Chapter XIII The Detective
“I know,” said Leila, thoughtfully, her pretty blonde head on one side, “that it seems silly to Dorothy, but I do believe that sofa-pillow has something to do with the mystery.”
“I’m sure it has,” said Gale, who was approaching that point where if Leila had said the phase of the moon was responsible for Arnold’s disappearance, he would have agreed with her. “But for the life of me, I can’t see how.”
“Nor I,” and Leila’s straight brows contracted as she puzzled over the matter. “But you know, Mr. Gale, it is queer that it should get away so suddenly, and, too, detectives always find out things from some such strange incident as that. When Mr. Wheeler comes, I’ve no doubt he’ll consider it a matter of importance, but I want to deduce for myself what it means.”
But Leila couldn’t get any inkling of the sofa-cushion’s present whereabouts, nor could she form any theory of how it could possibly be connected with Justin’s absence.
“It’s utterly absurd, Leila,” said Fred Crane, “to imagine a sofa-pillow as a clue! What part could it play in the mystery? You don’t suppose Justin took it with him?”
“No; of course he wouldn’t do that. And yet, where is it? It was here on Monday, for I was matching its colors to make one like it I’ve asked the housekeeper and the servants.”
“What did they say?” asked Crane, not much interested.
“Only Mrs. Garson and the parlor-maid remembered it at all. And they said they knew nothing about it.”
“Perhaps the parlor-maid stole it,” volunteered Gale. “You say it was a valuable one.”
“Not valuable,” corrected Leila, “but especially pretty. But Polly wouldn’t steal it. She seems a nice girl. Maybe she took it to copy it, and was afraid to own up.”
“That’s probably it,” said Crane. “But it can’t possibly be connected with Justin Arnold in any way.”
The three were still discussing the sofa-cushion when Mr. Wheeler arrived. The entire household assembled in the living-room to meet him.
While by no means a fine-looking or distinguished man, James Wheeler gave an impression of capability. Rather short and of stocky build, his alert air and quick movements invested him with a degree of importance, and his shrewd eyes betokened an incisive intelligence and a good sense of values. He was plain and straightforward in his methods. No sly and subtle manoeuvring for him. Plain facts, and logical deductions therefrom, constituted his stock-in-trade. His manner was a trifle pompous, as fitted his calling, but he was courteous and deferential, and liked quick action when once he set about his business.
He seated himself in a large chair at one end of the long room, and seemed to take a hasty mental stock of the people grouped about before he spoke at all. He glanced appraisingly at Miss Wadsworth, but as that lady was exceedingly nervous and almost hysterical, the detective looked further for a nominal head of the house.
Fred Crane read his thoughts and volunteered: “Mr. Wheeler, I daresay you want some one to give you the principal facts of the matter in hand, and I will do so. While by no means a detective in the technical sense of the term, I am by nature of a reasoning mind, and I’ve no doubt I can tell you the salient features more concisely than some of the others present.”
Wheeler looked at him. “Thank you, sir,” he said, “but I’ll not trouble you. I may be peculiar, but I prefer to get at the facts in my own way. Of course, I know that Mr. Arnold has mysteriously been absent since Monday night, or rather Tuesday morning. For he may not have left the house until after daylight. It is now Wednesday morning, and it seems desirable to endeavor to learn where he may be. I will, if you please, address my inquiries to one or another as I may be inclined, but if any one knows of any important fact I trust he will state it when the occasion calls for it.”
Though the confidential secretary was perhaps the best informed as to his employer’s habits and customs, yet a glance at Chapin’s gloomy and forbidding face caused the detective to look in another direction. Mr. Crane, he deemed too officious and too anxious to give information, so he settled on the firm of lawyers, and chose Gale, as being the senior member.
Mr. Wheeler did not say that he had thus made an intentional selection, nor did it take him more than a moment to make up his mind. With a quiet manner, that somehow held the rest listening in silence, he asked some questions of Emory Gale. In a few moments he was in possession of the main facts of the case as known. “Do you think Mr. Arnold could have been drowned?” he asked abruptly.
“No,” replied Gale; “I don’t think that.”
“Do you think he is, for any reason, hiding on purpose?”
“I do not,” said Gale decidedly.
“He is not, then, a man who would do such a thing, say, as a practical joke?”
“Decidedly not!” said Gale emphatically.
Wheeler nodded his head. “I understand,” he proceeded, “that Mr. Arnold was more or less in the habit of walking in his grounds at night. I mean, when he had no guests, he was given to prowling about among the trees.”
“That is true,” volunteered Miss Wadsworth, as Gale seemed a little uncertain on this point.
“When he took such walks, did he usually wear hat and overcoat?”
“Yes,” replied Miss Abby; “a coat according to the weather, but always a hat. Justin never went out without a hat.”
Remembering his fairly well advanced state of baldness, no one was surprised at this.
“Then,” went on Mr. Wheeler, “have you investigated his wardrobe, and learned what hat and coat are missing?”
No one had thought to do this, and the valet was summoned to answer questions.
“Peters,” said Mr. Wheeler, “do you know all the hats and coats in Mr. Arnold’s possession?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Peters, with the respectful assurance of the well-trained servant.
“And could you tell if any were missing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have you made any search?”
“Not to say, sir, exactly a search, but I couldn’t help noticing that all Mr. Arnold’s hats and top-coats are in their places, and I wondered, sir, what he might have worn on his head when he went away.”
“You’re positive, Peters, that there is no hat or overcoat missing?”
“I’m positive, sir.”
“Has any guest present, or any of the servants, missed a hat or a cap?”
Investigation soon proved that nobody had missed any.
“Mr. Arnold was in evening dress when last seen?”
“Yes,” answered Miss Abby; “Justin was always in evening dress after six o’clock. He was most punctilious in that respect, like his father before him.”
“And that suit of evening clothes is not in his wardrobe, Peters?”
“No, sir.”
“Nor his shoes, nor tie, nor any of the garments that he wore the last time you assisted at his toilet?”
“No, sir; they are all missing from his wardrobe.”
“And no other garments are missing?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, we are justified in concluding,” said Mr. Wheeler, turning to the assembly, “that wherever Mr. Arnold may have gone, he wore the suit of clothes he had on during the evening of his disappearance, and he added no hat or outer garment. This, in addition to the fact that he could not get out of this carefully protected house, leads me to conclude that he is still in the house. Yes, I know you have searched thoroughly, but you must have overlooked his hiding-place. It is extremely improbable that, even if Mr. Arnold could have left the house unseen, any emergency would have caused him to go bareheaded. But before I proceed to work in accordance with my own theory, I will ask if any one has any suggestion to offer, or any information, however slight, to give that could throw light on the matter.”
“It is not exactly information,” said Fred Crane, “but it is a point to remember, perhaps, that Mr. Arnold would not voluntarily go away from home in evening clothes, without taking proper garments to wear on his return. Had he gone anywhere voluntarily, he would have changed or he would have carried a bag.”
“Why do you say ‘voluntarily,’ Mr. Crane?” asked Wheeler. “Do you mean to imply Mr. Arnold could have been forced to leave his home?”
“It is merely a suggestion,” and Crane looked a little important at having gained the detective’s attention, “but I must say it seems impossible.”
“Of course it’s impossible!” said Campbell Crosby. “Arnold couldn’t get out of this locked-up house or grounds alone, much less with some one else. Malony would have known, too, if any stranger had arrived by night.”
“As there are few possibilities to consider, we have to discuss impossibilities,” said Crane, a little chagrined at Crosby’s manner.
“Not impossibilities,” said Wheeler, “but perhaps great improbabilities. The case is baffling in its very limitations. There have been no clues of any sort found, I suppose?”
“Mr. Wheeler,” said Leila Duane, a little diffidently, “it may be of no importance, but I discovered this morning that a sofa-pillow was missing from the couch in this room. It was here, I am sure, day before yesterday, and now it is gone. I have questioned the servants, and no one knows anything about it.”
There were half a dozen sofa pillows still on the broad-seated divan, and the detective looked slightly amused, as if one pillow more or less could really have no bearing on the case in hand.
“It may seem trivial,” observed Gale, moved by a desire to lend importance to Leila’s suggestion, if possible, “but you must admit, Mr. Wheeler, that a sofa-pillow couldn’t get away of itself.”
“No,” agreed the detective gravely; “but I cannot think, Mr. Gale, that its disappearance is in any way a clue to the disappearance of Mr. Arnold. Unless he were demented, which I am informed he is not, he would scarcely go out into the night with a sofa-pillow tied on his head.”
Leila looked a little chagrined at this summary dismissal of what she had fondly considered a clue; or, at least, a mysterious circumstance which might have a bearing on the greater mystery. But Mr. Wheeler made no further reference to the green sofa-pillow. He said, thoughtfully, “Who is the last one known to have seen Mr. Arnold on Monday night?”
Fred Crane, the irrepressible, spoke up. “Mr. Chapin and I were with him later than any one else. We had been with him in the smoking-room for a short time after the ladies had retired; and about half-past twelve Mr. Chapin and myself bade Mr. Arnold good-night and went upstairs, leaving him in the smoking-room. Didn’t we, Chapin?”
Ernest Chapin lifted a haggard face. “Yes,” he said in low tones.
“And no one here present saw Mr. Arnold after that?” inquired the detective, his sharp eyes darting from one to another.
Nobody spoke. After a moment’s silence, Mabel Crane looked at Dorothy. But the girl’s face was turned away, as she sat close to her mother’s side on the sofa. Then Mabel looked at Leila. But the glance was not returned. Leila kept her head resolutely turned, and stared steadfastly at a picture across the room. Mabel looked uncertain. Clearly, Dorothy had no intention of telling of her nocturnal trip downstairs that night, and Leila also was determined not to remember it.
“You look disturbed, Mrs. Crane,” said the quick-sighted detective. “Did you see anything of Mr. Arnold that night? Did you hear him on the stairs or in the halls?”
“No,—oh, no!” and Mabel shook her head.
“You did not see him strolling in the garden, or hear any doors or windows opened?”
“No, no, indeed!”
“Why are you so emphatic about it?”
Mr. Wheeler’s quiet voice did not seem intrusive or overcurious, he seemed to be merely pursuing his proper course, but Mabel became so agitated that she rose and left the room. Her husband looked after her, but did not follow. “She’ll return shortly,” he said; “poor girl, she’s very emotional, and a scene like this gets on her nerves.”
And then Leila stole a glance at Dorothy. The girl was as white as death, but she was not heeding either Leila or Mabel. Her eyes were fixed on the face of the detective, and she seemed terrified yet fascinated. She looked like one in a dream or trance, and seemed to be breathlessly waiting for the next move.
Mr. Wheeler spent a moment or two in deep thought, and then said:
“Since Mr. Arnold could not get out, he must be in the house; and we cannot say he is not, until we have made an exhaustive search of the entire building. I cannot think the search that has already been made was sufficiently thorough. I will, therefore, in my direction of this case, request the assistance of such servants as I may desire to help me, and any of the men of the household who wish to may also accompany me. We will make a search that shall leave no foot of space unexplored.”
Mr. Wheeler selected two of the footmen to assist him in this undertaking, and Mr. Crane volunteered also to accompany him.
Leila Duane declared that she would go, too, but Dorothy sat quietly by her mother’s side, and said that nothing would induce her to go into those dark, dusky old attics again.
As a matter of course, therefore, Gale elected to accompany Leila, and Campbell Crosby remained in the library, hovering near Dorothy. Ernest Chapin, still looking gloomy as a thunder-cloud, also hovered near the pathetic little figure of the girl he loved.
In accordance with his chosen methods, Mr. Wheeler began his search in systematic order. Desiring to begin at the top of the house, he went first of all to the roof, and made his preliminary examinations from the outside. Although the servants showed him the way, he often skipped ahead of them, and showed agility and despatch in accomplishing his errands. Though they followed him to the roof, the others did not follow his various trips from one gable to another as he scurried over the various slopes and flats of tin or shingle. His definite motive was to examine every possible exit from the house, no matter how improbable it might seem. He peered down chimneys, he looked in at dormer windows, he looked in at trap-doors and scuttles, jotting down in his note-book into what rooms they opened.
“What does this old scuttle open into?” he asked, as he looked down into pitch darkness beneath.
“I don’t know exactly,” answered a servant, “but I think it opens into a little loft over an ell which contains some of the servants’ rooms.”
Again the detective peered down into the darkness.
“That’s what it is,” he said; “and I can see a door from the loft, but it seems to be nailed up. I’ll investigate it when we’re inside the attics.”
The man’s energy was indefatigable. He left nothing unexamined, even looking down the leader-pipes and gutters. At last he expressed himself satisfied with his investigation of the roof, and they returned through the trap-door they had come up by, to the attics. These were numerous and rambling, but not one was omitted in the search. Every dark corner of every room, every cupboard under the eaves, every fireplace, was thoroughly illuminated by electric torches and exhaustively searched.
The tiny loft over the ell into which Wheeler had peered from above was found to have but one door, which was carefully nailed up; and, as could be easily seen from its dust and cobwebs, it had not been disturbed for decades, therefore it could not have been used recently as an exit.
They found absolutely no trace or even possibility of Justin Arnold’s having left the house by means of a route through the attics.