CHAPTER VII
A Tigbtening Coil
THE horizon was grey with the coming dawn, but it was still too dark on the pier to see anything distinctly, so they went slowly back together to the boathouse.
“Was t’e necklace a valuable one?” asked the coroner, as he closed the door.
“It was worth over a hundred thousand dollars,” answered Delroy, and explained briefly the purpose of the immersion.
“How many persons were aware of your intention to put it in t’e water out here?” asked Heffelbower, when he had finished.
Delroy hesitated.
“So far as I know,” he answered slowly, at last, “only myself, my wife, her sister, Miss Croydon, Drysdale, Tremaine, and the two Grahams.”
“Tremaine?” repeated the coroner. “I don’t t’ink you have mentioned him.”
“Oh, I forgot to introduce you. This is Mr. Tremaine, Mr. Heffelbower, a friend of mine, who is staying with me.”
The coroner bowed, but he shot Tremaine a sharp glance which did not escape Delroy’s notice.
“You will understand, Mr. Heffelbower,” he added quickly, “I believe the crime was committed by someone else—I’m sure none of these could have committed it.”
“Ah,” said the coroner blandly, “t’en t’ey were all in t’e house, I suppose?”
“I can answer positively that my wife, Miss Croydon, and Mr. Tremaine were in the house the entire evening.”
“And Mr. Drysdale?”
“Drysdale went out for a walk.”
“A long one?”
“He was gone two or three hours.”
“Iss he in t’e habit of walking after night?”
“No,” answered Delroy slowly, “I can’t say that he is.”
“Did you see him when he came in?”
“Yes—I was looking out the window at the storm.”
“Did he appear as usual?” Again Delroy hesitated.
“I see, of course,” he said, at last, “what you’re aiming at; but I’m sure that Drysdale can explain his absence, as well as everything that happened during it. I therefore answer candidly that he did not appear as usual; he seemed excited and depressed. He left me in a fit of anger and went to his room.”
“Wit’out explaining his action?”
“Yes—he made no effort to explain it.”
“Did any explanation occur to you?”
“I thought perhaps he was worrying over losses incurred in speculation.”
“Ah!—he has incurred such losses, t’en?”
“I do not know positively,” said Delroy, a little impatiently. “I merely suspect so.”
“Iss Mr. Drysdale still in his room?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I haven’t seen him since he went up to it.”
“Mr. Tremaine was wit’ you at t’e time Mr. Graham burst in and announced t’e murder?”
“Yes, we were in the hall talking together.”
“What time was it?”
“Nearly one o’clock, I should say.”
“T’ank you,” and Heffelbower turned back to make a more detailed examination of the body. “Doctor Wise,” he asked, after a moment, “from which direction should you say t’ese blows were struck?”
“From directly in front,” answered the doctor promptly.
“But I see he has a pistol at his belt. Why did he not tefend himself? Why should he allow himself to be beaten down?”
“That question also occurred to me,” observed Delroy. “Mr. Tremaine suggested that it was because Graham thought his murderer a friend and anticipated no assault. So he allowed him to approach unchallenged, and was wholly unprepared for the treacherous attack.”
The coroner looked at Tremaine again with a glance in which suspicion had changed to admiration.
“T’at iss, indeed, a very probable explanation,” he said. “In fact, I haven’t t’e least doubt it iss t’e true one. Graham would not have allowed a stranger to approach him; but if he had come on, Graham would have prepared for t’e attack and would have given a good account of himself. He seems a fery powerful man.”
As he spoke, he lifted one of the muscular hands; then, with a little exclamation of surprise, he bent and examined it more closely.
“Come nearer, gentlemen,” he said, his face flushed with excitement. “I want you to witness t’at he has somet’ing between his fingers.”
They stooped and looked as he indicated. They could see that the hand clasped tightly some small, dark object.
“Let us see what it is,” Heffelbower continued, and bent back the stiffening fingers.
The object fell out into his hand. He held it up in the glare of the light so that all might see. It was a button with a little shred of cloth attached.
“If we can find t’e garment t’at t’is came from,” said the coroner triumphantly, turning it over and looking at it, “we shall probably find t’e murderer. It iss a good clew.”
He placed the button carefully in his pocket-book and turned to the window.
“I t’ink it iss light enough,” he said, “to take a look at t’e scene of t’e crime. I shall t’en return to Babylon”
“I have thought,” remarked Delroy, “of calling in a New York detective. Should you object”
“Not in t’e least,” Heffelbower broke in. “I shall welcome eferyt’ing t’at will assist in bringing t’e guilty person to justice. Only,” he added pompously, “wit’ t’e clews which I already possess, and wit’ t’e ot’ers which I expect to find, I believe it will be unnecessary. T’e guilty man will not escape, I’ll promise you t’at, Mr. Delroy,” and he opened the door and stepped out upon the pier.
Dawn was in the sky, a clear, warm, joyous dawn. In tree and bush and hedge the birds were welcoming it. All nature was rejoicing, quite indifferent to the human tragedy which had marked the night.
They went together down the pier to the spot where Graham had fallen. The rain had washed away nearly all the bloodstains. His rifle lay on the pier beside the chair in which he had been sitting. The chair was overturned.
“But t’e wind may have done t’at,” said the coroner, when Delroy pointed out that the overturned chair suggested a struggle. “Or maybe he knocked it over when he fell. Let’s have a look at t’at little cage.”
He pulled up the rope. The lid of the cage was open, but it did not seem to be injured.
“Maybe t’e waves proke it open,” suggested Heffelbower.
“They couldn’t have done that,” objected Delroy. “See—here’s how it fastened.”
He closed the lid and snapped into place three small but very strong hooks, which locked automatically.
“The only thing that could open it,” he added, “was a human hand.”
“And an intelligent one, at t’at,” concluded the coroner. “It would be very hard to find t’ose little hooks in t’e dark, unless one knowed just where t’ey were.”
“Yes,” admitted Delroy. “That’s true.”
Heffelbower opened his lips to say something more; then changed his mind, closed them, and turned away with a significant smile. He examined the knots in the rope, the pier, the waters of the bay, on which, just beyond the pier, a small boat was riding at anchor.
“T’e boat iss yours, I suppose, Mr. Delroy?” he asked.
“Yes—it has been there ready for use since Saturday.”
As he spoke, a gust of wind swung the boat in towards them.
Young Graham, who was standing on the extreme edge of the pier, glanced down into it, and uttered a sudden exclamation.
“What’s that?” he cried, with arm outstretched.
The others followed the gesture, but a second gust swung the boat away.
“What was it?” asked the coroner.
Without answering, Graham sprang into the water, and with a few strokes reached the boat. He climbed into it and untied it from the buoy. Then, at the instant another gust of wind came from the ocean, he released his hold. The boat was swept against the pier; he fended her off with the boathook and made fast.
“This is what I meant,” he said, and pointed to a pistol lying at his feet.
They stared down at it, amazed. It was the coroner who spoke first.
“Pass it up,” he said.
He turned it over carefully in his hand, It was a fine type of the Smith & Wesson. It was fully loaded; none of the chambers had been discharged.
“Ah,” he said, “see t’ere,” and he pointed to a clot of blood on the butt. “T’e butt iss very heavy,” he added, turning it up. “And see—here are some initials—J. T. D. Whose are t’ey?”
“They are John Tolbert Drysdale’s,” answered Delroy in a low voice.