Philo Vance Omnibus Vol 2

by S. S. Van Dine

  Heath slid down from the wall, a look of combined anger and fear on his grim face.

  "Mother of God!" he mumbled, and crossed himself.

  Markham stood at the foot of the wall with a faraway look of horror and bafflement. And I found it difficult, in the peaceful atmosphere of that calm summer morning, to adjust my mind and emotions to the hideous thing I had just beheld.

  There, in the depths of the pot-hole, lay the crumpled dead body of Alex Greeff. His position, like that of Montague, was unnatural and distorted, as if he had been dropped from a height into this narrow rock grave. Across the left side of his head ran a gaping wound, and there were black bruises on his neck. He wore no waistcoat, and his coat was open, exposing his breast. His shirt had been ripped down the front, like the jersey of Montague's bathing suit, and there were three long gashes in the flesh, as if a monster's claw had torn him downward from the throat. The moment I looked at him, mutilated in exactly the same manner as Montague, all the wild stories of the dragon of the pool came back to me and froze my blood.

  Markham had brought his gaze back from the distance and looked wonderingly at Vance.

  "How did you know he was here?" he asked huskily.

  Vance's eyes were focused on the tip of his cigarette.

  "I didn't know," he answered softly. "But after Stamm told us of his mother's comment when she heard Greeff had disappeared, I thought it best to come down here. . . ."

  "The dragon again!" Markham spoke angrily, but there was an undertone of awe in his voice. "You're not trying to intimate, are you, that the ravings of that crazy woman are to be taken seriously?"

  "No, Markham," Vance returned mildly. "But she knows a great many things, and her predictions thus far have all been correct."

  "That's sheer coincidence," Markham protested. "Come, come, let's be practical."

  "Whoever killed Greeff was certainly practical," observed Vance.

  "But, good Heavens! where do we stand now?" Markham was both baffled and irritable. "Greeff's murder only complicates the case. We now have two hideous problems instead of one."

  "No, no, Markham." Vance moved slowly back to the car. "I wouldn't say that, don't y' know. It's all one problem. And it's clearer now than it was. A certain pattern is beginning to take shape—the dragon pattern."

  "Don't talk nonsense!" Markham fairly barked the reprimand.

  "It's not nonsense, old dear." Vance got into the car. "The imprints on the bed of the pool, the talon-like marks on Montague and now on Greeff, and—above all—the curious prognostications of old Mrs. Stamm—these must all be accounted for before we can eliminate the dragon theory. An amazin' situation."

  Markham lapsed into indignant silence as Vance started the car. Then he said with sarcasm:

  "I think we'll work this case out on anti-dragon lines."

  "That will depend entirely on the type of dragon you have in mind," Vance returned, as he guided the car round and started back up the East Road to the Stamm estate.

  When we reached the house Heath went immediately to the telephone and notified Doctor Doremus of our second gruesome find. As he hung up the receiver he turned to Markham with a look of hopeless desperation.

  "I don't know how to handle this job, Chief," he admitted in an appealing tone.

  Markham looked at him a moment and slowly nodded his head appreciatively.

  "I know just how you feel, Sergeant." He took out a cigar, carefully clipped the end, and lighted it. "The usual methods don't seem to get us anywhere." He was profoundly perplexed.

  Vance was standing in the middle of the hall, gazing at the floor.

  "No," he murmured, without looking up. "The usual methods are futile. The roots of these two crimes go down much deeper than that. The murders are diabolical—in more than one sense; and they are closely related, in some strange way, to all the sinister factors which go to make up this household and its influences. . . ." He ceased speaking and turned his head toward the staircase.

  Stamm and Leland were descending from the second floor, and Vance immediately approached them.

  "Will you gentlemen please come into the drawing-room," he said. "We have a bit of news for you."

  A breath of air stirred in the room: the sun had not yet reached that side of the house. Vance turned to the west window and gazed out a few moments. Then he turned back to Stamm and Leland who were standing just inside the portières.

  "We have found Greeff," he said. "He is dead—in the same pot-hole where Montague's body was chucked."

  Stamm paled perceptibly and caught his breath. But Leland's expression did not change. He took his pipe from his mouth.

  "Murdered, of course." His remark was half question and half statement.

  "Murdered, of course." Vance repeated the words, nodding. "A messy affair. The same sort of wounds we found on Montague. A perfect duplication of the technique, in fact."

  Stamm wavered on his feet, as if he had been struck a physical blow.

  "Oh, my God!" he muttered, with a sucking intake of breath.

  Leland grasped him quickly by the arm and led him to a chair.

  "Sit down, Rudolf," he said kindly. "You and I have been expecting this ever since we knew that Greeff was missing."

  Stamm slumped into the chair and sat glaring before him with unseeing eyes. Leland turned back to Vance.

  "I feared all morning," he said simply, "that Greeff did not absent himself voluntarily. . . Have you learned anything else?"

  Vance shook his head.

  "No—nothing else. But I think we'll take a look around Greeff's room. Do you know which one it is?"

  "Yes," Leland answered quietly. "I will be very glad to show you."

  We had barely passed over the threshold of the drawing-room door when Stamm's strained, husky voice halted us.

  "Wait a minute—wait a minute!" he called, struggling forward in his chair. "There's something I should have told you. But I was afraid—God help me, I was afraid!"

  Vance regarded the man quizzically.

  "What is it?" he asked, in a curiously stern voice.

  "It's about last night." Stamm's hands clutched the arms of the chair, and he held himself rigid as he spoke. "After I had gone to my room Greeff came and tapped on my door. I opened it and let him in. He said he did not feel like sleeping and thought he would join me in another drink, if I did not mind. We talked for an hour or so—"

  "About what, for instance?" interrupted Vance.

  "Nothing of importance—generalities about finance, and the possibilities of a new expedition to the South Seas next spring. . . . Then Greeff looked at his watch. 'It's midnight,' he said. 'I think I'll take a stroll before I turn in.' He went out and I heard him go down to the lower hall, unbolt the side door—my room, you know, is just at the head of the stairs. I was tired and I got into bed, and—and—that's all."

  "Why were you afraid to tell us this before?" Vance asked coldly.

  "I don't know—exactly." Stamm relaxed and settled back in his chair. "I didn't think anything of it last night. But when Greeff failed to put in an appearance this morning, I realized that I was the last person to see him and talk to him before he went out. I saw no reason for mentioning the fact this morning, but after what you've just told us—about his body being found in the pot-hole—I felt that you ought to know—"

  "It's quite all right," Vance assured him, in a somewhat softened tone. "Your feelings are quite natural in the circumstances."

  Stamm lifted his head and gave him a grateful look.

  "Would you mind asking Trainor to bring me some whisky?" he asked weakly.

  "Not at all." And Vance turned and walked into the hall.

  After sending the butler to Stamm we went up-stairs. Greeff's room was the second one from Stamm's on the same side of the hall. The door was unlocked and we went in. As Trainor had told us, the bed had not been slept in; and the window shades were still drawn. The room was somewhat similar to Montague's, but it was larger and more lu
xuriously furnished. A few toilet articles lay neatly on the dressing-table; a pongee robe and a pair of pajamas were thrown over the foot of the bed; and on a chair near the window lay Greeff's dinner suit, in a rumpled heap. On the floor, near an end-table, was a gaping Gladstone bag.

  The inspection of Greeff's belongings took but a short time. Vance went first to the clothes-closet and found there a brown business suit and a sport suit; but the pockets held nothing of any importance. The dinner suit was then investigated, without any enlightening result: its pockets contained merely an ebony cigarette holder, a cigarette case of black moiré silk, and two elaborately monogrammed handkerchiefs. There was nothing belonging to Greeff in the drawers of the dressing-table; and in the cabinet of the bathroom were only the usual toilet accessories—a toothbrush and paste, a shaving outfit, a bottle of toilet water and a shaker of talcum powder. Nor did the Gladstone bag yield anything significant or suggestive.

  Vance had said nothing during the search, but there was an intent eagerness in his attitude. He now stood in the middle of the room, looking down, his eyes half closed in troubled thought. It was patent that he was disappointed.

  Slowly he lifted his head, shrugged slightly, and started toward the door.

  "I'm afraid there's nothing here that will help us," he said; and there was something in his voice that made me feel that he was referring to some specific, but unnamed, object which he had hoped to find.

  Markham, too, must have caught the undertone in Vance's voice which had conveyed this impression to me, for he asked crisply:

  "Just what, Vance, were you expecting to discover in this room?"

  Vance hesitated and turned slowly back to us.

  "I am not quite sure. . . . There should have been something here. But don't ask me to say what—there's a good fellow. I wouldn't know exactly how to answer." He smiled ingratiatingly and, turning, went out into the hall. The rest of us followed him.

  As we reached the head of the stairs Doctor Holliday was just coming up from the main floor. He greeted us with reserved cordiality, and we were about to start down the stairs when, with what seemed a sudden impulse, Vance halted.

  "I say, doctor," he asked, "would you mind if we went up with you? There's something of vital importance I would like to ask Mrs. Stamm. I sha'n't disturb her. . . ."

  "Come along," Doctor Holliday nodded, as he turned on the landing and swung his bulky frame up toward the third floor.

  When Mrs. Schwarz opened the door for us Mrs. Stamm was standing at the open window overlooking the pool, her back to us. As we entered the room she turned slowly until her fiery eyes rested on us. There seemed to be a new glittering quality in her gaze, but there was no smile on her lips: her mouth was at once grim and placid.

  Vance walked directly toward her, halting only when he was within a few feet of her.

  His expression was severe; his eyes were determined.

  "Mrs. Stamm," he said, in a stern, quiet tone, "terrible things have happened here. And more terrible things are going to happen—unless you help us. And these other terrible things will not be of a nature that will please you. They will befall those who are not enemies of the Stamms; and, therefore, your dragon—that protector of your household—could not be held responsible."

  A frightened look came into the woman's eyes as she stared raptly at Vance.

  "What can I do to help you?" Her voice was a hollow monotone, as if she had merely thought the words and her lips had automatically articulated them.

  "You can tell us," Vance answered, without relaxing his severity of tone, "where you have hidden the key to the family vault."

  The woman's eyes closed slowly, as if from some great physical reaction, and she took a long, deep breath. I may have imagined it, but I received the strong impression that Vance's words had brought her a sense of relief. Then her eyelids went up quickly: a certain calm had come into her gaze.

  "Is that all you wish to know?" she asked.

  "That is all, madam—but it is vitally important. And I give you my word that the tomb of your dead will not be desecrated."

  The woman studied Vance appraisingly for several moments. Then she moved to the large chair by the window and sat down. With slow but resolute determination she reached into the bosom of her black lace dress and drew forth a small rectangular scapular on which I could see the faded image of a saint. The stitching, which held the linen and chamois-skin together, was open at the top, so that the scapular was in actuality a small bag. Turning it upside down, she shook it; and presently there fell out into her hand a small flat key.

  "Mrs. Schwarz," she commanded dictatorially, "take this key and go to my old steamer trunk in the clothes-closet."

  Mrs. Schwarz took the key, turned stoically and, opening the small door in the east wall of the room, disappeared into the semi-darkness beyond.

  "Ja, Frau Stamm," she called from within.

  "Now unlock the trunk and lift out the tray," Mrs. Stamm instructed her. "Carefully turn up all the old linen you see there. In the right-hand back corner there is an old jewel box, wrapped in a damask tablecloth. Bring out the box."

  After a few moments, during which Vance stood in silence looking out the window at the cliffs beyond the pool, Mrs. Schwarz emerged from the closet, carrying a beautiful Venetian box, about eight inches long and six inches wide, with a rounded top. It was covered in faded mauve brocaded velvet, surmounted with hammered-metal scroll-work.

  "Hand it to this gentleman." Mrs. Stamm made an awkward gesture toward Vance. "The vault key is inside."

  Vance came forward and took the box. He threw the catch and opened the lid. Markham had stepped up to him and stood looking over his shoulder. After a moment's inspection Vance closed the box and handed it back to Mrs. Schwarz.

  "You may put it away again," he said, in a tone and with a look which constituted a command. Then he turned to Mrs. Stamm and, bowing, said: "You have helped us no end. And I want you to know that we deeply appreciate your confidence."

  A faint smile of cynical gratification distorted the contour of Mrs. Stamm's mouth.

  "Are you entirely satisfied?" she asked. (There was an undertone of both sarcasm and triumph in her voice.)

  "Quite," Vance assured her.

  He took his leave at once. Doctor Holliday remained with his patient. When we were again in the hallway and Mrs. Schwarz had closed the door behind us, Markham took Vance by the arm.

  "See here," he said, frowning deeply; "what was the idea? Are you going to let her put you off with an empty box?"

  "But she hasn't, don't y' know," Vance returned dulcetly. "She didn't know the box was empty. She thought the key was there. Why upset her by telling her the box is empty?"

  "What has the key got to do with it, anyway?" Markham demanded angrily.

  "That's what I'm trying to ascertain." And before Markham could say anything more, Vance turned to Leland, who had watched the entire proceeding in puzzled silence. "Can you show us where Tatum's room is?" he asked.

  We had now reached the second-story landing, and Leland drew himself up with a curious start: his habitual air of cool reserve momentarily deserted him.

  "Tatum's room?" he repeated, as if he doubted that he had heard Vance correctly. But immediately he recovered himself and turned. "His room is just here, across the hall," he said. "It is the one between Stamm's room and Greeff's."

  Vance crossed the hall to the door Leland indicated. It was unlocked, and he opened it and stepped inside the room. We followed him, puzzled and silent. Markham appeared even more surprised than Leland had been at Vance's sudden and unexpected query about Tatum's room. He now gave Vance a searching, inquisitive look, and was about to say something but checked himself and waited.

  Vance stood in the middle of the room, glancing about him and letting his gaze rest for a moment on each piece of furniture.

  Heath's expression was hard and determined. Without waiting for Vance to speak, he asked:

  "Do you want m
e to get the guy's clothes out and make a search?"

  Vance shook his head in a slow, thoughtful negative.

  "I don't think that will be necess'ry, Sergeant. But you might look under the bed and on the floor of the clothes-closet."

  Heath drew out his flashlight and went down on his hands and knees. After a brief inspection, he stood up with a grunt.

  "Nothing there but a pair of slippers." He went to the clothes-closet and made another inspection.

  "Just some shoes, that's all," he announced upon emerging.

  Vance, in the meantime, had gone to the low-boy beside the window and opened the drawers, examining them carefully. He then went to the dressing-table and repeated the operation. There was a look of disappointment on his face as he turned away from the table and slowly lit a cigarette. Again his eyes roamed about the room and finally came to rest on a Queen Anne night-table beside the bed.

  "One more chance," he murmured, as he crossed the room and drew out the small drawer of burl walnut.

  "Ah, quite!"

  He reached into the drawer and withdrew some object which we could not see. Then he approached Leland and held out his hand.

  "Is that the key to the vault, Mr. Leland?" he asked.

  "That is the key," said Leland simply.

  Markham strode forward, his face an ugly red.

  "How did you know the key was here?" he demanded angrily. "And what does it mean?"

  "I didn't know it was here, old dear," Vance returned with exaggerated sweetness. "And I don't know what it means. . . . But I think we'll take a peep at the vault—eh, what?"

  When we were again in the lower hall Vance turned to Leland with a serious and stern gaze.

  "You will remain here, please," he said. "And you're to make no mention, to any one, of the fact that we have found the key to the vault."

  Leland appeared nettled at Vance's tone. He bowed with considerable dignity.

  "I will, of course, respect your wishes," he replied, and turned toward the library.