# More Lives Than One/Chapter 10
### CHAPTER X
#### BARHAM LEARNS THE TRUTH

Perhaps most people will agree that the dreariest experience they have ever known has been the returning to their homes after a funeral has been held there.
No matter how much some kind friend stays behind to rearrange the furniture and restore things to their natural and normal aspect, the house looks different—the place seems empty.
After Madeleine’s funeral, Andrew Barham came into his house, accompanied by Mrs. Selden and several friends or relatives from out of town.
Barham would have willingly given a goodly sum could he have gone off by himself to his own rooms, but that was not to be thought of. He knew he was obliged to stay—to hear his mother-in-law and her guests mull over the funeral, as if it had been a social function. To discuss the flowers, the music, the people present, and every detail, down to the very appearance of the dead Madeleine.
These things having been worn threadbare by discussion, Marcia Selden next invited attention to herself and her lonely and forlorn life as it must be henceforward.
“You still have me, Mother,” Barham said, kindly, as she bewailed her utter isolation. “And I shall always do my best to make you happy.”
“Happy! As if I could ever be happy again, without my dear Madeleine. But I’m an old woman—I probably shall not trouble anybody for long.”
A new black-bordered handkerchief was somewhat ostentatiously ​flaunted and several feminine voices murmured polite denials of the last statement.
“Yes,” went on Mrs. Selden, who was thoroughly enjoying her martyr role, “I shall soon follow my darling to the land beyond.”
“Well, meantime, Mother,” Barham tried to turn the trend of conversation to a pleasanter theme, “I shall do all I can to help you bear your loss——”
“You don’t care that our Maddy is gone forever! You don’t care——”
“Now, Marcia, stop that,” her sister remonstrated. “It’s unfair to Andrew. He and Maddy were all right—a whole lot happier together than you and your husband ever were!”
“Sarah, you hush! I won’t listen to such slander! Andrew, will you put Sarah out of the house?”
“Oh, come, now, Mother, we don’t want Sarah to go until after dinner, anyway.”
“Dinner! I’d like to know who could eat dinner. No one but me really mourns our darling.”
“Yes, we do, Marcia,” her sister said, “but these things have to be borne. I lost my dear daughter, too, you know——”
“Oh, you, Sarah! You have no heart. Now, I’m a sensitive nature, an affectionate nature——”
“You are, Mother,” Andrew said, sincerely. “But let us try to bear our sorrow bravely and help one another——”
“Andrew, you make me sick! You and your preaching! Pity your weren’t a minister! Claudine, take me to my room. I must be alone.”
“She’ll stay alone about five minutes,” Mrs. Beresford said, as Marcia went away with the long-suffering Claudine. “What are you going to do, Andrew?” ​
“I don’t know, Sarah. I am more than willing to do my duty by Madeleine’s mother—but, you see how impossible she is. Nothing I say or do pleases her, though I honestly try. Of course, I can’t send her away, nor can I persuade her to go away. But I don’t see how I can live with her. It was easier when Maddy was here, but now—well, I shall do whatever she wants.”
“She wants just to stay here and ballyrag the life out of you,” said Marcia Selden’s sister, with true insight.
“Then she’ll have to do that.”
“And you’ll stand it?”
“It isn’t ‘standing it,’ Sarah. It’s simply doing my duty, as I see it, by my wife’s mother. But I shall most certainly reserve the privilege of going away as frequently as I like, for as long as I like. The house and servants will be at her disposal, but I couldn’t bear to be here all the time.”
“Of course you couldn’t, Andrew. You’re quite justified in going off all you choose. You might take a trip to Europe.”
“I might go to Kamchatka! But I’m not deciding on anything at present. You must know, Sarah, there’s a lot yet to be done in connection with—with Maddy’s death.”
“Oh, that—yes. Of course, that artist person killed her. Can’t they get hold of him?”
“Apparently not.”
“But you don’t have to mix up with it, do you, Andrew? I should think you’d rather never know who did it, than to dig into what may be a horrid—scandal——”
“What do you know about Maddy’s secrets, Sarah?”
“Don’t you ask me, Drew. If you want to know anything—go to her friends—they’ll be ready enough to tell you.” ​
Andrew Barham went off to his own rooms to think it all out.
He had a small library of his own, quite apart from the great book-lined place Madeleine called the Library, and here he went and locked himself in, bidding his servants refuse him to all comers.
What should he do—what could he do, regarding several great and important issues.
Perhaps the first was his mother-in-law.
But that he soon settled. He would let her be the unquestioned head of the house, so far as management and home rule were concerned.
Then, if her irritable temper and unpleasant disposition made him too uncomfortable, he would go away either permanently or for long temporary journeys. It was a little hard to be pushed out of his own home, but his loyalty to his dead wife and his sense of duty to her mother made no other plans possible.
Next—he must clear up this business of Maddy’s wrong doing. He didn’t know exactly what it was that people meant by their veiled innuendoes, but he proposed to find out.
Then there was that matter of the Thomas Locke studio to be taken up. What he should do regarding that, he hadn’t decided. It would take a good bit of thinking.
He wondered if the police would ever track down Locke. If the artist would ever be brought to book and asked concerning his acquaintance with the wife of Andrew Barham. And if so, he wondered what Locke would say.
As Madeleine had said, Drew was always wondering.
And he sat now, in deep thought, his mind racing from Marcia Selden to Thomas Locke: from Madeleine to—well, to himself, Andrew Barham—who, after all, was the biggest factor in his wonderings. ​
Finally, he picked up the telephone and called Nick Nelson, who got around to him in the shortest possible time.
“Well,” Barham said, after they had discussed matters of lesser moment, “now, out with it, Nick, all about Maddy. Tell me the worst. As you know, very frequently other people know more about a man’s wife than he knows himself.”
“I’ll tell you, Drew,” Nelson said, gravely, “because you ought to know. To begin with, Maddy played Bridge for far higher stakes than you ever dreamed she did. She would lose hundreds, sometimes thousands, in an evening.”
“Maddy! Thousands!”
“Perhaps not often thousands, but almost always hundreds. She was what they call born to bad luck—always held miserable hands——”
“Oh, come now, Nick, hands even up in the long run.”
“Not always. Not with some people. But, anyway, Maddy was an erratic player, and a wild one. . . . If she won a pile, she’d raise the stakes and lose it all on a final hand, or something like that. She had all the impulses of a born gambler—she must have had a gambling ancestor—and yet, she always paid.”
“How could she?”
“That’s just it. She borrowed at first, Drew, from all her friends. Her funny code of ethics let her owe a loan, but not a card debt.”
“She wasn’t unique in that respect.”
“No; well, when she could borrow no more, when she had exhausted her mother’s generosity—and purse, probably—she resorted to—I can’t say it, but she knew secrets about her woman friends that she threatened to tell unless they paid her.”
“Blackmail!” and Andrew Barham gasped in horror. ​
“You needn’t use the word. It seems Maddy was just gay and laughing about it. She’d run in to see a friend, she’d hint of something she knew—and then she’d ask for a loan of a few hundreds—or more, according to the importance of the secret.”
“How did she learn these things?”
“Oh, every woman knows her neighbors’ secrets—and they often hold them over each other’s heads, as a rod in pickle. But they rarely get money on them—they’d be afraid.”
“Maddy knew no such thing as fear.”
“No. But she didn’t realize that what she was doing was really a crime. Well, then, maybe instead of paying her, some woman would tell a bit of scandal about some other woman—that would give Maddy a fresh start. Any way—that’s the way things were.”
“How did you learn it all?”
“Emmy Gardner told me. She came to me in real distress, fearing Maddy would get into trouble. Emmy asked me to come to you about it—but I didn’t think it was my business to do so. I didn’t know whether Emmy was actuated by real concern for Maddy, as she pretended, or whether in it was but malicious revenge on her own part.”
“Good old Nick, for telling me now. The next thing is to keep it secret. Can that be done?”
“From whom?”
“From everybody who doesn’t already know it. But, primarily, from Mrs. Selden. I hope she’ll never find it out. She idolized the child, and it would grieve her so deeply.”
“We can probably keep it from her—unless some busybody tattles.”
“Claudine knows?” ​
“I’ve been told that Maddy used her schemes on Claudine——”
“No!”
“So Emmy said; but the details don’t matter so much. Drew. You can fix Claudine more easily than any one else.”
“This explains a horrible note I got from a Mrs. Gibbs—saying she is a creditor of Maddy’s.”
“Well, ask her for a statement. Those women will be glad to keep still for fear something might come out about themselves. What I’m worried about is this murder trial.”
“Trial? How can there be a trial with no one to try?”
“I mean the murder inquiry. The plans of the police include only two main issues; to find Locke and to learn all about Madeleine’s past.”
“Why the latter?”
“They think it will give them a line on the motive for the murder, and perhaps a hint as to the murderer.”
“Wasn’t it the artist?”
“Maybe and maybe not. I’m interested in that chap. Drew. Do you know, after the murder—I mean, supposing for the moment that he was the criminal—after the deed, he calmly walked downstairs, gave his masquerade costume to his servant, put on his hat, and walked out of the front door, saying to the doorman he’d be back in a few moments! Did you ever hear of such colossal nerve?”
“Never! How could he? Perhaps he didn’t do it, after all.”
“And then—he went out to Fifth Avenue, and climbed up to the top of a bus and went off.”
“How do they know all this?”
“It seems somebody saw him—some woman who lives next door, I believe, and she was watching the revelers that night.” ​
“And they’ve never seen or heard from him since?”
“I believe not—unless since I’ve seen the people down there.”
“You speak as if you knew them.”
“No, but I saw several at the inquiry, and they’re not bad at all.”
“What do you mean by not bad? I don’t suppose they’re Hottentots.”
“No; but they seem really interesting. Seem to have more—personality, more brains, than some of our own crowd.”
“They wouldn’t have to be overburdened at that.”
“I know it. And they say—that is, Mr. Jarvis told me, that Locke is a very worth-while chap.”
“Not a heavy villain, then?”
“No; sort of a dreamer, and rather intellectual. Says he’s a good pal——”
“Look here, Nick,” Barham interrupted him, “if Locke didn’t kill Maddy, who did? Could it have been any one that is mixed up in this other matter? This blackmail—yes, I will use the word. I never mince phraseology! My wife did blackmail her friends—and in so far as I can, I’m going to make good her debts and hush up the whole matter. I am responsible for everything Maddy did—just so far as I can be responsible. Now here’s my point. If it could be that somebody who had been her victim is at the bottom of this murder business—then I don’t want it found out. See? I’d rather Maddy’s murderer should go unpunished than that Madeleine’s name should be dragged through a trial and all that, whereby her life secrets must be laid bare.”
“I see,” and Nelson thought deeply. “But, Drew, it is impossible, as I see it, with the murder occurring down there, as it did, there should be any connection between it ​and the Bridge business. No, it couldn’t be. The more I think it over, the more I think there was some mistake. I mean Maddy was thought to be some one else—the blow was intended for another woman.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. It might be,” and Barham looked hopeful. “It would be awful enough, but I’d liefer that, Nick, than to know that somebody really wanted Maddy’s life.”
“Well, the thing to do is to get Locke. Then, if he’s the good sort that Jarvis thinks him, and if he didn’t do it, he can doubtless help us a whole lot.”
“But if he didn’t do it, why is he hiding?”
“There you go again—round the circle! I don’t know, I’m sure—but there could be reasons. Say he’s innocent, but there’s circumstantial evidence against him. Say he’s innocent, but he’s shielding somebody else. Say he met with foul play himself.”
Barham nodded. “Ingenious but not very plausible. However, I doubt if he’ll ever be found. And, in that case, they’ll drop the whole matter, won’t they?”
“Not so long as they can think of some other way to look. That Hutchins is an alert sort, and Dickson is a smart man. Also, they’re interested. It’s an unusual case—and a picturesque case. Forgive me, Drew, but you’re so sensible, I’m sure you can see for yourself, that a mystery culminating in the death of a society belle, is more intriguing than an ordinary case of murder. Then there is Pearl Jane.”
Barham looked up. “Who’s she?”
“She’s the Miss Cutler I spoke to you about. Did you ever hear such a name? Pearl Jane! Well, it seems she was found bending over the body and there was blood on her sleeve—also there was blood on Locke’s sleeve——” ​
“Locke’s sleeve! Why, you haven’t told me half! Locke’s sleeve!”
“I mean the sleeve of the costume he wore at the ball. The monk’s robe—not his own coat. You see, he flung the robe to the Chinese servant as he left, and they afterward found a smear of blood on the front of it.”
“What do the Square people think about their fellow artist? Do they suspect him?”
“They seem not to know much about him. They seem not to know much about one another. As Jarvis says, they keep pretty much to themselves and when they get together for an occasional hobnob, they just talk shop.”
“I see.” Barham didn’t appear deeply interested.
“And then, too, it seems this Locke is in the habit of going off on sketching trips or something and staying for days at a time.”
“I suppose all that’s in my stenographer’s report—I’ve not had time to read it yet. Now, Nick, as to hushing up this miserable business of Maddy’s. Shall I go to see the women, and beg or bribe them to keep still about it?”
“Can’t I go for you—I hate to have you subjected to——”
“I don’t care what I’m subjected to—and, of course, you understand, it’s for her sake—hers and her mother’s. I could bear it, if I had to, the nine days’ wonder and all that—but I can’t have my dead wife’s name held up to scorn if I can prevent it by any possible means. Any suggestions, old chap?”
Nelson looked at the man before him. Barham’s fine face was set in that firm way his friends knew so well. Not so much stubbornness as bulldog determination and per severance. Nelson knew that Andrew would move heaven and earth so far as he was able, to save his wife’s reputation. ​
And it would be a terrible thing to have such a stigma on her memory. It would have been bad enough had the story been made public while she was alive, but to be disclosed after her death, and to fall heavily on the already overburdened soul of Andrew Barham, would, Nelson felt, be almost too much for the man.
Yet Barham’s face seemed to indicate that he yet hoped to cope with this trouble. It seemed to gleam with a will power that would find some way to meet the enemy, to brave the impending disaster, to conquer the danger.
His strong white teeth were set together with a certain forcefulness of his lower jaw, that betokened to Nelson’s keen eye not only a decision but a desperate will to make good that decision.
“No positive suggestions, Drew,” Nelson said, in answer to his query; “merely a negative suggestion not to go ahead faster than need be. It’s not at all certain that those women will tell—anything. More likely, they won’t. Why would they? Everything they say against Maddy would implicate themselves.”
“But others—those who know about it—yet are not deeply involved——”
“Oh, give them the benefit of the doubt. I don’t believe they would tell just to make trouble——”
“I know them better than you do, Nick. I’ve heard Maddy and her mother talk gossip until my hair fairly stood on end, at the tables, of woman’s inhumanity to woman. Yet, your advice is good in the main. I’ll go slowly, but I’ll find out and pay such debts as that the Gibbs woman speaks of; and I’ll call on Emmy Gardner and Rosamond Sayre—they were Maddy’s nearest friends, and see what they can do to help me.”
“And ask them to try to keep the whole matter from Mrs. Selden.” ​
“Yes; now, the thing is, the police. Do you suppose they’ve any inkling of this thing as yet?”
“Can’t say. All I know is, they’re trying to probe into Maddy’s secrets, and—it’s a house of cards.”
“Yes; in more senses than one!” and Barham smiled ruefully at his melancholy joke. “Well, I can’t sit still—I chafe at restraint or inaction. Let’s call up that Hutchins and ask him. You do it.”
Not anxious for the job, but ready to help his friend, Nick Nelson called up the detective.
Hutchins didn’t know Nelson was at Barham’s house, and was asked to speak freely.
“Well, yes,” he said, as Nick intimated his interest. “I did get a line on that matter. It seems the lady was—well, she was pretty rash in the measures she took to—to replenish her exchequer! I’d rather not say these things over the telephone—I’d rather not say them at all—but as Mr. Barham’s counsel, you’ve a right to know—yes, Mr. Nelson, I did find out some things, and when you want to see me, I’ll come and talk to you about ’em.”
“Tell him to come to-morrow,” Andrew directed, as, with his hand over the transmitter. Nelson reported. “At your place.”
So Nelson asked the detective to come to see him next day—and, incidentally asked him to keep the matter to himself, at least until they could confer over it.
“Never fear! I won’t say a word, till I have to. It knocked me fair between the eyes! I never heard of such a thing before. No wonder what happened, did happen!”
Nelson hung up the receiver, and turned to Barham with a troubled face. He repeated his whole conversation with Hutchins, and said:
“I begin to think, Drew, that it was something to do with all that, that brought about Maddy’s fate.” ​
“But how, how, Nick, could any of our crowd be mixed up with that painter? You don’t think he was a gambler, do you?”
“Oh, Lord, no. Jarvis says he doesn’t think Locke knows one card from another. Those people never play cards.”
“Then how, or why, would any of that lot have anything against Maddy?”
“I can’t see that they could—but some one else might have planned to meet her there.”
“Who knew she was going? Why did she go? How did she know of the place? Why——”
“Let up on that, Drew. We know she did go there, willingly, and purposely.”