The Abandoned Room (Musaicum Murder Mysteries). Charles Wadsworth Camp

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СКАЧАТЬ I simply had to clear up these queer footprints.

      "I figured, since the murder had been made to look so much like a natural death, that he'd come out here some time to-day, expecting to carry it off. I wanted to go to the station, anyway, to find out if he'd been seen coming through last night or early this morning. While I was talking to the station agent I had my one piece of luck. I couldn't believe my eyes. Mr. Robert walks up from the woods. He'd been hiding around the neighbourhood all the time. Probably had missed his handkerchief and decided he'd better not take any chances. Yet it must have seemed a pretty sure thing that the station wouldn't be watched, and it's those nervy things, doing the obvious, that skilful criminals get away with all the time. I needed only one look at him, and I had the answer to the mystery of the footprints. I gave him plenty of time to come here and change his clothes, then I manoeuvered him out of his room and went there and found the pumps he'd worn last night and to-day. You see, they'd be a little smaller than his ordinary shoes. Not only did they fit the footprints exactly, but they were stained with soil exactly like that in the court. There you are, sir. I've made a plaster cast of one of the prints. I've got it here in my pocket where I intend to keep it until I clear the whole case up and turn in my report."

      Graham's tone was shocked and discouraged.

      "What more do you want? Why haven't you arrested him?"

      In this room the detective's satisfied chuckle was an offence.

      "No good detective would ask that, Mr. Graham. I want my report clean. The coroner will tell us how the old man was killed. I want to tell how young Blackburn got into that room. One of the windows was raised a trifle, but that's no use. I've figured on the outside of the wing until I'm dizzy. There's no way up for a normal man. An orangoutang would make hard work of it. His latch key would have let him into the house, and it would have been simple enough for him to find out that the old man had changed his room. I've got to find out how he got past those doors, locked on the inside."

      He chuckled again.

      "Almost like a sleep-walker's work."

      Bobby shivered. Was that where the evidence pointed? Already the net was too finely woven. The detective continued earnestly:

      "I'm figuring on some scheme to make him show me the way. I've a sort of plan for to-night, but it's only a chance."

      "What?" Graham asked.

      "Oh, no, sir," Howells laughed. "You'll learn about that when the time comes."

      "I don't understand you," Graham said. "You're sure of your man but you keep no close watch on him. Do you know where he is now?"

      "Haven't the slightest idea, Mr. Graham."

      "What's to prevent his running away?"

      "I'm offering him every opportunity. He wouldn't get far, and I've a feeling that if he confessed by running he'd break down and give up the whole thing. You've no idea how it frets me, Mr. Graham. I've got my man practically in the chair, but from a professional point of view it isn't a pretty piece of work until I find out how he got in and out of that room. The thing seems impossible, and yet here we are, knowing that he did it. Well, maybe I'll find out to-night. Hello!"

      The door opened. Bobby from his hiding place could see Paredes on the threshold, yawning and holding a cigarette in his fingers.

      "Here you are," he said drowsily. "I've just been in the court. It made me seek company. That court's too damp, Mr. Detective."

      His laugh was lackadaisical.

      "When the sun leaves it, the court seems full of, unfriendly things—what the ignorant would call, ghosts. I'm Spanish and I know."

      The detective grunted.

      "Funny!" Paredes went on. "Observation doesn't seem to interest you. I'd rather fancied it might."

      He yawned again and put his cigarette to his lips. Puffing placidly, he turned and left.

      "What do you suppose he means by that?" the detective said to Graham.

      Without waiting for an answer he followed Paredes from the room. Graham went after him. Bobby threw back the rug and arose. For a moment he was as curious as the others as to Paredes's intention. He slipped across the dining room. The hall was deserted. The front door stood open. From the court came Paredes's voice, even, languid, wholly without expression:

      "Mean to tell me you don't react to the proximity of unaccountable forces here, Mr. Howells?"

      The detective's laugh was disagreeable.

      "You trying to make a fool of me? That isn't healthy."

      As Bobby hurried across the hall and up the stairs he heard

       Paredes answer:

      "You should speak to Doctor Groom. He says this place is too crowded by the unpleasant past—"

      Bobby climbed out of hearing. He entered his bedroom and locked the door. He resented Paredes's words and attitude which he defined as studied to draw humour out of a tragic and desperate situation. He thought of them in no other way. His tired mind dismissed them. He threw himself on the bed, muttering:

      "If I run away I'm done for. If I stay I'm done for."

      He took a fierce twisted joy in one phase of the situation.

      "If I was there last night," he thought, "Howells will never find out how I got into the room, because, no matter what trap he sets, I can't tell him."

      His leaden weariness closed his eyes. For a few minutes he slept again.

      Once more it was a voice that awakened him—this time a woman's, raised in a scream. He sprang up, flung open the door, and stumbled into the corridor. Katherine stood there, holding her dressing gown about her with trembling hands. The face she turned to Bobby was white and panic-stricken. She beckoned, and he followed her to the main hall. The others came tearing up the stairs—Graham, Paredes, the detective, and the black and gigantic doctor.

      In answer to their quick questions she whispered breathlessly:

      "I heard. It was just like last night. It came across the court and stole in at my window."

      She shook. She stretched out her hands in a terrified appeal.

      "Somebody—something moved in that room where he—he's dead."

      "Nonsense," the detective said. "Both doors are locked, and I have the keys in my pocket."

      Paredes fumbled with a cigarette.

      "You're forgetting what I said about my sensitive apprehension of strange things—"

      The detective interrupted him loudly, confidently:

      "I tell you the room is empty except for the murdered man—unless someone's broken down a door."

      Katherine cried out:

      "No. I heard that same stirring. Something moved in there."

      The detective turned brusquely and entered the old corridor.

      "We'll СКАЧАТЬ