The amazing adventures of Letitia Carberry

really Tish’s story. She told us the whole thing that night sitting up in bed, with the Chief of Police and the hospital superintendent on one side of the bed, and Miss Lewis and I on the other. Aggie lay on the couch with a cubeb cigarette burning beside her, and stared at Tish with admiration mixed with awe. “In the first place,” said Tish, to the Chief of Police, “here are the two towels that figure in the case. One of them is the one that hung Mr. Johnson’s body three nights ago to the chandelier, the other is the one with which the ape, Hero, is supposed to have committed suicide at the Zoo the following night. As you see, the two towels are alike. Do you know what S. P. T. stands for?” she asked. “I can’t say I do,” said the Chief of Police, and picked up one of the towels. “Humph!” said Tish. “Well, it means ‘Sick Patient Towel,’ and they are used in hospitals for tying up delirious patients. The trouble was, there wasn’t a delirious patient in the hospital strong enough to walk, let alone tie up a body to a chandelier. “But before I learned from Bates what S. P. T. meant, I’d been to the Zoo. That was yesterday morning. Maybe you believe that a lonely monkey will commit suicide; maybe he will, I don’t know. But when he hangs himself with a roller towel from the Dunkirk hospital, I want to know how he got that towel.” “Oho!” said the Chief of Police, “so the little rascal got loose, did he?” “He did not,” said Tish tartly. “They said he was lonely for his keeper. Very well, said I, where is his keeper? Where is this man he was so fond of that he couldn’t live without him? The answer, gentlemen, was that this keeper was a patient in the Dunkirk hospital, as the result of being crushed almost to death by the beast that was supposed to be pining for him! The keeper’s name was Wesley Barker!” “Barker!” said Tommy. “Why, that was the big Englishman--! Go on, Aunt Tish.” “I came back to the hospital with a strong desire to talk to Wesley Barker, but Wesley Barker was not in the hospital. He had been dismissed three days ago. Bates recalled taking his dismissal card to the elevator man, about seven o’clock Tuesday evening. That put Barker out of the case, apparently, but I sent for Jacobs and asked him how easily a man could get into the building at night. He said it was impossible. The doors are always locked, the basement entrances and fire-escapes lead from the courtyard, and the courtyard is locked and in charge of a gate man. That seemed to cut out Wesley Barker, as I say. If he was out, he could hardly get back without using dynamite. “I got out my notes again, and went over them. I couldn’t see how Miss Blake and Miss Linda Smith were mixed up in it. They were the day nurses in K ward, Miss Smith in charge and Miss Blake assisting. I had several notes on them: Tuesday at midnight Miss Smith coaxed the night nurse to go to the basement with her, where the patients’ clothes are kept in lockers: she was missing for a time, and when Bates saw her later she carried a ‘darkish bundle,’ possibly clothing. Why?” The Chief of Police looked wise; he had a way of wriggling his nose like a rabbit. “The next morning, Miss Blake being ill, we heard Miss Smith crying in her room and blaming herself for the girl’s condition,” Tish went on. “Again, why? “On Wednesday night Miss Blake, still weak and ill, made a complete search of the third floor. Not another nurse in the house would have gone there, or to the mortuary and later to the roof, as she did. Some strong purpose sent the girl, of course--but what? “That night, following Miss Blake to the roof, my nephew was thrown through a skylight. Later he confessed to a bite on the shoulder. The same night, apparently in a spirit of wanton mischief, the guinea-pigs in the laboratory were killed and three rabbits were taken away. Miss Blake had been there. My nephew confessed later to finding a rosette from her slipper there. Again--why?” Tish stopped and looked at the Chief of Police, who sat stroking his chin. “How would you have gone about the case, Mr. Chief of Police?” Tish demanded. “Probably much as you did,” he said, looking at her with a patronizing smile. “It’s a simple matter when we know the answer, to say that two and two make four, but you are giving me the four, and asking me whether you reached that conclusion by adding three and one, or two and two, or four and nothing. Given a certain number of clues, the logical mind often achieves remarkable results, but it is usually the trained mind. That you succeeded so well, my dear lady, I consider remarkable. Remarkable!” “Given the same clues,” Tish persisted, “you’d have reached the same result?” “Undoubtedly.” “Well,” said Tish, mildly. “It’s strange that I couldn’t. There were a few gaps my mind wouldn’t jump. And I noticed your men here seemed to feel the same way. It seemed like some distance from a roller towel in the Zoo to Johnson’s brown tweed coat.” The Chief of Police looked uneasy. “By exactly _what_ mental process did you connect the two?” he asked, wriggling his nose. “I didn’t,” said Tish calmly. “While you and your men were measuring finger-prints and reassembling Mr. Johnson from where he’d been scattered to, I did what any person with common sense would have done, _I went to Miss Blake and asked her_!” CHAPTER XIX NOTE BY DOCTOR THOMAS ANDREWS, LATE VISITING PHYSICIAN AT THE DUNKIRK HOSPITAL, AND NOW ON THE ORTHOPÆDIC STAFF OF THE SAME INSTITUTION, DATED THREE WEEKS LATER, FROM BERMUDA Miss Lizzie’s narrative stops here. My Aunt Letitia, during her convalescence in the hospital, having been discovered poring over books of aerial navigation, and having written to the Wrights, offering to turn over a second-hand automobile of standard make, a thirty-foot motor-launch, and an equity in money, for one of their model biplanes, Miss Lizzie and Miss Aggie hurriedly took her to Mount Clemens for a series of baths. “I shall take up Miss Lizzie’s narrative with the story told to my Aunt Letitia by Miss Blake, now my wife. Miss Blake was young, only nineteen, and had been in the hospital only six months. Miss Smith was the head day nurse in K ward, with Miss Blake as her assistant. Miss Smith had almost completed her three years’ course, and was not popular with the officers. She was, however, a good nurse, and unlike Miss Blake, was dependent on her earnings for her support. “On Tuesday evening, trouble between the two medical _internes_ and the hospital superintendent, Mr. Harrison, reached a climax. The three men had a wordy argument on the staircase near K ward, and Linda Smith (who was not over-scrupulous) had shut herself in a small supply room near to listen. The ward was in charge of Miss Blake, who was serving the patients’ suppers from a table in the center of the long room. Behind a screen, in the second bed from the far end of the ward lay Amos Johnson, peacefully dying. Beyond him, in the end bed, lay a delirious patient named Wesley Barker, an Englishman, who had been sent in from the Zoological Garden, badly injured by the great ape, Hero, since dead. “Barker was tied down. Two long towels, one over his arms and one over his legs, were knotted beyond his reach under the edge of the bed. His fractured ribs had healed, but he was still delirious. His delirium in the last day or two had taken on an acuter form, and was mania. Articulate speech had changed to noisy ape-like chatterings. He made strange facial grimaces, and being tied, had more than once tried to bite his nurses. “Miss Blake filled a feeding cup with broth, and having attended to the other patients, went behind Johnson’s screen to feed the maniac in the last bed. To her horror, the bed was empty! “Nervous, but not excessively alarmed, Miss Blake called Linda Smith, and they searched the ward. Barker had gone, perhaps by creeping behind the heads of the beds to the doorway, and there, watching his chance, escaping to the fire-escape by a hall window near. Although only late September, it was cold, and he wore only the clothing he had worn in bed, a hospital nightshirt. “Miss Blake wished to raise an immediate alarm, but Linda Smith refused. She was responsible: an investigation would show she had been absent from her ward without reason, and for some time. She was in disfavor already, and she could not risk losing her diploma. She had an invalid sister dependent on her. By threats and tears she made Miss Blake promise to say nothing of Barker’s escape and to help her find him. “It was almost dark by that time, and the girls were in despair. Linda Smith went down the fire-escape to the courtyard, and found the gate man staring through the bars at the river. “‘I dropped a rubber sheet out the window,’ she said, ‘but I don’t see it. What are you looking at?’ “The gate man pointed to the Center Street bridge, which crosses the river near the hospital. ‘There’s a woman out there in white,’ he said, ‘and she looks as if she might be thinking--there, look at that!’ “The bridge was practically deserted. She and the gate man saw the figure move back a step or two, run forward and dive over the rail. The gate man unlocked the gate and ran out, but the toll house is at the east end of the bridge, and by the time he had raised the alarm there was nothing to be seen. Linda Smith went back to Miss Blake, and had hysteria in the K ward linen room. “Discovery meant disgrace to her, so she made up her mind not to be discovered. Barker had had no family and no friends. No one had visited him except the assistant keeper, and he had not shown any particular solicitude. Linda Smith thought she saw a way out, and half frightened, half coaxed Miss Blake into helping her. Remember, they both thought Barker was dead, and Linda Smith threatened in case of discovery, to throw herself off the roof. Miss Blake’s part, therefore, was the acquiescence of a young and terrified girl, in a situation that would have shaken older and stronger nerves. “The two medical _internes_ left at seven o’clock, as a result of the dispute with the superintendent. At ten minutes past seven, Linda Smith sent down a dismissal card for one Wesley Barker, with the forged signature of one of the departed _internes_. At twenty minutes past, the yellow ticket came back from the office, the ticket which would permit Wesley Barker to pass the door-man and leave the hospital for good. Linda Smith destroyed it. “At seventy-thirty the night nurse, Miss Durand, was told that one of the heaviest burdens had been taken from her, and went to work cheerfully. But at ten o’clock that night Linda Smith, lying awake in bed in her room in the dormitory, saw Wesley Barker climb up the fire-escape outside her window, stopping now and then, monkey fashion, to swing out over the dizzy height by his hands. “The girl was almost frenzied. She got up and dressed and went to the roof. To her horror she found the superintendent, Mr. Harrison, smoking there and she almost fainted when she got back to her room. But the superintendent was not molested. There was no alarm. “At midnight she formed the resolution of getting Barker’s clothes from the basement clothes room and putting them on the roof, in the hope that he would put them on and go away. Properly dressed, even if he went back to the Zoo, she could claim that he had been taken away by somebody in a carriage, and might still put through the deception. In any event, his clothes could not be left there. Their discovery meant her disgrace. “She had forgotten, however, that Barker had been brought in in the ambulance, and had no clothes. Afraid to go to the basement alone, she asked Miss Durand to go to the clothes room with her, giving as an