VII

The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour of three in clear resonate tones, striking also a vague note deep and packed away in Mary Jane's memory, and suddenly for a dizzy blinding second it was another clock that was striking in the library of another house of a late autumn day so warm that doors and windows had been opened to catch the slightest breath of air.

She felt faintly nauseated as she remembered the feel of the sticky heat penetrating suffocating perfume of cigarette smoke, and there were people milling about, reporters, cameramen, asking questions and questions, taking innumerable pictures everywhere she turned until she had longed to scream out her defiance at them. That was what the press meant to Mary Jane, and now she must live through it all over again.

Miriam said slowly, "Oh, Paul, it's been like a horrible dream that I can't seem to awaken from,"

"I know it's been tough, m'lady. Murder is never very pleasant." Paul Carver passed a hand over his hair and sighed.

"But what are we going to do?" Miriam cried, "They think one of us did it, Paul."

"I know. Rich explained everything over the phone. Where is he by the way?"

"In the study. Showing Park's gun collection to the District Attorney and Chief of Police."

Paul snickered, "Those boys are going at this thing hammer and tong, aren't they?"

He sat down in the deep comfortable looking white armchair sprigged over with cool red and yellow roses, and beamed at Mary Jane.

"Well, hello there. Miriam, dear, you're slipping. You should have had me introduced to the young lady hours ago."

Miriam laughed, passing an eye catching teakwood cigarette box over to him.

"You're the one that's slipping, darling. Ordinarily you would have introduced yourself hours ago. But anyway, Janie, this handsome rogue you see sitting before you is Paul Carver. Paul, Mary Jane Lansing."

"A pleasure, Miss Lansing," Paul said with a deep courtly bow, adding jovially with an upraised eyebrow, "And, Miriam, I love that line-this handsome rogue. Restores my self confidence."

Laughter was the farthest thing from Mary Jane at that moment, but she could not help smiling as she realized that Paul Carver was deliberately taking their minds off the murder, and for that she felt grateful.

She took stock of him now for the first time; he was only of medium height, but thin, the thinness of a man approaching forty-five who regularly patronizes the nearest gym. His hair was sandy colored and sparse, and a well clipped little moustache adorned his upper lip. He wore tweeds, well-matched and expensively tailored, and there was an air of gaiety and alertness about him for all that it was three in the morning, and Richard's call had roused him out of bed.

She made her observations as quickly and accurately as always, trying to return his grin with a touch of the pert smile that won for her so many friends.

She lit a cigarette, looking up as the study door opened and closed and Winstead's expansive voice boomed out at Kelly, "Good God, man, what kind of imbeciles do you have on the police force?" Without waiting for an answer he turned to Tim Harmon, "Have you gone over both the cellar and this floor?"

"With a fine tooth-comb," Tim replied lightly.

"And you found nothing?"

Harmon shook his head, "Nothing so far. We're going upstairs now."

Winstead frowned. "Well hurry it up and while you're at it you'd better get word to Clancy to hold any reporters that turn up at the gate at least until you're finished."

Harmon nodded and hurried off; the other men came back into the room.

Miriam rose and said, frowning, "Rich, what about Dickey?"

"Good Lord, that's right. I'd almost forgotten."

Miriam snuffed out the cigarette she had just lit into an ashtray, "He might wake up and be frightened. I think I should go to him."

Kelly nodded approvingly; Richard said, "Do you want me to go with you, darling?"

She shook her head, "There's no need for you to come, Rich. I'll be back in a little while."

She crossed the room with the graceful carriage that made her every movement music, and was gone.

The fire was burning lower, and Richard moving toward it to throw some logs, noticed Paul stretched out in the white chair, for the first time.

"Lord, but I'm glad you're here," he said enthusiastically as they shook hands, "It's been a devil of a night."

"So Miriam had been telling me. Poor kid, she's about done for."

Mary Jane, leaning over to shake the ashes from her cigarette into an ornate little ashtray made of the highly polished teakwood of which Miriam was so fond, smiled ironically; it was her own personally belief that Miriam with her highly developed trait of quickly recovering from the most staggering lows with a minimum of loss, would be the last of them to break down.

And, then, she retracted the thought hastily in her mind, fearful that it sounded catty and hypocritical after Miriam had been so kind to her. She was busily enumerating for her own benefit for the embarrassing circumstances the other woman's offer of a job had spared her from, so deep in her reverie, that Richard had to speak to twice before she answered him, faltering, "Oh, what did you say, Richard?"

"I asked you if you wanted another glass of wine," he replied his eyes gravely smiling at her.

She looked down at her empty glass half stupidly, "Oh, why—no, no, thank you."

"Sure now?" His hand gripping the rounded glass stopper of the decanted paused in mid-air.

"Yes I'm sure." She managed a smile, then suddenly half turning her head, she unexpectedly met Kelly's steady penetrating gaze that was fastened on her out of the corner of her eye.

It surprised her, and for a moment she could only look back at him. He was not staring, she thought curiously, only looking at her coolly and impersonally that she might have been a piece of furniture. And then with color mounting steadily in her cheeks she looked quickly away her glance falling on Richard who was sitting at the other end of the sofa leaning toward Paul outlining in detail a lengthy description of the evening's tragedy for him.

From upstairs in the room directly above them muffled voices and the shuffling of feet and furniture indicating the presence of the police. Time dragged, and conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence; the house was silent too, waiting---waiting for what?

Paul roused himself once to ask, "Those guns of Park's, Rich. They hadn't been disturbed?"

Richard shook his head, lighting a fresh cigarette and shifting his position on the sofa watching idly as the District Attorney rose and lumbered out of the room; for a moment they could hear on the mantelpiece the mahogany clock struck the quarter hour; fifteen to four. A few more minutes like this, Mary Jane thought, and I'll scream. She took a magazine from the table beside her, and was thumbing through it, when Miriam came silently down the stairs and the hall into the library.

She sat down between Mary Jane and Richard on the sofa and lit a cigarette, the leaning back smiled at them in her old enchanting way.

"Dickey-" Richard began.

"Is fine," Miriam interrupted laughing, "A little confused by everything but terribly intrigued by the policemen's badges. I put him back to bed as soon as the officers were finished with the nursery and now he's fast asleep again."

"The police, Have they found-it yet." It was Mary Jane's own voice even though she herself was unconscious of speaking.

Miriam hesitated, "Not that I know of," she finished a glance over her shoulder at Kelly looking quickly away as he raised his eyes. When he spoke it was to the back of her head.

"Mrs. Parker," he stopped and for a moment the only audible sound in the room was Miriam's quick irregular breathing, "You're originally from Boston, aren't you."

The smile that had hovered around Miriam's lips faded as quickly as though it had been painted on and then erased with a single brush stroke.

"Yes," she answered in a low husky voice, not looking at him, her fingers clenching the damp ball of handkerchief wadded in her hand.

Kelly leaned forward intently, his voice urgent. "During the time you lived there did you ever know or hear of an Amy Stanton or someone who answered her description?"

"Never."

"Well then, let me put it this way. Did you ever know a person who might have been acquainted with Amy Stanton? Did you ever hear the name even remotely mentioned? Think carefully now. It's very important."

Miriam replied after a short pause, "No I did not."

She sounded sullen now, and it was so completely unlike Miriam that Mary Jane stole a quick glance at her. Chief Kelly's sharp eyes intercepted that look and a frown creased his forehead. Miriam Parker was no fool, he told himself, and now he felt certain that she was hiding something. But what? Had she then known Amy Stanton or was she trying to protect someone? Mary Jane Lansing, for instance. He went back over his noted carefully, pausing every now and then to draw in on his cold pipe and try to think things out. Why had Amy Stanton come to Park Louise? How had she entered the house? Most likely through the front door. No one in Kingston to his knowledge ever bothered to lock their doors except before going to bed at night, and there were times when they didn't even trouble themselves to do that. Of course you couldn't tell about an old house filled with valuable antiques and paintings and no doubt a generous supply of jewelry.

He looked up, asked Richard a question, and nodded satisfied. The front door had not been locked all day. Was still, in fact, unlocked. That explained one thing to his satisfaction except to wonder why Amy Stanton had employed an almost devious method to gain admittance to the house. They probably would never know. And now, what about the gun? The murderer had little time in which to dispose of it inside of the house or out, unless he had stood at the door and flung it out into the night which was at all improbable for now Kelly was convinced that they were dealing with a crafty clever mind that left little to chance. It was the hastiness of the crime that bothered him and yet someone had been prepared for trouble; the presence of a gun bore that out. He wondered, puckering his forehead, the reason it had been so imperative to silence Amy Stanton's lips forever that the murderer had risked killing her fifty or sixty yards away from where five other people had been sitting when at any moment the lights might wink on. If they knew that, he thought grimly, they would have the secret behind the whole unusual case, for he felt sure that in this fact lay the key that could unlock everything which puzzled him now.

He wondered too, vaguely disturbed, if the weapon might not be somewhere near, maybe even a few feet from where he was sitting hidden so cleverly that the policemen had failed to find it. The gun cabinet in the study had told them nothing. The only thirty-two revolver in the collection was neatly cleaned and oiled and had not been fired recently.

He sighed and switched to a different angle: considering the people who had been in the house that evening. Richard Parker and Jeeves, the butler, were out of the question or again were they? Could Jeeves have been fixing the fuse all the while Richard had crept back upstairs to commit the murder and then return? Could he have promised to reward the butler handsomely in return for silence?

Kelly thought it improbable; he had known Richard Parker since the boy was born and his father and grandfather before that. They were a fine honorable family; even Harold Parker who had once been considered the black sheep of the family had settled down since his marriage and become a quiet substantial business man, sharing the responsibility of the management of a thriving factory with the brother. His wife, Ruth, was as gracious a young woman as Kelly had ever known, although a bit on the shy, reserved side until you got to know her a little better, devoted to her home and husband and her brother. Gene Richardson he knew nothing about except that he was a newspaper reporter and seemed like a pleasant and likeable young man; Miriam Parker was also somewhat of a mystery. She had moved to Kingston six years ago to live with her Aunt, Ellen Snyder, her mother's sister, after the death of her parents. Kelly, who had known Ellen and her late husband, Bert, well, had been mildly to say the least surprised along with everyone else in town who had never known Ellen to speak of a sister. To be sure the niece was pretty and friendly enough, but any reference to her past life was carefully avoided both by her and her aunt. And then a year later, young Richard Parker, who had been sought after by the most eligible girls in New York, had graduated from college and returned home to fall in love with what amounted to first sight with Miriam Astor. They had married soon after and moved into Park Louise. Ellen had died a few months later and with her Miriam's secret whatever that might be for there was one, Kelly was certain. Mary Jane Lansing was the first person he knew of that had ever visited her from Boston, and here he found himself pitted against the will of a wary but frightened young woman.

He felt sure, however, she was too clever to kill a person fifty or sixty yards away from four people when at any moment the lights might come on, unless it was absolutely imperative to silence Amy Stanton's lips forever. But the reason, the motive; perhaps the same that induced Gerald Lansing to sign his fortune over to her.

He felt sure he could never break the mystery of Miriam Parker through her. He knocked the ashes from his pipe, returning it to his coat pocket, and thumbed on down the list of names in his notebook. After the name Norma Turner he drew a wide circle around in colored pencil; he would put nothing past that hot tempered young hellion, he thought chuckling , he was certain she would have cheerfully put a knife through his back when he had dragged her from the library. She certainly had the opportunity to commit the murder but the motive? Otto, the gardener, who lived in the quarters over the garage, Eloise Thompson, the maid, who was supposedly asleep upstairs, Adelaide Cole-opportunity, but the motive? Perhaps that too lay in the past, Amy Stanton's past, they would know in a few days when the Boston police would have a chance to check up on her.

He snapped out of his reverie as Tim Harmon ushered a woman into the room. Mary Jane Lansing looked up curiously at the newcomer; she was not too young, somewhere in her late twenties, and she was only of middle height, dressed in a plain blue bathrobe, a snood around her dark brown hair. She was not pretty; her features were too sharp for her thin face, and her mouth dropped unbecomingly at the corners.

"Miss Thompson?" Kelly said rising.

"Yes"

"Won't you be seated?" He motioned to the small green chair by her side, "Take this down will you, Tim?" He added in an undertone to the Sheriff.

Harmon nodded; Eloise Thompson's eyes dropped demurely to her hands folded in her lap.

Kelly said, "I imagine you know what's happened here tonight Miss Thompson."

Eloise nodded, "Yes, the Sheriff just told me."

"Now, just for the records, please tell us what you did this evening."

"Of course," Eloise looked up at him, "I helped with the dishes after dinner, and then I went to bed."

"What time was that?"

"Eleven thirty. Somewhere around there anyway. There were a few things left to do in the kitchen, but Adelaide said she thought she could finish up by herself."

"Then what?"

"I got undressed, read awhile and then I fell asleep; I didn't hear a thing until Sheriff Harmon awakened me a few minutes ago."

"Isn't it a little strange you didn't hear the ambulance and the police cars? The sirens make a lot of noise."

Eloise shrugged, "Not so strange. My room is in the back of the house, and I sleep very soundly."

"All right, Miss Thompson, that will be all for the moment."

She rose, and crossed the room, disappearing down the hall.

Tim said, "I've sent for the gardener, he should be here any moment, he might be able to help us."

The clock struck four and the vibration died slowly away, Kelly said grimly, "I doubt it. Everything has been against us from the start of this thing. So far we know ten people were here on the premises. But with an open front door and no lights in the house anyone could have come in, Amy Stanton did."

Kelly said nothing else as he was listening intently and Mary Jane realized that the front door had been opened and closed again and heavy footsteps were coming nearer down the hall.

Then appearing in the doorway simultaneously came two men, one was a uniformed policeman, and the other a bulk of a man in a heavy windbreaker. But it was the policeman who held her attention; there was something vaguely familiar about his piercing hawk-like eyes and stout figure. And then she remembered; the policeman who had been at the station that afternoon standing by the stove. For a moment it struck her as being strange coincidence, and then her attention was turned to Kelly who was beginning to question Otto Foralburg, the gardener.

Actually Otto had little or nothing to tell them. He had gone to bed sometime after eleven; he had been awakened by the police cars and had learned the bare details of what had happened from the policeman who had been left at the gate unlocked; "Mr. Harold Parker latched it when he left. Yes, Miss Norma Turner had left her car in the garage……"

At last they dismissed him, and Kelly wound things up by saying they would question the other servants who did not stay at Park Louise for the night, in the morning.

They heard at the same time the footsteps descending the stairs. Winstead came into the room, his face dark as a thundercloud. He sat down heavily in a chair, and looked up at Kelly.

"We've finished," he said flatly, "There is no gun in this house."