words.
"I'm glad to find you alone, Mr. Janney. I 'phoned up and heard from Dixon that the ladies were out and that's why I came. I want to consult you before I say anything to Mrs. Janney."
"That's quite right," said Mr. Janney, then added with a feeble attempt at lightness, "Are you, as the children say, getting any warmer?"
"We're very warm. In fact I think we've almost got there. But it's rather a ticklish situation."
Mr. Janney did not answer; he glanced at his shoes, then at the silver on the desk. For the moment he was too perturbed to look at Kissam's shrewd, attentive face.
"It's so out of the ordinary run," the man went on, "and so much is involved that I decided not to move without first telling you. The family being so prominent – "
"The family!" Mr. Janney spoke before he thought, his limp hands suddenly clenching on the arms of the chair.
The detective's eyes steadied on the gripped fingers.
"What do you mean? Let me have it straight," said the old man huskily.
Kissam put his hand in his hip pocket and drew out an electric torch which he put on the desk.
"This torch I myself found two days ago in a desk in Mrs. Price's room. It was pushed back in a drawer which was full of letters and papers. It fits the description of the torch that was lost by Mrs. Price's little girl."
Mr. Janney's head sunk forward on his breast, and Kissam knew now that his suspicions were correct and that the old man had known all along. He was sorry for him:
"Mrs. Price not being your daughter, Mr. Janney, I decided to come to you. I suspected her after the second day and I'll tell you why. I had a private interview with that woman Elspeth, Mrs. Janney's maid, and she told me of a quarrel she had overheard between Mrs. Janney and her daughter. The subject of the quarrel was money, Mrs. Price asking for a large sum to meet certain debts and losses in the stock market which Mrs. Janney refused to give her. That supplied the motive and gave me the lead. The loss of the torch was also significant. The child was confident – and children are very accurate – that she had left it on the table in her nursery when she went to bed. The proximity of the two rooms made the theft of the torch an easy matter. What puzzled me was how Mrs. Price had gained access to the safe, but that was cleared up when the written combination was found in your desk here; and finally I ran across what I should call perfectly conclusive evidence in Mrs. Price's room. I don't refer only to the torch, but to the fact that a wrapper that was hanging in the back of one of the closets showed a smudge of varnish on the skirt."
Mr. Janney leaned forward over his clasped hands, feeling wan and shriveled.
"If your surmise is right," he said, "where has she put them?"
"If!" echoed the other. "I don't see any if about it. You can't suspect either of the men servants – reliable people of established character – nor Miss Maitland. A girl in her position – even if she happened to be dishonest, which I don't for a moment think she is – wouldn't tackle a job as big as that. Come, Mr. Janney, we don't need to dodge around the stump. As soon as I'd spoken I saw you thought Mrs. Price had done it."
The old man nodded and said sadly:
"I did."
"Would you mind telling me why you did?"
There was nothing for it but to tell, and he told, the detective suppressing a grin of triumph. It cleared up everything, was as conclusive as if they'd seen her commit the act.
"As for where she put them," he said, "she may have a hiding place in the house that we haven't discovered, or cached them outside. In matters like this women sometimes show a remarkable cunning. I've looked up her movements on the Saturday and it's possible she hid them somewhere in the woods. She left the house at twelve, carrying a silk work bag, walked past Ferguson's place and talked there with him in the garden for about fifteen minutes, went on to the beach, sat there a while, and then walked to the Fairfax house on the bluff, where she stayed to lunch, coming back here about half-past four. She had ample opportunity during that time and in the places she passed through to find a cache for them."
Mr. Janney raised a gray, pitiful face:
"Mr. Kissam, if Mrs. Janney knew this it would kill her."
Kissam gave back an understanding look:
"That's why I came to you."
"Then it must stop here – with me." The old man spoke with a sudden, fierce vehemence. "It can't go further. The girl's been a torment and a trouble for years. I won't let her end by breaking her mother's heart, bringing her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Good God, I'd rather say I did it myself."
"There's no need for that. We can let it fizzle out, die down gradually." He gave a slight, sardonic smile. "I've happened on this sort of thing before, Mr. Janney. The rich have their skeletons in the closet, and I've helped to keep 'em there, shut in tight."
"Then for heaven's sake do it in this case – help me hide this skeleton. Keep up the search for a while so that Mrs. Janney won't suspect anything; play your part. Mr. Kissam, if you'll aid me in keeping this dark there's nothing I wouldn't do to repay you."
Kissam disclaimed all desire for reward. His professional pride was justified; he had made good to his own satisfaction. And, as he had said, the case presented no startling novelty to his seasoned experience. Many times he had helped distracted families to suppress ugly revelations, presented an impregnable front to the press, and seen, with a cynical amusement, columns shrink to paragraphs and the public's curiosity fade to the vanishing point. He promised he would aid in the slow quenching of the Janney sensation, gradually let it flicker out, keep his men on the job for a while longer for Mrs. Janney's benefit, and finally let the matter decline to the status of an "unsolved mystery."
As to the restoration of the jewels he gave advice. Say nothing for a time, sit quiet and give no sign. If she was as thoroughly scared as she ought to be, she would probably return them – they would wake one fine morning and find everything back in the safe. If, however, she tried to realize on them it would be easy to trace them – he would be on the watch – and then Mr. Janney could confront her with his knowledge and have her under his thumb forever.
Mr. Janney was extremely grateful – not at the prospect of having Suzanne under his thumb, that was too complete a reversal of positions to be comfortable – but at the detective's kindly comprehension and aid. With tears in his eyes he wrung Kissam's hand and honored him by a personal escort to the front door.
CHAPTER VII – CONCERNING DETECTIVES
Kissam kept his word and the interest in the Janney robbery began to languish. Detectives still came and went, morning trains still disgorged reporters, but it was not as it had been. The first, fine careless rapture of the chase was over; nothing new was discovered, nothing old developed. The house settled back to its methodical régime, the faces of its inmates lost their looks of harassed distress.
Mr. Janney, though much pacified, was not yet restored to his normal poise. His wife was now the object of his secret attention, for he knew her to be a very sharp and observant person, and the fear that she might "catch on" haunted him. It was therefore very upsetting when she remarked one morning at breakfast that "those men didn't seem to be doing much. They were just where they had been ten days ago."
He tried to reassure her – it would be a long slow affair – didn't she remember the James case, where a year after the theft the jewels were found under the skin of a ham hanging in the cellar? Mrs. Janney was not appeased, she scoffed at the ham, and said the detectives were the stupidest body of men in the country outside Congress. She was going to offer a reward, ten thousand dollars – and then she muttered something about "taking a hand herself." In answer to Mr. Janney's alarmed questions she quieted down, laughed, and said she didn't mean anything.
She did, however, and had Mr. Janney known it wakeful nights would again have been his portion. But she had no intention of telling him. She had seen that he was worn out, a mere bundle of nerves, and what she intended to do would be done without his knowledge or connivance. This was to start a private inquiry of her own. The written combination,