The sinister mark
contents partly scattered on the floor. A small table at the end of
a long couch which stood at right angles to the fireplace had been
overturned, and on the floor beside it lay a shattered vase of blue
hawthorne.
Apparently nothing else was out of place, and it was, perhaps, not
unusual in this spring weather that there should be a quantity of ashes
in the old-fashioned open grate. But ashes of any kind, perhaps from
early association with the stories of the great Sherlock Holmes, always
interested Peter Clancy.
He knelt to investigate and found that the ashes appeared to be those
of burnt paper only. He stirred them carefully, but could not find a
vestige of charred wood nor a single bit of paper which had escaped the
action of the fire.
Morris followed him silently about the room, asking no questions. He
had the air of one dazed by a crushing blow.
Satisfied, for the moment, by a more or less casual inspection, Clancy
returned to what was to him the most significant object in the room.
"This scarf," said he, looking at it closely. "I think you told me you
found it outside in the hall?"
"Partly outside and partly in," Morris made answer at once. "It was
caught fast by the door, but some of the--of the blood on it was
outside."
"H--m--m, yes," said Clancy, slowly. "And it belongs to someone who
lives here, you think?"
"It was Miss Mary Blake's," answered Morris, decidedly.
"You're sure?"
"Perfectly."
"How do you know?"
"I recognized it at once," answered Morris with conviction. "She wore
it when--when I brought her home after the closing of the play."
"Saturday--that was Saturday night, and this is Monday," Peter Clancy
ruminated. "And that was the last you saw of her?"
"The last I saw of her, yes. I spoke to her on the wire Sunday morning,
rather early, about ten o'clock. And I--I received a letter from her
this morning. That was why I came. I was alarmed, and----"
"You were alarmed, then, before you came here. It was not only finding
the scarf----"
"No. Her letter was so--so strange and unaccountable." Morris hesitated
and, to help him out, Peter said:
"But you did expect to find Miss Blake here when you came this morning?"
"I," Morris spoke slowly--"I can't say that I expected to find her. I
only thought there might be a chance. But I certainly did expect to
find her sister, Anne."
"Oh, there's a sister," said Clancy. "Well, perhaps she'll turn up.
Maybe she's just gone away for the week-end, or you know it's quite on
the cards that she may have gone out this morning, even, and not come
back yet. She might have been looking for something in that desk in
a hurry and left it upset. And as to the scarf, and the blood stain
on it (I admit, you see, that it probably is blood) it might well be
accounted for by some simple accident----"
Morris shook his head, the troubled frown remaining fixed upon his
forehead.
"No, no," he exclaimed. "It's impossible to dispose of the conditions
here so easily. I'm sure you'll agree with me when you see the rest of
the apartment. Something has happened here--something sinister. I'm
sure of it. I'm at a loss to understand it all," he pressed his hand
against his forehead as if the throbbing of his brain made his head
ache, "but perhaps you can make a guess. Come and see."
CHAPTER IV
A VIEWLESS ROOM
Donald Morris turned quickly and opened a door immediately on the right
of the one which led into the hall.
"You found this closed?" asked Clancy.
"Yes."
"Then we'll keep it that way," said Peter, suiting the action to the
word. "I can always think better with everything as it was when found.
Now, let's see----" He glanced about him.
They stood in what was evidently a bedroom, but here disorder reigned
supreme. All the drawers of a tall old mahogany bureau stood open, the
contents flung about on the floor. A dressing table, by the one large
window, had been rifled. The drawers had been pulled completely out and
emptied on its top. A mound of hairpins, fine lace collars, and other
small accessories of the toilet showed what they had contained. The
doors of two closets stood open, but the interior appeared undisturbed.
A number of very handsome and elaborate gowns and evening wraps hung
in one of them, carefully arranged on hangers and covered with muslin
slips. A rack containing delicate evening slippers stood in order on
the floor. In the other closet were street clothes and shoes, all of
fine quality and elegant pattern.
Morris watched Clancy's face.
"What do you think now?" he asked, after a moment.
Peter shook his head.
"On its face, it's a clear case of looting," he replied, slowly. "By
the way, was the window shade up, as it is now, when you discovered all
this?"
Morris's tone was a trifle apologetic. "No, I remember I pulled up the
blind to let in the light as soon as I came in."
Clancy crossed to the window and pulled aside the thin curtains which,
as in the living room, covered it from top to bottom. He looked out on
a deep, narrow well, or shaft, at the far end of which could be seen an
open space, and beyond the backs of the houses at the opposite end of
the block. On his right was the blank wall of the tall building next
door.
"No fire-escape here," he murmured, half to himself. "The thief, if it
was a thief, didn't get in this way, anyhow." He looked once more about
the room, photographing its every detail upon the sensitized plate
of his analytical mind. "I guess that'll be about all here for the
present, Mr. Morris. Is there anything more?"
"Only more of the same kind," Morris replied, as he led the way through
an open door into the narrow hall, which ran through the apartment
from the living room in the front to the kitchen in the rear. "This
is the dining room," he crossed the threshold of the next room on the
right, "and you can see the condition here. Practically nothing left
in the side-board drawers. The kitchen," he led the way again, "seems
to be all right, except that the window is broken just over the catch.
The janitor called my attention to it. He came up with the officer to
let us in and was much excited by the discovery. He said he knew that
the window was not broken on the previous day. The officer thought it
proved how the thief got in----"
"H--m--m. Yes," said Clancy, closely inspecting the window.
"Fire-escape here. Yes. So Sullivan got it all doped out, right off the
bat, did he? Clever boy, Sullivan, he sure is."
Clancy lingered a few minutes more in the kitchen, though Donald Morris
could not, at the time, understand the reason for the delay. The
detective stood gazing for quite a while at an innocent little sliver
of ice which lay in the kitchen sink, apparently oblivious of his
surroundings. When he opened the pantry door, and also looked into the
refrigerator, it flashed across Donald's mind that he might be hungry
and looking for something to eat, for this, in ordinary circumstances,
would be the natural inference from his actions, but if that were the
case, Clancy made no mention of it, and at last signified that he had
finished with the kitchen.
There was only one other room in the apartment, a small one near the
kitchen door, evidently intended for a maid's room but not used for
that purpose, for a long rod, with a number of coat hangers upon
it, crossed one side and a large trunk stood against the wall. The
trunk was locked and the coat hangers were empty. A small, plain
white chiffonier stood in one corner. The drawers were partly open,
disclosing a few gloves and other articles of woman's apparel, all
plain, old, and worn.
Neither here nor in the bathroom, which came next, were there any signs
of disturbance.
As they stepped again into the hall, they were aware of a loud knocking
on the door at the far end.
"That's Sullivan and the captain of the precinct, probably," said
Clancy. "I'll go," and passing Morris he went quickly down the hall and
opened the door.
His surmise proved to be correct. Sullivan ushered in Captain
Fitzgerald and introduced his friend, Clancy, with evident pride.
Clancy took charge of the situation and conducted the captain through
the apartment. The inspection finished, they all returned to the living
room, where Morris awaited them.
"This is just a simple case of robbery, Mr. Morris," said the bluff
police captain, deferentially (for who had not heard of the son and
heir of the great Morris estate?). "We'll do our best to get hold of
the lad as pulled it, but we're kind of up against it, as you can easy
see for yourself. Sullivan tells me that the apartment is rented by the
two Miss Blakes and that they're both away. So how can we tell what's
been taken, if any? Maybe you, being a friend----"
"It happens that I have never been in the apartment before," Morris
interrupted, hastily, "though I know Miss Mary Blake very well."
"And do you know where the two of them has gone then?" inquired the
captain.
"No," answered Morris, slowly. "No. I'm afraid I can't help you there,
either."
"Well, then, you see," Captain Fitzgerald shrugged his broad shoulders,
"we don't know what's missing and so we can't know where to look for
it, and equally if we don't know what's taken we don't know what kind
of a guy would have been taking it. I'd like to promise results, seeing
it's yourself has called us in, but it'd be just foolishness to do it
till the ladies get back. As soon as they do, you let us know, and
we'll take up the case again, see? It's all we can do----"
"Sure it is, Captain," agreed Peter, heartily. "Mr. Morris must see
that in a plain case of burglary like this you can't do anything till
the owners appear and make a complaint. He's perfectly satisfied and
so am I. But you don't mind if we stick around here for a bit, do
you? We've got some business to talk over and it's quiet here." He
paused, and the utter silence of the place smote his nerves. "Yes,
it sure is quiet," he thought within himself, "as quiet as death."
Then aloud--"We'll lock up when we go and leave everything as is. So
long, Sullivan. Much obliged to you, Captain. Hope I see you again,"
and with pleasant words of farewell he determinedly ushered Captain
Fitzgerald and his satellite out into the hall.
He closed the door carefully behind them, making sure that the lock was
sprung, and returned to Morris who waited in the living room.
"Well, that's that," said Peter with satisfaction, as he seated himself
beside the window.
Donald Morris was pacing about the room, a heavy, puzzled frown upon
his face. He stopped in front of the detective.
"Why did you get rid of the police in that abrupt fashion, Mr. Clancy?"
he asked. "It seems to me that something ought to be done at once to
track down this burglar, and we need all the help they can give us. I
would do anything--pay anything--rather than to have Miss Blake suffer
loss. With their help we might have found some clue--something to go
upon. If it's a simple case of robbery, as they think----"
Clancy looked up gravely and slowly closed one eye.
"If it is a simple case of robbery," he repeated, "Captain Fitzgerald
has done the only thing in his power. He's got nothing to go ahead on,
if--it--is--simply--robbery." He said the last words so slowly and with
so much meaning that Morris started eagerly forward, crying--
"Then you don't think----"
"It may have been robbery," Clancy interrupted, with grave intent.
"But--it wasn't a simple kind of robbery, that I'll swear to."
"You mean?"
"Mr. Morris, did you notice that kitchen window which was the obvious
place for the thief to make his entrance, since the fire-escape led
up to it?" asked Clancy, slowly. "Well," he paused, "the window was