At One-Thirty by Isabel Ostrander (adult books to read .txt) 📕

couldn’t leave them in the den anywhere, for fear, in the ransacking the police would give the place, they would be found, and the burglary theory proved a fraud. I did not realize how I bungled it—how easily the truth would be discovered.”

“But why did you do it?” Gaunt asked, quite as if he did not know the reason, had not known all, in that illuminating flash of inspiration of a few hours before. “Why did you rearrange the room, and remove your brother’s valuables? Why didn’t you shout, and arouse the house, and start the search for the slayer?”

“Oh, can’t you understand?” Yates Appleton was eagerly, pathetically anxious to unburden himself of the weight he had carried about with him in silence, for an interminable week. Concealment appeared to be no longer within the range of his thoughts, and he exhibited an almost childlike faith in the belief that Gaunt would recognize the truth, had already recognized it, and that he was safer in the detective’s hands than his own. “I was afraid I should be accused of having killed him. The chauflveur knew that I had returned to the house at midnight, remained half an hour, and come out in a towering rage, with my hand all bruised, too. I—I must have given Garret a terrific blow. Then, I didn’t know who might have seen me enter or leave, or have heard us quarreling.

As it was, you see, Dakers did hear us. As no one else ever went near the den at night, especially after twelve o’clock, but my brother himself, I was sure that, had I been seen or heard at midnight, I should be at once accused, when the crime was discovered.

“Before the chauffeur had an opportunity to hear of the murder, I gave him a hundred dollars to say nothing of my having gone home at twelve the night before, and I’ve been in terror since, lest he should either come and blackmail me for the rest of my life, or go to the police. When I found out that you knew of my going home like that, and still did not have me arrested, I plucked up a little courage; for I knew you didn’t believe me guilty, and, if you didn’t, nobody else would be likely to. I was afraid, though, to have you discover that it was I who changed the scene so as to make it look like the result of a robbery; for then you might perhaps think me guilty…. I ought to have told you the truth from the first.”

“Suppose you do so now, Mr. Appleton. Tell me the truth, as far as you know it, about last Monday night.”

“Everything that I have told you is the truth, the whole truth, up to halfpast four in the morning!”

“That was when you first awakened?”

“Yes; or a little before. I tried to sleep; but I couldn’t; and you were right in saying that I was afraid to use any more cocaine—I was! I’d used too much already, the night before, and I felt like the mischief from it, or I should have doped myself for fair, and slept it off. I thought a drink would help me; but I had nothing of that sort in my rooms. Then I remembered that decanter in the den, if Garret hadn’t emptied it. It was easier to get to than the cellarette in the diningroom, and, besides, Dakers had probably locked that up for the night—he is so confoundedly methodical! There was a night-light burning, of course, and I got up and looked at my watch, which was lying on the dresser. It was halfpast four o’clock. I knew then that my brother would either have gone to bed, or be asleep in his chair in the den. That—that had happened before, and I knew that, if he was there, he would not hear me—his sleep would be too sound—” he broke off, with a gulping sob.

“So you went down?” asked Gaunt, gently.

“Yes. I put on a robe and a pair of soft slippers, and got down as quietly as I could. The nightlamp was burning in the hall, and I could see, as I drew near it, that the light was still in the den, too. When I reached the door—” he faltered, and shuddering, hurried his face in his hands.

“Well, go on, Mr. Appleton. I know how difficult it is for you; but we must get this over. I want to know every detail. What did yot see?”

“Garret—Garret was sitting there in his chaii by the library-table; but he wasn’t asleep. Hij eyes were wide open and set, staring horribly straight into mine. He was clutching the arms of his chair, his head was thrown back, and there was the most awful expression of fear—fear for his life— on his face. Everything whirled around and went black for a minute before my eyes, and I clung to the door-casing to keep from sinking down upon the floor. Then, gradually, things cleared, and I saw that great red stain on Garret’s shirt front. The lower drawer of the table was open, and his revolver was lying on the table—on the farther side of the table from him. Then I knew that he had been murdered.”

“How was the revolver pointing?”

“Toward him, just as the one who had fired the shot had laid it down. It couldn’t have been suicide; for he must have died instantly. He wouldn’t have had time to reach over and place the revolver there; and, even if he had, his—his blood would have dripped upon the blotting-pad, which lay on the table. If he’d shot himself, the revolver would have still been clutched in his hand, or dropped to the floor beside him. And then I knew that Garret was too—too much of a coward to have taken his own life. For just one moment, I went crazy, I think, and I wondered if I had done it, myself! You see, my mind was still clouded from the effects of the cocaine and the wine rd been drinking the night before, and I—I couldn’t remember.”

“Then sanity returned to me, partially, at least, and I knew I could not have done so terrible a thing. Suddenly, I remembered our quarrel of the night, remembered that my chauffeur alone knew of my return to the house, and that he might admit it to the police. I determined to buy him off. And then the horrible thought struck me: Suppose anyone had seen me, there in the den with my brother, or had heard us quarreling? If they had, and told of it, I would inevitably be arrested on circumstantial evidence; I might perhaps be convicted, might be electrocuted for the murder of my brother!”

“And then the idea came to you of giving the crime the appearance of having taken place during a burglary, or attempted burglary?”

“Yes. I opened the window, and, taking a heavy bronze paperknife from the table, I bent the hasp of the fastening to make it look as if it had been forced. The paperknife was all twisted out of shape, when Td finished; so I had to take that away with me, too. I was afraid to leave it there. I’ve waited every day since for it to be missed, and wondered why it hadn’t been; but there were so many small articles like it scattered about on the table-top, that I presume whoever cleaned up the den after—after it was all over, and the police had finished searching for clues, didn’t notice that it was gone. I don’t suppose any of the family has gone near that room, since.”

“What did you do after that?”

“I went back to the table, and broke the revolver. I found, as I expect^ed, that one cartridge had been fired; so I reloaded it—I knew where the box of cartridges was, in the same drawer in the table, the drawer which was open. I cleaned ithe revolver, too, as well as I could, with my handkerchief, which I afterward burned, here in this grate; but my hands were shaking terribly, and I hadn’t any time to lose, so I didn’t make a very thorough job of it. It was horrible, working away like that, with the fear every moment of being discovered! I knew that, in the ordinary course of events, no one in the house would be stirring for an hour and a half, or two hours longer; but someone might, by sheer accident, come down, and if I had been found doing what I was doing, there would be no hope for me!”

Yates Appleton had risen, as if inaction were a torture, and he was pacing up and down the room, convulsively clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back, his head sunk forward on his chest.

“You put the revolver back, then?” Gaunt urged him on, but quietly, so as not to intrude his own personality any more than could be helped; for the younger man was talking as if to himself, as if communing alone with his own thoughts, living over again in retrospection every detail of that fearful hour.

“Yes. And I stuffed my handkerchief back in my pocket. It was reeking with oil and with powder. Then—then I approached my brother’s body. That was the worst of all! He was limp, and cold—horribly cold! I took everything of value. I forced myself to remember, to overlook nothing, even the little frat pin, which he would never be without, and which he wore that night, pinned inside his vest-pocket. The vest was of soft white silk, and in my nervousness I could not find the catch of the pin, and jerked it away. I tore the lining of the pocket a little in doing so, and that was how you discovered about it, I guess. Anyhow, when you questioned me, concerning it, in the afternoon, I realized that, in taking it, I had overreached myself; for only someone intimately connected with Garret would have known about his wearing the pin that way.”

“What did you do with the things as you removed them?”

“Put them in my pocket, loosely. In getting them, my—my hands came in contact with Garret’s blood, and it turned me sick for a moment; then another idea came to me. The blood was thick, and drying in great clots, and I shut my eyes and pressed my hands on the shirtfront, over the wound. Then I rushed over to the window, and smeared the curtains, and the rug before it, to make sure that attention would be directed there. I cleaned my hands as well as I could on the curtains, turned out the light, and, Uterally, flew to my room. I did not’ dare take a last look at my poor brother—his dead eyes had seemed to be following me about the room accusingly, while I worked, and I was afraid that, if I glanced at him, I should shriek aloud!”

“What did you do when you regained your room?”

“I don’t know. The reaction came, and I think I went mad for a little while. I remember rolling in mental agony upon my bed, stifling my groans, forcing myself to remember that I must be silent, must make no sound. Then, I grew a little calmer, and realized that I had work to do. I went in the bathroom first, and bathed carefully, then examined my clothes minutely for any traces of blood. There were none, or upon my hands or body, save under my finger-nails, where a little had dried. These I cleaned, and then cleaned the brush thoroughly, too. Then I took the money and valuables, made them into a tightly rolled packet, and, for the time being, I thrust it in the only place I knew my valet, or