The Four-Pools Mystery

I returned to the empty house that night and sat down to look the facts squarely in the face. I had hitherto been so occupied with the necessary preparations for the funeral, and with instituting a search for Cat-Eye Mose, that I had scarcely had time to think, let alone map out any logical plan of action. Radnor was so stunned by the blow that he could barely talk coherently, and as yet I had had no satisfactory interview with him.

Immediately after the Colonel's death, I had very hastily run over his private papers, but had found little to suggest a clue. Among some old letters were several from Nannie's husband, written at the time of her sickness and death; their tone was bitter. Could the man have accomplished a tardy revenge for past insults? I asked myself. But investigation showed this theory to be most untenable. He was still living in the little Kansas village where she had died, had married again, and become a peaceful plodding citizen. It required all his present energy to support his wife and children—I dare say the brief episode of his first marriage had almost faded from his mind. There was not the slightest chance that he could be implicated.

I sifted the papers again, thoroughly and painstakingly, but found nothing that would throw any light upon the mystery. While I was still engaged with this task, a message came from the coroner saying that the formal inquest would begin at ten o'clock the next morning in the Kennisburg court-house. This gave me no chance to plan any sort of campaign, and I could do little more than let matters take their course. I hoped however that in the progress of the inquest, some clue would be brought to light which would render Radnor's being remanded for trial impossible.

So far, I had to acknowledge, the evidence against him appeared overwhelming. A motive was supplied in the fact that the Colonel's death would leave him his own master and a rich man. The well-known fact of their frequent quarrels, coupled with Radnor's fierce temper and somewhat revengeful disposition, was a very strong point in his disfavor; added to this, the suspicious circumstances of the day of the tragedy—the fact that he was not with the rest of the party when the crime must have been committed, the alleged print of his boots and the finding of the match box, his subsequent perturbed condition—everything pointed to him as the author of the crime. It was a most convincing chain of circumstantial evidence.

Considering the data that had come to light, there seemed to be only one alternative, and that was that Cat-Eye Mose had committed the murder. I clung tenaciously to this belief; but I found, in the absence of any further proof or any conceivable motive, that few people shared it with me. The marks of his bare feet proved conclusively that he had been, in whatever capacity, an active participator in the struggle.

"He was there to aid his master," the sheriff affirmed, "and being a witness to the crime, it was necessary to put him out of the way."

"Why hide the body of one and not the other?" I asked.

"To throw suspicion on Mose."

This was the universal opinion; no one, from the beginning, would listen to a word against Mose. In his case, as well as in Radnor's, the past was speaking. Through all his life, they said, he had faithfully loved and served the Colonel, and if necessity required, he would willingly have died for him.

But for myself, I continued to believe in the face of all opposition, that Mose was guilty. It was more a matter of feeling with me than of reasoning. I had always been suspicious of the fellow; a man with eyes like that was capable of anything. The objection which the sheriff raised that Colonel Gaylord was both larger and stronger than Mose and could easily have overcome him, proved nothing to my mind. Mose was a small man, but he was long-armed and wirey, doubtless far stronger than he looked; besides, he had been armed, and the nature of his weapon was clear. The floor of the cave was strewn with scores of broken stalactites; nothing could have made a more formidable weapon than one of these long pieces of jagged stone used as a club.

As to the motive for the crime, who could tell what went on in the slow workings of his mind? The Colonel had struck him more than once—unjustly, I did not doubt—and though he seemed at the moment to take it meekly, might he not have been merely biding his time? His final revenge may have been the outcome of many hoarded grievances that no one knew existed. The fellow was more than half insane. What more likely than that he had attacked his master in a fit of animal passion; and then, terrified at the result, escaped to the woods? That seemed to me the only plausible explanation.

No facts had come out concerning the ha'nt or the robbery, and I do not think that either was connected in the public mind with the murder. But to my mind the death of Colonel Gaylord was but the climax of the long series of events which commenced on the night of my arrival with the slight and ludicrous episode of the stolen roast chicken. I had been convinced at the time that Mose was at the bottom of it, and I was convinced now that he was also at the bottom of the robbery and the murder. How Radnor had got drawn into the muddle of the ha'nt, I could not fathom; but I suspected that Mose had hoodwinked him as he had the rest of us.

Assuming that my theory was right, then Mose was hiding; and all my energies from the beginning had been bent toward his discovery. The low range of mountains which lay between Four-Pools Plantation and the Luray valley was covered thickly with woods and very sparsely settled. Mose knew every foot of the ground; he had wandered over these mountains for days at a time, and must have been familiar with many hiding places. It was in this region that I hoped to find him.

Immediately after the Colonel's death I had offered a large reward either for Mose's capture, or for any information regarding his whereabouts. His description had been telegraphed all up and down the valley and every farmer was on the alert. Bands of men had been formed and the woods scoured for him, but as yet without result. I was hourly expecting, however, that some clue would come to light.

The sheriff, on the other hand, in pursuance of his theory that Mose had been murdered, had been no less indefatigable in his search for the body. The river had been dragged, the cave and surrounding woods searched, but nothing had been found. Mose had simply vanished from the earth and left no trace.

To my disappointment the morning still brought no news; I had hoped to have something definite before the inquest opened. I rode into Kennisburg early in order to hold a conference with Radnor, and get from him the facts in regard to his own and Mose's connection with the ha'nt. My former passivity in the matter struck me now as almost criminal; perhaps had I insisted in probing it to the bottom, my uncle might have been living still. I entered Radnor's cell determined not to leave it until I knew the truth.

But I met with an unexpected obstacle. He refused absolutely to discuss the question.

"Radnor," I cried at last, "are you trying to shield any one? Do you know who killed your father?"

"I know no more about who killed my father than you do."

"Do you know about the ha'nt?"

"Yes," he said desperately, "I do; but it is not connected with either the robbery or the murder and I cannot talk about it."

I argued and pleaded but to no effect. He sat on his cot, his head in his hands staring at the floor, stubbornly refusing to open his lips. I gave over pleading and stormed.

"It's no use, Arnold," he said finally. "I won't tell you anything about the ha'nt; it doesn't enter into the case."

I sat down again and patiently outlined my theory in regard to Mose.

"It is impossible," he declared. "I have known Mose all my life, and I have never yet known him to betray a trust. He loved my father as much as I did, and if my life depended on it, I should swear that he was faithful."

"Rad," I beseeched, "I am not only your attorney, I am your friend; whatever you say to me is as if it had never been said. I must know the truth."

He shook his head.

"I have nothing to say."

"You have got to have something to say," I cried. "You have got to go on the stand and make an absolutely open and straightforward statement of everything bearing on the case. You have got to appear anxious to find and punish the man who murdered your father. You have got to gain public sympathy, and before you go on the stand you owe it to yourself and me to leave nothing unexplained between us."

He raised his eyes miserably to mine.

"Must I go on?" he asked. "Can't I refuse to testify—I don't see that they can punish me for contempt of court; I'm already in prison."

"They can hang you," said I, bluntly.

He buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"Arnold," he pleaded, "don't make me face all those people. You can see what a state my nerves are in; I haven't slept for three nights." He held out his hand to show me how it trembled. "I can't talk—I don't know what I'm saying. You don't know what you're urging me to do."

My anger at his stubbornness vanished in a sudden spasm of pity. The poor fellow was scarcely more than a boy! Though I was completely in the dark as to what he was holding back and why he was doing it, yet I felt instinctively that his motives were honorable.

"Rad," I said, "it would help your cause to be open with me, and if you are remanded for trial before the grand jury you must in the end tell me everything. But now I will not insist. Probably nothing will come up about the ha'nt. I can of course refuse to let you speak on the ground of incriminating evidence, but that is the last stand I wish to take. We must gain public opinion on our side and to that end you must testify yourself. You must force every person present to believe that you are incapable of telling a falsehood—I believe that already and so does Polly Mathers."

Radnor's face flushed and a quick light sprang into his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

I repeated what Polly had said and I added my own interpretation. The effect was electrical. He straightened his shoulders with an air of trying to throw off his despondency.

"I'll do my best," he promised. "Heaven knows I'd like to know the truth as well as you—this doubt is simply hell!"

A knock sounded on the door and a sheriff's officer informed us that the hearing was about to begin.

"You haven't explained your actions on the day of the murder," I said hurriedly. "I must have a reason."

"That's all right—it will come out. If you just keep 'em off the ha'nt, I'll clear everything else."

"If you do that," said I, immeasurably relieved, "there'll be no danger of your being held for trial." I rose and held out my hand. "Courage, my boy; remember that you are going to prove your innocence, not only for your own, but for Polly's sake."

CHAPTER XIII

THE INQUEST

The coroner's court was packed; and though here and there I caught a face that I knew to be friendly to Radnor, the crowd was made up for the most part of morbid sensation seekers, eager to hear and believe the worst.

The District Attorney was present; indeed he and the coroner and Jim Mattison were holding a whispered consultation when I entered the room, and I did not doubt but that the three had been working up the case together. The thought was not reassuring; a coroner, with every appearance of fairness, may still bias a jury by the form his questions take. And I myself was scarcely in a position to turn the trend of the inquiry; I doubt if a lawyer ever went to an inquisition with less command of the facts than I had.

The first witness called was the doctor who made the autopsy. After his testimony had been dwelt upon with what seemed to me needless detail, the facts relating to the finding of the body were brought forward. From this, the investigation veered to the subject of Radnor's strange behavior on the afternoon of the murder. The landlord, stable boy and several hangers-on of the Luray Hotel were called to the stand; their testimony was practically identical, and I did not attempt to question its truth.

"What time did Radnor Gaylord come back to the hotel?" the coroner asked of "old man Tompkins," the landlord.

"I reckon it must 'a' been 'long about three in the afternoon."

"Please describe exactly what occurred."

"Well, we was sittin' on the veranda talkin' about one thing and another when we see young Gaylord comin' across the lot, his head down and his hands in his pockets walkin' fast. He yelled to Jake, who was washin' off a buggy at the pump, to saddle his horse and be quick about it. Then he come up the steps and into the bar-room and called for brandy. He drunk two glasses straight off without blinkin'."

"Had he ordered anything to drink in the morning when they left their horses?" the coroner interrupted at this point.

"No, he didn't go into the bar-room—and it wasn't usually his custom to slight us either."

A titter ran around the room and the coroner rapped for order. "This is not the place for any cheap witticisms; you will kindly confine yourself to answering my questions.—Did Mr. Gaylord appear to have been drinking when he returned from the cave?"

The landlord closed his right eye speculatively. "No, I can't say as he exactly appeared like he'd been drinking," he said with the air of a connoisseur, "but he did seem to be considerably upset about something. He looked mad enough to bite; his face was pale, and his hand trembled when he raised his glass. Three or four noticed it and wondered—"

"Very well," interrupted the coroner, "what did he do next?"

"He went out to the stable yard and swore at the boy for being slow. And he tightened the surcingle himself with such a jerk that the mare plunged and he struck her. He is usually pretty cranky about the way horses is treated, and we wondered—"

He was stopped again and invited to go on without wondering.

"Well, let me see," said the witness, imperturbably. "He jumped into the saddle and slashing the mare across the flanks, started off in a cloud o' dust, without so much as looking back. We was all surprised at this 'cause he's usually pretty friendly, and we talked about it after; but we didn't think nothing particular till the news o' the murder come that evening, when we naturally commenced to put two and two together."

At this point I protested and the landlord was excused. "Jake" Henley, the stable boy, was called. His testimony practically covered the same ground and corroborated what the landlord had said.

"You say he swore at you for being slow?" the coroner asked.

Jake nodded with a grin. "I don't remember just the words—I get swore at so much that it don't make the impression it might—but it was good straight cussin' all right."

"And he struck you as being agitated?"

Jake's grin broadened. "I think you might say agitated," he admitted guardedly. "He was mad enough to begin with, an' now the brandy was gettin' to work. Besides, he was in an all-fired hurry to leave before the rest o' the party come back, an' while I was bringin' out the horse, he heard 'em laughin'. They wasn't in sight yet, but they was makin' a lot o' noise. One o' the girls had stepped on a snake an' was squealin' loud enough to hear her two miles off."

"And Gaylord left before any of them saw him?"

The boy nodded. "He got off all right. 'You forgot to pay for your horse,' I yelled after him, and he threw me fifty cents and it landed in the watering-trough."

This ended his testimony.

Several members of the picnic party were next called upon, and nothing very damaging to Radnor was produced. He seemed to be in his usual spirits before entering the cave, and no one, it transpired, had seen him after he came out, though this was not noted at the time. Also, no one had noticed him in conversation with his father. The coroner dwelt upon this point, but elicited no information one way or the other.

Polly Mathers was not present. She had been subpœnaed, but had become too ill and nervous to stand the strain, and the doctor had forbidden her attendance. The coroner, however, had taken her testimony at the house, and his clerk read it aloud to the jury. It dealt merely with the matter of the coat and where she had last seen Radnor.

"Question. 'Did you notice anything peculiar in the behavior of Radnor Gaylord on the day of his father's death?'

"Answer. 'Nothing especially peculiar—no.'

"Q. 'Did you see any circumstance which led you to suspect that he and his father were not on good terms?'

"A. 'No, they both appeared as usual.'

"Q. 'Did you speak to Radnor in the cave?'

"A. 'Yes, we strolled about together for a time and he was carrying my coat. He laid it down on the broken column and forgot it. I forgot it too and didn't think of it again until we were out of the cave. Then I happened to mention it in Colonel Gaylord's presence, and I suppose he went back for it.'

"Q. 'You didn't see Radnor Gaylord after he left the cave?'

"A. 'No, I didn't see him after we left the gallery of the broken column. The guide struck off a calcium light to show us the formation of the ceiling. We spent about five minutes examining the room, and after that we all went on in a group. Radnor had not waited to see the room, but had gone on ahead in the direction of the entrance.'"

So much for Polly's testimony—which added nothing.

Solomon, frightened almost out of his wits, was called on next, and his testimony brought out the matter of the quarrel between Colonel Gaylord and Radnor. Solomon told of finding the French clock, and a great many things besides which I am sure he made up. I wished to have his testimony ruled out, but the coroner seemed to feel that it was suggestive—as it undoubtedly was—and he allowed it to remain.

Radnor himself was next called to the stand. As he took his place a murmur of excitement swept over the room and there was a general straining forward. He was composed and quiet, and very very sober—every bit of animation had left his face.

The coroner commenced immediately with the subject of the quarrel with his father on the night before the murder, and Radnor answered all the questions frankly and openly. He made no attempt to gloss over any of the details. What put the matter in a peculiarly bad light, was the fact that the cause of the quarrel had been over a question of money. Rad had requested his father to settle a definite amount on him so that he would be independent in the future, and his father had refused. They had lost their tempers and had gone further than usual; in telling the story Radnor openly took the blame upon himself where, in several instances, I strongly suspected that it should have been laid at the door of the Colonel. But in spite of the fact that the story revealed a pitiable state of affairs as between father and son, his frankness in assuming the responsibility won for him more sympathy than had been shown since the murder.

"How did the clock get broken?" the coroner asked.

"My father knocked it off the mantelpiece onto the floor."

"He did not throw it at you as Solomon surmised?"

Radnor raised his head with a glint of anger.

"It fell on the floor and broke."

"Have you often had quarrels with your father?"

"Occasionally. He had a quick temper and always wished his own way, and I was not so patient with him as I should have been."

"What did you quarrel about?"

"Different things."

"What, for instance?"

"Sometimes because he thought I spent too much money, sometimes over a question of managing the estate; occasionally because he had heard gossip about me."

"What do you mean by 'gossip'?"

"Stories that I'd been gambling or drinking too much."

"Were the stories true?"

"They were always exaggerated."

"And this quarrel the night before his death was more serious than usual?"

"Possibly—yes."

"You did not speak to each other at the breakfast table?"

"No."

Radnor's face was set in strained lines; it was evident that this was a very painful subject.

"Did you have any conversation later?"

"Only a few words."

"Please repeat what was said."

Radnor appeared to hesitate and then replied a trifle wearily that he did not remember the exact words; that it was merely a recapitulation of what had been said the night before. Upon being urged to give the gist of the conversation he replied that his father had wished to make up their quarrel, but on the old basis, and he had refused. The Colonel had repeated that he was still too young a man to give over his affairs into the hands of another,—that he had a good many years before him in which he intended to be his own master. Radnor had replied that he was too old a man to be treated any longer as a boy, and that he would go away and work where he would be paid for what he did.

"And may I ask," the coroner inquired placidly, "whether you had any particular work in mind when you made that statement, or was it merely a figure of rhetoric calculated to bring Colonel Gaylord to terms?"

Rad scowled and said nothing, and the rest of his answers were terseness itself.

"Did you and your father have any further conversation on the ride over, or in the course of the day?"

"No."

"You purposely avoided meeting each other?"

"I suppose so."

"Then those words after breakfast when you threatened to leave home were absolutely the last words you ever spoke to your father?"

It was a subject Radnor did not like to think about. His lips trembled slightly and he answered with a visible effort.

"Yes."

A slight murmur ran around the room, partly of sympathy, partly of doubt.

The coroner put the same question again and Radnor repeated his answer, this time with a flush of anger. The coroner paused a moment and then continued without comment:

"You entered the cave with the rest of the party?"

"Yes."

"But you left the others before they had made the complete round?"

"Yes."

"Why was that?"

"I was not particularly interested. I had seen the cave many times before."

"Where did you leave the party?"

"I believe in the gallery of the broken column."

"You left the cave immediately?"

"Yes."

"Did you enter it again?"

"No."

"You forgot Miss Mathers's coat and left it in the gallery of the broken column?"

"So it would seem."

"Did you not think of that later and go back for it?"

Radnor snapped out his answer. "No, I didn't think anything about the coat."

"Are you in the habit of leaving young ladies' coats about in that off-hand way?"

A titter ran about the room, and Rad did not deign to notice this question.

I was indignant that the boy should be made to face such an ordeal. This was not a regular trial and the coroner had no right to be more obnoxious than his calling required. There was a glint of anger in Radnor's eyes; and I was uneasily aware that he no longer cared what impression he made. His answers to the rest of the questions were as short as the English language permitted.

"What did you do after leaving the cave?"

"Went home."

"Please go into more detail. What did you do immediately after leaving the cave?"

"Strolled through the woods."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"How long do you think?"

"Possibly half an hour."

"Then what did you do?"

"Returned to the hotel, ordered my horse and rode home."

"Why did you not wait for the rest of the party?"

"Didn't feel like it."

The question was repeated in several ways, but Radnor stubbornly refused to discuss the matter. He had promised me, the last thing before coming to the hearing, that he would clear up the suspicious points in regard to his conduct on the day of the crime. I took him in hand myself, but I could get nothing more from him than the coroner had elicited. For some reason he had veered completely, and his manner warned me not to push the matter. I took my seat and the questioning continued.

"Mr. Gaylord," said the coroner, severely, "you have heard the evidence respecting your peculiar behavior when you returned to the hotel. Three witnesses have stated that you were in an unnaturally perturbed condition. Is this true?"