Snitkin and the Sergeant lifted Greeff’s body from the pot-hole and laid it on the ground.
After a brief examination Doremus stood up and looked toward Markham.
“The same as that fellow yesterday,” he said. “Same wounds exactly. Same fracture of the skull; same three scratches down his chest; same discoloration on his throat. Ripped wide open, bashed over the left side of the head, and strangled... Only,” he added, “he hasn’t been dead as long as the other one.” He made a grimace at Heath. “That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”
“How would twelve o’clock last night fit?” asked Vance.
“Midnight, eh?” Doremus bent down over Greeff’s body and again tested the rigor mortis. “That’d make it about twelve hours... Right.” He stood up and wrote out a removal blank. As he handed it to the Sergeant he said: “There was nothing found at the autopsy of the other fellow that changed what I told you yesterday, but you’d better get this one down to the morgue right away—I’ll have time this afternoon to autopsy him.” (I had never seen Doremus so serious.) “And I’m driving back again by Payson Avenue. I’m getting to believe in that dragon of yours, Sergeant... Damn queer,” he muttered, as he walked to the road and got into his car. “That’s no way to kill a man. And two of ’em!... I saw that stuff in the morning papers about Dragonfish.* Good Gad, what a story!” He released the brakes, letting his car roll down the road, and drove off toward Spuyten Duyvil.
Leaving Snitkin to watch Greeff’s body, we returned to the house.
“And now what’s to be done?” Markham asked hopelessly, as we entered the front door.
“Oh, that’s clearly indicated, don’t y’ know,” Vance replied. “I’m going to take a peep at Stamm’s fish collection. Really, you’d better come along. Tropicals are fascinatin’, Markham.” He turned to Trainor, who had taken Snitkin’s place at the door. “Ask Mr. Stamm if we may see him.”
Trainor glared at Vance fearfully; then drew himself up rigidly and went down the hall.
“See here, Vance,” Markham protested irritably, “what’s the point of this? We have serious work to do, and you talk of inspecting a fish collection! Two men have been murdered—”
“I’m sure,” Vance interrupted, “that you’ll find the fish highly educational...”
At this moment Stamm came out from the library and strode toward us.
“Would you be so good as to act as our cicerone among your aquaria?” Vance asked him.
Stamm evinced considerable surprise.
“Why, yes,” he said, with an intonation of forced politeness. “Of course—of course. I’d be delighted. Come this way.” And he turned and walked back toward the library.
Footnote
* The papers that day had carried spectacular accounts of Montague’s murder; and the reporters had let their imaginations run riot over the possibilities of an actual aquatic monster having caused his death. A zoologist from one of the local universities had been interviewed and had expressed the opinion that such an explanation could not be scientifically refuted because of our scant knowledge of submarine life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Piscatorial Lore (Monday, August 13; 12.15 p.m.)
THE LIBRARY WAS an unusually large room, severely but comfortably furnished in the Jacobean style, with great tiers of books reaching from the floor to the ceiling. There were windows to the east and west, and, in the north wall, facing us, was a large archway which led to the aquaria and terrarium beyond.
Leland was sitting on the davenport with one of the volumes of the Eumorphopoulos collection of ceramics on his knees. In one corner, at a small card-table, sat Mrs. McAdam and Tatum, a cribbage board between them. There was no one else in the room. All three looked up curiously as we entered, but made no comment.
Stamm led the way across the library and into the first aquarium. This room was even larger than the library, and had an enormous skylight as well as a row of high windows along both walls to the east and west. Beyond, through a second archway was still another aquarium, similar to the first; and beyond that was the terrarium with windows on three sides.
The aquarium in which we stood was lined with fish tanks of all sizes, reaching to the base of the high windows; and half-way between the walls, running the entire length of the room, were two double rows of additional tanks, set on a long metal rack. There were more than a hundred such tanks in the room, ranging in capacity from five to one hundred gallons.
Stamm, beginning at the tank nearest the door, on the left, led us about the room commenting on his living treasures. He pointed out the various types of Platyœcilus maculatus—pulcher, ruber, auratus, sanguineus, and niger; various Xiphophorus hellerii (the Mexican Swordtail) and the Red Helleri (a cross between the Swordtail and the Red Platy); Mollienisia latipinna, with their dotted mother-of-pearl sides; and Black Mollies, perfectly line-bred to enhance their original black mottled coloring. His collection of the genus Barbus was extensive: he had beautiful specimens of the opalescent red-finned oligolepis; the rosy conchonius; the lateristriga, with its chameleon-like golden, black and carmine coloring; the black-banded pentazona; the silvery ticto; and many others. After these came the species of the genus Rasbora, especially heteromorpha and tæniata; and still further were beautiful specimens of the Characinidæ, particularly of the sub-family Tetragonopterinæ—the Yellow, Red, Glass, Bronze, and Flag Tetras, and the Hemigrammus ocellifer, or Head and Tail Light fish.
In a series of tanks down the centre of the room Stamm pointed with pride to his specimens of the Cichlidæ—Cichlasoma facetum, severum, nigrofasciatum, festivum (the Flag Cichlid), urophthalmus, aureum, and so on. He also showed us several specimens of that enigmatical Symphysodon discus, about which so little is known, either as to its sex distinction or its habits.
“I’m working on this species,” Stamm said, proudly indicating the blue-green brassy specimens. “They are closely related to the Pterophyllum and are the only one of their genus. I’ll surprise the old-time aquarists yet.”
“Have you succeeded in breeding any of the Pterophyllum?” Vance asked with interest.
Stamm chuckled.
“I was one of the first aquarists in the country to find out that secret... Look here.” He pointed to an enormous tank of at least one hundred gallons. “That’s the explanation. Plenty of swimming space, with heavy-stemmed Sagittaria for the eggs, and a good warm temperature.” (There were many beautiful specimens in the tank, some of them twelve inches from dorsal to anal fin.)
He moved along the west wall, talking proudly and fluently of his fish, with the enthusiasm of a fanatic. Before we had completed the circuit he had shown us specimens of the Æquidens portalegrensis (the Blue Acara); tiny transparent glass fish (Ambassis lala); many species of Panchax, especially lineatus and the rare Nigerian species, grahami; a pair of pike-like Belonesox belizanus; the usual Danio malabaricus; such mouthbreeders as Haplochromis multicolor, Astatotilapia moffati, Tilapia heudeloti, and Etroplus maculatus; labyrinthine fishes, such as Osphromenus, Macropodus, Anabas, and Ctenopoma; and hundreds of Lebistes reticulatus.
Stamm waved his hand at this last large tank contemptuously.
“Scalare fodder,” he muttered.
“Still,” said Vance, “despite their commonness, there aren’t many fish among the tropicals more beautiful than the Guppies.”
Stamm snorted and moved on toward the room beyond.
“In here are the fish that really count,” he said.
This second aquarium was similar to the one we had just quitted and contained quite as many tanks, but they were arranged differently.
“Here, for instance,” said Stamm, standing before a tank at the right, “is the Monodactylus argenteus.”
“Brakish water, of course,” Vance remarked.
“Oh, yes.” Stamm shot him a curious look. “Many of the tanks in this room are really marine aquaria, and, of course, I use brakish water also for my Toxotes jaculator—the Shooting Fish
—and the Mugil oligolepis.”
Vance leaned over the tank that Stamm had indicated.
“The Mugil oligolepis resembles the Barb, but it has two dorsals instead of one,” he observed.
“Quite right.” Stamm again looked at him curiously. “You’ve spent some time with fish yourself, haven’t you?”
“Oh, I’ve dabbled a bit,” returned Vance, moving on.
“Here are some of my best,” Stamm said, going to a series of tanks in the middle of the room. And he pointed out to us some Colossoma nigripinnis, Mylossoma duriventris, and Metynnis roosevelti.
“How do you manage to keep these rare Characins in such apparently good condition?” Vance asked.
“Ah, that’s my secret,” returned Stamm with a shrewd smile. “High temperatures, of course, and large tanks and live food...and other things,” he added enigmatically, turning to another series of tanks along the west wall. “But here are a few fish about which even less is known.” He put his hands in his pockets and regarded the tanks with satisfaction. “These are the Hatchet Fishes: the Gasteropelecus sternicla, the Carnegiella strigata, and the Thoracocharax securis. The so-called experts will tell you that the breeding habits of these species are not known, and that they cannot be bred in aquaria. Tommy-rot! I’ve done it successfully.”
He moved further down the room.
“Here’s an interesting one.” He tapped on the front wall of a particularly attractive tank. “The Blow Fish—Tetrodon cucutia. Watch this.”
He took one of the fish out of the water in a small net, and it inflated itself into the shape of a ball.
“Curious idea,” Stamm commented, “—blowing oneself up to keep from being swallowed.”
“Oh, quite human, I should say,” Vance returned dryly. “All our politicians do the same thing.”
Stamm grinned.
“I never thought of that,” he chuckled... “And right next door here,” he went on, “is the Pantodon buchholzi. Just look at those large transparent pectoral fins. I brought these Butterfly Fish with me from West Africa... And here are some beauties—the Scatophagus.” He pointed to two tanks containing fairly large hexagonal fish—one tank of the spotted argus and the other of the striped rubrifrons. “And just here,” Stamm continued, moving along the wall, “are a couple of Luciocephalus pulcher.”
Vance looked at this fish closely and inquiringly.
“I’ve heard of them,” he commented. “They are related to the Anabantidæ, I believe. But I didn’t know any one was versed in their habits and care.”
“No one but me,” Stamm boasted. “And I might add that they are not bubble-nest breeders, as many believe, but viviparous—live-bearers.”
“Astonishin’,” Vance murmured.
Stamm directed our attention to a series of small individual tanks on the shelf above.
“Piranhas,” he said. “A rare species. And savage devils:—take a squint at those wicked teeth. I believe these are the first ever to come to the United States alive. Brought them back myself from Brazil—in separate cans, of course: they’d kill each other if they were put together. Damned cannibals—the Serrasalmus. I had a couple that were nearly twenty inches long,—not the spilopleura: they rarely grow over a foot in length... And here,” he went on, moving away, “is a nice collection of Sea-horses—the Hippocampus punctulatus. Better than those in the New York Aquarium...”
Stamm moved a little further on.
“Here’s an interesting fish—pugnacious and dangerous. The Gymnotus carapo. Have to be kept separately. Known as the ‘Electric Eel’—Electrophorus electricus. But that’s all wrong, really. Though they have eel-like bodies, they are not eels at all, but related to the Characinidæ. These are only about eight inches long, but they grow to three feet.”
Vance looked at the queer specimens closely: they were vicious-looking and repulsive.
“I have heard,” he remarked, “that they are actually capable of electrocuting a man by a moment’ry contact.”
Stamm pursed his lips.
“So they say, so they say.”
At this point Tatum and Mrs. McAdam came into the room.
“How about a little battle?” Tatum asked of Stamm with a smirk. “Teeny and I are bored.”
Stamm hesitated.
“I’ve wasted eight of my biggest Bettas on you now... Oh, all right.”
He went to a wide niche in the east wall, where there were numerous quart tanks each containing one Siamese Fighting Fish. From the ceiling hung a globe of water, on three slender chains, at a height of about five feet from the floor. He took up a small round Brussels net and transferred two veil-tail fish—a beautiful blue-green and a purple one—to the suspended globe.
The two fish appeared to look at each other cautiously before attacking. Then, with brilliantly heightened color and with fins and tails twitching and spreading furiously, they rushed about. Coming close together and nearly parallel, they slowly rose, side by side, to the surface. Soon they seemed to relax, and sank to the bottom of the globe. These preliminary manœuvres continued for a few minutes. Then, with lightning swiftness, the fight was on. They dashed at each other viciously, ripping off scales, mutilating each other’s tails and fins, and tearing bloody bits from the sides. Tatum was offering odds on the purple Betta, but no one paid any attention to him. The blue-green one fastened on the other’s gill with a terrific grip, hanging on until he was compelled to rise to the surface for air. The other then attached himself savagely to his antagonist’s mouth and relinquished his hold only when forced to go up for air himself. It was a terrible, but beautiful, sight.
Vance looked toward Tatum.
“You enjoy this sort of thing?” he asked.
“Too tame,” Tatum complained, with an unpleasant laugh. “I prefer cock-fighting myself; but when there’s nothing else to do...”
Leland had entered the room without our hearing him. He stood just behind Vance.
“I think it is a brutal sport,” he said, his smouldering eyes on Tatum. “It is beastly.”
The purple Betta was now at the bottom of the globe, mutilated and almost entirely stripped of its scales; and the other was attacking it to give the coup de grâce. Leland quickly picked up a small net and, reaching into the globe, removed the wounded loser and placed him in a small tank of Mercurochrome water. Then he went back to the library.
Tatum shrugged and took Mrs. McAdam’s arm.
“Come on, Teeny, we’ll play tiddledywinks. I’m sure Leland would approve of that.”
And the two of them left the room.
“A pleasant little household,” Stamm remarked with a sneer. He continued his rounds of the tanks, talking volubly and lovingly of his rare assortment of fish. That he had a wide and varied knowledge of them, and that he had done much important experimentation, was obvious. When he had come to the farther archway, he offered to show us his terrarium.
But Vance shook his head.
“Not today,” he said. “Thanks awfully, and all that.”
“I have some fascinating toads here—the Alytes obstetricans—the first ever to come from Europe,” Stamm urged.
“We’ll inspect the Midwives another time,” Vance replied. “What I’m interested in at the moment are your bottled Devil Fish. I see some allurin’ specimens over there.”
Below one of the large east windows there were several shelves lined with jars of strange preserved sea-monsters of varying sizes, and Stamm led us immediately to them.
“There’s a jolly little fellow,” he remarked, pointing to a specimen in a long conical jar. “The Omosudis lowi. Look at those sabre-like fangs!”
“A typical dragon’s mouth,” Vance murmured. “But not as vicious as it looks. A fish one-third its size can conquer and swallow it—the Chiasmodon niger, for instance.”
“That’s right.” Once more Stamm glanced sharply at Vance. “Any implication in that observation?”
“Really now,” Vance protested, and pointed to a large
glass receptacle containing a preserved fish of the most hideous and formidable aspect I had ever seen. “Is this one of the Chauliodus sloanei?”
“Yes, it is,” Stamm answered, without shifting his gaze from Vance. “And I have another one here.”
“I believe Greeff did mention two.”
“Greeff!” Stamm’s face hardened. “Why should he have mentioned them?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Vance moved along the row of bottles. “And what might this be?”
Stamm turned reluctantly, and glanced at the jar on which Vance had placed his finger.
“Another so-called Dragonfish,” he said. “The Lamprotaxus flagellibarba.” It was a wicked-looking, greenish-black monster, with blazing emerald markings.
Stamm showed us other specimens: the Idiacanthus fasciola, a serpent dragon with a long eel-like body, almost black, and with a golden tail; the wolf-like Linophryne arborifer, with a very large mouth and strong teeth, and what appeared to be a fungus-like beard; the Photocorynus spiniceps which, though very small, possessed a head half the length of its body, with an enormous jaw and serried teeth; the Lasiognathus saceostoma, known as the Angler Fish, with a jaw longer than the rest of its body, and equipped with a line and hooks for catching its prey; and other repulsive varieties of luminous Dragonfish. He also showed us a vermilion and yellow sea-dragon, with what appeared to be a coat of armor and waving plumes—a miniature dragon that looked as if it had been reconstructed from the imaginative pages of mythology...
“A most fascinatin’ collection,” Vance commented, as he turned from the jars. “With such an array of Dragonfish round the place, it’s no wonder the old superstition of the pool persists.”
Stamm drew up short and scowled: it was patent that Vance’s last remark had upset him. He started to make a reply, but evidently thought better of it, and walked back toward the inner room without a word.
As we came again into the library Vance gazed about curiously at various potted plants in the room. “I see you have some unusual botanical specimens here,” he remarked.
The Dragon Murder Case Page 21