The Almost Perfect Murder by Hulbert Footner (reading the story of the TXT) 📕

class="calibre1">telephoned for the doctor and for Jarboe. He tried to get Mrs. Varick,

but she was out of the house. During the brief interval that elapsed

before the arrival of the doctor, the valet applied what restoratives

his experience suggested.

 

“Gabbitt, did you suspect poison?” Mme. Storey asked. (I ought to

state that the valet knew by this time what had happened.)

 

“Well, ma’am,” he answered, “I think the thought was somewhere in the

back of my head, but I did not acknowledge it. Being but a servant, I

left it to my betters.”

 

In one respect Gabbitt’s story differed sharply from Dr. Slingluff’s.

Up to the moment that he was sent out for atropine, the Commodore’s

mind, he insisted, was perfectly clear. The sick man would allow no

one to be sent for but his wife and the doctor. He evinced an

agonising anxiety lest the doctor might not come in time, but it was

not with any idea that he could be saved. He knew he was dying.

 

“Did he suggest that he had been poisoned?”

 

“No, ma’am, no! He kept sayin’ it was gastritis.”

 

“H’m!” said Mme. Storey.

 

“He said one thing that was strange,” Gabbitt went on, biting his

lip—it was the first evidence of emotion the little man had shown; “He

says, ‘Gabbitt, if I should go out of my head, I beg of you never to

repeat what I say! Bury it in your breast!’” The little valet turned

away and made believe to arrange some objects on the table. “That hurt

me, ma’am,” he murmured. “But I didn’t let on anything. I just

pressed his hand, and he seemed satisfied…. As if I would have given

him away! After twenty years!…”

 

He straightened up and went on in his ordinary voice: “There was no

need for me to go for the atropine, but I got the idea the Commodore

had something private to tell the doctor, so I left the room. I have

seen men die before, and I knew that neither atropine nor nothing else

could save my master then. I wasn’t gone but ten minutes. When I got

back he was dead.”

 

“Gabbitt,” said Mme. Storey, “who was the last person he saw before he

was taken sick?”

 

“Why, ma’am, so far as I know it was Miss Priestley,” was the answer.

“Him and her had their tea together every afternoon at four when he was

home.”

 

“Miss Priestley?”

 

“His secretary, ‘m. That is to say, his literary secretary. That is

the young lady who is working the typewriter in the next room.”

 

“Why do you call her literary secretary?”

 

“To distinguish her from his private secretary and his financial

secretary. Those two are gentlemen. The Commodore was writing his

memoirs, and Miss Priestley was engaged to help him with that. Every

afternoon from two until four, when his engagements permitted, they

worked together, and after tea the young lady went home.”

 

“And tea was served yesterday as usual?”

 

“Yes’m. I took it in myself from Hannaford, one of the maids, and set

it out on this very table. Then I called my master, and went down to

my own tea in the servants’ hall.”

 

“What did the tea consist of?”

 

“Just thin bread and butter, ‘m, and a plain cake. The Commodore ate

very plain, along of his gastritis, but he does love his tea—did love

it, I mean. He would drink two or three cups of an afternoon.”

 

“Gabbitt, tell me the exact arrangement of the tea tray,” said my

employer. While she listened to him, she lit a cigarette.

 

“Yes’m. All they sent up from downstairs was the bread and butter and

the cake; also cream if required; the Commodore did not use it himself.

The Commodore’s own special brand of tea I keep up here in a silver

tea-caddy, also the silver kettle which plugs into an electric outlet.

The Commodore had his own notions about how tea should be made; he

wanted every cup made separate. So the tea was put into silver tea

balls which were dipped into the cups after the boiling water was

drawn.”

 

“Did the Commodore do this himself?”

 

“Oh, no, ‘m. If there was a lady at the table she did the honours.”

 

“Did the Commodore take his tea weak or strong?”

 

“Very strong, ‘m. He liked to taste it bitter.”

 

“Did the Commodore and Miss Priestley always have tea alone together?”

 

“No, ‘m. There might be other guests from time to time. Or if the

Commodore had special guests, Miss Priestley might take her tea in the

housekeeper’s room.”

 

“When you were called back upstairs had the tea things been removed?”

 

“I can’t say, ma’am. I was too excited to take notice. After my

master was dead I tidied up, not knowin’ what else to do. They was

gone then.”

 

Mme. Storey pressed out the lighted end of her cigarette in an ash

tray. “All right, Gabbitt; thank you very much,” she said. “We had

better talk to Miss Priestley, since she is close at hand.”

V

When we entered the office for the second time, the girl arose from her

machine and turned around as if she had guessed what we came for. I

was astonished when I saw her. Certainly the Varicks, both husband and

wife, had a flair for beauty in choosing those who served them. Miss

Priestley was a very Juno, a maiden Juno, tall and dark with Juno’s

short upper lip, straight nose and haughty glance. Superb! However, I

withheld my judgment for a while because I have learned that these

goddess-like shells sometimes house very small souls. I wondered if

the solution to the mystery lay in her. She was visibly all keyed up,

but that was natural. She had herself under good control.

 

She knew as much as Gabbitt did of the situation, consequently it was

not necessary to enter into explanations. My employer introduced

herself, and, in order to persuade the girl to relax, murmured the

obvious things about what a sad occasion it was, etc., etc. The

secretary rose to it like any woman—in words, but with a curiously

monotonous voice like a child repeating a lesson. Her remote glance

did not share in what she was saying. She was like a beautiful statue

with a phonograph inside it.

 

“Yes, I have lost more than my job here,” she said, “I have lost a

friend. All I can do for him now is to finish his work.” She waved

her hand towards the machine.

 

“Sit down,” said Mme. Storey soothingly. “I am told that you were

perhaps the last person to see the Commodore before he was taken sick,

and I look to you to help me.”

 

“Certainly,” said Miss Priestley—but she did not sit. “Anything I can

do. However, I am not the one you are looking for.”

 

Her odd manner intrigued my employer. “No?” she said with half a

smile. She was studying the girl through her lashes.

 

The secretary went on in her toneless voice: “You have been told that I

had tea with the Commodore yesterday, but I did not.”

 

“Who did?”

 

She made a slight gesture with her hand. “Secrecy was enjoined upon

me, but I suppose everything has got to come out now. It was the

Princess Cristina von Habsburg.”

 

The amused look faded out of Mme. Storey’s eyes. “So?” she said

quietly. “What were the circumstances?”

 

“Commodore Varick wished to have a private talk with the Princess

without anybody in the house knowing about it. Everything is gossiped

about so. The Princess is staying in the house. As soon as the tea

had been brought, and Gabbitt had gone down to his tea, I was sent to

fetch her. Her suite is on the south side of the house. I brought her

to the door of the Commodore’s study, and then I went down and had tea

with Mrs. Colford in her room.”

 

“Mrs. Colford being the housekeeper?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What did Commodore Varick want to talk to the Princess about?”

 

Miss Priestley answered with a perfectly expressionless face: “I don’t

know. That is outside my province.”

 

It was pretty clear that she was lying here, but it would have done no

good to tax her with it. Mme. Storey went on: “How long did she remain

in his study?”

 

“I can’t tell you. I did not see her again. After I had finished my

tea, I went home. That was before the news of the Commodore’s illness

had got about. I knew nothing of it until I read it in the newspaper

this morning.”

 

“What a shock it must have given you!” murmured Mme. Storey.

 

“Yes,” said the girl. Not a muscle of her face changed when she said

it. An extraordinary person.

 

“Where is the Princess now?” asked my employer.

 

“I understand that she has left the house, but I cannot tell you where

she has gone.”

 

“Let us ask Jarboe.” My employer looked about the room. “May I ring?”

 

“The telephone is quicker,” said Miss Priestley. She took down the

receiver, and said in the same cold toneless voice: “Please ask Mr.

Jarboe to come to the Commodore’s office for a moment.”

 

While we waited for Jarboe, Mme. Storey lit a cigarette. Miss

Priestley declined one. My employer sauntered about the room making

polite conversation. But I knew of old that her mind was not

necessarily idle when she was making idle talk. I could see that her

eyes were busy; I could see too, that the secretary was covertly

watching her with a strained air; and for the dozenth time that day I

asked myself: What dreadful secret does this grand house conceal!

 

Jarboe was quickly at the door. He knew that Mme. Storey was a person

to be deferred to. She asked him at once what had become of the

Princess.

 

Jarboe, of course, had had to be taken into the family confidence as

far as anybody, but he was the butler of butlers, and though murder

stalked through the house, there was not the slightest alteration in

his usual demeanour. His superb aplomb might have concealed

anything—or nothing. He said:

 

“Her Highness left the house shortly after four yesterday afternoon,

Madame.”

 

“Did you see her go?”

 

“No, Madame, nobody saw her leave except Wilcox the footman, who was

attending upon the front door.”

 

“What did he tell you?”

 

“He told me that the Princess came running downstairs alone, in a high

state of agitation. In fact, she was weeping. Wilcox was very much

upset. He thought it most unseemly that her Highness should appear

upon the street in such state, and he hesitated about opening the door.

She stamped her foot, and commanded him to open it, and of course, he

had no recourse but to obey. He came immediately to tell me, and I

went to the Princess’s suite. I found that her lady-in-waiting, Madame

von Hofstetter, did not know that the Princess had left the house. She

was greatly upset. However…”

 

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Mme. Storey; “did she have no hat on when

she ran out of the house?”

 

Miss Priestley answered. “She already had her hat on when I fetched

her.”

 

“I see. Go on, please, Jarboe.”

 

“While I was still talking to Madame von Hofstetter,” he continued,

“the telephone rang, and it was the Princess. She ordered Madame von

Hofstetter and her maids to follow her immediately to the Hotel

Madagascar. They packed very hastily, and left within