III
On occasion, Barney Killigen could be as plausible as a politician explaining a broken election promise, and to the butler at Mrs. Dwight Chester-Smith’s home, he was disarmingly polite. “I suppose,” he said, “Mrs. Chester-Smith has left orders that she is not to be disturbed in connection with the unfortunate affair of a few nights ago.”
“Quite right,” the butler said frostily.
“Under those circumstances,” Killigen observed, “you may show us around. You look like a man of more than average intelligence, and I don’t think it will be necessary for us to disturb Mrs. Chester-Smith. In fact, I promise you that I won’t do so except upon a matter of the greatest importance.”
“What did you wish to see?” the butler asked.
“First,” Killigen said, “we’ll take a look at the place where the jewels, which were recovered, were found. We’ll take a look at the place where the ladder was placed against the side of the house, and then we’ll take a look at the room itself.”
The butler said: “Really, these things have been gone over time and time again.”
“Of course,” Killigen said, with just the right air of authority in his voice, “if you wish to insist upon my calling Mrs. Chester-Smith, I can do so.”
The butler gulped a couple of times, then said, “Very well sir, step this way, please.”
He led us out around the house to the north side.
Killigen said: “There’s soft ground in the spaded flower bed. Doubtless there were tracks?”
“No footprints, sir,” the butler said, “but the marks of the ladder, yes.”
“We’ll take a look at them,” Barney Killigen said. “I presume they’ve been photographed?”
“Indeed, yes,” the butler said.
We bent over the indentations in the soft, muddy soil pointed out to us by the butler. There were two of these indentations in the form of perfectly marked outlines where the ends of two-by-fours had been pushed into the soil. They were spaced about eighteen inches apart. The one on the left flared out just a trifle to the east, the one on the right a trifle to the west. “Ah, yes,” Killigen said, in that suave, courteous tone which indicated absolutely nothing of his thoughts. “And now where were the gems found? Right along this driveway?”
“Yes, sir. They were found scattered along here as though they’d been dropped in flight. Although they weren’t exactly on the driveway, they were slightly to one side.”
“On the right or the left?” Barney asked.
“Some on one side. Some on the other.”
“I see. You couldn’t point out the exact spot where the things were found, could you?”
“Some of them,” the butler said. “Over here the diamond necklace given by Mr. and Mrs. C. William Pennybaker was lying in the grass. Over here was a platinum wrist watch, a gift from the groom’s uncle, William Dewitt Huntley.”
“Ah, yes,” Killigen said, “the wrist watch. And what was the condition of the wrist watch? Was it running, or—”
“No, sir; it had evidently hit something rather solid when it was dropped. The crystal was broken, and I understand expensive repairs are necessary to put it in order. It’s a dastardly outrage, if you’re asking me, sir.”
“Quite right,” Killigen said, “and, at the same time, quite wrong.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I meant to say,” Killigen observed, “that it undoubtedly is an outrage, and that I’m not asking you.”
The butler flushed, started to say something, then checked himself.
“And now,” Killigen said, “we’ll take a look at the room where the crime was committed.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the butler said, “but this has been gone over time and time again. Would you mind explaining the necessity of this visit?”
“Mind?” Barney Killigen exploded. “Of course I’d mind!”
“But it seems so unusual, sir. After the complete investigation, which—”
“Get Mrs. Chester-Smith at once,” Barney Killigen said, fixing the butler with a cold eye.
“Mrs. Chester-Smith has left orders that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances. She is already—”
“Get Mrs. Chester-Smith at once,” Killigen repeated, “or I’ll get her myself,” and he strode toward the house.
The butler broke into a jog trot to keep up, explaining, expostulating, and apologizing; but Killigen was adamant. At length, the butler gave in.
“Very good, sir. If you’ll be seated for just a moment, sir, I’ll get Mrs. Chester-Smith.”
He was back in a few minutes with a woman in the late forties, who regarded us as though we were some sort of insects, stuck with pins, and mounted on cards. Her facial expression was naturally haughty; her hands glinted as they moved. Diamonds sparkled from her earrings. She took to diamonds as naturally as a duck takes to water. Called on for a two word description, one would have said, “Diamonds and dignity” — and that would just about have covered the woman’s character.
“I’m afraid,” Killigen said, “I shall have to report your servant for insolence. He—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she interrupted. “Armstrong tells me that he has been most patient with you, and most considerate, and I have no reason to doubt his word. You police are assuming altogether too much authority. If you would put in half of the time trying to recover my property, which you have taken in snooping around the premises, you—”
“I beg your pardon,” Barney Killigen interrupted, “but I’m not from the police.”
“Not from the police!” she exclaimed.
“Why, certainly not,” Killigen said. “I’m an attorney, and I certainly never intimated that I was from the police. I was afraid your butler might have thought I was passing myself off as an officer — which is one of the reasons I insisted he call you. I don’t mind a servant being a bit cheeky, but when he presumes to confuse an honest criminal lawyer with a policeman, he’s becoming too damned insolent.”
The butler stared, agape.
Mrs. Chester-Smith said, in a voice filled with loathing, “A criminal lawyer?”
“But I certainly thought he was from the police, madam,” the butler said.
“Come, come,” Killigen remarked briskly; “you had absolutely no grounds for any such assumption.”
“He started right in, ordering me around, just like the police do,” the butler explained to Mrs. Chester-Smith.
“It’s absolutely outrageous,” she said. “I never heard anything like it. Whom do you represent, Mr.... er—”
“Killigen,” Barney Killigen said. “Here’s one of my cards.”
“And whom do you represent, Mr. Killigen?”
“Estelle Whiting, the young woman who has been falsely accused of this crime.”
Mrs. Chester-Smith’s eyes flashed. Her face darkened. “Do I understand that you intend to try to acquit that woman?”
“Yes.”
“Get out,” she said chokingly, pointing an imperious finger in the direction of the door. “Out at once! Out of this house! Out!”
Killigen said affably: “And because I understand, Mrs. Chester-Smith, that you intend to absent yourself during the trial, so the common herd won’t have an opportunity to gawk at your aristocratic features, I am herewith serving a subpoena upon you to be in court at the day and date therein designated, to testify as a witness on behalf of the defendant.”
Barney Killigen whipped a folded oblong of paper from his pocket and pushed it into her hand. She dashed it to the floor, stamped on it. The butler moved ominously forward.