Various - "Scientific American Supplement, No. 561, October 2, 1886"

N.H. Egleston - "Arbor Day Leaves"

Procopius - "History of the Wars, Books I and II (of 8)"

Edward Dyson - "The Gold Stealers"

Chester K. Steele - The Mansion of Mystery

C >> Chester K. Steele >> The Mansion of Mystery



THE MANSION OF MYSTERY

Being a Certain Case of Importance, Taken
from the Note-book of Adam Adams,
Investigator and Detective

by

CHESTER K. STEELE

Author of "The Disappearance of John Darr"

International Fiction Library
Cleveland New York
Press of the Commercial Bookbinding Co., Cleveland

1911







CHAPTER I

THE STORY OF A DOUBLE TRAGEDY

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.




CHAPTER II

LOVE UNDER A SHADOW

Raymond Case dropped back into his chair and buried his face in his
hands. Adam Adams eyed him curiously and with something of a fatherly
glance.

"It is plain to see what his trouble is," thought the detective. "He
is in love."

He was right, Raymond Case was furiously, desperately, hopelessly in
love. He had met Margaret Langmore at Bar Harbor but a few short weeks
before, and it had been a case of love at first sight upon both sides.
A few automobile rides and a few dances, and he had proposed and been
accepted, and he had counted himself the happiest man in all this wide
world. And now--

"Then they suspect the servant girl?" queried Adam Adams, knowing they
did nothing of the sort.

"No!" came sharply. "They suspect Margaret--Miss Langmore."

"Ah!"

"Yes. It is--is preposterous--absurd, but they insist. And that is
what has brought me to you. I want to prove her innocence to the
world. Do that, and you can name your own price, Mr. Adams."

"You have a high regard for the young lady--you are close friends?"

"More. I may as well tell you, though so far Margaret and I have kept
the matter more or less a secret. I love her and we are engaged to be
married."

"Did Mr. Langmore know of his daughter's engagement?"

"He did, and he approved of it."

"And what of Mrs. Langmore, didn't she approve?"

"She did not know of it. Margaret did not tell her."

"Why not?"

"Because--well, the young lady and her stepmother did not get along
very well together. Margaret wanted to be friendly, but Mrs. Langmore
was very dictatorial, and besides she loved her own children better
than Mr. Langmore's."

"Let me ask, was the daughter on good terms with her father?"

"Yes, excepting on one point. He wished her to obey her stepmother and
that she was not always willing to do. This brought on a run of petty
quarrels which fairly made Margaret sick."

"And this is the reason why the police think Miss Langmore the guilty
person?"

"It is. Their theory is that she first quarrelled with her stepmother
and murdered her, and then struck down her father to cover her guilt,
he having discovered what she was doing."

"How old is Miss Langmore?"

"She has just passed her twenty-third birthday."

"Humph! Rather young to commit such a cold-blooded crime as this."

"She never did do it--I'll wager my life on it! Oh, it's
absurd--insulting! But what are you going to do with a lot of
pig-headed country police--"

"How did they come to suspect her? Was there nothing else?"

"Yes, there was. Mrs. Bardon, the woman who lives next door, is a
great gossip and one who is continually poking her nose into other
folks' business. She told the police that she was out in the garden
cutting a bouquet early in the morning, and she heard a violent quarrel
going on at the breakfast table between Mrs. Langmore and Margaret, and
that Mr. Langmore took his wife's part. Margaret wished to give a
small house party and Mrs. Langmore would not listen to it."

"Did Mrs. Bardon hear all that was said?"

"No, only enough to make her run to the police with the tale."

"Is any other house near by?"

"The Harrison mansion, but it is locked up, as the family is in Europe."

"Did you hear if Mrs. Bardon and her son were home all morning?"

"They were, excepting when the doctor went out to make some calls,
between nine and eleven."

"Did they see any suspicious characters around the Langmore mansion?"

"Not a soul."

"Did Mary Billings, the servant, see anybody?"

"She thinks she saw somebody near the river, but she is not sure; in
fact, she is so scared that she is all mixed up. She has told the
police a thousand times that she had nothing to do with the crime."

"Did Miss Langmore see anybody?"

"She saw a Doctor Bird pass in his buggy and a farmer named Carboy go
by on foot."

"When was this?"

"While she was at the piano. She doesn't know the exact time."

There was a pause and the detective gave a faraway look out of the
window and down the bustling thoroughfare.

"So far as you are aware, Mr. Case, did Mr. Langmore have any personal
enemies?"

"I never heard of any."

"He was rich?"

"Yes."

"What was his business?"

"He was a dealer in patents and a promoter. Some thought he was rather
eccentric, but I never found him so. He used to have an office here in
New York but gave that up a year ago."

"Well, what is your idea of this crime?"

"I haven't any. But I know Margaret Langmore is not guilty."

"Evidently if they suspect her they have concluded that Mrs. Langmore
was killed first."

"That is their idea, but it looks to me as if both were killed at about
the same time, although I know that couldn't very well be."

"No, not if one was upstairs and the other down. Do you think it
possible that one killed the other and then committed suicide?"

At this Raymond Case started back.

"I had not thought of that!" he cried. "If it is true then that clears
Margaret." Evidently he was thinking only of the girl he
loved--everything else concerning the mystery was of secondary
consideration.

"Such a thing is possible, although not probable, unless the two had a
bitter quarrel between themselves. Every crime must have a motive.
People do not commit murder unless there is a reason for it or unless
they are insane. Motives may be divided into three classes--jealousy,
revenge, or gain. In this instance I think we can throw out
jealousy--"

"Mrs. Langmore was jealous of Margaret."

"And wasn't the young lady jealous of her stepmother in a way?"

"But she is not guilty--I'll stake my life on her innocence."

"Then let us come down to revenge or gain. You say nothing was stolen.
Was there a safe in the house?"

"Yes, and it is closed, and will remain so until the experts open it."

"Nobody knew the combination but Mr. Langmore?"

"That's it. Margaret did know, but her stepmother had her father
change the combination and keep it to himself."

"Had he much money in the house?"

"I think not. Margaret says her father was in the habit of depositing
cash in the bank as soon as he received it."

"What sort of promoting did he do?"

"He organized companies to manufacture his patents. He also speculated
in real estate and in mortgages. He owned two buildings in this city
and several in the country."

"Who are the other members of the family?"

"Margaret's married sister, Mrs. Andrew Wetherby, of Sanhope, and Mrs.
Langmore's two sons, Tom and Dick Ostrello."

"Where are these people located?"

"Mrs. Wetherby is traveling with her husband in South America. The
Ostrello brothers are commercial travelers and somewhere on the road."

"Then the Ostrellos are not rich?"

"No, they are poor, and Mrs. Ostrello was poor, too, before she married
Mr. Langmore."

There was another pause.

"Can you tell me anything else?" asked Adam Adams.

"Nothing of much importance. It's a deep mystery, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's very simplicity makes it deep." The detective drew a long
breath. "I was thinking of taking a vacation. My doctor says I need
it."

"Oh!" There was a world of disappointment in the word. "Don't say
that! You must take hold of this. I planned it all out as I came to
town. I know you can clear Margaret if you will only try. Think of
her position--the disgrace--my position-- Oh, you can't refuse me,
Mr. Adams!" The young man came closer and caught the detective by the
shoulder. "If it's money, set your price."

"If I take hold, I'll charge you only what is fair, Mr. Case. But I
never take a case, unless--"

"Any request you have to make is already granted."

"Unless I can first interview the person who stands accused of the
crime."

"You can see Miss Langmore at any time. I told her that I was coming
to town to interview you, and that I would bring you back with me, if
you would come. I told her what a wonderful man you were and what you
had done for others. I think it cheered her a little, although she was
terribly cast down."

"You must not promise too much on my account, young man. I am no
wizard, and I cannot perform the impossible, much as I might wish to do
so."

"But you will come?"

"Yes, I will come."

"At once?" cried Raymond Case impatiently.

"At once."




CHAPTER III

MARGARET LANGMORE

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--"

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