Philo Vance Omnibus Vol 2

by S. S. Van Dine

  Vance seemed profoundly puzzled and said nothing for some time. Then he glanced up suddenly.

  "How much light was there in the room?"

  "Only a dim shaded night-light by my bed."

  "In that case, you might conceivably have mistaken an empty bottle for one filled with a colorless fluid."

  "Yes, of course," the nurse returned reluctantly. "That must have been the case. Unless..." Her voice trailed off.

  Vance nodded and finished the sentence for her. "Unless Mrs. Garden drank that medicine deliberately some time later." He studied the girl a moment. "But that isn't altogether reasonable. I don't care for the theory. Do you?"

  She returned his gaze with complete frankness, and made a slight negative gesture of the head.

  "No," she said. Then she added quickly: "But I wish it were true."

  "Quite," agreed Vance. "It would be somewhat less terrible."

  "I know what you mean." She took a deep tremulous breath and shuddered slightly.

  "Tell me, when did you discover that all the medicine was gone?" Vance asked.

  "Shortly before Doctor Siefert arrived this morning. I moved the bottle when I was arranging the table, and realized it was empty."

  "I think that will be all just now, Miss Beeton." Vance glanced at the girl sombrely and then turned away. "Really, y' know, I'm deuced sorry. But you'd better not plan on leaving here just yet. We will undoubtedly want to see you again today."

  As she got up her eyes rested on Vance with an enigmatic look. She seemed about to say something further, but instead she turned quickly and went from the room.

  Heath must have been waiting in the passageway for the girl's dismissal, for just as she was going out, he came in to report that Siefert and Doremus had departed, and that Floyd Garden had made the arrangements for the removal of his mother's body.

  "And what do we do now, Mr. Vance?" Heath asked.

  "Oh, we carry on, Sergeant." Vance was unusually serious. "I want to talk to Floyd Garden first. Send him up. And call one of your men; but stay on the job downstairs yourself till he arrives. We may get this affair cleared up today."

  "That wouldn't make me sore, Mr. Vance," returned Heath fervently, as he went toward the door.

  Markham had risen and was pacing the floor, drawing furiously on his cigar.

  "Evidently you see some light in this damnable situation," he grumbled to Vance. "I wish I could." He stopped and turned. "Are you serious about the possibility of getting this thing cleared up today?"

  "Oh, quite. It could be, don't y' know." Vance cocked an eye whimsically at Markham. "Not legally, of course. Not a case for the law. No. Legal technicalities quite useless in such an emergency. Deeper issues involved. Human issues, d' ye see?"

  "You're talking nonsense," Markham muttered. "You and your damned pseudo-subtle moods!"

  "I can change the mood," Vance offered cheerfully. "I'm frank to confess that I like the situation even less than you do. But there's no other procedure indicated. The law is helpless against it at present. And, frankly, I'm not interested in your law. I want justice."

  Markham snorted. "And just what do you intend to do?"

  Vance looked past Markham into some remote world of his own imagining. "I shall try to stage a tragic drama," he said evenly. "It may be effective. If it fails, I'm afraid there's no help for us."

  Markham snorted again. "Philo Vance—impresario!"

  "Quite," Vance nodded. "Impresario. As you say. Aren't we all?"

  Markham looked at him steadily for a while. "When does the curtain go up?"

  "Anon."

  Footsteps sounded in the passageway, and Floyd Garden entered the study. He appeared deeply shaken. "I can't stand much today. What do you want?" His tone was unduly resentful. He sat down and seemed to ignore us entirely as he fussed nervously with his pipe.

  "We understand just how you feel," Vance said. "It was not my intention to bother you unnecess'rily. But if we are to get at the truth, we must have your cooperation."

  "Go ahead, then," Garden mumbled, his attention still on his pipe.

  Vance waited until the man got his pipe going. "We must have as many details as possible about last night. Did your expected guests come?"

  Garden nodded cheerlessly. "Oh, yes. Zalia Graem, Madge Weatherby, and Kroon."

  "And Hammle?"

  "No, thank Heaven!"

  "Didn't that strike you as a bit odd?"

  "It didn't strike me as odd at all," Garden grumbled. "It struck me only as a relief. Hammle's all right, but he's a frightful bore—cold-blooded, self-sufficient. I never feel that the man has any real blood in him. Horses, dogs, foxes, game—anything but human beings. If one of his damned hounds had died he'd have taken it more to heart than Woody's death. I was glad he didn't show up."

  Vance nodded with understanding. "Was there any one else here?"

  "No, that was all."

  "Which of your visitors arrived first?"

  Garden took the pipe from his mouth and looked up swiftly.

  "Zalia Graem. She came at half-past eight, I should say. Why?"

  "Merely garnerin' facts," Vance replied indifferently. "And how long after Miss Graem came in did Miss Weatherby and Kroon arrive?"

  "About half an hour. They came a few minutes after Miss Beeton had gone out."

  Vance returned the man's steady scrutiny.

  "By the by, why did you send the nurse out last night?"

  "She looked as if she needed some fresh air," Garden answered with a show of complete frankness. "She'd had a tough day. Moreover, I didn't think there was anything seriously wrong with the mater. And I was going to be here myself and could have got her anything she might have needed." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Shouldn't I have let the nurse go out?"

  "Yes. Oh, yes. Quite humane, don't y' know. A tryin' day for her."

  Garden shifted his gaze heavily to the window, but Vance continued to study the man closely.

  "What time did your guests depart?" he asked.

  "A little after midnight. Sneed brought in sandwiches about half-past eleven. Then we had another round of highballs..." The man turned his eyes sharply back to Vance. "Does it matter?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps not. However, it could...Did they all depart at the same time?"

  "Yes. Kroon had his car below, and offered to drop Zalia at her apartment."

  "Miss Beeton had returned by then, of course?"

  "Yes, long before that. I heard her come in about eleven."

  "And after your guests had gone, what did you do?"

  "I sat up for half an hour or so, had another drink and a pipe; then I shut up the front of the house and turned in."

  "Your bedroom is next to your mother's, I believe."

  Garden nodded. "Father's been sharing it with me since the nurse has been here."

  "Had your father retired when you went to your bedroom?"

  "No. He rarely turns in before two or three in the morning. He works up here in the study till all hours."

  "Was he up here last night?"

  Garden looked a little disturbed.

  "I imagine so. He couldn't very well have been anywhere else. He certainly didn't go out."

  "Did you hear him when he came to bed?"

  "No."

  Vance lighted another cigarette, took several deep inhalations on it, and settled himself deeper in his chair.

  "To go back a bit," he said casually. "The sleeping medicine Doctor Siefert prescribed for your mother seems to constitute a somewhat crucial point in the situation. Did you have occasion to give her a dose of it while the nurse was out?"

  Garden drew himself up sharply and set his jaw. "No, I did not," he said through his teeth.

  Vance took no notice of the change in the man's manner.

  "The nurse, I understand, gave you explicit instructions about the medicine before she went out. Will you tell me exactly where this was?"

  "In the hall," Garden answered with a puzzled frown. "J
ust outside the den door. I had left Zalia in the drawing-room and had gone to tell Miss Beeton she might go out for a while. I waited to help her on with her coat. It was then she told me what to do in case the mater woke up and was restless."

  "And when she had gone you returned to the drawing-room?"

  "Yes, immediately." Garden still looked puzzled. "That's exactly what I did. And a few minutes later Madge and Kroon arrived."

  There was a short silence during which Vance smoked thoughtfully.

  "Tell me, Garden," he said at length, "did any of your guests enter your mother's room last night?"

  Garden's eyes opened wide: color came back into his face, and he sprang to his feet.

  "Good God, Vance! Zalia was in mother's room!"

  Vance nodded slowly. "Very interestin'. Yes, quite...I say, do sit down. Light your beastly pipe, and tell us about it."

  Garden hesitated a moment. He laughed harshly and resumed his seat.

  "Damn it! You take it lightly enough," he complained. "That may be the whole explanation."

  "One never knows, does one?" Vance returned indifferently. "Carry on."

  Garden had some difficulty getting his pipe going again. For a moment or two he sat with clouded, reminiscent eyes gazing out of the east window.

  "It must have been about ten o'clock," he said at length. "The mater rang the little bell she keeps on the table beside her bed, and I was about to answer it when Zalia jumped up and said she would see what the mater wanted. Frankly, I was glad to let her go, after the scene you witnessed here yesterday—I had a feeling I might still be persona non grata there. Zalia came back in a few minutes and casually reported that the mater only wanted to have her water glass refilled."

  "And did you yourself go into your mother's room at any time during Miss Beeton's absence?"

  "No, I did not!" Garden looked defiantly at Vance.

  "And you're sure that no one else entered your mother's room during the nurse's absence?"

  "Absolutely."

  I could tell by Vance's expression that he was not satisfied with Garden's answers. He broke the ashes from his cigarette with slow deliberation. His eyelids drooped a little with puzzled speculation. Without looking up, he asked:

  "Were Miss Weatherby and Kroon in the drawing-room with you during their entire visit?"

  "Yes—with the exception of ten minutes or so, when they walked out on the balcony."

  "And you and Miss Graem remained in the drawing-room?"

  "Yes. I was in no particular mood to view the nocturnal landscape—nor, apparently, was Zalia."

  "About what time did Miss Weatherby and Kroon go out on the balcony?"

  Garden thought a moment. "I'd say it was shortly before the nurse returned."

  "And who was it," Vance went on, "that first suggested going home?"

  Garden pondered the question.

  "I believe it was Zalia."

  Vance got up.

  "Awfully good of you, Garden, to let us bother you with these queries at such a time," he said kindly. "We're deuced grateful...You won't be leaving the house today?"

  Garden shook his head as he too stood up. "Hardly," he said. "I'll stay in with father. He's pretty well broken up. By the way, would you care to see him?"

  Vance waved his hand negatively.

  "No. That won't be necess'ry just now."

  Garden went morosely from the room, his head down, like a man weighted with a great mental burden.

  When he had gone Vance stood for a moment in front of Markham, eyeing him with cynical good-nature.

  "Not a nice case, Markham. As I said. Frankly speakin', do you see any titbit for the law to get its teeth into?"

  "No, damn it!" Markham blurted angrily. "No two things hang together. There's no straight line in any direction. Every thread in the case is tangled with every other thread. Heaven knows, there are enough motives and opportunities. But which are we to choose as a starting-point?...And yet," he added grimly, "a case could be made out—"

  "Oh, quite," Vance interrupted. "A case against any one of various persons. And one case as good—or as bad—as another. Every one has acted in a perfect manner to bring suspicion upon himself." He sighed. "A sweet situation."

  "And fiendish," supplemented Markham. "If it weren't for that fact, I'd be almost inclined to call it two suicides and let it go at that."

  "Oh, no, you wouldn't," countered Vance with an affectionate shake of the head. "Neither would I. Really, y' know, that's not the way to be humane." He moved toward the window and looked out. "But I have things pretty well in hand. The pattern is shaping itself perfectly. I've fitted together all the pieces, Markham,—all but one. And I hold that piece too, but I don't know where it goes, or how it fits into the ensemble."

  Markham looked up. "What's the piece that's bothering you, Vance?"

  "Those disconnected wires on the buzzer. They bother me frightfully. I know they have a bearing on the terrible things that have been going on here..." He turned from the window and walked up and down the room several times, his head down, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "Why should those wires have been disconnected?" he murmured, as if talking to himself. "How could they have been related to Swift's death or to the shot we heard? There was no mechanism. No, I'm convinced of that. After all, the wires merely connect two buzzers...a signal...a signal between upstairs and downstairs...a signal—a call—a line of communication..."

  Suddenly he stopped his meditative pacing. He was now facing the door into the passageway and he stared at it as if it were something strange—as if he had never seen it before.

  "Oh, my aunt!" he exclaimed. "My precious aunt! It was too obvious." He wheeled about to Markham, a look of self-reproach on his face. "The answer was here all the time," he said. "It was simple—and I was looking for complexities...The picture is complete now, Markham. Everything fits. Those disconnected wires mean that there's another murder contemplated—a murder that was intended from the first, but that did not come off." He took a deep breath. "This business must be cleared up today. Yes..."

  He led the way downstairs. Heath was smoking gloomily in the lower hall.

  "Sergeant," Vance said to him, "phone Miss Graem, Miss Weatherby, Kroon—and Hammle. Have them all here late this afternoon—say six o'clock. Floyd Garden can help you in getting in touch with them."

  "They'll be here, all right, Mr. Vance," Heath assured him.

  "And Sergeant, as soon as you have taken care of this, telephone me. I want to see you this afternoon. I'll be at home. But wait here for Snitkin and leave him in charge. No one is to come here but those I've asked you to get, and no one is to leave the apartment. And, above all, no one is to be permitted to go upstairs either to the study or the garden...I'm staggerin' along now."

  "I'll be phoning you by the time you get home, Mr. Vance."

  Vance went to the front door but paused with his hand on the knob.

  "I think I'd better speak to Garden about the gathering before I go. Where is he, Sergeant?"

  "He went into the den when he came downstairs," Heath told him with a jerk of the head.

  Vance walked up the hall and opened the den door. I was just behind him. As the door swung inward and Vance stepped over the threshold, we were confronted by an unexpected tableau. Miss Beeton and Garden were standing just in front of the desk, outlined against the background of the window. The nurse's hands were pressed to her face, and she was leaning against Garden, sobbing. His arms were about her.

  At the sound of Vance's entry they drew away from each other quickly. The girl turned her head to us with a sudden motion, and I could see that her eyes were red and filled with tears. She caught her breath and, turning with a start, half ran through the connecting door into the adjoining bedroom.

  "I'm frightfully sorry," Vance murmured. "Thought you were alone."

  "Oh, that's all right," Garden returned, although it was painfully evident the man was embarrassed. "But I do hope, Vance," he added with
a forced smile, "that you won't misunderstand. Everything, you know, is in an emotional upheaval here. I imagine Miss Beeton had all she could stand yesterday and today, and when I found her in here she seemed to break down, and—put her head on my shoulder. I was merely trying to comfort her. I can't help feeling sorry for the girl."

  Vance raised his hand in good-natured indifference.

  "Oh, quite, Garden. A harassed lady always welcomes a strong masculine shoulder to weep on. Most of them leave powder on one's lapel, don't y' know; but I'm sure Miss Beeton wouldn't be guilty of that...Dashed sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to tell you before I went that I have instructed Sergeant Heath to have all your guests of yesterday here by six o'clock this afternoon. Of course, we'll want you and your father here, too. If you don't mind, you might help the Sergeant with the phone numbers."

  "I'll be glad to, Vance," Garden returned, taking out his pipe and beginning to fill it. "Anything special in mind?"

  Vance turned toward the door.

  "Yes. Oh, yes. Quite. I'm hopin' to clear this matter up later on. Meanwhile I'm running along. Cheerio." And he went out, closing the door.

  As we walked down the outer hall to the elevator, Vance said to Markham somewhat sadly: "I hope my plan works out. I don't particularly like it. But I don't like injustice, either..."

  16. THROUGH THE GARDEN DOOR

  (Sunday, April 15; afternoon.)

  We had been home but a very short time when Sergeant Heath telephoned as he had promised. Vance went into the anteroom to answer the call and closed the door after him. A few minutes later he rejoined us and, ringing for Currie, ordered his hat and stick.

  "I'm running away for a while, old dear," he said to Markham. "In fact, I'm joining the doughty Sergeant at the Homicide Bureau. But I sha'n't be very long. In the meantime, I've ordered lunch for us here."

  "Damn the lunch!" grumbled Markham. "What are you meeting Heath for?"

  "I'm in need of a new waistcoat," Vance told him lightly.

  "That explanation's a great help," Markham snorted.

  "Sorry. It's the only one I can offer at present," Vance returned.

  Markham stared at him, disgruntled, for several minutes.