Chapter V

_The Missing Link_

"I beg your pardon," repeated Doctor Marcy, looking at me uncertainly.

"I should beg yours, doctor," I answered as easily as I could. Some

sixth sense had made me aware that Betty Graeme was standing in the

shadow behind me. She must have heard more than enough already, and now

she would demand the whole truth. Assuredly I must protect her in her

evident desire to remain unnoticed.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," I continued, "but my cigarette was burning

my fingers--too much interested, you see."

"Secondly, then," went on Doctor Marcy, "I have found the missing

'something' that serves to link up the chain."

The doctor took a small key from his waist-coat pocket and proceeded to

unlock a compartment in the great, flat-topped desk, the latter

constructed after the usual design with a set of drawers, and other

storage places, on either side of a central well for the accommodation

of the writer's feet and legs. From this compartment he unearthed a

despatch box made of iron, an old-fashioned piece that might have come

down from Revolutionary days. It measured about fifteen inches, by ten,

by seven; and the corners were bound in brass.

"Yes, it could have done the business without a doubt," said Marcy,

answering my unuttered question. "The box must have been standing on the

floor near the screen. Francis Graeme rises, perhaps with the intention

of picking it up. He suffers a cerebral rush of blood, becomes dizzy,

falls, and strikes his head against this sharp corner. A severe blow in

the region of the temple may be instantaneously fatal."

There was a rustle of feminine garments, and my Cousin Betty came from

behind the screen and stood before us. "There is only one flaw in your

argument, doctor," she said, with just the thin edge of a tremor in her

high, sweet voice. "Where was that box when you first came in the room

and knelt by my--my father?"

"Sorry you had to know, my girl," said the doctor; he had risen and was

standing close to her, holding both her hands in his own big, warm

palms. "Sorry you had to know," he repeated. "But since it has come

about I shan't be keeping anything back. I wanted to spare you."

"Yes, I understand that," she returned, "and I'm grateful, too. Yet

after deciding that an inquest is not necessary, after signing a

certificate that death was due to natural causes, you're not satisfied

in your own mind. I come in here and find you telling my Cousin Hugh

that there is some mystery in the affair, that all is not straight and

aboveboard. You even offer a perfectly plausible explanation of what--of

what really happened. Yes, and I would have accepted it like everyone

else--only for one thing----"

"Yes?" queried the doctor.

"I'll put my question again. Where was that iron despatch-box when you

first entered the room, and saw--well, what you saw?"

Doctor Marcy waited a moment or two before replying. "There isn't any

doubt in my mind," he began, "but that your father did fall and that the

contusion on his forehead was caused by that actual iron box. I confess

that I didn't notice it when I first saw the body and knelt down to feel

the pulse. I assume that it had been accidentally pushed out of sight in

the angle formed by the screen and the desk; it was just there that I

found it later on."

"On your second visit to the room?"

"Yes."

"Well, suppose you tell Cousin Hugh what you were doing in the interval.

I want to see if his mind will work in the same direction as mine."

"I had stepped into the hall just in time to see you riding up the green

drive," said the doctor, "and I realized that someone must prepare you

for what had happened. I asked Miss Trevor to do it, but she insisted

that she could not go through the ordeal. Consequently, I put Effingham

on guard at the library door with instructions to let no one pass; then

I went down to the horse-block and assisted you to dismount. You saw

instantly that something was wrong, and you begged me to tell you the

truth. But I would not say a word until we were in the parlor. Then I

admitted that your father had met with an accident. Before I could

prevent it you had rushed into the hall and down to the library door."

"Go on," ordered Betty, as he hesitated. "Tell Cousin Hugh who was

standing there."

"It was Miss Trevor," said Doctor Marcy, dropping his voice and glancing

over at me.

"It wasn't the time to ask for an explanation," continued the doctor.

"You remember, Betty, that Eunice took you in her arms, and told you

very gently what had happened. She tried to persuade you not to go in

the room, but you refused to be put off. Effingham came and unlocked the

door; you and I went in and looked at him still lying by the side of the

big desk. It was then that I saw the despatch-box, and wondered why I

had not noticed it before, especially as it was just the link that I

needed to fit into the accident hypothesis."

"I don't think I have any theory," answered Doctor Marcy. "Up to this

moment my mind had been more concerned with the stark fact of Graeme's

death than with the predisposing cause. Of course I had taken the temple

bruise into account, and in a superficial way it seemed to explain

everything. But I really hadn't tried to formulate my ideas clearly. The

thought of you, Betty, had presented itself, and I was chiefly engaged

in wondering how you were to be told and how you would take the shock."

"But afterwards?" persisted Betty.

"Then I tried to build up the accident theory. Everything fitted

beautifully except for the little uncertainty about the despatch-box."

"May I ask a question or two," I interrupted.

"Surely."

"You say that you left Effingham to guard the library door while you

went to meet my Cousin Betty?"

"Yes."

"How long were you away?"

"Approximately five minutes."

"And when you again came to the library door Miss Trevor was standing

there and Effingham was gone?"

"Yes."

"Then it is possible that Miss Trevor may have entered the room--let us

say--for the purpose of replacing the despatch-box in its original

position?"

"Possible--yes."

"Which implies that she must have paid a previous visit to the room and

carried the box away?"

"If you like."

"We assume that the despatch-box held important papers belonging to Mr.

Graeme----"

"Including his will," interjected Miss Graeme.

"But I thought that Mr. Eldon----" I began in surprise.

"I was referring to an earlier will," returned my Cousin Betty. "But I

forget that you don't know about that. It reads exactly like the present

one except that John Thaneford is named as the residual heir."

"Did anyone, besides Mr. Eldon, know that a later will--the one in my

favor--had been made?"

"Yes. Father told Eunice and me that he had decided to make the change.

He had met you in Philadelphia and liked you. He made inquiries about

you and what he heard increased that liking. He had never cared

over-much for John, and had considered him only as representing the

Hildebrand family, the heirs of the blood. He was delighted to discover

that your relationship was quite as close as that of John Thaneford;

moreover, you possessed the advantage of bearing the actual name."

"Did Eunice offer any objection to the change?" asked Doctor Marcy.

"Why, no," returned Betty, knitting her brows. "Her advice in the matter

had not been asked, and she would hardly have offered it. I don't

remember that she said anything at all."

"How about you?"

Betty colored. "I did suggest to father that he needn't be in such a

hurry," she answered. And then with a quick glance at me: "You see,

Cousin Hugh, none of us had met you outside of father himself. You might

be very nice and probably were, but the acquaintance had been so short,

and he might have been deceived. We women tried to persuade him that he

had been a little hasty; we wanted him to wait until you had paid that

projected visit to the 'Hundred' and given us the chance to look you

over."

"We!" put in the doctor significantly. "So it appears that Eunice did

take a hand in the discussion."

"Oh, in that way--why, yes. We felt exactly alike about it, knowing that

father was apt to be too generous in his estimate of the people he met;

he had been cheated so many times."

I began to feel a trifle embarrassed, and Betty, in that wonderful way

of hers, divined it instantly. Not that she said anything. She just

looked at me again, and I understood that I need no longer consider

myself rated as a doubtful quantity; a mightily cheering thought I found

it.

"Was Eunice persistent in her endeavor to change Mr. Graeme's

resolution?" asked Doctor Marcy.

"You mean about cutting out John and putting in Mr. Hugh Hildebrand?"

"Yes."

"Persistent! Well, I dare say you could have called it that," replied

Betty thoughtfully. "She certainly said several times that John

Thaneford believed himself entitled to the property; she pointed out

that when father succeeded his cousin, Richard Hildebrand, he had as

much as promised to make such disposition of the 'Hundred.'"

"Which he really had done," I suggested. "The first will was in

existence; only now he proposed to alter it."

"Yes."

"Suppose Mr. Graeme had died intestate," I went on. "What then?"

"I dare say the real property would have gone to Betty as his legally

adopted daughter," answered Doctor Marcy.

"No, not legally," explained Betty, much to our surprise. "My name is

really Graeme, but it comes to me from my own father who was Francis

Graeme's older brother. I was only a baby when my parents died, and my

uncle simply took charge of me. It didn't seem necessary to take out

formal adoption papers, and anyhow it was never done."

"Oh, undoubtedly there would have been a lawsuit, in the event of no

will," remarked the doctor. "Both Betty and John Thaneford could put in

the claim of blood relationship; you, too, Mr. Hildebrand, if it comes

to that. Bear in mind there is no entail."

"Was Mr. John Thaneford aware that there had been a will drawn in his

favor?" I asked.

"I can't say, Cousin Hugh. Probably not, for even I never heard of it

until father announced that he intended to supersede it."

"When did that particular conversation take place?"

"To-day is Thursday; just a week ago then."

"Mr. Graeme himself may have spoken to Thaneford."

"About what?" put in Doctor Marcy. "The making of the first will, or the

fact that he had determined to alter it?"

"Well, he might have told him the whole story."

The doctor shook his head. "I doubt it very much," he said. "Graeme had

grown to dislike John Thaneford--dislike him intensely."

"Why?"

Doctor Marcy did not reply in words, but eyebrows rose significantly as

he glanced in Betty's direction.

"Confining ourselves to facts," continued the doctor, "it can be

established that a will was made in favor of John Thaneford, and that

Mr. Graeme had determined to set it aside. That first will was kept by

Mr. Graeme in this very despatch-box; it is there now."

Doctor Marcy selected another small key from his bunch, and opened the

iron box. "You know I am a co-executor with Henry Powers," he said, "and

so I am acting within my rights." He took out a number of legal papers,

and presently offered one for our inspection. It was a testamentary

document precisely like the will read by Mr. Eldon, except that the

residuary estate went to John Thaneford instead of Hugh Hildebrand. It

was dated some six months back.

"And was the second will, the one in my favor, also kept in this box?" I

asked.

"No," answered Doctor Marcy. "Mr. Eldon, who of course drew it, had

retained it in his own possession. You see, it had only been executed a

few days ago; to be exact, the Friday before Mr. Graeme's death. Perhaps

Mr. Eldon persuaded Mr. Graeme to let him keep it locked up in the

office safe, at least temporarily."

"Yet someone, who knew Mr. Graeme's habits and about this despatch-box,

may have come to the conclusion that the new will was kept in the same

place as the old one."

Doctor Marcy nodded. "It follows," he said meditatively, "that on the

morning of June 21 'someone' obtained possession of the master-key and

entered the library with a definite purpose in view, a purpose

identified with the contents of that iron despatch-box. That is your

idea?"

"And the obvious criticism is that the master-key would hardly have been

used at a time when Mr. Graeme was actually occupying the room."

"Well, 'someone' may have expected to find the tragical situation which

we know existed; a forewarning had been received that there would be no

human obstacle to the search for the iron despatch-box. Whereupon the

entrance was made and the box was found. There was no attempt to examine

its contents on the spot."

"Why not?"

"There was danger in remaining in the room, and the papers were too

numerous to be sorted out at a glance. Or some outside disturbance may

have occurred to frighten the intruder. At any rate, 'someone' withdrew,

taking the despatch-box along for leisurely examination."

"Then it was not this 'someone' who killed Mr. Graeme," I remarked.

"No one ever intimated it," returned the doctor. "Remember that Graeme

sat with his back to the fireplace and windows, and facing the entrance

door. It would not be easy for 'someone' to unlock the door, pass to the

vicinity of the writing desk, and strike the fatal blow--all without

attracting the attention of the victim. Now no sounds of a struggle were

heard by anyone, and there was nothing in the disposition of the body to

suggest a physical encounter. No, you can't get away from the plain and

simple facts: Mr. Graeme is taken with vertigo; he staggers and falls;

his temple comes into contact with the sharp corner of that iron

despatch-box; he becomes unconscious immediately, and shortly afterwards

he dies. What more do you want to know?"

"So that is what killed him?"

"If I were perfectly convinced of the truth of my own theory," returned

the doctor, "would I have ever intimated to you, Mr. Hildebrand, that

there was something odd about the business? Betty put her finger at once

upon what had been vaguely in my mind. _Where was that despatch-box when

I first entered the room and found Francis Graeme lying dead upon the

floor?_ I don't know, do you?"

"There ought to be an inquest," I declared. "And of course an autopsy.

You are willing?" I asked, turning to Betty.

"Yes."

"Then it is decided. Who is the coroner, Doctor Marcy?"

"John Thaneford."

For a moment I thought the doctor guilty of execrably bad taste in

making a joke of the matter; then I saw that he was in sober earnest.

"For some extraordinary reason," he explained, "Thaneford took it into

his head to try the political game. The local Democratic slate had

already been made up, but he was told that he could have one of the

minor offices. Accordingly, he accepted the nomination for coroner and

was elected by the usual party majority."

"Well, he is sworn to do his duty," I persisted.

"Surely."

"Suppose we present what evidence we have to-morrow, including, of

course, the withdrawal of your original death certificate, Doctor

Marcy."

"It may get me into all sorts of trouble," commented the doctor

ruefully. "But there's nothing else to be done; I see that clearly. The

bare thought that Francis Graeme, he of all men--sorry, Betty, my girl!

I dare say this is getting a bit too much for you."

My cousin Betty had broken down and was crying softly on Doctor Marcy's

broad shoulder; he petted her and talked to her as though she had been a

little child.

And so at last we parted for the night, Doctor Marcy taking up his

quarters in an anteroom adjoining the sick chamber, and Betty deciding

to seek companionship with Miss Trevor. I tumbled into bed at once, but

it was many an hour before sleep came to me.