Her hands over her eyes, but peering through her fingers, Mrs. Reeves drew near. "Not really," she moaned. "Oh, not really dead! Can't we do anything for him?"
"No," said Remson, rising to his feet, from his kneeling position.
"He's dead, I tell you. Who did it?"
"That waiter—" I began, and then stopped. Looking in from a door opposite the hall door, probably one that led to a butler's pantry or kitchen, were half a dozen white-faced waiters.
"Come in here," said Remson; "not all of you. Which is chief?"
"I am, sir," and a head waiter came into the room. "What has happened?"
"A man has been killed," said the doctor, shortly. "Who are you? Who are you all? House servants?"
"No sir," said the chief. "We're caterer's men. From Fraschini's. I'm
Luigi. We are here to serve supper."
"What do you know of this?"
"Nothing, sir," and the Italian looked truthful, though scared.
"Haven't you been in and out of the dining-room all evening?"
"Yes, sir. Setting the table, and such. But now it's all ready, and I was waiting Miss Van Allen's word to serve it."
"Where is Miss Van Allen?" I broke in.
"I—I don't know, sir," Luigi hesitated, and Doctor Remson interrupted.
"We mustn't ask these questions, Mr. Calhoun. We must call the police."
"The police!" cried Mrs. Reeves, "oh no! no! don't do that."
"It is my duty," said the doctor, firmly. "And no one must enter or leave this room until an officer arrives. You waiters, stay there in that pantry. Close those doors to the other room, Mr. Calhoun, please. Mrs. Reeves, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to stay here—"
"I won't do it!" declared the lady. "You're not an officer of the law.
I'll stay in the house, but not in this room."
She stalked out into the hall, and Doctor Remson went at once to the telephone and called up headquarters.
The guests in the living room, hearing this, flew into a panic.
Of course, it was no longer possible, nor, as I could see, desirable to keep them in ignorance of what had happened.
After calling the police, Doctor Remson returned to his post just inside the dining-room door. He answered questions patiently, at first, but after being nearly driven crazy by the frantic women, he said, sharply, "You may all do just as you like. I've no authority here, except that the ethics of my profession dictate. That does not extend to jurisdiction over the guests present. But I advise you as a matter of common decency to stay here until this affair is investigated."
But they didn't. Many of them hastily gathered up their wraps and went out of the house as quickly as possible.
Cassie Weldon came to me in her distress.
"I must go, Mr. Calhoun," she said. "Don't you think I may? Why, it would interfere greatly with my work to have it known that I was mixed up in a—"
"You're not mixed up in it, Miss Weldon." I began to speak a little sternly, but the look in her eyes aroused my sympathy. "Well, go on," I said, "I suppose you will testify if called on. Everybody knows where to find you."
"Yes," she said, slowly, "but I hope I won't be called on. Why, it might spoil my whole career."
She slipped out of the door, in the wake of some other departing guests. After all, I thought, it couldn't matter much. Few, if any, of them were implicated, and they could all be found at their homes.
And yet, I had a vague idea that we ought all to stay.
"I shall remain and face the music," I heard Mrs. Reeves saying. "Where is Vicky? Do you suppose she knows about this? I'm going up in the music room to see if she's there. You know, with all the excitement down here, those upstairs may know nothing of it."
"I shall remain, too" said Ariadne Gale. "Why should anyone kill Mr. Somers? Did the caterer's people do it? What an awful thing! Will it be in the papers?"
"Will it!" said Garrison, who was standing near. "Reporters may be here any minute. Must be here as soon as the police come. Where is Miss Van Allen?"
"I don't know," and Ariadne began to cry.
"Stop that," said Mrs. Reeves, gruffly, but not unkindly. "Stay if you want to, Ariadne, but behave like a sensible woman, not a silly schoolgirl. This is an awful tragedy, of some sort."
"What do you mean, of some sort?" asked Miss Gale.
"I mean we don't know what revelations are yet to come. Where's Norman
Steele? Where's the man who brought this Somers here?"
Sure enough, where was Steele? I had forgotten all about him. And it was he who had introduced Somers to the Van Allen house, and no one else present, so far as I knew, was previously acquainted with the man now lying dead the other side of that closed door.
I looked over the people who had stayed. Only a handful—perhaps half a dozen.
And then I wondered if I'd better go home myself. Not for my own sake, in any way; indeed, I preferred to remain, but I thought of Aunt Lucy and Win. Ought I to bring on them any shadow of trouble or opprobrium that might result from my presence in that house at that time? Would it not be better to go while I could do so? For, once the police took charge, I knew I should be called on to testify in public. And even as I debated with myself, the police arrived.
CHAPTER III
THE WAITER'S STORY
Doctor Remson's police call had been imperative, and Inspector Mason came in with two men.
"What's this? What's wrong here?" the big burly inspector said, as he faced the few of us who had remained.
"Come in here, inspector," said the doctor, from the dining-room door.
And from that moment the whole aspect of the house seemed to change.
No longer a gay little bijou residence, it became a court of justice.
One of the men was stationed at the street door and one at the area door below. Headquarters was notified of details. The coroner was summoned, and we were all for the moment under detention.
"Where is Miss Van Allen? Where is the lady of the house?" asked
Mason. "Where are the servants? Who is in charge here?"
Was ever a string of questions so impossible of answers!
Doctor Remson told the main facts, but he was reticent. I, too, hesitated to say much, for the case was strange indeed.
Mrs. Reeves looked gravely concerned, but said nothing.
Ariadne Gale began to babble. That girl didn't know how to be quiet.
"I guess Miss Van Allen is upstairs," she volunteered. "She was in the dining-room, but she isn't here now, so she must be upstairs. Shall I go and see?"
"No!" thundered the inspector. "Stay where you are. Search the house,
Breen. I'll cover the street door."
The man he called Breen went upstairs on the jump, and Mason continued. "Tell the story, one of you. Who is this man? Who killed him?"
As he talked, the inspector was examining Somers' body, making rapid notes in a little