Rexon rang. Higgins entered.
"Oh! Ah!" Vance sat down. "Many thanks. Just coffee, Higgins." He lighted a cigarette with unusual deliberation and stretched his legs before him.
Rexon was silent, coldly calm. He studied Vance over his coffee cup.
"Sorry you should be bothered," he murmured. "I was hoping my anxiety was unwarranted."
"One never knows, does one, old friend? We do our best."
Lieutenant O'Leary, of the Winewood police, a tall, shrewd and capable man, far superior to the ordinary country constable, arrived simultaneously with Doctor Quayne.
"Sorry, doctor. No need for you." Vance gave the details. "Fellow's been dead for hours, I'd say. It's the Lieutenant's problem."
"Doctor Quayne is our official physician," said O'Leary.
"Ah!" Vance threw his cigarette in the grate. "That facilitates matters. We'll go down at once. Darrup's watching the body. I ordered it left where Gunthar found it. Forgive my intrusion, Lieutenant. Sole interest Mr. Rexon."
"Quite correct, sir," O'Leary returned. "We'll see how the land lies."
"It lies exceeding black despite the snow."
Ten minutes later Doctor Quayne was examining Lief Wallen's body.
"A long fall," he commented. "Battered badly by the impact. Been dead all of eight hours. Poor Wallen. An honest, conscientious chap."
"That linear depression and laceration above the right ear," Vance suggested.
Quayne leaned over the body again for several moments. "I see what you mean." He looked up at Vance significantly. "I'll know more after the autopsy." He rose, frowning. "That's all now, Lieutenant. I'll be getting along--I've several calls to make."
"Thank you, doctor." O'Leary spoke courteously. "I'll attend to the routine."
Quayne bowed and departed.
O'Leary looked at Vance shrewdly. "What about that depression and laceration, sir?"
"Come with me a moment, Lieutenant." And Vance led the way to the cliff above. He pointed to the dark stain by the shrub-oak bole.
O'Leary inspected it and nodded slowly. Then he gave Vance a steady look. "What's your theory, sir?"
"Must I? But it's only a vague idea, Lieutenant. Highly illusory. That bash on Wallen's head might be from an instrument. Doesn't fit with a tumble. The poor johnnie could have been hit elsewhere and shoved over the cliff to cover up. There are faint indications in the snow hereabouts, despite last night's wind. Remote speculation at best. But there could have been three people here last night. Marks not clear. No. Proof lackin'...My theory? Wallen was struck near the Manor. Struck over the ear with an instrument shaped--let us say--like the blunt end of a spanner. His skull was fractured. Then he was dragged here. Two faint lines up the slope. Heels, perhaps. The body was dropped to the ground here so the other could hold to this tree while shoving Wallen over the cliff. Hemorrhage from the nose and ears intervened. Hence the blood here."
"I don't like it, sir." O'Leary frowned glumly.
"Neither do I. You asked for it."
O'Leary looked down at the telltale stain, then back at Vance. "You'll help us, sir? I'd be flattered. No need pretending I don't know of you."
"Disregardin' the compliment, I'd he happy to." Vance took out a cigarette. "My sole interest Mr. Rexon. As I said."
"I understand. My thanks. I'll get the machinery going." O'Leary strode off briskly.
When we returned to the Manor the sun was streaming into the spacious glass-enclosed veranda which stretched across the entire east side of the house. At the foot of a short terrace leading from the veranda was a large artificially controlled skating rink, lined on three sides with slender trees and landscaped gardens. Immediately below, to the south, was a pleasant pavilion.
Joan Rexon reclined on the veranda in a tufted wheel-chair built like a chaise longue; and beside her in a small wicker porch chair sat Ella Gunthar. Vance joined them with a smile of greeting. Joan Rexon was frail and wistful, but she gave little impression of invalidism. Only the blue veins in her slender hands indicated the long illness which had sapped her strength since childhood.
"Isn't it terrible, Mr. Vance!" Ella Gunthar said in a quavering voice. He looked at her a moment questioningly. "My father has just told us about poor Lief Wallen. You know, don't you?"
Vance nodded. "Yes. But we mustn't let that cast a shadow over us here." He smiled to Joan.
"It's very difficult to avoid it," Miss Rexon said. "Lief was so kind and thoughtful..."
"The more reason not to think of such things," Vance declared.
Ella Gunthar nodded seriously. "The sunshine and the snow--there are happy things in the world to think about." She placed her hand tenderly over Joan's. But the thought of the tragedy remained with her as well. "Poor Lief must have fallen on his way home this morning."
Vance looked at her meditatively. "No. Not this morning," he said. "It was last night--around midnight."
Ella gripped her chair, and a frightened look came into her eyes. "Midnight," she breathed. "How terrible!"
"Why do you say that, Miss Ella?" The girl's manner puzzled Vance.
"I--I--At midnight..." Her voice trailed off.
Vance quickly turned the conversation, but failed to alter the girl's strange mood. At length he excused himself and went into the house. He had barely reached the foot of the main stairs when a hand was placed on his arm. Ella Gunthar had followed him.
"Are you sure it was--midnight?" Her whisper was tense and pleading.
"Somewhere thereabouts." Vance spoke lightly. "But why are you so upset, my dear?"
Her lips trembled. "I saw Lieutenant O'Leary come in with you and go toward Mr. Rexon's den. Tell me, Mr. Vance, why is he here? Is anything--wrong? Will we all have to go to Winewood--to answer questions maybe?"
Vance laughed reassuringly. "Please don't trouble your lovely little head. There'll be an inquest, of course--it's the law, y' know. Just formality. But they'll certainly not ask you to go."
Her eyes opened very wide. "An inquest?" she repeated softly. "But I want to go. I want to hear--everything."
Vance was nonplused. "Aren't you being foolish, child? Run back and read to Joan and forget all about--"
"But you don't understand." She caught her breath sharply. "I've got to go to the inquest. Maybe--" She turned suddenly and hurried back to the veranda.
"My word!" murmured Vance. "What can possibly be in that child's mind?"
On the upper landing, as we turned toward our rooms, the housekeeper stepped out unexpectedly from a small corridor. She drew herself up mysteriously.
"He's dead, isn't he?" Her tone was sepulchral. "And perhaps it wasn't an accident."
"How could one know?" Vance was evasive.
"Normal things don't happen here," she ran on tensely. "Those emeralds have put a curse on this house--"
"You've been reading the wrong novels."
She ignored the implication. "Those green stones--they create an atmosphere. They attract. They send forth temptation. They radiate fire."
Vance smiled. "What do you find abnormal here?"
"Everything. Darling Joan is an invalid. Old Jed's a fanatical mystic. Miss Naesmith brings strange people here. There's intrigue and deep jealousies everywhere. Mr. Rexon wants to choose his son's wife." She smiled inscrutably. "He doesn't know he's building on sand. It all started years ago."
"You hear much, what?" Vance spoke satirically.
"And I see much. The Rexon dynasty is falling. Young Mr. Richard pretends much; but the first night he got back from Europe a girl was waiting for him in the rear hall back of the stairs. He took her in his arms without a word and he held her close and long." She came nearer and lowered her voice. "It was Ella Gunthar!"
"Really, now." Vance laughed indifferently. "Young love. Any objection?"
The woman turned angrily and went down the hail.
CHAPTER VI - A WOMAN'S BARB
(Thursday, January 16; 4:30 p.m.)
Vance deserted the
Manor an hour later, just as the noonday siren shrilled overhead, the surrounding hills catching the note and throwing the echo back and forth much longer than the original blast warranted. Carrington Rexon had long taken a boyish delight in retaining this outmoded signal for his workmen. He admitted it served no purpose, but it amused him to continue to use it.
The early winter dusk had begun to fall when Vance returned.
"Been snoopin' and talkin' round the estate," he told Carrington Rexon, settling himself comfortably before the fire. "Much needed activity. Hope you don't mind."
Rexon's laugh was mirthless. "I only hope your time wasn't wasted."
"No. Not wasted. I'll be frank. You want it, I know."
Rexon nodded stiffly.
"Things not happy," summarized Vance. "Meanness at work. And jealousies. Nothing overt. Just undercurrents. They could erupt, however. Gunthar's hard on the men. That doesn't help...Hear you've been planning to replace him as overseer. Wallen mentioned. Any truth in that?"
"Frankly, yes. But I was in no hurry."
"Lief Wallen wanted to marry Ella. Both father and daughter protested. Friction--scenes. Not nice. Much bitterness. Source of general resentment of estate workers toward Miss Ella. Think she considers herself superior to the rest of them because she's Miss Joan's companion. Only Old Jed defends her. They answer he has delusions and a soft spot for the color green. Implication bein' the presence of the emeralds has affected him. Everyone adding fuel to a smoulderin' fire and waiting for a flareup."
Rexon chuckled. "And perhaps you think, Vance, that I, too, am affected with the rest."
Vance made a deprecating motion. "By the by, yours is the only key to the Gem Room, what?"
"Good Heavens, yes! Special key and special lock. And a steel door."
"Been in the room today?"
"Oh, yes. Everything's quite in order."
Vance changed the subject. "Tell me about your housekeeper."
"Marcia Bruce? Solid as rock."
"Yes. I believe you. Honest, but hysterical."
Rexon chuckled again. "You've noticed much...But she adores Joan--cares for her like a mother when Ella Gunthar is off duty. Basically, Bruce is a fine woman. Quayne agrees. There's a fellow-feeling between those two. She was superintendent of nurses in a hospital once. Quayne's a worthy man, too. I'm glad to see that friendship developing."
"Ah!" Vance smiled. "I perceive Squire Rexon is sentimental."
"The human heart desires happiness for others as well as for oneself." Rexon was serious now. "What else did you learn, Vance? Anything pertaining to Lief Wallen's death?"
Vance shook his head. "Solution may come through irrelevancies. Later. I've only begun." Then he went out to the drawing room.
Bassett sat at the table near the veranda door where we first met him. He had just reached up and caught Ella Gunthar's arm as she passed. He was smirking up at her unpleasantly. She drew away from him. Bassett let her go. "Haughty, aren't we?" His eyes followed her with a sardonic leer as she returned to Miss Joan.
Vance strolled up. "Not skiing today, Mr. Bassett? Thought the whole jolly crowd was up on the Winewood trails."
"I slept too late and missed the party...Pretty blond thing, that Ella Gunthar." His eyes drifted back to the veranda. "Unusually attractive for a servant."
Vance's eyes narrowed, hard as steel, and drew Bassett's gaze. "We're all servants. Some to our fellow men. Some to our vices. Think that over." He went out to the veranda.
Lieutenant O'Leary was just coming up the steps at the side entrance.
"Doctor Quayne's doing the autopsy now," he announced. "Inquest tomorrow at noon. You'll have to attend, I'm afraid, sir. I'll pick you up."
"Any complications ahead?" asked Vance.
"No. I've soft-pedaled everything. John Brander, our coroner, is a good man. He likes Rexon. And I've explained the situation. He won't ask embarrassing questions."
"Accident verdict, maybe?"
"I hope so, sir. Brander understands. It'll give us time."
"A pleasure to work with you, Lieutenant."
O'Leary went inside to see Rexon, and Vance strode to where Joan and Ella Gunthar were sitting.
A noisy group of guests, returning from their skiing expedition, came clattering up the terrace, passed us with cheery greetings, and continued upstairs. Carlotta Naesmith and Stanley Sydes remained on the veranda and joined us. Ella Gunthar was looking about anxiously. "It's really no use, Ella," Miss Naesmith told her satirically. "Dick's gone daffy over Sally Alexander."
"I don't believe it!"
Miss Naesmith's mouth twisted in a cruel smile. "Does it hurt, Ella?"
"Carlotta! Cat!" There was no mirth in Sydes' reprimand.
"How do you feel today, Joan?" Miss Naesmith's mood changed as the girl smiled up sweetly. "And you, too, Mr. Vance. Why didn't you join the skiing party? It was glorious. At least ten inches of powder over a deep base."
"Isn't there enough snow already in these locks of mine?"
"And most becoming, Sir Galahad!" She turned and stroked Sydes' temple. "Wonder if Stan'll be handsome when he gets grey."
"I promise you, Goddess," declared Sydes, "I'll be unutterably fascinating." He leaned over her. "And now, for the last time:--"
"I always get seasick. I'll seek my treasure nearer home."
"Maybe I will too, if you spurn my invitation." Sydes' tone was fretful and aggressive.
"What do you think this wild man wants, Joan?" Miss Naesmith explained banteringly. "He insists I sail with him to Cocos Island and go diving for the treasure of the Mary Dear in Wafer Bay."
"Oh, that would be wonderful!" There pathetic longing in Joan Rexon's voice.
"You dear, sweet child." The older girl's tone softened. Then she went upstairs, and Sydes followed.
A while later Marcia Bruce came out. "You may run along home, Ella. I'll take our darling in charge."
Vance rose.
"And I'll see Miss Ella home."
I knew he had great compassion for the girl who had no part in the gay sophisticated life about her. And I knew why he wished to walk with her to her father's cottage. He would strive to cheer and amuse her, so that the sting of Miss Naesmith's words might be forgot.
CHAPTER VII - THE INQUEST
(Friday, January 17; noon.)
The coroner's inquest increased the tension of the situation. Ella Gunthar had spoken urgently to Vance as soon as she arrived at the Manor that morning. She was fully cognizant of the time and place of the inquest and determined to be there. Vance sought to dissuade her, but finally abandoned the effort. He realized there was some deeper reason than mere curiosity, and arranged to take her with us in O'Leary's car.
At the bend in the roadway where it joined the main highway O'Leary signaled sharply on his horn. The sound found a prolonged echo in the archaic midday siren reverberating over the estate and weirdly following us like a mechanical nemesis as we drove on. The Lieutenant offered assurances to Vance's unvoiced concern.
"It won't take us more than ten minutes to get there. Brander'll wait for us."
The small room in the Town Hall at Winewood was well filled with townspeople and workers from the Rexon estate; but there were no guests from the Manor itself.
At one end of the room on a low platform was a long table at which a heavy-set, red-faced man with blinking eyes presided.
"That's John Brander," whispered O'Leary. "A reasonable man. Local real-estate lawyer."
At the left of the table, partitioned off by a railing, sat the jury, simple and honest men of the conventional type one would expect to find in a country town. A constable, with an ineffectual air of importance, stood beside the witness stand.
Eric Gunthar was called first. He explained briefly how he had come upon Lief Wallen's body on his way to work, and had returned to the Gulch with Old Jed, Darrup and Vance. Under adroit questioning, his trip to the summit of the cliff with Vance was brought out; but when Gunthar became too volub
le regarding the blood spot, he was somewhat abruptly dismissed, and Darrup was called. He appeared cowed and had little to add to Gunthar's testimony. Old Jed proved a somewhat pathetic figure on the witness stand, and Brander wasted no time on him.
Vance was called next. Brander's questions elicited largely repetitions of the testimony already given; and despite the coroner's obvious attempt at caution, the blood stain by the scrub oak on the cliff was necessarily gone into at considerable length. Brander seemed to attach no particular importance to it and contrived a subtle suggestion that the blood might have been other than human blood. I myself was conscious of a fleeting mental image of some boy or amateur huntsman shooting a rabbit scurrying over the snow.
"Were there footprints anywhere near the spot?" Brander asked.
"No. No footprints," Vance answered. "There were, however, vague impressions in the snow."
"Anything definite?"
"No." And Vance was permitted to step down.
Doctor Quayne was then sworn in. His dignity and soft manner were impressive. The jury listened with patent respect. The doctor's testimony was perfunctory and technical. He told of the condition of the body when he first saw it; estimated the time of death; and hastened over the findings of the autopsy. He emphasized, however, the peculiar skull wound over Wallen's right ear.
"Now, this skull wound, doctor," the coroner interposed. "Just what was peculiar about it?"
"It was somewhat sharply outlined and depressed, running from the right ear for about four inches toward the temple--not exactly what one would expect from even violent contact with a flat surface."
"There was snow where Wallen struck?"
"About an inch, I should say."
"Did you examine the ground under the snow for a possible projection?"
"No. It would have been visible had it been there."
"But there are projecting rocks on the cliff between the upper ledge and the ground, aren't there?"
"Slight ones. Yes."
"Is it not possible, then, Wallen's head glanced one of these rocks in falling?"
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