Mrs. Carstairs looked at him with an air half supercilious and half amused.
“Who are you, Mr. Archer,” she said, “that you should arraign me, in this manner?”
“And who are you,” thundered Archer, “that you should presume to cast aspersions at any of the Van Wyck family?”
Mr. Mellen broke in upon this controversy.
“What position do you hold in this house, Mrs. Carstairs?” he inquired, in a tone of such authority that it compelled a respectful answer.
“I have been Mr. Van Wyck’s housekeeper for seven years.”
“You were here, then, before he was married to the present Mrs. Van Wyck?”
“Five years before.”
The very tones of the housekeeper’s voice, the reminiscent look in her beautiful mysterious eyes, and the almost insolent toss of her well-poised head, fully confirmed my previous thought that she had deeply resented the advent of Anne.
Coroner Mellen looked at her a moment, and then said, as if dismissing her, “You will, of course, be called upon to give your testimony at the inquest.” His curt nod of dismissal was sufficient to send Mrs. Carstairs from the room, but she paid no heed to it, and remained sitting in her chair, without a trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness.
I couldn’t help admiring her aplomb,—her wonderful self-poise; nor could I help wondering whether she knew anything about the tragedy, or whether her sensational nature made her wish to appear mysterious.
I began to like the coroner. He was not prepossessing in appearance, being extremely young for his position, and of a sandy-haired, freckle-faced type that made him look like a blushing school-boy. But his blue eyes showed a quick intelligence, and I jumped to the conclusion that he was bright and intuitive, but inexperienced.
“I must ask a few preliminary questions,” he said, and there was a little nervous hesitation in his manner, “and I will hold my inquest this afternoon. Doctor Mason, can you tell me at what time the death of Mr. Van Wyck probably occurred?”
“He has been dead, fully nine or ten hours,” replied the doctor; “it is probable that he was killed about or after midnight. I refuse to accept the theory of suicide.”
“Was death instantaneous?” went on Mr. Mellen.
“It was; though I shall make further examination, I am already convinced that Mr. Van Wyck was stabbed with a sharp weapon by some one with murderous intent.”
“But nobody could get in!” exclaimed Mrs. Carstairs, and she sat forward, grasping the arms of her chair and gazing intently at the doctor, as if she would hypnotize him.
Although I had begun to dislike the woman, I was forced to admit to myself her marvellous charm. Every pose she assumed seemed more graceful, more picturesque than the one before; and yet I couldn’t help thinking that her effects were all carefully premeditated. She showed no self-consciousness, but her self-reliance and self-sufficiency were so marked, that I believed her a consummate actress.
“We are not considering that now,” said Mr. Mellen, looking at her keenly, and then turning to Morland, he said, “Who discovered your father’s body?”
Morland told briefly the circumstances of breaking in the door, and the coroner listened attentively and thoughtfully.
“Summon the valet,” he said, abruptly.
Mrs. Carstairs rose with a sudden start and exclaimed, “Why do you want him? He is in no way implicated in this matter! He did not attend his master last evening.”
“Good Heavens, madam,” said the coroner, amazed at this outbreak, “nobody has accused him! Pray, calm yourself. Why do you object to his presence here?”
“He is my son,” said Mrs. Carstairs.
“And if he is, that is no reason he should not be questioned.” Mr. Mellen gave a grim smile, and shook his head slightly, as if to imply that Mrs. Carstairs was a woman beyond his ken.
Morland had touched a bell, in response to which the valet appeared. He had little to tell, save to corroborate Morland’s story of the morning; but had he, himself, been guilty of crime he could not have acted more frightened. I remembered, however, that he had shown the same behavior when the alarm was first raised, and I concluded that it was merely a natural horror of death; and perhaps he had inherited his mother’s emotional disposition.
But whatever Mrs. Carstairs’s attitude toward David Van Wyck or his family, I now perceived that the woman’s all-absorbing passion was her son. She watched him with intensity. Her mobile face unconsciously followed the expressions of his countenance. She prompted his speech when he hesitated; and she interrupted, and spoke for him so frequently that Mr. Mellen was obliged to reprimand her.
But between the trembling valet and his anxious and apprehensive mother, nothing was learned that seemed to be of the least importance.
It seemed, that as Mr. Van Wyck expected to be up late with the committeemen, he had excused Carstairs from attending him when he retired, and the valet had had the evening to himself. When he went to his Master’s bedroom that morning, he found it had been unoccupied through the night, and he had raised an alarm. The rest of his story was exactly the same as Morland’s.
I could not see why his mother should be so wrought up over the matter of his appearance, but I set it down to an excessive maternal solicitude, lest he should be suspected of implication in the tragedy.
“This committee,” went on Mr. Mellen, his brows bent in perplexity, “who were they?”
“Three gentlemen from the village,” said Morland. “They met with my father last night, to discuss a business matter. They all went away before I left this room.”
Suddenly Lasseter made an announcement He had been looking over the papers that lay on the desk, and he said abruptly, “The deed of gift is gone.”
“What do you mean?” asked Coroner Mellen, alert for further information.
“Last night,” said Lasseter, “I was here during the conference of the gentlemen from the village and Mr. Van Wyck. He made out to them a deed of gift of a large sum of money. However, he retained this paper after his visitors had left. He may have put it away after I left myself, but so far I cannot find it.”
“At what time did you leave?” asked the coroner.
“Almost exactly at midnight,” returned the secretary.
“And where was the deed you speak of then?”
“Lying on this desk, in front of Mr. Van Wyck.”
“Who was here when you left, besides Mr. Van Wyck?”
“Only his son, Morland.”
“That’s a lie!” exclaimed Morland, springing up. “When I left this room at midnight, you were here alone with my father!”
To my surprise, the coroner did not question these contradictory statements. He looked at the two men without speaking, though his sharp blue eyes showed that he had understood what they said.
“The case is most mysterious,” he declared; “and I think it wiser to have no further discussion or investigation until I can hold the inquest and hear definite testimony. The facts of the absolutely inaccessible room and the entire absence of the fatal weapon are so irreconcilable, that I confess I am baffled. I think the only course to pursue, is to engage the services of a clever and experienced detective.”
“There is no occasion for such a thing,” said Mrs. Carstairs, quite as if she were in authority; “I object to it very decidedly.”
The coroner looked at her appraisingly, and then turned to Morland Van Wyck. Though he said no word, it was quite evident he was inquiring from whom he should take orders. My liking for Mr. Mellen deepened.