Part 8 (2/2)
”Let's see him.”
The coroner and Ferrall went toward the dining room, and, on an irresistible impulse of curiosity, I followed.
”Him!” exclaimed Ferrall, as he caught sight of the dead man's features. ”That ain't no Somers. That's Randolph Schuyler.”
”What!”
”Sure it is. Schuyler, the millionaire. Lives on Fifth Avenue, not far down from here. Who killed him?”
”But look here. Are you sure this is Randolph Schuyler?”
”Sure? Of course I'm sure. His house is on my beat. I see him often, goin' in or comin' out.”
”Well, then we _have_ got a big case on our hands! Mason!”
The inspector could scarcely believe Ferrall's statement, but realized that the policeman must know.
”Whew!” he said, trying to think of a dozen things at once. ”Then Steele knew him, and introduced him as Somers on purpose. No wonder the clubs didn't know of R. Somers! R. S. on his handkerchiefs and all that. He used a false name 'cause he didn't want it known that Randolph Schuyler came to see Miss Van Allen! Oh, here's a mess!
Where's that girl? Why did she kill him?”
”She didn't!” Mrs. Reeves began to cry. ”She didn't know it _was_ Mr.
Schuyler. She doesn't _know_ Mr. Schuyler. I'm sure she doesn't, because we were making lists for bazar patrons and she said she would ask only people she knew, and we tried to find somebody who knew Randolph Schuyler, to ask him, but we didn't know anybody who was acquainted with him at all. Oh, it can't be the rich Schuyler! Why would he come here?”
”We must get hold of Mr. Steele as soon as possible,” said Fenn, excitedly. ”Breen, call up his home address again, and if he isn't there, go there and stick till he comes. Now, for some one to identify this body. Call up the Schuyler house--no, better go around there.
Where is it, Ferrall?”
”Go straight out to the Avenue, and turn down. It's No.--only part of a block down. Who's going?”
”You go, Lowney,” said Fenn. ”Mason, will you go?”
”Yes, of course. Come on, Lowney.”
The coroner gave Mrs. Reeves and myself permission to go home, and I was glad to go. But Mrs. Reeves declared her intention of staying the night, what was left of it, in Miss Van Allen's house.
”It's too late for me to go down alone,” she said, in her sensible way. ”And, too, I'd rather be here, in case--in case Miss Van Allen comes home. I'm her friend, and I know she'd like me to stay.”
CHAPTER V
THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD
As for me, I began to collect my senses after the shock of learning the true ident.i.ty of the dead man. Though I had never met him, Randolph Schuyler was a client and friend of my partner, Charles Bradbury, and I suddenly felt a sort of personal responsibility of action.
For one thing, I disliked the idea of Mr. Schuyler's wife and family receiving the first tidings of the tragedy from the police. It seemed to me a friend ought to break the news, if possible.
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