:

'T am George Alexander, Mr. Creveling's banking partner and the uncle and former guardian of Mrs. Creveling. That should be sufficient answer to you, sir. Will you inform me why I have been routed from my bed—?"

"Who sent for you, Mr. Alexander? Who told you to come here?" The inspector's tone was deferential but it held a note of unmistakable sternness.

"That is a point upon which I should like to be informed!" retorted the other. "I played my usual rubber of bridge at the club, went to my rooms and retired at eleven. A few minutes ago I was aroused by my telephone and told that I was urgently needed here at once. I expostulated but could gain no further information, so I dressed and came."

"Did you recognize the voice over the wire?"

Mr. Alexander paused thoughtfully and then replied with conviction:

"No. It was that of a man, of course, but it was totally strange to me, and when I demanded my informant's identity he hung up the receiver. I am quite sure I have never heard it before."