The problem of Cell 13 39 – Futrelle · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The problem of Cell 13 39Part 6 · Chapter 4
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The problem of Cell 13 39
Part 6 · Chapter 4
FutrelleEnglish
It was a long story of seemingly hopeless complications that Hatch told The Thinking Machine that morning. Nothing connected with anything, and yet here was a series of happenings, all apparently growing out of the disappearance of Miss Field, and which must have some relation one to the other. At the conclusion of the story, Hatch passed over the newspaper containing the account of the burglary in the studio. The artist had been removed to a hospital.
The Thinking Machine read the newspaper account and turned to the reporter with a question:
"Did you see Willis's handwriting?"
"Not yet," replied the reporter.
"See it at once," instructed the other. "If possible, bring me a sample of it. Did you see St. George's handwriting?"
"No," the reporter confessed.
"See that and bring me a sample if you can. Find out first if Willis has a revolver now or has ever had. If so, see it and see if it is loaded or empty--its exact condition. Find out also if St. George has a revolver--and if he has one, get possession of it if it is in your power."
The scientist twisted the two gloves and the veil which Hatch had given to him in his fingers idly, then passed them to the reporter again.
Hatch arose and stood waiting, hat in hand.
"Also find out," The Thinking Machine went on, "the exact condition of St. George--his mental condition particularly. Find out if Willis is at his office in the bank to-day, and, if possible, where and how he spent last night. That's all."
"And Miss Stanford?" asked Hatch.
"Never mind her," replied The Thinking Machine. "I may see her myself. These other things are of immediate consequence. The minute you satisfy yourself come back to me. Quickness on your part may prevent a tragedy."
The reporter went away hurriedly. At four o'clock that afternoon he returned. The Thinking Machine greeted him; he held a piece of letter-paper in his hand.
"Well?" he asked.
"The handwriting is Willis's," said Hatch, without hesitation. "I saw a sample--it is identical, and the paper on which he writes is identical."
The scientist grunted.
"I also saw some of St. George's writing," the reporter went on, as if he were reciting a lesson. "It is wholly dissimilar."
The Thinking Machine nodded.
"Willis has no revolver that anyone ever heard of," Hatch continued. "He was at dinner with several of his fellow employees last night, and left the restaurant at eight o'clock."
"Been drinking?"
"Might have had a few drinks," responded the reporter. "He is not a drinking man."
"Has St. George a revolver?"
"I was unable to find that out or do anything except get a sample of his writing from another artist," the reporter explained. "He is in a hospital, raving crazy. It seems to be a return of the trouble he had once before, except it is worse. The wound itself is not bad."
The scientist was studying the sheet of paper. "Have you that scrap?" he asked.
Hatch produced it, and the scientist placed it on the sheet; Hatch could only conjecture that he was fitting it to something else already there. He was engaged in this work when Martha entered.
"The young lady who was here earlier to-day wants to see you again," she announced.
"Show her in," directed The Thinking Machine, without raising his eyes.
Martha disappeared, and after a moment Miss Stanford entered. Hatch, himself unnoticed, stared at her curiously, and arose, as did the scientist. The girl's face was flushed a little, and there was an eager expression in her eyes.
"I know he didn't do it," she began. "I've just gotten a letter from Springfield stating that he was there on the day Grace went away--and----"
"Know who didn't do what?" asked the scientist.
"That Mr. Willis didn't kill Grace," replied the girl, her enthusiasm suddenly checked. "See here."
The scientist read a letter which she offered, and the girl sank into a chair. Then for the first time she saw Hatch and her eyes expressed her surprise. She stared at him a moment, then nodded a greeting, after which she fell to watching The Thinking Machine.
"Miss Stanford," he said, at length, "you made several mistakes when you were here before in not telling me the truth--all of it. If you will tell me all you know of this case I may be able to see it more clearly."
The girl reddened and stammered a little, then her lips trembled.
"Do you know--not conjecture, but know--whether or not Miss Field, or Grace, as you call her, was engaged to Willis?" the irritated voice asked.
"I--I know it, yes," she stammered.
"And you were in love with Mr. Willis--you are in love with him?"
Again the tell-tale blush swept over her face. She glanced at Hatch; it was the nervousness of a girl who is driven to a confession of love.
"I regard Mr. Willis very highly," she said, finally, her voice low.
"Well," and the scientist arose and crossed to where the girl sat, "don't you see that a very grave charge might be brought home to you if you don't tell all of this? The girl has disappeared. There might be even a hint of murder in which your name would be mentioned. Don't you see?"
There was a long pause, and the girl stared steadily into the squint eyes above her. Finally her eyes fell.
"I think I understand. Just what is it you want me to answer?"
"Did or did you not ever hear Mr. Willis threaten Miss Field?"
"I did once, yes."
"Did or did you not know that Miss Field was the original of the painting?"
"I did not."
"It is a semi-nude picture, isn't it?"
Again there was a flush in the girl's face.
"I have heard it was," she said. "I have never seen it. I suggested to Grace several times that we go to see it, but she never would. I understand why now."
"Did Willis know she was the original of that painting? That is, knowing it yourself now, do you have any reason to suppose that he previously knew?"
"I don't know," she said, frankly. "I know that there was something which was always causing friction between them--something they quarreled about. It might have been that. That was when I heard Mr. Willis threaten her--it was something about shooting her if she ever did something--I don't know what."
"Miss Field knew him before you did, I think you said?"
"She introduced me to him."
The Thinking Machine fingered the sheet of paper he held.
"Did you know what those scraps of paper you brought me contained?"
"Yes, in a way," said the girl.
"Why did you bring them, then?"
"Because you told me you knew I had them, and I was afraid it might make more trouble for me and for Mr. Willis if I did not."
The Thinking Machine passed the sheet to Hatch.
"This will interest you, Mr. Hatch," he explained. "Those words and letters in parentheses are what I have supplied to complete the full text of the note, of which you had a mere scrap. You will notice how the scrap you had fitted into it."
The reporter read this:
"If you go to th(at stud)io Wednesday to see that artist, (I will k)ill you bec(ause I w)on't have it known to the world tha(t you a)re a model. I hope you will heed this warning.
"V. W."
The reporter stared at the patched-up letter, pasted together with infinite care, and then glanced at The Thinking Machine, who settled himself again comfortably in the chair.
"And now, Miss Stanford," asked the scientist, in a most matter-of-fact tone, "where is the body of Miss Field?"
