Philo Vance 12 Novels Complete Bundle

by S. S. Van Dine

  "Illuminatin' comments," murmured Vance. "And young Doctor Kane? . . ."

  "Oh, he doesn't count. He's serious about Amelia, though, and he'll always be her slave. He's doomed for life to play Cayley Drummle to her Paula Tanqueray. She'd rather fancy it, too. Selfish as they come."

  "A pathological household," commented Vance.

  Llewellyn took no offense. He merely showed his teeth and said:

  "That's just the word. Every one tangential to the norm. Like all old families with too much money and no object in life but to incubate hatred and hatch plots."

  Vance looked at Llewellyn with vague, almost pathetic, curiosity.

  "Do you know anything about poisons?" he asked unexpectedly.

  The man chuckled unpleasantly: the question seemed to leave him entirely unimpressed.

  "No," he said readily. "But there's evidently some one else around here who knows a hell of a lot about poisons."

  "There are several fairly comprehensive volumes on the subject in the little library yonder," Vance remarked, with a casual wave of the hand.

  "What!" Llewellyn started up. "Books on poison--here?" His eyes glared at Vance for a moment as if in surprised horror. Then he sank back and fumbled with his pipe.

  "Does the fact astonish you?" Vance's voice was particularly mild.

  "No, no; of course not," Llewellyn answered almost inaudibly. "For the moment perhaps--it brought things pretty close to home. Then I remembered my father's scientific interests . . . probably some of his old books. . . ."

  A thoughtful frown had settled on Llewellyn's forehead: his eyes had narrowed to intense speculation. A train of unpleasant suspicions seemed to be running through his mind, and he held himself almost rigid.

  Without appearing to do so, Vance watched him for several moments before speaking.

  "That will be all for the present, Mr. Llewellyn," he said in polite dismissal. "You may go upstairs. If we need you further we'll notify you. You'd better stay in today and rest. Sorry to have upset you by mentioning the treatises on toxicology."

  The man had risen and was already at the door.

  "You didn't upset me exactly," he said, halting. "You see, Kane's a doctor, and Bloodgood took a degree in chemistry at college, and Kinkaid wrote a whole chapter on Oriental poisons in one of his travel books--"

  "Yes, yes, I understand perfectly," Vance interrupted with a slight show of impatience. "They wouldn't have needed the aid of the books, of course. And if the books were used as source material for what happened yesterday, that might narrow the thing down to you and your mother and your sister. And you and your sister were both victims of the plot. So that leaves only your mother as the person who might have made use of the books. . . . Something like that went through your mind--eh, what?"

  Llewellyn drew himself up aggressively.

  "No, nothing of the kind!" he protested vigorously.

  "My mistake," Vance muttered, with a curious note of sympathy in his voice. "By the by, Mr. Llewellyn, I meant to ask you: did you, by any chance, go to your medicine cabinet for any purpose this morning?"

  The man shook his head thoughtfully.

  "No-o. . . . I'm sure I didn't."

  "It doesn't matter. Some one did." Vance returned to his chair, and Llewellyn, with a shrug, left us.

  "What do you make of him, Vance?" Markham asked.

  "He's sufferin'." Vance sighed meditatively. "Full of morbid ideas. And worryin' abominably over mama. Sad case. . . ."

  "He said he had a theory about last night. Why didn't you urge him to expound it to us?"

  "It would have been too painful, revealin' only his state of mind. Yes, too painful. I'm burstin' with sorrow, as it is. I cannot bear much more, Markham. I want to go far away. I want to bask in sunshine. I want to see Santa Claus. I want to eat some real English sole. I want to hear Beethoven's C-sharp minor quartet. . . ."

  CHAPTER X

  THE POST-MORTEM REPORT

  (Sunday, October 16; 11:15 a. m.)

  Sergeant Heath appeared at the door.

  "The young doc's just coming downstairs. Want to see him, sir?"

  Vance hesitated; then nodded.

  "Yes, ask him to come in here, Sergeant."

  Heath disappeared and a moment later Doctor Kane entered the drawing-room. His face was drawn and haggard as if from insufficient rest, but the look of strain and apprehension had gone from his eyes. His manner was almost cheerful as he greeted us.

  "How is your patient this morning?" Vance asked him.

  "Practically normal, sir. I remained here a couple of hours after you gentlemen went last night, and Miss Llewellyn was resting quietly when I left. Naturally she feels weak this morning and is highly nervous; but her pulse and respiration and blood-pressure are normal."

  "Have you any suggestion, doctor," Vance asked, "as to what drug it was that brought about her condition last night?"

  Doctor Kane pursed his lips and looked into space.

  "No," he returned at length, "--though I've naturally thought about the matter a good deal. Her symptoms were the usual ones of collapse--nothing distinctive about them--and, of course, there are a number of drugs that, therapeutically speaking, could have produced them. An overdose of any one of the various proprietary sleeping powders containing the barbiturates might have done it. But, you can understand, I shouldn't care to express an opinion offhand. I had intended to do a little research on the subject as soon as I return to my office."

  Vance did not push the subject. He let the doctor go and then sent for the butler.

  Smith was as imperturbable as ever, and his face was still pale.

  "Please tell Miss Llewellyn," Vance said, "that we should like to have a few words with her, either in her own quarters or here in the drawing-room--whichever is more convenient for her."

  The butler bowed and went out. On returning he informed Vance that Miss Llewellyn would see us in her room, and we went upstairs.

  The girl was reclining on a chaise-longue, dressed in elaborately embroidered Japanese pyjamas. At her side stood a small red-lacquered tabouret on which were a complete cigarette service, a few art magazines, and a silver statuette of abstract design in imitation of Archipenko. Her greeting to us was a curt nod and a cynical attempt at a smile.

  "Your visit, I understand from Doctor Kane, just missed coming under the head of 'viewing the remains.'"

  "We are delighted," Vance returned seriously, "to find you so much better."

  "But some one," she said bitterly, "surely will not take my recovery in so charitable a light." She shrugged slightly and made a grimace. "I'm beginning to feel like a visitor at the Borgias' palace. I was positively afraid to take my toast and coffee this morning."

  Vance nodded understandingly.

  "I doubt, though, that you need have any further fear. Something went radically wrong last night. The poisoner must have lost his way among unforeseen coincidences. And by the time he has reassembled his lines and planned another campaign of action, we hope to have the situation well in hand. We at least know now where we must look for indicat'ry activities."

  Amelia Llewellyn glanced up quizzically and all cynicism faded from her face.

  "That sounds," she remarked, "as if you knew more than you are divulging."

  "Yes--quite. Considerably more. But not enough. Still, we're forrader, and always hoping. . . . You've seen your brother? He's quite recovered. And he got an uglier jolt than you did."

  "Yes," the girl mused. "We're the two failures. It's quite like us, you know. We're always disappointing somebody."

  "I trust," said Vance, "I sha'n't disappoint you in this case. In the meanwhile would you mind if I took a peep in your clothes closet and made a little experiment there?"

  "Peep and experiment, by all means. I'd be delighted." She waved her arm almost gayly toward a door at her left.

  Vance went to it and opened it. The space beyond was, as she had explained to us the night before, an old-fashioned passageway
which had connected the two main rooms in the south wing of the house. There was a shoe-rack and a small cupboard on the right, and on the left hung a long row of dresses and gowns. Halfway down the passage there still remained the old marble-topped washbasin with its two high swan-necked spigots. At the opposite end of the improvised closet another door was visible. Vance walked to it and opened it, and we could see through into the large bedroom where Virginia Llewellyn had met her tragic end.

  Vance came back to us and, turning to me, said:

  "Van, go into the other room, close both doors and stand beside the bed. Then call to me in a fairly loud voice. When you hear me knock on the farther door, call again in the same tone of voice."

  I went through the clothes closet into the farther room and, standing beside the bed on which Virginia Llewellyn had died, called out. After a few moments I heard Vance's knock on the door, and I called again. Then Vance opened the door.

  "That's all, Van. Many thanks."

  When we were again in Amelia Llewellyn's room, the girl gave Vance a satirical look.

  "And what, Monsieur Lecoq," she asked, "did you learn?"

  "Merely that you told us the truth regarding the acoustic possibilities between the two rooms," Vance returned lightly. "I could not hear Mr. Van Dine with both doors shut, but I did hear him distinctly while standing in the clothes closet."

  The girl drew a deep dramatic sigh.

  "I'm so glad to have my veracity proved for once. Mother's favorite criticism of me is that I would always rather lie than tell the truth."

  "Speaking of your mother"--Vance sat down and regarded the girl with serious eyes--"I want you to tell us just how you came to drink the glass of water in your mother's room last night."

  Amelia Llewellyn sobered quickly under Vance's grave tone.

  "How does one ever come to take a drink of water?--I only know that I felt thirsty and instinctively reached for the water that stood at my side. I was going to wait there until mother came back. I was naturally upset and wanted to talk to some one--"

  "Did you taste anything peculiar about the water?"

  "No. It seemed perfectly all right."

  "How much water was in the jug?"

  "Barely a glassful. I vaguely remember wishing there had been more. But I was too lazy to get up. When mother returned I had a raging headache and my ears were pounding, and I felt terribly weak. My mind was confused, and I started for my own room. That's all I recall."

  "You distinctly remember your mother's return to the room?"

  "Oh, yes. We said something to each other--I don't recall just what it was. I probably complained about my headache--but everything was spinning around by that time."

  "When you first felt thirsty--that is, before you took the drink of water--did you mention the fact to your mother?"

  The girl thought a moment. Then she answered:

  "No. Mother was at the dressing-table, beautifying herself for the interview with you. I don't think we spoke to each other then. I merely reached over and helped myself to what water there was in the jug, and mother swept grandly and haughtily from the room."

  "What of the water in your own carafe last night?" Vance asked. "The maid said she filled it. But while you were unconscious in your mother's room, your carafe was inspected and found to be empty."

  "Yes, I know it was empty. I drank all the water it contained while I was sketching earlier in the night." Her eyes opened a little wider. "Was my water poisoned too?"

  Vance shook his head.

  "No, it couldn't have been. Too much time elapsed after you had taken it. You would have felt the effects of the poison within half an hour, at the most. . . ."

  Vance turned suddenly and went softly to the hall door. He turned the knob carefully and then swiftly drew the door inward. In the corridor, facing us, stood Richard Kinkaid.

  Not a muscle of his face moved to show that Vance's sudden action had disconcerted him. He took his cigarette slowly from his mouth and bowed with curt formality.

  "Good morning, Mr. Vance," he said in a cold steady voice. "I came down to inquire about my niece. But when I heard voices in the room I thought you and Mr. Markham might be here, and I didn't care to disturb you. But you evidently heard me. . . ."

  "Yes, yes. I heard some one moving outside the door." Vance stood to one side. "We were just asking Miss Llewellyn a few questions. But we're through now. . . . She is much better this morning."

  Kinkaid stepped into the room, and, after greeting his niece with a conventional phrase or two, he sat down.

  "Any further developments?" he asked, lifting his head to Vance with a shrewd, calculating look.

  "Oh, any number," Vance returned non-committally. "We're bringin' in the sheaves, as it were. But we're not rejoicin' just yet. . . . However, I'm glad you dropped in. I wanted to ask you, before we went, for Bloodgood's address. We're particularly anxious to have a little chat with the gentleman."

  Kinkaid's jaw tightened, and the look in his eyes became harder. But there was no other indication that he was surprised by Vance's remarks.

  "Bloodgood lives at the Astoria Hotel in 22nd Street," he said, and slowly broke the ashes of his cigarette in a tray at his side. "However," he added, with a slight note of contempt in his voice, "you're barking up the wrong tree there. But go ahead and question him, by all means. He'll be at his hotel all day--I just talked to him on the phone. But you'll be wasting your time--Bloodgood's as straight as a die."

  "I really don't know the chap very well," Vance murmured. "But in view of the fact that it was he who ordered the plain water for Lynn Llewellyn last night at the Casino, it might be interestin' to have his views on the subject, don't y' know."

  Amelia Llewellyn, who had perceptibly stiffened at the mention of Bloodgood's name, now stood up and stared at Vance defiantly, with blazing eyes.

  "What do you mean by that?" she demanded. "Are you accusing Mr. Bloodgood of giving the poison to Lynn?"

  "My dear young lady!"

  "For if you are," the girl went on in a cold angry tone, "I can tell you exactly who's responsible for everything that happened to this family last night."

  Vance gazed at her calmly, and the chill of his tone matched hers.

  "When the truth becomes known, Miss Llewellyn," he said, "your testimony will not, I fear, be needed." He bowed formally to her and to Kinkaid, and we took our departure.

  When we were about to descend to the main floor Vance hesitated and then went down the hall toward Mrs. Llewellyn's room.

  "There's one little matter I should like to mention to the lady of the house before we go," he explained to Markham, as he tapped on the door.

  Mrs. Llewellyn received us with ill grace, and her manner was one of marked antagonism.

  Vance apologized for disturbing her.

  "I merely wished to tell you, as a matter of possible interest to you, that your son seemed greatly perturbed when I informed him of the volumes on toxicology in the library downstairs. He appeared to have been unaware of their existence."

  "And how should that be of interest to me?" the woman retorted with frigid disdain. "My son does not read much--his literary needs are entirely satisfied by the theatre. I doubt if he is familiar with the titles of any of the books his father left. Nothing could be more alien to his interests than scientific research. And his perturbation over the existence of books on poisons in this house is, I assure you, perfectly natural in view of the experience through which he went last night."

  Vance nodded as if satisfied with the explanation.

  "That's quite plausible," he murmured. "And perhaps you can give us as colorable an explanation as to why you yourself spent part of this morning in the library."

  "So my movements are being spied upon!" This was said with scathing and vindictive indignation; but a change quickly came over the woman's attitude. Her eyes contracted and a shrewd smile appeared on her lips. "The intimation beneath your words is, I suppose, that I myself was consulting the
se particular books on poisons."

  Vance waited, and the woman went on.

  "Well, that's exactly what I was doing. If it will help your inquiries: I was looking for some common drug that might account for the condition of my son and daughter last night."

  "And did you find any reference to such a drug, madam?"

  "No! I did not."

  Vance left the matter there. He made his adieux and added:

  "There will be no more spying--for the time being, at least. The police will be removed from your house, and you and your family are free to come and go as you please."

  When we were again downstairs Markham drew Vance into the drawing-room.

  "See here, Vance," he asked with deep concern, "aren't you being a bit hasty?"

  "My dear Markham," Vance chided him, "I'm never hasty. Slow and ploddin' and cautious. The human tortoise. I must have reasons for everything I do. And I now have excellent reasons for temporarily removing all supervision from the Llewellyn domicile."

  "Still," demurred Markham, "I don't like the situation here, and I think it should be watched."

  "A virtuous idea. But not helpful." Vance contemplated Markham plaintively. "Watching won't help us. I was invited to watch Lynn's passing out. And we were all in the house watching last night when Amelia was smitten. Really, y' know, we can't be expected to supply every member of the Llewellyn family with a bodyguard indefinitely."

  Markham studied Vance closely, as if trying to read the other's thoughts.

  "That was a peculiar remark of the girl's about her knowing who's responsible for this affair. Do you believe her, perhaps?"

  "Oh, my dear Markham!" Vance sighed dolefully. "It's too early to begin believing anybody. Our only hope lies in complete skepticism. Honest doubtin'--not thought highly of, but most efficacious at times. It gives the mind a chance for free functioning."