The Greatest Murder Mysteries of Mary Roberts Rinehart - 25 Titles in One Edition
Wells.
"You say, Doctor, that you came back to take these women away from the house. Why?"
The Doctor gave him a dignified stare.
"Miss Van Gorder has already explained."
Miss Cornelia elucidated. "Mr. Anderson has already formed a theory of the crime," she said with a trace of sarcasm in her tones.
The detective turned on her quickly. "I haven't said that." He started.
It had come again—tinkling—persistent.—the phone call from nowhere—the ringing of the bell of the house telephone!
"The house telephone—again!" breathed Dale. Miss Cornelia made a movement to answer the tinkling, inexplicable bell. But Anderson was before her.
"I'll answer that!" he barked. He sprang to the phone.
"Hello—hello—"
All eyes were bent on him nervously—the Doctor's face, in particular, seemed a very study in fear and amazement. He clutched the back of a chair to support himself, his hand was the trembling hand of a sick, old man.
"Hello—hello—" Anderson swore impatiently. He hung up the phone.
"There's nobody there!"
Again, a chill breath from another world than ours seemed to brush across the faces of the little group in the living-room. Dale, sensitive, impressionable, felt a cold, uncanny prickling at the roots of her hair.
A light came into Anderson's eyes. "Where's that Jap?" he almost shouted.
"He just went out," said Miss Cornelia. The cold fear, the fear of the unearthly, subsided from around Dale's heart, leaving her shaken but more at peace.
The detective turned swiftly to the Doctor, as if to put his case before the eyes of an unprejudiced witness.
"That Jap rang the phone," he said decisively. "Miss Van Gorder believes that this murder is the culmination of the series of mysterious happenings that caused her to send for me. I do not."
"Then what is the significance of the anonymous letters?" broke in Miss Cornelia heatedly. "Of the man Lizzie saw going up the stairs, of the attempt to break into this house—of the ringing of that telephone bell?"
Anderson replied with one deliberate word.
"Terrorization," he said.
The Doctor moistened his dry lips in an effort to speak.
"By whom?" he asked.
Anderson's voice was an icicle.
"I imagine by Miss Van Gorder's servants. By that woman there—" he pointed at Lizzie, who rose indignantly to deny the charge. But he gave her no time for denial. He rushed on, "—who probably writes the letters," he continued. "By the gardener—" his pointing finger found Bailey "—who may have been the man Lizzie saw slipping up the stairs. By the Jap, who goes out and rings the telephone," he concluded triumphantly.
Miss Cornelia seemed unimpressed by his fervor.
"With what object?" she queried smoothly.
"That's what I'm going to find out!" There was determination in Anderson's reply.
Miss Cornelia sniffed. "Absurd! The butler was in this room when the telephone rang for the first time."
The thrust pierced Anderson's armor. For once he seemed at a loss. Here was something he had omitted from his calculations. But he did not give up. He was about to retort when—crash! thud!—the noise of a violent struggle in the hall outside drew all eyes to the hall door.
An instant later the door slammed open and a disheveled young man in evening clothes was catapulted into the living-room as if slung there by a giant's arm. He tripped and fell to the floor in the center of the room. Billy stood in the doorway behind him, inscrutable, arms folded, on his face an expression of mild satisfaction as if he were demurely pleased with a neat piece of housework, neatly carried out.
The young man picked himself up, brushed off his clothes, sought for his hat, which had rolled under the table. Then he turned on Billy furiously.
"Damn you—what do you mean by this?"
"Jiu-jitsu," said Billy, his yellow face quite untroubled. "Pretty good stuff. Found on terrace with searchlight," he added.
"With searchlight?" barked Anderson.
The young man turned to face this new enemy.
"Well, why shouldn't I be on the terrace with a searchlight?" he demanded.
The detective moved toward him menacingly.
"Who are you?"
"Who are you?" said the young man with cool impertinence, giving him stare for stare.
Anderson did not deign to reply, in so many words. Instead he displayed the police badge which glittered on the inside of the right lapel of his coat. The young man examined it coolly.
"H'm," he said. "Very pretty—nice neat design—very chaste!" He took out a cigarette case and opened it, seemingly entirely unimpressed by both the badge and Anderson. The detective chafed.
"If you've finished admiring my badge," he said with heavy sarcasm, "I'd like to know what you were doing on the terrace."
The young man hesitated—shot an odd, swift glance at Dale who ever since his abrupt entrance into the room, had been sitting rigid in her chair with her hands clenched tightly together.
"I've had some trouble with my car down the road," he said finally. He glanced at Dale again. "I came to ask if I might telephone."
"Did it require a flashlight to find the house?" Miss Cornelia asked suspiciously.
"Look here," the young man blustered, "why are you asking me all these questions?" He tapped his cigarette case with an irritated air.
Miss Cornelia stepped closer to him.
"Do you mind letting me see that flashlight?" she said.
The young man gave it to her with a little, mocking bow. She turned it over, examined it, passed it to Anderson, who examined it also, seeming to devote particular attention to the lens. The young man stood puffing his cigarette a little nervously while the examination was in progress. He did not look at Dale again.
Anderson handed back the flashlight to its owner.
"Now—what's your name?" he said sternly.
"Beresford—Reginald Beresford," said the young man sulkily. "If you doubt it I've probably got a card somewhere—" He began to search through his pockets.
"What's your business?" went on the detective.
"What's my business here?" queried the young man, obviously fencing with his interrogator.
"No—how do you earn your living?" said Anderson sharply.
"I don't," said the young man flippantly. "I may have to begin now, if that is of any interest to you. As a matter of fact, I've studied law but——"
The one word was enough to start Lizzie off on another trail of distrust. "He may be a lawyer—" she quoted to herself sepulchrally from the evening newspaper article that had dealt with the mysterious identity of the Bat.
"And you came here to telephone about your car?" persisted the detective.
Dale rose from her chair with a hopeless little sigh. "Oh, don't you see—he's trying to protect me," she said wearily. She turned to the young man. "It's no use, Mr. Beresford."
Beresford's air of flippancy vanished.
"I see," he said. He turned to the other, frankly. "Well, the plain truth is—I didn't know the situation and I thought I'd play safe for Miss Ogden's sake."
Miss Cornelia moved over to her niece protectingly. She put a hand on Dale's shoulder to reassure her. But Dale