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.