After midnight by Marta Neville. Good night, mister Lanin. Louise Willoughby extended
her hand. We breakfast at nine, she said, I'll see you then.
I hope you sleep well. Thank you. I'm sure I shall.
She gathered the folds of an embroidered chiffon gown about her and slowly mounted the
stairs. Lanin stood leaning against the null post and watched her ascend. As
he turned away, he faced his host. The cold, metallic glitter in
the older man's black eyes gave him a strange, uncomfortable feeling. Well,
said Willoughby, She's charming, Andrew. You should be proud of her.
She's improved wonderfully in the three years since I saw her. A slow smile
crept about the drawn lips of the physician. It did not extend to his
eyes, but became lost in the heavy mustache and van Dyke beard he wore.
Lanin again shivered. The snaky glitter in his physician friend's eyes fascinated him.
He wondered if it could be true that the woman who had just left
him with purity written on every curve and line of her could be the wanton
thing. Her husband fancied that she had so forgotten herself and her social position
as to stoop to an intrigue with her gardener. It seemed impossible of Louise
Willoughby, Yet many changes had taken place during the three years he had been
abroad. He had not known her well before his departure. Perhaps he did
not know her at all. Now, come up into my laboratory, Willoughby
said. Suddenly. He closed the windows and switched off all the lights,
with the exception of one held in a bronze venus at the foot of the
stairs. Andy Lennon said, as they entered the heavily odorous room, I'd
rather you said nothing more about this to me. Some day you'll be sorry
for having taken me into your confidence, and then our friendship will end.
There are some things a man has no right to discuss with another. I
don't need to remind you of that. This is one of them. I've
got to talk to someone or go mad. You think it's my imagination,
You think I'm a jealous fool. I tell you I know from the day
that man came here, she's been different. I've watched them. I've seen
his arm around her, I've heard him call her Louise. He broke and
buried his head on his arms he had flung on the table before him.
Lanin gripped his shoulder and shook him. Why don't you send him away?
Willoughby raised his bloodshot eyes and admit defeat. Give him the pleasure of saying
he was fired because Andrew Willoughby's wife fell in love with him, never besides.
He sprang to his feet and paced the little room nervously, his long
hands with their gnarled, crooked fingers stained with chemicals, twitching and pulling at
his coat as he walked. How do I know she won't go with him
if I send him away? Lanin remembered the brief glimpse he'd had of the
gardener, A slim, tall fellow, little more than a boy, with
close cropped dark a pale, almost ethereal face, a quiet, unassuming manner.
How long has he been here? Allery six weeks? Willoughby hit the
glass topped table nervously. As he did so, a tiny vial of amber
colored liquid fell over, knocking the stopper out of it. A pungent,
sickish odor filled the room. The doctor gave a startled cry, flinging a
small rubber blanket over the table. He lifted the vial gingerly. He placed
the stopper back in it, carefully keeping it away from his face. Then
he covered it with the rubber. He'd become ashen colored as though unable to
speak. He motioned to Lenin to throw up the windows. Damn careless of
me, he muttered. A moment later, he placed the bottle high up
in a cabinet above him. Then he locked the door of the chest.
Damn careless. It's an experiment of buying, Arthur. Do you feel all
right, Lennin laughed uneasily. I shouldn't care to remain in here along with
that odor. It's hetty, to say the least. Willoughby poured some liquid
from another bottle into a small glass and handed it to him. Then he
took a draft of it himself. Drink this, it'll overcome the effects of
the other. Suddenly he became tense. The glitter in his eyes became more
pronounced. He seemed to be listening to something. The warm, soft air
blowing through the window brought a hint of the distant sea and something else.
What is it? Lenin gasped, The quivering of Willoughby's wide nostrils. The
sudden snapping of the glass's stem intrigued him listen. A long sort of growl,
then a long drawn howl from a dog someplace not far off, was
all Lenin heard. There was another howl, then silence. The color came
back to the physician's face. He smiled apologetically. Lenin stared at him in
bewilderment. What is it, he asked again. I I thought I heard
her come down the stairs. I was listening to hear if he met her.
The man's tongue seemed to be thick. He spoke with difficulty. Buck
up, old man, Buck up. Lanin gave him a reassuring slap on
the shoulder, but at the same time he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder out
of the window toward the gardens beyond. Again, the long, rumbling howl
of the dog penetrated the night air. The older man suddenly lurched forward into
a chair and began to sob in a broken hearted way. At that moment,
Lannon fancied he saw a face at the open window, but before he
could ascertain whether it was his imagination or not, it had vanished. But
to him, it seemed he had seen a young, pale face with smoldering
dark eyes and close cropped hair, who, he exclaimed, what's wrong with
me? Two? The sudden clamor of a clock striking three startled him out
of a sound sleep. At least he thought it was the striking of the
hour which did it. But as he raised himself on one elbow in the
darkness, the doubled beat of his heart, the damp chill of his flesh
told him it was something else which had awakened him. Stealthy footsteps outside his
room, the cautious opening and closing of a door down the hall, the
rustle of garments as of someone moving in the corridor, were registered with dark
significance on his brain. Poor old Andrew, he muttered. He sank back
to his pillow, but he could not sleep. Though his pulse became normal,
he found himself striving to make out the objects in his room one by
one. Out of the hazy gray of the blackness. They became outlined,
invisible to his straining eyes in an irritating fashion. The drawn blind flapped forward
and back with the wind which had arisen since nightfall. Unable to stand the
sound of the flapping, he rose and went to the window to raise it.
The moon was high, unobscured by any clouds, and shone down with
the dazzling white brilliance, which made the grounds in surrounding territory almost as light
as day. The long row of glass topped greenhouses gleamed as though covered with
snow. In the distance, far beyond the high stone wall which enclosed doctor
Willoughby's Long Island estate, shone the water near at hand. The wind whistled
in a sing song manner through the trees. From the darkening shelter of the
stone wall emerged two figures. The watching man knew instantly who they were,
even before the moon outlined, the slender figure of Willoughby's wife and the broader
silhouette of the gardener. Allering. A feeling of nauseus swept over him.
He turned away from the window, crossing to his bed. He switched on
a light just over it, determined to while away the time until daylight with
a current magazine. But the face of the woman outside in the garden seemed
to mock him. From the printed page. Her dark, shadow laden eyes
seemed to plead with him. Between the lines of printing, as though she
begged him not to judge her too harshly. The magazine slipped from his hand.
He closed his eyes and lay inert. A moment later, the cry
of someone in mortal agony penetrated the night air. Then a woman shrieked in
terror. For a moment, Lannin lay panic stricken. Then springing out of
bed, he snatched up a dressing gown and rushed into the hall. He
came face to face with Willoughby. His host was pallid. Willoughby's hands trembled
as he held a tattered silk gown about his emitiated figure. A moment later,
another door down the hall was thrown open, and the corpulent, kimono
clad housekeeper burst into their presence. You heard it, Willoughby cried in a
harsh whisper, clutching Lannon's arm. His eyes were glassy, the lids swollen,
as though from heavy sleep, and being suddenly awakened. His chin shook.
My god, my god, wailed the woman, trying to pull the
kimono about her. Ample bosom, what was it? Doctor? Did you
hear it? A woman screamed? Lanin said grimly. The cry came from
some place near the greenhouses. Some one must be injured. I heard a
man too, This from the butler who had joined them. Even partially clad,
he retained some of the dignity of his position. Oh what do you
suppose has happened? Doctor? Dear? What do you think it is?
The housekeeper caught her master's arm and clung desperately to him. He did not
seem to be conscious of her presence. He was looking into the lighted corridor
below at his wife as she stumbled blindly through the outer door into the illuminated
passageway. She was sobbing convulsively. She started to climb the stairs, slowly,
dragging herself upward with an effort. Her shimmery evening gown was torn and
draggled about her. Her face was gray, a death color, and her
eyes terror stricken. At the head of the stairs, she collapsed in a
heap. When Willoughby started to lift her, she gave a shuddering cry and
warded off his touch. Her husband gave a sucking breath. He looked at
Lannin missus. Willoughby cried, the latter, dropping on his knees beside her.
So consciously he wondered what had become of the man who had been with
her. If it were he who had given that cry of terrible torture,
Missus Willoughby, what is it? What has happened? For a moment,
her white lips quivered. I. I there's a dead man out there by
the greenhouses. I I stumbled over him. I touched his cold face.
I a dead man. Yes. She suddenly straightened and stared with a fixity
into her husband's face. A strange expression came over her own. Then she
allowed Lnin to assist her to rise, and in a quiet manner, though
with obvious effort, she requested the butler to bring her some wine. A
dead man, come, said Lnin, abruptly, his legal training coming to
the foreground. She may be mistaken. The man may still be alive.
He was cold, she answered. The little procession filed out toward the greenhouses,
a motley, weird looking crowd in bath robes, smoking jackets and kimonos.
Louise Willoughby walked with Lenin and her husband, her hand lightly rested on
Lanin's all the way. He felt the nervous tremors that shook her. As
they neared the spot, where she had discovered the dead man. Their lights
in the greenhouse, Willoughby said, abruptly, I'll turn them on. He
left them for a moment. Then the glass enclosure became illuminated. An exclamation
of horror burst from the group. Missus Willoughby clung to Lenin's arm in a
feverish manner, huddled up chest and chin. Meeting laid the body of a
man unquestionably dead. He was roughly dressed, his shoes in tatters, his
bare feet showing through the gaping soles, while several days growth of beard added
to the gruesomeness of his appearance. Long yellow teeth were bared in a distortion
of agony. Bleary eyes stared upward. There was no sign of a wound,
no indications of foul play, but the man had unquestionably died suddenly,
any great torture. Evidently it had been his death cry they had heard.
Willoughby knelt beside him. Then, after a second's examination, rose abruptly dead
heart failure. I think, but it'll be best to notify the police.
Know him, Lenin asked, No, he looks like a hobo. Are
you going to leave him? Cried his wife, hysterically. It seems so
awful to leave a dead man out here on the ground alone. It's so
heartless. He can't be moved until the police arrived, Lenin answered Willoughby,
take your wife inside. I'll stay here until they come and see that nothing
happens. Louise Willoughby suddenly gave a cry of terror. The police. Must
you call the police. He's a tramp. He died of heart failure.
Don't call the police. It'll create a scandal. I couldn't stand that.
Please, please do something else, my dear, my dear, remonstrated her
husband quietly. This is very unfortunate. I'm sorry the poor devil chose to
die here. But it may not be heart failure. You know, he
may have been murdered. Murdered. She sobbed the word as though it burst
from her against her will Willoughby ignored her exclamation. He continued suavely, as
though he enjoyed her hysterical anguish. If the man has been murdered, and
we placed an obstacle in the way of his murderer being apprehended, we will
be putting ourselves liable for more than a scandal. She suddenly swayed. Willoughby
placed his hand on her shoulder, but she turned on him an almost insane
fury. Don't touch me, she cried, don't you dare to touch me.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders, turning quietly to his friend. You take
her inside, Lenin, she's wrought up, no wonder, poor child.
I'll remain here. Call headquarters please three. When they reached the house,
the woman dropped wearily into a great chair. The intense pain in her face,
the tremulous quiver of her mouth caused a wave of pity to sweep over
Lenin. Are you going to call the police? She whispered, I must.
Her white hands gripped tighter. In spite of the things he had seen,
Lanin again had a doubt as to her perfidy. Strangely enough, he
now felt no sympathy for her husband. He lifted the receiver from the hook.
As he did so, she touched him. Mister Lannin, Yes,
are you my friend? Yes? Why? Yes, of course, missus
Willoughby, I mean really truly my friend? Were his Andrews? Yes,
I trust I am a friend to you both, he evaded. She shook
her head impatiently. You can't be that. Can't you see he hates me
and I I loathe him. I despise him. Oh my god, how
I hate him. And yet Missus Willoughby, I know I horrify you.
She laughed, and began to pace the length of the room. If only
I had someone I could turn to, someone to aid me, someone in
all the world I could trust. You seem to be a good man,
if only I dared, she paused abruptly. Then in a sudden do you
think I'm a bad woman? Do you think what he thinks? Why,
my dear lady, I see he's lied to you too, poisoned you against
me as he has others. And she covered her face with her hands.
I really I for once, he could not find words. Missus Willoughby,
I saw you tonight, you saw me and her eyes opened wide and him
as she said nothing. He turned from her and called up the police headquarters,
making his request for their presence in a quiet, professional manner. When
he hung up the receiver, he turned to her. Missus Willoughby, you
found the body who was with you at the time. She did not reply.
After waiting a moment for her to speak, he continued, you realize
that the police will ask questions of you when they arrive. As a lawyer
and your friend, I'm advising you to tell me everything before they come.
I may make things easier for you. He'sier for me, She repeated,
dully, I've done nothing, nothing wrong. I think it is murder,
Lenin said slowly. She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
Yes, it is murder. I know that, she whispered. How
do you know, he said sharply. She shivered. I I she gave
a little hysterical laugh, just as a woman intuitively knows many things. Something
here. It tells me that it is. Did you know the man?
No, No, of course not. I never saw him before. Didn't
you hear what Andrew said? He's a tramp, a hobo. Probably probably
Her voice trailed off, and her dark eyes widened. Probably what. Lenin
leaned forward and laid his hand on hers. Her skin was damp and ice
cold. Probably he he stopped in the grounds to sleep or for a drink
of water. And mister Lnnin, I can't talk. I'm I'm you'll excuse
me. I must go upstairs. I She rose unsteadily, and for a
moment seemed about to faint. You can call me when the when they arrive,
perhaps I'll feel better. Then he assisted her to the stairs, watched
her slowly mount them, then turned back into the room, more puzzled than
before. As he sank into a deep cushioned chair before the window, heavy
satin draperies behind him were pushed aside. A young man wearing mud stained overalls
and a dark blue shirt stepped into the room. He held one finger up
to caution Linnin to silence, then motioned him to draw the blinds so that
their figures could not be seen by the men outside who waited by the greenhouses.
Well, said Lanin. The other slumped into a chair opposite to him.
He suddenly seemed overcome and unable to speak. Lanin noted the way his
hands trembled his nostrils quivered. After a moment's silence, the lawyer asked,
you're the gardener, aren't you, Yes, sir. He leaned forward,
almost touching Lanin. His eyes glowed in his eagerness. You sent for the
police, yes. Lanin reached for a cigar and lighted it before he answered
the boy. In that brief moment's survey of the gardener, he felt an
instinctive liking for him. It might be murder, you know, he added,
it was murder, mister Lannin. That poor fellow out there died the
death that was intended for me. What do you mean by that? Lanin
dropped his cigar and quickly rescued it from the carpet. I'm not going to
hide anything, sir, only only I. I can't face the police,
not yet, I've I can't tell you. But can't you tell them what
I say and keep me out of their way? Isn't it possible? His
white face worked convulsively. He spoke as though compelled to do so against his
will. I don't understand, you, said the other man coldly. You
say someone desired your death, Yet you don't want to inform the police yourself.
Don't you realize that you'll have to testify you were with missus Willoughby when
she stumbled over the body. Yes, sir, I'm a lawyer, allering.
Perhaps you didn't know that. Yes, yes, I knew it.
That's why I'm asking you to help me. To help Louise I. Lennin
winced as he used the Christian name of his friend's wife. But the gardener
did not see the movement. You didn't kill the man, did you,
snapped Lenin suddenly, No, No, good God, No, Well,
then will you be kind enough to explain just what is it all about?
He hates me, Allarein? Continued, Who Andrew Andrew Willoughby? He hates
me as much as he fears me? Lennin started angrily to his feet.
Willoughby's my friend, the younger man laughed stridently. Friend, He's no man's
friend. There's only one thing in the world of any value to him.
That's science. Didn't you see how he took the death of that poor dog
out there. I was behind a clump of shrub. I heard, heard,
and saw him. He gloated over his body. He was glad,
glad that a man had died and proven another one of his damnable poisons efficacious?
By God, are you insinuating that Andrew Willoughby killed that man out there?
I am a man. He'd never seen a stray tramp. It was
intended for me, aluring returned wearily. He failed in his purpose so far
as I was concerned. But he made a sure test and it proved successful.
You're making an astounding statement. Young man, said Lannin, straining to
keep his voice calm and uninterested. You are accusing a man of murder,
your employer, the husband of the woman with whom alluring sprang to his feet.
The veins stood out in great welts on his high, thin forehead.
His nostrils quivered. When he again sank into his chair, he was panting
from the struggle. Mister Lannin, he said, abruptly, I I met
Louise, missus Willoughby outside in the grounds. Why I did so as our
affair. But she is a good woman. You must know she is.
Her husband is more than a scoundrel. He's the vilest, lowest. Lannin's
gesture interrupted him. He continued in a quieter tone. We met by an
arbor near the greenhouses. It is very dark out there, and in spite
of its being moonlight, we weren't seen, but we saw the figure of
a man as he came out of the house. It was Andrew Willoughby.
At first we thought he had seen Louise leave and was following us, but
he passed the arbor and went on toward the greenhouses in the moonlight, which
made everything perfectly visible in the open. I could see he was carrying something.
A little case is medicine case he uses when visiting a patient. I
was afraid he could hear Louise's breathing. He passed so close to us,
but he was too intent on his wicked thoughts to notice anything else. At
the greenhouses, he hesitated, He looked stealthily around, and then he laughed.
That laugh made Louise grip my arm. I put my hand over her
mouth for fear she would cry out. There's a hydrant beside one of the
houses. I use it every morning to attach the hose. To my knowledge,
no one else ever touches it. No one has occasion to. Willoughby
was aware of this. It is an old fashioned arrangement, and I've protested
against it, but the things remain as it is. Several times have been
drenched by the nozzle slipping as we watched. Willoughby went to this hydrant.
He carefully unfastened the hose. Then he opened the little case he carried.
He took out something which evidently was a piece of cloth, and wiped all
the damp off the rusty metal. Then he put the cloth back into the
case. Next, he took a small vial out of it, and with
great caution, poured it all over the metal. Then, as quietly as
he had come, he whirled around and went back to the house. Allering
paused. Then we both stood there in the darkness, unable at first to
speak or move. He went on. Then Louise whispered, Charlie, what
was it? What was he doing? I didn't tell her. I knew
he had contrived some diabolical way to get rid of me, though just how
a liquid poison on a piece of metal could do that I didn't know.
I resolved, under no conditions to touch it. Louise became frightened and started
to cry. She was pent up and nervous before. Now she became hysterical.
I tried to reassure her and told her she'd best go back to the
house. Though she tried to control her feelings. I felt she knew instinctively
what I did, that her husband had planned my murder. Just as she
braced up and started to leave me, a man vaulted the stone wall and
lurched into view, a pool of moonlight outlining him distinctly. I think he
was a tramp or a thief. I had never seen him before. He
wandered about aimlessly until he came to the hydrant. Almost before I knew what
he was doing, he had put his mouth to the socket and turned on
the water. The next moment he gave that cry you heard. We saw
him stagger backwards, fling up his arm, waving them wildly, then fall
over, doubling up and writhing as though in horrible pain. It only lasted
a moment then he was dead. Louise screamed. She started to run.
She fell twice. I wasn't going to follow her, that I knew I
mustn't. I crept further back into the shadow of the arbor. After you
all came back into the house, I stole out the other way, climbed
the wall, and returned through the servant's entrance. Why should Andrew wish to
kill you, Lanin asked abruptly, alluring rose again. He crossed to the
lawyer and stood under a stand lamp, allowing its light to shine directly on
his pallid face. The skin over his cheek bones was drawn and tight.
There was a feverish gleam in his eyes. His young mouth was hard and
grim. But in spite of everything, there was a look of candor and
manliness about him, which impressed Lanin. Arthur Lanin, don't you know me?
Why? Why? The vague something which had disturbed Lenin resolved itself into
a memory, the memory of a pink cheeked, red haired lad with a
sunny smile and almost cherubic cast of countenance. He gave a gasp. Charlie
Moore, Not Charlie Moore, Yes, Louise's brother. But why? An
automobile came into the driveway, stopped with a noisy pair of the engine CEMENTA
lighted, Then the door bell gave him metallic clatter. The boy clutched Laddin's
arm. For God's sake, keep me out of this, he cried,
I'll explain later. Before the lawyer could answer, he had disappeared behind the
satin draperies four. Lanin opened the door before the servant reached it. The
inspector, followed by his medical examiner and a couple of officers, strode into
the hallway. Well, what's the dope, the inspector asked abruptly. He
was a large man with a twenty four hours crop of blue black beard.
His eyes were dark and very keen. He wore horn rimmed spectacles, which
he kept constantly removing and polishing. Lannin knew that in that brief second survey
of the room he had noticed the almost imperceptible swaying of the curtains as they
fell together behind Charlie Moore. You called me, the inspector continued, not
waiting for his question to be answered. Yes, where's Willoughby? The doctor
was well known on the island. Outside, a dead man was found on
the grounds, some sneak thief for hobo. Evidently we thought it best to
send for you. It may be heart failure, it may be murder.
All right, take me to'em. As they stepped outside, Lannin realized
that morning had arrived. In the hazy light, he saw doctor Willoughby seated
on a stone bench, his shaggy bearded chin cupped in his hand as he
stared with evident interest at the huddled splotch on the ground before him. The
servants had grouped themselves some little distance away, evidently discussing the gruesome event,
but at the sight of the officers, they hushed abruptly. Lannin glanced quickly
at the hydrant. It was open a slow trickle of water resolved itself into
a little rivulet below it, and wended away into a tiny stream toward the
greenhouses a trifle below it. Willoughby rose leisurely at their appearance and extended his
hand to the inspector, mister Dwyer. He said, I'm doctor Willoughby.
This is my home. It's unfortunate, Yes, I know, doctor Dwyer
interrupted. The man's dead, all right. You don't know him, do
you. Willoughby shook his head. Now seems to be a hobo, doesn't
he. I fancy he died of heart failure, but I'd rather your examiner
passed upon the case. I don't think it's advisable for you to depend solely
upon my decision. It's awkward happening on my grounds, you know. He
spoke easily. All traces of the strain of the evening before seemed to have
vanished. The examiner knelt on the damp ground and took a brief survey of
the body. No indication of foul play, he said. He scowled uncertainly,
then looked from Willoughby's face to the inspectors. He seems to have died
suddenly with acute aggon rather an unusual attitude for a heart failure to assume.
Don't you think so, doctor Willoughby. I do. That's why I hesitated
to diagnose it as such. And yet the physician leaned closer. I I'm
not prepared to say it isn't look him over, Riley, said Dwyer abruptly
to a younger man in plain clothes. See if there's anything to identify him
on his clothes, plain hobo, said the other. After a moment's survey,
there were no cards, letters, nor marks of any kind on the
body or clothing to lead to any knowledge of the man heart failure. It
is, I take it, said Dwyer, grimly. Must have caught the
poor devil suddenly, probably dropped in here to steal a night's lodging and having
a bum heart keeled over. Lannin started to speak hesitated, then turned abruptly
to doctor Willoughby. There was an enigmatical look on the physician's bearded face.
Lanin almost fancied. The triumph gleamed through his black eyes. You you aren't
going to have an inquest, the lawyer queried, Not necessary. Dwyer replied,
these things seem pretty clear. To me. He turned deferentially to Willoughby.
You passed it as heart failure, also, didn't you. Doctor Willoughby
bowed his head in assent. We'll have the body removed at once. The
inspector continued, Riley, you could stay here till the wagon comes. If
there's nothing further, we'll bid you good morning. Something seemed to snap in
Lannin's brain. The story the young gardener had told him, the scream the
dead man had given had made too deep an impression on the lawyer's mind to
be dismissed lightly. Doctor, he exclaimed, touching the medical assistant's arm.
Do persons dying suddenly of heart failure give a cry of mortal agony? Hey?
Lannon repeated the question. No, No, I think not. It
would be unusual, quite unusual, but not impossible for them to cry out
death comes too suddenly as a rule for them to make any sound death so
painful as this, Why do you ask this man gave a scream. I
heard it, so did missus Willoughby, who found the body. The inspector
dug the blunt toe of his shoe into the grass at his feet. He
coughed, then looked at Willoughby, back to Lannin's expressive face, then to
his assistant, a slow flush mounted to his forehead. This puts another complexion
on the matter, He said, quietly, where is missus Willoughby in the
house. Her husband replied, she was badly upset about the matter and is
gone in Stay here, Riley, come on with me the rest of you.
An air of alertness had taken hold of Dwyer, as though he suddenly
sensed something of interest. As the servants huddled together did not move, he
gave a peremptory gesture toward them and repeated the command for them to return to
the house with him five. Once inside the house, Willoughby became a genial
host, inquiring of the officers if they desired anything to drink, and when
Dwyer accepted with alacrity, he ordered the butler to serve all present. Dyer
wandered about the room for a few moments, touching a bit of furniture here,
a drapery there, and puffing viciously on a strong and vile smelling cigar.
After he had swallowed a large drink of old whiskey, wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand. He asked that missus Willoughby be called.
You heard this fellow, scream, he said, turning to Lenin while they
waited for her appearance. Yes, wake you up? No, I was
awake. How's that insomnia? What time did he scream? About? Half
past four? I should judge now, I don't suffer with insomnia. I'm
usually a heavy sleeper. Something else wakened you? Then? Yes? What
it's hard to say. Possibly being in a strange room in bed. I'm
a guest here, you know. Possibly the quieter the country after the city,
or I fancied I heard footsteps outside my door. Willoughby leaned forward,
his black eyes lightened, the pupils became mere pinpoints. What kind of footsteps?
Inquired Dwyer. That I can't state. I'm not prepared to say that
I heard any. I may have fancied I did. If I did hear
them, they were very soft, cautious. I should say man's are a
woman's I don't know, but I think a man's. Willoughby sank back in
the chair, gripping the arms of it with long stained fingers. How long
after you heard these footsteps was it that you heard the scream? I should
judge thirty minutes. I lay in bed some little time, then, unable
to sleep, I got up and sat by the window. Does your window
face those greenhouses? Yes? Did you see this man enter the grounds?
No? I'd left the window when he screamed, and you saw nothing suspicious
out there? Lannin hesitated. He caught the glance his hosts directed toward him
and coughed. Something impelled him to say no. Louise Willoughby came into the
room. She'd removed her bedraggled evening gown and had replaced it with a tea
gown of lavender satin and lace. Her face was ghastly pale in the morning
light, her eyes wide and very dark. Lannin suddenly felt a great pity
for her. Her heavy mass of dark red hair she had let down and
braided into a great rope which hung over one shoulder. It made her look
younger, almost girlish. At her entrance, Willoughby merely raised his head,
looked at her a second, then back toward the inspector. She accepted the
chair. Lannin offered her, you wish to see me? She said,
yes, missus Willoughby, I'm sorry to disturb you, But this unfortunate death
on your grounds makes it necessary. Dwyer's voice unconsciously softened as he addressed her.
I understand, Please pardon my appearance. I'd gone to bed. You
were the first to find the dead man's body, weren't you, missus Willoughby,
Yes, you were alone. No, her gaze did not falter,
nor did she look at her husband, who was with you, A young
man, mister Allering. Did this young man, mister Allering, see,
she interrupted him. We both saw him fall fall. The man wasn't dead
when you first saw him. The woman bit her lip, then she shook
her head. No, mister Allering and I were in the arbor near the
greenhouses. We saw a man climb over the fence. He staggered. Then
then her eyes shifted and rested on the face of her husband. Willoughby was
yellow. His black eyes, like beads, stared at her with all the
fascination of a snake coiled the spring. She shivered. Then he gave a
terrible cry, flung up his arms, and fell over, writhing. I
think he died instantly. I screamed too, It was horrible to see a
man die. Then I started to run he lay in my pathway. It
was dark. The moon went under cloud Right after it happened. I fell.
I touched his cold face. She paused, staring straight ahead of her,
as if visualizing what had taken place. That is all, said Dwyer.
Yes. Lanin wondered if Dwyer realized the woman was lying. Where's this
holuring now? The officer inquired, looking about. The servants who had come
into the room on returning to the house shook their heads. I don't know,
missus, Willoughby answered, probably in his room, snapped her husband,
speaking for the first time, he's the gardener employed here. Dwyer merely raised
his eyebrows. He studied the pale, patrician face of the woman, then
turned to one of his assistants, Riley, go of the servant to get
him six. Dwyer and his medical adviser again traversed the lawn to the greenhouses.
Lannin went with them. The operator, whom Doyer had left in charge
of the body, grinned a sickly welcome. As they approached again, Lannin
noticed the dripping hydrant. Dwyer stalked about the grounds. Crossing to the greenhouses,
he opened a door and stepped inside. He was gone but a moment.
When he returned, he made a survey of the arbor and the stone
wall which surrounded the grounds. The grass was trampled and crushed, but no
definite footprints were discernible. Stevens, go back to the house and see what's
the matter that Riley hasn't found that gardener, he said abruptly. The medical
examiner, whose attention had been centered on the dead man, looked up quickly.
It's heart failure, all right, Dwyer, he said. Dwyer merely
grunted. The man who had been with the body, hitched his trousers and
passed the back of a hairy hand across his mouth. He started briskly toward
the house, paused abruptly, and whirling around, crossed the hydrant. As
he stopped to drink from the faucet. Lannin cried out in an unnatural voice.
Don't do that. The young officer straightened abruptly. Speaking to me,
he asked, Yes, what's the matter? Don't touch that hydrant. Stevens
came closer. I don't understand, he said, wondering if he were making
a fool of himself, or if what Allering had said were true, Lannin
has a. The inspector looked at him inquiringly. Lannon laughed nervously, Well,
said Dwyer. He removed his horn rimmed glasses and polished them vigorously.
His keen eyes squinted. Lannin inwardly squirmed under the scrutiny. I may be
mistaken, the lawyer said, uneasily, but I'm under the impression that the
man died after drinking from that faucet. Stevens whistled. Lannin realized he had
told too much to withhold any more, and continued quietly. Allarin came to
me after Missus Willoughby retired. He said, the dead man took a drink,
then fell writhing to the ground. He may have imagined it. I
don't know, but it's well to take no chances. Missus Willoughby did not
mention this. No where did Alarin go? Why hasn't Riley found him?
I don't know, well, mused the inspector. Stamp queer. We'll get
a glass test this water. Here's a tin cup, said the younger officer,
reaching for one, which hung on a nail just below the high Lannin
suddenly remembered the gardener's words when he had mentioned the caution Willoughby had exercised in
wiping the moisture from the faucet. He stepped forward quietly, and drawing his
handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it about his hand before turning the spicket.
Then he drew some water and handed it to the medical examiner. It
was clear as crystal. Willoughby has a laboratory where he makes tests in chemistry.
The lawyer said, stay here, Dwyer said to the operator he had
left with the body before then he turned to the others with a curt nod
of his head toward the house. We'll use the laboratory, though I have
a hunch there's nothing to this water business, but you never can't tell.
And we've got to locate this fellow Allerin seven. As they entered the house,
Willoughby rose abruptly. Lannin sensed attention in the air, as though the
physician and his wife had been quarreling. The woman's face was bloodless, the
great purple shadows under her eyes and her white lips gave her an almost ethereal
beauty. She smiled out a wand greeting, as though welcoming the interruption of
an unpleasant scene. Doctor Willoughby said the inspector abruptly, Doctor Graves here would
like to use your laboratory for a little test, if you don't mind test,
smiled Willoughby suavely. Yes, of the hydrant water. Mister Lenin is
under the impression that the dead hobo took a drink from your hydrant and keeled
over. Water looks all right, but we'd like to make sure. The
smile never left Willoughby's face, though Lenin fancied it grew tighter. I'll be
very glad to assist you in any way, the physician said, though I'm
positive the water had nothing to do with the poor chap's death. We don't
use it for drinking purposes, but it's pure. However, as you say,
it's best to make sure. Come this way, if you please.
My laboratory is on the top floor. He led the way to the odorous
room that was the scene of as many chemical tests. As they reached the
door for a second, he hesitated. He drew a deep breath and inserted
a key in the lock. It did not turn. The physician looked puzzled.
That's strange, he muttered. He rattled the knob. Maybe the lock
is sprung, said the inspector grimly. Willoughby shook his head. It seems
to be locked from the inside, he said. The smile left his face.
He became yellower if possible. There came to them the rustle of papers
inside the room, the sound of someone moving. The men stared at each
other. Willoughby swayed a trifle and lurched against the door. Dwyer thrust a
huge fist forward and gave the panel a resounding kick. Open this door,
he called, open it, or we'll break it down. There was silence,
then a sound of footsteps, and the door was flung open. The
gardener stood just inside the room. There was silence, then a sound of
footsteps, and the door was flung open. The gardener stood just inside the
room. He had discarded his overalls and looked very much the gentleman in a
dark, well fitting suit. Though he was ghastly pale, there was a
triumphant gleam in his dark eyes and an air of success in his bearing.
The room was in absolute disorder. Papers were thrown everywhere, Bottles lay at
random on glass top tables, paper baskets were overthrown. Everything indicated a hurried
but thorough search. One instant Willoughby glared at his ransacked laboratory, then into
the glowing eyes of the boy, whom he seemed to recognize for the first
time. Then he flung himself at the younger man with an almost animal like
snarl. Damn you, Aluring stepped aside. At the same moment Dwyer laid
a heavy hand on his shoulder. Well he smiled, but the menace in
his cool tones made Lanin shiver. I presume you are the gardener Aluring.
No wonder you didn't care to give your testimony to us. We came out
here to look into the matter of a heart failure. We hardly expected to
be so fortunate as to lay our hands on Charlie Moore number nine six seven
to two. The boy flung back his head and looked bravely into the cool,
hard face of the inspector. Number nine sixty seven two, gasped Stevens.
Sure. The escaped khan, sent up two years ago for manslaughter,
escaped six weeks ago. They say a society woman helped him bust out.
But I never dreamed. It was missus Willoughby. She's my sister, said
the boy, proudly. Sure. Dwyer bit off the end of a cigar
and stuck it in his mouth, but he didn't light it. He looked
steadily at the young man, then toward Willoughby. The latter's eyes were bloodshot.
He seemed to be controlling himself with difficulty. What did you know about
this, Dwyer asked him. Nothing, snapped the doctor. You didn't recognize
him, no, young Moore laughed unpleasantly. That's a lie, he said.
He knew me the moment Louise brought me into this house. She knew
he did, and so did I. But he didn't dare admit it.
If he had, he would have notified you in a minute. He wanted
me out of the way, but he was afraid, so he chose the
cowardly way. He made everyone think I was her lover and poisoned them against
her, and then stop. It was Willoughby who exclaimed the boy shrugged his
shoulders. You've made some strange statements, young man, said Dwyer quietly.
And I must say, for a man under arrest, an escaped convict you're
damned cool. A frank smile curled the other's lips. I'm not going back,
Inspector, he said, And don't you think it for one minute.
Oh is that so? You bet your life? It is? I spent
two years in that hellhole. I was clever enough to make my escape.
You can rest assured I'll be clever enough to keep out of it. What
do you think I came here for? That's what I'm wondering, said Dwyer
dryly. You might have known sooner or later we'd have run you down that
we would be certain to come to your sisters for you. Not so certain.
If that poor devil hadn't died out there, I'd still be safe here.
I've had six weeks start of you, Inspector, that was all I
needed. Six weeks too much for you, Andrew. But you see you
didn't get me after all. Dwyer flung his cigar from him impatiently and stepped
over the threshold into the disordered laboratory. He closed the door behind him with
a snap. Willoughby suddenly swayed and dropped into the nearest chair. Now more,
said the inspector. No funny business, get me, you're going back
with me, and you're going back to stay. You were sent up on
a poison charge. Young man. There's a dead man out there on those
grounds. What did you have to do with his death? The boy shrugged
his shoulders again, then his eyes clouded. A note of pathos crept into
his voice. Everything he said quietly. I suppose if it weren't for me,
the poor devil would be alive. At this minute, Willoughby gave an
inarticulate cry. Dwyer stared at the ex gardener, striving to digest his astounding
words. Let me get you right, he said, slowly. Are you
confessing that you killed that bum out there? No, said young Moore,
But I'm saying that my brother in law, Andrew Willoughby did eight. There
was dead silence. Then Willoughby laughed. He laughed until he shook. Then
he staggered to his feet and waved a long bony finger at his accuser.
He tried to implicate me before you whelp. You tried to shift John Gordon's
murder on my shoulders. By god, don't you try it again. I
never saw that man out there before. I just a minute. The dignity,
the note of authority in the boy's voice seemed to impress even Dwyer,
hardened officer of the law that he was two years ago when I came out
of college, I came here to study chemistry with doctor Willoughby, my brother
in law. I was interested in science. He'd gone further into some phases
of it than any other teacher I could secure. I became his assistant in
numerous tests. John Gordon was another assistant. Why rake all that up,
snapped Dwyer impatiently. All that detail came out at the trial, because you
are going to know the truth, because I'm going to prove my statements.
I don't know if Andrew Willoughby is insane or not, but I do know
that in the interest of science he will stop at nothing, not even murder.
Please, He continued, raising a silencing hand as they would have interrupted
him. He was making some tests of a new, very strange and interest
in Eastern poison. It left no trace of any kind. A touch of
it on a mucous membrane would produce instant death. This was not enough for
doctor Willoughby. He was searching for a poison whose mere contact will be deadly.
At last, he hit upon one harmless enough liquid until combined with metal
and moisture. Lanin gave an exclamation of surprise. Willoughby had seated himself and
now sat staring at the speaker with beaded, fascinated eyes. He wet his
lips with the tip of his tongue, but otherwise made no movement. The
trouble with this poison, continued Moore, was that the victim died in convulsions,
the death being of several moments duration. Consequently, Willoughby was still dissatisfied.
I don't know what his desire was in making of poisoning a fine art.
I don't think that at that time murder was his object. He sacrificed
numerous animals in his experiments. Even Louise's pet Yardale and a Persian cat belonging
to the housekeeper were destroyed. The brutality of their death, the horrible agony
they suffered was getting on my nerves. I wanted to get away. He
did not let John Gordon into the secret of these poisons, so Gordon was
in total ignorance of Willoughby's ambition. I began to fear my brother in law.
There was an insane glitter in his eyes when at work. It dawned
upon me that he would not endure any obstacle being placed in his way,
and that because of my knowledge of his tests, he hated me, although
he needed me. Then John Gordon was found dead. His attitude, the
tortured expression on his face proved conclusively he had been poisoned, though if Willoughby
had not so painstakingly explained to the nature of that poison, no one would
have detected it in his system. Whether my brother in law deliberately killed him
as a test or it was an accident, I'm not prepared to state.
But I had nothing to do with it. The metal cup which contained the
coffee which Gordon drank I never saw before, So help me God. Willoughby
swore in court to my carelessness that I had deliberately left that cup which had
been used on a tea table, and young Gordon had poured coffee into it
and drank it. It was a lie, Doctor Willoughby himself did it.
I had nothing to support my statement. Then I was working for a reputable,
famous scientist. What was my word against his? With every proof in
the world against me. But I made up my mind that the instant,
those prison doors closed behind me, and I was once again a free man.
I would not only prove my innocence, but Andrew Willoughby's guilt, and
I've done so. He paused abruptly. I escaped the papers gave the details.
I took a chance in coming here, But as Louisa's gardener, I
was safe from you. If Willoughby did not recognize me. For a long
time, he never noticed me. One servant was the same as another to
him. His wife always engaged them. Then he noted our friendship, Louise's
in mine, and became jealous. Too late, we recognized our mistake for
the instant. He took a good look at me. He knew who I
was. As I said, he was cowardly. He knew I had something
more than my liberty at stake. He feared me. He was afraid of
what I knew of him. He instantly sensed that my presence in his household
meant I was spying upon him. He could not send me away. He
determined to do away with me. Cleverly, he planted the idea in the
mind of all his wife's friends that she was unfaithful to him, that I
was her lover. He did this so that if he were discovered as my
murderer, he would be exonerated for protecting his honor. Then he began to
study my habits, knowing what he intended. I ate all my meals at
a nearby road house. Everything suspicious I handled with gloves. But in spite
of all my precautions, if that poor devil had not appeared last night this
morning I would be a dead man. An enigmatical smile curled up the corners
of Willoughby's eyes. He shifted his position. He glanced in an almost disinterested
fashion at the papers tossed about the room. He contrived my murder in the
cleverest most diabolical fashion conceived of by man, continued Moore, knowing that what
are the plants? I must attach that hose Every morning, he carefully saw
to it that it was unattached. Then, using this poison which he had
perfected, he placed it on the faucet, so that the instant it came
into contact with moisture and metal, it became deadly, so deadly that the
touch of it on my bare hand was enough to kill me. Very pretty,
said Dwyer, with something like a snort. But it strikes me like
some kind of a fairy tale. You can't get away with that stuff,
young man Moore smiled. I saw him place the poison on the hydrant faucet,
so did his wife. I saw the tramp touch it and fall over
dead, so did she. I've been hunting the formula and his diary.
Dwyer sniffed again, though he took the book more extended toward him and turned
over its pages curiously. We're always getting dope on mysterious poisons that leave no
trace, he said. But it's going a little too far to believe in
the existence of one that kills by the mere touch of flesh which has no
abrasion or scratch of any kind. Willoughby suddenly stiffened, his nostrils quivered.
You don't doubt its existence, he exclaimed, in a high pitched, excited
voice. I do. You don't believe what he says is true? I
do not, well. It is true, every word of it. The
professional pride in the doctor's voice showed he'd clearly forgotten that such a statement meant
an admission of murder. Are you confessing that you attempted your brother in law's
life and killed that hobo, exclaimed Dwyer, whirling on him. I'm making
a statement that I've discovered the greatest existing poison, that I've proven its potency.
You doubt my word. Watch. Before any of the startled spectators could
stop him, he had reached for the little vial of amber colored liquid lenin
so vividly recalled as spilling the night before, and pouring a little of it
in a metal measuring cup half filled with water. He rubbed his hand over
the surface of the cup for a second. He smiled whimsically at the men,
who stared in bewilderment at him. Then he suddenly stiffened his muscles,
gave a convulsive movement, and he rolled off the chair on to the floor,
dead, exclaimed the other physician, bending over him, almost instantaneous.
Well I'm damped, ejaculated Dwyer. My sister, gasped young Moore. There
was a horrified expression in his dark eyes. I must go to her.
You don't want me, do you No? But don't try to get away,
replied Dwyer, grimly, still staring in blank as styles at the stark
figure of their late host. You'll find everything in his diary, said the
boy in the doorway. His vainglory prompted him to write it up. It
prompted his death, said Lannin, turning away, heartsick at the thought.
Then the knowledge that Louise Willoughby was free sent him down into the drawing room,
where she sat, hands clasped in those of her brother. End of
After Midnight by Martin Neville