Chapter II: On the Train

Detective Keene and the attorney caught their train by a narrow margin only, and secured a seat somewhat aloof from the few other passengers in the smoking car. This partial seclusion evidently suited the lawyer, who appeared seriously disturbed by the news of his client’s tragic death, and anxious to give Keene what information he could that would aid him in locating the criminal.

But the young detective checked him almost at the beginning.

“It is only a short run down there,” said the lawyer. “I will give you all the points I can in the time allowed, that on your arrival you will be better equipped to look the evidence over. I think----”

“First, allow me just a word, Mr. French, if you will pardon the interruption,” said Keene, turning his clear, grave eyes on the face of the attorney. “Whatever you may think, there is one thing I do not wish you to tell me.”

“What is that, Mr. Keene?”

“You already suspect some person of this crime, and I prefer not to know whom.”

“Well, well! You detectives are discerning fellows!” Mr. French exclaimed, smiling faintly. “Chief Watts drew the same inference, though from what I cannot imagine.”

“That you engage the help of a special officer before you have verified your telegram, even, is to me a sufficient indication of your suspicion,” Keene explained.

“Quite logical, too.”

“You also fear that some innocent person may be to some extent complicated.”

“That is true, also.”

“The person,” continued Keene, with a curious twinkle in his eyes, “is a young lady--one of whom you are very fond, and who regards you as a very dear friend. She is young, and, I should say, was quite recently married; but her husband is not a clever man, nor one of much ability, and is most likely----”

“Hold, hold! You will next be telling me what sort of a woman my grandmother was!” cried the attorney, who, in truth, was amazed at the acumen of the young detective. “How on earth did you guess these facts?”

“They are facts, then?”

“Precisely.”

“I do not guess them,” Keene laughed lightly. “They are apparent through a very simple process of deduction.”

“Will you tell me how?”

“Certainly! That the person you suspect may be guilty, is not the same person you fear may be implicated, is at once suggested by your haste in procuring the aid of a special detective. If the guilty one were likely to be involved, you would have at first examined the case more calmly.”

“That is true enough,” laughed the attorney. “But why do you infer my interest to be in a lady?”

“If it were a man, you would be less anxious to relieve him of what you fear may be a distressing situation. Men can face such things more easily than women,” added Keene significantly. “Moreover, that you take this very active interest indicates both that you are fond of her and that you know that she will expect you to do it, which indicates, in turn, that she relies upon you. This suggests inexperience, hence she probably is young. So serious a crime as murder very rarely involves a young single girl, however; hence she very likely has been recently married. But her husband is not a clever man, capable of handling so serious a situation, or you would have left this matter to him rather than plunging into it so hurriedly.”

“Dear me! You should have been a lawyer. I cannot but admire----”

“Ah, but we waste time, Mr. French,” said Keene, quietly checking the lawyer’s expressions of approval. “What I wish to avoid, sir, are the very suspicions by which you are actuated, and under which you are laboring. I do not want to know whom you suspect, nor why. These things only tend to draw a detective from the straight line of true detective work. I want only the bare facts, from which, and from my own observations of the evidence in the case, I may make unbiased deductions. This is the only reliable method of detective work. With a half dozen visionary motives suggested to him, a detective becomes a weather vane. Who is this man Moore, sir?”

“He has been a client of mine for many years--more than twenty, I should say. He is a man of some considerable means, with an old country house out here a dozen miles or so.”

“A married man?”

“He is a widower. He buried his wife a dozen or fifteen years ago. At one time he was some interested in farming, having no other business; but he gave that up also after his wife’s death, and, by degrees, the last dozen years has grown into a rather sour and crabbed old man.”

“A man of years, then?”

“Yes; Jacob Moore is about seventy years old.”

“Any children?”

“Only one of his own--a girl named Mabel, now in the twenties, and who was married about a year ago to a man named Jeffrey. Besides this girl, Moore also has reared the son of a deceased sister. He is now a man of twenty-five and the Richard Thorpe who wired me the news of his uncle’s death.”

“Does Thorpe live with his uncle?”

“A portion of the time, though for the most part in Boston, where he is in the brokerage business.”

“Does the daughter live at home?”

“No, not for a year or more,” replied the lawyer. “And I now come to those painful circumstances which lead me to----”

“Never mind by what you are led,” interposed Keene, smiling faintly. “Give me the bare facts.”

“They are these,” nodded the lawyer gravely. “Two years ago, Jacob Moore took it into his head that it would be well if his daughter were married to Thorpe, and the couple settled in the old home. Now, bear in mind that Jacob Moore was not a man to be easily turned from a project which he seriously favored. His proposition proved acceptable to his nephew, but not to his daughter. She flatly declared that she’d not even think of it.”

“Whatever it may have been like,” replied the lawyer, “the girl proved inflexible. The family broil, however, brought out the fact that she was in love with another, a man named Jeffrey, who is a carpenter by trade, and is said to be an honest and reliable fellow. I have seen him but once. If he is as good a man as he looks, I don’t blame the girl for her choice.”

“Did Mr. Moore give his consent to the girl’s marriage to Jeffrey?” asked Keene carelessly.

“Quite the contrary,” said the lawyer, with significance. “He threatened to disown the girl if she married him, which, with a will quite as strong as that of the old man himself, she speedily did. As a result, there has been a total estrangement of the two ever since.”

“Has the girl always been so headstrong?”

“She has always been dutiful, as I have observed her, and, to my way of thinking, was so in this matter. Her final determination resulted not only from a genuine love for Jeffrey, but also from the fact that he had recently buried his mother, by whose death he was left alone in the world. He had, however, a comfortable house, with several acres of arable land. To make a long story short, Mabel Moore, despite her father’s bitter opposition, married Jeffrey and went to live with him.”

“This was about a year ago?”

“Just about,” nodded the lawyer. “Since then Moore has been more morose and crabbed than ever. He has refused to recognize either his daughter or her husband, and even young Thorpe has scarce been able to endure him. As his solicitor, I have occasionally been out to see him, and was always glad to return. A more surly and perverse old codger could not be imagined.”

“Has he made a will?” inquired Keene.

“Yes.”

“Disinheriting his daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Who is his residuary legatee?”

“His nephew.”

“Does Thorpe know of this will?”

“I think not,” replied Mr. French. “In fact, I am quite sure of it, for the will is in my possession, and Moore was not a man to have disclosed his intentions.”

“Who witnessed the document?”

“Two of my clerks, and it was drafted and executed in my office. I am very sure that the existence of this will is not known to Thorpe nor to Mabel Jeffrey.”

“What’s the value of the estate?”

“Something like fifty thousand dollars.”

“Who has been living with Moore?”

“His housekeeper is a middle-aged English woman named Haynie, who has been in his employ since his wife died. He keeps one man, also, who works about the farm and stable. These, with Thorpe, are the only members of his household.”

“Thorpe has not been there much, you say?”

“Only at intervals. I think he has not found the old man congenial, and his persistent absence, which has rather offended Moore, further convinces me that Thorpe knows nothing about the will in his favor.”

“That is a very reasonable inference,” admitted the detective, “and, possibly, does away with a motive. Is Thorpe a man of good character?”

“Yes, and is very generally liked. At the time of Mabel’s marriage he made great efforts to induce her father’s forgiveness; but, Heaven preserve him! One might as well have pleaded to a stone wall. Jacob Moore was as harsh and inflexible as--ah! here is the station! Thorpe will probably send the carriage for us.”

The train was slowing down. The lawyer arose while speaking and began to put on his overcoat. Sheridan Keene restrained him in the aisle for a moment, and said inquiringly:

“So far as you know, then, these are the bare facts?”

“Yes,” said the lawyer quickly. “Do you make anything of them?”

“Nothing at all, sir. It is too early in the game. One word more!”

“Well?”

“Introduce me here as a clerk from your office, not as a detective!”

“I understand.”

“And take no notice of what I may say and do.”

“Rely on my discretion!” nodded Mr. French approvingly, as they approached the door of the car.