Clearly, the butler, restored to his sense of the responsibilities of his position, felt he had made a misstep and regretted it.
"Be quiet, madam!" Shane hurled at Eunice, and turning to the frightened Ferdinand, said: "You tell the truth, or you"ll go to jail!
At what time was this quarrel that you have admitted took place?"
Eunice stood, superbly indifferent, looking like a tragedy queen. "Tell him, Ferdinand; tell all you know, but tell only the truth."
"Yes, ma"am. Yes, sir; why, it was just before they went out."
"Ah, before. Did they go out together?"
"No, sir. Mrs. Embury went later--by herself."
"I told you that!" Eunice interposed. "I gave you a detailed account of the evening."
"You omitted the quarrel. What was it about?"
"It was scarcely important enough to call a quarrel. My husband and I frequently disagreed on trifling matters. We were both a little short-tempered, and often had altercations that were forgotten as soon as they occurred."
"And that"s true," put in Miss Ames. "For two people who loved each other to distraction, I often thought the Emburys were the most quarrelsome I ever saw."
Shane looked sharply at the old lady. "Is that so?" he said. "Did you hear this particular quarrel, ma"am?"
"Not that I remember. If I did, I didn"t take" much notice of it."
"What was it about?"
"Oh, the same old subject. Mrs. Embury wanted--"
"Aunt Abby, hush! What are you talking about! Leave me to tell my own secrets, pray!"
"Secrets, ma"am?" Shane"s cold blue eyes glistened. "Who"s talking of secrets?"
"n.o.body," offered Hendricks. "Seems to me, Shane, you"re trying to frighten two nervous women into a confession--"
"Who said anything about a confession? What"s to be confessed? Who"s made any accusations?"
Hendricks was silent. He didn"t like the man Shane at all, but he saw plainly that he was a master of his craft, and depended on his sudden and startling suggestions to rouse antagonism or fear and so gather the facts he desired.
"I"m asking n.o.body"s secrets," he went on, "except in so far as I"m obliged to, by reason of my duty. And in that connection, ma"am, I ask you right here and now, what you meant by your reference to secrets?"
Eunice looked at him a moment in silence. Then she said, "You have, I daresay, a right to ask that. And I"ve not the least objection to answering. Mr. Embury was the kindest of husbands, but it did not suit his ideas to give me what is known as an allowance. This in no way reflects on his generosity, for he insisted that I should have a charge account at any shops I wished. But, because of a whim, I often begged that I be given a stated and periodical allowance. This, I have no reason for not admitting, was the cause of most of our so-called "quarrels." This is what I should prefer to keep "secret" but not if it is for any reason a necessary admission."
Shane looked at her in undisguised admiration.
"Fine!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, somewhat cryptically. "And you quarreled about this last night?"
"Last evening, before we went out."
"Not after you came home?"
"No; the subject was not then mentioned."
"H"m. And you two were as friendly as ever? No coolness--sorta left over, like?"
"No!" Eunice spoke haughtily, but the crimson flood that rose to her cheeks gave the lie to her words.
Driscoll came in.
"I"ve found out what killed Mr. Embury," he said, in his quiet fashion.
"What?" cried the Examiner and Shane, at the same time.
"Can"t tell you--just yet. I"ll have to go out on an errand. Stay here--all of you--till I get back."
The dapper little figure disappeared through the hall door, and Shane turned back to the group with a grunt of satisfaction.
"That"s Driscoll, all over," he said. "Put him on a case, and he don"t say much, and he don"t look like he"s doing anything, and then all in a minute he"ll bring in the goods."
"I"d be glad to hear the cause of that death," said Dr. Crowell, musingly. "I"m an old, experienced pract.i.tioner, and I"ve never seen anything so mysterious. There"s absolutely no trace of any poison, and yet it can be nothing else."
"Poison"s a mighty sly proposition," observed Shane. "A clever poisoner can put over a big thing."
"Perhaps your a.s.sumption of murder is premature," said Hendricks, and he gave Shane a sharp look.
"Maybe," and that worthy nodded his head. "But I"m still standing pat.
Now, here"s the proposition. Three people, locked into a suite--you may say--of three rooms. No way of getting in from this side--those locks are heavy bra.s.s snap-catches that can"t be worked from outside.
No way, either, of getting in at the windows. Tenth-story apartment, and the windows look straight down to the ground, no balconies or anything like that. Unless an aryoplane let off its pa.s.sengers, n.o.body could get in the windows. Well, then, we have those three people shut up alone there all night. In the morning one of "em is dead--poisoned.
What"s the answer?"
He stared at Eunice as he talked. It was quite evident he meant to frighten her--almost to accuse her.
But with her strange contradictoriness, she smiled at him.
"You have stated a problem, Mr. Shane, to which there can be no answer.
Therefore, that is not the problem that confronts us."
"Fine talk--fine talk, lady, but it won"t get you anywhere. To the unbiased, logical mind, the answer must be that it"s the work of the other two people."
"Then yours is not a logical or unbiased mind," Hendricks flared out, "and I object to your making implications. If you are making accusations, do so frankly, and let us know where we stand! If not, shut up!"
Shane merely looked at him, without resenting this speech. The detective appeared to be marking time as he awaited the return of his partner.
And Driscoll returned, shortly. His manner betokened success in his quest, whatever it may have been, and yet he looked distressed, too.
"It"s a queer thing," he said, half to himself, as he fell into a chair Shane pushed toward him. "Mrs. Embury, do you keep an engagement book?"
"Why, yes," replied Eunice, amazed at the question put to her.