The Almost Perfect Murder by Hulbert Footner (reading the story of the TXT) 📕

“I will not leave the ship!” said the Princess with another stamp of

the royal foot.

Mme. Storey shrugged. There was no use waiting for more. The rest was

up to Sir Everard. He shook his head lugubriously as we passed him on

the way out.

The scene now shifts to Mme. Storey’s maisonnette in East Sixty –-

Street. The address of this recherch� establishment is not in the

telephone book, and I shall not give it here. My employer had made an

arrangement with Inspector Rumsey to bring the Princess there, and

while we waited for them we had a much needed bite of lunch. Mme.

Storey ate with an abstracted air, and was disinclined to talk of the

case.

In about an hour Inspector Rumsey brought the Princess and Madame

Hofstetter along in a taxicab, while the two maids followed with two

plain-clothes men in another. Maids and plain-clothes men were put

into the dining-room to wait, while the rest of us gathered in the 1850

parlour overhead. There was a great change in the little Princess.

The royal air was subdued, and she was much like any other frightened

girl. But there was a hardness about her that was not girlish. In

fact, she was an exotic specimen, quite outside my experience, and I

could not make her out. I will say for her that the daughter of a

hundred Habsburgs was not craven. She kept her head up.

Mme. Storey’s manner towards her was kindly. “Sit down,” she said,

“and let us talk this matter over quietly. You are not charged with

anything.”

“Merci, Madame,” said the Princess ironically. “May I have a

cigarette?”

“Surely!” said my employer, offering the box. “If you’d rather talk to

us women alone, Inspector Rumsey will wait downstairs.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said indifferently. She puffed gratefully at

the cigarette.

“Please tell us exactly what took place between you and Commodore

Varick yesterday afternoon,” said Mme. Storey.

“I cannot do that,” said the girl impatiently. “It was a private

matter, and has nothing to do with the public or the police.”

Mme. Storey drew a long breath for patience. “Pardon me,” she said,

“but in view of what happened immediately afterwards, it is of the

greatest concern to the police, and you must tell.”

An agonised look came into the girl’s face. “Mon Dieu! it would kill

me if these things were printed in the newspapers!” she murmured. “You

cannot understand my feelings! You are republicans!”

We Americans smiled a little at this, though goodness knows, it was

piteous, too. Mme. Storey said gravely:

“I promise you it shall not appear in the newspapers unless it has some

connection with the death of Commodore Varick.”

The Princess would not sit down. Standing by the mantelpiece, she

began abruptly to tell her story. She did not appear to be of any

particular nationality, but was merely of the great world. Only her

continuous, slight, graceful gesticulation betrayed her foreignness.

“I met the Varicks last winter at Cannes. They have a big place near

there. Pushing people, but not ill-bred for Americans. They courted

me, and I, well, my family is ruined, and I cannot afford to be too

particular; I allowed myself to be courted. Presently the son was

brought forward; a personable young man, but somewhat crude in manner.

I took that to be American. He bestowed his attentions upon me. We

were seen everywhere together. A few years ago he would never have

presumed, but, as I say, my house is fallen, my father is dead, and I

must do the best I can for myself. My mother, the Archduchess, was

invited to stay with the Varicks. Mrs. Varick sounded her out in

respect to the match, and my mother expressed herself as being

agreeable to it. No definite proposal was made, but I was given to

understand in many ways that all had been arranged. The behaviour of

Mr. Henry Varick … possibly I do not understand American customs….”

A spasm of pain passed across the girl’s face. She paused before

continuing. “When the Varicks departed for New York, I was invited to

accompany them, but my mother thought that it would be unseemly for me

to do so. It was arranged that I should follow them later, and visit

them in New York. My mother having a dread of the ocean, my friend

Madame von Hofstetter accompanied me. We arrived a week ago. It was

immediately apparent that some hitch had arisen. The manner of both

Mr. and Mrs. Varick towards me was strained. Day after day I waited,

and the young man did not appear. Finally I learned that he had been

in the house and had departed again without seeing me.

“Yesterday afternoon,” she continued, “Commodore Varick sent his

secretary, and I was conducted with much secrecy to his study. He was

in a state of painful embarrassment. From his stammering and beating

about the bush I gathered that there was an impediment to the match.

Me, I am accustomed to speaking plainly. When I taxed him with it, he

said yes, to his great regret, everything was definitely off….” The

girl’s cheeks flushed red at the recollection. “Mon Dieu! to me, a

Habsburg! After I had condescended to these canaille! After I had

allowed myself to be brought across the ocean! Dieu! I thought I

should die with rage. What could I do? I ran out of the house that

moment, and sent back for my servants to follow me.”

A silence followed the completion of her story. The little Princess

stood there breathing fast. We all felt, I think, that she had been

pretty badly used. Finally Mme. Storey said, in a casual manner:

“Before you left the room, had you and Commodore Varick drunk tea?”

The girl struck her forehead. “Let me think! Yes, I remember that tea

was made. I made it with little silver balls.”

She said this in a seemingly open manner, but she was far from being a

simple maiden, and how could one tell?

“Was it drunk?”

“I did not drink any,” she said quickly.

“And the Commodore?”

“I do not know…. Yes! I have a recollection of seeing him swallow

it, of the emptied cup.”

“Was this before or after he made his announcement to you?” asked Mme.

Storey softly.

“I can’t remember,” she said listlessly. Then she started. “Before!

Before! Before!” she cried excitedly.

“H’m!” said Mme. Storey. She took a turn up and down. “Did Commodore

Varick give any reason for breaking off the match?” she asked, offhand.

The Princess’s back was stiff and her chin up as she answered. “Yes,

he said the young man was disinclined to it.” She got it out all

right, then came a disastrous breakdown. She extended her arm along

the mantel, and dropping her head upon it, broke into an uncontrollable

sobbing. “I wish I was dead!” she gasped. It was piteous.

Madame von Hofstetter flew to her and took her in her arms. The elder

woman turned an imploring face over her shoulder towards Mme. Storey.

“Where can I take her?” she asked.

“Into my bedroom across the hall,” said the latter, opening the door.

They disappeared. When my employer returned, Inspector Rumsey said

anxiously: “What do you make of it?”

Mme. Storey’s face looked pale and drawn. “The proud little Princess

has a heart just the same as any common girl,” she said. “She has had

the misfortune to give it to Hank Varick, who has more hearts than he

can use.”

“A nasty case!” said the Inspector. “It will be difficult to bring it

home to her. No witnesses.”

“I’m not satisfied that she did it,” said Mme. Storey, pacing the room.

“But her rage!” he said. “And she comes of bad stock. Those royalties

have been accustomed for centuries to remove their enemies in just such

a manner.”

“Quite!” said Mme. Storey, smiling a little at his honest Americanism.

“But I never before heard of a girl who killed the father because the

son had jilted her. The motive does not seem adequate. Moreover, it

is hardly credible that a royal Princess should be carrying around a

dose of aconite ready to administer to anybody who might displease her.

Aconite is not a habit-forming drug. Nobody takes aconite for the kick

in it.”

“Then who did it?” he asked blankly.

“Oh, I’m not saying she didn’t do it,” said my employer. “Frankly, I

don’t know. What I do see is, that we have scarcely scratched the

surface of this case as yet. There is a deal of hard spade work before

us. Is it your wish that I should continue to represent you?”

“Sure!” he cried, “you must not desert me now.”

“Very well,” she said, “I will return to the Varick house and stay

there until I see light. I will communicate with you by telephone when

necessary, according to the method we have used before. You and your

men must trace that anonymous letter to its source if it is humanly

possible to do so. The Princess and her entourage will stay here in my

place, under guard. Bella goes with me.”

While Mme. Storey was still issuing instructions, her maid Grace

entered, bearing a letter on a salver. She said: “This has just come,

Madame. It is marked urgent, so I brought it right up.”

Mme. Storey put out an inattentive hand for the envelope. But when her

eyes fell upon it she started. “Look at this!” she cried, holding it

up. The address was printed in the same sort of carefully-formed

characters that had appeared on the anonymous letter addressed to the

Inspector. She tore it open. It contained a slip similar to that

other slip, with a single line of printed characters:

LOOK INTO HANK VARICK’S MOVEMENTS YESTERDAY.

In my employer’s quaint and charming parlour, Mme. Storey and Inspector

Rumsey laid out a joint plan of campaign. It was of prime importance

to trace the two anonymous letters to their source. The Inspector had

already set the police machinery in motion to trace them through the

mails, while Mme. Storey was to work to the same end inside the Varick

house. It was fairly obvious now that they had originated in the

house, since no one knew that Mme. Storey was at work upon the case

except certain persons in the Varick household. Inspector Rumsey

further agreed to have the recent movements of young Henry Varick

investigated as far as possible, and a report prepared for Mme. Storey

covering the young man’s whole career, so far as the details might be

learned from old newspapers, and from inquiries amongst his associates.

By this time the Inspector’s doctors had definitely reported to him

that Commodore Varick had come to his death as the result of a powerful

dose of the alkaloid of aconite. Tannin was also found, and the

inference was that he had taken the drug in strong tea. But this was

not positively established. The police were already at work

endeavouring to trace any sales of the drug aconitina that might have

been made lately. Sales of this powerful drug were rare.

In order to provide us with additional assistance inside the house,

Mme. Storey arranged to have Crider, our cleverest and most dependable

operator, apply to Jarboe, the Varick butler, for a job as footman.

She arranged with Jarboe later to take him on. The Princess Cristina

von Habsburg,