Part 26 (1/2)
IV.
We made a tour of Commodore Varick's private suite under guidance of Gabbitt, the English valet. This Gabbitt was a quaint-looking person, like the figure of a barber out of an old-fas.h.i.+oned print; a neat, brisk, spare little man with a great bush of hair that looked as if it had been artificially curled. One expected to see a comb sticking in it ready for use. It would have been impossible to guess the man's age. It transpired that he had served the Commodore for over twenty years. He was devoted to his master, but took the present situation very philosophically. He had the air of a man who has seen so much that nothing can astonish him any more. He answered Mme. Storey's questions promptly and with seeming candour. It did not appear to occur to him that, as one of the last persons who had seen Commodore Varick alive, he might be under suspicion too.
First we entered a plainly-furnished room at the north end of the second floor, that Gabbitt called the office. There was a young woman operating a typewriter here, who neither paused in her work nor so much as looked around when we pa.s.sed through. This struck me as strange. I wondered what on earth she could be writing at such a time. Adjoining the office was the Commodore's study, a handsome corner room corresponding to Mrs. Varick's boudoir at the other end of the house. It was luxuriously furnished in masculine style with immense leather-covered easy-chairs grouped round the fireplace, and many rare sporting prints hanging from the panelled walls.
Mme. Storey's first examination of this room was hasty, but she did not miss much. A sheet of paper lying with others on an open escritoire attracted her attention. There was a drawer below with a key in it. She put the paper in the drawer, locked it and took the key. ”Something I will study later,” she said.
Outside the study there was a little foyer, and from that a short pa.s.sage leading to the other rooms of the suite. Opening off the pa.s.sage were, in order, a serving pantry, a little bedroom for Gabbitt, and the Commodore's bathroom. Here Mme. Storey opened a wall cabinet. Her eyes skated rapidly over the miscellaneous articles on the shelves, and fastened on two kinds of medicine; a liquid, and some capsules in a little pasteboard box. She asked what they were.
”Digitalis in the bottle, 'm,” said Gabbitt. ”For the heart. Fifteen drops in water three times a day. The capsules were for the digestion; one after every meal.”
”The Commodore was taking these at present?”
”Yes, ma'am. The prescriptions were refilled regular.”
We took these medicines, and afterwards sent them to a chemist to be a.n.a.lysed.
Next came the dressing-room, another comfortable lounging place, with a dressing-table, chiffoniers, and with clothes presses built into the walls. Beyond it was the Commodore's bedroom, where his body still lay. A man was on guard there. I averted my eyes from the bed. Mme. Storey did not examine the body at this time, but merely inquired what lay beyond the farther door. It was Mrs. Varick's bedroom, Gabbitt said, and beyond that were the other rooms of her suite. Both suites extended along the Fifth Avenue front of the house. Between the two of them, these little people, neither of whom exceeded five feet six in height, spread themselves over eight or more immense private chambers. Such is earthly glory!
We returned to the study, where Mme. Storey questioned Gabbitt at some length. The valet told how he had been having tea in the servants' hall when a call over the house 'phone summoned him to his master. He found the Commodore lying in agony upon the floor of the dressing-room. I omit the harrowing details. a.s.sisting his master to his bed, Gabbitt telephoned for the doctor and for Jarboe. He tried to get Mrs. Varick, but she was out of the house. During the brief interval that elapsed before the arrival of the doctor, the valet applied what restoratives his experience suggested.
”Gabbitt, did you suspect poison?” Mme. Storey asked. (I ought to state that the valet knew by this time what had happened.) ”Well, ma'am,” he answered, ”I think the thought was somewhere in the back of my head, but I did not acknowledge it. Being but a servant, I left it to my betters.”
In one respect Gabbitt's story differed sharply from Dr. Slingluff's. Up to the moment that he was sent out for atropine, the Commodore's mind, he insisted, was perfectly clear. The sick man would allow no one to be sent for but his wife and the doctor. He evinced an agonising anxiety lest the doctor might not come in time, but it was not with any idea that he could be saved. He knew he was dying.
”Did he suggest that he had been poisoned?”
”No, ma'am, no! He kept sayin' it was gastritis.”
”H'm!” said Mme. Storey.
”He said one thing that was strange,” Gabbitt went on, biting his lip--it was the first evidence of emotion the little man had shown; ”He says, 'Gabbitt, if I should go out of my head, I beg of you never to repeat what I say! Bury it in your breast!'” The little valet turned away and made believe to arrange some objects on the table. ”That hurt me, ma'am,” he murmured. ”But I didn't let on anything. I just pressed his hand, and he seemed satisfied.... As if I would have given him away! After twenty years!...”
He straightened up and went on in his ordinary voice: ”There was no need for me to go for the atropine, but I got the idea the Commodore had something private to tell the doctor, so I left the room. I have seen men die before, and I knew that neither atropine nor nothing else could save my master then. I wasn't gone but ten minutes. When I got back he was dead.”
”Gabbitt,” said Mme. Storey, ”who was the last person he saw before he was taken sick?”
”Why, ma'am, so far as I know it was Miss Priestley,” was the answer. ”Him and her had their tea together every afternoon at four when he was home.”
”Miss Priestley?”
”His secretary, 'm. That is to say, his literary secretary. That is the young lady who is working the typewriter in the next room.”
”Why do you call her literary secretary?”
”To distinguish her from his private secretary and his financial secretary. Those two are gentlemen. The Commodore was writing his memoirs, and Miss Priestley was engaged to help him with that. Every afternoon from two until four, when his engagements permitted, they worked together, and after tea the young lady went home.”
”And tea was served yesterday as usual?”
”Yes'm. I took it in myself from Hannaford, one of the maids, and set it out on this very table. Then I called my master, and went down to my own tea in the servants' hall.”
”What did the tea consist of?”
”Just thin bread and b.u.t.ter, 'm, and a plain cake. The Commodore ate very plain, along of his gastritis, but he does love his tea--did love it, I mean. He would drink two or three cups of an afternoon.”
”Gabbitt, tell me the exact arrangement of the tea tray,” said my employer. While she listened to him, she lit a cigarette.
”Yes'm. All they sent up from downstairs was the bread and b.u.t.ter and the cake; also cream if required; the Commodore did not use it himself. The Commodore's own special brand of tea I keep up here in a silver tea-caddy, also the silver kettle which plugs into an electric outlet. The Commodore had his own notions about how tea should be made; he wanted every cup made separate. So the tea was put into silver tea b.a.l.l.s which were dipped into the cups after the boiling water was drawn.”
”Did the Commodore do this himself?”
”Oh, no, 'm. If there was a lady at the table she did the honours.”
”Did the Commodore take his tea weak or strong?”
”Very strong, 'm. He liked to taste it bitter.”
”Did the Commodore and Miss Priestley always have tea alone together?”
”No, 'm. There might be other guests from time to time. Or if the Commodore had special guests, Miss Priestley might take her tea in the housekeeper's room.”
”When you were called back upstairs had the tea things been removed?”
”I can't say, ma'am. I was too excited to take notice. After my master was dead I tidied up, not knowin' what else to do. They was gone then.”
Mme. Storey pressed out the lighted end of her cigarette in an ash tray. ”All right, Gabbitt; thank you very much,” she said. ”We had better talk to Miss Priestley, since she is close at hand.”
V.
When we entered the office for the second time, the girl arose from her machine and turned around as if she had guessed what we came for. I was astonished when I saw her. Certainly the Varicks, both husband and wife, had a flair for beauty in choosing those who served them. Miss Priestley was a very Juno, a maiden Juno, tall and dark with Juno's short upper lip, straight nose and haughty glance. Superb! However, I withheld my judgment for a while because I have learned that these G.o.ddess-like sh.e.l.ls sometimes house very small souls. I wondered if the solution to the mystery lay in her. She was visibly all keyed up, but that was natural. She had herself under good control.
She knew as much as Gabbitt did of the situation, consequently it was not necessary to enter into explanations. My employer introduced herself, and, in order to persuade the girl to relax, murmured the obvious things about what a sad occasion it was, etc., etc. The secretary rose to it like any woman--in words, but with a curiously monotonous voice like a child repeating a lesson. Her remote glance did not share in what she was saying. She was like a beautiful statue with a phonograph inside it.
”Yes, I have lost more than my job here,” she said, ”I have lost a friend. All I can do for him now is to finish his work.” She waved her hand towards the machine.
”Sit down,” said Mme. Storey soothingly. ”I am told that you were perhaps the last person to see the Commodore before he was taken sick, and I look to you to help me.”
”Certainly,” said Miss Priestley--but she did not sit. ”Anything I can do. However, I am not the one you are looking for.”
Her odd manner intrigued my employer. ”No?” she said with half a smile. She was studying the girl through her lashes.
The secretary went on in her toneless voice: ”You have been told that I had tea with the Commodore yesterday, but I did not.”