The White Room

"Keep your hair on, professor. Her name is Brand."

Bocaros rose from his chair and, dropping his pipe, threw up his hands with a foreign ejaculation. "Brand! Flora Brand?"

"Yes. How do you come to know her front name?"

"She is my cousin," said the professor, and sat down to cover his face with his hands.

Tracey whistled, and stared. In making the communication to the man, he was far from expecting that this announcement would be made. "I guess you know who killed her then?" he observed coolly. Bocaros leaped to his feet. "Man," he cried fiercely, "what is that you say? How should I know who killed her?"

"You're her cousin, and Derrick says in the woman's past life will be found the motive for the crime."

"I know very little of my cousin's past life," said Bocaros, walking rapidly to and fro, and apparently much moved. "What I do know I shall tell to the police."

"Tell it to me now," suggested the American.

The professor looked at him mistrustfully. "I don't know if you are a good person to make a confidant of."

"Bless you, there's no confidence about this, professor. You'll have to tell the police what you know, and they'll put it all in print."

"True! True!" Bocaros took a turn up and down the room, then passed his lean hand through his long hair. "Mr. Tracey, you are a clever man. I can rely on you to help me."

"Help you!" Tracey looked sharply at the professor. "What's that?"

"I mean help me with the police. I am not accustomed to deal with these matters. They will ask me questions."

"Well, what if they do? You can answer them, I reckon."

"Yes, yes. But you know how suspicious the police are."

"They may be in foreign lands where you hail from. But I guess they're too pig-headed here to think much."

"This woman-Flora-was murdered in Ajax Villa. It is only a short distance from my house. They may think-"

"That you killed her? That's rubbish. It's queer, certainly, that she should have come to end her life in that way so near to your shanty, but there's not much chance of the police accusing you. Did you know Fane in any way?"

"I never even heard of him."

"Not from Miss Mason? You know her?"

"I have only spoken half a dozen words to her," said Bocaros, twisting his hands together. "You know how shy I am. Your lady-"

"Gerty B.," put in Tracey.

"Yes, Miss Baldwin. She introduced me to Miss Mason. But we had little speech together. Your young lady might have mentioned the name of Fane, but I forget-I forget." And Bocaros passed his hand over his brow again. "You know how absent I am."

"Yes, yes," said Luther Tracey soothingly, for he saw that the man was growing excited. "You lie down and go slow. Tell me about this cousin of yours."

"She is my first cousin," explained Bocaros, sitting down, and keeping himself down by the strongest of efforts. "My father's sister married a man called Calvert, and-"

"Calvert! Why, that's the name of the man Miss Mason's going to be married to!"

"Is it?" The professor stared. "I never knew. Flora told me that her father's brother had a son called Arnold."

"That's the name. He's an actor at one of the big shows. Arnold Calvert. You must have heard of him."

"Never as an actor."

"Well, I guess he's not got much of a reputation. Just now he's acting in a piece at the Frivolity Theatre. The Third Man is the name of the piece. I don't think much of it myself, or of him as-"

Bocaros threw up a protesting hand. "We have more important things to talk about than this young man."

"Well, I don't know. It's queer that he should be the cousin of the woman who was killed in the house of the brother-in-law of the girl he's engaged to. Do you know Calvert?"

"No; I never met him. Listen, Mr. Tracey. I came to England some five or six years ago very poor, as I am now. Here Bocaros looked round his study with a dreary air. I have heard my father talk of his sister who married a man called Calvert, and I had the address. I found my aunt dead, and her daughter Flora just preparing to move from the house where they had lived for a long time. She had very little money, and told me she was going to be married."

"To a man called Brand?"

"Yes. I never saw her husband. Flora told me of our other relatives. She gave me a little money, and then dismissed me. I did not see her again. But she wrote to me from Coleridge Lane asking me to give my name as a reference for her respectability. She wanted to take a house there-'Fairy Lodge' I think it is called."

"That's the house," said Tracey, with a glance at the paper. "Well?"

"Well, I sent the reference, and she never wrote again. Then over a month ago I received a letter from some lawyers. They stated that Mrs. Brand had come in for a large fortune, and that she intended next year to allow me an income."

"So you've lost by her death?"

Bocaros sprang to his feet with a wild look. "That's just where it is," he exclaimed. "I don't know that I haven't gained."

"As how?" asked Tracey, looking puzzled.

"When I got the lawyers' letter," proceeded Bocaros, – "the name of the firm is Laing and Merry-I wrote to Flora, thanking her. She asked me to call. I did so-"

"Hallo!" interrupted Tracey; "you said just now you never saw her again after your interview years ago."

"I meant at that time. Four or five years elapsed between the time I saw her. I am not good at dates, but I never saw her for years. All my life I have only had two interviews. One was when I came to this country; the other when, shortly before her death, I called to see her at Coleridge Lane. She received me very kindly, and stated that she intended to leave me the money. In fact that she had made a will in my favour."

Tracey stared. Here was a motive for the murder, seeing that Bocaros was desperately poor. Yet he could not see how the professor came to be mixed up with the actual crime. "How much is the property?" he asked, after an awkward pause.

"Ten thousand a year."

"Great Scott! How lucky for you, professor-her death, I mean."

"I would rather she had not died," burst out the man passionately. "It's horrible to think that she should have been murdered in so barbarous a fashion. You see my position. I live near the house where the crime was committed. I inherit ten thousand a year, and I am much in need of money. How do I know but what your police may accuse me of killing Flora?"

"They'll have to prove how you got into the house first," said the American, rather ashamed of his momentary suspicions, since the man looked at the matter in this fashion. "You lie low, professor. You're all right, I guess. There's a long difference between inheriting a large fortune and killing the person to get it."

"I would not have touched Flora for the universe," cried the professor. "I saw little of her, but what I saw I liked very much. She was a gentle, kind little lady, and though so poor she always dressed well. A most charming lady."

"Where did she get the ten thousand a year?"

"From a relative who died in Australia. At our first interview she stated that she had such a relative, and that it was probable she would inherit the money. Then she promised to assist me. She remembered her promise when she came in for the money a month or two ago. Not only did she promise me an income, but made the will in my favour. I asked her not to, saying I would be content with a small annuity. But she said she had already made the will."

"Why didn't she leave it to her husband?"

"I can't say. She spoke very little about her husband. He is a commercial traveller, and was often away. From what I saw in her manner and looks she was not happy; but she did not complain."

"Well," said Tracey, rising, "if the husband turns up he'll fight you for the property, though I don't think he'll show."

"Why not? He won't give up ten thousand a year."

"No. But Derrick thinks, as you will see in the paper, that Mrs. Brand was killed by her husband."

Bocaros started back. "Horrible! Horrible!" Then piteously, "My friend, what am I to do?"

"Take my advice, and go right along to see Laing and Merry. They'll help you through." And this Bocaros agreed to do.

"And I will spend the money in hunting for the assassin," said he.

CHAPTER IX
MRS. BRAND'S WILL

The office of Laing and Merry was in Milton Street, on the ground floor of a dingy pile of buildings. There was only one representative of the firm, as Laing was dead, and his executors had disposed of the business to Merry. This gentleman carried on the office work with three clerks, of which one was his son. At a future date the younger Merry was to be admitted into the business, and at present was serving his articles. Merry retained the name of Laing on the office door-plate, as that gentleman had been a much-respected member of the profession, and his name inspired confidence.

Regarding Merry's own name, which was certainly odd, it fitted him extremely well. He was a stout and rubicund lawyer, not at all resembling the accepted type. There was nothing dry and solemn about Merry. He seemed to be a simple sort of person, and clients sometimes doubted his abilities. But all this cheerfulness was assumed. He really was as deep as a well, but it was a well wherein Truth did not reside. Not that Merry did anything likely to get himself struck off the Rolls. He was far too clever for that. But he was certainly unscrupulous, and more than a match for the majority of rascals. He always looked for the worst in a man, but his smile and complacent fatness disarmed all suspicion of his talents. Many a sharper had cause to rue trusting to the deceitful appearance of the lawyer.

Mr. Merry sat alone in a dingy room, the window of which looked out on to a blank wall. The room was surrounded by black-painted deed-boxes, and was remarkably dusty. Before the lawyer was a pile of letters which he intended to answer shortly. But at the present moment he was looking at yesterday's copy of the Daily Budget. It belonged to Merry junior, and his father had taken it in to read the paragraph pointed out by his son. It was that which dealt with the finding of Fairy Lodge, and the identification of Flora Brand with the woman who had been murdered in Ajax Villa. After mastering the article, Merry rang the bell, and raised his eyes when his son appeared at the door.

"Come and sit down, and close the door," said the father. "I wish to speak about this."

"Merry junior was a stout young man of twenty-one, quite as cheerful-looking as his respected progenitor. But he had a pair of sharp grey eyes which always set people on their guard. For this reason he was not so successful as his father in dealing with suspicious clients. In a year Merry hoped to be a full-fledged solicitor, and then intended to become his father's partner. Meanwhile, as he was remarkably sharp, and had the firm's interest at heart, Merry senior frequently consulted him. At the present moment he intended to discuss the death of Mrs. Brand.

"I can't understand why you did not show me this yesterday," he said.

"I never saw it," explained the son. "The fact is, I don't take in that rag." He pointed disdainfully to the paper. "But I picked it up in a railway carriage while going home last night, and wrapped a bag of fruit in it. This morning I happened to use some of the paper while shaving, and my eyes caught the paragraph. I would have shown it to you at once, but you had already started for the office. I therefore saved the torn pieces, and brought it in as soon as I arrived."

"There's nothing about this death in the other papers," said his father.

"No. I remember the case though. The woman was murdered at Ajax Villa, Troy, and there was a great deal of fuss made over the matter, owing to the strangeness of the affair. It's queer that the similarity of the rooms should prove to be the means of identification."

"You think there can be no doubt about the woman?"

"Oh, it must be Mrs. Brand. You see, the detective-or is he an inspector? – identified her by the photograph. There's something behind all this which I can't understand."

"You mean about the murder?"

"Well-yes," said the son. "And about the search made in the house by this man-what's his name? – Derrick. I wonder he did not find our letters to Mrs. Brand, and come at once to see us."

"He has not had time, perhaps."

"The police do not usually lose time. An hour makes a great difference to a case of this sort. I wonder who murdered her."

"I can't say. I merely read the inquest in a casual manner. Had I known it was Mrs. Brand, I should have come forward," added Merry senior. "The publicity of the case would have done us good."

The son reflected. "There's time yet to make a fuss," he said. "We are responsible for the will of Mrs. Brand. I dare say we can get the heir to offer a reward. What about the will, father?"

"I must see after it." Merry senior nodded towards a box. "It's in there. Queer she didn't leave her money to her husband, Sammy."

"I don't think she and her husband got on well," said Sammy; "he was always away."

"Well, as a commercial traveller-"

"No, father," interrupted Sammy, with vivacity. "I don't believe he was. Mrs. Brand didn't strike me as a woman who would marry a commercial traveller. Did you ever see Mr. Brand?"

"No," replied the lawyer, without raising his eyes. "Did you?"

"I never did, although you sent me twice to Mrs. Brand's house on business. I remember the white room. I wonder it didn't strike me when I saw the report of the crime. By the way, father, how did Mrs. Brand come to be our client? It was before I entered the office that she became our client."

"Yes." Merry rose and looked out of the window at the blank wall, which was not an alluring prospect. "Her distant cousin, Arthur Brand of Australia, sent home money to support Mrs. Brand's mother. When the mother died, he continued the income to the daughter. What always struck me as strange," added Merry musingly, "was that Mrs. Brand should marry a man of the same name as that of her cousin."

"A coincidence merely, father. Then Arthur Brand died and left the money to this woman?"

"Yes. A few months ago. I wrote and asked her to call. When informed of her good fortune she almost fainted. Then I suggested that she should bring her husband to me, so that he could attend to the matter on her behalf. But it seemed that Mr. Brand had departed a month previously to Australia, for the purpose of looking up Arthur. Mrs. Brand appeared to think that her husband was some connection, and wished to make sure."

"There is another cousin, isn't there?"

"Yes. Arnold Calvert, an actor." Merry's eyes travelled to the tin box. "I must write him at once."

"Why? Has he anything to do with the will?"

Merry opened his mouth to reply, when a clerk entered with a card. "Professor Bocaros," read the solicitor, and smiled. "Ah! This is Mrs. Brand's cousin. He has come to see about the will. You can leave me, Sammy. And I say, just drop a note to Mr. Calvert at the Frivolity Theatre asking him to call."

Sammy nodded, and passed out. As he did so Professor Bocaros stood aside. Young Merry looked at the lean figure and solemn face of the Greek, and then at the blazing eyes. He gave his opinion to himself as the door closed on the client. "I shouldn't like to be in your power," said Sammy. "I wonder if you inherit."

Merry shook hands warmly with the professor, and placed a chair for him. "It's a fine day. I am glad to see you, sir. Your cousin, poor woman, often spoke of you to us."

"Did she?" said Bocaros, looking keenly at the genial face of the lawyer. "That is strange, considering we saw so little of one another. By the way, your phrase-poor woman-leads me to believe that you have heard from the police."

"No. I have read in this paper of the identification of Mrs. Brand with the woman who was murdered in Troy;" and Merry laid his hand on the Daily Budget. "I suppose you have come to see me about the matter. How did you learn the news?"

"In the same way. A friend of mine brought the paper to me."

"Oh!" Merry looked sharply in his turn. "Did this friend know that you were Mrs. Brand's cousin?"

"He did not. I usually get the paper every day from my landlady, Mrs. Baldwin. I occupy a small house on her estate in Cloverhead-"

"Where is that, sir?"

"Near Troy. In fact it is the village around which Troy is built."

"Oh!" Merry looked surprised. "Do you mean to say you live in Troy?"

"I do. And not a stone-throw away from the house where poor Flora was murdered."

"Flora-ah, Mrs. Brand. I forgot her Christian name for the moment. So you live there-a strange coincidence," said Merry cautiously.

"So strange that I have come to ask you what I am to do," said the professor, in his agitated way. "You will believe me, sir, that I know nothing of the murder. All I know about it I read in the papers, and gathered from Mr. Tracey."

"Who is he?"

"The engineer whose motor-car was stolen and found in Charing Cross yard," said Bocaros. "The police said-"

"I remember. Their theory was that the murderer escaped in the car. But they didn't prove that at the inquest. Some one else might have taken the car, though, to be sure, its abandonment in the station yard looks as though the person merely wished to make use of it for escape. However, that's not the point. You heard about the crime from Mr. Tracey?"

"Yes. And of course I read of it in the papers. But I never knew it was my cousin till Mr. Tracey brought me the Daily Budget yesterday. Then I made up my mind to come to you."

"Why?" asked Merry calmly.

Bocaros looked surprised. "Why, you wrote to me stating that Mrs. Brand intended to leave me an annuity."

"She did intend to do so, but she changed her mind."

"Yes, I know," said Bocaros, feeling his way carefully, for he was surprised by Merry's attitude. "When she wrote to me, I went and saw her. She said she would see that I wanted for nothing, and then she told me that she had made a will in my favour."

Merry looked up suddenly. He had been drawing figures on the blotting-paper, apparently inattentive. But in reality he had lost nothing of the conversation. Now he looked as though he would read the heart of the man before him. "Mrs. Brand did make a will in your favour," he said, "about a week before she died, but-"

"What do you mean?" asked Bocaros. He was usually pale, but owing to the significant looks of Mr. Merry, he flushed a deep red. "She told me about the will, and I want to know-seeing that I live in Troy, and benefit by her death-if there is any chance of the police suspecting me?"

"No," said Merry smoothly. "There is no chance. You don't benefit under the will."

Bocaros leaned back in his chair, and changed from red to white. "I-I confess, sir, I do not understand," he stammered.

"Mrs. Brand," went on the lawyer smoothly, "came and made a will, leaving all her money to you. It amounts to ten thousand a year. She also mentioned the annuity, but after some thought, she said we could write to you saying she would allow you an income, but privately we advised her not to bind herself. She did so. We wrote as you know. She then said that she would pay you the income, as we stated in our letter, and resolved to leave you her money. In fact we made a will out to that effect."

"So she told me," stammered the professor, "and then-"

"Then she changed her mind like women do. In a few days she came back, revoked the former will, and made a new one in favour of Arnold Calvert, if you know who he is."

"Arnold Calvert!" cried the professor, rising. "The actor?"

"Yes. I have never seen him act myself; but I hear he is a very good fellow, and I have no doubt, seeing how you have been disappointed, he will let you have enough to live on. We have written to Mr. Calvert, and expect him to call."

Bocaros sat quite still, though in this speech he saw the downfall of his hopes. Merry thought that being a foreigner he would break out into a rage. But Bocaros did nothing of the sort. His face was white, and he appeared to breathe with difficulty. Then he smiled, and drew a long breath of relief. "So she has left me nothing," he said. "I am glad of it."

"Glad of it!" echoed Merry.

"Yes. I was fearful lest the police should suspect me of having a hand in poor Flora's death. Now that she has left me nothing, they can never think I had any motive to kill her."

"That's true enough," said Merry, puzzled; "but in any case I don't see how the police can suspect you. It is true that you live near the house where Mrs. Brand was murdered. But you no doubt can account for your actions on that night."

"No," said Bocaros unhesitatingly; "that's just where the difficulty comes in. I live alone, and from five o'clock on that day I saw no one. So far as the police are concerned, it would have been perfectly easy for me to have killed Mrs. Brand, and have returned to my lonely house without raising suspicion."

"There's no need to incriminate yourself," said the lawyer, thinking Bocaros was slightly touched. "I am quite sure that the police will think as I do."

"What is that?"

"That if you were guilty, you would not be in such a hurry to put yourself in the wrong."

"I am not in the wrong; I am innocent."

"Quite so. Well, there is no good discussing the matter. I suppose you can throw no light on this strange death?"

"None. I have told you all I know. But I trust that Mr. Calvert, seeing he has inherited the money, will take up the matter, and hunt down the assassin. Thinking I would inherit, I decided to do so myself."

"What do you mean?" asked the lawyer coldly, and jealous that the man should trench upon his province.

Bocaros looked surprised. "Can't you understand?" he said. "It is my desire that the assassin of my poor cousin should be caught. I saw the advertisement of a private inquiry office in the paper, and I went there before coming to you."

"Oh indeed," said Merry ironically. "And what did you say?"

"I told the man I saw-his name is Jasher-of my cousin's death, and of all the circumstances connected with it. I arranged with him that he should take up the case. I asked him to see you."

Merry shook his head. "That might do very well if you were the heir, professor. But as matters stand, I do not see how you can pay."

"No," said Bocaros dolefully; "yet I think Calvert should employ this man, and see what can be done."

"We will select the man who is to be employed," said Merry sharply.

"In that case I'll hunt out the matter myself," declared the Greek, taking up his hat. "I am determined to solve this mystery. Calvert-"

"You may be sure that we will advise Mr. Calvert to do the right thing," said Merry, rising in his turn. "He inherits ten thousand a year, and I expect he will see that the assassin is brought to justice, if such a thing is possible."

"It is possible," said Bocaros determinedly. "My poor cousin must have had some reason to go to that house. I don't know Fane, and I don't know Brand. But one of these two men killed her."

"What makes you say that?" asked Merry quickly.

"It is Jasher's opinion on hearing the case."

Merry reflected. "Send Jasher to me," he said. "If I approve of the man, and Mr. Calvert is satisfied, we will employ him to take up the case. I intend also to write to Inspector Derrick. By the way, can you tell us of any circumstances in your cousin's life which may hint at the reason for the committal of this crime?"

"No. My cousin was a good, pure woman. I know of nothing. But her death must be avenged. The assassin must be found-"

"Lest you should be suspected," interposed Merry.

"That amongst other things," said Bocaros, with dignity. "I am a poor man, Mr. Merry, but I would give all I possess, which is not much, to learn the truth."

"If money can discover the truth, you may be sure the death of Mrs. Brand will be avenged," said Merry, and held open the door for the professor to pass through. "By the way, we will speak to Mr. Calvert about an annuity."

"No," said Bocaros, colouring, and with an indignant look. "Calvert is a stranger to me. I do not accept money from strangers. Let him spend it in learning who killed Flora. The only boon I ask of him is that he should employ Jasher, seeing that I have given the case to the man under a misapprehension."

"Is Jasher a clever man?"

"Very-so far as I can judge."

"He seems rather given to jumping to conclusions," said Merry dryly, "seeing that he accuses Mr. Fane, who proved an alibi at the inquest, and Mr. Brand, who is away in Australia. If his methods are like that, I fear he will not do much good."

"In that case you can employ another man. Here is my address," said the professor, taking a card from his pocket. "Ask Mr. Calvert to call. He is sure to be in my neighbourhood, as he is engaged to the sister-in-law of Mr. Fane."

He departed, leaving Merry quite stunned by this last piece of intelligence.