The Ghost Phone

CHAPTER VI PURDEN’S STORY

Madison Purden was a man of about forty, tall, broad-shouldered, and rather handsome. Men generally despised him. Some women loathed him, and others seemed drawn toward him.

Now he got up and walked across the room and sat down in the chair before Detective Sam Frake. He looked the detective straight in the eyes. Purden’s face was white because of his anger, but he was fighting to get control of himself. It was as though he understood that he found himself on dangerous ground, that he would have to be careful in every word and action.

Purden was dressed fastidiously, almost foppishly. He ignored all the others in the room and gave all his attention to Detective Frake. He cleared his throat.

“I am sure, sir,” Purden said, “that you will not take into consideration the statements made against me within the past few minutes. You will readily understand why Mrs. Crend shows animosity toward me. She does not like me, and she was afraid that I was going to marry her sister. I shall be charitable and not say that it was thought of losing a fortune—”

Detective Sam Frake held up a hand demanding silence, to stop Madison Purden, and also to prevent a tirade from Mrs. Crend, which he felt sure was coming.

“How long had you known Mrs. Lennek, Purden?” Frake asked.

“I knew her slightly before she was married to Mr. Lennek,” he replied. “I met her again shortly after her husband’s death and renewed my acquaintance.”

“You have been — er — very friendly with her?”

“Our friendship has increased gradually for almost a year,” Purden answered.

“When did you last see her alive?”

“She took tea with me yesterday at a tearoom downtown, after she had called upon Mr. Garder at his office.”

“You escorted her home?”

“No, sir. She had some shopping to do, she said. I left her at a department store and went to my club.”

“That was the last time you saw her alive?”

“It was — yes, sir,” Purden replied.

“Did she communicate with you by telephone or otherwise?” Frake asked.

“No, sir.”

“And you called this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Explain that, please.”

“Mrs. Lennek had told me to run in this afternoon, if I wished. So I called.”

“At what time, Mr. Purden?”

“About three-thirty, certainly not later than three-thirty-five.”

“Please tell me what happened.”

“I entered and walked up the front stairs, as I generally do.”

“Without having the clerk announce you?” Frake asked.

“Yes. I never had him announce me when I called in the afternoon and on invitation. Mrs. Lennek’s maid generally answered the door.”

“I see. Proceed, please.”

“I came to the turn in the hall,” Purden continued, “and saw Peter Podd, the janitor. He was just in front of Mrs. Lennek’s door. He bobbed his head at me and hurried down the hall.”

“Didn’t say anything to you?”

“No, sir. I went on to the door. I was surprised to find that it was standing open a few inches. I rang and waited, but nobody came to the door.”

“Did you think that strange?”

“Naturally. I rang again, with the same result. I did not hear a sound inside the apartment at first. And then I imagined that I heard a groan. I stepped inside and called Mrs. Lennek, and still there was no reply.”

“What did you do then, Mr. Purden?”

“I walked to the middle of the living room and called a second time. I heard no answer. I was not sure, you understand, whether I had heard a groan or not, but it worried me. I glanced into the little hallway and saw that the door of the boudoir was open.”

For the first time since he had started his recital, Purden looked down at the floor, hesitated, acted a bit embarrassed. Detective Frake watched him closely.

“Well, what else?” he asked, after a time.

“I stepped into the little hallway, called her name again, and then went to the boudoir door,” Purden aid. “And I— I saw her stretched across the divan.”

“She was dead?” Frake asked.

“Yes. I gasped in horror and darted inside. I knew at once that she was dead. There seemed to be a look of agony in her face. Her eyes were fixed, glazed.”

“Did you touch the body?”

“No, sir. I was horrified.”

“You don’t know whether the body was warm?”

“No. I— I couldn’t even touch her hand. I was so shocked that I scarcely realized what I was doing. I couldn’t force myself to go near her. I can’t explain the feeling that came over me. I had expected to ask her to be my wife — and to come upon her dead body like that — I turned around and hurried from the room. I left the building as quickly as I could and walked and walked, unable to control myself.”

“Why didn’t you give the alarm?” Frake asked. “Why didn’t you report finding her dead?”

“I cannot explain my actions. That’s all that I can say.”

“The natural thing would have been to raise an outcry, or at least to notify the office, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” said Purden. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I walked around and finally went to the club. There the officer found me and brought me here.”

“You mean that the shock bewildered you so that you did not do the things that would have been natural?”

“I— I suppose that was the way of it,” said Purden.

“After the first shock, you just wanted to get away?”

“Yes.”

“A sort of cowardice induced by shock?”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Um!” Frake grunted. “Very peculiar. You were so shocked by the tragedy that you could not notify the clerk. And yet you were not too much shocked to remain for several minutes with the body, ransack the desk—”

“What’s that?” Purden cried.

“Your finger prints are on the desk with Mrs. Crend’s,” Frake told him. “They must have been put there since the furniture was polished yesterday. You were seen coming into the house, Purden. A few minutes later Peter Podd, who saw you enter, saw you go out. You acted strangely, he says. You rushed away without telling anybody that Mrs. Lennek was dead. Don’t you see how it looks, Purden?”

“You — you mean that I might have killed her?”

“You had the opportunity, and your actions certainly were very peculiar. And you ransacked that desk! You’d better tell the truth, Purden!”

There was a peculiar ring in Detective Frake’s voice. Purden was silent for a moment, and all in the room watched him closely. Finally he lifted his head and spoke in low tones.

“I— I have told you the truth,” he said. “I went into the apartment and found her, as I stated. I thought, of course, that she had committed suicide.”

“Know of any reason why she should?” Frake asked.

“No,” Purden replied. “But she — she was nervous and hysterical often. And sometimes she was despondent, too. Despite the fact that she had wealth at her command, she did not seem to have much peace of mind. She said that her sister took her to task frequently, especially for being friendly with me.”

“Did she ever hint at suicide?”

“Not in so many words. She has made the remark to me that she wished she was dead — but in the way so many persons make the remark now and then. But, when I saw her there, and the tumbler on the floor, I thought she had killed herself. I— I was afraid of—”

“Scandal, perhaps?”

“I suppose so, though there was no reason for being afraid of that. My relations with Mrs. Lennek were strictly honorable. But I— I was afraid of being connected with the affair, afraid of newspaper publicity. I ran over to the desk and looked, thinking she might have left letters — perhaps one addressed to me.”

“Did you find one?”

“I found no letters at all,” Purden replied. “If she wrote any, she did not leave them on the desk. But you have been saying that she did not commit suicide, but was murdered. I suppose my actions were peculiar. I cannot explain them. But I have told you the truth, and the whole truth!”

“You beast! You killed her!”

The words came from Mrs. Howard Crend. Madison Purden seemed to flinch, and then he turned his head and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I did not kill her,” he said, as though stating an ordinary fact. “Why should I? I hoped to make her my wife. I believe that she would have married me. If you are accusing me of being mercenary, my marriage to her would have put a fortune into my hands, whereas her death puts it forever beyond my reach.”

Detective Frake let him talk. He was watching Madison Purden carefully.

“If she was murdered,” Purden continued, “I did not do it. And if you are looking at bare facts, opportunities, and motives, why single out me? You might have done it, Mrs. Crend, since you would profit by her death. But I have cleared you. We know what time you visited the apartment, and I have said that I was there ten or fifteen minutes before that, and that she was dead then, And — and I saw the janitor in front of her door. A moment later I found that door open half a foot or so, something very unusual. For all I know, Peter Podd, the janitor, might just have come out of that door; he might have been in there killing—”

“Don’t you say that!” Peter Podd exclaimed. “I ain’t been in that apartment since yesterday when the furniture polisher was at work, and I went to tell him to do an apartment on the third floor next.”

“I am merely showing —” Purden began.

But Detective Frake stopped him.

“Pardon me, but I am not done with my questions,” he said. “That will do for the present, Mr. Purden. Go back to your other seat. Peter Podd, take this chair, please.”

Madison Purden arose and went back across the room. Peter Podd shuffled forward, holding his cap in his hands and twisting it nervously. His old face suddenly was gray as he sat down before the detective. His left hand went up and fumbled uncertainly at his chin.