Jane Cater Investigates: Episode Twenty-Nine
I could not shake Florence’s firm conviction about what she’d seen
in the mirror. I suggested that it might have been one of the male guests, gone
out for a gasper, but she insisted it wasn’t any of the guests. I went and told
my father.
“I’ll take a look outside,” he promised.
Within ten minutes, he returned to report that he’d found no one
around.
“I feel very uneasy,” I said. “Florence isn’t the type to imagine
anything. I do wish Jack hadn’t decided to go through with his plan.”
“Well, we might call it off,” Dad said. “I really doubt any good
will be gained by his spending the night in room seven, anyway. It was just one
of those happy ideas which didn’t seem to work out.”
“Shall I run up and tell him now?” I asked.
“Might as well, I guess.”
Leaving the merrymakers below, I climbed the stairs. A light was
burning in the room occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Conrad. The remainder of the upper
floor was dark.
I knocked on the door of room seven.
No answer.
“Jack,” I called softly.
Still no response.
I knocked again on the door, this time louder.
Still, there was no answer.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I twisted the
doorknob.
It was locked.
“Jack! Jack! Are you all right?”
As I pounded frantically on the door, a wave of terror swept over
me. Something horrible had happened to Jack! I raced downstairs to find Father.
He was talking to the society editor, but when he saw the expression on my
face, he instantly excused himself and joined me in the deserted hallway.
“What is it, Jane?”
“Come quickly, Dad.”
“Has anything happened to Jack?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid so. When I rapped on the door, he didn’t
answer.”
“He probably fell asleep,” said Dad. “Don’t get so excited, Jane.”
“The door was locked, Dad.”
“Locked?”
Dad ran up the stairway. I followed. He tried the door of room
seven, calling out for Jack. Then he pounded on the door, but there was no
response.
“Something is wrong! This door shouldn’t be locked.”
“The Conrads have a key,” I said.
I darted down the hall and rapped on the door of Mr. and Mrs.
Conrad’s room.
“Now what do you want?” Mr. Conrad demanded. “Ain’t it enough that
you bring a noisy, carousing bunch of folks here without bothering us when
we’re in bed?”
Glen Conrad had not been in bed, for he was fully dressed, but I
didn’t pause to argue with him.
“Do you have a key to room seven?”
“Yes.”
“Then open the door for us, and be quick about it! We’re afraid
something has happened in there!”
“Again?” shrieked Mrs. Conrad from the bed. “Oh! Oh! This will
ruin us!”
“Don’t stand there staring, man!” Dad was beside me now. “Give me
that key, or I’ll have to break down the door.”
Mr. Conrad retreated into the depths of the bedroom and reappeared
with a master key. His wife, drawing a ragged dressing gown over her nightdress,
followed us down the hall. Mr. Conrad unlocked the door of room seven and
switched on the lights. I looked at the great mahogany bed that occupied most
of the room. It was empty.
“Jack’s gone!” My voice was high and squeaky.
Mrs. Conrad uttered a shriek of terror, then collapsed into her
husband’s arms.
“Drop the hysterics,” Dad ordered grimly. “That is unless you want
everyone in the house to learn what has happened!”
“We’ll be ruined—ruined,” Mrs. Conrad moaned, but she kept her
voice down.
There was no evidence of any struggle. The bedspread was in
disarray as if Jack had lain on top of it. Evidently, he had removed his shoes
before lying down, for they had been set neatly by the post.
There was an odd floral scent lingering in the room, just as Emma
had described smelling on the night Mr. Harwood disappeared. It was floral but
also slightly smoky. I was certain that it wasn’t spilled aftershave, as Emma
had surmised. Was it incense? If it was, it was incense of a variety I’d never
smelled before.
Dad looked under the pillows and held up Jack’s revolver.
“This is the weirdest thing I have ever encountered,” Dad said.
“No shots fired—not a sound from this room—yet Jack disappeared from under our
very noses.”
“Maybe he jumped out of the window like those other fellows did,”
Glen Conrad suggested and was rewarded with a scornful glance from my father.
Dad told me to stay in room seven and make sure nothing was
touched while he ran downstairs for help.
He returned with Shep and Bill Evans and started to inspect the
room. Shep examined the camera apparatus which he’d set up earlier in the
evening.
“The xenon flash lamp went off,” said Shep. “Jack evidently pulled
the trigger which was rigged up to the bed! I’ll rush the plates back to
Greenville and get them into the darkroom, so we can have a look!”
“I make no pretensions of being a detective,” Dad said, turning to
the Conrads. “This is now clearly a case for the police.”
“No! No!” pleaded Mrs. Conrad. “My husband and I would be blamed
for everything which has happened here. And I swear we are innocent! Oh,
please, don’t notify the police, Mr. Carter.”
“The only reason I wouldn’t is because I fear they would bungle
the case,” Dad said. “If I’m not to inform the police, then I’ll need a very
clever detective. I’ll send for Clarence Emerson!”
Dad shooed everyone from the room, locked the door, and pocketed
the key. He then telephoned his detective friend, Clarence Emerson.
“The police haven’t been called in as yet,” he told Mr. Emerson.
“Bring your fingerprint equipment and get over here as quickly as you can,
Clarence.”
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