Death at the Excelsior | Page 9

"Precisely what kind of evidence?" he demanded.
"If I told you now you would think that I was out of my mind."
"But, Mrs. Pickett, do you realize what you are asking me to do? I
cannot make this agency responsible for the arbitrary arrest of a man on
the strength of a single individual's suspicions. It might ruin me. At the
least it would make me a laughing stock."
"Mr. Snyder, you may use your own judgment whether or not to make
the arrest on that warrant. You will listen to what I have to say, and you
will see for yourself how the crime was committed. If after that you
feel that you cannot make the arrest I will accept your decision. I know
who killed Captain Gunner," she said. "I knew it from the beginning. It
was like a vision. But I had no proof. Now things have come to light
and everything is clear."
Against his judgment, Mr. Snyder was impressed. This woman had the
magnetism which makes for persuasiveness.
"It--it sounds incredible." Even as he spoke, he remembered that it had
long been a professional maxim of his that nothing was incredible, and
he weakened still further.
"Mr. Snyder, I ask you to swear out that warrant."
The detective gave in. "Very well," he said.
Mrs. Pickett rose. "If you will come and dine at my house to-night I
think I can prove to you that it will be needed. Will you come?"
"I'll come," promised Mr. Snyder.

VII
When Mr. Snyder arrived at the Excelsior and shortly after he was
shown into the little private sitting room where he found Oakes, the
third guest of the evening unexpectedly arrived.
Mr. Snyder looked curiously at the newcomer. Captain Muller had a
peculiar fascination for him. It was not Mr. Snyder's habit to trust
overmuch to appearances. But he could not help admitting that there
was something about this man's aspect which brought Mrs. Pickett's
charges out of the realm of the fantastic into that of the possible. There
was something odd--an unnatural aspect of gloom--about the man. He
bore himself like one carrying a heavy burden. His eyes were dull, his
face haggard. The next moment the detective was reproaching himself
with allowing his imagination to run away with his calmer judgment.
The door opened, and Mrs. Pickett came in. She made no apology for
her lateness.
To Mr. Snyder one of the most remarkable points about the dinner was
the peculiar metamorphosis of Mrs. Pickett from the brooding silent
woman he had known to the gracious and considerate hostess.
Oakes appeared also to be overcome with surprise, so much so that he
was unable to keep his astonishment to himself. He had come prepared
to endure a dull evening absorbed in grim silence, and he found himself
instead opposite a bottle of champagne of a brand and year which
commanded his utmost respect. What was even more incredible, his
hostess had transformed herself into a pleasant old lady whose only aim
seemed to be to make him feel at home.
Beside each of the guests' plates was a neat paper parcel. Oakes picked
his up, and stared at it in wonderment. "Why, this is more than a party
souvenir, Mrs. Pickett," he said. "It's the kind of mechanical marvel I've
always wanted to have on my desk."
"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Oakes," Mrs. Pickett said, smiling. "You must
not think of me simply as a tired old woman whom age has completely
defeated. I am an ambitious hostess. When I give these little parties, I
like to make them a success. I want each of you to remember this
dinner."
"I'm sure I will."
Mrs. Pickett smiled again. "I think you all will. You, Mr. Snyder." She
paused. "And you, Captain Muller."

To Mr. Snyder there was so much meaning in her voice as she said this
that he was amazed that it conveyed no warning to Muller. Captain
Muller, however, was already drinking heavily. He looked up when
addressed and uttered a sound which might have been taken for an
expression of polite acquiescence. Then he filled his glass again.
Mr. Snyder's parcel revealed a watch-charm fashioned in the shape of a
tiny, candid-eye camera. "That," said Mrs. Pickett, "is a compliment to
your profession." She leaned toward the captain. "Mr. Snyder is a
detective, Captain Muller."
He looked up. It seemed to Mr. Snyder that a look of fear lit up his
heavy eyes for an instant. It came and went, if indeed it came at all, so
swiftly that he could not be certain.
"So?" said Captain Muller. He spoke quite evenly, with just the amount
of interest which such an announcement would naturally produce.
"Now for yours, Captain," said Oakes.