LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER V

       HOMICIDAL POSSIBILITIES

       Table of Contents

      (Tuesday, November 9; 3.30 p. m.)

      Sibella entered with a firm, swinging gait, her head held high, her eyes sweeping the assemblage with bold interrogation. She was tall and of slender, athletic build, and, though she was not pretty, there was a cold, chiselled attractiveness in her lineaments that held one’s attention. Her face was at once vivid and intense; and there was a hauteur in her expression amounting almost to arrogance. Her dark, crisp hair was bobbed but not waved, and the severity of its lines accentuated the overdecisive cast of her features. Her hazel eyes were wide-spaced beneath heavy, almost horizontal eyebrows; her nose was straight and slightly prominent, and her mouth was large and firm, with a suggestion of cruelty in its thin lips. She was dressed simply, in a dark sport suit cut extremely short, silk-wool stockings of a heather mixture, and low-heeled mannish Oxfords.

      Chester presented the District Attorney to her as an old acquaintance, and permitted Markham to make the other introductions.

      “I suppose you know, Mr. Markham, why Chet likes you,” she said, in a peculiarly plangent voice. “You’re one of the few persons at the Marylebone Club that he can beat at golf.”

      She seated herself before the centre-table, and crossed her knees comfortably.

      “I wish you’d get me a cigarette, Chet.” Her tone made the request an imperative.

      Vance rose at once and held out his case.

      “Do try one of these Régies, Miss Greene,” he urged in his best drawing-room manner. “If you say you don’t like them, I shall immediately change my brand.”

      “Rash man!” Sibella took a cigarette and permitted Vance to light it for her. Then she settled back in her chair and gave Markham a quizzical look. “Quite a wild party we pulled here last night, wasn’t it? We’ve never had so much commotion in the old mansion. And it was just my luck to sleep soundly through it all.” She made an aggrieved moue. “Chet didn’t call me till it was all over. Just like him—he has a nasty disposition.”

      Somehow her flippancy did not shock me as it might have done in a different type of person. But Sibella struck me as a girl who, though she might feel things keenly, would not permit any misfortune to get the better of her; and I put her apparent callousness down to a dogged, if perverted, courageousness.

      Markham, however, resented her attitude.

      “One cannot blame Mr. Greene for not taking the matter lightly,” he reproved her. “The brutal murder of a defenseless woman and the attempted murder of a young girl hardly come under the head of diversion.”

      Sibella looked at him reproachfully. “You know, Mr. Markham, you sound exactly like the Mother Superior of the stuffy convent I was confined in for two years.” She became suddenly grave. “Why draw a long face over something that’s happened and can’t be helped? Anyway, Julia never sought to brighten her little corner. She was always crabbed and faultfinding, and her good deeds wouldn’t fill a book. It may be unsisterly to say it, but she’s not going to be missed so dreadfully. Chet and I are certainly not going to pine away.”

      “And what about the brutal shooting of your other sister?” Markham was with difficulty controlling his indignation.

      Sibella’s eyelids narrowed perceptibly, and the lines of her face became set. But she erased the expression almost at once.

      “Well, Ada’s going to recover, isn’t she?” Despite her effort, she was unable to keep a certain hardness out of her voice. “She’ll have a nice long rest, and a nurse to wait on her. Am I expected to weep copiously because of baby sister’s escape?”

      Vance, who had been closely watching this clash between Sibella and Markham, now took a hand in the conversation.

      “My dear Markham, I can’t see what Miss Greene’s sentiments have to do with the matter. Her attitude may not be strictly in accord with the prescribed conduct for young ladies on such occasions, but I feel sure she has excellent reasons for her point of view. Let us give over moralizing, and seek Miss Greene’s assistance instead.”

      The girl darted him an amused, appreciative glance; and Markham made a gesture of indifferent acquiescence. It was plain that he regarded the present inquiry as of little importance.

      Vance gave the girl an engaging smile.

      “It’s really my fault, Miss Greene, that we are intruding here,” he apologized. “It was I, d’ ye see, that urged Mr. Markham to look into the case after your brother had expressed his disbelief in the burglar theory.”

      She nodded understandingly. “Oh, Chet sometimes has excellent hunches. It’s one of his very few merits.”

      “You, too, I gather, are sceptical in regard to the burglar?”

      “Sceptical?” She gave a short laugh. “I’m downright suspicious. I don’t know any burglars, though I’d dearly love to meet one; but I simply can’t bring my flighty brain to picture them going about their fascinating occupation the way our little entertainer did last night.”

      “You positively thrill me,” declared Vance. “Y’ see, our minority ideas coincide perfectly.”

      “Did Chet give you any intelligible explanation for his opinion?” she asked.

      “I’m afraid not. He was inclined to lay his feelings to metaphysical causes. His conviction was due, I took it, to some kind of psychic visitation. He knew, but could not explain: he was sure, but had no proof. It was most indefinite—a bit esoteric, in fact.”

      “I’d never suspect Chet of spiritualistic leanings.” She shot her brother a tantalizing look. “He’s really deadly commonplace, when you get to know him.”

      “Oh, cut it, Sib,” objected Chester irritably. “You yourself had a spasm this morning when I told you the police were hot-footing it after a burglar.”

      Sibella made no answer. With a slight toss of the head she leaned over and threw her cigarette into the grate.

      “By the by, Miss Greene”—Vance spoke casually—“there has been considerable mystery about the disappearance of your brother’s revolver. It has completely vanished from his desk drawer. I wonder if you have seen it about the house anywhere.”

      At his mention of the gun Sibella stiffened slightly. Her eyes took on an expression of intentness, and the corners of her mouth lifted into a faintly ironical smile.

      “Chet’s revolver has gone, has it?” She put the question colorlessly, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. “No . . . I haven’t seen it.” Then, after a momentary pause: “But it was in Chet’s desk last week.”

      Chester heaved himself forward angrily.

      “What were you doing in my desk last week?” he demanded.

      “Don’t wax apoplectic,” the girl said carelessly. “I wasn’t looking for love missives. I simply couldn’t imagine you in love, Chet. . . .” The idea seemed to amuse her. “I was only looking for that old emerald stick-pin you borrowed and never returned.”

      “It’s at the club,” he explained sulkily.

      “Is it, really! Well, I didn’t find it anyway; but I did see the revolver.—Are you quite sure it’s gone?”

      “Don’t be absurd,” the man growled. “I’ve searched everywhere for it. . . . Including your room,” he added vengefully.

      “Oh, you would! But

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