Anybody But Anne

It was a strange sort of gloom that hung over us all at Buttonwood Terrace. It was not exactly sorrow; indeed, there was little evidence of real grief for David Van Wyck. His children, if they mourned for him, did not do so openly; while his wife seemed stunned rather than saddened. I could not understand Anne. She seemed to pass rapidly from one strange mood to another. Now she would be most anxious to discover the murderer and avenge the crime, and again she would beg of us to discontinue all investigation.

Archer watched her closely. It seemed to me he suspected her, and wanted to make sure, but he wanted no one else to suspect her.

David Van Wyck had died on Friday night, and the funeral had occurred on Monday. It was now Wednesday, and the inquest would be resumed in a few days. But to my way of thinking, we had little if any more evidence to go on. Jeannette had explained the stiletto, but who knew if she had told the truth? Doubtless she would lie to shield Anne, for she was devoted to her mistress, and the reasons she had given for going away seemed to me far from plausible. Moreover, Anne had expressed no surprise or annoyance at the girl’s absence, which I was forced to admit looked as if the mistress had thoroughly understood it.

It was on Wednesday morning that I was strolling along the terraces, thinking deeply, when I became aware of voices below me. I glanced down a winding, rustic stairway and saw Anne and Condron Archer. He seemed to be pleading with her, and she looked disturbed and a trifle defiant. I turned away, having no desire to be an eaves-dropper, but as I turned, Archer’s voice rose in emphatic declaration, and I couldn’t help hearing his words.

He said, “Anne, I know you took the pearls. Now, promise you will marry me some day, and so give me the right to shield and protect you in this trial.”

The shock of his speech was so great that I involuntarily paused for an instant, and I heard Anne say, “I deny that I took the pearls. If you think I did, you may search for them. I defy you to find them!”

I hurried away from the spot, suddenly realizing that I was listening; and I am quite willing to confess to a strong desire to listen longer. But this I would not do, partly because my sense of honor forbade it, and also because Anne was the woman I loved, and I would not listen to a word of hers that was not meant for my ears.

A moment later I met Barbara and Morland, and they too were talking of the missing pearls.

“Don’t you think, Mr. Sturgis,” said Barbara, “that we ought to make a thorough and systematic search of the house for those pearls before we consider putting the matter in the hands of the police? They represent a fortune in themselves, and I am sure that my father hid them after he had lost control of his mind. It seems to me, then, that they must be somewhere in the study, and we ought to be able to find them.”

“It can certainly do no harm to search,” I responded, non-committally, “but I supposed you had already done so.”

“We have, in a general way,” said Morland; “but Barb means to try to find some secret cupboard or sliding panel hitherto unknown.”

“I’m with you,” I said. “Let’s begin at once. Anything is better than doing nothing; and I do think, Morland, that you’re making very little effort to solve the whole mystery. If I were you, I should call in Fleming Stone.”

“No!” cried Barbara, so sharply that I was surprised. “There is no occasion for such a thing,” she went on. “Father killed himself. His mind gave way at the last, and he was not responsible. Also, he hid the pearls, and we can find them. Come on and let us begin the search. Here are Anne and Mr. Archer—they will help, I’m sure.”

After listening to Barbara’s request, both Anne and Archer heartily agreed to help in a thorough search. We went at once to the study. Markham and Lasseter were already there, and we all went to work with a will. I think I’m safe in saying that no room was ever searched more carefully than the Van Wyck study was that day. We divided it into sections, and each of us searched every section. Mrs. Stelton and Beth Fordyce joined us later, and every possible hiding-place was ransacked. Nor was it an easy task. There were many cupboards and desks and odd pieces of furniture with secret drawers. And besides, there were many possible hiding-places in the massive and intricate ornamentations. The enormous carved fireplace seemed to mock at us with its possibilities. The carved wainscot and stuccoed wall-panels all showed interstices which, though in some cases thick with the dust of time, were large enough to hold a pearl necklace.

Anne was perhaps the most energetic of all the searchers. She ran up the spiral staircase to the musicians’ gallery and called for some one to come and help her. “For,” said she, “this carved railing is simply full of places where anything could be hidden!”

As I looked up and saw Anne leaning forward with both hands on the balcony rail, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful picture. Whether it was the mere exertion of the search, or the result of some secret knowledge of her own, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with an unnatural excitement.

I ran up the iron staircase, myself, in response to her invitation, and as no one followed us, I drew her back into the shadow of the curtain draperies, and, clasping both her hands in mine, I said earnestly, “Anne, you don’t know where the pearls are, do you?”

Her hands turned cold in mine, and the color died from her cheeks. “How dare you!” she whispered. “What do you mean? What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” And, unable to control myself, I clasped her in my arms. But only for a moment, and then, my senses returning, I released her, and said calmly, “I mean nothing, Anne. Forgive me, I lost my head for a moment. But you must know what I shall some day tell you, that I love you, and I shall yet win you. Hush, don’t answer me now! But just remember that I have utter faith in you, and because of that faith I shall probe this whole mystery to its furthest depths. I shall learn the truth, the whole truth, and then, Anne, when it is the proper time, I shall claim you, and you will give yourself to me!”

I have wondered since how I had the courage to make these statements, for Anne gave me no encouragement. She merely stared at me, her dark eyes seeming to burn like coals of fire in her white face. But as I finished she gave a little despairing sob, and said pitifully, “Oh, Raymond, you don’t know, you don’t know!”

And then Beth Fordyce came up to the gallery, and both Anne and I controlled ourselves sufficiently to speak casually, as we all continued our search. The gallery was six feet wide and extended across the whole end of the room, except for a space of about four feet from either side-wall. It rested on six enormously heavy brackets, and its railing, about three feet high, was also heavy and elaborate. Miss Fordyce looked over the railing in despair. “We never can look into every cranny of those brackets,” she said.

“We can do it by ladders from below,” I returned; “but I will say that I never saw any room so marvellously well provided with hiding-places.”

Anne stood at the end of the gallery, but not the staircase end, and looked at the great cartouche that formed the corner of the cornice, but which was so massive that its lower end was on a level with the gallery.

“I can’t reach it,” she said, stretching out her hand toward its plaster scroll-work; “but the pearls could be in any of those gilded crevices.”

“And there are four of those great ornaments in the room,” said I, looking hopelessly around at the cornice. “But if Mr. Van Wyck secreted his jewels in one of them, he must have had a long ladder; and where is the ladder?”

“He might have had a rope-ladder,” suggested Mrs. Stelton, looking self-conscious, as if she had voiced a brilliant idea.

“But, even so, it must be somewhere, and we have found nothing of the sort,” I said.

Well, the search lasted all the morning, without the least result. And, to my surprise, after luncheon Mr. Markham proposed that we should search the other rooms of the house. “I have my own reasons for this,” he declared, and as this was the first time I had known him to assume the mysterious air which is part of the stock in trade of every self-respecting detective, I began to hope his reasons might be sound ones.

No one was enthusiastic about a further search, but all agreed to it, except Anne. She declared that the privacy of her own rooms should not be invaded, and she refused to allow search to be made in them.

At this, I saw Archer look at her intently; I saw Anne flush with anger and dismay; and I saw Mr. Markham alertly observing both.

“It is a mere matter of form, Mrs. Van Wyck,” he said; “but I must insist upon it. And of course you must see that to close your rooms to our search would look—” He hesitated; even he could not voice the implication he was about to make, in the face of Anne’s scorn.

“That will do,” she said coldly, and at once led the way to her own apartments.

Her bedroom, dressing-room, and bathroom were subjected to a search, but, on the part of most of us, it was perfunctory and superficial. Except the detective, not one of us was willing to open the cupboards, boxes, or bureau-drawers. But Mr. Markham darted here and there, opening drawers, boxes, and baskets, one after another. I chanced to be sitting by a table on which was a gilded Florentine chest, which was locked. Markham demanded the key, and Anne gave it to him. But the chest was entirely empty, save for several old photographs carelessly flung in.

Disappointed, the detective stared thoughtfully about the room.

“You must understand, Mrs. Van Wyck,” he said smoothly, “that we have no suspicion, but at the same time we must make this search a thorough one. And I think we have examined everything except the book-shelves. I must ask now that the books be taken down.”

The book-shelves, which were built against the wall, covered nearly all one side of the room. At Mr. Markham’s orders, the books were taken down, three or four at a time, and returned to their places; but, although there was plenty of space behind them, no pearls were discovered.

“Shall we open each book?” inquired Mr. Archer sarcastically.

“No,” said the detective shortly. “Pearls could not be placed in a book, but they could easily be hidden behind them, and I must do my duty.”

The others had helped with the book-shelf performance, but I had stayed near Anne. She was trembling like a leaf. If she had hidden the pearls behind the books, and feared their discovery, she could not have been more nervously agitated. I noticed, too, that Archer was watching her closely, even while he was busily engaged in taking down and putting back the volumes.

In an effort to distract Anne’s attention, and perhaps to calm her unrest, I said, “How did you like the vase I brought you?” and I glanced at it where it stood on a small side table.

“It is beautiful!” she said, and she thanked me with her eyes. “I have never seen a more exquisite piece of Venetian glass. But so very fragile! I would not let any one but myself touch it to unpack it; and even then I was afraid it would break while I was disengaging it from its wrappings. I was frightened, Raymond, lest Mr. Van Wyck should see it. He was so absurdly jealous that it would have made him very angry. But now it doesn’t matter.” Her lip quivered, and a strange look came into her eyes, but I was positive it was not regret that she no longer had to endure her husband’s jealousy.

At last Markham declared himself satisfied that the pearls were not in Anne’s apartments, and, followed by his assistants, he went to search David Van Wyck’s rooms. And from there the search continued all over the rest of the rooms; and it was well on toward sundown before he was ready to declare himself satisfied that the pearls were not hidden in any part of the house.

“And so,” said Mr. Markham, with an air of finality, “we may be sure that Mr. Van Wyck did not hide the pearls, nor are they in the possession of any member of this household. This, I think, proves that the robbery was committed by an intruder, who also killed Mr. Van Wyck. The mystery of how the burglar entered, and what weapon he used, will, I fear, never be solved.”

“And the missing deed?” asked Archer.

“That is another mystery that seems inexplicable. Of course the fortune now remains in possession of the family, and will be disposed of according to the terms of Mr. Van Wyck’s will.”

The will, as everybody knew, left David Van Wyck’s three heirs each in possession of one-third of his fortune. The pearls were not mentioned in the will, although Anne claimed he had verbally given them to her. Both Barbara and Morland disputed her ownership of them, but as the pearls were gone, it made little difference whose they were.

“I can’t help thinking, Mr. Markham,” I said, “that we have all reached the end of our ingenuity. But I also think that the problem ought not to be given up, and that it is now time to call in a more expert investigator. I propose, therefore, that we send for Fleming Stone, and put the matter in his hands.”

“Oh, that wonderful Mr. Stone!” exclaimed Mrs. Stelton, clapping her hands in her foolish way. “Send for him, do! He can tell us everything!”

“I, for one, do not wish him sent for,” said Anne, in a most positive manner.

“Nor I,” said Barbara, for once agreeing with her step-mother.

“I don’t think we need him,” said Morland thoughtfully. “What could he find out more than we have?”

“We haven’t found out anything,” I retorted. “And he would explain everything in a short time.”

“Is he, then, omniscient?” said Mr. Markham, with a decided sneer.

“He is very nearly so in matters of detective work,” I returned gravely. “If Mrs. Van Wyck does not wish to employ him, I will do so myself; as I am quite willing to admit that I have a strong desire to solve the mysteries of David Van Wyck’s death and of the stolen jewels and missing deed.”

We discussed at some length the question of sending for Fleming Stone, but so strong was the opposition of the Van Wycks, of the detective, and of Condron Archer, that I forbore to insist, and the matter was left unsettled.

But later I discussed it alone with Archer. “Don’t do it,” he said to me earnestly. “Don’t you see that to get Stone here might implicate Anne?”

“Why,” said I, in surprise, “my motive in getting him would be to prove Anne’s innocence!”

“Then, if you want to prove Anne Van Wyck innocent, or even to continue to think her so, don’t send for Stone;” and with these words, Archer turned on his heel and left me.

I went to the study, hoping to find Morland there, and to persuade him to agree to my views. But there was no one in the study except the secretary.

“Mr. Lasseter,” I said, “as man to man, won’t you explain to me why you and Morland persist in those conflicting stories?”

“My story is the true one,” said Lasseter, looking me squarely in the eye. “When I left the room that night, Morland sat here”—indicating a large carved seat near the fireplace—“and Mr. Van Wyck was at his desk. It all occurred as I related at the inquest. And, Mr. Sturgis, I will tell you what I have not told any one else. After going out of the door, I went around the study and half way down the front path to the road. Then, on an impulse which I cannot explain, I turned back and went and looked in at the study window—not the door, but the window at the farther end. And I distinctly saw Morland bending over his father’s desk. Of course at that time I had no thought of tragedy, and I hoped that father and son would make up their quarrel then and there. I merely glanced in, and, turning away again, went straight home.”

“Why didn’t you tell of this at the inquest?”

“Because, though it would, in a way, prove my story, in the face of the tragedy I feared it might make things look black for Morland.”

“You don’t suspect him of—of any wrongdoing!”

“No, I can’t. But it is all mysterious, and I agree with you in wishing that we could have the great Fleming Stone look into it.”

“Why, I thought you didn’t want him!”

“Personally I do; but since Miss Van Wyck is so opposed to the idea, I should rather defer to her wishes than insist upon my own.”

“Oh, I see; I didn’t understand before.”

“Yes,” said Lasseter frankly; “although we’re not formally engaged, I hope to make Barbara Van Wyck my wife; and so, you see, I cannot endorse a course of action to which she is so definitely opposed.”

This was true enough, and I told him so. I couldn’t help liking Lasseter, and some things about him which I had thought strange were explained by what he had just told me.

From him I went straight to Morland. “Tell me,” I said to him, in a confidential way, “why did you and Lasseter contradict each other at the inquest?”

“I wondered you didn’t ask me that long ago,” he said, seeming not at all offended. “You see, it is this way. I was sitting on that old bench by the fireplace. But it is in a dark corner, and I was in a shadow; for after the committee left we had turned off some of the lights, and the shaded desk-light and the firelight made pretty much all the illumination there was. I was tired and discouraged with the whole matter, and I left the room quietly, just before twelve, without even saying good-night. Father and Lasseter were talking, and I don’t believe they heard me go. So when Lasseter said good-night to me, as he says he did, he really thought I was there; and if Father spoke to me, why, he must have thought so, too.”

This was all plausible enough, and the young man’s frank manner convinced me of its truth. But there was another point to be cleared up.

“All right, Morland,” I said. “That does explain things. You left the room just before midnight, and a moment or two later Lasseter went home, and said good-night to you, thinking you were there. But, a little later still, you returned.”

“What!” cried Morland, and he turned fairly livid with rage. “What do you mean, Sturgis?”

“What do you mean by getting so excited over it? You did return, and you were seen.”

“By whom?”

“Never mind that now.”

Morland looked straight at me. There was fear in his eyes, but there was also a strong ring of truth in his voice as he said, “Sturgis, if I returned to the study, and if I was seen there, then the one who saw me is the murderer! Send for your Fleming Stone and discover who it may be!”

Without another word, Morland strode away, leaving me completely bewildered by his words.