course,” he went on, “this in no sense exonerates Mrs. Van Wyck; nor does it prove anything except that some one chose this means of throwing suspicion on her. It was cleverly done, and yet it is, after all, a clumsy piece of work, for it bears on its face the stamp of fraud. Anyone ought to know to-day, that the fact of using different typewriters would give away the game Therefore, it was written by some one who—by the way, are there any French people in the house?”
Stone asked this question, after a further perusal of the letter.
“Yes,” said Mr. Markham, quickly, “there are two of them.”
“I have a strong conviction that one of them wrote this letter,” said Stone.
“Carstairs! I told you so!” and Mr. Markham looked elated; “he’s Mr. Van Wyck’s valet, and I knew all along he was in connivance with Mrs. Van Wyck.”
Fleming Stone looked at him, “I have told you,” he said, “this letter does not mean connivance. Would this valet, for any reason, want to throw suspicion on Mrs. Van Wyck?”
“I don’t know,” and Mr. Markham looked positively sullen because Fleming Stone’s deductions did not seem to agree with his own.
“Who is the other French person?” asked Stone.
“It’s Carstairs’ mother,” I said. “She is housekeeper here.”
“Carstairs is not a French name.”
“No, Mr. Stone; but she is a Frenchwoman. I believe her husband was an Englishman, and her son seems to have the traits of both. Mr. Van Wyck considered him an exceptionally good valet.”
“Please send for them both,” was Fleming Stone’s order, and Markham rang the bell.
The two Carstairs came in together, and to my mind the mother looked like a lioness defending her young. Surely whatever traits this strange woman possessed, her maternal instinct was among the strongest. She looked defiant as she entered, and putting Carstairs in the background, she herself took a chair near Stone, and seemed ready to answer questions.
Of course, we had told Fleming Stone everything we knew concerning the whole matter. He knew of Carstairs’ joy ride, and of his fright lest it be discovered. His gaze went past the mother and fastened on the white-faced young man.
“Carstairs,” he said, in a quiet pleasant tone, “you really needn’t feel so frightened. You didn’t kill your master,—you had no hand in it. Now, secure in the knowledge of your innocence, why are you so filled with alarm?”
“I’m n-not, sir,” and though the valet looked greatly relieved at Stone’s words, he was still nervously agitated.
But the look of relief on Mrs. Carstairs’ face was unmistakable. A light spread over her whole countenance, and she looked like one who had narrowly escaped disaster.
Fleming Stone looked at her intently. She returned his gaze without fear, even with a trace of her usual seductive manner; but he seemed to look straight through any mannerism to her very soul.
After a moment, he said, and his words shot out suddenly:
“Mrs. Carstairs, had you any reason for wishing to fasten this crime on Mrs. Van Wyck, except to direct suspicion from your own son?”
The housekeeper’s eyes blazed. “I hate her!” and the exclamation seemed wrung from her by Stone’s compelling eyes.
“Why?” The inquiry was in the most casual tones.
“Because she—”
“Mother!” young Carstairs interrupted her; “what are you saying? Collect yourself! You make a mistake!”
Mrs. Carstairs gave one frightened, bewildered glance at her son, and then like a flash she changed the whole expression of her face.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, gently; “I spoke without thinking. I really have no animosity toward Mrs. Van Wyck. I did feel a slight jealousy when she married a man who had promised to marry me. But that is past now, and I bear her no ill will.”
“You are telling deliberate untruths,” said Stone, straightforwardly; “but it does not matter; I have learned what I have wanted to know. Now Mrs. Carstairs you have no notion who sent this letter to Mrs. Van Wyck, I suppose?”
“Certainly not,” she returned, disdainfully eying the letter Stone held up.
“You found it in a book, as you described to Mr. Markham?”
“Yes.”
“And you came and asked Mr. Sturgis for it, saying that he might keep a copy of it?”
“I did.”
“I have concluded, Mrs. Carstairs, to grant that request, if you will make the copy yourself.”
“I cannot use a typewriter, Mr. Stone. I’m not familiar with the work.”
The valet gave an involuntary glance of surprise at his mother, but immediately dropped his eyes again.
She can use a typewriter! I thought to myself, and won’t admit it!
But Stone said, lightly, “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Just write with a lead pencil. Here is one.”
“I prefer not to do it,” and Mrs. Carstairs looked at the great detective with the air of a frightened animal, who does not understand into what snare it is being led.
“Why not?” asked Stone.
“Because—because—”
“You seem to have no reason for refusing. It is a small matter. Kindly make a copy at my dictation.”
He offered a pencil and a paper pad to Mrs. Carstairs, and though she hesitated, she finally took them, as there seemed to be nothing else to do.
In a low, clear tone, Fleming Stone read the sentences from the letter, waiting after each until Mrs. Carstairs had written it
The woman looked utterly miserable. It was evident that she could not see why she had to do this, but she feared some underlying reason that boded ill for her.
Inexorably, Stone continued. One after another, the short, direful sentences fell from his lips. Mrs. Carstairs grew whiter and her fingers almost refused to hold the pencil, but with indomitable courage she persevered to the end.
After the last word, Stone held out his hand for the paper, and she mutely handed it to him. The rest of us sat spellbound. There was nothing theatrical in the episode, it was the quietest possible procedure, and yet the incident seemed fraught with intense mystery and importance.
Fleming Stone gave the merest glance at the paper, tore it into tiny bits and threw it into the waste-basket.
“Mrs. Carstairs,” he said, and his tone was almost careless; “you wrote that letter yourself on the typewriter in this room. It was cleverly done. You used the blank half of a letter Mrs. Van Wyck had already received and the envelope it came in. You
