The Come Back Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  Investigation

  Nor did Thorpe's nerves grow calmer. Both Mrs. Crane and Julie tried tosoothe him, but he was jumpy and his mouth twitched spasmodically.

  The women endeavored to change the subject and talked of other things,whereupon Thorpe sat, brooding,--his dark, handsome face strained anddespairful.

  "Now, McClellan," Julie said, at last, decidedly, "it's awful enough,goodness knows, but I'll go crazy if you sit there like that any longer!Let's think what's to be done. In the first place, there's Carly to beconsidered. She's worse hit than you are. Oh, I know you and Gilbertwere great friends and all that,--but I think he and Carly were morethan friends."

  "Julie," said her mother, "don't assume more than you know. Carly hasn'tforgotten Peter,--of that I'm sure."

  "No; and I don't say there was anything definite between her and GilBlair, but I think it would have come in time. Gilbert was crazy overher, even before they all went on that trip, and when Peter didn't comeback, I think Gilbert felt he had a right to win Carly if he could."

  "Oh, he had right enough," Mrs. Crane conceded, "but--I suppose I'm abit jealous of my son's memory. However, I'm sorry for poor littleCarly, if she did care for Gilbert in that way."

  And then Carlotta came in. Shelby was with her; he had heard the newsand had gone straight to Carlotta's home, and they had come over to theCranes' together.

  Carlotta's eyes were red with weeping, but she was even more indignantthan sad.

  "Who could have killed Gilbert?" she cried, "and why should any one doso?"

  "Killed him!" cried Julie, "what _do_ you mean?"

  "Why, yes,--haven't you heard? Gilbert was poisoned."

  "Oh, Carlotta! Who said so?"

  "Kit told me;--tell them about it,--I can't."

  So Shelby told them.

  "Mr. Crane telephoned me," he said, "only about half an hour ago. Hesaid the doctor found that Gilbert was poisoned, either by himself----"

  "Oh, he never did it himself!" Carlotta cried out. "Why should he? Hewas just on the eve of the great competition,--and he was so excitedabout it, and so hopeful,--it's absurd to say he killed himself!"

  "Of course it is," agreed Julie. "But are they sure it was poison? Macthought it was acute indigestion,--or a stroke, or something like that."

  "No," Shelby said. "Mr. Crane said there was no doubt about it, I meanabout the poisoning. But don't be too sure that Gilbert didn't take ithimself. It might have been by mistake, you know. And anyway it's amistake to theorize much until we know more of the details. I'm going upto Blair's place. Coming along, Thorpe?"

  "No,--no,--I don't believe I will,--I'll stay here a while, if Mrs.Crane will let me."

  "Of course," said Mrs. Crane, in her kind, motherly way, "Mac is allbroken up. And no wonder! The shock of finding Gilbert dead----"

  "Oh, Mr. Thorpe, did you make the discovery?" exclaimed Carlotta. "Howawful! I don't wonder you're upset. Yes, Kit, you go up to Gilbert's.There may be something you can do."

  Shelby went away, and when he reached the studio the first one to greethim was Mr. Crane.

  "Hello, Shelby, I'm glad you came. This is a bad business."

  "Tell me all about it,--I know only the main fact,--of Gilbert's death."

  "Yes, that's the main fact, and the next one in importance is that theboy was poisoned. It's not known whether he took the poison himself orwhether----"

  "But how? I mean, what are the circumstances?"

  "Come on in,--the police are here and the doctor. Listen to them."

  The two went into the familiar studio, the big room where Blair and hisfriends had so often forgathered with jests and laughter.

  There were two doctors there and two or three men from the PoliceDepartment.

  The Medical Examiner was talking.

  "It's one of those cases," he said, "where there seem to be no clews atall. The autopsy revealed the mere fact that Mr. Blair was poisoned byprussic acid, taken into the stomach. But there is no evidence in theway of a glass or container of any sort, there is no odor of prussicacid about his lips, no real reason to suspect foul play, and yet noapparent reason to think he killed himself. It may have been anaccident, yet I can see no real evidence of that. It's mysterious fromthe very lack of anything suspicious."

  "Was he--was he in bed?" asked Shelby, who had heard no detail ofThorpe's finding the body.

  "Yes," said Doctor Middleton, the Examiner. "It seems his room-matefound him, in bed, in his night-wear, and immediately called the doormanof the house."

  "And then Thorpe lit out," remarked Detective Weston. "I want to seehim."

  "Oh, Thorpe's all right," said Mr. Crane. "He's down at my house. I'llvouch for him. You needn't look that way for the criminal,--if there isa criminal."

  "I should say not!" declared Shelby. "McClellan Thorpe and Mr. Blairwere the greatest friends."

  "But I can't think Gilbert was killed," Mr. Crane went on. "Seems to meif that were the case, there'd be some evidence of an intruder. And asGilbert has no friends,--I mean no relatives or family in the city, I'lltake up the matter myself. I'd like a thorough investigation, not somuch to prove there was a criminal as to prove there wasn't one. I don'tthink there was, but I'd like a search made for any light that can bethrown on the matter."

  "Oh, we'll investigate all right," said Weston; "I think somebody bumpedthe man off. I don't see any possibility for an accident, but it's morelike suicide to me."

  "Let's look around a bit," said Shelby. "I'm with you, Mr. Crane, inassuming responsibility. Why, who is there to take charge of Gilbert'sthings,--his estate?"

  "It's hardly a big enough matter to call an estate," Crane said; "ofcourse, I know more or less of Blair's affairs, and he wasn't by anymeans affluent. Indeed, his hopes of the prize in the coming competitionrepresented his chief asset."

  "Thought he'd get a prize, did he?" said Weston, "for what?"

  "For his architectural design," Crane answered. "He was working hard,and was hopeful. That's why I feel sure he never killed himself."

  "Here are his designs," said Shelby, as he opened a big portfolio. "Whydon't you take these, Mr. Crane, and take them home with you. They'rereally valuable."

  "Of course they are,--I'll do that," agreed the older man. "Blair has asister, somewhere out West. If anything comes of the drawings, it willbe hers."

  "Can you get in touch with his family?" asked Middleton.

  "Don't know anything about them," Crane returned. "I suppose there mustbe letters or an address book or some such matters in Blair's desk.Thorpe may know more about it than I do."

  "Thorpe may know a lot of things," suggested Weston. "Better get him uphere, I say."

  "All right," Benjamin Crane said, after a moment's pause. "He's down atmy house,--I'll telephone him to come up here now."

  But when connection was made it transpired that Thorpe had left theCrane house and nobody knew where he was.

  "Looks bad," said Weston, shortly. "Why'd he run away?"

  "See here, Mr. Weston," Crane said, "if you've any suspicion againstMcClellan Thorpe just put it out of your mind. He had no hand in Mr.Blair's death----"

  "I didn't say he had."

  "I know you didn't, but you implied it, and I want to quash any suchsuggestion at once."

  "It's absurd," Shelby agreed. "You don't know the friendship thatexisted between the two men. Why, they were fellow architects and havelived here together for over two years. They were like brothers."

  "That's all right, but why did Thorpe run away?"

  "He hasn't run away!" Crane said, "what a ridiculous charge! Merelybecause he left my house, you say he's run away! He's probably on hisway up here. This is his home."

  "Well, until he gets here, I'll look around his room a bit," Westonremarked, and as he went into Thorpe's bedroom, Crane followed.

  There was nothing sinister there. Merely the usual appointments, andrather plain ones, for the young architects were not of luxurious tastesor m
eans.

  With a practiced eye and deft hand, Weston went through dresser drawers,and cupboard shelves. Looked into the books on the night table, and in ashort time had satisfied himself that there was no evidence apparent, sofar.

  Into the bathroom next, they all went. This the two men shared, and thedetective scrutinized the glasses and brushes that were on shelves,either side of the wash stand. They were of tidy appearance andpresented merely the array that might be expected.

  Weston sniffed hard at the glasses, but could detect no untoward odors,nor any sign of poison or drugs of any sort.

  The small white cupboard on the wall showed only a few bottlescontaining toilet appurtenances and simple medicines.

  "Witch Hazel, Peroxide, Talcum powder, Cholera mixture and soda mints,"he said, from the various labels,--"hello, here's laudanum! How aboutthat?"

  "No," Doctor Middleton declared, "it wasn't laudanum poisoning. It wasprussic acid. The effects are quite different, and there's no mistakingthem. I don't know what the young men were doing with laudanum, but itwasn't that that killed Mr. Blair."

  "Curious, to have poison around at all," said Shelby, musingly.

  "Gives a hint of intended suicide," suggested Weston. "Though notnecessarily----"

  "I should say not!" broke in Benjamin Crane. "Gilbert Blair wasn'tcoward enough to take his own life for any reason. Why, he was my son'sfriend. It was an accident,--and the fact of finding that other poisonabout, points toward accident, to my mind."

  "Just how do you make that out, Mr. Crane?" asked Weston, with a slightsmile.

  "Why"--began Crane, a little lamely--"I'm not sure that I can explain,but it appeared to me that if Blair had one poison in his possession, hemight have had the other, and----"

  "How do you know this laudanum was Mr. Blair's possession?" askedWeston. "Might it not have been Mr. Thorpe's?"

  "How you hark back to Thorpe!" exclaimed Crane, with real petulance. "Iwish you'd stop it, Weston. If you've a definite suspicion that hekilled Gilbert Blair, say so, but don't throw out these silly hints."

  "Nothing especially silly about them, Mr. Crane," the detective wasquite unruffled, "only I hold that the poison we've just found is quiteas likely to be Mr. Thorpe's as Mr. Blair's. That's all."

  "Of course it is," Shelby said, placatingly, "but that's neither herenor there. If you have reason to think Mr. Blair was murdered, you'vereason to look for the criminal. But I don't think you've proved it wasnot an accident, and until you do, it's well to be careful how you throwsuspicion about."

  "It's not so easy to prove an accident,--or a murder, either,--whenthere's practically no clew to be found. Therefore, it's our duty toquestion any one who can give any material evidence, especially one whowas presumably the last one to see Mr. Blair alive."

  "Except the murderer,--if there was one," said Shelby.

  "Yes, and if he was not the murderer himself," grunted Weston.

  "Send for that doorman," said Middleton, a bit curtly. "Let's getsomewhere."

  Hastings, being summoned, appeared, and told all he knew, which waslittle, and all he surmised, which was more.

  "Yes," he said, "Mr. Thorpe called me, this morning, and when I came, hewas all of a shiver. He sat on the edge of that chair there, and histeeth chattered and his voice shook----"

  "Small wonder!" said Crane. "Mac is a very nervous man, and a shock suchas he must have had----"

  "Go on, Hastings," ordered Doctor Middleton.

  "Well, Mr. Thorpe said Mr. Blair was ill, and told me to go in and seehim. Now, of course, Mr. Thorpe knew Mr. Blair was dead, but he said hewas ill. Why did he do that?"

  "Tell your story," said Crane, scowling at him. "Don't ask foolquestions as you go along!"

  "Yes, sir. Well, I went in and I saw Mr. Blair was dead. And I told Mr.Thorpe so, and he didn't seem surprised, but he was all of a blue funk,and he said, 'Well,--get a doctor--or whatever is the thing to do.' Justlike that. He didn't show any grief or any sorrow,--only just seemedscared to death."

  "And he didn't show any surprise?" This from Middleton.

  "Of course he didn't!" Crane cried; "of course he knew Blair was deadwhen he called Hastings. I know Thorpe, and he's a most nervoustemperament. And when he called for help, as of course he had to do, itwas the most natural thing in the world for him to say that Mr. Blairwas ill. Nor would he be apt to show his grief then and there. He wasstunned, and moreover, he's not the man to talk over his sorrow with thejanitor! I say Thorpe acted as any of us would do in the samecircumstances. Now, I for one, object to having him misjudged."

  "You're a good champion, Mr. Crane," said Doctor Middleton, "and I don'tblame you for standing up for your friend. But he'll have to speak forhimself,--Mr. Thorpe will,--and the sooner we get hold of him thebetter."

  "I agree to all that," Crane replied, "all I ask is that he shall not becondemned unheard."

  "That's reasonable enough," granted Middleton, "but we must get hold ofhim soon."

  "He'll come back here," Mr. Crane assured them. "He hasn't run away, asyou seem to think, but he has a natural aversion to this place, and Ishouldn't be surprised if he stayed away for a few days."

  "A few days! Where would he stay?" asked the Examiner.

  "Probably at his Club."

  "Which Club? I'll call it up and see if he's there now," Weston said,briskly.

  "The Artists' Club. Call it, and they'll tell you something about him,I'm sure."

  Weston called the Club and received word that Thorpe was there.

  "Ask him to speak to me," he ordered, and in a moment he was talking toThorpe himself.

  "Yes, I'll come home right away," Thorpe agreed, when urgently invitedto do so.

  "I told you so," said Crane, triumphantly; "that man had no thought ofrunning away, but he dreads this place just now. He's of a sensitive,nervous nature, and I hope, Mr. Weston, you'll be decent to him. Nothird degree manners,--that won't help with McClellan Thorpe."

  They all remained awaiting Thorpe's return. Shelby busied himselflooking over some of Blair's books and papers, while Benjamin Cranetalked to Dr. Middleton.

  He rather liked the Medical Examiner, but he did not at all admiredetective Weston or his ways. So he endeavored to give Doctor Middletona mental picture of Thorpe, and prepare him for an interview that shouldtemper justice with mercy, or at least, consideration.

  Weston spent the time prowling round Blair's bedroom in search of clews.But his keen glances could find no single thing that gave any hint ofmeans or reason for suicide, nor any that suggested an accident.

  "Wherefore," he concluded to himself, "it's a murder. No clew, means acareful removal of any clew,--and a mighty clever criminal at that.Maybe it wasn't friend Thorpe, but a few words with him will convince meone way or the other."

  Thorpe came, and though his expression was inscrutable and his face setand stern, it seemed to those who knew him best that he was trying tohold himself together and not give way to his nervousness.

  "Take a seat, Mr. Thorpe," Doctor Middleton said, courteously, afterCrane had introduced them; "we expect from you a straightforward accountof all you can tell us of your experiences this morning."

  "Why should my account be other than straightforward?" Thorpe said,breathing hard, and making an evident effort at self-control. "I havenothing to conceal, and if I seem distraught, it is, I dare say, notastonishing."

  "Now, Mac," Mr. Crane said, kindly, "don't bristle. We're all yourfriends, and we only want you----"

  "Good heavens, Mr. Crane, why do you take that conciliatory attitude?I've no confession to make,-- I-- I didn't kill Blair----"

  "Why do you say that?" cried Weston. "Who even hinted that you killedMr. Blair? Why do you think anybody killed him?"

  "Why do you?" countered Thorpe, turning an angry glance at thedetective.

  "I haven't said I did."

  "Not in so many words,--but you imply it. I tell you I didn't kill him!I _didn't_!"

  Thorpe was not excited of mann
er, he was very calm, but his blazing eyesand quivering mouth, and his intensity, rather than force of speech gavehim the effect of intense excitement.

  "Don't deny or assert, Mr. Thorpe," said Middleton, coldly. "Just tellyour story. At what time did you rise?"

  "About ten o'clock," was the short reply.

  "And then?"

  "Then I bathed, shaved and dressed just as usual. I generally dressbefore Mr. Blair, and I thought nothing of his silence."

  "His bedroom door was closed?"

  "Yes; then, after I was dressed and about to go out to my breakfast, Icalled to him through the door."

  "What did you say?"

  "I can't repeat the exact words, but it was only to the effect of'good-by, old chap,' or maybe, 'I'm off, Blair,' or something of thesort."

  "And you went on?"

  "I didn't hear him reply,--he usually says, 'All right, Mac,' so Irepeated my call. Then, when he didn't respond that time, I knocked athis door."

  "Fearing something was wrong?"

  "N-no,--not wrong,-- I think I just wanted him to say something----"

  "Why were you so anxious he should say something?" This last fromWeston, with a direct glance.

  "Why, good Lord, man," Thorpe's eyes blazed, "because I am accustomed toa reply, and when it didn't come, I naturally wondered why."

  "Didn't you think he might merely be asleep?"

  "I didn't think anything about that. I acted on impulse. I didn't hearhim, and I wanted to see him."

  "And you did? You opened the door?"

  "Yes, after I knocked twice,--then I-- I opened his door."

  "It was not locked?"

  "No; we never lock our bedroom doors."

  "Go on,--and then?"

  "Then"--Thorpe spoke slowly, as if choosing his words--"then, I saw himlying in the bed,--still,--as if asleep. I went closer, and I saw by thelook on his face that he was dead."

  "You knew that at once?" asked Middleton. "You didn't think he was onlyasleep----"

  "No,--the pallor was unmistakable----"

  "Have you often looked upon death?"

  "Never before,--except at a funeral."

  "And yet you knew at once it was death you saw,--not sleep. That isremarkable, Mr. Thorpe."

  Thorpe met Middleton's eyes, and then his own fell.

  "I can't help that, Doctor," he said; "I was sure,--that is,--almostsure Mr. Blair was dead."

  "Yet you called Hastings and told him Mr. Blair was ill."

  "Yes,--I couldn't seem to say the--the other----"

  "Why did you kill him, Mr. Thorpe?"

  "I-- I kill him! Oh, I didn't!-- I told you I didn't!"

  "Yes; but we can't believe you."