How Many Cards?/Chapter 4

EANWHILE, McCarty had taken advantage of his superior's off-handed permission and slipped back into the study immediately after the body had been removed and Clancy and the detective had taken their departure.

Save for the dark stains upon the rug where the shattered form had rested and the strip of tapestry pulled awry from its accustomed place upon the refectory table, there were no visible signs left to the casual eye of the tragedy which had so recently taken place within those four walls, but MccCarty closed the door carefully behind him and stood for a moment with his back against it surveying the room.

The chairs with their adjacent smoking stands, the bookcases, davenports, and every article of furniture which the room contained, passed in swift but unerring detail before his vision and he whistled softly.

A delicate spring dawn was filtering in through the diaphanous curtains of the windows at the rear and turning the golden glow of the electric lights a sickly lemon yellow; why had the shades not been lowered or the thick draperies which hung on either side of the casements been drawn?

McCarty switched off the lights and striding over to the nearest window thrust aside the curtains and opened it. The explanation for the disregard of possible onlookers was instantly apparent, for a sheer blank brick wall rose before him about six feet distant. He glanced swiftly each way and then withdrew his head, leaving the window open that the gentle breeze might drift through the room. The blank space, or alley, had no opening at either end and had evidently been left when the Creveling residence was built in order to give light to its rear windows.

Yet the house was practically in the middle of the block and beyond that brick wall could lie only the back yards of the buildings which faced on the side streets. Had Creveling caused that high blank barrier to be erected on the edge of his property for the purpose of insuring absolute privacy to the rooms which looked out upon it? The front of the house was no more carefully secluded from outside observation than were the others in the neighborhood; why should the rear have been thus shut away, from prying eyes?

His mind still busied with the problem, McCarty moved slowly about the study measuring with a practiced gaze the distance between the various articles of furniture until he came to the long, narrow table between the two davenports which flanked the hearth. Here he paused and taking the edge of the twisted strip of tapestry between his forefinger and thumb began almost mechanically to straighten it.

As he lifted it a gleam of something white, against the age-darkened wood of the table top caught his eye and, thrusting the tapestry hastily aside, he disclosed a small, highly glazed oblong upon which were spots of red. It was a playing card, the nine of diamonds, but superimposed upon its regular scarlet lozengers were tiny blotches of dull crimson, unmistakable in their significance.

McCarty picked it up gingerly, and saw that it was torn half across its face; the crimson spots were fast turning a murky brown and a smudge which resembled the imprint of a finger was plainly discernible near one side. The card itself was of the most expensive grade of linen, gilt-edged, and despite its sinister stains had obviously come from a new deck. The back was of a peculiar design printed in rich colors and gold after the manner of the ancient illuminated text and McCarty studied it with minute care, fixing the pattern in his mind. Then he crossed to the writing table between the windows and opening a drawer selected an envelope and placed the card within it.

This he slipped into his pocket and then began a close and exhaustive search of the room, albeit he shook his head dubiously as he did so. How that single blood-stained playing card happened to have been slipped under the edge of that strip of tapestry he could not fathom nor what its significance might be, but he felt certain that the rest of the deck would not be brought to light within those four walls. His supposition proved to be a correct one, for he found no playing cards or games of any description save a set of rare old ivory chessmen which he unearthed from a lower drawer of one of the bookcases. He took a final survey of the room and opened the door to return to the inspector, when just as he did so he beheld a dark, clerical appearing form noiselessly pass across the hall from the other side of the staircase.

It halted before the door of the breakfast room for an appreciable minute as though listening intently, then opened it and McCarty heard a deferential voice utter the conventional: "I beg pardon, sir!"

There was a murmur of indistinguishable words and the man passed within, closing the door behind him. In his turn, McCarty advanced to it and listened, and so it came that he heard the inspector's questions and learned the identity of the intruder. At the valet's refusal to state his whereabouts during the night McCarty quietly entered.

"Possibly not." The inspector's curt tones held a hint of menace. "Your preference, however, will not be consulted and I warn you that you had better be candid with us now."

"Perhaps," Mr. Alexander's thin, nervous tones broke in, "it would be best to wait until Mrs. Creveling arrives—?"

To McCarty's keen gaze it seemed that a glance of warning shot from the eyes of Creveling's late partner to the valet, but the latter's demeanor did not change even as Inspector Druet turned wrathfully upon the author of the suggestion.

"I am conducting this inquiry, sir!" he thundered. Then to the man before him he added: "Your employer has been found dead, shot through the heart. Do you still persist in your refusal—?"

"Mr. Creveling dead!" The valet started back a step or two. "I—I overheard Mr. Alexander say something about 'murder' as I stopped at the door just now, but I didn't think—! This is horrible! Who—who shot him?"

He passed one hand across his lips as though to hide some uncontrollable evidence of emotion, but his eyes were fixed watchfully, unchangingly upon his interrogator.

"That is what we are endeavoring to ascertain," retorted the inspector. "Did you know of your employer's intention to come here to his house last night?"

"Yes, sir." The valet had hesitated for a shade of a second. "I was here earlier in the evening; it was I who received the caterer's men and arranged the table for supper."

McCarty smiled to himself. The man Hill was on the defensive and his very caution was proving his own undoing.

"Who was Mr. Creveling's guest?"

The curt question seemed to vibrate on the air like the echo of a single sharp note struck upon a gong and the face of George Alexander tensed visibly as he waited for its reply, but the valet merely shrugged.

"I do not know, sir."

"You did not remain, then, to wait upon the table?"

"No, sir. As I have said, I went to Mr. Creveling at his club."

"You did not return here?"

"Not until ten minutes ago." The valet's voice rang out firmly.

"When you saw Mr. Creveling at his club did he mention who was to be his guest here? Did he at any time say anything which would lead you to infer the identity of this person?"

"He did not, sir." Hill's tone was still firm, but for a moment his eyes shifted and then returned as inscrutable as ever to those of the inspector.

"Where have you been staying since Mr. Creveling has made his home at his club?"

"Here, sir." It was evident that the valet intended to render no assistance to the inquiry beyond the terse and literal replies demanded of him, but Inspector Druet persisted.

"You were acting as caretaker also?"

"No, sir. Two of the other servants—Rollins and his wife, the butler and cook—remained here for that; the rest of the staff except Mrs. Creveling's maid were dismissed when Mrs. Creveling went to the country and Mr. Creveling to his club."

The inspector exchanged a significant glance with McCarty, who still hovered quietly in the background.

"Mrs. Creveling usually left home for such protracted periods, and always dismissed practically her entire staff?"

Again there was that shade of hesitation and then the valet responded:

"No, sir. The staff was usually retained at half pay when it was intended to reopen the house again within a short time, but I understand that this season Mr. and Mrs. Creveling had made other plans."

"What other plans?"

Once more the valet shrugged.

"I cannot say, sir, except that some mention was made of traveling. I have received no instructions for the future; I feel sure, though, that I was not to be dismissed or Mr. Creveling would have said something to me about it."

"How long have you been in Mr. Creveling's employment?"

"For eleven years, sir."

Inspector Druet suddenly changed the tenor of his questioning.

"The butler and cook are not in the house. When did you see them here last?"

"Yesterday afternoon." Frank Hill shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the first sign of nervousness which he had displayed throughout the interview save his momentary shock at the intelligence of his master's death and the manner of it.

"They are not in the house now. Do you know where they have gone?"

"No, sir." There was no surprise in the valet's tone, but a sort of defiant reserve beneath the slightly ironic deference which obviously nettled the inspector.

"You knew, however, that they were to be absent last night? I want the story. Hill. No hedging!"

"Rollins, the butler, told me that Mr. Creveling had given him and his wife a holiday, but they were to be back early this morning, to prepare for Mrs. Creveling's homecoming."

"'Homecoming'?" repeated Inspector Druet sharply. "You said just now—"

"I beg pardon, sir." The quiet voice forestalled him. "I meant to say that the house was not to be reopened again with the staff this season. In a manner of speaking, it is never closed when the caretakers are here, and some one is always left in charge. I understood that Mrs. Creveling was to return this morning with her maid for a few days of preparation before starting upon her journey with Mr. Creveling. The butler and cook, Yvonne—the maid—and myself could, of course, have given sufficient service if no entertaining were contemplated."

The inspector meditated for a moment.

"Why did Mr. Creveling give the butler and cook a holiday yesterday, of ail times, when he intended to receive some one here for supper last night?" he asked finally. "Supposing the meal were to be supplied from a caterer's, why did he not require the services of the butler to wait upon the table?"

As though he realized the slip he had made the valet's eyes sought those of Creveling's late partner, but Mr. Alexander avoided them studiously.

"I can't say, sir," Hill responded at length. "Mr. Creveling told me nothing beyond my own instructions."

"Was it usual for your employer during his wife's absence to clear all the servants out of the house in order to entertain here?"

At the question and its implication Hill's color changed, but his eyes once more met those of the inspector levelly.

"I do not know that Mr. Creveling ever did that, sir; I mean, purposely. He frequently had one or more gentlemen here to supper when Mrs. Creveling was away. Sometimes the butler waited upon them, sometimes I did. I think he gave Rollins and his wife a holiday before I asked permission to have the night to myself on this occasion."

Inspector Druet evaded the issue of the valet's own movements during the hours which had passed since eleven by asking:

"Did Mr. Creveling ever entertain ladies also on these occasions?"

"During Mrs. Creveling's absence?" There was a note of shocked incredulity in the servant's tones as if he could scarcely believe that he had understood the question. "Indeed, no, sir! They were strictly stag suppers."

"Who were the gentlemen Mr. Creveling entertained here, then?" the inspector continued. "What were their names?"

"Rollins can tell you that better than I can, sir," Hill temporized. "He usually waited upon them, it was only occasionally that I took his place and then the gentlemen were sometimes strangers to me, business acquaintances of Mr. Creveling's."

"You don't know the name of a single gentleman who ever had supper here with Mr. Creveling alone?" The inspector's tone had sharpened again.

"Of course, sir, a few of them. They were all personal friends of long standing, those I did know; Mr. O'Rourke has been here once or twice, and Mr. Waverly and Mr. Cutter. I can't recall them all at the moment, sir."

McCarty, unable to contain himself longer, coughed with elaborate ostentation and after a quick side glance at him the inspector nodded.

"Mac, show this man where the body was found.—No, Mr. Alexander!" He added the last as the banker started forward nervously. "There are a few more questions I wish to ask you. Wait here, please."

Mr. Alexander sank back with an air of hopeless vexation.

"Then I trust that you will be brief!" he snapped. "I know nothing, as I told you in the beginning, which could help you in any way and this ghastly affair has been an in- expressible shock to me. When my niece arrives I must meet her with the news of her tragic bereavement and assume control of the situation as the head of the family and I cannot do so without an opportunity to pull myself together, to—to bear up under my own natural grief—!"

The door closed upon the thin, testy tones and the thought crossed McCarty's mind that the banker's emotion was somewhat tardy in finding expression, but his grimly determined face gave no indication of the idea as he piloted his charge to the study.

"'Twas there the body was found," McCarty explained as he pointed to the dark stain upon the rug, and then added with seeming irrelevance: "What did they do, Hill, at these stag parties you were telling the inspector about? Play cards?"

Before McCarty's good-natured but keen scrutiny the valet seemed to have lost a trifle of the assurance which he had maintained in the presence of the inspector and now he blinked, staring as if fascinated at the sinister spot upon the floor.

"No. They just ate and drank and smoked."

"What did they talk about?"

The man Hill raised sullen, resentful eyes at the question.

"It was not my place to listen to the conversation," he responded tartly. "I served them when Rollins wasn't here to do it and minded my own business. That's all I know."

"You'll find you're minding your own business best now, my man, if you'll speak up and come clean!" McCarty admonished sternly. "You told the inspector in there that Mr. Creveling said never a word to you about last night beyond giving you your instructions; what were they?"

The valet moistened his thin lips.

"He told me that he was having a guest here for supper; that I was to be here at six when the caterer's men arrived and arrange everything and then bring him a bag of clean linen at the club at eleven."

"And when did he tell you this?" McCarty's eyes had narrowed.

"Yesterday morning."

"Where?"

"Here. He came for some papers before going down to his office, and gave me some other instructions about his clothes; he didn't like the valet service at the club."

"And what club was this where he was staying?" McCarty asked.

"The Marathon."

"Why didn't he stay in his own home if there were three of you here to look after him?"

The valet's shoulders and eyebrows lifted expressively.

"I never asked him and he didn't tell me, but I suppose he liked the club better than an empty house; any gentleman would." For the first time Hill looked squarely at his inquisitor. "Who are you? A detective?"

"I'm a special officer on this case and my name's McCarty," the ex-roundsman replied. "You'll be only saving yourself trouble—"

"'McCarty!'" Hill interrupted and there was something very like consternation in his tones. "You're the McCarty who was in all the papers in connection with the Hoyos case and the Glamorgan affair?"

"I am that!" There was no braggadocio in Timothy McCarty's plain, matter-of-fact statement. "Now, Hill, how long had you been in the house before you knocked at the door of the room where the inspector and Mr. Alexander were?"

"Only a minute or two, sir." The tone was almost eager now and the habitual servility had returned to it. "I let myself in at the tradesmen's entrance with my own key as usual and went upstairs to get a couple of hours' sleep before Rollins and his wife returned and it would be time to bustle about and get the house in order for Mrs. Creveling's coming. I started up the back way, of course, and at the second floor I thought I'd stop and see if Mr. Creveling was in his room; he usually slept home instead of going back to the club when he'd had any one here for a late supper, and when I found nobody there I supposed maybe his guest hadn't gone yet and I'd better come down and see if they wanted any more wine or anything. Mr. Creveling's private cellar is stocked up for two or three years yet to come. I went down the front staircase and heard voices in the room where I'd laid out the supper table, so I knocked."

"You thought Mr. Creveling was still in there?" McCarty queried blandly. "I mean, when you stopped and listened before you knocked?"

The valet shot him a startled glance.

"I didn't know what to think!" he blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "I heard Mr. Alexander's voice and recognized it, of course, but for all I knew he might have been the guest Mr. Creveling was entertaining. Then he said something about 'murder' and a strange voice answered. You know the rest,' sir; I'm giving it to you straight!"

"You've been with Million-a-month Creveling for eleven years," McCarty remarked slowly, using the nickname with deliberate intent. "That's three years before his marriage. You may have come through with all you know about to-night's affair. Hill, but you've only done it because we dug it out of you. There's a lot more you know about the man you've been working for and I'm going to have it."

"There's been nothing since his marriage that all the world don't know, and precious little before that, thanks to the reporters that were forever barking at his heels because he was a free-handed spender and liked a good time!" the valet retorted. "I'm not saying Mr. Creveling was any angel in his younger days but there's nothing you can hang on him now."

"I disremember just now what all the scandal used to be about him but a look at the old newspaper files will give me a line on that." McCarty spoke as though to himself, but he watched the other narrowly. "'Twas the usual thing, I suppose: wine and women and horses and cards. The first of them at least he didn't give up when he married, by your own testimony, but how about the last? Has Creveling been gambling heavy lately, that you know of? Did he have any quiet little games here?"

Hill shook his head decisively.

"He hasn't touched a card in years, at least not that I've heard of. He never even sat in at Mrs. Creveling's bridge parties. After he married and settled down he started in antique collecting; not paintings so much but rugs and tapestries and porcelains and rare old books. Regular passion it got to be with him and he studied up on periods and such, but then he was always a natural judge of good things, Mr. Creveling was."

McCarty pondered for a moment. The other man's expression was as inscrutable as ever but there had seemed to be a thinly veiled double meaning in his last remark. Why had he been so obviously on the defensive since the beginning of the interrogation? He was shrewd and intelligent above the average of his class; surely he must realize the equivocal position in which he stood with the inspector after his open defiance and refusal to state where he had himself been during those crucial hours! McCarty tried another lead.

"This house has a kind of a new look to it, in spite of all the old things Creveling collected," he observed. "When was it built?"

"At the time of his marriage, sir; he built it for his bride. There's not a residence of its size on the Avenue to compare with it." The valet spoke with almost personal pride.

"And 'twas him put up that high blank wall at the back?" asked McCarty. "Why?"

"I never heard him say, sir. I suppose he preferred it to the back courts of the side street houses." The reserve deepened once more in Hill's tones. "It may have been Mrs. Creveling who suggested it; I cannot say."

"Did anybody ever die here before?" McCarty's own tones had lowered.

"Die?" The valet started nervously.

"In this house, I mean. Has there been a death here since it was built?"

"No, not until this!"

"That's funny. I never heard of a new house with never a death in it that sported a ghost before." McCarty seemed again to be reflecting aloud and for a moment there was silence while the other eyed him askance. At length he resumed: "You used your own latch key in coming in a while ago; who else has keys to the house?"

"I don't know." The valet spoke in evident relief. "Rollins, of course, and his wife. The rest of the staff were supposed to turn theirs in to the housekeeper when they left, but they may have had duplicates made. The housekeeper went back to Scotland a month ago when the establishment was closed and Mrs. Creveling started visiting, but I don't know what became of the keys."

"I suppose you do know, though, what you're letting yourself in for by refusing to tell where you have been since eleven o'clock?" inquired McCarty. "You are the last so far as we know to have seen Creveling alive, you had a key to come and go as you please and you won't try to make out an alibi for yourself. It's liable to go hard with you."

"Maybe," Hill commented without bravado, but there was a peculiar glint in his swiftly lowered eyes. "If you're on this case, Mr. McCarty, it's for you and the inspector to prove that I was here after eleven, not for me to prove that I wasn't. I know American law, sir."

In spite of his respectful tone there was a covert challenge in it which McCarty grimly accepted.

"You've had reason to, maybe," he retorted significantly. "You've nothing more to add to what you've told the inspector and me?—Then we'll just go back—"

A heavy, dull thud sounding from the main hall broke into his sentence and with a common impulse both men turned to the door. McCarty reached it first and opening it stepped mechanically outside just as the inspector and Mr. Alexander issued from the breakfast room.

Across the rotunda, flooded with a mingling of pale sunshine and the more brazen electric lights, the four men beheld a figure which momentarily held them spellbound. A few steps from the main entrance doors which had just closed behind her a woman stood looking from one to another of them. Ash-blonde hair above deep violet eyes peeped from beneath her motor hood and her tall, statuesque form, swathed in a long satin coat which revealed rather than concealed its splendid lines, was drawn up to its full height as she regarded them for a long minute in a silence which none of them seemed inclined to break.

At last her lips moved and with perfect self-possession she inquired slowly:

"What is it, please? What has happened to my husband?"