American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

‘You are Miss Mack’s friend, are you not? No, don’t turn around, please!’

But I had already faced toward the open door. At my elbow was a white-capped maid – with her face almost as white as her cap – whom I remembered to have seen at breakfast.

‘Yes, I am Miss Mack’s friend. What can I do for you?’

‘I have a message for her. Will you see that she gets it?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Tell her that I was at the door of Senator Duffield’s library the night before the murder.’

My face must have expressed my bewilderment. For an instant I fancied the girl was about to run from the room. I stepped through the window and put my arm about her shoulders. She smiled faintly.

‘I don’t know much about the law, and evidence, and that sort of thing – and I’m afraid! You will take care of me, won’t you?’

‘Of course, I will, Anna. Your name is Anna, isn’t it?’

The girl was rapidly recovering her self-possession. ‘I thought you ought to know what happened Tuesday night. I was passing the door of the library – it was fairly late, about ten o’clock, I think – when I heard a man’s voice inside the room. It was a loud angry voice like that of a person in a quarrel. Then I heard a second voice, lower and much calmer.’

‘Did you recognize the speakers?’

‘They were Mr Rennick and Senator Duffield!’

I caught my breath. ‘You said one of them was angry. Which was it?’

‘Oh, it was the Senator! He was very much excited and worked up. Mr Rennick seemed to be speaking very low.’

‘What were they saying, Anna?’ I tried to make my tones careless and indifferent, but they trembled in spite of myself.

‘I couldn’t catch what Mr Rennick said. The Senator was saying some dreadful things. I remember he cried, “You swindlers!” And then a bit later, “I have evidence that should put you and your thieving crew behind the bars!” I think that is all. I was too bewildered to –’

A stir on the lawn interrupted the sentence. Madelyn Mack and Inspector Taylor had appeared. At the sound of their voices, the girl broke from my arm and darted toward the door.

Through the window, I heard the Inspector’s heavy tones, as he announced curtly, ‘I am telephoning the coroner, Senator, that we are not ready for the inquest today. We must postpone it until tomorrow.’

V

The balance of the day passed without incident. In fact, I found the subdued quiet of the Duffield home becoming irksome as evening fell. I saw little of Madelyn Mack. She disappeared shortly after luncheon behind the door of her room, and I did not see her again until the dressing bell rang for dinner. Senator Duffield left for the city with Mr Burroughs at noon, and his car did not bring him back until dark. The women of the family remained in their apartments during the entire day, nor could I wonder at the fact. A morbid crowd of curious sight-seers was massed about the gates almost constantly, and it was necessary to send a call for two additional policemen to keep them back. In spite of the vigilance, frequent groups of newspaper men managed to slip into the grounds, and, after half a dozen experiences in frantically dodging a battery of cameras, I decided to stick to the shelter of the house.

It was with a feeling of distinct relief that I heard the door of Madelyn’s room open and her voice called to me to enter. I found her stretched on a lounge before the window, with a mass of pillows under her head.

‘Been asleep?’ I asked.

‘No – to tell the truth, I’ve been too busy.’

‘What? In this room!’

‘This is the first time I’ve been here since noon!’

‘Then where –’

‘Nora, don’t ask questions!’

I turned away with a shrug that brought a laugh from the lounge. Madelyn rose and shook out her skirts. I sat watching her as she walked across to the mirror and stood patting the great golden masses of her hair.

A low tap on the door interrupted her. Dorrence, the valet, stood outside as she opened it, extending an envelope. Madelyn fumbled it as she walked back. She let the envelope flutter to the floor and I saw that it contained only a blank sheet of paper. She thrust it into her pocket without explanation.

‘How would you like a long motor ride, Nora?’

‘For business or pleasure?’

‘Pleasure! The day’s work is finished. I don’t know whether you agree with me or not, but I am strongly of the opinion that a whirl out under the elms of Cambridge, and then on to Concord and Lexington, would be delightful in the moonlight. What do you say?’

The clock was hovering on the verge of midnight and the household had retired when we returned. Madelyn was in singularly cheery spirits. The low refrain which she was humming as the car swung into the grounds – Schubert’s Serenade, I think it was – ceased only when we stepped on to the verandah, and realized that we were entering the house of the dead.

I turned off my lights in silence, and glanced undecidedly from the bed to the rocker by the window. The cool night breeze beckoned me to the latter, and I drew the chair back a pace and cuddled down among the cushions. The lawn was almost silver under the flood of the moonlight, recalling vaguely the sweep of the ocean on a midsummer night. Back and forth along the edge of the gate the figure of a man was pacing like a tired sentinel. It was the plain-clothes officer from headquarters. His figure suggested a state of siege. We might have been surrounded by a skulking enemy. Or was the enemy within, and the sentinel stationed to prevent his escape? I stumbled across to the bed and to sleep, with the question echoing oddly through my brain.

When I opened my eyes, the