The Marathon Mystery/Part 2/Chapter 1
CHAPTER I
A Change of Lodgings
AS a matter of course, the affair at the Marathon created a great public sensation. The papers overflowed with details, theories, suggestions to the police, letters from interested readers. Many of the latter were quite certain that they could quickly solve the mystery, but unfortunately private business demanded their whole attention; meanwhile, the stupidity of the detective force was a disgrace to the city; let the guilty parties be arrested without further delay, whatever their position! It was remarkable how few accepted the simple theory which Simmonds had propounded; all of them chose to discern something deeper, more intricate, more mysterious, and Miss Croydon incurred much oblique reference. This, for the most part, took the form of scathing, even hysterical polemics against the degeneration of American Society, the greatest peril threatening the health and prosperity of the Republic. As it was with Rome, so would it be with America; luxury, sensuality, a moral code growing ever more lax, could have only one result!
No doubt these vigorous correspondents enjoyed themselves and imagined that Society quivered in consternation under the castigation. Certainly they formed a source of exquisite amusement to the readers of the papers.
It has long been a habit of mine, when any particularly abstruse criminal mystery is before the public, to pin my faith to the Record. Its other features I do not admire, but I knew that Jim Godfrey was its expert in crime, and ever since my encounter with him in the Holladay case, I have entertained the liveliest admiration of his acumen and audacity. If a mystery was possible of solution, I believed that he would solve it, so it was to the Record I turned now, and read carefully every word he wrote about the tragedy.
It is difficult for me to explain, even to myself, the interest with which I followed the case. I suppose most of us have a fondness, more or less unrealised, for the unique and mysterious, and we all of us revolt sometimes against the commonplaceness of every-day existence. We had been having a protracted siege of unusually hard work at the office, and I was a little run down in consequence; I felt that I needed a tonic, a distraction, and I found it in “The Tragedy in Suite Fourteen,” as Godfrey had christened it.
I was sitting in my room on the evening of the second day after the affair, smoking a post-prandial pipe and reading the Record’s stenographic report of the coroner’s inquest, when there came a knock at my door and my landlady entered. She held in her hand a paper which had a formidable legal appearance.
“Have you found another apartment yet, Mr. Lester?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t, Mrs. Fitch,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ve not been as diligent in looking for one as I should have been.”
“Well, I’ve just got another notice,” and she sighed wearily. “They’re going to begin tearing down the house day after tomorrow. I can’t find another house, so I’m going to put my furniture in storage. I’ve told the men to come for it tomorrow.”
“All right,” I said. “If I can’t find an apartment to suit, I’ll put my stuff in storage, too, and stay at a hotel for a while. I’ll know by tomorrow noon, Mrs. Fitch.”
“Very well. It does seem hard, though,” she added pausing on the threshold, “that we should be the ones to suffer, when there’s so many other blocks they might have taken.”
“The residents of any of the other blocks would probably have said the same thing,” I pointed out. “After all, I suppose this block was better than the others, or it wouldn’t have been chosen.”
She sniffed sceptically, and went on her way to notify her other lodgers of the imminent eviction.
We were martyrs to the march of public improvement. The block had been condemned by the usual legal process, and an armory was to be erected on the site. So there was nothing left for us to do but move. I had hoped that Mrs. Fitch would find another house somewhere in the neighbourhood and that I could stay with her; now, it seemed, I must search for other quarters, and at exceedingly short notice. To find comfortable ones, conveniently situated, and at the same time within reach of my modest income would, I knew, be a problem not easy of solution.
I settled back in my chair and took up my paper again, when a sudden thought brought me bolt upright. Here was an apartment, two rooms and bath, just what I wanted, empty—and moreover, so situated that I should be admirably placed for close-at-hand study of the tragedy. I glanced at my watch—it was only half-past seven—and I hurried into my coat in a sudden fever of impatience lest someone else should get there before me.
Twenty minutes’ walk brought me to the Marathon apartment house, and as I stepped into the vestibule, I saw sitting by the elevator a red-faced man whom I recognised instantly as Higgins, the janitor. He rose as I approached him.
“You have an apartment here to rent, haven’t you?” I asked.
“Not jest now, sir,” he answered. “There will be next week—if th’ walkin’ delegates leaves us alone. You see, th’ house is bein’ remodelled.”
“Oh,” I said, more disappointed than I cared to show, “I thought perhaps there was one I could move into at once. Next week won’t do me any good.”
He moistened his lips and scratched his head, eyeing me undecidedly.
“May I ask your name, sir?” he said, at last.
I handed him a card, which had also the address of my firm, Graham & Royce. He read it slowly.
“We’ve got one apartment, sir,” he said, looking up when he had mastered it; “two rooms an’ bath—but it needs a little cleanin’ up. When do y’ have t’ have it?”
“I have to move in to-morrow,” I answered, and I told him briefly why. “May I look at this apartment?”
He hesitated yet a moment, then straightened up with sudden resolution.
“You kin see it if you want to, sir,” he said; “but first, I must tell you that it’s soot fourteen, where they was a — a murder two days ago.”
“A murder?” I repeated. “Oh, yes; I did see something about it in the papers. Well, that doesn’t make any difference; I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
“Then that’s all right, sir,” he said, with a sigh of relief, and motioned toward the elevator. “I didn’t believe we’d find it so easy t’ rent that soot ag’in,” he added, as we started upward, “though I see now that I was foolish; fer really, it don’t make no difference”
The car stopped and he led the way down the hall without troubling to finish the sentence.
“Here we are,” he added, pausing before a door and producing a bunch of keys. “Which reminds me that I’ll have t’ git a key fer you — the other tenant lost his — leastways, it wasn’t found on him. Or mebbe you’d rather I’d change th’ lock?”
“Oh, no,” I assured him. “Another key will do,” and we entered together.
I examined the room with keen interest. Evidently everything had been left just as it was on the night of the crime; only the body had been removed, and it, I knew, was at the morgue, waiting identification. Higgins was busy pointing out to me the advantages of the apartment, but I confess I did not hear him. I reconstructed the picture which had met Godfrey’s eye when he burst into the room; I tried in vain to discern some point of evidence which he had overlooked. The furniture was of the commonest kind and consisted of only the most necessary articles.
Higgins led the way into the bedroom and opened the door of the bathroom beyond.
“I shall bring my own furniture,” I said. “But I haven’t any carpets. Perhaps I can buy these. They seem pretty good.”
“They are, sir,” agreed Higgins. “They’re good carpets and as good as th’ day they was put down. It’ll make it lots easier for us if we don’t have t’ take ’em up.”
“All right,” I agreed. “Find out what they’re worth. When can you have the rooms ready?”
He looked at me and scratched his head again; then, remembering suddenly the nature of janitors, I took out my purse and tipped him.
“Have them ready by to-morrow afternoon,” I said. “Get a man to help you, if necessary. I’ll expect to be at home here to-morrow night.”
His face cleared instantly.
“I’ll do it, sir,” he agreed, as he pocketed the money. “I’ll see that everything gits in all right. You kin sign th’ rent agreement to-morrow—th’ soot rents fer forty a month.”
“Very well,” I said, and followed him into the outer room, smiling to myself at the thought that I had forgotten to ask for this important detail: “Would you mind if I sat down and took a smoke, while I decide how I’ll arrange my furniture?”
“That’s all right, sir,” he assured me instantly; and just then the elevator bell rang. “There,” he added, “it’s them confounded artists, too lazy t’ walk downstairs. I’ll be back in a minute, sir.”
It took me but an instant to light my cigar, then I whirled my chair around to the table before which it stood. The table had a single drawer. I opened it. It was absolutely empty. I went quickly to the bedroom and opened the closet, but not even a piece of clothing hung there. Then I turned to the dresser, but its three drawers, too, were empty. Evidently all of Thompson’s belongings had been removed by the police. Of course they had searched through every nook and cranny; it was foolish of me to expect to find anything now.
I returned to my chair and looked again about the room. There was the corner where Miss Croydon had cowered, and from which she had shot at Thompson’s assailant; there was the spot where Thompson himself had fallen; he had lain extended on the carpet, while the … what was that? A tiny sparkle caught my eye, a reflection of the light overhead. I sprang from my chair and stooped above the place, but could see nothing. I returned to my chair, and again caught the reflection. This time, I marked it exactly in the pattern of the carpet, went to it carefully; put down my hand—nothing—yes, a little hard point pressed into the carpet, so minute I could not pick it up. I moistened my finger, and an instant later, under the light, I saw that I had found a diamond!
I wrapped it carefully in a scrap of paper and stowed it away safely in my pocket-book. Then I went back to my chair. How came the diamond there? A stone so minute must have been set in a piece of jewelry; perhaps was only one of many such stones forming a cluster, or a border to a larger jewel. If one could only discover the piece from which it had fallen, there would be a clew…
“Well, have y’ got it all fixed, sir?” asked a voice from the door, and I turned with a start to see Higgins standing there.
“Yes,” I answered, rousing myself with an effort; and I gave him such directions as occurred to me. “Has anyone else been in the rooms?” I asked.
“Not since yesterday morning sir, when th’ coroner brought his jury t’ look ‘em over. They’ve been locked since then.”
“I thought perhaps somebody might have wanted to rent them,” I explained.
“Say, that’s funny!” he cried. “I’d purty nigh fergot it. Early this mornin’ they was somebody-a woman.” He came close to me and dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “D’ y’ know who I think it was? That Croydon woman!”
I stared at him in amazement.
“Weren’t you sure?”
“No; she had a veil wrapped around her head an’ she was dressed different. But it was her—I know it.”
“And what did she want?” I asked, more and more astonished.
“She wanted t’ see th’ rooms; but I told her they was closed. I tell you, I was dead afeard t’ come up here with her. How’d I know but she’d take a shot at me? Then she wanted t’ rent ’em sight unseen, an’ offered a month’s rent in advance—but I told her we didn’t rent soots t’ single women, which is true. Mebbe I was kind o’ rough, but I was a-skeered t’ have her around, fer I kind o’ believe she’s crazy, so purty soon, after some more talkin’, she give it up an’ went away.”
As we went down in the elevator, I pondered this remarkable story. Could it really have been Miss Croydon? But what possible reason could she have for wishing to rent the rooms? How could she nerve herself to enter them again? Was it the rooms and not the man that had brought her to the Marathon? Did they hold the key to the mystery? Did they contain some secret…
The car stopped. A man and woman were waiting to be taken up. At the man I did not even glance, for his companion held my eyes. Such fierce, dark, passionate beauty I had never seen before, and my nerves were still tingling with the sight of it as I left the building and turned westward toward my rooms.