Philo Vance 12 Novels Complete Bundle

by S. S. Van Dine

  At an old and somewhat dilapidated walnut secretary sat a thin, sickly youth, with straight dark hair which fell forward over his forehead, and large, prominent features. There was no mistaking mother and son. The pale youth held a magnifying glass in one hand and was moving it back and forth over a page of exhibits in a stamp album which was propped up at an angle facing the light.

  "These gentlemen wish to speak to you, Mrs. Falloway," Kenyon Kenting said in an unfriendly tone. (It was obvious that an antagonism of some kind existed between the woman and this man on whose bounty she depended.) "I won't remain," Kenting added. "I think I'd better join Madelaine." He went to the door and opened it. "I'll be downstairs if you should need me." This last remark was addressed to Vance.

  When he had gone, Vance took a few steps toward the woman with an air of solicitation.

  "Perhaps you remember me, Mrs. Falloway--" he began.

  "Oh, very well, Mr. Vance. It is very pleasant to see you again. Do sit down in that armchair there, and try to imagine that this meager room is a Louis-Seize salon." There was a note of apology in her voice, accompanied by an unmistakable undertone of rancor.

  Vance bowed formally.

  "Any room you grace, Mrs. Falloway," he said, "becomes the most charming of salons." He did not accept her invitation to sit down, however, but remained standing deferentially.

  "What do you make of this situation?" she went on. "And do you really think anything has happened to my son-in-law?" Her voice was hard and low-pitched.

  "I really cannot say just yet," Vance answered. "We were hopin' you might be able to help us." He casually presented the others of us, and the woman acknowledged the introductions with dignified graciousness.

  "This is my son, Fraim," she said, waving with a bony hand toward the anæmic young man at the secretary.

  Fraim Falloway rose awkwardly and inclined his head without a word; then he sank back listlessly into his chair.

  "Philatelist?" asked Vance, studying the youth.

  "I collect American stamps." There was no enthusiasm in the lethargic voice, and Vance did not pursue the subject.

  "Did you hear anything in the house early this morning?" Vance went on. "That is, did you hear Mr. Kaspar Kenting come in--or any kind of a noise between three and six o'clock?"

  Fraim Falloway shook his head without any show of interest.

  "I didn't hear anything," he said. "I was asleep."

  Vance turned to the mother.

  "Did you hear anything, Mrs. Falloway?"

  "I heard Kaspar come in--he woke me up banging the front door shut." She spoke with bitterness. "But that's nothing new. I went to sleep again, however, and didn't know anything had happened until Madelaine and Mr. Kenyon Kenting informed me of it this morning, after my breakfast."

  "Could you suggest any reason," asked Vance, "why any one should wish to kidnap Kaspar Kenting?"

  The woman uttered a harsh, mirthless chuckle.

  "No. But I can give you many reasons why any one should not wish to kidnap him," she returned with a hard, intolerant look. "He is not an admirable character," she went on, "nor a pleasant person to have around. And I regret the day my daughter married him. However," she added--and it seemed to me grudgingly--"I wouldn't wish to see any harm come to the scamp."

  "And why not, mater?" asked Fraim Falloway with a whine. "You know perfectly well he has made us all miserable, including Sis. Personally, I think it's good riddance." The last words were barely audible.

  "Don't be vindictive, son," the woman reproved him with a sudden softening in her tone, as the youth turned back to his stamps.

  Vance sighed as if this interchange between mother and son bored him.

  "Then you are not able, Mrs. Falloway, to suggest any reason for Mr. Kenting's sudden disappearance, or tell us anything that might be at all helpful?"

  "No. I know nothing, and have nothing to tell you." Mrs. Falloway closed her lips with an audible sound.

  "In that case," Vance returned politely, "I think we had better be going downstairs."

  The woman picked up her cane and struggled to her feet, despite Vance's protestations.

  "I wish I could help you," she said with sudden kindliness. "But I am so well isolated these days with my infirmity. Walking, you know, is quite a painful process for me. I'm afraid I'm growing old."

  She limped beside us slowly to the door, her son, who had risen, holding her tightly by one arm and casting reproachful glances at us.

  In the hall Vance waited till the door was shut.

  "An amusing old girl," he remarked. "Her mind is as young and shrewd as it ever was. . . . Unpleasant young citizen, Fraim. He's as ill as the old lady, but he doesn't know it. Endocrine imbalance," Vance continued as we went downstairs. "Needs medical attention. I wonder when he had a basal metabolism taken last. I'd say his chart would read in the minus thirties. May be thyroid. But it's more than possible, y' know, he needs the suprarenal hormone."

  Markham snorted.

  "He simply looks like a weakling to me."

  "Oh, yes. Doubtless. As you say, devoid of stamina. And full of resentment against his fellow-men and especially against his brother-in-law. At any rate, an unpleasant character, Markham."

  "A queer and unwholesome case," Markham commented, half to himself, and then lapsed into thoughtful silence as he descended the stairs with Vance. When we had reached the lower hall Vance went immediately toward the drawing-room and stepped inside.

  Mrs. Kenting, who seemed perturbed and ill at ease, sat rigidly upright on the small sofa where we had first seen her. Her brother-in-law sat beside her, looking at her with a solicitous, comforting air. Fleel was leaning back in an easy chair near the desk, smoking a cigar and endeavoring to maintain a judicious and unconcerned mien.

  Vance glanced about him casually and, drawing up a small, straight-backed chair beside the sofa, sat down and addressed himself to the obviously unhappy woman.

  "I know you told us, Mrs. Kenting," he began, "that you could not describe the men who called on your husband several nights ago. I wish, however, you would make an effort to give us at least a general description of them."

  "It's strange that you should ask me that," the woman said. "I was just speaking to Kenyon about them and trying to recall what they looked like. The fact is, Mr. Vance, I paid little attention to them, but I know that one of them was a large man and seemed to me to have a very thick neck. And, as I recall, there was a lot of grey in his hair; and he may have had a clipped mustache--I really don't remember: it's all very vague. That was the man who came twice. . . ."

  "Your description, madam," remarked Vance, nodding his head, "corresponds to the appearance of a certain gentleman I have in mind; and if it is the same person, your impression regarding the clipped mustache is quite correct--"

  "Oh, who was he, Mr. Vance?" The woman leaned forward eagerly with a show of nervous animation. "Do you think you know who is responsible for this terrible thing?"

  Vance shook his head and smiled sadly.

  "No," he said, "I'm deuced sorry I cannot offer any hope in that particular quarter. If this man who called on your husband is the one I think it is, he is merely a good-natured book-maker who is at times aroused to futile anger when his clients fail to pay their debts. I'm quite sure, don't y' know, that if he should pop in here again at the present moment, you would find him inclined to exert his efforts in your behalf. I fear that we must dismiss him as a possibility. . . . But, by the by, Mrs. Kenting," Vance continued quickly, "can you tell me anything definite about the second man that called on your husband?"

  The woman shook her head vaguely.

  "Almost nothing, Mr. Vance," she returned. "I'm very sorry, but I caught only a glimpse of him. However, I recall that he was much shorter than the first man, and very dark. And my impression is that he was very well dressed. I remember thinking at the time that he seemed far less dangerous than his companion. But I do know that, in the fleeting glimpses I had of both th
e men, they struck me as being undesirable and untrustworthy characters. And I admit I worried about them on Kaspar's account. . . . Oh, I do wish I could tell you more, but I can't."

  Vance thanked her with a slight bow.

  "I can understand just how you felt, and how you feel now," he said in a kindly tone. "But I hardly think that either of these two objectionable visitors are in any way connected with your husband's disappearance. If they had really contemplated anything, I seriously doubt that they would have come here to their proposed victim's home and run the risk of being identified later. The second man--whom you describe as short, dark, and dapper--was probably a gambling-house keeper who had an account against your husband for overenthusiastic wagering. I can easily understand how he might be acquainted with the book-making gentleman who makes his livelihood through the cupidity of persons who persist in the belief that past-performance figures are an indication of how any horse will run at a given time."

  As Vance spoke he rose from his chair and turned to Fleel, who had been listening intently to Vance's brief interchange with Mrs. Kenting.

  "Before we go, sir," Vance said, "we wish to speak with you for a moment in the den. There are one or two points with which I feel you may be able to help us. . . . Do you mind?"

  The lawyer rose with alacrity.

  "I'll be very glad to do whatever I can to be of assistance," he said. "But I'm of the opinion I can tell you nothing more than you already know."

  CHAPTER VII

  THE BLACK OPALS

  (Wednesday, July 20; 1:15 p.m.)

  In the den Fleel seated himself with an easy, confident air and waited for Vance or Markham to speak. His manner was businesslike and competent, despite a certain lack of energy. I had a feeling he could, if he wished, supply us with more accurate and reasoned information than any of the members of the family. But Vance did not question him to any great extent. He seemed uninterested in any phase of the case on which the lawyer might have had information or suggestions to offer.

  "Mr. Kenting tells us," Vance began, "that his brother demanded a large sum of money recently, to meet his debts, and that, when the demand was refused, Kaspar went to you as one of the executors of the estate."

  "That is quite correct," Fleel responded, taking the cigar from his mouth and smoothing the wrapper with a moistened forefinger. "I, too, refused the demand; for, to begin with, I did not entirely believe the story Mr. Kaspar Kenting told me. He has cried 'wolf' so often that I have become skeptical, and did nothing about it. Moreover, Mr. Kenyon Kenting and I had consented to give him a large sum of money--ten thousand dollars, to be exact--only a few weeks ago. There were similar difficulties in which he said he had become involved at the time. We did it then, of course, for his wife's sake more than for his own--as, indeed, we had often done it before; but, unfortunately, no benefit ever accrued to her from these advances on her husband's patrimony."

  "Did Mr. Kaspar see you personally?" asked Vance.

  "No, he did not. He called me on the telephone," Fleel replied. "Frankly, I didn't ask him for any details other than those he volunteered, and I was rather brusque with him. . . . I might say that Kaspar has been a trying problem to the executors of the estate."

  "Despite which," continued Vance, "I imagine his brother, as well as you yourself, will do everything possible to get him back, even to meeting the terms of the ransom note. Am I right?"

  "I see nothing else to be done," the lawyer said without enthusiasm. "Unless, of course, the situation can be satisfactorily adjusted without payment of the ransom money. Of course we don't know for certain whether or not this is a bona fide kidnapping. Kidnapping is a damnable crime. . . ."

  "Quite," agreed Vance with a sigh. "It places every one in a most irksome predicament. But, of course, there is nothing to be done until we have some further word from the supposed abductors. . . ."

  Vance looked up and added quickly:

  "By the by, Mrs. Kenting has informed us that Kaspar spoke to some one on the telephone when he came home in the early hours of this morning, and that he became angry. I wonder if it could have been you he called again?"

  "Yes, damn it!" the lawyer returned with stern bitterness. "It was I. He woke me up some time after three, and became very vituperative when I refused to alter my previous decision. In fact, he said that both Kenyon and I would regret our penuriousness in refusing to help him, as he was certain it would result in some mischief, but did not say just what guise it might take. As a matter of fact, he sounded very much upset, and flew off the handle. But, I frankly admit, I didn't take him too seriously, for I had been through the same sort of thing with him before. . . . It seems now," the lawyer added a little uncomfortably, "that he was telling the truth for once--that it wasn't just an idle conjecture; and I am wondering if Kenyon and I shouldn't have investigated the situation before taking a definite stand."

  "No, no; I think not," murmured Vance. "I doubt that it would have done any good. I have an idea the situation was not a new development--although there are, to be sure, few enough facts in hand at present on which to base an opinion. I don't like the outlook at all. It has too many conflictin' elements. . . . By the by, Mr. Fleel,"--Vance looked frankly at the man--"just how large a sum did Kaspar Kenting ask you for?"

  "Too large an amount even to have been considered," returned the lawyer. "He asked for thirty thousand dollars."

  "Thirty thousand," Vance repeated. "That's very interestin'." He rose lazily to his feet and straightened his clothes. "That will be all, I think, for the moment, Mr. Fleel," he said. "And many thanks for the trouble you've taken. There's little left to be done at the moment, aside from the usual routine. We will, of course, guard the matter as best we can. And we will get in touch with you if there is any new development."

  Fleel stood up and bowed stiffly.

  "You can always reach me through my office during the day, or through my home in the evening." He took an engraved card from his pocket and handed it to Vance. "There are my phone numbers, sir. . . . I think I shall remain a while with Mrs. Kenting and Kenyon." And he went from the den.

  Markham, looking serious and puzzled, held Vance back.

  "What do you make of that discrepancy in the amount, Vance?" he asked in a gruff, lowered tone.

  "My dear Markham!" Vance shook his head solemnly. "There are many things we cannot make anything of at the present moment. One never knows--does one?--at this stage of the game. Perhaps young Kaspar, having failed with his brother, reduced the ante, as it were, in approaching Fleel, thinking he might get better results at the lower figure. Curious though; the amount demanded in the ransom note corresponds to what he told Kenyon he needed. On the other hand--I wonder. . . . However, let's commune with the butler before we toddle on."

  Vance went to the door and opened it. Just outside stood Weem, bending slightly forward, as if he had been eavesdropping. Instead of showing any signs of embarrassment, the man looked up truculently and turned away.

  "See here, Weem," Vance halted him. "Step inside a moment," he said with an amused smile. "You can hear better; and, anyway, there are one or two questions we'd like to put to you."

  The man turned back without a word and entered the den with an air of sulkiness. He looked past us all with his watery eyes and waited.

  "Weem, how long have you been the Kenting butler?" asked Vance.

  "Going on three years," was the surly response.

  "Three years," repeated Vance thoughtfully. "Good. . . . Have you any ideas, Weem, as to what happened here last night?" Vance reached in his pocket for his cigarette case.

  "No, sir; none whatever," the butler returned, without looking at any of us. "But nothing would surprise me in this house. There are too many people who'd like to get rid of Mr. Kaspar."

  "Are you, by any chance, one of them?" asked Vance lightly, watching the other with faint amusement.

  "I'd just as soon never see him again." The answer came readily, in a disgruntled, morose tone.r />
  "And who else do you think feels the same way about Mr. Kaspar Kenting?" Vance went on.

  "Mrs. Falloway and young Mr. Falloway have no love for him, sir." There was no change in the man's tone. "And even Mrs. Kenting herself has had more than enough of him, I think. She and Mr. Kenyon are very good friends--and there was never any great love between the two brothers. . . . Mr. Kaspar is a very difficult man to get along with--he is very unreasonable. Other people have some rights, sir; but he doesn't think so. He's the kind of man that strikes his wife when he has too much to drink--"

  "I think that will be all," Vance broke in sharply. "You're an unspeakable gossip, Weem." He turned away with a look of keen distaste, and the butler shuffled from the room without any sign of displeasure or offense.

  "Come, Markham," said Vance. "Let's get out into the air. I don't like it in this house--I don't at all like it."

  "But it strikes me--" began Markham.

  "Oh, don't let your conscience bother you," interrupted Vance. "The only course we can possibly take is to wait for the next step on the part of our dire plotters." Although Vance spoke in a bantering tone, it was obvious from the deliberate way he lighted a cigarette that he was deeply troubled. "Something will happen soon, Markham. The next move will be expertly engineered, I'll wager. The case is by no means ended with this concocted kidnappin'. Too many loose ends--oh, far too many." He moved across the room. "Patience, my dear chap." He threw the admonition lightly over his shoulder to Markham. "We're supposed to be bustlin' with various anticipated activities. Some one is hopin' we'll take just the route indicated for us and thus be led entirely off the track. But, I say, let's not be gullible. Patience is our watchword. Patience and placidity. Nonchalance. Let the other johnnies make the next move. Live patiently and learn. Imitate the mountain--Mohammed is trudgin' your way."