Chapter V: Questions and Answers

In which the world wags its callous tongue—In which dénouements thumb
their noses at each other—In which Julien De Medici succumbs to a
delicious madness—A Jesuitical policeman and an ambitious coroner
flirt coyly with an Enigma.

There was an inquest. Newspaper headlines bombarded the mystery. The grateful press panted ecstatically on the trail of clews, conjectures, romances, and revelations. A crowd filled the street in front of the fashionable Park Avenue apartment building. They stood watching officials and the spotlighted figures of mystery enter.

The Ballau apartment itself was thronged with witnesses and friends of the dead man. Coroner Holbein had taken charge of the investigation and official gathering of evidence.

The famous Ballau library had been converted into a courtroom. The melodrama of the “Crucifix Mystery”—an identity provided by some of the papers—had a setting worthy of itself. Six men summoned at random to serve as a coroner’s jury sat nervously in the Renaissance chairs that had been lined up in front of the fireplace. Coroner Holbein had taken his position behind a work-table introduced from another portion of the house. At his right side sat Lieutenant Norton and Dr. Greer.

In front of the coroner stretched an assortment of chairs occupied by friends of the dead man. The newspaper men, expectant of revelations, bristled nervously about the officials.

Coroner Holbein opened the inquest with a brief address to the jury. He was an oracular man. It was his habit, when speaking in the presence of the press, to indulge in rotund medico-legal sentences. The six blinking jurymen listened with an air of ponderous sagacity. Neither they nor the coroner seemed definitely aware of what was being said.

“It is for you gentlemen to determine whether Victor Ballau has been the victim of a foul and dastardly crime, by which I mean whether he was sought out in the sanctity of his home and assassinated by some man or woman unknown, or whether for reasons yet unknown, but which we hope this inquiry will uncover, Victor Ballau ended his own life. The case, as you no doubt have read, gentlemen, presents many baffling aspects. After you have listened to the testimony given by the various witnesses the city of New York has subpœnaed for this occasion, it will then be your duty as citizens to return a verdict determining who it was, if you have been able to discover from the evidence, that was guilty of this foul and dastardly crime, or a verdict determining whether or not Victor Ballau, for reasons which may be unfolded here, killed himself.”

Coroner Holbein, reddened by his effort, came to an end of his pompous admonition with a flourish of his gavel. Despite his unhappy oratorical obsession he was a man of shrewd perceptions. In a business-like voice he summoned his stenographer and announced to the room that the inquest would now proceed.

“Will you take the stand, Dr. Greer?” he said.

Dr. Greer arose and seated himself in the chair facing the coroner which had been provided for the witnesses. In answer to a few brief questions he described in medical language the cause of death, concluding with the words:

“Yes, in my opinion, death was caused by a shock resulting from a perforation of the heart. The perforation was caused by the introduction of a sharp steel instrument.”

There followed a short examination, in which both questions and answers seemed the product of a well rehearsed scene.

Q. “Is this dagger I now show you the dagger you removed from the body of Victor Ballau?”

A. “It is.”

Q. “To what extent had it penetrated?”

A. “The entire blade was imbedded.”

Q. “In your opinion, doctor, it would take considerable force to drive a dagger seven inches into a man’s body, would it not?”

A. “It would if the point encountered any resistance. In this case, however, the blow was so placed that the weapon slid under the ribs without encountering any obstacle until it had gone its full course.”

Q. “From the position of the dagger in the body, how would you say the blow had been inflicted?”

A. “That is hard to say. It may have been struck from many angles. One thing, however, is obvious. The dagger followed a slightly upward course after penetration.”

Q. “What do you deduce from that, doctor?”

A. “Nothing definite can be deduced from that except that it was an upward blow.”

Q. “Would a man stabbing himself inflict such a wound?”

A. “Yes, that might be. A man stabbing himself might either strike downward, or, if he knew a little of anatomy, take the more effective way of striking upward.”

Q. “In your opinion, how long after the wound was inflicted did death occur?”

A. “I should say instantaneously, or at the most a matter of five or ten seconds.”

Coroner Holbein beamed.

“That will be all,” he said. “Call Miss Jane Mayfield.”

Dressed in black, the gaunt housekeeper was ushered to the witness chair. She appeared bewildered as the eyes of the crowded room centered on her. Coroner Holbein, clearing his throat, assumed the manner of a friend of the weak and a staff for the unfortunate. After a series of perfunctory questions he arrived at the day of the mystery.

Q. “And now, Jane, tell us simply and in your own way what happened that afternoon and night.”

A. “Mr. Ballau was killed.”

Q. “We know that, Jane. But before he was killed what happened? What orders did he give you that afternoon?”

A. “He told me there was going to be a party. He told me to order supplies.”

Q. “How did he seem to you when he gave you these orders?”

A. “I don’t know. I don’t remember noticing anything.”

Q. “What did you do after receiving his orders?”

A. “I called the caterer around the corner and gave him Mr. Ballau’s orders and then I worked around the house fixing up.”

Q. “Did you see Mr. De Medici that day?”

A. “Yes. Mr. De Medici and Mr. Ballau were together for a while after dinner. Mr. Ballau told him to go away as he interfered with getting the party ready.”

Q. “In what way did Mr. De Medici interfere, if you know, Jane?”

A. “I heard Mr. Ballau say he was too excited and that he was no use whatsoever, and to go out and walk.”

A smile passed through the room at the housekeeper’s words. The romance between De Medici and Ballau’s daughter had received its share of spotlighting during the week that followed the tragedy. Curious ones turned their heads for a glimpse of the couple. At the side of the room, hidden behind a row of chairs, they were rewarded. Florence Ballau, her vivid face behind a veil, and Julien De Medici’s green-tinted cheeks and decorative features occupied adjoining seats. They were sitting, eyes straight—unwavering and attentive.

Q. “After Mr. De Medici went away, what happened then?”

A. “I was busy. I don’t remember anything.”

Q. “Did you see Mr. Ballau after Mr. De Medici went away?”

A. “He came out from shaving.”

Q. “Did he say anything at that time?”

A. “No.”

Q. “Did you see anybody else in the apartment after you had encountered Mr. Ballau as stated?”

The housekeeper paused before answering. Her eyes swung bewilderedly toward the listeners.

A. “No.”

Q. “There now, Jane. Think carefully and see if you recall having seen another man or woman in the apartment following Mr. De Medici’s leaving.”

Again the housekeeper stared distractedly at the crowd of listeners.

A. “No.”

Q. “On the night of Mr. Ballau’s death, when you were questioned by Lieutenant Norton you said that you remembered catching a glimpse of a tall man with a black beard. Have you forgotten that?”

The housekeeper regarded the coroner with frightened eyes. For several moments she remained silent.

Q. “Come, Jane, do you remember that?”

A. “Oh, yes. I remember now. I only saw him for a second. I’d forgotten about that. A tall man with a black, pointed beard.”

Q. “Had you ever seen that man before?”

Tears came suddenly into the housekeeper’s eyes. The coroner paused with a great show of tenderness as she dried them.

A. “I don’t remember.”

Q. “After you saw this man with the black beard, tell us what happened then.”

A. “I was busy in the kitchen arranging the sandwiches.”

Q. “What time was this?”

A. “About nine o’clock.”

Q. “Did you hear any sounds in the house while you were thus busy?”

A. “No, sir.”

Q. “Well, go on, then. Tell us what happened.”

A. “I don’t know.”

Q. “If there had been any sounds in the library, sounds such as might be made by a violent struggle, would you have heard them from where you were?”

A. “Oh, yes, sir! I’m sure I would.”

Q. “Do you remember when Miss Ballau returned?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “What time was it?”

The housekeeper again hesitated. The frightened expression returned to her eyes. She wavered until, turning, she encountered the attentive gaze of Florence Ballau. With a sigh she looked back at the coroner.

A. “I don’t remember what time it was. I didn’t look.”

Q. “Did you let Miss Ballau into the apartment?”

A. “Yes. The bell rang and I answered the door.”

Q. “What did Miss Ballau do or say, if anything?”

A. “I don’t remember. I was busy. I went right back to the kitchen.”

Q. “Then what happened?”

A. “When I got into the kitchen I heard Miss Ballau screaming and I rushed out in the hall. Miss Ballau was standing in the library door and screaming about her father.”

Q. “Just what did she say?”

A. “I don’t remember. She was screaming. I went in and saw Mr. Ballau on the floor. I began to cry.... I don’t remember....”

Q. “Come now, Jane, pull yourself together. Do you remember how Mr. Ballau was lying?”

A. “On his back.”

Q. “Did you notice anything odd about the room?”

A. “Yes, it was all torn up.”

Q. “Did you notice whether a candle was burning in a candlestick beside the head of the dead man?”

The housekeeper stared speechlessly at the coroner. The question had sent a shiver through the crowd. The hollow eyes of the woman widened. She spoke in a low voice.

A. “I didn’t notice any candle burning.”

Q. “Did you ever hear anyone quarreling with Mr. Ballau?”

A. “No.”

Q. “How did Mr. Ballau treat you?”

The housekeeper failed to answer. She was looking slowly around the room. Suddenly, with a cry, she fell forward. Her head lay on the table as the sound of hysterical weeping filled the place.

“That will be all, thank you,” said the coroner. A policeman assisted Jane to her feet and led her sobbing from the room.

“Call Mr. Donovan,” ordered the coroner.

Donovan, the doorman of the Hudson Apartments, in which building the dead man had lived, took his place stolidly in the witness chair. Under questioning he identified himself and his vocation.

Q. “Mr. Donovan, you were on duty, were you not, on the night Mr. Ballau met his death?”

A. “Yes, sir; I was that.”

Q. “Were you acquainted with the dead man?”

A. “Indeed, when he was alive I was well acquainted with him. I’d known Mr. Ballau for years, and a very fine man he was.”

Q. “Did you know most of the people who came to visit Mr. Ballau?”

A. “I did that. I knew most of them.”

Q. “Between the hours of seven and ten-thirty on the night Mr. Ballau was found dead, do you know who came into the building?”

A. “Well, now, I remember there was some of the residents came in.”

Q. “I mean, did you notice any strangers enter or any people you knew to be friends of Mr. Ballau?”

A. “No, sir. There was only Miss Ballau and the gentleman, Mr. De Medici, your honor.”

Q. “Did you see Miss Ballau come in?”

A. “That’s what I’m saying, sir. There was the young lady and....”

Q. “What time was it when Miss Ballau entered the building?”

A. “To tell the truth, sir, I didn’t notice exactly. My watch had stopped the day before and I had it at the repairer’s....”

Q. “Can you tell approximately what time it was?”

A. “Well, it was after being middlin’ late. Around ten o’clock, I should say, or thereafter somewhat.”

Q. “Did you pay any attention to Miss Ballau when she came in?”

A. “No, I wasn’t very attentive, your honor. I was only for noticing it was her and that’s all.”

Q. “Did you see a man with a black beard enter the apartment that night?”

A. “I did not. I don’t remember if there was.”

Q. “Did you know any man with a black beard who ever called on Mr. Ballau?”

A. “Well, now, there was Dr. Lytton, who used to come often, and he had a black beard, but he got rid of it a month ago.”

Q. “He got rid of it. In what way?”

A. “By shaving, your honor, I presume. Leastways I was hardly for recognizing him when he came around without it.”

Q. “Do you see Dr. Lytton in the room, Donovan?”

A short, thick-set, bull-necked man with a glistening bald head stood up near the wall.

A. “There’s the gentleman himself, your honor.”

Coroner Holbein regarded the standing man.

“Thank you, Dr. Lytton,” he said.

Q. “Did you see Dr. Lytton the night Mr. Ballau was found dead, the night of April 10th?”

A. “No, sir, I did not.”

Q. “Did you see Mr. De Medici come in that night?”

A. “I don’t recall, to be exact, your honor. I remember I heard the young lady screaming and that it was Mr. De Medici holding her in his arms and telling me to call the police.”

“That will be all, thank you,” the coroner nodded.

De Medici’s eyes narrowed and a derisive smile passed over his wide, thin mouth. He had followed the questions and answers with rigid attentiveness.

“A terrible dolt, this man. Or in on the trap,” he mused. “But it isn’t over. They’ve got something hidden. Yet he didn’t ask Donovan the question. The answer would have started things. How long after she came in from the street did he see her in my arms? Thirty or forty minutes later.... He would have remembered if asked. And what was she doing in the apartment those thirty or forty minutes?”

Five days had passed since the death of his friend and a curious change had come over De Medici. His hand trembled as he dropped it furtively on the gloved fingers of the girl at his side. She ignored the caress. A laceration passed through his heart.

“Cold, aloof and defiant,” he mused with a shudder. “She sits next to me like an image of stone. This little hand I touch is the hand that murdered. Yet it lies calmly in a snug glove under my fingers. It is I who tremble. This thing grows in me. The feeling of her guilt overwhelms me. Her cruelty is like the promise of a caress. I bow before it.”

Again a shudder stirred him.

“Incredible,” he went on silently. “There is a mystery. She could not sit like this if there was a memory of guilt in her. And yet she lies. She avoids me. If it was I who had killed him ... yes, I could sit like this. Calm, amused and cold.”

De Medici sighed. He had for the week followed the circle of his thoughts. The shuddering and exultant thing that had risen in him on the night before the locked door had obliterated, almost, his curiosity concerning the crime. Shrinking from himself, despising the evil infatuation that the conviction of her guilt was developing in him, he had felt himself being slowly dragged into a dark region of himself. Alone in his rooms he had sat through the nights musing:

“Ah, I’m changing. I feel myself losing the identity of Julien De Medici. The phantoms come closer to my brain. They knock warily at my heart....”

He released the unresponsive hand of the girl as the coroner raised his voice.

“Call Mr. Philip Johnson.”

A well-dressed, quick-mannered man, middle-aged and important-aired, stepped forward and took his place in the witness chair. He identified himself as a broker on the stock exchange. The coroner proceeded.

Q. “You were intimately acquainted with the deceased, were you not?”

A. “I was.”

Q. “In what capacity did you know him?”

A. “We were friends and I handled a great part of his business dealings and investments.”

Q. “What was the nature of these investments?”

A. “Stock investments, chiefly.”

Q. “You mean Mr. Ballau played the stock market?”

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “How much money did Mr. Ballau invest through you during the last few years?”

A. “I have looked over my books and find that Mr. Ballau invested something like $350,000 in the last year and a half.”

Q. “And what became of these investments?”

A. “Mr. Ballau was unfortunate. The money was entirely lost as a result of several unforeseen flurries on the market.”

Q. “Then you wish us to understand that Mr. Ballau in the course of a year and a half lost $350,000 as a result of stock market fluctuations?”

A. “Yes, sir.”

Q. “Did Mr. Ballau appear oppressed over his loss or did he so express himself at any time.”

A. “Yes, he took the matter keenly to heart. Towards the end he seemed to lose some of the conservatism which usually marked his business investments and tried frantically to recover what he had lost. Against my advice he invested in speculative securities.”

Q. “Did Mr. Ballau, during any conversation with you, express himself as overwhelmed by his losses and reveal in any way that he was brooding over them?”

A. “Mr. Ballau took his losses without any complaint. He kept his emotions to himself. But from the way he acted and from many things I saw, I felt certain that he was frantic.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the coroner. “That will be all. Call Mr. William Stone.”

A stout, genial-looking man took the witness chair and under questioning identified himself as an attorney.

Q. “You were Mr. Ballau’s lawyer, were you not; retained by him to handle his estate and whatever litigation arose?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “Mr. Ballau left a will, did he not?”

A. “He did.”

Q. “When did he make out this will?”

A. “Eight days ago. April 2nd.”

Q. “Did Mr. Ballau have a will previous to the drawing up of this will that you testify took place April 2nd, or eight days before his death?”

A. “He did. When I was first retained as legal adviser by Mr. Ballau some nine years ago, he entrusted to my keeping, among other papers, his last will and testament.”

Q. “When Mr. Ballau made out his new will on April 2nd was this other will destroyed?”

A. “It was.”

Q. “Who destroyed it?”

A. “Mr. Ballau did.”

Q. “Do you remember what was in that will and what disposition of his property Mr. Ballau had made in it? I refer to the first will.”

A. “I never saw that will. It was handed to me sealed and I kept it in Mr. Ballau’s box along with other papers until he asked for it eight days ago. I gave it to him and he tore it up without looking at it.”

Q. “He tore it up. I see. And what did he do with the pieces?”

A. “It was at his home. There was a fire burning in the room and he threw the pieces in the fire.”

Q. “And then you drew up the second will?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “Has that second will been probated yet?”

A. “No sir.”

Q. “Do you desire at this time to divulge its contents?”

A. “There is little to divulge. Mr. Ballau merely dictated a memorandum bequeathing all his property and holdings in the event of his death to Miss Florence Ballau, his daughter.”

Q. “Was she present when the will was drawn up?”

A. “She was.”

Q. “Are you in a position to know the extent of Mr. Ballau’s holdings?”

A. “I am.”

Q. “Tell us, then, to the best of your knowledge, how large an estate Mr. Ballau left behind.”

A. “He left nothing behind. As far as I have been able to find out, he was heavily in debt at the time of his death. His present possessions, if sold, would barely pay for the chattel mortgages and loans. He was penniless when he died.”

Q. “Do you know whether he was insured?”

A. “Yes. Mr. Ballau was insured for $150,000.”

Q. “Do you know what kind of a policy he held?”

A. “A straight death insurance policy collectable in the event of his demise.”

Q. “Is there a suicide clause in that policy, Mr. Stone?”

A. “I believe there is. I believe that the policy provides that its conditions shall be null and void in the event of its holder taking his own life.”

Q. “Has any effort been made to collect that insurance?”

A. “None whatsoever, sir.”

“Thank you,” beamed the coroner. “Call Mr. Meyerson.”

Mr. Meyerson walked to the witness chair. Following the introductory questions the coroner proceeded.

Q. “You frequently sold antiques to Mr. Ballau during his life, did you not, Mr. Meyerson?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “How are his accounts now? I mean, has he paid you his bills and was he in the habit of paying regularly, or do your books show that his estate is indebted to you?”

A. “Mr. Ballau owed me $12,000 at the time of his death.”

Q. “Did you ever press for payment of this money?”

A. “During my fifteen years of dealing with Mr. Ballau I have never sent him a bill.”

Q. “What was the last thing Mr. Ballau bought from you?”

A. “My books show that on March 28th Mr. Ballau purchased a Florentine dagger which formed a part of the famous De Medici collection in my keeping.”

Q. “Is this the dagger which Mr. Ballau purchased from you on March 28th?”

The coroner held aloft the slim weapon which had been found protruding from Victor Ballau’s heart.

A. “Yes, without a doubt.”

Q. “Were you there when the purchase was made?”

A. “Yes.”

Q. “What was said at the time?”

A. “We discussed the dagger. Mr. Ballau was always a collector. I remember his enthusiasm over the weapon. He declared it an excellent piece of workmanship and wondered over its history.”

Q. “What did you say, Mr. Meyerson?”

A. “We discussed the sinister history which undoubtedly was attached to the dagger. It had been, according to my information, one of the weapons Catherine De Medici carried into France with her. As such it had unquestionably been in many a bloody drama.”

Q. “Was Mr. Ballau alone when the purchase was made?”

A. “He came in alone but as we were talking Julien De Medici entered. He joined us in our discussion over the weapon, contributing to its sinister and romantic past.”

Q. “What, exactly, if you remember, did Mr. De Medici say?”

A. “I recall that he humorously bewailed the habits of his great-great-grandmother and added that if he had enough money he would buy the entire De Medici collection in my keeping and drop it in the middle of the Atlantic.”

“That will be all, Mr. Meyerson,” said the coroner. “Call Miss Florence Ballau.”