Bromley Barnes Detective Page 4

  "Mr. Williams," he said, "I believe that you were associated with Hugh Helverson in most of his inventive work?"

  "I was," came the quiet reply.

  "I'm told that you were especially interested in the submarine destroyer which was his final, if not, his greatest work?"

  "No one knows how intensely interested I was in that particular bit of work."

  "You helped him with it--a little bit?"

  "I helped him with it a great deal," came the passionate retort, with emphasis on the last two words.

  The unexpected display of feeling caused every eye to turn on the white-faced young man. Captain Mayne, still toying with his pencil, gave a smile of satisfaction.

  "It's just as I thought," he murmured.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that you were jealous of Hugh Helverson's growing fame."

  "It's a lie!" shouted Williams. "But," he added in a lower tone, "I'll admit that I have never been given credit for the part I had in many of his inventions. The world applauded him. I was unnoticed. No one paid any more attention to me than they did to the chair in his workshop, or the hammer in his hand."

  "Oh, Conan," murmured Hilda Helverson, "please don't talk in that dreadful way."

  A twitch of pain distorted his white face. He turned to her appealingly.

  "Hilda," he begged, "you know I'm telling the truth."

  Love and distress were mingled in the glance she gave him.

  "I know what you did," she replied, quietly, with emphasis on the personal pronoun, "but father was too absorbed in his work to pay any attention to the instruments he used--human or inanimate."

  During this little aside, Bromley Barnes, sitting behind the others, kept his eye rested upon the inventor's assistant. Captain Mayne, immensely pleased with his cross-examination, resumed the attack.

  "We'll pass the question of jealousy and rivalry," he said, "and come to something more important. Mr. Williams, do you recall a conversation you had with Hugh Helverson on the night before he was killed?"

  A wave of color rushed over the pale face of Conan Williams. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. He spoke in a low voice:

  "I do."

  "Isn't it a fact that you had a quarrel with him and that you threatened him?"

  The silence that followed the question was oppressive. Every eye was on the young man. Every ear waited with expectancy. It seemed a full minute before the answer came. The two words were literally torn from the victim:

  "It is," he said.

  A feeling of horror oppressed every one in the little room. Hilda Helverson was weeping silently, and the others were breathing heavily. Captain Mayne arose as if he could no longer contain himself. Williams followed his example. The young naval officer pointed his finger at the witness.

  "One more question," he said. "Isn't it a fact that you were lurking in the shadow of this house on that last fatal night--lurking behind the trees when Hugh Helverson came into that doorway for the last time?"

  A cry of anguish came from the lips of Hilda Helverson.

  "Oh, this is cruel!" she exclaimed, "this is too terrible! You must not go on with it!"

  Strangely enough, Conan Williams suddenly became the most self-possessed person in the room. His face was as white as chalk and his lips were compressed, but he faced the ordeal with calmness and courage. Captain Mayne was excited and so were the others, but the waves of emotion beat about the suspected man without disturbing him. The cross-examiner spoke shrilly:

  "I'm sorry for you, Miss Helverson," he said, "but I must have an answer from Mr. Williams."

  But Williams stood there as still as a statue, and as though he had lost his hearing.

  "I insist upon a reply," shouted Mayne; "were you lurking in the grounds when Hugh Helverson came into the house? Answer me yes, or no?"

  "Yes," replied Williams.

  A shocked silence fell upon the group. It was broken by a despairing wail from Hilda Helverson.

  "Tell them everything, Conan. If you love me, tell the whole story."

  "I have nothing more to say," was the dogged response.

  "Tell us what you were doing there," commanded Mayne, and as he spoke, he stamped his foot on the floor with anger and determination.

  His heavy boot came down with such force that it shook the pictures on the wall. The oil painting of the father of Hugh Helverson, which hung over the fireplace, sagged and assumed a crooked position. It gave the venerable one a rakish appearance. One eye was discolored. He seemed to be leering at the little company, and to be enjoying their discomfiture. Barnes noticed it and, with his ever-present sense of the artistic, went over to straighten it. He spent some time examining the picture and the frame. As he stood there he heard Williams announcing for the third time:

  "I have nothing more to say."

  "If you refuse to explain this matter to us you may be forced to explain it in a court of law."

  Hilda Helverson gave a scream.

  "Oh, Conan," she cried, "please tell everything."

  Williams looked about him haughtily. He glanced at Mayne.

  "Am I to understand that I am accused of murdering Hugh Helverson?"

  The captain was about to speak when Bromley Barnes stepped forward.

  "I've been playing second fiddle for you young folks," he said quietly, "but I think it's time for me to take charge of the performance."

  They all looked at him inquiringly, and he proceeded:

  "Captain Mayne has been making an experiment here, and it has not been entirely successful--"

  "But," interrupted that person hotly, "you haven't given me time to finish. If you will kindly stand aside for a few minutes I think we'll be able to clear up this mystery."

  "I don't think so," replied the old man, not unkindly. "Now, I want to make a proposition to you. I've learned something to-day and I want to make a little experiment of my own. I want you all to come here at midnight and I'll undertake to reproduce the events of that eventful night. In a word, I hope--with the kind assistance of Mr. Williams--to show you exactly how Hugh Helverson was killed."

  Conan Williams looked at the detective with distended eyes.

  "What--what do you mean?" he faltered.

  The old investigator placed his hand on the shoulder of the young man.

  "My friend," he said, "I take it that you are anxious to clear up this mystery."

  "Why--yes."

  "Then do as I tell you, and I promise that the whole business will be perfectly understandable before the dawn of another day."

  Williams looked miserable. Nevertheless, he nodded his head in assent. Hilda Helverson, her fair face clouded with grief, took his arm as a means of showing the love she had for him. They left the house with Bromley Barnes and Captain Mayne bringing up the rear. The officer spoke to the detective.

  "But Williams--will he be here?"

  Barnes smiled.

  "I pledge you my word that he will be here at the appointed time."

  Just as the party reached the end of the graveled walk, Williams turned and addressed them:

  "I hope," he said, brokenly, "that you won't misunderstand my outburst. I--I loved Hugh Helverson, and I think he was the greatest genius of his time. He deserves and is entitled to all of the credit for this submarine device. It is his and his alone. I helped, but I have sense enough to realize that his was the guiding mind. But I have led a life of self-effacement and--and I guess his death must have gotten on my serves."

  Then he turned abruptly, and giving his arm to Hilda Helverson, marched away.

  It was a few minutes before midnight when a ghostly looking procession filed up the graveled path leading to the door of the cottage on Woodley Road. Bromley Barnes, immaculately attired, was in the lead, and directly behind him was Cornelius Clancy, keenly alive to the possibilities of an adventure. Hilda Helverson, dressed in deep black, and with her countenance showing traces of grief and anxiety, was followed by Sarto Joseph and Captai
n Mayne. The young naval officer had the air of a man who is oppressed with a sense of responsibility. He said nothing, but at intervals the flicker of a smile about the lips indicated that he was attending the performance from a sense of his regard for Bromley Barnes and that he looked upon the whole business with unfeigned skepticism.

  The party made its way into the hallway, and the detective skillfully guided each person along the far side of the entrance and to a chair that had been previously placed in the living room. When they had all taken their places in this manner, the investigator locked the front door. There was a dim light in the room, but by peering about, it was possible to distinguish objects. For instance, all present could discern the oil painting of the father of Hugh Helverson which hung in its accustomed place over the fireplace. Even in the semi-darkness the eyes of that counterfeit presentment seemed to glare out with a force and distinctness which had been characteristic of the dead inventor. Also, the dull light cast its rays upon the large rug which covered the entrance to the room, two or three feet from the doorway.

  Barnes busied himself in examining the shutters, and in making final preparations for his experiment. When he had finished, he turned to the others and said:

  "I have endeavored to place this house in precisely the condition it was on the night when Hugh Helverson entered and met his fate. I have been particular to see that every door in the rear has been bolted and every window locked. The front door, of course, is deadlocked, and may be opened from the outside with a latch key. If you gentlemen desire to investigate these things for yourself, you are at liberty to do so."

  There was silence after this, and then the voice of Captain Mayne could be heard as he said in a tone of irony:

  "Go ahead, Barnes. We are sure that you have nothing concealed up your sleeves. But I wish you would hurry the show for I have important business to look after."

  "The show--as you call it--will begin as the clock strikes the hour of midnight. A gentleman of my acquaintance has consented to impersonate Hugh Helverson, and will endeavor to repeat what we suppose were his movements on that fatal night."

  A hush fell over the assemblage--a hush that cast a sort of awe over all present. A sob came from the lips of Hilda Helverson. It was a hysterical cry and gave a faint notion of the strain under which she was laboring. The quiet, the semi-darkness and the nervousness of the participants gave the affair the appearance of a spiritualistic séance. The ticking of the clock on the mantel was the only sound to relieve the tenseness of the moment. Suddenly a cry burst forth from Captain Mayne:

  "Hold on there, Barnes--there's something missing."

  "What do you mean?" asked the investigator.

  "I mean that Conan Williams is not here. He's the most important one of all. To give this performance without Williams is like presenting "Hamlet" without the Dane. Besides, you promised me that he would be here. I suppose it's all right, but it looks mighty queer. If he couldn't stand the strain--"

  "It is all right," assured the detective; "I said that Williams would be here, and he will be. Just be patient."

  After this outburst, all became quiet again. The seconds passed by with leaden-like slowness. Even in the gloom it was plain that the thing was getting on the nerves of the participants. Just when it had reached the breakable point, the clock in a near-by steeple struck the hour of midnight. Before the last stroke pealed forth the little time piece on the mantel rang out twelve times. As it ceased the silence, by contrast, seemed more tense.

  Suddenly a sound of footsteps on the porch attracted attention. There was a scratching around the keyhole, and the next moment they knew that the door was being opened. Through the gloom they saw the figure of a man with his hat drawn down over his eyes. He turned and closed the door and carefully bolted it. Then he advanced with deliberation. As his face was turned to the inside, they recognized the newcomer as Conan Williams. He stepped upon the large rug and the moment he did so there was a loud explosion, accompanied by a cloud of smoke, and they saw that he had been struck upon the breast, just in the region of the heart, by a black object.

  Barnes and Clancy turned up the lights and every one else leaped forward. Williams stood there uninjured, gazing at the picture of the father of Hugh Helverson. The gaze of all present followed his and they saw a little stream of smoke issuing from one of the eyes in the picture. The detective rushed forward and raised the rug and they saw a tiny wire in the floor that led to the wall and from thence back of the picture above the mantel piece. Before any one could speak, Barnes exclaimed:

  "Now, gentlemen, you may all look upon the solution of the mystery of the bolted door!"

  While he spoke he removed the portrait, and behind it, with the smoke still curling toward the ceiling, they beheld a pistol carefully balanced so that its muzzle must have been directly behind the left eye of the picture.

  Barnes briefly told them how the whole thing had been contrived. The inventor, fearful that some one might enter the house in his absence and steal the secret of the submarine destroyer, had constructed a device which meant death to the one that stepped upon the rug. It was ingenuity almost supernatural.

  "Unfortunately," concluded the old investigator, "Hugh Helverson was the victim of his own contrivance. Filled with the thought that his great invention had at last been completed, he came here forgetful of the trap he had set to catch the one that might try to pilfer his idea."

  "But Williams's quarrel with Helverson," interjected Mayne, "what about that? And why was he lurking about the house?"

  "That quarrel came about because Helverson refused to agree to his marriage with his daughter," replied Barnes, quietly, "and he came here on the fateful night to renew his request for the girl's hand. But at the last moment, his heart failed him and he left without speaking to Helverson. There was really no reason why he should not have told you this, but he is young and chivalrous, and he felt that it would not be fair to Miss Hilda to reveal the unfortunate domestic episode."

  It was a saddened, but satisfied, group that left the little cottage shortly after midnight. Hilda Helverson was weeping silently, her grief over the death of her father strangely mingled with the joy over the acquittal of the man she loved. Captain Mayne tried to forget his chagrin over his admiration for the cleverness of the detective.

  "You said 'find the motive and you will find the man,'" he remarked to Barnes, with just a trace of complaining in his voice, "but I don't exactly see the connection in this case."

  "The connection is perfect," said the veteran, "and it came to me when I read the biography of Helverson in the copy of 'Who's Who.' When I read there that he was the inventor of a contrivance to catch burglars I got my first clew--a clew that became perfectly clear when I discovered that one of the eyes of the portrait had been shot away. It was a trifle, but upon such trifles have hinged the solution of many of the world's strangest mysteries."

  III

  ADVENTURE OF THE SCRAP OF PAPER

  Bromley Barnes and Admiral Hawksby sat on either side of a flat-topped desk in the Navy Department, talking in low, earnest tones. The grizzled face of the old sea fighter looked sterner than usual, while the attentive, earnest countenance of the veteran investigator indicated that he fully appreciated the importance of the communication which was being made to him. The purport of it was simple enough, and sufficiently alarming to call for prompt action. The secrets of the Department were being peddled to the enemy. Orders, that were presumably known to only three persons in Washington, were finding their way to hostile quarters with a rapidity and a certainty that was almost uncanny.

  "We've got to locate the leak, Barnes," said the admiral, emphasizing the remark with a resounding blow on the desk with his closed fist, "or I'll feel like handing in my resignation."

  An incredulous laugh came from the bald-headed man with the fringe of iron-gray hair which encircled his head with a halo-like effect.

  "Resign," he retorted; "that sounds like retreat, and I didn't think t
hat word had any place in the vocabulary of the man who ran the blockade--"

  "Never mind that," hastily interrupted Hawksby, who feared the usual eulogy for the gallant action which had won him a gold medal and the thanks of Congress; "you know what I mean. I feel so impotent in this underhand business that I scarcely know what to do. If it was an out-and-out, face-to-face fight, I'd know just how to act. I'm depending on you to get to the bottom of the thing. Will you help me?"

  "Yes," was the prompt reply, "but you've got to help me first. Now, you say the last message that was intercepted related to the movements of the Asiatic fleet. Please let me see a copy of the order."

  The admiral pressed a button on the desk, and in a few moments a young man, with coal black hair and brown skin, entered the room.

  "Lee," said the sailor, "get me the order book. I think you will find it in the copying press."

  As the Admiral sat stroking his mustache and imperial, Barnes looked at him curiously

  "Who is that man?" he asked.

  "That chap--oh, that's a West Indian who acts as a sort of personal servant to me."

  "Do you mean to say that he has access to the copy book and is given the run of the place?"

  Hawksby drew himself up stiffly.

  "I don't know what you mean by the 'run of the place'--and, besides, the orders are in code and would be Greek to him or any other man except to myself and the Secretary of the Navy."

  Presently the messenger returned, and for the next ten minutes the two men were deeply engrossed in the intricacies of the naval code and the details of how the orders had been transmitted. Barnes asked a hundred and one questions and finally departed with the intimation that he might return and ask some more before he started in on his difficult task.

  "It all depends upon circumstances," he said, "and, in the meantime, I'm going to take a long walk to get the cobwebs out of my head."