Death Wears a Mask by Thérèse Benson

Author:Thérèse Benson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phocion Publishing
Published: 2019-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter XII

Sam was a youngish man, thirty-eight to be exact, and in good condition. Tall, fair, muscular, leading a regular life with enough amusement and no harmful dissipations, he was not accustomed to the feeling of physical exhaustion resulting from the strain on his nerves and his emotions during the previous twenty-four hours.

He returned to Beekman Place with an absolute longing for home and bed. But before he could hope for that he must again see Miss Livingston and Harvey to arrange a plan for delivering the latter to the good yacht Nautilus, so christened in a burst of inspiration by Bill Martin, who had inclined rather coyly to the Sea Urchin, while refusing to be beguiled by certain bibulous friends who, with one voice, pleased by the connotation, voted for the Sponge.

He rang Miss Livingston’s bell and was admitted promptly by the lady in person.

“Eliza is at the movies again. It’s different now from my young days when the servants had to be in at ten o’clock promptly and say good night to their master and mistress on the way to bed. If the theater kept open all night Eliza would never get any sleep,” she said, adding: “Come in. Did you accomplish anything?”

Sam followed her into her reception-room, and Harvey, who was seated in a stiff chair, doing nothing, turned at his approach.

“Hello, Sam,” he said listlessly. “You back again?”

“Yes. I wanted to tell you that I saw Bill Martin.”

“I hope you warned him not to count on me for this cruise. He’ll get some one else easily enough.”

“No,” Sam returned, “I didn’t. I hadn’t the heart. I found that his whole expedition hangs on your going with him. He has been searching for you all day, and the Nautilus will sail the moment you’re on board. Wait!” He held up his hand as Harvey was about to protest. “If you stay in the city, you will hamper and not help the search for Connie’s slayer.”

Harvey stared at him incredulously.

“How is that possible? It seems to me that you can’t have too much help in a case like this.”

“Did you never hear that ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth’?” Sam had begun, when Miss Livingston interposed:

“Harvey is man enough to bear the truth, Commissioner Mellon. This house is under police surveillance, Harvey. I have a plan to get you off to the yacht undetected—with help”—she glanced at Sam—“and when you look at the case as if it concerned not you but another, you’ll acknowledge that if you are found here, your arrest is certain.”

Harvey fixed his eyes on hers, opening and shutting his mouth foolishly without uttering a word. Then he ran a finger around his collar as if its tight fit strangled him.

“You can’t mean that anyone would be so brutal as to fancy that I’d harm Connie, Miss Lucilla?” he burst out at last.

“Once they knew you were here, they’d think of nothing and no one else.”

Noting the impression this made, Sam hastened to confirm the

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