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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id00208" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER III</h2> <h5 id="id00209">MARGARET LANGMORE</h5> As Raymond Case had said, the Langmore mansion was a large one, setting in the midst of an extensive lawn, sprinkled here and there with maples and oaks and fine flowering bushes. The hedge in front was well kept and the side fences were also in good repair. In the rear was a stable and also an automobile shed, for the late master of this estate had been fond of a dash in his runabout when time permitted. Down by the brook, back of the stable, was a tiny wharf, where a boat was tied up, a craft which Margaret Langmore had occasionally taken down to the river for a row. The mansion now looked dark and lonesome, although many folks passed on the highway and whispered to each other that there was the spot where the gruesome tragedy had been committed. "And to think that the man's own daughter did it," they would generally add. "Beats all how bloodthirsty some folks can get. He must have cut her short on money or something and she was too high-strung to stand it." "No, it ain't that," another would answer. "She's been flirting around with a certain young man, a Wall Street gambler, and her mother wouldn't have it and told her so. That's the real trouble, my way of thinking." Inside of the house all was as quiet as a tomb save for the ticking of the long clock in the lower hall. Below, a single policeman was on guard, in company with a woman, who had been sent in to help: Upstairs another woman was stationed, to see that Margaret Langmore might not take it upon herself to leave for parts unknown. Margaret sat in her own room, in the wing on the second floor, a dainty apartment, trimmed in blue and containing all her girlish treasures. On the walls were numerous photographs of her old schoolmates and the flag of the seminary she had attended. And on the mantel rested the picture of Raymond Case, the high polish of the surface marred in one spot where a tear had fallen upon it. The girl was tall and slender, with a wealth of light-brown hair and eyes of deepest blue. It was more than a pretty face, for it had a certain sadness that was touching. For several minutes the girl had not moved. Now, as the door opened and the woman who was on guard upstairs came in, she gave a long sigh. "Can I do anything?" asked the woman, in a voice that was not unkindly. "Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Morse." "Would you like a cup of tea, or a bit of toast? Mrs. Jessup can make it easy enough—she has nothing at all to do." "I do not care to touch a thing." The answer came in a dreary monotone. The girl's trials were beginning to tell upon her. At first she had tried to bear up bravely, and the words Raymond had spoken had comforted her, but now he was gone and the whole world looked dark once more. "Has anybody called?" she asked at length. "Nobody to see you." "Nobody?" Margaret began to pace the floor. "When did the coroner say the examination was to be continued?" she went on. "To-morrow morning at eleven o'clock." "And who is to be put on the stand?" At this question the woman in charge began to fidget. "Excuse me, miss, but I was ordered not to answer questions. I'm sorry, and I wish you wouldn't worry so much. If I can do anything else—" "You can do nothing." At that moment came the sounds of carriage wheels and a cab from the depot drew up to the door. Margaret looked through the slats of a blind and saw that the arrivals were Raymond Case and a stranger, a man wearing a rather ordinary suit of clothing and a rough slouch hat. "Thank Heaven, Raymond has brought somebody!" murmured the girl. There was a short consultation at the front door and she heard the young man say: "He has a perfect right here and I demand admittance for us both." Then another murmur followed and the pair came upstairs. They knocked on the door of Margaret's room and were admitted, and Mrs. Morse was told that she might go. "This gentleman has come to give Miss Langmore some advice," said Raymond Case. "If we want you we will call." "But I have orders—" "Miss Langmore will remain in this room, so you have nothing to fear. She has a legal right to receive advice." "Oh, if the gentleman is a lawyer I have nothing to say," was the retort, and Mrs. Morse swept from the room. The instant she was gone, the young man closed the door and then rushed up to Margaret Langmore and kissed her. "I have succeeded!" he cried. "I told you I would. This is Mr. Adam Adams. Mr. Adams, this is Miss Margaret Langmore. Now, I guess we are going to show these country bumpkins a thing or two!" he added earnestly. The detective advanced and shook hands. Margaret Langmore was a trifle disappointed in his appearance and her face clouded for an instant. Raymond was quick to notice it. "You mustn't judge a man by his appearance. Mr. Adams makes himself look that way on purpose. He's the smartest, swiftest—" "That will do," interrupted the detective with a brief smile. "Will you help me?" The girl eyed the detective squarely. "I—I need help so much." "I must hear your story first." "Oh, I thought Raymond would tell you everything." "He has told me all he knows. But I want to hear the story from your own lips. Something may have slipped him, you know." "I will tell you everything. Please sit down." Margaret Langmore began her narrative. It was fully an hour before she finished. Occasionally the detective asked a question, but for the most part he sat back with his eyes closed, as if thinking of something else. "Now, Miss Langmore," he exclaimed, as he straightened up at the conclusion of her recital, "whom do you suspect of this crime?" "I suspect no one, sir." "Have you any idea why this awful deed was committed?" The detective had been on the point of saying "murder" but had checked himself. "Not the least in the world." "Some of the windows were, of course, open. What of the doors?" "The front door and that to the side piazza were locked. The back door was open." "Then a person might have sneaked in by the back way?" "I presume so." "Your father was quite dead when you found him?" asked the detective quickly. "I—I—thought so." The girl began to choke up and sob. "It—it was such a shock—I—I—" She could not go on. Adam Adams watched her keenly and noted how she trembled from head to foot. "Do not take it so hard, Margaret," put in Raymond Case, placing his hand upon her shoulder. "It will all come out right in the end—I am sure of it." "But it will not bring back my father!" sobbed the girl. "And he was so dear to me! And to think that we should quarrel at all—" "The quarrel took place at the breakfast table, so you said," came from Adam Adams. "And you rushed out to get away from what your stepmother was saying to you?" "Yes. I could not bear it any longer." "Your father took Mrs. Langmore's part?" "He did, but at the same time he told her not to be so hard on me—that I had been without a mother to guide me so many years, and all that." "Do you think they quarreled between themselves after you left, or after your father came back from the bank?" "I cannot say as to that." "Mr. Adams has an idea that possibly one or the other of them was responsible," put in Raymond. "He thinks one might have killed the other and then committed suicide." "I do not think so. I said it was possible," corrected the detective. "In taking up an affair of this sort one must look at it from all sides." "I do not believe my father either killed her or committed suicide," answered Margaret Langmore firmly. "Do you think Mrs. Langmore would act in such a fashion?" The girl pondered for a moment. "Honestly I do not. She may have killed my father, but if so she would have run away." "The safe was closed at the time of the tragedy?" "Yes." "And absolutely nothing was stolen?" "Nothing, so far as we have been able to ascertain." "Was anything out of order, as if the assassin had been scared off while hunting around for something to steal?" "I did not see anything. But I was so upset I noticed scarcely anything." "That was natural, of course. The safe has not yet been opened?" "No, we are waiting for a man to come from the safe makers." "Now, one thing more. After you came back to the house before practicing what did you do?" "I wrote some letters to girl friends, telling them I could not give a house party." "And before that?" "I—I, must I tell? I threw myself on the bed yonder for a good cry. It was silly, I know—but—but—" "Did you hear anything unusual while you were here? Think carefully." "I have tried to think it out several times. Sometimes I think I heard some sort of a shriek, but I am not at all certain. Then, again, I think I heard the fall of something heavy on the floor. But it may be all fancy." "And that is all you can tell me?" "Yes." Margaret Langmore gave a long sigh. "Oh, Mr. Adams, can you not do something for me? It is horrible to be suspected in this fashion. I cannot make a move without being watched!" "It is certainly a cruel situation." The detective paused. "I am sure of one thing, Miss Langmore." "And that is—" "That you are innocent. Those who think you are guilty are fools, as Mr. Case says." "Yet more than half the folks around here think that way." "Let them. We'll set to work to prove their mistake." "Good!" almost shouted Raymond Case, and his face broke out into a look of relief. "Then you will take the case, Mr. Adams?" "I will." "I know you will succeed." "If you do succeed, I shall be grateful to you all my life," came from Margaret Langmore warmly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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