The Room Under the Stairs

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 863, 6 January 1930, Page 5

The Room Under the Stairs

The Baffling Story of a Man Who Read of His Own Murder.

By

Herman Landon

Copyright by G. Howard Watt. Serialised by Ledger Syndicate.

CHAPTER XXIV.— (Continued.) Under his breath the lieutenant mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a “damn.” Littleby wagged his head bewilderingly. “I fail to understand a single word, but, whoever is at fault, I grant absolution right here and now. Am I to understand, lieutenant, that this visit isn't official?” “You understand just right, Mr. Littleby. I was playing a wrong hunch.” “The hunch was mine,” said Miss Gray, firmly. “I bullied and bamboozled Lieutenant Shane into helping me find him. But it seems he isn't here. We’ve searched the whole house. Last of all we looked into your room. I saw a light, but you weren’t there. That’s the whole story. By the way, Mr. Littleby, it would be a good idea to get a new lock for your back door. Any simpleton can pick it—even I.” Littleby blinked his eyes in acute perplexity. “Let me get this straight, please. It seems you entered my house in a somewhat unconventional manner. You were looking for somebody. Whom, may I ask?” “Mr. Dean,” said Miss Gray. “Mr. Thomas Dean, the famous novelist. “Oh, Dean.” Littleby smiled, but in the next moment a look of gentle reproof crossed his face. “You went to all that trouble looking for a man who isn’t here? It must have taken you all of two hours to make a thorough search. If you had but rung the bell in the accustomed way I could have saved you a lot of needless bother.”

“We didn't like to disturb you,” explained Miss Gray. “As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Shane wanted to do exactly what you have suggested, but I disapproved. You see, there was just a possibility that, if we had come straight to you and asked you whether Mr. Dean was in the house, you would not have told us the truth.”

Littleby started impressively. The young woman was smiling in a way that seemed to soften the barb in her words. “What a droll idea! Dean was here in the afternoon, as a matter of fact —just about the time of the unfortunate death of poor Lamont—but he left soon afterward, and I haven't seen him since. Won’t you step into the drawing-room? We can chat there.” "No, thanks,” said Miss Gray. “Lieutenant Shane is mad as hops, though he tries hard not to show it. I must take him out and tame him.” She paused, studying the lawyer's dignified garb with a sly eye. “I am so glad to see you are fully dressed, and that we didn’t get you out of bed,” she added sweetly. "At five o’clock in the morning one can’t expect to find a man presentable, as a rule. Or do you sleep with your clothes on?” Littleby frowned for a moment, but her impudent levity carried its own extenuation. “You forget, my dear young lady, that a most tragic occurrence took place in this house a few hours ago. Under the circumstances I was in no mood for sleep—with my clothes on or otherwise.” “I understand. It must have been a dreadful shock. You knew Mr. Lamont a long time, didn’t you?” “Since both of us were young men,” “Then you must have known him very well. He was just an ordinary mortal, wasn’t he?” Littleby’s gaze narrowed a trifle, as if he were wondering what lay hidden beneath the young woman’s flippant airs and roguish smiles.

“Alas, yes,” he murmured. “Just an ordinary mortal.” “He didn’t by any chance, possess the happy knack of being in two places at once?” CHAPTER XXV. A WOMAN’S WIT An uncomprehending expression, accompanied by a cautious glint in the hard, gray eyes, crossed the lawyer’s face. “That’s an odd question, Miss Gray.” “I have a reason for asking it. An ordinary mortal couldn’t be in two places at one and the same time could he?” “Naturally not.” “That’s what I would say, but Lieutenant Shane,” with an arch glance at the detective, “has discovered evidence that seems to prove that Lamont was about two thousand miles from here on the night the murder on Hudson Street was committed.” A slight tremor disturbed the lawyer’s magnificent equanimity. For a moment his face seemed to freeze up; his personality appeared to retire behind a screen of glacial inscrutability. Then, with a shrug, he turned to Shane with a smile.

I suppose even a hard-working lieutenant must have his little jokes. What about it, Shane?”

Shane’s apologetic airs had suddenly vanished. He had noticed the lawyer’s momentary confusion, and it seemed to instil a mingling of suspicion and perplexity in hjs mind. “Miss Gray is too modest,” he declared. “She found the evidence herself. Don’t know why she should want to give me the credit.”

Littleby shifted his bland and yet cautious gaze from Shane to the girl. “I fear it will take a great deal of evidence to controvert Lamont’s confession,” he remarked sadly. “Of course I should welcome anything that would clear his name of such a deplorable stain. I am afraid it is hopeless, however. What did you find. Miss Gray?” Just an old letter. I found it among a heap of rubbish. I didn't suppose you would be interested.” She paused for a moment, smiled tantalisingly, and then, to Shane's bewilderment, abruptly changed the subject. “Did you ever hear of Beulah Vance?”

Again the lawyer started. He bent a quick, searching gaze on the young woman’s face, as if suspecting a hidden purpose behind its teasing serenity.

“Beulah Vance? Let me see. Ah, 1 believe I recall the name. Wasn’t she the showgirl who instituted breach ol' promise proceedings against Paul Forrester some years ago?” “You ought to know, Mr. Littleby. Weren’t you her' lawyer?” Littleby coughed, vaguely disturbed by the girl’s question as well as by Lieutenant Shane’s sidelong glance.

“Ahem, not exactly. If I remember correctly, my connection with the case was only in an advisory capacity. I did not appear personally in the matter. All that happened several years ago, and the details have escaped me. Why did you ask?” “Vulgar curiosity—that’s all. Wasn’t the case finally dropped?” “I believe so. It appeared that young Forrester was practically penniless, so there was no reason for prosecuting the suit. Afterward he dropped out of sight, and the mystery of his fate remained unsolved until Lamont’s confession cleared it up.” “And Beulah Vance? What became of her?”

Littleby shrugged. “How should I know? Perhaps she married a title, as some show-girls do.” “Or maybe she neglected her figure and permitted herself to go fat and frowsy. In that case she would hardly have married a title, would she? Do you suppose, if Paul Forrester were alive today and should happen to meet her, that he would recognise her?” Again the lawyer stiffened perceptibly, but his outward expression was one of patient weariness with the girl’s idle speculations. “Maybe not. People do change and show-girls faster than others.” “Especially if they have had disappointments,” suggested Miss Gray. “Do you know, Miss Farnham who was Lamont’s nurse, looked to me as though she’d had a lot to contend with. She had a hard look in her face, and she’s let her figure turn into a lump. A few years ago—say five or six—she might have been just as beautiful as Beulah Banc.e.”

Littleby’s lips came open, but he found no words. Fo,r the moment all his poise seemed to have left him. Shane, standing a little to one side, watched him with a grim calcluating eye.

“By the way, who engaged Miss Farnham%’ was the girl’s next question. “Did you or Dr. Ballinger?”

“I —I believe I made the suggestion,” stammered Littleby, “and Dr. Ballinger approved.” “So I thought.” Miss Gray reflected for a moment, her big, dancing eyes fixed inexorably on the lawyer. “Showgirls sometimes go in for nursing, don’t they? It’s one way of doing penance for a frothy past. And I suppose it helps them forget things that—that they want to forget. I wonder if Miss Farnham ”

She paused, her roguish eyes sobering a little, but in the next moment her volatile mind seemed to have skipped off on a different trail. Littleby, perceiving that her questions were about to take a new turn, looked intently relieved, but her next words ha 4 an immediately startling effect.

“Have you had any news of Miss Lamont?”

“Not a word,” said the lawyer with a sigh. “It is very peculiar.” “Very,” said Miss Gray gravely. “She was last seen in your house, 1 understand. One of your servants saw her in the stairway. Then she disappeared. And there is Mr. Dean. He, too, was last seen in your house, only a few hours ago. That makes two disappearances in the same place.” “Rather astounding, isn’t it?” admitted the lawyer. His face was averted, but her vaguely tormenting eyes seemed to pursue him. “As for Dean, though, it is just possible that he had the best of reasons for disappearing.” “Think so? Do you know, Mr. Littleby, that for a while Lieutenant Shane and I thought you had disappeared, too? We were coming down the hall, about three-quarters of an hour ago, and could hear you talking in your room. After a while we moved on, and a little* later, coming back the same way, the door stood open, there was a light in . the room, but you weren’t in. We wondered where you could have gone.” “Curiosity is characteristic of trespassers,” remarked Littleby in a tone of mingled jocularity and petulance.

“And then,” Miss Gray went on. “we began to wonder who you could have been talking to. We couldn’t hear what you were saying, even if we had been inclined to eavesdrop. At first we thought you were talking to yourself, for all the talking was in the

same voice. Then we finally decided that no man would talk as long as that la himself, and that you must have been speaking with someone on the telephone.” “A natural deduction, I should say,” remarked Littleby stiffly. “Were you?” persisted Miss Gray in the naive tone that seemed to save her questions from sounding impudent. “Really, my dear young lady, you are overwhelming me with your interest in my trivial doings.” “If the doings are trivial, you surely can’t object.” “I don’t in the least. I am extremely complimented, but also a bit puzzled. As for my conversation over the telephone, it suddenly occurred to me that I would be unable to go to my office in the morning, so I called up one of my associates and called his attention to certain matters that require immediate* consideration.”" “Oh,” Miss Gray exchanged brief glances with Lieutenant Shane. “That makes it all the stranger. You see, Mr. Littleby, the lieutenant was so curious that he went to the telephone exchange—it is only a few blocks from here, you know—and inquired if any calls had been put through from your house in the last hour. The operator seemed positive there had been none.” Littleby gave her a lowering glance. He seemed to require a great exertion of will power to maintain his dignity. “Your conduct is truly amazing, Lieutenant Shane,” he declared stiffly. “You enter my house without my permission, search it from top to bottom, and subject me to a surveillance that is nothing short of impudence. I shall be constrained to report your sir.” “Go ahead,” said Shane carelessly. “I expected it. Now that we’ve caught you in a lie, I don’t mind. At first I felt like apologising, but now I’m beginning to think Miss Gray’s hunch was right. It was your fib about the telephone . call that queered you, though I’ve discovered lately that there are a whole lot of other things that need explanation. You were talking to somebody inside the house, Mr. Littleby.” “Indeed?” drawled the lawyer sarcastically. “You must have been, since your call didn’t go through the exchange. I’ve noticed that this house has an intercommunicating system of telephones.” “You are very observant, but you are overlooking two facts. One is that a telephone operator is a hardworking person and cannot remember all the calls that come in. The second is that a busy man of affairs when pestered with foolish and impudent questions, is justified in resorting to subterfuges that are just as good as the truth. You make take that any way you like.” Littleby drew himself up; a mantle of ineffable righteousness seemed to drape itself around his tall, gaunt form.

Shane seemed impressed, but only for a moment. “Mind if I have a look at your telephone connections?” he asked softiy.

“l do,” declared the lawyer coldly. “If you had approached me in the proper fashion at the start I should have acquiesced without a murmur. After the way you have conducted yourself, you will have to go and apply to a magistrate for a search warrant before you proceed a step further. The local magistrate knows what sort of reputation I enjoy in this community as well as among my professional colleagues in the city. He will probably have a good laugh. Good morning, sir.” He opened the door, smiling triumphantly as Miss Gray and the lieutenant passed out into the drizzly dawn. “Come again, Miss Gray,” he called after her. “I have enjoyed our little chat. I never imagined that such a pretty little head as yours could be so full of odd hunches.”

For a moment he stood watching their departing Agues, then closed the door, and crossed the vestibule toward the stairs. The austere directness had suddenly left his body, leav-

ing it limp and drooping. There was a black look in his face, a glint of baffled malice in his eyes. His steps dragged as he ascended.

"Narrow escape,” he muttered. "If Shane gets his warrant—but he probably won’t. At any rate, I have an hour or two in which to arrange things. Confound that little Miss Gray!”

He reached his room, where the light was still burning, sank into a chair, and for a time sat gazing dully at the telephone. “And there is still Miss Lamont,” he mumbled, finishing a long train of thought. His face had once more hardened into a fixed, glacial composure. “She must be disposed of somehow. Wish she would follow Dean’s example. H’m. Arselene?” He jumped up nervously. In the grey, wet dawn the doorbell’s peal sounded uncannily sharp. ANOTHER VISITOR. Cautiously Littleby opened the door a few inches. Outside, with a dripping slouch hat on his head, and his powerful figure draped in a raincoat which he had neglected to button, stood Dr. Ballinger. “Come in,” said Littleby, and showed the way to his study on the ground floor. Without a word the physician followed, hanging up his hat and coat on the rack in the vestibule. Entering the study, the lawyer turned on a light, and motioned his visitor to a chair. There was an illegible frown on Ballinger’s handsome face. His quick grey eyes travelled over the objects in ■ the room, resting for a moment on a safe encased in an oaken cabinet, occupying an inconspicuous position behind the writing-desk in a corner. “Well?” said Littleby, breaking an awkward silence, during which the two men looked like poker players trying to outguess each other. THE NEW MENACE “I haven’t slept a wink all night,” said the physician. “Guess you

haven’t, either, Littleby. Every time I looked this way I saw a light in your bedroom window.”

“Insomnia?” questioned Littleby with a lift of his brows.

“No. I could cure that. It's something worse —a malady that I didn’t know existed until just recently. In fact, I used to laugh when other people spoke of it. It’s my conscience, Littleby.”

“Rot!” said the lawyer with a lofty shrug. “You will get over it. We are succeeding, old boy. Everything is coming along splendidly. In a short time I shall have some very good news for you. There remain only one or two details to be disposed of.” “Yes?” said the doctor doubtfully. “That’s strange, for you looked positively worried when you met me at the door.” “Irritable, rather. Lieutenant Shane and Miss Gray had just left.”

Ballinger started from his chair. “Miss Gray has been here?” he ex claimed. did she want?

“Compose yourself, doctor. She asked a few rather embarrassing questions, but I managed to hold my own. Clever girl. Don't blame you for succumbing to her charms.” His smile faded, and his eyes bored into Ballinger’s face. "What have you been telling her, doctor?” “Nothing of importance.”

“Don’t lie,” said Littleby evenly. “Miss Gray knows several things that she couldn’t have found out for herself.”

The doctor bristled for a moment, then shrugged his huge shoulders wearily. “Have it your own way, then. I doubt if Miss Gray knows much, but she suspects a lot. And there is such a thing as feminine intuition. Oh, sneer all you like, but I know. Miss Gray suspects that Thomas Dean is Paul She got the germ of the suspicion out of a novel of his which she read—‘Crossroads’ I believe it’s called —and she confirmed the suspicion to her own satisfaction by visiting Dean at his home.”

There was an ominous glimmer in Littleby’s eyes. “When a man falls in love he is hopeless,” he remarked. “I suppose Miss Gray came to you with

her suspicions, and you told her everything?” “It wasn’t necessary. What did f tell you a moment ago about a woman’s intuition? They have an uncanny knack of putting two and two together, and there are some things a man can’t keep away from them.” “Especially if he is in love,” said Littleby with a sneer. “I thought you were the exception, though. You disappoint me, Ballinger.” The doctor smiled absently. "It seems the decree.of fate that our friends should disappoint me. I admit I have changed since our humdrum days out West. We were a motley group of friends, you and I and tho others. Just think what a few years have done to us! You are the only one of us who has prospered, and your success has come fast. Two years ago you were practically unknown.” “I’ve had just a taste of life's good things,” admitted the lav-yer softly. “I am hungry for more.” Ballinger appeared not to have heard him. “You went out and hung up your shingle on the edge of the wilderness, in the same God-forsaken town where I was peddling pills and liniments. We eked out a living, as best we could, by all sons of funny makeshifts and devices. Once or twice we even caught the contagion of the mining fever. (To be continued tomorrow.)