And if so, it should prove useful. The box it fitted might contain papers or documents valuable as evidence. Considered as part of Mr. Pembroke's estate, it should of course be given into Leroy's charge; but considered as evidence in the Pembroke case, I surely had a right to use it.
Deciding upon my course of action then, I went straight to the Coroner's and asked him for the key. He hesitated at first, but when I gave him the result of my own cogitation on the subject, he said: "You may as well take it, for at least you can find where it belongs. They won't let you open the box, as you are not the executor of the estate, so it can do no harm."
I didn't dispute the point, but I felt a secret conviction that if I found the box to which the key belonged, I should somehow get sight of its contents.
As Mr. Ross seemed inclined to talk about the Pembroke matter I went on to discuss the other clues. He announced his intention of calling in a professional detective, but was waiting for Leroy's return before doing so.
"We've clues enough for a whole gang of burglars," he remarked. "I supposed of course most of these things,"—he was looking over my list,—"would be recognized by some of the family. But since they were not, they would seem to mean something definite in the way of evidence. However, I shall give them all to a detective as soon as possible, and if he can deduce any intruder from outside, and can explain how he effected an entrance, he will be cleverer than any detective in a story-book."
"You have all the clues, I suppose," I said, feeling a distinct sense of dismay at the thought of his detective.
"Yes," he said, opening a drawer of his desk.
With no definite purpose, I examined them, and noted on my list such details as the date and seat numbers on the ticket stubs, the date and wording of the telegram, the initials on the handkerchief and such matters.
"What is this?" I asked, as I noticed an opened envelope addressed to Robert Pembroke.
"That is our newest exhibit," said the Coroner; "it was brought me within the last hour by Inspector Crawford, and it seems to me to eliminate the torn telegram from our case entirely. Read it."
I took the letter from the envelope, and glancing first at the signature saw the name Jonathan Scudder. The letter went on to state that the writer would not be able to call on Mr. Pembroke on Wednesday evening, as he had telegraphed that he would.
"This, then is the mysterious J. S.," I said, "and, as you say it makes it unnecessary for us to trade that clue further."
"Yes," returned Mr. Ross, "but of course it was not a real clue any way, for neither J. S. nor anyone else could enter a chained door."
That everlasting chain! Why do people have chains on their front doors, any way? There was one on our own door, but we never used it, and I wished to Heaven that Janet Pembroke had never used hers! They were supposed to be a safeguard, but in this case this infernal chain was condemning evidence against the woman I loved! That is, it condemned her in the eyes of others, but not in my eyes; nothing could ever do that!
But there was no use of declaring my convictions to the Coroner. He was just as positive that Janet Pembroke was guilty as I was that she was innocent.
However, all question of J. S. was settled. He was Jonathan Scudder, and whether or not he was the man whom Mr. Pembroke had sometimes called John Strong, made no difference to our case. I read the letter again, but it was of little interest and taking the key, which Mr. Ross gave me, I went away.
Somehow, I was not so buoyantly hopeful after my interview with the Coroner as I had been before. The letter from Mr. Scudder did not affect me, it was of no consequence at all, but the Coroner's unshakable conviction of Janet's wrong-doing had made me realize that my own belief was founded not on facts but on my own glorious fancies.
Very well, then, I concluded, I will go to work and get facts that will coincide with my beliefs. Action was better than theorizing, any way, and I went at once to the bank which I had been told carried Mr. Pembroke's account.
But there I was informed that the key I showed was not the property of that bank or any of its departments. Nor could they tell me to what bank or company it did belong. I suspected they might have given me at least a hint of where to look, but as I was unknown to them personally, and they had no knowledge of how I had come by the key, they naturally were conservative on the subject.
I could have explained the situation to them, but I knew it would be useless, as, if I were trying to use the key with fraudulent intent it was just the sort of a story I should have invented. So I turned away, a little despondent, but determined to keep on with my search, if I had to visit every bank in the city.
It was a weary search. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, I took a taxicab and methodically made the rounds of the prominent banks.
But as I met with no success, I concluded finally that such attempt was useless. I suspected that perhaps the bank officials suspected me, and would not give me information. This roused my ire, and as a next step I went to the office of the firm who made the key. As the makers' name was stamped on it I had no difficulty in finding them. Of course they were quite able to tell me for what institution that key had been made, but they were at first unwilling to do so. It was only after a full statement of my case and proofs of my own identity that I gained from them the information that the key had been made for The Sterling Safe Deposit Co.
Chapter XIV.
Mrs. Altonstall
The Sterling Safe Deposit Company! Well, at last I had some definite information! At last I had something to work upon! I went at once to the deposit company, and asked for an interview with the manager. I had difficulty in persuading him to grant my request, but after realizing the gravity of the situation and the significance of the clue, he told me that that key belonged to a safe deposit box rented by a Mrs. Altonstall, who lived on West Fifty-eighth Street.
I looked at my watch. It was almost five o'clock, but I concluded to go at once to call on the lady.
As I went up there in a taxicab, my brain was in a whirl. The key of a safe deposit box, not Mr. Pembroke's own, but belonging to a woman! found in his room, after a crime which it was assumed was committed by a woman!
Who was Mrs. Altonstall? And why should she murder Robert Pembroke? This question opened such a wide field for speculation that it was unanswerable. Had the deed really been done by a woman? And was I, even now, about to verify this?
I felt an uncertainty about proceeding. Ought I not to place the whole matter in the hands of the Coroner? Was I not taking too much upon myself to investigate alone this new evidence?
But, I reasoned, delay might be dangerous. If the Coroner were to postpone until next day an interview with this woman, might she not have already effected her escape? Was it not wiser that I should go there at once, and lose no time in securing any possible information?
At any rate, I went, resolved to take the consequences of my deed, whatever they might be.
The address given me proved to be a large and handsome apartment house. At the office I inquired for Mrs. Altonstall and being informed that she was at home, I sent up my card, for I judged that the most open and straightforward measures were the best.
A moment later I was informed that Mrs. Altonstall would see me, and entering the elevator I went at once to her apartment.
The general effects of grandeur throughout the house and the elegance of Mrs. Altonstall's own room, made me wonder afresh if I could by any possibility be on the track of a criminal. Surely, the criminal classes did not live in a style implying such respectability and aristocracy as these surroundings seemed to indicate. But of course I realized that a woman who could commit murder was not necessarily found among the criminal classes, and indeed, being an exceptional individual, might be looked for in any setting.
But