away that tray,” said Wise, shortly.
Old Thorpe was called in, and told his story.
“I came in for the tray,” he said, “and seein’—what I did see—I was fair knocked out. I did as usual, and picked up the tray to carry it to the kitchen. Mr. Tracy was by the tray at the time, and he was pourin’ hot water into the teacups. I don’t think the man knew what he was about,—none of us did, and small wonder!”
Thorpe knew nothing of the recent developments regarding Tracy, and Wise pursued: “Do you remember whether Mr. Tracy poured hot water over the broken cup?”
“That’s just what he was doin’, sir, that’s why I thought he didn’t rightly know what he was about.”
“You may go, Thorpe,” said Wise.
“You see,” he continued after the old man had gone, “Tracy poured boiling hot water from the afternoon teakettle over the broken cup, that all evidence of poison might be removed, if the bits of china were examined. I’ve not heard of that being done, however, but a guilty conscience would naturally fear it. That little incident shows the astuteness of his criminal mind.”
“It does!” cried Professor Hardwick. “What a depraved, a demoniacal nature must be his! Where did he come from? Who introduced him to our party?”
“I did,” said Rudolph Braye. “I had, of course, no suspicion of his real nature. I met Tracy on the train, travelling from Chicago to New York, about a year ago. He was a pleasant smoking room companion, and I’ve seen him several times since, in New York. I had no reason to think him other than what he represented himself, a clergyman, with a church in Chicago. He impressed me as a fine, congenial sort, and when Mrs. Landon asked me to suggest another member for our house party, I thought of him at once. His cloth seemed to me to be his adequate credentials and, in fact, I never gave a thought to his possible duplicity! Nor can I reconcile the facts, even yet. How do you know these things, Mr. Wise? Are you not romancing a little?”
“No, Mr. Braye, I am not even surmising. What I have stated is true, because there is no other possible deduction from the facts I have learned. I have identified the man Tracy who was here with you as the notorious Smug Johnny of Chicago. Do you need further knowledge of him to believe that he is the criminal in this case, rather than one of your own immediate circle?”
“No,” and Milly shuddered; “it is bad enough that it should have been Mr. Tracy, but far better than to suspect one of us here.”
“Furthermore,” continued Wise, “let us look into the details of the death of Vernie Reid. Who can give me the exact facts as noticed?”
“I,” said Eve Carnforth; “and, now, as I look back, I see it all in a different light! I was looking at Mr. Bruce, as everybody was, startled by the sound of crashing china, and I heard Mr. Tracy say, ‘Vernie, child! What is the matter?’ or some such words. Then he ran quickly to her side and held her up in his arms, while I ran to them and helped him to lay her on the sofa.”
“See?” said Wise; “at the moment Tracy sprang toward the girl she was unharmed, and as he put his arm round her, he scratched her arm with a sharp pointed instrument, which had been dipped in the awful poison that we have learned of. It is said to be similar to that with which the barbarians of South America tip their arrows. But the least scratch is instantly fatal, and proved so in Vernie’s case. The instrument he used, we have reason to think, was a steel pen.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Professor Hardwick.
“Because Zizi found a few new ones in Tracy’s room, that had not been used for writing purposes. There were five in a small paper parcel. We have found that he bought these at a shop in the village, buying six at the time. This is merely a shred of evidence, but the fact that Zizi found the pens became known to Mr. Tracy, in fact he caught her searching his room. It was this that made him try to do away with the child.”
“Tracy? Do away with Zizi!” exclaimed Braye. “Why, he was gone away from here, then.”
“No. He had left the house, but he was lurking about, and after all had retired that night, he came through the revolving column, and kidnapped Zizi, and threw her into the lake,—as he had previously thrown in the body of Vernie Reid. That, he did, lest the scratch on her arm be discovered by the doctors, and he be suspected.”
“Then it was Tracy who discovered the secret of the revolving column,” said Braye, thoughtfully. “You take a great deal for granted, Mr. Wise.”
“I take nothing for granted, save what the facts prove, Mr. Braye. That Tracy used the revolving column is positive. Do you not all remember the night when Professor Hardwick saw the apparition of the Shawled Woman? On that night Mr. Tracy was supposed to be in Boston. As a matter of fact, he was not, he had left the house, saying he was going to Boston but he remained in hiding near the house, played ghost, and then went on his way.”
“I was in New York that night,” said Braye, musingly. “But, look here, Mr. Wise, one afternoon, about dusk, Miss Cameron and I distinctly saw the apparition of the Shawled Woman in the Room with the Tassels when we ourselves were out of doors. We saw it through the window,—don’t you remember, Norma?”
“I do,——”
“Then that was Mr. Tracy’s doings also,” declared Wise. “How simple for him to get the paraphernalia from the column, where it was always in readiness, make his appearance to frighten you two, and then return the shawl and so forth before you could enter and catch him.”
“It would have been possible,” agreed Braye, and then Hardwick began.
“There were many other strange things to be accounted for, such as moanings and rustlings in the morning at four o’clock, and also occasional odours of prussic acid, without apparent reason.”
“Lay them all to Tracy,” said Wise, “you won’t be far out. Now, who was running that Ouija board the night it said the two people would die at four o’clock?”
“Vernie and Mr. Tracy,” said Norma, “but when it said that, Mr. Tracy took his hands off and said he would have no more to do with it. He said he believed Vernie pushed it to those letters.”
“He was a good actor,” said Wise, looking grave and sighing; “he fooled you all, it would seem.”
“He certainly fooled me, good and plenty,” said Braye, angrily. “You say you have him in custody, Mr. Wise?”
“I did not say that, but I have him under such surveillance that he cannot get away. There are some other matters to be discussed. Granting Tracy’s guilt, what do you ascribe as a motive?”
There was a profound silence. What could have been the motive for a perfect stranger to kill with deliberation two people who had never injured him in any way, and from whose death he could expect no pecuniary advantage?
“Look here,” said Wynne Landon, suddenly, “Mr. Tracy went away from here because the spectre appeared to him. How do you account for that?”
“Mr. Tracy said so,” returned Wise, “but that story of his ghostly vision was made up out of the whole cloth,—which was all of the ‘cloth’ with which he ever had to do.”
“He made up that yarn, then, as an excuse to get away?” said Hardwick.
“He did just that,” replied Wise. “But what has any one to suggest as Mr. Tracy’s motive for the crimes he committed?”
“Plain homicidal mania,” offered Hardwick, at last, as no one else spoke.
“No,” said Wise, “John Tracy is not of that type. Such people are abnormal, they have special physical characteristics, and they are easily recognized, once suspicion is attached to them. Tracy is a quiet, even debonair character, he is even-tempered, gentle-mannered and though deeply clever he hides it under a mask of kindliness and consideration. Victims of what is called