"We have it on medical authority," tartly interposed Professor Brierly, "but I am not certain it is competent medical authority.
I have seen too many careless autopsies made and read too many loosely written reports to have abiding faith in such things."
McCall nodded emphatically.
"Professor Brierly is right there, of course. I have seen, in my official capacity, the things he mentions."
"So have I," chimed in Higginbotham, Fletcher and McGuire.
"Very well, then," said Professor Brierly. "We will not indulge in guesses, conjectures or surmises. Such things are likely to induce an unhappy state of mind. Schurman, you say lives in New York. We shall go to New York if we have to. Is there not something nearer, something--"
"Morris," interrupted several members of the group, "lives in Lentone." Judge Fletcher corrected, "right outside of Lentone."
"Then," stated Professor Brierly, "that is the place to begin, as soon as we know what we are looking for. One of you gentlemen, I am certain, can obtain the necessary permission to have me verify the official verdict of suicide. When we have done that, we shall have cleared away much doubt and uncertainty." His speech was now crisp, clear, incisive. "Is there any reason why we cannot do this at once?"
"No," said Justice Higginbotham slowly, "there is not. But we are waiting to hear from the only one of our members unaccounted for,--Wrigley." Jimmy noticed that while their mood had lightened during the past few minutes in the interchange with Professor Brierly, the mention of the name of the missing member brought back the atmosphere of gloom and doubt.
"Tell me all you care to tell me, Judge, of the inception of your group. Sometimes talking about a thing to an outsider helps. You gentlemen have brooded on this too long. Let us see if we can help clear it up."
Justice Higginbotham told in elaborate detail what McCall had sketched briefly. His deep voice, the remarkable voice that had handed down so many important decisions from the highest tribunal in the land, rolled on, with the gentle lapping of the waters of the lake against the small wharf, a faint obligate Jimmy was to remember this scene for a long time; it was etched on his memory very clearly.
He sensed that the old jurist was talking against time. While he seemed absorbed in his tale as were the others, this absorption was only superficial. With their inner senses they all seemed to be waiting, waiting for the dread news of their missing comrade.
These old men, everyone of whom showed his uneasiness in his own way, had each lived more than three-quarters of a century. Some of them showed their age very distinctly, mentally and physically.
Jimmy could see their attention wander from the absorbing tale as Justice Higginbotham unfolded it, one of the most glamorous that Jimmy had ever heard.
Suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, Justice Higginbotham stopped talking. From the room facing on the porch there had come the faint whirring that was a prelude to the striking of the old-fashioned clock. Then came the deep tones of the hour.
Jimmy remembered now that when the clock had struck an hour before there had come the telephone message appraising the group of the death of Morris Miller.
The last stroke was still reverberating when the staccato jangling of the telephone bell drew a number of the old men to their feet.
As if by a common impulse, as if they expected to get the answer to their spoken question through their eyes, every person on the deep porch, turned in the direction of the telephone. They looked as if they expected to see the dread message or messenger through the walls between them and the instrument.
The white-headed, grizzled negro came to the door. He spoke to Justice Higginbotham:
"Fo" you, suh. Je"sey City callin"."
As Justice Higginbotham arose to answer the call, Antoine Rochambeau spoke, his voice breaking to a faint croak:
"Jersey City is the home of Wrigley." The speaker was looking at Professor Brierly with burning eyes, a hectic flush flaming in his drawn cheeks. Professor Brierly looked at him sharply. He swiftly stepped to his side, laying his hand soothingly on his shoulder.
The flush subsided, the man"s tense body relaxed. He shook his head mumbling.
Fourteen pairs of eyes were looking toward the doorway as Justice Higginbotham once more returned, and came to an unconscious dramatic pause. He nodded, as if in confirmation of a statement.
"Wrigley was drowned yesterday noon at Bradley Beach, a seaside resort on the New Jersey coast about one mile south of Asbury Park."
While he was talking, Jimmy heard the squealing of brakes on the other side of the house. A motor car had come to a stop in front of the camp.
The eyes of the entire group turned in that direction. At Justice Higginbotham"s announcement several of the men had stood up. They now dropped back into their seats. There was a long pause. To Jimmy it seemed that they all held their breath. The negro came to the door, in his hand a sheaf of telegrams. His eyes swept over the entire group.
He held them out to Justice Higginbotham who had stepped aside from the doorway to make way for him.
"Telegrams for you all. They didn"t phone, suh, "cause you done tole "em not to phone no telegrams. De man am waitin" foh an ansuh."
Justice Higginbotham selected one of the telegrams and ripped open the flap. There was no change in his fine mobile features, but his eyes were fixed on the message for a long time. He was brought to himself by the negro.
"Am they any reply, Jedge?"
Justice Higginbotham, without raising his eyes from his message said, gently:
"No, Charley, no reply." Turing to the rest of the group he said, still gently: "My message is just the word "fourteen," that"s all, just "fourteen." The other messages are probably--but you"d better look yourselves." He walked about the group and gave each of his ten a.s.sociates one of the envelopes. He then held out his message to Professor Brierly. Jimmy saw the message. It bore the word, "fourteen"; it had no signature.
Jimmy gripped the arms of his chair as he looked about the other men on the porch. There was a rustling and tearing of paper as flaps were ripped open. Some of them did it quickly, some of them held their envelopes for a short time before opening them.
When the rustling ceased, Thomas Marshall stood up. He said grimly to Professor Brierly:
"Here is your case, Professor, all complete. You"ve got it now with all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs."
Chapter IV
With John Fletcher, former Justice of the Supreme Court of the State of New York, at one end of a telephone, official red tape was quickly and effectively cut. Professor Herman Brierly was given the powers and privileges necessary for an independent investigation.
Less than an hour after the receipt of the telegrams, Professor Brierly, accompanied by McCall, Matthews and Jimmy Hale, was at the office of the medical examiner, who was charged with making the official report on deaths by other than natural means.
Dr. Simpson showed the old savant marked respect. Parts of the story had leaked out somehow and the knowledge that behind Professor Brierly were such distinguished names had its effect, apart from the weight that the old scientist"s own name carried.
The four men were led into a small bare chamber, behind the office of the medical examiner, where all the earthly remains of Morris Miller lay on an enameled metal slab.
Dr. Simpson drew aside the sheet, saying:
"I"ve not yet had time to make a post mortem, Professor, but that will be only a formal gesture in this case. This is obviously suicide."
Professor Brierly, who did not mince words when engaged in a scientific investigation, took one look at the hole in the temple with its encircling powder marks. He snapped:
"This is obviously _not_ suicide; certainly not, if this wound was the cause of death, which neither you nor I at present know. Have you the weapon with which this was done?"
Dr. Simpson reddened.
"The police have that, sir."
"And the bullet--oh, of course you have not extracted that. We will do it together, if you please."
Professor Brierly began taking off his coat and vest, Matthews doing likewise.
Dr. Simpson said tartly:
"Since you know so much about it without examination, and are so c.o.c.k sure that it isn"t suicide, why bother with such trifles as the weapon and the bullet. You might have sat down and written a thesis about it without even seeing the body."