XIII
THE coroner’s jury, so Carney told me, was 'assembled down-stairs, and I was wanted. The jurymen had already visited the major’s room and were about to examine the witnesses. I dressed hurriedly and made my way to the office. Except for Polly, the waitress, who, I could see through the open dining-room door, was hovering nervously about the table, waiting my belated arrival, every one who had testified to Dr. Reese yesterday was present in the office this morning.
Ruth Gilman’s white and tired face lighted up as she saw me. The friendliness, the chumminess, that I had long ago decided could appear in her eyes, were there now. Only for a moment but long enough to lift me to the heights. But she looked down immediately and I made no attempt to speak to her now.
Ravenell and Minot, too, favored me with glances, but they were rather different from her look. Ravenell’s was the acme of surly hate, while Minot’s was venomous, less honestly hateful and therefore doubly dangerous. He looked away, as if to conceal his feelings, while Ravenell met my eyes tenaciously.
But beyond a mild wonder as to how long it had taken them to enlarge the cabin window sufficiently for them to crawl through, I gave them none of my thoughts. They were beaten; Miss Gilman and I had won. That they cherished resentment bothered me not at all.
As I made my way to the dining-room, Dr. Reese broke off a whispered conversation with a man who, I soon learned, was foreman of the hastily impaneled jury, and came over to me. He sat down at the table with me, and Polly the waitress at once bustled out of the dining-room, into the office, to bask in the sense of her own importance as a witness, leaving me to serve myself to the fast-cooling breakfast.
However, the coffee was hot and I could forgive the rest of it.
“Carney has told you that I received a wire from Dr. Odlin bearing out your story, Mr. Wrenham? Well, now that I know you’re the Weatherbee Jones man, I expect you to unravel this affair. Can you think of any way of proving that one of those Greenham men wore the overshoes you and Carney discovered last night?”
I gulped some cold omelette and washed it down with coffee.
“Not that I know of,” I said regretfully, “but if willingness to do murder means anything, Minot and Ravenell ought to be hung a dozen times over.”
I told him of my nocturnal adventures, while his eyebrows rose.
“Still,” he said thoughtfully, when I had finished my amazing tale, “all that doesn’t prove either of them killed Major Penrose. To have them punished for assault would be a sort of anti-climax, wouldn’t it, Wrenham?”
I was forced to agree with him, and he didn’t speak again while I ate. But through the open door of the dining-room he watched Minot and Ravenell with speculative eyes, while his lips were pursed.
He rose when I had finished and we went into the office. I sat down beside Captain Perkins. Ruth Gilman sat several feet from me, but with her back toward me, so that I could not see her face. Reese conferred again with the foreman of the jury, and then there was a stir as the jurymen settled into chairs and looked expectantly at Reese. He took command and the giving of testimony followed.
He testified himself, first, and stated positively that it was a murder, and not a suicide or an accidental death. He referred to the solidarity of the unbroken tumbler in its socket, and stated that nothing could have discharged the revolver that had rested in the broken tumbler save a human hand. The jurymen nodded, plainly impressed. They had been in the chamber of death and had tested the unbroken tumbler.
Captain Perkins testified next. He was followed in order by Polly and Myra, Tony Larue, Nelly the cook and myself, all of us repeating what we had said yesterday. But I noticed that the doctor refrained from questioning the landlord about his imperfect recollection of the presence or absence of the two detectives from the hotel at the time of the tragedy. Nor did he question me about anything save what I had heard and seen at that time. But I noticed that my statement that some one had run past my door just after the shot was fired stirred the jurymen.
I sat down finally. So far as I could tell, neither Ravenell nor Minot seemed the least disturbed by the proceedings. If they held guilty knowledge of the murder, they were indeed geniuses in the art of hiding their emotions.
Then the coroner-doctor called Miss Gilman to the stand. Gently he spoke to her.
“Miss Gilman, will you please tell the jury what you told me yesterday.”
Bravely, though exhaustion, both physical and nervous, showed in every line of her face and in every word she spoke, she told of the discovery of the body, of the entrance of some one through the French windows and his passage along the hall, of her uncle’s absent-mindedness, her own fears of the revolver in his hands because of that absent-mindedness, the placing of the weapon in the large tumbler, her certainty that it could not have been overbalanced by anything short of an earthquake.
She paused when she had said this much and looked, inquiringly almost, at Reese.
“Now then,” said the doctor, “yesterday you pointed out three men, now present, and stated that you had reason to believe they bore your uncle ill will. One of those men, I understand, you have changed your opinion about. The others?”
“I have not changed,” she said. “And—and I’m free to tell now what I could not tell yesterday.”
“Then please tell it,” said Reese.
For a moment her eyes fastened on the face of Minot, then on Ravenell. Then she turned her face to Reese.
“What I say here,” she said, “may appear in print. Therefore, that there may be no misunderstandings of my uncle’s motives, no question as to his loyalty to his country, I must go back some distance.”
Reese bowed, and she continued:
“MY uncle, Major Samuel Penrose, was retired from active service in the Fall of Nineteen-Thirteen. In December of that year he went to Bermuda for the Winter. For fifteen years, since the death of my parents, I have lived with my uncle. Of late years I have acted as his secretary, taking charge of his correspondence and looking after his accounts. Of course, I went to Bermuda with him.
“There my uncle became acquainted with General Sir Richard Fenton, retired, of the British Army. Sir Richard had spent a great deal of his active service in the tropics and upon retirement had moved permanently to Bermuda. The acquaintance between the two retired officers became friendship and soon a sort of partnership. This last because each soon learned that the other was working on the same invention.
“It was strange that two army men should be trying to invent submarine appliances, but it was so. In fact, my uncle would have entered the navy as a young man had it been possible for him to obtain an appointment to Annapolis. As it had not, and he had been able to get an appointment to West Point, he had gone there. But the navy was his first love, and of late years he had taken a tremendous interest in submarine navigation problems, believing that in coming warfare the submarine was to prove of tremendous importance.
“So he determined that his years of retirement should be devoted to submarine invention, and when we reached Bermuda he plunged at once into work. He had an idea that he could invent some appliance whereby a submarine could carry enough air to remain under water several days—weeks, possibly.
“Air, you know, is the greatest problem confronting submarine inventors. How to store enough air to enable a submarine to cruise almost indefinitely beneath the surface, never rising to expose itself to hostile guns, that was his problem.
“And very shortly he learned that Sir Richard was engaged on practically the same work. As their friendship ripened, and as each learned that the other was the soul of honor, they began confiding their difficulties one to the other. Soon my uncle learned that Sir Richard was possessed of certain qualities, followed certain theories, that were of great value. Sir Richard learned the same thing about my uncle. And soon they came to the discovery that the work and inventions of each, thus far, were complements of the work and inventions of the other. Together they had solved the problem—on paper, at any rate.
“At least, it seemed that by combining their labors they would be in a fair way to achieve the dream of each. I know that both of them thought so. Of course this conclusion was not reached quickly. In fact, it was not until after several months that their friendship and confidences had advanced thus far. Then, last June, they decided to work together.
“Each of course, would have preferred to have achieved the invention for his own country and by himself. But each was confronted by obstacles too great for him to surmount alone. I can not explain it, because I am not versed in the technicalities of submarine invention. I only know that my uncle said to me that half a loaf was better than none.
“By that he meant that it would be better for the United States to share the invention with Great Britain than for the United States to have no share in its ownership.
“There were few objections to this course of reasoning. The United States and Great Britain were the two countries on earth least liable to be engaged in a war with each other. England would not dare attack us because of Canada’s helplessness before our assaults. We would hesitate to attack England because of her great fleet which could destroy our commerce and cut off our communications with our colonies. Self-interest then, seemed to assure the continuance of the peace that had already existed for a century, aside from all considerations of the ties of blood and friendship between the two nations.
“So, then, in June, Sir Richard and my uncle joined forces. They worked together that month, and early in July it was derided that my uncle should go to New York, there to purchase some supplies needed by them. I accompanied him.
“The week before we intended to return to Bermuda my uncle received a cablegram notifying him of Sir Richard’s death. What is known in Bermuda as ‘broken-bones’ fever, and which is a form of our grip, had killed him. And then, the following week, the Great War broke out.
“It was manifestly impossible that we should return to Bermuda at that time. In fact, one could obtain no passage there, as the fear of German cruisers stopped traffic for a while. Moreover, though connected with Halifax and thus with London, by cable, Bermuda was too out-of-the-way, too far from British headquarters. For, of course, my uncle had decided to offer at once—that is, as soon as possible—the joint plans to the British Government for use, perhaps, in the current struggle.
“It so happened that the plans thus far drawn by the two officers were incomplete. That is, to a person unfamiliar with their object, they would have been unintelligible. Only a person who had been working on them, who knew their ultimate object, could have gained any information from the mass of figures, copies of which were possessed by Sir Richard and would undoubtedly be found among his effects.
“Now, neither my uncle nor Sir Richard had taken their respective governments into their confidence. Retired army officers with inventions are a drug on the military market. They are listened to politely and forgotten the moment they leave. Also, they are often jeered at, behind their backs, as fanatics. Especially so would this state of affairs be in the case of army officers presenting plans for a naval invention. The plans would be pigeonholed. Unless, indeed, the plans were perfected, up to the minute. But if the plans were in such shape that money was needed for experiments—well, both my uncle and Sir Richard knew better than to apply to their respective war offices.
“And money for experiments was needed, had been needed, and had been supplied by the private fortunes of these two men.
“So then, the plans not yet being whipped into shape, and months of work being necessary before they would be in shape, my uncle was not foolish enough to attempt to interest either the British or the United States governments at once. He knew that Sir Richard’s copy of the plans would be unintelligible to his executors, that nothing would be thought of them, and that they could not possibly be developed by any one other than my uncle himself. So my uncle set to work to develop them himself.
“A month or so ago he was so near completion of his work that he went to the Navy Department and had a talk with the secretary. He told him all that I have told you. He explained that while the plans were in his single possession, and that he intended to offer them to the United States, he felt honorably bound to offer them to the British Government, also.
“And here arose a peculiar position. By the laws of neutrality the United States Government, as such, could not countenance one of its army officers, though retired, placing himself in the position of giving aid to one of the combatants in the Great War. So the secretary, being a man of tact, told my uncle this, and added that inasmuch as my uncle had been in partnership with an English officer before the Great War broke out, a perfectly proper arrangement, he saw no valid reason why my uncle should not enter into another partnership with another English officer now that the War had broken out.
“In other words, inasmuch as the United States government did not forbid the exportation of munitions of war to the belligerents by private parties, there was no reason why an American citizen, who happened also to be a retired army officer, should not engage in any business he saw fit with any Englishman. But, being a retired officer and therefore an official, so to speak, of the United States, it would not be proper for him to deal directly with the British Government.
“Dealing with an English officer might amount to the same thing, but it would not be the same thing, and to such an arrangement none of the Powers opposed to Great Britain in the War could possibly have any valid objection. Needless to state, our Navy Department in no way attempted to interfere with the carrying out of my uncle’s honorable obligation to his dead partner, General Sir Richard Fenton. Our Government admitted that England had a perfectly just claim to the invention.
“It took some little time for uncle to get into touch with the proper British authorities. He could not, under the Secretary’s construction of our neutrality, go to the British Embassy at Washington. He could only write to English friends, explain the situation and trust that some one of them would appreciate the value of the invention.
“Some one of them did. Also, the delicate situation was appreciated. The British Government made no official overtures to my uncle, but an agent of an English fire-arms manufacturing company visited my uncle two weeks ago with cabled credentials from one of the English friends to whom uncle had written. But my uncle had come upon a flaw in the plans; before turning them over he wished to make some minor changes. He told his visitor to return in three days.
“The visitor never came back! What happened to him can be guessed at by my uncle’s discovery, shortly thereafter, that spies were watching his every move. A servant in the house we had leased, furnished, in Washington, told us of an attempt to bribe him. My uncle investigated and discovered that no private government was employing those who spied upon him. Instead, it was an American financier—if one can be called American who has no patriotism. It was not the German Embassy, that might have been expected to be interested. My uncle learned, on unquestionable authority, that the German Embassy had no suspicion of his and General Fenton’s discovery.
“But this American financier, was striking at his own country as well as at England—there had been treachery somewhere. Possibly one of uncle’s letters had fallen into dishonest hands. It was known, of course, that uncle was an inventor. But we can not tell how this man discovered that uncle had the plans. We only knew that he did know of them and that he would not stop at murder.
“And yet, because I have no definite proof against him, I will not mention his name even now. For I believe that punishment will reach him in the end, dodge though he may.
“He was not retained by any government. I believe that his idea was simply to obtain the plans, offer to surrender them if England would pay him a fabulous fortune, or sell them to some other country, possibly Germany. He knew their tremendous value.
“But we could not have him arrested. For he would, out of sheer anger at being thwarted, tell the German Embassy of the plans; the German Embassy would protest to our government against the delivery of the plans to England. The fact that an English officer owned half of the plans would make no difference. Germany would protest just the same. Even though we suspected him of murdering uncle’s English visitor, we were helpless, for the plans were more important to England than vengeance for the murder of one of her subjects.
“You see, my uncle was a retired army, officer. His quasi-official position made it impossible for our Government openly to help him in his efforts to aid England, even though those efforts were made, presumably, to aid a private citizen of England. The Navy Department had been perfectly justified in telling my uncle to go ahead, and in outlining the manner in which he might go ahead. But as soon as Germany should protest, my uncle would be restrained, that’s all.
“My uncle’s moral position was unassailable; his legal position was unassailable. But these things did not matter. A German protest must be received with due consideration. It could not be answered in a moment. Germany would insist on a long discussion of the legal aspects of the situation, of an interminable interchange of notes, and even though it were finally decided that despite my uncle’s military position he had a right openly to deal with a citizen of England, time would have been lost. Powerful nations like Germany must be shown consideration. Furthermore, it is a habit of the United States to show consideration to every nation, weak or strong.
“Therefore, we could not appeal to the Government for protection for that meant publicity. Germany’s immediate protest against the transference of the plans to an Englishman would mean that England would be fortunate if she got the plans within a year, even if the matter were decided in her favor. And that would not do. The country to which General Sir Richard Fenton had belonged, to which he had given over forty years of faithful service, was entitled, in her hour of need, to the product of his brain. Therefore, my uncle decided to continue to risk the mercenary greed of murderous spies and turn the plans over to England.”
She paused a moment and her eyes shadowed with pain. Not a sound came from us who hung breathlessly upon her words. In a moment she resumed:
“You see, uncle knew that the man who was trying to obtain these plans would not inform Germany of their existence until he had lost all hope of obtaining them for himself. Therefore, if we could trick him into believing that the plans were incomplete, that more work and study must be devoted to them, we would have an opportunity to deliver them to an English agent.
“But he must not suspect our intentions, or he would do as he would do if arrested: notify the German Embassy and the fat would be in the fire.
“So, then, with the disappearance of the English fire-arms agent, my uncle wrote new letters. A new plan was made. He was to pretend, and let the pretension leak out, that his plans were far from complete, that they needed more time for completion.
“But we knew that every visitor to our house was traced. We feared that if we passed the plans to any one that person would be robbed—worse, perhaps.
“So, then, the plans must be turned over to England without any one’s knowledge and in such a way that whoever took them from my uncle could gain the Canadian border before any demand that he be held, could be complied with.
“Needless to state, the Government, our Government, even unofficially, knew nothing of my uncle’s plan. We gave it out that Major Penrose was going South for his health. Then we slipped away from Washington, going to New York. We did not dare go ourselves to Canada. We feared robbery on the train. My uncle had no fear of losing his life; he realized that he might lose it, but that was not to be considered by him. His personal honor was at stake, depended upon his turning those plans over to the country of his dead partner, Sir Richard Fenton. He could not risk losing them.
“But we believed, from evidence too long to detail here, that the spies who had been watching us had been deceived, and that they believed the invention was really incomplete. As a matter of fact, when we left Washington a few days ago, the plans were ready for the builder.
“But, though we hoped we had eluded pursuit, my uncle decided, in case we were followed, to pretend continuance on his work, thus delaying any attack or attempt at robbery, until the plans had been turned over to the English officer who we knew would be waiting for us down here to Folly Cove. If we went openly to Canada the attack wouldn’t be delayed and we might lose the plans.
“My uncle knew this country down here. I knew it, too, having been here as a girl. And it happened that certain Canadians possessed a little camp back of the lake here. It was arranged that an officer of the British Army, detailed to Canadian service a year ago and not yet returned to Europe, should meet us at that camp and there receive the plans.
“We were glad that we had not started for Canada before we were well started on the train from New York for Portland, for we took Mr. Wrenham here, for a spy. We were mistaken, but other spies were on our trail. Two other men here followed us down here and attempted to steal the plans from me. They sit there.”
She pointed to Ravenell and Minot and the rustic jurymen growled angrily.
“I tried to slip out of this hotel yesterday and make my way across the lake, leaving my uncle in his room, pretending to work. I did not know that those two men were spying upon us. I thought Mr. Wrenham was the only one we had to fear and that he would be deceived by my uncle’s apparent labor in his room. And even' when Mr. Wrenham rescued me from their clutches, I still thought him a spy, retained, perhaps, by some other person who had heard of the invention.
“Frustrated then, in our first attempt to deliver the plans to the officer that we knew must be waiting in the camp for us, my uncle and I decided to try again. But that same afternoon—yesterday—he was killed. But last night I slipped out in the night. I crossed the lake. Mr. Wrenham followed me—he helped me—he drove off those two men there. I gave the plans to the man waiting for them! In his monoplane, while those two men,” and again she pointed at the Greenham operatives, “were locked in the cabin where they’d followed us after their fight with Mr. Wrenham, he started for Canada. He must have reached St. Johns early this morning. And England has the plans! And now—and now”
She had held herself in well. From the moment of the discovery of her uncle’s death until this moment, she had acted more bravely than I thought any girl could act. But now she had reached the breaking-point, it seemed. She pointed at the two detectives.
“They killed him!” she cried. “They must have killed him! What are you going to do to them?”