Allering paused. Then — "We both stood there in the darkness, unable at first to speak or move," he went on. "Then Louise whispered, 'Charlie, what was it? What was he doing?' I didn't tell her — I knew he had contrived some diabolical way to get rid of me, though just how a liquid poison on a piece of metal could do it, I didn't know; I resolved under no conditions to touch it. Louise became frightened and started to cry. She was pent up and nervous before, now she became hysterical. I tried to reassure her and told her she had best go back to the house. Though she tried to control her feelings, I felt she knew instinctively what I did, that her husband had, planned my murder!"

  "Just as she braced up and started to leave me — a man vaulted the stone wall, and lurched into view, a pool of moonlight outlining him distinctly. I think he was a tramp or a thief. I had never seen him before. He wandered about aimlessly, until he came to the hydrant. Almost before I knew what he was doing, he had put his mouth to the socket and turned on the water. The next moment he gave that cry you heard. We saw him stagger backwards, fling up his arms, waving them wildly, then fall over, doubling up and writhing as though in horrible pain. It only lasted a moment. Then he was dead. Louise screamed. She started to run. She fell twice. I was going to follow her, then I knew I mustn't. I crept further back into the shadow of the arbor. After you all came back into the house, I stole out the other way, climbed the wall and returned through the servants' entrance."

  "Why should Andrew wish to kill you?" Lannen asked abruptly.

  Allering rose again.

  He crossed to the lawyer, and stood under a stand lamp, allowing its light to shine directly on his pallid face. The skin over his cheek bones was drawn and tight. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes. His young mouth was hard and grim; but in spite of everything there was a look of candor and manliness about him which impressed Lannen.

  "Arthur Lannen, don't you know me?"

  "Why — Why—" the vague something which had disturbed Lannen resolved itself into a memory. The memory of a pink-cheeked, red-haired lad, with a sunny smile, an almost cherubic cast of countenance.

  He gave a gasp. "Charlie Moore — not — Charlie Moore?"

  "Yes!"

  "Louise's brother! But why—?"

  An automobile came into the driveway, stopped with a noisy purr of the engine. Some men alighted, then the door bell gave a metallic clatter.

  The boy clutched Lannen's arm.

  "For God's sake, keep me out of this!" he cried. "I'll explain later."

  Before the lawyer could answer he had disappeared behind the satin draperies.

  IV

  Lannen opened the door before the servant reached it. The inspector, followed by his medical examiner and a couple of officers, strode into the hallway.

  "Well, what's the dope?" the inspector asked abruptly.

  He was a large man with a twenty-four hours' crop of blue black beard; his eyes were dark and very keen. He wore horn rimmed spectacles which he kept constantly removing and polishing. Lannen knew that in that brief second's survey of the room he had noticed the almost imperceptible swaying of the curtains as they fell together behind Charlie Moore.

  "You called me?" the inspector continued, not waiting for his question to be answered.

  "Yes."

  "Where's Willoughby?" The doctor was well known on the Island. "Outside. A dead man was found on the grounds. Some sneak thief or hobo evidently. We thought it best to send for you. It may be heart-failure. It may be murder."

  "Alright. Take me to him."

  As they stepped outside, Lannen realized that morning had arrived.

  In the hazy light he saw Dr. Willoughby seated on a stone bench, his shaggy bearded chin cupped in his hand, as he stared with evident interest at the huddled splotch on the ground before him. The servants had grouped themselves some little distance away, evidently discussing the gruesome event; but at the sight of the officers they hushed abruptly.

  Lannen glanced quickly at the hydrant. It was open, a slow trickle of water resolved itself into a little rivulet below it, and wended away into a tiny stream toward the greenhouses a trifle below it.

  Willoughby rose leisurely at their appearance and extended his hand to the inspector.

  "Mr. Dwyer," he said, "I'm Dr. Willoughby; this is my home — it's unfortunate—"

  "Yes, I know Doctor—" Dwyer interrupted. "The man's dead alright. You don't know him, do you?"

  Willoughby shook his head. "No; seems to be a hobo, doesn't he? I fancy he died of heart failure, but I'd rather your examiner passed upon the case. I don't think it advisable for you to depend solely upon my decision. It's awkward happening on my grounds, you know."

  He spoke easily. All traces of the strain of the evening before seemed to have vanished.

  The examiner knelt on the damp ground and took a brief survey of the body.

  "No indication of foul play?" he said.

  He scowled uncertainly, then looked from Willoughby's face to the inspector's. "He seems to have died suddenly, with acute agony. Rather an unusual attitude for a heart failure to assume, don't you think so, Dr. Willoughby?"

  "I do; that is why I hesitated to diagnose it as such."

  "And yet," the physician leaned closer, "I–I — I'm not prepared to say it isn't."

  "Look him over, Riley," said Dwyer abruptly to a younger man in plain clothes — "see if there's anything to identify him on his clothes."

  "Plain hobo," said the other after a moment's survey; there were no cards, letters, nor marks of any kind on the body or clothing to lead to any knowledge of the man.

  "Heart failure it is, I take it," said Dwyer grimly. "Must a caught the poor devil suddenly. Probably dropped in here to steal a night's lodging, and having a bum heart keeled over."

  Lannen started to speak, hesitated, then turned abruptly to Dr. Willoughby.

  There was an enigmatical look on the physician's bearded face. Lannen almost fancied that triumph gleamed through his black eyes.

  "You — you — aren't going to have an inquest?" the lawyer queried.

  "Not necessary," Dwyer replied. "Thing seems pretty clear to me."

  He turned deferentially to Willoughby. "You passed it as heart failure, also, didn't you, Doctor?"

  Willoughby bowed his head in assent.

  "We'll have the body removed at once," the inspector continued. "Riley, you can stay here until the wagon comes. If there's nothing further, we'll bid you good-morning."

  Something seemed to snap in Lannen's brain. The story the young gardener had told him, the scream the dead man had given, had made too deep an impression on the lawyer's mind to be dismissed lightly.

  "Doctor—" he exclaimed, touching the medical assistant's arm, "do persons dying suddenly of heart failure give a cry of mortal agony?"

  "Hey?"

  Lannen repeated the question.

  "No — no, I think not. It would be unusual, quite unusual but not impossible for them to cry out. Death comes too suddenly as a rule for them to make any sound — death so painful as this. Why do you ask?"

  "This man gave a scream. I heard it. So did Mrs. Willoughby, who found the body."

  The inspector dug the blunt toe of his shoe into the grass at his feet. He coughed, then looked at Willoughby, back to Lannen's expressive face, then to his assistant. A slow flush mounted to his forehead.

  "This puts another complexion on the matter," he said quietly. "Where is Mrs. Willoughby?"

  "In the house," her husband replied. "She was badly upset about the matter and has gone in."

  "Stay here, Riley. Come on with me the rest of you." An air of alertness had taken hold of Dwyer, as though he suddenly sensed something of interest. As the servants, huddled together, did not move, he gave a peremptory gesture toward them, and repeated the command for them to return to the house with him.

  V

  Once inside the house Willoughby became a genial host, inquiring of the officers if they desired anything to drink, and when Dwyer accepted with alacrity, he ordered the butler to serve all present.

  Dwyer wandered about the room for a few moments, touching a bit of furniture here, a drapery there, and puffing viciously on a strong and vile smelling cigar. After he had swallowed a large drink of old whiskey, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he asked that Mrs. Willoughby be called.

  "You heard this fellow scream?" he said turning to Lannen, while they waited for her appearance.

  "Yes."

  "Wake you up?"

  "No, I was awake."

  "How's that? Insomnia? What time did he scream?"

  "About half-past four. I should judge. No, I don't suffer with insomnia. I'm usually a heavy sleeper."

  "Something else wakened you then?"

  "Yes."

  "What?"

  "That's hard to say. Possibly being in a strange room and bed. I'm a guest here, you know, possibly the quiet of the country after the city — or — I fancied I heard foot-steps outside my door."

  Willoughby leaned forward.

  His black eyes lightened, the pupils became mere pin points.

  "What kind of foot-steps?" inquired Dwyer.

  "That I can't state. I'm not prepared to say that I heard any. I may have fancied I did. If I did hear them, they were very soft — cautious I should say."

  "A man's or a woman's?"

  "I don't know — but I think a man's."

  Willoughby sank back in the chair, gripping the arms of it with long stained fingers.

  "How long after you heard these foot-steps was it that you heard this scream?"

  "I should judge thirty minutes. I lay in bed some little time, then unable to sleep I got up and sat by the window."

  "Does your window face those greenhouses?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you see this man enter the grounds?"

  "No, I had left die window when he screamed."

  "And you saw nothing suspicious out there?"

  Lannen hesitated. He caught the glance his host directed toward him. and coughed. Something impelled him to say "No."

  Louise Willoughby came into the room. She had removed her be-draggled evening gown, and had replaced it with a tea gown of lavender satin and lace. Her face was ghastly pale in the morning light. Her eyes wide and very dark.

  Lannen suddenly felt a great pity for her. Her heavy mass of dark red hair she had let down and braided into a great rope which hung over one shoulder. It made her look younger, almost girlish.

  At her entrance Willoughby merely raised his head, looked at her a second, then back toward the inspector.

  She accepted the chair Lannen offered her.

  "You wished to see me?" she said.

  "Yes, Mrs. Willoughby. I'm sorry to disturb you, but this unfortunate death on your grounds makes it necessary." Dwyer's voice unconsciously softened as he addressed her.

  "I understand. Please pardon my appearance, I had gone to bed."

  "You were the first to find the dead man's body, weren't you, Mrs. Willoughby?"

  "Yes."

  "You were alone?"

  "No." Her gaze did not falter, nor did she look at her husband.

  "Who was with you?"

  "A young man, Mr. Altering."

  "Did this young man — Mr. Allering — see—?"

  She interrupted him. "We both saw him fall!"

  "Fall! The man wasn't dead when you first saw him?"

  The woman bit her lip. Then she shook her head. "No, Mr. Allering and I were in the arbor near the greenhouses. We saw a man climb over the fence. He staggered. Then — then—," her eyes shifted and rested on the face of her husband.

  Willoughby was yellow. His black eyes like beads stared at her with all the fascination of a snake coiled to spring.

  She shivered — "Then — he gave a terrible cry, flung up his arms and fell over writhing. I think he died instantly. I screamed too. It was horrible to see a man die. Then I started to run. He lay in my pathway. It was dark — the moon went" under a cloud right after it happened. I fell — I touched his cold face—"

  She paused, staring straight ahead of her as if visualizing what had taken place.

  "That is all?" said Dwyer.

  "Yes." Lannen wondered if Dwyer realized the woman was lying.

  "Where is this Allering now?" the officer inquired, looking about.

  The servants, who had come into the room on returning to the house, shook their heads.

  "I don't know," Mrs. Willoughby answered.

  "Probably in his room," snapped her husband, speaking for the first time. "He is the gardener employed here."

  Dwyer merery raised his eyebrows. He studied the pale patrician face of the woman, then turned to one of his assistants. "Riley, go with a servant to get him."

  VI

  Dwyer and his medical adviser again traversed the lawn to the greenhouses. Lannen went with them. The operator whom Dwyer had left in charge of the body grinned a sickly welcome as they approached. Again Lannen note" d the dripping hydrant. Dwyer stalked about the grounds. Crossing to the greenhouses he opened a door and stepped inside.

  He was gone but a moment. When he returned, he made a survey of the arbor, and the stone wall which surrounded the grounds. The grass was trampled and crushed; but no definite footprints were discernible.

  "Stevens, go back to the house and see what's the matter that Riley hasn't found that gardener," he said abruptly.

  The medical examiner, whose attention had been centered on the dead man, looked up quickly.

  "It's heart failure alright, Dwyer," he said.

  Dwyer merely grunted.

  The man who had been with the body hitched his trousers, and passed the back of a hairy hand across his mouth. He started briskly toward the house, paused abruptly and whirling around, crossed to the hydrant. As he stopped to drink from the faucet, Lannen cried out in an unnatural voice.

  "Don't do that!"

  The young officer straightened abruptly. "Speaking to me?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "What's the matter?"

  "Don't touch that hydrant."

  Stevens came closer.

  "I don't understand," he said.

  Wondering if he were making a fool of himself, or if what Allering had said were true, Lannen hesitated. The inspector looked at him inquiringly. Lannen laughed nervously.

  "Well?" said Dwyer.

  He removed his horn rimmed glasses, and polished them vigorously. His keen eyes squinted. Lannen inwardly squirmed under the scrutiny.

  "I may be mistaken," the lawyer said uneasily, "but I'm under the impression that the man died after drinking from that faucet." Stevens whistled.

  Lannen realized he had told too much to withhold any more, and continued quietly.

  "Allering came to me after Mrs. Willoughby retired. He said the dead man took a drink, then fell writhing to the ground. He may have imagined it. I don't know — but it's well to take no chances."

  "Mrs. Willoughby did not mention this."

  "No."

  "Where did Allering go? Why hasn't Riley found him?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well," mused the inspector — "it's damned queer. We'll get a glass, and test this water."

  "Here's a tin cup," said the younger officer, reaching for one which hung on a nail just below the hydrant.

  Lannen suddenly remembered the gardener's words, when he mentioned the caution Willoughby had exercised in wiping the moisture from the faucet. He stepped forward quietly and drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it about his hand before turning the spicket, then he drew some water and handed it to the medical examiner.

  It was clear as crystal.

  "Willoughby has a laboratory where he makes tests in chemistry," the lawyer said.

  "Stay here," Dwyer said to the operator he had left with the body before. Then he turned to the others with a curt nod of his head toward the house. "We'll use the laboratory, though I've a hunch there's nothing to this water business; but you never can tell, and we've got to locate this fellow Allering."

  VII

  As they entered the house, Willoughby rose abruptly. Lannen sensed a tension in the air, as though the physician and his wife had been quarreling. The woman's face was bloodless. The great purple shadows under her eyes, and her white lips, gave her an almost ethereal beauty. She smiled a wan greeting as though welcoming the interruption of an unpleasant scene.

  "Dr. Willoughby," said the inspector abruptly, "Dr. Graves, here, would like to use your laboratory for a little test if you don't mind."

  "Test?" smiled Willoughby suavely.

  "Yes; of the hydrant water. Mr. Lannen is under the impression that the dead hobo took a drink from your hydrant and keeled over. Water looks alright, but we'd like to make sure."

  The smile never left Willoughby's face, though Lannen fancied it grew tighter.

  "I'll be very glad to assist you in any way," the physician said, "though I'm positive the water had nothing to do with the poor chap's death. We don't use it for drinking purposes, but it's pure. However, as you say, it's best to make sure. Come this way if you please, my laboratory is on the top floor."

  He led the way to the odorous room that was the scene of his many chemical tests. As they reached the door, for a second he hesitated. He drew a deep breath and inserted a key in the lock. It did not turn. The physician looked puzzled.

  "That's strange," he muttered. He rattled the knob.

  "Maybe the lock has sprung," said the inspector grimly.

  Willoughby shook his head.

  "It seems to be locked from the inside," he said.

  The smile left his face — he became yellower if possible.

  There came to them the rustle of papers inside the room, the sound of someone moving.

  The men stared at each other.

  Willoughby swayed a trifle, and lurched against the door.

  Dwyer thrust a huge fist forward and gave the panel a resounding kick.

 

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