THE THREE STRINGS

“Hurry, hurry,” she gasped, as a white-robed figure stepped inside her room.

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THE THREE STRINGS

BY NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN AUTHOR OF “THE MOVING FINGER,” “I SPY,” “THE NAMELESS MAN,” “C. O. D.,” “THE TREVOR CASE,” “THE OFFICIAL CHAPERON,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES L. WRENN

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1918

Copyright, 1918, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Printed in the United States of America

TO Mrs. Theodore Vernon Boynton OF WASHINGTON, D. C. Whose Loyal Affection Has Been Mine Since Childhood, I Send This Problem, in Full Assurance That She Will Pull the Right “String.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To Alain Campbell White, Esq., of Litchfield, Conn., the Author is indebted for kindly assistance in working out a chess problem which his expert knowledge of chess made feasible.

The Author desires also to express her appreciation of the assistance of Dr. Alexander J. Anderson of Waterbury, Conn., whose help in solving a “knotty” problem was but one of many acts of kindness.

[viii]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE THREE STRINGS

CHAPTER I THE FIRST MOVE

EVELYN PRESTON ran lightly up the steps of her home and inserting her latch-key in the vestibule door, pushed it open just as the taxi-driver, following more slowly with many an upward glance at the blind-closed windows, reached her side.

“Put the suit case down,” she directed. “I’ll have the front door opened by the time you get the trunk here.”

The cool if somewhat stale air of the closed house which met Evelyn as she stepped across the threshold of the open door was refreshing after the glare of the asphalt pavements, for Washington was experiencing one of the hot waves which come in late September and make that month one to be avoided in the Capital City.

Evelyn, intent on calling a servant, paused midway[2] in the large hall as the taxi-driver’s bulky figure blocked the light in the front doorway. Without waiting for directions he lowered her motor trunk from his shoulders and stood it against the wall.

“Shall I leave it here, Miss?” he inquired.

Evelyn, busily engaged in searching for change in her purse, nodded affirmatively, and the man propped himself against the door jamb and waited for his pay.

“Thank you, Miss,” he exclaimed a moment later, his politeness stimulated by the generous tip which accompanied Evelyn’s payment of the taxi fare. “Would you like me to carry your trunk upstairs?”

“No; the butler will take it up, thank you.” Evelyn’s gesture of dismissal was unmistakable, and the man hitched uncomfortably at his cap, glanced furtively up the hall and then back at Evelyn who, totally unconscious of his scrutiny, stood impatiently waiting for him to go. He opened his mouth, but if he intended to address her again he thought better of it, and with a mumbled word banged out of the front door.

Evelyn turned at once and sped to the back stairs, but call as she did, no servant responded and the blind-closed windows made the passageway dark and unfriendly. With an impatient exclamation Evelyn returned to the front hall; the[3] servants had evidently not arrived from the seashore to open the house for her.

She stopped only long enough to push her trunk into the billiard room just off the hall and pick up her suit case, then she went rapidly upstairs to her bedroom which, in its summer covered furnishings, looked very inviting to her tired eyes. Four nights in a sleeper and three extra hours added to the tedium of her journey from the west by a hot-box which had delayed her train’s arrival in Washington, had made her long for home comforts.

Going over to the windows Evelyn drew up the blinds and opening the sashes thrust back the shutters, then, tossing off her hat and coat as she moved about her bedroom, she finally jerked open the suit case and tumbled about its contents until she found the garments she sought. In doing so she unearthed a letter from her mother, and she smiled as her eyes caught the words:

“I am sending the servants to the city on the fifteenth, which gives them a day to open the house and have it aired before you get there. Now be sure and reach Washington on the sixteenth. Your Father will be very angry if——”

The remainder of the sentence was on the opposite sheet, but Evelyn did not trouble to read further; instead her slender fingers made mince-meat[4] of the letter and as the torn pieces fluttered to the floor she sighed involuntarily.

Her mother, with her usual inconsistency, had evidently not troubled to study time-tables in deciding that her daughter could not reach Washington by the 15th, and in her own mind Evelyn wondered if the servants would be dispatched from Chelsea in time to reach there before night. The importance of time figured very little in Mrs. Burnham’s indolent sheltered life; her contention that prompt people wasted a great deal of time was frequently borne out by those who waited in impotent wrath for her to keep her engagements.

Evelyn changed into her dressing gown and then, sometimes colliding against furniture in the darkened house, made her way through her mother’s bedroom and boudoir, her step-father’s suite of rooms and into the library which opened from his bedroom, pulling up window shades and letting in fresh air and sunshine as she went. Back once more in her own room she tested the electric lights and was thankful to find the current turned on; apparently Mrs. Ward, her mother’s housekeeper, had attended to some of the details of moving back into their city house.

Encouraged by her success with the electricity, Evelyn tried the water in the bathroom and finding it running, filled the tub and with the aid of an[5] electric plunger, soon luxuriated in a hot bath. But upon emerging she did not immediately complete her toilet, the comfortable lounge exerted too great an appeal to her weary muscles, and taking a silk quilt from a nearby cedar chest she settled down amid soft pillows and was soon in dreamless slumber.

Some hours later Evelyn awoke. It took her several minutes to recall where she was as she sat up rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her windows faced the west and the afternoon sunshine filled every cranny of the room. Evelyn consulted her watch—fifteen minutes past two. With a bound she was on her feet and a second later was dressing in haste, her actions stimulated by pangs of hunger. She had eaten only a modest breakfast on the train, counting upon a hearty luncheon at home. She paused long enough in her dressing to go to the telephone in the library and call up several friends, only to be told by Central that the telephones she wanted had been disconnected for the summer.

A trifle discouraged Evelyn returned to her bedroom and resumed her dressing more slowly. Whom could she get to go out to tea with her?—Marian Van Ness. Evelyn brightened, but paused on her way to the library; what use to telephone, Marian was probably at the State Department and would not leave there until five o’clock. She could[6] get her to dine with her at the Shoreham, but in the meantime she was exceedingly hungry and to wait until seven o’clock—

Evelyn picked up her hat and then laid it down again as an idea occurred to her. Why not forage about the kitchen for eatables? The idea appealed to her the more she considered it. If the servants did not arrive she could go for Marian, whose apartment house was around the corner, and they could dine together; for the present a cup of tea and a few crackers would stay her appetite.

A few seconds later Evelyn was speeding down the staircase on her way to the kitchen. A visit to the butler’s pantry brought to light a package of crackers concealed in a tin box and a canister of her mother’s favorite Orange-Peko tea. Tucking her treasures under her arm Evelyn sought the kitchen and there to her delight found on investigation that she could light the big gas range. It took her but a moment to fill the water kettle, and humming a song she continued her researches in the orderly kitchen. An unopened jar of peanut butter and another of snappy cheese turned up on one of the shelves, and gathering plates and cooking utensils together she was soon enjoying toasted cheese and crackers and a delicious cup of tea.

She was about to refill her cup when the silence of the sunny kitchen was broken by the imperative[7] ringing of the bell. With a joyful exclamation Evelyn rose to her feet—the servants had come at last. As she started for the hall door she came face to face with the room-bell register—the indicator moved slowly downward and stopped at the printed word: “Library.”

Evelyn stared at the indicator in perplexity. Pshaw! the register was out of order; it was the front door bell which had rung. Stopping long enough to turn off the gas burning in the range she hastened upstairs to the front door, only to find the vestibule empty. She stepped out on the doorstep and glanced up and down, but except for a motor vanishing around the corner, the street was deserted.

Considerably perturbed Evelyn reëntered the house, and it was some seconds before she mounted the staircase to the second floor. Her lagging footsteps were accelerated by the sudden thought that perhaps her step-father had returned and gone straight to his room and, supposing from the opened windows that the servants were downstairs, had rung for the butler. He always carried his latch-key; but her mother had mailed her his latch-key!

Evelyn’s hand fell from the portières to her side and she drew back, then, suppressing her growing nervousness, she parted the portières and stepped into the library. She had advanced half across[8] the room before she became aware that a stranger sat half facing her near the great stone fireplace.

Evelyn retreated precipitously; then, gathering her wits, she demanded a trifle breathlessly:

“Who are you?”

No reply.

“How did you get here?”

Silence.

“What do you want?”

Her question remained unanswered; and anger conquering her fright, Evelyn stepped up to the chair and for the first time obtained a full view of the stranger’s ashen face and wide-staring eyes. Instinctively she bent nearer and her hand sought his pulseless wrist; its icy chill struck her with terror. With one horrified look into the dead eyes she fled from the room.

CHAPTER II COMPLICATIONS

EVELYN never knew how she reached the front door, but as she dashed out into the vestibule she almost fell into the arms of a tall neatly dressed woman standing on the doorstep. For a breathless second she clung to the newcomer in silence.

“Matilda!” Only in moments of stress did Evelyn ever address her mother’s housekeeper by her first name. “Thank God you are here!”

Mrs. Ward gazed at her in alarm. “What’s wrong, Miss Evelyn?” she asked. “Come inside, Miss,” coaxingly, growing conscious that Evelyn was swaying upon her feet. Supporting the half fainting girl, she led her into the billiard room which opened from the hall to the right of the front door. Once in the room Evelyn collapsed on the nearest chair.

“Oh, don’t go,” she begged as Mrs. Ward stepped toward the hall. “Don’t leave me.”

“Only for a moment, Miss; I left my bag outside the house,” and Mrs. Ward, disentangling her[10] skirt from Evelyn’s clutching fingers, disappeared into the hall to return shortly with a glass of water in one hand and her bag in the other. She dropped the latter on Evelyn’s trunk as she entered the room.

“Take a sip of water, Miss Evelyn,” she said, retaining her hold of the glass as Evelyn’s attempts to take it in her shaking hand proved futile. “Are Jones and the cook here?”

“No.” Evelyn was only equal to monosyllables.

“They haven’t come!” Mrs. Ward looked shocked. “All the servants were to leave Atlantic City this morning on the first train. No wonder you were frightened, Miss Evelyn, all alone in this big house.”

“But I was not alone.” Evelyn pushed aside the empty glass; she felt refreshed by the cold water and the presence of Mrs. Ward restored her to some degree of composure. “There’s a dead man upstairs!”

The glass slipped from Mrs. Ward’s hand and broke on the highly polished floor.

“Are you mad?” Mrs. Ward spoke more roughly than she realized, and Evelyn’s angry flush caused her to modify her tone to its customary civility. “Are you in earnest, Miss Evelyn?” Evelyn nodded vigorously, and Mrs. Ward’s comely face paled. “It’s—It’s not Mr. Burnham?”

“No; I have never seen the man before.”

[11]Mrs. Ward stared blankly at Evelyn, then roused herself. “Hadn’t I better go and investigate?” she asked. “You may be mistaken, Miss; perhaps the man’s only asleep.”

Evelyn shivered. “Men don’t sleep with their eyes open,” she said dully, rising. “I’m coming with you,” and she quickened her pace to keep up with Mrs. Ward as the latter led the way upstairs to the library. Mrs. Ward faltered just inside the room as her eyes fell on the quiet figure near the fireplace; then, repressing all emotion, she strode over to the figure and bent, as Evelyn had done, and placed her hand on the dead man’s wrist. When she turned back to Evelyn, who lingered near the doorway, her face rivaled the young girl’s in whiteness.

“I’d better go for Dr. Hayden.” She mumbled the words so that she was forced to repeat them before Evelyn understood her.

“Try the telephone,” the latter suggested, “that’s quicker.”

Mrs. Ward glanced shrinkingly at the telephone stand which stood almost at the dead man’s elbow and shook her head.

“I’d better go,” she reiterated obstinately.

“Nonsense, use the branch telephone in the pantry.” Evelyn’s customary cool-headedness returned as she saw the housekeeper becoming demoralized.[12] “Hurry, don’t waste any more time,” she added, and obedient to the stronger will, Mrs. Ward hastened from the room.

Evelyn stayed by the doorway in indecision, half inclined to accompany the housekeeper downstairs, but an attraction she could not conquer drew her toward the fireplace, and step by step she advanced nearer the dead man until only a chess table separated them. Sinking into a chair in front of the table she stared at the body for a long moment, then hastily averted her eyes. It was the first time she had seen death and its majesty over-awed even her terror.

A clock chiming the quarter aroused her and she mechanically looked at her wrist watch—a quarter of five. Had only two hours and a half passed since she had entered the library to telephone to Marian Van Ness? The time had seemed interminable, and she waited in ever increasing nervousness for the housekeeper’s return, as the clock ticked off minute after minute with maddening regularity.

Finally a murmur of voices coming nearer roused Evelyn and with a subdued exclamation she moved forward to meet Doctor Lewis Hayden, who a second later appeared in the library, Mrs. Ward at his heels.

Step by step she advanced nearer the dead man....

[13]“Has Mrs. Ward explained?” she demanded as Hayden clasped her outstretched hand.

“Only that——” Hayden stopped speaking as his eyes fell on the dead man. Striding forward he made a brief inspection before turning to the silent women. “Tell my chauffeur to go at once for Doctor Penfield, Mrs. Ward,” he directed and there was that in his manner which caused the housekeeper to move with even more than her customary rapidity. As she disappeared between the portières, Lewis Hayden turned his attention to Evelyn.

“A dose of aromatic spirits of ammonia will make you feel better,” he said kindly, noting the girl’s strained expression, and as he spoke he opened his emergency kit and poured the medicine in a glass. “Just add a little water to this,” he supplemented, “and then go and lie down. I’ll wait and see Coroner Penfield and we will take charge of affairs for you.”

Evelyn sighed with relief as she took the medicine. “Oh, thank you, doctor,” she exclaimed, “if you will just——” She stopped speaking as the portières were pulled back and Mrs. Ward, looking very much agitated, ushered in a tall man whose travel-stained appearance did not detract from his air of distinction. Evelyn stared at him as if unable to believe her eyes.

[14]“Mr. Maynard!” she exclaimed. “Dear Mr. Maynard! Where did you come from?”

Dan Maynard clasped her eagerly extended hand in both of his.

“Just back from France,” he explained, and at the sound of his voice Hayden’s memory quickened; its charm across the footlights had lured him often to the theater to see the man whose fame as an actor was international. “I wired Mr. Burnham——”

“Beg pardon,” Mrs. Ward insinuated herself into the little group by the door. “Your telegram was forwarded to Chelsea, Mr. Maynard, and Mrs. Burnham told me to prepare a bedroom for you, sir. It would have been ready but for this——,” and the housekeeper’s gesture toward the tragic figure by the fireplace completed her sentence.

Maynard stared but before Evelyn could offer any explanation the front door bell rang loudly and Mrs. Ward hastened to answer it.

“I imagine that is the coroner,” began Hayden, but an exclamation from Evelyn checked him; in her excitement she had not grasped the use of the word “Coroner” before Penfield’s name.

“A coroner! Good gracious, doctor, why send for him?”

“Because a sudden death cannot be examined[15] without his presence,” Hayden explained. “Go and take your medicine, Evelyn.”

Evelyn’s hesitation was brief; she knew Hayden of old and that he did not permit disobedience from his patients.

“Very well, doctor,” she said submissively. “But first, Mr. Maynard, this is our family physician, Dr. Hayden,” and as the two men silently shook hands, she added as she moved toward the door leading into her step-father’s bedroom, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Hayden’s surmise that Penfield had arrived proved correct, and the coroner, listening attentively to Mrs. Ward’s jumbled remarks as he mounted the staircase, went at once into the library and greeted Hayden.

“Apoplexy, Hayden?” he inquired, going toward the fireplace. “Ah, your aid here——” and Hayden joined him.

Maynard stood an interested spectator by the door, uncertain whether he was expected to go or stay, but as neither physician paid the slightest attention to him, he decided to remain. A sudden movement of the coroner’s toward the windows caused him to step forward and pull the inside Holland shades up to the top. A grunt of approval from Penfield greeted the additional light and Maynard decided to tuck back with the aid of[16] chairs the heavy brocaded curtains which, like the portières, were covered with cretonne to protect them in the summer months, until the large room was filled with the remaining daylight.

The room, wainscoted in Flemish oak with open beams across the high ceiling, was never very bright as its massive furnishings were somber in shade and absorbed the light. It was a very livable room, however, and had the air of being much occupied even with most of its bric-a-bric put away for the summer. The high-backed carved oak chairs and great leather covered lounges all looked comfortable, and the large center table, smoking stands, and card tables gave an added air of hospitality.

Suddenly Coroner Penfield rose from his knees beside the dead man and laid down several instruments on the chess table. He then glanced narrowly up and down the room, his glance resting finally on Dan Maynard, of whose presence he had been until then apparently unaware.

“I must make some inquiries, Hayden,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?”