The jacques futrelle meg.., p.31
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack, page 31
The Court leaned forward eagerly to peer at the map; Detective Mallory tugged violently at his moustache. Into the prisoner’s manner there came tense anxiety.
“Do you know what time you saw me there?” he asked.
Policeman Gillis was thoughtful a moment.
“No,” he replied at last. “I heard a clock strike just after I saw you but I didn’t notice.”
The prisoner’s face went deathly white for an instant, then he recovered himself with an effort.
“You didn’t count the strokes?” he asked.
“No, I wasn’t paying any attention to it.”
The colour rushed back into Chase’s face and he was silent a moment. Then:
“It was two o’clock you heard strike?” It was hardly a question, rather a statement.
“I don’t know,” said Gillis. “It might have been. Probably was.”
“What did I say to you?”
“You asked me where you could find a dentist, and I directed you to Dr. Sitgreaves across the street.”
“You saw me enter Dr. Sitgreaves’ house?”
“Yes.”
The accused glanced up at the Court and that eminent jurist proceeded to look solemn.
“Dr. Sitgreaves, please?” called the prisoner.
The dentist appeared, exchanging nods with the prisoner.
“You remember me, doctor?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you to tell the Court where you live? Show us on this map please.”
Dr. Sitgreaves put his finger down at the spot which had been pointed out by the prisoner and by Policeman Gillis, two and a half miles from the Avon.
“I live three doors from this corner,” explained the dentist.
“You pulled a tooth for me last night?” went on the prisoner.
“Yes.”
“Here?” and the prisoner opened his mouth.
The dentist gazed down him.
“Yes,” he replied.
“You may remember, doctor,” went on the prisoner, quietly, “that you had occasion to notice the clock just after I called at your house. Do you remember what time it was?”
“A few minutes before two—seven or eight minutes, I think.”
Detective Mallory and the Court exchanged bewildered glances.
“You looked at your watch, too. Was that exactly with the clock?”
“Yes, within a minute.”
“And what time did I leave your office?” the prisoner asked.
“Seventeen minutes past two—I happen to remember,” was the reply.
The prisoner glanced dreamily around the room twice, his eyes met Detective Mallory’s. He stared straight into that official for an instant then turned back to the dentist.
“When you drew the tooth there was blood of course. It is possible that I got the stains on my fingers and clothing?”
“Yes, certainly.”
The prisoner turned to the Court and surprised a puzzled expression on that official countenance.
“Is anything else necessary?” he inquired courteously. “It has been established that the moment of the crime was two o’clock; I have shown by three witnesses—two of them city officials—that I was two and a half miles away in less than half an hour; I couldn’t have gone on a car in less than fifteen minutes—hardly that.”
There was a long silence as the Court considered the matter. Finally he delivered himself, briefly.
“It resolves itself into a question of the accuracy of the clocks,” he said. “The accuracy of the clock at the Avon is attested by the known accuracy of the clock in the telegraph office, while it seems established that Dr. Sitgreaves’ clock was also accurate, because it was with his watch. Of course there is no question of veracity of witnesses—it is merely a question of the clock in Dr. Sitgreaves’ office. If that is shown to be absolutely correct we must accept the alibi.”
The prisoner turned to the elevator man from the Avon.
“What sort of a clock was that you mentioned?”
“An electric clock, regulated from Washington Observatory,” was the reply.
“And the clock at the telegraph office, Mr. Mallory?”
“An electric clock, regulated from Washington Observatory.”
“And yours, Dr. Sitgreaves?”
“An electric clock, regulated from Washington Observatory.”
The prisoner remained in his cell until seven o’clock that evening while experts tested the three clocks. They were accurate to the second; and it was explained that there could have been no variation of either without this variation showing in the delicate testing apparatus. Therefore it came to pass that Franklin Chase was released on his own recognizance, while Detective Mallory wandered off into the sacred precincts of his private office to hold his head in his hands and think.
Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, had followed the intricacies of the mystery from the discovery of De Forrest’s body, through the preliminary hearing, up to and including the expert examination of the clocks, which immediately preceded the release of Franklin Chase. When this point was reached his mental condition was not unlike that of Detective Mallory—he was groping hopelessly, blindly in the mazes of the problem.
It was then that he called to see Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen—The Thinking Machine. That distinguished gentleman listened to a recital of the known facts with petulant, drooping mouth and the everlasting squint in his blue eyes. As the reporter talked on, corrugations appeared in the logician’s expansive brow, and these gave way in turn to a net-work of wrinkles. At the end The Thinking Machine sat twiddling his long fingers and staring upward.
“This is one of the most remarkable cases that has come to my attention,” he said at last, “because it possesses the unusual quality of being perfect in each way—that is the evidence against Mr. Chase is perfect and the alibi he offers is perfect. But we know instantly that if Mr. Chase killed Mr. De Forrest there was something the matter with the clocks despite expert opinion.
“We know that as certainly as we know that two and two make four, not some times but all the time, because our reason tells us that Mr. Chase was not in two places at once at two o’clock. Therefore we must assume either one of two things—that something was the matter with the clocks—and if there was we must assume that Mr. Chase was responsible for it—or that Mr. Chase had nothing whatever to do with Mr. De Forrest’s death, at least personally.”
The last word aroused Hatch to a new and sudden interest. It suggested a line of thought which had not yet occurred to him.
“Now,” continued the scientist, “if we can find one flaw in Mr. Chase’s story we will have achieved the privilege of temporarily setting aside his defence and starting over. If, on the contrary, he told the full and exact truth and our investigation proves that he did, it instantly clears him. Now just what have you done, please?”
“I talked to Dr. Sitgreaves,” replied Hatch. “He did not know Chase—never saw him until he pulled the tooth, and then didn’t know his name. But he told me really more than appeared in court, for instance, that his watch had been regulated only a few days ago, that it had been accurate since, and that he knew it was accurate next day because he kept an important engagement. That being accurate the clock must be accurate, because they were together almost to the second.
“I also talked to every other person whose name appears in the case. I questioned them as to all sorts of possibilities, and the result was that I was compelled to accept the alibi—not that I’m unwilling to of course, but it seems peculiar that De Forrest should have written the name as he was dying.”
“You talked to the young men who went into Mr. Chase’s room at two o’clock?” inquired The Thinking Machine casually.
“Yes.”
“Did you ask either of them the condition of Mr. Chase’s bed when they went in?”
“Yes,” replied the reporter. “I see what you mean. They agreed that it was tumbled as if someone had been in it.”
The Thinking Machine raised his eyebrows slightly.
“Suppose, Mr. Hatch, that you had a violent toothache,” he asked after a moment, still casually, “and were looking for relief, would you stop to notice the number of a policeman who told you where there was a dentist’s office?”
Hatch considered it calmly, as he stared into the inscrutable face of the scientist.
“Oh, I see,” he said at last. “No, I hardly think so, and yet I might.”
Later Hatch and The Thinking Machine, by permission of Detective Mallory, made an exhaustive search of De Forrest’s apartments in the Avon, seeking some clue. When the Thinking Machine went down the single flight of stairs to the office he seemed deeply perplexed.
“Where is your clock?” he inquired of the elevator man.
“In the inside office, opposite the telephone booth,” was the reply.
The scientist went in and taking a stool, clambered up and squinted fiercely into the very face of the timepiece. He said “Ah!” once, non-commitally, then clambered down.
“It would not be possible for anyone here to see a person pass through the hall,” he mused. “Now,” and he picked up a telephone book, “just a word with Dr. Sitgreaves.”
He asked the dentist only two questions and their nature caused Hatch to smile. The first was:
“You have a pocket in the shirt of your pajamas?”
“Yes,” came the wondering reply.
“And when you are called at night you pick up your watch and put it in that pocket?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks. Good-bye.”
Then The Thinking Machine turned to Hatch.
“We are safe in believing,” he said, “that Mr. De Forrest was not killed by a thief, because his valuables were undisturbed, therefore we must believe that the person who killed him was an acquaintance. It would be unfair to act hastily, so I shall ask you to devote three or four days to getting this man’s history in detail; see his friends and enemies, find out all about him, his life, his circumstances, his love affairs—all those things.”
Hatch nodded; he was accustomed to receiving large orders from The Thinking Machine.
“If you uncover nothing in that line to suggest another line of investigation I will give you the name of the person who killed him and an arrest will follow. The murderer will not run away. The solution of the affair is quite clear, unless—” he emphasized the word—“unless some unknown fact gives it another turn.”
Hatch was forced to be content with that and for the specified four days laboured arduously and vainly. Then he returned to The Thinking Machine and summed up results briefly in one word: “Nothing.”
The Thinking Machine went out and was gone two hours. When he returned he went straight to the telephone and called Detective Mallory. The detective appeared after a few minutes.
“Have one of your men go at once and arrest Mr. Chase,” The Thinking Machine instructed. “You might explain to him that there is new evidence—an eye witness if you like. But don’t mention my name or this place to him. Anyway bring him here and I’ll show you the flaw in the perfect alibi he set up!”
Detective Mallory started to ask questions.
“It comes down simply to this,” interrupted The Thinking Machine impatiently. “Somebody killed Mr. De Forrest and that being true it must be that that somebody can be found. Please, when Mr. Chase comes here do not interrupt me, and introduce me to him as an important new witness.”
An hour later Franklin Chase entered with Detective Mallory. He was somewhat pale and nervous and in his eyes lay a shadow of apprehension. Over it all was the gloss of ostentatious nonchalance and self control. There were introductions. Chase started visibly at actual reference to the “important new witness.”
“An eye witness,” added The Thinking Machine.
Positive fright came into Chase’s manner and he quailed under the steady scrutiny of the narrow blue eyes. The Thinking Machine dropped back into his chair and pressed his long, white fingers tip to tip.
“If you’ll just follow me a moment, Mr. Chase,” he suggested at last. “You know Dr. Sitgreaves, of course? Yes. Well, it just happens that I have a room a block or so away from his house around the corner. These are Mr. Hatch’s apartments.” He stated it so convincingly that there was no possibility of doubt. “Now my room faces straight up an alley which runs directly back of Dr. Sitgreaves’s house. There is an electric light at the corner.”
Chase started to say something, gulped, then was silent.
“I was in my room the night of Mr. De Forrest’s murder,” went on the scientist, “and was up moving about because I, too, had a toothache. It just happened that I glanced out my front window.” His tone had been courteous in the extreme; now it hardened perceptibly. “I saw you, Mr. Chase, come along the street, stop at the alley, glance around and then go into the alley. I saw your face clearly under the electric light, and that was at twenty minutes to three o’clock. Detective Mallory has just learned of this fact and I have signified my willingness to go on the witness stand and swear to it.”
The accused man was deathly white now; his face was working strangely, but still he was silent. It was only by a supreme effort that he restrained himself.
“I saw you open a gate and go into the back yard of Dr. Sitgreaves’s house,” resumed The Thinking Machine. “Five minutes or so later you came out and walked on to the cross street, where you disappeared. Naturally I wondered what it meant. It was still in my mind about half past three o’clock, possibly later, when I saw you enter the alley again, disappear in the same yard, then come out and go away.”
“I—I was not—not there,” said Chase weakly. “You were—were mistaken.”
“When we know,” continued The Thinking Machine steadily, “that you entered that house before you entered by the front door, we know that you tampered with Dr. Sitgreaves’s watch and clock, and when we know that you tampered with those we know that you murdered Mr. De Forrest as his dying note stated. Do you see it?”
Chase arose suddenly and paced feverishly back and forth across the room; Detective Mallory discreetly moved his chair in front of the door. Chase saw and understood.
“I know how you tampered with the clock so as not to interfere with its action or cause any variation at the testing apparatus. You were too superbly clever to stop it, or interfere with the circuit. Therefore I see that you simply took out the pin which held on the hands and moved them backward one hour. It was then actually a quarter of three—you made it a quarter of two. You showed your daring by invading the dentist’s sleeping room. You found his watch on a table beside his bed, set that with the clock, then went out, spoke to Policeman Gillis whose number you noted and rang the front door bell. After you left by the front door you allowed time for the household to get quiet again, then re-entered from the rear and reset the watch and clock. Thus your alibi was perfect. You took desperate chances and you knew it, but it was necessary.”
The Thinking Machine stopped and squinted up into the pallid face. Chase made a hopeless gesture with his hands and sat down, burying his face.
“It was clever, Mr. Chase,” said the scientist finally. “It is the only murder case I know where the criminal made no mistake. You probably killed Mr. De Forrest in a fit of anger, left there while the elevator boy was upstairs, then saw the necessity of protecting yourself and devised this alibi at the cost of one tooth. Your only real danger was when you made Patrolman Gillis your witness, taking the desperate chance that he did not know or would not remember just when you spoke to him.”
Again there was silence. Finally Chase looked up with haggard face.
“How did you know all this?” he asked.
“Because under the exact circumstances, nothing else could have happened,” replied the scientist. “The simplest rules of logic proved conclusively that this did happen.” He straightened up in the chair. “By the way,” he asked, “what was the motive of the murder?”
“Don’t you know?” asked Chase, quickly.
“No.”
“Then you never will,” declared Chase, grimly.
When Chase had gone with the detective, Hatch lingered with The Thinking Machine.
“It’s perfectly astonishing,” he said. “How did you get at it anyway?”
“I visited the neighbourhood, saw how it could have been done, learned through your investigation that no one else appeared in the case, then, knowing that this must have happened, tricked Mr. Chase into believing I was an eye witness to the incident in the alley. That was the only way to make him confess. Of course there was no one else in it.”
One of the singular points in the Chase murder trial was that while the prisoner was convicted of murder on his own statement no inkling of a motive ever appeared.
KIDNAPPED BABY BLAKE, MILLIONAIRE
I
Douglas Blake, millionaire, sat flat on the floor and gazed with delighted eyes at the unutterable beauties of a highly colored picture book. He was only fourteen months old, and the picture book was quite the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Evelyn Barton, a lovely girl of twenty-two or three years, sat on the floor opposite and listened with a slightly amused smile as Baby Blake in his infinite wisdom discoursed learnedly on the astonishing things he found in the book.
The floor whereon Baby Blake sat was that of the library of the Blake home, in the outskirts of Lynn. This home, handsomely but modestly furnished, had been built by Baby Blake’s father, Langdon Blake, who had died four months previously, leaving Baby Blake’s beautiful mother, Elizabeth Blake, heart-broken and crushed by the blow, and removing her from the social world of which she had been leader.
Here, quietly, with but three servants and Miss Barton, the nurse, who could hardly be classed as a servant—rather a companion—Mrs. Blake had lived on for the present.
The great house was gloomy, but it had been the scene of all her happiness, and she had clung to it. The building occupied relatively a central position in a plot of land facing the street for 200 feet or so, and stretching back about 300 feet. A stone wall inclosed it.
