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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id00705" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER IX</h2> <h5 id="id00706">ON THE TRAIN</h5> "This is clearing itself by growing more complicated." Such was the deduction of the detective after he had reviewed the situation carefully. Was it possible that the son of the woman who had been murdered was guilty of the double tragedy? He remembered what he had been told about Tom Ostrello and his wayward brother Dick, and how mother and son had had an exciting meeting on the day previous to the tragedy. "I rather think it will pay to investigate a little further along this line," thought Adam Adams. "More than likely he came here for money, either for himself or his brother Dick. If his mother did not have it and wanted it she would have to go to Mr. Langmore for it. That might cause a bitterness all around. Or again, he might have thought that if his step-father were dead his mother would inherit his money and so plotted one murder, which, when he was discovered, ended in a second. It will do no harm to have a talk with this young man." He reached the Langmore mansion once more to find that Tom Ostrello had departed for the city on necessary business but was coming back before night. Then at the hotel he found a message from his own office calling him to New York. "You are going away, Mr. Adams?" said Raymond Case, who chanced to see him departing. "Not for long. I'll be back to-night or to-morrow." "Anything new?" "Nothing worth talking about, yet. I must hurry to catch the train. What are you going to do?" "I am waiting for the inquest. It will be a terrible trial for Margaret." And the young man's face showed his concern. "Tell her for me to make the best of it," answered Adam Adams and hurried to the depot. The train was just coming in and he saw Tom Ostrello get on board, and he entered the car directly behind the commercial traveler. The young man passed through to the smoker and the detective did the same. Two seats were vacant, directly across the aisle from each other and each took one. Presently Ostrello looked at Adam Adams and started slightly and then bowed. "Excuse me, but I think I saw you up to the Langmore house," he began. "Yes, I called on Miss Langmore. I believe you are Mrs. Langmore's son." "Yes. Come over, won't you?" Ostrello moved towards the window of the car. "I've got to have a smoke to quiet my nerves, I'm so upset. Will you have one?" And he presented a case full of choice Havana cigars. "It must have upset you—it's enough to upset anybody," answered Adam Adams, as they lit up. "It's a fearful happening, fearful." "You are acting for Margaret, I heard." "Yes—if there is a chance to do anything. Do you know anything of the tragedy?" "Not a thing, outside of what I have heard. When I got the telegram I was fairly stunned. But let me tell you one thing." "Well?" "I don't think Margaret is guilty. A girl like her couldn't do such a cold-blooded deed. Why, it's enough to make a man shiver to think of it. It would take a hardened criminal to do such a thing. It's absurd to even suspect her." "What is your theory of the murders?" "I hardly know what to think. If the house had been robbed I would say tramps did it." "But how?" "I don't know, excepting the—er—both were smothered. But let us change the subject. It breaks me all up to think about it. I thought a whole lot of my mother." "Where is your brother?" "I don't know exactly. He was in Los Angeles the last I heard of him. I have sent messages to half a dozen places, but so far have received no reply." "He is a commercial traveler like yourself?" "He was, up to two weeks ago. Traveled for a paint house, but he and the firm had a row and Dick quit. He's a rolling stone, and that is why I can't just locate him." "Do you represent a paint house, too?" questioned Adam Adams, after a pause, during which he appeared to enjoy the really fragrant Havana Tom Ostrello had tended him. "No, I'm with a drug house and have been for four years, one of the best in the country, Alexander & Company, of Rochester, New York. I am their salesman for New York and the Eastern States. We make some of the most noted preparations in the trade." "Alexander & Company, of Rochester," mused Adam Adams, thinking of the bit of paper he had picked up from under the safe. "I believe I have seen their place. Let me see, what street is it on?" "Wadley street and runs through to Hill—a fine six-story concern, with a laboratory that is second to none." "Yes, I remember it now. I suppose you must have a pretty good position with them." "Fair. I think they ought to raise my salary," answered Tom Ostrello. He stretched himself. "I feel sleepy—didn't get a wink last night. When this affair is over I am going to ask for a week's vacation." "I don't blame you," answered Adam Adams, with a quiet smile. He settled back to smoke and his companion did the same, and thus the remainder of the trip to the city passed. As he smoked the detective revolved the new revelation in his mind. Tom Ostrello represented the very drug firm whose advertisement had appeared, in part, on the bit of paper picked up from under the library safe. "And he was there hunting for something," thought the detective. "Was it for that bit of paper or for the something that he secured in his mother's room?" At the depot the pair separated. Adam Adams lost no time in visiting his office, where his assistant awaited him anxiously. "Well, Letty, how are you this morning?" he said pleasantly, as he dropped into his chair. He gave the girl a bright smile and she smiled in return. Letty Bernard was an orphan, the daughter of one of his former friends, and he took a fatherly interest in her. She lived with a second cousin, but wished to be independent and so the detective had given her the position, in his office, a place she filled with credit. She was short and plump and had a wealth of curly hair that strayed over her forehead. "The Chief asked me to give you these papers," said the assistant. "You are to sign all three." "Um! Then that's the end of the Soper case. Anything else?" "Glackey was in. He told me he had tracked the German and would report in full by to-morrow. He thinks you were right and the German is the man." "What else?" "A Mrs. Caven-Demuth was here. Wished to know if you ever found lost dogs." "Great Scott! Dogs!" "She said her pet cocker-spaniel had disappeared and she was willing to spend five hundred dollars on finding him." "I am no dog detective. Send her to McMommie." McMommie was, as it is easy to guess, a rival. "I sent her to police headquarters." "And is that all?" "Mr. Folett telegraphed that he would be here at ten." "It's after that now—it's nearly noon. You can go to lunch if you wish. There's the door— Hullo, it's Mr. Folett now. Be back in an hour." "Yes, Uncle Adam," answered the girl. She always called him uncle, since he had taken such an interest in her. She went out as the caller entered, and left the two men talking over a business matter which has nothing to do with our story. It was two o'clock before Adam Adams found himself free once more. He procured a lunch and then took a subway train halfway uptown. He walked two blocks westward and ascended the steps of a fine brown-stone residence. He asked for Doctor Calkey and was ushered into a private den, where the doctor, a tall, spare man of sixty, soon joined him. "My good friend Adams!" cried the doctor, shaking hands warmly. "Where have you kept yourself? Surely you have not been to see me for a year, or is it longer? I have missed you so much—and the comforting smokes we had together? Why did you desert me? You knew I could not come to you—that I never go out. And you do not bring any business to me—" "I had none to bring, and I have been very busy. But I have missed our meetings, I must confess." "Ah, I am glad to learn I was not entirely forgotten. And you have been busy, and still nothing for Rudolph Calkey to do, nothing to analyze, nothing to dissect—" "I've got a knot now for you." "Good! good! I trust it is a good complication—I love them so—there is such a satisfaction when the end is reached. But not yet—no, not yet. A glass of wine first—something prime—I imported it myself, so that I would know what I am getting." The wine was soon forthcoming and then a cigar for the detective and a pipe for the doctor. At last the latter threw himself into an old easy chair and gazed at his caller expectantly. "I am ready to untie the knot," he said. "What is it?" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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