When Fessenden told Kitty of his interview with Dorothy Burt, she agreed that he had now followed every trail that had presented itself, or had been suggested by anybody.
Mr. Fairbanks, too, admitted that he was at his wits' end, and saw no hope of a solution of the mystery except through the services of Fleming Stone. And so when the great detective arrived, both Fairbanks and Fessenden were ready to do anything they could to help him, but had no suggestions to make.
With her ever-ready hospitality, Miss Morton invited Mr. Stone to make his home at the Van Norman house, and, as this quite coincided with his own wishes, Stone took up his quarters there.
The first evening of his arrival he listened to the details of the case.
Fleming Stone was of a most attractive personality. He was nearly fifty years old, with graying hair and a kindly, responsive face.
At dinner he had won the admiration of all by his tact and interesting conversation. At the table the business upon which he had come had not been mentioned, but now the group assembled in the library felt that the time had come to talk of the matter.
It was a strangely-assorted household. Tom Willard, though the only relative of the Van Normans present, was in no way the head of the house. That position was held by Miss Morton, who, though kind-hearted and hospitable, never let it be forgotten that she was owner and mistress of the mansion.
Kitty French was an honored guest, and as Miss Morton had invited her to stay as long as she would, she had determined now to stay through Mr. Stone's sojourn there, after which, whatever the results of his work, she would go back to her home in New York.
Fessenden and Schuyler Carleton had been with them at dinner, and Mr. Benson and Mr. Fairbanks had come later, and now the group waited only on Mr. Stone's pleasure to begin the recital of the case.
When Fleming Stone, then, asked Coroner Benson to give him the main facts, it seemed as if the great detective's work was really about to begin.
"Would you rather see Mr. Benson alone?" asked Schuyler Carleton, actuated, doubtless, by his own shrinking from any publicity.
"Not at all," said Stone briefly. "I prefer that you all should feel free to speak whenever you wish."
Then Mr. Benson set forth in a concise way and in chronological order the facts as far as they were known, the suspicions that had been entertained and given up; and deplored the entire lack of clue or evidence that might lead to investigation in any definite direction.
The others, as Mr. Stone had suggested, made remarks when they chose, and the whole conversation was of an informal and colloquial nature. It seemed dominated by Fleming Stone's mind. He drew opinions from one or another, until before they realized it every one present had taken part in the recital. And to each Fleming Stone listened with deference and courtesy. The coroner's legal phrases, Fessenden's impetuous suggestions, Tom's blunt remarks, Carleton's half-timid utterances, Kitty's volatile sallies, and even Miss Morton's futile observations, all were listened to and responded to by Fleming Stone with an air of deep interest and consideration.
As the hour grew late Mr. Stone said that he felt thoroughly acquainted with the facts of the case so far as they could be told to him. He said he could express no opinion nor offer any suggestion that night, but that he hoped to come to some conclusions on the following day; and if they would all meet him in the same place the next evening, he would willingly disclose whatever he might have learned or discovered in the meantime. This put an end to the conversation, and Mr. Benson and Mr. Fairbanks went home. The ladies went to their rooms, and Carleton, Fessenden and Willard sat up for an hour's smoke with Fleming Stone, who entertained them with talk on subjects far removed from murder or sudden death.
The next morning Fleming Stone expressed a desire to be shown all the rooms in the house.
"In a case like this," he said, "with no definite dues to follow, the only thing to do is to examine the premises in hope of happening upon something suggestive."
Kitty was eager to be Mr. Stone's guide, and easily obtained Miss Morton's permission to go into all the rooms of the old mansion.
Fessenden went with them, and though the tour of the sleeping-rooms was quickly made, it was evident that the quick eye of the detective took in every detail that was visible. He stayed longer in Madeleine's sitting-room, but, though he picked up a few papers from her desk and glanced at them, he showed no special interest in the room.
Downstairs they went then, and found Mr. Fairbanks in the library, awaiting them. He brought no news or fresh evidence, and had merely called in hope of seeing Mr. Stone.
The great detective was most frank and kindly toward his lesser colleague, and made him welcome with a genial courtesy.
"I'm going to make a thorough examination of these lower rooms," said Fleming Stone, "and I should be glad of the assistance of you two younger men. My eyes are not what they once were."
Mr. Fairbanks and Rob well knew that this statement was merely an idle compliment to themselves; for the eyes of Fleming Stone had never yet missed a clue, however obscurely hidden.
But Kitty, ignorant of the principles of professional etiquette, really thought that Fleming Stone was depending on his two companions for assistance.
Tom Willard had gone out, and Miss Morton was looking after her all-important housekeeping, so the three men and Kitty French were alone in the library.
In his quick, quiet way Fleming Stone went rapidly round the room. He examined the window fixtures and curtains, the mantel and fireplace, the furniture and carpet, and came to a standstill by the library table. The dagger, which was kept in a drawer of the table, was shown to him, but though he examined it a moment, it seemed to have little interest for him.
"There's not a clue in this room," he said almost indignantly. "There probably were several the morning after the murder, but the thorough sweepings and dustings since have obliterated every trace."
Somewhat abruptly he went into the large hall. Here his proceedings in the library were duplicated. "Nothing at all," he said; "but what could be expected in a room which is a general thoroughfare?"
Then he went into the drawing-room. The other three followed, feeling rather depressed at the hopeless outlook, and a little disappointed in the great detective.
Stone glanced around the large apartment.
"Swept, scrubbed, and polished," he declared, as he glanced with disfavor at the immaculate room.
"And indeed it was quite necessary," said Miss Morton, who entered just then. "After all those vines and flowers were taken away, and as a good deal of the furniture was out, I took occasion for a good bit of house-cleaning."
"Well," said Fleming Stone quietly, "there's one clue they didn't sweep away. Here is where the assassin entered."
As he spoke Mr. Stone was leaning against the mantel and looking down at the immaculately brushed hearth.
"Where?" cried Kitty, darting forward, and though the others gave no voice to their curiosity, they waited breathlessly for Stone's next utterance.
The hearth and the whole fireplace were tiled, and in the floor tiling, under the andirons, was a rectangular iron plate with an oval opening closed by an iron cover. This cover was hinged, and could be raised and thrown back to permit ashes to be swept into the chute. The iron plate was sunk flush with the hearth and cemented into the brick-work, and the cover fitted into the rim so closely that scarce a seam showed.
"He came up through this hole in the fireplace," said Stone, almost as if talking to himself, "very soon after Miss Dupuy went upstairs at half-past ten. Before Mr. Carleton arrived at quarter after eleven, the murderer had finished his work, and had departed by this same means."
While the others stood seemingly struck dumb by this revelation, Kitty excitedly flew to the fireplace and tried to raise the iron lid, but the andirons were in the way. Rob set them aside for her, while Stone said quietly, "Those andirons were probably not there that night?"
"No," exclaimed Kitty; "they had been taken away, because we expected to fill the fireplace with flowers the next day."
"But how could anybody get in the cellar?" asked Miss Morton, looking bewildered.
"The cellar is never carefully locked," said Fleming Stone. "I came downstairs early this morning, and before breakfast Harris had shown me all through the cellar. He admits that several windows are always left open for the sake of ventilation, and claims that the carefully locked door in the hall at the head of the cellar stairs precludes all danger from that direction."
"But I don't understand," said Mr. Fairbanks perplexedly. "If that opening is an ash-chute, such as I have in my own house, it is all bricked up down below, with the exception of a small opening for the removal of the ashes, and it would be quite impossible for any one to climb up through it."
"But this one isn't bricked up," said Fleming Stone. "It was originally intended to be enclosed; but it seems this fireplace is rarely used. Harris tells me that the late Mr. Van Norman used to talk about having the chute completed, and having a fire here more often. But the library wood fire was more attractive as a family gathering place, and this formal room was used only on state occasions. However, as you see," and Mr. Stone raised the iron lid again, "this opens directly into the cellar, and, I repeat, formed the means of entrance for the murderer of Madeleine Van Norman."
Fleming Stone's voice and manner were far from triumphant or jubilant at his discovery. He seemed rather to state the fact with regret, but as if it must be told.
Mr. Fairbanks looked amazed and thoughtful, but Rob Fessenden was frankly incredulous.
"Mr. Stone," he said respectfully, "I am sure you know what you're talking about, but will you tell me how a man could get up through that hole? It doesn't seem to me that a small-sized boy could squeeze through."
Fleming Stone took a silver-cased tape-measure from his pocket, and handed it to Rob without a word.
Eagerly stooping on the hearth, Rob measured the oval opening in the iron plate. Although the rectangular plate was several inches larger each way, the oval opening measured exactly nine and one-half inches by thirteen and one-half inches.
"Who could get through that?" he inquired, as he announced the figures. "I'm sure I couldn't."
"And Schuyler Carleton is a larger man than you are," observed Mr. Fairbanks.
"That lets Tom Willard out, too," said Rob, with a slight smile; "for he's nearly six feet tall, and weighs more than two hundred pounds."
"The only man I know of," said Mr. Fairbanks thoughtfully, "who could come up through that hole is Slim Jim."
"Who is Slim Jim?" cried Rob quickly. "Go for him; he is the man!"
"Not so fast," said Mr. Fairbanks. "Slim Jim is a noted burglar and a suspected murderer, but he is safely in prison at present and has been for some months."
"But he may have escaped," exclaimed Rob. "Are you sure he hasn't?"
"I haven't heard anything about him of late; but if he is or has been away from the prison, it can be easily found out."
"Isn't it unlikely," said Fleming Stone quietly, "that a noted burglar should enter a house and commit murder, without making any attempt to steal?"
"He may have been frightened away by the sound of Schuyler's latch-key," suggested Rob, and Kitty looked at him with pride in his ingenuity, and thought how much cleverer he was, after all, than the celebrated Fleming Stone.
Fessenden urged Mr. Fairbanks to go at once and look up the whereabouts of Slim Jim, and the detective was strongly inclined to go.
"Go, by all means, if you choose," said Fleming Stone pleasantly. "There's really nothing further to do here in the way of examination of the premises. I do not mind saying that my own suspicions are not directed toward Slim Jim, but my own suspicions are by no means an infallible guide. I will ask you, though, gentlemen, not to say anything about this ash-chute matter to-day. I consider it is my right to request this. Of course you can find out all about Slim Jim without stating how he entered the house."
The two men promised not to say anything about the ash-chute to anybody, and hot upon the trail of the suspected burglar they went away.
Miss Morton excused herself, and upon Kitty French fell the burden of entertaining Mr. Stone. Nor was this young woman dismayed at the task.
Though not loquacious, the detective was an easy and pleasant talker, and he seemed quite ready to converse with the girl as if he had no other occupation on hand.
"How wonderful you are!" said Kitty, clasping her hands beneath her chin as she looked at the great man. "To think of your spotting that fireplace thing right away! Though of course I never should have thought of anybody squeezing up through there. And Rob and I spent a whole morning searching these rooms for clues, and that was only the day after it happened."
"What an opportunity!" Stone seemed interested. "And didn't you find anything—not anything?"
"No, not a thing. We were so disappointed. Oh, yes, Rob did find one little thing, but it was so little and so silly that I guess he forgot all about it."
"What was it?"
"Why, I've almost forgotten the name. Oh, yes, Rob said it was a cachou—a little silver thing, you know, like a tiny pill. Rob says some men eat them after they've been smoking. But he asked all the men that ever came here, and they all said they didn't use them. Maybe the burglar dropped it."
"Maybe he did. Where did you find it?"
"Rob found it. It was right in that corner by the mantel, just near the fireplace."
Fleming Stone stood up. "Miss French," said he, "if it is any satisfaction to you, you may know that you have helped me a great deal in my work. Will you excuse me now, as I find I have important business elsewhere?"
Kitty smiled and bowed politely, but after Mr. Stone had left her she wondered what she could have said or done that helped him; and she wondered, too, what had caused that unspeakably sad look in his eyes as he went away.