Bromley Barnes Detective Page 3

  Bromley Barnes was one of the select few who were to get the first glimpse of the submarine destroyer. He rose early, and as he looked out of the window and saw the sun gilding the dome of the Capitol he took it as a good omen--as a sign that the product of Hugh Helverson's brain would furnish the United States with the instrument that was to insure the freedom of the seas.

  He dressed carefully for the occasion, and when he finished, his appearance was irreproachable. The carefully creased trousers, the gray spats, the gold-handled cane, and the opal in the green tie made him look very unlike a detective. Indeed, he seemed more like one of the diplomats, statesmen and scientists whom he expected to meet at the home of the inventor.

  The Helverson cottage stood back a short distance from the road. It had a stone foundation, but the superstructure was of wood, painted green and white. An addition, in the rear, contained the workshop where the inventor had been toiling so unremittingly. But it is a long lane that has no turning, and his day of triumph had arrived--that day when he might say he had done for his country that which seemed beyond the skill and imagination of anyone else.

  Barnes was accompanied by Cornelius Clancy, and when they arrived at the house they were surprised to find a group of distinguished looking men walking about the porch in a disconsolate manner. The house itself was tightly closed--doors, windows and every possible means of entrance and exit seemed hermetically sealed. It was after ten o'clock, which was the hour fixed for the official view of the great invention. The moment Barnes reached the place, a young man hurried down the graveled path to meet him. It was Captain Mayne, a naval officer, who had been detailed for duty as a special assistant to the Secretary of the Navy.

  "I'm glad you're here, Barnes!" he exclaimed. "I don't know what to make of this business. No one seems to be in the house, and we were expressly bidden to be here at ten o'clock."

  "Maybe Helverson's overslept himself. You know these inventors take queer turns. They're not normal."

  He tried to speak cheerfully, but he had grave misgivings. He realized, probably better than anyone else, the dangers that surrounded Hugh Helverson while he was at work on the much-talked-about destroyer.

  "We had no right to leave him here alone," retorted Captain Mayne.

  "Alone?" echoed Barnes.

  "Sure--he made it a condition that he was not to be disturbed. He had an assistant, Conan Williams, but even Williams was only permitted in the workshop during the daytime."

  "I understood that his daughter and a Japanese servant lived in the house with him."

  The naval attaché shook his head.

  "That's not exactly correct. Hilda Helverson is the pride and joy of his life, but she was not permitted to stay in the house. She has apartments near the Capitol. She came to see him each day, but never stayed very long and he was always impatient to get back to his work."

  "But the Japanese servant?"

  "He came and prepared Helverson's meals and then went about his business."

  "So the old man was all alone here last night?"

  "You have said it."

  At this point in the dialogue, one of the officials on the porch came down and joined the two men. He was angry at the delay.

  "See here," he shouted, "won't somebody do something--and at once?"

  Without replying, Bromley Barnes hurried up the pathway to the door. He tried it but without result. He pushed the electric button.

  There was a tense silence.

  After a few moments, he pounded vigorously on the panels of the door with his fist. But the only response was the echoes of his blows. Captain Mayne smiled sadly.

  "We've tried that already. You may hammer until doomsday without getting a reply."

  The old investigator's face became very grave. He thought for a moment, and then made his decision. He turned to the group around him.

  "Gentlemen," he said, "unusual conditions call for unusual methods. I'm going to take the responsibility of breaking into this house. It may be a mistake. But if so, I'm willing to shoulder the blame. Come on, Clancy, and you, too, Mayne. Now, altogether!"

  The three men lined up in front of the closed door. Some one sang out "one-two-three "and then simultaneously three bodies were hurled against the frame work. There was a rumbling sound and the straining of the hinges, but the door remained intact. For the second time the performance was repeated with the same result. They paused long enough to get their breath and then made a third drive. This time there was the crash of splitting wood, the creaking of iron work, and the door fell inward with a thud.

  The three men hastened into the room, followed by the others. They found themselves in a sparsely furnished living apartment, but they had only proceeded a few feet when they drew back shrinkingly. Barnes, in the lead, detected something on the floor. He leaned over and gave a gasp of horror.

  And no wonder, for lying there at full length, was the body of Hugh Helverson!

  The detective dropped to his knees and made a hurried inspection of the helpless body. He felt the hands and placed his ear against the broad chest.

  When he looked up, his face was very grave, and when he spoke it was in a low, reverent tone.

  "His race is run," he murmured, "he is dead!" Involuntarily the men lifted their hats and stood there looking down at the cold and stiffened form with something like awe in their faces. One man had sufficient presence of mind to hurry for a physician, but when the doctor came, a few minutes later, it was only to pronounce the aged inventor "quite dead." A careful examination of the body disclosed the fact that Helverson had been shot through the heart. The prostrate form lay on a large rug near the entrance of the hallway, and a tiny pool showed where the life blood of the gifted man had trickled from the wound in his breast. Barnes had know him well in life, but at this supreme moment all of his professional instincts came to the surface. Force of habit was strong and he found himself giving orders that nothing in the house should be disturbed, and sending a messenger to summon the coroner to the house of death.

  After the room had been cleared he began his investigation. The furniture was in order and there was no evidence of a struggle. Automatically three questions came into his mind. Was it an accident? Could it have been suicide? Was it murder? He knew that Helverson had been shot. He was certain that the single shot had gone through the inventor's heart. Death must have been instantaneous. But at the outset he was confronted with a puzzling circumstance. The weapon with which the deed had been committed could not be found. He searched every nook and corner of the room and he could not find a gun or pistol of any kind.

  He opened the two large windows of the living room--opened them with difficulty for they were barred and bolted, and the rust on the bolts proved that they had been closed for some time. Then he went to the rear of the house and he discovered that it was almost hermetically sealed. He visited the rooms on the upper floors and found that everything there was tightly closed. There was no opening on the roof through which anyone could have come or gone. The trap leading to the roof was bolted from the inside. After a while Barnes came down stairs again and seated himself in a large arm chair and tried to think in a coherent way. He remembered that the front door had been bolted. He examined the shattered door to make sure of the fact, and then the astonishing thing presented itself to his partly dazed intelligence.

  Hugh Helverson had been shot and killed in a house that was barred and bolted from cellar to roof.

  The thing was positively uncanny. If the front door had been merely deadlocked, it would have explained everything. But how was it possible for a man to kill the inventor and then escape without leaving some signs of his exit? The question was too much, even for this man who had spent the greater part of his life in solving crimes that seemed to be unsolvable. The coroner came while he was trying to make the unreasonable facts seem reasonable. The official happened to be a physician as well as a coroner, and after a brief examination of the remains he said that, in his opinion, death had
ensued six or eight hours before. The body was cold, and it was safe to say that the poor man had been killed shortly after midnight.

  By this time Hilda Helverson had arrived, and when she beheld the dead form of her father she broke down and would have fainted if it had not been for the prompt application of smelling salts. While this was going on, Conan Williams, the assistant of the inventor, came into the room, and when he realized the meaning of the scene acted like a man who was bereft of his senses. He recovered quickly and then gave his attention to the distracted girl. It was a trying time for all, but Barnes did not fail to notice the tenderness with which Williams treated Hilda Helverson. It was not the ordinary sympathy with which one treats a fellow creature who is in trouble. It was more than this, and the detective was not surprised when he learned later that the two young persons were engaged to be married. He was given to understand that it was a secret engagement, and but for the unfortunate tragedy might not have been made public for some time. But death breaks down all artificial barriers, and Williams, with much manliness, said the time had come when he should act as a protector to the girl who had been so unexpectedly deprived of her natural guardian.

  After they had gone, Barnes made a second tour of the house. The Japanese servant, Sarto Joseph, had arrived and he assisted the detective in his search of the place. There was absolutely nothing in the upper part of the house to throw any light on the mystery, and Barnes came to the conclusion that the solution, if there were any solution, would have to be found in the living room. It was almost devoid of ornament, just the sort of room that might have been expected to appeal to a man of the temperament of such a man as Hugh Helverson. Over the old-fashioned fireplace was a large oil painting of the father of the dead inventor. It might not have passed muster as a work of art, but it was a striking piece of work just the same. A pair of keen eyes seemed to peer out at the spectator. The Japanese servant said that Helverson was fond of gazing at this picture and had more than once declared that he got the inspiration for his work by looking at it. The eyes, he declared, followed one about the room. Sarto shivered as he gave the detective this bit of information. Barnes tried the experiment, and then assured the frightened servant there was nothing supernatural about the business. It was merely an optical delusion which he had often found in other pictures.

  At this point Captain Mayne came hurrying into the house, followed by another naval officer.

  "See here, Barnes," he cried, "in the excitement we forgot all about the invention. The Secretary couldn't get here but he told me to find out about it."

  The veteran investigator smiled sadly.

  "I haven't forgotten it by any means, only I felt that we had more pressing business to attend to at first."

  Even while he spoke, he was walking in the direction of the room in the rear of the house. The door was locked, as he had expected. He walked back to the prostrate body on the floor of the living room, and gently searching the pockets of the dead man, found a bunch of keys. Instinctively he recognized the key of which he was in search. Once again he made for the rear apartment and this time succeeded in getting within. Captain Mayne followed him, and the first thing the two men noticed was a covered object resting on a long table. The detective threw off the covering and exposed a curious looking model--whale shaped and with a sharp point at the bow. The naval officer examined it with feverish haste. Presently he gave a loud exclamation, an exclamation of mingled joy and amazement:

  "He's got it! He's got it!

  Barnes looked at him sharply.

  "What are you talking about?" he asked, grabbing the young man and peering into his face.

  "About this invention!" Mayne cried. "It's the thing that we have sought in vain for years. It's precisely the thing needed by the Government, and never more than at this particular minute. It's perfect in every particular. I'll stake my reputation as a man and a sailor on the assertion that this contrivance is going to revolutionize naval warfare."

  "Do you think it has been tampered with in any way?" asked Barnes.

  Captain Mayne made a second examination of the queer looking object on the table, and when he had concluded, said:

  "No--it's in perfect order."

  The detective gave a sigh.

  "I'm glad for the sake of the Government," he said, "but I'm sorry on another account, and that is that it makes the death of Helverson more of a mystery than ever. The quickest way of solving a crime is to find the motive. Get the motive, and it will not take long to get the man. If I could feel that the spies of some other Government were interested in the death of Helverson or the destruction of his invention, I'd have something to work on. But you've taken that from me."

  Captain Mayne's rosy cheeks took on an added hue. He scratched his head and said presently:

  "It's just possible that a cast might have been made from this model. But I doubt it, and, in any event, why should they have left the patent uninjured, and at the disposal of the United States?"

  "That's so," admitted Barnes, "but there's a possibility that they might have been frightened off before they completed their program."

  The detective and the Assistant Secretary of the Navy walked up and down the room while they talked. Mayne was making his tenth turn about the apartment when he suddenly halted.

  "Say," he cried, "have you thought of Sarto?"

  "What--the Jap?"

  "The very same. He knows more than his prayers, and if I were you I'd give him the third degree."

  Barnes was thoughtful.

  "No," he said, after a while, "I won't give him the third degree. If he's as shrewd as you say, he'll beat us at that game. But I'll have him watched day and night."

  Hugh Helverson was buried with all of the official honors that it was possible for a grateful nation to bestow. His invention ever afterwards bore his name and it was conceded to be the most important gift that had been made to civilization in a decade. Both before and after the funeral, Barnes was busily engaged upon the case, but at the end of the seventh day he was almost ready to confess defeat. This was a most unusual attitude for the old man, but he confessed that the case was a most unusual one. That a man should be shot and killed in a house that was closed and bolted, and that not a single clew to the manner of his death be found was mystifying indeed.

  The thing was so uncanny that it began to get on the nerves of the veteran. But it was at this stage of the game that he became more determined than ever.

  "The most improbable things are the most probable--after they've been solved," was the epigram he hurled at Captain Mayne one afternoon.

  The young naval officer looked at the detective meditatively. He was interested in the search--deeply interested, and the excitement of the chase was beginning to get into his veins. They were in the apartment of Bromley Barnes at the time, and the youthful Assistant Secretary of the Navy suddenly felt a desire to personally solve the mystery.

  "You said in the beginning," he remarked, "that it was absolutely necessary to find the motive for a crime before you could discover the criminal."

  Barnes puffed lazily at a cigar and watched the smoke curl about his head.

  "I think I made some remark to that effect," he conceded.

  "Well, why not apply that theory in this case? And if you do, how would you start?"

  "By finding out all I could about Helv his fads, his purposes in life, and so on."

  "Very good," conceded Captain Mayne, "that's settled. How would you take the first step in that direction?"

  The old investigator, without answering reached up to his bookshelf, and pulled down a red-covered volume of "Who's Who in America "and quickly turned to the H's. He soon found what he wanted in the following compact biographical notice:

  "Helverson, Hugh, Inventor. Born in Stockholm, Sweden, July 22, 1850. Came to the United States with parents at the age of five. Educated by private tutors and at Harvard University. Afterwards studied chemistry and engineering. Spent ten years in the laboratory of T
homas A. Edison, near East Orange. Invented device for preventing explosions in coal mines; attachment for increasing the speed of submarines; burglar alarm for household purposes; improvement for hydro-airplanes and twenty other labor-saving and safety devices now in common use. Clubs, none. Author 'Our National Coast Defense System' and 'The Future of Electricity.' Address, 1895 Georgetown Road, Washington, D. C."

  He handed the open book to his young friend, and pointing to the brief sketch, said:

  "I've read that six times already. It probably contains the key to the puzzle. Maybe you can find it. So far, it has eluded me."

  Captain Mayne read the paragraph carefully and then returned the book to its place.

  "That tells me nothing at all," he said, decisively, "but I have a theory of my own that I would like to test."

  "What is it?"

  "It concerns Conan Williams, the assistant to Hugh Helverson. I've learned some things about that young man, and I'd like to cross-examine him in your presence. And I want to do it in the room where the body of the old man was found."

  Barnes chuckled.

  "The old theory of the scene of the murder, eh? It's too late to compel him to place his hand on the dead body of the victim."

  The tone of the detective displeased the young man.

  "It's easy enough to laugh at me," he retorted, "but I don't see that you have accomplished much. What I want to know is whether I have your permission to go ahead."

  "You certainly have. I'll help you, too, because your little experiment may throw some light on the situation."

  So it came about that a queer little group gathered in the little cottage on the following afternoon. There were Barnes, Cornelius Clancy, Captain Mayne, Sarto Joseph, the Japanese valet of the dead inventor, Hilda Helverson, and Conan Williams. They were all keyed up to a high pitch, and as they seated themselves in the living-room there was a sense of expectancy that filled the darkened apartment. Williams was nervous and ill at ease, and his pale face seemed whiter than ever in contrast with his coal black hair and his blazing, black eyes. Captain Mayne, toying with a pencil, turned to the young man with an air of carelessness: