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Mansion of Mystery

<h3 id="id00008" style="margin-top: 3em">THE MANSION OF MYSTERY</h3> Being a Certain Case of Importance, Taken from the Note-book of Adam Adams, Investigator and Detective by <h5 id="id00011">CHESTER K. STEELE</h5> Author of "The Disappearance of John Darr" International Fiction Library Cleveland New York Press of the Commercial Bookbinding Co., Cleveland 1911 <h1 id="id00015" style="margin-top: 7em">CHAPTER I</h1> <h5 id="id00016">THE STORY OF A DOUBLE TRAGEDY</h5> The young man was evidently in a tremendous hurry, and as soon as the ferryboat bumped into the slip he was at the gate and was the first one ashore. He beckoned to one of the alert taxicabmen, and without waiting to have the vehicle brought to him, ran to it and leaped inside. "Do you know where the Vanderslip Building is?" he questioned abruptly. "Yes, sir." "Then take me there with all possible speed." "Yes, sir." The door slammed, the taxi driver mounted to his seat, and off the taxi started at the best rate of speed the driver could attain. The young man sank down among the cushions and buried his chin in his hands. His face, normally a handsome one, was now wrinkled with care, his hair was disheveled, and he looked as if he had lost much sleep. At times his mouth twitched nervously and he clenched his fists in a passion which availed him nothing. "To think that she is guilty!" he muttered. "It is horrible! Horrible!" And then his whole frame shook as if with the ague. Twice he started up, to see if he had not yet arrived at his destination. But the drive was a long one, and to him, in his keen anxiety, it appeared an age. "If he is away—out of town—in Europe, or on some case which he cannot leave, what am I to do?" he murmured. "I've pinned my whole faith on him." Presently there was a jar, and the taxicab came to a halt in front of a large office building. The young man gave one look, and, before the driver could get down, had the door open and was on the pavement. "Here you are," he said and thrust a dollar bill into the fellow's hand. Then he crossed the broad pavement and was lost to sight in the corridor beyond. "In a hurry and no mistake, and looks a heap worried, too," was the chauffeur's comment. "Well, I'm a quarter ahead on that fare." For a moment the young man studied the directory on the corridor wall. Then he entered an elevator and alighted at the eighth floor. He, walked down a side hall until he came to a door upon the glass of which was inscribed the name: Adam Adams "This must be the place," he murmured, and opening the door he entered the office, to find himself in a plain but neatly furnished apartment, containing several chairs, and a flat-top desk, at which a young lady was writing. "Is Mr. Adams in?" he asked, as the young lady arose to meet him. "What name, please?" was the counter question, and the young lady gave the visitor a keen glance. "Raymond Case." The young man brought forth his card. "Tell Mr. Adams I am the son of the late Wilbur Case, and wish to see him on important business." The young lady disappeared through a door leading to an inner apartment. From this she entered another apartment, much larger, and overlooking the little city park far below. The room was filled with books and pictures, and some wall brackets contained several bits of finely-carved statuary. There was one large roller-top desk and three comfortable leather chairs. At the desk sat a man of uncertain age, with a strong face, a somewhat bald head, and eyes that were neither light nor dark. The man was of ordinary height, but muscular to a surprising degree. His face showed a high order of intelligence and his mouth a determination not easily thrust aside. "A gentleman to see you," said the young lady. She placed the card before him. "He told me to tell you that he is the son of the late Wilbur Case, and wishes to see you on important business." The man at the desk drew a long breath and looked up from a slip of paper which he had been studying through a microscope. "Raymond Case, eh? All right, Letty, show him in." In another moment the visitor was in the private office. Adam Adams arose and gave him a warm handshake. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Case," he said cordially. "I knew your late father quite well—a fine man—a very fine man, indeed. Have a chair and make yourself at home." He noted that his visitor was much agitated and flushed. "Sit down by the window; there is a nice breeze there from across the park." "Mr. Adams, I would like to see you in private," returned the young man, as he took a seat and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Very well," and the office door was carefully closed. Then came a brief pause, during which Raymond Case cleared his throat several times. "Mr. Adams, you do not know much about me, but I know a great deal about you," he commenced. "Three or four years ago you recovered some stolen mining shares for my father, and last year you cleared up the Sandford mystery, after the police and the other detectives had failed completely." Adam Adams bowed. He rarely spoke unless there was occasion for it. "May I ask if you are now at liberty?" pursued the young man. "At liberty? Bless you, no! I have half a dozen cases on hand. Two here in the city—one over in New Jersey—one in Yonkers, and—" "But you will undertake a case for me, if I pay you well for it, won't you?" interrupted the young man eagerly. "Don't say no—please don't!" And there was a ring of agony in his speech. "I am depending upon you!" The detective paused before replying, and looked the young man over with care. The clean-cut features showed not a sign of dissipation, and the expression was honesty itself. Certainly the young man had not gotten into trouble on his own account. "I should want to know something about the case before I promised to do anything." "Certainly—of course—" The young man cleared his throat again. "You can tell me what the trouble is and if I decline to take the case I will give you my promise not to say a word to any outsider of what has passed between us." "Oh, I know I can trust you, Mr. Adams, otherwise I should not have called here. My father said you were the squarest man he had ever dealt with. I came to see you about the Langmore affair." "You mean the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Barry Langmore at Beechwood Hill?" "Yes." Adam Adams was surprised, although he did not show it. What had this rich young man, who lived in Orange, New Jersey, and did business in Wall Street, to do with that double tragedy which had so shocked the community? "I presume you know some of the particulars of the sad affair," resumed Raymond Case. "The newspapers have been full of it." "I know that the pair were found murdered. I have not looked into details, being so busy with other matters." "It was an outrageous deed, Mr. Adams!" cried the young man, jumping up and beginning to pace the floor. "One of the foulest of which I have ever heard." "A murder is always foul, no matter under what circumstances it is committed. What do you wish me to do?" "Find the murderer." "That may not be easy. Are not other detectives already working on the case?" "Yes, but they are only local men and not worth their salt." "They may be doing all that can be done. It is a mistake to presume that every mystery of this sort can be solved. Here in New York men go to their death every year and nobody ever finds out how, or by what hand." "But the local men simply jump at conclusions. They are a set of blind fools, and—" The young man stopped short. Adam Adams smiled faintly. He knew something of the bungling work done by detectives of small caliber. Had he not himself once saved a poor Jew from hanging after several country detectives had apparently proved the fellow guilty? And had not those same sleuths of the law been angry at him ever since? "Excuse me, Mr. Case, but how is it that you take an interest in this affair?" he asked. "Are you related to the Langmores in any way?" "I am not." The young man began to blush. "Is it necessary that I tell you why?" he stammered. "It is not necessary for you to tell me anything," responded the detective dryly. "I didn't mean to say—" "Let me give you a word of advice. Never try to get a detective to do anything for you unless you are willing to tell him all you know and all you suspect. It is generally hard enough to solve an enigma without having other mysteries attached to it." The young man lowered his face and looked confused for a moment. "Then I will tell you everything," he said. "You may take notes if you wish." "It is not necessary, since I have a good memory." "The Langmores lived just on the outskirts of the town, on the road leading to Sidham, which is several miles distance." "I have a general idea of the location." "The house is a fine, old-fashioned stone mansion, setting well back from the road, and surrounded by a well-kept lawn and numerous trees and bushes. At the rear of the garden is a small stream, which flows into the river a mile and a half below." "Is the place surrounded by a fence?" "On two sides only. In the front there is a hedge and in the rear the little stream forms the boundary of the property." "I understand." "At the time of the tragedy there were four persons in the house, so far as known—Mr. and Mrs. Langmore, Mr. Langmore's daughter, Margaret, and a servant, Mary Billings." "Wait a moment. You said Mr. Langmore's daughter. Was she not Mrs. Langmore's daughter also?" "No. You see Mr. Langmore was a widower when he married the present Mrs. Langmore, who was a widow. There are two sets of children." "I understand. When did the tragedy occur?" "At some time between eleven and twelve in the morning. During that time Margaret Langmore was in her room writing several letters, and was practicing on the piano in the parlor. The house is a large one, with sixteen rooms and several hallways and stairs." "Where was the servant?" "In the kitchen and out to the barn. There are two other girls, but one is in the hospital sick and the other was to town on an errand." "Where were Mr. and Mrs. Langmore?" "The daughter thought her stepmother had gone out to visit a neighbor, as she had said something about doing so earlier in the morning. Mr. Langmore had gone to the bank in town at nine o'clock and Margaret saw him come home about half-past ten or eleven." "What was she doing at the time?" "Practicing on the piano. She heard her father go directly to his library, which is situated across the hallway from the parlor. She heard the door shut, and then went on with her practicing." "Did she hear anything in the library?" "She thinks she heard something, but is not sure. She was practicing a very difficult piece by Wagner—" "And it was loud enough to drown out every other sound." "That's it. When the clock struck twelve she stopped practicing to learn if lunch was ready. She also wanted to speak to her father, and so crossed the hallway and opened the library door." The young man's voice began to tremble a little. "She found her father stretched lifeless in an armchair." "How had he been killed?" "That is a part of the mystery. He was either choked or smothered to death, or else he was poisoned. The doctors don't seem to be able to get at the bottom of it." For the first time since Raymond Case had begun his recital Adam Adams began to show an interest. "If the man was strangled his throat should show the marks," he observed. "There are no marks, and the doctors have found no trace of poison." "Humph!" The detective rubbed his chin reflectively. "What next?" "Margaret Langmore was so horrified she ran from the room screaming wildly. Her shrieks brought the servant to the spot, and a minute later two of the neighbors, Mrs. Bardon and her son Alfred, came over from next door." "Where was Mrs. Langmore at this time?" "Nobody knew. Alfred Bardon is a physician, and, thinking there might still be a spark of life in Mr. Langmore, did all he possibly could to resuscitate the gentleman. The servant girl ran upstairs to find some drugs for him and in the upper hallway stumbled over the dead body of Mrs. Langmore." "And how had she died?" "In the same manner as her husband. This news of a double tragedy was too much for Margaret, and she fainted. The others notified more of the neighbors and the police, and of course, the news spread like wildfire. I was stopping at the Beechwood Hotel at the time and as soon as I heard of the tragedy, I jumped into an automobile that was handy and rode over." "Then you arrived at the house about as soon as the police?" "A little before." "What did you see?" "Just what I have told you. The doctor had been trying to bring Mr. Langmore around but had suddenly been taken sick and could do nothing." "Humph, sick, eh? Did he say what made him sick?" "He did not know. He thought it might be from leaning over the dead man, or from working in that position. I think the sudden sickness frightened him a little." "When the police arrived what did they find of importance?" "Nothing." "Had anything been stolen?" "Nothing, so far as they could learn." "Of course, you must have known these folks pretty well to take such an interest." "I knew Mr. Langmore very well and I was acquainted with his wife." Adam Adams knit his brow for a moment and tapped lightly on his desk with his forefinger. "Have the police any idea as to how the murderer got into the house and got out again?" he asked. At this question Raymond Case's face flushed. "They do not think the murderer left the house," he answered in a low tone. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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