The House Opposite: A Mystery. Elizabeth Kent
I had been completely mistaken.”
“Humph,” grunted the Coroner, and I was aware that every one in the room eyed me with suspicion. “Well,” he continued, still looking at me severely, “can you tell us what the man died of?” “Yes,” I answered; “he met his death by being stabbed to the heart by a very small weapon, possibly a stiletto, but a sharp knitting-needle, or even a hat pin, could have caused the wound. The crime was committed while he was unconscious, or at least semi-conscious, either from some drug or alcohol; or he may have been asleep. He made no resistance, and in all probability never knew he had been hurt.”
There was profound silence.
“It is, then, impossible that this wound was self-inflicted,” inquired the Coroner.
“Quite impossible,” I rejoined.
“So that he was presumably murdered the night before last and smuggled into this apartment some time between six o’clock last evening and seven o’clock this morning?” continued the Coroner. Then, turning to the little red-headed manager, he asked:
“Now, Mr. McGorry, how is it possible for this corpse to have been brought here? The foreman testifies that he himself locked the door in the presence of several workmen; you tell me that the key remained in your safe all night. Now, please explain how this body got here?”
“Lord-a-mercy, sor, you don’t think as I did it!” shrieked McGorry. “Why, sor, I never saw the man before in my life; besides, I have got a alibi, sor; yes, sor, a alibi.”
“Stop, Mr. McGorry; don’t get so excited; nobody is accusing you of anything. But if this place was locked up last night, how came the body here this morning? The lock has not been tampered with. Was there a duplicate key?”
“Yis, sor; but the other key was also in my safe,” replied McGorry.
“Have either of these keys ever been missing?”
“Shure and they haven’t been out of my keeping since the apartment was vacated last May, until three days ago when the painters begun work here. Since then they have had one of the keys during the day, but have always returned it before leaving.”
“Now, tell me,” continued the Coroner, turning to the foreman, “has the key been missing since you had it?”
“Not that I know of; we leave it sticking in the door all day, and only take it out when we leave.”
“So that it is possible that a person might have come to the door, taken the key, and kept it for some hours without your noticing it?”
“Yes, sir, it’s possible, but it aint likely; I haven’t seen anyone pass since I’ve been working here.”
“Could the corpse have been brought in here any other way than through the front door?”
“No, Mr. Coroner,” a quiet voice at my side replied; “I have just examined the fire-escape and all the windows. The fastenings have not been tampered with, and the dust on the fire-escape shows no signs of recent disturbance.” Mr. Merritt had gone on his search so unobtrusively that I had not noticed his absence till he reappeared, a good deal less immaculate than before.
“Is it possible to enter this building unperceived?” the Coroner resumed.
“I should have said not,” replied McGorry; “but now everything seems possible.” Even the Coroner had to smile at his despondent tone.
“The front door is opened at seven o’clock and closed at eleven, unless there’s something special going on,” McGorry continued, “and during those hours there are always one or two boys in the hall, and often three. After eleven the watchman opens the front door and takes the people up in the elevaytor. No one but meself has the key to this outside door.”
“Does the watchman never leave the front hall except to take people up in the elevator?”
“Well, I don’t say niver, sor, but he’s niver far off.”
“Then I gather that it would be just possible for a person to get out of this house unperceived between eleven P.M. and seven A.M., but impossible, or nearly so, for him to enter?”
“Yes, that’s so, that’s what I think, sor.”
“Well, what about the back door?” I asked.
“Well, the back door is opened at six and closed at tin,” replied McGorry.
“The back door is not guarded during the day, is it?” I went on, forgetting the Coroner in my eagerness.
“Doctor,” broke in the latter, “allow me to conduct this inquiry. Yes, McGorry, who watches over that?”
“Well, sor, at present no one; there’s a back elevaytor, but it don’t run in summer, as the house is almost empty.”
“Then, as I understand it, any one can enter or leave the building by the back stairs, at any time during the day, unseen, or at any rate unnoticed; but after ten o’clock they would require the assistance of some one in the house to let them in?”
“That’s so, sor.”
“Now, you are sure that the deceased was not a temporary inmate of this building; that he wasn’t staying with any of the parties who are still here?”
“Certain, sor.”
“And no one has the slightest clue to his identity?”
“No one has seen him except these gen’l’men and Jim. He’s the elevaytor boy who went for you, Doc, and he didn’t say nothing about knowing him.”
The Coroner paused a moment.
“What families have you at present in the building?”
“Well, sor, most of our people are out of town, having houses at Newport, or Lenox, and thereabouts,” McGorry answered, with a vague sweep of his hand, which seemed to include all those favored regions which lie so close together in fashionable geography. “Just now there are only two parties in the house.”
“Yes, and who are they?”
“Well, sor, there’s Mr. C. H. Stuart, who occupies the ground floor right; and Mr. and Mrs. Atkins, who have the apartments above this, only at the other end of the building.” I pricked up my ears. Atkins, then, must be the name of the golden-haired lady and her assailant.
“Have these people been here long?”
“Mr. Stuart has been with us seven years. He is a bachelor. Mr. and Mrs. Atkins have only been here since May; they are a newly-married couple, I am told.” And not a word of the mysterious pair I had seen in the adjoining apartment! Was McGorry holding something back, or was he really ignorant of their presence in the building?
“Are you sure, Mr. McGorry, that there is no one else in the house?” I interrupted again.
“Yes, sor.” Then a light broke over his face: “No, sor; you are quite right” (I hadn’t said anything). “Miss Derwent has been two nights here, but she’s off again this morning.” Mr. Merritt here whispered something to the Coroner, whereupon the latter turned to McGorry and said: “Please see that no one leaves this building till I have seen them. I don’t wish them to be told that a murder has been committed, unless they have heard it already, which is most probable. Just inform them that there has been an accident, do you hear?”
“Oh, Mr. Coroner,” exclaimed McGorry, turning almost as red as his hair in his excitement; “shure and you wouldn’t mix Miss Derwent up in this! Lord, she ain’t used to such scenes; she’d faint, and then her mother would never forgive me!”
“Every one, Miss Derwent included, must view the corpse,” he replied, sternly.
“Oh, sor, but–”
“Silence!” thundered the Coroner; “the law must be obeyed.”
So the manager went reluctantly out to give the desired order. On his return, the Coroner resumed:
“Who is Miss Derwent?”
“Why