Part 19

Mrs. LaRauche was a badly shaken woman, but her condition was not serious. I remained at her side until the arrival of an ambulance physician from the county hospital. He was accompanied by a nurse, who took her immediately in charge. But she had other ideas than of going to the hospital. Her brain had cleared considerably, and she insisted on remaining in her home. I agreed with her on this, and to the inconvenience of the proprietor of an employment agency in the village, who had retired for the night, I soon had a competent manservant, with his wife, on the premises.

By the time they arrived, bringing ample provisions and milk, which I had the foresight to order, the police had removed the body of Orkins, as well as all traces of his death. The couple set to work at once, systematically clearing up and setting things in order. By midnight, the house was freshened up considerably, and Mrs. LaRauche made as comfortable as possible in her own, redressed bedroom, with the hospital nurse in attendance.

What she needed most, the physician decreed, was absolute rest and quiet. The kindly attentions showered upon her appeared for the moment to compensate for the loss of her demented husband. She had come out of a horror, but she was not thinking--or allowing herself to think--it seemed to me.

The house still seemed empty and queer as McGinity and I drove away, around one o'clock, trailing Chief Meigs' car back to the village. The Chief's last act was to station a policeman on guard, which made me a lot easier in my mind.

The situation was still lamentable enough, but McGinity and I, with an air of bravado, continued our inquiries on reaching the village. With police assistance, we had no difficulty in locating the light truck which Orkins had rented, and once located and properly inspected, we found nothing to indicate that it had been used to transport the stolen rocket from the Museum of Science to the East River.

And then McGinity suddenly found something, which was vitally important. A screw from the rocket. Chief Meigs chuckled; he couldn't see that a screw could possibly have any bearing on our situation. When we returned to the police station, I showed him.

"Why, that's just an ordinary screw," he said, after inspecting the screw more closely. "I don't see how it could mean anything."

"No?" I said. "Then you don't know how they make screws on Mars. If you think it's just ordinary, here's a screw-driver and a piece of pine wood. Now, drive it in!"

"That doesn't worry me at all," Meigs bantered. He went to his task cheerfully, even whistling, and giving a wink to several policemen who were looking on. But the screw refused to function in the ordinary way. Finally, he gave it up. "Why the damn thing won't go into the wood is a mystery to me," he remarked, as he handed the screw and screw-driver back to me.

"Because it works in reverse to our screws," I explained, as I drove the screw into the soft wood easily enough by a reverse motion. "There, I've done the job," I concluded, "which proves conclusively that only a Martian screw could be jolted out of a Martian rocket. And as the screw was found in the truck, the van therefore must have carried the rocket."

The Chief of Police grew pop-eyed in amazement.

"Everything about the rocket has this unusual element," I continued, "except the metal from which it was constructed, and it is a scientific fact that the metallic ores which abound on the earth are to be found in other planets."

The Chief's look of blank astonishment prompted me to go on.

"Now, whatever we may have thought at first about this rocket having originated on Mars, we know now that LaRauche manufactured it himself. He had the brain power necessary to create this fantasy in mechanism, and the means and method of carrying out his motive, which was to bring my brother Henry to shame."

"All of which stirred the popular imagination, and increased the circulation of the Daily Recorder half a million," McGinity interjected.

"Well," Chief Meigs drawled, "all I got to say is this. If making screws that go in backwards is not the act of a lunatic, then I'm crazy myself."

For several hours, McGinity and I remained at the police station, occupying ourselves piecing together from this and that all the information at our command; and at the end, it was as clear as daylight that we knew no more about the actual perpetration of the hoax than we did twenty-four hours back. The impression we both had gained was that tragedy had been obtruded into LaRauche's suave scheme that was shockingly disturbing, but had nothing whatever to do with clearing up the case.

There was little or nothing at the LaRauche home for the police to go on with. No trace of the revolver that had pierced Orkins' heart with its deadly bullet; no firearms of any sort, in fact. Mrs. LaRauche heightened the mystery by declaring her husband had an inherent fear of the use of firearms, as he had of fire, and had never owned a revolver. Nor was any sort of weapon discovered during the inspection of his laboratory, or workrooms, in the observatory and hangar, in which he operated outside his dwelling. No evidence even was found that would in the slightest degree incriminate him in the Martian fraud.

The city papers had come by plane, after midnight, and I read them all with interest. McGinity, fed up on the story, waved them away. They contained a very full account of what had occurred at the castle, Orkins' mysterious death, and LaRauche's escape by plane.

About three o'clock, I succeeded in reaching Olinski on the telephone, at his city home, and he was so upset over the whole affair, as reported in the papers, that at first all he could seem to do was to sputter into the mouthpiece.

"I fear, my dear Mr. Royce," he managed to say, finally, "that you and that reporter fellow have made a great mistake--a serious error. You have found nothing to prove that the radio message, and the rocket, did not originate in Mars, now, have you?"

"Nothing," I replied, "except that water-mark we found in the scroll."

"That proves nothing," he fairly shouted. "Some utterly unscrupulous and wicked person may have changed that scroll after it passed out of my possession."

"That is your theory, Mr. Olinski?" I asked.

"Can you suggest any other?" he countered. "No; because there can be no other. Unless you are accusing me of complicity--"

"I didn't say so, Mr. Olinski," I interrupted.

"Yet you believe this Dr. LaRauche, the scientist you've been telling me about, is at the bottom of this so-called hoax?"

"That is highly possible," I answered. "I myself think so."

"But you have, of course, no idea just how he did it?"

"No idea whatever, but it's quite plain that for motives of his own he had the opportunity."

"And that," Olinski declared, "that's as far as you've got?"

"At present," I replied.

"And that's as far as you'll ever get, my dear Mr. Royce," he rejoined in a bitter, sardonic tone, and then suddenly hung up.

When we had thus made an end, a dead silence followed, during which McGinity and I looked at each other for a moment or two, in silence. After I had told him what Olinski had said, the reporter spoke.

"I've put it out of my mind that Olinski had anything to do with this affair," he said. "The more I think of it, Mr. Royce, the more I'm dead certain that Mrs. LaRauche is our only hope. Finding her husband will be a police detail, and several days may elapse before he's apprehended. Now, if we could get to her, the first thing in the morning. Do you think that would be possible?"

Before I could answer, Chief Meigs walked in to say that a plane, answering the description of LaRauche's machine, had passed over Montauk Point, heading south, a little before three o'clock, had been picked up by a coast-guard searchlight, but had dodged out of the light. With this announcement, all thoughts of Mrs. LaRauche vanished, and--to me, at any rate--did not recur until we had driven back to the castle at the break of dawn, after a weary vigil of waiting at the police station to hear further word of LaRauche. But the reports were blank and disappointing.

XXIX

Interviewing Mrs. LaRauche did not prove as difficult as we had anticipated. At ten o'clock--McGinity and I were still in bed--the manservant I had installed at the LaRauche house, telephoned that Mrs. LaRauche was feeling much stronger, and was most anxious to see Henry and me on a matter of very urgent business; and would we please bring along the village Chief of Police, also the young newspaper reporter who had accompanied the officer and me to the house the night before.

At eleven o'clock, we drove off. On our way through the village, we picked up Chief Meigs, and the first thing he did after boarding the car was to give me a wink, and mutter: "Screws!" Henry was pallid and trembling. He had been deeply shocked when he learned of Orkins' death. He seemed to have aged ten years during the night.

McGinity was in a state of excitement. After a late and hasty breakfast, he and Pat had taken a stroll on the terrace. In spite of the tragedies and excitement, Pat had come downstairs looking as fresh and as bright as I had ever known her. I met them as I came out to get into the car. McGinity had just reached out to take her hand in his, and she had not drawn it away. She seemed a little breathless.

The strain of the past twenty-four hours, and loss of sleep, had been too much for me. As we breezed along in the crisp, morning air, I was no more capable of keeping my eyes open than I was of writing poetry. My conversation was limited to monosyllabic answers; between monosyllables, I fell into a light doze.

Nearing the LaRauche place, I became more wide-awake, and began to speculate whether Mrs. LaRauche knew, and was in a position to tell, the whole truth. Doubt had entered my mind. Even after we had been admitted into the house, and had gathered around her, in a sitting-room adjoining her bedchamber, I felt certain that she would be able to contribute very little to the sum of information which we had.

She was dressed in a dark morning gown, and seated in an easy chair. The heavy window curtains were drawn, to save her eye-sight, after long imprisonment in a darkened room. In the dim glow of a shaded lamp, her face appeared pale and worn. Yet her poise was serene; to all appearances, she was very much mistress of herself. This was a great relief to me. I was afraid we would have a quivering, sobbing woman on our hands, and the thought was terrifying. Only once, when she grasped Henry's hand, on our arrival, did she show that she was under a strain which was almost at a breaking point.

She was a comely woman, even in her present pitiable state, and she had the voice of a woman of refinement and education. I had often wondered why she had married a man so much older than herself, and so eccentric. She was LaRauche's second wife. God knows what became of the first one!

After we had quietly taken seats, Chief Meigs broke the tension of silence. "Do you feel strong enough to answer our questions, Mrs. LaRauche?" he inquired.

She nodded, and replied: "I think so."

Then Henry spoke. "I wish to heaven, Mrs. LaRauche, you'd got in touch sooner with Livingston and me. We've always prized your friendship very highly, and if it had not been for--"

"Yes; I know," Mrs. LaRauche broke in, as though anticipating his closing remark; "but I've been unable to communicate with any one on the outside for several weeks. A day or so ago, I managed to get the front window open, and waved to a motorcycle policeman, but apparently he did not see me." She stopped, and glanced nervously over her shoulder, and added, with a little shiver: "Oh, you don't know how I've grown to hate this house!" Then, quickly regaining her self-possession, she looked at McGinity steadily for a moment, and said: "I haven't the slightest idea who you are. I only know that you were a very thoughtful and kind young man last night. Are you the newspaper reporter?"

McGinity nodded, with an embarrassed smile, and was about to reply when I interjected: "A thousand pardons, Mrs. LaRauche," I said. "Allow me to present Mr. Robert McGinity, of the New York Daily Recorder, a young but very capable reporter, in whom we place every confidence. In fact, we've grown so fond of him, he seems like one of the family." Turning to Henry for confirmation, I concluded: "I am quite right, am I not, Henry?"

"Of course, you're right," Henry answered, loudly. "And I don't know what we're going to do without him when this--er--Martian affair--I was about to say, Martian inquest--is finished."

I gasped with astonishment at Henry's remarks, while McGinity turned very red, and said, stammeringly: "Thanks, Mr. Royce." Then he began to fumble nervously with his inevitable bunch of copy paper and pencil.

Mrs. LaRauche smiled wanly, and addressed herself again to the reporter. "I'm so glad you've come, Mr. McGinity," she said, "for what I'm going to tell, I wish to be given as much publicity as possible. I want the public to know that Henry Royce was imposed upon, and that my husband, now a fugitive, although I refuse to believe he's a murderer, was wholly responsible, with the connivance of Orkins, his manservant, in carrying out this cruel deception, which, I know, is still puzzling all of you."

"Even at that, it doesn't seem so incredulous," Henry commented. "I guess I'm one of the die-hard kind."

There was a little pause, then Mrs. LaRauche turned to Chief Meigs. "Tell me," she said, "how is the search going? Have the police discovered any clue to my husband's whereabouts?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you any information," Meigs replied; "no clue at all."

"It isn't that I want him back," she said firmly, "or would ever want to see him again, after the many cruelties he practiced on me. But he's been out of his mind--insane--I'm sure, for weeks now, and is really unaccountable for his acts."

Her voice had grown shaky, and her face went whiter than it had been. We remained silent, recognizing the futility of questioning her until she got control of herself. Our chief interest, of course, lay in the unraveling of the mystery which still baffled us, and when she finally got to it, she answered all our questions in a cool collected way.

On my suggestion, McGinity began the questioning, giving us a specimen of his powers of observation. He omitted no detail of importance, carefully marshaling his facts and presenting them to Mrs. LaRauche as expertly as a lawyer examining a witness before a jury.

"Your married life has been a very unhappy one, hasn't it, Mrs. LaRauche?" he began.

"Very unhappy," she replied, sighing. "Insolent, quarrelsome, Rene LaRauche humiliated me in every possible way. I was simply his housekeeper--a vassal. He was the mighty, brainy scientist, and he never allowed me to forget it--not for one instant."

"Apparently he did not confide in you?"

"Orkins had been his manservant for some years prior to our marriage, and to him he entrusted the secrets of his scientific discoveries and inventions, rather than to me. This was only one of his many eccentricities, and I submitted to the indignity with exemplary patience."

"How do you account for his making Orkins a confidant?"

"He was too self-centered, too egotistical, to invite the confidence of brainy people. He seemed to like to impress--startle--inferior minds with his discoveries. Orkins was a highly trained servant, and a general handy man, but he was not intellectual."

"But you could easily have escaped all this bullying and domineering on the part of your husband?"

"I often considered divorce," was the reply, "but a latent sense of duty to my marriage vows prevented me from taking that step."

Here McGinity suddenly switched off that line of inquiry, and turned to another. "Why have you brought us here today?" he asked.

"To disclose certain facts which prove my husband tricked Henry Royce shamelessly in these Martian revelations."

"When did you come into possession of these facts?"

"Less than a month ago. Up to that time I had been as keenly interested in the matter, and as gullible as the rest of you, and the public at large. When Rene found that I had acquired this knowledge, and that, motivated by a deep sense of justice and fair play, I meant to disclose the real meaning of these revelations, he hid my clothes, and locked me up in that attic room, where you found me."

"How did you manage to get downstairs and phone to the Royce house, last evening?"

"Orkins, who served my meals, forgot to lock the door after him. He seemed preoccupied and nervous. It was my first opportunity to seek outside aid since my imprisonment. I stole out quietly, and crept downstairs, to the phone in the library, unaware that my husband was shadowing me."

"And he cut you short, it seems."

"Before I had a chance even to tell my name, he sprang upon me and choked me off, and then, in his usual cruel manner, bound me to the chair and bed. He acted like a maniac, I was terribly frightened." She paused, a little breathlessly, then added: "I am still in some dilemma as to how my unfinished message was understood."

"You may recall, Mrs. LaRauche, that you spoke to me," I answered. "Your voice was familiar, yet I couldn't place it at first. Finally, when I was convinced that it was your voice, the incident put us on the right track. Mr. McGinity and I already were in possession of several vital, suspicious facts, and your phone call gave us another important clue."

Then Henry spoke. "About Orkins. Had you any misgivings, Mrs. LaRauche, when he entered my service as butler? I took him, you know, on your husband's recommendation."

"It was not clear at the time," she answered. "Rene invented some explanation that Orkins wanted to make more money. Now, I know that he was deliberately planted in your house as a spy, and that he kept my husband advised on all your secret workings in science. He betrayed your confidence, as he cold-bloodedly tried to betray Rene, for that $5,000 reward."

"Do you know anything at all about Orkins' death?" Chief Meigs broke in, abruptly.

It was a pertinent question to put, but a little cruel. "No," Mrs. LaRauche replied, almost defiantly. "I do recall hearing a distant, sharp sound of some sort--it may have been the shot that killed him--but I associated it with the back-firing of an automobile on the highway. About an hour later, I heard a noise downstairs."

"That was when I smashed a panel in your front door, probably," the Chief put in.

"Shortly afterwards," Mrs. LaRauche went on, "my husband entered the attic room, looking very excited. He threw a sheet over me, and then I heard him open the back window, and climb through, on to the roof. I had the uncomfortable feeling that something sinister had occurred, and that he was bent on escape. But I was bound to the chair and helpless, and in too much anguish to think clearly."

"Mrs. LaRauche!" McGinity asked suddenly. "We are very anxious to know how your husband escaped so magically from the roof, like he had flown to the ground. Have you any theory?"

She smiled faintly, and replied: "Rene invented many peculiar things, like the robot, now used in all New York subway and railroad stations, where the traveler's usual questions are answered by a phonographic voice, by simply pressing a button. He had a great fear of fire, of being trapped by fire. Some months ago, he installed a safety device, in case of fire, on our roof."

"What was it like?" I asked, eagerly.

"Simply a heavy wire stretched tautly from the roof to the ground, and terminating at some distance away from the house, to make the descent more gradual," she replied. "In case of fire, you step into a sort of trapeze, which is attached to the wire by a grooved wheel, and your descent to the ground is something like the 'slide for life,' often seen at the circus, or in film melodramas. I can see how, in the dark, it would give the illusion of flying."

XXX

After the concerted gasp of surprise over LaRauche's weird method of escape from the roof had died away, McGinity put another important question: "How did you first discover that your husband was implicated in these Martian revelations, and that they were a fraud? Did you find anything--papers?"

"Something like that," she replied.

She took out of the little bag, which lay in her lap, a charred slip of paper, which she handed to McGinity; and while he passed it round for our inspection, she continued: "I found this paper in the charred rubbish, in the log fire-place, in my husband's laboratory, which Orkins had neglected to clean out. You'll recognize the lettering it contains as a portion of the code used for the radio messages from Mars, and its deciphering into English. After I had studied this, I began a secret investigation on my own, and gradually the scheme was unveiled to me."

"This detecting business must have been a new and novel experience," Henry remarked, good humoredly.

"Not exactly," Mrs. LaRauche replied. "You probably don't know--not many do--that I have written several mystery novels under the pen name of Martha Claxton."

This disclosure was followed by another concerted gasp of surprise. After it had subsided, McGinity exclaimed: "Well, that's certainly a knockout, Mrs. LaRauche! Why, I've read all of your novels, including the latest one, 'The Country House Mystery,' and I consider Martha Claxton--you--a close runner to the English Agatha Christie--a feminine J. S. Fletcher. No wonder your husband, with his jealous temperament, had this constitutional antagonism against any rival in his household, in the field of fame."

"Combine jealousy and revenge," Mrs. LaRauche said, "and in these two forces you have the most perverse evil in the world. Rene was not only intensely jealous of Henry Royce for his successful findings as an amateur scientist and astronomer, but he nursed a revenge against him for the exposé of those faked African jungle films, and his subsequent expulsion from the Exploration Club. He blamed--"

"Officially, I had nothing to do with it," Henry interrupted, vehemently. "I simply voiced my belief to a fellow member of the club that the films looked like fakes to me."

"What raised your suspicions?" Mrs. LaRauche asked.

"Well, I recognized, among those African jungle midgets," Henry replied, "a Negro dwarf I had seen years ago at a circus side-show. She was exhibited as a human crow. She had the remarkable physiognomy and jet blackness of a crow, and she could caw like one. She must be an old woman by now. In your husband's faked film, she took the part of a chattering, pigmy grandmother, who was thrown into the river and drowned because of her great age and uselessness. As she was engulfed in the river torrent, and sank, I recognized her pitiful 'caw-caw'."

"Fancy your remembering that," Mrs. LaRauche remarked.

Again Chief Meigs spoke abruptly. "Pardon me, Mrs. LaRauche," he said, "but how long do you reckon your husband has been out of his mind?"

She looked startled for a moment, then calmly replied. "He was silent and brooding for some months past, but I attributed this to his being deeply engrossed in some new scientific research. It's rather difficult to say when he passed into the stage of actual insanity. It's my opinion that all inventive scientists are a little bit cracked." She hesitated a moment, and smiled apologetically at Henry. "It's my belief, though," she went on, "that he became definitely deranged when the success of his scheme centered the attention of the world upon Henry Royce, and raised him to the heights of fame. Rene had not figured on this. It was like a boomerang. When he realized that his scheme was reacting to his own damage, then, perhaps, something in his brain snapped."