The Luminous Face - Carolyn Wells страница 3.

Phyllis Lindsay! cried Barry, involuntarily speaking the name.

The same, said Gleason, smiling; and as Im due there for dinner, Ill be toddling now to make myself fine for the event.

With a general beaming smile of good nature that included all the group, Gleason went away.

For a few moments no one spoke, and then Monroe began, As I was saying, there are only three motives for murder and I stick to that. But you were about to say, Pollard ?

I was about to say that you have omitted the most frequent and most impelling motive. It doesnt always result in the fatal stroke, but as a motive, it cant be beat.

Go on what is it?

Just plain dislike.

Oh, hate, said Monroe.

Not at all. Hate implies a reason, a grievance. But I mean an ineradicable, and unreasonable dislike why, simply a case of:

One Tom Brown wrote that, and its a bit of truth, all right!

One Martial said it before your friend Brown, informed Doctor Davenport. He wrote:

Which is, being translated for the benefit of you unlettered ones, I do not love thee, Sabidius, nor can I say why; this only can I say, I do not love thee. Theres a French version, also.

Never mind, Doc, Pollard interrupted, we dont want your erudition, but your opinion. You say you know psychology as well as physiology; will you agree that a strong motive for murder might be just that unreasonable dislike that distaste of seeing a certain person around?

No, not a strong motive, said Davenport, after a short pause for thought. A slight motive, perhaps, by which I mean a fleeting impulse.

No, persisted Pollard, an impelling a compelling motive. Why, theres Gleason now. I cant bear that man. Yet I scarcely know him. Ive met him but a few times had little or no personal conversation with him yet I dislike him. Not detest or hate or despise merely dislike him. And, some day Im going to kill him.

Going to kill all the folks you dislike? asked Barry, indifferently.

Maybe. If I dislike them enough. But that Gleason offends my taste. I cant stand him about. So, as I say, Im going to kill him. And I hold that the impulse that drives me to the deed is the strongest murder motive a man can have.

Dont talk rubbish, Manning, and young Monroe gave him a frightened glance, as if he thought Pollard in earnest.

It isnt altogether rubbish, said Doctor Davenport, as he rose to go, theres a grain of truth in Pollards contention. A rooted dislike of another is a bad thing to have in your system. Have it cut out, Pollard.

You didnt mean it, did you, Manning?

Monroe spoke diffidently, almost shyly, with a scared glance at Pollard.

The latter turned and looked at him with a smile. Then, glaring ferociously, he growled, Of course I did! And if you get yourself disliked, Ill kill you, too! Booh!

They all laughed at Monroes frightened jump, as Pollard Boohd into his face, and Doctor Davenport said, Look out, Pollard, dont scare our young friend into fits! And, remember, Monroe, Threatened men live long? Ive my car anybody want a lift anywhere?

Take me, will you? said Dean Monroe, and willingly enough, Doctor Davenport carried the younger man off in his car.

You oughtnt to do it, Pol, you know, Barry gently remonstrated. Poor little Monroe thinks youre a gory villain, and hell mull over your fool remarks till hes crazy more crazy than he is already.

Let him, said Pollard, smiling indifferently. I only spoke the truth as to that motive, I mean. Dont you want to kill that Gleason every time you see him?

You make him seem like a cat with nine or more lives! How can you kill a man every time you see him? It isnt done!

The two men left the Club together, and walked briskly down Fifth Avenue.

Going to the Lindsays to-night, of course? asked Barry, as they reached Forty-fifth Street, where he turned off.

Yes. You?

Yes. See you later, then. You gather that Gleason has annexed the pretty Phyllis?

Looks like it, doesnt it? I suppose the announcement will be made to-night at the dinner or the dance.

Suppose so. How I hate to see it that way. Im in love with that little beauty myself.

Who isnt? returned Pollard, smiling, and then Barry turned off in his own street, and Pollard went on down toward his home, a small hotel on West Fortieth.

Held up for a few moments by the great tide of traffic at Forty-second Street, he glanced at his wrist watch and found it was ten minutes after six. And then, a taxicab passed him, and in it he saw Phyllis Lindsay. She did not see him, however, so, the traffic signal being given, he went on his way.

CHAPTER II The Telephone Call

Every hour of every twenty-four is filled with amazing occurrences and startling episodes. Astonishing incidents and even more startling coincidences are happening every minute of every sixty minutes, but the fact that those most interested are unaware of these deeds is what makes the great cases of mystery.

Only an omniscient eye that could see all the activities of the few hours following the events just related could pierce the veil of doubt and uncertainty that overhung the ensuing tragedy.

The first human being to receive news of it was Miss Hester Jordan.

This capable and efficient young woman was the office nurse of Doctor Davenport, and her position was no sinecure.

Of a highly nervous temperament, she yet managed to preserve the proper calm and poise that nurses should always show, except when, at the end of a long, hard day, she became mentally and physically exhausted.

Though supposed to be off duty at six oclock, her relief was frequently late in arriving and in this instance had not yet put in an appearance, though it was half past the hour.

Wearily, Miss Jordan answered telephone calls, striving to keep her tired voice pleasant and amiable.

No, she would answer the anxious speakers, Doctor Davenport is not in. Yes, I expect him soon. Can you leave a message? Yes, I will tell him. He will surely be in by seven. No, he left no message for you. No, I dont know exactly where he is. Yes, I will let you know.

Replies of this sort, over and over, strained her nerves to their furthest tension, and when at six-forty the telephone bell jangled again she took the receiver from its hook with what was almost a jerk.

Hello, she said, unable to keep utter exasperation out of her voice.

But instead of a summons from some impatient patient, she heard a faint voice say, Come, Doctor oh, come quick Im Im done for shot

There were more incoherent words, but Nurse Jordan couldnt catch them.

Who are you? she cried, alert now. Who is speaking?

Gleason, came back the faint voice. Wash tn Square come cant you come quick

She could get no more. The voice ceased, and only blank silence met her frantic queries.

She hung up her receiver, and a sudden realization of the situation came to her. She seemed to see the scene somebody shot somebody telephoning that he was shot somebodys voice getting weaker and ceasing to sound at all the picture was too much for her tired brain, and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed hysterically from sheer nervous excitement.