The problem of Cell 13 22 – Futrelle · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The problem of Cell 13 22Part 4 · Chapter 4
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The problem of Cell 13 22
Part 4 · Chapter 4
FutrelleEnglish
Curtis was led away and locked up. He raved and bitterly denounced Reid for the information he had given, but he did not deny it. Indeed, after the first burst of fury he said nothing.
Once he was under lock and key the police, led by Detective Mallory, searched his rooms at the Hotel Teutonic and there they found a handkerchief stained with blood. It was slight, still it was a stain. This was immediately placed in the hands of an expert, who pronounced it human blood. Then the case against Curtis seemed complete; it was his knife, he had been in love with Miss Melrose, therefore probably jealous of her, and here was the tell-tale bloodstain.
Meanwhile Reid was permitted to go his way. He seemed crushed by the rapid sequence of events, and read eagerly every line he could find in the public prints concerning both the murder and the elopement of Miss Dow. This latter affair, indeed, seemed to have greater sway over his mind than the murder, or that a lifetime friend was now held as the murderer.
Meanwhile The Thinking Machine had signified to Hatch his desire to visit the scene of the crime and see what might be done there. Late in the afternoon, therefore, they started, taking a train for a village nearest the Monarch Inn.
"It's a most extraordinary case," The Thinking Machine said, "much more extraordinary than you can imagine."
"In what respect?" asked the reporter.
"In motive, in the actual manner of the girl meeting her death and in a dozen other details which I can't state now because I haven't all the facts."
"You don't doubt but what it was murder?"
"It doesn't necessarily follow," said The Thinking Machine, evasively. "Suppose we were seeking a motive for Miss Melrose's suicide, what would we have? We would have her love affair with this man MacLean whom she refused to marry because she knew he would be disinherited. Suppose she had not seen him for a couple of years--suppose she had made up her mind to give him up--that he had suddenly appeared when she sat alone in the automobile in front of the Monarch Inn--suppose, then, finding all her love reawakened, she had decided to end it all?"
"But Curtis's knife and the blood on his handkerchief?"
"Suppose, having made up her mind to kill herself, she had sought a weapon?" went on The Thinking Machine, as if there had been no interruption. "What is more natural than she should have sought something--the knife, say--in the tool bag or kit, which must have been near her? Suppose she stabbed herself while the men were away from the automobile, or even after they had started on again in the darkness?"
Hatch looked a little crestfallen.
"You believe, then, that she did kill herself?" he asked.
"Certainly not," was the prompt response. "I don't believe Miss Melrose killed herself--but as yet I know nothing to the contrary. As for the blood on Curtis's handkerchief, remember he helped carry the body to Dr. Leonard; it might have come from that--it might have come from a slight spattering of blood."
"But circumstances certainly implicate Curtis."
"I wouldn't convict any man of any crime on any circumstantial evidence," was the response. "It's worthless unless a man is forced to confess."
The reporter was puzzled, bewildered, and his face showed it. There were many things he did not understand, but the principal question in his mind took form:
"Why did you turn Curtis over to the police, then?"
"Because he is the man who owned the knife," was the reply. "I knew he was lying to me from the first about the knife. Men have been executed on less evidence than that."
The train stopped and they proceeded to the office of the medical examiner, where the body of the woman lay. Professor Van Dusen was readily permitted to see the body, even to offer his expert assistance in an autopsy which was then being performed; but the reporter was stopped at the door. After an hour The Thinking Machine came out.
"She was stabbed from the right," he said in answer to Hatch's inquiring look, "either by some one sitting at her right, by some one leaning over her right shoulder, or she might have done it herself."
Then they went on to Monarch Inn, five miles away. Here, after a comprehensive squint at the landscape, The Thinking Machine entered and for half an hour questioned three waiters there.
Did these waiters see Mr. Reid? Yes. They identified his published picture as a gentleman who had come in and taken a hot Scotch at the bar. Any one with him? No. Speak to anyone in the inn? Yes, a lady.
"What did she look like?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"Couldn't say, sir," the waiter replied. "She came in an automobile and wore a mask, with a veil tied about her head and a long tan automobile coat."
"With the mask on you couldn't see her face?"
"Only her chin, sir."
"No glimpse of her hair?"
"No, sir. It was covered by the veil."
Then The Thinking Machine turned loose a flood of questions. He learned that the woman had been waiting at the inn for nearly an hour when Reid entered; that she had come there alone and at her request had been shown into a private parlor--"to wait for a gentleman," she had told the waiter.
She had opened the door when she heard Reid enter and had glanced out, but he had disappeared into the bar before she saw him. When he started away she looked out again. Then she saw him and he saw her. She seemed surprised and started to close the door, when he spoke to her. No one heard what was said, but he went in and the door was closed.
No one knew just when either Reid or the woman left the inn. Some half an hour or so after Reid entered the room a waiter rapped on the door. There was no answer. He opened the door and went in, but there was no one there. It was presumed then that the gentleman she had been waiting for had appeared and they had gone out together. It was a fact that an automobile had come up meanwhile--in addition to that in which Curtis, Miss Melrose and Reid had come--and had gone away again.
When all this questioning had come to an end and these facts were in possession of The Thinking Machine, the reporter advanced a theory.
"That woman was unquestionably Miss Dow, who knew Reid and who eloped that night with Morgan Mason."
The Thinking Machine looked at him a moment without speaking, then led the way into the private room where the lady had been waiting. Hatch followed. They remained there five or ten minutes, then The Thinking Machine came out and started toward the front door, only eight or ten feet from this room. The road was twenty feet away.
"Let's go," he said, finally.
"Where?" asked Hatch.
"Don't you see?" asked The Thinking Machine, irrelevantly, "that it would have been perfectly possible for Miss Melrose herself to have left the automobile and gone inside the inn for a few minutes?"
Following previously received directions The Thinking Machine now set out to find the man who had charge of the gasoline tank. They went away together and remained half an hour.
On the scientist's return to where Hatch had been waiting impatiently they climbed into the car which had brought them to the inn.
"Two miles down this road, then the first road to your right until I tell you to stop," was the order to the chauffeur.
"Where are you going?" asked Hatch, curiously.
"Don't know yet," was the enigmatic reply.
The car ran on through the night, with great, unblinking lights staring straight out ahead on a road as smooth as asphalt. The turn was made, then more slowly the car proceeded along the cross road. At the second house, dimly discernible through the night, The Thinking Machine gave the signal to stop.
Hatch leaped out, and The Thinking Machine followed. Together they approached the house, a small cottage some distance back from the road. As they went up the path they came upon another automobile, but it had no lights and the engine was still.
Even in the darkness they could see that one of the forward wheels was gone, and the front of the car was demolished.
"That fellow had a bad accident," Hatch remarked.
An old woman and a boy appeared at the door in answer to their rap.
"I am looking for a gentleman who was injured last night in an automobile accident," said The Thinking Machine. "Is he still here?"
"Yes. Come in."
They stepped inside as a man's voice called from another room:
"Who is it?"
"Two gentlemen to see the man who was hurt," the woman called.
"Do you know his name?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"No, sir," the woman replied. Then the man who had spoken appeared.
"Would it be possible for us to see the gentleman who was hurt?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"Well, the doctor said we would have to keep folks away from him," was the reply. "Is there anything I could tell you?"
"We would like to know who he is," said The Thinking Machine. "It may be that we can take him off your hands."
"I don't know his name," the man explained; "but here are the things we took off him. He was hurt on the head, and hasn't been able to speak since he was brought here."
The Thinking Machine took a gold watch, a small notebook, two or three cards of various business concerns, two railroad tickets to New York and one thousand dollars in large bills. He merely glanced at the papers. No name appeared anywhere on them; the same with the railroad tickets. The business cards meant nothing at the moment. It was the gold watch on which the scientist concentrated his attention. He looked on both sides, then inside, carefully. Finally he handed it back.
"What time did this gentleman come here?" he asked.
"We brought him in from the road about nine o'clock," was the reply. "We heard his automobile smash into something and found him there beside it a moment later. He was unconscious. His car had struck a stone on the curve and he was thrown out head first."
"And where is his wife?"
"His wife?" The man looked from The Thinking Machine to the woman. "His wife? We didn't see anybody else."
"Nobody ran away from the machine as you went out?" insisted the scientist.
"No, sir," was the positive reply.
"And no woman has been here to inquire for him?"
"No, sir."
"Has anybody?"
"No, sir."
"What direction was the car going when it struck?"
"I couldn't tell you, sir. It had turned entirely over and was in the middle of the road when we found it."
"What's the number of the car?"
"It didn't have any."
"This gentleman has good medical attention, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir. Dr. Leonard is attending him. He says his condition isn't dangerous, and meanwhile we're letting him stay here, because we suppose he'll make it all right with us when he gets well."
"Thank you--that's all," said The Thinking Machine. "Good-night."
With Hatch he turned and left the house. "What is all this?" asked Hatch, bewildered. "That man is Morgan Mason," said The Thinking Machine.
"The man who eloped with Miss Dow?" asked Hatch, breathlessly.
"Now, where is Miss Dow?" asked The Thinking Machine, in turn.
"You mean----"
The Thinking Machine waved his hand off into the vague night; it was a gesture which Hatch understood perfectly.
