Philo Vance Omnibus Vol 2

by S. S. Van Dine

  "And then?"

  "He took a high swan dive, beautifully timed and extremely graceful—I'll say that much for the chap. We naturally waited for him to come up before following suit. We waited an interminable time—it was probably not more than a minute, but it seemed much longer. And then Mrs. McAdam gave a scream, and we all went quickly, with one accord, to the very edge of the pool and strained our eyes across the water in every direction. By this time we knew something had happened. No man could stay under water voluntarily as long as that. Miss Stamm clutched my arm, but I threw her off and, running to the end of the spring-board, dived in as near as possible at the point where Montague had disappeared."

  Leland compressed his lips, and his gaze shifted.

  "I swam downward," he continued, "till I came to the bottom of the pool, and searched round as best I could. I came up for air and went down again, and again I came up. A man was in the water just beside me, and I thought for a moment it was Montague. But it was only Tatum, who had joined me in the water. He too had dived in, in an effort to find Montague. Greeff also, in a bungling kind of way—he is not a very good swimmer—helped us look for the poor fellow. . . . But it was no go. We spent at least twenty minutes in the effort. Then we gave it up. . . ."

  "Exactly how did you feel about the situation?" Vance asked, without looking up. "Did you have any suspicions then?"

  Leland hesitated and pursed his lips, as if trying to recall his exact emotions. Finally he replied:

  "I cannot say just how I did feel about it. I was rather overwhelmed. But still there was something—I do not know just what—in the back of my mind. My instinct at that moment was to get to a telephone and report the affair to the police. I did not like the turn of events—they struck me as too unusual. . . . Perhaps," he added, lifting his eyes to the ceiling with a far-away look, "I remembered—unconsciously—too many tales about the old Dragon Pool. My mother told me many strange stories when I was a child—"

  "Yes, yes. Quite a romantic and legend'ry spot," Vance murmured, with a tinge of sarcasm in his words. "But I'd much rather know just what the women were doing and how they affected you when you joined them after your heroic search for Montague."

  "The women?" There was a mild note of surprise in Leland's voice, and he looked penetratingly at Vance. "Oh, I see—you wish to know how they acted after the tragedy. . . . Well, Miss Stamm was crouched down on the top of the wall at the edge of the water, with her hands pressed to her face, sobbing convulsively. I do not think she even noticed me—or any one else, for that matter. I got the impression that she was more frightened than anything else.—Miss Steele was standing close beside Bernice, with her head thrown back, her arms out-stretched in a precise gesture of tragic supplication. . . ."

  "It sounds rather as if she were rehearsing for the role of Iphigeneia at Aulis. . . . And what about Mrs. McAdam?"

  "Funny thing about her," Leland ruminated, frowning at his pipe. "She was the one who screamed when Montague failed to come to the surface; but when I got out of the water, she was standing back from the bank, under one of the flood-lights, as cold and calm as if nothing had happened. She was looking out across the pool in a most detached fashion, as if there was no one else present. And she was half smiling, in a hard, ruthless sort of way. 'We could not find him,' I muttered, as I came up to her: I do not know why I should have addressed her rather than the others. And without moving her eyes from the opposite side of the pool, she said, to no one in particular: 'So that's that.'"

  Vance appeared unimpressed.

  "So you came to the house here and telephoned?"

  "Immediately. I told the others they had better get dressed and return to the house at once, and after I had telephoned I went back to my cabaña and got into my clothes."

  "Who notified the doctor about Stamm's condition?"

  "I did," the other replied. "I did not enter the library when I first came here to telephone, but when I had got into my clothes I went at once to Stamm, hoping his mind would have cleared sufficiently for him to realize the terrible thing that had happened. But he was unconscious, and the bottle on the tabouret by the davenport was empty. I did my best to arouse him, but did not succeed."

  Leland paused, frowned with uncertainty, and then continued:

  "I had never before seen Stamm in a state of complete insensibility through overindulgence in liquor, although I had seen him pretty far gone on several occasions. The state of the man shocked me. He was scarcely breathing, and his color was ghastly. Bernice came into the room at that moment and, on seeing her brother sprawled out on the davenport, exclaimed, 'He's dead, too. Oh, my God!' Then she fainted before I could reach her. I intrusted her to Mrs. McAdam—who showed an admirable competency in handling the situation—and went immediately to the telephone to summon Doctor Holliday. He has been the Stamm family physician for many years and lives in 207th Street, near here. Luckily he was at home and hurried over."

  Just then a door slammed noisily somewhere at the rear of the house, and heavy footsteps crossed the front hall and approached the drawing-room. Detective Hennessey appeared at the door, his mouth partly open and his eyes protruding with excitement.

  He greeted Markham perfunctorily and turned quickly to the Sergeant.

  "Something's happened down there at the pool," he announced, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I was standing by the spring-board like you told me to do, smoking a cigar, when I heard a funny rumbling noise up at the top of the rock cliff opposite. And pretty soon there was a hell of a splash in the pool—sounded like a ton of bricks had been dumped off the cliff into the water. . . . I waited a coupla minutes, to see if anything else'd happen, and then I thought I'd better come up and tell you."

  "Did you see anything?" demanded Heath aggressively.

  "Nary a thing, Sergeant." Hennessey spoke with emphasis. "It's dark over there by the rocks, and I didn't go round over the filter ledge, because you told me to keep off that low stretch at the other end."

  "I told him to keep off," the Sergeant explained to Markham, "because I wanted to go over that ground again for footprints in the daylight tomorrow." Then he turned back to Hennessey. "Well, what do you think the noise was?" he asked with the gruffness of exasperation.

  "I'm not thinkin'," Hennessey retorted. "I'm simply tellin' you all I know."

  Leland rose and took a step toward the Sergeant.

  "If you will pardon me, I think I can offer a reasonable explanation of what this man heard in the pool. Several large pieces of rock, at the top of the cliff, are loosened where the strata overlap, and I have always had a fear that one of them might come crashing down into the pool. Only this morning Mr. Stamm and I went up to the top of the bluff and inspected those rocks. In fact, we even attempted to pry one of them loose, but could not do so. It is quite possible that the heavy rain tonight may have dislodged the earth that was holding it."

  Vance nodded.

  "At least that explanation is a pleasin' bit of rationality," he observed lightly.

  "Maybe so, Mr. Vance," Heath conceded reluctantly. Hennessey's tale had disturbed him. "But what I want to know is why it should happen on this particular night."

  "As Mr. Leland has told us, he and Mr. Stamm attempted to pry the rock loose today—or should I say yesterday? Perhaps they did loosen it, and that would account for its having shifted and fallen after the rain."

  Heath chewed viciously on his cigar for a moment. Then he waved Hennessey out of the room.

  "Go back and take up your post," he ordered. "If anything else happens down at the pool, hop up here and report pronto."

  Hennessey disappeared—reluctantly, I thought.

  Markham had sat through the entire proceedings with an air of tolerant boredom. He had taken only a mild interest in Vance's questioning, and when Hennessey had left us, he got to his feet.

  "Just what is the point in all this discussion, Vance?" he asked irritably. "The situation is normal enough. Admittedly it has certain mo
rbid angles, but all of this esoteric stuff seems to me the result of nerves. Every one's on edge, and I think the best thing for us to do is to go home and let the Sergeant handle the matter in the routine way. How could there be anything premeditated in connection with Montague's possible death when he himself suggested going swimming and then dived off the spring-board and disappeared while every one was looking on?"

  "My dear Markham," protested Vance, "you're far too logical. It's your legal training, of course. But the world is not run by logic. I infinitely prefer to be emotional. Think of the masterpieces of poetry that would have been lost to humanity if their creators had been pure logicians—the Odyssey, for instance, the Ballade des dames du temps jadis, the Divina Commedia, Laus Veneris, the Ode on a Grecian Urn—"

  "But what do you propose to do now?" Markham cut in, annoyed.

  "I propose," answered Vance, with an exasperating smile, "to inquire of the doctor concerning the condition of our host."

  "What could Stamm have to do with it?" protested Markham. "He seems less concerned in the affair than any of the other people here."

  Heath, impatient, had risen and started for the door.

  "I'll get the doc," he rumbled. And he went out into the dim hallway.

  A few minutes later he returned, followed by an elderly man with a closely cropped gray Vandyke. He was clad in a black baggy suit with a high, old-fashioned collar several sizes too large for him. He was slightly stout and moved awkwardly; but there was something in his manner that inspired confidence.

  Vance rose to greet him, and after a brief explanation of our presence in the house, he said:

  "Mr. Leland has just told us of Mr. Stamm's unfortunate condition tonight, and we'd like to know how he's coming along."

  "He's following the normal course," the doctor replied, and hesitated. Presently he went on: "Since Mr. Leland informed you of Mr. Stamm's condition I won't be violating professional ethics in discussing the case with you. Mr. Stamm was unconscious when I arrived. His pulse was slow and sluggish, and his breathing shallow. When I learned of the amount of whisky he had taken since dinner I immediately gave him a stiff dose of apomorphine—a tenth of a grain. It emptied his stomach at once, and after the reaction he went back to sleep normally. He had consumed an astonishing amount of liquor—it was one of the worst cases of acute alcoholism I have ever known. He is just waking up now, and I was about to telephone for a nurse when this gentleman"—indicating Heath—"told me you wished to see me."

  Vance nodded understandingly.

  "Will it be possible for us to talk to Mr. Stamm at this time?"

  "A little later, perhaps. He is coming round all right, and, once I get him up-stairs to bed, you may see him. . . . But you understand, of course," the doctor added, "he will be pretty weak and played out."

  Vance murmured his thanks.

  "Will you let us know when it is convenient to have us talk to him?"

  The doctor inclined his head in assent.

  "Certainly," he said, and turned to go.

  "And in the meantime," Vance said to Markham, "I think it might be well to have a brief chat with Miss Stamm. . . . Sergeant, will you produce the young lady for us?"

  "Just a moment." The doctor turned in the doorway. "I would ask you, sir, not to disturb Miss Stamm just now. When I came here I found her in a very high-strung, hysterical condition over what had happened. So I gave her a stiff dose of bromides and told her to go to bed. She's in no condition to be questioned about the tragedy. Tomorrow, perhaps."

  "It really doesn't matter," Vance returned. "Tomorrow will do just as well."

  The doctor went lumberingly into the hall, and a moment later we could hear him dialing a number on the telephone.

  4. AN INTERRUPTION

  (Sunday, August 12; 1.35 a.m.)

  Markham heaved a deep, annoyed sigh, and focused his eyes on Vance in exasperation.

  "Aren't you satisfied yet?" he demanded impatiently. "I suggest we get along home."

  "Oh, my dear Markham!" Vance protested whimsically, lighting a fresh Régie. "I should never forgive myself if I went without at least making the acquaintance of Mrs. McAdam. My word! Really now, wouldn't you like to meet her?"

  Markham snorted with angry resignation and settled back in his chair.

  Vance turned to Heath.

  "Shepherd the butler in, Sergeant."

  Heath went out with alacrity, returning immediately with the butler in tow. He was a short, pudgy man in his late fifties, with a smug, round face. His eyes were small and shrewd; his nose flat and concave, and the corners of his mouth were pinched into a downward arc. He wore a blond toupee which neither fitted him nor disguised the fact that he was bald. His uniform needed pressing, and his linen was far from immaculate; but he had an unmistakable air of pompous superiority.

  "I understand your name is Trainor," said Vance.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, Trainor, there seems to be considerable doubt as to just what happened here tonight. That's why the District Attorney and I have come up." Vance's eyes were fixed on the man with appraising interest.

  "If I may be permitted to say so, sir," Trainor submitted in a mincing falsetto, "I think your being here is an excellent idea. One never can tell what is behind these mysterious episodes."

  Vance lifted his eyebrows.

  "So you think the episode mysterious? . . . Can you tell us something that might be helpful?"

  "Oh, no, sir." The man elevated his chin haughtily. "I haven't the slightest suggestion to make—thanking you, sir, for the honor of asking me."

  Vance let the matter drop, and said:

  "Doctor Holliday has just told us that Mr. Stamm had a close call tonight, and I understand from Mr. Leland that Mr. Stamm ordered another bottle of whisky at the time the other members of the party went down to the pool."

  "Yes, sir. I brought him a fresh quart of his favorite Scotch whisky—Buchanan's Liqueur . . . although I will say, sir, in extenuation, so to speak, that I took the liberty of protesting with Mr. Stamm, inasmuch as he had already been drinking rather heavily all day. But he became almost abusive, I might say; and I remarked to myself, 'Every man to his own poison'—or words to that effect. It was not my place, you can understand, to refuse to obey the master's orders."

  "Of course—of course, Trainor. We certainly do not hold you responsible for Mr. Stamm's condition," Vance assured him pleasantly.

  "Thank you, sir. I might say, however, that Mr. Stamm has been quite unhappy about something these past few weeks. He's been worrying a great deal. He even forgot to feed the fish last Thursday."

  "My word! Something really upsettin' must have been preying on his mind. . . . And did you see to it, Trainor, that the fish did not go hungry Thursday?"

  "Oh, yes, sir. I am very fond of the fish, sir. And I'm something of an authority on the subject—if I do say so myself. In fact, I disagree with the master quite frequently on the care of some of his rarer varieties. Without his knowing it I have made chemical tests of the water, for acidity and alkalinity—if you know what I mean, sir. And I took it upon myself to increase the alkalinity of the water in the tanks in which the Scatophagus argus are kept. Since then, sir, the master has had much better luck with them."

  "I myself am partial to brackish water for the Scatophagus," Vance commented, with an amused smile. "But we will let that drop for the moment. . . . Suppose you tell Mrs. McAdam that we desire to see her, here in the drawing-room."

  The butler bowed and went out, and a few minutes later ushered a short, plump woman into the room.

  Teeny McAdam's age was perhaps forty, but from her clothes and her manner it was obvious that she was making a desperate effort to give the impression of youth. There was, however, a hardness about her which she could not disguise. She seemed perfectly calm as she sat down in the chair which Vance held for her.

  Vance explained briefly who we were and why we were there, and I was interested in the fact that she showed no surpr
ise.

  "It's always well," Vance explained further, "to look into tragedies of this kind, where there is a feeling of doubt in the mind of any one present. And there seems to be considerable doubt in the minds of several witnesses of Mr. Montague's disappearance."

  For answer the woman merely gave an arctic smile and waited.

  "Are there any doubts in your mind, Mrs. McAdam?" Vance asked quietly.

  "Doubts? What kind of doubts? Really, I don't know what you mean." She spoke in a cold, stereotyped voice. "Monty is unquestionably dead. Had it been any one else who disappeared, one might suspect that a practical joke had been played on us. But Monty was never a practical joker. In fact, any sense of humor was painfully lacking in him. He was far too conceited for humor."

  "You have known him a long time, I take it."

  "Far too long," the woman replied, with what I thought was a touch of venom.

  "You screamed, I am told, when he failed to rise to the surface."

  "A maidenly impulse," she remarked lightly. "At my age I should, of course, be more reserved."

  Vance contemplated his cigarette a moment.

  "You weren't, by any chance, expecting the young gentleman's demise at the time?"

  The woman shrugged, and a hard light came into her eyes.

  "No, not expecting it," she returned bitterly, "but always hoping for it—as were many others."

  "Most interestin'," Vance murmured. "But what were you looking for so intently across the pool, after Montague's failure to come up?"

  Her eyes narrowed, and her expression belied the careless gesture she made.

  "I really do not recall my intentness at that time," she answered. "I was probably scanning the surface of the pool. That was natural, was it not?"

  "Quite—oh, quite. One does instinctively scan the water when a diver has failed to reappear—doesn't one? But I was given the impression your attitude was not indicative of this natural impulse. In fact, I was led to believe that you were looking across the water, to the rock cliffs opposite."