The Clue in the Air by Isabel Ostrander

Author:Isabel Ostrander [Ostrander, Isabel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Autoset from 'clue in the air.indd' by 'Madeline' on 20/12/2023 at 18:15 Content may have been edited since
Published: 2024-02-02T18:03:23+00:00

CHAPTER XVI

MISS BECKWITH INTERVENES

Early in the afternoon, McCarty went down to headquarters, and held an earnest consultation with Inspector Druet.

Nothing was known of the young inventor’s departure and no request had come in from Terhune to have him shadowed, or his present whereabouts ascertained. At McCarty’s earnest solicitation, however, the inspector promised to put a man or two on “Mr. Antonio’s trail, and McCarty returned to his rooms in no very satisfactory state of mind.

That an affair of some sort had existed between the dead girl and her stepfather’s chauffeur there was no possibility of doubt. She had employed her small brother to carry notes between them and had wept when the man was finally turned from the door.

There was nothing to show that she had ever been particularly interested in her former admirer, Charles Sturtevant, nor would her stepfather, from motives of self-interest, have encouraged any attachment which would have removed her from his direct influence. According to Stevie, however, there had been boundless opportunity in their daily intercourse for an acquaintance ship to have overstepped the social barrier and ripened into romance between the chauffeur and the lonely girl.

If there was any truth in McCarty’s suspicions, and Tony the chauffeur was in reality Mr. Antonio, the inventor, vast fields of conjecture would be opened up, and a new and startling interpretation placed upon the event of her death. Could it be that those two apartments on the fourth floor of the Glamorgan had harbored people who, in ignorance of each other’s presence, and purpose, were equally and vitally connected with the tragedy of the night?

The proprietor of the antique shop peered eagerly from his door as McCarty halted, fumbling for his keys. He was a grizzled old Frenchman, lean and stoop-shouldered, with the face of a savant and small avariciously twinkling eyes.

He laid a finger across his withered lips and sidled quickly over to the steps.

“You have a caller, my frien’! An old lady, a grande dame, très distinguée. She arrive in ze auto, it is an hour.”

“What’s that, Girard?” McCarty paused. “Did you speak to her?”

“But yes. She ask of me when you will return.” He gesticulated over his shoulder. “She is here.”

“In your shop?”

McCarty went hastily to the door and stopped. Amid the cluttered disarray of dusty ornaments, dingy draperies and rusty armor, sat a figure wrapped heavily in mourning. He drew off his hat and stepped inside.

“Were you looking for me, ma’am?” he asked. “I’m McCarty.”

“Oh, yes!” a fluttering voice answered breathlessly from beneath the veil. “I want to see you privately. I have been waiting—”

“Well, ma’am, if you care to come up stairs to my rooms we’ll not be disturbed.

The lady rose at once and prepared to follow McCarty, who led the way in a daze. What was the purport of this self-sought interview? And why had he been selected instead of Terhune?

He threw open the door of his living-room and wheeled forward a capacious arm-chair, so that the light from the late afternoon sun would strike athwart it.

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