In the Onyx Lobby Part 13

"But not so much so. I don't believe anybody ever went for the girls rough-shod as bad as he did. He called them down for the least thing,--and then, sometimes he'd make it up to them and sometimes he wouldn't."

"And the chorus ladies? But I suppose you don't know much about them."

"Don't I? Well, I guess I do! Why, Mr Binney--Sir Binney, I mean,--he used to tell me the tallest yarns I ever heard, about his little suppers,--as he called 'em. He'd come 'long about two G. M. pretty mellow, and in an expansive mood, and he'd pour out his heart to old Bob,--meaning me. Yes, sir, I know a thing or two about Binney's lady friends, and there's a few of them that wouldn't mind knifing him a bit,--if they were sure they wouldn't be found out. And,--if you ask me, that's just what happened."

"H'm; you mean they followed him home, and slipped in after him----"

"Yep."

"But how did they know they'd find the coast clear,--that you'd so very conveniently be up in the elevator, and would stay up there such an unusually long time? You'd better shut up, Moore. Everything you say gets you deeper in the net. If your chorus girl theory is the right dope, you were in on it, too. Otherwise it couldn't have been worked!"

"All right, Mr Corson, I'll shut up. You'll see the time when you'll be mighty glad to turn to me for help. Till then, work on your own; but you needn't aim this way, it won't get you anywhere."

Meantime there was consternation among the nearest of kin to the dead man.

In the Prall apartment, Miss Let.i.tia was conducting conversation ably aided and abetted by Eliza Gurney, while young Bates sat listening and joining in when there was opportunity.

"Worst of all is the disgrace," Miss Prall was saying. "There's no use my pretending I'm over-come with grief,--personal grief, I mean, for I never cared two straws for the man, and I'm not going to make believe I did. But the publicity and newspaper talk is terrible. Once it blows over and is forgotten we'll be able to hold up our heads again, but just now, we're in the public eye,--and it's an awful place to be!"

"But who did it, Aunt Let.i.tia," said Bates. "We've got to get the murderer----"

"I don't mind so much about that," his aunt returned, with a sharp sniff. "All I want is to get the thing hushed up. Of course, you're the heir now, Ricky, so you must put on suitable mourning and all that, but those things can be attended to in due course."

"Where you going to have the funeral and when?" asked Eliza. "I don't think I'll go."

"You needn't, if you don't want to," Miss Prall agreed. "I don't blame you,--I don't want to attend it myself, but I suppose I ought to. It will be in the undertaker's chapel, and it will soon be over. Let's have it just as quickly as possible, Rick. To-morrow, say."

"Oh, Aunt Let.i.tia! Do observe the rules of common decency! We can't hurry the poor man into his grave like that. And I shouldn't wonder if there'll be a lot of red tape and inquiry before we can bury him at all."

"Maybe the body'll have to be sent back to England," suggested Eliza, and Richard was just about to say he supposed it would, when the doorbell of the apartment rang.

As Miss Prall's maids did not sleep in the house, Bates opened the door and found Corson there, with a bland but determined look on his face.

"Sorry to trouble you people," he said, stepping inside without being asked, "but I've some talking to do, and the sooner the quicker."

He smiled, importantly, and, selecting a comfortable chair, seated himself deliberately and looked in silence from one to another.

"Well," said Miss Prall, stiffly, "what do you want to know?"

The angular, spare figure of the spinster, upright in a straight-backed chair, was not of a demeanor to put a man at ease, but Corson showed no uneasiness, and almost lolled in his seat as he cast a slow glance at her.

"Naturally," he began, "what I want to know is, and what I propose to find out is, who killed Sir Herbert Binney. And what I want to know here is, anything any of you can tell me that will throw any light, side light, or full glare, on the question."

"We don't know anything that is illuminating in any way," Miss Prall informed him.

"I will be the judge of the powers of illumination if you will tell me what you know," was the suave retort. "Will you make a statement or shall I ask questions?"

"Neither," and Let.i.tia Prall rose. "You may bid us good-night, sir. This is no time to intrude upon the ladies of a family,--especially a family in deep and sudden mourning."

"You weren't mourning very deeply as I entered." Corson made no move to get up, although Bates rose as his aunt did. "I think, Miss Prall, you'd better sit down again, and you, too, Mr Bates. This may be a lengthy confab."

"I think you'd better listen to this man, Let.i.tia," advised Eliza. "He's got a right to be heard, and I, for one, want to know how matters stand."

Whereupon Let.i.tia sat down and Bates came and stood behind her chair.

"First, Mr Corson," Richard said, "let me understand just how far your authority goes----"

"All the way," returned Corson, promptly. "I'm the police detective on this case. I shall have a helper,--a colleague, undoubtedly, but for the moment I'm working alone. However, I've all the authority in the world.

I represent law and justice, I represent the government, I represent the United States!"

"The United States is honored, I'm sure," said Miss Prall with unconcealed sarcasm.

Such things never ruffled Corson, and he went calmly on.

"This man's relation to you?" he said, interrogatively, looking at Let.i.tia.

"He was no kin of mine," she snapped; "he was the uncle of my nephew, Mr Bates, and Mr Bates is the sole heir."

"Indeed; he is to be congratulated. Now, this man,--Sir Binney----"

"Don't call him that!" put in Eliza. "It does annoy me so! Say Sir Herbert Binney or Sir Herbert. Have you never known a knight?"

"No, ma'am, I never have. Well, Sir Herbert, then,--did he live here?"

"In this building,--not in this apartment," Richard answered, as the two haughty ladies seemed disinclined to accommodate their inquisitor.

And then, by dint of slow and persistent questioning, Detective Corson drew out the vital statistics of the deceased gentleman and of the members of the Prall household.

"Now as to the 'women,'" Corson went on. "You know Sir Herbert left a paper stating that women killed him. This is a most peculiar message for a dying man to leave."

"Why so, if it is true?" and Let.i.tia Prall's eyes gave him a curious look.

"Yes,--that's just it,--if it is true."

"It's got to be true," burst out Bates, impulsively. "No man is going to write a thing like that with his last ounce of dying strength unless it's true!"

"I agree to that," and Corson nodded, "if he did write it."

"What?" Miss Prall started up in amazement. "Who says he didn't write it?"

"n.o.body says so, I only say it might be so. Suppose the murderer himself wrote it to turn suspicion toward some one else,--some woman."

"I never thought of that!" and Miss Prall fell into a brown study, as if the new thought moved her profoundly.

"Nor I," said Bates, looking intently at the detective. "But, I say, that writing looked to me amazingly like my uncle's."

"And the porter,--Bob Moore, you know," broke in Eliza,--"he said, the pencil dropped from Sir Herbert's fingers just as he fell back dead----"

"Oh, no, he didn't say that! That's the way stories get repeated.