The Diamond Cross Mystery. Chester K. Steele
police want to see every one. Oh, Miss Brill, come in!" and he held out his hand to the one young woman clerk, who drew back in horrified fright as she saw the silent figure on the floor.
"Oh—Oh!" she gasped, and then she went into hysterics, adding to the excitement and giving Mulligan a bad five minutes while he fought to keep the crowd from surging in.
But when Miss Brill had been carried to a rear room and quieted, and when the shades had been drawn to keep the curious ones from peering in, the questioning of Darcy was resumed.
"Did you come directly down to the store from your room?" asked Thong.
"Yes. As soon as I awakened."
"Where is your room?"
"In the rear, on the second floor—the one next above. Mrs. Darcy has her rooms in front. Then come those of her maid, Jane Metson. Sallie Page sleeps on the top floor where the janitor's family lives, and he, of course, sleeps up there also."
"I see," murmured Carroll. "Then you came downstairs and found Mrs.
Darcy lying here—dead?"
"I wasn't sure she was dead—"
"Oh, she was dead all right," broke in Thong. "No question about that. Did you hear anything?"
"Only the watch ticking in her hand. First I thought it was her heart beating."
"No, I mean did you hear anything in the night?" went on the detective. "Any queer noise? It's mighty funny if there was murder done and no robbery. But of course she might have heard a noise if you didn't, and she might have come down to find out what it was about. She might have caught a burglar at work, and he may have killed her to get away. But if it was a burglar it's funny you didn't hear any noise—like a fall, or something. How about that, Mr. Darcy?"
"Well, no. I didn't exactly hear anything. I went to bed about half past ten, after working at my table down here awhile."
"Was Mrs. Darcy in bed then?" Thong asked.
"I couldn't say. She had gone to her apartment, but I don't have to pass near that to get to my room. I came straight up and went to bed."
"At ten o'clock, you say?"
"A little after. It may have been a quarter to eleven."
"And you didn't hear anything all night?" Carroll shot this question at Darcy suddenly.
"No—no—not exactly, I did hear something—it wasn't exactly a noise—and yet it was a noise."
"What kind of talk is that?" demanded Thong roughly. "Either it was a noise or it wasn't! Now which was it?"
"Well, if you call a clock striking a noise, then it was one."
"Oh, a clock struck!" and Thong settled back in his chair more at his ease. His manner seemed to indicate that he was on the track of something.
"Yes, a clock struck. It was either three or four, I can't be sure which," Darcy replied. "You know when you awaken in the night, and hear the strokes, you can't be sure you haven't missed some of the first ones. I heard three, anyhow, I'm sure of that."
"Well, put it down as three," suggested Thong. "Was it the striking of the clock that awakened you?"
"No, not exactly. It was more as if some one had been in my room."
"Some one in your room!" exclaimed both detectives. They were questioning Darcy in the living-room of Mrs. Darcy's suite, the clerks being detained downstairs by Mulligan. The county physician, who was also the coroner, had not yet arrived.
"Yes, at first I thought some one had been in my room, and then, after I thought about it, I wasn't quite sure. All I know is I slept quite soundly—sounder than usual in fact, and, all at once, I heard a clock strike."
"Three or four," murmured Thong.
"Yes; three anyhow—maybe four. Something awakened me suddenly; but what, I can't say. I remember, at the time, it felt as though something had passed over my face."
"Like a hand?" suggested Carroll.
"Well, I couldn't be sure. It may have been I dreamed it."
"But what did it feel like?" insisted Thong.
"Well, like a cloth brushing my face more than like a hand—or it may have been a hand with a glove on it. Yes, it may have been that. Then I tried to arouse myself, but I heard the wind blowing and a sprinkle of rain, and, as my window was open, I thought the curtain might have blown across my face. That would account for it I reasoned, so—"
"Yes, it may have been the curtain," said Thong, slowly. "But what did you do?"
"Nothing. I lay still a little while, and then I went to sleep again.
I was only awake maybe two or three minutes."
"You didn't call Mrs. Darcy?"
"No."
"Nor the servant—what's her name? Sallie?"
"No. There wasn't any use in that. She's deaf."
"And you didn't call the janitor?"
"No. I wasn't very wide awake, and I didn't really attach any importance to it until after I saw her—dead."
"Um! Yes," murmured Carroll. "Well, then you went to sleep again.
What did you do next?"
"I awakened with a sudden start just before six o'clock. I had not set an alarm, though I wanted to get up early to do a little repair job I had promised for early this morning. But I have gotten so in the habit of rousing at almost any hour I mentally set for myself the night before, that I don't need an alarm clock. I had fixed my mind on the fact that I wanted to get up at five-thirty, and I think it was just a quarter to six when I got up. I was anxious to finish the repair job for a man who was to leave on an early train this morning. He may be in any time now, and I haven't it ready for him."
"What sort of a repair job?" asked Carroll.
"On a watch."
"Where's the watch now?" and the detective flicked the ashes from a cigar the reporter had given him. Daley was down in the jewelry store, interviewing the clerks while Darcy was on the grill up above.
"The watch," murmured Darcy. "It—it's in her hand," and he nodded in the direction of the silent figure downstairs.
"The watch that is still ticking?"
"Yes, but the funny part of it is that the watch wasn't going last night, when I planned to start work on it. I forget just why I didn't do it," and Darcy seemed a bit confused, a point not lost sight of by Carroll. "I guess it must have been because I couldn't see well with the electric light on my work table," went on the jewelry worker. "I've got to get that fixed. Anyhow I didn't do anything to the Indian's watch more than look at it, and I made up my mind to rise early and hurry it through. So I didn't even wind it. I can't understand what makes it go, unless some one got in and wound it—and they wouldn't do that."
"Whose watch is it?" asked Thong.
"It belongs to Singa Phut."
"Singa Phut!" ejaculated Carroll. "Crimps, what a name! Who belongs to it?"
"Singa Phut is an East Indian," explained Darcy. "He has a curio store down on Water Street. We have bought some odd things from him for our customers, queer bead necklaces and the like. He left the watch with my cousin, who told me to repair it. It needed a new case-spring and some of the screws were loose."
"How did Mrs. Darcy come to have the watch in her hand?" Carroll demanded.
"That I couldn't say."
"What sort of a man is this Indian—Singa—Singa—" began Thong, hesitatingly.
"Singa Phut is a quiet, studious Indian," answered Darcy. "He has not lived here