Death at the Excelsior | Page 4

like further details," said Oakes, a little breathlessly.
"You had better apply to Mrs. Pickett, who owns the boarding-house,"
Mr. Snyder said. "It was she who put the case in my hands. She is
convinced that it is murder. But, if we exclude ghosts, I don't see how
any third party could have taken a hand in the thing at all. However,
she wanted a man from this agency, and was prepared to pay for him,
so I promised her I would send one. It is not our policy to turn business
away."
He smiled wryly. "In pursuance of that policy I want you to go and put
up at Mrs. Pickett's boarding house and do your best to enhance the
reputation of our agency. I would suggest that you pose as a ship's
chandler or something of that sort. You will have to be something
maritime or they'll be suspicious of you. And if your visit produces no
other results, it will, at least, enable you to make the acquaintance of a
very remarkable woman. I commend Mrs. Pickett to your notice. By
the way, she says she will help you in your investigations."
Oakes laughed shortly. The idea amused him.
"It's a mistake to scoff at amateur assistance, my boy," said Mr. Snyder
in the benevolently paternal manner which had made a score of
criminals refuse to believe him a detective until the moment when the
handcuffs snapped on their wrists. "Crime investigation isn't an exact
science. Success or failure depends in a large measure on applied
common sense, and the possession of a great deal of special
information. Mrs. Pickett knows certain things which neither you nor I
know, and it's just possible that she may have some stray piece of
information which will provide the key to the entire mystery."

Oakes laughed again. "It is very kind of Mrs. Pickett," he said, "but I
prefer to trust to my own methods." Oakes rose, his face purposeful.
"I'd better be starting at once," he said. "I'll send you reports from time
to time."
"Good. The more detailed the better," said Mr. Snyder genially. "I hope
your visit to the Excelsior will be pleasant. And cultivate Mrs. Pickett.
She's worth while."
The door closed, and Mr. Snyder lighted a fresh cigar. "Dashed young
fool," he murmured, as he turned his mind to other matters.
III
A day later Mr. Snyder sat in his office reading a typewritten report. It
appeared to be of a humorous nature, for, as he read, chuckles escaped
him. Finishing the last sheet he threw his head back and laughed
heartily. The manuscript had not been intended by its author for a
humorous effort. What Mr. Snyder had been reading was the first of
Elliott Oakes' reports from the Excelsior. It read as follows:
I am sorry to be unable to report any real progress. I have formed
several theories which I will put forward later, but at present I cannot
say that I am hopeful.
Directly I arrived here I sought out Mrs. Pickett, explained who I was,
and requested her to furnish me with any further information which
might be of service to me. She is a strange, silent woman, who
impressed me as having very little intelligence. Your suggestion that I
should avail myself of her assistance seems more curious than ever,
now that I have seen her.
The whole affair seems to me at the moment of writing quite
inexplicable. Assuming that this Captain Gunner was murdered, there
appears to have been no motive for the crime whatsoever. I have made
careful inquiries about him, and find that he was a man of fifty-five;
had spent nearly forty years of his life at sea, the last dozen in
command of his own ship; was of a somewhat overbearing disposition,
though with a fund of rough humour; had travelled all over the world,
and had been an inmate of the Excelsior for about ten months. He had a
small annuity, and no other money at all, which disposes of money as
the motive for the crime.
In my character of James Burton, a retired ship's chandler, I have mixed
with the other boarders, and have heard all they have to say about the

affair. I gather that the deceased was by no means popular. He appears
to have had a bitter tongue, and I have not met one man who seems to
regret his death. On the other hand, I have heard nothing which would
suggest that he had any active and violent enemies. He was simply the
unpopular boarder--there is always one in every boarding-house--but
nothing more.
I have seen a good deal of the man who shared his room--another sea
captain, named Muller. He is a big, silent person, and it