Part 13 (1/2)
Gradually the detective's eyes cleared with belief and his calloused nature yielded to an impulse of pity.
”I did not expect to find you here, Mrs. Collins,” he said more gently.
”I can understand your suffering--I do not wish to add a hair's weight to it. But the conclusion is inevitable that your visit at such a late hour has something to do with Mr. Whitmore's death, so I must ask you to explain your presence.”
She leaned back in her chair, a look of meek resignation in her face.
”I came to obtain a letter addressed to Mr. Whitmore,” she said frankly.
”A letter which you wrote?”
”No.”
”By whom was it written?”
”My brother--Mr. Ward.”
Britz tried to guess the hidden significance of the note which had impelled this woman to a midnight visit to Beard's house. She must have known, just as Britz had ascertained earlier in the day, that Beard was a bachelor, occupying the private dwelling with a lone servant. Surely she would not have been guilty of so unconventional an act except through desperate necessity.
”That letter--will it throw any light on Mr. Whitmore's death?” asked Britz eagerly.
”Not the slightest,” was her disappointing reply. ”It has absolutely nothing to do with it.”
”Then you won't mind identifying it if I find it in my search of the premises?”
”Not in the least--that is, on one condition,” said she.
”And that condition--what is it?”
”Your promise that the letter will not be made public.”
It was a condition to which the detective could readily agree. It was no part of his duty to supply the newspapers with the intimate details a.s.sociated with every crime. He was habitually reticent toward reporters, yet he was not unpopular with them. For, besides recognizing and admiring his unbending honesty, his courage and resourcefulness, they were aware that on the rare occasions when he took them into his confidence, they could rely upon his statements as upon a mathematical certainty. Not in all his career had he ever been known to discuss in print his theories, or deductions, or half-baked conclusion. In that respect he differed radically from most of the detective force. Whenever he had a statement to make, it embodied the solution of the mystery on which he had been working. It meant that the guilty man was safely behind the bars and that the evidence against him was complete.
”Confidential communications obtained by me are never made public except in a courtroom,” he informed the woman. ”If the letter has no bearing on Mr. Whitmore's death it will be returned to Mr. Beard.”
”But I want it--that's what I came for,” she pleaded. ”Can't you give it to me?”
”Not without Mr. Beard's consent,” he replied in a tone of finality.
”And then only after I have a.s.sured myself of its lack of bearing on the Whitmore case.”
She bestowed on him a glance of such keen disappointment as to provoke a doubt of the innocence of the missive. But he did not betray what was in his mind. Instead, he rose to his feet, and, with a polite bow, said:
”I may trust you to wait until I have completed my search. In the meantime, kindly pardon me.”
His form vanished through the curtains and she could hear him ascending the steps. To her ears there came a short colloquy between the detective and the servant, but the words were indistinct and she was unable to gather their meaning. Huddled in the chair, she waited while the minutes dragged wearily, until at the end of three-quarters of an hour the detective's welcome footsteps were heard on the stairs.
Britz entered the room carrying a huge pile of papers which he deposited on a chair. From the top of the pile he took a letter, and, advancing toward her, asked:
”Is this the note?”
At sight of the letter her exhaustion vanished and she held out a trembling hand.