I glanced apprehensively at the red flood-light on the lamppost Heath had described to us, and saw it flash on and off like a grotesquely winking monster. Suddenly there were wide shafts of white light from the direction of Fifth Avenue splitting the gloom; and the whole tree and its immediate environs were flooded with brilliant illumination. For a moment I was blinded by the glare, but I could hear a bustle of activity all about us. Then came Vance's startled and awestruck voice somewhere at my left.
"Oh, my word!" he exclaimed over and over again; and there was the sound of his scrambling down the tree. At length I saw him swing from the lower limb and drop gracefully to the ground, like a well balanced pole-vaulter.
Everything seemed to happen simultaneously. Markham and Fleel and Kenyon Kenting came rushing across the eastern lawn, preceded by Heath and Sullivan.[18] The two detectives were the first to reach the spot, and they grasped the black-clad figure just as it straightened up to move away from the tree. Each man had an arm tight in his clasp, and escape was impossible.
"Pretty nice work," Heath sang out with satisfaction, just as I reached the ground and took a tighter hold on my automatic. Vance brushed by me from around the tree and stood directly in front of Heath.
"My dear fellow—oh, my dear fellow!" he said with quick sternness. "Don't be too precipitate."
As he spoke, two taxicabs swung crazily along the pedestrian walk on the left with a continuous shrill blowing of horns. They came to a jerky stop with a tremendous clatter and squeaking of brakes. Then the two chauffeurs leaped out of the cabs and came rushing to the scene with sub-machine guns poised ominously before them.
Heath and Sullivan looked at Vance in angry amazement.
"Step back, Sergeant," Vance commanded. "You're far too rough. I'll handle this situation." Something in his voice overrode Heath's zeal—there was no ignoring the authority his words carried. Both Heath and Sullivan released their hold on the silent figure between them and took a backward step, bumping unseeingly into the startled group formed by Markham, Fleel and Kenting behind them.
The apprehended culprit did not move, except to reach up and push back the visor of the toque cap, revealing the face in the glare of the searchlights.
There before us, leaning weakly and shakily on a straight snakewood stick, the package of false bank notes still clutched tightly in the left hand, was the benign, yet cynical, Mrs. Andrews Falloway. Her face showed no trace of fear or of agitation. In fact, there was an air of calm satisfaction in her somewhat triumphant gaze.
In her deep, cultured voice she said, as if exchanging pleasantries with some one at an afternoon tea:
"How are you, Mr. Vance?" A slight smile played over her features.
"I am quite well, thank you, Mrs. Falloway," Vance returned suavely, with a courteous bow; "although I must admit the rough limb which I chose in the dark was a bit sharp and uncomfortable."
"Truly I am desolated, Mr. Vance." The woman was still smiling.
Just then a slender form skulked swiftly across the lawn from the near-by path and, without a word, joined the group directly behind the woman. It was Fraim Falloway. His expression was both puzzled and downcast. Vance threw him a quick glance, but took no more notice of him. His mother must have seen him out of the corner of her eye, but she showed no indication that she was aware of her son's presence.
"You're out late tonight, Mrs. Falloway," Vance was saying graciously. "Did you enjoy your evening stroll?"
"I at least found it very profitable," the woman answered with a hardening voice. As she spoke she held out the package. "Here's the bundle—containing money, I believe—which I found in the hole of the tree. You know," she added lightly, "I'm getting rather old for lovers' trysts. Don't you think so?"
Vance took the package and threw it to Heath who caught it with automatic dexterity. The Sergeant, as well as the rest of the group, was looking on in stupefied astonishment at the strange and unexpected little drama.
"I am sure you will never be too old for lovers' trysts," murmured Vance gallantly.
"You're an outrageous flatterer, Mr. Vance," smiled the woman. "Tell me, what do you really think of me after this little—what shall we call it?—escapade tonight?"
Vance looked at her, and his light cynical expression quickly changed to one of solemnity.
"I think you're a very loyal mother," he said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the woman. Quickly his mood changed again. "But, really, y' know, it's dampish, and far too late for you to walk home." Then he looked at the gaping Heath. "Sergeant, can either of your pseudo-chauffeurs drive his taxi with a modicum of safety?"
"Sure they can," stammered Heath. "Snitkin was a private chauffeur for years before he took up police work." (I now noticed that one of the two men who had dashed across the lawn with the sub-machine guns, which they had now lowered in utter astonishment, was the same driver who had crossed in front of us as we entered the park.)
"That's bully—what?" said Vance. He moved to Mrs. Falloway's side and offered her his arm. "May I have the pleasure of taking you home?"
The woman took his arm without hesitation.
"You're very chivalrous, Mr. Vance, and I would appreciate the courtesy."
Vance started across the lawn with the woman.
"Come, Snitkin," he called peremptorily, and the detective walked swiftly to his cab and opened the door. A moment later they were headed toward the main traffic artery which leads to Central Park West.
11. ANOTHER EMPTY ROOM
(Thursday, July 21; 11:10 p.m.)
It was but a short time before the rest of us started for the Kenting house. As soon as Snitkin had driven off with Vance and Mrs. Falloway, Heath began to dash around excitedly, giving innumerable brusque orders to Burke,[19] who came ambling toward us across the narrow path from the east. When he had made all his arrangements, he walked to the wide lane where the second taxicab still stood. This cab, I noticed, was manned by the diminutive Guilfoyle,[20] one of the two "chauffeurs" who came to the tree with sub-machine guns, ready for action.
"I guess we'd better follow Mr. Vance," Heath growled. "There's something mighty phony about this whole business."
Markham, Fleel and young Falloway got into the back seat of the cab; Kenting and I took our places on the two small folding seats forward in the tonneau; and the Sergeant crowded into the front of the cab with Guilfoyle. When the doors were shut Guilfoyle drove off rapidly toward the main roadway on the west side of the park. Nothing was said on that short ride. Every one, it seemed, was too dumbfounded to make any comment on the unexpected outcome of the night's adventure.
Markham sat stiffly upright, looking out of the window, a dark frown on his face. Fleel leaned back more comfortably against the cushions in silence, staring straight ahead but apparently seeing nothing. Fraim Falloway crouched morosely in the corner of the seat, with his hat pulled far down over his eyes, his face a puzzled mask; and when I offered him a cigarette he seemed utterly oblivious to my gesture. Once or twice on the way to his home he uttered a cackling, breathless chuckle, as if at some thought that had flashed through his mind. Kenyon Kenting, sitting at my left, seemed weary and distressed, and bent forward with his elbows on his knees, his head bowed in his hands.
Through the plate-glass panel in front of me, I could see the Sergeant bobbing up and down with the motion of the cab, and shifting his cigar angrily from one side of his mouth to the other. Occasionally he turned to Guilfoyle, and I could see his lips move, but I could hear nothing over the hum of the motor; then he would resume his dour and bitter silence. It was obvious he was deeply disappointed and believed all his plans had gone awry for some reason he could not figure out.
After all, the whole incident that night had been unexpected and amazing. I tried to reason out what had happened, but could not fit any of the known factors together, and finally gave the matter up. The climax of the episode was the last thing I could possibly have dreamed of, and I am sure the others felt the sam
e way about it. If no one had come to the tree for the package of supposed bank notes, it would have been easily understandable, but the fact that a crippled old woman had turned out to be the collector of the money was as astonishing as it was incredible. And, to add to every one's perplexity, there was Vance's attitude toward her—which was perhaps the most astounding thing of all.
Where had been the person who sent the note? And then I suddenly remembered the shabby man who had been leaning against the bench on the pathway, watching Fleel. Could this have been the person?—had he seen us at the tree and known that the spot was under observation?—had he lost his courage and gone off without attempting to secure the package of bills?—or was my imagination keyed up to a pitch where I was ready to suspect every stray figure? The problem was far too confusing, and I could not arrive at even a tentative solution.
When we pulled up in front of the Kenting house, which suddenly seemed black and sinister in the semi-dark, we all quickly jumped to the sidewalk and hastened in a body to the front door. Only Guilfoyle did not move; he relaxed a little in his narrow seat and remained there, his hands still at the wheel.
Weem, in a dark pongee dressing-robe, opened the door for us and made a superfluous gesture toward the drawing-room. Through the wide-open sliding doors we could see Vance and Mrs. Falloway seated. Vance, without rising, greeted us whimsically as we entered.
"Mrs. Falloway," he explained to us, "wished to remain here a short while to rest before going upstairs. Beastly ascent, y' know."
"I really feel exhausted," the woman supplemented in her low, cultured voice, looking at Markham and ignoring the rest of us. "I simply had to rest a while before climbing those long flights of stairs. I do wish old Karl Kenting hadn't put such unnecessarily high ceilings in this old house, or else that he had added a lift. It's very tiring, you know, to walk from one floor to another. And I'm so fatigued just now, after my long walk in the park." She smiled cryptically and adjusted the pillow behind her back.
At that moment there was a ring at the front door, and Heath went out quickly to answer it. As he swung the ponderous door back, I could easily see, from where I stood, the figure of Porter Quaggy outside.
"What do you want?" Heath demanded bluntly, barring the way with his thick body.
"I don't want anything," Quaggy returned in a cold, unfriendly voice; "—if that answer will benefit you in any way—except to ask how Mrs. Kenting is and if you know anything more about Kaspar. I saw you drive past my hotel just now and get off here. . . . Do you want to tell me, or don't you?"
"Let the johnnie come in, Sergeant," Vance called out in a low, commanding voice. "I'll tell him what he wants to know. And I also desire to ask him a question or two."
"All right," Heath grumbled in a modified tone to the man waiting on the threshold. "Come on in and get an earful."
Quaggy stepped inside briskly and joined us in the drawing-room. He glanced round the room with narrowed eyes and then asked of no one in particular:
"Well, what happened tonight?"
"Nothing—really nothing," Vance answered casually, without looking up. "Positively nothing. Quite a fizzle, don't y' know. Very sad. . . . But I am rather glad you decided to pay us this impromptu visit, Mr. Quaggy. Would you mind telling us where you were tonight?"
The man's eyelids drooped still lower, till they were almost entirely shut, and he looked down at Vance for several moments with a passive and expressionless face.
"I was at home," he said finally, in an arctic, aggressive tone, "fretting about Kaspar." Then he suddenly shot forth, "Where were you?"
Vance smiled and sighed.
"Not that it should concern you in the slightest, sir," he said in his most dulcet voice, "but—since you ask—I was climbing a tree. Silly pastime—what?"
Quaggy swung about to Kenting.
"You raised the money, Kenyon, and complied with the instructions in the follow-up note?" he asked.
Kenting inclined his head: he was still solemn and perturbed.
"Yes," he said in a low voice, "but it did no good."
"A swell bunch of cheap dicks," Quaggy sneered, flashing Heath a contemptuous glance. "Didn't any one show up to collect?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Quaggy." It was Vance who answered. "Some one called for the money at the appointed hour, and actually took it."
"And I suppose he got away from the police—as usual. Is that it?" Quaggy had turned again and was contemplating Vance's bland features.
"Oh, no. No. We saw to that." Vance took a long puff on his cigarette. "The culprit is here with us in this room."
Quaggy straightened with a start.
"The fact is," went on Vance, "I escorted the guilty person home myself. It was Mrs. Falloway."
Quaggy's expression did not change—he was as unemotional and noncommittal as a veteran poker player; but I had a feeling the news had shocked him considerably. Before the man had time to say anything Vance continued lackadaisically.
"By the by, Mr. Quaggy, are you particularly interested in black opals? I noticed a jolly good pair of them on your desk yesterday."
Quaggy hesitated for several moments.
"And if I am, what then?" His lips barely moved as he spoke, and there was no change in the intonation of his voice.
"Queer, don't y' know," Vance went on, "that there are no representative black opals in Karl Kenting's collection. Blank spaces in the case where they should be. I can't imagine, really, how an expert collector of semiprecious stones should have overlooked so important an item as the rarer black opal."
"I get the implication. Anything else?" Quaggy was standing relaxed but motionless in front of Vance. Slowly he moved one foot forward, as if shifting the burden of his weight from an overtired leg. By an almost imperceptible movement his foot came to within a few inches of Vance's shoe.
"Really, y' know," Vance said with a cold smile, lifting his eyes to the man, "I shouldn't try that if I were you—unless, of course, you wish to have me break your leg and dislocate your hip. I'm quite familiar with the trick. Picked it up in Japan."
Quaggy abruptly withdrew his foot, but said nothing.
"I found a balas-ruby in Kaspar Kenting's dinner jacket yesterday morning," Vance proceeded calmly. "A balas-ruby is also missing from the collection across the hall. Interestin' mathematical item—eh?"
"What the hell's interesting about it?" retorted the other with a sneer.
Vance looked at him mildly.
"I was only wonderin'," he said, "if there might be some connection between that imitation ruby and the black opals in your apartment. . . . By the by, do you care to mention where you obtained such valuable gem specimens?"
Quaggy made a noise in his throat which sounded to me like a contemptuous laugh, but the expression on his face did not change. He did not answer, and Vance turned to the District Attorney.
"I think, in view of the gentleman's attitude, Markham, and the fact that he is the last person known to have been with the missing Kaspar, it would be advisable to hold him as a material witness."
Quaggy drew himself erect with a jerk.
"I came by those opals legitimately," he said quickly. "I bought them from Kaspar last night, as he said he needed some immediate cash for the evening."
"You knew, perhaps, that the stones were part of the Kenting collection?" asked Vance coldly.
"I didn't inquire where they came from," the man returned sullenly. "I naturally trusted him."
"'Naturally,'" murmured Vance.
Mrs. Falloway struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on her stick.
"I've suspected for a long time," she said, "that Kaspar had been resorting to that collection of gems for gambling money. I've come down occasionally and gone over the exhibits, and it seemed to me each time there were a few more missing. . . . But I'm very tired, and I'm sufficiently rested now to return to my room. . . ."
"But, Mrs. Falloway," blurted Kenting—I had noticed that he had been staring at the woman incre
dulously ever since we had returned to the house, and he could not, apparently, restrain his curiosity any longer; "I—I don't understand your being in the park tonight. Why—why—?"
The woman gave him a withering look.
"Mr. Vance understands," she answered curtly. "That, I think, is quite sufficient." Her gaze shifted from Kenting and she seemed to take us all in with a gracious glance. "Good night, gentlemen. . . ."
She started unsteadily toward the door, and Vance sprang to her side.
"Permit me, madam, to accompany you. It's a long climb to your room."
The woman bowed a courteous acknowledgment and, for the second time that evening, took his arm. Fraim Falloway did not rise to assist his mother; he seemed oblivious to everything that was going on. Markham, with a significant look at the Sergeant, left his chair and took the woman's free arm. Heath moved closer to Quaggy who remained standing. Mrs. Falloway, with her two escorts, went slowly from the drawing-room, and I followed them.
It was with considerable effort that the woman mounted the stairs. She found it necessary to pause momentarily at each step, and when we reached her room she sank into the large wicker armchair with the air of a person wholly exhausted.
Vance took her stick and placed it on the floor beside the chair. Then he said in a kindly voice:
"I should like to ask one or two questions, if you are not too weary."
The woman nodded and smiled faintly.
"A question or two won't do any harm, Mr. Vance," she said. "Please go ahead."
"Why did you make the tremendous effort," Vance began, "of walking in the park tonight?"
"Why, to get all that money, of course," the old woman answered in mock surprise. "Anyway, I didn't attempt to walk all the way: I took a cab to within a few hundred feet of the tree. Think how rich I would have been had I not been caught in the disgraceful act. And," she added with a sigh, "you have spoiled everything for me."
Philo Vance Omnibus Vol 2 Page 74