“Very well. Why didn’t you tell me that at first, Mrs. Crend?”
“I thought it would look bad.”
“It is better to tell the truth, you see. We have ways of knowing when a person does not. That is our business. Mrs. Lennek’s maid has told us that, as far as she knew, her mistress did not expect any callers this afternoon, and when she left the boudoir it was not disarranged in any way. But when I arrived, I found that the desk had been ransacked, and also a chest of drawers in a corner.”
“I didn’t ransack it!” Mrs. Crend cried. “I only looked at the papers and envelopes on the desk, to see whether she had left a letter.”
“And you did not find one?”
“No, sir.”
“If you had, wouldn’t you conceal the fact now?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Crend. “Wouldn’t I show the letter to prove the suicide, and put an end to this silly belief that my sister did not kill herself?”
“My dear madam, it is not a silly belief,” Detective Sam Frake assured her. “I am afraid that it is a fact. That will be all for the present, Mrs. Crend.”
Mrs. Crend got up, and her husband assisted her back to the couch where they had been sitting before. Detective Frake consulted the ceiling again.
“She did not expect a caller evidently,” he said. “Or possibly she expected one, but did not care to have it generally known. For there was a caller — Mr. Madison Purden. Mrs. Crend, is Madison Purden the man with whom you believed your sister infatuated?”
“He is!” Laura Crend cried. “He’s a schemer, a scoundrel! If he has persecuted my sister, hounded her to the grave—”
“He scarcely would do that if, by marrying her, he could get a million or so,” Detective Frake said.
He glanced across the room at Madison Purden, who sat there, white of face. Purden’s eyes were blazing, his hands were clenched. He paid no attention to the scrutiny of the detective, for he was glaring at Howard Crend and his outspoken wife.
There was silence for a moment, and then Mrs. Crend began weeping, softly at first, and then hysterically. Her husband tried in vain to quiet her.
“Control yourself, Mrs. Crend,” Detective Frake said. “If your sister met a violent death, you want her murderer caught and punished, don’t you?”
“Make Madison Purden talk!” she cried suddenly. “He called on her this afternoon, did he? Then make him talk!”
“Yes, he called on her about half past three, about the time she is supposed to have telephoned,” Detective Frake admitted. “And we’ll listen to Mr. Purden talk, of course. Kindly take this chair beneath the light, Mr. Purden.”
CHAPTER VI
PURDEN’S STORY
Madison Purden was a man of about forty, tall, broad-shouldered, and rather handsome. Men generally despised him. Some women loathed him, and others seemed drawn toward him.
Now he got up and walked across the room and sat down in the chair before Detective Sam Frake. He looked the detective straight in the eyes. Purden’s face was white because of his anger, but he was fighting to get control of himself. It was as though he understood that he found himself on dangerous ground, that he would have to be careful in every word and action.
Purden was dressed fastidiously, almost foppishly. He ignored all the others in the room and gave all his attention to Detective Frake. He cleared his throat.
“I am sure, sir,” Purden said, “that you will not take into consideration the statements made against me within the past few minutes. You will readily understand why Mrs. Crend shows animosity toward me. She does not like me, and she was afraid that I was going to marry her sister. I shall be charitable and not say that it was thought of losing a fortune—”
Detective Sam Frake held up a hand demanding silence, to stop Madison Purden, and also to prevent a tirade from Mrs. Crend, which he felt sure was coming.
“How long had you known Mrs. Lennek, Purden?” Frake asked.
“I knew her slightly before she was married to Mr. Lennek,” he replied. “I met her again shortly after her husband’s death and renewed my acquaintance.”
“You have been — er — very friendly with her?”
“Our friendship has increased gradually for almost a year,” Purden answered.
“When did you last see her alive?”
“She took tea with me yesterday at a tearoom downtown, after she had called upon Mr. Garder at his office.”
“You escorted her home?”
“No, sir. She had some shopping to do, she said. I left her at a department store and went to my club.”
“That was the last time you saw her alive?”
“It was — yes, sir,” Purden replied.
“Did she communicate with you by telephone or otherwise?” Frake asked.
“No, sir.”
“And you called this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain that, please.”
“Mrs. Lennek had told me to run in this afternoon, if I wished. So I called.”
“At what time, Mr. Purden?”
“About three-thirty, certainly not later than three-thirty-five.”
“Please tell me what happened.”
“I entered and walked up the front stairs, as I generally do.”
“Without having the clerk announce you?” Frake asked.
“Yes. I never had him announce me when I called in the afternoon and on invitation. Mrs. Lennek’s maid generally answered the door.”
“I see. Proceed, please.”
“I came to the turn in the hall,” Purden continued, “and saw Peter Podd, the janitor. He was just in front of Mrs. Lennek’s door. He bobbed his head at me and hurried down the hall.”
“Didn’t say anything to you?”
“No, sir. I went on to the door. I was surprised to find that it was standing open a few inches. I rang and waited, but nobody came to the door.”
“Did you think that strange?”
“Naturally. I rang again, with the same result. I did not hear a sound inside the apartment at first. And then I imagined that I heard a groan. I stepped inside and called Mrs. Lennek, and still there was no reply.”
“What did you do then, Mr. Purden?”
“I walked to the middle of the living room and called a second time. I heard no answer. I was not sure, you understand, whether I had heard a groan or not, but it worried me. I glanced into the little hallway and saw that the door of the boudoir was open.”
For the first time since he had started his recital, Purden looked down at the floor, hesitated, acted a bit embarrassed. Detective Frake watched him closely.
“Well, what else?” he asked, after a time.
“I stepped into the little hallway, called her name again, and then went to the boudoir door,” Purden aid. “And I— I saw her stretched across the divan.”
“She was dead?” Frake asked.
“Yes. I gasped in horror and darted inside. I knew at once that she was dead. There seemed to be a look of agony in her face. Her eyes were fixed, glazed.”
“Did you touch the body?”
“No, sir. I was horrified.”
“You don’t know whether the body was warm?”
“No. I— I couldn’t even touch her hand. I was so shocked that I scarcely realized what I was doing. I couldn’t force myself to go near her. I can’t explain the feeling that came over me. I had expected to ask her to be my wife — and to come upon her dead body like that — I turned around and hurried from the room. I left the building as quickly as I could and walked and walked, unable to control myself.”
“Why didn’t you give the alarm?” Frake asked. “Why didn’t you report finding her dead?”
“I cannot explain my actions. That’s all that I can say.”
“The natural thing would have been to raise an outcry, or at least to notify the office, wouldn’t it?”