Ostrander Isabel Ostrander: Mystery & Western Classic

One Thirty, The Crevice, Anything Once, The Fifth Ace & Island of Intrigue
1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-80-7583-218-4
Verlag: Musaicum Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 759 Seiten

Isabel Ostrander's 'Mystery & Western Classic' is a captivating collection of two distinct genres that showcases her versatility as a writer. The book expertly combines thrilling mystery tales with captivating western adventures, providing readers with a unique literary experience that seamlessly blends two seemingly disparate genres. Ostrander's writing style is characterized by its intricate plot twists, vivid descriptions, and well-developed characters, making each story a compelling and immersive read for fans of both mystery and western fiction. Set against the backdrop of the American frontier, these stories offer a glimpse into the rugged landscapes and vibrant characters of the Wild West, while also diving deep into the complexities of human nature and morality. Isabel Ostrander's ability to seamlessly transition between genres and craft engaging narratives solidifies her place as a master storyteller in the realms of mystery and western literature. Readers looking for a captivating read that seamlessly combines mystery and western elements will find 'Mystery & Western Classic' to be a must-read book that will keep them on the edge of their seats from start to finish.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Ostrander, Isabel

Leseproben

Chapter IX
Doris

Table of Contents

On leaving the Appleton house, Gaunt's car sped swiftly to the Blenheim, where Mrs. Finlay Appleton had taken up her abode.

"Have you any news for me, Mr. Gaunt?" she inquired anxiously, when he was admitted to her presence. "This strain is terrible. I would welcome almost any news, if it was news."

"We have succeeded in eliminating a number of irrelevant facts, Mrs. Appleton; but you must be patient. There is much work ahead for us, until we can see clearly to the end. I have come to ask if I may have a few moments' interview with your maid, Marie."

"With my maid?" Mrs. Appleton's tone was loftily amazed. "I cannot see what evidence my maid would be able to give, Mr. Gaunt, aside from the chatter of the servants' hall--idle gossip of which there has been far too much already."

Mr. Gaunt smiled deprecatingly, and said in the tone he could so well assume on occasion:

"Well, we must leave no stone unturned, you know, and there is often much that goes on in a household of which sharp-eyed servants are cognizant, when the mistress is not." Mrs. Appleton cleared her throat in a manner which indicated that, although this might be the case in some households, it was not true of one over which she ruled; but the detective's next question changed her thoughts suddenly into a new and alarming channel.

"Mrs. Appleton, I do not like to distress you by a reference to the painful scene of yesterday morning, but believe me, it is necessary. When you rushed down-stairs in response to the screams of your housemaid, and discovered the body of your eldest son, Mr. Yates Appleton, I understand, was not present. When he appeared in the doorway, you turned and spoke to him. Do you remember what you said?"

"H-m!" the elderly lady hesitated. Then she replied in obvious haste: "No, Mr. Gaunt, I do not. I do not even remember I noticed him there. At any rate, what does it matter? What could it matter what a woman said at such a time?"

"It matters a great deal," the detective replied, quietly. "It was most significant."

"I do not remember what it was," Mrs. Appleton reiterated, quickly. "It could not have been significant, for it was said unconsciously. ' I was beside myself."

"You called your son, 'Cain!' That, Mrs. Appleton, is the name of the oldest fratricide on record. You are a woman, if you will pardon me, of very superior mentality. You say, or do, nothing without reason. When you branded your son with that name, you considered him the murderer of his brother."

"Ah, no, no, Mr. Gaunt! You exceed the power I myself have vested in you, in this case. The application was not a literal one, but a reproach for the words my son had uttered to his elder brother in a late quarrel. I see that I must tell you, in order to avert a terrible mistake on your part. My sons were the most loving of brothers." The detective's face was a study. "But Garret was the more prudent of the two; Yates the spendthrift. They were both of violent temper, and their frequent quarrels would have sounded quite fearful to those who did not know that they meant not a word of it, and that the whole matter would be forgotten in an hour or two.

"Their quarrels, of course, were only about money. During a recent one--very recent--Yates told Garret he wished he was dead. It was in reference to that, if anything, that I used the word 'Cain,' if I did so. I don't remember it, as I say; but I do know that the memory of that quarrel returned to me, when I turned from my dead to my living son. Had such a preposterous suspicion as that which you surmise entered my head, do you not think that I would have shielded my son all that I possibly could from the consequences of his act--if not for his own sake, at least, to save the family name from disgrace? Yet, I sent at once for the police, and for the highest authority on the detection of crime in this country--for you, Mr. Gaunt."

He accepted the compliment gravely, and said:

"Will you tell me then, Mrs. Appleton, why, after having retained me to discover the truth for you, you were not entirely frank with me?"

She half-rose from the chair.

"My dear Mr. Gaunt--" she began indignantly.

But he silenced her.

"You told me that the whole suit between your two sons was a test case, an entirely amicable affair; yet Mr. Yates Appleton has told me it was not so. He has admitted, to use his own words: 'That there was bad blood between him and his elder brother.'"

The lady bit her lip, and then said, more vehemently than she had spoken;

"But can you not see, Mr. Gaunt, I knew that the differences between my sons were absolutely irrelevant to this case, as I informed you during our first interview? I do not see any further need of talk and raking up of scandal."

"That is all, Mrs. Appleton. May I see your maid now?"

"Yes. If you will step into my dressing-room you will find her--the door there, just at the right of your chair."

With a bow, he entered the next room, closing the door gently, but decisively, behind him, and heard the rattle of spools and scissors, as the maid rose hastily at his unexpected entrance.

"M'sieur Gaunt!"

"Marie, I want a word with you. To whom did you telephone the news of the murder, immediately after it was discovered, this morning?"

"I answer to no one. Why should anyone think that I--"

"You were overheard telephoning the news of the death of Mr. Garret Appleton to some one. Who was it?"

"If m'sieu does not jest, someone has been telling him an untruth. I have telephone' to no one."

"I suppose you know, Marie, that the Central Exchange can be compelled on a court order to give the number which you called on the 'phone at that hour. Of course, if you wish me to carry the matter to Mrs. Appleton, or Judge Carhart--"

"Ah, in that case," the maid interrupted, with superb insolence, "if m'sieu knows the number I called, why does he question me?"

"You called Miss Carhart, to warn her in advance of the death--of the murder--of Mr. Garret Appleton. You thought she would wish to know privately before the news reached her house. Why did you think she would wish to know?"

"Well, Mademoiselle Carhart is very young and a great friend of the family. She had dined there only the night before, and I thought that the shock--"

"No, Marie, I want the truth. You are in Mrs. Appleton's employ, not Miss Carhart's. Why should you telephone this news to her privately?"

The maid shrugged her shoulders with a gesture of surrender.

"M'sieur if you must know, there had been a leetle affaire--how do you say?--a flirtation. Oh, of an innocence absolutely, between M'mselle Carhart and M'sieu Appleton. M'sieu had coni idea in me. I had carried a note--a leetle lettair, once or twice; but it was nothing--nothing to which anyone could object. But I--I imagine that mademoiselle had become so greatly interested in m'sieu that, if the sudden news of his death came to her in the presence of her father, she might-- might perhaps give herself away. I like the young mademoiselle, so jolie, so ingenious, and I am romantic--me."

"And you were well paid, I suppose, for carrying these notes, eh?"

"But yes." The maid's tone suggested surprise at the superfluous question. "Both M'sieu Appleton and Mademoiselle Carhart were most generous;."

"And that was all; just that Mr. Garret Appleton permitted you to know of-- his flirtation? And you carried notes once or twice. You saw nothing at any time, in the Appleton home, or elsewhere, between these two; no confidential meetings-- in the den, say, or elsewhere?"

"Oh, but yes, m'sieur I have eyes. Once or twice, when there was a large reception, or dinner, or dance, on at the house of M'sieu Appleton, they would slip away for a little talk of but a minute or two in the hall, or library, or--or den."

"Marie, did you see them in the den on the night of the murder?"

"The evening before, after dinner, M'sieu means? It is possible. After Madame Appleton--Madame Garret Appleton--had retired, I passed along the hall from the staircase leading from the servant's dining-room up to Madame Appleton's, my mistress's, to prepare her things for the night. I pass the door of the den, and I see then M'sieu Appleton and a lady. I did not turn and look in, I glanc' with the corner of my eye, and I could not see who the lady was, but I think it was Mademoiselle Carhart."

"Very well, Marie. That was all I wanted of you. Only, if Inspector Hanrahan comes to you, do not lie to him. You might find yourself in serious trouble."

As the maid turned, with a sigh of relief, to show him to the door, he stopped.=

"Why do you sew without a thimble?" he asked, with the whimsical smile that always accompanied his sudden, irrelevant questions. "You are proud of your hands, yet you permit the middle finger to become all roughened and abrased, from the needlehead."

"I cannot sew wiz ze theemble. Eet ees what you call--l'eccentricitee, pairhaps? But how, m'sieu--"

"I heard the rough skin of your finger rasp against your starched apron, as you turned, just now. And I knew you were proud of your hands, because you keep your nails so unusually long and pointed."

With a little cry of dismay, the woman thrust both her hands behind her.

"If m'sieu will pardon--but when did m'sieu discover zat?"

"Yesterday, when you came to the library of the Appleton house, at the time I sent for you for an interview, and you tapped upon the door before entering.... I must go...