42. Ada, when told of Rex's story, recalls also having heard a door close at some time after eleven.
43. It is obvious that Ada knows or suspects something.
44. The cook becomes emotional at the thought of anyone wanting to harm Ada, but says she can understand a person having a reason to shoot Julia and Chester.
45. Rex, when interviewed, shows clearly that he thinks someone in the house is guilty.
46. Rex accuses Von Blon of being the murderer.
47. Mrs. Greene makes a request that the investigation be dropped.
THIRD CRIME
48. Rex is shot in the forehead with a .32 revolver, at 11.20 a.m., twenty days after Chester has been killed and within five minutes Ada phones him from the District Attorney's office.
49. There is no look of horror or surprise on Rex's face, as was the case with Julia and Chester.
50. His body is found on the floor before the mantel.
51. A diagram which Ada asked him to bring with him to the District Attorney's office has disappeared.
52. No one upstairs hears the shot, though the doors are open; but Sproot, downstairs in the butler's pantry, hears it distinctly.
53. Von Blon is visiting Sibella that morning; but she says she was in the bath-room bathing her dog at the time Rex was shot.
54. Footprints are found in Ada's room coming from the balcony door, which is ajar.
55. A single set of footprints is found leading from the front walk to the balcony.
56. The tracks could have been made at any time after nine o'clock that morning.
57. Sibella refuses to go away on a visit.
58. The galoshes that made all three sets of footprints are found in the linen-closet, although they were not there when the house was searched for the revolver.
59. The galoshes are returned to the linen-closet, but disappear that night.
FOURTH CRIME
60. Two days after Rex's death Ada and Mrs. Greene are poisoned within twelve hours of each other--Ada with morphine, Mrs. Greene with strychnine.
61. Ada is treated at once and recovers.
62. Von Blon is seen leaving the house just before Ada swallows the poison.
63. Ada is discovered by Sproot as a result of Sibella's dog catching his teeth in the bell-cord.
64. The morphine was taken in the bouillon which was, as a rule, given to Ada in the mornings by Mrs. Greene.
65. Ada states that no one visited her in her room after the nurse had called her to come and drink the bouillon; but that she went to Julia's room to get a shawl, leaving the bouillon unguarded for several moments.
66. Neither Ada nor the nurse remembers having seen Sibella's dog in the hall before the poisoned bouillon was taken.
67. Mrs, Greene is found dead of strychnine-poisoning the morning after Ada swallowed the morphine.
68. The strychnine could have been administered only after 11 p.m. the previous night.
69. The nurse was in her room on the third floor between 11 and 11.30 p.m.
70. Von Blon was calling on Sibella that night, but Sibella says he left her at 10.45.
71. The strychnine was administered in a dose of citro-carbonate, which, presumably, Mrs. Greene would not have taken without assistance.
72. Sibella decides to visit a girl chum in Atlantic City, and leaves New York on the afternoon train.
DISTRIBUTABLE FACTS
73. The same revolver is used on Julia, Ada, Chester, and Rex.
74. All three sets of footprints have obviously been made by someone in the house for the purpose of casting suspicion on an outsider.
75. The murderer is someone whom both Julia and Chester would receive in their rooms, in negligée, late at night.
76. The murderer does not make himself known to Ada, but enters her room surreptitiously.
77. Nearly three weeks after Chester's death Ada comes to the District Attorney's office, stating that she has important news to impart.
78. Ada says that Rex has confessed to her that he heard the shot in her room and also heard other things, but was afraid to admit them; and she asks that Rex be questioned.
79. Ada tells of having found a cryptic diagram, marked with symbols, in the lower hall near the library door.
80. On the day of Rex's murder Von Blon reports that his medicine-case has been rifled of three grains of strychnine and six grains of morphine-- presumably at the Greene mansion.
81. The library reveals the fact that someone has been in the habit of going there and reading by candle-light. The books that show signs of having been read are: a handbook of the criminal sciences, two works on toxicology, and two treatises on hysterical paralysis and sleep-walking.
82. The visitor in the library is someone who understands German well, for three of the books that have been read are in German.
83. The galoshes that disappeared from the linen-closet on the night of Rex's murder are found in the library.
84. Someone listens at the door while the library is being inspected.
85. Ada reports that she saw Mrs. Greene walking in the lower hall the night before.
86. Von Blon asserts that Mrs. Greene's paralysis is of a nature that makes movement a physical impossibility.
87. Arrangements are made with Von Blon to have Doctor Oppenheimer examine Mrs. Greene.
88. Von Blon informs Mrs. Greene of the proposed examination, which he has scheduled for the following day.
89. Mrs. Greene is poisoned before Doctor Oppenheimer's examination can be made.
90. The post-mortem reveals conclusively that Mrs. Greene's leg muscles were so atrophied that she could not have walked.
91. Ada, when told of the autopsy, insists that she saw her mother's shawl about the figure in the hall, and, on being coerced, admits that Sibella sometimes wore it.
92. During the questioning of Ada regarding the shawl Mrs. Mannheim suggests that it was she herself whom Ada saw in the hall.
93. When Julia and Ada were shot there were, or could have been, present in the house: Chester, Sibella, Rex, Mrs. Greene, Von Blon, Barton, Hemming, Sproot, and Mrs. Mannheim.
94. When Chester was shot there were, or could have been, present in the house: Sibella, Rex, Mrs. Greene, Ada, Von Blon, Barton, Hemming, Sproot, and Mrs. Mannheim.
95. When Rex was shot there were, or could have been, present in the house: Sibella, Mrs. Greene, Von Blon, Hemming, Sproot, and Mrs. Mannheim.
96. When Ada was poisoned there were, or could have been, present in the house: Sibella, Mrs. Greene, Von Blon, Hemming, Sproot, and Mrs. Mannheim.
97. When Mrs. Greene was poisoned there were, or could have been, present in the house: Sibella, Von Blon, Ada, Hemming, Sproot, and Mrs. Mannheim.
When Markham had finished reading the summary, he went through it a second time. Then he laid it on the table.
"Yes, Vance," he said, "you've covered the main points pretty thoroughly." But I can't see any coherence in them. In fact, they seem only to emphasize the confusion of the case."
"And yet, Markham, I'm convinced that they only need rearrangement and interpretation to be perfectly clear. Properly analyzed, they'll tell us everything we want to know."
Markham glanced again through the pages.
"If it wasn't for certain items, we could make out a case against several people. But no matter what person in the list we may assume to be guilty, we are at once confronted by a group of contradictory, and insurmountable facts. This précis could be used effectively to prove that everyone concerned is innocent."
"Superficially it appears that way," agreed Vance. "But we first must find the generating line of the design, and then relate the subsidi'ry forms of the pattern to it."
Markham made a hopeless gesture.
"If only life were as simple as your aesthetic theories!"
"It's dashed simpler," Vance asserted. "The mere mechanism of a camera can record life; but only a highly developed creative intelligence, with a profound philosophi
c insight, can produce a work of art."
"Can you make any sense--aesthetic or otherwise--out of this?" Markham petulantly tapped the sheets of paper.
"I can see certain traceries, so to speak--certain suggestions of a pattern; but I'll admit the main design has thus far eluded me. The fact is, Markham, I have a feeling that some important factor in this case-- some balancing line of the pattern, perhaps--is still hidden from us. I don't say that my resume is insusceptible of interpretation in its present state; but our task would be greatly simplified if we were in possession of the missing integer."
Fifteen minutes later, when we had returned to Markham's main office, Swacker came in and laid a letter on the desk.
"There's a funny one, Chief," he said.
Markham took up the letter and read it with a deepening frown. When he had finished, he handed it to Vance. The letter-head read, "Rectory, Third Presbyterian Church, Stamford, Connecticut"; the date was the preceding day; and the signature was that of the Reverend Anthony Seymour. The contents of the letter, written in a small, precise hand, were as follows:
THE HONOURABLE JOHN F.-X. MARKHAM,
Dear Sir,--As far as I am aware, I have never betrayed a confidence. But there can arise, I believe, unforeseen circumstances to modify the strictness of one's adherence to a given promise, and indeed impose upon one a greater duty than that of keeping silent.
I have read in the papers of the wicked and abominable things that have happened at the Greene residence in New York; and I have therefore come to the conclusion, after much heart-searching and prayer, that it is my bounden duty to put you in possession of a fact which, as the result of a promise, I have kept to myself for over a year. I would not now betray this trust did I not believe that some good might possibly come of it, and that you, my dear sir, would also treat the matter in the most sacred confidence. It may not help you--indeed, I do not see how it can possibly lead to a solution of the terrible curse that has fallen upon the Greene family--but since the fact is connected intimately with one of the members of that family, I will feel better when I have communicated it to you.
On the night of August 29th, of last year, a machine drove up to my door, and a man and a woman asked that I secretly marry them. I may say that I am frequently receiving such requests from runaway couples. This particular couple appeared to be well-bred dependable people, and I concurred with their wishes, giving them my assurances that the ceremony would, as they desired, be kept confidential.
The names that appeared on the licence--which had been secured in New Haven late that afternoon--were Sibella Greene, of New York City, and Arthur Von Blon, also of New York City.
Vance read the letter and handed it back.
"Really, y' know, I can't say that I'm astonished--"
Suddenly he broke off, his eyes fixed thoughtfully before him. Then he rose nervously and paced up and down.
"That tears it!" he exclaimed.
Markham threw him a look of puzzled interrogation. "What's the point?"
"Don't you see?" Vance came quickly to the District Attorney's desk. "My word! That's the one fact that's missing from my tabulation." He then unfolded the last sheet and wrote:
98. Sibella and Von Blon were secretly married a year ago.
"But I don't see how that helps," protested Markham. "Neither do I at this moment," Vance replied. "But I'm going to spend this evening in erudite meditation."
CHAPTER XXIV
A MYSTERIOUS TRIP
(Sunday, December 5th)
THE Boston Symphony Orchestra was scheduled that afternoon to play a Bach Concerto and Beethoven's C-Minor Symphony; and Vance, on leaving the District Attorney's office, rode direct to Carnegie Hall. He sat through the concert in a state of relaxed receptivity, and afterward insisted on walking the two miles back to his quarters--an almost unheard-of thing for him.
Shortly after dinner Vance bade me good night and, donning his slippers and house-robe, went into the library. I had considerable work to do that night, and it was long past midnight when I finished. On the way to my room I passed the library door, which had been left slightly ajar, and I saw Vance sitting at his desk--his head in his hands, the summary lying before him--in an attitude of oblivious concentration. He was smoking, as was habitual with him during any sort of mental activity; and the ash- receiver at his elbow was filled with cigarette-stubs. I moved on quietly, marvelling at the way this new problem had taken hold of him.
It was half-past three in the morning when I suddenly awoke, conscious of footsteps somewhere in the house. Rising quietly, I went into the hall, drawn by a vague curiosity mingled with uneasiness. At the end of the corridor a panel of light fell on the wall, and as I moved forward in the semi-darkness I saw that the light issued from the partly-open library door. At the same time I became aware that the footsteps, too, came from that room. I could not resist looking inside; and there I saw Vance walking up and down, his chin sunk on his breast, his hands crammed into the deep pockets of his dressing-gown. The room was dense with cigarette- smoke, and his figure appeared misty in the blue haze. I went back to bed and lay awake for an hour. When finally I dozed off it was to the accompaniment of those rhythmic footfalls in the library.
I rose at eight o'clock. It was a dark, dismal Sunday, and I had my coffee in the living-room by electric light. When I glanced into the library at nine Vance was still there, sitting at his desk. The reading- lamp was burning, but the fire on the hearth had died out. Returning to the living-room, I tried to interest myself in the Sunday newspapers; but after scanning the accounts of the Greene case I lit my pipe and drew up my chair before the grate.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Vance appeared at the door. All night he had been up, wrestling with his self-imposed problem; and the devitalizing effects of this long, sleepless concentration showed on him only too plainly. There were shadowed circles around his eyes; his mouth was drawn; and even his shoulders sagged wearily. But, despite the shock his appearance gave me, my dominant emotion was one of avid curiosity. I wanted to know the outcome of this all-night vigil; and as he came into the room I gave him a look of questioning expectancy.
When his eyes met mine he nodded slowly.
"I've traced the design," he said, holding out his hands to the warmth of the fire. "And it's more horrible than I even imagined." He was silent for some minutes. "Telephone Markham for me, will you, Van? Tell him I must see him at once. Ask him to come to breakfast. Explain that I'm a bit fagged."
He went out, and I heard him calling to Currie to prepare his bath.
I had no difficulty in inducing Markham to breakfast with us after I had explained the situation; and in less than an hour he arrived. Vance was dressed and shaved, and looked considerably fresher than when I had first seen him that morning; but he was still pale, and his eyes were fatigued.
No mention was made of the Greene case during breakfast, but when we had sought easy chairs in the library, Markham could withhold his impatience no longer.
"Van intimated over the phone that you had made something out of the summary."
"Yes." Vance spoke dispiritedly. "I've fitted all the items together. And it's damnable! No wonder the truth escaped us."
Markham leaned forward, his face tense, unbelieving. "You know the truth?"
"Yes, I know," came the quiet answer. "That is, my brain has told me conclusively who's at the bottom of this fiendish affair; but even now-- in the daylight--I can't credit it. Everything in me revolts against the acceptance of the truth. The fact is, I'm almost afraid to accept it... Dash it all, I'm getting mellow. Middle-age has crept upon me." He attempted to smile, but failed.
Markham waited in silence.
"No, old man," continued Vance; "I'm not going to tell you now. I can't tell you until I've looked into one or two matters. You see, the pattern is plain enough, but the recognizable objects, set in their new relationships, are grotesque--like the shapes in an awful dream. I must first touch them and measure them to make su
re that they're not, after all, mere abortive vagaries."
"And how long will this verification take?" Markham knew there was no use to try to force the issue. He realized that Vance was fully conscious of the seriousness of the situation, and respected his decision to investigate certain points before revealing his conclusions.
"Not long, I hope." Vance went to his desk and wrote something on a piece of paper, which he handed to Markham. "Here's a list of the five books in Tobias's library that showed signs of having been read by the nocturnal visitor. I want those books, Markham--immediately. But I don't want anyone to know about their being taken away. Therefore, I'm going to ask you to phone Nurse O'Brien to get Mrs. Greene's key and secure them when no one is looking. Tell her to wrap them up and give them to the detective on guard in the house with instructions to bring them here. You can explain to her what section of the book-shelves they're in."
Markham took the paper and rose without a word. At the door of the den, however, he paused.
"Do you think it wise for the man to leave the house?"
"It won't matter," Vance told him. "Nothing more can happen there at present."
Markham went on into the den. In a few minutes he returned.
"The books will be here in half an hour."
When the detective arrived with the package Vance unwrapped it and laid the volumes beside his chair.
"Now, Markham, I'm going to do some reading. You won't mind, what?" Despite his casual tone, it was evident that an urgent seriousness underlay his words.
Markham got up immediately; and again I marvelled at the complete understanding that existed between these two desperate men.
"I have a number of personal letters to write," he said, "so I'll run along. Currie's omelette was excellent.--When shall I see you again? I could drop round at tea-time."
Vance held out his hand with a look bordering on affection.
"Make it five o'clock. I'll be through with my perusings by then. And thanks for your tolerance." Then he added gravely: "You'll understand, after I've told you everything, why I wanted to wait a bit."
When Markham returned that afternoon a little before five Vance was still reading in the library; but shortly afterward he joined us in the living- room.
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