# How Many Cards?/Chapter 10

pp. 121–135

### CHAPTER X
#### ILSA

AS the significance of the harsh, despairing cry penetrated his mind McCarty half rose from his chair in the Fords' gawdy drawing-room and then sank back into it again, for the woman's voice rose sharply.
"The man is here! The man who found the body—!"
The shrill tones ceased in a gurgle as though a hand had been laid suddenly over her lips and a low mutter replied to her, in which the only distinct words that came to McCarty's ears were "confounded little fool!" Some question evidently followed to which she replied in a sibilant whisper and then a tall, lanky man with hair thinning at the temples and eager, harassed, brown eyes strode into the room.
"What do you want?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"
"I've been sent by the inspector in charge of the investigation into Eugene Creveling's death, sir," responded McCarty, rising.
"Well, what about it?" the other asked truculently. "We knew him, of course, but why have you come to us?"
"To find out if you could help us get at any reason for his suicide," McCarty explained, ignoring the antagonism in Ford's manner. "Mr. George Alexander says you were a friend of Mr. Creveling's and Mrs. Ford told me just now that you and him have put through some deals together; you might know if anything had been preying on the mind of him."
"Suicide, eh?" Ford's tone was cooler, as though he had in a measure regained composure. "How the devil should I know his affairs if his own family don't? Alexander is a doddering ass, and as for my wife, she knows nothing about my business; she probably heard some propositions discussed in a general way and jumped to conclusions. You've got no right to come here and question her or me either! We've nothing to say, and that's the end of it!"
"You saw Creveling yesterday—" McCarty persisted.
"How in hell do you know that!" Ford exploded suddenly and turned upon his wife who stood shrinkingly in the doorway. "More of your infernal chatter, eh? Will you never learn to keep your mouth shut!"
"You had a business conference with him," McCarty interposed firmly. "What was the nature of that business, Mr. Ford? Why should your wife keep quiet about it?"
"Because it was a confidential matter!" the other retorted savagely. "A proposition between us two alone and it had nothing to do with whatever happened last night; we didn't come to any decision, anyway. I'm sorry Creveling's dead, of course, but if he killed himself he probably knew what he was about. I don't, and you've got a devil of a nerve to come here and try to cross-examine my wife merely because we happened to be acquainted with the Crevelings! Go back to your inspector or the Police Commissioner himself if you like and say that if we are annoyed any farther or dragged into this there will be trouble. I've got influence in this town!"
The man's hands worked nervously and his blood-shot eyes glared at McCarty as the latter nodded.
"Very well, sir. I came to you quiet like, as I've been to most of Mr. Creveling's other close friends to save them the trouble and publicity of being subpœnaed if it comes to that. You'll appreciate the fact that we've got to establish a motive for suicide or there may be a lot more unpleasant notoriety for all concerned."
"We are not concerned, and I refuse to discuss the matter farther, sir! We know nothing of Creveling's private affairs and no motive for his suicide." Ford gestured toward the door. "Good afternoon!"
With a slight bow to Mrs. Ford, who stepped aside as though in a daze to let him pass, McCarty left the room and as he shot downward in the elevator the scene which had just occurred impressed itself upon him with a new and two-fold suggestion of mystery. Ford was evidently beside himself, on the brink of desperation—why? His cry of being "done for" together with Mrs. Ford's warning that the man who had found "the body" was there seemed to hold an unmistakable and damning significance, yet his subsequent manner was a puzzle. It was almost as though some other and quite irrelevant issue confronted him, something beside which the manner of Creveling's death was of small moment. His concern appeared chiefly to get McCarty out of the way, heedless of the impression he created. The look upon his wife's face as McCarty passed her, too, returned to the latter's mind. Terror had been written there and bewilderment as though a crushing blow had descended upon her, yet she had displayed lively interest rather than apprehension before the arrival of her husband. Was she clever enough to have dissembled? He remembered her odd hesitation, that momentary flash of shrewdness which had darted from her eyes, but shook his head doubtfully.
What was the matter with everybody, anyway? Alexander, the valet, Mrs. Creveling, Douglas Waverly, Mrs. Kip, and now the Fords! All of them seemed to be holding back, concealing something, blocking him at every step of the way! Was it a conspiracy of silence, or had each of them a separate secret?
On a sudden impulse he turned westward once more to Fifth Avenue and back to the Creveling house. It was there the whole thing had started and there perhaps that the key might be found.
"Mrs. Creveling is ill, sir. The doctor and her maid and Mrs. Waverly are with her and I don't believe she can see you," the butler informed him. There was an obvious increase of servility in his manner and McCarty wondered with an inward chuckle of amusement whether any intimation of his former cooperation with Terhune were responsible for the change.
"Please say I won't keep her except for a minute and I'll not be bothering her with anything that will harrow up her feelings," McCarty announced. "I just want a little general information."
"It's a terrible shock." The butler lingered conversationally. "A fine gentleman to work for, Mr. Creveling was; I doubt but that there'll be great changes in the 'ousehold now with 'im gone. Sarah and me'll be looking for another place as soon as things get straightened out 'ere, and no mistake about it."
"Why?" McCarty demanded. "You're not going to keep on your positions with Mrs. Creveling?"
"Not any, sir!" Rollins shook his head emphatically. "She's a grand lady, but too interfering with the 'ousehold accounts to suit people that 'as a reputation for being 'onest, and she's 'ard, sir: unfeeling, I'd call it. But you saw 'er this morning, 'earing the news and never turning a 'air! The way she treated Ilsa shows what she'd do to a body she was down on!"
"Who's Ilsa?" asked McCarty quickly.
"A 'ousemaid, sir, and as pretty a trick as you'd find in a day's walk. Not that I 'old with square'eads, but she was a winner and no mistake. Worked 'ere for four months and most satisfactory, but when the jewels disappeared—!" Rollins drew himself up suddenly. "Yes, sir. I'll take the message, sir."
McCarty glanced about for the source of the interruption and beheld a gentleman carrying a small black bag descend the stairs. He stepped forward as the latter reached the bottom.
"Excuse me, sir, but are you Mrs. Creveling's doctor?"
"I am. May I ask—?" The other paused regarding him with questioning but not antagonistic gaze.
"I'm connected with the investigation into Mr. Creveling's death, sir," McCarty explained. "If you're the family doctor and have attended Mr. Creveling lately, I would like to know if 'tis your opinion that anything was preying on his mind?"
The physician frowned and his neatly pointed black Vandyke beard thrust itself out slightly.
"My dear sir!" he began. "Professional ethics—"
"I know all about them, sir. Many's the time I've run up against them," McCarty interrupted wearily. "You'll not be betraying Mr. Creveling's confidence in anything you tell now and we're bound to get at the truth. Has he seemed like himself to you?"
The physician started.
"You are suggesting that the wound which caused his death may have been self-inflicted?" he demanded.
"That's the opinion of the medical examiner, though I know Mrs. Creveling doesn't hold with it," McCarty responded. "When did you see Mr. Creveling last?"
"About three weeks ago; there was nothing serious physically, just a slight cold." The physician glanced about him, but Rollins had disappeared up the stairs and the great hall was empty. "I found him, however, in an exceedingly excitable condition of the nerves, a state which I may say has been growing upon him gradually during the last few years and is not at all unusual in men of his stamp."
"You mean after the life he's led?" asked McCarty bluntly.
"Er—if you choose to put it in that manner," the other replied cautiously. "Understand, please, the condition I refer to does not in any way imply the slightest degree of mental disorder; it pertains to the nervous system only. I am not an alienist and I should not care to give a professional opinion on the matter, but privately I would say that Mr. Creveling was as sane as any man of my acquaintance."
"He was nervous, you say, though," McCarty remarked. "Do you mean that he seemed uneasy about anything, sir?"
"Apprehensive?" the physician amended. "Not in the least; in fact, he was in his usual high spirits. A bit over, if anything; on edge, if you know what I mean."
McCarty nodded gravely.
"It didn't strike you that those high spirits were put on, Doctor, did it? I've noticed in my line of work that when a man tries to bluff he's apt to get it over a little too strong and show his hand."
"No. His manner was genuine enough. He was just jumpy, you know; fidgeting about, restless, starting at the slightest sound. I remember warning him against late hours and overdoing things generally, and suggested a sea trip to pull him together, but he only laughed at me and said he never felt more fit in his life."
"Did you speak to Mrs. Creveling about it?"
The physician hesitated.
"I believe I did mention the advisability of a sea voyage to her, not a yachting trip with its usual social accompaniments but a long, slow, restful journey preferably in the tropic seas. It was more on her account than her husband's, however; these society women burn themselves out and wonder why they are old at forty. Mrs. Creveling has done too much this season and was on the point of a breakdown even before last night's tragedy. That was why she closed the establishment here and went to visit friends on Long Island a month ago."
"She's not too sick to see me now for a minute, I hope, Doctor?" McCarty asked.
Before the former could reply Rollins appeared upon the stairs.
"You can go up, sir," he announced.
"Do not remain any longer than necessary, please, and try to avoid exciting Mrs. Creveling if you can," the physician admonished. "I have just given her something to make her relax and sleep. She is keeping too tight a rein upon herself; if we are not careful the tension will snap."
"Just what do you mean, Doctor? Brain fever?" McCarty paused on the lowest step of the stairs.
"There is no such disease known in materia medica." The other smiled. "It exists solely in fiction, my dear sir. No, Mrs. Creveling is in danger of nervous prostration. Please make your interview with her as brief as possible."
McCarty promised and the physician turned to the door which Rollins was holding open for him while the ex-roundsman proceeded up' the stairs. He had learned little of importance, owing perhaps to the reticence of the medical man, but the butler's interrupted confidence had suggested a new train of conjecture. It was the first he had heard about the disappearance of any jewels. What had Mrs. Creveling done to the housemaid, Ilsa, and what part, if any, could the girl have had in the drama of the previous night?
At the head of the stairs he found a trim but white-faced young Frenchwoman awaiting him and was conducted to the boudoir of the apartments he had visited twice during the night on his search. There he found Mrs. Creveling reclining upon a couch, with a startlingly thin, sinuous red-haired woman coiled gracefully in a big chair beside her. The latter glanced up at him in a bored, contemptuous manner at his intrusion and McCarty caught a flash of green, feline eyes and the curl of vivid, narrow lips.
"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am." He paused before Mrs. Creveling, who acknowledged his presence by a slight motion of her hand toward a chair. "I wouldn't have come to you again to-day but there are a few things I'd like to ask you—"
"I wish you to have all the information you may require, Mr. McCarty." She. spoke still in the cold, level, self-contained tones of the morning but with a drowsy under-note. The doctor's medicine was evidently beginning to take effect. "I want only to learn who killed my husband."
"Yes, ma'am." McCarty seated himself on the edge of the chair and reluctantly relinquished his hat to the maid who had followed and held out her hand for it. "Maybe it'll seem to you that I'm asking a lot of foolish questions that have nothing to do with the case but I'll ask you to answer them, just the same, without taking up your time now to explain. It's come to our notice that some jewels were supposed to have disappeared from your house sometime during the past winter. Is this true, ma'am?"
"Yes. The set of emeralds and diamonds which I had taken from the vault at the trust company to wear at Mrs. Fales Ogden's pageant in February," Mrs. Creveling replied quickly, her apathy stirred by surprise at the question. "It was reported to the police and one of the servants arrested and held for trial, but she succeeded in obtaining bail and then disappeared, forfeiting it.—You remember the woman, Stella? She was a Swede and of quite striking appearance."
She had turned to her companion and the latter nodded with a cynical smile.
"Quite too striking!" she murmured. "I am always suspicious of servants who appear out of the picture!"
"This lady is Mrs. Douglas Waverly," Mrs. Creveling explained as if in an afterthought. "She is quite in my confidence and you may speak unreservedly before her."
McCarty bowed, but addressed himself still to Mrs. Creveling.
"About this servant, ma'am: what was her name?"
"Ilsa Helwig."
"What does she look like, ma'am?"
"You can find her description at your headquarters, I imagine," replied Mrs. Creveling coldly. "She was a huge, broad-shouldered, deep-chested woman with large hands and feet and great, thick ropes of tow-colored hair wound about her head. Her skin was very fair and her eyes blue, I believe. One would call her handsome, in a coarse way."
There was a pause and then McCarty changed the subject.
"Did you recover your emeralds, ma'am?"
"No. The police could find no trace of them but the evidence was conclusive."
"The very fact that the creature jumped her bail was proof enough of her guilt, I should say," observed Mrs. Waverly. "It is astonishing that the police have not located her if they are really making an effort to do so. Those things were worth a small fortune, weren't they, Myra?"
"Thirty thousand dollars," Mrs. Creveling responded. "I never cared particularly for them but an example should have been made of the girl."
"What was the evidence against her, ma'am?" McCarty inquired.
"No one else had an opportunity." Mrs. Creveling settled herself back languidly on her couch. "I had brought the jewels home myself from the trust company vaults in a plain brown morocco case, late one afternoon, several days before the pageant was to take place, meaning to try their effect with my costume. Its delivery was delayed by the modiste, however, and it did not arrive until a few hours before the affair. My maid, Yvonne, was ill and I rang for Ilsa to assist me in trying it on. While Rollins was taking the message to her I crossed the hall to Mr. Creveling's room, obtained the morocco case from him—he had kept it in the small safe in his dressing-room for me—and returning, placed it on my vanity table. Ilsa was waiting in my room for me and had unpacked the costume. All the other servants were below stairs, as was afterward proved, and the housekeeper was out.
"Before I had time to try on the costume I was called away for a moment and when I returned Ilsa was not there and my jewels were gone; the case was empty when I opened it."
"Had you opened it before at the trust company or when you reached home?" McCarty rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "When was the last time you saw the jewels, Mrs. Creveling?"
"Just a few moments before, in my husband's dressing-room. When he took the case from his safe for me he opened it; I remember mentioning that I meant to have the stones reset almost immediately and he tried to prevail upon me not to do so. They were very old and their antique settings appealed to his artistic sense." She spoke in that curiously remote tone without a trace of emotion in which she had alluded to her husband during the early morning's interview. "I snapped the case shut before I left his rooms and crossed to mine, and the jewels were most assuredly in it when I placed it on my vanity table."
"What did you do when you found them gone and the maid, too?"
Mrs. Creveling stirred as though to rouse herself, and it was with an obvious effort that she responded:
"But you see I did not discover the loss of the jewels immediately. Ilsa returned in about five minutes with the excuse that she had gone to her own room to take a headache powder; I did not realize until I thought it over later how strangely confused she appeared. I dressed in a leisurely manner with her aid and it must have been twenty minutes at least after I returned to my room that I opened the jewel case. I must admit that her dissimulation was admirable; she seemed as astonished and concerned as the most innocent person in her position would have been and I hesitated to accuse her, but when the detectives arrived I was compelled to tell them the exact circumstances of my loss, of course, and Mr. Creveling's testimony against her completed the evidence. He did not wish to prosecute her if she would return the emeralds, but I felt it a matter of principle to see that she was punished."
McCarty's eyes rested speculatively upon the cold beauty of the woman before him, noting the implacable lines about the perfectly chiseled lips and the stern, unwavering gaze which met his own, and he nodded to himself as though in confirmation of some unspoken thought. If Mrs. Creveling would show no quarter to a mere thief what revenge would she not take upon the murderer of her husband? With that strange pallor and the splendid lines of her immobile figure, as she lay there she looked more like some marble statue of inflexible justice than a flesh-and-blood woman. Was it the "principle" alone of which she had spoken that kept her from breaking down now beneath the shock and strain, or was it some deeper motive that impelled her, deeper even than the reaction from natural grief would have been?
"What did Mr. Creveling testify to, ma'am? Just that the jewels were in the case when you took it into your own room?" McCarty asked.
"No; that was a mere corroboration of my own statement, but the door of his dressing-room was open although I do not think that Ilsa knew he had returned to the house. None of the other servants did, for he had let himself in with his key and gone directly to his apartments just a few moments before I went to him for the jewel case. After I left my rooms and went downstairs he saw Ilsa slip out with something concealed beneath her apron and go down the back stairs, not up as she had claimed; he came to his door and watched her, for the passing glimpse he had caught of her face made him curious, it was so white and strained. He was still standing there when I returned and would have mentioned her strange demeanor to me then but he thought he heard her coming, as he explained later, so he closed his own door. I had passed on into my room without seeing him."
"He could testify, then, that none of the other servants nor anybody else had entered your rooms during your absence," McCarty commented. "I wonder, unless she was more stupid than the average, that she didn't know she'd be caught!"
Mrs. Creveling shrugged.
"I can only give you the facts, Mr. McCarty."
"She denied everything, and stuck to her story when she was accused?"
"Naturally. I cannot imagine from what source she managed to obtain the cash bail which her lawyers produced; they claim it was in a package delivered to their office boy together with typewritten anonymous instructions as to the use to which it was to be put, and the boy corroborated them, but he was unable or unwilling to describe the messenger except in such a vague and general way that his statement was practically worthless. After she was released on bail the woman simply disappeared and nothing has been heard of her or the emeralds."
"She did not have time to get them out of the house," McCarty remarked meditatively. "Was a thorough search made?"
"She had ample time to slip them to some confederate at the tradesmen's entrance," Mrs. Creveling retorted. "Yvonne had been ill for several days and Ilsa had been taking her place in attendance on me; she knew that the emeralds were in the house and that I intended to wear them that night and she had probably laid her plans well in advance and only awaited her opportunity. The house was utterly ransacked by the detectives and every one in the household submitted to a personal search. You will, however, find all the details of the evidence in the police record of the case. I confess I cannot understand what bearing this could have upon the matter you are investigating.
Her eyelids were drooping in spite of her efforts to keep awake and McCarty rose.
"I won't trouble you any longer now, ma'am. There's just one more question I'd like to ask you; why did you go downstairs and leave the girl Ilsa there, with your jewel case on your table?"
"I must have forgotten it for the moment," Mrs. Creveling admitted drowsily. "My private telephone in my boudoir was temporarily out of commission and Rollins came to tell me that some one had called me on the one downstairs. Mr. Creveling has another private wire in his own apartments so there are extensions to the main house 'phone only in the guest rooms. Rollins went immediately into the dining-room and I heard him talking to the footman while they arranged the table for dinner, as I was returning to my apartments."
"Thank you, ma'am. I guess that about covers the information I was after." McCarty turned to her companion. "Mrs Waverly, what time did your husband telephone out to you this morning?"
Her long, narrow eyes opened but she betrayed no other sign of surprise as she replied indifferently,
"Sometime between eight and nine o'clock, I believe. I really didn't notice particularly but it was an unearthly hour."
"Did you know he was staying at the Belterre over night, ma'am?" McCarty persisted.
"Well, upon my word!" she drawled. "Am I to be cross-examined now? I must confess I do not follow you, my good man!"
McCarty reddened.
"'Tis not of importance," he said hastily. "I was just wondering if you knew Mr. Waverly was there why you hadn't called him up earlier and told him that an accident had happened to Mr. Creveling, and Mrs. Creveling on her way in to town all alone."
"I did not accompany Mrs. Creveling to the city because she was ready to start when I was awakened; she did not even wait for her maid as the motor car was at the door," Mrs. Waverly explained. "Yvonne followed on the first train, and I came in on the nine-twenty."
"I see." McCarty looked around to retrieve his hat and found the little French maid at his elbow. 'Thank you.—I won't be bothering either of you ladies any further now. Good afternoon, ma'am."
He was turning toward the door when Mrs. Creveling halted him with an imperious gesture.
"I have answered your questions. Have you nothing to tell me?" she asked. "Have you no clew yet to the identity of the person who took my husband's life?"
"Nothing definite, ma'am; there's hardly been time," responded McCarty. "You will hear from Mr. Terhune or us the minute there's anything known."
Out in the hall he paused, thinking that the maid would follow, but instead the door was closed behind him and he shook his head as he went downstairs. Had it been her face which he had seen peering from one of the windows above as he swung himself aboard the bus that morning? It had been so quickly withdrawn that he could not be sure, but he made up his mind to invent an excuse on his next visit to question her.
Rollins was waiting in the lower hall to show him to the door and McCarty halted once more.
"That girl Ilsa you started to tell me about; what happened to her when the jewels disappeared?" he asked. "Did Mrs. Creveling have her arrested?"
"Yes, sir, and 'eld for trial!" Rollins snorted. "It's no wonder she jumped 'er bail. She'd not 'ave 'ad a ghost of a chance to clear 'erself with the story they 'ad against 'er, poor thing!"
"You don't think she was guilty?"
"No, sir." There was a trace of caution in the butler's tone now. "I wouldn't swear to it, of course, not 'aving any proof to the contrary, but if you ask me man to man I don't think she'd take so much as a pin. There isn't one of us as believes she did. It fair bowled Frank Hill over, for 'e was sweet on 'er and no mistake, but even though the jewels wasn't found Mrs. Creveling would 'ave it that Ilsa 'ad taken them and we all knew our place too well to open our mouths and get dismissed without a character."
"Then what became of the jewelry?" McCarty demanded.
"I don't know, sir, strike me pink!" Rollins' tone was unmistakably sincere. "None of us can figger out what 'appened to it but we was all glad when Ilsa got bail, though where it come from Gawd knows! It isn't often that a person in service 'as friends that can dig up ten thousand dollars!"