The haunting hand
“We’ll make you talk quick enough,” growled Quinlan.
“I haven’t committed any crime.” She made the assertion unwhiningly.
“You can’t do anything to me!”
“I arrest you for unlawful entry, with intent to commit a burglary.
Guess that’ll do for the present.”
The girl’s lips clamped stubbornly. There was a touch of pride in her
defiance. Margot was conscious of it, and sudden pity gave her the
impulse to ask Quinlan to release the girl. Her connection with the
mystery seemed remote indeed, if not highly improbable. Her coming was
merely coincidental. Then----
Margot’s glance fell to the girl’s right arm. The grip of Quinlan’s
fingers had pulled the sleeve up. The arm had been cut off at the
elbow! Margot’s gaping eyes saw the scar of a freshly healed wound. It
made a grim patch of color against the white of her arm.
Mrs. Bellew’s frightened eyes went from Stella Ball’s blanched face to
the stub of her right arm. A horrified, fixed stare, then a third
shriek from the landlady. “My God! She had both arms when she left
this house!”
Stella’s thin little face lost its expressionless rigidity. She
smiled; a strange, twisted ghost of a smile, on one side of her mouth,
yet it had humor, that smile, humor wasted of course on Mrs. Bellew,
but startling to Margot.
“Hell of a lot you know how I looked when I left your shanty. Didn’t
happen to see me light out, did you?”
Mrs. Bellew was too far overcome with nervous excitement to have any
other emotion, so she did not resent the girl’s impudence. Margot,
watching intently, saw the smile on Stella’s face vanish as quickly as
it had appeared. Her face hardened again, her lips grew tight with a
bitterness in tragic contrast to the youth of her face, as she looked
at the lurid scar which had riveted Margot’s attention. Then she gave
an angry hitch to her right shoulder, twisting her sleeve out of
Quinlan’s grip, so that it fell over and covered her disfigured arm.
“Let go of her, please, Mr. Quinlan!” Margot’s quick command was
spoken gently enough, but Quinlan removed his hands from Stella’s thin
shoulders.
Being momentarily deprived of action, Quinlan found release for his
tongue. He stood with arms crossed, regarding the girl with an angry
scowl.
“Think ye’re smart, don’t ye now, disturbin’ honest folks, and scarin’
this nice young lady out of a year’s growth and raisin’ hell
generally, just to do a little stealin’ where there ain’t nothin’ to
steal, far as I can make out.”
The girl flashed a defiant look at him.
“Who says I came to steal?”
“_I_ says it, for one!” Quinlan gave her look for look. “Your kind--or
any other kind--don’t come sneakin’ in other people’s windows and
doors, just for their health. They come to get something--that’s what
they come for--or maybe,” he bent a threatening scowl upon her, “maybe
they come to murder somebody.”
Mrs. Bellew gave a low cry and shuddered closer to Margot.
“Ain’t you the smart Alec!” Stella’s twisted smile at Quinlan was not
flattering. “Maybe I did come to get something. This used to be my
room. Maybe I came to get something I left behind, when I beat it on
such short notice.” Her smile of mockery went from the policeman to
the landlady.
“I took all your things down stairs, Stella. I’ll give them to you.”
“Didn’t have to sneak back to get what belongs to ye. There’s a front
door to this house, if ye know how to use it.” Quinlan’s sarcasm was a
little heavy. He was no match for the girl, Margot thought, amused in
spite of all that the scene evoked and might well signify.
“Front doors are good ’nough for some people--the kind that wouldn’t
dare come in any other way. ’Fraid for their precious skins, maybe.”
“Say, look a-here, Miss Smartie! If you’d come back on the level, to
get your belongin’s, why didn’t ye tell this young lady so, when ye
found the room was occupied?”
“Saa-y!” The girl’s sweeping scorn of Quinlan, was comic. “Hell of a
chance you gave me to tell anybody anything, grabbing me with those
dainty mitts of yours, in the pitch dark, before you saw who or what I
was!”
“I’m not talkin’ about your little stunt to-night, comin’ in from that
roof, and gettin’ caught red-handed, I might say. I’m talkin’ about
night before last when ye honored this young lady with a call and
pretty near frightened her to death.”
Stella’s eyes opened and stared in a surprise that struck Margot as
strangely genuine.
“Don’t know what you’re trying to celebrate, Mr. Officer-of-the-Law.
This is the first time I’ve come to this room since I left it when I
was living here. I wasn’t in this room night before last.”
It was Quinlan’s turn to retaliate with a scorn as scathing as her
own.
“No, you wasn’t here night before last! Yes, we have no bananas!
I--don’t--_think_!”
“I wasn’t! Think what you damn please!” A flash of anger quickened the
tired lifelessness of Stella’s blue eyes.
Quinlan moved a step nearer to her, and thrust his head out at her.
“You wasn’t hidin’ under that brass bed, for the Lord knows how long
before Miss Anstruther went to bed, and you didn’t stick your hand and
arm out from under the bed and put a burnin’ match out, after the
young lady had switched off her electric light?”
The surprise in Stella’s eyes changed slowly to astonishment, then
another, more subtle change came to them. Margot, with active brain
and unwavering, watchful gaze, and uncanny power to read back of the
human eye, saw in Stella’s something that she could not analyze, but
something that convinced her as no words could have done, that the
girl was telling the truth and that Quinlan’s remarks had quickened a
wondering speculation in her mind, concerning something of sinister
import to Margot’s mystery.
“I wasn’t in this room night before last. Take that or leave it! I
should worry!”
Sudden inspiration came to Quinlan.
“Then if ye wasn’t here yerself, ye know damn well who _was_ here!”
Intuition or reason, whichever it was, Margot thought, Quinlan was
less “dumb” than he had appeared up to now.
Stella threw him a startled, questioning look, then her lips grew
sullen and her eyes hard.
“Let’s get a move on,” she said laconically. “Don’t suppose you want
to entertain me here for the night. Ain’t you just bursting to show me
your hospitality somewheres else?”
“See here, Miss Stella Ball, if that’s yer name. Suppose ye spill a
little information about the friend of yours that hid under Miss
Anstruther’s bed the other night. Give us the dope--the real dope and
all of it, and we’ll see what we can do about lettin’ ye off with a
minimum sentence, maybe none at all.”
“I’ve got nothing to say about anything, because I don’t know nothing
about nothing! See?” Stella gave Quinlan another of her twisted
smiles, touched with an ironic humor.
“Won’t save yerself by squealin’, is that it?” Quinlan’s naturally
good-humored mouth had a more kindly expression.
“No, that ain’t it!” Her reply was as enigmatic as it was brief and
final.
They could get nothing more out of her. She remained stubbornly
silent, her face reverting to its original hard blankness. Quinlan
told her she’d have to go with him, arrested on the charge of unlawful
entry. Then he turned to Margot, with the air of being the Heaven-sent
sleuth and unraveler of mysteries which the case had so urgently
required.
“Guess you can come right back to this room and have a good night’s
sleep, Miss Anstruther. Guess no more spooks is goin’ to disturb your
rest, from now on. There’ll be those as’ll know how to get the truth
out of this girl, to-night or to-morrow. Guess ye’re safe enough now.”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Quinlan.” Margot addressed the policeman but her
eyes were on Stella Ball. “You seem to be sure that either this girl
or some confederate of hers, was under my bed night before last, and
put out the match I dropped on the rug. But how about the hand and arm
that Boyle saw, when _he_ was alone in this room, putting out a light
that didn’t even exist?”
Margot saw a quickly suppressed shudder, a swift lifting then closing
of lids over startled blue eyes, then stillness on the impassive face
of Stella Ball. Quinlan saw nothing. He was busy preparing a reply to
Margot’s question.
“It’s a friend I am of Shane Boyle’s, Miss Anstruther, but it’s only
tellin’ the truth I am, when I say that Boyle bein’ born in the auld
country, and comin’ here when he was full grown, is as full of
superstition as a dog is full of flees. It stands to reason, Miss,
that whoever it was put the match out when you lay in that brass bed,
wasn’t doin’ the self-same thing for Boyle’s benefit, because whoever
it was, got out of this room before ever any of the rest of us set
foot in it. That’s as sure as that I’m standin’ on me two feet this
very minute. So it stands to reason, don’t it, that what Boyle saw,
came out of the square Irish head on him.”
“Do you think so, Mr. Quinlan?” Again she spoke to Quinlan but looked
at Stella.
“Sure, I think so. What else could I think?”
At Margot’s simple question, Stella again lifted heavy lids and
dropped them as quickly. In her tired blue eyes Margot caught a vague
question and challenge directed at herself. Then Quinlan departed with
his prisoner.
CHAPTER VII.
SPOOKS AND THE PRESS
Margot and Mrs. Bellew returned to the basement for the night,
locking Margot’s room on the outside. Another sleepless night would
play the mischief with her looks, but Margot found sleep an
impossibility. She wished she could call Gene and tell him what had
happened since he left the house, but she decided to wait until the
following day.
With tired brain and thoughts spinning around as actively in sleep as
when awake, and far more fatiguingly so, Margot had about three hours
of unconsciousness. Then, as on the previous morning, a hot tub, a
cold shower, setting-up exercises, a little make-up, and she looked,
even if she didn’t feel, as good as new, she decided, after careful
scrutiny of her face.
She decided to be late to the studio, and move all her belongings from
the room she had occupied, to one which Mrs. Bellew had offered her,
on the floor above. The landlady and her housemaid helped Margot in
the process of moving up the one flight. She said that for the
present, she would take with her only her personal effects. It was
best, she told Mrs. Bellew, to leave the room intact, in case any
further inspection should be deemed advisable by the police
department. Therefore she did not remove her rugs, nor hangings, nor
other articles of room adornment, which belonged to her. She rather
expected to hear further from the police before the morning was over,
she told the landlady.
About ten o’clock, the plainclothes man Hart arrived, asked Margot a
few superfluous questions, then gave his orders that Margot’s
room--the room of the bodiless hand from under the bed--was to be
turned over to the police department. A man from the Force was to be
left there, day and night, and the key would be kept by the police.
Hart assured Margot that although theft was probably the motive for
the midnight visitation--granted that there had been any such
appearance as she had described--he was sure that criminal intent to
do bodily injury was not involved, and as to anything of a
supernatural nature, that was of course ridiculous.
It struck Margot as ridiculous that the police should occupy her old
room as a field for research in a case which they insisted was neither
criminal nor supernatural. But she refrained from telling Hart what
she thought about it.
Before she left the house at one o’clock, already two reporters and
three news photographers had made their unwelcome appearance. It was
evident that the rest of the day would bring other relays of the