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

faint.

So it was revealed at last which one among the many girls young Henry

favoured. I experienced no feeling of jealousy against Estelle Gilsey.

In the first place, I had seen from the beginning that there was some

sort of an understanding between them, and anyhow, in my crazy

infatuation there was no thought of self. I cannot say as much for

Julia Priestley. She surveyed this scene with cold and amused scorn,

but the rising and falling of her breast betrayed the inner tempest.

She uttered two words: “Good comedy!”

That drew Henry’s attention to her. When he perceived who it was he

dropped his girl as if she had been red hot. He flushed and then

paled, and a craven look came into his face that was very painful to

see if you were fond of him. The tall girl seemed taller still,

regarding him like an empress with flashing eyes. He could not face

the situation. He turned and fled back into his bedroom.

Estelle made as if to follow him. “Henry!” she gasped. But at that

moment there was a knock on the outer door, and she stopped. Strange

it was to see how we all drew masks over our faces. There was one

thing all were agreed upon in that house; to hush things up. Estelle

allowed the detective to lock the bedroom door. Meanwhile, Mme. Storey

opened the other. It was Jarboe, showing an anxious face. Evidently

he had heard something, but had succeeded in keeping the other servants

off. Mme. Storey reassured him with a word, and he went away again.

But the interruption had put a permanent quietus on the scene. Both

girls had had time to reflect on the danger of giving too much away.

Each was now elaborately ignoring the other. As soon as Jarboe was out

of the way, the tall beauty marched out of the room with her head up,

and, as you might say, all colours flying. When she disappeared the

little blonde’s head went down, and she began to shake. She struggled

hard to get a grip on herself, but couldn’t make it. Apparently she

thought it was useless to ask to see Henry again. With her face

working incontrollably, she suddenly darted for the outer door.

Mme. Storey detained her for a moment. “Keep the secret from Mrs.

Varick as long as possible,” she said. “Don’t return to her until you

can show a smooth face.”

The girl nodded her head mutely, and flew. When we returned to the

next room the other one, extraordinary creature! was tapping away at

her typewriter as if she had never left it.

The next thing that happened was the arrival of Inspector Rumsey at the

Varick house. It transpired that Mme. Storey had sent for him before I

was up. He arrived in a closed car by way of the courtyard. We three

retired into the Commodore’s study to consult.

“I must yield up my responsibility in this case,” said Mme. Storey at

once.

“Hey?” said the Inspector, very much startled. “What’s the matter?”

“The situation here grows worse and worse,” said my employer, “and I

cannot any longer be responsible to the police. It ties my hands. It

forces me to act in a manner counter to my best judgment.”

“But you have full liberty of action,” he protested.

“No, I have not. Sit down, and let me tell you the whole situation,”

which she proceeded to do. I helped out by reading portions of the

notes I had taken.

When she had come to an end the Inspector shook his head heavily.

“Bad! Bad!” he said. “I quite understand your feelings. But my duty

is clear, of course. I must arrest Henry Varick.”

“That is what I expected you to say,” said Mme. Storey with a faint

smile; “and that is why I must wash my hands of you. Because _I am not

satisfied that Henry Varick poisoned his father_.”

My heart jumped for joy hearing her say this. I felt that I had found

my dear mistress again. I blamed myself for having doubted even a

moment that her heart was in the right place.

“But,” protested the Inspector, “Commodore Varick died of a dose of

aconite; his son was the last person to be with him before he was taken

sick; by his own admission he had eaten and drunk with his father; and

Henry Varick had the aconite. Why, it’s a prima facie case!”

“Not quite,” said my employer. “And anyhow, I don’t care if it is or

not. I may say that there is even more damaging evidence against Henry

Varick. I know it is there, though I have not yet brought it out. It

wouldn’t make any difference. All the evidence in the world would not

satisfy me.”

“You are illogical,” complained the Inspector.

Mme. Storey arose and tossed her hands up. “Ah, there’s the rub!” she

cried. “There’s the old point of division between you and me. You

work by logic, my friend, and I by intuition. Oh, everybody is on your

side—everybody except Bella here, who is just another silly woman and

doesn’t count—lawyers, judges, juries and the great public, all on

your side, all they think of is evidence. It’s absurd the importance

they attach to evidence, which is the most unreliable thing in the

world.”

“You can’t take intuition into a court of law,” said the Inspector.

“So much the worse for the court,” she retorted. “That’s why so many

trials are solemn farces. And look at the work it makes for me! Three

quarters of my time, I suppose, is spent in digging up ‘evidence’ to

prove what anybody can see is so at a glance!”

It was impossible to tell whether she was speaking quite seriously or

not. This was an old subject of dispute between her and the Inspector.

He said: “Well, to return to Henry Varick; what makes you suspect he

may not have done it?”

“The whole character of the man, and all the former acts of his life so

far as they have come to light.”

“I can’t go with you there!” said the Inspector. “My whole experience

teaches me that murder crops out in the most unexpected places.”

I saw a retort spring to my mistress’s lips, but she withheld it, for

fear, I suppose, of hurting our old friend’s feelings. She said:

“Granted. I base my opinion of Henry Varick’s innocence on what I have

observed of him during the past twenty-four hours. On what he said; on

the way he looked when he said it; and on the tones of his voice.

There are men, of course, who can simulate anything, but he is not one

of them. He is just an ordinary, scatterbrained, impulsive young

fellow, who has been a little spoiled by too much kindness—especially

from our sex; and who has never taken serious thought of anything in

his life.”

“I have not had the advantage of seeing him,” said the Inspector dryly.

He thought that Mme. Storey had fallen a victim to the young man’s

charm like all the other women.

It did not escape her. “It is true, what you are thinking of,” she

said with a laugh. “I am crazy about him. But, letting that go for

the moment, consider his actions. A murder by poison, of course, is

not committed in the heat of passion; it requires planning. If he

planned this out, is it reasonable to suppose that he would go off to

Buffalo, and leave that tell-tale cabinet of drugs here in the house?”

“They always forget something.”

“Surely! But not the thing.”

“Does your intuition suggest who did commit this murder?” he asked

dryly.

“I may have my notions,” she said, “but I do not intend to speak of

them until I have dug up the necessary evidence.”

“How long will that take you?”

“How can I tell?” she said, spreading out her hands. “I may never get

it. Lots of things which are as plain as the nose before your face

cannot be proven.”

“What is the additional evidence against Henry Varick that you spoke

of?” he asked. “I suppose I have the right to ask for that.”

“Oh, assuredly!” she said, turning away with a gesture. “But it’s so

painful! so very painful! However, all must come out, of course.” She

turned back. “Will you promise me not to allow this last disclosure to

reach Henry Varick’s ears for a week?”

“But why?” he demanded.

“Simply because it would break his heart.”

“Oh, very well,” he said, a little nettled. He thought we had both

lost our heads over the young man.

“Let us find out if Dr. Slingluff is in the house,” said Mme. Storey.

“He has been making frequent visits to Mrs. Varick.”

My heart began to beat as soon as this name was mentioned. From the

first I had suspected that the secret was in the possession of the

family doctor. Gabbitt was despatched to find him. Within five

minutes he returned, having the handsome, dignified practitioner in

tow. Mme. Storey introduced the two men to each other. As soon as he

learned that he was facing a police officer, Dr. Slingluff began to

sweat. He was such a nice looking man that it was painful to see. My

employer wasted no time in beating around the bush. She said: “Doctor,

we had a painful interview yesterday, and a still more painful one is

before us. It was perfectly evident to me yesterday that you were—if

you will excuse me, lying! It may have been from the highest motives,

but it was nevertheless—lying!”

He puffed out his cheeks. “Madam!” he cried, “Your sex protects you.

No man would dare…”

“Why become angry?” she interrupted with a smile. “If I am wrong you

can afford to laugh at me.”

He subsided.

“What the Inspector and I want to know is,” she went on, “why you

signed that certificate as you did, when you knew that Commodore Varick

had been poisoned.”

“I did not know it!” he cried. “I have already told you…”

“Now, doctor,” she said cajolingly, “with your skill, your vast

experience, you cannot expect us to believe that.”

“I don’t care whether you believe it or not!” he cried. “It’s true!”

“You’re a naturally truthful man,” said Mme. Storey, “and lying like

everything else to be successful requires practice.” She pointed to a

little diamond-shaped mirror that was let into the top of the

escritoire. “Look at yourself in the glass, doctor. If you saw that

face upon another would you not say that the man behind it was lying?”

He would not look, of course, but strode away, cursing under his breath.

“Consider a moment,” she went on. “I am your friend because I believe

that you are actuated by the highest motives. Won’t you fare better

with me than you would with a bawling lawyer in open court? You can’t

get away with this. If you persist in trying to do so, an inevitable

public humiliation awaits you.”

He dropped in a chair and flung up his hands. “Very well,” he said, “I

was lying! … Oh, God! what a relief!” He wiped his face and forehead

with his handkerchief.

“Why did you lie?” asked Mme. Storey.

“Because the Commodore asked me to. He was my oldest friend.”

“Asked you to!” interpolated the Inspector in astonishment.

“The moment I clapped eyes on the Commodore I