Was this discovery anything to him? What difference could it make whether Percival Coolidge had died by his own hand, or been treacherously shot from ambush? How would it benefit Natalie Coolidge to have the truth revealed? And, if it would benefit her, why should he devote his time and labour to such an effort? She had cast him off, thrown him aside; her affairs had no further interest for him. Let her lawyer take care of them. These were West's first thoughts.
All true, yet this state of mind brought no satisfaction. He was interested; he could not escape his first impressions of the girl, or drive from him a desire to serve her, whether she wished it, or not. She might, indeed, be in equal danger from an assassin. He could not determine this until he learned the cause of the slaying of Percival. Then, on the other hand, suppose some one else's suspicions were also aroused. Who would they naturally look to as guilty of this horrible crime? There was but one answer--Natalie Coolidge. She was seemingly the only person to directly benefit by this sudden death. All these considerations urged him on, overcame his doubt and indecision. Then he desired to learn the truth himself. His eyes rested on Sexton's anxious face.
"I've been thinking it over," he admitted quietly, "and I guess it is up to you and me to find out what this means."
"Yes, sir," hesitatingly. "You--you don't think it was Miss Natalie, sir?"
"No, I do not, Sexton. I have my own reasons for saying that. Yet naturally she is the one to be first suspected. Do you know anything?"
"Only that I am sure she was in the garden, sir, when the shot was fired. I saw her there just after you drove away."
"That is conclusive then, so far as her personal actions are concerned. But there is an odd angle to this matter, and I might as well explain it to you first as last. Perhaps you can help figure the oddness out. I was not engaged to Miss Natalie, Sexton; I was not even a friend. I came to the house, employed to perform a certain task. She introduced me as her fiance merely to explain my presence there, and make the way clear. It was the impulse of a moment."
"You don't say, sir! What, may I ask, was it you was expected to do?"
"To discover who was masquerading in this city under her name."
"Was there some one, sir?"
"So she told me; we went into that rather thoroughly. She claimed it had been going on for some months; checks had been cashed at the bank; even her servants had been approached by some one so closely resembling her as to deceive them; and she had been reported at various places she never visited. She was very much exercised over it."
"And she engaged you just to find this other woman?"
"Yes; her lawyer and Percival Coolidge only laughed at her story."
"But you believed it, sir?"
"Well, perhaps not at first altogether. It seemed too strange and impossible. I thought something must have got on her nerves and caused her to imagine things. But the first night I remained out there gave me a shock. I do not know whether I left my door unlocked, or whether a pass-key was used, but I woke up suddenly to discover a woman in the room. I only had a glimpse of her, for she slipped out instantly, and disappeared down the hall; but it was moonlight and I would have sworn the intruder was Miss Natalie. I asked her the next day."
"And she denied being there?"
"Absolutely, and convinced me it was true. There is no doubt in my mind, Sexton, but what she really is being impersonated by some one who resembles her most remarkably. Who this person is I have not the remotest idea; nor what her real object can be. Just at this moment, I am inclined to believe it has something to do with the Coolidge estate--a criminal scheme of some kind, and that Percival Coolidge had connection with it."
"I can hardly believe that, sir."
"No doubt you find it difficult. You told me yourself that had always been his room, the one I occupied."
"Yes, sir."
"That woman knew it; she came there to consult with him." He stopped suddenly. "By Gad! Sexton, maybe she came there to kill him. I hadn't thought of that."
"It is too much for me, sir," the other said soberly. "I don't know why any one should want to kill him. But there's got to be a reason somewhere. Where was it the three of you went on Sunday in the runabout, Captain West?"
"To a house over in the factory district; some charity case that Coolidge was interested in--the widow of one of his employees, I believe."
"Did you see the people?"
"No, I didn't go in; waited outside in the car; it was no affair of mine. Why?" he asked in surprise.
"Because, sir, Miss Natalie seemed like a different person when she got back. Not in looks, or nothing like that I don't mean, but in the way she talked and acted. Nothing suited her all the rest of the day. You know how she was to you, sir. Well she was just that snappy with all of us, even after we brought the body back to the house. And she wouldn't look at him, sir, not even after he was dressed proper and laid out. She just went off up stairs, and stayed there; had a bit of toast an' tea, an' that's all."
"I hardly believe," said West thoughtfully, "you can attribute her state of mind to anything that occurred on that trip. Indeed she was in high spirits all the way home."
"I can't help that, sir," Sexton insisted blindly. "It was something that happened yesterday what set her wrong, an' if I was you, sir, I'd find out what happened in that house first of all. Could you find the place?"
"Yes, I think so. I'll look it up, although I don't have much faith in your theory." He glanced at his watch. "I'll go out there now. You come back here about five, and we will talk over any discoveries I may make."
"And what shall I do, sir?"
Both were standing, West with hand on the knob of the door. The light in his eyes hardened.
"Nothing occurs to me now, Sexton, unless you can find an excuse to return to Fairlawn, after something you have forgotten, let us say. If we can learn what Miss Natalie proposes doing it might furnish a clue."
"Very well, sir, and I am to be here at five o'clock?"
"Yes, at five; I will leave word with the doorman to show you in at once."
West picked up a taxi-cab for the trip, bidding the chauffeur to drive to a certain section of the city, and then up and down the various streets until told to stop. He had no idea that his quest would reveal anything of importance relative to the death of Coolidge, yet no better suggestion occurred to him and he felt that he must do something. His conversation with Sexton had greatly strengthened his conviction that this was a murder, and he had determined to ferret out the truth if possible. Yet, thus far there was nothing to build upon, no clue, no motive, no suspicion as to who had perpetrated the deed. He simply faced a blank wall, in which no entrance was apparent, yet there must be one, if he was only fortunate enough to stumble upon it. Deep down in his heart West was conscious that he possessed a motive in this search far more worthy than mere curiosity. That motive was Natalie Coolidge. He smiled at the thought, yet confessed it true. In spite of her curt dismissal, his memory of the girl centred about those earlier hours of their acquaintance. Something mysterious had occurred to make her change so quickly, and he was unwilling to condemn her before learning the real reason. This murder must have some relation to the Coolidge estate; he could conceive of no other motive for such a cold-blooded affair; and hence its solving must prove of vital importance to her and her future. Now, when the verdict of the coroner's jury had been suicide, and when only he, and the servant Sexton suspected otherwise, it was of the utmost importance that they endeavour to unravel the crime. For her sake he could do no less, thus serving and protecting her to the best of his ability.
The chauffeur drove slowly up and down obscure streets for half an hour before West recognized familiar surroundings, and motioned for him to draw up against the curb. He had discovered the place sought, but from the street it exhibited no signs of occupancy, nor did any knocking at the front door bring response from within. He circled the building, finding an uncurtained window at the rear, which merely revealed an unfurnished room. Every door was locked, but, as he passed along the other side to regain the taxi, a man emerged from the next house, and hailed him.
"Say, what're yer snoopin' round there for? Lookin' for somebody?"
"Yes, the parties who were here Sunday. What's become of them."
"Hobart, you mean?"
"Is that his name? I met him down town, and he told me to come here," West explained rapidly. "We had a deal on."
"Oh, yer did, hey," leaning his arms on the fence. "Well, Jim Hobart was the name he giv' me. That's my house, which is why I happen to know what his name was. Something queer about that fellar, I reckon, but 'tain't none o' my business. You ain't a detective, or nothin' like that, are yer?"
"Nothing at all like that," West laughed, although interested. "Why? Did you think the police might be after him?"
"Not for anything I know about, only he skipped out mighty sudden. Paid me a month rent, and only stayed there three days. That looks sorter queer. Then Sunday that fellar what committed suicide out south--I read about in the papers--came to see him in a car. I got a boy workin' in his factory; that's how I come to know who the guy was. The next night Hobart, an' them with him, just naturally skipped out. So I didn't know but what the police might want him for something."
"I don't know anything about that. I just called on a private matter. Where did he go to?"
"Hell, man, I didn't even know he was goin'."
"Who did he have with him here--a family?"
"A woman 'bout his age I should say, an' a younger one. I didn't see 'em only from the window; didn't get no sight o' the girl's face at all, but could tell the way she walked she was young. They didn't have nothin' with 'em; that's all my stuff in the house there."
Feeling the uselessness of trying to learn anything more, West thanked him, and returned to the taxi.
"Back to the Club," he ordered briefly, and settled into his seat to think.