He looked squarely at Warren. Evidently, Jasper’s purpose was to test his cousin’s reaction. Remembering the need for discretion, Warren responded calmly.
“I understood,” he remarked, “that Winstead’s death was accidental.”
“It was not!” declared Jasper coldly. “The same person who stabbed Humphrey and shot Wellington flung Winstead from the head of the stairs. Have you any idea who that person was?”
Warren Barringer did not reply. He watched an evil, fiendish leer appear upon his cousin’s face.
“Can you name the murderer?” queried Jasper, in a persistent tone.
Warren could see no reason for refusing an answer now. He was completely baffled by Jasper’s attitude. The look on the fellow’s face was proof enough that he was gloating over memory of evil deeds.
“I can name the murderer!” retorted Warren, in a low, tense accusation. “I do not need to tell you his name, Jasper Delthern. You killed both your brothers and Wellington!”
“I did,” admitted Jasper coolly. “Nevertheless, there is no one living who will prove it. That includes you, Warren. On the contrary” — Jasper’s tone became thoughtful — “it would not be difficult to prove that Warren Barringer was the murderer!”
THE thrust was delivered with a villainous deliberation. Jasper’s cool admission of guilt had been astounding in itself; this nervy statement aroused Warren’s indignation.
“You can prove nothing!” he ejaculated. “You know well that I am innocent—”
“Softly, softly,” interposed Jasper, with malicious calm. “Someone might be passing in the hallway; someone who would overhear you if you talk too loud.”
Warren settled back in his chair. Jasper grinned. The murderer was filled with confidence.
Warren began to realize his own difficult position. He remembered Clark Brosset’s admonition to give Jasper enough leeway to enmesh himself. Warren resolved to listen until Jasper had finished.
“The proofs are here,” remarked Jasper quietly. “Statements signed and sworn to by my brother Humphrey and his servant Wellington — statements that indicate you may have been concerned with Winstead’s death.
“There is proof also that you came here on the night that Humphrey and Wellington died. Your hat” — Jasper laughed — “remained in a downstairs closet. The police were negligent in their quiz that night. I rather fancy that if they questioned my cousin Marcia they could learn more concerning your movements on that evening.”
The warning!
It flashed back through Warren Barringer’s mind. Had Marcia Wardrop divined Jasper’s plan? Was she helpless also? Was this a hopeless trap?
Warren could rely only upon Clark Brosset. There was a friend who could help — yet well did Warren recall the need for caution that Brosset himself had expressed.
“You are thinking of my telephone call from the City Club?” questioned Jasper. “If so, let me inform you that I expected you to overhear it. I saw you approach the phone booths. I did not talk to Wellington that night. I faked the call to bring you here.
“Wellington dead was better than Wellington alive, after he had entered the room. In fact, he was a nuisance all along. I was thinking of your welfare, Warren” — Jasper held up his hand as Warren flashed a look of indignation — “because I had no quarrel with you. I preferred that no one should discover a murderer in the Delthern family.”
Jasper’s evil statement had a twofold meaning. It signified that he did not want crime pinned upon either himself or his cousin. A smile of feigned solicitude replaced the leer on Jasper’s countenance.
“Come,” he said, as Warren preserved absolute silence. “Let us discuss terms. You are in a serious position, Warren. Remember, if we each declare the other as a murderer, the cards are stacked against you. One would suspect a cousin as a killer more readily than one would suspect a brother.
“Moreover, you as well as I have profited by the deaths of Winstead and Humphrey. You could profit further by slaying me. Suppose I should accuse you of threatening my life?”
Warren smiled scornfully. He had regained his wits, now that he saw the game. He was determined to meet Jasper’s calmness with equal unconcern.
“This is interesting, Jasper,” he remarked. “But where does it get you? Am I to assume that things are getting a bit too hot for you?”
“Not too hot for me,” retorted Jasper. “Too hot for you, Warren. The detective on this job — a dumb cluck named Terwiliger — is out for business. He’ll get the murderer, he says — and in characteristic fashion, he’ll pick the wrong man. That ought to worry you, Warren!”
IT did worry Warren Barringer. The young man had no knowledge of the happenings that had taken place in Delthern Manor on the night before. Nevertheless, Warren felt sure that Jasper was leading up to some proposition. He wanted to find out what it was. Jasper saw his quizzical expression and laughed again.
“I’m going to make it easy for you, Warren,” he declared. “That is why I called this meeting for tonight. When we confer with Horatio Farman, you will state that you have found it necessary to leave for California. That will naturally bring up the subject of your share in the estate.
“At my suggestion, Marcia and I will agree, in writing, not to dispute your claim. Your portion will be forwarded to you upon the date of settlement. You will keep one half of it.”
“And the rest?” queried Warren calmly.
“You will split with me,” decided Jasper. “That is a fair break. You get one eighth — the share originally yours. You have lost nothing. Your quarter share is really of my making; therefore half of it rightfully belongs to me.”
In tone and manner, Jasper Delthern had calculated well. His words had carried no great threat; indeed, they had shown a marked expression of welfare toward Warren Barringer. But the menace was there; now, Jasper chose to reveal it.
“Follow my instructions, Warren,” ordered Jasper, in a harsh tone, “and you will come out of this uninjured! When I receive my split of the money that goes to you, I will destroy all the evidence against you. If necessary, I will send it to you that you may accomplish the destruction.
“But if you refuse; if you remain here any longer — that will mark the end of all your hopes. I will see that the police gain the evidence. You will be marked as a murderer. You understand?”
Warren nodded. He saw the meaning behind Jasper’s game. He put the matter bluntly, so that his cousin would know he comprehended.
“My present share,” considered Warren, “is more than four million dollars. Should I be eliminated, that amount will go to Marcia Wardrop. You would not gain a penny of it, for you are limited to your half.
“But if I agree to your plan, we will split that amount of money — about two million dollars each. An excellent thought, Jasper!”
WARREN was smiling; playing a cagy game as he pretended to agree with his cousin’s scheme. He saw a chance to deliver a subtle stroke; and changed his tone accordingly.
“If I refuse, however,” asserted Warren, “I may win out by staying here. Suppose you are discovered as the murderer, Jasper? That might lead to your elimination. That would give me one half share in the estate.”
“Try it!” snarled Jasper, rising from his chair. “You will lose out. The cards are stacked against you. I can bluff it through!”
“If I run away,” remarked Warren, “it will make it look as though I were the murderer.”
“Not if you do it sensibly,” growled Jasper. “I will stick to my part of the bargain. Why not? It will mean two million dollars. But I tell you, Warren, your refusal will cook your goose.”
Warren was on his feet also. The two men glowered at each other across the big desk. Each was holding back. Jasper had not told what had happened to Terwiliger. Warren had not stated his reliance upon Clark Brosset.