Part 34 (1/2)
”I got the story from Burton,” he said, after a deep breath. ”I had no conclusion formed, and of course I am not a detective. Things looked black for Mr. Wardrop, in view of the money lost, the quarrel with Fleming that morning at the White Cat, and the circ.u.mstance of his leaving the club and hunting a doctor outside, instead of raising the alarm. Still, no two men ever act alike in an emergency. Psychology is as exact a science as mathematics; it gets information from the source, and a man can not lie in four-fifths of a second. 'Head,' you noticed, brought 'hair' in a second and three quarters, and the next word, 'ice,'
brought the 'blood' that he had held back before. That doesn't show anything. He tried to avoid what was horrible to him.
”But I gave him 'traveling-bag;' after a pause, he responded with 'train.' The next word, 'lost,' showed what was in his mind; instead of 'found,' he said 'woman.' Now then, I believe he was either robbed by a woman, or he thinks he was. After all, we can only get what he believes himself.
”'Money--letters,'--another slip.
”'Shot--staircase'--where are the stairs at the White Cat?”
”I learned yesterday of a back staircase that leads into one of the upper rooms,” I said. ”It opens on a side entrance, and is used in emergency.”
The doctor smiled confidently.
”We look there for our criminal,” he said. ”Nothing hides from the chronoscope. Now then, 'staircase--scar.' Isn't that significant? The a.s.sociation is clear: a scar that is vivid enough, disfiguring enough, to be the first thing that enters his mind.”
”Schwartz!” Burton said with awe. ”Doctor, what on earth does 'eleven twenty-two C' mean?”
”I think that is up to you, gentlemen. The C belongs there, without doubt. Briefly, looking over these slips, I make it something like this: Wardrop thinks a woman took his traveling-bag. Three times he gave the word 'letters,' in response to 'gate,' 'guest' and 'money.' Did he have a guest at the time all this happened at Bellwood?”
”I was a guest in the house at the time.”
”Did you offer him money for letters?”
”No.”
”Did he give you any letters to keep for him?”
”He gave me the bag that was subst.i.tuted for his.”
”Locked?”
”Yes. By Jove, I wonder if there is anything in it? I have reason to know that he came into my room that night at least once after I went asleep.”
”I think it very likely,” he said dryly. ”One thing we have not touched on, and I believe Mr. Wardrop knows nothing of it. That is, the disappearance of the old lady. There is a psychological study for you!
My conclusion? Well, I should say that Mr. Wardrop is not guilty of the murder. He knows, or thinks he knows, who is. He has a theory of his own, about some one with a scar: it may be only a theory. He does not necessarily know, but he hopes. He is in a state of abject fear. Also, he is hiding something concerning letters, and from the word 'money' in that connection, I believe he either sold or bought some damaging papers. He is not a criminal, but he is what is almost worse.”
The doctor rose and picked up his hat. ”He is a weakling,” he said, from the doorway.
Burton looked at his watch. ”By George!” he said. ”Seven-twenty, and I've had nothing since lunch but a box of sardines. I'm off to chase the festive mutton chop. Oh, by the way, Knox, where is that locked bag?”
”In my office safe.”
”I'll drop around in the morning and a.s.sist you to compound a felony,”
he said easily. But as it happened, he did not.
CHAPTER XXI
A PROSCENIUM BOX