# The Twenty-Six Clues/Chapter 3

pp. 24–37.
CHAPTER III
Margot
FOR a moment they stared and then Calvin Norwood gasped:
"But it seems incredible! That window is ten feet or more from the ground and there is only an open space beneath this end of the extension, for the kitchen although built out also does not reach the length of the museum. There is no way in which a person could climb up here, to say nothing of one burdened with the weight of a dead body."
"H you will glance out of the window you will see how easily that difficulty was overcome," interrupted Terhune. "A short ladder has been placed against the house, its upper end resting upon the ledge of the window."
"The ladder!" Norwood exclaimed. "I never thought of that! It is used for preening the vines which run over the yard fence and is usually lying around somewhere at hand, but it did not occur to me that anyone would ever employ it as a means of gaining ingress here!"
A rapid but fairly comprehensive search of the museum disclosed no further clues nor traces of the assailant's presence and Inspector Druet went to the telephone to summon the Chief Medical Examiner and notify the Homicide Bureau.
McCarty, with Dennis in tow, trailed him wistfully into the hall.
"I'll be taking myself off now, Inspector," he remarked. "You've the case in hand, to say nothing of an expert like Mr. Terhune right on the job to help you and Mr. Norwood himself."
"Between you and me, Mac," the Inspector interrupted confidentially, "old Norwood is a plain nut. He has been the pest of the department for the last twenty years, dabbling and interfering in every case that has come up, offering advice and getting under foot generally. You know how we've always been bothered with amateur Sherlock Holmeses, but he is the worst crank of the lot and the fact that he has never yet gotten the slightest result in an investigation doesn't discourage him a little bit. As for Mr. Terhune, he is a great man in his line, but he is not officially on this case, you know, he only stumbled on it, just as you did, and Riordan. Why don't you stay and see the preliminary examination through at least? It looks to me as if it were going to be one of the biggest things we've tackled in years and I'd like to have you on the job in an unofficial capacity."
"I wouldn't ask anything better 1" McCarty beamed. "I telephoned to you over the head of the Lieutenant of the precinct because I thought likely the District Attorney would put you on the case anyway, sir, and you would want to be in on the ground floor. It's the devil and all how I came to fall into this, now that I'm off the force, but I'd hate to quit it cold; I've never seen the beat of it in all my experience."
The Inspector concluded his telephonic communications and then, locking the museum door with the owner's key which he had procured from him, led the way to the library, whither the host and Wade Terhune had preceded them. They found Victor Marchal in his accustomed attitude before the fireplace, his sightless eyes fixed as if introspectively upon the empty hearth. He was pale but composed and there was no trace of the prostration of which Norwood had spoken.
The latter was seated on the couch with his arm about the bowed shoulders of Oliver Jarvis, and Terhune stood before them.
"I can't understand it!" The young husband's tone was monotonous and dulled with despair. "It's like a hideous, insane nightmare! I feel that every moment Evelyn may come and wake me from it and then I see her poor face with that frightful knotted thing about her throat "
He broke off, shuddering, and Norwood patted him in fatherly fashion.
"We must try not to think of that now," he admonished. "We have stern work ahead of us, Oliver——"
"Do you think I'm forgetting?" Jarvis sprang to his feet. "Do you think I mean to waste my time in weak repining now, Uncle Cal, when my poor darling has been done to death and the creature who could do so monstrous a thing still breathes God's air? All that I want, all that is left to me, is to find him and make him suffer! Mr. Terhune, they say that you are the greatest criminal investigator in the won*, to-day; that you have never lost a case "
"I do not claim to be infallible, Mr. Jarvis," interrupted the detective, modestly.
"Nevertheless, your work is celebrated; you have an international reputation and surely you can find the murderer of my poor wife! Use every effort, Mr. Terhune. Spare no expense! I am accounted rich as men compute such things in these days and I would cheerfully, eagerly, give everything I possess to avenge her! That is all that matters to me now; I have nothing else to live for and I shall not rest until it is accomplished!"
"You mean that you I wish to engage me to investigate the case for you, Mr. Jarvis?" Terhune's eyes glinted with enthusiasm.
"I do. I place myself unreservedly in your hands." The younger man turned to the official. "Please don't misunderstand, Inspector. I have no lack of confidence in your ability or that of the authorities, but I want to leave no possible stone unturned to find the assassin."
"We are always glad to work with Mr. Terhune." Inspector Druet bowed slightly. "In fact, we have ourselves called upon him on more than one occasion to give us the aid of his specialized knowledge. Have you an idea of any possible motive for the crime, Mr. Jarvis?"
"None! It seems like the act of a madman! Evelyn had no enemies, no secrets; her life was like an open book and everyone who came in contact with her loved her." He broke off with a groan. "No one could have had a sane motive for taking her life!"
"How long have you been married?"
"Five years. My wife was an orphan of French descent, resident in New Orleans with her guardian. I met her the winter before our marriage, when I went down for the Mardi Gras." Jarvis was evidently bracing himself to meet the ordeal of questioning and the Inspector' stone was considerately gentle.
"What was Mrs. Jarvis's maiden name?"
"Evelyn Beaudet. She w£s an only child and has no living relatives."
"This guardian of whom you speak; who is he?"
"Pierre Chartrand; he died about two years ago. He was a banker and life-long friend of her father; an eccentric old gentleman but he worshiped Evelyn and made her his sole heiress."
"You brought Mrs. Jarvis to New York immediately after your marriage? "
"Yes. Then we went to Europe but returned when the war broke out." He hesitated and added: "My wife had never been north until we were married and as we have not since visited New Orleans, her old friends have dropped completely away. Her life entered practically a new phase with our marriage and I know how and where every hour of it has been spent. Her friends and associates are mine and it is inconceivable that among them there could be one who desired her death, much less a friend who could have encompassed it in such wise! I tell you this hideous thing has come like a bolt from a clear sky!"
"When did you last see your wife alive, Mr. Jarvis?"
"At luncheon to-day—God! Could it have been only to-day? It seems years!—We were both busied with preparations for our departure, for we had planned to sail for France next week to engage in relief and reconstruction work and there were many final details to be arranged."
"You lunched at home? Who was present beside Mrs. Jarvis and yourself?"
"No one. Our household consists only of the servants."
"How many are there?"
"Four, besides the chauffeur; the butler, cook, housemaid, and my wife's personal maid. All the others have been discharged pending our departure."
"What do you know of them, Mr. Jarvis? Would you consider them trustworthy?" pursued the Inspector.
"Oh, absolutely. The butler, old Henry, was employed by my parents before I was born, and the cook, also, was in my mother's service; the housemaid is her niece and Margot, my wife's maid, is particularly devoted to her. She was a Belgian refugee whom we brought back from Europe with us at the outbreak of the war. They are all unquestionably loyal, Inspector; I could take my oath on that."
"You left the house after luncheon, Mr. Jarvis?"
"Yes, immediately. I had an appointment at my attorney's office and a later one at the French consulate. I was delayed there until after seven o'clock."
"You did not dine at home?"
"No, I went directly to the club. Evelyn—" he paused and a startled expression swept his drawn face. "Why, Evelyn was to have dined alone at the house of old Mrs. Lyle Fremont. I wonder——?"
"We will look into that presently." Inspector Druet waived the implied suggestion. "What were your wife's plans for the afternoon?"
"She intended to shop and pay a farewell call or two; nothing of any vital importance, however; Mrs. Fremont, with whom she was to have dined, is an invalid and practically a recluse, but she and my mother were girls together and my wife was one of the few people she would still receive; she adored her. Inspector, when—how long do you think my wife?"
He could not continue, but Inspector Druet nodded comprehendingly.
"We must wait for the arrival of the Chief Medical Examiner before we can positively determine that, Mr. Jarvis," he responded. "However, I think we may safely conclude that death took place in the afternoon, some little time before the dinner hour. When you took leave of your wife to-day did her manner seem quite as usual? You observed no depression nor apprehension?"
"On the contrary," replied Jarvis in a surprised tone. "She was never frivolous nor lightminded and she had entered with very serious intent into our plans for aid in France, but to-day there was a gentle gayety about her, a sense of joyous anticipation in our projected journey and the work which lay before us——"
His voice ended in a dry, convulsive sob and once more he buried his face in his hands.
"I will ask you only one more question, Mr. Jarvis." Inspector Druet's voice lowered. "What was your wife's costume at lunch? The same as when you viewed the body just now in the museum?"
A violent shudder swept again over the bowed figure.
"I don't know—I saw only her face, as I shall see it before me until I die!" he exclaimed brokenly. "When I left her this afternoon she was dressed for her shopping expedition in a green tailored suit; I remember that distinctly, for she spoke of discarding it before we sailed next week."
Dennis, who, with McCarty, had remained in the background, thrust out a bony elbow and nudged his friend significantly. The body , lying in the museum had been clad in a plain gown of dark plum-colored silk with a low rolling collar and cuffs of soft white and the scarf so cruelly knotted about the slender throat was of navy blue.
McCarty shrugged impatiently at the unnecessary reminder and his eyes eagerly followed the Inspector, who had turned to the young Frenchman.
"Captain Marchal, you accompanied Mr. Norwood to the museum this afternoon, did you not?"
"Yes, Monsieur." The secretary advanced with one guiding hand resting lightly upon the mantel. "There were some notes which Monsieur Norwood desired transscribed——"
"You left the museum with Mr. Norwood?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Did you or he lock the door behind you?"
"Monsieur Norwood did, but I unlocked it later with the key which he has presented to me, when I went to replace the notes after transcribing them."
"Do you know what time that was, Captain Marchal?"
"Just after four. The clock upon the mantel here struck the hour as I was gathering together the notes to return them."
"The museum was empty then? Did you detect anything which would suggest the presence of an intruder?" Inspector Druet spoke carefully and the young man smiled a faint acknowledgment.
"Nothing, Monsieur. Since I do not see, my other senses are gradually becoming—how shall I say?—acute, and I am sure that I should have known of a living presence, but yet——"
He paused, and after a moment the Inspector suggested:
"'Yet'—what, Captain Marchal?"
"I—I did not know—nothing warned me, when we re-entered the museum an hour ago, of the presence of the dead." His voice had sunk to a mere whisper and he added hurriedly. "In spite of that I believe there was no one there this afternoon when I entered."
"Did you relock the door on leaving?"
"Yes, Monsieur; of that I can assure you. See! here is my key, which never leaves me." He produced a small, flat key of the Yale patent and held it out. "I returned here to the library and typed until Monsieur Norwood came home."
"What time was that?"
"I do not know to the moment, but it was after six."
"So that you were practically alone in the house from the time of his departure until the dinner-hour?"
"Except for the cook and the housemaid, Monsieur, and they were below. The butler was out, but just before Monsieur Norwood returned I heard him moving about in the dining-room, arranging the table for dinner. Until then no slightest sound in the house had reached my ears." The young man spoke with deep earnestness. "The bell of the front door, even that of the telephone, was silent all the afternoon."
"Captain Marchal, when was the last time you—er, encountered Mrs. Jarvis alive?"
"Late on Tuesday afternoon. Madame Jarvis had called to see Monsieur Norwood, but he was engaged."
"You entered into conversation with her?"
The young man hesitated.
"Madame very graciously invited me to dine at her home the following evening, with Monsieur Norwood."
"You declined?" The question was terse.
"I am still awkward and gauche, Monsieur, in groping my way about in strange surroundings." He replied with simple dignity. "I have not gained what you call self-confidence. Monsieur and Madame Jarvis have been most kind, but I should have felt de trop."
The arrival of the Chief Medical Examiner interrupted the proceedings and Inspector Druet accompanied him to the museum, where Martin and Yost mounted guard behind the locked door.
With the departure of the official the tense atmosphere relaxed somewhat and a stir of movement swept the little group.
Norwood had started forward to follow the Inspector, but the latter closed the door behind him with a hint which brooked no opposition.
Jarvis, too, sprang to his feet.
"I must go to her!" he cried brokenly. "I cannot endure the thought that strange, alien hands should desecrate her now! Uncle Cal, we must see about getting her home!"
"Not yet, Mr. Jams." Terhune interposed smoothly. "The formalities must be complied with, you know, and the matter is out of our hands."
"Oliver, our personal feelings must not interfere with the course of justice," supplemented Norwood. " After all, our one aim now is to get at the truth."
Captain Marchal had made his way to a window seat and dropped wearily upon it with his face in shadow.
Dennis glanced toward him and asked in a cautious undertone.
"Do you think he told the truth, Mac; about no one coming here this afternoon?"
"And why not?" McCarty demanded. "If Mrs. Jarvis' body was brought up the ladder and in through that museum window, and, the murderer left the same way even with that rattling, clattering skeleton in his arms, Captain Marchal would not have heard a sound of it in here and there would have been no need for the murderer to come into this part of the house at all."
"Then why was the museum door unlocked?" retorted Dennis argumentatively. "If this young feller can be believed he didn't leave it so at four o'clock this afternoon, then somebody must have opened it between then and the time we went in there to-night. The lad wasn't any too anxious to go with us, either, if you remember."
"It's a good thing you're not the jury sitting on him," averred McCarty in disgust. "You'd be handing in the verdict before court opened! Wait till we find out what's gone on in that house beyond the back fence!"
Terhune meanwhile was plying his client with questions in bis turn, but be had succeeded in eliciting no detail from the private life of the Jarvises which would throw the slightest glimmer of light upon the tragedy when the muffled trend of heavy footsteps in steady, measured unison echoed down the hall, the front door closed resoundingly and Inspector Druet reappeared.
"Now we'll get down to business," he remarked briskly. "I want to make an examination of your house next, Mr. Jarvis, and your presence is necessary. If you will lead the way through the rear yards?"
He paused and Oliver Jarvis who had risen at his entance demanded hoarsely.
"What of my wife? Your Chief Medical Examiner—he's taken the place of the Coroner, hasn't he? Did he discover when?"
"Mrs. Jarvis' death occurred approximately six hours ago." The inspector glanced at the clock on the mantel which Indicated the quarter hour past eleven. "That would make it between five and six o'clock, sir."
"While I cooled my heels at the French consulate!" groaned Jarvis bitterly. "I—I may take her home now? That is all there is left which I can do for her."
The Inspector shook his head.
"The body has been removed," he announced as gently as he could. "There must be an autopsy, but in this case, when the cause of death is so patent it will amount to only a few simple tests as a matter of record. The body will be conveyed to your home to-morrow morning, But now, Mr. Jarvis, we are losing valuable time."
"I am ready." The younger man remarked quietly as with an unconscious movement he squared his shoulders.
Calvin Norwood was at his side and the secretary had started up from his seat by the window, but Inspector Druet's voice halted him.
"You need not come, Captain Marchal, nor will it be necessary for you, Mr. Norwood——"
"Nevertheless, I propose to accompany my friend," declared Norwood. "His wife's body was discovered in my house and I have every right to know how it got here. I intend to investigate this terrible matter thoroughly for myself, Inspector, with no hindrance from the authorities!"
Inspector Druet shrugged and turned to the others.
"You'll come, of course, Mr. Terhune, and you, Mac. Riordan, too, if he likes. I'll leave Marton and Yost here." He glanced significantly at the blind secretary's impassive face. "Mr. Norwood, how was it customary for those using that door cut in the fence to gain entrance to your house? Surely not through the museum window?"
"By no means." The host, still indignant, responded frigidly. "The back stairway leads to a private hall un-connected with the kitchen quarters which ends in a door opening directly into the yard."
He led the way down the stairs and through the narrow passageway to the door at the farther end. As he flung it open the keen autumnal night wind smote them and a few dry leaves swirled in and eddied at their feet, but the square of blackness which met their gaze was relieved only by patches of subdued light from the rows of curtained windows at the rear of the houses on the next street.
While they hesitated Norwood stepped back and pressed a switch in the wall and instantly the yard was revealed in a flood of blinding light in which the stark outlines of a stunted tree or two stood out in bold relief against the vine-clad walls. A brick walk divided the patch of sward in the center and at its end a small white door broke the expanse of the rear wall and creaked as it swung idly upon its hinges.
"Is that door usually left unfastened?" asked Terhune suddenly.
"N—no," stammered Norwood.
"Who has the keys to fit it?"
"Only my niece and—and Mrs. Jams."
They had started down the path a few paces when Terhune paused and glanced back at the slender ladder silhouetted against the house. The open space between the floor of the museum extension and the ground formed a sort of porch in the shadow of which the windows of the rear basement could be seen.
"That is the kitchen, isn't it?" Inspector Druet asked. "Your cook must have been there between five and six preparing dinner, Mr. Norwood. It is odd that she did not see the murderer place the ladder at the window directly above and climb up with his burden; it could not have been quite dark at that hour."
"The cook is elderly and has very weak eyes," responded Norwood. "She pulls down the shades and lights up at the first approach of dusk."
"I'll question her to-morrow." The Inspector turned toward the little door in the fence, and as the rest followed Dennis caught McCarty's arm in a mighty grip.
"Holy saints!" he gasped. "There's something there!"
"Where!" McCarty demanded.
"In the yard beyond!" Dennis was staring straight ahead of him and his tone was sepulchral. "When the door swung open just now I saw it; something white and flitting!"
Terhune sprang to the passageway they had just left and turned the switch, plunging the yard in darkness once more.
"Now come on!" Inspector Druet led the way, but Oliver Jarvis dashed forward and reached the little door in advance of the others.
"Ah, Madame, it is you?" They heard a little cry in a clear feminine voice. "I have been so alarmed——"
They crowded through the doorway and beheld Jarvis confronted by a girl whose frilled apron and cap gleamed whitely in the darkness.
Inspector Druet whipped out an electric torch and flashed it full into her face and she drew back with a faint scream which died in her throat. Her trembling hands shaded her eyes and as the light flared about she beheld the drawn, grief-distorted face of her employer and the little knot of grim, determined men behind him.
"What is it!" she whispered, swaying. "Madame—she!"
"What are you doing here, Margot?" demanded Jarvis.
"Madame!" Her voice rose in a shriek, unheeding. "It has come!"
Lurching forward, her body crumpled and she fell prone at their feet.