The Ghost Phone

by Johnston McCulley

The Ghost Phone

^by Harrington Strong

Author of “Pardon by Force,” etc.

Chapter I.
An Afternoon Off.

ONCE more old Peter Podd started impulsively toward the stairs, and then thought better of it and returned to the tradesmen's entrance. He stood before the open door and looked out at the clean alley. They kept the alley as clean here as the avenue in front, for the servants used it going to and from the street.

It was Sunday afternoon and almost three o'clock. Summer had come in earnest. Crowds were hurrying to the parks. The avenues and boulevards were thronged with automobiles. Couples of pedestrians went slowly along the walks. Children played at the edges of green lawns.

But old Peter Podd was not in the proper mood to enjoy the day. His scant hair was white, his face was seamed and wrinkled and weather-beaten, his shoulders were stooped and his hands gnarled. For almost forty of the fifty years he had lived, Peter Podd had been compelled to resort to hard labor to gain sustenance, and the struggle had left its marks upon him.

Since it was Sunday, he had put on a clean shirt from force of habit, and a pair of neatly-patched trousers, and he even had his coat handy. But even the fact that he was “dressed up” did not work psychologically to his advantage.

Now he stood back a short distance from the open door and looked into the alley without seeing anything. Peter Podd was living with his thoughts at the moment, and not with his eyes. His face grew stern, his lips moved.

“It ain't right!” he muttered thickly. “She ain't got any right to do it. A man's got his livin' to make. I'll see her and tell her so. And I'll ask her to change her mind and do the right thing. If she don't——”

He turned and looked toward the stairs again, If he went up just one short flight, he would be on the floor where Mrs. Madge Lennek had her expensive apartment. If he knocked at the door, the maid would answer.

Peter Podd liked the maid. She was about twenty-five, big and strong, and her eyes flashed in a way that said she could take care of herself. Marie Dolge had been with Mrs. Madge Lennek almost a year, so she had said.

The maid would come to the door, and Peter Podd, holding his janitor's cap in his hand politely, would ask to see Mrs. Lennek. Perhaps she would refuse to see him. But, if she did condescend to see him, Peter Podd would state his mind in this matter, make an effort to appeal to the woman's sense of justice—if she possessed one—and do what he could to save himself.

Once more he turned toward the stairs. This time he got as far as the second step, and there he stopped. Peter Podd, for all his years and his weakened body, would have offered fight immediately to any man who dared say he was afraid—and yet he was.

Mrs. Madge Lennek, he confessed to himself, was one human being he dreaded to face at any time. It came to him now how caustic her tongue had been whenever he had been at work in her apartment. She always had treated him like the dirt beneath her feet. Well, Peter Podd knew that he did not amount to much. And yet he was a human being. But he dared not face Mrs. Lennek now.

Yet he realized that something must be done at once. If he allowed the thing to go unchallenged, the end would come within a week. Peter Podd dreaded to contemplate that. He could not imagine what he would do.

He went back to the door again, and stood leaning against the casement, staring out at the sunlit alley. A wren sang her song near him, but Peter Podd did not hear. Some servants from the apartment house next door hurried through the alley toward the street and spoke to him as they passed, but Peter Podd did not answer. He did not know that they had passed and had spoken.

A tragic look came into his weather-beaten face. The kind old man disappeared, and in his stead was some sort of a fiend, such a fiend as injustice makes. Peter Podd began to breathe heavily. His eyes narrowed, and his hands were clenched.

“It ain't right!” he muttered again. “And it wouldn't be any more than justice if somethin' was to happen to her! It ain't right! She and her money!”

He remained staring out at the sunlit alley. Peter Podd was showing more emotion than he had shown for years. A long time before he had reached the conclusion that a man in his circumstances was a fool to show emotion, whether it was hate or enthusiasm. Emotion never had got Peter Podd anything!

He heard a voice behind him:

“Trying to keep the sunshine out, or me in? You're blocking the door, Mr. Podd!”

Peter Podd came to life quickly and whirled around. The grim expression in his face relaxed. A smile touched his thin lips for an instant.

“Excuse me, Miss Dolge,” he said. I didn't realize. I—I was thinkin'.”

“You looked like you were ready to fight,” Marie Dolge told him. “What's the trouble now?”

“Trouble enough!” exclaimed Peter Podd. “She—she has been makin' some more for me!”

“Mrs. Lennek?”

“The same!” said Peter Podd. “Mrs. Lennek—your mistress! And by the looks of your own pretty face, she's been raisin' a rumpus of some sort with you.”

“What's the matter with my face?”

“It looks rather pale,” Peter Podd declared. “That woman——”

Marie Dolge stepped closer, glanced back through the hall, and spoke in whispers.

“She's a regular fiend to-day, Mr. Podd,” the girl said. “She jumped on me about nothing at all. She wanted me to stay in, instead of taking my regular Sunday afternoon off—on a day like this, and me with a date and all. And not a bit of sense in it, either. I told her that I wouldn't. And she kept me busy, doing things there was no sense doing, until just a minute ago. No sense in it at all. She's a fiend!”

“And what do you think she's done to me?” Peter Podd asked. “I'm an old man. I've worked like a dog all my life, and six months ago I managed to get this janitor's job. It's downright easy compared to the work I'd been doin'. And now I'm goin' to lose it.”

“Lose it?” the girl said.

“And all on account of her! She's been pesterin' me every day about somethin'. And now she's told the superintendent that I wasn't courteous to her. I don't know what lies she's told!”

“I'm sorry!”

“She's made me mad enough to choke scores of times, but I always held my tongue. And now I'm to be turned off. I don't know where I can get anther job. Jobs ain't easy for an old man like me to find. And real hard work would kill me, so the doctor said. I ain't got money or folks——”

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

“She's the one ought to be sorry!” said Peter Podd. “I never did her a wrong. She ain't got any heart—curse her!'

“Mr. Podd! Don't say that—don't!”

He turned and looked in wonder at the girl's face, which was suddenly white again.

“Never curse anybody like that!” she said. “Things will come out right.”

“Not unless she'll tell the superintendent that she'll overlook it this time, miss. And I was thinkin' of beggin' her to do that. But you say she's in a tantrum to-day.”

“Don't ask her now!” Marie Dolge said. “You'll just make her that much worse, if you do.”

“But 1f I don't, I'll be discharged. The superintendent's goin' away day after to-morrow. If she don't tell him it's all right before then, he'll get another man.”

“You wait!” the girl said. “You wait awhile and let her cool down,”

“Maybe it would be best.”

“Promise me that you'll wait.”

“I'll wait, miss,” Peter Podd replied. “I'll try to see her after she cools down.”

“That's right. You do that. And now I've got to hurry. It is three o'clock.”

“Just exactly three,” said Peter Podd, glancing at the clock on the corridor wall.

“I'm going out with Benny Ranley, the chauffeur for the people next door. They've gone visiting. I'm to meet Benny downtown, and go for a ride.”

“He's a likable lad,” Peter Podd admitted. “If I was young and strong like Benny Rantey——”

“Don't worry so much, Wait until she gets over her spell of temper and then go see her. Tell her just how it is. You've got to keep your job, course. Me—I'm going to leave her flat as soon as I can get another place.”

Marie Dolge stepped through the door and hurried along the alley toward the nearest street. Peter Podd looked after her. A fine girl, she was, but peculiar and mysterious at times! Foreign blood in her, Peter Podd had decided long before. A girl who could take her own part with anybody! Not a spineless old creature without any aggression, like Podd!

Marie Dolge was looking particularly well in a new white dress and white hat. She reached the street and hurried down it toward a car line. She boarded a trolley car and rode some distance, down into the heart of the city. When she left the car, she saw that it was twenty-five minutes after three.

Hurrying into a corner drug store, Marie Dolge went into a telephone booth. Emerging some minutes later, she went to the soda fountain, ordered and engaged the soda dispenser in conversation. He was a young man who had noticed Miss Dolge several times before and wished that he might become better acquainted with her.

As she finished her drink, Benny Ranley came into the store from the street. A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow was Benny Ranley, not particularly good-looking, but with something attractive about him. He had a winning smile.

“The only girl I ever knew who could be on time!” he said laughing.

“And you are five minutes late,” she accused. “It is thirty-five minutes after three. You said three-thirty. You have kept me waiting.”

“Blame the traffic cop who held me up at a corner,” Benny Ranley said, laughing again. “Let me pay for that soda now, and then we'll hop into the car and drive out into the country, where there aren't any traffic cops.”

The young soda dispenser sighed as he watched them go out to the street. He decided to quit his present job and become a chauffeur. Now and then a chauffeur, it appeared, had a chance to take a girl riding and go out into the country where there were no traffic cops.

Chapter II.
Peculiar Messages.

BENNY RANLEY was busy for some time guiding the big car through the heavy traffic. He did not have many opportunities to look at the young woman beside him, and conversation was carried on in monosyllables. But finally he turned into a speedway, and after a time reached a country road, and left the city behind. And then he slackened speed and gave some attention to the girl at his side.

“I'm sure glad you finally made a date with me,” said Benny Ranley. “I've been trying to get a date with you for more than three months. I'd just about decided that there wasn't any sense trying, and all at once you get kind and promise to meet me and take a ride. Got your heart melted at last, have I?”

Marie Dolge turned toward him and smiled.

“Don't get mad if I say that you're looking tired,” Benny went on. “You sure are, girl. Been working too hard, or is it just the weather?”

“A little of both, I think. Do I look so bad?”

“Your face looks rather pale. I hate to see a pretty girl like you feeling bad. It's not natural.”

“I don't work at the pleasantest place in town,” said Marie. “I'm going to leave Mrs. Lennek as soon as I can get another good place. She's not human at times.”

“Cranky?”

“Yes. And she's unfair, too. She tried to get me to give up this afternoon off, and there wasn't a bit of sense in it. I told her that I had an engagement, and I just dressed and came away.”

“And I'm sure glad that you did,” said Benny Ranley. “Now it is up to you, girl, what we do with the afternoon. I don't have to be back until ten o'clock, to go to the depot.”

“I must be back back by seven,” Marie said.

“All right. Where shall we go and what shall we do? I'll leave it to you.”

“It—it won't be much fun for you, Benny, but I'd rather just go to some nice, shady place and rest. That's the way I feel,” the girl said.

“Suits me,” Ranley said. “I may mention that I have a lunch in the back of this boat. And I know a dandy shady place a few miles from here, right beside a creek.”

“Take me there,” she said. “And don't be mad if I don't talk much. I'm not feeling any too well. I like to rest when I get a chance.”

“You're my style, girl. Most girls would want to go to some amusement park and dance their heads off. Of course, I stand ready to take you some place like that, if you want to change your mind.”

“You drive to that shady place,” she said. “I want to rest and forget Mrs. Lennek.”

“Terror, is she? She doesn't look it.”

“Huh! You never can tell by a woman's looks how she treats her servants,” Marie declared. “You know old Peter Podd?”

“Sure!”

“She complained about him—and for nothing at all, I'm sure. And Peter Podd is going to lose his job. She's not human sometimes, I tell you. I—I hate her!”

“Poor old Podd!” Ranley exclaimed.

“I met him in the hall as I came away. He was thinking of asking her to tell the superintendent to let him stay. But I told him she was having a fit of temper and to stay away from her until she cooled off. I hope he did!”

Benny Ranley drove on along the tree-bordered country road, intent upon reaching his destination, and Marie Dolge leaned back against the cushions and thought of Peter Podd.

Podd had been undergoing a mental struggle. After Marie Dolge had gone down the alley, Podd had watched the rear stairs, and half a dozen times he had been on the verge of going up to the Lennek apartment and presenting his case.

But he remembered what Marie Dolge had said. Still, he did not want to wait too long. Mrs. Lennek might have visitors—Podd might not get a chance to speak to her at all that day. He watched the clock on the wall, waited until half past three, and then approached the stairs again, gulped, and started up them.

When he came to the top and started along the hall, he began to feel fear again. He hated to face Mrs. Lennek and make a request of her. Peter Podd was afraid that he would be repulsed with hard words, and he did not feel that he could endure hard words just at the moment. Podd had endured about all that he could.

But he went on slowly along the hall toward the door of the Lennek apartment. He had to make the attempt, he told himself. Perhaps, through some good chance, he would catch Mrs. Lennek in an amiable mood.

It was about this time that Madison Purden came strolling down the avenue and turned in at the apartment house. He did not use the elevator, but walked up the wide marble stairs in front, after nodding toward the clerk in the lobby.

Purden reached the head of the stairs and started along the hall. came to the turning and saw Podd. Podd was just outside the door of the Lennek suite.

Purden hurried on toward the and Peter Podd passed him with a nod of his head and went to the front of the hall, where he fussed around with some potted plants, opened a window, and in other ways made himself useful. He glanced back along the hall and saw that Madison Purden had disappeared.

A tenant came from a suite and held Peter Podd in conversation, wishing to know how certain furniture could be moved. Peter Podd talked to the tenant for about ten minutes. Then he went back along the hall.

He passed the door of the Lennek suite and continued toward the rear of the building. A short distance past the door, he happened to turn around. He saw Madison Purden come from the Lennek suite and hurry toward the front. Purden's face, Podd saw, was white, and the man evidently nervous. He carried his hat in his hand, and he did not put it on until he reached the top of the stairs. Peter Podd looked after him and curled his lips in a sneer, then went on down the back stairs. Mr. Purden, he observed, had called at three-thirty precisely, and had remained less than fifteen minutes.

About three-thirty a scene was being enacted in the apartment of Mrs. Howard Crend in a building some four blocks away.

Mrs. Howard Crend was artificial in every thought, word, and deed, a specimen of the hothouse sort of woman. She liked to be thought ultrarefined, delicate, helpless, and managed to demonstrate to the knowing that she was quite a distance from true refinement indeed.

At three-thirty she was pacing back and forth in the living room of her apartment, her face aflame, her hands doubled at her sides, breathing stertorously. Her husband was sprawled across the foot of a divan, puffing a cigarette and watching his wife. He was listening to her tirade, too, because he could not help himself.

Mrs. Howard Crend was the sister of Mrs. Madge Lennek, who had been a widow for a little more than a year. She was three years the older and formerly had dominated her younger sister to a great extent. But Madge had married Lennek, the millionaire shoe man, who had a hundred dollars where Crend had a cent, and that had changed things.

While Lennek was alive, his wife lorded it over her elder sister, and Mrs. Crend felt that she should tolerate it. But when Lennek died, she attempted to become the domineering elder sister again and deluged Madge Lennek with advice, not all of which was good.

But Madge Lennek had learned the lesson of independence and refused to allow her elder sister to manage her as she had before her marriage. Hence, there was a continual turmoil, almost a warfare.

And on this Sunday afternoon she paced the floor in a state of excitement and anger, until her meek husband felt called upon to protest.

“Quit it!” he advised. “You'll be a nervous wreck!”

“I am a nervous wreck already,” his wife informed him. “Quit it, indeed! Stand idly by and let things go to the dogs, I suppose!”

“I fail to see how you can better things,” Crend retorted.

“Something must be done about it! Are you spineless? Haven't you brains that can be put to some use?”

“What can I do?” Crend asked.

“Do you want Madison Purden for a brother-in-law?”

“Not if it can be avoided,” Crend admitted. “Madison Purden isn't quite my idea of a man. But what can I do about it? Can I go to Madge and demand that she cease receiving Purden? That would be the surest way of driving her into the scoundrel's arms—and her fortune with her.”

“I am glad that you finally thought of the fortune,” his wife said with some sarcasm in her voice. “If Madge does not marry again, I shall inherit her money. If she marries Madison Purden, we'll not get a cent of it.”

“Seems to me you're shooting rather wild,” Crend observed. “Madge is a bit younger than you and is in excellent health. The chances are that she'll outlive you by ten years or more.”

“Accidents may happen,” Mrs. Crend reminded him. “A person can never tell.”

“That is true, of course. But I do not anticipate any accident of a serious nature happening to Madge. She is the sort that always dodges accidents.”

“That man, Madison Purden, has infatuated her,” Mrs. Crend declared. “He began to attract her before Lennek had been dead a month. He played on her sympathy. She'll not listen to me any more. I told her the truth about Madison Purden—that he's a schemer and a scoundrel, and that decent men won't have anything at all to do with him. And she told me to attend to my own business, that she was capable of picking her friends without any outside assistance. Outside assistance! Her own sister!”

“If you ask me what to do, I say drop the whole thing,” Crend said. “Ignore her little affair with Purden, or laugh at it. Kill it with ridicule. Let her get over it. Madge is a sensible woman, Purden will make some fool break that will show her just what kind of man he is. Leave it to Madge!”

“She'll marry him—that's what she'll do!” Mrs. Crend declared. “I'm a woman, and I can read the workings of another woman's mind. Don't you suppose that I can see how things are going? She'll marry him—and he'll run through her fortune. We'll not get a cent of it.”

“We haven't a chance, anyway,” Crend assured her. “I'd just drop the whole thing.”

“She is my sister, and I want to save her, aside from any thoughts of the money.”

“That is very noble of you,” Crend replied sarcastically.

The telephone bell rang. Since the maid had gone out for the afternoon, Mrs. Crend answered the call herself. The anger was gone suddenly from her voice. She did not know who might be at the other end of the line.

“Hello!” she called. “Is that you, Laura?”

“Yes, Madge.”

“I just called you up to—to say good-by.”

“Good-by? Madge, what do you mean?” Mrs. Crend cried.

“That's all—good-by!”

The receiver at the other end of the line was snapped into place. Mrs. Crend whirled toward her husband.

“Now, what do you make of that?” she asked, excited again. “That was Madge. She said she called up to say good-by.”

“What?” Crend cried.

“That's all she said—and then she hung up. You—you don't suppose she's eloping with Madison Purden? That would be the last straw. Get your hat—we're going right over there.”

She rushed for her own hat. A little clock in the corner of the room chimed the half hour. Howard Crend glanced at it—half past three!

A few moments later, Attorney Milton Garder, a successful man of fifty-five, sat in his library reading of an interesting case before the supreme court of the State. Attorney Garder handled but big things now, among others the fortune left by the late Mr. Lennek. A buzzer sounded, and Attorney Milton Garder put down the pamphlet he had been reading and reached for the telephone.

“Hello!” he said.

“Mr. Garder?”

“Yes. That you, Mrs. Lennek?”

“Mrs. Lennek—yes! I—I wish you would come to my apartment, Mr. Garder—at once.”

“My dear lady! Is it something that cannot wait until to-morrow?” the attorney asked.

“It—it is very important, Mr. Garder. Please come at once. It is a matter of—oft life and death.”

“My dear lady! What on earth——”

Attorney Milton Garder realized at that instant that he was talking into a dead telephone. He grunted his disgust and returned the receiver to the hook. There had been something tragic in the words that had come to him over the wire, and in the tone in which they had been spoken. Mrs. Lennek, the attorney reflected, was not much given to tragic utterances.

Attorney Garder punched a button that notified his chauffeur to get the car in front of the house as speedily as possible. He got up and hurried from the library toward the front of the house. From force of habit he glanced at his watch.

It was three minutes after half past three.

Chapter III.
Not Suicide.

IT took Attorney Milton Garder about fifteen minutes to motor from his residence to the apartment house where Mrs. Madge Lennek had her expensive suite. On the way he fussed and fumed and told himself that it probably was nothing important at all, and that silly women who had been left fortunes were the bane of his existence.

Mrs. Lennek probably had suddenly made up her mind to purchase a country place, or something of the sort, and thought that the matter of funds, title, and deed transfer could not wait for twenty-four hours. Attorney Garder told himself that he would be sarcastic with the lady.

The apartment house reached, Attorney Garder got out of the car and turned a patient face toward his patient chauffeur. These two men understood each other well.

“Wait,” the attorney ordered. “How long, I do not know. I am calling on a—er—a lady client. She says that it is a matter of life and death, so I am of the opinion that I'll be at least ten or fifteen minutes.”

The chauffeur, an old and valued employee, grinned, and Attorney Garder did not rebuke him for it. He turned his back, went up the steps, entered the apartment house, and stepped briskly up to the desk.

“I presume that Mrs. Lennek is in?” he asked the clerk. “She telephoned me,”

“I believe that she is, Mr. Garder, the clerk replied. “Mr. and Mrs. Crend went up a few minutes ago.”

Attorney Garder refused the elevator and walked slowly up the wide marble stairs. So Mr. and Mrs. Howard Crend were calling, were they? Possibly that explained things, the attorney thought. Mrs. Lennek and her sister always were quarreling. There were times, Attorney Garder told himself, when he was ready to take an oath never to handle another big estate. Members of the families always were quarreling, and he detested such things.

He came to the top of the stairs and started along the hall. Mr. and Mrs, Howard Crend came suddenly around the nearest turn. They rushed toward him, excitement in their manner, horror in their faces. Garder stopped and watched their approach in surprise.

“Mr. Garder!” Mrs. Crend cried. “Oh, Mr. Garder!”

“What is it?” Attorney Garder demanded, feeling a premonition that all was not right.

“My sister! She—she is dead!”

“Dead!” Garder gasped.

“Killed herself!” said Crend.

“Great heavens!” Attorney Garder exclaimed. “Why—what—— It can't be possible!”

“She telephoned us—such a peculiar message—and we hurried over right here,” Mrs. Crend said. “And we found her——”

“Try to be calm, Laura,” her husband advised.

“She telephoned me, too,” Garder said. “Killed herself? You saw her?”

“She—she was dead when we arrived,” Mrs. Crend explained. “The hall door was unlocked and open for about half a foot or so. She did not answer us when we rang, and so we hurried inside. Oh, Mr. Garder! My poor sister!”

Attorney Milton Garder was an experienced and methodical man. He dealt with cold facts. After the first shock, violent death was nothing horrible to him. And now he glanced at these two, noticed the state they were in, and took charge of things.

“Quiet!” he commanded. “Come!”

His first instinct was to guard his client's interests, though his client had ceased to exist, to make certain about the facts of the affair and prevent a scandal if possible. He hurried along the hall, and the Crends followed, but stopped at the hall door. Attorney Garder went inside the apartment.

He passed through the lavishly-furnished living room and hurried to the door of the boudoir. It stood open. Attorney Garder looked inside and gasped.

Mrs. Lennek's body was stretched across a divan. She was dressed in a becoming afternoon gown. Attorney Garder could see her face from where he stood in the doorway; it showed that she had died in agony.

On the floor beside the divan was a tumbler. Attorney Garder knelt and picked it up, examined it, sniffed at it, and then put it back exactly where it had been. The tumbler, he saw, had contained milk. It also had contained poison.

He stood up and glanced quickly around the room. Mrs. Lennek's desk, which stood in a corner against the wall, was in disorder. Everything else seemed to be as usual.

Attorney Garder hurried back to the hall door and beckoned the Crends inside.

“This is an emergency where we must control our grief for a time,” he said, “in order to bring our minds to bear on the problem and serve the best interests of all. The coroner and the police will have to be notified, of course. Sit down, please, and I'll telephone down to the office.”

The Crends sat down. Mrs. Crend began weeping softly. Her husband sat beside her, staring straight ahead, his face white and lines of horror in it. Attorney Garder was compelled to return to the boudoir of tragedy to use the telephone on the desk there. He was careful to touch nothing else.

Garder notified the clerk in the office below and then telephoned the coroner and police headquarters. And then he went back to the living room and sat down before the Crends.

“This is indeed terrible,” he said. “I cannot understand it at all. I saw Mrs. Lennek yesterday morning on business—she called at my office downtown—and at that time she was looking into the future, making certain plans about some of her property. She certainly did not act like a person about to commit suicide.”

“Something terrible must have happened,” Mrs. Crend replied. “Her telephone message to me was very peculiar. She—she said that she had called up just to say good-by, and that was all. I—I was rather afraid that she was going to elope with a certain man. I wanted to prevent that, so we hurried right over. I didn't suppose, when she said good-by——”

“Calm yourself, Laura,” her husband begged.

“Let us all be calm,” said Attorney Garder. “We'll get at the bottom of it when the coroner and police arrive.”

“The scandal!” Mrs. Crend said. “Is there no way——”

“My dear lady, I am handling the Lennek estate,” Attorney Garder said. “I knew the late Mr. Lennek well and admired him greatly. You may be sure that I'll do everything possible for the best. But in a case like this there are certain formalities that must be observed. Let us hope that nothing—er—highly unusual is uncovered. Let us keep quiet and wait until the officials arrive.”

The superintendent of the apartment house arrived at that moment. He seemed glad to find a man like Attorney Garder in charge of matters. He knew that Garder was a man of broad experience, and that there would be as little fuss as possible. A first-class apartment house or hotel does not like to advertise its tragedies.

The superintendent hurried down the stairs again, to lay in wait for the coroner and police and get them into the apartment without attracting too much attention. They arrived within a few minutes, Attorney Garder's telephone messages having had that effect.

Attorney Garder knew the assistant coroner who answered the call. He had a reputation as a physician, also. He entered the boudoir and began his work, while Garder returned to the living room and continued an intermittent conversation with the Crends.

Then the representative of the police arrived. He was Detective Sam Frake, a member of the homicide squad known for his excellent work in unraveling mysteries. He, too, knew Attorney Garder. He asked a few questions, glanced at the Crends, and then went into the boudoir after the coroner's assistant.

“This is terrible—terrible!” Mrs. Crend was moaning. “If there is anything that can be done——”

“Nothing for the moment, my dear lady,” said Attorney Garder. “We must wait until this preliminary investigation is at an end. If the coroner decides that it is a case of suicide, they may look around for the motive, of course. And what the motive can be is more than I can think.”

“It must be something of which we know nothing,” Crend replied. “I saw her a couple of days ago, and she did not seem despondent at all then.”

“And she certainly was not despondent when I saw her yesterday,” Attorney Garder declared. “She made another engagement with me, for day after to-morrow. She had decided to sell some of her property while the market was high.”

Then there was silence for a time, save for Mrs. Crend's light sobs, and finally even those ceased. Attorney Garder got up and walked to a window, and stood looking down at the busy street. After a time Detective Sam Frake and the coroner's assistant came from the boudoir. Attorney Garder turned and looked at them, his brows raised in question.

“Poison—instant death,” the coroner's assistant said.

Attorney Garder shuddered. “Poor lady!” he said. “Anything else?”

“Detective Frake will handle the rest for the time being,” said the coroner's assistant.

Garder glanced him quickly. To the attorney, it seemed that there was something in the doctor's tone that gave a hint of trouble to come.

Detective Sam Frake had been standing in the doorway listlessly, but now he stepped forward rapidly and sat down in the chair Garder recently had vacated.

“Who are these persons?” Frake asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Howard Crend,” Garder replied. “Mrs. Crend is Mrs. Lennek's elder sister.”

“They found the body?”

“They have told me so—yes.”

“Before you came, Mr. Garder?”

“Yes. I walked up the front stairs, and as I started down the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Crend came around the turn and told me of the tragedy.”

“I see. You were making a formal call, Mr. Garder?”

“No,” said the attorney. “I received a peculiar telephone message from Mrs. Lennek. She seemed excited about something and asked me to come to her at once, said it was something that could not wait, a matter of life and death.”

“Um! Detective Frake grunted. “What time did she telephone you, Mr. Garder?”

“Not more than two minutes after half past three. I remember glancing at my watch as I hurried out to the car.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Absolutely,” said the attorney.

“And you were making an unusual call?” Frake asked, turning toward the Crends.

“We received a telephone message also,” Mrs. Crend said. “It was from Madge—that was my sister's name. She talked very peculiarly. She—she said that she had just called me up to say good-by, and then she rang off.”

“What did you think?”

“I—I didn't know. We came right over, because it was so peculiar.”

“Did you think she meant that she was going to kill herself?”

“No. We never thought of such a thing,” Mrs. Crend replied.

“Thought she was going on a journey?”

Mrs. Crend hesitated. “I suppose it would be better to tell you the truth,” she said.

“It'll save time,” said Frake. “I'd get at it somehow, anyway.”

“Well, my sister has been receiving the attentions of a certain man, of whom my husband and I do not approve,” said Mrs. Crend. “I thought her message meant that she was going to elope with him. So we hurried right over to make an effort to stop her.”

“Um!” Frake grunted. “Who is the man?”

“Madison Purden.”

“I know of him,” said Detective Frake. “So you did not approve of him?”

“No, we did not,” Mrs. Crend replied.

“What time did you receive that telephone message?”

“At three-thirty. I remember that distinctly,” said Crend, speaking for the first time since the detective had started asking his questions.

“Then we are to suppose that Mrs. Lennek telephoned both you and Mr. Garder about three-thirty?”

“I suppose so,” Crend replied. “If she contemplated taking her own life, we are the ones she would telephone, if she telephoned to anybody. We were her only living relatives, and Mr. Garder is attending to her estate.”

“I see,” said Sam Frake. He walked across the room to the window, then turned and looked them over. “For the first five minutes or so,” he added, “it looked to me like an ordinary case of a high-strung woman taking her own life in a moment of despondency. It is often done—money matters, a lovers' quarrel, something like that. Then the coroner's assistant made his report to me, and we compared notes and began to look around a bit.”

“What do you mean, Frake?” Attorney Garder asked.

“In the first place, you are sure about those telephone calls being at three-thirty?”

“Yes, within a minute or two,” Garder said.

“Absolutely,” Crend supplemented.

“And it was about forty-five minutes after three when you came in here with your wife, Mr. Crend, and found Mrs. Lennek dead?”

“Yes,” Crend replied.

“Then the natural assumption would be that her death occurred between three-thirty-three and three-forty-five,” Detective Frake said. “There are several puzzling things in connection with this case, which I'll take up immediately.”

“Oh, I do hope that any scandal can be avoided!” Laura Crend cried. “If the poor girl did kill herself because of an unfortunate love affair, or something like that, it would be far better to hush up the matter as much as possible.”

“Pardon me,” said Detective Sam Frake, “but this affair seems to be rather serious and complicated. And I am afraid that it is going to call for a careful and complete investigation. In the opinion of the doctor and myself, Mrs. Lennek did not take her own life. She was murdered!”

Chapter IV.
The Maid's Story.

DETECTIVE SAM FRAKE worked in unusual ways at times, but he generally managed to get results by the application of common sense to the facts unearthed.

In the present instance he compelled the superintendent of the apartment house to set aside for his use a small, vacant apartment on the same floor, and to this he conducted Attorney Garder and Mr. and Mrs. Crend. Others would join them later, Frake announced, and then the affair would be investigated quickly, and he hoped with success.

He said nothing more after the announcement that it was murder rather than suicide, and he refused to answer questions for the time being. Detective Frake wanted these people to think of the affair until their minds were saturated with it. He wanted to pick up a few odds and ends of information, too.

Frake ordered dinner served in the vacant apartment from the café in the basement of the building, but the Crends and Attorney Garder seemed to have little appetite. About seven o'clock Marie Dolge returned from her automobile trip with Benny Ranley, was told of Mrs. Lennek's death, and escorted to the apartment where the others were waiting. She sat in a corner, snuffling, apparently frightened and out of place.

Benny Ranley had been allowed to go about his business, with orders to return in case Frake wanted to question him. Peter Podd was questioned and sent to the apartment also, where he sat in a corner and tried not to notice the sniffs of Mrs. Howard Crend.

A little after seven o'clock, Mr. Madison Purden was ushered into the apartment. Frake had asked headquarters to pick him up, and headquarters done so. Purden's entrance was a signal for the Crends to exhibit their displeasure of him. But Purden, seemingly bewildered, only sat down near one of the windows and pretended not to notice the hostility his presence aroused.

Thus Detective Frake had kept them waiting for a time, while he held a whispered conversation in the hall outside with the doctor. Another and a closer investigation had been made in the room of tragedy, and the body was to be removed. A finger-print man from headquarters had taken the prints of those who had waited in the vacant apartment. Some of them had been frightened a little; in their minds they coupled finger prints with guilt. The finger-print man now was working in the boudoir, and Detective Sam Frake was waiting for his report.

“You've got a tough proposition, Frake,” the coroner's assistant said.

“I know it,” Sam Frake replied. “But I'm working on their nerves, and that will help bring out the truth. I'm keeping all of them in that room. They are persons in different planes of society, and all of them are uncomfortable. They are in an atmosphere of crime and mystery. We've got a high-brow in the department who would talk about psychology—but I call it making 'em nervous and getting their goats. I may be able, when I start, to jar loose some real information.”

“It's a wild guess at best,” the doctor said.

“Well, we both guessed wild, then. There was the glass that had contained milk and poison. You decided that it was all a fake, that the poison had been administered in another manner. In that case somebody faked the suicide, of course. If we are wrong, it means that Mrs. Lennek really did drink the poison in the milk. But the time element, and other things, lead us to believe otherwise. We'll see how it works out.”

The finger-print man came from the boudoir and reported. Detective Sam Frake grunted meaningly when he received the report and looked up at the physician.

“You can go ahead and remove the body now,” he said. “I'll begin my little inquisition.”

Detective Frake went down the hall toward the apartment. where the others awaited him, The finger-print man, his work done for the time being, was pressed into service to aid Frake. He remained in the hall, just outside the main door of the apartment, ready to run errands, and to see that Sam Frake was not disturbed.

Frake made sure that the shades were drawn at all the windows, and then he turned on all the lights in the big room. He sat down on a chair so that he could see all of them. They watched him nervously.

“Now I am going to ask a multitude of questions,” Sam Frake said. “We are going to try to get to the bottom of this thing as quickly as possible. Kindly pay attention to my instructions. I am going to question all of you, and while I am questioning one person I do not want any of the others to speak a word.”

“But——” Mrs. Crend began.

“Please, not a word!” said Detective Frake. “Leave the questioning to me. No matter what one person may say, I don't want any other person to contradict or protest. They can utter their protests and contradictions when it comes their turn. That is fully understood?”

He waited until all of them had nodded assent. Then he placed another chair directly in front of him and beneath a light, not more than six feet away.

“Sit here, Miss Dolge,” he said.

Marie Dolge acted a bit nervous about it. She felt uncomfortable in the presence of Mrs. Crend, who glared at her and impressed upon the girl's mind the fact that she was a servant. But the maid took the chair Detective Sam Frake designated, and looked up at him. Save that she was twisting her fingers, she betrayed no nervousness or emotion now.

“You were Mrs. Lennek's maid?” Frake asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“How long have you worked for her?”

“Almost a year, sir.

“Um! Long enough to become well acquainted with her habits, then, I suppose. Was she a good mistress?”

“She paid well, sir,” said Marie Dolge.

“With all respect to the dead, we must have the actual facts,” Frake said meaningly.

“She—she was difficult at times, sir.”

“Just so. In what way?”

“She was—well, cranky. I came to her soon after her husband died. I suppose his death made her that way, sir. She would have fits of despondency. Sometimes she would have an awful temper, and at other times she would cry.”

“How did she act to-day?”

“She did not seem to feel very well when she got up this morning, sir. She—she was in a temper.”

“In a temper, was she?”

“Yes, sir. She wanted me to stay in, but I told her that it was my Sunday afternoon off, and that I had an—an engagement. I just went ahead with my work, and got ready and left at the usual time.”

“I see. What time did you leave her?”

“About five minutes of three, I believe. It was my right to leave at two-thirty, but she kept me busy, and I had to dress. So I was a little late.”

“Then you left her about five minutes of three? She was all right then?”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

“Did she use the telephone between the time she got up and the time you left?”

“I do not know, sir. She could have used it while I was in the kitchen doing the work. The telephone is in her boudoir, sir, and the door often was kept closed.”

“Um!” Sam Frake grunted. “Did you do anything for her just before you left?”

“I helped her to dress, sir, about half an hour before I left. And then I got her milk ready.”

“What's this about milk?”

“Mrs. Lennek took some medicine, sir, in ice-cold milk. A tablet of something. I think that it was for her nerves. Just before I left she asked me to get the milk.”

“And you got it?”

“Yes, sir. I filled a glass and took t to the boudoir.”

“Did she drink it?”

“Not then, sir. She was sitting at her desk writing, I think. I put the milk on the end of the desk. Then I went out. I supposed she would dissolve the tablet in it and drink it right away, as she always did. I've heard her say that she did not like milk unless it was ice cold.”

“Where did you get that milk?”

“From a bottle in the refrigerator, sir.”

“Opened a fresh bottle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Use all of it?” Frake asked.

“About half of it, sir. The bottle is still there, I suppose—to the right on the top shelf.”

Detective Frake went to the door and whispered to the finger-print man, and then returned to his chair.

“Now, Miss Dolge,” he said, “was Mrs. Lennek acting as usual this morning?”

“Yes, sir. Except that she seemed to be a bit nervous, sir, and in a temper.”

“Do you happen to know what caused her to be in a temper?”

“No, sir,” said Marie Dolge. “She was that way when she got up, sir.”

“Anything unusual happen last night, as far as you know?”

“No, sir.”

“All right,” said Detective Frake. “So you got the glass of milk for her. And then what did you do?”

“Then I went out.”

“How?”

“Down the rear stairs, sir.”

“See anybody?” Frake asked

“I saw Peter Podd, the janitor,” Marie Dolge answered. “He was standing in the doorway.”

“Talk to him?”

“Yes, sir. Peter Podd was all fussed up, sir. He said that Mrs. Lennek had complained to the superintendent about him, and that he was going to lose his place. He said that it wasn't fair, sir, that he had done nothing to cause the complaint.”

“What else?” Frake asked.

“He told me, sir, that he was going to ask her to tell the superintendent it was all right this time. Mr. Podd was worried about it, sir. He said he was an old man, and he didn't know what he'd do if he lost the job.”

“Give him any advice?”

“Yes, sir. I told him that Mrs. Lennek was in a tantrum, and that he'd better not speak to her about it until she had cooled down a bit.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said that he would wait a bit, sir.”

“Then you left the building?” Frake asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“What time was it then?”

“Three o'clock, sir. Mr. Podd and I noticed the time. There is a clock on the wall in the rear entrance. I remarked that I had to hurry.”

“All right. Where did you go?”

“I took a car and went downtown, sir, to keep an engagement.”

“Tell me all about it,” urged Frake.

Marie Dolge mentioned the drug store. “I went in there and telephoned a girl friend, and told her that I could not go to the park with her, because I was going riding with Mr. Ranley. Then I bought a soda and waited until Mr. Ranley came.”

“Sure about the time?”

“Yes, sir,” the maid said. “The soda clerk can tell you that. When Mr. Ranley arrived, it was three-thirty-five. I told him that he was five minutes late, and he blamed the traffic cop for it.”

Frake made notes to get the soda clerk's evidence, and to check the three-thirty telephone call from the drug store.

“Then what?” he asked.

“Then I went riding with Mr. Ranley, sir. We went out into the country and spent the afternoon. It was a few minutes of seven when I got back.”

“Very well! So you left Mrs. Lennek's apartment about five minutes of three, spoke to Mr. Podd downstairs about three o'clock, was in that drug store telephoning about three-thirty, met Mr. Ranley there at three-thirty-five, spent the afternoon with him and returned here at seven?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you left everything seemed to be as usual?”

“Yes, sir. Except that she was in a tantrum, as I have said.”

“I mean her boudoir. Nothing was—er—mussed up, or anything like that?”

“No, sir.”

“What was she doing when you last saw her?”

“She was at her desk, sir, and I believe that she was writing. I scarcely noticed, sir. I put the milk there and hurried away. I was a bit afraid that she would begin on me again to remain at home.”

“Any special reason why you should have done so?”

“No, sir.”

“She didn't complain of being ill, and wanting you to remain on that account?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know whether she expected any callers during the afternoon?”

“Not that I know of, sir,” said the girl.

Detective Frake turned toward Peter Podd.

“Mr. Podd,” he said, “you have heard how Miss Dolge has answered me. Were her answers, in so far as they concern you, substantially correct? She held that conversation with you at the rear entrance?”

“She did, sir,” said Peter Podd.

“And it was at three o'clock?”

“Yes, sir. I looked at the clock, and the time was mentioned between us. The young lady said she would have to hurry, or she'd be late for her engagement. She said it was with Benny Ranley, and I told her he was a likable lad.”

“And she went out the alley toward the street?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now are you sure, Podd, that she could not have returned within the next half hour?”

“If she did, sir, she never came in the servants' entrance,” Podd declared. “I was right there until three-thirty.”

“Very well. She could not have returned and spent many minutes in the building and yet reached that drug store downtown by three-twenty-five, of course,” said Detective Frake. “Miss Dolge, I believe that I am through with you for the time being. Thank you for answering my questions so well. Kindly return to the chair in the corner and wait until I have finished the investigation.”

“Yes, sir,” said Marie Dolge.

She got up and walked across the room to the chair she had occupied before. Her face was drawn and her lips trembled slightly. Detective Sam Frake watched her until she had seated herself. Then he glanced at the others.

“Attorney Garder, I'd like to question you next, if you please,” Detective Frake said.

“Certainly!” replied the attorney. He got up and walked across the room and took the chair beneath the light.

Chapter V.
Gathering Facts.

THE attorney bore the close scrutiny of Detective Frake very well indeed. But that was no more than could have been expected. Garder was not suspected of having caused Mrs. Lennek's death. And, moreover, he was a man of full experience, a frequent witness before a court, a man not to be disconcerted by a few questions asked by a police detective.

“Mr. Garder, you have been handling Mrs. Lennek's legal affairs?” Frake asked.

“Yes. I was Mr. Lennek's attorney and have been handling his estate.”

“When did you see Mrs. Lennek last?”

“Yesterday. She called at my office.”

“Did she seem despondent at all?”

“On the contrary,” Attorney Garder replied. “She was considering selling some parcels of property and investing the money in another manner. She was to call at the office again in a week or so.”

“That was the last time you saw her alive?”

“Yes,” Garder said.

“Now, you say that you received a telephone message from her this afternoon?”

“I did. I was reading in my library. The telephone rang, and I answered the call myself.”

“What was said, Mr. Garder?”

“She urged me to come to her apartment immediately. She said that it was a matter of life and death. Then she hung up before I could ask her a question. So I came at once.”

“What time was the call?”

“A minute or two after half past three. I glanced at my watch as I was going through my front hall.”

Detective Sam Frake looked up at the ceiling and seemed to be thinking deeply. Presently he looked straight at Attorney Garder once more.

“Mr. Garder, do you know of anything that might have led Mrs. Lennek to kill herself?” he asked.

“I certainly do not. So far as I know she was a contented woman. Of course, I saw little of her except in a business way. What her social life was, I cannot say. She certainly was well supplied with funds.”

“You say that you came immediately to this building?”

“Yes.”

“So you came right up?”

“I did. I started along the hall, and Mr. and Mrs. Crend came around the turn and ran into me. They gave me the news of the tragedy.”

“And then?” Frake questioned.

“I went into Mrs. Lennek's apartment. She was on her divan in the boudoir, dead. I telephoned the coroner's office and the police, and waited here until you came.”

“Very good,” Detective Frake said. “Did you touch anything in the boudoir?”

“Nothing but the glass tumbler. It was on the floor. I picked it up, looked at it and sniffed at it, and put it back as it had been before.”

“I understand. Now, Mr. Garder, have you in your charge a will made by Mrs. Lennek?”

“Yes. I urged her to make one soon after her husband's death, and she did so.”

“Do you care, for the sake of simplifying matters, to tell me the provisions of the will?”

“I can see no reason for not doing so. And I imagine that the beneficiary knows its provisions already.”

“What are they?”

“All property is left to Mrs. Lennek's sister, Mrs. Howard Crend.”

“So Mrs. Crend is to benefit by the death?”

“To a large extent,” said Garder. “Mrs. Lennek's estate is worth more than a million dollars, possibly a million and a half if care is used.”

Some of those in the room gasped. Mrs. Crend's face went white for an instant and then red. Her husband seemed to be stunned.

Detective Sam Frake looked at the ceiling again and then back at the attorney.

“You're sure it was Mrs. Lennek who called you over the telephone at half past three?” he asked.

“Why, yes! I know her voice, and she said that she was Mrs. Lennek. Otherwise, I'd not have left my library and come over here in such a hurry.”

“What did you think when she said that it was a matter of life and death?”

“I thought that something had come up that worried her, and that she was exaggerating greatly, of course.”

“You know nothing that might throw light on this case?”

“Not a thing,” said Mr. Garder. “I know of no reason why she should take her own fife, and no reason why any one should kill her.”

“That will do, Mr. Garder, thank you,” Detective Frake said. “You may return to your chair. If you wish to return home, you may do that. You are not under suspicion, of course.”

“Unless you object, I'd like to remain,” Garder said. “I was her attorney, and, if there are any developments——”

“I understand. You may remain, of course.”

Sam Frake consulted the ceiling of the room again. Then he beckoned Mrs. Howard Crend to take the chair beneath the light. She was nervous beneath the detective's scrutiny, but then the dead woman had been her sister, of course, and she was shaken by the tragic death.

“When did you see your sister alive last?” Frake asked.

“Day before yesterday. We were to a matinée together,” Mrs. Crend replied.

“She seemed to be all right then?”

“She was in good health and spirits, if that is what you mean. In too good spirits, in fact.”

“What do you mean by that?” Frake asked.

“She was like a silly schoolgirl. She was in love with a man. I tried to tell her that she would be foolish to marry again at all, especially to the man with whom she was infatuated.”

“And what did she say?”

“She refused to listen to me,” Laura Crend replied.

“She telephoned you to-day?”

“At half past three, as I told you.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said that she had just called up to tell me good-by,” Mrs. Crend replied. “I tried to ask her what she meant, and she rang off. I was afraid she meant an elopement, and my husband and I hurried over here at once.”

“What then?”

“The front door of her suite was standing open about half a foot,” Mrs. Crend went on. “We rang, and nobody came. We thought it was peculiar, and so we went inside. And—and there we found her——”

“What did you do?” Frake asked.

“We were horror-stricken, of course. I—I scarcely can remember.”

“Did you rush right out of the room again and meet Mr. Garder, or did you remain in the boudoir?”

“We came right out. We met Mr. Garder at the turning in the hall, as he said,”

Detective Sam Frake cleared his throat and sat forward suddenly, alert for the first time since he had begun his questioning.

“Mrs. Crend,” he said, “are you sure that you did not remain in that apartment at least ten minutes before leaving it and meeting Mr. Garder?”

“I—I scarcely think so,” she replied, a bit confused.

“The clerk, Mrs, Crend, has assured me that you and your husband went up to Mrs. Lennek's apartment at least ten minutes before Mr. Garder arrived. He told Mr. Garder that you were up there.”

“It—it didn't seem that long,” Mrs. Crend said.

“You found your sister dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take any steps to make sure that she was dead?” Frake asked.

“No. One glance was enough. The expression on her face, her open and glazed eyes——”

“So you did not touch her?”

“No, sir. I—I was too shocked.”

“You cannot tell me, then, whether she had just passed away, or whether she had been dead for some time?”

“No.”

“Did you touch anything in the boudoir?”

“Nothing. My husband led me out of the room into the living room immediately.”

“How long has it been since you were in the boudoir, before this last visit?”

“Possibly a week,” Mrs. Crend replied.

“Sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Crend,” said Detective Frake, “I have ascertained that the furniture polisher connected with this apartment house was working in Mrs. Lennek's rooms yesterday—Saturday. I learned that from the maid, from the superintendent, and from the polisher himself. He polished that desk in the corner of the boudoir, for instance. You say that you have not been in there for a week or so. Then how does it happen, Mrs. Crend, that your finger prints are on the polished surface of the desk?”

“What are you saying?” she cried.

“Merely pointing out an—er—an error in your answers,” Detective Sam Frake said. “I had the finger-print expert take prints of all of you a short time ago. They have been compared with prints found in the boudoir. For instance, the glass tumbler shows prints made by Mrs. Lennek, her maid, and Mr. Garder. The maid says she handled the glass, and Mr. Garder told us that he picked it up.”

“But——”

“And your finger prints, Mrs. Crend, are on the polished surface of that desk. Fortunately it took prints very well indeed. Those prints, Mrs. Crend, were made by you since the polisher handled that piece of furniture Saturday afternoon—within twenty-four hours. Yet you say you did not touch the desk to-day, and that you had not been in the boudoir for possibly a week before.”

“What are you trying to do?” Howard Crend cried suddenly, springing to his feet. “Are you accusing my wife of killing her sister?”

“Sit down!” Frake commanded. “I am merely showing you that I want the truth, the whole truth, and that you can easily be caught in a lie.”

“There must be some mistake——” Mrs. Crend began.

“There is no mistake about those finger prints,” Detective Frake told her. “You were in your sister's apartment ten or fifteen minutes, Mrs. Crend, before you came out again and ran into Mr. Garder. To speak brutally, you had ample time to kill your sister. You might have been running away when you stumbled into Mr. Garder. Nobody touched the body until the corner's man came, so we do not know whether the crime had been done within a few minutes.”

“You——” Crend began again.

“Silence,” Detective Frake commanded. “Now, Mrs. Crend, you are in a bad position. Telling a lie to me hasn't got you much, has it? Mrs. Lennek died from poison. But the doctor and I have reason to believe that she did not drink it—that she was forced to swallow it. There are marks on her throat, her chin—finger marks. They show that she was roughly handled. You could have slain her, Mrs. Crend——”

“My sister? Why should I do such a thing?' the woman cried.

“Motive? One of the greatest. By your sister's death you come into a million or a million and a half, according to what Mr. Garder has told me.”

“You think that I——”

“A million or more, simply by removing one human being,” Frake said, interrupting her. “And there is another angle, of course. You were afraid, you admit, that your sister might marry a certain man. In that case you would cease to be her heiress, of course. By removing her before the marriage could take place——”

“Beast! Beast!” Mrs. Crend cried.

Her husband hurried to her and tried to quiet her. Crend's face was deathly pale.

“Now, Mrs. Crend, perhaps you'd better tell me the truth,” Frake said. “Lies get you into trouble, you see, and place you under suspicion. You do not have to speak, of course, unless you wish. Anything you say may be used against you——'

“I'll talk!” Laura Crend cried. “I did touch that desk! But I never killed my sister. You're a monster to suggest such a thing!”

“Suppose you try to be calm and speak the truth,” Frake told her.

“When we found her dead, it flashed into my mind that she had quarreled with the man with whom she was infatuated, or that she was despondent because we did not want her to marry again. Then I—I was afraid of scandal. I was afraid she had written something, left it behind, something that would put my husband and me in a bad light. I rushed to the desk and looked there, but found nothing. And then we left the boudoir. And that is all. I swear it!”

“Crend, is that true?” Detective Frake asked.

“Yes. My wife merely glanced at the desk, turned over some sheets of paper and envelopes that were on it. Then I got her away.”

“Very well. Why didn't you tell me that at first, Mrs. Crend?”

“I—I thought it would look bad.”

“It is better to tell the truth, you see. We have ways of knowing when a person does not. That is our business. Mrs. Lennek's maid has told us that, as far as she knew, her mistress did not expect any callers this afternoon, and when she left the boudoir it was not disarranged in any way. But when I arrived, I found that the desk had been ransacked, and also a chest of drawers in a corner.”

“I didn't ransack it!” Mrs. Crend cried. “I only looked at the papers and envelopes on the desk, to see whether she had left a letter.”

“And you did not find one?”

“No, sir.”

“If you had, wouldn't you conceal the fact now?”

“No,” replied Mrs. Crend. “Wouldn't I show the letter to prove the suicide, and put an end to this silly belief that my sister did not kill herself?”

“My dear madam, it is not a silly belief,” Detective Sam Frake assured her. “I am afraid that it is a fact. That will be all for the present, Mrs. Crend.”

Mrs. Crend got up, and her husband assisted her back to the couch where they had been sitting before. Detective Frake consulted the ceiling again.

“She did not expect a caller evidently,” he said. “Or possibly she expected one, but did not care to have it generally known. For there was a caller—Mr. Madison Purden. Mrs. Crend, is Madison Purden the man with whom you believed your sister infatuated?”

“He is!” Laura Crend cried. “He's a schemer, a scoundrel! If he has persecuted my sister, hounded her to the grave——”

“He scarcely would do that if, by marrying her, he could get a million or so,” Detective Frake said.

He glanced across the room at Madison Purden, who sat there, white of face. Purden's eyes were blazing, his hands were clenched. He paid no attention to the scrutiny of the detective, for he was glaring at Howard Crend and his outspoken wife.

There was silence for a moment, and then Mrs. Crend began weeping, softly at first, and then hysterically. Her husband tried in vain to quiet her.

“Control yourself, Mrs. Crend,” Detective Frake said. “If your sister met a violent death, you want her murderer caught and punished, don't you?”

“Make Madison Purden talk!” she cried suddenly. “He called on her this afternoon, did he? Then make him talk!”

“Yes, he called on her about half past three, about the time she is supposed to have telephoned,” Detective Frake admitted. “And we'll listen to Mr. Purden talk, of course. Kindly take this chair beneath the light, Mr. Purden.”

Chapter VI.
Purden's Story.

MADISON PURDEN was a man of about forty, tall, broad-shouldered, and rather handsome. Men generally despised him. Some women loathed him, and others seemed drawn toward him.

Now he got up and walked across the room and sat down in the chair before Detective Sam Frake. He looked the detective straight in the eyes. Purden's face was white because of his anger, but he was fighting to get control of himself. It was as though he understood that he found himself on dangerous ground, that he would have to be careful in every word and action.

Purden was dressed fastidiously, almost foppishly. He ignored all the others in the room and gave all his attention to Detective Frake. He cleared his throat.

“I am sure, sir,” Purden said, “that you will not take into consideration the statements made against me within the past few minutes. You will readily understand why Mrs. Crend shows animosity toward me. She does not like me, and she was afraid that I was going to marry her sister. I shall be charitable and not say that it was thought of losing a fortune——”

Detective Sam Frake held up a hand demanding silence, to stop Madison Purden, and also to prevent a tirade from Mrs. Crend, which he felt sure was coming.

“How long had you known Mrs. Lennek, Purden?” Frake asked.

“I knew her slightly before she was married to Mr. Lennek,” he replied. “I met her again shortly after her husband's death and renewed my acquaintance.”

“You have been—er—very friendly with her?”

“Our friendship has increased gradually for almost a year,” Purden answered.

“When did you last see her alive?”

“She took tea with me yesterday at a tearoom downtown, after she had called upon Mr. Garder at his office.”

“You escorted her home?”

“No, sir. She had some shopping to do, she said. I left her at a department store and went to my club.”

“That was the last time you saw her alive?”

“It was—yes, sir,” Purden replied.

“Did she communicate with you by telephone or otherwise?” Frake asked.

“No, sir.”

“And you called this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Explain that, please.”

“Mrs. Lennek had told me to run in this afternoon, if I wished. So I called.”

“At what time, Mr, Purden?”

“About three-thirty, certainly not later than three-thirty-five.”

“Please tell me what happened.”

“I entered and walked up the front stairs, as I generally do.”

“Without having the clerk announce you?” Frake asked.

“Yes. I never had him announce me when I called in the afternoon and on invitation. Mrs. Lennek's maid generally answered the door.”

“I see. Proceed, please.”

“I came to the turn in the hall,” Purden continued, “and saw Peter Podd, the janitor. He was just in front of Mrs. Lennek's door. He bobbed his head at me and hurried down the hall.”

“Didn't say anything to you?”

“No, sir. I went on to the door. I was surprised to find that it was standing open a few inches. I rang and waited, but nobody came to the door.”

“Did you think that strange?”

“Naturally. I rang again, with the same result, I did not hear a sound inside the apartment at first. And then I imagined that I heard a groan. I stepped inside and called Mrs. Lennek, and still there was no reply.”

“What did you do then, Mr. Purden?”

“I walked to the middle of the living room and called a second time. I heard no answer. I was not sure, you understand, whether I had heard a groan or not, but it worried me. I glanced into the little hallway and saw that the door of the boudoir was open.”

For the first time since he had started his recital, Purden looked down at the floor, hesitated, acted a bit embarrassed. Detective Frake watched him closely.

“Well, what else?” he asked, after a time.

“I stepped into the little hallway, called her name again, and then went to the boudoir door,” Purden said. “And I—I saw her stretched across the divan.”

“She was dead?” Frake asked.

“Yes. I gasped in horror and darted inside. I knew at once that she was dead. There seemed to be a look of agony in her face. Her eyes were fixed, glazed.”

“Did you touch the body?”

“No, sir. I was horrified.”

“You don't know whether the body was warm?”

“No. I—I couldn't even touch her hand. I was so shocked that I scarcely realized what I was doing. I couldn't force myself to go near her. I can't explain the feeling that came over me. I had expected to ask her to be my wife—and to come upon her dead body like that—— I turned around and hurried from the room. I left the building as quickly as I could and walked and walked, unable to control myself.”

“Why didn't you give the alarm?” Frake asked. “Why didn't you report finding her dead?”

“I cannot explain my actions. That is all that I can say.”

“The natural thing would have been to raise an outcry, or at least to notify the office, wouldn't it?”

“I suppose so,” said Purden. “I didn't know what I was doing. I walked around and finally went to the club. There the officer found me and brought me here.”

“You mean that the shock bewildered you so that you did not do the things that would have been natural?”

“I—I suppose that was the way of it,” said Purden.

“After the first shock, you just wanted to get away?”

“Yes.”

“A sort of cowardice induced by shock?”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Um!” Frake grunted. “Very peculiar. You were so shocked by the tragedy that you could not notify the clerk. And yet you were not too much shocked to remain for several minutes with the body, ransack the desk——”

“What's that?” Purden cried.

“Your finger prints are on the desk, with Mrs. Crend's,” Frake told him. “They must have been put there since the furniture was polished yesterday. You were seen coming into the house, Purden. A few minutes later Peter Podd, who saw you enter, saw you go out. You acted strangely, he says. You rushed away without telling anybody that Mrs. Lennek was dead. Don't you see how it looks, Purden?”

“You—you mean that I might have killed her?”

“You had the opportunity, and your actions certainly were very peculiar, And you ransacked that desk! You'd better tell the truth, Purden!'”

There was a peculiar ring in Detective Frake's voice. Purden was silent for a moment, and all in the room watched him closely. Finally he lifted his head and spoke in low tones.

“I—I have told you the truth,” he said. “I went into the apartment and found her, as I stated. I thought, of course, that she had committed suicide.”

“Know of any reason why she should?” Frake asked.

“No,” Purden replied. “But she—she was nervous and hysterical often. And sometimes she was despondent, too. Despite the fact that she had wealth at her command, she did not seem to have much peace of mind. She said that her sister took her to task frequently, especially for being friendly with me.”

“Did she ever hint at suicide?”

“Not in so many words. She has made the remark to me that she wished she was dead—but in the way so many persons make the remark now and then. But, when I saw her there, and the tumbler on the floor, I thought she had killed herself. I—I was afraid of——”

“Scandal, perhaps?”

“I suppose so, though there was no reason for being afraid of that. My relations with Mrs. Lennek were strictly honorable. But I—I was afraid of being connected with the affair, afraid of newspaper publicity. I ran over to the desk and looked, thinking she might have left letters—perhaps one addressed to me.”

“Did you find one?”

“I found no letters at all,” Purden replied. “If she wrote any, she did not leave them on the desk. But you have been saying that she did not commit suicide, but was murdered. I suppose my actions were peculiar. I cannot explain them. But I have told you the truth, and the whole truth!”

“You beast! You killed her!”

The words came from Mrs. Howard Crend. Madison Purden seemed to flinch, and then he turned his head and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I did not kill her,” he said, as though stating an ordinary fact. “Why should I? I hoped to make her my wife. I believe that she would have married me. If you are accusing me of being mercenary, my marriage to her would have put a fortune into my hands, whereas her death puts it forever beyond my reach.”

Detective Frake let him talk. He was watching Madison Purden carefully.

“If she was murdered,” Purden continued, “I did not do it. And if you are looking at bare facts, opportunities, and motives, why single out me? You might have done it, Mrs. Crend, since you would profit by her death. But I have cleared you. We know what time you visited the apartment, and I have said that I was there ten or fifteen minutes before that, and that she was dead then. And—and I saw the janitor in front of her door. A moment later I found that door open half a foot or so, something very unusual. For all I know, Peter Podd, the janitor, might just have come out of that door; he might have been in there killing——”

“Don't you say that!” Peter Podd exclaimed. “I ain't been in that apartment since yesterday when the furniture polisher was at work, and I went to tell him to do an apartment on the third floor next.”

“I am merely showing——” Purden began.

But Detective Frake stopped him.

“Pardon me, but I am not done with my questions,” he said. “That will do for the present, Mr. Purden. Go back to your other seat. Peter Podd, take this chair, please.”

Madison Purden arose and went back across the room. Peter Podd shuffled forward, holding his cap in his hands and twisting it nervously. His old face suddenly was gray as he sat down before the detective. His left hand went up and fumbled uncertainly at his chin.

Chapter VII.
Confession.

DETECTIVE SAM FRAKE looked at the old janitor closely, seemed to be studying him for a time, and Peter Podd grew nervous beneath the scrutiny. He twisted his cap in his fingers again, gulped, licked at his lips, tugged at his thin mustache.

“Well, Podd?” the detective asked, after a silence of a couple of minutes.

“I—I don't know just what you want me to say, sir,” the old janitor replied.

“I want you to tell the truth about everything—the whole truth, Podd.”

“Of course, I'll do that, sir,” Peter Podd said. “But I—I don't know where to begin. That's what puzzles me, sir.”

“You have had some trouble with Mrs. Lennek?” Detective Frake asked.

“No, sir. No real trouble, sir. She—she was terrible to me, but I always held my tongue. We had orders to always be polite to tenants, sir. And I never said a word to her, no matter how unjust she was, Mr. Frake.”

“Um!” Frake grunted. “Now what is all this about Mrs, Lennek complaining about you?”

“She told the superintendent, sir, that I had been discourteous to her, and she wanted me discharged right away. But I hadn't, sir. Although that didn't make any difference to her. She didn't care, I suppose, if an old man was kicked out of his job and left to starve. I was worried, sir. I was afraid that I could not get another good job by next winter—and I didn't know what I was going to do.”

“What did the superintendent tell you about it?” Detective Frake asked.

“Why, he as good as said, sir, that he didn't believe that I had been discourteous to her. But she threatened that she wouldn't renew her lease, sir, unless I was discharged.”

“I understand, Podd. And so you were feeling pretty angry at her, were you?”

“Yes, sir,” Podd answered frankly. “But I—I decided to see her if I could, sir, and ask her to tell the superintendent to let me stay.”

“You were in the rear hall downstairs when Marie Dolge left this afternoon, weren't you?”

“Yes, sir,” Podd replied. “I like the young woman, and I was telling her my troubles. I told her that I intended asking Mrs. Lennek to have some mercy on me, sir. And Miss Dolge told me that I'd better wait a little, because Mrs. Lennek was in a tantrum.”

“And what did you do, Podd?”

“Well, I—I waited, sir. I hated to ask her, you see, being afraid that she would use hard words to me, but I knew that I had to do it as soon as possible, or else get discharged. So I finally made up my mind to do it, sir. I went up the back stairs and forward to the door of her suite.”

“What time was this, Podd?”

“It was at half past three, sir,” Podd answered, “I remember that distinctly. I went to the door, sir. The door was open a few inches, and I wondered a bit at that. And I thought that maybe Mrs. Lennek was going out, had opened the door, and then stepped back to get something she had forgotten.”

“What did you do?”

“I—I guess I lost my courage, sir. I didn't want to speak to her if she was going some place and was in a hurry. So I turned away from the door, in-tending to watch and see. And then I saw Mr. Purden coming, and I went on toward the front of the hall.”

“So you didn't go into Mrs. Lennek's apartment at all?”

“Not at all, sir,” replied Peter Podd, “I went to the front of the hall and fussed around there for a time. One of the tenants came out and talked to me about changing some furniture, and then I started to the rear of the building again. I supposed that I'd have to wait, if Mrs. Lennek had a caller.”

“What else, Podd?”

“I passed the door, sir. It was still open about halfway. After I passed it, I heard somebody come out, and I turned and that saw it was Mr. Purden.”

“He was alone?”

“Yes, sir, he was alone.”

“What did Mr. Purden do?”

“He hurried along the hall and went down the front stairs, sir. His face was white, and he looked scared. I watched him, and he went right down the stairs. I suppose he left the building, sir. I wondered if he had quarreled with Mrs. Lennek, and whether she'd have another tantrum.”

“Podd, when you passed that door as you went back, you say that it was open?”

“Yes, sir, It was open about half-way, sir.”

“Did you hear any sounds coming from the apartment?”

“No, sir,” Peter Podd replied. “I was listening, too. I was wondering whether Mrs. Lennek was going out with Mr. Purden, and whether I'd get a chance to speak to her. I didn't hear a sound, sir.”

“What did you do then, Podd?”

“I went down the back stairs, sir, and to the servants' entrance once more. A few minutes later I went through the hall and toward the front, thinking I might see the superintendent, and I noticed Mr. and Mrs. Crend come. Then I supposed that I'd not get a chance to speak to Mrs. Lennek at all. So I went to my own room, and I was there, sir, until I heard about the lady being found dead.”

“How did you hear that?”

“The superintendent told me first, sir, and asked me to stand by so everything could be done with as little publicity as possible. Those were the words he used, sir. I was to let the coroner's men in. That's all I know about it.”

Detective Sam Frake reflected silently for a time. Peter Podd still twisted his cap nervously in his hands, licked at his lips, and glanced furtively around the room at the others.

“Podd,” he asked finally, “did you really think there was hope that Mrs. Lennek would ask the superintendent not to discharge you?”

“I—I really didn't think so, sir, but I was going to ask her a last time.”

“Are you quite certain, Podd, that you didn't ask her, and that she refused—and that you killed her for refusing?”

“Don't say that, sir!” Peter Podd exclaimed. “I never went into the apartment, sir—never saw her. I heard Mr. Purden coming just as I was going to ring. I never killed her, sir!”

“That will do!” Frake said. “Go back to your other seat, Podd.”

Peter Podd staggered back across the room and collapsed into a chair. Detective Sam Frake looked after him, pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, scratched thoughtfully at his chin.

Then Detective Frake got up and faced them. “Remain as you are until I return, please,” he said.

He hurried out into the hall and closed the door after him. The finger-print man was waiting.

“How about the milk in the bottle?” Frake asked.

“The chemist telephoned a few minutes ago. The milk in the bottle is all right. And he confirmed the coroner man's report.”

“Um!” Frake grunted. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

Frake went on to the Lennek apartment, entered the boudoir, and used the telephone once more. Then he looked again at the desk and the chest of drawers in the corner, and stood back and surveyed the room. Out in the hall again, he held a whispered conversation with the finger-print man, and with another detective who was on guard in the hall and awaiting Frake's orders.

Then Frake went back into the room where his people were waiting. He could almost feel the animosity in the air. Marie Dolge and Peter Podd sat apart from the others, evidently feeling highly uncomfortable. Mr. and Mrs. Crend were on a divan in a corner, the latter weeping softly. Madison Purden sat aloof, and Attorney Garder was in another corner acting like an interested man awaiting developments.

Frake sat down and looked them over.

“Well, you have heard one another questioned,” he said. “But there are some queer things that you do not know, and which I am going to relate to you. It is these queer things that decided us it might be a case of murder rather than suicide. From the answers you have given me, and as I look at the affair now, there are certain deductions that are reached easily.”

He stopped and glanced around at them again. They watched nervously.

“At three o'clock, according to Miss Dolge, Mrs. Lennek was alive,” Detective Frake continued. “At three-forty-five, Mr. and Mrs. Crend found her dead. Mr. Purden admits that he called at three-thirty, and that Mrs. Lennek was dead then, and so we know there need be no suspicion of either Mr. or Mrs. Crend committing the murder between three and three-thirty, when, it would appear, Mrs. Lennek died.”

“Then that Madison Purden——” Mrs. Crend began.

Detective Frake stopped her with a motion of his hand and a glare.

“Between three and three-thirty, as far as we know, two persons only could have entered the apartment. I refer to Madison Purden and Peter Podd. Of course, some one could have entered immediately after the maid left, committed the crime, and got away before Podd or Mr. Purden called in the neighborhood of three-thirty. But Podd declares he was at the front door about three-thirty, and Mr. Purden admits he called at that hour.”

“She telephoned to me and to Mr. Garder almost on the tick of three-thirty, so she was alive then,” Mrs. Crend interrupted. “Somebody must have killed her right after she telephoned.”

“Very well, we'll consider those phone messages again,” Frake said. “There is a great deal peculiar about them. You are certain, Mrs. Crend, that it was half past three when you received your telephone message?”

“Yes,” Laura Crend replied.

“And she said that she had called up to tell you good-by?”

“Yes. I supposed she meant an elopement. Possibly she meant that she was going to take her own life.”

“It would be plausible, if we considered the suicide theory, that she took poison as soon as she telephoned, and that Mr. Purden came into the apartment a moment later. The poison she swallowed would cause death instantly. But we are not considering the suicide theory, but one of murder. You are certain when she telephoned?”

“Yes.”

“And what about you, Mr. Garder,” Detective Frake asked the attorney.

“It was a minute or two after half past three when she telephoned me,” the attorney replied. “I touched the button immediately to call my chauffeur, and I stepped right out into the hall, and glanced at my watch. It was a little after half past three.”

“Sure of it?”

“Yes.”

“And both you and Mrs. Crend feel certain that it was Mrs. Lennek's voice you heard?”

“I'm sure of it!” Mrs. Crend said. “Do you suppose I wouldn't know my sister's voice?”

“It was Mrs. Lennek's voice,” Attorney Garder declared.

“This is the first puzzle,” Detective Frake declared. “If she telephoned at half past three, and Mr. Purden found her dead an instant later, it stands to reason that she must have done the telephoning from her boudoir, doesn't it?”

“Certainly!” Attorney Garder said.

“Very well. And the switchboard girl in the office downstairs, who came on duty at noon, has declared to me that no call came from the apartment of Mrs. Lennek after she came on duty at twelve o'clock! How are we to explain that?”

There was silence for a moment.

“Why, that is not possible!” Mrs, Crend cried then. “Madge certainly telephoned to me at half past three.”

“And she telephoned to me,” Attorney Garder said.

“The switchboard girl is sure that she did not telephone from the apartment at all,” Detective Sam Frake said. “Nobody called from Mrs. Lennek's apartment, and no call came in from the outside after noon, she says. She would know, of course. And she tells me that she is certain, because she was not so busy as usual. And she always watched for Mrs. Lennek's calls, she says, because Mrs. Lennek had such a sweet, low voice, and she liked to hear it! You all know that Mrs. Lennek did have a peculiarly sweet voice.”

“And I heard that voice at half past three!” Mrs. Crend declared. “Do you suppose my sister could have telephoned from outside the apartment?”

“If she had telephoned from some other apartment in the building, the switchboard girl would have noticed it,” Frake replied. “And she could not telephoned from outside the building at half past three and then returned to her apartment and been dead at almost the same moment. Moreover, nobody saw her go out or come in.”

“It puzzles me,” Attorney Garder declared. “I am sure that it was Mrs. Lennek's voice I heard. Yet it seems she was dead at that time, or within a couple of minutes afterward. And if the switchboard girl says she did not telephone from the apartment—— Oh, I give it up!”

“There is another little shock due you,” said Detective Frake. “Miss Dolge says her mistress was alive at three. You two persons declare she telephoned at half past three. Mr. Purden admits that he found her dead a couple of minutes after half past three. The Crends were here at a quarter of four, and the coroner's physician came here at four o'clock precisely. According to all that, she had been dead no longer than half an hour when the coroner's physician had his first look at the body.”

“Yes,” said Attorney Garder.

“And the coroner's physician, ladies and gentlemen, declares that Mrs. Lennek had been dead for more than an hour when he arrived at four o'clock.”

“Preposterous!” Attorney Garder exclaimed.

“The doctor's judgment is not infallible, of course,” Detective Frake said. “But he understands perfectly the action of the poison that was used in this case. And he declares on his professional reputation that Mrs. Lennek had been dead an hour. If she was dead at three o'clock, she could not have telephoned at half past three.”

“Then she wasn't dead at three o'clock,” Garder said. “She certainly telephoned to me as three-thirty. And the maid did not leave until three, did she?”

“I—I left a few minutes before that,” Marie Dolge stammered. “It was when I was talking to Peter Podd in the back hallway that we noticed by the wall clock that it was three. I must have left the apartment five or ten minutes before three.”

“Then,” said Garder, “I'd say that Mrs. Lennek killed herself, or was murdered, as soon as the maid departed. But those telephone calls remain.”

Detective Frake turned to Marie Dolge again.

“You say that you did not see her drink the milk?”

“No, sir. I put it on the end of the desk and then hurried away to get ready to go downtown.”

“And what was she doing at the time?”

“Writing, sir. I did not notice particularly.”

“There had been no callers during the morning?”

“No, sir,” the maid replied.

“Had the front door of the apartment been opened?”

“Yes, sir. I opened it and took in the Sunday papers the boy from the office had left.”

“Close the door again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There's a spring catch inside the door?”

“Yes, sir,” said Marie. “It cannot be opened from the outside without using a key.”

“Now are you sure, when you closed the door, that the catch worked properly?”

“I—I couldn't say, sir.”

“When you hurried out a little before three o'clock, did you close the door behind you?”

“I thought that I did, sir.”

“But you are not sure?”

“No, sir. I meant to, of course. Possibly the spring lock did not catch.”

“If it did not catch, the door would have swung open a few inches?”

“It probably would have, sir. There were windows open in the living room, and that would cause a draft through the hall.”

“Um!” Detective Frake grunted. “Is it possible that some one might have been hiding in the apartment; and, as soon as you had gone, came, out, committed the crime and then hurried away, neglecting to close the hall door?”

“It—I suppose it would have been possible, sir. But there would be no place to hide except in a closet or under the divan in the boudoir. And how could the person have got in, in the first place?”

“But what about those telephone messages?” Attorney Garder wanted to know. “How could a dead person telephone? Is there such a thing as a ghost message? The thing is ridiculous. In my opinion, Mrs. Lennek telephoned from her boudoir at half past three, to Mrs. Crend and to me, the telephone switchboard girl to the contrary notwithstanding! I've known telephone girls who didn't have their minds on their work continually.”

“Even granting that, how about the statement of the doctor that Mrs. Lennek must have been dead before half past three?” Detective Frake asked.

“With all due respect, to the profession and the individual mentioned, physicians make mistakes now and then,” Attorney Garder said. “I'm a lawyer. I've seen two eminent physicians get up in court and dispute each other as to some pertinent fact in the testimony. Poison does not act the same on all persons.”

“You believe, then, just what?” Frake asked.

“Honestly I believe that Mrs. Lennek telephoned and then committed suicide.”

“But there are things to show that she was murdered.”

“Very well,” said Garder. “Then I am of the opinion that she was killed immediately after she telephoned.”

“That would place the murder between three-thirty, say, and three-forty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In that case, matters are simplified,” Detective Frake said. “We know of two persons who had the opportunity to commit the crime. The first is Peter Podd. Perhaps he did call on Mrs. Lennek. Perhaps she opened the door, he stepped inside and made his request, she denied it possibly using strong language—and in a fit of rage and despondency at thought of losing his position, Peter Podd killed her.”

“I didn't! Don't you say it!” Podd cried

“Quiet!” Detective Frake commanded. “There is another possibility, of course. Mr. Purden arrived at three-thirty or a couple of minutes later. He could have killed Mrs. Lennek when he was in the apartment.”

“Why should I have done such a thing?” Purden cried.

Frake whirled to face him.

“Purden,” he cried, “isn't it a fact that you asked Mrs. Lennek to marry you, and she refused?”

“Why, I—I——”

“Isn't it?” Frake demanded.

“She—she said her memory was true to her husband—that for a few years, at least——”

“She refused you!” Frake said sharply.

“But—but I still had hopes. We were to continue friends——”

“Um!” the detective grunted. “You had the opportunity, Purden—and you had the motive!”

“Are you trying to say that I killed her?” Madison Purden cried.

“Doesn't that look like the best bet?” Frake asked. “You've heard all the evidence we have to date. I'm going to put you under arrest, Purden! You're facing the electric chair!”

There was silence for a moment, save for the soft sobs of Mrs. Howard Crend. Purden's face was white, he was trembling. Detective Sam Frake watched him closely, then glanced quickly at another person in the room. And then the silence was broken by a scream.

“He didn't do it! He didn't do it!”

It was a woman's cry. It came from Marie Dolge, the maid.

“He's facing the electric chair!” Frake repeated.

“But he never did it! I—I did it, myself!” the girl cried.

“Ah!” Detective Frake exclaimed, his face lighting. “I thought possibly something would come out of a direct accusation and a threat of arrest. So you did it, did you, Miss Dolge?”

“Yes, I——”

“How do you expect us to believe that? You left before three o'clock, and Mrs. Lennek was alive then, you have told us. And she was found dead long before you returned.”

The girl was looking straight at Madison Purden. Detective Frake signaled the others to remain quiet. They realized that he was playing to get a quick, complete confession. Their surprise was depicted on their faces, but they held their tongues. Mrs. Crend ceased her sobbing and sat up, watching, listening.

“Well, Marie, tell your story,” Frake said, in a voice that told her he was not prepared to believe it. By doing this, he knew, she would tell everything, to convince him that she was guilty. “Why should you kill your mistress? Had she mistreated you?”

“It—it wasn't that! the girl said. “It was because of—of Mr. Purden.”

“What did he have to do with it?”

“Can't you understand?” the girl cried. “He—he started coming to see Mrs. Lennek about the time I started working for her. And once or twice, at first, he called when Mrs. Lennek was not in. Then he—he talked to me.”

“Made love to you?” Frake asked.

“Yes. I grew to adore him! But he was all for Mrs. Lennek and her money. And I—I grew jealous.”

“What then?”

“I knew that as long as there was a chance of him marrying Mrs. Lennek, he would never be much of anything to me. And I loved him! I grew to worship him. And so I hated Mrs. Lennek, because she had beauty and a million dollars, and I was afraid she was going to take him away from me. I knew that, if he married Mrs. Lennek, it would all be over between us. And I couldn't give him up.”

“Well——”

“And then it came to me, sir—if Mrs. Lennek was to die, I might have some chance with her out of the way.”

“So you decided to kill Mrs. Lennek?”

“Yes,” the girl replied. “I—I thought out everything. I wanted to make it look like suicide, if I could. I didn't want to be caught, of course. I just wanted her out of the way, so she couldn't get Madison Purden.”

“What about the poison?” Frake asked.

“I got it about two months ago and hid it away. I got it at a little drug store out in the suburbs. Then I waited. I didn't want to use it right away, for fear they'd find out, or the drug clerk would talk. I was hoping that something would happen between Mr. Purden and that woman to separate them, so I wouldn't have to use it at all.”

“And nothing happened?”

“No, sir,” said Marie Dolge. “She was falling in love with him, I saw. I heard her talk. She wouldn't marry him right away, but she would have in time, and he would keep on putting me in the background. Sometimes I was afraid that he would coax her to elope. Then my chance might be gone.”

She stopped, sobbed a bit, and then raised her head again. Frake waited for her to continue, refusing to speak and break the spell. And finally she continued her gruesome recital.

“So I—I got ready,” she said. “I planned the whole thing. I didn't want to be suspected at all, you see. Benny Ranley had been wanting me to go with him, and I wouldn't, but I finally accepted an invitation for this afternoon.”

“Tell it to me straight, one thing after another,” Detective Frake commanded.

“Well—I decided to do it to-day, when I had an afternoon off. So I agreed to meet Benny. And then, when I got up this morning, I began hating her. I wanted to work myself into a rage, or maybe I couldn't do what I intended.

“And she helped me in that. For she was mean this morning. She fussed at me all the time. I got to hate her fast enough. And then she wanted me to stay in for no particular reason, and I wouldn't!

“I expected to leave about three, and to have people say afterward that she had telephoned after I had gone, to show that she was alive then. I planned to be with Benny Ranley, so he could say that I had been away all afternoon.

“So I—I fixed the poison in a little bottle; all the time my hatred against her increased. Finally I got her glass of milk ready. I didn't want to put the poison in the milk, for fear she would taste it and not drink enough to kill her. She always sipped her milk. I thought of everything, you see.

“So I carried in the milk and put it on the end of the desk, where she was writing. After I put down the milk, I stepped behind her, like I was going to arrange the cushions on the divan.

“Then I slipped up again and threw my arm around her neck. I am a strong girl, and she couldn't fight me off. I pulled her head back, opened her mouth, and poured the poison into it. I pressed her throat and made her swallow, and then choked her so she couldn't cry out. And then I pulled her back and across the end of the divan.

“I suppose I choked her hard, if I left marks. I saw that she was dying, and so I went to the chest of drawers in the corner, and looked through it. I wanted to see if there were any of Mr. Purden's letters there, and get them. I was afraid the papers would print the letters, and my friends would laugh at me.

“I didn't find any letters from him, though she had a lot of letters there. So I put a couple of drops of poison in the glass of milk, and then threw the milk out, into the sink in the kitchen. I wanted to make it look like she had taken the poison in the milk. Then I dropped the glass on the floor.

“I hurried to my room then, put on my hat, and left the apartment. I suppose, in my hurry, I didn't shut the door. Mr. Podd was in the hall below, and I was glad of that. I talked to him, and I was frightened once, when he said that my face was white. So I told him it was because Mrs. Lennek had made me mad. And I told him not to go up to see her for quite a time. I said she was in a tantrum. I was afraid the body would be found too quick, you see.

“I called his attention to the clock, that it was three, and then I hurried away. I went right downtown to the drug store, as I said. There I went into a telephone booth, and telephoned to Mrs. Crend and to Mr. Garder. I tried to say things that would make them think I was Mrs. Lennek and intended to commit suicide.

“When I came out, I went to the soda fountain. Benny Ranley met me there, and I mentioned that he was five minutes late. I had everything fixed! I went riding with Benny and spent the afternoon in the country. And—and then I came back——”

“So it was you who telephoned?” Frake asked.

“Yes. Mrs. Lennek found that I was good at mimicking voices a long time ago, and she had me talk when people called and she didn't want to be disturbed. People she didn't want to make angry, but did not care to talk to. I'll show you! I'll imitate her voice now!”

While they waited silently, she did. Mrs. Crend gave a little cry.

“Madge's voice!” she said. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear she spoke then!”

“So you did it!” Frake said. “A good little scheme, my girl, and it almost succeeded, too. There wasn't a thing to point the finger of suspicion at you except the doctor's statement that Mrs. Lennek had been dead for an hour when he arrived. That—and the telephone girl's evidence. You were as good as safe, except from your own conscience and sense of guilt. Yet you confessed——”

“Oh, I had to!” she cried. “Don't you understand? You were going to fix it on Mr. Purden. You were going to send him to the electric chair. I had to save him. I love him, you see!”

“I see!” Detective Frake said.

“And I—I don't care what becomes of me—if he is saved.”

Marie Dolge looked for a moment at Madison Purden. His face had gone white, but there was no love in his eyes as he looked at her.

“Well, young woman——” Frake began.

“Just one moment,” she begged. “I—I've told you everything, I guess.”

“Enough, at least.”

“Then—you see, I didn't use all the poison, and so——.”

Frake sprang toward her, the others uttered a cry of horror. But Detective Frake was too late. The little vial she held in her hand was emptied down her throat. Frake knew that deadly poison. It was an acid that killed almost as soon as it touched the tongue. Marie Dolge had imposed and paid the penalty.

 

Frake walked through the hall later with Attorney Garder.

“Matter of fact,” Frake said, “I thought Purden did it. The criminal's sense of guilt is the detective's greatest ally.”