The Stalking Death - Part 9 of 9
Lacey Amy’s Newest and Most Dramatic Story (Luke Allan)
A serialized novel from The Canadian Magazine, March, 1933. Illustrated
by Carl Shreve.
Digitized by Doug Frizzle, February, 2016.
Four minutes later—four minutes too late—Inspector Broughton
and Arnold Platt ran into the lane behind Aulinloch’s house and crept up to the
library windows. Aulinloch had left the lights burning. Placing an ear against
a window-frame, the Inspector listened.
“They’re gone!” he
whispered, angry and chagrinned. “Now what? It would have been better, Platt,
if you’d stuck around instead of calling me.”
They retired to the
lane and in the darkness discussed the next move. It was decided to make sure
at all costs if Aulinloch was at home and Platt was despatched to a telephone.
Platt returned to
report that Aulinloch was not at home. Mrs. Aulinloch, too, was out. All the
servants knew was that Aulinloch had been in the library a short time ago and
had left the house hurriedly.
Inspector Broughton
was excited.
“There’s a bad tangle here somewhere, Platt. Our first move is to
get away to Freyseng’s place and find out how he managed to escape Falkner. If
anyone could keep an eye on him I figured Falkner was the man. It looks as if
we’ve under-estimated Freyseng . . . I’m not sure there’d be a man on Kalmberg
in time: I gave orders for that shortly after dinner—when I couldn’t find him
myself in the short time I had. Come along. I’m in a hurry and I don’t know
why.”
They hurried to the
car and in fifteen minutes they were running past Freyseng’s great palace. As
usual the conservatory was alight, but the rest of the house was dark except
for the servants’ quarters in the rear, and a hall light. The Inspector got out
and, working his way across the lawn, found that Freyseng’s suite, too, was
dark.
Worked up now to an
unusual excitement, he found a telephone booth and called up the station.
There he learned that Falkner had reported an hour before. Freyseng had got
away from him. The first Falkner knew that he had left the house was when he
heard the engine of a car in the garage start up. Before Falkner could
interfere a car darted down the drive and he had time only to see against the
light the big figure of the man he was set to watch.
“That’s the missing
link, Platt,” Inspector Broughton sighed. “He picked up Kalmberg and went
straight to Aulinloch’s. Now we’ll try Kalmberg’s. I’ve a hunch we’ll find something
there.”
They did find
something—something that made even the Inspector shudder.
XLI
In a silence that
lasted until they were well on their way Freyseng and Kalmberg drove toward Midvale Drive
Kalmberg felt it,
shivered to it. Crouched in his seat, the suitcase behind his feet, he peered
from side to side.
Freyseng saw it, and
his lip curled.
“If you’re scared,”
he said, “you can leave the suitcase in the house with me tonight.”
But Kalmberg was not
frightened enough for that.
“I’ll be all right,”
he replied. “Once I get the suitcase in the house it’s all right. Not even the
servants know of the safe.”
Freyseng was
thinking. “If that Chinaman’s on the watch in front of your place, like he was
before, we can fool him. We won’t stop on Midvale Drive
They turned into the
side street. Kalmberg, peering up Midvale
Drive
He tried to stiffen
himself by remembering that Freyseng was within call.
He reached the
driveway, darted in and dropped to the shelter of the nearest bush. There he
cowered, examining the way ahead, identifying every shadow along the side of
the house.
It took time to work
up courage to leave the friendly shadow in which he crouched. So many other
shadows dotted the lawn—and none of them friendly at a distance. They, too,
might conceal someone. The Chinaman!
He tried to scoff at
his fears. Wasn't this his own lawn—where nothing ever happened? But someone
had shot at Freyseng from his lawn—and out there on Midvale Drive
He reached the
corner of the house—the front corner.
There the gardener
had planted a shrubbery extending in ornamental design several feet into the
lawn. As he neared it and was about to drop into the shadows, a sudden sense of
danger sent him slanting away toward the open lawn.
It was too late. A
long arm reached from the shrubbery. Five inhumanly strong fingers closed
around his neck and dragged him into the deeper gloom.
In the depths of the
shadows those digging fingers sank deeper and held. One final inhuman kick to
the twisted body, and the suitcase was clutched in one of those powerful hands.
As the murderer
emerged to the open lawn a Chinaman blocked his way! A knife flashed.
Kalmberg’s murderer leaped back in time to avoid the thrust and the next
instant he had fired an automatic from his hip. The Chinaman staggered but did
not retreat. Like a wild animal he sprang forward.
They were back in
the shrubbery again now, fighting in the dark. The Chinaman had grabbed the
hand that held the gun, and in a moment it came hurtling out on the lawn. Someone
gasped—a hideous, broken gasp. There was strange sounds. Silence.
Someone ran from the
shrubbery and picked up the old leather suitcase. It was the Chinaman.
He had scarcely
disappeared when a second Chinaman came along the path Kalmberg had followed.
Into the ornamental
shrubbery at the corner of the house the second Chinaman darted—and pitched
headlong over two bodies that lay side by side. With a stifled exclamation he
picked himself up and leaned over to feel what had tripped him. Then he
staggered into the lawn, stared wildly about, and sneaked swiftly back toward
the driveway.
XLII
Phyliss
aulinloch had just returned to the house. It was almost eleven o'clock, and
she wondered if Adolph was in bed.
She realized
now how comparatively simple had been her life before Brander Charlesworth had
come to her with the story of the deal in jade. Before that she had pitied herself,
but reason had told her where the responsibility lay and she had held her
course accordingly. But since she knew about the jade every wifely act, every
wifely look, every wifely compromise, had become a strain.
She tried to
blame Brander and to some extent succeeded.
As noiselessly
as she could she let herself into her own suite and sank into the nearest chair
to decide what she could do. Life could not continue like this . . .
The opening of
the front door downstairs brought her keenly alert to what was happening. The
sound, low as it was, seemed to strike every nerve in her body. She knew it was
Adolph, felt it was Adolph; yet the furtive soundlessness of it was unusual for
him. Slowly she rose to her feet, startled and curious. She heard him pick her
way back along the hall to his library. Then a long silence.
Phyliss waited,
standing where she was, convinced that somehow life had reached a crisis for
her. Her face was deadly pale.
She knew that
when Adolph came upstairs he would come to her! Knew it tremblingly.
. . . After a
long time he came. Though she expected it, his low knock on her door sent her heart leaping.
“Is that you,
Adolph?” she whispered through the door.
She recognized
his voice, though she did not hear what he said. She opened the door.
He was dressed
for the street, but at sight of her he automatically removed his hat. Stepping
inside, he closed the door behind him. She retreated beyond the table and stood
facing him. He did not move.
“I find I must
go to New York
She nodded; she
could not trust herself to speak. Something was working to a crisis, a crisis
of frightful significance.
There seemed
nothing more to say, but he did not go.
“You’ll have to
hurry,” she warned in a flat voice.
But still he
did not move.
“It’s very
important business, Phyliss. I may have to rush across to Paris —or
London
At the dull
uncertainty of it she faced him again. She noticed then how pale he was, how
stiffly he stood; as he spoke his lips scarcely moved. Some unusual emotion,
she guessed with misgiving, surged behind that still exterior. She saw him sway
toward her, as if he demanded a decent farewell, but he recovered himself and
stiffened. She wondered if, after all these cold years, there was going to be a
scene, some demonstration of affection, of regret at parting.
“Do you think,”
she began inanely, “you’ll have to go so far?” She moved further behind the
table.
A cold smile
creased his face. He saw and understood.
Without so much
as a bow, stiff as a soldier, he turned to leave; and she thought of him, with
a sudden surge of pity, as a soldier steeling himself to face death. Never
before had she considered that if she suffered, he suffered much more.
He must have
sensed the softening in the atmosphere of the room, for he spoke over his
shoulder:
“If I have to
go—if it is necessary to cross to Europe —for a
long stay, would you—would you come to me if I cabled?”
The words came
stumbling pathetically over one another.
Her reply was
prompt: “Certainly. If it’s necessary.”
“Yes—‘if it’s
necessary’,” he murmured.
Then without
another word he left her, merely bowing as he closed the door.
She heard him
descend the stairs, slowly, step by step, and go out. Presently two men came
out, the taxi driver carrying a suitcases. Her husband stepped wearily into
the car. As he dropped into the seat he pressed his face against the glass and
looked straight up at her. She waved to him. He smiled—and was gone,
XLIII
Brander
charlesworth was fortunate in finding an empty lower berth on the
midnight train. He had not planned to leave the city until his work was done,
and then to pay a flying visit to his mother whom he had seen off that evening.
But now, almost
at haphazard, he had taken this train in the opposite direction.
Fleeing.
In ones and
twos his travelling companions came along the passage and passed back to their
berths. He wondered if he wouldn't be less conspicuous in the smoking
compartment—
The porter came
grunting along the passage. He came into sight and turned into the drawing
room section.
The interior of
the drawing room section clicked into view with the turning of the switch. The
berths were not made up, so that Brander had a vague impression of a compartment
taken late, after the register was handed to the train.
Someone, a man,
had entered behind the porter, crowding close on his heels, nervously close.
Brander read that much without noticing the man himself.
A bell sounded,
an official called “all aboard!” the train started gently.
Brander retired
to the smoking compartment. He found it difficult to think—to realize the turn
in his run of luck. He wondered if brooding had not played him a trick.
“Yo’ be’th is
ready, suh,” the Porter said to him.
Brander found
himself in the narrow passage. He hesitated before the drawing room door then,
throwing back his shoulders, he knocked softly.
After a moment the turn-bolt slipped back and the door opened a crack. With a savage
thrust Brander Charlesworth
pushed through and closed the door behind him.
“Well.
Aulinloch.” he growled, “so you think to sneak away from it do you?”
“I don’t understand,
Charlesworth.” Aulinloch said
wearily. “Except that you mean
to be impertinent.”
“Don’t waste
time playing the old role with
me,” Brander interposed. “You
can’t impress me now. I know too
much of what’s been going on.”
Aulinloch lost
none of his outward composure.
“It must be interesting to
know so much. Might I share
it?”
Beads of
perspiration broke out on Brander’s face. He wanted to crash his fists
into that cold, sneering face,
to throttle the smirk from it.
But he controlled himself.
“Let’s go back
to the beginning.” he said.
“So long ago as
that?” Aulinloch queried. “Is
it to be a serial? Very well,
start at the very beginning—at the time you lost your head
because you were unable to keep
the woman I married.”
The cool insult
of it, the very defiance of the man on the couch, held Brander where he was.
“Only a damned bounder and cad would bring
his wife’s name into this,” he
raved. “You were never anything
else. But, since you’ve brought Phyliss’s name in, let me tell you
she never loved you as she did
me; she never will—and you
know it.”
The blow struck home—he knew it by the slight pucker about Aulinloch’s
eyes.
“Perhaps,” the
latter said, “you think she loves you still. You’ve looked for
evidence, haven’t you. You came to my house—”
“Stop it, you
beast, or I’ll tear you to pieces with my hands,” Brander threatened. He took a
step forward.
Aulinloch did
not move a muscle. But suddenly the muzzle of an automatic pointed straight at
Brander’s breast.
The young man
stared at it fascinated—fascinated
by two thoughts: here was
justification for attack, but he realized how rashly he had burst into the room with plans such as his.
“You haven’t
the nerve to shoot, Adolph Aulinloch.”
“Haven’t I?
Stop and reflect, Brander Charlesworth. You threatened all of us—I can prove
that.” He hesitated, and a quick frown fled across his face. “You threatened
all seven of us,” he went on. “You came to my house in my absence and, I
suppose, threatened my wife—who is loyal enough to tell me the story if I wish
it. You’ve been sneaking about the city, practically in hiding. Why? Reflect.
You were here the night Stirling was murdered.
You were here the night McElheren was murdered. You were here even when Larned
died—if he died—and Zaharoff was killed. A Chinaman has done it—we and the
police know that . . . And no one could masquerade as a Chinaman as well as
you. And, now you’ve forced your way into my compartment and threatened me.
Doesn’t that seem to be a good case for self- defence if I pull the trigger? If
you wish to test it—”
Brander knew he meant what he said, that
Aulinloch would welcome an excuse to pull the trigger. He knew, too, he would
get away with it. But he was not afraid.
“Yes, I did call on your wife. Once, and
once only. And, as you seem to know, we quarreled more irreconcilably than we
ever did to give you a chance to marry her. Any woman who can bring herself to
defend a man like you, husband or not, has no interest for me . . . I called:
to beg her to get back the jade you practically stole from my mother. She refused.
You’re welcome to her. But I’ll tell you this, too, that she’s more loyal to
you than you know how to be to her.”
Aulinloch’s lips worked “You told her I
robbed your mother, did you? . . It explains many things.”
His eyes half closed.
“I told her the exact truth’’ . . .
“The truth as you see it in your blind
prejudice,” Aulinloch said, angry for the first time. “Did you tell her your
mother had consulted seven of us, and we all gave the same answer?”
“I not only told her but I emphasized
it,” Brander scoffed. “You weren’t content to rob her but you induced six men
of similar conscience to join in a concerted robbery. Your wife knows all
about it.”
Aulinloch’s eyes blazed.
“If you’re so certain of the robbery, why
don’t you take it to court? After all no one compelled your mother to sell, she
did it of her own free will.”
“She had to,” Brander confessed
miserably. “She had to have the money.”
Aulinloch looked him over with contempt.
“I see. It’s as I thought—she had to have the money for a gambling, spendthrift
son. Did you tell Phyliss that? But never mind. If that’s all you’d better go—and
as quietly as you came.”
He swayed sideways, as if the strain were
too much for him; but quickly he was himself again. He smiled, a pathetic,
weary smile.
Brander closed his teeth.
“I’m not going till you give me back
those carvings.”
He was watching his chance to leap—aware
that Aulinloch was not apt to offer that chance.
Aulinloch went on:
“How can you get them back when they’re
sold?”
“I know they aren’t sold. You can’t get
away with a crime like that.”
Aulinloch stiffened away from the wall.
His face seemed to have grown thinner and whiter. “Get out. Get out quick.
Surely you can’t realize how you tempt me! What has happened the others you threatened?
Now you force your way in here to murder me. Simple reasoning, isn’t it? . . Do
you realize what your death would mean to me—to my home—to my happiness?”
His arm straightened slowly, the gun
pointed, a bright glitter came into his feverish eyes; but his forehead was
lined with pain.
Brander stood still. He knew if he moved
a muscle Aulinloch would pull the trigger. All the suffering of four years was
massed in that lean face—and here at the end of his gun was relief.
Suddenly Aulinloch’s arm went limp. The
gun clattered to the floor. He smiled wanly.
“No—I can’t. What would be the gain?
You’d better—leave me—please.”
Suddenly he braced away from the wall and
his head thrust forward. He pointed. Brander was conscious then of a slight
sound behind him and he wheeled to face it. The lock rattled and the door shot
open, almost knocking him from his feet. In the doorway stood Inspector
Broughton, at his back the big black porter with round, frightened eyes.
XLIV
Inspector Broughton stepped into the room
and closed the door behind him. In silence he looked from Brander to Aulinloch.
His face was very stern.
A slow smile dawned on Aulinloch’s face.
He pointed to the gun on the floor, and the Inspector stooped quickly and
picked it up.
“Whose is this?” he demanded.
Aulinloch shrugged his shoulders. “I
tried to use it. I couldn’t.” His voice was low and weary, he leaned back
against the wall.
The Inspector watched him curiously
without a word.
“What would be the gain?” Aulinloch
murmured. He made a hopeless gesture with his hands, “It wouldn’t—win me—anything
I want.”
The other two in the
room stared at him. There was something pathetically submissive, defeated,
about Aulinloch, as he sat hugging his arms to his chest as if he were cold.
“That’s right, Inspector,”
Brander heard himself saying. “He might have shot me. He dropped the gun
before you touched the door. We had no idea you were about.”
The Inspector braced
himself. He stepped forward. His hand fell on Aulinloch’s shoulder. “Adolph Aulinloch, I
arrest you for the murder of Jenifred Freyseng.”
Only Brander Charlesworth showed surprise. Aulinloch said nothing. His head was
tilted weakly back against the wall, his eyes were closed. He looked weary to
death.
Aulinloch opend his
eyes. In that moment or two they had gone bloodshot. “Is Kalmberg dead, too?”
he asked.
“You killed him?”
the Inspector countered sharply.
“You’re wrong,
Inspector . . . You’re wrong all along the line. You make charges. Where’s
your evidence?”
“We suspect you of
other murders, too. I must warn you that anything you say will be used against
you in court.”
“And what—I don’t
say, as well.” Aulinloch’s eyes twinkled. “You plan to use what anyone else
says against me, too.”
“You knew Kalmberg
was dead,” the Inspector said. “We’ll use that knowledge, you may be sure. But
no, we don’t suspect you of all the murders. You didn’t murder Fergus Stirling—though
there was sufficient evidence to convict you. At the time of his murder you
were prying about the home of this young man’s mother.”
Brander’s eyes
widened.
Aulinloch looked
startled. “You’re very clever,” he said, non-committally.
Brander took a step
toward him and glared into his face. “Ah-h! I wonder.”
Aulinloch returned
his gaze with composure. “How nice it would be—for the police—if I confessed
to everything you wish. A signed confession—with a witness—the face of the
police saved! You accomplished so little, Inspector, toward solving the crimes,
didn’t you? Annoying—disconcerting . . . Well, I’m sorry; I’m confessing nothing.
Let’s start with that and save a lot of futile questioning and bullying,
Inspector.”
“We can prove
enough against you, Aulinloch,” the Inspector said grimly, “to send you to the
gallows. I’m arresting you for one definite crime. We’ll look into the others
later.”
“At any rate,”
said Aulinloch, almost flippantly, “you acquit me of the murder of Fergus
Stirling. How indulgent! Then I probably could get an alibi for the Zaharoff murder.”
“You need no
alibi for that—we know who committed that crime.”
“So do I,”
Aulinloch told him calmly. “It was Jenifred Freyseng.”
Inspector
Broughton could not conceal his surprise. “How did you know?”
“I’ve known all
along the sort of man Freyseng was. I’ve known he had to be watched or I, too,
would go the way of Stirling and Zaharoff—and
Larned, perhaps. I’m no professional detective, either. I could have told you
that long ago.”
“Why didn’t
you?”
“Because . . .
Freyseng was no friend of mine but—Oh, these unfinished explanations!” He
grinned.
It was like a
death mask. “Would you mind telling me how you knew he murdered Zaharoff?”
“He gave
himself away, first of all. I paid him a visit last night at his house. He told
me of having been out for a drive, when he was attracted to the scene of
Zaharoff’s death by the crowd. When he reached the scene he saw Zaharoff’s
body, he says, lying along the seat in the burned car. As a matter of fact,
while the body actually was found in that position, the first arrival dragged
it out on the grass.
“But before
that I was suspicious of Freyseng. It was he murdered Fergus Stirling. That,
too, he carelessly gave away in our little conversation. He knew more of the Stirling affair than the public could know. He knew
that Stirling was not murdered where he was found, and, after talking too much
of Stirling being shot, he placed his finger
on the exact spot where the bullet was supposed to enter, though he could not
have seen the body unless he was the murderer . . . In addition, he made a
confession!”
Aulinloch
lurched away from the wall and stared at the Inspector. “He—made a—confession?
Freyseng confessed?” He closed his eyes quickly, and a wave of colour betrayed
confusion.
“Ah!” A cold
smile crossed the Inspector’s face. “That surprises you. You didn’t think he
could—that there was any life left in him. The condition you left him in. But
you failed to make allowance for the man’s vitality. When I found Freyseng he
was not quite dead, but he knew he was dying, and he told everything. He
confessed to the murders of Stirling and Zaharoff.”
Aulinloch’s
face twitched. “So he was a coward, after all?”
“Freyseng died at
least with confession on his lips, Aulinloch. He’ll have less to answer for in
the next world. He confessed that he sent a false message to get Zaharoff into
that quiet side road. There he waylaid him, struck him on the head, and
arranged the rest. Stirling he murdered in Stirling ’s
kitchen —and Freyseng choked him to unconsciousness. It was a nail
not a bullet that made the hole in his head and Stirling
was already dead.
“It was he took your
car from the garage. He thought to fix the murder on you. I confess it was
effective for a time.”
Aulinloch listened
attentively. “You were very subtle, Inspector. I knew you suspected me.” He
closed his eyes again. “And still you offer no evidence against me . . . Would
it help you to know that from the first there’s been a Chinaman mixed up in
this?”
As he talked Brander
Charlesworth crowded into the corner, his face red, his eyes on the floor.
Inspector Broughton wheeled on him suddenly.
“Charlesworth, it’s
up to you to explain a Chinese costume I found just now in your suitcase out
there.”
Aulinloch chuckled.
“I thought you’d add two and two, Inspector—even without finding the costume.
See that face of his? As Chinese as a Westerner can be. Charlesworth was born
and raised in China
Inspector Broughton
and Brander Charlesworth faced each other.
“I’ll tell the whole
story, as I know it,” Brander began. “Part of what Aulinloch has said is
right—as far as it goes. I thought I might get the jade back—I was very
angry—and not very particular how I did it. But I never contemplated murder. My
plan was to pass as a Chinaman to these scoundrels and frighten them—
“I saved this man
from a real robber,” Brander continued. “But, Inspector, I wasn’t the only
Chinaman in it. One came to my mother’s house last night and attacked us
both—tied mother up and struck me down in the dark when I went home
unexpectedly. Only the arrival of—of this man’s wife saved my life, I believe.
“I may as well tell
it all,” Brander went on. “Tonight I saw that Chinaman again. He was running
from Kalmberg’s lawn. I caught only a glimpse of him. I had heard a shot near
the house, and I was making for it across the lawn. I, too, was dressed as a
Chinaman. Then—then I stumbled over two bodies.”
Aulinloch smiled.
“There you have it, Inspector—a witness for the prosecution, and he admits it
was a Chinaman.
“As for that deal in
Jade. Is buying at a bargain a crime?”
“I’m not concerned
about that just now,” said the Inspector. “The crime I’m taking you for—”
“Hadn’t you better
hang onto young Charlesworth, while you’re at it?” asked Aulinloch. “He admits
he was at the scene of some crime tonight. I take it that’s the murder of Freyseng—”
“Of Freyseng and Kalmberg,”
said the Inspector, “I found both in the shrubbery at Kalmberg’s house. Kalmberg
was strangled to death. Freyseng had done that when—this Chinaman attacked
him.”
“And Charlesworth
admits he was a Chinaman at the scene of that crime!” Aulinloch looked from one
to the other, his face twisted to a wan smile.
“What were you doing
there, Charlesworth?” the Inspector demanded.
Brander sighed. “I’ve
been wildly foolish. I see it now. I was on my way to Kalmberg’s house to
frighten him as part of my plan. I saw how easy it was the night I broke into
Aulinloch’s office. I pushed my way in as the men there went to leave, thinking
to force Aulinloch to open his safe.”
“You’ve sailed close
to the law, young man,” warned the Inspector. “It’s only good fortune that I’m
not forced to arrest you, too . . . But this turns out to be a curious game you
were all playing. You were a Chinaman; we know McElheren was, too; and I’m
certain Aulinloch was a third. Well,” turning to the latter, “get your things
together. We get off at the first stop.”
Aulinloch did not
move. The Inspector glanced about the small compartment. He saw the two
suitcases on the upper berth and lifted one to the floor. Aulinloch watched
with flaming eyes as he stooped to open it.
Brander uttered a
sharp cry of warning and leaped, but the Inspector had already dropped
sideways to the floor. With a lightning spring he was on his feet. On the floor
beside the open suitcase lay Aulinloch, Brander Charlesworth gripping his
arms. And a long knife quivered in the wooden side of the lower berth!
With a jerk
Inspector Broughton lifted Aulinloch back to the couch and snapped handcuffs
over his wrists. His face was red with chagrin and anger.
“Thanks,
Charlesworth. I wasn’t looking for that.”
He bent over the
open suitcase and drew from it a handful of black silk. It was a complete Chinese
costume! He pulled the knife from the berth. It was dark with congealed blood!
XLV
Inspector Broughton held the
knife up.
“Blood, Aulinloch,
the blood of two men—two confederates in another crime—Freyseng and McElheren.
It was you pencilled that note on the paper on his desk; you did it to frighten
Freyseng and Kalmberg and to mislead the police. . . . Three of you
masquerading as a Chinaman, and all for the same purpose!”
Aulinloch gave no
sign that he heard. His deathly white cheeks seemed to have caved in, his head
leaned back against the wall. With his handcuffed hands he pressed his side.
The Inspector and Brander regarded him anxiously.
Suddenly his lips
parted. “I almost succeeded—everywhere. . .” Aulinloch’s shoulders sagged. “It
can’t be hidden any longer—from Phyliss. I had hoped to save her from this.
Besides—Yes, I killed Larned. The evening he died they all met in the library.
I put a slow poison in one of the glasses. He was unlucky. Even that early I
planned to get rid of them all, one by one.
“Then someone
forestalled me: Stirling was murdered. It
frightened me. . . When Zaharoff was killed I knew right away it was no
accident—I knew someone was after us. I wasn’t sure if it was Freyseng or
Charlesworth.
“But that didn’t
change my plan. Each death meant added profit. It spurred me on. It came to
look like a race between me and the other killer. Last night I worked fast.
From Mrs. Charlesworth’s I went to McElheren’s. You know the rest. I wrote that
little note on the paper to fool you.”
“But,” the Inspector
told him, “you didn’t wait to see what McElheren wrote with his own blood just
before he died: ‘The jade carvings.’ It was that gave us our first definite
clue. I never had any faith in the Chinaman angle.”
Aulinloch murmured: “McElheren—wrote—that! And I left him dead, I thought.
“That’s what greed
does. . .”
“Have you sold the
jade?” Brander demanded.
Aulinloch opened his
eyes and looked for a long time straight into his. “I’ll give you the address,”
he said, “If you’ll hold a paper for me to write.”
Brander did not
quite understand. By the look in Aulinloch’s eyes he scented something not
intended for the Inspector. Holding the paper so the latter could not see, he
watched Aulinloch write: “Thomas Greenshields, 3808 Fifth Avenue
“Listen to me,”
Aulinloch whispered. He was breathing hard. “I want to tell it all. After McElheren’s
death Kalmberg and Freyseng got together to rob me of the jade. They forced me
to hand it over to Kalmberg. He and Freyseng went away together with the jade
from my house. I followed them.
“You’ve beaten us,
Inspector. We had no idea you were after us . . . I followed them. I had my
Chinese dress with me. I changed in the taxi without the driver noticing the
change. I had no idea what their plan was, except that I was to be done out of
the jade. I saw Kalmberg leave Freyseng’s car and start toward the house. All I
had to do was to waylay Kalmberg in the darkness of his own grounds and—take
the suitcase from him. He would be too terrified of the Chinaman to resist.
Please believe me when I say I had no intention of killing him.
“I reached the lawn
in time, I thought. I saw Kalmberg cowering in the shadows. I saw him run
toward the corner of the house, but as he passed the shrubbery there he seemed
to shrink away from it Then he disappeared. I waited for a few moments. I
listened. Then a rustle of someone came from the shrubbery. It was Freyseng—and
he carried the suitcase of jade . . . I killed him. I knew he had killed
Kalmberg.”
The Inspector frowned—hesitated—“There was a shot,” he said. “Who
fired it?”
“Freyseng. He had a
gun with him.”
“Did he shoot
at you or at Kalmberg?”
“At me. It—didn’t stop me. I think I could have gone on and killed
him if my heart had been riddled. It was destined.”
“He missed
you—so close as that?” the Inspector asked.
Aulinloch
smiled. “He hit me. I’m dying.”
Inspector
Broughton tore the coat away. A wet stain showed through the vest.
“I
scarcely—felt it—at first,” Aulinloch continued feebly. “I had the jade. I hurried
home and bandaged it myself as best I could.
“My wife was
there but I couldn’t ask her. All my married life has been a struggle to
conceal from her the man she married . . . to earn her love. I might have
succeeded in the first if it hadn’t been for the jade. The second—was hopeless.
Often I thought life wasn’t worth living without it. Then the jade brought new
interest, new zest—new hopes. I took it as a symbol that I might still win.”
As he talked,
Inspector Broughton had bared the bandage. A single glance and he rose and went
to the door.
“We’ll have the
train stopped at the first station,” he said, and went out.
For a time not
a sound but Aulinloch’s heavy breathing broke the silence of the small room.
Brander took a pillow from one of the berths and gently lifted Aulinloch’s head
and slipped it underneath.
Aulinloch
touched him with his manacled hands. “No use, Charlesworth. It’s too late. I’m
no use to anyone now, anyway . . . except the police—and they can well do
without me.”
He pointed to
the upper berth. “There—there—quick! The suitcase—the jade—it’s there! It’s
yours. I give it back to you. Phyliss never loved anyone but you.”
Miserable,
confused, Brander automatically lifted the suitcase down and set it near the
door. A moment later the Inspector hurried in. A strange man in pyjamas was
with him.
“This is a
doctor, Aulinloch. He’ll see what can be done for you till we reach a station.”
Brander picked
up the suitcase. Inspector Broughton watched him. As he unlocked the handcuffs
from Aulinloch’s hands he was very gentle.
XLVI
Phyliss Aulinloch sat in her own sitting room
before the window. It looked on the garden at the rear.
Her thoughts
turned to Brander. Where was he? What would he think now? She had rejected him
brutally, insolently, to take a—a murderer! Love could never enter her life
again.
A maid came
soft-footed to announce a caller. Phyliss shook her head—she would see no one.
But she took the card.
“Mr. James
Broughton.”
By the card she
knew Inspector Broughton had come unofficially, that he had come as a friend.
She had nothing against him; indeed, from the first he had shown consideration
beyond what later revelations showed to be warranted.
Inspector
Broughton entered. He was ill at ease, very solemn, very uncertain of himself. He
bowed stiffly.
“Please
forgive—a friend, Mrs. Aulinloch,” he murmured. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“There’s nothing to
forgive—a friend.” On an impulse she extended her hand.
“I wish for just
three minutes you’d forget my share in—what happened.”
“There’s no need of
that, Mr. Broughton,” she told him. “I don’t blame you . . . I don’t blame anyone—anyone
but myself. Things have happened. I see how I was to blame for much of it. I
filled no place in my husband’s life, no satisfying place.”
He gulped, shifted
his knees. “I hope you won’t think it mere curiosity if I ask if your husband
left you—ah—provided for, financially independent.
“There were some
jade carvings. He said—a valuable collection, I believe. They belonged to your
late husband. He had them in a suitcase when we found him on the train at the
time of his death. They—disappeared.”
Phyliss had risen
from her chair, she faced him anxiously, “Disappeared, you say? But, Inspector,
you must get them back for me. It’s important, very important, that they be found
and returned.”
Inspector Broughton
sighed. “I’ll get them,” he said.
As he turned to
leave, the maid knocked. A card was handed in. The Inspector waited as Phyliss
read.
“Please bring him up
here, Bertha,” Phyliss said. “As a friend, Inspector. I want you here.”
The door burst open
and Brander Charlesworth rushed in. He was excited. In his hand he carried an
old leather suitcase. At sight of the Inspector he made a futile effort to
swing it behind him.
The Inspector
coughed, sidled to the door, and went out.
Phyliss Aulinloch
started forward to stop him, but she was too late. Then she returned quickly
behind the table.
Brander did not look at her—he dare not.
“There’s something of yours, Phyliss. Mr. Aulinloch had it—I brought
it away from the train . . . to you.”
“I know what it is,
Brander,” she said. “The jade was never my husband’s. It belongs to your
mother.”
Brander’s young face
was troubled. “I was afraid—it might be like that. I shouldn’t have taken it,
but he—asked me to. I had no right to come to you the other day and say what I
did—the way I did.”
“I won t take them,”
she repeated stubbornly. “They belong to your mother.”
Brander frowned.
“It—it isn’t easy for me, Phyliss,” he stammered. “You see, I can’t take them.
Your husband bought them. It’s fine of you, I know—Your husband paid for
them—he paid three thousand five hundred dollars. Mother can’t take them back
because—”
“All right. Pay me
the three thousand five hundred and call it settled.”
“But that’s the
trouble—I can’t. I haven’t anything like that to my name.”
She crossed the room
toward him. “Brander,” she chided, “why do you come into this affair at all?
It’s solely between your mother and me.”
“But mother won’t—”
“Oh we can arrange
that some way. Take the awful things out of this house, Brander; they’ve
brought nothing but trouble and unhappiness—and crime. They were innocent
enough in your mother’s hands. They aren’t that here.”
“Phyliss . . .” he
said slowly. “I’ve changed my job . . . for the better. I’m on a New York Geneva
He picked up the
suitcase and ran from the room.
Phyliss tiptoed to
the door, a happy smile on her face, and listened to the last echo of his
hurrying feet.
The End
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