The light from the hall shone through the transom and doorway in sufficient volume to clearly indicate the different pieces of furniture, and Barbara put the pitcher and glass on the bed stand and laid the letter which Grimes had given her on the dressing table, then went slowly into her own bedroom.She could hear voices, which she recognized as those of her sister and Mrs.Brewster, coming from Helen's bedroom, but absorbed in her own thoughts she undressed in the dark and crept into bed just as Mrs.Brewster passed down the hallway and entered her own room.The widow had taken off her evening gown and slippers and donned a becoming wrapper before she discovered the letter lying on the dresser.
Drawing up a chair she dropped into it, let down her long dark hair, and settled back in luxuriant comfort against the tufted upholstery before she ran her well-manicured finger under the flap of the envelope.A slip of paper fell into her lap as she took out the contents of the envelope and she let it rest there while scanning the closely typewritten lines on the Metropolis Trust Company stationery.
Dear Mrs.Brewster, she read.Our bank teller, Mr.McDonald, has questioned the genuineness of the signature on the inclosed check.
An important business engagement prevents my calling to-night, but please stop at the bank early to-morrow morning.
I feel that you would prefer to have a personal investigation made rather than have us place the matter in the hands of the police.
Yours faithfully, BENJAMIN A.CLYMER.
The widow read the note a number of times, then bethinking herself, she picked up the canceled check still lying in her lap, and turned it over.Long and intently she studied the signature - the peculiarly characteristic formation of the letter "B" caught and held her attention.As the seconds ticked themselves into minutes she sat immovable, her face as white as the hand on which she had bowed her head.
Across the hall Helen McIntyre tossed from one side to the other in her soft bed; her restless longing to get up was growing stronger and stronger.While Mrs.Brewster's deft fingers and the cooling cologne had stopped the throbbing in her temples, they had brought only temporary relief in their train and not the sleep which Helen craved.
She strained her ears to discover the time by the ticking of her clock, but either it was between the half or quarters of an hour, or it had stopped, for no chimes sounded.With a gasp of exasperation, Helen flung back the bed clothes and sat up.Switching on the light by the side of her bed she hunted for a book, but not finding any, she contemplated for a short space of time a pair of rubber-heeled shoes just showing themselves under the edge of a chair.
With sudden decision she left the bed and dressed rapidly.It was not until she had put on her rubber-heeled shoes that she paused.
Her hesitation, however, was but brief.Stepping to the bureau, she pulled out a lower drawer and running her hand inside, touched a concealed spring.From the cavity thus exposed she took a small automatic pistol, and with a stealthy glance about her, crept from the room.
The library had been vacant fully an hour when a mouse, intent on making a raid on the candy which Barbara had carelessly left lying loose on one of the tables, paused as a faint creaking sound broke the stillness, then as the noise increased, the mouse scurried back to its hole.The noise resembled the turning of rusty hinges and the soft thud of one piece of wood striking another.There was a strained silence, then, from out of the darkness appeared a tiny stream of light directed full on a white envelope bearing a large red seal.
The next instant the envelope was plucked from the hand holding it, and a figure lay crumpled on the floor from the blow of a descending weapon.
It was closely approaching one o'clock in the morning before Mrs.
Brewster stirred from her comfortable bedroom chair.Taking up her electric torch, which she kept always by the side of her bed, she walked quickly down the staircase and into the pitch dark library.
Directing her torch-light so that she steered a safe course among the chairs and tables, she approached one of the pieces of carved Venetian furniture and reached out her hand to touch a trap-door.
As she looked for the spring she was horrified to see a thin stream of blood oozing through the carving until, reaching the letter "B," it outlined that initial in sinister red.
Scream after scream broke from Mrs.Brewster.She was swaying upon her feet by the time Colonel McIntyre and his daughter Helen reached the library.
"Margaret! What is it?" McIntyre demanded."Calm yourself, my darling."The frenzied woman shook off his soothing hand.
"See, see!" she cried and pointed with her torch.
"She means the Venetian casket," explained Helen, who had paused before joining them to switch on the light.
Colonel McIntyre gazed in amazement at the piece of furniture;then catching sight of the blood-stain, he raised the small trap-door or peep hole, in the top of the oblong box which stood breast high, supported on a beautifully carved base.
There was a breathless pause; then McIntyre unceremoniously jerked the electric torch from Mrs.Brewster's nervous fingers and turned its rays of the interior of the casket.Stretched at full length lay the figure of a man, and from a wound in his temple flowed a steady stream of blood.
"Good God!" McIntyre staggered back against Helen."Grimes!"
