discussed at some length the question of sending for Fleming Stone, but so strong was the opposition of the Van Wycks, of the detective, and of Condron Archer, that I forbore to insist, and the matter was left unsettled.
But later I discussed it alone with Archer. “Don’t do it,” he said to me earnestly. “Don’t you see that to get Stone here might implicate Anne?”
“Why,” said I, in surprise, “my motive in getting him would be to prove Anne’s innocence!”
“Then, if you want to prove Anne Van Wyck innocent, or even to continue to think her so, don’t send for Stone;” and with these words, Archer turned on his heel and left me.
I went to the study, hoping to find Morland there, and to persuade him to agree to my views. But there was no one in the study except the secretary.
“Mr. Lasseter,” I said, “as man to man, won’t you explain to me why you and Morland persist in those conflicting stories?”
“My story is the true one,” said Lasseter, looking me squarely in the eye. “When I left the room that night, Morland sat here”—indicating a large carved seat near the fireplace—“and Mr. Van Wyck was at his desk. It all occurred as I related at the inquest. And, Mr. Sturgis, I will tell you what I have not told any one else. After going out of the door, I went around the study and half way down the front path to the road. Then, on an impulse which I cannot explain, I turned back and went and looked in at the study window—not the door, but the window at the farther end. And I distinctly saw Morland bending over his father’s desk. Of course at that time I had no thought of tragedy, and I hoped that father and son would make up their quarrel then and there. I merely glanced in, and, turning away again, went straight home.”
“Why didn’t you tell of this at the inquest?”
“Because, though it would, in a way, prove my story, in the face of the tragedy I feared it might make things look black for Morland.”
“You don’t suspect him of—of any wrongdoing!”
“No, I can’t. But it is all mysterious, and I agree with you in wishing that we could have the great Fleming Stone look into it.”
“Why, I thought you didn’t want him!”
“Personally I do; but since Miss Van Wyck is so opposed to the idea, I should rather defer to her wishes than insist upon my own.”
“Oh, I see; I didn’t understand before.”
“Yes,” said Lasseter frankly; “although we’re not formally engaged, I hope to make Barbara Van Wyck my wife; and so, you see, I cannot endorse a course of action to which she is so definitely opposed.”
This was true enough, and I told him so. I couldn’t help liking Lasseter, and some things about him which I had thought strange were explained by what he had just told me.
From him I went straight to Morland. “Tell me,” I said to him, in a confidential way, “why did you and Lasseter contradict each other at the inquest?”
“I wondered you didn’t ask me that long ago,” he said, seeming not at all offended. “You see, it is this way. I was sitting on that old bench by the fireplace. But it is in a dark corner, and I was in a shadow; for after the committee left we had turned off some of the lights, and the shaded desk-light and the firelight made pretty much all the illumination there was. I was tired and discouraged with the whole matter, and I left the room quietly, just before twelve, without even saying good-night. Father and Lasseter were talking, and I don’t believe they heard me go. So when Lasseter said good-night to me, as he says he did, he really thought I was there; and if Father spoke to me, why, he must have thought so, too.”
This was all plausible enough, and the young man’s frank manner convinced me of its truth. But there was another point to be cleared up.
“All right, Morland,” I said. “That does explain things. You left the room just before midnight, and a moment or two later Lasseter went home, and said good-night to you, thinking you were there. But, a little later still, you returned.”
“What!” cried Morland, and he turned fairly livid with rage. “What do you mean, Sturgis?”
“What do you mean by getting so excited over it? You did return, and you were seen.”
“By whom?”
“Never mind that now.”
Morland looked straight at me. There was fear in his eyes, but there was also a strong ring of truth in his voice as he said, “Sturgis, if I returned to the study, and if I was seen there, then the one who saw me is the murderer! Send for your Fleming Stone and discover who it may be!”
Without another word, Morland strode away, leaving me completely bewildered by his words.
Chapter XVIII.
Fleming Stone Arrives
When I went to my room to dress for dinner, I thought the matter over very definitely, before deciding to send for Stone. It was a somewhat radical move on my part, and I was not sure that I was entirely justified; but I felt that I must clear Anne of any possible breath of suspicion. And as I was unable to do this by myself, I wanted the best possible assistance I could find. And yet everybody was opposed to the coming of the great detective. I felt sure that Barbara didn’t want him to come, because she suspected the guilt of either her brother or the secretary. I could see this from the way in which she looked at both men, and from some slight hints she had inadvertently dropped in conversation. And since it seemed to be fairly well proven that Morland Van Wyck and Barclay Lasseter were the last two people known to be with David Van Wyck, then one was, in a way, justified in suspecting one or both of these men. And Barbara, fearful that Fleming Stone’s coming would mean disaster to her brother or her lover, naturally protested against it
Condron Archer had said frankly that he didn’t want Stone to come, lest he might implicate Anne; and when I remembered Anne’s various inexplicable actions, and especially her agitation during the search in her room, I too trembled to think what Fleming Stone’s investigations might disclose.
Markham, the detective, I knew, didn’t want Stone, but that I ascribed to a petty professional jealousy. Of course the two detectives were not to be mentioned on the same day of the week, but Markham, in his ignorance, considered himself quite the peer of Stone.
But, on the other hand, Lasseter, I knew, really wanted Stone, and only refrained from saying so out of consideration for Barbara. This to me was a fair proof of Lasseter’s own innocence. And, indeed, no breath of real suspicion had fallen on the secretary, except the general fact that he had had opportunity to steal the pearls, had he been inclined to do so.
But what had brought my inclinations to a positive decision was the fact that Morland had said to send for Fleming Stone. He said it in the heat of passion and under the influence of anger; but he had said it, and I decided to consider that as authority. So I concluded to write at once, before Morland could retract his permission.
I made a rapid toilet, and found I had time enough left before dinner to write my letter.
It was not an easy matter, for I was not one of the principals in the case, and I didn’t wish to tell Stone of my hopes regarding Anne. But I wrote a straightforward account of everything, and I begged him to come at once. I told him frankly that most of the household were opposed to his coming, but that Morland had sanctioned it, and that if there were ever any question of authority, I would assume all the responsibility of having asked him, and would also be responsible for the financial settlement. As I wrote, my mind became more firmly made up that I was doing right. I could never marry Anne while she was under this cloud, and, even should she refuse to marry me, I must free her from any taint of suspicion regarding her husband’s death. Of Archer’s hint that Stone’s coming might convict Anne