Anybody But Anne

Just then Barbara and Morland came into the room. “What’s the matter, Anne?” Morland asked “Who’s bothering you? I won’t have it!” He went to her and put his arm round her, and, seemingly encouraged by his strength and sympathy, Anne looked up and with an effort regained her poise.

“They’re mine!” she exclaimed, addressing herself to Stone, while her dark eyes flashed defiance at him.

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied, and then he looked at her in a perplexed way. For a moment these two exchanged glances, and it seemed as if they had superhuman powers of reading each other’s thoughts. Then Stone gave a little nod, straightened himself up, and said, “We must go on, whatever the outcome.”

Then, speaking to us all, generally, he said, “I have found the missing pearls—I can lay my hand upon them at any moment. Before I do so, does the one who took them from the study wish to say so?”

Archer looked at Anne, but I looked at Morland. I had a feeling that Morland had taken those pearls; but, if so, he showed no evidence of guilt at this moment.

Fleming Stone looked at no one in particular, and after a moment’s pause he said, “Then I will simply hand them to their owner.”

He went to the book-shelves, and without hesitation took down a thick volume. It was an old-fashioned photograph album, fastened with two ornate gilt clasps. Slowly snapping these open, he opened the book. The photographs from several of the leaves had been removed, and in the cavity thus made, wrapped in blue cotton, was the Van Wyck pearl necklace!

Amid the exclamations of surprise, I was silent, for I realized instantly that those photographs in the gilt chest were the ones taken from the album to make room for the pearls; and that I—I had deliberately shown those photographs to Stone, and thereby offered his quick intellect a clue to the hiding-place!

“They are mine!” cried Anne. “It was no theft! My husband gave them to me, and I had a perfect right to take them when I chose, and hide them where I chose. But because I took them from the safe in the study, you need not think that I killed my husband! I took them—the day before!”

“Anne,” exclaimed Archer in a warning voice, “tell the truth, dear—it will be better.”

“But you did go into the study late that night, Mrs. Van Wyck,” said Stone quietly.

“How do you know?” flashed Anne.

“For one thing, your maid saw you coming from the study shortly after midnight. But also, I found in there, on the fur rug in front of the safe, two small scraps of the shredded tissue-paper from the box which you unpacked. I found also two bits in the rosettes of the negligee gown that you wore, and I’m sure that the bits on the rug fell from your gown as you took the pearls from the safe. I do not deny your right to take them; nor your right to hide them in the exceedingly clever place you selected. But I must ask you to admit if this is true.”

“It is true,” said Anne, as if at the end of her endurance, and then she fainted.

We went away from the room, leaving her with Barbara and the maid; and as none of us felt inclined to talk, we drifted apart.

Fleming Stone seemed more than ever thoughtful and preoccupied. I would have talked with him, but he asked to be left to himself, and went directly to the study.

Soon after this, luncheon was announced, and we gathered round the table in a desperate effort to throw off the gloomy fear that overhung us.

At first the conversation was on general subjects, Stone leading the way with his kindly and courteous remarks.

But all at once Anne lifted her great eyes, and, looking straight at Stone, said, “I know you think I killed my husband, Mr. Stone, but I did not. And why should I do so, to get those pearls, since they were my own, anyway?”

I thought perhaps Fleming Stone would answer this question directly, but instead he said, “Were you not anxious to prevent his gift to the library?”

Then Morland spoke in a terse, hard voice: “You mean by that, Mr. Stone, that Anne took the Deed of Gift from my father’s desk. That is not true, for I took it myself.”

“You did?” said Stone, looking at him sharply. “Yes, I did. I told the truth when I said I left the study before Lasseter did. But I don’t think Lasseter knew this, and he thought I was there when he went away. But a little later I returned. My father was not there; the outside door was open, and I think he had stepped out on the terrace. However, I took the deed, and I have it in my possession still; but as it is unsigned, it is of no value to anybody. But I did not kill my father, and I’m telling about the deed to exonerate Anne from any suspicion of having taken it.”

Anne cast a grateful look at Morland, and then continued to look at him, but with a changed expression. I could follow her thoughts, or at least I thought I could, and I thought she was wondering if, after all, Morland had killed his father. Perhaps they had quarrelled over the deed, and Morland was misrepresenting the scene.

At any rate, the net of suspicion was drawing close round the two, Morland and Anne. My heart sickened as I realized that it must have been one or the other of these, and that Fleming Stone’s unerring skill would yet discover which.

“It is unnecessary to assert innocence until guilt is suspected,” said Stone, in a calm voice; “and until we learn how a murderer could get in and out of that locked room, we can accuse no one; nor can we assert that it was not a case of suicide.” And then he determinedly changed the subject; nor would he allow it to be brought up again during the meal.

But as we left the table, Stone spoke low to me. “Lead the whole crowd out on the terrace,” he said, “and keep them there for an hour or so. On no account let them come into the house, or at least not into the study. I must be uninterrupted for an hour, at least, and then the mystery will be solved.”

He had not set me a difficult task. For some reason, the members of the little group seemed quite willing to stay out of doors. We strolled down to a large arbor on the lawn, and sat there talking, sometimes all together, and sometimes in twos and threes. After a while Markham joined us, and inquired how far Mr. Stone had progressed in his investigations. Anne told him frankly enough that she herself had taken the pearls from the safe, and Morland repeated his admission of having taken the deed. Mr. Markham was excited over these revelations, but the strange apathy that had settled down on our people was not greatly stirred by his comments. Presently Archer and Beth Fordyce went off for a walk around the garden. Mrs. Stelton asked me to go, too, but I declined, as I had my work of keeping the people out of the house.

It was just about an hour before Stone rejoined us. He greeted Mr. Markham pleasantly enough, and then turned to me. “As my employer,” he said, “shall I make my final report to you?”

“To all of us,” I replied. “I asked you to come here, but Mrs. Van Wyck and David Van Wyck’s children are quite as much entitled to hear your report as I.”

“Let us all go to the study, then,” said Stone. “Where is Mr. Archer?”

“He went down through the lower gardens with Miss Fordyce,” I replied.

“Mr. Markham,” said Stone, “suppose you go after them.” He added a few words to Markham which I did not hear, and then we all went to the study.

“I can tell you all in a few words,” said Mr. Stone. “We know that Mrs. Van Wyck took the pearls from the safe, and that Mr. Morland Van Wyck took the paper from his father’s desk. But neither of these had any hand in Mr. Van Wyck’s death. Mr. Van Wyck was murdered later that same night. He was stabbed with this bill-file;” and Stone produced the file in evidence. “After killing Mr. Van Wyck, the murderer himself carefully fastened all the doors and windows, and left the room by a secret exit. This is the explanation of the sealed room, and I will now show you where the secret passage is. I did not know myself until during the last hour. I came in here positive that there was some such way of egress, and after a careful search I found it. As you see, the study is joined to the main house only by one corner, which laps the corner of the house for a space of about ten feet. This ten feet on the ground floor gives space for the connecting doorway which is usually used. The study is the height of two full stories of the house, but the study has only one story, and therefore an unusually high ceiling. The deep cornice has an immense cartouche ornamenting each corner. It seemed to me that behind this cartouche in the corner that touches the house was the only possibility of a secret exit from this room.”

All eyes turned at once to the great shield-shaped affair of which he spoke. It was quite large enough to conceal a secret door, but at a height of twenty-five feet or more from the floor, it was entirely inaccessible.

“It seems inaccessible,” said Stone, following our thoughts, “and there is no ladder or possibility of one anywhere about. But I was so sure that my theory was the true one that I examined the floor in that corner and found several tiny flakes of plaster that had fallen. Then I was certain that the secret exit had been used recently. I went in the house, and upstairs to the room in which the secret passage —if there was one—must necessarily open. I found in the back part of a deep cupboard a panel, and by dint of search I found a spring which caused the panel to open. I then discovered that I was directly back of the great cartouche. In a word, the passage is an exit from this room. I will now show you the means of using it.”

We watched with breathless attention while Fleming Stone mounted the spiral staircase and walked the length of the little gallery. At the end he stood with his hand on the end rail, quite four feet from the cartouche.

“Note the beautiful simplicity of it,” he said. Merely loosening a bolt on the under side of the end railing caused the whole end of the balcony to fall outward. As it did so, the great end bracket beneath swung the other way, acting as a counterweight, and what had been the end railing of the gallery was now a horizontal bridge straight across to the cartouche. Moreover, mechanism in the wall had at the same time raised the outer shell of the cartouche, which was hinged at the top, and disclosed a small doorway.

“That is all,” said Mr. Stone, speaking to us from the gallery. “As I said, it is beautifully simple. Once unbolted, a person’s weight serves to throw down the railing as a bridge, and open the cartouche. Now you will see that, as I step off and through this doorway, the removal of my weight causes the railing to swing back to place, and the cartouche to close.”

Stepping off the railing upon a ledge and through the door, Stone disappeared, and the mechanism worked exactly as he had said. A moment later he reappeared.

“You see,” he resumed, “that is the way David Van Wyck’s murderer left this room, after securely locking it with the intent to involve the affair in deepest mystery. You all know, I suppose, who occupies the room into which the secret passage opens on the second floor of the house.”

“I know,” said Anne. “It is Condron Archer.”

“And Mr. Archer has gone away,” said Fleming Stone significantly. “I have sent Mr. Markham after him, but, as I understand it, I was employed here to solve a mystery, and not to arrest a criminal. In fact, I have not proved that Mr. Archer is the criminal. But I think no one doubts it.”

It was at this point that Beth Fordyce returned to us. “Oh, Anne,” she said, “Mr. Archer said that he had to go away very suddenly. He had had a telegram, or something, and he asked me to tell you good-by for him, and to give you this letter.”

“It is his confession,” said Anne, in a low voice, as she took the letter from Beth. “I felt sure of it all the time. Raymond, will you read it aloud?”

I was touched at the confidence she showed in me, and, taking the letter, I opened it. It bore no address, and began abruptly thus:

“This is not a confession, but an explanation of why I killed David Van Wyck. I know now that Fleming Stone’s penetration will discover the secret passage, which Mr. Van Wyck himself explained to me a few days before his death. And so I am going away—not fleeing from justice, but because I do not look upon myself as a criminal. I killed Mr. Van Wyck, not in self-defense, but in defense of one far dearer to me than myself. Last Friday night, after having gone to my room at eleven o’clock, I came downstairs again about midnight, with no intent other than a stroll on the terrace. I had been there but a few moments when Mr. Van Wyck joined me. I do not wish to repeat his conversation, but I realized what a vicious, cruel, and even diabolical husband he was to the woman I adored. I speak frankly of this adoration, for it is no secret. David Van Wyck talked of his wife in a way that made my blood boil, and I was about to tell him so when, his attention attracted by a sound in the study, he beckoned to me, and we looked in at the window. Mrs. Van Wyck was taking the pearls from the safe. As we watched, she carried them from the room, closing the door behind her. David Van Wyck drew me into the study with him, and exclaimed in fiendish glee, ‘Now I have her where I want her! I shall denounce her as a thief, and see if she will then be so high and mighty toward me!’ I begged him not to do this, whereupon he accused me of being in love with his wife, and made other wicked assertions that I could not stand. He repeated his intention to give away all his money, to get back the pearls, and to denounce Anne as a thief; and he became, I really think, momentarily insane in his rage. Possibly I too lost my mind, but I snatched up the bill-file, tore off the papers, and stabbed him in a moment of white-hot anger. I carefully locked up the study, hoping the deed might thus be an insoluble mystery. I left the room by the secret exit, which leads directly to the cupboard in the bathroom adjoining my bedroom. It was through this panel I had disappeared the night Sturgis looked for me. I went back to the study to see if I had left behind me any incriminating evidence. I found none, but after Mr. Stone deduced Mrs. Van Wyck’s presence in the study, by scraps of tissue paper, I have no doubt he will in some way trace mine.

“As to my act,—I will not call it a crime,—I do not regret it. I have saved Mrs. Van Wyck from the cruelties of a monster, and I am glad of it. But I refuse to pay the penalty for this, and so I shall disappear forever from the country. I could not do this if I thought I could ever win my heart’s desire. But I know, Anne, that in the after years you will find joy and peace with a man who is worthy of your regard, though it pierces my heart to admit it. But even if through crime, Anne, I have saved you from the further despotism and insults of a brute; and the knowledge of that is my reward.

“Condron Archer”

I finished reading, and there was a death-like silence. I think not one in the room wished to prosecute Archer; I think each heart was praying that Markham might not find him.

“I told Mr. Markham to detain Mr. Archer if he found him,” said Fleming Stone slowly. “I fear that I regret doing so.”

“He won’t find him,” said Anne, and as if in proof of her words, Mr. Markham came in.

“Mr. Archer has disappeared,” he said. “I thought he might go by train, and I waited at the station, but he didn’t. Do you want him very much?”

“No,” said Anne. “We don’t want him at all. Don’t look for him any more, Mr. Markham.” And then, as the tears flooded her eyes, she turned to me, and, putting her trembling hand through my arm, she let me lead her out into the sunlight.

There was no more mystery. The secret of the cartouche explained all.

The two Carstairs were dismissed from the Van Wyck service without punishment. For Anne never knew of the villainous note that had been written to bring trouble to her.

We never saw Archer again; and between Anne and myself his name has never been spoken.

Buttonwood Terrace was sold, and the family separated. Morland went to the city to live, and Barbara went for a trip abroad, with Mrs. Stelton. But they may wander where they will,—it matters not to me; for after a time, Anne is going to crown my life with happiness, and I well know I shall never want anybody but Anne.

-End-