THE SCENT of CALAMUS

New Zealand Graphic, 6 April 1907, Page 32

THE SCENT of CALAMUS

By

HELEN TOMPKINS

An act of gross irrcsponsibilty may often affect other persons more than its author.

JOHN!" Mrs. LaidUw sat up in bed wide awake. ‘lSuniebody called. Do you suppose (bat it was Emma walking in her sleep?” tier husband answered*. *• I didn’t hear a thing. You must have been dreaming, Sophie.'’ It is wife was dressing herself feverishly in the dark. K I have not closed my eyes.*’ she asserted firmly. I felt nervous and depressed, just as though something horrible “ Vou always feel that way, Sophie, you know.’* objected her husband, in an injured fashion. “John Laidlaw, 1 tell you that something is wrong! 1 heard a cry. It's a luerey that we have not all been murdered in our beds! “ If there is something wrong. let the person who is in trouble speak for himaeff/' said John Laidlaw. “I wish that yon would take something for your lierv<‘S, Sophie. 1 am getting * ” Hush! ” This time Laidlaw himself started up In bed as if galvanised by an electric shock. “By George! there is something wrong! " ho said, as he fumbled with his trousers and tried to find the electric button in order to snap on the lights. Wait. Sophie ——- ” lie finished the sentence in the hall outside his bedroom. He thrust aside his tenilied wife ami tried to gather his wits together. “Is that you, father?*’ Yes. Emma : let’s have: a little light, if you can find that confounded It's as black out here a* - ” Comparisons failed him utterly. “ What is the matter, anyway? ” “ I don’t know,” said his daughter. “ The cry came from Mr. Gresham’s room. It sounded like a call for help. J am so terrified * Her fingers jarred <piaveringly, but the groping fingers touched the electric button that lilted the upper ball with light. John Laidlaw stared at his pretty daughter a little confusedly. “What time is it?” he asked. “Jt is eleven o'clock father. I have not been asleep. 1 have not oven undressed. I hoard Mr. GiPshtim come upstairs, and directly the door dosed I heard his cry for help. Don't stop to ask questions father, for God's sake! He. may bo. dead or dying. That last cry was much weaker - ” She wa* dragging him along the hall $s she spoke. As they reached the threshold of young Gresham's room, however, the door stood open she recoiled with a cry. The young artist lay face downward across the rug iust inside the room. The sight instantly cleared Laidlaw’s l»r tin. ‘ (all the police. Emma,” he said hurriedly. as ho knelt beside the prostrate figure. “ And do, for Heaven’s sake, tell your mother to stop streaming! ” His daughter was staring past him With \\ ide open eyes. “ Hadn't I better call a doctor, too? ’’ sb? asked faintly. ‘‘He looks—hideous, Boipehow. Luoben his collar, father. Is it a fit, do you suppose? He said nothing about. being ill at supper time.’’ Laidlaw’s hand slipped from the man's wrist to Us client. <r All the doctors in the world can’t

help him.” he said concisely. “He is dead.” “ Dead » ” The girl fought hard for self-control, hut failed. Her hand slipped from the stair-railing to her throat, ther was a little convulsive sigh, and she slid helplessly forward in a dumb heap at her fathers feet. Fortunately, help came to the distracted Laidlaw from another source. Sterling Morton, also, had rooms on the second floor of the boarding-house, and just as Emma Laidlaw fainted her father heard the rattle of the young man’s latchkey in the lock. Morton displayed his usual good sense in the matter. In less than an hour the house was in the hands of the police, and a doctor was bending over the body of young Gresham. “ Quite dead,” he said shortly, as he laid tiie young man’s head gently back upon the floor. “It is a case for the coroner, Mr. Laidlaw, and hot for the physician.” “It’s a terrible thing to happen in a man’s house,” whimpered Laidlaw agitatedly. His face had grown chalky white, “ No, I don’t know whether he had friends in town or not. Quiet and wellmannered and peaceable. Both my wife and daughter were greatly attached to him. In fact, the (shock My daughter is under the care of a doctor now. To be plain with you, she- ” “I wouldn’t go into that now, Mr. Laddlaw.” suggested young Morton, decidedly. " You --we are all apt to say things - - - ” I'he physician lead risen from his knees 1. should like to know if he bad ever complained of heart-trouble,” he said. “ Somebody ought to know. He hasn’t the appearance ” He’-tiirned the body over again very gently. “I’m afraid that it will be a more serious matter,’’ he said), regretfully. His distorted face tells the story plainly. The convulsed appearance of his feaMoreton looked at him anxiously. “Are there any signs of violence?” lie asked hurriedly. “ None whatever. In fact, I may as well sa.y plainly that I have at present no data whatever upon which to base an opinion as to the cause of death. It may be that something may come up later that will determine it. There are no marks of violence.” Morton hesitated. “It seems to me that there is a peculiar odour in the room.” lie suggested. 'l’he physician looked up at him quickly. “ I had not detected it,” he said. “ I have e. cold, and the sense of smell -. Do you moan the odour of some drug?” ” No. That is, 1 don’t know whether it is the odour of a drug or not. I am not even certain that it is any odour at all. I do not notice it now. But when I fust entered the room -—- The man from police headquarters looked at him a little suspiciously. “Then you were in the room before the alarm was sent in?” he asked quickly. “Mr. Laidlaw had just discovered the body when I entered the house.” The young man spoke with a slightly heightened colour. “I heard the sound of agitated voices just as I entered the

door, and a moment later heard Mr. Laidlaw call out to his wife that his daughter had fainted. Naturally, my first impulse was to ascertain if it was too late to help Mr. Gresham. A moment’s investigation convinced me ” “ Was it then that you detected the odour ?” “It was then that I fancied I detested it —yes.” “ Should you say, speaking at a venture, that the odour was about Mr. Gresham’s clothing, or his breath?” “It is impossible for me to say. Under oath I should not like to say that there was anything in the matter save a freak of the imagination. I should not have spoken of it, I dare say. I only thought—— ” The detective bent over the body again. “ I can detect no odour save that of tobacco,” he said positively. “ Nor can I—now. 1 beg that you will allow me to withdraw the remark.” “ Wore you on terms of intimacy with Mr. Gresham?” “ Scarcely. He was older than I, and rather reserved.” ■“Had he any friends in town? Is there anyone whom we should notify and consult, with at this time?” Morton hesitated—a little longer than seemed necessary. “ I knew very little about Gresham.” he said. “He was a surly sori, of chap—reserved and reticent. He dabbled a little in water-col-ours, I have, heard. I never saw any of his work. While I have never felt enough interest in him to dislike him, I— ■He was not my kind, you know.” "Not vour kind? Had he any bad habits?”' “Not that I know of. He was selfish and calculating, and wliat would be termed a trifle—effeminate. I hardly know the precise term that I would like to use. We never met the same people—we did not move in the same circles —■ he and I. In a word, we were simply indifferent to each other.” -“I am told that Mr. Laidlaw’s daughter is young and attractive,” hinted the detective pointedly. “‘Can you tell me whether she shared your indifference for her father's lodger—or not?” Morton hesitated. “I am not in the young- lady’s confidence. If she showed him any more consideration—any more favour—than was shown to the other boarders—there were four of us besides Gresham —I am not aware of it. Mr. Gresham was not in any sense a ladies’ man. So far as I know, he displayed only an ordinary amount of courtesy to the daughter of his landlord.” He hesitated again. “Perhaps hardly so much as was shown her by the others.” he added, at length. Perhaps the detective was satisfied—perhaps ho only wanted the young man to think that lie was. , Mr. Laidlaw tolls me that an engage-

ment had existed for nearly a year between his daughter and Mr. Gresham,** he remarked, “and had only recently been broken off. It seems very strange that you—so long a resident of the house, almost a member of the family—< should have known nothing whatever of this.”

The delicately veiled sarcasm was not lost upon young Morton. He flushed in an annoyed fashion. “Mr. Gresham was not a man to tell things of that kind,” he said vaguely, “and, as I have said, I was hardly upon terms of such intimacy with him as to invite confidences of that order. I have already told you why ” “Of course, in the absence .of any proof that the gentleman died of heartdisease —a theory that I cannot entertain for a moment —the presumption is that he died from the administration of a quick poison,” said the physician, who evidently felt that he had been excluded from the conversation and kept in the background quite long enough. “The nature of the poison used can, of course, only be determined by an autopsy, which has already been ordered. I hope to be able to tell you the exact cause of death in less than twenty-four hours. .Morton left the room with an air of indifference not quite genuine enough to be convincing. Once outside, however, and away front; the detective's watchful gaze, his entire expression altered. “What to do next?” he whispered. “Aly God! what a blunder—what a blunder! I must have been mad!”

Mrs. Laidlaw was hovering distractedly about in the hall. “They say that the verdict of the coroner’s jury will lie ‘death as the result of poison administered by a party or parties unknown,’ ” she whimpered, clutching at the young man's sleeve.

"Thank God, Emmy is out of it! The man from the office has been asking all sorts of mad questions.” Morton turned upon her with a face that was quite as white as her own.

“Airs. Laidlaw, pull yourself together,” lie whispered desperately. “I have made a. mistake, and I—must undo it now—or risk consequences that, would be worse than death. I must see your daughter al once—and alone.” Her wits were! still wool-gathering.

“She is in a stupor,” she said faintly. “She would not know you now. The doctor has administered-a strong opiate. It is the only way to save her from illness, he declares. Oh, Mr. Morton, this will kill Emmy—this awful thing will kill her. The whole affair will have Io come out now. People will say that she eared more than she should have cared for a man who had already announced his intention of marrying another woma n.”

Morton drew her relentlessly back to the subject. “I wiH talk to you about that later,” he said impatiently. ‘ln the meantime, I caift tell yon how urgent the need is, Mrs. J.aidlaw. I will not speak to your daughter. I will not disturb her in any way,-but 1 must see her—now! Five jnimites from now will be too late.” "If you will not disturb her,” she said Weakly. ‘ She was not to lie disturbed, the doctor said, on any account, or he would not answer for the consequences.” Alorton set her aside pitilessly. “Who is with her?” he asked hurriedly. “No one? That is good. No, don’t detain me any longer, Mrs. Laidlaw—please! I want to—set. something right, and 1 have only a moment to do it. Wait for me here.”

He pushed the door of the sick-room open as he spoke and entered it. A minute passed—another. There-was no sound save that of the girl’s quiet breathing. No movement; not the slightest noise. Then the waiting woman saw the young man route out again. lie was smiling a little, although his lips were set and stiff. Just as he started to speak, however, there was a little sound behind him in the silent room—the vague fluttering of the leaves, of an opened book—the faint slap of a curtain eaught in the brezee. “I want, to speak to your husband,” he said restlessly, before she could question him. “Come down to the diningroom. Mrs. Laidlaw, and have some hot coffee. You are shaking like a leaf.”

She tried to twist herself loose from his hold. “John has left the window Open in there,” ..he said hurriedly. “She will take cold. 1 must see— —■” But the smile had faded out of Sterling Morion’s grim face and tightly closed lips.

“The windows arc closed,” he persisted stubbornly. “I want you to help me to find Air. Laidlaw now.” The detective came out of the dead man’s l oom just too late to catch their conversation. He waited until they had vanished.

“Principal or accomplice, I wonder?” he whispered under his breath. “I will be able to answer that question to-mor-

row, when I find out where and how he speet the time from six to eleven tonight. Is he shielding her—or protecting himself? He went into her room just now—what for? To hide some evidence of the crime? I was too far away to catch what he said to her mother or to know what she said to him. 1 am sure that his movements were too noiseless to break the girl’s stupor. What did he want ?”

He listened quietly, but no one else eatne into the dimly lighted hull. lie heard the sound of voices below, conversing in low tones, but lie could not solve the mystery of which he sought the solution. He listened intently again and then stepped inside Miss Laidlaw's room. It was dimly lighted, but the young girl's face was in shadow. He knew, from her heavy breathing, that her sleep was due to an opiate rather than to fatigue. The clothing that she had worn during the day was thrown carelessly across a chair, and on the table beside the bed was a second sleeping-draft, to be taken in ease the first did not produce the desired result. Her slippers were on the window-sill, and the window itself was wide open. A light breeze fluttered the white curtains and made the flame of the candle flare ominously. A moment later the detective stepped outside in the hall and heard slow steps ascending the stairs. “He went inside to open the window,” he said to himself. “What was the object? What possible reason Yet some motive—some motive strong enough to make him risk the fastening of suspicion upon himself——” Young Morton and Mrs. Laidlaw came down the hall again, together. The landlady was saying: — “Mr. Gresham often had letters from Ogden. John fancied that inaylie some of his people lived there, or that the postmaster there would know where to reach them.” “I will wait for them,” said Morton restlessly. “I think that T have heard him speak of Richaid Gresham, of Ogden, who was

either bis brother or <<usui. I think ——” Then he eaught sight of the waiting detective and stopped short. “The verdict of the coroner's jury will l>e ’death ns the result of poison administered by a pirty or parties unknown/” said Carter, the detective. He looked at Alorton, but he addressed the woman. “There are a dozen people in the house who will be examined by the coroner in the morning, but I expect to gain but little informal ion from any of them. I understand that Miss Laidlaw has been engaged to the deceased, and that the engagement had recently terminated in a—shall we say, disagreemcii* ? ’* Sophie Laidlaw (lushed in a cons«:< is fashion. “ [ believe that there was something in the nature of an engagement existing at one time ladween them.” she said, ivluciantly. “ They were not engaged, how ever, at the ” The detective looked at her oddly. “So the engagement was dissolved,” he said, musingly. “ May 1 ask at whose request ? ” Morton had been making signs to Mrs. laiidlaw —signs which she was too bewildered to understand. “ Mr. Gresham was much older than Emmy,” she said, plaintively, “ and he was of an exceedingly jealous disposition. She was quite as fond of him as he was of her. but he made her life a burden with his groundless suspicions. She got tired of it at last, and told him so Hally. They agreed to terminate the engagement then. It had been a mistake from the beginning.” “Did the rupture of the relations seem to affect Mr. Gresham —bis general heiith or his spirits? ” The excitement, the fright through which she had passed, her anxiety about her daughter, stirred Mrs. Laidlaw's usually placid nature to hitherto mist i nod depths of bitterness. “He was on with a new love soon enough after his quarrel with my daughter/’ she said, with unwonted asperity. “ He was soon engaged to a woman on the East Side somewhere. Emmy said that he had the assurance to tell her all

about it. I think she xv»s a widow. 1 hey were to have been married in a month — so he Mid. Persona By, 1 think he was too selfish to care for any woman. !!<• only wanted to spite Emmy—— ’’ Morion’s signs were new too plain to be disregarded. He was shaking his head violently. Garter wheeled alanit sharply ju-4 in time to catch this signal from Morton. Again the detective wondered “ Principal or accomplice? Is he trying to shield the woman or to protect himself?" There was a faint sound from tile room where the sick girl lay, and the mother scuttled agitatedly away. Alorton seemed eager to terminate the interview, but the detective stopped him. “ As near as I can find out. Mr. Morton.” he said, genially, ••you serm to have been more familiar with the chai actor of the deceased than anyone else. You will he asked a lot of quotion- about that to-morrow.” Morton frowned. “ In spite of the fact that I positively disclaim any knowledge whatever about the man?” hr asked, pointedly. “ You have lived under the >ame roof with him for nearly eight months/' said the unperturbed Carter. “ You have known him as the anxious lover, the accepted suitor, the ex liancec of a charming young woman in whom you were interested.” “ Interested? ” “Come. Mr. Morton, you will bav<- to toll the coroner's jury tomorrow; you may as well tdl me the truth to-night. Wore you not. in sonic sort, a rival of the man who now lies murdered upstairs?” “So that is what all this jmlaver points to?” said young Morton, oonteinptoii-ly. ” 1 can account for every moment of my lime, Mr. Carter, from tin* hour of six until that of eleven. 1 feel no interest-— speaking in an especial and personal seu>e — in Miss Taiidlaw. So far as 1 know. Mr. Gresham may have committed Mii vide.” '• Do you believe that ?" Morton reddened. “ No. frankly, 1 do not," lie said, de cidedly. “ He was too much of a coward to do anything of the kind.” “1 have examined his room thorough-

Iy,” said Carter, in a sudden burst of confidence. “ The poison which he took was probably contained i» the glass,of water which he drank just before his first terrified cry for help reached Airs. Laidlaw’s nervous ears. In his fall the little stand which held the glass was overturned and tl>e glass itself shattered into fragments. The autopsy to-morrow will settle tha nature of the poison. The maid—an honest but not over-intelligent creature—carried the water up, in accordance with her usual custom, at half-past nine. Mr. Gresham had spent the evening out, ns usual. You found the front door locked? ” Morton nodded. “

" The person who put that poison in the glass knew Mr. Gresham’s habits. Gresham was not the sort ot man, ) should judge, to awaken any very particular interest in anyone. Inclined to be selfish and cold. Am 1 stating the case correctly, Mr. Morton?” Morton nodded again, lie spoke with an effort. “ You have described the man’s character,’’ he said. “If there was any chance of an accident -—” “ Where did the poison come from? Is it likely that the Laidlaws had any about? Yon see, 1 am making no secret of my bewilderment over the matter.” “ I do not know ” Carter hesitated, then produced a. small hottie from an inner pocket of his eoat. "1 found this bottle in a desk of the Laidlaw’s sitting-room,” he. said, abruptly. “ A large part of it has been used, as you see. What was it used for?” Cold drops of a siek sort of terror •hone on Morton’p forehead. •' 1 do not know,” lie stammered. “ Even if this was the poison, a part of which was used, I do not see why the Laidlaws should be involved. The sitting-room was always open, ami ” “ 1 am not accusing the Laidlaws- —as yet,” said the detective, coldly. ” You will pardon me, perhaps, for saying that your rash impulsiveness may harm them more than anything 1 could possibly do. You are taking the guilt of someone in the house for granted, Mr. Morton. 1 am not.” Even as he spoke t he light was growing dim in the room. A new day had begun. Carter led the way down the hack stairs,’ through the lower hall, and into a garden at the back of the boardinghouse. " You are not doing very much to help mo. MrTMorton,’’- he said, in a low voice. "It may be that 1 can get along without your help, however. ’ 1 see Mr. Laidlaw keeps a bit of old-fashioned greenery here in the heart of the city. 1 feel sure that the murderer came up the back stairs, and that this door was not locked last night. ’ lie looked at the young man a little wonderingly. Morton s face was drawn and haggard. A clue which the detective had overlooked — was overlooking still lay in the little fragrant garden, and he dreaded that Carter’s eyes, sharpened by growing suspicion, would discover it. Carter’s eyes followed the other’s glanee warily. There were two or three rows of vegetables set in green lines in the rich black mold, a wooden frame covered with woodbine, and a white rosebush, fragrant with bloom. A few jonquils were lieginning to scatter their fading gold upon the grass, and a tangled hedge of unpruned honeysuckle made the air overpoweringly sweet. Near the steps a few rank stalks of calamus had usurped the tiny pool-left by the overflow of a hydrant, and the crisp blades stirred softly in the morning air. Morton’s eyes swept the garden, from the tangled honeysuckle to the little clump of calamus at their feet, then forced himself reluctantly to meet the detective’s steady gaze. “ If you arc sure that, you have nothing more to say to me,'* he said, slowly, •• 1 think I will go out for a walk. Frankly. I have told you all that 1 know, and I deny your right to catechise me further. I’nless you believe that 1 am guilty of the murder——” “ I am almost sure that you are not, said the detective, quietly. • Look here, Carter, we may as well understand eaeh other,” said the young man. hotly. " Gresham was a sulky brute, and I cared little enough for him, God knows, but I left, him alive and well, and apparently ill his usual heavenly frame of mind, at six o’clock. I did not speak to him, nor did he speak to me. When 1 entered the door I heard Jaiidlaw maundering on in his idiotic way, and saw the poor devil’s body on the Hour. That is ell 1 have to say.” Without another .woixl the exasperated young man wheeled sharply and reentered the house. ’ , JFive minutes later the detective heard,

«a lie still loitered about aimlessly in the hall, the front door close jarringly behind him. 11. *The sitting of the coroner’s jury was apparently barren of results. 1 At leaut so far is fixing the responsibility of the crime was concerned. The autopsy showed the presence of poison in large quantities, it developed that Gresham had no relations savj a second or third cousin living in 'a distant town, and that he had few friends; His engagement to the relict of a clothing dealer was evidently of an intermittent nature. Apparently, it had hardly been regarded seriously on either side. ” Gresham had called on her the night of the murder, apparently in Iris usual spirits. She hud had a headache, however, and had dismissed him a little earlier than usual. It was barely tea o’clock when he left her house.

Where lie had .gone from there--where he had spent the hour that had elapsed from the time he left her to the moment when the landlady had heard his cry for help- remained a mystery. Sterling Morton clearly established an unimpeachable alibi. ■He. also, had called upon a young woman of his acquaintance, and had taken her to the theatre afterward, ft had been about 11 when he left her. and he had only had time to walk the four blocks lying between her home and his boardinghouse when the alarm was given. Investigation, moreover, hardly bore Mrs. laiidlaw out in the assertion that her daughter had eared but little lor her quondam li'anee. Sue bad only broken witJi him after much urging -on her mother’s part, and bad seemed bitterly to resent his attentions to the other woman —attentions of which be had openly boasted. She had grown thin and listless, and, in spite of the opiate-induced stupor that had followed the discovery of Gresham's body, she had not rallied from the shock as* completely as they had had hoped. The physician who had her case in charge declared that she was in the initial stage of brain fever, and that it would be weeks before her evidence would be worth anything. She raved continually, hut, strange to say, her ravings never once touched upon the tragedy'. "At the. hands of a party or pnities unknown.” The words still rang in Morton’s ears as he followed Arthur Gresham’s body to the cemetery ; it rang in his ears I ’.ter as he .sat in his own room and fount himself listening for the dead nub's step upon the stair —the click of the key in the lock —the surly exel'.imaien as he fumbled for the electric Imttqi. Time passed slowly after that, but there were no new developments. The widow of the clothing dealer vfsnt into black, but she did not eare -to press Ihe investigation further. The murder promised to remain an unexplained mystery. It is true, that Carter, whose pi ide was piqued, kept up a perfunctory sort of investigation for some days, but without results. In the meantime. Emma Laidlaw gradually, very gradually, was dragged back from the gales of death. Iler mother told young Morton that damn a had never mentioned Gresh nil’s name. Alorton himself had not seen her. He sent her Howers once or twice utter she had begun to improve. She hud been sitting up at. intervals for more than a week, when he arranged a tray for her one day. There was a cluster of heavy crimson dime-roseis upon it, and some fate si raw berries. Tucked away, quite under the iv.ipkin and out. of sight, was something that he went into th? garden to get with his own hands. Ten minutes later the tray was returned to the kitchen apparently untouched, and an hour later Morton passed the hurrying physician upon the stair. His patient had relapsed. ’A prolonged fainting-lit (Kail been followed by an ominous rise of temperature and a return of her delirium. Morton swore softly under his breath ns lie went back to his own room. By the next morning, however, to his relief, the danger had .passed. Mrs. Icaidlaw told him so. No. Emmy lead not eaten the berries. He had no cause to blame himself in the least. He. was not surprised, the next day, to be told that tile young girl wished to see him.

“Close the door,” she said to him peremptorily. “Then you knew all about it —After all* You were not in the house. Who told you?” • J’,l , “I know' that you are not guilty,” he said. . •' •

“They would not talk to me about it, and I was afraid to ask,” she said fevershly. “Ever since 1 have been myself I have wondered who did it. lie did not fare for me, you know, nor for the other woman. He only dangled after her, and boasted of it until 1 was half mad with jealous fury. That night I waited a long time for him to come in. 1 meant to beg him to leave the house. “1 knew that he was not a good man — 1 knew it from the first. 1 knew that he had gone to see her that last night. I left my room at half-past ten, and waited in the hall a long time. “I thought I heard his step, and some reluctance to have him come and tin.l me there waiting so .shameless drove, me into the garden, and I stood there just beside the steps, waiting for t.is door to close. “1 did not know that my feet were crushing the calamus-roots. 1 did not care for that-—for anything. It, seemed to me that my heart would Ine ik. “It was not Arthur, after all. Whoever it was, however, went on to nis rcom—at least, I think.so. I'. may have been the murderer, for all 1 know. I grew chilled after a time, and tired, and 1 went back into the house.

"Everything was quiet, and I assured myself that 1 had been mistaken. "I opened the door softly and looked inside his room. The light was burning,, tint there was no one there, d walked about restlessly for a moment. The air was close and heavy, and the odour of the ealanius-roots made me a little faint. 1 wailed until the clock struck eleven, and then went back to my own room.” She herniated. “Tlie scent of the calamus was still quite perceptible in the room when my father entered'it,” she said slowly. "The -odour of it went with mo into the delirium that made, my illness a long nightmare. 1 knew then, just as I know now, that it was the murderer’s step that 1 mistook for his that night—that as 1 waited there for him in that silent room Death also' waited at my elbow. If 1 had only known—•—-’ He looked at her steadily. "The front door was locked,” be said. “Was it a man’s step you heard or w woman’s?” , •■ She shook her head. “God knows,” she said. “I can onlyrepeat that 1 was quite sure that it was his—Arthur’s —step. Day before yesterday, when you sent me the bit of calamus, 1 knew— —” “That 1 wanted to see you—that 1 felt it quite impossible to wait longer,” he said feverishly. "1 did all 1 could for you, you know. After 1 had been fool enough to blurt out what I did about the odour in the room, there was nothing else left, for me but to help you —if 1 could. 1 was afraid that he—- < '•.li ter— would distinguish the odour, and I went to your room and threw open the window, leaving your slippers upon the window-sill. Yon see, J had watched the long struggle between your love and your pride, and as soon as 1 found out ” ••Why did you suspect my presence in the room?” she asked. He bent over her and dropped a little knot* of blue ribbon in her lap. “J found this on the floor,” he said simply. “I had begun to suspect before, but after that I knew. But. I also knew that you were no tgnilty. And the torture of knowing that you would be under suspicion -that every impulse of your loving womanly I‘art would be ruthlessly paraded to .public view—maddened me. The man was a scoundrel, EmniH. How on earth you ever came to fancv him is more tb'.in I- ——” "Hush!” .she said gently. “I loved him.” The rage died out of his face. “When I think of that, widow, with her bl w.v.iy figure. and her coarseness. and then of you! You are a queer lot, Emma, you wcMen.” > "A queer lot —yes,” she agreed absently. ".Mr. -Morton, who killed Artli ur?” “Heaven only knows. 1 haven’t the vamicst idea. I only wish 1 had. Dicl you hour the rattle of a latch-key that night. Emma—before you heard the step in the hall, 1 mean? Was the front door locked?” "It should have been—l don’t know.” she said quite helplessly. “I thought that, of course, it was Arthur— it wa»

Kat about the time for him to come tn. ■mellow. I never once thought of any One else.”

‘•lt’s no use going over it again,” he •aid gloomily. “It’s not that I am afraid for. you, you know, even if Carter .were idiot enough to want to press the case against you.' But with things left at loose ends in this way there is always the danger of something coming up. Every time I meet Carter on the street he looks at me in a curious, superior sort, of way. 1 might almost as well be guilty myself.” “I am very sorry,” she said plaintively. “You have been a good friend to me, Mr Morton, and, so far, it seems that I have caused you nothing but annoyance and vexation.”

She was still looking at him a little uncertainly, a little wistfully, as he went away. If Arthur had only had a father, a brother—some one to push the matter! But ho had been little liked. Now there was no one to care, while, somewhere in the world, the man whose hands wore stained with his Wood walked unmolested among his fellows in the Tull light of day. i ■. ■ > , , - lit.

-It was almost dark when Morton left the house. He met Cruikshank on the stoop as he went out. There was noth'irig strange in that—Cruikshank was essentially a man,of leisure. He looked at Morion now with inquisitive but not unkindly eyes.

“You arc looking seedy, old chap,” he said critically. “Is tin re anything •that I can do to help you—in any way?” he added pointedly.

In a saner frame of mind, Morton Would only have laughed at the suggestion. Sore-hearted and desperate as he ■was, he acted upon an impulse o£ the moment. J “I don’t know that anybody can help me, Bobby,” he said gloomily. “It’s the same old tiling, you know-—Gresh-am’s murder.” • “Detectives are supposed to be very clever,” suggested Cruikshank lazily. “Why don’t you consult them?”.: “Oh„hang- the detectives!” said Morton.y- . ; ' “Conic up to my room land have, a weed,” said .( I’uikskank ' airipably. • “VVe can be quiet there, and if there-is anything T can do, short of confessing to the murder myself ——’’ ' ' With; the key Ilimed in the lock he pushed the cigars across the table and faced Morton steadily. “State your case, old man,” he said coolly. n “I didn’t care a rap for Gresham,” Morton explained. “I am not wasting any tears over him now that he is dead. But ordinary regard for the sanctity of human life ” : ‘ • “Cut it out. Morion —all that rot.” said- Cruikshank - calmly. “State it straight, old man.” , Morton flushed. ■ “Gresham was a rascal, in a weak, effeminate sort of way,” h? said, a little more hurriedly. “We hated each other most cordially, he and I. lie behaved like the scoundrel that he was to—Miss Laidlaw. 1 love her. and I would marry her to-morrow if she would have me, .which she will never do as long as Gresham rests upon-the pedestal which she has . reared to his memory. Besides, there is always the danger^that Carter br some overzealous oflicer of the Jaw mav .make. trouble for -her in connection iwi.tji the affair. She is the only one who could have had any feelings——”

.“1 beg your pardon. Morton, but I appreciate ’ the situation," said Cruikshank reflectively. "What you want, then, as I understand it. is to discover the murderer?” & Morton nodded.

“We will begin sensibly, then. Gresham’s life could only liave been taken for four motives—-first, greed. We may safely eliminate this from our calculations, I think, as the man had no money. Second, jealously; third, fear; fourth, accident.

;,“Nd," no onp cared , for him, as you have already so feelingly remarked, except Miss Laidlaw, and she is not that kind, you know. The other woman in the case' could have had no occasion for jealousy—she was not fond enough of him for that.”

I Alorton frowned. AT don’t care anything about her,” he ■aid fretfully. ,Why had lie ever been fool enough to think for a moment that Bobby Cruikshank could help him? , ’ “She • has as little of the. murderess about her as you have. So far- as fear is concerned, that might as well be eliminated from the count also.” He

uttered the last words contemptuously.

“Personally, I believe that the man died from--heart disease,” said Cruikshank easily. “You see ” “There was the autopsy, Bobby.” “Well, what of it? Suppose poison was found in his stomach. Nowadays, everybody takes poison, one way or another. Either for the heart or the nerves or the complexion. Maybe in his case it had a cumulative effect. I have heard of such things. I don't blame you, though, for being a bit disgusted with the whole thing. The police, are such idiots. I kept still enough, I can tell you, when they were asking all sorts of foolish questions about the poison found in the Laidlaw sitting-room.” “You!”

“Yes. Didn't I ever tell you about that? You see, T bought the poison for Laidlaw two or three years ago myself. Paid for it too, by dove. lie wanted it to get rid of a stray dog, I think. And I knew, of course, where he kept it. You remember that. I went hunting some weeks ago and killed a wild goose.”

“Oh, yes, I remendx-r.” said Morton, a little wearily. He had heard Bobby tell of the goose until he was sick of the very name. There was something in What Bobby was saying, however, if he only had the brains to puzzle it out. “Well, I brought that bird home, and I had read up on the thing, and I thought I would do a little taxidermy. I knew that poison was used in taxidermy in large, quantities, and I had it ready to my hand. But it was all a failure after all. Look!” - - With these words he tore the covering from an object on the table and looked at Morton ruefully. In spite of his torturing anxiety, the latter could hardly repress a smile. The faded, moth-eaten, featherless creature bore little enough resemblance to the bird which Cruikshank had displayed with such pride during the week of the murder.

“'Something wrong with that poison, Morton, sure as you Jive.” declared Cruikshank positively. “I wouldn't mind in the least taking a couple of spoonfuls of it myself. It's been nuts to the insects.”

Morton was staring at him confusedly. At him .first, and from him to the disreputable, moth-eaten specimen on the table, and back again. But he did not speak. ■

“I fixed up the poison the morning of the murder, and, by Jove, there was nothing wrong with the. strength of the solution, either. I doubled it on purpose, to make sure.”

“I wonder that you weren't afraid to leave it that day white you were gone,” said Alorton.

He was trying to speak calmly, but his heart was beating a mad tattoo against

his ribs. “It was a dangerous thing to do. Bobby.”

“Yes; but. you see, I didn't leave it—not I. I was not. such a fool,” objected Cruikshank triumphantly. “I kept it in the breast-pocket of my coal, all day. I was late in getting away from my office that night. It was all of ten minutes to eleven when I slipped my key in the lock. I was annoyed,enough over it, I can tell you. So I ran up stairs and emptied the solution into a glass and went back down the hall to Beckwith's room as softly as I could to get a cigar. But the door was locked——" He. hesitated.

“To tell you the plain truth 1 had taken a bit more than was good for me that night on the way home.”

“I was back in my room before the alarm came, and it sobered, mo, all right —you can be sure of that. I was glad enough to know that the beggar didn’t get hold of the glass in my room with the poison solution in it. Not t-lmt it would have hurt him any even if he had drunk the whole of it. It's lg*en nuts——” ' <. .“And you found the glass just as you had left it?” “Certainly; brimming; full on the table by the door. I had heard Gresham come upstairs while I was trying to make Beckwith open his door.” A light was dazzling Morton—a- great light. He looked at the man before him —vapid, feather-brained, harmless- and shuddered. “Wait just a moment, Bobby,” he said suddenly. "I will le hack directly.” He knocked feverishly at Emma Laid law’s door. “Just a minute,” he begged. “I want to ask you a question, Alias Laidlaw — an important one.” Her mother opened the door. “If it is anything about him ” she protested nervously. “Just a moment, please,” lie repeated earnestly. “Are you sure. Alias Laidlaw, that the step you heard that night before you gave the alarm stopped at Gresham’s door?” “Quite sure.” She looked at him with a fast-downing terror in her eyes. “I hare been thinking it over. Mr Morton, and I feel quite sure that it was the murderer whose step I heard that night. The footfall was light and just a little uncertain. It stopped at. Mr Gresham's room, and I heard the door open. A little later I heard some one moving cautiously down the-haii. After that. I came back into the house.” “And you are quite, sure that the step which you heard stopped al Gresham's door. . “Quite sure,” she repeated. “Are you positive enough about this

to testify to it--on oath, it necessary ?• he asked. “Yes. Sure enough for that. He shook his head in answer to Illi question in her face. “Not now maybe some day.” he said very gently, anff went, downstairs again, where Cruikshank poor happy-go-lucky Cruikshank —with scarcelybrains enough to be curious; sat waiting for him. “I have been thinking it over. Bobby," lie said cheerfully, “and do you know, I have about come to your conclusion. I have decided that Gresham’s death was due—to an accident.” “Heart-disease, old fellow, or Providential visitation, or something on thut order." agreed Cruikshank comfortably. “It’ll be early enough to worry over it when Carter lakes up the trail again—if he ever does. Have another cigar?” But Alorton shook his head with a little shuddering qualm. Bobby's hands were well manicured; white and soft and shapely. It was very unfortiuiata that there should lie blood upon them.