Markham looked up in exasperated surprise.
"But, Vance," he protested, "we can't let things remain as they are. We must do something immediately. . . . Must you go? And where are you going?"
Vance ignored the first question.
"I am going shopping," he returned, moving toward the door.
Markham sprang to his feet resentfully.
"Shopping! What, in the name of Heaven, are you going shopping for, at such a time?"
Vance turned and gave Markham a whimsical smile.
"For a suit of clothes, old dear," he replied.
Markham spluttered, but before he could articulate his indignation Vance added:
"I'll phone you at the office later." And with a tantalizing wave of the hand, he disappeared through the door.
Markham resumed his chair in sullen silence. He finished his wine, lighted a fresh cigar, and went off to his office in a taxicab.
I remained at the apartment and tried to catch up on some of my neglected work. Unable, however, to concentrate on figures and balances, I returned to the library and began travelling round the world on Vance's specially built short-wave radio set. I picked up a beautiful Brahms symphony concert from Berlin. After listening to the Akademische Fest-Ouverture and the E-minor Symphony, I tuned off and tried to work out a chess problem that Vance had recently posed for me.
Vance returned to the apartment a little before four o'clock that afternoon. He was carrying a moderate-sized package, neatly wrapped in heavy brown paper, which he placed on the centre-table. He seemed unduly serious and scarcely nodded to me.
Currie, having heard him, came in and was about to take his hat and stick, when Vance said:
"Leave them here. I'll be going out again immediately. But you might put the contents of this package in a small hand-bag for me."
Currie took the package from the table and went into the bedroom.
Vance relaxed in his favorite chair in front of the window and abstractedly lighted one of his Régies.
"So Markham hasn't shown up yet--eh, what?" he murmured, half to himself. "I phoned him from Whitehall Street to meet me here at four." He glanced at his watch. "He was a bit annoyed with me over the wire. . . . I do hope he comes. It's most important." He rose and began pacing up and down the room; and I realized that something momentous was occupying his thoughts.
Currie came back with the hand-bag and stood at the door, awaiting orders.
"Take it down-stairs and put it in the tonneau of the car," Vance directed, hardly lifting his eyes.
Shortly after Currie had returned, the door-bell rang and Vance came to an expectant halt.
"That should be Markham," he said.
A few moments later Markham entered the library.
"Well, here I am," he announced irritably, without a word of greeting. "I answered your curt summons, though God knows why."
"Really, y' know," Vance returned placatingly, "I didn't mean to be curt. . . ."
"Well, did you have any success in getting your suit?" Markham asked sarcastically, glancing round the room.
Vance nodded.
"Oh, yes, but I didn't bring all of the new integuments with me--only the shoes and gloves. They're in the car now."
Markham waited without speaking: there was something in Vance's manner and tone which belied the trivial signification of his words.
"The truth is, Markham," Vance went on, "I think--that is, I hope--I have found a plausible explanation for the horrors of the last two days."
"In a new sartorial outfit?" Markham asked, with irony.
Vance inclined his head soberly.
"Yes, yes. Just that--in a new sartorial outfit. . . . If I am right, the thing is fiendish beyond words. But there's no other rational explanation. It's inevitable from a purely academic point of view. But the problem is to prove, from a practical point of view, that my theory fits the known facts."
Markham stood by the library table, resting both hands on it and studying Vance with interrogative sharpness.
"What's the theory--and what are the facts you've got to check?"
Vance shook his head slowly.
"The theory can wait," he replied, without looking at Markham. "And the facts cannot be checked here." He drew himself up, threw his cigarette into the fireplace, and picked up his hat and stick. "Come, the car awaits us, old dear," he said, with an effort at lightness. "We're proceeding to Inwood. And I'd be deuced grateful if you'd refrain from plying me with leading questions on our way out."
I shall never forget the ride to the Stamm estate that afternoon. Nothing was said en route and yet I felt that terrible and final events were portending. A sense of awe-stricken excitement pervaded me; and I think that Markham experienced the same feeling to some degree, for he sat motionless, gazing out of the car window with eyes that did not focus on any of the immediate objects we passed.
The weather was almost unbearable. The terrific storm that had broken over us during our drive to Vance's apartment had neither cleared nor cooled the atmosphere. There was a sultry haze in the air and, in addition to the suffocating humidity, the heat seemed to have increased.
When we arrived at the Stamm residence, Detective Burke admitted us. As we came into the front hall, Heath, who had evidently just entered through the side door, hurried forward.
"They've taken Greeff's body away," he reported. "And I've kept the boys busy on the usual routine stuff. But there's no new information for you. We're up against a blank wall, if you ask me."
Vance looked at him significantly.
"Nothing else on your mind, Sergeant?"
Heath nodded with a slow grin.
"Sure thing. I was waiting for you to ask me. . . . We found the wheelbarrow."
"Stout fella!"
"It was in that clump of trees alongside the East Road, about fifty feet this side of the pot-holes. When I got back Hennessey told me about it, and I thought I would take a look around. You know that open sandy space between the Clove and the Bird Refuge--well, I went over that ground pretty thoroughly, knowing what you had in mind, and I found a narrow wheel-track and a lot of depressions that might easily be footprints. So I guess you were right, sir."
Markham glanced severely from Heath to Vance.
"Right about what?" he asked, with annoyance.
"One of the details connected with Greeff's death," Vance answered. "But wait till I check on the things that led up to the wheelbarrow episode. . . ."
At this moment Leland, with Bernice Stamm at his side, came through the portières of the drawing-room into the front hall. He appeared somewhat embarrassed.
"Miss Stamm and I could not stand the noise," he explained; "so we left the others in the library and came to the drawing-room. It was too sultry outdoors--the house is more bearable."
Vance appeared to dismiss the other's comments as unimportant.
"Is everybody in the library now?" he asked.
"Every one but Stamm. He has spent most of the afternoon setting up a windlass on the other side of the pool. He intends to get that fallen rock out today. He asked me to help him, but it was too hot. And, anyway, I was not in the mood for that sort of thing."
"Where is Stamm now?" Vance asked.
"He has gone down the road, I believe, to get a couple of men to operate the windlass for him."
Bernice Stamm moved toward the front stairs.
"I think I'll go to my room and lie down for a while," she said, with a curious catch in her voice. Leland's troubled eyes followed her as she disappeared slowly up the stairs. Then he turned back to Vance.
"Can I be of any assistance?" he asked. "I probably should have helped Stamm with the rock, but the fact is there were several matters I wanted to talk over with Miss Stamm. She is taking this whole thing far more tragically than she will admit even to herself. She is really at the breaking-point; and I felt that I ought to be with her as much as possible."
"Quite so." Vance studied the man penetratingly.
Leland hesitated. Then he said:
"Her mother sent for me shortly after lunch. She had seen Stamm go down to the pool, and she implored me rather hysterically to bring him back to the house. She was somewhat incoherent in her explanation of why she wanted him here. All I could get out of her was that there was some danger lurking in the pool for him,--the dragon superstition coming back into her mind, no doubt,--and after I had a talk with Mrs. Schwarz, I telephoned Doctor Holliday. He is up-stairs with her now."
Vance kept his eyes on Leland, and did not speak immediately. At length he said:
"We must ask you to remain here for a while."
Leland looked up and met Vance's gaze.
"I will be on the north terrace--if you should want me." He took a deep breath, turned quickly, and walked down the hall.
When he had closed the side door after him, Vance turned to Burke.
"Stay in the hall here till we return," he instructed the detective. "And see that no one goes down to the pool."
Burke saluted and moved away toward the stairs.
"Where's Snitkin, Sergeant?" Vance asked.
"After the wagon came for Greeff's body," Heath informed him, "I told him to wait at the East Road gate."
Vance turned toward the front door.
"That being that, I think we'll hop down to the pool. But we'll take the car as far as the little cement walk, and approach from that side."
Markham looked puzzled, but said nothing; and we followed Vance down the front steps to his car.
We drove down the East Road as far as the gate, picked up Snitkin, and then backed up to the tree-lined cement walk, where Vance halted. When we got out of the car Vance reached into the tonneau and took out the hand-bag that he had directed Currie to put there. Then he led the way down the walk to the low area of ground at the northeast corner of the pool. To our left, near the filter, was a large circular wooden windlass, well anchored in the ground, and beside it lay a coil of heavy sisal rope. But Stamm, evidently, had not yet returned.
"Stamm's a neat chap," Vance commented casually, looking at the windlass. "He's made a pretty good job of that winch. It'll take a lot of energy, though, to get that rock out of the pool. Good exercise, however--excellent for one's psychic balance."
Markham was impatient.
"Did you bring me all the way out here," he asked, "to discuss the advantages of physical exercise?"
"My dear Markham!" Vance reproved him mildly. Then he added sombrely: "It may be I've brought you on an even more foolish errand. And yet--I wonder. . . ."
We were standing at the end of the cement walk. Vance took up his hand-bag and started across the fifteen feet or so, which divided us from the rim of the pool.
"Please stay where you are just a minute," he requested. "I have a bit of an experiment to make."
He crossed the grass to the muddy bank. When he came within a few feet of the water, he bent over, placing the hand-bag in front of him. His body partly shielded it from our view, so that none of us could quite make out what he was doing with it. This particular part of the ground, always moist from its direct contact with the water, was, at this time, unusually soft and yielding, owing to the heavy downpour of rain early in the afternoon.
From where I stood I could see Vance open the bag before him. He reached into it and took out something. Then he bent over almost to the edge of the water, and leaned forward on one hand. After a moment he drew back; and again I saw him reach into the bag. Once more he bent forward, and threw all his weight on his extended hands.
Markham moved a little to one side, in order to get a better view of Vance's activities; but apparently he was unable to see what was going on, for he shrugged impatiently, sighed deeply, and thrust his hands into his pockets with a movement of exasperation. Both Heath and Snitkin stood looking on placidly, without the slightest indication of any emotion.
Then I heard the bag snap shut. Vance knelt on it for several moments, as if inspecting the edge of the pool. Finally he stood up and placed the bag to one side. He reached in his pocket, took out a cigarette, and deliberately lighted it. Slowly he turned, looked at us hesitantly, and beckoned to us to join him.
When we reached him he pointed to the flat surface on the muddy ground, near the water, and asked in a strained voice:
"What do you see?"
We bent over the small section of ground he had indicated; and there, in the mud, were outlined two familiar demarcations. One was like the imprint of a great scaly hoof; and the other resembled the impression of a three-taloned claw.
Markham was leaning over them curiously.
"Good Heavens, Vance! What's the meaning of this? They're like the marks we saw on the bottom of the pool!"
Heath, his serenity shaken for the moment, shifted his startled gaze to Vance's face, but made no comment.
Snitkin had already knelt down in the mud and was inspecting the imprints closely.
"What do you think about them?" Vance asked him.
Snitkin did not reply immediately. He continued his examination of the two marks. Then he slowly got to his feet and nodded several times with thoughtful emphasis.
"They're the same as the ones I made copies of," he declared. "No mistaking 'em, sir." He looked inquiringly at Heath. "But I didn't see these imprints on the bank when I was making the drawings."
"They weren't here then," Vance explained. "But I wanted you to see them, nevertheless--to make sure they were the same as the others. . . . I just made these myself."
"How did you make them--and with what?" Markham demanded angrily.
"With part of the sartorial outfit I purchased today," Vance told him. "The new gloves and the new shoes, don't y' know." Despite his smile his eyes were grave.
He picked up the hand-bag and walked back toward the cement path.
"Come, Markham," he said, "I'll show you what I mean. But we had better go back to the car. It's beastly damp here by the pool."
He entered the spacious tonneau, and we did likewise, wondering. Snitkin stood in the road by the open door, with one foot on the running-board.
Vance opened the bag and, reaching into it, drew out the most unusual pair of gloves I had ever seen. They were made of heavy rubber, with gauntlets extending about six inches above the wrists; and though they had a division for the thumb, they had only two broad tapering fingers. They looked like some monster's three-pronged talons.
"These gloves, Markham," Vance explained, "are technically known as two-fingered diving mittens. They are the United States Navy standard pattern, and are constructed in this fashion for convenience when it is necess'ry to have the use of the fingers under water. They are adapted to the most difficult types of submarine work. And it was with one of these gloves that I just made the mark on the earth there."
Markham was speechless for a moment; then he tore his fascinated gaze from the gloves and looked up at Vance.
"Do you mean to tell me it was with a pair of gloves like those that the imprints were made on the bottom of the pool!"
Vance nodded and tossed the gloves back into the bag.
"Yes, they explain the claw-marks of the dragon. . . . And here is what made the dragon's hoof-prints in the silt of the pool."
Reaching into the bag again, he brought out a pair of enormous, strange-looking foot-gear. They had heavy solid-brass bottoms with thick leather tops; and across the instep and the ankle were wide leather straps, with huge buckles.
"Diving shoes, Markham," Vance remarked. "Also standard equipment. . . . Look at the corrugations on the metal soles, made to prevent slipping."
He turned one of the shoes over, and there, etched, in the brass, were scale-like ridges and grooves, such as are found in the tread of an automobile tire.
There was a long silence. This revelation of Vance's had started, in all of us, new processes of speculative thought. Heath's face was rigid and dour, and
Snitkin stood staring at the shoes with an air of fascinated curiosity. It was Markham who first roused himself.
"Good God!" he exclaimed, in a low tone, as if expressing his feelings aloud, but without reference to any listener. "I'm beginning to see. . . ." Then he turned his eyes quickly to Vance. "But what about the suit you were going to get?"
"I saw the suit when I purchased the shoes and gloves," Vance replied, inspecting his cigarette thoughtfully. "It really wasn't necess'ry to own it, once I had seen it, and its workability had been explained to me. But I had to make sure, don't y' know,--it was essential to find the missing integers of my theory. However, I needed the shoes and gloves to experiment with. I wanted to prove, d' ye see, the existence of the diving suit."
Markham inclined his head comprehendingly, but there was still a look of awe and incredulity in his eyes.
"I see what you mean," he murmured. "There's a diving suit and a similar pair of shoes and gloves somewhere about here. . . ."
"Yes, yes. Somewhere hereabouts. And there's also an oxygen tank. . . ." His voice drifted off, and his eyes became dreamy. "They must be near at hand," he added, "--somewhere on the estate."
"The dragon's outfit!" mumbled Markham, as if following some inner train of thought.
"Exactly." Vance nodded and threw his cigarette out of the car window. "And that outfit should be somewhere near the pool. There wasn't time to carry it away. It couldn't have been taken back to the house--that would have been too dangerous. And it couldn't have been left where it might have been accidentally discovered. . . . There was design in these crimes--a careful plotting of details. Nothing haphazard, nothing fortuitous--"
He broke off suddenly and, rising quickly, stepped out of the car.
"Come, Markham! There's a chance!" There was suppressed excitement in his voice. "By Jove! it's the only chance. The equipment must be there--it couldn't be anywhere else. It's a hideous idea--gruesome beyond words--but maybe . . . maybe."
CHAPTER XX
THE FINAL LINK
(Monday, August 13; 5 p. m.)
Vance hastened back down the cement walk toward the pool, with the rest of us close behind him, not knowing where he was leading us and with only a vague idea of his object. But there was something in his tone, as well as in his dynamic action, which had taken a swift and strong hold on all of us. I believe that Markham and Heath, like myself, felt that the end of this terrible case was near, and that Vance, through some subtle contact with the truth, had found the road which led to its culmination.
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